Hello World.

[Remi Bayer]

"Where are we?" the world was shaking, a deep rattling thrum under her.

In a ship.

"Whats going on?" her eyes tried to focus, she made out blurred shapes and colours.

We're landing.

"Wheres the pilot!?" she scrabbled then, her world -and the immediate danger- coming into sharp focus. The cockpit was a flickering orange and red, with the occasional smattering of blue.

No idea.

The window was fire, and her footing was far from steady as she tried to reach the doomed ships controls. Remi managed to get a hand onto the back of the pilots seat it, digging her nails with all the strength she could muster into the grey fabric and bodily pulling herself into it. The cockpit window cleared. The ground was fast approaching. She only had moments to snap the harness into place and then she saw the body between herself and the co-pilots seat with half of the human face gone and a singular brown eye looked up at her.

Hello, ground.

[Jak Bexel]

Listening Post Kybo, Bogden
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The skies of Bogden could hold one's full attention for hours, if need be. Seven moons of varying shape and tone, gas clouds that wafted up lavender streaks crossing the dark seafoam night sky, an aura of crimson on the horizon, all of this made the place seem impossible. The many structures that endured Bogden's seismic irregularity and soft ground stood slanted and tall and made of thick ancient alabaster stones. It gave off the false impression that one was visiting a cemetery planet, not a planet riddled with Blue Star Pirates and their ilk.

That was because the terrain was, well, not safe. Keeping to the network of tunnels and fortresses was generally preferred and advised, but finding yourself out in the marshlands could prove dangerous if not fatal. You had the Terrodaak, these large winged serpents who would lay claim to the unoccupied lands outside the fortress walls. The Renda Bears were generally safe as long as they fed on their ironwithe, a metallic plant that at the moment, was in rare supply. This annual extinction event was known to spark mania in said bears, leaving those who did not save their supply reduced to emaciated, feral beasts who stalked the land. And they were surely getting tired of eating horned lizards.

When the ship made its presence known, a smokey flame ball streaking through the air, alarms were sounded and an extraction team was alerted. A rag-top Bantha-II cargo skiff with some added modifications (including a tow-beam) was dispatched to the wreck and included the team of Captain Jak Bexel, his Gran firstmate Red Eyes, a Weequay patrolman by the name of Gerrig, and their ball droid LM-11. Present but unnamed was a cadre of privates within the BSP, all of them training for The Pirate Life.

"Any ship without clearance generally gets captured mid-air, unless there's a piloting error," Gerrig explained. "With the gravitational push and pull of Bogden the system, we get these once in a while, except..."

"... the ship jumped into our atmosphere?" Jak asked across the length of the skiff.

"That. Also the number of trackers it has strapped to the back of it set off a whole bunch of alarms. Damned thing is more hazardous than the marsh. We're risking exposure here. We've got another team coming from the south bend just in case this is an ambush, and I've got actual ships on call."

"Careful is the word, then," Red Eyes muttered to Jak, strapping a fire extinguishing unit to his back.

[Professor Mors]

***Imperial Carrack Cruiser Stormpelt, in orbit over Kohlma***
"We have something on the scanners Sir", a befuddled communications officer announced. "Onscreen", Doren instructed, setting his sights on the main bridge viewport. The nascent smoke trail was still visible for but a few moments; however, the energy signature from its owner remained alive and well on the various diagnostic screens. The Captain and his small detachment had initially been deployed on questionable intelligence regarding rogue Dark-Sider activity in the region. Given the precarious nature of the Sith ceasefire, it was only nature that Vassyl was zeroed out to lead a punitive expedition, for the sake of any political complications. And yet, the Imperials had found not bought the morose gases that churned around Bogden's many moons.

More interesting, in contrast, was the single vessel that had seemingly slipped into the system almost unnoticed, and its untimely descent down onto the nearby satellite. Regardless of the circumstances, Doren was keen to investigate the matter with a fine-tuned hydrocomb. "Commander Vardis", Vassyl began once more, "Have a troop transport readied immediately: I want to see what's become of the wreckage". "But Sir", the older officer protested, "It could simply be an accident, or the victim of pirates-". "And we will determine which if either is the case", the Captain reaffirmed, his gaze unbroken from the viewport, "Now, unless you intend to join me planetside, I strongly suggest you have the teams ready within the next ten minutes". A new target had reared its head, and Vassyl was not long for waiting.

[Rhoden Carbine]

Rhoden intercepted the Captain on his way to board the transport, "Any objections to my coming along, Captain?" he asked, knowing full well that if there were he'd launch the Firehawk and keep a ready eye out regardless. He's sent Jorvan off to prepare the ship, because if he didn't go down he'd head to the ship, and if he did go down then Jorvan would be ready to launch if anything happened.

Which wasn't to say, of course, than anything would happen. But if Rhoden was going to be spending time traipsing around with the Captain and innumerable less competent officers in a mockery of Inferno's true purpose then he might as well have something more engaging to do than sitting in a ship trying to splice a secure comm channel to the other Carbine Houses--any of them, even to exchange petty insults. Though admittedly that particular pursuit was a challenge all its own, and not altogether an uninteresting word--or perhaps disturbing was more appropriate. He knew, inside him, that as soon as the opportunity presented itself he'd go off and begin picking up the pieces of his past.

[Slade Xandir]

On behalf of avoiding the dungeons from his unkind and most unkind capture, 'Tver' allowed himself refuge from the mercs who searched for him left and right on the isles of Bogden. Plus, they had drugs on Bogden, right? Well, that was the plan, but the slick Sith grunt was in a predicament. A conundrum of sorts of the most important kind-

"How in hell's name do I get on this planet without clearance?"

Running searing hot and palmy hands through his usually nice but today-wasn't-a-good-day undercut top, he was half wondering how soon he would get his fix and other-half wondering if he could banthashod a clearance code for himself through a bit of splicing. But beeping on the rogue's scanner was a message from Pi55, the programmed everything dealing with this Supafighter he had stolen in his escape from the Mercs. Absentmindedly he wondered if he gave the Sith dude this ship, would everything be all gold between them. And the other chunk of him, the part desperately trying to stay focused through the tangents he threw himself on, noticed it flashing the sign IMPERIAL VESSEL WITHIN RANGE in bright green red letters. His heart almost beat a second faster if he hadn't recalled the Sith and Alliance thing. Boom, ideas kicked into play. A snort matched the smirk as he praised himself for this idea. Yea, he was better at a multitude of other things, but thinking smart was harder for him. In fact, it usually took longer for him to conjure an idea, but being sober and slightly relapsing made a desperate brain think harder.

Throwing a clamy hand out there, his gruff voice was immediately transmitted to the vessel's prior inhabitant's original enemy

"Aye Imperials, Sith Dawn Patrol member here in a 'borrowed' fighter. If you's going down to Bogden, I'm with ya."

[Remi Bayer]

You should wake up.

Rem felt the cutting of the harness straps against her shoulders, only the briefest taste of the exquisite agonies that were about to trample unceremoniously upon her renewed consciousness, and then the stiffness of her breathing where gravity pulled and the safety device restricted. It held her in place and probably saved her life but as panic rode a wave up her body, her uncoordinated hands fumbled for the clasp. The natural order of things took over from here and she found herself sprawled on the ceiling of the cockpit. The jar of impact didn't so much add to the deep ache across her arms and chest but merely enhanced it, bringing it into a sharper focus so her groggy mind could fully savor the screaming pain receptors as they fired off with gleeful abandon.

"Waking up was a stupid idea," she muttered, only now noticing that most of the ship was gone and what remained was on fire.

Crashing wasn't very bright either.

She got onto her knees and put a scratched and blossomingly black and purple hand over her mouth. It did little to protect from the rattling coughs that the noxious smoke elicited from her but it made her feel slightly better while tears began to stream from her eyes. She saw the makings of daylight somewhere behind and made her move toward, crawling, coughing, cringing away from the odd belch of fire and then she tumbled out into sludge and muck.

Out of the fire and into the bog. What an exciting life.

"Just shut up." Bayer croaked, sucking in lungfuls of air.

A few more feet wouldn't hurt.

The skyward facing section of the ship erupted, casting hot metallic fragments into the air, and Remi didn't need to be told twice. She scuttled backwards, mud and sludge up to her forearms, away from the crippled vessel. The assumption of a safe distance achieved, she sat up; cold, burned, wet and battered. Then she heard the whine of repulsor engines.

Company.

[Jak Bexel]

The southbound skiff containing Jak and Co. were well within range, but Gerrig laid a heavy foot on the brake as the ship began to yield further explosions. Seeing the trouble ahead, Red unlatched the anchor beam from below to further scuttle their velocity. The skiff swerved, 'drifting' along the bog and halting with a wrenching moan as the anchor prevented them from meeting any shrapnel. Its rear just at the foot of a murky hill, Jak was braced on the railing. One hand held tight while his legs braced against the floor and the other hand holding up macrobinoculars.

"I'm making out a shape in the distance. It doesn't look like an animal," he called out to Gerrig. "Looks like our only bit of salvage here."

"Better grab em', the gasses in this region don't react kindly to jet fuel. I take it we won't be bringing in this vessel, and I gotta say I'm relieved," he responded, gesturing to Red to lift the anchor. They kept a friendly speed towards the survivor. Suddenly, an alarm on the comms was sounded. He pounded his fist against the button without a second thought.

"Northbound Cruise to Renda Leader, we have a detachment of ships in our atmosphere. Looks like Imperial. We will not reconvene with you at the crash site and instead are pulling our rescue skiff. We advise you to do the same. Over," said the worried voice on the other end.

"Kriff me," Gerrig growled. "We gotta snatch and go. Jak, the fortress is gonna start throwing up fog and I want to get there before lockdown."

"What, and I don't?" he snapped at Gerrig, turning his attention towards the woman covered in mud with whom they were within range. Waving towards her, he called out: "Hello there! Get inside the skiff, and quickly!"

With that, Jak extended the steps on the side of the vehicle down at the muddy woman. Red Eyes kept a hand on his low-slung rifle, standing by the rear thrusters. Gerrig was checking his chrono, checking the sky, and otherwise occupied with a successful, hasty retreat.

[Professor Mors]

"Hardly Lieutenant", Doren answered back, a coy smile materializing across his face, "Who else could I count on to bait the various monstrosities below?". Though Vassyl had not thought of his comrade immediately, the Admiralty's last command still stood: the Inferno Unit would continue to focus on rogue Dark Side elements, so long as they did not impinge upon diplomatically-recognized Sith entities. The two reached the hangar without any further interruption. The Captain had just finished donning his onyx helm, when a communiqué was suddenly relayed from the bridge.

For the life of him, Vassyl could not discern what sort of interest the Sith envoy had in the molded-over moon. Nonetheless, at the time, he could think of no reason to deny the unexpected arrival. [Very well], Doren concluded over his helmet's built-in transponder, [Instruct the patrol to fall in line with the shuttle: introductions can wait until after we touched down planetside]. With that, Vassyl leaned back in the familiar, unforgiving bucket seating of the ATR-6 series, and floated his gaze out the main viewport. Lofting itself off the glimmering durasteel floor, the transport bucked forward, and began to follow after the particulate specks of ash that still shimmered off in the distance.

[Slade Xandir]

'Tver' was given the gold coin when he was told that conclusive 'Very Well'. Hell, best news ever. He's be the backup they needed if they needed it. Well, as long as they didn't start losing. Then he'd have to jet. But till then, he watched with gleeful dark eyes the other ships lining on side of him. He wanted to fall back should the Empire need some room, but he already knew that wasn't gonna fly; being a grunt meant getting your hands dirty, and maybe getting killed in the process.

"Really not tryin' ta kick the bucket right now," he breathed inwardly. "Gotta do what ya gotta do, right Piss?" he snorted to the programmed AI system of the Supafighter.

"Name not recognized. Query search for Pi-"

"Aye, look I ain't ask for all that," he snapped. "Just get me down there!" He shoved the handles down mercilessly, throwing the shuttle down towards the planet with an extreme prayer to whatever gods that were listening, that he wouldn't be blown to smithereens somehow. Or deserted. Wouldn't be the first time. But this wasn't the time for it to be his last.

Speaking louder than intended, 'Tver' nearly yelled into the mic, adrenaline and something sickeningly human weighting him down in the seat just in the knot of his throat's base. "Yo boss, whatcha want me to do?" he called out into the Empire's techy ears.

[Remi Bayer]

Remi stood, her boots squelching ankle deep in the churned mud, and sought firmer ground. She raised a hand toward her forehead -a shield against the noon-day sun- and jerked it away just as quickly. Something like a small worm writhed between her index and forefinger, trapped against her pale skin by a liberal smearing of muck and grime. She picked it out and threw it over her shoulder before casting an eye down at her clothing.

"Utterly ruined.." she muttered before wiping her hands on the bottom of what was once a sky blue blouse. That done, and a tut given, she turned her eyes toward the approaching vehicles. "What do you think, dear?"

That top should have been burned the moment you bought it. It does little for your figure.

"Constructive. As always." she heard the boom then, the unmistakable sound of a ship punching through outer atmosphere at speed. Her gaze moved skyward, dark eyebrows rising as the dark specks came into view.

Fashion police. Clearly.

"Ha!" Remi barked and couldn't stop the laughter falling from her lips, the sound rode alongside the crackling of her smoldering chariot and she was forced double with both hands on her knees before it subsided enough for her to speak. "What do you reckon the sentence is for a fashion faux pas?"

Imprisonment. Dismemberment. Death. On the outside the annihilation of your entire planet. Those are Imperial ships, if I'm not mistaken.

"And you so rarely are." she spotted a rock that looked as good a waiting point as any and had barely settled herself when a voice called out. Bayer turned toward it a look of affront on her face. "But I've only just sat down!" then she stabbed a slender finger at the ships on fast approach. "And I still don't know what my sentence will be, you wouldn't have me evade the law would you? What kind of criminal do you think I am? Just because my ship crashed and there may or may not be a charred corpse inside, who may or may not be the owner of the vessel." she paused, her brow creasing thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure about that one myself. I mean, I suppose I could have-"

You're babbling, Rem.

"Lets just see what the nice Imperials want, hmm? It can't be all that bad, the planets still here." she smiled and then rested her chin in her hand, before humming quietly.

Rapists? Kidnappers? Slavers?

"Could be all three dear, today has that kind of feel about it." she responded.