[b]Name:[/b] Adamantious Xen [b]Species:[/b] Human [b]Sex:[/b] M [b]Profession:[/b] Pirate lord who moonlights as a Rebel admiral [b]Reason for being present in the Bitter End:[/b] He runs the place [Hider=Looks][img]http://custom-gwent.com/cardsBg/c98a2f4e375d2d7d164a1dce582f4250.jpeg[/img][/hider] [b]Personality Description:[/b] Scoundrel, borderline drunk, crazy like a fox, maybe a bit force-sensitive [hider=Skirmish over Ulam] The long hull of the [i]Ancestral Right[/i] cut through the void like an immense predator through the deep. A cloud of vulture droids swarmed around its hull. Agile, dumb and easily replaced, even TIE squadrons could slice with ease through these relics of the Clone Wars. Embedded in the swarm, however, were the Admiral's prized weapons: X-Wings in escort formation, dangerous not only to distracted TIEs but even to the Empire's beloved capital ships. The rest of the Rebel fleet- an eclectic mix of aging Seperatist vessels, stolen Imperial cruisers, and a few Alliance escorts of modern design- followed in [i]Ancestral Right[/i]'s wake. Admiral Xen stood not on his ship's bridge, but in the elevated observation chamber that made the [i]Providence[/i]-class's profile so distinctive. Command staff of all races, even droids, bustled around him, busy with the business of looming bloodshed. Xen's eyes tracked the progress of his vessels across a holo-projection of Uslam's orbit, occasionally glancing to the chamber's large windows for confirmation of the virtual display, on which the red daggers were closing in. The Moff's fleet was advancing on them from three sides, meaning to trap them against Uslam itself. There was a narrow gap in the Imperial alignment, highlighted on the holo-display- through which the rebels might flee without trading fire with the attackers. Admiral Xen had a low opinion of the Moff's abilities, but not low enough to see such an obvious flaw in his opponent's formation as anything other than a trap. More to the point, he had no interest in retreating without killing some Imperials first. He studied the holo-display. The VSD [i]Punisher[/i] was the nearest vessel to hand, advancing in the shadow of the ISD [i]Vronksr[/i]. Xen had his target. "All vessels: the destroyer [i]Punisher[/i] is our pound of flesh. She dies before we jump, and anyone who jumps before I give the word, I hunt down. You'll wish the Imperials had gotten to you," said Xen on the fleet's command channel, "Hutt formation, please- heavy up front, nice thin tail. You may absolutely begin firing when in range." The comms channel filled with "ayes!" and "yes sirs!" "Intruder and Cutlass Squadrons," said Xen. "Reporting in," crackled the COs of two fighter-bomber squadrons noticeably absent from the rebel formation, hidden among nearby asteroids and orbital debris. "You know what to do," said Xen. "Yes Admiral." "Sir," said a lanky Duro to Xen's right, "Transmission from the enemy fleet incoming." The Admiral arched an eyebrow, "Let's hear it then." A holo-projection of Moff Whyte replaced the battlefeed in front of Xen. He did not transmit an image of himself back. [i]“This is Moff Wyte. I advise you stand down and surrender now, fighting only prolongs the inevitable, this is your first and final warning.”[/i] "We've been warned, gents!" said Xen to the command staff, to general laughter. Whyte's holodisplay flickered out. "Would you like to respond, sir?" asked the Duro lieutenant. Xen turned to the window, where the serrated dagger hull of the [i]Punisher[/i] grew larger by the second against the huge white orb of Uslam. A flicker of turbo-laser fire, still inaccurate at this range, lashed out at the rebel formation from the ship. In the distance, the [i]Vronksr[/i] was cruising at full speed to support its smaller cousin. "We'll let our guns do the negotiating," said the Admiral, "Open fire." [center]****[/center] The observation chamber was dark, like the nave of a temple, the only light coming from the blue glow of the central holodisplay, Uslam's pale radiance, and the turbolaser exchange taking place just beyond the thick glass windows. Admiral Xen stood at the holo-projector, where the ferocious and silent battle outside was playing out in miniature before him. His head was bowed, like a man at prayer. He was not praying. His narrowed eyes were tracking the markers for Intruder squadron as they completed their run on [i]Punisher[/i]. He watched as the squadron CO's X-Wing flashed red, then was gone, and as the XO's ship spun masterfully out of flak and tracer fire, taking out two TIEs in the same number of seconds. [i]Clang[/i]. The XO's callsign was [i]Clang[/i]. The Admiral tilted his head a moment, seemed to consider something, then straightened up. Outside, [i]Punisher[/i] drew near, venting flames and atmosphere from at least four serious holes punched in her hull by Cutlass and Intruder. Good sized, but not fatal. Xen would see to that. Behind [i]Punisher[/i] loomed [i]Vronskr[/i], already directing long-range fire at the rebel flag-ship, shrugged off for the moment by the [i]Right[/i]'s intact shields. The battery exchange between Xen's battlegroup and the [i]Punisher[/i] intensified as the rebels closed on the Star Destroyer. The Imperial vessel's forward shields glowed red, with ragged tears beginning to open along the energy seams. "Alright, get in close and ugly," said Xen, "Keep [i]Punisher[/i] between us and [i]Vronskr[/i]." The [i]Right[/i]'s captain shot back a terse acknowledgement from the bridge. "All vessels," said Xen, "get your shots in on the Victory destroyer, then jump. Scimitar and Saber squadrons stay with me, keep those TIEs off the [i]Right[/i] and use the vulture-screen to absorb fire. When I jump, you jump. Intruder, Cutlass, Broadsword and Stranger squadrons, get out of here." Acknowledgments crackled in over the comms. The [i]Right[/i] pulled alongside [i]Punisher[/i] and let loose a catastrophic broadside, popping the Imperial ship's shields in a bloom of azure and crimson light. The rebel fleet unloaded on the un-shielded Victory as one by one ships disappeared into hyperspace, fleeing to relative safety. Not all of them were so lucky. [i]Vronskr[/i]'s guns claimed the Corellian corvette [i]Ashland[/i] and the Recusant destroyer [i]Gamekeep[/i] as they powered up to jump. Xen watched their icons disappear on his display. He spat onto the deck with a sneer. Meanwhile, his flagship and [i]Punisher[/i] danced, the rebel ship pivoting constantly to keep out of [i]Vronskr[/i]'s line of fire. The space between [i]Punisher[/i] and [i]Ancestral Right[/i] was a blinding flurry of scarlet and jade. Explosions raked [i]Punisher[/i]'s failing hull and the vessel began to come apart, its serrated-dagger frame splitting crookedly. [i]Vronskr[/i]- eager for a chance to take the rebel flag ship- fired on its lesser cousin, obliterating it and sinking a row of shots into the [i]Right[/i]'s prow, setting scores of decks ablaze. There was an azure flash, and it was over. The [i]Right[/i] was gone. Xen had fled. The only rebel ships remaining were a handful of suddenly mindless vulture droids and the burning husk of [i]Gamekeep[/i] spinning in the void, amid the vast smoldering ruin of [i]Punisher[/i]. Uslam's orbit belonged to the Empire once more. [center]****[/center] "...and finally, Gamekeep, with all 120 souls," said Lieutenant Mavdi, looking up from his dataslate to the Admiral. Xen sucked his teeth and shook his head, "Butcher always takes his bill." The Admiral was quiet for a long moment. He was sprawled lazily across the Captain's Throne in the center of the command bay, legs draped over the left armrest, a goblet wine stolen from the Moff's cellars on Uslam in his be-ringed hand. "Hers was higher, though," he said at last, and sipped his wine, "Not that she cares an ounce for her scraping little lackeys. She'd shoot 'em all into space if it got her an audience with the old witch doctor on the throne." The command staff paid him little attention as they busied themselves with their tasks. The half-sober pontifications of Adamantius Xen were just another fact of life in the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Ancestral Right was idling in deep space, the hyperdrive cycling and preparing to fire once more to take them to the Bitter End, the not-so-affectionate nickname rebel deckhands used for Xen's base of operations deep in the Semiramis Asteroid Cluster. Only a handful of the fleet from Uslam clustered around the Right, the others had made other jumps to pre-designated deadzones. It was Xen's practice never to jump directly between a base or stronghold and an engagement, to confound enemy trackers. Since joining the Alliance, Xen had been given jammer systems designed to prevent Imperial hyperspace plotting, but a pirate's instincts are hard to overcome with new toys. "We're ready to jump sir," said Mavdi. "Take us home." [/hider] [b]Name:[/b] Callidus [b]Species:[/b] Human [b]Sex:[/b] M [b]Profession:[/b] Jedi Master? Sith Lord? [b]History:[/b] The man known as Callidus --or, perhaps, Darth Callidus-- was thought by some on the Jedi High Council to have been a Jedi Master named Valens Sarethi, who disappeared several decades before the Clone Wars. At the time Sarethi had been presumed dead. During the Clone Wars, some on the Council discovered evidence that Sarethi was stil alive, fallen to the Dark Side, and had taken the name Callidus. Just why they believed this is now unclear. Since the fall of the Jedi, only confused rumors remain, though the Imperial Inquisition are searching for a heretic dark side user they believe to be the same man. [b]Reason for being present in the Bitter End:[/b] Is he? [hider=Looks] [img]https://s31092.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/Hitman-3-1320x743.jpg[/img] [/hider]