Dominion The Velusian Solution | GA Dominion of Velusia

[Adhira Chandra]

Aboard the Ananke // Velusia
Objective II: Get to the Records Room
Open

​

Adhira's love for long-haul space flights on large militarized cruisers was well-known around the people she traveled with. Though it was not so much "love" as "hate" and by well-known, everyone did their best to avoid whatever area of the ship she'd made her nest in. Most diplomatic missions led by the elder stateswoman of the Alliance that required extensive travel were typically done is luxury cruisers, diplomatic transports, or ceremonial flagships. The sorts of places where she was sure to have a stateroom, regular meals, and on some occasions a fully stocked bar. The Ananke on the other hand was an older ship, military, and practical.​

As a result, she was sitting in her private room (it still had 2 bunks in it for some reason) in her plain white jumpsuit, glaring at the other side of the wall when the alert flashed overhead. In all honesty, Adhira had a hangover and assumed it was just a drill or something. She leaned back into her bed and buried her head with pillows to dampen the noise. ​

Remarkably, Adhira managed to stay in precisely this position for several minutes until the ship jolted. In truth, it did not simply jolt, it shook violently as the hull slid into the oceans of Velusia and came to a stop. She sat up, alarmed, and followed the overhead lights to a meeting with the ships' command including Jedi and other politicians. It seemed clear from the briefing what her task would eventually be and saw no use in wasting time doing it.​

Near the command center, Adhira gathered a backpack which seemed like dry supplies that would not be too difficult for her old body to carry and produced a bright glowstick to hold aloft as the power was failing in parts of the ship. "I''ll head to the records' room and see if I cant find some trace of whatever contract this company references, it will give us a clearer view of what we're dealing with." With that, the old woman set off down a dark path led by her bright glowing stick.​

 

[Astraea Tagge]

Onboard Ananke >> Velusia
Obj. 2: Help find the records
Focus: Adhira Chandra , OPEN

The Alliance had been heading to Ord Antalaha to make peace with or reign in the crime bosses who had become the de facto leaders of the planet. It was a fairly standard mission for the fledgling nation a fairly standard mission for Astraea too, honestly. She watched the interface in front of her carefully as the commander gave orders to navigators and droids below deck. Astraea stood far out of the way, nibbling on a slate gray supplement bar that was shiny like clay and reviewed information on native crime families.​

​

Astraea could have put herself to sleep reading about Ord Antalaha and in fact, she almost had managed to do that when the crew began yelling frantically about emergency and maneuvers. Then, suddenly, Astraea felt like someone had grabbed her by the stomach and wrenched her backward as the ship fell out of hyperspace. She stood upright and wheeled around to look as a bright blue planet loomed below them.​

​

"Sir, a gravity well has pulled us out of hyperspace near Velusia.... hostile ships detected in orbit..."​

​

"Hostile ships? Patch me through-"​

​

The ship jolted again and the captain announced that they were under attack. Red alerts flashed and orders were given to move to battle stations, but Astraea stayed. They were not going to battle. They were going to land. The Ananke did not set out equipped for air skirmished, they would need to hail the rest of the fleet.​

When Astraea was eventually proven correct - save the part where they hailed the rest of the fleet because their comms were being jammed - she found herself largely standing in the same sport, chewing absently on the last few bits of her supplement bar. It would not take them long to go and dismantle whatever was jamming their signal. Especially not with Astraea there. She had at least taken the time to change into her full compliment of Alliance battle armor and had a large blaster handing from her shoulder.​

​

However, when she was preparing to join the detachment below decks she noticed that Senator Chandra was setting off on her own. Astraea had been assigned to the old woman's security detail a number of times and it seemed a little irresponsible letting her go off on her own. "Uh... Ma'am? Senator!" Astraea jogged a few heavy metallic steps toward the frails old woman.​

​

"Mind if I tag along?" it was the safest way Astraea could think to phrase it. The elderly Balmorran was not fond of company, especially not when she felt forced to tolerate it. Astraea was a little surprised when the Senator consented before heading further into the corridor.​

 

[Naero]

A robed figure stood silently atop an amphibious craft. The small ship's metal hull glistened in the sun, reflecting its warm light onto the man's dark flesh. Both wind and sea raced past the stranger, an ocean spray rising up to meet him as the ship crested one massive wave, the individual droplets of salt-water cooling the Jedi's warm skin. His hair whipped out behind him, crashing left and right from each gust of hot air buffeting his form. He did not speak, nor did he complain, his chocolate eyes locked on a distant shape slowly growing in size. Most would consider the Ananke's sudden landing an unfortunate turn of events. Being pulled from hyperspace over an unintended stop meant many headaches for the Alliance's administrative side of things. For a Jedi, one dedicated to following the Force's omniscient guidance? Velusia just moved higher up the Jedi Master's list of priorities.

"Excuse me, Master Naero," a masculine voice rang out behind the contemplative figure. "We are approaching the given coordinates. ETA five minutes," he paused, eyes returned to the distant point of interest.

"Thank you, Captain Iker. Have we received information regarding our contact?"

"No, sir, unfortunately, we have not. It seems the Queen's request for your Order's assistance is not universally agreed upon. Some have suggested another course of action. Others have publicly condemned her majesty for allowing the New Jedi Order to, quote, meddle in their affairs, end quote," Captain Iker guided their racing vessel up and alongside another titanic wave. This time, he favored gliding around it, rather than taking the swell head-on. Naero nodded at the officer's report and turned away. He chewed at his lip, falling back into silence as he considered the proper course of action. The many rumors surrounding these canneries left a sense of uneasiness on the Jedi, which did not go unnoticed.

"Captain, do you know how long these canneries have functioned?" Naero posed the questions, arms crossed over his chest.

"Many years, sir. I'm willing to bet some have seen use for decades, if not longer."

"Hmmm," the Zabrak stepped down from his perch, opting to remain seated the remainder of the journey. As their ship came to a slow stop at one of the many docks lining its exterior, Naero stepped up onto the sleek durasteel platform. He turned back to Iker, offering the officer both a smile and a nod. "Notify whomever it concerns I have arrived. Return to the Ananke and await further orders, Captain."

"Yes, sir," Iker saluted the Jedi Master before falling back into his seat. He turned the ship about and raced off across the waves once more, bouncing about wildly with each impact with the sea's churning surface.

Master Naero turned about and wandered down the empty dockyard, his dark eyes searching the shadows for someone. No droids came to meet him, nor did any of the missing guard force step forward and identify themselves. From what the Zabrak could tell, there wasn't another sentient being in sight. Slender fingers dipped into his robed sleeves, one resting atop the other as he pressed deeper into the cannery. Each step guided the Jedi Master closer to the source of tension permeating the facility. He kept himself even-footed, continuously shifting his attention from left to right, even looking up and down as if something might burst from beneath the sea. With nothing in the immediate area, he moved to a closed blast door separating him from the rest of the cannery and clicked the terminal resting on the wall. When nothing happened, Naero pressed down on the device again.

"Brilliant," Naero sighed, lifting a hand before flicking his wrist. The blast door screeched as the Jedi Master forced it open, sparks jumping up from where the durasteel scraped against itself. He marched past, a hand taking hold of his lightsaber hilt before returning to his sleeve.

Tris ​

 

[Trevin Neros]

Velusia // Oceanus Inc. Comms Relay Station
Objective: III - Better Down Where It's Wetter
Tags: Gala Geert Din Marren Arash Garshasp

Oh the joys of being a member of an "elite" unit in the military. Submerged, underwater, with weapons he was most certainly unfamiliar with. He had been assured that it would fire just the same as on land but he had been assured of many things in his life by the Galactic Alliance Defense Force. How he would see the galaxy and be an freedom fighter for all those who needed in. In reality, he was a killing machine, but really he wasn't doing all that much complaining. Deep in his heart of hearts, he enjoyed it, and he only feigned dissatisfaction so that people around him did not think he was a psychopath. The thrill of combat.... it was something that could not be replicated. The more he did missions as a GADF Marine the more he pushed himself. Eventually, he would go to far, and in an instant Trevin Neros would be no more. That thought should scare him, but it did not, there was an excitement to the end. He always skipped to the end of books because he could not wait to find out what happened. Maybe this was his version of skipping to the end of the book? ( OOC: Holy paragraph nightmare, Batman!)

When the callout about something on the blip rang in his ears, he checked his scanners, and he instinctively went to prep Drave and Lilst only to realize they were not with him on this mission. A tinge of anxiety washed over him that he quickly pushed away. He had come to enjoy the comfort of the two men and they were a point of familiarity to him and now that they were not on the mission with him he felt as if he was without his weapon. Ironically.... he was without HIS weapon. He had this fabulous USD, underwater shooting device, which was drastically less comforting than his carbine.

As his eyes strained to see anything moving, he realized how quiet it was, the only sound he could hear was his breathing inside of his helmet. He breathed too loudly, ugh, was that what people heard when they were near him? Something caught his eyes and quickly he realized what it was. "INCOMING!" He shouted over the comms as multiple shots were fired in their direction. Using the thrusters, he maneuvered his way above the shots and he strained his eyes to see a few aqua droids up ahead of them. "Right there!" He shouted as he pinged them on his HUD so that everyone else would know their location before he aimed and took fire.

 

[Yula Perl]

“Amea, huh.” Yula frowned in an appreciative way, taking a sip of her drink as she rolled the name over in her mind. “Amea. Amea.” She nodded, as if in approval of Stacy’s given name. Aliases weren’t uncommon at all in the Outer Rim, and certainly were in the galaxy at large, depending on where you were and who you were.

She listened to Amea expand on her involvement with the Galactic Alliance, which turned out to be a bit different than what Yula had imagined.

“I’d like that, Amea.” The name sounded odd on her lips, but not necessarily in a bad way. Yula gave her an almost sleazy grin, one corner of her lips more upturned than the other as she indulged in her cocktail again. “I’ve heard they were friendly with, you know, our types.” The Zeltron gestured between herself and Amea, as if to indicate their status as spacers. “The ‘Rim is good and all, but I know there’s more action out here in terms of galactic events.” It didn’t mean that her loyalty had shifted from the Outer Planets Alliance—and it wouldn’t any time soon—but Yula was gradually becoming invested in the happenings of the galaxy beyond the space she was familiar with.

“The Alliance folk are friendly with the ‘Rim folk, trade agreements and such.” Yula swirled her drink thoughtfully, watching the little cherry in the glass go round and round, bobbing beneath the gradient of fruity liquid with every motion. “That, and…well, I kind of want to be more like ma. Just a little.” She grinned sheepishly. “Not as a Jedi, mind you, just more involved. Expand my work further than just the Rim.” A thought struck her. “You ever met my ma, Amea?”

Amea Virou

 

[Amea Virou]

Yula Perl

The panic disappeared as time passed and the initial surprise mellowed out into a merely uncomfortable fidget against the bottle of Amea’s beer. Her thumb wandered up and down as if to stroke it like a piece of felt between her index finger and thumb, but it kept the anxiety at bay as they spoke. As Yula grinned, Amea disappeared in her fantasy for a second but was then quickly pulled back as the Zeltron woman continued to explain why she was here.

It wasn’t unusual these days to find smugglers that usually operated in the OPA territories to seek a beneficial trade arrangement with Alliance-based firms. Velusia had become a bit of a meeting spot in the last few days for it almost. Take a right off the Parlemian Trade Route once you reached Pantolomin and you were there. It wasn’t exactly on the lane, but that made it all the more obscure, a place that people sought out with ease if they knew to go there.

“The Core is still the core in terms of posh and prancing morons, but yeah. You’re not wrong.” Amea chuckled and took a sip from her beer. A sip, not a chug.

In a way it was heartwarming to see someone admit they wanted to be more like their parents. Amea had absolutely no idea who hers were, but the idea — from what she understood — was that generally people wanted to be nothing like their parental figures. The fact that Yula’s mother was a Jedi no less surprised Amea even further.

Naturally as Yula asked if Amea had met her mother, her eyes quickly shifted away from the Zeltron.

“I, uh… I don’t know.” Amea admitted and looked down at her beer, eyes latching on to the thumb that absent-mindedly stroked up and down along the neck for comfort. “She sounds amazing, though.” Eyes back up on Yula. “What about your father? Does he factor into this at all, or… ?”

 

[Gala Geert]

Objective III // Velusia // Underwater
Din Marren // Trevin Neros // Arash Garshasp ​

Great –– her suspicions had been confirmed by the rest of the crew. She'd partly hoped her scanners had been faulty, only for the sake of self-preservation in uncharted waters.

Turned out navigating with repulsors underwater wasn't that too different than cutting through the air with a jetpack. Compensation for resistance and weight still had to be calculated. Her buoyancy was still a factor, and she bubbled awkwardly for a handful of desperate seconds when the first distressed call crackled over the team's comms. It followed by a surprisingly close shot that seared over her right shoulder. Barely missing one of the umbilicals that connected to her air supply.

The contract-based operative-turned-Sergeant grit her teeth and gave a jerk of her wrist to ensure the USD she was supposed to fire was ready to go.

<Hostiles engaging. Everyone form up and press on. We're not in our element here, but don't let them know that. We don't have time for this.>

The commando to her left targeted the opposition and returned fire; the location of their enemy lighting up in the networked HUDs. It would work as cover fire enough to move forward, pressing toward their target. She followed the suggestion and pressed against the release. It took milliseconds for the commanding action to cue the spark of plasma to erupt from the weapon's barrel. The kickback was less than on the surface, and she leaned into it with a kick that pushed her forward through the water. Ever closer to the reported coordinates and through the drenched light fight.

<Closing in...Agh!>

A shot from the opposition pierced through her thigh. A cloud of red blossomed around her in a surprisingly neat trail. The crimson cloud released into the depths and dissipated.

<Oh for Kriff's sake. I'm hit -- no way to hide that down here.> The polluted water was a tattletale. <We keep going.>

 

[Din Marren]

Velusia // Oceanus Inc. Comms Relay Station
Objective: III - Better Down Where It's Wetter
Equipment: See bio. (Assets)
Tags: Gala Geert Trevin Neros Arash Garshasp

The simulations had trained the Caridan for the misery of underwater warfare, though he'd done well to avoid it until now. He was used to being locked up in a heavy suit, so the movements were second nature to him. The ability to maneuver in three-dimensions was similar enough to void-combat to be familiar, but having some resistance was a notable difference -- no stopping or spinning on a dime, or indefinite drifting.

The worst part? Visibility. Staring down into the shadowed depths, knowing anything could be lurking just beyond the edge of the light, evoked feelings of dread and helplessness. Din always did hate the ocean.

His heart skips a beat when first bolt streaks passed them from the darkness, but his trained focus hones into the situation almost immediately after. The propulsion bulbs on his oxygen pack and calf armour rotate in their sockets and activate, throwing the commando into an evasive spiral, narrowly dodging a line of blue bolts that had been fired in his direction.

<<Battle droids,>> he confirms over their comms, spotting the sleek silhouette of an aqua droid repositioning itself in the depths, <<We've got no cover, so keep yourselves moving!>>

The jets activate once more, throwing him downward and then into a barrel roll to the right. As he comes to a stop, he lines the barrel of his USD with a marked target on his HUD beyond his own line of sight. A line of plasma discharges, launching forward into the murky abyss below. A flash of light confirms a hit, with flashes of blue light outlining the convulsing form of the malfunctioning aqua droid.

<<One down,>> Din jolts to his left as another shot zips by him, close enough to see the thin layer of steam surrounding the small bolt of plasma as it moves through the water.

>>...I'm hit...<<​

The announcement steals the Caridan's attention. He twists his body, looking behind him to where the Mirialan's IFV marker is noted on his scanners. Din's jaw clenches when he sees the trail of blood behind her.

<<Get that sealed, Gladio! Too much water and you'll be detouring to the ocean floor.>> bubbles erupt behind him as his thrusters launch him toward the contracted commando, <<I'll cover you!>>

 

[Tris]

Naero​

With the guards taking a nap in a cargo container and her fish safely unloaded and rotting in the cannery's holding instead of her ship she should have just left. Just...Blasted her way out of the hangar and flown up through the water. GeeGee felt it prudent to remind her that they were far too deep for her the Coub to survive flight up. Along with the potential catastrophic engine failure in the initial surge of water as the vessel was not technically rated for amphibious activities. Of course, the lift controls that would move her ship through a long lift to the surface weren't accessible in their holding area either.

All the better for her. She didn't know what it was, but something was drawing her here, rather she knew what was drawing her but she had no idea what the Force wished of her in this place. Velucia reminded her of her species' homeworld. She'd visited once as a Jedi padawan and ever since she'd felt a deeper connection to the Force whenever she visited water worlds. She felt stronger, faster, and felt as though she could see exactly where she needed to be. On this world, however, as she wandered the pristine, almost clinical walkways she felt lost. It was as she was mulling these thoughts over in her head when she turned a corner and spotted the Jedi. Zabrak with abnormally large cranial horns and raven black hair that tumbled down past his shoulders. She flinched and fell back behind the corner. She knew they had been on planet and that they were on their way here but she really, really didn't want to get involved with them. Despite her best efforts though, it seemed that whenever it had a chance, the Force dropped her at the feet of one of the robbed crusaders.

"By the scales of my ancestors," she muttered. To make it worse, this one felt powerful, exceptionally so. He was like a beacon in the Force...A Jedi Master?

 

[Gala Geert]

Objective III // Velusia // Underwater
Din Marren // Trevin Neros // Arash Garshasp ​

In the containment of the helmet's dome, the mirialan grimaced hotly. She hadn't expected the wound to sting, but it did. There was reason to the squadron's overseer's command, and she nodded once. A physical representation of unspoken affirmation. The red cloud gathering around her obscured her vision while she lifted her leg closer to her wrist; loosely, her gun-hand gestured through the current to cut through the collection of red.

From a nozzle in the armour, a high-energy absorbing foam that looked like whipped cream but formed an energy barrier that operated as a temporary stop. Bacta was baked into its construction, and the little medical particles worked quickly within their containment to weave the fractured green skin back together.

The underwater light fight didn't stop. With Din's cover, Gala's precious moments to administer medical attention to herself meant she was unscathed, but it wasn't something they could afford to keep up. His looping back to umbrella her had cost them precious seconds in the advance. She made a fist to confirm her task was complete, another non-verbal way to communicate in this new environment.

"Thanks Lieutenant."

Mooching as much as the cover as possible, she stole a glance to their depth gauge. Even with the temporary break, they'd descended more. Light was starting to disappear and their depth gauges were noticeably increasing, as well as the toxicity levels and pressures on their environment readouts. The distance marker to their target was perhaps the only number on the HUD that was decreasing.

A shot from over her shoulder landed on the premier opposition that had cut dangerously close to the cluster of commandos. It's metallic frame crumpling in on itself, explosions and blossoms of fire contesting with the watery pressures and being consumed by the void before they could spark into something more of a spectacle. Lifelessly, the corpse of the attack droid drifted away from the scene. There were still two more on Gala's scope. With a kick, she reoriented her direction to cut forward, keeping her arms close to her side to be narrower. A stark contrast to the wide-shouldered opponents up ahead. Sharp rolls to the left and right made her more like an arrowhead than a humanoid.

The singular cannon arm of their opponents took no breaks, angry streaks cutting through the waters toward the collection of commandos.

When Gala was at a distance that was near enough, just short of being able to take out her swords, she re-levelled her blaster and pressed thee trigger; keeping her eyes focused on the wide head of the aqua droid.

 

[Trevin Neros]

Velusia // Oceanus Inc. Comms Relay Station
Objective: III - Better Down Where It's Wetter
Tags: Gala Geert Din Marren Arash Garshasp

The Sargent was out of his element as he fired back at the droids without the use of cover. The movement in the water helped him to dodge around a lot of the shots, all at the last second, something inside of him being guided so that he was not taken by the barrage of fire. This came at a cost, however, as he could not aim properly. Most of his focus was spent swimming around and avoiding being domed by a fatal shot to the head.

He watched as Gala Geert was wounded but was able to finesse around and get closer to the droids. She then skillfully popped the head of one and he could not help but admire her agility. It was when he was around other specialized members of the Galactic Alliance that he realized he was woefully behind the bell curve when it came to skill. Sure, he was an okay shot, but his claim to fame was being reckless and coming up with ridiculous solutions to situations. But, underwater with no cover, outside of finding a plug at the bottom of the ocean that he could pull out to drain it, there was not much he could do.

Din Marren and Gala Geert were taking more fire as the droids realized they were just wasting ammo shooting at him, and because of it, they were doing more damage. So when he was finally able to hit a few he celebrated with a fist pump before his alarms starting going off on his HUD. Panic began to sink in as he reached back and realize that the back of his armor had been shot, and worse than that, it hit the airflow to his helmet. He reached his hand back to see if he could get it back into place but the panic was beginning to set in.

"Help!" Trevin said, desperation beginning to fill his voice, realizing the danger of the situation. He really hoped they could take out the rest of the droids but he also really hoped they were getting closer to their objective. He did not have a whole lot of oxygen left.

 

[Arash Garshasp]

Arash Garshasp, Stellar Centurion
Location: Velusia, Crash Site
Objective Three: Better Down Where It's Wetter

Spoiler: Equipment

VDS-02 “Bulwark” - Pattern Military Mobility Shield
VCS-01 “Aspis” Pattern Combat Shield
VW-03 Mk II “Apollo” - Pattern Solarized Disruptor Pistol
TTH/TPV-001 “Xiphos” - Pattern Plasmatic Vibrosword
VCP-01 "Hoplon" - Pattern Combat Powersuit

​

Their scans proved correct in that enemies were near them, already attacking, Arash swam quickly to close the distance between the enemy and himself. This reminded him of space combat, where there was little to no cover and the victor often came from the one who kept attacking. So, seize the initiative as they say. Arash pushed his equipment further and relying on his armour, the young Thyrsian pushed ahead into the oncoming fire of the enemy.

Pressing forward Arash finally recognized his opponents as droids, kicking on the turbines to greater speeds, he swung his Xipho blade into the droid’s arm joints. Movement was far more sluggish than Arash was comfortable with, even with his suit’s hydraulics working overtime to provide the needed strength to puncture through the droid.

Blaster fire intensified as Arash finished off the droid in front of him, his armour continued to provide sufficient protection. But let’s not test the limit. He quickly brought up his power-shield up to cover the center of his body, absorbing the majority of the blaster fire. Arash pushed ahead and kept an eye on his HUD’s scanners, he could draw the majority of the fire from the droids, but being outflanked was not ideal. Keeping that thought, Arash continued to drive himself quickly to the next droid,

Underwater or not, Arash knew if no cover could be found, best to provide his own special type of cover. Attack.

Arash continued to propel himself forward, his shield blocking the brunt of the initial burst of blaster fire, and trusting in his armour to absorb the rest. Crashing through into the droid Arash thrust his blade deep into the droid, tearing through its gears and joints before swinging the broken droid around to absorb more of the incoming fire. Ever conscious of the fact his armour warned of a dangerous sign of weakening integrity.

The increase of pressure as they dove deeper added to the strain, but Arash pressed onward regardless. He pushed the turbines in his suits to its max, almost as if he was jettisoned, Arash continued his next charge to the battle droid.

A cry for help broke his attention as Arash nearly turned his head around but a blaster smashing into his shield brought his attention to his current enemy droid. Help will arrive once we reach the station.

| Gala Geert | Din Marren | Trevin Neros |

 

[Bernard of Arca]

BYOO
Velusia


A splash indicated another body had dropped into the water. Bernard grimaced. The sound carried with it a bad connotation for the Padawan. He peered out across the endless blue just beyond the railing, thrown off balance in his thoughts by the splash.

"Do you plan on actually giving me a hand with these?" A voice called from behind.

Bernard glanced in the direction, taking in the scene of Sarn wrestling with the weight of a large duffel bag.

"Certainly, it's just," he glanced back down at the water, saw a Gran floating there and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I require a moment to gather my thoughts. The nature of this matter still has me shaken."

The Nikto scoffed and rolled his eyes, still trying to get the duffel bag over his shoulder.

"You were the one who called me about this mess. Why you'd ever trade in the favour from Caamas for this, I'll never know, but hey, a bit of hard labour's worth the sun," he glanced towards the ship's recreational area "and the view."

It was Bernard's turn to roll his eyes. "It was vital to conclude this matter in a reliable fashion. That is why it had to be you, and given the nature of this mess, I had to make sure you'd accept."

"Whatever you say, Snowcloak," Sarn replied. He had given up on getting the bag over his shoulders, seeing little chance of any aid from his Padawan in crime, and had now resorted to dragging it towards the railing. "You know, given your recent, err, bad moods, I think this'll do you a lot of good, what, with all the restrictions placed on what you Jedi can and cannot do after all that Senate drama."

Bernard glanced back to Sarn, giving the man a critical look, but let it soften after the idea had settled for a second.

"You might be right. They certainly haven't been easy on us," he sighed in resignation and leaned forward on the railing again. The ocean's water was crystal clear, aside from a few figures floating idly, soon to be a couple more. The horizon drew his eyes again and he began to mull over a couple thoughts again.

Sarn grinned as he hoisted the bag onto the railing next to Bernard. "'Course I am," he grunted. With some effort, he pushed the bag over the edge and watched it splash into the water below where it sunk immediately, slowly fading into the darker blue far below. The Nikto dusted off his hands and looked to his friend who had become lost in contemplation. "You know, dwelling on those Jedi Force mysteries you're hung up on all the time won't get this over with any sooner than if you were helping me."

Bernard turned his head in the palm of his hand to look at the Nikto. "Right. My apologies," he pushed himself off from the railing and turned around, towards the wooden door that led back into the facility. Up to this point, Sarn had taken care of all the work. Tracking down their target, scoping out the place, putting together their plan of attack. He felt guilt seep in over the fact he'd mostly been sitting out on the deck staring out over the endless oceans of Velusia all glum and melancholy.

"I guess we should be getting on with this. My apologies again for all the delay."

The Nikto cocked his head and lightly jabbed Bernard's shoulder. "Stop it with the apologies, man. Where's that vengeful spirit blazing behind that unfaltering demeanour of heroism unable to be deterred from delivering divine justice?"

Bernard paused at this and furrowed his brows.

"Oddly dramatic way of putting it."

Sarn shrugged. "It's that Jedi holo-fiction rubbing off."

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

OBJECTIVE II

When the call sounded for Representatives of the Alliance Senate to be dispatched to the distant world of Ord Antalaha, the Republic Engineering Corporation saw fit to send along one of their Corporate Envoys. It was their intent to expand their operations into the System, and sought to gauge the Local Populace’s temperature in such an endeavour. Sure, it would offer the people another method of legalized employment, but there were some worlds that didn’t appreciate foreign companies moving in - and setting up shop. Or, there were other Corporate investments that weren’t registered that would’ve interfered with their efforts. So, in actuality, those Envoy’s would serve a two-fold purpose.

However, it seemed that someone decided that the GSS Ananke, and the Republic Engineering Representatives shouldn’t reach their intended destination. Instead, through unknown means - at least to the first responders - the Diplomatic Vessel was brought down on the world of Velusia. There was likely more that was a part of the situation that led to the ship being disabled and brought down, however, the Corporation only cared about the rescue and recovery of the stranded assets - if there were any survivors. To that end, they initially sought out the services of the Sun Guard. However, they weren’t able to allocate any of their assets to assist with the Corporation’s request.

So, Republic Engineering turned elsewhere, as this was a time-sensitive matter.

That was how Rynn Vizsla found himself in the employ of the Republic Engineering Corporation as an Independent Contractor. He was charged with tracking down the GSS Ananke, and recovering whatever assets that could be found - and secured within his vessel. With those thoughts in hand, the Mandalorian pulled back on the level; disengaging his starship’s hyperdrive motivators and forcing the Craft back into realspace. As the swirling azure tunnel faded into a bespeckled canvas of night, the Concordian tilted his head towards his Ship’s sensors - seeking to divine the location of the downed Senatorial vessel.

As the man was provided with last known coordinates of the Ananke, it wasn’t hard to determine a projected trajectory. With the lack of spatial debris, Rynn assumed that the vessel was relatively intact by the time it impacted the surface. What happened afterwards would’ve been entirely left up to chance. There was nothing on the scopes, meaning that it was likely that whatever tore the Ananke from hyperspace - and from orbit - was long gone now, having completed their assigned tasks. Was it safe? Who knew. But, Mandalorians - Scions of the True Path - never played it safe. They didn’t become Legend by sitting around and waiting for an opportunity to arise.

Neither would he. As the Ion Drives took over, Rynn guided his Starship towards the surface and towards the uncertainties of the future.

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

OBJECTIVE II

Once the Patrol Craft had breached the upper stratosphere of Velusia, Rynn extinguished the Ion drives and allowed the Repulsorlift engines to take hold. The near silent whine of the turbofans echoed through the emptiness of the Starship, offering a small measure of comfort to the Mandalorian Hunter. Had he inherited an older vessel, it was likely that the turbofans wouldn’t have activated, and the spacecraft would have plummeted to the surface within him strapped inside. A grisly end, to be sure, and one that Rynn would only wish upon his greatest of enemies.

Pushing aside such macabre notions, the Mandalorian guided his Patrol Craft towards the Ocean-bound surface, and the waypoint that his Starship’s computer generated - regarding the Ananke’s last known position. As the nameless vessel pierced through the cloud covering, Rynn’s helmet shrouded eyes bore witness to the devastation that wracked the Alliance’s Diplomatic vessel. Billowing tails of smoke rose from the aft sections of the Alliance Starship, with a majority of the forward sections submerged under water. If there were any survivors, it was likely that they moved their way towards the stern.

Either seeking to escape their drowning fate, or to await rescue.

As his sensors didn’t pick up wailing, and flailing Senators standing aboard the downed starship, Rynn believed that they were trapped below, and awaited their demise. He sighed then, and guided his vessel closer. When the Starship was within range, the Mandalorian activated the Patrol Craft’s automatic functionality, and roused himself from the Commander’s chair. He turned about, and ventured deeper into his vessel - stopping only to claim his weapons from the sealed armoury cabinet. Once bearing his rifle, and several other accoutrements, Rynn palmed the access terminal nearby.

The sidedoor of the Patrol Craft yawned open, exposing the Mandalorian and the interior of his ship to the oceanic atmosphere. While his suit was wholly-sealed, and vacuum-rated, there was a tinge of salt that speared through his suit’s filtration systems. It was a pleasant sensation, as the man had been smelling nothing more than recycled atmosphere and expiring filters for what seemed like ages. As the ship drifted closer to the downed Alliance vessel, Rynn cleared his mind of all distractions and stepped off the extended platform that protruded from his ship. He fell for a brief moment before his boots kissed the Ananke’s exterior hull.

Activating his magnetic soles with a succession of coded blinks, Rynn managed to fight against the subtle pull of gravity that sought to yank him into the sprawling ocean. With his feet planted on the Ananke, the Mandalorian began to work his way down towards the submerged section of the Starship. His aural amplifiers sought to dampen the sound of the thundering clunks, as his metal-laced boots smashed against the welded greebles, and hull plating. Who knew what kind of attention his path would draw - but all that Rynn cared about in the end, was that he was ready for whatever might rear its ugly head.

Once he neared an exterior access hatch, Rynn tinkered with the setting on his wrist laser and used the concentrated beam as an improvised fusion cutter. As the beam stabilized, the Mandalorian set to work.

 

[Gala Geert]

Objective III // Velusia // Underwater
Din Marren // Trevin Neros // Arash Garshasp ​

The head erupted and popped off the shoulders of the droid, sweeping away gently in the lackadaisical current. A grin cracked her lips, and Gala turned around to thumbs up the rest of the swimming commandos. Arash Garshasp was already on his way, persevering through the darkness to get to the objective. Good boy.

"Help!"

Wow they were really, truly terrible underwater. For half a second, when the armoured droid got taken out, Gala believed they were going to make an advance, and get further on their objective rather than floundering helplessly out of their element. Their time was running out, and Trevin's even moreso.

A string of unsavoury words passed through the comms from her emerald lips and she grimmaced, kicking in the direction of Trevin. She might have just left him there, if Din hadn't just...helped cover her.

<Okay, goon.> Gala murmured, hovering near the soldier with the depleting oxygen tank. She didn't move for a few seconds, peering around his suit to see if she could detect the source of his panic. A rogue umbilical seemed to be the root of the issue. Reaching out, she deftly felt through the gloves to try and wrangle the chord stuck in the current. It took a bit of concentration before she was able to pop it back in place. Then she snapped the heel of her hand against the roof of Trevin's bonnet.

<Try and keep everything all together. We're almost there.>

 

[Bernard of Arca]

Velusia
BYOO


The anachronistic design of the ship corridors had a charming quality, which played a large part in realizing its shroud of verisimilitude. The lower parts of the corridor walls bore a synthetic wood painted white, which cut off just above knee-height. There, a smooth red coat of paint covered durasteel plates. Thin white pillars parted the red every couple of steps. The ceiling trim shone with the same cover as the wood below but came embroidered with aquatic designs.

It all felt a bit tacky, but Bernard didn't mind. He'd started studying the carvings on the ceiling trim to occupy his thoughts, looking for some pattern or greater cultural significance to the Velusian people. So far, with little success.

"We're here," Sarn said.

He took position next to a set of wide double doors and took a glance through the thick durasteel windows set into the wood. Bernard stepped up behind him.

"Empty," the Marshal whispered to Bernard.

Sarn pushed the door and disappeared into the room beyond in one smooth motion. A quiet whine sounded as the door's hinge protested, but his entry was otherwise silent.

The Marshal's ability to get into places unnoticed still baffled Bernard. A Jedi had the Force to augment their dexterity and grace, but Sarn made it look effortless each time without such aid. He followed behind the Marshal, wondering how much of that he'd picked up during the Deputy training course.

The room was stuffy and baking. Rows upon rows of knick-knacks, souvenirs, and memorabilia crammed the vessel's gift shop. Fish of all shapes and sizes, important Velusian historical figures, chiefly among them a swashbuckling adventurer in a flamboyant orange-red overcoat, and colourful native chomong decorations cluttered the shelves or hovered on small display cases. There was barely a spot that didn't have something for tourists to spend their money.

The colourful array was a little overwhelming at first sight, and the heat radiation only made everything glow even brighter. Bernard had to squint to avoid his eyes aching as he pushed through the room toward Sarn.

"This place is disastrous," the padawan said to his companion.

"Have you seen the shops back on Coruscant? Depending on your spaceport you're practically drowning in garbage. This is mild by comparison," the Marshal replied. He was fishing through an array of garments tucked away in a hidden corner in the room's far back.

"The heat's not helping."

"Oh yeah, the x-ray thing," Sarn waved a finger in Bernard's general direction as he spoke, still combing through the array, giving each one a cursory glance. "Must suck."

"Hyper advanced electromagnetic wave-perception cortex broadening the visible spectra into the human-imperceptible infrared."

"Yeah," his finger tapped the hanger of a garment that fulfilled some criteria, "that," and he pulled it free. He held a lime button-up shirt with kitschy furred snake patterns that covered it front to back. It looked exactly like something from a Hutt Oasis Resort on Tatooine. Sarn shoved it towards Bernard.

"Velusia's famous predator. Figured it fit with the whole," he gestured vaguely, "Arkanian dragon thing you got going on."

Bernard's expression barely shifted. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his muscles tensed, almost imperceptibly to the eye untrained in the Arkanian's idiosyncratic displays of emotion.

He wasn't amused.

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

OBJECTIVE II

As the concentrated beam of plasma flickered out, the secured hatch sprang open to reveal the darkness that waited beyond. Rynn let out a disapproving sigh. He expected that the spinal corridor before him would have at least been lit by emergency lighting. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. With a shake of his head and a clear mind, the Mandalorian activated his Helmet’s low-light filter with an encoded blink command. Once the path forward was revealed, bathing the surroundings in a soft, ethereal green, Rynn hastily attached his magnetic grappling hook to the Starship’s hull and began lowering himself in.

Hand over hand, the Mandalorian descended into the heart of the Diplomatic Vessel. During his downward spiral, Rynn’s head swept from side to side, checking his corners like his Father taught him. There was a high chance that survivors were still aboard the Ananke. However, there was an even higher chance that they wouldn’t take kindly to a heavily armed, and armoured Mandalorian in their midst. Especially after having survived a crash-landing on a strange planet. They could see him as their Destroyer, rather than their contracted Saviour, which would see blood being spilled.

Not wanting that eventuality to come to pass, Rynn was taking the cautionary and measured approach. His weapons were holstered, and the man made sure to announce himself before opening every access hatch he found. Thankfully, the man wasn’t subjected to a surprise attack after finding his first pair of survivors. They knew that they weren’t in a position to fight against their supposed Destroyer, but after having explained the situation - that he was hired to help them and had a ship nearby - their fears partially abated. Naturally, they still didn’t trust the Mandalorian, but that didn’t surprise Rynn at all.

They didn’t know him, nor did he know them. All that mattered was that the Mandalorian had a job to do, and in saving them - He was one step closer towards getting paid.

However, there was just one problem. Rynn only had one grappling hook, and that was the very thing that was allowing him to keep his footing whilst he descended into the Ananke. He left another disapproving sigh then, as the Couple began teetering on the verge of panic. “Look,” Rynn said with hints of frustration bleeding into his tone. “I’m going to detach this grappling hook from my gauntlet. It’ll allow the both of you to climb to the surface. My ship is nearby and will pick you up once you make it onto the outer hull.”

One of the two survivors nodded, while the other began to hyperventilate. They weren’t strong climbers, and the access hatch was several metres beyond their physical limits. Go figure, Rynn mused whilst rolling his eyes, Politicians were all bark and no bite. “Alright, fine. I’ll call my ship and it’ll winch down a harness to pull you up. Sadly, it’ll have to be one at a time, but you won’t have to climb - and I can continue finding other survivors.”

“There are others?” the Survivor on the verge of a panic attack asked.

“Not that I’ve come across,” Rynn replied with a shake of his head. “So far, you two are the first. But, there are still more decks to check, and the Ananke is a big ship. I’m sure I’ll run across more of you by the time the Alliance gets here.”

“When might that be?” the Other Survivor asked.

Rynn shrugged.

“I have no idea. Your Senate knows something’s up, but their assets are tied up elsewhere. Might be a few hours, or it might be a few days. Who knows? Either way, the more time I waste, the more survivors I might not come across. So, wait here until that harness comes down, and then help yourself to whatever rations are in my stores.”

“Why are you helping us?”

Rynn stopped, placing a hand against the frame of the access hatch.​

“Credits, mostly. But, to tell you the truth? It’s because I’m a Mandalorian, not a Monster, and my honour demands it.”

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

OBJECTIVE II

Rynn didn’t wait for his Ship’s harness to descend, after having gone out of his way to beckon his Starship to approach the sinking Ananke - and observe his commands. Instead, the Mandalorian degaussed the magnetic plating his grappling hook, and yanked the Fibrecord. He waited for a moment, as the weighted head banged about the spinal corridor as it plummeted, before activating it’s recollection command. His vambrace whirred silently, as the Fibrecord was molecularly compressed and drawn back into its metallic housing. As the weighted metallic head impacted the exterior housing, Rynn lifted his arm and pointed his vambrace towards a structurally sound portion of the room. A place where his weighted frame would be supported, and where the Fibrecord wouldn’t snag.

Once it was found, Rynn tensed his fist and dropped his wrist. Through the Armour’s integrated systems, the encoded blink-commands, and the activation through his physical action, the Fibrecord was catapulted from the launcher. The weighted head wrapped around a sturdy selection of pipes, before magnetically adhering to a nearby column. The Mandalorian tested the connection, to ensure it was secure. Satisfied, he stepped off the platform and began rappelling towards the levels below. As before, the man checked his corners and made sure that he was loud enough whenever entering a room - forecasting his intentions to any and all that possibly dwelled within.

During his descent further into the Ananke, Rynn came across several more groups of survivors. Each ranging from a single occupant, to groups of scared passengers. The former proved to be the easiest to deal with, as the results of the latter ranged widely. Some were more than happy to be saved by a contracted Mandalorian, whilst others threatened to beat him to death with a shovel if he came any closer. It was an amusing notion the first time around, one that actually caught him off-guard and sparked an uncharacteristic bout of laughter. But, as time went on, the threat started to lose it’s amusing nature.

There was little scared Diplomats and Crewmen could do against a heavily armed, and armoured Mandalorian. Especially if they were armed with a shovel, or whatever else they could get their soaked hands on.

So, with open arms, Rynn tried to dissuade them of hostilities. At first, he tried explaining who he was, why he was hired, and that he was here to rescue them. However, as that became a tiresome affair, the Mandalorian went straight to giving these people two options. He told them that they could be rescued if they followed his commands, or they could wait around in the cold until the Alliance eventually came around. There were even some groups he said, “Kark around and find out,” in response to their repeated threats of violence. He was a Mandalorian, and he wouldn’t be cowed by a Legion of Stylus-pushers standing at death’s door.

With more and more lives saved, Rynn was made aware of something else that lingered down below. Something that several of the Alliance Diplomats desired, but as those levels were now submerged - they couldn’t obtain it. Supposedly, there were records of a corporation’s foul play that involved the locals, and that information was stored on a secured database a few levels below. It was vital that the Alliance obtain this information, as it would help the investigation and likely result in the Senate booting this Corporation out of their territory - or place them under heavy sanctions until amends were made. Regardless of what would happen, all Rynn saw was the opportunity to increase his finder’s fee, and make himself slightly more wealthy after recovering the database.

And so, as the last group of survivors he found was sent towards his waiting ship, Rynn proceeded down towards the archives - where the database was supposedly located.

 

[Din Marren]

Velusia // Oceanus Inc. Comms Relay Station
Objective: III - Better Down Where It's Wetter
Equipment: SCUBA-variant STA-01 Armour - See bio. (Assets)
Tags: Gala Geert Trevin Neros Arash Garshasp

<<Press forward! If we sit and fight we'll be taken out,>> the commando searches the dim-lit waters above them, shifting his barrel between the faded shapes barely visible behind his HUD's targeting recitals. He fires one final shot and mutters a curse to himself before lowering his weapon to focus on advancing toward the objective at full speed. It was a long shot -- but if at least one of them made it they could complete the objective.

Jetting through the shadowed depths with his jaw clenched tight, the shape of the submerged comms station would slowly come into view. His brow lowers to form a determined glare and the Caridan raises his left hand, aligning his gauntlet with the distant structure. Releasing his firearm to dangle at his side, Din reaches over to key at a button. As several blaster bolts narrowly miss him a cable launches from his wrist, streaking through the water and magnetically locking to the station's reinforced paneling.

Dare can't help but crack a grin, but wastes no time he thumbing another key on the gauntlet's holographic panel. The cable begins to reel, pulling the lieutenant toward the structure at a high-speed.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he shouts to himself as he approaches the wall with no means to slow his momentum. Thinking quickly, he ejects his knuckle-plate vibroblade and severs the cable while spinning himself to have his back facing the rapidly approaching wall. Din draws a deep breath and closes his eyes as the SCUBA armour's forward momentum jets engage at their maximum thrust, slowing his advance enough at the last moment to simply bounce off the impervium hull with a drowned thud.

A grunt escapes the commando on impact, followed soon after by a snicker. Before he can comment on his little maneuver, several bolts paint the wall around him in plasma scorches, refocusing him on the mission. His T-visor shifts side-to-side as he quickly searches for an entrance, spotting the small protruding corridor only a few meters below his position.

<<I'm advancing to the point of entry and initiating remote slicing program now. If SIA did their job right, this should add us to the station's registry and get us through that shield,>> he kicks off the wall and engages his suits aquathrusters, navigating down to the control panel next to thin verdant sheet blocking their entry.