Faction Spark of Rebellion

[Oceiros Sunstrider]

Location: Phaeda | Collo Fauale

Phaeda, a world held within the clutches of the New Imperial Order, that one would think offered very little significance in the larger scheme of things. In truth it meant so much more for the Rebels, it was a place in which they could strike out at the Imperials right beneath their own noses. A place where they could lay they could reconvene and plan out their next operations. A place where they could call home.

On the horizon Phaeda’s primary began to sink, what had once been a hot day, slowly turning into a cool night. Even still preparations were only truly just beginning on the formation of the Rebel Base. They were in little more than a cave, to and fro others went carrying crates of supplies bringing them deeper into the alcove that they had taken residence in. Prefabricated structures sat on the inside. Some lined the walls, others sat strewn about, a mixture of tents and makeshift huts offering what refuge they could from the elements.

Standing at the entrance to the cave, Oceiros looked out and across the mountain range. A feeling of pride, and accomplishment swelling within the Epicanthix’s chest. The Rebel Alliance to him was more than just a way to fight tyranny, it was about more than just trying to root out the Empire. It was about bringing hope to a galaxy that had found itself engulfed in Darkness. No longer could he allow himself to be restrained by the policies of the Galactic Alliance. There were others who thought like him, not many, but still some.

Oceiros looked down to his lightsaber, grip tightening around the metallic hilt. At one time, after Bastion the Epicanthix had wondered if he would ever truly be a Jedi again. Or if through his saving of a Sith that he’d forever marred himself and the creed he’d taken. In truth he’d been blind. There was no oversight committee in the galaxy that could decide whether one was truly a Jedi or not. They couldn’t determine what one fought for, or who they were.

Clipping the metallic hilt to his belt Oceiros turned into the cave where he would join the others who had gathered.

 

[Sol Stazi]

"Can you feel it, wizard?"

The duros sharpened his vibroknife, each scrape casting sparks which illuminated his grim features. He would not come closer to the rebels' fires. Major Stazi and his squad were tight lipped. Slow to trust. Ordinarily they would seem a poor fit in such company, were it not for the whispered rumors. Special forces trained on Sullust. The Alliance-in-Exile. True believers.

Pathfinders.

"I can feel it in my gears," he grinned darkly at Oceiros Sunstrider , flexing the grip of his augmetic arm, "Storm clouds on the horizon."

It was a cold smile and it faded almost as soon as it had appeared. Sol Stazi didn't smile much. He was not a beacon of hope. He was a soldier in a great crusade, one he'd been fighting for a very long time. Scars covered his face. Several were obviously healed lightsaber burns. His fatigues looked old. His A280-CFE was modded nearly beyond recognition. Shock trooper tattoos were etched across his torso and remaining arm.

"They're making the same mistakes."

Another flash of sparks highlighted his unflinching crimson gaze. There was little question of who Sol meant. The Galactic Alliance. In many ways it was not his Alliance, yet both founded on a common dream. Peace through democracy. Stand against darkness. Stronger together. He'd watched that dream burn once. Now he wasn't sure if he was here because he still believed or because the crusade was all he had left.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

GALACTIC ALLIANCE ADVISORY

​

PHAEDA // COLLO FAULE // REBEL BASE
Sol Stazi // Oceiros Sunstrider // Maynard Treicolt
P D L I F

​

"I want to see what the Imperials do with their worlds after they're won––conquered––freed––whatever whoever wants to call it," Loske announced, not looking up from her downward trajectory through a narrow passageway between boulders. The refuge was located far from the settled regions of the planet. The hangar hadn't been large enough to navigate The Renegade in snugly. They'd touched down elsewhere and had to spend just a few minutes on foot to get to the exact pinned location.

To dissuade the counterpoint of what about Scipio? Or JarFathel or right now on Phaeda? She continued: "Like, beyond these mountains. How the people are treated and what it looks like for them day-to-day I guess." All her experience with Imperials had been in the throes of war and strife. Liberating worlds within the core that had been under the CIC's boot or unchaining holds from the Sith just to hand them over to the New Order. But once that was done, neither of them returned to the worlds where it was torn asunder. What did relief look like? What did restoration feel like? The Alliance proclaimed democracy and self-representation, and the Imperials boasted uniformity and organization. Order. What was that like day-to-day? "I don't want to be an auditor.." the explanation would come to a conclusion just as she rounded the final boulder before the entrance. Dusting off her knees, she paused purposefully, placing her hands on Maynard's arms, mirroring the action of brushing away mess as something to do before just stopping to look up at him.

"Just more informed. I think we deserve that."

A small simper cracked its way through her mouthline, and she shrugged with an ounce of levity, "Besides, I haven't been Poncho in a while."

Things were becoming murkier after Yinchorr. What had been black and white (Sith bad, Jedi good) alongside the New Imperial Order's push through their civil schism was turning grey. The exchanges between governments were hard to miss. The Alliance lashed out first, the New Imperial Order barked back...and the medals the Treicolts had been awarded for their service alongside the Imperials felt more like albatrosses. The burden of alignment and meaning and purpose was becoming heavier on her mind. And she could feel a similar murkiness within her husband.

"For better or worse, its not up to us.

As much as they might be the frontmen, poster-people or heroes of the Alliance, they were not the machine. That honour fell into the hands of the democratically elected. The Treicolts were glorified and well-polished cogs in the egalitarian machine.

What was up to them was how they chose to protect what was theirs.

"I think we need to let the Galaxy know we're here and that we're here to protect our way of life. To protect our dreams, make good on them. We're surrounded by people evil or dumb enough to be a threat to us. We need to let them know they aren't. That we can protect our interests, preserve what we've built."

So it was time to build a new machine.

Whatever had existed in the mountains once upon a time was no longer. All that remained were barren clumps of rock, and what the founders of this initiative had managed to carve from the stoneface. The world they were building, and hoped to build, continued to serve an important purpose outside the reaches of the main civilization.

From the monstrous blocks of solid rock, a hideaway had been constructed. The ranges had scaled even in its high crests, clothing it in dull greys and mottled browns. Only near the base, in the camp front, did the mountain slide away almost completely to reveal a long, dark entrance cut by its builders and enlarged to suit the needs of the structure's present occupants.

The original architects of the refuge would likely be impressed by the improvements. Seamed metal had replaced rock, and poured panelling did service for chamber division in place of wood. There was still much to excavate, but the location was a nascent as the purpose.

Firelight flickered, casting shadows from the silhouettes that had already collected together to overlook the valley and greet incoming rebels. The way they stretched were like arms, welcoming to the cavern's embrace.

A conversation, sombre in tone, took place between the founder and a bemedaled oldster––––bemedaled not in the traditional sense, but in a warrior's trophies. The Epicanthix' face was as stone-like as the cavern. Their silhouettes shaped as if there were too many deaths on their souls, and maybe that was true.

Rounding the corner just in time to capture the most recent exchange from the distanced duros, Loske realized this was a face that should have been a phantom of familiarity. From when she'd been fresh out of the Kiffu cloning tubes and into the laps of Sullustan armies.

"Which mistakes?"

Suppose someone had to be doing something wrong for others to set it right. The galactic scales were doing their duty.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

There had been a time a short few months ago when the New Imperial Order first formed and the Mandalorians that had helped him escape that Hell of prison joined them that Gilamar thought the New Imperial Order was different. Indeed, even at the battle of Echoy'la when they freed the prison mine planet from the grips of the Empire he still believed. Maybe it was time the Mandalorians had an iron grip to lead them forward and drag them kicking and screaming to freedom.

That was when he realized though, that a man like Tavlar would not bring freedom to Mandalore. Indeed, he wore his own wound from the subjugation of his world as a symbol of pride. The beskar "horn" of the Sovereign Imperator...It was an insult in and of itself, even if he didn't realize it.

When Sunstrider had reached out to him about joining his band of rebels he had second thoughts. But seeing the New Imperial Order's sham of a victory over Bastion, he couldn't just watch. He needed to do something before it was too late, before the New Imperial Order was just another Sith Empire under the control of a power-hungry, cruel Imperator. It was hard to leave the Fleet, what with the Outer Rim Coalition falling apart. However, as he consistently reminded the other Gogi and of House Skirata, ORC didn't give them safety. It was their fleet and warriors that kept them safe. Ostensibly nothing was changed. In fact, the fleet had seen an influx of business. Petty warlords no longer bound by the Sherriffs or the Kathol Outback's overstretched fleets patrolling meant they needed muscle to expand their fiefdoms. Traders were looking more than ever for Mandalorian made goods. Even the Ketyady'rs repair hangar had seen an uptick in business.

He could go on his Crusade to retake Mandalore before the New Imperial Order could sink their claws in and they would be fine without him for a time. He didn't wear his armor. He hadn't since the Sith Empire sacked the world and wouldn't until it had been taken back and freed. He did however have his companion Bes'uliik and his freighter, an old Pau City Blockade Runner. He was standing beneath it now, fiddling with some system or other that could only be reached from outside. He caught a glimpse of the two Jedi and grunted before taking a torch and getting back to work.

Loske Treicolt Oceiros Sunstrider Sol Stazi Maynard Treicolt

 

[Yula Perl]

It always began with whispers in the dark.

In the wake of the First Order’s fall, the Outer Planet’s Alliance had lapsed into inactivity. Elsewhere, the galaxy was stirring into a blaze of activity. The Sith were still a force to be reckoned with, and new galactic powers surged against each other for control of the core.

Guilt over what had happened to her sisters drew Yula back into the fray, and there were always those on the fringe of conflict, working in the shadows. The whispers that, if given the right reason, would turn into a collective shout.

She’d snuck in as several others were conversing, sipping idly from an unmarked bottle while her eyes darted back and forth between each speaker. “Major Stazi,” Yula mumbled, nodding to the familiar face. She was glad to see the Duros again, even if they’d barely crossed paths before. The man with the undercut and fierce features she didn’t recognize, but she did a double take at the blonde, gaze lingering for a moment.

“Aren’t you on a poster somewhere?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Yula didn’t trust any imperial power by nature, not after fighting against the First Order. Hell, there were whispers of them returning to the galactic stage. The new iteration of the Galactic Alliance was regarded with a wary eye as well. Power grabs were messy business.

The Zeltron glanced at Skirata, fiddling in the corner with one ear on the conversation. Maybe things were looking more familiar than she had anticipated.

She cricked her neck to the side, snapping a stiff joint that bounced off of the walls of the cave.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t mind letting the imperials keep on beating the Sith to death.”

When all was said and done, she kind of liked that part of the New Imperial Order.

Oceiros Sunstrider | Sol Stazi | Loske Treicolt | Gilamar Skirata

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Phaeda //: Collo Fauale Pass //:
//: Make Friends? //:
//: Yula Perl //: Loske Treicolt //: Maynard Treicolt //: Oceiros Sunstrider //: Sol Stazi //: Gilamar Skirata //:

​

War always awoke the sleeping beast, those searching for something more in life - for their seat at the table. To get to those coveted seats, people sometimes did the worst things imaginable. Those actions stirred souls, ones searching for righteousness in the galaxy - Peace. Allyson, despite her loyalties to the Alliance, was always a rebellious heart. In her youth, she was raised and trained by Ember Rekali during her time as a Spacer. The man was known to go against the grain, do what he wanted, and wasn't much of a family man. ​

Despite that, Allyson regarded the man as a father figure. He taught her nearly everything she knew - creating the basis for her future career. ​

A smile crossed the Corellian's face as she used the guise of her Force Camouflage; what would the old man think of her now? The adventures she's had, the friends she had made, and the things she had seen. Keep your ear to the ground, something he always told her and taught her. It saved her life more times than it didn't, also helped her avoid any awkward mornings from an overnight stay. ​

A small laugh echoed in the mountain range, almost coming from the spirits themselves. Allyson continued moving and climbing. The spy had never been to a place like Phaeda, only hearing rumors of it from the past. The landscape was perfect for hiding a group of rebels, ones that she wasn't too sure of where their allegiance belonged. At least she'd be able to assess them for the most part during the briefing. If they were something that needed to be put down - she could handle it. ​

Rebellions weren't too far outside her scope of expertise. Assassinate the leader; most of the time, the group would scatter. Allyson lifted herself and rested for a moment, despite everything - she had a good feeling about this. Through the years, she learned to trust it. ​

She could smell burning, which only meant she was close, and with the coordinates marked, she verified. Still invisible to the eye, she felt something familiar in the area. ​

Loske.​

What was the blonde doing here? It was quite the sight of seeing two very known Alliance members being involved. The others were from other times and other places, but Loske and Maynard were the Alliance's poster children. Was the Alliance funding this small group? She hadn't seen anything pop up on any intel for the SIA - could be something new. ​

Loske spoke, latching onto the conversation the Major had opened up. It had been a while, but Allyson knew the Duros' face. Sadly, she doubted he knew hers. While in the first iteration of the Alliance, she was barely eighteen and spent most of her time in a Sith Prison from an SIS mission gone array. Allyson shook off the awkward feeling; she still wasn't over the little mishap at the Kiffar's party with the mess that was her love life. ​

Still, a question was asked, and Allyson felt like putting her two cents in. The Force around her dissipated, and the Corellian stood with her equipment hanging off of her. Dirt clung to her face as it was evident she had taken the more scenic route to the cavern. She worked on removing the gloves she wore and tucked them away. ​

"Mistakes? Pretty sure that's an easy question to answer. My first guess would be trusting traitors of an Empire, who also, in turn, betrayed those that were thinking they were on the way to rebuilding. Hard to feel sorry for the Sith that followed since the writing was on the wall, but still a bad way to play the game." Allyson flexed her fingers and moved closer to the group, "I do understand the Alliance's reasonings, of course, the enemy of an enemy - handling a situation without getting your hands dirty." ​

She looked towards the Duros Major, "Sounds familiar, doesn't it." Allyson had her reservations about the first Alliance and the newest one, but her loyalty remained - she was a soldier of the Galactic Alliance. ​

As she drew closer, Allyson sneezed several times. The last time she sneezed like this was when she was on a mission on Zeltros back with the Silver Jedi. She wrinkled her nose a few times and then caught Yula Perl from the corner of her eye. A soft sigh and Allyson rubbed the back of her neck, "Apologies," Allyson shifted and stood on the other side of Yula. Of the times to forget her allergy medicine. Holding a hand out and a smile, the Corellian introduced herself, "Allyson, it's a pleasure. You are?" ​

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

T H E _ W O L F
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
104TH MARINE BATTALION 'WOLFPACK'
A SPARK OF REBELLION
A T W A
FOCUS | Loske Treicolt | Oceiros Sunstrider | Allyson Locke | Sol Stazi | Yula Perl

On the Braxant Run, it seemed to be stark shades of black and white. The darkness and the light. Now, there wasn't any degree of certainty in anything as the cobalt saber turned to bear down on the argent duraplast of the Stormtrooper just as he was rearing back to press the blaster against their chests. It was a conflict a lot muddier than tangling with the Sith. Delving into the shades of grey between as ideologies took the forefront over existential martyrdom.

The right side of history written by the winner, no one else.

Maynard stood at Loske's flank, the only person that could offer him any level of comfort or security in this den of Rebellion buried deep in Imperial space. Were he roaming regularly, he'd been gifted the medals of merit and valour by the Iron Sun, he wasn't under any real threat beyond an invasive surveilance. But to be found here? That'd be a certain death sentence. But there was little riling up to be done for Maynard over fighting this fight. It was dirty, the virtues they'd held up over the Imperials weren't worth the war. But the Imperials were ever the dissident aggressor and the Alliance had to be defended by any means.

The Rebel Alliance was a dirty and indirect means nonetheless. He wasn't charged with a dream, not any more. He was here by the reason of duty, obligation to his assignment, to his nation. His role was a simple one, to advise and train up the Rebel hosts that Oceiros could pull beneath the crimson Starbird.

He stood aside, his arms crossed over his chest, his thoughts kept to himself. The rest all knew why they were here, or so Maynard could only assume. He was more eager to get to business more than anything for at least then it might lend to another moment of respite quicker.

They all had their points, valid ones. Empire's had always risen and Empires had always fallen, even in the manner unconventional that the New Imperial Order had and proven they were not beholden to the darkness that the Sith and other Galactic Empires prior had been. If they'd leave this realm doing anything, it would be at least leaving a massgrave stacked higher than anyone else had amassed in years of the adherents to the Dark Creed, the Sith.

As despicable as it was, there was something to be said about the Imperial methodology. Jedi could always battle Sith but their effectiveness in recent years had come with nebulous results. To the victories at Kintan and now Voss to the defeat of the last Galactic Alliance in their Endgame to traitors in their midst and now letting the Sith blitz bear down over them at Myrkyr. The Imperials had forced their hosts up the Braxant past some of the more fortified worlds of the Sith Empire, sacked Bastion and gunned down their own Sith allies in an operation that could only be described by holobooks and historical records as 'decisive victory'. They lost only a few of their own...including Maynard's cousin, Waylon.

Maybe that lingering sympathy would make him a conflict of interest here but there was at least trusting Maynard in walking the same path as Loske and if she was here, so was he.

For now, he was silent. There wasn't anything he could produce to rile them up or sort them into any fixed direction. Even then, that wasn't really his purpose here.

 

[Sol Stazi]

"At least one of you understands."

Major Stazi made his scowl look as natural as breathing, but the glower softened when Allyson Locke offered her support. The others did not seem convinced. So the rumors were true then. The New Imperial Order had not been prosecuting its campaign against the Sith alone. The darkside fancied itself ascendant, and yet there seemed to be more varieties of imperialist these days than ever.

Fractures in their perfect new world order.

"Half measures," he inspected the vibroknife then sheathed it, "Dark pacts. I've seen it before. So have most of you."

A few faces he recognized. Some were strangers, heirs to this new Core remnant.

"They're not your friends. They'll turn on you sooner or later. Its what Imperials do. Its what they've always done."

Sol did not share their personal sentiment. Better to strike now, while both empires were weak. Allowing one to gain supremacy was dangerous and shortsighted. This was an ancient war that had drenched the stars in blood for centuries. These New Imperials were...a curiosity, certainly. But it would not last. Soon their civil war would end, and whatever was left would go looking for another.

 

[Oceiros Sunstrider]

Standing breathing in deeply, Oceiros listened to the words of Stazi searching whether they truly held a deeper meaning. Did he mean a physical storm on the horizon, or was he perhaps being metaphorical? Perhaps the soldier meant a storm of trouble that was brewing, or a horrific fate that awaited the Rebels.

Before the epicanthix could answer Stazi’s second question others had begun to approach asking questions or making their own statements. In truth, the words of Allyson Locke and Sol Stazi both rang far to true. The Alliance made their agreement with the New Imperial Order based on convenience and profit. Not based on the facts that had been written on the wall since the beginning of their meteoric rise to power. The way in which they took planets under their thumb, and held them there. Oceiros hadn't joined the Jedi order until late into their tenure with the Imperials but even then he'd been ignorant. It wasn't till they turned their blasters on him that Oceiros saw the truth.

“I don’t think any of us here are foolish enough to not see the truth Commander Stazi. I think I speak for some of us.” Oceiros stated glancing at both Maynard Treicolt and Loske Treicolt before continuing. “That some of us found ourselves blinded by the fight before us, by our duties as Jedi, and in that blinding we failed to glimpse the true visage of the New Imperial Order.”

“All we can do now, all that any of us can do now is set right the wrongs of the past, and attempt to free those who continue to be held in the clutches of any Empire or tyrannical cult that arises. We may be few in number, we may be short of gear and equipment but we can make it work. We will make it work.”

Looking around at their current base Oceiros sighed lightly. “Sadly that also applies to the refreshers.” The Jedi said, hoping to bring a bit of lightheartedness to the gathered group after his run off into a speech.

Sol Stazi | Maynard Treicolt | Allyson Locke | Yula Perl