Populate N-1 Racing League | Race 1 | Mon Gazza | Populate of Secundus Ando

[Pillar of Faith]

Inaugural
N1 Racing League
Race 1 - Mon Gazza | The Vertical Crucible​

Race Overview
The N-1 Racing League launches its first official season amid the industrial thunder of Mon Gazza.

Once a lawless sprawl of mining guilds and spice syndicates, Mon Gazza has been reforged into a towering engine of profit and efficiency. Its skies are choked with refinery plumes, its cityscapes stacked vertically along massive pylons, and its upper atmosphere crowded with shipping lanes and traffic control beacons. For racers, it is a proving ground where precision matters as much as nerve.

The inaugural course begins deep within Mon Gazza's industrial canyons, climbs through the refinery spires and traffic corridors, and finishes in open space above the planet. Tight turns, turbulence, heat bleed, and sabotage are all part of the spectacle. Speed alone will not win this race. Control will.

Welcome to the Vertical Crucible.

SECTION I – THE REFINERY TRENCHES

The race begins at the Mon Gazza Starting Line, a narrow durasteel runway bolted to the side of a massive refinery tower. Floodlights cut through thick smog, hazard beacons flash red, and magnetic clamps hold each N-1 in place as engines howl. A countdown crackles over comms; then the clamps release, and racers launch hard into a tight industrial corridor with nowhere to go but forward.

This first leg throws pilots straight into Mon Gazza's worst terrain: low-altitude refinery trenches packed with smokestacks, pipework, and scaffolding bridges. The air is hot and dirty, visibility comes and goes, and the heat shimmer can distort sensors and sightlines. Every turn is close-quarters. Misjudge a corner and you'll scrape durasteel, lose control, or vanish into the haze.

Racer Challenges (choose one or both):

• Exhaust Burst: A vent blasts superheated gas across the trench. Do you push through for speed, or dodge wide and lose ground?
• Bridge Thread: A maintenance bridge cuts across the course with hanging cables. Do you slip under it for the best line, or climb over and risk turbulence and traffic?

This section is about surviving the chaos, staying clean, and grabbing early position before the course opens up.


SPECTATOR OBJECTIVE (For Observers & Non-Racers)

React in-character as spectators, sponsors, senators, journalists, mechanics, or intelligence agents. Discuss the ongoing wars in the galaxy, the race, future races, etc.


Dice Rolls:

• Roll a 1: Immediate crash. You are out of the race.
• Roll a 20: You cannot crash on your next post, regardless of roll.
• Roll a 7 or 11: You may sabotage one racer of your choice.
  
  • Target receives -1 to their next roll

Spoiler: Rules & Finances

RACE RULES

• Entry Fee: 35,000 credits per racer
• Sponsorship Bonus:
  
  • If sponsored by a faction, corporation, or organization, pay an additional 10,000 credits (goes to the league)
  • Sponsored racers gain one re-roll per 10,000 credit sponsorship (can buy multiple)
• Starfighter: N-1 Naboo Starfighter only
• Modifications:
  
  • Each racer may select up to two modifications
  • Must be declared before the race begins
  • Modifications should be reasonable and thematic (engine tuning, reinforced shielding, sensor packages, just extra RP flavor.)
• Race Structure:
  
  • The race is divided into 5 sections
  • 1 post = 1 section
  • Each section requires one 1D20 roll
• Dice Outcomes:
  
  • Roll a 1: Immediate crash. You are out of the race.
  • Roll a 20: You cannot crash on your next post, regardless of roll.
  • Roll a 7 or 11: You may sabotage one racer of your choice.
    
    • Target receives -1 to their next roll
• Scoring:
  
  • All rolls are totaled at the end of the race
  • Highest total score wins
  • In the event of a tie, tied racers make one additional roll to determine placement

Prize Pools
Each race purse is generated from entry fees.

80% of all racer entry fees go to the Race Prize Pool
20% of all racer entry fees go to League Operations Profit

LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP POOL (END OF 5 RACES)
To reward long-term performance, the League also funds a season-ending Championship Pool:

After each race, 50% of League Operations Profit is added to the Championship Pool
The remaining 50% is retained by the League



LEAGUE POINTS (For Season Totals)​

Position​	Points​	Per Race Payout (of Race Pool)​	Per Season Payout (of Season Pool)​
1st	15	35%​	45%​
2nd	12	20%​	25%​
3rd	10	14%​	15%​
4th	8	10%​	10%​
5th	6	8%​	5%​
6th	4	7%​	0%​
7th	2	6%​	0%​

(Placements beyond 7th receive no league points.)​

Spoiler: Racers & Re-rolls

Michael Angellus
Rojuhr Pouihl - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Phy - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Priesse Namada - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Devin Virell - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Feng Huang - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Nami Runda - 5 Sponsorship (5 Reroll)
Dani Stellaris - 4 Sponsorships (4 Rerolls)
Tintinallë Nyxara - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Aselia Verd - 5 Sponsorships (5 Rerolls)
Osira Perris - 5 Sponsorship (5 Rerolls)
Bettany Sal-Soren - 3 Sponsorships (3 Rerolls) Bettany bribed me so she starts P1

Threads:
X | X​

 

[Maëlys Amnen]

M O N G A Z Z A
Chairwoman Maëlys Angélique Amnen​

Location: Raceway Executive Barge
Objective: Welcome to THR, introduce the race
Tags: OPEN to anyone in the exective barge.

Wearing

The stage was set for spectacle, the opening race to the new N1 racing season was being held, here, on her world and she couldn't be prouder. Her position her and the strides the planet was taking had been years in the making and today felt like a celebration of that as much as anything. The High Republic had wrapped around her system like a blanket and were the largest overall single trading partner, although the Sith and Hutts still bought more spice.

The woman stood in her elegant black and golden ensemble in an exclusive, luxury executive barge that was now floating over the paddock across from the starting grid. Invitations had been issued to dignitaries from the Republic and to business people of appropriate standing. The barge had started the journey from the corporate tower taking its guests on a scenic tour of the capital, Ool Dinne and had explored some of the more accessible parts of the race track to give the dignitaries a feel for the track. Of course much of the track was in underground tunnels, inaccessible to the luxury barge, but high fidelity screens saw to that problem. The rest of the barge was lavishly decorated in a style that Maëlys enjoyed, the barge was older than her premiership, but successive planetary heads, or whichever person could get the best consensus at the time, would have it redecorated to their tastes. In Maëly case it was a mostly white colour scheme with black accent and golden satin drapes. The service was exquisite and high quality food and drinks would flow freely.

The race would be due to start soon and Maëlys needed to give the opening speech. She stepped out onto the balcony of the barge and looked around at the hundreds of thousands of Mon Gazzans and foreigners alike that had filled the grandstands, this was just a fraction of the total audience as similar stands were in other prime locations around the track, it was beautiful. She smiled as she saw the giant screens turning to images of her face and she held up her drink.

”Good morning citizens and honoured guests!

Allin p'unchaw llaqtayuq runakuna, yupaychasqa invitadokuna ima.”

Her initial greeting she made in both basic and Huttese but the rest of her speech would be in basic with loudspeaker translations for the stands.

”It is my proud duty to welcome everybody to the inaugural N1 championship race, brought here by our Republic friends, hosted by Mon Gazza…” she paused to allow the eruption of cheers of local pride to die down across the stands. Everybody was in a particularly excitable mood, in addition to the usual price capped tickets for locals, Maëly had added a personal gift to the people. Anyone who used work leave to attend today's race would be entered onto a lottery and half a million of them would have their leave day recredited back to them, funded personally by herself. The day was a gift from her to them, her approval rating ahead of the planet entering the Republic was their gift back to her.

”A special welcome to the Chancellor of the Republic and other members of her government, I am certain they will love our planet as much as as we do. And most importantly, please show your appreciation for today's pilots who are ready to entertain you, hoping to start the competition off on our amazing circuit with some real excitement.”

There was a few other political platitudes, cheering and celebration before a large lever was elevated into a position in front of her. She placed her hand on the lever and grasped.

”Without further ado, lets get this race underway.” she pulled the lever and her face disappeared from the screen replaced with a silent down of the number from 30 in aurubesh accompanied by fireworks. The fireworks would continue until ten seconds when music would stop and the massive crowd would count down from ten in unison and then the lights would go green.

Unless someone decided to join her to watch for a time from the balcony, Maëlys would return inside the barge to watch on the giant screens with the other dignitaries.

​

 

[Dani Stellaris]

You good? The voice on the other end asked her. Dani had recently picked up some group of refugees in a fairly high energy environment. Her Gallofree was ready to go, no guns, all throttle. The member of House Sato was more than happy to be helping. Naboo was going to be taking these refugees and helping them get acquainted within the High Republic. Her engines were green and the ship had taken off.

Moving forward, this Gallofree was free of the atmosphere, TIEs on her tail. People were seeing her as a solarpunk, helping others as best she could. Her ship had drained itself of water on the world she was in, and she could fit more people.

It was a good feeling.

These runs were common place for her now. And the shields were holding as she saw the hyperspace buoy on her HUD.

And the lines of stars.

Today, though, she was back in the cockpit of the Manta II, her faithful droid Mack in the slot behind her. Her hands moved over the controls, turning on the battery, operating the port engine, the radar and shields, then prepping the starboard engine. Ships and all her systems were green.

“Ready, Mack?” She smiled as the droid tweeted positive. He always ready for a race, to get out there and get moving.

She’d reviewed the course, this first leg was the Refinery. Smog, and tight corners. She was going to have to trust her emory of what she saw, and her instincts. It was going to to be tight, and she was going to have to push it.

But Dani knew her skills, she knew her fighter, helped rebuild the damned thing after all. The droid beeped again, and the lights were on. So that she could focus on her own craft, she watched the countdown from Mack. Good. Good.

Red… red… green.

She felt the ship drop, her engines were warm but no throttle yet, giving herself a few feet to drop, she saw the other fighters, and kick started her engines. The throttle roared and she was pushed back in her seat.

There was a bridge and yeah, it was risky, but she knew how low she needed to get. There were the construction cables but she could get below them, and thread it.

“Mack, keep your sensors on that bridge, and shields up. Hopefully that’ll keep us going.”

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Dominique Vexx Melanie Sato Maëlys Amnen

The vertical sprawl of Mon Gazza rose like a forest of blackened steel and venting flame far below the private landing platform. Repulsorlifts hissed as Ayumi's sleek, unmarked shuttle settled onto the polished deck, its hull still warm from the drop through the planet's choked upper atmosphere. The hatch parted with a soft pneumatic sigh, releasing a breath of filtered, jasmine-scented air into the refinery-tanged wind. Ayumi stepped out first. She moved with the unhurried certainty of someone who knew every eye in the sector would turn toward her the moment she appeared. The outfit was pure theater deliberately so.

A long, tailored overcoat of liquid-white materia silk cascaded to mid-calf, its surface shattered with geometric panels of mirror-bright gleaming aurodium plate. Each diamond-shaped facet caught the harsh blue-white glare of the dome lights and threw it back in blinding prisms. Thicker bands of aurodium ran along the cuffs, collar, and hem, etched with micro-repeating Atrisian latticework that shimmered like living circuitry. Crystal studs real Hapen rainbow gems clustered along the shoulders and down the chest in controlled constellations, winking every time she breathed. Beneath the coat, a draped ivory blouse of weightless chiffon crossed in soft folds across her torso, secured by a wide gold sash that accentuated her narrow waist and the long lines of her frame.

Matching high-waisted trousers hugged her legs like they were poured on before flaring subtly at the ankle, their fabric so fine it moved like smoke around her boots white leather with aurodium toe-caps and discreet armor weave hidden under the shine. A wide-brimmed hat, white with a midnight-navy underside and aurodium piping, sat at a precise angle, shadowing her face just enough to make the dark honey-amber of her eyes glow like embers when she tilted her head. Her long, dark-honey hair spilled straight and silken down her back, the natural golden threads catching light in subtle streaks that matched the metallic accents of her ensemble.

The scars remained deliberately uncovered where they could be seen: the pale nick below her lip flashing when her mouth curved in the faintest half-smile. They were not flaws she hide; they were provenance. Four Denon senate bodyguards disembarked behind her in perfect formation, two to each flank. Their armor echoed her outfit in military register: pristine white hypertech materia plates edged and inlaid with the same geometric aurodium plate, but cut sharp and functional. Angular pauldrons, segmented vambraces, and tactical chest rigs replaced the flowing drapery, yet the same crystalline clusters and diamond patterning tied them visually to her.

Gold-mesh visors concealed their eyes; comms units curved along their jaws like elegant filigree. Each carried a compact blaster carbine slung low and ceremonial vibroblades sheathed at the hip ornate enough to pass as parade gear, lethal enough to end a conversation in half a heartbeat. They moved like extensions of her shadow: silent, synchronized, unmistakably dangerous. Ayumi paused at the edge of the platform, letting the wind tug at the hem of her coat and send the chiffon at her throat fluttering. Below, the Vertical Crucible waited canyons of pipe and pylon lit by exhaust flares, the first racers already arriving and Denon had built an N-1 for the race, gotten a skilled pilot for it.....

Then she had proceeded to look at all of the beautiful pilots that weren't racing for her here. She could hear the crowd roar even from this height, a low thunder that vibrated up through the deck plates. One gloved hand brushed the brim of her hat, settling it more firmly. "Let's see who remembers how to fly today," she said quietly, voice low and amused, carrying just enough for her escort to hear. The lead bodyguard gave a curt nod. The group turned as one and started down the private concourse toward the executive skybox level Ayumi at the center, coat flaring behind her like a banner of white and molten gold, the four armored figures forming a moving fortress of matching opulence and menace.

The N-1 season had begun. And she intended to watch every second of it. Ayumi was wanting to see more and she had set aside space in the observation area for others like Melanie to come and join her. Her chief of staff worked hard and deserved a chance to experience what they were working to change after all. SHe had also invited the chancellor... a small thing and she didn't know if such a thing would be fulfilled but she did miss spending time with her. Others were welcome as her hats tilt was there and at the ready for any glare.

 

[Bettany Sal-Soren]

Location: Mon Gazza
Objective: Race

Note : She has entered under the pseudonym Bastila Sal-Soren

Bettany Sal-Soren sat in the cockpit of her flame red N-1 starfighter, looking at the dials in front of her and getting ready to race. She shouldnt be her, her lawyer would kills her, her agent would disown her, this was so ridiculous. But this was her reward for herself for actually trying at Jedi school. If the jedi valued balance then surely an episode of abject recklessness would marry well with lessons on control and meditation.

She looked up the race board, she was in position one on the grid through a little bung she had slipped the organisers, so her name was at the top. Except it wasnt her name. In order to not have the staff in her life put a bounty on her, she was racing under the name of her cousin Bastila Sal-Soren and now there it was in twenty foot tall words that made her laugh. She heard the voice of the annoncer loudly make the same announcement just as she closed her cockpit and flipped all the engine switches. She wondered what Bast might do when she found out.

Less than a minute later she was ready to go. She put her hands on the joy, flipped the launch control unit on and braced herself for the green light. What had the race guy she had chatted too said about the start? She ran it through her head, she wasnt a racer but was turning into a bit of a car girl, especially after Phillip bought her a sports car as a gift. "Here we go."

She hit the boost and off she went like a rocket. The roadway was clear in front of her when it started and nobody overtook her immediately so she would assume that she got a good start. She jinked quickly left to avoid a blast from a gas furnace. That was odd, she didnt even know that was there but just... reacted. Interesting.

Bettany rolled a nat 20 on discord

​

 

[Rojuhr Pouihl]

​

FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: –
Assigned Craft: Normally Mine, For this race Denon Model: N-1 Racer "Danger Zone"
Astromech Partner: R8-D0 (Radio) - What can I say? I like them old school.
Current Mood: A Bit Nervous
Background Noise: Crowds, Engines

It’s weird that in all of his time in this universe, and his “less than legal” past that Rojuhr had never been a part of a race. This model racer was quite cool actually. He could feel “Radio”’s fan as the droid slotted behind him under the canopy. It tickled. It had been a long time he had been in an N-1, but since meeting with Senator Ayumi and being her sponsored racer here, the Shi’do was able to do his research on this and have some fun with it.

Michael Angellus was in the race, he didn’t know where the kid was, but he was SO talented, he would be okay, and frankly, if Rojuhr wanted a good showing… It meant that the kid was on his own.

The race began, and Pouihl was barreling the Starfighter down a narrow durasteel runway bolted to the side of a massive refinery tower. Running hard into a tight industrial corridor with nowhere to go but forward.

This first leg was already difficult, throwing him straight into Mon Gazza's worst terrain: low-altitude refinery trenches packed with smokestacks, pipework, and scaffolding bridges.

Radio, lock down the intake dampeners. We’re going to run into some interference… and get the floodlights ready!

The air was getting ridiculously hot and dirty, visibility came and went. Those floodlights were coming in handy with the heat shimmer distorting the sensors and sightlines. The astromech was giving him flightlines to take, every turn being tight. Misjudge a corner and you'll scrape durasteel, lose control, or vanish into the haze.

One of the turns he took was a little too tight as Rojuhr was dead in front of a bridge loaded with low hanging cables. He could move around it, but there were exhaust stacks, or climb above and hit a ceiling.

Have to make a choice here! Frak it!
Gunning the engines forward, Rojuhr JUST missed one of the cables that swung into another. This gave Rojuhr the speed to explode through a burst of exhaust.

He was clear.

TAG: OPEN
This is where he is speaking
Opening Roll (at the bottom)

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

The Force doesn't guide Kinley Pryse, it takes notes​

The heat hit first, oil-slick warmth rolling off the track, engines snarling in their cradles like hungry animals. Mon Gazza was showing off for its inaugural N-1, banners snapping in the wind, grandstands packed tight with gamblers, mechanics, and people who swore they were just here for the race. Kinley Pryse leaned against the rail with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly where every exit was. Aviators on, boots hooked casually on the lower bar, she looked like another thrill-seeker chasing noise and speed.

A man drifted up beside her, said her name like he wasn't sure it belonged in his mouth. Kinley didn't look over. She reached into her jacket, produced a slim vial that caught the sun just long enough to sparkle, then slipped it into his palm when the first test engines screamed to life. Credits passed the other way, folded once, tucked away without ceremony. No hushed voices. No drama. Just business, clean, quiet, and already forgotten by everyone who mattered.

The racers began their prep runs, repulsors whining as N-1s glided toward the grid, polished hulls flashing gold and chrome. The crowd roared. Kinley finally pushed off the rail, a half-smile tugging at her mouth as the smell of spice, fuel, and anticipation mixed in the air. She was here for the race, sure, but like most things worth watching, it was better with a little side hustle. And if Mon Gazza was going to make history today, she might as well make a profit while it did.


Aiden Porte

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #333333333333 (man, that’s a lot of 3’s)
Location: Mon Gazza
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Energetic
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the spherical Diva.
NOTE- ** STARTING GRID ** and anything passed it is written in real time and not the “log approach like usual for Michael.

THE DAY BEFORE THE RACE:

There it was, a stock N-1
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: Seriously? I still can’t believe what we are doing here.]

What is wrong with an N!?
“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: Compared to either X-wing you fly?]

I like this. We’re all flying the same units.

“Chrrp.” [Translation: You WHAT?! You KNOW that pilots can modify their ships, right?]

Yes, but anyone who does that is a wuss.
“ChEEp.” [Translation: Yes, GREAT Strategy! You had better be ready tomorrow.]

We’ll be fine. I have a plan.


** THE STARTING GRID: **

The Paddock was abuzz with activity as final preparations were coming together until ultimately…

The flag dropped! The locks released Starfighters roared in a thunderclap of energy to life and zoomed across the starting line with a feral animosity towards all that is peace and quiet. All except for one.

A pathetic whine, a cough of fumes and a wheeze of a stalled engine 2 and the ship dropped and slammed into the ground.
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: We have achieved decorative status! Is this a part of your plan??!!]

What is wrong with this thing?

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: You want the long or short list? Fine. It’s a rattletrap. It’s an antique. It’s a bicycle, you’re used to a speederbike.]

I forgot to initiate the intake dampeners…

“Chrrp.” [Translation: You WHAT?! Oh.my… YOU had ONE JOB!]

Yes. Thank you! Helpful! Toaster! Did you turn the heat on??!! I’m burning up!

Having to slowly remember how to get the engines back up to speed took a moment, then a cough, a wheeze, a “gear jump” and a sputter later. They were going again.
“ChEEp.” [Translation: We’re wall art. Fast wall art, but wall art! LOOK OUT FOR THAT BRIDGE!] In their maniacal path, they flew through and around smokestacks right into the cables dangling from a bridge that was just hit by an unlucky racer.

RELAX! I got it!

In an incredible flash of brilliance, or insanity (insanity if you ask Devin Virell , or any member of Striker Squadron), Michael dodged a huge energy spouting cable that wanted to turn them into ions.

Right into an exhaust burst.

“Wooo.” [Translation: If a droid could have an aneurysm, I would have by now.]

– Michael A.
This is gonna suck!

Opening Roll (at the bottom)
TAG: OPEN!

This is where he is speaking

 

[Aiden Porte]

Kinley Pryse
Indirect: Feng Huang​

He seemed slightly out of his element.

That much showed in the way he moved through the crowds without armor,, dressed in simple civilian clothes that marked him as just another spectator caught up in the noise and heat of Mon Gazza. The only thing that betrayed him was the lightsaber clipped openly at his belt, worn with the quiet, habitual ease of someone who had stopped thinking of it as a symbol long ago.

He slipped through the press of bodies with practiced calm, letting the Force nudge him through gaps before they fully opened. The air was thick with exhaust and anticipation, and beneath it all, the familiar undercurrent of tension that came with crowds, credits, and competition. His attention drifted naturally, as it always did, brushing against conversations and intentions without prying.

That was when he saw it.

The exchange was quick and unceremonious. A vial, a fold of credits, no attempt at subtlety beyond timing it with the scream of engines. Aiden could not help the quiet laugh that slipped from him. He shook his head faintly as he continued walking.

The race had not even started, and contraband was already moving through the stands like sweets at a festival.

As he passed her, he slowed just enough to make his presence known. He cleared his throat gently, not unkindly, and spoke without stopping.

"You should probably try to be more smooth with that next time."

There was no accusation in his voice. Just observation, wrapped in dry amusement. He did not look back to see her reaction. That was not his role today.

Aiden found his seat moments later, settling in as the announcers' voices boomed across the industrial canyon. He clapped along with the crowd, genuine enthusiasm rising in his chest despite himself. It surprised him how easily it came. The last time he had been at a race, he had been nine years old, small enough that the world had felt impossibly large and endlessly exciting.

His gaze tracked the N Ones as they lined up, engines snarling, hulls gleaming through heat shimmer.

"Come on, Feng," he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth as he clapped again. "Focus. You got this."

The countdown lights ignited one by one.

Aiden leaned forward in his seat, grin tugging at his expression as the final tone sounded and the racers launched into the Vertical Crucible, engines screaming and history tearing itself free from the starting line.