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

[Tintinallë Nyxara]

Objective: The Vertical Crucible
Location: Smuggler's Spine, Mon Gazza
Outfit:Racing Flightsuit
Monitored by: Hyartë Vaelune

Coming into Section Three of the race Tintinallë seemed to be getting things figured out. Whether it was a miscalculation under the bridge in section one or merely getting accustomed to a new ship with a smaller cockpit that Tintin was used to the Quendesh pilot was hitting her stride. A grin formed on Tintin's lips. She wasn't usually very competitive. She was much more about the adventure, trying new things and the challenge than she was about accolades for winning. As she started to match up better in section times with the other competitors however, there was a degree of pride that Tintinallë felt. And doing something well just added to the fun.

The N-1's engines were humming at near peak efficiency as the course started to narrow. Tintinallë had just barely made a pass ( Aselia Verd ) before that no longer became possible. She exhaled slowly at the luck of timing. The passed fighter however was still right on her tail, there was no time to relax. "Woohoo!" Tintinallë called out as her fighter sped through the holo-ring that signified the starting of the new section of the race. She gave a quick move of the yoke in her hand and was quickly into the canyon unnaturally created where rock cliffs and urban development butted up against each other.

"I know you're having fun, but this section is about precision," Hyartë voiced her concern over the comms. "Don't take things too loose."

"Next race I am going to contact Olyssandra and see if she'll be my spotter. I bet she would be much more fun!" Though the tone was playful and Tintinallë would never push Hyartë away, she did wonder if less worry and more enthusiastic encouragement to Tintinallë's "let it fly" racing style would helpful.

Hyartë gave a giggle. "While you are racing I'll keep Olyssandra distracted and you'll be o…" the voice cut off abruptly. At the same time all of Tintinallë's sensors went down. There was a gasp and brief moment of panic causing a slight drift in the current turn. Tintinallë was not about to slow down though, she didn't really need sensors or Hyartë to run the course. She had a connection to the universe that translated into a joint connection between herself, any ship she was piloting and the course that needed to be traversed. Quickly correcting for the drift, just before she struck the walls of the Spine, Tintinallë was able to maintain and press forward. "Tin!" was heard bellowing through Tintin's comms before she even could tell that the sensors were back.

"Relax Hy. I'm here. Some kind of electrical interference," Tintinallë responded as she returned to a full comfort level of having her sensors, Hyartë's spotting AND her connection to the ship and track. "Everything is back to normal. This thing cause any trouble for the leaders?"

"Too soon to tell," Hyartë relayed with a sigh. "The field is pretty good. You seem to be matching the leaders now, but I don't know if you're catching up to them."

Spoiler: Roll

Race Total = 44

 

[Gavin Restur]

TAGS: Aurelian Veruna , Seris Travin-Avaron
​

It seemed like switching his tone, at least somewhat, was the correct action. Even though it was subtle, Aurelian Veruna did seemed pleased with the course correction. And while such formalities and social rules did seem pointless to a man like Gavin, who pretty much had to build himself up from essentially the bottom of the barrel of galactic society, there's times where you have to play by someone else's rules, at least for the meantime. Especially if you're the one who's essentially crawling and asking for a job.

["The High Republic has no shortage of outstanding warrants. Messy ones. Ones that require discretion, persistence, and a willingness to be unpopular in dangerous places. I am also always in need of capable men and women for personal and event security."]

A hand lifted behind himself, reaching underneath his hat and scratching the back of his head. "Believe me, I ain't no stranger to folk having a certain...disliking towards me."

"But, those warrants, and that security that you need sounds right up my alley." A light smile flashing afterwards. Especially the talk of personal security. Exciting.

["Pass an extensive background check, and I would be willing to invest in that loyalty. You stayed when others ran. I find that… reassuring."]

The mention of a background check didn't elicit any concern from Gavin, primarily because there was no reason it would. Despite what many would assume given his choice of attire, he was actually not a criminal. Asides from the occasional, somewhat shady protection or security job when he was younger, there was practically no sort of criminal background of the man.

"And your investment will bring a return that you will be rather pleased with, and your feeling of reassurance is not misplaced." Keeping a light, but genuine, tone.

"Though, I would like to make something clear, Your Highness." A finger would lift, pointing up. "I'm fine with fighting on a battlefield, I'm fine with huntin' down dangerous people. I'm fine with making sure you, and whoever you wish, are safe, as well as the Republic as a whole. Hell, even if you want me at a private meeting to look a lil' intimidating, that's alright, too."

"I'm here to do your dirty work. Not your dirty work." A heavier emphasis and tone was placed on the second saying of "dirty".

"From my diggin', you don't seem to be the kind that'll have a political rival assassinated with two bolts to the back of the head that's ruled a suicide. But I just want to make sure we're both on the same page, since I know how politics can be sometimes. Many believe that morals are dead, and while that is true, especially in the higher echelons of society, a line has to be drawn somewhere." Speaking in an incredibly blunt matter, for a rather serious topic. He was next to clueless when it came to how politics worked, but he was aware the lengths that some politicians would go to if they want things to go their way.

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris did not immediately answer Aurelian's question.

She remained where she was, posture composed, hands loosely folded at her waist, her gaze shifting briefly from Gavin back to the King. Not in hesitation. In respect. This was his space. His decision. She was present as counsel, not as a rival voice.

Only when the moment had settled did she speak.

"Your Highness," Seris began quietly, her tone warm but precise, "I am here as an observer first, and as someone who believes that stability is built long before it is tested."

She inclined her head slightly toward Aurelian, a subtle acknowledgment of his authority.

"This league is not only entertainment," she continued. "It is infrastructure. Influence. Visibility. It touches trade routes, security interests, and public confidence. I am here because those things matter to the worlds I represent and to the people who live on them."

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Gavin, not with scrutiny, but with calm recognition.

"And in moments like this," she added, "it is also my role to listen when capable people step forward honestly, without theatrics, and without hiding what they are willing and unwilling to do."

When she spoke of his words about morality, her voice softened slightly.

"I appreciate your clarity," Seris said to him evenly. "Too many people in your line of work learn to blur that line until they no longer know where it is."

She did not praise him. She acknowledged him.

"Knowing where you will not go," she continued, "is as important as knowing what you are capable of."

Her attention returned to Aurelian.

"If you choose to employ him," Seris said calmly, "you will be gaining someone who understands risk, consequence, and restraint. Those are not common qualities in people who survive the collapse of empires."

There was no attempt to persuade. Only perspective.

"As for my intentions," she added gently, "they are simple. I wish to see endeavors like this succeed without becoming another arena for exploitation, corruption, or quiet violence."

Her eyes met Aurelian's steadily.

"And when someone presents himself openly, with his history in hand and his limits stated plainly," she said, "I believe it is worth acknowledging that integrity, whatever decision follows."

She allowed a brief pause, then concluded softly.

"Nothing more. Nothing less."

Seris fell quiet again, resuming her place at Aurelian's side, neither retreating nor pressing forward, content to let the King decide with full awareness and without interference.

Gavin Restur Aurelian Veruna

 

[Phy]

Mon Gazza
Tags: Race people (sorry on phone)

Droid Body​

Phyla shot forward way more than she expected, finding herself running towards the front. For a moment, she was a bit dazed coming into the upcoming narrow stretch of the race. It took her a moment to realize that her instruments had failed, something in reaction to the strange field that was in this place. Before she knew it she had little choice but to go into the turn blind.

And that came with a whole heap-load of stress.

The Shard was quick to correct her course and stay with the curve, keeping her N1 out of the wall, but she slowed her pace in order to avoid a wreck. While she ultimately maintained her course, she surely had dropped back from that brief moment up towards the front.

It was better than blowing up.

Taking note that her ship's functionality had returned in full, Phy put her mind on keeping her focus on the race. It wasn't over just yet.

Roll:

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Gavin Restur | Seris Travin-Avaron

Aurelian stared at Seris without blinking. "Do you normally filibuster every question," he asked evenly, "or is brevity not in your vernacular?"

His expression did not change. "It sounds like you enjoy hearing yourself talk. You still have not answered my question. You are here to observe me?" He then spoke, with visible distaste, "Please do not observe me. Thank you."

He stepped away from her, a small shift of polished shoes against the deck. Whatever her game was, he did not have the patience for it. She did not know the bounty hunter. She had no stake in him. Yet she inserted herself in this conversation. Annoying.

He pivoted back to Gavin, letting Seris fall from his immediate attention as thoroughly as if she had ceased to exist. "I understand the line you are drawing," Aurelian said, tone calmer now. "And I would not require you to cross it. If I pay for your services, it will be for honest work."

He took another sip, studying the man over the rim of his glass. "Besides," he added lightly, "I already have my own people for my dirty work. Ones I have known for a very long time."

The implication hung there. Loyalty rewarded. Betrayal handled. He did not elaborate. He did not need to. Another explosion of cheers rose as a racer shot toward open sky. Aurelian's mouth twitched faintly. "You may send a formal proposal to my office," he continued. "Credentials. Terms. Availability. My staff will run the background check and draft a contract if all aligns."

He tilted his head slightly. "If you are as clean as you claim, we can have you working sooner than you think."

His gaze flicked briefly past Gavin, toward where Seris still stood, then returned. Indicating he would like him to get her the feth away.

"Possibly even today."

​

 

[Dani Stellaris]

Ducking and weaving. Her ship was taking too many risks. Trying to slingshot herself and her fighter wasn’t the ebay call. Mack was tweeting hard and complaining. Her fighter was groaning against the atmosphere. She felt the G-Forces. Atmospheric flight was a pain on the ship and on the pilot. The droid kept beeping and running the ship’s diagnostics on her screen.

“I see it!” She shouted as she kept pushing, the engine flared out. Cussing, Dani tried to restart it. Came online, only to sputter out again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” She was losing speed, and the Manta was falling to the ground. “No no no…” Hitting the controls, and restarting the engine.

Sputter, sputter, cough. And then the green lights came on and Mack gave her a go ahead.

“Lets move!” She was pushing the engine and trusting herself. What she needed to do was keep moving and playing safe. “Mack, going dark… Hold our line!” She called to the fighter and pushed the engine again.

The throttle kicked and she leapt ahead.

 

[Feng Huang]

Feng was enjoying herself she was closing the distance between the mid and head of the pack. If she were lucky or the leads made a crucial era she could definitely place, maybe even win. Feng concentrated on the holo-ring suspended in mid air. She would have to guide her racer through the ring carefully to get ahead.

She held her breath as the track, the crowds, the other racers roared alongside her. Then she was through which was when her sensors cut out. Feng growled annoyed and push the throttle hard. The boosters roared to life, then spluttered. Feng's heart sank. She tried to switch power from the shields to the engine, but they continued to splutter. The Fire Bolt skipped along the surface of the track, as power to the engines started failing. Feng screamed in frustration.

She hit in frustration, the engine started up again. Feng laughed, ok so she'd lost some ground it wasn't the end of the world. As long as she didn't come last she would be ok with that.

Feng rolled a 7 (She doesn't really want to sabotage anyone)

 

[Casaana]

"Yeahhh!" Casaana cheered as Nami zoomed up the leader boards, jumping up the leaderboard just as her new fan was in the stands, heedless of her bang-corn flying out of her bag and across the surrounding spectators as she waved it around. If she had, she wouldn't have minded, she had snacks a plenty and the wild atmosphere in the stands was electric. Everyone was going slightly crazy, and she was far from the only one losing her confections across the stands.

Fear briefly clutched at her as a sudden and heavy crosswind, but she was soon smiling again as Nami Runda regained control and pulled the spry fighter back onto the racing line. Then they were onto the next section, a quick glance at the giant race projection told her it was the smuggler's run. Probably not really? Casaana scrabbled for the race pamphlets, hoping there was some info about this leg and its attention-getting name. A dangerous course winding between a rocky cliff and the industrial sector pressed right up against it. Looked like smugglers had once hoped the tight squeeze would hide them from sensors and keep patrols off their back. Now Casaana was left wondering if the owners or people working in those factories were any happier about a race taking place right next to them.

A cry went up as racers nearly collided, missing by no more than a dozen centimeters. Even in that tight space, it didn't look like any of them were willing to back off on the aggression or tight flying. Then the holo projection flickered, and everyone knew the smuggler jammers were active.

 

[Aileni Ifor Xeraic]

Location: Mon Gazza
Attire: Suit
Tag: Voli Cholrass

Aileni turned his head around to the older girl who was talking to him. She seemed a couple of years older than him, her style was very different to those that they were around. Aileni was surprised to see someone dressed like this for what was considered a fancy barge to be on board. Aileni nodded his head as he looked at the placements, "well, seems that their betting agents are loving this upset then." There was a slightly cynical tone, the betting agents were always going to be thrilled with this since they were likely to make more money with this. Fewer people played against the risks so fewer pay outs.

"Though I guess things could still turn around for the racer?" Aileni shrugged, he was sure there were people desperate for a massive turn around, seeing Michael towards the bottom of the race was unfortunate to see. Aileni knew that his friend would be taking this hard.

Looking over to Voli, he shook his head at the offer of the popcorn, "fine for now thank you. I am Frederick." Aileni held no hesitation or doubt when providing the false identity. He had gotten onto the royal barge under an identity and he was seeking to maintain it as part of Shadow training. "You are not dressed like the others attending this event. Not one for dresses and suits?" Aileni asked before taking a sip of his water. He was curious about who this might be and if this was someone that he would need to be observant of.

 

[Ria the Cat]

Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar

[Catch a falling kitty?]​

High above the fray, Ria continued to monitor the chaos unfolding below. Engines screamed, crowds roared, and somewhere metal shrieked against metal, but from up here, it all felt distant. Manageable.

Her whiskers twitched.

There it was.

A presence. Subtle. Different from the milling masses beneath her.

Ria let out a small, inquisitive chirp and padded carefully along the beam, tail lifted for balance as she angled toward the unfamiliar creature. The crowd below surged and shifted, beings pressing shoulder to shoulder, unaware of the silent observer above them.

And Ria intended to keep it that way.

She stepped lightly. Measured. Controlled.

Until she wasn't.

Her paw met empty air.

There was a brief, undignified scramble, claws skittering against metal, tail lashing, hind legs kicking for purchase. For one suspended heartbeat, the feline found herself flailing through open space, utterly unceremonious.

Thankfully.

Cats always land on their feet.

Whether cats landed on the ground, however… was another story entirely.

 

[Aselia Verd]

Wearing: [X]

The Smuggler's Spine didn't look dangerous at first.

That was the trick.

Aselia cleared the rotating holo-ring clean, her N-1 slipping through the checkpoint gate just as the course markers tightened without warning. Open sky vanished. Rock and industrial plating closed in around her as the corridor twisted upward into a long, spiraling corkscrew.

She banked immediately, settling into the rotation rather than fighting it. Continuous pressure on the yoke, riding the throttle..

Racers ahead were visible just close enough to feel within reach, just far enough to deny easy ambition.

Aselia didn't back off.

She trusted the line she'd already committed to, trusting the rhythm of the ship beneath her. She held her speed for now, not pushing harder not yet, steady was the word. The N-1 skimmed along the curve with meters to spare, engines singing instead of screaming.

Ahead, one rival drifted a little too wide on the inside wall, compensating late for the corkscrew's tightening radius. Aselia made her choice.

She dipped lower into the spiral, cutting inside the curve where the plating narrowed and the margin thinned. It wasn't reckless but it was committed. Her wingtip cleared the inner wall by a breath as she slid through the gap, throttle feathered precisely to avoid over-rotation.

She exited that segment of the spiral closer to the cluster ahead than before not leading, not threatening the front yet but firmly back in contention.

The Spine continued to twist upward, rivals still in sight.

Plenty of race left.

And she was climbing.

Dice Roll: [X]

TAG: @Racers (Am also Lazy)
Indirect Tag: Adelle Bastiel Itzhal Volkihar

​

 

[Gavin Restur]

TAGS: Aurelian Veruna , Seris Travin-Avaron
​

He spent a few moments staring at Seris Travin-Avaron as she spoke, with a brow raised. If he's going to be truthful? All of the wordplay was starting to go beyond his level of comprehension. Scratching his chin, as he gave a glance towards Aurelian Veruna while she spoke, before looking back. So, he elected to do what he normally does when conversation turns confusing: grab a drink.

Glancing around briefly, before plucking a glass from a passing attendant's tray. Fortunate, that there was plenty of them around. Taking a nice, long sip from the glass as he watched Aurelian's...colorful, response. Which, elicited a grin of amusement from the man.

Eyes would trail the man as he stepped away from the woman. Looking back towards Seris, he'd give her a simple shrug. Downing the rest of the contents in his glass, before setting the glass aside on a table, and following where Aurelian stepped off to. Listening to him speak.

["Besides, I already have my own people for my dirty work. Ones I have known for a very long time."]

A brief chuckle was let out, to that. Hands would lower, thumbs hooking on the inside of his belt, letting his hands rest on top of it. "Glad we're already startin' off on the right foot."

["If you are as clean as you claim, we can have you working sooner than you think."]

His gaze would follow Aurelian's, to glance over his shoulder towards Seris.

["Possibly even today."]

Turning back around, as he would give the man a wink. "Suuuuuuuure." Drawling the word. "I'll get that proposal sent in the next minute or two. Been a pleasure speakin' with you, Your Highness. Call me if you need me." Nodding his head towards the man, as he would turn around. Stepping over towards Seris.

"So, Seris. Seems like the king ain't exactly happy at the moment." Slowing to a halt in front of the woman. "How's about you and I head off to one of them bars in here, and grab ourselves a couple of drinks? What do you say?" Keeping a light tone as he spoke. Sure, this was to do what Aurelian had implied and get her away from him, but also to just genuinely talk to her. She was a bit confusing in her manner of speaking, yes, but he didn't dislike her already. And besides, any excuse to head to a bar is a valid excuse to him.

 

[Osira Perris]

[/CENTER]

OSIRA PERRIS

ROGUE THREE
The checkpoint gate snapped past her canopy in a blink of hard lines and flashing beacons, it held no forgiveness for any of them.

Osira rolled cleanly through the rotating holo-ring without breaking stride, the luminous circle collapsing behind her as the course slowly changed character entirely. The open sky vanished and the Smuggler’s Spine swallowed her whole.

Rock and scarred industrial plating closed in, the corridor tightening into a spiraling throat that corkscrewed upward with malicious patience. Old smuggler work, half-carved stone reinforced with bolt-on durasteel wrapped around her, showing signs of being warped by decades of heat, vibration, and things that were never meant to fly through here at race speed.

Osira banked and stayed banked.

The turn never stopped. It just… kept going.

She could see them ahead. There were three ships, staggered along the curve like beads on a wire. Close enough to chase but too close to pass without meaning it. The walls twisted, forcing constant roll input, the N-1 leaning into the curve while gravity and centrifugal force argued over ownership of her blood.

This was no place for brute throttle.

No this required a more delicate touch, it required rhythm.

The engines settled into a steady, restrained growl as she trimmed speed just enough to keep the nose precise. Every correction was small. Every input was as deliberate as it could be. She let the ship ride the curve instead of cutting it, hugging the inside line without scraping paint.

Then the scopes flickered.

Once. Twice.

Gone.

The Smuggler’s Spine lived up to its name; buried jammers and dead sensor nodes clawed at her displays, comms warping into static as distance markers vanished mid-turn. For a heartbeat, she was flying blind, nothing but rock wall rushing past meters from her wing.

Osira didn’t slow.

She trusted her hands. She couldn’t resist the smile.

Trusted the pressure in the yoke, the vibration through the frame, the way the N-1 leaned when it was happy and shuddered when it wasn’t. She adjusted by what she could feel alone, holding speed, holding line, letting instinct carry her through the blackout until the sensors blinked back to life like nothing had happened.

Ahead, someone drifted wide.

Not much. Just enough.

The curve tightened, the outer wall looming closer as they hesitated, maybe they too were fighting the jammer flicker, maybe respecting the corridor a little too much.

Osira saw the opening and committed before doubt could form.

She dove inside.

The N-1 slipped down the inner curve, banking harder, hull screaming protest as clearance shrank to nothing. Rock blurred past her canopy, close enough to feel wrong. She feathered the throttle mid-bank, letting the ship rotate through the tightest part of the corkscrew without losing grip.

For a moment, there was no room for error.

Then she was through.

Clean. Smooth. Still climbing.

The other craft fell behind her wake, forced to back off as Osira reclaimed the racing line ahead of them.

She didn’t celebrate. Didn’t grin. Just breathed, steady and calm, eyes already tracking the next curve, the next weakness, the next decision point.

The Smuggler’s Spine twisted on, merciless and intimate, daring her to rush, daring her to blink.

Osira Perris did neither.

She stayed in the turn, balanced on instinct and nerve, hunting the next mistake ahead of her because in a corridor like this, the race wasn’t won by who was fastest.

It was won by who belonged there.

​

DIALOGUE GUIDE
"Speech." // <<Comms>> // <MESSAGES> // Thoughts

ROGUE SQUADRON

​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Spectating
Tags: Itzhal Volkihar | Ria the Cat

Phantom kept staring at the rafters, eyes and ears alert. Adelle shrugged it off, her Force awareness not catching anything. She watched Aselia Verd ’s fighter begin its run through the Spine, a narrow twisting corridor with tight turns and smaller margins.

“Come on, vod, get back up there,” she breathed, picking up her glass to take another drink.

Phantom chittered in her lap then hopped up onto her shoulders, attention still firmly on the rafters. Adelle spared another glance up then looked at the spukami. <<There’s nothing.>>

Phantom’s fur fluffed a bit and her tail swished. <<Not-Cat.>>

Adelle had been about to break her rule of not addressing Phantom directly when motion caught her eye. Adelle slid her glass on the table. A split second later, something small, orange and white, and furry landed in her lap. Claws dug in through her pants and she hissed, even as her body reacted to keep the thing from falling further.

When the adrenaline rush of the moment had passed, Adelle stared at the creature in her lap.

“Where the fething Hells did you come from?” she asked the orange and white cat. <<This . . . is a cat.>>

Phantom’s tail twitched, even as she hunkered down on Adelle’s shoulders. An eartip brushed her cheek as it flicked. <<Not-Cat. Know cat. Not cat.>>

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris did not react outwardly to Aurelian's sharp dismissal. No tightening of her jaw. No flash of offense. No visible irritation. She simply inclined her head slightly, as if acknowledging a boundary that had been clearly and deliberately drawn, and allowed the moment to pass without contesting it.

If anything, there was something quietly dignified in the way she accepted being set aside.

She remained where she was for a heartbeat longer, long enough to ensure she had not unsettled the broader rhythm of the exchange, then shifted her weight subtly, already preparing to remove herself from the immediate space around the King without making it into a spectacle.

When Gavin approached, her gaze turned to him instead, expression softening into something openly friendly and amused.

At his comment about Aurelian's mood, the faintest curve touched her lips.

"That is… a generous way of phrasing it," she replied lightly, her tone warm rather than critical. "His Majesty prefers efficiency. I have a tendency toward… context."

She glanced briefly in Aurelian's direction, just long enough to confirm that he had fully redirected his attention, then looked back to Gavin.

"Which means it is wise of us to relocate before either of those traits become obstacles," she added, a quiet note of humor threading through her words.

At his offer, she hesitated only a moment, more out of habit than reluctance, then nodded.

"A drink sounds perfect, actually," Seris said, her voice easing into something more relaxed. "I suspect I could use something stronger than mineral water after that exchange."

She gestured lightly toward the edge of the lounge, already turning with him, her movement unhurried and natural.

"Lead the way, Gavin," she continued, a hint of warmth in her smile. "And thank you, by the way, for the rescue. Even unintentional ones are appreciated."

As they walked, putting a comfortable distance between themselves and the King's orbit, Seris exhaled softly, the tension she had been carrying easing away.

"For what it is worth," she added gently, glancing toward him, "you handled that conversation well. Direct, honest, and without trying to be something you are not. That matters more than most people realize."

She stopped near one of the quieter bar counters, resting her hand lightly on its edge.

"So," Seris finished, her tone brightening, "what are we drinking?"

Aurelian Veruna Gavin Restur

 

[Pillar of Faith]

​

SECTION IV – ATMOSPHERIC BREAK

This leg begins at the High-Altitude Gate, a line of floating nav-buoys anchored in the thinning sky. Racers blast past the markers at full throttle, engines screaming as Mon Gazza's clouds fall away beneath them. The air rapidly clears, the smog thins to wisps, and for the first time in the race the planet spreads out in full view below; factories, city-stacks, and glowing refinery lines shrinking with every second.

Here, the course opens wide and fast. Turbulence fades. With gravity weakening, ships feel lighter and more responsive, making it easy to overcorrect or drift off-line. There are fewer obstacles, but far higher speeds, and any mistake now sends a racer tumbling into uncontrolled spins or dead space between markers. This is where pilots commit fully, trusting their instincts and their engines as they set up for the final push into orbit.

This section is about confidence and restraint, where speed finally rules... but only if you can control it.

Racer Challenges (choose one or both):

• Thin-Air Drift: Your ship suddenly handles differently as the atmosphere drops away. Do you ease off to regain control, or lean into the change and risk losing stability?
• Open-Line Gamble: With clear space ahead, you can take a wide, clean racing line or cut aggressively between nav-buoys to gain ground at dangerous speed.

STANDINGS:

Tie P1 - Bettany Sal-Soren & Nami Runda (54)
P3 - Osira Perris (51)
P4 - Phy (48)
P5 - Rojuhr Pouihl (47)
Tie P6 - Tintinallë Nyxara & Priesse Namada (44)
P8 - Feng Huang (38)
P9 - Aselia Verd (37)
P10 - Dani Stellaris (33)
P11 - Michael Angellus (22)


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

Next section - Sunday Feb, 15th
​

 

[Ria the Cat]

Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar​

Ria had been falling.

FALLING.

How dare gravity.

The indignity of it all.

Thankfully, mercifully, she had been caught mid-plummet by some strange human creature. The cat was still catching her breath, little sides heaving, fur slightly puffed from the shock, when the human had the audacity to ask where she'd come from.

The orange tabby tilted her head, blinking up at them.

Excuse you?

She squirmed, twisting in their grasp with increasing urgency until she wriggled free, scrambling upward in a flurry of claws and fur. In sheer panic, she clamored up the front of their clothing and onto their free shoulder, claws digging in for stability as she clung there, breathing hard.

Her ears flattened briefly before flicking forward again.

Wide amber eyes locked onto the human's face.

"I was asleep on the freighter," she began in a rush, voice crackling to life as the vox box on her collar flickered and glowed, emitting sound. "And then I woke up here and then I went up and then I was down, and oh my Varanin-"

She pressed her forehead against the human's, as if that might help stabilize the universe.

"Where am I? Who are you?"

The collar's lights pulsed softly as the vox system finished translating her rapid, breathless panic into intelligible speech.

 

[Bettany Sal-Soren]

Location: Mon Gazza
Objective: Race - turn 4

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

Bettany's N1 screamed around the track and she felt the note of engines change as the air thinned. Was that good? Bad? She didnt really know, she should probably find out before the next race. Her airspeed was still high though and although her lead was slipping she was still ahead of the main pack and flying as if she wasnt just a random teenager in a starfighter.

Bettany rolled an 17 on discord, running total 71

​

 

[Priesse Namada]

Location: The Smuggler’s Spine, Vertical Crucible Circuit - Mon Gazza
Objective: Race
Racer: Rosé Nebula
Attire: FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit
Tag: Dani Stellaris Bettany Sal-Soren Rojuhr Pouihl Michael Angellus Osira Perris Phy Feng Huang Nami Runda Tintinallë Nyxara Aselia Verd

The checkpoint gate shivered as the Rosé Nebula tore through its threshold at blistering pace. Inside the cockpit, Priesse eased the dual flight control yokes forward, the lights from the rotating holo-ring briefly lighting up her pastel pink features as she did. From there, the lights faded as the spiraling corridor that was the Smuggler’s Spine took shape. Hard rock and industrial plating pressed in at both sides of her canopy, threatening to punish even the slightest error or misjudgement. However, even with the walls only a few meters away to either side, Priesse knew that she could not afford to be jerky in her flying. This was one of the most technical sections of the course. Smoothness would serve her well here, with only small, silk-fingered micro-corrections to be made as needed.

She tried to breathe herself into the calm needed to fly smoothly through the Spine.

However, it was then that several events transpired in quick succession. A gold and white N-1 ( Rojuhr Pouihl ) zipped past both her and the violet-hulled N-1 ( Feng Huang ) that was directly ahead while Priesse was angling for an upcoming turn. The Seseli realized then that the violet was going slowly, lagging off the pace. Her infrared-sensitive eyes widened as she caught its engines’ flaring, sputtering, then dimming.

A technical problem. Her pulses quickened. She needed to pass. Now.

Unfortunately, the course was narrow and Priesse had not built up enough momentum to make the pass quickly like the gold and white N-1 had. In committing to drafting the violet, she had matched its pace, and now she was beginning to suffer for that decision.

Priesse’s twin hearts hammered inside her chest as she wove and banked through the next sequence of turns. The violet N-1 ahead drifted wide through the curve. Her pupils dilated. It was now or never.

Priesse dove her starfighter into the gap inside as her hand slammed the throttle forward. The engines screamed, and she shot past the violet in a surge of fiery pink!

 

[Wedge Draav]

Relaxin'

​

Wedge had a hard time avoiding things that moved far too fast for their own good. Him, his fancy little getup, and his little fancy opera binoculars were glued to the screens and the race stats.

He sipped his fancy little bubbly wine and juice combination, his sunglasses perched down, just resting halfway down his nose. He swirled his drink, thinking of when he raced Reima. That woman could out pilot everyone he knew, save for maybe him. She could also-

"Another drink, sir?" Came a fancy little fella in a fancy little getup pedaling fancy little drinks.

Wedge raised his sunglasses back up to his eyes, grinning ear to ear.

"Make it two, I ain't drivin' home."

​