Dominion Humans Are Such Easy Prey | Dominion of New Bakstre | NIO

[IMPCOM]

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N E W _ B A K S T R E
H U M A N S _ A R E _ S U C H _ E A S Y _ P R E Y

An industrial world nestled just outside of New Imperial Order control the planet of New Bakstre has been a long standing foreign trading partner to the Order as its primary export being military ordinance, well in demand with the Third Imperial Civil War in its full fury.

While the New Imperial Order had offered convoy escort to mechantile vessels traveling to their destination point in Entralla for the purchased goods to be implemented into starships and vehicles manufactured by Kuat-Entrall Engineering, New Bakstre has gone dark.

OBJECTIVE I //: BEWARE THE BEAST

Within the underworld of Havridam City, the largest population center of New Bakstre, an insidious parasite dwells. Its an enigmatic people of an unidentified species which had been cultivating in the shadows away from the prying eyes of planetary authorities and now rises up to strike and take control of the world.

It is deeply rooted in the world and the extent of which the enigmatic organization, rumored to be both connected or even orginating from the Yuuzhon Vong as well as colluding with the shadowy Sith extremist organization known as 'Qo'krataa' a New Imperial Order detachment has been deployed to make a strategic strike at the infestation of brutal and monstrous alien mutants centered around a mysterious 'dig site' within the sewers and underworld of Havridam City.

Root them out and kill 'em all, even if a successful operation implies merely a drop in the bucket of a greater problem.

OBJECTIVE II //: DIVISION RUINE

The Sovereign Imperator has called an assembly of the inner circle as well as the Provincial Governors of the New Imperial Order. As intelligence continues to flow to the upper echelon of command from the surface of the world, a more and more foreboding picture of New Bakstre is painted.

In spite of a contradiction to the policies of the New Imperial Order, the newly refitted COMPNOR has officially recommended to the Sovereign Imperator and the Moff Council of the New Imperial Order that the New Imperial Armada conduct a 'Base Delta Zero' Operation of Havridam, effectively scraping the surface of the planet clean of the city in the hopes of fully eradicating this enigmatic infestation to eliminate the threat of it seeding to other worlds.

TA moral dilemma, but one necessary to pull the trigger on in the hopes of stopping a potentially catastrophic problem at the source.

OBJECTIVE //: BYOO

Whatever gets you to post, chief.

// LINKS //:
> New Bakstre
> Havridam City

 

[Kolson Vrask]

V A N D A L _ A C T U A L
STORM COMMANDO TASK FORCE "DARK RIDER"
BEWARE THE BEAST
VANDAL // 12/12
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Grenades

<"What's your read?"> Vandal uttered to the Storm Commando squad mate pressing a plasma torch to the feeble metal cage door acting as the only brace between Vandal and the sewer way leading to its objective.

There was a group of these insurgents awaiting them around the entrance to this tunnel way into the underworld, guarding a large industrial lift leading down into the dank depths of Havridam.

Vandal subverted it, figuring well enough another group would punch through to make way for the main entrance of the task force and instead, Vandal would be the scalpel. Approaching in yet to be detected. Before the Storm Commando could even offer a finger count, the door was forced open and pried from its foundations, letting Vandal progress through, the squad moving forward as two men kept watch of the unit's rear. There was a faint clatter of metal, enough to draw the enhanced sense of a Vong-Formed sentry, drawing the hushed speech between them.

They must've known they were here by now but even if they did, they spoke in a language unidentifiable. Based on the initial brief, Berik listen for Ur-Kittat or Vong and in the process mixed up one with the other, he couldn't tell what it was, only that they'd need to be eliminated as per his orders.

Slowly, Vandal continued the descent.

 

[Darth Setheus]

C O M P N O R
SELECT COMMITTEE
COALITION FOR PROGRESS
DIVISION RUINE | NIRAUAN
Tyrell Paxxus | Jaeger Harrsk | Caligo | Minerva Winaeor | Zori Kapshan
Lucien Dooku | Lunafreya Solidor | Josiah Navollius | Halketh

It was an insidious infestation. There was no guarding that from anyone. With the possibility that it might be able to infiltrate and seed itself into the heartland of the New Imperial Order? No quarter could be offered or given. Desperate measures had to be enacted. Kolson was former Sith Intelligence and one of the more outspoken against the Dark Creed, the Sith and in extension, any force user organization that wasn't the Force Corps sworn to the Imperator himself.

The fact so many of these Provincial Governors were gifted with the force themselves drove a furrow of Reeve's brow, not as if his expression could be discerned from beneath his reflective masque which fully formed to his face beneath. It supposedly shielded his mind from the influence of Sith and Jedi.

"We can only suggest that following the evacuation of our assets on the surface, that Base Delta Zero be enacted over Havridam. Every intelligence report from the surface paints a narrative as confusing as it is foreboding. An alien terrorist fanatical organization that has bred and secluded itself in the underworld of the city with a supposed 'Vong-Formed' origin and an ability to infiltrate into normal society. It must be eradicated at the source lest we allow it to seed from this world and into our own space." The COMPNOR official iterates in standing before the Provincial Governors.

 

[Jaeger Harrsk]

C O M P N O R
Select Committee
Coalition of Improvements
Nirauan

Tyrell Paxxus Caligo Minerva Winaeor Zori Kapshan
Lucien Dooku Lunafreya Solidor Josiah Navollius Halketh Irveric Tavlar​

"I agree." Harrsk nodded curtly to Reeve's sentiment. "Sometimes you have to cut off the limb to save the tree. The operation can be achieved with minimal assets of the armed forces making our information outflow screening easier or it could be achieved directly through CompForce." he highlighted the latter option heavily. "It is the rest of the planet that becomes an issue in terms of the news reaching the wider galaxy should we prefer to attempt a blackout. A wipe out of a city will surely have an impact both within and without our borders. The Coalition of Improvements has certain methods of locking down information from the planet leaving unchecked but it is a long process, a lockdown of a few months to be precise."

The commissar turned his head to the Imperator, "Depends on what you seek to achieve, Imperator."

There was also value to be found letting news of a Base Delta Zero operation reach the wider galaxy.

 

[Willver Bennbri]

BEWARE THE BEAST

Tags: Open
​

"I don't like this one bit. Their making us march through the sewers for what again?" someone behind Archie in the marching order exclaimed with disgust. He recognized the voice as Dukos the Zabrak, another of the new recruits that had just joined Sergeant Gryf's squad.

"Relax, it's actually kinda like Ord Mantell. Well at least the really deep parts of the Scraplands." Archie replied lightheartedly. The least he could do for these guys was try and lighten the mood.

"I didn't understand a word of what you just said. You know I'm a moisture farmer right?" Dukos replied, clearly annoyed by how upbeat Archie was in the current situation.

"Doesn't matter what you were. You're a soldier now. Be quiet." Gryf spoke up with force from the front of the line. He hadn't spoken since they got off the dropship back on the surface. He was a man of few words, and it made sense that he'd use them to shut his squad up.

Ten stormtroopers walked in a single file line through a cramped sewer with only one of them having any clue what was going on. Sergeant Gryf was content with keeping his troops in the dark, both literally and figuratively. As long as they followed his orders they didn't need to know what kind of trouble they were about to be in. That trouble was fast approaching.

After walking the same tunnel for what felt like hours they finally came to an intersection. Gryf stood in the middle and shined his underbarrel flashlight down the 3 paths they could take. They were longer than his light could reach, and its beam was eventually consumed by the darkness. He lowered his weapon and turned to the squad.

"Split up. First group is Rhodes, Dukos, and Ret. Take the left path. Meet back here in half a standard hour with your findings." he finished with a quick point to the path they were supposed to take, as if he didn't trust them to know what left meant. The three stormtroopers headed down their assigned tunnel to find only more of the same. Dilapidated walls of mottled brown brick and rusted durasteel. And of course the water that was more like sludge to walk through, which Dukos continually complained about.

Ret, the third member of their fireteam, was one of the veterans of the squad. One of the half that was lucky enough to survive Bastion, or so Archie had been told. He'd never spoken to the man aside from casual small talk. He remained quiet and led from the front with his rifle held high, very much like their Sergeant. After short march they came to another fork in their path. This time it was only a choice between left and right. Ret held up a balled fist to signal a halt, and stepped into the middle of the paths ready to peer down them.

It was as if the shadows had simply consumed him. As he stepped out, a massive figure barrelled into him at a sprinting pace. Archie barely saw the dark blur as it passed, but he could instantly hear the cracking of Ret's armor, and his screams getting more and more distant as every second passed. Ret was gone in the blink of an eye.

Archie turned to Dukos. Neither spoke a word. Even with their helmets on, Archie could tell there was a look of dread on the Zabrak's face, just as he had on his own. They turned without further hesitation and began to run back to the meeting area. There was something down here with them. Something big enough to carry away a full-grown man in plated armor with no effort. Archie had heard stories of people being abducted by Savrips in places like this back home, but as far as he knew there were no Savrips on New Bakstre...

 

[Halketh]

N E T Z A C H
Enter The Vulture

DIVISION_RUINE
[ the drip ]

Irveric Tavlar Tyrell Paxxus
Zori Kapshan Lucien Dooku Caligo Lunafreya Solidor Josiah Navollius Jaeger Harrsk

"My Lord, are you sure this is a good idea? You should be resting and recovering, not sitting through another assembly meeting. Your soldiers need your aid. Your people need your aid."​

Sitting in his seat in the back of his transport craft, the fur-draped miraluka had found himself, unsurprisingly, deep in thought. Familiar electrum orbs spiraled around one another, held suspended just off his scarred, mangled palm. Rings flashed in the low light of the passenger compartment with each flexing digit conducting his tight, thoughtful orchestration. The nagging voice, however, pulled his focus from his objectivity, and a turn of his head cast his blindfolded visage towards the Lieutenant responsible for as much.​

"Our people are the New Imperial Order-" he addressed that remark first, choosing not to comment on his status, "And by attending this meeting, I am perhaps sparing my soldiers another journey through the meatgrinder." His tone was strained and perhaps uncharacteristically dispassionate, no doubt the result of the perpetual pain in his gut which Bastion had left him with. It would heal. Eventually. "You shouldn't speak on such a thing, Cass, I know you were told to stay in your quarters."​

The Lieutenant felt her brow twitch beneath her helmet. Shit.​

"And yet I brought you with me regardless," The Vulture snickered, drawing the hovering orbs to clasp with a curl of his burned fingers, "for you idle as poorly as I do."​

"Lord Halketh, we are to dock in three minutes." ​

The call over the intercom earned a nod of acknowledgement, and the miraluka rose with a soft wince to pocket his electrum and adjust the lay of his heavy fur coat over his shoulders. After doing as much, he drew the leather gloves from his breastpocket and tugged them on, finalizing his appearance for the meeting. "Happy face, Cass. We're overdue for another visit to daycare anyhow." He could only snicker with some bitterness to his tone amidst the wondering if this meeting was going to devolve into high horses being compared and certain members measured alongside one another.​

It was entertainment, at the very least, even if it wasn't especially productive.​

After their landing, Halketh, flanked by his personal guard in Lieutenant Cass and another Major he hadn't quite learned the name of just yet, made his way for the conference room. The guards posted outside of the door nearly stopped him, almost misidentifying him entirely. His face was exposed, revealing the gold-embroidered, maroon blindfold wound tightly over his empty eyesockets. None were too familiar with The Vulture's face, were they? But with the recognition of his stride and the decorum of his escorts, the doors were soon opened and he stepped within, lifting a hand over his shoulder to dismiss the two who had walked him this far. "I'll take it from here, thank you both."​

He had arrived shortly before the assembly was to start and had there been any others already there, he would have offered them curt, polite greeting. A nod of his head. A strained smile. Consciously, he kept making the decision to keep his hand from pressing over the nagging, irritating pain in his lower abdomen.​

Once things were underway, he listened as he typically did, leaning back in his chair with steepled fingers before his chin supported by peaked elbows. He did not recognize the voices of the two speakers, though it was of little import to him. One, the first speaker, was a bit more curious to The Vulture, however. Where his head should have been, there was simply nothing. The Force wrapped and curled around the others just fine, revealing the blurred, shifting silhouettes of forms, and yet this one was headless. He must have had something blocking the effect.​

How rude.​

A slow breath pulled through Lord Halketh's nose and he brushed gloved fingertips along his bearded chin.​

"It is the rest of the planet that becomes an issue in terms of the news reaching the wider galaxy should we prefer to attempt a blackout. A wipe out of a city will surely have an impact both within and without our borders. The Coalition of Improvements has certain methods of locking down information from the planet leaving unchecked but it is a long process, a lockdown of a few months to be precise."

​

His brows furrowed together, creasing the blindfold wound tightly over his eyesockets. "Pardon my interjection, but the one who sent briefing for me neglected to ensure the data had been recorded for audio playback." Annoyed, was his tone, "What is our timeline, precisely?"​

 

[Paz Koon]

// UNKOWN MEDIAL VESSEL //
// UNSPECIFIED AMOUNT OF TIME AFTER BASTIONFALL //
// SERAPHIM //

​

Lambert's entire body felt off, a curious malaise had gripped every inch of his body. Tight, synthleather straps were the only things keeping him from sliding him off the cold, sloped medical table on which he was restrained. Everything hurt, every expansion of his chest from the haggard panting felt like a menagerie of knives assaulting every inch of his internal organs. Whatever fluids were feeding into his veins from the various intravenous tubes and receptacles attached to him clearly were far from totally effective.

"How do you feel, Knight Vasari?" asked a voice from somewhere behind the slab he was affixed to. Lamberts hair fell over his face as his neck shifted suddenly in a fruitless attempt to find the voice. Only the cold gray of metal would meet his searching gaze. "What happened?" Lambert suddenly sputtered, the sound of his voice only vaguely recognizable. The nuances were his, but that one middle-tenor was now a much deeper baritone. "Wh- Where am I?"

"Please, relax Lambert. Everything is fine now," the voice reassured, moving around the side opposite of his gaze. Vertebrae popped as Lambert threw his head that direction to see the Zeltron Doctor walking around to his front. An angry and confused contortion of Lambert's visage followed the man as he moved to a set of tools. "What-?" Lambert growled, confused by his own rage. "Why is it so hard to-?" Medical droids began to crumple like paper beneath the might of Lambert's frustration, the force itself twisting around him.

Pulling against the restraints with all four limbs, Lamber played the squelching throes of synthleather as his instrument of frustration. All at once, the encumbrances snapped against his strength, sending him hands-and-knees first to the cold, damp floor below. The Zeltron smirked with complacency at his own achievements at this spectacle. As Lambert's vision focused, he noticed the scars on his arms and hands. Every segment of his fingers, his hands, and every part of his arms were adorned with impossibly uniform scars. Surgical, these were not a result of Bastion, no, these were too precise. Not only that, but his arms, much wider, more muscular than they'd ever been before.

"Now Lambert-"

"What did you do?"

"We saved your life, Lambert."

"No-"

The Imperial Knight shot up to his feet, and charged towards the doctor. Grabbing him by the uniform, Lambert lifted the smaller man up and ran forward, slamming him into the wall. Growling he pulled the Zeltron in to slam him against the wall again, and then again, until blood came from the back of the older individuals head. Bellowing the whole time, the Imperial Knight's voice was more akin to a beast than a man.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"
​

The last thing Lambert saw before he lost consciousness again was the doctor's terrified, off-scarlet face. A jolt assaulted the back of his head, sending first his neck, and then every muscle down into a spasm. He screamed, stumbling backward and dropping the man to the ground. After only a split second, Lambert's morphed and enlarged bodly thudded against the ground as he faded from the conscious realm.

S E R A P H I M
// Task Force 66: Imperator's Fist //
// PRESENT TIME //
// BEWARE THE BEAST //
// Noel Strasza | Reva Giedfield //

​

RDAG engines screamed in the distance as their transport retreated from the landing zone. This district of Havridam City was derelict, abandoned, and if the briefing of these 'mutant creatures' was true, it was no wonder why. His heavy boots stomped against the vacant streets with a small tinge of awkwardness. He was still getting used to the changes his body had undergone and wasn't even totally deft in his own skin anymore.

"Overwatch, you see anything?" Lambert asked with a deep intonation into the comm of his helmet. Task Force 66 continued their trek down the street in the silence between his inquiry and the eventual response. "Negative Seraphim, all clear," the static-laced voice echoed through the inside of his helmet. "Copy Overwatch, approaching Egress Zone."

Stopping at a large manhole grate, Lambert knelt halfway and inspected the fastening. He noted the securing bolts with the absence of any unlocking mechanism. Whoever placed these here didn't want the cover opened from any side. Lambert fumbled with his Lightsaber hilt for a moment, struggling to move his thumb in the fashion needed to activate the blade. The hands had been the hardest to acclimate to these new bones and muscles. Finally, the distinct snap-hiss of plasma rang from between his fingers as the blade extended.

Slowly, the hot white cylindrical fire sunk through the durasteel cover with a sharp fizzle. With small steps, he circled the covering while hunched over in a tight focus. Orange, molten streak traced the path of the saber through the structure. Sparks jumped erratically from the metal, dying out against the heat resistant plasteel of Lambert's armor, and the uncaring concrete of the floor.

The cover fell with a metallic grinding once the cut was complete. The rusty grayish brown disappeared into the darkness of the sewers as it plummeted. A few seconds later, a splash reverberated out of the manhole. Lambert's visor detecting nothing significant at the bottom as he stared down into the hole with a slight lean. "Well," he muttered, turning the lifeless eyes of his visor towards the rest of his team. "After you, Major."

 

[Sola Ordes]

CDR SOLA ORDES, NEW IMPERIAL ORDER TAGS //: OPEN OBJECTIVE II //: DIVISION RUINE OBJECTIVE III //: BYOO ​

What did they sound like as they came out of a jump, she wondered?

In the vacuum of space, sound couldn't carry. But she imagined it was something thunderous. Something that made the squadron's stillness as they came out of the jump seem almost absurd in a way. She hadn't passed down the orders that came from NAVCOM yet. She'd looked them over well enough and saw the lingering possibility of being ordered to help scourge the surface of the planet, but it went without saying that the crew didn't need that sort of thing weighing them down.

The rubber ball dribbled repeatedly against the deck between her feet. The rhythmic sound of vulcanized rubber worked as a metronome for the bridge crew that surrounded her as they engaged in the ever-familiar process of jump stand-down and preparations for command operations. Thump-tap. Thump-tap. Thump-tap. It was a drill she'd come to learn about with her powers, practicing fine-tuned control. The ball wasn't dropping with enough force to bounce clear up to the palm of her hand on its own and so -

"Nervous, ma'am?"

The voice snapped her from her internal musings with a tightening squeeze around the newly caught ball, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant?" She turned her head to watch the young executive officer stepping up beside her.

He took a moment to adjust his collar, "You just tend to do that quite a bit when you're nervous, ma'am."

She frowned. Was she always so obvious? Shaking her head, she pocketed the ball and turned her attention to the strategic display of New Bakstre and its orbital patterns. Her squadron was just one blip of many currently working to hold security over the planet while waiting for the politicians and high-ranking officers to all debate about just what it was they were going to do with this planet, "Something about this whole affair seems off, is all." She shook her head. A partial truth, she thought, "Have the corvettes sweep out and start identifying potential hot-spots for the troops on the ground. Reach out to ground command and let them know that they have cruiser fires in orbit ready to assist."

The XO nodded, "Aye, ma'am."

"And Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Just - keep me posted if we receive anything from NAVCOM."

"Aye, ma'am."

 

[Noel Strasza]

V I T A | M O R T I S
Major Noel "Bridgebreaker" Strasza
STATUS :// UNDETERMINED
LOCATION :// UNKNOWN, CARLAC

Sometime after Bastionfall...​

The rhythmic pulse of a heart rate monitor roused the muffled senses of Noel Strasza from her state of limbo.​

Blasterfire streaked through her vision in hails of red and yellow. Blood splattered her visor. She heard her own breathing, rapid and strained with the sprint carrying her forward through the chaos. Fire. It was everywhere, roaring and crackling in taunt as it dared stretch its greedy tongue closer. Captain Agrippa. The lightsaber. The blood-stained, flesh-draped pike banner of the NIO.​

It all surged back to the front of her mind with blinding, stomach-churning vividness. The beep at the edges of her focus quickened, changing tempo to something much more manic.​

At once, she rasped awake, jolting with the suddenness of the motion. The icy sterile light of some sort of medical laboratory met her hazy, blurred vision, and somewhere, she heard the distant whirr of machinery. The major shivered, drawing arms to hug herself tightly. Only, she didn't. A moment of process passed and she twisted her sore neck, angling eyes towards the arms suspended by her head. Horror struck, she gasped. Gleaming in the light of the lab, grinning macabrely back down at her in taunt, draped cybernetic limbs strung up by disconnected hands stretching cables into a port at the base of her restraints. A twist of her waist earned another faint whirr. She realized then it wasn't some droid working to her flank, out of sight.​

That sound... that horrendous, grating sound, was coming from within her.​

Stormy eyes widened temporarily, harboring hurricanes in their depths. This was a dream. A horrific, terrible, nightmare.​

"Ah, good to see you're still with us, major." A familiar voice behind her threw the strange, rushing pulse in her hollow chest up into her throat. "You had the doctors worried you were not going to come back to us." Footsteps resounded in the hollow space, approaching.​

Noel squeezed her eyes shut, forcing out the sight. "This is a dream-" the sound of her voice nearly made her scream. It wasn't hers. Whose was that? It was distorted and warped, digitized almost, in its monotone drag. Her pulse quickened further, sending the machines she was connected to into a frenzy of alarm.​

"It's no dream, major." The voice was closer, as were the steps carrying it. "You plummeted from the top of Fortress Carnifex. The VALKs kept you alive long enough for the doctors to do what they needed to. At great cost, too, might I add."​

His indifference was infuriating.​

Grey lenses snapped open, glaring down at The Vulture who stood so casually before her. "What the fuck did you do to me?" She snarled at him, cybernetic shoulders straining and heaving with each ragged breath she drew and forced out as quickly. "What THE FUCK, DID YOU DO TO ME!?"​

The unflinching miraluka tucked his hands against the small of his back, fingers flexing and pushing with the rotation of his electrum orbs around one another. "It's good to see your spirit is still in one piece, your body however, well. It was not. T'was a miracle you had enough fight left in you for the VALKs to even do what they did. You were rebuilt, Strasza, so that you may continue to do what it is you do best."​

"Rebuilt?" Her upper lip curled back, baring the mismatched rows of teeth she now possessed. A jerk of her head downward cast her gaze to the rest of her form. Glinting right back up at her, just as above, spanned blackened steel mockery of human anatomy. Fibrous metals wove to form muscle tissue, broken in its stretches by solid plates of the same make, shielding her new musculature protectively. Somewhere within her, that pulsing echo had turned into an outright hum. "H-how-" the major stammered, struggling to grasp what she was witnessing, "How much of me is left?" It was a stupid question, though she cut herself some slack, understanding she was likely going into shock.​

"Upper jaw and above," Halketh answered simply, turning to walk back to where the cyborg assumed the door was.​

"Wait!" Strasza shrieked after him, vision blurring with the rise of teary rage within her.​

"The doctors will be along to catch you up on events shortly. In the meantime, major, do what you do best-- and adapt."​

The door slammed somewhere behind her, causing a jolt of start, and she hung her head, struggling for air through lungs she soon realized were false. Left alone in the icy chamber, trapped as a ghost in a machine, Strasza could only scream.​

DOWN_INTO_THE_DEPTHS
Major "Deader" Strasza
Task Force 66 : The Imperator's Fist
-Beware the Beast-
Present Day
Lambert Vasari / Reva Giedfield

The temperature went as unacknowledged as everything else in her vicinity did, save for the fading sounds of their retreating transport and the rattle of battle somewhere distant. She focused on this, adjusting the grip she held on her LS-1 in the meantime. Seraphim uttered something over the comms, that much went acknowledged, processed, in her altered mind.

A boot stretched out and the cyborg stepped off, strides echoing the faintest of whirrs as she ventured over the terrain and towards their point of entry. Mechanically, her helmeted head twisted on its synthetic neck, panning at angles far too obtuse for any organic creature to accomplish. She said nothing, merely shuffling her priorities and their mission about in her skull. How she had survived the fall, well, she couldn't quite remember. The impact, however, was vivid still in her mind- fresh as though it had only happened moments ago. She could see the DORN-2 commandos holding hands as she soared over the wall, helplessly cast to the mercy of gravity.

Then the windows, passing by each and peering in as a scream of defiance left her. The Sith Lords being felled by her comrades. The New Imperial Order cleaning house. The screams of what few members of her squadron rang through her ears, crackling and distorted by her scrambled comm array. They had felt so distant- all of them. Where had the supposed gods amongst their men been to save her? A flick of a wrist, a finger even, could have spared her from this fate. And yet, she found herself holding no malice towards her faction. No hatred or blame for any of them.

A victory was a victory, regardless of the cost.

Deader turned her head back around as Seraphim split open the manhole cover, opening the yawning maw that was to receive them. She crouched, adjusting the rifle in her hands and peered down. Cybernetic implants wired behind artificial eyes rotated, expanding to offer her insight through the darkness.

"After you, Major."

"Right," her digitized voice droned over their communications, and she sighed. "I'll get a feel for the drop, tell you if we need to compensate. Cover me." And with that much offered, the cyborg shifted weight off her toes and cast herself down into the darkness. Mid-way through her descent, she leaned back, stretching false limbs out in anticipation for the collision of the ground beneath her boots, and when it came, it did so with a splash of water.

Her cybernetic night vision flicked on automatically, shifting to aid her through the dark, painting the murky depths with piercing infrared shades of grey and white- and through the aid of the droid mounted on her shoulder, soon Strasza found herself able to see as if it were plain day. That was... strange. Somewhere... faintly reaching her through the labyrinth of pitch-black tunnels, came the shrieks of a man being ripped apart by beast. That sound was distinct, and she knew it too well, perhaps. Krieg wasn't a hospitable place. It was shrill and desperate, a plead in its own right, however far it was from where she now stood. Phantom hairs raised on the back of her neck. "Sounds like somebody's got contact..." Her hushed, unnatural voice echoed through Task Force 66's comms.

Her knees hissed in their whirring adjustment to impact, outer sockets releasing compressed air as light twinkled within the woven fibers beneath her tac-pants and kneepads, storing away the kinetic impact of her landing for repurposing at a later time, and quickly, her rifle was brought forward to ready. She swept before her, then pivoted, one leg across the other, to sweep behind her. Seeing nothing down the abysmal tunnels, she called for the others of her team: "It's clear. Twenty-foot drop. 'bout two feet of water at the bottom. Mind your step."

 

[Reva Giedfield]

| | Sergeant Reva Giedfield | |
| | Bronco - Red Riders | |
| | Bastionfall - Assault on Fortress Carnifex | |

​

Too much. It was all too much. He was advancing, only advancing, following Commander Voi'kryt's orders to the letter. And then...that queen showed up. Killed those men and women he was finally warming up to, tried to kill the Commander. Swinging and punching like a rabid Wampa. And worst of all? She had the audacity, the gall, the impudence to destroy his tank. He was going to name that tank.

He had barely escaped before she came crashing down, knowing what she was about to do from experience. Even still, the explosion had caught him and wounded him, nearly breaking his arms from the sheer shockwaves she unleashed with that attack. He could only curse his luck as he limped from the wreck. His armor was cracked, his visor almost shattered, and he was entirely weaponless and at the mercy of a woman who was off her medication - and her handler was likely not far behind if he was truly unlucky.

What's more, his commander was now suddenly the target of her own soldiers while she went tromping off in an obsessive frenzy for a walking flea-market clothing store wielding flashy sticks.

"Commence Operation: Kyber Dark," the Imperator had ordered across all communications. What the feth was even that? Eradicate all Sith with an unmitigated prejudice? Of course, Reva had no issue with such an order, but when it resulted in his own commander - one of the truly competent he had encountered in his career - to be shot at by her own men, there was clearly a logistical issue and a few bugs that needed to be patched.

Slumping down against a building to grimly reflect on this matter, that's when he felt the blood running down his face, prompting him to remove his helm - only to then realize that his right eye was entirely fethed. Completely beyond any medical repair. Absolutely no sight whatsoever anymore because a piece of the visor had actually cracked inwards from the explosion of the tank.

"Well, today is not the day, is it?" he asked himself as he watched his comrades charge forward in their manipulated zeal, his half-vision fading as the seconds passed. "I may die without seeing you first, father. Pity. I wanted to rip your throat out today."

| | Sergeant "Dark Atlas" Giedfield | |
| | Task Force 66 : The Imperator's Fist | |
| | Beware the Beast | |
| | Present Day | |
| | Equipment: Reaper Chainblaster / Tenebrae-Pattern Commando Armor Mk. II | |
Theme: X
Noel Strasza | Lambert Vasari

​

The red visor ports of his Tenebrae suit traced the transport retreating into the sky as the distant sounds of war raged out like a resounding opera played by a band of rakghouls. His crimson-glazed HUD flared up with a number of intricate, boring details on the surrounding area as the AI, nicknamed "Loud Bastard," conducted an initial scan of the city. Nothing in the vicinity, it told him. That was not boring. That was concerning. Dark Atlas never trusted an area where his footsteps could be heard echoing in the buildings thirty yards away.

Silence like that made him think questions he did not want to ask himself or anyone around him. Asinine, meaningless questions like: how had he ended up here? That particular question belted his mind like the raindrops back home. How had he end up stuck in a transport with schmucks he barely enjoyed talking to? In the army he once tried to kill before his father went off the rails and tried to mutate him? Holding a chainblaster half his body in height and in armor as thick as a hovertank? Did he answer a question without realizing what the question was? Brainwashed? None of it added up. He was not one to reach for such ironic heights.

But then again, he did not really care to think all that hard about it. Thinking was for people in suits and libraries. Killing was for men like him. And he was damn good at killing. Maybe that's how he ended up there. Killing folks just right like he did back on Bastion before the incident with the hovertank.

The conversation between Seraphim and Deader went unnoticed as Dark Atlas continued to scan the surrounding area. Something felt wrong. It was too quiet. Far too quiet. A light hoisting of the chainblaster on his back made him feel only a slight bit safer. He had a weapon - a way to gun down any boot stain that would try to rush him and his team. He would kill them alright. Just like the folks on Bastion. People he once tried to call friends. If he could kill them without hesitation and even laugh about it, there was nothing on this pissant world that could face him and live.

The chirping of the AI brought him back to the present. Turning sharply on his heels, he grunted softly upon seeing his squad - sans Deader - standing over the manhole. It would be a tight fit for him, especially in his armor and with his weapon. He would be especially hard-pressed to use any of his equipment in there save for his crushgaunts, but there's only so much those can do in enclosed tunnels.

"If I get stuck down there, I'm killing you guys," he mumbled over the communications, more so a gravely static than a discernible voice, before descending alongside his team.

 

[Zori Kapshan]

\\ S E R A P H I M

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"​

\\ F L A S H B A C K
Lambert Vasari


The Zeltron Doctor was having his head exploded against the wall.

Moff Kapshan watched with an innate exhilaration behind the differing hues of his vibrant eyes. Several medical droids stood by as they watched the screens surrounding them, the holo-monitors providing the only light in the room at the moment. The events of the Knight named Lambert, taking out his frustrations, exhibiting erratic behavior, took place on screen.

"The simulation is running well," one of the droids piped up. Another chimed in. "A most fascinating result. We will record this behavior for further use. When is the subject scheduled for his next rotation?"

The Moff, hierophant of Mygeeto, held up his hand.

"I will schedule it myself, this one is being elevated to the Godspark Protocol." The droids fell silent. "Have him transferred from the Voidtrooper Program at once. Arrange his quarters aboard the Seraphim, accordingly, for when he wakes. We do not wish for his time in the Artificial Shared Simulation to be discovered..."

Kapshan's eyes stared at the holorecording of the dead Zeltron representation of himself, next to the convulsing body of the Knight on the floor. He then left the monitors, walking to the middle of the large spherical room they stood in now within the Seraphim. He rubbed his hand down a large carbonite construct, the same Knight's face etched into the frozen stone.

"Duplicity is paramount. I will not have the trust the Imperials have placed in our Program be jeopardized."

"What if we lose the Godspark?"

"....There is another."

---

​

Tyrell Paxxus Caligo Minerva Winaeor Lucien Dooku Lunafreya Solidor Josiah Navollius Halketh Irveric Tavlar


Ah, the political meeting of Moff Councils.

The part Kapshan hated the most. Necessary, though, to keep the Imperator happy - it was his purse that fed the programs Kapshan wished to see the most. It was his budget that fed the VOID that Kapshan had created. His experiments prized above all else, the heirophant of Mygeeto, the mad wizard would continue to see his purse made happy.

"Gentlemen,"

Moff Kapshan leaned forward.

"A natural disaster has come to Havridam, and the onus is upon us to save these poor people. Lives, despondent and estranged from our New Order they may be.... lives must always come first.

However, with the two thorium-salt based Antimatter Furnace Reactors located on the city's edge under such dire circumstances due to unforeseen geological anomalies,"

The Moff pointed on the map, his finger tapping twice on the two reactors in the city that were fully and safely operational currently.

"There seems to be a maelstrom of uncontrollable chaos caused by our... anomalous friends."

 

[Asha Krataajontû]

OBJECTIVE I //: BEWARE THE BEAST
​

What was it that drew Gatlin to this world?

His footfalls shuttered through the busy space, deep, deep below the initial surface of the world. With every step, the waves of the past echoed through his plating and sunk into his flesh. He saw men and women gathered together, chanting slogans and throwing rocks and bottles against the constable response sent out. He felt their waves of hate, passion, and desire for their goals. He felt the hellfire that cleansed them from the surface of the world. The warmth settled deep into his chest before chilling his heart over. He breathed out ash into his respirator. He saw a Jedi Knight, saber resplendent blue, cleaving the heartless voids in the force that stood against him and his men. And then, the sudden shooting tinge of fear as the self-same many that he had broken through the enemy line with turned their blasters on him, riddling him as he fell to the ground. The fear, anguish, and the sheer terror. It settled through his lungs and brought new purpose to his step. He saw stormtroopers charging through the cities and woods of the world, blasters drawn as a starship crashed and burned in the distance. And then, the same feeling that he felt even now.

An all consuming void.

Empty, dead, floating as a scar in the living force.

He had traveled far to make this pilgrimage, as within all of the broken and decaying elements that made up the buildup of the world, there was something else. Something… deeper that called to him. It boomed through his head when he felt the pull of sleep tugging on the edges of his psyche, he felt it during the waking hours that fought against his very being. It dared to pick at the edges of his veil of reality, peeling it back and digging into the static underneath. There was some secret truth underneath it all, begging for him to come. Begging him to seek out the unseekable. As if there was something to be found through the boundless depths. What was there beyond what he, of all of the lifeforms of the Galaxy, could see? Peering through the epochs as easily as one would open a door. You simply had to have the strength to step through.

He traveled light, as he always made sure to. A small entourage accompanied him, one of the local sects of the Qo’krataa had detected his vessel entering the system, relaying coms and asking to assist what they saw as the one, the only, the Sith’ari of the Galaxy.

Perhaps they were right with that assumption, it hardly mattered to Gatlin. They were willing pawns, he understood this, as much as they did.

The soldiers that accompanied him numbered in a group of ten, with a single red plated commander between them. Blasters of various makes settled between the patchwork replications of Sith Triumvirate patterned armor, and broken ur-Kittât slipped from their lips whenever they dared to speak. He was thankful that the commander still had a firm grip over Basic, as the putrid tongue had no place coming from Gatlin. It humanized, it connected, it gave him a voice that the heathens and pagans could understand. That was not something he wished.

Though, it would be foolish to assume that he disliked these new found allies. They were enticing to him, to his end. They represented living, breathing examples of defying the Galactic Force. Each of them represented a blank spot, that, he theorized, in time may give birth to that same heartbeat once again. Removed from the sins and victories that the past had offered, giving way to a true and honest exemplar of what the New Age could give. This thinking, of course, required testing. These forms, however, were incomplete. The Vong were divorced from him, from his understanding of the universe, but even these lacked in what he had heard of through the Old Masters. They spoke of great devourers, warriors of no match, demons of the night that had fallen the very Empire. Instead, they were as ransacked together as his own men’s armor. He was unsure of the disconnect, as if, past the masquerade, the faint beat may still be felt.

Forms skirted beyond his group, shuffling here or there to take whatever work that the dig site had asked for. He had arrived by invitation, and by all accounts, he was to be their guest. Something was found, or at least, the rumors of something, that fell directly within his specialty. Whatever that may be was vague, as if the founders had no proper clue as to what it could contain, or the use. As far as Gatlin was concerned, it could simply be a rune engraved rock that these Pseudo-Vong believed could hold some binding to the Force.

Gatlin felt nothing but the chilling cold of the new age in this world.

What Gatlin assumed was the man responsible for bringing him here approached his levy.

“Belek tiu, Sith’ari. Troubled times, we’ve received reports from topside. Vessels have made land, infantry dismounted, symbols marking the N-I-O.”

The aura that began to roll off of Gatlin would be as bright as a dying star to those that could sense it, and to those that couldn’t, would roll their stomachs and sharpen their sight.

“Keep my Lord informed. He wishes to know when this may become a problem for his tour. Lead on.” The Red Commander translated, without an audible noise ever coming from the Sith.

With a slight nod, the Vong pressed on.

<“Commander, leave some hounds for the trail.”> Another worldless command washed over the squad.

A hand went up, and five of the soldiers broke off from the main group, turning around and beginning back the way they came. Aiming to intercept the new guests.

 

[Rurik Fel]

P A R A B O L
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
BYOO | PENANCE
FOCUS | Bastard

​

BASTION
IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING DARKNESS FALLS

---

---

---

The Garden collapsed down over The Demon, Darth Prazutis , the pyre of molten steel and jagged ruins leaving Rurik some faint reprieve only compounded at the arrival of Vaulkhar in his fading presence. His eyes were wide beneath the iron masque as the flames licked his armor in a searing violence of the blade.

The Bastard reached out to him with a hand and in a moment, a lapse of bewilderment, Rurik reached back to grasp it only to hear the fleeting sentiment of the Lord Executor.

"Thank you, Commander,"

"I have no right to ask this of you, Rurik, but I'm afraid I must,"

"Please take care of Errant. He deserves a far better father than I could ever be."

Before he was able to field an answer to Vaulkhar's final request unto the Imperial Knight, the hand faded away and with it, his presence. After the violent rupture of chaos came the silent calmness of what remained after. Speaking to no one at all, only to vocalize his response to Vaulkhar as if to etch it in stone and make good on what was asked of him. To hold himself to this promise.

"Your will be done..." Rurik said, a wave of profound emotion awash over him before he collapsed unto his knees, a hand held within one of his bloodied gauntlets slowly grazed the floor beneath as he slumped forward. Nausea from every fiber of his will conjured into the battle not moments before and then the profound nature of Vaulkhar's presence as if emerged from the void itself.

"Rest well, my friend..." Rurik sounded out, his eyes screwing shut in solemn.

He willed himself to his feet once more after a moment in solemn silent, respect for the man who'd parted from his false guise of flesh and bone to the immaterial, the hereafter. To be one with the Force. No greater peace.

The crack of blaster fire and the distant chaos of Ravelin in the midsts of siege still enveloped Pellaeon's Arboretum as he gleaned the area to search for the very prodigal son he had sworn to protect.

He'd found him, collapsed in the buried in his own sorrow and tears. Rurik loomed over the boy, his armor bloodied, scraped and battered from his battle with the Shadow Hand. A battle he wasn't sure he'd have well and truly survived had it not been for Vaulkhar, but he returned with renewed purpose in a weary form.

Peering around him to take in the view of stormtroopers, slain and the Sith they'd ventured into this place alongside petrified in frozen death.

"Errant...what have you done?"

​

NIV 'ANTARES DRACO' , PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER
SOMETIME AFTER THE INITIAL ASSAULT ON RAVELIN

---

---

---

A meditation chamber cloistered within the New Imperial Star Destroyer attached to the Hand of Vengeance served as the venue to Rurik's faint respite from the boiling chaos of the front. He couldn't bare to face him until he had submerged himself in the otherwordly profound calmness that came about facing the ego death impeded on him by The Vane. He'd come to rely greatly on the esoteric artifact.

He sat still atop the Imperial Sun splayed out on the marbled floor beneath him as the door behind him slid open with a low metallic hiss. The lack of any initial warning or greeting meant it had to have been Bastard , as he was explicitly summoned.

"Errant..." He said, speaking through the iron visage clasped over his face. He'd all but yet to be seen outside of his skin of iron following his battle alongside the Eternal Empire against the Sith, save for close confidants and the Hospitaliers charged with unequipping and re-equipping it following bathes submerged in a concoction formulating a soothing embrace following each lurch into the fires.

"Sit-." Rurik commanded. They'd yet to speak in full since the dawn of the New Imperial Order in Ravelin, since Kyber Dark.

"I can only sense a clouded shadow that looms over you, Errant...I fear- I fear for what you have let your emotions drive you to do." He all but states, appraising the boy's response.

 

[Bastard]

The days following Kyber Dark were some of the worst Errant had lived. With too many hours in a single day, the Albino couldn't stop himself from replaying their initial strike on Bastion. It started perfectly. They took Pellaeon Gardens. Sith and their subordinates died in droves, delivered into the next life by his faithful saber. None could stop their push. The Sith could not hope to match the Sovereign-Imperators strategic genius, nor the might of the downtrodden man, finally rising up in a bloody rage against the Sith-Imperial machine. With Vella at his side, he was unstoppable. Not even the Dark Lord could've broken the Knight had they crossed blades on the battlefield.

Only Vella held within her the power to destroy her lover.

And she did not shy away from using it following the Imperator's great betrayal. As her brethren died, Vella burned a hole through the Imperial's chest, tearing his heart asunder in worship to her fiery goddess. Errant begged her to stop, pleading with her in hopes of escaping the planet. They could've left the war behind. Started anew. Together.

That word kept coming up in his mind.

Could.

Even as he marched down the halls to the Knight-Commander's place of meditation, the word remained. It echoed throughout his skull. Could. Could. Could. So many things COULD have happened. Yet, the worst happened. Errant betrayed everything he stood for. His Oath to the Imperial Knights fell to the wayside, overshadowed by his feelings for the Ember. His men's lives meant so little to him. It had been easy to turn his gleaming saber on his friends. Only after Vella's spark was doused did the Albino realize the truth in his mistakes. He wasn't fit to call himself a Knight. No true servant of the New Empire would dare execute friendly forces for a Sith.

Standing outside Rurik's meditation chamber, Errant cursed himself. He chewed at his thumb while his free hand fiddled with the lightsaber hanging at his belt. The gleaming plate he favored sat within his room, filthy and covered in ash. He couldn't bring himself to clean it after Vella's death. It sat unused in the corner of his chamber. His warped double mocked him whenever he glanced at the breastplate. It felt as if his reflection couldn't help itself but laugh whenever Errant had the nerve to look its way.

"Absolutely pathetic," Errant half-muttered, half-growled his sentiments before finally stepping inside the room. His head dipped in greeting to the Knight-Commander, the familiar movement second-nature by now. "Commander," he looked to the space set aside by Rurk and offered a nod before dropping to a seated position.

Errant gulped at the Ironclad's sentiment. He looked up, only for his eyes to immediately drop back to the floor in shame.

"I-" Errant cut himself off. "Well- I- It's not... I don't-" he rambled far too long, unable to find the right thing to say beneath his master's stony gaze. Slowly, the Albino unclipped his weapon from his side. He set it on the floor between them. "I am not fit to be an Imperial Knight, Master Rurik."

Rurik Fel | Vella Forte ​

 

[Darth Setheus]

C O M P N O R
SELECT COMMITTEE
COALITION FOR PROGRESS
DIVISION RUINE | NIRAUAN
Tyrell Paxxus | Jaeger Harrsk | Caligo | Minerva Winaeor | Zori Kapshan
Lucien Dooku | Lunafreya Solidor | Josiah Navollius | Halketh

The Warlords and Moffs began their interjections. Kolson was immediately less confident that this ruling council would be decisive and resolute, though Moff Kapshan, ever the pragmatist made mention of two large reactors at the periphery of Havridam. Thorium, anti-matter were a horrid combination, he immediately understood the gravity of what Kapshan was suggesting.

"Perhaps...before we decide anything we move a team in to take control of these reactors and conduct a shutdown and transference of the fuel rods out of the site of the Base Delta Zero to prevent any...cataclysm from occurring here. As far as our timeline, after the command is issued we will issue a fourty eight hour notice to evacuate Havridam City and the surrounding area out to one thousand kilometers. Until every New Imperial Order Armed Forces designation has confirmed evacuation, the Armada will not fire." Reeve stresses, they would not harm their own assets in the path of this.

 

[Daros Karmann]

I_FUCKING_HATE_SEWERS
Special Agent Daros Karmann
Task Force 66 : The Imperator's Fist
-Beware the Beast-
Present Day
Lambert Vasari / Reva Giedfield / Noel Strasza / Omar Melnau

Daros kept silent vigil as he brought up the rear of the unit's formation, taking slow, cautious steps and covering their tracks. Sometimes he'd linger while the squad advanced ahead of him and double back, before returning to the column.

Just in case.

He found that keeping quiet helped him arrange his thoughts better. He hadn't much time to appreciate his newfound situation, and he had to cram in several files worth of tedious information in the past few weeks. He wasn't particularly studious, he just did his best to remember names and unit insignia.

Thankfully his new family kept quiet on the march and didn't attempt to clumsily break the ice. He could use the introduction later, when all of this was done. Right now, he was more concerned about the fact that they were walking through a dead city, but armed for a very much live opponent. His grip around his scatter gun's pump tightened.

When the unit halted he quickly dropped to a knee and scanned the buildings, keeping a watch for the windows, columns, rubble. All potential hiding spots for anyone looking to pull a daring ambush. He half expected it too; he exhaled slowly, remembering to breath. This was his first foray as a military operator after a very, very long vacation. Street thugs weren't the same as trained professionals, though he believed their unit to be a cut above the bog standard professionals. It helped his pride.

He heard the hissing of irritated metal, and the sudden silence that followed, just before the splashing of water concluded that audible episode. One by one, he heard the rest of the team take the fall into the city sewers. He hesitated when it was his turn, looking at Lambert with an expression that spoke volumes of 'Must I?', hidden behind his helmet. Looking down into the depths of the darkness, Daros was reminded of a dark, rainy night back in Nar Shadaa, running for his life.

The agent stepped into the hole and landed on both his feet, the gentle impact travelling up to his spine. He also remembered the smell, but he couldn't tell which one stank worse. He reoriented himself to their new 'forward' and hefted his weapon. "It's a little musky." he spoke quietly in the team commos.

"We get to bill command for the dry cleaning later, right?"

 

[Omar Melnau]

AN_URBEX_JOURNAL
Special Agent Omar Melnau
Task Force 66 : The Imperator's Fist
-Beware the Beast-
Present Day
Lambert Vasari / Reva Giedfield / Noel Strasza / Daros Karmann
= WEAPONRY :: KXR SBR-60x, LS-1 "Angry Owl", BH "Specter" Vibroknife, REC-RCB/01 Baton =
= EQUIPMENT :: Force-User Utility Droid, IL-99B "Doppelganger", climbing gear, various munitions =
= ARMOR :: TXP SBG-01x Bodyglove, Storm Recon Armor Mk. II =

So this was "real deal" that he'd requested and trained for, for how long now?

It felt almost unreal to be out here in this sort of mess but with proper support.

The young agent pursed his lips - unseen under the exposed mask of his bodyglove as lense-covered eyes swept over the terrain during that lull between when their transport departed and they finally opted to move under the guidance of this Task Force's more senior members. Besides sweeping his vision, he tugged and adjusted the sling of his sniper rifle that lay across his back. A comfortable piece of insurance to help with the team's long range efforts if it was needed as they trekked through the half-dead city.

He kept with the team's silence easily enough but he couldn't shake the feeling of hair rising on the back of his neck as they drew up on the manhole cover and it was peeled away to reveal the darkness of the sewers below. He wrinkled his nose despite the fact that the bodyglove's mask filters did most of the work, and with a resigned grunt tugged his helmet from his belt and put it securely in place. Might as well, if not for safety then for something else between he and the stench.

"Recruiters asked me what I wanted to be. I don't recall saying a plumber." He sighed, "Kark it." And with a hopping step, he fell into the darkness to land with a splash in the murk below. Thankfully he didn't think anybody noticed the muted groan of disgust as he came back up to his feet.

Coming to his feet again and getting a proper grip to shoulder his battle rifle, the COMPNOR agent advanced 'forward' through the group to come beside the Major. He activated his HUD's lifeform scanner and low-light overlay as he peered into the dark with his back kept to the rest of the team, "Do you still want point, Major?"

 

[Paz Koon]

S E R A P H I M
// Task Force 66: Imperator's Fist //
// BEWARE THE BEAST //
// Noel Strasza | Reva Giedfield | Omar Melnau | Daros Karmann //

​

Lambert was the last to descend into the sewer tunnel. With a single step off the ledge, his form slipped unscathed through the manhole opening and plummeted feet-first towards the sludge beneath. His descent slowed to speed just short of a graceful float. The muck spattered as his boots sunk into it, knees bending slightly to compensate for the sudden loss of momentum. Slowly, his form unkinked, ascending upwards into a strong, upright deportment.

Sloshing through the sewage, Lambert moved forward, weaving between the other members of his team. On his last step, he picked up his back foot and turned to look down at the black, sticky streaks that clung from the ground to his boot. "Gross," he remarked passively before shaking his foot to release the repugnant seizure.

"Do you still want point, Major?"​

"I've got it," he declared dismissively, interjecting himself to the front. The ODRDK droid unfolded from his shoulder and perked up, opening its wing apparatuses to emit light ahead in the tunnel. Given Major's acknowledgment of possible contact, Lambert flipped the ignition switch on the hilt of his lightsaber, sending white plasma from out of the metallic cylinder. Low hum of the blade coincided the undulating light that was cast across the walls. "More light this way," he paused for a moment and looked to the droid over his shoulder "RD-9, you got anything?"

The wings on the droids scanner ceased their passive flapping and began to spin with a metallic whirr. The head oscillated in four cycles before the spinning ceased, and the wings mimicked a thumbs-down gesture with a vague, dejected beeping. "No?" Lambert continued to creep forward, legs sloshing in the water. His eyes focused in and out of what was before him, and the heads up display on his visor.

After a realization, he groaned and slapped the side of his helmet a few times. "Anyone else getting that interference? My full-spectrums are being throttled, lifeform indicators can't see shit."

 

[Rurik Fel]

P A R A B O L
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
BYOO | PENANCE
FOCUS | Bastard

​

His eyes shifted in the direction of the near silent clatter of the lightsaber hilt as Errant surrendered his weapon to Fel. His eyes narrowed at the sight. It was a disappointing gesture, to so eagerly surrender what was the symbolic weapon of maths night, second only to his armor...and his will.

“You are not...not because of anything you’ve done but because you’ve beaten yourself before anyone else ever has the chance..” Rurik iterates. His eyes closing once more beneath the frigid masque.

“I had never told you... or any of the others in our Order that you could not love. It is...an unavoidable circumstance of any mortal existence. Even...how you felt for her, the Sith. I do not bare any ill toward you for this. In the end...you did as you command, and that is how I know you are fit to be a Knight of the Empire. What troubles me is how little a fetter you can manage over yourself. You are a font of endless potential, Errant. But left un-controlled...you will be your own doing." Rurik explains.

"Discipline. There is no more vital facet of our creed that you need abide by. With discipline...you will have control, you will have freedom...you will be unstoppable." Rurik says, opening his eyes once more to look to Errant.

"But you have very little. Enough...to do what was commanded...but not enough to save the lives of your men...my men. They were felled for no purpose, righteous sons of the Empire silenced...for nothing. If I ever hear of this happening again, I will kill you." Fel states simply, though even he himself wasn't sure how much weight was held to his words.

"They are not ours to puppet and control, they are ours to protect, Errant. They are not here for us...we are here for them. Always remember that. Our duty is to the Order, the True Empire. Before all else. That is why you must have discipline." The memory of his excursion along side the Eternal Empire in their moment of betrayal reminded him of the Stormtroopers he'd led to their deaths and that he'd left un-avenged.

 

[Noel Strasza]

R U N D O W N
"Deader"
Task Force 66 : The Imperator's Fist
-OBJECTIVE :// REACH_THE_REACTORS-
Lambert Vasari / Reva Giedfield / Omar Melnau / Daros Karmann

Poised in the darkness, the major remained statuesque despite the stomach-churning muck of their environment. If she found it as disgusting as everyone else did, she withheld her comment. Perhaps it was received differently through her mostly artificial senses- or perhaps she just didn't care even if it wasn't. Once the others had joined her, she lowered her rifle, opting to rest it leisurely by its sling across her mid-section, and instead drew the A-52 from its concealed holster by her hip, racking it once and holding it at low-ready. The droid she was directly interfacing with performed its duties with her silent commands, though much like the others, she seemed to struggle to get a reading.​

"We get to bill command for the dry cleaning later, right?"

​

The question made her snort softly, expelling the false breath she had drawn from habit as she considered their plan for forwarding motion. "It'll hose off, don't even worry about it." She remarked in a snicker, artificial voice warbling the sound with a strange tune, and she rolled her weight to her toes in idle stance. A short pivot rotated her about with the softest whirr of mechanization, and she faced the team. "Dark Atlas, you take rearguard, as always. I want you and Daros covering it. The readings we were given of this place are rocky at best and I sure as shit-" Good one, major, "-don't want any eyes on our tails but yours." ​

"Do you still want point, Major?"

​

Her hidden eyes narrowed slightly towards the asker, offering passive appraisal before she reminded herself the man was one of their newbies. Mismatched lips parted to speak, though her Imperial Knight counterpart interjected before she could with a blinding whoosh of his saber.​

"Sera takes point. He's the one with the lightsaber, and I'm assuming you're with me in not wanting to get cleaved in two should we run into hostiles. I'm behind him, Omar you're with me." Once everyone had arranged themselves as she had determined, she glanced between them all in the darkness, her own form negligent in how it produced light to aid their environment. "We've got the equipment to keep it dark down here and we're going to use it. Whatever advantages we have, we must play by. Lights out, everyone, night vision moving forward." Her red-tinted visor turned to Lambert specifically then, "Clip it until we need it, we don't need to expose ourselves so soon if we can help it."​

Her scattergun was tucked beneath her arm, pressed to her body by forearm and hand, and the opposite arm raised slightly, engaging the holopad embedded into her gauntlet. A small, cyan projection displayed across the screen, and the information coded around it was scripted in binary almost exclusively, "I've sent you all an updated map with our objective. We're pushing toward the fusion reactors on the edge of the city as discreetly as we can. Our primary goal is to sweep them, take control, and remove the fuel rods to have them transported off-world. It's a treacherous crawl through the sewers to get there, but it's far less exposed than being above ground." ​

Her pad flicked off, going back into its power preservation mode, and she positioned her weapon once more with both arms. "Double check the seals of your armor now and keep an active scan for radiation on your HUDs. If we run into any too high, we'll need to reroute." All of this was uttered quickly and quietly, leaving her to fill their helmets in that low, droning sort of way her voice tended to resonate, "We're taking the quiet approach and letting those above ground kick the nest for us. If we encounter hostiles we can sneak around to avoid, that's the move- unless we can kill them stealthily. Remember gents, it's fuckin' tunnels in every direction down here. Things're gonna echo."​

A strange, gooseflesh-like sensation arose across her form in phantom response to the tingling she felt in her extremities. Oh, she wasn't just reading interference, she was living it. Where it may have been nothing but a nuisance to the digital aid of her counterparts, it was a perpetual migraine for her. She felt sluggish and slow comparatively and soon found her servos so agitated she no longer felt the pressure of her armor against her steel skin or the cold wetness of the muck against her shins and around her feet. Mild irritation at this creased brow beneath her helmet. "Our signals are being scattered and deflected down here, as to be expected. Most of what we're going to actually be able to access will be manual or directly environmental. Trust your eyes... and the hairs on the backs of your necks. This shit's the reason ya got 'em. Now, let's get moving. It's down this way-" A gloved hand outstretched a digit in the dark, pointing, "-and then to the left for the first pass. We're movin' South."​

With their step off and press forward, the major sent a silent, encrypted message of confirmation to their direct command, by-passing the routes typical Stormtrooper teams would have sent it through, and instead informing their superiors directly: 'Underground--moving South--interference with equip--wilco primary OBJ--Deader'​