Under An Iron Thumb

[Cenn Kothari]

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[SIZE=10.5pt]With the collapse of the Galactic Alliance and their formal exile many of their former systems fell to lawlessness and chaos. Vandelhelm avoided such a fate under the leadership of their corporate monarchy. In the service of the military it was of high priority, now merely left to drift among the stars.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]As the Galactic Alliance collapsed so too did the Galactic Empire splinter. Many moved on to join the autocratic First Order, though some defected taking few starships into now abandoned territory. Seeking to bolster their numbers they laid claim to the planet, lightly besieging it and using brutal tactics to intimidate the former Alliance garrison that remained. The corporate monarchy seemingly vanished, fleeing in exile to avoid certain death.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]These imperials, now calling themselves the Inheritors, as if they could inherit the throne that passed away, control the planet with an iron fist. Metal exports have ceased and the once thriving economy built on the creation of starships has shifted gears purely to grow the minor fleet into a regional threat.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]The plight of the Vandelhelms is a silent one. With communication all but cut off the the planet seemingly dropped off of the galaxy.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]With the universe at large focused on threats abroad, the people suffer in darkness, waiting for a light to be shined.[/SIZE]

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[SIZE=10.5pt]Cenn was always drawn to colors, for they had a purpose, a meaning. The Mandalorians of his home often bore different colors dependent on loyalty and preference. Every suit of beskar was a personal canvas. But Cenn's canvas wasn't armor, but rather the city.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Mutiny started in the hearts of the common man, all it took was one act of defiance to draw it forth. What better way than to paint the city red. Anti-imperial imagery, golden crowns, coins, credits, tied with such words as "The Throne Survives!", "Inherit This!", "Blood over Iron!" appeared across the city in a span of nights, their artist slipping in and out of the sewers below the city scurrying through the tunnels like a rat.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]But this night would be filled with more than just paint. The lone pathfinder rested atop a building, nursing a strong a drink and cheap food, keeping an eye upon the patrol of stormtroopers below. With curfew fast approaching most of the laborers would be returning to their homes, and Inheritor transports would fill the streets, delivering goods, shipping out strike-craft, and transporting troops. Conducting logistics was convenient when all but the crucial streets we're completely devoid of traffic.[/SIZE]

And soon one such convoy would be making its way down this specific street as it had every night before, transporting goods to the newly established headquarters. What it possessed was a mystery to the Mandalorian, though he had his suspicions.

Escorted by two speeders and one armored transport, assaulting the freight would be impossible alone. Luckily Cenn believed he had company. Relying on salvaged Alliance communications system he sent out a vague request, seeking others willing to stick it to autocrats and dictators.

[member="Mereel Vaun"] | [member=Veino Garn]

 

[Veino Garn]

It had been quite some time since he had engaged in insurrection at the ground level. As Master-Defender and Warden of Yumfla, he had been focused on coordinating the Jensaarai's secret defense of the city and tying it into the larger system defense plans. With the loss of the Alliance, their resources had been cut significantly, but nationalizing the remaining Alliance assets had bolstered their forces.

But call had gone out on some very old channels, Alliance channels, looking for assistance. It had piqued his interest and so he had answered, finding this world locked down under a petty Imperial regime. It had been an interesting insertion, but now he was there, grimy looking and ragged, like most of the citizenry. Their first target was a convoy that always proceeded down the street at the same time.

Two speeders and an armored transport. Enough to cause trouble for anyone attempting to strike them without the proper equipment and training. Or unless, like Veino, they were considered a Master in the ways of the Force. He had set some things in motion. While Force barrier would have been sufficient to hold them in place, it was a little to obvious. No, he had scattered ball bearings across the street, painted matte strewn amongst the rest of the rubbish. Looked more like someone had dropped something anything else, but combined with some emergency flares, it would be enough to cause some havoc for the rest of the team to strike with.

Of course, the bearings did more than sit there. It gave him an immediate capability to strike hard and fast wherever he wished, without immediately revealing that he was a Force user. After all, they looked like little more than improvised mines. If it came time to draw a lightsaber and use the Force openly, that would be something else indeed.

The plan would have gone quite badly.


[member="Cenn Kothari"] [member="Mereel Vaun"]

 

[Mereel Vaun]

While he had never been associated with the Galactic Alliance in any sort of official capacity, Mereel was a member of the New Republic's Jedi Order. That was to say, he was merely a citizen of the New Republic, and possessed no fancy military ranks, titles, healthcare benefits for public medical facilities, retirement plans, and so on and so forth. However, his role as a Jedi did make him a prime candidate for someone who would consider joining up with an insurgent group - so when he received a vague call for rebel sympathizer types on his ship's totally not not-illegally-modified communications array, he touched down on Vandelhelm and made himself ready for a night on the town posthaste.

Tucked away in the concealment of a dark alleyway, he patted himself up and down one last time. "Helmet, check. Rifle, check, Pistols, check. Grenades, check. Lightsaber.. fierfek."

Under his helmet, his face went pale as he realized he had left his lightsaber behind on his ship. A shiver ran down his back and he began staring at his left arm until the sound of nearby speeder engines shook him from his stupor.

"Alright, this is fine. This'll be a blue milk run.."

Mereel pulled his rifle from his back and crouched down to minimize his target frame. As soon as the speeders passed by the alleyway, he would do his part in springing the trap.

[member="Cenn Kothari"] [member="Veino Garn"]