Among the Dead (FO Dominion of the Dead Nebula and Vortusa)

[RIP Carlyle Rausgeber]

Location: Orbit of Virsun and the construction site.
Post: 12
Allies: First Order
Enemies:Natasi Fortan
Objective: Delta Blue Containment

The Captain snarled at the stormtrooper barging in. "We're dealing with a Delta Blue trooper, don't you dare storm into my command center, and start asking what the hell's going on!" The captain barked, before turning to Natasi. The mask of his hazmat suit began to fog over, concealing his face. The captain raised his fist, before limply collapsing face down onto the floor, making a deafening thud as he did so. One of the newly inoculated stormtroopers leaped from his bed, and down onto the ground, rolling his CO over.

"Can I have some help here?" The trooper asked, rapidly trying to open the hazmat suit. A navy technician followed and knelt beside him, opening the face mask up. All the steam escaped, showing Carlyle unconcious with a red face, redder than the angriest blade of a Knight of Ren.

"We need a doctor in here!" the technician called, "Someone please!"

From the outside, two physicians ran in, and looked at the scene, before starring down at the captain. "What is this?"

"No time to explain, the captain just collapsed!" The stormtrooper yelled.

"The captain, this is a-" One of the doctors began.

"Screw the quarantine! Find out what's wrong!" The navy technician pleaded.

The doctors looked at each other, and nodded, kneeling over the officer, and taking his pulse. "He's alive." one of them said, "But his blood pressure is through the roof."

The other doctor ran out, and returned with a syringe filled with a green liquid. He jabbed it into the officers neck, and Carlyle sat up straight with a jolt. "You bastard!!" he roared at the top of his lungs, glaring at the Moff.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 11
Operation Whinging Fury

"I'm sorry, Captain," said Natasi to the captain of [member="Miles Cormin"]. "This is a code Blue Delta. This ship is under lockdown until the code is rescinded. You'll need to remain here for the duration of the test." She turned her attention back to Rausgeber just as he collapsed, her eyebrows lifting and her eyes widening. She crouched next to him, then backed away as the medical technicians came over to them. She watched as they worked over [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"], her eyebrows furrowing with concern, her lips pressing together anxiously until he finally sat bolt upright--

And began to shout at her.

She recoiled stiffly, standing straight up, her neck going rigid. Oh, she hated things like this. There had been a time when officers were officers and gentlemen; this sort of thing was so undignified. "Captain Rausgeber is unwell," Natasi said coldly. "I'm temporarily relieving his command. See that he is inoculated and taken to the officer's sick bay. I will deal with him shortly." She turned to the rest of the medical team who had been advised in advance of the test and said: "Issue a general summons and then disburse the aerosol inoculate. When that is done, issue an all-clear. I'm afraid this will reflect poorly on fleet readiness," she said to Sioux, who looked a little anxious, a little relieved, but also angry at Natasi's deception.

Well -- she could take it up with the Supreme Leader. "Margs, you will assume command until the medical team has cleared Captain Rausgeber. Go -- now. There is no need to fear; the inoculation will be successful in aerosol, water-soluble, or injection form. You may return to work. Now, Captain," she said to Rausgeber. "I gather we ought to talk in private."

 

[Visser Chernykh]

4/22
Vortusa
Obj. IV

Mael Ren sat in a shack of twigs and mud now. He'd removed his helm after crawling within. Embers glowed in a small fire pit before him. The weary disciple was glad of the meager dwelling.

It kept most of the wind away and it seemed far warmer than outside. It was full dark now and the temperature had come down even more. He chewed mechanically as he studied the flames. Mael had been disappointed to find the barest of rations inside.

A bit of preserved meat and hard tack. At least it'd been too cold for insects in the biscuits. There too had been little enough firewood. He knew he'd have to move on in the morning but focused on now.

The whole scene confirmed his suspicions. This had been some hunter's dwelling. Then the band of criminals had set upon them. The fools had probably gone through what supplies there had been.

They'd probably thought to rob the interloper and murder him. But Mael Ren was no mere hunter or traveler. He reflected that he was probably many kilometers from civilization. Practically a continent away in current conditions.

That meant his location had been well-scouted. The thought brought him grim amusement. He sighed after swallowing a bit of meat. A fine place with dry ground and enough food for a night.

At least his cloak would be dry by morning. It was spread out near the fire. His mind began to drift in his weariness. Images of times past flashed in his mind's eye.

Skjold had been a Padawan what seemed a lifetime ago. His Master had been most disappointed when he'd failed his Trials. It'd all went downhill from there. He'd refused a place in the AgriCorps out of pride.

It would've been a secure life. But it would've meant a life of constantly remembering failure. How quickly his Master had disavowed him after that. Skjold refused to kowtow and so he was forgotten.

Bitter anger filled him with a cold fire. He remembered joining the street gang. It'd been much like the Ord Mantell he'd been born on. Petty crimes had led to bigger ones.

A bit of larceny and extortion the police could overlook in the slums. A killing in more respectable parts they couldn't. He remembered a girl who he'd thought loved him stealing some credits. She'd ended up with his vibrodagger in her back.

He hadn't even remembered drawing it during a scuffle when he'd caught her. Skjold Alexeyev hadn't even attempted to flee nor resist as the police slapped stun cuffs on him. Five years on a penal colony. It made the life of a petty hood seem luxurious.

Work in the mines six days a week. Just enough food to avoid starving. Just enough medicine to avoid outright plague. The Republic considered it's justice system fair.

Skjold had fallen in with a prison gang. He performed small errands and did what needed doing. In return he received a kind of protection. He barely even touched the Force anymore.

He only did so when he needed to. It went from something joyous to something for mere survival. His grasp of it slipped in his mind. He was very lost in those years.

Release came what seemed a lifetime later. A boy had become a man hardened by among the worst circumstances. He'd heard of the First Order in a cantina through discrete means. He'd stolen a few credits for some booze in keeping with old habits.

They were looking for able bodied stormtroopers. He went to the appointed place the next day with his hangover still intact. The following day saw him on a smuggler's transport to the Outer Rim. Skjold had nothing to lose but his life then.

He dropped a water purification tablet into melting snow in a bag. Salted meat had reminded him of his thirst. Just as this whole day had reminded him of the past. Mael Ren didn't even try to fight it because it seemed appropriate.

 

[Caid Centurion]

Post 1
Operation Whinging Fury
Retribution-class Star Destroyer Adjudicator

"Officer of the Deck!"

The Lieutenant's brown eyes immediately snapped in the direction of the outburst from the communications area of the crew pit. "What is it crewman?" Booted footfalls echoed across the otherwise tranquil bridge atmosphere as the Officer of the Deck descended into the crew pit to speak with the senior communications tech on watch.

"Sir," the technician's voice was decidedly quieter once the senior navigational officer approached. "Sir, I was reviewing our communication feeds, and I could have sworn that I heard something over the Air Defense Network coming from one of our sisters ships in the vicinity."

The Officer of the Deck motioned for the tech to continue towards his point.

"Maybe I misheard, but I'm fairly certain that I picked code 'Delta Blue'."

The Lieutenant arched a curious brow. "What vessel?"

"The Vindicator sir."

The Lieutenant nodded at the technician. "Continue your duties, crewman. Thank you. Let me know if you hear anything else and draft a communique requesting information from the Vindicator. Do not send it until ordered by the Captain." By the time the Officer of the Deck had stepped away, the crewman was already returning to his team to relay the orders. In a matter of time, a simple transmission was drafted that could later be dispatched over an emergency communications subroutine which would flag straight to all active command terminals on First Order vessels fleet-wide.

Having returned to his own post, the Officer of the Deck barked orders to the Junior Officer of the Deck and Conning Officer. "Conn, 146 Mark 3. Ahead two-thirds."

"146 Mark 3, ahead two-thirds, Conn aye. Helm, come right to 146 Mark 3, ahead two-thirds."

"Come right, steer course 146 Mark 3, all engines ahead two-thirds, aye sir."

As the flurry of commands between the rest of the bridge team were rattled off, the Officer of the Deck contacted the Captain's communicator. "Sir. Communications picked up possible declaration of Delta Blue emanating from the Vindicator over MAD."

The response was immediate. "Any further communications from the Vindicator or indications from other vessels of confirmation?"

"Still working on that sir. I have a flash alert prepared for you. Would you like me to hail them?"

"Do it. I'll be up shortly. Who is the Tactical Action Officer on watch?"

"Lieutenant Commander Hertley, sir."

"Very well. Set Condition II Strike."

The Lieutenant's eyes snapped up to the JOOD, whom he motioned to go get the TAO. "Understood sir." No sooner had the connection terminated than the Officer of the Deck made his way to the tactical net to hail the Vindicator. "Vindicator this Adjudicator hailing you on fleet tactical. Reports of Delta Blue received. Confirm within fifteen minutes or containment protocols will be activated."

The Tactical Action Officer arrived shortly thereafter. "Captain wants to set Condition II Strike."

The TAO responded immediately. "I concur. Do it."

The Officer of the Deck nodded succinctly, turning to the Crewman of the Watch. "Set Condition II Strike."

"Condition II Strike, aye sir."

In a matter of moments, klaxons began sounding throughout the ship as announcements commanding all personnel critical to ship-to-ship engagements and long-distance strike operations to their stations resonated from various speakers connected the the general announcement system.

The featureless black mask that Ciardha Ren typically adorned slid into position over his head just as the first klaxon began sounding. The Knight of Ren had been meditating and knew all too well of the distress that was radiating throughout this particular area of space. The sound of soft hisses from his steady breaths filled the modest stateroom as he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. In less than five minutes, his booted heels stepped onto the durasteel deck of one of the hangar bays. In stark contrast to the many personnel scrambling to man vessels and prepare equipment, the Ren's pace was almost languid. He knew where he was going.

It just might prevent the Vindicator from suffering a rather unfortunate fate. The rampant spread of deadly diseases certainly was not something that protocol allowed one to trifle with. If the Vindicator was too far gone to deactivate its own propulsion system and enforce a strict quarantine, other vessels in the area were required to effect such. The last resort? Venting the disease to the near-absolute-zero temperature of space.

Naturally that meant the death of everyone aboard. Wasteful in Ciardha Ren's eyes. Not a reality he would prefer to stand around and watch happen just yet.

[member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"]

 

[Miles Cormin]

[member="Natasi Fortan"] [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"]
The captain knew something was not right, though he had his orders and would follow them. Of course, he didn't think that coming into a location filled with people and raising his voice to ensure he was heard classified as "barging in". He had full right to speak to whoever was in charge here. His troops were not Navy, and not a part of this ship's complement, therefore they were outside its command structure. Wondering why they were being held as if they actually counted as crew aboard this ship was perfectly logical.

In any case, he'd just have to wait this out while the Navy and the brass hashed things out. The captain returned to his unit in the docking bay.

"What's going on?" Miles asked.

"We're not going anywhere," the captain said, "We're still under Delta Blue. Blast these Navy boys." Miles shrugged.

 

[Progflaw99]

Img Source: http://eddie-mendoza.deviantart.com/art/Sci-Fi-Interiors-538905188​

-----
Location: Orbit of Virsun, Space Station
Primary Objective: 1. Aid the completion of the station, including installation and systems calibration.
Secondary Objective: 2. Aid in systems facility testing and avoid the "Big Red Button".
Allied Forces: First Order | [member="Miles Cormin"] | [member="Caid Centurion"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] | [member="Asharad Graush"] | [member="Sioux Chambers"] | [member="Ileris Sonn"]
Enemy Forces: None Identified
Post 1 of 25
-----

The station had been behind schedule, and the Supreme Leader was not pleased. At least that's what Rolf and his men had been told. They'd arrived by shuttle two days ago, ahead of the main bulk of the forces that had been sent to aid in construction of the station. Many units had been tapped from standard patrols and naval floats to provide more manpower for the installation and testing of the station's systems. Rumor was that a lot of Moffs would be present overseeing the construction of the station, to be sure they made schedule. It was part of the large influx of workers, both First Order and civilians aboard the partially completed station. Truth be told it was almost finished, even most of the recreational and training areas were complete, there was only a small portion remaining; but that was the point wasn't it... there was a portion remaining.

With a slight grunt, Rolf shouldered a stack of metal rods, his exhalation of breath creating a brief fog on his exosuit's face shield. He shifted his body slightly, his voice carrying over the internal comlink he shared with the twelve or so other First Order soldiers behind him.

"Hit it Razzle."

They looked strange there, standing in the airlock, laden with equipment and tools over their white exosuits and oxygen tanks. Behind him one of the troopers, presumably "Razzle", reached over to the small control panel on the interior of the airlock. Tapping the display with his gloved hand, it took him a few tries to hit the right button, his success marked by a loud hydraulic hiss as the blast doors closed and the oxygen in the airlock was slowly forced out, equalizing the pressure with the vacuum of space. Reaching down to their belts as if in unison, the troopers engaged their mag-boots; they were specifically designed boots to allow them to walk on the exterior of stations or large ships as if they were walking on land, regardless of the angle of the surface or orientation. It took almost a full minute for the airlock to depressurize. Rolf made note of that, storing it for later. He'd have to get some specialists to check on the airlock, it shouldn't have taken more than about twenty to thirty seconds.

As the pressure in the chamber finally matched that of the vacuum, the exterior blast doors silently slid open, Rolf able to hear his breathing as the coldness of space greeted him. He was thankful for the climate controlled suits. With a sigh, he began moving forward, high steps taking him to the exterior portion of the station. Here is where they'd need to complete some of the work. His eyes snapped from one portion of the hull to another. The crew that had been working on this section before him had been lazy. Scattered about the hull were partially welded rods, even an electro-spanner. Hanging loosely out into the void, even a few loose power couplings and un-terminated cables protruded from hull plating that had obviously been left unfinished. He grit his teeth, a small ember of anger beginning to boil in his chest. This was precisely the reason the station wasn't already finished. He forced the anger back down, continuing his relatively short trek to where the magnetic supply tie downs were anchored. Carefully, he lowered the stack of metal rods he'd been carrying and anchored them to a secure piece of hull plating.

The other men already knew their job, they'd been briefed and Rolf had held a short brief of his own in the airlock prior to their shift. He wasn't the most veteran of the group but the men looked up to him. He'd proven himself a dangerous sparring opponent and a crack shot; at the heart of it, the strong held the power when it came to the bulk of the infantry forces and if nothing else, Rolf was a capable fighter. More than that, he held a certain respect among the men. More than once during training he had proven his worth as a tactician, going against common doctrine in favor of an 'on the fly' maneuver. It was one of his strengths, flexibility. It allowed him to adapt to the situations around him as they progressed.

Reaching down to his utility belt once more, he flipped a switch on a comm device, piping into the station comm system. The particular channel was to the watch supervisor, but he didn't really care who heard it, it was short range comm anyway.

:: This is crew 3, we're at the site. Please notify 482 command. Beginning shift now, check in... He paused as he looked at the chrono on his forearm display. ...forty mikes. Amsel out.::

Rolf and his small squad along with the rest of the platoon had been attached to the 482nd Infantry Regiment as an auxiliary. A lot of detachments were being sent as additional support, temporarily away from their main command, and it wasn't a bad life, a break away from the daily grind. For now though, he would buckle down. Besides, maybe if he worked hard enough, he would draw the attention of his superiors. He'd been angling at a promotion, though truthfully he had his eyes set much higher. If he ever got the chance to attend Officer's Course... he planned on being the first one to take it.

 

[Asharad Graush]

Post Two.
Objective Two.

Blaster bolts leapt towards their targets, painting them in the splashes of colour. Some left burn marks, other bolts ricocheted off of the metal.

The High Colonel watched as the men of the 482nd Infantry Regiment efficiently fired their weaponry. Few shots were missed, but he ignored those. Out of the dozen, only one or two had missed. They would learn. Whether from his own direction, or via his subordinates within the Regiment. In the end, the outcome would be the same.

The Sith Hybrid could not complain.

Drawing in a breath, he looked at the Lieutenant to his side and made his query. "There is to be a unit transferred to the Regiment today." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Sir. A Sergeant, I think, High Colonel. A certain [member="Rolf Amsel"]."

"I see."

A pause.

"Where is he now?"

"They arrived recently, Sir -- Outside of the Station currently."

A'sharad remained silent hardly spending any unnecessary thoughts on what he could possibly be doing out there.

"When he is done, have him sent to me." The golden orbs in A'sharad's young face was pulled away from the Lieutenant What'sHisName, and it settled on the Stormtroopers standing at attention. "Have them fire until they're out of ammunition. Make those two at the end do it three more times." Turning on his heel, he headed towards one of the simulation centres that were on a lower level. It was spacious, huge, even. It was for the War Game trials that Stormtroopers sent there were expected to use to stay sharp.

Along with their units.

In the field there were dozens of obstacles. Droids, other Stormtroopers. Squad against Squad, Platoon against Platoon, all to show the teamwork and unity of the First Order Military.

On the Station, it was primarily the members of the 482nd Infantry Regiment. Therefore, the platoons that were already within the training simulation were his own men. Entering the Observation Room, he watched as the Lead Squad on the Attackers Side pressed the Defending team back. Clasping his hands behind his back in the dimly lit room, he watched through the transparisteel window. Should Rolf Amsel finish with his duties on the Space Station, he would've been contacted and redirected to the Observation Room along with the rest of his Unit -- in gear.

 

[RIP Carlyle Rausgeber]

Location: Orbit of Virsun and the construction site.
Post: 13
Allies: First Order
Enemies:No one.
Objective: Delta Blue Containment

The captain fainted as he was walked out by the medical crew on a stretcher. Lieutenant Margs looked at the Moff anxiously. "Understood ma'am." The soldier muttered, a little bitter about what had happened. He turned to the inoculated troops, "Move and disperse the aerosol. I'll go and send an all clear to the rest of the fleet." The lieuteant saluted the Moff before walking towards the bridges turbolifts.

When the lieutenant returned to the bridge, he sent an all clear message to the fleet. The message, encoded on all First Order military comms said this. "Code Delta Blue was a training drill. All ships return to routine protocols."

In the officers medical bay, Carlyle was softly whimpering as he was hooked up to several different machines. All of which were pumping his veins with relaxants and pain killers. The last few hours had driven him wild with stress. "I'm buggered, absolutely buggered!" He whimpered to the nurse, "My careers ruined, my crew think I'm insane and everything hurts!" He laid himself back, "What is wrong with me?"

 

[Miles Cormin]

[member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] [member="Natasi Fortan"] [member="Ileris Sonn"]

"Well its about blasted time!" Miles captain said as the all-clear message was sent. The captain tuned his helmet comm to the fleet frequency and sent a message to the bridge as several men carrying aerosol cans arrived to inoculate his men. Even though they knew it was a training exercise, the men were soldiers. They did as they were told.

"This is Captian Geris calling whoever is in command of the ship," the captain said, "I am requesting permission for me and my men to depart immediately and continue our approach to the station."

 

[Samka Derith]

Post 3
Name: Samka Derith; undercover as Lissanna Phyron
Objective: 3. Native Issues
Allies: The First Order
Enemies: -
Location: The Fortress, capitol of Cir, Dead Nebula system

As Samka ended her recital it had only occurred to her just how quiet the room had gotten, only the sound of her voice had broken the silence. Everyone appeared entranced. That could only be a good thing. Sam gave a small bow to everyone in the room, perhaps in another life this could have been a career for her but it was useless to dawdle on such things.

As agreed the room filed out soon after she was done she went with the other First Order personal. She followed her group through the stone corridors, half listening to their talk of changing strategy. She was not there to help the negotiations but to watch over the group's security as such she felt little need to pay attention. There were far more interesting things in the galaxy to focus on. Like the local boy approaching from behind in a hurried pace.

She readied herself to attack on the off chance the boy was hostile, lightning beginning to build within her as she turned as delicately as she could towards the newcomer. "Oh! May I help you?"

He skidded to a halt in front of her. The boy was thin and as scruffy as any other local here, he also seemed to be a little out of breath. "E-excuse me. I'm Regli, my father was one of the diplomats. I doubt you noticed me but I saw you perform. I had to tell you that your performance was, it was very moving."

She curtsied before the boy, "Why thank you, Regli. That means a great deal."

"May I ask your name?"

"I am Lissanna," Sam gave him a smile as sweet as she could muster.

"Lissanna," he repeated, "a name as beautiful as the voice that spoke it. May I ask for the pleasure of your company?"

Uh oh. She was in no mood to entertain the hormones of some dirty little wretch living in a ruin. "I am truly sorry but I must decline, my father needs me-" before she could finish Phyron interrupted, the man had clearly been listening in.

"Nonsense, my girl. You should stretch your legs, the grown ups can handle it from here," he pulled her in for a whisper. "Endearing yourself to a diplomat's son will greatly enhance our position, they need to see us as people and not monsters."

The boy, Regil, was now beaming and held his hand out for her to take, "fantastic, shall we depart?"

Oh Phyron would suffer for this later.

 

[Visser Chernykh]

Post 5/22
Obj. IV
Vortusa

Boot camp had seemed to occur very quickly. Skjold had graduated into his regiment before he really realized it. They'd been sent off to an outpost on the frontier soon thereafter. Months of rather boring and uneventful guard duty went by.

It'd been something of an adjustment at first. But then he grew to like the steadiness of like in the First Order. You got shelter, food and were even paid. You didn't even have to worry about a shank in the back.

He wiled away his off-hours in the local cantina. The comradeship was something he'd not experienced since his days as a Jedi apprentice. Then a strange shuttle touched down on afternoon. It was clearly from Avalonia itself.

A Moff had disembarked in person with her elite guard. But even the Moff paled in comparison to the masked figure in black. He came behind her with no guards. Skjold had understood why very quickly.

A dark aura radiated around him. The stormtrooper knew it was the Force. He'd certainly even heard of the mysterious Knights of Ren. All stormtroopers were aware of them.

The hand of the Supreme Leader himself. He found himself staring beneath the faceplate of his helmet. The Knight had made to go into the headquarters building ahead. But he stopped.

His gaze quickly swept across the landing platform. It fell upon Skjold in an instant. Without words he studied the duraplast-clad stormtrooper. Skjold was aware that the Knight could feel his presence.

A very long moment passed. The Knight of Ren broke the impasse by continuing on the building. Skjold drew in a breath. He didn't even know that he'd stopped breathing.

He was summoned into the headquarters building after his duty was done. Skjold assumed he would be reprimanded for offending the Knight. Nothing of the sort happened. Indeed quite the opposite.

The stormtrooper had been left alone in a small room. It seemed hours passed before the silence was broken. In that time his fear had grown. his mouth had gone dry and he'd had to fight the urge to urinate.

It was perhaps fifteen minutes that truly went by. The Knight of Ren appeared alone. He questioned Skjold and found out all there was to know. He'd used the Dark Side to draw the answers out.

He left the stormtrooper there in a heap. Alexeyev had no idea what was happening in his dazed state. They'd brought him to a transport. Avalonia was his destination.

Skjold came-to in time to find they were just outside the capital. Other questions were met with a curt gesture for silence. He was brought to a citadel cloaked in darkness. There his life began anew.

So he found himself here. He took a long drink of the purified snow melt. Then he set the bag aside and lay himself down to sleep. The black took him quickly.

 

[Caid Centurion]

Post 2
Operation Whinging Fury
[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] | [member="Miles Cormin"]

Caid's own vessel had only just departed the hangar bay of the Adjudicator when the Vindicator dispatched a sudden, random all-clear message, stating it had merely been a drill. Narrowing his silver-green eyes at the communications console, Ciardha Ren remained silent for perhaps half a heartbeat before opening a channel.

"Standby to receive Charlie Romeo Two Eight." The Ren said nothing further as he transmitted the encrypted code key to the Vindicator. It didn't really provide any additional information outside of confirmation that the code belonged to a Knight of Ren - there were no specific identifiers attached to their clearance codes.

Advancing the throttles powering the subligjt drive to full power, Ciardha exhaled softly as his mind slowly worked over the potential realities for the situation. First of all...protocol for running drills was to keep them internal to the vessel. Typically they were scheduled to deconflict with actual operations - like the one they were currently on. If it was a coordinated exercise, then perhaps external communication about the drill would have happened. It still would have been made very clear that it was a drill.

As the VCX-100 passed within the final approach range to the Vindicator, Ciardha idled thrust to the sublight drive allowing his considerable momentum to carry him towards the hangar well above typical approach parameters.

 

[Visser Chernykh]

Post 6/22
Vortusa (IV)

Sleep came quickly. It didn't bring him the usual peace. Dreams came unbidden to his unconscious mind. Dreams full of the faces of many beings he'd known.

His Jedi Master had come frequently. She'd been like a mother to him despite her Nikto heritage. Her disappointment stung him when he'd failed the Trials again and again. He felt the empty feeling as he heard the words.

Skjold felt the bitterness as he'd refused the AgriCorps postion. He hadn't met the eyes of the Master whom he'd handed his lightsaber too. It had hurt him beyond words to even do so. She'd not been there that day.

Then came the face of a woman. He'd though he loved her and she him. He remembered the look in her eyes when he plunged his knife in her chest. The grief and betrayal filled him.

Other faces came to him. Faces he couldn't remember but he was certain he knew them. They all began to silently scream at him. Their mouths all formed the word 'betrayer'.

Over and over the faces came to him. All of the feelings washed over him from his life. Hope and sadness, bitterness and joy, solitude and comradeship. All were part of him beyond words.

He woke with a start. Mael Ren blinked away the sleep. He breathed deep to quiet his thundering heart. The light through the crude walls told him it was day.

The disciple sat up slowly. He reached for the water in the bag and drank the remainder. It helped to wash the foul taste of waking. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He had to get moving. The thought brought him into motion. It was as if he realized where he was. He reached in the opposite direction for his mask.

Donning it seemed to fortify him. It was a solid reminder of the now. He was Mael Ren. He was the hand of the Supreme Leader.

He stood. It was time to move onward.

 

[Progflaw99]

-----
Location: Orbit of Virsun, Space Station, Training Section
Primary Objective: 1. Aid the completion of the station, including installation and systems calibration.
Secondary Objective: 2. Aid in systems facility testing and avoid the "Big Red Button".
Allied Forces: First Order | [member="Asharad Graush"]
Enemy Forces: None Identified
Post 2 of 25
-----

The crew had been at work for several hours, their collective contributions significantly more extravagant than the last crew. They'd almost completed this section of the station's hull; all that remained was one section of hull plating yet to be welded. Rolf looked down at his oxygen indicator, seeing it was quickly approaching the red zone. If they didn't head back now, they'd likely be caught on the last reserves of their oxygen by the time they reached the airlock. Doing one more quick check he saw the rest of his crew were already prepping to leave, gathering their tools and forming up for their short walk to the airlock. Grunting slightly, he shifted the last deck plate into the rectangular space where it belonged. Silently it slid into it's place and Rolf used one of his heavy boots to hold it there while he started up the welding torch held in his hands. Precisely, he ran the torch along the rough edge of the plate, welding it to the edge of each plate around it until there was no longer any space between them, the hull forming a smooth surface where the plates interlocked. He grinned and disengaged the torch. Done.

"Alright boys, let's get back inside. Wrap it up."

With that short range comm, Rolf deactivated the torch in his hand, it's flame silently flickering out and the metal around the nozzle losing its orange glow. Carefully, he began stepping in the direction of the airlock with his crew, their trip much faster this time without any construction materials. For the second time that day they all filed into the airlock the hydraulic hiss sounding as the blast doors closed behind them and the chamber began to compress with oxygen. About a minute later, the green lights around the entryway into the station lit up, indicating the cycle had completed. Reaching down to a switch, the oxygen tanks disengaged, the flow cut off by an electronic device. Now that they were once more within the station, they began un-clipping their helmets, breathing the relatively fresh, filtered air of the stations life support systems. Rolf wiped a few errant beads of sweat from his brow as they continued down the corridor, their mag-boots now disengaged. They'd need to shower and turn in their suits for sterilization... A small chirp on his comm garnered his attention. It was a text only message from one of the low grade officers in charge of his detachment.

:: Report to Observation Deck. Training Section. Full Combat Gear. ::

He sighed. Looks like they weren't going to get any R&R after this shift. He wasn't sure how the men were going to take it, but he figured now was as good a time as any to inform them. They'd need to use the time effectively. As the men began to doff their suits and sort out the various parts for sterilization, he raised his voice above the small din.

"Hop to gentlemen, we've got a deadline. I want the full squad lined up ready to go in fifteen minutes. Full battle rattle."

A soft chorus of groans and sighs filled the locker room as the troops moved to action. They might groan, but they didn't hesitate. Quickly they finished doffing their gear, systematically cycling through the refreshers and donning their underclothes. As they finished up in the locker room, they moved across to their billeting where each individual's personal gear was kept. Splitting off into twos, they helped each other get their gear squared away, decreasing the time it took them all to prepare. By the time they had finished, they still were three minutes early on the deadline, lined up in formation in the wide corridor, prepared to head to the training section of the station. Rolf moved to the front of the formation, hand signals silently guiding the men into two columns as they moved through the corridors. As they approached the observation room, they paused outside.

"Standby here." he said plainly as he entered the observation room alone.
Upon entering the room, he immediately picked out the ranking officer. A High Colonel. Swiftly marching to the center of the room he stood at attention, eyes forward, helmet held tightly in his left arm. His right fist was closed, in line with his body at his side. Troopers didn't salute indoors, or in the field.

"Trooper Amsel and squad, reporting as ordered Sir."

His body rigid, his eyes stayed locked to the front, the perfect image of a First Order soldier.

 

[Sentiri]

Location: the VORacious VORtex of VORis, VORtusa
Objective: smack some sense into some Chiss fools
Allies: [member="Zlethi'osim'rentho"], a semblance of self-control
Enemies: poor social skills leading inevitably to blowing a gasket
Post: 02

"Has your time among the humans affected your judgment?" The word "humans" was spoken with such disgust that said word hardly fit into the context of the otherwise even-toned sentence. Though, the venom behind the implication at least answered one question: these Chiss were just as xenophobic and staunchly anti-human as was the general population of the Ascendancy. Changing a traditionalist, let alone isolationist, culture could take millennia

"Species is inconsequential. Results are quintessential." Sentiri's retort was sharply spoken but she knew her words would likely do little to dissuade the other Chiss' perception. Murrik, the Chiss delegate-elect, who refused to share his full name with Sabosen'tir'inrokini, had made up his mind as soon as he had received word that there would be a Chiss visitor who was not allied with the Ascendancy. First Order, independent, Sith, Jedi, Republic, none of that would matter to him. To Murrik, Sentiri had given up her right to call herself Chiss the moment she was exiled from Ascendancy space.

Not that she had any great love for human-kind, or any species for that matter. But trying to convince this stodgy fundamentalist of that was pointless.

When the two first came face-to-face, there was no exchange of greeting, no handshake, no formality. Sentiri had exited the speeder that chauffeured her to the Chiss complex and Murrik had been standing there rigidly; not quite at attention, not uncomfortable-seeming, but far from relaxed. His name was already forwarded to her in her very concise briefing from the colony in response to her inquiry, so introductions were useless. They simply locked eyes, Murrik turned, and Sentiri followed.

The first words exchanged between the two were right to the point. There was no need to reiterate why Sentiri was there, that information was already known. The only thing the two needed to do was negotiate. In order to reach negotiation, Murrik had decided the moment prudent to test Sabosen'tir'inrokini of her loyalties; specifically, her loyalties to what he concerned to be disdainful humans and whether or not she was still faithful to the Ascendancy despite the society's disowning of Sentiri. She had made her position perfectly clear: she was representing the First Order.

"Results? And what result is that? A sloppy subjugation of some undetermined amount of space followed by a decaying, top-heavy chain of command followed by a quick crumble into nothingness?" The Chiss man grunted out a half-laugh. "The same petty rulers come through time and again, and yet the result is always the same."

"And yet the Ascendancy somehow always survives these cycles?"

"They have since their founding." He wasn't wrong. The Chiss Ascendancy was the oldest surviving government body in the galaxy. Not once in the millennia since being founded had there been a significant change in the style of their governance. And yet the Republics, the Empir's, the Alliances all had risen and fallen one after another. Humans were impatient creatures. And yet...

"And yet here you and I are, tens of thousands of light years away from Csilla. The Ascendancy isn't here. They never will be. They care not for any outside their border. So why does any of this matter?" The man seated opposite to Sentiri paused his vitriolic questioning of Sentiri's loyalties. For the first time, she had her diplomatic opponent on the defensive. "Who do you serve?"

 

[Saki lin]

After she got cleared for landing to the space station she made her way to a docking Bay and brought the small craft inside and landed gently the gentle hiss as the ship regulated the pressure within the ship before she opened the door and stepped out...plenty of humans around...that didn't bother her one bit she was here to assist in the construction of the station or test various equipment that was already operational and ready to be used

As she departed she got plenty of looks...given she was a xeno in a largely human place....again she didn't worry if she took away from their work it was their fault she would work efficiently as need

3/22
Allies-all first order
Station
Obj 1 and 3

 

[Visser Chernykh]

6/22
Vortusa

At least his cloak had been dry. It even managed to remain so during much of the day. One foot in front of the other. The snow crunched beneath his boots.

He'd forgotten the tracking device in his clothes. He'd forgotten much in two days. But his memories swirled before him. Those hadn't stopped their torture.

Mael Ren came upon the swamps around mid-day. He'd stood before them inhaling the fetid stink. The waters gave off steam as the contents bubbled and decomposed. It was evident that he'd have to travel 'round.

Hunger had become to gnaw at him as he walked on. He was able to ignore it for a time but he succumbed. Mael Ren ate his ration bar slowly as he squatted near the shores of his swamp. Where he'd sleep this night wasn't so obvious.

No hunter's shanty stood ready for him now. The wildlife had left him alone so far. But what he'd sensed had been small and harmless. Predators would come out in the night.

He'd have no walls or fire to protect him. Mael Ren stood to his full height and walked on. Something would have to come up yet again. He found the caves as if by some miracle.

Part of his mind felt relief. He could rest cold and weary limbs within. Another part felt danger. He decided to proceed after a glance at the quickly setting sun.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 12
Operation Whinging Fury
[member="Caid Centurion"] | [member="Sioux Chambers"] | [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"]

Natasi conversed quietly with the technician attending to Rausgeber. "Is he having some sort of nervous breakdown?" asked Natasi quietly, glancing skeptically at Rausgeber. She had followed on once he had been settled in the officer's medbay. The ship seemed to be running back up to standards, but she had been deeply disturbed by the Captain's disregard for Delta Blue quarantine protocols and lack of discipline. But perhaps he was having some sort of actual mental break. The technician shook his head and murmured that he didn't know. Natasi canted her head to the side. "Perhaps he's having some kind of... allergic reaction to the aerosol?"

The technician shrugged and walked off to run some more tests. Natasi moved to the side of Rausgeber's bed and leaned over him. "Would you like a sedative, Captain? You're rather babbling," Natasi said quietly. The Moff pulled a chair up next to the bed and leaned forward. "You're upset about the testing," Natasi observed, holding her chin thoughtfully.

 

[Artemis Margs]

Location: Orbit of Virsun and the construction site.
Post: 14
Allies: First Order
Enemies:None
Objective: Not defecating at the arrival of a Knight of Ren.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7pSaxNT0nI&index=1&list=PLUAVzwxmy-OglMiexk831CXdXgC561RgB

"Alert the stormtroopers in bay three," Margs began, "They have full clearance to leave. Add an apology for the delay." The lieutenant added. It was the least the Vindicator could do for the company they'd been delaying. Bloody hell, it had been a busy few hours. First the stormtroopers, the Moff, and this whole virus business. The lieutenant sighed, and looked out the viewport, hoping the rest of his command shift would be quick so he could eat. However, deep within he knew that something somewhere was about to go wrong.

And that something came in the way of the Vindicators comms officer. "Sir," The officer said, "We have another request for landing."

"Another?" Margs groaned, rubbing his temples. "Can't we tell them to piss off?"

"Well, you could try, they'd probably kill you for this." The officer nervously laughed.

"Who is it?" Margs asked with a derisive glare.

"The code they're using matches up to the sort of signal used by the Knights of Ren." The officer informed, biting his lower lip.

Artemis went pale, and peered down at the screen. The blue words "Charlie Romeo Two Seven" glared at him accusingly. "Oh bloody hell...." Margs groaned, "What's the ETA?"

"Well, they're not using standard docking procedure. Whoevers at the helm is accelerating to Bay Two." The radar officer reported, "We have them on scopes now."

Margs groaned again, "Considering the captain's current predicament, I best get down there." Margs said quietly, "Hold position, this guy may want to relieve Carl-the captain," He corrected "Of command." Margs then turned, "I'll be back as soon as possible."

The second hangar bay was clear of technicians when Margs arrived. He felt awfully alone watching as the ship came closer. He waited for it to dock, before saluting as the docking ramp slid down. "Sir! Welcome aboard." Was all Margs said.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Carlyle looked at the Moff, he was pale and weakened. "I-I just lost it..." He said quietly, "The stress of everything, the inspection, the stormtroopers in the hangar, the goddamned quarantine. I snapped." He mused quietly, "I thought my crew was going to die." He looked at her, the anger in his eyes had faded, only sorrow remained. "I thought my men, the men I swore to protect and serve with, I thought we were gone for. And to find out it was all a trick, a deception...." He gritted his teeth and tensed up and froze, pausing. "It was inappropriate of me to have done that." he said quietly, "I shouldn't have snapped at you, and offer my commission and rank. It was very unbecoming of me." He laid himself back with a sigh, "I-I just need a drink, a long sip from some Corellian whiskey and I'll be right as rain again."

[member="Natasi Fortan"] [member="Caid Centurion"]

 

[Caid Centurion]

Post 3
Operation Whinging Fury
[member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Sioux Chambers"] | [member="Artemis Margs"]

Caid applied full power to the ships repulsors just as it transitioned in to the hangar bay of the Vindicator. He had bled off a little bit of velocity utilizing forward RCS prop, but the medium-sized freighter was still moving at a pretty good clip as it entered the hangar. Flaring the nose abruptly, Caid utilized the thrust from the repulsors to abruptly slow the vessel's horizontal velocity. Just before it would have reached the point of a complete stall, he lowered the nose and manipulated thrust to the repulsors to bring the vessel onto the durasteel deck gently.

Steam hissed from hydraulic actuators as the loading ramp lowered. The cloaked and masked figure of Ciardha Ren descended to the deck of the hangar immediately thereafter. Sensors within his helmet indicated a benign foreign contaminant in the air. The gear wasn't so sophisticated as to give him insight into the exact composition, however.

Initially, Ciardha had swept immediately past the Lieutenant without uttering so much as a word. However, the Ren had stopped perhaps ten paces beyond the Lieutenant before spinning on his heels and stalking back towards the young man. Gazing down at the Lieutenant from behind his featureless black mask, Ciardha inquired in a deep voice with a mechanical twang. "Lieutenant."

A pause as the Ren evaluated the officer through the Force.

"Take me to the Captain of this vessel."