Shoring Up | First Order Dominion of Anoth and Faldos

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Amaya Verd"]

Objective 4
Post 10

Very, very unobtrusively, Ashin reached out to the Force to get some sense of the girl's feelings. They matched the physical signs: confusion, loss, turmoil, disorientation. Somewhat to her surprise, she found herself sympathetic. It had been almost half a century since she'd first come to understand that she was adopted, but those feelings came rushing back.

The conference room table was small enough that she could lean across and rest her hand on Amaya's in sympathy. "I've just called for the medical droid. We can take care of this quickly. Then we can talk, or you can rest - we've got some empty quarters. Your ship was heavily damaged, but we can take you and it to Cloud City." She hesitated. Many people, herself included, responded to others' emotional turmoil by finding solutions to problems, but her wife the empath had told her long ago that people mostly just wanted sympathy. Someone to listen.

The droid hovered in and did something mildly uncomfortable to each of their right index fingertips. After perhaps ten seconds, it nodded. "You share a small percent of relevant markers, consistent with second cousins once removed. This is not a conclusive indicator, but the possibility exists."

"Thank you. Please excuse us."

As the door shut behind the droid, Ashin's hand tightened on Amaya's. "If you're a Cardei and a Verd," she said quietly, "odds are you can touch the Force. Stretch out with your feelings. What do your instincts tell you?"

 

[RIP Carlyle Rausgeber]

Post: Three
Objective: Get a shirt on.

Carlyle pulled the officers tunic off of the hanger it sat on, and put his arms through the sleeves. He gently pulled them through, and pressed the tunic together. It was tighter, and more insulated than the Krennic replica trousers. But Carlyle didn't mind that. In a ship that was constantly chilled to twenty one degrees, the warmth offered by the tunic was something to be craved. Carlyle gently sealed the uniform, ensuring that none of his bare, naked chest would be flaunted around like some comfort officer on date night.

Admiral Rausgeber dashed across the officer quarters to his desk. He opened the top draw, and found what he needed. His code clearance cylinders, and the piece of clothing that no other officer had. Something that all craved below him. His rank insignia. He pressed the red and blue metal to his lips, kissing it before pinning it to his chest like a proud child. "Look at me now Mum!" Carlyle snapped to no one in particular. He moved towards the door to the wider star destroyer when he realised. "Where's my cape?"

 

[Hansen]

Emelie Sterren
Faldos Atmosphere, Smuggler Bazaar
Objective 4: Raze Smuggler Bazaar
Post: 2

Spoiler: Equi[/COLOR

pment]

• First Order Pilot Armour
• SE-44C Blaster Pistol (Matte Black, left thigh holster).
• F-11D Blaster Rifle (Matte Black, right thigh holster).
• T-7 Ion Disruptor Rifle (Stored behind seat in Cockpit, carried by sling).
• Vibro-knife (Boot Concealed).
• Parachute (Attached to Cockpit Ejection Seat).

"Incoming contacts! Eyes on!" Emelie cries aloud within the confines of the cockpit. Blue eyes examining the tiny contact blips on her targeting computer. Little did she know three different mercenary-piloted x-wings were closing their distance to the special forces TIE Fighter. Emelie's hands and feet manipulate the craft's accelerating with a smirk and guides her craft high up into the sky before executing a knife-sharp turn. There they are; Three antiquated TIE Fighters and Emelie's lips hymn disrespectfully at them. "Alright Rook, get ready! We're going to pass them and when we do knock them out of the sky with the Mag-pulse warheads." The X-wings come within firing range and a volley of red lasers pass their TIE fighter by, Emelie's hands and feet guide the fighter masterful roll and these bolts pass around the fighter and between its solar panels. Emelie's thumbs depress the triggers and the heavy laser cannons of her fighter splutter, Ion engines roar past the three X-wings, one of them is struck and hurtles towards the surface followed by a stream of smoke. "Now! Get em' Nightingale!" The Special Forces pilot over Emelie's shoulder sights the remaining two fighters as they bank around to try and come in for another attack run, Emelie feels the recoil of the powerful magnetic pulse launchers through her hands and pedals; They threw the TIE fighter off course they were so potent. The launchers slam into the smalll fighter craft and the pair of X-wings immediately disintegrate. Emelie notes the loss of contact on her targeting computer and as she banks around she's greeted with the sight of two puffs of debris hurtling down towards the Bazaar, raining over it.

 

[Zmej Ren]

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



Finding a smuggler haven wasn’t all that difficult when infiltrators have already sabotaged most of its operations and the Ren was the last nail to its coffin. She immediately knew what sort of society she had walked into, aware what masqueraded as a bar featured quite a few illegal operations in back rooms. A FOSB agent she had worked with to cripple the smuggling operations and prevent the rogues from bringing terrorist forces through the First Order’s borders. His features lacked the usual sharpness present among spies and agents, but perhaps that was exactly what made such a perfect fit to be planted among the criminal elements. Even though his appearance spelled a rugged homeless, the man’s hawk gaze was as effective as ever. Spying on Zmej’s entry, he excused himself and left to the toilets, his work done. Smoke and chatter filled the bar, yet the latter died down when her plated form marched in, the Ren’s very appearance having everyone know she did not come to drink and laugh with friends.

“How many of you are guilty of supplying terrorist forces?” Zmej mockingly questioned, causing several pairs of eyes to exchange glances. One quick hand opted to draw instead. Spiralling around, a readheaded outlaw unleashed her two DL-44s, old classics more common among her line of trade than battered, yet fast spaceships. She squeezed the triggers twice – all shots bounced off the Ren’s blood red blade, then a single gesture tore both guns from the smuggler’s hands and left her with a death sentence on her head.

“Wrong move.”

To further dissuade others from showing off their guns, Zmej applied tremendous pressure upon the woman’s neck. Remembering Ara’s annoying song furthered the blonde’s anger and finished the job, ending the smuggler’s existence with a crack, snuffing her life out effortlessly and without batting an eye. Shock and fear alike mirrored in all eyes, as most have heard about or seen the legendary lightsaber wielding warriors. Now one such destroyer stood right in front of them, the menacing hum of her lightsaber promising swift retribution should any attempt to heroically save the day.

"Anyone else wishes to make an example of what happens when you raise a weapon against the Supreme Leader's Hand?"

Her grin grew in size, daring them to attack. None did.

 

[Kuzo]

Objective 2
Post 3
In scene: [member="Amit Nykoan"] [member="Kyrel Ren"]

In the simplest sense, Irajah Ven had no authority. She was not part of the military or government structure, and she didn't even know about the Order of the Knights of Ren.

However, with the exception of the black months of Panatha, Doctor Ven was a woman accustomed to being in charge. It wasn't a matter of ego. She was just the sort of person to get something done, and frequently people went along with her. She didn't particularly know why, or even poke at it over much. But when things needed doing, well, Irajah wasn't shy about stepping up to make a decision.

So despite that lack of authority, she was perfectly prepared to answer him.

"We meet with their leaders," she responded, her tone calm and reasonable. "We keep our comm channels transmitting, so if there is any problem, we will not even need to go out of our way to call for back up. We are here to offer the peace, order and protection of the First Order. We are here to offer aid, medical care, jobs, and security, if they are willing to take them, yes? Let us show them, through our actions, what that means. Civilized, in a manner the Grand Moff would be proud of."

 

[Samka Derith]

Location: Anoth
post 1

"I have arrived!" The young Ren announced dramatically. Her shuttle had landed just a few clicks to the South East of the First Order's Garrison. Her mission - to oversee a storming of one of the more minor pirate bases in the region but one which apparently held a person of great interest. This was the nest of Tysan Grimolts a man who had declared open season on First Order civilian vessels for looting and plunder.

Yet as faces turned to greet her, something felt off. "Where've you been, Ma'am? Action's over." The man speaking she recognised as the officer in charge of the Stormtroopers here, Rys Ithur. She could identify him by his blond hair combed back, clearly the man she was to meet with to discuss the oncoming assault. However he wasn't even in combat armour.

"Over? Explain, Captain," Samka frowned.

"They attacked us before you got here with too much ferocity, Ma'am. They exhausted themselves in the process. Seeing we had the advantage, I ordered the troops to press on and take the base in a counter attack. Mission was a success," the officer smiled clearly looking rather pleased with himself.

"And the target?" She questioned.

Captain Ithur gestured towards a pair of Stormtroopers taking pictures of a dead body. The dead body of Tysan Grimolts.

"Oh," she replied. "Good work, Captain. I guess."

It wasn't her fault she hadn't been around. Samka was a busy girl and Anoth was no easy trip.

"Well," she said slowly, coming up with an excuse to justify the long trip over here. "I've arrive to oversee the clean up operations. Obviously. What are we all standing around for? Refortify our position just to be certain, there may be reinforcements and prepare the enemy wounded for interrogation."

There was a sudden bustle of activity as Captain Ithur and the others rushed to fulfile her orders. Samka bit her lip in mind indignation. Apparently she'd missed all the fun.

 

[Hansen]

Thalera Isianthar
Faldos Orbit, FIV Ashira, Bridge.
Objective 4: Engage Smuggler Vessels.
Post: 3

"All engines back full!" Thalera barks the order to the bridge crew and surely enough the FIV Ashira pulls away from the approaching pirate corvettes, although they still approach closer. The Ashira's shields ripple as they are struck by laser cannons. The weapons officer warns Thalera about incoming concussion missiles. "Put damage control teams on standby!" The Governor demands, adjusting the rebreather sitting over the bridge of the nose and around her angular jaw, both hands clasp at a guard handle at the base of the Transparisteel window. The Concussion missiles impact the Ashira and the star destroyer sized interdictor shutters, to her great satisfaction though the pirate corvette over in front of the Interdictor's bow begins to list and is pulled towards Faldos' surface helplessly. Ashira's turbolasers offer it no reprieve and the two TIE fighter squadrons blast it without relent on its way to the grave. "I want accurate damage reports now!" Thalera pivots in her heels and strides towards the holo table just in front of the bridge door, gesturing a warfare officer to accompany her. "Bring up the sensor data for the concentration of enemy fire." A colour holographic display of the FIV Ashira shoots up and the red indicates a focus on their port and starboard gravity wells and Thalera slams a closed fist into the table; Irritated that the two pirate corvettes had out-manuevered her, although it wouldn't matter in the end. "Flight!" Her eyes find the officer who jumped at the sudden snap of the Eldorai woman. "Order our squadrons to attack the Corvette off our port side. Engage tractor beams and catch these corvettes and pound them with our turbolasers!" The man gives a simple 'Yes ma'am' before distributing the orders to their tractor beam crews and before long Thalera feels the Ashira's inertia shift slightly beneath boots; The Ashira had caught her prey into a perfect trap. The damage report is delivered and Thalera muses over it on a datapad for a moment. "Gravity Wells Damaged; Redlining. Hull breaches" Thalera pouts her lips for a moment before giving the order. "Take our gravity wells offline and divert that power to our deflector shields! Get those breaches sealed up" Thalera breathes a sigh of relief; Minimal damage and for the career Army officer this was the first time she'd captained a ship that had sustained real damage in combat. The Corvettes become locked in a power tractor beam field, Thalera pivots in boots and approaches the transparisteel glass and is forced to watch hyperspace wakes to tear open in the distance.

 

[RIP Carlyle Rausgeber]

Post: Four
Objective: Cape and boots.

"Oh for karks sake!" Carlyle cursed as he began looking around his room. "Where the kark is it?!" He was desperate at this point, the contents of his locker spilled onto the carpeted floor. The admiral desperately looked around the room, "Oh for karks sake!" He swore again, "No bloody way I'm going to be able to find this." He sighed and collapsed in his chair, looking out around the room, "Piss." He exclaimed, groaning as he pressed his hand to his cheek. That's when he saw it. "Bed sheets, of course!"

Carefully and methodically, Carlyle tore off his top sheet, and began to tie it around his neck. It was a bit like a wedding veil it had a huge train dragging behind. "One minute till reemergance to real space." The intercom buzzed.

"Kark!" Carlyle swore, he began to forcefully slide his feet into his boots, and felt them crumple. He knew it wasn't exactly comfortable, but he needed to get out there. He needed to take command. Satisfied in them being safely around on, the officer began to jog out the door. However, it closed on his sheets, and Carlyle Rausgeber, face slammed into the ground.

 

[Zef Halo]

Objective 1
End the day
Post 4

[member="Val Kordova"]


He left.

Jude sealed his mind with the Force and becoming as tranquil as humanely possible. Emotions within were tighly held but they were escaping despite his grip. As deaf as he tried to be to Cornelia's screams, Falkrowe still felt the need of a cigarette and something to keep his mind on.

Lighting a cigarette, he approached an agent he'd heard about but never met before. Worked in one ops before but never met face to face.

"Kordova, right? The Trigger happy Kordova?" He smirked.

 

[Alleycat]

Objective: BYOO - late to the party
(1)

Daska was supposed to be out there with her squadron, but it seemed someone had thought playing a Joker's Day prank on the CO would be a good thing - WRONG! The "Ice Princess" was melting hot, and when she found out... Well let's just say they'd wish the idea had never crossed their mind.

The Flight Captain had timed things so she could get in a quick workout in the ship's gym followed by a shower thereafter before it would be time to deploy for their Anoth mission. This ritual always helped with pre-sorte jitters and cleared her mind of extraneous thing. But no.... the golden blonde had not only been stranded in the shower without her clothes, Tess' towel was missing as well as was her comlink so no way to call mayday. Though to be honest, the elite TIE pilot really didn't haven anyone that would answer it if she did as that was the sad truth.

So WWYD in this situation? With the ship personnel all busy readying the ship for imminent battle conditions, Goldilocks exited out the communal fresher on the deck where her quarters were, and walked bare naked down the long corridor dripping wet to her assigned cabin. It would take Daska a couple minutes to dry off and change into another flight suit, then get down to the hangar. All she could hope was that there were still a few pirates left for her otherwise friendly fire might be her Joker's Day revenge.

 

[Hansen]

FN-888
Faldos Surface, Approaching Bazaar.
Objective 4: Raze Smuggler Bazaar and Detain Suspects.
Post: 3

Spoiler: Equipment

• 1x FO-02 Stormtrooper Armour (Red Officer-Pauldron)
• 1x T-7 Ion Disruptor
• 1x F-11D Blaster Rifle
• 1x SE-44C Blaster Pistol
• 1x Z6 Riot Control Baton
• 1x N-20 Baradium-core thermal detonator
• 2x M1-VX "Vee Ex" Grenades
• 3x M1-NR "Nerve" Autoinjector

Joan's feet land into the Earth, sinking into the mud somewhat. Rain battering against her pale white armour, left-hand reaches over shoulder and untethers herself from Malachor's rappelling coils. The Officer drops one knee into the mud, shouldering the T-7 Ion Disruptor Rifle and changing her helmet's vision mode to thermal. Sev grunts, landing behind her quickly followed by the other members of one section. Joan's spheres offer a glance to the left and she watches third section and two section dismounting from their repulsor tanks, all taking cover beside their vehicles for now while they organise under the cover fire of the company's several armoured fighting vehicles. "Sev, we've got plenty of thermal contacts up ahead in the buildings, but it looks like they're pulling out deeper into the bazaar for cover." Joan looks towards the Stormtrooper and he gives his Captain a silent nod. Joan's grip tightens on the Disruptor, with a powerful weight it is held against shoulder. "All Ironguard Callsign this is Ironguard-Alpha, Rules of Engagement within the bazaar are as follows; All armed contacts, unlawful combatants or fleeing suspects are fair game. Out." The Stormtrooper section gathering behind Joan let out a boisterous roar to that news, they were being cut loose and unleashed upon the enemies of the First Order. They'd be going into a cesspit of vice and corruption and would burn it to the ground. "All Foxhound callsigns, advance, advance, advance." Joan rises to her feet, leading the Ironhounds personally in an extended line of arrowhead formations towards the Bazaar with their weapons shouldered and tank fire whistling overhead. Leading them to their targets in the distance, rain splutters against helmet on the clear visor channel so Helden switches to Thermal. "Move, move, move!" Joan orders, all but sprinting towards the bazaar. The sooner they got out of the open the better. With the risk of snipers or mortars hammering them.

 

[Syra]

Location: Anoth.
Objective: Securing intensifies.
Post: 3

Burning; the feeling that spread across Syra's body, the wound in his shoulder throbbing from destroyed nerves and scorched flesh. The body that the Sith spirit inhabited was strong, capable of overcoming things that any normal civilian wouldn't fathom. As the vessel pushed onward, the ancient entity pressed heavily on the mind of the former Imperial, feelings its control taking full effect over every limb, digit, and muscle. Every ounce of pain, all the phantom feelings of cybernetics just beneath the skin.

Syra could feel the fleeting remnants of his conscious finally slip away in a strange, metaphysical sense. Memories of his pride and old life slipping by like leaves floating atop a stream, going into nowhere - nothingness. The abyss.

Upon entering the fortress in question as part of his contract, Syra was no more. The Hound was finally awakened, alive. Slow, deep breaths filled the entity's new ears along with the cacophony of distant combat. Raising his cross-guard blade before his gaze, the grip on the hilt tightened with a heightened morale. Back in action.

Traversing down a corridor just ahead, The Hound was cut off by a small squad of raiders, all opening fire without even a second of hesitation; but alas, their efforts would be no match for the bloodthirsty warmonger of old. Dark purple blade mocking them as it spat back their bolts with nondiscrimination, each of them falling to mortality's end. The ancient Sith dragged his lightsaber along the floor and across the backside of a fallen criminal, hearing the flesh sizzle and split.

It was good to be back.