FO Dominion of Manpha | Corruption Has Its Consequences

[Progflaw99]

(Source Img: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/e0gX46)​

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Allies: The First Order
Objective: Diplomatic Outreach

​

It was an antiquated method of travel, slow, methodical, but peaceful. Gentle strokes of the oars and paddles guided them along, gentle wake trailing behind the wooden boats. Waving away a small flurry of flies, Dante squinted as he tried to make out their destination through the growing fog. It reminded him of Sump. A duty station of his, so long ago. *Sump... or maybe Dagobah.* he thought. Shadows loomed ahead, slowly taking form with each paddle stroke. A simple latticework of wooden dock and boardwalk spanned across the murky water, pointed tops of the circular shacks rising above the water.

The Shawda Ubb were a primitive people - or perhaps primitive wasn't the right word. They were proficient enough with technology but they chose to live a much more simple life. Dante had seen Shanpan Spaceport. It was by far not the worst he'd seen, the technology comparative to other First Order worlds. To get out here though? Ships were clumsy, loud, and in an effort to coax the sector into their fold the First Order had taken a more culturally sensitive approach. There was much profit to be gained from this venture, both for the Order and for himself - if he played his cards right. For weeks, Project Aeturnum had been chugging along but siphoning funds without tripping red flags wasn't the easiest - even for the Minister of Security. To say the Order was here for kicks and giggles would be a lie, but it was much more pertinent to his interests.

The planet of Manpha was not much to look at, from space or its surface, but what bounty it held beneath its swamps was well worth the possible investment. Oil. So much oil, it was doubtful one could ever extract it all... or refine it for that matter. Especially not given the state of the Shawda Ubb's extraction and refinement method. They relied almost exclusively on small scale refineries, small scale extraction - something the First Order could exploit. For years upon years the locals had shilled out their claims - for a pittance. Hungry oil barons took advantage of the simple lifestyle of the Shawda Ubb communities scattered around the planet, the refineries and wells almost exclusively lining the baron's pockets. Dante hoped to change that. Not only for the people of Manpha, but for the progress of the empire.

The sound of creaking rope drew the Minister from his inner thoughts. They'd arrived it seemed. A few of the amphibian oarsmen had leapt over the edge of the hull, now dragging the narrow boats into small stalls before securing them to the boardwalk. "We have arrived." Dante noted the exotic sounds coming from the small community. *Is that music?* He could hear bubbling noises, their beat too regular to be naturally occurring. Likewise he could hear the sound of another instrument - as strange as it was, he found it oddly comforting. "Thank you." he said to their guide as he stepped out of the boat and onto the wooden walk. Soon they would be meeting with the leaders of the largest oil refining communities. It was to be a secret meeting of sorts, hence the remote locale - it wouldn't bode well to tip off the barons that their lifeblood was about to be plucked out from under them.

-​

​

Dominion Objectives:

Diplomatic Outreach

• Meet with Local Community Leaders in an attempt to expand First Order control. The intent is to offer resources to the locals that will take their local operations from small scale extraction and refinery to large scale.

Dissolution

• The Oil Barons of Manpha have been taking advantage of the native Shawda Ubb for years, lining their pockets at the expense of the local population. In a two pronged effort, the FOSB has deployed both negotiators (To the locals) and a special task force with the intent to sway the locals and eliminate the Oil Barons. Subtlety is key. The current plan is to frame one of the Barons, hoping to spur a breakdown of trust between them - allowing for the First Order to sweep them aside in the name of progress and establish claim on their assets. Their last known location is aboard a pleasure yacht on one of the planet's largest rivers.

• Several of the Oil Barons own large Cargo Haulers, many of which are currently in orbit waiting the latest shipments from the surface. Their cargo and the shipments are extremely volatile and First Order forces are to proceed with caution. These assets are to be quarantined and confiscated. While Naval Command has been given the opportunity to establish their own protocol, it has been indicated that loss of the shipments or damage to the confiscated assets are to be avoided at all costs.

Day of the Frog

• A local holiday, 'Day of the Frog celebrates the Shawda Ubb's amphibian heritage. From water sports like 'Lily Pad Hopping' to indulging in local food and music, the Shawda Ubb may appear simple but boy do they know how to party. Enjoy the exotic atmosphere and strange events to your heart's content! It's even rumored that during the festival, they break out special barrels of a unique alcohol to celebrate!

Path of the Toad

• Deep in the fetid swamps, beyond dangerous beast and unknown creature, lie a remote group of Force Practitioners of what they call 'The Path of the Toad'. It is rumored that though not all of them are Shawda Ubb, they are fond of paralytic poisons and atypical weaponry. It should be noted that they are pacifist in nature but will no doubt resist once given the ultimatum of leaving Manpha. This mission has been tasked to the Knights of Ren but additional assets are permitted.

Bring Your Own

• As always, bring your own objective! Helpful topics in crafting a story for yourself can be found below!
  Shawda Ubb
• Manpha

[member="The Major"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Asharad Graush"] | [member="Tanomas Graf"]​

 

[Delilah Graham]

https://youtu.be/SExfzdloKto​

​

...securing uplink...
...enter access code...
***********
...access code accepted...
Welcome, Special Agent Graham
\connect communication protocol alpha2187
...connected to communication protocol alpha2187...

Now patched remotely into the earpieces for her agents on the ground, Delilah switched open the channel. "Good evening, Lotus and Mockingbird," Delilah began in her typical dignified, deep and reedy Avalonian accent. "Your targets are Simone Temple, Danforth Temple, and Antony St. John, three of about twelve so-called oil barons on Manpha. Though only three of the dozen or so oil barons on Manpha, they represent enough of the market to sabotage any agreement with the First ORder, and our overtures to get them on board with such a plan have met stiff resistance. The families or corporations who control the oil production and trade on Manpha are a tight-knit group, though like any such group, what little intelligence we have reveals deeply-rooted tensions and potentially exploitable feuds. The Temples -- husband and wife and, from what I can tell, unhappily married -- and Antony St. John will be among half a dozen such oil magnates attending an annual price-fixing meeting aboard a luxury cruise, masquerading as a holiday."

She paused a moment, scrolling through her notes for up-to-the-minute updates before continuing. "I've arranged for Lotus to infiltrate the party under the guise of a fellow passenger. Your goal is to eliminate the Temples and St. John -- and them only among the oil families -- through whatever means necessary. I recommend finding a way to play the anti-First Order oil barons against one another and to turn the other oil barons against the Big Three." Her dark eyes trailed across her screen. "Mockingbird, you will be positioned on overwatch. I've rented a skimmer under the name of one of your assumed identities. Maintain a close eye over the cruiser and support Lotus' efforts on board. Should Lotus fail to accomplish her task by other means, I expect you to complete the task with the long-range weaponry stashed on board and exfiltrate."

"As always," Delilah went on. "I will be patched in via communicator earpiece and will be monitoring your progress and the situation, but quick on-feet thinking may be required. Feel free to improvise as needed to get the job done. Any questions, Mockingbird? Lotus?"

[member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Isobel Nakano"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Objective: Dissolution
Allies: Lotus ([member="Isobel Nakano"])

*Overwatch. Simple enough.* After their last op together, this was slated to be a cakewalk. Absentmindedly Val, codename Mockingbird, glanced at the spot on her arm where she'd taken a hit. The flesh colored synthflesh was unblemished, the metal and servos beneath unmarred. Had she taken a hit to blood and bone it was highly likely she wouldn't still be breathing. Val loved being in the field, down in the muck of it. This time though she was content with providing support from a distance - certainly a task with its own unique challenges. "Negative from Mockingbird." she replied into the earpiece. If she thought she knew Lotus, she surmised the response would likely be the same.

It might not have been as difficult as infiltrating a highly regulated yacht party, but Val did have her work cut out for her. Having been deployed to Manpha prior to the day, she stood from the small desk in the sparsely furnished room. Little more than a holdover for a night, Val hadn't packed heavy - in fact, it was common practice at this point. To blend in, less was more. While she waited for Lotus' response, Val began the thorough process of scrubbing her room of prints. It wouldn't do to get sloppy now.

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel sat on the edge of her bed in the small hotel room she had rented in the port town from which the yacht party would launch, listening to the briefing. When her handlers spoke, she always had a feeling like they were there and could see her. It was at times comforting, at times chafing. This time it looked like she would have two minders: Delilah and Mockingbird, the agent with which she had worked during the First Order's operations at Terminus. The senior agent was capable -- more than capable -- so she had no fear about her watching her back.

"Do you have any additional data on the Big Three, ma'am?" she asked. "Something I could read up on to determine what weak spots, if any, I can exploit?"

As she awaited her reply, Isobel stood and examine her equipment. A small, easily-concealable hold-out blaster which she would wear strapped to her thigh, as per usual, sat on the blanket next to a small lockpicking device that doubled as a hairpiece. There were various and sundry other gadgets that she wasn't sure she would bring: distracting devices, breaching charges, and various other bits and bobs. Her wardrobe looked the part; simple but undoubtedly expensive garments, accessories, and jewelry would help her blend in with the other toffs.

"Transmitting dossiers to you both, including photographs of your targets. Memorize the data," Delilah said. "Check your datapads."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Isobel. She activated her datapad and examined it carefully for the dossier. "If I'm unable to turn them against each other, I'll remove them."

"Very well. Lotus, Mockingbird, I'll leave you to prepare."

[member="Val Kordova"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Objective: Dissolution
Allies: [member="Isobel Nakano"] | The First Order

The process concluded, Val had exited the room, an untraceable credit chit left carefully atop the bed. She had a couple stops to make before arriving at the skimmer their handler had arranged. Unfortunately, the act of getting highly volatile weaponry aboard the boat in the first place was left to Mockingbird. Bribes and connections only got you so far. As the data was transmitted to the separated duo, Agent Kordova began paging through each dossier thanks to the high tech holographic shades she wore. *Multi-tasking at its finest.* she thought to herself as she set off in the direction of the weapons cache. Once arrived, she'd have to pick quickly - if there was one thing she didn't want to be it was 'late to the party'.

A brisk pace took her through the winding streets, the sounds of industry echoing through the light fog settling in over the small city. To call it a city was perhaps a stretch, closer to a large village or small town. The shacks and huts droned on for nearly a mile before they were replaced by more modern buildings - durasteel replacing the wooden walls. Ahead, Val noted the warehouse where she was to make the first pickup. She wanted to keep Lotus in the loop. "Lotus, Mockingbird. At pickup one."

 

[Dominic Craig]

Allies: [member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Isobel Nakano"]
Objective: Dissolution
Location: Lower Kitchen Deck, Yacht

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iweMZu-DC4c​

"I need that chowder here, now!" A voice barked from the front of the kitchen. Special Agent Dominic Craig, wiped a fresh bead of sweat off his brow, as he sunk his cleaver into the vegetable, and began dicing it. "Cheatham!" The head chef called, "Where are those garnroots?!" Dominic's head peaked up from his station, and looked at the Twi'lek chef whose gaze fell upon him. Dominic bowed his head back down and sighed. For the past month, he had been attached to this operation. Infiltrating a prestigious Outer Rim catering company, and managing to poison and blackmail his way to prime position. But by the Force did he hate it.

Dominic peaked up, and looked at the Twi'lek chef, "Just another root to dice sir." He barked, before looking back down at his hands. They were calloused, cut and bruised from weeks of training. It had been a gruelling experience for the Agent. He'd spent months in swamps, performing clandestine assassinations and doing all sorts of horrific things for Empire and Supreme Leader. But it was this, he felt at a breaking point. Even FOSB training hadn't been this bad.

The Twi'lek chef strode through the rows of stoves, and work benches, inspecting the work. He strode to Craig, and examined the root. "You're learning Mister Cheatham." The Twi'lek chef informed him, "Go take twenty." He commanded, passing Dominic a cigar. Craig offered a small smile, it was the faintest of praise from the jagoff, and sauntered off, still in cooks uniform, out of the kitchen, and into one of the corridors. Once satisfied that no one had followed, he pulled out a small communicator.

With it, he sent the faintest message to the Avalonian Dispatch Terminal. A civilian communications hub, but given the nature of his phrasing, Forselle Drive would pick up that Werewolf was on the move. "Hey Mum and Dad," Dominic began, "Just letting you know, this yacht work is just as gorgeous as you say." He paused, "That being said, I'm feeling a wee bit sea sick, so maybe I'll finish things." He cryptically mused, "Love Jaron." Flipping it closed, Dominic began searching for an entry point further into the ship.

 

[Luther Lewis]

Objective: Dissolution
Allies: [member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Isobel Nakano"] | [member="Dominic Craig"]
Location: Port Balcony, Yacht

​

His necktie was too tight, his suit a garish blue that chafed in the heat. Nevertheless, Luther blended in well with the other guests. The yacht he was aboard was one of the most impressive he’d ever seen, a monument to decadency and wealth. ‘If I knew I’d get assignments like these, I’d have quit the army years ago’ he thought. Trading in his armour for a suit still made him nervous however, as did the empty space where his holster once rested. Still, the Bureau needed to apply a delicate touch now and then.

He paced one of the larger balconies on the port side of the yacht. The view of the surrounding river was beautiful, marred only by the insufferable aristocracy nearby and their idle chatter. Luther moved through the crowd, smiling and greeting others. He was popular among those here, he represented a large distributor of oil and other raw materials. He’d cranked up the charm and, so far, no one had suspected that Arthur Issac actually represented a FOSB front.

Still drifting through the crowd, he had almost reached the end of the platform when he spotted his target. Miss Eleanor Carson, an oil baron and the most ostracized of the twelve. Luther approached, receiving a warm smile as he handed her a glass of champagne. “Why thank you Mr Issac" the woman said, before proceding to take a large sip of the amber liquid. "I was sure I’d seen the last of you when you disappeared into the crowd”. Luther returned the smile. Little did she know, his ‘toilet break’ had been a radio check.

“You looked parched, Miss Carson” Luther replied. “I thought it prudent that you have a drink if we were to further discuss matters”. Her face took on a sour look as he mentioned business. She was not the wealthiest of barons, but the Bureau suspected she was the most easily manipulated. Besides, he’d been forbidden from pursuing the ‘Big Three’. That was to be a completely separate operation.

“Yes, fine” Eleanor said, with a large sigh. “I suppose I have dodged the inevitable for long enough”. She cocked her head towards a nearby exit. “Come, let us speak in private”.

 

[IC-104]

Objective: Dissolution
Allies: Enigma Squad
Location: Cargo Hauler Designation: Alpha-Kresh


Chief watched as the disguised light freighter's ramp descended in Zero G. The contents within were quickly sucked out and it would seem a routine garbage dump. But, among the debris lie four very sentient beings. Enigma squad propelled themselves through Zero G with short burst from their thrust packs. It consumed Oxygen, but their objective was close and they had plenty of time. They landed within the still ships propulsion engine and Chief activated his mag boots. He took a quick scan around with his DC-17 and quickly spotted the maintenance shaft. He motioned towards it with extended forearm and IC-192 moved forward. He withdrew a small fusion cutter and began to cut open the lock which held the shaft shut.

With the door opened the team quickly made entrance with Chief taking point. He scanned the area as enigma fell in line behind him.

"Clear left,"

"Clear right,"

The teams voices echoed through Chief's helmet and he had to hold up a fist to silence comm chatter and signal hold position. He threw a small communications device on the ground and the team took up defensive positions in the pipe line's quarters. The communication device was linked to a secure channel and only boosted frequency to said channel.

"Enigma, status report?"

"We've entered the target. Objective?"

"Secure by any means necessary. All persons on board are to be treated as hostile. Intel reports this baron has hired Mandalorian mercenaries to guard the ship, and Black Sun smugglers to man the ships systems,"

"Copy,"

That left them with a large ship to secure before the main First Order forces arrived. Already Chief had formulated a plan. It was doubtful all aboard were truly mercenaries, but the public wouldn't know that and Chief wasn't into asking questions... So that meant everyone aboard was expendable. He enlarged his HUD's mini map with a thought and plotted the fastest course to the bridge. It appeared as though the pipe line would get them almost half way there. But, the rest they would have to navigate through enemy territory. Chief marked the way point and route with another thought. He moved forward and motioned for team to follow with a wave of his hand.

"What's the plan sir," Rev asked curiously

"We vent out the trash,"

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel -- Iris Grey for the purposes of the trip -- stood in front of the mirror in her cabin. She wore a white day dress with an ice-blue satin belt, with the same color scheme on the wide-brimmed hat she was pinning precariously above over her chignon. The young woman made a face at the mirror and then took the hat off and frisbee'd it onto the bed before glancing at her wristwatch. She paused for a moment, straining in the silence to hear anything she could. Her cabin was next door to Danforth Temple's, with his wife Simone's on the other side with a communicating door, according to the helpful diagram that Delilah Graham had provided. Isobel's diligent listening paid off when she heard the cabin door next door open and then close, and the terse conversation of a man and women coming closer.

Isobel wrenched open the door and almost ran into them. "Oh, excuse me," she said genially. "Off to luncheon, hm? After you. Oh, what a lovely hat." She rolled her eyes upward as if remembering that she had a hat of her own. "Damn and blast, I've forgotten mine. Go ahead, I won't be a moment." She unlocked her cabin's door and darted inside again. She wasted no time, knowing that the Temples were on their way to the dining room on the top deck, it was a perfect opportunity for her to do a little investigating. She hiked her skirt up to a daring mid-thigh and hooked her leg over the balcony railing and hauled herself over the railing, hoping against hope that she wasn't flashing [member="Val Kordova"] too aggressively in the process.

She shimmied along the railing to the edge, then climbed across the small gap to the neighboring cabin balcony, climbed over, and pulled her skirt down again. She touched her earpiece. "Mockingbird, can you get a twenty on the Temples? They should be coming to lunch on the top deck. Let me know if one of them leaves."

[member="Luther Ando"] | [member="Dominic Craig"]​

 

[Delilah Graham]

"A bold choice, Lotus," said Delilah dryly over their shared channel. "I believe Mockingbird is still picking up equipment. I'll keep an eye on the Danforths until she's in position. Ah -- I've just picked up some interesting intelligence. It turns out you, Lotus, are not the only First Order Security Bureau personnel on board. According to signal intelligence, at least two others are aboard the yacht, though I am not yet in possession of their background details. Recommend that you avoid destroying the yacht in order to avoid friendly fire. I will update you as and when I can. As far as the rest of the oil barons aboard, avoid neutralizing them. I've put metaphorical caution tape around the Big Three -- the Danforths and St. John -- so any other Security Bureau personnel on board should not interfere. Your brothers and sisters in the Bureau would, no doubt, appreciate the same professional courtesy."

Delilah filtered through her data feed and examined the satellite data being fed through her system. "As a general update, I have no word on First Order diplomatic or military presence as yet, so there's still time to accomplish the mission and exfiltrate." She paused again and switched her attention to [member="Val Kordova"]'s position. "What's your status, Mockingbird? What, if anything, do you need from me?"

[member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Luther Ando"] | [member="Dominic Craig"]​

 

[Dominic Craig]

Location: Lower Engine Deck
Objective: Hold the Boat
[member="Lionel Lovejoy"] | [member="Isobel Nakano"] | [member="Luther Ando"] | [member="Val Kordova"]

Dominic had no intention of getting back in that kitchen. He was done with that. No. Now was the time to strike. He strode through the corridor, piecing together the geography in his head. In the week previously on Manpha, he had seen schematics, and done his damndest to try and memorise them. But, it was a big karking boat. And that sometimes could not be helped. Grimacing, Dominic strode toward the crew cabins, and using his temp access card opened the door. He approached his bunk, and knelt down, cleaving two items from it. A DB-83 ionic scrambler, which was a small orb, little smaller than a thermal detonator. Once attached to machinary, it would permanently fry it. And of course there was his pistol. The briefing he'd recieved allowed for casualties, and if any engineers dared tempt fate, Dominic held no qualms with dispatching them.

Special Agent Craig then stood up, and exited the cluttered bunk room, striding down the hall, and quickly sliding down a staircase. Security detail was scarce. They were all up top, drinking or gladhanding guests. At least that's what he thought until he saw a guard move out the next room. Dominic ducked behind a crate, and peaked up. It soon became apparent that he was not the only one up to an illicit purpose. The guard reached into the doorway, and helped someone out. A server. His hair blonde hair ruffled, and his uniform still needing buttoning up. Cute.

The two giggled a little, and some affectionate noises and comments were made in what Dominic deduced was some form of Huttese, before he could at all move. Only after a minute of sweet nothings, did he at all hear the sound of boots clinking on wood, letting him know he could proceed. And proceed he did, down another corridor, and descending down another set of steps, before he reached it. The engine room. The doors lock needed to be blasted before he could get in. But now, he was here. Turning on his pistols torch, Dominic walked into the cavernous, and damp expanse, looking for the right place to deploy his trap.

 

[Zak Dymo]

Objective: Day of the Frog
Location: Tribal Village, Wetlands
Gear & Equipment: Loincloth | Wristlink

Curious how being an out-worlder in a strange land could feel more like home than did the cradle of civilization.

But then, few would regard the Dathomiri culture of the Nightbrothers and Nightsisters as being an example of high culture. Even though his family had carried on the ways of the proud Zabrak people far away from their native Iridonia or sacred Dathomir, that self-same identity had impressed itself on the young boy.

The Shawda Ubb likely understood this. They, too, clung to their ancestral ways even as technology had propelled them into the galactic community. Even still, technology seemed out of place here. The spaceport was an conspicuous feature on the horizon, as though a monolith of modern life that was surrounded by low culture.

Perched precariously atop the lily pad, the ruddy youngling bobbed from side to side as he worked to maintain his balance on the water's surface. Beside him, the diminutive Shawda Ubb were lined up. Each having a notably easier time maintaining their balance atop the lily pads that were suspended upon the brackish waters of the swamp. Spectators were gathered in the mud and marsh grass, as one of the elders raised a flag to signal that the game was about to begin.

This was Jorah's third attempt at the sport, which saw the meter-high amphibians bounding from pad to pad in the water, until the first had reached the goal at the end of the course. During both of his earlier entries into the game, the boy had failed to make even the first jump.

The first time, he'd started to fall forward and then overcompensated for the loss of balance and, instead, fallen backwards off of his lily pad.

The second time, the lily pad had shot out from under him, so that he'd belly-flopped right at the stop where he was rather than have jumped even so much as an ilm forward or back.

Despite this, the young Nightbrother found himself feeling exhilarated at having been presented with this new challenge. The games that they played at the Skye Academy were so... contained. The environment inside the combat simulator was controlled. Sterile.

The brackish water lapping up over his feet. The ebb and flow of the swamp. The wind in the trees, on his face. This was natural. This was raw. This was the world that the combat simulator could never replicate.

From out of the corner of his eye, the boy saw the flag drop. To his left and right, the Shawda Ubb leapt into the game. Jorah hesitated only a moment before he, too, sprang into the sport. He managed to actually make it off the lily pad, hopping a short arc up into the air.

A very short arc.

He splashed down about halfway between the start and the first lily pad. Rivets ran down between the stubby horn nubs, as the boy's head reared up out of the water. Paddling with his arms, the Zabrak made his way over to the side of the course and crawled out amid the marsh grass.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: Path of the Toad.

For Kyrel, Manpha might as well be another Dagobah except entirely in name of course. Why he had come here was in part of the mission for the Ren, known ironically as a path of the Toad, dealing with a Force Sect. It was no different than that of any other Force Sect to him. Many were crushed by the Knights of Ren, any that would prove a threat to either the Ren or the First Order. Kyrel would say that he took some particular enjoyment in stamping out a group of Force Practitioners. Like the Jedi, any group that they had deemed a threat to the Order's expansion across the Outer Rim and Western Reaches, were given three choices, leave willingly, conform and convert to the new way which is to serve the Supreme Leader, or ultimately face their own destruction.

Landing his Silencer was difficult enough as it is. Large ships such as the Reaper wouldn't have made it thus far. If anything it would have easily gotten lost within the swamp, or perhaps sunk to the abyss. Walking carefully along the path that leads to a monastery of sorts for this primative group. While able to handle technology, he had known little about this group before arriving, except much to his dismay discovered that they were pacifists. When attending the needs of the Order, he had always loved dealing with Rebels, Rogue Jedi, and any other trouble maker that had dared to stir up some trouble within First Imperial Space or even outside of it.

Yet even wading through the wastes before him, he didn't know what they could do if provoked and that part excited him. It's what had enticed him to come and even wondered if they were protecting something if they worshipped some old trinkets as if it was a deity to them. No matter, he would discover that soon enough, even as the noisy and mysterious swamp surrounded all of him, all he could do was watch with a smirk underneath his mask of the Monastery before them.

 

[Progflaw99]

Objective: Dissolution
Allies: [member="Isobel Nakano"] | [member="Dominic Craig"] | [member="Luther Ando"] | The First Order

It had been a quick pickup, the concealed case nestled between two pallets of high efficiency toasters. What the Order couldn't do they at least made an attempt to mitigate the difficulties faced by their agents - where they could. This time it was in the form of a collapsible rifle. A quick jaunt and a skip and Val found herself walking down the long dock, boats to her right and left. The small soft case tucked beneath her arm, she'd checked in and received the keys to the craft without any trouble. *Smooth as ice.* she thought, spinning the keys in her hand.

As Val proceeded down the row, she smirked as she read some of the names emblazoned on the water skimmer's hulls. "Unsinkable II", "Bullship", "Vitamin Sea" - that last one almost elicited an audible groan. Thankfully the skimmer at the end had no such markings, a mere registration number displayed upon the metal hull. "Well, this looks like the one." Val spoke to herself. Stepping quickly on board, she got the motor up and running. A gentle purr bringing a smile to the brunette's face as the small craft idled out of its stall. As she cleared the marina the subtle chirp of communication buzzed in her ear.

"Mockingbird, can you get a twenty on the Temples? They should be coming to lunch on the top deck. Let me know if one of them leaves."

As she was about to respond, another voice cut through. Their handler. After a brief update, she was prompted a question of her own.

"What's your status, Mockingbird? What, if anything, do you need from me?"

Throttling the skimmer forward across the water towards her destination, Agent Kordova pressed gently against the transmitter. "Status update, en route. I can see the target. Estimated range a thousand meters and closing." Val blinked twice, the shaded glasses resting upon her face enhancing her vision. For a moment, she could see a glimpse of flesh and fabric seemingly dangle from the side of the yacht as the distance closed. A twitch at the corner of her lips teased a smile. "I'll be in position to support momentarily, it appears the yacht is taking up position at the edge of a falls. I'll need another minute to get situated love."

 

[Luther Lewis]

Objective: Dissolution
Allies: [member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Isobel Nakano"] | [member="Dominic Craig"]
Location: Eleanor Carson's Private Quarters, Yacht

​

Eleanor Carson’s cabin was a grand affair, a luxurious stateroom equipped everything needed to entertain a small army of sycophants. The room was significantly larger than Luther’s own quarters and he wagered it trumped even the Captain’s lodgings. He silently reminded himself that, despite her lowly status amongst her own, Ms Carson was far above a working joe like himself.

The woman dropped her shawl on an opulent couch and immediately moved over to the bar. Luther followed behind, coming up alongside Carson as she finished pouring. “Whiskey?” she said, casually. Luther raised an eyebrow. “Bit early to be mixing drinks, isn’t it?” Nevertheless, he took the glass. The golden-brown liquid was smooth, but cinnamon-y to taste and not really suited to his palate. Besides, he needed his faculties for the upcoming negotiation. He left the drink on the bar, knowing it would be a while until he could taste anything other than the spice.

Carson had moved to a spacious window, a burning cigarette clutched between her fingers as she stared out at the churning waves. “Do you smoke, Mr Issac?” she said without turning. “I don’t” Luther replied, joining her at the window. “Hrmpf” was the only reply. They spent some time like that, not speaking, until she turned towards the agent.

“Why are you really here, Arthur?” she said, a coy smile on her face. “A deal seems far-fetched. Perhaps you have ulterior motives” Luther felt his stomach drop. Did she suspect his ties to the FO? Or was there something he’d accidently revealed? “I don’t know what you are-” he was interrupted as she leaned in, bringing her face close to his.

She stared intently at him, her lips inches from his own. He could smell the alcohol on her breath and felt a wave of revulsion. “I think you’ve misread the situation” Luther said, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. He backed up to a respectful distance and, after some hesitation, Ms Carson did the same.

“Your loss, Mr Issac” she said with a shrug, although Luther could hear a note of strain in her voice. She downed the rest of her drink and relaxed, her shoulders untensing. “Down to business then. What exactly do you propose?”

​

 

[Progflaw99]

Objective: Path of the Toad
Nearby: [member="Samka Derith"]
Allies: The First Order | [member="Kyrel Ren"]

-

Once again Castor found himself in the company of the woman known as Decitus. How long ago it had been when they'd first met, his misconceptions about the girl of the past long since buried, eviscerated. It was a constant reminder that the eyes could be deceiving. A lesson he hadn't forgotten. Carefully the Knight stepped over a small channel of water, cautiously putting weight on his front foot before committing to the motion. In the swamps of Manpha a misplaced step could result in catastrophe, the soft peat as liable to hold beneath your foot as it was to swallow you whole. Moving between two moss covered trees Castor contemplated that, wondering just how many people had been victims of the swamp. Disappeared never to be seen again.

"It certainly is remote." he mused aloud. Their objective had been fairly simple, at least in nature. Find the practitioners of the 'Way of the Toad'. The title seemed innocuous enough but Castor had made the mistake of assuming once before - this time he was prepared for anything. At least, as prepared as he could be. An irritated smile creased the man's features as he noticed the ease at which his traveling companion navigated the dangerous terrain. *Benefits of being small.* he thought. What he wouldn't do to be her size as they weaved through the swampland. As it was, his heavy footfalls pressed into the muck, ankles wetting each time. "How much farther do you think these 'Toads' reside?" he pondered, both a rhetorical and non-rhetorical question for the Master of Ren.

They had been traveling for some time, the leaning trees and tight canopy created by fallen branches and trunks preventing any other travel except by foot. Unfortunately. Castor was none too happy but he had tempered his displeasure, instead focusing on the task at hand. So far they'd heard nothing, nothing but the buzz of insects and the sounds of the bog - just as little in the way of tracks to follow or indication of civilization.

 

[Samka Derith]

Objective: Path of the Toad
Nearby: [member="Castor Ren"]
Allies: The First Order | [member="Kyrel Ren"]

It was good to know that Castor Ren was still around. The purge in her absence had seen many familiar names disappeared. She had wondered if Castor had been one of them but he had resurfaced alive and well. This was good, it was always nice to have someone to rely upon and the man had shown himself worthy in the past.

The small woman had had a much smoother time manoeuvring through the swamps than her larger companion. Every once in a while she threw him back a glance of child-like mischief. She'd passed through a few in her time now and while she certainly didn't like the terrain, it bothered her less than it once had done.

'How much longer?' her companion had asked.

"Hm," she closed her eyes briefly, letting a cold burst of Dark energy come out from her to cover the area and act much like a ship's sonar. She felt it. "Oh not far, let's just keep up now, shall we?"

The creatures of this world were bizarre, stout things but they had their uses. Samka was hoping she could find them alive and well for conversion. It would be shame to exert herself in their extermination.

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel looked around the cabin, mentally dividing it into four quadrants. She started with the quadrant with the small writing desk, seating herself at the desk -- the chair had already been pulled out. Isobel began to rifle through the papers on the desk; there weren't many, a few receipts, the boarding pass for Danforth Temple, and a purser's ticket for something he had checked into the yacht's safe. She turned it over. "Control, I have a purser's ticket for six thousand units of Temple Oil stock. What's the controlling interest? How many shares are there?" Lotus contemplated pocketing the ticket but ultimately decided against it. She couldn't redeem it; the yacht was small enough that the purser would know that she wasn't Danforth Temple. Besides, she if there was something happening -- some transfer of the stock -- it would be better for her to know just who Temple was working with.

She pulled the desk drawer open; like her own writing desk in the next room, it was stocked with stationary bearing the ship's name. She gave it a quick once-over but there was no writing on it. Still, she helped herself to one of the pages and laid it flat on the blotter, the picked up a pencil from the tray and scribbled a shade across the page. She couldn't quite make out the figures that became apparent, but there would be time enough for analysis later. She folded the page, tucked it into her décolletage and replaced the pencil before standing up from the desk and moving to the next quadrant of the room.

She went to the dresser next, rifled through the clothes that had been unpacked by the steward. Nothing; she closed the drawers carefully. The closet was next, but by the time she had pulled the door open, a whisper of warning in her ear caught her attention. Isobel hurtled herself towards the balcony and hurriedly dragged herself back into her suite. A moment later, she heard the cabin next door's door open. She didn't see it, but in the next room, a man stood with his chin in his hand, wondering if he had left the closet doors open.

"Am I made?" she whispered into the channel.

[member="Val Kordova"] | @Delilah Graham | [member="Luther Ando"] | [member="Dominic Craig"]​

 

[Delilah Graham]

Delilah glanced to her information feed for a moment, highlighted a datapoint and forwarded it to [member="Isobel Nakano"]. "Good find, Lotus," said Delilah, her deep voice betraying a hint of admiration. "I'll take a look." She typed rapidly into her computer, fingers dancing across the keyboard. "It will take me a moment to slice into their internals," she explained to both Lotus and Mockingbird. "But I can tell you that Temple Oil & Gas is a privately held corporation. The Board of Directors is limited to Danforth Temple, Simone Temple, and three of Danforth's cousins. Stand by."

She continued her slicing operations, maneuvering carefully to avoid firewalls and detection. She glanced at her satellite feed of the yacht, the back to her hacking, but the pulled a double-take. There was someone missing from the table. She quickly scanned the table and bit back a curse. "Damn it. Lotus, get out of there, I've lost my twenty on Danforth Temple!" She leaned into the viewscreen, watching breathlessly. Was someone else monitoring the same feeds that the First Order was? It was ... troubling.

"I can't tell," she told Lotus. "I only have a bird's eye view. Mockingbird, can you see from your angle?"

[member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Isobel Nakano"] | [member="Dominic Craig"] | [member="Luther Ando"]​

 

[Zak Dymo]

Objective: Day of the Frog
Location: Tribal Village, Wetlands
Gear & Equipment: Loincloth | Wristlink

The young Zabrak emerged from out of the brackish water.

Mud and marsh grasses clung to his body as he pulled himself through the swamp to dry land. The slick loincloth twisted about as it weaved back and forth with his movements as he stood upright and moved to join the other cadets. They, for their part, took an involuntary step away from their Zabrak companion. Each of the human boys seemed skittish at having been trust into such a primitive, backwater culture.

Not Jorah. He was as at home here as he was in his native Shaol'mara. The Shawda Ubb swamp not so different from the one on his native Takodana, which he went swimming in every summer when his family returned home for the star festival.

Voren, Ryate, and Barhis were each from major metropolitan centers within the First Order; Dosuun, Virgillia, Bakura. They had come to the Academy at Skye through wealthy, influential families with benefactors among the ruling elite. Their futures in the First Order all but guaranteed. Yet, there in the wetlands of Manpha, the trio of humans were each skittish and uncertain.

Reaching down, the young Zabrak twisted the front part of the loincloth's drape with his hands, wringing the water out over the tops of his soiled feet. As he did, he turned his head up at the three seemingly shell-shocked youths. "Aren't you hungry?"

Wiping his hands against his thighs, the Zabrak straightened back up. A red and black hand shot out to nab a piece of food of a passing Shawda Ubb bearing a large platter with a strange aquatic food atop it. As soon as he'd pulled it back, the three human boys took another step back away from the horn crowned boy.

Turning the fish-like creature over in his hands, Jorah examined the local foodstuff. It somewhat resembled a sardine, though its head was more like that of a catfish. The fish had been descaled, revealing a soft white flesh that had a slick, oily texture. Glancing off to the side, he watched as a pair of Shawda Ubb each retrieved a fish from the traveling food stall. As he watched, he observed the manner in which the locals consumed the fish. Finally, with a shrug, the Zabrak boy brought it to his mouth.

The taste of blood shot against the back of his throat. A pleasing shot of flavor, as the boy's teeth bit down through the soft meat. With a sharp jerk to one side, Jorah bit the head off of the fish-like meal.

The sound of the human boy's shrill scream cut through the village.

The Zabrak spit the fish head out onto the ground. Two of the boys jumped back, away. Voren lurched, vomiting violently at the sight. That was enough for Rayate and Barhis, who prompted fled whilst squealing like young girls.

Jorah, blood running down his chin, just gave another shrug. Bringing the fish back to his mouth, he tore off another piece of flesh, which he chewed while looking down at the now doubled over Voren who had begun dry heaving as soon as he'd seen Jorah take another bite.

The entire purpose of their being here was to understand the culture and people of Manpha. To appreciate the distinctiveness that the world would add to the First Order.

...or, at least, that was the gist of the report about all of this that was due on Taungsday, when they got back to the Academy on Skye.

That could just as easily be crazy old Master Pyron Ren.

If Master Pyron was secretly a Rebel spy there to twist the minds of the Praetorian initiates with geometry and book reports, it would not be a surprise at all to Jorah or any of his classmates.

Looking around the festivities, the young Zabrak ripped off another piece of flesh with his teeth. As he chewed the tangy meat, his amber eyes scanned for any sign of where the other human boys had went.

Weren't they going to a least try any of this?

No?

Jorah could only shake his head. City-dwellers were very, very strange people indeed.