The Azure Expanse

[K_Feldspar]

Four naval officers and two medical technicians stand near an airlock on the Imperial corvette Arrester. They hear the clank and quiet woosh of the recovered escape pod securing itself to the ship. One of the officers, looking relieved says, “Ma’am we’re so glad we fou…,” but his exclamation of relief is cut short by a look of confused terror. A tall frowzy woman strides out of the pod, grabs him by the throat, and smashes him into the nearest bulkhead. She releases him, and his unconscious body slumps to the ground. The rest of the officers and technicians hastily step out of her way. She walks down the hall, and enters her quarters.

Some time later a man wearing the uniform of ship’s first mate walks up to her door. After a moments hesitation he calls confidently, “Ma’am, Captain Stygian requests your presence in his office.” The door hisses open, and, after softening a red-tinged glare states, “You may tell our beloved captain I will be there at once.” The officer bows curtly, turns, and leaves his duty accomplished.

She stands before Officer Stygian two minutes later, abhorred as he berates her for failing the mission. “I asked you to complete a simple task. Bring an old man before me for interrogation. Explain to me how he so ably slipped from your grasp!”

“That ‘old man’ is a force user. I suspected as much when I chased him through alleyways and garbage dumps for three miles! Then I beat that man for ten minutes until he feigned losing consciousness. So I poisoned him, and still he faked unconsciousness—poorly, I might ad. I finally filled him with enough poison to take down a bantha, and then he actually passed out.”

Stygian cuts in quickly, “So what if he was a force user? How many have you killed before, more capable than he? One of them even challenged you with a light saber as I recall, and still you smote his ruin. You have failed the ISB utterly this time!”

“Wait, my captain,” she speaks more submissively now. “The transport I chose to return my prize for you was infested with rebel sympathizers. They had to be. The crew was half hideous aliens. There was a tall bug who saw through the disguise I had on Karol, and always at his side was this scum bounty hunter. I had to hide on board the ship, but then their pet wookie found me. It was ferocious. I had to run! But as I ran I found a thing. I found our errant intelligence droid. Pwn-3d wasn’t destroyed. They don’t even know what they have on board. They’re using it as the base of a coffee table! Let me hunt them. Let me redeem myself. Let me kill them! Please Stygian!”

Officer Stygian is shaking with anger now. His face is read, and a small vein throbs on the side of his head. “Go. Find them. Destroy them. Do not return until you have redeemed yourself. Now get out.” As the woman leaves she whispers, “Krad, help me.”

A voice in her head answers back, “I already am.”
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[Jedi Skyler]

Just so you don't think I'm playing favorites, K, I enjoy reading your posts as well.

[Edj]

"...Karol is a junior member of some old cult called the Jet-eyes. This is not the same as the Yet-eye's, because I looked it up because some human lady once stupidly said I smelled like one, um, which is a human version of a Wookie, and..."

The voice (my own?) is harsh and raw, anxious; barely recognizable. It is almost as if it is coming from someone else - someone near perhaps, but not "here" persay. I focus and realize the foolish words, impossibly, are pouring from my own lips. They tumble from my mouth too quickly to stop - spat from between my teeth like bile.

I can feel myself attempting frantically to regain control of the muscles that flex tongue and jaw, can feel myself trying to quell and reshape the thoughts spilling from my head, but to no avail. I am immobile, a witness only within my own body, and the rush of words continues unabated; an avalanche of horrific disclosure, burying reason and sense beneath a juggernaught of suffocating babble.

I sense He is waiting, eager, wanting more, and the need to expunge my thoughts consumes me:

"Hearing about you", I sputter, "and the, um, my recent good luck, he, Karol that is, explained to me, or rather tried to explain to me that his people, um, the jet-eye's or whatever, think hurting myself to get large amounts of money, spending evenings in suites, and pretty girls is bad."

Hearing (and more importantly feeling) no backlash as these thoughts spray chaotically from my mind, I try desperately to stem once more the flood, to calm myself, and feel the river slow somewhat. It is still beyond my ability to control the thoughts themselves, but at least I can funnel the flow into a more graceful pattern now. I feel my chest rise and fall deeply and I focus on the meditations recently disclosed by Karol. Then I continue, not because I wish, but because I must:

"I would have more forecably disagreed with his ridiculous opinion of course, but he is very stubborn, and there is rarely point in arguing with fanatics.

Antagonistic sanctimony aside, Karol does seem to possess a willingness to instruct me in a few unique talents however, and I must profess, there are aspects of his cult I find somewhat attractive despite the rather conservative dogma, so study I shall."

"And what of the others?", demands a distant echo sounding of sand and rusted steel. I think my body is shaking, but I cannot roll my eyes away from the pinpricks of crimson light that fill my vision to check. Fear skitters along the edge of my resolve, oozing through the cracks of my amateurish protections.

"The others? Oh, right. The others (heh). The transfer of perishable goods went very smoothly, and we came out with a fair profit from the delivery. 8K or some such.

Cherrywood, the Vercoon, and the Verpine spent much of their time working with the finishing crew on the Eye of the Hurricane: running lights, ground effects, chrome vents - they even slapped gold-plated spinners on the speeder. All-in-all it's a very bling, erm... ish, um, improvement over the old vessel, sentimentality notwithstanding.

They all appear confident in the systems and structure of the new machine, and I must say it's nice having a quiet place to rest my tails that doesn't carry the lingering stench of wet dog, catsup, and home-brewed sour mash. Though I am yet distressed to have found Starbucks installed in the new lounge.

The green droids popped up again, but after a few impromptu frames of bowling with the Wookie, we started to see eye-to-orbital-trauma as it were, and we have a nice handshake agreement to cease and decist all aggressions at this point. Gunner's boss, confusingly named "Cell 74 Douglas", assurres us that as long as applications are accepted downtown and Wookies fly, everything will be cozy. I didn't ask what it meant. Something about purple skyhawks bearing pineapples at dusk. Very hush-hush. Drax understands.

In an effort to proactively head off a pending issue with the Baleus Grocer's Guild - who took slight at our failure to use registered union members during our aforementioned delivery - we paid a few members of the olive mechanoids to 'raise a frackas' with the guild's goon squad - a gesture aimed at taking their minds off the petty issue of who unloaded what where. It seems to have worked. If 'seems' transforms into 'seems not', I'm quite sure Drax can further impress upon them the dubious legality of 'union sanctioned' protection schemes. Failing that, dear Rika never tires of trying new extreme sports."

"I see", grates the voice, painfully tearing away minute ribbons of my sanity with each rattling syllable. "We shall speak again soon."

I realize I am most certainly shuddering at the sounds, as if freezing though every sensory neuron in my body screams the opposite: reacting to a flood of burning pain that rips through my paralyzed limbs. And as always, it is more than the voice alone that sends apoplexia coursing through me. It is the sense itself that he is there, waiting, watching, somewhere in the black depths of my consciousness - consuming my soul while I stare down the void in terrible, stupified awe.

"Very well,", I hear myself tremble feebly, "I'll maybe just wake up now if you don't mind much, as I seem to be lying in some sort of rancid puddle."

The spots of red lash out, suddenly bursting from the void, screaming like the howl of the damned itself until my ears bleed, talons clutching my heart, ripping at my eyes and my mind - searing black flame turns my flesh to ash and cracks my bones.

And then the sensation is gone. I am awake - drenched in sweat, hands balled so tight my nails have cut into my palms; my back is still spasming, my ears ringing, my head pounding, and I weep again.

I don't persay believe these episodes are real. Or at least I tell myself that. I was asleep, wasn't I? Krad: who stalks the black nothingness, seems so much more present in these dreams than during waking hours - perhaps another sign this is all conjured by my own mind - a reaction to a traumatic event - a vivid illusion created to justify my recent windfalls.

My life had been a wreck of poverty, hopeless desires, and shame. To now be in a position of importance and purpose, among such fine people, enjoying success - at least by my standards - it must be the work of a being far greater than myself.

Perhaps that, right there, was the impetus behind the creation of the ruby daemon? It must be. Perhaps it was my own need to understand how it all could have changed, and preemptively explain why it would all come crashing down again in the future. Krad was my dark prophesy. My rationalization not only for what has recently happened, but for what will, inevitably occur.

Then again...

[KassyGQ]

I'm Zodraz. I'm eleven and a half years old. I'm going to be the communications officer of a huge star-cruiser someday. For now, I do comm stuff on the Gathering Storm. I mean, the Eye of the Hurricane. I've gotten used to the old hoopdie wagon. But I'm adjusting to this new ride.
I dunno. Things, I guess, could be worse. No, I know they could be. Things haven't been great at all for me, but for the past six months, I guess what I need is to drift and to move and to not stop moving. I can't go back to Baleus and peek my head out too much. I've got to be descreet about it.
Okay, so here's the deal. My parents died a month before my eleventh birthday. I was over at my friend Lev's house that night. Some guy robbed my house and didn't know anyone was home. When my parents came out to see what was making the noise, he blasted them both and ran. They caught the guy, but it doesn't change the fact that my parents are dead. I wish I didn't wipe Mom's kiss off my face when she dropped me off at Lev's. I wish I gave Dad a hug.
So I got stuck in an orphanage. I was there until my eleventh birthday. Some guy, kinda dirty lookin' and had this mean kind of lilt to his walk came in and took a look at me. He was looking at my arms and my body, like he was sizing me up. I figured this was bad news. He wasn't looking for a son, he was looking for permanent labor. So when I got sent up to my room to pack up while he was filling out the paperwork, I booked out my window and headed toward the space-port with my weapon, my food, and my only friend left (slingshot, fizzy glug and candy, and my lethargic pet squirrel). I had to get off that planet hoping that they'd think I was dead somewhere. I haven't gotten caught yet and I don't intend to.
So I met these people at the port. Really, I was surprised they didn't put up too much of a fuss about me joining the crew. I'm the youngest of everyone. They didn't even really grill me about my parents, which I'm pretty thankful for because it's still a sore topic.
But now I've got these people, nearly strangers to me still, that have given me the chance to escape near capture and I can't really say how glad I am of it. They treat me like I'm an idiot sometimes, which really doesn't make me feel good, but I know they need me. They don't say it, but I feel good knowing that they need me, even if they can't admit it.
Rikka is awesome. She's the Wookie. I learned how to speak wookie, and I've been able to hold down wookie juice a little bit better. I'm hoping that I'll be able to finish a full mug of it soon and not pass out. She's really cool. I mean, she looks after me and treats me like I'm just as old as everyone else. She's training me how to use the guns on the ship.
Zeek, on the other hand, is some kind of twisted. He's this nerdy, uptight, obsessive compulsive verpine that likes to crack me over the head with wrenches if I touch anything in his work room. I'm not kidding. He knocked me out once. I must have blacked out for an hour.
Edj is funny. He can be a jerk, but I like to laugh at him. He's got some issues. Gambling is pretty bad for him. But I'm almost positive he's got a thing for Rikka. I heard from someone that those Twi'lik's are really friendly-like and like dating. Which is gross. Really gross.
Rikka's pretty mentally scarred, I think, since we're both pretty sure Edj is trying to make moves on her.
And really, no one else talks to me. Which is fine by me, I guess. I just need to keep moving, and they're helping me do it.
_________________
More wookie juice, please!

[Jedi Skyler]

I'm liking this kid character.

ALWAYS hook up with the Wookiee. (Better to be on their side than on the OTHER side!)

[CAPTAININSANO]

Where in Wisconsin do you guys meet? I live in Racine. I am not looking to join exactly, but am curious.

[K_Feldspar]

I would say that we are in your general vicinity.

Additionally, I will be happy to award Zodraz 3 character points for such a fun filled character back story. Written as only an adult trying to be eleven could write. So much literary talent in my players. I am proud!

Should I have to create an Imperial Department of Missing Children? I mean does the empire care about the babies, or is that a relic of the old Republic? Maybe some sort of truancy officer could chase the kid down and find out why he isn't in school.

Not as adventurous maybe, but definetly full of comic relief. Lots of potential methinks.
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[Jedi Skyler]

That wouldn't necessarily be a function of the Empire. You might have it be a Planetary organization, perhaps supplemented by funds from the Empire in an effort to show that they "care." Then it'd be locals chasing after the kid, plus the person who was trying to adopt him, because hey- NO ONE gets the better of him!

[KassyGQ]

Goodness gracious. Don't let those kid regulator people beat Zod up too much. He bruises easily.
_________________
More wookie juice, please!

[K_Feldspar]

[Jedi Skyler]

That's correct. You don't want your players to know ALL your secrets...

However, if you want to bounce some ideas or get some more, PM me. I'll give ya whatever comes to mind.

[entropy]

[Jedi Skyler]

[Edj]

Communication. It is the hallmark of life. The mechanism by which information, regardless of form or function, moves from one entity to another – be that entity digital or analog, planetary or microscopic, or even smaller yet. It is the means by which all things that strive to perform convey their needs. It is why we exist, how we announce our existence, and it is the inevitable backlash of that existence.

This concept is so inherent to life at all levels that in design it is, by necessity, exceptionally simple. So simple in fact even strands of amino acids can manage to execute this principle effortlessly. Electrical signals, waves of light, airborne vibration, color, scent, motion – almost any conceivable medium can be put to the task of communication, and is put to such task by an incredible array of beings.

As an example of the simplicity of communication (if not the brevity of it), consider that aboard the abstruse starbucket upon which we fortunate few hobble through the galaxy, it appears the ability to open a galaxy wide com-link to broadcast the occasional “jerkishness” of certain, well... me as it turns out, can be easily established by a mop-haired collection of amino acids striving to reach their increasingly less probable twelfth birthday. As an example you see. For instance. But that's for another day.

Today, I have more important events to discuss. I very recently stumbled onto a curious tale bursting across the holonet. It appears that for a brief moment, right now in fact – this moment to be precise – the entity known as the Empire has ceased to exist in a very small spot of space. The spot of space we happen to be in by chance. Curious isn't it?

How did this happen some might ask? From what I can piece together, pulling and analyzing images from the net, reconstructing probable scenarios... er... rather having the Vercoon, Zeke, and Drax pull and analyze... you get the idea. Here's the crux:

On a small planet name Porvi, an Imperial communications outpost was experiencing some technical difficulty; the indubitable nature of things with lights and wires in my experience. The troubled Imperials hastened to locate the entity responsible for repairs, and were satisfied to find Portech Global Communications able to summon a handful of tech-minions to service the issue. The crew that manifested was comprised of four, uh... humans. Plain old humans. No Wookies or Verbeings what-so-ever. Certainly no Twi'leks.

W... er, they - the PGC henchmen that is, presented the appropriate forms to the Imperials at the gate, and were admitted in due course, carrying two large crates of what we believe to be diagnostic equipment with them. This is at least a probable assumption given the large yellow letters spelling "Diagnostics" painted on the sides, and the partially visible dat cable linked to the Verc... um, Vercoo...rp Technologies Com Scanner, yes, packed inside the second crate - the one with the small holes in it.

Events occurring over the next hour or so are difficult to ascertain. What happened slightly after the next hour was, perhaps unfortunately for the participants, somewhat easier on the discovery process.

There was a short flight by the four, uh... humans... across the compound in a speeder followed by a short burst of gunfire at the outer fence. The station's comlinks and alarms were alight with the rush of urgent Imperial communication and then, well... the Empire just went “pop”.

Wonderful, incredible silence has followed the burst of fire and light from what formerly was an Empire com-camp. Imperial communication – the beacon of Imperial life – has ceased, and if you close your eyes, right now, right here, this moment, you can almost believe it will be silenced forever.

[Jedi Skyler]

Ah, Edj, another wonderfully crafted tale of danger, intrigue, and mayhem at the expense of the Imperial war machine.

K_Feldspar, even if you don't need to bounce your ideas off me, I'd love to have you PM them to me so I'll have an idea of what you came up with. Know that your group will not receive any transmissions from me. However, they should know that they're still more than welcome to keep the credsticks coming in my direction...