Fringe: In the Still of the Night

[Ashin Varanin]

WILD SPACE
FORMER PRIMEVAL TERRITORY

It had taken days of farsight and flow-walking, but Ember and [member="Isley Verd"] had tracked down the locations of certain vessels of interest, left over from the Fringe Confederation's heyday. The ships in question had been taken to new Fringe colony worlds in Primeval space, and there put on defense or mothballed. Others, the largest and most impressive, had been taken to the One Sith by [member="Catalys Maijora"]. Those ships, presumably, were currently tied up in the monstrous Force disturbance that had overtaken the Coruscant system: a multifaction coup d'etat against the Dark Lord himself.

While the galaxy watched all that Coreward mess, Ember and Isley took an Orar'uliik into Wild Space, to the coordinates they'd discovered. The vessel had consummate stealth, right down to a specialized Clan Rekali hyperdrive that didn't set off reversion alarms. Ember bolstered their stealth approach with a difficult, ritualized extension of his customary White Current immersion.

There they were, as the Force had promised: two little ships, forgotten, never used after Ireles stashed them here. Not once.

 

[Zaiden Dean]

Matreya slowly angled his ship, a stolen starfighter, towards the surface of a nearby planet. Which was it? What style ship did her drive? He wasn't sure. Solely that the Force whispered to him that he should come here... What was that? He thought to himself, glancing ahead to the right. Nothing there...

But he felt a tingle through the White Current...

Yet he was no master, and therefore could not be so sure. Shrugging it off as nothing, he continued unhindered. Seeking to land his ship as quickly as he could, he drew up the nose and slowly descended.

 

[Darth Metus]

Simply put, the efforts of the Witch Kings were not in vain.

Literal days had been spent gazing into the past. Untold heaps of strength had been expended glimpsing at the future. By all rights, the Flow Walk was very successful, for it revealed the fates of a fallen nation's treasures. The largest of the Fringe Confederation's arsenal had been moved into the hands of the One Sith. Yet the smallest had all but been forgotten. Until now, that is. [member="Ember Rekali"] and Isley made their voyage to Wild Space, riding within a stealth ship of Mandalorian origin. The plan was to, essentially, flex their muscles.

After all, spoils was the name of the Witchmaster game.

From initial conversations, a plan had been made. Each would show one of the forgetten vessels special attention. For Isley, this meant donning a rather unremarkable suit meant for space walking. It wasn't nearly the flashy, beskar-plated armor he was "used" to...but for the day's purposes, it would do. Upon dropping in from Hyperspace, Ember took it upon himself to add an additional layer to their existing stealth...and Isley began to work on the vessels' crew. He took a moment to seat himself, center his mind, and reach out across the void of Space.

His specialty revolved around affecting the minds of others. And right now, that meant that the crew would see the space-walking Dar'manda as more than a potential intruder. They would see him as a simple engineer who had just finished making repairs upon the hull of one of the ships. Once said delusion was in place, Isley gave his partner in crime a thumbs-up before making his way out of the airlock. Basic maneuvering thrusters bore him the brunt of the way, and the vessel's crew was kind enough to leave a door open for him.

Nice.

[member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Isley Verd"] [member="Matreya"]

On the screens, Ember noted minimal traffic -- a single small ship, landing on the planet below. And, of course, the various ships mothballed in orbit.

His Meshurkaan disengaged from the Orar'uliik's hangar bay. Little more than a thruster pack with a shield disruptor and some cutting gear, the Meshurkaan had no stealth gear of its own. The Orar'uliik, along with Isley's strike team, remained cloaked as it approached the unaware Seroth-class frigate Ferocity. Ember shifted the White Current shielding, effectively a stealth suite, to the tiny Meshurkaan, and approached the Ferocity's sister ship, the Defiance.

There was a protocol to using a Meshurkaan correctly; fortunately, he'd not only read the manual, he'd written it. The red-metal exoskeleton nestled up against the hull of the forgotten stealth frigate, field disruptor sparking as it passed through the shields. That would have been visible...if he hadn't picked exactly the right spot of hull, nestled just in front of the drive nacelles, out of line-of-sight from any of the compact frigate's viewports.

 

[Darth Metus]

As the Orar'uliik gave rise to the departure of [member="Ember Rekali"], the Dar'manda was greeted with open arms. The crew of the Ferocity had become intimately familiar with the pronounced Trick of Isley's. They regarded him as one of their own: a zealot, forgotten above a far-flung world. The individual sent to make certain the airlock was open was the first to make contact with the Witch King...yet Isley did not instantly act. Instead, he simply asked the man a question. And he was compelled to answer.

The Witch King was directed to the "rest facilities" of the vessel, and he promptly made his way there. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him so that he might be free of distractions. A tongue just as old as Paecian was utilized: lyrics of malicious intent slithered forth from his lips. In response, the Force responded, causing the very shadows of the room to "come alive". From what was once stationary, absenses of light emerged creatures. Beasts that could only be described as Demons. They would serve the purpose of striking fear into the crew...when the moment was right.

You see, the Dar'manda wanted to coordinate his efforts with those of his fellow. If he acted too soon, the twin Seroths might attempt to aide one another. And that was an outcome neither King intended. So, with his host at the ready, Isley awaited a simple, telepathic confirmation to begin.

I'm in position.

[member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Isley Verd"]

Ember's talents leaned in other directions. Mind-tricking his way aboard wasn't a reliable option. He stretched out to touch the future, and maneuvered the emitters of the Meshurkaan's plasma torches. A bit to the left, a bit to the right -- impressions of sudden movement, heat, light, failure. He lined the torches up with a spot that felt innocuous, or at least not critical. With a mental shrug, he activated the torches. He'd done it shallowly, and given himself plenty of room for maneuvering. Carefully, he sheared a canted disc out of the armor plate. Miniature tractor/pressor beams pushed the plug in, and Ember disengaged from the Meshurkaan armature to slip through against the wind. A pressurized cofferdam kept internal atmo pressure from dropping noticeably, preventing decompression alarms. The plug settled back in place behind him.

He found himself standing in a supply closet, ventral, about two-thirds of the way back. Isley's message came in loud and clear; Ember focused for a response.

Boarded. Give me ninety seconds, then go.

His White Current immersion had contracted, hiding only him. Now, invisible to eyes and sensors, he jogged forward through the ship.

 

[Darth Metus]

Ninety seconds on the Clock...

That was plenty of time to begin the next step, and it was one that would require a decent amount of concentration. Fortunately, with a minute-and-a-half at his disposal, the Dar'manda would be able to accomplish the desired effect. Once more, Isley centered his mind. He delved deep into that darkest corner...the one that intimately understood the Logic of Fear. It was the sort of understanding that came through facing down inner demons. It was the sort of experience that was born of tasting Fear itself. While his own Logic paled in comparison to entities such as Mrs. Varanin, Isley's was very much so potent in its own right.

Having attained his Logic, the Dar'manda began to expand upon it. He forced it to manifest in the physical realm: a literal summoning of Fear, that was carefully confined. Isley allowed the magnitude of the art to multiply as the seconds rolled by: until finally ninety seconds had passed. 3...2...1...Mark. The telepathic warning heralded the release of Fear itself. The presence exploded past the walls of the facilities and slithered its way across the vessel. At this point, the Smoke Demons emerged as well, exploding forth from the shadows.

Needless to say, there was complete and utter panic upon the Ferocity. It was only a matter of moments before a stampede of footsteps could be heard, all headed for the escape pods.

[member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Isley Verd"]

Ember's own fear aura swelled up too, considerably less potent than Isley's but still enough for his purposes. He became visible on the bridge of the Defiance, a big man in Mandalorian armour, covered in Witch sigils.

It was moments like this that made it all worthwhile. Up until now, absolutely nothing detectable had occurred. So far as the crew of the forgotten frigate was concerned, a Mandalorian Field Marshal had just appeared on their bridge, out of literally nowhere.

He reached past a wide-eyed crewer to touch the intercom controls. "My name is Ember Rekali," he said evenly, and his voice echoed through the Defiance. "I am standing on your bridge. You have two minutes to leave this ship."

A pair of battered astromechs whirled on him. Pale, thin particle beams slashed at him, but he moved quickly. His left arm went numb to the shoulder; a split second later, and he'd have been in a coma. His lightsabre flared to life, then fizzled out against the astromechs' cortosis plating. Lightning danced from his sabre hand, but the droids were resistant to electricity. Sonic weapons pounded against his armour's active cancellation. (Throughout the fight, the crew got the feth out.)

In the end, he was forced to crush them both, an inelegant solution. There would, he knew, be other anti-boarding droids like this.

 

[Darth Metus]

While the organic members of the Ferocity's crew eagerly made their way to the escape pods, another factor quickly arrived on the scene. You see, it was one thing to fool the mind of a living, breathing creature...but such tactics did not work on bundles of circuits and metal. What made the situation even more challenging was the fact that these droids were specifically designed to face off against adversaries of Isley's caliber. Frankly, despite being forgotten, the Seroth-class Frigates were well equipped to handle boarding attempts.

So, even though the organic portion of the problem had been solved, Isley now had some GT-F0's to deal with.

It was true that the Smoke Demons possessed impressive physical might. They were comparable to Wookies, more or less. However, even they were not equipped enough to adequately deal with the threat at hand. While they did manage to smash a few of them on the way out, the monstrous horde was gunned down. And, like any good peons, they informed their master of the threat prior to their demise. Lovely. thought that Dar'manda. A large portion of his Force-based arsenal was going to be ineffective in dealing with them.

So, when trouble was on the rise, one had to improvise.

The door was still locked and Isley took a few moments to shrug himself out of the space-walking suit. There, his rather simple attire was revealed...along with the Gauntlet that never left his side. Lowering himself to a knee, Isley threw the door open and applied a rather simple tactic to his alchemical masterpiece. Lightning was channeled through its length, pooling within its central crystal. These energies were then devoured, converted, and expelled as a violent blast of Dark Side energies. A "Force Blast" as the tactic was known technically.

The assault tore through the chassis of a pair of the droids, and Isley quickly ducked back inside the restroom. This tactic was then unceremoniously repeated until there was nothing but charred marks on the corridor...and scrap metal littering the ground. It wasn't the most energy efficient way to go about securing the vessel, but hey, it worked. And let's be honest, the Dar'manda wanted to show off ever so slightly.

All's clear on my end. he said, the fatigue in his telepathic tone evident. Send the crews in?

[member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Isley Verd"]

It had been years since this ship and its crew had seen Fringe territory, years since the GT-F0 anti-boarding units had seen proper maintenance. Years of attrition. Otherwise, Ember would have found himself dead. He knew about the droids in a theoretical sense -- most Fringe capital ships had boasted them, including several that Alec had stolen -- but he'd never faced them before. Their Ssi-Ruuvi paddle beams circumvented his shields and armour, and his lightsabre only bent them until he tweaked a knob. Their cortosis plating repelled his lighstabre, and their sonic emitters threatened to burn out his active cancellation. He was compelled to expend more power than he would have liked, and resort to the wrist-mounted shattergun on his armour. As the droids converged on him, seeking to take back the bridge, the crew's resolve crumbled. The Seroth-class had a crew of fifty-five, and space for ten passengers; it could function with as little as eight. The issue here was that, after so long abandoned, the ship wasn't at full complement, or battle readiness. He detected no more than three dozen lifesigns packing themselves into the four large escape pods. There would need to be a more comprehensive search.

Done or near enough. Send the crew over.

 

[Darth Metus]

Isley did not comprehend just how lucky he was.

Given the poor state of the droids, they went down like dominos. However, if they were at their peak condition, such a reckless tactic would have seen him with a few more holes in him. Regardless, it seemed as though the odds were in the Witch Kings' favor this day. As such, the next phase in the operation went live. One by one, both of the Seroth-class Frigates began to belch escape pods into the void of space. No doubt, they would flee down to the surface or attempt to seek support elsewhere. Time was of the essence, of course.

The order was promptly given and backup was dispersed.

During the re-taking of Zhar, Isley had come upon a forgotten cell of Templars. He "encouraged" them to follow him, to see them as their Marshal as they had once before. Ever since that day, he had a small number of force-wielding warriors to rely upon. They weren't anything of excessive skill, like Blackguards, but they were very useful. Right now, these Templars dispersed in two teams: sixteen in total. Eight followed the route of their Marshal, space-walking into the Ferocity. When they had disembarked, the remaining crew steered Isley's entrance vehicle over to the vessel's twin.

They made quick and avid use of the void left behind by the escape pods to get inside.

Both Ember and Isley had their backup. Now it was just a matter of getting the vessels to their new homes.

"Almost to the finish line..."

[member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Isley Verd"]

Clan Rekali witches streamed into the frigate, in rune-daubed Mandalorian armour or traditional robes or just spacer attire. The Orar'uliik had carried a decent-sized strike team, and even half of that more than filled the frigate's crew requirement. The Meshurkaan was maneuvered aboard, into the frigate's tiny docking bay. Pairs of mandowitches swept the halls, rooting out the last holdouts. They allowed the escape pods to descend to the planet below; their quarrel was not with the ship's ineffective former owners.

With a sigh, Ember sat heavily in the captain's chair of the Defiance. Clansmen took the other seats, clearing away debris from his fight with the droids. "Give me a channel to the Ferocity."

"Channel open, Aliit'buir."

"Isley, this is Ember. Package secured. Long-range sensors are picking up an old Fringe battleship coming around the planet, and I don't intend to be here when it arrives. Jumping for the rendezvous point in five."

In short order, the Seroth-class frigate leaped to hyperspace. Exeunt.

 

[Darth Metus]

And that, as they said, was that.

The Dar'manda found himself within the captain's chair whilst his subordinates fell into the vital roles. It seemed that, despite the modest number that had come aboard, they had enough to get the Ferocity where it needed to be. As per a well-laid plan, Isley and Ember had pre-determined where they would be taking the vessels in the event of success. Now that they were in hand, it was time to get the kark outta dodge: lest the be obliterated by a bigger fish. A channel was opened between the twin vessels and Ember confirmed his side of the operation.

"Always a pleasure working with you, Highness. I'll see you at the rendezvous point."

Five seconds went by rather quickly.

And so did the second Seroth-class Frigate.

[member="Ember Rekali"]