Bradshaw Ku
Crown Prince of Commenor
War
He knew it well enough. Most in the galaxy did these days. If kingdoms and empires weren’t constantly trying to destroy each other, something else usually was. When he was younger, he’d flown in more than a few wars, more than a few space battles, never caring who he was fighting for or against, or who won, as long as he came out the other side in one piece and was paid punctually. That was, until he eventually grew bored and restless and moved on to other, even less legal endeavours like smuggling. He’d always thought of himself as a smuggler, having spent the formative years of his youth learning to do just that. Of course, that was all before he knew his adopted mother, [member="Lady Kay"], was a queen.
That was then. Now, he did care who he fought for and against. And he very much cared who won.
The Prince wasn’t good at much. Despite technically being a Padawan under the expert tutelage of his stepfather, High King, and Jedi Master [member="Veiere Arenais"], he’d yet to show the discipline and focus required of such a venture, still too used to the wandering, cheeky attitude he’d grown up with. So the lightsaber hooked on his belt was little more than symbolism, while the blasters he carried very much weren't. He hadn't even built it. It was his late adopted Father’s and when ignited still shown the crimson blade of a Sith. He wasn’t a very dignified or noble Prince either, for many of the same reasons, though he had grown a little and could sometimes play the part.
He wasn't good at a lot but if there was one thing he was good at, it was flying. He’d flown for almost his whole life in one capacity or another and the Force never flowed through him more naturally than when he called upon it during intense manoeuvres and stressful combat situations. Piloting a vessel was home to him, comfortable, freeing.
That was where he was now as he deftly swung his nondescript small freighter around bringing himself into striking range of one of the fighter craft that preceded the larger invasion of the Iron Knights into Commenori space. Freeosk, his massive, 8’2’’ force sensitive Yezzum bodyguard clung tightly to his seat as the G-forces overtook the inertial dampeners. Shorty, an astromech/slicer droid he’d borrowed from Commenor’s Head of Engineering squealed as he rolled back from the communication’s station and down the hallway. Bradshaw compressed the trigger and loosed a few sprays of laser fire against the fighter ahead of him, blasting through its shields. The engine banks ignited, silently exploding the fighter into a million incendiary pieces. Pulling out of his manoeuvre he looked around for another craft, but his immediate vicinity was empty.
Further ahead, however, wasn’t. Just within eyesight, the main fleet of the Incursion entered the system. Frigates, corvettes, and destroyers in battle formation. The sight was eerier and more unsettling than any fleet he’d ever witnessed.
“We’re going to need a bigger ship…” he said as he stared out of the viewport.
“Damit!” He slammed the dash.
Of course, Commenor wasn’t unprepared or defenceless. They’d known the threat was coming eventually. Moving into position was a sizeable fleet full of warships of every size to meet the oncoming plague. But how long could they hold it off?
Just then, a message was patched through to him up front by Shorty, who had now moved back into position in the Comm suite. A video of his Mother appeared with [member="Kirie Ito"] signing behind her. But what his mother was saying didn’t make any sense. It might as well be gibberish. He rubbed at his temples, confused. She didn’t talk like that. Then it dawned on him.
“Shorty, what is Kirie signing?!” He yelled back toward the Comm suite.
A translation promptly appeared on one of his monitors. Now it made more sense. He briefly looked up and out toward the oncoming invasion. But he knew there was little else he could do here. If there was any hope of fighting back the plague, it must be with his mother’s summons.
-----------------------
Having quickly docked his freighter in Kwenn Station using the codes designating him Prince of the Commenor Systems Alliance, something that never failed to grant him speedy boarding permission, he now marched down one of the halls with Freeosk, the giant Yuzzem bodyguard, and Shorty squeaking and beeping behind as he tried his best to keep up. There was little need to ask for directions. Even though he couldn’t sense his Mother, which was nothing unusual since she kept her force sensitivity held tightly, the gathering of force users and strong personalities somewhere above him within the station was enough to go by.
He wasn't in his usual carefree, joking mood after what he’d witnessed. The gravity of the situation was enough to turn even a diehard jester into a serious and worried Prince. He rushed through hallways and up steps — too eager to wait for turbo lifts — until he sped past Imperial Guards just outside the meeting room, too trapped in his own thoughts to even notice. There was nothing quite like the threat of imminent extermination to focus one.
He and his small entourage burst through the doors of the observation deck. He wore his usual cream and light blue coloured Jedi robes, a few blasters were hooked to his belt and of course, his lightsaber. Slightly out of breath from rushing up here, he would catch his Mother’s eyes while he stood in the doorway. When their eyes locked, his worried expression would tell a more frightening tale than words ever could. For the normally flippant Prince's face was hard, focused, and concerned. There were no antics today. He shook his head lightly.
Looking around the room it was evident that what was gathered here was as much a rag-tag band as ever had been assembled. Some he knew, many, he didn’t. So, he thought to himself, the galaxy once again depends on a random mess of misfits…
Frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
- [member="Arabi Cordelle"] - [member="Ulic Adraya"] - [member="Xaedrin Vondiranach"] - [member="Sol Damerin"] - [member="Jak Sandrow"] - [member="Ghorua the Shark"] - [member="Arix Valen"] -
He knew it well enough. Most in the galaxy did these days. If kingdoms and empires weren’t constantly trying to destroy each other, something else usually was. When he was younger, he’d flown in more than a few wars, more than a few space battles, never caring who he was fighting for or against, or who won, as long as he came out the other side in one piece and was paid punctually. That was, until he eventually grew bored and restless and moved on to other, even less legal endeavours like smuggling. He’d always thought of himself as a smuggler, having spent the formative years of his youth learning to do just that. Of course, that was all before he knew his adopted mother, [member="Lady Kay"], was a queen.
That was then. Now, he did care who he fought for and against. And he very much cared who won.
The Prince wasn’t good at much. Despite technically being a Padawan under the expert tutelage of his stepfather, High King, and Jedi Master [member="Veiere Arenais"], he’d yet to show the discipline and focus required of such a venture, still too used to the wandering, cheeky attitude he’d grown up with. So the lightsaber hooked on his belt was little more than symbolism, while the blasters he carried very much weren't. He hadn't even built it. It was his late adopted Father’s and when ignited still shown the crimson blade of a Sith. He wasn’t a very dignified or noble Prince either, for many of the same reasons, though he had grown a little and could sometimes play the part.
He wasn't good at a lot but if there was one thing he was good at, it was flying. He’d flown for almost his whole life in one capacity or another and the Force never flowed through him more naturally than when he called upon it during intense manoeuvres and stressful combat situations. Piloting a vessel was home to him, comfortable, freeing.
That was where he was now as he deftly swung his nondescript small freighter around bringing himself into striking range of one of the fighter craft that preceded the larger invasion of the Iron Knights into Commenori space. Freeosk, his massive, 8’2’’ force sensitive Yezzum bodyguard clung tightly to his seat as the G-forces overtook the inertial dampeners. Shorty, an astromech/slicer droid he’d borrowed from Commenor’s Head of Engineering squealed as he rolled back from the communication’s station and down the hallway. Bradshaw compressed the trigger and loosed a few sprays of laser fire against the fighter ahead of him, blasting through its shields. The engine banks ignited, silently exploding the fighter into a million incendiary pieces. Pulling out of his manoeuvre he looked around for another craft, but his immediate vicinity was empty.
Further ahead, however, wasn’t. Just within eyesight, the main fleet of the Incursion entered the system. Frigates, corvettes, and destroyers in battle formation. The sight was eerier and more unsettling than any fleet he’d ever witnessed.
“We’re going to need a bigger ship…” he said as he stared out of the viewport.
“Damit!” He slammed the dash.
Of course, Commenor wasn’t unprepared or defenceless. They’d known the threat was coming eventually. Moving into position was a sizeable fleet full of warships of every size to meet the oncoming plague. But how long could they hold it off?
Just then, a message was patched through to him up front by Shorty, who had now moved back into position in the Comm suite. A video of his Mother appeared with [member="Kirie Ito"] signing behind her. But what his mother was saying didn’t make any sense. It might as well be gibberish. He rubbed at his temples, confused. She didn’t talk like that. Then it dawned on him.
“Shorty, what is Kirie signing?!” He yelled back toward the Comm suite.
A translation promptly appeared on one of his monitors. Now it made more sense. He briefly looked up and out toward the oncoming invasion. But he knew there was little else he could do here. If there was any hope of fighting back the plague, it must be with his mother’s summons.
-----------------------
Having quickly docked his freighter in Kwenn Station using the codes designating him Prince of the Commenor Systems Alliance, something that never failed to grant him speedy boarding permission, he now marched down one of the halls with Freeosk, the giant Yuzzem bodyguard, and Shorty squeaking and beeping behind as he tried his best to keep up. There was little need to ask for directions. Even though he couldn’t sense his Mother, which was nothing unusual since she kept her force sensitivity held tightly, the gathering of force users and strong personalities somewhere above him within the station was enough to go by.
He wasn't in his usual carefree, joking mood after what he’d witnessed. The gravity of the situation was enough to turn even a diehard jester into a serious and worried Prince. He rushed through hallways and up steps — too eager to wait for turbo lifts — until he sped past Imperial Guards just outside the meeting room, too trapped in his own thoughts to even notice. There was nothing quite like the threat of imminent extermination to focus one.
He and his small entourage burst through the doors of the observation deck. He wore his usual cream and light blue coloured Jedi robes, a few blasters were hooked to his belt and of course, his lightsaber. Slightly out of breath from rushing up here, he would catch his Mother’s eyes while he stood in the doorway. When their eyes locked, his worried expression would tell a more frightening tale than words ever could. For the normally flippant Prince's face was hard, focused, and concerned. There were no antics today. He shook his head lightly.
Looking around the room it was evident that what was gathered here was as much a rag-tag band as ever had been assembled. Some he knew, many, he didn’t. So, he thought to himself, the galaxy once again depends on a random mess of misfits…
Frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
- [member="Arabi Cordelle"] - [member="Ulic Adraya"] - [member="Xaedrin Vondiranach"] - [member="Sol Damerin"] - [member="Jak Sandrow"] - [member="Ghorua the Shark"] - [member="Arix Valen"] -
