Dominion Deja Vu | First Order Dominion of Lutrillia

[Resurgent Anecdote]

One would be hard pressed to find a more inhospitable world than Lutrillia with native sapient lifeforms. It’s cold, water is scarce, and giant subterranean predators roam the depths beneath the rocks and the sand, looking for fresh morsels of prey.

The native Lutrillians adapted by adopting a nomadic lifestyle, building massive roving cities that scour the surface of the planet for resources and riches. Life is hard, and often short, as a simple broken shock absorber can spell doom if a replacement isn’t onhand. Spare parts are worth their weight in gold, and with few exports to speak of, there are never enough to go around.

Enter the First Order.

Rather than ignore the Lutrillians and leave them to their fate, the First Order has undertaken a massive humanitarian mission under the Pax Imperialis directive. Though the long term goal is to bring peace and prosperity while maintaining as much of their way of life as the natives wish to keep, there are several short term objectives that must be accomplished in order to bring them into the fold.

A roving town by the designation AE-86 is in danger of complete ruin. A pandemic has swept through the population, and without proper maintenance, the town’s propulsion drives are at risk of breaking down. What’s more, incoming sandstorms have made the prospect of landing supply shuttles prohibitively dangerous. Without immediate assistance, the town is doomed. Providing assistance could very well doom their saviors.

In other words, it sounds like a job for the Imperial Knights and the Mynocks.

A small fleet of podracers have been acquired by the FOSB, and modified to haul cargo. They’re fast enough to get the job done, but between the oncoming sandstorms and the natural dangers of Lutrillia, only a madman or a trained Force User would try. It falls to the Knights and a bunch of crazy people mercenaries for mercy to deliver medicine and spare parts while there’s still hope. On Lutrillia, to stop moving means death. The fate of AE-86 is in your hands.

Not everyone is thrilled by the presence of the First Order on Lutrillia. The city of Lancer has declared itself in opposition to the presence of interlopers, and is on a collision course with Civic, the planetary capital. They must be dealt with, and fast, but it has to be quiet. Intelligence reports suggest that the actual rebellion is a small but powerful cabal, while the citizenry itself is either ambivalent or hostile to the cabal, but powerless to stop them.

It falls to the FOSB to covertly infiltrate Lancer, topple the cabal, and do so without causing a ruckus. Civilian casualties are to be kept to a minimum, and the city must keep moving. It will be a difficult mission that must be completed in an impossibly short window, but failure isn’t an option. To fail this mission would be to threaten the planet’s entry into the First Order, and in doing so, imperil the lives of countless innocents in the coming years and decades. Who knows when they’ll be willing to talk again?

In order to entice Lutrillia to join the First Order willingly, a diplomatic mission is sent to Civic, the capital city. They have been empowered to provide immense economic and material relief in order to accomplish this objective, and by all accounts, the Lutrillians are more than happy to play ball.

There are rumors that insurgents from Lancer may have infiltrated Civic, so the security detail will have to stay on their toes, but really, the greatest danger is to their livers. The Lutrillians brew a potent liquor from local plants that may or may not have hallucinogenic properties for humans, and in the interest of being good hosts, they’ve provided copious amounts for the summit.

Good luck with that. (Roll 1 d6 to determine if you’ll have a trip. 3 or below is a trip, and a 1 is a bad trip.)

The single greatest thing the First Order can do to benefit the people of Lutrillia is put a dent in the predator population. To that end, a massive armored thrust has been sent into the badlands, looking for nippers and chompers to blast into chowder. No one knows much about what the beasties look like, as survivors have been few and far between, but they’re large enough to pose a threat to the massive rolling cities, so infantry is right out.

The answer to this problem? Tanks. Lots of tanks. Grab a track, grab a buddy, and head out into the desert on a campaign that would send any environmentalist worth their salt into an apoplectic fit. Extinction is the order of the day, ladies and gentlemen. Have fun, but try not to get eaten.

This is a BYOO objective. Work together to create whatever crazy story suits your fancy.​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

​

Drops at dusk were always dangerous.

Sure, it's a natural low point in the circadian rhythm of most diurnal beings. That means that guards are drowsy, less alert. And the night shift is usually only just waking up, so they're not exactly fresh and ready to go either. No one is a morning person at 2000 hours. But, there's light. Not necessarily a lot of it, but enough that if someone happened to look up, you were hosed. Dresden much preferred to hit the ground at 0300 local, the much vaunted "pre dawn nautical twilight." Preferably on a moonless night. Then, the darkness would be nearly absolute. You could drop a bantha on someone's head and they wouldn't notice until they felt the fur. Plus, that was a low point in night shift's circadian rhythm, and if they were tired, everyone else was fast asleep.

Unfortunately, schedules for urgent black ops missions didn't always allow for optimal timing.

Dresden did everything in his power to mitigate the risks. He, and anyone else who wanted to come along, would be dropping out of the sun. The brilliant light of the sun was diffused by both the atmosphere and a sandstorm somewhere out on the horizon, creating a giant lambent bloom that blotted out most of the western sky, making it nigh impossible to look at unprotected. They wouldn't be using anything so obvious as parachutes, drop pods, or gliders, either. A pack on his chest contained a small repulsor unit, and an inertial damper. Dropping from orbit, it had been necessary to carry a small shield bubble as well, but once he'd made it through the thermal shock of reentry, it had been discarded, and he was in freefall. He specialized drop suit had small, deployable wings that made it possible, if only just, to stop him from tumbling and provide some semblance of steering, but they were designed to minimize his cross section when viewed from above, and thus, weren't anything to write home about.

It was a good thing, then, that he wouldn't be relying on them to scrub off delta-V as he reached the drop zone. That was the repulsor's job.

The target was a massive roving city, about five kilometers from bow to stern, and roughly teardrop shaped. On Lutrillia, where giant subterranean monsters would eat anything that stood still long enough, it was considered a necessity to keep on the move. The teardrop shape reduced drag as much as possible, and the wheels allowed it to sustain speeds of up to 90 kilometers an hour over open ground. The city itself was partially enclosed with giant vertical sand shields that prevented the harsh winds and blowing sand from affecting the everyday lives of citizens, leaving only the top open. Rain was such a rarity on the arid world that it wasn't considered important in the design process, such as it was. As Dresden understood it, most of these roving cities were ad hoc affairs, built over the course of centuries and only beaten into some semblance of homogenous design when they became massive enough to require it.

The city's name was Lancer, it and had a serious problem. It had been taken over by isolationists who had heard of the First Order's intent to bring Lutrillia into the fold and wanted nothing to do with it. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem for Dresden. Independent enclaves were nothing new. So long as they kept to themselves and paid for any public services they wanted to avail themselves of, no biggie. But Lancer had become something of a hotbed for the budding isolationist movement, and had gathered enough bodies to wrest control away from its normal authorities and set it on a collision course for Civic, the planetary capital.

Intel suggested that most of the population was either ignorant of their plans or powerless to stop them. Otherwise, it would have been no real issue to quietly vaporize the place from orbit and pretend that terrorists had set off a nuke or something. Instead, a team of FOSB agents and a handful of mercenaries who were scraped up at the last second were tasked with dropping in, seizing control, and averting disaster, all without unnecessary civilian casualties. There was no doubt that it would be a dangerous mission. The city had a population in the hundreds of thousands, and what's more, any fighting that risked damaging the vital drive components was strictly prohibited, unless there was no other way to stop the collision but to stop the city and leave it for the nippers and chompers.

That was some cold calculous. Sacrificing hundreds of thousands of innocents to save millions and ensure a prosperous future for a planet constantly on the brink was an easy choice to make on paper, but not so much when you were the one who had to pull the trigger. Dresden fervently hoped it wouldn't be necessary. He already had enough trouble with nightmares as it was.

So far though, things were looking good. Dresden found what looked like a good landing spot, triggered his repulsor, and winced as he went from several hundred kilometers an hour to a dead stop relative to the city in under a second. The inertial damper in his pack made it survivable, but it wasn't fun. He dropped lightly to the deck and stripped out of the uncomfortably hot drop pack and suit, after finding a convenient patch of shadows. His rucksack contained a more standard coverall, combat helmet, plate carrier, and his weapons: a chopped and suppressed carbine designed for close in work, and a heavy blaster pistol for backup. The whole process took less than thirty seconds.

"Bravo Six, in position," he muttered into his throat mic.

The encrypted radio broadcast the signal to his compatriots, assuming any of them made it to the ground alive. He could afford to give them a few more minutes, but no more. They had less than six hours to complete their mission, and they would likely need every second of it.

 

[Alois Hammer]

INTO THE NETHERLANDS THE FRIESLAND ARMY MARCHED​

It was only right and appropriate that the 1st Friesland Regiment, now of the First Order, rode into battle with their anthem blaring into the desert. Colonel Hammer was not one for bouts of nostalgia, but even he could feel the patriotic stirrings in his heart as the wailing guitars and thundering drums rang out across the deserts of Lutrillia. It was an ancient tune, one his ancestors had roared in triumphant fury all the way back in the days of the Old Republic, when a Sith sorcerer had tried to open a portal to the Netherworld and kidnap hold the royal family hostage there. It was no less rousing today, nearly a thousand years later, and it was one of the few bits of Friesland history that had managed to survive the planet's destruction.

The other bits of Friesland history were roaring across an open desert in that most awesome of destructive engines: the tank. Specifically, in this case, brand new OxI HT Mk1 Orders, provided by the First Order at great expense. The heavy tanks were light on the trinkets and doodads, but heavy on the armor and firepower, which was just how Alois liked it. The less junk in between his men and the target, the better.

Today, there were no accompanying infantry, no lighter vehicles, and no need to worry about incoming fire. Their mission, at its most basic, was a hunting trip.

The deserts of Lutrillia were rife with enormous predatory beasties that would eat anything smaller than a Super Star Destroyer if it sat still for long enough. Destroying them from orbit was the next best thing to impossible, since they spent most of their lives underground and would only come out to eat. Tanks, however, made enough of a ruckus and packed enough firepower to get the job done. The nippers and choppers, Alois surmised, were essentially related species of giant sandworm, not unlike a cross between a sarlacc and krayt dragon in terms of scale and appetite. The largest recorded by the natives were over a kilometer wide at the mouth, and as many as ten kilometers long. Those monsters only roamed the deep desert, where even the massive mobile cities were afraid to roam.

And that just so happened to be where he and his armored wedge were heading.

Over a hundred tanks, arrayed in a massive chevron, organized by brigade, battalion, troop, and platoon (also in chevrons), roared across the frigid sands, blasting music loud enough to be heard over the massive fans. Each packed a thirty centimeter turbolaser that could punch through just about anything, along with a powerful coaxial machinegun and a backup tribarrel for use by the VC.

Alois was at the head of the wedge. Not in the very first tank; his XO, Major Steuben, had overruled him on that. But he was in the lead formation, standing up through the commander's hatch for the first time in over a decade. He understood the necessity of not risking himself unnecessarily, but opportunities like this were so rare as to be nonexistent. Long habit taught him to keep his knees slightly bent to absorb impact, though the Orders had a remarkably smooth ride. The air cushion technology was even more ancient than their anthem, but like the anthem, it still had its perks in this modern world.

Panzerkampf. That's what the tune was called. In the ancient language of Friesland, whose accent still imposed itself on her sons and daughters even though they all spoke Basic from birth, it roughly translated to tank combat. It spoke of the original First Friesland Regiment, who had driven their tanks through the literal gates of hell to rescue their Queen, and whose heroism had saved them from untold suffering. It was a fitting tune for today's mission. What they sought to achieve on their own trip through hell was a world where future Lutrillians could freely walk upon the surface of their own world without fear of being eaten.

Glorified hunting trip? Maybe. But also a noble cause that all who wore the lion rampant of the 1FR could take pride in. If they weren't able to save their own world, maybe they could do something for this one, and countless others like it.

 

[Eve Throndsen]

Objective 4: Panzerhampf

Eve pulled her jacket closer as a gust of cold wind bit at any exposed skin. She shivered some before stepping behind a tank to block the oncoming wind. Lutrilla wasn't a welcoming planet in the least. Regardless, the First Order was here to help the citizens of this planet, along with bringing peace and stability. One of those tasks was eliminating the planets dangerous wildlife. A dangerous wildlife that apparently dwelled underground, making things that much more difficult.

Now normally Eve wouldn't concern herself to much with such missions. Except this time she was on said extermination mission. Under normal circumstances she would have just been in charge of unloading equipment and troops on the planets surface, then withdrawing until needed again. Today, however she was standing behind the tank she was supposed to command. Definitely a new experience for her.

The 'how' she got here was less of a mystery. When those above you in rank believed that experience in other fields was a good thing, you didn't argue. The 'why' was more of the mystery. Why tanks? Why not another field related to hers? Those were the questions she asked herself, even if there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

Eve let out a sigh before climbing into the tank, more to get out of the wind than actually getting the mission started. The inside was just as she imagined, cramped, but she didn't expect anything else. She looked over everything around her as she tried to remember what she had studied on her way here. This...shouldn't be to hard, right?

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

I N T E R V E N T I O N
ORBIT OF LUTRILLIA

The First Order had seen fit to round up most of the policy-makers of consequence into some diplomatic meeting on the mobile platform-city of Civic, which seemed to serve as a capital of sorts for the Lutrillan government. That was good. For one, it got the regulators out of his way and afforded him free reign for the time being to cavort with the heads of industry.

As for the First Order's nay-sayers, it got them out of his way as well. Probably because they were too busy trying to sabotage or disrupt the talks between the Lutrillans and the government of Supreme Leader Natasi Fortan -- for all the good it was likely to do them. And, not to put too much of a point on it, but Sor-Jan already had a couple of analyst droids on the holo-net feeds trying to do some small part in squashing that dissent. Nothing so bold as censorship. Just... tag saturation. Promoting social media tags that would keep pro-First Order propaganda visible in people's feeds, while simultaneously suppressing tags that would make the opposition's posts pop up in someone's Spacebook feed.

And the other part? It meant that the First Order was likely too occupied with the Lutrillans to have bothered with what the corporate star destroyer was doing in orbit of the planet.

There was nothing better than conducting business in the Outer Rim. Particularly now, with the Outer Rim Free Trade Agreement coming to fruition.

Sor-Jan was betting heavily that ORFTA would pass. And that it would make the Lutrillan Cross hyperlane a lucrative venture. The piece to which was simple: Sor-Jan wanted to get Corellia Digital on the ground. And he wanted to do it by negotiating with the Lutrillans -- not the First Order.

He liked this new Supreme Leader. He just didn't care to pay her taxes. Any more than he had to, anyway.

"I know what you're all thinking."

Not entirely true. Not entirely false. As a child, for his species, Sor-Jan didn't have fully developed Anzat telepathic abilities. A mature Anzat could easily have read multiple minds in tandem, twisting -- even bending -- the wills of sentient beings. But he was an empath, and so he knew the metaphorical temperature in the room.

The Lutrillans had come to the offered Tech Expo on the converted star destroyer. They were curious, but that cut both ways. Curious to see what he had offer. Curious to determine if this was a waste of their time.

"Information," the boy noted simply, as he looked out over the wrinkled faces of the aliens. "The speed of information. You need to communicate, in real time, with customers and clients sectors away. You need to process more data, more efficienctly, more accurately, and you need to do it now."

With a snap of his fingers, holographic displays of the galactic map began to pop up, with holo-net relays popping up as lights. Stars illuminating a cosmic network that slowly built a spiderweb from the Outer Rim toward the Core.

"Allow me to introduce you to Corellia Digital," the boy intoned casually.

"You may have thought that we only did holo-games, but if you give me a few moments of time... I'll give you the Core."

 

[Marven Mereel]

Equipment/Features

A full set of beskar
Helmet- Macrobinocular viewplate, tactical heads-up displays, comlink, range-finder
Vambraces- Armed with flame-throwers, whistling birds, wrist lasers, whipcord throwers
Jetpack- Missile x1, grappling hook
Weapons- EE-3 carbine rifle, WESTAR-34 blaster pistols x2


Now Playing:

Marv stared at the contraption. Stared at the...middleman? Spook? Then stared back at the machine.

'Me'ven te haran?'

"Tell me your not serious", he said flatly. The operator, fidgeting under the faceless t-visor staring back at him, swallowed and shook his head. "Afraid not, Mando. AE-86 on it's last legs- between the pandemic and the propulsion drives, they can't last much longer danger of complete ruin. The sandstorms have made coming by shuttle...unwise. Podracer's gonna be the best way."

"Unless something eats me", Marv said dryly. The FOSB operator shrugged. "Make it work. That's why we pay you the big bucks, Mando. And make sure you stay in communication." With that, he sauntered away. Marv snorted.

'Shabuir.'

He turned a critical eye to the podracer. The model was...inspired to say the least. Jury-rigged. Slapped together. The weight of the supplies he was hauling behind the pod seemed like it was straining the repulsors. He was almost tempted to leave his armor back at the Antioch. Almost. At the very least, if he was eaten, they'd see how beskar held up in the digestive tract of a giant worm.

He squeezed himself into the cockpit- it was barely large enough to fit a humanoid. He brought up comms in his helmet. "Mereel, here. Making my way to AE-86." With that, he cautiously began steering the podracer into the seemingly endless desert.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

It didn't matter how good your team was, it always helped to have someone lay out the welcome mat. Aithche had been on Lancer for the last week or so, one of a few advance agents who'd been infiltrated in once the FOSB had figured out that the city was going to be a thorn in their side. Events over the past week had escalated that from thorn in the side to dagger at the throat.

Her pleas hadn't gone unnoticed. She'd been directed to await further orders and just twelve hours after that, told to prepare for the insertion of a black ops team. Which was why she was stumbling around rooftops at dusk, placing signal emitters for the strike team to vector in on. The strobes should be somewhat visible to anyone coming in from above. She scanned the sky anxiously but they'd picked dusk for a reason, not a hope she'd catch them with her naked eye. She moved back into an alcove and waited.

She didn't have long to wait. The first transmission came in and she cleared her throat before responding. "Watcher to Bravo Six, reading you five by five. Moving to your position". Rising, she made for the RV at an unhurried pace. Someone running or skulking was bound to attract attention. Hooded and walking, she was just another person making for home as the desert chill came in with nightfall.

The one upside to all of this was that it was a small hardcore group of isolationists that were calling the shots in Lancer. They could have condemned thousands to death but excising the diseased part should be enough to save the rest of the city. Not too many of the locals were happy with their actions but most were wisely choosing to keep their heads down and see which way the wind was blowing before they jumped.

She slowed her pace as she neared the RV, keeping her hands carefully out to her sides and not making any sudden movements. Special forces were professionals but she didn't want to spook any hired help.

Dresden Verbrennung

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

I N T E R V E N T I O N
ORBIT OF LUTRILLIA

"...we may be able to help each other out."

The small Anzat was working the floor of the tech expo. What was nice about the Lutrillans was that they were roughly his same height. Nice to have a level playing field like that. "I'm looking for a partner on this planet and you're looking for an investor," the boy posed.

His empathic sense was kicking him.

There was resistance with this one. Outside investors were distasteful. If Sor-Jan wasn't careful, he could easily talk himself out of the deal. "Think about it," the boy offered, before breaking away from the Lutrillan for another one in the crowd.

"Solomancae," the boy said, calling the businessman by name.

Yes, Sor-Jan had met him before.

No. Sor-Jan didn't actually remember it. Or his name. One of the perks of being a telepath was that Sor-Jan didn't have to remember. So long as the other person did, he could just pick out the details that he needed. "Good to see you," the Corellian boy supplied, lying through his teeth and hoping he was selling it like a Coronet City used starsship salesman.

"My engineers have looked at your infrastructure. I think our processors can give a thirty percent increase in your productivity," the Anzat offered, talking as he signaled for one of the analyst droids to hover over his way. "My droid can go over the metrics if you like," the Anzat explained, breaking himself away with the obligatory, "If you'll excuse me."

Splitting off, the youth retreated to a vantage point at the back of the convention center where he could take a pause and look out over the event.

Still a lot of distrust in the room.

The boy's gaze shifted to what was in people's hands. Or what wasn't in their hands.

Servitor droids were out with carts of beverages, but they seemed few at the moment. Grabbing the arm of a passing droid, the boy uttered, "Open up a couple more cases of wine."

"Yes, sir."

He needed to loosen up the clientele.

One in particular. Pointing out the Lutrillan that he'd originally speaking with, the boy casually said, "And see if you can't get Atlasothal to drink more,"

Alcohol. It was a fantastic social lubricant. And helped with a number of business transactions, at least in Sor-Jan's experience.

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

​

Pandemics.​

​

Elisea wondered who she pissed off to get this assignment.​

​

Her starting point wasn't AE-86, no she was over on RX-7 awaiting transport. RX-7 was secure as any mobile city was bound to be. Beside Elisea was her wife Nylea Apollodor and Knight-Commander Marionne Roule and between the two Force users, and the protective equipment they were secure from being infected with the current plague that held AE-86 in its grasp. Elisea had been told that there would be assistance from a freighter company. She'd question the idea of a freighter company helping but she didn't really care - so long as they got the help that they needed. A pilot confirmed Marven Mereel's flight path and then turned to the shuttle that held Elisea and Marionne, and whoever else was aboard the shuttle departing RX-7.​

​

"So long as this doesn't go south like Mephout..." perked up Commander Marasigan who sat beside the Knight-Commander. ​

​

Elisea involuntarily shuttered, "yeah let's not talk about Mephout anymore than we have to." At least there they were able to downsize the quarantine center but it was still a memory that she didn't want to think about. Even if she wasn't anywhere near the outbreak center. Elisea slipped her hand into Nylea's and just rested her back up against the seat. ​

​

Hazel Zanteres | Fevris Derzelas | Firenne Van-Derveld | Matma Bernu ​

​

 

[Fevris Derzelas]

Tagging: Nylea Apollodor ~ Elisea Apollodor ~ Matma Bernu ~ Firenne Van-Derveld ~ Hazel Zanteres

An ex-member of the First Order's rescue corps, Fevris was well aware of the risks that this little trip would entail. This was, for now, the first concern on her mind. A plague-stricken roving city was plenty enough to cause worry and demand her focus, but until they could actually make it there they had enough to stress about as it was.

After readying herself, the Bakuran walked over to the agreed meeting point on RX-7 and boarded the shuttle. A smile stretched her lips as she saw the familiar faces of her colleagues. Elisea, her wife, and Commander Marasigan. There was another among them who was a new face, that must have been Knight-Commander Roulle - if the information on the mission's briefing was correct.

Fevris rarely spent a waking second away from her work, unless she was in the company of Shalita Verd , but at this point the Doctor was certain it was due time to make an exception. After greeting everyone, she took her place next to the Apollodors, before her dark blue gaze settled on both of them and on Commander Marasigan.

"While I am always honored to work alongside you, we have to break this habit of only meeting when sith hits the fan." Blackwing outbreak in Mephout, terrorist murders in Seoul, another very close call aboard a lost star destroyer, and now this. That was a cycle surely none of them wanted to keep up.

 

[Nylea Apollodor]

Sometimes, providing aid to those in need meant putting oneself in potential harm's way. As a Jedi, Nylea was intimately aware of this kind of sacrifice, but that didn't mean she didn't ever worry about Elisea's wellbeing during such operations. There were many places where people needed help, but the echani could only be at one place at a time. When her wife was out there, she wanted to be by her side. To help Elisea help the ones who needed that outstretched hand.

That sentiment was strengthened when commander Marasigan spoke. Not just Mephout, but the encounter with the cybernetic monstrosities too. If it ever came down to it, it was going to be Nylea making the sacrifice. Not Elisea. Such was the duty of a Jedi. She herself remained silent on the topic, but the memories remained with her too. Holding Elisea's hand in her own, she managed to calm some of the nerves all those tragedies of yesterday brought with them.

Fevris was given a nod in greeting as she took her seat next to Elisea and herself. "Perhaps a meeting under better conditions is indeed in order. It is still good to see you again, however."

Elisea Apollodor | Fevris Derzelas | Matma Bernu | Firenne Van-Derveld | Hazel Zanteres ​

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

​

"Yeah, we really should think about, oh, I don't know meeting somewhere nice for a change," quipped Elisea as the shuttle lifted away from RX-7 en route for AE-86. The roving cities of Lutrilla were amazing feats of engineering but made travel between the cities somewhat daunting. The shuttle jerked around as it pushed upward into the atmosphere.​

​

Once more it was the Chief Nursing Officer who perked up, "definitely not flying Royal Starlines today, guys."​

​

That elicited a chuckle from Elisea, the reference being the main transport service on Dosuun which was now as word had it on the street was offering connecting services to Seoul and Mephout. "If you're not flying Royal Starlines, are you really flying?" Elisea mocked and just rolled her eyes, "those commercials are annoying."​

​

"But effective," returned Marasigan who gave a wink, "but yeah we just don't go anywhere nice these days, doc." The Commander looked over at Dr. Derzelas quite affectionately and added. "How about when we're done here, we go to this nice place on Perón."​

​

Elisea's brows furrowed, "that's on Needan right? Like the nice side of it."​

​

"All sides of Needan are nice, so long as you're not buried in ice."​

​

"You are on a roll today."​

​

Marasigan nodded and reasoned, "well, considering I had about three cups of caf before getting on this shuttle, yeah." The pilot noted on comms that they were to arrive on AE-86 shortly and to make sure they were properly geared. "Yeah, Perón, we can do asado, maybe locro or I happen to know a great place for matambre, and ravioli." ​

​

"Only if you pay."​

​

The commander, chief nursing officer and anything else FIMS needed of her - sighed, "fine, so long as we don't have to deal with any more outbreaks for at least another two weeks, three - please." She turned to give the Doctor a playful look.​

​

Elisea turned and looked at her wife, and gently squeezed her hand. "We'll be fine."​

​

Quietly Knight-Commander Roule rose and readied her gear, adding only this as the shuttle tossed about in the atmosphere. "I'll cover the costs so long as we actually fix up the shuttles." As if the shuttle heard it was being insulted the small transport bucked about again. "Replacing the whole damn thing." The Knight-Commander muttered under her breath as she placed her hand on the bar above them. ​

​

Nylea Apollodor | Hazel Zanteres | Firenne Van-Derveld | Matma Bernu | Fevris Derzelas ​

​

 

[Fevris Derzelas]

Tagging: Nylea Apollodor ~ Elisea Apollodor ~ Matma Bernu ~ Firenne Van-Derveld ~ Hazel Zanteres

A rare laugh came from the Doctor at the whole exchange. It was good to see at least some of them were in good spirits despite the current situation. "Well, that's a plan then." She'd have to pull out the warmest jacket she owned, but it was well worth it for an asado. A little rest and socializing would do them wonders, for while these conversations were fun they would always be tainted by the inherent stress of the job.

As the shuttle rattled and jerked, a grimace settled on her features as Fevris was rudely reminded of it. She could not agree more with Knight-Commander Roule.

The Doctor went over her equipment, as she always did, the previous smile lost to her neutral, focused expression. "AE-86 won't be pretty, a pandemic with no supplies or sufficient medical personnel... we'll need to round them up and quarantine them quickly. Priority to kids, elders, and mechanics?" She asked, inquiring about her companions opinion on the matter. Main risk groups and those with the set of skills that could make them an invaluable help towards ensuring AE-86 kept on rolling.

 

[Marven Mereel]

Fierfek.

Marv wiped a bead of sweat off of his brow, as the sun beat down on him mercilessly. His helmet sat in his lap as he awkwardly steered the pod in the too-small cockpit. When an FOSB field agent recruited him to the Mynocks, he imagined putting his skills to good use- saving refugees, busting up slave operations, and getting paid enough to make sure his grandchildren could live comfortably.

He did not have...this, in mind.

Sighing, Marv donned his helmet, contorting his body in such a way he was sure he'd need to see a med droid back on Bespin after this little caper. Pulling up the HUD, he examined the nav-coordinates. With the current rate of speed, he was about 4 hour's trip away from the rendezvous point with AE-86. At max speed, he could probably cut that time in half, but the supplies would be endangered.

His thoughts were interrupted when the right engine started shuddering violently, then a plume of thick black smoke billowed out of it. Swearing, Marv pulled the engine to a stop and with a grunt, pulled himself out of the cockpit and leapt down, landing with bend of the knees. Examining the engine, Marv got on the comms. "Mereel here. Having engine problems. Have some ideas on a temp fix...hopefully it's only an hou-"

He paused as the ground started rumbling. In the horizon, a massive worm creature exploded out of the ground, blotting out the sun, before burrowing again. Then it repeated it's breach, as it barreled towards the stranded Mandalorian.

Swearing again, Marv prepared to activate his jetpack. "Hello? Yeah, so now I have a different problem."

Fevris Derzelas | Nylea Apollodor | Elisea Apollodor | Firenne Van-Derveld | Hazel Zanteres

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

The transport found a place to land on AE-86 and one by one assuredly the team would disembark. Elisea was glad for her face mask as she looked out at the city around them. Sand dusted the ground and smoke wafted from places it shouldn't, fires around the city made for the pockets of black smoke that rose upward toward the sky. "Kids, old folks, and yeah anyone who can keep this city rolling should be good," confirmed Elisea who toppled forward as the city itself jerked forward violently.​

​

Commander Marasigan moved to help Elisea up when something rumbled in the distance.​

​

Knight-Commander Roule on instinct looked out into the distance, "whatever you're about to do, do it fast."​

​

Snap-hiss. Her lightsaber sprung to life, the white lightsaber hummed as the Knight-Commander took a defensive stance. Marven Mereel could be seen in his jetpack not too far from the group. Commander Marasigan sighed as she readied her blaster rifle, "that shuttle still there?"​

​

"Nope, it's gone," Elisea remarked as she stood between the Commander and her wife, staring down the street as the rumbling sandworm moved toward them. "Find something, someone, anyone, we gotta move."​

​

"NOW!" Shouted the Avalonian as she and the team splintered off as the sandworm threatened to come crashing down on where they stood.​

​

Fevris Derzelas | Nylea Apollodor | Firenne Van-Derveld | Hazel Zanteres | Matma Bernu ​

 

[Nylea Apollodor]

With a face mask covering her facial features from the nose down, Nylea stepped out of the shuttle and into the tragedy-struck city. Quarantine was a priority, with the biggest focus on children, the elderly, and mechanics that could keep the city running. Setting such priorities had always been difficult for the echani, but the sad reality of things was that not everyone could always be saved.

The moment the knight-commander's lightsaber sprung to life, though, it became abundantly clear that there was an even bigger issue on their plate. Literally and figuratively. Suddenly, Nylea was glad she had been convinced to bring her lightsaber with her today. A shadow formed where it shouldn't have and danger screamed at her. With a leap bolstered by the Force she got out of the way as she went into a state of alertness.

Nylea quickly went to regroup with Elisea, checking to ensure she was okay. With a nod towards her wife she took out her lightsaber and let it spring to life, creating a silver blade. Taking out the sandworm and ensuring it wouldn't do much more damage than it already had was the main thing on Nylea's mind now.

Elisea Apollodor | Fevris Derzelas | Marven Mereel ​

 

[Fevris Derzelas]

Tagging: Nylea Apollodor ~ Elisea Apollodor ~ Matma Bernu ~ Firenne Van-Derveld ~ Hazel Zanteres

AE-86 shook violently, and the Doctor felt a wave of pain shot up her arms when her elbows stopped her fall. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Fevris did not allow herself to dwell on it before she turned - trying to regain her footing as fast as she could.

Had it not been for the way her heart dropped to her stomach, perhaps Fevris would have found the situation funny. There was an irony in it all that none of them could deny. They had barely set foot on AE-86 when a massive sandworm shot out of the earth itself, apparently bent on dragging the whole city down to its underground lair if it was allowed to. Bad luck just didn't cut it, maybe the Nether had some particular urge to see their souls lost to it before their natural time.

The Bakuran was known for being almost fully detached from the Force, a characteristic caused by the science she employed to try and correct her own conditions, and she had always been a bit of a skeptic when it came to its mystical power and those who wielded it. However, in the recent months, Fevris had developed an admiration for them that she had lacked before. Not only did she fall in love with a Force User, her life and those of her colleagues and friends had been guarded by them on more than one occasion. Today, regrettably, would be another one.

With no time to lose and no weapons or skills that could give her any hope of aiding the Knight-Commander, the man in the jetpack, or Nyllea Apollodor - her sapphire gaze turned to Elysea as she started running, breaking up the group as the sandworm pressed its first attack on them. No matter how nimble, the creature moved too fast and the Doctor had to jump out of the way to not be crushed by its massive body as it slammed against AE-86's outer platform...A jump she could not quite calculate before she took.

Her side hit the floor, and the rolling city trembled once again as a result of the beast's impact making the Bakuran slide further than she had intended to. Then, suddenly, the metallic platform ended, and there was falling. Panic. Cold and shocking running down her spine, stopping the air in her throat and draining all of her blood down into her limbs. Her hand shot up out of reflex, barely managing to grab onto the edge of the platform before she dangled over massive wheels that threatened her with the promise of crushing her like a tooth-pick the second her grip failed her.

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

​

Dresden didn't recognize this Watcher. Nothing in particular unusual or interesting about that; he didn't recognize most of the faces he saw in the FOSB these days. There just wasn't any point in keeping track. They all seemed so damnably young, and he rarely saw them more than a handful of times before they were moved out of sector or killed. Remembering their names and faces just meant he had to work harder to forget them later. That didn't particularly appeal to him. But then again, what did? There were days when he didn't feel like there was anything left worth paying attention to. Certainly not the walking corpses that kept insisting they were his coworkers.

Bah humbug. The Senior Agent shook his head and brought his focus back on the mission. Dark thoughts like that were distressingly common, these days. If it wasn't for work, well, he'd be left alone inside his head with them, and that was a sure way to meet a sticky end. Best to focus on the problem at hand, rather than stew in misery and self pity.

"I've got eyes on, Watcher. You can put your hands down, I'm not going to shoot you."

His words were low and quiet. Not a whisper; whispers tended to carry much farther than people thought, and they almost always raised the suspicion of listening ears. Conversation was normal. Whispers were almost always a sign that someone was up to no good. That little rule applied just as easily to domestic situations as combat zones.

The last thing to come out of his mostly empty pack was a long overcoat, perfect for both guarding against the nighttime chill and providing a bit of concealment for his hardware. Dresden threw it on and stepped out of the shadows.

"What's the situation. Has anyone else made contact?"

There were, he knew, at least a handful of other agents expected to make the drop, but he hadn't heard anything over the net. That was worrying, but not overly so. A precision drop like this, people were bound to miss. So long as they made their way across the sands to their designated pickup points, they probably wouldn't be eaten. And if they did end up in the belly of a beast, they probably weren't worth having along anyway.

Aithche Wierz

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

​

The sandworm promised to end them all, maybe it was training - maybe it was luck or both. Elisea refused to be on the sandworm's menu. She managed her way into a shop just as the creature pushed downward onto the platform. She happened to catch Doctor Fevris Derzelas 's sapphire gaze and then in the next moment, it seemed as if the woman was gone. "NO!" Vehemently shouted the Avalonian, the Knight-Commander who had leaped upward must have caught sight of the situation as it unfolded.

The good doctor would be uplifted and placed on something more stable, which at present, was somewhere beside Elisea. Commander Marasigan managed to scramble opposite of them into a different shop and opened fire on the creature. Blaster bolts ripped through its skin but only seemed to irritate the bloody thing. As if things weren't bad enough the platform began to turn, and all the Nether went with it, Elisea was flung backward into a wall.

Knight-Commander Roule's white lightsaber burned down the back of the sandworm carving up an even burn forcing the creature to roar upward as it began to cant toward Elisea's position.

Nylea Apollodor | Marven Mereel | Matma Bernu | Hazel Zanteres | Firenne Van-Derveld ​

 

[Marven Mereel]

Marven took stock of the situation, that had degraded very, very quickly. First, the rickety pod had broken down. Then, a sandworm began to bear down on him- and of course his armaments didn't do much beyond piss the thing off. It then turned it's sights on the city, almost knocking some humanoid woman off the platform- he couldn't tell who it was.

Then, a First Imperial Jetiise came out of nowhere, guns blazing, laser sword swinging, and got the beast's attention. Marven considered his options- if blaster-fire wasn't doing much, then the whistling birds would probably just piss it off more. Which left the rocket on his jetpack. But with the thickness of the skin of the sandworm, he'd likely need to shoot it directly into it's mouth- to give it more then just a headache.

The Mando climbed a bit higher, as he attempted to line up the shot. He commed the Knight-Commander. "Jetiise, keep the monster busy with your magic- I need to line up this shot perfectly."

Fevris Derzelas Fevris Derzelas | Nylea Apollodor Nylea Apollodor | [IMG alt="Elisea Apollodor"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/11/11087.jpg?1613790571[/IMG] Elisea Apollodor | Firenne Van-Derveld Firenne Van-Derveld | Hazel Zanteres Hazel Zanteres