You'll Sleep When I Say So [First Order Invasion of Outer Rim Coalition [Hex K-53] Skor II]

[Julius Sedaire]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8i5NLyXZdc​

​

​

[SIZE=11pt]Location:[/SIZE] Palace Grounds
[SIZE=11pt]Objective:[/SIZE] Defend the King!
[SIZE=11pt]Allies:[/SIZE] Outer Rim Coalition Members, Various Squibs, Free Will ([member="Dax Fyre"] | [member="Zef Halo"] | [member="Yula Perl"] | [member="Vaudin Miir"]
Enemies: [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Keira Verd"] | [member="Tobias Wrynn"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"], Various Stick Like Implants in Imperial Forces (<3)

Spoiler

Gear:

• Corellian Longcoat (Over Armor)
• Corellian Bloodstripe Trousers - First Class
• Kathol Liberation Ring (Right Hand)
• Rebel Corusca Signet Ring (Left Hand)
• Aing-Tii Arm (Right Arm)
• 'Green Sword' Lightsaber
• K-22 Executioner Bryar Pistol (back strap to Longcoat)
• Aing-Tii 'Jedi Armor'
• Corellian Jedi Credit
• Emergency Beacon

Julius had been 'rescued' as it were, through the actions of good friends and allies. [member="Romi Jade"] had thoroughly trounced him in a fight that had shamed him at first. But it woke something in him. A realization that his current state and actions were no more effective at being a true balm to the problem. If they were doing nothing but further harm, why continue them? True to his word, he had set about becoming that which he used to be known for again - a battlemaster, a rebel, and a sarcastic so-and-so. To that end, a doc on the Outer Rim had helped patch up some of his nerve endings damaged on Corellia. He had to think about it now, but he could at least will his face to emote, and laughing and vocal tone came without a second thought. Though he was warned it may not be permanent, or consistent, and may require further treatment.

Over several days, he had been in the system for weeks, headway had been made. Squib Guards and personnel had begun to be trained by various Coalition Judges and their counterparts, among them being [member="Dax Fyre"] the Grand Marshall, and even [member="Koda Fett"] as a consultant. He and the King had bonded over a mutual love of home brewing whiskey, and oddly enough traditional Corellian 'country' music as it were, and a shared fandom of the infamous 'Smuggler in Black' otherwise known as Jonah Credit.

All morning long a slight pressure behind his eyes had been bothering him. The King had noticed, as they went over security plans and discussed reinforcing current defenses and new measures. As the drop pods broke the surface, the pressure that had became a headache with the fleet entering the system built up to roaring pain and then was gone in a vision of the enemy burning through atmosphere. The King looked alarmed at his new advisor and friends' reaction, but quickly the Corellian smiled at him to reassure him. A comms message rolling in confirmed hostile fleet or signatures, the reports were scattered but grim.

"Your Majesty, we have what feels like uninvited guests. Please proceed to your panic room as quickly as you can. Take a handful of my men, and a handful of your royal guard. I will alert the palace staff and mount our defenses in case of the worst."

There was argument, as to be expected. The Squib King was proud, and headstrong. And a bit rash and over confident. Eager to prove his people's might, within a certain reasoning, after their prior defeats. Those traits were probably why the Judge and Green Jedi who cautioned him now liked him so well. But a commlink pressed into the rulers hand, and an assurance they would resume matters of state after the intruders were dispatched - and a secondary promise to show the king his heavily modified ship again, this time with his Royal Engineerer present, secured agreement.

With a heavy sigh and flip of his longcoat as he turned, he punched into the Coalition comms network and found them still functioning. Command codes tied the upcoming transmission to all planetary channels as well. He couldn't command them all directly, but he'd give the alert and then do what he did best, make a nuisance of himself. They had been working together for weeks in the palace, building trust and mutual friendship. This day was anticipated, just hoped to not be so soon. But they would face it.

"All hands to stations. Enemy incursion. Full ready. You all know what to do. Grab a rifle, fight back, and try not to get blown up. If you do, take some of the bastards with you when you go. May the Force be with us. Sedaire, out."

A simple message, and blast doors began to roll closed, shutters down over windows, and teams of squib and Judges mixed began to appear, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes and damning the luck. They would groan, they would bemoan their pay, but they would do their job and hold. He hoped. All around the city, a shimmer began to form as the shield they had installed came online. It may not stop the drop pods, though he hoped some got caught. But it would let them get the refugees gone. Scorched earth could be retilled, a snuffed out life couldn't really. They were the important thing. For now, he made his way to his own point, not sensing one presence in particular he would have been less than pleased to feel.

Looking up as a blast door closed, he muttered at the sight in the clouds.

"Getting awful crowded in my sky..."

 

[Joza Perl]

Location: Metrobig City Refugee Camp
Objective: Organize and Prep
Allies: ORC | AiE | [member="Arcanus Sunstrider"]
Enemies: FO [None in vicinity]

It was the perfect storm.

Well, almost perfect. The First Order didn’t have the element of surprise but with their track record, maybe they didn’t need it. Maybe they underestimated how the ragtag forces of the Outer Rim could band together in their time of need. The logistics and politics didn’t matter one bit to Joza either way; The First Order was here and she had a camp full of Alliance and Squib refugees that couldn’t leave Skor II.

“Karking hell,” Her teeth ground as she tried to dial in Ivan’s comm frequency, answer questions and handle the incoming crisis all at once. “Alright, alright. Nursing Corps, move the injured, ill and the young inside. Herd everyone else under the tents and whatever shelter you can find. You.” She grabbed the arm of a young nurse. “Do we have any sweets left?” The nurse, a Squib with pastel blue fur looked unsure, fighting down the panic that came with an impending attack. “I-I’m not sure.” She swallowed her nerves down further. “I’ll go check.”

“Distribute any candy or sweets we have to the children. Keep them calm, keep them safe.” Her throat tightened as the nurse jogged off, eyes fixing on the horizon where First Order ships could be seen in the atmosphere. She’d done her best to keep her family out of this, but they were here. All of them. Usually war was faceless, but today her stomach sank in a deep pit of mother’s worry for [member="Yula Perl"]. She’d threatened [member="Zef Halo"] to look after the daughter who’d grown to be so much like her in certain ways. And while that made her proud, it worried her even more.

“Ivan—ugh, how long does it take to answer? You taking a chit or something?” She’d finally gotten in touch with one of her oldest friends and pilot, Ivan. He was on Polis Massa overseeing the refugee situation there in her stead. Some chattering was heard over the other end before she cut the tension like a knife.

“Evacuate the refugees further into our territory as soon as possible. They’re here. We don’t know where else they might be.” She paused, waving over a young man in combat armor who’d been assigned to protect this zone. “Go into town and find a portable shield generator.” Likely not at this stage what with the encroaching enemy forces and all, but who knew.

That was all she needed to say, turning her attention to the figure who’d made his way into the camp with exhausted children in tow. Her throat tightened again but she willed it away, crisis instinct gradually kicking in.

“Get them inside.” She made no attempt to soften the order as a pair of nurses quickly ushered the children away with soft words and forced smiles.

“Made it just in time, Sunstrider.” Her eyes found the horizon again, this time able to make out the outline of some of the larger ships. Was [member="Vaudin Miir"] up there as well? Her teeth ground and for the first time since their accidental wedding day, she found herself twisted in worry for the Iktotchi man. War really puts your relationships into perspective.

Her attention shifted back towards the Jedi, making no moves to hide the once-over she was giving him. He didn’t look green, in fact she almost recalled seeing his face somewhere. In the end her eyes found his own, fixing him with a hard gaze. “I don’t like the First Order business anymore than the Squib do. These people have been through hell and back. We need to protect them, cost be damned.”

She squinted at the ships over his shoulder and her teeth ground more. Whatever it took.

 

[Dano Dil]

Location: Local Space

Objective: Destroy landing podsand attempt to halt the enemy advance

Allies: ORC/AIE, [member="Griet van Vliet"]

Enemies: First Order

Soundtrack



Dil watched as the pods soared by. No amount of lasers could stop the swarm at this point. The worse part began as the Imperial TIE fighters began to swarm out of the ships.

"V1! Take us in closer to the allied squadron. We can give them fire support."

The little astromech pilot beeped and whirred.

"Yeah, patch her through." A hologram of
[member="Griet van Vliet"] appeared on his console. "Fiscalist Actual, this is Dano Dil reporting in. My ship was apart from the main fleet when the Order arrived. There appears to be too many pods to shoot down. However, a squadron of enemy fighters had just left the main ship. Should you wish to engage, I am returning to your location, and will give you cover fire. My ship cannot move at the same pace as your fighters, but my cannons will be more than sufficient at a distance. Dano Dil out."

 

[Keira Priest]

Location: Drop pod
Objective: 3; work with the Squib King, as it were
Allies: [member="Tobias Wrynn"] | [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Omari Vyken"] | [member="Rexus Wenck"]
Enemies: [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Zef Halo"]
Gear in signature.

Keira wasn't a fan of Imperials. More often than not their policy rubbed her the wrong way, but she was doing her best to maintain her people's philosophy of neutrality in that credits were credits and mercenary work was just that, and it didn't matter so long as the best interests of Mandalore were in mind. That, and she'd been present at the negotiations that had been the beginning of some kind of relations with the First Order, and she figured showing up on the opposite side of the battlefield wouldn't exactly help move things along. And, well, maybe some things were a bit more personal than that, not that she was inclined to admit it. The past was the past, for the most part.

And so were the primary reasons she found herself in a drop pod rocketing towards the surface of Skor II, various readings flashing across her HUD. The rattling was something you got used to after your third or fourth time flying through space towards a planet's surface, and at this point it may as well have been second nature. It certainly wasn't the riskiest landing procedure she'd attempted lately, at the very least. Her rifle was held across her chest, and she checked and double-checked it was set to stun, doubting such a setting would be necessary before they were facing heavy fire. Still, orders were orders, and these First Order types ran a tight ship.

The countdown began in her head as the call of thirty seconds until impact rang across the comms, and she used the count as a sort of silent meditation before the true chaos of the battlefield hit. There would be no chance to breathe once they hit the ground, and as much as she'd volunteered for this fight, another part of her didn't want to be right about who she expected to find down there. Or maybe she wanted to see him again, and use this as a chance to cut ties once and for all, whether that was literally or otherwise. It wasn't something she'd come to terms with yet, and she knew that while her brother may not have asked what changed her mind about Imperials so easily, she had a feeling he knew what this was about, beneath the surface.

But the chances of meeting him the first place, under the circumstances they had, were slim to none. That she would see him again on this battlefield seemed unlikely, but a fate that brought them together was just as cruel enough to do the same under these circumstances. But she didn't have time to worry about that. Not until they hit the ground and shot their way through the palace defenses. Not until their objective was complete and she hadn't seen any sight of him. Not yet.

Still, the countdown continued.

Five...four...three...two...

 

[Koda Fett]

LOCATION: METROBIG CITY
OBJECTIVE: FEND OFF FIRST ORDER
ALLIES: OUTER RIM COALITION
ADVERSARIES: [member="Durgan Ossk"] - [member="Sogash"]

There were a great many men and women who served their intergalactic Order's, Empire's, Republic's and Coalition's with an intense passion, a dedication to a cause and a creed. Ready to have their blood spilt upon the sand, knowing that they answered a higher calling for the betterment of their kind. An admirable, respectable trait to have within oneself. However, it was ultimately foolish to waste your life for the advantage of another, or so Fett viewed such a thing. There was a time in which he endured such conflicts, but they were never anything he had been entirely committed to. The constant desire to desert, but it was brotherhood that enabled his stay - that much he understood. Yet, his path had already been determined. Truly the independent, the killer, the isolated enigma. That's all Fett ever was.

His reasoning for being on Skor II was difficult to truthfully determine. Yes, he had spent several days obstructing the Outer Rim Coalition's Judges, but there was more too it than that, rest assured. The presence of several members of the former Galactic Alliance's higher ups? Plenty a price on their head, as well as the Jedi that often accompanied them. It was a tempting offer, all Fett had to do was bide his time. Despite his allegiance to their credit, it wasn't difficult to determine that he was constantly under surveillance.

The Bounty Hunter witnessed as the bright, blue, digitalised form of a frantic Rodian had faded into obscuring, closing whatever call they shared, as brief as it was. The last thing he was to expect was an invasion from the First Order, but perhaps that was due to a lack of attention casted over the news that was spoken all so frequently. Extra credits had come his way, and so it seemed it was the First Order he was to combat. Streaks reflected off of his visor, witnessing the drop-pods as they came crashing down towards the planet. Landing craft not too far behind.

Hmph.

A position was required, one with the height advantage, something that provided enough opportunities of escape. The under construction casino ahead of him caught Fett's eye, and so he began striding in it's direction. The Carbine he held slinked into his grip, prepared to fire as a keen eye was cast over the scanners that reside on his HUD. If he had one thing, it was the technological edge.

 

[Romi Jade]

SPACE​

The Princess Leia​

WITH: [member="Mishel Noren"] [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Shia Kryze"]​

---

---

​

---

​

"Those beeps must mean something's up..." she was talking just to talk, backed up by the slow rise of her brows.

The raspy undertone immediately caught wind of the clicks of the astromech droid; surprisingly, it didn't sound all that bad. Though her initial casual approach shifted at the mention of a incoming transmission; she was sure it was orders...

Taking in Mishel, her gaze was averted when Coren stood up. Her head whipped around only to catch his eye, she'd trail him as he departed altogether. Her eyes bounced around a few times in the spare seconds she had before she also stood up and worked towards the terminal. She'd stop just a few feet behind Coren, somewhere near Mishel.

Averting the tension a bit, her shoulders fell and she slowly began to sway to one side, with most of her weight falling on her right leg. A stray hand on the hip, saw her slowly lurch in for what information she could retrieve on her own. Caring more for folding her arms, she crossed them both across her chest as the holographic figure sported to life. Most of her features shone with a iridescent film, characterized mostly by its blue shade.

She wondered if they'd be joining up with [member="Julius Sedaire"] or if these orders were more specific...

She crept up a step.

Trying to remember all she could about the First Order, her previous bout with Ara Zambrano went left...quickly. There was probably a sarlaac somewhere in there...but definitely lots of tumbling.

Ugh

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Allies: [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Tobias Wrynn"] | [member="Omari Vyken"] | [member="Keira Verd"] | Twigg
Enemies: Unknown. Outer Rim Combatants.
Objective: Rendezvous
Location: Middle of karkin' no where.

Spoiler

Rexus' Gear:

• G-12A Blaster Rifle [x]
• DARKSABER VII Combat Armour [x]
• Blackwing Electrosword [x]
• 14x Thermal Detonators
• 851 Launcher [x]
• Lightsaber

Twigg's Gear:

• DARKSABER VII Combat Armour
• Z-6 Rotary Blaster Cannon [x]
• Blackwing Electrosword
• 2x G6E Light Blaster [x]
• 8x Thermal Detonators

​

The venomous buzz of a lightsabre and the screams of comrades echoed through the darkness. The flailing of limbs flashed before him in the darkness. The insidious smell of VX vapour wafted through his nostrils. He could feel its sting as it pulled at his senses. Flashes of blaster bolts came before him. He seemed unable to dodge them. Unable to leave. To escape, and that's when he heard it. "Captain Wenck...." The voice which haunted it all. Cold metallic. Authoritative. He could feel the chilling breath of Asharad Graush on the nape of his neck, his entire body quivered beneath the mans presence. "You have failed me, for the last time..." A flash of red came out of his peripheral vision, and then-

Rexus Wenck opened his eyes. Frantically, he looked around the drop pod. Safe. Secure. Well, as secure as one could be. His heart pounded against his chest, and the inner padding of his helm? Drenched with a cold sweat. As the clouds of Skor II flashed before his viewport, Rexus went over some equipment checks. His breaths short, and shallow. This was it. The day he had never wanted to relive. The day he had never wanted. He clenched his jaw, and leaned back, ready for impact. It seemed meditation was out of the question. All there was to wait for, was impact. This was the worst part. The waiting. Usually, Rexus would try to retreat to the confines of his mind. Imagining himself back on Dosuun having some drinks, sharing war stories. Sometimes he even day-

S L A M

Rexus was jolted in his seat, but not from. The restraints within the pod proved reliable, but some whiplash was felt, even beneath the armour he was clad in. Rexus unclipped himself, and unsealed the pods door. He was here, finally. The place where it had all ended. Skor II. He picked himself up, and slung weapons and the equipment he carried across his body, strapping it on in the right places. Now to check what was happening. Reaching to his helm, he began to tune through comm frequencies. It was the usual chatter from army and navy types. But also, clogged with the martial law alert. He glowered, and tried the frequency he was giving during briefing, "-Turn to your homes immedia-". The signal again.

He switched up the frequencies a little, catching nothing but obscure snippets. Wenck silently cursed the work of the naval officers above. Zealous pricks. Always looking to outdo themselves, until he decided to start his own channel. "To all operatives in the area, this is Rommulus. Have reached the surface at coordinate-" He paused, and scanned his HUD for numbers "X dash, four seven, nine." He paused, "Seems the bloody warning has overridden our original channel, transmit on this frequency. Over."

 

[Sogash]

Allies: The First Order - [member="Durgan Ossk"]
Enemies: Outer Rim Coalition - [member="Koda Fett"]
Objective: Secure the City
Location: Landing craft approaching Metrobig City

While the drop pods would be the ones to make first contact with Skor II's surface, the more heavily armoured landing crafts would not be far behind. The crews of the pods would establish an advanced presence on the ground but it would be up to them to bring the true might of the First Order to bare.

Not that the Trandoshan hunter was truly part of the First Order.

Sogash sat there growing more impatient with every passing moment. Between his legs, his trust carbine lay. At his side, his partner for this mission - Durgan Ossk and all around him were the blank helmets of First Order Stormtroopers. This was far from his typical company, previous encounters with the First Order had been complicated. He had been caught out of a curfew and arrested by a sweaty young officer, the Trandoshan had barely escaped in the confusion. Now in an odd twist of fate, they had hired him to enforce one.

Sogash sniffed the air loudly. The Imperials did not stir. They looked so uniform. So emotionless. But he could smell them. They were human after all. Young men and women sent to war always smelled no matter what nation they hailed from or armour they hid behind. Whether they lived or died barely mattered to the hunter. It would be preferable that they lived if only for the record the First Order may hold of him but their lives meant nothing to him. Human fodder in human wars.

There was a hiss from the sides of the trasport. Sogrash perked up, watching the Stormtroopers line in formation. They were well drilled despite their fear, the Trandoshan could admit as much. Taking a firm grip of his carbine between his claws, the Bounty Hunter prepared for battle.

 

[Vestille Thumahra]

Vestille Thumahra​

---

---

​

---

Skor II, Royal Palace​

Objective: III - Strike up 'diplomacy' with the Squib King, await reinforcements.​

Friendly Assets: [member="Omari Vyken"] :: Linked up with none, yet.​

Hostiles: [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Dax Fyre"] :: Squib Royal Guard​

Diplomacy was a curious thing, sometimes you needed a silver tongue but others? You simply needed a big gun.

The First Order's plans to mobilize and deploy upon Skor II had been passed along to the Sith Empire as if simply breaking bread, the call for assistance had been made and the Colonel of the 12th signed himself up without a moment's notice. Flying half-way across the galaxy in order to reach First Order space and join up with the numerous ships within their armada, each destined to make way for the Skor system, Vestille soon found himself surrounded once again by a sea of unfamiliar faces that he would no doubt find little time to get acquainted with; there was little time for anything like that, an invasion had been planned and was about to begin, soon he would find himself making planet-fall in a burning metal casket to a planet that he had heard next to nothing of to bring a people that looked as disgusting as the last to the curb alongside a group of associates that he barely knew. This career-turned-life of bloodshed and mayhem certainly did throw its turns and raise its questions, usually without answers.

That suited the Colonel fine.

It hadn't been long since the first vessels of the First Order entered the orbit over Skor II and the first drop pods had been deployed with Vestille among the first wave. During transit, it had been brought to his attention during the briefing that he would be assigned to a strike time composed of selected individuals who had both experience in covert operations. Their target? The so called 'Palace of the Squib King', their mission to 'persuade' the king of the repugnant creatures to recognize that refusing Imperial occupation was a fruitless endeavor that would end in everything he had built and stood for being turned to piles of ash. This mission, of course, had non-lethal tagged all over it; the King was to be kept alive. As Vestille flew through the sky that became littered with steel rain as drop pods descended upon the planet, his mind had already made the conclusion that it was only the King that needed to be kept alive. His guards? His family? All tools to further the 'persuasion'.

With the solid connection with the ground, actually slamming through the thin roof of a building within the general perimeter of the Palace; specifically what appeared to be some form of janitorial storeroom, it was this selected method of 'non-lethal' that sprung into action. Popping the seal off the pod and letting the door slam into the wall, the clattering of boots against the floor were heard outside. It sounded as if they were about to breach, call-outs and various preps of blasters were heard as it sounded like they were just about to kick the door open. Imagine their surprise, then, when the walls were suddenly filled with shot after shot from a blaster cannon. The vermin, clearly not expecting such heavy firepower from whatever had crash landed into their otherwise innocent storeroom, scattered and ran down the halls, away from their dead comrades and whatever laid behind that door.

Said door was kicked open a few moments later, the Colonel walking out into the open hallway; security doors were locked down entirely and the garrison of royal guards had already been bolstered by numerous ORC troops, all intent on bogging down and stopping the Colonel from ever reaching the throne room itself. Things were never straightforward and in this case, it seemed as if the Galaxy had stacked the odds all against him and left him with just one cube; himself. If it were anyone else, some would likely say they would never make it.

Vestille had a funny relationship with death. Every time they brushed shoulders, they seemed like kin.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Allies: FO

Enemies: ORC

Of interest: [member="Zef Halo"]

Objective: Snatch Squad- Secure MetroBig, detain or neutralize disorderly entities.

Whenever the First Order sent the call out for work, much like the Sith Empire, Alkor went to cut a check. Both of the organizations had expansive and seemingly inexhaustible resources, so they were generous in their expenditures when it came to mercenaries. A good thing for them- when you pay for the best, you get the best.

Mandalorian mercs were the absolute finest, after all.

The lander came under fire some way away from MetroBig City, the seat of Squib power across Skor II, and Alkor stepped off behind a platoon of Stormtroopers, kitted out in full beskar'gam and handling his Nephilim II at the ready. He fully anticipated to encounter defensive emplacements, which suited him just fine. More targets to shoot at.

Somewhere in the city, [member="Keira Verd"] was about to go to work as well. On a recommendation from Alkor, they hired her and set them on separate objectives. Best to split up the help, right?

He moved with the occupation force swiftly, the First Order's declaration of curfew still booming across the airwaves ahead of them. Anyone caught outside their homes was fair game. His mission?

Grab, gag, and toss 'em to processing.

Easy enough.

Or so he thought.

 

[Cynthia Alucard]

Location: Local Space
Objective: Secure Orbit and Maintain First Order Space Supremacy
Allies: [member="Gromm Cardan"] | Morro | [member="Karl Von Strauss"] | [member="Robogeber"]
Enemies: [member="Jorus Merrill"] and ORC Fleet/Allies

​

Captain (Jr. Grade) Cynthia "Cyn" Alucard​

Designation: Pixie Leader
Classification: Heavy Fighter Interception Squadron (8)



Red lights flashed, boots marched and Cyn walked across the hangar floor, inspecting the last finishing touches on the TIE craft the Engineers and Mechanics gave a thumbs up. Cyn stood patiently in front of her own TIE craft, her eyes though kept a steady gaze on her squadron pilots, they all handled their own preparations accordingly with their own definition of fineness. She did not need to prepare an elaborate speech for today, the rest of Pixie Squad no doubt heard it all already long before they joined the First Order. It of course did not help Cyn that her words echoed their late Pixie Commander, originality is hard to come by, but Cyn knew that her pilots supported her regardless. To the Pixie Pilots, Cyn had been the obvious choice to take up the mantle as Pixie Leader. Even if her speeches were bland and stale.

But for what she lacked in speeches, she made up for in post mission celebratory parties. Cyn was not frugal with her credits when it came to her squadron. "They better make me a poor Squadron Leader after today," Cyn muttered to herself.

Cyn returned her gaze back to her TIE, a silent vow made once again as she entered into her TIE’s cockpit. Prove once more why you are Pixie Leader. Once more into her TIE Interceptor craft, Cyn checked her weapons and ammunition loadout. While they were not being requested to provide close air support or any bombing runs for that matter, it still was a standard precautions to take some heavy ordnance. Switching between comm channels Cyn frowned at some information coming through to her, a message to most other TIE pilots, but her eyes narrowed.

“Pixies, listen up, we have developing situation but the our objective still stands. Support our forces, and keep our Flag flying high over the skies of Skor II.” Cyn voiced, her hands clasping her belts together, all of her life support systems lit green and her TIE now ready to depart. “Ready up, and prepare for launch.”

“Pixie Two; ready and standing by,”

“Pixie Three; ready and standing by,”

“Pixie Four; ready and standing by,”

“Pixie Five; ready and standing by,”

“Pixie Six; ready and standing by,”

“Pixie Seven; ready and standing by,”

“Pixie Eight; ready and standing by,”

Her computer displayed her squadron and with an affirmative from Hangar Control Pixie Squadron were launched out and into space, ready to meet their enemies. Their TIEs accelerated outwards and into formation, the planet of Skor II behind them as the Pixies raced with the rest of the other TIE formations flying screens.

“Pixies, new reports of a hostile fleet entering into system, coordinates sent now,” Cyn quickly passed her new information, her comms filled with more and more but for the moment she knew enough. “Disrupt the enemy’s fighter formation and proceed to run probing attacks on their larger vessels,” Cyn ordered the rest of her formation. “Give them an old Imperial welcome Pixies.”

8 x TIE/SF - Conqueror

 

[Silara Varis]

ALLIED THIRD FLEET​

Experimental Warfare Specialists​

Commander: R ADM Silara Varis​

​

https://youtu.be/WMSoo4B2hFU​

​

Allies: [member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Cathul Thuku"]
Enemies: [member="Karl Von Strauss"] [member=Robogeber] @Morrow [member="Gromm Cardan"] [member="Rolf Amsel"] [member=Cynthia] Allucard
Objective: ENGAGING ROBOGEBER BBY
Location: Off Robogebers Left Flank- Coming From Darkside of the Planet

​

War had come.

It had been a long time Since Silara had stood at the helm of any vessel, let alone a major war command. Since the fall of the Alliance though, they'd retained everyone they possibly could, offering them what little extra compensation they could. She'd taken it up, not for the money, but for those that were lost at the battle of Ison Corridor. Her entire ships crew, and her treasured XO.

It was time to draw blood.

Rasuegeber was here. Or rather the robotic perversion of himself. She stood upon the bridge of the mighty Warship Resolute Vengeance II, hands clasped behind her back. Her Alliance blues were still pristine, hair pulled back into a tight bun. One hand flicked a zippo open and closed as she watched the behemoth fleets enter.

They had been just returning from the deep core of ORC, practicing experimental warfare with the local Purrgil there. They were playing with the concept of integrating multiple species into a singular unconventional force. Lucky for them they arrived just moments before the enemy. The Whale Command off to their far left, Alliance Command Center, Flanked by Qekoth Com on the right, and Merchant on the left of them. It took a lot of money and squabbling to settle them into a semi cohesive force. What with Qekoth and Tof's and all other hating each other.

A motley assortment of old timey sailing vessels, alien ships, old Alliance vessels, and Jast Models mixed in.

"They just put out a curfew Ma'am. Jorus and others are on site. Not a lot of naval assets and we got.....three fleets?"

"It's a wonder the First Orders fiances don't crumble under the massive weight of their treasured fleets. Open a line to the entire battle space. Set Condition ONE throughout the fleet."

"Aye Ma'am."

She lit a cigarette and then put it to her lips drawing deep as her face appeared on every channel, on every screen, and over every comm wave.


"Hmmm-MMM. Attention Citizens of the Outback. It's come to our attention that the First Order has arrived. Belay that curfew though. First Order, please understand that this our space. You have no right to it. You may have faced Alliance Forces and others toe to toe in conventional battle, but understand that this new Coalition between ORC and the Alliance is unlike anything you have ever faced before.

You are intruders and advised to turn back, and go the way whence you came. Let me tell you what happens if you don't. We bleed you. We bleed your entire corrupted machine, cut by cut, bolt by bolt, credit by credit. You attempt to claim iron rule over those who cannot be ruled. Even if you win here, it will cost you dearly, and so long as you remain here, it will continue to cost you, until every last citizen has been wiped from this system. We will never accept you, we don't want you, we don't need your pathetic fleets and armies to protect us.

And I urge every citizen. If you don't want to live imprisoned and under fear, rise now. Rise now and pick up whatever you can find. Send any ships you can spare. Send this disgusting excuse for a Government back to their hellholes at the edge of the verse!"

​

The Comms then cut.

"Order the Blackouts to begin Jamming. Cut off all First Order Channels."

"Aye Ma'am!"

"Arrange fleet, single file, Whale Command, Qekoth Command, Alliance Command, then Merchant Command. Blackouts above and below this vessel. Full burn, weapons hot. Let's give them the welcome they deserve....."

RECAP

• Fleet enters of to Robogebers left flank- Coming From Darkside of the Planet
• Broadcast
• BLACKOUTS BEGIN JAMMING (PC Preference, but for real, at least have a feasible counter.)
• Fleet Reorgs, Column formation.
• Full burn, towards Robogeber-

​

FLEET SPECS​

Spoiler

WHALE COMMAND

Wroth-gar the Supreme - Purrgil Ultra
100

• (1000m) size estimates

King Torvald- Purrgil King
100

• (400m)

Dasher- Purrgil
100

• (50m)

Dancer- Purrgil
100

Prancer- Purrgil
100

Blitzen- Purrgil
100

Rudolph- Purrgil
100

Comet- Purrgil
100

Cupid- Purrgil
100

Vixen- Purrgil
100

Donner- Purrgil
100

Ted- Purrgil
100

Fred- Purrgil
100

Alabaster- Purrgil
100


QEKOTH Command

ONV Albatross- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Savage- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Relentless- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Resci- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Taj- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Rift- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Wrell- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Qekoth Prime- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ONV Qek- Bishop Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100



Alliance Command

ANS Resolute Vengeance II- Breakthrough-Class Battlecruiser
100/100

ANS Denigrator- Scythe Class Heavy Cruiser
100/100

ANS Resurgence- Jast Elite Destroyer
100/100

ANS Insurgent- Jast Elite Destroyer
100/100

ANS Shield- Jast Disabler Destroyer
100/100

ANS Shield- Jast Disabler Destroyer
100/100

ANS Wrecker- Jast Disabler Destroyer
100/100

ANS Anvil- Jast Disabler Destroyer
100/100

ANS Blackout- Jast Blackout
100/100

ANS Blackout II- Jast Blackout
100/100

Merhcant Command

Cathar- Prince Class Tof Bulk Cruiser
100/100

Belknap- Royal Class Tof Light Clipper
100/100

Mulcher- Royal Class Tof Light Clipper
100/100

Cridger- Royal Class Tof Light Clipper
100/100

Bridger- Royal Class Tof Light Clipper
100/100

Blackbeard- Royal Class Tof Light Clipper
100/100

Davey Jones- Royal Class Tof Light Clipper
100/100

 

[Sayd-Jai]

Objective: Kill FO Forces
Enemies: Come At Me
Gear: SPECTRE Armor, SODD, Teki no Sairensā, Dissuader

My name is ruin,
My name is broken,
My name is shameless,
I'll tear you wide open.​

Shadows are everywhere. They shift with each passing moment as rays of light rotate their path. A clever person is capable of hiding within the shadows, but the truly gifted can hide without ever moving a muscle. So it was for him. He stood in the shadow of a roof overhang, precariously balanced on a ledge, but completely comfortable in his position. Hr could stay there for hours, days if he wanted to. Leg muscles werestiffened, held withthe Force. Eyes stared at the horizon.

Again. It was happening again.

The Imperial war machine was an insatiable one. It never stopped, even now. A different name but the same ideology. They hated aliens. They hated people who wanted to live life their way. Everything was about control. Power. Strength. The only things that ever really got through to them. Out in the wider galaxy they waved their sword, but he knew the truth: all Imperials were afraid. They were afraid of things that were different, and afraid of having someone else controlling them. Xenophobia. Their ultimate sin in everything else.

He took a deep breath and allowed the scents of the air to waft into his nose. Fuel burning. Refuse. Flowers. Superheated air. It was what he felt that superseded what he smelled, though. As expected, they had come. But they weren't alone. He could feel the darkness. Potent. Early. Ren? Maybe, but he knew these Imperials were allied with their Sith counterpart. Undoubtedly their cowardice would show itsrlf in a reliance on outside help. It always did.

He took a deep breath and resigned himself to waiting. At some point, the opportunity would arise. They would appear, and he would have an opportunity to strike. It required patience, though. Moving too early would tip his hand to both the locals and the Imperials in kind. Maybe he would have the chance to get retribution on his targets from Atrisia. Maybe not. It didn't matter. Every target was a viable one. He'd take what he could get.

 

[Rekha Kaarde]

Location: Somewhere in space
Objective: Bring a surprise then join
Allies: ORC/AIE
Enemies: none yet....need drinking buddies..
Gear: Blasters | Taozin Amulet | odds and ends of things in her back pack... grenades or two, nets. feathers, etc etc

Special assignment he called it. She thought oo smoozing and drinking. Yeah so not happening. She was sitting in space trying to track an event. They gave her the read outs and a box told her what she needed to do. Now what they asked was almost impossible, how was she supposed to do that again!!!

"You're the best one for the job you know how to make friends, and you know the space lanes. Just..ya know do what you usually do.......wing it" Wing it...yeah that's what she was doing alright. She had some things here that might help and then she had things that might get her killed on the spot.

Feth.

She walked back towards the galley to pick up a bottle of whatever she could find. She was thirsty she popped the top and took a draw she began coughing and gagging, "OH MY GOD!!!" She turned the bottle and looked at it, "GRAPE SODA.....who the feth put grape soda on the ship............" She made some terrible faces then took another drink/

"waste not want not..." She made another face and took another drink.

"If I find out Coren is messing with my stores he will find ferrelian ants in his bed"

 

[Elena Lowe]

​

Location: Skor II, Metrobig City Refugee Camp.
Objective: Move from the camp towards the palace.
Allies: The First Order
Enemies: [member="Arcanus Sunstrider"] | [member="Joza Perl"]
Equipment: SB-U01 Wrist Datapad | C-51 Charric Pistol

​

Cradled beneath the crumbling wings of a ruined hospital stood the refugee camp. At the centre, the scarred, battered building offered shelter to the most sickly, the most wounded of the refugees. Though it had been irreparably damaged by conflict after conflict, it still stood, crouching over its prize. Battered stone and mortar casting its sheltering wings over those who couldn't protect themselves. Beyond the hospital were the tents. Varied in size, shape, and purpose, many housed several families, fleeing the instability of the former Alliance territories. They were arranged sporadically, with narrow passageways where occupants and personnel alike scurried along like rats. It was dismal, and it was harmless. The people were not happy, but they were safe enough here.

Then the First Order arrived. Returning to claim what was theirs.

The curfew announcement faded, and heavy silence hung pregnant in still air. Sunbeams paled as the world briefly lost its colour, and the relaxed, easy air of the camp was immediately replaced by an oppressive anxiety. Children noticed the suddenly paled faces of the refugees and drew themselves in close to their parents. Some began to cry, and we're hushed by their parents. Leah's heart wrenched for them, but she was comforted by the knowledge that they wouldn't be harmed by the First Order.

The FOSB agent was dressed in a rough shawl that concealed a fitted palace uniform beneath. The outfit meant she looked convincingly like one of the refugees, and it hid from view the C-51 tucked into its thigh holster. As she stalked through the camp, officials scrambled past, flitting nervously from person to person, or hurrying to make preparations, to mount a defence from the invaders. Surely they new they would be left alone, it wasn't in the Order's interests to kill noncombatants.

As she walked, flecks of ash and rubble that hung suspended in the air around the wrecked hospital clung to her clothes. Why were these innocents forced to cower in such conditions? If only they would accept the liberation the Order offered, then they would life freely and comfortably, instead of in squalor and terror, with their lives directed by a coalition of lawless smugglers. Her objective didn't lie in this dismal camp, where the wretched lamented their suffering. No, she was to head towards the palace, infiltrate, and distract the defenders while the strike team made their move. It was a risky job, but she thought herself up to the task.

Continuing to walk through the camp, where tents spilled out from the cover of the destroyed hospital, she could see the largest of the First Order's ships through the atmosphere. There was no sign of conflict above, but she sensed the fighting had already started.

Ahead of her, in the passage between two wrinkled tents, snapping with each gust of wind, she saw a pair of officials directing the camp personnel, one was a woman, with a shock of red hair, the other a plain-looking man, but who held himself with confidence. Leah kept her eyes low. Now was not a time to draw attention to herself.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

https://youtu.be/NRRPCjr1Ito​

Location: FIV Concordia
Objective: Lead
Allies: The First Order | [member="Kou'ha Escala"] | [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="The Major"] | @Robogeber
Enemies: The Outer Rim Coalition | The Galactic Alliance | Spirited Teens | Scruff-Bearers

Two hours ago...​

​

The blue mottle of hyperspace cast Natasi Fortan's delicate features in a bizarre pattern, like an impressionist painting that had been popular in Galidraani society in decades past. The Grand Moff was not aware of the figure she cut against her office's viewports, nor was she concerned about it, though her Principle Private Secretary Mr. Glass was wishing, not for the first time, that he had brought a camera along to capture some propaganda photos of the First Order's government leader. Glass was, for the moment, giving Natasi a briefing on Skor II, the Squab system, and its native species, the Squib.

Natasi, for her part, was listening even as she looked out the window at the hypnotic patterns cast by hyperspace. The Squab system was, in her view, unimportant. If it were located anywhere else, it would be insignificant. Perhaps conquered by one government or another, but she couldn't imagine anyone actually fighting over it for what it was. But Skor II was important to the First Order for psychological reasons. Skor II was the only blemish on the First Order's otherwise pristine combat record. But a loss wasn't the problem -- it wasn't something that Natasi wanted to see repeated, but it wasn't the problem.

Skor II had been the site of an egregious violation of First Order discipline resulting in the deaths of many civilians. It was a humiliation, the likes of which Natasi Fortan had not yet fully recovered. The resulting disciplinary action -- now known in historical terms as The Decimation -- haunted Natasi's nightmares to this day. Thanks to the war and all the attendant horrors that came with it, the Decimation wasn't the only thing that populated her nightmares, but the memories were still there, stubborn and taunting her. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared into the depths of hyperspace. She was not proud of the Decimation, and she had taken no pleasure in ordering it alongside the other leaders of the First Order, but the point had to be made, that orders were to be obeyed. Without discipline, without order, all was lost. It could have been the motto of the First Order, so fundamental was the point.

This was a chance at redemption, to wash clean the sins of the First Order. They could not fail. Natasi finally turned her head from the window, and to Mr. Glass' surprise, her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, Glass. That will be all."

One hour ago...​

​

The bridge of the Concordia was new but old, familiar yet strange. Emerging from the turbolift onto the bridge was like walking into a renovated home and seeing the bones of the old beneath the glimmering surfaces of the new. Captain [member="Kou'ha Escala"] was in position, in command, overseeing the last-minute preparations to revert from hyperspace into the Squab system. "Captain Escala," Natasi said pleasantly as she greeted him with a nod. "With your permission, I'd like Commander Vert to open a line to the FIST's encrypted channel for me." Natasi crossed the bridge to the communications console when things were settled and clasped her hands behind her back. When the channel had been arranged, she inclined her head and paused until the light cycled to green, indicating that she was speaking on the encrypted channel.

"Officers of the First Imperial Shock Troopers, this is Grand Moff Fortan. Although officially, you are known as the First Imperial Shock Troopers and not Fortan's Fist, you carry my name into battle today. More importantly, you carry the standard of the Supreme Leader and his Empire, and the honor of the First Order. You are all aware of what happened the last time the First Order operated in this system." She paused, swallowing painfully around a lump in her throat. She was almost sure they were expecting some soaring piece of rhetoric, some inspirational speech, the likes of which were her bread and butter. They were going to be disappointed. "The embarrassment of the First Order's last incursion to Skor II will not be repeated. I expect and demand that you will conduct yourselves with the integrity and order which has made the First Order famous and feared around the galaxy. Should there be a repeat of the disobedience and dishonor of the last time, I can assure you that the repercussions for those involved will be so severe and swift that we will all look upon the Decimation as a holiday."

She let the words hang in the air for a moment and inhaled shortly. When she spoke again, her voice was softer but still resolute. "I have no fear that you, the most highly trained and meritorious officers in the entire First Order, will disappoint me. But remain vigilant. Remain true. Remain strong, and we cannot be defeated. Fortan, out." She signaled to Commander Vert, who disconnected the signal. Natasi turned on her heel and returned to Escala for a moment. "You have the bridge, Captain. I'll be in my office."

Now...

"What are they?"

Natasi had stood up from her desk and gone to the window to see what the fuss was about. They looked like aquatic creatures, but there they were in the void of space. The FIST had gone off on its mission, leaving a token force aboard Concordia, under the watchful eye of Captain Escala and Battlegroup Nebula. Natasi had retired to her office with [member="The Major"], Director Shepard of the Security Bureau. She was expecting a call from a few insurance policies she had arranged but for the time being, her attention was drawn to the spectacle outside the window now.

"What do you make of that?" Natasi asked Sybil over her shoulder. She half-turned, then went back to her desk and pressed the intercom key. Almost immediately, the semi-literate rantings of some enemy officer filled the channel. "By the Balance," Natasi said, barely managing to bite back a curse before she switched the channels. "Captain Escala -- please put a readout of whatever our scanners have on those things -- on the main screen in my study."

She turned back to the window, her dark eyes narrowing as she stared out at the developing battle. "It's a funny old world, isn't it, Director Shepard?"

 

[Republic Engineering]

Location: Refugee Camp.
Objective: Defend the Innocent.
Allies: The Squibs of Skor II, The Outer Rim Coalition; [member="Joza Perl"].
Enemies: The First Order; [member="Leah Kaban"].

​

​

In the time it had taken me to reach the outskirts of the Refugee Camp, much had transpired; giving credence to my earlier feeling of skin-prickling trepidation. The First Order had returned; seeking to stake their allegedly rightful claim over this system and its surrounding sectors. They brought with them a mighty armada to ensure that their boastful declarations would come to fruition, no doubt teeming with countless indoctrinated souls - frothing in a maddened rage and eager to reach the surface of the planet. Their first broadcast was meant to be bounced around the system but had reached the surface of the planet anyways - causing quite the audible ruckus amongst those seeking to rebuild their homes.

Civilian vessels, transporting ferrying vital goods to the survival of the Squib, as well as Junkers, were given a short period of grace in which to exit the system. It was impossibly short, as most standard hyperdrives took nearly as long to spool up to active, and ready status; meaning that such a statement was nothing more than a meaningless formality. They were dead-set on enforcing their foreign laws and Imperialistic-ideals of Order upon a wounded and grieving people, leaving them with little room in which to squirm beneath their iron grip. It chafed my nerves raw as the thought of forsaking my Jedi vows skirted through my thoughts, as I held the power to make a difference in the palms of my hand.

Even if that difference was marginal, when one considered the big picture, it would’ve been enough.

However, it wasn’t who I am - nor who I considered myself to be. My entire life, ever since I was saved from those Pirates as a youth, has been devoted to the cause of the Jedi. To selflessly pursue to the roles of a Guardian, and a defender, in the hopes of inspiring others to follow the same path. Yes, there are times that I don’t agree with certain portions of Jedi philosophy as they seemed very situational and suited for whatever era’s they were conceived in, but that’s beside the point. Here, and now, the only thing that mattered was my duty towards the people of Skor II. I had to make sure they were safe from harm, or as safe as they could be, whilst the twinned Stellar Empire’s fought in the stars above.

Politics and territorial disputes were a natural part of civilization, and it wasn’t a Jedi’s place to dictate what should be done. Sure, we could and have acted as advisors and diplomats, but that was because we Jedi were supposed to be neutral third parties - with no stake in either side. Through our lack of affiliation, we could offer an objective standpoint that neither side was capable of seeing. Sadly, I figured it would be doubtful that the First Order would ever agree to sit down with some nameless fool, and thus knew my efforts would be better spent with my tattered boots on the ground.

As I finally reached the partially collapsed Hospital, my knees dropped into the dirt and allowed for the gaggle of children within my grasp to sprint towards distant and friendly faces. They could’ve been friends of their respective families, neighbours, or even close-relatives for all I knew. All that truly mattered, was that they were safe and in the care of those that knew of them; perhaps even loved them. There was a smile that adorned my face as I watched them leave my company. I enjoyed chatting with them, once they had gotten over their momentary shock, and opened up to me. They were timid around a stranger, and justifiably so. Most youths nowadays were and were taught not to take candy from strange and unfamiliar faces - lest they are taken away or poisoned. Such teachings were wise, especially in this day and age, as one could never be too sure what another’s true motives were. In my case, though, I was nothing but genuine throughout our sojourn through the ruined city sector and it still took some time for them to warm up to me. Jedi, these days, was given a bad wrap because of the poor behaviour of the few - rather than the many.

Nevertheless, with my charges rushing off towards the unknown, I turned my attention towards the denizens of the Refugee Camp - bearing witness to the sorrow and fear that lay under their fragile gazes. While they sought to hide and swallow their terror beneath smiles and repeated mantra’s - their sickly ochre aura’s betrayed them. I couldn’t blame them for doing their best to appear calm and collected. The sentient herd instinct was dangerous when provoked within enclosed spaces. Who knew what could happen if panic settled in? Would these people trample one-another in the hopes of flooding towards safer shores? Was I a telekine, or a master of the mental arts, I would’ve sought to soothe their worries and reassure them.

Sadly, as I could do nothing but see their manifested worries, I would have to find another way to lend them a hand.

That was when a woman, with hair kissed by the fires of life and with the flesh the colour of blooming roses, said my surname aloud. Taken aback, I turned my gaze towards this personified vision and found myself looking into the eyes of a complete stranger. Aside from her alluring visage, common amongst most Zeltrons, this woman seemed to be in charge of this Camp - or at least someone in a position of authority; who had access to the Port Authority’s incoming manifest. However, it was more likely that my personage had been spread to the masses through my affiliation with the Jedi Praxeum, and through my deeds on the surface of Manas during that outbreak of Sithspawn. I only hoped that my reputation wouldn’t get to the point of signing autographs, as I’d be embarrassed to let those people know that I don’t own a pen.

“Hello there!” I said with surprise trailing from my lips. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage. You know of me, but sadly I can’t say the same of you.”

“To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Location: Imperial Squib Palace
Allies: ORC Soldiers and Squib Bait King (also [member="Dax Fyre"], [member="Julius Sedaire"])
Enemies: Sith, Sith Agents, People that shoot at Mishka,
Objective:

• Step One: Wait for Sith to show up
• Step Two: Kill Sith
• Step Three: Profit

Mishka sat upon a window sill, her crossed arms resting upon her knees as she stared into the sky of Skorr II. Tracer rounds streaked across the sky as drop pods fell like hail. The shimmer of a theater shield made the sky seem to sparkle, while the occasional beam of blinding light speckled her vision as planetary defense turbolasers lashed out upon the ships in orbit. The spectacle didn't last for long though. A thick sheet of metal slowly obscured more and more of the scenes outside the palace as it slid into place over the windows. Mishka sighed as the last of Skorr II was taken from her, hanging her head for a moment before spinning to face the room, her feet now dangling freely from the window ledge upon which she sat. The blue, hairy rat-people (Squids? no. Squibs? That's it. Squibs.) busied themselves with preparations. Technicians and attendants scurried about while armed and armored soldiers exchanged nervous glances. The king, apparently, was being escorted into a nearby bunker and a handful of humans, near-humans, and assorted aliens were currently trying to make themselves useful. Some stood guard with the Squib soldiers, others gave orders, and a handful stood around one holodisplay or another and pretended like they knew what they were doing.

The battered remnants of the Galactic Alliance, the wayward souls of one Coalition Nation-state or another, and an assortment of outlaws who just wanted their gambling dens to remain free of jackboots.

Mishka stared at them for a moment before closing her eyes and leaning her head against the cold glass behind her. Absently, Mishka picked her helmet off the windowsill, placed it upon her lap, and began tapping her fingers against it as she waited for the inevitable. Or, what she thought was the inevitable.

The First Order had made it clear to the galaxy that they had intended to lay claim to this system and several more throughout the sector. And while Mishka wasn't one to often go chasing after Bounties, it was hard to turn down easy credits when you knew where a mark was going to turn up. Kark. She didn't even have to weed out any one member of the First Order in particular. The bounty was an open call to kill any Sith one came across, wanting only their Red Lightsaber as proof of defeat. There were plenty of other bounties out for Sith and Jedi and Rebel Scum, not to mention bounties out upon specific Sith Cults or just upon First Order personnel in general... But Clan Rekali was promising custom starships for Red Lightsabers and Mishka had every intention of cashing in on that particular offer. And if Imperial Sith were going to be marching on Skorr II, it was inevitable that some jerk with a Red Lightsaber would show up to point it at the King of this backwater world. Or so Mishka had thought 9 days ago. As it turns out, she had barely made it to this side of the galaxy before the First Order had begun their assault.

Tapping on her helmet, Mishka gently bobbed her head in rhythm to the weapon's fire outside the palace and let her feet slowly kick in kind. Her eyes still closed, she absently wondered if anyone actually knew who she was, or if they just assumed she belonged to some fragment of the Coalition. Maybe they assumed she had been hired as a mercenary? Either way, she had barely had to say a word to get into the palace. She just walked up with her helmet on her hip and a wheeled traveling bag trailing behind her and asked "which way to the throneroom?"

Weird, blue buggers had let her right in.

And the traveling bag? That was on the floor by her feet, next to a wood-and-metal shield. On her left hip was a sheathed hand-and-a-half sword, a pistol was on her right hip, and a number of small, armored pouches lined her belt. Mainly they held ammo for the pistol, but one held a small medical kit, a few more contained some small grenades, and one kept a pair of throwing daggers ready for use. <You never know what you'll need against Sith.> Mishka thought as she continued lightly tapping at her helmet.

 

[Jaius Sovv]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_AQFnqMY3E[/youtube]​

​

Location: Skor Palace
Objective: Spring the Trap
Allies: ORC + AiE | [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Dax Fyre"] | [member="Coren Starchaser"] | [member="Mishel Noren"] | [member="Mishka Larraq"] | M-3PO
Enemies: FO | [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Rexus Wenck"] | [member="Tobias Wrynn"] | [member="Omari Vyken"] | [member="Keira Verd"]

​

"It is just as I said, your majesty," never had Jaius been so sorry to be right, "The First Order is tenacious, if predictable."

Both the Skor King and Coalition representatives which now surrounded his throne had believed if a strike came at all, it would land somewhere far more strategic. They had not seen the depths of Imperial vanity up close, as he had, and so while the others had agreed these training operations would serve as an effective deterrent, the elder Sullustan had seen it for the bait it truly was and had, on his own initiative, taken steps to capitalize on their misstep.

Nat, what are you thinking? Chief Sovv shook his head in sorrow. He knew she was out there, somewhere. Grand Moff [member="Natasi Fortan"] made a habit of personally overseeing all major engagements. When he had asked, she had confided that she did not feel it was right to expect those under her command to walk were their state leader dared not. Admirable, but Jaius had seen through the lie. Not to him, but to herself. The truth was, he suspected she took some pleasure in watching her enemies suffer.

King Adegabaydee chittered nervously, not for himself but for his people. [member="Julius Sedaire"] had ordered him away to a more secure location within the palace, and the noble Squib feared he would not be there both to coordinate his people's defense, but also to serve as a visible beacon of hope.

"Master Sedaire is most wise, majesty," he persuaded the king to begin following his elite guard, "You made a fool of the Empire the last time they set foot in these hallowed halls, it is a slight they will not quickly forgive. I fear they may seek to take your life, and with that one craven act rewrite the history of their crushing defeat here."

He had been attempting for hours now to press upon Adegabaydee the gravity of their situation, but it was difficult to explain just how systemic Imperial High Command's delusions of grandeur were without having actually seen them face to face in their natural environment as Jaius had. No doubt they believed they would break the Coalition's spirit on this day, but instead no matter the outcome they had just united the entire Outer Rim against them. Meanwhile their empire's resources were already spread precariously thin, patrolling both their so called mandate and home territories. It was a gross overreach.

"Master, f-forgive me," M-3PO had been pacing back and forth nervously since the first Imperial war vessels had been detected, "You asked to be informed the moment the Princess Leia had landed."

"By your leave, Grand Marshal," Jaius bowed deeply before [member="Dax Fyre"], extricating himself from a throne room which had been taken over by command and control operations almost immediately, "Patch me through, Em Three."

"Starchaser, come in Starchser," he raised his voice just a little too loudly in an effort to be heard.

A translucent view of the freighter's cockpit materialized on the holotable in front of him.

"It is just as we feared," he shook his head in sorrow, "Do what you can for the people, if this is anything like last time the Imperials will have no qualms with a high civilian body count. Make sure your crew is insulated in case they decide to deploy more chemical weapons, and proceed with all haste to the Palace. King Adegabaydee may have need of your...unique services, I know I shall."

Before General Starchaser could even reply, Jaius activated the cloaked binary beacon he carried on his person at all times. With any luck, Admiral Stazi was already on his way, but they could not afford to leave anything to chance. Not with the fate of an entire world in the balance.

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Praetorian Initiate
Equipment | Mk. I RAKGHOUL Semi-Powered Battle Armour with Repulsorlift Technology, Lightsaber & Training Lightsaber, DE-39 Maser Rifle, Throwing Knives, Binding Wires, Injector Pens filled with Lecepanine
Location | Hangar Bay, Local Space
Objectives | Awaiting further orders
Allies | [member="Primat Ren"], [member="Varas Ren"], First Order
Enemies | ORC & their allies
Status | I wonder why is it called a crush?

[SIZE=11pt]Slightly bored and in search of a distraction, Marriskcal walked around the hangar of the vessel she and her siblings were assigned to, all while making sure she did not stray too far from the transport. Her clear blue eyes watched in interest as the medley of technicians, TIE pilots, and stormtroopers rushed back and forth around the vast space as they completed their own final preparations. The sharp chill of predatory anticipation and the slightly distracting buzz of excitement suffused with anxiety coloured the air around her. This, the youngling observed, felt very different from all her previous assignments.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]So, this is how the advent of a real conflict feels like.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It felt nothing like what she has experienced before.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The blonde looked down at her hands, encased in the protective embrace of quadanium steel. While it appeared steady to her own gaze, Marriskcal knew it would be trembling were it not for the armour. Inhale, hold it in, then exhale slowly. She repeated the exercise several times until a sense of calm supplanted the annoying prickling that thrummed beneath her skin. While the initiate would like to say she was not on the edge, she was also not in the habit of lying to herself. Was she embarrassed by being less than the perfect image of the Ren she had in mind[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]? Yes, she was. But she did not allow it to affect her equilibrium. It was a flaw, but nonetheless, it was a flaw that would aid her in the upcoming conflict.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]At the gentle tap, the youngling turned, looking up at Primat with a grin filled with good cheer. From the escalating flurry of activities in the hangar, she knew it was almost time for them board their transport to make for planetside. But… instead of the expected reminder, the uttered words of her brother caused the initiate to frown and furrow her brows. A crush[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]? Like in those romance novels and holodramas kind of crush crush? Or was he trying to tell her he wanted to destroy this someone and wanted her to aid him… wait... that cannot be right.[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] Marriskcal replayed his words in her mind. Oh! It was the emotions sort of crush, after all. Despite the apprehension she felt, the youngling gave her brother a solemn nod.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“You have my word. I will never tell the person about your… crush.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]She had her suspicions, of course. The number of people that they both knew were less than the numbers on the fingers of both of her hands. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]What does having a crush entailed anyway?[/SIZE]