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This is the place to post stories you have written about your character's timeskip. What they got up to in the five years between the fall of the Gav Daragon and the rise of the Empress Teta.

TOPIC: [Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner

[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 1 year 2 months ago #15597

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Last Edit: 1 month 1 week ago by Margo Faulkner.
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[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 1 year 2 months ago #15598

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15ATC - Zakuul Invasion +3 Months
Fondor System
Fall of the RSS Gav Daragon

Choice



Defeat. The Gav Daragon lies stricken, aflame and drifting in space. Her hull is scarred and her spine broken; she’ll never jump again. Escape pods and shuttles spew forth from the doomed vessel.

A small Republic Fleet rallies to the survivors’ defence, drawing the fire of the Imperial Dreadnought as escape pods and shuttles are retrieved. It is too late, however, to save the Gav Daragon.

The Khar Delba looms above the dying cruiser, casting a shadow that eclipses the Gav Daragon. Unrelenting, its turbolasers turn against the rescuing ships, and the survivors, still huddled in their escape pods.

Lances of green and red intermingle. Several escape pods disappear in a flash of destruction, as Moff Karos enacts his will upon the enemies of the Sith Empire.

An explosion consumes the Gav Daragon, at once extinguishing the lives of those left onboard. The searing fireball scorches the hull, and the ship breaks apart, the drive section severing from the main body.

The Peko-Peko rises from the deck of the Resolute’s main hangar bay. Vapours swirl beneath her as she lingers, an extra breath, before wheeling about to head for the exit. She returns to the stars, to the battle raging outside.

The Peko-Peko weaves her way between slow scattered debris, towards the buckling wreck of the Gav Daragon. Towards the handful of escape pods that still await recovery.

“You can save them.” - The words still ring in her ears. How can she live up to that…? She can. She will. She must.

Margo gazes from her viewport as her ship grows ever nearer to the pods. Her eye is drawn to her home, torn apart, before shifting to the sleek, looming mass of the Khar Delba as stray fire buffets her shielding.

Margo grits her teeth, before calming. She utters to herself a low, solemn vow, before continuing her path towards her stricken comrades.

Across the depths of space, on a distant, dark horizon, a thousand flashes herald the arrival of the Eternal Fleet. An endless, towering grid of cruciform warships fills the space beyond the Gav Daragon, dwarfing the ongoing battle.

The armada advances, inexorable and unstoppable, preparing to unleash untold destruction on the ships before them. The Republic vessels come about, and the Khar Delba quickly breaks off its attack.


"All ships -- this is Vice Admiral Reugen. The Eternal Fleet has arrived; we must retreat immediately! Come about, one-hundred-eighty degrees and prepare for emergency hyperspace jump!"


The Resolute, Mersil Kebir and Bacca’s Blade strain to reach the last survivors within reach, before reluctantly peeling off to keep out of range of the encroaching fleet, consigning the remaining survivors to certain doom.

The Khar Delba disappears, quickly retreating into hyperspace to places unknown. Lances of blue energy replace the green as the Eternal Fleet opens fire. There is no delaying the inevitable.


"Peko-Peko – Commander Yasra. Margo… There’s no time left. We have to leave – now! Come about and prepare for an emergency hyperspace jump! I’ll see you at the rally point."


Margo brings her hyperdrive online, turning to begin the automated calculations for the jump into hyperspace. A warning flares, forcing her attention to the state of the hyperdrive itself. She pauses, for a moment...

Though only for a moment. The noise of the warning alarm, the battle raging outside, all still as she gazes upwards at the RSS Resolute. She makes her decision, reaching for the manual override and forcing her hyperdrive into activation.


"… All systems green, Commander. I’ll follow you in."


The quartet of Republic vessels retreat, hopelessly outmatched by the immensity of the Eternal Fleet. Returning fire to cover their escape, one by one, they flee into hyperspace, leaving three dozen escape pods behind.

The Peko-Peko trembles as the blood spattered starfield begins to blur, the stars elongating into the spiralling tunnels of hyperspace. Margo closes her eyes as the bright blue kaleidoscope envelops her ship, plucking her from the battlefield…

Excerpt from Roleplay.
Additinal writing credits: Braya Yasra
Last Edit: 1 year 2 months ago by Margo Faulkner.
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[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 1 year 2 months ago #15602

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15ATC - Zakuul Invasion +3 Months
Unknown

Sacrifice




Somewhere unknown, between the desolation at Fondor and the beckoning call of the Core, the quiet stillness of space embraces a new arrival.

The Peko-Peko is thrust, battered and broken, from her escape along the hyperlanes. Her hyperdrive finally, violently, ceases to function. The vessel lurches into realspace, spinning a slow cartwheel across the system.

The ship is dark, unresponsive, even as a warning siren cries out from within. A trail of vented plasma marks her path as she vanishes into the darkness, Lieutenant Margo E. Faulkner never heard from again...

Excerpt from Roleplay.

Last Edit: 10 months 1 week ago by Margo Faulkner.
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[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 8 months 3 days ago #16627

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15ATC - Zakuul Invasion +3 Months
Unknown

Lone Wanderer



A lone figure slumps into the pilot’s seat, barely illuminated by the flickering control panels arrayed before her. She takes a breath, disoriented and in pain, before leaning in for a closer look. As she nears, her features become clearer, highlighted by the insistent crimson hues of warning lights too numerous to count.

Her head throbs, pain flaring in time with her pulse, and she raises her fingers to soothe her brow. It takes her a moment to realise that the wail announcing each pulse and ache come not from within her mind, but from the ship itself. She lowers her fingers again, returning slick with blood. It causes her a moment of pause, but little else.

“... Cut the alarm.”

Silence.

She turns her gaze towards the navigational readouts, attempting to get a fix on her location. From there, she reads over the various damage reports, feeling a growing sense of dread within the pit of her stomach. She pulls herself to her feet, leaning over the main console to peer out through the viewport.

Emptiness.

“What’s the prognosis on the hyperdrive?”

Critical failure. Immediate maintenance is required.

“Communications. Can I send a message to the Fleet?”

Critical failure. Immediate maintenance is required.

“Main power.”

Critical failure. Immediate maintenance is required. Backup generator is stable. At current rate of consumption… Three weeks remain.

She drops her head, her frustration alone preventing her from slipping into despair.

“What does work? Propulsion?”

Sublight drive system is operational.

She turns back to the console, stepping around in front of it. She refrains from lowering herself back into her seat. She longs to rest, but fears to lose herself to the darkness. With main power offline, the vessel is thick with it. Almost tangible.

“Bring the engines online. Show me a map of the system. Is there anywhere I can stop for repairs, or to send a message from.”

The holo beside her flickers to life, cutting through the black. The blue hues offer a little comfort, soon dispelled by the realisation that follows.

Nothing.

“Show me the rally point. Calculate travel time.”

The holo changes, the focus withdrawing to show a wider range. A few simple icons depict the current location of the Peko-Peko, along with a predicted journey time at sublight speed.

“I’ll never make it in time…”

She narrows her eyes. Her options are few, but she considers them still, even through the incessant throbbing at her temples.

“Plot a course for the Core. For Coruscant. How long will that take.”

The holo changes again, the information offered causing her shoulders to sag yet further.

Seven months.

“Alright… It’s a start…”

She leans forward, locking in the course and easing the weary ship into movement. Her breath catches as she inhales, slowly, attempting to calm herself. Her throat feels tight, and she swallows hard.

I will not break.

With any luck, she’ll be able to repair the hyperdrive. If not, perhaps she can find somewhere to trade for spare parts. Send a message. Perhaps even change over to another transport. The last thought causes her a moment’s pause. Leaving the ship behind would be… unthinkable. Best not to dwell on it, for now.

She strides across the cockpit, leaning against the doorframe to steady herself and her exhausted body. She gazes down into the darkened bowels of the ship, before making her way towards the engine room.

The darkness welcomes her, encircling and binding.

The next few days will be difficult, but at least she’s alive…



… if alone.



Last Edit: 5 months 3 weeks ago by Margo Faulkner.
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[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 5 months 3 weeks ago #16876

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15ATC - Zakuul Invasion +4
5
6
7
Months
Unknown

I'm Trying To Hold On




“Computer.”


The voice sounds out from the darkness, from the near silence, rising up from the maintenance hatch that conceals its owner. Her hands still upon her tools as she listens for the chirp of acknowledgement. It does not come.

Margo unwinds herself from her task, her legs carefully unfolding in the cramped space. Her fingers loop about the grating at the edge of the compartment as she hoists herself up, her torch lifted above her head to be placed on the floor of the Peko-Peko’s engine room. She calls out again, her voice slicing through the gloom.


“Computer.”


The trill of the ready tone returns at once.


“Load file; History of the Republic’s founding. Commence playback from wherever we left off.”


The system chirps again. Soon, the darkness is coloured with sound. A female voice, if artificial, begins a tale that lasts for hours. Days, perhaps. Margo draws the back of her hand across her brow, unknowingly smearing it with grease. Her vest is similarly stained, and clings to her back in the dampness of her toil. She lingers for a moment, in the revived illusion of company, before sinking once more into her hole to continue the seemingly endless task of repairing the ship.

Her skin glistens under lamplight as she struggles with a stubborn bolt. How long has it been…? No. No, best not to think about that. Just… keep working…






“Computer.”


The trill of the ready tone returns at once.


“Apply specified changes, including accents and stresses. Be sure to backup previous settings before rebooting your audio. Confirm once the process is complete.”


The computer chirps again, immediately setting about its task. Margo returns to her own, casting her eye across the day’s sensor readings before sinking yet more time into attempting to fix the communications system. A futile task, most likely, though she barely admits it to herself. The pilot’s seat turns slowly beneath her as she moves from one panel to the next. A timesink, and nothing more. Still, time is something she has in abundance…


Reboot complete. Simulated speech output running to new specifications.


The words almost catch her off guard, and she freezes in place. Though still clearly artificial, the voice carries a much more human quality to it. More personal. Familiar. Silence follows, to underline the words gone before. She takes a quiet breath.


“ … I’ve missed you.”


Please restate your enquiry.


She blinks, shaking her head lightly, brow knitting into a deep furrow.


“No… Um… Search the databanks. Find me a novel. A-a mystery, if we have one. Commence playback when ready.”

The words gently flow across her, enveloping her at times. She closes her eyes for a moment, for an hour, allowing herself a fleeting fantasy. How long has it been…?
No. No… there’s work to be done…







“Computer.”


The trill of the ready tone returns at once.

Margo’s voice is strained, though no longer consigned to darkness. Her body moves in self kept rhythm as she exercises. For now, push ups. A bead of sweat runs along her jawline, threatening to drip to the floor below. Her crimson mane hangs forward, hiding her flushed features from no one. From herself.


“Search the databanks. Find… Find the complete works… Of the Ithorian composer… Abon Mowroma. Commence playback and… and loop until I say otherwise…”


The music finds her, offering solace in close kept memories. She continues to move, to exercise, to work. For a time, she is offered small respite, and exists in two places at once. It’s been so long...
Last Edit: 5 months 3 weeks ago by Margo Faulkner.
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[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 2 months 1 week ago #17157

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16ATC - Zakuul Invasion +10 Months
Corusca Sector

Falling Star




The Core. Corusca Sector. For weeks, now, the stars have seemed familiar. The end has been in sight. The Peko-Peko has passed by numerous Republic aligned vessels, outposts, planets… and yet, she’s stopped at none of them.

Margo had always been a creature of logic, of level headedness. The ability to remove herself, emotionally, from her decision making processes has always served her well in her duties. Now, however…

Was it the choice to allow Felixus to sacrifice himself? Was it the choice to return to the battlefield to attempt to rescue the Gav Daragon’s survivors, despite knowing in her heart that her place was somewhere else? Whatever the cause, whatever the catalyst, there is a change within her. She feels it. She knows it. She allows it to guide her.

And so she ignores the vessels, outposts and planets. Coruscant. Her place is on Coruscant. A desire, a compulsion, stirs within her. It grows more powerful as the parsecs dwindle, and she gives herself to it.

Coruscant. She’ll be there, soon enough.

Relief shatters, splintering into a thousand cascading pieces as the alarm system alights again. The sector seems to hold its breath. A moment, rendered inside a bubble of growing pressure, dulling sound and light. A moment soon punctured by dread, quickly confirmed by the agitated sensor station.

The Eternal Fleet. Numbers immeasurable, crucifix form bound in perfect formation. The delicate geometric shapes equal in beauty as they are in terror. There is no advance. The net moves to form a wall. To blockade. To ensnare the lanes.

Her skin pricks, the hairs at the nape of her neck bristling. Her breath quickens, with a tremble, barely masking her frightened whimper. Somehow, suddenly, she is a child again. Terror. Grief. The anguish of her youth folds, for a moment, into the present. She struggles to separate the two, lost to the tightening knot in her stomach, and the growing ache somewhere in the back of her mind.

The ache grows, louder still, ringing in her ears until it almost drowns out the alarm. Margo glances upwards, cast in the shadows of a great fleet passing overhead. The Republic Fleet, moving to engage the Zakuulan blockade. Her gaze lingers instinctively on one vessel in particular as it pulls away from her, in perfect time to the pulse thundering in her ears.

She continues her slow journey towards the Capital, her hands steadying as she regains herself. As she banishes the child to her memories. She moves slowly, but unhindered, as warships continue to pass her by. Her unscheduled arrival goes seemingly unnoticed, eclipsed by the crisis unfolding at the fringes of the system. The Peko-Peko stills, holding station just close enough to allow its lonely passenger to watch the inevitable battle through her viewport.

The battle is short. The Republic Fleet is decimated. The power of the Eternal Empire is new, frightening, and absolute. Brave though they may have been, it cannot be said that the crews of those vessels fought valiantly. They barely fought at all, so swift was their annihilation.

Margo watches it all. Each flicker of light a quiet symbol of fruitless sacrifice. She watches it all, unmoved. Unmoved, until one flicker in particular. She cannot name it. She cannot explain it. She cannot anticipate it. The single, tiny, fleeting pinprick of light that sends a fire through her brain. A sickening grasp at the back of her mind that wrenches, that twists, and she cries out in agony. In torment. Her scream fills the vessel as she grasps at her skull, collapsing, as her knees fail her.

Margo sobs. She hadn’t meant to. She’s barely aware that she had done, as she fights to push the pain aside. She struggles to pull herself to her knees. How long had she been there, wrought by agony?

The pain begins to subside, through time, or sheer force of will. Something else replaces it. A sensation unknown, a buzzing unfamiliar in the back of her mind. It soothes her agony, somehow, replacing it with a dull ache. She peers from her viewport once more, gazing towards her home. To Coruscant. It calls to her. She feels, somehow, compelled to return. A feeling only enhanced by the pain, quietly easing as she grows closer to home. Something beckons to her.



She responds, body and soul.



Last Edit: 2 months 6 days ago by Margo Faulkner.
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[Timeskip] Margo E. Faulkner 2 months 3 days ago #17159

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16ATC - Zakuul Invasion +10 Months
Coruscant

Summons



Chaos. Her weave through the skylanes is treacherous and demanding. Despite the gridlock of traffic, the skies of Coruscant are alive with movement. Panic has begun to draw its icy fingers along the spine of the populace. A single speeder breaks from the queue of traffic. Then another. Soon, the lanes are thick with knots, elegant lines quickly entangling.

Margo forces her way. At first, she moves the Peko-Peko instinctively towards the spaceport, her instruments flashing with the expected customs warnings and official instructions. Soon, those alerts are replaced with lockdown information, her vessel commanded towards impoundment and inspection. She glances up to the viewport, snarling as the stream of traffic passes too closely. The people are fleeing the capital, and all arriving vessels are being seized.

Another blockade. They’re terrified of the prospect of a second Sacking.

So, too, is she.

She remains in place, awaiting her designated landing pad. With communications still offline, she’s unable to send a message to the tower. To the admiralty. To her companions.

Still, the Peko-Peko conceals no secrets. She waits. Once on the ground, she’ll be able to make contact, and finally…

Finally, her solitude will end.

It’s been so long…


The minutes draw on, her mind fatigued by her ordeal. Her thoughts unwavering from it. As she waits, frustrated by her lack of distraction, she feels it once again. The same buzzing at the back of her brain, returning anew. More insistent. Her pulse begins to race, her brow dampening with sweat. She turns her gaze upon the viewport, searching for… for what?

Again, she feels the pull, ensnared by this inexplicable compulsion. She fights it, causing only her blood to run faster, her beat thundering in her ears. The buzzing grows louder. Louder. Her hands tighten around the controls, whitening her knuckles. Finally, the console flashes, announcing her docking bay. A moment too late. She has succumb to the call. She whispers. To herself, and to no one. To whomever awaits her, beckoning her near.

”... I’m coming.”

The Peko-Peko stirs, her engines flaring as she wheels about to break away. She moves quickly, despite the densely packed buildings. Despite the throngs of traffic. Despite the spaceport’s defences turning to target her escape. Perhaps, merely a warning. A threat. No shots are fired, and the vessel soon slips away.

She resurfaces quickly, darting too close to high rise constructs. The transparisteel windows shudder in her wake, the inhabitants within instinctively ducking behind desks and doorways. She drops, skirting alongside public walkways. The citizens flee.

No… No, they were already fleeing. From what? To what? Margo feels her stomach lurch.

She’s here...
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