The Battle for Coruscant- Rain

[Santoro]

Spoiler: Image

Historical Information: Located at the iconic coordinates (0,0,0), Coruscant is the political, social, economic, and militant capital of the Republic and the galaxy at large. Home to over 1,000,000,000,000 permanent residents and countless additional travelers from every corner of the known universe, it is very commonly said “he who owns Coruscant owns the galaxy”. For too long the Republic has ruled the galaxy- it is time for the Empire to take what is theirs.

Situation: Realizing the war he had committed his Empire to could drag on for decades (and nowhere near ready to wait so long for his prize), Emperor Tusa Ujalli Hai captured Yag’Dhul late in the First Hutt War. While tactically important in the scheme of hyperspace routes, the devious Hutt had another plan- using the natural mathematic inclination of the Givin, he would develop an extragalactic hyperspace route out of the galactic disk near Yag’Dhul and emerge back into the galactic disk in the deep core. From there, his armies would navigate in a surprise raid on the capital. The effort took five years and billions of credits, resulting in a short-lived route that would soon be eliminated by a black hole. The Emperor had to move fast- all of his best fleets began pooling around Yag’Dhul. Soon, the Emperor could claim his throne.


Rain - Full : Three Spots Remaining
Mission Objectives: Eliminate all Republic Naval forces in the Southern Hemisphere.
Expectations: Major Republic resistance expected. Take no prisoners.
Assigned PCs: High Admiral Kohsev (Vanity), Grand Admiral Jaka Tyrell (Santoro), Admiral Yur Trey’lis (Sid), Admiral Marcus Orazio (Count Sam)
Defender PCs: Alex Maltov (Joker Act 1)

Note: Please allow the Hutts to enter fully before responding. Afterwards, we'll establish a posting order. This is an attempt at NO BITCHING- we'll have OOC threads for clarifications, but I don't want arguing.

 

[Ender]

Coruscanti Space

The Republic Destroyer, Exeter, was at the head of a patrol. Just a meager five ships among hundreds, thousands even, facing the incoming Hutt Armada. Captain Alex Maltov sat in the Captan's chair of said ship, looking out the view port into the chaos in front of them.

"Maltov to crew." the Captain spoke. "General quarters has been sounded, but you know that. Do your job, and I'll do mine. We go into this fight together, we come out the same way." and then Maltov turned to his gunnery officer. "Prepare the batteries to fire!"

"Which ones sir?" the Lieutenant asked. Maltov rounded on him, giving him a look of disbelief.

"All of them lieutenant!" he ordered, as their patrol swung into position. They targeted a small frigate, Maltov chose it to get the crew into a good mood. The cannons fired, blue light arcing across space and slamming into the Frigate and their fire destroyed it. The battle had begun.

 

[Jake]

((OOC: Note that the beginning of this post, obviously, takes place before Joker's.

Also, I forgot I said I would post in this. :P Sorry for the wait.))

Space was a cold place. Ostensibly, this made the bridge of Nightfall an unpleasant place as it sped through hyperspace, viewports showcasing the streaking lines of distant stars as they blurred past the universe. On the navcomputer of each ship in fourteen battlegroups a single set of coordinates were displayed, intense in their simplicity; three numbers that would put the Republic on their knees in mere hours.

Three numbers that read 0,0,0.

Three numbers that presently were not of great importance to the High Admiral of the Hutt Empire.

Kohsev sat in his chair, a Bantha wool blanket draped over his shoulders. He sipped lukewarm coffee from a porcelain mug and contemplated the two boxes sitting before him on his desk. Every day he had his aides bring two dozen doughnuts with them to the bridge - one to be shared by the aides themselves, the other for Anatol and himself.

One box contained two plain old-fashioned, two sour cream glazed, one chocolate dipped and one lemon-filled (no powder), one blueberry cake, one glazed and one chocolate-frosted, and two chocolate crullers. These belonged to Kohsev and his son, who among other things were both acting grandmasters of the Society for Pastry Connoisseurs. Powdered sugar on the lapel of his blue blazer ruined his serious facade, not to mention lending him the appearance of a boy pretending to be a ship admiral.

Anatol accordioned half a cruller into his mouth and stared longingly at the other dozen, which two tall Zetron twins were pecking at incessantly between eloquent jabs at each other. Their box contained six custard creme, five assorted jelly, and a single chocolate-frosted with rainbow sprinkles and soft glaze. Every day they bickered over who would get the last one, occasionally exchanging blows until Kohsev ordered them to split it. Today, however, was a very special day indeed, and neither were willing to come out of the debacle with only half a doughnut.

You see, these pastries were imperative to the functionality of Kohsev's innermost circle. His son, Anatol, could only guard him with marginal efficiency if his thoughts wandered to food. The Zeltrons, who offered their input and affirmed Kohsev's tactical decisions, couldn't think as well on an empty stomach. Besides that doughnuts were delicious and anyone who disagreed could be tossed out the airlock as far as the High Admiral was concerned.

He sipped his coffee and licked chocolate off his upper lip. "Boys, calm yourselves. We'll be arriving shortly."

The Zeltrons turned in unison to face him. They could hardly be distinguished from one another except that the elder brother had an amusing (and downright villainous) thin mustache that looked horribly unnatural on him. Black on deep fuchsia? Even Anatol had a better taste in fashion. They saluted, white gloves only slightly coated in raspberry filling at the fingertips.

"I've come to the conclusion that this debate will never be settled by conventional means. Therefore..." Kohsev's mechanical arm disappeared into a desk drawer, emerging with a thin, circular object covered in tissue paper. The brothers' eyes widened and they instinctively grabbed for it, but Kohsev dangled the doughnut just out of reach.

"First, promise me that when this mess is over you'll both go home to Zeltros and raise yourselves a fine family of pink-skinned prodigies." Their heads dipped almost imperceptibly, both pairs of eyes fixed on the pastry. "All right then, I suppose I'm left with no other choice..." He tossed the pastry into their midst and turned in his repulsor chair to face forward. Already he could tell that they were beginning to slow in hyperspace, with his eyes alone noticing the way each star stayed in sight for a sixth of a second longer.

Then a fifth, a fourth...

Finally, the intercom crackled to life. "All personnel please brace for return to realspace," a monotonous voice echoed through the settling static. The following seconds were spent in agonizing silence, except for the unappetizing noises of the two brothers ravishing their fried dough delights.

Coruscant, Kohsev thought somberly as he reached for the blueberry cake doughnut. Queen of the Core. Well, my Queen, prepare to meet your Emperor...

"For the glory of Tusa Ujalli Hai," Kohsev muttered, and opened up communications with Ysava. "Yes, this is Kohsev. The last thing Tusa will want after he's crowned are dissidents thinking they can plot against him once he conquers the galaxy... So relay this to Tyrell: no mercy."

~*~​

Coruscant had captivated the entire galaxy with its sheer mechanical beauty. Even from space, the many high-rises and skyscrapers formed patterns on its surface, burning like great orange glyphs in something tantalizingly close to a language that Kohsev knew he would never understand... and that he knew would die along with the planet's inhabitants should they resist Tusa's iron dominion.

The Republic would know growing despair as the Hutt fleet emerged from the secret hyperspace route that the Givin had devised for them. Ship after ship twinkled into existence, basking in the afterglow of the others' arrival. Radars all over the sector would be abruptly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of arriving craft. All in all, 224 ships had come to take the Republic's crowning jewel away from them; some would call the number ludicrous, but in Kohsev's mind an age-old maxim rang clear:

There is no kill like overkill.

When Coruscant was gone, the Republic government would collapse. With that knowledge safely tucked away Kohsev had himself advised Tusa to bring as many ships as they could spare: two full armadas and an entourage of a few battlegroups. Dirt-side, it was impossible that they had gone unnoticed, if not by the coming eclipse growing on the horizon then by the gamma radiation they had released with their exit from hyperspace.

Kohsev leaned forward, fingers steepled and elbows resting on the polished wroshyrr of his desk. His spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, reflecting light that hid the penetrating grey of his stare as he focused. He lifted his prosthesis and smoothed back his silvering hair. His long, unassuming face was defined by horizontal lines: the slash of a focused frown, the ladder of concentration up his brow. He moved like an entirely different person than the man that had been distributing pastries to his assistants, his friends, moments earlier.

The real Leonid Kohsev was coming out to play.

He was drawn further into the game by the alarmed cry of a woman monitoring the battlefield. "Sir! A patrol's sighted us, they've downed a frigate!"

"Very well then," he said, voice low and imposing. "Instruct the nearest battlegroup to open fire."

The flanks of Doubleday's sixteen ships lit up. Space turned into the canvas of an expressionist painter as they fired, a colorful tie-dye in penetrating scarlet, fearsome yellow and fiery orange. Each blast continued along its vector like an intense brushstroke, leaving trails of dissipated particles in their wake. Almost instantaneously they reached the blank spot on the canvas where the Republic patrol lie in wait.

"Target status?" Kohsev called.

"Unknown... fetching data..."

The first shots had been fired.

The battle for Coruscant had begun.

Spoiler: Data

Total forces: 224 ships

Casualty count: 0 (1?) Not sure if I should count that frigate, since you autohitted before any Hutts had a chance to respond (or even enter the battle).

Remaining forces: 224 ships (223?)

Character status:
Kohsev - Alive
Anatol - Alive
Zeltron aides - Alive

Morale: Excellent

 

[Kuran]

((OOC: I'm sorry for posting here, but I posted several times in the recruitment thread and got no replies. I'd like to apply for a position among the defenders. Of course with two days of the timeline left....sigh))