From: Trandoshan Clan Council To: Galaxy At Large, particularly Refugees @Sidheach
The Trandoshan Clan Council would like it to be known that we feel for the suffering and pain felt by many sentients across the Galaxy in these troubled times, especially those displaced from their homes. We want to spread the word that any refugees seeking asylum or looking for a world that is not on the front lines of any war, Trandosha and Wasskah are open to refugees and immigration from all species. You will be granted the same protections and freedoms on Trandosha and Wasskah our citizens and permanent residents enjoy.
From: Trandoshan Clan Council To: The Trandoshan People
We know that the people of this world are always seeking new opportunities and a new hunt, and the Clan Council is always looking to help grant its people these opportunities. The Bounty Hunter's Guild, the Mercenary Companies, and the Trandoshan Clan Army and Navy are of course always willing to hire those with the aptitude and the desire, but the Council senses there are those among our people who seek a new challenge. We in the Council feel we may have just such a challenge. Our world has opened trade with many others, and our population and prosperity is growing but we, like all our people, seek new challenges and opportunities. Although it can sometimes feel as though all of the space in our region of the galaxy is known, this is simply not true. Ships for the most part only travel known Hyerspace lanes between already charted systems and worlds, but all around us are stars and worlds no sentient in the known galaxy has seen as more than a bright light in the sky, and which none have explored. We would seek routes to these worlds, and would explore and colonize these exotic and untouched planets. This is a challenge worthy of the T'doshok, and we hope many of you will choose to join us on this great Hunt for New Worlds.
Among the many afflictions and bacteria that have been spreading across the galaxy, few are perhaps as pernicious as the "Moff". Although it is assumed that its homeworld is Coruscant, it has been determined that it spread across many of the core worlds. Moffs were particularly influential in the former "Nobles of the Republic" a strange oxymoron if everyone one there was, who seemed to discover that as soon as they were exposed to the temptation of the moff that it was irresistible. They simply could not turn away.
What is a Moff, you may ask? It is a disease which inflicts itself upon the Republican mind and turns it sick. Those who have become infected become "Moffs" themselves. They show a deep grandiosity and pomposity. They consider themselves without equivalence above everyone else. In times of crisis, they look to each other for support, and to spread the Moff even more; these gatherings are known as "mofferences" and are dangerous to go near. It is said that if one approaches a mofference, he may straighten his back, click his heels, and begin to think up plans for the destruction of planets. It is therefore recommended that all good citizens avoid the Moffs and their deeds like the plague.
Note that to escape the immediate circle of the moff's influence in the Core is not enough. Some say that Moffs dwell the halls of Eriadu itself. Some say that Mon Mothma herself is a Moff. It would not be a stretch. Mon Moffma. A frightening conclusion, but not a surprising one. Those that adopt the trappings of tyrants, for even the best of causes, become tyrants themselves.
Beware citizens, of the moff. Beware their pernicious influence, their prim and polished uniforms, their endless array of buttons which are presumably some kind of service medal for the slaughter of innocents and other annoying problems to the guilty empire. Most of all, beware that you might become a moff yourself, through a lack of respect for the Republic, for your fellow citizens, and for all sorts of fiendish acts.
Often the best cure for as much is to say "Moff" to yourself. The creature, embarrassed by its ridiculous name, will flee the body of all those nearby. Do not try this on those who have advanced influence of the Moff, but on those whose process of Moffification has merely started, you may try it. It may save a life!
~Polemic Recording distributed through haphazardly both the Republic and the First Restoration, along with, some say, the empire, though because no one has yet tried to yell moff at their fellow imperial subjects there, it has not been confirmed.
Among the many afflictions and bacteria that have been spreading across the galaxy, few are perhaps as pernicious as the "Moff". Although it is assumed that its homeworld is Coruscant, it has been determined that it spread across many of the core worlds. Moffs were particularly influential in the former "Nobles of the Republic" a strange oxymoron if everyone one there was, who seemed to discover that as soon as they were exposed to the temptation of the moff that it was irresistible. They simply could not turn away.
What is a Moff, you may ask? It is a disease which inflicts itself upon the Republican mind and turns it sick. Those who have become infected become "Moffs" themselves. They show a deep grandiosity and pomposity. They consider themselves without equivalence above everyone else. In times of crisis, they look to each other for support, and to spread the Moff even more; these gatherings are known as "mofferences" and are dangerous to go near. It is said that if one approaches a mofference, he may straighten his back, click his heels, and begin to think up plans for the destruction of planets. It is therefore recommended that all good citizens avoid the Moffs and their deeds like the plague.
Note that to escape the immediate circle of the moff's influence in the Core is not enough. Some say that Moffs dwell the halls of Eriadu itself. Some say that Mon Mothma herself is a Moff. It would not be a stretch. Mon Moffma. A frightening conclusion, but not a surprising one. Those that adopt the trappings of tyrants, for even the best of causes, become tyrants themselves.
Beware citizens, of the moff. Beware their pernicious influence, their prim and polished uniforms, their endless array of buttons which are presumably some kind of service medal for the slaughter of innocents and other annoying problems to the guilty empire. Most of all, beware that you might become a moff yourself, through a lack of respect for the Republic, for your fellow citizens, and for all sorts of fiendish acts.
Often the best cure for as much is to say "Moff" to yourself. The creature, embarrassed by its ridiculous name, will flee the body of all those nearby. Do not try this on those who have advanced influence of the Moff, but on those whose process of Moffification has merely started, you may try it. It may save a life!
~Polemic Recording distributed through haphazardly both the Republic and the First Restoration, along with, some say, the empire, though because no one has yet tried to yell moff at their fellow imperial subjects there, it has not been confirmed.
To: Borsk Fey'lya @comradepitrovsky
From: Ar'rawk Owo-Kupre, Secretary to the Chief of State SECRET
Minister Fey'lya, I am sorry, but it appears that someone without proper authorization or recognizance of the gravitas of your office has gained access to your office's holonet terminal.
I have alerted the security team on watch to this, and they should be performing a full sweep of your office within the next two minutes.
Furthermore, as it cannot be ruled out that your terminal is compromised, please requisition a new one presently to avoid unauthorized access to TOP SECRET clearance information.
Following six successive plebiscites, the First Restoration has determined its new banner. It was created by Citizen Akar Prost, who entered under the cunning pseudonym "Arost Pkar" and won handily. The First Restoration, with a banner of freedom, the four golden arrows in a hostile galaxy clearing a path for liberty and light, will soon triumph over the tyranny of the eternal enemy.
Mandalore made her way through the tight corridors of her new flagship, Vod Solus. The inspection of the Third Fleet had about concluded, scheduled in advance of the undertaking of a new campaign outside Mandalorian space. Satisfied with her tour, Mandalore was returning to the Slave 1 docked below.
Her apprentice followed close behind. The adopted son of Fleet Admiral Jai Kelborn, Archlonus had become the Mandalore's ward when Kelborn was appointed marshal of the fleets. Ceremoniously, it was a declaration of Kelborn's faith in the leadership of the Mandalore. Functionally, Archlonus was her hostage. The Mandalore ruled through strength, and that mandate was bolstered through threats unspoken.
"Before we depart, the captain informed me there was another open transmission from those who identify as the Chainbreakers. They attacked a Hapan Battle Dragon, and apparently took prisoners." Archlonus said, his voice unrestricted by the helmet he held in the crook of his arm. Mandalore hated that. It was a bad habit he'd picked up from his father. Archlonus was technically collateral to her, but it would look poorly on Mandalore if he got brained on her watch.
On top of that, she had to keep him away from the women's quarters during inspection. Naturally lavender hair? The boy was an oblivious walking holoshoot.
"Hostages." Mandalore said as they reached the turbolift to the hangar. She had to commend the Chainbreakers. They were thinking strategically for once. "They must be planning to negotiate for reduced cooperation with the Imperials. We should offer the Hapan assistance in this crisis. I can have a squad of supercommandos prepped for-" She trailed off as she turned her head toward Archlonus.
His head was bowed slightly, looking through the transparent lift doors as they descended into the cavernous hangar bay."Actually..."
The remainder of their descent passed in silence.
"Has your father heard?"
Somewhere in the Mid Rim, Jai Kelborn was laughing.
As one of the true Mandalorians involved in the resistance effort prior to the Battle of Endor, you contributed greatly towards spurring our people towards renewed independence. Should you choose to one day answer the recall to Mandalore, know that you will be recognized for your bravery.
The fact that you have not yet returned demonstrates that there are duties yet unaccomplished for you. And yet still I must ask for your assistance.
You were one of the last Mandalorians to be in possession of several artifacts of importance to the title of Mandalore, principle of which is the Darksaber. Returning these artifacts to their rightful place will strengthen our mandate, and help to inspire confidence in my rule.
I've searched high and low. I need a lead. Help me restore our people to greatness.
As one of the true Mandalorians involved in the resistance effort prior to the Battle of Endor, you contributed greatly towards spurring our people towards renewed independence. Should you choose to one day answer the recall to Mandalore, know that you will be recognized for your bravery.
The fact that you have not yet returned demonstrates that there are duties yet unaccomplished for you. And yet still I must ask for your assistance.
You were one of the last Mandalorians to be in possession of several artifacts of importance to the title of Mandalore, principle of which is the Darksaber. Returning these artifacts to their rightful place will strengthen our mandate, and help to inspire confidence in my rule.
I've searched high and low. I need a lead. Help me restore our people to greatness.
Ederlathh looked up from the ground, one eye swollen shut, the other struggling to see through the blood, to see Kir Kanos slowly circling around her. Every three steps, he would bring his staff down, catching a hand if she were too slow and driving it into the mixture of dirt and broken stone that made up the floor, as if to chide her for daring to rest. There had been a point where her training had never been quite so brutal, when the worst she could have expected was a thorough beating and then rest, though that had changed when she'd turned nine and nearly killed her instructor, crushing his armour and then his bones after being pushed an inch too far.
After that point, a thorough beating was nothing more than a godsend.
"Again!"
She felt the staff swing down, as swift and sure as ever, as her hand rose up to halt it in it's tracks as Kir Kanos' face remained as impassive as always. She watched as the staff hovered there, straining against the force that held it in place, and then splinter, bits of wood flying this way and that she exerted just enough to break the instrument of her torment and send splinters flying everywhere as it shattered entirely in Kir Kanos' hand. It was a foolish decision however, to willingly replace wood with steel, Ederlathh had to remind herself, and a lesson she never learned as the Guardsman stepped away to retrieve a new weapon from the rack leaning up against the broken wall. If she wished for the blows to bring no pain, she had been told the first time that she had committed that particular sin, then her instructor was too willing to oblige her which was why he now stood across from her wielding a plain looking sword that made her shiver internally.
"Again."
This time it was not a command so much as it was a threat as he brought the blade down just as she rolled out of the way, collecting her staff along the way, and rose back up onto her feet as the blows kept raining down from every angle forcing her to desperately dodge and block as she kept taking step after step away from him. For a moment, it felt as though she was even holding her own, if barely, fending off the seasoned warrior before a broken tile and a misstep dashed all such thoughts upon the proverbial rocks as she lost her footing and the blade swung down faster than she could block it.
There was a howl, loud enough and powerful enough to break stone, as Ederlathh felt the blow connect, nicking her barely, and pain radiate up through her arm as surely as it had been cut off in earnest. At some point, it had been explained to her, someone had decided that the best way to learn was to make the consequences of failure feel as real as possible which was why her arm now screamed out in pain from the merest of cuts from KIr Kanos' special blade. Coated in a substance that simulated the loss of a limb, it took mere moments for the pain in Ederlathh's arm to give way to numbness as it fell helplessly to her side, the blade's lesson taught in the cruelest of ways, even as Kir Kanos advanced towards her once more.
Short an arm, battered, and bruised, the duel was a foregone conclusion. Another stumble, another limb lost to pain and numbness, her right leg joining her arm in that special hell, a kick saw her footing lost altogether, and then all she could do was beg for it to be over and done, for the match to be concluded. Tears streamed, she cried out once more, ordering, pleading, begging, crying, as she wished for it to end, for it all to be over, for the pain to stop both inside and out, as she felt everything well up inside her and demand out.
And then she felt arms around her, a whispering in her ear, as red came into view.
Red hair, red blood, red cloaks, red eyes.
"You did well." Mara whispered, her hands cupping Ederlathh's face gently, as she saw Kir Kanos being carried away out of the corner of her eye. "You did well, Ederlathh, better than the last time."
She looked down at her Hand, trying to discern if the praise was genuine or not, before turning her head to vomit to the side as she felt that same emptiness she always did after she lost control, that same sense of loss after all the pain, all the raw emotion, vanished in what seemed like an instant.
"Better." Ederlathh noted hoarsely, forcing the words out of lungs that seemed so reluctantly to give up air. "Were we?" She asked, trying to remember through the haze if she had lasted longer than before, if she had held the lid that kept everything bottled up down tight before it all boiled over, before giving up as the pain returned. "I can't remember..."
"Much." Mara confirmed, gently holding Ederlathh to her chest in a warm embrace. "You maintained control for far longer and limited the harm done once you lost it, a vast improvement." She assured her as she stroked her hair. "Soon enough, nothing will be able to break your control over your emotions."
"Soon." She repeated, closing her eye. "We would have it be soon quicker...much quicker..."
To: New Republic Base, Luke @Sidheach
From: Grand Admiral Thrawn
Private
I bid you peaceful greetings.
Unfortunately, the Ssi-ruuvi Imperium lies to the south of Luke on the galactic map. They could strike, and take prisoners for enslavement and entechment.
I would like to request permission to reinforce your garrison with forces from the Hand, as well as the Ascendancy, to guard against Ssi-ruuk invasion.
To: Chief of State Mothma @Cornuthaum
From: Grand Admiral Thrawn
Private
The Empire of the Hand, which has separated itself from the Galactic Empire due to backlash from the Human High Culture, hereby recognizes the New Republic as an interstellar sovereign state. The Hand wishes to cease hostilities and begin fruitful diplomatic and trade relations.
In these chaotic and uncertain times, forging mutually beneficial relations would help in securing peace and prosperity.
Yes: 62%
No: 21%
Things I don't understand are easy to do: 17%
Following a decisive victory in an official plebiscite, the First Restoration has established a Commission for Freedom and Expansion to answer the concerns of many citizens. That is, while the revolutionary immigrants were happy to enjoy a situation where power was shared by all and all issues of any value deliberated, the newly freed citizens of Akar and Dorvalla don't really agree. The Commission has been vested with some basic executive powers, including some level of military authority and the ability to issue plebiscites, rather than the strange process beforehand where all you needed was one hundred signatures and a cool title for the plebiscite. This naturally got out of hand, with titles like THE END TO TYRANNY IN FINALITY ACROSS THE GALAXY, where the authority of several cities on Akar were devolved to local governments.
The new commission includes a number of hardened faces, like Akar Prost and Prenda Marris. Also notable are Grund Brusalam, a Yuka war veteran with several ambiguous but very shady resistance operations under his belt who has been assigned responsibility for the military, Hukie Yar, an Ishi-Tab politician who has offered to manage finances, and the Rodian Itil Sadoo, whose two favorite hobbies are plants and rocks. As a result he has been relegated to the corner because he's such a nerd, and has declared that his corner is the "commission for agriculture". None of the other members of the commission, who are frankly disquieted by his immense passion for flora and stones, rather than wholesome revolution, want to tell him the truth. It'd break his dull little heart.
We have just received word that Hukie Yar has resigned from the commission. His stated reason was "the numbers". A new commissioner to handle finances is being sought out.
Q: Do Guns kill people?
Grund kills people: 43%
Yes: 17%
No: 14%
Could you repeat the question: 11%
I refuse to answer this because it is against my moral beliefs: 15%
Grund's first initiative is to make the military very big. Much bigger. Huge. First, what he's gonna do, and listen well, he's going to put it in tip-top shape. He's going to repair the shipyards at Akar and Saw and expand them, he's going to start building some planetary installations and defenses, he's establishing sensor arrays to detect ships. He's also start to re-organize the officer staff, which has given it a rating from Muddy's, the official rating agency for Militaries, of CC, up from CCC. This is very exciting news, since Muddy's has described the new changes as "this is better, we suppose. We could probably construe this as improvement. Maybe. They're not 60% officers by volume anymore, at least". A victory for the revolution.
Q: Is plants grow?
I love pants, they keep my legs warm: 89%
Absolutely not: 11% (Droid Vote)
Redistribution continues apace. The remaining surviving landlords have been given plots on Akar in exchange for accepting that they will no longer rule over the slaves. Land distribution is in the hands of local councils, which are dividing land at a rapid pace, dominated by former slaves on Akar. The production of agricultural products is rising, and some are proposing that a formal trade agreement be signed with the Republic soon enough. Others balk at the idea of a formal agreement with the Republic, though the fact that currently Republican customs officers have stopped many Restoration ships for the reason of "who even are you guys no one tells us anything I hate my boss" is weakening opposition. Akar has said little, although he privately agrees that trade is more important than anything else for a state whose finances can be charitably described as "pretty wild".
The Restoration has also announced it will be accepting refugee applications from across the galaxy. After a vetting process, and usually with the referral of someone who is already a citizen, they will be placed on a fast track to get a plot of land, citizenship, and membership on local minipopuli/republican councils/whatever they're calling them these days. Refugee acceptance must be arranged ahead of time to avoid absolute inundation.
Other important plebiscites in the First Restoration
How do you feel about the New Republic?
Dislike: 43%
Like: 26%
Don't Know: 21%
More like NEW EMPIRE: 10%
Who would win in a fight?
Akar Prost: 98%
The Imperial dogs: -2%
Mon Mothma or Mon Moffma?
Mon Mothma: 73%
Mon Moffma: 26%
Can you really stop the moffs by clicking your heels and saying "Moff" three times fast?: 1%
I would like to request permission to reinforce your garrison with forces from the Hand, as well as the Ascendancy, to guard against Ssi-ruuk invasion.
To: Grand Admiral Thrawn, Empire of the Hand, @UbeOne From: Merrick Silver, Chief Civilian Overseer
If you think we'll let any Imperial just land on our world unimpeded you need to lay off whatever drugs Chiss get high on. Get bent, Imp. Or come here and get shot at, your choice.
Pilgrimage LLC
From: Disputant Lyrrha, Acting Chairbeing
To: His Grace Kyp of Clan Durron, First of His Name, King of Cron, Lord of Greater Tion, and Defender of the Realm @Sidheach
A humble greeting to Your Majestiness.
Majesticness, with humility I entreat that my workers be allowed to assist in the plight of your subjects of Delhat, most particularly the "Swimming People". It is clear to me Your Majesticness, that our cooperation with the Corporate Sector Authority may give you hesitations regarding our truths.
To which I may only answer that should we take help only from the wholesome, we would have little and perhaps no help at all.
If you find the benevolence to grant this petition, we will gladly surrender to whatever cautions and watchings you in your wisdom should place upon us. To aid the suffering is our singular desire.
-An unexpected windfall of credits, sees Captain General Uzuas further upgrade his troupe's capabilities and arsenal, as always focusing on scouting, counter-espionage, code slicing, technical skills, and security instead of straight firefighting
-Part of the upgrade is the hiring of New Republic veterans rendered incapable of front line duty by their injuries, to serve as consultants and tactical analysts for the Society's own operations...although oddly enough, all the new hires are non-human.
I ain't forgot how you and Eeyo helped me out when I was getting my start in this business...and I'd like to help you. Now, we ain't a patch on your old outfit, to say nothing of your new one, but what we are is sitting on a whole mess of shiny new toys and bored.
So how about this. That there Haitch Kay is making a real nuisance of hisself, running round these parts all crazy like...don't reckon I got the firepower to take him out but I bet I can run that low down dry gulcher to ground, if I was to get...say, a nice contract for you Pubbies once I find him for you to blow up?
Maybe working for that there Mr. Fey'la. He seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders.
@Sidheach
-ASS further upgrades its hardware and capabilities, along with burnishing its image by hiring disabled vets.
-Captain General Uzuas offers his services to track down HK-47
Kosh Teradoc, traitor, warlord, and disappointing younger brother, was presented to Her Imperial Majesty as a joint prize by High Admiral Betl Oxtroe and Rotta the Huttlet. The ceremony, arranged by Fleet Admiral Sloane, was a simple affair but nonetheless provided the Hutts with a demonstration of Imperial goodwill and Oxtroe with exposure in Central after her long campaign in the northeast.
To: Grand Admiral Thrawn @UbeOne
From: Fleet Admiral Sloane Private
My apologies. I don't begrudge you the decision, and should you wish to establish a permanent envoy with us I'd be happy to arrange it.
There are not quite so many officers within the Galactic Empire that can claim to be as xenophobic as Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel. Raised from an early age to loathe aliens by his father, with whom Krennel's fondest memories are of burning down alien owned farms so that they could be taken over by human settlers, the Prince-Admiral has spent his entire life oppressing anything that wasn't quite human in his eyes. From his days under the command of then Grand Moff Tigellinus to his time in the Empire of the Hand, Krennel would demonstrate a clear and unerring pattern of alien-oppression, often going above and beyond the Imperial line when crushing non-humans underfoot on routine missions. Combined with a coarse exterior and lack of political acumen, it would come as little surprise to many that Krennel would be among many Admirals who would break with the Empire in the wake of the Battle of Endor and would be equally unsurprising when he chose to quietly return to the fold, securing several planets in the process, when it became apparent that independence was untenable at the time.
This did not, however, mean that the Prince-Admiral had given up his own personal ambitions. First seizing Neimoidia for himself and then Kuat and Recopia, Krennel would slowly entrench himself in his section of space, building new ships and lining his pockets while the rest of the Empire bled and died and battle against the New Republic and other less enterprising Warlords. There would even come a point where Krennel would dabble in diplomacy, aided by several of his more astute subordinates who attempted to school their commander in the intricacies of politics and rule, as he sought to win himself friends and allies in the Imperial Centre. His proverbial break, as it were, would come one the notoriously xenophobic Prince-Admiral found himself contacted by representatives of Executor Eden who promised Krennel ships, advisers, and more if he but did that which his heart yearned for the most. Intrigued by the Executor's offer, even if he was a little put off by the zealotry displayed by his subordinates, Krennel would chose to throw in with the Executor, agreeing to do what he was already doing in exchange for support from the Deep Core's arsenals.
Precisely what was given to the Prince-Admiral is unknown, that is to say the extent of the support provided remains a mystery, however it would prove more than enough to make Krennel believe himself able to more openly flout the authority of the Regency Council. Emboldened by the support provided to him by his shadowy backer, Krennel would defy orders to chase down pirates and focus his time on the oppression of aliens, shooting so called rebels while extorting those that were not, the need to line his pockets always present at the forefront of his mind. Such flagrant defiance of the Regency Council's authority and growing fears regarding the level of influence wielded by the Executor within the Empire would thus, in turn, prompt the Imperial Centre to act with Krennel being slated as one of the first of Eden's allies to fall. Drawing forces from several of the Empire's more loyal subordinates and from it's allies within the Hapan Consortium, the Empire would consequently choose to strike with High Admiral Betl Oxtroe being tasked with capturing the Prince-Admiral and returning him to the Imperial Centre in chains.
As if to reinforce the importance of her mission, the High Admiral would also have the unenviable honour of traveling with the Empress who had used the departure of Supreme Commander Sloane as the perfect opportunity to go on another outing, choosing to personally oversee the capture and potential dismemberment of a man she had been informed was a traitor. With the Empress looming under her shoulder, as she was not yet tall enough to loom over it, the Imperial Guard close at hand, and the Empress' Hand close by, the Krennel Campaign would consequently become a matter of pride with the High Admiral working to ensure that she did not prove herself wanting before the Empress. Closing in on Kuat, which was guarded by a small garrison while the Prince-Admiral was away on other business, the High Admiral's fleet would dock, seeking repairs from their recent campaign against Kosh Teradoc, while yet more ships under her command did the same at the shipyards at Rendili.
Although the takeover of Rendili would proceed as smoothly as possible, with the local officers swiftly surrendering after the presiding Captain delivered the Regency Council's judgement, Kuat would prove a far tougher nut to crack with the local garrison having been filled with a mixture of clones and men loyal to Krennel. Refusing to submit to the Regency Council's authority and sending word ahead to Krennel, warning him of the betrayal, the local garrison would mount a determined if doomed resistance, fighting in the winding corridors of the Kuat Drive Yards while the Empress personally led the Imperial Guard through the shipyards, carving her way through the traitors. Once the Kuat Drive Yards had been secured, and the garrison commander had been executed, the far more difficult task of confronting Krennel and his ships would begin with a joint Imperial-Hapan taskforce converging on Krennel's position at Commenor. Unwilling to retreat and having sent out word to Byss calling on the Executor to reinforce him, Krennel would confront the High Admiral and the Empress at the Battle of Commenor, a battle that would prove to be his last.
Positioning himself on the far side of Commenor, wholly intent on using the planet itself as a makeshift shield, Krennel would engage in a long range duel with the attacking forces, sending out TIE Avengers and Defenders to skirmish away from his positions while planetary batteries fired on those ships that drew too close to the planet. Such long range duels could only last so long and with the Empire possessing superior numbers, it would ultimately go in the High Admiral's favour with the Imperial-Hapan taskforce driving forward under heavy fire, landing ground troops even as it continued to combat Krennel above the planet. Pressed upon by the Empire and losing, Krennel would send out one last desperate plea to the Executor calling for support, for relief, even as his ships were torn to shreds and the Empress once again took to the field, fighting on Commenor itself. Only silence, however, would answer the Prince-Admiral as it became apparent just how little the Executor cared for his minions, a thought that would last for all of a second before his flagship was destroyed by the combined barrage of the Imperial and Hapan flagships.
With Krennel dead and his fleets all but destroyed, the task of rolling up his remaining territories would become relatively easy with the Empress receiving the highest ranking officer's surrender on Commenor, and sparing him too after nearly choking him to death and warning him not to fail her again, while the High Admiral went about capturing the remaining worlds outside the Empire's control. Moving swiftly, Manaan, Neimoidia, Balmorra, and the remainder of Krennel's worlds would be recaptured as officers chose a pardon and a swift surrender over joining their former commander in death or even worse. The swift victory over Krennel would also prove to be a much needed propaganda boost for the Empire which has gleefully shown footage of planets being liberated, the Empress standing heroically, and officers surrendering, though for obvious reasons, a great deal of footage has been caught in order to avoid looking decidedly evil.
Meanwhile, the Empress has been grounded.
Again.
Summary
Krennel is killed over Commenor.
Krennel's territories reintegrated.
High Admiral Oxtroe performs admirably, wins approving smile and honourary badge from the Empress.
In the Columex System, the Grand Moff of the Quelli Sector has finally readied himself for one last push towards Mon Calamari. Bringing together some eighteen fleets, which would amount to over one thousand ships ranging from the Iron Fists to some ninety or so Imperial Star Destroyers and countless support craft, the Grand Moff would prepare himself for a reckoning. Exhausted by the constant fighting in the Galactic Northeast, or so those close to him would claim, and seeking a decisive end to the conflict in the region, the Grand Moff would aim for a decisive clash that would decide once and for all who would control the region. After scouting ahead, while dealing with a number of assassinations and raids that continued to vex the Grand Moff, and learning of the New Republic's massing of forces at Raxus, the Grand Moff would strike ahead with his plan and make for the vital stop on the way to Mon Calamari. Advancing down the Perlemian Trade Route alongside Admiral Senth and Rear Admiral Dooku, the Imperial war machine would lumber forward towards it's promised reckoning, a palpable sense of anticipation in the air that grew thicker with every moment that passed as it made it's way to it's promised reckoning.
At the same time, Admiral Harro Tamson, brother to the Confederate Commander, Riff Tamson, was preparing for a reckoning of his own. Reasoning that he could not continue simply raiding Imperial positions and that he had to either sit and wait for the Grand Moff to attack him or to break through now and ensure that future engagements were on his terms, the Admiral rallied his own forces in the Raxus System. Some thirteen fleets would be gathered over Raxus Prime as the New Republic loaded ships with everything that would be needed for the coming battles, from rifles to cargo ships, before Admiral Tamson gave the order to make for Columex. Heading up the Tion Trade Route, the Admiral would lead his forces to the Estaria System, a vital junction connecting the Perlemian Trade Route to the Tion Trade Route, where he would run into the Empire and Grand Moff Zsinj in the process of preparing to carry on to the Raxus System. Neither Admiral Tamson nor Grand Moff Zsinj would be prepared for the encounter, both having planned to hit the other further along their chosen routes, and thus there would be a mad scramble as the Battle of Estaria began.
Arriving on the edge of the Estaria System, Admiral Tamson would make the first move, his infamously sanguine nature showing early on into the battle, and order his forces towards the Imperial fleet. Knowing full well that he was outnumbered and that the Grand Moff had almost certainly brought Interdictors with him, thus making a speedy escape unlikely, Tamson would make his strategy a characteristically bloody one, resolving to kill Zsinj before he could reach Raxus. Rushing forward, waves of X-Wings, Y-Wings, and B-Wings would collide with TIE Defenders and Avengers while the ion cannons of the V-600s fired through the swarms of starfighters, striking Rebel ships as the Imperial fleet moved into position to fend off the attack. Surging through the fire, the first wave to reach the Imperial ships would not be the Star Cruisers but jerry rigged freighters filled to the brim with droids crafted by the CIS that had originally been intended for Columex but had now been turned into makeshift boarding pods.
Many of these freighters would be destroyed before reaching the Imperial fleet, having never been intended for ship to ship combat, many more would simply smash onto ships and explode, while a few would actually managed to latch onto ships without facing destruction. More than able to survive the rigors of space, the droids in these freighters would spill out onto the Imperial ships and begin sabotaging them in whatever way they could, destroying turbolasers and on several occasions managing to board them, while the Imperials attempted to dislodge them. At the same time, the New Republic fleet would continue to drive forward under heavy fire, many ships being lost or crippled just on the rush towards the Imperials, and eventually collide with the Imperial fleet and drive a wedge through them. The tactic, which was well known by the Empire by this point, would stay the hands of the Imperials for but a moment before the Grand Moff gave the order for all hands to open fire without hesitation, regardless of the losses to his own side.
The damage sustained by both sides in this brief initial phase would be unspeakable, Admiral Tamson purportedly even being forced to transfer ships mid-battle after his flagship was rammed by the Iron Fist, Left Fist, and broken in two, and by far the most pleasant phase of the fight. Locked in close quarters combat, ships constantly ramming into each other due to the sheer saturation of ships and close proximity, the losses would only mount as both sides brought to bear all their firepower and knowledge with the single-minded goal of seeing the other perish. At this point, the two competing voices underneath the Grand Moff would make their bold and daring moves with Admiral Senth hanging back with his fleets and conserving his strength, intentionally holding back, while Rear Admiral Dooku proved an able second-in-command separating several of Tamson's fleets from the pack and taking them down with his ships. At the same time, the Republic would begin hammering away at the Iron Fists, a task made all the more successful by their in depth knowledge of the vessels, with surviving Y-Wings and B-Wings unloading on the gargantuan Super Star Destroyers.
And yet, for the New Republic, it seemed as though it would not be enough.
Despite giving as good as they got, better even by some accounts, Admiral Tamson's forces would be whittled away, drowned in debris as the skies above Estaria played host to one of the largest battles in years, while Grand Moff Zsinj kept pressing on, desperate to crush the Rebels then and there. Then things only got worse as the Iron Fist, Left Fist, buckled and groaned as the gargantuan vessel finally gave way and a lucky bombing raid finally brought the Super Star Destroyer down after first wounding it all those months ago at Raxus Prime. Whether the Grand Moff successfully escaped the ship is unknown, Rear Admiral Dooku would claim that Zsinj had escaped only to be shot down by Senth while Senth claimed that the Grand Moff had been killed by the Rebels, but the effect it had on his forces would be. Possessing a level of influence that had only ever been matched by Palpatine, the glue that held together his own private empire, the mere thought that Grand Moff Zsinj had died was enough to spread chaos throughout the ranks as officers sought orders, the ambitious began to plot, and the chain of command broke down.
Sensing his opportunity, Admiral Senth would be the first to claim that the Grand Moff Zsinj had perished and would claim seniority in the wake of his death. Declaring the battle to be lost, Admiral Senth would attempt to drag as many ships away from Estaria as possible as he moved to take over as much of Zsinj's Territory as possible even as Rear Admiral Dooku attempted to do the opposite. Seeking to calm his peers and hammer home their imminent victory, Rear Admiral Dooku would claim that the Grand Moff was in the process of transferring to the Iron Fist, Right Hand, and that all hands were to continue destroying the Rebels lest they wished to face a summary execution. Though many would obey the Rear Admiral, among them Zsinj's oldest and most loyal officers, the damage done by Admiral Senth and others like him would cost the Empire the battle as ships peeled away, heading south, and the Imperial fleet dwindled away while Admiral Tamson seized upon the confusion and made one last push.
Faced with what seemed more and more like certain defeat, Rear Admiral Dooku and seven other high ranking officers who had yet to break, all of them loyal, would quickly confer in order to decide upon a course of action. Over calls for a hasty rescue effort to be mounted, in the hopes that the Grand Moff had survived the destruction of the Iron Fist, Left Fist, it would be decided 5-3 to withdraw to Taris with the Iron Fist, Right Fist, to regroup and prevent Senth and others from tearing apart Zsinj's legacy. One by one, the loyalist fleets would withdraw leaving behind a veritable forest of wreckage, hundreds of ships now ruined above the skies of Estaria, and make first for Columex before carrying onto Taris while Admiral Tamson was forced to ponder his next move. With only five fleets capable of battle, and the Admiral himself being badly wounded, having taken shattered glass to the snout and a metal pole to the chest, the New Republic would halt their offensive before it even began, trusting, hoping, that their efforts to pry apart Zsinj's Empire would buy them much needed time.
Summary
Zsinj and Tamson collide at Estaria.
Battle goes in Zsinj's favour until Zsinj killed aboard the Iron Fist, Left Fist.
Admiral Senth breaks fleets away, sowing chaos within the ranks.
Zsinj Loyalists rallying remaining fleets and withdraw.
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In His Shadow
A Loyalist Prison Camp
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Controlling one of the largest swathes of Imperial Space, a territory that had suffered from high turnover in officers as battle and espionage whittled away at the loyal and saw them replaced with fresh faces, competent and otherwise, Zsinj's Empire was also one of the most fragile. Though, through sheer force of will some would say, Zsinj had managed to keep a lid on it all, the Grand Moff's underlings were a mixture of the ambitious and the loyal, the treacherous and the stalwart, a roiling mess that always threatened to overflow if allowed. The death of the Grand Moff at Estaria had served to do just that with barely a second passing since the mere possibility of his demise before the more ambitious of his underlings began plotting to carve up his territories, abandoning the battle to get to the veritable buffet before all the choice planets were snapped up. To the credit of the Grand Moff, their ability to do so would be impeded not only by loyal officers but also by the network of officials he had raised up and the reforms that he had laid down which made the ambitions of such traitors all the more difficult to realise.
Racing for Taris, the beating heart of the Quelli Oversector, Admiral Senth would be amongst the first to learn this the hard way with the defending fleet telling the Admiral, in so many words, to insert his ambitions into a tight, dark orifice, and to return to his post while they awaited further orders. After a brief skirmish that was broken up by the arrival of the Iron Fist, Right Fist, and the Loyalist Cabal, Admiral Senth would be forced to withdraw to Vjun, which he made his new headquarters, while the fight for the Oversector continued. Unwilling to let the Grand Moff's work die with him, the Loyalist Cabal would almost immediately begin fighting to hold together the Quelli Oversector, throwing any traitors they could behind bars while fleets were dispatched to fend off ambitious captains and maintain the core of the Oversector. Taris, Bandomeer, Dathomir, Serenno, and Columex would be among the planets that would be held while others like Vjun, Lianna, and Gargon would be taken over by more disloyal officers.
Though the lines are still unclear and many planets yet to have their loyalty confirmed, one thing remains clear through all of this: The Empire is not yet willing to surrender an inch whether to traitors or to rebels.
Summary
Zsinj Loyalists secure Taris and begin dealing with systems taken over by traitors.
Zsinj Loyalists displeased about traitors, mildly pleased about being presented with the opportunity to kill them repetitively.
The mind of the Geonosian is one bent, ultimately, on destruction and creation. When no outlet for one is available, they fling themselves into another, and though there is no shortage of industry on Geonosis for the time being, the ancient, outdated gladiatorial arenas remain a tempting lure.
With the sensibilities of their new allies in mind, not to mention the much-reduced population of local scavengers, updating the facilities has weighed on Drabble's mind. He receives the news of completion with no small relief, and sets the grand reopening of Geonosis' most famed arena for a matter of weeks later.
By purest happy accident, the event coincides with the arrival of a personal guest.
"THIS is, the, very ARENA in which, the CLONE WARS BEGAN." Drabble explains, leading her to a private upper box, the staccato clicking of his organic voice overruled by the bombastic gravel of the voice modulator embedded in his throat. And the speakers buzzing on his shoulders. And along his back. And- "where, count DOOKU sentenced three, HUMAN SPIES, of the OLD republic to DEATH, by combat!"
The environmental field above shimmers with iridescent light, filtering out radiation and – with bright chemical sparks – a passing storm of metallic dust. On her entry, Drabble's guest had noted the constant, feverish labour taking place around the planet and on its moons. Closer examination during Drabble's tour had revealed something interesting – how few battle droids were being built. Mining droids, probe droids, builder droids, churned out apace, but barely the occasional battalion of B2s. She'd barely seen a fraction of the forges at work, but it didn't seem as though he'd been hiding them from her.
"it is of course, MUCH improved." The Geonosian booms. "while OUR, traditions, must be REVIVED, we are geonosians. we REFORGE."
The Archduke pulls out a long, solid case with surprising strength, provoking a raised eyebrow. He snaps open the seal with a mechanical finger, releasing the lid with a mechanical hiss, to reveal the weapons inside. At a glance, they are the traditional armaments of a Geonosian gladiator. A closer eye would notice the incongruities. The static pike retains its classical shape, but resembles more the electrostaff of a Magnaguard. The confessor's whip, a largely ceremonial weapon, is roped with the energy nodes of a shockwhip, its coils clearly twined with motivators. The Petranaki scimitar, a solid but utterly mundane blade, bears a curiously reinforced spine that betrays the nature of the vibro-engine worked into its heftier hilt.
The tiny, buckler-sized Beastwarden's shield is the most changed, lacking its bladed edges in favour of a hollow, slender exterior frame – Drabble retrieves it, snapping it to his mechanical wrist before flexing something. Its frame snaps open, a film of translucent energy stretching out from its core like a soapy bubble.
"in the GUNGAN, style, as DISCUSSED" he notes, before snapping it shut and returning to its fitting. As his guest nods in approval and begins to examine the vibroblade, a light flashes on her communicator, indicating that the ship has begun loading up their cargo – more of these cases. A lot more. She taps the screen, giving the signal to unload their own gift, sealed R&D coffins from a CSA raid.
Beneath the two, the audience roars as a hulking mechanical beast is brought down by the last gladiator standing, a geonosian wielding a vibroblade in each of his four mechanical arms, weapons claimed from the fellows who lie groaning across the floor. At the command of excited clicking through the loudspeakers, the arena's floor shifts and splits and ripples in modular squares, bearing the wounded underground and the warrior – Pakgamon – to a winner's box.
It continues to rearrange, forming a stark abstraction of an urban environment. The blank door of one hollow structure slides open to release a squad of combat droids, clad in a mechanical mimickry of Stormtrooper gear, their blasters set to "painful". From another, a group of geonosians emerge, wielding a disparate array of weapons purchased on the arena's credit system.
Drabble eyes Nolaa Tarkona for a moment, his outer mandibles rubbing in clear interest.
"of course, IMPROVEMENT comes, in many forms. no SLAVES mar these GAMES. only WARRIORS, with sponsors and SKILLS. such, PERMISSIONS are not easy, but I am ARCH duke. such training, is not easy but, you are already QUALIFIED" He clicks something, and a section of cubes reforms once more, forming broad steps leading up to their box. The crowd roars, perhaps thinking their Archduke intends to join the games. He just gestures to the weaponry. "perhaps, you would ENJOY a, FIELD TEST?"
1. streingthen the local economy and government against the coming Economic Apocalypse
2. Establish trade with the nearby Imperial powers.
3. Construct a fleet, using the latest ship designs from the other Imperial powers, and replacing TIE Fighters and Bombers with TIE Hunters and TIE Oppresssors Respectively
4. Aquire older ships that can later be refit to comparable performance.
5. replace older stormtrooper armor with Zsinj's stormtrooper armor
6. replace TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers with TIE Hunters and TIE Oppressors respectively
This is very urgent. It appears that I have run out of my supply of Muja fruit. If you remember you and I had a very productive discussion about the nature of revolution, at the end of which you offered to buy the trademark of the term and use it as you wished. That conversation was not very inspiring, but it did teach me one thing. You cannot expect to enter a discussion with a Hutt without money entering into the equation. And I know you like money.
I will pay you a high amount if you deliver the Muja fruit to me. This is essential to the continuing functioning of the First Restoration. And please bring the red variety, not the stinky yellow stuff that grows on the underbellies of particularly unhygienic hutts.
Since acquiring this fruit will be a herculean task, this message is coming with a catalogue I found under my bed that describes how to tell what a good Muja fruit is like. Please don't let this secret out; my commissioner of the military, Grund Brusalam, is ethically opposed to eating anything that does not contain metal. He's really quite insistent.
This is very urgent. It appears that I have run out of my supply of Muja fruit. If you remember you and I had a very productive discussion about the nature of revolution, at the end of which you offered to buy the trademark of the term and use it as you wished. That conversation was not very inspiring, but it did teach me one thing. You cannot expect to enter a discussion with a Hutt without money entering into the equation. And I know you like money.
I will pay you a high amount if you deliver the Muja fruit to me. This is essential to the continuing functioning of the First Restoration. And please bring the red variety, not the stinky yellow stuff that grows on the underbellies of particularly unhygienic hutts.
Since acquiring this fruit will be a herculean task, this message is coming with a catalogue I found under my bed that describes how to tell what a good Muja fruit is like. Please don't let this secret out; my commissioner of the military, Grund Brusalam, is ethically opposed to eating anything that does not contain metal. He's really quite insistent.
