Agriprop; Imperial Confederation Dominion of Brentaal IV

[Hatim al-‘Abbās As-Saffāḥ]

Secretary-general Hatim al-‘Abbās As-Saffāḥ,​

Nizam Al-Mulk party​

Location: Crime scene
Objective: Obj 1.


"And left a trace it seems, tell me were they ghosts or merely terrorists who took the initiative? brave of such rats to do this in times like this," the elder Kandaran mused to himself as his bodyguards fanned out around the crash site, leaving him and Tariq near the edge of the wreckage.


"Order your men to search houses of the sympathiser list provided by our friends in the ISB, question them, make examples of them and keep it clean, this is not a backwater planet." One thought was clear to him, though. Hatim knew for a certainty that many men and women would disappear. During the Nizam Al-mulks struggles with tribal dissidents back home, entire villages in the vast sprawling desert of the interior would be trampled and destroyed at the whim of paranoia. Such was the way of his rule in the Imperial Kandaran party. It had proved successful in the past but with errors back home with the crisis in the valley of the moon, it seemed the Kandaran fedayeen would have to adapt its tactics once more.

Hatims mood darkened even more. This latest calamity was something that even he knew would be a struggle to overcome.

[member="Tariq Hejazi"] [member="Rasvas Tevlan"]

 

[Imperial Storyteller]

Master Gunnery Sergeant Goran Vekarr - Imperial Stormtrooper Corps​

Location: Crash Site, Brentaal IV​

​

​

​

He couldn't shake the sense of dread when a group of individuals wearing the uniform of the Brentaalian Militia strode up to the checkpoint he manned with his troops, the feeling causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. One of his junior NCOs, a good man named Lassiter, held his hand up and took a moment to look them over before his vocoder cracked to life: "We were told that there wasn't going to be any investigators from the Militia until we concluded our search. Can we see your identification?" Vekarr's eyes just managed to make out the slight twitch on the leader's lips as he reached down towards his pocket, beginning to pull out a bulky metal object that made his heart drop.

A loud ringing filled the sergeant's ears when Lassiter was blasted backwards by a wave of sonic energy, sending him into a durasteel barrier. As if guided by instinct, his arms leveled his G-11F with the torso of the nearest perpetrator, letting a burst spray over the freshly-created corpse before he willed his legs to dive him into the direction of cover. A dazzling explosion of blue electricity let him know that an Ion grenade went off in the area, almost immediately draining his deflector shield. He dared to look over at the hostiles, most of them sporting blaster carbines that they were using to combat the outnumbered stormtroopers that were still standing.

His hand trembled as he reached for a flare gun that was magnetized to his thigh, pointing it skyward and letting lose the bright crimson object.

It sailed into the air for about a kilometre, then erupted in a violent show of sparks - a thunderous crack echoing throughout the valley. Beyond it, unbeknownst to Vekarr, the remnants of several other flares slowly drifted down to the forest floor.

The attack had begun.

[member="Rasvas Tevlan"] | [member=IC-104] | [member="Adaska Raythe"] | [member="Tariq Hejazi"] | [member="Hatim al-‘Abbās As-Saffāḥ"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Adamos Kaiser"] | [member="Veena Reshma"]​

 

[Tobias Wrynn]

Lance Corporal Tobias Wrynn,
Core Imperial Stormtrooper Corps

Defense Station <Redacted> , Forward Investigation team, Brentaal IV orbit​

"Lock down the hangar bay and get the dockmaster's manifest for the past twelve hours. Any suspicious activity catalogued there should be reported as a top priority." The Imperial Officer seemed unnerved by the idea that a terrorist group was operating in the area, so brazenly close to the Core in the wake of Tanomas Graf's declaration. It felt like spit in the face of all the good work they were doing. "Lance Corporal Wrynn, you have command of the security detail. Sweep the station, any sign of a rogue element should be met with prejudice."

The Stormtrooper glanced back over his shoulder. "Yes, sir," He held up the carbine that was standard for all rank and file troopers, but also indicated the precision tool on his back that came with his specialist training. "Do you have a preference for how they're dealt with?"

"Quietly if possible," the officer counseled, "but seditious activity in the face of Core Imperial rule should be made an example of. You have authorization to perform a public execution, should it come to that."

"Acknowledged," Wrynn gave a stiff salute, then turned to his men. "Move out!"

 

[Simon Meinrad]

Location: Brentaal IV System
Allies: CIC
Objective: BYOO

A jewel amongst thousands upon thousands of star systems that made up the universe Choruk was familiar with. Brentaal IV was treasured for its unique position that can bring a prosperous flow of commerce and trade to the Confederation. It was a junction between the Hydian Way and the Perlemian Trade Route, two of the Galaxy’s most renowned highways that’s been established for many millenniums. Of course, the Clone was no businessman and was not interested in the trade this system could bring to the Imperial Confederation, although it would also be an excellent thing to have.

He was more so interested in the hyperlanes this system had to offer, and that to him meant a location to stage campaigns and other battles that can ship out troops at an efficient rate in different theaters of the Galaxy, especially with the Hydian Way.

Agents and other Imperial personnel were on the planet of Brentaal pursuing in accomplishing whatever tasks were given to them. Choruk and his Marines could joined in those operations, but this was more pressing matters to be concerned about. More for the long run of the Imperial military serving its Lord Chancellor. Though who wasn’t to say that potential terrorists or other hostile elements were to be absent on one of Brentaal’s moons? Insurgency was well around any corner of the Galaxy, no matter what banners one flew in the winds.

”Eyes up, whatever the others are facing on the planet can be around these parts. Secure a perimeter and let’s set up shop, so that our engineers and architects can start their part.”

Reconnaissance units were out patrolling the grounds, being the first eyes to spot any trace of trouble. Several battalions under Choruk’s command was enough for the first stages of this operation, with most of the Marines being in reserves inside several Imperial cruisers and a good amount of companies to actually get their hands dirty. Of course, 239 was never shy of that.

”Coruscant wasn’t built in a day, troopers. Now move your sorry carcasses”

 

[Adaska Raythe]

Adaska Raythe
Brentaal IV, Crimson Wastes, Air Defence Station Nemesis, Nearby Gun Battery 14B.
Nearby: [member="Marriskcal Lati"], [member="Druwor"] (Communication Proxy).

Footsteps pattered gently across the sandy gravel path, Adaska keenly avoided confronting any Imperial Personnel or Brentaal Defence Force Soldiers within the Air Defence Station's perimeter. Nobody else dies today she resolved wordlessly within the confines of own mind. The agility of Agent Raythe, a Shadow was something fiercely terrifying and those who had been fortunate to witness such a disciplined seemingly choreographed display could be forgiven for believing that Raythe was at some point in her life either a professional dancer or ice-skater, every single sequence of movements taken whether it was mantling up a ferro-crete wall or leaping over chain link in an inverted twirling pirouette was carefully planned and executed first mentally and then physically.

"Rogue-Alpha to Blue-Leader, be advised. It may be necessary for me to engage friendly assets, over." The message was beamed through a hyperwave transceiver built into Adaska's TYRFING Battlesuit and thoroughly encrypted, she wouldn't have broken the radio silence normally but the value Adaska placed on the lives of her countrymen superseded operational security in their eyes. As did the perceived necessity to inform Druwor, one of the two leaders belonging to the Loyalist Coalition that was responsible for sending their coveted and unique Shadow Asset out into the field on such delicate operations performing actions and deeds none others possessed the equipment or requisite training to successfully complete.

Tracking behind the group of armoured soldiers led by who unknown to Adaska was Agent Lati, Raythe zoomed across the open space as a pair of blast doors were closing and like a stiff gale of wind managed to squeeze between them just prior to their final heavy close. Cloaked and crouched stealthily behind a Trooper named 'Knight' beside the large bulkhead door, Raythe's transparent silhourte waited in the corner between locker and the Facility's sole entrance and exit. Skulking through the subterranean halls, Adaska followed behind Marriskcal and her escort of ebon-armoured Troopers. Lati occupied Raythe's "Blank Space" an area in which a Force-Sensitive's connection to the force and ability to perceive much of anything could be painfully disrupted, nobody knew if the field's ability to induce irrational anxiety and ear into such individuals was somehow related to it or rather that the effects were due to some independent phenomenon.

[member="CC-239"], [member="Tobias Wrynn"], [member="Imperial Storyteller"], @Hatim al-‘Abbās As-Saffāḥ, [member="Rasvas Tevlan"], [member="Druwor"]

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Captain Marriskcal Lati - Du Couteau,
Commissariat for State Security & Force-Related Affairs
Equipment: Uniform (Made of Shell Spider Silk), Lightsabre x2 (Azure & Cyan), and Throwing Knives
Location: Air Defence Station, [Redacted], Brentaal IV
Objective: A little bit of column BYOO and column #1
Interacting with: [member="Adaska Raythe"]

Marriskcal paused, the heel of a boot clicking with a sharp finality on the ferrocrete flooring of the cafeteria even as a whisper of air blew across her form with the doors closing behind them. Ever perceptive to the movements of their captain, whose capricious temperament flared ever now and then, the clone troopers that were escorting her also came to a stop.

As a creature who has always endeavoured to be part of the Guard ever since she was old enough to hold a spark of aspiration, and has been shield and sword both for much of her tenure within the Order, her instincts were finely honed. While she was always attuned to the refrain that the lifestream sung, it did not mean that she lapsed when it came to her training. And with the harsh foundation that has been instilled within her by her instructors back on Skye of focusing on one’s physical strength over depending on the auspices of the Force, Marriskcal wielded it as one would a weapon.

With the shadow drawing so closely, the young lady found herself bereft of the everpresent whisper that was always intertwined amongst her thoughts, and it only told her that she needed to be wary. Almost immediately when the Force fell quiet, a silverbright flash of pain that pierced through her mind, followed by the faint echoes of a blossoming headache. It was familiar in a way that was unmistakable to the blonde, who recurrently found herself ambushed and surrounded by ten overly enthusiastic younglings who wore shards of void stones due to their unfortunate circumstances.

Even while her fight or flight instincts were beginning to scream at her, Marriskcal affected a calm demeanour, if only so she did not incite her men into unnecessary violence in full view of so many witnesses. And though the blonde may no longer be able to sense the curl of their puzzlement and static of their circumspection, it was written in the lines of their shoulders.

Gesturing for her escorts to remain alert but not to take any action without provocation, she spoke softly, so that it appeared as though she was discussing matters with the clone troopers, “I may not be able to perceive your form, but I know that you are there.” Her words were purposely slanted, so as to somewhat veil her ability to influence the Force. If whoever it was managed to discern what remained unsaid, it was a point in their favour. But Marriskcal was never one to give information so easily.

“And while I have not been briefed, I am willing to allow you to go on with whatever it is your assignment requires of you so long as you transmit the right codes to Phantom-One,” she continued, using the same hand to distinguish the armoured form of Corporal Lance to their shadow.

 

[Nika Satari]

Nika 'cold hands' Satari,
Umbaran Cartel(Nerina Syndicate)


​

Location: The red hand bar, Oradin, Brentaal IV
Objective: Where's my fethin money
Interacting with: No one.


"He has an errand for you to complete tonight. I can't say anything else here in the open. The details on what to do and where to go are in this envelope. We'll be in touch." The cloaked representative of her boss shoved a manilla envelope at Nika and turned on his heel heading back into the shadows of a nearby building pulling up the collar of his black overcoat as he went.

Nika looked at the envelope with a bemused look and slid the envelope into her suit jacket and continued to her speeder where several of her boys stood guard. Once seated inside, she patiently opened it. On the paper enclosed was the location of a particularly seedy downtown bar and the instructions that some dealings and payment were due and the characters in question would be there. The money was to be obtained no matter what actions were deemed appropriate to do so. She put the contents to the side and went to open her glove box. Inside she pulled out her familiar pair of black leather gloves and put them on, Nika signalled silently for her driver to start the speeder up and be on their way to the location.

After circling for a few minutes to find an ideal parking spot out of the sight of cameras, Nika and several other associates stalked down the street to the bar. She carefully turned her hat down to somewhat obscure her recognisable face and slipped in the door. It was extremely crowded inside with a wide variety of unsavoury people of her ilk and other urban dwellers. Loud music blared through the room, some obscene act was being shown on the stage in the back of the room, and the mixed smell of cigarra smoke and spice filled the air. It was lowly lit as well with only lamps above booths and the stray candle giving off a harsh yellowish-green light. She stood back and scanned the room intently before zoning in on a corner booth. Nika smoothly strolled through the crowd towards it and slammed her hands down on the table knocking over one man's drinks in the process. The men looked up and didn't seem too surprised to see her.

"Ahh look boys. Aren't we special old one eye sent one of his best cats after us? Want's that payment for the gambling debt, huh? Wanted it so bad he sent pretty girl Nika," the stocky man in the middle said snidely as he proceeded to pinch Nikas pale cheek. "Does he think you'd scare the likes of us?"

Without hesitation, Nika leaned over the table and grabbed the man by the collar lifting him to meet her eye to eye. The man was a great deal bigger than the lithe Nika and gasped as his shirt tightened around his neck, and his feet lifted off the floor.

"I'm here for the money and information that was promised a long time ago Mr Morazzis, and you're going to give it to me, or I'll make sure the police don't have enough left of you to identify by the end of this night." Nika snarled releasing the man from his grasp who promptly fell back down in his seat with a thud.

The man rubbed his neck and glared back up at Ben. He took a swig from his bottle of beer, wiped his mouth and turned to whisper to his associate before turning back to Nika.

"Okay cool cat. Zoran here deals with the cash. Nothing in front of everyone here though and no trouble from your guys, if you want the money and the details you two can go settle the deal outside."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Nika looked at this Zoran guy and knew that this was some setup as she would know, back in her early days of putting in work setups like this were done on low-level dealers to fleece them. The Zabrak was nothing more than a great lump of fat and muscle and looked as if he hadn't had any formal education past the age of ten. Regardless she didn't say anything, and the two of them snaked through the crowd to the back exit. Outside the back, the alleyway was empty except for a few trash cans and some rats.

"I don't have all night Zabrak. Hand over the money, and we can both be on our merry little way." Nika asked, feeling his patience waning as she stood in the open.

Zoran stood for a moment, and in a split second, he lunged ferociously at Nika. They struggled initially as both were locked in an attempt to overpower the other.

The Half Umbaran snarled and thrust her fist into the throat of the Zabrak once she got semi-free of his grasp. Gagging, Zoran dropped to the floor. Nika started to get to her feet but was knocked down by a second attacker's boot as the second attacker kicked her furiously. Rolling back she dodged several kicks. However, one landed square in her gut and sent her screeching in pain. Sensing opportunity Nika grabbed a nearby piece of rusty pipe and swung just as the thug went to kick her once more, connecting with the man's knee in a sickening fashion and crunch. She stumbled to her feet shakily, raising the pipe with both hands and savagely beating the thug into a coma with all the furore and anger of a wounded animal.


Zoran staggered back and tried to retreat inside. Nika caught the fat Zabrak before he could open the door, yanking him back to face her as she smashed in the ribs with the pipe and the small of his back in quick succession. Zoran swayed and fell against the steps. Eliciting a pained grin from the Umbaran cartel captain as she knelt beside him, opening up his pockets and taking the money.

"You know... i respect the audacity you poor little man, but its more business smart to shoot them in the back of the head," she chuckled to herself while pocketing the Zabraks belongings, crouched over him like a predator about to feast on its victim. Her words elicited a low grumble of pain from Zoran and a defiant glob of bloodied spit which hit her in the face.


"Ever the charmer, now mr Zabrak you can tell me where the revolutionaries are now or we can be here a long day," Nika smirked, wiping the blood from her cheek on her sleeve, removing a small knife from the inside of her coat.

"I do hope you see sense."

 

[Kishala Vi'dreya]

Kishala Vi'dreya
Location: One of the secluded islets, Near the Equatorial Line, Brentaal IV
Objective: BYOO
Interacting with: None

​

​

​

Far away from the epicentre where one trouble after another were continuing to arise for the beleaguered imperium, the aether witch stood at the shore of a secluded islet. Behind her, turbulent waves crashed against the roughhewn rocks, sending fine mist scattering into the air with each ebb and flow.

Alone, for she never once considered her servants and cohorts as being worthy, one Kishala Vi’dreya wrinkled her nose in disdain. While Brentaal was strategic for the crossing of the Perlemian Trade Route and the Hydian Way, she has never been fond of worlds with an arid climate and systems with more than a sun. While she continued to endure with her discomfort with grace, the cossetted noble found the salt-and-vapour saturated air nigh unbearable.

But the pale lady was here for a reason, and while she has yet to catch sight of a kundril, the locales had assured her that they were plentiful of them that nested on these small sequences of islets.

Balanced precariously on one of the larger rocks, Kishala could sense the echoes of the calls that these predatory insects emitted. And seated on its haunches by her side was one of her vornskrs, a vicious creature that possessed a frame that was prominently greater than the rest of its brethren. The juvenile male was the result of one of her little… immersion into combining her expertise in alchemy with Oukaze’s expertise in machinery. While he was inexperienced and still inclined to be playful, he was also obedient and eager to please.

With her thoughts meandering towards her future endeavours, Kishala reached out with an ivory limb to run a hand across its broad muzzle.

 

[Enedina Tal]

Major General Tariq Hejazi
Kandaran Imperial Fedayeen paramilitary
Location: Block perimeter around the crash site.
Objective: Obj 1, deal with the suspects and attack.
Tags: [member="Veena Reshma"] [member="Kishala Vi'dreya"] [member="Adaska Raythe"] @CC-239 [member="Hatim al-‘Abbās As-Saffāḥ"] [member="Tobias Wrynn"]

​

A few days prior.

The Brentaalian woke to the sound of keys being turned in the lock of his cell door. The heavy metal door opened and he was blinded by the light of the hallway. Bendryck turned his face away as he was seized from both sides. His chains were unlocked from the wall, and he was dragged from the cell into the corridor.

The light was dazzling, and he could barely make out the shapes and sizes of the men who were part-dragging, part-carrying him towards the upper levels of the complex. He vaguely remembered the route from when he was brought down to the cells to begin his imprisonment, and it seemed like they were heading towards the surface.

He tried to speak but found his throat was too dry to make out words properly. He tried to resist but found his arms lacked the strength to offer up any more than token resistance. He could barely even lift his head from where it was slumped on its chest.

They arrived at the foot of steep set stairs. The guards didn't hesitate before they ascended. They moved far too quickly as Bendryck stumbled and fell, his knees catching on the edges of the metal steps as he was manhandled up and up. His leg roared with pain, and he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, not that he could get given his sorry condition. His captors had took him in the dead of night and had given him no time to defend himself, killing several of his fellow brothers in arms before they knew what had hit them. But they had spared him and he cringed mentally at the memories of the beatings and torture inflicted upon him the past few days.

Finally they arrived at the top of the stairs and passed through an open doorway. His companions had carried him into a small chamber on the ground level of the complex. Bendryck remembered this was where the jailors had clapped him in irons. He lifted his head and looked around the room. It seemed there was no one else here but the two men who had brought him up from his cells. The guard on his right suddenly let go of his arm and, denied this support, and he sagged to the floor. He took a few deep breaths and then looked up.

"Feeling better Mr Kantris? i hope our accommodation fit your needs you degenerate, though i must confess you have helped us with that list of yours." An all too familiar voice rang out, it had been the same man who along with others, had extolled the names from him of his brothers living in the city.

"Kark you."

He felt a sharp blow at the back of his head. The floor raced up to meet him. Blackness started to envelop him, but before he lost consciousness, he heard a snort and a muted whisper.

"Send the list over the channel to our comrades on the front. It has the addresses of the suspected members."

 

[Kishala Vi'dreya]

Kishala Vi'dreya
Location: One of the secluded islets, Near the Equatorial Line, Brentaal IV
Objective: BYOO
Interacting with: None

​

​

​

The soft hiss-and-static of the communicator she held in her palm alerted the aether witch as to the incoming missive from her cohorts. About time, Kishala thought waspishly to herself.

“Ma’am, we’ve found several signs of disturbed sand at the North-West side of the islet.”

As a being who preferred to seclude herself within her estate on the wilds of her homeworld, wandering under the unrelenting beam of Brenta was harsh on her person. And surrounded by the sparkling sea and saturated air, the delicate noblewoman was actually finding herself becoming lightheaded.

Sensing her unworded suffering, the vornskr whined, burying its large head against her belly in hopes that it would soothe some of her distress. Giving the immense beast an indulgent glance, the pale lady continued to pet the baby of her pack. Truly, she was spoiling the thing. But unlike the beings that surrounded her, her pack’s loyalty and adoration was unconditional. And as such, Kishala pampered them.

“Go ahead and collect all the eggs and larvae you can find. I will continue to ensure that the imagines remain… unaware.”

​

 

[Simon Meinrad]

Location: Brentaal IV
Allies: CIC
Objective: BYOO

What came next was not a grand building complex that fabricated out of the blue. The Force was already a real, ridiculous idea for the Clone that he accepted. Unfortunately that was a reality to live with in the Galaxy. Rather what happened next was Choruk overseeing the movements of his soldiers, keeping logs of patrols, and having his subordinates report anything that occurred no matter how relevant or irrelevant it was. He was, truth be told, unfamiliar with the history of Brentaal’s moons and was eager to know more about the atmosphere of the one he stood on. He was the conquering type, a personality trait he absorbed during his training with a renowned Mandalorian of the name of Munin. Relentless in achieving progress for the Chancellor and the Confederation which made him unforgiving ruthless to any subject, even with the men under his command. While carrying a lust of combat he was also intelligent enough to find the means to achieve victory in an efficient manner; although sometimes his methods were...radical to the taste of other officers. So far he didn’t get called out on it by high command.

”I need a company on me, we’re going...sightseeing. Boar, you’re in command until I return. Keep me on tabs, and make sure a scratch doesn’t lay on the engineers.”

Less than one hundred Marines were assigned to Choruk with speeders and repulsor tanks at their disposal. With terrorists causing mayhem on the planet he’d be a fool to not pack a cannon with him. Not only that but to also instill fear into the hearts of these locals. They were the dirt under his boot and would make sure they’d understood the iron fist they were facing. Yes, the Confederation was diplomatic but did that matter to Choruk?

Not at all.

Only continuing the legacy of the Emperor under the Chancellor was his priority and main objective.

 

[Rasvas Tevlan]

General Rasvas Tevlan; Galactic Marines CO

Location: Crash Site - Area Unknown // ERROR

Objective: Reestablish Signal w/ Comms & Equipment - Decrypt Datapad

Interacting With: Unknown - Hostile Presence

// DISCONNECTED - ERROR 2K-00B9 //​

​

. . .​

​

// UNABLE TO TROUBLESHOOT //​

​

There was silence for a time while Rasvas trekked onward to meet with his fellow comrades - those that brought a sense of righteousness to the hearts of every Imperial alike. A thought and notion that would bolster the resolve of many; however, Rasvas only cared about objectivity. Do the job, complete the mission.

He was systematic in his methodology - unsullied by the whims and inklings of remorse or guilt displayed by countrymen and the commonplace corp. He was like them once, but only during a bygone era where blood was the fuel of the war machine - where black smoke and soot molested the once glamorous and pristine. All of it violated Rasvas in a way few could possibly fathom.

He looked into it - that void of the unspeakable; the Netherworld.

And he would never forget its gaze as it too stared into him.

Aware that his comms and electronics were malfunctioning, the General kept his guard tense and alert as his eyes leveled with the holographic sight of his blaster. The hasty footfalls of an eager terrorist charged from behind Rasvas, and with the assault came a bloodthirsty yell, a vibrosword raised skyward - swung downward with reckless abandon in an effort to silence the darkly clad soldier. But he would be met with utter failure and disappointment. His efforts would be for naught.

Rasvas reacted sharply - his reflexes heightened by rather outdated cybernetics he had neglected to perform maintenance on. A stubborn man he was, but a survivor nonetheless. The blade missed him by mere inches, the General's plated fist launching into the assailant's throat in retaliation. All at once the man collapsed and clawed at his own throat, unable to breathe. The vibrosword clattering against duracrete.

Approaching the would-be-warrior, Rasvas knelt down beside him. "Your vigor is admirable. But do you truly understand the consequences you've brought upon yourself? Your own people?"

A deep, audible exhale of disappointment escaped the General.

He slowly reached his midnight gloved hand to grasp the heretic by the hair; dark brown locks peeking through leathery black digits. Rasvas leaned in closer to the man's ear as he still struggled to catch his breath. His eyes bloodshot and tearing up as they darted frantically in utter shock and fear. A cold, almost robotic voice replacing all he could hear or think of. "Your bravery brings you nothing but deceit. A deceit you bring upon yourself and all of your ilk."

Rasvas' grip tightened.

"Allow me to grant you resolution. On behalf of the Empire."

His right arm pulled back the terrorist's head and subsequently slammed it into the ground repeatedly until his face was unrecognizable. But this one harbored no information on his person - nor anything regarding further explanation of an attack. Something in the surrounding area was interfering with equipment, making even the previously acquired datapad useless.

He would find them, these scum.

He would make an example of them.

 

[Adaska Raythe]

Adaska Raythe
Brentaal IV, Crimson Wastes, Air Defence Station Nemesis, Nearby Gun Battery 14B.
Nearby: [member="Marriskcal Lati"]

Adaska blinked behind their visor not knowing that the woman was force-sensitive although what she had said left little doubt to the woman to believe that the Imperial Security Bureau Agent was disarmed of their metaphysical abilities not suspecting Lati retained any ability to manipulate her learned powers. The Defence Station's subterranean cafeteria was largely empty save for a handful of staff who remained to perform their duties within the Kitchen and await to be interviewed by local Law Enforcement and Imperial Security Bureau personnel. Skulking back into the shadows, a gauntlet quietly rummaged around in pocket and produced a sphere-shaped object marked with turquoise glowing runes across its' surface. Kneeling, Raythe gently flips it into the air and displaces from their position while the spheres whirrs steadily through the air with white loop contrails pulsing in its' wake, movement guided by a connection with the retinal display settling on the floor between Marriskcal and her escort it paused before projecting a coloured three-dimensional simulacrum of a near seven foot tall warrior wearing some manner of Powered Assault Armour.

Barely visible In blocky-professional looking factory-applied lettering on the sage green breastplate was the identification number '6767' It couldn't be made on a cursory study but alas the acid applied to remove the numerals was applied hastily and unknown to Raythe the number was associated with a certain woman from Marriskcal's memory who was also associated with the "Loyalist Coalition" An exclusive conspiracy to remove the current manipulative, clandestinely seditious and murderous Commissar-General Orlov and the "Purist" Faction of the Imperial Party from their current lofty position of influence. The false simulacrum who appeared in the visage of a First Imperial Death Trooper folded its' brawny arms and made a gesture towards Lati. "Let's skip the pleasantries, Agent. I want to know who is responsible for shooting down the Imperial Confederated Systems' Diplomatic Shuttle." Adaska's lips moved and spoke within the confines of her helmet even though no sound escaped its' isolated atmosphere, the Simulacrum however did speak audibly with Agent Raythe's distorted voice although her cool discipline could still be heard.

"Sharing what you've discovered about them would aid my hunt for those responsible greatly." Lati would have assumed that the armoured Titan speaking was interested in exacting retribution upon the Terrorists and that was the impression she hoped to convey as she suspected it would aid in the cultivation of some mutual working trust.

[member="Druwor"], [member="Rasvas Tevlan"], [member="CC-239"], [member="Kishala Vi'dreya"], @Tariq Hejazi, [member="Nika Satari"]

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Captain Marriskcal Lati - Du Couteau,
Commissariat for State Security & Force-Related Affairs
Equipment: Uniform (Made of Shell Spider Silk), Lightsabre x2 (Azure & Cyan), and Throwing Knives
Location: Air Defence Station, [Redacted], Brentaal IV
Objective: A little bit of column BYOO and column #1
Interacting with: [member="Adaska Raythe"]

Her eyes became narrowed in contemplation and circumspection when the menacing form of what was clearly that of a First Order Death Trooper emerged between her and the three men of Section Phantasmagoria. And as a being who has collaborated with these titans of war, Marriskcal was familiar with their armour design and imposing frames.

But despite the uncertainty and lack of information on the potential hostile, and with only an acute visual difference in mass, the three clone troopers remained unmoving for a fraction of a second before they raised the muzzle of their blasters. With a gentle slash of an arm, they paused and forced themselves to be at ease. In the absence of an armour of her own, the young lady would usually have fallen back to using the Force to speak to their minds. But standing within the boundaries of negation created by the void stone – or so she presumed – Marriskcal reverted to using precise motions and gestures to assure her men.

After a moment of silent observation at the familiar armour, her gaze fell on the haphazardly erased numerals. While her instincts were whispering a hymn of nostalgic and familiarity across her mind, the last time the blonde had encountered one Kyli was when they were on Nyeon, and the other was in a different set of armour. With her senses dampened and the passing of time since she was first acquainted with the solemn brunette, the constellation points of the simulacrum being a facsimile of Alpha-One did not connect within her mind.

Even then, even despite the reservations Marriskcal held towards this being, her instincts told that she could extend a faint amount of trust towards the other.

Eyes of brilliant blue flickered towards Corporal Lance, and when she was certain his gaze was on her person, the blonde gave him the merest of nods. But before the man could acquiescence to her unworded request, he tensed, going silent as the updates from the crash site began to filter in. Between the intermittent reports that were collated by various other individual scattered throughout the area. But the most significant piece of intelligence that was drew the male’s attention was the assertion that the hostiles were wearing the uniform of the Brentaalan Militia.

“Captain Du Couteau! You’d be wanting to check the BattleNet right about now.”

And as if the chaos that was beginning to expand over at the crash site was not enough of a migraine for every personnel involved, her fourth clone trooper – Dagger – strode through the blast door with an unknown man in a drab coverall. With an audible growl in his tone, he threw the man onto the ferrocrete floor, “Caught this rat trying to be sneaky and make for the towers.”

“Well. It looks like we have found the thread that may lead us to the answers that we are seeking for,” Marriskcal said, her smile saccharine even as she clapped her hands together in delight.

 

[Nika Satari]

Nika 'cold hands' Satari, ​

Umbaran Cartel(Nerina Syndicate)​

​

Location: Secluded islet, Near the Equatorial Line, Brentaal IV
Objective: Meet with an organisation
Interacting with: [member="Kishala Vi'dreya"]

With her business concluded under less than peaceful terms, having fixed any uncertainties in the Umbarans interactions with Brentaals local crime family. She had to turn to a different matter on her short term holiday on Brentaal, an issue that didn't require putting two men in a coma during a setup. Her next contact was a familiar acquaintance to the cartel, the Umbaran woman's dealings with the cartel were infrequent and minimal. She had her uses like every other connection.

She wasn't one of those stupid rat-faced thieves who was as scared and superstitious as a religious fool.No. She had no real fear, which propelled her up and beyond what many in the cartel thought she would turn out to be. Some little skinny runt who would die at twenty in some rat-infested alleyway amidst Coruscants many run and gun battles that the cartel's warriors fought daily. She had higher aspirations than most, having outlasted many who were there from the beginning to be where she is now. A captain and the lord of the Cartels scalpel.

Nika felt as out of place in the calm beach confines of the island as she did in more formal settings, she kept a stern and emotionless demeanour as she approached the contact, sunglasses shielding her pale eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. She stopped but fifteen meters from the other woman, remaining deadly silent as she took in what Kishala was doing.


[member="Kishala Vi'dreya"]

 

[Kishala Vi'dreya]

Kishala Vi'dreya
Location: One of the secluded islets, Near the Equatorial Line, Brentaal IV
Objective: BYOO
Interacting with: [member="Nika Satari"]

​

​

​

Even as the Force began to undulate with the reverberations of an unfamiliar aura, the pale lady remained serene. And although this would be the first encounter between the two women, the presence of one Nika Satari has been anticipated.

After all, her little sojourn on Brentaal IV was not merely due to her faint interest in acquiring an expansive sample of the kundril populace to add to her collection of exotic creatures. It was also so she could have a discreet conversation with a trusted contract of the Cartel, far away from prying ears and eyes. While Kishala has preserved much of her anonymity due to her retiring nature, the many nieces and nephews that Isley had begotten were of age to spread their wings. And it would not do for her to be seen with an underground element that were known to dabble in the trading and selling of sentient lives.

Kishala Vi’dreya was a creature that appeared frail and delicate, soft and genteel and everything that a lady of nobility was portrayed to be on many a historical holodramas. And attired in a sheer and voluminous dress of ivory and a wide-brimmed hat to stave off the sun beam, her appearance continued to add to the illusion. The only thing that was divergent from the image she has created for the galaxy was the immense vornskr that stayed at her side even as the other members of the pack prowled in the distance.

“It is a dreadful day, is it not?” she began in a conversational lilt, tempering her voice so that it could reach the other Umbaran’s ears. The juvenile vornskr pricked up its ears in interest, and made to raise itself back on its fours. But with a gentle tap of a finger on its nose, it subsided. Even then, the creature’s aureate eyes were settled on the form of the stranger, its curiousity apparent. “Sirius knows that he should behave... and if you are so inclined, we could have a word without the need to raise our voices.”

​

 

[Adaska Raythe]

Adaska Raythe
Brentaal IV, Crimson Wastes, Air Defence Station Nemesis, Nearby Gun Battery 14B.
Nearby: [member="Marriskcal Lati"], [member="Druwor"] (Communication Proxy).

The simulacrum's helmeted head tracked Marriskcal Lati carefully their brow piqued upwards examining the arrival of a Soldier clad in the distinctive white duraplast armour of Katarn Battle Armour dragging along some battered and defeated man wearing the uniform of a Brentaal Militiaman wearing tattered and ripped drab-coloured uniform styled in overalls, Adaska thought he looked like some sort of disheveled and brutalised mechanic. "That's no way to treat a prisoner in accordance with your military's policies, Soldier." Adaska chided the Soldier that Marriskcal knew as "Dagger" revealing a threatening level of intimacy with the Imperial Army and Security Bureau's policies although that might not come as a particular shocking surprise to Agent Du Couteau who was accurate in their suspicions as to the nature of armoured interloper.

Pretending to be in league with Marriskcal and the Imperials, what was a very convincing and detailed three-dimensional holographic false presence of a sage-green giant standing amidst the Imperial Soldiers pivoted lazily towards that new arrival. "If you're going to perform a field interview, do it efficiently and with the due professionalism." There was an unmistakable and worn disdain for Marriskcal's disturbing eager nearly sadistic enthusiasm. Leaving their simulacrum to communicate with the distracted soldiers and agents, Adaska herself stealthily skulked around the room's circumference towards that Bulkhead door that Dagger had emerged through. Waiting for their conversation to continue observing through the "eyes" of holographic simulacrum as displayed in a small holographic square on helmet-mounted display.

 

[Simon Meinrad]

Location: Brentaal IV System
Allies: CIC
Objective: BYOO

So far the terrain was suitable enough plant crops, or at least that’s what it looked like to him. He wasn’t an expert in figuring out a world’s geographical features nor cared about it. As long as it was able serve the Confederation, then that’s all he cared about. Truly Choruk was apathetic about most things thanks to his genetic programming and the advanced training he received. It would be inaccurate to say he lacked a personality; he very much carried one, just that it wasn’t pleasant and friendly.

To have empathy or sympathy was to carry weakness.

And the Confederation could not afford that.

A village upon the horizon came to his attention, making it more visible as he and his soldiers closed in the gap. It was worth stopping by to get an idea of the others and perhaps if they stored any contraband. From what he understood was that this moon was now under the governing power of the Confederation...and these people would be grateful to have the Imperial colors be hoisted in their skies.

The clone and his marines stationed their speeders in a perimeter surrounding the village, some would stay and guard the vehicles so they would not be tampered with or be stolen. Choruk and the others would march into the premise of the village, brandishing their weapons in front of its citizens. The villagers could only watch, all sharing the same emotions: confusion, fear, and curiosity. They would want to have answers no doubt about that. Aliens assimilated with the humans, all living in cooperation and peace. That surely would change within time.

”Who’s your leader?” with a cold, demanding voice. He was in power here, in control. Enough to have people stain their pants.

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Captain Marriskcal Lati - Du Couteau,
Commissariat for State Security & Force-Related Affairs
Equipment: Uniform (Made of Shell Spider Silk), Lightsabre x2 (Azure & Cyan), and Throwing Knives
Location: Air Defence Station, [Redacted], Brentaal IV
Objective: A little bit of column BYOO and column #1
Interacting with: [member="Adaska Raythe"]

Though Dagger tensed, the clone trooper declined to say anything further to the outlier other than a succinct acknowledgement of the rebuke.

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

After all, they remained an enigma, and as the male has yet to be informed of their position and function within the assignment, he was not about to place his team and commanding officer in a situation with a poorly worded rebuttal. He bit down softly on his bottom lip in a reminder to stay his tongue, merely moving his gaze away from the imposing form and held his blaster at ready, just in case the second plant attempted to attack their captain or made a last ditch effort at escaping.

Her smile sharpened, even as a subtle peek of her teeth could be discerned from between her painted lips when she caught unveiled disdain in their words. “Oh, it will be conducted as outlined by the guide.”

Corporal Lance flinched within his armour when he caught the gleam in her gaze, for he and the rest of Section Phantasmagoria had accompanied the blonde on ample assignments to garner that she only acted in such a manner when she was feeling particularly… inspired. Because other than the rare moments when the commissariat allowed her veneer to fall, she usually acted with a ruthless pragmatism that was more befitting of a machine.

“We are showing abominable hospitality to the poor soul. He is probably thinking the worst of us right this moment!” Not that he would be doing much thinking by the end of what Marriskcal has planned for him. While she may not be the most adept when it came to the mind arts, the blonde endeavoured to be careful. But with the little reminder from the unknown death trooper? The young lady did not feel the wish to. After all, her influence is affected by the field of negation.

How unfortunate~

“Let us start by making him feel a little more comfortable, hm?”

The creature that Marriskcal Lati is may be nurtured by years of meticulous tutelage of her instructors and a competitive environment with beings she considered family and rivals both. Even then, she was akin to a sword, straight and true.

But the creature that now stood before the seated prisoner was beginning to learn from Seto that words and intentions has many a shade to them, and what remained unsaid was often more important than what was said.

With a graceful motion, the blonde removed her gloves, passing them to one of her men to hold. “Mm~ Try not to struggle, or I would not be liable if you find yourself missing bits and pieces.” With her caution conveyed, Marriskcal placed both of her hands on either side of his temples. Even if the prisoner wanted to scream as agony pierced through his mind, his throat refused to give voice to his anguish. And even when his mind began to become overwhelmed and started to give up its secrets, he still looked to be in a fine condition.

One of her forte was in wound attendance, and it would be remiss of her not to ensure that the male that was being so obliging remained… physically unharmed.

“It seems that other that the attempts at trying to take the armed forces at the crash site by surprise, they have some designs in mind for the centre of governance. I tried to delve deeper, but he is relatively new to the group, so he was only given instructions to remain behind and attempt to take control of a tower.”

Even with her success in forging through the dampening effects of the void stone, it did not mean it made for a pleasant experience for the young lady herself. With the echoes of an impending headache looming at the back of her mind, Marriskcal stayed still and sound through sheer resolve alone.

 

[Cynthia Alucard]

Cynthia Alucard, Pixie Wing Commander
Location: Brentaal IV, Capital City Enlistment Offices
Objective: BYOB
Attire: Officer Uniform

About to Engage: The Propaganda Ministry​

​

Taking in a large breath of air, Cyn stretched out her body with her hands reaching towards the ceiling and her feet kicking outwards. Her desk was rather large and she intended to make use of all the space that both her desk and office granted. Footsteps echoed from the other side of her office’s door but none stopped by it, to which a soft ghost of a smile sprouted from the corners of her lips. She had finally managed to stay undisturbed for well over several months, only addressing those she chose to address and most importantly staying within the confines of barracks or her own office onboard either the Star Destroyer or back home at the Flight Academy.

Perhaps a tad unsuccessfully she was pressured to help assist with further enlistment marches across the core worlds, the Propaganda Ministry had taken keen interest with the Ace Pilot and Commander of the Pixie Interceptor Wing. Most of the interest had been rather uneventful and harmless to the everyday goings of Cyn’s own life, so she made no complaints or issues towards the Ministry.

They were in fact increasing her pay tremendously and most importantly bonus after every successful Enlistment push. Strange as it were, Cyn actually appreciated the extra income as even though she had been saving her own credits every month for quite some time, her goal of living without working for the later half of her life was almost within her grasp.

Cyn scooted herself away from the desk and began to walk towards the exit of her office, her legs demanded some use today and she amusingly thought of going towards the enlistment building and giving them a little moral boost of sorts. Get me away from these reports will be much a blessing. . . Cyn began her walk towards the building and gracefully marching all along the hallway.

Some of the Officers present and adjuncts were giving her side-long glances, Cyn cared little of such attention, but the amount of glances and length of time of each stare were a tad worrisome. Did I not properly shine my boots? Am I tucked in? My cap missing? The thoughts raged across her mind but as she looked at a reflective dark window she noticed that none of her uniform was an issue and her hair had been brushed to perfection. By her own hand even! Her second in command, the ever attentive Lieutenant would no doubt gap at her growth of the grooming abilities.

I’ve more time to practice now that I don’t charge headlong into enemy Star Fighters Cyn mused as she continued along her way to the Enlistment office building. Entering she saw a rather impressive line of hopeful civilians wishing to enter into the service of the Core Imperial Confederacy. Her eyes scanned it all and approved how quickly they had set up the offices and already gaining volunteers at a rather ludicrous pace. After all, the planet had been a Republic world for a long time. But it seemed the Propaganda Ministry had done its magic and once again proven its worth to the other Ministries.

Several people noticed the diminutive Wing Commander and all rushed to shake her hand, mostly civilians. Some were rather old looking, some far too young to join but Cyn guessed they were the family members of those volunteering, but there were also a few asking for her hand that appeared to be holding a data-slate of mostly filled out lines. They all exceedingly expressed their joy in seeing her, but what took Cyn aback was that they addressed her by name.

“Cynthia Alucard! You’re so much more beautiful in real life!”

“My daughter has one of your posters, but won’t you sign this one for her?”

And several other statements only sent Cyn more confusion as she signed a few things without looking at what she was signing. Nor did she question how a black marker ended within her hands, but as she slowly came to her senses, she looked at the stuff she was signing. Specifically the poster.

For the next several minutes as Cyn mindlessly signed more posters, her eyes held a blank stare, her expression forze on this funny smile. It wasn’t until a few Staff Officers decided the crowd was a tad too large and escorted Cyn back to her Office in hopes of calming everyone else down a tad. But her presence had certainly brought along a fervor that sped up the process of the Enlistment officers and other staffers.

“What was that poster?” Cyn muttered in complete horror to herself, now alone within her office. The message notification beeping from her data-pad did not feel like a good omen either.

Spoiler: Propaganda Poster