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I like Star Wars.

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This is an idea I've been kicking around for a while.

Using the Fantasy Flight Games Star Wars RPG system, I'd like to create a West Marches-style Star Wars campaign focused on a fledgling Rebellion force located in the Daalang Sector fighting against the Empire. Rather than having a consistent campaign with same characters showing up each regular session, we will instead do a number of one shots, operations which will contribute to the Rebel Alliance's efforts in the sector. Each one-shot will have a different party and a different, tangentially related objective to the progressing, overarching narrative we're collectively creating.

For example, if a group of players secures a new asteroid base in Operation #7, a different group of players may be tasked with chasing some pirates out of the asteroid belt in Operation #11.

The sky is really the limit for what we can do, but I'd like to start off small. Hopefully, over the course of the missions, we will grow Sector Force Daalang from a small spark into a fully-fledged rebel force. Operation I: Snowblind is currently in development, and the party involved will be tasked with scouting out and securing a derelict mining facility on an uninhabited moon.

If you're interested at all and want to check it out, please come by the Discord, where we are putting together resources and a hub for the team. Link: discord.gg/BT7Rz2d
A simple, straightforward characters. I like it.

Obviously, there’s probably plenty you could expand upon here or there, if you felt so inclined, but you’ve got one approval.
Thank you for your submission!

I have some comments on the character, and look forward to sharing them with you. Assuming Discord is the best place to reach you, I'll drop you a direct message.
This is an experimental character sheet, testing a new format for possible implementation.

Jaren Jast, Captain of the Jackdaw


Name: Jaren Jast
Occupation: Free Trader, Independent Contractor & Captain of the Jackdaw
Species: Human
Homeworld: Corellia
Age: 35
Description

Physical
Jaren Jast stands at a hair over six feet in height and keeps in excellent shape, a habit he picked up during his military career and has carried with him into his post-war life. His athleticism has been exceptionally valuable across his highly varied occupational activities, which have left him with a number of scars from blade and blaster alike. He has further marked his body up with a few tattoos, some examples being a crossed vibroknife and blaster that was the symbol of his Republic Army company, and a Besadii clan symbol on his left forearm.

He sports mid-length, dirty blonde hair which he keeps swept to the side and back with the assistance of a bit of hair product, and a five o’clock shadow that frequently threatens to turn into a full, scraggly beard. He could stand to shave more often.

He dresses casually, mixing sleek Core World fashion with Outer Rim flair, typically wearing light armorweave, an oxblood leather jacket he marks among his favorite pieces of apparel, and slick matte leather boots. At his hip, he holsters a heavy blaster pistol, black and bulky but sophisticatedly patterned with gold trim and an ivory grip.

Visual Reference.

Psychological
Jaren Jast is a product of his time and his experiences. He spent ten years as a soldier fighting the most devastating conflict the galaxy has ever seen, first on the battlefield, and then behind enemy lines as a special forces operator. Cool, collected, and exceptionally efficient, Jaren was selected to take on a special forces role not only for his combat effectiveness and performance in the field, but for his capacity for ruthless efficacy in the prosecution of the war on the Sith Empire. He is disciplined, driven, and exceptionally strong willed in the pursuit of his objectives.

All the same, Jaren is likeable. He’s charismatic, even charming in a pinch, armed with roguish wit and a quick tongue that makes friends and acquaintances come easy. He’s daring, sometimes heroic, and possessed of a moral character and strong belief in those rights and freedoms enshrined in the Republic’s constitution that often puts him at philosophical odds with his seedier cast of clients and associates. Ultimately, he thinks of himself as a good person, but he’s never hesitated to draw his weapon when the situation calls for it, and he doesn’t shy away from the ugliest aspects of his work. Even in the tenuous peace established by the Treaty of Coruscant, the times and his experiences have left Jaren with a capacity for a violence that seems at odds with his personality.

Skills & Talents

Marksmanship [Advanced] – Jast has over two decades’ worth of experience handling blasters in all shapes and sizes, with a considerable amount of that experience coming in the form of military training and combat. A talented shot to begin with, years of practice with blaster rifles, carbines, and pistols has made him nothing short of deadly with all of them. Since the end of the war, his time working the Outer Rim as a gunslinger has made him well-practiced with lighter armament than the Republic Army’s standard, and he’s a masterful quick-draw artist. Rare is the opponent who can outduel Jast in a gunslinging shootout.

Warfare [Advanced] – Jast’s years of military experience has made him a skilled tactician on the battlefield. Cool and collected in the face of armed opposition, Jast has more than the experience and training necessary to lead a fireteam into battle and neutralize enemy combatants.

Close Quarters Combat [Advanced] – Rounding out his military skills is his intimate familiarity with the use of a vibroknife. While no master of Teras Kasi, Jast excels in quarters combat, armed or otherwise.

Intelligence [Intermediate] – A great deal of Jast’s work at the end of the war, through his time with the SIS, and into his adventures in the Outer Rim has revolved around the gathering of intelligence. Whether the job entailed debriefing an Imperial defector, interrogating a prisoner, or plying a confidante for more information than he’s willing to divulge, Jast is a dab enough hand at it all. Working as a less-than-licensed bounty hunter, enforcer, smuggler, and private intelligence operator has only made him sharper on this front.

Gunnery [Intermediate] – Jast is competent in the use of stationary weapons emplacements, particularly those laser turrets on the Jackdaw. While not a focus of his military career, the use of these weapons has been vital to his operations on the Outer Rim, and with his pilot, Telsa Jetstar, at the helm of the Jackdaw, Jast defaults to a gunnery position when it comes to ship-to-ship combat.

Demolitions [Intermediate] – Over the course of the war, Jast made enough use of explosives, be they grenades or plastics, that he has a decent enough understanding of their usage today. It’s not a skill that comes up frequently, but when it does, he knows how to direct a blast radius.

Piloting [Basic] – Before Telsa, Jast had to pilot the Jackdaw himself. Not much of a pilot, virtual sims and trial and error have made him decent enough at the helm of the freighter to fly it out of port and get himself out of a sticky situation from time to time. Outside of flying the Jackdaw and the standard swoop or landspeeder, though, he’s not much of a driver or pilot and can’t be expected to perform any fancy maneuvers in the field.

Mechanics [Basic] – Jast has a basic understanding of how to keep machines operating and is able to lend a competent hand when it comes to the maintenance of his ship.

Slicing [Basic] – Jast has a basic understanding of slicing, and with the right tools can get himself into a computer system. Without a good data breaker though, he’s not good for much on this end, and he’s certainly no replacement for a competent tech.

Obligations, Flaws & Weaknesses

Any Port in a Storm - Jaren Jast is an independent free trader without allegiances to any government, Republic or otherwise, beyond his status as a citizen. This lack of loyalty, however, runs both ways. While his independence affords him a great deal of freedom, his ability to fall back on a support network is never a sure thing, and he must take what opportunities he can get to purchase safe harbor in times of danger, or even just to resupply his ship and crew. Only through cultivating and maintaining his connections is he able to do this, which can mean trading favors he'd rather not trade, and associating with figures with whom he'd rather not associate. In blazing their own trail across the galaxy, Jast and his crew have to work with what they have.

Strength in Numbers - By any measure, Jaren Jast is a skilled special forces operator and a talented intelligence agent, and together these make him a valuable commodity in the mercenary business. However, the Jackdaw's operations involve much more than shooting blasters and tracking marks. Jast doesn't have the technical acumen to keep the keep the Jackdaw flying, the medical expertise to patch up injured crew, or the piloting experience to helm the Jackdaw at a level of expertise that warrants his fees. Without his ship or key members of his crew, Jast's operation falls apart, and he's little more than a particularly talented cartel enforcer on the Rim.

The Long Arm of the Empire - The Nar Shaddaa job was a disaster, no two ways about. A valuable Imperial scientist ready and willing to defect to the Republic with priceless information was assassinated, one of Jast's crew was gunned down in an alley, and the team was forced to split up in retreat. This fiasco culminated in the massacre of nearly a hundred passengers aboard a passenger freighter over Tatooine. This was all done on the orders of Cipher 12. This cipher agent, a counterintelligence specialist, is an exceptional intelligence offer whose mission directive is to root out and destroy the Strategic Intelligence Service's newly discovered connection to the Hutts. Jast is squarely in his sights, and Operation Blackwatch, Cipher 12's task force dedicated to identifying the Jackdaw and eliminating her crew, just might have the resources to do it.

One Man's Interest Payment is Another Man's Free Cash Flow - The Jackdaw may very well be the fastest and most powerful XS stock light freighter in the galaxy. Incredibly fast, exceptionally nimble, capable of changing its transponder signal on a whim, and armed and armored with milspec modifications, Jast has the good fortune to fly this powerful machine in the course of his operations. It also happened to cost a good fortune. interested in outfitting an elite team of criminal operators, Salvadda the Artful and a few similarly powerful crime lords on Nar Shaddaa provided the financing for the vessel's purchase and extensive modifications, and Jast owes them a sizable debt to be paid in credits, favors and blood.

Associates & Adversaries

Associates
Telsa Jetstar – Jaren’s closest friend and second in command. Telsa was a highly decorated ace fighter pilot with the Republic Navy during the war and retired from military service shortly after the Treaty of Coruscant. Jaren recruited Telsa for his crew by poaching her from Coronet Analytica; Jaren’s brother had her shortlisted as a strong prospective agent for the private intelligence organization. Visual Reference.

Valbra Syndulla – Jaren’s long-suffering engineer, Valbra Syndulla is the chief technician aboard Jaren’s ship. Between Telsa’s exceptionally high performance requirements and Jaren’s insistence on turning the machine into as flexible a base of operations as possible, by all rights the vessel should have a skilled engineering crew to tend to its maintenance. Unfortunately for Val, she’s the only one they’ve got. She is exceptionally skilled, however, and manages to keep the thing flying. Definitely a full-time job, though. Visual Reference.

Boqorro Enbara – Contrary to popular belief, Hutt Space and Nar Shaddaa do, in fact, have laws and criminals. Boqorro Enbara, the imposing six-foot-six gunman who serves as the crew’s muscle, was once a prosecutor on Nar Shaddaa. A tragic turn of events borne out of prosecuting the wrong criminal led Boqorro to the underworld, where he was swallowed up by the criminal underbelly of the Smuggler’s Moon. A decade later, by then a skilled and ruthless hitman for the Besadii Cartel, he sought to right his course, and found an opportunity to escape the Hutts and find redemption as a member of Jaren’s crew. Visual Reference.

Jacen Jast – Jaren’s brother, Jacen, is also a veteran of the Great War and now works as a director with Coronet Analytica, a Corellian private intelligence firm. Jacen is Jaren’s primary avenue of support, as part of Jaren’s compensation for his work with Coronet Analytica is the provisioning of his ship and crew with supplies. Jacen is a well-connected and powerful figure in the intelligence community, and has deep connections with the Strategic Intelligence Service, his largest client.

Salvadda the Artful – Jaren Jast’s extralegal operations in Hutt territory have allowed him to develop connections and relationships with contacts in the heart of the galaxy’s underworld. One such contact is Salvadda Besadii Vizago, better known as Salvadda the Artful, a Hutt crime lord who makes his home and base of power in Sector-City 47 on Nar Shaddaa. Salvadda is a crafty and cunning Hutt, and these traits, together with his status as criminal royalty, has made him a powerful player in Hutt Space. Salvadda is one of Jaren’s biggest clients, and the crew of the Jackdaw often finds themselves carrying out operations on behalf of the Hutt’s arm of the Besadii kajidic.

Drango – Drango is a Rodian fixer for the House of Samur-Tong, one of the premier houses of the Bounty Hunters Guild. Jaren is not a licensed bounty hunter, and does not carry out sanctioned contracts on behalf of Samur-Tong, but Drango does have work for the crew of the Jackdaw from time to time, and has proved a useful asset to Jaren and his associates in the past.

Adversaries
Cipher 12 – Jaren’s primary foil is one of his own making. While on a job for Coronet Analytica and the SIS, Jaren and his crew made a few critical mistakes covering their track and trusted the wrong people, and as a result the Empire has caught wind of his status as a Republic affiliate. Though the Empire has yet to discover his identity, counterintelligence specialist Cipher 12, an agent for the Ministry of Intelligence, has been assigned to investigate the job and has poured a great deal of effort and resources into hunting the crew of the Jackdaw. To this effect, he is assisted by Deklen Ordo.

Deklen Ordo – A Mandalorian mercenary with deep professional loyalty to his chief client, the Sith Empire and the Ministry of Intelligence, Deklen Ordo has faced down Jaren and his team on more than one occasion. In the depths of the Nar Shaddaa undercity, Deklen and the crew of the Jackdaw traded blaster fire and the Mandalorian foiled the mission by killing the target of Jaren’s operation, as well as one of Jaren’s crew to boot. The crew’s escape from Nar Shaddaa and Cipher-12’s agents culminated in a pitched gun battle aboard a passenger freighter over Tatooine, where Jaren only narrowly evaded the Mandalorian’s grasp. Incredibly dangerous and twice defied already, Deklen is hellbent on tracking down and eliminating Jast and his operation.

Assets & Equipment

The Jackdaw – Jast’s personal ship is a heavily modified XS Stock Light Freighter. With the assistance of his brother, Jacen, and the financing of some powerful and disreputable types out of Nar Shaddaa, the Jackdaw has been transformed from a standard all-purpose hauler to a nimble smuggling vessel. Telsa Jetstar, veteran interceptor pilot, demanded the best performance out of the vessel possible, and Jast obliged as best he could.

The Jackdaw is one of the fastest and most agile ships of its class to be found, and sports firepower beyond that of a standard armed freighter. In addition to the twin laser turrets and forward mounted cannons, the Jackdaw is equipped with a missile launcher capable of being fit with a variety of warheads. The Jackdaw most frequently carries a payload of cluster headed ion missiles capable of penetrating standard point defense measures and disabling smaller vessels.

The primary drawback of this impressive vessel is its exorbitant cost, both in terms of the debt incurred putting it together in the first place and the maintenance, fuel and resupply expenses involved in keeping it flying. It's also more than a little memorable, to those paying attention, as Jast and his crew have discovered with their intersections with Cipher 12 and his agents. All said, though, it keeps the crew alive, and that's something.

Arms & Armament – Jast’s heavy blaster pistol is only one of the tools of the trade he keeps handy. Jast has a collection of firearms that includes a variety of blaster pistols, a few carbines, and a pair of rifles. He also keeps a small complement of explosives, just in case. For personal protection, Jast has a respectable selection of armorweave to choose from, allowing him to adapt based on the needs of a given job, and for particularly dangerous operations he keeps a suit of ablative battle armor. It’s nothing to so heavy as the trooper armor he wore during the war, but it’s sufficient to protect him on the Jackdaw’s most dangerous operations.

Background

Jast frequently wonders how his life would have been different if he had been born twenty years earlier. As it were, though, he was born at the dawn of the Galactic War, which made all the difference to a man who joined the Republic Army as soon as he came of age.

Jast attended an accelerated training program at the Republic Defense Academy on Carida, where he immediately excelled. Funny, likeable, competent, and a team-oriented soldier, he made many friends at the Academy. Most of them were dead not too long after they deployed a year later. Jast spent the next few years wondering when he’d be the next to go, but he was good enough to keep from making fatal mistakes, and too lucky to die when his fate was out of his hands. The flak never caught his gunship, the orbital fire never targeted his position, the grenades were always a few meters or more away, and the guy next to him caught a blaster bolt more often than he could count.

The brutality ground down on him over time. As the war dragged on into its later years, Jast had become effective, efficient, and ruthless. His aptitude on the field, and his relationship with his brother at the SIS, made him a shortlisted pick for recruitment into the special activities arm of Republic Military Command. He was brought on to a force reconnaissance company, and the work of prosecuting the Great War only got worse, from his perspective. Shooting an enemy, that he could get used to. Slipping a vibroknife into the joint between the helmet and chest plating of a Sith trooper, well, he could get good at it, but never comfortable with it. There was a stark difference between metaphorical and literal blood on his hands, as far as he could reason.

And then the war ended. Coruscant had been devastated and a treaty had been signed, and Jast’s team packed up and went home, rocketing offworld from a forsaken swamp planet that had been heavily contested for no good reason and which had now been shunted off to the Empire’s swath of conquered territory for even less. In the time between the signing of the treaty and the communications reaching his command, he’d killed two people. Not even Sith troopers, local militia armed with crude rocket propelled ordinance, press ganged into the war, that he’d lined up with the scout rifle and put bolts through. Just because the holocomm hadn’t come through quick enough.

He came back to the Republic having killed a lot of people and having lost a lot of friends because, as far as he could tell, Coruscant had finally experienced the war. His transition to the post-war period was not graceful, to say the least.

He transitioned to the SIS with a plan to cut his teeth on intelligence work with the agency before moving to the private sector, where his brother, Jacen, was now an established leader with private intelligence firm Coronet Analytica. The work consisted of interrogations, debriefings, support for covert and clandestine activity across former Republic worlds now under Imperial control, among other tasks. It wasn’t enough for him, and sure enough, when an opportunity arose, he took it.

Three years into his career with the SIS, he led his first operation to Nar Shaddaa, Sector-City 47, where he would meet Salvadda the Artful, a Besadii kajidic clansmember and leader of a small but powerful cartel. The objective was to secure a supply line to the Corsin Resistance, the fledgling but fervent rebel movement in the now-Imperial controlled Corsin System. As he courted Salvadda’s assistance in establishing this connection, he gradually came to realize that he himself was being courted. In not so many words, Salvadda conveyed an understanding of Jast that few—even himself—had. Jast was a talented, intelligent, and exceptionally driven person who relished in the opportunity to tackle the most challenging, dangerous tasks and emerge successful.

A person like that, it was suggested, would be very valuable to a person like Salvadda the Artful. And that was all it took for Jast to leave the SIS, and the Republic, behind him.

Over time, and with the assistance of his connections, he acquired the Jackdaw and a crew, and began cultivating a long list of clients interested in hiring an exceptionally skilled mercenary. Today, Jast’s brand of client service runs the gamut from security services to smuggling to actual intelligence operations, whether for criminal syndicates or the Republic itself through the SIS’s shadowy backchannels.
Name: Ethain Leto
Species: Human
Unit: Alliance Intelligence attaché to the 6th Special Personal Security Detail
Location: [•]
Synopsis of Role: Intelligence, Counterintelligence, and Countersurveillance officer with years of experience with local planetary government intelligence agencies.
In, ofc.
Callagher – Kourshad Delta, New Plympto



MARSPEC Company 3-Gamma executed the insertion through a 0-dark hundred local Axehead drop. The ship cut thrust at two hundred klicks above sea level and glided to the surface of the Kourshad Gulf on silent, sensor-friendly repulsors. At fifteen meters above the frothing blue-green sea, jet black in the alien darkness, the boarding ramps were lowered and the skimmers were dropped. Each watercraft touched down smoothly, the swept wings cutting into the waves and the repulsors driving them forward.

Apex Team took point, followed by Callagher and Blackrock, Condor, and then Nomad at the rear. The skimmers were dead silent and low sensor-profile vehicles, and they slipped past the lightly defended coastline with ease. Callagher and his team, their rifle’s optics projecting high fidelity night-vision images of their firing arcs, drew beads on the occasional Nosaurian on the beach, not a hundred meters away, but they maintained trigger discipline. The rebels were lightly armored, carrying light blaster weaponry and slugthrowers, and ill-disciplined. In an era when assault teams could be dropped from orbital transports directly onto the battlefield, amphibious approaches were not the most highly anticipated action.

The Kourshad Delta, the mouth of the mighty Kourshad River that fed into the Gulf, was heavily mined, but the skimmers were light and elevated some two meters above the waterline, with only the wings dipping beneath the surface. With the assistance of underwater sensors, the skimmer operators deftly maneuvered through the hostile waters and into the river. About a klick up the river, Condor and Nomad teams broke off and went to shore.

3-Gamma had five targets in the jungles of Kourshad, which together formed a rough triangle converging some fifteen klicks inland. Condor and Nomad would handle the two southeasterly objectives, while Apex and Blackrock would advance on the two northwest from there. The company would then converge on the fifth location. MARSPEC Command, not entirely contrary to Obelisk’s orders, had passed down a weapons free order earlier that night, effective immediately upon landing. 3-Gamma was to maintain operational integrity by shooting target that was not immediately identifiable as friendly in the course of the mission.

Callagher’s skimmer pulled up to the riverbank, and Blackrock One put boots in the water. Blackrock Two and Three followed soon thereafter, and as soon as they disembarked the skimmers turned back into the waters to find concealment upriver. The Blackrock Team’s fourteen Hosnian Prime marines, their stark white ablative plating exchanged for jungle green patterned armor, waved them off. Callagher nodded to the marine to his left, who raised his left gauntlet and pressed a button to open a comm channel.

“Ghost Command, this is Blackrock One, do you copy? Blackrock Team is in position to advance,” Specialist Calder’s voice came through the comms.

“Blackrock One, this is Ghost Command,” Seils’s comms transmissions operator answered, “we copy. Blackrock Team is cleared to advance, weapons free per SPECCOM.”

Callagher gave Calder a thumbs up and then opened his own comms channel with the team. “Blackrock Team, we are weapons free and cleared to advance. Blackrock Two, take point.”

“Copy, Actual,” came Blackrock Two-One’s answer. The five marines that comprised Blackrock’s second element readied weapons and pushed into the treeline. Even as they disappeared from view, Callagher’s HUD kept electronic markers on each marine’s position.

He gave the signal, and the rest of the team followed Blackrock Two into the Kourshad jungle.
Callagher – The Paragon, Orbiting New Plympto


The Paragon, second among the sleek new Optio-class Fast Attack Cruisers off the Hosnian Driveyards lines, drifted through space some thousand kilometers above the surface of New Plympto. The ship was cruising at an angle such that the crest of the planet’s horizon lay ahead, far off in the distance through the bridge’s wide trapezoidal viewports.

Callagher stood next to Captain Seils, his commander, and a dozen other marine officers with the First Reconnaissance Battalion, all in their officer's uniforms. They almost looked like the navy officers around them, seated at their positions on the bridge. Though the marines were still, silent at attention, the officers around them seemed to be very busy, tapping away at their terminals, communicating, receiving and directing orders. Callagher had no idea idling in space could be such a complicated endeavor.

Before the collection of officers, next to a command holoprojector a meter tall and two meters in diameter, stood a clean shaven, hardened looking man in his mid-forties. This was Colonel Ferrangh, callsign Obelisk, First Recon’s commander. His face was unreadable. Not blank, but hard and impassive. He appraised the room.

“Are we all in attendance?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the recon officers answered.

“Good,” Ferrangh said, and he pressed a button on the holoprojector’s terminal. A large holomap projection of a piece of forested, coastal terrain sprang into view. “Gentlemen, this is New Plympto’s Kourshad Region,” Colonel Ferrangh said, pointing at the map. “The provincial capital, Phereis,” he said, using a gesture to highlight an inland city, “is the nerve center of the Free Nosauria Liberation Front. From this location, rogue elements of the planetary government are able to provide air support, establish supply lines, and give refuge to the enemy. As has been made clear to us, gentlemen, General Vennader’s orders are that the enemy shall have no refuge.”

With a short series of waves and gestures, Ferrangh zoomed out from the city and to the larger region. Bright red and green lines and icons appeared on the screen, the lines of battle and unit positions. “Phereis is the General’s objective. Fourteen standard days ago, the Second Marine Regiment, attached to the New Plympto Army, moved out from Camp Darropolis and marched on the city. You are currently looking at the projected lines of battle. This is not, however, our current situation.”

Another gesture, and the lines moved. The green fell away from Phereis. The red units pushed forward in tandem, and many of them vanished from the map. There was far more green than red on the map now, and the line was a messy, serpentine thing limited in its coverage to the northwestern sector of the grid. If Callagher had to make a guess, he’d guess this was bad news.

“Heavy enemy contact has placed us behind schedule, and local allies have failed to provide us with intelligence up to our standards. The General understands that no plan survives enemy contact. The General is adaptable and tolerates changes in circumstance. However, the General also understands that the violence of action will carry the day on New Plympto. The NPA and Second Marines have permitted the enemy to seize control over the tempo of this fight. That, General Vennader cannot tolerate.

“As a result, Obelisk and the First Recon Battalion are putting boots on the ground. It falls to us to recapture the tempo in Kourshad. To this end, command has seen fit to attach a special operations unit to our battalion. The First Recon will be conducting joint operations with Captain Seils and his MARSPEC operators. Those operations will be carried out here.”

The map zoomed in and shifted focus to the southwestern sector. On the first, projected status map, this area had been behind allied lines. Now, it was well before them, and dark. No red or green units to be seen there, just a few population centers Callagher estimated to be small towns or similar.

“The southern flank of the NPA-Hosnian joint task force is dark, and four thousand enemy combatants command anticipated encountering on the battlefield in the north are currently unaccounted for. This concerns General Vennader. He wants eyes on these units yesterday.”

“Jungle density in this area is too high for remote reconnaissance, but thanks to the efforts of our MARSPEC team, we understand that certain cargo shipments aboard freighters suspected of carrying shipments to the enemy have been unloaded and transported to these locations.” Red dots appeared on the map now, marking four of the towns and a few locations deep in the New Plympto jungle. “These are Nosaurian hamlets and villages, and the objective of First Recon’s mission. Officers, your companies will be deployed here, in the west, by Axehead drop,” he said, and three yellow icons appeared on the screen. “You will move east and hit each of these villages. Your mission is the acquisition of actionable intelligence on the enemy’s position and disposition at these points and the surrounding area, and to act on it.” The holomap outlined prospective routes for the new yellow units, and then additional icons appeared farther south, off the coast.

“Captain Seils,” Ferrangh said, now addressing the MARSPEC commander, “you and your operators will be dropped here, off the southern coast under the cover of darkness. Your MARSPEC team will move up the coastline and into the Kourshad Delta before disembarking at the riverbank here.” Callagher watched as lines traced a route up the coast and inland via a large river. Just to the north of the projected disembark, three red dots gleamed deep in the jungle. "You and your team are to ascertain the nature of these positions and, if possible, destroy the enemy’s advantage there. To accomplish your missions,” he said, now addressing both the MARSPEC and recon officers, “you will have the orbital strike capabilities of the Paragon and the Optio, as well as close air support in the form of low-altitude gunships and fighter craft.”

Easy enough. “Any questions?” Ferrangh asked.

“Sir,” one of the recon officers began, “do you have any additional guidance on the rules of engagement for this operation?” Ferrangh nodded.

“The New Plympto government believes that the civilian casualty count is too high. They have insisted that we make every effort to ensure that we engage only the enemy. Command has incorporated this directive into the ROE. Accordingly, we are only cleared to engage after reasonable efforts have been made to determine whether a target is hostile.” There was a pregnant pause. Ferrangh’s eyes shifted to the MARSPEC officers’ and then back. “That said, if you were to ask Obelisk how many dead civilians he would trade for any one of your lives, there is no number high enough. Our enemy does not wear uniforms, they do not play by the rules. You are to protect yourself and your units with the aggression expected of Hosnian Marines. It goes without saying that I have full faith and confidence in your judgment.”

He looked around, expectantly, but there was silence. “Thank you, gentlemen. Prepare your units to move out. Dismissed.”

- - -


Blackbark – Phereis National Starport, New Plympto


“That right there, Clunker,” Blackbark said to his pilot droid, “that’s what we in the biz call a problem.”

The Nosaurian and his faithful droid companion stood atop the Hotspur, looking down at a flat, black, cylindrical disc about a half meter across. Blackbark knelt down to inspect the thing. Entirely unmarked, no blinking lights and such. Almost entirely unsuspicious, except it was definitely not there when they left port out of Graland Station. No, someone had stuck this on the Hotspur sometime between leaving the station and landing on New Plympto. Someone on the ground, then, he imagined, but who? Or someone in the air. Someone without a face. “Fuckin’ Hosnians,” Blackbark growled, remembering the search. “Clunker, what do those databanks in your head tell you about the Hosnians we ran into? How long did they hold us up?”

“My memory banks inform me that the Hosnian Prime marines were aboard our ship for precisely twenty-three standard minutes and forty-seven seconds,” Clunker advised him. It had been shorter than a usual customs check, in Blackbark’s experience. He’d chalked it up to laziness, but maybe that had just been the cover. Twenty minutes is long enough to attach a tracking device to a ship.

“Shit. Clunker, get this thing off my ship, bring it down to the hold and disassemble the thing.” It might not be marked on the outside, but inside there might be serial numbers, identifiers, something to give him a clue.

“Right away, captain,” Clunker said, and primed the blowtorch contained in his left forearm. Blackbark swung down the ladder on the side of the ship and climbed down, cursing all the way.

He brushed past a few dockworkers and strode up the boarding ramp and into the Hotspur. Once in the cockpit he threw himself into the chair and pulled up the HoloNet on the terminal. He slapped the side of it as the connection booted up, hoping to hurry it along with some percussive encouragement. With the HoloNet up, he moved to a secure channel, the cheekily named Free Corellia Express. FCE was a new, grassroots smuggling network based out of Graland Station that served as a major logistics avenue for the Free Corellia and related movements. Their shipments were the lifeblood of Free Corellia, Free Nosauria, and others that had yet to spark the flames of revolution. The movements had plenty of money to spend on outfitting armies and supplying themselves in a bid for independence, and smugglers like Blackbark were happy to help.

The network also served as a way for the smugglers to watch each other’s backs. When you get tagged with a tracker on an FCE route, sounding the alarm is a thing of common courtesy.

“Attention all FCE captains,” he spoke aloud, “I think I've got a Hosnian Prime Navy tracking device on my ship. Sweep your ships and standby for confirmation.” He gave it a once over listen and sent it.

Down in the Hotspur’s workshop soon after, Blackbark found Clunker taking a blowtorch to the thing. It took two hours to get it up. Clunker’s torch couldn’t cut through the alloy shell without going over 90% power, and it was slow going even then. That was enough for Blackbark – no crime lords in the Corellian Sector had this kind of hardened tech on hand – but he needed to be sure. Soon enough, though, he got what he was looking for. Inside, after pulling out the guts of the thing, he found an alphanumeric code etched into the casing. No blinking red lights, though. He guessed the holoflicks took some liberties with that kind of thing.

“What do you make of it, Clunk?” he asked.

“I am afraid the identification of such technology is not strictly within my programming, but it would seem to me that this is a very high-quality piece of equipment,” the droid replied as he sifted through assorted wires and parts.

“Let’s take this back up to the cockpit and run the number through a HoloNet search. Not something you’d find in the hands of civvies, though, eh?” Blackbark asked.

“I should think not, sir,” Clunker agreed.

It was indeed not.

“’Sale is restricted to military and police organizations,’” Blackbark read aloud off the HoloNet’s description of the SG810 Guardian, a high-end tracking device with interstellar capability and pinpoint accuracy. It was produced by a Hosnian security company. “Shit,” the smuggler growled, cycling through the product list. Plenty of similar devices, some a lot smaller than this one. “Shit, Clunker, that seems like a problem, don’t it?”

Clunker, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, nodded his vaguely humanoid head in affirmation. “Yes, captain, it certainly does.”

- - -


Doriah – 1805 Hydian Street, Coruscant


Doriah Castal was half way through her first glass of wine of the evening when she made the call.

“Call Commodore Donnic, will you?” she asked aloud. The droid brain replied by putting the dial through the holocaster at the head of her living room.

Moments later, Commodore Donnic flickered into existence, his countenance and body all blue in holographic light.

“Commodore, thank you for taking my call,” Doriah said with a smile.

“Always, Senator,” Donnic greeted her crisply. He stood at attention, as if before a commanding officer. She liked it. Maybe she should have gone into the navy. She wouldn’t have made a half-bad commanding officer, she thought. “What can I do for you?”

“The Galactic Senate has commissioned a diplomatic assignment to Aurea, a fact-finding mission bringing some of our best negotiators together with experts on the Free Corellia movement,” Doriah said. “I’m transmitting the details to you now. I think it may be appropriate if this mission were to encounter some, shall we say, ‘difficulties’ en route?”

“What are you getting at, ma’am?” Donnic asked. A man of limited imagination, Doriah deduced.

“Our friends in the Free Corellia Navy have a small bevy of capital ships at their disposal thanks to our efforts, do they not?” Doriah asked. She fought the urge to slow her speech.

“They do,” Donnic said.

“And, therefore, they may also have the ability to disable a starship while it is in transit from one system to another, no?” she pressed on.

“We may be able to arrange something. This seems like an aggressive step,” the commodore advised her, hesitance in his voice. Hesitance. She almost scowled, but deftly avoided that impropriety by taking a timely draught of wine. Decisive action would carry Dorsis and the Corellian Sector to a brighter future. If Donnic proved he was not a man of action, she may have to lean on others in the future. “Are you sure this is the best course of action?”

“Commodore, I have no love for so many of my fellow Senators, but I respect their talent for mitigating crises as they arise,” she said. “The diplomatic arm of a republic that has stood for thousands of years, on the back of diplomacy mind you, cannot be underestimated. No, we must amputate.”

“This would be an assassination.”

“I didn’t say kill them, necessarily,” Doriah wheedled, putting a sweet note in her voice. “Just disable the ship, if such a thing is possible. I have no expertise in this field, but so long as shots are fired and these Senators fear for their lives, so long as the Republic sees that Free Corellia is unwilling to come to the table, that will be victory enough for our purposes,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll forward this mission to one of our assets. It will be done.”

The holoprojection flickered out of existence.

“Dismissed,” she said with a smirk.

How many lives would she end with this, she wondered. Three Senators, their staffs, the crew of the Hammerhead-class cruiser they traveled aboard. Hundreds of lives thrown into contention by a quick call across the galaxy and a tentative alliance with a growing rebellion. Of course, if all went according to plan, no one would die, but she figured when lasers started flying in the void and ship-to-ship combat was at hand, mistakes could be made and miscalculations could dust the crew of an entire starship.

She wondered if there was a difference between killing a person and ordering an execution. Did they feel differently? Should they?
I very much like the revisions.
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 a much better pilot though, and although his ship, the heavily modified freighter Hotspur, isn’t much to look at, he can coax a decent enough performance out of it. Zatticus isn’t one for speed in the air, though. Rather, he relies on good old fashioned cleverness and smuggler’s cunning, making use of the Hotspur’s mazelike interior to carve out an uncanny number of smuggler’s holds throughout the ship to transport the illicit goods that make up the most profitable bulk of his trade alongside his legal cargo.



Background: Zyberio Zatticus Blackbark was hatched on New Plympto, one of a clutch of eight, and never longed for anything more than to get the hell off-world. A firm believer in cheating his way into success, Zatticus stowed away on his first of many starships at the not-so-tender-for-a-Nosaurian age of fourteen. What with most travel in the New Plympto system being highly local, he didn’t get particularly far, and wound up working odd jobs here and there on starbases in New Plympto and nearby systems. He cleaned starbases as a janitor, dismantled ships as a scrapper, hauled cargo as a dockworker, and more, for years, before finally getting his shot. His first job on a bona fide smuggling vessel was as a hired hand on a gunrunner ferrying arms and armor to fledgling resistance movements across newly occupied Imperial planets in the early years of the war.

The work was incredibly dangerous and nearly got Zatticus killed more than once, but his ability to do his job and shut the fuck up around the authorities meant he was fast tracked into a more integral role on the ship. By the time the war ended, he was near fifty years old and had earned enough to strike out on his own. To that end, he bought a ship, a junker of a freighter and used his years of ad hoc mechanical and engineering experience to jury rig a more than functional vessel out of the thing. Naming it the Hotspur after an old fling, he took to the stars as a captain this time and flew where the credits flowed. That meant spice, guns, and gambling.

You can give an old Nosaurian a new toy, but you can’t teach him new tricks
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