SithLore

***Cholganna, Outer Rim Territories, Grid Coordinates T-5***

***Imperial Hav5 Juggernaut Tank 'Squalor', Command Module***

Accessing Lieutenant Colonel Vlaf Benroy's Personal Log...

Clearance Authorized...

Begin Draft 2246...

For three days now we've been driving ourselves through four feet of mud, vines, and other obstacles. Several times now, it has been necessary to halt our advance completely to conduct emergency repairs on the Squalor and the mobile armored unit. My only saving grace is that we were cleared to deploy our AT-ST's. I don't even want to imagine how little progress we'd have made trying to travel with century tanks. Still, all maintenance aside, the mission has been relatively quiet. The troops remain in decent spirits, despite the harsh weather and our limited supply line. So far, we've yet to butt heads with the local wildlife- and so help me, I intend to keep it that way. The agent from Inquisitorius has been working recon day and night alongside our speeder detachment: I hope his senses stay sharp, for all our sakes.

The Lieutenant Colonel paused and rubbed his eyes. He had not slept well since the Four-Four-Six dropped planetside. The constant beat of the rain on the juggernaut's outer plating was like an unending marching cadence from Vlaf's academy days. The jungle was an unforgiving place, and silence was neither sacred nor immune to its twisted whims. The whole atmosphere was intense, and strong enough to drive a man to restlessness, even a hardened vet such as Benroy. Standing up from the data terminal, the Lieutenant Colonel stretched some, and decided to return to his journaling when he felt more at ease- if he felt more at ease. "Any updates from the advanced unit?", Vlaf called out to no one in particular. "None so far Sir", a comm officer replied, "But Major Thaltizon's platoon has returned from scouting".

"Thaltizon's force eh?", Vlaf mused, recalling the specific composition of his subcommands. Then, the bright twinkle of an eye contrasted the Lieutenant Colonel's darker complexion, as he abruptly ordered, "Contact the Major as soon as your able: I want to speak with Privates Drallac and Veilser once they've debriefed their superior officer". The communications chief paused, sporting visible confusion as to why the expedition leader would have need of two humble conscripts. Nonetheless, the man did as he was told, not wishing to anger his supervisors. Benroy however, was confident in his decision, and felt that the insights of his reptilian wards would be of greater use than any short-range scanner. The trek to Lake 305 would be a long one, and the experienced tactician was taking no chances.

“Hold position.” Prazutis stopped his speeder about a few hundred feet in front of the Squalor itself. Behind Prazutis, 4 more scout troopers stopped behind him, each of them examining the area as Prazutis closed his eyes, rummaging through the heavy vegetation through the force as the troopers scanned out the area.
“Foliage is blocking out any biological scanners, sir.” One man said, putting his scanners away and taking out his rifle, adjusting the scope.
“Northwest. Check.” Prazutis spoke, hearing gear preparing to fight anything that was there. Even in the high vegetation, Prazutis could tell when a moving creature was about, and though he didn’t have a need to focus on anything he felt, it was better safe than sorry on a planet like this.
“Quadrupedal, scales...”
The scout trooper examined the creature as well as he could through the leaves using his rifle’s scope, before he watched it take off in the other direction just as the squalor could be heard behind them.
“Wildlife is exiting the area. All clear.”
Prazutis nodded and opened his eyes and looked forward once more, looking at the trail in front of the 5 of them.
“Roger that, let’s move.” Prazutis spoke before they all prepared their speeders once more, taking off at a slower pace. Prazutis kept his eyes forward on the path that the 5 speeders followed, but made sure his senses picked up anything and everything around them that could be a threat to the Squalor.

Private Drallac took a deep breath of the warm humid air as he and several other troopers exited the briefing tent. While his comrades seemed to suffer every minute on this forested world, Zuno quite enjoyed the surroundings. It reminded him of the rainforests back on Falleen where his family would go while his father was between business trips. If it wasn’t for that same memory he’d probably be completely happy to remain here for a majority of his tour.

His reptilian eyes glanced over at his Barabel companion, Zuno wondered if the weather here was to his likings as well. Unfortunately Zuno never took the time to learn of his friend home world, a fact he’d have to change once he had some time to sit down. He slowly turned toward the hulking reptilian, rain dripping off both their grey helms, and just before he was about to speak their lieutenant ran out of the tent. The humans eyes locked onto the two reptilian humanoids before rushing over, clearly not happy to be outside again.

“Private Drallac, Private Veilser,” the man began, Zuno spinning on the soggy ground to face his superior officer. “Colonel Benroy wishes to see you both in his office.”

“Do you know what for, sir?” Drallac replied.

“Hell if I know, just go so I can go back inside,” the Lieutenant retorted before turning around and running back inside the tent.

“Well it seems we might be getting noticed,” Zuno spoke, looking at Trassek, a slight grin crossing his scaled face. “Best not keep the good Colonel waiting.”

Cholganna. A damp forest world located in the middle of nowhere, whose only claim to galactic traders was the infamous Nexu. Poggle the Lesser used to own one on Geonosis, back when Jedi were as commonplace as Imperial Army troopers. Back when battle droids such as himself were mainline troops and not collector's antiques. It was here that the Lieutenant found himself, cramped inside of an AT-ST and marching through hostile woodlands to Lake 305. Three days of the AT-ST's rhythmical swaying as it lumbered forward had begun leaking into the droid's own steps, much to his chagrin. Nonetheless, there was something nostalgic about being in a ground operation once again - the vast emptiness of space was rather monotonous. A faint sense of deja vu had been nagging at 33's mind since planetfall, and the droid was wondering where he had been that was triggering the feeling. It was only after the Juggernaut's repeated breakdowns that the droid's memory banks whirred into action and assaulted his consciousness.

Umbara.

That dreaded death world which had claimed so many lives during the Clone Wars. Ironically, it was 33's time there that he had felt most...alive. As alive as he could have been as a separatist peon, that was. 33-5H4 looked out through the viewport of his AT-ST, his photoreceptors shining into the alien foliage. Ever so faintly, he could hear the sounds of men screaming and the rapport of blaster fire that were so common back then. The droid leaned forward. Rain pattered off of the AT-ST's metal exterior, and vegetation was crushed underfoot by the walker's powerful legs. Their progress was slow but purposeful - a pace 33 himself was very much used to. The Lieutenant's eyes meandered throughout the area in front of their walker, half-scanning for clone troopers ready to open fire and the local wildlife preparing to leap down from a tree. Thankfully, 33 saw neither.

His AT-ST was roughly thirty meters away from the Squalor, on it's left flank. It was here that the walker stayed in relation to the Squalor when not given active orders, it's robotic commander ever so slightly paranoide about ambushes from the rear - a popular tactic guerrillas used during the Clone Wars on Confederate convoys. As he monitored the radio chatter, the Lieutenant scanned his surroundings again in anticipation of what was to come.

"Thissss One agrees." Trassek's dorsal fin raising in curiosity as he looked around he as quite enjoying the rain, it reminded him of Home, the torrential downpours at night made for ideal hunting. "While This One isss enjoying the assignment here, This One is also glad to be rid of that scanner pack." he drops into a fit of sissing. as the tall Barabel stalks through the camp making sure to keep his tail out of the way of others as they passed.

"We seem ideally suited to this climate, perhaps the colonel will give us a glorious hunt" More sissing, as they approach the tent and extending one clawwed fingerhe raps on the metal pole three times before assuming military stance. "Privatesssss Veilser and Drallac reporting as ordered sssir." Trassek declares in a voice loud enough to be heard over the rain. schooling his facial expression into a neutral expression and lowering his fin slightly.

***Cholganna System, Outer Rim Territories, Grid Coordinates T-5***

***Keldabe-class Battleship The Azure Storm***

Deep in the Outer Reaches, silent and steady, a Storm rolled onward toward the radiant nebula that spread its crimson luster amongst the planets' orbits. There was Be'ekk, Chol, Ryien, and Cholganna proper. Approaching from the west of the galactic grid, Be'ekk's rings and sheer mass cast a long shadow upon half of Cholganna. To its east, Ryien and Chol were within spitting distance (if one was a super massive being capable of spitting between planets). At this particular moment in their respective orbits, said distances were coinciding with said nebula. Red dust clouds and meteoroids, spreading out over time, would begin to ensconce the entire system, creating brilliant streaks of burnt orange and mauve across the jungle planet sky. Putting aside the picturesque sunsets however, this posed problems with regards to sensor arrays and transmitters. No force was immune, and yet here came The Azure Storm.

Just outside of the nebula, between the planets Chol and Ryien, the hulking cruiser loomed with its nose pointed directly at Cholganna. Waiting. The thousand strong crew ran their checks, finalizing the repairs from their last brush with the enemy on Magar's World. Of all the losses suffered, none cut deeper than the fighter squadrons obliterated at the drydock. Deep in the bowels of the Storm, the newly-repurposed fighter wing was also rounding out the last of their repairs.

Commander Woolsey, the Abednado pirate in charge of this wing, surveyed the docking bay floor from above.The crowd of pilots and engineers stirring about created the effect of a moving floor down below. In the same room sat the wing commanders: Commander Jiri Velco of the Nejdiv Wing, Commander Holz of Reaver wing, and Captain Jak Bexel of the Nickel Wing. Finally, Woolsey spoke:

"I cannot impart to you the importance of protecting the target when the time comes. It's a damned foolish strategy, one I wouldn't even attempt at myself. Unfortunately, there is a chain of command -- and here we are now. You," he threw a long finger in Bex's direction. "You and that little green friend of yours had better play your cards right. This is not Kafrene."

"Understood, sir," Bex nodded and looked back down at the other commanders, a face of compassion. "If I may though, Kafrene had more cooks than a Cantonican soup kitchen."

"Bunk. It was all bunk," Woolsey grunted and looked back thru the viewport over the docking bay. "Shaking down punks, and we have to call in the entire cavalry..."

"Were you down there?" Commander Velco asked, tying her shoulder-length blonde locks into a tight bun. Woolsey looked back, silently shaking his head.

"Okay then, Commander. We're all on the same page. What they did to us at the drydock was insurmountable next to a street war between thugs -- we all lost folks. Good folks. Holz lost a leg. Jak lost the majority of his crew. I know my Nighthawks are feeling it, that thirst for blood. When they -- we-- lost our commander, all we could think about was this mission. I commend Captain Bexel and Buggie for this opportunity, and I look forward to giving it back. We're all on the hunt for the same thing. Please, Commander," she pleaded, but it wasn't so much of a plead as it was a deadpan dismissal of her superior officer's misgivings.

Commander Holz, a Dressellian of indeterminate age (it was up there) clinked down his coffee mug hard on the durasteel table. "Then it's settled, hm? I'm going down there, I'm gonna be with my people. I suggest you all do the same, when you're up to it." With that, he jaunted out of the room with the help of his new left leg. The rest of them dispersed to leave Woolsey up in his high tower.

Jak wandered towards the wing he was placed in command of, following the death of Lenon's entire squadron at the hands of the Imperials. He wondered what Red Eyes would say and how annoyed he would be at the prospect of battle. He wanted to turn his head to find Mums silently fiddling with his long-barrel rifle and feel the tug of Stretch's hand gripping his coat. Instead, he just felt dark and resolute. As he hustled down the spiral stairway towards the B-Wings, Ozark and Lenon sat on some crates smoking cigarillos and listening to Van Kleef rant. Jak watched them from a distance, and a pang of hope was let loose within him. Life persists. But it didn't make him feel any less guilty for the losses on his hands. He would just have to get even.

***Cholganna System, Outer Rim Territories, Grid Coordinates T-5***
***Docking Bay of the Keldabe-class Battleship The Azure Storm***

Rane disembarked from the shuttle along with the rest of his team following the shuttle’s arrival in the docking bay of The Azure Storm. The docking bay was abuzz with activity and none of the pilots and engineers moving about readying ships and other equipment paid the team of White Blades any special notice.

Rane carried an impressive amount of gear with him. Once again, due to security concerns surrounding the mission, information had been extremely compartmentalized. This seemed to be something Rane would never get used to, but extremely familiar with. During his time with the Alliance as a pararescue trooper, his team had never been read in on the mission until they were called in to provide either search and rescue or casualty evacuation assistance.

“DeCola! Stop daydreaming and get yourself squared away! You’re begging again to give me a reason to have you put out the airlock aren’t you!”

Rane hadn’t been daydreaming, but once again had drawn the ire of his Quarren team leader, Bevek. “No sir! I’m square sir!” he quickly responded. He needed no further reminding that despite the fact he wasn’t a rookie team member any longer, he was still the FNG in the eyes of his team leader.

The Quarren chuckled mildly at Rane’s response. Meanwhile, the team, that would be going by the callsign Suspect for this mission, made their way to their temporary squad bay, where they could store their gear and get ready to head to the imminent mission briefing.

Rane could feel his own nervous excitement building. He knew not to get carried away in the moment, to play things cool, and reserve that energy from the excitement, not knowing what the mission ahead would bring.

**Outer Rim Territories**
**Cholganna System, Cholganna Orbit**
**Astrogator-class Probe Ship XF-7**

"I hate this," Buggie said aloud to no one in particular as his ship bucked against the dust clouds within the nebula.

Secured to the ship's control terminal next to him was Buggie's R7-series astromech droid, Twitter. The droid's black and gold accented dome turned and its radar eye faced him as the droid voiced its own concerns. At this moment, Buggie was navigating through the nebula completely blind, as his ship's sensors and transmitters were dead, leaving him no guidance vector, nor any way to communicate with the outside galaxy. The only way things could get better is if he drove himself into an ion storm and rendered his ship useless for the eternity it would take him to drift out of the nebula, assuming he didn't collide with a dense meteoroid cluster along the way.

According to the plan, he was supposed to be launching on a vector opposite the Blue Star Pirate fleet, since that would provide an easy way for him to return home, with minimal maneuvering necessary. Of course, all of that would go out the viewport once he passed through the atmosphere of Cholganna, a world that the Blue Star Pirates wished to obtain for a launchpad against the rich convoys heading in and out of the Corporate Sector. Ideally, raids would be conducted during the period of time when Cholganna was outside the nebula, and, once it was safely tucked back into the orange and mauve gases of the nebula, operations would cease and personnel would prepare for their next opportunity, finding replacements, and making repairs as necessary.

Now relying on the Force to even get him to the planet, Buggie moved by instinct. The outside of his viewport looked like the creamy soup served at one of Nothoiin's smuggler ports no matter where he maneuvered. Only the manual adjustments he had made to his inertial compensator indicated any sort of movement had been registered by the ship's thrusters.

A cautious series of whistles by Twitter indicated that they should be coming up on the target planet, Cholganna. Buggie barely registered the warning, so focused he was on the task at hand, but moments later, he was satisfied to find the haze of gases fading away and the planet taking shape outside his viewport. It was a great relief to see anything at all, Buggie thought.

"Okay, let's take her in. Get those sensor arrays fired up as we make our approach," Buggie directed.

Keldabe-class battleship The Azure Storm
Be'ekk orbit, Be'ekk farside
Chol system, Pakuuni sector

Background Theme: Starlock's Melody

The Bridge.

In some cephalopoid tongues, it was called the mother. In a lesser known dialect of Twi'lek, the word for Bridge was 'Lek', translating something close to 'Brain'. While the docking bays were no doubt clustered with anticipation, it was here that the ambiance felt truly anxious, for here was where he was. Captain Starlock Kolonies of The Azure Storm stalked across the said anxiety-flooded bridge, the tall Human pirate's anxious blue eyes darting from the podium, bouncing over the multiple stations across the higher decks, to the Captain's Station.

A Captain's Station that was, insofar as The Azure Storm was concerned, in no need of a captain. For The Azure Storm being the flagship of the Aurek fleet meant that the captaincy of this beautiful battle cruiser belonged not to the actual captain, namely Kolonies, but rather to him: the fearsome mammoth of height easily surpassing two meters, emanating an aura so monstrous it would have made even Starlock tremble had he been a lesser man, white as death itself, with two menacing golden tusks only accentuating his sheer awe as he stood erect in front of the Captain's Chair with his forelimbs clasped behind his back, adorned in azure and in trophies seemingly wrought out of the carcasses of his enemies.

"Admiral Brakken," Starlock acknowledged verbally as he finally finished his ascent up the stairs to the Captain's Station, standing beside his superior officer, mimicking the Whippid's pose with his hands clasped behind his back as the Human stood to the White Whippid's left. Even at around six feet tall, Captain Starlock Kolonies seemed so short standing next to Admiral Manfred Brakken.

"Captain," the Admiral acknowledged in all his usual gruffness. The two stood there on the Station overseeing the rest of the Bridge from its rear, the viewport in front filled with the red hazy mist, the stellar nursery that blanketed the entirety of the Chol System.

"You do realise we're effectively blind where we are, right?" the Captain spoke up after a pause.

"Nothin' I ain't done before," was all Brakken said. Kolonies heaved in a sigh and nodded, before walking forwards to the railing.

"Tactical," he commanded. "Update me on the status of our dispatched scoutships. Have they reached the Cholgannan surface?"

"Pthoo-eee!!!" was the response as the purple-skinned Twi'lek on Tactical, Lieutenant Kalba Rage, spat out the Rylothian betel leaves she was chewing on the floor of the Bridge. It was not that she was not intimidated by Brakken like the rest of the bridge crew was; she simply didn't give a damn if the Whippid impaled her with his tusk for insubordination on the Bridge. Life sucked anyways. She would chew her betel, and she would spit it out wherever she wanted, kriff it! "On my last... contact with ze scoutship it waz approaching ze surface... but ze nebula is kriffing up my zenzors... zo I can't be zure... but yes, extrapolating the vectors of the scout from the last tranmission I received would estimate their location on Cholganna at thiz time," she replied from the Tactical Station.

Admiral Brakken simply rubbed his tusk in thought at that piece of info, grunting in acknowledgement, even as Captain Kolonies beside him sighed at the Twi'lek Chief Tactical Officer's antics. In any case, he focused on the mission at hand. Cholganna remained on the fringes of Alliance territory, and thus, had been of interest to the Blue Star Pirates in order to facilitate their raids of wealthy corporate sector convoys. Thus, the BSP had, with Alliance 'permission' (between Alliance individuals that did not, be it on flimsi or on holodisc, even exist), established a fleet right here in this sector, hidden, buried deep within the shadows of planets, asteroids belts and crimson nebulae.

Too bad for anyone who thought the Chol System was easy pickings.

***Cholganna, Inner Orbit***
***Victory I Class Star Destroyer Reverent, Command Bridge***

"All hands brace!", Lieutenant Torbough hollered, much to the dismay of his colleagues. Captain Vassyl, for his part, was not particularly moved by the outburst, as his gaze was already fixed on the stray energy burst arching towards the battlecruiser's ventral hull. The crackling beam struck out at the thick durasteel sheets like lightning drawn to a conduit: sending a small but jarring shockwave across the dreadnaught's chassis. The lights sputtered in and out of existence, and various bridge staff clung to their chairs and console fixtures like the local simians caught in a monsoon. When all had finally settled, the Imperials were no worse for wear, but many did not look forward to the next, impending bout with the ionosphere governing the local nebulae.

"Helm", Doren spoke at last, "Correct our heading and maintain present orbital axis: I don't want us straying from the rest of the formation". There was no disgust in the "Aye Sir" that followed in response, but the Captain had little difficulty detecting the wary tone of his foremost pilot. It had been four days since the emissaries of the Empire had arrived at the miserable, jungle-infested storm drain of a world that was Cholganna- but so help them, it would see the Saturnalian Orb hoisted in its thunder-plagued skies before the week was out. In terms of resources, the aimless, oft-overlooked hunk of space rock had little to offer the Imperial Treasury. Tactically however, it would suffice to fulfill Vassyl's impossible assignment: to gain a foothold towards the azure system of Mon Calamari.

Such was the punishment levied against the Captain for his failure over Thyferra. And, if the young Jaeman ever wanted to lead his forces in the vanguard hereafter, this would prove to be his judiciary third strike- one way or another. Thus, with the intention of providing the talented servicefolk of the Second Battle Group a proper military theater, Vassyl had spent countless hours, days, and weeks digging through Clone Wars era star charts, organizing long-range fighter reconnaissance, and running many an errand for the ever-conservative Imperial Auxiliary. Now, at long last, the first boots had sunk into the pitiless muck of Cholganna's river basin, with express orders to establish a proper landing zone and military station as soon as feasibly possible.

Between the electrum winds of the outer atmosphere and the perpetual storms brewing far below, the convoy had encountered great difficulty in fulfilling supply runs on either end of the expedition. So far as the immediate future was concerned, the best improvement that could be managed was establishing a partially-amphibious megastructure on one of the scattered lakes that broke up the denser forest. The thinking was, while rain and other adverse phenomena could cause flooding and landslides, a rise in surface water was more negligible by comparison. Alas, for Doren, all he could do was wait and let his comrades in the army do their part, at least until the fleet detachment emerged from the sprawling dust cloud once more. "Have our fighter extend the line", Vassyl cautioned, "We can't have them smacking into any of the smaller geodes". It was bitter work, and costly in terms of patience: but with any luck, the Third would have its way with things.

***Imperial Ground Convoy, en route to Lake 305***

"Privates Drallac and Veilser to see you, Sir", yet another tired officer forcefully hailed, jarring Vlaf from his thoughts once more. That had not taken long at all. Turning about, the Lieutenant Colonel caught the fleeing form of his aide, who seemed all-to-eager eager to return to the heating unit after successfully escorting his two companions into the frosted interior of the Squalor. Benroy then let his eyes drift back to the center of the cabin, and offered a warm smile to the polkilothermic duo, "Your haste is appreciated Gentlemen: I know the patrols have not been brief". With a snap salute, the Lieutenant Colonel paid respects to his winded wards, and drew forth a two-dimensional holodisplay of the immediate area from his wrist module.

"So far", Vlaf continued, "We've found nothing in the way of independent groups or mercenaries, much less elements of the formal Alliance Military". Benroy sighed, more from relief than anguish, "And, by the good grace of the Empress, the only life we've seen thus far are content with their leafy greens". "Still", the Lieutenant General added, narrowing his dark eyes, "I don't want to encourage anything that might try and make a meal of our troops or their equipment- you two have access to intuition and a sixth sense the bulk of our host lacks. If something stood out to you on this last round, I'll hear whatever you have to say". Vlaf was a stern man, and a cautious tactician- a trait which Captain Vassyl held in very high esteem. This was a tight, covert op, and any chances taken would be made with careful, precise planning. Anything less could mean discovery, and the looming threat of total disaster.