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

[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.
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: … dude…]

I know...
“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: … DUDE!]

I know!

“Chrrp.” [Translation: We had a chance to mod that museum piece!]

Yeah, and what is the point of it?
“ChEEp.” [Translation: Seriously? Maybe we could podium? If not win? It’s like some guy is rolling dice laughing at us!]

Tell the writer!
“ChEEp.” [Translation: That’s my line!]

What?

“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: … What?!]

Anyway that section was fun, but we’re at a point where we’re possibly going to lose...
“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: Don’t make me shock you…]

Oh come on! Dad used to tell stories about these “Space Rangers” of “The Gamma Quadrant of Sector 4” I’m guessing Nar Shaddaa… anyway they believe “Never Give up. Never Surrender”... we should follow that… because the next section OPENED UP! We were losing gravity so I had less resistance.
“Chrrp.” [Translation: … and less control....]

Ssh… Anyway, I managed to catch up to Rojuhr for a moment and waved at him… then the dude took off on me!
“ChEEp.” [Translation: It’s a race, what did you expect him to do?!]

Wave back? Anyway the stock ship I wanted to race so I had no asterisks if I won… I say as you can’t see this as I record this but am glaring at BRED…

“Chaauuuuuhp.” [Translation: He told me to shut everything off except controls and propulsion… like it’s going to work… like we’re going to “boldly go where noone has gone before”...]

Might as well gamble… we got nothing to lose…

“Cheooootooopittt.” [Translation: Not even going to address the phrase I stole from another franchise? Or at least the writer made me steal? Alright…]

– Michael A.
This “writer” is evil…

Roll (12)
TAG: OPEN!

This is where he is speaking

 

[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-5”]

[Time to change that!]
Screaming by the High-Altitude Gate, Rojuhr just slalomed a coupe in the line of floating nav-buoys anchored in the thinning sky. He was not quite at at full throttle blasting past the markers, but that gave him room to maneuver as the air rapidly cleared.

[Put everything in the engines!]
For the first time in the race the planet spread out in full view below; factories, city-stacks, and glowing refinery lines shrinking with every second. Rojuhr saw this as his opportunity so he threw caution to the wind and figured “I’m not paying to fix this…”

Then to his port side… who was there, but Michael… not trying to race? Waving?

[Oh, come on kid!]

BrrEEEEt - [Translation - “That droid does not look happy”]

[BRED never is!]

BrrEEEEt - [Translation - “I am learning…”]
Wide and fast, turbulence fading, the course went wide open. With gravity weakening, ships feel lighter and more responsive, Rojuhr GUNNED the throttle and put everything into getting onto the podium.

[Get me the best line to run those buoys! We’ll use their angles to gain more speed!]

BrrEEEEt - [Translation - “I am glad you are confident.”]

TAG: OPEN
This is where he is speaking
Roll

 

[Feng Huang]

Feng had no more reservation here. These were the last two sections of the race, she needed to keep enough in the fuel tank to blast across the finish line if necessary, but now was not the time for caution.

As the High-Altitude Gate zoomed by Feng saw the line of floating buoys stretching before her in the thinning sky. She blasted past them trying to catch up to Priesse Namada and Tintinallë Nyxara in front of her. The air was rapidly clearing as the Mon Gazza clouds fell away beneath her. Despite herself Feng glanced down. The planet was spread out below, factories, city-stacks and glowing refineries shrinking into the distance. As if she were a cosmic bird rising about the press and chaos of the planet below.

Feng was brought back to the present as the gravity weakened and her ship nearly flew off course sending her sharply to the side, she brought it back under control after a moment, but Feng knew it had turned a perfect run for this section into just an ok one. It was an amateur mistake. Feng felt herself growing frustrated with herself, then a thought occurred to her that in her competitive spirit she had lost sight of what the race was truly about. Fun.

Feng had the chance to push her piloting to the extremes of course there were going to be mistakes, if there weren't it wouldn't be any fun. No skill, no accomplishment, no thrill at getting just the right sequence before a thrust of the boosters.

Feng laughed and let out a whoop. She was going to enjoy herself no matter what. In fact...

"Those nav-buoys look like fun"

Feng boosted the thrusters once again, started to zig zag through the nav-buoys. She knew she couldn't win. That wasn't the point the point was to fly as best she could. The point was to have fun.

(Feng rolled a 14)

 

[Gavin Restur]

TAGS: Seris Travin-Avaron , Aurelian Veruna (Relevant)
​

With Seris Travin-Avaron turning and gesturing towards the lounge, he stepped on ahead. Leading the pair.

["And thank you, by the way, for the rescue. Even unintentional ones are appreciated."]

"Ohhh, don't mention nothin' 'bout no rescue." A hand lifted up from his belt, waving dismissively.

["For what it is worth, you handled that conversation well. Direct, honest, and without trying to be something you are not. That matters more than most people realize."]

"You think?" Giving a brief glance back towards her as they walked together. "Sure hope so. Not havin' a job is quite the harmful condition for one's bank account. Plus, all this 'noble' talk is confusin' to me. I'm used to shootin' blasters at folk and gettin' blasters shot at me, not havin' to end every sentences with 'Your Highness'." He wasn't outright insulting Aurelian Veruna , he was just speaking his mind. But, maybe that can be viewed as insulting. Can't even tell, these days.

Oh, speaking of. He reached into his satchel to retrieve his datapad. As they approached the bar counter, he would quickly forward all relevant information to Aurelian's office, as requested. Credentials? Clean. Terms? Good pay, but nothing outrageous. Availability? Pretty much always. The datapad was stuffed away as they reached the counter.

["So, what are we drinking?"]

"Uhhh..." He looked around for some sort of menu at the counter. If there was a listing of drinks that was sent out to attendees, he wasn't aware of it. He wasn't actually supposed to be here.

"You seem like the kind of woman that likes wine. How accurate is that assessment?" He was more of a beer guy than anything else, but if you get the opportunity to taste the liquor of high society, you probably shouldn't decline.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Spectating
Tags: Itzhal Volkihar | Ria the Cat

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, ah!” Adelle released the cat as it started to squirm, clambering up the front of her shirt with far less grace and far more weight behind the claws than Phantom. She’d forgotten how tiny the spukami was compared to normal sized cats. The cat then seemed to settle, claws digging slightly into her skin as it maintained its balance. Phantom had reared up into a sitting position on her other shoulder.

What a weird sight she must have been.

The new cat stared at her.

"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.

The voice sounded loud in her ear, metallic and feminine. But there was no other beings around her.

"And then I woke up here and then I went up and then I was down, and oh my Varanin-"

Her jaw slackened and she gave Itzhal a look as she pointed to the strange cat on her shoulder. The cat was talking. And it had just leaned against her head like it was a lifeline.

Wait, Varanin? Quinn Varanin ? Was this her cat?

"Where am I? Who are you?"

Adelle blinked, brain still trying to come to terms with this very strange turn of events.

“I’m Adelle,” she said slowly. “And you’re on Mon Gazza. Do . . . Do you need help getting home?”

On the holoscreens, the frontrunners entered the next leg of the race, Bastila out in front and dueling for first place with someone else. But now Adelle’s attention was divided between her vod’s race and the new cat on her shoulder.

Opposite the new cat, Phantom’s eyes narrowed and her tail flicked. <<Told you. Not-Cat.>>

 

[Nami Runda]

Current Outfits
Modified N1 Starfighter


Nami blinked several times checking if she was dreaming, she looked around and checked her reflection against the window. Normally if a person is dreaming, then the dreamer wouldn't see their reflection, only a blurry image. The problem was that Nami saw herself either this dream was constructed really well or Nami was in reality. She's currently tied with Bettany Sal-Soren a woman whom Nami though would win. She was talented lady from what Nami heard. Yet right now, she and Nami are neck and neck!

"Am I this good?" Nami said to herself navigating through the winding turbines with precision. "I am good but not great! I can't give into hubris! I always have a lot to learn!"

But she was tied for first place, Nami was told that she was on her way to being a great pilot when she was taking University Level Aviation Science courses at 10 years old. Nami didn't believe them thinking that she was nothing special but maybe those people had a point. Nami saw a space lane ahead. The gap was small but Nami gripped on the controls. She was sick of self-doubt it was time to prove that she belonged with the other great racers. "I......" Nami acclerated the N-1 Starfighter racing past the nav buoys to get on the lane. "WILL WIN THIS RACE!"

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

 

[Dani Stellaris]

That was definitely not what she had in mind. Dani cussed under her breath as the fighter slowly fell back into the ranks. She had the lead at one point and now where was she? Back of the pack. Shaking her head, she tightened her grip.

Gotta make that back up.

She looked at the map display that Mack was working on updating as fast as his circuits could go. A few tricks were up her sleeve and the course was heading away from gravity. She could shoot up there and hope to pull the ship into a steeper position, gaining speed.

And that was what Dani was going to do.

“Mack, give me all engines. Going to throw an atmo-drift in.” A grin on her face as she pushed her fighter, waiting, waiting.

Now!

Throwing the stick, she was working on drifting and skipping the atmosphere change.

 

[Tintinallë Nyxara]

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

Tintinallë had comfortably passed one racer as the end of the third section happened. "Starting up Section 4. According to the course report this is where you can really pour on the speed. Since the first section you've been killing it. But the leaders are good. They're a bit ahead still," Hyartë's report was not all that cheery, but it was appreciated.

As Tintinallë eased the throttle towards full she had just passed another competitor ( Feng Huang ) and pulled even with someone else ( Priesse Namada ). She looked over at the newest racer that she was to challenge. The N-1 was a beautiful pastel pink. A closer look gave form to an even more striking pilot.

"Who is this that I've just caught up with?" Tintinallë questioned as she tried to determine where the racer would have come from and make sure the physical features she was making out weren't some sort of illusion on the canopy window.

"Um…Priesse Namada," Hyartë hummed out the pilot's name. "You're not going to ask for a full bio are you? You're supposed to be racing."

"No. No. Just wondering. She's got a unique look to her. I was going to say good taste in racer color, but it might just match her skin if I'm being honest. The horn on her head is quite interesting," As the two fighters started between the nav-buoys side-by-side, Tintinallë unconsciously drifted a bit to look down slightly on Priesse in her cockpit. She noticed something else that stuck out. "Not quite sure how she is managing to steer…" Tintinallë continued with a tone and a giggle that told Hyartë that it was not because Priesse had short arms.

"I really wish you would pay attention to the course," Hyartë reprimanded.

Tintinallë merely sighed and shook her head before looking forward. The air was thinner and gravity tugged less on the fighters as well as the pilots. Tintin continued to accelerate risking catastrophe in order to make up ground on the leaders. Priesse seemed like she was up for the challenge as both racers rushed past two racers as they avoided buoys. This was getting fun!

Spoiler: Roll

Race Total = 63

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris slowed slightly as they reached the bar, allowing the noise and light of the lounge to settle around them before she turned toward Gavin. There was a small, genuine smile on her face, warm and appreciative, but unmistakably rooted in easy companionship rather than anything flirtatious. The kind of expression of someone comfortable in herself and in her life.

"You are welcome," she replied lightly. "And for what it is worth, I suspect most people in that room would struggle to navigate it as honestly as you did."

She rested one hand against the edge of the counter, posture relaxed.

"Titles and protocol confuse more people than they help," she added with a quiet hint of amusement. "Some simply learn to hide it better."

When he mentioned wine, her smile shifted, turning a little more playful, though still gentle.

"That assessment is only half accurate," Seris said. "I actually grew up in a rather quiet, out-of-the-way part of Ryloth. Dust, wind, and very little patience for pretension."

She glanced toward the shelves behind the bar, scanning the bottles.

"Most days," she continued, "I would far rather have a good whiskey stout than anything delicate."

A soft breath of laughter escaped her.

"Wine is for when I am required to be civilized," she admitted, "or when someone expects me to look like I belong in rooms like the one we just left."

She looked back at him, eyes warm and open.

"What about you?" she asked. "Still leaning toward something practical, or are you feeling adventurous after surviving royal negotiations?"

She gestured lightly to the bartender.

"Whiskey stout for me, please."

Then, with a small nod toward Gavin,

"And whatever he decides. Tonight seems like a night for honest drinks."

Gavin Restur

 

[Voli Cholrass]

Current Outfit

Voli chuckled at the boy's remark that the betters are loving what they're seeing. "I'm sure some random who placed a 1000 cred bet on Nami Runda must be doing a dance. Odds on her finishing podium were 7000-1."

She was tempted to try her luck in the race but unlike the previous inhabitants of Mon Gazza, the High Republic representives placed heavy regulations on gambling. Even Voli who was tech savvy couldn't find a way to bypass their scanners. "Mon Gazza knew how to have fun," Voli thought. "When it came to gambling that is. It was: Place your credits on who will and no questions asked. With the High Republic, it's you have to answer 1000 questions before you can even place a cred. It's a drag."

"It could be," Voli said sipping on her soda. "You never know but we're approaching the last leg of the race and Nami and Bettany are creating some distance from the leaders."

The boy introduced himself as Fredrick and asked about her outfit. "A suit doesn't fit me much," Voli responded. "Or a formal dress for that matter. I never liked wearing fancy stuff. It's not a reflection on who I am as a person."

Voli leaned back in her chair continuing to sip on her soda. "Besides," Voli said. "A racing event is a casual affair. Fun for the whole family and all that. Why does the High Republic have to act all fancy? They need to relax sometimes!"

Aileni Ifor Xeraic

 

[Osira Perris]

OSIRA PERRIS

ROGUE THREE
The High-Altitude Gate burned bright ahead of her, a series of floating nav-buoys strung across the thinning sky like a line drawn by gods.

A line that Osira punched through at full throttle without a second thought.

Below her, Mon Gazza fell away.

The smog thinned to ghostly veils. The refinery stacks that had towered like monsters minutes ago now looked like small glowing veins of industry that etched across the planet’s surface. The city-stacks shrank away, their traffic lanes became faint threads of light behind her.

And for the first time in the race: Space waited.

The N-1 changed beneath her.

The air loosened its grip. The controls felt lighter, almost eager, as gravity’s hold weakened and resistance faded. The engine note sharpened into something cleaner, higher, almost crystalline.

Most pilots overcorrect here in the moment the atmosphere dropped, the ship stopped behaving the way it had below. Yoke inputs that would have nudged the nose a degree now sent it drifting two. The roll became slippery. Throttle adjustments hit harder.

Osira felt it instantly and suddenly, she was home.

The nose floated high as lift shifted unpredictably, the N-1 eager to climb faster than planned. A lesser pilot would ease off, steady themselves, recalibrate.

Osira leaned into it.

She widened her stance in the cockpit and let the ship breathe, reducing micro-corrections instead of adding them. The trick wasn’t fighting the lighter handling; it was respecting it, letting the ship tell her how it wanted to move. She softened her grip, guided instead of commanded, allowing the N-1 to stretch into the thinner air without snapping at it.

The starfighter wobbled once and she allowed it.

Then it steadied, suddenly becoming sleek, responsive and fast.

Ahead, Bastila and Nami were locked in a tight duel, silhouettes streaking toward orbit. Their wakes shimmered faintly in the thin upper atmosphere.

Osira’s HUD flashed the standings update.

She ignored it.

Clear space opened around her, wide and intoxicating. It was almost too much, too inviting.

The safe racing line arced gently between the nav-buoys, a smooth curve into orbit, stable and efficient.

But there was another line.

An Aggressive, tight and Dangerous line.

Cut between the buoy cluster. Shorten the arc. Gain meters at obscene speed.

Osira’s grin returned.

“Let’s not be boring,” she muttered.

She cut inside.

The N-1 snapped into a sharper trajectory, slicing between nav markers at blistering pace. Speed climbed fast in the thinning air; faster than it felt, until the hull began to hum with tension. One misjudged correction here wouldn’t scrape rock.

It would send her tumbling into the empty sky.

She held steady.

Feathered the throttle just enough to keep control authority without bleeding velocity. The lighter handling meant every correction had to be deliberate, almost surgical. She rolled into the new line, committing fully, carving through open air with a confidence that bordered on audacity.

For a heartbeat, she felt almost weightless.

No turbulence. No walls. No traffic.

Just her, the ship, and the rising black of orbit above.

The nav-buoys blurred past.

Her speed differential ticked upward. The gap to P1 narrowed.

This was her element.

Not the trenches. Not the Spine.

This: The open sky, maximum velocity, nothing but instinct and nerve separating triumph from disaster.

Osira Perris didn’t fight the climb.

She was its best contender.

And as Mon Gazza shrank beneath her and the final push into orbit began, she drove the N-1 harder still; balanced perfectly between restraint and recklessness, hunting first place with engines singing like they’d been born for this moment.

​

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

ROGUE SQUADRON

​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

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

Faded scars and rough callouses extended across the length of Itzhal's fingers, each with a tale to tell in an assortment of mundane and otherworldly pursuits, hidden beneath a layer of synthsuit that clung to the skin. Utterly unlike the prowling idols and gossiping patrons that crowded the bar, glitz and glam, that Itzhal's existence only further exaggerated. No wonder the price of a drink was so rich for his blood. Stretching out his fingers with the soft pop of joints, Itzhal glanced over towards Adelle.

The soft haze of lights overhead, meticulously calibrated to spotlight the bar's alluring charm and accentuate the screens dotted throughout the room, bathed Adelle's face in a warm, gentle glow. Her drink sparkled like liquid gold, tiny bubbles shimmering in the deep amber hue. Clinging to the sides of the glass, the froth had gradually vanished, disappearing with every slow sip that drained the drink. Around the brim of the glass, her lips twisted, a strange mixture of disbelief and acceptance that reflected in her eyes. She hadn't denied she was fond of the Nabooian duo.

"Well, it's good to hear you've made some friends," he replied, his tone calm but with a faint warmth that lingered in his expression. Quietly, he noted he would have to look into what snark meant nowadays, unless Adelle was really saying the two enjoyed her being a nasty little gremlin. He glanced between her and the screen. It seemed unlikely. Actually. He glanced over again, maybe?

Either way, it was a question for another time as the mummer of the bar returned to the race, Adelle's voice sharp with frustration at their Vod's rapid decline in the totem poll. It wasn't over yet, at least. Slowly, the number began to rise again. Whether or not Aselia had what it takes to scramble a win was another matter; he hoped she did, if only for the sake of Mandalorian bragging rights.

With a glance back towards his drinking partner, Itzhal shrugged his shoulders, "It happens, not every world or culture fits with our own seamlessly, tension's inevitable as long as the Empire grows. Eshan won't be the last one. If we're fortunate, we'll be able to look at it a few years from now as a role model for how to handle those situations."

"As for the paparazzi, they're always watching," He warned, his expression twisted into something bitterly amused. Leeches, always searching for the next morsel.

Then a cat fell into Adelle's lap.

Itzhal paused.

Blue eyes blinked, then glanced towards the rafters, then back down towards the cat.

Then it started talking.

Itzhal stood, slowly, one hand helping him rise.

"I'm going to grab that drink," His eyes sharpened at the mention of Varanin, tracing over the cat's features and the collar that allowed it to speak, before he met Adelle's eyes. "Do you want anything?"

Tags: Adelle Bastiel Ria the Cat​

 

[Gavin Restur]

TAGS: Seris Travin-Avaron
​

["Most days, I would far rather have a good whiskey stout than anything delicate. Wine is for when I am required to be civilized, or when someone expects me to look like I belong in rooms like the one we just left."]

"Ah, I see." With a few nods. "Only drink proper when you have to look proper. Makes sense."

["What about you? Still leaning toward something practical, or are you feeling adventurous after surviving royal negotiations?"]

"Well..." Briefly tilting his head side to side as he spoke, in thought. "I typically don't go for nothing fancy. A good beer's usually all I need. However, it is not often when I am...given an opportunity like this, where a wide selection of drinks are available." Keeping a lighthearted tone.

Speaking up, after the other had placed her order. "Rum for me, please. Any kind works, I ain't picky." The bartender gave the pair a nod, and went off to grab their drinks.

While there happened, there was a slow turn, resting his back against the counter. He'd glance up to one of the many screens that displayed the race that's been going on this entire time. Lifting a hand up, to scratch at his chin. "Know anything 'bout what this all is? I know it's a race, though I ain't certain of its importance. Though, clearly it holds some value, given the kind of noble folk its brought out here to watch." The hand scratching his chin shifted, motioning outwards to all the different people in the barge.

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris accepted her glass with a quiet word of thanks, her fingers settling around it with easy familiarity. She took a small sip, then leaned lightly beside Gavin at the counter rather than facing him directly, matching his relaxed posture. When she spoke, her voice was calm, warm, and thoughtful.

"Well, yes, on the surface it is a race," she said gently, her gaze drifting toward the massive screens. "A real one, dangerous and demanding, where skill and nerve matter just as much as speed, and where a single mistake can end everything in an instant."

She followed a pilot's reckless maneuver with her eyes before looking back across the crowded lounge.

"But it is also an excuse," Seris continued, her tone softening into something more candid. "An excuse for powerful people to gather without having to admit that they are doing exactly that. No emergency session, no summit, no official declarations. Just celebration, investment, and entertainment."

She lifted her glass slightly, indicating the room around them.

"In a space like this, people who would never share a table in a council chamber suddenly find themselves standing at the same bar," she went on. "Industrial leaders beside mechanics, senators beside pilots, royalty beside hired professionals, all pretending that it happened by chance."

A faint, knowing smile touched her lips.

"It lets the elite rub elbows with everyone else and pretend it is accidental," she added quietly. "And in doing so, it creates room for conversations that would never survive formal settings."

She took another sip, thoughtful.

"Deals begin here. Alliances are tested. Reputations are measured without anyone admitting they are watching," Seris said. "Sometimes conflicts are softened before they ever become public, simply because two people happened to share a drink and speak honestly for a few minutes."

Her gaze returned to Gavin, open and friendly.

"And sometimes," she added gently, "it gives someone like you the chance to walk straight up to a king and ask for work without needing layers of permission or a dozen intermediaries."

Her eyes softened with quiet humor.

"Which, honestly, I find refreshing," she admitted.

Resting her elbow lightly on the counter, she relaxed further.

"So yes," Seris finished warmly, "it is about speed and spectacle, but just as much about who is watching, who is listening, and who is brave enough to be honest in a room full of carefully worn masks."

Gavin Restur

 

[Aselia Verd]

The High-Altitude Gate flashed beneath her in a burst of white light and static.

The N-1 surged forward as Mon Gazza fell away beneath her smog thinning to wisps, refineries shrinking into glowing veins across the planet's surface. The ship felt different almost immediately. Lighter. Responsive to the point of twitchy.

The first correction came too sharp and the nose lifted more than she intended. Warning tones chirped, subtle but insistent.

She didn't ease off.

Instead, she adjusted herself.

She let the N-1 settle into the new balance, trimming rather than forcing. The ship responded in kind, smoothing out as gravity loosened its grip.

The sky opened wide.

Nav-buoys floated ahead in ascending lines toward orbit, spaced far enough to tempt aggression. Fewer obstacles now. More speed.

She chose the tighter line.

The N-1 banked hard, slicing between two markers at a velocity that made the proximity alerts flash in protest. She ignored them, already angling toward the next pair. No wasted arc. No excess distance. She felt the wake of racers ahead close enough now to matter. Close enough to hunt.

Aselia leaned forward slightly, eyes locked downrange.

"Alright," she murmured.

She pushed the throttle further.

Engines screamed in clean, open air, the N-1 accelerating into the thinning atmosphere as Mon Gazza burned smaller beneath her and orbit loomed closer with every second.

Roll: [X]

TAG: @Racers
Indirect Tag: Adelle Bastiel Itzhal Volkihar
​

 

[Phy]

Mon Gazza
Tags: Other racers

Droid Body​

As the atmosphere got thinner, the handling of the N1 shifted drastically. By now Phyla was certain that something needed to be adjusted in regards to how she was pushing her ride. Her astromech's concerned musical warbling all but reaffirmed that fact. So the shard acted quickly to ease it out and ensure she wasn't losing control of the machine.

"Don't worry, Blip, we're fine," she assured her droid companion.

As they inched higher up into the upper layers of Mon Gazza's airspace the N1 eased out and began to settle into a groove. She'd surely lost more position by now but it was better than just wrecking.

It was beautiful up here, where the air was thin. She couldn't help but take in the sight of it as time seemed to slow, that place where the clouds began to meld with the inky vastness above. Stars had begun to shine through her viewport as she ascended. They wouldn't have much further left to go....

Phy pressed on.

Roll:

 

[Pillar of Faith]

​

SECTION V – THE STARS ABOVE MON GAZZA

The final leg begins the moment racers clear the last layer of atmosphere and burst into open space. Below them, Mon Gazza burns in streaks of orange refinery light and thin cloud bands. Ahead, a line of glowing orbital buoys marks the final stretch. Each one forming a wide arc that racers must loop before the last straightaway. The finish line hangs between two massive broadcast platforms, lit in gold and visible from half the system.

There's no air resistance now. No turbulence. Just speed. Engines run clean and full, and every adjustment matters. The slingshot turns around the orbital markers are wide but fast. Cut too tight and you'll lose momentum, drift too wide and someone will surge past you.

This is the purest part of the race. No obstacles. No smoke. Just open stars, raw speed, and whoever has the nerve to take the last risk before crossing the line.

Racer Challenges (choose one or both):

• The Final Slingshot: Do you take a risky inside line around the last marker for maximum gain, or stay steady and protect your position?
• Engine Redline: You can push your engines beyond safe limits for a burst of speed, but risk instability or leaving yourself vulnerable to sabotage.

STANDINGS:

P1 - Nami Runda (73)
P2 - Bettany Sal-Soren (71)
P3 - Rojuhr Pouihl (67)
Tie P4 - Tintinallë Nyxara & Osira Perris (63)
P6 - Priesse Namada (62)
P7 - Phy (59)
P8 - Feng Huang (52)
P9 - Aselia Verd (48)
P10 - Dani Stellaris (44)
P11 - Michael Angellus (34)


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

FINAL RESULTS - Wednesday Feb, 18th
​

 

[Ria the Cat]

Itzhal Volkihar | Adelle Bastiel​

The orange feline settled more comfortably onto the human's free shoulder as the woman introduced herself as Adelle. Apparently, Ria had ended up on Mon Gazza.

Cool.

Wherever the kriff Mon Gazza was.

And why did she suddenly want a cheese stick?

Ria dismissed the thought and began fastidiously cleaning her paws, drawing one up to swipe across her face as though none of the last few minutes had happened. Composure was important.

She was entirely uninterested in the holoscreens broadcasting the race. Engines screamed somewhere in the distance, crowds roared, but Ria's focus had already shifted.

It was then she noticed the other cat.

A black one.

Ria narrowed her gaze, leaning ever so slightly around Adelle's shoulder to peer at the other feline. Suspicious. Observant. Calculating.

Her attention flicked instead to another human-shaped person nearby, a male, whose blue eyes blinked, seemed to reassess the situation, and opted to get himself a drink. Wise.

Ria waited until he departed before speaking again.

"Home."

The word came simply.

Then she went quiet, contemplative, ears twitching faintly.

"I don't know where that is, if I'm honest with you."

A pause.

"But." Her collar lit faintly as her voice regained its usual rhythm. "You can probably drop me off at Denon. I think that's where I left my IG-88… maybe."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Spectating
Tags: Itzhal Volkihar | Ria the Cat

Itzhal stood mentioning getting a drink and asked if she needed anything. Adelle was sorely tempted to ask him for something stronger than Corellian ale because kriffing hells, a talking cat falling from the rafters into her literal lap was one of the strangest things to happen to her in a bit. But she knew how expensive the liquor here was. So she shook her head and chose to struggle through the weirdness with only half her pint of ale left.

The orange cat watched Itzhal leave before talking again.

“Home.”

It was an echo of what Adelle had asked but she’d gotten used to feline body language with Phantom. The slight ear twitch, the way the pupils dilated, even how still the cat became. Adelle was close to an understanding when the cat elaborated.

“I don’t know where that is, if I’m honest with you.”

A nomad, maybe? It almost sounded sad. But the cat only paused for a moment.

“But you can probably drop me off at Denon. I think that’s where I left my IG-88… maybe.”

Denon. Adelle took a slow drink from her glass. Last time she’d been there, she had enlisted the help of a Jedi to purge a Vahlan cult. It hadn’t been the most enjoyable time. But it also hadn’t been the worst experience she ever had.

“I can do Denon,” she said slowly. It wasn’t terribly out of her way to get back to Mandalorian space. She opted not to ask about the droid. She was already having a conversation with a talking cat—the cat having a droid was not the strangest thing about the situation right now.

“So what do I call you?” Adelle made sure to keep her balance steady, even as Phantom dropped back down into her lap and curled up, seemingly unbothered by the cat. The spukami’s ear closest to her turned in her direction.

<<Not-Cat.>>

Adelle nearly rolled her eyes. <<It is absolutely a cat.>>

 

[Feng Huang]

Feng followed the race track without much hope of a spectacular finish, she knew she'd lost, from here on out it was more a cruise to make sure she didn't completely crash out and burn. That didn't mean she wasn't going to punch it as best she could, but her racer was already under strain, there was only so much she could do. Feng sighed to herself, her first real race had been a failure, but she was determined not to give in to despair. It was just a race not a battle, and she'd lost those before. Still it was hard not to be bitterly disappointed with herself.

It would be easy to blame the racer, but then she had been the one to work on it, so that excuse paled thin. Regardless Feng was going to perform as best she could, as best as she could out of her racer.

"Come on sweetey, just make it across the finish line that's all you gotta do." Feng pet her racer soothingly.

Feng had been around enough ships to know that there was heart to them, treat them poorly they failed, treat them kindly they'd eek out their best performance even on their dying breath. The Fire Bolt was clearing the last layer of atmosphere as it burst into open space. The orbit buoys guiding the way.

Not having anything to lose, Feng opted for a slingshot around the last marker. One last boost of the thrusters.

They spluttered.

They died.

They boosted.

Feng let out a relieved laugh, as her ship put on one final burst of speed across the finish line. She hadn't won, but she had made it. It was enough

(Feng rolled a 12)