Why We Fight (Galactic Alliance)

[Jaius Sovv]

Byllurun​

SULLUST​

Of all the speeches President Jaius Sovv of the Sullustan Council had ever delivered in his lifetime, the contents of this one were the most unexpected. As he hobbled toward the podium and the provided stool for his species’ shorter frame, he marveled at how just a few short months ago he had been one of the last hopes for peace between these two galactic superpowers.

Strange days.

“Citizens of the Galactic Alliance,” he began, as the holofeeds focused in on a face withered by age and decades of service, “And to those sentients watching this broadcast from beyond our borders, I bid you greetings. There can be no question as to the reasons for which I speak to you now.

Yesterday, a day which will no doubt live in infamy, the Federation was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the armed forces of the First Order. Apparently not content with their warmongering on Mustafar and its surrounding systems, our Imperial neighbors to the southwest launched an all out assault on the sovereign world of Skor, threatening the wellbeing of the King and his people with an unprovoked and callous orbital bombardment.

But this is not an end to their list of crimes. Dark Side cultists were sighted within their ranks on the ground, and reports of the use of chemical weapons on one of the native Squibs' orbital platforms are just a few more on a long list of grievances the peoples of the Galactic Alliance now hold against the Moffs and Governors of the First Order.

In the wake of Atrisia, in the wake of Kaeshana, there are those throughout the galaxy who would paint us as imperialists, as aggressors, as crusaders. Well, perhaps we may well be guilty of the last,” A pause for polite laughter, “But in this hour there can be no doubt as to the true aggressors now. There is no moral ambiguity. We can no longer stand idly by and in so doing invite our own destruction. To those of you who know me, or know my name, you also know my record. I am the last to call for violence, and the first for peace. I would not be saying this to you now if I believed there were any other choice.

But I will not apologize for my ideals! I will not apologize for who we are, or our way of life! For defending our homes and our freedoms and our very right to exist! I will not apologize to an enemy who knows no mercy, pity, or tolerance. An enemy hellbent on our total annihilation. I will not apologize for justice!

A policy of appeasement is no longer tenable. And so, it is with a heavy heart that I tell you the Triumvirate Council has directed me to speak with you today to convey, that after long deliberations and at the order of the Supreme Commander himself, a state of war exists between the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances and the First Order.”

President Sovv stepped away from the podium to an uproar of questions and whirring holostills, and knew there was no going back now. Within hours, elements throughout the Defense Force would be on high alert and waiting for orders from FLEETCOM. Within days, most of the senior Jedi of the Order would be recalled to Sullust for an emergency conclave.

And in the war torn Elrood sector, Federation forces seek to help the native populace begin to heal and rebuild, as the Galactic Alliance flag still flies over the planetary capital of Skor II...

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Fort Dawn​

ELROOD SECTOR​

​

​

The Combat Operations Center of the frontier starport was on fire with activity, Alliance officers and senior civilian station personnel scrambled all around him in an attempt to coordinate logistics operations on a scale that had not even been tested by SoroSuub's most rigorous stress simulations. The Starfort's capital berths were filled to absolute capacity, with a long line of ravaged hulls patiently waiting their turn for the refit and repair work the Fort's crews were pulling consecutive shifts without rest just to keep up with. Relief would be here soon, and those that could would be redirected to separate ports with enough space and more resources for the kind of triage many of these ships would need before they could be considered restored. But for now, Fort Dawn remained the front line in terms of those Alliance vessels too damaged to make it anywhere else, and the wounded. All the wounded.

The station director had declared a state of emergency, suspending all docking, departures, and non-essential civilian foot traffic. Not long after that, the medics had begun hauling in the first of the casualties on stretchers. Quickly filling the station's medical centers to capacity, the Federation soldiers had to be laid on the deck outside the little hospitals as station crew rushed off to find suitable alternate housing that could be used to set up emergency overflow sites. Among that first wave had been Commodore Zark Pulsar and his first officer Lieutenant Commander Bashir, two of the surviving senior officers of the ANS Hereafter, which had exploded in orbit over Skor II during the battle.

Vaguely, Zark could recall Bashir hauling him out of one of the overflow tents and back to his private quarters, and then...

"You alright?" The Mon Cal's voiced jarred him from his contemplation, and the Commodore glanced around the COC.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said finally, giving the first officer of a ship that no longer existed a pointed glance.

"I mean, can you function?" Bashir pressed, meeting that glance with a gaze he held unflinchingly.

The Jedi grunted as he nodded, slowly, "I'll be on the next relief transport cleared for Skor."

"Already?" the Mon Calamari asked, not really all that surprised, "Shouldn't you rest a little while lon-"

Zark cut his XO off with another glance, this one harder, and the second time Bashir relented. The two of them sat in silence for a while, and the human naval officer drank his caff as men and women all around them shouted orders and data back and forth at once another.

"Think you can swing another seat on that transport?" Bashir finally asked. The two exchanged another look, and there were no smiles on either of their faces, but finally Commodore Pulsar nodded.

"You're not the only one who feels like he failed them, you know."

To those words, the Jedi Knight had no response at all.

 

[Bryce Bantam]

Music​

In war there were many horror but for this past week Bryce has been exposed to something far worse... Squib pop...

As was his way he requested no special treatment while he he rested after the battle. In a overcrowd hospital room he had been packed into with the rest while emergency medical teams scrambled. His squib roommates seemed abscessed with the local music, a form of youth band pop that if he had to listen to one more day he may turn to the darkness...

Thankfully the Coalition "Crimson Cross", a medical super carrier had arrived just in time. Now with the medical equipment he needed to fix himself and the injured citizens of Skor II he could finally get back to being himself. She had been the angel of Castimeer, tending to the wounded after the omega crash. Once more the refitted ship was orbiting a planet decimated by war. Taking on as many poor souls and injured bodies as she could hold in an attempt to heal the wounded.

There was just one more thing he needed to do. Replace his injured hand and remove the young Ren's lightsaber from his body...

 

[Cathul Thuku]

Meanwhile, on Skor II, Metrobig City has suffered immensely from the destruction wrought by the Graug and Yuuzhan Vong in the first incursion and the First Order in the second. The ANS Lothal, which was previously used in a medvac capacity prior to entering battlefleet service, now served as a makeshift hospital while it was parked in the Blastport while the more permanent one is being rebuilt, much like she did on Karfeddion prior to the deployment of Therapy Command's battlefleet on Skor. These Squib thought big, and she had to respect them. It was therefore going to be much bigger than either one of Cuvacia, Dahrtag, Inysh, Karfeddion or Shawken. Hence additional shipments of materials were going to be necessary to rebuild the city in full. With the last batch of medvac having been sent to Polis Massa from the Salvagestuff Platform, she is now forced to rely on the medics stationed onboard the surviving ships of the battlefleet to get the job done, alongside any delivery of construction materials required. Once the Lothal is about to make landfall in the Blastport...

"We are on final approach towards the Blastport" the Lothal's pilot reported. "Landing imminent"

"Stay on your guard: intelligence reports that there are pockets of Vong resistance in the underground of the city. We must not proceed unescorted"

 

[Taeli Raaf]

"So it begins."

Taeli leaned back in her office chair, Jaxson sitting across the desk from her while they watched the broadcast from Sullust on Erilnar. She had been wondering when the declaration would officially come, considering the massive invasion in the Mustafar sector and then the incursion at Skor II. There was only so much a galactic power would take until they finally decided to start hitting back. She had to wonder just how the First Order was taking their first loss to the Alliance. She suspected it wasn't going to be pleasant for those their so-called Supreme Leader deemed having failed him. She was going to have to dispatch Eldaah to gauge their reaction.

"Indeed, my Lady," Jaxson replied. "What do you anticipate this will do?"

Before she answered, she considered the options. The Alliance was going to take the offensive, that much was certain. She could likely extrapolate several significant targets the Alliance would aim to take... or liberate as they would call it she was sure. A massive increase to the armed forces would occur, with High Command reaching out for newer and better technologies to counter anything the First Order might produce. SIS would be going in behind the lines, disrupt their supply lines, assassinate key personnel, all of that stuff that spies did. The Jedi... she wasn't exactly sure, but the Grand Marshal was probably going to order a closer relationship with the military and to begin countering the efforts of the Ren... she gave a snort as she thought that.

"I suspect I'll be needed on Sullust," she responded.

 

[Craig Bowler]

Tython Airspace​

Craig sat grasping his chair inside the Moc 12. He stroked his chin slowly and peered outside the window nearby at the hangar bay. Men were scrambling from left to right, trying to get in position. They were headed for Sullust. The recent broadcast had prompted a new mission for the crew. Tython was no longer their main "priority". They were tasked with the joining of the defense fleet. Craig, who had already had enough fighting for one week, sat thinking on what to do. He could not go home to Tatooine... He had already pledged his allegiance to the Galactic Alliance. There was no chance he was going back now. He had work to do.

"Craig? We need you on the bridge please." The hologram closest to Craig said.

"Looks like the fun is starting..."

He stood up and approached the door. He did not turn back. Duty called.

 

[Xandyr]

[member="Zark"]

Tap tap tap

"I can get you there faster."

---

Vilin Nor looked increasingly agitated as he looked down at the table. His angular, bearded face was uplit by the screen of a datapad. He watched the First Order proclamation as they decimated their own ranks. The devaronian wasn't actually opposed to execution as a concept. Whilst it wasn't the Alliance's position he would have had no problem with it being policy for gross incompetence, cowardice or negligence that led to the deaths of fellow soldiers. But this… this was cruelty.


There was a ripple of anger that flashed from one side of the room to the other as the information was spread quickly. Vilin looked around the room for a moment, anchoring himself in the present instead of wallowing in anger. He spotted Commodore Zark and decided to head in his direction for a conversation.

---

“My ship has just been commissioned,” he explained further. “She's ten kilometres off the station being refuelled and armed for the first time.” The tap of his cane had been slow and loud. Raw anger.

 

[Cathul Thuku]

Also, in the meantime, what damage was wrought to the Interplanetary Blastport would have to be repaired, on top of building any hospital on the planetary surface. Cathul knew that there was a lot of work to be done, and once the Blastport was repaired, then she could go help out in the hospital. Once landfall was made, the medical teams began to fan out in the city, with support elements. It was far too dangerous to contemplate sending out medics on their lonesome: while First Order generally respected medvacs, no such guarantees could be had from the Graug or Vong. With the first durasteel beams earmarked specifically for the Blastport being out of the ship, the white Twi'lek began making for the nearest damaged gate, where she took care of using telekinesis to get the broken transparisteel shards (even though she knew transparisteel was a lie: transparency required that the refraction index be real-valued) to the recycling bin. And only when the old one was cleared could she install a new transparisteel pane...

"Now, give me a transparisteel pane, will you?"

"Oh yes... admiral"

 

[Aeron Kreelan]

SULLUST
Sullust Base


Aeron knew it would come to this.

She knew back on Kaeshana. On Barkhesh. On Skor. Now it was a matter of fighting back, of being the tip of the spear. Omega Pyre would support the Alliance in whatever it path it would decide, but it had to be done right and well. It had to be organized.

"Get me the Supreme Commander Nemo Ven." the curt request was sent directly towards the encrypted channels that as Prex allowed Aeron to get to the people on top a little faster than most. It of course, didn't mean it was a direct dial. No, they all had their hierarchies.

"If there is a meeting set up for how we will move forward, it has to be done now." fingers impatiently gave a tap on her arm.

[member="Cathul Thuku"] [member="Vilin"] [member="Craig Bowler"] [member="Taeli Raaf"] [member="Bryce Bantam"] [member="Zark"] [member="Jaius Sovv"] [member="Sieb Tevv"] @Gabriel Sionama [member="Dalton Eldyr"] [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"]

 

[H3xle]

Presidential Palace - Eriadu

Dalton had spent the last few weeks reading reports. Reports on the reconstruction efforts at Atrisia. Reports out of Pii system and the reconstruction going on there. Reports from the Alliance government detailing the loss of Mustafar's hex, and Kaeshana as well. Reports on the First Order's failed attempt to take Skor. He'd had his fill of reports. He stood, looking out over Eriadu from his office window. There was a war on, and life still moved. The people in the city laid out before him went on with their lives.

"How could they not...bills don't stop coming due just because your fascist neighbor decides to get violently expansionist."

"Excuse me sir, I couldn't hear you." The words almost startled him. He turned around and saw his intelligence adviser sitting on the sofas to one side of the room, looking over still more reports. Only then did Dalton realize he had spoken out loud. He couldn't help but smile as he turned fully back and stroked his beard.

"Life goes on." Was all he said to repeat the meaning of his statement. The intelligent eyes of Roberta Alroe took in the statement and nodded smartly before turning back to her reports.

A knock on the door preceded his assistant entering the room.

"Dalton, there is to be a meeting on Sullust." Was all his assistant had to say.

"Set up transportation." He said, then turned to Roberta. "Do we have those casualty figures from Skor handy? I want to add them into my file on the growing cost of the First Order. This should be the meeting we've been waiting for."

"On your desk, above the left hand drawer. Should be under your rough draft of the speech you were supposed to give tomorrow commemorating the first day of rebuilding after the First Order attacked Eriadu." She said, looking up only as she got to the last part of the statement.

"Damnation..." He said as he picked up both pads. He looked from one to the other for a moment, then shook his head. "I can be a ceremonial head of state, or I can work for my dinner. Have Alecs prep her speech, with something in there about how we aren't taking the First Order's aggression lying down. She'll have to stay and miss the Alliance meeting, but can't be helped." He continued, putting down the speech pad and taking the pad with statistics over to a holographic interface. He placed the pad on a small table before it, then began to wave his arms around in a way that only high technology societies and wizards understood, all else would have thought him mad. He added in the statistics to a report he had been generating since the day he took office. It was a report on the growing threat of the First Order. He'd been trying to shove it down the throats of the Alliance brass for years, but it might finally be time that they listened.

-------------

Alliance Headquarters - Sullust

Dalton stretched as he got out of the air car and began to walk up the steps that led into the headquarters of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances. He had a single pad with him. To the Triumvirate, it would be a very familiar pad. He'd taken the same one to every meeting. He knew that some considered him a war hawk, or a one trick pony, but time had come to strike back at the First Order. The Alliance could no longer afford to ignore the travesty of a government that was their neighbor. He passed through security with the plodding pace that was typical of secure areas. Nevermind the checkpoints he'd already passed. He didn't mind a single second of it, just pressed on once he was done, aiming for the meeting that would see the Alliance finally come to bear on the people that had decimated his planet.

[member="Aeron Kreelan"] | [member="Cathul Thuku"] | [member="Vilin"] | [member="Craig Bowler"] | [member="Taeli Raaf"] | [member="Bryce Bantam"] | [member="Zark"] | [member="Jaius Sovv"]

 

[Cathul Thuku]

While Cathul used telekinesis to hold a transparisteel pane in place with one hand, with the other hand she summoned a durasteel rod with a gasket on two sides, designed to prevent moisture from penetrating through the joint between two transparisteel panes. She realized that, while the Alliance High Command, she remains on Skor so that Therapy Command could defend the planet from any further space-borne incursions, while the site of the hospital is being cleared up of any rubble left behind in the wake of the First Order's orbital bombardment and the Graug/Vong before that. For now, she had to weld together the metal rods holding the durasteel rod, using pyrokinesis, while making sure the gaskets won't suffer too much damage and affect its ability to do what these gaskets are used for in the first place. Bewildered by Cathul seemingly being able to use the Force for welding, the workers were slow to realize that - they previously assumed that Cathul was a witch with a limited spellbook, with most of the book's content pertaining to spaceflight and the rest being generic Jedi stuff.

"Now that's one witch to watch out for" a worker commented, while assigning droids to various duties.

"Most wizards of my stature would rather be fighting aground than in space" she commented.

 

[Bryce Bantam]

His arm felt "funny". Days of force healing treatments after the surgery had succeeded in allowing him to make a full recovery but his body was well aware of the trauma his arm had gone through a few weeks before. He had decided to experiment on himself using a technique he had been developing for years. His "cell printer" now completed he had decided to test it and had created a new forearm and hand for himself to replace the one melted and destroyed in his meeting with the young Knight of Ren. As with anything he did however he added a few special tweeks. The most prominent one being has addition of Phink to his bone structure. With a limited supply from Demonsgate he had added it to the injection matrix and instead of his bones being made of brittle calcium, he had smooth shining metal covered in flesh starting from his elbow and running all the way to his phalanges. To add to this he had redesigned his muscle tissue in his new limb, packing three times the cell fibers in each strand to exponentially increase his grip. He figured it would come in handy next time he needed to catch a light saber or clock a person in the mush.

Bar fighting aside he had chosen to go this route for a few reasons. However the most important was to remain organic was to stay connected to the force and though cyber hands were cool. This compromise seemed more than acquitted and would still allow him to have the dexterity he would need in medical matters as well.

His healing aside he began to walk into the massive patient rooms of the ship, He still had a little force strength left today and while there were those in need he would always help. In the first bed he came to lay a woman, her blue fur still matted in her own blood. By her side were her children each wearing breathing masks to help their wounded lung heal from the chemical attacks performed by the First Order during attempted take over of Skor II. His first instinct was to help the children but knew from the looks in their eyes how much they were worried for their brave mothers well being.

As he set the dials of his force tool help with the healing process he began to talk with the children. Trying to cheer them up he spoke of more pleasant things but they always changed the conversation back to their mother. How when the chemical attack began she had saved them by locking them in a closet and sealing the door with whatever she could find...

It was a mothers way, selfless to the last the story brought a tear to Bryce's eye as he went to work. For hours he let the power of the Force flow through him. Arms, legs, eyes, lungs. He focused on all parts damaged by the wretched gas. For hours he would work, well into the night. Well after the kids were forced to leave. When they came in the next morning they would not come in to find their mother as they had left her. No longer flat on her back with multiple tubes stuck into her she was now sitting up and laughing with Bryce over a cup of caffeine.

The Youngest of her pups yelled "Mommy!" in an excited voice at seeing the change. As all the children came running to their mothers side Bryce would simply side step the pack and stand back a smile on his face.

"This is why we fight," he said to himself and let the family to their joy as he retired to rest from the nights work.

[member="Dalton Eldyr"] | [member="Aeron Kreelan"] | [member="Zark"] | [member="Jaius Sovv"]

 

[Isar Kislo]

Sullust Base

Isar was certainly aware that some big broadcast was being made as sweat dripped from his brow. Unlike the vast majority of others presently in the gym, his focus was on the task at hand. A swift combination to the punching bag in front of him cut through the otherwise somber air in the gym, punctuated by three clipped exhales from the hybrid.

It was a skill that he'd had to learn with some urgency as a child, separating his mind's focus from the distractions around him without sacrificing awareness completely. Even as the announcement by the President came to a close, Isar could feel the elation that soared throughout the gym. Soldiers and civilians alike were stirred into a frenzy, emboldened by mere words.

One such individual, in his exuberant ignorance, deemed it a wise decision to try and convey his excitement to Isar like they were brothers separated since birth. No sooner had the young man attempted to reach out to grasp Isar's shoulder than the Kiffar warrior dipped under the reach and snaked his arm around the would-be aggressor before forcing his back against the cool ground.

Placing a knee to the man's chest firmly, Isar rotated his involuntary opponent's arm aggressively - nearing the point of breaking. "Do not. Touch. Me. Again."

The soldier on the ground struggled pointlessly as a couple of his actual friends began to advance on Isar. The genetic experiment raised a free hand...but did nothing this time around. Most of the frequent visitors to this particular facility had learned from experience to leave Isar to his devices. At least one of the advancing heroes had seen the display before.

"The hell is wrong with you Kislo!? We're on the same side."

Isar released the man and came to his feet before offering a helping hand.

The man on the ground slapped it away and pulled himself back to his feet. "Nobody wants to touch you like that anyways, freak."

Several thoughts ran through Isar's mind. The taunt was predictable though they had seemed to wane in recent months given how long it had been since the revelation of his 'heritage' had become apparent to him and others. Isar merely turned, collecting his things.

"Yeah go ahead and run just like your so-called parents. Figures they wouldn't want you."

Isar started walking, largely unaffected. He knew neither [member="Kiskla Grayson"] nor [member="Marcello Matteo"] on a personal level outside of a very brief, awkward conversation with the two.

"I would definitely touch his sister though." The comment was largely whispered and not meant for Isar to hear.

Isar heard it anyways but did not react.

"And she's an officer? Talk about major points."

Maybe they weren't loved enough as children...or too much.

"Hell boys. We're going to war. Everyone needs some...companionship."

Isar dropped his bag. Two minutes later he emerged from the gym, placing the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder. In the distance he could hear the sounds of approaching medics. The young warrior's attentions could only afford to be leveled in the direction of the medics for a handful of seconds as suddenly he was overwhelmed by the approach of a vaguely familiar presence. Slowly, Isar tracked his blue-white gaze in the direction of the sensation. The young Kiffar's expression darkened slightly as he recognized the vessel.

"Here we go..."

[member="Aeron Kreelan"]

 

[Cathul Thuku]

The crane being finally deployed around her, Cathul could now get to the more interesting part of the business: welding. From a prone position, she watches another transparisteel crane being hoisted into place with its gasket surrounding it, and once that is done, she begins welding the window into place once the window is in position. Due to her own skill in using pyrokinesis, she can get the process done in about 20 seconds, but then there came a point where the mesh of durasteel beams ended - damage sustained by the spaceport's vaulted roof caused part of the uppermost sections of the roof to collapse. That would never work otherwise, she thought, while the destroyed beam has been removed prior to this. With the damaged structural components being disposed of in a container bound for the Metrobig Salvagestuff Platform, Cathul realizes that the Salvagestuff Platform will be filled with refuse from the surface's torn buildings for the weeks to follow, and whatever Squibs are working in it.

"Roof truss in place, admiral"

"Copy that" she acknowledged while she welds a roof truss in place so that transparisteel panes can be applied on it later.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

The modified N-1T banked sharply to the right as it cut very close to Isar's position, no more than a couple hundred feet in the air. The pilot at the controls hadn't visited Sullust in some time, but the intimations of war between the Galactic Alliance and First Order had drawn him from his seclusion between Kiffar and Naboo. It had been some time now since the peaceful transition of power on Naboo had been passed to [member="Jamie Pyne"], a woman that Marcello had supported albeit quietly. The passing of the mantle was part of a promise he had made to both himself, the people of Naboo, and the love of his life. His temporary rule was only ever meant to be a stop-gap in the wake of Andromeda's passing.

Dirt and light debris kicked up briefly as the Naboo native abruptly flared the dark blue interceptor and manipulated thrust between the repulsors and sublight bank to drop off the vessel's horizontal velocity and nestle it softly onto the outermost landing pad. The shutdown procedures hadn't even started before the Jedi Master popped the canopy and jumped to the ground amidst the angry whirls and beeps of R9.

Dressed typically casual despite his status on both Kiffar and Naboo, Marcello briefly adjusted his worn leather flight jacket as he stalked towards his son. A small smirk came to the Naboo native's features as he noted the irritated expression on Isar's face. The moment he passed within earshot, Marcello chuckled lightly. "Did they permanently affix that scowl to your face in the lab? I know, it's your happy face right? I'm glad to see you too son."

Isar's gaze remained leveled at his 'father'. "I'm not your son. I'm an experiment that you knew nothing about, remember?"

Marcello rolled his eyes. "Look kid. Were you conceived in the normal manner? No. That does not change what blood runs through your veins. What's the problem now?"

"Why are you here?"

"I can't just make a surprise visit?"

Isar rolled his eyes this time. "You don't do surprises."

"Your mother would disagree."

"She's not my mo---"

"I know, I know." Marcello made his next statement in an annoying, mocking baby voice. "She's not my mama." The Rogue Jedi Master returned to a normal voice. "Get over yourself and grow up kid." Somewhat aggressively, Marcello pointed to the worn hilt of the weapon that Isar gripped tightly in his right hand. "You carry a part of me everywhere you go. When I gave that to you, I didn't do it out of pity or regret. I did it to remind you of whom you are a part of." The device had been modified by [member="Kiskla Grayson"] some time ago, a gift to Marcello. Since that day, it was equal parts a fraction of his soul and hers. "It's not just a weapon. It is your right, your legacy. A symbol of your time among the galaxy. Yet you seem, from reports I've received, content to wallow in laziness and unnecessary aggression. What are you so angry about?"

Isar...didn't really have an answer. He had never been particular good at processing emotions...nothing like his sister. Perhaps that was...part of the problem. He felt like he wasn't a real person.

Marcello sighed softly, placing a hand on Isar's shoulder. "Nobody can tell you what you are. Regardless of how you were given life...your life is your own, but you have to make the decision as to whether or not you want your life to have meaning."

"You say it like it's so easy."

Marcello smirked. "Yeah. It's a defense mechanism. You come from good stock kid, but you don't have to be me or your mother. We both lived vastly different lives. She was always running around trying to be important and I merely was a foot soldier, a weapon. Hell you can be neither of those things though...I hear you get into enough petty fights to clearly indidcate you're not meant to exactly be a Seer."

Isar scoffed slightly. "It's not like I start the fights. I prefer to simply stop them decisively, to avoid having to have the exact same fight again in the future."

Marcello's smirk transformed into a smile. "You're more my son than you could possibly imagine, Isar. Similarly, your sister is 100% her mother's daughter. Speaking of Loske..."

Isar rolled his eyes. "Of course. You're here because she called. You know she's going to try and convince you to join the fight, right?"

Marcello laughed before turning, motioning for Isar to follow. "She always trys. Come on. I think there is someone you need to meet...officially."

Several minutes of idle conversation about Kiffar, Naboo, and Isar's mother passed before Marcello guided Isar to a nondescript building on the base. Eventually, they arrived at the door to the office of [member="Aeron Kreelan"], a member of OmegaPyre. Isar probably had heard of her at least, she was a Zeison Sha warrior, and he'd spent a considerable amount of time training with them. Marcello knew the woman mostly by reputation, but he'd had occasion to interact with her on a handful of operations. The Rogue Jedi Master knocked twice.

 

[Cathul Thuku]

Cathul being one of those key naval figures in the whole Skor campaign, even though in the first battle she was mostly a sideline figure where she handled the life-saving medvac/casvac, saving the lives of many Squibs over a few weeks using medvac squadrons attached on Polis Massa, it doesn't take long for the Squibs to realize that she isn't one's everyday Jedi or admiral. Among the Circle of Healers, or even other Jedi, she seems to be better-known for surgical or utilitarian uses of the Force. So she would continue doing that, by welding more beams into place. But now that the hospital's site has begun cleaning rubble, the Lothal's cargo hold is steadily filling with rubble en route for the Salvagestuff Platform, with endless convoys of speeder trucks coming in, filled with bulldozed rubble, she sees the Lothal steadily filling with more and more rubble, while they still were treating Squib patients onboard. With the preflight checks underway...

"Admiral, we won't be able to take in more patients until the ship returns from the Salvagestuff Platform" a medic of the Lothal's crew told Cathul.

"Do we have a first aid station in the spaceport?"

"Yes, although it's just a stopgap until then" the medic acknowledged.

 

[Bryce Bantam]

Closing thread inspired by [member="Ara Ren"] here -

I'd heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?..
Well, it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah...

X<-- play me

Exhaustion had fallen like an old blanket over Bryce, not smothering him down, but wrapping him the warmth of a good days work. Caring for the sick and wounded of Skor II was fulfilling. Righteous deeds done by a man who has not always lived up to his most sacred beliefs. The Son of a pleasure slave had come along way from his humble beginnings. But it was these things that brought him peace, these simple tasks that gave him comfort.

This day would be different that the past few that had run together. Additional alliance assets had arrived and with may of the most injured patents tended to by those far more skilled in the healing arts than he. The Coalition was pulling out and back to their own space. Bryce had returned to the old Vision class corvette he had so wisely over paid for. But as least his hard earned money would be wasted on those (the Squibs) who truly needed it. Without a working hyperdrive he was forced to call in a "105" to haul the ship back into friendly space where he could properly restore it. It would be arriving tomorrow.

Till then he would rest on his mostly working ship. Still the Squibs had done a beautiful job restoring the interior. Everything from the marble tile in the refresher to the silk sheets on the bed were first class. At this point in the night, when he would normally slip into slumber; Something was troubling him, something he couldn't put out of his mind...

He pulled the strangers saber from a finely crafted box by his night stand. After it had been removed from his person he had made sure to restore it to near pristine condition. With the care of a artiest he had taken it apart and cleaned each piece of carbon score and blood. It was still linked to it's master and as he work on it he could feel her pain.

Why did she suffer so? Did she not understand the gift she had been given?

Bryce was no stranger to the thrust of the dark side. The false strength it granted. She mourned like one who had lost family. Did she not realize the force was still with her?

She though of him, and when he worked on the saber he of her. They would meet again, he was no seer but there paths were linked. From the moment they met this would only lead to one of two endings. Enlightenment or death...

Which would they choose? This would be decided on another day. For now he would rest and place her saber back in its' place of honor. Not like a trophy won in battle, but like a gift of great value to be returned when they next met.

Well, maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah...

"Sleep well young Ren, you are stronger than you know. May you learn the true meaning of strength, it waits for you to discover it..."

 

[Aeron Kreelan]

[member="Marcello Matteo"] [member="Isar Kislo"]

The rap on the door was heavy, purposeful, and likely brought with it the sort of company that annoyed Aeron the most -- demands and complaints.

Half way in her comm call while waiting for someone to answer on just what the plan was for the Alliance was already frustrating enough. With a cluck of her tongue, the Zeison Sha ran the flat of her tongue over the front of her teeth. What were the chances that they would go away?

Eyeballing the door, the woman in the dark, steel gray leather armor with the Omega Pyre patch upon her right shoulder considered her options. A flash of oceanic blue eyes then went darting towards her data terminal. Not like I can't check out my own camera feed.

Ever since Barkhesh and one rather annoying FO Intelligence agent, she'd been having strange disturbances in her security network. Not anything vicious, just... aggravating. Little did she know the truth of the root of the matter. Perhaps that would come later.

As it was, a few clicks of her keyboard and the camera brought up an image. Two men. Both blonde, tall, big and --

"Wait a karking minute." The Prex uttered under her breath, leaning forward and pressing the flat of her hand to the desk to get a closer look.

Yup, couldn't miss it. It was him. The bloody former King of Naboo in all his glory.

"Now why is he here?" well it was fairly obvious that she wouldnt' be able to pretend she wasn't here -- that Jedi would just simply keep on knocking -- or simply kick her door in.

Great.

"Kark it." pressing her comm on speaker, the delightful on hold music began to play, signaling that she was still waiting for confirmation from anyone in the Alliance to give her an update. With a yell, the Omega Pyre Prex said, "Come in!"

Here is what the pair would see; Aeron standing by her desk, two-toned blonde and ochre hair falling in waves and flanking her angular face. The geometric blue tattoos visible along the left side of her neck. She held the posture of a soldier, command in her stance and the evident short patience for any bullpoodoo. Yet it was the electric fire in her eyes that could hold the attention for a few extra seconds.

"Long way from Naboo, Your... wait what how do I even address you now? Kark it -- Matteo." last names were generally the go to anyways, at least in Pyre circles. Those oceanic orbs then flickered over from Marcello to Isar.

Well, Aeron was never the most diplomatic of Prexs'. That had been Cira all the way.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello waited patiently, saying nothing. There was little doubt in his mind that [member="Aeron Kreelan"] was present.

Isar on the other end, ever impulsive bordering on impatient, spoke his mind. "I think this is a sign the person we're here to meet just wants us to go away."

Marcello exhaled softly. "That thing I said about you being my son? You just ruined that." The Naboo native started to grumble something about Kiskla before Aeron's unmistakable voice bid them enter. Palming open the door, Marcello threw a brief knowing glance in Isar's direction before crossing the threshold.

Isar rolled his eyes slightly. Dick. Entering the room behind Marcello, he casually moved to stand by his father's side; their respective builds practically identical.

Marcello smiled thinly at Aeron. "Now as ever, Marcello is just fine, Aeron." Catching Aeron's gesture, he inclined his head towards Isar. "This is my son, Isar."

Isar bristled ever so slightly. "Wait..." Isar stole a brief glance at Marcello before settling his inquisitive eyes on Aeron, blue orbs briefly sweeping her form. "Aeron as in Aeron Kreelan?" His Zeison Sha foster family/tormentors/instructors had spoken of her on more than a few occasions during his time sequestered on Yanibar. Isar paused for less than half a heartbeat. "You're taller than I expected."

Marcello took over from there. "He spent quite a bit of time, over seven years, on Yanibar. The story of his arrival there is both complicated and largely irrelevant to the point of my visit. He's lost his way. I thought, perhaps, meeting someone that had lived the lifestyle he merely sampled would help to give him...clearer purpose." The Rogue Jedi Master offered Aeron a brief nod of his head and a roguish grin. "Always a pleasure Aeron. You'll have to excuse me. I have another engagement."

Without saying another word or really waiting for much of a response, Marcello turned and quickly retreated down the corridor, movements surprisingly agile and silent for one of his size.

 

[Aeron Kreelan]

[member="Marcello Matteo"]

Taller than I expected?

That threw her. What, did they expect me to be some Ugnaught midget? Annoyance would color Aeron's expression, twisting into one of minute unamused patience and annoyance. One that only increased when it dawned on the Prex just what Marcello was doing. Or more aptly, just did.

The jaunty tune from her comm being on hold with connecting to Admiral Nemo was a rather mocking jingle as the Jedi Master said his piece and then walked away.

"Marcello!" Aeron cried out, fingers tapping a beat on top of her desk only to snap away as the bloody, karking man practically gleefully went darting down the corridor.

Cobalt fire eyes barely glanced over at Isar, the woman purposely striding around her desk in an attempt to follow Marcello. "Stay here." She managed to crack out at who was supposed to be Marcello's child; who looked far too OLD to be his progeny, to begin with.

"Don't touch anything, kid." Followed suit, the woman using those long legs of hers that provided the height Isar had mentioned to stride on after Marcello. Unfortunate that the comm at that very moment decided to go through.

[Prex Kreelan, the Admiral is ready to speak to you. ].

"Marcello!" Cried out Aeron, vacillating between going back to take the call or tackle the Jedi. The latter likely would have given her the most satisfaction come to think of it.