12-16-2011, 01:20 AM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player:
I have been playing tabletop RPGs since I was 19, and my primary interest is roleplay/storytelling. Most of the DnD campaign's I've run have been roleplaying centric (no hack & slash) that are primarily character driven.
Within the RP genre, I primarily enjoy military RP. I've been in the U.S. Army for six years, going to both Iraq and Afghanistan, so the military, and warfare, are something I'm very familiar with.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
Originally born in England to my father, who was a US Navy Officer, but a U.S. Citizen.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I originally played Everquest, and made the transition to WoW in 2004 when the game came out.
What made you seek our server over others? (Or how did you find us?):
You seem to have an extensive vetting process for players. This is good, as I am tired of RP on retail and other private servers that 'take all comers.'
Too often, either people don't want to RP (and troll RPers) or are too uneducated about the WoW universe/Europe of about the 18th century to RP effectively. WoW is heavily based off of medieval/industrial Europe, so if you're going to RP, you should at least know the difference between the nobility and the gentry.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
Military RP, that focuses on character development. I consider the new Battlestar Galactica to be probably the most accurate military SciFi television show in the past thirty years.
I like RP that is interpersonal and immersion, people should develop relationships not only amongst themselves but in relation to the world around them. IC politics and relationships are something to be played out, rather than brushed over.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
My favorite race class is Human Paladin, as I've played a Ret paladin in WoW most of my time in the game.
Overall, I favor hybrid classes for game mechanics reasons, as its easier to find a group as a paladin/druid since you can spec into DPS, healing, and tanking.
RP-wise, I have no favorite class. Class isn't as important as a well developed character who comes forward and interacts with the world.
What are your expectations of this server?:
That people will be willing to RP, and that the server will be free of trolls. Everything from the purchase of food/mundane tasks to adventures can be RP'ed without worry of trolling, or that someone isn't interested in RP'ing and would rather run instances.
Also, that characters have the chance to affect the world around them. I realize this doesn't happen often, or immediately. But characters should have the ability to effect change in the world (such as cleansing the plaguelands or playing out an IC invasion of a city realistically with a long, drawn out siege process).
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Your approval process. It lets you evaluate people, and keep out trolls, powergamers etc...
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!:
This is part of a work I did during my latest deployment in my free time (I'm still in Afghanistan). This isn't a backstory, just some creative writing. It takes place in the Star Wars universe, but takes a very Star Trek/Babalyon 5 path:
PILOT
Captain Karen Solo gazed out at the massive space station before her. Phoenix dwarfed her tiny shuttle by several million times over; its massive cylindrical shape with a sphere in the center stood as an imposing figure both literally and figuratively.
“Is this our new home, mommy?” Jacen, her young six year old son asked, standing on his toes to look out the viewport.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, hefting her son so he could see out the transparasteel window.
The boy’s eyes were wide with awe at the work of architecture before him. He gazed at the station, and blinked only when the small transport was tractor-beamed into the maw that was its docking bay.
Karen, for her part, was significantly less impressed with Phoenix. Having recently commanded the Thrawn-class super-dreadnought Ackbar for the Galactic Alliance Navy, large space vessels no longer impressed her. The Ackbar was over eight kilometers in length, and had boasted over two-hundred turbolaser batteries, enough to destroy a planet in a matter of hours.
Phoenix seemed much smaller by comparison, at only five kilometers in length. However, this was her first assignment she had been able to take her son on, so he was in awe at their new home.
However, the responsibilities of commanding Phoenix would be much greater than the Ackbar. The Phoenix was a project funded by all governments within the Galactic Triumverate, which included the Galactic Alliance, the New Jedi Order, the Galactic Empire, the Chiss Ascendency and the Sith Empire.
After over a hundred and fifty years of war between these major powers, it was finally decided to set up a space station where each government could send a representative. The Alliance had great hopes that it could be a new beginning—as a phoenix rises from the ashes—of an era of peace between the various nations.
All Karen Solo had to do was make it happen. She had her work cut out for her. The list of possible commanders ranged from diplomats, to senators, jedi, sith, to governors to a host of military officers. But in the end, for reasons she did not know, the Alliance had decided on her.
Her record, in her opinion, certainly did not warrant it. She had only fifteen years in the fleet, and at age thirty-seven, her biggest accomplishment was successfully commanding the Ackbar for two years. However, there were Commanders, and Captains, who had held a dozen such commands. She had no ability with the Force, so she would have to deal with Jedi and Sith who might attempt to manipulate her mind.
The only thing of note on her personnel file was that she was a descendent of General Han Solo, apparently a hero during the First Galactic Civil War. Karen had not studied that particular part of history very well, so she knew little of her great^10th grandfather’s exploits.
As the small transport docked, Jacen began to get antsy, squirming in his seat. Karen chastised him for his lack of patience, and gathered her things from the overhead storage bins in the main seating area. She and Jacen stepped out of the transport onto the main Promenade of Phoenix.
The Promenade was bustling with activity, as vendors set up shop and technicians put the final touches on the station. A small entourage was waiting to greet her, but Jacen quickly ran off to a Sullistan kimja stand.
“Mommy! Can I get a kimja stick?” he asked, taking off at hyperspeed fifteen.
Jacen reached up to the top of the stand, where a grinning sullistan eagerly handed Jacen a stick of candy.
“Anything, for the new mistress of the station,” the Sullistan said from across the aisle. “Consider it a favor.”
Karen sighed, leaving the entourage for a moment to police up her son. She attempted to hand the sullistan a few credits, but he shook his head.
“No, no, ma’am,” he said. “Consider it a gift. My kimja sticks are the finest in the galaxy,” he said, handing her one.
Karen gracefully took it, trying to juggle the candy amidst the suitcases she was trying to manage. One of the entourage on the other side of the aisle, a naval steward, quickly came up and took her bags.
“Thank you, petty officer,” Karen said with a breath of relief.
“I’ll have them taken to you quarters,” the petty officer replied.
Karen turned back to the sullistan, who seemed very pleased to have just made in well with the new station commander.
“If there is anything I can do for you ma’am, don’t hesitate to call. My contact information is printed on the stick to that delicious treat you’re holding in your pretty little hand,” he said with a used-speeder salesman smile.
“You’re too kind,” Karen said politely, and grabbed Jacen, who had almost devoured his kimja stick in a matter of minutes.
Dragging Jacen back to the entourage, she put her professional face back on.
“I’m sorry, he’s like a rabid womprat at his age,” she said apologetically.
The entourage consisted of a young human male, a chiss female of indeterminate age, an aging officer dressed in a uniform of the Imperial Army, and a seemingly drunk, well dressed man who appeared to be under the control of the Imperial officer and the young man.
“It only gets worse,” the Imperial officer said with a knowing smile. “Wait until he reaches the teens.” The man knelt down and handed the boy a small model of an Imperial VI-class star destroyer. “Why don’t you go play with this? Ms. Lyna can show you around the station.”
“Cool!” the boy said, eagerly taking the toy, and pretending to shoot its lasers at an invisible foe.
Karen smiled, offered her hand.
“Commander Karen Solo,” she said, “and thank you.”
“Colonel Maxwell Forrest, recently brought out of retirement to command your fleet security detachment,” he said. “And my I have the honor of introducing Ambassador Lyna Moreen is of the Chiss Ascendency.”
The Chiss woman gave Karen a warm smile as she offered her hand.
“I sincerely hope that project Phoenix can offer the galaxy an alternative to centuries of endless war,” she said. Lyna bent down and got eye to eye with Jacen. “And who is this?” she said sweetly.
“I’m Jacen Solo, ma’am,” the boy said, his mother’s discipline in meeting strangers kicking in.
“My name is Lyna” the chiss woman replied. “How would you like to see the station?”
Karen was reactively defensive about the idea of Jacen going off with a stranger. However, something emanated from the woman; a cooling calmness that was almost ethereal that said she could trust her.
“Ambassador,” Karen began professionally. “I couldn’t ask you to baby sit my son.”
“Hey, I’m not a baby anymore,” Jacen replied, defensively.
“Ambassador Moreen is wonderful with children, ma’am” Colonel Forrest said with a reassuring smile. “Your son couldn’t be in better hands.”
“I want to see the station!” Jacen said, turning to his mother.
Karen nodded. If she couldn’t trust an Ambassador, sent by the Ascendency to make peace, then she had a long way to go to making the mission of Phoenix a reality.
“Be careful, now. And be on your best behavior for the Ambassador!” she reminded in a motherly tone.
Jacen obediently took Lyna’s hand, and the two walked off into the Promenade.
Colonel Forrest smiled, completely understanding Karen’s concern.
“Welcome to station Phoenix,” he said. The well-dressed man next to him, who was drunk, had wandered off and was now attempting to woo one of the attractive Twi’lek dealers at a sabacc table.
“I think we lost Cosmo again,” the younger man said, stepping forward.
A starfighter pilot Karen thought to herself. The man’s swagger, coolness, and ultimate confidence in his own abilities gave it completely away. What shocked her was that the man seemed to be carrying a lightsaber.
“Tim O’Reilly,” he said with a slight grin. “…of the ‘most noble’ New Jedi Order. Here to help you prevent the next ‘war to end all wars.”
The young man offered his hand, and Karen shook it. His grip was tight, and she was almost surprised by it.
“You’ve served in the Fleet,” she said, noting the Galactic Alliance Naval Aviator’s Jacket he wore.
“Bone-head, first class, on the weekends” he replied with a mock salute. “But in the ‘seat, it was Major Tim O’Reilly.”
Karen returned the man’s cheerful smile. Inwardly, she couldn’t stand his swagger. She reminded him of Jacen’s father, the arrogant pilot who had left a young Lieutenant Karen Solo when she had turned thirty for…greener pastures.
“If that will be all, Commander, Colonel,” he said. “I better go police up our illustrious ambassador from your Empire,” he said, giving Colonel Forrest a hard time.
“Not my Empire,” Forrest replied in kind.
“What’s wrong with Ambassador Hender?” Karen asked as the young Jedi walked over to Cosmo and began chastising him with his sharp wit.
Forrest sighed. “He’s caught in a bygone era,” he told the young commander. “His family was well placed when Palpatine ruled the Empire. And now he drowns his sorrow of their fall in the bottle.”
“Why did the Empire send him as their ambassador?” she asked bluntly.
Colonel Forrest shook his head. “I think that’s something best discussed in private. If you’ll allow me to show you to Ops, and your office.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” she replied, happy to get down to business.
“One more thing, ma’am,” Forrest added as they walked down the busy Promenade. “While my Imperial Army rank may superceede yours, I fully accept and acknowledge your command of Phoenix. I’m retired, and merely command the security forces of this station. You’re in charge.”
Karen nodded. “Thank you. I honestly dreaded having to address the rank issue.”
“Not a problem,” the older man replied. “I’ve been taking orders all my life.”
“From whom?” Karen asked with feigned interest.
“My wife,” Colonel Forrest replied with a smile. “She’s the Commanding Officer of the domestic household.”
“But Arlenn,” Cosmo said to stunningly attractive sabacc dealer. “Your hair is the thread upon which the angels sew their gowns.”
The woman sighed, somewhat impressed, but a little tired of Cosmo’s pestering.
“Not today, Cosmo,” the Twi’lek woman replied. “I’m working a double shift.”
“And after that shift, I could soothe you with one of my famous…” Cosmo began massaging the woman’s neck. Arlenn drew in a deep breath. It was awfully comforting, after being on shift for the past fifteen hours.
“…back massages,” he wooed. “You liked the one I gave you last week.”
“Cosmo,” she replied, regaining her composure and moving his groping arms aside. “Go.”
“Perhaps another time then,” he said, smiling.
Cosmo stood up, and looked around. He was supposed to be meeting someone important…
He saw Tim O’Reilly, standing against a pillar, his arms crossed and chuckling.
“Why are you always spying on me, Mr. O’Reilly?” Cosmo said, exasperated.
“Spying?” Tim asked. “I was merely enjoying my new favorite reality holo-vid. Cosmo Sleeps Alone,” he paused, counting in his head, “part five.”
The ambassador began approaching O’Reilly, raising his voice, drunkenly.
“I’ll have you know, that I am Cosmo Hender, fifth Arch Duke of Eradiu, and I will not be made a fool of by a jedi like you,” he said angrily.
“You’re doing a pretty stellar job of that yourself. I didn’t have to do anything this time,” he replied with a smile. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a bit of spilled booze from Cosmo’s extravagant overcoat.
“Keep your head up, Arch Duke,” he replied, and patted him on the head before walking away.
Cosmo fumed in frustration as the Jedi walked away. But another young lass soon caught his eye.
“Commander Solo,” Lieutenant Orlin, the station’s comm officer announced, “we have an incoming distress signal from our cultural research station on the planet below. I’m putting it on the main viewscreen.”
Karen nodded, and all in Ops turned their attention to the main viewer. A mon calamari scientist appeared, in a scratchy transmission. It was hard to tell his expression, but it did not seem good.
“This is Doctor Arvil Krynad, director of Station Five,” the fish-headed scientist said. “There has been an explosion in one of our isolation labs. Radiation is leaking throughout the entire facility. Request immediate MEDEVAC.”
The station’s science officer, Ensign Wilden, looked up from his console.
“Commander, I’m reading a tetryon explosion in one of station five’s cyclotrons. They were scheduled to test a new ore they had discovered on the planet,” he said.
“Action stations,” Karen said immediately. The sirens and red lights began to go off as soon as she said the words. “Go to condition one. Inform Colonel Forrest he needs to launch an evacuation mission. Time: Now.”
“Acknowledge,” Colonel Forrest said over the com. “QRF is launching.”
Karen looked out the main port window and saw three transports, escorted by four Starwing-class fighters, leave the docking bay.
The fighters and transports entered the planet’s atmosphere, ready to rescue the stranded team on the surface. Several minutes passed by before the transports radioed in that they had landed.
“New sensor contact!” Lieutenant Orlin said aloud. “On course one-one-eight, mark six-two. Range: eight thousand kilometers. It just jumped out of hyperspace, not in any of the predetermined realspace lanes.”
“A navigational error?” Karen asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ensign Wilder said. “I’m not reading any damage to the bulk transport, but…” he paused, “I’m not reading any lifesigns.”
Suddenly, on all frequencies, a transmission came over the main viewer. A man dressed in fine clothing appeared, holding a blaster rifle.
“My name is Wilhuf Anders Prell,” he announced. “And I am the leader of a group that will soon bring freedom to all those oppressed by the Galactic Empire. Station Phoenix is merely a cover for the Empire to pretend to want peace, yet still unleash unchecked conquest. We will now remedy that situation. We are the Sons of Liberty, and we will not stop until the Empire is destroyed.”
The transmission quickly cut out.
“Don’t these people know the war is over?” Lieutenant Orlin sighed.
Karen shook her head. “It’s a ramship,” she said. “What fighters do we have ready to launch?”
“The main fighter compliment won’t arrive until later this week, along with primary weapons” Ensign Wilden said. “All we have is the security force that was here during construction.”
“And that’s down on the surface,” Karen cursed. “Tractor beams, repel it away from the station!” she ordered.
“Executing,” Lieutenant Orlin replied, adjusting his controls. Sparks blew out from a power conduit near the turbolift.
“Overload in the power grid,” Orlin reported. “All power systems from junctions AA-23 to TH-1138 are down.”
“Get a team on it,” Karen replied. “What do we have left?”
All the Ops officers shrugged.
“Frak!” the commander cursed aloud. Not 24 hours since arriving, and her station was falling apart at the seams. Paid for by the lowest bidding government contractor, she thought to herself.
Suddenly, the comm came on, and a familiar voice came over the radio.
“Hello, Phoenix,” Tim O’Reilly said. “This is your friendly Jedi problem solving service. Heard you were having some trouble with your station.”
A modified YT-8100 freighter flew past the main viewport, rattling Ops. Karen sighed, and shook her head.
“Yes, Mr. O’Reilly,” she spoke into the com. “Could you kindly deal with the freighter that’s about to ram my station?”
“No problem!” the jedi said over the com. Karen watched as the Safire closed with the freighter. O’Reilly fired several heavy laser blasts, with pinpoint accuracy into the ship’s reactor, and it exploded in a ball of hot gas.
“That’s how you scatter the cockroaches” he said over the com as the freighter exploded.
Karen smiled slightly, and keyed the com.
“Thank you, Safire,” she said reluctantly.
“No problem, Phoenix actual,” he said. “I’ll send you my bill.”
“Actual, this is QRF,” Colonel Forrest came over the com. “We’ve finished evacuation, the team inside the cyclotron was killed, and a dozen more are suffering severe radiation burns. Have,” He paused, “I recommend having a medical team meet us in launch bay eight.”
“Acknowledged, QRF,” Karen turned to the Ops officer, who sent the correct orders. “I’ll be in the launch bay. Lieutenant, you have Ops.”
Lyna Moreen held Jacen Solo’s hand as she showed him all the shops in the Promenade. The boy seemed to be entranced by the many species, and exotic wares being sold by the merchants there.
They stopped by a Hapan vendor, who had an entire chest full of rainbow gems from Gallinore, whose inner fire shone like a miniature sun. A Bith musician played a song, for a few credits, that kept the attention of a small crowd for almost an hour. And at the Replimat, where they stopped for lunch, a old spacefaring wookiee recounted adventures she had during the Rebellion, in the First Civil War.
“Ms. Lyna,” Jacen said, taking a large bite into his sandwich, “why do we have all these wars if everyone seems to get along on this station?” he asked casually, not knowing the gravity of the question.
Lyna smiled, and set down her drink. She did not react at all to the boy’s difficult question, rather, she kept the same, carefree demeanor that the boy showed.
“Some sentients desire more than what is within their shop, their home, or even their planet. Wars happen when those who desire more, decide to take it without asking,” she said.
Jacen nodded, accepting the answer at face value. Quite abruptly, the lights in the Replimat went out, leaving the facility almost pitch black except for the starlight from the viewport windows.
The panicked patrons immediately began to murmur, and ask questions. Jacen looked around, but did not seem afraid. He kept eating his sandwich, and seemed to wonder what all the fuss was about.
Lyna turned on her diplomatic frequency, and got a full report from her embassy aboard the station.
“Time to go,” Lyna said, gathering up Jacen from the booth they shared. “I’m going to take you to see your mother.”
“But I’m not finished eating,” Jacen protested.
“I’m sure you’re mother is very worried about you,” she replied. “Come along now, lets go.” Jacen obediently got up from the table and took Lyna’s hand.
They left the Replimat and entered the Promenade. Many of the shopkeepers began to close up, as sentients used flashlights to find their way back to their quarters. Power outages were not uncommon on the station, and they merely waited them out until the power grid could be repaired.
Lyna turned left off of the Promenade and to the nearest set of turbolifts, which had their own independent power sources, just in case of this type of emergency. Pressing the button, she patiently waited, keeping a deep, red eye out for anything suspicious.
The turbolift finally arrived, and she stepped on it with Jacen. She punched in the code for Ops, and the slight whir of the turbolift could be heard as it moved dozens of kilometers per hour to its destination.
The turbolift doors opened, and Karen Solo stood there, in Ops. She seemed to be waiting for the turbolift.
“Oh thank the Force,” she said, snatching up Jacen.
“What?” he said, genuinely not knowing what all the concern was about.
The concerned mother turned to Lyna. “Thank you, Ambassador,” she said with utmost sincerity.
“Your son was very brave,” she said calmly, stepping out of the turbolift.
Karen turned to Jacen, and set him down on an empty chair. “Stay here with Ms. Lyna,” she said. “Mommy has to go take care of something.”
“Okay,” Jacen replied obediently.
Karen Solo jumped into the turbolift to go meet Colonel Forrest in the docking bay. She scolded herself that she’d almost forgotten about Jacen during the incident, but was relieved that the seemingly kind and gentile Chiss Ambassador had taken good care of him.
The turbolift reached the docking bay, and Karen stepped out, only to have two blaster bolts fly by her head, singing her golden hair.
“Frak,” she muttered to herself, drawing her BlasTech DL-92, standard issue sidearm. She punched her earpiece com. “Ops, this is actual. Shots fired, docking bay level, turbolift eighteen.”
“We’re tracking it,” Lieutenant Oldin said. “Colonel Forrest’s security team is pinned down in the launch bay, under heavy fire. Hostiles are wearing old-style stormtrooper armor.”
Karen pulled out her tricorder, and scanned the hallway. Two life signs showed up, both wearing armor that quantum dated at over one hundred years old. They were carrying blaster carbine rifles; all she had was her pistol. With what minimal security the station had pinned down in the docking bay, she’d have to fight her way out herself.
Dropping to the prone position, she began to pie-corner the turbolift door. In the darkness, it was hard to see, and she knew the stormtroopers had nightvision opticals built into their helmets.
For a brief moment, she hoped that due to the age of the armor suits, the night vision might not be functional. However, her tactical nature threw that out as a possibility.
Remembering her technology, however, she pressed a button on her blaster, and another on her tricorder. The two gave the signature beep that they had handshaked electronically, and were now linked.
Holding her blaster out the corner, she looked down the corridor on her tricorder. Two sentients, wearing the armor, were standing in the middle of the corridor. They were obviously relying on their concealment in the darkness rather than taking cover.
Lining up the crosshairs that were superimposed upon the image displayed on her tricorder, she fired two shots, instantly killing both hostiles. At least some of her technology was operating today.
Moving into the corridor, she reached the door to the main hangar bay. With a quick scan, she saw Colonel Forrest and his soldiers fighting a dozen or so stormtrooper-dressed sentients.
Setting her pistol to automatic, she slammed the door release stud and opened fire.
In a matter of seconds, she unleashed two hundred blaster bolts upon the stormtroopers, who had no idea she was coming. She completely drained her blaster’s energy cell, and conducted a reload within the beat of a heart.
All the hostiles, who had their backs to that door, lay smoking in gooey, piles of flesh and armor.
“They’re a group called the Imperial Knights,” Tim O’Reilly said across the conference room table. “A terrorist group that wants to bring back the glory days of the Empire.”
Colonel Forrest nodded. “We’ve been having several problems with them domestically,” he added. “Its not uncommon for a particularly zealous young officer to leave the service and go over to them.”
Karen noted both of their observations, and kept listening.
“Obviously,” O’Reilly continued, “Both the Sons of Liberty and the Imperial Knights have a vested interest in seeing Project Phoenix fail.”
“You didn’t forsee this issue?” Karen asked Colonel Forrest.
“On the contrary, ma’am, I’m surprised something like this didn’t happen sooner. I’ve sent in a dozen requests for more troops to both the Empire and the Galactic Alliance, but both have sat on the issue, for obvious reasons.”
Karen frowned. “They’re not obvious to me.”
“For one, this project is highly controversial within the Empire,” Colonel Forrest explained. “Many would like to see Phoneix merely go away quietly. As for the Galactic Alliance, most of its leaders were members of the former New Republic, and its obvious why they might not want to listen to an Imperial Army Colonel.”
“But why would they wait until now to attack?” O’Reilly asked. “They could have done a lot more damage while the station was still under construction.”
“Politics,” Karen replied. “Blow up Phoenix while its still under construction, and another one gets built. But cause the project to fail entirely after the station is complete and end Phoenix all together.”
“This was obviously a complex attack, by both the Imperial Knights and the Sons of Liberty. While I don’t see much coordination between the organizations, it seems that both groups planned their attacks for months, and executed it with a high degree of coordination,” O’Reilly put in. “Commander, we need to prevent Phoenix from becoming a battleground for these two terror cell’s little war.”
“For that matter,” Lyna added, “Where is the Sith ambassador? The opening ceremony is tonight, and we’ve heard no word form their government on their ambassador’s expected arrival.”
O’Reilly began to say something, but bit his upper lip.
Karen broke the silence. “These are all important issues. For one, I’ll order the Death’s Head off of patrol and loan us some of their security force. Second, I suspect the Sith want to see if we’ll hold the ceremony to wait for them.”
“Do we?” O’Reilly asked, not showing any emotion.
“No,” Lyna replied. “I would advise against it. While they will claim that they’ve been cut out, we should preempt that claim with a media broadcast about their lack of punctuality, and insinuate they’re not serious about the peace process.”
Karen looked at the sweet, charming Chiss woman. She did not see the inner political genius beneath her gentile personality.
All nodded in the room at the assessment. Every government represented at the meeting table had suffered at the hands of the Sith. Working past those prejudices would be extremely difficult for all of them, especially the Jedi.
“Does anyone have anything to add to the agenda for tonight’s opening ceremony?” Karen asked.
All shook their heads except O’Reilly, who raised his hand slowly.
“Yes,” he said with a grin on his face. “Where’s Cosmo?”
Cosmo was in his quarters, yelling at his holovid.
“What in the Emperor’s name were you thinking, attacking Phoenix?” he shouted at the holographic image of his brother. “Thousands of innocent people could have been killed!”
“Non-humans,” his brother flatly replied. “And the humans that were there are traitors to their species,” he said without skipping a beat.
“You and your terrorist club have gone too far this time,” Cosmo said flatly. “I am turning you in to the Emperor.”
His brother laughed at the statement. “Getting a bit big for your britches, little brother? I’d remind you that I have the key to what you hold dear.”
Cosmo’s defiant stance faded away, and he relented, cutting the transmission.
Taking a large drink from his bottle, he slumped down upon the davenport in his quarters. The Empire was ruled by weak-kneed men and women, and the only alternative was a bunch of murderers and thieves like his brother. He cherished neither side.
Resigning himself to the current status quo, he changed into his finest clothes for Phoenix’s opening ceremony. While he didn’t much care for the ambassadorial meeting he was supposed to be at right now, he would make sure the Empire was well represented at the event.
It was what was expected of an Arch Duke.
Blood. Blood, fortune, and sweat. All have been the price we have paid for our conflicts in the past two hundred years. No one can doubt that each nation, in its most genuine of spirits, believed that they were doing what was right. One should never begrudge a sentient for fighting for what they believed, in their heart of hearts, is right.
However, we are all here today because each one of us now has a common idea of what is right. And that is peace. Our common idea is a galaxy where the Sith, The Jedi, The Ascendency, The Empire, and the Galactic Alliance can say, “we may not always agree, but we shall not waste blood and sweat fighting about it.”
I give you the words that a young Imperial Officer, Captain James Thayner, spoke over two hundred years ago, when he ended a bloody struggle on the planet of Bestine:
“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over these countless stars, will yet swell the chorus of peace, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
-Ambassador Lyna Moreen, speech at the official opening of Station Phoenix
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I'd like to know whether players in the past have made any changes to the story of WoW. Did anyone defeat the Lich King yet?/etc...
I have been playing tabletop RPGs since I was 19, and my primary interest is roleplay/storytelling. Most of the DnD campaign's I've run have been roleplaying centric (no hack & slash) that are primarily character driven.
Within the RP genre, I primarily enjoy military RP. I've been in the U.S. Army for six years, going to both Iraq and Afghanistan, so the military, and warfare, are something I'm very familiar with.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
Originally born in England to my father, who was a US Navy Officer, but a U.S. Citizen.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I originally played Everquest, and made the transition to WoW in 2004 when the game came out.
What made you seek our server over others? (Or how did you find us?):
You seem to have an extensive vetting process for players. This is good, as I am tired of RP on retail and other private servers that 'take all comers.'
Too often, either people don't want to RP (and troll RPers) or are too uneducated about the WoW universe/Europe of about the 18th century to RP effectively. WoW is heavily based off of medieval/industrial Europe, so if you're going to RP, you should at least know the difference between the nobility and the gentry.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
Military RP, that focuses on character development. I consider the new Battlestar Galactica to be probably the most accurate military SciFi television show in the past thirty years.
I like RP that is interpersonal and immersion, people should develop relationships not only amongst themselves but in relation to the world around them. IC politics and relationships are something to be played out, rather than brushed over.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
My favorite race class is Human Paladin, as I've played a Ret paladin in WoW most of my time in the game.
Overall, I favor hybrid classes for game mechanics reasons, as its easier to find a group as a paladin/druid since you can spec into DPS, healing, and tanking.
RP-wise, I have no favorite class. Class isn't as important as a well developed character who comes forward and interacts with the world.
What are your expectations of this server?:
That people will be willing to RP, and that the server will be free of trolls. Everything from the purchase of food/mundane tasks to adventures can be RP'ed without worry of trolling, or that someone isn't interested in RP'ing and would rather run instances.
Also, that characters have the chance to affect the world around them. I realize this doesn't happen often, or immediately. But characters should have the ability to effect change in the world (such as cleansing the plaguelands or playing out an IC invasion of a city realistically with a long, drawn out siege process).
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Your approval process. It lets you evaluate people, and keep out trolls, powergamers etc...
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!:
This is part of a work I did during my latest deployment in my free time (I'm still in Afghanistan). This isn't a backstory, just some creative writing. It takes place in the Star Wars universe, but takes a very Star Trek/Babalyon 5 path:
PILOT
Captain Karen Solo gazed out at the massive space station before her. Phoenix dwarfed her tiny shuttle by several million times over; its massive cylindrical shape with a sphere in the center stood as an imposing figure both literally and figuratively.
“Is this our new home, mommy?” Jacen, her young six year old son asked, standing on his toes to look out the viewport.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, hefting her son so he could see out the transparasteel window.
The boy’s eyes were wide with awe at the work of architecture before him. He gazed at the station, and blinked only when the small transport was tractor-beamed into the maw that was its docking bay.
Karen, for her part, was significantly less impressed with Phoenix. Having recently commanded the Thrawn-class super-dreadnought Ackbar for the Galactic Alliance Navy, large space vessels no longer impressed her. The Ackbar was over eight kilometers in length, and had boasted over two-hundred turbolaser batteries, enough to destroy a planet in a matter of hours.
Phoenix seemed much smaller by comparison, at only five kilometers in length. However, this was her first assignment she had been able to take her son on, so he was in awe at their new home.
However, the responsibilities of commanding Phoenix would be much greater than the Ackbar. The Phoenix was a project funded by all governments within the Galactic Triumverate, which included the Galactic Alliance, the New Jedi Order, the Galactic Empire, the Chiss Ascendency and the Sith Empire.
After over a hundred and fifty years of war between these major powers, it was finally decided to set up a space station where each government could send a representative. The Alliance had great hopes that it could be a new beginning—as a phoenix rises from the ashes—of an era of peace between the various nations.
All Karen Solo had to do was make it happen. She had her work cut out for her. The list of possible commanders ranged from diplomats, to senators, jedi, sith, to governors to a host of military officers. But in the end, for reasons she did not know, the Alliance had decided on her.
Her record, in her opinion, certainly did not warrant it. She had only fifteen years in the fleet, and at age thirty-seven, her biggest accomplishment was successfully commanding the Ackbar for two years. However, there were Commanders, and Captains, who had held a dozen such commands. She had no ability with the Force, so she would have to deal with Jedi and Sith who might attempt to manipulate her mind.
The only thing of note on her personnel file was that she was a descendent of General Han Solo, apparently a hero during the First Galactic Civil War. Karen had not studied that particular part of history very well, so she knew little of her great^10th grandfather’s exploits.
As the small transport docked, Jacen began to get antsy, squirming in his seat. Karen chastised him for his lack of patience, and gathered her things from the overhead storage bins in the main seating area. She and Jacen stepped out of the transport onto the main Promenade of Phoenix.
The Promenade was bustling with activity, as vendors set up shop and technicians put the final touches on the station. A small entourage was waiting to greet her, but Jacen quickly ran off to a Sullistan kimja stand.
“Mommy! Can I get a kimja stick?” he asked, taking off at hyperspeed fifteen.
Jacen reached up to the top of the stand, where a grinning sullistan eagerly handed Jacen a stick of candy.
“Anything, for the new mistress of the station,” the Sullistan said from across the aisle. “Consider it a favor.”
Karen sighed, leaving the entourage for a moment to police up her son. She attempted to hand the sullistan a few credits, but he shook his head.
“No, no, ma’am,” he said. “Consider it a gift. My kimja sticks are the finest in the galaxy,” he said, handing her one.
Karen gracefully took it, trying to juggle the candy amidst the suitcases she was trying to manage. One of the entourage on the other side of the aisle, a naval steward, quickly came up and took her bags.
“Thank you, petty officer,” Karen said with a breath of relief.
“I’ll have them taken to you quarters,” the petty officer replied.
Karen turned back to the sullistan, who seemed very pleased to have just made in well with the new station commander.
“If there is anything I can do for you ma’am, don’t hesitate to call. My contact information is printed on the stick to that delicious treat you’re holding in your pretty little hand,” he said with a used-speeder salesman smile.
“You’re too kind,” Karen said politely, and grabbed Jacen, who had almost devoured his kimja stick in a matter of minutes.
Dragging Jacen back to the entourage, she put her professional face back on.
“I’m sorry, he’s like a rabid womprat at his age,” she said apologetically.
The entourage consisted of a young human male, a chiss female of indeterminate age, an aging officer dressed in a uniform of the Imperial Army, and a seemingly drunk, well dressed man who appeared to be under the control of the Imperial officer and the young man.
“It only gets worse,” the Imperial officer said with a knowing smile. “Wait until he reaches the teens.” The man knelt down and handed the boy a small model of an Imperial VI-class star destroyer. “Why don’t you go play with this? Ms. Lyna can show you around the station.”
“Cool!” the boy said, eagerly taking the toy, and pretending to shoot its lasers at an invisible foe.
Karen smiled, offered her hand.
“Commander Karen Solo,” she said, “and thank you.”
“Colonel Maxwell Forrest, recently brought out of retirement to command your fleet security detachment,” he said. “And my I have the honor of introducing Ambassador Lyna Moreen is of the Chiss Ascendency.”
The Chiss woman gave Karen a warm smile as she offered her hand.
“I sincerely hope that project Phoenix can offer the galaxy an alternative to centuries of endless war,” she said. Lyna bent down and got eye to eye with Jacen. “And who is this?” she said sweetly.
“I’m Jacen Solo, ma’am,” the boy said, his mother’s discipline in meeting strangers kicking in.
“My name is Lyna” the chiss woman replied. “How would you like to see the station?”
Karen was reactively defensive about the idea of Jacen going off with a stranger. However, something emanated from the woman; a cooling calmness that was almost ethereal that said she could trust her.
“Ambassador,” Karen began professionally. “I couldn’t ask you to baby sit my son.”
“Hey, I’m not a baby anymore,” Jacen replied, defensively.
“Ambassador Moreen is wonderful with children, ma’am” Colonel Forrest said with a reassuring smile. “Your son couldn’t be in better hands.”
“I want to see the station!” Jacen said, turning to his mother.
Karen nodded. If she couldn’t trust an Ambassador, sent by the Ascendency to make peace, then she had a long way to go to making the mission of Phoenix a reality.
“Be careful, now. And be on your best behavior for the Ambassador!” she reminded in a motherly tone.
Jacen obediently took Lyna’s hand, and the two walked off into the Promenade.
Colonel Forrest smiled, completely understanding Karen’s concern.
“Welcome to station Phoenix,” he said. The well-dressed man next to him, who was drunk, had wandered off and was now attempting to woo one of the attractive Twi’lek dealers at a sabacc table.
“I think we lost Cosmo again,” the younger man said, stepping forward.
A starfighter pilot Karen thought to herself. The man’s swagger, coolness, and ultimate confidence in his own abilities gave it completely away. What shocked her was that the man seemed to be carrying a lightsaber.
“Tim O’Reilly,” he said with a slight grin. “…of the ‘most noble’ New Jedi Order. Here to help you prevent the next ‘war to end all wars.”
The young man offered his hand, and Karen shook it. His grip was tight, and she was almost surprised by it.
“You’ve served in the Fleet,” she said, noting the Galactic Alliance Naval Aviator’s Jacket he wore.
“Bone-head, first class, on the weekends” he replied with a mock salute. “But in the ‘seat, it was Major Tim O’Reilly.”
Karen returned the man’s cheerful smile. Inwardly, she couldn’t stand his swagger. She reminded him of Jacen’s father, the arrogant pilot who had left a young Lieutenant Karen Solo when she had turned thirty for…greener pastures.
“If that will be all, Commander, Colonel,” he said. “I better go police up our illustrious ambassador from your Empire,” he said, giving Colonel Forrest a hard time.
“Not my Empire,” Forrest replied in kind.
“What’s wrong with Ambassador Hender?” Karen asked as the young Jedi walked over to Cosmo and began chastising him with his sharp wit.
Forrest sighed. “He’s caught in a bygone era,” he told the young commander. “His family was well placed when Palpatine ruled the Empire. And now he drowns his sorrow of their fall in the bottle.”
“Why did the Empire send him as their ambassador?” she asked bluntly.
Colonel Forrest shook his head. “I think that’s something best discussed in private. If you’ll allow me to show you to Ops, and your office.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” she replied, happy to get down to business.
“One more thing, ma’am,” Forrest added as they walked down the busy Promenade. “While my Imperial Army rank may superceede yours, I fully accept and acknowledge your command of Phoenix. I’m retired, and merely command the security forces of this station. You’re in charge.”
Karen nodded. “Thank you. I honestly dreaded having to address the rank issue.”
“Not a problem,” the older man replied. “I’ve been taking orders all my life.”
“From whom?” Karen asked with feigned interest.
“My wife,” Colonel Forrest replied with a smile. “She’s the Commanding Officer of the domestic household.”
“But Arlenn,” Cosmo said to stunningly attractive sabacc dealer. “Your hair is the thread upon which the angels sew their gowns.”
The woman sighed, somewhat impressed, but a little tired of Cosmo’s pestering.
“Not today, Cosmo,” the Twi’lek woman replied. “I’m working a double shift.”
“And after that shift, I could soothe you with one of my famous…” Cosmo began massaging the woman’s neck. Arlenn drew in a deep breath. It was awfully comforting, after being on shift for the past fifteen hours.
“…back massages,” he wooed. “You liked the one I gave you last week.”
“Cosmo,” she replied, regaining her composure and moving his groping arms aside. “Go.”
“Perhaps another time then,” he said, smiling.
Cosmo stood up, and looked around. He was supposed to be meeting someone important…
He saw Tim O’Reilly, standing against a pillar, his arms crossed and chuckling.
“Why are you always spying on me, Mr. O’Reilly?” Cosmo said, exasperated.
“Spying?” Tim asked. “I was merely enjoying my new favorite reality holo-vid. Cosmo Sleeps Alone,” he paused, counting in his head, “part five.”
The ambassador began approaching O’Reilly, raising his voice, drunkenly.
“I’ll have you know, that I am Cosmo Hender, fifth Arch Duke of Eradiu, and I will not be made a fool of by a jedi like you,” he said angrily.
“You’re doing a pretty stellar job of that yourself. I didn’t have to do anything this time,” he replied with a smile. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a bit of spilled booze from Cosmo’s extravagant overcoat.
“Keep your head up, Arch Duke,” he replied, and patted him on the head before walking away.
Cosmo fumed in frustration as the Jedi walked away. But another young lass soon caught his eye.
“Commander Solo,” Lieutenant Orlin, the station’s comm officer announced, “we have an incoming distress signal from our cultural research station on the planet below. I’m putting it on the main viewscreen.”
Karen nodded, and all in Ops turned their attention to the main viewer. A mon calamari scientist appeared, in a scratchy transmission. It was hard to tell his expression, but it did not seem good.
“This is Doctor Arvil Krynad, director of Station Five,” the fish-headed scientist said. “There has been an explosion in one of our isolation labs. Radiation is leaking throughout the entire facility. Request immediate MEDEVAC.”
The station’s science officer, Ensign Wilden, looked up from his console.
“Commander, I’m reading a tetryon explosion in one of station five’s cyclotrons. They were scheduled to test a new ore they had discovered on the planet,” he said.
“Action stations,” Karen said immediately. The sirens and red lights began to go off as soon as she said the words. “Go to condition one. Inform Colonel Forrest he needs to launch an evacuation mission. Time: Now.”
“Acknowledge,” Colonel Forrest said over the com. “QRF is launching.”
Karen looked out the main port window and saw three transports, escorted by four Starwing-class fighters, leave the docking bay.
The fighters and transports entered the planet’s atmosphere, ready to rescue the stranded team on the surface. Several minutes passed by before the transports radioed in that they had landed.
“New sensor contact!” Lieutenant Orlin said aloud. “On course one-one-eight, mark six-two. Range: eight thousand kilometers. It just jumped out of hyperspace, not in any of the predetermined realspace lanes.”
“A navigational error?” Karen asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ensign Wilder said. “I’m not reading any damage to the bulk transport, but…” he paused, “I’m not reading any lifesigns.”
Suddenly, on all frequencies, a transmission came over the main viewer. A man dressed in fine clothing appeared, holding a blaster rifle.
“My name is Wilhuf Anders Prell,” he announced. “And I am the leader of a group that will soon bring freedom to all those oppressed by the Galactic Empire. Station Phoenix is merely a cover for the Empire to pretend to want peace, yet still unleash unchecked conquest. We will now remedy that situation. We are the Sons of Liberty, and we will not stop until the Empire is destroyed.”
The transmission quickly cut out.
“Don’t these people know the war is over?” Lieutenant Orlin sighed.
Karen shook her head. “It’s a ramship,” she said. “What fighters do we have ready to launch?”
“The main fighter compliment won’t arrive until later this week, along with primary weapons” Ensign Wilden said. “All we have is the security force that was here during construction.”
“And that’s down on the surface,” Karen cursed. “Tractor beams, repel it away from the station!” she ordered.
“Executing,” Lieutenant Orlin replied, adjusting his controls. Sparks blew out from a power conduit near the turbolift.
“Overload in the power grid,” Orlin reported. “All power systems from junctions AA-23 to TH-1138 are down.”
“Get a team on it,” Karen replied. “What do we have left?”
All the Ops officers shrugged.
“Frak!” the commander cursed aloud. Not 24 hours since arriving, and her station was falling apart at the seams. Paid for by the lowest bidding government contractor, she thought to herself.
Suddenly, the comm came on, and a familiar voice came over the radio.
“Hello, Phoenix,” Tim O’Reilly said. “This is your friendly Jedi problem solving service. Heard you were having some trouble with your station.”
A modified YT-8100 freighter flew past the main viewport, rattling Ops. Karen sighed, and shook her head.
“Yes, Mr. O’Reilly,” she spoke into the com. “Could you kindly deal with the freighter that’s about to ram my station?”
“No problem!” the jedi said over the com. Karen watched as the Safire closed with the freighter. O’Reilly fired several heavy laser blasts, with pinpoint accuracy into the ship’s reactor, and it exploded in a ball of hot gas.
“That’s how you scatter the cockroaches” he said over the com as the freighter exploded.
Karen smiled slightly, and keyed the com.
“Thank you, Safire,” she said reluctantly.
“No problem, Phoenix actual,” he said. “I’ll send you my bill.”
“Actual, this is QRF,” Colonel Forrest came over the com. “We’ve finished evacuation, the team inside the cyclotron was killed, and a dozen more are suffering severe radiation burns. Have,” He paused, “I recommend having a medical team meet us in launch bay eight.”
“Acknowledged, QRF,” Karen turned to the Ops officer, who sent the correct orders. “I’ll be in the launch bay. Lieutenant, you have Ops.”
Lyna Moreen held Jacen Solo’s hand as she showed him all the shops in the Promenade. The boy seemed to be entranced by the many species, and exotic wares being sold by the merchants there.
They stopped by a Hapan vendor, who had an entire chest full of rainbow gems from Gallinore, whose inner fire shone like a miniature sun. A Bith musician played a song, for a few credits, that kept the attention of a small crowd for almost an hour. And at the Replimat, where they stopped for lunch, a old spacefaring wookiee recounted adventures she had during the Rebellion, in the First Civil War.
“Ms. Lyna,” Jacen said, taking a large bite into his sandwich, “why do we have all these wars if everyone seems to get along on this station?” he asked casually, not knowing the gravity of the question.
Lyna smiled, and set down her drink. She did not react at all to the boy’s difficult question, rather, she kept the same, carefree demeanor that the boy showed.
“Some sentients desire more than what is within their shop, their home, or even their planet. Wars happen when those who desire more, decide to take it without asking,” she said.
Jacen nodded, accepting the answer at face value. Quite abruptly, the lights in the Replimat went out, leaving the facility almost pitch black except for the starlight from the viewport windows.
The panicked patrons immediately began to murmur, and ask questions. Jacen looked around, but did not seem afraid. He kept eating his sandwich, and seemed to wonder what all the fuss was about.
Lyna turned on her diplomatic frequency, and got a full report from her embassy aboard the station.
“Time to go,” Lyna said, gathering up Jacen from the booth they shared. “I’m going to take you to see your mother.”
“But I’m not finished eating,” Jacen protested.
“I’m sure you’re mother is very worried about you,” she replied. “Come along now, lets go.” Jacen obediently got up from the table and took Lyna’s hand.
They left the Replimat and entered the Promenade. Many of the shopkeepers began to close up, as sentients used flashlights to find their way back to their quarters. Power outages were not uncommon on the station, and they merely waited them out until the power grid could be repaired.
Lyna turned left off of the Promenade and to the nearest set of turbolifts, which had their own independent power sources, just in case of this type of emergency. Pressing the button, she patiently waited, keeping a deep, red eye out for anything suspicious.
The turbolift finally arrived, and she stepped on it with Jacen. She punched in the code for Ops, and the slight whir of the turbolift could be heard as it moved dozens of kilometers per hour to its destination.
The turbolift doors opened, and Karen Solo stood there, in Ops. She seemed to be waiting for the turbolift.
“Oh thank the Force,” she said, snatching up Jacen.
“What?” he said, genuinely not knowing what all the concern was about.
The concerned mother turned to Lyna. “Thank you, Ambassador,” she said with utmost sincerity.
“Your son was very brave,” she said calmly, stepping out of the turbolift.
Karen turned to Jacen, and set him down on an empty chair. “Stay here with Ms. Lyna,” she said. “Mommy has to go take care of something.”
“Okay,” Jacen replied obediently.
Karen Solo jumped into the turbolift to go meet Colonel Forrest in the docking bay. She scolded herself that she’d almost forgotten about Jacen during the incident, but was relieved that the seemingly kind and gentile Chiss Ambassador had taken good care of him.
The turbolift reached the docking bay, and Karen stepped out, only to have two blaster bolts fly by her head, singing her golden hair.
“Frak,” she muttered to herself, drawing her BlasTech DL-92, standard issue sidearm. She punched her earpiece com. “Ops, this is actual. Shots fired, docking bay level, turbolift eighteen.”
“We’re tracking it,” Lieutenant Oldin said. “Colonel Forrest’s security team is pinned down in the launch bay, under heavy fire. Hostiles are wearing old-style stormtrooper armor.”
Karen pulled out her tricorder, and scanned the hallway. Two life signs showed up, both wearing armor that quantum dated at over one hundred years old. They were carrying blaster carbine rifles; all she had was her pistol. With what minimal security the station had pinned down in the docking bay, she’d have to fight her way out herself.
Dropping to the prone position, she began to pie-corner the turbolift door. In the darkness, it was hard to see, and she knew the stormtroopers had nightvision opticals built into their helmets.
For a brief moment, she hoped that due to the age of the armor suits, the night vision might not be functional. However, her tactical nature threw that out as a possibility.
Remembering her technology, however, she pressed a button on her blaster, and another on her tricorder. The two gave the signature beep that they had handshaked electronically, and were now linked.
Holding her blaster out the corner, she looked down the corridor on her tricorder. Two sentients, wearing the armor, were standing in the middle of the corridor. They were obviously relying on their concealment in the darkness rather than taking cover.
Lining up the crosshairs that were superimposed upon the image displayed on her tricorder, she fired two shots, instantly killing both hostiles. At least some of her technology was operating today.
Moving into the corridor, she reached the door to the main hangar bay. With a quick scan, she saw Colonel Forrest and his soldiers fighting a dozen or so stormtrooper-dressed sentients.
Setting her pistol to automatic, she slammed the door release stud and opened fire.
In a matter of seconds, she unleashed two hundred blaster bolts upon the stormtroopers, who had no idea she was coming. She completely drained her blaster’s energy cell, and conducted a reload within the beat of a heart.
All the hostiles, who had their backs to that door, lay smoking in gooey, piles of flesh and armor.
“They’re a group called the Imperial Knights,” Tim O’Reilly said across the conference room table. “A terrorist group that wants to bring back the glory days of the Empire.”
Colonel Forrest nodded. “We’ve been having several problems with them domestically,” he added. “Its not uncommon for a particularly zealous young officer to leave the service and go over to them.”
Karen noted both of their observations, and kept listening.
“Obviously,” O’Reilly continued, “Both the Sons of Liberty and the Imperial Knights have a vested interest in seeing Project Phoenix fail.”
“You didn’t forsee this issue?” Karen asked Colonel Forrest.
“On the contrary, ma’am, I’m surprised something like this didn’t happen sooner. I’ve sent in a dozen requests for more troops to both the Empire and the Galactic Alliance, but both have sat on the issue, for obvious reasons.”
Karen frowned. “They’re not obvious to me.”
“For one, this project is highly controversial within the Empire,” Colonel Forrest explained. “Many would like to see Phoneix merely go away quietly. As for the Galactic Alliance, most of its leaders were members of the former New Republic, and its obvious why they might not want to listen to an Imperial Army Colonel.”
“But why would they wait until now to attack?” O’Reilly asked. “They could have done a lot more damage while the station was still under construction.”
“Politics,” Karen replied. “Blow up Phoenix while its still under construction, and another one gets built. But cause the project to fail entirely after the station is complete and end Phoenix all together.”
“This was obviously a complex attack, by both the Imperial Knights and the Sons of Liberty. While I don’t see much coordination between the organizations, it seems that both groups planned their attacks for months, and executed it with a high degree of coordination,” O’Reilly put in. “Commander, we need to prevent Phoenix from becoming a battleground for these two terror cell’s little war.”
“For that matter,” Lyna added, “Where is the Sith ambassador? The opening ceremony is tonight, and we’ve heard no word form their government on their ambassador’s expected arrival.”
O’Reilly began to say something, but bit his upper lip.
Karen broke the silence. “These are all important issues. For one, I’ll order the Death’s Head off of patrol and loan us some of their security force. Second, I suspect the Sith want to see if we’ll hold the ceremony to wait for them.”
“Do we?” O’Reilly asked, not showing any emotion.
“No,” Lyna replied. “I would advise against it. While they will claim that they’ve been cut out, we should preempt that claim with a media broadcast about their lack of punctuality, and insinuate they’re not serious about the peace process.”
Karen looked at the sweet, charming Chiss woman. She did not see the inner political genius beneath her gentile personality.
All nodded in the room at the assessment. Every government represented at the meeting table had suffered at the hands of the Sith. Working past those prejudices would be extremely difficult for all of them, especially the Jedi.
“Does anyone have anything to add to the agenda for tonight’s opening ceremony?” Karen asked.
All shook their heads except O’Reilly, who raised his hand slowly.
“Yes,” he said with a grin on his face. “Where’s Cosmo?”
Cosmo was in his quarters, yelling at his holovid.
“What in the Emperor’s name were you thinking, attacking Phoenix?” he shouted at the holographic image of his brother. “Thousands of innocent people could have been killed!”
“Non-humans,” his brother flatly replied. “And the humans that were there are traitors to their species,” he said without skipping a beat.
“You and your terrorist club have gone too far this time,” Cosmo said flatly. “I am turning you in to the Emperor.”
His brother laughed at the statement. “Getting a bit big for your britches, little brother? I’d remind you that I have the key to what you hold dear.”
Cosmo’s defiant stance faded away, and he relented, cutting the transmission.
Taking a large drink from his bottle, he slumped down upon the davenport in his quarters. The Empire was ruled by weak-kneed men and women, and the only alternative was a bunch of murderers and thieves like his brother. He cherished neither side.
Resigning himself to the current status quo, he changed into his finest clothes for Phoenix’s opening ceremony. While he didn’t much care for the ambassadorial meeting he was supposed to be at right now, he would make sure the Empire was well represented at the event.
It was what was expected of an Arch Duke.
Blood. Blood, fortune, and sweat. All have been the price we have paid for our conflicts in the past two hundred years. No one can doubt that each nation, in its most genuine of spirits, believed that they were doing what was right. One should never begrudge a sentient for fighting for what they believed, in their heart of hearts, is right.
However, we are all here today because each one of us now has a common idea of what is right. And that is peace. Our common idea is a galaxy where the Sith, The Jedi, The Ascendency, The Empire, and the Galactic Alliance can say, “we may not always agree, but we shall not waste blood and sweat fighting about it.”
I give you the words that a young Imperial Officer, Captain James Thayner, spoke over two hundred years ago, when he ended a bloody struggle on the planet of Bestine:
“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over these countless stars, will yet swell the chorus of peace, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
-Ambassador Lyna Moreen, speech at the official opening of Station Phoenix
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I'd like to know whether players in the past have made any changes to the story of WoW. Did anyone defeat the Lich King yet?/etc...
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