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I have it where the current Hightower lord’s mom was a Redwyne. So the two houses have a pretty good relationship. But if you want to play them and change any of that just lemme know.

No worries. Is their a discord for this?
Does anyone have plans with the Redwyne? Might cobble a CS together for the Abor?
Irso will be taking a royal CRIMSON. code: #DC143C.

As I.D numbers haven't been assigned to our guardsmen in the IC, I'll be using Hex-codes if it ever comes up.
"Listen up, we are going to make our way into this lander in an orderly fashion - our autocannon team to the rear, followed by medics and vox-troopers - the remaining squads of the platoon following in after us."

'that's it?!' Darrian breathed into flak vest, keeping as quiet as possible as there was only a few guardsmen dividing him from the Seargent at the front of the lander, and if he knew anything at this point saying your thoughts too loud would just doom you to die halfway across the galaxy.. The lander glowed with a feverish anxiety and as he looked around he noticed lots of his squad mates fiddling and re-checking equipment. Not in the orderly methodical fashion the drill instructors had demonstrated in prior training, and with none of the confidence he had seen commissariat or officer recruits in his time at the imperial academy. Maybe the academy wasn't what had actually sentenced him this useless death, maybe his training and time there was going to be what kept him alive, give him the edge. Just as his disillusion was starting to make him feel better about his impending drop into enemy territory, reality kicked back in when the overhead lights turned dark in the shuttle and was replaced by a red glow. Emperor save him, if he was too survive this day it was all in the Emperors hands at this point, anything in his favor or anything he did down there was only adjusting his survival chances on the margins.

He moved over to his position in the Lander, almost at the front of it. and really started to look around at the grunts that he'd probably be dying with today, most of them wore the face of hive factorum workers - with an almost resignation for death to the imperial cause, it was either going to be upon a battlefield or from the lethal conditions of the lower hive. A few of them however, had the tan and rough look of out-hivers, traders and caravan runners their home was the inhospitable wastes of Vosmarth, the primitive Orks- their neighbors. Corporal Irso nodded his head at the roughish looking guardsmen to his left, at least a few of them had a practiced survival instinct...

He stored his gear and began to strapped himself into the vessel, he checked his harness buckles and his anxiety bubbled away as he failed to clip them into place several times. Before a victorious click secured him to the ship. He looked up and around the ship and gave a weak thumbs up to who had ever seen him fail with his buckle.
"Sir, do you have any idea what's going to be greeting us when we land!" Irso yelled over to the seargent as the engines began to hum quickly feeling the room with a noise so loud it removed all his anxieties of his impending morality and brought him too attention. It was time, he was ready, he was going to survive.
What are we fighting?

Pls say Chaos UwU
"How did I get here?"

Darrian looked at the tiny ventilation shaft werring that located next to his bunk, it provided the few immediate square meters around where he slept and dressed with relatively fresh recycled air in one of the stuffy, least hospitable areas of the ship. He couldn't help but think - in a designated barracks room with maybe a thousand plus bunks and probably a few dozen vent holes that he would get a bunk with an obvious advantage. Maybe it was the noble blood giving him another shortcut in the imperial bureaucracy, but surely not the administorum was corrupt but no where near this efficient.

He looked outwards from his desk and bed, onto the dozens of other bunks in his immediate view. Darrian sighed, 6 months ago he had been at Vosmarth's officer accadamy. His performance there and his clout as the second son, of the second wife of Zerric Irso would of all but confirmed for a cushy gig in the Hiveplanet's P.DF. but Darrian's drinking had pretty much sealed his own death sentence when he got into a drunken argument with a Commissar in a Hive-peak bar. The young noble was transferred to infantry, he was as good as dead in a year and everyone back on Vosmarth knew it. Including that fucking Commissar, the man had never even seen an active battlefield but had condemned Darrian to die in one over a bad game of cards. It made absolutely no sense for him to be here, he hadn't expected ever really too leave the Spire of the Hive never less be hundreds of light-years away.

He looked over at his standard issue las-gun and flak armor, he shuddered, memories from officer training, lessons that talked about the expendableness of men and the lack of any real troop support or survivability. Standing up, young corporal Irso cracked his back the humming now directly next to his ears helped to drown out his growing anxieties about his position. His mind kept thinking about ways he could possibly make it out of this platoon alive. Just surviving battles was going to just delay his gruesome death not avoid it. He realistically couldn't get promoted out of the front lines and any injury that the local medic couldn't patch up was probably going to give him a life not exactly worth living.

"I'm so fucked..."
Name: Darrian Irso
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Former Profession: Noble-born
Rank: Corporal
Specialization: Riflemen
Drex Cortez

“If you insist on flying through Imperial blockades' in your free time, you should probably be doing it for something you believe in.”

Name: Drex Cortez

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Species: Human

Age: 33

Planet/moon of Origin: Corelia

Galatic Basic

Appearance: No matter how long Drex seems to spend in the Tatoonie suns he can’t seem too shake the pale complexion he gained from a life spent mostly in ships, to make matters worse Drex stands an inch or two above most men his age and his body type can only be described as ‘lanky’. Not exactly being one for hygiene, Drex ties his medium length, dirt brown, hair back behind his ears most of the time and the length of his beard usually depends on the last time someone told him he needs to shave. Drex absolutely detesting the idea of wearing an Alliance officer uniform usually gets around in a dark olive flight jacket that almost seems too big for the skinny void-born. Essentially, if Drex got a tanned and took regular showers, he’d pretty much be able to blend in with any group of humans in the galaxy.

Drex was born on the independently owned corvette, the Defiance, a ship with a crew of about 40 that transported cargo and security operations. Already a trusted captain by 22BBY Drex’s father, Rade experienced an influx of work at the start of the Clone Wars, once the importance of fast ship with guns became more important to the needs of the core worlds. Drex would tell you his first memories were seeing B1 battle droids and Venerator class star destroyers at an age as young as 7. The Defiance didn't see too much action in the Clone Wars however, as most of the work done by ship and its crew was securely ferrying cargo through the core world hyper-lanes which had experienced a spike in piracy since the start of the war.

Eventually, the Clone Wars did end, and eventually the Empire came into power. The Empire was never going to make independent shipping a viable career for any ship captain, but the speed the tariffs, blockades and random inspections came into effect within the core worlds was staggering… as if the Moffs of the sector were being rewarded for harassing smaller competitors to the larger corporations.

This caused the Defiance, now operating as the Cortez security and shipping service, to move further out of the reach of the core worlds and into Hutt space slowly taking on jobs both ethically and legally occupying a much greyer area. Including slave trading and putting down insurrections on planets owned by crime syndicates such as the Crimson Suns and the Spice Barons. Drex would go on to have very public and very vocal disagreements about the type of work The Defiance was getting itself into. But Drex like most men in the galaxy, trusted the vision of his father and let himself slide further into Moral apprehension.

In 5 BBY after a particularly bad confrontation with the Empire within the, Rade Cortez was killed and the crew of the Defiance were officially branded outlaws of the empire. Drexs’ elder brother Mel took over as captaincy of the Defiance and pushed deeper into Hutt space further allying themselves with the Hutt cartel and involving themselves in activities such as slaving and drug smuggling. But the crew and ethos of the ship shifted radically when the captaincy was passed down to Mel. Rade Cortez was an honest man who had been forced to do bad things by the circumstances, but Mel? Mel was a smuggler and a criminal through and through.

In 2 BBY, when the alliance to reform the republic was created, Drex demanded that the Defiance and her crew should throw their lot in with the Rebellion. Mel, seeing the futility in fighting the behemoth that was the Empire. Decided the best course of action was to stay in Hutt-space and continue working for whatever source had the highest Credit flow. This argument over ideology eventually reached a climax, when Drex left the Defiance for good, taking a U-wing gunship with him…
Eventually Drex joined up with Rebellion, where he [WIP]

* Decent shot with a D-16 blaster (preferred weapon) and a working knowledge of most conventional blaster types.
* Able to throw a decent punch when he absolutely has too.
*Extremely efficient at organising ship crews and the micromanaging attached to
*Large understanding of ship-to-ship and fleet-to-fleet combat.
*Ace pilot
*Strong working knowledge of Hutt-space and the crime syndicates operating within it.
*Lucky (?)

*Idealist to a fault
*Not particularly charismatic, easily alienates people (and aliens)
*Will never work with the Empire, never
*Old blaster wounds on his left leg causes him to move with a noticeable limp.
*Absolute disdain for sentient droids.
Need any more souls for the Emperor's hammer?
working on my pilot/kirk character.
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