Faction Once Upon a Time | Rebels

[Aderyn Acair]

THE PAST
BORLEIAS - PYRIA SYSTEM
​

The bulk freighter hovered on the outskirts of the system, its scanner system sucking data in from as far as it could reach.

"The scanners are like the engine, Aderyn," said the gruff man in the pilot's seat as a slender woman in dark, well-made clothing paced behind her. At least, she paced until he said that, then she stopped and made a quizzical sound in the back of her throat. "Don't go any faster just because you're pacing."

"Droll," was the woman's reply, her lips twisting into a smirk despite her anxiety.

Finally, there was a ding, and the pilot leaned forward. "Nothing on sensors scan. Nothing that it can see, anyway." He rubbed his chin, the beginnings of a beard beginning to itch. "Take us in?"

Aderyn chewed the inside of her cheek and peered out the viewport into the unfathomable darkness of space. Borleias hung like a bauble there, as if she could touch it. Finally, she said: "Take us in."

The signal was an older SELCORE frequency. As a former member of SELCORE -- the Galactic Alliance Senate's Select Committee on Refugees -- Aderyn had access to the historical ciphers. She had been on a SELCORE relief mission when the Empire had sacked Coruscant, and the collapse of the rest of the Alliance had come before she could get back to Fondor. The planet for whom the supplies were meant had already fallen to the Empire, and so Aderyn had made the executive decision to keep the convoy and the supplies until they could reconnect with the Alliance government.

Only that hadn't happened.

And now fuel stores were running low. Medications, too. The relief workers and the few members of the military that formed the convoy were beginning to become desperate. There was a vague sense that they ought to Do Something™ but between keeping the reactors going and keeping a step ahead of Imperial patrols that were seeking out the last vestiges of the Alliance's power structure that hadn't folded into the comically obvious puppet state, there hadn't been the opportunity to find out just what that was yet. Everyone in the convoy seemed to be looking to Aderyn for guidance, because she had been Someone in the Alliance. A Senator. On holovision.

If only they knew how out of her depth she felt.

The signal had been a godsend. The promise of resources, the feeling of being able to accomplish something and maybe help some people in the meantime, had energized the convoy. Aderyn had loaded up a handful of her best troops and a freighter that could carry the supplies back and set out, determined to be seen to be doing something other than managing the dwindling supplies in their storage holds and trying to schedule shifts that wouldn't result in fistfights. It was easier said than done.

Borleais swelled, and soon the ship was entering the atmosphere, humidity fogging at the corners of the viewports. "Is there a landing area next to the signal?"

"About half a klick, there's a landing pad. Three quarters of a klick, there's a clearing in the jungle, but it's not paved."

"Put us down in the clearing," said Aderyn. "We can always move the ship closer when we have the supplies if all goes to plan." The pilot -- Klonis, a haggard older Zabrak -- nodded and hummed as he maneuvered the controls. "I'm going back to talk to the others. Stay in touch on the comlink, all right?"

"You got it," said Klonis. Aderyn glanced at the back of his horned head as she retreated. He had the audacity to seem almost bored with the assignment. Must be nice, she thought.

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

EPISODE – Entry # 7
Location: – Deep Space
Assigned Craft: My X-wing or My Other One Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Bored
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the spherical Diva.

“Routine Patrol Maneuvers”, that was what the orders were. Routine Patrol Maneuvers Which meant that the only thing routine about it was how boring it was. That’s not to say that Michael was looking for a fight, he wasn’t but when the “Reflections Pride”, a "Liberator" Assault Carrier sat in the middle of the patrol zone. There was a small issue with the hyperdrive, so they were stuck there until it was fixed.

They were in the middle of a pass when Striker 11 called out: “[Contact! Borleias. Pyria system, two systems over.]”

[What’s the issue?]

“[A ship is dropping out of hyperspace and entering the atmosphere.]”

Wooo-beep

I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you. [Why is that an issue?]

“[Using Galactic Alliance Frequencies.]”

Striker 15 confirmed “[I am picking them up too.]”

CUTTO SCENE - Michael and BRED are walking around their X-wing as if inspecting. Wooo-beep

No! We have to investigate though!

Weee-booop


Whatever! Shut up!

Wooo-beep

He’s a good guy! [Alright 3 and 4 flight, form up!]

Not waiting, Michael pulled on the stick, forward on the throttle and the X-wing’s engines roared to life. The ship lurched forward as did the others they were moving to investigate the situation. BRED was complaining as always about how they were going to die, but why was this one so different?

TAG: Aderyn Acair

CUTTO SCENE - This is where he is speaking in a different setting, as if recapping what he had just seen on a holovid
Wooo-beep

 

[Wedge Draav]

OUTLAWS

DEAD MAN WALKING• BORLEIAS, PYRIA SYSTEM• GIMME SHELTER

His mind was fresh off another bender, coming to a few hours ago in his cockpit on a shitty spaceport. He managed to not vomit in his X-wing, and somehow, at some point, showered.

He’d been flying for a few hours after the escort mission, staring blankly at the void of space. He debated, a few times, punching in coordinates blindly into his navigation system. He’d fly forever with just the press of a button.

Then, a signal brought Wedge out from the idea of finding out what his blaster tasted like. His jet black and dull orange X-wing hummed. Just a little. An Alliance transmission still stored in the communications array.

SELCORE.

“Huh.” He said, first words spoken in hours. Days? He didn’t think much of it, and pulled the throttle hard and left.

And went towards it.

About an hour later-

A Jet black X-wing screeched across the sky near the SELCORE source, a terrifyingly low pass. He turned his head to look, and stared. An Alliance ship!

And then, part of him sank into his seat. He hadn’t seen an Alliance ship from his cockpit in months. Ever since they kicked him out.

He realized how miserable he must’ve seemed, clinging onto the past like he was. He went back for another pass.

Surely, it was just the drugs he’d been taking to cope with it all playing a cruel trick. Somehow, that felt better than the reality he might’ve been facing. No one from the Alliance cared anymore.

Right?

 

[Ria Misrani]

Ria hadn't been in the business of fighting tyrannical powers in a very long time.

The last time she'd been actively mixed up in anything of the sort, Jorus Merrill and Runi were still alive. Bryce Bantam, Dak, a whole host of others, they'd all been around then. And these days? There wasn't much left of the old rebels. At least, that was what she'd told herself, often enough that it had started to feel true. Hells, she'd spent most of her recent days as a feline rather than wrestle with human problems in a galaxy that had never much cared for anyone to begin with.

Easier to be a cat. Cats didn't get dead frequencies stuck in their heads.

And yet here she was, human again, aboard her freighter, the Jorus Merrill, because she hadn't been able to bring herself to call it anything else, drifting in at the edge of the Pyria System. Her fingers walked the communications console with the old, unthinking fluency, thumbing across the bands, listening for ghosts.

There it was. An old SELCORE cipher, the kind nobody used anymore because nobody was left to use it. She'd recognize that flavor of frequency anywhere; she'd sliced enough of them in her time. Hearing it now, alive and pulsing out of the dark, did something complicated to her chest that she elected not to examine.

The galaxy hadn't gotten kinder while she'd been gone. The Sith sat fat in the Core. Imperial remnants came and went like weather. The High Republic was about the only thing out there she'd call good, and even then she didn't expect them to be perfect, nobody was, and she'd stopped asking people to be a long time ago.

But somebody was out here, on a frequency that should have been dead, calling for the Alliance like it still existed.

Ria leaned back in the pilot's seat, exhaled slowly, and keyed the array to listen closer. "Yeah," she muttered to the empty cockpit, to the ship that wore a dead man's name. "Figures."

Wedge Draav | Michael Angellus | Aderyn Acair ​

 

[Sol Stazi]

"All mortal greatness is but disease."
Moby Dick

Like a wounded predator the damaged Alliance cruiser Chandrilan Crown plunged out of hyperspace in a blur of pseudomotion. There were multiple breaches in a hull scorched by heavy turbolaser fire. She drifted through the Pyria system, lights flickering all over her superstructure from apparent reactor damage. No attempts were made at communication with the signal broadcasting from Borleias.

Tiny motes drifted from the Crown's belly resolving into the fusial thrust engines of dropships. They broke atmosphere in close formation and when the lead transport's hull cooled down enough from reentry General Sol Stazi slid open the passenger bay's loading doors. He was the first to jump, bracing against the whiplash of wind resistance at such high altitudes.

Stazi felt the heat against his back of a grav chute, disposable jet packs that special forces teams like the Pathfinders used to insert themselves in hostile territory. When he landed in the jungle Sol cut it loose with a vibroknife and felt unburdened by so much extra weight. He unwrapped an old BK-43 model blaster and made sure the power cell was fully charged.

"Eclipse Team this is Cloak Leader."

He heard a chorus of whispers through the comlink in Sol's ear. Each trooper had already endured intense wilderness survival training to be selected for the Pathfinders. General Stazi did not need to worry about any of them getting lost.

"Proceed to the signal coordinates," he hesitated for a moment while considering his next order, "Wait for my command before you engage."

 

[Alison Sky]

Ruby Squadron dropped out of hyperspace like scattered jewels, crimson streaks collapsing into sleek starfighters hanging against the endless black. The pilots could hardly believe they had picked up an Alliance signal out here. Most assumed it was a trap. These days, anything that sounded too good to be true usually was.

Still, they had come to investigate. Even a trap was preferable to the endless monotony of patrols, dead channels, and empty stars.

"Hold position, Rubies. I'll attempt communication."

"Roger, Ruby One." Alison chirped back.

Alison settled back in her cockpit and let out a quiet sigh. Outside, the stars drifted in silent indifference. Her gaze dropped to the small thermometer clenched in her gloved hand. The numbers were climbing again.

Bloodburn. The fever came faster every week now, creeping higher with each flare-up. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and tucked the device away before anyone could notice. She just hoped they could put down somewhere before it became a problem this time.

 

[Cord Starfall]

Theme: The Wellerman
Equipment: Solar, Sith Sword | Fiend, Sith Sword | Sith Armor | Green MidNight Duster | Sith Mask | x2 DL-44 heavy blaster | Stun gauntlets | X2 Sith Daggers | Wrist laser | Wrist Lanvarok | x6 Thermal Detonators | Various other Explosives
Tags: OPEN

---

The Jolly Roger sat in a clearing in the forest of Borleias, all its blast view port blast shields were down to keep out any light from outside. The old Cr90 had all the markings of a pirate ship, its name proudly displayed next to its pirate colours. Yet if anyone had come across, they might think it had been abandoned, no life seemed to come from around it. Nothing from inside had stirred or left the ship in sometime. It had just sat there in a jungle clearing undisturbed ever since it had landed.

Inside the ship only a single soul was aboard, it had been that way for a long time now. A single soul with droids as a crew. That single soul sat on the command deck in the captain's chair. Her feet perched up on the captain's control console, and she leaned back in the captain's chair. Her eyes closed as she lifted a bottle of whiskey in her right hand to her lips.

As she took a sip and let it burn down her tongue to the back of her throat, her console began beep. Her eyes fluttered open as she looked at the console and the light that was now blinking. She just stared at it hoping it would turn off but it didn't it just keep blinking and beeping.

She pulled her feet from the console and leaned forward. She hit a button on the console and computer screen came to life. She looked at, not sure exactly what she was reading. It was some kind of transmission code the computer deciphered as alliance. That couldn't be right?

She wanted to yell for Dax in that moment, but she knew she couldn't he was long dead. Damn kid had set up all this sophisticated technobabble on the ship, and Cord didn't understand how most of it worked. As she thought on Dax for a moment she took a big swig of the whiskey, it was better to bury the memory than dwell on it.

Still and alliance code was intriguing, considering she figured they were all gone at this point. Also, even if there was a remnant out there why would they come this close to sith territory. Well chit, best check it out she finally thought as took another swig of the whiskey and stood up.

She walked out of the command deck heading to get ready. Walking through the dark halls of the cr90 past droids doing their routine business. She stopped by one them, she couldn't remember its service name.

"Uh can you get that beeping to stop?" She asked it.

"Yes, Captian." The droid scurried off as Cord continued to get ready to investigate the Alliance Transmission.