Admiral Moskau

Veritas Lux Mea

Teg (Cora)

---

"So I gather you have had experience with explosives such as the ones mentioned?"

"If it blows things up. I've used it. Gotta keep tabs on the latest and greatest in things that go Boom with a capital B," Teg began before the ship shuddered beneath her. She never talked much about her past or her past jobs with the rest of the crew. She had learned early on in her career as a mercenary that it was best to remain mysterious and aloof. People had a nasty habit of judging you for blowing up a space station or two. The Colonial Defense Forces had taught her all that she needed to know about combat demolition and she had simply expanded upon her training as she jetted across the galaxy. It wasn't that she was ashamed of what she had done. She wasn't. At least that was what she told herself. But mercenaries weren't much loved to begin with. She wasn't going to stoke the fire with stories of her own ethically tricky contracts and questionable actions.

"Attention all hands, we’ve got a little bit of unfriendly behavior. Teg, get to the port turret."

Hearing the captain over the comms, Teg was momentarily caught between annoyance at having her inspection of the sabotaged fuel line interrupted and her joy at imminent combat. Lust for excitement and a fresh shot of adrenaline eventually won out and Teg accepted that she would have to wait to examine what remained of the explosives that hard torn the fuel lines apart. Shifting her focus, Teg recovered in a heartbeat and pivoted away from the engine room in a flurry of motion, avoiding crashing into the following Itho only by mere centimeters.

Moving with each shake of the ship as it took incoming fire, Teg darted forward with legs that had long since gotten used to motions of a space ship, even a space ship trying to dodge incoming enemy fire. As she moved, Teg grabbed hold of Kai's hand practically dragging him along with her towards the Medical Bay. Stumbling from a particularly violent spread of laser fire that seemed to shake the entire ship, Teg managed to gracefully grab a railing before she fell. Resting for a moment, she flashed Kai a warm smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. Squeezing tightly she pointed further down the corridor,"Doc, I'm going to go shoot down some probable pirates. Try not to die."

Without waiting for a reply, Teg turned away from the Itho and broke into a fast, low run. Following the momentum of the ship as it danced around the bright lasers bolts of the enemy ship, Teg bounced off the walls of the ancient ship with deft movements. Practically rolling into the turret, Teg brought the laser battery online as fast she could. Taking aim at the enemy ship as it hurtled past her, Teg squeezed off a series of bolts that sizzled into the hull of the enemy vessel with a satisfying flash of energy.

[Deep Core, 6 ATC 4] Mission: Harvest Moon

Lieutenant Satra Maral

---

The secluded hanger bay echoed with low laughter. Laughter at the same old jokes that they'd tell before each mission. Maral had learned that they never really changed. The fear never did. It was only redirected into better uses than panic. Even the Jedi felt fear, she'd seen that herself. They weren't ready for a war. They'd been too busy playing at being heroes. The battlefield was no place for heroes. The universe didn't need genocidal cultists playing at gods, it needed stability, and it needed order, real order far beyond the corrupt politicians hiding on Coruscant. The Republic was a rotten, diseased thing. It had been dying for thousands of years. It had to be stopped. The universe had to be cured of the sickness of the Jedi and the politicians they had ensnared. She was the tool, the scalpel that would separate the diseased tissue, that would save what could be saved, and dispose of the rest. She didn't need a code to tell her what to do. She had orders. She had purpose. She had seen what mercy the Republic offered. She had seen what justice meant on Coruscant.

Familiarity brought Maral back from her thoughts. Familiar patterns of movements. Familiar conversations. Familiar gear checks. Familiar weapon checks. Familiar enemies. Maral and the 975th were old hands playing at an old game. There was comfort in the familiarity of it all. There was nothing to question or doubt while on a mission. There was no time and no place for hesitation. Not if you wanted to live. Not if you still wanted to play in the big leagues. Maral felt focused. She felt ready. They were ready. It had been a rush job by necessity, but that was nothing new. The war might have gone cold for everyone else, but for the 975th, the war was still burning brightly.

The orders she had received were simple and she rattled them off in her head without a moment of hesitation.

Objective 1: Cripple the Hammerhead carrying the prisoner by targeting critical systems of the cruiser.
Objective 2: Capture the RSIS operative located aboard the ship.

Accomplishing the mission however, was not simple. Retrieving a prisoner from a Hammerhead cruiser full of Jedi with adequate time and proper resources would have been difficult. It would be even more difficult with the hastily assembled force that Captain Corvinian commanded. Maral trusted that the soldiers of the 975th would rise to the challenge and she trusted Captain Corvinian, as much as she trusted any superior officer in Imperial Intelligence. She trusted the Sith warriors that stalked the Terminus cruiser far less. They were an uncertain variable in the equation. Capable, but exceedingly dangerous and unpredictable, even to loyal soldiers of the Empire. The rest of the forces assigned to the operation were a great disappointment to Maral. Mercenaries, green soldiers, and whatever criminal scumbags could be convinced to sign up. They would do as cannon fodder and not much else. The mere thought left Maral shaking her head in irritation. Working with amateurs was never fun.

Loading their gear into a waiting boarding shuttle, the Imperial Intelligence operators showed neither the unrestrained fear of the common troopers, nor the boundless emotion of the Sith warriors. Maral wouldn't have allowed either. There was no room for mistakes when you were hunting force users. You had to be thoughtless, formless, striking from the shadows, and operating on instinct alone. But most of all you had to be creative. If there was one thing Maral had learned about force users it was that they relied too much on the force. Whatever it was. They often forgot that there were different ways to solve a problem. They never seemed to expect clever use of explosives.

Decked out in darkened battle armor the operators of the 975th were ready for the corridor-to-corridor fighting that was sure to follow. Fighting in the cramped corridors of a space ship was never ideal. There would be no way to avoid casualties. The losses to the Empire would be horrendous. But it would be worth it. The Republic would lose something far more valuable. With no need for stealth, Maral had made sure that the 975h were fully equipped for battle. Heavy battle armor, blaster carbines, and personal energy shields. The very best technology that the Sith Empire could offer and then some. Maral shifted the disruptor rifle that she held in her own hands carefully, it would make short work of any shields, and shorter work of any organics. She had no need for feigned morality. There were no rules in battle. There was no consolation price for losing a war. You fought with all you had and worried about what was right later when all of your enemies were dead.

The 975th was prepared. She was prepared. They had requisitioned all the charges they could get their hands on. They had enough shaped charges to reduce the Republic spaceship to space debris should it be necessary. For any Jedi that survived the Sith warriors they had prepared a nasty combination of poison gas, sonic charges, and glop grenades. Apart from the prisoner, there would only be one survivor. There was a greater game afoot, beyond the Republic and the Sith Empire. The endless waltz of one intelligence agency trying to defeat another. Imperial Intelligence had planned a masterstroke, a final poke in the eye of the RSIS as they recovered the prisoner. They were going to flip an asset. They were going to use one of the RSIS's most trusted weapons to ruin them. It hadn't been hard. They had only needed to push the right buttons. One button as it turned out. They had only needed to find the right man. Maral would have smiled at the thought of pulling a fast one past the RSIS, had she permitted herself that trivial sort of dalliance.

"Any word from our contact, Lieutenant?" Second Lieutenant Diruno inquired with a respectful nod. As second in command of the 975th he'd been in the briefing with Maral and High Colonel Sarkin Ziracch. He knew as much as she did about the prisoner, the mission, and their contact in Republic space.

"Our contact has confirmed that the secondary target is broadcasting. The encryption is good, very good. Good enough that I almost wouldn't be the reports if I hadn't seen the code myself, but thanks to the information our contact has provided we've been accessing the data as soon as the RSIS, maybe sooner."

"Good, good. We'll need to move fast if we're to avoid getting caught any traps."

"We have additional electronic countermeasures in place. The second we breach the hull they'll be deployed by our own specialists."

"Do you think that's going to be enough to bag us a spiced up cybernetic slicer?"

"We'll soon find out," Maral answered, silencing Diruno with a quick gesture as an incoming transmission pinged her communicator.

Lt. Maral. Operation is imminent. Official confirmation soon to follow. See that primary and secondary objectives are completed.

"975th," Maral began, addressing the Imperial Intelligence operators around her with a voice still full of ice. "We proceed as planned with Operation Harvest Moon."

Maral did not miss that Sergeant-Major Eldin broke into a broad smile, clapping his hands together with a relieved breath. The rest simply nodded, increasing the pace of their preparations She knew that Sergeant-Major Eldin had been itching for battle. He didn't believe in R&R. He said it made him too soft. The Zabrak was happiest when they were deployed on an operation. The more dangerous the mission and the worse the simulations that the Imperial Intelligence statisticians provided the 975th with were, the happier he became. He was a good soldier and that was all that mattered to Maral. It was the chief reason she didn't discipline him for his occasional outbursts of emotion. He was cold when it mattered. He was ice cold when he was pointing a blaster at the enemy.

"Prisoners?" The Sergeant-Major asked, turning an eye towards Maral.

"No," Maral replied tasting the word with the edge of her tongue. Murder.

Without a pause, Maral brought up a holo-map of the ship with her wristlink. With the press of a button a preprogrammed set of assault routes appeared, "I want a clean sweep of the control room. We are going to take their generator offline, and then we're going to take out their life support systems one by one. The emergency generator should maintain artificial gravity and a breathable level of oxygen long enough for the others to complete their mission."

Centering the holo-map on an indistinct room located in the heart of the Republic ship Maral continued, "On our way off of the Republic ship we are going to pick up another prisoner. Alive, if possible."

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]

I have come in search of groceries.

Running version of my CS (now at version 0.5!!!):

Z-Grip the Penja Version 0.5

---

PERSONAL ACCOUNT

NAME: Z-Grip or Z

GENDER: Female

DEPARTMENT: Stationary, Office Supplies & School Supplies (Stationari)

AGE: 23

APPEARANCE:

---

RESUME

Z-Grip or Z, was born into the Zebra Pen Corporation, a clan of minor origami samurai that had served the Stationary Shogun for untold generations. Like her siblings DelGuard, Sharbo, and Sarasa Dry, Z was named after one of the many venerated weapons created centuries ago by her family pengineers.

In her childhood, Z was sent to the live with the Rafters in order to train in the arts of stealth and acrobatics. Tied to the hilt of her paper cutter sword is a single black feather from a dire pigeon, a reminder of her time with the elite Raptor warriors and the proud foe that she vanquished.

A student of the famed martial artist, PIX the Black of Clan Montblanc, Z was trained in the mysterious ways of the Hidden Origami Dragon by the wizened old warrior monk on the sacred Mount Office Depot. While other Stationari hide behind layers of paper armor and metal while wielding cumbersome Yard Stick Katana, Z fights in the manner of penjas of old, utilizing subterfuge, blinding speed, and agile acrobatics to overwhelm her foes.

On the cusp of adulthood, Z seemed poised to become one of the greatest penjas of her generation, having attained a coveted posting to the Stationary Shogunates personal penja guard. However, any hopes of rapid advancement and gaining further honor for her family were dashed in an unforgivable moment of prideful arrogance. What began as a polite debate about penmanship ended in a brutal duel to the death that would change the Writing Instruments section of the Stationary Shogunate forever. Following a heated dispute regarding the superiority of the pen or pencil in honorable combat, Z challenged the heir apparent of the peerless Faber-Castell Clan to a duel. They faced off, and Z struck down the young lord with a single blow, sending a Parker Pen through his right eye. All who witnessed the duel promptly agreed that the pen is in fact the superior writing instrument and applauded the young penja for her skill. Drunk from her victory, Z brought great dishonor upon her family by failing to offer the mourning family of her foe the proper elevenfold sequence of consolatory Hallmark gift cards.

Branded a villain, Z shamed her family with her mere existence. Worse, Z stubbornly refused to restore the honor of her family by committing Sudoku with a sharpened ruler. Ignoring the commands and then increasingly desperate pleas of the family head of the Zebra Pen Corporation, Z fought off a number of challengers from within her own clan than sought to bring her to justice. Eventually, left with no other option and facing a minor insurrection aimed chiefly at seeing Z burned alive, the local daimyo declared Z an honor-less outlaw and exiled her from the Stationary Shogunate with the blessing of the Stationary Shogun himself. Despite her unfortunate exile the young penja remains exceedingly proud of her heritage and will respond with great violence to anyone that dares to sully the name of the most honorable Zebra Pen Corporation or the magnificent Stationary Shogun.

Since the day of her exile, Z has traveled across the departments of the Wal finding work as a Lifter, selling her sword to the highest bidder. Despite her status as a dishonored Stationari, Z has nonetheless managed to make a habit out dueling with followers of the paths of Cereai and other honorable foes when the opportunity presents itself.

---

RECEIPT

PERSONAL GOAL: Z seeks to regain her own personal honor, to restore the honor of her family, and to return to the Stationary Shogunate as a true hero of the Wal.

LIKES: Pens, paper, and rare comics. Having grown up hearing the stories of the legendary Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Z is also particularly fond of turtles or anything bearing their image.

DISLIKES:

REPUTE:

HEEL: A proud warrior of the shadows, Z is a thrill-seeker. Relishing a challenge, she will take unnecessary risks to display her superiority as a penja to an opponent. Heedless of poor odds, she will happily throw herself at mobs of enemies to test her skill with a pen blade. Truth be told, while others are addicted to all manner of household chemicals and industrial cleaners, Z is addicted to the thrill of danger and the young penja feels alive when her death is only a false step away.

CODE: By performing some impressive mental gymnastics Z has managed to remain an ardent adherent to the warrior code of the Stationari despite her status as a dishonored and exiled penja (a particular class of warriors often derided as "assassins" by other Stationari and Cereai alike).

QUIRKS: Z writes reviews of any noteworthy opponent she has killed on sticky notes which sticks next to the bodies as a mural to her fallen foes. She also maintains an extensive Excel Spreadsheet, a copiously maintained scroll of paper containing information she has gathered since leaving the Stationary Shogunate. Written in her flawless hand, the cursive text found in boxes that Z insists upon calls "cells" is all but impossible to read for anyone but Z due to the cipher she uses to code her writing.

---

PERFORMANCE REVIEW

HIDDEN ORIGAMI DRAGON ►

EXCELLENT PENMANSHIP ►

ENTER THE PENJA ►

GROCERIES

SWINGLINE CLASSIC PRO CUT ► For closer work, Z carries a sword constructed from an ancient paper cutter on her hip. The curved blade is perfectly balanced and seems formed specifically for the hands of the young penja. No ordinary blade, the weapon was forged by the finest office suppliers of the ancestors, and bears strange runes naming it as the fabled sword, Swingline Classic Cut Pro. A legendary weapon once wielded by the equally legendary Origami master Lucky Star before her death in battle against a horde of rampaging Ambuloceti during the Battle of the Beige Shelves, the blade is said to be able to cut through shelves stacked with the thickest paper with only minimal effort from the wielder.

PARKER DUOFOLD PRESTIGE ► Favored by the famed warriors of the New York Times Bestseller List this deadly dagger was molded out of a single solid block of acrylic. The steel forged stiletto blade glides through armor like butter and slips through gaps in protective attire with ease.

THROWING PENS ► Tucked beneath layers of her clothing, Z carries a seemingly endless number and variety of pens sharpened into deadly projectiles. Light, silent, and hard to spot as they sail through the air these cylindrical objects are effective ranged weapons.

INK REFILLS ► To facilitate escapes and to blind her foes, Z has a collection of ink refills that will burst upon impact, coating her foes in various distracting colors of ink.

THUMB TACK CALTROPS ► To slow down or wound pursuers Z has a bag full of thumb tack caltrops, exceedingly sharp spiked objects created from several thumb tacks that can be thrown or dropped.

PENJA GARB ► A close-fitting bodysuit of soft, dark fabric complete with a stylish hood and mask. Lightweight and flexible, it allows stealthy, unimpeded movements. The outfit is lined with hidden pockets, allowing Z to to conceal a wide range of weapons, tools, and penja related items on her person. Paper clip chain armor and small armor plates formed from melted pens have been expertly sewn into the garb to afford Z some additional measure of protection.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree (Casual Branch)

Discord is nice especially in the planning phases, although I'm a fan of keeping the OOC active as well.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree (Casual Branch)

Penja consultant chiming in.

Concept is great, story is great, characters posted so far are great.

Bork is also pretty good for a completely out of control capitalist/Walmart cultist.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [OPEN FOR BUSINESS]

All roads lead to the Wal, so no rush.

I've still got some tinkering to do with my CS.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [OPEN FOR BUSINESS]

That amazing sheet inspired me to post my own WIP:

Z-Grip the Penja Version 0.3

---

PERSONAL ACCOUNT

NAME: Z-Grip or Z

GENDER: Female

DEPARTMENT: Stationary, Office Supplies & School Supplies (Stationari)

AGE: 23

APPEARANCE:

---

RESUME

Z-Grip or Z, was born into the Zebra Pen Corporation, a clan of minor origami samurai that had served the Stationary Shogun for untold generations. Like her siblings DelGuard, Sharbo, and Sarasa Dry, Z was named after one of the many venerated weapons created centuries ago by her family pengineers.

In her childhood, Z was sent to the live with the Rafters in order to train in the arts of stealth and acrobatics. Tied to the hilt of her paper cutter sword is a single black feather from a dire pigeon, a reminder of her time with the elite Raptor warriors and the proud foe that she vanquished.

A student of the famed martial artist, PIX the Black of Clan Montblanc, Z was trained in the mysterious ways of the Hidden Origami Dragon by the wizened old warrior monk on the sacred Mount Office Depot. While other Stationari hide behind layers of paper armor and metal while wielding cumbersome Yard Stick Katana, Z fights in the manner of penjas of old, utilizing subterfuge, blinding speed, and agile acrobatics to overwhelm her foes.

On the cusp of adulthood, Z seemed poised to become one of the greatest penjas of her generation, having attained a coveted posting to the Stationary Shogunates personal penja guard. However, any hopes of rapid advancement and gaining further honor for her family were dashed in an unforgivable moment of prideful arrogance. What began as a polite debate about penmanship ended in a brutal duel to the death that would change the Writing Instruments section of the Stationary Shogunate forever. Following a heated dispute regarding the superiority of the pen or pencil in honorable combat, Z challenged the heir apparent of the peerless Faber-Castell Clan to a duel. They faced off, and Z struck down the young lord with a single blow, sending a Parker Pen through his right eye. All who witnessed the duel promptly agreed that the pen is in fact the superior writing instrument and applauded the young penja for her skill. Drunk from her victory, Z brought great dishonor upon her family by failing to offer the mourning family of her foe the proper elevenfold sequence of consolatory Hallmark gift cards.

Branded a villain, Z shamed her family with her mere existence. Worse, Z stubbornly refused to restore the honor of her family by committing Sudoku with a sharpened ruler. Ignoring the commands and then increasingly desperate pleas of the family head of the Zebra Pen Corporation, Z fought off a number of challengers from within her own clan than sought to bring her to justice. Eventually, left with no other option and facing a minor insurrection aimed chiefly at seeing Z burned alive, the local daimyo declared Z an honor-less outlaw and exiled her from the Stationary Shogunate with the blessing of the Stationary Shogun himself. Despite her unfortunate exile the young penja remains exceedingly proud of her heritage and will respond with great violence to anyone that dares to sully the name of the most honorable Zebra Pen Corporation or the magnificent Stationary Shogun.

Since the day of her exile, Z has traveled across the departments of the Wal finding work as a Lifter, selling her sword to the highest bidder. Despite her status as a dishonored Stationari, Z has nonetheless managed to make a habit out dueling with followers of the paths of Cereai and other honorable foes when the opportunity presents itself.

---

RECEIPT

PERSONAL GOAL: Z seeks to regain her own personal honor, to restore the honor of her family, and to return to the Stationary Shogunate as a true hero of the Wal.

LIKES: Pens, paper, and rare comics. Having grown up hearing the stories of the legendary Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Z is also particularly fond of turtles or anything bearing their image.

DISLIKES:

REPUTE:

HEEL: A proud warrior of the shadows, Z is a thrill-seeker. Relishing a challenge, she will take unnecessary risks to display her superiority as a penja to an opponent. Heedless of poor odds, she will happily throw herself at mobs of enemies to prove her fearlessness and skill with a pen blade. Truth be told, while others are addicted to all manner of household chemicals and industrial cleaners, Z is addicted to the thrill of danger and the young penja feels alive when her death is only a false step away.

CODE: By performing some impressive mental gymnastics Z has managed to remain an ardent adherent to the warrior code of the Stationari despite her status as a dishonored and exiled penja (a particular class of warriors often derided as "assassins" by other Stationari and Cereai alike).

QUIRKS: Z writes reviews of any noteworthy opponent she has killed on sticky notes which sticks next to the bodies as a mural to her fallen foes. She also maintains an extensive Excel Spreadsheet, a copiously maintained scroll of paper containing information she has gathered since leaving the Stationary Shogunate. Written in her flawless hand, the cursive text is all but impossible to read for another due to the cipher she uses to code her writing.

---

PERFORMANCE REVIEW

HIDDEN ORIGAMI DRAGON ►

EXCELLENT PENMANSHIP ►

ENTER THE PENJA ►

GROCERIES

SWINGLINE CLASSIC PRO CUT ► For closer work, Z carries a sword constructed from an ancient paper cutter on her hip. The curved blade is perfectly balanced and seems formed specifically for the hands of the young penja. No ordinary blade, the weapon was forged by the finest office suppliers of the ancestors, and bears strange runes naming it as the fabled sword, Swingline Classic Cut Pro. A legendary weapon once wielded by the equally legendary Origami master Lucky Star before her death in battle against a horde of rampaging Ambuloceti during the Battle of the Beige Shelves, the blade is said to be able to cut through shelves stacked with the thickest paper with only minimal effort from the wielder.

PARKER DUOFOLD PRESTIGE ► Favored by the famed warriors of the New York Times Bestseller List this deadly dagger was molded out of a single solid block of acrylic. The steel forged stiletto blade glides through armor like butter and slips through gaps in protective attire with ease.

THROWING PENS ► Tucked beneath layers of her clothing, Z carries a seemingly endless number and variety of pens sharpened into deadly projectiles. Light, silent, and hard to spot as they sail through the air these cylindrical objects are effective ranged weapons.

INK REFILLS ► To facilitate escapes and to blind her foes, Z has a collection of ink refills that will burst upon impact, coating her foes in various distracting colors of ink.

PENJA GARB ► A close-fitting bodysuit of soft, dark fabric complete with a stylish hood and mask. Lightweight and flexible, it allows stealthy, unimpeded movements. The outfit is lined with hidden pockets, allowing Z to to conceal a wide range of weapons, tools, and penja related items on her person. Paper clip chain armor and small armor plates formed from melted pens have been expertly sewn into the garb to afford Z some additional measure of protection.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [OPEN FOR BUSINESS]

My shopping cart is ready.

Writing a penja* due to my love of pens.

*A ninja for all you pre-Walmart-fueled-apocolypse peeps (read the wiki, it's amusing/amazing).

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [OPEN FOR BUSINESS]

You have my paper cutter sword.