Crina: In Search of Arcona Dreams

[Ashin Varanin]

Deep in the farthest reaches of One Sith territory, far beyond all the things, a flotilla of Clan Rekali and Dathomiri vessels decanted. On the bridge of the Skira-class Like Hell, Ember touched the command chair's hypercomm link and connected with [member="Isley Verd"]. Verd, and all the other ship commanders.

"We're not here to attack, we're here to make business inroads," he said, voice dry. "Let's not make any more enemies than strictly necessary, or throw our weight around. This planet has what we need; let's be polite about it."

In the back of his mind, he felt the Force surge in song as the Like Hell's witch choir, and the comparable groups aboard the diverging vessels, commenced with the theme music. As the vessels settled into variegated Hohmann transfer orbits, he began to set up communications linkages with his business associates groundside. This could easily turn vicious; it could just as easily wind up an opportunity for profit. Today Ember wanted the latter.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ostanes was bored. And that was a polite way of putting it. His studies had grown immeasurably since Rave had sent him the adornment he still wore on his hand. It had almost become like a part of him, a bit of second nature really. Sometimes he even wore it in his sleep. He sat at the helm of his yacht, a lovely VT-Sliver, as he traced an orbit above Crina with other Witches in tow. His ship was far from the others in terms of aesthetics and such, but it was not like Dathomir was known for a homogeneous culture and aesthetic anyhow.

So while the ship lazily moved back and forth in a fixed orbit, he flicked a switch idly. Anyone scanning his ship would see the designations for Akure Executive Interstellar owning the ship, and the specific numbers keying it as a trade envoy attached to the Witchmasters. That had become his cover whilst he studied on Dathomir. Truth be told, he'd much rather be back in his workshop, planning with [member="Dissero"] and pushing the Guild further along. But, in the end, it had been important to his education to come here, or so it was told to him.

And honestly? When [member="Ember Rekali"] spoke, you listened. Even if it did mean a bunch of Night Sisters wound up lodged in the master suite of your new luxury starship and filled it with chanting, and he was fairly certain he had heard chickens clucking at one point. The doughty looking brunette who had scowled at him was wearing very loose robes... She probably snuck them on. He despised chickens. But, as it was said, one listened to Ember... The man just had the voice, as it were.

So here he was, idly reading a text on the Paecian language, or well, a dry and dusty account of the morphonics and changes of the language as it evolved into what was used on Dathomir. His spell-work was deficient in battle only because of his lack of knowledge of the language. He supplemented it with Sith Magic and Alchemy, his true strong suits, but there was a burning desire to learn more of this rather unique and variant culture... Who knew what knowledge, and therefore power, lay untapped at its' core. Obeahs voice sounded almost eager as he turned his attention from the console to reading again.

[member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Allyson Locke]

THE KRAKEN
Bridge

“Bait, make sure to erase, cross off or whatever Dathomir on the star map” Allyson sat in the pilot's seat of the Kraken's bridge. The small droid radio’d back from the navigation room with a confused trill of beeps. Allyson had a small damp towel over her face as she frowned trying to think of better smelling places. The droid’s confusion sparked irritation, but she knew that the ball didn’t know what smell was and how it was affecting her. “They stink.” The droid beeped expressing his condolences and then said something along the lines of having Kaili install some of her cybernetics or something. Frowning, Allyson turned the comm off between them after hearing the binary equivalent to a laugh.

“He’s always such a little--” Allyson’s comment was cut short as she drew in closer to the comm frequency that was being opened by Ember Rekali - her boss and something a bit more important to her. She listened, he was one of the few she did listen to without a fault. Leaning back, in her chair she wondered more about this little mission to Crina. What was the angle? Why bring so many with him? Allyson had been doing deliveries and pick ups, when she got the call about being apart of this, being apart of something with him again. She jumped right out of the capsule bed causing a bit of confusion with [member="Kaili Talith"] - said her goodbyes and promised to write.

When [member="Ember Rekali"] summoned you personally, you listen and you go. Allyson rested her head on her hand as she used her fingers to plug her nose. She didn’t realize she would be dragging along Dathomiri singing peeps along with her. A few seemed to have taken a liking to her and have shown their approval of her physical form while others see her as some sort of threat, but all of them...they all smell.

Silence rang over the comm and Allyson pushed the button to respond. “I’m down for whatever old man, but can we get some deodorant or something for your homies?” The young scoundrel did her best to sound as kind and as if she was smiling with all the hope in her heart as she spoke. Either way, she wondered if leaving Kaili was worth this. Speaking of the girl, she wrote out a quick message and sent it to her mostly apologizing and saying she’d make it up to her.

Cargo: Smelly Singing Witches & 1 Rude BB Droid

Spoiler

[member="Ostanes"] [member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

In light of the recent neutrality brokered between the United Clans and One Sith Empire, the venture to Crina had to be done carefully. The Witchmaster flotilla had not been assembled with combat at the forefront of its mind...but rather a gain of the more financial nature. According to what [member="Ember Rekali"] had said revealed beforehand, there were associates on the ground. Associates that would make the impending operation occur a touch more smoothly.

As such, Isley stood at the bridge of the Ferocity and awaited word from his fellow Witch King. With him, filling the Frigate to the brim along with a few accompanying corvettes, were members of Clan Verd. Some where reformed Templars educated in the ways of Dathomir. Others were bloodborn Verd, trained over time by their Alor. Together, they joined the symphony weaved by the Like Hell, filling the air with their might. The Force was upon them.

The Force was waiting to move.

[member="Allyson Locke"] | [member="Ostanes"] | [member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ostanes"] [member="Allyson Locke"] [member="Isley Verd"]

From the bridge of the Like Hell, Ember adjusted a console display to look back the way they'd come. The ship trailed a streamer of silver exhaust, an arc describing the Hohmann transfer orbit. Now the ship's course evened out into a regular orbit.

He tore himself away from the aesthetics of the moment. An acquisition expedition like this required coordination, firm mid-range goals, and thorough briefing. He'd handled the latter element well enough, probably. Now came the moment-to-moment updates, in case of security blips -- in case a system this remote happened to hold someone who might object to their presence. Presence alone, really. Their actions had been unobjectionable thus far, and Ember had no intention of powering up weapons. Not his ship, and not any of the others.

He kept tabs on those other ships as they spread out on their variegated orbits. He aimed to ensure none of his people did anything dumb, especially not in the forty-five minutes it took for them to orbit on the other side of the planet. At these altitudes, ninety minutes was a complete circle.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ostanes "] [member="Isley Verd"] [member="Allyson Locke"]


Ninety minutes elapsed without apparent incident. At the end of ninety minutes, Crina was lost.

That thin silver exhaust-stream behind each of the Witchmaster vessels was nothing corporeal, nothing that could show up on sensors. The Control Web spell involved witches jumping over battlefields and running their perimeters, trailing insubstantial silver lines. Ninety minutes let each of those diverse orbits close into a full circle. Each ship held a dozen witches or more. The combined effect of the ritual surrounded the world in a Control Web of crisscrossing magic.

Across the system, the balance of the Force shifted utterly.

"Your attention please," said Ember on system-wide broadcast. "This is Ember Rekali speaking to the adults of the planet Crina. Specifically, I'm speaking to any of you who are rapists or pedophiles, or who have personally profited from the One Sith occupation. You will now deposit all the money at your disposal in the following accounts." He began listing numbers for bank accounts in neutral territory, accounts that would be drained the moment each transaction came in. And from there to other accounts, then more, then more.

"Once you've finished depositing your money into these accounts," he said, "walk outside and put your hands on your head. Or, if you prefer, kill yourselves."

His display panels held bank relays from half a dozen points along the chain. The money, in immense quantities, began to flow as the planet-wide mind control spell took effect.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As the announcement hit the 'airwaves' as it were, Ostanes smiled as the idea became apparent. He hadn't been told of the plan, but now it became apparent, readily so. The Clan-Father was quite devious, which was belied by a warlike and almost belicose nature at times. He was dangerous, that was for certain, and Ostanes was glad he and Ember were on the same side in this. Keying a message via text, he sent a private congratulations to his lord, and then nodded as his attention went back to the book he were reading. Muttering the words aloud, he frowned.

"Woyunoks hadzuska koshûjontû..."



[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Allyson Locke"]