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Nar Shaddaa - Rebel Alliance Headquarters


Raven Nasra
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For whatever reason, Beck found himself full of grogginess as his alarm blared loudly to get himself up. He looked at the mirror to his right and then stood up off his cot-like mattress. While the option had always been available to him to get something better, it just wasn't something that the former commando to justify doing. He quickly grabbed his clothes, which was just an undershirt and his dress top, which was far different from the Imperial Remnant days. He slept with his boots and pants on, as was slightly custom for him to do during seasons of high engagements during war. Had he been offered up time off, like he was a while ago, he would have relaxed more. But he couldn't justify the relaxation when others with less experience were put on the front lines. 

 

Upon getting dressed, he walked out of his quarters and made his way through the halls towards the command station. He wanted back in, not to be resting as others were doing the work he knew he could do with his eyes closed. Even as he walked the halls, a few soldiers at posts were not standing as they should have been. Even on his time off, he couldn't let the slaking continue. "Stand up straight and be at the ready. Your attention and readiness should be the same as a lieutenant walking by or Raven herself." The two soldiers immediately stood up straight and at the ready. Beck starred for a moment, thinking of making them salute, but decided that until he was given active assignment, it was better to let things slide. 

 

As he walked into the command center, no one stood up, and the two other soldiers on the other side of the door were also not in a position to greet any high official officers. He stood for a good five seconds before he coughed really loud to draw the attention of others in the room. The two soldiers stood straightened up and two others stood up and saluted him. "I know it's tiring. I know that many of our command is away on mission. But everyone being ready for anyone, even low ranking officers helps us stay ready for whatever the Sith Empire will throw at us. I expect for everyone to remain on the ready and on a high level until otherwise stated." Beck now took two steps forward before returning the salute. "At Ease." He then walked up to the galaxy map and began to observe exactly where everyone was at and where the fleets were being spread thin the most.

Edited by IC - 2487
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Kirlocca remained seated on the edge of Alliera's bed and looked directly at Johan and then at Alliera. 

 

<< There is plenty more I think that could be said about what transpired on Mon Calamari, but none of which would bring anything to either of you until you learn more of your own growth and what it means to be a Jedi. The Light Side is a long and narrow path, but is a true calling from the Force and it brings complete peace when practiced. Training is what makes you who you are. Just as a wheel sharpens a sword, training sharpens the Jedi, solidifying them as a Knight of the Force. Your training will never end; you must be disciplined enough to remain on the path of the Light. >>

 

Kirlocca now stood up and folded his arms as he looked directly at Johan.

 

<< We will begin to train you in some of those aspects that you seek. But is that truly the path you want to walk down? For how you speak of it would mean you seek out the path of a Jedi Consular. And once you start down that path, it will begin to forge your future...>> 

 

The Jedi master didn't really give any indication that he wanted Johan to respond right away, as he walked towards the door and held out a hand to give a signal for Johan to leave Alliera to rest. As he did so, he looked at her with a knowing look. In the past, he would have made her speak the question hovering within her mind. But somehow, he felt like this time around she needed to know his own answer before she even spoke it outloud. 

 

<< You may travel as you see fit. But something tells me that while you may get something you need from traveling... You will also come back with far greater questions. You have my blessing to go. >> 

 

Kirlocca knew that such words would have Johan curious, but Alliera would understand fully. That would be okay, as his words were not for Johan, but Alliera. And he knew that her trek would provide some motivation in seeking out the answers she sought.

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A long series of flash communications came streaming into the wide sensor dishes that sat in orbit above Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta. They were decrypted and sent with priority to officers all over the net. Mobilization orders to reserve fleet elements and special forces units on RR rotation. One message came in for the Moffs council, ordering mobilization of the shipping fleets for use in refugee movement. 

 

Another comm came for Beck, loyal servant of the Imperial Remnant. He was to mobilize to assist in the restoration of Mon Calamari, then prepare for action in the deep core. The Rebel Alliance would not stop its momentum, especially as innocent worlds like Naboo fell to the Sith Empire. 

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Pretender to the Galactic Throne

Leader of the Rebel Alliance

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Beck watched the holodisplay of the galaxy map, looking at movements of the Sith Empire, the Rebel Alliance, rumors of Mandalorians and other factions stirring within the galaxy when his comlink beeped loudly at him. He listened to the message which came from the top. Across the entire command room, notifications of orders were coming in of mobilization of almost the entire fleet. Movement wasn't panicked, but clearly feelings of nerves were present. The seasoned vet ignored them this time around as there was no point of forcing the entire command room to act more orderly. Two officers approached him. "Sir, not every grouping was given orders. What shall we tell them?" Beck let out a heavy breath.

 

"My personal wing is to prepare my ship and two other Curich-class shuttles for departure to Mon Cal. The rest who have not received any orders are to maintain structure and operations here. Everyone who is on leave must return and those scheduled for leave will have to wait to take theirs. They will be compensated. Now go with some hurry in your steps. I want to be headed towards Mon Cal within the hour and have everything lined up here by that time as well." Beck waved them off with a half salute and then turned and walked out of the command center to pack his own things. As he did, he looked back to see Naboo officially turn color on the holodisplay, indicating it had indeed fallen. Whatever emotions he should have felt were not present at the time. The only thing on his mind was what sort of preparation he would need for the deep core. 

 

As he told the two officers in the command center, his ship, Heaven's Taint and two other Curich-class shuttles was indeed lifting off within less then an hour after receiving orders. Refusing to sleep, the Admiral instead choose to stand within the main cockpit of the shuttle as it lifted off and blasted into hyperspace towards Mon Calamari. 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Kirlocca moved through the med halls of the Imperial Spire on Nar Shaddaa with a sense of direction. He knew that Alliera would be most likely heading off to find her purpose and calling within the Force. While he was certain he could help her find such a path here, he also understood her need to seek it out. Johan on the other hand was in a position to begin to learn the Force in a more intimate way. But the boy was caught up in a world within his own mind, one that he needed to break from if he was to truly find his place in the galaxy. 

 

He was about ready to move the two towards a more suitable training room when something flashed on the Holonet that caught his attention. Sullust was in trouble. He paused before the screen to watch the report unfold as he slowly folded his arms across his chest. Whatever was happening, the Jedi Master knew such a thing required some investigation of some sort. Especially after Mon Calamari when the Sith were able to summon storms that damaged the surface of the planet, along with who knows what below. He had a feeling that whatever storm that took out communication to the capital of Sullust must be related somehow. Narrowing his eyes, he searched the Force for direction, sensing out what his move should be, if any. After a moment or two passed by, he looked at Johan. 

 

<< I am needed on Sullust. I do not doubt that such a need also brings with it danger. I have a feeling that what I can expect there is similar to what was encountered on Mon Calamari, but stronger. If you are unable to face such a test again, I can help move you into the care of other masters until I return…>> 

 

Kirlocca now unfolded his arms and stood awaiting a response from Johan. He had a feeling he knew what the boy would choose, yet like Alliera, he did not want to force the decision if the boy was unwilling to say it himself.

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He had spent the last while thinking, Johan did not think that Consular was the path he wanted (not that he knew enough of the different paths to say for sure) but he would would look into it in more detail... after Sullust that is. "I will accompany you master, while I could use more training I believe I can still contribute something to the war effort. could we work more on the lightsaber forms you started us on while enroute? and maybe a basic force technique?" Johan asked determined. After this he would need to take time off to train but he wanted to help secure a true victory after the horror show that the last mission proved to be.

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Kirlocca turned and felt for the boy. He could sense the swirling emotions down below the surface. He managed to keep them off his face, but in the presence of a Jedi Master, no such feelings were exempt from being felt. The Wookiee placed his paw upon the boy's shoulder and gave a soft look. 

 

<< I will aide you in some basics- but be warned. This mission will leave something upon you. Whether it be a physical scar, emotional or some other kind. You must be prepared to accept it, and learn from it. For now, consider such words. We will leave at once for Sullust. I will give you a quick lesson along the way. >>

 

Kirlocca said no more. He turned and walked towards the spaceport in order to find a ship that could transport them to Sullust and provide enough room for the boy to learn some basics about the lightsaber.

 

((I will post in space to give you an intro lesson and let you make a post or two before we arrive.))

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“Glad I was never in the old Rebel Alliance. Never was cut out for this secrecy…” Midstream through an old story about the war with the Arachtar, Bruce Slaughter interrupted his train of thought only long enough to grouse about the unusual nature of his return to Nar Shaddaa. The Chadra-Fan pilot of the shuttle glanced away from the translator clipped to her collar, squeaking something in her native language that was just outside the device’s range. The Admiral arched a blonde eyebrow and glanced over from the copilot’s chair. “Didn’t catch that, sorry.”

 

“I mean, it’s a strange time, Captain.” She squeaked, her voice closely followed by the mechanical drone of the translator unit. The pilot had instantly recognized Bruce Slaughter, even if Alliance Intelligence dictated that he wear a Captain’s rank pips and try not to draw attention. Instead, the middle-aged Admiral had decided to regale forty shock troopers and two officers with a retelling of the Battle of Centerpoint Station: how a combined force of Republic and Imperial capital ships had borne down on an equally massive extragalactic fleet; where two superweapons had converged an unprecedented weight of firepower on a single star system. Even the Jedi had gotten in on the action: their Grandmaster had dispatched a large number of her walkers to support the fleets.

 

It had taken years for the Corellians to clear the debris field.

 

“But anyway, we knew that whoever hit the control room first was going to be in command of the biggest gun in the galaxy. Yeah--even bigger than Hammer of God. Way bigger than the Death Star. We probably moved a little too quickly than we should have--seemed like every few meters, those robots were sending suicide bombers at us. They were literally coming out of the walls. But they managed to channel us into an open foyer about five hundred meters away from the control room, and things got… ugly. They had these heat-seeking micromissiles--nasty buggers, really agile, could almost go around corners. They had this nasty semi-armor piercing warhead--punch through light armor, then a shaped charge that would blow right through a man. And that’s how I lost my--” Bruce rapped on his left hip.

 

“I don’t want to know, sir. And we’re ready to disembark.” The Chadra-Fan attempted to squeal May the Force be with you, sir, but her species’ equivalent of a conspiratorial whisper was not detected by the translator unit.

“What? No. That’s… it took half my leg off!” Slaughter protested as he hopped down from the LAAT/i and onto the deck of the Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser Tripoli. Glancing around at the unfamiliar lines of the old cruiser, he immediately decided that he liked the look of the craft. She was old, certainly, and the hangar was more than cramped--it was barely functional--but the deckplates resounded with a heavy weight that suggested a profound degree of toughness, of real grit, that belied her size. Turning around, he waved furiously at the departing transport and roared at the top of his battle-hardened voice. “I’ll see you on Umbara!

 

Smiling from ear to ear, Slaughter greeted the captain of the artillery cruiser and attempted to commit the names of his officers to memory, but they were of six species, two of which the Admiral had never encountered before. He tried not to stare at the Zeltron Master gunner--her species was rare in the Rebel Alliance. 

 

“Pleasure, all of you. I expect that you all have been briefed? Wonderful,” he grumbled happily to a chorus of affirmatives. “Then you understand that our objective in this mission is not to liberate, but to punish. This is not going to be like something from the good old days. We are going to hurt the Sith, we are going to make sure that they hurt hard, and we are not going to stick around to bind up their wounds.”

 

Slaughter led the officers to the bridge at a jog. All around the ship there was a general impression of rigidity. This was a genuine warship designed by shipyards intended to pack as much armor and weapons onto a hull, not an exhibition crafted by a people who viewed every frigate and cruiser that came out of their docks as an individual work of art. Even without having set foot on one of these cruisers, Bruce instantly recognized the positions of the stations on the bridge. It was an older, more traditional design: minimal viewports, elevated crew stations overlooking a central command post, rather than the modern--some would say Imperial--predilection of a central walkway looming over crew pits.


The Admiral strode up to that central holographic pit and picked up the familiar, blocky comms unit. A flip of a switch transmitted to the small fleet under his command. “All units, orient and report in.”

Edited by ObliviousKnight

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Exiting hyperspace, the silver vessel of the Naboo Queen entered just outside Nar Shaddaa's orbit. Inside several of the Nudono Warriors sighed, primarily Romulus and Equinox, whilst Vox remained standing and disconnecting his connection to the Force almost instantly. Krexis on the other hand just sat around for the whole ride, keeping to himself and staying silent as that was typical of the white Trandoshan. The Chieftain Vox felt tired suddenly, knowing it could have been the Force that drained him in such a way it reminded him of the sleepless hunts when he was younger. Regardless of that Vox focused up and stood straight, looking ahead toward the moon.
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"We have arrived," Vox then turned to Romulus who was giving the Chieftain an exasperated look, "I hope the trip didn't take too much out of you?"
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Romulus shook his head as he too stood up, stretching and was awarded with a few pops and cracks, "I swear to Lina, Vox, I can't trust you with stuff like that..." Then with a sigh he finished, "You haven't changed one bit."
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The other Trandoshans were concerned with checking their equipment so when they land they can already separate the damaged from the functional equipment. It was clear they all relaxed, and Vox being tired as he was couldn't necessarily reach out to the Force. He didn't try, feeling that what he had done was enough for now, a well needed rinse, feast and rest were in order, however most likely he would have to meet up with some hierarch along with the Queen. Their mission was complete however there was that tinge of guilt Vox had for leaving behind Alcmène. Hopefully she was alive at least, and slaying the Sith or escaping the planet.

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Nar Shaddaa was... a familiar place. Not in the sense that Jackson had ever been there before, but in the sense that it was similar to Coruscant and most ecumenopolis planets tended to be fairly similar. At least, once you peeled away the flesh and got to the core of the place. The true heart; the one under all the surface layers, right where the the natural sunlight never quite reached. 

 

It was a bittersweet feeling watching the planet lurch into existence as the pilots dropped out of hyperspace, and made their way towards the surface. Once again the Wayfarer's pilot had fled from destruction, though not without reason. There was little he could have done in the first place, to say nothing of the precious cargo crammed shoulder to shoulder in his hold and in the staterooms aboard his ship proper.

 

Still though, it wasn't like they were without damage. New scores and blaster burns pockmarked the Wayfarer's bulky armor from the engagement and a few fighters were going to need more work. Then there was the strain they had all put themselves under just getting out from under the blockade as it closed around them, that they all would need time to recover from. Jackson in particular was in no shape to fight any longer, as his eyes grew heavy even while he landed and docked his craft. He had just enough energy left to hand off his charges to someone more capable, before he made his way sluggishly back to his quarters to recuperate.

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Above the Rusting world, the Mandalorian fleet arrived. It had not come to devastate or destroy, but it was once more under the employ of the Alliance. It was a war-hardened fleet, all the green had been washed away in blood and fury. It was ready for the next operation, for as long as the credits kept coming and their Mandalore remained entertained by the war. Terra herself, was aboard the Xaakzaamhaid. 

 

Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Destroyer Group [Missiles] |Bes'bev|

Task Force Experience:  Veteran (3xp)

IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Nat’ah |25/25|

 

Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Destroyer Group [Railguns] |Akalenedat|

Task Force Experience:  Veteran (3xp)

IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Xaakzaamheid |25/25|

 

Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Heavy Brawler Escort |Chayaikir|

Task Force Experience:  Veteran (3xp)

IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Oosterwijk |25/35|

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To the Death...

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A message arrives for the Imperial Knight Aidan Darkfire from Sandy Sarna. 

 

Spoiler

Hey Aidan, I hope this message finds you well. I miss you, though I know that your order keeps you very busy! 

 

I wanted to let you know that I have been dispatched in pursuit of a lead about the viral outbreaks seen on Mon Calamari and Felucia. I am being sent to the little explored world of Vernza-Torrah. If you have time away from your order, or if they think that it would be a good mission to send you on I have included the coordinates and most recent starmap. (Though it has not been updated for over a decade!) 

 

I love you, 

Sandy Sarna

 

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Calix Meus Inebrians

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The Night Shadow dropped from Hyperspace and approached the planet. A modified CEC VCX-100 and ship of the well known Pax Ari (bounty hunter, bodyguard, pilot smuggler, and most important, owner of the Burra Fish cantina. As he approached the planet he turned to his pet Nexu.

 

"We're almost home Cho"

 

The large feline seemed to smile as it lifted its head from the cold durasteel floor of the ship.  Pax dropped into orbit and made way to his personal landing pad where the Night Shadow would sit until the next adventure.  This was a personal trip, not a vacation, still work to supply the Burra Fish with some of it known beverages.  Pax flip a few switches and he brought the ship down for a nice soft landing. The cargo doors were opened and Pax proceeded with unloading the cargo onto a skiff to transport to the cantina. 

 

A small seedy cantina just outside the Republics claim on the territory, the Burra Fish was a welcome spot to anyone and frequented by many. It didn't look like much but it was considered a safe place and had drinks that others didn't, that's what realy kept the place going.

 

The biggest chore today would be getting the 'blue krill' moved so they could make the Spotchka.  The blue krill came from Sorgan. The local farmers came up with the drink, but it was cheaper and easier to move the krill than the finished product, plus it didn't cost as much. Then there were other drinks were it was just more ideal to purchase the finished product and bring it in ready to serve. In this haul Pax and picked up some Tihaar from the Mandalorian culture.  Juma Juice, a favorite of the Jedi, was also on board. Only this was more like the old school version that had a kick to it, not the modern day drink that kids could have. T'ssolok, a Twi'lek favorite was in crates. Hopefully the decorative decanters it was stored in survived the trip. Pax couldn't decide which smelled worse, the Vizz-kick, a drink favored by the Quarren species that was fermented from seaweed or the Tsiraki, a blue colored beverage crafted from fermented salakberries adn pickling spices. Either way, he had them both and he did his best to provide something everyone would come for.

 

After Pax got everything loaded on the skiff, the Nexu jumped up on top of the cargo and laid down. 

 

"Ready boy?"

 

Pax took it easy navigating the streets from the landing pad to the cantina, but made it with no issues. Once everything was unloaded he headed inside.

 

"Aola!  We have returned with full many drinks to offer."

 

Aola was the previous owner of the Burra Fish, now just the bartender. A Female Twi'lek who's family used live here but was now on her own.

 

"Did you get the T'ssolok?" she asked.

 

"I sure did, and a load of krill so we need to start making the Spotchka."

 

Aola dropped the rag she was using to wipe down the bar and headed to back where she started working on the brewing of the Spotchka. She yelled out to Pax.

 

"I hear a bunch of Mandalorian's were headed this way."

 

Pax yelled back back.

 

"I hope they find out we have some Tihaar here for 'em."

 

 

 

 

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Nar Shaddaa Space Command hailed the Naboo starship piloted by the Jedi Apprentice Vox and his tribe. 

 

“Sir, you have been given landing clearance to reserve bay three on the Misericordia. The Empress wishes to meet you and the Queen of the Naboo. Please make your way there as soon as possible.”

 

The hailing frequency died away. And hailed Jackson and the surviving pilots of Naboo Gold Squadron. 

 

“Knight Jackson, you are also bidden to the Misericordia. Thank you.”

 

For even though Naboo had fallen, the Empress would congratulate those that had fought so well.

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Pretender to the Galactic Throne

Leader of the Rebel Alliance

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“Fleet is forming up, Admiral.”

 

“Thank you, Captain.” Slaughter muttered as he paced around the tactical pit. The design of his station was somewhat old-fashioned compared to Fidelity’s--none of the hyper-modern high-resolution holographs and gesture-driven user interface--but it had a feel of pragmatism and rigidity that the Admiral appreciated. Tactical information was more readily available, offering estimations of ranges and projectile flight time without switching modes. Of course, Tripoli had been refit as an artillery cruiser. Its mission was to use higher-order mathematics to kill people in vast numbers. 

 

The Mandalorians had already arrived, the familiar battering ram-like prows of Nat’ah and Xaakzhamheid forming a protective screen in front of the artillery cruisers. Beyond those ships were swarms of scout A-Wings, already flickering in rays of yellow-white drive exhaust as they entered hyperspace. They would arrive at their destination mere minutes before the heavier ships of the Rebel Alliance. Somewhere nearby--the tactical pit reported their presence but the poor visibility of the Dreadnaught offered almost nothing in the way of exterior views--were the lighter ships that had been dispatched by the Imperial and Hapan factions of the Rebel Alliance. 

 

“Transmit countdown to the fleet, starting from three minutes.” Fleet tenders and refueling tankers were retreating from the warships, and that would give them just enough time to clear their exit trajectories. “And signal to all assets, ‘May the Force be with us.’ Stop.Bruce exhaled an amused snort at the eyes that flickered from the former Imperials--that was a purely Republican sentiment.

 

Slaughter stood in a broad stance, closing his eyes and breathing deeply at the tactical pit. Somewhere in Tripoli, he thought he detected a trace of an ultrasonic whine as the ship’s hyperdrives began to charge. There was the periodic staccato clunk as its oversized batteries whirred into stowage positions and locked into secure stand-by. His mind repeated the familiar calculations in the final one hundred and forty-nine seconds before entering hyperspace--fuel expenditures, gravitational coefficients, lagrange points, and dozens of other stellar essentia--and then the plates shifted a millimeter under his feet and the fleet had entered hyperspace.

 

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Incendiary Artillery Battery |Aeneas|

Taskforce Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Sphyrna-class Corvette Aleppo |2/1|

Sphyrna-class Corvette Beirut |2/1|

Dreadnought-class Heavy Cruiser Tripoli |10/20|

 

Imperial Remnant Incendiary Artillery Battery |Acre|

Taskforce Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Sphyrna-class Corvette Tiberias|2/1|

Sphyrna-class Corvette Dimona |2/1|

Dreadnought-class Heavy Cruiser Acre |10/20|

 

Medical/Engineering Task Force |Bloodsteele|

EF76 Nebulon-B Escort Frigate Merciful Touch |3/3|

EF76 Nebulon-B Escort Frigate Raven’s Touch |3/3|

Zebulon-B Frigate Mecha Metal |3/3|

Nargi-class Pursuit Frigate Watchman  |3/3|

Corellian Rescue Frigate Majesty |3/3|

Corellian Rescue Frigate Majestic |3/3|

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Admiral Esterhazy strode into the new cantina that was along the boulevard in front of the Rebel Alliance base. She tucked her command cap under her arm as she entered the doorway. 

 

"Corellian ale? I have about a dozen officers heading this way."  

 

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Super Admin Account of Delta73 - When you see me I am doing site upgrades

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Pax was behind the bar helping customers since Aola was still in the back prepping one of their unique beverages. 

 

In walks an admiral, Pax could tell from the way she walked in that she was used to being the one in charge, plus there was the rank markings that he saw.

 

The Admiral called out her order.

 

"Corellian ale? I have about a dozen officers heading this way."  

 

A dozen, that will be good for business Pax thought as he pulled the bottle out from under the counter and filled a cup. He pored one glass and sat the bottle next to it on the counter.

 

"Corellian Ale, here you go!" He smiled as he put the items on the counter.

 

"Starting a Tab or making the boys cover their own?"

 

Pax pulled out a tray and started putting additional cups on the tray as he waiting for her response. He looked around to see there was one alcove that could hold the full group but there was also a single Duro sitting at one of the three tables.

 

He looked at the admiral.

 

"Excuse me for one moment."

 

He moved out from behind the bar and headed to the Duro. The Duro was not part of any military unit, at least he didn't look it from his clothes. He looked more like a homeless piece of trash. Pax approached him.

 

"My fine sir, you have been invited to sit in our new VIP section."

 

He did not wait for a response but picked up the glass and bottle of Mud Rum he had and walked to another table. There was nothing special about this table, he just wanted to open up the small alcove where there were 3 tables that would fit the full group of officers heading in. The Duro stumbled over to the new table, feeling more important than he had before. No words, just went back to drinking.

 

Pax went back behind the bar, grabbed a wet rag. He addressed the admiral as he walked over to the table and wiped it down.

 

"I think we can fit you here."

 

He checked the other tables in the alcove and all looked good to him. 

 

 

 

@Esterhazy or anyone else wanting a drink.

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Making his way into the seedy bar outside the Imperial Remnant’s area of control,  the Admiral and his entourage of troopers cam through the front door without fanfare or processional. Four white-clad stormtroopers proclaimed it loud enough. This was a man of the Empire, old school, seasoned, hardened and commanding. He was no fledgling rebel or a terrorist looking for a cause. This man was a professional. He commanded men of power, expected perfection, and would settle for nothing less. Imperial Intelligence at it’s finest.

 

Taking in the cantina with his one good eye and one cybernetic eye, Nikolai Kolchak moved forward. This was the right place. The presence of the Hapan Admiral confirmed it. He nodded a greeting to the bar staff as he made his way towards the area cleared and cleaned for them. Passing by Pax Ari, he spoke in hushed tones. His tone, even barely above a whisper, carried an air of command; his thick ((Russian)) accent adding to the authority. “Vine please. Green if you have it.” He asked as he moved, finding a seat at an open table. 

 

The Admiral’s escort took up their positions about the edge, a stark reminder that the common drinker was not welcome where the admiralty would gather. He was here on a matter of business as it were. Sometimes, he knew, the best ideas, the most tactically brilliant strategies, did not come from war rooms or war colleges, but from a melding of the minds in unofficial venues.

 

Still, one had to be careful for spies, even here on a rebel stronghold of a world. Breaking out scramblers, sensor sweeps, and hand-held communications jammers, the troopers began a careful scan of the area. The staff had been vetted long before any Imperial set foot in the cantina even if Kolchak had not done much more than glance at the file before he set out. He had people for that, people he trusted with his life.

 

One trooper followed Pax at a distance, keeping an eye to make sure nothing hinky took place. These men were seasoned soldiers, trained protectors, and cross-trained intelligence operatives.

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Pax went about his work as the other officers entered the cantina. He heard the old admirals request as he walked by.

 

“Vine please. Green if you have it.”

 

"Just one moment."

 

Pax watched the offers enter and take their positions. He even noticed the one trooper that was keeping an eye on him. He didn't think there was any threat though. He figured they were here for something more than a drink. They were not the usual let your hair down group of enlisted he usually had here. They were more the lets meet and make a deal type he would have visit once in a while. Usually though, he was in on the deal in some way. This time it look more like the big shots finding a more secure spot away from the over watching eye of the government they served. As he moved toward the back, Aola returned to the bar. Pax turned to her.

 

"I'll take care of these fine folks, you handle the rest."

 

He proceeded to the back and came out with a very old bottle. He grabbed a glass and headed to the table.  He thought it looked as though they didn't trust the cantina and were making sure they space was clean, not just from dirt, drinks and filth, but listening devices and such. He figured if they were doing this, they probably knew about his past as a smuggler, bounty hunter, body guard as well.  

 

He sat the glass on the table and showed the old admiral the bottle. It was an original bottle of Toniray. Toniray was a teal-colored, sparkling Alderaanian wine made from the fruits of a variety of vine whose leaves were deep green.

 

 

 

@Nikolai Kolchak @Esterhazy etc.

 

 

 

 

 

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Once Vox heard the message over the communications, he looked to the Naboo Queen and then back to his subjects. The vessel was turned and aimed toward a much larger carrier, supposedly the Trandoshan thinking maybe this was it. The coordinates painted on a screen suggested they were getting closer at least, and Vox slid on his helm once more. The rest of the warriors did likewise, readying their weapons. 

Once the silver scratched-up vessel entered the port bay they were assigned to, the ship landed a tad harshly thanks to Trandoshan guidance. Vox took point in front of the door and awaited for Equinox to fall behind him, and between younger brother and Romulus were the Queen herself directly in the middle. And though they had their weapons drawn it was more for show than anything else, formality and such. Nevermind the white and silver lightsaber dangling from the Chieftain's utility belt, which clearly stood out from the gray and black, scratched up and blood covered armor. 

Once the back entry hatch opened Vox proceeded forward, ignoring the sheer size of the hangar they were in. 

Edited by Vox

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The short figure wandered into the bar, with a hood up and robes barely revealing booted feet.  In the darkness of the hood, two little red eyes peered outward, looking at everyone and everything in the bar, as if analyzing something. 

 

>It seems there are three exits for a quick get away, though two have security near them. Stormtroopers sir< a series of binary beeps came from over the figure's shoulder. Eyes, a little floating pod, no bigger then a human’s fist, hovered close by, watching everything the same way its master was doing. Its poorly attached limb raised up as if it was counting each soldier in the bar.

 

“Shush, shush you target practice...” Kiv insulted in pure Jawaese as he tried to shoo the droid a little bit. The droid seemed to ignore him and floated a full circle around the jawa, still analyzing. 

 

It was obvious that Kiv was beginning to attract attention. His short size, his robes, and, most notably, his stench gave the clear indication that he was a Jawa. The rodent species were definitely not the most common sight in the open galaxy, and this one was certainly far from home. 

 

>I believe I have a visual sir.<  Eyes chirped as the cobbled Searcher droid did another pass around the Jawa’s head. 

 

“Ooh! Yes, I see him Eyes. Good spot, good spot…”

 

Kiv watched one of the stormtroopers who was looking over the entire cantina. These people were important. And important people usually carried deep pockets. Maybe something the little data scavenger had could be of use to them. 

 

Especially since one of them Kiv had done dealings with before. These Rebels needed people who could perform deeds that needed to be off the books. People who were expendable and unnoticeable, or at least ignorable. And these stormtroopers, well, sometimes they had private information they wanted found out. 

 

“Eyes, you go order me a Fizz-water…” Kiv muttered to Eyes. 

 

>With Jun-Lime?<

 

Kiv scratched his face, unsure if he wanted to spend the deci-credit. 

 

“Eh, sure, treat myself today. I’m getting paid after all” The jawa gave in, handing the smallest unit of credit he had to the droid. Eyes grabbed it with his poorly attached arm and took off towards the bar. 

 

Kiv on the other hand, went straight for one of the stormtroopers. 

 

“Ahem, ahem, hey clean, tall one, remember me?” Kiv started as he tapped the stormtrooper’s side like some kind of child.  He certainly had the height for it.

 

“Oh I’m sure you do. You don’t deal with Jawas a lot, do you? Or maybe you deal with other jawa on the side. Heheh, but that would require you Buckets to have better smells, eh? Heheh'' Kiv joked, his Jawaese trade language flying by at a rapid pace. 

 

“Anywho, you wanted info? I got info. I want credits? You got credits. We trade? You give me, I give you, we get all this trade-talk done?”

 

The information the Jawa carried on his person wasn’t anything too special. A few rumors and data about the planet of Falleen. Word had gotten around that the Sith had taken the planet for themselves, and as such, people were in demand about what was going on there and, possibly  more importantly, who made it off alive. 
 

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Kolchak eyed the bottle as he took his seat. “An excellent year,” he nodded in approval. “My thanks.”

 

Outside the perimeter, Kolchak’s security force noted the arrival of the odiferous robed rodent as it made it’s way towards. KI-222. Flicking to internal comms, KI-222 spoke across their encrypted security channel, “Asset 37-delta has arrived; earlier than expected. Make a note to ensure he has not hacked any secure dataports.”  He then turned to face the approaching Jawa, his weapon held at the low-ready. “Your droid will need to be deactivated and turned over for inspection. Standard Imperial Security Protocol 3-7-4-9-B.” he spoke officially before lowering his voice significantly and adding, “Speaking on matters of intelligence so freely is frowned upon and may affect the bottom line.”

 

Back at his table, Kolchak nodded as he heard TK-222’s message relayed within his reinforced synth-skull. Turning his attention back to The Fish Guy. “What makes you tick Master Ari? Credits? Loyalty? A desire to leave the galaxy better than you found it?” he queried as he fished credit chits from his pocket to pay for the bottle and then some. Along with it, he held a datachip between his pointer and index finger. Kolchak’s cybernetic eye whirred and buzzed as he assessed the barkeep’s physiological responses, letting the silence hang in the air before adding slowly; “Take this chip to the Jawa at the bar. If you are interested in making some credits and a difference, go with him.”

 

Closer to the bar, KI-301 swapped his way along the bar, his commanding white presence an uncomfortable one at best, memories of storm trooper atrocities all too fresh for many. It did not take long to ensure the bar itself was clear of patrons, save for the buzzing little droid that had accompanied the Jawa and the Twi’lek barkeep. “I can disable the droid.” He voices across the secure comm, flipping his carbine to ion pulse.

 

”Perhaps it is time to get a drink at the bar if you are interested in saving credits,” KI-222 spoke to the Jawa, nodding towards his comrade eying the small droid.

 

The chip, when inserted into a datapad or similar device would call up a secure connection with an option to proceed by entering the number of operatives taking part in the operation. Once input and secured by facial or palm scan, data would began to play across the screen.

 

PLANETARY LOCATION: AARIS III

INHABITANTS: PRIMITIVE

TERRAIN: JUNGLES, MOUNTAINS, SEAS

GALACTIC AFFILIATION: NON-AFFILIATED. NO VIABLE ALLIES OR RESOURCES. NO STRATEGIC VALUE.

OPERATIVE BASE: SMUGGLERS COMPOUND, COMMANDER JARGO 

- COMMUNICATIVE UPDATES: 6 (MISSING AND OVERDUE)

- STATUS REPORT: OVERDUE

 

YOUR MISSION: LOCATE COMMANDER JARGO, SECURE STATUS REPORTS, RESUME COMMUNICATIONS. ALL ADDED EXPENSES REIMBURSED. UTILIZE EMERGENCY COMMUNICATIONS SUITE 12 FOR ANY UNEXPECTED CIRCUMSTANCES OR REQUESTS. ALLOW 36 HOURS FOR RESPONSE VIA UNOFFICIAL CHANNELS. PAYMENT WILL BE DEPOSITED IN THE USUAL

MANNER: 1/4 NOW. REMAINDER UPON COMPLETION ALONGSIDE REIMBURSEMENTS.
MISSION STATUS: ¡URGENT!

 

IF YOU AGREE, DEPART IMMEDIATELY UTILIZING THE BACK DOOR.

 

Once played, the chip would begin to smoke, destroying the message.

Edited by Nikolai Kolchak
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“Yes yes, of course of course, you can wipe his memory like you Buckets always do. Besides, I think he is due for a memory wipe anyways.” Kiv lied. The droid had just received a memory wipe earlier that day. 

 

“You Buckets…” Kiv continued, rolling his eyes slightly under his hood. “Always so procedural. Just better have the money for what I get you, right? After all, credits are everything, and I haven’t gotten enough of those…”

 

Kiv then walked over to the bar, where his droid had gotten one drink for him. Kiv gave a couple of chirps, and the droid obeyed, handing him a drink of Fizz-water and landing in his hand for powering down. The jawa then placed the deactivated droid on the countertop for inspection and hopped onto a stool to enjoy his drink. 

 

Still, this was different. Usually the Buckets didn’t have him wait at a bar. Usually it was a quick go in, make a request or collect some info, receive payment, and go. But that one trooper...Kiv had to struggle a few moments to remember his name… had indicated that Kiv needed to remain at the bar. 

 

“Perhaps this will be a much more profitable experience for us, eh Eyes?” Kiv pondered out loud with a sip of his water. “After all, as my mother always told me, anything worth doing is worth doing for credits. Right eyes? Oh right, you are off. Sorry about that. But can’t have you on yet. Stupid Buckets and their procedures. Hmm…”

 

With the commentary coming to a halt, Kiv then began to study the bar a bit more closely. You never knew when information on how a bar was set up could come in handy...
 

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Bloodshot, bleary eyes snapped open and locked on the comms notice in Jackson's helmet, and the tired pilot sighed. He had really, really been looking forward to getting some rest.

 

Some unsteady steps were taken and a worn-out body slumped off of a medical table and halfway down to the floor, dropping into a weary crouch before ever so slowly rising back up to its sluggish feet. He moved like the dead, or the undead, as he trudged his way up the central corridor of his ship-proper and keyed in the code to access his cockpit; a mostly unnecessary precaution that he had taken, way back when he tried his hand at transporting people instead of scrap and other such cargo.

 

The Transient Plunder sleepily groaned as its engine kicked into gear and the large thrusters mounted to its back and hidden on its sides all flared to life at once. It lurched off of its platform, after its pilot had been granted the A-okay for departure of course, before turning and following traffic up and away from the docks. It wasn't long after that he was waiting for his turn to land amongst a flock of friendly fighters, as everyone crowded their way into the Misericordia.

 

By the time he disembarked the pilot of the old Wayfarer had refreshed himself with a copious shot of caffeine, to save himself the effort of stumbling on his way to wherever it was on board that he was bidden. Some distance away he spotted some familiar faces with the Queen, and he grinned under his helmet. It was good that they had all made it out safely, after all.

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The empress stood like a statue in her dark uniform of black and grey. Her eyes reflecting the bright lights and dark shadows of the landing bay in various shades of deep purple. A royal purple, that tyrian purple of the ancient galaxy. She stood in the midst of three guardsmen who dwarfed her height, towering over their empress, as terrifying as Varangians and gentle as the slopes of Naboo. They were Imperial Knights, the fist of the old Remnant. A holdover from the schism and ruin that had befallen the Jedi order little more than five years before. Their faces, much like their empress’s, carried the scars of the long war. Though her’s were hidden under her long gloves and dark crown. 

 

The crown was of darkened durasteel, a heavy and yet elegant piece. Forged in the fires of dying Carida. When the old IMperial Worlds rose in rebellion against the ill fated Galactic Alliance as the Sith swept in ruinous abandon over the outer rim. Millions had died in those fires. As Sith warships dropped death from the sky in the form of brilliant green turbolasers. They had sworn their vengeance then, and the Imperials of Carida, now sequestered on the small world of Nar Shaddaa, would have their long victory. They had seen a great alliance fall, they had seen worlds cracked and ruined, they had seen Jedi Knights butchered in the streets of Iziz while the holocameras ate it up like mid afternoon dessert. 

 

The Old Empire, that of Deton and Dagon was alive and well, waiting for its time of glory. When they could hunt the Sith Lords into bitter extinction and finally have the peace that had been promised at the end of the last civil war. But this old empire flew the red phoenix of the Rebel Alliance. Not a deception, but a compromise to those that had fled to Nar Shaddaa when Coruscant fell. There would be no more republic with its inbuilt weaknesses of democracy, that was the promise of the crown of steel. But Nar Shaddaa was an example of the egalitarian nature of the new Rebel Alliance, work for all, jobs, and care. But no democracy. At least not yet. 

 

The Empress inclined her head in a formal recognition of the Alliance Militia led by Vox and the Jedi Knight who was still in his flight fatigues. She and the Queen embraced, the formal embrace of royalty. Kissing each other on the cheek before the Queen took her place at her side. 

 

“Jedi Apprentice Vox and Jedi Knight Jackson.” The Leader of the Rebel Alliance said. Her voice soft but powerful, carrying easily to where both of them stood. 

 

“You have done well, you deserve the recognition of the Rebel Alliance. And though we do not have much to offer here on the flagship, I can offer this.” 

 

One of the Imperial Knights, a man with a long grey beard and the face of a warrior strode forward to first Vox and then jackson. On each he pinned the Medal of Valor. The ribbon a dark red that contrasted wonderfully with the shining silver of the medal. 

 

“You have the thanks of the Rebel Alliance. Vox for rescuing the Queen of the Naboo, and Jackson for the freeing of the Naboo Starfighter wing. You have helped us at much personal cost, for which we are eternally grateful. Now get some rest if you can, there are rooms prepared for you.” 

 

She turned to go, but then looked back at Vox. 

 

"And Vox, I have heard from our advanced scouts that your Master did survive." She left off the 'Just Barely' for the apprentice would likely have already felt the extent of the wounds of his master. 

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Pretender to the Galactic Throne

Leader of the Rebel Alliance

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