Love Is Our Resistance - ORC Dominion of Hex Q52 (D'Qar/Alzoc)

[Janick Beauchamp]

Objective Blue

"Mandos. I fought them on Utapau, too, but I was dogfighting above Pau City. From what I've heard, they're willing to spill quite a lot of blood just for a handful of crystals, hence their savagery"

"Jane, now that we know what goes into a person's mental financial statements, you can now talk about how changes in your statement of financial position made your life miserable while fighting in Utapau's skies!" Griet hollered.

[member="Kaia Starchaser"] was fighting either in the city or in the crystal caves; that's where most of the ground fighting took place. From the looks of it, she had to be drinking some blue milk; in fact, Janick got her serving of blue milk, and a pretty large one at that. Almost large enough for two provided the right straws are used. Now is the time to be talking about how those changes in my mental balance sheet affected me on Utapau, she thought, while still having visions of what that engagement made her feel on Utapau, being replayed one by one, albeit at accelerated rates. Vomit, her controls shaking, and Griet constantly hollering her that she is endagering her wingmen with her antics, but also the Mandos she caused to crash against the sinkhole's walls and against the dreadnought's hull. Just that she knew some people would look at her crazy, and even believe she would be, if she mentions any of the special properties her memory might have right off the bat. And yet, between FU-PTSD (PTSD is one of those few medical conditions where the patient's Force-sensitivity actually makes a difference) and the problems of a perfect memory, she could probably pass for a Force-using PTSD patient.

"Let's say that, because my mental liabilities increased at the expense of my mental equity, I vomited in-flight and I had tons of flashbacks of past engagements, mainly Dagobah, that caused me to get distracted and go crazy in combat, which I know is not good. I'm willing to talk more about the content of those flashbacks if you want to. That being said, what Mando savagery did you witness, or try to stop?"

 

[Wolf Trammer]

Raveem looked at the signet ring, once again and smiled. Perhaps there was something else that mattered other than Credits and himself. In fact, looking back, he couldn't help but look down at himself for his blatant selfishness... and the way he had treated a lot of people. Maybe this was a sign of something... a chance at redemption and perhaps an opportunity to settle a score. Even as he was swayed by [member="Bryce Bantam"]'s argument about a way for Raveem to fit into this frontier as someone who could do some good with his newfound connection with the Force, something else stirred within him...

Revenge. Now... he thought, he had the power to confront the source of his crimes. The reason Raveem held such a lifestyle. Forget the pain and sorrow the death of his parents had caused him. Once justice had been done with the murderer... after his training was complete of course... Raveem could go across the Outer Rim as a Judge and dispatch justice to criminals like him... and even himself.

For a moment, Raveem looked as if he were lost in thought. Sitting on the crate, leaning forwards slightly, holding that datapad in one hand, and making a fist with the other to look at that signet ring which had changed him. Then... he glanced at the red duster wearing Bantam.

"I haven't said this in a long time... to anyone. But..." He paused for a moment.

"Thanks."

 

[Sargon Vynea]

As the ship followed the escort into position he left the bridge along with the captain and a few other senior officers. It was a silent trip other then the steady click of boots against the hull, the sound magnified as each man marched in step with the other. Each wore full dress uniform with badges, it was the last they'd ever wear an old badge of honor and each man wore it with pride. There was no reason to speak among them, the regret and sadness had come and gone, and the need to live a life of purpose had finally overcome them. For years they'd stood in vigil over a hope they all knew would never come to fruition, but they'd stood it anyway, not even rationality could stand against hope sometimes.

As they reached the hanger the few legionnaires they had stayed with the ship waited in full armor, some of them old enough now they sweated under the weight but they wore the pain with honor. Held taunt between their lines was the ship's flag, a reminder of something now long gone. Taking his place before it the senior officers stood a lump in many a throats as the long inevitable end finally approached. There was no music or grand fanfare as the flag was folded crisply, the sound of more crew gathering into the large bay as each awaited silently the long end. The legionnaires waited patiently and silently until the last crew member arrived before marching the folded flag towards the raging flames, they stood silently before the heat of the flames. Even so late it was hard, there was no avoiding it, but their arms grew heavy as they placed it lovingly among the raging flames.

As the minutes passed they watched until it was ashes, the last vigil and honors given. When it was done the room stood silently, they still knew not their fate, that answer waited below. Marching forward with the senior officers and the legionnaires they entered the shuttle behind the fire. They'd all be there when they returned, there was no where else to go until then, unless the worst happened. Then they already had their orders, either way it was all done now.

Strapped in Sargon sat across from the captain, a man he'd served with for many years, and turned his head to give him a moment as he fought back tears. No one knew where this road lead, they just knew they were no longer who they were for the last ten years. The Captain could very well lose his ship, the senior officers might wake up tomorrow having lost their positions, or worse, civilians. As for Sargon this was his last day as Archon, though he'd long ago accepted that his position over a single ship dwindling on manpower, supplies and in need of repairs wasn't much of a complete command of all military forces, still, he knew what he was then. He didn't believe for a moment ORC was the kind who'd kill them and just take the ship or blow it out of the sky, that was why he picked them. The old girl had a much better chance of not having her guts ripped apart under them if he understood their need for ships. She was a bit old, but she was still a Star Destroyer, and a self reliant one at that. She balanced out everything so she could operate in the old days when they had less resources for escorts and specialty ships.

It occurred to the Zabrak as they touched down that the wait might have been a bit much, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to end this right. As the door lowered the march of armored foot moved out of the transport before him leaving him and the senior staff a short corridor to surround them as they exited. Marching forward at a steady pace they stopped a few feet away from the waiting ORC officials. Giving a nod to each he rose his hand up to greet them, "Good afternoon, my name is Sargon Vynea, thank you for your invitation down to talk. I'll keep this simple and brief, I've got about two thousand souls in the ship above, half of those women and children. Their looking for a new home, in return many of them offer service. Their a good crew, more loyal then any man has a right to. The ship's a a bit worn, but nothing a polish and refit won't fix."


[member="Bryce Bantam"]
[member="Raveem Va'ah"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Objective: Blue, but not as willing as others.


The blind monk frowned as he was dragged into his bed by a half dozen people, yet again. "Alestrani, get some rest. You can't do this gym poodoo and bleed all over the floor."


Vorhi grumbled something that will not be repeated for fear of violating rules of writing composition and good taste. He then growled and sat in the bed. He sighed. "I suppose you're right. However, I can't do nothing all day. If I cannot train, then..." He sighed. "Very well. If I send you on a small errand, can you acquire some materials for me?"

The head nurse frowned. "Will you stay in bed?"

Vorhi smiled. "I will stay out of trouble, at the very least."


The medic grunted. "Fine. What do you need?"


The blind monk chuckled. "Clippings of grass. Or straw. Longer is better."


The nurse raised and eyebrow and shook his head. "You think I've got time for it?"


Vorhi cocked his head to the side. "There are twenty children without homes who have come here, most with their parents, three without. Tell them that a wise master needs straw and grass to gather his strength. In exchange, he will teach them a secret. Lecturing younglings and weaving straw should keep me from further injury," he said as the nurse changed his dressings. "Something harmless to amuse me. And then you can focus on less stupid patients than me," he said with a laugh.


The nurse rubbed his forehead and made the kind of groan that most guys did when they were being harangued by someone obviously off their gourd. "Fine. I'll get some street children to pick grass for you. You're karking nuts, you know that?"


Vorhi just shrugged. "Yep." He said as he folding the removed dressings, now stained with his own blood, into a neat little pile. "But the crazy--it helps. It's part of my strength."

 

[Koenrad Neistov]

Koenrad dropped from the titanium steps, stopping to quickly rap his knuckles against the side of the giant gun. For good luck. The operator crew had been given the full run down, and even activated the artillery unit, momentarily raising hundreds of thousands of pounds in armour and shells off the ground while they got a feel for the movement of the quadrupedal machine. After replacing the unit in its original position, and shutting down the internal systems one by one, the crew had left to attend to their previous duties. Koenrad had left the great machine last, shutting the hatch and climbing down the ladder clinging to the side long after the last operator had left the cockpit.

He couldn't help but be proud that he'd finally put out a unit, and for a cause he supported nonetheless. Given some good business, however, and units like these would be going all over the galaxy, to those who could pay. And... truth be told, he had no qualms about it. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and the enemy of my friend is a potential business partner - or so went the arms trade. But there was a certain prestige that came with providing a morally sound group with genuine assistance doing so with any variety of domineering government.

Koenrad turned to go back to the landing platforms, where his ship - and more importantly, a list of essential activities required for the functioning of this base - waited for him. D'Qar held a kind of beauty he could appreciate, lush undergrowth and rolling hills without any of the wildness of tropical locales or the unforgiving harshness of boreal landscapes. Still... it suffered a lack of exotic appeal because of this. Certainly not an adventurous location, but a satisfactory one for the needs of the ORC. As he trudged across the short grass, he couldn't help but wonder if it was constantly trimmed or only grew to the stunted length naturally. The latter would certainly be convenient. Leaving grassy knolls for the yellow striped cement of the landing pads, Koenrad beelined for his vessel along the landing strip, quickening his pace to a jog. Sparing a glance forward amidst his mental tracing of the directions back to his ship, he caught sight of [member="Bryce Bantam"] , one of the few people on this base he felt genuinely outranked him. Near to him, atop a crate, sat a Bothan in a dated federal uniform. They seemed to be rather involved in their conversation, so Koenrad slowed to a halt a few feet away from Bantam, hoping to grab his attention after he'd finished here.

[member="Raveem Va'ah"]

 

[Sal Katarn]

Objective Red:

Enroute to Beacon's Source

Katarn sat in the pilot's seat of his Nephilim-class, watchin' the blue whorl of hyperspace. Got a tip off from the Guild about a distress beacon from a fella with a bounty. Workin' for the Guild paid dividends every so often. Kept Sal from going out solo. No rules would suit him better, but the rules the Guild had were simple n' easy enough to follow.

They also had files on bounties, which came in handy. Sal had this Jorus Merrill's file up now. Made for some interestin' readin'. The face in the file seemed familiar, but naggled at the back of his mind some. Couldn't place him yet. It'd come in time.

Anyway, the whole thing might be a wild bantha chase, or Merrill might be dead on arrival. But Katarn was hoping otherwise. With some luck this Merrill'd have friends on their way to help him. Friends with bounties, most like.

Normally this'd be the part where he turned to Ka and made a quip, but the bird was dead. Just thinking about the eagle hurt some, but Sal was used to that sort of pain. Nobody left now. Not even the bird. He didn't know why he kept on trucking, guess he just didn't want to die, even if the situations he put himself in said otherwise.

Katarn put his boots up on the dash and closed his eyes. He'd be there in two shakes.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective Red

Great, now more people were heading to his ship? Sure, with [member="Rosa Gunn"], it was one thing, he knew her, but this next being? He ran his hand through his hair and looked through the cabin of his ship, Porter was prepping the force cylinder for Rosa, and that meant Coren needed to handle this other one. He reched out into the Force for a moment and nodded. Julius seemed fine where he was. He nodded and stepped up and over.

“Roger that… Fleetwood. Send them around.” He took a beat and looked at Julius, an eyebrow rising.

“On D’Qar?” Coren wasn’t so sure, there was a hypespace jump, for Jorus to make it only one system was a bit shocking for him. “Put in the location, I’ll get us down there.” He said, still off camera to Fleetwood.

“Sorry about that Fleetwood. We’e heading down to the planet, D’Qar. Have your boss meet us there?” The Corellian shrugged and stepped away from the projector, getting the ship ready to head to the location Julius was providing.

[member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Rosa Gunn"] | [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] | [member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Objective Red
[member="Coren Starchaser"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Rosa Gunn"] | [member="Sal Katarn"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"]

"Flyboy..."

The words were spat out as he stood, gritting teeth. Nausea and dizziness would pass. He held his feet admirably with narry a sway, and grabbed the chain, dropping it around his neck as he put the wedding band back on, not able to hold back even a temporary fleeting grin at touching the band.

"He is hurt. Bad. I couldn't see how bad... But whatever he did was a doozy, even for his talent... He jumped his ship and that big ole dreadnought with his lovely talent. And I think he mighta crashed. Best gather ye rosebuds while ye may, he may not even be alive at current."

Standing steady now, he drew in a breath and nodded. Still wanted to hurl, but he would make it anyway.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective Red

The Tachyon Rising was heading in to planet, and Coren shook his head. Listening to Julius made this sound so much worse. But Starchaser wasn’t the one who was doing the Flow-Walk. No, Coren didn’t frak with timelines. He was a pilot, and a gunslinger, and sometimes a very shotty Jedi. But right now, he was on the rescue team. And that meant getting to the planet.

“He’s alive. Or he was. I know that much.” Coren would recognize that bit. He knew Jorus, and he knew that the man in hypespace was safer than any one person could be. And that was saying something, he knew a few safe people in his day. Looking down at the planet, Starchaser nodded.

“Porter.” He called to his droid. “Send Fleetwood our location, and make sure Rosa’s ship is fastened properly, we’re heading to the surface. I’ll have to drop it somewhere but first its coming in with us.” Ugliest re-entry procedure in 3, 2, 1.

The ship jumped as they started to hit atmosphere. Adjusting course and heading for the added weight, Coren shook his head. He didn’t like this.

[member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Rosa Gunn"] | [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] | [member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Objective Red.

Aboard the Fleetwood, "acknowledged Tachyon Rising, heading down to the surface." Farrah adjusted their heading and set course for the planet. Fiolette looked over at him and he sighed there was no point in arguing with her. "At least take the communicator," he gestured to the new comm badge that had been created, in the past few weeks.

"Alright," she said in surrender and crossed the forward operations area to take the badge and pin it to her clothing.

"Tachyon Rising this is Fleetwood, descending to the planet - see you on the other side."

The sleek black and red ship began to pull ahead of the Tachyon as it entered the planet's atmosphere.

[member="Rosa Gunn"] | [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Coren Starchaser"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Objective Blue -- Heal up some the orderlies stop tying me to furniture "for my own safety."

Objective Green -- Help the refugee kids have something of their own.

Vorhi smiled as he slowly sat down at the table, with what seemed like a few dozen younglings. Each was holding a small bag of straw and grass. Long ones, short ones, green ones, dried ones. He'd given each youngling directions for different kinds of straw, and they'd been passing and sharing handfuls with each other, as instructed.


"Hello, little ones," he said with a smile, wincing as he settled his arm. He hated slings. Oh, well, he could do this one-handed. He smiled, taking out a piece of straw, setting another one next to it. He then smiled. "Star with the long, brown ones that Juni got. Tie them near the ends with a little bit of the short red grass Lula gather, and then have one of Morakin's pink.....floofy things," the best thing about teaching children is that they never noticed when you forgot the name of things, " and squish a little goo out of 'em to make it stick together. Get one string long enough that you can streatch it from one arm to the other," he said with a nod.


He smiled. This was what mattered. Hope for a future. And that was something the younglings needed. While the adults and grown-ups were handling the issues of getting a base built and restored here, these kids would learn from Vorhi how to handle leaving home. And hopefully, how to get better. The little squirts had lost homes and hearth, and more than few were orphaned by the Mandos. They may not have conquered, but they certainly broke some homes and wrecked some cities.


Vorhi simply nodded. "Once it's long enough, tie together. Like this," Vorhi smirked and threaded the last piece of straw over the first one, making a circle nearly twice as big around as his waist. "Now, the part that requires focus and an eye," he reached into his pocket, pulling out small circle. "Find bits of the orange straw just long enough to make circles around this circle. Then make on slightly longer, and slightly longer, until you have about ten," he said setting each wooden circle in front a kid before demonstrating it. "Use more of the pink stuff to stick the ends together, but gently. Easy does it...."

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Fiolette Yvarro"] [member="Rosa Gunn"] [member="Julius Sedaire"] [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Sal Katarn"]

Half an hour would have made the difference.

The improvised beacon stood alone in a jumble of fresh debris, the partial remains of a ship. Blood smeared the churned-up grass. A handful of scavenger corposes smoked gently. Jorus Merrill was not among the dead.

"Ta'jar," gasped a dying scav to the first face he saw. "Ta'jar..."

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Objective: If you mix blue and green, it turns into teal. Objective Teal



Vorhi smiled and continue the instruction. In all honesty, the words were his, but the tone, the method, those were those of his old mistress.




----A long long time ago, in a planet slightly west of this one----


"Uuuuuugh." A young blind man, barely in his twenties, grunted. He was...severely hung over. Who knew these monks could drink so hard.


"Up an at'em, Pieni oppilas," the woman snarked. "Too much to drink?"


The Miralukian scholar shook his head slowly. "Nah, but the suns' a touch bright. Might need some shade."


"Then fold some grass and make it," she said, wagging a hand over the field of flowers. "Walk while you do it, though. We've got a peak to climb, to see the grandmaster."



Bonduki was such an odd place. Lots of fields, lots of flowers, lots of folks living quite farming lives. And then, in the interim, a brotherhood of crazy brawlers and fighters, devoted to perfecting martial arts. How did two disparate groups like that live in harmony with each other? How did folks so in love with raucous mayhem abide it? How on earth did people balance pastoral serenity with wild martial mayhem?



--- Meanwhile, in the present ---


"Fold the straw slowly, and spit on your fingers if you need to make it stick," he said, smiling warmly. "Very good, take time. Noe sense inf being too fast, even if the sun is hot," he said with a smile. He demonstrated the technique, folding the rings into a tightly woven circle, then using the longer straws to weave a "cord" of grass. "After the circle gets to be about as long as your hand, we'll start the weave.Thread straight straws through, over and under each ring, to make a little coin, like this," he held up an example, various bits of straw poking out. "Then you add more rings, and more straw, until it's big enough to keep the sun out of your eyes," he said with a smirk.



Some folks were working in the field, but this, well, this would keep the kids busy, and teach them some things about the native flora on this planet. Besides, if he made enough hats, all the folks working outside could avoid the sun for a bit. Lord knows they'd all seen enough fire.