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

[Gavin Restur]

TAGS: Aurelian Veruna , Seris Travin-Avaron
​

There was a slight squint from the man as Aurelian Veruna turned. Slowly. Stiffened jaw, something behind the eyes. Annoyance? Boredom? Given the man's "expertise" in reading body language, he was able to pick up almost immediately that maybe calling out to a King is an informal manner isn't the best idea. Well, it was formal, since 'mister' is used in formal contexts, but not formal enough for someone of noble status...man, royalty talk is confusing. And if Aurelian was focusing on his eyes enough, he likely could see such deductions being made.

"...W-"

["You have orchestrated something remarkably ambitious here."]

Admittedly, he did give a slight flinch at the random voice coming off from the side. Glancing over, to look at Seris Travin-Avaron. Watching and listening as she spoke.

["And you, are operating on either exceptional confidence or exceptional necessity. Possibly both. That combination tends to produce interesting results."]

He tilted his head, at that. Exceptional confidence, or exceptional necessity. Which one was it? Hm. Downing the contents of the shot-glass in hand, before setting the glass down on an empty table. "I suppose 'both' is the best way to put it. Though, perhaps a slight bit more a show of confidence." With a cheeky smile showing on his face.

["Seris Avaron, I am here as an observer, a sponsor of stability, and, on occasion, as someone who asks questions that make powerful people uncomfortable."]

"Ah. Gavin Restur, nice to meet-..." He was already in the midst of sticking his hand out for a handshake, like you're greeting the mechanic who's about to work on your ship. But fortunately, he remembers: this is a formal environment. And even if Seris had a more casual tone and manner of speaking, Aurelian is definitely someone who takes priority in that.

The hand that was extending for a shake, smoothly slides up and away. Instead, his hand went up towards his hat, giving a slight tip of the brim to the two of them. "...a pleasure to make the...acquaintance of both yourself, and of....His....-Highness..!" Yes. That is what you call a king. It was very obvious that he was now going to (try and) speak in a more, "formal" tone.

["Are you two together? This one, was just about to make an offer of service, it seems. I find myself curious what he believes he can offer the King of Naboo."]

Looking back towards Aurelian. "Oh- no, I ain't have a clue on who she is." Dropping the formal manner of speaking almost as quickly as he started it, but it would show itself up here and there later in the conversation. "But! You are correct in the fact that I do have a service to offer." Clearing his throat, as he prepared to give his spiel. "I'll try and not take up too much of your time, as I know you are a busy man." Busy doing...king, things.

"So. I used to be a bounty hunter and mercenary for the Galactic Alliance. Chasing after bad guys, fighting on fields of battle...all of that good stuff. But, as I'm sure the both of y'all are aware, the Alliance don't exactly exist no more. And I decided to go into hidin' for a while, since them Imperials weren't exactly happy with my status of still being alive." As he spoke, he was pretty expressive in his hand gestures.

"Now that the whole mess of that is over, I came to the realization that, I'm sort of out of a job now, due to the fact that the governing body in the galaxy that used to employ my contractual services, is currently in a state of...nonexistence. So, I come with the...humble request, that I may find new contractual employment in bounty hunting and mercenary work, with The High Republic."

He stopped speaking for a moment, to reach into his satchel. Taking out a datapad, and flicking it on. "And in case you are curious as to the nature of my skillset in both bounty hunting and on the field of battle, I have a list here of my confirmed bounties, confirmed kills, and bounties I've accepted in the past." The datapad was extended outwards, for either of them to take.

On the datapad was a decently extensive list of names, with some notes next to the names. The confirmed bounties ranged from the average thug, to some decently dangerous and notorious criminals and warlords, as well as some low-level Sith. The confirmed kills were mostly common grunts, with an officer sprinkled in here and there. The bounties he had accepted were the likes of more notorious criminals and Dark Side users, including some bounties posted by The High Republic itself.

 

[Osira Perris]

[/CENTER]

OSIRA PERRIS

ROGUE THREE
The Ascent Gate vanished beneath her and the world tipped vertical.

Osira rolled the N-1 nose-up and felt Mon Gazza try to drag her back down, gravity tugging at the frame as the city peeled away in layers of light and shadow. The refinery sprawl collapsed into depth below, pylons rising ahead like a forest of steel giants, each one traced with climbing navigation beacons that marked the route into thinning sky.

A digital placement board zoomed passed, showing symbols and names.

She smiled and she ignored it.

The engines changed song as the air thinned—tightening, sharpening. Osira eased the throttle a breath lower, letting the N-1 climb instead of claw. The starfighter answered immediately, stable and eager, settling into a clean ascent that felt more like gliding than force.

Then the traffic began.

Cargo carriers loomed ahead, massive silhouettes crawling upward along their assigned lanes, bellies heavy with containers and refinery output. They were never meant to share airspace with racers, but Mon Gazza didn’t stop working just because someone wanted a spectacle.

A hauler drifted across the edge of the racing corridor, its wake rolling outward in dirty, turbulent waves. Another climbed just above it, offset badly, leaving only a narrowing, shifting gap between hull and pylon.

Most pilots would have pulled wide.

Osira slipped between them.

She rolled the N-1 ninety degrees, skimming along the carrier’s flank, close enough to read hull markings streaked with industrial grime. Turbulence slammed into her from both sides, the carrier’s wake on one, crosswinds from the pylons on the other; but she flowed through it, making constant corrections, never fighting the air, never letting the engines surge.

A traffic drone wandered into the corridor without warning, its beacon flaring bright as it corrected too late.

Osira dipped under it, inverted for half a heartbeat, then snapped back upright, climbing through the drone’s fading wake like it had been planned. The move cost her nothing. No lost momentum. No spike in engine temperature.

Wind shear hit again, harder this time, shoving her toward the nearest pylon with vicious intent.

Warnings chirped.

She rode it.

Let the N-1 slide just long enough to bleed lateral force, then rolled back into the climb, engines humming instead of screaming. One racer ahead corrected too aggressively, their engines flaring white-hot as they tried to compensate.

Osira sailed past them while they struggled.

The traffic thinned as altitude climbed, carriers dropping away beneath her like slow, lumbering beasts tied to the planet by necessity. The air grew cleaner as well as colder. The roar of Mon Gazza faded into a distant echo behind her.

Her engines were warm. They were happy, untouched by the panic around them.

Osira pushed a fraction harder now, threading between beacon lights and pylons with practiced ease, carrying speed others had bled away fighting the climb. It was just like passing between star destroyers in front of a Death Star, except less lasers.

This was why she raced.

Not just to go fast; but to move through chaos as if it were music only she could hear.

And as the Vertical Ascent gave way to widening sky and the course finally began to open, Osira Perris carried her momentum upward, perfectly balanced, already hunting the next mistake ahead of her.

​

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

ROGUE SQUADRON

Rerolls used x2

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris did not rush to fill the space after Gavin finished speaking.

She allowed the datapad to remain where it was for the moment, her attention shifting first, as it should, to the man beside her. A slight inclination of her head acknowledged Aurelian's presence and authority before anything else.

"Your Majesty," she said calmly, her tone respectful and composed, "no. We do not yet know one another. We arrived here separately."

Her gaze moved then to Gavin, thoughtful rather than appraising, curious rather than critical.

"Mr. Restur," she continued evenly, "you have been forthright about who you are and where you come from. That is not something many people manage in rooms like this."

She gestured lightly toward the datapad, still leaving it in his hands.

"Experience earned in unstable times often carries both skill and scars," she said quietly. "It is not my place to weigh either. That decision rests with His Majesty."

Her eyes returned briefly to Aurelian, reinforcing the point without dramatizing it.

"I will say only this," Seris added, her voice gentle but sincere. "Those who have survived conflict and still choose to seek lawful purpose deserve to be heard with care."

Then, to Gavin again, without presumption.

"Whatever follows," she said, "I hope you understand that this is not a room where honesty is punished."

She fell silent after that, hands relaxed around her glass, posture open and composed, making no attempt to steer the outcome further.

Her role was not to decide. It was to witness, to support, and to ensure the conversation remained grounded in respect. And she did exactly that.

Gavin Restur Aurelian Veruna

 

[Jared Starchaser]

This was why he came to these events. Racing was always white knuckle, and while he didn’t care too much for pods, starfighter and shuttle racing was the peak of entertainment. With his beer, Jared sat himself down on the rail to watch the racing.

Looking over, there was what seemed to be a skow coming close. That was going to be interesting. If he had his TIE, he’d be able to probably reverse one of the engines and push the repulsor and skip over it. He’d lose a bit of speed, but he didn’t think it would be as much as if he went too wide.

He wondered if he should have entered on his own.

Just didn’t want to fly an N-1. The drink was making him think if they opened it to more starfighter classes, he’d race. But was there enough TIE Avenger pilots or E-Wing pilots to make that happen?

 

[Dani Stellaris]

Skipping underneath the cables, she could have sworn she felt them brush against the hull of the Manta but she knew they missed. But her shield did light up when they hit it. One, two, three. A good reason to add those extra shields to this ship, even if it was racing. Dani knew she was going to be running a risk by going through this way, but it seemed to pay off.

Looking up, and at the radar on her ship, Mack started beeping, seemed that she had some close competition. The droid knew better than to give her her place in the race. She didn’t do it for the money, no, more the love of competition, and if she won, it’d be donated to a refugee group, after she affected any repairs to the fighter. She was a fairly decent flier though.

Looking ahead, she saw two things happening. One, a cargo hauler was close, and two, there was some cross breeze out there. Maybe she could use it to her advantage? White knuckled, she grabbed her yolk and pushed the fighter. Outside the hauler and coming in towards that cross breeze, she could use it to give her a jump, like a gravity slingshot.

“Mack, get ready to push the engines hard… On my mark.”

Moving wide, wide, wide…

“Now!”

EDIT: Re-roll with blessing to use two because Dice hates me today

 

[Nami Runda]

Current Outfits
Modified N1 Starfighter


Now this wasn’t bad at all.

Nami thought she would embarrass herself in the race. She thought that star fighter as advanced as it was, would malfunction at the start of the race. Nami had a nightmare last night where the sub light pulse engines began to sputter due to the faulty heat sinks. Nami remembered panicking desperately trying to vent the flames but engine exploded encasing Nami in field of fire.

She woke up screaming her brow wet with sweat. While Nami was thankful it was just a dream, she was flooded with fear that she would mess up that she’ll be a fool in front of tens of millions of people. But so far Nami was keeping pace with the other racers. Sure she was behind but there was plenty of race to go and star fighter was holding up.

“Breathe please,” Nami said to herself. Shed been looking for ways to cope with her anxiety and timdness. Perhaps some self talk would be effective. Yet just as she said that her cockpit shuddered violently.

“By the Force!” Nami yelled out in a panic. Alarms were blaring all over the cockpit the starship beginning to sharply swerve off the race track.

Nami gripped onto the controls placing the ship back on the track her face contorting with fear. Was this it? Was she going to crash? “Breathe,” Nami looked at the panel realizing the wind miles per hour increased. She looked around and realized it was caused by a pylon to her right unleashing a gust of wind and right now Nami was in its way.

“Keep it stabilized,” Nami flicked some switches increasing the star fighters shield and transmitting the weapons power to her engines.

As her engines filled up with extra burst, Nami smiled as she began to accelerate past the wind. The engines roared and Nami immediately found herself with the racers once again.

“Yeeee haahhh!” Nami yelled out. There was nothing to fear, all she needed was to stay calm.

<@433159111027195904> rolled 1d20: (20) = 20

 

[Tintinallë Nyxara]

Objective: The Vertical Crucible
Location: Ascent Gate, Mon Gazza
Outfit:Racing Flightsuit
Monitored by: Hyartë Vaelune

Tintinallë came out of the first section of the race towards the back of the pack. Her fighter had struck something as she went under the bridge that Hyartë had warned about. She didn't think that was enough to put her too far behind, but here she was. Tenth place out of twelve. "I hit something under the bridge. Doesn't look like it cost me anything but time though. Did the other folks go the path of least resistance? Or are they that good?"

Hyartë didn't respond immediately. "I am monitoring you, not acting as a spectator. I know your distance from the leaders and what sorta lead you have on the ones behind you, I can't follow how the other pilots are dodging obstacles," came the terse response. It must have been after Hyartë made an attempt to get the information Tintinallë had requested.

"Well poo," Tintinallë responded innocently. "Guess I better assume that these are some real good racers that I'm pitted against. The Ascent Gate is next right? How far do I have before I go vertical?" Tintinallë asked shifting her attention to her standing in the race. She was going to have to push the accelerator forward if she wanted to make up any ground, but not until she'd reached the gate.

"Aren't you watching the track? I think you'll be able to see the gate yourself. And if not your computer will tell you better than me," Hyartë was no pilot. She wouldn't ask Tintinallë constant questions about how to proceed on a hunt, or ask Tintin to remotely track prey. The Quendesh hunter was starting to get annoyed and it was showing in her tone.

Tintinallë smirked at the continued sharpening of Hyartë's tone. Of course Tin could see the course ahead of her and of course she was tracking everything on her computer. "Come on Hy. I just like hearing your voice. It gives me comfort."

There was only a grumble over the comms as Tintinallë's fighter approached the gate. She seamlessly started to pitch up. Soon Tintinallë was heading completely vertical. Tintinallë eased the throttle forward. The wind shears started to nudge her fighter off her chosen path. With aid from the Force (not what she calls it) Tintinallë was able to settle at the right level of thrust while steering into or drifting along with the wind in a manner that was quite efficient for the ascent.

As she continued to climb, she had to adjust here and there for the shifting lanes of the cargo haulers. But those lanes were clearly marked by her computer. Until one wasn't. "Tin! Look out!" Hyartë's voice exclaimed over comms. Tintinallë felt the threat coming and looked to her computer.

"That hauler isn't supposed to be there!" Tintinallë growled, a very uncommon sound from the normally gentle elven pilot. She gave her yoke a quick jerk to move inside of the impeding hauler. As soon as she was clear she felt air get rough. Her wings jittered up and down in opposite mirroring movements. It was nothing that Tintinallë couldn't handle, but it was anything but ideal. She was still behind the leaders at this point, but this stretch of the race had treated her much better than the first.

Spoiler: Roll

Race Total = 25

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mon Gazza, Mid Rim Territories
| Objective | Spectate

The holopuck glided smoothly across the fine grains of wood, heading towards the edge, where Itzhal pinned it underneath a sharp jab of his index finger. Then, a second later, he lowered his palm, cupping his fingers around the device, before he slipped it into one of the many compartments on his utility belt.

Subtly, he tilted his buy'ce towards her, "Appreciated, I'll get something later."

The question of whether that drink would carry the familiar bitterness of alcohol lingered in Itzhal's mind; he was still undecided about whether he craved its sharp burn and the embrace of its warm haze. Yet, the thought of squandering a valuable coupon on a mere soft drink felt like a small betrayal of the occasion. Under the circumstances, he could always return the favour and buy himself the less exciting option with his hard-earned credits. In the end, it was a problem for an older and hopefully wiser Itzhal.

Drumming his finger against the rim of the table, bleeding the frustrating whirl of annoyance and disappointment with each beat, Itzhal hummed in thought, "Ah, King Veruna and Lady Abrantes. I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting either, though I have seen the wake they leave behind; it is an impressive feat for ones so young. Then again, the Nabooians have always favoured the sharp-sighted perception of their youth."

"You seem fond of them," he noted, idly glancing towards the racers and their frantic charge across the city.

On the screen, a dizzying whirl of colours screeched across the industrial landscape, swirling between the furious exhale of furnaces that scorched the air with superheated blasts, and low-hanging cables along the route that trailed through the wind like nooses.

"I had wondered if it was you I saw in the holopics of the Red Queen's coronation," He said, half-turned to the screen ahead, as he projected his voice across the table and no further. "I admit, I missed most of the event. Protectorate business, unfortunately, cared little for sightseeing."

Tearing through the track and narrowly missing a burst of fire that should have blackened their frame, Bastilla's appropriately coloured vessel shot ahead, only for another ship to slip beside them, cutting in from a narrow line past one of the maintenance bridges leading up towards the ascent gate as sky blue and burnished red clashed in a blaze of wills. Aselia trailed right behind them, closing the distance, while another starfighter followed in her slipstream, waiting for their moment.

Tags: Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Ria the Cat]

Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar
[Heading toward you guys!]​

The cat wasn't entirely sure what was going on.

Truth be told, she'd never even been to this planet before. Then again, she also hadn't meant to fall asleep on that freighter, but here she was. Ria paused, sitting back on her haunches to groom herself, meticulously cleaning a paw before dragging it over her ear. Priorities mattered.

Her ears flicked forward.

Sound flooded in, engines whining, voices rising and falling, the distant roar of a crowd layered with sharp mechanical shrieks. The air was thick with unfamiliar smells: fuel, scorched metal, food grease, sweat, excitement. Lots of excitement.

That was interesting.

Ria bolted toward the source, paws light and quick, until she skidded to a halt near the venue's edge. A glance up told her everything she needed to know. No way she was getting in properly. Too many people. Too many rules.

So she improvised.

With a nimble leap, she hopped into an unattended tote bag just as its owner scooped it up, settling in among soft fabric and something vaguely crunchy. She waited, patient, still, tail tucked, as she was carried forward, past the threshold she definitely would not have been allowed to cross on her own.

Once inside, she sprang free.

Landing gracefully, Ria looked around, amber eyes wide with curiosity as the venue unfolded before her. Lights, movement, noise, so much noise. Her tail flicked once, pleased.

Well.

This was certainly worth waking up for.

She weaved through the foot traffic with little concern for courtesy, darting between legs and boots, occasionally clipping an ankle or sending someone stumbling with a sharp mrrp of protest. Ria didn't care. People had eyes, using them was their responsibility.


Her gaze swept the venue, ears pivoting as she searched for height. Somewhere above the crush of bodies, the noise would make sense. The engines, the crowd, the chaos, it all needed perspective.

Ria exhaled softly, tail giving an irritated flick.

Her trusty IG-88 droid wasn't around. Unfortunate. She could really use someone tall right now.

No matter.

Spotting a nearby pillar, she sprang upward, claws finding purchase as she climbed with practiced ease. A quick hop, a careful stretch, and she hauled herself onto a narrow beam that ran above most of the crowd. Balancing effortlessly, Ria padded along the length of it, peering down at the mass of beings below, ears twitching as the roar of the race washed over her.

Much better.

 

[Voli Cholrass]

Current Outfit

Voli pulled her Holopods and placed them in her charging case. It made that annoying low battery sound again. Voli always hated it, the low cranking, rurring noise. It sounded like a dying Speeder battery than a Holopod one. It was especially annoying when the battery goes low in the middle of a great song. "Should've made sure they were fully charged," Voli thought. "I always liked listening to music while watching races. It keeps me grounded."

But she supposed she can put her full attention to the Starfighter race. Things looked to be heating up so far. There was already a crash on the second lap and some racers who were falling behind quickly caught up with a couple of control thrusts. Voli looked down at her charging port smiled and placed it in her jacket pocket while sipping on her soda. Might as well get fully into the race, as she was watching the screen, Voli heard a cough right next to her and she immediately craned her head.

Her violet eyes fell upon a boy who looked out of place. She was a lot taller than Voli, but she could tell that she was older than him. He was nervous and jumpy wondering aloud about who the favorites were. The poor man was just as withdrawn as Voli is, maybe this was the Force's way of having her to form bonds with people her age. "Crowd was betting huge on Dani Stellaris ," Voli said to the boy. "I think the payout is up to a million credits or something crazy like that."

She gave the kid a warm smile while tilting her head. "You enjoying the race?" She asked in a friendly tone while offering her Popcorn. "You can have mine," Voli said. "I just had a taste for it, I wasn't hungry anyway."

Voli continued to smile. "Name is Voli by the way," she said. "What about you?"

Aileni Ifor Xeraic

 

[Priesse Namada]

Location: Refinery Trenches, 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

Priesse pushed the Rosé Nebula hard into the refinery trenches, first diving, then weaving, ducking, pitching up, and even drifting past the smokestacks, pipework, and scaffolding that filled the industrial terrain. The maneuvering thrusters which Kyallia Santhe had installed saw extensive use, and were thus far responding smoothly to her commands. In addition, her choice of the Nubian 221 engines kept her thrust steady in spite of the grimy, particulate-choked air. Unfortunately, she lacked the raw burst acceleration of the other competitors, a fact which became immediately apparent when a violet-hulled N-1 ( Feng Huang ) surged past her coming out of one of the slower turns.

She gave a frustrated exhale and goosed the throttle towards its limit, chasing the ghost of the racer ahead. However, it was then that her thermal-sensitive eyes caught sight of the massive vent blasting superheated gas out across the trench!

Priesse weighed whether to go around or push through for a millisecond, before committing to the latter course of action.

She plunged her racer straight through the exhaust burst, its superheated air momentarily fogging up her canopy in a hazy bloom before clearing away. Still, the maneuver had saved her valuable time, bringing her that much closer to her rival ahead. Now, she was quite literally hot on the tail of the violet N-1. And with the course tilting sharply upward toward the Ascent Gate looming in the distance, she was primed to go on the attack!

 

[Aselia Verd]

Wearing: [X]

Aselia felt it just past the midpoint of the ascent subtle, but there The N-1 didn’t sputter or complain. It simply lost a fraction of its speed as the air thinned faster than expected, heat bleed lagging just enough to dull the thrust.

An amber light lit up.

Not danger.
Efficiency loss.

Ahead, several racers continued their climb cleanly, their profiles tightening as they adapted to the thinning atmosphere. One drove their engines hard, muscling through turbulence with raw output. Another flew smoother, letting momentum do more of the work. Either way, they edged ahead while Aselia’s N-1 hesitated.

She corrected immediately but not aggressively.

Throttle eased back a hair. Climb angle adjusted. She let the ship breathe instead of forcing it, trading a touch of momentum for stability. The pylons slid past a little slower now, navigation lights stretching instead of snapping by, but the engines settled back into a healthier rhythm.

A racer to her left surged briefly on a crosswind shear, gambling for altitude. Another behind tried to press the advantage, pushing into rough wake turbulence and paying for it almost immediately. Aselia stayed out of both fights, holding a clean line and letting the ascent sort itself out.

Power stabilized. Heat levels crept back toward green. The N-1 answered with that familiar, steady hum still strong, just not at peak.

As the traffic thinned and the city dropped farther below, the climb began to ease. Sky widened. Space opened ahead. Whatever ground she’d given up here was measured, controlled and temporary.

Aselia leveled her breathing and kept her focus forward.

There was plenty of race left.

And this was only the second leg.

Dice Roll: [X]

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

​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Spectating
Tags: Itzhal Volkihar || Indirect: Aselia Verd | Ria the Cat

The tension still hung around him in a haze, evident in the way his fingers hit the edge of the table. Adelle rolled her shoulders a bit, trying to tune out the emotions. As an empath, it was challenging but the Corellian ale helped smooth the edges off. She watched the holoscreens panning over the racers as they began their ascent out of the industrial canyons.

“They seem to enjoy my brand of snark,” Adelle said. She took a sip of ale, thinking over Itzhal’s words. She had gotten fond of them. Protective, even. With both being people of power, it wasn’t likely to be reciprocated but they were both young and trying their best in an unforgiving galaxy. If they liked her enough to keep inviting her around, she’d do what she could for them.

Aselia’s fighter was third to arise but it became apparent that something had happened. Other racers blew past her and she steadily dropped back.

“Oh come on, vod,” Adelle muttered. She turned her attention back to Itzhal’s words. “Probably for the best. Eshan wasn’t exactly thrilled we were there. But you probably knew that.”

She took another drink, savoring the sip. “Although I thought I had avoided being seen. Must’ve missed someone with a camera.”

Phantom’s ears twitched and her head tilted up at the rafters. Adelle glanced up but saw nothing. She rubbed her thumb between the spukami’s ears reassuringly.

 

[Pillar of Faith]

​

SECTION III – THE SMUGGLER'S SPINE

Racers enter the Smuggler's Spine through a hard checkpoint gate, where traffic control beacons flash and course markers tighten without warning. The starting line of this leg is marked by a rotating holo-ring suspended in open air. Miss it, and you're off-course. Beyond it, the Spine reveals itself: a narrow, spiraling corridor carved between rock and industrial plating, originally flown by spice runners trying to evade patrols. The walls twist upward in a slow corkscrew, forcing pilots to bank continuously while managing speed and spacing.

This section is deceptively dangerous. The corridor is long enough to see rivals ahead of you, but too tight to pass cleanly without commitment. Signal interference from old smuggling jammers and buried sensor nodes causes flickers on scopes and comms, making it hard to judge distance or intent. One wrong move can pin you against the wall or send you tumbling into a spin.

This is where nerve matters... hesitate and you fall behind, push too hard and you risk everything.

Racer Challenges (choose one or both):

• The Jammer Flicker: Your sensors briefly cut out mid-turn. Do you trust instinct and maintain speed, or back off to avoid slamming the wall?
• The Overtake Gamble: A rival drifts wide ahead of you. Do you dive inside the curve for a risky pass, or hold your line and wait for a safer opening?

STANDINGS:

P1 - Bettany Sal-Soren (37)
P2 - Phy (36)
P3 - Nami Runda (35)
P4 - Osira Perris (32)
P5 - Feng Huang (31)
P6 - Dani Stellaris (30)
Tie P7 - Rojuhr Pouihl & Priesse Namada (29)
P9 - Tintinallë Nyxara (25)
P10 - Aselia Verd (24)
P11 - Michael Angellus (11)
P12 - Devin Virell (0)


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 - Wednesday Feb, 11th
​

 

[Priesse Namada]

Location: The Vertical Ascent, 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 Rosé Nebula accelerated through the Ascent Gate in a pastel pink blur, the cityscape unfolding far below in a tapestry of neon lights and blocky industrial geometry. All the while, Priesse held her line tight inside the low-pressure wake of the violet-hulled N-1 ( Feng Huang ) directly ahead of her. At this stage of the race, every bit of time mattered, and drafting was an opportunity that she could not afford to squander. If all went as planned, she hoped it would save her valuable time down the line by sparing her engines from excess strain and heat buildup while still allowing her to maintain good pace in the process.

Thus, Priesse stayed right in her rival’s wake, right up until the moment she spotted a slow-moving cargo hauler drifting into the racing line! The violet N-1 sliced inside of it to pass, but she was unable to match its maneuver due to the angle of her approach. And so, Priesse gave a sharp, frustrated exhale as she jerked the dual flight control yokes, swinging her machine hard to starboard to pass the hauler around the outside. The maneuver immediately compromised her momentum, and the violet racer surged ahead, escaping beyond drafting range.

Priesse groaned, but then shook her head and locked in, pushing her N-1 near to its limit as she threaded through the next series of pylons at an aggressive pace. A sudden gust of wind nearly caught her out, but she rode it through, her starfighter coming within centimeters of striking a nearby pylon in the process. Moments later, she spotted an opening to overtake a red and black N-1 ( Aselia Verd ) that had hit dirty air coming out of a turn. Rolling her wings 180 degrees, she pitched up and passed the N-1 overhead while flying upside down, their canopies briefly mirroring each other before she snapped right-side-up and slotted neatly ahead on the racing line!

Directly ahead, Priesse spotted a rotating holo-ring hanging suspended in the air, marking the entrance to the Smuggler’s Spine. Although the win was out of reach, Priesse sensed that she could still secure a podium finish!

 

[Bettany Sal-Soren]

Location: Mon Gazza
Objective: Race - turn 2

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

How in the fuck was she winning? She was no racer, she was not pilot, but by sheer luck she was at the front. Perhaps the fact that she was such a novice at the force was actually an advantage in that she didnt know enough to overthink thinks, she just responded to her gut as the track arrived.

The next part the walls came in tight and as she rolled her belly lightly grazed something sending a cascade of sparks backward at her competitors but then she straightened up and was back on track.

"I love this fucking car!" she laughed to herself as she felt the power.

Bettany rolled an 17 on discord, running total 54
Upload isn't working RN, will sort later but its in dice rolls channel already


​

 

[Nami Runda]

Current Outfits
Modified N1 Starfighter


Third place! Nami couldn’t believe that she was actually in third place! A wide grin formed on her small face seeing that her quick control thrust passed by several racers to the point where there was a possibility that she could actually have a podium finish. “Oh joy!” Excitement filled Namis body. This was her first race and she didn’t want to join because she felt she wasn’t cut out for racing. But the adrenaline, being pushed to her limit, it sent her heart apounding and it felt great!

Nami continued to accelerate her starfighter the whine of her engines were now more music to her ears rather than a sound of anxiety. She could do this! “But…..” Nami gulped. “What if I crash? What if I mess up and I crash?!”

Images of Nami getting severely hurt flashed in her head. “No!” Nami shook her head. “I can’t think like that! Oh doubt! Get out of my head!”

Yet Namis mind continued to flicker more images ranging from her engines blowing up, her running into another racer, or worse: enduring social humiliation for not finishing the race. “No, no, no!” Nami shut her eyes. “Why did I let doubt creep in now! Why are the worst images draining my confidence?!”

That wasn’t Nami, she passed the Naboo flight academy with flying (no pun intended) colors. She was a talented pilot not a horrible one…… just as she opened her eyes, Nami saw jammers acting up. They flickered before turning to static.

“That’s not good!” Panic took over Nami. “Not good at all!”

She was flying blind now, but she remembered her training. A pilot must rely on their instincts over technology. Tech can fail but pilot won't if they knew what they were doing. “Trust my instincts,” Nami breathed seeing the road as she accelerated once more.

“I’m better than what my mind is telling me!”
Nami yelled maneuvering her starfigher to the side going through the tight pass with ease. “I know who I am!”


<@433159111027195904> rolled 1d20: (19) = 19

 

[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

[Where’m’I’at?!]

Brrt - [Translation - “P-7”]

The Smuggler's Spine sucked. It was little more than a checkpoint, but the traffic control flashed all kinds of crazy and suddenly the course markers were tighter than the credit in a Vendor’s grip. The rotating holo-ring was something he could not miss…

[Some Schutta cut me off! I see it!]

In a bit of flying mastery, or buffonery, your pick, he rolled the fighter up and through it before banking back and getting on course just as quickly. It was actually a blessing, because he could see the Spine: narrow and spiraling, it was two ecosystems in one, or it looked like it.

[This reminds me of my smuggling days!]

BrrEEEEt - [Translation - “Smuggling?”]

[I wasn’t always a boring pilot!] He said with a laugh as he pitched the fighter in a roll along the upper side and slammed the throttle forward. Rojuhr had a very tough stomach, he wasn’t going to lose his lunch any time soon with this and hopefully it will pick up some spots.

BrrEEOOt - [Translation - “I am having trouble scanning the course ahead, please be careful.”]

[It’s okay, sometimes we had to shut off our sensors so we wouldn’t be detected. It’ll be like old times… I’ll just eyeball it!]

Wooop - [Translation - “Please be careful.”]
He was no joke in a cockpit, Rojuhr would wait for his openings, but he would not hold back. This was the time to press forward, and he was not going to fail to use the opportunity.

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

 

[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.

Man, that checkpoint sucked!
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: Did you see Pouihl? He flew through and over it!]

I wish! I would have done that! We were redlining the frakking engines, I was just trying to keep things from blowing up.
“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: You?!]

Okay, WE…

“Chrrp.” [Translation: I’ll admit, you did pretty good here. Getting through that checkpoint, and what you did to that fighter in front of you… Who was it?]

You didn’t know?
“ChEEp.” [Translation: Seriously? I couldn’t scan a blipping thing! Sensors were dead!]

I thought you were supposed to be good at that.
“ChEEp.” [Translation: … and I thought we wouldn’t be in last place!]

Ouch, I deserved that…

“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: … and more!]

Anyway that spine was fun. I was flying as low as I could to try and sneak by anyone, but the lanes sucked. I’m nuts when I’m flying but I’m not suicidal.
“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: You fly like you are..]

Maybe that’s why Devin Virell always wants people to pray for him… This is where I had to get serious and we started shutting down everything we could to put more power…
“Chrrp.” [Translation: … and less control....]

Ssh… more power in the engines… it was so tight it was hard to pass..
“ChEEp.” [Translation: That’s when I did it!]

Yeah, I didn’t like that… but how did you manage to get the weapons systems working when they were locked down by the race staff?

“Chaauuuuuhp.” [Translation: I’m good at what I do! Besides, the weapons were off… we just had target lock on the one in front of us…]

We could have killed someone with that!

“Cheooootooopittt.” [Translation: If you ain’t cheatin’ you ain’t tryin’!]

– Michael A.
This has been humbling.

Roll (at the bottom) (rolled an 11, but doesn’t matter to me who gets this sabotage)
TAG: OPEN!

This is where he is speaking

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Gavin Restur | Seris Travin-Avaron

Aurelian studied the pair in silence, letting the moment stretch until it became uncomfortable on purpose. He noticed the shift immediately. Mister had become Your Highness. Good. Small victories mattered. He filed that away with a flicker of satisfaction. Training people was exhausting, but occasionally rewarding.

He listened as Gavin spoke, eyes half on the man, half on the datapad when it appeared. A gun for hire from the losing side of a galactic collapse was rarely a selling point. If he had been smarter, he would have switched allegiances earlier. Or vanished entirely. Instead, he was here. Bold enough to ask. Either stupid or brave.

Usually both.

Aurelian took the datapad, scrolling as Gavin talked. Names passed under his thumb. Thugs, warlords, a few entries that made his brow lift just slightly. Low-level Sith. Clean confirmations. He hummed quietly, then smiled.

"Well," he said at last, handing the datapad back, "you have been busy. Sloppy politics aside, that is respectable work."

He took another sip of his drink, eyes returning briefly to the race as a pilot threaded a narrow corridor with more nerve than sense. He liked nerve. He distrusted sense.

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

He tilted his head, considering. A man who went down with a sinking ship and still came up looking for lawful work had a certain stubborn loyalty to him. That could be purchased. Maintained.

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

Then his attention shifted to Seris. He had not forgotten her.

"And you," he said, tone curious rather than hostile, "what part do you play in this exactly?" A faint smile returned, dangerous and amused. "Did you approach the King of Naboo merely to offer your worldly views, or is there something you intend to act on as well?"

He leaned back against the rail again, relaxed, eyes moving between them.

​