Operation: Shadowpoint

SPOILER ALERT: If you are a player who has not played this game read no further as this contains in game spoilers, You have been warned.

You have seized Whisper Base, but there is plenty of work still to be done in order to turn the base into an asset for the Rebellion. The base is in disarray after your attack, with much of the equipment and ordnance damaged or expended, and the Imperial support staff is hardly available to assist you. If you intend to turn this operation into a real success, you’ll need to resupply the base with new equipment and find some agents who can help you maintain it properly. The base’s Signal Intelligence array should be able to provide you with useful information on valuable targets in the area, but you also need to keep an eye out for the return of Moff Dardano’s forces. He’s bound to discover the loss of Whisper Base eventually, and that’s a vulnerability he can’t afford. Sooner or later, the Moff’s forces are sure to come knocking.

With Lieutenant Sarev out of the way, Whisper Base is yours. Moff Dardano will eventually realize that his listening post is no longer active—still, you've won a great victory today, and a chance to prepare for the coming storm. Operation: Shadowpoint begins.

Although you have seized the Imperial installation on the planet of Onderon, once called “Whisper Base,” for the Rebel Alliance. Having killed  its commanding officer, Lieutenant Sarev, and dealt similarly with the remaining staff of the base. You now have access to a secret, off-the-books facility plugged into the Imperial communications network—a powerful resource for the struggling Rebellion. However, while the Imperial
bureaucracy at large does not have any knowledge of the base, your small group must still contend with its master and originator, Moff Dardano.

Onderon:
One of eight planets in the Japrael system, Onderon had a temperate climate, and was once home to a primitive race of Humanoids.

"Onderon? Nothing on that rock but monsters and beast riders." ―Tallo

Onderon had four moons. Dxun, the primary moon, once orbited very close to the planet, allowing some animals to fly between the planet and the moon. The other three moons were Dagri, Evas and Suthre.
The native Humans of Onderon struggled against the beasts, eventually gathering new technologies and building a huge walled city, Iziz, to protect themselves. Like the people of many other fringe worlds, the Onderonians had a distrust of non-Humans.

Take over at Whisper Base

SPOILER ALERT: If you are a player who has not played this game read no further as this contains in game spoilers, You have been warned.

Nine years ago...

     Trank was inordinately pleased with herself as she slipped down the service corridors and back alleys of the city. She'd given Harry Gary the slip, which was no small feat, and she mused to herself that if Old Moldy knew what she was doing he would implode with rage. How many dinners had she sat through while her father, the general, ranted about rebel scum and unstable elements? Her mother was no better. Just this morning, Trank had forced herself to nod and look interested Mother droned on about the "right sort of people" and "making proper connections to advance", punctuated by bursts of "Honoria! Sit up straight" and "Play attention, Honoria!". Much as Trank hated her given name, there was no way she was going to share her real name with her parents. Harry Gary probably knew, but he was old, and bothersome, and he most likely thought it was a childish phase anyway, like purple hair or sparkly makeup.

     There were a lot of ways to singe Mother and Old Moldy's sensibilities, and Trank had tried more than a few, from raucous parties, to inappropriate companions, to edgy clothes and petty theft. This time though, she knew she'd landed on the best tweak to their noses ever. Trank slowed as she approached her destination, checking one more time to make sure she hadn't picked up any tails, hairy or moldy. From her vantage in the alley, the street appeared empty and she saw nothing suspicious about the warehouse in front of her. 

     This wasn't the first time Trank had attended a meeting of the Student's Correspondence Committee. She'd learned of the group from a friend of a friend, though she didn't get an invitation from him, even though she used all her charm and wiles. It wasn't until a few weeks later that her anonymous source slipped a note under her door with nothing but a time and address, signed SCC. Trank had been more nervous about that first meeting than she'd ever been about anything, but Garandok was away doing whatever it was he did when he wasn't following her around and being a nuisance and the Moldy-minion Old Moldy had assigned to watch her was one of the truly moldy and no challenge at all to escape.The meeting consisted of kids her age who hotly decried the failures of the reigning powers and intensely debated action strategies, such as letter writing campaigns to senators. At last meeting, Trank even led a discussion about the rights of subjugated species and how to bring about their full participation in the body politic, using Garandok as an example of a civilized Wookie person, not just a walking carpet to carry things.

     It was a few days after the last meeting when one of the fellows who hung around the perimeter of the group joined her in a lift and gave her the information for this assembly. That was a change. In the past, all the particulars had been delivered in notes, slipped under her door or tucked into her jacket pocket. But this meeting was special, because it wasn't just going to be the members of the SCC - this time a member of the rebellion had come to the city. Trank shivered with anticipation just thinking about meeting an actual rebel and set out across the street towards a door on the side of the warehouse.

     Security precautions were much tighter than in the past, with scans for weapons and tracers and requirement that at least two members vouch for anyone before they could leave the foyer and enter the warehouse proper. Inside, Trank made rounds, greeting SCC members she knew and receiving introductions to people from sister committees. The guy from the party where she'd heard about the committees was even there, though always a few groups away, so she didn't have a chance to catch up with him before the heavy metal clank of the doors sealing interrupted the gathering and the room stilled as people turned towards a person standing in a previously unlit and uninteresting corner.

     The woman in the corner looked like a service technician, someone who probably did messy things with wrenches and lubricant, a little shabby and a lot plain. But there was an intensity about her eyes that grabbed attention. And when she started speaking, she seized everyone.

Here in the core worlds, it's easy to make an abstraction of the war. It's easy to talk about ships and planets and rebels and soldiers as if they were pieces on a game board. Here in the core worlds, it's easy to imagine the war is far away, happening to people who aren't people at all. It's easy to imagine a war without destruction and blood and pain. Everything is so clean and busy here, it's easy to forget that the men and women who walk the corridors of power are ending whole civilizations, crushing cultures eons older than yours, enslaving children, and sucking a thousand worlds dry of their resources.

But the war is here too, you just don't see it. You choose not to see it. You explain away the execution of dissidents as the necessary removal of dangerous criminals. You walk past the goods at the docks, in the warehouses, in your stores and you never question their origin, never think of them as another person's stolen treasure. You choose to believe the trusted servant does your bidding out of love and loyalty and not as a bond for her family's safety. You listen to the propaganda, consume it, and you make it your reality. You are insulated and you are blind.

I am here to shatter your reality. The war is real. The pain is real. The blood and the death, the slavery and families torn apart are real. You don't have to chain yourselves to the empire's fiction. You can allow yourselves to see what is real. You can allow yourselves to act and change... 

     The woman stopped, interrupted by the hiss and rumble of a fusion cutter slicing through the sealed doors.

Betrayed! Run! 

Trank ran. Barreling into the dark portion of the warehouse, she dodged and wove, expecting a blaster bolt to bring her down at any moment. Unable to see, the sound of the pursuit echoing weirdly off the walls of the cavernous warehouse, Trank quickly became disoriented. She could hear boots getting closer and there was no where to go. 

     The boards covering a window she didn't even know was there were kicked in, and a huge ginger paw swept in and yanked her through it.