Faction High Patriotic Standards | NIO

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
VANDAL SQUAD 4/4
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | HEART OF THE EMPIRE
Armor | Baton | Sniper | Pistol | Stun / CS Gas / Flash Grenades
Rohak Vizsla | Zaavik Perl | Darth Daiara

STREETS ON FIRE
​

Grunge pulled his gaze from the scope of his rifle at the blasting of FN-999 's announcement to the people enraged in the streets of Ravelin. His gaze drifted down the sights again as the protestors approached the growing riot line. With each passing moment, they were getting more and more bold and aggressive with their show of discontent. His trigger finger still lied flush with the lower reciever of the weapon, not looking to fire any time soon.

Until he spotted a plume of gas spewing from a cannister in a man's hand before he flung it in the direction of the riot line, a crack of the primer sent more of the gas into the air. Not long after, a trooper on the riot line collapsed, clutching his helmet. Eventually able to break the seal, he wrenched it from his head to reveal a tortured, asphyxiated face before soon enough he writhed to his death.

Whatever errant hope there was for peace in Ravelin was dashed on the streets before him. The riot line Grunge was watching over went on the offensive, stun rounds firing off in in-precise bursts and electro shock batons slamming against flesh they pressed forward into the crowd. The time for containment was waning. They'd killed one of their own, they wanted to crack skulls.

<"Sh*t...sh*t."> Grunge looked down the Electric Eye again, he wanted to pull the trigger and snuff the life out of the man who threw it but he managed to escape in the chaos. Another cannister was thrown which led to a push, a wedge in the riot line and another collapsed trooper. He disregarded the rifle, pulling it from his shoulder and let it be propped up by its bi-pod alone as he jumped from the low roof of the building and into the streets proper. Whatever comms came alight in his helmet in that moment, he didn't much care for it.

His decision was partly charged by emotion, partly charged by duty.

He ran toward the second soldier struck by the gas grenade, wrenching the helmet from his head as he clawed at his neck, raking at his own throat, convulsing in his death throes, Grunge held his gloved hand beneath the man's head to prevent it from battering against bare duracrete. In the other, he fished through his medkit in a frantic rush.

A group of rioters burst through and toward the Storm Commando, the black armor was synonymous with his tier of operation. If they could overwhelm him, that'd be one way of getting the point across. He drew his pistol with milliseconds to spare, driving out and forward with the blaster before he fired one, two, three times into the closest man charging, he collapsed against the ground. Dead. This was no stun setting, he was shooting to kill and it immediately diverted the two at his flanks who dispersed.

He reached down to grasp ahold of a hefty strap on the trooper's rig fixed to his duraplast armor, dragging him away and down an alleyway, stepping back and down into an entrance to a residential building below the street line. The door blown from its hinge, he turned to take in the sight of COMPNOR Asset Abaddon being slammed into the wall by the hands of a masked vigilante.

His gaze snapped to the unassailed counterpart with him and charged the woman, aiming to tackle her unto the ground and away from his COMPNOR comrade. Otherwise, he bought stock in the assurance Abaddon could handle his own, he'd neutralize her in the process.

​

 

[Halketh]

P E N D U L U M
H A L K E T H
The Seat of Defiance
Enlil Irveric Tavlar Onansi of Thyrsus
Caarlyle Rausgeber Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran​

​

​

Halketh realized precisely as Irveric, Caarlyle, and the newly appointed- albeit familiar Warlord Thyrsus- spoke that human reasoning with dogs of war was going to accomplish him nothing. He pushed a sigh from his nose as Rausgeber spoke, pondering then if the man practiced being such an insufferable and inconsolable cockwomble in the mirror each morning or if it merely came naturally to him. And what came as an even more ironic treat was Onansi agreeing with him, even after the Prefsbelt Commander's hilarious blunder on his homeworld. It was enough to make Halketh snicker, the sound rolling into a much fuller chuckle as they spoke, the greater of the two caused him to shake his head and massage his fingertips between the peaks of his brows.

"Ah yes, because any chance Rausgeber has to fluff himself, he does so, even at the expense of The Order as a whole. What a brilliant strategy-" the miraluka gestured with a knife-hand, "subjugating those who seek protection and direction from us with an iron fist. Clasp shock collars around their throats, right? That's the secret to a successful empire? Give me a break." He eased his posture back, folding his arms on the table as the Grand Vizier spoke up once more.

In agreement with him, no less.

It was enough for him to strengthen his insistence upon his point, digging his heels in stubbornly.

His head swiveled towards the Thyrsian Warlord and he spoke to punctuate the Grand Vizier's words and deliver more of his own thought: "We've been on the offensive for a long time now and our carelessness in neglecting the decaying structure of the worlds we've liberated is more apparent now than ever. We start with Ravelin, yes, it's one piece of a greater whole. A single, oddly-shaped piece to plug into a puzzle- but it's a symbol all the same. The very jewel, polished, and restored to her proper place in the crown."

Halketh's head turned towards Rausgeber then, blindfolded features solidifying into an unreadable mask: "The limits of an empire lie prescribed by the patience and endurance of those oppressed by it. This, what's happening now? Will destroy us. There is no question of if or how. It simply will. Those we've taken charge of will devour us and destroy everything we wish to build unless we grant them this clemency and expression; these people don't want to work for the war machine, they want the war machine to work for them. It's what they're owed and if you think those citizens down there have not earned the right to claim what it is we promised them, what claim do you have to decide what's best for them? These are not tools, Admiral Regeant, they are people."

The Lord of Ice folded his hands neatly together and dragged them back across the surface of the table. "We all know about the terrorist and insurgent groups riling the masses into a greater frenzy. These people should be taken into custody, obviously. If you want people to work- force those people to work." He dipped his head in Caarlyle's direction. "And if we want greater ease in doing so? We foster a nurturing environment the people don't want to be threatened either. We give them a reason to root out evils where they lie. We give them a reason to willingly go to work for the Order. We kept building and building and building without waiting for our foundations to finish setting and now, the cracks are starting to show. We should enact relief programs, for one- give people the most basic things first. Food. Shelter. Reunite them with their families. Issue these orders and bills now and I guarantee we will see the fruit tomorrow."
​

 

[Rohak Vizsla]

you're angered, so am i
the angry Zaavik Perl & Darth Daiara
Kolson Vrask
​

Unmovable.

"Not strong enough." he coldly observed as the red-haired girl's kick connected with his leg. Not even a flinch. Abaddon's free hand returned a backhanded smack at her face. The momentary distraction, and his underestimation of the enemy, allowed the masked vigilante to hurl him over into the wall. The concrete cracked beneath his weight, numbed receptors ignore the pain.

There was no legitimate way the man could've tossed him over, not unless...

"You betray yourself so easily--" the assassin said and lunged back at the vigilante, "--so why the mask?" a feign at his chest, then a quick slash at his legs.

 

[Darth Daiara]

BASTION / RAVELIN
INCOGNITO​

A backhanded smack slammed past her guard, her saber already locked by the assailants blade. Aradia's head snapped wickedly to the side, the girl stumbling back and blinking the lights from her-

The air left her lungs as something collided into her core. She hit the ground. Hard. Her weapon clattered away from her, driven away by the attacker's body. His weight was crushing. She knew-- instincts screamed-- how precious the next few moments were. She jammed her elbow into the body that pinned her. Shoulder, clavicle, helmet. She brought the bony appendage down again and again, searching for fleshy ground. She sought to deliver pain, but found nothing but armor.

She switched tactics and went for his helmet. Nails could cut through eyes like butter.

When you're this small and pinned, you fight dirty.

Kolson Vrask

 

[Zaavik Perl]

「MEATHOOK」
KNOW YOUR ENEMY
BASTION / RAVELIN
INCOGNITO
Rohak Vizsla | Darth Daiara | Kolson Vrask
CLOSED

---

---

​

"You betray yourself so easily --so why the mask?"

Zaavik leaned away, falling for the feint momentarily. A pang of danger mixed with precognitive warning pulled his leg away. Not quick enough. Metallic edge sundered the dermis, provoking an ichorous leak. A hiss came through clenched teeth as pain burned in the wake of the assailant's stroke.

"I'm guessing irony wasn't on the COMPNOR aptitude test," he finally quipped in retort.

A controlled stumble created space. He whirled, kicked a side-table with the flat of his boot toward Abaddon. Trajectory sent it toward the face in an awkward corkscrew. His hand snapped to his rear belt holster, raised the blaster with haste, and fired at the Abaddon under the obscurity of the furniture-made-projectile. Three shots, each screaming with tibanna-fueled intensity.

 

[Rohak Vizsla]

you're angered, so am i
the angry Zaavik Perl & Darth Daiara
Kolson Vrask
​

The assassin followed after the blood trail only for a table to obstruct his way. His fist came straight through it, breaking it in half, then a flash of red, the smell of tibanna and sizzling flesh. Three shots straight at center mass - impossible to miss at this distance and deadly. Even for the armorweave lattices over his chest. Abaddon did not move, not an inch, as if he had been killed but refused to fall.

Abruptly, the eye stirred to life in its eerie red beam dancing over the form of the vigilante, "Your antics are one-dimensional." he raised his arm, his wrist launcher whirred, and pointed at the bleeding man, "Predictable." a pair of missiles whistled from the gadget, but instead going for the vigilante, they struck the roof bringing down concrete, bricks and whatever was on the upper flor atop the man.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE COURSE OF EMPIRE
RAVELIN | BASTION
Enlil | Halketh | Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Onansi of Thyrsus
IMPERIAL ASSEMBLY

TAKE A BOW
​

Such was the blessing and the curse of the New Imperial Order's sub autonomy. Each and every province and sector beneath the rule of the Imperator had its own solutions to the same problems. It gave diversity of thought, the means to craft the most viable path of success to any issue. Onansi and Carlyle lorded over worlds who thrived from conflict. Prefsbelt Command operated a completely nationalized economy made to endure apocalypse and thrive from strife. Other than that, many of the shadowy matters of Prefsbelt were 'Streng Geheim' , not for the eyes of any outsider. Not that Irveric didn't have his own intelligence assets monitoring swathes of the NIO's internal makeup. Prefsbelt was as distinct as Nirauan in a far different direction. So too was Thyrsus a world far too proud to be so confined to the traditional view of Empire. The warrior tradition of the Sun Guard had spanned thousands of years and the Third Imperial Civil War had served the perfect venue of continuing it. Not only was it a large scale, nigh continuous Galactic scale conflict but so too did it carry that measure of revenge against the Sith who'd been traditional adversaries to the Thyrsian.

Within this context it was then that Irveric could take their input in its best light, as he would from both the newly appointed Grand VIzier and King of Ketaris as well as the Lord of Carlac, two individuals who ruled under a different light than the former. He was content to observe and serve to take in their collective rhetoric initially, a trait he'd carrie within him since his days a Sith officer. To listen.

As soon as the last words were spoken, so too did the Sovereign Imperator follow.

"The war with the Sith Empire has one conclusion which is acceptable by which is the dissolution of the Zambrano's Sith state, this objective will not alter and the New Imperial Order will continue to work by any means to ensure this goal. However, if our nation will live to see it, it must not be bled dry. The military will remain at the strength it is, otherwise we will not be able to competently retain a static front with the Sith Empire whilst protecting the systems under our rule. " Irveric explains, iterating further.

"Those who are responsible for provoking this dissent will be imprisoned and punished accordingly. But we must understand the source of this discontent. It takes great lengths for the common man and woman to rebel. That is when a people's basic needs are not met. That is the first obligation of government, one we must fulfill. While the war is costly, relief is needed domestically. This is where both proposals shall be folded into place. Initially the payout of this initiative will further indebt the New Imperial government...but this can be remedied by means which the Prefsbelt Commander proposed. Many of our worlds are far behind Galactic standards for industrialization and they will be brought to those standards and populated by the Galactic refugees which have begun to flood our borders. We must strive for and maintain a higher rate of perpetual economic growth, otherwise we are dying." Irveric admits candidly.

"Regardless, no New Imperial citizen will starve another day. The Iron Sun will care for its people, our strength is in our unity and a people dissatisified...you only need look miles from this building to see what they are capable of but so too must we be competitive with the surrounding powers, the Alliance, the Sith Empire. The New Imperial Order will become and remain as a Galactic power, not purely a regional force." Though clearly, there was a great height to climb.

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Enlil | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Irveric Tavlar | Halketh | Onansi of Thyrsus
THE IMPERIAL ASSEMBLY​

Carlyle provided a polite smile to the representative of Thrysus. While had viewed the Sun Guard as its own sort of, barbarian sort, he did of course enjoy the agreement spurred from it. Industrialization was a key initiative. And one Carlyle hoped to helm. But it was the words of both the Grand Vizier and especially the Lord Halketh which rankled the youthful officer. His smirk turned to a sneer as he listened curtly and politely to each one provide their screed. The Grand Vizier's was politically... disagreeable in nature. But it was the words of Halketh which spawned animosity. To be attacked like that was.... Undeniably hurtful to the Admiral Regent, whose eyes trained into jilted slits, glaring at the blind man. But he did not speak. Not until the Sovereign Imperator let his voice be known. Carlyle stayed himself, waiting for perhaps some rebuke, but was met with compliments. The Sovereign Imperator agreed, and a triumphant grin beamed to those who opposed him.

"If I may address the Assembly once more," Carlyle looked and waited for any intrusion before beginning, "I most certainly want to take time to appreciate and acknowledge the words of kindness from both the Sovereign Imperator," Had to dig that little detail in, "And the Honourable Warlord of Thyrsus." He then paused, "But to begin a rebuttal, of the Grand Vizier and particularly those of the Lord of the Dual Barony," Carlyle's grin turned to a sneer, "Allow me to begin." Carlyle paused again, waiting for any objections before continuing, "I believe particularly your words Halketh were disingenuous and reeked of a sort of... Jealousy and ineptitude."

"I make it no secret where my loyalties once lay. I served the First Order as a public servant and defender of its borders. Ergo, I believe I have just a little more experience in what it takes to make or break an Empire than yourselves. What you Halketh, and the honourable Grand Vizier propose is both dangerous and reckless." Carlyle thundered, his voice taut, firm, and unwavering, "As shown with the politics of the Galaxy, both historically and currently, we are beset by enemies." Rausgeber drawled, his voice dripping with venom, "To demobilise our wartime industry at all spells weakness, and opens us to attacks from the Sith, the Confederacy, the Silver Jedi, Galactic Alliance and other regimes." He turned to Tavlar, "We are on a Total War footing. Should we not forget, it was but a year or so ago, milord that confrontation between our esteemed ally the Galactic Alliance seemed nigh inevitable?" He then glared at Enlil, "If history proves a certainty, we must be prepared for an attack from anywhere. Including our supposed friends."

"I think offensive actions for a time should be halted while the Sith deal and wear themselves out with the renegade factions burrowing into their border," Carlyle conceded, "But we should certainly not waste this time with but civilian improvements. Our worlds should become fortresses. Beset with bunkers, factories and barracks capable of housing civilians and providing defenders with the capacity to strike back against our enemies but most importantly, able to arm legions in case of attack. An inevitability in my mind that will come sooner, rather than later." He then glared right at Halketh, "This of course should not come at the detriment of civilian life, but should come as an act of national unity."

"Unite our peoples beneath the banner of imperial law and justice. The further we allow these insurrectionists to attack us, the less legitimate we become. And the less legitimacy we hold, the more our grip on power will be challenged. We must end these protestations quickly. Placate the masses, but be sure to simultaneously see the leadership not neccessarily punished per se, but ingratiated. Used." Carlyle paused, perhaps this'd shut Halketh up, "Their concerns are unfortunately legitimate. And it'd behove us to perhaps see one or more of these individuals become part of low level government. Shift blame to them if things don't work out."

"Otherwise, I'd advise both the Grand Vizier and Lord Halketh to seek advice from me, if they are incapable of returning law and order to their domains."

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
VANDAL SQUAD 4/4
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | HEART OF THE EMPIRE
Armor | Baton | Sniper | Pistol | Stun / CS Gas / Flash Grenades
Rohak Vizsla | Zaavik Perl | Darth Daiara

INTOLERANCE
​

The first few moments were crucial as Aradia's instincts pulled in her favor. But her counter didn't bare enough effect. Grunge as a result could establish his zone of control over her, straddling her hips with his thighs he was able to establish control over her. The force of the elbow into his upper body didn't accomplish much outside of rattling his form with each passing moment. He endured the pain, the bulk of the force absorbed in the Storm Recon armor he donned and soon enough he'd sit up straight, reeling back his right arm before throwing a heavy punch into her throat, another immediately following levied toward her face...and another...another.

<"You kill my f*cking brothers you b*tch, I'll f*cking end you!"> He barked out through gritted teeth before he sought to grasp the sides of her neck in his hands, squeezing her throat in his palms before reeling back his helmeted head and pulling it down with a fierce bludgeon of his protected skull against her temple, the brow visor of the Storm Recon helmet likely digging into her flesh and in those next moments he continued his drive in seeking to siphon the desperate breathes from her lungs as he sought to strangle her to the point of death.

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

GALIDRAAN FREE-STATE
BASTION

OBJECTIVE II - KNOW YOUR ENEMY

Speakers in Attendance: Irveric Tavlar Willan Tal Enlil Onansi of Thyrsus Halketh Caarlyle Rausgeber

The prestigious presences among the star-studded roster of political speakers were beginning to show, and were also beginning to be heard orating from their podiums with the accompanying paradigm of concurring or condemning outcries. Enlil had risen to speak again since Barran's late arrival, but the biggest happenings by then had been the opening back-and-forth between Lord Halketh and Caarlyle Rausgeber, and that of the opening statements from Irveric Tavlar's first political appearance in months. This Grand Assembly conference was shaping up to become it's most entertaining yet, and Erskine couldn't help but wonder what a plan would look like with all the best elements of their suggested courses of action being implemented, then his strategic mind would objectively decide on which appeared most sensible to his own biased recollection; the results on most would end up being predictably disappointing, but some of the ideas had potential for satisfactory outcomes that suited everyone involved in the Ravelin situation.

However, before Tavlar had finished his next response, the tension in the air began to thicken once more as the Imperator stated intent to side with Prefsbelt's approach, brutal though it may have appeared to be at face value. Barran had no real moral outlook on the matter, so the intensity was somewhat nullified in his spot by Tal's podium, though the Lord-Protector himself was also displaying his usually cool and calm demeanour in the face of the harsher choice. Having been born to a clan with it's history of putting down multiple Westcape Uprisings, though with no real hands-on experience in the matter, the strategy that had previously been formed in his mind was rendered overly hopeful on the spot; the only real choice the Brigadier-General had was to reference history, (and the limited Sandhurst training-curriculum on counterrevolutionary warfare from as far as three centuries in the past) though it was enough to aid in his newly-augmented thought-process.

'I have an idea, Milord. One that doesn't interfere with anything these fellows are discussing, may I?', Lord Erskine asked his commanding officer, to which a begrudging nod of assent was given in reply. With Lord Willan to the left, and himself on the right edge of the podium, Barran called out to be heard above the Assembly's hubbub, exclaiming,'I have a question for the honourable Grand Assembly, but first - fiiiiirst, thank you, I must admit that I could easily work with whatever suggestion has been put forth thus far. Every statement put forth seems to be driving toward the same end, so I have no real strategic or moral input on such matters, but I have noticed that one idea has been completely amiss in this process.', quieting himself gradually as the cacophony faded around him.

Taking a moment to make eye-contact with all the speakers who'd stood out by then, and offering brief fist-over-heart salutes to Enlil, Onansi, Halketh, Caarlyle and Irveric (as well as turning back to offer the same courtesies to Lord Willan) with sincerity before continuing, Erskine would offer respects to those he was appealing to as he said,'Every man you saw me saluting, every one of those speakers with authoritative say on the matter, each and every man among them inspires loyalty to individually-grand proportions, each and every man who received such a salute are known to the locals on the ground; and to top it all off, each and every man I singled out are known by the locals to have done their part in defending the city. You're doing well with the putting down of this rebellion, and it is our mandatory duty to bring swift justice upon those who bite the Imperator's hand, but have we even begun to establish who our hidden loyalists might be? I find myself wishing to ask for figures that might aid my attempt to formulate a good strategy, yet I find myself erring away from that somehow. Something in my gut tells me I'd be jumping the gun, getting hasty.'

'Despite this, I still find myself looking to the immediate problems and those resting just slightly into the hypothetical future, completely avoiding the question of,"What must be done with the local dissident elements once our victories over the mob have been established?", due to the fact a local New-Imperial militia would alleviate many of those problems for us.', Erskine began, pausing only to let the gravity of his statement marinate properly as the hall quietened without any prompt or shout-downs spurring it on. Holding a hand up throughout, the Brigadier-General's intent to conclude his opening statements properly was in plain sight for all in attendance to see, only bringing it down to say,'Think,"Local paramilitaries clearing out what we missed, identifying and capturing the high-profile prisoners as we sit and drink ourselves silly with delight.", and the right-honourable Assembly won't be far off the thoughts that are bouncing around in my ol' dome at the moment.'
​

​

 

[Darth Daiara]

BASTION / RAVELIN
I'm never going to live this down.​

Training sessions passed before her clouded eyes-- warnings, drills, lessons on the dangers of being overwhelmed by a larger foe. It was a possibility that always sat in the back of her mind; it kept her on edge and always practicing.

Yet all those drills had done nothing for her. Her hips bucked pointlessly, his armor absorbed her blows. He was unmovable rock on top her chest.
He established control over her body in spite of her efforts.

Unlike her teachers, he did not stop there.

She could taste the blood-- hear the sounds of her body breaking... the pain was.... exquisite, she was sure, but a blow to the temple kept her thoughts too scattered to appreciate it.

Her eyes rolled back, then came to to focus on the helmet leering over her. The fingers at her throat... the burning tearing through her lungs. Her eyes widened in wild understanding. Panic hit her like ice. She clawed at his helmet. Flames shot out of her fingers, encompassing the bucket in fiery blaze.

Who could last longer? Her lungs or his helmet?

It was not a fair contest.



Kolson Vrask Rohak Vizsla Zaavik Perl

 

[FN-999]

N I N E S​

OBJ II
RIFLE - PISTOL
TAGS: Kolson Vrask
RAVELIN FREE DISTRICT
GARRISON: 992/1000

[INCOMING GRENADE!]
​

Two troopers immediately rushed forwards to catch the hurled projectile and toss it harmlessly to the side. However, it detonated in midair, releasing a thick cloud of grayish gas into the riot line. The two troopers who had moved to catch the gas grenade were the first to feel its effects, the toxic fumes somehow penetrating the filters of their helmets and causing significant visible pain. Seconds later, their comrades watched in terror as they slumped dead to the ground.

Immediately, the juniormost troopers of the riot line began to fire stun bolts blindly upon the crowd. They were among the youngest of the line, the newest troopers of the Corps among them and not yet endowed with the mental resilience of their veteran peers of the assault companies. As a result, the sudden spate of violence and death made them squirmy and anxious.

Before the folly of the recruits could result in any further escalation of the chaos, the lieutenant legion commander desperately reasserted his authority through his encrypted communications channel.

[CEASE FIRE!! Reckless abandon will not ease our situation. Clearly, there are insurgents among the protesters. However, we must differentiate them. Treat the innocent with respect, but detain the terrorists and use lethal force if absolutely necessary. In order to preserve our reputation and prevent any further grievances, we must be keepers of justice.]

Firmly scolded and shamed, the junior troopers regained some of their previous composition and lowered their weapons. As several more gas grenades were flung across the riot line, FN-999 pulled out his megaphone to address both the public and the troopers under his immediate command.

[EVACUATE THE AREA, I REPEAT, EVACUATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. THERE ARE TERRORISTS AND INSURGENTS AMONG THE CROWDS THROWING HIGHLY LETHAL GAS GRENADES THAT CAN PENETRATE FILTERS, AND LETHAL FORCE MAY BE EMPLOYED IF ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. PREPARE TO SHOW CITIZEN IDS IF APPROACHED.]

Hundreds of panicked citizens now formed an impenetrable stampede through which even the most experienced troopers did not dare to pass, the great crowd storming for any of the four secured gates which lay open for filtered departure. FN-999 had anticipated such a stampede situation, experiencing similar phenomenon in his years as a junior riot trooper in First Order service. He hoped that the opened gates to the Free District would allow for the outflow of the crowds until they had reached a manageable number, allowing the garrison to properly discern civilian from anarchist. However, the unprecedented lethality of the gas left him in a bind. The hundred trooper detachment under FN-999's command had relocated outside of their riot line, which was now smothered in a cloud of gas containing several dozen dead civilians and troopers. However, without their barricades, only their numbers protected them from vagabonds. Furthermore, if the stampede turned in the direction of the detachment hugging the outer edge of the plaza, they would likely be forced to make the difficult decision of killing or being killed.

Hoping to act before such dire circumstances kicked in, FN-999 changed his encrypted comms frequency to the entire Ravelin region.

[This is Lieutenant Legion Commander FN-999. The crowd has become a stampede and we've lost several troopers to highly lethal gas that can penetrate our helmets. Requesting immediate support.]

 

[Zaavik Perl]

「MEATHOOK」
KNOW YOUR ENEMY
BASTION / RAVELIN
INCOGNITO
Rohak Vizsla | Darth Daiara | Kolson Vrask
CLOSED
(Hits called with permission.)

---

---

​

Zaavik lowered his blaster slowly, having believed the assailant to be at least incapacitated if not dead. He unconcealed most of his force presence, feeling for a sign of life in the still-standing agent. Nothing. Not an absence of life, but an absence of anything, really. A droid? A further probe, flavors of Mechu Deru, sensed electronics, but that thing certainly wasn't a droid, he of all people would be able to tell.

The crimson orb began to stir, showing a sign of life in defiance of what should have been a fatal injury. Zaavik flinched, raised his blaster again.

"Your antics are one-dimensional. Predictable."

"Predictable!?" he protested. "You just di-!" The sound of rockets whizzing and architecture crumbling interjected. He dropped to a knee, on reaction his will manifested a barrier in the force. Rubble buried him, put the bubble he'd produced kept him from being crushed. A moment passed, intentional delay to make himself appear vanquished. Eventually, he pushed a phantasmal momentum from his hand and the topmost shard of the upper floor was thrown off the top of his rubble-pocket.

A twinge of the dark side tickled his senses. One slightly more than Aradia's continued presence. Head out of the rubble, he turned to see her predicament and- Oh- Oh no. The flames. Desperation, necessary as it may have been, now a chip in their cover. A sense of danger panged him, not for himself, but rather for the comparatively diminutive Sith now pinned by a vengeful soldier.

"Keep my daughter safe."

A snarl came across his features. Combat adrenaline mixed with a nebulous outrage from which a source couldn't yet bet ascertained. Especially not in a moment paced such as this one.

All at once, plans changed.

「THE WOLF IS LOOSE」​

Zaavik ascended to the top of the rubble pile in a single leap, no longer make an effort to keep his force use invisible or any caliber of subtle. He shot a frigid, intense glare down toward Abaddon. It was that kind of look that could spook a ghost. "Predict this!" he growled.

His hand whipped forward, a singular ionizing bolt of electricity shooting out of his outstretched index and middle fingers. Mechu Macture. The bolt spread, electric fingerlings reaching for every electronic in their paths. Terminals in that corner of the room exploded with sparks, climate regulators expelled chemically scented smoke, a dormant droid popped into smoke, sparks, and metallic shards, and hopefully, the oncoming bolt could find purchase in scrambling the assailant's electronic additions.

The Zeltron plummeted from the rubble, hit the ground with a roll, and began a force-assisted sprint toward the Storm Commando. Far quicker than mundane biology would allow, his arm hook beneath the troopers chest and slapped across the surface with a lariat like a battering ram. His hand gripped around the shoulder, elbow flexing in to brace the opposite end of the helmet against his shoulder.

Momentum and his sudden heave upward lifted the commando from Aradia and legs-dangling into the air. Zaavik roared with exertion. Storm Commandos, as he'd just learned, weren't exactly light, and when it came to strength, Zaavik was no Oceiros Sunstrider. Thankfully, the force could compensate his one-armed lift as he sent the still-gripped trooper into a backward arc.

Zaavik dropped to a knee as he brought the trooper down. A loud crack resonated as the troopers back met Zaavik's knee spine-first with all of his plummeting momentum. The trooper rolled off his leg, and the two struggled entwined with one another for several moments. Eventually, Zaavik managed the upper-hand, controlling the trooper's right arm. He pulled it to an extension, twisted it, and came up slightly to drop his knee down upon it.

Another grating sound of body parts in duress echoed through the chamber. With the arm pinned, Zaavik raised a gloved fist. Cortosis and aluminum prosthetic fist began to crash down into the visor over and over, grunts of angry exertion sounding each one off along with the calls of impact and small breakage.

 

[Onansi of Thyrsus]

BASTION / RAVELIN
IMPERIAL ASSEMBLY
Enlil | Halketh | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Irveric Tavlar | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal

Onansi was barely able to prevent himself from rolling his eyes. The constant drumming of his digits atop the table came to an end, and there was the slightest of shakes of his dome. "I believe you have deemed me a simple warmonger, sated only by blood, or mine own death, Grand Vizier," Onansi said with a widening smile, leaning back into his chair to languish. Across the room, his gaze landed on the Admiral Regent, absolutely loathing every moment where the perception of the room was that they were on the same side of the argument.

"Thyrsus' stability bares no relevance to this conversation," he said. It was true that they were a warrior people, the Thyrsians. Taught from a young age the martial forms that saw them free their world from the clutches of their oppressors. But Onansi did not agree wholeheartedly with the means as to which Rausgeber spoke. The Admiral barely saw people as people. They were more akin to automatons built for factories in his eyes. "Glory will be had... Eventually. I do not speak from a place of mass invasions all along our front. I mean, utilize those entities that were created for the purpose of disrupting our enemies."

"COMPNOR's focus should be turned outwardly, to our enemies. The Sith in the Caldera and beyond." The nature of being an independent Warlord meant those that were of similar ilk, would agree, he was certain. The likes of Dooku, Rausgeber, even the Miralukan Halketh and himself were leaders that did not depend on the New Order for survival, or so he deemed. The turning of COMPNOR's gazes would be best for any and all their personal ambitions. "That is, as I said earlier, after the work at home is done," he'd add finally. The agency still had a duty in rooting out the troublemakers who rioted in the streets.

In the end, it was the Warlord of Carlac and Prefsbelt IV who engaged with each other. Of which, he was content with listening to with a mildly amused expression. The concerns of the people below him, as far as Thyrsus went were relatively null. The people of Thyrsus mostly sought to live their lives quietly, dispersed across the desert world. It was Onansi who disrupted the peace, who created the need for a conflict that was nigh impossible to see an end to on his own. The little person on Thyrsus were the elderly, and those too weak to fight, and Onansi cared little for those who wanted to put an end to it; the violence.

"Hm," Onansi hummed as he slouched in his chair, content with imagining home in his minds eye.

It was the Imperator's voice that drew him from his reveries. The words were a herald for their future as an Empire, and despite him holding his tongue as Rausgeber once more called attention to himself, only to be followed by a long winded Galidraani accent delivering a rather simple suggestion. Had he not shut his eyes, he was certain his eyes would roll from his skull.

"Arrests, reeducation, pick one," Onansi cut in at the end as he swept his dark gaze around the room to find the General. "Or be more imaginative. Ultimately, they will disappear for some time and experience some form of punishment," he drawled. Rotating his head back around to the Sovereign Imperator, he offers a nod before continuing. "Swift execution for those that'd sow dissent. Traitorous elements cannot be allowed the chance to exist."

 

[Enlil]

Order
Enlil, King of Ketaris
Irveric Tavlar | Halketh | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Onansi of Thyrsus | Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran

​

When Erskine saluted him, Enlil stood and offered the man a respectful bow of his head, one hand over his heart. "Brigadier General," he greeted the man. The Sovereign Imperator was of a mind that the war against the Sith would continue; and so, to refute that point further was moot. The Grand Vizier focused his attention toward matters within his power to refute, from other members of the Assembly. His eyes moved then to the Admiral-Regent, who he regarded with a gaze that contrasted his icy expression. "No one here would disagree that the Galactic Alliance cannot be considered reliable or true in any sense of the word. They allow vagabonds and unruly creatures to fester under their noses and place stock in the efficacy of ascetics. The Jedi are useful, but they are a means to an end. We should not forget that they are ideologues, and at the first hint of a belief that runs errant from their dogmas they will gladly turn on us." Enlil placed his gilded hand on the table and drummed idly, twice in quick succession. "But we must take great care not to dismiss pawns as useless, lest they be rendered unable to tap into greater potential. Until the Alliance proves to be a liability, they provide free labor in the efforts against the Sith. Surely, even you cannot deny their efficiency in the recent campaign?"

It was a fact that Enlil had witnessed the prowess of Ryv Karis and Maynard Treicoit firsthand, and while he held no love for the Jedi Order, he was a pragmatist. They were assets. Every non-Imperial that fought against the Sith was one less Imperial that needed to be placed in harm's way.

What mattered more were the implications the man made in his twisting words. "All that said, it is intangible to the state of our Empire. You claim a certain seniority with regard to leadership; and certainly, I concede you have proven excellent as an Admiral. If we take Prefsbelt as an example, your skills as a military mind are unparalleled. But as a leader of men, and caretaker of your people, I suggest that you learn from the example of men who don't count corpses in their censes. Forcing resources into wartime economy caters to a contrived demand. When the war inevitably ends, the recalibration period will render the bunkers, the weapons, the vehicles a sunk cost. With those resources squandered, we will be little more than a massive warmachine with no war left to wage. The answer is not so simplistic as 'create jobs in the Imperial Military.' We need to factor the everyday lives of the people, their needs, their livelihood. Our worlds should by no means be relegated to mere 'fortresses' and manned with warm bodies."

Enlil closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then sighed, "Or do you not see the folly in giving blasters to the men and women who are discontented with our rule?"

He then turned his gaze toward Onansi of Thyrsus.

"Thyrsus' stability creates a perspective," he explained. "The belief that what is good for the one is good for all, necessarily, is the fallacy I allude to. Utilization of the hammer to drive a screw leaves an impression not easily undone. If we apply too radical a response, it will polarize the inverse response. We need to approach this situation in a way that does not alienate or make examples that will paint us oppressors. There are too many voices already that would incite the masses with bold faced examples."

True enough, Onansi was well-versed in scathing reviews. He quickly sought to frame the words Enlil spoke in a negative way; and among the sharks on the Imperial Assembly, if peers began to hold you in contempt, your opinion became the minority. The King navigated treacherous waters with a discrete lens. He would not be so easily discredited.

"There is a difference between profiling and known fact, Onansi. That Thyrsians prefer war to politics is the norm and not an opinion. Certainly, you earn full marks for sitting the Assembly and entertaining an alternative approach, but you can hardly dismiss the presumption of bloodthirst as pejorative." With those words spoken, he reached forward and lifted a glass of water set in place before him to his lips. As he drank, he never broke eye contact with the Thyrsian. Once he returned the drink to the table, he continued. "No, indeed, I welcome your perspective and wisdom on matters of state. You need not worry on that."

Their conversation on Thyrsus had been most harsh, and they were like two flames dancing on opposite ends of a rope. They burned everything between them with their intensity. Despite all of that, there was respect.

"But frankly, to turn COMPNOR's attention outward at this juncture would be asinine." Enlil minced no words on the matter. "Until there is security on every world in the Empire, every resource we have at work should remain in play. Rebellion is built on hope. It exists only where there is opportunity. To that end, we must erase every opening, tighten the gaps in our armor, and choke any dissidents until they stop moving. On that much we all agree." He looked between Halketh, Onansi, and Rausgeber. "The means, the execution, these factors seem to be the ones in flux. Best that we address them."

His gaze snapped at last to Erskine, but certainly not the least of those men who he addressed. "It occurs to me you have thoughts on the matter of weaponizing loyalty," the King spoke. "Arming the commonfolk who keep faith with us, routing the dissidents by the hands of the people, rather than by use of the military, and there may be some merit in that vein of thought. I do believe at this juncture, we have our hands bound in that regard. The prospect of feigned loyalties and persona non grata making their way into a militia is too great under current circumstances. However," Enlil glanced to Tavlar, "I do counsel that as we progress in alleviating this situation, we do move forward with such an undertaking and capitalize on the improving choler of Imperial Citizens."

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
VANDAL SQUAD 4/4
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | HEART OF THE EMPIRE
Armor | Baton | Sniper | Pistol | Stun / CS Gas / Flash Grenades
Rohak Vizsla | Zaavik Perl | Darth Daiara

​

He felt the thrill of the kill for the first time in ages, the demented and intangible rush that snuffing the life from the enemy brought. To end someone bent on ending him, his comrades. It didn't matter how desperate or inhumane it was. The way of man, one tribe against another. This woman he was forcing to the death knell, it didn't matter who she was, he didn't care. She wanted to hurt his men, his brothers. She'd die for it. He was moments away from the precipice, then the Jedi came over him with crushing force.

What began as the rush of the kill soon immediately shifted to need to survive as he turned to shift his attention to Zaavik, the speed, the Force enveloped strength of which the Zeltron assaulted Grunge, he wasn't able to sustain any level of defense for very long and soon enough the visor of his helmet was being pummeled once, twice. The surface of the helmet contorted and warped beneath the assault, another shrieking note out of tune to accompany the dreaded sounds of cracking and snapping bone, battered flesh. Within moments, the Commando was defeat, his muffled grunts and notes of suffering managing their way through the vocoder of the helmet before he collapsed from the physical duress of the Shadow's assault, his body limp on bloodied floor as he heaved deeply for warring breathes.

 

[Rohak Vizsla]

you're angered, so am i
the angry Zaavik Perl & Darth Daiara
Kolson Vrask

The armor would've withstood nearly any means of ionization had it not been the source of the vigilante's attack. The Force. Circuits burned and servos whirred, spun, came to a halt, and groaned to restart. Abaddon remained nestled in one place, only capable of observing the Jedi flash away towards his partner and the commando. The ensnarement lasted only so long; Abaddon, after all, equally relied on his biochemical enhancements, as well.

Using the commando's distraction, the assassin rushed at the back of the vigilante. The reflection of the dimly lit room flashed across Abaddon's blade as he plunged it at the vigilante, aiming to skewer him upwards - as if on a hook - and yank him off the commando.

 

[Zaavik Perl]

「MEATHOOK」
KNOW YOUR ENEMY
BASTION / RAVELIN
INCOGNITO
Rohak Vizsla | Darth Daiara | Kolson Vrask
CLOSED

---

---

​

Fist raised for another strike, Zaavik regained full control and hesitated. The Storm Commando was done, incapacitated, had he continued as his instincts implored, he might very well have killed the soldier. The sensations that had fueled his assault appeared in the same flavor of the power he'd drawn on Korriban. It really took so little, didn't it?

An overwhelming feeling of doom alerted him to danger. He released the man beneath him, leaving him to writhe with life intact. Abaddon's blade glittered on artificial fluorescent rays, invoking a reaction from Zaavik to bring up a hand. The sword slid through the space between his prosthetic's middle and ring finger, shredding the red glove that hid the aluminiferous surface.

His right hand couldn't act quick enough. Flesh broke beneath a remorseless, metallic blade tip and slid between ribs. A jolt shot through his body, followed by an excruciating heat. He could only suck in air through his teeth in anguish as the right hand made it toward the crossguard only in time to prevent him from being completely ran through.

His next breath was immensely difficult, blood sputtering in his chest. Suddenly he was lifted, one rib breaking from upward pressure as he was scooped off the ground and discarded with a heavy thud away from Grunge's semi-conscious body.

Blood gushed from his chest like a river breaking through a dam. A painful cough followed, sending a red mist off his lips as he struggled to rise. Clawed fingers gripped over the wound, doing little to staunch the leaking crimson.

A graveled curse spat out from his bloodied mouth in his native language as he made it to a knee. Metal clattered against the ground as his blaster was pulled by a phantasmal will to his free hand. It aimed toward Abaddon with a visible tremble. There was no telling if that puncture was going to be fatal, but it certainly felt like a killing blow.

Those dark inclinations slithered back into his mind.

I'll take all of them with me.

He fired until the tibanna canister went inert.

 

[Darth Daiara]

There had been no clear cut line between the fight for her life and the unconsciousness that had taken her. Her eyes opened to behold a dimly lit ceiling. Movement blurred around her. She felt herself curl onto her side as she coughed against the breaths that burned. Instinct drove her to move. Danger was all around her.

Move.

She rolled to the side, avoiding a heavy boot slamming down. She felt her saber call to her, its song pulsing with each spiking threat that entered the room. She reached out. the cool metal collide into her fingers. She felt her master's alchemy surge through her, the hilt granting her a wave of strength. She smiled, standing in time to watch Zaavik...

Be impaled.

The saber hissed to life. It's red light illuminated her fury as she surged forward. She was a bolt of light, a single blink would have her close the space. An overhead strike came down for the sword-bearing arm. She moved like water, predicting his response and shifting her stance to keep the distance. The overhead strike flowed into swipe at his legs-- an attempt to behead-- a downward blow across his very body. On and on she would press-- Unrelenting. Quick.

Hungry to kill.

Rohak Vizsla Kolson Vrask Zaavik Perl

 

[Rohak Vizsla]

you're angered, so am i
the angry Zaavik Perl & Darth Daiara
RIP Kolson Vrask

The vigilante's blood trickled down in drops, then unto a stream, down the silvery blade. Abaddon knew the moment he had connected he had missed by mere inches from the man's heart, it was a deep wound nonetheless, yet not immediately fatal. He pulled the blade back just in time to parry the sudden red flash.

The assassin barely remembered the last time he had been on the defensive, no matter how fledgling the instance. The Sith made him concede the ground he had gained, pushing him back from the vigilante. The relentless red onslaught finally caught purchase at his midsection and forced him into an unorthodox riposte; dropping his weapon as a distraction, he used the momentary opening to grasp her wielding hand and her throat, lifting her up in the air.

"We so easily mistake the intensity of our anger for the righteousness of our conviction. That nothing bad would come our way because our cause is just. That fate is on our side." he said through his helmet's vocoder, his single eye locked into hers, while the wound across his chest began to heal.

"But tell me if it was so - then why has fate sent me?"