OOC: Sorry for the long gaps between posts, but with all that I am doing right now, I don't have much time for here. Mostly I'll be on during the weekends, but I'll try to get on as much as I can during the week.

IC: Zayne flew slightly to the right of Jasson, his wingmate, keeping far enough behind that any nessary evasive manouvers on his part wouldn't force the two X-wings together. He checked over everything again, a habit he had picked up sometime in his life and never lost. it had served him well in the past, allowing him to notice things that he missed on the first or second checks, probably the reason he had never lost the habit.

Everything was still green, the same as it was the last time he had checked the systems, but you never knew what could go wrong. He scanned out with the Force over their 'companions,' the Sernpidal pirates. Zayne detected no hint of treachary beyond what was norm for a pirate, though they could be planning to betray them if there was enough money or valuables in it for them. Of course, he could be completly wrong and there were blaring signs that they were about to be betrayed but the Miralukan Jedi was horrible at reading minds unless he was in physical contact (preferable) or close proximity.

As Valera voiced her question, Zayne came up with a very good reason for them not to intigrate the pirates into their formations. Most pirates were no where near as dicisplined as a NR squadron and even if they were, there would be two command structures so some people from one flight that are relying on the other group could be left hanging if the others had different orders or ideas than them. However, he kept his ideas to himself as this was NR mission, not a Jedi one and the question was directed at Captian Korm not Zayne.

***

Ram formed his TIE up behind Korm, the captian obviously taking the lead position while Ram followed. As the Sernpidal pirate's Corvette disgorged its fighters, the Mando'a scanned each ship, noting the amorments and other upgrades on each one. The most heavily armed and modded were probably the leaders and the command chain went down from their in order of most weaopns and mods to least, thought Ram as he watched the information scroll across the screen.

After hearing Val's question, some thoughts popped into his head, but he would wait for Korm to reply before voicing his opinion.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

That's okay, Doc, we'll just cope when you're not around.

----

Korm opened a channel to the Sernpidal Pirates' carrier, the Final Request.

"Bloodhawk Leader here. Welcome to Selvaris, Garren," he addressed the leader of the Sernpidal Pirate. "We were beginning to think that you wouldn't show up--that maybe you were having second thoughts or something. Glad to see that you overcame your moral inhibitions."

"No, I still have a conscience," Garren said dryly. "It bothers me every time I leave some peaceful civilian freighter alone, or when I don't pay my allies back for veiled insults."

"I'll make sure all of my subordinates are aware of that, then," Korm said. Switching the comm channel back to the Bloodhawk's personal, encrypted one, he answered Valera's question. "They'll be flying their own patterns," he said. "We're not going out of our way to defend their ship, and vice versa."

The Sernpidal Pirates (anyone have suggestions for a name for them?) were flying rather erratic patterns around Final Request. They were erratic, but they also were with a purpose--nothing would be able to catch them by surprise, least of all the Bloodhawks.

-----

Two hours of wary flying near the Sernpidal Pirates was getting on Jhoran's nerves. Every time he got within a kilometer or two of one of their pilots, the building anxiety and tension in the pilots caused Jhoran to tense up, which wasn't something that made for good flying. It was actually something of a relief when the freighter convoy dropped out of hyperspace to head in-system. Jhoran smiled. Time for some drama.

There were five Action VI transports, along with several light freighters of different types that Jhoran didn't recognise. Ironically, it was the light freighters that were armed--Action VI transports, far larger than the others, were produced without weapons. However, they could be modified.

"All pilots, pick and choose your targets--disable sublights, comm dishes, and weaponry first," Korm's voice came through Jhoran's helmet.

Starfighters began streaking towards the hapless freighters. One of the Action VIs, though, revealed hidden turbolasers. That would have been a sign to be cautious, but the freighter happened to be the Melancholy Bird, and it happened to belong to the Bloodhawks. Right in the middle of the freighters' defensive formation, it could deal quite a bit of damage.

"I don't think," Jhoran said, "that we're going to have much trouble with this."

-----

K, I'd post more, but I have to go for supper now.

_________________

"Oh, I'd like to see him try," Ram muttered to himself as Garren finished his little comment. Ram also had his radio reciever tuned to the Sernpidal pirate frequency. He grimmaced as he realized that his comm bandwith was open to the squadron channel so they could hear what he said but he couldn't hear what they said back. Fierfek! he thought as he tuned his recever back to the squadron channel.

After two hours of flying patrol patterns around, the tell tale flickers of pseudomotion that signified a ship exiting or entering hyperspace flashed across the space on Ram's port bow.

"I don't think," Jhoran said, "that we're going to have much trouble with this."

"No, but hopefully it will still be fun!" Ram said in reply. "After you, sir?" was the next thing he said, the question obviously being directed at Korm.

OOC: Sorry for the short post, I just don't have the thought ability right now to create a longer one.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Engines and comm - good call, Jasson approved silently. There was a reason Korm was good at what he did. Ram, one of the newer volunteers for Darklight, was politely waiting for Bloodhawk Leader's acceleration, but the pirates had no such compunctions, and neither did the lieutenant. He did have some reservations about his Miraluka wingmate, though. Alderaan's ghosts, the guy couldn't see! The first time he'd met him, the Jedi had a scarf over his eyes. Way to inspire confidence, wing.

However, he was still alive, and that should count for something. Old, dusty tales suggested that Miraluka were "strong in the Force", whatever that meant. Hopefully it meant that Jasson would get out of this with his starboard S-foils still intact.

"Bloodhawks Five and Six, breaking patrol for bombing run." He set a new vector, towards the right forward transport, Zayne maintaining position. The path that they were currently on was not a standard bow-to-stern vector; Jasson wanted to take precautions in case the Action VI had any surprises in store for them. Hence, this path, which would overshoot the stern section.

A klick away, he primed two heat seekers, for the sublight engines, and spoke to Zayne. "Hawk Six, Five breaking right." The pilot began the turn to the right, the Miraluka keeping formation, then flipped his attitude and slid out to the left of the turn, sending off his missiles as the engines crossed his sights. Glancing to starboard, he checked to see if his wingmate had followed suite.

=============

Val, after hearing the squadron captain's instructions, spent a few seconds considering. "Heya, Jhoran, any objections to taking on the comm and armaments? Not that I'm hating on X-wings, but I think we're better suited to the detail work - because we're, well, better."

Oh, kriff! She'd almost forgotten, but couldn't mention it now. If - when - they boarded these vessels, she couldn't be called 'Valera Solusar'. If word of that got out, it would be ... messy, to say the least. In fact, it would just be best if they were known by their numbers - and Thirteen was a favorite of hers. She enjoyed tempting fate.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Korm's TIE Defender was already in a tight turn towards the nearest freighter, green laser beams flashing out from the linked cannons to impact on the dodging ship. Clouds of vaporized metal rose in a line that eventually reached the long-range communications dish, which disintegrated in a colorful display of flames and metal.

All over the convoy, communications and sublights were going out, followed by weaponry. Thankfully, the aim of the freighters wasn't anywhere near proficient enough to tag any of the pirates. Korm walked his lasers up the hull of his chosen freighter, finally connecting with the sublight engines, and watched them flicker out. With the ship dead in space, defenseless, and unable to call for help, Korm left it to pursue other targets.

With pirates swarming the freighters, most of which were defenseless, the fight was rapidly leaving them.

Korm flipped his comm over to a wide-band channel. "Freighters, you have thirty seconds to surrender, or we will ensure that all that's left of your ships are your cargo bays," the Feeorin said. "There are no other options. We're easy to please, as long as you do what we say. The countdown starts now."

Korm started the countdown on his chrono, then started circling his chosen target, smiling broadly. There was almost no doubt that the freighters would surrender, and then the real acting would begin.

--------

Jhoran raised his eyebrows. It wasn't often that he saw such inept gunners. They were probably just recently-hired crewmen who had been thrown into the turrets. Of course, even if they had been far better, they still wouldn't have hit the Jedi in their E-wings.

It hardly took any juking to avoid the scarlet bolts shot at them by those freighters that were armed, and likewise took hardly any aiming to disable the turrets that were firing at them.

When the countdown started flashing on his display screen, Jhoran blinked. Surely the freighters weren't already done in, were they? Indeed, most of them were crippled, and very few still had operating weaponry, none of which was firing.

"We'd better take out their guns anyway," Jhoran said to Valera.

--------

Sorry--can't concentrate enough for a longer post.

_________________

_________________

OOC: I also don't really know what to post, but I'll give you what I can. (And lets not let this die!!! Even though I would be a great contributor to that death)

IC: Zayne followed Jasson exactly; except instead of firing a missle at the engines (as two was enough to take them out), he swerved slightly to launch a torpedo at the comm aray, which subsequently blew up in a very flashy display. The Miraluka kept with the Lieutenant as he preformed the maunver that allowed him to shoot the engines.

***

Taking out the freighter's weapons was hardly nessary, Ram noted, as most of the gunner's couldn't have his the belly of a Star Destroyer if it was scraping hulls with thier ship. Thirty second to surrender, they'd probably do so in half the time considering how fast their comms, engines, and weapons. The Mandalorian was finding that he was actually looking forward to the 'acting' that would soon commence.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

(I took a little liberty with the convoy, in the interest of moving the plot along. If you want to change any of it, Aerandir, just tell me and I'll edit.)

"It couldn't hurt," Val agreed to Jhoran's suggestion. Their two E-Wings, the fastest snubfighters on the current playing field, swept in and out like the superiority vessels they were, leaving a trail of precision-targeted craters in their wake. By sheer coincidence, Korm was making his demands at the time; the lightning-fast E-Wing run only served to punctuate the convoy's vulnerability.

The red countdown digits flashed up on the new Jedi Knight's HUD. As the numbers flipped rapidly by, she remembered - "Sithspit." - and reached for the comm deck, keying it over to the Darklight's secure frequency. "This is Bloodhawk Thirteen. Do me a personal favor and don't mention my name when we board. Call me whatever you want, but I'm not Valera Solusar." Her father would absolutely go ballistic if he was connected in any way with this - and with reason.

Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen ... "Unregistered vessels, please state your terms of surrender."

As Korm read out the terms - docking bays opened, cargo umbelicals and ship-to-ship transport tunnels in place, bridge crew present in docking bays, all other personnel confined to quarters - Val looked across at her wingmate, floating against the backdrop of infinity, and gave him a thumbs-up through her cockpit canopy. "Let's do this thing, Fourteen." Her R7 astromech whistled encouragingly over the radio.

==============

A half-grin crossed Jasson's lips as the Miraluka stayed with him through the slip, precisely maintaining his distance. A good wing, this one. And, after all, with instrumentation, who needed to see?

The countdown, the terms. Val was worried about her name - gah, politics. Jasson had learned his lesson early, and learned it well. The further away the politicians, the happier everyone was. Especially himself. They preferred endless debates; he preferred ending debates, which became much easier with a blaster in his hand. Somehow, it encouraged compromise.

And finally, the protective docking bay doors were sliding aside, leaving only the atmosphere-preserving force shields in place. Along with the rest of the Bloodhawks, the lieutenant glided into their assigned transport, the leading vessel. He felt the slight bump from the engaging repulsorlifts, and checked the weapons on his person for a final time before controling the complete landing. All right. Time to play pirate. Swagger, Jasson, be cocky and overbearing - just be yourself.

With a hiss of venting atmosphere, he popped the canopy.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

_________________

As his TIE Defender settled onto the floor of the freighter's small docking bay, Korm smiled. Only a few of the Bloodhawks were actually boarding, the rest flying cover, but those who were coming with him would've had a hard time exuding a more fearsome air. They looked positively terrifying, from a non-military perspective.

He popped his hatch and climbed out of his fighter, jumping to the floor with an intentional thud that echoed in the bay. Simultaneously, the others were climbing out of their fighters, and the door at the far side of the docking bay opened, revealing a very nervous-looking cluster of people.

----------

Jhoran walked slightly behind Korm with Garos, the two of them acting as their leader's 'bodyguards'. In theory, their outfits were intimidating, and judging by what he was sensing in the Force, it was successful.

The others who had come aboard were arrayed behind them, but they were all listening as Korm began his act. The Feeorin could certainly play the part well, considering his species naturally unnerving looks. Well, unnerving from a human perspective, anyways.

As the freighter's bridge crew began scurrying away to gather the goods that Korm wanted, the pilots moved to the bridge, for different reasons. For instance, all data pertaining to the attack was going to be erased, and since this was the lead vessel, and all of the other ships were slave-rigged to it, a few modifications would enable them to erase files in all of the ships just from this one.

Jhoran allowed himself a brief smile. It was going well. Of course, he had smiled at just the time when Korm was stating what his bodyguards would do if there was any attempt to attack them, so the resulting affect was very, very satisfying.

Should it be satisfying, though? Frightening people, just for an act? Yes, he was carrying off his act, but was it the right thing--the Jedi thing to do? Still trying to maintain his grim bodyguard expressions, he frowned inwardly as his thoughts spun, trying to figure out whether or not this was right.

_________________

_________________

OOC: Darklight Squadron and the BloodHawk pirates are one and the same (Darklight Squadron is the NR designation, but BloodHawks is what the squadron is know as while they are pirates). Korm is the captian of Darklight Squadron, Jhoran is a Jedi in the squadron, Val you've got right, Mavin I don't know as he is your character but I'd assume that he is part of Darklight/BlookHawks as he is with us, Zayne and Ram you've got right, and you missed Jasson who is second in command of Darklight/BloodHawks.

IC: Zayne was still out on patrol pattern, without Jasson as he had boarded one of the ships along with some of the others. He stretched out with the Force, hoping to detect any threat long before it actually became one.

***

Ram vaulted out of the cockpit of his TIE, landing on the floor as gracefully as anyone in full beskar'gam armour really could. He fellinto step Off to Jhoran's right, his Verpine shatter gun held loosly in his arms, his body relaxed, ready for action. Of course, based on how the crew of the freighter was acting to their presence, Ram didn't forsee any real violence on thier part nessary to subdue the crew.

None of the bridge vrew could see inside of his helmet, but if they could, they would have been supprised. It was an average face, a face you would walk by in a spaceport and say 'He'd never do anything violent.' But, if you really looked at it, there was no emotion there, except for the eyes. The face was cold and hard and emotionless, like stone; but the eyes were calculating, taking in all the detials he could and storing them away for future referance.

How easily he could fall back into this common Mandalorian role, the role of a pirate. How easily he could supress his feelings and just think of other living things as cargo (if they were to be hostages) or as prey (if they were to be slaughtered) or as objects that could be useful. It shouldn't have been that easy, not for anyone, not ever; but it was.

Ram waited as the other erased the data relating to the attack. He was never much of a tech person, he was only good at killing. Usually from a long way off, and usually before anyone knew he was there.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

_________________

(@hb - correcto. btw, doc, Jasson was with the boarding party)

The data erasure proved quick and painless, as the data storage structure was standard. As the procedure completed its final stages, Jasson's comm link beeped. He listened briefly and turned to Korm. "That was th' bohoys en th' transp'rt, Cap'n," he announced, trying an accent he'd heard a deep-spacer use at a transfer point. On second thoughts, the accent was a little thick. He let his tongue help a little with the words, instead of not using it at all. "We got ev'rythin' we can off this scumbuck't. Ready to fix up 'n move out."

At Korm's curt nod he turned, leading the way back to the docking bay. Midway through the journey, as they walked through a crew lounge area, the lieutenant felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Scanning the few occupants, he settled on one man who was holding himself oddly. Not uneasily, as all the others were, but furtively.

That was enough for the Alderaanian. Faster than a blink, his blaster pistol had flashed out, squeezed off two shots into the man's right shoulder, and spun twice about Jasson's trigger finger before being re-holstered. Xereb was about to knock off an appropriately cocky remark to accompany his theatrics, but was interrupted by Val, who at the same moment had launched herself at the man.

========

Several things happened at once. The man dropped, the blaster clenched in his right hand dropped, Val dropped on top of them both, and an extremely annoyed expression dropped across Jasson's face.

All in all, Val was quite happy about all of this, though she took care not to show it. Instead, she twitched a knife out of hiding and pressed it across their would-be-rebel's throat, kneeling on his chest.

"A little slow, there?" Jasson was obviously taunting her, implying that her warning from the Force hadn't been as good as his instincts.

Completely in character, Val turned her head to bare her teeth at him, almost letting out a hiss. She faced her captive again, knowing that she couldn't kill him, and lifted her blade high. He was properly scared as she drove it twice into the thin weave on the floor, once on either side of his neck, and then rose, collecting his dropped blaster.

Val stalked away, down the corridor, leaving the others to follow her. This acting business was slightly enjoyable, actually. As far as she understood her character, she was the type of woman who would swagger up to a bar and order a few beers, then scowl at everyone else as she sat with her knees wide apart.

Not exactly the type of person Val was. Fortunately.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

_________________

OOC: Ah.... ...missed that. Edit.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.