Dominion Foundations | Dominion of Artorias-Shusugaunt | NIO

[Ariel Yvarro]

R E V Y I A
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Ariel sighed she knew Ivalyn would follow daddy's orders to the letter. She could, of course, intervene but it would be good for her later on in life. All Ariel could do really was to teach Ivalyn how not to get caught, a lesson for later, surely. For the time being, Ariel's focus was on her younger daughter and settling her into her chair. "They've been scarce this season, so we've been limited to two per household." Revyia was fairly strict on conservation.​

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"But that is quite alright, we have plenty in the storeroom from last season's hunts," venison, bison, and wild boar. Ariel made Zola's plate and watched as the toddler started eating. Ariel then served Djorn his plate before taking hers, "Ivalyn, did you want to tell your dad about that nice fish you caught? Four pounds!"​

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"Yes!" Exclaimed the girl, who then excitedly began to regale her father of the fishing trip they took with Mr. and Mrs. Van Horne. A human couple who were Imperials looking for a place away from the fighting. Ariel chuckled while Ivalyn explained how hard it was to reel the fish in. Just how her mother had to help her and show her how to control the line. ​

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It was all just something, something to fill the space between them. Ariel knew that something about Djorn seemed off, but then it seemed to deepen with each return trip home. Admittedly they were playing pretend for the sake of the children, but for her - that's all she cared about. Ariel excused herself to get a pitcher of ice-cold water, treated in the backyard with quite the refreshing taste. Even for as rustic as the home looked, there were still some very modern amenities. ​

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After dinner, Ariel helped the girls bathe and get dressed for bed.

By that time the sun had already dipped below the horizon, illuminating the sky in fading colors of pink, orange and a deep shade of blue as the night sky began to take over. Ariel washed up the dishes after the girls were tucked away, she would have certainly encouraged Djorn to spend some time with the girls in their room before meeting with her in the living room. There was no holo as far as visual was concerned, but crafted into a wooden box was an audio device. One that could be used for more devious purposes but for now, Ariel was content to adjust the dial where the sounds of a beautiful melody began to drift into the living room.​

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Djorn Bline​

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[Konrad Harrsk]

A R T O R I A S
OBJECTIVE II | PACIFICATION OPERATIONS
ZONE OF OPERATION | ARTORIAN COASTAL VILLAGE PARIACCI
OPPOSING | SITH-IMPERIAL REMNANT CELL 'ECHO'​

Konrad's squad scurried to the ruins of the school, looking for survivors (if any). Harrsk was in no hurry, he dropped back, meandering about the remains of the school. A gloved hand pushed out from the rubble, whoever it was received an execution shot to the head. Reports were coming from the other squads of the platoon - the few remaining sith insurgents that had snuck through a tunnel to escape were rounded up. Most were executed. Those of higher rank were retained for further interrogation. Jag, one of the corporals and a former professional torturer, would have the time of his life with them. His brute force methods were appeasing but, unfortunately, not as productive as Konrad desired.

He needed a Force User in his clique.

All in due time.

<"This is Kaiser Actual to all Special Operations call-signs, do you copy?"> his voice betrayed his lack of interest. If they were all dead it would be the best. Yet, procedures had to be followed. They were on the same team, after all. At least on paper.

Hiran Avola | Volgin Alto

 

[Rika Hiro]

LADY_SILENCE_
COMPNOR
BYOO

DECEASED Erskine Barran

Maybe they would be a laughing stock; todays heroes were tomorrows martyrs in the eyes of state media. But it didn't matter to Compnor, and its propaganda department; truth was an asset controlled and distorted as seen fit. If Erskine was to die tomorrow, he'd be hailed a hero before his corpse even went cold if it served the interests of the state. Such was the reality of the Imperial state and guiding hand of Compnor.

"We all have to kiss the boot sometimes, Mr Barran; it's how you do it that matters," she retorted in a bemused tone, grabbing her datapad and packet of cigarras from the table before standing up and looking around the deserted library and back at Mr Barran.


"We'll be in contact soon; I hope you stay safe Mr Barran; it's a dangerous galaxy out there."

And with that she left.​

 

[Djonas Val]

The Mongrel

Reinforcements were already enroute to the Hangar Bay, Djonas knew. His calling for them just before the onslaught happened was the only saving grace. Albeit, too slow but the Gray Cloak didn't have the time to berate himself for being too preoccupied with overseeing excursion preparations. In truth, blame was already being shifted to other elements of the Order that were not him. How did the Armada allow this to happen?

The Cyborg's features set into a determined grimace, there was little to be happy about.

His horrendous exterior appearance, the constant whirring that he could hear at all times, gnawing at his psyche day in and day out. He wasn't meant to hear it, wasn't meant to even notice that he was nearly as much metal as he was flesh and marrow.

Both civilian and military failures to detect this raider ship.

Failure after failure.

His once brown orbs shifted in colouring as the crowds cleared in front of him. Some remnants of security forces still existed in the hangar from what he could see. With neighboring ones that were already being shifted over halting the savage slaughter before it could spread too far from its source.

At the heart of the attack was Djonas.

And when he set his half cybernetic, half organic gaze on the group of savages escorting a canister, Djonas had already determined what their plan would be. Instinct suggested to send a blast of the Force strong enough to send them flying out of the magnetic field that ensured the atmosphere within the station remained constant for those living. But, without knowledge of what the payload contained, there was the risk of detonating it prematurely and consuming himself in the blast.

And despite his willingness to sacrifice himself for the Order, who would protect the future?

With hilt in hand, the Gray Cloak depressed the ignition button to breathe life to the resplendent blade - directly in the path of The Mongrel. No words exchanged, his time as a Jedi was gone. There would be no forewarning for violence escalation, no attempt to talk down the intruders to surrender.

The enemies of the Order would face quick deaths.

And those that did not die fast, only prolonged their end.

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

THE WATCHFUL EYE OF THE EMPIRE // NEO-CSILLA

Mithrad | Gat Tambor | Djonas Val | TF | NIO
The Mongrel

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A flock of protocol droids entered the conference room and began distributing weapons and armour to the assembled executives. Tithe was handed Taxman’s Embrace and began to twirl the weapon, feeling the tiny repulsolifts inside custom-build electrohammer straighten and strengthen his aim. A pair of droids strapped an armoured chest piece in place to protect the TF Director. Tambor had similarly adorned himself in what was arguably the most advanced power armour suit in the known galaxy. Given the meticulous planning their Chiss host had undertaken, Tithe had no doubt that Mithrad was more than ready to defend himself.

The three moved out into the adjacent hallway where a platoon of TF01 battle droids were waiting in formation, with a quartet of TF04 heavy battle droids rounding out the anti-boarding force. “We’re detected infiltrators in the docking bays,” explained the nasally voice of a command droid.

The group moved quickly through the corridors of the terraforming platforms, the halls busy as worker droids continued to go about their assignments - not even an enemy attack could be allowed to slow the progress of the Trade Federation.

Rounding a corner, they came face to face with a band of raiders surrounded by a pile of destroyed load lifters. The TF01 droids surged forward, relying on their sheer numbers, while the TF04 droids sought positions of tactical advantage. Tithe depressed the activation stud on his electrohammer, bringing the weapons crackling bludgeoning edge to life.

“Gentlemen,” the Aargauun said to his colleagues as he waded his way through the carnage toward the Brotherhood’s marauders. “Time to earn our, ah, bonus.”

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

8
THE_WOAD
OBJECTIVE 4: BYOO
RAVELIN, BASTION

Interacting with: Rika Hiro

None of these encounters would ever be made known to anyone else in the Free-State, let alone the Lord-Protector, and for many other reasons besides being branded some sort of traitor to other elements in the same party that was riddled with rivalries between the Anaxsi and the Galidraani exiles at the time. Loose lips sink ships, and the breed of soldier Lord Erskine had serving with the Blue-Hearts by then were very much opposed to secrecy, with everything appearing much more black-and-white on the ground in Calavar and beyond, and not a drop of the high-command's complexity anywhere to be seen. The Lord-Commander of the Blue-Hearts actually envied the efforts of his son on Galidraan III, and those of his comrades in Calavar and Galidraan I's cold, hard north, understanding their actions to be much purer than his own; completely setting themselves apart from the men who tortured Kaleesh tribesmen to death on Oben, or the likes with Sith-troopers on Muunilinst, and lining POWs up against crumbling walls for execution on Hoth.
Life's about to get a lot wilder from here on in, isn't it?

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Neo-Csilla, Orbital Terraforming Station
Tags: Djonas Val | Mithrad | Aerarii Tithe | Gat Tambor

Had The Mongrel known that such important industrialists were presently aboard the terraforming station, swelling its defense forces with their personal guards, the vastly longer odds against his success wouldn't have given him pause; instead, he would have brought a bigger bomb. But the marauder warleader remained unaware of the presence of Mithrad, Tithe, and Tambor, each men whose deaths would greatly glorify the Avatars, and so he focused merely on his original objective: the largest possible amount of havoc his small force could wreak. That part was going well.

Security forces had reached the hangar deck quickly, displaying that trademark NIO military efficiency despite the chaos and the crowds... and that was to say nothing of the battle droid force now engaging raiders in the outer halls. But The Mongrel was confident in his warriors. They would fight through whatever came up against them with sheer savagery... and deadly close-range weapons. Their scatterguns, vibroswords, and power maces were incredibly deadly in close quarters, and on a space station, virtually everything was close-quarters. If they died, they'd die gloriously, bringing foes with them.

But The Mongrel sought a greater challenge for himself than just the security forces attempting to retake the hangar, for those were men and women that his warriors could handle; he had killed foes of their skill so many times that it failed to excite him any longer, and certainly brought him no glory. That was why he was relieved to see the saber-wielder stepping out to confront him, a man who - like him - bore many cybernetic enhancements and grafts. The man was clearly no Jedi, for he did not even speak before activating his weapon, making no effort to negotiate before the battle.

This must be an Imperial Knight, a fresh challenge at last.

"I've been looking for one of you," The Mongrel said, raising his warblade in a gesture that was part-salute and part-threat. "Your lightsaber will make a fine trophy." Then he darted in to the attack, howling a war cry as he charged across the distance between them. He knew that a simple contest of blade against blade was unlikely when it came to saber-wielders; they were always using their sorcery to gain an advantage, and that meant he would have to exploit every advantage and trick he could think of in order to even survive such an encounter. Fortunately, he had experience.

Of course, many of his standard tricks - like his flashbang weapon - might not work against an augmented foe. Cybernetic systems could protect against sudden light and sound, instantly dimming the attacks to safe levels; The Mongrel had such systems in his own augmentations. He would have to improvise. Reaching into his satchel of technological tricks, the marauder drew out a weapon he hadn't tried since Csilla, fittingly enough: an anesthetic gas grenade. He held it freely in his off-hand as he charged, allowing the gas to disperse around him in a cloud. He had a filter mask, after all.

His enemy didn't appear to, and everyone had to breathe.

As the gas spilled out around him, The Mongrel came forward, using the momentum of his charge to power the point of his heavy warblade forward in a vicious stab. With any luck, the gas would begin to slow the Imperial Knight's reactions, numbing his body and scrambling his mind as it pulled him toward unconsciousness. It would take time to really set in, but The Mongrel was confident that he was a skilled enough duelist to hold back his foe until it started to take full effect. In the meantime, the warriors behind him began hauling the bomb forward, heading deeper into the hangar...

 

[Djonas Val]

The Mongrel

There had been multiple occasions where the New Imperials had come into contact with the Maw fanatics. Djonas had not set foot on any of the battlefields that the Brotherhood had ravaged, the persisting existence of the Sith Empire, only extinguished recently had finally freed him from the sacrificial task. Still, he had done his due diligence in staying up to date on battle reports and footage of these fanatics and savages.

The stories he could say, were accurate. In appearance alone the man looked to be just as machine as he was, perhaps even more. Val however, did not have the same experience of those forces delegated to facing the Maw. It would be best to not underestimate him. Yet, he could not find it in him to take the threat from the edge of civilization seriously.

In response, Djonas smirked, a grim twist to the curvature of his lips. "Suicidal?" If the savage wanted his hilt, he could have it. Djonas was not take aback by the challenge. It'd be quick, he imagined. His metal hand clenched tightly around the silver hilt. The Gray Cloak lurched back as the Mongrel came forwards. He hadn't thought of a plan of attack yet, but the Force was with him, and in that opening move he let it guide him before his gaze locked onto the gas grenade in hand.

Sucking his teeth, Djonas was certain the warrior assumed he was likely to use the Force to his advantage. And the assumption would be correct.

As it dispersed, it was crushed in the Mongrel's hand, metal contorting as the metaphysical energy altered its shape to be an inefficient and nonfunctional scrap metal. His nose twitched, nostrils as the stab came in. Unthreatening with his blade waiting in a humble middle guard, he lurched to the right, saber crashing into the side of the warblade to knock it past the left side of his frame. In turn, using the momentum of the savage carrying him forwards, Djonas' hand sprung forwards, releasing a repelling push of the Force in an effort to knock The Mongrel back to where he started.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Neo-Csilla, Orbital Terraforming Station
Tags: Djonas Val | Mithrad | Aerarii Tithe | Gat Tambor

"Suicidal?" The Imperial Knight said, and The Mongrel deliberately misinterpreted the utterance. "Oh, you wish for death? How fortunate for you that you've gotten in my way." He was going to take pleasure in this fight, in testing himself against a different order of warrior mages... and every moment that this foe spent engaged in battle with him, the bomb got further into the station. Blowing a supply-laden hangar out into space would certainly be inconvenient for the Neo-Csilla terraforming project, but if they could destabilize even more than that, it might set the project back months.

The Mongrel expected that this Imperial Knight, like the Jedi and Sith the marauder had faced before, would rely on his mystical "Force" as a crutch... and he was rapidly proven right. The gas grenade crumpled in his hand, becoming worthless scrap metal. He tossed it aside. In a way, the move had only helped him; smashing the can had forced the gas out even more rapidly, though unfortunately still some distance away from the Imperial Knight. It would only matter now if the two duelists happened to pass through it, and so far the NIO warrior had given no sign that he intended to advance.

With a flash of his lightsaber, the Knight deflected the marauder's blade sideways, then lashed out with an invisible hand. The Mongrel felt his foe's magic hurl him backwards... but he was not new to such tactics. The Force was a crutch, its power taking away the incentive for its wielders to innovate, and the marauder had experienced the same attack many times before. Rather than landing in a heap, he rolled over his shoulder and came up in a crouch, his warblade throwing up sparks as its tip screeched across the hangar's metal floor. Both men were back where they'd started moments earlier.

Except with a cloud of anesthetic gas between them now.

That gave the marauder an idea. Reaching once more into his satchel of tricks, The Mongrel produced a compressed air cylinder, the kind he used to clean mechanical components - both of his weapons and of his own cybernetics. Advancing, he activated the cylinder, pushing the gas cloud toward the Imperial Knight. Of course, in this wide-open space, he might evade it before he breathed much in... but the heavy gas was also highly flammable. So with his other hand The Mongrel dragged his blade across the floor again, kicking up an awful noise... and a storm of bright little sparks.

The gas cloud ignited, and a ball of flame rushed at Djonas...