Dominion Frostbite | NIO Dominion of Stygeon Prime

[Cotan Sar'andor]

"And here I thought I was overdoing it," Cotan jested at Erskine's finishing statement. "I'll just need you to help hold Aron down long enough that I can fix the hole in his gut after I'm done with you and everybody can be even. And, well, we'll be able to share some brandy." Brandy that he set down on a table, stepping forward towards Erskine to shake his hand.

"Really, though, I thought for sure I could smell the Cladhan leaking back out of him. Crazy."

Cotan pulled out his left hand, ancient crystal on ancient chain swinging around as it unfurled into the air between him and the wounded Woad general. The room seemed to grow brighter in the moment that it was brought out, as though the spark of flame in the heart of the shard was a torch to light the space. Certainly, the electrum and bronzium that made up the chain attached to it were more than reflective enough, even millennia later, to twinkle like starlight as they caught the sterile radiance from the glowrods in the ceiling.

If any force-sensitives on the planet—nay, in the system—hadn't already noticed Cotan, they certainly would now. He pulled his eyes from it after a moment—ever since he'd first began bonding with it, and used it to help heal Asha's eye and scarring on Bespin, it got more and more insistent on drawing his notice every time he pulled it out. Like it was trying to push him to use it, giving him ideas on how to fix every last person he came across.

It was maddening. Almost as maddening as the Woads, Tuaths, and Highlanders, in Cotan's mind, as he looked back to Erskine with a small smile.

"Why don't you find a comfortable sitting position, laddie? This is going to take some focused meditation from both of us. If you're religious, consider it a gift from whoever you worship. If not, well, at least try to ignore the itching. Just be as comfortable as possible, breathe as easily as possible, and don't let yourself linger on any thoughts. Let it all come and go as it will."

DECEASED Erskine Barran

 

[Atticus Pyke]

OBJECTIVE II | COLD CASE
BASTION, COMPNOR HQ
Raijan Sol ​

COMPNOR Headquarters, the pinnacle throne of every detail Pyke hated about the job, where incomplete assignments and case files went to die. A monument masquerading of nationalism and efficiency, hiding away elitism and inefficiencies from even the most distinguished and observant of the organization's peers. Pyke often wondered if there was any bigger lie in the galaxy than this very building.

Maybe one day, someone would tell him. Until then, it keeps the record.

"Pyke, you seein' this?"

Reality returned to a quasi-comatose Pyke when Agent Earchis spoke. Contemplations had zoned him out of his task and firmly into his own thoughts. Habit forced the cigarette still clamped between his fingers toward his lips. Inhalation brought only an off taste and cool air. The smoke had gone out from neglect while he was stewing over internalized grievance.

"What is it?" Pyke asked, flicking the paper cylinder into an ash tray.

"Unidentified biosignature. Look."

Earchis pointed at a security feed on one of his many console screens. A large man with some kind of staff was traversing the halls of the interior complex.

"You recognize him?"

"No."

"Overwatch doesn't either, no facial or bio recognition."

"How the hell did he get in?"

"Probably just walked. Security didn't report anything. Must have just looked like he belonged."

Pyke groaned. "I'll take care of it."

It didn't take but a few minutes to locate the interloper. Pyke followed behind with enough distance not raise suspicion. Studying movements, intent, and actions, he came to the conclusion the big bastard was looking for something, and wasn't trying to make it obvious, either. For someone who wasn't supposed to be here, the stranger sure had a unfettered step that like he either didn't care or didn't know any better. Both were just as dangerous.

Pyke cut him off at an isolated corner of a far-interior corridor. His solitary eye scanned Raijan up and down, mental threat analysis preceding his accosting. "This complex is COMPNOR and Authorized Personnel only," he informed wryly. "But you knew that already. I'm feeling generous so save us both the trouble, pal." Truthfully, he just wasn't in the mood for paperwork. Arrests came with too much bureaucracy nowadays. "Show me some authorization or get the hell out."

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Willan Tal

EMPIRE
​

Rurik nodded once with Tal's words. He was a man worthy of the stature he commanded in the flesh. But even still, his motives, his means, his ambitions all needed to be bared in full candidness before the Imperator and the Empire as a whole. The time within which the separate realms of the New Order could persist with a degree of secrecy as to shroud their motives from the eyes of the people but as well, the Imperator.

Galidraan had proven its Imperial patriotism time and time again, arising when the Empire needed it most in the wake of shameful defeats in the early days of the Pentastar Campaign. There was no doubting their devotion. But would it remain past the reclamation of their homeland? Rurik could only hope. But hope meant uncertainty, this meeting would waft away that shroud.

"Autonomy..." He said the word aloud, almost as if he was the only one that could hear it before he began to walk into the Gardens proper.

"What does your autonomy entail, Lord Protector?" He inquired, arching a brow beneath his metal mask.

"You must understand the implications of Carlac's treason seep deeper than that frozen world...but do know the resilience of the Galidraani Free State is not lost on me. Power is an important thing to you, Tal. As it is to many. But throwing yourself from the steed and ruling is far more difficult than conquering, something I've only come to realize recently. " Rurik remarks.

"But so too have all the sons and daughters of the Empire made their sacrifices..." He remarks once more.

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

ACQUISITION: PART II // NAM CHORIOS​

---

---

The blastdoor between Fiduciary and the Hayata Corp shuttle retracted with a mechanical hiss, admitting Aiko and her bodyguard. The Aargauun stepped forward to greet his guest with a bow of the head. “Radiant, my dear, as always.” He gestured to a pair of acceleration couches separated by a small table, upon which a cask and two glasses had been arranged. “Shall we?”

Tithe took a seat and poured a glass of the dark red liquid for his guest, then one for himself. “Would you believe, Atrisian tea was suggested,” he explained. “Imagine, trying to impress with a poor facsimile.” The wine itself was worth more than most galactic citizens learned in a standard year, and much less likely to offend Aiko’s refined palate. The Trade Federation director took a moment to savour a mouthful of the wine before presenting his business deal.

“Kol Huro,” he started. “Seven factory worlds, victims of, ahh, stay we say, unfortunate astrogeography.” A small holoprojector came to life between the two corporatists, showing the borders of the now dead-Sith Empire encompassing the system. “Once a nexus of heavy industry, now a desolute world.” The star map was replaced with footage of the factories bombed during the retreat of its former occupiers.

“Boundless opportunity,” he explained. “For those with the vision to seize such an aberrant undertaking.” Tithe’s companies, Liquidity Textiles included, were poised for major expansion. A joint injection of capital from Hayata Corporation could get the seven factory worlds of Kol Huro back in operation, if Aiko was willing to take the risk with an unknown business partner.

 

[Raijan Sol]

BLOODLET ACTUAL
OBJECTIVE II COLD CASE
COMPNOR HQ
TAGS - Atticus Pyke

The halls of COMPNOR HQ were evidently designed for souls that knew where they were going. Otherwise, it all looked the same. Yet, despite his confusion, Raijan still roamed the halls and rooms with the swagger of someone who belonged there. It was better for it too, for the Spectre was quick to violence more times than not. And he certainly had no qualms about causing a bloody disturbance in the belly of the beast.

It was only when he felt a flare of the mystical sense that he realized he was being tailed. It was only a matter of time.

Bloodlet's seeming familiarity with the establishment ended, when he walked into a dead end. Already feeling out with the Force to feel other personnel vacating the area. The jacketed came about to face the one eyed Agent, a vision of Tavlar briefly tricking his eye before he saw the man for who he truly was.

An unknown.

"This complex is COMPNOR and Authorized Personnel only," he informed wryly. "But you knew that already. I'm feeling generous so save us both the trouble, pal." Truthfully, he just wasn't in the mood for paperwork. Arrests came with too much bureaucracy nowadays. "Show me some authorization or get the hell out."

His set features twisted into a smile. "So you're my escort?" The high pitched inflection in his tone to suggest friend, coupled with the false smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. Those black eyes spoke a deadly truth, that the both of them could understand.

And yet... The man was an Agent. An Imperial. They served the same Order, in similar ways. There seemed to be no recognition in the nonchalant mans features as to who he was. The evidence of his existence must've been scrubbed from the records, probably from the due diligence of Avenger. He may not have liked him, but he preferred him in the shadows than to operate in the open. He ought to leave it to... Him.

"Show me to your archive of all catalogued operations dating from Jaeger Harrsk's death to present day." They were cut from the same New Imperial cloth, but Raijan didn't waste time. Always, he would give a chance. But when it was rejected... All bets were off.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

Extraction Task Force 'Khem'
501st Special Operation Detachment
An idiot and I
​

Bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla.

All she did was talk. Excuse after excuse leapt from her mouth and each followed by an irritated roll of Konrad's eyes. Whatever Zoraya blabbered changed nothing. They were in this grave, and rather pathetic for two Imperial operatives, situation because of her.

"Then tell me, Zoraya, how could a bunch of peasant rebels sniff you out and without you knowing. Maybe it's these stupid small talks you boldly engage yourself in that have led to your whole operation being foiled. By a bunch of peasant rebels living in a mountain, I must say."

"No matter, I shall find a way for us out of this folly of your creation. Now, instead of spiraling into this useless self-reflection over your failures, look for clues that hint at an exit."

Zoraya Ives-Ayres

 

[Zoraya Ives-Ayres]

COMPNOR
Imperial Security Bureau, ISB-273
Objective: also don't die
Konrad Harrsk

His continued accusation only riled her up further but she didn't lash out and was instead controlled and deliberate with her words.

"Have you considered that perhaps they acquired the information by other means? I'm hardly verging into conspiracist territory when I say the Order isn't infallible. If it were, the ISB wouldn't have half as much to do. If you could consider for one second, in your tiny, insolent mind, that there is an explanation other than my being incompetent then maybe you could prove that you're not nearly as half-witted as you seem." There was a calmness but sternness to her tone, condescending him.

"You don't even know me." She told him before striding ahead.

Before long, she made a discovery that gave her some hope. "There's running water ahead." She told him. It sounded like more than a trickle so they were potentially close to an exit if there was a gap large enough for a stream but was disappointed to find the water source was nothing more than a large crack in the cave wall which fed the shallow lake in the cavern.

She stopped at the edge of the water suddenly, as if caught in an invisible forcefield. "Something's wrong." She said quietly to no one in particular. No sooner had she said it than the cave had started to rumble, quietly at first until the tunnel behind her began to shake violently. By the time she had turned around to see, debris blocked the path they had come from. Behind her, the sound of rock grinding against rock was followed by the intensified gushing of water.

This was not how she had planned her day.

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

Post #5
First-Leftenant Doyle (DT-135)
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
UNIT-44
CLEAVER COY.
Stygeon Prime '67
Objective 1

Tags: Daina Bragg Hiran Avola Atticus Draco
Killjoy Keilara Kala'myr Nelson Reg

<"Hobbs to Cleaver! All tangoes down. Securing southern-sector prisoners now-">​

'Doyle to Kopesh! Gies a moment, K-C in progress....', Doyle responded, having dealt with fresh hostilities in and around the southern-wing's archive hall. Pulling his own trusty machete from it's detached sheathe, with the process held high above his head from start to finish as the blade itself glinted in the dim, wintry light of the courtyard vehicle-elevator; as his arms spread wide in a goading taunt, the Sith-loyalist trooper would begin to backpedal, poking away at the air between them with the disruptor rifle's fitted bayonet serving as his own sharp means of inflicting harm on the Woad-born Jackal-trooper. The Sith-loyalist was hopped up on a rage-induced madness, brought on by watching the last minutes of the captive-guardsman's life on the surveillance-cam footage, and very much in a mood for killing enemy troopers; though this individual had succeeded with one or two of the men guarding the archive-retrieval efforts, the third man, much to the rampaging Sith-loyalist's rotten luck, would be none other than 1st-Leftenant Doyle.

'All that, and just for access-codes.... I'm going to enjoy slicing your throat-'

'-Now isn't the time for talking, scum. We haven't got all day!', Cleaver snapped back, interrupting the previously well-hidden trooper as he began to close the increasing gap between them. The trooper would then change his course and elect instead to charge straight for Doyle, baring the bayonet at length and telegraphing his intentions in the process, giving the Special-Forces operator more countering options than he had against the slow backpedalling approach, made all the easier for the New-Imperial Dark Trooper's supremely-late parry and backhand counter. By the time Doyle's lateral-sprint escape had been completed, the backhand slash had completed it's outward arc to splatter blood all over the walls in front of him, and the opposing trooper was already stumbling silently to the floor, dying as the Jackal flicked the last of the blood off his machete for sheathing again. However, this time around, Cleaver wanted to take at least one confirmed Sith-trooper head back to Unit-44's holographic tally-board, pivoting back in the direction of his crazed opponent as he muttered,'Kill confirmed, Kopesh. Arm the prisoners an' return to the archive-objective. Cleaver out!', into his comm-device before finishing the job properly.

'For that, the others will die horribly as well! Take two o' mine, we slaughter at least two-hundred o' yours in retaliation.... Bastion STANDS!!!!'

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Post #3
THE_WOAD
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
2nd Armoured-Infantry Brigade (The Blue-Hearts)
Stygeon Prime '67
Objective IV - BYOO

Tags: Cotan Sar'andor

Obsidian-Heart Military Hospital,
Fort Imperator, Ravelin

Erskine was ready, though he didn't know exactly where that contrarian drive was coming from, or what the drive entailed in and of itself, but whatever it was that was spurring the Woad to accept help from Naboo's finest, would surely have an opposite effect on his former second-in-command. Understanding the sentiment and appreciating it all the same, Barran knew he would need to caution Sar'andor against such a gesture with Gowrie for strictly-motivational reasons, but chose again to bench it for the matter at hand as soon as he saw the bottle of obviously-expensive Brandy being placed politely on his bedside cabinet. Devoting attention to the patient once more, the healer would opt to continue an in-joke from his last encounter with the Free-State's Tuath, leaning closer to Erskine's right ear as he muttered,'Really, though, I thought for sure I could smell the Cladhan leaking back out of him. Crazy.', in kindly jest, further easing any lingering pre-procedure tensions in the process.

Wheezing uncontrollably with mirth in reply, the Brigadier-General couldn't help but laugh at the thought, knowing that any fight with the Mongrel could mean spending time in Fort Imperator's ICU with wounds aplenty to hypothetically leak Cladhan from; however, in the process of both laughing himself silly and horrifying the surgeons even further, the sickened surgeons and wheezing patient were completely unaware of what was happening with the healer in that moment. Nothing would seem all that different about Cotan as his mind raced with everything he needed to succeed, at least not until he final spoke up again, addressing Erskine in a supremely-calm tone as he said,'Why don't you find a comfortable sitting position, laddie? This is going to take some focused meditation from both of us. If you're religious, consider it a gift from whoever you worship. If not, well, at least try to ignore the itching. Just be as comfortable as possible, breathe as easily as possible, and don't let yourself linger on any thoughts. Let it all come and go as it will.', stepping round to Erskine's back to get to the target-area with a more-direct effectiveness.

'Then I'll need be needin' this ti center masel, mate. An' afore ye start, best security's a man's own - even for Generals.', the Stormchaser started, pausing only to lean forward and pull his sword from it's scabbard under his bed. Sliding it slowly from the protective teakwood inner-lining, the sword would point at nobody in particular as Erskine straightened his posture again, then Barran would close his eyes, slowing his breathing as his inhalations extended over and over again in rhythmic succession. The Woad was ready, but before he continued, Lord Erskine thought it would be pertinent to reveal what had become of him since they last met, letting the Jedi see that a combative meditation had been attained as he concluded,'Rediscovering my Fiore-clique duelling roots in the crucible has reminded me of what it truly means to be a swordsman, and somehow, of what it means to find a perfect state of flow in almost everything else. "*Lorg sinn an fhìor rìgh anns a ’bhreus. Treòraichidh an claidheamh sinn gu Dia.", such a god who smiles on some of my men in particular.'

'And at the core of every Fiorist's heart, rests a meditative, faithful soul.... Let us begin.'​

**We find the true king in the crucible. The sword will guide us to God.

 

[Atticus Draco]

W H I T E C L O A K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Imperial Knight Armour | Lightsaber
Daina Bragg Keilara Kala'myr Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Killjoy Nelson Reg
Areyon

The glowing blade of the lightsaber continued through another chestpiece. Then a helmet, as an ivory garbed limb shot out to launch the body into a clump of approaching troopers that were coming around the bend. Leaping up, the Force aided jump propelled Aenarion into the open - out of the trenches - and stood before the approaching host of New Imperials as it descended upon the final vestiges of Sith Remnant troopers at the base of the mountain.

His heart pumped against his ribcage, as if it sought to burst forth from his chest. It, and along with the bloodshed kept his heart pumping, keeping the frost that attempted to set in at bay. But as he stopped and opened his mind beyond his own personal proximity, he could feel the imminence that was about to occur.

Stygeon Prime would be the final staging area for the jumping off point to Galidraan.

It would be this frozen fortress, cleansed of the Sith-Imperial ties by the end of the week.

But before the fortress, it would be these men across from them. Hundreds to join the lost tens of thousands that have already been slain in this Total War.

The fear was palpable. It was as prominent as the cold seeping into his body. They were not so unlike those New Imperials that were behind him now, awaiting the order to finish the rearguard. Families and homes were waiting for them, or had been, once. The Sith took much from them, on both sides. It couldn't persist, not if there was to be peace in the Outer Rim and a resolute authority in the form of the True Empire.

The resplendent blade sprouted from its hilt, clasped in his up raised hand. He didn't want to do it, but there was no other choice.

As his blade was coming down, the final stroke, symbolic of the hundreds that'd die in bloody execution...

There was a stirring amongst the enemy troops. Bodies shifting out of the way as officers led the way in tossing away their weapons and raising their hands in the air. It wasn't long until their squads, platoons followed in their wake. Hundreds of the troopers surrendering themselves to the Imperial machine.

To me.

Aenarion's hand wavered for only a moment before the silver blade deactivated. <"Put them in binders."> The White Cloak said as he hooked his hilt back to the belt loop and left it to hang. Up the mountain, black cloaked forms raced away for cover and the dispersing legion closed in to subdue and secure their new prisoners.

<"Sharpshooter,"> he looks over his shoulder at the troupe behind him, his blood soaked limb raising up to point at the fleeing Sith Commanders. <"Kill them."> Shots rang out. Everybody on the battlefield froze, looking for where the shot came from before realization set in.

 

[Areyon]

A R E Y O N
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJ 1
Lightsaber Pike | Armor​

Areyon found himself stuck in the trenches along with the stormtroopers who were tasked to stand along side him. He fought desperately to defend what little men he had, but the Sith Remnants would not stop appearing. Trying to advance while keeping everyone alive was a challenge. A difficult one. But he would still try.

"Continue through!" The Imperial Knight shouted through his chrome-silver helmet as the stormtroopers set up a defensive circle around the entrance to the higher trench. The platoon of 20 eager men ready to die for the Imperial war machine had withered down to less than 10 within the hour. Good men lost to the raging conflict made Areyon determined to see the battle through. One by one each of the men made it through the small entry way while Areyon stood his ground, defending against stray blaster bolts with his white lightsaber pike. Once the last man made it through, he pushed back the remaining remnant forces and bended and contorting the entryway to close it permanantly.

The men took time recapture themselves, take a sigh of relief and refill power packs. But it wasn't long until they would face the same situation again.

They fought hard, but their mass in numbers withered. From less then 10 they had gone down to only 4 men. Three trenches cleared, 6 men lost.

However, they had arrived to the reinforcements. Those that were left with Areyon had went to join the rest of their fellow troopers, and Areyon took his time to feel the outside.

The cold wind pushed up against his black cloak and silver helmet. The snow clng onto him like a parasite, spreading its icy temperatures to more parts of his body. Areyon was not one for the cold. He hated it in fact, as the cold seemed to limit his movements and affected him too much. But it proved that he would sacrifice his own biases to spread the NIO ideals. A loyalist to the cause.

To his left and right, Sith Remnants had surrendered their weapons and tarnished the fight within them. Groups of them were being sectioned off with binders connecting their wrists together. Areyon did not belive in mercy for the Sith, but to go and kill every remnent that had been locked up would take too long, so the thought wasn't worth it to act upon. The other Imperial Knight who had given the order to take prisoners stood before them, looking out towards the fortress they were tasked of infiltrating. Areyon approached behind him, but before he could speak a whizz sped past his ear. Sniper.

Areyon gripped his lightsaber pike, the long white blade extended. Conversation would have to wait.

ALLIES | NIO | Atticus Draco | Nelson Reg | Daina Bragg | Keilara Kala'myr | Killjoy | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran
HOSTILES | Remnant Forces

 

[Daina Bragg]

Lieutenant Bragg
Stygeon Prime's Surface
Objective #1: Fortress of Solitude
Tag(s): Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Atticus Draco Killjoy Keilara Kala'myr Nelson Reg Areyon

Daina tires of pedalling through the sea of soft snow. She saw the battle of the Citadel raging at the bottom of the gentle slope, and it could only be a matter of time until the Fortress of Solitude entire fell into Imperial control. Rolling onto the back, Daina's hazel spheres peer up into the morning's cerulean cloudless sky. It was beautiful. At least Lieutenant Bragg thought as much. "If only Coruscant had places like this..." Daina laments with pursed eyelids. The pain had subsided now. Though, she curls her shoulders clear from the ground and peers over her left leg.

Lieutenant Bragg sees a stump blow her shin and shattered black armour plating splashed with dark cobalt coloured fluid the life-blood of her mechanical body. With one hand, she pulls the wound toward the face and inspects it. Daina's eyes focus. There was no sign of continued blood loss. In fact, the injury had congealed over into a hardy looking scab. That would probably be fatal before the change. Dropping the limb Daina flops back into the snow. Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes become hours. A trio of Troopers come across the ruination of their charge, half-buried beneath a layer of snow.

The Lieutenant's eyes stare up at them with an intense irritated focus. Bragg bares her teeth and snarls. "Took you long enough, Sergeant."

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD PROTECTOR
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

Rurik Fel ​

"Autonomy to me means being able to save my people and also stay loyal to the Imperial idea; Galidraan is strong united with its Imperial brethren, without it is just a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves," Tal spoke ever so calmly, standing in the face of intense dark all-devouring energy Rurik emanated. If it were but a fever dream, he might've thought the Fel to be the proverbial harbinger of death from Galidraani mythology, here to snatch the now greying lord of House Tal and drag him back to the depths of the world of the dead.


"We've all had to forsake something Lord Fel, some more than others..."

And if he were to wager, Fel forsook his own soul. But then one could argue so had Tal in his personal war against the now-dead Sith empire; thousands of Galidraani sons and daughters had answered his call, and thousands had perished in doing so. Maybe they weren't so different after all. But he did not figure it wise to expand upon such subjects in the presence of a man who had proven oft unpredictable and prone to violence at a whim. That was not to say the cloaked Fel would kill him at some point. As much as Rurik was likely to have entertained that thought, it would be utterly foolish to strike down a man who commanded legions of his own personal troops and held the loyalty of many warlords and minor moffs below him.

​

 

[Atticus Pyke]

OBJECTIVE II | COLD CASE
BASTION, COMPNOR HQ
Raijan Sol​

One brow tilted askew. "Your escort?" Pyke sneered. Small, sardonic laughter followed. Bold. Vexingly bold.

"Show me to your archive of all catalogued operations dating from Jaeger Harrsk's death to present day."

Pyke blinked. A crackpot, had to be. To think he'd almost taken this seriously. A miniscule flame erupted from a device in his hand, lit the unmolested end of a cigarette. Air hissed obnoxiously through the crevasse between his teeth, forcing the fumes into his lungs. "On who's authorization? Imperator Fel's?" Derisive grin punctuated the sarcasm. His implied declination followed a smoggy exhale that flowed vaguely toward intruder's face.

ORACLE's unmistakable feminine monotone chattered into his earpiece, <"Permission to administer terminal verdict granted. Dispense at agent discretion."> Cigarette switched hands. A now free dominant hand lowered to rest on the handle of his still holstered blaster. "Okay, last chance. Authorization or scoot. Protest will catch you plasma, so use your head." Fingers twitched over the partially exposed receiver. Entirely unintimidated, Pyke only dreaded the forms he'd have to fill out for killing a man.

"Let's not do this today."

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Willan Tal

EMPIRE
​

He could sense the reluctancy, the distaste that Tal harbored for Fel. Fel was by any and all means an abrasive man. His demeanor was as cold as the iron that enclosed his mortal shell so in that, he could understand Tal's sentiment as he would any who eyed him with fear and distrust. Tavlar was a man far more relatable to the average Imperial, he was candid, mortal in his appearance.

Rurik, was certainly not.

"Well...then I see no clashing of your idea of autonomy with the ideals of the New Order, that is for certain." Rurik remarks before he stops the pair in the garden, his gaze shifting toward one of the particular plants, a springing growth of strong, green roots protruding from the rich soil along the side of the metallic wall behind it.

"But you fear for something else, you dance around your true meaning, Tal. I know for certain there was a degree of trust levied to Tavlar that I have yet to earn...but know that...I respect the Galidraani for all they've amounted to in our Empire. That will stand so long as the loyalty of your people do." Rurik remarks.

"So do speak candidly, for I can sense you are withholding something unless...that is truly all you believe to be your point of concern. But that would be rather trivial wouldn't it..." He comments.

"So tell, Willan. What have you had to forsake?" He inquired, arching a brow. He suspected the answer immediately.

Home.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

Extraction Task Force 'Khem'
501st Special Operation Detachment
An idiot and I
​

The young assassin didn't bother with giving her any retort as they strode forward in the darkness. yOu dOn'T eVeN kNoW mE, how was he to respond to such a ridiculous statement. One did not need to know a person to judge the outcome of their actions or inactions.

"There's running water ahead."

"My ears are still working fine." despite your constant blabbering.

"Something's wrong." the agent suddenly said but Konrad sensed nothing. And then, a moment later, the cave began to rumble, shake and rattle. A large crash turned his attention back from where they had come from. The flashlight on his belt throwing light over a massive wall of the cave that had crumbled blocking their way back.

An abrupt frown crossed his face, realizing that somehow Zoraya had sensed this before him. There were no signs; nothing he wouldn't have noticed through his physical senses.

Unless...

The thought darted away at the sight of the crevice widening open and the water level rising up to their ankles in a matter of seconds. A small enclosed space like this, with clearly no output from where the water to escape, meant they had very little time to act or drown.

They really were trying hard to set a record for the most pathetic death of two Imperial operatives.

"The water. It's not just coming from nowhere." he murmured as he half-swam to the crevice. The water was already above their knees, quickly reaching their waist and beyond. Konrad's hand snuck into his utility belt and produced three small implosive charges. "Keep your stupid head safe, it's about to rain rocks."

Swimming a safe distance back, he detonated the charges. The blast split open the cavern wall all the way to the surface, light erupting from above showering the darkness as water poured down into the cave filling it fast and pulling both Imperials up to the surface and spewing them up into the cold snow floor of a mountain's plain. They sure had walked a long way from the ridges where the entry of the cavern had been.

Dragging himself up back on his feet, Konrad shuddered from the cold biting his damp clothes. Their peril hadn't ended as the clock ticked down fast to a hypotehrmic death. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the sudden blazing sun in the sky. The avalanche and the storm had passed, gone as quick as they had arrived. Serene silence embraced the land, its tranquility mesmerising to anyone but the grumpy youth.

"If you're right about that--" he said coldly, refering to her earlier assumption of a traitor among their ranks, "--then I'll have to investigate." reaching for his belt once more, he tapped a few buttons to call for extraction.

Stepping up intimately closer to her, he breathed down her face, "But if you are lying, Zoraya, your head will decorate my halls."​

Zoraya Ives-Ayres

 

[Zoraya Ives-Ayres]

COMPNOR
Imperial Security Bureau, ISB-273
Objective: also don't die
Konrad Harrsk

​

"This is great." She commented sarcastically as they were threatened with being sealed into their tomb.

​

The chill of the rising water was uncomfortable but a surge in adrenaline would provide the necessary protection until they could escape and regroup with their allies. With little in the way of equipment, there was little she could do aside from back into a corner, holding either wall to keep herself above the water which was soon at her chin.

Even the usually stoic Imperial couldn't deny the sense of primal terror that was building within her. In extreme occasions, she would utilise the Force as a means of self-defence but she hadn't nearly enough training to be of much assistance in their current situation.

With his warning, she braced herself for the explosion and took a deep breath from the last pocket of air before it disappeared. Following the violent pull of the water, she felt a sharp breeze on her face and opened her eyes to face the cold, unforgiving outside. She took a long, deep breath and lay still for a moment before rolling over and stiffly pushing herself back onto her feet. "I'm never setting foot on this God-forsaken planet again." She thought aloud.

Zoraya brushed a damp strand of hair from her face and folded her arms tightly against her body to try and preserve what little heat she still had now she was coming down from the adrenaline and the shivering had begun to kick in. Her gaze shifted over the barren landscape before landing on Konrad once he started speaking.

She didn't shy away when he closed in and threatened her, her gaze remaining locked on his. While she could just as easily return a snarky threat, she didn't want to waste energy doing so and his pretentious attitude was beginning to wear on her.

"I'm not lying."

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Post #3
THE_WOAD
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
2nd Armoured-Infantry Brigade (The Blue-Hearts)
Stygeon Prime '67
Objective IV - BYOO

Tags: Cotan Sar'andor

Obsidian-Heart Military Hospital,
Fort Imperator, Ravelin

Erskine was ready, though he didn't know exactly where that contrarian drive was coming from, or what the drive entailed in and of itself, but whatever it was that was spurring the Woad to accept help from Naboo's finest, would surely have an opposite effect on his former second-in-command. Understanding the sentiment and appreciating it all the same, Barran knew he would need to caution Sar'andor against such a gesture with Gowrie for strictly-motivational reasons, but chose again to bench it for the matter at hand as soon as he saw the bottle of obviously-expensive Brandy being placed politely on his bedside cabinet. Devoting attention to the patient once more, the healer would opt to continue an in-joke from his last encounter with the Free-State's Tuath, leaning closer to Erskine's right ear as he muttered,'Really, though, I thought for sure I could smell the Cladhan leaking back out of him. Crazy.', in kindly jest, further easing any lingering pre-procedure tensions in the process.

Wheezing uncontrollably with mirth in reply, the Brigadier-General couldn't help but laugh at the thought, knowing that any fight with the Mongrel could mean spending time in Fort Imperator's ICU with wounds aplenty to hypothetically leak Cladhan from; however, in the process of both laughing himself silly and horrifying the surgeons even further, the sickened surgeons and wheezing patient were completely unaware of what was happening with the healer in that moment. Nothing would seem all that different about Cotan as his mind raced with everything he needed to succeed, at least not until he final spoke up again, addressing Erskine in a supremely-calm tone as he said,'Why don't you find a comfortable sitting position, laddie? This is going to take some focused meditation from both of us. If you're religious, consider it a gift from whoever you worship. If not, well, at least try to ignore the itching. Just be as comfortable as possible, breathe as easily as possible, and don't let yourself linger on any thoughts. Let it all come and go as it will.', stepping round to Erskine's back to get to the target-area with a more-direct effectiveness.

'Then I'll need be needin' this ti center masel, mate. An' afore ye start, best security's a man's own - even for Generals.', the Stormchaser started, pausing only to lean forward and pull his sword from it's scabbard under his bed. Sliding it slowly from the protective teakwood inner-lining, the sword would point at nobody in particular as Erskine straightened his posture again, then Barran would close his eyes, slowing his breathing as his inhalations extended over and over again in rhythmic succession. The Woad was ready, but before he continued, Lord Erskine thought it would be pertinent to reveal what had become of him since they last met, letting the Jedi see that a combative meditation had been attained as he concluded,'Rediscovering my Fiore-clique duelling roots in the crucible has reminded me of what it truly means to be a swordsman, and somehow, of what it means to find a perfect state of flow in almost everything else. "*Lorg sinn an fhìor rìgh anns a ’bhreus. Treòraichidh an claidheamh sinn gu Dia.", such a god who smiles on some of my men in particular.'

'And at the core of every Fiorist's heart, rests a meditative, faithful soul.... Let us begin.'​

**We find the true king in the crucible. The sword will guide us to God.

"Fiore? Not, like...Silver? Wouldn't that be more appropriate?" Not that it really mattered all that much. He kneeled down behind Erskine—the presence of the surgeons and their retinue nearly entirely forgotten—and grasped the crystal itself with his other hand, holding both out towards where the Woad's wounds were heaviest. Burns, and a lot of shrapnel; thankfully, a fair amount of the shrapnel had already been removed, which would make the process at least a little easier on the both of them. But shrapnel or no, the body will strive to heal itself the second it realizes it's been injured.

Which meant many of the wound channels were already, if not entirely closed and scabbed over, still in the process of doing so. No wonder it was taking so long and so many surgeries.

And still, the crystal, with its multitude of helpful suggestions coming from the spiritual imprint within it. Some of the bone fragments could be left alone; the body itself could degrade them, break them down into useful components, he could just speed that process up in a little bit. Easy enough. Same for most of the wooden splinters. However, there was a fair amount of metal shrapnel left behind. All of it with pointy ends and sharp edges.

And wound channels closing up behind them.

Not many options to deal with those; they were all too sharp to simply encyst and leave in, many of them too close to the nerves and such. He could already sense where one surgery had been undergone to remove those most at risk of leaving the old general with permanent nerve damage, with some safe reconstruction and minor relocating of the nerve itself done in the process. No, they couldn't be left in; they'd have to be drawn out. Now, he could attempt to go through and block out a lot of Erskine's ability to sense pain for the process, to try and make it as easy as possible, but that would mean they'd be sitting there at least another day going through the process. At best. And Cotan had never really been the best at that sort of deep-set manipulation.

"Alright, Erskine, take that sheathe or roll up some cloth, or get anything to clamp your jaw down on that isn't your own tongue for me." Foreboding phrasing, but he doubted the old tanker would be too put-off by it. "I did warn you it might itch, after all." After giving Erskine a moment to find something to fit the purpose, he closed his eyes, and extended his awareness out through the focus of the crystal all over Erskine's wounds.

Erskine would feel, at first, a pleasant sense of warmth. Almost as though he'd been wrapped in a comfortable blanket, or the sun beaming down on him on a pleasant spring day. That momentary sense that everything would be alright and he'd get through this easily and happily.

That sense that quickly transformed into the sense of being stabbed a thousand times over, as each of the dozens of fragments of metal and plastic, alongside some of the larger and more problematic pieces of bone and wood, started to slice their way back out of Erskine's back and arm through the closing wound channels they'd entered by.

 

[Aiko Hayata]

Business trip| Nam Chorios|Fiduciary Yacht
AIKO HAYATA, CEO OF HAYATA CORP
TAGS//: Aerarii Tithe

​

​

"Fascinating truly, you always have a knack for finding the gold in the trash heap, don't you? any backers in the Senate regarding this little undertaking?" She inquired, taking a seat opposite of Tithe and helping herself to several appetisers on display. The journey had been long and tiresome, and she was entitled to a few bites here and there every now and then.


Aiko had known of the value of these worlds, even long after they had turned to ruin. If she might've had the resources to spare back then, she'd of invested in her own project for it. But the once-bustling factories lay neglected for years, and it had seemed no one else had undergone the restoration. Now things had changed, and with Hayata expanding at an exponential rate partly boosted by the general instability of the galaxy. There was profit to be made where there was war, as an old Atrisian monk once famously put it: only the crows and the rich grow fat from war. And Aiko's family had sure grown rich from the pickings and profit of a collective galaxies suffering.


"I'm sure we can work out an arrangement surely, though I may have my own particular requests to be made, Mr Tithe."

She offered him a scarce coy smile, waiting for Tithes grand response.

​

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Post #4
THE_WOAD
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
2nd Armoured-Infantry Brigade (The Blue-Hearts)
Stygeon Prime '67
Objective IV - BYOO

Tags: Cotan Sar'andor

Obsidian-Heart Military Hospital,
Fort Imperator, Ravelin

'Fiore? Not, like... Silver? Wouldn't that be more appropriate?'

The mention of Silver style almost broke The Woad's focus in appreciation for the Jedi's knowledge in traditional sword-style revivals, but they were both fully committed to this procedure by then, so it wouldn't have mattered too much either way. The symbiosis the parallel minds attained in the process had, in sticking to the healing-crystal's preparation parameters, gotten the tediously difficult part out of the way in rather quick succession; however, it was what was about to happen next that would present the real difficulty in Cotan's attempt to fully-heal Lord Erskine, as the impending forewarning was about to reveal. No secrets would be kept between friends, and certainly not with a celestial healing-crystal glowing effervescently between them as the Jedi cautioned,'Alright, Erskine, take that sheathe or roll up some cloth, or get anything to clamp your jaw down on that isn't your own tongue for me.', then briefly pausing again to kneel before continuing,'I did warn you it might itch, after all.'

'I was waiting for the fun part, so I was. About time, but there really ain't much to bite down on - except for this, really.', the Stormchaser replied, closing his eyes as he snatched up the broken-off wooden arm of an old, neglected visitor-chair nearby. Braking the excess off, Lord Erskine would be left with an acceptably-sized chunk of wood to bite into as the procedure gradually intensified, concluding,'All necessities aside - I'm glad you're here, Cotan.... There's much we need to discuss when all's said an' done here the-day.', before silencing himself to rest the small chunk of armchair between his upper and lower premolar teeth. Then, with grasp firmly set around the sword-grip, Barran bit down on the wooden chunk as the first sensations of the procedure made their presence felt, with the closest particles to the surface piercing the skin as if multiple itches were being scratched at once; a warming feeling that grew warmer as the moments passed, giving way to harsher scraping sensations and the stinging, burning warmth that soon replaced the comforts of before.
*Ma lorgar Dia anns a’bhreus, gheibhear Dia anns a’phian.
**If God can be found in the crucible, God can be found in the pain.

Barely a moment later, Lord Erskine realized he could hear the fragments of metal, wood, marble and bone tearing out through the skin on his upper back and tri-cep before the next, more intense wave of agony had any time to make the pains even worse; not that such a wave would take very long in catching up to the deeper-set fragments' as the pains tore outward from deeper within his muscular tissue, reaching a pain-threshold Lord Erskine hadn't known since being hospitalised from his fight with an assassin-droid in the latter stages of Ziost 2. Despite this though, the Woad would continue to bite down on his chunk of arm-chair as the intensifying discomfort brought out growls and louder outcries well beyond his usual capacity for pain; or at least until Barran's's consciousness gave out, blacking out as the last of the fragments in his arm and back passed through the outer layers of scabbed and half-healed skin tissue, rendered completely unaware of the procedure's resounding success until Sar'andor could rouse him from his stupor.