Dominion Frostbite | NIO Dominion of Stygeon Prime

[Raijan Sol]

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

Raijan's head bobbed up and down. He was just some joke, wasn't he? His gaze tightened, focusing in on the COMPNOR agent before he forced his attention to the surrounding walls. What were beyond them? Layers and layers of reinforced wall? Probably. It made whatever escape plan he decided to create would force him past the Agent.

"Okay, last chance. Authorization or scoot. Protest will catch you plasma, so use your head."

The transition of the mans hand from cigarette to blaster was noted, the faintest of shifts across his forehead where his brows were concerned saw him unmoved however. The longer his abilities remained unknown, the better.

The request for what he wanted was turned down. Raijan had no illusions that it would ever pan out. Still, today, would not be the day that he realized how close he was to the true. Imperator Fel's prerogative was to find out more on the assassination, routes taken to achieve the information was up to the Spectres entirely.

Finally, he made his first move - right towards the Agent.

Aside from his size and heavy strides, non-threatening.

"Let's not do this today."

Smiling, Raijan said, "Let's."

At the end of his dominant hand, he wielded the Force. The surrounding bonds of the enemy field seeped into the Agent on a level beyond the both of them. To freeze the senses, and bring halt to every perception and movement that he could make in that initial second. The goal? His eyes locked in place, only able to watch as the Spectre departed. The muscles in his body deadened, the needed synapse that'd grant movement paralyzed and trapping him in the last motor functioning move he made.

The Spectre, solely aimed to continue past him. Simultaneously an intrusive thought crawled to the forefront of his mind to suggest a killing blow before it was suppressed by the shreds of pragmatism that he wielded day to die. The man would continue to serve beyond this day. COMPNOR was needed to siphon through the influx of former Sith-Imperial citizens and their backgrounds. Doubtful, was it that he was an analyst that'd catalogue said information, but killing him would simply deploy another operative to stop him. One that was likely lucky enough to be untouched by the Force.

 

[Kazian Blackwood]

AGENT KILLJOY
FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE
Daina Bragg | Keilara Kala'myr | Nelson Reg | Atticus Draco | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran

​

The knight's plan is solid, Killjoy thinks to himself. No doubt by now the elevators have been turned off, and bringing them back online from here would be nearly impossible, or at least take time they didn't have.

"Both of you," he calls to Ziare and Nelson, "go down there as fast as you can. I will attempt to hold them here as long as possible."

He turns to the far door, where expects more enemy soldiers to arrive from. Soaked in blood, he marches over to the door and prepares himself. The heavy footsteps of running boots can be heard on the other side of the door, growing louder with every passing moment. Taking up position across from the door, the spectre gets down on one knee and levels his rifle at the door. As it slides open revealing the file of the tower's red-clad guardians, he begins to tear into them, one by one. Caught off guard, the Sith took cover the best they could against the walls of the hallway and the corners of the doorframe. They take shots where they can, but the unrelenting fire of the spectre's blaster keeps them suppressed.

He had to hold out as long as it took for the others to get down to the basement level that was their target. This wasn't a suicide mission or a sacrifice, for Killjoy knew the moment they broke through he would deliver hell upon them, with no quarter. Any weapon at his disposal could and would be used... that was his art.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective I: FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE
Location: Stygeon Prime's Surface
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Tags: Killjoy | Nelson Reg | Daina Bragg | Atticus Draco | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran

[ Curse and Oath ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

I looked at the knight for a moment and tried not to shudder. Just calm down Ziare, just calm down. Yes, it was feasible, now that I already had codes, I could do it remotely, so I didn’t have to stay here. It made things pretty easy. I was still waiting for the confirmation on my retina that MANIAC had indeed joined, and then I nodded afterwards.

"Yes sir! We can even leave, we don't have to stay here. I can do it remotely through a wireless connection." I replied.

Moments later, Agent Killjoy had already ordered us to go for the prisoners while he'll stay here. I just nodded and accepted his decision.

"Yes, sir!" I replied again.

And the next moment, I told Maniac to do a false alarm downstairs, and I quickly headed for the elevator. I knew we wouldn’t go down with the elevator anymore, so I had another idea. I turned to the knight.

"Would you do to cut a hole to the bottom of the elevator?" I asked and showed the grappling hook; I hope he understands from this what I want.

If he does what I asked for, I'll shoot the grappling hook into the elevator ceiling so we can go even lower. And since he has the lightsaber to cut a hole in the door, of course I let him go first and only after him do I start going down too.

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

ACQUISITION: PART II // NAM CHORIOS​

---

---

Tithe had to agree with Aiko’s assessment. Business acumen was a core tenant of Aargauun education and way of life. In a galaxy filled with millions of capable business beings, be they human, Muum, or Skakoan, there was simply not enough to go around. Being able to see opportunities where others saw none was something Tithe had long prided himself on doing. His Kola’s Huro scheme was a prime example - identifying a niche in the Sith Empire’s armour and filling it, so his enemy paid him every time they replace a piece of equipment Tithe and his allied destroyed,

“And I would, of course, expect nothing less,” he replied as Aiko explained that she would attach conditions to her involvement in the rebuilding of Kol Huro. No one worth getting into business with ever accepted the first offer put on the table. Tithe had his one expectations about the deal, and therein lay the true appeal of business - the art of negotiating. The back and forth between parties to secure acceptable terms. The purest form of warfare, rarely celebrated though far more meaningful to galactic history than a mere clash of blasters and lightsabers.

“Though until then…” He topped up both their glasses before raising his to his guest. “Let us toast, to a, ah, gainful future.”

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

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.

One of the worst things about healing someone through the Force, with any serious wound, was the pain. The lingering memory of whatever caused the injury to begin with, the pain caused as anything left behind had to be dug out, the immediate aches and shifting and crawling sensations that accompanied the flesh being knit back together far more rapidly than it was meant to. And through it all, the Force kept transmitting every last feeling from patient to healer, Cotan gritting his teeth, forcing himself to maintain his concentration.

Maybe it was just a him thing. Asha had never seemed to have that sort of trouble, or anybody else he knew. His master had always said he had an abnormally highly-developed sense of empathy, though, both in personality and in regards to the Force. Certainly that could be part of it.

Either way, though, the agony that Erskine was going through was reflected right back on the one making him feel it; no good deed could go unpunished.

Within moments, the bits of shrapnel all started poking out from the scabbed-over wounds they'd entered in, shards of bone, bits of table, and jagged chunks of metal alike falling to the floor between himself and Erskine. Focused as he was, he didn't pay much mind to the sheets of blood that started to flow from the older man as he worked, nor to the gasps of shock and horror from the medical staff looking on. "Just a bit more," he muttered, guiding particularly troublesome fragments out, struggling to ignore what felt like them mutually tearing through the muscle of his own shoulder.

Something felt wet against his knee. He didn't have time really to register it before reaching out to grab Erskine, keeping the now-unconscious man from falling fowards. The second 'half' of the process was overall much nicer, guiding the damaged flesh to knit itself back together, cells dividing to replace missing and damaged tissues...something much less uncomfortable.

And now Cotan could really notice the wetness.

He glanced down as his work on Erskine was finished—he wasn't entirely back to his un-wounded state, but he was far enough along that regular bacta patches for a few weeks should do the trick with no issue—to see the deep red puddle he was sitting in. It wasn't particularly large, but it had definitely ruined his trousers.

"Oh, ew," he said, still holding up Erskine with one hand. "Hey, can one of you take him? He should be mostly good now, just make sure he's got bacta patches and that he remembers to use them. Meanwhile, I, uh..." He stood up as two of the nurses grabbed Erskine, thrown off again by the feeling of blood-wet trousers. "Oh, goodness, is this what it's like in a hospital? I mean, I get it on the battlefield, but this is...this just feels wrong somehow..."

He grabbed the bottle of brandy he'd set down, and moved Erskine's sword back where it'd originally been resting before he came in. "Just, uh, just send a message for me when he wakes up, yeah? Or have him send one. Shouldn't be hard to get it to me. I'm going to go find a tailor and somebody who can wash these for me...no, wait, hold on, can you all...yeah, y'know, how about I just wait here and you send a droid to go and get some new pants for me, yeah? By the Force, that's..." He lifted one foot, frowning.

"New shoes and socks too, for that matter." He gazed peevishly at the unconscious general.

"You owe me, old man."