The Wild Wild East (Primeval dominion of Irn)

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz, the handsome man that he was, grinned cheekily as he swept past the cute receptionist in the foyer of the government building, giving her a small nod. Whether or not she actually knew his chosen skin was completely irrelevant; to anybody looking, the interaction would look familiar, reducing his chances of being discovered even further.

So far, so good.

He had yet to figure out what exactly the rather dapper gentleman he'd stolen did, but at the moment, the shifter was more concerned about finding somewhere quiet and secluded to accept the encrypted message. A small frown marred his otherwise elegant, almost aristocratic features as he wandered the halls of the building in pursuit of a secure spot. No luck. The whole place was teeming with bureaucrats and government officials, with more than the occasional guard thrown in to spice up the mix. There was nowhere he could go.

Ah, frak it, the hunter thought and fiddled with his holoprojector as he finally responded to [member="Anja Aj'Rou"].

"Hello, darling," Laguz greeted the Host Lord of the Primeval, the Harbinger of the Gods and the single most feared leader this side of the Galaxy.

"I'm fine, just arrived at the office. So sweet of you to ask," he forced his muscles to form the perfect imitation of a genuine smile, and to any prying eyes, the shifter would look as if he was talking to his wife/mistress on a holocall. Perfectly normal, perfectly inconspicuous.

"How's your day, honey?" the man continued to smile obnoxiously as he maneuvered through the paper-pushing crowd and ever upstairs. The gradient of power was always from the ground up, and Laguz was aiming for the highest echelons of the Blackhold.

 

[Tyro'din]

[member="Mikkel Markov"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

As Tyro'din was cleaning up the blood of the piece of shavit he had just gotten rid off a call from the Host Lord to update her on his situation came in. "Target has been removed, beginning to investigate living area to look for an idea on how to act." Was his short reply before he set about finishing removing the blood.

Once he was done he followed through with what he had said and began to look around the room. From the looks of things Tikrey had a lavish life style and liked to show it- arrogant, he had no cameras in his room- paranoid of anyone gaining information. Even if it was only two things it gave Tyro'din enough information to have an idea on what his act should be. Walking over to a mirror he began testing his arrogant and annoyed look.

When he heard Mikkel enter the room he spoke up from his position by the mirror. "Tomorrow we meet with a minister from the government, anonymous so far, to discuss the best ways to incite blood-lust among the people directed towards the Blackhold. Please read through the datapad on the side to see copies of the correspondence."

 

[Boethiah]

Anja was beginning to take in reports from those below. One in particular that drew her attention was the very unusual reaction of [member="Laguz Vald"] , what did that agent think they were doing? At least that was the thoughts running into the head of every officer cringing in hearing the somewhat flirtatious small talk. The Host Lord's face had no visible reaction, at least not one that could be interpreted by those around her and from the holo she would seem as imposing as ever before. How could someone in her position react? Likely with an iron fist.

Finally she spoke, "It was wonderful, I expect you to arrive home when work is over, love.", she spoke in an almost sociable accent. It didn't take a genius to realize that they were portraying cover when receiving a message in the midst of a crowd. Well, I guess that meant her crew was not necessarily made of Genius. The Host Lord knew one thing well -- it was reacting appropriately in any situation.

Tyro'din's message was far more straight-forward, a trait she appreciated in the Bothan. "Acknowledged.", she responded. [member="Tyro'din"]

 

[Ebenezer]

Barnabus Friemann was alone that night, not knowing what is fate would hold until the amphistaff coiled around his neck and constricted. The last thing he saw was a slug with a hundred legs crawling over a kind of horizon of the weapon's body. Peering into his soul with those merciless, black, spherical eyes teeming with evil glee.

"Target eliminated, host lord, Barnabus Friemann has been replaced," the voice hushed into the communications. "We got another fence-sitter to join those demagogues today. Perhaps Nogras smiles on us today?"

The croke crawled on to the soft bed that the man had inhabited, the blankets would most definitely be an upgrade from sleeping on his amphistaff again. Sleep was a fair mistress indeed.
"remind me to dunk that body in acid tommorow, amphistaff," as if it mattered, "Eat what you want... I guess..."

 

[Laguz Vald]

"Why of course, dearest," his muscles were beginning to hurt from the fake smile stretching his lips, but Laguz was willing to suffer a little longer to maintain his cover. Slipping into an elevator and punching the button before it got crowded, the faux official finally relaxed and leaned back on the cool metal.

"Worry no more, Host Lord," said the rather handsome gentleman once the doors closed on the unwitting audience. "I shall soon have the chief dancing on our strings. Say the word, and blood shall be spilled."

It was so easy, spawning sentences like that when you knew what the person on the other side wanted to hear. A well-placed word could change the tide of a whole battle, and while this particular battle had seen no victims yet — apart from the man whose body Laguz had stolen — it was still a vicious one. Barbs and lies would be traded before the day was done, and the shifter was good at both. This world of half-truths and omission was like a second home to the shifter who had none, and he would do his best to bring this war to completion.

With a small hissing sound, the elevator opened again, and Laguz signed off with one last corny goodbye to [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] before stepping out on the top floor. Now to see what sort of power his new identity carried.

 

[Tyro'din]

Tyro'din walked down a hallway at a brisk pace. While not unusual in and of itself what was unusual were the expensive robes he was wearing. Tyro'din was usually someone who put practicality above style and as such would rather be dead than caught wearing the disgusting things he was at the moment. He would gladly rip them off and burn them if it didn't go against his cover as Tikrey. Tikrey had been approached by someone within the Irn Government and as such Tyro'din was currently en-route to a meeting with the Minister of Defence to debate how to turn public opinion against the Blackhold until the people were baying for blood.

Tyro'din swept into the room, sneering at the human in front of him. "Well, lets get this over with." He snarled, using as much pomp in his voice as he could. "I have better thing to do." He gracefully lowered himself into one of the seat at the desk and began speaking immediately, stopping the human from doing so. "You want to find an excuse to wipe out Blackhold without being thrown from office. Simple. get the people to ask you to do so. Its going to be easy so sit back and listen." As he finished speaking he gestured to Mikkel to leave the room, as if he didn't want anyone but the client hearing what he had to say. In truth, Mikkel was to go and add a sabotage program to the computers of the Government. The program had lines of code embedded that would link it to the Blackhold as the ones who committed the sabotage.


[member="Mikkel Markov"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

The nature of [member="Laguz Vald"] was a bizarre one to say the least but it was effective. Anja had confidence that they would likely be one of the more decisive presences on this world but didn't underestimate [member="Tyro'din"] either, the Bothan was aggressive but that also meant he was determined. Determination could play a major factor and [member="Mikkel Markov"] would prove a useful ally to the agent. Turning her attention to more news from others, one stood out most.

The Croke she had discovered on Crakull, [member="Ebenezer"] , who seemed to have taken the identity of someone else. Much like Laguz, the croke could effectively take the form of anyone else -- it was trickier but at the same time perhaps more resilient, despite its limitations. The orbital fleet had made its runs again, and again, and it seems two particular people were busy exploring the derelict station not too far from where she was positioned. Interesting, perhaps their finds would prove valuable.

For now she waited, patience was a virtue.

[member="Vilox Pazela"]

 

[Kitsune]

Doop. Doop. Bobbity, baba. Kitsune tapped her fingers softly against the desk of the politician. She had this funky jazz song stuck in her, although no one understood what the hell she was singing and humming to.

The politician, named Nikolas Khrushchev, watched on silently. He was a large man who wore wire-brimmed spectacles, which seemed to enhance the size of his face to a degree. Bernia fidgeted as he waited for Kitsune to speak.

"So. Khrushchev. Lowtime politician. Lowly origins."

 

[Reverance]

Objective: Not really sure, might ask
Allies: [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

The Right Hand exited hyperspace, on the brink of orbit, as the Immortal slung itself into a rotational breach around the planet. Aboard, the Wrath placed a calm hand against the helmsman's shoulder as he scooted him away from the communications relay. Truth be told, he had heard there was some goings on at the factional level for the primeval, at this specific planet, but was dreadfully removed from what that might be. In a sort of polite sense of consideration, he would gesture towards some form of direction, in determination of whether the power within grasp was truthfully needed. He suspected that it might be appreciated.

"Primeval...this is a servant of the One Sith." He wasn't big on giving his name out on public channels. He did that once, in mock of a faction, and they turned that around in a method to identify him. While he called their bluff, knowing full well that such things were not plausible or possible, as far as he knew, it left a poor taste in the mouth. "We are offering aid in your endeavors. Please direct where our efforts are best suited."

Gabriel handed the communications device back to the helmsman. Truth be told, The Right Hand was becoming infamous for showing up everywhere. By now, people might actually start making connections.

 

[Laguz Vald]

Ding!

Another floor up, another power level cleared. This was fun. Laguz fixed her skirt as she flashed a rather coquettish smile at a random passerby, earning herself an odd look from the official. Huh. Apparently, her newfound form wasn't the type to flirt with others. Too bad.

With a mental shrug, the shifter dismissed that particular plan and ducked into the toilet to touch up her appearance. Instead of make up that the others in the bathroom used, the hunter simply messed around with the odd tools to cover up minor corrections to her face obtained by far stranger means. Just a few small things here and there, and Laguz emerged from the room looking at least five years younger and ten years hotter. Blessed be the flexible.

Of course, cheating is generally frowned upon, but the sniper had either missed the memo, or simply didn't care about it. Either way, she was dead-set on morphing her way straight to the top, assuming some influential, yet prominent position, then work her way from there. At this point, their plans were still very much pliable, and as someone who relied on that same adaptability for a living, Laguz could certainly appreciate that; it gave her more... wiggle room, so to speak. An unfortunate choice of phrasing, you might think, but you'd be wrong.

The shifter smiled as a bureaucrat held the door for her, dazzling him with a bright white smile as she slipped inside the chamber, her goal clear before her eyes.

 

[Boethiah]

The Host Lord sat aboard her command ship in space, Order's End, the deliverance-class heavy cruiser which served her well over the years. Hailing her was a vessel familiar during the time on Dantooine; interesting. The captain made sure to relay it directly to Anja rather than let it blurt out over all the intercoms for every member of the crew o hear. That being said, she was curious as to why the Sith were here yet again.. Of course their alliance did mean they tended to support each other, but Irn was an experiment; not an invasion.

"Simple summary: A civil war is brewing and we're using both sides as a proxy... To test their strengths, and to apply new strategies.", she responded. What could the Sith do to help? Well there was the derelict station but perhaps it would be more interesting if they were to choose a side as well, to see how effective the Sith were in the field of battle...

The thoughts were quite entertaining, the usually orderly Host Lord was now having fun with the idea.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Tyro'din]

"Now," began Tyro'din, his voice taking on a seductive and hypnotic tone, while it wouldn't actually make someone do something, it made them more willing and pliable, "One way to make the people want you to fight is to use fear. Fear is one of the biggest motivators in any being, it makes them do things they never would and if you can manipulate fear you manipulate the people. The other way is to make the Blackhold seem like demons in the public's eyes."

Tyro'din paused to let the man in front of him take in everything, unknowing that Tyro'din was planning on using fear against the man when the sabotage Mikkel was currently doing was discovered. "Now, option one: Fear. You could forge documents that scouts have seen heavy artillery outside of the city, being taken to the area Blackhold are said to be. Create fake videos proving this as 'true'. Add transport ships carrying weapons carry weapons to docking logs and then say that you lost track of the weapons after they convoy was attacked. Fake reports that a spy was found within the government but no information was recovered as he took a suicide pill. Make the public believe Blackhold are preparing to attack, make it their fear. They will beg for you to attack first, to protect them." The bothan reached into his robes and withdrew a small bottle. After pretending to take a small drink he offered some to the minister, who took some. With an internal smile of glee, Tyro'din watched as the human swallowed a drug that would make him more susceptible to what was said to him once it took effect. The only downside was that it would take time and as such he would have to keep pretending to be Tikrey.


[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Kitsune]

Khrushchev slowly gained his senses and stood up. "I want power."

"And power is what you shall recieve. However, I do not know of your loyalties." Kitsune quickly responded.

She paused for a moment before walking closer to Khrushchev. "I will require guaranteed economic exports of the planet in exchange for your position of power. You see, we, the Primeval, care little about politics. Primeval cares about power. I care about profit."

He simply nodded in response, "I agree to your terms."

"Great, get me a list of your closest allies and they shall be spared from the purge."

He shook his head and said, "Just my family."

Knocking on the wood of the desk, she smiled in agreement with his answer and left.

 

[Laguz Vald]

The unfortunate wife of the chief of Blackhold found herself staring back at the unfeeling eyes of Laguz Vald, who probably looked like some secretary of state at the moment. Poor woman; her last memory of this world would be of a fake bureaucrat who chucked her out the window. That has to be somewhere between 'drowning in your own vomit' and 'electrocuted in a bath' on the scale of stupid and/or ignominious deaths. If the hunter had a heart, she'd pity the lady, but she had three, and none of those had any room for compassion left. A few centuries of terrible deeds will do that to you.

"Goodbye," she said coldly as her fingers finally let go of the bunched-up blouse in her grip, and the wife plummeted towards the ground a few miles away. Even modern technology would be incapable of identifying whatever splattered remains they found on the asphalt below.

With that done, Laguz turned on her high heel and walked back inside, settling on the couch to wait for her target husband.

 

[Malok]

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

Blackhold.

Apparently this particular faction had amassed arms, thereby violating the treaty that held it bound. Personally, the Sith Lord did not give a flying kark about this particular offense, but what he did value was the opportunity to see what was stockpiled. The reasoning behind this was twofold: he could adequately gauge the strength of this cell by its armament...and he could propel the Primeval objective here by placing the spotlight onto the shady practices. As such, Darth Metus did not arrive on the planet as the terrifying Sith Lord, but as the CEO of Stargo Defense Enterprises.

Descent onto the planet's surface occurred with little incident, for the cell had received communications beforehand. They were dazzled with promises of Droids and firearms that could crush their opposition; but first they needed to show him what they had. Metus jazzed it up as "a basic inquiry", so that he may offer armaments that did not overlap with their current stock. Corporate jargin. Bullpoodoo. That sort of thing. As such, upon arrival, the Sith Lord was promptly escorted from his personal vessel into the bunker in question.

There, before his very eyes, crates were opened...and slugthrowers were produced. Oh, and blasters. A few thermal detonators too. "The pickings are rather slim." he said, before discreetly touching his temple. While this act may have been interpreted as a "thinking mechanism", it, in truth, engaged the visual recorded upon his helm. A live feed was then patched through to the Host Lord, who could use this information as she saw fit. "You're going to need a lot more than this if you want to crush your adversaries. Luckily, I'll gladly provide you with what you need."

 

[Darth Vazela]

| [member="Bal'gul"] |

The Dark Master was also eager to discover the history of this place. A derelict station floating above a lost world. He had never even heard of Irn before. What could they learn here? Wondering, Vilox Pazela turned down towards the hall, quiet. His thoughts were also on this Bal'Gul, whatever it was. How had he got on his ship? He presumed that it had boarded when the Gunboat was leaving Primeval space to join the dominion.

 

[Boethiah]

With the factions more or less manipulated, it was time to enact the grand scheme...

"Shall I alert them, Host Lord?", the captain asked.

Anja's eyes were staring into nothing, her mind in deep thought. It took a few seconds for her to react, "Yes. Now that they have their place in government... We're going to need to start this civil war.", she responded. What she was thinking about likely escaped the understanding of her officers; few wondered -- it was better to leave it be. For she was a prophet, too.

A message would go out via encrypted intercom, "The Host Lord is eager to see this war happen soon... Make sure that is so.", the captain sent word to all of those below who would manipulate the planet's two factions into fighting each other.

That was all he said. Turning back to the Host Lord, she gave him a slight nod That was enough, the message was sent.

[member="Tyro'din"] [member="Laguz Vald"] [member="Mikkel Markov"] [member="Kitsune"] [member="Ebenezer"] [member="Vilox Pazela"] [member="Reverance"] [member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Tyro'din]

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

Tyro'din was still sat in the room with the minister an hour later, waiting for the drug to take effect. He nearly jumped for joy when the man trailed off mid-speech, he had been considering just kiling the man and being done with it when the minister would just drone on and on. Jumping to his feet Tyro'din ran around to the desk to lean down and whisper into the man's ear. "You are going to writing a message saying that Tikrey is part of the Blackhold and was sent to kill you, that you managed to hide sending this message. you will also send this video along with the message." Here Tyro'din was refering to the video he was picking up from Darth Metus as he sent it to the Host Lord. "You are going to also say that the Blackhold will be moving against Irnfall and that everyone should prepare for war and plan a pre-emptive strike. You will set these to be sent in ten minuets." Tyro'din stood back as the human did as he said. "Kneel in the corner." He now watched the man calmly walk over to a corner and kneel. Stepping forwards Tyro'din drew one of his knives. "Final order: die" He then drew his knife across the Ministers throat before leaving, knowing that war would soon be coming to Irn. As he was leaving he recieved Anja's message and only smiled as he headed for the ship that he signalled, ready to return to the Order's End to report to the Host Lord personally.

 

[Darth Vazela]

The station's name was ironically known as the Irn. It's purpose was to monitor communications coming back and forth from the Irnisle system, direct traffic and hold a complement of TIE Fighters and Bombers for it's defense. Logs read that a crew of twenty thousand had served aboard the station, with over a hundred thousand residents living there. Vilox deduced that Irn was meant to be a colony of some sort, where people could move too and make a new life. The last logs read at 423 ABY, detailing the events of a virus that had swept through the station. The log's creator, an Commander Sylas, ended the report by saying that the Irn had been locked down to stop the spread of the disease. No logs had been made since that time.

Sections of the Irn had been left exposed to space, no doubt caused by the events that had followed the lock down Sylas had caused. The Dark Master recognized the signs of death, with scorch marks littering the walls from blasters. If the Gulag virus had not killed them, then they had killed each other. Exploration of the hangar bays decuded that the TIE Fighters and Bombers that had been on board were no longer there. It was possible that someone could have stolen them after exploring the Irn before the Dark Master, but Vilox had a feeling that they had been taken to escape the station, the fighting between the people on board and the Gulag virus itself.

Stood on the bridge, Vilox turned off the logs and activated the sensors of the station. He scanned the surface of the planet. There were life signs in and around the planet, both on it's surface and in space. They were Primeval, but other than his allies, there was nothing on the planet. The Dark Jedi lifted his hand and pulled onto the Force to try and sense deeper into the station and beyond into the Irnisle system and it's planet. He felt the warm embrace of death overcome him all at once. He had once experienced this on Anoth, when he had been responsible for a genocide in retilation to an old foe. The feeling brought back memories of that time. Lifting his hands to the sides, the Dark Master allowed the history and death of Irn overcome him, whilst thinking of events that had yet to transpire.

 

[Laguz Vald]

The wife — Arianna Balyris, but you don't really care — lay sprawled on the black satin sheets of the royal bedroom, dressed in nothing but an enticing, lacy red negligée. Laguz didn't really care if the woman whose body she'd stolen usually acted this way, because abusing the Zeltron pheromones would sure as hell render the approaching husband incapable of such higher thoughts. And let's face it; if they were married, he'd certainly want a piece of that ass. It was a mighty fine ass, after all.

"Darling," she cooed as the tall man stepped into the bedroom, extending an elegant hand towards him. "Come here." Her voice was low and beckoning, full of throbbing desire, and her husband didn't need to be told twice. With a haste one would never ascribe to the ruler of Blackhold, he started pulling off his clothes, nearly ripping a shirt in his hurry. The shifter didn't bother hiding her devious smile, tracing her fingers up her thighs as she watched him undress.

​

​

After all was said and done — but mostly done — the couple lay in the tangled sheets, breathless and sated. Who said you couldn't have work and play? Laguz wrapped herself more tightly around the king, her warm, whispered suggestion trailing on the edge of climax. Her naked body brushed against his as she pressed her lips to his ear, the idea planted when the ruler of Blackhold was at his most vulnerable. The hunter whispered of riches, of the nights they could spend together in the mighty palace of Irn, of the land that would be theirs once they wiped the opposing government off the face of the planet. Whether or not seed of dissent would take root remained to be seen, but Laguz was confident that they would succeed.