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I'd be interested as long as I don't have to use discord and someone can teach me the RPG system.

Not super sure how feasible that is but happy to give it a shot.
Reopening my request to reboot the persistent Star Wars world thank u.
Is this still going on? It sounds like fun.

Frig, I got so excited. I thought this was starting up again.

@Evgen88 It's not, it puttered out a while ago, sorry.

I mean if there’s interest I’d be up to bring this back in play-by-post format.
<Snipped quote by Ruby>

Why strictly focus on cutting out the force-using? Just asking out of pure curiosity.

My guess is that it’s because it was a little tough to work out.

I suggest giving the persistent world another shot tho.

A kaleidoscopic swirl of stars gave way to realspace as the heavy freighter Hotspur decelerated from lightspeed, and the view was something special. A blue gas giant dominated the space, half-bathed in the light of a distant sun. Its atmosphere rippled with the movement of massive anticyclonic storms as large as planets, creating a massive, silver-azure mosaic across its gaseous surface. Silhouetted against the mottled, sunward face of the gas giant was a host of asteroids, representing but a fraction of the great belt of Audo, fifth planet of the Caymar System.

Nearer to the heavy freighter than the asteroids and similarly silhouetted against the azure giant was a broken vessel, cruiser sized at least, and from the look of it the vultures had already arrived. Smaller craft, no doubt helmed by salvaging crews of dubious legitimacy, clustered around the durasteel carcass. The sustained burns of laser cutters were visible even at this distance as the spacers dissected the wreck, hopefully only after checking for survivors. Accidents happened, of course, and on the fringes of the galaxy they happened more frequently than usual. That could be chalked up to a lack of government oversight and poor observation of safety protocols, but there was no shortage of scrapper captains who were very aware that accidents were cheaper than rescue operations. The long arm of the law was limited in its reach out there, and the profit margins were tight.

Not that the freighter’s captain could judge his fellow spacers; he was something of a vulture himself, after all.

The freighter captain sat on the bridge of the Balleen-class, situated comfortably in a seat specially modified to accommodate his small frame. Less than a meter and a half in height, he’d had the captain’s chair redone when he’d purchased the freighter all those years ago. It had been cheaper to put in a chair tailored to his small, reptilian frame than it was to renovate the entire bridge and get it done custom. That said, his feet did not touch the ground, and he didn’t like that. Never had.

That aside, it was comfortable enough otherwise, and the best seat in the house, for that matter. The bridge’s transparisteel viewport, near ten meters across, gave him a commanding view of the space beyond the ship’s prow. He kept an eye on the distant salvage craft as he set the freighter’s course and brought the ship to a nice, fuel-efficient burn of about forty-five percent of engine capacity. He plotted it such that he gave the scrappers a wide berth, but sure enough, the comms array notified him with a gentle ring that his ship was being hailed. Jealously guarding their ill-gotten gains, he expected.

The Nosaurian kicked his dangling feet as he swiveled in the chair, angling for the comms. He engaged the comm channel with the push of a button. A screen to his left flickered to life, and he looked over to find a human face considering him. Not that the captain had much of a sense of it – humans were so fleshy and soft-looking, it almost made his stomach turn no matter what they looked like – but this was not an attractive human, as far as he could tell. The man on the other end of the comms had a crooked nose, lopsided jaw, and some strange pattern tattooed in red and black running across his face

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and the captain got the sense that he was going to have to kick the conversation off.

“This is Zatticus Blackbark, Captain of the Hotspur,” the captain said. The human nodded but didn’t say anything in response. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Zatticus prompted after a brief wait.

“Captain Blackbark, I am Ghosu Daan, captain of the independent salvager Udene,” the man introduced himself in turn. He spoke with a thick accent Zatticus couldn’t place, and with forceful bravado. “You would be wise to be keeping your distance,” Daan advised him. No doubt this man was, at best, little better than a pirate.

“Don’t you worry, Udene, I’m burning for Audo Station. I’ll be sure to give you space,” Zatticus answered, raising his hands and showing the viewscreen his open palms. The feed cut out without further conversation, and Zatticus adjusted course to give the Udene a little more room. Better to be safe than sorry, and it didn’t add much time to the slow haul to Audo Station.

Audo Station was less of a trade hub and more of a dying boom town. When the Caymar System had been first charted some ninety years ago, explorers had found it to be resource rich and ripe for exploitation. Caymar itself, a cold but habitable alpine world, was nothing special. It had all the basic resources necessary to support a colony but lacked anything in demand across the greater galaxy. Audo, on the other hand, was a different story.

In addition to the gases that could be extracted from the planet itself, Audo’s planetary belt was particularly valuable. The asteroids contained vast deposits of lommite ore, one of the key materials involved in the production of transparisteel. Before long, Audo had become a prosperous center of industry in the Daalang Sector, and the mines, refineries and shipping lines of the then newly constructed station were working around the clock to extract, refine and ship lommite. Unfortunately, initial estimates of the size of the lommite deposits were overly generous. The ore ran dry sooner than expected, the credits stopped flowing and the refineries shut down.

These days, Audo Station was nothing more than a pitstop for the occasional refuel. It was included on only a handful of starcharts, and those residents still remaining were either poor, independent miners eking out a living scrounging amid the long-mined out asteroids or working gas harvesting operations on the planet itself. The ore refineries of Audo Station had either been shut down or repurposed to serve as gas refineries, extracting what quantities of marketable tibanna, kesium and deuterium could be refined from the low-quality raw product brought up from the gaseous world.

This was obviously not the most profitable trade route this side of Daalang, but the Caymar System and Audo Station had another thing going for it – it was a safe haven for outlaws. With the Hutt Civil Wars drawing to a quiet close, there was a sudden overabundance of weaponry across Hutt Space for which there was no shortage of buyers elsewhere in the galaxy. Mid Rim pirate operations like the Jareer Syndicate, Zatticus’s buyer at Audo Station, had a constant demand for arms and armament that was difficult to fill through legal channels. So, in addition to the basic supplies to be sold at Audo Station to legitimate customers, one of the modular cargo containers aboard the Hotspur, supplied by Zatticus’s contacts on Nar Shaddaa and carefully omitted from the ship’s manifest, was stocked top to bottom with blasters, power cells, and ion warheads. That was where the real money was made.

The door slid open behind him, and the sound of whirring robotic joints met Zatticus’s ears.

“Your caf, captain,” came a synthetic voice, and the Nosaurian swiveled around. Even sitting upright in his elevated chair, the thin, humanoid droid towered over him, and it held the cup of caf just short of the captain’s face.

“Thank you, Tobi,” Zatticus said, reaching up and taking it from the droid’s outstretched arm. The droid’s fingers gripped the cup for a half-second longer than a sentient would, but aside from that it was a seamless transfer of caf from one hand to another. Zatticus wasn’t a droid tech by any stretch, but he’d done a decent job refurbishing the old droid, and it had taken a bit of complex circuitry work to make it function again. He was proud it was functioning anywhere near a hundred percent.

Zatticus had picked up T0-B1, or Tobi, back on Bracca some six standard months. The droid was a Clone Wars era model, a hundred twenty years old at least, and had a hole through his chest where a blaster bolt had pierced him in some battle long ago. There was still some Confederate pride among the Nosaurian people, and even a washed-up smuggler like Zatticus felt it now and again. He purchased the fallen soldier of the Confederacy for less than a hundred credits, and spent about four times that amount patching him back up. It hadn’t been easy, but it was nice having company aboard the Hotspur. Even though the heavy freighter was designed to be operable by a single crewman despite its size, it helped to have an extra pair of hands around.

“Tobi,” Zatticus said as the droid took the copilot’s seat, “could you run a scan on that wreck?” It paid to be careful, in Zatticus's experience, and there was no sense leaving questions up in the air. Tobi, without further prompting, began diligently tapping at the controls, and considered the viewscreen before him. Zatticus took a sip of caf as the droid considered its findings.

“Scanners indicate this to be the hull of a Carida-class light cruiser,” Tobi announced. That perked Zatticus up a bit. That was a New Republic warship being torn apart by salvagers. “Relative to the local sun , the largest hull fragments are traveling at an average velocity of–”

“Can you tell what happened to it?” Zatticus asked, cutting the droid off mid-sentence.

“I am afraid that analysis is beyond our current software capabilities,” came Tobi’s answer, but Zatticus waved him off.

“Broaden our scopes. Run a full spectrum scan of the area and prep a holo,” the captain said. “Give me full data on relative velocities and trajectories of the wreckage.”

“Roger, roger,” the B1 said cheerily.

Twenty minutes later, Zatticus and Tobi stood in the what had been advertised upon his purchase of the vessel as the ship’s conference room. It was the largest room on the ship other than those intended for cargo, and boasted a large, round table ringed by a dozen chairs. The idea was that the ship’s captain would have a more corporate environment in which conduct business. It was stately, if rarely used, in Zatticus’s experience. Most real traders did their work from the bridge, himself included.

That said, the holoprojector in here was enormous, and it allowed the pair to project the holographic rendering of the space in question at a much larger scale than they would be able to up in the bridge. This was helpful, because they had a lot of space to look at. And so, standing with Tobi before a holographic rendering of ten thousand kilometer stretch of space, Zatticus assessed the situation.

One of the most useful rules of physics for a star captain to keep in mind while traversing the galaxy was that, in space, once an object started moving in a direction it would keep moving that way until it bumped into something. The Carida-class wreckage, like any piece of matter in space, and been drifting through space, and the other fragments of destroyed ship were scattered across the three-dimensional rendering of the scanning range. Zatticus had seen the aftermath of ships that had experienced core meltdowns and critical engine failures – he’d expected something like that, a large cloud of debris expanding rapidly outwards in all directions. He was surprised to find that this was not the case here.

Rather, the other fragments of the cruiser the Hotspur’s sensors managed to pick up were scattered and inconsistent, traveling at variable speeds and angles away from the main wreckage. The only thing they seemed to have in common was that most of the debris was traveling inward toward Audo. Then it clicked.

“This ship was attacked,” he said aloud. Did he hear a note of shock in his own voice? He pointed at the fragments, which Tobi had helpfully marked with vector lines to denote speed and direction. “Look at the angles on the debris – the ship fell apart while it was moving, different pieces coming off at different times. And most of it’s heading toward the planet, which would make sense if someone was over there,” he said, moving his finger to the left of the Carida-class to point, “shooting at the thing while it was moving.”

Tobi didn’t respond, and Zatticus looked up at him. “Am I making sense?” the Nosaurian asked.

“I agree with your assessment,” Tobi answered.

“Thank you,” Zatticus said, and then his eyes fell on the asteroid field. The field was dense – too dense for a broad spectrum scan to get a good rendering of the area. What kind of ship could tangle with a New Republic and leave it a burning wreck in the black? The kind that could lie in wait in the shadows of an asteroid belt, maybe?

He grit his teeth. A bad habit, probably. You only get one set of teeth, his mother had always said. “To hell with fuel efficiency,” Zatticus growled. “Tobi, bring us up to a seventy percent burn for Audo and start running a scan on that belt. I’ll be back in a minute.”
@Jster @Azarthes @Sole @Jorick @mdk @ImANargleHunter @Lady Squee @BrobyDDark @LightAlysCity @Doivid @RusalkaRabbit @Halo @Smiral @Dervish @Cpt Toellner @Hank @Tempest @The Nexerus [@vampgirl101] @Taaj @Tyler Night @Antarctic Termite @natsumehack @Seravee @Ace @Svenn @Awson @TP @Missy @Guru @Esper @Stark @Larfleeze @Gia @Turtlicious @BlueRose @Drakel @Rusalka @Zed @Alex @Griever @Beatrix @Ace of Spades @Mammoth @Alphakoka @Kill Bones @PaladinFoster @Gunneh @Rilla @Myyt @Ava @Rocketman @Foster @Herzinth @Mahz

Good afternoon everyone, thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Today we're going to discuss the proposed sequel to Spam, which I have tentatively titled Spam 2, which will be Pawnee, Indiana's first premiere, high-end, all-media entertainment conglomerate.

I'm talking TikTok, Instagram, Twitch, OnlyFans, Twitter, YouTube Red, Pornhub Live.

Thanks again for coming to my TED Talk.

Kind regards,
Zatticus, the Nosaurian Smuggler

Name: Z. Zatticus Blackbark

Occupation and Affiliation: Freighter Captain

Description: Z. Zatticus Blackbark, a nut-brown skinned Nosaurian native of New Plympto, stands at a sturdy four foot five inches (four-six on a good day). Though maybe a little paunchier than he’d prefer, Zatticus is solidly built and strong despite his stature. He doesn’t keep up appearances, to say the least, maintaining a look he’d describe as “scruffy.” Some would call it slovenly. He has a rugged face, and in his younger years may have been an attractive prospect as a mate (to a fellow Nosaurian, that is).

Zatticus keeps a blaster pistol holstered on his hip, a staple in his line of work, and he’s not a half-bad shot to boot. He's more of a pilot than a gunslinger, and although his ship, the heavily modified heavy freighter Hotspur, isn’t much to look at, it's his most prized possession. As a heavy freighter, Hotspur isn't built for speed, forcing Zatticus to rely on good old fashioned cleverness and smuggler’s cunning when transporting less-than-legal cargo to supplement his income from legitimate trade and salvage.

Zyberio Zatticus Blackbark was hatched on New Plympto, one of a clutch of eight, and never longed for anything more than to get off-world. Opportunity came knocking with the commencement of the Corellian Conflict, the war of independence that saw the separation of many former Republic worlds from the once again reestablished New Republic and the foundation of the Independent Systems Alliance.

Zatticus enlisted with a New Plympto militia company at the tender age of twelve standard years (young even for a Nosaurian) and fought on a number of fronts throughout the Mid Rim, gaining experience as a mechanic, soldier and even chef while in the field. After several years of service, he invested his wartime earnings into a beaten up junker of a heavy freighter and took to the stars. He named the Baleen-class the Hotspur after an old fling (not particularly flattering to her, no doubt) and quickly made a career out of both legitimate and illegitimate trade and salvage operations across the galaxy. Over the past thirty-something years plying the galaxy's hyperlanes, Zatticus has worked everywhere from Empress Teta to Tatooine, and has friends and contacts in high and low (but mostly low) places all over.

Today, Zatticus operates out of Daalang, taking advantage of the sector's complicated and confusing web of overlapping jurisdictions as an opportunity to ply his trade as a smuggler and scrapper.
Please find below a sample character template - you are welcome to use your own, so long as (at minimum) it covers the below items.

Character Template

Name: [Your Character's Name]

Occupation and Affiliation: [i.e. Knight of Corellia, ISA Starfighter Pilot, Imperial Authority Stormtrooper, Smuggler, etc.]

Description: [Include such details as age, species, clothing, weapons on person, details regarding appearance, whatever suits you]

Background: [A short and sweet, third-person account of who your character is, what he does, and what he's been up to prior to the commencement of his or her participation in this story]

Discord | Interest Check | Characters


“Scout One, this is Watchtower,” came a refined Core World accent through Loren’s headset, “do you have eyes on the ship?”

Commander Loren Embrei of the Republic Starfighter Corp opened the channel with a touch of the console. “Watchtower, this is Scout One, I should have eyes shortly,” she answered swiftly. Behind Watchtower's exceedingly polite voice was Watchtower Actual, Captain Vao Tua, a rugged Nautolan with a well known impatient streak who was not one wait for an answer. With a gentle pull on the control column, the Ar-Wing’s maneuvering thrusters brought her up and over an asteroid and, upon cresting it, she brought the arrow-shaped craft into a zero-g strafe as her sensors scanned the area. But they found nothing.

“Jazail, do you have anything on scanners?” Loren asked into her comms.

“Nothing but rocks, Captain,” her wingman answered, keeping his starfighter on her left as they moved through the void. Loren’s readout showed the same – nothing but rocks in a strip-mined stretch of asteroid belt. She switched her scanners to detect lifeforms but, again, nothing.

A proximity alert flashed on the screen, and she gently brought her Ar-Wing out of the trajectory of a slow-moving asteroid. She looked up from the console and out into space. Unlikely as it was to simply look up and find what she was looking for in the black, something about searching with her actual eyes satisfied a natural, terrestrial-born instinct in the hind of her brain. But there was nothing, just gently drifting rocks and nothingness to her left, and a great, swirling blue gas giant far to her left.

Jazail’s voice came through her headset’s comms. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Captain.” She felt the same – it was eerie.

This outing had begun when Watchtower had picked up a distress signal shortly after the Autumn Gold dropped out of hyperspace in the Caymar system. There was nothing unusual about this – when command had woken Loren up to fly recon for a rescue operation, she’d dressed herself while cursing whatever idiot rockhoppers had stranded themselves on the job. Sure enough, when she arrived at the briefing room, she found herself considering a tactical holomap of an asteroid belt.

Captain Vao Tua, Watchtower himself, delivered a brief overview of the situation in his standard, gruff tones – an Adventurer-class mining barge was broadcasting a repeating distress signal from within a forty-kilometer range of planetary belt above the gas giant Audo. With the distressed ship failing to respond to wideband transmissions and the Autumn Gold unable to detect the vessel on scanners from ten klicks out, it fell to Loren and Jazail to scout out the situation.

Still bleary-eyed, she and Jazail made their way to the hangar thereafter, trading barbs as they went. They had a good rapport, and as much as Loren was no fan of flying anti-piracy missions on the frontier of allied space, she couldn’t complain too much – she liked her wingman and she liked the fighter she flew.

The Ar-Wing was Kuat Systems Engineering’s latest design and a true next-generation starfighter. A descendent of the venerable A-Wing of the Alliance to Restore the Republic’s naval armory, the Ar-Wing was a multirole strike fighter with omnidirectional thrust capability, armed, armored and agile such that it could tangle with any starfighter in the galaxy and come out on top. It was a dream to fly, but the speed was a lot even for a veteran pilot like herself. As much as suiting up and boarding the Ar-Wing gave her nostalgic chills recalling her childhood dream of serving as a starfighter pilot in the Republic Navy, her stomach had never gotten completely accustomed to that first hit of speed.

And so, in less than a half hour, she’d gone from enjoying her mandated sleeping schedule to nearly vomiting caf as the first g-forces hit her on her way out of the cruiser’s hangar bay. And with that, she was well on her way to facilitating the rescue of some asteroid miners.

The Adventurer-class was nowhere in sight, though, but the signal was still strong. They were on top of it, even. Something in her gut curled in on itself. “Let’s get out of here, Jaz,” Loren said, and she switched channels.

“Watchtower, this is Scout One, we do not have eyes. Returning to base now.”

Jazail saw it before she did. “Captain, take a look at your tacmap, I think I found something.” Loren switched her console display to a holoprojection of her ship’s immediate surroundings and found that Jazail had marked a floating asteroid among the dozens on screen.

She maneuvered back and around, orienting the nose of her Ar-Wing so that she was facing the rock, approaching at a slow speed, and found herself on Jazail’s tail. And then she saw it too – there in the glow of the light reflected off Audo’s surface, nestled in a shallow crater on the pockmarked asteroid, was a small ship, not much bigger than her own fighter.

“What is that?” Jazail asked.

Loren utilized the Ar-Wing’s omnidirectional capabilities, maneuvering to assess the ship from a few angles. It looked very familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Trapezoidal wings, a centrally mounted cockpit, what looked like at least two engines – it all felt familiar. It had that sinister black and durasteel color scheme of a TIE fighter, but if it was a TIE… and then it clicked. Those wings were in a landing configuration.

“I’m going to run a scan,” Jazail said, his voice somewhere distant in the back of her mind as she eyeballed a firing trajectory and pulled the trigger. The dumb-fired missile streaked through the void and evaporated the fighter in an explosion that scattered durasteel and rock into space. “Commander?” Jazail asked, shocked, but no sooner did he speak than did Loren’s console light up with active combat warnings. Her tacmap bloomed with sudden alerts as her sensors detected unknown craft after unknown craft emerge from hiding amongst the asteroids, and she gunned her engines.

As the twin ion engines ramped up to as hard a burn as the Ar-Wing could manage, she finally saw it –silhouetted perfectly against the gas giant, maybe a kilometer or so off to her right, a black shape descended from a craggy asteroid, spider-like, twisting and unfolding its s-foils in a way that reminded her, detachedly, of a blossoming flower unfurling its petals.

“Watchtower, this is Scout One, we have enemy contact!” Loren shouted into her comms. She received some response back but missed it entirely as she focused in on the descending hostile.

Her overhead HUD locked onto it, and her console displayed a three-dimensional rendering of the fighter, which it identified as a TIE Intercessor. Loren had only seen these fighters, the Remnant’s latest strike fighter design, in combat sims while training on Carida. They were fast and dangerous, and her system detected five of them on the field.

“Scout Two, on my wing,” she ordered, and Loren banked right and accelerated toward the one she spied out launching from its asteroid perch. The Intercessor bore down on her, spitting green fire. She spun the Ar-Wing into a roll as her twin autolasers locked on, and then fired. A red lance punched through the Intercessor’s eyeball, spearing ship and pilot with explosive effect.

“Scratch one, Jaz,” she almost cheerfully announced into her comms, coming out of the roll and realigning her fighter. The exuberance that came with that small victory dissipated almost immediately.

“I need some help here, Captain!” She searched her console wildly at that, and saw the tactical display showed that the four remaining Intercessors were all gunning for her wingman. She’d lost him off her wing – he’d dived deeper into the asteroid field with the Intercessors in hot pursuit. With the assistance of her canopy’s heads up display, she was able to spot him in quick order. She could see the flashes as Jazail deployed chaff and flares, the brief flashes of fire in the void as space superiority missiles went wide, and green laser fire.

She dove after them, weaving past asteroid and rock fragments while her particle shields intercepted stray microasteroids too small to evade, and closed the distance in short order. She opened fire, but was too late – she watched in horror as Jazail’s Ar-Wing disintegrated under green fire even as she reduced an Intercessor to dust.

She pushed away an urge to look desperately through her sensors for some evidence that Jazail ejected – instead, she doggedly pursued the nearest of the three remaining TIEs, autolasers punching holes in asteroids but only placing glancing hits on her target. The others peeled off, no doubt to get her in their scopes before blowing her ship apart. As grim as the situation looked, she felt her stomach drop even further as her systems alerted her to an inbound ship leaving hyperspace in her vicinity.

She looked out to the Autumn Gold, some ten kilometers out, and saw to her horror a massive vessel return to sublight speeds right on top of the Republic cruiser. It was a Star Destroyer, and within seconds of arriving the great battlecruiser had engaged the Autumn Gold in a close quarters brawl. She watched emerald turbolaser fire shred the Autumn Gold’s hull, transfixed, for a second too long. Her Ar-Wing’s left primary engine exploded as one of the TIEs raked her ship with laser fire.

Jolted, she desperately tried to maintain control over the vessel, cutting power to the starboard maneuvering engines just in time to avoid spinning out of control. She was just about to consider ejecting when she looked to her right to see an asteroid all too close. She was vaguely aware of her left wing being sheared from her fighter as her head connected with the plastisteel canopy and the lights went out.

Welcome to our first Star Wars 77 adventure, set 77 years after the end of Episode IX (112 ABY)! In the Daalang Campaign, the galaxy contends with a new and dangerous foe in the Daalang Sector, a warlord intent on reclaiming the First Order's mantle decades later as the premier power in the galaxy.

Please join the Discord for more information, we would be happy to have you!

I understand the link in the original post may have expired! Please find above a new link, which will definitely give you access to the Discord channel.
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