Star Wars: Stranded on Zoma V

The sun hangs lazily in the hazy sky as you wake with a pounding headache to the sound of fire, groans, and screeching metal. The last thing you can remember was the sudden blare of the Harbinger’s alarm, a violent shaking on the ship, and the feeling of falling. As your senses reorient themselves, you start to feel the weight of crushing metal bearing down on you, pinning you to the ground…

OOC @Brickbot99 @Winger @wild_toa @TheCobaltCorsair @ajtazt @GoodGuy2006 @Ghid @N01InParticular @Keplers Your character is somewhere underneath some rubble of the ship, where exactly they are, and if they can lift the rubble by themselves I leave completely up to you. Also, feel free to scavenge the equipment you listed in your bio.


The argument had been harsh.

The Jedi present had clearly disapproved of the clearly correct side. They must be blinded by whatever sense of ancient code of force users they upheld as sanctimonious and sacred. Which likely said something along the lines of ‘if a droid says the disposable human genetic experiment standing next to him is no more valuable than a Battle Droid, and he proceeds to prove it, glare at him sternly until he gets the hint.’

Unfortunately Wannabe didn’t exactly get the hint. Until, of course, he looked in retrospect on the conversation while under a chunk of the former vessel comprised of steel and wiring, and realized perhaps he had overstepped the boundaries in place.

Regardless, the difficulty at hand was getting up and assisting to any potentially wounded as protocol demands in scenarios such as these. He wiggled about until he was able to fold one of his arms in, and opened his arm to slowly push the chunk of rubble directly upright. It then fell on his legs.

“Is anyone wounded?” The deep and somewhat disconnected voice of Wannabe sounded out. “I am working on entering a state in which I can be of assistance.” He tried to sit up, but the rubble blocked the motion.


Bravebird had been in a similar situation before back on Geonosis, but this was worse. A lot worse. At least he didn’t believe that he was injured this time, though that could just be the adrenaline talking.

After struggling for a couple minutes, he finally dug himself out of the debris. He groaned as he climbed onto what appeared to be his gunship, which was nothing more the scrap metal now.

“Is anyone out there?” He yelled. The hanger bay he stood in seemed completely void of life, though he hoped that there were more survivors buried in the rubble.


We’ll make it out

That was all that was going through Quips’ brain as he forced himself to try and sit up.

The crash was bad yeah, but that doesn’t mean we failed to make it out, surely someone else is alive?

Then Quips heard it, movement, the sound of scraping metal and others asking for help or to know if they’re not the only survivors.


Quips began pushing at the shard of the hanger door which currently left him trapped, it was wedged in deep, but with luck, it just might budge.

One, two, three

another firm push, it budged slightly.

That’s good, it only gave a little, but it still gave

Another shove, then the sound of clanking metal, something fell in front of the clone. It was an EMP grenade.

This should come in handy

As Quips strapped the grenade to his belt, his hand stroked something. It was a blaster pistol. Quips grabbed it. The pistol was fully loaded. He placed it against the metal sheet, shooting a hole through it. Quips repeated the process, striking three more holes in the metal. He pushed again, it began to bend, but it wasn’t quite enough.

Looking down, Quips saw something in the faint glow of the flames which surrounded them; his rifle. Slowly crawling down, Quips grabbed the blaster, undid a small latch, and collapsed the barrel. He oriented the blaster so the stock was pointed towards the bent metal shard, and with all his might brought it down. The metal bent up, sending a chunk of dirt into the brush of the forest. Quips threw his rifle out of the debris, and crawled out from the wrecked ship, stopping for a moment to free his cloak from a piece of shrapnel which has pierced it.

Well He thought while looking at the hole in his cloak I can patch this up later

Free from the Debris, Quips grabbed his rifle and scanned his surrounding, seeing someone bearing a helmet decorated with a falcon.

“Hey, Bravebird!”


Graphite remembered very little. This seemed to be existence, now.

But he’d felt like this before. After explosions, amidst intense combat. Reality was suspended, only the situation at hand was real, only it mattered. It would wear off. He would become cognizant again.

He became cognizant again.


Graphite could only see black.

Was this death? It wasn’t unconsciousness.

Graphite tried to turn his head, and was surprised to find that it could, his helmet scraping across something metallic. He tried to move his legs. He felt no pain, but they were stuck. His arms? They could move.

He’d been trained not to panic in this sort of situation, but it was still terrifying, having no reference point to existence.

Blue, not black. Grey. His eyes were adjusting.

By turning his head, Graphite could see a long and wide steel girder, pinning his body to the ground across his stomach. The girder seemed to have some sort of metal plating that further covered him. It was too heavy for him to move.

He craned his head around, searching for something he could try to bang on to create a noise. Something hollow. A barrel would be nice, but more plating would do.



Not just in the flaming plasma sense - incoming fire.

One hand snapped to his side, Wannabe could not feel the gun he was told to carry. That was disappointing. It must be somewhere close, then, and it had better be easy to find, or else the Clones were at risk of elimination.

Rocking his body, the piece of rubble rolled off one leg, allowing him to quite awkwardly scoot himself out from under it. The moment it hit the ground he was up, taking in whatever visual information that he could find. One, no Two Clones were standing and appeared unharmed. One of them was holding two firearms and may have been the source of the fire, but it was impossible to tell.

As for himself, every joint seemed to function accurately, and the lovely Jedi robes he wore were only dirtied from the debris. He would have to be mindful of fire for the first time in his life to avoid further damage being done to them.

“Designation.” He sounded towards Quips. The casual inflections in his voice were the biggest giveaway that this was the medical droid and not the Jedi general speaking, although there were other differences.


“Quips! At least I’m not the only survivor,” Bravebird said. “Have you found anyone else?” He asked, not sure how long Quips had been out from under the debris.


Pain was all Tesz felt at first. Slowly, light bled through to her blinking eyes. They, they had been hit. They had been flying, and then they were falling. Shattered glass surrounded her as she struggled to lift what felt like a ton of scrap off her back. The force, she could feel it calling out to her, it was hers to use, but the panic was stronger. Where am I, where’s Viego. Zoma V, I’m on Zoma V, but where’s Viego! Her mind raced as she strained in vain against the rubble. “H-help!” Someone, hel-" She called, getting cut off by a sudden fit of coughing. She was probably close enough for Bravebird, Quips, or Wannabe to hear…


Not, ye-

Turning his head, Quips saw the pale yellow glow of the Medical droids eyes.
“Hey, it’s Wannabe.”


At the sound of the voice Wannabe began advancing across the rubble towards her location. The coughing reverberated off the rubble more efficiently than the speaking did, and he had almost perfectly zeroed in on her exact…


“Incredible.” Wannabe noised flatly. “Assistance is required.” He moved over to the large chunk of rubble in which the trail end of a sad cough was seeping out from. “Te-” He paused in place as he changed the volume of his voice. “Tesz Nel’Sha? Are you present?


Graphite couldn’t quite see behind - or was it above? - himself. It was just out of his periphery. It was whitish in color, and metal.

He left arm craned around, his fist slamming into it with disappointing weakness. There wasn’t much leverage to work with. The noise was doubtful to be loud enough to hear over any other. He tried again harder, to the same result.

He was beginning to panic. What if he couldn’t get out? What if he was left behind? What if there wasn’t anyone else out there? He knew what would happen. He would suffocate before he ever starved.

He hit his helmet against the girder.

It was louder. Much louder, a metallic echoing reverberating up the gridlike steel column. He didn’t know how far down he was buried, but the noise was definitely louder.

And it definitely hurt.


“Commander Tesz?” Bravebird asked. He surveyed his surroundings to see where the Padawan’s voice came from. Then, he saw her. “Commander!” he yelled as he ran towards Tesz to help her.


Rook’s head hurt, like really hurt, like the kind of pain that you might feel after a long night of drinking, not that Rook had ever done such a thing since that was blatantly against protocol. Rook tried to lift his head from the ground but found that it wouldn’t budge, perhaps his steel girder theory wasn’t too far off… Confident to escape this predicament he placed his hands on the object that was not only restricting his movement but his vision as well and sure enough the metal object moved to the left by a bit, exposing his visor to the sun.

Rook tried once more to sit up and found it came a lot easier now that what he now knew was an elevator door had been removed from his helmet. Successful in his escape from that troublesome door, Rook decided now was the perfect time to take inventory. “Knife? Still strapped down. ? Dc-17? On the ground, about a meter away. I think that’s everything-” Rook laid his eyes on what must surely be an illusion; a perfectly intact Commando droid Vibroblade sitting amongst the rubble, “Well hello there beautiful.” Rook spoke aloud as he removed the blade from the surrounding debris, “How did you end up here." the clone couldn’t seem to remember what had happened during the attack, surely a byproduct of that elevator door.

Rook Returned to scanning the environment looking for any sign of life that may have survived the crash, “Anyone still alive out here?”


“Y-yes,” Tesz shouted back. It hurt to shout. “I’m pinned, I, I can’t mov-” She was cut off again by another flurry of coughs.

brave bird would find what was left of the left side bridge laying on it’s side, the upper body of the padawan protruding from under a pile of debris and broken glass.

Graphite would be rewarded with the echoing cacophony of his banging running down the empty vessel, calling for anyone near.


The first thing Legacy heard when he woke up were Harbinger’s alarms.
Then he woke up again, pinned by the nearby bunks, and gravity was no longer pulling him straight down, but instead more at an angle.

Doing his best to push aside one of the bunks that was pinning him, Legacy’s leg was in immense pain as it was being crushed an area where he had cut down his armor. Blast it, I suppose there are downsides to mobility Legacy thought as he continued to try and move a bunk.

“Is there anyone else in here?” he called, following up with “Heck, Ill take a runner if your there”


Saddle scrambled onto his hands and knees. Not a few hours ago, he had been conducting a pre-combat check on Midnight Company’s BARC speeders. Then the warning klaxons blared, sounding that Saddle’s Venator was under attack from Confederate guns. The BARC trooper remembered clearing the hangar bay at that time to report to his commanding officer, Captain Duke, and await instructions. He never made it that far.

The clone officer tried to rise to his feet, but found himself unable to rise above waist height when the small of his back struck the ceiling.
Stang. Glad for the armor. Guess the place collapsed.

Saddle surveyed his cramped surroundings. The lights had obviously failed, and what used to be a relatively tall corridor ceiling had collapsed on top of him. Still, the corridor was relatively intact for all the damage it had sustained. He may be able to crawl back to the hangar bay…

After a short crawl, Saddle reached the partially-closed hangar doors. With difficulty, he pried them open and looked into the wreckage below.

Walkers and spacecraft remains were strewn about the mess of a hangar. The hangar bay’s side doors were gouged open by the crash, exposing the ship’s interior to the Zoman sunlight.

At least I’m not pinned under anything. Saddle walked through the hangar, looking for just a glimpse of an intact speeder bike.

Not one.

The clone decided to cut his losses and rummage through the skeleton of a Nu-class attack shuttle instead, finding a handful of grenades, a pack, and a blaster carbine. Better than nothing, but not enough to fight off the entire Separatist army by himself. He’d be better off with other survivors. Saddle opened the emergency comm frequency in his helmet.

“This is CC-2897 to any surviving GAR personnel. Any surviving Republic forces, please respond.”


Boomstick awoke.
This had happened to him before. Only twice, but he had been unconscious before. It was not enjoyable to wake up not knowing your location. This time, however, was different.
His vision cleared. He could see others. He was at a decent distance, but he believed it to be Bravebird, Quips, and possibly the Jedi, possibly the droid. Yes, he could hear the voice, it was the droid.
He was pinned down in an almost sitting position. Uncomfortable. He believed his comrades could not see him, as if they could he would not be where he was. He believed he could free himself, however. A metal sheet and a pillar pinned him down. The sheet was easily removed. The pillar was less so, but was removed the same.
He would figure out why there was such a catastrophic failure. This was not acceptable. He approached the others, though it seemed one of the two was off in another direction.


“Hold on Kid.” Quips said. He extended the barrel of his rifle, offering the stock to Tesz. “Grab on.”

"Bravebird, Wannabee, see if you can lift up the beam so I can pull her out.

Quips pressed the button on his wrist communicator, letting everyone clearly hear Saddle.

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“I read you CC-2897. This is Coma-agh-Commander Duke. All forces, leave the ship, Immedi-augh, immediately.” Duke called over the emergency comms.

Anyone tuned in would hear, but Rook and Legacy might hear his real distant voice coming from somewhere deeper within the crew’s quarters.

With a shaky hand, Tesz grabbed the stock, wincing in pain. Quips could see flecks of red on her arm.


“Affirmative” Bravebird replied. He gripped the beam to lift it off the Padawan.