Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Dominion Ashes of a Fallen Empire [GA Dominion of The Ghost Nebula]

Spirit of Tenacity

Fight the Good Fight and all that jazz

Ashes of a Fallen Empire
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With the Galaxy shifting, the remnants of the former DARK EMPIRE sit vacant, uncontested by larger factions, and left in anarchy by the evacuated garrisons, which have fled to reform into warlord remnants. Many of the worlds were simply left to fend for themselves, and form new governments in their way. The promise of order and unity burned to the ground by governors who saw only the writing on the wall for the larger empire, abandoning local power to consolidate elsewhere amongst the stars. What had once been isolated resistance groups, floundering within Imperial Space, rose up and overtook the worlds now free to govern themselves.

But where will this lead those worlds? A question left open as the forces of Democracy and Stability arrive, hoping to invite the newly freed worlds into their domain.


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Objective One: Obredaan, Fallen Industry (Jedi/GADF)

The mines of Obredaan were long the source of much of the galaxy’s cortosis. A material used in armor to fend off jedi and sith alike, the Imperials cling to these mines and factories like a parasite. Rebel forces have mounted a siege, but their ability to fight against the massive war machines of the Imperials still lacks. GADF and Jedi Forces must move in to assist, taking the mines for the Alliance, and meeting with Rebel Leaders to discuss plans for the future of the planet.

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Objective Two: Ord Mantell, New Beacon of Diplomacy, or Hive of Scum and Villainy? (Senators)

The planet of Ord Mantell was one most affected by the jackboot of the Imperial System. The hub of the Ghost Nebula’s population, the planet has long flip flopped between Imperial, and Democratic hands. Much of it’s population, as such, has turned to alternative places for safety, and as such, are much more trusting of local crime lords than promises of Alliance protection. The representatives of the planet, as such, have offered to join the Alliance under the radical condition that they retain the right to allow sanctuary to criminals not wanted inside Alliance Space.

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Objective Three: Cademimu V, Raiding the War Chest (SIA/GADF)

Once an industrial world for the Old Republic, Cademimu V had become a foundry world for the Dark Empire. During the Empire’s Fall, local garrisons did their damndest to sabotage the world’s industry, leaving the local population and government in ruins. The planet has been rigged as a death trap, with it’s planetary missile batteries rigged to fire on anything that comes near. Get in, secure the batteries, and allow Alliance Engineers the chance to begin restoring the industry that made it famous.

 
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VIGIL IN THE DARK
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Objective 1
Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike


The mines of Obredaan didn’t breathe.
They rasped.

Each collapse left the rock bleeding. Cortosis dust hung in the air like broken promises—thin, metallic, sharp if you breathed too deep. Alliance soldiers held the perimeter, pinned by a choke point that didn’t care about valor.

The Imperials dug in like parasites.
The Alliance bled trying to root them out.

Then came footsteps. Soft. Barefoot.

One by one, helmets turned.
The wind had shifted. It carried something still.

A figure stepped through the dust veil. Blindfolded. White-haired.
Not armored. Not armed. Just clothed in linen and serenity.

His walking stick tapped the stone once.
Twice. Then silence swallowed even that.

A trooper snapped toward him—hand out, voice cracked.
“What the - hey, don’t. You’ll get torn apart in there!”

The Miraluka paused. Tilted his head.
Not refusal.
Not agreement.
Just... listening. The trooper trailed off.

The blind man walked past the perimeter.

A blaster bolt screamed toward his chest.
He raised a palm. It died against him with a hiss like rain on a stovetop.

Another—angled for the throat.
His shoulder turned. The fabric rippled as the bolt whizzed past. No burn. No wound. No delay in his calm steps.

He descended the slope without breaking rhythm. Not once. Not for pain. Not for fear.

Imperials rushed him.
The pike moved—not to kill.
To end violence by precision and pain.
A sweeping blow to the knee. A jab to the solar plexus. Pressure points. Disarms. Breathless collapses. Dislocations, fractures, torn ligaments. Painful reminders for those that approached him with murder in their hearts.

No azure blade. No righteous fury.
Only passive-faced control.

The backline of the sentries reloaded, having fruitlessly fired bolt after bolt as if another shot would make the difference.
The front line hesitated, looking to the wounded in his wake.

He was already past them.

The dust parted around him, like it knew to expect him. He moved like ink written into scripture.

And behind him—
None stirred.
No one dared follow a ghost that walked through blaster fire. Not when the enemy was still at the mine's entrance.

His fading voice echoed from deeper within.
"Your reign is broken."
He caught a bolt in his open palm. Let it dim there, frozen in place.
"Let it end."

Aadihr walked deeper into the mines, on a path to its depths.

@OPEN​
 

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TAG: Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen

Jonyna had been busy. She was always busy. Always dealing with something.

But days like this pulled her away from that.

She was on the hunt, the hunt for a moff. A war criminal.

Sularen.

She'd read the report Jasper Kai'el Jasper Kai'el had made about him. The SIA reports. The GADF Reports. The NJO reports. The Corellian Reports. Everything she could to prep for it.

While the GADF moved in to deal with the siege of the mine, Jonyna was dealing with an alternative objective. Deep within the mountains, she was tracking him, dressed in her Panther outfit, stalking the target.

She was planning to either taking him in, or taking his head.


 
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OBJECTIVE 2 - ORD MANTELL
“Not all empires fall with fire. Some simply rot… until something hungrier takes their place.”

The scent of rare oils and expensive decay announced him before his shadow ever did. From the eastern vestibule of the Ord Mantell summit chamber, a Electrum-inlaid palanquin of polished durasteel and engraved voidstone was carried in by six Nikto guards, their gilded breath masks hissing softly with each step. Adorned in velvet hangings and bearing the tattered banners of the Chantin Kajidic, the structure lowered onto reinforced flooring with a groan of metal and wealth.

The being within was unmistakable.

Whottoomuzz the Hutt slithered forth in ceremonial armor—an obscene Baroque shell of engraved beskar, warped to his gluttonous form and etched with the deeds of his lineage in both blood-gold and midnight violet. Flanked by two Trandoshan attendants in longcoats of rancor hide, the Hutt did not bow, but instead extended a hand the size of a small repulsor engine in greeting.

"Senadazee... Mee wamma du woy uba. Jee toba che copah... peetchay jeejee hatkocanh uba see bu tytung doth." he crooned in slow, rich huttese laced with the phlegmatic cadence of Nal Hutta. “Choba dosha... what a curious notion Ord Mantell begs you to entertain. Criminal sanctuary—enshrined in treaty. What visionary madness.”

He slithered toward the central table with effortful grace, the weight of his bulk sending faint tremors through the diplomatic flooring. One could smell the incense of deathstick resin and Huttese perfume clinging to his person like smoke.

“Pardon my intrusion.” He smiled, revealing no teeth, but the greasy assurance of a creature that had outlived more governments than most had served.

“when old regimes fall…” he gestured toward the distant starscape hologram showing the crumbling Dark Empire, “…the roots do not die. They simply tunnel deeper, until a more favorable sun appears.”

He paused beside before the delegation, whether in person or via hologram, his gaze lingered just a moment too long.​


"If bu Alayans coo see hatkocanh, den da hatkocanh gee patka da da uba... fa noo mi see uba woy bu tytung wen bu Empire coo bai da mi."

"Bu Kajidicae noleeya tonka, Senadazee. Jeejee fa tapah see uba hatkocanh."

"And some of us have learned the value of... appearances."


@OPEN​
 
Machines Making Machines
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CADEMIMU V - CONTROL BUNKER
WAR CHASSIS

Antipater watched the display table. The soft thrum of electronics and the steady beeping of displays were the only other signs of activity in the control room. The droid was alone. His agents were emptying vaults and extracting data elsewhere. The missile batteries were a sufficient distraction - a delaying tactic - but ones which required his direct attention.

Miniature holograms showed him the approaching Alliance dropships. Their maneuvers were expert and precise, and they exploded all the same when the missiles caught up. A hideous waste of organic potential. Some of their peers would eventually make it through. When they were done here, they would choke out some tear-stained speeches praising these noble sacrifices. Maybe erect a monument.

But they were all still dead, and they wouldn't be coming back. Another resource to be expended. The window of opportunity to pick apart the remains of the Dark Empire had already been fast closing - now the Alliance had gotten involved in accelerating that timetable. Did they know? Did it matter?

Whatever reflective cogitation Antipater enjoyed was suspended when the doors to the control room slid open behind him. An intruder. Ahead of schedule, so almost certainly a Jedi. His chassis clanked noisily as he turned to face them.

A cursory inspection of the droid revealed that it possessed two holstered electrobatons and - hanging brazenly from a strap on its left side - a concussion rifle.

"I surrender."

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OBJECTIVE I - OBREDAAN, FALLEN INDUSTRY

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It seemed like a warzone down here on Obredaan and there were crucial assets to possibly earn for the Galactic Alliance. The Jedi were coming in to provide assistance in what Rebellion forces were capable of.

One particular Padawan Learner had been making his way up to where the group of soldiers and troopers were that Jedi Knight Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos had passed through. The Besalisk equipped his upper hands with hilts.

Although training models he was able to tweak their settings to make them efficient in deflecting blaster fire to defend and protect only himself but others around him. Thumbs were pressing down on the ignition buttons.

A set of blue bladed beams appeared on the right side of his body. Another pair but green coloured beams had emerged from the Saberstaff hilt to his left. Tyron was assessing the situation before committing further.


"Looks like Master Lidos has made his move already. I better lend him a hand."

More Imperials were trying to flank some of the Rebel forces that laid siege in the area. Putting the motion to assist Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos on hold for a few moments. Tyron turned his attention to engage the oncoming flank.

Bolts from blaster rifles reigned fire towards Tyron as he took his altered stance in the Jedi Ready stance. Twirls his Lightsaber beams to deflect the blaster bolts safely away from reaching the Rebel and Alliance troopers.

Tyron had a calm and clear mind that focused solely on defensive motives but also counterattacking by applying applications of the infamous techniques from Shii-Cho; the Disarming Slash and Sun Djem.


"Suggest you all come quietly and don't try anything to endanger others' lives."






 
"A Dramatic Force-Blessed Myth"
Location: Outside of the Mining Tunnels
Forces: Cyclone Regiment, supported by Trident Company
Equipment: Battlefield Loadout
OBJ: Secure the Mines


"Dug in like doruvir, ain't they, Boss?" Vulpesen turned his head tot he lopsided grin of his head of security. Garlan was, as usual, in fine spirits, even as Trident and Cyclone pounded away at the sith troops hiding behind cover. The galaxy, nowadays, seemed infested with jedi, sith, and similar glowstick wielding wizards, Vulpesen being one of them. Thus the mineral in those mines, cortosis, was quite the strategic resource. Something well worth dying and killing for.

"That they are. But they're breaking. Look." Calmly, the Valde pointed out a pair of jedi as they pushed forward, breaching the perimeter and making the imperials fold like paper figures. That was the power of the force. A lightsaber was handy, but it wasn't the true weapon of such people. No, that would be the cosmic power that guided them as weapons and tools of its will. Reaching into his cloak, Vulpesen retrieved his mask and placed it on, activating his coms as he did so. [Trident Actual to all callsigns, GADF and Jedi. Be careful down there and make it quick. Raw Cortosis can kill with a touch and the dust ain't gonna be good for you. If you go without equipment, make sure you see medical or a healer immediately upon exiting.]

His warning offered, Vulpesen started towards the mine, his tail swishing behind him. he didn't bother to unclip his saberstaff, not when the enemy would have an answer ready for it, and tapping the walls in those close quarters could shut the weapon down if it hit the wrong spot. "Trident 3-2 on me. All other Trident callsigns and Cyclone, work on securing those entrances. I want those imps boxed in before you start pushing and clearing the place." A pistol found its way into one of his hands and the other called up a dagger from his belt. It would be close fighting in those tunnels, but for as a Zorren, there were few environments more suited to his talents.

Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos Tyron Khan Tyron Khan @Open
 
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Objective (2): Assist negotiations with local representatives
With: Jedi Knight Consular Kaldor Vexis (NPC), OPEN
Near:
Whottoomuzz Chantin Whottoomuzz Chantin

Among the Alliance diplomats present was Mykel with his master Kaldor, ready to assist in mediations as representatives of the Foreign Office and Ministry of Justice. The situation on Ord Mantell was a precarious one to say the least. It would be untenable for the Galactic Alliance to allow a criminal sanctuary to exist within its space that could also serve as a staging area for more terrorist attacks by the Sith and hostile factions, but at the same time, the local government had voiced a lack of confidence in the GA to protect them against external threats. So now they were now in a deadlock that needed to be overcome.

First, an armored Hutt had spoke, alternating between basic and Huttese. Fortunately, Mykel had plugged in his translator to assist with the proceedings, getting a gist of what the Hutt was angling for. Chantin would love nothing more than for his cartel's influence to be enshrined within a legal framework upheld by the Alliance itself. The perfect racket.

Mykel's face was a mask of stoicism in the face of the bold proposal, but opposition was definitely the order. He looked over to his master, asking for permission to speak. He was still an apprentice, but he required working experience if he was going to measure up as diplomat himself one day. Besides, his master would be there to back him up if he went off the rails.

Kaldor nodded approvingly, and Mykel rose to address the local representatives.

"In these troubling times, the Galactic Alliance certainly does not judge you for doing what was needed to survive in darker days, turning to...unconventional paramilitary forces to assist in your defense, but the Dark Empire is gone and such emergency measures are now poison to the people they were once meant to protect. In the shadow of these paramilitary forces operating, organized crime has spread like wildfire and rooted itself deep into your society. Corruption bleeds into your institutions, and with it come a stark rise in inequality. Your citizens choke under the weight of extortion, violence and other forms of duress. Worse yet, Ord Mantell is swiftly becoming a trafficking hub for slavers under the cover of sanctuary."

"It appears that Mr. Chantin is offering some sort of compromise to bring these criminal elements to heel, but now the Alliance is here to offer liberation. As we speak, the NJO and GADF are conducting a massive counteroffensive in the sector in support of rebel groups against the Dark Imperial Remnant - we came to back up our words with action. As for Ord Mantell itself, the Galactic Alliance and the New Jedi Order is ready to train and equip your people so that you may finally have capable security forces and a homeguard to effectively repel raids, invasions, and the predators lurking in the shadows."

"In exchange, we ask that the government of Ord Mantell revokes its sanctuary status for criminal groups or any other organizations bringing harm to your people and threaten the Galactic Alliance. We could accept that a small grace period of amnesty be offered to individuals of these groups to formally integrate into your society as law abiding residents or remove themselves from the system voluntarily."

"Of course...there would need to be exceptions made for amnesty: current fugitives of the Galactic Alliance, designated terrorists on the SIA watchlist, Imperial remnant still actively fighting against the GA, and slavers operating out of your jurisdiction. They must be brought to immediate justice. We believe this is a reasonable compromise for what we can offer, in the best interests of your people who currently must contend with the negative fallout of your current security arrangement."
 
“Let evil fear me. Innocent know they're safe"
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TO THE MINES
Obredaan
Mines



Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Seraphim
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

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Objective One: Obredaan, Fallen Industry (Jedi/GADF)
The smog-choked surface of Obredaan, a rocky industrial world scarred by strip mining and ash storms. Long-abandoned cortosis tunnels run beneath its crust like veins of brittle glass. Above them, the Galactic Alliance fleet maintains orbit. Below, Imperial Remnant rebels have turned the deepest mines into bunkers, black markets, and prison cages.

One mine in particular—Vein Nine-Black—is surrounded by jagged rock ridges, heat vents, and a vertical shaft drop that would make most tactical maps laugh in defeat.

Connel Vanagor knelt beside a holo-projector buried in the dirt, reviewing the topographic scan. The shaft leads nearly 800 meters straight down, flanked by sheer cortosis-laced walls that jam sensors and reduce lightsaber effectiveness.

Gabriel saw something he didn’t like and tapped on the mapping grid. Thermal gridding says it’s practically a furnace down there. Too hot for scans, too cold for logic. I love it already.

Michael was just deadpan in his look. Entry’s a death trap. No cover. No extraction vector. No fallback.

Sariel was checking his rifle one last time. Which means they’ll never expect it.

Jeremiel checked his kit. And the hostages?

Intel says one chamber deep in. No movement. That either means they’re being kept alive… or the Remnant stopped pretending to care.

Connel stood, clicking his mask into place.

Then we go in quiet. We come out loud.

Lock in. Let’s burn a path where maps say there isn’t one.

Once dropped by their Raven. Omega Squad descended the shaft one by one, rappelling with magnetic harnesses, silently vanishing into the smoke and heat.

  • Azrael placed climbing charges in case of a fast extraction.

  • Raphael anchored a repeatable tether for evac.

  • Sariel set up remote overwatch positions by anchoring sensor darts into the walls—he’s not getting a shot from up here, but he’ll know what’s moving.

  • Gabriel tapped into the old mine comm grid, masked transmissions bouncing like ghosts through the rock.
Jeremiel whispered to himself as they descended.

Where the light doesn’t go… make your own.

At the mine’s base, twisted metal walkways form a labyrinth. Heat distortion warps vision. Red floodlights flicker, and the air smells like metal and fear. The squad moved through the maze with practiced precision, their boots silent on the grated floors. Shadows danced as the floodlights sputtered, casting fractured beams through the swirling smoke. Every sense was heightened, adrenaline coursing as they closed in on their target.

First contact is sudden. Brutal.

A squad of Remnant troops rushed out from behind a durasteel barrier—clearly underestimating the invaders.

  • Sariel’s trap detonated, dropping a support beam that crushed two before shots are fired.

  • Raphael layed down suppressive fire, slugs ricocheting off cortosis-streaked walls.

  • Connel spun into the chaos, igniting both sabers, deflecting blaster bolts back into their senders. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Breaching point Bravo. Gabriel—find me those cages.

Already slicing. Hold two minutes.

They found them deep in Cavern 4-Delta: a reinforced platform suspended over a crevasse, held in place by four manual lock-pylons. Half-starved civilians. Bound, silent, afraid. A Remnant commander stood behind them, using a child as cover, holding a blaster to her temple.

“You take one step and they all fall. There’s no way—”

CRACK.

He fell dead before he finishes. A red mark between the eyes.

Sariel. Flawless shot.

Connel in a voice like stone. You used fear. We use precision.

The team moved fast—Azrael and Raphael dismantled the pylon system, Jeremiel tended to the hostages, whispering reassurance, administering stabilizers.

Incoming heat signatures. Two squads. Closing fast.

They rigged the platform to collapse once they’re clear, burying the mine access behind them.

Connel led the evac route, blade slicing through a riot trooper shield wall like smoke. They ascended the rappel line under fire, Jeremiel carrying a child, Michael throwing concussion grenades, Gabriel jamming sensors mid-climb.

At the top, Alliance LAAT gunships swoop in, laying down cover fire.

As the mine implodes, a storm of dust and cortosis fragments erupts behind them.

They’re airborne. Safe. Hostages alive. Mine gone.

Michael leaned over to Connel. Still think that entry was suicidal?

There is a difference between “suicidal”, and “precise.

Back at the Alliance command tent, mobile operations base on Obredaan. The hostages are safe. The cortosis mine is destroyed at least the “command center” part of it. The team’s armor is scorched. Everyone looks like they’ve won.
But in the shadows of the tent, Alliance Intelligence Officer Kaelen Tora slides a datapad to Michael and Connel. Her expression says it all: this isn’t over.

“Vein Nine-Black was never the target. It was the distraction.”

As everyone gathered around her as if to say “WHAT?” She met their gazes. “Intercepted data from the mine’s relay towers reveals encrypted resource transfers… but the numbers don’t match cortosis haul. They’re too small.”

She tapped a glowing holo.

“The real prize is here—Mine 77-Theta. Hidden under a fake geological marker. Deep valley. Dense atmosphere. No orbital line of sight.”

Gabriel leaned over.

This… this isn’t ore movement. These are biometric scan logs. And artifact crates. They weren’t mining cortosis down there. Are they guarding something?

Connel stood in the corner, quiet, jaw clenched.

The Empire didn’t need the minerals. They needed us looking anywhere but there.


They knew we’d come for the hostages.


Which means they know we’re coming next.



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Alicio Organa Alicio Organa OPEN​
 

Ashley wasn't going to admit she had requested Aiden's platoon alongside hers again for personal reasons. It was a matter of security, right? This was the kind of chit that would get her in trouble, but then again, Command had always given Phoenix quite a lot of leeway. They got the job done, after all. The Rock Stars of the Alliance.

Ashley let out a sigh. They had been stationed outside of the mine entrance as a rear unit, not because command didn't trust Phoenix to get the job done, but because they needed someone in reserve should everything go to hell. Insurance, they were. Ashley didn't much mind it, but Boxer was looking bored out of his mind.

"So are you gonna break protocol and ask him out, or is this just gonna be you and him sneaking off for the rest of your military career? Because I feel like one is gonna get you into much more trouble than the other."

"I'll ask him out when I'm ready."


"Ash, you're full of chit. Just go! Do it!"

"Ugh..." She groaned, idly looking over to the marine across the way. The Marines Ashley had requested as backup under the idea that clearing a mine isn't much different from clearing a ship. Close quarters, with much heavier suits to deal with the vaccuum of space.

[Trident Actual to all callsigns, GADF and Jedi. Be careful down there and make it quick. Raw Cortosis can kill with a touch and the dust ain't gonna be good for you. If you go without equipment, make sure you see medical or a healer immediately upon exiting.]
[Copy Trident, Phoenix Bravo reads you. We've been borrowing some gear from the marines, figured the spacesuits would be better to deal with it. Not much different between cortosis and raw moondust. Rainmaker is on standby should you need mortars. Paladin is ready to deal with any heavy machinery the imps might have stashed down there.]

Ashley looked over to DJ, who by tradition, was playing the latest hit from H.A.W.K. over the local comms. "What do you think DJ?"

"I think if you don't, you're gonna drive yourself crazy, and get distracted. Go get yourself a boyfriend, and come back and do the mission."

"...fuck."

With that, she walked over to Aiden and let out a cough. "Hey."


 


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Objective One: Obredaan, Fallen Industry
Lt. Col. Ysennia Lee | 42nd Assault Battalion
Location: Hill 067 - Joint GA-Rebel Base
Tags: Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos Tyron Khan Tyron Khan Vulpesen Vulpesen Ashley Nevermore Ashley Nevermore

"Our men are being slaughtered trying to take out the mining complex! We've had it under siege for the past week and only now your Jedi have begun their assault?!" One of the rebel leaders was in the command center, superior in rank to Ysennia, she could only maintain her professionalism as she was being berated.

"As we said before, Colonel, we need the assault on the complex to distract the imperials so our insertion team can get behind their defenses. Keeping them busy means it'll be easier for our infiltrators to end this battle quickly."

"Why hasn't your armor mobilized? My men have been getting picked off by enemy mortars and sniper fire. A few strikes from your mobile assault cannons could annihilate their entrenched positions!"

"Sir, we can't risk using our armor for fear of collapsing the mine shafts on our strike team. Intelligence has already told us they're barely holding together."

The rebel colonel had no other means to criticize Ysennia; he furrowed his brow and sighed. "We've already lost enough to these fething imperials. These jedi better pull through." The rebel colonel left the room without another word, leaving Ysennia frustrated before the communications officer, Lt. Jarkis approached her. "Ma'am. Oberdaan Command is requesting an audience."

"Patch them through." Ysennia said. There was no time for being frustrated; she approached the holo table and took a deep breath while Jarkis walked to man his station. The rebel general appeared before her. "Lt. Col. Lee, my staff and I request a status on the mission."

"Our insertion team is in the mines right now, General. They'll have them captured in no time."

"I hope so. The imps attacks have been unrelenting, and our men are getting angsty."

"I'm well aware of that, sir. But we can't risk ramping up activity in the area without collapsing the mines. They're already sensitive to the fighting above ground."

"Then I hope your jedi and alliance troops are as good as they sound."

Ysennia was starting to feel like a broken record. "All we need to do is hold out, I can request more supplies if necessary, and send in reserves to bolster our defenses."

"Let's hope they'll be enough. Oberdaan Command out."

Without a word, the general cut the transmission, and Ysennia cursed under her breath. But despite her gripes with her allies, they couldn't afford the imps to break the siege.

"This is Stormpiercer to insertion team. Rebel forces are taking a beating and morale is getting low. Asking if we can pick up the pace a little."

 
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Objective Two: Ord Mantell, New Beacon of Diplomacy, or Hive of Scum and Villainy? (Senators)

Ord Mantell smells like burnt carbon and dried blood covered up with cheap cologne. You don’t walk its streets—you navigate them, like a negotiation you didn’t agree to but are already losing.
It’s not the grime that bothers me. It’s the resignation. The way people here wear defeat like a second skin. They’ve given up on being heard. That makes them unpredictable. Or dangerous.
Still, there’s something honest in that chaos. No gilded façades, no polished marble to cover the cracks. Just people who know exactly how deep the rot goes, and live anyway.
The Republic abandoned it. The Alliance placated it. And the syndicates? They thrive on what’s left. But in places like this, power isn’t taken with guns. It’s taken with promises.
So yes, I hate Ord Mantell. My personal opinion however, it doesn’t matter, this is about the greater good. So I will use that, and the people need the support, and that’s far more valuable.

He was here with his aids, Thexann was sure that he was not the only one who would be here, but right now that was not important. They had an appointment and was waiting to be received. They were going to do this right.Thexann adjusted his jacket, his gaze fixed on the door ahead. The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay, a constant reminder of Ord Mantell's neglect. He knew this meeting was crucial, not just for him, but for the future of their cause.

The one thing concerning him was that condition….


 
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"Peetchay jeejee criminoe me doth bu gootay, Senata... da pateessa konchee patka."

Whottoomuzz shifted in place, the polished engravings of his armor groaning with the weight of history. His golden gaze never left the young diplomat.

"You propose lawful replacements. Will the Alliance police these streets? Every alley, every silo, every moonlit port in the Ghost Nebula? Do you believe you can spare the resources? Do the people of Ord Mantell believe that?"

He let the silence stretch—only the hiss of a Trandoshan's incense pipe filled the room.

"If you revoke sanctuary, do you have the strength to face what fills the void? Because there are powers stirring now..."

He let the sentence trail, meaningfully. He did not name them, but the shadow currently cast across Hutt Space spoke for itself.

"Predators. Larger than me."

"You think my kind are the rot? Perhaps. But we are also the scar tissue, not the wound. Ugly, yes—but proof that someone will sieze the fractured leftovers of galactic warfare."

"You see the resignation in their eyes, Senator. But it is not only despair. It is memory. They remember every time they were liberated and every time they were left behind. Crime will not vanish, but it can be contained."

He unfurled a heavy arm toward the holographic map.

"Ord Mantell proposes sanctuary, the Alliance clearly opposes. I offer this: if the Alliance wishes peace, then name your fugitives. We will deliver them—quietly. "Peetchay jeejee slava, darwi hatkocanh, bal da bu Sith. Dopa peetchay mee hatkocanh."

"Sanctuary remains. Not for the wicked, but for the weary. For those crushed under the Dark Empires boots and too wise to trust another polished shoe."


His gaze, oily and immovable, settled once more on the room. The Hutt knew this would be rejected by the Alliance – their principles were well established, but the offer itself may stick with some officials. They may remember the compromise the Hutt proposed.

"The Kajidics are willing to share the table. And the burden. You may not like our company—but you may hate our replacements more. They may not be so willing to broker a deal as I."

Mykel Dawson Mykel Dawson | Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur | @Open
 
Jedi Robes

During Chantin's retort, the cartel boss responded with all the expected angles. Crime cannot be extinguished, but oh it can be controlled! Lest all chaos break loose. Conveniently, it could only be managed by the experienced hands of ones who had spawned it. Like an arsonist asking for a backpat after snuffing out their own flames.

Mykel didn't find his arguments compelling, but the Jedi did see the Hutt's slimy threats underlying them for what they were. It was a classic shakedown tactic to intimidate compliance into a protection racket.

However, if you give a mouse a cookie, then he'll ask for a glass of milk.

"You're cute with your threats, but let's not forget why you're here and not in Hutt Space right now. Because your rivals the Black Sun have shut you out. If Nal Hutta itself is subordinate to the Black Sun, then what makes you think the criminal outfits here would respect you if the Alliance left you here to have your own way? This place would turn into a warzone as the other groups rebelled against your control. Meanwhile, the Alliance has faced setbacks before, but we continue to stand. The Alliance and the Jedi fight for others even outside of our borders, as we're doing right this instant."

As Chantin had attempted to shake the Mantellian's confidence in the Alliance, Mykel had turned the tactic back on the Hutt by reminding everyone how powerless the Hutt Cartels actually were. They had only been able to operate freely at this point because they had slipped through the cracks, but as the Ghost Nebula was fully incorporated into the Alliance, the brief reign of criminal terror would swiftly come to an end.

Studying Chantin as he spoke, he kept trying to figure out the deal with his armor. He initially couldn't place it because of the proportions, but now he recognized it as some offshoot of Mandalorian design. What a curious fellow.

Chantin appeared different from other Hutts, and in those differences, perhaps a resolution could be found. For now, Mykel was still of mind to offer carrots.

"Let me ask you this, Chantin. With all your knowledge and experience, why not just settle down here and go straight? Work a legitimate business and never have to worry about looking over your shoulder for double crossing or sleeping with one eye closed. You could be more than you are right now. You could help the Alliance make Ord Mantel a better place if you just accept the rule of law and enjoy the prosperity and security that comes with it. We need not be in opposition."

Whottoomuzz Chantin Whottoomuzz Chantin Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur
 
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"Tonka bai straighta?"

The words tasted bitter, even before he spoke them. Not because they offended him—but because he once believed in them.

Because for a moment, just a breath, he pictured it. A sunlit terrace on Ord Mantell. A modest business. Xoff—always sharper with the ledgers than he ever was—keeping the numbers. And Jobbi, the little one, safe. Far from Jedi. Far from Syndicates. Far from the burning weight of survival.

It could never happen.

He could not afford dreams. Not when appearances were everything.

"I know what your legitimacy costs."

He turned his gaze away, just for a moment. As if weighing something real.

"You would not pardon my kin, nor adequately shield us from those who now claim Nal Hutta. What prosperity would remain for a Kajidic stripped of its name? What protection for my daughter if I bowed low enough for your approval?"

A pause. A long one.

Something deep within wanted to say yes. But he couldn't. Not just for himself—but for the hundreds who had followed him. For the Nikto who carried his barge. For the criminals who believed the lie he wore like his armor. If he let the mask slip, they would scatter—and what would be left of him then?

"No, no... I am... what I am."

A deep breath—he eased back into the expected rhythm. A practiced platitude for his followers. Everyone expected a greedy opportunist. He would still play the part. He must play the part.

"I am a Hutt. I measure value in loyalty, in leverage, in the truth of things done when no one is looking. You offer me peace... and ask me to trust it. Trust, in my line is for the dead, or those soon to be."

He smiled. The mask was back on. His voice was smooth, his tone full of teeth his mouth did not possess.

"So let’s not pretend. I’m here for credits, for power, for territory. Dress it up however you like. You bring soldiers. I bring offers. We both want control."

He gave a wide, oozing smile. A lie. Or a deflection. The truth was: Whottoomuzz wanted what Mykel offered.

He just wouldn't survive it.

Mykel Dawson Mykel Dawson | Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur | @Open
 


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Objective Three
Cademimu V

Open

Cademimu V loomed below, the broken industrial heart of an empire. Its surface pocked with shattered cities, blackened furnaces, and crumbling spines of old industrial hives. The world still breathed fire, but not on purpose. The forges burned without control, stoked by failing systems and rigged sabotage, venting poison and ash into a sky that hadn't known blue in generations.

Vaegon Dolmyrian stood aboard the Alliance dropcraft, quiet amidst the murmuring soldiers and technicians. His robes were the color of black and silver, which had a certain ceremonial elegance to them. He wore no visible rank, no insignia of command, only the lightsaber at his side marked him as Jedi.

The landing zone was a mess of rubble and scrap metal, hemmed in by fractured anti-air towers and half-collapsed magrail pylons. Smoke twisted from vents that hadn't shut down in years. In the distance, beyond the derelict skyhooks, the planetary defense grid still pulsed red, primed, active, and blindly waiting to fire.

Vaegon exhaled slowly, his breath curling into the chemical-laced air. He could smell the ozone from fresh blaster fire. Around him, engineers and troopers spread out in practiced formation, relief specialists, security teams, a few quiet Jedi sent to oversee the reclamation. Yet as always, Vaegon kept to himself. He walked like a man in a crypt, and the world welcomed him with silence.

After a few moments, one of the engineers broke the silence, his voice uncertain behind his filter mask.

"Sir... shouldn't we have run into something by now? Resistance? Droids? Imperial holdouts? Even a minefield?"

Vaegon turned his head, scanning the shattered wreckage beyond the team's formation, where transmission towers stood like leaning gravestones. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

"We're not close enough to the missile silos."

The engineer hesitated. "Sir?"

Vaegon finally glanced back at him. The Jedi's pale eyes caught the sick light filtering through the haze, casting his features in a faint silvered pallor.

We descended on a civilian transponder. Humanitarian codes. No active weapons. No starfighter escort."

Another engineer looked up sharply. "Are you saying we were allowed in?"

Vaegon said nothing at first. The silence stretched long enough to be uncomfortable. Then...

"I'm saying the defenses here don't respond to intrusion. They respond to proximity."

He looked over his shoulder at the engineer.

"We have crossed the line yet, but we will."

 
Mykel sighed in the face of Chantin's grinning, but he wasn't quite ready to give up. Chantin was still resistant, but he sensed some cracks. The mention of his clan, his child. Family was very important to the Hutts. That was something he could work with.

He'd try one more time before the sticks had to come out.

"The Alliance is all about mercy and giving second chances. Our space includes the likes of former imperials and Sith. Even the Dark Imperials we now clash against could lay down their arms right now and be treated fairly so long as they're not found to have personally conducted warcrimes."

"I do believe that if you and your Kajidics pledged to immediately cease your criminal operations and black market activities, then perhaps some arrangements could be made to accommodate your transition into more legitimate ventures. For the Alliance not only comes with soldiers, but also investment and aid. In the end, does it matter how you're making ends meet, so long as you're providing for your kin? Why do it the hard way?"


Whottoomuzz Chantin Whottoomuzz Chantin Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur
 
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A S H E S_O F_A_F A L L E N_E M P I R E
Objective 3 : Raiding the War Chest

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
CADEMIMU V,
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES
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At long last, the Galactic Alliance had arrived. When the Dark Empire collapsed, it's military scattered and it's industry dismantled, Sularen knew that it was only a matter of time before the Galactic Alliance swooped in to trample over it's corpse. He already knew well how they functioned, they would make promises of peace and stability and then slowly erase the Imperial identity from worlds such as Cademimu V despite their strong Imperial sentiments.

Nevertheless, Sularen had done his part and did his best to keep the Dark Empire on life support during it's final days no matter how hopeless the situation might have been. But at least with his new station as the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Confederation's Armed Forces he had a genuine chance at correcting his past mistakes within the Dark Empire and building a new proper Empire that would last longer then the New Imperial Order and claim it's place as the dominant power in the galaxy.

As the Supreme Commander gazed upon the industrial city-scape of Cademimu V, he was contacted by his aide Colonel Rackham Rackham who patiently awaited him onboard his flagship which was parked elsewhere in the system, via the comms "Sir, sorry to interrupt but i would highly advise you evacuate the planet. We're getting reports of Alliance strike teams inserting themselves all over the planet." Rackham said. Sularen sighed knowing that this would most likely be the last time he'd step foot on this world for a long period of time. "Very well then. I'll tell Torson to prep the shuttle." he responded before terminating the call.

Sularen then turned around and made his way towards an elevator that would lead him towards the level of the abandoned building that contained a small hangar where an Imperial Gunship was parked, defended by a squad of SpecNav Commandos led by Joseph Torson Joseph Torson . Little did he know however, that he and his Imperial escort weren't the only ones in the building.

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Tags | Jonyna Si Jonyna Si
 
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OBJECTIVE I - OBREDAAN, FALLEN INDUSTRY

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A hand was raised to listen into his commlink device.

Vulpesen Said said:
"Trident Actual to all callsigns, GADF and Jedi. Be careful down there and make it quick. Raw Cortosis can kill with a touch and the dust ain't gonna be good for you. If you go without equipment, make sure you see medical or a healer immediately upon exiting."


Tyron kept watch of the Imperial troopers that were disarmed now being arrested and detained by Alliance soldiers that supported the Rebels situated at the mining facilities being held by the Imperials.

The Besalisk approached one of the Alliance squadrons and requested an antiox rebreather mask in which fortunately there were spares available for both Alliance and Jedi strike-team forces planet side.


[Padawan Learner Tyron Khan reporting in. Thanks for the precaution. Managed to equip myself with an Anitox Rebreather Mask to avoid inhaling Cortosis dust. I won't go near or consider touching raw Cortosis either. Imperial troops from my location have surrendered and are being detained back at the main outpost station. I am going to assist Master Lidos. Will keep you all posted of our progress. Khan out.]

The comm call had ended and Tyron took another Antiox rebreather mask with him so that when he joins up with Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos the Jedi Knight wouldn't be at risk of inhaling Cortosis dust that is poisonous if not careful. Another comm call had rang out that Tyron placed a hand to his commlink device to listen to it.


Ysennia Said said:
"This is Stormpiercer to insertion team. Rebel forces are taking a beating and morale is getting low. Asking if we can pick up the pace a little."


[This is Padawan Learner Khan reporting to Stormpiercer. I can divert from assisting further insertion and rally to support the Rebel forces. Provide any aid and support I can muster with an Alliance squadron or few to reinforce any grounds the Rebels have control over. Give me coordinates and I'll help the Rebels.]

Tyron was waiting for a response. He trusted Jedi Knight Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos would make good progress within the mines and once the Besalisk supported the Rebel forces he can double-time it to rendezvous with Aadihir. Make further progress with the Jedi Knight and complete the objective set out upon them as quick as they could.

Remembering the reasons as well as his training from fellow Jedi. Tyron was selfless if others needed help he'd be one to answer the call. His heart and intentions were pure. May appear to be a massive brute but the Besalisk didn't allow a brutish nature or outlook set the tone. He continued to wait and was ready to engage.

Learning from Jedi Masters Valery Noble Valery Noble , Jonyna Si Jonyna Si and Caltin Vanagor Caltin Vanagor in becoming a Jedi Guardian. This was an opportunity to prove among others inside and outside the New Jedi Order what Tyron was capable of. A defender, a protector, the Sword and Shield for others that were defenceless and helpless when danger arose.






 
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Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Objective Two: Ord Mantell, New Beacon of Diplomacy, or Hive of Scum and Villainy?
Outfit

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Corruption and greed to keep the slow rot forever present and ever present in any system. Damian rolled his eye at the notion that such imperfect systems would ever be intolerable in the Alliance.

We tolerate plenty in this Alliance, we just do a better job at addressing the fringes. The extreme.

“Planetary governments within Alliance space are given a healthy leeway in how they handle their internal affairs. . . as long as Alliance wide regulations are followed.” Damian spoke up, an attempt to cool down the room.

“-A government allowing legal immunity towards their own criminal organizations is certainly a novel idea, one born out of desperation I imagine but as with any decisions that have such wide ranging implications it is best we come to understand these ranges.”

Damian placed his data-slate on the table, his right hand gently scrolling through a few reports as he attempted to gleam a bit more information. Words meant plenty in negotiations and it was important to not trip over factual inaccuracies nor empty platitudes that do little to serve anyone.

“Slavery, cloning and hostile agents will of course not be granted any sort of asylum to this proposed ‘sanctuary’. . . but there is precedence in the allowance of criminal activity continuing even when Alliance flags are thrown. Denon is the most obvious example.” Damian explained.

“Words carry meaning and if we say: ‘The Alliance will not judge.’ Such a phrase carries a certain implication we all would be wise to avoid. Instead we should focus on a future that best serves as many people as possible.” Damian attempted to clear a misstep in his eyes.

“If the above-mentioned non-starters for a deal to be had are agreed to, I do not see an issue with how Ord Mantell wishes to govern itself. While we here in the Senate encourage our member worlds to behave in a manner most suitable in a democratic alliance; We understand that enforcing such ideals through force can be quite. . .counterproductive. We wish to build bridges, a path to prosperity.” Damian gestured with his left hand around them.

“What of course is left unsaid is the obvious nature of investment and the importance of stability through law and order.” Damian began, his lone scarlet eye focused down to his data-slate.

“If a business’s only recourse to recover damaged or stolen profits is violence then the potential of investment and prosperity diminishes dramatically. . . What we all want is stability that allows prosperity. Peace, not justice as the saying goes.” Damian hardly believed in a notion of a sanctuary criminal state, but often the easiest way to dissuade those of a terrible idea is for them to reap the consequences of their folly.

 

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