Faction Food for the many, a smile for a picture, and a show of compassion.

[Alexandra Feanor]

Corellia, Two Weeks after the Fall of the Deep Core

Link for the Ranch if you are there

Dracken Pryce Lander Stalwart​

---

The fall of the Deep Core had left many to escape and run, fearing persecution or death from the Imperial Regime as it took over. There were those who could not escape or leave, and they would be left behind because of that, but those who could escape arrived with little to their name. Even now Corellia, a world who's people lived in Slums or Estates, at the highest towers of Coronet City, or the deepest pits of the scrapyards. It was a world that truly showed the extremes of the society that had been built up over tens of thousands of years.

And now it was a world that strained under the stress of the innumerable masses that made their way onto the planet. Food needed to help sustain these new people crowding slums or quickly fabricated camps just so that they can be moved on or find somewhere to settle down once more. It was one of many worlds that found themselves in this position but in this instance there was a chance for people to do more and to help. An idea born from the altruism of the Senator Lander Stalwart took form and with the help of some connections, food was brought from his world to Corellia, food that could be used to feed those in need of it thanks to the rush of refugees.

All the while, a call for more support and recognition had gone out.

Senators were called to gather, to provide them a chance to show they stood in Unity against the very cause of this influx of refugees, but also to give them a chance for more personal campaigning. To let them have their pictures taken, to show them aiding in the distribution of food, to see them working with local elites and business owners who could aid in further distribution. Even to see that the refugees could be moved further on, away from Corellia and away from the Deep Core where their future was more possible.

This was why Alexandra had reached out to Dracken Pryce, asked for his aid in the matter and to see the Senators had somewhere to gather and collect that wasn't in the middle of a slum. A place where those who cared could travel from to help distribute food, or those who simply wanted the publicity could enjoy the day while they atleast put on a show of unity.

It was a small gesture, but one that was just as important as any battle on the field.

 

[Lander Stalwart]

Corellia
Tags: Open

Lander's Blaster Pistol, Lander's Prosthetic Arm
​

"Hey, could you maybe save the camera for another time?"

"I-"

"I know, but there will be plenty of opportunity for PR... let's try not to overwhelm people, yeah?"

Lander had shooed away a cameraman so he could turn his attention fully to a young boy. Refugees had come in from all over the Core and wound up here. While it was good that they could help, sometimes they needed to dial things back so proper conversation could occur. The boy in question, a zabrak teen likely no older than 13, was sat on a retaining wall. He had a few broken horns, damage from the roof of his home caving. Lander was sat next to him, his hands patiently folded in front of him.

"I don't think big brother is going to come back," the boy stated, clearly trying his best to sound unaffected. "They... said his squad... went quiet on the communicator..."

"I'm sorry..." Lander offered in a soft tone.

"Are you?" the young man asked, sounding a little snappy. "You're just saying that out of pity..."

"I lost my older brother," the senator expressed. "He was a soldier too... he's the reason why I became a soldier."

"Oh... s-sorry..."

"No, it's okay," Lander assured. "You're frustrated... angry... heartbroken. I get it. When Ma received Oren's tags, I was boiling over... I just wanted to pick up the nearest gun and charge straight out for Tython. I didn't care about anything except ripping apart the Maw... I was too young to enlist, so I didn't ever get to go. That was probably for the best."

"But... what about... avenging your brother?"

"My brother died to defend his home," he stated. "To keep his family safe. Give us a future. Sometimes chasing that anger recklessly throws away everything that the people who sacrificed themselves fought for. We'll all get our chance... Live a little, for your brother. Remember what he fought and died for. And when you enlist, if you enlist, make sure you've done your best to leave behind something good in the galaxy. Protect like he did... if we set out to destroy, we become our enemy. If we become our enemy, we've lost."

The young teen didn't say anything. He quickly wiped away a tear and keep his face stoic.

"I will... sir."

And with that, the boy got up and ran away into the crowd. Lander let out a sigh, crossing his arms. He knew as well as anyone else he could never convince someone with conviction in their heart not to go to war. He remembered what he had been like. All he could do was offer the words nobody had told him. With luck, he'd find what he needed with time.

He only hoped that what he had offered was good enough.

 

[Monaray Dod]

Everything gone....

Monaray was not typically one to weep yet on this day at the Starlight Ranch, he found himself shedding tears for his cherished Cato Neimoidia which had fallen to the Galactic Empire in a swift campaign that left the Trade Federation unprepared and terrified by such an overwhelming display of force against a mere assembly of corporations and financiers.

There was nothing they could have done to avert the submission of the the Purse-Worlds into the Imperial Sphere of Influence, as the New Jedi Order was preoccupied with defending Coruscant, while a majority of the Defense Forces were stationed along the border with the Sith Order.

They could not afford to divert their attention to one of the financial supporters of the Galactic Alliance.

With Kuat and Humbarine lost, this also meant the loss of two shipyards, leading to the departure of their corporations and leaving the Alliance's financial situation in a precarious state, as the core was lost. One hundred worlds rich in industry now surrendered to a nefarious Galactic Emperor and his associates.

He opened a small crack in the window of the JPP-192 Limospeeder,

"Bleh...so this is the place that former Vice-Chancellor Pryce chooses to live. A desolate...smelly...abomination in the middle of nowhere. We could have convened in cornet city where they have basic sanitation." Dod's hand quickly went to the lever to push the window back up and prevent his senses from being overwhelmed by the atmosphere.

 

[Arsenio Tagge]

The Pride of the Core was, by all accounts, an old ship. There was no rust or ruin. Just quiet groans carrying the dying legacy of the House of Tagge. The Tepasi Defense Fleet, or rather what remained of it, trailed in its wake like a disbanded honor guard: scattered gunships, dented frigates, and a handful of crusiers, old and new clinging to anchorages along the orbital grid. Beneath them stretched Corellia, whole and frantic—its surface blanketed with field hospitals, and refugees.

Baron Arsenio Tagge stood at the forward gallery, arms clased behind his back, boots planted as if bracing for something that hadn't yet arrived. He did not speak as the Pride completed its descent pattern—he only watched, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the continent below. He had not come to see his colleagues. The Senate was no war room, not yet at least. No, he had come for the displaced masses who now looked to any crest—noble or otherwise—for food, water, or reassurance. The people of Tepasi had found refuge here, as temporary as it might have been.

Still, it was not ideal.

He turned from the gallery. His boots echoed against the deck as officers and aides stepped aside instinctively, not daring to address him in his current state. The walk to the single shuttle carried aboard the Pride was short, but it gave him enough time to reflect. He said nothing as the bay doors opened and the pale blue lights of the hangar washed over him. The shuttle waited, engines warm, ramp lowered. Tagge did not break stride. He boarded with the stillness of a man carrying something heavy and unspoken.

Someone below would have advice, resources, or both. He had an idea of who.

"Bring us down near Starlight Ranch."

Monaray Dod​

 

[Alicio Organa]

CORELLIA
THE AFTERMATH
- OPEN -
​

What could one do, when a legacy lasting decades filtered like sand through your fingertips?

You picked up the pieces. One by one. With care, and dilligence. You fight for every grain you have left, with every bit of strength you have left. And you hope.

Was that enough? Would it ever be enough? Alicio didn't know. All the foresight in the galaxy couldn't predict where it would all fall. He just had to pick up the pieces.

Pick up the pieces.

The words had seldom left his mind, as his armada of SELCORE relief ships touched down on Corellia. Alderaan itself couldn't keep up with the sudden influx of refugees, but they were more prepared for it than most. Shuttles full of temporary shelters, food, water, medical supplies, an armory of relief, descended from the heavens, with Chancellor Organa himself leading the charge. The ships dispersed across the planet, leaving Alicio's personal entourage with... not enough. Not nearly enough.

Pick up the pieces.

The black-cloaked Chancellor strode out from his ship, followed by a parade of attendants and medics. He immediately got to work barking orders like he'd done it all his life. Within minutes, a camp sprang up around the circle of Alderaanian ships, soup warming on burners, and plastic tents with burnt-red crosses decontaminating their interiors.

It was hard not to feel... powerless. All the political pull in the galaxy, and he couldn't hold together an Alliance. But running a camp? That, he could do.

Only when his wing of the relief became fully self-sufficient did Alicio pause to rest, finding a seat near his ships, and letting his hands restlessly play against each other. Now that all was in order... he had nothing to do. And when it was silent, the mind wandered.

 

[Eloise Dinn]

Corellia had opened its gates to the refugees from Coruscant. Other worlds followed suit, mounting huge efforts to supply aid and relief. But as was always the case, it was never enough. The galaxy was simply too big, the volume of suffering beyond any hope of curing completely. Still, the workers kept their chins up. "Helping even one person is enough," they said.

It didn't feel like enough. Especially when you were in the thick of it, surrounded by the smell of blood and death.

Eloise followed the trail of bodies, pursuing the sick and injured to the makeshift camps where they inevitably gathered, huddling around portable heaters and sipping soup between cracked lips. There she would use the Force and her medical knowledge to heal them. She lived like a metronome otherwise, keeping to a strict regimen. She ate, slept, even worked out if she had the time. But she had no hobbies, no friends, no social interactions beyond the strained exchange between doctor and patient. It was hard to relate to people when they were always screaming in pain, wide-eyed with terror, or sobbing with grief. That was fine with her. She wasn't looking for companionship anymore. She had learned it wasn't worth the heartbreak.

Very little could break her pattern. After all, war and its consequences were predictable. So when something unexpected hit, it was like a bomb had been dropped on her.

Amani's stepping down as Chief Healer.

She froze when she heard the news, delivered via datapad. Her master wrote the message herself, addressed to her apprentice. She said she was busy with other pursuits, wanted to focus on the Vonnuvi Enclave and devote more time to her family. But all Eloise could think about was herself. It broke up her careful routine and forced her to actually think for once. About the future, and all the uncertainties it held.

There had been rumors of dissent and bad blood within the NJO, and it hadn't been that long since the Grandmaster opted to leave and start her own enclave; maybe it had something to do with that, too. Come to think of it, she didn't have a clue what was really going on in the Alliance, either. As long as it didn't affect her directly, she hadn't cared to keep up.

Just beyond the entrance flap to the medic tent, she spotted a familiar figure dressed in dark colors. She hadn't seen Alicio in a while, but his face was on the news often enough that it was impossible not to recognize him. Lowering her hand, she put down the bottle of antiseptic and the roll of bandages she had been holding then walked out of the tent, reaching him in a few short strides. For a few moments she hesitated, as if pausing to remember how to start a conversation with someone who wasn't crying.

"Hey," she said. "Long time no see." Then, in her customary blunt fashion, she added, "I just got a message from your wife. She said she's leaving the Jedi Council. What the hell is going on?"

Alicio Organa​

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Arsenio Tagge | Monaray Dod | OPEN

​

"Take that there! Yep! Careful now, don't lift with your back!"

Draken grunted, lifting the last of the food crates with another volunteer. Dozens of crates filled with processed, canned meats from his farm were headed off to one of the refugee camps that he had ordered buit during the Empire's campaign in the Deep Core. He'd seen the writing on the wall and prepared what he could. With an influx of Alliance sympathizers from worlds like Humbarine and Kuat, and millions of refugees flooding in from across the Core and Deep Core, not just Coruscant, he had been forced to crack open Corellia's emergency food stores. It was an act that, had he been head of state in any other planet, he would have been voted out. Luckily for him, Diktat was a life-long position, only given up when the holder died or abdicated. They weren't a true dictatorship though- His opposition in the Corellian Council had tried to force a vote of no confidence, claiming that he'd put the entire Corellian system at risk by giving preferential treatment to foreign refugees.

It didn't pass.

Ever since the Sularen's escape and the odd way the Forgotten Sons had been implicated in the war criminal's escape, support for the terrorist group had dwindled and their political supporters were finally free of the yoke of extremists. Though the Children of the Belt still didn't see eye to eye with Draken, their shift made it easy to rally support from the Centerpoint and Five Brothers parties as well as a miriad of indipendents that represented smaller worlds within the Corellian Sector. Now though, he had to show them that it was worth it putting their support behind this old man.

War was on the horizon. Imperial scout ships pranced on the borders of Duro and even along the Corellian Run and Trade Spine near the Confederation's borders. An invasion was likely coming soon, and he needed to be sure he had the Alliance's support in handling this refugee crisis and defending his people. They had given up too much to be forsaken now.

"Sir." A green armored CDF trooper called to get his attention. Draken turned to look where the man was pointed and raised a curious brow. Several speeders were making their way to his garage, their immaculate design and sleep profile marking them as VIP vessels. Draken sighed and wiped his hands on his work towel before picking up his bantha leather jacket and slipping it on.

He was in workwear; a breathable, collared work shirt of white; His bloodstripe military pants; his long white hair tied up in a ponytail bun to keep it out of his face as he worked. He wore thick gloves and heavy, durasteel toed boots as well, the pomp of his rank and status nonexistent. Draken approached the landing vehicles, a Darksaber trooper at his heel and waited, arms folded across his chest, for the beings to exit.

 

[Monaray Dod]

Dracken Pryce Arsenio Tagge

The JPP-192 Limospeeder gradually slowed to a crawl before coming to a complete halt in the parking area, providing the Neimoidian with his first genuine view of the residence's size and the surrounding rolling hills that appeared entirely ordinary. The noticeable wood and durasteel exterior, along with the sizable pond and a garage that could easily fit several speeders, were evident by his own estimation.

This residence resembled more of a wealthy landowner's estate than that of the Diktat of Corellian Space. Perhaps if Dracken had allocated more resources towards security instead of on nerfs, Marlon Sularen might not have managed to escape so effortlessly and return as a persistent nuisance within the Dark Empire.

His eyes ultimately focused on none other than the man himself, Dracken Pryce , the War Hero of the Galactic Alliance, Diktat of the Corellian Confederation, and, it seems, a farmer. How the mighty have fallen, he allowed a slight smile to appear on his face.

The door was opened by his droid chauffeur, as two Trade Federation Envoys emerged before Dod himself in order to make sure the coast was clear, and once that was confirmed the Senator of Cato Neimoidia approached.

"Ah, Diktat Pryce. I must say that you have a...quaint home." Monaray said with clear disdain evident in his voice before continuing.

"I presume you have heard the news about the Purse-Worlds and New Plympto, both lost to the expanding Galactic Empire. A threat that the Strategic Intelligence Service ought to have warned us about, if they were useful in any capacity." The Neimoidian was evidently unsettled with the Intelligence Arm of the Alliance, as they once more neglected to alert anyone regarding the emergence of the Galactic Empire and the Centrist Party on Balmorra.

 

[Alicio Organa]

CORELLIA
THE AFTERMATH
- Eloise Dinn -
​

Usually, in moments of emotional distress, those steeped in the Light Side felt their connections wane. It was an unfortunate side effect of centering one's strength in control, in peace of self. But Alicio had never quite mastered 'inner peace', one of a few reasons he'd never considered himself a Jedi. His strength was centered in a constant state of vigilance. In concern for the Future, and a compulsive need to see what was coming.

It was in times like this that his Future Vision was inconveniently, annoyingly ahead.

Alicio nearly responded to Eloise before she'd even entered his field of view, before reigning in his tongue, and waiting for the Present to catch up.

"Hello, Eloise." He tidied his expression, finding her eyes with a focused, if frayed, gaze. He paused a moment, stamping his fragile voice into something more solid. "I'm glad you're okay."

So Amani had officially announced it, then? Alicio nodded, the lines on his face softening a little. "She's prioritizing the people that count on her. The Vonnuvi, August and Liana, all the people she helps... they need her. More than a Council Chair does."

He sighed, perhaps a bit heavier than he meant to. "I have half a mind to follow her. But... I can't. Not yet. And I suppose that makes me just a little bit weaker than her."

"Are you alright, Eloise?"