Faction Exodus of War [THR]

[Corazona von Ascania]

Nuvar Hollow Refugee Camp, Ukatis
​

In the wake of the Galactic Empire’s warpath, refugees from the core have flooded into High Republic space.

Nuvar Hollow, Ukatis’ largest refugee camp, is in the midst of handling a surge in activity. Sponsored by Republic credits and tended by both Republic personnel and a native workforce, the camp’s growth has exploded. Countless structures - some temporary, some permanent - have taken over barren farmlands, dotting the countryside in swaths of wood, canvas, and steel.

While war ravages the core, the Republic continues to manage the brunt of displaced beings who've fled imperial space and surrounding systems. It’s an all hands on deck situation, calling for the aid of politicians, Jedi, soldiers, civilians, and more.

Objective I | Healing Hands​

With the influx of refugees, many hands are needed to construct additional shelter, distribute supplies, and organize various forms of aid.

While fleeing the imperial grasp, many newcomers to Nuvar Hollow are wounded and in need of medical care. Healers and medical personnel have been asked to handle examinations and treatment.

Join in the expansion and operation of the camp, whether it be through building, healing, or managing supplies.

Objective II | It's Sabotage​

Rumors of infiltration have begun circulating among the chaos. Imperial agents, embedded within the deluge of refugees, are intent on disrupting the Republic's operation.

Reports are just now coming in of spotty, intermittent communications, and a number of food and medical supplies have vanished from storehouses.

Locate the source of these problems, and catch whoever is behind them - whether they be imperial agents, or discontent locals.

 

[Durak'Tur]

What is Left Behind

Tag: OPEN

The air of Ukatis was heavy with dust and rain, a strange union born from the constant churn of shuttles landing and departing across the makeshift clearing that had become Nuvar Hollow’s heart. Durak’Tur moved through the encampment at a deliberate pace, his broad frame stooped slightly so as not to brush against the low tarp shelters erected between the repulsor crates. He could feel the ache of exhaustion rolling off the refugees like a tide, not merely of the body, but of the soul. The Force hummed through it all, carrying whispers of fear, grief, and quiet endurance. Each being here had fled something terrible, and yet, they had not fallen to despair. That spark was what he sought to nurture.

A small child clung to her mother’s robes as they passed, her leg bound in a crude splint of plastoid and vine. Durak’Tur’s deep-set eyes softened. He knelt slowly, the ground groaning beneath his weight, and placed one large hand over the splint. A faint blue glow emanated between his furred fingers, warmth radiating into the air as he murmured in the old Whiphid tongue, not words of power, but of peace. The pain in the girl’s face eased, her trembling breath settling. “You will walk strong again,” he said gently, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “But rest, little one. Even warriors must allow the body to mend.” He offered her a faint smile before standing once more, towering yet serene.

Nearby, the medical pavilion struggled to maintain order. Bacta reserves were stretched thin, and the droids were overclocked from hours of triage. Durak’Tur joined them, his presence alone bringing a sense of quiet authority that steadied those around him. He took up tasks without complaint, lifting wounded onto stretchers, binding wounds with practiced precision, directing the young Padawans who assisted him. The healer’s role was not one of pride, but service. “Patience,” he reminded one apprentice whose hands trembled as she worked. “We cannot hurry the Force, only align ourselves with it. Let it guide your hands, not your fear.”

 

[Ryn Trask]

​

Ukatis | Refugee Camp
Interacting with: Tess Wyn-Tai Hannibal Daxos

​

Ryn adjusted the collar of his grey flight jacket half for show and half to hide the nervous twitch in his jaw as his oceanic blue eyes scanned the camp. The air in Nuvar Hollow smelled like a rotting bucket of Giju. Nothing like dust, sweat, piss, and manure on this backwater world to really get the blood pumping. That wasn't even including the number of aliens wandering around that the Kuati had to hold back from grimacing.

He had made his choice. Now he had to live with it.

The Kuati leaned closer to the two Imperial cadets beside him, making sure to keep his voice low for only the two to hear.

"Alright. So here's the plan," he said, hands sketching vague shapes in the air as if that might make it sound smarter.

"We're refugees. We follow the plan. Then we see where we can get plugged into the Republic, preferably without getting imprisoned first."

It sounded simple enough. Too simple, really. But simplicity had been their only currency since the Death Star III blotted out the skies over Atrisia. For the three cadets that moment had been the line in the sand. Whatever faith they'd had in the Empire had burned up with the Mon Mothma.

Getting out of the Core had taken favors, forged codes, and luck that shouldn't have held. Leaving behind the letter for his grandfather... yeah, well, that had hurt worse than any of it. The old man would read it, sure, but forgiveness? That was another story.

Ryn sighed and looked between the two cadets, then after a second a crooked grin tugged at his mouth.

"Any bishwags, moans, or complaints, time to level 'em now before we start mingling. Once we're in the camp, we play the part. Refugees, remember? Keep your heads down, mouths shut, and if anyone asks, we're definitely not ex-Imperials."

He gave his jacket one last tug then stepped forward into the chaos of the refugee camp.

"Alright, guys. Welcome to the Republic."

 

[Vodet]

Vodet was always happy to help. That was what he craved. A leader of a Jedi Enclave, as well as a healer and a protector, when push came to shove, was going to do what he could to help them out. And that was why the Hawksbill was being flanked by several other Starchaser Enterprises freighters full of refugees.

The Imperials were always causing these sorts of missteps for the rest of the galaxy, and Jedi were there to help. Yes, maybe the Enclave at Kattada was not the typical Jedi, not based on the Old Republic, but on some version of Luke Skywalker during war with the Yuuzhan Vong. Wandering heroes, Knights Errants, and wayseekers gathered together.

Today, they were setting up part of the healing team, the triage units. Jedi and even Witches, non-Force using explorers with some techniques they found on the Rim made it to Ukatis.

“The world will take care of you once we get you back on your feet.” Vodet gave a slow nod, one that was much more exaggerated so the human could understand it. The amount of children and noncombatants that were here had the Master concerned.

He’d have to speak to Jared about this.

Tags: Open

 

[Hannibal Daxos]

Ryn Trask Tess Wyn-Tai​

Hannibal watched Ryn with the sort of cool, thin attention born of too many close calls. The kid fussed with his collar, jaw flicking, eyes already scanning for trouble like it was a habit rather than a risk. Nuvar Hollow smelled like old rot and bad decisions, Giju smoke, sweat, grease. Hannibal let the stink roll under his skin without comment. It bothered him, sure, but not the way the soft, desperate choreography of the camp did.

Ryn's plan rattled through the air between the three of them, voice low and tight with the kind of optimism that could be bought cheap in a makeshift suit. Refugees, keep your heads down, forge the lines and pass. If only this particular plan was so simple. It had been over a few since they fled Corsucant, doing everything they could possibly to make it out of Empire space. The Sight of the Death Star, Mon Mothma blowing up, what he was fighting for, just vanished in the blink of an eye.

Seeing that weapon and what it was capable of, it changed him.

It had been a rough go of it, but the three of them managed to get through it together. All the laughs and close calls, well they seemed to have brought them closer together. That and they were essentially all awol at this point.

"Let's just be cool, calm. And if anyone asks, we are ex imperial cadets who have fled Coruscant space." Hannibal whispered as he looked over to Ryn with a small smirk. He nudged him lightly and giggled. "I'm just kidding, come on relax." Daxos looked over to Tess. "And you, avoid biting anyone while we are here." He said with a small chuckle.

 

[Tess Wyn-Tai]

Ukatis
TAG: Ryn Trask | Hannibal Daxos​

Tess smacked Hannibal on the shoulder hard enough to make his jacket crinkle. "I ain't gonna bite nobody, you karkin' twig," she hissed, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting back a grin. "You make it sound like I'm feral or somethin'."

The words came easy, but the rest didn't. Her stomach had been in a slow twist since they exited the Core; since she'd seen the Republic crest stamped across every crate and tent. They hadn't done anything wrong, not really. They were just kids who'd signed up for the wrong cause before realizing how deep the rot ran. But walking into the Republic's biggest refugee camp as ex-Imperials? That was a whole different kind of stupid.

She shifted her weight, boots sinking into the muddy path, eyes flicking between the tents and the workers hauling supplies. It was loud, crowded, alive. People shouted in half a dozen languages, and droids beeped their way through the mess. It shouldn't have felt good... but it did. The chaos reminded her of home, of Sacorria's scrapyards, the hum of engines and the smell of fuel in her hair. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was choking on guilt.

"Listen," she muttered, jabbing a thumb toward the camp. "I can blend in just fine here. Folks don't look twice at a girl who looks like she's been sleepin' rough and workin' harder. But you two?" Her gaze darted between them, lips curling into a crooked smirk. "Pretty boy over there looks like he's on his way to a holonet interview, and tall-and-lanky still stands like he's expectin' a drill sergeant to bark at him."

She tugged the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and started walking, weaving into the flow of refugees. "Just don't get me caught up in whatever trouble you two cook up, alright? I didn't come all this way just to end up in a Republic holding cell. 'Sides…" she shot them both a sideways glance, grin flickering through the nerves, "...I bite when I'm cornered."
​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Ukatis, Land of Dirt
Tags: OPEN - OBJ I

Aurelian had never seen anything like it. Tents sprawled across the valley in endless rows, a tide of desperate lives washed up on Ukatis' soil. Smoke rose from cookfires, and droids hummed past in orderly confusion. The air reeked of metal and sweat, layered with a fragile hope straining at the seams. It was a noble and necessary chaos, and he had promised Corazona von Ascania he'd make himself useful.

He stood beside a half-assembled shelter, sleeves rolled and hair sticking damply to his temple, directing three local workers as they hauled prefabricated panels into place. "Not that beam, this one," he called, gesturing sharply. "Unless you plan to house the entire Senate in this unit." The men laughed, tension breaking for half a heartbeat before they moved faster, steadier. Aurelian smiled faintly. Charm was still a kind of power, even here.

His datapad buzzed with dispatches: shipment manifests, casualty reports, and demands for coordination. Republic officers scrambled to keep up, but he'd volunteered his name, connections, and his presence. If the von Ascanias had staked their reputation on compassion, he would not let theirs stand alone.

After dusk, he moved through the camp under a sky bruised purple, carrying crates of ration bars to a medical outpost. The healers were overrun. Children coughed in makeshift cots, and mothers whispered prayers to indifferent stars.

He paused in the doorway, the weight of it pressing on him harder than any physical task. There was nothing glamorous about this kind of service. No audience, no speeches. Only hands, tired and trembling, trying to keep the galaxy from collapsing further.

When he turned to wash his hands, the reflection in the basin showed someone unrecognizable: sweat, grime, and exhaustion where polish once lived.

Somewhere, Corazona would hear that he kept his word. And maybe that would mean something. Or at least get her off his back about following through on his promise.

​

 

[Cali Ziiva]

Equipment of Note: Mobile Workshop, Lightsaber (Blue) with Lens Modulator, Bubblegum Popper Gloves

​

"Okay, everyone, don't worry, everything'll be okay! There are cots and supplies for everyone," a bright, Pink woman cried from amidst the throng of people. Every now and then a fluffy mane of pink hair could be seen popping up above the heads of others as the Zeltron hopped into the air to keep an eye on all the refugees. She could go back a crate or a ladder, but who had the time?

Much as she loudly and merrily invited everyone in, however, Cali was on the lookout for troublemakers. Refugees could get desperate, but someone thought the Imperials might try to start something in the camp. Something to do with the supplies? It didn't make any sense to Cali. Why did people want to hurt each other so much? They really needed to spend more time on Zeltros. Kick back. Relax. Stop getting all worked up when there were plenty of planets in the galaxy.

"Does anyone need any help?" A pink hand waved in the air over the heads of refugees. "If you do, just call out for help. We have people standing by! No need to push. Plenty of room."

What would Imperial spies even look like, Cali wondered? They wouldn't stand out like Sith, right? Tall, dark, and emo. Maybe super serious? Afraid of alien cooties? Cali started to move through the crowd with a wide smile and sparkling eyes. Well, if alien cooties scared them then they'd be jumping out of their own skin with a cute, pink girl like her near.

If that didn't work...? Uh, well, if she were someone else Cali might make dirty jokes about their leader, but that wasn't her style. What would she do to catch some naughty spies? Well, she did have one fallback, but it wouldn't guarantee capture. More like a warning system of someone with sticky fingers.

Tess Wyn-Tai | Ryn Trask | Hannibal Daxos | Open​

 

[Pari Sylune]

The air smelled faintly of smoke and antiseptic.

Pari Sylune knelt beside a makeshift cot, her small hands pressed gently over the chest of a wounded miner. The Force came softly at first, like warm water soaking into dry cloth and the man's shallow breathing began to steady. Around her, the camp was alive with low murmurs, distant cries, the clatter of droids ferrying supplies. It wasn't the Jedi Temple, and it certainly wasn't what she'd imagined when they told her she was "to begin her training soon."

She wasn't sure when that would actually happen. Or if anyone would even come for her now.

The Masters had said Ukatis needed healers more than students right now, and so she stayed. Every day, she tried to balance her quiet hope for a teacher with the very real weight of suffering around her. Burn wounds. Blaster scars. Fevers from unclean water. Her robes were already stained with bacta and dust.

"Focus, Pari," she whispered to herself, steadying her trembling fingers as she reached again for the Force. "One person at a time."

There was so much pain here, more than she could ever hope to mend but she kept at it anyway, because the alternative was to do nothing. And that wasn't what Jedi did.

Still, when the camp grew quiet at night, she found herself staring up at the Ukatis sky, wondering if the stars were watching her too. Wondering if, somewhere among them, a new beginning for her to finally walk the path of a Jedi.

 

[Joa Sodi]

EXODUS OF WAR
Nuvar Hollow Refugee Camp, Ukatis

Reading reports about the refugee crisis in the Core was one thing—seeing it in the flesh was altogether another beast. Joa walked through the camp with a stack of datapads in one hand and her briefcase in the other. She did her best to train her eyes on her destination ahead, but it was impossible not to look upon the despair and pain of those who had no place else to go. The Imperial war machine had revealed itself posthaste and wasted no time razing the Core Worlds. Once again, the innocent and injured found solace in Republic space. Thrice now, to her recollection, though the score was not kept in anger or frustration. It was a reminder of the Republic's promise to the galaxy, to stand as the beacon of hope and security in an otherwise turbulent galaxy.

As she walked, she felt something small hit the side of her boot. A child's toy, some sort of rubber ball. Joa knelt to pick it up, but when she rose to offer it back, there was no one nearby to retrieve it. The senator stood puzzled for a moment, searching the branching avenue for a child or teenager who it might have belonged to, but nobody was paying any mind to her or the ball. With a small sigh, she placed it on a makeshift table in plain enough sight for its owner to spot, then continued toward her destination.

Ahead, she spotted the frame of her friend and interim superior, Aurelian Veruna , as he slipped into a medical outpost. Around her, healers were frazzled as they moved with haste to distribute medicines and salves to the wounded. A worried nurse's words landed on Joa's ears in passing, a question raised about medicinal herbs and where to find more. Unable to ignore a problem she was able to solve, the senator turned from her path toward the Chancellor and approached the medics.

"Here," she said with a small nod as she passed her briefcase to the nurse. "I believe I have enough of the herbs you require to treat your patient. Just... please mind the teapot. It's a family heirloom," she added with a nervous smile. It felt silly to stipulate such a material condition, but the vessel was far more than simple ceramic. The nurse seemed to understand that and nodded promptly before scooping the vials of herbs and returning the case with care.

Physical load made lighter and the warmth of a kind deed done in her belly, Joa resumed her mission. She saw Aurelian washing up over a sink and gave the doorframe a gentle knock to sound her arrival.

"Hello, my friend," she greeted with as hopeful a tone as she could muster. "When I heard the Ukatians had agreed to receive the refugees, I knew it was time to see things for myself. It's much easier to work in the Assembly when you know what things are like outside its walls."

She noticed the grime and sweat on Aurelian's skin, a strange ornament on an otherwise well-groomed man—though in a way, it suited him.

"I see you're of a similar mind," she remarked. "May I?" She wasn't sure if now was a good time, or if she were interrupting a respite he'd prefer to experience alone. If he wanted her to wait or leave altogether, there were certainly others who could use her skills. It was no trouble at all, and the smile she wore said that all on its own.

Tags: Aurelian Veruna | Corazona von Ascania | OPEN​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective 1
Tags: Open
​

The sun over Ukatis burned strongly the light diffused through the haze of dust and smoke that hung over Nuvar Hollow. The air smelled of soil and repulsorlift exhaust, and the constant murmur of the camp was something alive in itself: voices raised in a dozen dialects, the hum of machinery, the clang of tools against steel.

Aiden had been there since dawn.

The cloak and armor he were were placed in the storage crate aboard his ship, replaced by a simple linen shirt rolled to the elbows, rough trousers, and a tool belt. Sweat had darkened the fabric at his shoulders and collar, streaking the dust across his forearms as he worked beside a team of Republic engineers and locals. No distinction between rank or Order seemed to matter here; everyone moved with the same urgency born of necessity.

He braced the next durasteel beam while a mechanic sealed it into place with a welding torch, the spark's flare reflecting off his eyes. When it was done, he stepped back and exhaled through his nose, scanning the rising framework of another shelter a home for a family that, two weeks ago had none.

"Let's bring in the insulation panels next." he called over the din, his voice hoarse but steady.

Nearby, children carried crates of medical rations under the watchful eye of a Mirialan nurse. Aiden offered a genuine smile as he passed them, pausing only long enough to kneel and help a boy resecure the latch on a leaking supply case.

"Easy there, my friend. Don't strain yourself."

The boy nodded solemnly with a smile and ran off. Aiden straightened again, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the sea of tents and prefab shelters spreading across the valley. From here, the Hollow looked endless, an ocean of lives uprooted by a storm that had no intention of stopping.

The Force was heavy here, saturated with pain and exhaustion, but also hope. Fragile, flickering, but real. He let it wash through him, grounding him as surely as the dirt beneath his boots. He wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his belt, eyes lifting toward the distant ridgeline where the High Republic banner billow along with the cool breeze.

There would be meetings later, Jedi Order briefings, messages from Naboo, more supplies incoming. But for now, there was lumber to lift, walls to raise, food to distribute. He bent again to the work, sleeves rolled up, muscles burning beneath the weight of it, but his expression calm. Purposeful.

"Alright." he murmured to no one in particular, grabbing hold of the next beam. "Let's keep going."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Aurelian Veruna | Joa Sodi
​

In victory or in loss, it was always the innocent who bore the brunt of suffering. This refugee camp wasn't a solution; it was a bandage.

A bandage that sang to the same discordant melody she'd heard a hundred times over - weeping children, broken families, displaced beings too tired to be anything else but weary on a foreign world.

Cora felt more useful with a bacta stim in her hand rather than a lightsaber.

Like Aurelian, she'd found herself pulled into many directions as Nuvar Hollow swelled to an incomprehensible size. There was endless work to be done, and not enough hands to manage it all.

"Easy now," she murmured, low and soothing as she ghosted her hand atop a young man's shoulder. Two fingers of her prosthetic hand were pressed gently to his forehead. Laid atop a cot in one of the medical tents, his chest rose and fell as he struggled for breath.

Gradually, that struggle lessened. The Force flowed through him, easing strained lungs and sore muscles.

It was a haunting callback to Ilum, where they'd made the heartbreaking prioritization of lives that could be saved over those who were too far gone to bring back.

The least she could do, she thought, would be to grant a dying man peaceful release as he slipped away. Cora stayed by his side until his ragged breaths faded, and the thread of his pulse fell flat. Then, after mouthing a quiet prayer, she pulled a white shroud over his body.

The gravely injured had been placed behind a thin curtain, separating them from those who were receiving treatment. It didn't really do much of anything to keep the sounds of dying out, nor the chatter of the medical personnel as they worked. Murmurs permeated the makeshift partition, including the cautiously upbeat tone of a nurse relaying to her colleagues that they'd received more medicinal herbs from a white-haired woman.

Cora rose with a soft grunt, marking the deceased's status on her datapad.

Rounding the curtain, she headed for the nearest basin - and abruptly stopped several feet away from the wash station. She'd heard Aurelian's name floating around, but hadn't had a spare second to look into it, imagining the interim chancellor stalking the camp in a neatly pressed suit, dark hair perfectly coiffed as he inspected the rows of dingy tents with a subtle sneer.

Instead, he looked…as ragged as everyone else. It was the sort of sight that almost coaxed one corner of her lips into an upward twitch.

"Veruna," she acknowledged softly with a tilt of her head. While normally a stickler for titles, calling him Chancellor might've garner unwanted attention for the moment.

Cora's gaze moved silently to the woman beside him. White hair. Ah.

"Thank you both for being here. There are ships still docking, and more arriving before the week's end." A brusque exhale accompanied a series of taps on her datapad. "We'll need…" she trailed, raising her sleeve to wipe at the screen's clouded display. "…every pair of hands we can get."

With just the slightest glaze of warmth, her eyes flicked back up to Aurelian.

"I'll get you a brush to scrub the dirt from beneath your nails later. I have another task for you," she said, tilting her chin in the direction of the curtain.

 

[Ariel Korvane]

​

Nuvar Hollow Refugee Camp
Ukatis
Interacting with | Open

​

The Silver Loom touched down with a low hum as it stirred dust across the landing field. At the top of the ramp stood Lady Ariel Korvane, her dark auburn hair catching the light from the intricate woven braids that kept her long hair pinned up and out of the way. Pale grey eyes carefully swept over the refugee camp below with an intent gaze that belied the number of times she'd witnessed such a scene.

Nuvar Hollow stretched wide across the plains filled with tents, voices, and weary faces. Behind her the whir of droids hummed as they began to move quickly, unloading crates stamped with the indigo and silver crest of House Korvane, packed with bacta and Force-woven cloth from Rimos.

Ariel descended the ramp with a steady stride, already pulling off her leather gloves to tuck them in her belt. She had dressed for practicality, choosing simple attire that would allow her to move easily and for breathability. If they became stained or dirty, it did not matter. What did, was the way that the linen cloth faintly resonated with the Force, allowing her a greater sense of endurance and mental clarity.

Perfect for volunteering long hours. It was the sort of attire that nursing smocks she brought for the medical staff would allow for having them feel just a bit more refreshed and clear of mind.

"Take the bacta to the main medical tents," she said. "Handle the mesh and smocks carefully, it's Force-tuned. I'll brief the healers myself."

She didn't wait for a reply, already walking towards the tents with a focused stride.

"If we can't end the suffering," she murmured, "we can still ease it"

​

​

 

[Ryn Trask]

​

Ukatis | Refugee Camp
Interacting with: Tess Wyn-Tai Hannibal Daxos Cali Ziiva

​

Ryn couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth as they walked. The dust kicked up under their boots with voices rising and falling all around them but somehow the banter felt like a lifeline in the chaos that they tossed themselves into.

"Iiiii don't know there, Winnie," he drawled as he gave Tess a teasing look from the corner of his eye. "Feral is as feral does. Don't worry though we'll make sure you're not cornered and revert to feral Chompy."

A hand gestured loosely between her and Hannibal, his expression far too smug for someone covered in Core dust.

"And for the record, it's not my fault these baby blues linger in ladies' minds."

It was right about then that karma decided to strike.

Ryn turned his head just in time to walk straight into something soft, bright, and very pink. His hands shot out on instinct, catching the stranger before she could tumble backward into the dust.

"Yooooo, sorry there! Uh… you okay?"

The Kuati blinked once, twice. Oh. A Zeltron. Well, out of all the aliens in the galaxy, at least this one looked normal. Normal-ish. Bright pastel skin, big yellow eyes, and hair like spun candy.

"Didn't mean to bulldoze you, ma'am," he added quickly, flashing an awkward grin as he straightened her up. "Guess I got a little distracted trying to find our way."

 

[Mykel Dawson]

Objective 1

Robes

While a significant portion of exhausted farmland now lay occupied by tents and prefab structures, huge swaths of the countryside still remained empty and desolate. After traveling several kilometers through the withered expanse, he finally stopped and dismounted from the speeder, Lord Blutwald a silent specter in the passenger seat.

The Jedi took a knee, gathering a handful of the soil in his gloved hand. The dry earth crumbled easily in his fingers, quickly disintegrating into ruddy ribbons of dust in the wind.

"You're certain about this?" Blutwald asked, still seated in the speeder. "I'd never say no to your aurodium bars, but I almost feel like I'm cheating you. The Crown and their new Republic benefactors are more than happy lease this wasteland with Credits as is for their...shelters."

Mykel detected a hint of disdain at mention of the refugee encampments. The native Ukatians were generally an insular people, and the new influx of masses of offworlders - especially non-humans - was a tough adjustment for many, but one that had to be made if the developing world wished to survive amongst giants.

"I feel like I'm actually getting away with a bargain," The Consular chirped, rising. A telekinetic flick evicted the final particles of parched soil from his glove and knee. "In any case, it's a worthwhile investment. This land will be revitalized, and the refugees' foreign aid will supplemented by high quality local produce while boosting employment for your people."

"Yes, I am quite curious to see if you can work a miracle on this cursed land."

Both men became swathed in a single massive shadow as a city-sized battlecrusier blotted out the sun upon its descent toward the field. The Mace Windu of the Spare Fleet, equipped with its colony module, was coming down to deliver building materials, a legion of construction droids, and the centerpiece of the new farming operation, a network of agri-terraforming stations.

"We aim to impress."

 

[Raylin Fall]

MORE GHOSTS THAN PEOPLE
​

Republic Grand Army Emergency Medical Detachment
Pathfinder Recon Team
Medical Triage and Tent Area


Nearby: Corazona von Ascania l Aurelian Veruna l Ariel Korvane

At the end of his life, Raylin was not sure what was to happen. Perhaps the Jedi and the Sith were right, and he'd simply return his life to an endless stream of energy that bound together the universe. Perhaps others were right, and there was nothing after death. Some thought the Gods would take him to paradise-

But as he stood over the dead bodies of two-dozen people, some not even adults or barely even, being zipped into body-bags after his medical team failed to keep them alive, he hoped that there was a hell like in some stories. He knew if there was one, he was going there. That he didn't have any doubt over. The very idea, laughable as it was, that he was deep down, a good person- he never considered it. He had too many sins, too many vices. But, he wished for another reason, not his own damnation.

That all the people that caused this, these petty feuds of Sith and Jedi, Imperial and Republics, the politicians, the Senators, the Emperors and Mandalores and all the like of the galaxy-

Would burn there forever.

His hands were bloody above the wrists, where his gloves stopped. He wiped away tears from his eyes, before looking over at the ever-growing fields of dead and dying. The triage was overflowing, and not all the powers in the universe could save these people. Dead, dying, they were being laid out under the stars, face-up towards a galaxy that rarely did anything but destroy and splinter. Eyes that did not shut, mouths agape in a mixture of final breaths, painful last moments, and fear lay strewn out before Raylin.

He stood at the edge of the ever-growing field of dead. Survivors that escaped the battles they were running from, only to meet their end in a dingy camp far away from home. Raylin walked through the neatly-laid out body bags, each marked with a name, and as much identification as they could muster. Raylin fell to his knees- and unable to do anything else, the man screamed.

He wailed and screamed, finally reaching his breaking point. He could only do that, in the face of immeasurable tragedy, violence, and hate that was only going to amplify in the coming weeks. The Empire was not to be stopped, the Black Sun, the Sith- they all were coming. And there'd be more body bags filled. He ran his hands through his hair, screaming, cursing. Tears welled in his eyes and finally found their way out. And those around him simply watched. They understood. But it was something to say that he was the first to break- a veteran, the elite. But Raylin screamed and cried not only for the dead lying around him, neatly in rows and rows-

No, he knew what was to come. And the refugee camp he found himself, the smelly, cramped, nature of it was going to be paradise compared to the hell that was to come from the next battle.

He sat there, and could only let himself break down. He had no other choice, and he wanted to do nothing else. Not a person stopped him, not a person dared approach him currently. He was not inconsolable yet- no, he just needed to let it out, then get back to the task at hand. There were more people needing his help- and the other medics from the Republic Army. But there was also the prospect of how many were coming here to die, how many they couldn't save, and how hopeless the entire situation was. He had no comfort to offer. He had no peace to give.

And he had no peace to hold onto.

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