Shoring Up | First Order Dominion of Anoth and Faldos

[Ria Misrani]

Objective 4
Post 16

Amaya sat there listening to Ashin but the words turned to silence, the information that was presented shook the Mandalorian woman's world. No longer did she feel like an adult but a lost child, her nose tingled with the sensation that told her tears threatened to fall. Her hands gripped the armrests as she shut her eyes. A few moments later she shifted her position there in the chair. "Let's do this," she said plainly, "I need to know if this Ajira really was my mother." It'd make for two dead parents she needed to know more about and what did that make her in relation to this Karrde? A cousin? Did Ajira have any actual family, and Naboo? Naboo? Where in the galaxy was that? Amaya's head was spinning and she leaned out elbows on her knees and her head rested in her hands. Braids sweeping over either shoulder as she took in a deep breath and exhaled, all she ever wanted was just to be home and she had that - she had it with the Mandalorians and on Taris. Her hands dragged along her face as she sat back up in the chair, "sorry." She managed in a quiet voice with a tear stained face.

[member="Ashin Karrde"]

 

[Progflaw99]

Location: Open Air Market, Faldos
Objective: 4, Escape the Market
Post: (13)

With a frantic gasp Buruk breathed in, his eyes rapidly blinking as he exhaled - an audible groan escaping his lips. How long had he been out? It must have been only a matter of seconds but it felt like hours, a pounding headache filling his head. First he moved his legs, then his arms, scrambling up from the ground where he'd been so carelessly thrown.

His HUD was dark, the particularly hard crash must have scrambled the circuitry, his concern confirmed as he reached up and felt a solid mesh of crushed circuitry and wires on the side of his helm. His second action was to check his surroundings - there in the middle of the street lie the Gammorean he'd fried, the creature rolling halfheartedly as it floundered, bellowing in pain. He'd escaped that but this wasn't his home turf, he didn't know the terrain nor the streets. If he didn't hide, he'd soon be outnumbered and there was no telling where his quarry had gotten to, or if he was even still alive.

Dragging himself along the side of a nearby building, he stumbled through the closest open doorway - a small streak of blood smearing on the frame - Buruk however was yet oblivious to his injury.

 

[Jaron Lesan]

Objective 4: Do my own thing
Allies: Anyone feel free to join
Post 1

Jaron was searching. He was always searching. It seemed his days among the Ren became more about him than his bretheren. Most of them had not been there when he was but a disciple himself. The apprentice of Belis Ren the betrayer was no longer an known commodity, and he liked it that way. It became easy for him to move about. Only those faces connected to an apprentice or those he considered friends knew him. Today his face was covered. His mask was reserved for campaigns in which he was certain battle was coming.

His sabers were clipped to his hip, and as Jaron moved through the chaos that was seeing the death of many pirates, one thing was drawing Jaron into the fray. An old piece of armor, seemingly insignificant, but tied to his family. Somehow the family heirloom had been lost, or preserved, from the destruction of Corellia, and Jaron would have it. It was his birthright as a Lesan. What had his family accomplished since their home was destroyed? Nothing, nothing worthy of receiving the piece of armor which dated back to the Old Republic. It had not power, only family significance, and Jaron would follow the rumors until it was found.

He expected this would be something he had to do alone, but would not refuse any help. The scout was used to working alone, only on the rare occasion did he have someone join him since Daska areas was no longer his pilot. They had discovered the buildings the First Order took first as a base before Dossun became what it was now. He was still proud of the find, and several of his own secrets were still layered into the passages of the original buildings.

With his sabers at the ready, Jaron stepped into the fray, reaching out over the comms as he did so.

["If anyone can read me, northwest tower is occupied by friendlies. I will deal with the pirates here. Concentrate efforts on the northeast. Lesan out."]

Though a Ren he'd never taken the title. His last name carried an importance he refused to let go of.

 

[LT-137]

Objective Two​

Post Nine​

​

There was a moment of uncertainty that flickered through his mind, as he felt the presence of a kind, and a compassionate woman taking her place beside him. While they had little contact with one another during the descent, the former Imperial Knight had felt the gnarled roots of pain clutching tightly at her heart, and felt something akin to pity surge through his veins. She had been through much. And as the markings of her profession had denoted her as a Medic to those with natural sight, the stain upon her soul and the subtle stench of blood on the medical kit held tightly within her grasp had foretold the man of that she was a healer who had seen many lives pass on into the afterlife.

She was marked, just as he was - though in a manner entirely different. Her hands were meant to save lives, while he was forced to take them. Such an interesting dichotomy, Amit mused. Two opposing souls bound together for the purpose of a single mission, and whose paths would forever run parallel with one another, but be doomed to never stride across the same roads as their greatest enemy pushed them towards the terminus of fate. The Disciple’s errant thoughts were corralled by the sudden introduction of a being whose inner demons dwarfed his own, forcing him to withdraw from the metaphysical possibilities that clung around the Good Doctor like a burial shroud.

Perhaps, should they ever meet again in the future, he would permit himself to dwell upon the cancerous aura that stained her soul - maybe even divine what had caused such a festering growth to rise in prominence. Until that day, or moment should come to pass, the Disciple had work to do and couldn’t afford to lose his focus entirely. As an interesting enigma as this… what was her name again?

Irajaee?

Iracha Ben?

Damn. Amit forgot. Perhaps if he just called her Doctor or Medic, the others with him may let her name slip - allowing him to correct his mistake. Such was the folly of a restless mind. It would be something he’d have to rectify in the future, as there was little doubt in his mind that if the woman knew the secrets that scrolled through his mind - that there’d be hell to pay.

Turning his shrouded gaze away from his newfound companions to face those Soldiers that had followed them across the salt flats, Amit silently nodded in the direction of their commander. He laced the simple gesture with a sudden urgency to remain standing where they were. As if the Captain had taken the subtle, aetheric hint, he turned towards his men and ordered them away from the walls.

With the deed done, the Blind Warrior looked to both the Doctor and his Demonized compatriot before speaking through his ivory mask.

“I would say Doctor’s first,” Amit said with a hint of a smile trailing his words. “Had I not felt their trepidation. As it would be an insult to my honour, would you permit me to enter first My Lord Kyrel, and Good Lady?”

| [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Irajah Ven"] |​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 2
Post: 1
In scene: [member="Irajah Ven"] [member="Amit Nykoan"]
Kyrel stood in front of the gates with a squad of stormtroopers next to him as he was behind the good doctor known as Irajah Ven and a new Disciple in front of the gates, they're mission was to deal with the criminal scum on Feldos if at all possible, he had read the briefing given to him before arriving and saw the complication of said criminals masquerading as Imperials, this was completely unacceptable as Kyrel would cut them down regardless as he had done so when protecting the Imperial fleet over Kaeshana, and than again on the surface. This would seem sentimental to him in a way but he would not tolerate failure, he would not wish to capture all as killing a few would make an excellent example out of them, nonetheless as the Knight of Ren apart of this mission he would see that the Supreme Leader's will would be carried out at any cost.

He had known all about Irajah, but the new disciple known as Amit Nykoan he was rather skeptic of, he had not encountered the blind former Imperial Knight until now and even wondered if he capable of serving the Ren despite his compassion. Kyrel would not tolerate it, showing the rabble of any mercy is a waste of both time and effort on the First Order's part as the Supreme Leader demanded results in conquering these worlds. His mechanical breathing was the only sound he made as he heard the young disciple's blathering on names, and had even asked him if he should go first. Kyrel responded closely as he moved closer to the gate his cortosis weaved cape flowing majestically with each step he took. "I think not, I am sure we shall deal with the rabble one way or the other. but allow me."

He said his cold metallic baritone booming as he approached forward, he extended a hand out using the force he had opened the gates as he looked to the stormtrooper commander. "Commander secure the premietier around the area and keep all criminals and civillians alike contained if you see another Imperial that is not accomplishing this task deal with them." The commander nodded responding. "Yes my lord." Kyrel than slowly advanced upon the crowded area drawing his lightsaber, the mission was about to begin with cleaning the filth up.

 

[Syra]

Location: Anoth, Fortress Entrance.
Objective: Secure area, advance.
Post: 2

"Your will shall become mine... do not fight it." More of the same rhetoric from the entity consuming Syra's body, and the more pathetic part of it was that it was working quite easily. The man, or in-between dweller of body and soul, was already lost. His way had become shrouded and obscured with uncertainty and excuses to scrape by in life. Once proud and noble, now after years and bloodied hands, a scoundrel just like these lowlife criminals. How far he had fallen from the respect as an Imperial to the puppet of an ancient war monger that wanted nothing more than to carry on a tradition long since disbanded and fossilized.

"KILL! Maim...slaughter..."

The psychotic rambling kept on, and in a strange sense, boosted the dying conscious of Syra with a twisted morale. Perhaps there was nothing more to gain in this life, maybe it was time to throw in the towel and allow something akin to a grandiose change of course. The once Imperial had his moments of success, but it would appear that fate and destiny had other plans.

"OBEY!"

Syra moved and worked silently, even under the pressure of intense combat. The dark purple blade of the cross-guard lightsaber hummed with glee as each kill strengthened the sadistic ancient Sith. A bolt caught the vessel's shoulder, causing him to stumble and groan in a brief moment of agony. About to be chanced upon by a pair of heavily armored foes, a surprise moment of unnatural brilliance sprung forward in the form of the Force, crushing the windpipe of one with a claw-shaped hand, and the other being carved into with wicked, formless savagery.

"...Push on..."

The vessel obeyed, seeking more to add to the massacre.

 

[Zef Halo]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QaVzv5aR6U​

Objective I
Bust the smuggler's ring
Post I

Six months.

For six months Jude and five other agents had been working undercover on this backwater rock called Faldos. Falkrowe had been used to infiltration and specifically criminally infested areas. He had quite the experience behind him with those so it kind of felt at home, at one point.

Awful, right ?

Well, it is what it is. He was still able to detach himself, at least partially completely from his role. You know that was the biggest risks that undercover agents faced when going undercover. They became who they were acting as. Involuntarily. It's a subconscious thing. Jude had been many times close to the edge and slightly tumbling over. Especially in his early days.

But not now. At least not to that extent.

The six agents were good people. Capable people. Reports were flying each week to command while they piled up the information together and formed the puzzle one day at a time.

Locations, names, sources, roles - everything had been filed.

It was just time for the action.

Bust the ring.

 

[Kuzo]

Objective 2
Post 2
In scene [member="Amit Nykoan"] [member="Kyrel Ren"]

So much of Irajah's day to day interaction with the Force was drawn inward, rather than outward. It was necessary, to keep Gideon at bay. Even moreso since the virus had begun to make strides toward tipping the balance she had precariously kept between her control over it and its ravages this last year. It meant that while Amit could see and sense through the Force things that could not be seen with simple eyes, she was more ignorant of him and the darkness that settled like a waiting creature within him.

In truth, the darkside was an all too familiar sensation to the good Doctor. After months on Maena and Panatha, surrounded by Sith like [member="Carach"] ,[member="Matsu Xiangu"], and [member="Darth Prazutis"], something far more subtle was easy to miss. A familiar undercurrent, rather than an uncomfortable presence.

The dark clad Ren however, was a stronger aspect in that regard. Not power necessarily, though the swagger implied much. Killers, all.

She had blood on her hands as surely as they did.

Without thought, she brushed heavy bangs flat against her forehead- a subconscious tic developed since [member="Darth Carnifex"] had carved his mark there. The rest of the marks against her were hidden by her clothes, or in the lines of well made cybernetics.

"Lord Kyrel, perhaps a lightsaber is a touch premature. We are here to attempt to parlay first," she said, her tone quiet and pitched to reach her two companions other than those who awaited them through the gate.

 

[Zmej Ren]

Objective 4
Post 3
[member="Mishel Ren"]


“Sister Ara will be more concerned with her own issues soon, I assure you,” commented the knight of Ren, securing a plated gauntlet to her hand and clenching her fingers until she felt it fit while giving Mishel a hard glare, “And you’ll do well if you listen to Samka more often.”

As her armour came together, completing the well-known appearance Zmej Ren was known for, she stayed completely silent, checking the rest of her equipment. All was in order – just the way she liked it. Just as the mask slid in place and sealed her face off, Zmej listened to the ship’s soft moans and groans as the descent started, ripping through the planet’s atmosphere. Finally. Her head turned back to Mishel’s form, regarding the brunette with an expressionless glare through the mask’s lenses. Although not against hunting for crystals, this wasn’t the time and place for that. Work and duty always came first, all else meaningless.

“Remember we represent the First Order’s rules and laws. Enforce them without hesitation. Once we’re done and the smugglers understand we mean business, we can speak about the crystals again.”

A thud ran through the shuttle as it touched the ground, no longer in motion. They have arrived, and the armoured knight rose up from her seat, strolling outside, heavy thuds marching down the boarding ramp. Faldos was about to bow to its new masters.

 

[Zef Halo]

Objective I
Bust the smuggler's ring
Post 2

Storage locations - pinpointed.

Associates and their whereabouts - tracked and pinpointed.

Everything had their tag on and today was the day they were going to move on them.

Jude was not going to be part of the side ops, he would be in the primary one where the big fishes were. A meeting of the most influential figures in the spice market in this quadrant.

Evidence had long ago been found, everything was complete. It was just the cuffs left.

It was to be an ugly picture, really. The meeting was to take place during one of the kingpin's grandson's naming ceremony.

Way to ruin a celebration.

FOSB was ruthless, though, they had all they needed to lock this people down and they wouldn't wait another minute so they could finish naming their grandson. They would move now.

"Jay!!! Welcome!!" Cornelia's voice rang through the hall as she saw the blonde man enter. She rushed up to him and embraced him wholeheartedly.

This was going to be awful.

Cornelia and him had developed a strong bond, an affectionate relationship. As friends, mostly. Except for one, two or three nights.

"Well would you look at that - Jayden Hazzaro. In the flesh." Cornelia's dad - Valyo, one of the aforementioned king pins - grinned at him and opened his arms expecting a hug. Jude followed up. "How are you doing, my boy? Very glad that you could make it."

Jayden Hazzaro ? Yeah. The identity Falkrowe was under - a smuggler, a very capable smuggler that was able to bring in tons of profit to Valyo in the last six months. Well, it's easy when you work for the First Order. They got stashes of busted spice and they control customs and control. There was no one to stop him. Not a place where he had to undergo an effort of actual smuggling.

"In the flesh. There you go." Jude hugged the man and then added. "Glad to be here is how I am doing, Sir but most of all glad to finally eat." He chuckled an received a pat on the back and a laugh as a reply from Valyo who sent him to the food section of the gathering.

Cornelia shuffled her feet right behind him.

She wanted attention. But by the Force Jude had to be ready for when the FOSB turned up in.

Picturing what was to happen, Jude felt the grip of sadness around his heart. The consequences of being someone else for so long or just a normal reaction by an empathetic man ?

 

[Eye of Solomon]

​

​

Panathan Starfleet
Strikeforce Hammer

The operation was proceeding smoothly, the fleet had arrayed itself across the system in a grand show of force that allowed the Imperials to monitor every scrap of space for signs of pirates and other ne'er-do-wells that might come across their scanners.

Luckily for Croscal they didn't have to wait long before the ground forces flushed out the parasites that were infected this soon-to-be ordered system.

One of the officers down in the data pits relayed new information to the Admiral and his adjutants, "Admiral, we've got enemy ships trying to escape the system. We're tracking them at mark 08 and 012!" A hologram of the region materialized on the bridge showing the pirates in relation to the Strikeforce's position. They were just about to come in range of the Vengeance of Empress Teta, and Croscal wouldn't give up the opportunity to alleviate the pain that plagued his mind.

"Jam their comms and scanners and move us into attack position. Deploy the interceptors to herd them to us." Two squadrons of TIE/INs streamed out of the warship's ventral hanger, weaving through space to outpace and intercept the fleeing menagerie of pirate corvettes. Several pirate starfighters broke off from the main group to attack the TIEs, but they were at best uncoordinated and at worst abysmal pilots who were quickly torn apart by the vastly superior Imperial pilots who worked as a singular unit rather than individual ships. The rest of the ships attempted to scatter, but were deterred at every turn by the swifter, smaller fighters that hounded them like wasps.

By the time they realized that they were being bamboozled it was already too late, the Vengeance for Empress Teta was practically upon them now. "Fire upon them with the Ion cannons, as much as I detest these vermin they're of more use to us alive than dead." Blue streaks of energy erupted from warship's multitude of cannons, many of them hitting their mark and disabling the ragtag ships who were then corralled directly beneath the warship as it loomed over them. "Send boarding parties down to clear out the ships and detain the survivors."

They'd make a fine tribute to [member="Darth Pyrrhus"].

 

[Progflaw99]

Location: Small Dwelling, Faldos
Objective: 4, Survive
Post: (14)

As his eyes traced around the structure he'd entered he found himself in what appeared to be a small home. On one end of the room was a small range, the other a table - no doubt used to eat meals on and yet the abode remained dim. Whomever's dwelling he'd entered was most likely away, he heard no noise and all appeared quiet - a brief respite from what had moments ago been a hunt to that of a chase. He'd done a 180 with his prey and now he was the hunted. Not a great feeling. A cough forced itself free of his lips, a wracking pain gripping his side. No doubt he'd broken a rib, maybe two in his last collision.

Stumbling, he fumbled for the door control, locking it from the inside. He needed to assess his injuries, something he couldn't do while he was busy running from the mercenaries who his target had hired as body guards. Gritting his teeth he let himself fall onto the small sofa, a sigh of relief uttered as he took a moment to just breath. He felt a pain in his side, more than a rib if he'd guessed. Letting his hand fall to the pain, he felt something, something that caused him to inhale quickly and bite down on his tongue. There was a piece of metal there, lodged just above his hip in his lower back. Holding out his hand before his face he saw the blood. Gathering what strength he had, he carefully removed his helmet, placing it on the furniture beside him - things weren't looking good and to do what he needed to, Buruk would have to doff his armor. So many variables. Reluctantly he shifted as he began removing his armor, piece by piece. If nothing else, the lock on the door might keep anyone from waltzing in on him.

 

[Zef Halo]

Objective I
Bust the Smuggler's Ring
Post 3

"So how have you been?" Jude asked leaning on a wall and munching on some sweet pastries like there was no tomorrow.

"Good, good. Just-" She paused in a moment of hesitation and Falkrowe could decipher why through the Force. Just missing you. "Just a lot of work." She forcefully smiled as she lied. Cornelia was attached to Jude, he'd known it but to this extent ?

He really wished she'd leave him alone. Not because he detested her or saw her as a tool to gain favor (even if that was what he had done) but because it made him feel worse about what was about to happen. It made him waver a bit inside.

Not good.

The agent looked at his holowatch.

"I feel ya. Work's been pretty heavy lately here too." Jude nonchalantly explained trying to force her away but she wouldn't bulge.

"I bet. I've heard my dad shouting on the holo much more often these days."

Well, things were wrapping up around his neck. He's been stressed.

"It's the season, that's all." Jude looked at his holowatch and Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

"You keep looking at your watch, Jay. Do you not enjoy being here or something?" He could feel her disappointment, sadness and expectations not fulfilled thoughts through the Force. Jude had made her attached to him far more than he should've.

10 seconds till assault.

Jude silently looked at her with a honest smile.

"Is that it ? You're just gonna stand there and smile like an idiot?" She spat venomously.

3 seconds till assault.

2..

"You're a good girl, Cornelia. Keep your head up. Always." He meant it.

1..

​

"FIRST ORDER SECURITY BUREAU - EVERYBODY DOWN NOW!"​

 

[Mishel Kryze]

"So then you agree, you have issues," Mishel quipped rather cheekily as she stood to grab her own helmet. She double checked her own gauntlets to ensure their blades worked as they were supposed. "I listen to Samka well enough." She argued through the vocabulator of her breather. A lesson learned from Mustafar, Mishel would require her own breathing apparatus for combat inside it filtered air similar to that of Tygara's atmosphere. The teenager checked her gear over and secured her armor, the sound of the shuttle going through the atmosphere could be heard. Quietly she reflected on the events that led her here - here she thought, she was still here loyal to the Knights of Ren she had fought the urge to run on Mustafar. It had been a moment of weakness and as it was she was scheduled to have her implants and programming reworked to ensure she remained loyal. Mishel's own mask mirrored the designs of the Eldorai's religion with their script carved along its edges.

"Of course sister," she agreed and held onto something as the shuttle touched ground. Pulling her hood over her helmet, a hand ran over the breathing apparatus, she nodded toward [member="Zmej Ren"] and as the ramp lowered she followed the blonde knight out and into the darkness that was Faldos ready to ensure that it would bow before the First Order.

Objective 4
Post 17

 

[LT-137]

Objective Two​

Post Ten​

​

​

Denied the pleasure of charging forth into the fray, with both arms wide open, Amit restrained himself - fighting the instinctual urge to announce his frustration to his companions. He chafed at how callously his words were disregarded for some form of pretentious justice. Yes, they had stolen Imperial Uniforms and Goods, but surely they had their reasons. It was a statistical impossibility for this settlement to be like the others. Even the twinned Suns of Tatooine and the Smuggler’s Moon of Nar Shaddaa had held pockets of decent people - doing what they could to survive. Yet, this town was to be put to the sword because they broke the law of a distant Empire. How… disappointing. This Knight of Ren had encased himself in more than just armor; he had girded his soul in a depthless hatred that brought forth a flickering sensation of pity. How cruel had the universe been to make a man, such as him, bend to the demons written across his flesh?

Amit listened in humbled silence as his Superior had spoken, and was about to comment when the Good Doctor had beaten him to the punch. Those within the walls would be dealt with in due time, but the manner in how they would be treated was entirely fluid. It’s why he had chosen to come along for this mission - rather than seclude himself within the oppressive darkness of the Bastion atop distant Virgillia. The chance that these people could be saved, rather than crushed under the might of an iron fist was too great to pass off to another.

If he were to prove himself in the eyes of his Darkened Kin, he would have to do so in the field - and in so doing possibly put him at odds with those that joined his company. That’d be worth it, Amit mused. My life is meaningless without making an effort to save those that I can. Though he swore an Oath to the Supreme Leader, the former Imperial Knight - four centuries lost - declared that he would defend the people of this burgeoning Empire. That meant those people within the walls, as they were to be Citizens of the First Order soon.

Gritting his teeth, and biting back the words of denial, the Disciple nodded curtly, sending the tails of his ebony blindfold over his shoulder, spilling into the gentle breeze.

“They have taken their first steps down the wrong path Lord,” Amit stated, feeling the alabaster-hued satin caressed his lips as he spoke. “However that doesn’t mean they can’t be guided towards salvation. Again,” He insisted. “I would ask that you permit me to enter first. We need not need to draw our weapons to punish those within.”

| [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Irajah Ven"] |​

 

[Progflaw99]

Objective 1
Bust the Smuggler's Ring
Post 15

"FIRST ORDER SECURITY BUREAU - EVERYBODY DOWN NOW!"​

​

It was with that declaration that Val had entered the establishment, weapon drawn. Unlike the holo-films and entertainment novels however, Val didn't have just a blaster pistol - no, she wielded a large blaster rifle, one that had anyone been able to take a closer look would have recognized it as a DL-87 Stun Rifle, with an extended charge pack. Now that was a party stopper if anyone ever saw one. Of course as per agency standard, she also had a Charric pistol tucked into a holster on her thigh, but the goal here was to capture and arrest. Immediately her eye was drawn to the figure of Jude Falkrowe, one of the other agents she'd never truly had the pleasure of working with, though his exploits were well known within the Bureau. Secondly the figure standing before him.

It only took her a second but as her eyes caught a shuffle to the right, her blaster rifle followed, unleashing a beam of energy directly at a Rodian who'd thought to put up a fight. As the blaster pistol the Rodian had begun to draw clattered to the ground his body convulsed painfully - a fire burned in Val's eyes, her voice cold as ice.

"The next one to try something cheeky gets it twice!"​

​

​

[member="Jude Falkrowe"]​

 

[Ishana Pavanos]

Objective: Anoth
Post 18

Fiend Squadron cut through breaking off into miniature flying V-formations working to cut through the Z-95s. Ishana's Defender now flipped around got the beat on the fething nerfherder who had the audacity to lock them in the first place. Keeping her hands on the controls she viewed the enemy in front of her and moved to line up her shots. A second Z-95 got in behind her tagging her in the back. Banking left she kept her lock on the enemy to the front. Her eyes studied his jerky movements and smiled, as she pressed on her triggers. Ion and laser cannons tagged the Z-95. Her wing mates turned their attention the bird behind her as she kept on the attack.

The First Order would have control of Anoth, and the pirates were not part of the plan. Another smile on her face as she pushed her Defender up, climbing and evading his shots as her wingmen tore through another set of birds. She spun her defender forward locking onto another enemy. Squeezing down on the trigger once more she watched as the Z-95 broke apart before her eyes. Fiend Squadron's results mirrored her own as Pirates began to bite the dust.

 

[RIP Carlyle Rausgeber]

Post: One.
Objective: Put on pants.
Location: FIV Malice
Allies: [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Val Kordova"] |[member="Ishana Pavanos"] |[member="Jude Falkrowe"] | [member="Irajah Ven"]

Carlyle Rausgeber woke with something of a shock as the alarm klaxons aboard the Malice rang. "Five minutes till reemergence, I repeat, five minutes till reemergence to real space." The Helmsman barked. Carlyle knew what that meant. He was going to be needed aboard the bridge to support the anti-piracy operations. Slowly, and steadily, Carlyle crawled out of his bunk. Officers of his rank and command were granted their own quarters. They weren't exactly luxurious, but they served their purpose.

Attired solely in a pair of green, silken boxer shorts, Rausgeber slowly waddled across his room. It was nice, and rather warm. Carlyle had set the heater to a temperate twenty five degrees, something that reminded him of camping on the forests of Dosuun as a child. The admiral crossed the carpeted floor all the way to the metallic locker. Even though the officer had ensured that most of the comforts within his quarters, and by extension office were nice, wooden and homely, the locker which acted as his wardrobe was standard issue.

Carlyle reached in, and slid the crisp white trousers off of the rack. He gently put his fingers in the belt loops, before hunching over as to be able to put on this part of the uniform. There was something comforting about the feeling of the nice, silken fabric on his fingers. There were not many moments to feel such niceties. This was given that most officers uniforms were starched to kriffing hell and back, and the terminals provided no comfort with their cold plastoid interface screens.
Carlyle's left leg was first into the pant leg. The soft, silken white pant leg brushed against the Avalonian admirals hairy legs, and sent tingles of pleasure up his spine. The next leg through was the right, which followed suit. Now Carlyle leaned over further, and slowly, yet surely, began to pull the trousers. The pants slowly dragged against his legs, until they reached their summit. Carlyle was sure to pull the trousers above his waist, as to give him time to rummage around for his belt.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 2
Post: 2
In scene: [member="Irajah Ven"] [member="Amit Nykoan"]

Kyrel could clearly sense the blind one's anger through the force, as he could not hide how he felt when the armored one flat out denied his request. Kyrel fixed him an icy stare as he would not tolerate any disobedience from a Disciple, nor suffer any disrespect as he had to endure such during his recovery on Kaeshana, and he would have none of it. He stood with them as the stormtroopers entered the crowded area securing all exits out of the area and keeping an eye on the people closely. He than heard of Irajah's words and carried out an illusion of respect for her taking her ideas to merit given she was a very valuable member of the First Order. He had listened very carfully as well as the Disciple's words before responding after some careful thought. "As you wish, we may proceed with caution, and we shall try it that way for now, what do you both suggest?" He asked them before proceeding inside.

 

[RIP Carlyle Rausgeber]

Post: Two
Objective: Finish the pants/Move onto the shirt.

Carlyle leaned into the locker, it was packed to the max. Something that Carlyle hadn't been exceedingly proud of. It was filled with, well, junk. Well, not all of it was necessarily junk, just a vast portion of it was. Most of it was holobooks, tomes of histories extracted from archives across the Galaxy. Then there were the holofilms, things Carlyle enjoyed viewing, particularly if the Malice was being deployed across First Order territory, say from Dosuun to Kaeshana.

Then of course there were the trinkets from his nephews and nieces. Various paintings and scrawling's of Rausgeber on parade, or even aboard a star destroyer. He paused to reflect on one of them from his niece Vittoria. It was crude, but what could one anticipate from the artistic abilities of a five year old? She'd drawn herself on her beloved uncles back, with a fleet of star destroyers in orbit. Carlyle felt his heart warm a little bit. He did need to get back to them, sooner rather than later.

But, the admiral had an objective. Rummaging around further, he began to pull out the vast holovid archive. He didn't spot it, until he saw a glint of metal in the far back corner of the locker. Carlyle leaned in, and pulled at it. It was his belt. The admiral rapidly began threading the belt around the trousers, before clipping it together. Now, for his tunic....