When in doubt, detpacks.

ARC-77, also known as "Fordo", was an Alpha-Class Advanced Recon Commando Captain notable for his straightforward tactics and frequent use of overwhelming firepower.

[arc-77]

Independent // Selective // Mutuals Only // Crossover and OC-Friendly RP Blog for Captain Fordo from Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003). Mix of canon, legends, and headcanon. As directed by Fordo-mun (He/Him). Established 2016. Tracks #arc77 / #arc-77.

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[arc-77]

"Can you hold this for a moment?" Obi-Wan hands him a live animal. It is either very injured or naturally ugly. He means to come back for it, but gets distracted and leaves the room without thought.

"General. General!" He calls out after Obi-wan with an uncharacteristic hint of distress in his voice. "I don't deal with cadets!"

Fordo holds the horned creature under one arm while attempting to contact Cody via commlink. "Commander, get over here ASAP. Kenobi left the y—do not touch that." He bats its hand away from the dangerous implements on his belt. "—Kenobi left the youngling in the wrong person's arms."

[arc-77]

// A headcanon I've held for a long time but never touched on it is AlphaNet, the private messaging service of the Alpha-Class ARCs. Their hundred-strong family group chat, if you will.

Conceptualized while they're still on Kamino, the more tech-focused Alphas build it for them not long after their collective entrance into the Clone War. It's a highly encrypted IRC-like protocol that only they know how to access and use. If an Alpha-ARC needs emergency slicing assistance, he'll hit up AlphaNet. If he hasn't posted for a few weeks or months, he'll check in and let others know he's still alive and what he's been up to.

Aside from basic communication, it's secondary purpose is to serve as a information repository. If an Alpha-ARC obtains military intelligence that would help ensure their collective survival, it will get uploaded to AlphaNet. These are things like technical readouts on Separatist materiels, the locations of safehouses, documentation for false identities, slicing tools, bank accounts, et cetera. Fordo sometimes shares research he's done into the Jedi and Sith. Others upload recommendations of places to eat on Coruscant. It's all very illegal, but it's for their eyes only. No outsiders are ever allowed to so much as glimpse it.

AlphaNet becomes very important in the aftermath of Order 66 as they try to make sense of what happened. While some like Fordo stick with the Empire, other Alphas start spreading out amongst various mercenary and rebel groups, resulting in an underlying tension. There comes a stated rule: do not use the information shared here against your brothers. If you know an attack is coming somewhere an Alpha is stationed, it's common courtesy to warn them to get the hell out of dodge before it happens.

Intel becomes more of a traded commodity rather than something shared freely—rebels will exchange resources for technical readouts on Imperial equipment. Fordo has disseminated a fair amount of info on Imperial capabilities in this way, while keeping the more personally sensitive things like the Death Star, TIE Avenger, or his Dark Troopers hush-hush. AlphaNet becomes his primary means of contacting the Rebel Alliance when the need arises, and he has used it to organize defections for his allies wishing to leave the Empire.

[arc-77]

Off-duty, no orders, no squad, just you. What’s one small habit you’ve picked up since you've left Kamino? How'd you think you got it? And did you get it from anyone in particular either deliberately or inadvertently?

"What are you, a journalist? Ne shab'rud'ni."

[arc-77]

@iconaclysm continued from here:

they tilt their head at the accusation, as if craning slightly to hear better. “ such certainty, commodore. ”  comes the observation. revan seem to split in two — gaze half-lidded, hands absently draped on their knees while their voice remains alert and razor-sharp. their affect is still partially a mimicry of his own, but the undercurrent of their own cadence grows more prominent with every passing day. “ i'm curious to know what has convinced you. ” and then, with less elegance and more mirth, they add;   “ though you do look terrible. ”

In that warped reflection of his own voice, Commodore is not a hard-fought title of esteem, it is a reduction. There is no name and face behind it. From where they sit, he is their latest minor antagonist, their prison warden. He wouldn't matter in a week or so when they escape, having decided they'd learned enough.

Building this bridge was going to be difficult.

Fordo blinks a few times, rubbing his temple, before leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. They have worn him down enough that he does not bother to maintain the posture of an Officer; they did not respond well to it regardless. Perhaps informality would prove more effective in breaking through their barriers.

"Deductive reasoning. You are the only new variable." He folds his arms, gaze lost somewhere in the air between them, unfocused. "And personal experience. Been around enough force-sensitives to know what it feels like when they're tugging at your mind. Received formal training on how to recognize it—and ward against it." His eyes flick back to their face. "I imagine you've noticed."

The amusement was a start. Fordo shifts in his seat slightly, cocking his head.

"Been having fun?"

[arc-77]

The silence on the ship was getting to Wanda, evident in how she consistently tapped her fingers against the metal wall. Finally, she could take it no longer; she unbuckled her seat belt and stood up. She gave Fordo a mischievous look over her shoulder as she stood up, walking towards the door. She pressed the button, allowing the door to open, causing items within the ship to get sucked into the vacuum of space, including herself. Just as Wanda was taken into outer space, the door was shut on its own. After a moment of silence, a tapping sound came from outside. Wanda smiled as she tapped her index and middle fingers on the cockpit's windshield. (From Earth 616 Wanda’s days of space exploration with Fordo!)

Alarms blared and emergency lights flashed as soon as the airlock opened. Fordo yanked on the control yoke without hesitation, pulling the ship into a hard u-turn and decelerating rapidly with Wanda clinging rather gracefully to the windshield. Sliding over to the sensor console, he begins queuing up a series of long-range scans. At the megalight they were traveling, those items could already be hundreds if not thousands of kilometers away.

Wanda's safety during this little stunt was never his concern. In the short time since he had met her—or was reunited with her, he supposed—she had already demonstrated a level of nonchalant durability that even he could envy.

It took a minute for him to work up the resolve to even look at her, and when he did, he was fuming.

"Don't go scattering the contents of my ship across half the star system! You're lucky we weren't in hyperspace, or I'd be dropping your ass off on a barren moon! Dini'la jetii." He groaned. This witch was exactly like her.

"Now go get it all back!" He pointed into the starry void over her shoulder. "You can do that, can't you?"

[arc-77]

“ i would not have you think me noble. ”

"If you truly believed that, you would not have allowed so many to crown you their King." He applies brushstrokes of sealant to a beskar rerebrace, recently painted in shades of gray, red, and gold. "You are obligated to say such things. A good leader practices humility."

[arc-77]

slides him a pulse rifle.

It is sitting on the table fully field-stripped by the time Obi-wan looks back at him. Fordo's hands are folded politely.

[arc-77]

I know they aren't under your direct supervision, but can you try to corral this winged safety hazard in full body armor? Captain Kes thinks my orders are optional.

"My current understanding of this dubiously legal situation is that all former GAR personnel are here as volunteers. You can no longer rely on threat of institutional force to make them follow your orders, you must compel them through softer means. That being said—"

He cracks his knuckles.

"I am in the mood to grapple."

[tidalhaired]

Taking a hold of the adorned clay bowl, Elrond shows Fordo the light mint green content. "I enjoy experimenting with concoctions. This one contains Kingsfoil, mint, honey, kelp and river clay, as well moon stone powder." It's of a thicker consistency and catches the light of the nearby candle like a pearl. "I treat patients who got injured at sea with it."

As for a flying ship..Elrond's gaze turns wistful for a brief moment and he hands Fordo the bowl so that he may examine it himself. "There's a tale. Eärendil the Mariner, who is my father. His flying ship is the only one we know of. By now it was turned into a star that he steers in the sky with him at the helm."

Elrond walks over to the window and looks up into the starry sky. He only needs a brief glance to find the brightest spot in the sky, twinkling down at him. He points up towards it. "Gil-Estel. Our most beloved and brightest star."

For a moment Elrond admires the familiar sight. Yearning, joy and reverence mingles in his chest. Then he turns his attention towards his curious visitor. "I have a feeling that your ship is constructed very differently. It's not made from wood, right? And it's meant to be flying, wheras my Sire's ship was meant for the sea." Now the wooden ship meant for the ocean waves sails the sky and the sky ship meant to fly among the stars swims in the depths of the sea.

"Do you think there's a chance it can be repaired if we pull it from the depths?"

[arc-77]

Fordo stands, gingerly, from the bed on which he sat, following Elrond to the window and his gaze to the star. The tale of Eärendil as it is described in short is at first preposterous to him, something from the mythology of the planet's ancient history. That a man—an elf, rather, the capabilities of which he would need to investigate—could claim to have first hand account of such a foundational myth?

And yet, there is a wistful look in the elf's eyes and truthful quality to his voice that Fordo cannot deny. Perhaps in falling to the sea, he has traveled not only in space, but in time as well. Something else is at play in this world. He was not attuned to the Force, but he had long since learned to recognize its signs, and in this valley, they were everywhere.

But again, the matter of his ship. As he recalled, the malfunctions it had suffered in the upper atmosphere were not catastrophic in nature, rather a suspiciously ill-timed failure of the engines and maneuvering systems. His star yacht was Nubian in design, aerodynamic, and had pierced the water's surface like a diving bird, sinking safely to the ocean floor. He had assumed it did, anyway, as he had leapt from the airlock in mid-air, clutching an inflatable raft that would further fail to deploy. That evening was a cascading sequence of failures that he would never forget.

So: repairable? Possibly. He has faith the ship's hull integrity would hold long enough for him to figure out how to retrieve it, yet if any critical components were damaged in the crash, it did not look at a glance like this civilization had the means to recreate them.

"My vessel is mechanical in nature, constructed of many exotic metals." Fordo shakes his head weakly. "It's too early to speculate until I've seen the damage." He looks back to the night sky, and Gil-Estel. "But should I live to see this through, perhaps I'll pay your father a visit."

[perkyshelley]

chose a hill but i won't die on it. feel free to come and be killed on my hill

[tidalhaired]

"We know about pneumonia, but call it differently. Currently there's no fluid in your lungs, but I'd like to check your lungs regularly and I'll examine them again tomorrow." Elrond had no doubt that where Fordo came from, medicine was different, possibly more advanced, but Elrond and his team of very capable healers were the most advanced healers in Middle-earth and had a few tricks up their sleeves, as well as very keen senses.

Elrond washed his hands with floral soap and warm water, then dried them with a towel. "You're in Rivendell. Imladris in Elvish." The roaring of the waterfalls could even be heard here, within the halls of Healing. The wild splashing of the Bruinen below the cliff the Last Homely House was built on, coupled with birdsong completed the natural orchestra of Elrond's fair valley.

"You've been on the road for two days, and you're holding up very well, all things considered. Círdan tells me you've arrived with a flying ship. He saw it crash into the ocean." It made Elrond think of his father, steering his own flying ship all the way to the Valar to request their aid in protecting Middle-earth. The Silmaril on his brow illuminating the sky. But Círdan described Fordo's ship as made from metal, and burning like a falling star, leaving a trail of grey smoke in its wake.

[arc-77]

"As you wish," he begrudges. He was never thrilled to receive medical attention, as it was an inherently vulnerable state. Had he not made a careless mistake here, or perhaps there, he might have avoided this. Yet he could not deny that the elf had a healer's hands, something he had not felt since the Clone Wars. He runs his hands lightly over the bandage wrappings. Beneath it, he could sense the skin was already beginning to fuse. "Your poultice is remarkably effective."

Círdan. The harbormaster, he recalls. He makes a note to find the man the next day and thank him properly, if he had not already departed. Had Círdan not sailed out and plucked him from the waves, he might never have reached land. To nearly drown on a foreign world, helpless against the waves, was a sobering experience drawn directly from his longtime fears.

But he was alive—he would not consider the alternative—and he had work to do. These elves seemed a generous sort in taking him in, so he could presume food and shelter were not an immediate concern. While he rested over the next few days, he would have to absorb as much information about the planet's civilization as he could. To start: their technology level, and their knowledge of the outside galaxy.

"A flying ship, yes."

Fordo sits on the edge of the healing table. He considers standing and walking to railings to get a better view of the valley, but he anticipates admonishment, and his limbs are still sore from the exhaustion of kicking against the tide. He continues to peer warily at the elf, searching.

"Are your people familiar with them?"

[arc-77]

@majordallows continued from [here]:

The Commodore's helmeted chin lifts and turns away in clear annoyance—he's rolling his eyes. "A Coruscanti financier is not 'one of our numbers', Major. Don't waste my time with cryptic, misleading language. Lead with what is important: the slush fund."

He taps commands into his desk terminal, causing a series of holographic windows to appear in the air above. As she speaks, he traces her path through their financial records, noting the mentioned discrepancies and their ministry corrections. Dallows was right, of course: the woman was tugging on a very dangerous set of strings.

"Regardless, you have a keen eye." The holograms disappear, and the door unlocks behind her. "Go. Deal with her as you see fit. If she cannot be politely discouraged, see to it that she is ruined."

[tidalhaired]

@arc-77

The man who arrived with Círdan was most peculiar. It was clear that he didn't belong in Middle-earth, even before Elrond received any further information on him. Despite Elrond being curious, the most important matter was to look at the visitor's wounds. Fordo, was his name, and Elrond examined the lacerations on his right shoulder and arm.

"I assume you got cut by stone and coral while you swam." In the ocean. While escaping from his sinking ship made of metal and swimming towards the surface, with his lungs able to store all the air the distance required. It sounded so extraordinary, and Elrond itched to see this ship for himself.

He carefully spread an ointment he mixed out of athelas and various other ingredients over the wounds, healed the skin and then bandaged both his arm and shoulder. "Luckily the cuts weren't deep, and your body appears to be very sturdy." Almost rivalling the sturdiness of the Eldar. Not even all the saltwater in the wounds had peturbed him. "How are you feeling?"

[arc-77]

The man closes his eyes, holding his hand against his own chest, breathing in and out. He wishes he had a stethoscope, but his first aid kit now sat at the bottom of the Belegaer alongside most of his gear.

"Sore. Inhaled a good bit of water. Worried about contracting pneumonia—" He pauses a beat. Scientific medical practices had yet to develop here, from the looks of things. "—fluid in the lungs," he explains.

But most of all, he felt naked. His armor would have turned away any blade or weapon this world could fashion, and yet now it lay in water deep, sea-life beginning to mar its finish. The furrow in Fordo's brow deepens. Why had his emergency flotation devices failed? Had the same ethereal forces that brought down his ship tried to drown him, an interloper on their untouched world?

If so, it must have achieved its goal, divesting him of the technology that could have changed the balance of power. All he had now was his wits—and the hospitality of his rescuers and hosts. Fordo dons a loose shirt of Elven make, looking to Elrond as he adjusts the strings.

"My head is still spinning from the road—I do not know how far we traveled to get here, or even for how long. It does not smell like the sea."

[arc-77]

Man-Thing is good good kill-fighter, yes yes?

"Man-thing has killed a few people. Man-thing is always ready to kill a few more."

[arc-77]

// Today marks this blog's 10th Anniversary.

10 years! Ten! Good lord! It's now old enough to be deployed to Geonosis!

Thank you to everyone who's stuck around through the years and to everyone I've picked up along the way, it's been a blast. The passage of time continues to terrify me, and I don't even age twice as fast.

[arc-77]

I’m exercising my prerogative as a Doctor and making a call on the Finance Ministry. One of our numbers has developed a conscience. An unfortunate condition. I’ll be back in a few rotations. Nothing you need to be briefed on.

The door locks audibly behind her without the Commodore so much as moving a muscle.

"I disagree, Major. As its commander, I expect to be kept well informed of the goings-on on this ship. If you have deemed a member of this crew to be an issue ideologically, I need to know who it is and who they have affiliated with."

The lights in his office dim, save for a single spotlight which holds Dallows within its beam, evoking a ray-shield trap implicitly.

"Furthermore, I must remind you that you are not, to my knowledge, an ISB Loyalty Officer. The cancers you excise as a doctor are not abstract in nature. Stepping outside the bounds of your role disrupts the gears of our well-oiled machine. You will report your suspicions to our relevant shipboard authority and go back to your work."

The spotlight softens. He motions for her to sit.

"Now: Finance Ministry. Elaborate."