Public Long Live the Imperial

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
ORD TRASI

EVERYTHING ENDS​

​

Twenty years had pass and it seemed the Galaxy finally reached at a state of stability and peace. The Maw were no more and what other remnants of the Darkside were hunted down and defeated. Still there were other questions that needed its answers. What of the tension between the Empire and Alliance? The Alliance recently dared to meddle with Imperial Affairs, offering refugee to Imperials wanting to escape the totalitarian state of the Empire for a "better" life. And the heads of the Empire? Silent, not a single retort to the Alliance. It made them look weak; the very idea the New Imperial forefathers once fought for was decaying at the expense of the Imperial leadership. Part of it was Bline's fault, too. Not acting until now.

As long as the Alliance existed, it would always undermine the Empire and its territories.

Peace was no longer an option and he would no longer maintain silence. The Alliance would reap what they sow.

But first it was time to clean up house.

Ord Trasi; a key world to the Imperial machine, especially to its navy. Incredible new ships were produced without pause and its industries were favorable to Imperial Command. Every Imperial world had its unique traits and governed differently. Some needed an iron fist to maintain order and uniformity, and put down any insurgents. Others were laxed with authority as they were able to normalize Imperialism among its subjects from the complex machine of COMPNOR, nigh purity as every citizen was law abiding and did their part for the longevity of their Empire.

A world as rich as Ord Trasi fortunately could be described as the latter. A higher society within the Empire when compared to the likes of Ord Mantell. This system was deep within the territories of the Empire and was so comfortable in their lifestyle that the idea of an invading force attacking them hardly crossed their mind. Unfortunately for them that would all change today. Any foreign army trespassing Imperial Space would be noticed and impeded before reaching critical worlds such as Ord Trasi; but what they never counted on was one of their own striking from behind.

The weather was favorable and calm, a beautiful day to be enjoyed indeed...only for it to be spoiled. Without alert an Imperial fleet that did not belong to this sector appeared from hyperspace and initiated an attack on the Ord Trasi's fleet. Communications would be jammed to prevent Ord Trasi's command to alert the rest of the Empire and request for reinforcements. It wouldn't be long until they could bypass the jammers, all that mattered was buying time for the meantime. The skies above Ord Trasi was dazzled with heavy turbolasers, and on earth sudden insurgents in Imperial cloth initiating combat in targeted points of interest.

The Empire was dead in its current form.

But the Imperial would always live.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

​

R H E A​

​

Rhea had been among the last projects Ivalyn's grandmother had worked on. A matriarchal society that leaned heavily in favor of authoritarian regimes like the New Imperial Order, or the Empire. Her grandmother had been part of the catalyst that led to the system's uptick in starship production. Ivalyn was partly there on Ord Trasi for that reason, its' starships along with finding out more about her grandmother, Fiolette Fortan. Ivalyn never really knew her and much about her had been obscured. What Ivalyn did not know and could not have known prior to her disembarking the vessel that brought her to Ord Trasi. Her father, Djorn Bline was there at Ord Trasi as well.​

​

The last she knew of her father he held a blaster to her mother. This was well over twenty years ago by the time Ivalyn graced Ord Trasi's surface. Her mother with the help of an agent by the name of Rowan had escaped her father's influence. Ivalyn grew up between the Mountbatten Expedition within the 'Scar Worlds' and later Dosuun as it became the Dosuunian Commonwealth of Nations. It was just as Ivalyn had made her way to a nearby hotel that all hell broke loose. An upward glance as heavy turbolasers rained hell across the skies. Insurgents seemingly poured out of nowhere and began attacking nearly anything and everyone that moved. The would-be intrepid reporter ducked out of harms way as insurgents poured into the otherwise stately hotel. ​

​

Any of her attempts to communicate with family were dead in the water. Communications had been jammed which meant she was largely on her own. It was that day of all days she sorely wished she had listened to her mother and stayed in the Southern systems instead of venturing out to 'find herself,' what a bloody crock that was turning out to be. Ivalyn cursed under her breath, she had no weapons and no way of defending herself. Although, she wasn't going to stay that way, as an insurgent ran past the desk she hid under she got an idea.

Ivalyn grabbed the large loafer that belonged to the man who had previously worked the desk. She chucked it with all her strength and watched as it delivered a small dose of freedom to the back of the insurgent. This was followed by a large tablet that did more than just get his attention. The man turned just in time to catch the tablet with his face, and when he shook his head, he found his gun was gone. Ivalyn grabbed it and used the butt of it to bash in his visor until the visor was bashed into his eyes. Upon a moment to catch her breath whilst death and violence sang around her, Ivalyn reflected, "mum always said I had my father's temper." ​

​

​

​

 

[Zel Sharratt]

Ord Trasi
Tags: Open

​

"When chronicling a history of the Galaxy, it is always important to understand context."

Such a strange site to see; Imperial forces bombarding an Imperial planet. Unusual, but Zel understood better than most what this was. A cycle, one that had encapsulated the planet of Ord Trasi for thousands of years. He had originally come to the planet hunting for the long forgotten, a past soaked deep in the waters of the Pius Dea. Most fools wouldn't dare enter Imperial territory for something as trivial as a history lesson, but Zel was no ordinary fool. When one had little to lose and everything to gain, they tended to make foolish decisions. As luck would have it, history had decided to present itself. Set up on a hill overlooking the carnage with a recording device in hand, Zel did what he did best.

"From an era ruled by extremist cults to becoming a foundry world for a handful of regimes bold enough to call themselves 'Empire,' the Ordinance of Trasi has known thousands of lifetimes entangled by the more chaotic whims of our strange Galaxy. But what draws such radical forces to this world? Some would say that it's an anchor point, deep into the heart of space between the Mid Rim and the Tingel Arm, a bastion of natural resources perfect for larger than life construction. For the Pius Dea, it was a jumping off point that lead to alien worlds, ripe for plunder and subjugation. For the Empire, the first of the long line to follow, it was a world remote enough that Star Destroyers could be constructed where prying eyes would never think to look. Now it sits at the heart of a crumbling state, it's own forces looming overhead. Even without mentioning the Vong, Ord Trasi has a history full of conflict and construction, a center-point for tools that would bring chaos and destruction to the Galaxy. Once again, the wheels of fate seem to be turning, all while a weary galactic people watch."

Zel, of course, had his own thoughts on the Empire. They were dishonorable scum, everything that stood in opposition to the Creed. While he could respect their military prowess, the Blubreen could say no kind words on there dark dealings and underhanded infiltration of countless worlds. That wasn't even bringing Mandalore into account. But history was history. If none were willing to record such things with integrity, everything would be lost to time. To preserve the moment in it's purest form, one must even show dignity to their enemy.

"But what will the coming days make of this event?" he mused into his recording device, "And how will the present historian manage to make it off of Ord Trasi? It seems that only time will tell... End log."

The Mandalorian sighed, hanging his head.

"Feth..."

His ship had been in the city, no doubt reduced to slag by the sudden bombardment. Perhaps he'd simply observe from afar for now. It seemed that the ruins of the Pius Dea would have to wait.

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Long, black robes flowed and chain medallions jingled. A hood covered the figure's head as she stepped out of the local grocer's. She looked up in shock, seeing that all of a sudden, the skies were alight with the glow of firefighting. The cloaked figure paused, the winced as an explosion erupted from the town hall nearby. Civilians ran and cried in terror, and suddenly imperial soldiers were firing at each other.

The cloaked figure dropped her basket of food.

"One week," She muttered crossly as she stalked towards the noise, "I wanted one week to relax..."

She extended her senses, feeling the emotions and intentions of the stormtroopers and guards around her. She located a loyal and shocked soul and darted towards them, dodging blaster fire in a trained manner. She went up to the soldier and called, "What's going on!"

The trooper turned to her about the tell a civilian to get away, but the glint of the medallions made him pause. Then, <"Insurgents! It all happened out of nowhere! You can heal people, right? Go help the wounded in the hall!">

The girl under the hood nodded, "Sir! Long live the Empire!"

She ran for the hall, pulling a blaster pistol from beneath her robes. As the heat of the fires grew ever hotter, she bounded into the main entrance, demolished by the explosion, and fired a Charric round at one of the guards who was firing at the wounded secretary. She leapt atop a fallen border and fired again at a group of insurgent soldiers. The hood fell from her head, revealing blond locks and red eyes. She called to another secretary, hiding behind the flopped over counter, "Who all is here!?"

The secretary coughed, "Ki-Amol Rodni is injured, Andromeda is here with me! I don't know where Maxx is!"

Some flames took ahold of her cloak. The young woman, pulled her medallions off and tossed her robe off. Two knives hung at her hip. She wore an athletic outfit with dark pants and a red shirt. Noticably, the shirt had the Iron Heart, a Mandalorian symbol, on the chest. She leapt off the boulder, throwing her chain medallions over her shoulder, and felt for anyone else in the room. She felt the tiniest flicker of a soul and darted towards a metal beam. There, trapped under the stake, was a Zeltron man coughing up blood. His eyes were only halfway open. She knelt down, checking his vitals only to find a struggling heartbeat. His life force continued to ebb away. She gasped, yanking a herb from her pouch. No, that was the wrong one! She held her hands over his wound, thoughts racing as she opted not to remove the stake yet. Too much blood loss could be the final nail in his coffin. She poured everything she had into him, doing her best to soothe him.

"Maxx, you're doing wonderfully. Keep going, dear. You can make it."

She didn't believe it herself, but she was able to make the assurance well as she internally worried. She shifted the positions of her hands, it wasn't working! No! She had to save him! She had to!

But alas, his body stilled and his little flame went out.

He was dead.

"No!"

She looked down at the mangled body, and anger coursed through her veins. The Mandalorian took her pistol and aimed for another insurrectionist. She fired, he fell. She stomped her foot over his armor and fired again. And again. And again. Rage took her as the slaughtered the insurgent as punishment for her lost civilian's death. She turned, rage glistened in her eyes but she spoke with clarity as she addressed the remaining civilians.

"Everyone! Come behind me, I'll keep you safe! By the grace of Melarria I promise this! Rely on me!"​

 

[Exekias Stargazer]

TAGS: (OPEN)
Smugglers' Point, Ord Trasi

Spoiler: Equipment

< RETRO RSKF-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol >
< STOLEN Black Sun FS-Blaster Pistol >

​

---

It had been twenty years and the concept of Imperialism was finally faltering under both internal-disputes such as the wave of unending populist nostalgia, and foreign-policy by way of undermining powers such as the Galactic Alliance of Planets. The young crook known as Babyface, or 'Exekias Kilran' to Regional-Databases stood unbothered as the locals spoke in a twang-dialect of Ord Trasi, adjusting his oversized coat, currently he was underground speaking with some shady contacts.

"Perfect. I've counted 200 miscellaneous cartridges of ammo, 12 Standardized Carbine Blaster Rifles, and performance enhancers...Good job." A cloaked individual said in a soft tone, wiping the rifle-butt off with an unspecified substance.

"All you asked for. Now where's my payment?" Exekias said in a mixture of a Tionese & Galidraani accent before spitting a ball of mucus on the durasteel floor.

"The E-<NOW!! MEN TO LE STATIONS! THE REBELLION HAS BEGUNNN>!!" A voice blaring into a microphone as the accountant was interrupted. It was on, red-alert lights flickering to life as soldiers jumped from their seats, heading for the surface with weapons inhand.

"Money. Now." Exekias said startled, rebellion! He was aiding rebels! For weeks on end he was smuggling weaponry into the planet and now he knew its purpose.

"AFTER. WE GET RID OF THE GOVERNMENT, YOU'LL BE PAID A FAT BOOT! UP TO THE SUFRACE BOY, WE FIGHT" The insurgent said, gripping his blaster-rifle as he stood ready to jump into battle

"I want my money slimeball, or your kids will grow up without a father." He said annoyed, slamming his fist down on the table as he ran out of the room with the insurgent behind him. Explosions going off everywhere, Babyface followed everyone else, most of which were going to main an assault against the Ord Trasi salvage yards.

 

[Michael Barran]

1st Post

-A PRELUDE TO GALACTIC DOWNFALL-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
Djorn Bline Aoki-Barran Mira Cordé Sabo

FIGHTING BRIGHT STARS I: RESTITUTOR IMPERIUM - PART 1

SURAYA TOWER, FORTRESS DISTRICT,
EAST FRONT WAR-THEATRE, ORD TRASI (EARLY 900 ABY)

'Ah, I see the local insurrectionists recognise us.... But not a soul to speak among you! Why is that?'
​

Standing in clear sight of the fortress where Djorn Bline was expected to be found, the Wanderer and his trusty Shadow were standing at the portcullis as scores upon scores of disruptor and slugthrower barrels aimed directly at their heads with intent to kill, but it was clear to Barran that the recognition of face and distinctive accent alike had almost completely changed the dynamic between both opposing sides. Though as for whether it was fear, disdain or outright hatred, there was no way for Lord Michael to know from that distance, and especially not with unit-cohesion considered, as the rules of engagement usually changed whenever it was matters of internal strife within the Empire itself.

They weren't dealing with the GADF, Sith-Legions or the Maw's Marauder clans this time, but instead the Warden and his Shadow would be standing off against COMPNOR's best clandestine operators as they carefully lined the walls of the fort's east gate, so Barran knew he was also wise to make his play with his own fair share of due caution in turn. NFU-graded units though the majority were, the Barrans were always willing to agree on the fact the organisation was quite potent indeed, and to such frightening extents the Lord-Regent could recall instances aplenty that still sent shivers down his spine in his twilight years. But despite the dangers these operators posed in terms of mettle and ingenuity alike, the Warden of the Empire was still strong enough to fight them all at the drop of a hat, and yet, despite all the destructive mayhem he was capable of wielding at any given moment - the Pellaeonist champion within wanted to find another way to achieve victory that day.

'SNAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!! I KNOW YOU'RE UP THERE - SHOW YOURSELF!!!!'
​

It was bad enough that the Highland Brotherhood had been deployed to push the renegade contingents back into the city, but with the 173rd Legion there with them, it made for all the pretence needed to escalate the fight into a full-scale meatgrinder. This internal matter was to be left to the Warden's caste at the time, so there was no help or reinforcements of any sort expected, and especially not with other threats expected on the horizon, so Barran would be left to rectify the latest of separatist flareups in the hopes it would turn out to be nothing more than an intensified misunderstanding. Their hopes of prevailing without firing a shot had gone up in flames already, but in all the training Lord Michael received from King Lucien over the years, he knew that nothing was beyond repair in such encounters - and certainly not whilst the Warden still believed in the effectiveness of his personal,"Hearts and Minds.", strategy.

<"Darun to Cairn One! Just say the word, and we'll storm the place in a flash for ya.">
<"Barran to Phoenix Alpha! You'll do no such thing, hold positions an' cover our sixes for now. If ye can find it in yourself to trust me on this one - I guarantee we'll go home as heroes.">

<"Copy that, though be warned, we've got infantry inbound with armoured support. IFVs, shell-artillery and MBTs reported in their array thusfar, and according to Frost - they're cautiously positioning to punch through our vanguard.... Good luck down there, Lord-Warden. Phoenix Alpha out!">
​

Such news was a portent of potentially disastrous outcomes, and the Wanderer could only roll his eyes and sigh at the messiness of the situation as it progressed around them, chuckling ruefully as he thought on what the safest play could be for the planetary majority. But when Barran turned to see what his trusty Aoki was doing, he would have all the prompt he needed to relax a little for once, letting the stresses roll off his shoulders in the moment he drawled,'Negotiate though we will, a strong front is still needed.... This is why we sauntered aw the way up t'their gate, letting them see that their proverbial,"Big Bad Wolf", remains unshaken. Though you'll see they're all quite disciplined - or at least enough not t'chomp at the bit this time.', letting nature take it's course as he did for every endeavour as Warden of the Empire before.

​

'If we succeed though.... Higher hopes await us, higher chances of survival in the long run.... Aye, safe t'say its high-time we thought about unifying all that fractures around us - like living, breathing Bacta-Patches for the realm in every known corner!'

 

[Cordé Sabo]

______________________________________________________________
D U L C E T
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES | RELGIM SECTOR | ORD TRASI | JEDNA
://MISSION GREGIS
______________________________________________________________

Cordé’s presence on Ord Trasi was two-fold.

One, complete, was to verify the testimony of Sahar , prisoner of war arrested by Cale Gunderson , that Ord Trasi was not one of the places that actively worked to re-indoctrinate Imperial Knights. It was too focused on manufacturing assets of war that were more mechanical in nature, not supernatural. Not the sons of Fel. This was done. By local guides, part of the network of those who still believed in democracy, Cordé’d confirmed the validity of Knight Sahar’s statement.

Two, was to maintain contact with the intelligence plants within Imperial Space. They spoke manufacturing updates with their traditional jargon to the daughter of Humbarine, and found the details were not lost on her. Thus Far, production’s rate was not a threat for rebuilding. The fleets of The Empire were as crippled as the politics. Cordé would return to Alliance space with opportunities for corporations to negotiate their way into iron territory with the funding these massive production companies would need to keep turning.

Half a rotation away from her scheduled departure, the skies brightened with fire and the earth erupted beneath civilian feet. Renegade blasts from above ripped through the cityscape, crumbling buildings and scorching the streets black.

Distantly, she heard the caterwaul that sounded distinctly wookieish. Immediately, she heard the cry of small lungs. She pulled herself from the ground and followed the sound of distress.

“Hey, hey.” Her voice was quiet, soothing, her hand fell around shoulders that felt like a little bird. “You’re okay, shh, look at me,” Heaving and upset, staring at a face that looked like a larger version of the child’s who was sobbing. They stared, wide-eyed, at their father who gargled blood from froth corrupted lungs.

“Keep your eyes on me, don’t look down.” The medic’s hands moved to the wound, huge and smoking, on the left side of their torso. She was too late. Their pulse evaporated the moment she pressed her fingers to his throat.

These insurgents weren’t wasting plasma; their aim was as precise as it was indiscriminately targeted. Professional.

She didn't even get the chance to tell the child the finality of their parent.

More of Ord Trasi’s structure erupted feet away from her, this time from a detonator, and the spray of dirt was enough to boom out and make it hurt. She curled around a smaller human, and rode the concussive blast out, feeling it rumble all the way through her core. The dust took time to dissipate, and through the coughs, the medic scrambled to her feet. Her ears were ringing, and her equilibrium was a mess, but she checked the little human over, deduced they were fine and shoved them away with a sense of trained urgency “Get to your school, or the hospital, low, avoid windows. They won’t go for those targets. Hide.” The little boy’s eyes were saucers, but he nodded, and ran, ran, ran, ran faster than Cordé could recover.

Everything after that was protocol overtaking her muscle memory.

First she concealed herself to buy herself precious seconds. Second, she checked for broadcasts with information on what was going on. Nothing. Ord Trasi’s planet wide communications were jammed.

“Dulcet!” Through the ringing in her ears, she heard her name. She looked up to dust, and through the thick grey, three silhouettes clambered to her spot. It would have been four, but one had already seen the little kid scrambling through the chaos and chose to accompany them to make sure the youth of Ord Trasi had a chance.

Quickly, the remaining three moved out. Two were to activate the rebellion’s communication network, at least locally, so short-range comms would make comms possible through devices linked to the network. The other was on Cordé’s side, paired up with her to guide her to wherever the main comm tower was that was taken down.

This wasn’t The Alliance’s fight, she wouldn’t broadcast that far, but if she could free up the channels enough for the citizens of Ord Trasi to plea for help within their iron space….

Finally, as the pair of rebels moved toward the main disabled tower, Cordé used the the trigger-happy rebel to her advantage and worked off her own devices. With the comms jammed, finding out what was going on became reliant on that which was not connected to a network —small drones that could flitter about and feed their information back directly to the intelligence agent. She dropped her visor over her eyes the moment they were deployed, and the tiny feeds fed into the lower corner of her heads-up display.

______________________________________________________________
IMPLEMENT: Rebel Cell
GRAY: Michael Barran | Exekias Stargazer | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Zel Sharratt | Ivalyn Yvarro
ANTAG: Djorn Bline
______________________________________________________________​

 

[Zel Sharratt]

Ord Trasi
Tags: Cordé Sabo , Michael Barran , Elise Ahana-Gwyneira , Ivalyn Yvarro , Djorn Bline , Exekias Stargazer

​

It didn't take long for Ord Trasi to resemble a warzone. Being rattled by turbolaser fire, however, was surely only the beginning of it. Already under cover operatives were storming points that no doubt held great value to whatever this was. The local garrisoned legion prepared for a fight, all while Zel kept his distance, sulking about in the rubble of a building that hadn't fared too well in the initial bombardment.

"...But what's the angle here," Zel pondered in a muttered voice, his recording device now attached to his helmet. He was making sure all of this was being captured for later documentation. "Perhaps a bid to reunify the shattered state..."

An ever so faint whirring was picked up by the sound receptors in his helmet. It was not entirely familiar, but Zel had enough mechanical knowhow to reason what it was. With very little warning, the Mandalorian swung his arm out of the window of his perch, swiping a passing drone out of the air.

"Hello there," the historian exhaled, turning the camera to face his domed helmet. "Intelligence I presume, unless you fancy yourself a hobbyist who loves spyware. Uh, don’t initiate any self destruct sequence this thing may have. I’ll only bother for a moment.”

Zel turned, pacing towards the other side of the building and raising the drone up through a gap in the ceiling. He made sure that the camera was pointed in the direction of the fortress. Whoever was on the other end, they weren't going to find much where the Mandalorian stood. They would want to be out where the bigshots were.

"There's a high heat signature in front of that structure," Zel noted. "I'd recommend looking there for information. Commanding officers abound, I’d wager. Don’t forget to check your blind spots.”

And without a word more, the Blubreen released the drone. At the present moment he was simply there to observe. Perhaps he could give some guidance here and there, but for all intensive purposes he was passive. For now, anyways.

He'd simply continue to watch for the time being, awaiting a grand design to reveal itself.

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

Aoki-Barran Mira.
Imperial Knight Commander of The Empire.

Paladin Inquisitor.
Commander of the Highland Brotherhood.
The Reanimated Husk. The Imperial Samurai. Barran's Shadow. Daughter of Justice & Mercy.
The Shadow.

She stood back to back with The Wanderer. All weapons were pointed at them. She stared directly into the barrel of a blaster rifle. These trained stormtroopers were hardened in battle and war, yet they did not shoot. She could sense the diversity of fears and hesitations in them, no matter how strong they appeared.

If they kill either of us, especially father, they know the ramifications will be too deep. They would rather not die by our hands either. I am sure some of these boys heard tales, from the time I was once happy to butcher them...

Regret tugged at her once again, but she remained ever calm and collected. Sure to not draw any (more) hostility into the equation, she had sheathed her katana and remained in a ready, but relaxed, position. She was ready to defend or attack on a moment's notice, but her stoic frame showed no desire for violence. She and The Wanderer had shed enough blood coming up these steps, after all. And just like he did, Mira only wished for a swift resolution with minimum bloodshed.

Michael Barran 's voice rang out, bellowing for the perpetrator of this insurrection. He called for Djorn Bline , the Snake. He summoned him, ordered him down from his ivory tower, to negotiate peace and order. Mira knew that it would be easy to crush every insurrectionist here, break their bones and wills for daring to provoke the wrath of the Empire. Long ago, Mira would have questioned Michael's decision to go a more negotiable route instead. But now? The top priority was not only the safety of the planet and its civilians, but the peace the Empire had enjoyed these past twenty years. Could an entire civil war break out? Again? She thought of her husband, a retired veteran, and her daughter training to be an imperial knight herself. She did not want them to face such hardship. Furthermore, Djorn could still prove a useful ally despite his betrayal. The ISB could be neatly slid into Michael's pocket for this. And concerning Djorn himself, Mira believed in second chances.

She was completely silent as the Michael spoke to his troops through the comlink, even while all weapons were aimed for their skulls. She carried the air of serenity; and when he looked to her for reassurance, the Shadow gave her father a firm nod. The small smile on her face was the finishing touch to her silent encouragement.

He once again called for negotiation, and she nodded at his words. She would attack if needed, defend if needed, and stand down if needed. Her life was entirely in his hands, and she trusted him completely.

"I will follow your lead, as always."

She smirked a bit, whispering, "They know the galactic chaos that would break out if you died. And they know they stand no chance against us. They will not attack us so quickly. Unless ordered to. But the Snake would have the intuition of a bantha to order such foolishness. Regardless, whatever happens next, I stand by you."

​

 

[Trajan Fett]

W A R L O C K
THE EMPIRE
IMPERIAL ARMY | 1st ARMORED ASSAULT
COMBAT AVIATION BRIGADE 'THUNDERBOLT'
1-66 AIRMOBILE ATTACK 'ARMAGEDDON' WARLOCK SQUADRON 'FIST'
Storm Recon | Rifle | Pistol | Grenades

BANDIT COUNTRY
Ord Trasi '00
​

What were once wars of apocalyptic ramifications that the Empire drew its past glory from, it now tangled with the lions within its own dwelling. Internal forces sought to rip it all apart, it was a shambling corpse, a sick man barely holding onto life. Ultimately, Fett didn't care. He'd spent a few years now as a Forward Observer in the Imperial Army, mainly to atone for his grave sin committed unto the Mandalorian creed. Losing his armor, his second skin, his Beskar'gam. He'd get it all back soon enough but for now, he had a duty, an obligation. One he'd fulfill as long as he could manage. But as soon as his time over, watch ended. He'd be gone.

His eyes glazed over the holomap of his unit's approved fire area, a jurisdiction which kept growing with every passing minute with more and more insurgent cells rising up across Ord Trasi. The 1st Armored Assault Division was hardly a unit fit for this task, more designed for peer-to-peer opponents in heavy metal, armored wave warfare. But they were one of the closest on call to respond to this threat and within a few hours, able to mobilize its combat aviation brigade 'Thunderbolt' to assail the insurgents.

He was packed into the back of the gunship alongside a section of Imperial Army Soldiers donning their characteristic field grey armor. They each shot the shit with one another to calm the nerves of the approaching engagement as music drowned out the roar of the repulsorlifts that carried them into the city proper.

<"Approaching rally point Beskar, eta two mikes."> The pilot said over the troop bay intercom as the light flashed red and the team leaders within the squad began to pull down the rappel lines with a twist and pull of a lever. They were coiled up with magnetic weights at the bottom to secure them to the ground once they were deployed. Each of the troopers began to stand up in their seats, lining up in two racks on either side of the troop bay and soon enough the troop bay doors slowly slid open to the crack of blaster fire and explosions below.

The crew chief of the RDAG inspected the lines, gave the thumbs up for either team and as soon as the gunship was in an open halt over the drop zone they mounted the lines and set down unto the city streets beneath.

Not long after, Warlock 91 in his distinct scout trooper armor with a heavy, drab grey rucksack broke off from the squad to seek out his observational position. He peered up to a taller building, a hotel overlooking several lanes of approach up to the designated engagement area 'Acklay'. He was quick to approach the building, pushing past clammoring rows of panicked civilians as he entered the lift, clicking the highest floor and riding it to the top. He stood in silence in that moment of reflection before eventually the doors pulled open and he made his way to an access shaft to the roof of the building, from there, he threw his pack unto the ground, opening the mainflap to pull out a pair of heavy macrobinocs and an accompanied tripod.

Setting the tripod down he attached the binocs on top of it before peering through the sights to the surrounding carnage. Clicking a button on top he was able to gauge various distances between him, surrounding buildings and significant landmarks, centering him on what assets he had and could use. Leaning back from the binocs he pulled his wrist mounted tacpad toward his helmet, checking his location before calling up higher

<"Armageddon Fires this is Warlock-91 at grid, Aurek Echo 42399, 87652. Requesting no fire area over my position I am ready to observe."> He called up, to receive an immediate reply.

<"Warlock this is Armageddon Fires your no fire area is approved, you are cleared to engage."> Standard protocol and meant no friendly weapon systems could willfully engage his position or confuse him with the enemy.

He was ready to rain death from above unto these insurgents.

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
ORD TRASI

SHELTER​

Plasma ripped through tissue and organs of a civilian technician whose station belonged to the disabled communication centre. One blaster bolt was sufficient from Bline’s rifle to leave the man dead on the durasteel floor. Years ago he wouldn’t stomach the fact of killing non-combatants, always opting the moral high ground even if it would cost him more. Bline had changed significantly over the years.

But he wondered if a certain man would change? Would he understand Djorn and his vision?

Who knew, but it was better to leave that question in the grave.

<“Make sure the others have accomplished their own tasks. We’re on precious time.”> A nod came from the CompForce trooper, securing a local link with Djorn’s lieutenants. Every task force had their mission. Securing the governor’s palace, the local garrison, the communication centre, and other key points. The chances of securing Ord Trasi for his own were slim, but his main objective was not conquest. This war was one of attrition. See who’d be standing up when the dust settled from all blaster power cells depleted. Tear out this Empire from the inside and allow a new regime to transcend from its ashes.

<“Sir, we’ve identified soldiers of the 173rd nearby, but they’ve yet to attack.”>

<“I guess they still have bleeding hearts…let’s see how sympathetic they are. Give them a piece of my mind.”>

He had no room for diplomacy or negotiations. In fact, it boiled him for his opposition to act like this. A strong Empire would not allow a slight like this to go unpunished. The consequences of treason should be death for all ranks. Barran betrayed everything what the Empire stood for…or at least what it should’ve in Djorn’s eye.

<“Let’s make sure our defenses are adequate, I want them to bleed for every inch they take from us.”>

Before losing Ord Trasi he’d make it into a graveyard before the next generations could repair its infrastructure.

While his lieutenants closed in on their tasks, the streets continued to be infested with renegade. These people were of no use to Bline; only its youth within COMPNOR’s programs were of extreme value to him.

AN ISLAND

AGAINST THE WORLD
Cordé Sabo | Trajan Fett | Michael Barran | Zel Sharratt | Ivalyn Yvarro | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Exekias Stargazer​

 

[Michael Barran]

2nd Post

-A PRELUDE TO GALACTIC DOWNFALL-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
Djorn Bline Aoki-Barran Mira Cordé Sabo Trajan Fett

FIGHTING BRIGHT STARS I: RESTITUTOR IMPERIUM - PART 2

SURAYA TOWER, FORTRESS DISTRICT,
EAST FRONT WAR-THEATRE, ORD TRASI (EARLY 900 ABY)

'I will follow your lead, as always.'
​

A committed bodyguard, even after years of attaining status and renown aplenty for herself, and in moments like these, Lord Michael couldn't help but feet safer than ever before. Both Warden and Shadow alike had improved greatly as warriors in their own individual rights, finding their fighting niches as the years passed in earnest whilst the Galaxy slowly but surely boiled over into conflict once more, and to an extent that even their Tarkinist and Felist-leaning contemporaries in the Order were confident in the prolonged survival of the Imperial Knights with Clan Barran leading from the front - as the Lord-Regent had throughout his own military career.

'They know the galactic chaos that would break out if you died. And they know they stand no chance against us. They will not attack us so quickly. Unless ordered to. But the Snake would have the intuition of a bantha to order such foolishness. Regardless, whatever happens next, I stand by you.'

Briefly turning to place a caring hand on his adopted daughter's shoulder, the Wanderer quietly replied,'Thank you, I appreciate that. Especially in this day an' age. Not exactly what either of us had in mind in terms of,"Family bonding", either, but still, for what it's worth - I'm glad you're here for this, Mira.... After all, oor wee list o' friends is becoming rather sparse of late. An' we need every last asset.', letting go and affectionately bumping shoulder-to-shoulder as he turned to face the redoubt's east gate again. Then with renewed confidence assured in their strong approach, the Wanderer looked up to all the carefully-placed defenders with the earnest as befitted the tension still building around them, as the two Imperial Knights had progressed enough in power that they could see it in everyone's souls as they fluttered on all sides, near and distant alike.

'As you can tell, its making everyone dangerously skittish around us.... Difficult minds to persuade with kindness or reason - but not entirely impossible. An' if it's been done afore, you'd be makin' a safe bet to assume that you an' I can achieve it now. As it has always been, our Romhanaich, our Sinn'Searann of blood an' adoption alike - they know we can.'

A sticky situation, no matter what way the army-of-two perceived of it, though in recalling all they had survived by then, not one part of their latest predicament ringed at all to the tune of hopelessness in comparison. Even at the height of internal tensions within the Empire, and even whilst deployed to some of the heaviest of battlefronts, it stood to reason that the feeling of control was never truly compromised in all that time, thus standing to reason that the obtainment of Force-like balance would remain for them for quite some time in the future as well. Even though all that was required of them was their devoted loyalty, but to see their Hearts and Minds strategy through to it's natural conclusion, the warriors of Serenno knew that much more would be needed if they were to succeed. Though fortunately that much more was very little in the grand scheme of things, as only patience and perseverance were truly needed to achieve their ambitions of Imperial unification.

And one of unanimous sort at that.

<"Armageddon Fires this is Warlock-91 at grid, Aurek Echo 42399, 87652. Requesting no fire area over my position I am ready to observe.">

<"Warlock this is Armageddon Fires your no fire area is approved, you are cleared to engage.">
​

However, after overhearing chatter on the open comm-link channels, that experienced calm would slowly start to erode, understanding that danger-close outcomes were still likely under such circumstances - especially if the Wanderer was standing with his Shadow at what was assumed to be the grid-line of the coordinates set out by Warlock-91 just moments before.

'Oh, well it would seem the clock is ticking after all.... Great news. Looks like we might need t'get this dafty on comms an' quickly at that, presuming he leaves us hangin' after this.'

Stepping closer to the gate, and only by a few paces or so, as the laser-sights soon began to trace across the ground in front of him, but this did little to deter the chuckling Goidel as he stared up defiantly to Bline's subordinates. Then after taunting with arms held out wide, though only for a few moments before making his next confident gesture of unthreatened calm, Lord Michael's laughter grew somewhat more menacing as he unclipped every weapon he had from his utility belt, placing sword and lightsabre alike on the ground whilst graciously bowing in confident, scathing jest. But as the laughing continued in unabated abandon, the Wanderer quickly began to notice movement amongst his foes, with defensive bolstering of the lines occurring both in the city around them and on the battlements of the redoubt he was facing down at the time.

'IF YOU OPEN THE GATE NOW, I PROMISE I'LL CALL OFF THE IMPENDING BOMBARDMENT - JUS' MAKE YER MINDS UP ALREADY!!!! I CLEARLY HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY HERE!!!!"

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

Aoki-Barran Mira.
Imperial Knight Commander of The Empire.

Paladin Inquisitor.
Commander of the Highland Brotherhood.
The Reanimated Husk. The Imperial Samurai. Barran's Shadow. Daughter of Justice & Mercy.
The Shadow.

As Michael's maniacal laughter echoed around the area, Mira remained stoic and calm. What infuriated her inside, however, was that so far everything was falling apart. More and more civilians were dying. More and more loyal soldiers were sacrificing their lives. More and more homes and businesses were being destroyed. It was something that made Aoki so, so enraged. She wanted to take matters into her own hands. She wanted to maim and mutilate every single rebel here, then slaughter them, for starting this tragedy. Yet, she trusted Barran. She had worked under him for decades now, and she had learned that he was the reformer and galaxy changer she had always hoped for.

Still, her anger burned within.

As her adopted father's second negotiation attempt rang out, she lifted a hand and tapped her katana's sheath. She still looked as calm and collected as always. A controlled burn. She looked up to an officer in a balcony, close to the door. She narrowed her eyes, focusing and projecting all her rage into his mind. As she spoke, her very words and internal inferno roared in his mind. As she spoke to everyone aloud, her voice cold with frigid rage.

"You have committed some of the gravest offenses. Destroying civilian homes and taking their very lives. The only thing keeping me from punishing you all severely is the man requesting an audience."

She took a couple steps forward, showing zero fear. It was as if she was the one in control, despite the weapons pointed at her. Her voice was frozen like ice, but smooth like honey. "I highly suggest you listen to him. Because if you won't, I will not hesitate to make each and every insurgent's death as painful as possible for this insurrection."

She stood, strong and powerful. Her usually cold expression showed a smirk as she finished, "Please, for your sakes, do not tempt me any further."

Thoroughly spooked by the Shadow, the officer turned to take their messages to Djorn Bline himself. Meanwhile, the others were also unnerved, knowing how efficient of a killer the adopted Barran was. Standing with a chilling, calm confidence, Mira maintained her position several feet behind Michael Barran . If hell broke loose, she would be the hellfire. If Barran managed to make peace, it would only be all the better. As furious as the Imperial Samurai was, her rage was mostly fixated on the Snake himself for starting all of this. Keeping casualties to a minimum was something she still approved of. These insurgents had families themselves...

She was okay with either outcome, however. Whatever happened, she knew that the Empire lived on in her.

​

 

[Jake Groundrunner]

Business Office, Ord Trasi | Open

​

The Empire was slowly crumbling.

These last twenty years have been kind to no one. What once used to be a might hand covering a multitude of systems was now a shadow of its former self. The previous iteration held structure and order, hence its name. Now people acted freely, sometimes against the Empire. Citizens were starting to support the Alliance, their former allies turned enemy. Unification was only a temporary solution to defeat the Sith. It seems that statement has been forgotten.

Lack-of-control led Jake to Ord Trasi. Something was brewing within the Empire, and he was not going to be left behind. Brought here were a small collection of Imperial ships, all commissioned sometime around the Battle of Dantooine. These vessels were considered ancient in terms of military usage. But not for long. Shipbuilders who still held the Imperial ideals formed a secret operation here. With a plethora of credits, these craft were being brought up to the current standard of technology. A mini fleet, all in support of the old ways. Yet it was those ways that brought the Sith to their knees.

Sitting at a desk within a temporary office, the man was slightly startled when one of his officers busted open his door.

"Sir! An enemy fleet has just dropped out of hyperspace. They are engaging the defense fleet."

"Do we have any idea what faction these vessels are from?"

A worried looked appeared on the officer's face. One that had some confusion behind it as well.

"Their ships have Imperial markings on them."

Jake leaned back in his chair. A small chuckle exited his old, wrinkled face. Soon a smile decorated his lips. It looks like he was not the only one left. There were still supports of the old ways. His curiosity was now peaked.

"I want you to monitor our ships. If any sign of orbital bombardment is to appear, I want all of the vessels on standby to launch. A rendezvous point will be sent to them. If not, then we are fine. I have a feeling we are not in any danger."

Stiff, yet unsure, the officer gave a nod before exited in the office. Swiveling his chair towards the window, Jake peered upward into the sky. There were the Imperial ships, surrounded by the ashes of the defense fleet. A siren wailed in the distance. More than likely it was troopers from the Empire going to defend the planet. Yet there attempt would be in vain. Today became a lot more interesting to say the least.

Djorn Bline | Michael Barran | Aoki-Barran Mira | Trajan Fett | Cordé Sabo | Zel Sharratt | Ivalyn Yvarro | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Exekias Stargazer ​

 

[Cordé Sabo]

______________________________________________________________
D U L C E T
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES | RELGIM SECTOR | ORD TRASI | JEDNA
://MISSION_GREGIS
______________________________________________________________

While she navigated the streets, a mix of chaos and unsettling calm, Cordé found her perspective hijacked. It was disorienting. She’d grown used to the little lines that meant buildings in the corner of her HUD, and when a circular-shaped visor filled the little drone’s perspective she almost tripped over nothing. Like her feet hiccuped.

The rebel navigated and Cordé followed, tapping the tech on her temple to engage with the drone and override its programming. With its trajectory halted, all her evaluation fell on the funny helmet that stared into the camera of the mechanised scout. Was this helper or harmer?

"Hello there,"
"Intelligence I presume, unless you fancy yourself a hobbyist who loves spyware. Uh, don’t initiate any self destruct sequence this thing may have. I’ll only bother for a moment.

Helper. Cordé listened.

”There's a high heat signature in front of that structure, I'd recommend looking there for information. Commanding officers abound, I’d wager. Don’t forget to check your blind spots.”

If the drone could have saluted, it would have. It only lingered, dipped its thanks, and travelled away. Whoever that was saved her a lot of time. She was grateful.

Newly informed, the drone adjusted its trajectory to a secluded spot that would observe, and identify, the heat signatures suggested. It identified one: Michael Barran. And Two: Aoki-Barran Mira. Two names not unfamiliar with SIA’s database. Profiles and locations appended to the recording.

Gunships were spilling into the skies, silhouettes repelling out to the ground. Ord Trasi was fast becoming a hotbed of conflict. Not a conflict she would, or could, solve, but that comms tower was the best bet to getting those who were responsible a little more exposed and ready for…whatever The Empire wanted to do. So long as they didn’t harm more citizens.

While the drone hovered near the front, where the diplomacy was attempted, the pair of spies were less detectable. Slicker. Silenter. More able to manoeuvre through the clusterkark largely missed.

Through the audio feed transmitted by the observant drone, Cordé flinched.

'IF YOU OPEN THE GATE NOW, I PROMISE I'LL CALL OFF THE IMPENDING BOMBARDMENT - JUS' MAKE YER MINDS UP ALREADY!!!! I CLEARLY HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY HERE!!!!"

​

“He’s gotta be bluffing..” She heard herself murmur, and press against a wall while her counterpart checked the corner. They’d already stopped to check on four cold bodies. She’d pressed her fingers to four pulseless necks. A bombardment would…make it countless.

“What?”

“A bombardment threat.”

“This location?”

Their words were sparse and hushed. Cordé shrugged in response, preserving her volume for a more urgent exchange. A shrug was, so far, the most adequate way to communicate through this whole situation.

“Stop here.”

Somewhere within the tower, not quite the central location, the pair of counter-insurgents stopped. Their private communication would continue to be jammed so long as the overarching network was down. Thusly, the slicer that Cordé provided cover for, got to work and started to pry apart the panel that would reveal a tangle of wires that he’d try to override.

“Give them a false flag to react to, give yourself more time.”

“You think this is my first rodeo?” He grunted, and did just so. Whether it affected the front gates, central station, or just the tiny cafeteria, it was hard to know when they were working with a schematic that was live updating.

“How far are we from the central command?”

“The map’s still rendering. Could be meters, feet, levels, dunno yet. Just keep eyes out for me. We won't have bogies loaded until the comms are back online either.”

______________________________________________________________
IMPLEMENT: Rebel Cell | Zel Sharratt
GRAY: Michael Barran | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Ivalyn Yvarro | Jake Groundrunner | Trajan Fett | Aoki-Barran Mira
ANTAG: Djorn Bline
______________________________________________________________​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

​

Blue Team: Zel Sharratt | Cordé Sabo​

Red Team: Djorn Bline​

Everyone Else: Michael Barran | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Jake Groundrunner | Trajan Fett | Aoki-Barran Mira​

​

The intrepid reporter needed a way out, she had only rolled out of the frying pan and into the fire as the fighting intensified there in the capital of the planet. If Ivalyn had any actual connection beyond blood to her grandmother she might have been horrified to watch the city she had a hand in forging crumble due to a temper tantrum. It would be a story that Ivalyn would uncover in her later years, but at that precise moment in time, her only goal was to get out of harm's way and back home as soon as possible. Moving from cover to cover, firing shots only when necessary. Perhaps the sight of it would have been amusing to anyone who cared to look. ​

​

A young man clearly not dressed for war, firing off an Imperial Rifle. Ivalyn's lungs burned something fierce, she hadn't run like this in years. Not since her days in Uni when she enjoyed heading off to the track but running in a war zone with heels that didn't have heels any longer... Was not exactly what she had in mind when she took this trip. Clothes were slightly tattered, mostly black from soot, with spots of dirt, and whatever else now clung to them.​

​

Communications were still down, but as Ivalyn looked around she knew she'd be able to spot the source of where she'd need to be. The tower was where she needed to go, but she'd have to find a way to not only get there... She would also need a change of clothes and likely a new weapon. Up from what had been the little cover she had which had been a set of vending machines, Ivalyn pushed herself down the street again and at least time there was a bit of a goal.​

​

​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
ORD TRASI

EVE​

Last chance to broker peace. He could die today along with those who raised up in arms with him. Live another day and continue to undermine the decaying powers of the Empire until he accomplished long what he desired.

But it showed him how unfamiliar this Empire was. Irveric would not negotiate with terrorists who dare to compromise for what he had fought for. His legacy was tainted with the petty politics and spineless leaders of the Empire. A snarl formed from the corner of Bline’s lips, disgusted to see how far they wondered off from the path he set them on. If anything, they should raze down the communication tower and leave Djorn’s body disfigured so that his face and name would disappear from the Galaxy.

And so to the sheer disappointment to the Barran, Djorn would not bother a dialogue with words. His actions behind a blaster would speak louder for himself.

<“Blast the damn fool.”>

Whomever was aiming with their blasters would hail fire at Michael. Maybe now he’d realize to ditch away his peaceful traits.

<“Nothing goes in or out without my say so. Keep the frequencies jammed…long enough to make Ord Trasi a hollow shell of its former self. Then we’ll try to get off this rock.”>

Hopefully that was the case. If not, this’d be their tomb from the orbital bombardment.

<“Sir…there’s some technical issues occurring with some of the surveillance cameras. Looks like they’re disconnecting on and off.”>

<“And the source?”>

<“No idea.”>

<“Then it looks like we got some stragglers. Let’s smoke them out.”>

Of course, he wouldn’t be static and oversee all movements. Always an active soldier to lead his men at the from and not coming up from the rear ranks. He’d dispose of this nuisance and make sure his plans were not compromised.

AN ISLAND

AGAINST THE WORLD
Cordé Sabo | Trajan Fett | Michael Barran | Zel Sharratt | Ivalyn Yvarro | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | @Exekias Stargazer | Jake Groundrunner​

 

[Michael Barran]

3rd Post

-A PRELUDE TO GALACTIC DOWNFALL-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
Djorn Bline Aoki-Barran Mira Cordé Sabo Trajan Fett

FIGHTING BRIGHT STARS I: RESTITUTOR IMPERIUM - PART 3

SURAYA TOWER, FORTRESS DISTRICT,
EAST FRONT WAR-THEATRE, ORD TRASI (EARLY 900 ABY)

THWACK-THWACK

'Oooh, ya cheeky wee-'

THWACK-THWACK THWACK THWACK-THWACK

Out of nowhere, the order to fire on the Pellaeonist envoys was given, and arguably without lawful warning.​

This would not stand, but in his need for every available playing-piece, the ambitious power-play was still very much intended, and even despite the obvious statement of hostile defiance, Barran's confidence in achieving a (relatively-) bloodless victory was still sitting near it's previous peak. However, fuelling this denial was that hereditary unwillingness to give up on his intended goals so easily, though it wasn't a case of reacting under duress for any Imperial Knight in Lord Michael's predicament, so the defenders' opening salvo would prove as futile as predicted, and in the process only further fanned the flames of stubborn obstinance towards the needless hostilities.

Ultimately making matters even more difficult for Bline's subordinates as they aimed for headshots amidst the sustained firearm pressure, such a brash commitment to their ill-advised execution of orders could only draw the ire of experienced Imperial Knights; yet much to Barran's chagrin, with the Empire's need for COMPNOR and the ISB in the process of reunification making it all the more intense at the time, the long-established expertise of the redoubt's defenders also retained an equivalently-potent wealth of experience in their arsenal. After all, if Lord Michael and Lady Mira somehow perished that day, history would have been proof enough by then to tell them they would not have been the first Force-Users assassinated by the Empire's clandestine community, and especially not after the bloody outcomes of the infamous Operation: Kyber Dark.

'IS THAT HOW YE WANT IT, AYE?!?! WELL GIVE US YER WORST THEN, NAE POINT HAUDIN' BACK NOW!!!!'

Undeniably furious by then, Lord Michael was still finding himself in the odd predicament of seeing the funny side in all of it, but in continuation of the unsettling nature of the mirth from before, it seemed as though it's rueful nature had mutated into something altogether more wrathful. Dangerously close to darker thoughts on what the embattled delegation could do in response, it was clear by the aggressive cackling that the Wanderer was leaning over that dangerous precipice with brazen, brass-necked abandon, as if he were drunk on a cruise-ship with his posture leaning over the guard-rail, but the Shadow would be quite fortunate that her father knew exactly what he was doing.

'Let them waste their ammunition! They won't hit squat down here - well, in bygone decades they could've but I digress.... But with that being said, I do plan on acquainting these fools with my fists if ye catch m'drift?'

 

[FN-999]

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira | Djorn Bline | Michael Barran | Trajan Fett | OPEN

ORD TRASI - SURFACE

Another day, another battle.
​

The sounds of gunfire and explosions were as familiar to the Baron as his armor, which he was decked out in from head to toe despite being dozens of meters inside a secure perimeter. Old habits died hard, and one could never play it too safe. Nonetheless, the Baron knew that he would be moving soon. The Reborn were a formidable unit, and the company with him now was well-equipped to take on an entire army of these deluded insurgents.

"Baron!" called a nearby lieutenant. "The insurgents in the district are falling back! However, we've lost visuals and tracking on them."

"No matter." responded the Baron. "They will soon be in our hands or beneath our feet."

"With all due respect, how can you be sure?" asked the lieutenant, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"In its simplest form, counterinsurgency can be boiled down to a battle of ideas." lectured the Baron. "If insurgents can convince a population that they are fighting for them against oppressive rulers, then their numbers will never be depleted. However, if the rulers are popular or even accepted, the popular support that serves as the lifeline for rebellion will dwindle away and the rebels themselves will have nowhere to hide. Lieutenant, what do you think the message of the insurgents is?"

"They want a change in leadership and aren't afraid to ransack a rich world to do so."

"Now, Lieutenant, what do you think an average civilian would think about this message?"

"The ransacking part would probably scare them, Baron. Also, their claim that the Empire is dead would have rung hollow as soon as loyalist forces arrived."

"Exactly. A fair assumption, Lieutenant. Furthermore, there are already civilian casualties. Any sympathies for the Snake's den evaporated with their innocent bodies."

"So all we have to do is flush them out?"

"Precisely, Lieutenant. I presume that Michael Barran is already dealing with that viper, so unless he calls for our support we will be best served disposing of the snakelets and protecting the loyal citizens of Ord Trasi. Prepare to move out."

"Yes, sir!"

Raising his voice to a yell, the Baron addressed the company as a whole.

"All units, move out! I want one squad per street, do not leave the street until it is secure!"

A swarm of white-clad troopers broke out of the plaza, splitting into a dozen different formations down the roads of Ord Trasi. Almost immediately, they were fired upon by assailants seen and unseen, the Reborn ducking behind any cover they could find before returning fire with lethal efficiency. It helped that many of the local insurgents were preoccupied facing down armed locals and now had to deal with enemies from behind, with many being shot in the back before they could adapt to their new situation.

Squads of the 908th advanced steadily through the streets, encountering and relieving isolated civilian holdouts. They were instructed to address anyone fighting the insurgents as an ally regardless of status and squad medics were soon assisting their civilian counterparts in treating the wounded.

As promised, the snakelets were being eradicated while the loyal and innocent were saved.

Satisfied with the progress of the Reborn advance, the Baron himself set off with a squad in the direction of the Fortress District and its tower.

Just in case.

 

[Cordé Sabo]

______________________________________________________________
D U L C E T
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES | RELGIM SECTOR | ORD TRASI | JEDNA
://MISSION_GREGIS
______________________________________________________________

Battlesounds amplified. Cacophonous sounds, like striking a high-tension wire of a radio mast again and again, added to the discord. Time wasn’t marching on, it was sprinting.

“They’re dark.” The insurgent confirmed when he managed to stabilise the security cameras as offline, and not just flickering. “That should buy us enough time to——” he didn’t finish his sentence. Too busy chewing his lip in concentration while trying to patch through the system’s main network. “Just need a few…”

No foot soldiers came their way. For all the anxious tension wound up in Cordé’s muscles, there was no release. Nothing to shoot at.

At first, she felt a tickle in the back of her throat. Then the air was suddenly filled with a discoloured smoke flooding through the gates. Cordé wished she had the Force, and could just wave them to close again. Alas, she did not.

“...more…”

“I hope you’re going to say seconds..” Cordé muttered, hiding her mouth and nose in the crook of her arm while her eyes burned. A cough built at the base of her throat. She was under equipped with no more than one rebreather. The one she had, she offered to the insurgent who greedily took it and shoved it into his nostrils to filter the smoke into something breathable while he worked.

“..seconds!”

The modulation of his voice concealed the enthusiasm, but even through the thick, thick, blinding smoke, Cordé could vaguely make out the cheering-silhouette of the technician just as she gave way to the violent cough that had been building all this time.

“We’re online again. Planetside communications are online.” More of that robotic rebreather voice. She was deeply envious. Her lungs were burning, and her sleeve was saturated in the inhospitable chemical that poured form the ventilation system.

Her voice was barely above a wheeze: “We have to go.”

______________________________________________________________
IMPLEMENT: Rebel Cell | Zel Sharratt
GRAY: Michael Barran | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Ivalyn Yvarro | Jake Groundrunner | Trajan Fett | Aoki-Barran Mira | FN-999
ANTAG: Djorn Bline
______________________________________________________________​