Galaar Fett
Ba’buir
Location: The Morut, Hoylin’s southern hemisphere.
Time: 1600 Hours
Wearing: Beskar’gram, ceremonial cape
Weapons: DE-10 Blaster Pistols strapped to his hips, no other weapons on the Alor.
Tag: [member="Careena Fett"]
Galaar’s boots crunched lightly against the dirt and gravel resting on the durosteel plating of the floor as he walked out of one of the two dormitories in the compound. Helmet underneath his arm, eyes gazing out and looking across the Morut and taking in what had been built. Light streamed in through the entrance to the cave area, illuminating the large cavern.
It wasn’t much, what the three generations had built here during their relatively short time here on Roon. A mountainous outpost, surrounded by one of the few green areas on the planet, consisting of a few small buildings outside the cavern, and the rest cluttered closely together inside the hollowed out area of the cave. From what his grandfather had said, it had taken him and his two brothers a year and a half using diggers to remove enough rock to lay down a base area of durosteel and begin work on building small structures that could function as armories, dormitories, and a mess hall.
In the 70 or so years that the clan had settled on the planet, it had grown significantly from the six members that had come here in the early days. Galaars grandfather, his two brothers, and their wives were the first to found the site and begin building it to what it is today. 47 members, both of direct blood from the grandfather and his brothers, and consisting those that had come to join with the group after hearing what they had begun. 18 or so of the people at the compound could be considered verd at this point, having passed the verd’goten in their younger years. The rest consisted of engineers, cooks, gardeners, and children, everyone needed to help a clan survive.
When Galaar looks to his right, out of the cavern, he could see the landing pad area, plenty big enough to accommodate multiple smaller ships, freighters, or even a corvette if need be. Today, it was well needed. He hopped down from the ramp leading up to the dormitory, proceeding to walk out of the cave into the blinding sunlight. Just as he did so, his helmet was lifted from his arms and secured onto his head, blocking out the sunlight and allowing him to look out onto the platform and view the activity that hustled and bustled around it.
On the very end, a small anti-air blaster turret was being prepared by multiple engineers and verds. it had not been used in years, and had only been bought by his father after prodding from his sister that they needed something in case of an attack. Galaar had told himself he needed to get it set up and working before now, but had been away from Morut for so long, busying himself with trying to add to the clan’s credit bank, that certain things like that had gone undone.
He doubted he would be leaving Hoylin any time soon, if this meeting was going to go as well as the spirits hoped it might. Other Fetts in the galaxy, those that also rejected the notion of being a part of some large collective, remaining independent, had reached out to him. While he could never be sure of who to trust, or if even to release the location of Morut to those that had not yet earned the privilege, this chance was not one to be lightly overlooked.
So he agreed, sending the location of the outpost to the woman who had contacted him, instructing that she only bring herself, a pilot, and two other men to escort her if wanted. If anything, he wanted to make sure an entire new sect of the Fett clan showed up on his doorstep with tens of new mouths to feed. These thoughts raced through his head as two of his more trusted verds, a man and a woman who he had grown up with as childhood friends, walked up and flanked his right and left. With his eyes looking up toward the sky, Galaar muttered one last, hopeful phrase as he awaited the arrival of those claiming to be of Fett. “Tsikador. Cabuor megin vi ganar yam’gotal’ur.”
Time: 1600 Hours
Wearing: Beskar’gram, ceremonial cape
Weapons: DE-10 Blaster Pistols strapped to his hips, no other weapons on the Alor.
Tag: [member="Careena Fett"]

Galaar’s boots crunched lightly against the dirt and gravel resting on the durosteel plating of the floor as he walked out of one of the two dormitories in the compound. Helmet underneath his arm, eyes gazing out and looking across the Morut and taking in what had been built. Light streamed in through the entrance to the cave area, illuminating the large cavern.
It wasn’t much, what the three generations had built here during their relatively short time here on Roon. A mountainous outpost, surrounded by one of the few green areas on the planet, consisting of a few small buildings outside the cavern, and the rest cluttered closely together inside the hollowed out area of the cave. From what his grandfather had said, it had taken him and his two brothers a year and a half using diggers to remove enough rock to lay down a base area of durosteel and begin work on building small structures that could function as armories, dormitories, and a mess hall.
In the 70 or so years that the clan had settled on the planet, it had grown significantly from the six members that had come here in the early days. Galaars grandfather, his two brothers, and their wives were the first to found the site and begin building it to what it is today. 47 members, both of direct blood from the grandfather and his brothers, and consisting those that had come to join with the group after hearing what they had begun. 18 or so of the people at the compound could be considered verd at this point, having passed the verd’goten in their younger years. The rest consisted of engineers, cooks, gardeners, and children, everyone needed to help a clan survive.
When Galaar looks to his right, out of the cavern, he could see the landing pad area, plenty big enough to accommodate multiple smaller ships, freighters, or even a corvette if need be. Today, it was well needed. He hopped down from the ramp leading up to the dormitory, proceeding to walk out of the cave into the blinding sunlight. Just as he did so, his helmet was lifted from his arms and secured onto his head, blocking out the sunlight and allowing him to look out onto the platform and view the activity that hustled and bustled around it.
On the very end, a small anti-air blaster turret was being prepared by multiple engineers and verds. it had not been used in years, and had only been bought by his father after prodding from his sister that they needed something in case of an attack. Galaar had told himself he needed to get it set up and working before now, but had been away from Morut for so long, busying himself with trying to add to the clan’s credit bank, that certain things like that had gone undone.
He doubted he would be leaving Hoylin any time soon, if this meeting was going to go as well as the spirits hoped it might. Other Fetts in the galaxy, those that also rejected the notion of being a part of some large collective, remaining independent, had reached out to him. While he could never be sure of who to trust, or if even to release the location of Morut to those that had not yet earned the privilege, this chance was not one to be lightly overlooked.
So he agreed, sending the location of the outpost to the woman who had contacted him, instructing that she only bring herself, a pilot, and two other men to escort her if wanted. If anything, he wanted to make sure an entire new sect of the Fett clan showed up on his doorstep with tens of new mouths to feed. These thoughts raced through his head as two of his more trusted verds, a man and a woman who he had grown up with as childhood friends, walked up and flanked his right and left. With his eyes looking up toward the sky, Galaar muttered one last, hopeful phrase as he awaited the arrival of those claiming to be of Fett. “Tsikador. Cabuor megin vi ganar yam’gotal’ur.”
