Alaric Lamar
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Posts: 124 
Affiliation: The Galactic Republic
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Alaric Lamar on Aug 19, 2016 20:36:01 GMT -8
It was a cloudy midday in the city of New Aldera, the clouds looked almost ready to unleash a downpour of rain. If only that would have dampened the flaring tempers within the city. The collapse of the Republic and many lines of galactic trade and communication was bad, paired with the evil of the resurgent Empire of the First Order it had sent many worlds of the Northern Outer Rim into a frenzied panic. To those worlds fortunate enough, old Republic military units continued to garrison their homebases, but not all could be protected and many calls for help went unanswered leaving many of the Outer Rim worlds feeling betrayed and abandoned. The people of New Alderaan were the survivors of the first Galactic Empire and new better than most the horrors the horrors those that called themselves imperials were capable of. As the First Order's control spread over increasingly neighboring worlds, the planet's citizenry grew ever most desperate and jumpy. Two distinct sides had begun to form, one believed, perhaps naively, that the secrecy of the world and the difficulty in navigating a hyperspace path to reach it were deterrent enough that they might be ignored. They believed that action would draw attention and inevitably conflict. On the other side were those who believed that they had a moral obligation to oppose the anarchy spreading throughout the galaxy and they swore that they and their people not never again be assaulted, brought to the brink of extinction.
Atop a pristine white skyscraper a handful of men in the uniform of maintenance staff ran across the top of the building towards a flapping grey canvas covering. They were members of the isolationist group. Fear leads to anger and their fear of the evils of the galaxy had caused them to lash out at any who would try to make them face it, to acknowledge it. Anger leads to hate. Gloved hands gripped the canvas and pulled it away revealing a Galax Viper Volley Gun. They knew the flightpath of the jedi's shuttle and had secretly constructed it atop the tower. Elsewhere connections within the city's power grid offices would cause a short blackout, disabling security cameras and coordination of response units. Two men manned the canon rotated it westward, the sensor systems picking up an incoming Sheathipede Shuttle. According to plan the city's power grid shutdown and moments later the squeeze of the firing trigger launched a volley of missiles skyward.
Hate leads to suffering. Alaric's eyes flew open and he frantically ordered the shields be raised before checking his restraints. With practiced efficiency and calm, the pilots diverted power to the shields as alarms began to lightup across the control board indicating a missile lock. Alaric could sense the impact coming despite the pilot's quick bank to the left. Finding inner peace he reached out with the force, willing it to envelope the crew, making the force a shield around them. The pilot's response spared them the first missiles, however it was impossible to escape the entire volley as missile after missile impacted against the shields, finally overwhelmed them and detonated around the hull. Alaric was thrown against his restraints and the sudden decompression knocked him unconscious.. Spewing fire and smoke the shuttle plummeted towards the city streets below.
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Post by Chloe Dawn Listyr on Oct 12, 2016 22:34:29 GMT -8
Behind the bar, Chloe was pouring drinks and making quick friends. This was not her typical workplace, but Aldera was not her typical location, and her targets were not her typical types of targets. This bar was more upscale, more wines and high-end scotches and brandies. This was a place philosophers gathered to talk about art, and truth. This was a long con. She was not going to make money fast, but when this paid out, it was going to pay out big. After selling a bottle of red from old Alderaan, she brushed her back, noticing the absence of her normal hold out blaster. Security here was good, she was confident nothing made it past the customs. The police carried stun batons, and she hadn't seen a single hold out for sale on the black market. This truly was a new place. She brushed her hands together and waited for the next customer.
She was influencing the atmosphere in the force, not the lusty or party atmosphere she normally would. Instead, she put a relaxed mood. It encouraged talking and talking meant loose lips.
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Bloodrage Pirates
Member
Yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me!
Posts: 758
Affiliation: Piracy
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Bloodrage Pirates on Oct 14, 2016 15:38:35 GMT -8
Arkan was not used to laying low and most certainly not in a place like this. The Pirate Lord wore a long, heavy cloak with a large hood that concealed his face totally. The dark brown material flowed all the way to the floor and meant he was able to hide his mask and chest plate. He had forgone his full armour protection due to the surroundings, he might have stuck out even more like that. He entered the cantina to refresh after a long day picking pockets. It is not something the Echani had had to do personally for a long time but he had not lost his knack. He had a few wallets with some credits in and he had a thirst in his mouth.
"Corellian Rum if you've got any."
Arkan spoke in the direction of who he assumed was the barmaid. His mask still distorted his voice, that was unavoidable. He stood at one end of the bar as he eyed up any potential targets or threats.
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Post by Chloe Dawn Listyr on Oct 15, 2016 19:19:33 GMT -8
This new guest was different. The second he walked in she felt something about him. If what she felt didn't give it away, his outfit definitely did. The hood and firm bulk stood in contrast to the business casual look of those around him.
Of course. The Treasurership Star is a particular favorite. It is a small distillery, bottled just off the row. She lowered her voice. The booth in the far left corner gives a great vantage point over most of the bar if you are interested in that sort of thing...
She goes off to get the drink.
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Standash Thul
Member
Posts: 1,377 
Affiliation: First Order
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Standash Thul on Aug 4, 2017 22:28:11 GMT -8
The city was a buzz. The investments from Coruscant that Standash had helped build had done it. The planet was finished. The oldest refugees finally felt home. New Alderaan looked, felt, and smelled like the destroyed homeworld. Climates had been altered and the terraforming was finished.
The people waited for their princess to return with bated breath. They would be very disappointed when they realized that she was already there, and again when they realized she wasn't staying. She didn't want a hero's welcome, she had come home in a small yacht in the night. She was expecting to enjoy being home. She had done her best to make the embassy and her office feel like it, but it never did. When she arrived she was met with more news. Her father informed her that it had been decided, New Alderaan would investigate joining the Galactic Alliance. She had a day to relax and it was off to Mon Calamari. She had wanted to stay, but this still felt right. She prepped her delegation and they got ready to leave.
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Jason Dramon
Member
Posts: 4
Affiliation: Alderaan Defense Force
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Jason Dramon on Sept 19, 2017 17:42:35 GMT -8
Twenty years. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he stepped to the top of the ramp of the Lightning. His eyes closed and he took in the decent smell of oils and hydraulic fluid while he paused to let the thought settle. Twenty years and here he was, still on the planet that had caused him so much hell and happiness at the same time. It had survived attacks, treachery, heartbreak and even the loss of some of its greatest heroes but history taught him one thing, that the people of Alderaan were stronger than the galaxy liked to give them credit for. After the destruction, most looked at the people with pity and sorrow at the loss that plagued them. That they were grouped in with the Caamasi and others who had lost their home planet to the actions of a few to be held up as a cause for why others did their actions. But despite it all, they found a new home and rebuilt. They turned this planet into their own paradise despite the strife that plagued so many. He chuckled softly as his eyes opened and looked out at the city beyond where he stood.
His ship sat atop a landing platform not far from the place that had become his home... my prison. The thought struck him like a blaster bolt and he forced the thought to remain in the forefront of his mind as he considered it before he finally pushed it aside and let out a soft sigh. As he turned to the panel and hit the command to begin the locking procedures to the ship. A soft chime echoed as the ship's computer began to do its silent countdown before it began to raise the ramp. His footsteps were muffled as a crack of thunder echoed and he heard a shout of surprise in the distance. His eyes moved from the city beyond to the walls of the military base that housed his home. He had long since stepped down from an active role leading the planet. That was left to the new generation best suited for prosperity. But despite this, the ADF (Alderaan Defense Force) still had an appreciation for all he had done in his life in service to the planet and its people.
I am getting too old for this... but then again how old am I?
The thought ran through his mind again was one that had been echoed a lot in the last ten years. One that he had no answers to much like the others that were similar to it. Who was he really? He knew the story that had been passed onto him. He was a clone in reality. The genetic attempt to make the perfect Sith having taken the genes from the best warriors in history both Force Sensitive and not. His appearance was that of a Jedi Master who had died thousands of years before he was even an idea in the mind of his creator. He was, in essence, a joke that was never to be anything.
"Have a good night sir."
Jason turned his head to look at the voice and found one of the young soldiers passing by. He had snapped to attention and held his salute for a few seconds before Jason allowed the momentary distraction to bring a tired smile to his face.
"You as well, Lieutenant. I told you that you did not need to call me Sir anymore. I am long since retired. You know this."
The young soldier paused for a second as his hand dropped back to his side before he shook his head gently and eyed the man with an almost evaluative manner. Jason had long since lost track of his actual age. He thought he was in his eighties but his body looked as though he was a man in his thirties.
"You did indeed, Sir. But you and many others have done too much for the planet for others for us not to show you the respect that you deserve."
As if he decided the conversation was done the soldier moved away with a quick bow of his head. Jason took it in kind and despite his desire to argue with the boy and set him straight he instead kept his mouth shut. He did not want to be remembered. He did not want to be a man that was held in esteem. He just wanted to be left alone. But he couldn't have that. Not yet. He still had his last promise to fulfill to an old friend. He sighed again as he realized the time and knew that he had to head back to the underground facility. He had only planned to be gone for a couple hours but it had turned into half the day quickly. Jason knew that Alana was expecting him to return at some point to further her training. To continue to honor the promise he had made to watch over her and train her as his padawan. He had left the hanger behind and keyed his identification code into the doorway leading into the garage. He absently walked over to his speeder and got in as his mind continued to wander. This was one of the only times he allowed himself to indulge in the thoughts that he kept to himself. But it was time to return to life or at least the life he had made for himself. It brought him a happiness to watch over Alana. While he wished that her family were here so she felt as though she could belong more he was happy to at least succeed here for Arden rather than add this to the things that could have been.
The door opened to the hanger and the speeder began the half-hour trek back to the compound as something washed over Jason. He slowed the speeder as his eyes settled on the city in the distance. The hills had almost hidden it but something caused his eyes to linger on the skyscrapers. Something he had not felt in years. His eyes narrowed as he searched the horizon and the feeling began to grow stronger and stronger still until it felt like an iron fist on his chest. He reached down and ran his finger over his dual-phase lightsaber and allowed the familiar weapon to bring him comfort as he tried to figure out what exactly he was feeling. Then as quickly as it came the feeling faded and he was left in a confused state.
I am getting too old for this shit... I am seeing ghosts where there were none.
He powered up the engine as he pushed the thought out of his mind and resumed the journey back to the underground compound. But in the back of his mind, the part of him that he kept suprresed. He knew the truth. Something was coming.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Jul 20, 2018 4:03:33 GMT -8
In the royal palace on Aldera, Aodhan was sitting in his garden with a glass of wine. This activity, surrounded by nature, the vibrant colors of the garden, the chirping of the birds, the stream that babbled nearby. It was peaceful. He sighed and gazed up at the sky. Beyond the peaceful stars that seemed so peaceful here, he knew there was a war being fought amongst those stars. Alderaan was a save haven for those who wanted a more peaceful life. And yet he knew that the First Order would not respect their wishes for peace. It was quite a dilemma. He would need allies. But he wasn’t sure where to find them.
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Post by Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer on Dec 15, 2018 20:11:59 GMT -8
What to do... what to do... these are the thoughts constantly plaguing any Galactic Leader. Whether it be the dictator of the largest state in the galaxy or a small planetary leader, one always had to judge their options. And, in the case of Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer, this was more the case than for other leaders. The result of a dissatisfied, dismayed populace, combined with the abandonment of New Alderaan by the Galactic Alliance and general anger with the problems plaguing democracy, many on Alderaan turned to the old enemy of the planet, the Galactic Empire (or in its new form, the First Order), increasingly not as a target to direct their anger towards, but instead as an example of how to protect one’s sovereignty. Indeed, some even began advocating for a peace settlement with the massive, galaxy-spanning state. The old king, Aodhan Thul, was weak, and a puppet of the Assembly. And so, it wasn’t difficult for the populace to rally behind a figure from the oldest house on the planet. A house that had fallen from grace. House Panteer’s young patriarch, who promised a vision of what Alderaan could become under a stronger leadership.
However, seizing power and keeping it are two very different things, and Lysandre found that the former was much easier than the latter. He may have had the unequivocal support of the people, but that was no good if he didn’t use it for something. The first thing, logically, was to renounce the Galactic Alliance, which he had done very quickly indeed. Now, though, came the matter of what to do next. And that was the key thing to retain power.
Having just finished a meeting with his new cabinet, Beauveu was dressed smartly in a crisp doublet, formal pants, boots, and gloves. And, quite franky, it was killing him. He would much prefer the robes he typically donned; however, for now, this would do fine. And so he sat in a small courtyard, overlooking the city of Aldera, where the various peoples celebrated the coming of a new government by burning all the Alliance flags they could find and toasting to the First Order’s banner. The various academics were busy composing arguments as to why the First Order might not actually be so bad, while poets and artists were going back and pontificating on the destruction of their homeworld, preaching that perhaps it was time for the people to start anew. And Lysandre sat, watching the festivities progress, a glass of Serennian Pinot Noir in hand, trying to think about what to do next. However, his thoughts were interrupted when Cecilia exited the glass-and-steel portal out onto the small garden.
Cecilia was... where to start with her. She and Lysandre had always been friends, though on occasion they had been more than that. They were never quite lovers, but did engage in intimacy from time to time, usually when one of them had a bad day, or when one had been invited to visit the other, they got drunk, and started feeling frisky. They were fairly comfortable around one another, and Lysandre liked that. She was a Grey, and was the court’s resident Force-wielder. On this particular day, she had no official duties, and so had chosen to wear something... comfortable. She wore an emerald-green jacket with some embroidered golden flames that branched across the entirety of the outfit, a jacket that was clearly intended to be worn with something underneath it, as it exposed her back, arms, and a good part of her chest, closing in a “v” shape all the way down to her stomach. Complete with a very (some would say scandalously) short white skirt, golden arm-length gloves, and nearly knee-high boots that barely covered her feet, she looked more like a strumpet than an advisor to a king, but so be it. It gave Lysandre a better view as is. Plus, the greens complemented her flowing, luxurious red mane so well as is. As she walked in, catlike, she sat just next to the young king, who was on a bench next to a small table with the bottle of wine, and another glass. He had been expecting company.
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Post by Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer on Dec 15, 2018 20:28:47 GMT -8
Lysandre- that doublet- you look quite dashing.
Lysandre couldn’t help but to give a small grin at her comment. Though they were friends, they would often do this when they met one another. And whenever they did, things usually got better from there. Maybe tonight would be one of those nights... he could certainly use it.
“Ugh... dying to take the thing off.”
Cecilia, witty as ever, batted her eyelashes innocently as she began finnicking with the top button of his black-and-gold top. She looked at him with wide eyes, trying to pretend like she wasn’t being too provocative, with both her outfit and her manner. Truth be told, she already had several drinks before she decided to stumble onto his balcony half drunk, and so part of her restraint had already slipped away into the dark of the night. Seeing as they were friends, they were fairly comfortable being around one another like this.
Mhm... I might take you up on that...
Continuing to slowly sip the silky wine from the glass, Lysandre could tell that she was already feeling tipsy. Then again, when she wasn’t in court, she was tipsy half the time, so this wasn’t too out of the ordinary. The moonlight beamed directly down on the small space, illuminating it rather well as the two of them sat isolated, her still toying with his shirt, and him pouring another glass of wine. For the most part, their thoughts mostly dwelled on one another, and what shenanigans they might get up to that night.
“You look... dazzling.”
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Post by Cecilia “Cici” Seario on Dec 15, 2018 20:58:45 GMT -8
”You’re just admiring the view, aren’t you...”
As if sensing his hesitance to just jump into this, she stopped toying with his button and reached for the other glass of Pinot. “What would a little more alcohol do?” She thought to herself. Laying down next to Lysandre, Cici gazed into his eyes. There was comfort there... safety. Something she so desired in this age. With news of what was happening on Felucia, combined with all the other things happening, she was glad to see her friend take charge. Or were they really just freinds? Though she tried to hide it, there was no denying that she had feelings for the young man. She would always try to make time to see him, and blushed profusely whenever he complemented her. Heck, she was probably doing so right now. She probably looked as red as a tomato. And, whenever she was with him, she always wanted to act on her feelings. Though she had been with him several times, never was it truly as intimate as it would be if it was born out of unbridled love and passion. Sipping on the wine, she felt her self restraint slowly ebbing away as she consumed the substance...
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Post by Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer on Dec 15, 2018 21:24:52 GMT -8
“I don’t see you complaining... you’re the one who decided to wear that.”
Lysandre wasn’t daft, he could tell exactly what Cecilia was in the mood for. Usually, when they were both less intoxicated then they already were, they would play a bit more of “cat and mouse” than they were right now, but perhaps that was for the best. A beautiful fragrance emanated off Cecilia’s pale skin, the scent of... cucumbers? Either way, it was perfect for such a hot night. The temperatures outside were sweltering considering that usually it was freezing on this mountain. For once, he was glad he wasn’t wearing his usual heavyset robes. As he sat, his eyes drifted from the city below to the stars above. They were all arranged in beautiful patterns. He felt Cici, who by this point was resting her head on his arm, shift her head to look up as well. And, for that moment, he wished that time would stop. The peaceful chirping of the birds, the sound of water trickling, leaves gently rustling in the light breeze. Just him, Cecilia, and the stars.
“You know, this almost seems too perfect...”
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Post by Cecilia “Cici” Seario on Dec 16, 2018 10:56:22 GMT -8
Hmm... I know what would make it more perfect...
She wanted him. Badly. But she was starting to slip into darkness. The wine was now starting to hit her, and it had a powerful effect. The crystal mountain air, normally invigorating, was starting to put her to sleep. She increasingly stared longingly into Lysandre's eyes, getting lost in the beautiful grey color. His eyes looked clear and crisp, drawing a contrast to her soft eyes. They almost seemed to be like a hedge maze. Just going on and on and on...
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Post by Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer on Dec 16, 2018 20:35:42 GMT -8
While Cecilia fell asleep, head resting on his lap, Lysandre was lost in thought. Though the Alderaanian people were somewhat more sympathetic to the Empire now due to the failures of the Galactic Alliance, it would still be difficult to truly get the people to accept the First Order as not an evil boogeyman, but as just another group in the galaxy. The best way would most likely be to have the galaxy-spanning government stay out of local affairs, perhaps opening an embassy or two but not necessarily involving themselves heavily in the role of citizens. It would be not only a breath of fresh air to those who were wary of the First Order, but also those who wanted an independent Alderaan. It would be the best outcome, and would probably result in the satisfaction of all the present parties.
Then there was the chancellery, and they were less likely to be convinced by such logic. Though he had plans to slowly centralise parts of the government, the democratically elected government still stood to be something of a problem for now. And now was not the time for a group that spent a great deal of time on deliberation to muddle things by causing the government to be mired bureaucracy. He had at most a week to deal with the establishment of new alliances before his grace period of the “planetary emergence” that had been declared ended. He would have to get in contact with somebody.
Returning to the present, he found that he had absentmindedly placed his hand in such a manner that his arm loosely clutched the woman lying on him. Judging by her breathing, she had fallen asleep. Typical. As she did though, he lightly ran his fingers through her hair, counting the individual shoots of crimson. Standing up, he gently carried her to a guest room and set her down on the bed. Ordering a chambermaid to change and make sure she was properly in the bed, he walked out of the room. It was late. It was for the best for him to sleep as well.
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Post by Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer on Apr 18, 2019 11:18:30 GMT -8
In the palace gardens, Lysandre looked over his city, now with the flags of the combined First Order Alderaanian government flags flying over it. Proud of his city, he silently raised the champagne glass he held in his hand in a toast to his city, and his world as a whole.
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Post by Lysandre Beauveu-Panteer on Aug 26, 2019 15:19:27 GMT -8
In the former office of Bail Organa, Lysandre sat at the former Viceroy's desk, doing some paperwork that had been left over from the official signing of the Treaty of Taris, aligning the Alderaanian People with the First Order, perhaps the first time in history that an Imperial faction had been accepted by the people of Alderaan. However, due to the New Imperial Doctrine, and the reconciliation for the destruction of his people's original homeworld, the Alderaanians, always open to change, were willing to accept the Empire, so long as their culture and heritage were not destroyed. It was truly a new beginning for Alderaan, and Lysandre would have to think of some way to thank the planet's new benefactors within the First Order. And so, while he filled out the various items of logistical paperwork that were required, his mind began to drift to ideas to properly thank Emperor Delvardus and his cohorts for making this possible.
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