Hi Ho Hi Ho A Camping We Will Go (CIS Dominion of Nar Chunna)

[Ugoto Chivaro]

This time he had it. He was sure of it. Corran jabbed the last stake into the earth and stood himself back up. The slight disturbance caused by the Mirialan rising to his feet was just enough to make the tent collapse on itself again. It seemed he had not learned as much from his previous attempt as he would have liked. Fine. That was fine. He would try again until he got this right. No anger, no fury, no frustration. Just the same, steely, unflinchingly cold resolve he always held.

He was a Templar.

He could do this.

Silent and stern in the face of the impending, sweltering night, Corran squatted back down and began to disassemble the malformed monstrosity that could have been a tent. The third time was the charm. Hopefully. What was much more charming was getting things right the first time. Nothing could compare to that sense of elation. Except, maybe, the satisfaction of conquering a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. Like an as-of-yet assembled tent.

 

[Voroll]

After watching @[member=Canal Tal'Verda] make s’mores with @[member=Keziah Denko], Voroll decided he would give it a go. Of course before he took another swig of the anise-flavoured liqueur, which, at least on Corellia, was known as Sambuca, before standing up – and loosing balance in the process – to find a stick both long and thin enough to pierce a marshmallow and not cook his hand along with it.
When finally he sat back down, marshmallow beginning to roast, he stared into the fire. The orange and yellows lapping against the darkening sky (although it looked darker the more Voroll stared into the fire) ensnaring his vision and attention. To the others around, if they were not building their tents, like @[member=Corran Serat], it may seem as if the young Aspirant had just watched the future s’more melt away from the stick.

@[member=Keter] @[member=Feena Mason] @[member=Katrina Garnier] @[member=Token Waters] @[member=Lucas Burke] @Strask Ak'lya @Siyndacha Aerin

 

[Alisha'ven]

Enroute to ATC Fuel Factories

While others were camping, Alisha'ven, the Techno Union Rep of Arceneau Trade was merely handling business. That is, inspecting the various fuel and mining factories under Areneau control. She had a little datapad with her, along with a check list. So far production was going well, with major output of fuel along with other precious metals that would be refined into profitable trade goods.

First would be the inspection of the fuel factories. So, driving her little speeder, a dust trail behind her, the Rutian made her way over to meet up with an ATC overseer and see just what was going on.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

There must have been something seriously wrong here that he could not assemble this wretched tent. This, clearly, was no normal tent. This tent had been cursed by the unholy powers of the Dark Side. Corrupted through Sith Magic or Nightsister incantations. That must have been it. The powers of the Dark Side were clouding his ability to assemble this contraption. It had to be the Sith. No other force in the universe could be so dastardly as to taint an object so mundane as a camping tent! This was a Sith relic now. It had to be purged if its unholy presence in the galaxy were to come to an end. This was now Corran's sacred task. First, he would salt it. Then gather enough specially prepared wood to create a pyre...

Oh, hey, was that the instruction manual over there?

Alright. He'd try that first.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Aboard the Sarlacc

Danger sat in her custom made office in the Pathfinder class personal transport she normally called home away from home. There was much to be done. With the massive expansion of Arceneau Trade into Mandalorian territory, she had to ensure that her fuel refineries were producing enough fuel for the ever expanding fleet of Arceneau freighters and escort ships.

A deep breath came from the woman, as she studied the numbers upon her datapad. They were going to need to find new resources of fuel just to keep up with this demand. A swipe of her finger against the display brought up a list of potential worlds that might be good for prospecting for fuel.

She gave a nod. In that moment, she send the order for a long distance mission of surveyors and prospectors to investigate these worlds and figure out who ruled them. One way or another, Danger was going to have her fuel.

Even if she had to buy, blackmail, or steal it.

 

[Siyndacha Aerin]

@[member="Keziah Denko"] @[member="Token Waters"] @[member="CC-117 Canal"] @[member="Lucas Burke"] @[member="Strask Ak'lya"] @[member="Dieter Jusik"] @[member="Voroll"]

Her eyes drifted to the people that were assembling and eating s'mores, as she straightened out a tent pole and began to feed it through one of the diagonal channels meant for the pole in the structure of the tent fabric.

"Yep, they sure are," she chirped in agreement, moving her eyes back to Token, then the task at hand. "Come on, make sure that this pole ends up in place on the other side. It should be almost pushed all the way through now."

Sindy smiled a little more. "That fire smells good, and I don't want them to eat all the s'mores without having at least one, so let's hurry up and get this done."

 

[Darth Metus]

While a camping trip was all well and good, there were simply other things that required the attention of the Judge Magister. Amongst those was a meeting with a rather famous woman by the name [member="Danger Arceneau"]. Affectionately known as the "Queen of Shipping", the Trade Corporation that was under her control happened to be one of the first entities that the Confederate did business with. Now, with an expansionary effort underway to bring Nar Chunna into the fold, it was time to meet with the fiery-haired beauty once more, for two reasons. First, it was time for the Judge Magister to acquaint himself with one of the more powerful individuals in the Galaxy, and second, there were terms in dire need of an update. As such, from aboard his personal vessel: the Blue Krait, the Mandalorian known as Isley Verd began a transmission.

Manifesting on Danger's end in the form of a hazy, azure hologram, the beskar-clad warrior lowered his head in greeting. With his time as formal and respectful as ever, he spoke. "Greetings Miss Arceneau, I do hope this transmission finds you well. My name is Isley Verd, acting Judge Magister of the Confederacy. I do believe that, with our desire to expand to Nar Chunna, there are matters of business to discuss."

 

[Darth Metus]

Was this some sort of...game?

How could warriors simply sit about a fire, roasting confections on the ends of sticks? How could they demonstrate such little care? The Galaxy was a horrid place, filled to the brim with those who would spill blood without so much as a blink...and yet here they all were, doing next to nothing about it. Were they so confident in their abilities that such threats were minuscule? Or were they simply ignorant? Nonetheless, the clone was present, masquerading as a simple member of the Dread Guard. Garbed from head to toe in Confederate Trooper Armor, Ishmael made certain to watch those his "father" deemed worthy of his observation. Perhaps there was something to be learned from these so-called Templars.

"What are these...s'mores...of which you speak?"

@All.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Danger slowly brought the thick cigar up to her lips, that slowly went curling over it's length in the most provocative of images as her hologram displayed upon [member="Isley Verd"] 's emitter.

Full hipped and wearing a coy expression more suited for a Companion, the titan maned Trade Queen of what would be nearing the known Galaxy gave a nod of greeting to the beskar clad male.

"Judge Magistrater," began Danger's coo, her fingers plucking the cigar from her lips as she blew a stream of white smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "It is a pleasure to finally meet."

The faint smirk grew wider, and her right eyebrow gave a slight arch.

"Well...I'm always willing to discuss business.... what do you have in mind?"

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Astrian sat silently in his songsteel armour, his senses dulled to what was going on around him, however. A sound pierced his ears and he was at his feet instantly. Saber in hand, yellow eyes darted about the camp and past the tents to the terrain behind them, Astrian took a few steps forward looking out towards the lifeless area around them, he was was tense now as his comrades may have noticed by now. Those around the camp fire would see the hulking 8 foot tall man clad in red looking out into the distance in a battle ready position. He could sense something, he didn't know what though.

[member="Danger Arceneau"]
[member="Ishmael Verd"]
[member="Isley Verd"]
[member="Siyndacha Aerin"]
[member="Corran Serat"]
[member="Alisha'ven"]
[member="Voroll"]

 

[Sophia Walsh]

Camping was more of a thing that the woman did with her family. It was weird to her to be here doing this sort of thing in order to get treaty made. The military woman inside her screamed that this was all wrong and agreements were made sitting in some boardroom somewhere with drinks afterwards. Whatever worked though was good with her as she just hoped they could assist another planet in finding the peace that they have been looking for and the freedom.

Sighing she shook her head slightly as she sat down near the fire and grabbed herself a marshmallow to roast nearby. This would be much more fun in her opinion if her daughter could be here with her and her husband. They would enjoy this. She had yet to really meet many of the people whom were in attendance.

 

[Darth Metus]

Now there was an image that the Mandalorian could get behind. It was not often that Isley had the pleasure of conducting business with notable individuals; but when he did, there was the image of a puffed up, aging politician stuck in his head. [member="Danger Arceneau"] was a divine contradiction to this stereotype, a fact that amused the Judge Magister to no end. With swift strokes, Isley tapped upon the console before him, bringing up the document that the businesswoman had signed with the former Grand Marshal. It contained an agreement regarding the world Tatooine, in addition to a promise of a fleet of ships. Now, it was time to update this document in order to reflect the Confederacy's desire to add Nar Chunna to the fold. "Well, if memory serves correctly, Nar Chunna is one of the many pearls upon your necklace Miss Arceneau. With the Confederacy's desire to welcome this world into the fold, it is only proper that we do so with your blessing. To this end, I'd first like to know what sort of holdings you have upon this world; not an exhaustive listing of course, but a general idea. From here, we can conduct proper business, so that both sides walk away...satisfied." he said, giving the woman a respectful nod.

 

[Darth Metus]

The evening was relatively quiet, aside from the chattering unfolding before Ishmael's eyes. However, in an instant, a terrifying noise ripped through the airs and sent a chill down his spine. Apparently, he was not the only one to hear this din, for [member="Astrian Callus"] had reacted in turn. "Everyone...I think we're going to have to cut the...festivities...a little short. There's something out there." he said, rising to his feet. Although simply an apprentice in comparison to other members of the Templar Order, Ishmael could utilize one of the most basic applications of the Force quite well: Force Sense. Lulling his eyes to a close, the clone focused and centered himself; reaching out to the Force. In an instant, he could feel the life teeming about the woods around them...but in the direction of the din, he felt nothing. That...simply did not bode well. "Come on, let's see what this is. If it's dangerous, we don't want to risk it terrorizing the innocent, do we?" he said, damn near invoking the Templar Code as he quickly set off, striding after Astrian.

[member="Siyndacha Aerin"]
[member="Marek Starchaser"]
[member="Corran Serat"]
[member="Alisha'ven"]
@Sophia Walsh
[member="Voroll"]
@All

 

[EmKay]

This was, by all means, Atretes' first instance of meet-and-greet with the Confederacy. He knew pretty much none of them, and so he kept to himself near the fire. He had a bit of meat on a stick over the flame, which he turned every few seconds and pulled out to check every minute or so. It wasn't cooking very quickly, unfortunately. The air was fresh but his subconscious was screaming at him about an obvious danger that he couldn't perceive. It was making him feel rather ill, but that's all he felt as a result of his inexperience. He was near some people, he thought, but he couldn't be sure anymore. He was just in the woods, alone for all he knew really. There were some voices milling about that made him know he wasn't really alone... but still, he liked to pretend.

Until that god-awful noise pierced the crackling fire and broke Rhoujen out of his antisocial reverie. His blood chilled and his spine went rigid. He was on his feet before he knew what came over him, and he could feel his nerves practically vibrate. He hadn't the faintest clue what that was, but every instinct -- especially the Sigma instinct -- knew that it meant trouble. A lot of trouble. He looked around to his comrades, whose existence he now chose to acknowledge, to see if they'd reacted at all.

 

[Feena]

"Can't you just go find some-"

She had been about to answer her husband, but something cut her off. A noise in the distance, Loud. A strange hush seemed to settle over the campsite. A calm before the storm. Without realizing it, she had reached for her husbands hand. Her breathing was light, too quiet. She was concentrating on something as her other hand went to her pocket. She kept a bundle of bandages there. Always on her. Just in case, but if need be, she could find her medical bag quickly She wasn't a fighter anymore, but a medic was always useful.

[member="Keter"]

 

[Malok]

For the most part, the "old dog" preferred to keep to himself. Although there was much merriment about the fire, the Bothan known as Verask sat back from the crowd, content to listen and observe. Besides, he was simply too old to keep up with the banter of the modern era. The young men and women before him, Templars, were so vibrant and full of life that he could not help but smile. In the midst of a turbulent Galaxy, there were beacons of hope: and Verask was grateful to the Force that he could witness it with his own two eyes. However, the sentimentality came to a swift and abrupt halt when a...monstrous...roar echoed about the wood. Ripples raced up and down the Bothan's fur as his content mood was shattered, replaced with one of nerves. Verask was not spooked, but alarmed...and apparently he was not the only one. On his left, a man whose man was just as gray as his own rose to his feet and immediately set off; followed by a young man who first addressed the campers. A third obviously responded, as evidenced by the shudder that ran along his body.

With a grunt of effort, the Bothan rose to his feet and dusted his rear free of leaves and twigs that decided to hitch along for the ride. He then turned his attention to those gathered about the fire and spoke in his typical, rumbling tone. "I agree with our comrades, we should investigate. With any luck, it is simply nature running its course; predators hunting and all that...but there's a possibility that it could be something more. With so many present, I think we could handle any potential threat; don't you?" he said, giving them all a look of confidence. He then tarried there, awaiting a response from his fellows.

@Atretes Rhoujan
[member="Astrian Callus"]
[member="Voroll"]
[member="Siyndacha Aerin"]
[member="Marek Starchaser"]
[member="Corran Serat"]
[member="Alisha'ven"]
[member="Sophia Denko"]
[member="Feena Mason"]

 

[EmKay]

Atretes shifted his footing, as if feeling at the ground for the web of fate, at the vibrations it made. That was all beyond his scope, however. In actuality he was just nervous that he'd just been given all but a 'you will die' warning. He shook it off. You never learned or achieved anything from relying only on fear as your guide. His vision visibly glazed over as he steeled himself, then he came back to reality a moment or two later and nodded sharply, which made his hair fall over his face. He would have looked dramatic, if he hadn't sighed and blown the hair out from his vision. He unhooked the clip from his blaster holster and nodded to the large furred man.

"Where to?" he voice called out, the first of likely many. He sounded confident, yet the undertones of his wariness still held true. He was afraid. He was merely overcoming it.

[member="Varesk Fey'lya"]

 

[Malok]

Fear.

Although the Sith labeled this particular sensation as a weakness...and the Jedi regarded this as something to be repressed...the Templars thought differently. To be human, to be alive was to regard Fear for what it truly was: a warning and an obstacle. To feel fear meant to respect that there are dangers that may challenge...and sometimes triumph...over the individual's strength; but by overcoming it, said individual gains valor. These thoughts characterized the Bothan's mind as he heard the words of his young, fellow Templar. For Verask himself acknowledged the tell-tale signs of fear growing within his stomach. A lightness, as if a horde of butterflies decided to flutter about freely, characterized his innards, but the Bothan soldiered on. "We had best hurry after those two, lest they get themselves into trouble." he said, turning on his heel. At once, the Bothan motioned for the young man to follow and set off into the woods, carefully stepping over branches and brush.

[member="Atretes Rhoujen"]

 

[Other Space Kaiden]

Corvinus was not saying much, he was more interested in the holobook he had his nose in. These young people and their constant need to make a ruckus, but oh well...he was just an old man in a time that was not his own. Sitting in his corner of the shadows, Corvinus could feel something in the force...something dark and ravenous and it was coming towards them. Then there was a growl, a massive one that seemed to shake the trees and crack the air as it echoed throughout the area. The old man didn't jump nor did he show signs of fear, he simply looked up from his book as if he had been hassled. With a sigh, he stuck the book back into his robe and slowly stood up with his lightsaber cane in hand.

"It is quite bothersome that every time I start to read, some trouble comes about." Corvinus mused, slowly striding after Ishmael with his cane leading the way.

 

[Malok]

There was a weak form of irony in the fact that two, elderly gentlemen were apart of a youthful cadre of campers. Almost as if they were sent to chaperone that lot of them. As the growing group trudged along through the woods, Verask took a moment to tarry; allowing his fellows to catch up. At this point, he was greeted with the presence of the one of similar age; to whom he rendered a polite inclination of his head. "Perhaps consider the fortune in this turn of events," he began, addressing the male's comment, "for we of old bones have an opportunity to show the younglings how it's done." A bemused smile graced the Bothan's lips for a moment and he continued along, careful to watch his step. A walking cane would...be very helpful in these situations. "My name is Verask, by the way. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

@Corvinus Palpatine.