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Clones & Star Wars => Role-Playing => Topic started by: Drake Vhett on September 05, 2016, 05:52:09 AM
After the Treaty of Coruscant was signed, neither the Galactic Republic or Sith Empire truly stopped fighting. Instead they engaged in a shadow war of proxy conflicts, subterfuge, and intrigue. On the seemingly peaceful, simple planet of Abregado-rae (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Abregado-rae) lies one of the hottest nexus of smuggling in the Colonies. Combined with an infamous Shadowport (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Abregado-rae_Spaceport), the planet was one of many taken over by the Sith Empire.
The Republic's Strategic Information Service immediately launched a proxy war using the native Gados (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Gados) and Moochers (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Moocher), trying to make the planet too much trouble for the Empire to hold. In response to the native's aggression the Empire landed a large number of troops, trying to occupy as much of the planet as possible. The proximity to the edge of Republic controlled territory makes large troop movements risky, however.
To help the native resistance, and to help maintain deniability, the SIS has hired a group of mercenaries to help lead and train the local resistance. The mercenaries will also be responsible for engaging in a number of high-risk anti-Empire operations that are outside of the scope of the local resistance.
Name: Kendor Thraskan
Race: Thyrsian (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Thyrsian)
Appearance: Light-skinned for his people, Thraskan is a charcoal grey man with a heavy, muscled build. His face is covered in a trio of crossing scars. His head is shaved save for a thin, black mowhawk matched by a full, black beard. His left hand is missing the middle and ring finger. He constantly rubs his chin as he thinks, often tracing the scars around it. It is rare to see him without one of his droids, small aerial models that serve various functions. He controls and communicates with them from a large datapad on his arm.
Specializations: Droid control, reconnaissance, intelligence analysis, infantry command.
SCYTHE Combat Armor (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ba/7b/d0/ba7bd05053375b3a2680faacce8ff556.jpg), G-56 Projection X Blaster Carbine (http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/a/a0/G-56_Projection-X_carbine.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/500?cb=20150216160434), four XTR-42 Aerial Combat Droids (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/46/16/d9/4616d9705e5f4527fa75b98bfd973f57.jpg) (Tracyn, Pirun, Vheh, and Abiik).
Born into a prominent family on Thyrsus, Thraskan was the oldest son and thus set to take his father's place in government. He was tutored and prepared to attend a prestigious military academy on Thyrsus, something the young Kendor dreaded. He spent his time tinkering with the various servant droids in his family's estate, doing his best to cause a bit of havoc and fun.
When he joined the academy, he quickly found he loved the high-stress, high-speed environment. He took to his training, and was the top of his class. His first unit was lent to the Republic and deployed to an active combat zone within weeks of his graduation. He served with distinction, out-maneuvering enemy units despite his relative inexperience. He joined Thyrsian Special Forces once his unit returned home, much to his father's chagrin. Kendor refused to end his service and begin his political career, which resulted in his father disowning him.
During his last operation, Kendor was caught in an explosion which took two of the fingers on his left hand and left him with severe nerve damage. Unable to afford medical treatment, Kendor signed on with Arakyd's (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Arakyd) Combat Technology Research Group. The company paid for his expensive surgeries and rehabilitation in exchange for testing their high-risk weapons technology in combat zones.
The war between the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire proved to be the best of both worlds for Kendor: he was able to put his technical prowess to the test while pitting himself against the best the Sith had to throw at him. During the conflict he met his wife, a Mandalorian mercenary named Cyila. She stayed out of the Republic-Empire conflict, working for Arakyd Security. She was the one who named his XTR droids, and introduced him to Arakyd's SCYTHE program; an attempt to mechanize Mandalorian armor into a centralized combat chassis.
Cyila was injured when Imperial Agents sabotaged the Arakyd factory she guarded, the resulting explosion throwing chemicals into the air. Cyila is currently in an Arakyd medical facility in a coma, being treated for her injuries. Kendor was selected to join the mission to lead the mercenaries and keep them tasked on mission. He brings experimental Arakyd technology, command experience, Thyrsian training, and a keen tactical mind to the fight.
Name: Byrren Peltawu
Specializations: Guerilla combat, marksmanship, irregular warfare and trap setting
Equipment: Peltawu is a slight, wiry man, with short dark hair and a long scar on his ribs from an ill-fated charge by a Katarn. He carries a self-cocking bowcaster, a gift from a Wookiee hunting companion, a heavy blaster pistol and a short skinning knife. He wears little body armour, only a sturdy jacket and shin plates, and goes into combat in a pair of worn, stained hunting trousers with his Blood Stripe sewn onto them and a pair of knee high boots
History: Born on Corellia, Peltawu kept away from the circles of the military until his late twenties. Instead, he began a career as a big-game hunter starting from the day he turned 17, when he bought a heavy blaster rifle and a ticket to the Outer Rim. Over the next 10 years, Peltawu became one of the most well-known hunters in the Mytaranor sector, hunting extensively on Kashyyyk. However, the mauling death of a Wookiee hunting companion while hunting a Katarn convinced Peltawu to leave hunting for several years, whereupon he enlisted in the Republic forces, being privately awarded the Corellian Blood Stripe for his actions in a rescue mission on Ilum. Retiring from active duty after 6 years, Peltawu was preparing to return to Kashyyyk to continue as a Katarn hunter and to pursue a Netweaver when the steady offer of pay as a mercenary convinced him to turn his rifle sights back to prey that was far more intelligent.
Name: Gillik Yorvan
Appearance: Gil is 6' tall, with an athletic body type that isn't overtly large, but well muscled and toned. He has blonde hair which he keeps short. His right hand is cybernetic almost up the elbow, and he is missing the tip of his right ear. He is very calm, collected, and usually friendly, and never seems to be fazed by anything.
Specializations: Demolitions, Infiltration, Hand-to-Hand combat, small-unit tactics
Equipment: In combat, Gil wears light armor that is tailored to moving quietly and unseen, though it provides less protection than full armor would. He carries his commando's blaster rifle, and a family pistol from his grandfather. His cybernetic hand contains a black vibroblade, a short range dart gun, and a datapad. He has mastered the use of many types of explosives, and carries whatever the mission requires.
History: Gillick 'Gil' Yorvan was raised in the core worlds by parents who were both prominent actors. His grandfather, however, was a war hero who instilled Gil with the ideals of strength, service, and the importance of the warrior in the universe. Gil turned away from the life of luxury and enlisted in the Republic military when he came of age, much to the horror of his friends and parents. He was recruited into a special forces unit where he mastered the arts of demolition and infiltration, succeeding in numerous operations during the war against the Sith. He lost his hand and much of his ear in an explosion, a training accident during a live-fire exercise where a new recruit had not properly prepared the charges. He prefers to handle them himself now. Gil left the army at the end of the war to fight on his own terms, taking up mercenary work and almost immediately finding employment through an old contact of his in the SIS.
Although he his calm and genuinely friendly, Gil loves his job, he loves combat and wouldn't trade it for anything. His teammates observed that in combat or on a mission he was still always calm, but also became ice-cold and efficient. He has often thought that his upbringing around actors gave him unintended training for this; he finds it easy to 'flip the switch' between his deadly mindset on the field, and his relaxed personality back at base.
Chapter 1: Landfall
The scout vessel shuddered as it exited hyperspace, gently waking any aboard who had fallen asleep. The quarters (http://static.giantbomb.com/uploads/original/3/30036/1549393-ca_smuggler_ship03_full.jpg) were tight, but the two dozen beings had managed to find their own private spaces as best they could. The tension was heavy and put a damper on any conversation among the assorted contractors.
From the cockpit area stepped a middle-aged Chiss (http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d7/Saskei/SWRP%20Stuff/Lorne-1.jpg), probably one of a thousand not part of the Empire. He had introduced himself as Wishbone, the handle the group of mercenaries would know him as before they made the jump to hyperspace.
Wishbone stopped at the opening to the hold, and patiently waited for the murmur of conversation to die down. He held a datapad in one hand, the other resting on the wall beside him.
"Listen up! We are making our approach to Abregado-rae from the edge of the system, so there is no turning back now. As such, I will give you the final details. First, welcome to Taskforce Styanax. For those who don't know, this is a Styanax (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/44/be/8a/44be8a7790b4fd024eb90814d512d1f3.jpg)," Wishbone said as he held up his datapad for all of the mercenaries to see. There were some nods and mutters among the group, many satisfied with the deadly-looking creature their unit was named for.
"Styanax are native to Tralus, they keep to deeper waters and strike with a stinger that saps the energy of what it hits and leads to paralysis. Fitting, since you will need to keep to the shadows and sap the Empire's strength where you can. We have a small operating base set up where we will land. It is shielded against scanners and hidden in a series of canyons. We have automated defenses as well as native rebel fighters guarding the perimeter," Wishbone continued. He tapped a few buttons on his datapad, and a wave of notification bings swept through the group.
"You all have your preliminary role assignments, fitted to your skills. You also have your associated callsign. When communicating over the comms, in earshot of non-task force members, or whenever you think someone else might be listening use them. The Empire has a nasty habit of using the personal information of contractors to kidnap loved ones and other detestable things. We want to avoid that, so we have also put SIS assets in place to keep an eye over anyone who might fit that descriptor. For their safety of course, nothing for any of you to worry about," Wishbone continued. His tone, Imperial accent, and the content of his speech seemed to unsettle many of the mercenaries. Nonetheless, they kept their gripes to themselves, for now.
"Now then, I understand that many of you have not worked together before. I suggest you all aquatint yourselves as best you can. We have another two hours at our creep to get to Abregado-rae, in one and a half I'll finish my briefing"
Gil scanned the audience crammed into the small transport. Quite the efficient group of killers had been assembled for this operation. He had briefly chatted with a few of them already, learning their basic histories and skill sets. The SIS had done well bringing together a diverse bunch, that was for sure. The Styanax was the perfect mascot.
Gil was curious about this Chiss. Very few of that species were not aligned with the Empire, and Wishbone's Imperial accent indicated he had 'crossed over' to the Republic. Fascinating. When Wishbone suggested that they get to know one another, Gil turned to his left and extended his cybernetic hand to the man next to him.
"Gillick Yorvan. Call me Gil." He said pleasantly. The man was a little older, and carried what looked like a custom Wookie Bowcaster. Not many mercenaries packed such a unique weapon.
Byrren eyed the Chiss carefully as he spoke, reflecting that naming their team after an aquatic predator didn't speak much for everyone being in their element. But he ignored the poorly chosen mascot and placed one hand on his bowcaster, rubbing his fingers along the oiled woshyr wood as he shifted over slightly.
As the Chiss left, he relaxed, then turned to his right as a cybernetic arm extended in front of his chest and the man attached to it introduced himself.
"Gillick Yorvan. Call me Gil." He said pleasantly.
Peltawu took the metal and and shook it. "Byrren Peltawu. Either one works. What'd they get you in for?" He asked, noting Gil's glance at his bowcaster.
"A pleasure, Byrren. Explosives are my trade, primarily." Gil said. He noticed his new acquaintance raise an eyebrow every so slightly. Gil wiggled his metal fingers with a smirk. "Don't let the arm fool you. Not my work."
Gil motioned to the Bowcaster in Byrren's lap. "My compliments on your bowcaster. That's an exquisite weapon. They don't hand those out to just anyone, either; I've only seen a handful in my time. Makes me very curious as to what you bring to the table."
The man took a moment to consider his words, which gave another man the opportunity to walk up to the pair and answer for him.
"Peltawu, you are a Corellian big game hunter, correct. Brief service in the Republic Armed Forces before returning to the private sector," the grey-skinned man's words were more statement than question, but earned a nod from Peltwu in affirmation. He man moved his gaze to Gil "Yorvan, explosives specialist. Served in the Republic Special Forces during the conflict, entered the private sector after the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant"
The man's meter was regulated, his diction very clear. He extended a hand to each man before he spoke again.
"Thraskan, combat intelligence operative. Formerly Thyrsian Special Forces, most recently employed by Arakyd's Combat Technology Research Group. It is a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances"
A big game hunter? Fascinating. Rare breed indeed. Gil thought to himself. He shook the newcomer's hand. "Likewise, Thraskan. Guess I don't need to introduce myself then."
Gil checked his datapad briefly, and asked, "Thraskan, do you have any more intel on the size of opposition we'll be facing? The report we were given is a little light on details."
Thraskan shook his head slowly in a very measured manner. He tapped a few buttons on his gauntlet and held out his palm. Light reached out from the center of his hand and began to form a holoimage . The image formed one layer after another, filling out a diorama of a major spaceport and the surrounding area. Hovering above the city was a single Imperial cruiser, numerous dots filling the sky around it. Thraskan tapped another few buttons without looking at the back of his arm and the view began to animate. The dots moved closer to the source of the view, flying in formation. Imperial fighters crossed the sky, the cruiser held position as its turbolasers moved in slow arcs to provide coverage.
The view angled downward and then zoomed in. It focused on a single building. The tall building was nestled in with other skyscrapers, though it had numerous landing pads across its height. Imperial ships touched down at various pads, offloading troops, equipment, droids, and other supplies. The view panned down to the base where defensive positions were being built. Here the view paused, and the playback ended.
"Not as much as I would like to know. We've got one Harrower-class cruiser parked over the shadowport, and it is in the process of moving its ground contingent to occupy the main starship workshop in the port. Other Harrower cruisers have come and gone, but we are currently unaware of their patrol pattern in this sector. We have pinged three unique cruisers in total, but others may be in the region. Based on the supplies that are being moved to the workshops, it would also stand to reason that the ground contingent has been reinforced with additional occupation forces" Thraskan stated, a frown on his face. He closed the holoprojection and shook his head slowly.
"We are unaware of the composition of these troops. We cannot confirm the presence of airborne, engineering, special forces, or pacification troops. The motorized components of the forces have yet to be unpacked, so we are also unaware of the armored support available, or the presence of any Sith. In all, I have a lot of work to do when we get on planet to get us up to speed"
"Not much to go on, then, other than we've got a lot of work to do." Gil studied the hologram thoughtfully. This was shaping into more of an underdog operation than he initially anticipated. The presence of such a heavy Imperial contingent foreshadowed very difficult operations in the coming days. They weren't going to give this planet up lightly. Gil glanced around the hold at the other mercs; they'd be doing most of the heavy lifting, it seemed. 'Advise and assist the local resistance forces,' the original message from the SIS had said. Clearly, there would be emphasis on the latter.
"I'm curious to get on the ground and see the kind of shape our new allies are in. They've got a hell of a fight coming to them. I've no doubt this group," he motioned to the assembled professionals, "will bring the pain. But will the locals?"
"The local resistance will have no trouble providing troops, though the quality of each fighter is unknown. We will be working with both the native Gados and Moochers. The Gados average 1.8 meters in height, and show heightened levels of dexterity. They also suffer from a fragile biological composition. The internal organs of a Gados are spread through the entire body in a ribbon-like fashion, thus any penetrating injury can be lethal. Dismemberment is usually fatal for them, something the Empire has been using to incite fear in the natives," Thraskan stated. He then held his hand out at waist height. "The Moochers are much smaller, averaging at a meter tall. They will be the bulk of the resistance forces as we have allied with a Moocher queen. A single queen births thousands of Moochers to maintain the population of their dens, and the beings rapidly mature. We will not have an issue maintaining numbers, as every three months a new generation of Moochers will be ready to fight"
As Thraskan finished that statement, he stopped, and seemed to do some calculations in his head. He jerked a thumb over at another being across the bay, a Zabrak speaking in a group of other mercs.
"Though their combat potential will be based on how quickly Bandar LoQuiin can train them. LoQuiin is a former security consultant, he trained corporate agricultural security forces on the outer rim. It is my understanding that local farmers have been forming militias and bombing large corporate farms for decades. The corporations bring him in to train security forces to handle the threat, and he will be the primary training sergeant for the resistance fighters," Thraskan reached out and steadied himself as the ship shuddered. He checked the datapad in his gauntlet before motioning towards the seats near the trio. "We're going to be descending into the atmosphere in a moment, I recommend we take seats"
Thraskan moved in a measured, minimal manner as he took his seat and immediately pulled the crass harness over his chest armor. Once he was finished he continued to speak,
"In my estimation the most valuable allies we will have are the various smugglers, criminals, and other discontents that frequent the shadowport. Without any real government oversight on Abregado-rae, along with the very accepting nature of the Gados has lead to a large number of criminal syndicates making their homes on the planet. Due to the lack of official Republic backing, they will likely be willing to deal with us as a means to remove the Imperial forces to return the earlier ease of business they enjoyed"
"Every three months?" Gil asked with surprise. "I wonder how quickly they will grow too old to fight, if they mature that quickly. I don't envy LoQuiin his job..." he paused, "We're expecting high Moocher casualties then, too. Shame."
They all took their seats and strapped in as the ship rumbled into the atmosphere. One of the other mercs looked as if he were going to be sick. It was rare to see such behavior in the modern galaxy of travel, and even more so in an experienced combat unit, but not unheard of. I guess that's why he's a ground-pounder... Gil thought to himself. Space travel didn't bother him in the slightest, and never had. He had traveled a lot within the core worlds as a child, tagging along with his parents as they performed on all the prominent stages and filmed holovids in luxurious locations. Gil had often expressed his desire to do more travelling outside the safety of their cushy lifestyle, which of course brought instant disbelief and disapproving remarks. Gil loved his parents, and appreciated their love for him, even if they did not understand him. How horrified they would be to know where he was now, and what he was doing.
Gil felt some excitement and anticipation building in his gut. A new world, new races, new team, new mission. A wholly unique experience awaited, and though it did little to change his stable outward demeanor, he took a moment to breath and center himself for the coming hardships and challenges.
Peltawu remained silent throughout the impromptu briefing, scanning the hologram and evaluating the local resistance mentally. With new recruits being trained every 3 months, that would mean shortened training cycles, an inability to follow soldiers into the field to guide them in action. Not to mention the implicit high casualty rate of any species that reproduced at such a high volume. Birth rates that high meant one thing: predators, and damned effective ones. As he felt the shuttle pitch downwards into its descent, he shifted his bowcaster across his knees and wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. Space travel rankled with him, the shuttle deck was too hard, had no give, spread every vibration and tremor of the craft through the floor and up through his knees. It was like standing ahead of a boma stampede. Sniffing hard to clear his nose, Byrren set his jaw and checked the safety on his bowcaster, making sure the bronzium switch was flipped to the right to block the trigger. The last thing he needed was an accidental discharge within the first 5 minutes of establishing contact. Satisfied, he leaned forward and tilted his chin towards Thraskan to gain his attention.
"These criminal elements, then. Will they put us in contact with the indigenous populations, or are we organizing an urban resistance and leaving sleeper agents before we even begin a campaign in the forests?" He asked, somewhat tartly. He was a hunter, and while he could fight in the cities and was a better shot than likely anyone else in the shuttle, he'd been brought onboard for rural geurilla operations, not house-to-house fighting and fly-bys on the local Sith watering holes.
"Negative. Republic SIS has already laid the groundwork for the native guerrilla force. The Moochers worked with local engineers to construct a hidden outpost in one of the jungle cliffs outside of any major cities. I am told the site was previously a Moocher colony before they moved to another location closer to civilization to improve trade access. The structure is shielded from scanners, has limited autodefenses, marginal medical facilities. From what I understand food will not be an issue as there is plenty of local game to hunt in addition to a plethora of edible flora" Thrasken informed. The rattling of the ship increased as it hit the atmosphere of the planet, and a short laugh erupted from one of the other mercenaries across the room.
"Feel tha' gents? Internal dam'ner are turned down to a wee bitty. Less power for tha' 'perials ta detect, butta lot more rattle-n-bang for us! Proper ride this is!" jubilantly explained the stout man who owned the earlier laugh. He had simple combat armor on, dull green plates covering major spots with a blue undersuit beneath, held tight to his body by a number of black straps. He wore a yellow metal frame over his torso, something that looked more at home on a construction site than a fighter. Numerous arms and tools were tucked together, taking up as little space as possible. The frame rattled against his armor, the straps keeping it on struggling with the force being put on them. His red beard was neatly trimmed, and a tattoo covered his shaved scalp.
A few more chuckles from individuals around the ship followed, but all were drowned out by the noise. Thrasken made a motion from his mouth to his ear, indicating he would continue speaking when he could be heard.