Junction Where It All Will End | ME & THR Junction of Ewdenen and Thyferra

[Zoro Igala]

Wild Space Rebellion Fleet, The Dawn of Hope
Tag: Marlon Sularen Aether Verd Amelia von Sorenn Vortigern Mimkin Shokoh al Khayyat Mance Iblis​

Fleet Comp:

Spoiler

• Hidden In the Asteroids
  
  • x1 Rebellion III Class - Corellian Defiance
  • x3 Ambush Class Interdictors
    • Looming Thunder
    • Star Wolf
    • Grand Finale
  • x4 Arcee Class Frigate Freighters Replacing these because I realized the sub's ratings were fucked up.
  • x1 MI Golem Freighter Detonated
• Deployed Starfighter Wings
  • x9 LionX Fighter Squadrons
  • x6 Hurricane Tactical Bomber
  • x7 Predator B-wing Squadrons
  • x7 Thunderstorm II Y-wing Squadrons
• Behind The Imperial Taskforce:
  
  • The Liberation
    • Hidden Interior Compliment:
      • x5 Ironback Armored Corvettes
        • Rayia
        • Aris
        • Rikutan
        • Jago
        • Azurine
      • x8 Tenacity Class Corvettes
        • Hard and Fast
        • The Wall II
        • Twin Suns
        • Capital Punishment
        • Skin in the Game
        • Fire in the Sky
        • Guerilla Warfare
        • That's No Moon
      • x2 Solo Class Frigates
        • Blackbeard
        • Whitebeard
  • x2 Ambush Class Frigates
    • Great Fox
    • Writing on the Wall
  • x2 Starlion Bomber Squadrons

And now, the trap was sprung. The opening firework had gone off, and the war was on.

The shrapnel of the Golem was enough to mask distract the incoming bombers, as the Y-wings used the asteroid belt as a cover to close in, before coming down on Sularen's fleet like a swarm of bees.

From below, two squadrons opened up with 300 Heavy Shield Leech Munitions, aimed at the underside of his flagship. All before breaking off, and once more disappearing into the floating soup of rock and planetary debris. Behind them, two squadrons of B-wings. After the barrage from the Y-wings, the B-wings opened up with their turbolaser fire, aimed not at the heavy carriers, but at formations of TIEs.

From the right, 2 more squadrons of Y-wings and B-wings came in and fired the same thing. This time, not at the flagship, but at the INV Harbinger. Little by little, they'd whittle them down.

Another from the left, aiming for the Retribution. It followed in sequence. Y-wings would open up with Thunderbolt munitions, then the B-wings would fire to disrupt the Combat Patrol.

And finally, just one Y-wing squadron from the front, with it's escorting B-wings. This one differed, aiming with proton torpedos right at Sully's bridge, the B-wings opening up with 60 CHOMP Rockets that were aimed to rip the bridge apart, before firing with it's turbolasers at Sularen's communications array.

Only then, did the Liberation arrive.

From behind Sularen's fleet, a massive battlecruiser lurched out of hyperspace. It's guns already lined up with the engines of the INV Retribution, twin spinal laser cannons opening fire with a cascade of destructive, force-charged plasma.

All the while, ships came pouring out of the sides of it, frigates and corvettes, as if it was a full invasion fleet.

Zoro would take no chances with the Butcher of Tython.

Behind the Liberation, two more frigates arrived, though fully invisible for the moment. They'd keep themselves hidden in the shadow of the Liberation for now.

Who didn't however, were the eight Starlions that jumped out of hyperspace right on top of the two rear Star Destroyers, the Tyrant's Fury and the Punisher feeling the power of the bombers as a mix of ion bombs and proton bombs rained down on them, a total of 200 each falling from the bombers onto the top decks of the star destroyers.

Zoro knew that without the backing the Imperial Confederation, Sularen couldn't afford to replace ten star destroyers with a hundred more overnight.

He didn't need to kill them, he just needed to wound them.

Soon, Zoro would reveal himself. Soon, he'd ambush these imperial bastards.

But for now, he had them cornered.
TLDR:

Spoiler

Golem Freighter went kablewie.
Y-wings engage from all directions.
B-wings follow suite, opening up to disrupt Tie formations.
The Liberation arrives, opening fire on the Retribution.
Starlions target the Tyrant's Fury.

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

​

Siv stayed just outside the conversation at first, giving Tekton Artez room to stand on his own without hovering over him like a handler. The Warden's visor shifted between the small details of the room while the discussion unfolded — who listened when Ayumi Pallopides spoke, who only pretended to, who watched opportunity more than politics.

But when the Senator opened the door further, Siv stepped in smoothly enough to keep Tekton from getting stranded in the formalities.

"Clan Artez does solid work," he said evenly beside him. "Most people only notice Mandalorians when something's burning. His people are usually there after, making sure others can live there again."

There was no exaggeration in it. Just a simple endorsement from one ruler to another.

Siv inclined his head respectfully toward Senator Pallopides.

"Concordia's been looking at similar investments ourselves. Reconstruction corridors, secured shipping lanes, industrial partnerships. Wars are expensive enough without leaving half the galaxy broken afterward."

The blue-armored Mandalorian glanced briefly toward Tekton before continuing, easing some of the pressure off him without taking over the conversation entirely.

"Truth is, most worlds need builders more than soldiers once the fighting stops. Hard part is finding groups that can operate in unstable sectors without folding the second things get difficult."

A faint hint of dry humor slipped into his voice then.

"Mandos tend to do alright under bad conditions."

Siv let the conversation breathe after that instead of crowding it, allowing Tekton the chance to settle into the exchange naturally while still keeping a quiet eye on the rest of the gathering. Dominique Vexx still lingered deeper in the room surrounded by shifting circles of influence, the Echani Queen remained under guard, and dozens of smaller conversations continued moving like currents beneath the surface.


TAG: Dominique Vexx | Makai Dashiell | Quinn Varanin | Mia Monroe | Adelle Bastiel Cynan Obaith | Seris Mataan | Tekton Artez | + Open

 

[Vortigern Mimkin]

B O U N T I F U L - W A R L O R D
Mimkin's Imperial Remnant | The Final Dawn
SOCORRO's BELT | CORELLIAN CONTROLLED SPACE
Marlon Sularen Zoro Igala

Spoiler: Radiance Squadron

RADIANCE SQUADRON
Main Fleet : MIV Flight of Fancy [Flagship] MIV Ring of Glory MIV Salento MIV Conceptual MIV Indicative Carrier Wing Q Carrier Wing G Carrier Wing H Carrier Wing K
Starfighter Compliment : ASP-876 'Starviper' Attack Platform | Technoid MAG-24 Condor-class Assault Gunship | Kuat Entralla TIE/INx Interceptor TIE/PR Experimental Shuttle Fighter TIE/sk X3 Superiority Fighter

Through the main viewport, the Socorro Belt was turning into a slaughterhouse. Vortigern gripped the armrests of his throne, his white-gloved knuckles turning white underneath the fabric. That lone freighter had just vaporized itself against the Sularen's Revenge. For one horrible second, Vortigern thought the Supreme Commander's flagship was done for, but the massive battlecarrier was already surging forward, its primary batteries lighting up the dark in a desperate, blinding wall of turbolaser fire to break through the asteroid field.

But the Republic wasn't backing down as a swarm of Y-wings and B-wings poured out from the shadows of the asteroids, unleashing a hellstorm of shield-leech munitions and heavy rockets. Then the Liberation dropped out of hyperspace right behind the Imperial line, its twin spinal cannons carving straight into the Retribution's engines while eight Starlions hammered the rear Star Destroyers with ion bombs.

Vortigern swallowed hard, the knot in his stomach tightening until it tasted like blood. The MIV Flight of Fancy was a lot of things, gaudy, expensive, gold-plated but right now, it just looked like a giant, glowing target. He forced his chin down, trying to lock his vocal cords into that deep, gravelly warlord tone, even as his left eyelid began a frantic, uncontrollable twitch.

"A predictable, desperate maneuver by the Republic rabble," Vortigern declared to the bridge, though his voice cracked slightly on the word rabble. He threw his shoulders back, letting his medals clink. "See how Sularen engages? He is drawing them into a funnel. It is... all unfolding precisely according to the broader tactical parameters."

Down in the operations pit, Vice Admiral Krennel didn't even look up from his data-pad. The veteran officer was already watching the telemetry from the Tyrant's Fury go red. He knew that if this gaudy, under-stocked battlecruiser stayed out in the open for another sixty seconds, those B-wings would shred their decorative crimson solar sails to ribbons.

Krennel stepped up to the dais, keeping his voice level and loud enough for the trembling bridge crew to hear. "Warlord, Sularen is maintaining primary power and holding the line. If we follow standard auxiliary doctrine, our most devastating move isn't a blind charge. It's taking a low-emissions flanking position behind the asteroid ridge at bearing 0-4-7. It masks our signature and preserves our strength for the killing blow."

Vortigern's heart practically leapt out of his ribs with relief, but he maintained his stern, brooding stare, slowly stroking his thick mustache as if weighing a dozen different strategies. "Exactly what I was considering, Why waste our pristine firepower on a disorganized swarm? Helm, ahead one-third. Take us deep into the shadow of the asteroid field below their scanner range. we shall take them by surprise." As the heavily painted battlecruiser veered away from the plasma fire and slipped into the safety of the rocks, Vortigern sank back into his cushions, silently praying the Republic's sensors were too busy with Sularen to notice his retreat.

Spoiler: Actions

Mimkin moves his fleet to sneak up on the enemy from below them

​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Merryn Sellek | Aurelian Veruna | Makai Dashiell​

Ivalyn had spotted them from across the room without particularly trying, Merryn had a quality of presence that made her findable in any gathering, and the two figures beside her were distinctive enough in their own right.

She crossed toward the trio with the unhurried ease of someone who had learned long ago that poise was more convincing than speed, her flute of champagne held with the same light, deliberate touch she gave to anything she did not want to appear to be gripping. She caught the edge of their conversation as she drew close commerce, or the comfortable circling around it that passed for small talk at functions like this one.

The corner of her mouth moved, fractionally.

"I absolutely would love to steal a few moments with the Chancellor," she said as she arrived, her voice carrying the particular warmth she reserved for rooms where warmth served a purpose, "but I find I am equally pleased to speak with all of you."

She let her gaze settle briefly on each of them in turn the practiced acknowledgment of someone who had greeted rooms full of dignitaries and understood that the first moment of eye contact was its own kind of statement.

"Grand Vizier Ivalyn Yvarro." The introduction was offered with the ease of a woman who had given it a thousand times and had never once found it less than sufficient. Her attention moved to Aurelian with the faint addition of recognition, she had seen his name on the wedding list, had noted his attendance as a gesture worth remembering, and this was the first occasion to acknowledge it in person. "Your Majesty. A genuine pleasure to meet you properly I believe we were in the same room once before, though the circumstances did not allow for introductions."

The Dashiell name she knew well, though the face required a small recalibration. Judah was her usual point of contact reliable, known, a relationship with established texture.

"And Mr. Dashiell." A measured note of warmth. "I know your father well. It's a pleasure to put a face to the name." She lifted her flute a fraction, the gesture landing somewhere between a toast and a punctuation mark. "I couldn't help but catch a whisper of commerce as I approached." The not-quite-smile again. "I do hope I haven't arrived at the wrong moment."

 

[Mishel]

Mia Monroe [?] Adelle Bastiel [?]​

The one time Mishel asked her other rich mother for help dressing up, and she'd ended up in what amounted to bougie rags that barely covered anything. Sure, it wasn't doing the Jedi's reputation any favors but then, that wasn't really her problem. She was here for Corellia, on behalf of her master Coren Starchaser, and maybe the rumor that Mandalorian women would be in attendance had something to do with luring her out of her hovel of a home on Monastery.

Less hovel, more temple. Either way, she sighed in the shuttle.

"Exactly how the hell am I supposed to move in this?" she growled.

Somewhere in a far fancier shuttle, likely a luxury yacht, knowing the woman her birth mother looked up from her own glass and cackled. Valessia Brentioch had a laugh like a Brentaalian winter: dry, bright, and entirely without remorse.

"Darling," she purred, the accent curling through the comm, "you move with presence. Force knows your DNA donor had plenty. Use what you have and if you're so concerned, you can use your own abilities to fill in the gaps. Although you'd be ruining a perfectly good spidersilk gown."

"Okay, listen, I've had three—"

"Darling, I've had my share of tax write-offs. I can assure you, a little cocoa butter goes a long way. You'll be fine. Lean into it, Mishel. For Force's sake."

The line clicked off before Mishel could get another word in which, of course, was exactly how Valessia preferred her victories.

She muttered something Corellian and unkind under her breath, smoothed a hand down the impossibly intricate beadwork of the bodice, and forced her shoulders to drop. Spidersilk. Of course it was spidersilk. The kind of fabric that didn't wrinkle, didn't snag, and absolutely did not forgive a slouch.

The shuttle banked, and the gala venue came into view through the viewport terraced gardens spilling out from a Corellian estate lit like a small sun, every column wrapped in soft gold, the landing pad already crowded with vessels bearing the colors of half the galaxy. Senatorial standards. House crests she half-recognized from Coren's lessons. The sigil of the Mandalorian Empire flying from at least three separate hulls.

There it is, she thought, and felt something low and unhelpful turn over in her chest.

She rose as the ramp hissed down, gathering the sheer overlay around one arm the way Valessia had no doubt practiced a thousand times in front of a mirror at her daughter's age. Mishel had not. Mishel had spent that part of her life learning to grip a saber and not scream in a bacta tank, which she rather felt should count for something, though she suspected the dress disagreed.

Warm Corellian air met her at the bottom of the ramp that specific smell of engine wash, ocean salt, and night-blooming something-or-other that always, always hit her the same way. Home, by adoption rather than birth. Coren's home, which was close enough.

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin a careful fraction, and walked.

A protocol attendant materialized with a datapad and the practiced smile of someone who had already greeted four ambassadors and a Hutt this hour. "Name and affiliation, my lady?"

"Mishel," she said and the attendant waited a moment before realizing that was the entire name. "Jedi Order. Attending in support of Corellia."

The attendant's stylus paused, just slightly, at Jedi. The eyes flicked once, professionally over the gown. Recovered admirably. "Welcome, Master Mishel."

She moved past him before her face could do anything she'd regret, and into the long gallery that opened onto the hall proper. The ceiling rose into a vault of gilded latticework, chandeliers the size of speeders hanging in tiers, the marble underfoot polished to a mirror that caught the spidersilk and threw it back at her in fragments of light. She caught her own reflection in a column as she passed and very nearly stopped walking.

Stars. Valessia, damn her, had been right.

She did not look like a Jedi. She looked like somebody, which was a much more dangerous category to occupy in a room like this. Senators were already turning. A Neimoidian trade representative had paused mid-sentence. Somewhere to her left, a Corellian noble she vaguely recognized from one of Coren's holos was smiling at her in a way that suggested he was about to attempt a conversation she did not want to have.

Mishel exhaled slowly through her nose, the way she'd taught a hundred padawans to do before drawing a blade, and let the Force settle around her shoulders like a second shawl.

Fine, she conceded inwardly, to no one and everyone. Presence. We can do presence.

She let her gaze drift east, toward the unmistakable gleam of beskar at the far end of the hall and began, with a Corellian's gift for looking unhurried while moving precisely where she intended to go, to make her way through the crowd.

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina had been on her feet long enough that the hours had begun to blur together, measured less by time than by the number of patients moved from one cot to another, the number of bandages changed, and the number of frightened voices steadied before panic could take root. She was dressed plainly for the work, in a simple light tunic beneath a practical vest, trousers tucked into worn boots, her sleeves secured out of the way, and her long platinum braid drawn over one shoulder to keep it clear as she moved from patient to patient. There was nothing ceremonial about her now, no armor, no cape, no attempt to look like anything other than another pair of hands in a place that desperately needed them.

She looked up when Aiden approached, the warmth in his greeting reaching her before the words fully did. For a moment, the exhaustion in her expression softened into something gentler, and she gave him a small smile in return, though her hands remained steady over the civilian on the cot before her. A shallow gash crossed the man's ribs, ugly but not fatal, and beneath her palms a soft current of the Force moved with careful restraint, knitting what could be safely mended without draining too much from either healer or patient.

"I'm glad I made it too," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the fatigue beneath it. "Though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Her gaze moved past him, taking in the camp again with the kind of attention that never truly rested. Refugees clustered beneath temporary shelters, children watched volunteers with wide, hollow eyes, and medics moved from one emergency to the next with barely enough time to breathe. The Force around the place felt raw and crowded, fear and pain layered over determination, but there were threads of light in it too. People helping one another. Strangers carrying supplies. The wounded comfort those worse off than themselves.

Alina finished sealing the worst of the wound, then reached for a clean dressing rather than relying on the Force for everything. Healing had limits. So did she. She had learned not to mistake compassion for endlessness. "Keep this covered and don't twist if you can help it," she told the patient softly as she secured the bandage. "If the pain sharpens or you start feeling cold, call for one of us immediately."

Only once the patient nodded did she straighten fully and turn her attention back to Aiden. She wanted to ask how long he had been pushing himself without rest, because she could see it in the way he carried the weight of the camp from one task to the next, but before she could, another presence brushed against her awareness.

Hope.

Not abstract hope, but something being deliberately offered outward. Alina's eyes shifted across the medical encampment until they found the Mandalorian moving between patients, his focus intent, his presence in the Force carefully extended around him like a shelter. She watched him for a few seconds, noting the way he worked through the triage line, how he leaned on both training and technology, how his aura steadied some of the civilians nearest him even before he touched them.

Alina crossed the space between stations with purpose, pausing only to direct two volunteers toward a stack of sterile packs and to help guide a limping woman onto an open cot. When she reached Kael, she did not interrupt the treatment he was performing. She waited until he had finished securing the field dressing, then stepped in beside him rather than in front of him, her presence calm and bright without overwhelming the quieter work he was already doing.

"You're doing well," she said, glancing from the patient to the dressing, then back to Kael. "But don't spend yourself trying to hold the entire camp together through the Force. They need hope, yes, but they also need you conscious and steady six hours from now." There was no reprimand in her tone, just experience. She had made that mistake before, trying to pour too much of herself into those suffering because standing beside them and doing only what could be done had felt unbearable. The lesson had been hard-earned.

"If you need anything, call me. I'm Alina." She looked over the camp again, then back to him, the glow of the Light around her restrained but unmistakable, less a beacon than a steady flame. "We can't undo what brought them here," she said quietly, "but we can make sure fewer of them are lost because no one was there after."

TAG: Aiden Porte Phillip Slate Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata
​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Objective Three - Coronet City
Tags: Merryn Sellek | Makai Dashiell | Ivalyn Yvarro

"Not particularly," Aurelian replied, dismissing the intricate mechanics of corporate mining with a faint wave of his hand. "Maybe it is your wife that I know instead." A casual shrug followed the remark.

The name Dashiell evidently belonged to the ledger books rather than his immediate social circle, and his interest in industrial extraction vanished as quickly as it had peaked.

His eyes drifted across the crowded ballroom, searching for his own paramour. She was still nowhere to be found in this sea of politicians and corpos, a realization that brought a flicker of genuine concern to his chest.

Merryn's sudden question pulled his focus back to the immediate circle. "Hm? Oh, yes, always looking to diversify," Aurelian murmured, his attention momentarily split between the conversation and the shifting crowd. "One might not stay King forever. They already ousted me as Chancellor, after all." The admission was delivered with a light, self-deprecating mumble, his gaze still scanning the perimeter for any sign of his missing partner.

Amusement cut through his distraction as the Grand Vizier of the aforementioned Commonwealth glided effortlessly into their little group. The arrival was a welcome shift in the room's gravity. Aurelian summoned his most practiced, charming smile and offered a small, flawless bow to the newcomer.

"A pleasure, Grand Vizier," Aurelian said, his tone instantly sharpening with renewed energy. "I was just telling your wife how much I enjoyed your wedding. Thank you for having me."

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Ala Quin //:
//: Attire //:

Before
​

Allyson's lips tightened, a tell of her frustration that she was never able to hide. Terrible thing for a spy. She tilted her head slightly as Ala continued, mentioning the reports from Woostri and everything overall. From her understanding, the two grandmasters were close at one time — perhaps still? Allyson had stopped keeping tabs on Valery the moment she decided to disappear from the galaxy.

Probably safer for her family, when Allyson thought about it.

She looked to the box once more, seeing the tunic. Whatever happened really messed up the woman who was now pouring another glass of wine.

"There are two sides to every story, you know." Allyson quipped as she wandered towards where Ala had moved. Seeing the second glass, she wondered, but decided it would be rude to deny the woman a drinking partner.

"Wine will do for now, but what you're asking for… we might need something a little stronger." Allyson smiled again, taking the glass that was offered to her. Already she could catch the notes of floral and citrus — it was a good wine, Ala had great taste. She swirled the light colored liquid as she mused over Ala's small demand.

Another sip, then Allyson looked into the glass as she sighed.

"Truth..." Her eyes glanced over, watching her, looking for something that gave away what was happening.

"Which and what part are you wanting for the truth?"

Present​

"Not the first time I've heard that," Allyson shrugged, "Probably not the last time either."

As Ala retorted against the Corellian's previous comment, Allyson couldn't help but smile. She understood the concern, especially now, especially with everything that was happening in the galaxy and in the Jedi's life. There was something more on the woman's mind, but Allyson didn't want to dig too deeply.

Allyson remained quiet as Ala answered both of her questions. Looking forward, Allyson watched as they slowly came into contact with this space station laboratory. While it hummed with activity, which worried but also gave Allyson a bit of hope. It would mean she could easily hack into things with the Force. Silence lingered as the ship completed its docking, and Allyson stood gathering her equipment.

"Honestly," she mused, almost with a bit of humor, "Nothing really belongs in Imperial hands nowadays. Most of the time, they have no clue what it is or how to use it."

Another nonchalant shrug, she was never the type to take things as seriously as she should. But before they embarked, the Corellian did pause and look back towards the Jedi.

"Even if it's temporary, at least trust me a little — it will make things a lot easier on you… and me." Her head turned.

"If allowing you to take me back to the Republic for questioning or whatever… lets you relax even a moment." Allyson wondered if she was going to regret this, but she was confident that if she needed to slip out of the Republic's grasp, she could.

"Then you have my word."

Another small pause, then a mischievous little grin flashed towards Ala: "So then, let's have a little fun — it is our first date after all, Grandmaster."

A wink and then the Corellian blinked out of sight.

 

[Camille Cendre]

The swish of the blades before her, the crack of the broken rubble beneath the walker’s feet, the staccato rhythm of the blasters above. It was all a symphony to her ears, accompaniment to the beat of her heart; the rise and fall of her lungs.
Even through the walker and her helmet, she could smell the smoke and dust in the air. With blaster bolts flying about, she had reluctantly narrowed the viewport to offer better protection. Her vision and her world had shrunk to a small tunnel, one that she would rip and tear through.

She’d instinctively stuck close to Riya’s tank, perhaps unconsciously recognising the skill of its commander. The tank would zoom ahead and take out critical infrastructure, while Camille and co lumbered behind to mop up the remnants. Infantry would then sweep in behind her to take out any hiding troops. The plan was working well until they were ambushed by the AT-AT.

Blaster fire from the huge walker vaporised a squad to her right, to force of the blast knocking a plume of dirt into the air And obscuring her vision. She felt the walker wobble as the ground beneath the vehicle became unsteady. She swore, instinctively twisting the controls to prevent the Kosa from tipping over. Her stomach rippled with nausea as the walker leaned dangerously to the left, yet she managed to steady it at the last moment.

"We got to deal with those walkers!” came a static-y voice over her comms. “Get their attention off me, I have something in mind for the big one!". Camille took a deep breath, feeling the nausea in her stomach subside as she steeled her nerves. She brought the walker into a lumbering run, the thudding of its footsteps picking up in noise and intensity as she charged a nearby AT-ST. The enemy walker pivoted around, firing a salvo of blaster bolts that impacted around her visor. The coffin didn’t slow and as her opponent prepared another salvo she collided with the other walker. Her outstretched scythes pierced through the centre of the cockpit, before pushing to either side and tearing the chassis in two. She heard cheers from the two commandos above her.

She spun the walker around as she heard a huge crash. Orange smoke parted before her to reveal the remains of the AT-AT, now a twisted chunk of scrap metal. As the smoke cleared further, she spotted the small figure of a blue humanoid huddled in a crater. She slowly brought the walker over, making sure the feet were well clear of Riya. Crouching down next the Republic tanker, she widened her visor and removed her helmet so her ally could see her.

“That was a ballsy stunt you pulled” Camille shouted, grinning. “You’d make a good Mando”. She gestured to to the hatch at the top of the coffin. “Jump in, I’ll give a lift to the-”

She was rocked sideways as a missile collided with the side of the walker. Her head whipped about, colliding with the nearby metal bracket. Pain surged behind her eyes and she felt a wave of dizziness come on. She felt her hand go slack of the controls. She barely registered the shock of the walker falling over sideways, the distant yells of her comrades. She felt a trickle of blood run down her neck as the edges of her vision began to grow dark.

Aether Verd | Adonis Angelis IV | Perseus | Riya Pashen | | @Novac Lyrikal | Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr | Aselia Verd | Amelia von Sorenn |​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

Interacting: //: Dominique Vexx //: Adelle Bastiel //: Mia Monroe //: Seris Mataan //:
Nearby (?) //: Cynan Obaith //: Ayumi Pallopides //: Siv Kryze //: Tekton Artez

Slippery words were the way of a politician, but Dominique was in a league all her own. The woman navigated her conversations with ease, keeping an eye on the Echani and those around her. Quinn didn't miss the small glances she would make toward Adelle, which only made the young Queen wonder if this was all an act for the Mandalorians.

It would make sense. The Jedi had placed the Republic in a sticky situation, one that would be difficult to navigate. It wasn't lost on Quinn. She knew the problems that could arise from this mess. A war on three fronts, potentially four. Too much, and Quinn hated being the possible catalyst.

So she would let the show carry on. She would continue to smile and nod at the Chancellor's words.

"Thank you," she smiled in acknowledgment. "For the most part, the hospitality I've received on Naboo has been beyond gracious. It's been very hard to return to Eshan at times when I had to."

Her eyes trailed back to Adelle, wondering if the woman would ever interject herself into this conversation. Quinn looked back at Dominique, thinking about the words she had spoken about territories and the intent behind the meeting she had with the Jedi. She wondered if the Chancellor was just here to ease the situation, to defuse it into something of a misunderstanding.

The concept annoyed Quinn. First, the disrespect from the Jedi, then the Warmaster, and now the Chancellor's efforts.

Her attention returned to the Chancellor, her smile tightening slightly.

"I agree that as a galaxy we do work better together, which means accomplishments are for the betterment of the galaxy as a whole. I do hope that you're not the only one who holds those sentiments close."

To top it off, more people were gathering around them. It was becoming too much for the girl. The Chancellor's attention seemed split, but Quinn didn't say anything about it. It would have been rude, especially after Quinn had run off to dance with a crush during their last meeting.

As they stood there, Quinn could feel the walls slowly creeping in. More people moved for the Chancellor's attention. Their side of the room was becoming cramped, or so it felt. She wondered where 312 was. She wanted Adelle to step in and break the awkward tension, but Quinn felt alone.

Almost as if the Force itself took pity on the Echani, a gentle voice echoed near her. Quinn looked aside, seeing the redheaded Mandalorian from Keldabe finally move closer. The interaction was brief, but Quinn allowed a space in the gathering for the woman to stand beside her.

"It's good to see you as well." Her face softened in a way that she couldn't fight. A terrible thing in a room of politicians and those who could ruin her with a few words. Quinn, at this moment, didn't care. Seris's presence had brought a reprieve that she had needed.

 

[Mance Iblis]

Objective 1: System Purge
Location: Entering Socorro's Belt
​

They were a bit late, but the Legacy of Madine and its escort craft would join the battle over Kolene. Mance would be hunched over a large holotable, the battle playing out in various projected primary colours before him. His vessels, marked in Blue, would carry out his plan to the letter. The two DP40s would begin attempting to intercept Imperial transports as the four Hammerheads would screen Imperial TIEs from closing in on the cruisers, all the while the Legacy of Madine would bring its primary batteries around and unleash a barrage against the INV Punisher. Allied ships, marked in Yellow, would outnumber his own on the holographic field significantly. Several squadrons of bombers were engaging the INV Punisher, the main reason he had chosen to engage with that Star Destroyer first in an attempt to knock it out early in the battle and put pressure on the enemy vessels, marked in red, to draw their fire from the DP40s and their harrasment of the transports.

The Legacy would shudder as return fire would impact the shields; Mance's eyes drifting to the view window to watch the ripples of blue as each bolt hit his ship. With a deep sigh he forced his mind to calm; he trusted his officers to carry out his plan and assure the ship didn't end up splintered into a half dozen pieces. Regardless, Mance couldn't help but idly pacing back and fourth as his eyes watched the battle playing out in front of him in high quality holographic fidelity.

"Scramble fighters, but keep them close to the hull. I don't want any would-be-aces getting any ideas and getting turned to slag. Keep bombers away from the shields."

A half-dozen officers would scramble upon hearing his words to relay this information to their relative departments. The gunners would need to watch out for friendlies, the pilots would be itching for the word to go, and the engineers would need to be ready encase there were any last-second hiccupts with the fighter launch.

Within only a minute Mance watched the hologram as two squadrons of X-94s would stream from the Legacy of Madine's hangars; not much in the grand scheme of things but they were just a little added protection against TIEs.

Finally Mance's mind would turn to the communique from the Imperials. Marlon Sularen was here? He had heard of the man... not many good things, but he was apparently a brilliant commander and officer. This would certainly be interesting, and Mance was under no impression he could best the man in battle; especially with such limited resources at his disposure.

Aether Verd Zoro Igala Riya Pashen Shokoh al Khayyat Ronhar Tane Amelia von Sorenn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Marlon Sularen