Dominion Longest Day | Dominion of Guiteica | NIO

[Karlist Rax]

Objektiv II: UNTERNEMEN EISENARCHIPEL
TASKFORCE BYZANTINE
Allies: Berach Ulrand | Fino Syko | Willan Tal

" Priority one transmission on the orders of Grand Admiral Rausgeber," The AT-ASG broadcasted across the infantry now dispatched to liberate the slaves now working in the darkened mines. "Our objective is to secure infastructure assets here. Any damage sustained will not be tolerated. It will be met with investigation and dependent on results, court martial." Rax felt some smug satisfaction as he the walker pushed onward, "All regular New Imperial Infantry are to comply with orders and commands from Stossjaeger officers." The AT-ASG continued to broadcast.

Rax looked down, as he opened the commanders copula. He rested on the 'head' of the walker as it trundled along, macrobinoculars hanging from his neck, "Add the priority for regrouping."

"Priority two," The walker continued to shuffle, "New Imperial unit designations; Guv'na, Galidraani volunteers and marine platoon, you are in range of command." The walker transmitted, "Forces are to regroup with armoured column, designation Byzantine. We are attempting to negotiate with the locals, proceed west, two point four klicks." One way or another they were.

"Distance to their base of operations?" Rax barked over the howling coastal wind. The smell of sea salt in the air was... intoxicating to say the least.

"Approximately another six klicks sir." The co-pilot reported. Karlist smirked. Excellent. They would be on time, and before most of the New Imperials could gauge the extent of the slavery and assets here. But most critically, before they could stupidly trample or break anything Prefsnelt Command could recycle.

"Keep a slow approach," The Admiral glowered, starring off in the distance with his macrobinoculars, "Fly the flag of truce and let the infantry catch up. But also," He looked down at the pilot, "Make sure to prepare the suits. I want to be ready for a demonstration."

 

[Zane DeZorroe]

SGT Oz Verde
Location: I'Quar'ta Continent | u'Tal'ac moutain Range
Objective: Crisis 1
Tags: Open

POW

Oz took the shot. The convoy had arrived in his sights, instantly killing the target from their seat in the vehicle. That was one less link in the chain of command just before the assault proper. Right after he did the three vehicles that made up the convoy stopped and the defense began pouring our as gunners on the tops of two of them began searching for the origin of the shot.

POW

Another one bits the dust, the front gunner. With his bipod he turned his rifle back towards the second gunner who'd seen where the shot had come from. But before they could make their move...

POW

In a matter of seconds Oz had managed to nullify most of the convoy's defenses. Crawling back from his prone position he gave himself some cover before putting away his camo blanket, he might need it later. Crouching he holstered his rifle and made his way to his speeder bike. Hopping on he readied the levitating machine and took off. All the while the infantry bellow were still trying to make sense of what had just happened. Was it one sniper, two, a team.

"<Sargent, mission report? Over.">

"<Target is dead and our retreat is covered, over.>"

The loud hum of the speeder bike echoed through the mountain tops as Oz used it's hovering capabilities to rather gracefully trail down the mountain side opposite of the convoy to return to the assault proper and aid them in their missions. All the while he tore into a valley to leave the mountain range to the rest of the continent.

 

[Orson Jade]

​

Location: Imperial Dig Site
Objective: BYOO

Landing, the thud of Jade’s booted feet hammering against the ground could be heard as he drew ever nearer to the landing ramp. Just what were the odds he’d run into Trajan 'Fucking' Kurze on such a simple job? What could’ve and should’ve been a simple escape foiled. But Orson had dealt with the threat temporarily, at least thats what he thought. Only a few meters away from his vessel, Orson felt a sharp snag and a sense of vertigo as the ground came up to greet him.

‘No no no no no no!’ The smuggler's mind screamed as he slammed into the duracrete floor. Air escaped the thief's lungs on impact, his collarbone slightly aching. Hands scratching at the smooth flooring Orson couldn’t get a grip or even slow himself as his body was snatched across the floor.

Rapidly approaching their other arm raised, Orson heard mention of Dago, the hardest penal colony this side of Imperial space. Jade’s life there flashed before his very eyes in those few moments. Forced to get the fabled Dago tattoo across his stomach, having to deal with the horrific gangs that populated the colony, the horrible food! Like Hell, if he planned on ending up there.

The upside was the bounty hunter planned to take him in alive from his words. Rolling onto his own back Jade raised up one vambraces, flames spitting into the air as a defensive screen separating the two. The stream of frozen liquid met the flames both the individuals protected from the fury of the other as both their attacks dissipated into a vapor that clouded the area.

Arms reaching down Orson seized the line with both hands. Heels clicking together once more the rocket boots fired, sending him up and in a loop, Orson using the strength offered by the Concord Brawn to carry Trajan up and around by their outstretched arm or risk detaching it. At the zenith of the loop, a vibroblade ejected from one of the gunslingers' vambraces, the vibrational weapon meeting the grappling line and snapping it letting Trajan go careening across the hangar bay.

Landing cat-footed, Orson smirked at his own genius, his nose itching as a scent assaulted his nostrils. Looking down the smuggler saw the sleeve of his disguise was burning. Eyes widening Jade frantically patted at the flames with his other hand while running for his ship's landing ramp.

"I-9 start get this shit moving!"

Trajan Fett

 

[Anja Vertal]

2nd Lieutenant Anja Vertal
Prosecutor (Praefect-class Star Destroyer)
Objective: #1 (Crisis)
Tags: Kolson Vrask Hayek

A portrait of a Storm Commando's helmet on a hololithic square slides into view on the helmet-mounted display, Anja's arched brows furrow reading the man's name and rank "Lieutenant Berik" The snobbish core Aristocrat rolls her eyes around in their sockets, she'd have to be polite to this one on account of his rank even as his question betrays he hadn't read the air-tasking order or been to a briefing. Even their officers are damn knuckle-draggers, can't even read as it turns out Anja's thoughts are wordless.

Anja's right index finger depresses the stick's connected comlink broadcaster. "Leftenant Berik, my squadron ay-tee-oh instructs me to disembark your squad at grid zeroh-niner-one one-one-niner and then remain on-station to provide close air support. Intelligence suggests the absence of air defence network, we'll be inserting your team via High-Altitude Low-Opening jump, after which my squadron and I will begin a descent and use our sensors and radar to scan for radiation emissions, surface and aerial contacts." Anja pauses, cycling through her available weapons and giving an approving nod at the selection of missiles.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

LORD-MAJOR ERSKINE BARRAN
UPPER BAL'TA'RAN CLUSTER, RORK ISLAND
OBJECTIVE #2

The Faceless Willan Tal Berach Ulrand Robogeber Kolson Vrask Oz Verde Djorn Bline

With both island-hopping columns moving off from their staging-point on Rork Island, the men of the two battalions were ready to unleash hell on all the slavers found defending their mining-sites, and the multiple poorly-fortified perimeters that surrounded their ramshackle redoubts in the distance. Starting with a true-northerly heading, the Upper-Bal'ta'ran Cluster would begin to open up on either side of the 1st and 2nd Battalions as they steadily closed the distance, offering plenty opportunities to bombard their foes from the natural cover of the inner-cluster's surrounding islands.

The utilisation of heavy mobile-firepower was hoped to be a perfect shock-and-awe screen for the other NIO contingents landing on the Upper-Bal'ta'ran, so time was of the essence; as the armoured advance inward continued, the 1st and 2nd Battalions would be expected to continue pushing on as the other strike-forces in the area worked towards their own objectives. To top it off, the Lord-Major himself would be mobilised for duty in his own tank, with all of Erskine's best subordinates happily assuming tank-operator roles around him. The most joyful operator among them was Barran's adjutant, grinning ear-to-ear as he relayed the Lord-Commander's final say,'The Lord-Commander says we're no ti let them tarnish the emblems oan oor hardware. An' be advised, the Brigadier-General's financed it from from his ane pocket. Another radio silence- aaand the comms are oors, milord.'

'Aht's fine, Shugg! It's just a subtle way o' tellin' us we'd be glaikit to miss the easy longshots on oor way in, so the Guv'nor's walkers should be busier than oor tanks early on; but here's the 'hing, ah've only just minded that we've got some walkers at the back o' this column anaw.', the Lord-Major mirthfully started responding, but snatching the receiver as he paused to think of what to suggest for Colonel Ulrand. Remembering that the Northern-Galidraani's Walker Battalion was also issued with tanks, (though fewer) Erskine understood that both columns could engage in their own individual two-pronged assaults with ease.
Awrite then, let's see if these comms work for us like they dae wi Lord Willan, eh? No seen the Guv'nah's presence in months!

'Barran to Ulrand, comms-free! Open up a breach to the left of your intended objectives, not by far though. Your tanks will have some nice, wide gaps to drive through if you go for it, as this should make it easier to wipe out anything fixated on your Walkers at the time.'

​

​

 

[Berach Ulrand]

Colonel Berach "The Guv'na" Ulrand
Upper Bal'ta'ran Cluster, Rork Island
Objective: #2 (This is mine)
Tags: Robogeber Karlist Rax DECEASED Erskine Barran Willan Tal

The three officers in Governor-Alpha's skull listen to the General's instructions, Berach's crimson eye lenses peer at Lieutenant Jacen Stil and then Lieutenant Kelli Lint, with his colossal shovel hands still perched supportively on their shoulders he gives both a gentle shake. "Aye, 'ear that lads? General Tal paid for the livery, but ya hoppin' pot put it on the tanks for buckleys didn't ya?" Berach's ugly face wrinkled into an ugly snarl and he let out a wet chuckle.

Berach watches the diminutive hololithic avatar of a rather thin and middle-aged man, tell the Guv himself what he would and wouldn't do with his walkers, the bloody nerve of this Toff He thought. Colonel Ulrand wouldn't openly express his deep vexation and anger at Naval intrusion onto an army operation be known in front of his subordinates. Though, Berach would make his disdain at the Grand bloody Admiral circumventing the Army's chain of command.

Heaving his gargantuan person slightly, he depressed a button on Governor-Alpha's pilot console its' comlink switch particularly changing it to the channel that he was contacted on. Berach snarled like a weary bear rudely risen from its' slumber, bellowing each syllable "Unknahn callsign, this is guv'na-alpha. we 're an army unit and thus while I take note of yer Grand Admirals' instructions will aw due respect. ya will relay these orders ter me battalion through 'rmy command dahn through me Brigadier-General Willan Tal in the next instance or find them ignored entirely." Breaking for a malevolent smile "ave a sugary day, out" each vowel and consonant dripped venom to the anchor-wankers on the other side. The nomenclature of how Berach ended the transmission brooked no reply as a necessity.

Willan wasn't going to like his orders being countermanded, the Grand Admiral had to go through the unit's chain of command and should have known that. Berach had never heard of a 'Rausgeber' and the Senior Commissioned Officer wasn't about to be stood-over by anyone least not some Anchor-wanker who used his arse to polish a chair on some Star Destroyer. That there is wot separates the bloody fairies up there from the men dahn 'ere Berach thought, his breast swelling with pride. "This is Guv'na-Alpha to all callsigns, change bearing two-seventy degrees now, change your company formations to staggered files over." a series of acknowledgements come over the comlink.

"All callsigns this is Guv'na-Alpha, roger out." The walkers and few tanks of Berach's Battalions' constituent companies arranged themselves in a pair of files in staggered formation along the sandy beach and began lumbering parallel to the water's edge. Erskine Barran's familiar accent enters Berach's helmet and the man breathes a sigh of relief to hear something reminiscent of home. Through Guv'na-Alphas cockpit communication panel he heard Erskine's voice.

Opening up a personal com-channel with Erskine Barran, an old acquaintance and friend. "Lord-Major Barran this is Colonel Ulrand, good ter see ya mate. We got new orders from some Grand Admiral Toff, fall yor Battalion in behind mine staggered Royal Mile. We're rendezvous wiv an armoured column designated 'Byzantine' will transmit co-ordinate waypoint ter yor 'eadquarters vehicle for forwardin' onto yer subordinates, over" Berach's eyes are cast rearwards over shoulder through the bulkhead door to Sergeant Garron and his own Headquarters Staff who had gutted Governor-Alpha's troop compartment and replaced seats with computers. "Oi Gaz! Send those orders from Admiral Rausgeber and attendant co-ordinates to Lord-Major Barran's battalion."

Sergeant Garron snapped up a quick salute to the Guv'na and went about doing just that, Berach had no doubt Barran would be equally disappointed as he was, they came to crush Slavers not sit down and have tea and biccies with them. Despite his desire to crush the scum, Ulrand was not such a thoughtless brute that he didn't see the value in resolving the situation without bloodshed. As the orders detailed, there was significant industrial infrastructure on Rork island which could be turned to the Imperial Order's use and so it would under Berach's watch.

 

[Willan Tal]

Brigadier General Lord Willan Tal
Upper Bal'ta'ran Cluster, Rork Island
Objective: #2
The Faceless DECEASED Erskine Barran Robogeber Berach Ulrand Djorn Bline Karlist Rax

​

"Who the fahck is Admiral Rusegobar? and why does a puddle pirate command the ops? if that reprobate doesn't open up commlinks to my command centre, I might be of good disposition to stick this comm link up his arse."

"I think it's the droid gentleman formerly of the First order, nice little fellow I might have to say, sir," answered one of his subordinate officers, a moustached Galidraani officer by the name of Artis Pencin. Another one of the state planetary military academy graduates and a fine friend of Tal's, albeit a lackey in every conceived sense of the term. Half of the brigades officer core was Galidraani noblemen of a military persuasion or another. Many were simply Galidraani exiles longing to fight the foul Sith and their endless legions of midnight black armour and crimson banners.


Back home on old Galidraan, if a 'naval' commander dictated and ignored the chains of the protocol. He'd be promptly laughed at in good order and shamed out of the forces. But that kind of traditional nepotism and stiff upper lipped adherence to the order had produced many a generation of Galidraani officer who could not function or take the initiative. So he could bare such inconvenience for now, but one might be inclined to write a strongly termed letter to this 'Rowgerber' later. One could argue a situation could allow or need a naval man to take rein of an army operation, but one still had to respect the chain of command, and he wouldn't have any tinpot poof disrespect him.

​

"Pencin old boy, do send for admiral roogabors commlink channel, I'd like to keep contact with this fellow."

However the feth you said that blasted surname.

​

​

 

[Trajan Fett]

S U P E R C O M M A N D O
THE OATHSWORN
SONS OF MANDALORE
HUNTER OR PREY
Orson Jade

HUNTER OR PREY​

When the boy sought to pulse himself from the floor and drag the Mando along with him, Trajan simple squeezed the vibroblade release of his vambrace and cut the line prematurely.

A clever move, one so clever it registered in Trajan's own combat instinct and he was able to snuff out that fire before it sparked. The heads up targeting display honed in on the smuggler as his sole target and he raised his vambrace up, the crimson crosshair locking unto Jade's form before eventually a rapid beeping halted and a click sounded out from his vambrace.

With it, whistling birds fired out in a rapid burst and exacting lock on Jade as he ran his way up the ramp of his escape ride with the slow, foreboding approach with a rattle in each step.

<"I've got you now..."> He muttered under his breath, all but fully expecting the Beskar projectiles to make purchase on the smuggler.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

LORD-MAJOR ERSKINE BARRAN
UPPER BAL'TA'RAN CLUSTER, RORK ISLAND
OBJECTIVE #2

Willan Tal Berach Ulrand The Faceless Robogeber Kolson Vrask Oz Verde Djorn Bline Karlist Rax

'Roger that, vectoring Northwest to merge! And likewise, we can catch up after all is said-and-done today. Handing comms-lead to you, Guv'nah!'

The news of joining a PREFSBELT operation last-minute had Erskine curious, as his interest (though passing) in the organisation was from appreciative and technical standpoints equally, despite his disappointment in missing out on a real battle this time around. In time, the true worth of Tal's 1st and 2nd Battalions would be proven in clear sight of their overlords, but that day was looking likely to consist chiefly of sabre-rattling overkill for the two armoured columns; whatever Operation - Byzantine entailed, the details would soon present themselves as soon as Barran's old friend had finished sending what their allies had in mind.
We didnae come dressed up for nuhin', so this better be a gid plaaan.... We clearly need the entertainment noo, di we no?

Looking on their allies' objectives, equipment and manpower after receiving what obviously convinced Ulrand to fall in line with the PREFSBELT strategy, Barran was beginning to see why for himself. The Lord-Major himself could see the full array of the manpower sent by their allies, and it looked like they had spared no expense on everything they had brought with them; but it was when Erskine looked through the finer-points of their operation, seeing the reference to specific model-numbers for torture-suits (possibly custom-made, all marked as,"SLAVER!") they were to use on their unsuspecting opponents, it was then that Barran began to understand the plans of their new acquaintances. Looking back to Lt. Shugg as he sent out the,"Merge-battalions", orders, the Lord-Major realised he had no choice but to have the operation-file forwarded to the Brigadier-General, in the hopes Lord Willan understood the futility of his subordinates' objections.

'Lads, listen up... This PREFSBELT operation errs a bit aggressively oan the side o' - ummm - extra, if yeez catch mah drift.', the Blue-Hearts' commander started, looking around to find all eyes in the tank fixed firmly on him, hanging on Barran's every word as the Lord-Major paused to frame what looked like his final autonomous word on the matter. Biting down and bearing his teeth at nobody in particular, in a wide-eyed (though brief) lapse of composure, Erskine took a moment to calm his rage before concluding,'Better aff keeping in line wae the heavies until oor Lord-Commander says differently, eh? The bigger fish are probably hashing it oot the noo, so we should send this file ti the Brigadier-General before he needs ti ask for it... And that means,"Now!", Shugg!'​

​

 

[Detritus Ren]

Objective: BYOO

It had only been recently that Jin had started to recover from the events of Dantooine. Following the tag team duel with fellow Knight Hans. Jin had to go through a meditative state just to quell the efforts of the Force Plague that nearly killed him. Even spending weeks in a Bacta tank while his now severed right leg had formed a stump.


During those weeks some of the Imperial Knights would check up on him. Even calming his mind through the Force, spending a considerable amount of time in batting away the dark negative energy that had crippled the valiant young knight.


Following the time he spent in the bacta tank. He even spent time a little recuperating. When asked if he would have liked synth flesh from the scientists that worked tirelessly on a new prosthetic. He declined remarking on how the bare metal would be a grim reminder of what the Knights must endure in extinguishing the Sith. Now relying on a pair of crutches he waited anxiously within the Medical bay to be given the new prosthetic.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

A K A A N
GUITEICA
SONS OF MANDALORE

​

The Mandalorian didn’t give much of a damn of the New Imperial’s operations going on in Guiteica. No, he was quite indifferent to the vast politics that happened in the Imperial Assembly, only giving attention to his family and clan under his watch. With a solid foundation he could trust, his clan lived in the deserts of Krieg which was where many of the Sons and Daughters of Mandalore lived in these times away from their birthworld.

The most he could do to for the Order was to help fight their battles. Which didn’t bother him.

He lived for that.

It was the way of his people and the almighty Kad Ha’rangir demanded that from them.

In the evergreen forests of the continent where all the fighting was happening, Vilaz and his son, Adenn, led a company of Munin warriors in this skirmish they were engaged in. His son had long passed the trials of his verd’goten and now fought proudly with Vilaz in their many fights. Although he was recognized as an adult, the man still had much to learn.

“Let’s show these Bitt-whatever the hell they’re called the better warriors, son.”

“No mercy?”

“Never. I’ve taught you better than that. They should be happy to die a warrior’s death than a coward’s if they dare call themselves as warriors. Wouldn’t you agree?”

”I...yeah, you’re right.”

“Good.”

Father and son stuck together as the Concordian guided his offspring in this firefight against the enemy that would sate their hunger for conquest and glory.

 

[Orson Jade]

​

Location: Imperial Dig Site
Objective: BYOO

The sound of whistling birds was all too familiar to the smuggler, even over the sound of his frantic steps on the landing ramp he could hear them approaching. At the end of the ramp standing in his cargo bay, Orson cast one last glance back, his middle finger rising in defiance to the Mandalorian. With that the ramp finished its ascension, a multitude of thunks as the whistling birds slammed into it.

An electric jolt retreated down Orson’s spine, his body acting of its own accord and leaning slightly to the right as through the small crack that remained a trio of whistling birds entered the vessel flying past him and embedding themselves in the ships wall.

Eyes wide the smuggler looked to the newest decorations in his ship. “I’ve really gotta start using those more often.” He’d come to forget just how accurate those dang things were, but like hell if he was going to walk around wearing a helmet 24/7.

“T, how we looking?!” The gunslinger asked as his bottom slammed into the pilots chair swiveling to the control panel before him.

Sitting aside the panel, jacked into the control panel was his astromech T-9. A flurry of beeps left the droid as it wobbled slightly.

“I didn’t fuck it up this time! How was I supposed to know they hired a Mandalorian to guard this place?! Weren’t you the one who was supposed to scan the docking reports?!”

“Phwwwwwhht” Came T-9 the lights that adorned its shell going from a vibrant blue to luminescent crimson. A slight flavor of the droid telling Orson where he could shove those docking reports.

“We don’t have time for this T!” Hands dancing over the control panel, the Lost Hope lifted off the ground. Ahead of them, the hanger doors began to close, attempting to seal the two off from freedom.

“Tweeeet”

“Yea… Those ones my fault, I thought it would take them longer to figure out what was going on. Don’t worry we’ll make it through!”

The Imp-falcon as Orson had loving dubbed the vessel shot through the hangar bay with reckless abandon. With each second the window of escape grew smaller, the light of the planet’s primary growing dimmer as the hangar doors grew closer together.

Jerking the control yolk the ship turned on its side, the astromech droid screaming as it was lifted off the ground and flung across the cockpit. The raucous sound of metal on metal filled the ship as the vessel narrowly squeezed through.

Sweat creased the smuggler's collar, perspiration retreating down his face.

Trajan Fett

 

[Karlist Rax]

Objektiv II: UNTERNEMEN EISENARCHIPEL
TASKFORCE BYZANTINE
Allies: @Berach Ulrand| @Willan Tal| DECEASED Erskine Barran

"Admiral, priority transmissions sir. From the other officers of the operation." The Admiral looked down at the Comms officer and gave a curt nod. The transmissions were beamed back to him, and Karlist felt a wave of revulsion come over him. Yokels. He had been issued command of a bunch of yokels. And said yokels were going to be yokels, and jeapordise his operation and what he had planned. Glaring down, the Admiral dismounted from the copula. He could see through the AT-ASG's viewport that they were drawing close.

"That is a negative on aggressive action." Admiral Rax snarled, he had lifted the transmitter microphone to his face, and elaborated with crude malice in his tone. "The Grand Admiral wants for these slavers to serve as..... As a warning." The Admiral reiterated. A small smirk pursing his lips. "We are drawing close to the enemies main encampment. I will fly the flag of parlay. Once they have duly rejected it, commence fire with long range ordinance." Rax barked, "Target the outer perimeter defences, and fire for low effect.." He paused, "Make some noise to rattle but don't try to exterminate the bastards." Rax added, "We merely want them to reconsider our generous offer."

Rax reconfigured the comms to an open line. "Slavers of the Bal'tar'ran cluster, Clan Kur'ra'ef. This is Admiral Rax of the New Imperial Order." Rax paused, "Currently an operation has been undertaken to dismantle your works here. We can and we will kill you if we have to." Karlist reiterated with a sneer, although it was a purely audio transmission, "But I do not believe that bloodshed is the only option here. I believe the possibility for an amicable settlement is still within reach. I wish to negotiate with your leadership."

There was a pause. "Admiral Rax...." A cold reptillian voice snarled over the comms channel, "This is Chieftain Rar'gur the Mighty, third of his name. We will not accept your promisss-es." The Bitthaeverian retorted, "You will take our islandsss from our cold dead handsssss."

Rax chortled before responding, "As you wish." Rax smugly drawled, "You will, have but one more chance to reconsider this offer. I'll give you a moment to ponder it." Rax then flipped channels, "Open fire."

 

[Djorn Bline]

D I A M O N D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
GUETEICA
OPERATION : BLIND SIDE
FOCUS | Daros Karmann | Rika Hiro | Icarn Amonta | OPEN

"Extermination without limit? No problem."

Good.

Icarn was under his spell with that simple phrase. The Shii’do was a recent asset COMPNOR acquired from their various illicit operations. And upon holding the...it? It proved to have certain value to Djorn with its diverse skill set. Of course, it couldn’t be trusted to operate by itself which was perfect timing to test one of COMPNOR’s projects on the operative.

Mind control.

Volta being one of the first test subjects, it proved success in the project. Now? Volta followed Djorn around at will.

“Let’s go, people,” and the boarding ramp opened up for Djorn and his team of black ops agents. Grappling hook was fired at the large ventilation port and swung on over, exposed to the cold of the glacier. His hand went to a laser cutter to cut an entry for him and his squad to enter.

“Follow me,” as he went inside, the ventilation shaft big enough to walk in, but while slouching. His attention then went to his commlink as he was receiving a transmission from King Enlil . The man was an invaluable asset to have as he fell in line with Djorn’s political beliefs of Imperialism.

“King Enlil, you have executive authority on interrogating this target. Be indiscriminate as much as you’d like, get me that list,” he replied back to the King. This operation involved in killing an ally that would join a long list of others in order to narrow down a sole survivor of the Bittævrian to install as the Moff of this system.

Snake continued to lead his team through the ventilation shaft, observing what was below them through the rails until they stood below some quarters were troops most likely shared as their commonplace.

“We start here, let’s drop on em.”

 

[Icarn Amonta]

" V o l t a "
Tag: Djorn Bline | Rika Hiro | Daros Karmann | Enlil

---

​

Volta slid down the ramp with a haphazard grace seldom assigned to someone of their stature. Granted, their stature was one that was ever-shifting, with limbs more often than not just a bit too long and a lazy grin that never quite reached their eyes. The rush of wind blowing through their hair as they swung from ramp to glacier was hopefully but a taste of the adrenaline rush to come. Thrill-seeking had always been a part of them, even back when...back when...

They didn't quite remember what came after the 'when'.

The patchwork memories did no favors for their sense of focus. Yet on these missions, however, a path seemed to clear just enough for the mission to get done. Funny how that happened. Icarn had considered bringing it up to Djorn every now and then, a little side conversation before things got serious (and things always got serious, despite how dreadfully boring serious was), yet every time they started every, "Hey-a, Diamond,"

They forgot.

Kinda defeats the purpose of addressing a problem, doesn't it?

"Well, if ya want a list, I've got plenty," they offered, not quite cognizant nor caring of who exactly listened to their ramblings. "Take-out options, ways to take people out, people you could get away with taking out, people you couldn't..." Their ramblings continued down the ventilation shaft, the being switching from vocalizing them to projecting them into the minds of those around them once someone told them to be quiet.

As orders to drop in came in, Icarn's hands flicked to their toolbelt, producing a vibroknife with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. While only aspects of an Anzati genome had been melded with their already variable genealogy, it left behind a near insatiable hunger, one only satisfied by the thrill of the hunt.

 

[Rika Hiro]

L A D Y_S I L E N C E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
GUETEICA
OPERATION: BLINDSIDE
Djorn Bline Daros Karmann Icarn Amonta

Locate the target. Eliminate by all means available.



It was standard fair to Agent Yubari, find whichever man or woman transgressed against the natural order of things and correct it. Be it a bomb in a restaurant, a few well placed laser shots in an alleyway or slashing their throat while they went to the restroom. It didn't matter how you did it, what mattered was succeeding in the pursuit of terminating a liability. If the target survives and causes problems for the Imperial order, then Asa and other models of HRD risked being shut down or phased out. There was no margin for error in this shadow world of espionage and murder. If a few innocents died and the target was also eliminated? No issue to her. A job was a job, and the result was all that mattered. Leave the public relations plight to the other COMPNOR branches.


"And what of civilians?" She asked directly, and to the point at commissioner Bline, it didn't matter but if the higher-ups wished a clean job then so be it as long as she had a direction and task. Yubari gazed down the rails and on to the living quarters below. Vacant or not, a few stragglers was a non-issue. ​

 

[Iryss]

IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU

O R G A N I Z E D
C H A O S​

Guiteica
Alias: Ice Queen​

"So you're saying we're where exactly?" Iryss asked hostilely.

The Death Trooper commander emotionlessly responded, "Guiteica."

She blanked out. It was supposed to be her vacation. A corporate, nonetheless, but why did they send her to a world in the midst of an Imperially-instigated civil war. "This is not a vacation."

The Death Trooper commander emotionlessly responded, "No one said this was a vacation."

"THEY SAID IT WAS GOING TO BE A VACATION." she yelled back. At least that's what she gleamed when she was half paying attention to the debriefing. They said it would be a vacation. Wait, they said it would be a fun job. And that they would be paying for the expenses. How was that not a vacation?


The Death Trooper commander emotionlessly responded, "Destabilization. Of the masses. To incite riots. Your cover was as a high profile CEO. Unlimited funds."


Rolling her eyes, she stomped about and scowled. Destabilization was the most fun of all the operations she could be assigned, but she swore Intelligence told her specifically that it would be a fun mission. Jumping off the luxury shuttle by herself, she walked into the mercantile district near the starport and approached her first mark.

The thick haze of low quality narcotics flooded her senses, stringently biting her nose in discomfort. Finding her way to a gaudily decorated shop with cheap bright lights and scantily clothed individuals, Iryss rolled her eyes at the poor salesmanship and entered the shop.

Several beefy humanoid figures, dressed up in various levels of exposure to completely indecent to encased in a leather coffin, approached rapidly and cornered her at the entrance. A thin figure crawled out...literally...from the rafters and jumped in front of her. Numerous arachnidian eyes shiftily analyzed and pried at every feature and detail of her figure before focusing their attention into her eyes.

Maintaining the dead, cold poker face she carried on these missions--particularly irate with the lack of her vacation and constant delays on cashing in her bankrolled vacation days--, Iryss chucked an Imperial identity chip which the spider-like humanoid, a female and deformed Harch from what she could discern, and the spider immediately cowed itself.

'Yes, yes. Imperial-designation. I have been expecting you.' a wispy and hissed murmur emitting from the spider like fangs, crackling and snapping as they suggestively moved and flexed.

The humanoid figures immediately retreated back into the shadows, deforming themselves into roughly furniture-like shapes. Amusing trick.

Snapping her attention back to the Harch, she plainly introduced herself and her purpose.

"Ice Queen. Imperial Security Bureau. You must be the Broodmother. I want your entire stock of war slaves."

The spider-like female figure cracked what could only be remotely close to a chagrin smile, with small gleams of saliva dripping down her upper mouth.

'Yesss. Right this way.'

The Ol' ISB Gang:
Just me for now​

​

 

[Enlil]

“King Enlil, you have executive authority on interrogating this target. Be indiscriminate as much as you’d like, get me that list,”

The words resounded in his ear, but his gaze never left the diplomat in front of him. When the mewling quim spoke, his expression shifted. He frowned.

"My Lord Enlil," he spoke quickly, "certainly, we should be allowed to deal with these dissidents ourselves-"

"You were allowed. The question has become why have you not?" he waved a hand toward one of the advisors in his delegation, and the woman hurried out of the room. When she returned, she brought a glass and poured wine for the King. He took a sip. "So, it has become apparent that you lack the ability to lead by example. I have come to instruct you."

"I- we appreciate your generosity, my lord-"

"Then give me answers, not sycophancy." His voice never shifted tone. His gaze did not cease to bore into the man.

"Of course, my lord," he bowed. "Forgive me."

"The names, representative." He placed the wine on the table next to him. "If you force me to repeat myself again, I will have the Stormtroopers loosen your tongue. Do so a second time, and I will be having this exchange with someone else."

"Darik Tazîm," the man sputtered. His knees gave out. Enlil watched the front of his pants hydrate. The smell offended him, but he was finally getting the answers.

And, multiple faces now peaked through the door. The eyes of security and many bystanders were on the King. Everything according to plan.

"Tazîm works in infrastructure, he deals with finance- he's been funneling money to the dissenters, arming them- third floor, west wing."

Djorn Bline Rika Hiro Jaeger Harrsk Daros Karmann Icarn Amonta

 

[Kolson Vrask]

V A N D A L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CRISIS
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Grenades
Anja Vertal | Hayek

Oh, Berik could read, he just didn't care much for it. He was as much of a knuckle head as she could imagine. The coordination and planning up to hour zero never meant much to the clone. Afterall, no plan survives first contact of combat. HALO jump it was...never his favorite, but always interesting.

<"Copy..."> He relays in response to the pilot...and that was it.

<"Makes sense why the All-Imperial were sent on this one then, you all have probably done more combat jumps than I have simulation reps, ah well."> Berik admits and soon enough, the crimson lights illuminated the troop bay of the gunship, the troopers sent to their feet as they lined up, checked their equipment and gravchutes.

Soon enough, the green light flashed and they were up to jump.

Descending into hell once more.

 

[Trajan Fett]

S U P E R C O M M A N D O
THE OATHSWORN
SONS OF MANDALORE
HUNTER OR PREY
Orson Jade

DEPARTURE​

Those whistling birds met purchase unto hard durasteel...and the boy was well on his means of escape. That middle finger rose in defiance...but in return, Trajan offered nothing but the coldness of his T-visor. The Technoid vessel ascended and Orson was well on his way from this Force forsaken world.

But that tracker still remained on his person...and with it, Trajan had his means of keeping the trail.

<"He thinks he's slick..."> Trajan muttered, offering a faint huff of amusement to himself as he began to turn, making his way to the hangar bay his Talon-class Dropship, Dirge was docked within.

<"Sir- do we scramble TIEs?! He's escaping!"> Which meant he'd soon have a number on his head.

<"He's still in my sights, Imp. He won't be going anywhere."> Trajan responded.

He dialed into his vambrace, firing up the ship via the slave circuits mounted into the ship's droid brain and soon enough he was stepping up the landing ramp of his own vessel, the dropship beginning its slow ascent immediately as he stepped aboard before making his way to the cockpit, sitting himself into the captain's chair and turning to look out the canopy of the vessel.

The Mandalorian ship gave off its low roar on the ascent, beginning its trailing of Orson's 'Imp-Falcon'. Whenever he'd jump, he'd be on him regardless.

As much as he could simply blow him out of the sky as it was- he was curious where this shipment was going, see if there was more of his kind to interdict.