Open Invasion The Fall Of Firrerre

Darth Raze

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Sith Order
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Sreeya
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It was some time past evening on the surface of the planet. The vibrant and lush forests were bathed in darkness, the more metropolitan points of the cities dynamic and alight from the surface. That day, both native and emigrated residents went about their daily lives. They woke up in the morning, they went about their daily business, they came home, they spent time with their families. Parents tucked in their children. Many workers rushed to get that last minute bit of work done before leaving the office. It was a day not unlike others before it.

There was a fissure in the very fibre of space and time high above the surface of the planet. It was a crease that appeared above the atmosphere, as if a knife cutting smoothly across fabric. There was the swirl of a vortex churning and spiraling churn of energy behind it. That rift widened until starships began to poke through it, and then another appeared. The monstrous ships loomed suddenly over the planet Firrerre. There were four destroyers - two Resurgent Classes and two Onager classes, all accompanied by a fleet of corvettes and starfighters. This accelerated appearance was possible only due to the dedicated and tireless efforts of Tiamat.

The ships fanned out in formation, each with their designated targets. As a descent was made towards the atmosphere, the planet just began to realize what was happening. Alarms began to blare, overnight workers sprang to life, sending off alarms and frantic calls. Such was the location of the planet that it would be some time before aid arrived. Firrerre was nowhere near any fully industrial planets that could come to support it in a timely manner.

The destroyers each loomed above a designated metropolis region of the planet. These included Firrerre’s entire commercial and economic hubs, its government and federal districts, its military bases and most population districts.

On the bridge of one of the destroyers was a tall man adorned in his signature armor. Those around him recognized him as Darth Raze. With the death of the Eternal, there was no one to get in his way. There was no one to stop him from finally using the assets at the Sith’s disposal.

“Sir, we have taken position at all of the critical districts,” The officer mentioned, “Are….Are we sure we don’t just want to stick to only the military-”

Raze’s visor slowly turned to look at the man. He didn’t do anything, but the officer stopped speaking at once, “Right, sir. We are ready to fire on command.”

“Send a squadron to the region near Grand Falls,” Raze’s mechanized voice spoke, “Target every known Drast asset on the planet.”

The men returned to their posts as the ships lined up to unload their payload. Raze stepped towards the giant transparisteel panes to observe the impacts of his words before he uttered them. Before the surface of the planet changed forever. Before it went to a place from which it would likely never recover.

“Fire.”
 

Cal Starros

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Senator, Lothal

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"...working together, members of the Alliance moved resources across the core through a network of agents, to their outposts in the mid and outer rim. In many ways, it was this effort that sustained the Rebellion, and enabled th..." Senator Starros was nearing the end of his talk, and whilst he knew he had been talking for a while, and attentions where bound to wain, he drew the line at students standing up and walking to the windows!

"Excuse me?" he exclaimed, to not effect.

The students, more and more of them, just kept standing up and looking outside. He rolled his eyes and went to see what the fuss was all about. "Look, I know night classes can be bori...." he stopped mid-sentence as he saw the object of their attention. There, hanging in the heavens above them, was a dagger-like vessel, its design unmistakably hostile, inching slowly into position alongside others of its type - it looked tiny from here, but Starros new of its power.

Alarms sounded, and in rushed Starros' pilot, a heavyset man whose name he always seemed to forget, who called out for him to 'get a move on'. According to him, they had a matter of minutes to get to the ship.

Students carried out the evacuation procedure of the campus, the small town - most residential - blaring into a blind panic as they saw the ships weapons glare into life. Starros meanwhile, was ushered to his ship, an unarmed J-Type diplomatic barge. It was only some short distance away, the remote University campus boasting of large fields in which his vessel could land.

He had never been so thankful for the lack of proper landing facilities in his life.

A few moments later, and Starros ran up the boarding ramp, panting for breath as he reached its summit. His pilot shot past him, the engines flaring into life as Starros felt the ship lift slightly.

"No!" he shouted, staggering up to the cockpit, leaning on the wall for support as he caught his breath "Do not leave the planet, we cannot risk running the blockade. Stay low, away from urban areas." he dropped into a free seat "And away from important military sites, get us out over the plains." he instructed. The pilot did not question the order, seeing the logic in the command, as in the distance, the thundering sound of a bombardment rumbled across the sunset lit sky, turning an idyllic weekday evening, into a scene of horror.

"Who are they?"

The Senator turned in the direction of the voice of his aide and shook his head. Feeling utterly powerless in the face of such a brutal display of strength, he put his head in his hands.

"It doesn't matter. Whoever they are, it is much to late to stop them."
 

The Storyteller

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Firrerre was burning.
A great rend in space-time had opened up overhead and poured out a fleet of warships from across the universe. Like Hell itself came ripped its way into realspace, fire rained down in waves through the atmosphere of the still wild and oceanic planet. Family homes burst into flaming shrapnel, their occupants rendered to ash or buried in the rubble. Places of work were wiped completely from blackened earth by superweapons with only scorched craters where they'd stood.

Civilians ran panicked in the street and snarling at the sky. The Sith had come to Firrerre and they were not here to conquer this time.

The military scrambled wildly. Within the Pacanth Reach Firrerre had aggressively warded off invasions by their neighbors in the past and had defenses meant to cripple those who would threaten them. Every battle was fought with the viciousness of a warrior people whose planet was hostile to those who didn't give it everything they had just to survive. Epicanthix had crashed against the Firrerreon defense forces several times and always came away with less than they'd started.

But the military wasn't prepared for something like this. They wouldn't give up, but their main bases were targeted faster than they could scramble forces. All that remained were the hidden weapons, the last desperate means of war when the people of Firrerre weren't just fighting to survive. When corned as a people they would struggle and defy until the bitter end.

Great mountains opened to send out strike fighters and boarding shuttles full of commandos who held their people's lives far above their own. Oceans churned as massive sea-born craft surfaced and angled oversized cannons toward space, bolts of yellow energy firing in full salvos at the invading fleet.

It wasn't nearly enough. They were outgunned, outnumbered, and taken completely by surprise. Some civilians rushed to hide in underground bunkers through the hail of falling fire. Others panicked and took to the sky only to be shot down. Firrerre's final defense was only, at best, delaying the inevitable retaliation of Darth Raze.


-------
Within a reinforced estate under direct attack by a fighter squadron the Drast family of Firrerre was evacuating. A few vital things were gathered and secret tunnels the lead beneath the ground were opened.

In a nicer part of the city an old, romantic summer home was burning, ancient wood and material things left completely in ruins. Princely clothes rendered into scorched scraps blew across bombarded plains, stained glass glittering amongst the flames. Just down the road a graveyard grove burned with it, headstones shattering while trees like torches blazed with light, each representing a lost member of their line. A Drast-owned business office was struck directly by a superweapon, a thunderous impact leaving nothing behind but the memory of its existence and clouds of roiling ash.

Anwen Drast looked on shock and abject horror through the hole left by a collapsed wall just before she slipped beneath the earth. She thought someone must have finally found and come for them, self-centered as she was. Her family had been in hiding before and were prepared to do it again. They didn't know the true extent of what was happening. Only that they must try and survive like they always had.


Firrerre was burning
Nothing and no one could help
Fallen unto dust

 

Jin Vaisra

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Meanwhile, at Fondor . . .

Venka strode hurriedly into Senator Vaisra’s office and found him staring through the windows overlooking Fondor’s shipyards. Since his deals with Brentaal and Belasco, it had nearly doubled in size. Even now, the docks were arrayed with hundreds of starships and capital frigates, armed and ready for battle. For months, he’d been overseeing the construction of the Republic Armada, and clearly, its progress had gone without a hitch.

Until now.

Sir,” Venka said, standing in the drowsy light by the viewport. “We have just received word that the Sith are on the move. We don’t know how yet, but four destroyers managed to travel undetected from Sith territory, through Republic space, and—

Jin’s eyes widened. “What did you just say?

The Sith. They’re—

Senator Vaisra didn’t bother listening to what she had to say. His perfectly composed self had collapsed into outright panic, and Venka watched as he turned and paced toward his desk. “Signal the rest of the fleet,” he ordered. “Take us to Emergency Alert Level One. I want our ships mobile and prepped for hyperspace travel within the hour.” He tapped his knuckle twice against the desk, booting up a secret, holographic alert system. “Where are they attacking? Coruscant? Corellia? Kuat?

That’s what I’m trying to say, sir. They’re invading Firrerre.

Jin paused for a long moment. “The Free Worlds Alliance?

Venka nodded once, and almost instantly, the look of panic and fear vanished from Jin’s face, melting away into something like relief and, if she could dare say, amusement, as if he was about to break into laughter. Instead, the young man waved a dismissive hand. “Disregard my previous order. Mobilize the fleet, but keep it on standby, and take us to Level Two.

Venka raised a brow. “But sir, they’re glassing the planet as we speak. Next to Bakura, Fondor is the closest planet with a fleet that could match the Sith. The people of Firrerre—

Fall into the jurisdiction of the Alliance,” Jin finished. “It is a tragedy, yes, and my thoughts and prayers go out to them, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. The military pact is defunct. I will be sure send out a small defense force, but if what you were saying is true, the planet will be ash by the time we arrive. Just send word to Chancellor Ro to see what we can do.

Before Venka turned to leave, Jin added, “Oh, and prepare a statement for me. I need to appear at least mildly sympathetic.
 

Veles

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He had not received a briefing. He had no idea what he was getting into, truth be told, just that a few of his contacts in the army were preparing for something big, news that even they had only heard mere hours before. Their orders: "Follow."

And so Cinere had gotten in his starfighter and came along too. He was a Sith, and he wanted to fight for the cause. He had been complacent for so long, providing nothing and being nothing more than just another figure in the faceless masses of the Sith Order. It was time he did something, stuck his neck out.

He boomed out of hyperspace along with the others, taking in the planet ahead from the comfort of his cockpit. It was a useless hunk of rock, truth be told, even among the most useless in the Galaxy. He couldn't possibly imagine what its importance was, strategic or not. Neither did he care though, and Cin simply kept his ears to the comms and his fingers on the stick. Whatever he needed to do, he would do it.

And then the order was given.

Hellfire rained down on the atmosphere. There wasn't even a reaction at first, no ships coming up to intercept them, no sign that the people below had any idea what was happening. As their sky turned red and black and the Firrerrians were choked by smoke, Cinere could see a few squadrons trying to make their way up, only to be torn to shrapnel by the plasma and bombs falling down on them. He watched as a bomber was decimated by fire until it wasn't even dust anymore. It just got vaporized.

And he could do nothing but watch, because how does a planet resist something like this? There was no way for them to fight back. It was like dropping a building onto a puppy.

And he watched, a cruel scowl etched on his face but filled with evil joy, as the realization of the Order's actions dawned on him. And he watched, as the dark side flowed freely, as the loss of life sent screams out into the Force.

And he welcomed it.

 

Emil Ro

Faction Leader
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Supreme Chancellor

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Supreme Chancellor Emil Ro sat in the Situation Room, in the New Republic Senate Building, surrounded by his aides and the Joint Chiefs. It was moments after the first reports from Firrerre came in. No one had a visual on the system yet, but word was it was chaos. It was not immediately clear if there were any survivors, or any who had managed to flee the system before the Sith unleashed their fury on the planet's surface. But what was clear—at least to everyone in the room—was how deathly quiet the Chancellor had been. His usual exuberance was absent.

"We're sure this is the Sith?" Emil asked, not for the first time since the meeting was called. He already knew the answer; he just needed to hear it again.

"Yes sir," said a distinguished looking Chagrian dressed in New Republic naval regalia. "We are still waiting for reports of exactly the size of the invasion force, but we have no doubt of who attacked the planet."

"Do we know which one of them is responsible for this?"

It was an insane question to ask, but the Sith were not exactly united under a single banner. The one calling itself "The Eternal" was the most dangerous, from everything that he had been told; but there were many Lords ruling many fiefdoms beyond Free Worlds Alliance Territory. Any one of them could have launched the attack, for any reason or no reason at all. That was the way of the Sith.

"No sir," the same officer replied. "Not yet, but we're working on it."

"Continue to do so." Emil paused, carefully considering the next words he would utter. He had already identified an appropriate response. He just needed to figure out how to articulate it. "And ready the Seventh Fleet."

Five words brought every being in the room to a sudden, jarring halt. Some eyes remained transfixed to screens. Others were staring at him incredulously. The New Republic had been a benign force in the galaxy since its creation. It had never once had the spine to act. But Emil knew better than anyone, if you wanted to be heard, if you wanted your words to matter, you had to make them matter. It was time for the New Republic to stop talking about dealing with the Sith and actually do something about it.

"You heard me. Call up the Seventh Fleet, have it on standby. Then report to my office so we can talk more privately about what comes next."

Emil didn't wait for them to question his orders or fumble the ball somehow. He turned on his heel and strolled out of the room. This had been a moment he'd long waited for. And he wasn't going to let the bureaucrats get in the way of what he knew needed to be done.
 

Claudias Tannaras

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Independent
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Ambassador, Brentaal

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The tapping of his fingers against the datapad’s screen was rapid, words scrawling across the screen at a wicked pace. He had a tab open for his holonet account, waiting to message about the outcome of the agreement he was working out. He imagined he wouldn’t be able to do so for quite awhile. For the past two days, he’d spent his time waiting in the capital’s main administrative building, and for the past two nights, he’d gone back without having accomplished anything. He hadn’t spoken to anyone but the main receptionist, who simply couldn’t seem to find their singular diplomat qualified to meet with him.

He honestly couldn’t guess why it was taking so long. Firrerre’s government had to have been astonishingly unprepared, despite his visit being made known weeks prior. Regardless, he was in his hotel, a good 50 kilometers away from the capital city. It was an inconvenient speeder ride, but clearly, everything about this trip was going to be inconvenient. The flight there had bene inconvenient, going back and forth had been inconvenient, and now even meeting people was inconvenient. But such was life for Claudias, and he would do his duty in stride.

But, while he wasn’t doing his duty, he would be writing. He was on the sixteenth page of his next essay on the political ramifications of palpatine’s final death. He’d finished up his chapter on the impact of the early Jedi. He’d moved on to the final act of immeasurable cruelty that the dark lord of the Sith had enacted upon the galaxy; the destruction of Kijimi. Everyone knew the story of how one of the star destroyer’s of the final order’s fleet had dropped from hyperspace, and ended a world with millions of inhabitants in an instant. But rarely was what happened after focused on.


“The humanitarian crisis that resulted from the destruction of Kijimi was dwarfed by the collapse of the first order’s authority across their conquered territories. Nevertheless, it provides insight into the results of what happens to a people whose world has been rendered uninhabitable,” The first paragraph had opened with, Claudias employing a much simpler prose to open up with. “99.593% of the planet’s 324,200,000 inhabitants were immediately killed. The remaining 1,320,000 inhabitants offworld were, in effect, left completely destitute. Being that Kijimi was a rather isolated and impoverished world, most of the planet’s inhabitants posessed no long term savings. Those that did either kept them in physical credits on planet, or in banks almost entirely situated on planet.”

“The resulting million refugees were, thus, left with little more than the clothes they had on their backs. A particularly harrowing story was of the Zaox Nal and his two children. A Duros fisherman, heading production over his city’s canning plant, he had a contract with an offworld trading company (since dissolved) that had provided him with a ship to transport his goods. When Kijimi was destroyed, he had been lucky enough to have taken his two adolescent sons with him… but not hs wife. The man’s contract stipulated a ten year lease, which he had agreed to pay off with the collateral of his business. With the planet destroyed, he immediately lost right’s to to ship, but he was also bound to pay off that month’s remaining fee-- several thousand credits-- without so much as a chip to his name. Fortunately, the--”
He had to pause for a moment, as his fingers began to ache. Claudias groaned, grabbing his cane and standing up to stretch as best he could.

He was actually beginning to get a little thirsty. Grumbling, he head into the hallway. The thump of his cane against the carpet wasn’t very loud. He could hear something though; a rumbling in the distance. Pausing, he stopped in place, a bit confused. The rumbling was uneven; almost like distant explosions. He began to hear the shuffling of feet on the floors below and above him. Pausing, he moved to the nearest window, looking up into the starry night sky.

His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw it.

There were four lights in the sky, larger than stars. He could recognize them as ships. From their size in the sky, they had to be massive, and they had to be close. But behind them, there was… something, but that wasn’t what he was worried about.

He was worried about the active turbolaser blasts streaking through the night sky.

Claudias froze only for a few seconds. Than, he scrambled. He ignored the elevators, heading for the stairwells. People on his floor were just beginning to realize what was going on, and the doors were swinging open, with diplomats and businessmen of all species barrelling out. Some were in their regular clothes, like Claudias, while others were in nothing but their underwear. Claudias, not knowing what to do, held one of the doors wide open.
“G-GO! THE SHELTERS ARE T-TWO F-F-F...FLOORS DOWN!” He screeched, waving with his cane.

People began scrambling down the stairs, from the floors above and from the floor he was on. When most on his floor seemed to be down, he finally began making his way down the stairs. His cane fumbled against the stairs, until he was finally shoved and the stick was pushed past him. Gasping, he slammed into a person as he tried making his way over to the railing. Breathing heavily, he was pushed, near falling over a dozen times as they made their way into the shelters. The man wore a look of terror on his face, as did others, but he didn’t scream. He couldn’t scream.

He would do his duty, and wait for help. Assuming the roof didn’t collapse on top of him.



 

Cal Starros

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Senator, Lothal

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"It seems to be a sustained bombardment, focused on military assets and very, very specific commercial ones Senator." the pilot remarked, as their J-Type vessel swept across the open plains northwest of one of the outlying cities. "D3, run a diagnostic on the targets."

"It appears that the targets, aside from the military installations, are linked to the preeminent family on this world, the Drasts, and spreading out from there to encompass the entire planet, pilot. Comparison to standard orbital procedure shows this is a planetwide bombardment" the droid, as impassive as ever, responded bluntly as it clacked its metallic fingers across the navi-computer, comparing the impact sites to the local business registry.

Sweeping around a rock formation, the Senators vessel touched down, the engines still active, and ducked beneath the outcrop, out of sight for now. Starros rose from his seat, understanding the meaning of this attack as the droid outlined the targets for them, trawling through the current impact zones with a monotone drawl. "Must be some sort of Sith, what do they call them?"

"Scumbag?"

Starros rolled his eyes as his advisor vented her anger with an uncharacteristic outburst. "Warlord. The Sith, historically speaking, tend to focus power around the strongest members of their order, who treat military assets, like the ones currently glassing the cities of this otherwise peaceful world, as their own personal fiefdoms. Warlord is the only term that really fits, their idea of Government is mostly limited to who can kill the biggest fish and take its place."

"The Drast 'dynasty' has long had links to the Sith, going back generations. I assume this is some sort of grudge being settled, and the people of this world had the misfortune to be caught in the crossfire."

He sighed and sank back into his chair.

"Border be damned. What's the point of even having them when we seem incapable of policing them?" he despaired "And what will the Prime Minister do? Nothing as usual. Sanna, when we're clear of this massacre, contact the Speakers office, and schedule an emergency session - if the Prime Minister won't protect our people, someone else must."

He did not wait for a reply, as Sanna was already headed back to her cabin.

"We have no choice. We are of no use to anyone hiding here and waiting for the bombardment to reach us. Pilot, lift-off. We run that blockade."

"Senator, are you sure that's wise? You are an easy target..."

"Just do it pilot."

The stoic pilot nodded, and with a gentle touch to the controls born of years of piloting experience, the J-Type Diplomatic vessel lifted up once more, and headed up into the atmosphere.
 
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Sibyl Lassiter

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Consortium
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Governor of Brentaal

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Sibyl was relaxing in a bubble bath in the bathroom of her mansion in Brentaal. Until a few hours ago she was discussing with Tristodd the topics that would be adressed at the next Senate assembly. As always the young man destroyed the senator's patience with his annoying comments. As soon as he left, the Brentaalan woman went to take a long bath in the tub to relax and forget her desires to strangle the young man.

However, her relaxing moment was interrupted by the arrival of her protocol droid, Dongwa. "My lady, something terrible happened! The Sith are attacking!" he sounded desperate.

After hearing this, Sibyl got up from the bathtub, scared. "Where are they attacking? One of the Core Worlds? Or Commenor? Or Cato Neimoidia?" the Lassiter family had investments in these two planets, it would be a tragedy if these planets fell to the Sith. "Did Chancellor Ro call for an emergency meeting of the Senate?"

"No, my Lady. The Sith are attacking Firrerre in the Free Worlds Alliance." the droid said to the Senator "It seems that they are bombarding the planet."

Fear completely left Sibyl's face and was replaced by irritation "Did you interrupt my bath for that?" she seated in the bathtub, reclining on it "It's sad, but what can we do? After all, the defensive pact was defeated." she closed her eyes "Call me in thirty minutes. I'll make a statement to say how terrible it's and that I'll offer aid for the possible survivors and refugees." Sibyl smiled to herself, that would be good to her image "Also, tell Aenor to prepare tea for me. The one from Firrerre." with the planet going to burn, this tea is going to be more expensive and rare. The Brentaalan woman will appreciate it even more now.

"Yes, my lady." Dongwa answered the Senator and leaved the bathroom, while Sibyl continued to relax in her bath.
 
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Alexandria Voran

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Alex fell to the ground. Her chest was torn open, her heart bleeding, blood pooling beneath her hands on cold durasteel. Her eyes stared into nothingness. Her face twisted into a mask of unbearable torment. She was dying. No. Pull your mind back Alex…focus. Slowly, the Jedi Councilor retreated back into herself. Slowly, her mental walls reconstructed themselves. Slowly, Alex stood and remembered where she was. The bridge onboard the MC80 hummed with activity. Shouts of “Master Jedi” and “Are you alright” and “Get some help!” rang in her thoughts. Alex’s eyes focused as she found her footing. Mon Calamari faces stared at her.

“Drop out of hyperspace.” The Mon Cal captain blinked. “Councilor Voran, if I might…” Her face grew suddenly dark. “Now Captain.” The MC80 was speeding towards the Core, a critical meeting awaiting them. The vessel came suddenly to a halt as it exited hyperspace somewhere between Yavin and Coruscant. “Bring up a holonet feed.” Alex could feel the wound in the Force. Her mind had been far afield, deep in the Light, as they traveled to the Core. She had felt the fear, terror, death. It had ripped her apart.

The holonet feed burst to life on the bridge. Her worse fears played out before the crew. Firrerre burned. Firrerre burned at the hands of the Sith. Nothing was absolutely confirmed yet, but Alex knew it in her soul. The Darkness sang in victory through the Force. Death and destruction were the constant allies of the Dark.

She had been too slow. The galaxy marshalled together but not in time. The Sith had struck first…differently than ever before. Alex wept for the people of Firrerre. It was too late. She had been too late “Connect me to the Temple please.” Her voice was distant. The secure connect crackled to life. The Knight on the other end acknowledging her secure code. “Contact every Jedi in the field. Confirm their safety.” A swift answer and she hung up. Off hand she did not know if they had anyone on Firrerre. They were almost certainly gone now.

“Captain, reroute us to Coruscant and get me the Chancellor.” A cold hard determination bubbled in her gut. A voice in the back of her head speaking ever more loudly. She had loved Max, believed in his vision for peace. He was wrong. They would only win peace through war.

 

Darth Tiamat

Raze Loyalist
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Tiamat had returned to her lab, not in the purpose of work, but it was time, or at least limited in time to begin moving essential equipment. She was not left with any reassurance from Emryc that nothing would happen to her; the trust was there, but the reality was, he was not always there, and she knew it would be in one of those times, that something would indeed happen to her. This was the nature of the Sith, however, she wasn't going to wait around for something happen, such as Morgan being livid enough to retract his offering of the lab space she was using. She didn't need to take everything, but just enough to jump start a new lab somewhere that she had more sway than she did here. The woman's droid worked diligently too, downloading, encrypting, erasing and corrupting files that she did not want anyone else to find.

As her droid continued to download the data files to several hard-drives, Tiamat placed each one into a case. Her commlink beeped with a holonet alert and she glanced at the headline, but didn't pay heed to the title or the urgency. That was until her droid beeped something to her about the holonet and Tiamat brought it up on the holoprojector to watch what was unfolding.

Firrerre.

The way that Emryc had left the tent on Tatooine the other day worried Tia, but knowing him, it was always good to give him space. However, the dots were connecting, it was the Firrerreon's homeworld, his people, and now they were brought to the edge of extinction. Tiamat felt the need to sit down as she watched the reporters commenting as they tried to pull holo-feed from the planet, but the holocams disintegrated from the bombardment. This had to be where Emryc disappeared to, to do this... to the world of Firrerre. Whatever she had been caught between regarding him and Morgan, it must have been dire.

Her droid, GG, was also observing the holonet and it's master whistling as it watched the scenes of ordinary villages being turned into slag. It turned its doomed head to Tiamat, beeping in its droid speak about authorization on the space gate. Tiamat looked at the droid and then back to the holofeed, "Pull the data from that, lets make sure we get the bugs out of it." she said matter-of-fact, knowing there would been fine tuned adjustments needed regardless of the purpose for this glassing, her tech will not fail.

Tiamat sat and watched while her droid kept busy, working to process the consequence of this decision. She couldn't control what Emryc decided to do, however, she was uncertain if this fixed the problem, she just wanted to be out of this triangle she was pulled into by Morgan. It was more than that of course, it was a fact that Morgan was willing to go as far as what he did to Malicia for this relationship he had with Emryc. She had also wondered if he said something to Renfry too. Unsurprisingly, he was willing to use her own feelings to drive her away from Emryc, and if Morgan wasn't on Firrerre, what did this entail for Emryc? Was a war going to break out over a lover's spat? What it did tell Tiamat though, this was not over. She was the last to speak with Emryc before this, Morgan was smart enough to know she would have said something to him, and revenge was the way for a Sith.

The droid beeped, alerting her of the download and she removed the last of the hard drives, placing them into the crate, "Have the droids finish loading the crates onto the ship." she instructed and the round droid who whistled in agreement and took off to direct. Tiamat stood up and locked the crate and walked back over to her now empty work bench and started adjust the straps to her armor after keeping it loose to be able to bend around equipment to remove wires.

A small grin pulled at the corner of her lip as her blue eyes focused past her sleeves, her thoughts churning until the woman smirked. She shook her head, knowing this was far from done and perhaps after all, this was fitting, the poor bastard played with wild fire and now he was the one getting burned.

 

Claudias Tannaras

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"You USELESS, CRIPPLED, STUTTERING PILE OF BRACED MEAT!" A booming voice screamed, the deep baritone the boy had so come to fear. "How I fathered such a disappointment is beyond me! That you carry the seed of my father, and his father before him, is a PARIAH!" The man went on. He'd been pulled aside into one of the public restrooms by his father; while exiting a restaurant, the boy had tripped and fallen down some stairs. "You cannot fence, you cannot speak without spittling, and you are so stupid as to be unable to walk?! THIS is the legacy of my house, a crippled boy that should not even walk without a brace? The only way you could redeem yourself now is by finding the decency to NOT wake up tomorrow!"

--------

He had known about the war, known about the violence that was being inflicted across the galaxy. It wasn’t anything new, unfortunately enough; the few surviving records written on Andraste’s conquests were proof that galactic war was ancient. The collapse and conquest of much of the galaxy by the Mandalorians and reestablishment of the republic was proof enough that it was never ending. Wars would always be waged, and people would always die. As long as there were two people in the galaxy, they would find excuses to fear and hate the other.

But… this…

This was not war.

It was plainly obvious that it was the Sith behind this attack. No military power in the galaxy was actively at war with the Free World Alliance. This was a Sith attack… but it wasn’t a conquest. Conquests or occupations required certain things to be preserved. Industrial centers, government structures-- while they could be targeted, they could not be eradicated.

Civilian populations were the backbone of any planet, so to slaughter them was not to conquer a world-- it was to destroy it. But further… what strategic value did Firrerre even have? It was a border world on the edge of Sith space. There were no military targets of great significance, nothing that could stop a large invasion force. It was an irrelevant world, a place you’d send a diplomat that wasn’t well respected enough to stay on his homeworld.

...and yet, here the Sith were. Not to conquer, not to clear it of military targets… but to cleanse it of life. To turn cities to ash, to slaughter millions… no, billions. It was a massacre on a level comparable to the Death Star-- an irrelevant, unimportant world, destroyed, made an example of.

But had the Sith forgotten the reaction to Alderaan?

The alliance’s ranks swelled in numbers, turning disparate revolutionary cells into a united, anti-imperial front. Unrest turned to mass insurrection, and within three years, the empire as it had been collapsed into petty warlords. Every single time, through all of galactic history, carnage on this scale did not lead to mass submission-- it lead to mass retaliation.

The Sith were doomed.

It was the only comfort the trembling Ambassador could have. Slowly, he’d try to stand, moving along the walls so he could keep balance.
“D-does anyone h-h-have a communications device?!” He called out, looking around the room. The people in his vicinity began checking their pockets, pulling out commlinks and datapads. Worthless; he doubted that a commlink would get them very far. “I b-b-believe a radio would b-be a better option! P-please, search for one!” He cried, tugging at his collar a bit.

People began muttering, looking around, passing his words around. Claudias was no leader, but nobody else had stepped forward, nobody else had provided a plan.
“Ch-check the st-t-t-orage cabinets! There sh-should b-b-be one f-f-for emergencies!” He shouted, feeling sweat roll down his forehead. As he was about to relay some more instructions, a thunderous boom would plow into the ground overhead. In an instant, half the hotel above them was vaporized. Screaming returned, and Claudias tumbled over, landing hard on the duracrete floor.

“HURRY! WE N-NEED T-TO TRY CONTACTING ANY SHIPS IN THE SECTOR TO GET A RESCUE!” he screamed, the shrill tone rising above the terrified cries. People began ripping open drawers, grabbing chairs to smash open lockers. They didn’t want to die, and while Claudias’ mission had only the most slim chance of succeeding, it might just work.

“I FOUND ONE!” A woman screamed, holding up a device in the air. His eyes lit up when he saw the primitive radio. He had studied law and basic safety regulations while receiving his education, and what had stuck with him was one bill passed a good 115 years prior, mandating that all emergency shelters be equipped with specific supplies-- including emergency radios that could extend beyond the average commlink’s range.

“Bring it to me!” He shouted again, the stutter in his voice receding for only a few seconds. A burly aqualish helped hoist the human up, handing him the radio.

“This is Claudias Tannaras Pterygas Cormondas Legatias-- FUCK, I’m th-the amb-b-b-assador of Brentaal! I and some 400 others are t-trapped 50 kilometers n-north east of th-the capital city! If ANYONE is listening to this, I b-beg you for help! We have families, children, all trapped! The b-b-bombardment is worsening--” He continued, but another boom shook the shelter. The cracks in the ceiling got worse. Chunks began to fall.

He threw himself against the nearest wall, radio still in hand, repeating the broadcast over and over and over. Hopefully, someone would hear it.

@Nor'baal

 

Cal Starros

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"Move." Starros instructed, moving his aide from the co-pilot's chair as he took the controls himself. The J-Type was nearing the upper atmosphere of the planet now, as it made its preparations to make the blockade run, and needed all hands on deck. "Sanna, take the navicomputer. D3, strap in." the Senator continued, the adrenaline of the high-speed exit kicking in "Keep comms open." he added, Sanna complying as a grainy message came in over the communications array.

“This is Claudias Tannaras Pterygas Cormondas Legatias-- FUCK, I’m th-the amb-b-b-assador of Brentaal! I and some 400 others are t-trapped 50 kilometers n-north east of th-the capital city! If ANYONE is listening to this, I b-beg you for help! We have families, children, all trapped! The b-b-bombardment is worsening--”

"Shit.

Now he had to respond.

"Pilot, work on those hyperspace calculations. We need to jump out of the system, and then again, immediately, for Chandrila. Sanna,"

"Plotting now Senator." she preempted his question, plotting the coordinates of the distress call, as Senator Starros banked the ship back down toward the planet.

"Open the channel, let me respond." the instruction came fast, and soon the channel was open as the chromium yacht hammered down toward the surface "Ambassador Tannaras, this is Senator Starros of Lothal. We have received your distress call and are en route. Be advised we have limited capacity, we can carry te...." he clicked the comms off and turned to the droid.

"Jettison all cargo bar the emergency supplies, now!"

Comms clicked back on "Thirty people. I need the wounded and children, first." he stressed, as the ship continued its descent, before arriving at the location of the distress call. A burned outbuilding, with a small shelter door visible in the rubble.

"Keep the shields up, and engines hot." Starros instructed the pilot, jumping up from his chair and grabbing his blaster from the wall rack behind him. He ran through the ship, passed D3, who was engaged in the ordered process of pushing crates of cargo out of the ship, and down the exit ramp. Sprinting toward the shelter door, he banged his hand on it.

"Tannaras!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Tannaras!
 

Claudias Tannaras

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The bombardment that raged across the planet slowed as the hours had drawn on, but not before doing incredible damage. Much of the planet was covered in oceans, but the few places populated were home to millions-- billions, even. By the end of the bombardment, the people who had survived would be lucky to number in the thousands. In the bunker, hundreds of souls had entered-- but as the roof began to collapse, hundreds would never come back out. From civilians to highly important diplomats, native or domestic, they died.

Only those closest to the doors, like a cripple who hadn't been able to travel in far, had survived-- but only barely. As the bombardment had raged, Claudias was knocked down-- and swarmed over by people rushing towards the doors. He had nearly been trampled, and if he hadn't crawled under a nearbye table, he would have certainly died. He could feel many of his bones were broken, including at least two in his legs. He already struggled with walking... and it would probably be months before he could even stand again.

But he wasn't going to die in this bunker. He needed to get home, he needed to marshal Brentaal's strength. This... this couldn't be allowed to happen again. As long as the Sith existed in the galaxy, they would always pose a danger. Always was there a threat of one of them going mad, and bombing a planet into obivion, or building a superweapon to do it. They needed to be cleansed; their lords strung up, their marauders cut down, and their acolytes reconditioned. Staring into his eyes were the dead looks of a mother and her child, their horrified expressions frozen on their crushed bodies.

He would have his opportunity when the ship arrived. He almost couldn't believe it when the doors swung open... and it was his name being called. The name of his father, and his father before him. Called for him. Grunting, he turned his body around, pulling himself out from underneath.
"Help..." he groaned, barely able to speak after continued shouting and screaming for hours. "Help..."

@Nor'baal

 

Laeonas Tannaras

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Another stop. Another world that the man chose to rest his ship. At this point, with what that engineer had done, he probably didn’t need to. His cabin was the finest room he’d ever stayed in, and with how the new power systems worked, he could go weeks without needing to stop for fuel. As his ship approached the planet on autopilot, he simply meditated, opening up his senses to the force. The planet below was rich with life, complex and simple.

He could feel the creatures of the deep oceans, the vast aquatic ecosystems. He could feel what was above the water, forests and plains, but mostly barren mountains, stretching out across the surface. There were the cities, stretching for miles, populated with millions. There were peoples of all kinds, and though the man was to far and the people were to many for him to dive into their individual surface thoughts, he could gather general feelings. There was a healthy dose of apprehension and stress… but there was also contentedness. Happiness. His lips couldn’t help but twitch upwards a tad.

Drawing attention to himself in FWA territory was always a risk, so the man, when he really needed to, usually tried to find border worlds like this. They weren’t nearly as well patrolled as worlds deeper in Alliance territory, and rarely were ships even searched. He was able to get away with a lot on the fringes, but not as much in unclaimed space. Directing the ship towards one of the smaller settlements, hundreds of miles away from the capital city, would fix most of that. They’d probably be glad to just see a ship.

As the autopilot searched for a sanctioned landing site, he began to ponder. Ponder… everything he’d seen. Where he would go from here, what opportunities awaited him. He could finally afford a basic education-- hell, even a quality one. The force was still an oyster he could profit from, building up his skill with training and dedication. He could go far…

...and that was when the force changed. No, not just the force-- space changed. Bordering on the horizon, the stars gave way to a tear… and through it bore ships. Laeonas broke from his meditation, standing in the cockpit, barely clothed and barely prepared. He looked at the distant lights… and he saw the turbolasers begin to rain down.

“...oh mae…” He began, unable to finish the phrase. He’d only been out of meditation for a few seconds, and his mind was still receding back into its confines. The mind was opened up… and everything could flood in.

Pain. Fear. Suffering unimaginable. The town beneath him was reduced to ash within minutes, their inhabitants murdered in a bloody, senseless slaughter.

And Laeonas screamed. He felt all of it; all their suffering, all their final, terrified moments.
“GET OOOOUUUT!!!” He screeched. His fists banged against the bulkhead, trying to drown out the sounds. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD, GET OUT! GET OUT GET OUT GET OOOOOOUUUT!!!!” He continued. He tore off chunks of his own hair, and began smashing his head against the wall, hoping to fall into unconsciousness. The cacophany of voices just got louder, a crescendo reaching it’s breaking point.

“STOP IT! PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! THEY DONT, THEY DONT, DESERVE!” He ranted, nails tearing at his own flesh. “PLEASE GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!”

And the egg started to crack.



 

Cal Starros

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He covered his mouth against the dust as his pistol was drawn. Firing a single shot through the lock mechanism in the tried and tested method*, the door slid open, revealing the prone form of a man lying on the floor. He must have fallen trying to reach for the door, thought Cal, as he knelt down to help the man up. Behind the man, rubble could be seen - the shelter, it seemed, had collapsed. The man's misfortune had been his saving grace in this instance, and he had been spared the fate of the others with whom he had taken cover.

"I'm Cal, Cal Starros, come." he lifted the man to his feet, he physically lifted the man up, and together they would begin walking toward the waiting ship.

Cal had no idea who he was helping, he could only hope it was the person whom he had come to seek - and that Tanarras was not buried under the rubble with the rest of them. As he carried the man up the ramp he stumbled, feeling his muscles burning under the man's weight. Cal was not a strong man by any measure, and it took all he had to stagger up the ramp and lay the man down.

"Pilot!" his voice echoed through the ship.

He did not need to follow up with instruction, as the ramp shut behind them and the ship lifted off once more. He lifted himself back to his feet, and ran for a medical box on the wall, as his aid, Sanna, ran in to help. "Bind his leg, and get a place for him to lie down." Cal dropped next to the man, as he and Sanna bound his clearly broken leg. "Get him something to drink, go!" he added, as the ship punched up into the upper atmosphere, to run the blockade.

"There are no gravity wells up Senator, so we can—" the pilot's voice boomed from the intercom.

"Do it, get us out of here." Cal replied over his comlink, knowing what the pilot meant.

No gravity well generators meant they could use their pre-done hyperspace calculations, and jump to safety.

So, they did just that.
 

Claudias Tannaras

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...he was alive.

The dozens who'd flooded out were able to crowd themselves into the ship's cargo hold. Many had minor injuries, but none had been partially trampled and survived. Anyone in worse condition had died long before the ship had even arrived. So, there were left only a few diplomats, several wealthy tourists and their families, and one ambassador. A wide arrangement of characters, packed onto one ship.

Bright blue eyes stared up at the other middle aged man who'd saved him. Cal Starros, his name was. He hadn't heard of the man before, even though he probably should've. It was his job to know people, to make contacts, negotiate. In a way, he'd done that exact job in calling the far flung senator. He'd made contact with a politician, made an agreement, and now, both were walking away from the deal satisfied.

...that last part wasn't true at all, ofcourse. Any relief Claudias had about his own survival was marred by the knowledge of what had occurred, what he had seen. Hundreds had died, and he couldn't have done anything. A world was decimated, perhaps to the point of being impossible to recover. It's citizens had been slaughtered in a genocide rare even by the standards of galactic history. Perpetrated by an empire whose military might had subjugated hundreds of star systems.

He felt anger, hopelessness. Inadequacy. Even if he'd done all he could, it wasn't enough. It could possibly never be enough. He had no capacity to make systemic change... but he had a voice.

When they boarded the ship, and Claudias was stabilized, before the man had an opportunity to return to the cockpit, he grabbed the man's sleeve.


"T-tell the galaxy wh-wh-what happened here." He whispered, clutching the man's sleeve with unnatural strength. "T-tell them of this g-g-genocide. Tell them it was the S-s-s-sith. This... this has to b-b-b-be the last t-t-ime a world is murdered."

If the sunken, depressed feeling in his chest told him anything... he knew it wouldn't be. This would continue to happen as long as those who perpetrated it could continue to exist freely.

"...tell them... tell them that we need revenge."



 

Reiel Mal Crowholde

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Firrerre burned, and all Reiel Mal Crowholde could do was to stare at the broken body of her uncle while they lay trapped beneath the rubble of a destroyed bunker. She had been given orders to flee, to make haste for the spaceport and escape but they ran out of time. All her ba'vodu could do was to herd her along with the panicked civilians in a bunker created by the person the two Mandalorians were here for – and even then their shelter failed them, unable to fully withstand the firepower that razed the surface of Firrerre to ashes and destruction.

Either we both die here or one of us lives to tell the tale. I've chosen the latter, Mal, I want you to live. You should've gone! You should've booked it, Mal’ika! Live!

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, this mission her uncle had taken her to. They were just doing their duties for the clan, to search for an ex-Mando armorer who now resided on Firrerre. Said armorer had been an associate of the Alor, and her ba’buir had tasked Dell to convince the former Mando to come back to their fold. To fulfill her duties to the clan her father had tasked Reiel to accompany her ba'vodu, and she was – as always – happy to comply. She was quick to take up on Carrick's previous comment about her having paid vacation days, and left him a message saying that she would be doing Mando Duties with one of the few people she would wholly trust with her life. It ought to put her sorcerer at ease, the knowledge that she was with family.

This mission wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Dell was spewing out one complaint after another – all said in jest – while Reiel jokingly threatened the older Mando with an “I’ll tell Ba’buir about your complaints, ba’vodu Dell.” They were just crossing the city border and going further into the countryside when he paused, gloved hands trembling.

“I... have a bad feeling, Mal. Just now. I can't explain– the ol' hunter's paranoia, maybe?”

Her uncle’s voice was tight with a mixture of alertness and apprehension. Before she could ask him what was bugging him they had reached their destination, and while the ex-Mando had been cautious at first the old man became cordial enough to invite them to his home after learning why the two Crowholdes were looking for him. They were conversing about the Alor and the clan's residence on Mandalore when the ex-Mando, Reuben, received an urgent call from one of the soldiers he had befriended during his time on the planet.

Firrerre was under attack.

Reuben, along with Dell and Reiel, were quick to herd some of the fleeing civilians into the bunker the old ex-Mando had built beneath his home. He had been gracious enough to offer Reiel his speeder bike when Dell instructed her to make haste for the spaceport and leave the planet.

“Book it while we still have time, Mal!“

Instead of complying Reiel had insisted to stay. For what though? To help defend the planet? To help escort civilians to safety? To launch herself headfirst into the line of fire?

“Whoever they are, they’re– Kad preserve us... they’re– they’re glassing the planet,” Reuben said, relaying the information he received from the soldier to the two Mandos as he made sure that the bunker was secure.

“I said I'm not leaving you, Uncle Dell!“ the small Mandalorian cried as Dell insisted that she should've followed his order, unable to fully grasp the reality of the situation. Firrerre was being glassed? Like– Like what happened to Mandalore–?

“No!” Dell had yelled at her, frantic and anxious. “This is why you should've left when I told you to, Mal'ika! It's a direct order! You should've booked it like I told you to so you could have returned home, reported to the Alor that the mission’s toast–“

Kark him for making a distasteful pun in the situation they found themselves in–

“–and find out who did this, though I think it’s kinda obvious by now because who the fuck's mad enough to invade planets–“

“And I told you I don't want to leave you here, damn it!”
Reiel interjected angrily, a fist pounding once on Dell's chestplate. Ba’vodu, I’m not kriffing leaving you to your death–“

“Either we both die here or one of us lives to tell the tale. I've chosen the latter, Mal, I want you to live. You should've gone! You should've booked it, Mal’ika! Live!”


Reiel never got the chance to reply as the bunker was shaken by a thunderous explosion. She’d sworn she’d follow orders without question, sworn she would be a good warrior for the clan after the battle on Concord Dawn. She had sworn to follow Dell’s command in this task, but at what cost?

The bunker wasn't able to fully hold, partially caving them in. Reiel would have been crushed underneath duracrete rubble but Dell had pushed her out of the way, taking her place instead. She had found herself boxed in on one side of the bunker beside Reuben, and out of twenty-one people who took shelter in the old ex-Mando's bunker only five remained.

This mission wasn't supposed to end like this.

And while Reuben and the other survivors tried to dig their way out of the bunker, the only thing Reiel could do was to stare at the broken body of her Uncle Dell, to watch his blood slowly pool underneath him. She could do nothing but stare, mind numb and rejecting to process her grief as Reuben pulled her out of the rubble. She only reacted when the old man gently nudged her, told her that they should leave.

That would mean leaving Dell behind, and that was when the dam broke.

“I'm not leaving him!“ she screamed, grief and anger pouring out of her in waves as she dropped down on her knees, gloved hands digging through rock and ash and durasteel. “I'm not– Ba'vodu– w-we have to get him out of there!“

Reuben's voice cracked with agony, his aged hands finding her shoulders and urging her to get up.

“He's gone, ad'ika. There's nothing we could do for him and the others–“

“N-No! No! Ba'vodu Dell, hang in there, I'm coming to get you! I'm–“


Words tapering off into a keening, heartbroken cry Reiel would've fought off against the old ex-Mando's hold but Reuben's age and appearance belied his strength. And even when rescue came for them, the small Mandalorian's tears never ceased as did her protests. They couldn't just leave her uncle there, body broken beneath the rubble. He wasn't supposed to die that way, hells, no one deserved to die the way he and the others did–

Their mission wasn't supposed to end like this and here Reiel was, wounded and bruised and rescued by whatever that was left of Firrerre's military. Leaving behind the body of her uncle, one of the people in the clan she looked up to and loved. Leaving behind the Mando who helped her adjust during her earlier days as a new member of Clan Crowholde, the man who taught her that it was alright to embrace one's inner child every now and again. The one – alongside her Buir and Kiva – who encouraged her to embrace her individuality, the one who kept calling her by her second name and childishly insisting on it. Dell was a prankster but he was more than that. He was a warrior who put others first, and now...

Her uncle was dead, and Reiel couldn't even do anything to bring his body – let alone his helmet – with her.

Firrerre burned, and with it a part of her heart crumbled into ash.


——​



Tinnel IV
Early evening


His friend was away to fulfil her duties to her clan, and while Nirem had wished Reiel all the luck in the galaxy he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to occur in her mission. He was learned in the ways of the Force, and it was easy to recognize the warning It gave him as he watched her board her uncle's ship, watched it disappear up in the atmosphere and into the stars. He would have given her a call but he had been foolish enough to brush the thought off, not wanting to worry the Mando she'd gone with.

And now he paid the price for not heeding his own concerns.

Nirem knew that Reiel and Governor Carrick were good friends. He'd caught glimpses of them joking around each other when the latter was still a Senator, and their camaraderie remained despite their clashing schedules, more so when the good Senator became an ISC Governor and its Secretary of Defense. If they weren't good friends Reiel wouldn't have complained about the ISC providing their employer their own security detail. If they weren't good friends the good Governor wouldn't have asked the small Mando to be the head of his own security detail back when he was just starting out as a Senator. If they weren't good friends they wouldn't have managed to work seamlessly together, one a Force-sensitive politician and the other a Mando simply making her way in the galaxy.

The ex-mercenary had teased her about the nature of her friendship with the Governor. Had teased her along the lines of “What would your secret boyfriend say?“

He had been surfing through the Holonet, rolling his eye at the news. One tabloid caught his immediate attention, however, and it made him freeze where he stood, heart in his throat.

Firrerre was under attack.

Reiel and her uncle were in Firrerre.

Merde.

Nirem counted on Reiel and Governor Carrick's friendship, and that was why he was now storming down the halls of the senate building on Tinnel IV, his face grim and eye gleaming with mounting dread. Upon reaching the secretary's desk the Morellian slammed his gloved hands down on the table and demanded,

“Get me on the comm with the Governor right now. His direct comm, a private channel– just do it.“

It was the urgency in his voice and his pale visage that made the secretary comply without complaint, and once the connection had been secured Nirem took a deep breath before fully delegating himself as the bearer of bad news.

If the man saw Reiel as a friend as much as she did with him, then this would be more than bad news.

Once he was patched in with the Governor's private comm, Nirem didn't waste both their time with pleasantries and dove in straight for the reason of the sudden call. The ex-mercenary ‘s voice was, at first, steady, but his concern for his Mando friend outweighed the forced calmness he was trying to project.

“This is Nirem Radieux speaking, Governor Carrick. I'm sure you've heard the news about the attack on Firrerre but..."

He took in a shuddering breath.

"Your chief of security, Governor, she's... she's currently on Firrerre as we speak...“

@Nefieslab
 
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