Invasion Some Like it Hoth [Galactic Alliance Invasion of First Order Hoth|Bespin Hex]

[Samka Derith]

Location: Home, Cloud City, not far from Calrisian Plaza
Allies: [member="Irajah Ven"] - [member="Mishel Ren"] - [member="Ara Ren"] - [member="Brennan Cabrol"] & The First Order
Enemies: Directly none yet, soon: [member="Ghorua the Shark"] & Galactic Alliance
Objective: Win the doctor's favour

[SIZE=11pt]Shortly before the Galactic Alliance appears in Orbit...[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The place was desolate, broken and run down. The former luxury home still had remnants of splendour left within, a dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling, the furniture, while decayed, were still clearly made with the finest materials. Decorative sculptures, paintings and artefacts were still dotted around the rooms although there were a few empty spots telling that either the former owners had hastily grabbed what they could or looters had managed to gain entry at some time or another. The walls were splattered with patches of damp and rot yet still the patterns and shades of purples and reds told of a regal aesthetic. In that respect, Samka Derith’s new quarters at the Bastion of Ren was not so different.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Perhaps there was more of her father in her than she thought. Perhaps on some level, he’d won and she had been shaped in his image after all. Still, her current life was far from what he would have chosen for his prodigy daughter.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Black boots echoed through the empty abode as the Master of Ren guided her guests through her childhood home, every so often making comments about the objects around the room. While she wore the robes and uniform of her order, effort had been made on her part to keep her face looking [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]pure[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]. She hid most of the corruption of the Dark Side away, her eyes still were tinted red yet the off-putting eerie pale colouring of her skin was absent. As she spoke, her facial expressions were light, friendly and curious.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“My Mother used to play,” Sam said as she approached a piano. Taking off one of her sleek leather gloves, she used her free hand to press a few keys with delicate finger tips. Unusually for the girl, here was no rhythm in the notes used, just a random assortment of sound. “She never used to let me touch it,” Sam explained, “She said I was clumsy and would probably break something. So that was oddly satisfying.” The thought of breaking the instrument completely crossed her mind, as a final[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] that’ll show you[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt], to Mother but a violent impression wasn’t what the young Ren wanted to leave today. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Next she approached the stairway which would lead to her room and placed her hand on the banister. A small smirk appeared on her features. “I used to slide down here if no one else was around. Until I tried to slide when it had just been polished. That time I fell off and smacked my head against the floor right there,” Sam pointed at a spot some distance from the banister. “I wanted to cry so badly but I knew that would tell my parents what I was doing so I ran upstairs and cried into my pillow. I never slid down here again,” she withdrew her hand from the banister, noticing a layer of dust left on her fingers which she promptly blew away.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Before climbing the stairs, Samka turned back to the others to gauge reactions. Needless to say, she had never laid her past out so bare before, she wasn’t sure what the response would be. With her position among the Knights of Ren, Samka had always made sure to keep herself a relative mystery to the others. Her past was her own to deal with, likewise with any conflict brought from it. But today a deeply personal touch was needed.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Her eyes briefly skirted over Brennan Cabrol, the man was professional and she had little doubt this would change nothing in how he viewed her. The other Ren were of greater concern. Sam had noticed Ara Ren and Mishel Ren were both emotional types, far too emotional for her liking. They formed attachments, [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]friendships[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt], which could make things difficult. She hoped this wouldn’t change things between them. The last thing she needed was a pair of Ren thinking their relationships could be anything beyond professional respect. Samka had neither the time nor patience for such frivolous things. Or so she reminded herself.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The real target of this little adventure down memory lane was the civilian among their ranks, Irajah Ven. Not long ago, the doctor had revealed her latent abilities with the Force. Given the potential for mass destruction Force sensitives could wreck, something further highlighted by the destruction at Kaeshana, the First Order could not let them run unchecked. Either Irajah Ven would become a collaborator or she would be destroyed. On her part, Samka truly hoped it wouldn’t come to the later. After months of undercover work pretending to be Irajah’s student understudy, she’d grown to respect the doctor’s capabilities and hoped to win her over with a personal touch. She aimed to convince the doctor that the bond of friendship she had built with her student was real despite the deception involved. This was yet another deception, of course. If it came down to it, Sam would slice the doctor’s throat with scarcely a second thought. But hiding a single lie amongst the truth could make that lie invisible and today she was here to show the truth. To show who she was and regain the woman’s trust at least somewhat. She wouldn’t repeatedly waste the woman’s time with lectures on the larger picture of things, of a grandiose vision of the galaxy. From what Samka had learned, Irajah liked people and one way to tether her to the Ren was to have her involved with the people.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The choice of the other Ren with them was a deliberate one on this part as well. Mishel, so earnest, innocent and naive, corrupted by the empathetic nature of the Light (a [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]temporary[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] measure if Sam had anything to say about it) and Ara who formed strong personal attachments before. Such weakness could be a strength here. Brennan was the counter weight. Someone cold and efficient there as a small reminder that the Knights of Ren were, ultimately, dangerous to their enemies. Something the doctor would do well to remember when considering her options.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]On her part, Samka flashed Irajah her most charming, empathetic smile. “This is me, where I came from. Come, let me show you my old room.”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Sam led the others up the staircase, not yet aware of the Alliance assault that was to come.[/SIZE]

 

[Kuzo]

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Location: The Home of [member="Samka Derith"], Cloud City​

In scene: [member="Brennan Cabrol"] [member="Mishel Ren"] [member="Ara Ren"]​

Objective: Give Sam a Chance​

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Irajah had paused in the room with the piano, allowing the others to go a bit ahead of her. Slender fingers reached out, playing lightly across the keys. She might have stayed there, but for a call of ‘Are you coming Doctor Ven?’ through the shadowed doorway.

“Of course,” she murmured, fingertips catching at the very edge of the keys for a heartbeat before she turned to follow.

The piano was off key anyway.

The chill between Irajah and Samka had not entirely thawed. At least on the Doctor’s side. It was difficult, after all, to forgive and forget when the other person ordered you shoved into a bag and taken forcibly from your home in the dead of the night. There had been apologies of course, kindness, and more, but it was difficult for Irajah to look at the young woman and not see the shattered remains of ‘Cassidy’- the persona she had used for so long to monitor and assess her actions and movements. Trust, once shattered, was difficult to piece back together, and this was not the first time she had found herself on the receiving end of such a deception.

So the anger at herself did not make it much easier. Once again, she’d been lied to for months, and simply hadn’t seen it because instead she was blinded by the bonds of a friendship as she had wished it to be, rather than how it was beneath. The fact that ‘Cassidy’ had been a fully realized person, exhibiting none of the red flags she had learned from her time on Panatha didn’t change anything. The depths of soul searching that had happened over the last months had yet to uncover certain patterns of behavior in herself, mostly because she did not see the search, the desire for camaraderie to be a weakness. And yet, looking from the outside, it would be clear to those like Samka Derith that the deep and abiding need to not be alone was a place too easily exploited in the good Doctor.

In another situation, this might have been pleasant. As it was, Irajah had to keep reminding herself that, for all of the comfortable mannerisms of ‘Cassidy’ that Samka was displaying, that was not who she really was. Cassidy didn’t exist.

Didn’t she?

Or was there a chance that, in its own way, the truth? That masking as her student for all of that time, Samka had been letting some of her true self shine in that place where acceptance and understanding had nothing to do with her station within this secretive order? Irajah didn’t know, and it swirled with half a million ‘what ifs?’ and ‘could bes’.

She trailed behind the group as a whole, strung like a rudderless kite and bobbing in their wake as they journeyed through the abandoned mansion. She knew only one other in the group, Ara Ren, a young woman she had treated, months before. It was impossible to not look for signs of continued trouble from those injuries, and in that, at least, Raj was pleased enough that she suffered no casual, prolonged effects. The others she had only met that day. Brennan Cabrol. Mishel Ren. She wasn’t sure about Brennan, but in truth she couldn’t help but smile at the childlike joy in Mishel.

And yet….

She glanced up at Samka, her face neutral, as she had been so careful to keep it since she had agreed, someone grudgingly, to come to Bespin.

“Give me a chance to show you,” she had said, the earnestness that she knew from ‘Cassidy’ ringing as clearly as a bell at dawn. “Give me a chance to prove to you that this is not all we are. That I am sorry, for the necessity of what has happened, and that we are more than this. Please Irajah.”

At the very least, she owed that to the young woman she had spent so many months working side by side with. Even if she hadn’t been real. It was a bond that, on a deep and primal level, Irajah couldn’t in anger completely sever. Not if there was a chance that the Cassidy she had known actually existed inside this Samka.

[member="Carach"] would have called her weak.

He would have been right.

 

[Joza Perl]

Objective: Dances With Wampas
Allies: [member="Bryce Bantam"], [member="Leo Vandermolen"], [member="John Shepherd"], [member=Nawago] and other ORC peeps
Enemies: Wampa hunters

The Outback was known for its ragtag vigilante, showing up wherever to support whatever cause it saw fit. It stood reason that without being a hardline ally of any nation or major power—and for sometimes being, uh, criminals—that pretty, uniform ships were hard to come by. Unless they were stolen of course, stripped and modified to fit their needs. Unfortunately, The White Hat was not Joza’s first pick.

Bryce’s question would receive somewhat of a huffy response.

“Did we have to pick the ugliest ship in existence? Really? For a group of dancers?”

Poor Nawago had approached his fellows in the Coalition, concerned over rumors of his people being hunted for their insulative fur. After some brew, the ORC hatched a plan to strike at Hoth in a rather unconventional way. Oh, espionage and infiltration were a tale as old as time, but a group of ruffians dressed as sexy dancers? Accordingly, Joza helped Bryce ensure that everyone had a proper coating of body glitter and makeup as needed. The Zeltron herself was all done up, hair coiffed and makeup sealed in place with Untouchable Spray. Beneath her clothing was a DuraGlove, a skintight bodyglove made to maintain the wearer’s body temperature under different environmental conditions. Everyone on the ship making its way toward Star Tours Ski Resort would have access to one if they so choose.

“Shep, can you help Bryce find his winner’s sash? Guy won’t go on stage without it.” Raising her voice so that it would carry, the Zeltron clicked her tongue idly. She had ensured that all those on board knew some basic dance steps, at least enough to gyrate around and pass as a troupe of dancers.

Turning towards her next task, Joza’s lips pursed before she let out a low breath. This was risky, but the Outer Rim Coalition was used to pulling off weird stunts—maybe they’d fail, but maybe they’d succeed. Either way, adrenaline rush!

Opening communications with the First Order, she spoke with a pleasantly firm voice. “First Order, this is The White Hat requesting permission to land at the North Ridge. We’ve been hired as entertainers for Star Tour’s Skit Resort.”

 

[Leo Vandermolen]

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Objective: Stop This Madness
Allies: GA, [member="Bryce Bantam"] | [member="Joza Perl"]
Enemies: The Usual Suspects

"It's right here Bantam." Leo said, handing the sash back to Bryce as he fitted his own on. Leo hoped the ends justified the means because he would never look at glitter the same way again. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, bobbing slightly in an attempt to get his costume to settle in a place that resembles something close to comfort.

"Joza, you better get us to that planet." He stated. "I've not come all the way out here wearing this, for no good reason." He fixed up a glossy sleeve in mild annoyance. He was plastered in glitter, with swirls of paint dotted across his face and arms. It was not a pleasant experience. His eyes returned to Bryce, "How do you seem so comfortable Bantam?" He questioned before settling his gaze once more out the ship's window, to the icy planet beyond. The icing on the cake.

 

[Ara Zambrano]

Objective: Silent Sentinel for Samka and Irajah
Allies: [member="Samka Derith"] | [member="Brennan Cabrol"] | [member="Irajah Ven"] | [member="Mishel Ren"] | @FO
Enemies: GA and Allies
Gear: Vibroblade, SE-44C Blaster Pistol, Personal Armor (in sig), Cruentis Cor, Borrowed Saber

Theme: [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2YF34XlfzU[/youtube]


The home was far grander than anything Ara had had the pleasure of spending a significant time in, even in its run-down and abandoned state. Her eyes glanced over each room, taking in every object mentioned and quite a few that bypassed the blue-haired teen’s attention, a mental picture forming of the life the Master of Ren had lived long before. As Samka had, Ara wore her robes and under tunic, a simple outfit completed with leather belt and saber borrowed from her fellow knight and close friend, [member="Kaalia Voldaren"] . The weight of the saber hanging from her hip was a small comfort, the heft and simplicity of the blade a sad replacement for her own weapon, stolen in the battle for Skor II. Despite her reluctance to take the weapon, Kaalia had insisted and the brunette found little reason to refuse.

Idly following the figures of Samka and Irajah Ven, a doctor she’d met once on Dosuun, she watched as Sam ran a hand across the piano and played a few bars, notes floating on the air with no apparent rhythm, but a haunting sound that seemed appropriate for the abandoned mansion. Her gaze shot to the girl as she spoke, a strained relationship with mothers something Ara could understand intrinsically. A soft smile replaced the neutral expression she’d worn for most of the trip, her own internal struggles having replaced the easy-going persona she normally adopted.

Tilting her head slightly, she watched for any sign of emotion in her superior, a curious thought coming and going as Sam finished playing with the piano, but indiscernible all the same. Disappointed in her failure to assess the girl’s emotion, she turned away from the small group and wandered back out into the hallway as their guide told another charming story of a not so happy childhood, but one Ara could not even imagine. Hers had been filled with cold days and hungry nights, small comforts of home a luxury when Issaren had chosen to grant them to her daughter. But those memories where long abandoned, the former dancer dead for nearly half a year.

Threads of another melody followed them out, the knight turning to glance back at the Doctor who seemed cold and subdued compared to the forceful and take charge woman she’d met at the clinic before. For a moment, she caught Raj’s returned glance, a soft smile and nod acknowledging the assessing look she recognized, one she’d used on Sam just moments ago. The doctor had done a spectacular job on the knight, the only signs of the near-death experience a scar across her rib cage and white spider webs of lighting cars tracing up her right ankle. No lasting damage, no outward signs of the injuries remained, a beautiful job she continued to be grateful for.

As they were led upstairs, Ara paused, staring out at the city through a dusty window, amazed that even though they hovered far above the ground, a thought that should stir up anxiety and fear within her, the floating city was oddly peaceful for the time being. It probably had to do with the fact that she could neither see the edge of the abyss, nor feel any subtle shift in movement that would give away its position in the sky.

Why had Samka insisted she join the group here? Was she aware of the extent of damage Ara had sustained on Skor II? Of course she knew, the Master of Ren would have been briefed of the status of those in the order, regardless of the nature of their injuries or their recovery. Ara’s was…less of a recovery and more of a new state of being. She knew, through experience with one who had suffered from the same attack as she, that her connection to the Darkside would return in time. But when? That was the true question. [member="Connor Harrison"] had still been a struggling disciple when they’d last seen each other, a rather explosive conversation on Monastery shortly after the invasion of Mustafar. Months had passed and neither bothered to reach out to the other, ties severed when he pushed and she walked away.

Anger swirled in her gut as she considered the reasons she had not reached out to him since they had returned from Skor. Images, grainy memories of crimson splashed stones rose to the forefront of her mind as the melody from the piano seemed to hover in the home despite hands no longer dancing across the ivory keys. The reckoning after the battle of Skor had been swift and decisive, Connor caught in the net of the Galactic Alliance, unable to answer her questions even if she’d dared to ask them.

Shaking her head to rid such thoughts, she moved another few steps up the staircase, trailing far behind the rest. The two borrowed blasters clamored against her back as she moved, one side of her mouth curling up into a snarl at the thought of resorting to such tactics instead of the Force she ached to feel flood her veins again. For now, she would follow and obey, as she was trained to. It was her only path until she recovered her power and her blade.

 

[Isar Kislo]

Enroute to Hanging Valley

She would pick Hoth.

It was the only thought that really drifted through Isar's mind as he sat in the cargo hold with the rest of their group. Long strands of blonde hair fell loosely around Isar's face as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. Unlike most of the occupants of the vessel, Isar was wearing the somewhat lighter vanguard armor. For the moment, his hands remained bare for the time being and the heavy cloak he would wear to help protect him from the elements sat casually in a seat beside him.

For a moment, the young Zeison Sha Warrior allowed his eyes to fall on Aeron, but they were quickly diverted to two others he did not know. Once they started grunting at each other in some random language, Isar could only arch an eyebrow. Aeron's swift admonishment of their conversation, however, indicated it hadn't likely been a congenial exchange of sounds that reminded Isar of mating Voorcats.

Isar hated cats.

Eventually, his eyes turned to [member="Tsuki Aihara"]. The girl was...quiet and diminutive as compared to Isar, [member="Aeron Kreelan"], and the rest of their merry band. Leaning back in his seat, Isar allowed a few strands of hair to obscure the right side of his face. Closing his eyes, the young Kiffar allowed himself serenity as he slipped into a state of mild meditation.

 

[Graf's Archive Account]

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Post: I
Objective: Defend Outpost Veers
Allies: [member="Torian Pierce"] | [member="Shaydae Desmaris"] | The First Order
Enemies: The Galactic Alliance

Dozens of Snowtroopers, be them of the First Order of the Galactic Empire, marched about the cavernous insides of Outpost Veers, the base drilled into the ice that had once been a bastion of hope for the Rebel Alliance of old.

The Wookiee General's own troopers, distinguished from those of the First Order by their armor, moved aside to permit the commander to board his Command AT-ASW.

The Imperial Moff Council had dispatched him to help their greatest ally defend their territories against the scourge that was the Galactic Alliance.

"Pilot" Chron mumbled in a low growl "Get the armored column into position, we're moving up the North Ridge towards the primary defensive line, I want the Alliance to tremble at the sight of hundreds of tonnes of Imperial Diplomacy!" He roared, receiving nods of approval from the command crew as the walker began to march out, following several other walkers of varying sizes.

Soon enough, the ground would begin to tremble near their position, at least a dozen walkers in a neat formation. Any Alliance soldiers that might've landed nearby would most likely see them approaching at what seemed like a snails pace.

But once they arrived they would bring death in destruction with their tools of war.

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(I'll post my forces next post!)

 

[Ignatius Rausgeber]

Objective: Meet with Staff Officer Hainsely.
Location: FOSB Divisional Headquarters.
Allies: [member="Jasper Daggett"] | [member="DT-317"]
Enemies: Those who threaten the peace.
Loadout: SB-UO1 Wrist Datapad | Huginn Biocomm Network | Comet OSM-10

Ignatius Rausgeber limped through the crowded streets of Bespin. A steady stream of civilians were making their ways to the designated evacuation points as the reports of a Galactic Alliance incursion grew. Over the cities broadcast system, an air raid siren sounded, along with a message that looped every twenty seconds. "This is not a drill, we repeat not a drill. Directive Forty-Three is in place. All civilians are required by law to proceed to their nearest evacuation point!"

As Ignatius hobbled by, through the streets, he could see the FOSB Cloud City division at the end of a cul de sac. A dozen or so Planetary Defence Force troopers were coming in and out of the building, carrying large cases filled with documents and other goodies and loading them into speeders. Ignatius briskly hobbled through the street until he reached the door. Flashing his Foreign Office credentials at the burly doorman, he turned to the man, "Hainesly called for me," Ignatius said, "Where abouts is he?"

"Third floor, in his office." The guard reported, "You'd better be quick, he's gonna be leaving in a bit." The guard warned. Ignatius acknowledged the message with a nod, and proceeded forwards. The foyer of the office was filled with agents and technicians taking sensitive equipment and data terminals out to the waiting speeders. Ignatius was like a ghost to them, he didn't register. They had a duty, and he had his. Crossing the marble floor to the turbolift, he entered the authorisation code for the third level, and waited as the doors closed, and the elevator lifted him through the durasteel reinforced structure.

Ignatius held his breath, and waited anxiously for the lift to open. When it did, he was looking at a desolate room. All the desks were empty, the chairs were gone, and the terminals bare. Draws were strewn all across the floor, it was a mess. In the middle of it all, a Planetary Defence Force captain, as identified by her orange pauldron, listened as a man in a sleek, black uniform talked to her. That was Staff Officer Rudolf Hainesly, the head of FOSB operations on Bespin. Behind him, sat two FOSB officers in Shadowtrooper armour, and a man in a coat, with an emblem denoting he was some sort of navy man.

Ignatius approached the group, and listened to Hainesly as he debriefed the PDF captain. "I want you to make sure everything gets out of here on time, any equipment we lose here will come out of your paycheck captain." The FOSB Officer firmly told her, he had a thick Core-worlds accent, "I want these terminals on the next shuttles out of here, whether it be stowed with civilians, or not I don't care. Just get them out."

"Yes sir, I'll get my boys right on it." The PDF Captain drily replied, before saluting the officer and briskly marching out. Ignatius stood firm and tall as he approached where the Captain had once stood. He lifted his arm in salute.

"Agent Rausgeber reporting for duty sir," The young spy barked, looking his superior right in the eye.

"Agent Rausgeber, just the man I wanted to see." Staff Officer Hainesly began, "This is Professor Niccolai Moriartay of the First Order Corps of Engineers," he gestured to the other man, who looked to be in his mid sixties by the looks of it. "Rausgeber, the mission we're having you undertake here is of the upmost importance to the Order and to Professor Moriartay's research here."

Ignatius nodded, and eyed the two men, "Alright, what needs doing sir?" He asked, relaxing his salute, and standing to attention. He eyed both men curiously, and tried to read their language. Moriartay was concerned, fidgeting with his fingers, and glancing around the room anxiously. Hainesly on the other hand looked calm, and

"The FOSB as well as other government departments in this city have a series of four data caches hidden around the city," Hainesly began, "Most of it is innocuous traffic statistics, and inter office messages. But all the same, the Bureau, and the Home Office want it gone." Hainesly began, "We are to leave the Alliance no data if they aren't held off."

"As well as that, Professor Moriartay and his team have been designing new mining probe designs. The probes have been destroyed, but their designs remain within the City, and we want them back in our hands." The Staff Officer replied, "Your objectives here Rausgeber are simple. Go in, download the data from our storage points and Moriartay's office and return it to us. We have assets in orbit that will hold onto it, and keep it safe."

"Sir, with all due respect," Ignatius began, "Why me?" He asked, "I'm not exactly, the uh, prime physical specimen. Why choose me to do this?" he asked, looking quizicaly at the professor, and then at the Staff Officer.

"You have diplomatic credentials, and immunity," Hainesly replied, "The rest of us are spooks, and have only got ID relating to the FOSB." He said, "As much as the Alliance are scum, I don't think they're the sort to start murdering diplomats."

"Yet." Ignatius derisively added, "Will there be any support for this, or am I going alone on this?"

"There will be," Hainesly said, "You're not the only one clearing the data caches, we have another team of assets who'll be doing the same. Thing is, is that they're not as uh... they don't have your understanding of diplomatic niceties."

"What are they? Shadowtroopers?" Ignatius asked, "Stormtroopers? TIE pilots?"

"That's classified agent." Hainesly pointedly snapped, there was no need to pursue that line of questioning. "All you need to know is that they will be there, and they will be there, and reachable over this." Hainsely reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a small comms unit, which Ignatius grasped in his hand, and then clipped to his lapel, "This is a comms unit, it's patched into all networks, but we've set one up specially for you, the pilot, and the assets."

"Alright," Ignatius replied, "How do I contact them? Are there any call signs?"

"You will be referred to as Avalonia Prime. The pilot is Adler Two, and the recovery team assisting you is known as Trident." The Staff Officer informed him, "This is the map, it has the data caches linked up on it." The Officer then handed Ignatius a wrist mounted datapad.

"It is also for downloading the data. But don't let it get caught. If you do, there's a kill switch that will brick the bastard." The Staff Officer replied, "And finally, to protect yourself," Hainesly passed Ignatius a pistol, as well as four clips of ammunition. "And finally, the keys to the executive speeder and to the caches." Hainesly added, passing the young agent a key pass. One which held access to nearly all government offices in Bespin. The second, was the ignition key to the fleet of luxury speeders government personnel used to travel Cloud City in style.

"Thank you sir." Ignatius replied, before saluting again, "I will not fail." He then looked both men in the eyes, with a determined glare. There was no fear there.

"The clock is ticking Rausgeber, do your duty and do it well." Hainesly snapped, before extending his hand. Ignatius reciprocated the gestured and firmly shook the man's hand. "May the force be with you."

 

[LT-137]

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Location: Ison Corridor - Indellian Gateway - Indellian (In-System Nebula.)
Objective: Await the Impatient. Spring the Trap.
Allies: The First Order, The Galactic Empire, [member="Cyrus Tregessar"], [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"], [member="Fiolette Yvarro"], [member="Ashin Karrde"], @T'yr Dellos
Enemies: The Galactic Alliance, [member="Zark"], [member="Raze Lyter"], [member="Alexandra Morrow"], [member="Vilin"], [member="Cathul Thuku"]
Taskforce Composition: FIV Nolantia, FIV Virtue Of Orpheus , FIV Blade of the Covenant, FIV Pious Fervour, FIV Spirit of Justice, (1,102m / 6,000m.)

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"You are expected at all times and in all situations to conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to, and mindful of, the great duties and traditions of the Supreme Leader's most Glorious and Honourable Navy."​

- Battlefleet Gothic Rulebook; Page Five. Adapted For SWRP.​

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[SIZE=11pt]Fear. In the era now long forgotten, the Ancient Empire ruled through such means. They inspired their populace with grand spectacles of power, and the subtle promise of destruction should they step out of line. Entire civilizations were wiped out on a whim, leaving their ashes to be forgotten and mocked by the pages of history.

There were echoes of the past that lingered in the deeds of those Imperial Scions, waving the banner of the First Order. There were those within the regime that acted by the whims of mythical figures, now long dead and remembered only by their terrible deeds, which - in hindsight - had served as a catalyst for this awful war. A rogue agent within the Order had manipulated his authority, which glassed the surface of a relatively innocent world. Hundreds, if not thousands of souls burned in the fires of his venomous ambition - setting the diplomatic stage between these two faces of a similar coin for all time. One side claimed the other was a monster, a regime built upon fear and cowardice, and that their people suffered under the yoke of tyranny. A delusional assumption based upon the crafted propaganda of Oligarchs seeking to claw after whatever scraps of power they held. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Achim chuckled softly. He found it entertaining how either side decried the other was worse, that they were wrong, and deserved to be annihilated. There were no innocents amongst the stars. Those that took up arms in the name of a cause were just the same as those that killed in the shadows, or for personal gain. They were all murderers, and so too was he. He wouldn’t condemn himself to the sin of vanity, believing himself to be better than those he had slain. They were just like him - as he was like them. It was foolish to think otherwise.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Letting out a small sigh of frustration as his mind began to empty, the Senior Captain tore his gaze away from the sickly folds of gas comprising the nebulae of the Indellian Gateway, and back into the entrenched command deck of his newly commissioned Vanquisher - Class Star Destroyer. Like always, it was a hive of activity. None shouted orders to one another, as they communicated through their headpieces and Biocomm badges. Anything louder would’ve drawn Achim’s ire. This was an Imperial Vessel. They did not shout their orders from across the deck, or from terminal to terminal. They were orderly in all things, as close to such measured perfection as Humanity could aspire to achieve.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]So, when the alarms had begun to blare, those aboard the ‘Nolantia’ had felt the instinctual spike of adrenaline but knew that their duty came first. They would not be like their honoured foes. They would not fall prey to the sins of the heart. They remained calm - or as relaxed as one could be when the gathering storm slowly rolled towards them. Reports of massed Alliance vessels began filing in from their Border Worlds and early warning detection systems. Ships that left little trace of their arrival had been spotted in several of their outlying sectors, seeking to continually jump along the regulated Hyperlanes to sow the seeds of confusion. Stealth ships, Achim mused. The Alliance was fond of slipping into places unseen, causing the maximum amount of damage possible, and slipping away in the ensuing Chaos.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]And they dared to call themselves honourable.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The Captain nearly spat on the polished obsidian plating of the Command Deck. Before the gobbet had eclipsed his lips, the Silvered Officer swallowed it and his rising gorge. He couldn’t devolve into a something unfitting of his post. He was better than that. Allowing his mind to empty once more, as his polished leather boots kissed the deck before the tactical display table, Achim filled the growing void in his mind with various details, transmitted to his terminal from a myriad of sources. Many of which had traced their origin points from Outrider and Scout elements dotting the sector.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He smiled, as the most recent report had been translated utilizing their Military’s heavily fortified encryption network, allowing the Captain to view its contents freely. There was a significant buildup of Cronau radiation detected upon the outskirts of the Indellian Gateway, which was the precursor to a starship’s arrival. Adding in the various stations and early warning relays that were fine-tuned to detect the reversion of Unidentified Vessels seconds before they arrived in realspace. While that wouldn’t give the First Order enough time to mount an effective counter to whatever made the incursion, it would give them enough warning to send their populace into shelters - securing their safety - so that they may repel whatever force sought to breach their protective cordon.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]With this scenario, they were able to withdraw their forces from outlying worlds to a single choke point. The world of Indellian was the only way, closest to Alliance space that their Navy could enter en masse. This was where they’d be held at bay. This was by the Grand Admiral’s design. They had set several ambushes around the gateway, engaging the Alliance Navy at a myriad of sectors and systems, tying up their assets in a grinding war of attrition. Thus, when they arrived here near the world of Indellian, they’d be robbed of the strength to force their way through - providing ample targets for the forces of the First Order, of which were made available, to prove which Government held the mightier Navy.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Flicking the scrolling feed of data aside with a pointed finger, Achim watched as the Field of Battle materialized into being, bathing his person in the twinned crimson and ochre light of the hololithic projection. His eyes narrowed as he watched the wistfully spinning Orb of Indellian, with its defense station’s operating in geosynchronous orbit. With the interference from the Nebula, the ‘Nolantia’ had to rely on transmitted data, which meant that everything would be seconds old by the time that it was decrypted and translated for convenience. While that was far from ideal in an active combat theatre, it would be enough for him to anticipate their movements. Void warfare was a thinker’s war. It only got vicious when the enemy was within range of boarding shuttles and wrathful broadsides. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]They moved into the system and began engaging the bait with all the fury expected of the Galactic Alliance. It was a shame they didn’t stop to reconnoiter the system to become cognizant of their surroundings, let alone ascertain what exactly they were firing at. They merely saw the Crimson Fanged Maw of the First Order and attacked. For all they knew, it could’ve been a Convoy of Civilian Craft that was seeking entrance into the heavily fortified sectors of the Ison Corridor. Was it the truth? Perhaps, but only from a certain point of view. If anything was left, or anything that could be salvaged in the aftermath of this tumultuous battle, the flight records, and passenger manifest would record nearly three thousand and twenty-two non-combatants that would be lost with all hands. In actuality, nearly a dozen droids and enslaved systems would be slaughtered, helpless against such reckless hate.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As the munitions of the Alliance were consigned to the void in futility, Achim turned towards his Second-In-Command. He still couldn’t remember the man’s name for the life of him, and the man had been apart of his Command Crew since the Incursion on Kaeshana. That was well over a year ago.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He was getting old. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Nevertheless, with his gaze averted from the tactical table afore him, Achim began issuing orders that would eventually be passed through the entirety of his taskforce. While he had the honours of commanding an ancient Resurgent-Class Battlecruiser at the Battle for Kaeshana, and in turn found himself honoured with the authority to bully around his fellow Captain’s acting as Escorts, being reduced to a meager five ships, in comparison to his twenty, was a huge blow to the ego. He wouldn’t complain. At least not publicly. He would take his reassignment with all the poise and grace expected of an Imperial Officer. Thus, no longer in command of a Battlegroup, but instead a Taskforce, Achim and the thrumming hull of the Nolantia, waited in the shadows - with their fangs sharpened and ready to pounce.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As the yawning Maw slowly began to close, they would know the meaning of Fear. This was First Order territory, and the Galactic Alliance would pay for their incursion in fire and blood.[/SIZE]

 

[Aver Brand]

​

​

Location: Atmo → Hoth
Allies: [member="Tomas Yarrow"] | [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"]
Enemies: [member="Chron Terix"] | [member="TK-4261 Strain"] | [member="Shaydae Desmaris"] | Outpost Veers
Gear: Main in bio + stripped-down Power Armor with jetpack for atmo drop + SDC 13
Note for the Lazy: The Force Disperser makes Aver seem like a NFU

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkT-aMgZvQI​

Nameless, faceless, blameless.

Words to live by, in her line of work. Aver had paid them heed since she’d first set foot off Point Nadir, and Hoth was no exception. By now she’d upgraded her levels of precaution, increasing the deniability for all parties involved; the difference between an amateur and a professional.

The mercenary who currently seated at the back of the transport fit firmly into the latter category. Around her, others lingered in echoed silence, taking stock of their gear and faculties. Somber atmosphere – sober expressions. Everyone knew what was waiting down there.

White, the color of annihilation.

More than two dozen marines, SpecOps, SIS, and other operatives would drop down, encased head-to-toe in Lionhearts. (And, naturally, sporting one solid motherkarker of a jetpack.) Aver had every intention to lose that bit the second they touched down— which brought her, grinning, to the last bullet(point) on her mental checklist.

Atmo drop was awesome, but atmo drop onto a fething walker?

Excitement washed over her body, setting her nerve endings on fire even after all these years. Muscles and fists and mind still hungered for the thrill of violence. Conflict was calling, its song the steady thrum of the dead-hearted. Fast-paced, brutal, merciless. It was many things to her, but beyond all, it was home. More than Coruscant or Selvaris or Nadir could hope to be. More than even [member="Loray Tares"] and [member="Matsu Xiangu"].

Though they did always bring conflict in their own right; her lips curled at the thought, at the memory. And another face, unbidden, a glint of forest green, a fanged smi—

Guts-in-throat they plummeted down.

 

[Progflaw99]

​

-- -- --​

Allies: [member="Pierce Fortan III"] | [member="Jianna Raas"] | [member="Ishana Pavanos"]
Enemies: Galactic Alliance​

Objective: Respond to Alarm​

-- -- --​

​

Nils shook his head, eyeing his cards out of the bottom of his eye. He was doomed - but his face hadn't shown it, though somehow Pierce seemed to know. *How does he do that?!* thought the young Captain to himself. As the round progressed and Pierce's trap was sprung he let loose a small sigh. Cards never were his forte, they seemed to favor the lucky - fitting that Pierce happened to have the luck, he was arguably one of the luckiest of them all - in and outside of the cockpit. Just as the senior pilot was announcing his win, Nils' brow furrowed at the sound of the general alarm. *Not again...* All week they'd been subject to repeated drills at all hours of the day and night, though truthfully the two had begun to meld together in the Ace's mind.

"You know - I wonder if they'd even notice if we didn't..."​

​

Again the announcement sounded over the protests of the pilots gathered. *That... doesn't sound like a drill.* thought Nils. The normal droning monotone voice over the internal comm had changed, albeit subtly. There was an undertone, a light timbre of - fear? Excitement? Either way, he needed to snap out of it. With quick shake of his head he brought himself back to reality (oh there goes gravity). Through the hubbub that had become the FIS Kuragin, Nils rose quickly, mirroring the others. He knew he'd lost fair and square - and Pierce should know by now Nils was always good on his debts. The pilot fired of a quip as he reached over for his helmet which rest neatly atop his bunk.

"Oh c'mon, I'm always good for it Pierce - but I'll take my chops over your luck any day!"​

​

With a quick jab he aimed for the other's ribs, a wink playing at one of his eyes before he turned to go. They had a ways to go to get to their fighters from billeting - they'd have to run if they didn't want to be swabbing decks for the next month. With a quick nab, Nils grabbed the gunbelt hanging from the hook beside his rack and slung it over his shoulder and headed towards the door. Glancing back, he motioned with his free arm.

"Let's get going rook - we got a flight to catch." With a nod to Ishana he continued. "We're taking the new Raptors for a spin - finally got those birds you were asking about."​

​

"Good Hunting."​

​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

​Location: Haggling with a Tibanna Sales Affiliate, Calarissian Plaza, Cloud City
​Objective: Well, this isn't what I flew in to Bespin for...
​Allies: When in First Order territory...
​Enemies: Galactic Alliance

​It was so long ago...​

​​Alkor stood several feet in front of the desk, arms folded. Several minutes had passed since the associate had started to key in his request, but neither of them had spoken in that time. "Is there some way I can do this myself?" He asked, an eyebrow raised. The woman glanced up from the console and regarded him with a neutral expression, then looked back to her task. The thundering of keys compounded his annoyance with her attitude, but he managed to force a smile. "Surely, there's a hub for-" he began to step forward, and her eyes flicked dangerously toward him.

"Please remain behind the designated line," she told him. "Safety precautions. You understand."

"Quite." ​He felt his fingers twitch, and pain lanced through his arm as he pinched a patch of skin. He concentrated on that sensation. The last time he visited Bespin, it was a freer place than this. He remembered how pilots sailed through the clouds, and spacers littered the halls with the stench of alcohol on their breath. It was less austere than this. Everything was tidy and in a specific order. The colors of the First Order decorated the halls and he could almost taste the sanitizer that permeated the air. "All hail the innovations of the state," he muttered to himself.

Various colored lights flickered atop one of the adjacent platforms, which Alkor could see just beyond one of the grand windows. He tilted his head and appreciated the beauty that remained. Some things never changed. "Mister Centaris?" the woman called. He quickly turned to regard her. "It says here you spoke with a representative some months ago regarding a license to purchase, and I have you on record as a designated rep for Balmorran Arms- is that accurate?"

His smile seemed more genuine, now. "Why yes," he replied, "that's correct. I assume you'll want proof of identification and-"

​"Yes, yes," she hurried him with an exasperated gesture. "You should always have proper documentation ready, it makes these situations go so much more smoothly."

"Forgive me," Alkor conceded with a small nod, "I'm not accustomed to Imperial culture. Here you are." He surrendered the foreign identification- a Mercenary license, but the only thing of the sort he had. "Proof of identification, and," he pulled the registration papers from Balmorra from his cloak and straightened it on the desktop in front of her. She frowned as she snatched it up.

"Once I give you clearance, you will be able to buy no more than 500 litres of Tibanna per transaction, to a limit of five transactions," she began. "These transactions are logged monthly-"

"Two thousand litres a month," he snorted. "At what rate?"

"At market value,"​ she growled, "plus duties."

"Of course," his smile tightened. "Duties."

He accepted his documents back from her and stowed them, and she gestured for him to take a step back. "I will process you now," she informed him. "This will take several minutes, so please remain-"
​
"Behind the line," he cut her short. "Of course."

Alkor acquiesced and backed up to the line, then folded his hands behind his head. His thoughts moved quickly as the overhead lights flickered. The Dark Jedi furrowed his brow. ​Everyone, please remain calm, ​the words echoed though the hallways, and Alkor glanced toward the woman for some idea of what to do. Her expression had shifted. ​This is an emergency. All non-combat personnel, please proceed to the nearest-

​He had heard enough. "An ​evacuation?" ​he hissed. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know!" she cried out. "How am I supposed to know that?"

​"Stay calm," he reminded her of the instructions. "You're staff here, aren't you? Have a look in the system, see what's going on."

"It said to-" she began. Alkor took a few steps forward, well over the line, and took her by the wrist. She stared up at him in horror. Alkor could feel the torrent of emotions swirling behind her eyes, and he sighed. "Am I going to die?" she asked weakly.

He glanced up, out the window, and he saw the other platforms had also begun to engage evacuation protocols. If it was just one platform, that would have made sense. A gas leak, a malfunction in the artificial atmosphere, something small-

"Alliance forces," the words sounded hollow as she spoke them. Color drained from her features. Alkor let go of her wrist. "It's an invasion." Her legs gave, and she slumped to her knees. "How- here?" she whispered. "We were safe-"

"No one is safe," Alkor corrected her. The soft click as he checked his now visible pistol startled her. "That's why people build weapons." He holstered the firearm and pulled the girl to her feet. "That's why people fight. Get on the comm and let someone know there's a Merc in Cloud City who's going to fight for them. We'll discuss payment later." She nodded absently and hurried over to the comm.

Alkor stepped away from the desk and felt an overwhelming wave of panic as bodies flooded the halls in droves. "Good thing I dressed for work," he murmured sarcastically. His eyes closed slowly as he worked to press the emotions from his thoughts. He concentrated solely on himself and pushed everything else away. When he opened his eyes once more, they were a lambent, icy blue.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWIDYnbexUA​

The Dark Jedi lifted his helmet and tugged it overhead. The HUD blinked to life before his eyes. He heard the woman call out, acknowledging that she told the First Order he was on site. "I'll give you temporary comm channel access," she told him as she hurried over. She conveyed the codes, which he input verbally. "Someone will be in contact with you shortly. Do all you can to help protect citizens and evacuate them. Engaging the Alliance is secondary."

​Nearby Aliies:
[member="Samka Derith"] | [member="Brennan Cabrol"] | [member="Irajah Ven"] | [member="Mishel Ren"] | [member="Ara Ren"]​

 

[Ishana Pavanos]

​

[member="Jianna Raas"] | [member="Pierce Fortan III"] | [member="Nils Brenner"]​

​

Pierce was lucky that Ishana was in such a forgiving mood, she narrowed her eyes on the younger Fortan man and put her tongue under her upper lip. She pursed her lips to the side as she took a deep breath and listened as Pierce talked. "I'll be sure to remind you that it was you who said I was a brilliant pilot later," and as she looked at her cards again she pouted and was only that this wasn't Tamenen. Where she'd probably lose the Blue Star, again. Then again she at least won it back. Because Ishana refused to explain to her girlfriend [member="Kaalia Voldaren"] how it was that she lost their house. And, something told her that getting on the redhead's bad side wasn't something she should do. The officer's mess was half filled with smoke and dim lighting the other half filled with food and talk of the blackout. Blackout on shore leave anyway at least with the war on, no one was going anywhere - at least until you've earned so many points or whatever.

The Balmorran looked over her shoulder and watched the newb, Curls for a moment. "Hey think you-"

:: All stations, report. Scanners indicate spacecraft presence. ::​

​

The brunette listened to Nils for a moment, and then Ishana was about to get up when Pierce held up his hand, she rolled her eyes and sat back down. "These days sensors can't tell a pebble from enemy units, so maybe you're onto something there." And then he mentioned drink rations and she was going to roll her eyes again, but hey he could have her drink rations. She had drinks on the Blue Star, and could get some drinks from her girlfriend and so quite easily the pilot said. "Sure thing, Pierce you can have all the drink rations you want." Maybe too easily. As she looked over to the menu that was laid out for the officers to see. "Ugh, Fighter's Stew again - pass."

:: All stations, report. Scanners indicate spacecraft presence. Galactic Alliance signatures detected ::​

​

The lieutenant stood to her feet as a singular thought ran through her mind, chit tickets. She grabbed her own sidearm and secured it to her side just as Pierce peered over the rim of his spectacles. "Yeah, yeah, yeah you'll get your creds, karkin' herglic worse than a bloody hutta you are." Ishana followed after Pierce rushing down the corridors toward the flight deck as the red alert tonnes dropped throughout the station. "Better you than me, Brenner!" The Balmorran managed to shout as she turned the corner heading down toward their new birds, a smile if any appeared briefly on her lips. Finally got us new birds, now where did that nosy little droid get off to...

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Allies: [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Adder"] | [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] | Other GA members in the Bespin ZOOooonnnee
Objective: Click bait, baby.
Piloting: U-Wing

[SIZE=11pt]The thing about self discovery, is that it’s usually epiphanic. Someone begins a process on their own to gain insight into themselves, whether they choose to start at the beginning, or focus forward. Wherever the start of the journey, the initiation is usually determined by the seeker. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Loske, however, had not been so fortunate with her enlightenment. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]After an aerial lock gone sour above Coruscaunt, Loske had wound up in the hospital. The intolerance of the air space and the damage to her ship and self landed her a handful of weeks on the shared linens of medical droids. Whatever. Being a clone gets one somewhat used to being hooked up to several tubes and bacta, despite her (at that point) knowing her origin. A few blood samples later, the database confirmed that someone who had zero family suddenly found out she had in fact [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]several [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt].. somewhat.. blood relatives. That had been almost enough to put her into another comatose state of shock. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Anyways, that story aside, turns out her donors/parents wanted herself and her “brother” to get on with their lives. Do the galaxy some good and whatnot. Talk about no pressure. Now she had expectations to live up to? She wasn’t just some floating entity perusing about through space? She still wasn’t sure how to adjust to the whole situation, so she mostly pretended it didn’t exist unless someone else brought it up. She was relieved there was some explanation for her throwing up around The Force and whatnot though. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]That story was at the back of her mind though while [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] delivered the bolstering commentary. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Meh, it’s okay[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] Loske evaluated, as she checked her cloaking device's strength one last time for paranoid measure. The city in the clouds didn’t mean it’s residents had their heads there. Over the past year of random missions and money-seeking contracts, the blonde pilot had been thrown at random First Order objects, eviscerating what she could here and there along with other squadron members but they were like weeds. Dark, wretched weeds. She’d heard the same sort of speeches several times. The only important delivery was in [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]what people were actually doing [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]not [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]why. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]If soldiers were about to jump into the throngs of battle and still not be on board with why they were doing it… it was that momentary thought that made her shake her head in absent disgust before coming back to the end of the talk. She blinked heavily, snapping back to the task at hand and the dashboard before her. It was a different layout than she was used to, this U-Wing. But, she’d recently transferred ranks to a new squadron and was playing by their rules. No mind. This tricky little vessel was well outfitted with surprises. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt][member="Asmus Janes"] was a familiar voice that crackled over the sound system and reverberated in her ears, cueing the engines to warm. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“We’re not the ones on Hoth,” she quipped back, a thin simper curled knavishly across her lips. A feature that apparently she’d inherited from her maternal donor, now that she knew that. Then all of a sudden, the blur took over. The check-out point where nothing but trained focus took over. A combination of real talent, and the perceptiveness of [member="Marcello Matteo"]. Puffs of white stretched across her little ship and she had to feel the dance of glee in her chest for just a moment. Cheeks surged with impressed delight, letting loose a chuckle to match. “We karking did it -- nothing to stop us now, folks!” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Elation coursed through her veins, and sent a direct buzz to her fingertips, which cued the command to follow the wing leader to a hard left. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]“The best part is, they’ll be even more surprised than we are.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]Frank was also there. [/SIZE]

 

[TC-91]

Objective: Rescuing the Family
Allies: [member="Bryce Bantam"] | [member="Joza Perl"] | [member="Leo Vandermolen"] | [member="John Shepherd"] | @GA and Allies
Enemies: Poachers

Nawago exited from a near-by room, trying to brush out all of the knots in his fur that have built up after many years before. Normally, he wouldn't take much care in how he looked, as it wasn't very cultural for him and he would usually just end up more messy later that day. Today was different, as an undercover mission was afoot and appearance meant everything. While he didn't need to wear a dancer's uniform considering the how he was an "animal," it still had to be convincing if everything was going to work out.

He heard a bit of the previous conversation before entering, and turned over to the others. "I don't know much about the First Order, but I think we might actually have a chance here. Confidence is always key to success." There was a fine line between confidence and arrogance, but he was sure that they all knew the possibility of failure on the mission. They may have had the advantage in terms of surprise, but it was really only the five or so of them against however many First Order soldiers. The bulk of the Galactic Alliance, who were the leaders of the attack weren't exactly associated with the saving of the Wampas.

It was only a short time ago in which Nawago took a little nostalgia trip and took a discreet trip back to Hoth. All that he found were destroyed areas in which his species gathered and mechanical facilities everywhere. Something had to be wrong and he smashed his way into one of the many facilities. What he found in the different types of rooms disgusted him. Racks of bloodied Wampa furs lined the walls, and there was a conveyor belt where he witnessed his skinned brothers being disposed of like nothing. He stared at the all of the furs, not able to bring them back. However, he knew that something could be done to prevent it from happening ever again. He grabbed one of the Wampa-fur coats and fled from the planet, hoping to do anything.

Eventually, the ORC eventually found an opportunity to take action, and here the small task force was. He threw the brush over to the side and scanned the ship around him. Sure, it wasn't the most pleasant looking ship for dancers, but it could still work out. As far as he was aware, dancers weren't living the most luxurious life that could be lived. As long as it was a ship that could fly and land, everything was probably fine.

 

[Jasper Daggett]

​

[member="Jianna Raas"]| [member="Pierce Fortan III"] | [member="Nils Brenner"] | [member="Ishana Pavanos"]

​

​

​The others used their down time to calm their nerves.

The lighthearted banter of younger pilots was a welcome respite from the harsh reality of zero atmo, where the only thing between a pilot and his grave was several centimeters of plasteel. For someone with years of experience in that flying coffin though, it was an eventuality.

It had turned his nerves to steel many years ago.

​Daggett stood in mute appreciation of the new model, just behind the lines where technicians ran through the pre-flight checks. "It's not like the Interceptors you're used to," one of them commented. "G Forces are higher. Engine output'll red you out before you even realize it." He gave a laugh in response. The tech shrugged. "And the weapons are different. It'll murder an X-wing in a straight up fight. Incom doesn't make 'em like First Order TIEs-"

"It's just another TIE on the inside," he said with a soft smile. "I have been flying them for over twenty years. A flashier model isn't going to be the thing that ends me, my friend."

"The others should be along shortly," the other man smiled warmly. "I just thought I'd give you a warning, what with your condition-"

"Do not mention it to them, please," he folded his hands. "It would not do for my team to worry about my health while we fly."

"It's by far one of the more important things that they should know-"

"Brenner knows," he held up a hand. "If he deems it necessary for them to know, I will defer to his judgment."

The man gave a slight nod, then disappeared to do one last set of checks. Jasper walked closer to his Raptor and placed a hand on the hull. "You and I, we are going to fly together," he crooned. "We will tell a story that will swell the hearts of the First Order with pride long after we are gone."

He looked back just in time to see the other pilots heading his way.

"Que paso, my friends?" He greeted. "They are a pretty sight, yes?" he asked, indicating the Raptors.

 

[Rekha Kaarde]

Location: Bespin. Mining Platform south of Cloud City.
Allies: GA
Enemies: FO
Gear: Thunderclap | Woebringer | Taozin Amulet | Bar full of alcohol

The doors were barred shut, furniture piled up in front to keep anyone from coming in. "Do you see anyone? Hear anyone?"

A small elderly blonde woman stood by the furniture, "NO and stop asking don't you think we'll know"

The staff of the Underground Bar were ready to defend their home and place of work to the last drop. Rekha the owner sat on the bar staring at the doors, "Oh we'll hear them alright. Do you hear all that already, that's them fighting it out."

"We need to get out of here."

Rekha stubborn to the very last, "I put my heart and soul in this place. I'm not going anywhere." She swallowed hard...she hoped. "You guys get your heads down just in case." Green eyes were fixed on the door an uneasy hand rested on her left hip she would fire it till her finger grew numb

 

[John Shepherd]

Objective: Oh where Oh where, Have those Wompas gone?
Allies: [member="Nawago"] | [member="Joza Perl"] | [member="Bryce Bantam"] | [member="Leo Vandermolen"] | @GA and Allies
Enemies: Poachers

He would struggle with his outfit grumbling and mumbling downing some more ale. He would try to look tidy but he looked like a mess in the formal dancing outfit he was being forced to wear. It seemed as if it fit him too loosely and he was struggling with a sash and a button and came out to be a complete mess. He would walk over to where Joza was standing as he was asked to go find Bryce's sash, as he went to find it Leo piped up and had found it going back to Joza he waited until she finished her line before looking at her and sighing.

"Joza, I don't do formal... and I don't want the other guys to see.... me getting help so can you just real quick... Fix me up? After your done with your whole landing thing.... er... um.... sorry."

John stumbled on his words as he felt embarrassed that he couldn't even wear a formal outfit properly. He kept trying to work on his outfit but it was no use and if they were going to pull it off he would need to look perfect like the rest of the group did, but at the present state he looked like a traveling buffoon.

 

[WolfMortum]

Location: Cloud City, near Calrisian Plaza​

Allies: [member="Irajah Ven"] | [member="Mishel Ren"] | [member="Ara Ren"] | [member="Samka Derith"] | The First Order | [member="Alkor Centaris"]​

Enemies: The Galactic Alliance​

Objective: N/A​

​

As rare a chance as it might have been to gain the insight into the personal background of one of their own among the Knights of Ren, an Order secretive and well guarded of their motives let alone the origins and intimate details of their former lives, Brennan Cabrol stood within the homestead as [member="Samka Derith"] led the others about her former residence. Among their people, she perhaps resembled closest to his age and yet here was a woman who had ascended the ranks of the Ren to command arguably the highest respect within the First Order alongside that of [member="Castor Ren"] and his superiors; for her to invite them into such a place of symbolic sentiment came as something of a surprise to him though he did not question her wishes nor would he look further into their presence there than was required of him; As far as he could tell there was little here that would establish the First Order's presence over Bespin anymore than it was already. That said, he had little doubt that Samka Derith would elaborate to them in due time just why they had been brought there.

Across the small group, Brennan only recognized one other. [member="Ara Ren"] of whom he had joined on a mission to Val'Hala along with [member="Kaalia Voldaren"], both gifted from what he had observed in their ability to fade into a crowded room and assimilate the public image; he had been impressed with just how genuine they had come off in their falsifying personalities in order to run down targets of importance to the criminal underworld there.

[member="Irajah Ven"], Brennan knew nothing about aside from the small detail of her being some sort of doctor, to which area of medical or scientific expertise he had yet to determine though in the presence of the Knights of Ren, specifically Samka Derith's own, she had become a targeted interest for being a wild card in his mind. He hadn't yet managed to figure her out, knew not her motives nor where she exactly stood in the eyes of his peers and thus a subtle caution had been carried with him, in the little he spoke around her both verbally and in his body language. Ever the embodiment of paranoia, Brennan had learned to expect the worst in others as the galaxy had showed him nothing less.

Then there was [member="Mishel Ren"], one of their own and yet not one Brennan had served alongside. He would welcome the experience to come, learning more about his peers and why they were, like himself, so devoted to the First Order and the Knights of Ren.

With his back to a wall while the rest of them perused the old house that had once been Samka's livelihood, Brennan stood with his weight against the structure, his black robes caped around his form concealing his Armor, his left sleeve drawn back to his elbow of which held the SB-U01 strapped across his forearm. With his hood drawn low across his brow, his expression vacant from the others while he gazed over the recent news from the remains of Skor II. It had been a less than interesting venture, the lack of killing had near suffocated the excitement from his mind, yet the Supreme Leader commanded a different strategy at the time and following Castor's lead, Brennan had sought audience with the worlds King to which several mishaps had forced him to remain distanced and fortunately able to secure any First Order equipment and weaponry that had been attempted to be impounded by the native Squib and the Galactic Alliance there. While the world had been lost to the First Order, the armaments of the Knights of Ren had not and in that small victory, it was at-least something. Any potential information leaks or prospective discoveries made by their enemy towards the Knights of Ren, would have only soured the damage that had been dealt that day.

Tapping the touch pad of his SB-U01, his eyes narrowed as he discarded the article only to come across a local alert for the Bespin sector. The Holo-news hadn't yet picked up on it yet though the secure datacron for the First Order had. Looking to the others, his mouth opened to speak when he heard one of their devices giving notice for an incoming alert themselves. Pushing off from the wall, he moved towards the nearby stairwell, raising his voice to call out to the others who had headed up that way in search for Samka's old quarters, force knows why.

"We've got company, Galactic Alliance is en-route" his voice carried itself loud and clear though lacking the urgency you might expect, he seemed to be speaking factually though hadn't found the incentive to be intimidated by the news, he had a score to settle with the Alliance after their last run in had left his lightsaber void of any contact. Pulling the chain from around his neck, he removed his right glove from his hand to which he replaced with the ring that had been strung beneath his attire, the Talisman of Calling taking to his index finger, the amulet that held direct conveyance over the Sith Dirk that had yet to see it's poison tested upon the life of another. Perhaps he would finally be given the chance to make the most out of his new friend; he would have to choose wisely however as the blades calling would only last for two hours and if Skor II was anything to go by, this invasion force would quite possibly last out the day before they would be sent home with their tails between their legs.

 

[Fen]

OPEN SPACE,​

HOTH SYSTEM​

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The sleek shape of a Stealth X slid through space, its black and gray-flecked hull all but invisible in the void. And to sensors? Nothing more than a ghost.

Jedi Knight Ryan Korr sat in the pilot's seat, garbed in cold weather gear. After the loss of his last astromech - and X wing - at Atrisia he had decided against flying with another one, for now anyway. He'd grown attached to the little droid. Flying without it felt like trying to write with the wrong hand. He would have to make do.

The auburn haired master closed his eyes and reached out in the Force until he found a now familiar presence. He brushed against the mind of [member="Naomi Carolina"], his new padawan. Stealth Xs were meant to be flown without use of comms, which meant usually only Jedi flew them. He had explained this to her before takeoff and given her a few basics in mind-to-mind communication. That probably wouldn't make it any easier. It required trust.

I am here. Remember: listen to the will of the Force. It will guide you.

[member="Xel"]