[Sagas; IC] PotC - Chapter I [IC]

[MadMaeve]

Chapter I - Defenders of Taris

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

---



Dawn breaks along the horizon of the coal-colored sphere known as Taris. The corona of its pale mother star gives the atmosphere a twinkling glow. For a moment, she is a diamond, like she used to be. A sparkling city planet. A testament to sentient engineering, she is. Now, she is unrecognizable, chiseled and worn from a long history of being beat-up, blown to ash, and put back together again. Her glory days are long past. You could call her the old crone of the Mid Rim. After living such a long, horrible life, she still holds on, eager to brag how fate's dealt her such a poor hand.

It seems like fate's dealt the worst one yet.

Word came in two weeks ago about Geonosis. Jedi. Separatists. Droids. A Clone army. To people this far away, it was all nonsense. Buzzwords. Folks across the planet treated it like the Stark War - some horrible little thing sectors away that wasn't going to last. Even images of the infamous Count Dooku and his collaborators, plastered across the Holonet like wanted posters, - even multi-page lists of seceding planets- did little to shake faith in a quick, uninvolved war.

Unsurprisingly, the folks who believed that were the first to leave when news of an encroaching Sep fleet reached planetside.


Our story starts on the skyhook The Flying Dug. An old junker of a station. Been in orbit for decades. The janky thing has been taken over and repurposed by the Fourth Republic Fleet as their new base of operations. Whether flown here, dropped off or moved, you have arrived, in the hangar specified by your liason with high command.

You all know what's at stake - a payout for duty for one's Galactic Republic. Or something like that. You have been promised a hefty sum, as high as 200,000 credits per person, for impressment into the Republic Navy against the incoming Separatist fleet. You are expected to stay here for a month at the minimum for your money, though you can back out at any time. Should conditions turn out to be 'unfavorable.'

After taking three, four sectors in a manner of weeks, you could call just cause.

Fighters, freighters and corvettes have been corralled to the south hangar, formerly a loading dock for diplomatic frigates and Dreadnaught-class cruisers. The space feels cavernous. More than three dozen ships occupy the open area, sharing it with piles of Republic ordinance and repulsorsleds loaded with scrap. Torrents, Dianogas, Havocs and YT's of all colors. All of them lay open, waiting for their owners to install weapons onto them, or give them a fresh coat of paint. Their owners, a smattering of aliens from the region (Togorians, Togruta, Selkath, Phindarans, and even a few Wookies and Dosh), are tending to their pressing needs.

Your ship has been assigned a spot in a cordoned-off section towards the north, facing a ray-shielded hangar door. It, and six other similarly tricked out scream-machines. The area has been marked off between staging zones, machine shops, designated fighter space and supply dumps, running in rough concentric circles from the center. Whether you just arrived or have been spending the twilight hours fixing up your hot rod, orders go out through the attending astromechs.

All pilots, assemble in the center. It's time to be briefed.

---

What state are you in? How are you adjusting to sudden impressment? Has it been a hassle? What's on your mind?

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

He'd been saving his money for some time, hoping to buy something sleek, fast, that handled like a dream. It was a few months ago he'd discovered the inside line on a big tug of a ship, not what he was looking for at all. It handled like a barge, and its cross section was huge, making it an easy target for smaller, more nible ships. It was a death-trap, actually, its only redeeming quality was the advanced energy ball generator sitting in the ventral quadrant of the ship. The thing packed a punch, more than many capital ship weapons, and Adrian had to make a few quick mental calculations. No record existed of the ship's production, it wasn't even supposed to exist, but he could claim it by doing a favor and spending almost all his savings. If war broke out, it could be very valuable. Well, war broke out, and nobody wanted to buy it. So Adrian did what any self-respecting pilot would do. He added maneuvering thrusters to give himself a chance in a dogfight, picked up a couple of crewmates, and set out to fly as an independent contractor. A funny thing happened on the way to the life of a smuggler, however; he was signed up to defend the Republic against the Separatists. Nothing came close to the credits they could pay, and he figured with the amount of damage that monstrous gun could do, he might be able to take out a blockade runner or something similar. The he could justify a sizable bonus, assuming he survived...

The call went up for pilots to assemble, and his heart skipped a beat. This was it, do or die. He meandered over to the assembly area and glanced around at the competition, so to speak. It was habit, formed from his racing days. Actually... that pilot looked kind of familiar...

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil was supine under a silver-painted Jedi starfighter, elbows deep in a maintenance hatch. He was humming along to the tune in his headphones as he tried snaking a power conduit through the crowded guts of the snubfighter. His commlink chirping was enough distraction forh im to lose his concentration, andh is grip, and the cable lashed out like a whip. The visor he was wearing shielded his eyes, but it was the only protection he had, the stinging impact eliciting a string of curses. Pushing himself out from under the fighter and standing up, he asked, "What is it, Ramp?" R4-MP repeated the summons. Carandil sighed and crawled back underneath, prompting the droid to repeat the message a third time. "Yeah, I heard you. But unless the Seppies are parked right out there, we're not going to get to 'em until you can interface with the hyperdrive ring, are we?" He took the astromech's silence as an admission of defeat and went back to the coupling.

A few minutes later, Carandil reappeared, now with a distinct welt on on cheek. Pushing the mechanical interface visor up onto his hairless forhead, he grabbed a rag to wipe off the worst of the grease and went to see what was so important.

[Jallorn]

Jora was excited. A briefing meant a mission, and a mission meant action, and action meant a chance to show off his awesome upgrades to the ship he'd gotten to fly for the Republic, not to mention his own skills. Something told Jora he'd never go back to racing after this. Oh sure, he'd flown in a squadron a while back, but that was in an old Z-95 that he wasn't allowed to tinker with, if he'd even had the money for parts back then, and he was so much better a pilot and mechanic now. Besides, they never saw much action worse than a few pirates who tended to surrender after one of them blew up. Now, he had a souped up, nearly top of the line V-19 to tinker with and fly, and droids don't surrender out of fear. Jora wasn't even sure droids felt fear. Plus, the pay was so much better.

Jora had to keep himself from dashing over to the briefing as fast as he could. He didn't want to look too excited, it would make him seem like a kid. As he nonchalantly jogged over, Jora took a moment to examine the other pilots. They hadn't actually met yet, and Jora'd paid more attention to their ships than them. Especially when he was in here at night. He probably shouldn't let anyone find out he had physically examined the other ships. Nothing invasive, it's not like he broke into the cockpit, or anything, just poked around a few outside mechanical pieces, took a few readings. He had a few ideas for upgrades, but he'd wait to suggest them until after the first mission, or maybe after the first paycheck, they were pretty expensive upgrades.

The other pilots were a mixed bunch. Half of them were human, even if you included Jora... sort of. His eyes first went to the more distinct members. An armless Trandoshan, looked pretty vicious, but then they all did. A Duro, good pilots those lot, and judging from the nonstandard controls on his ship, he was a good mechanic as well. Where he got a Jedi Starfighter, though, Jora had no clue. Heck, if any Jedi were to catch him or the other- Sonuvacrap, that Twi-Lek was a Jedi. Jora had just finished processing through this thought, and moving on to admiring how well Jedi kept in shape, when he had another flash of recognition, Hey, aren't you two pod racers? How did you end up here? he asked the two humans. Well, human and near-human, if he was remembering correctly. Jora completely failed to realize that thanks to this sidetrack he still hadn't really examined the third human.

[chrispybacon]

Adoran sat tensely by his recently acquired Delta-7, as he awaited further instructions. Looking out onto the planet below, Adoran chuckled to himself as he thought about the irony of how he ran away from home to escape a life full of rules and responsibilities, only to end up back above Taris as a pilot of the Republic which will obviously entail suffocating amounts of rules and responsibilities. As much as his body itched to get back in the cockpit and simply fly as far away as he possibly could until this whole war thing blows over, Adoran knew he had to stay, for the sake of his family and his home, he owed them that much. His thoughts drifted to his family, wondering what they were doing this moment, and if they were okay. His thoughts were interrupted though as the order to assemble was made, and Adoran got up and began his walk to the center, looking back at his Delta-7. "Man.. How will I even explain this? Nobody's asked me about it so far though, I should be fine as long as I don't come across any....."
Adoran spots the Twi'lek with a lightsaber and sighs. "...jedi."He shakes his head and accepts that this just isn't his day.

Adoran tries to put some distance between him the the jedi girl, finding himself between a Duros and an Arkanian. Adoran gives a friendly nod to them both and looks around to see the motley crew of pilots gathered around him, curious of what kind of pilots he'll be flying with, when he locks eyes with another human who begins to speak to him and the Arkanian next to him. "Oh? So there are other racers here, huh?" Adoran says with an eager smile, eyeing the human and Arkanian before him. "Have we raced together before? You two do look a tad familiar now that I think about it, but I don't really remember you guys very well.. maybe because you were both so far behind me in the race, ahahaha!"
Adoran laughs and extends his arm for a handshake to the two fellow racers. "I'm Ad..el. Ahem. Adel, nice to meet you both. I'm just here to.. do my part. For the right price, of course. A racer's gotta eat, after all. How about you?"

Adoran remembered to keep his identity a secret for now as he didn't want word to get out that he was there. There may be some talk if anyone finds out that the missing son of the Senator of Taris was joining the war, and Adoran was afraid that if word of this somehow reached his father, he would surely use his many connections to have the Republic hand Adoran back to him. Adoran wasn't ready to go back, not yet at least, especially not now.

[Jallorn]

Jora is momentarily disoriented by the fellow racer-turned-pilot's accent, he could have sworn the man wasn't local. He counters Adoran's joke with a dubious look. Jora, Jora offers, ignoring the offered handshake, but bestowing a genuine grin upon the man instead. I used to run the circuits, still got a fair following- ooh, I should get a holo-recorder, keep them up to date on my achievements in the war, they'd love that. Anyway, I sold my pod, starships are so much cool- eh more impressive. There's so many more interesting upgrades to be made. Jora winced internally, that wasn't supposed to come up yet. Yes, he's good at building things, but you can't go around bragging, you won't get any fans that way.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Airspeeder racer, actually," Adrian said, "I won the juniors circuit on Coruscant a few years ago."

The one named Jora mentioned upgrades.

"Yeah, I wanted to make a few more upgrades to my tub of a ship, but ran short of time and credits," he said, "how'd you guys score the Delta-7's? I'd love to get my hands on one of those..."

[Prehysterical]

To many, Krassok could bring to mind the impression of an old saurian beast from an isolated world. Tall even for a Trandoshan, only the tallest of Wookies or the present Togorians could rival him in size. Further adding to the impression of savagery was the lack of a right arm, compounded by purple scarring running up the shoulder and terminating in the right portion of his skull. The milky white of his right eye clashed with the intense yellow of his left. Only his calm demeanor and precise movements hinted at the truth of the older hunter.

He leaned against the side of his ship, still savoring the sensation that he had felt when he had went past the atmosphere and angled toward the skyhook. Not because he particularly liked flying. The vacuum outside of the cockpit still terrified him, even after all these years. No. This gathering of arms represented his one real chance of getting back into the hunt. Krassok was no fool. With only one arm, his days of bounties and trophy hunting were long gone. His skill with mechanics and flying, however, had only grown with the years. It had taken some convincing to have Tazlo close up shop and let Krassok go. The Trandoshan had insisted that the Toydarian lay low while he was gone; there was no point to leaving himself open to some swoop-ganger with a grudge or any of the Hutts' hitmen. Once Krassok had secured the credits, he was sure that Tazlo would forgive him.

The old lizard was not used to so many military-grade craft being together in the same space. It had taken some effort to fall in line and coordinate with others. He was so used to hunting alone. From what small com-chatter he had heard, he was to be assigned with some other pilots with fighter-grade craft. From his own position in the hangar, Krassok had examined the other ships to get a general idea. D-7 Aethersprites... That means lots of jedi... A few of the new V-19s... And that... That one is interesting. Krassok eyes the unfamiliar Scurrg H-6 curiously. I will have to see what that model is. He also had to have a word with that white-skinned Arkanian about sniffing around his ship like a scavenger. Kallatatha was old, but she deserved respect.

But enough sitting around. He was anxious to be on the hunt. Standing fully upright, Krassok begins making his way toward the center.

[Mando Knight]

Lyn was a bit surprised to see other Aethersprites in the hangar, the Council hadn't told her that they were assigning any other Jedi to Commander Tyral's fleet, and she hadn't heard of Kuat releasing a private sector model of the Delta-7. Reaching into the Force, she could tell that none of the other pilots in the hangar were Force-sensitive after all. Well, if they're here, the fighters are still being used for the Republic, at least, so Lyn didn't feel the need to investigate further... for now, anyway.

Walking closer to the gathered pilots making up the makeshift squadron, Lyn remains quiet, remembering her master's teaching on being mindful of one's surroundings. If this rag-tag band of adrenaline junkies were to be her teammates for the defense of Taris, she needed to understand them.

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil scoffed at the petite Human next to him. "Pods are for younglings. Real men know swoops is where it's at. Nothing like riding full out, repuslorjet throbbing between your legs and the wind ripping through your hair." He glanced up at his conspicuously bald dome. "Er, so they tell me."

Then he turned to Adrian. "When I was talking to my recruiter, I told him if I was going to be in harm's way I didn't want nothing to do with any ship that didn't go fast. He said they've got some spare Deltas now that the Jedi all went and got themselves greased at Geonosis, and I go 'Sold!'"

Then he noticed Lyn approaching. "Well, maybe not all of them. Greetings, master Jedi. Carandil Salosar at your service," he said, taking Lyn's hand in his and gently kissing the back.

[Jallorn]

Jora scoffed, You clearly know nothing about pod racing then oh old one, he gave the nickname an exaggeratedly respectful tone, patently sarcastic, Pods are generally over 200 KPH faster. At those speeds, a the extra mass around you in a pod isn't safer, it's more dangerous. Jora gestures at his own scar as he says this last bit. 'Sides, there's a bigger community of customizers and mechanic-racers in the pod circuit.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Sorry for your losses at Geonosis," Adrian said to the Jedi, partially to cover up another pilot's lack of tact, "bet you're ready for some payback now though, right?"

Though his tone was daring, the expression didn't reach his eyes, which studied the twi'lek appraisingly for her response.

[chrispybacon]

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty." Adoran says, teasing the Duros and Arkanian beside him. "You'll have plenty of time to prove who's the better racer-pilot once the action starts. It's going to be me, though." Adoran says with a cocky smile, as he points to himself with his thumb.

"As for my ship over there, well I, uh.. ehm.."
Seeing the jedi come closer as the Duros greets her, Adoran hesitates on finishing his sentence, still unsure of how to explain his theft of a Jedi star ship without being possibly thrown in the brig. He was hoping he would be able to display skills in battle before explaining himself, to show that he'd be much more useful to the Republic in a star ship than in a jail cell.

Seeing the jedi preoccupied with the Duros and human pilots who greeted her, Adoran casually walks off to put some distance between himself and the young looking jedi.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Look, I'd rather _not_ say how I got my ship if it's all the same to the rest of you," Adrian chipped in, "we're going to be out there saving each others' lives pretty soon, so as long as you can handle it, that's good enough for me."

The young racer looked at the Jedi starfighters somewhat longingly.

"Plus I don't think it's going to be much like racing, the other speeders never shot at me," he added.

[Prehysterical]

Krassok sees the pilots of the other craft... what was that word... mingling together in the center. He had never been very good at the social aspect of interacting with other species. By the Scorekeeper, even his own species was hard to deal with. These people were going to be flying on the hunt with him, so it would be good to get a feel for their behaviors. He stops a short distance away and contents himself with listening, uncaring of how awkward or rude he looks.

[chrispybacon]

Seeing the imposingly tall Trandoshan standing awkwardly some distance away, Adoran thought to himself that he found the perfect opportunity to get away from the Jedi without making his intention look too obvious.
"Well, hey there... tiny." Adoran says to the one-eyed reptile, greeting him in the same teasing and friendly manner he greeted the others from before.

"What're you doing just standing there staring? You shy?" Adoran says with a friendly smile, examining the reptile's interesting features. Adoran was impressed by the intimidating Trandoshan, it was easy to see that he would be a formidable enemy and a valuable ally, and Adoran was glad to know that such a tough looking lizard would be fighting with him and not against him.

[Mando Knight]

"I'm no Master, Mr. Salosar, just an apprentice. My name is Lyn Vida. As for Geonosis..."

Anger at the droids for killing her Master. Fear of the idea of an army that could slay even Jedi Masters... Lyn sighed and banished such thoughts from her mind. "Revenge is not the Jedi way."

[MadMaeve]

A hard yell cuts through the ambient chatter in the hangar.

"OI. Shut your mouth-holes! Eye-Oh on deck, everybody at attention!"

Heads turn. Apparently, it was the Togorian who said that. Big, felinid guy, a good head over the tallest Trandoshan. Brown, tawny fur, long scar tracing down his neck and under the collar. Gnarly front teeth. Nasty demeanor. You might've heard the name 'Rizzo' being bandied about around him earlier that morning. Other than a flight jacket and a bandolier strapped to his hip, he's damn near naked.

The other pilots slowly simmer down. But it ain't the big guy that's makin' mouths shut tight.

"You! Chin up! What about you, straighten that spine, you're talkin' to an officer of the Republic fleet here..."

It's the lady coming around his side.

Corellian girl. A short one, but the way she walks in, she's like a Vornskr walking in on a herd'a Nerfs. Long, wavy black hair. Mocha-colored skin. Sharp eyes. Shallow cheeks. Dour frown. Hips to die for. Stark white tattoos all down her arms. A tube top and engineer's pants seems like the only thing that could make it all work so well. She is fire. She fears nobody. And she doesn't care if these rocket jockeys oggle her or her assets. The crowd is quiet when she moves to the center of the assembly.

"Olla, vellokaz." Her accent is thick. Sorrocan. Sounds as rough as she looks. "My name is Carmen Vohl. If you haven't been told by now, I am your Eye-Oh - radio girl and chief intel officer. Do we have any complaints that need me before we brief?"

[Jallorn]

Nope, Jora pitched out easily, eager to get to the briefing. This was a woman he could obey. Actually, he generally preferred taking orders from women. That was a thought he could examine later. Maybe, or maybe not. In any case, she seemed the sort that didn't so much demand, or even really expect, respect. No, she just exuded the sort of confidence that said, "I will destroy you if you get in my way." That was an attitude Jora would follow into battle. Plus, commanding officers were always so much more fun when they didn't mind you ogling. Only a little late, Jora recalled to come to a sort of half attention. It was really more just standing respectfully straight, none of that military saluting or snapping heels.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Hunh, well, hope you don't mind if I take some of that revenge on your behalf," Speers replied with a half-smirk. He piped down when the corellian girl blew in like a force of nature.

this is starting to look like a good idea after all..." he thought.

"No questions ma'am, just want to know what the assignment is," he said

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

A squat, stocky Human male in a Republic Gray armored flight suit arrives on the hangar deck some minutes after the summons, just as the IO begins haranguing the other pilots. "LETHRY" is printed on the name strip on his left breast, and the squadron patch on his right shoulder - clearly a new addition - displays "METEORS" below a stylized representation of a burning, disintegrating V-19 Torrent; his left shoulder and right breast bear a small representation of the Republic the flag and a Starfighter Corps crest, respectively. "THUMPER" is stenciled on the helmet tucked under his left arm, and the heavy pistol and utility belt at his waist complete the image as he jogs toward the small group of pilots gathered near the center of the hangar, stern features twisted into a scowl.

The weeks since Geonosis had been insanely chaotic and disruptive for the personnel of the Republic Starfighter Corps. They'd been a relatively small force to begin with, just strong enough to keep piracy under control in and around the major hyperlanes, and the losses in the initial wave of Separatist attacks had been devastating. Entire wings were simply gone, while other squadrons were "merely" shattered into combat ineffectiveness. Lethry's previous squadron was one of those: their H-6 Starbombers had first been stripped of their escorts and then swarmed under by a seemingly unending tide of droid fighters, and only the desperate expedient of a blind hyperspace jump to break contact had brought any of them home again that day. Now the Republic was pressing the remnants of some of those ruined units back into service as members of scratch teams including trainees, mercenaries, and Force only knew who else. Not even as commanders of these improvised units! Not that Lethry had any particular ambition to command in any case, and certainly not to command a motley crew like this one. Seven pilots, and seven different versions of "flight gear!" Just to make matters worse, his old H-6 had been declared a Constructive Total Loss - and command, in their desperation for experienced pilots, had stuck him in the only ship they had available. A dinky little V-19 Torrent. While he'd managed to arrange for some modifications to the thing, it was still awfully fragile and sadly lacking in firepower compared to what he was used to.

Crossing the hangar, he spots an apparently pristine H-6 among the ships parked near his Bad Penny; for a moment irritation and frustration threaten to overwhelm him. How did one of these nerf-herders manage to get his hands on a brand-new Starbomber, when the entire Republic Starfighter Corps couldn't find a replacement for mine! Only for a moment, though. It wouldn't be the same without his old crew, and neither Coglenn nor Locke were going to be cleared for flight duty again for a good long while. If ever. It had been a very near-run thing.

Lethry slows to a brisk walk as he approaches the group, stopping and coming to attention once he's joined the others. "Apologies, Officer Vohl," he rasps. "I don't have any questions for now. Ready for the briefing."

[Prehysterical]

Krassok is about to ask the mammal if he greets everything bigger than him in the same manner when Vohl and Rizzo storm into the center. Their presence could only mean that the hunt was close at hand. He moves closer to the gathering pilots, ignoring Adoran's question, and waits patiently for the briefing. While he stands straight up, Krassok does not stand to military attention. The thought doesn't even cross his mind to click his heels or salute.

[RandomLunatic]

The IO's arrival spared Jora a detailed rebuttal about the respective merits of pods and swoops as Carandil assumed a very loose approximation of attention. He stared appreciatively at the Socorran, it only gradually seeping into his consciousness that she asked a question. "Uh, no, nothing comes to mind."

[chrispybacon]

"Hey buddy, I--" Adoran begins as the Trandoshan walks past him without saying a word, only to shut up in awe once he saw the dangerously alluring Corellian he will apparently have the pleasure of calling his IO. Adoran had no questions that he could think of at the time, so he just stayed waiting for the mission to start.

[Mando Knight]

Lyn stood at attention, though she was unsure if a salute was called for... the official ranking system of the Republic military made even Padawans fairly high-ranking officers. "Nothing yet."

[MadMaeve]

"Glad to see you could join us, Lethry." She speaks with an uninterested cantor. Her thoughts were on bigger things. A hand traced and tapped over the comlink in her ear.

"... alright, looks like we're only missing two scruga. That's great. Makes me feel like the Republic's got some honorable scumbags running around." She pops her knuckles. "Welcome to Meteor Squadron, ladies."

"Look alive - we got a Trando vet and a Jedi with us today. If you give them the same respect and attention you're giving my ass, we'll be golden."

[Prehysterical]

Krassok tilts his head in clear curiosity at the woman's statement. He looks askance at the Jedi before turning back and asking, "This one is confused. What has your posterior done to deserve such honor? And why do you refer to us all as females? I have heard many humans claim that ships are always female. Is it the same reasoning with pilots?" His Basic, despite his proficiency, is still colored by the hissing and harsh consonants of Dosh.

[MadMaeve]

Vohl snorts mirthfully. "It's importance is grossly inflated among humans. As for the 'ladies' comment, it's, how you say... a way to 'motivate' the men. If you aren't a man, you're a lady, and to most of these flyboys, that's the worst thing you can be. Next to a coward."

[MadMaeve]

An R4 unit trots into the center as Vohl addresses the crowd of pilots. By the time she's done, it's already banked its chassis back and started projecting a holo-image upward. A globe-shaped model of the Galaxy. The lights in the hangar dim to compensate.

"As you all know," Vohl says, her tone dipping into something more mechanical and deliberate, "two weeks ago, the Confederacy of Independent Systems declared war on the Republic." The globe colorizes into red and blue sections - Republic and Sep. Either side has glimmering, opposing color stars laid into them. Important worlds, caught between battle lines.

"North of us, roughly a few hundred light years, a section of the Intergalactic Banking Clan's private territory, the Commonwealth, declared independence in support of the Separatist cause." The view focuses down to a section of the northern Rim. A navy blue slice of space takes up most of what used to be the Banking Clan's holdings in the north. It stretches from Borrosk to Agamar, Shaum Hii to Vinsoth, Tangrene and Ibanji all the way to Sernpidal, in a blob-like shape. Off center sits Muunilinst - or what most debtors and crooks called it, old Moneylend.



"In the week following the Battle and Occupation of Geonosis, sector security mobilized. Turns out the IGBC was saving up a fleet for a rainy day. Two hundred vessels. Separatist taskforces Aurek, Besh, Cresh and Dom, based out of the Commonwealth, have been attacking points along the border with the Republic, capturing systems in rapid succession here and here." Lines and cross-hatching develop to represent attacking forces and occupied territory. A pincer towards Ord Mantell and a wide arrow along the Braxant Run. Taris lies right at the end. "They want to threaten the core worlds, so they can force several member systems out of the Republic while she's still gathering strength. Best way to do that is to capture one of the trade points on the Hydian Way"

"Our mission is to stop taskforce Besh at Taris, or at least buy time for the Republic to collect assault ships to prepare a counterattack."

[Jallorn]

We're expecting droid fighters, right? How many ships? Do we know? Jora is all business, engineer brain activated and focused on finding a solution to the problem presented to it.