Faction I Can Bring You in Warm... || Knights Obsidian

[Ascendant Resolve]

BOTHAWUI

Just after dawn
​

The Knights have been deployed. Word has reached their ears of a citizen of the Confederacy with intent to release information. Potentially damaging information. And more importantly, information that may reveal corruption within the Viceroyalty. And what better place to sell this information than Bothawui? The home of the Bothan Spy Network. Prime place to sell all manner of information. Provided you know the right buyers. And Mylthea knew the right buyers.

Unfortunately for her, members of the Enclave caught wind of this deal. Her contact was never found, but that didn't change the fact that she was caught. Now it was simply a matter of handing her off to the Knights Obsidian. He didn't say why, not that Voph ever did, but the Lord Commander had claimed jurisdiction, and requested the Enclave Mandalorians surrender the target to him. A meeting was set, and the plan was in motion.

But pieces were moving within the underworld. The information she held was too valuable to let go just because the Enclave had found her. Mobsters were already preparing to rescue their comrade, by force if necessary. And as the Knights began to arrive on Bothawui, the need for force became more and more apparent. The team sent was a small one. Only two Destrier ships descended upon Bothawui. A mission like this needed to be kept quiet. One Destrier would descend to serve as extraction. The other remained aloft as air support. The board was set, and the pieces were moving. With any luck, this would be a simple smash and grab kind of operation.

With any luck.

Spoiler: Tag List

Kyyrk
Vytal Noctura
Kurenai Yumi
Rayne Centaris
Asaraa Vaashe
Taramaz Arcturus
Rylan Kordel
Gerwald Lechner
Áine
Lunara Azure
Lucianus Adair
Rience
Hisashi
Ashelia Solidor
Beric Layne
Shalita Verd
Zlova Rue
L Luca Ionești
Zlova Rue
Nine Lives
Zoe Rosella
Darth Ivum
Aries Creed
Eli-Mae Forrest
Asher Mossa
Veronika Fleischer
Kalanda Tishire
Vyse de Valorous
Aadya Volke
Isalor Grathan
Millu Lee
Danielle Mueller
Teyla Sal-Soren
Arro Peradun
Eline Djo
Shiraine Bennet
@Yo'tek the Wanderer
Vanir Eris
Redd
Taiia Mataan
Julra Repraj
Shamira Karuto
Kobi Fesser
Jalan Riyadosh
Laneya Wexler
@Leru Dara
Talak Jenste
Ticca
Krystal
Fury of Aerðs
Dispara
Xevnlie BrightScorch
Miyako Saki
Shalita Verd
Lavria Xedrim
Cord Starfall
Siyndacha Aerin
Pyeth Raffinki
Dreidi Xeraic
Serena Denko
Ora Haskarr

 

[Siv Dragr]

K A R J R​

Tag: Kyyrk
Word Count: 3,235

"When one chooses to walk the Way of Mandalore, you are both hunter and prey. How can one be a coward if one chooses this way of life?"

Siv's hands rested lightly on the controls of the Blood Eclipse, his personal gunship, as it rocketed through space. He could feel the hum of its dual engines as the ship's inertial damper strained to smooth out the gravitational pressure and forces being exerted on the ship. Apart from the hum of the engine and other noises of the ship, it was perfectly quiet. Siv set perfectly still, and with his face covered by his Mandalorian helmet, he appeared completely emotionless.

The Way of the Mandalore was considered by some to be ancient, but it was the path that Siv had walked his entire life. Clan Dragr had always been. . . more independent than the other Clans of Mandalore. They had heralded from Kol the Clanless, who had become Kol the Hammerborn. In Clan Dragr, the right to be Mandalorian did not come from heritage or blood. it was won through one's own skill in combat, in craftsmanship, in the art of a hunter and mercenary.

It had also been what had made Clan Dragr so unique from the rest of the Clans, for while they shed blood against each other and against enemies made across the galaxy, Clan Dragr chose not to fight. They knew that countless deaths over countless crusades took a toll on its clan, and it was why most smaller clans would grow and disappear in less than a century, only leaving the large and ancient clans to persist. Clan Dragr followed the Way that had been decreed by Kol, Most honored this decision; Clan Dragr was an old Clan, and despite its small size, it had a certain degree of honor and respect with the other elders and leaders of the Mando'ade. Others though, bitter for the lack of support, labeled the clan as Dar'manda.

Most of them that had were dead now, anyway. But so was Clan Dragr. It turned out that the Sith did not care for internal Mandalorian politics and instead preferred to commit mass genocide indiscriminately.

When Mandalore had been taken from him, and his Clan had been taken from him as well, all that he had left was the Way of the Mandalore. And for all he knew, he had been the last surviving member of Clan Dragr. And so he had vowed to himself that no matter what, he would honor the Way of the Mandalore. For his Clan. For the Mando'ade.

"Registered gunship Razor Crest-class, this is Drev'starn spaceport traffic control tower," a garbled voice announced over the Blood Eclipse's comm systems, the voice warbled and distorted slightly by the quality of the transmission. "Your ship has been identified as having hostile armaments. We need a ping to confirm records before we give you permission to land."

Siv sighed. He had heard from other Mandalorians back at the Enclave, over drinks or waiting for repairs to armor and weapons at the Forge, that the Bothans were notorious for having a strict policy on any ship that bore some sort of armament. Something about a cultural pushback to all the conflict that the planet and its people, who had picked many sides in many different wars and had made many different enemies. Luckily enough the Confederacy didn't care, so long as that spying didn't affect them.

Although, that might no longer be the case if the tip-off that Siv had gotten was correct.

"Sending the ping now," Siv replied. One gloved hand moved over to the control board to the left of his piloting seat, flipping a switch. An audible tonal note was played as the Blood Eclipse began relaying information to the control tower, one condensed electronic package at a time. Last Siv had checked, all his files were in order, including the ones that gave him exempt status as a Confederate Marshal. He did have to admit, being a Karjr came with more perks than just currency he could use to upgrade his armor and toolbox.

The comms were silent for a moment, and Siv powered down the Blood Eclipse while he waited. He was careful not to continue on the vector towards the planet, lest he is shot down for 'hostile acts of aggressive nature' -- even being a Karjr didn't grant him complete immunity. But it turned out that he wouldn't need to worry -- or at least, he wouldn't have to wait for a reply. "What brings a Mandalorian Marshal to Bothawui?" the voice asked. Siv could detect a note of caution, or maybe wariness, in his voice.

At a length, Siv finally responded. "Official Confederacy business," was his short reply.

Another long pause, before the voice began once more, seeming to have reluctantly accepted Siv's explanation. "You are approved for landing at docking bay DS-C130," the warbled voice once again spoke over the comms. "Welcome to Bothawui. . . Marshal."

The Blood Eclipse descended down the Gravity Well of the Outer Rim planet, touching down on the planet that his contact had said should be the one. He'd gotten word through his various connections in the underworld and the Bounty Hunter's Guild that there was some sort of informant, a deeply entrenched member of the Bothan Spy Network, had been rumored to have found incriminating evidence about several high-ranking Confederacy politicians. As soon as word had reached the Enclave, and through them the Confederacy, a bounty had been put on her head.

Whether the Confederacy wanted to use her to root out the corruption amongst their ranks or to simply silence any word of dissension against their own, Siv did not know. Nor did he care too; this was a job, not an idealistic crusade of any kind. He'd find the target, secure them, and cash in. Same as he had done for so many others.

The beskar plates of his Beskar'gam clinked quietly as he walked through the streets of Drev'starn's merchant sector. Drev'starn was not a massive ecumenopolis like those of Taris, Coruscant, or Fondor, to name a few, but it was a sizeable city nonetheless, with multiple levels. The merchant sector was crowded, but signs of derelict were beginning to show; cracked pavement, peeling paint on the metal walls of different buildings, the way that the holo-signs of different establishments and storefronts would flicker as their aging components struggled to continue to function.

It was far from glamorous, that was for sure, but it was also far from many of the derelict and downright chit-hole worlds that Siv had traveled to. His cloak trailed behind him, and with his Mandalorian helmet, an aura of quiet menace radiated from the Karjr. A hand rested non discreetly on his holstered blaster pistol, the other left free to hang at his side but ready to use the various tools of his vambrace if needed. One always had to expect danger, from all corners, and all types of beings, but especially in the bellies of the underworld or crowded melting pots of offworlders of such as this. Siv knew that his valuable armor, plated in Beskar whose worth in black markets across the galaxy continued to rise,

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure watching him, standing barely in the shadow of a narrow alleyway that broke off from the main road that Siv was walking on. He turned his helmet to see an image of a lightly-armored Rodian, clothed in what seemed to be the garb of a spacer, leering at him with the massive orbs of eyes that were characteristic of the Rodian's species.

Siv turned to fully face the Rodian, meeting the stare with his unwavering own. Siv's hand, unseen by the Rodian, instinctively began to tighten around the trigger, but luckily there would be no shootout yet. The Rodian seemed to take Siv's unspoken message and slinked off back into the dark recesses of the alleyway, but not before spitting on the ground and muttering, "Mando poodoo," a soft Huttese curse, under his breath. Siv continued on walking, unoffended -- he'd been called much worse -- and didn't think much more about it.

Finally, he arrived at the bar where his informant had told him he could find more about this lady's whereabouts. The name of the place was written in an intelligible Bothan language, flashed onto the side of the metal building via a large and extremely bright holoprojector. He had also begun to notice a slight decline in foot traffic as night had begun to fall, but that didn't exactly matter to him at the moment. If anything, it would make a chase easier should his target try to fleet. Making sure that the location checked out with what he had marked on the holomap one final time, he was satisfied and ventured inside.

It was a seedy bar, not the cleanest of establishments. Patrons sat huddled in groups around various corners and alcoves strung throughout the lower level of the bar while music echoed on fading speakers hidden into the architecture of the place. At the bar itself was a rotund Bothan polishing glasses with a dirty rag soaked in some sort of disinfectant. Bothans were a species Siv shouldn't have been surprised to encounter on its homeworld, but he was still somewhat surprised; he'd rarely seen one so up close before outside of a crime or intelligence-related setting. That was the first place he went to leaning up against it and waiting for the bartender to notice his presence.

"Welcome to Orbo's bar. What can I getcha? Spotchka? Corellian Ale? Bothan brews are marked down fifteen percent today as well," Bartender asked gruffly, displaying a thick accent, sounding somewhat bored.

Siv dug into a pouch on his utility belt before pulling out a couple of credits, setting them on the bar between him and the barkeep. "I come seeking for information," he said by way of explanation.

The barkeep looked first at the credits, then at Siv, then at the credits with a fair amount of dubiousness in his expression. "Y'know that creds don't spend here?" he asked, sounding somewhat incredulous. "You got anything, eh, a little more. . . solid?" The Bothan rubbed two fingers together to add extra emphasis to the question.

Sighing, Siv scooped the credits back into his pouch before reaching behind his cape and pulling out a few small, shining metallic coins, setting them on the table. "I have Beryllius," Siv said, keeping a hand on the coins, "but I want the information first."

Suddenly the eyes of the Bothan bartender moved from looking directly at Siv to past him, looking at something that was just behind Siv's shoulder. Interested -- more cautious, though, and keeping a hand on his Beryllius coins -- Siv moved to turn, but then he suddenly felt the cold hard metal of a blaster muzzle pressed firmly against the base of his neck, and he froze.

"Easy does it, Mando," a lilting feminine voice spoke, with a mocking air about it. "No funny moves or I blow your head and your shiny helmet off." The words were threatening but were spoken with an almost-seductive whisper.

Siv raised his hands slowly from where they had been resting, one on his blaster pistol that no doubt whoever was now holding him at blaster point had seen. He felt the TKO-20 Valiance Blaster Pistol slide out of his holster and heard the soft commands in an unknown language being issued -- most likely his blaster being transferred to another person. "What is it you want?" Siv asked, his voice not betraying any emotion whatsoever.

"You're going to have a little chat with me, Mando," was the reply.

Siv was seated at a table -- across from him, a lithe young woman with a cascade of brown air tumbling down past her shoulders. Her eyes were a starting violet and peered at Siv with an unparalleled sort of intensity, one he rarely saw in beings. On either side were two Bothans, large and muscular compared to the pudgy bartender, and behind them, standing to one side: the Rodian that Siv had seen watching him earlier. He'd assume that the Rodian had been looking to score an easy kill, but it appeared that he was in fact working for whoever this woman was.

"Who sent you after me, Mando?" the woman asked, leaning forward.

Siv shifted in his seat. "So you're. . . Mylthea? The spy in the Bothan Network?" He asked, not answering the question that the woman had posed. Similarly, the woman neither confirmed nor denied Siv's question, but the slight narrowing of her eyes at the mention of that name was all the affirmation that Siv needed. He continued. "I'm told that you have information, information that is valuable to my client."

"Well I'm afraid that it's the information that is for sale, not me," she replied dryly. Siv tilted his head, but Mylthea didn't wait for a response. "You're not the first hunter that's come after me, Mando, though I will admit that you're the first of your kind. I hoped you would be more of a challenge," she added with a half-hearted laugh, more from derision than humor. "Too bad you were a disappointment." She stood up, beginning to walk away before turning back. "Boys," she called in a sing-song voice and the Bothans and Rodian turned to look back at her, "I shouldn't have to remind you to take care of him."

Siv didn't wait to give the 'boys' a chance to take care of him. He immediately rose, grabbing the table underhand and suddenly flipping it against the two Bothans, topping them off their chairs. The Rodian was quick, pulling out a blaster, aiming it squarely at Siv's chest, and fired. But the Rodian hadn't accounted for the beskar plate that stood between Siv's chest and the blaster bolt, and the red beam of concentrated plasma ricocheted harmlessly off of Siv's chest. For someone who was as armored as he was, Siv closed the distance between him and the Rodian with surprisingly quick speed, slamming his fist against the Rodian's skull, knocking its head into a pillar and sending the Rodian unconscious.

Shuffling movement told him that the Bothans were beginning to regain their footing, so Siv quickly grabbed the fallen blaster that the Rodian had been holding before he'd been knocked out, swiftly turning and sending two-perfectly aimed blaster bolts to slam into both bodies of the Bothans, silencing them. He saw the glimmer of his own pistol peeking out from one of the Bothan corpse's belts and quickly discarded the Rodian's blaster in favor of his own. He took a moment to feel the familiar grip of it in his hand before he set off towards his target.

As he strode quickly past the bartender, he flipped a few more Beryllius coins his way. "Sorry for the mess," Siv apologized, and the bartender apparently seemed relieved that the fighting had remained contained and that he was even being compensated for it.

The blast doors of the bar opened back up onto the lamplit street, now almost completely empty. In front of him was a speeder bike, beginning to rev up, and on it was his target -- the elusive Mylthea. Siv didn't wait to give her a chance to escape, though; a quick blaster bolt to the engine sent the drive and repulsorlift haywire, collapsing on itself and taking Mylthea down with it. She struggled out from under the wreck and began to stagger off, but Siv was quicker, firing an electrical fiber cord line from his Tarka'yayr gauntlet that wrapped itself around the woman's legs, entangling her and causing her to fall on the ground. A low-potency electrical pulse was quickly emitted, nowhere enough to be fatal but that carried enough shock to momentarily stun the woman. Siv used that small period to slap binders on her and haul her up from the ground.

The speeder bike was wrecked, which made the trip back to the Blood Eclipse longer. But Mylthea seemed to prefer sulking in silence rather than chatting up a storm, which was fine by all means for Siv. By the time they reached the hangar bay that he was docked in, it was nearly day-break. Suddenly, a notification beamed up from his holo-pad. A hand still on the binders that bound Mylthea, Siv opened the communication device to see the miniaturized projection of the Quartermaster.

"Are you in possession of the quarry?" The Quartermaster asked, her tone as austere as ever.

"I have a name, you know," the woman -- Mylthea -- muttered in annoyance, the first time she had spoken, but Siv ignored her.

Siv nodded. "Yes. . . she is in my possession. Is there a reason for your message?"

In return, the Quartermaster nodded, mirroring Siv. "There has been a change of plans," she said. "You are to bring the quarry to the Confederacy's consulate in the heart of the administrative district, where you are supposed to transfer her to aa team from the Knights of Obsidian."

Siv turned to watch the woman's expression change to muted shock as the title of the group that would be picking her up was spoken. Siv knew little to nothing about these Knights Obsidian other than that they wielded the same powers as the Sith who had destroyed his people. "Very well. It shall be done," Siv replied, and the Quartermaster nodded without any further word, closing off the hologram.

"Looks like you'll be getting a quick change of scenery," Siv quipped, half a joke and half-mocking of the confident tone that Mylthea had displayed a few hours earlier in that bar. Mylthea seemed more subdued than she had been, but she remained silent in almost a sort-of protest as they walked onto the gunship and made their way to the new location that the Quartermaster had designated.

Once they had arrived, now in a much more modern district of the city, Mylthea and Siv walked onto the entrance plaza in front of the massive consulate building, Siv keeping a tight grasp on the woman's binders. But now, she finally spoke. "Tell me, Mando," she asked, the same confident air now seemingly back in her voice. "If I could tell you who you really working for. . . would this job still be worth its payment?"

Siv neglected to respond, although he could feel the violet eyes of the woman drilling into his helmet. He'd begun to think that himself, although he had repressed those thoughts almost by instinct. No matter what organization he had been apart of -- his Clan, the Bounty Hunter's Guild, or now the Enclave -- one thing had always been clear: that a job was a job. He'd done much worse than aiding in the covering up of corrupt dealings.

But the fact that he was now giving this woman to people who had the same sort of sorcery as the Sith did not sit right with him. And so while he stood, silent, he felt a conflict began to rise up in him, a conflict he hadn't felt since the liberation of Mandalore.

Was a job really just a job? And if it meant more than that -- would he be sacrificing his honor to his Clan and the Way of the Mandalore, just to satisfy a moral qualm?

[] Theme []​

 

[Kyyrk]

M E E T I N G
​

Voph stood near the exit ramp of the Destrier as it dipped through the clouds, drawing close to the city below. A member of the Enclave had bagged the prize just an hour ago. Voph frowned slightly. He still didn't particularly enjoy working with their kind. But in this case, he'd done a good deal of their work for a modest enough sum. And for that, Voph was willing to turn a blind eye, as they said, to the man's culture. Voph turned to address the other Knights within the ship. "We touch down in five. Plan hasn't changed. Our contact is meeting us in the Administrative district, near the capitol building. Target had an escort, so we can only assume there will be a fight to get her back. We're hoping that won't be the case, but that's also why I brought you."

A small map illuminated in the small passenger hold. "The trade will happen in this apartment building here. The closest we can get is a private landing pad five blocks away. Our friends in the walls have secured use of this landing pad with no questions asked. We get the target, escort them to the landing pad, and get out." Voph looked around at the other Knights gathered as he pulled his helmet on. "We're expecting nothing more than the local mob on the first wave, but there are a lot of people interested in the information this informant has. Expect a better armed response before all is said and done."

Moments later, the Destrier had landed. Voph stepped out onto the landing pad, immediately walking at a brisk pace towards the stairwell. There was no time to waste. The sooner this was over, the better. The less attention they attracted, the better. "Keep a low profile. Meet at the destination." With that, Voph made a gesture as if pulling a cloak around him, and he vanished from sight. He would keep to the shadows for this one. A few Knights milling about? No cause for concern. But the Lord Commander himself? That would attract unnecessary attention. And for some reason Voph couldn't shake, he had a bad feeling about this one...

Tags: Open to Interaction

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[Dreidi Xeraic]

Meeting
​

Dreidi looked around, she was wearing some kind of armour, she had been forced to wear it since she was going on some important mission. It was itchy and she wasn't sure she felt very comfortable in armour, it was also really heavy and Dreidi wasn't use to wearing armour so she was already feeling the armour weigh her down and slow her movements. All she wanted to do was complain about wearing the armour but she knew better, this was clearly a serious mission and an important one, it was clear this was the case but the large number of serious looking faces, or at least the ones she could see from people not wearing helmets. Ones that were wearing helmets, she assumed were also super serious because no one cracked a job while wearing a helmet. Or at least that was her belief. She nudged her way to the front of the meeting, not because she felt more important or was going to take the mission as serious as everyone else, Dreidi just couldn't see anything standing in the back with apparent giants blocking her view. She couldn't wait for her next growth spurt, she was adamant she would reach 7-8' just so she can have her turn at looking down at others. It was only fair and puberty owed her that at least.

Hearing that there could be well armed opposition on the mission, Dreidi tried to follow the guy in charge. She was still fairly new to CIS so she hadn't figured out people's name or the ranks yet properly. "So, cause it is risky, does that mean I can get a proper..?" Before she could finish her question, he poofed. Well damn, Dreidi had some skills in concealing herself with the Force, she was grateful that she learnt that from her mum before she left the SJC, maybe if she was going to do missions like this more in the future then she should practice the power more. That was something to think about later, for now she stared at her practice saber and sighed. Maybe next mission she might have her own Lightsaber, she was still fairly new in training and while she was adamant that she could handle a real one, her test scores in combat training did not indicate this. Something stupid like Dreidi isn't focused during classes and can pose herself and friends a risk when she is training with a practice saber, but Dreidi had learn to behave she guessed. Especially if she wanted to impress people when on missions and not look like she needs to be taken care of.

Jeez, she would hate it if others saw her was someone that needed coddling and kept out of action. She was too young for getting involved in wars and such, she understood that but didn't mean she couldn't get involved in missions like this. Looking around, Dreidi spotted a familiar face and raced over and tapped them on the shoulder. "Alfie! Hey! What are you doing here?" Dreidi wasn't being super quiet but she figured it would be fine for now, they weren't too far from the ship they just left.

Kyyrk Alfhildr Ótta​

 

[Kurenai Yumi]

Dreidi Xeraic Kyyrk

It had been a while since her last operation and even longer since last stepping foot on the Bothan homeward. It hadn't seemed to have changes much over the years... then again their whole thing was staying hidden and out of sight. Though the surface looked similar the what lay underneath could be completely different. It this was another time she would be somewhat tempted to travel around and see the sights, but their current mission came first.

Kurenai leaned over Vophs shoulder slightly as she listened to the brief, sighing slightly at the information that the Mando's had gotten hold of the contact. Though usually not one to judge simply by name Kurenai had too many bad interaction with Mandalorians to give them the benefit of the doubt. From idoit thinking they were automatically the best fighters in the galaxy just by blood birth alone, to zealots that would burn down villages for fun and they proclaim they upheld the warriors code.

Hopefully this Enclave was more up to talking, Kurenai giving her equipment one last check before stepping into the streets behind the Lord Commander, donned in her old mercenary get up. On a planet like this and the present criminal elements someone like her wouldn't stand out a bit. In fact Kurenai wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to hire her for the possible coming attack once the transfer started. Though rare there was a chance she'd stumble across old contacts, the varying spy networks here had employed her in the past when she still went by alias of the 'crimson shadow'.