Dominion Who Will Save The World | Dominion of Nyriaan | NIO

[Arjant Clevenger]

H I E R O P H A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
NIV ‘TREGESSAR’

“I do indulge, yes,” accepting the cigar from the Admiral. “Thank you,” taking a quick notice of the First Order emblem on the cigarra before lighting a flame on its tip, taking a few small puffs from the herb. Taking in a good, fulfilling puff from the cigar he placed it on the cigar tray close to him before continuing the topic with his Imperial counterpart.

“You do bring up valid points on those two individuals, Admiral. Yes, they can be used as a political tool to our advantage whether it’s to sway the thoughts of the people at home, or to influence our image in a positive light to those outside our borders.”

“However, it’s a double edged sword when using examples like Dooku and Ravraa as the...oh, what’s the phrase? Poster boys of the Empire? However you see fit to call it.”

Taking a few drags of his cigar, before continuing.

“I agree on having ‘soft faces’ at our disposal, but ones that are groomed and controlled. Dooku and Ravraa are individuals outside of my control, and I wouldn’t waste a thought in attempting to groom them as you said; especially with the exiled prince of Serenno. I’m sure there is better material, so long as it’s under control.”

Another drag of his cigar.

“I didn’t come all this way just to gripe about those two individuals, Admiral. I asked you a question and you answered it with an honest opinion, but there’s more to why I’m here. I’ve come to present you an opportunity.”

He reached inside his jacket to pull out a flask full of liquor. Would be a waste to not complement the cigar with a drink.

“Before I continue, do you still pride yourself as an adamant aggressor towards the principles of republics and other democratic institutions?”

“And how well are you in keeping a secret?”

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Location: Nyriaan Orbit//NIV Tregessar//Conference Room D
Objective: Discuss logistics with Arjant Holesco

The Grand Admiral lit his own cigar, and chewed on it, taking small puffs of the herb and eyeing the man. He gave Holesco a courteous, but studious gaze. Analysing the man like a droid would. Reading his expressions and features, and yet it did seem that the older looking gentleman had a card up his sleeve. Ravraa and Dooku did not seem to be his targets. At least not for now. He could concede the man's point of view regarding the soft faces. COMPNOR did not have a hold on either man. But at the same time, Carlyle enjoyed there was no control. There was benefit there. COMPNOR being tied down with those two while Prefsbelts ambitions could proceed unobstructed.

The question as to the democratic institutions and republics was a bit out of left field. So much so, Carlyle raised an eyebrow, "I seem to remember the Galactic Alliance of the last generation," Quite strange given his own youthful glow, "Wasn't quite democratic." He corrected with a wry smile. But he certainly had remembered the demise of the leading triumvirate. "I am of two minds on the subject if I may, Colonel." Rausgeber looked over at him, and took a small puff, "Succinctly put, I do not believe the New Imperial Order for now, has any business extending our supply lines and territories, besides the annexation of smaller, independent regimes on our frontier, like Nyriaan."

"While I believe if we had a philosophical discussion on the merits of democracy, you and I would be very much so on the same page.... I don't believe aggression is right now the most advantageous venture." Carlyle paused, "I think as it sits, we have too many enemies. And it seems the Sith Empire has hardened its resolve. As shown with failures like Dantooine." His voice tightened at the reminder of the defeat, "But Dantooine also illustrated the very real enemies our sovereign has made on Naboo and Geonosis. And the Confederate Navy's ability to extend an armada in defence of even backwater worlds of an ally."

Carlyle then paused again, to collect his thoughts, "But, were these arguably existential threats to the Empire vanquished, I would be more than amicable to organising a surprise offensive." A wry smirk passed over his lips, "The battle of L-49, was my brainchild dear Colonel. I know exactly, how to launch a surprise offensive."

"But I also Colonel, give you my promise as an officer and gentleman of my strictest confidence. Nothing shall leave this conference room."

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

G e n e s i s _ A c t u a l

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
ARUMED

​

The woman wished she could put the stretch of terrain and locked down facility behind her, maybe it was the high tensions that filled the rank already that stirred up the memory. Falling in on Snake’s flank and staring down the compound reminded her too much of Folende. Her gauntlets tightened on the stock of the rifle as she unslung the weapon. The weight felt out of place but she raised its sights as they crept out like a machine. There was a scope somewhere in the underbrush tracking them as they approached the facility, Moneus was the closets to eyes in the sky they would get.

The agri-word was almost a decade behind her, one crack pot facility banking on medical malpractice at least lacked the same explosive punch-she hoped. Her lips formed the silent series of curses from beneath her helmet, getting pinned down and chased in a circle only to get blown up but some hired security. It struck a nerve as her adrenaline spiked. Each step was measured as they kept a low profile with the thick of the jungle behind them.

The sheen on the armor mute as the activated camouflage flourished in the dark. A gate alarm trilled as doors lumbered shut as the last vehicle pulled through, personale disappearing behind the duracrete slab. Overhead the targets registered across the HUD as Nima’s thumb brushed her vambrace, a high pitch whine passed over the audio receptors as the tech went dark. The distance between the walls and them passed in tense silence, the shadow of the sentry passed on the wall overhead. Nima was the first to move as she prowled down the wall side following the security’s movement. She had to glance back toward Snake hoping he’d follow the cue, Genesis could move like a single organism but she wasn’t going to hinge any continuity with the COMPNOR agent.

Her armor creaked as she stepped out abruptly, vambrace aimed down her sights as she fired off the grappling line at the edge of the wall. Her boots hit the wall and Nima dragged herself up the towering wall, the metal cord clicking softly as it strained. Her eyes flickered between the passing patrol, hooking her gauntlet over the ledge as she hauled herself up onto the wall; maneuvering through the wire. A static buzz filled the comm, Moneus was pinging her location as the patrol circled through.

It wouldn’t be long before they caught wind the systems weren’t down from internal issue.

When her boots hit the catwalk she opted for knife strapped across her chest as she stooped low, drawing the dagger. They were a hundred yards away from the gate, the yard below was clearing out as vehicles unloaded She slunk down the rampart striking down the back of security. She buried the knife to the hilt in the man’s neck, numb and following the basics of muscle memory. Her gauntlet wrapping around to muffle the man’s dying breath-his body jerked and flailed in a last defiance and Nima couldn’t help by grimace. She dumped the body over the side of the wall, stirring the wire and heaving the corpse’s weight.

<”Snake let’s drop in and move along the service alley here, double time patrols coming-”>

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Areyon]

A R E Y O N
OBJECTIVE 2
Gear: Lightsaber Pike, Armor

Areyon was brought up with the belief that the Sith would not dare to touch the New Imperial Order unless they had a wish to slaughtered.

From Bastion to the events transpiring now, he was repeatedly proven wrong.

From his position, he was able to get a better look at his opponent. The beast towered him multiple times over, its big arms and burly legs could probably break him in half. He would have to keep his distance, otherwise, he would get pummeled instantly. The mine that they were fighting in had enough room for him to move around, giving him the advantage. But it did not mean he could be careless.

The beast took off from its previous position and started a sprint towards him. For its massive size, it was able to move fast. It held up its shield with its arm to protect from frontal blows. To Areyon, it was a simple maneuver to strike straight through the shield without being crushed on the wall behind him. He activated his lightsaber pike, beckoning the Sith towards him.

"Foul creature! You dare attack the Knights of the Imperial Order and expect to get away with it?!" Areyon called out to his opponent.​

He did not hear a response, only the patter of footsteps that led closer and closer towards him. He held his lightsaber pike upwards to strike the shield when it came near, and he positioned his feet to quickly dodge afterward. As soon as the beast came close, his plan went into motion. Areyon struck the shield then quickly moved out of the way to see the Sith slam into the cave walls. He let out a quick sigh, but then looked at his now deactivated lightsaber. He realized that the shield was obviously laced with cortosis and that he was a fool for not realizing that earlier. His lightsaber was practically useless for now. He sheathed it and stared at his opponent, who was out of the wall he was stuck in.

"You believe a small inconvenience such as this will stop me from killing you? Wrong."​

Areyon balled his hands into fists and raised them. His training in hand-to-hand combat would prove useful.

"FACE ME!"​

ENEMIES: Velok Brokentusk

 

[Velok Brokentusk]

Areyon


Face him? In due course.

Backhand him? Definitely.

The cortosis shield covered everything from fist to elbow and a bit beyond both. As a striking surface, it worked great across a variety of usages. Velok had, for example, used it to spank Areyon's daddy. Now Velok whipped around with a backhand strike that would have pulped the average humanoid. A well-protected, Force-strong Imperial Knight could wind up with a broad variety of outcomes and injuries. All of the above were just fine by Velok. The goal was straightforward: to tenderize the meat, and if that took a while, so be it.

 

[Marcad]

Objective: This is mine
Tags: Mogra'teksa

​

Any resistance made by the miners or security personnel was met with the Iron Will of Cewr and his stormtroopers. It was a mixed bag of morals and ethics. Some were bloodthirsty, eager in shooting someone with lethal intent. The other half or so were more compassionate, still retaining their humanity and sense of benevolence. Shots were fired, ringing throughout the mining compound and alarmed everyone from the impending assault.

Fight or flight?

It depended on the individual.

But then...

“Interesting...”

He could sense something...no, someone among these mines. Their aura in the Force was something he detected and hard not to be distracted. Especially with that hint of fear within her that she desperately tried to control, yet overwhelmed her. Intoxicating for someone with the Dark Side at their disposition. This particular individual was strong in the Force compared to everyone else near his vicinity. But just because of her nature with the Force didn’t mean anything to him. The Galaxy had more than a dime a dozen of people able to wield the Force. What did matter was how skilled they were and their constitution.

Was she weak and pathetic? Or would she prove otherwise?

The Dark Jedi walked into the mouth of the cave, his back against the light as his body bathed into the darkness with every step. A violet light beamed from his lightsaber, the only source that allowed him to see through the darkness.

“I can sense your fear, it’s no use to hide from me. It only prolongs the inevitable.”

 

[Ghoul of Moridinae]

PREY: Hans Rennagen

The Light made the man stick out like a firebrand in the many-many eyes of the Ghoul. He was an offense to even occupy the same space, the same hallway, the same world as the Ghoul. The Light was a blight, it was a sickness that gave hope where there should have been fear. It tore away the one, singular pleasure that he had in this universe.

His teeth scraped against the skull, attempting to crack it open with his internal set of teeth. He had a special taste about him, this meat. There was something different to it that the Ghoul couldn’t totally place. Perhaps it was the feeling that radiated off of the still warm viscera, off of the still twitching bones and blood that had just so recently ceased it’s pumping. Maybe it was because he was the last of the Rebels to hold against him, maybe it was because that with that he watched the twilight of his friends instead of simply getting to wish that they survived. As he was certain that the appetizers did. Even in their final moments, there was always that hint of hope. Hope for others, hope for some form of salvation.

When you’re the lone survivor, that hope vanishes. You are the last, and the terror bakes into your flesh.

And how he loved the taste.

The Light, it was closer now. There were bits of voices scratching at the end of the hall. Needle-teeth probed in the shell. Juices. Warm and fresh.

Pulled away just as soon as he was reaching his prize.

A possible threat.

The blooded fangs clattered against one another in the front of his mouth, making a nearly rattling noise that echoed through the entirety of the empty hallway. Beskar claws dug into the wall and cloven feet simply punched into the durasteel. Earning shards of metal cutting into and scraping away flesh.

The monster did not care, for he was still hungry.

Claw, step, claw, pulling him up and up around the hallway until he reached the ceiling, neck twisting on it’s spine until it was craned around to look at the floor. Claw, step, claw, it began to inch it’s way atop of the ceiling. Closer and closer to the source of the Light burning at the end of the hall.

“Haaaans….” A low whisper now, almost whimpering at the idea of the taste of a fearful servant of the light.

 

[Mogra'teksa]

O B O T H E R
THE SIDEWINDER
OBJ | THIS IS MINE
Marcad

“I can sense your fear, it’s no use to hide from me. It only prolongs the inevitable.”

He was closer now, much, much closer. So much so in fact, it made her heart nearly stop, and she gasped silently- gulping down air as some petrified fish launched out of the water. She was out of options, she realized quickly, and it was all she could do to remain hidden at the present moment. The twi'lek's knuckles paled around the straps of the pack clutched tightly to her chest and she closed her eyes for a moment, praying to whatever hellish forces above them that something or someone would intervene and buy her enough time to bolt for freedom. ​

Yet as the hammer fell and no help arrived, she grasped that she was going to have to get herself out of this one. She wasn't sure how she was going to manage that, but she was going to figure it out. She had to. ​

There were no other options.​

The Force itching at her fingertips reminded her that she wasn't so helpless, even if she was outnumbered, there was a chance she could manage to make it out, whatever pain that would actually require from her remained to be seen, and she was no stranger to acknowledging that fact either. Her fingers released the straps of her bag and reached back, tucking her trailing lekku into the massive mouth of her hood, and she pulled it up to better shroud her tattooed features. Her mercenary gear was a dead give away she wasn't Sith, at least from appearances, and the twin blasters holstered on the outsides of each thigh perhaps reinforced that fact. Even still, she would be a threat if she made herself known. ​

Better now, than never.​

The lethan steadied herself and pulled a breath from the damp air, wetting her lips after. This man was between her and the sole way out of this abysmal tunnel. All she had to do was get by him and whatever forces he inevitably brought along. Easy, right?​

The violet, humming light cast by what she immediately recognized as a lightsaber blade sent shivers down her spine, and made her even more thankful that she had managed to get the raw beskar given to her by Talohn shaped into arm guards for this exact reason. She would leave her pack behind as she shifted up onto her toes and steeled herself at last, swallowing down her fear and replacing it with determination.​

The hooded twi'lek stepped out from her cover, rising to expose herself in the dim, distant light offered by the Knight's lightsaber and she stared at his silhouette, unable to make out anything distinctive given where it was he stood. Feth. Was he an Imperial or a Sith? She couldn't tell, and she wasn't exactly sure it was going to matter even if she could. One thing she could faintly sense, however, is the murmuring chorus of the Dark Side within him. ​

That's probably not a good thing.​

"I'm just a merc," she stated boldly, "I don't have anything to do with the mess up top." The woman jerked her head towards the cavernous ceiling in an indication of the impacts of war taking place above them. Her hands were not up in surrender however but remained by her side. And the left, that one closest to the cache flexed slightly. Veins rose to the crimson surface, struggling beneath the strain she tried to conceal.​

The empty durasteel crate vibrated in growing intensity before being launched towards Cewr at once, hurled by a taxing effort with the aid of The Force. It flew towards him haphazardly, metal groaning all the while, and it was all Mogs could do to hope that was a distraction enough for her to run.​

Yet adrenaline took over and the twi'lek planted her feet, doing the unthinkable- she quickly drew her right blaster and fired a shot of orange fury. ​

​

 

[Djorn Bline]

P U N I S H E D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
BODYGLOVE
ARUMED

They had to move fast with the jammers disrupting the sensors and other receptors belonging to the sentries. It was their window of opportunity to infiltrate without tripping any alarms from being detected. It wouldn’t be long until the technicians would realize there wasn’t an internal glitch in their systems.

Both operatives scaled the wall, climbing over the last bit of duracrete to find their feet landing on the walkway of the large perimeter wall. Two sentry guards were nearby, one for each of them. Both Djorn and Nima opted for a knife to eliminate their targets, focusing on slipping their knives through the weakest point of their armor; that being the neck and joints of the body. A vibroknife pierced through the bodyglove and flesh, activating the ultrasonic generator of the knife which would vibrate and cause more damage. A feature able cut through bone and even durasteel. More painful than a simple stab.

Their corpses were tossed from the wall, laying at the feet of the wall from outside of its perimeter. They wouldn’t be found for a while.

<“I hear you, Genesis,”> he briefly replied to Nima, but he took a good glance at what lay ahead of them. The view from the ramparts helped to give a quick visual reference on how to efficiently get sneak through the compound. It was big, that’s for sure. Lots of buildings meant for housing, armory, communications, and other purposes. Biggest of them all was meant for the research labs.

<“Let’s go.”>

He dropped down from the rampart on to the earth. Like an alleyway with whatever buildings were close to the wall. Different avenues they could take with the gap between the space. A blaster pistol with suppressing tech occupied his hands as his carbine was slung on his shoulder.

<“Follow me.”>

Crouched down and sliding against the wall of one of the buildings, he peaked around to see if one of the alleged between buildings were clear.

Indeed it was.

Taking that route he followed down the space, mindful of his surroundings and ears perked for any noise. Farthest they were from any noise, the better. Coming up at the end of it were the trucks they saw previously which began to unload their cargo. He pulled his macrobinoculars to get a closer look.

<“Cargo containers and...well, shit. You don’t see this everyday. Pulling out people from the trucks. Different species of humanoids.”>

And passed the device for Nima to look for herself.

<“Guess that explains why there’s so many buildings around the place.”>

Nima Appw'rii​

 

[Bastard]

Errant's flight came to a sudden and abrupt halt as Immortous extended his hand and splayed his golden digits. The Albino's dark blade fell back to the earth beneath him, his strength faltering once the Sith Lord denied him the very oxygen he required for life. He gasped for breaths, struggling against the might of the dark monstrosity and his malignant artifact. His pale fingers rose, clawing at his neck as if the telekinetic grip could be broken through physical touch. Nothing came from the futile attempt. He found his vision growing darker, his mind under the assault of the undead lord.

Flashes of rotted, clawed fingers appeared within his slowly diminishing field of vision. His body betrayed him, unable to resist the mental assault. It felt as if his skin was flayed right there and then but rotted simultaneously. When he looked at his fingers, Errant's skin slowly darkened, growing a sickly brown color before melting away inch by inch. Small insects burrowed through blotchy, cracked bones. They looked up at him with crimson in their hateful gaze, razor-sharp teeth flashed knowingly. Blood poured from his many orifices. His entire body failed him, unable to answer his struggles for survival. This was it. This was where the Albino would find death.

And then it wasn't.

Ardent light flashed just beyond the shadows in his vision. The lightning surged towards the Sith Lord, heralded by the snap-hiss of the Lord Executor's brilliant blade. Errant pushed against the might of the Sith. He used the distraction to clamp down on his mind in a flash, putting to work the techniques passed on by his mother, side-by-side with the natural defenses his mind had within the force. His duel-blood, echani and epicanthix, did not fail him. Nor did the secrets Spencer nurtured within her bastard son.

His feet found the ground, though he could not maintain his footing. Errant crashed to the floor in a tangle of cloak and armor, thrashing about wildly as color returned to the world. He clumsily searched the dirt for his weapon. The cold hilt of his dark weapon called to the Knight. It beckoned him back to the battle, promising the end of the Sith who humiliated him in such a manner. The Crestfallen ignored it, content to just climb back to his feet and regain his senses.

Kascalion Giedfield | Darth Immortuos | Rurik Fel ​

 

[Darth Immortuos]

Short lived pleasures. Much like life itself the satisfaction of watching Bastard slowly struggle for more air was a twist in the Sith lords mental. Sustenance itself derived from the mental anguish and suffering. It came to a swift end and by crackling energy. A sulfuric eye peered what lay beyond the Imperial knights but such an action only perceived a flash of light. Shadows danced a footloose dream to the celestials above as the body and figure of Immortuos hunched backward with a spasm of pain. Electricity arcing through the his body and the bodies mangled together with him. Between the flashes and surges of power the sight of multiple skeletons attached to the undead lord jerked and seized.

Echoing throughout the cavern itself sounded the screams of the dead. Akin to a thousand souls burning alive. Louder and louder it grew. Ignited in flame, half of Immortuos's robes and cloak blazed. The sight there of snapping the Sith lord into a frenzy of movement. The lush sound of moist flesh meshing together forewarned the sudden ripping of muscle and sinew as the undead bodies afflicted with flame were ripped from his side by force and thrown asunder to the opposite side of the cavern. Trailed mid air scraping against the ceiling before landing with a thud covered in charred cloth garbs. Rolling with momentum the torn creature came to a halt and lay still. Appearing life-less. A husk of a man once long ago. This husk was Immortuos himself. Ravaged and frail in form. Thrown by his attached from to gain a tactical advantage. Distance and thus time. For now the advantage was his alone as he lay dormant gathering darkside energy in mass and honing his concentration.

The construct of blackwing with the appearance of Immortuos shook no more in front of its attacker Rurik Fel . Composure took over the perceived Sith lord as the lightning dissipated into its very body. It had recovered and now dawned a dread visage. Toothy grin that was far too wide. A hunger echo'd from its expression. Endless hunger. The window of soul displayed a vacant room filled with hatred and crazed with animalistic bloodlust.

Somehow sentience had seemingly escaped its grasp though. Signs of wrongness were bound to it. If Rurik was as truly perceptive he would soon realize the golden gauntlet was missing from the creature in front of him. The only thing to be taken in was talons and claws raised to dig into flesh. Without warning it leaped forward with preternatural speed, seeking to tackle the Lord Executor to the floor.

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Armor: X | Lightsaber: X | Right Arm: X
Objective: Fight Someone
Engaging: Bastard

​

It was not a difficult thing to be drawn to this world. Rather the opposite, in fact. With all the death that was infesting it this day, it was quite easy for him to rush towards it like a moth to a bright flame. You see, the Devil, in his wide range of fancies and desires, had always had a liking towards the chaos of the Galaxy. More specifically, a fondness to always be in the middle of it, win or lose, life or death. He had proven this time and time again since his reawakening some odd decades ago and given the events on Helgard...well, he showed no signs of ever wanting to stop that. The business with the Warlords and the deeply set machinations of Darth Voyance and Vora Kaar would only prove to further his savoring of battle. Although it would inevitably shift into a much more leadership position than what he had become accustomed to since the day he was born. Things remain the same, but also change out of necessity.

And the Devil would be no good at running Hell if he were always away from his throne.

Thusly, this battle was more like a dessert after an epoch of main courses. A last, scrumptious pastry before rest and a night of reading and observing. Perhaps he was becoming more like his father than he cared to admit. More than he could ever admit, for this would have only added credence to the persistence of the specter. Following him in short bursts like a sprinting dog after its treat-holding owner. Regardless, he had remained in the shadows for much of the battle, surprisingly enough, striking out at the unwary rebellion of this world to build his lust for true combat against the villains further up the mines. Masking his presence in that of the other Sith who had - also surprisingly - arrived for their own purposes in these mines. In another life, he would have questioned them. But, Darth Immortuos was of the Warlords as well, powerful beyond measure in his own right with very few that could match him. Darth Perfidiae was new to him, although her age and power spoke of her having lived through some of the most trying times in the Galaxy. Velok Brokentusk was a trained warrior, a brutal combatant of size and strength to adored domination and the battlefield. And the Ghoul of Moridinae was...something that not even the Devil could find reason in. Malignance incarnate.

So he remained silent and watched as the dance of blades commenced further up between the Imperials and his fellow Sith, an invisible Cheshire grin cracking his jaw. It was a dangerous mixture that he bore witness to, one of elegant blade work and primal panic. Often, such a mixture would have broken the resolve of the elder Sith, but not this day. No, he needed to resist the temptation longer until the singular morsel that would quench his thirst for blood was presented to him. What luck he had that this morsel was presented so quickly. While the larger feast that was Rurik Fel had appeared in such dramatic form, he was to wait for another day. Besides, Immortuous seemed to be giving the man a run for his money. Perhaps the Twilight Marked would prove impressive once again. No, the eyes of the Devil were locked onto the struggling form of a young man, a mere Knight to Rurik's masterful abilities. But that is not what had caught the attention of Kascalion.

No, it was what he had finally noticed as the darkness in the mines began to spread out in the Force, giving him a chance to hone in on his prey. It was the sword that he had been using. A Sith Sword, to be exact, one steeped in evil that seemed to be...calling to the boy, who himself was conflicted, to say the least. For a Knight of the Imperials, this was a change of pace. And hopefully would present a right, proper challange.

Kascalion wasted no more time in charging forth from the shadows, igniting his crimson blade and kicking a single clawed foot towards the pale face of the Knight. Connected or not, he would press the advance immediately with a series of wide, violent swings that would cut open the walls of the mine, leaving behind glowing path-marks of the attack. Swipe upwards, slash down to middle, swing left, right, repeat. He knew that, if this Knight were to be a fight, he would retrieve his weapon that his newest assailant so graciously left for him. If he did not...well then, the dessert would have to be regarded as unfulfilling.

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

G e n e s i s _ A c t u a l

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
ARUMED

​

<”Copy.”>

The timer flashed red across her screen and Nima craned her head, catching the slip of a shadow descending off the walls. Snake on the move with only a brief warning and she leaped down from the ramparts after the man. Air rushed past her and she hit the concrete in a dark mass. Reflex drove her and she rolled on the balls of her feet before she picked herself up in a single movement.

Her gauntlet dropped to her side arm, yanking it from the holster as she fell in on the man’s flank. As they moved she clicked the silencer into place, the A.I highed a series of domes that lined the back walls of the warehouse buildings-cameras. Two fingers tapped the man’s shoulder urging him to move fast. The jammers would click off in a matter of seconds and they were in thick of it alone.

There was no direct extraction for them waiting either.

Nima’s eyes passed over her shoulder as the sound of footsteps passed atop the wall; they weren’t well in sight here as they maneuvered down the facility’s alleyway away from their entry. Stooping low, she crept behind Djorn as they came to the end of the row, the distant rumble of engines and the distant hum of insects roared over the audio. Private sector and facility, it was clean to spacious-she had to wonder how many more corporate hell holes polluted the system.

Crouched still behind him, she waited in silence making sure their six was clear. They were just out of view of the camera if the A.I’s gauge was correct. While he made his observation, Nima glanced at her vambrace and type in a series of codes. A disc hissed and the micro drone launched off, operating off the HUD’s predictive command The small machinery puttered around the corner, turning back to Djorn she snagged the macrobinoculars. The live feed rolled down the corner of her screen as the drone moved in and Nima watched it briefly before taking a look at the convoy, the soldiers were moving fast. The cargo was in a very state, drugged was her best guess.

<”Maybe not every day but if you were on the cartel front back under the Empire..dealt with this pretty often,”> Nima muttered, she wished she was more surprised; it had been the worst of deployment. <”Marking several hostages, Commands going to need to crack down on this.”>

Handing back over the macro, she tilted her helm staring past Djorn across the open stretch to the larger facility, if any of the skimmed data was solid a couple thousand feet lay between them and the target. The profile of the doctor, she mouthed nonessential skimming down the file simply memorizing his visage in favor. The mission’s timing was drawing out the longer she thought on it-

<”We’re burning darkness, lets move. Observation drone is getting us a visual on the front of the building now. That's a large space we're going to have to crawl though.”>

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Objective II: Madilon Gambit
Predator: Ghoul of Moridinae

“Haaaans….” A low whisper now, almost whimpering at the idea of the taste of a fearful servant of the light.

Frozen in place, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, his skin turning pale and bumpy. The voice rang out of the darkness, a darkness which seemed to close around him. How did this... thing... know his name? What kind of animal made the sickening noises that he heard all around him, so close and unknown they felt like thoughts in the back of his own mind.

He turned, completely involuntarily. He had no desire to face whatever was calling to him, but he couldn't run, not into the blinding darkness. A natural fighting response was all his body could muster, even if the creeping dread held his mind it its grip.

He could feel the horror's presence through the force, though he could not see it. It felt everywhere at once, and a chill ran through his body.

Every chill felt as if it was the light graze of a beast's claws on his skin, as if his armour was not there, and he was exposed to the creature.

All Hans could muster was a feeble question, in a quiet and hoarse tongue laden with the fear of imminent death.

"w... what are you?​

 

[Bastard]

The Crestfallen wavered in his fight, momentum lost as he struggled to keep his footing. Darth Immortous' onslaught left Errant unbalanced both physically and mentally. He struggled to shake the images that plagued his mind. Decay continued to warp his sense of reality. Even the men at his side, Knights of the Empire, rotted away before his very eyes. He struggled to breathe even now, his throat bruised from the crushing telekinetic grip that surely would've ruined a lesser man. Rurik's timely arrival saved him. It provided the young man a chance to recenter his mind. He stumbled towards an earthen wall, pressing a hand against it to steady his shaken stance.

Only for Kascalion, Tyrant of Helgard, to descend upon the Albino in a flurry.

Whispers of warning flared in the Imperial's mind. He threw an arm up to cover the side of his face, narrowly avoiding the towering horror's kick. The massive foot connected with the Albino's shoulder, successfully dislocating it and crumpling much of the armor around it. Errant found himself thrown back against the wall. A pained shout escaped him as gauntleted fingers clawed at the surface of the rock to keep him on his feet. Kascalion's next strike saw the Albino battered to the ground, the crimson saber only turned away by the black armor adorned by the Crestfallen Knight. The metal sizzled just beneath his ruined arm, the fading orange color a testament to Errant's luck.

He scrambled back across the dirt, his dark weapon lifted overhead to keep the crimson blade from splitting his skull in half. Kascalion's follow-up knocked the weapon out to the side, so Errant rolled along with it, using the giant's momentum against him to avoid the final strike. Red-hot plasma cleaved a gaping wound in the earth where the Albino had been only seconds before. Sand turned to glass, refracting in the baleful glow of the Sith'ari's great weapon.

Errant climbed to his feet, the black blade lifted and anchored against his body to ward off the final blow from the Sith Lord's mighty onslaught. He pivoted with the strike, twirling a tight circle that saw his runic sword swing out wide towards the Sith's skull. Errant was already haggard. His breathing came in sharp intakes. Pain blossomed down his side and up to his neck, the dislocated joint more than enough to weaken his concentration. It took everything the Knight had just to stay on his feet and face down the domineering threat.

Kascalion Giedfield ​

 

[Areyon]

A R E Y O N
OBJECTIVE 2
Gear: Lightsaber Pike, Armor

The hit was unexpected, disrespectful, and hurt like hell.

Areyon was flung into the wall of the mine and he felt the warm stream of blood start to flow from his mouth. On the ground, he collected his lightsaber pike and pressed the ignition switch firm. Still no hope. The weapon still did not ignite due to the effects of the cortosis. Yet the shaft of the weapon could still be used as an effective weapon to keep his opponent at bay.

He spun the stick-like weapon and held it in front of him. His opponent would get the advantage no longer. He broke out into a sprint enhanced with the Force to strike his enemy in the chest. He came in at a wide-angle while the Sith stood in front of him. Hopefully, this strike would open his opponent for more attacks.

ENEMIES: Velok Brokentusk

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

H I E R O P H A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
NIV ‘TREGESSAR’

“The Confederacy dug their graves the moment they put their nose on Dantooine. I’m sure they even took the time to make one for the Concord on Kashyyyk since those two states enjoy to lay in bed with each other,” he said on the matter of two Galactic Nations that were bold enough to aid the ailing Sith Empire.

They didn’t dug tarnish their image to the New Imperial Order. No, they did it by their own hand to every galactic power in this Galaxy. Supposed champions of justice and democracy only to aid an empire that enjoyed to oppress its population.

Good use for propaganda and to ruin the imagery of the Confederacy and the Silver Jedi.

“My secret to you is this, Admiral. I am secretly composing a...well, let’s call it a secret pact. One that composes of Imperials like us, not those liberal sympathizers such as Ravraa and Dooku. A cooperation between us and others that wish to join upon my invitation. This pact is a last resort to safeguard the Empire from turning it soft, if it ever happens which I hope not.”

“You have much to gain, I assure you that. Perfidious we are, but I don’t take close colleagues for granted.”

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Location: Nyriaan Orbit//NIV Tregessar//Conference Room D
Objective: Strike a deal with Arjant Holesco


Rausgeber listened to the man and smiled, taking drags of his cigar and watching the aesthetically, at least, older man complete his point. He felt Holesco perhaps was too naive regarding the Confederacy. It was a beast that hulked to a size near unheard of. A hegemony of profligacy and degeneracy that would culturally, for any inheritor state, take decades to clear. But he could nonetheless appreciate the man and his towing of the party line. As sycophantic as it currently was.

"I think perhaps you are a little too ambitious in that regard." Rausgeber coolly chided, "The Galactic Alliance of old took close to a decade to collapse. And even then it is our current adversary, the Sith Empire which lay the final blows." Carlyle paused, and his expression hardened. "It sapped our strength and exterminated an entire generation of Dosuuns youth." His gaze looked to him, "I am sure the Confederacy will fall. Its expansion is unsustainable, but." He raised a finger, "To underestimate them is something we cannot afford."

The Grand Admiral then rose, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray, he approached the Colonel and offered a hand, "I tentatively agree to your proposed alliance. These individuals should be stifled of influence." Carlyle clasped the mans hand, gripping it firmly, "But, I ask one thing of you." He smirked, and an evil twinkle in his eye came to be.

"When the time comes, I would like a promise. All further prisoners deemed incapable of rehabilitation, are to be retained in Prefsbelt Command's custody. No questions asked, no committees to inspect. I'm sure you understand the benefit I've provided to the war economy. I would consider any intervention, inappropriate."

 

[Marcad]

Objective: This is mine
Tags: Mogra'teksa

​

So she would not cower in fear and instead face him? Interesting, very interesting. Most would definitely cower in fear, make bargains and do anything to be spared from their deaths. Such attempts were weak and pathetic to him, and would proceed to giving out a swift death from the swing of his lightsaber. At least he’d give them a quick and painless death, that was something to be thankful for.

But whoever this was, as he tried to see more than just the silhouette of this woman, was bold enough to stand up and face him. He respected that, but it mattered little.

"I'm just a merc," she stated boldly, "I don't have anything to do with the mess up top."​

"I, frankly, don't give a damn," he responded coldly with such indifference. She could've been the Empress from Empress Teta for all he cared. He had come to do the bidding of the Lord Executor and satisfy himself. If she did claim to be as that, then she would've...

The groan of durasteel wasn't unheard as turned to face the empty crate that was telekinetically thrown at him. Obviously from the Twi'lek as they were alone in the cave of this mine, and he couldn't feel another presence other than them. His lightsaber cut through the durasteel crate with ease, like a knife through butter. Sparks flared from the metal, dying out as quick as they were born even before hitting the ground.

"Not many would- AGH!"

His words fell into a yell when a blaster bolt struck him at his left thigh, the bodyglove stood no chance as it pentrated the fabric and went through his entire thigh. The Miralan fell to a knee, wincing at the steaming pain left on his leg from the blaster. Blood vessels were vaporized along with any muscles damaged from the bolt. Another one struck him at his rib, although the armorweave dissipated the energy; however, the kinetic impact did leave bruising and knocked him on his back. His overconfidence was responsible over how capable the Twi'lek was. Not as strong as he was, but her wits were to be accounted for.

In fury his hand reached out and tighten into a fist, an invisible hand would wrap around the woman's neck and squeeze like a snake capturing its prey. Slowly getting up to his feet, limping as he couldn't bear to put any weight on his injured leg. Having enough he threw the mercenary down to the earth from her suspension in the air.

"Just a mercenary, hmm?"

 

[Mogra'teksa]

C R E A T U R A
THE SIDEWINDER
OBJ | THIS IS MINE
Marcad
'I wait until the sun goes down-'

The fabric softened thud of his frame striking the stone floor of the cavern alerted her to the success of her efforts before the sparse light flickering across her golden eyes could. He was down? He was down! The twi'lek rushed forward, blaster hissing as she discharged the canister to swap it out, adrenaline flooding her veins. She wasn't about to fight him, she dared not try. Not in such a narrow space where she lacked room to maneuver and sight in general. Desperately, she needed to find an arena she could establish control of if she wanted to fight him on even ground. ​

​

Her feet carried her closer to him and she lifted her free arm preemptively, prepared to deflect a swing from his saber with her arm-guard if she needed to, yet unseen in the dark was the clawing hand he wrenched towards her with. Pressure coiled around her throat, squeezing the soft tissue and strangling the cords stretching up to feed into her skull. She gagged, gasping and struggling after breath as he hefted her beyond her control, squeezing the consciousness out of her before she could shoot at him a third time. Her golden eyes flared at him, deep pink blooming along the edges of her irises as she was deprived of oxygen. Yet, she held onto her blaster tightly, refusing to drop it. ​

​

If she was going to die, she was going to die with a gun in her hand.​

​

Before she could struggle to lift her arm to level another shot in his direction, she was thrown carelessly, sending her smashing to the ground and sprawling with a ragged gasp for air that was cut short by a yelp of pain. Something cracked, rattling her dazed senses back to reality, and she rolled over, coughing, as she fought back up to her feet. ​

"Just a mercenary, hmm?"

His words echoed towards her, scrambled at first, by the sudden resurgence of her hearing. Moving her arms to steady herself wrought pain in her right shoulder and into her ribs, earning a pained wince and hiss of a breath. She focused on her breathing, taking things one step at a time. He wasn't attacking her immediately, and that was plenty of time. She capitalized on it, allowing the pain to flow through her and stoke the faint embers of The Force crackling in her blood. Focus found her trembling mind and her brood offered her strength.​

​

The Dark Side nagged at her mind, creeping between her thoughts and sinking talons into them, reforging her pain into something much more usable.​

​

Anger.​

​

The lethan stood upright, correcting her posture as she offered him no response, merely raking a hand through the air in front of her, slashing at his form in an attempt to slam him into the wall on his left. And as she did this, her blaster was brought to bear, firing two more anticipatory shots towards where he should have gone, had she been successful. ​