Can't Buy Me Stability (OS Dominion of Neimoidia)

[Arage Bao]

‘Hmmhmmm?!!’​

‘Huummm!?!!’​

‘Hmmmhmm!!!’​

‘Now now, come on. You don’t have to make so much noise.’​

The Sith chastised Xon Pag, his current test subject. He really didn’t understand why people insisted on making so much noise, when they knew nobody was going to come for them anyway. It was a test of futility, and wasn’t that a true sign of madness though?​

Repeating the same thing over and over and over and… over again, and expecting a different outcome. If you thought about it in this light you would see that it was Arkon who was the sane here, and Pag who was clearly a little bit out of his league.​

‘Now where were we?’​

‘Oh yes.’​

Akron went back to work.​

 

[Reverance]

Locate the Republic sympathizers and kill them before they call for help...
Allies: [member="Vrag"], [member="Darth Ferus"]

He didn't so much as flinch as the dagger bypassed him, the trajectory obviously off course from his face and neck. While it could have been aimed for his shoulders, the armor beneath would have done a fine enough job repelling the damage. Instead, it hit someone behind him, standing along a bridge as it were, that extended alongside the main 4th floor corridor of cells. On the other side, a similar bridge existed, and the two sides were connected by branching steel grate bridges every two hundred feet or so.

Instead of pulling the dagger to him with the force, he walked slowly over to the body and twisted the knife hard, with a spasm and jerk, before pulling the blade out and cleaning the blood with the armorweave cloak. Sheathing it beneath the cloak, along the back, he yanked the communication device from the soldier and tossed it to his new 'ally.' He would continue to use that term suspiciously until a time when it was no longer warranted. Such a time he would dictate himself, as he smelled the stink of the lightside upon this newcomer, even amidst angst and blood thirst.

"I landed on the planet some time ago and we picked up chatter about republic sympathizers reaching out for Republic forces, for reinforcements..." The communication devices echoed in tandem, receiving signal from the internal base station.

::Once again, we have lost communications from the roof top relays. Please advise...::

The words echoed from the headset around Gabriel's neck, and from the device he tossed to [member="Darth Ferus"]. Seeing as the shotgun had only one round left in it, Gabriel took the moment to feed a few of the slugs in, filling to four in the mag and one in the chamber. Cocking the barrel upwards, he rested the weapon on his right shoulder.

"I suspect they are nested down in the interior of the building. Their communications have been cut loose, but without further advancement, they will make repairs. I'm here to stop them. So if you are here to help, that's your task as well." He paused, dropping the shotgun back into the thigh holster. "I'm known as Reverance. Betray me, and my name will be the last thing you know." It wasn't a threat, just a promise. He had no time to question the mans motives, but betrayal would be repaid tenfold. Darth Ferus's future in the One Sith would likely depend on how this day went, specifically in the annihilation of the sympathizers.

 

[Vrag]

Objective: Kill the Republic sympathizers
Location: Prison; ground floor
Allies: [member="Reverance"] | [member="Darth Ferus"]

______________________________________________________________​

Her armor, by this point, was covered in bits of caked blood and gore, the matte black of her durasteel armor long painted over with a new coat of red. Grenades, however practical, had a nasty tendency to send body parts flying in every which way, and taking cover didn't always protect the attacker from the generous outward splatter.

"Oh, for feth's sake," she growled under her breath and started picking at the bits of the rebels, a frown knitting her brows when a particularly stubborn piece of adipose tissue refused to be torn off. It had lodged itself between two overlapping plates, and she had better things to do than bother with that dangling string of fat. With a huff, the woman consulted her holo-display again, but found the blueprints lacking. The prison was old, and if the official records were anything to go by, the facility had been closed down ages ago. Of course, having actually seen what lay inside, Vrag found that rather hard to believe; the upstarts had made themselves quite at home at the abandoned building, repairing much of what had been left to the relentless pace of time. On another day, the Knight would've found their skill and dedication worth of respect, but she was tired already, and her patience was on its last legs.

With careful steps, the firrerreo ascended the stairs to the next floor, slugthrower and lightsaber both in hand. Ever since the rapture and its effect on the Force, Vrag had adopted the use of a ranged weapon almost wherever she went, and found that the practice was much less exhausting than using space magic. Emptying a clip into your enemy was much quicker and less prone to failure than attempting to push them over a railing, especially when dealing with other Forcers. That isn't to say that the Knight was phasing out her use of the Force completely, but its limited use in the past weeks had certainly opened her eyes to new possibilities.

Vrag took cover behind a thick permacrete wall as she reached the top of the stairwell, risking a peek around the corner to better count the heat signatures moving around. They were too scattered for grenades to be useful, and the thought made her heart race with fear as well as glee. Her blood ran hot, but she wasn't quite as reckless as to burst out in some sort of stupid shooting spree; no, she needed tactics.

"Reverance," she spoke into her mouthpiece, her voice low, "what's your twenty?"

 

[Darth Ferus]

A sigh would escape the lips as he learned there would be no shot gun blast. At least [member="Reverance"] seemed peaceful. Well, mostly. Putting the earpiece into his own ear, he would listen for a moment, silent. So who ever these people were were in the midst of panic. Good. With a slight bow of his head to acknowledge the one eyed man, he would turn to the staircase to the basement, nodding in it's direction.

"Down there I assume?" Ferus had been threatened countless times before by so many different people. Promise, threat, playful banter. None of it meant anything to him. He did, however, respect the fact that if Reverance wanted to, he could attempt to take the Zabrak's life. And while it was certain who would come out alive, Ferus knew that it would be a struggle.

But enough of that. There banter on the ground floor and the dead man had caught the attention of those below. Already he could see one peak his head up to look at the pair. It was a boy, clearly new to the concept of war. But within his eyes there was a darkness like with any soldier. Upon seeing the dead body of his comrade, he screamed his own war cry, pulling what seemed to be an iridonian grade rifle over the ledge.

Odd, those were illegal. But it did remind Ferus of home. It was as the boy lifted the rifle up that Ferus was set in motion. Closing the gap in what could be called a flash he had lept over the railing, and brough his saber to life right within the boys head. He would die instantly as Krest would continue his flip down, landing squarely on his feet to pull the saber free. Two more troops where there, already firing, but the Zabrak seemed calm. His saber would flash about, catching the blasters along it's edge and smacking them back to their sender with ease.

With just his right hand on his saber he had claimed the life of three guards of the basement, what he assumed to be the command block. Calking over, he'd be curious if the one eyed man had remained still or had joined.

"Shall we continue?"

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Location: Trade Monarch Palace
Objective: Teaching a lesson

It had been a long and grueling attack, but eventually the Gank mercs had surrendered when they realized their bargaining chip was gone and the Sith had droids that could scale along walls to fire down upon them. Taeli slowly walked along the line of surviving mercs, behind each of them was a Sith trooper or Vong warrior. More of her forces were securing the rest of the palace, and anyone not within the express employ of the Trade Monarch or his council were being summarily executed by her Arachnid droids.

"So let me tell you how this is going to work," she said slowly. "You all forfeited your contract with the Trade Monarch by kidnapping them. You proved you have absolutely no honor in keeping a deal, and thus normally you'd be dead on sight to me. However . . . I do have a use for you . . . as test subjects. So your choices are die or volunteer to be a test subject in a Sith's experiment."

It wasn't really a choice to them, but to Taeli it was. They could decide to end their lives here and now, or they could try and become something much greater. No one moved for a few heartbeats before one Gank, missing an arm, stood and bowed his head at Taeli. Another did the same, then another, and soon half of the line were standing and awaiting whatever she had ins tore for them. The others . . . didn't have to worry about that as they were summarily executed for their treachery by blaster or amphistaff. The palace was secure now.

 

[Reverance]

Locate the Republic sympathizers and kill them before they call for help...
[member="Vrag"], [member="Darth Ferus"]

It was odd. Since this disappearances had occur, the force seemed to be acting in seemingly interesting ways. For the most part, it was nearly unusable in it's molestation, like drinking tainted water. If one can't depend on their powers, they shouldn't use it, like running into a fight with a gun that had the tendency to not feed properly. Just a bad idea. Nevertheless, the Zabrak seemed to be progressing with his usage just fine. Maybe it was a racial trait, a strength inherent in the Zabraks genetics. Nevertheless, Gabriel was entirely relying on trusted tools in his arsenal: the shotgun and a dagger. Lightsaber was tough enough as it is, with the force, let alone the difficulties of attempting to predict the opponents movement. As such, Gabriel was satisfied with allowing the unnamed 'Sith' to progress further and clear out the filthy sympathizers.

::Vrag...good to hear you're making an appearance...we're a bit short on doors for surfing, though.:: He smiled as he spoke into the communications device, his shotgun held at shoulder length as he progressed down from the fourth floor, making his way towards the innards of the prison. ::We are descending from the fourth floor, picked up a hitchhiker...making our way towards the basement on the northwest section of the prison.::

As he cleared the next line of stairs, he continued to allow space between him and [member="Darth Ferus"], who was seemingly moving on in a rush and from the sounds of things, was weilding a lightsaber to cut down foes in swathes. That was fine, they needed to kill the sympathizers, and Gabriel was pretty sore from all the planet smashing.

 

[Vrag]

Objective: Redrum
Location: Prison; First floor
Allies: [member="Reverance"] | [member="Darth Ferus"]

________________________________________________________​

"And people to surf on, I'm afraid," she chuckled in response, chancing another glance at the bridges spanning the first floor of the prison. The layout prevented any sort of open battle, and the cells provided the sympathizers with a myriad of opportunities. Force only knew what was hiding in those darkened rooms, and it hadn't been very forthcoming with information since the rapture had given it a thorough pounding, that was for sure. Vrag clicked her tongue in disappointment, eyeballing the last few grenades clipped to her belt.

"Alright, I'm going to smoke out a few down here..." a quick look at her holo-display, "in south-southwest," the woman concluded, her words easily drowned out by the screams echoing from the higher floors. Whoever the Sith Lord had picked up, they were certainly doing a number on those would-be rebels. She would've been impressed by their skill, if it weren't for all the noise they were causing. The cries of the dying got old really fast when the battlefield was your second home, and at least once, Vrag would like to take part in a quiet massacre.

"Don't have too much fun without me," she signed off with a tired grin and wrapped her fingers around one of the grenades.

With a shallow exhale, the Knight rolled a smoke bomb onto the bridge, hoping that it would be overlooked due to its silence. Either way, it went off in a matter of seconds, and unlike Vrag, the sympathizers weren't wearing helmets, let alone ones with inbuilt rebreathers. She left cover as soon as the thick fog filled the air, putting her deft Makashi footwork to use as she moved from one target to the next, leaving only cooling bodies in her wake. Her lightsaber was hanging, untouched, from her belt, as the woman resorted to snapping their necks rather than brandishing a traitorous red blade in a mist. They wouldn't need an IR filter to shoot her then, and if she ever did something so stupid, the woman would sooner shoot herself.

 

[Darth Ferus]

There was something off about the Zabrak, that was for sure. As [member="Reverance"] would follow he would only find mangled corpses. Despite the lightsabers ability to cut cleaner than any weapon ever created, the bodies were mutilated, carved open sometimes, split in half, attacked even after death. This was the red mans life. Swordplay, and by specialization lightsabers, were something that Ferus had trained in at a very, very young age. An age before he could use the force. He didn't need the force to sense his enemies, no. He could head them. There gasps as their friends fell, the clicks of their rifles as they tried to hine in on his form. He was not using the Force, just trained skill.

But even that had a limit as his targets were no longer just two. Now he faces a small squad of five, them fireing at him while he hid behind a durasteel container. Yet he did not panic. Pulling free his crossbow with his left hand he would pop around the corner and fire once. The BANG quarrel launched forth, as as it was rightfully named, upon impact with the man farthest to the left it blew up, shredding his body and that of the man next to him. The firing stopped, they were rebles, not soldiers after all, as the last three gazed in horror at the mutilated corpses.

They could not hear, which proved an advantage as the Zabrak poped around, crossbow away and saber in hand. They did not see him cut them down one by one, just stunned at the dead body. It was at this point the man stopped however, looking back for what he assumed would be a partner. He was clean of any blood, but savage grin formed on his face. This is what he lived for after all.

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Darth Carach"]

My apologies for interrupting a very busy day for both of us. My name is Darth Parash. Our mutual friend the Liberator recommended you as a talented and knowledgeable teacher. I will be on Cato Neimoidia today for the business we share, and if it becomes convenient I would like the chance to convince you to take me as a student, for whatever term suits you, short or long. I make no presumptions on our connection, such as it is; I intend to demonstrate my own fitness to learn without wasting your time.

Should you find my proposal amenable, I await your response at your convenience.

Lord Parash

 

[Zola]

"I wouldn't smile so broadly if I were you. Your task will be much easier to accomplish with assistance." said Darth Adekos with a devious chuckle.

Her Umbaran Master definitely wasn’t giving out any gold stars for punctuality today. Ever since their first day of training, he seemed keen on making sure any of her pesky prima donna behavior was kept well in check. The Hapan smirked up at him, and cocked her head to the side.

“I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me, My Lord,” she said, her throaty tone a thin line somewhere between deference and sarcasm. She always liked to keep him guessing. Scrubbing toilets she could do on her own, so it sounded like he had something more fun in mind for her. Jemmila was quickly beginning to learn that Darth Adekos’ idea of fun involved mind games and Force choking. She was positively sure whatever he had cooked up for today's training involved twisting the knife of humiliation further in. Tucking a few threads of brown hair behind her ear, she regarded her Master with an arched brow.

“So what is this task you’re giving me that you’re so sure I can’t handle by myself?"

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Reverance]

Locate the Republic sympathizers and kill them before they call for help...
Allies: [member="Darth Ferus"], [member="Vrag"]

::Having fun, without you? Impossible.:: He joked as he reached up and turned the input off, finding himself close enough to [member="Darth Ferus"] to resume his aggressive tendencies. That's what he liked to call the act of killing, though in earnest, it was it's own form of redemption and salvation. The world was cold and dark, the place he would send these people couldn't possibly be worse. And for the most part, he did it with a sense of style and brevity, a merciful monster.

He cleared the final set of stairs, entering the basement. The news would later call this massacre...well, they wouldn't call it anything. Because this was an abandoned prison, free of any real paper trail, beyond the in depth research completed by those back on The Right Hand. Round after round was pumped into the prison basement, the flicker of lights and muzzle flare rang out like lightning and thunder. Five shots, reload. Five more shots, reload. Until there was nothing left of the resistance but the artistic expressions of their corpses against the wall. Darth Ferus could enjoy his time with the cross bow, but for Gabriel, he was starting to thoroughly enjoy the wielding of Beaut, the shotgun that never jammed and never failed. Silver lining in the failure of the force...maybe.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Bard of the Hyperlanes"]

I find myself intrigued and coincidentally I find myself having business there. Meet me at the enclosed coordinates.



They would meet in one of the smaller cities, the ones that were underneath the One Sith radar and more importantly one of the few that were secured by his Royal Guard detachment. He stood on the roof of a random building, open view, this wasn't a secret meeting and it shouldn't look like one.

 

[Darth Ferus]

And there it was. The bliss of uncontrollable bloodlust, the want to kill, maim, destroy. Sheathing his lightsaber, the man had opted to pull out his Sith sword. Basic, but it cleaved through men, showering blood everywhere. Yet even as he moved, he still had his mind. He would weave around [member="Reverance"] 's shots, carving the men around the one who had just been filled with lead. There was nothing better for the red man as he could hear bones crush, the screams of those who did not have the power to stand, but chose to anyway. Undertrained, they did not stand a chance.

Finally, his blade dripping with blood, the Zabrak would stop. There was no one left that he could hear, no more whimpers, no more begging. He was still surprisingly clean of blood, but all around him he had painted the walls red. Letting out a silent sigh, he would turn to the one eyed man, offering the slightest bow of his head.

"It has been a pleasure slaughtering with you."

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Darth Carach"]

Randomness wasn't all it was cracked up to be. The building had no strategic, tactical, or logistical significance that Parash could divine. The public venue suggested openness. The overall impression he gleaned was one of a busy man who could nevertheless afford to meet an unknown quantity in an unsecured location without any special proximity to where he would otherwise need to be. That was guesswork on Parash's part; in the end, such mixed signals could mean anything.

Carach himself was taller than his guest by the better part of a foot, and built proportionately. As was automatic for Parash when faced with a larger man, he calculated access to the better target areas. The lightsabre up his sleeve was still nothing familiar to him; he'd taken it from a dead man and achieved only moderate competence. His normal armament, however, would have given away more than he wanted to tell.

"Lord Carach." He bowed, head and shoulders, but his eyes never left the imposing Sith. "I won't presume to guess your criteria for a student; choose the key indicator, and I'll meet your standard."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Bard of the Hyperlanes"]

Debts, debts and favors could wreck someone's carefully planned schedule. Carach wore a simple black robe, no crab armour to speak of, lightsabers attached to his belt - yet, if the man had done his studies it would have implied the Sith was not an overall fan of fighting with them, yet they were there. His face was hidden away by a simple unadorned mask, a Mandalorian would recognize it as an ancient mask of their culture's making, though perhaps a bit more archaic in design. One trained in the Force might notice the Dark side coming from it, implying it was some kind of artifact.

Carach's back was to the would-be apprentice though, and it didn't turn. Instead there was a simple nod, either as an acknowledgment of presence or simply a nod to himself. Who really knew with the Voice.

'What are you doing here?' the Sith finally asked, some weariness apparent.

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Darth Carach"]

Parash noted the edge of some kind of mask; the senior Sith had yet to turn around. Black robe, lightsabres, nothing especially indicative.

"Participating in conquest, milord." He struck a difficult balance - telling the truth without choosing the truth - and he struck it well, having successfully infiltrated the Republic over a course of many years. No Jedi had ever caught him, and that was without the Force as his ally. "Learning how rage affects the Force. Learning what power looks like up close."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Bard of the Hyperlanes"]

'What.' the Voice of the Dark Lord finally turned around, and asked again. 'are you doing here?'

He did not seem hostile, paranoid or suspicious at all, but perhaps robes and a mask would do a lot to hide such subtleties during a conversation.

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Darth Carach"]

Good; a man who cared about core motivation, a man who could look beneath the surface.

"I'm here to get the power to find and kill the people who've chosen to make themselves my enemies. I am a selfish man."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Bard of the Hyperlanes"]

And yet, if it had been as simple as that he could have asked to learn from the Liberator, she was a Sith in all but name really. No, Monroe hated the Sith and would not have send someone to be trained to become one, unless.. ah.

Interesting.

'No, Parash. You are a Sith.' Was that amusement at the end of the statement? 'But what are you beside of that? My court hosts swords, hammers and chisels. Scientists, warriors and leaders.'

'What are you?'

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Darth Carach"]

"Forgive me a sneer, Lord Carach, but I've known many scientists and engineers who didn't deserve the name. Being able to perform experiments and build weapons isn't what science is about." Parash straightened, stripped away a layer of metaphorical mask, and tapped his temple. "It's about rationality. Learning to think more accurately, learning to recognize your own biases and preconceptions, and compensate for them. Learning to test your beliefs and techniques on your own terms, not just plugging holes in the dike when the other side finds a weak spot. Learning to find better ways to do things; learning why things work as they do. Why are gestures and words so essential to Sith magic? Who or what decreed that? Why are there seven Forms and not ten or a hundred? That is what I am, milord. I'm the man who asks the questions nobody else thinks to ask, and then I'm the one who finds the answers."