SOCL

Happy Birthday, Your Excellency, Grand Moff Conway!

The number of misspellings on that petition combined with Kaja's claims that a PC really couldn't handle it leave me inclined to just experience it on a friend's 360. I'm with you, Tofu.

What about Squeaky? Sorry. Despite my affinity for Allston and his characters, HK-47 is still funnier.

And on that note, here's Mr. Lock! http://dailypoetics.typepad.com/daily_poetics/images/06_padlock.jpg

HK-47 was, without a doubt, the single best droid in all of Star Wars-dom. Fantastic to the last!

That's what happens when you walk into the ashes of an already downed fire. Suffice to say, had I been present, this thread would be locked. Err, right, pick-up lines... Um... From a Stormtrooper: "Ever wonder why they say we're so tall?" Wow, that was bad.

I was thinking of getting into Kendo since there's a place for it near my university. There's also a place for Tae Kwon Do.

Okay, everyone better start behaving. Evaders, Jahled, and I have a hard enough time keeping track of everything to have some of the more experienced members doing saying some nasty things, especially to new members. Sorry if this seems a bit late, but I would hate to shut down a very legitimate and fun thread over this. I won't hesitate, though.

Here's a link to other thread mandalore created with videos, though it has since been locked. Please take a moment to review the forum rules and the new members thread.

mandalore, please refrain from creating many new threads in order to show so many videos. You've already made one thread for this here. Please continue to post the videos there and refrain from creating a new thread. This one will be locked, but I have placed the appropriate link to it from the other thread in order that its content is not lost. Thanks!

mandalore, sorry to seem so pushy, this being your first few days on the forums, and indeed welcome! Still, please try not to double-post unless it's been a few days since the last posting in a thread. Just click the edit button and add your next comments. Thanks!

It is being taken care of!

A very nice find, Jahled! It seems similar to The Annotated Screenplays released prior to the prequels, though this site is likely a little more, shall we say, accurate.

Sorry for my tardiness, but happy birthday, Krytos!

Moving to "Outside Interests."

Tofu, funny, Droma was on my mind at the very instant, and you being the creepy younger version of me who used to frequent these forums nearly five years ago, I somehow knew you would come to point his sudden disappearance out. I hoped you wouldn't, but I was wrong. Still, I think it's gotten much better from the Bantam novels, Droma aside. As for Corran Horn: there was some talk about having a comic series that follows the events of the Yuuzhan Vong War. In that case, they wanted to leave Corran a lot of breathing from to star in it. What has happened to that idea since, though, is unknown. The same goes for Kyle Katarn's absence, though his situation concerns games and not comic books.

I like Rome: Total War a lot! Didn't expect that, did you? And Rome: Total Realism makes the game much more fun!

Well put, Jahled! And I especially agree with this bit: I'm glad someone else notices that Lucas has been making it up as he goes along, and that he has changed his story on his idea for Star Wars more times than one can ever hope to document or count.

The ones without a loyalty bar simply mean they lack a population. This is normal and was just as prevalent in regular Rebellion. Remember, the sectors have been shifted around so what was once "unexplored" on the Outer Rim, has been moved Coreward, and the center of mass of the Galaxy has shifted to a more accurate lower-right than the previous mass. Therefore, systems in the Core are, like in the sources, unexplored and/or uninhabited. This is normal. Put a few mines or refineries there and within a few dozen days, you'll have a loyal population. Also, this population will start out 100% loyal to you and is less likely to become disloyal in the event of a planetary assault, or some such action.

Only issue I see is that the latest sources seem to pin the Executor-class as longer than the Eclipse-class. That is to say, more recent than the Essential Guides.

Not to call you out on it (and I didn't read past the spoiler warning because you mentioned LOTF), but, Tofu, isn't that "I hate Troy Denning, thus I won't read Tatooine Ghost" mentality a little close-minded? It's the same sort of behavior I see coming off of people who have never read the novels, even with the deaths of Chewie and Anakin aside; a total unwillingness to try. As someone who originally despised the NJO with a passion, I can say, once I actually read the series, I rather enjoyed! The fact that it was completely coordinated, down to the last character, really helped make sense of an increasingly chaotic galaxy, as we saw during the Bantam era of novels (what is dubbed in-universe as the "New Republic era"). There was saw because author going off in their own directions, sometimes just ignoring entire plot lines, characters, or anything else to pursue their own vision. With the aid of retcons, we now have a much clearer picture of how all those matters tie in to the great Star Wars universe, but the sort of direction Lucasfilm and Del Rey have taken with the NJO and subsequent, I believe it makes everything much more bearable, and thoroughly enjoyable. Your favorite character won't simply disappear from novel to novel just cause the next author doesn't like him, and plots-lines will be resolved. Take the Dark Nest trilogy and Rayner Thul's disappearance in Star by Star as a perfect example! I rather applaud Del Rey for undertaking what is quite possibly one of the most, if not the most difficult franchise series in all of bookdom! ( ) If Del Rey were to be handed the contract again, I would actually be quite pleased, but it seems likely they won't, if only to give someone else a try, and to appease those disgruntled fans who shied away from the novels just because of the NJO. In time, most of them, I believe will come around, albeit a little delayed. I can't be sure I would want to see Wizards of the Coast get the contract, even if the Ye Olde RPG books were much fun. Simply put, I'm not sure I would want Star Wars to be associated with the mega-fantasy elements of Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms. The mega-fantasy bit gave an interesting take on Star Wars in Vector Prime with R.A. Salvatore, but it was simply not an enjoyable novel--and my opinion has nothing to do with Chewie's death because I didn't mind that at all, and actually thought it rather fitting. TOR and Baen, at least I believe, are far Star Wars-ish that Wizards of the Coast. Granted, elementally, Star Wars is more parts fantasy than fiction, but it certainly isn't Frodo Baggins and Gandalf fantasy. Then again, it's also not Starship Troopers and War of the Worlds sci-fi either. I suppose the attraction of the Star Wars publishing line being associated with a classic part-SciFi, part-fantasy titles like Dune, and authors like Kevin J. Anderson and Aaron Allston might taint my view some, but it simply seems like a more Star Wars-y atmosphere than goblins, trolls, wizards, dragons, and elves. But then, I enjoy old-school, down-to-earth sci-fi like Heinlein much more than I do mega-fantasy, so...

He gasped for breath, his throat dry and raspy, and everything breath sent shivers of pain down his back and into his stomach. Had he anything in his stomach, he would have wretched. Instead, all he could do was dry heave as a vice clamped down on his head and threatened to force his brain out through his eyes. In some strange recess of his thoughts, he almost wished that would happen--it would have stopped the pain. As it stood, he gasped for air again, rolling over, too nauseous to care about the slime that could only be spittle and stomach acid oozing down his cheeks. He pinched his eyelids shut, willing the pain from behind his eyes, just to be assaulted by a second wave of nausea. He'd never been this sick before--never. Suffice to say, even nights of drinking and no water didn't make him like this. At least then he had day-old ale to accompany the spasms in his stomach and throat. If nothing else, part of his survival training was kicking him, and kicking him hard: he needed water. He was dehydrated and dehydration meant certain death. "Hydrate or die!" The words floated up to him--appropriate, but strange. Even in his worse moments, Micus was somehow pushing him. He'd probably be there, too, yelling at him, standing bedside on his wedding night-- A third wave of nauseous brought him to a sitting position. He immediately regretted it, but fought the knives of pain working their way across his brain, eyes, and extremities. Everything hurt, as if he'd ridden a dewback for years, on his face and stomach, then been dropped, shoved, picked up, and dropped again. Keeping his gummy eyelids shut, he reached for the pouch on his belt-- Nothing. Then it struck him: when he'd wretched, he hadn't splattered it across his face because--well, he had been dry-heaving... Yet, there was stuff on his cheeks and it hadn't splattered back on his face, which meant he hadn't puked while wearing his helmet, which meant he didn't have it on. For that matter, everything hurt because he wasn't wearing his armor. His armor! He all but tore his eyes open, feeling lashing coming away where they should have stayed, but he ignored it. He had to find his armor! It was all-- His desperate gaze stopped when he saw the dark armored figure watching him and the barrel of a black blaster pistol sighted on his face. The figure--the Imperial Stormtrooper--watched him with all the silent knowing of one too often accustomed to killing. If it wasn't for their past, the Imperials and the Mandalorians might be one and the same. "You're awake." It was only then that Saith realized he wasn't alone with the Stormtrooper and the pistol...and the cave they sat in. Off to the right, a shorter form of the Imperial stereotype sat cross-legged, the blue hue of the datapad in his lap illuminating the sharp features of the helmet he wore. "It's about time." The voice was the same one that had woken him...before... That familiar inflection when he spoke Basic--similar, but not as crisp or pronounced as Imperial Basic; rather, it was smoother and a little more...slanted, similar to Concord Dawn, and yet... K'olar, Mando. The way he'd pronounced his words in Mando'a had been...awkward, like he wasn't used to saying them. Or rather, like a youngster learning how to speak the father tongue, with all the funny pronunciations and strange form of childhood. "You know, k'olar means 'come here'." If the Imperial had reacted to his statement, he didn't show it. The other Imperial--the one with the pistol--stirred a bit, his helmet moving only a fraction. To Saith, who'd spent his entire life around people in armor, it was more than obvious that this one was saying something over a private comm. He slid his gaze back to the cross-legged Imperial, still looking down at the datapad, but nothing--the fellow was unreadable. "I no longer know the word for 'wake up'," he said after a while, never once taking his eyes off the datapad, and completely in Basic. "And yet you know the joha'buir?" Saith asked in Mando'a. This time the Imperial stiffen some, but played it off as he shutdown his datapad and sat up, turning his helmeted gaze directly on Saith. "I know some." This also in Mando'a. "And him?" Saith asked, cocking his head to the Imperial with the weapon, still in Mando'a. He hesitated a long moment, studying Saith from behind those black goggles, probably calculating how much of risk Saith posed. Without my armor, not much, he heard himself grumble in the back of his mind. "Nayc," the Imperial replied. Remaining in Mandalorian, "No one else in my unit knows Mando'a." Saith felt his mood lighten, if only a little. Perhaps this wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Perhaps this fellow was a Mandalorian double-agent. He allowed himself a slight grin. "What brings you here, ner vod?" He regretted the words the moment they left his lips. The Imperial tensed with all the ferocity of a Rancor that had been backed into a corner. In a flash that Saith's splitting head couldn't follow, the Imperial all but leaped the few meters between them. He felt himself fall backward, thumping hard on the dirt, landing hard, but before he could react, something hard forced the air from his lungs and clutched at his air, pulling hard. The Stormtrooper was on top of him, on knee in his stomach, the other pinching his right hand down. The man's left hand yanked at his air, pulling his chin up to give a clear path to his throat. Only then did he feel the cold metal pressed against his neck, a razor edge pushing every so carefully against his jugular, and certain death. Saith didn't move. Even with one hand free, he'd be dead before his mind realized what had happened. He watched as the black helmet grew closer until it was finally nearly pressed to his nose. A second passed like a century and two like a millennium. The voice that spoke was so tense, it was hardly recognizable as being the one from before, whispered, full of venom; "Never...ever...call me your brother again." Saith swallowed hard, the tip of the vibroblade all the more apparent with the bounce of his throat. "Do you understand?" Saith nodded what little he could. For a long moment, the Imperial just stared back at him, and in those seconds, Saith was certain he'd sealed his own fate, but then the Imperial let go of his air and stood. Saith didn't dare move, watching as the Imperial slowly released the fist in his right hand. With a sickening hiss, the vibroblade disappeared, sheathing itself above the Imperial's knuckles into what could only be a Katarn-class knuckle-blade, or the Imperial version of one. He'd seen them before, made all too popular by the stories of Jango Fett's commandos--Republic commandos. The thought alone made him sick. Mongrel half-Mandalorians, created to be unthinking, uncreative soldiers whose who sole goal in life was to serve the Chancellor, and then the Emperor. They looked like Mandos, they sounded like Mandos, some even spoke the language and pretended to be Mandos, adopting clan names, but they were nothing, disgusting decisions made out of greed by one of their own, a Lord Mandalore--a former Mandalore. There were rumors that Boba Fett himself was one such half-breed. Not the seed, but the exact duplicate of Jango-- When it hit him, it the Imperial might as well have knocked the air from him again. If he was an Imperial. He spoke the joha'buir, though badly, awkwardly...like a child. He sounded like own, that accent from Concord Dawn, so familiar, the same the Fetts carried. "You're..." The Imperial turned from what he was saying to the other, the other also standing, both hands on the pistol, barrel trained on him, unflinching. "You're cloned." He said the second word as though it were a curse. He spat at their feet. "Mongrel, half-breed! What, has the Empire finally found some cloning cylinders? A willing Mandalorian traitor! Your very existence disgusts me!" The words echoed loudly off the cave walls, deep into the caverns beyond. The two Imperials exchanged looks, something between amusement and confusion. Neither seemed very insulted or even bothered, but maybe that was just as it should be. If they were clones of Mandalorian stock, then they would know their existence was an insult to any true Mando, and they would accept it. And still, they didn't seem distraught, which bid another question: maybe they weren't clones. Maybe the one Imperial knew Mandalorian by chance and not be choice--he had forgotten certain words, and certainly didn't speak the language like a native, if only oddly. But, then, why had he reacted so badly to being called a brother? Even a clone would have been happy to have someone call him that, as an equal. It was an honor to be called a brother, a sign of trust! If anything, he should have thanked him! All this flashed through his mind in the span of a few nanoseconds. All that time, the Imperials watched him--and the pistol remained trained on him. He considered yelling at them again, if only to provoke a reaction, but he quickly quelled that thought when two more black-armored Stormtroopers--Scouttroopers came running from deeper in the cave, their blasters leveled at him, glowrod beams aimed at his face. He squinted in the bright light and considered his next move. He was unbound, unrestrained, blasters aside, but no armor. His eyes flickered around his immediate surroundings, but there was nothing--dirt and dust. It even looked as though they'd pick up all the rocks before laying him here, just to make sure he didn't have anything use against them. So it came down at hand-to-hand-- The thought left him when he noticed the knuckle-blades on all of the Imperials, one on each hand. They were all sheathed, but one wrong move, and he'd be facing four angry Imperials, each with two vibroblades at the ready. That assumed they didn't blast him first. A motion of the first Imperial's hand--the one that spoke Mandalorian--lowered the blaster carbines, and then, reluctantly, the pistol. So maybe he did have a chance at hand-to-hand-- "Mandalorian, I take no insult at your petty words," he said in that accent... "Perhaps to someone a little more weak-minded, it would mean something, but to us." He shook his head. "I'm no Jedi," Saith found himself declaring. "I don't bother with weak-minded fools." The Imperials all exchanged looks, again, their reactions somewhere between amused and perplexed. At this, Saith wondered who was the weak-minded fool... "I let you live, Saith, because we have some use for you--" "How do you know my name?" The Imperial paused, clearly taken aback by the question. "You told me," he said, as though he were speaking to a child. Saith's eyes widened as the memory came to him--so he had... Weak-minded-- "If you value anything, you won't do anything foolish like what you did a moment ago again." With that, he turned away, further down--or was it out?--the cave and started away, only one of the new Imperials following him. "Hey, wait!" he shouted, standing. The reaction to his sudden move was expected. Both pistol and carbine came to bear, and one of the Imperials gruffly ordered "Sit down!" over the audio amplifier. Saith moved in compliance. "Hey, wait!" he called after who was very apparently the commander. "What the hell is going on here?! You kriffing bastard, what do you want with me!" OOC: That first "shot" of the Imperial commando aiming the pistol as Saith was inspired by this all too familiar image.

Emm.. that actually sounds like the entire expanded universe.. *flees* May not the entire expanded universe, but great swaths of it.

Uh huh, except there are minors on the site. In my opinion, it's pushing it to have "f*ck" plastered all over. Granted, minors can find that sort of thing (and worse) anywhere else, but I will not hesitate to act appropriately and accordingly if I deem anything to be a potential liability to the site.

Rob, email me your image and I can host it on my Photobucket account, if you'd like.