Dominion The Bonds We Build | THR Dominion of Devaron Hex

[Pillar of Resolve]

Following extensive diplomatic correspondence between the High Republic and the government of Devaron, a Republic delegation has been invited to the world to begin formal discussions regarding closer political, economic, and cultural relations. In response, the High Republic has dispatched senators, Jedi, Republic Defence Force personnel, engineers, physicians, educators, and humanitarian specialists to support local communities while demonstrating the principles upon which the Republic stands.

Throughout the initiative, Republic personnel will work alongside the people of Devaron to restore public infrastructure, expand trade and commerce, provide humanitarian assistance, strengthen public services, and foster cultural exchange. Rather than one of conquest, the mission is one of partnership, seeking to build lasting trust through service, cooperation, and mutual prosperity.

The Republic's arrival, however, comes in the aftermath of its successful campaign against the Crimson Tide Pirate Alliance at Khevaris Station. Though the alliance was dealt a decisive blow, many of its surviving crews and criminal cells have scattered throughout the surrounding systems in an effort to rebuild their fractured network. Intelligence has confirmed that Crimson Tide remnants have established a growing presence on Devaron, targeting relief efforts, trade routes, and critical infrastructure while seeking to exploit the uncertainty surrounding the Republic's arrival.

These developments have left elements within Devaron's government cautious of pursuing closer ties with the High Republic. While recognising the opportunities that partnership presents, many officials fear that openly aligning with the Republic may provoke further retaliation from the Crimson Tide and embroil the planet in an escalating conflict. Earning the confidence of Devaron's leadership will therefore require more than diplomatic negotiation alone; it must be demonstrated through action.

Across the capital, Republic personnel will undertake operations to secure the Devaron Transit Centre. Alongside these efforts, countless opportunities remain for diplomacy, humanitarian service, exploration, and community engagement across the wider world.

The future of Devaron will not be decided solely by treaties or military victories, but by the High Republic's ability to prove that its presence brings lasting security, prosperity, and hope. Every act of service, every community aided, and every Crimson Tide operation dismantled will strengthen the foundations of a partnership capable of enduring long after the mission has concluded.

Strengthen The Republic’s Presence: (Diplomacy)

Following the invitation extended by the government of Devaron, the High Republic has embarked upon a planet-wide initiative to strengthen political, economic, and cultural ties through diplomacy, humanitarian assistance, and public service. Working alongside local authorities and communities, Republic personnel are tasked with restoring infrastructure, expanding trade and commerce, improving public services, and delivering aid to those in need, demonstrating the values upon which the High Republic is founded.

While many within Devaron welcome the opportunities presented by closer cooperation, elements of the planetary government remain cautious following the Republic's recent conflict with the Crimson Tide. Concerned that a formal partnership may invite further retaliation from the pirate alliance, many officials seek reassurance that the Republic can deliver not only prosperity, but lasting security.

Through meaningful cooperation, community engagement, and a steadfast commitment to service, earn the confidence of Devaron's people and leadership alike. By strengthening local institutions, fostering economic growth, and leaving behind tangible improvements to everyday life, lay the foundations for a lasting partnership between Devaron and the High Republic.

Mission Opportunities:

• Support diplomatic negotiations with Devaron's government.
• Deliver humanitarian aid and medical assistance.
• Demonstrate the High Republic's commitment to peace, stability, and shared prosperity.

Protect the People of Devaron: (PVE)

Following the High Republic's victory over the Crimson Tide at Khevaris Station, surviving pirate crews have scattered throughout the surrounding systems in an attempt to rebuild their operations. Intelligence indicates that Crimson Tide remnants have established a presence on Devaron, threatening local communities through piracy, smuggling, and organised crime.

Devaron Transit Centre:

The Devaron Transit Centre serves as the primary transportation and logistics hub of the capital, connecting orbital traffic with the planet's rail networks, cargo terminals, commercial districts, and surrounding settlements. As the central point through which humanitarian aid, Republic personnel, diplomatic delegations, and reconstruction materials are distributed, the facility has become a strategic target for the Crimson Tide.

Seeking to disrupt the High Republic's efforts and undermine public confidence, Crimson Tide raiders have launched attacks against supply convoys, infiltrated cargo terminals, and targeted transport infrastructure in an attempt to cripple relief operations before they can reach the communities that depend upon them.

Mission Opportunities:

• Defend incoming humanitarian shipments and Republic transports.
• Intercept Crimson Tide smugglers and recover stolen supplies.
• Maintain uninterrupted transport operations throughout the Republic initiative.

Bring Your Own Objective: (Optional)

Whether new to Devaron or a familiar visitor, bring your own story to the world and contribute to the wider narrative surrounding the High Republic's mission. Pursue your own goals, develop your character, forge new relationships, or continue existing ones while your journey unfolds alongside the Republic's diplomatic, humanitarian, and security efforts. Whether participating directly in the operation or simply experiencing the changing landscape of Devaron, every story helps bring the world to life and enriches the shared narrative of the Dominion.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

LOCATION: Devaron Transit Centre (Spaceport)
INVENTORY: Jedi Robes | Crossguard Lightsaber | Standard Lightsaber
TAGS: OPEN

​

The Tano-class Jedi Shuttle touched down upon the surface of the Spaceport landing zone with relative ease, hydraulics hissing as the landing struts carried the weight of the transport, engines powering down with a loud whine, thrusters slowing and inevitably falling quiet following post-flight systems checks.
Balun Dashiell had never visited Devaron prior to today, yet where the Jedi Council had need of their Knights and Masters, he was all too happy to assist. It was their purpose after all, to serve the Force and by extension life in which it connected all things.

While the High Republic had been propositioning the Devaronian Government to join them, offering to extend their protection and all the added benefits that came with such a membership of worlds and peoples, there had reportedly been a number of incidents across the Capital City resulting in the death of civilians, every day people going about their once typical lives. Local law enforcement had investigated, and several suspects of interest had opened fire upon them, adding to the fear and rumour of a new criminal organisation on the rise. These rumours were close, but the truth came out in the form of a holonet broadcast claiming responsibility for the attacks and promising more.
The same people who had attacked the Thyferra System, namely Khevaris Space Station, were here, seeking to disrupt the peace, rob and steal, and otherwise deter the people of Devaron from joining the High Republic. After all, a lone world was a much easier target to raid than one united with a much greater military and political presence in the Galaxy.

The Devaron Transit Centre, or commonly referred to as the Capital's Spaceport, was the thoroughfare for commerce, civic infrastructure and tourism. Supply and demand relied on the smooth workings of transportation, with cargo freighters coming to and from the Spaceport, providing a steady flow of credits, products, and people for Devaron. Citizens and visitors of all stature, high and low, entered the Capital City through this port, and pedestrian traffic remained high on any given day. It was an important and popular place to move through, and that was perhaps why it made for a good target by criminals, terrorists and cutthroats.

Taking off from one of the landing zones a couple of bays from where Balun Dashiell and the Jedi Transport had settled, a commercial light freighter had lifted off and started its ascent, heading skyward when the sudden concussive boom echoed overhead, followed by the descent of falling debris engulfed in fire and pluming smoke as it trailed down into the city.
Almost as if on cue, blaster fire sounded from somewhere deeper within the Spaceport, followed by screams and the blaring of an alarm triggered by site staff. Security officers on station rushed to investigate and quell the disturbance, yet traffic control and command were caught up in the panic, scrambling to understand what was happening, how they lost a freighter so violently and who had started shooting within the port. The fear of a terrorist attack spread throughout the populace, and as Balun rushed toward the sounds of persistent blasterfire, those caught in the mayhem ran for every possible exit. Families, business-types, people of all nature and origin. All sharing in the sudden fear for their lives.

Former Mentor: Ala Quin
Jedi Apprentice: Cerys Dyn
Major Faction: The High Republic
Sub-Faction: Jhaessa Prime
Conglomerate: Dashiell Incorporated™
Subsidiary Company: Dashiell Retrofit™​

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Makai Dashiell]

OBJECTIVE BYOO

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Balun Dashiell

LOCATION : ETTI IV

​

Walking through the spaceport, Makai held his comm to his ear, dialing his brother for the second time. Needing a favor, he truly wondered what Balun Dashiell was up to that was so incredibly important beyond answering his calls. Granted it was nothing life or death but what if he was calling regarding Kellan?

"What use is it I hook him up to proprietary Dark-Net technology if he doesn't use it?"

[ It may be time for your brother to acquire a droid like myself Sir. Communication would be easier. ]

"Somehow he would still ignore me Thirty-Seven."

​

 

[Calia Rook]

"Let me get this straight."

Calia's voice was partially amused. But only partially.

"You want me to fly some rinky-dink unarmed shuttle laden with valuable supply aid for the Devaronians," the Captain said, jerking her head backwards toward the starmap. "Which you, somehow, have reason to believe will definitely get jacked by some pirates. And then you propose to fly my ship, my beloved Jammy Bastard, to the place where the pirates will definitely take me, after they for sure don't space me, to wherever their secret hidey-hole is."

She left the map table and went around the corner into the galley, where she grabbed a diet soda from the cooler and cracked it open.

"Are your brains just painted on, Corvis?"

Before the Jedi could get his shorts in a twist, she raised a hand.

"Look at you, pretty boy. Eyelashes out to here, and is that rouge? And you think between the two of us, the pirates are more likely to think I'm some defenseless little damsel. Look at you. What do you think they'd do with you? Sell your farm-girl ass for a carton of Luckies, that's what. I've done time, man, trust me."

This was not, strictly speaking, true. The 'time' she had done was the few minutes Evander himself had her shackled to a chair on Denon. He didn't need to know that, though.

Evander Corvis​

 

[Evander Corvis]

Calia Rook

By this point in time Evander was getting used to the squabbling with Calia. If he had thought she'd be an easy and straightforward companion, he had to think that over again.

But funny enough it made him appreciate her even more.

She made things amusing even when serious things were on the line and Evander realized that was important too. If you were delving into dangerous and dark things, best to have a smile ready, because otherwise it might destroy you even if you somehow won.

"Look-" already about to counter her, but Calia silenced him with a single gesture from her hand.

The next point only made him blink more.

She couldn't be serious. Except it seemed she was exactly that, bloody serious.

"Cally, hey. Have you looked at me? I am way too tall to be considered helpless and have you seen my shoulder width?" From anyone else it might have sounded like bragging, of worse, flirting.

But at this point Calia knew Evander a little bit better.

For instance, the fact that he seemed to be entirely clueless about the effect he could have on certain people that weren't her.

"They will shoot me and then take the cargo, just to be safe, they are never going to take a chance on me! Eyelashes or not."

He shook his head.

"No, look, you are perfect. Sure, you got a sharp tongue, but I assume you can hold it back just a little for the mission. And you have an attractive symmetry in your face, they will definitely not just shoot you."

Was that a compliment? Maybe. Evander wasn't acknowledging it however and tried to move on immediately.

"I can try and find a little hold out blaster though. Something you can hide. If you need to protect yourself. What do you think?"

 

[Damos Rennar]

Sometimes short straws were drawn, and for the Security Council’s presence within the expanding northern borders it had fallen upon Damos to become more of a face than he had ever wanted to be.

As Director of the High Republic’s Military and Intelligence Services, he was often called upon when a firmer hand was needed than one of the senatorial members or diplomats could provide. Devaron was one of those worlds that needed a firmer touch in the eyes of the Republic.

He had petitioned for Aurelian to go. His faith in the Naboo King’s ability to deliver a clear indication of their way of thinking was absolute. Yet here he was amongst the governing councils of Devaron, discussing promises of Republic aid should the pirate threats return.

“We will be able to commit High Republic Defence Fleets to Devaron space until such a time as it is considered safe. We can move the northern line up from Malastare.” He had just finished explaining as much to what he considered his opposite number; the Devaronian War Chief. “Then we can consider the deployment of any clone detachments you deem necessary for the defence of the planet.”

“My concern is not pirates, Director.” The voice of the War Chief annoyed Damos, not that he would ever admit it. The horned man clearly had never wielded a weapon in his life, instead put in his position through power and prestige. “It is this Sith war that you are seemingly allowing to spill over the Republic borders without answer. If we are to be the northern line then I need reassurances that…”

Damos raised a hand. It was firm but polite.

“The war is far from Devaron, and if the Magistrate of the Senate is willing to send his own defence fleet to reinforce your sector then I assure you that you are perfectly safe from Sith raiding fleets.”

“Is that what you told Alderaan?”

Damos gave a frustrated ripple of his fur, a clear indicator that this conversation was not going the way he wanted.

There it was.

For several seconds the Bothan merely stared across the table, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and the consideration of whether retirement might actually have been the wiser career choice.

Where was Aurelian when he needed him?

Or Sibylla.

Damn, he would take bloody Ravion Corvalis right now.

“Alderaan.” He repeated the name quietly, leaning back into his chair. One claw traced absently along the edge of the datapad before he finally gave a grunt. “No.”

The War Chief seemed momentarily taken aback.

“No, that is not what I told Alderaan.” Damos' ears shifted slightly. “What Alderaan was told, what intelligence was available to us at the time and what military resources were positioned to respond are matters currently occupying a considerable amount of my Security Council's time.” His gaze hardened towards the warchief. “So if your intention was to discover whether I find what is happening there acceptable, you may save yourself the effort.” Another ripple ran through his fur and Damos reached forward and pulled the datapad back towards himself, bringing the screen to life with a touch.

“Which is precisely why there is a High Republic Defence Fleet moving north from Malastare. It is precisely why I am sitting here discussing clone deployments with you rather than sending a Senator to offer condolences after the fact.” His eyes flicked briefly across the information before him. “You asked for reassurance, War Chief. I dislike reassurance. Reassurance is something politicians offer when they cannot offer capability.”

The datapad was placed flat upon the table between them presenting a series of maps and numbers.

“I can offer capability.” He looked back towards the Devaronian. “I cannot offer you is a promise that nobody will ever cross your border,but I can make crossing it an extraordinarily poor decision.”

 

[Calia Rook]

"Well boy, I don't know," Calia said, her voice adopting an exaggerated Corellian twang. "You sure do got a purdy mouth."

Her dark eyes lingered on his, and finally she canted her head to one side.

"Don't try to butter me up. I already know I'm prettier than you. I'm just saying, between your covergirl looks and your soft noble hands, if one of us is a candidate to be put into the flesh trade it's definitely you. However..."

This was likely where Evander would know he had won the battle. He had to know that she hadn't given up on the war.

"These pirates aren't said to be known for their discernment and subtlety, so... all right. A woman, shorter, shoulders not quite so broad. Maybe they think I won't give them trouble. Fine." She raised her hands as if to concede the point. "Kex stays with you as co-pilot. To make sure you don't do anything crazy. And if you scratch my ship, Corvis, I swear. There is no Jedi Temple in this universe deep or dark enough to save you."

Evander Corvis​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

BYOO: Engineering/Building/Entertaining Shenanigans
Tags: Open
​

"It was a terrible battle. Fire on both sides, screams and chaos. And there I stood, facing down the monstrous horde, then I reached up to the heavens above, and lightning hit where I was standing!" Elian using his hands and facial expression to depict the scene. "Then I was granted the strength of the gods, and they gifted me with this arm!" Elian held out his arm to show them, and then 'oohs' and 'aahs' came from them, and he laughed as he saw the twinkle in their eyes. "And then i vanquished the enemy before me, and saved the galaxy!"

"You are so brave, and awesome!" One of the children spoke, with awe in her voice.

"Yea, I know." Elian spoke with a big smile, and then was when he heard from behind him the subtle clearing of one's throat. Elian then cleared his throat, and the changed things up. "I mean! You can all be brave to, in your own way. Just keeps your heads up, and be strong!"

"Like you!"

"Yes!, Like me, but in your own way. You all carry strength as well!" Elian was suddenly overtaken by the hugs from the children as he nervously laughed. "Okay, that's enough story time for today. Run along, away with you." Elian spoke with a playful banter, as he watched them run off in laughter and happiness.

Elian stood up and turned to see Caleb. "How was that!?"

"Very well done, young Elian. I would think you would shelve that need for boasting, giving everything that has happened."

Elian shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I set loftier goals for myself."

"Come along, we still have work to do."

Elian nodded and accompanied Caleb as they continued on with their installation of the security arrays across the plaza.

​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

The Chancellor of the High Republic stepped out of a hover transport and onto the streets of Montellian Serat. A host of vehicles had accompanied her and people were already spilling from them with duties to perform. Dominique's duty was to lift her hand and smile for the people. Plans had been laid long before their arrival, so there was little she needed to do personally to ensure things got done. That left more than ample time for her to move among the Devaronians -- to be the face of the Republic, and an ear to those in need. Public Relations were as vital as governmental ties; arguably more so if the people had the steel to force the government's hand.

It also helped Devaron was a Matriarchial society. Dominique might not have literal horns (when not depicted with paint on a wall), but her smile cut the same. She wouldn't back down if one of them stepped out with a tongue in their mouth. The Art of Deflection and persuasion were her weapons in a war of social interactions.

This was but one of several convoys in the capital alone, of course. Detractors would call this an economic invasion designed to buy favoritism of the people. And they weren't wrong. Not because Dominique was literally The Devil, but because what they thought of the Republic mattered.

Dominique had chosen to spearhead one of the humanitarian convoys into the heart of the city, but not its most affluent sector despite what people might expect. Dirty, unwashed masses didn't sicken her. In fact, those sorts of people often had some of the most creative fashions and cultures. Long as they weren't thugs and mafioso believing they owned the streets.

Naturally, those that did not welcome their presence had a few intentions of their own. A small pouch of sulfur cast here or there. Offensive to the olfactory senses to off-worlders. Cute. Dominique's smile, however, was as honed as any of their horns; a sickening scent wasn't going to have her retching off to the side or running back to her transport. She'd have to indulge in a long spa afterward. No one would fault her for that; and if they did she'd have them be in the next wave of personnel visiting Devaron. Actually, Ayumi would welcome the opportunity.

The government was taken by the threat of the Crimson Tide Pirate Alliance, and even a few people no doubt, but those on the street didn't always share the same pressing concern. With a people with such a unique, genetic aesthetic acceptance was no doubt as much a concern as interstellar relations. Face-to-face opportunities were a must. They needed to see Republic personnel were not afraid of them. So, she'd shake hands and take questions, and let the people make up their own mind without the curated holovids.

OPEN​

 

[Muad Dib]

Objective: on his way to #1 before #2 changed his itinerary
Tags: Calia Rook Evander Corvis Balun Dashiell

"Wear a suit." That's what Derek told him. "Look like a politician. Be suave. And for the love of God, don't wear your beskar'gam or your beskad. And that goes for the pistols too!" Sound advice? Perhaps. Was he regretting his decision to listen to his brother? Abso-fething-lutely.

His ship had arrived in system to dock with the space station. The plan was to board a shuttle and then head planetside. Nothing too difficult about that. Just a nice leisurely trip in the shuttle before he once again entered the diplomatic arena. A prospect he did not relish. He was made for battle with sword and pistol. Or a rifle. Hell, he'd take his force-imbued spork. Instead, he was supposed to speak in front of delegates. For what felt like the thousandth time, he questioned the wisdom of accepting the Senator position vacated by Derek.

And then his shuttle exploded when another ship exploded and crashed into it. The detonation launched him backward, off his feet, and through the window of a local pub that catered to dock workers. His charcoal gray suit was now singed by actual charcoal, and glass was in his hair. Screams and shouts echoed in his ears alongside an annoying ringing sound. His hands gripped the bar, and he pulled himself to his feet. Blood dripped from his ears and nose.

"I'll just take that …"

The bartender, a spry older gentleman, leapt over the bar and ran for the exit that once boasted two doors, but now only had one hanging by a single hinge. However, the bottle of whiskey remained on the bar, forgotten in the attack. He cuffed the bottle and pulled the cork with his teeth before he spat it on the debris-littered floor. Several of the patrons groaned from superficial injuries while they sheltered in place beneath tables and booths. He shrugged and tilted the bottle back, taking several long draughts before an errant blaster bolt shattered the bottle. He dove behind the bar as more shots streamed through the shattered window and into the bar.

"Leave your weapons at home, eh Derek. Next time I see you I'm going to pop you right in the mouth …"

It was a sad day when a bar didn't have at least one blaster under its shelves. Instead, all he had to choose from was an ice pick by the ice box and a strange toy chicken that squealed when he picked it up.

"Beggars can't be choosers."

He retrieved his weapons as two pirates entered the establishment and turned toward the far wall where a line of booths ran along its length. That would have been fine except for the dozen patrons cowering beneath the tables. The pirates laughed, with one making a joke as Muad rolled over the bar and landed on the floor, running. The sound of his footsteps caused them to turn.

The first pirate took the icepick directly through his eye and into his brain. Unfortunately, as he fell, the tool was ripped from Muad's hand, which left the rubber, squeaky chicken as his only tool. He swung from his left hip and brought it out in a stroke with his right hand to whip the other pirate across the face.

Some goggles flew from the pirate's head as Muad reversed the trajectory of his arm and brought the chicken back down into the pirate's nose. A loud squeak from the chicken accompanied the blood splatter as Muad whipped his arm down, still holding the chicken, and pushed the blaster rifle down and to his left. Out of alignment with his body, the rifle was momentarily a non-threat. He continued his rotation to the left as he dropped his center of gravity, pivoting on his right leg, and lowering himself into a leg sweep.

His left leg extended and swept the pirate from his feet. With his rotation ended, Muad drove forward and landed on the pirate's chest before he rained down holy hell with his right fist. The squeak of the rubber chicken remarked upon each punch in his clenched fist. After several strikes, he stood and threw the chicken down with a final, long squeak before he drove the heel of his boot into the pirate's throat, crushing his windpipe to the applause of shattering vertebrae.

He stripped off his suit jacket and tossed it to the side before bending down and relieving the dead man of a pistol, which he shoved beneath the belt at the small of his back, and his blaster rifle with two spare power packs dropped into his left pants pocket. His glowing blue eyes looked at the huddled forms, and he nodded back toward the bar.

"Try to find a rear exit. Then run. Away from the sounds of blasters."

The last bit of advice was common sense. However, with civilians in a warzone, common sense seemed to be the first thing to go. As they scurried away, he shouted after their retreating backs.

"Remember, the High Republic was here to protect you!"

The truth-laced propaganda left a sour taste in his mouth. He moved to the swinging door on one hinge and glanced out to see droves of pirates running across the station and strafing innocent civies. A grumble escaped him.

"I may not be good at the run-of-the-mill diplomatic relations. But this feels like aggressive diplomacy. Now that, I can do."

A grin crossed his face, the first expression of humor since heading to the system. He shouldered the blaster rifle and looked down the sights before he squeezed the trigger and dropped another pirate. This, this right here, was going to be fun.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

LOCATION: Devaron Transit Centre (Spaceport)
INVENTORY: Jedi Robes | Crossguard Lightsaber | Standard Lightsaber
TAGS: Makai Dashiell

​

Balun started to pick up the pace, leaving the Jedi Transport behind him, heading down the curved corridor towards the main structure of the Spaceport. Before he had rounded the corner, hearing the sounds of fighting and the sheer terror of those caught in the wake of the attack, Balun's commlink, of all things, started going off.

'Of all the bloody times, ' he thought out of annoyance, silencing the device and instead focusing on the crisis in front of him. Drawing his lightsaber into hand, he pushed forward into a heavy run.

The Transit Hub was a vast indoor area splitting off to numerous docking ports on this side of the port. On any given day, it would be busied with people awaiting the arrival of their ships, or moving to and from the docking yards, coming or going to Devaron. Today, however, the Transit Hub was alight with flashes of blasterfire being flung back and forth between pirates and local security and law enforcement officers trying to fight back.

The Force surged around Balun, drawing his attention ahead, and his instincts kicked in, sensing the impending threat and throwing himself to the ground just as blasterfire showered overhead. He practically crawled behind the cover of a row of seating, catching his breath before peering around the side to spot the ones who had tried to blast him.

His commlink went off again.

"Stars alive, take a hint!" he cussed under his breath, surrendering to the ceaseless ringing and tugging the device free, raising it to eye-level. It was Makai's frequency on the small screen. He activated it, answering the com as the sound of blasterfire continued sailing overtop of his temporary cover; "Sorry brother, I'm sort of caught up in something. Can this wait, by chance? Not to be rude, but I'm getting shot at right now"

Former Mentor: Ala Quin
Jedi Apprentice: Cerys Dyn
Major Faction: The High Republic
Sub-Faction: Jhaessa Prime
Conglomerate: Dashiell Incorporated™
Subsidiary Company: Dashiell Retrofit™​

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Makai Dashiell]

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Balun Dashiell

Considering the length of time it was taking Balun to actually answer, once his brother did answer he would be smack dab in the middle of an debate between himself and Thirty-Seven.

[ Your brother needs to know the real burden of being a Dashiell. There's a rightful place. I can subtly alter his perception and psyche with ease. In one year's time I can have him away from the Jedi and learning salvage. He fell for the Jedi's conditioning, he will fall just as easy for mine. ]

"Thirty-Seven you cannot just change the direction of someone's life."

[ I did with yours Sir. Do you think your charms won over Mistress? I molded you into the vision Mistress Arceneau pined over for years. ]

"You did not. I put in a lot of work to win her over."

[ You did Sir. At my guiding. Without my interference you would still be sleeping on a twin mattress on the floor of a mining vessel.]

"Sorry brother, I'm sort of caught up in something. Can this wait, by chance? Not to be rude, but I'm getting shot at right now"

Verbal sparring with Thirty-Seven came to a sudden halt. Not at the fact that Balun was being shot at - not shocking, he probably made a woman angry - moreso that he answered.

"You're not on Naboo then I suppose?"

[ I told you to just let me go Sir. I would be halfway back by now. ]

"If you're not on Naboo then I don't need you. Best of luck out there."

The half-Galan ended the comm. He thought becoming an older brother meant the younger one would be his built in errand runner. Apparently birth order did not have any bearing in their case.

"You win Thirty-Seven, go ahead and start your trip to Naboo."

[ Seems I am right as usual Sir. ]

 

[Balun Dashiell]

LOCATION: Devaron Transit Centre (Spaceport)
INVENTORY: Jedi Robes | Crossguard Lightsaber | Standard Lightsaber
TAGS: Makai Dashiell | Calia Rook | Muad Dib | OBJ2 Folks

​

Balun swore under his breath as his brother cut the comm-call. He scrambled to clip the commlink back upon his belt before turning side on against the ground and finally igniting his lightsaber in a snap-hiss of orange light.

An offspray of permacrete erupted from the floor around the seating, blasterfire showering the surrounding area as the Jedi Knight rose to his feet, the single hilt, standard in model, whipping around in front of him in a clockwise spin, rolling his wrist while catching one of the blaster bolts and sending it back in the direction of the offenders.

Whatever motivations these pirates had for assaulting the spaceport, they had successfully upped their game from raiding lone starships to organised strikes in one of the busiest locations of the Capital City.

Balun had been present during the raid in the Thyferra System, pirates responsible for the carnage and bloodshed there too, but these shooters were indistinguishable from one another. They didn't wear uniforms like soldiers; they didn't go out of their way to show their allegiances. Only their willingness to cut down anyone and everyone in their path.

Moving as quickly as he could while not sacrificing his defensive capability, Balun continued to deflect incoming blasterfire while making his way to unite with a group of security officers holding their own, blaster rifles mounted across a service desk, giving everything they had to fend off the terror attack.

"Jedi! Back-up's on its way!" one of the officers shouted to Balun as he stopped behind a permacrete pillar not far from their cover. It offered a brief respite, yet the workstation the officers were crouched behind would only hold for so long.

"Fall back and regroup! I'll cover you," Balun yelled back to them, soon stepping back out into the open and reaching out with his free hand, summoning a nearby luggage carrier from the ground and hurling it across the lobby in a bid to get the attackers' attention and give the officers a chance to find a better position.

Former Mentor: Ala Quin
Jedi Apprentice: Cerys Dyn
Major Faction: The High Republic
Sub-Faction: Jhaessa Prime
Conglomerate: Dashiell Incorporated™
Subsidiary Company: Dashiell Retrofit™​

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Muad Dib]

Objective: #2
Tags: Balun Dashiell Calia Rook

His advance through the spaceport left the bodies of pirates he met lying motionless on the ground. The first power pack lay empty and discarded in his wake. While he wasn't entirely sure what the pirates wanted, it was clear they held no regard for the defenseless. And that infuriated Muad. It was one thing to engage and kill enemy combatants. It was a completely different thing to shoot a family fleeing in terror. This was unacceptable for the senator of Siskeen.

During his onslaught on the rear of the pirates, it became clear many of them were heading for a specific point. Unfamiliar with the spaceport, he ducked beside one of the information terminals and his fingers flew across the screen. "You are here", the computer said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I know where I am; where are the pirates going?" The terminal paused before responding. "Your query can not be processed. Please try again."

What the feth …

"Okay, what is farther down from this terminal?" His fingers pulled at the map on the screen. "What is your destination, please?" He grumbled something about the uselessness of technology. "My destination is where people are shooting, and people are dying." The irritation in his voice was loud enough for a pair of pirates jogging along to turn their heads in his direction. Muad popped up, strafing the duo, before ducking down again. "Your query can not be processed. Please try again." To hell with this. He drove the butt into the face of the terminal and watched the screen shatter—stupid computers.

Quickly he ducked low and jogged to where the two pirates lay, where they fell. He swiped another two power packs from one mercenary who carried a replica of the blaster rifle Muad held, before taking an old slugthrower revolver from the second man before tucking it beside the blaster pistol at the small of his back. Several speed loaders for the revolver went into his right pants pocket. Then Muad continued forward, moving from column to booth, to annoying computer terminal, using cover as he closed on the group of pirates firing at a security desk where several people huddled.

Then, what he assumed was a Jedi stepped from behind a column and spun his lightsaber, the blade deflecting blaster bolts as a suitcase went careening into a trio of pirates. They fell, but many more pirates turned their aim at the Jedi as the security personnel scurried away in the turmoil. While Muad carried no great love for the Jedi in general, neither was he going to leave a man alone in the trenches.

The time for sneaky subterfuge was at an end.

He stepped out from behind the stone column and flicked the firing setting on the blaster to full auto. Starting at the ones closest to him, he pulled the trigger and held it as a steady stream of crimson bolts lanced out and into the backs of the attackers. Five fell before others began to notice the new opponent. Muad began side-stepping, the onslaught from his rifle scattering bodies as return fire finally began. Then the power pack was emptied, and he dove to the side where he had been heading, to duck behind some transportable pastry booth.

Shards of melted glass rained down, one slipping beneath the collar of his shirt to burn a trail down his backside. With a curse, he pulled the shirt tail free of his pants before the burning molten glass dropped into his pants and gave him a bad day. He flicked the empty pack from the well of the rifle and slammed in a fresh power cell. The sustainable fire from the pirates ate away at his hiding place, so he dropped to the ground amidst the debris and began firing at the exposed legs he saw. Several tumbled to the ground with screams coming from their faces before Muad readjusted his aim and removed the screams and their faces with well-aimed shots. A bolt ricocheted from the ground and hit his rifle before scorching a burnt path across his neck.

He tossed the ruined rifle away and pulled the pistols from the small of his back. Blaster pistol in his right and slug thrower in his left. He smirked at the madness of the situation before he shouted over the carnage.

"This is Senator Dib of the High Republic. Throw down your weapons, and I'll only shoot you in the face. Continue your attack, and I'll shoot you in much less desirable locations until you eventually die miserably. Any takers?" The renewed attacks on his location seemed apparent enough. "Guess not …"

 

[Atham Harek]

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[REPUBLIC SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND]
ENCRYPTED MISSION BRIEF // EYES ONLY
CLASSIFICATION: AUREK-PRIORITY

Incoming transmission...
Authentication Accepted.
Recipient: Republic Commando Detachment/Devaronian Defense Force Troops
Operation Codename: IRON VICE
Location: Devaron

Mission Status: GREEN
Dropship ETA: THREE MINUTES

VARKO SORN PLANET SIDE
LOCAL ARMS DEALER AND PIRATE WEAPON SUPPLIER
SEEK AND CAPTURE/SEEK AND DESTROY

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Day-time raids always made him nervous. They were loud and violent, chaotic and high-risk. But unexpected, for the most part. The Gunship roared low and fast, stealth drives engaged. Atham looked around the gunship, fixing his forearm armor as they reached the drop zone. The Devaronians he was with were adamant about capturing or killing this man, preferably the former. Varko Sorn was a prolific arms dealer and supplier of goods and services. Weapons, ships, repairs, logistics, maintenance, crew sourcing, slave-trading, fencing. Varko Sorn wasn't pulling the handle of the meatgrinder, but he was handing people to put into it.

The Devaronians wanted him gone, dead. They didn't have the resources to get to him, the intelligence apparatus until the Republic offered to help. Atham himself held a man over a bridge for five minutes until he gave up Varko's location. It was a shame, really. The poor chap jumped right off the bridge after they questioned him.

The dull roar of the gunships engines slowed, and the light inside turned red. Atham raised his eyes and donned his helmet finally, HUD clicking to life and whirring. He checked his comms with his Defense Force counterparts and gave the order to rally, before stuffing the helmet into the dry bag. They were all using slugthrowers, knives, and only two heavy repeaters in case of a prolonged engagement. There were 15 Commandos total, not including Atham, and six Defense Force augments.

Varko's compound was off a shoreline- they'd be swimming their way onto shore. He pushed the heavy floating dry bags of gear towards the sides of the gunship. The doors opened, the Gunship hidden behind an alcove of shoreline rocks and boulders, partially. The stealth drives were engaged, so they didn't fear being detected by enemy radar, what little someone like Varko would have. Atham was first out of the ship, plunging into the warm water feet-first, dipping below the surface. The miniscule armor and underlying suit he was wearing was water-resistant and atmosphere rated, and did an excellent job at repelling water.

He raised his head above the surface, and started to push on the dry-bag, swimming quietly to the shore. Varko Sorn's compound was situated on a peninsula, and the land route and air-insertion route was likely to lead to heavy casualties, damage, and more than likely escape. Varko's weakness was hubris and his reliance that the Defense Force troops did not have the capability-prior to conduct a raid like this, much less a daytime raid. They had a quick swim to shore, a trek up a cliff, and then, by jove, they'd be home for supper and sampling fine local wines and delicacies..

But, Varko was going home either with a bag on his head, or in a bodybag. That much was certain. A contingency failure involved a rather nasty display of firepower with a certain proton torpedo on the entire facility, should things go viciously wrong with the operation. Atham knew it wasn't going to come to that, not with the Commandos at the head of the operation.

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