Faction All Quiet on the Northern Front | Squad 831 [SO]

[Cato Demora]

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Planet: Mala​

Base: Artorius-Beta​

Time: 1800 LST​

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Cato walked into the barracks with a heavily exasperated expression. Sweat soaked through his grey shirt, making portions of it black. He tossed it aside to his bunk and sat on one of the metal chairs with a heavy, exaggerated fall, letting its metal scrape the floor beneath. Its new marking fell away into the hundred other scratches made into the durasteel over the years; a habit of his and many others that had come before him. All over the barracks was signs of people long gone, by rotation or the fate of all who lived by the sword.​

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Posters of decades old super stars, religious posts praying to the Sith saints, a picture of the Emperor in his youth all white haired and womanly. It was a long line of this and that, knick knacks gained over the years by the various members of Squad 831 - home now to a few others. Cato Demora was their current leader, aged and augmented as he was, apart of a new program to train up the average soldier to the near level of a PRAETORIAN. They wanted to see how a squad led by one would work - and how it compared to the other alternatives.​

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The massive man groaned in his seat and looked around, seeing that some had been gambling and trading cigarettes. They were rare this far from Jutrand, that and the various contraband policies every other quartermaster put into place. Those who couldn't get their hands on the smokes traded candies, tart and sweet little things from various worlds they had been on. Anything that could be traded would be, but smokes and candy somehow always tended to be their favorites.​

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"Word came down from up high - says we might be going to war again. Didn't say where though.", Cato said to the others in their various activities. They looked at him with their own expressions, unique in every way.​

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OOC:

Opening post for a little writing group we'll have in the Sith Order. Check #squad-831 pinned messages for more information.​

 

[Krite Corren]

Planet: Mala
Base: Artorius-Beta
Time: 1801 LST

Krite sat on his bunk, a stoic expression resting upon it as he read a book titled “History of the Sith-Imperial Doctrine” that was propped open in his lap. A cigarette hung out the side of his mouth, filling the immediate area with smoke as he took the occasional puff. His uniform sat on the opposite side of the bed, recently washed and neatly folded waiting to be put away once he tore himself away from the book.

He looked up as Cato strutted into the barracks, offering the captain a firm nod before the man sat down. But it was the man's words that brought him fully back to reality. Mission time. The best and worst of times. He was lucky in some regard, he was usually the last called onto the field given his expertise as a pilot. He was one of the best damn pilots out there after all, graduating top of his class at the Imperial Flight School. He had flown countless missions, but this would be his first tour with Squad 831.

Quickly his feet swung around, meeting the firm ground beneath once again. The book was snapped shut, placed neatly onto a small shelf sitting just above the cot he called home. The tip of his cigarette burned bright red for a moment before smoke filled the area once more following a heavy exhale.

“When do we ship out, Cap?”

There was no point asking any other question, there was no changing orders and they would be briefed in full in due time.

Cato Demora

 

[UX-0626]

Location: Artorius-Beta - Mala
Tags: Cato Demora Krite Corren

UX-0626 almost gagged when the pungent odor of cigarette smoke met her senses.

The matter of how such troopers could ever expect to be capable of all the activities expected of a soldier—marching, fighting, working out, and moving heavy equipment—with their lungs in such an unclean state still confused her. After all, the impure vices that she witnessed with such frequency here were never tolerated (or at least practiced openly) within the Grand Army. Gambling, narcotics, smoking, alcohol, and yet more depravities seemed to have infected the squad at every level, to such an extent that 626 barely tolerated the presence of her new squadmates, especially when her senses registered the stale odor of cigarettes on their breath. Accordingly, the strand-cast had spent much of her time working out at the gym and praying within a secluded corner of the barracks after her arrival.

And yet, in spite of the fact that she could not stand to be near her squadmates, she knew that she would have to make herself available to them. She was a veteran after all, brought onto the squad to pass on her skills and expertise to a new generation of soldiers. Not to mention, her assignment to Squad 831 was just as much a political one as it was a practical one. The long war between the Kainites and the Eternalists was over, or so it seemed. As a gesture of cooperation, both sides had agreed to share a limited amount of knowledge, to better work towards common goals.

In that regard, her assignment to Squad 831 was a symbol of that cooperation. One of the most accomplished PRAETORIANs of the 1st Legion serving alongside one of the Kainate’s top sniper aces. Where once they had fought on opposing sides, they were now brother and sister united in service to the Sith.

The propaganda wrote itself.

Entering the barracks after a long workout, UX-0626 coughed as her lungs breathed in the thick layer of secondhand smoke which had spread throughout the barracks. From there, the strand-cast walked to her bed, toweling off as she did. It was only then that she registered the presence of her much taller counterpart when he spoke—Cato Demora.

"Word came down from up high - says we might be going to war again. Didn't say where though.", Cato said to the others in their various activities.

“They are not even close to ready, sir.” UX-0626 answered, without a hint of irony in her tone. “We don’t even have the discipline to keep the barracks clean.” She continued, referring to the old markings, lurid drawings, and other signs from troopers long gone. “How will they march? How will they fight? How will they dig with their blackened lungs? What level of discipline can we expect from gamblers and drug addicts?”