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Nar Shaddaa - Rebel Alliance Headquarters


Raven Nasra
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Amongst the bustle of the city-sphere, Frond moved like a foreign dignitary amongst it all. He seemed to glide, aloof and unbothered by the masses that teamed all about them, and in his wake, the Jedi-Sith Scorpio had chosen to accompany him. Amongst the citadel that comprised the Rebel-Jedi-Imperial Remnant garrison, a second world existed within the squalid waste that had accompanied the press of refugees. Here, there was a glimmer of something more. Hope. It hung faintly in the afternoon air as it mingled with the smells of dozens of meals being prepped from all cultures and corners of the galaxy.

 

Through it, Frond moved, his head ducked and shoulders stooped; his glossy black foliage a cloak about his gnarled and twisted form. Any worldly possession he might be carrying were contained within enclosed knots on his body. The Mind Walker did not even know where he was going, drawn by the growing sprouts of the force itself. He followed their viney invisible growths unsure where they might take him. He had been drawn to this world, and to Scorpio, and now they were in waiting.

 

They did not beed to wait long; however, as a solid thud brought the striding tree-being to a stop. He had been jostled. He had been bumped. He had even been brushed against. This was different. Frond paused. Slowly he turned, an awkwardly friendly old man-esque smile twisting across his wrinkled wooden face as he heard the men’s back and forth. The Neti’s eyes twinkled.

 

Frond recognized the men as clones; soldiers of a bygone era and copies of the dark destroyer who rendered worlds. He eyed them for but a moment as his attention was inevitably drawn to the coffin that trailed along with them. The force still radiated like the last vestiges of warmth leaving a dead body. Cocking his head to the side in a birdlime fashion, the Neti raised an eyebrow. “Like a river pure,” he spoke as he his eyes turned back to @Tilt07, “the last drops flowing freely,” he waved his gnarled hand and vine-musclebound arm to the encased body, ”pure Jensaarai truth.” He spoke the man’s affiliation, having trained alongside many of his kind in his time Beyond Shadows. Each acolyte of the different force paths presented themselves differently on the meandering galaxy-engulfing tangled rooted mass of the force; unique, yet bound together. Frond stood for an awkwardly long moment regarding the body, taking in the aura of the fallen warrior with a respect only feasible from one who had seen the horrors of the cosmos and understood the desire to protect their small corner of it. An aura of sadness passed over the ancient sage’s face before passing like a shadow. Death was nothing to the force; but as a living being, detached as he was, the tree-being still could feel the loss in his soul.

 

Slowly, Frond blinked, breaking the seeming moment of silence amidst the bustle around them. His composure returned, a stoic aura of calm peace. He turned back to Tilt, Riggs, and Thumper. “Warriors of yore, carrying weapons for peace, stand, protect, with us?” He queried slowly; his own words conveying his invitation to the trio to join he and @MSA‘s Scorpio. Frond reached out and his twisted fingers encircled Tilt’s shoulder plate and squeezed, tightly, like only the press of plant growth can do. “Brothers bound in blood.” He gingerly reached another hand to brush a twiggy finger across the other two troopers’ chest plates as the force rustled like a breeze through his cloak of leaves that grew from his body sending a spark of warm ancient energy from the aged tree to each of them as a way of unspoken comradeship. “Let us feast as victors now,” he slowly offered by way of suggesting the group find a meal somewhere in the teaming towering fortifications.

 

”A strand of three cords,” his voice trailed off as he uttered the line of the common phrase gesturing for another to lead their way as he would fall in behind with a warmth that seemed to radiate from his every pore.

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Mild irritation at the tight space gave way to mild panic at Misal's outburst, followed by Sandy's command. He even tapped into the Force to sustain himself as his muscles began to burn under the strain, but in moments they were out of the shaft. Aidan did his best to control his emotions, but deep down beneath the mental conditioning there was an alarm ringing like a fog horn in mist. He was certainly not used to seeing his grandmother like this, and it was all he could do to not allow the anxiety to consume him in the moment. And as it stood, Sandy had the best and most pertinent question and Aidan didn't want to risk his voice cracking.

 

So he simply stayed silent, waiting for Misal's answer.

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She let her eyes wander over his extensive sketch of the proposed blade. It would be an interesting design, not something that she had seen before in her time as a Jedi Knight, but she had seen some Jedi and Imperial Knights use varied weaponry in the form of lightsabers. The famed Imperial Knight Kyrie had used a lightspear to great effect in the defense of  Corellia. Laying low one of the Sith Emperor’s vanguard in single combat. A fight that was still much discussed even a year later. A fight that Vox himself had fought and nearly died at. 

 

She nodded slowly.

 

“Then if the queen does not possess such a thing, then we must find one ourselves. Yavin I know has green gems suspended in its lower gas clouds.”

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((Misal post for @Aidan Darkfireand @Sandy Sarna))

 

After her body was physically hauled away from the crawlspace, It took a few seconds for Misal to just breathe and try to restore some degree of rationality to her countenance. Warm, humid air was causing her to sweat–and the air current across the Miraluka’s pale, age-wrought face revealed that her veil had been left behind in the crawlspace. Even having left that cramped, oily tunnel behind and forcibly yanked her datapad out of the network of the Imperial Knights’ barracks, the sense of imminent danger lingered.

 

The whining-roar of a pair of speeder bikes echoed over and over through the tunnels. Judging from the pitch of the whine and sudden doppler shift of the engines, the two speeders must have been racing almost at full-throttle. That was stupid… and gutsy.

 

The reminder that unidentified threats potentially lurked within these tunnels was sufficient to drive the veteran infiltrator out of this rare moment of panic. Her breath slowed and she gripped Sarna’s knee in gratitude. Her fingers were like steel talons under the gloves, if talons could be described as quivering with exertion and fear. The risk of sudden violence seemed negligible–those two speeder bikes, almost certainly a military model at that, had already passed on and were no more than echoes. A distant, regrettable future, perhaps–it was always possible that her intrusion had been detected, that years of practicing upon the Jedi Order and less diligent organizations had softened her skills. However, the danger felt more abstract, like an unwelcome, anxious needling from The Force

 

“I sensed disaster.” The wrinkles where the Miraluka’s eyes would have rested tightened in a wince. “That I had just made a cruel mistake.” Misal leaned her head back against the damp wall and felt warm dampness.

 

“Sarna, I’ve been a hypocrite. I pressed forward with this mission despite you,” she jerked her head towards Aidan. “Having been released by the Imperial Knights. It was no longer necessary, but I persisted in downloading your personnel files. They contain… much. Service records, commendations, disciplinary records, psychological dossier. Same for that Vorsha assigned to detain you. Perhaps that would have been useful earlier… now an egregious violation of your privacy. Destroy them if you wish.”

 

She slid the datapad and SCOMP-link over to Aidan, the port rattling hollowly against the rivets of the walkway. Her voice took an odd inflection, her pitch monotone almost like that of a cheap droid and her cadence labored and deliberate. “I would… prefer… not to spend… my last days with my grandson enraged at me.”

 

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Beck sat behind a desk, now giving his full attention to the file at hand, which was the report from the training session he ran, along with a datapad to assign such new recruits and initiates to squads and commands. Captain Isiah walked in and handed him a cup of hot liquid. "Going over the assignments sir?" Beck took the cup and looked at it for a second before setting it down. "Yes, but we need to hit a pause on letting new recruits in until after the evacuation is complete. We don't want to lose anyone in our process... what did you hand me?" The Admiral leaned into the drink and gave it a whiff with his nose. The Captain looked confused for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry. The caf station is down. I brought tea instead. It's called Kyurlec tea. Leaves from Kashyyyk and Thyferra. One of the many new lines that Czerka is attempting to push." Beck looked at his captain with a face that held eyebrows narrowed, yet eyes wide and nose scrunched. "I'd slap you for that if I thought you were lying." He then brought the cup to his lips and sipped a small taste of it. The strange sweetness against the tiniest bitterness seemed to surprise him. 

 

"Damn that woman Zalis. Her hand is in everything." Captain Isiah sat down on the opposite side of the desk of his commander. "Yeah, unfortunately she's taken Black Sun under the radar recently and pushed Czerka, who is now backed and protected by the business bureau. We now need something hard tying her to Black Sun in order to do anything against her." Beck looked at Isiah for a moment as he sipped the tea again. While he personally didn't care how much it cost or whatever backlash came for making a move to get her, he understood why others did. "She's a cunning woman. She knows how to play the game, and does she ever play it well. She's not worth it right now. For now, let's put our focus on assigning everyone out." 

 

"We have a total of two spots left on roster space, but other commands are currently not taking anyone on at the moment. From this past grouping, most did fairly well and even pushed the limits. I think that we have room for Allidar Sowephil and Tenbar Moopas. Carson and Quin are both out, along with the others. Assign them back to civilian life. Give them both an extra four weeks for reapplication and another two weeks to be picked up by another command if another decides that they want them." Beck finished typing things into his datapad and then handed it over to Isiah. "I can have everything logged with this within two hours. Orders for our command then?" He raised his eyebrow. "Evacuation. Every soldier not assigned to something specific already NEEDS to be on evacuation. To the brig with anyone not complying. That's all. I will be out helping within the hour as well. No officer is off limits to those orders either since I will be helping."

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Though Sandy was not horrified in the slightest by the site of the pale and empty sockets. She knew that revealing them would be of some embarrassment to Misa, but there was always a solution at hand. With deft fingers she grasped the hem of her light green tunic. She tore it from one end of the seam to the other, so that she held a long strip of clean soft fabric that she gently pressed into Misal’s hand. Sandy did not know if it was because of modesty that the Miraluka wore coverings over their eyes, or a longstanding vain tradition. But she would let the woman cover herself if she needed to. 

 

But there was something more concerning. The old woman spoke in such fatalistic tones, that she was worried that she could fall quickly into shock. She kept a grin on her face and crouched beside Misal. The Mission, as much as a failure as it may have been, was no longer important.

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

The sound of speeder bikes roared again overhead and Sandy tighten her own grip on the woman's upper arm. 

 

“Can you stand?” 

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Calix Meus Inebrians

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On 1/6/2022 at 9:24 PM, Frond said:

Amongst the bustle of the city-sphere, Frond moved like a foreign dignitary amongst it all. He seemed to glide, aloof and unbothered by the masses that teamed all about them, and in his wake, the Jedi-Sith Scorpio had chosen to accompany him. Amongst the citadel that comprised the Rebel-Jedi-Imperial Remnant garrison, a second world existed within the squalid waste that had accompanied the press of refugees. Here, there was a glimmer of something more. Hope. It hung faintly in the afternoon air as it mingled with the smells of dozens of meals being prepped from all cultures and corners of the galaxy.

 

Through it, Frond moved, his head ducked and shoulders stooped; his glossy black foliage a cloak about his gnarled and twisted form. Any worldly possession he might be carrying were contained within enclosed knots on his body. The Mind Walker did not even know where he was going, drawn by the growing sprouts of the force itself. He followed their viney invisible growths unsure where they might take him. He had been drawn to this world, and to Scorpio, and now they were in waiting.

 

They did not beed to wait long; however, as a solid thud brought the striding tree-being to a stop. He had been jostled. He had been bumped. He had even been brushed against. This was different. Frond paused. Slowly he turned, an awkwardly friendly old man-esque smile twisting across his wrinkled wooden face as he heard the men’s back and forth. The Neti’s eyes twinkled.

 

Frond recognized the men as clones; soldiers of a bygone era and copies of the dark destroyer who rendered worlds. He eyed them for but a moment as his attention was inevitably drawn to the coffin that trailed along with them. The force still radiated like the last vestiges of warmth leaving a dead body. Cocking his head to the side in a birdlime fashion, the Neti raised an eyebrow. “Like a river pure,” he spoke as he his eyes turned back to @Tilt07, “the last drops flowing freely,” he waved his gnarled hand and vine-musclebound arm to the encased body, ”pure Jensaarai truth.” He spoke the man’s affiliation, having trained alongside many of his kind in his time Beyond Shadows. Each acolyte of the different force paths presented themselves differently on the meandering galaxy-engulfing tangled rooted mass of the force; unique, yet bound together. Frond stood for an awkwardly long moment regarding the body, taking in the aura of the fallen warrior with a respect only feasible from one who had seen the horrors of the cosmos and understood the desire to protect their small corner of it. An aura of sadness passed over the ancient sage’s face before passing like a shadow. Death was nothing to the force; but as a living being, detached as he was, the tree-being still could feel the loss in his soul.

 

Slowly, Frond blinked, breaking the seeming moment of silence amidst the bustle around them. His composure returned, a stoic aura of calm peace. He turned back to Tilt, Riggs, and Thumper. “Warriors of yore, carrying weapons for peace, stand, protect, with us?” He queried slowly; his own words conveying his invitation to the trio to join he and @MSA‘s Scorpio. Frond reached out and his twisted fingers encircled Tilt’s shoulder plate and squeezed, tightly, like only the press of plant growth can do. “Brothers bound in blood.” He gingerly reached another hand to brush a twiggy finger across the other two troopers’ chest plates as the force rustled like a breeze through his cloak of leaves that grew from his body sending a spark of warm ancient energy from the aged tree to each of them as a way of unspoken comradeship. “Let us feast as victors now,” he slowly offered by way of suggesting the group find a meal somewhere in the teaming towering fortifications.

 

”A strand of three cords,” his voice trailed off as he uttered the line of the common phrase gesturing for another to lead their way as he would fall in behind with a warmth that seemed to radiate from his every pore.

 

The trio stood there listening to the tree man, while Tilt and Thunder understood him well, Riggs furrowed his brows. His gesture to Pryf was one of understanding and kindness, perhaps another Jedi? There was Jedi  Master Yoda at one point and of course a variety of other species as Jedi so it shouldn't be much a surprise. However Tilt was still surprised that the creature spoke decent common but Tilt didn't bother to complement it- Him, despite individuals ancient and natural appearance. 

 

When the pressure was applied to his shoulder, though it was a simple grasp upon his shoulder armor it didn't bother Tilt one bit neither did it Thumper. Riggs however was trying to brush away the limb that was brushing against his chest piece, finding it weird and disturbing that the tree man's body extended in such a way. The leader of the trio ignored the discomfort of his brother, and said, " Very well then, we can join you for a bit." 

 

It was then he could feel the tinge of energy, a warmth that Tilt could only describe as like being wrapped in a blanket, calming warmth his body welcomed. The being then said for them to feast as victors, a strand of three chords, immediately Tilt took the hint and said to his comrades, taking the lead ahead of the tree man, "Alright boys, I hope you still ain't full on jerky, we're hitting up a restaurant. Once we drop off the body that is." 

 

There was an audible, "Alllright!" Coming from Riggs himself, punching Thumper in the arm more or less as a happy act. As the group walks, Tilt asks, "Didn't catch your name, tall-man. Name's Tilt, those two goobers are Riggs and Thunder. Say, you know anyone who deal can help give our friend a burial around here?"

Edited by Tilt07
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On 1/11/2022 at 2:00 PM, Alcmène said:

She let her eyes wander over his extensive sketch of the proposed blade. It would be an interesting design, not something that she had seen before in her time as a Jedi Knight, but she had seen some Jedi and Imperial Knights use varied weaponry in the form of lightsabers. The famed Imperial Knight Kyrie had used a lightspear to great effect in the defense of  Corellia. Laying low one of the Sith Emperor’s vanguard in single combat. A fight that was still much discussed even a year later. A fight that Vox himself had fought and nearly died at. 

 

She nodded slowly.

 

“Then if the queen does not possess such a thing, then we must find one ourselves. Yavin I know has green gems suspended in its lower gas clouds.”

 

Vox finished his saber design, a unique in that it's colors were black and bronze but held a natural look about it as if hewn from wood. The hilt was elongated to where it easily allowed for two handed use while still have extra space to work with, the weapons handle was mainly black with every other piece being dark bronze; the accents and color of the various interconnected symbols were colored as brown to help keep it's natural look. For Vox even though his drawing was acceptable at some level this was new, he'd never planned on building a literal saber, however he paused and thought for a good moment. He paused due to little insight as to how to build a new weapon, this wasn't like forging a new sword, this had many pieces to it. 

 

"Yes, we will go then. Once I have built my saber we will get a crystal from this Yaven. Until then... I might need assistance in building my new tool. I'm not familiar with putting together these lightsabers." Vox said, not too proud he's asking hell to build a new weapon, something most of his tribespeople knew... Most being the key word. 

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"..enraged ..."

 

Aidan snapped from his shock at the word, though it still took a few more seconds for him to process everything.

 

"Whoah. Whoah, hold up. Gramma, I have never been enraged at you. Frustrated at a lack of privacy at times, sure, but I want to make it clear how much of a positive impact you've had on me. I never would have been brave without you. I knew you were always watching me, and I'm pretty sure you knew that at times too. I ran away to the space lanes because I knew if anything bad happened, something worse was waiting for it in the shadows. I'm the man I am today in a large part because of you. I may have learned a lot of my lessons the hard way, but I'd say I still turned out pretty okay, and I like who I am."

He moved to help Sandy, and to help physically brace Misal, if necessary. The datapad was swiftly tucked away, right now it was the last thing on Aidan's mind. It could be addressed later, ...accessed later. Aidan was curious about this Vorsha character. But first, Misal.

 

"Besides, it almost would be weird at this point to not expect it. I know you only have my best interests at heart. I've thought of you as my personal guardian angel for quite a while, gramma."

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Frond followed along with the others. All about them, the world bustled. Gesturing towards a jagged alley, Frond stopped the group, placing his hand atop the casket bearing anti-grav sled.

 

Inhaling deeply, Frond’s fronds quivered as his mind delved deeply transcending ancient plains and expanding out upon the force itself. It was the closest that the tree felt to being real. Not this physical mess that they pretended mattered. Then he spoke, his voice carried softly and deeply. “This world feels solid,” he stamped his rooted splayed foot on the ground, “the wind, the force, blows as truth.” He patted the coffin/crate containing the body of the clones’ fallen force-using comrade, “Jensaarai follow the truth, guided by the unseen power, hidden in plain sight, so too shall be death.”

 

Taking the lead, Frond led the group down the shadowy winding path until they came to a grungy shop with a squeaking sign covered in grime and blackened dirt. Barely discernible  beneath the years of wear and grime were the aurabesh letters for BLACKSMITH. With a push of a button, the door swooshed open with an uncharacteristically concerning rattle. The inside was equal to, if not worse than the sign. Everything was covered in dirt, dust, grease, and grime. It was practically impossible to even step inside without getting covered.

 

The place was deserted and the forge, well-stocked, was cold. A myriad of armors and medieval-styled vibro weapons hung on the walls above a workbench of intricate bits of wiring and tools.

 

Stepping to the forge, Frond, wiped a layer of grease from the red starter button. “Freedom in the flame.” Frond gestured to the clones bidding them load their fallen friend’s body into the empty forge. “Carried on the winds of truth, reborn in the force.” All they needed to do was place the Jensaarai in the forge. With the push of a button, it would be ignited and his body rapidly dried, scorched and burned to ash. A forge that could liquify Mandalorian iron would easily disintegrate the body of the Duros; with time for anyone to say words should they so desire. Otherwise, Frond would stand in silence watching the flames lick at the fallen force user, releasing his true inner being. 

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