Dominion The Troska Treaty Affair [NIO Dom of Troska]

[Shute Gunray]

// Lord of Pestilence //
// Objective // Observe Technoid Manufactorum Product in Action
// Focus // Gat Tambor

---

---

"Mhmm, this burger is so delicious," Shute Gunray murmured, stuffing his face with the oversized junk food he favored so heavily. His lips slapped together as a mix of spittle and crumbs ran down his meaty jowls like a sputtering waterfall. When he gorged himself on the delicious Huttaburger, his mind often wandered beyond the material plane; he found himself exploring something far higher than the simplicities of mortal life. A part of the ravenous Neimoidian considered the transcendent state of mind he received from the patrician taste of Huttaburger far more enlightening than what the Force could provide Sith or Jedi alike. How did the mysteries of the universe compare to the grease sliding down his engorged cheeks? What power could overturn the might of perfectly seasoned meat, slapped between fluffy buns, topped with only the freshest* of ingredients? Nothing. Nothing could beat what Huttaburger provided the Senator of Caamas. It was perfect. So much so, the Master of Ren found himself surprised by the Great Gat Tambor's sudden arrival.​

​

"Oh, Gat Tambor, my friend," Shute Gunray lifted his feet from the Imperial footrest he claimed only moments before, allowing the man to return to whatever duties called him. "I should have brought aboard my droids, you are correct as always," the empiric Gunray turned to watch the Imperial men and women once more, studying their craft and ingenuity with visible interest. "I believe these Imperials are doing the bare minimum to properly put this beautiful machine to work. This likely won't come as a surprise, my friend, but this war machine is without peer. This New Imperial Order is lucky you've provided your services to them," Shute Gunray took another bite of the oversized meal, his sweaty hands gripping it tightly as if he worried it would run away from him.​

​

"You know what would make this machine even greater?" Shute posed the question, using his robe to wipe away the mess decorating his face. "A droid army manning it. If only we had the means of producing such a force."​

 

[Harath Eldar]

// Dar'manda //
// Objective // Operation: Watchtower
// Focus // Trajan Fett

---

---

Harath moved up to the western corner, briefly peering around it to catch sight of the two chattings. Somehow, it didn't surprise the exile the now-dead man's accomplices hadn't noticed the passing of their companion. If it were others at the head of this engagement, perhaps Harath would've questioned their common sense. Unfortunately for them, the two Mandalorians were masters of their craft. Such details showed in the run of the mill murder of ill-prepared mercenaries looking for a quick buck, further hammered home as Harath turned the corner in full. He raced towards nearby cover, diving behind it as they raised their blasters and opened fire. He contemplated the gamble of engaging them directly but considered the idea a frivolous one. The entire point of backup was not to take on each challenge alone, like some cocksure Sith Acolyte.​

​

Popping up from behind cover, Harath unholstered the blaster pistol at his side and sent a bolt at each of them. The first merc found himself disarmed as a searing pain shot up his arm. The second managed to dive behind cover, utilizing the Mandalorian's timing to his advantage. Harath scowled and wrapped his free hand around the pistol. He lined up another shot before doming the coverless mercenary still recovering from the exile's first shot. For good measure, Harath put two more rounds into the guard's falling chest before looking towards the cover. A bolt took him by surprise, sending the cybernetic warrior into the dirt. He grits his teeth, slowly pushing back up behind the speeder he hid behind.​

​

"What's taking you so long?" Harath asked the Mancatcher over their commlink, still scanning the cover for an angle to take the soldier of fortune.​

 

[Vaulkhar]

// Executor //
// Objective // ?
// Focus // Lucina Centaris

---

---

---

"Outstanding," Vaulkhar stated in response to the initial statement. He followed the Commander's helmeted head, crimson gaze halting on the door as well. Whereas the soldier's thoughts shifted to the matters at hand, Vaulkhar allowed his thoughts to wander elsewhere, to a distant memory of a simpler time. For years, the Executor served as the Fist of the Emperor, enacting death to all who opposed the Sith-Imperial throne. The bastard couldn't recall how many times he stood in a similar position, his target dead or denying before him, their only crime? Fighting for the same very same purpose, Vaulkhar swore his loyalties. Had he followed his instincts during such times, he likely would've broken away sooner, perhaps striking out to liberate the galaxy of the Sith's influence earlier. Not that such actions would've accomplished much. What his co-conspirators brought to the table far outweighed the time it took to achieve what they've gained so far.​

​

The Commander's voice brought Vaulkhar back from his silent musings, reporting something to do with whatever he'd been thinking during the Executor's train of thought.​

​

"That is not a terrible idea, Commander," the fallen Jedi muttered from beneath his mask. Truth be told, Vaulkhar didn't consider what came after this little putting. Whether or not Troska came peacefully mattered to Zovesa and Tavlar, not the halfbreed. He knew the combined might of the New Imperial Order and their supporting allies would practically lay waste to Troska if they'd suddenly denied the terms of the treaty after the freeing of its countess. His head drifted towards the subdued soldiers at the Commander's final utterings. In life, Ven would've allowed each of those men to walk free. They were soldiers for hire, not die-hard loyalists.​

​

"Put them down, Commander."​

​

In life, Vaulkhar would've made the right decision.​

​

But he wasn't alive anymore.​

 

[Hunter Blackburn]

// WADDLES //
// OBJECTIVE // Board Hapan Battle Dragon
// FOCUS // Allyson Locke Allyson Locke
// EQUIPMENT // Armor, Rifle, The Albatross

Eyes watching the back of the liaison, Adrial couldn’t help but not trust the woman. He’d seen missions with attaches where men had been lost and the mission flipped on its head. So far the cheerful almost carefree demeanor of liaison Locke gave her a certain charm. Perhaps disarming for most, for the Thyrisian she was still an unknown.

Raising the cup filled with the magical ichor known as protein, Adrial drank of it. He let the sweet taste of vanilla, consume his sense of taste before cascading down to his gut. The soldier didn’t stop till the bottle was empty before tossing it off to the side. Taking out a vial filled to the brim with white powder, Adrial made a line of it before snorting it off the back of his wrist. The powder stung on its way up, a smear of white left across the Thyrisian’s dark skin before he leaped in behind Allyson, only to see she’d already cleared the hall.

Bloodshot eyes looked down on the agent, before looking back to Sledge who gave the all-clear symbol. “Hmmm seems you’re better than I thought. But that’s just the first two. “You know your objectives men! Move out!”

Finally dawning his helmet, and shouldering his rifle, Adrial pushed forward at the head of the group. From around one of the corners a pirate popped their head out firing a red dart of energy down the hall that smacked into Adrial’s chest. The behemoth of a man looking down to the scorch mark left, before leveling his glasteel visor on the target. “Bad move.”

Charging the pirate Adrial grabbed the side of their head, before pulling and slamming their head into the edge of a wall. The insurgents head squished like a rotten jugga fruit. Bits of crimson and flecks of pink coated Adrial's arms from the hands to his forearms. A streak of red across his helmet. Letting the corpse slide to the floor, Adrial checked his map not even attempting to clean himself of the gore. “Keep down this hall!”

Opening a private coms between himself and Allyson. “So why did the Empire deem you as the one to be sent with us? You one of those NIO spooks?”

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Objective I : Time To Go
Tags : Wraith Ravraa Vyshraal N-K 3PX Knight​

---

---

<“N-K? N-K do you read?> Lyra barked as the comm filled with static, her eyes flying to the team monitor at the corner of the HUD. Eyes searching the cerulean lines, the droid wasn’t offline yet..on instinct her helm swiveled gauging the hallway section they had taken point up in. The team was shifting nervously, a force user had made contact and Lyra felt the first bead of sweat build on her brow. Tapping the interface panel with a degree of impatience, the reconnaissance droid was moving into position; the first pictures flooding her screen. She considered the map where N-K’s position sat, for the briefest moment she considered storming after the droid..

Be realistic.

She couldn’t look her betters in the eye and say the mission had been compromised for the sake of a droid. She didn’t feel an ounce of guilt, necessary casualties she didn’t have to break the news to a family about. It wasn’t a matter of steeling herself, but Lyra dug her knees a little deeper into the marbled floors waiting as visuals flickered in. Taking stock of the mercenaries through the screen vent-identifying the fire power they were packing. The sound of her breathing reverberating through the helmet.

Numbers running across the screen until..faceless men just hired guns and the figure at the desk; some ugly shavit. A captain if any of the marks meant a thing. She raised a hand catching the attention of their squad, faceless helms training their gaze on her. Her hand stalled, about to make the call to move out when the droid rotated. Catching a glimpse, on the couch sitting wedged between two men..Lady Irene. The lot of their posture stood, generally relaxed, but ready..Lyra had considered calling it a bust in the office, to seek out the other floors but they had their target now..

<”Wraith we’ll be coming out hot, standby”>

The logistics flickered across the screens of the fire team and Lyra twirled her hand, throwing them the sign. Lyra’s hand flicked along the controls, changing the objective of the Augur drone. Splitting their numbers as they secured the hall out. Yovae and Deppe flanked her left and she motioned back to the togruta changing the line up, pulling up two seasoned soldiers. She needed a bit more precision on hand for the initial burst.

The rangers crept up the hall with growing pace, quiet in their approach less they tip off the stray patrol; infrared their vanguard. Closing in on the door her heart hammered away, the thunder before the storm. Lyra took point, Jackal hefted up in her arms as she broke the hall first, slamming a boot into the door; sending it flying open doors clattering. The Augur had crept in from the vent just above the mercs, dropping like a puck-self destruct triggering as it sent a handful men scrambling with attention diverted. Like a pack of wolves, they took them by surprise descending upon the mercs; rifles singing as they opened fire. Lyra’s finger slid over the trigger locking on the man in the middle, leveling him with a three burst to the chest; recoil washing over her. It wasn’t clean but she was only looking to get the job done.

They had caught them off guard.

She pivoted on the right, sights passing over Lady Irene as blood red blaster fire crossed paths shooting in conjunction with the trooper on her right. The remaining mercs were raising their weapons only to be dropped before they had a fighting chance, killing the men side by side to the woman of the hour. The blaster fire echoed, scorch marks steaming as the fire team flooded the office, putting out final bursts, a stray bolt passing too close to comfort. Lyra rushed the woman, dropping one hand off the rifle, motioning for her forward.

“NIO, we’re here to get you out,” Lyra barked, lacking any assurance and delicacy one may have expected; voice distorted by the helmet. The Lady seemed in one piece, able to stand on her own two feet. It would do. Closing the space between them as she spoke, Lyra clamped a hand on the woman’s shoulder dragging her out just as the boys mopped up the last few shots. Now to hope the droid had kept the force user busy long enough.

<”This is Watchtower One, target acquired starting route to evacuation!”>

The halls were a blur as they made a sprint for it, they had stirred the rats nest up now and she corralled the Lady Irene in the pocket of soldiers as they pulled out.

 

[Lucina Centaris]

// SCAR // NOVA-CLASS //
// OBJECTIVE // TREATY AFFAIR //
// FOCUS // Vaulkhar

A simple nod from the Commander.

He understood every word that was presented to him through the mask. Nova Troopers are currently ending the lives of the guards. Making it quick as the commands were given. All that were here, all that opposed us, all who stood with the Sith-Imperials would be slaughtered. Looking over to the man's desk. A light saunter was taken. Sitting down easily into the chair with hands gently rubbing the armrests. The Commander eased forward and looked through the desk. Taking a leisure time to find who worked with and for him.

Once he had found it, one could tell almost the glee upon his face through the helmet. Looking at the datapad, scrolling with his gauntlet clad fingers through the list of those who worked directly underneath them.

Holding it up and shaking it lightly towards the Inquisitor,

<</ Consider this a hit list. />>

Walking towards the door, fingers flying across the screen, all the data was sent to the Nova Trooper's HUD systems. They all had the list, identifying features, names, everything on them. Also being sent to the Executor.

<</ If there is any message to be sent, I feel the following one, will be heard. />>

​

A mere hour and a half later, The commander held the collar of a man's shirt. Thrusting the barrel into his mouth, twisting it against his tongue, letting his salivating mouth coat the barrel of the gun before letting it get flashed with blood. His head blowing up to bits from the pistol. Hands still as a statue with the body being released from his grasp. A child and wife in the corner. Hiding from the blood and gore covered Nova Commander.

Stalking ever closer to them, A hand reached out. Yanking the child from the mothers grasp before the child was smacked upside the head with the pistol. Knocked hard enough to the ground, arms were up in a ready to fight position. Showing signs that brain damage would be left a real problem should he survive. THe mother screaming obscenities at the Blackened trooper. Cursing his name to any god or religion that would listen.

Yet, he casually walked up to the woman, Holstering his weapon before closing his crushgaunts on either side of her head. Pushing them together with all of his might. Hearing careful and slow cracking of her skull. Screaming in pain as her brain was crushed underneath the pressure. Collapsing in and finally leaving her body limp. The once yellow accents were covered in gore. More like a black shadow covered in blood and guts. The body slumped to the floor as the child was getting back up.

It was not difficult for the Commander to end the child's life. However, as he was innocent to the world, merely culling the future generation from rising up raised as Sith-imperial, A blaster was brought to the child's head, and ended quickly.

A slow walk out of the room was met with the other Nova troopers coming towards the commander.

<</ More than eighty-percent of the names have been cleared. />>
<</ The others? />>
<</ Either not here, or have evaded our attempts. />>
<</ Executor will not be pleased with that. />>
<</ We do know where most have evaded to, likely heading to a store room. />>
<</ Burn it. />>
<</ Sir? />>
<</ Sergeant, I do not have a stutter. />>