Faction Triage and Tribulations

[Serene]

Rimward Rescue Service Outpost, D'Qar​

For most of its existence, the rescue station had been a quiet place. It was home to just forty full-time personnel, a tight-knit crew out of necessity; they didn't get a lot of visitors out here, so they had to learn to get along. The population would swell every so often, when the station's assigned patrol craft returned to resupply. Sometimes they brought rescued spacers along with them, poor souls who had run afoul of pirates, navigational hazards, hyperspace mishaps, and other dangers of the Rim. The station might temporarily be home to twice its normal number of sentients, especially if more than one patrol ship checked in at once. That was about as much excitement as it typically saw.

But the galaxy was changing, and not for the better. Scant weeks ago, the Rimward Trade League had been crushed by the Sith.

The strike had been swift and brutal. The Executive Council on Susevfi had been murdered, and much of the capital city of Yumfla destroyed, but that wasn't the half of it. Coordinated attacks across RTL space had ravaged dozens of worlds. Some had immediately fallen under Sith occupation, while others had been left wounded and bleeding, to be mopped up and incorporated into the vile warlords' dominions at their convenience. Countless people were dead, and the survivors faced the bleak prospect of occupation by a tyrannical regime steeped in dark and bloody mysticism. Their only alternative was to leave, to flee their homes... but where could they go? What safe haven remained?

No one had any permanent answer to that question. The interim answer, for many of the refugees, was this isolated station.

Over the past few weeks, a trickle of refugees had become a flood. The outpost had been built to temporarily house a hundred rescued sentients in a pinch. They'd blown past that in the first day. Now, tents and improvised shelters filled every hallway, hangar, and storeroom, and covered much of the surrounding mountainside. Countless more people waited in their ships above, hiding in the planetary ring in an attempt to escape Sith detection, or had landed and set up campus elsewhere on the planet. There had been no coordinated plan to show up here. It had just happened, a chain reaction as word spread among the ragged survivors that this was one place the Sith hadn't hit... yet.

Now, a ragtag flotilla of civilian ships was crowding the airspace around D'Qar - a directionless mass of desperate people.

They couldn't stay here. They knew that. In order to survive, they would have to leave.

They would have to band together as a Vagrant Fleet.

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Objective 1: The Rescue Station
​

Tens of thousands of refugees are camped out in the D'Qar system. They can't stay here; the Sith will show up eventually, and that'll be bad news for everyone. Right now, we need to get organized and figure out our next move. Help distribute supplies and medical care to the masses of migrants, or help coordinate the fleet that's forming. The rescue station is overcrowded, and we're short on everything, so tempers are bound to run high; help defuse any conflicts that crop up as a result. Or maybe just take some time to look for the people you care about, and see if they made it out.

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Objective 2: The Jungle Ruins​

D'Qar was once home to a sentient civilization, one that died out eons ago. A ship full of refugees from Sluis Van made camp near one of the titanic ruins they left behind, half-consumed by the jungle. Now, all contact with that camp has been lost. Someone needs to find out what happened to those people, and bring them back alive if possible. If they're gone, we can't afford to waste their ship or supplies; we'll need to salvage whatever we can so that the rest of us can survive. The remnants of the Rimward Rescue Service will help us where they can. Up for a jungle expedition?

​

 

[Monty Kassitor]

Objective 1: The Rescue Station​

"We're running out of purified water," said Daymont Kassitor, shoving an empty crate aside with his foot - and nearly losing his balance as he did. He hadn't slept in thirty hours, not since the latest batch of refugee ships had arrived at the rescue station. He was tired, he ached all over, and his vision was starting to blur. He didn't want to slow down, though. He had learned over the past few weeks that he had to keep his mind busy. Otherwise it would try to start processing everything that had happened, and he wanted to put that off for as long as possible.

Monty rubbed his eyes, willing them to focus on the datapad in front of him. "There should be some canteens in the supply lockers that can filter drinking water." Force bless the Rimward Rescue Service, who had prepared for every eventuality. Well, almost every eventuality. There was nothing they could have done to prepare for the mass Sith invasion that had turned their universe upside down a few weeks ago. "You, you, and you," Monty went on, picking three sentients out of the crowd of volunteers, "go find them and bring them back here."

He had no authority over these people. There was no real authority here anymore, not since the Sith had decapitated the Rimward Trade League by murdering the Executive Council and crippling Joint Strategic Command. But someone had to take charge, to start getting things organized, and Monty had experience. He'd been working with youth volunteers for nearly thirty years, getting things done all across the Outer Rim, and he knew a thing or two about management and logistics. It felt good to fall back into familiar patterns.

After all, nothing else would ever be the same again. He had to cling to whatever stability he could find.

"You three," Monty continued, indicating another trio of volunteers. He'd been surprised how many people had stepped up to help. They had all arrived at the Rescue Service outpost in fits and spurts, sometimes a dozen of them, sometimes a thousand. Many of them were injured. All of them were tired, hungry, and traumatized. Despite all that, a significant portion of every group had immediately started looking for ways to make things easier on everyone. All they needed was a little guidance on how. "Round up any empty barrels we've got."

"You two," he said, indicating the last pair of current volunteers, "start asking around for shuttles that are in good enough shape to fly. There's a lake about a kilometer down the mountainside. We need to start making runs down there to haul water back up here. We'll do unfiltered for baths, filtered for drinking and medical." It was a stopgap measure at best - there were thousands crammed into this station, far more than their handful of purification canteens would be able to provide for, but it would at least slow the rate of supply depletion.

That was that, for now. As the volunteers headed out to work on the water problem, Monty turned to the next.

"Any captains with ships that can still fly," he said, broadcasting over the station intercomm, "come to the briefing room."
They couldn't stay here. They needed to figure out how to evacuate D'Qar.
And where the feth they could go from here.​

 

[Kas Varad]

Objective 2: The Jungle Ruins​

Familiar thick foliage to walk through, but this wasn't another jungle bug hunt. They sought the essentials: water, shelter, ships, food, and power cells. Kas's red Mandalorian armor showed signs of wear from being on the run, worn and scratched with no time to repair. How had they gotten into this mess? More importantly, why had HE gotten into this mess? He better not be developing a conscience.

Pushing aside the foliage and cutting through it when he needed it, the group with him looked strung out, and with the lack of sleep or respite, he wasn't feeling much better. He could turn and run, ditch these people who had paid him well before today; who would stop him? Nobody. How would he live that down when telling the next bar story? The great Kas Varad bravely turns tail and leaves a bunch of civvies stranded in the middle of the jungle.

"Just another paycheck, they said." Whack, he chopped the nearest vine, muttering to himself.

"Easy credits, they said," he scoffed and drank a swig from his flask, reluctantly offering it to the thirsty person beside him. "Ah heck, go ahead. But don't gulp." Every mouthful counted.

Crackling static interrupted his sour mood, and a comm message requested an update. "No sign yet," Kas replied, looking around at the group. "Can't be too far off the site. Right?" He wasn't lost; pulling back another thick bush, he called out. "Frak it, who has the map?"

Jungle Muse

 

[Aeron Dosh]

Monty Kassitor

Aeron caught wind of the message sent out from the rescue station begging for a captain with a working ship. Since Aeron already planned to leave the ship before the Sith could arrive he figured he might as well offer some help to any of the less fortunate types who couldn't get their hands on a decent ship... for a price. Aeron has learned one important lesson from being alive for so long, and it's that you can always find a way to make a quick buck, whether that be bounty hunting, mercenary work, or smuggling.

 

[Tadietti Tann]

Objective 1: The Rescue Station
Tags: Monty Kassitor | Aeron Dosh​

Tadietti Tann, aka Blue or Lady Blue, aka the Red Fifteen casino fifteen days to pay, a slaver who had dealt in tens of thousands of lives or more. Today, she assumed Niathi Etiss's identity, hiding from Goros the Hutt, Mr Black, and many innocents she had hurt.

Disguised in unassuming thick grey clothes that hid her form, Niathi wore a breathing mask and shawl, giving her the appearance of a refugee despite how many layers she had on. She followed a male human escort, whose lack of subtly in their interaction left her longing for the expert entourage she once worked with.

Left behind in a corner, Niathi's escort made a hasty exit, relieved to be free of his passenger. She sat among unfamiliar faces, blending in like a needle in a vast haystack. Layers of clothing and a disguise obscured her attractive appearance, a common practice in her former life.

Regardless of how it seemed, Niathi felt out of her element, shivering lightly despite the warmth. It had been long since she had been out of control of her fate. The days she had been nothing more than a slave on a leash; the vulnerability she felt in this moment reminded her of a time she had pushed from her memory and fought to overcome.

"Excuse me," a shivering soft voice asked anyone nearby, "where am I?"

 

[M8-4G "Forgee"]

Objective 2: The Jungle Ruins
Kas Varad | Open​

"Can't be too far off the site. Right?" He wasn't lost; pulling back another thick bush, he called out. "Frak it, who has the map?"

"Dweeeeet bwoo beep bop bop," trilled M8-4G, rolling up behind Kas and activating its projector. A holographic map shimmered to life in the space between them, a three-dimensional rendering of the jungle terrain. A pulsing dot indicated the search party's current position, while a larger X mark indicated their destination - the refugee camp that, just a few hours ago, had abruptly fallen silent. They weren't far away now, at least as far as raw distance was concerned. As Kas was discovering, hacking through the jungle by hand made a meter feel like a mile.

It wasn't easy going for Forgee, either. The droid trundled along on treaded feet, which worked just fine on the even deck plating of a hangar bay but not quite so well on the rugged jungle floor. Over and over again it had to engage the rocket boosters in its legs to keep its balance or hop over roots, rocks, and other obstacles. Fortunately, it was used to this sort of inconvenience. It had worked with scavengers and asteroid miners, navigating across rough terrain of all kinds, and it knew the tricks to keeping its spherical body upright no matter the situation.

Honestly, the astromech was glad for the chance to get outside of the rescue station. It had been on D'Qar for a good four years now, and it had never left the base since arriving. Rolling up and down the same halls and hangars, performing routine maintenance over and over, got monotonous after a while. It probably wouldn't if Forgee had been getting the regular memory wipes that the M-Series maintenance manual recommended, but the Rimward Rescue Service liked all the field experience the astromech had built up - and were amused by its quirks.

The droid wasn't quite sure what to make of the Mandalorian, though. Kas had been hired as an emergency measure; with everything else that was going on, the overwhelmed Rescue Service couldn't spare any personnel to check on this one refugee camp among many. The mercenary certainly cut a striking figure in his red plate armor, and he was in better shape than the exhausted gaggle of volunteers he was leading to the campsite, but he was only in this for the money. Forgee had seen greed get lots of people in trouble over the years. Would this be another?

Time would tell. For now, they had a mission to complete. Just another quarter kilometer, and they would reach the ruins...

 

[Tantis Shedo]

IN HIGH ORBIT ABOVE D'QAR-The Maid of Scarif Research Cruiser

Tantis missed the hum of the bridge when he was away from it, he had discovered recently. His captaincy of The Maid of Scarif was in its infancy; only a sixteen standard month stint thus far, which made him practically neonatal in terms of command experience. But his crew was experienced and altogether prepared to serve as best they could, sure in their leader’s smarts to get them out of any jam they might encounter.

The collapse of a sovereign entity the size of the RTL had not been on the training manifest back home, Tantis mused, wrinkling his mouth as he tried to stimulate the inside of his fleshy cheeks to help produce some more moisture, futile as it was. The air, filtered and recycled at best, crafted and artificial at worst, meant that the moisture was never quite right. Perhaps there were better systems out there but this ship wasn’t about to get an overhaul anytime soon.

The vessel sat in high orbit, countless vessels appearing on the screens, data pouring in all the time. It was a research and science vessel, fitted out with high-end research and manufacturing arrays, best suited for the research of alloys, minerals and space-bound ores. Tantis hadn’t wanted to follow in his mother’s footsteps; he thought a life spent in space would save him from her constant oversight so he pursued a more ‘on the ground’ approach to his role in the Sterdo Corporation. The Maid was one of the flagship research vessels and had been working on contract near to D’qar when the news had come. Finding themselves swept up in the chaos, Tantis and his crew of two hundred personnel had set about ensuring the ship was made both secure and ready to sustain whatever periods of prolonged space-travel they might experience.

His number two, a Bivall known as Doctor Hoxley, approached Tantis as he stood over the tactical read-out, handing the captain a datapad with his incredibly supple, long fingers, his two large bulbous eyes rotating in an attempt to focus on the various shapes that appeared and disappeared from the perimeter alerts. The Bivall spoke lugubriously.

“Captain Shedo, I didn’t want to alarm you so early in the day cycle but it has been requested of us to send a representative to a gathering planetside.”

He waited a short while, Tantis humming gently to himself as he scanned the readout, data springing along the edge of the holo screen with great ferocity.

“Captain, they are being quite insistent on this matter.”

Tantis turned to take his deputy into his view, smiling as he did.

“If they insist so forcefully then I shall go. You and a small team shall accompany me.”

He began to walk with speed through the bridge of the cruiser, still talking as he went, the Bivall having to almost skip to maintain his pace.Tantis turned towards Hoxley as he rounded the door into his quarters, much larger than any the rest of the crew might enjoy the privilege of having.

“Wear something…dressy.”

Hoxley grunted with distaste.

---

The away team finding some relief in their shuttle, Hoxley and Tantis had walked for nearly an hour to the coordinates of the meeting, all the way hounded and harangued by other refugees or officials, determined to keep them from standing still for far too long. Tantis waved through almost sarcastically, irritated to high-Hoth by the shuffling and thronging masses that attempted to occupy such a small space. He was shuffled and shunted into a building, sure he was in the right place after giving his credentials and the name of the ship to the dockmaster’s adjutant who took the name with some disdain. Scarif and ships associated with it was a taboo name still, even these many years after the great virus that had strangled the life out of so many in the Enclave’s finest planet. Or so his mother had called it.

I wonder why, he thought unashamedly, embarrassed still even out of her presence.

He was ushered into the briefing room of the Rescue Station and the two of them looked about, taking in the sights and sounds that confronted them. So long spent in orbit had robbed him of the notion that each ship was filled with, potentially, hundreds of people, each feeling the same sense of frustration as he. Hoxley nudged him forward, causing Tantis to look up at his tall friend and glare as best he could.

He looked at a face he had seen on the holo-relay many times; Monty Kassitor . He seemed to be a voice of authority in the local region, or at least the operation they found themselves somewhat ensconced in. They found a bench along the edge of the room and sat down, Hoxley drawing a few stares from the people that shuffled up the bench. He spoke to them in his calm yet crisp voice.

“Hello.”

 

[Kas Varad]

Objective 2: The Jungle Ruins
M8-4G "Forgee" | Open​

"Huh? Oh." The Spacer turned around, narrowly avoiding bumping into M8, and peered at the projection, plotting out the distance and direction on his suit controls. With the droid at his back, fatigue, hunger, and thirst mattered less as long as its power cells remained charged; M8 was a solid companion to the tired group.

"Told you I wasn't lost." He looked at someone next to him who didn't look so convinced, waving off the concern and getting back to hacking away at the dense undergrowth; results spoke louder than words.

Keeping an eye on M8 as it struggled with the terrain, Kas sort a smoother path across the weaving plants and thick foliage. Beggers couldn't be choosers, but it might stop the droid from ending up a rolling barrel down the hill.

"Stick with me little guy, you and me against the jungle." Which looked increasingly thick. They could go around, but he wouldn't wish the canyon approach on his worst enemy. Cut off down there and bottlenecked for predators or ambushers. No thanks. Being higher up afforded him better sight and control.

Thud. He embedded the blade in the tree, about to take another sip of water, when he froze with the flask to his lips. Several more minutes of grueling work paid off; rubbing his forehead, they were looking right at the camp.

"Damn me, are you seeing this?" Kas pulled back the foliage to reveal…

 

[Monty Kassitor]

Objective 1: The Rescue Station
Aeron Dosh | Tadietti Tann | Tantis Shedo​

For a moment, just a moment, Monty closed his eyes. He didn't mean to. He'd just paused a moment, leaning on a wall, while on his way to the briefing room. Just to catch his breath, he'd told himself; he'd worked a desk job for nearly three decades, and he'd gotten more physical exertion in the past month than in any single year of that time. But as soon as he took an instant where he was off-task, his eyelids fluttered, thirty hours without sleep catching up with him. That was when the nightmares grabbed him, as they always did.

He was back in Yumfla, on his way to work. He could have driven, but he liked to walk when he wasn't in a hurry. Besides, his doctor said he needed more exercise, and he wanted to be able to play with his grandkids when they arrived. He'd let his wife take the speeder for the day; her fourth grade class was working on their science fair projects, and she had lots of craft supplies to move. He'd given Raina a quick kiss, picked up his thermos of cold brew caf, and set off toward the office with a quick "love you, see you tonight."

He hadn't realized what he was leaving behind at that moment. If he had, he would've turned back and taken a good, long look. He would've fixed that image in his memory - Raina in her sensible dress and sweater, standing in front of the house they'd bought together more than twenty years earlier. He thought of the tree in the front yard, which his son Jaden had broken an arm falling out of when she was six. He thought of the garage where he'd taught his daughter Sanna how to weld. He thought of Raina's meticulously-assembled library, full of actual, physical books - she preferred them to dataslates, one of many odd little quirks that he loved her for.

All of it was already hazy in his memory, even though he'd seen these things every day for years.

He hadn't taken the time to fix the details in his mind. He hadn't thought he needed to. He'd assumed they would always be there.

In the dream he didn't want to be having, Monty saw Lowsyk Elementary on fire. The gymnasium had been directly hit in the initial Sith bombardment, when their fleet had descended instantly and directly onto the city using hidden hyperspace beacons. It probably wasn't a deliberate target, but the invaders weren't being deliberate. Beyond the Executive Council, who they were hell-bent on killing, they didn't seem to care who died. They were there to shatter the illusion that the Rimward Trade League could protect its citizens.

That meant killing a lot of people, just to get the message across. Didn't really matter who.

Monty hadn't seen Raina's body. That was the hope he clung to - that in all this death and destruction, all this loss, he hadn't lost her. Every time a new ship reached D'Qar over the past few weeks, he had run down to meet it, to look into the faces of every passenger to see if she was among them. So far, nothing... and the ships weren't just coming from Susevfi anymore. Worlds all across the League had been hit. Monty had started looking not just for Raina, but for their kids. Had they made it out? Had their homes suffered as much?

Monty had barely made it out himself. The walking dead had swarmed the streets of Yumfla, tearing into those who had survived the bombardment. The only way any of them had survived was by the tireless efforts of Strill Security Services, a Mandalorian mercenary unit that had defended the airport... and that had ultimately cut a deal with the Sith ground forces to allow civilians to evacuate. As the overcrowded freighter had lifted off amid the devastation, Monty had gotten one last look down at what was left of Yumfla.

His home, left behind forever. Because even if he came back, it would never be the same.

--------------------------------------
​

"Excuse me," a shivering soft voice asked anyone nearby, "where am I?"

Monty's eyes snapped open, and he took in a sharp breath as reality flooded back. He'd slid a little ways down the wall, and it took him a moment to right himself. He needed more caf... but they were long since out of that. It took him a moment to identify the speaker, a shawled refugee with a trembling voice. Monty forced a kindly smile onto his face. "You're in a Rescue Service station on D'Qar," he told her, falling into the familiar pattern of helper. "It's going to be okay." A white lie. "Follow me, we'll get you food and blankets."

Forcing his exhausted limbs to move, Monty headed toward the briefing room where he'd asked for ship captains to assemble. He pointed out the cafeteria along the way - they had been forced to resort to small portions of survival rations and thin thermal blankets, but something was better than nothing. "They can take care of you in there," he said, offering a final smile. Then he turned and resumed his course. It took only a few minutes to reach the briefing room, the site where he would do his best to tackle the next pressing problem.

There were a few folks here already: a green-skinned Twi'lek and a redheaded human stood out, each with the confident bearing that spoke of a starship captain. That was a start, at least. Others filtered in too, tired and worn looking, the captains of the refugee ships that still had enough fuel and working systems to get off the ground. Enough people to get all these civilians off D'Qar and over to a system where the Sith might not catch them just yet? Hard to say for sure at this point. But they had no other option than to try.

"I'm Daymont Kassitor," Monty said, his bass voice cutting through the buzz of conversation with the ease of a practiced presenter. "I've been helping to organize things around here. I'm sure you all know by now that the Rimward Trade League has fallen." Grim nods and hollow eyes followed that statement, symptoms of being in shock rather than shocked. "The Sith are taking the League's member worlds, one by one. They don't intend to let anyone escape. If we stay here, they will catch us. We can't let that happen to all these people."

Monty looked out across the assembled faces. "We've got enough fuel and ships between us that we can maybe make one jump with everyone on a ship. We'll have to figure out the specifics of how to get people divided up and loaded. But none of that matters unless we can figure out where to go. We can't make it far; a sector over at best, and then we'll have to refuel and reprovision." He called up a map of the surrounding sectors, with systems that were in range highlighted. "So where do we go? I'm open to suggestions."

(The Fleet must jump to a system within one Chaos Map hex of D'Qar.)​

 

[Tadietti Tann]

Objective 1: The Rescue Station
Tags: Monty Kassitor | Aeron Dosh | Tantis Shedo​

"A Rescue station. o.okay." Niathi's voice trembled with uncertainty, a rare glimpse of vulnerability surfacing from her days of slavery. She remembered the tricks to survival, smiling weakly at Monty Kassitor for his comfort and, importantly, his seniority. Niathi shuffled to follow him, choosing to believe that everything would be okay.

They can take care of you in there.

"T.t.thank y.y.you." Blue's returning stutter broke her; she stumbled as she moved, having to watch her steps in the tight space. With trembling hands, Niathi accepted a small ration packet, devouring its contents with ravenous hunger and going so fast she almost couldn't eat it. Without her breathing mask, the effects of malnutrition were evident in her gaunt face and dry lips. It had been a week since her last meal.

Shivering while giving her name, "Niathi" had a blanket draped over her; in her weak state, each step became a struggle. A compassionate man steadied her while a lady checked her eyes and took her vitals, "Malnutrition." A diagnosis echoed through the room, a common sight amongst the weaker refugees.

Led to a crowded cafeteria area, Niathi found space to lay on her blanket, surrounded by others in similar states of weariness. Blue replaced her breathing mask, prepared for the crowded conditions she knew all too well. Tight crowds brought uncertainty; she had seen good people worn down in harmful conditions before.

Looking up, she could barely believe it. She saw a face; could it be her? The Twilek quickly rolled over, pulling her blanket around herself and checking her disguise. Her heart began racing for her bad luck. To come all this way to hide and see a familiar face!

 

[Batch]

Objective 1: The Rescue Station
Tag: Open or Background Ambience​

You could take the Sushi Chef out of Denon District 12, but he'd find his way back to a kitchen in a crowded room all the same. Hammering standard-sized ration packs into smaller servings and infusing a blended spice as he reformed them, Batch worked tirelessly to ease the hunger pains here and stretch the resources. Nobody stopped him from coming behind the counter, so he'd walked in and got busy.

As another wave of hungry refugees came in, rather than feel overwhelmed, the experienced chef fired up a hob. Boiling up some out-of-date canned food he'd found in the cupboard below. Batch hoped to stretch the increasingly small and dry rations with stock. A few weary people offered thanks, particularly a young girl who waved. She pointed at his grinning metal teeth and shyly thanked him while her mother apologized for her stare.

"GONK!" His faith companion, a rectangular Gonk droid, stood steadfast beside him; its once entertaining noodle offers now nothing but empty promises of GONK to entertain the children.

Batch longed for a taste of home—for just one straightforward bowl of rice simmering on the stove. With Darkwire gone and the Corpo's victory complete, the big chef sighed as he surveyed the limited rations available, a bad end to a bad run. Apex had quickly bought up his old home area, and the Atrisian information broker was out of business soon after. Then, he'd picked the wrong side in the wrong fight.

Taking a stand against the misery he saw around him. He took out a pen and drew something on a large cardboard strip above the cafeteria serving area.

The Dark Water Sushi Bar. OPEN.

"Welcome. Welcome. Warm your bones. Here, make yourself at home and take a stool." Dusting off his serving bar, he would make them feel as welcome as possible, listening to their stories and troubles.

Makeshift menus scrawled on scraps of paper read:

• Dry Rations
• Dry Rations with Mixed Spice
• Rations and Old Stock
• Old Stock.