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Dominion Over and Over | Second Battle of Borosk | NIO

Armor | Repeater | Pistol
FOCUS | IO-21 IO-21 | Strasza Strasza

Droids be damned, Vidage would spill the blood of the Sith. With gritted teeth he stood back up and took his left hand off the repeater to motion his unit forward.

They followed and he stood up once more to incur the wrath of Sith sentries as they continued the approach of the Baneful. It was a damn large ship, just a hair over two klicks in length and though the interior corridors had remained intact, buried beneath makeshift padding of duracrete and other metals composite over the original hull to protect from orbital bombardment.

They'd have to crack it open the hard way.

In the midsts of the downpour, Anton's unit pressed the advance, the aim of the heavy repeater and a volley of particle beams ripping at the air as he charged forward.

Positioned at the back aft of the starboard, they had an entry point open to them through a maintenance hatch.

The covering fire from the Sentinel droids gave them just enough time to clear an entry as the Stormtroopers pressed the advance, keeping that aim of disrupting the Sith-Imperial hardpoint within the Baneful, what was after all the last point of any harsh resistance from the Sith Empire at Borosk, a planet which they'd now barely be able to deem 'occupied' under their rule.

Him and the rest of his platoon command charged through the exchange of crimson and with all but a dramatic dive, Anton landed on the cold hard floor of the Baneful's interior at last.

<"Captain...it was Omega Red they said was on board...any chance they try and deploy that now?">

<"I'd wager they'll try...we have antisepsis, should be just fine but we have to beat them to the stockpile and lock down the cargo."
> Anton replied to his subordinate.

Imperial Officer

TAGS //: Anton Cassel Anton Cassel , Naier Rambeigh Naier Rambeigh , Strasza Strasza

"Dastardly, this is BRIDGEBREAKER, we'll mark targets for you shortly. Standby, over." The major answered the call over NIO comm-link.
The response was short and immediate, "Affirmative, Bridgebreaker. We are moving to station now, will provide cursory fires pending designation. Will advise, out."

Maybe from their position advancing towards the Baneful up that inhospitable terrain, the Major and her troops would be able to see the corvette high overhead on an approach vector for the half-buried behemoth. Certainly the troops already engaging and breaching the vessel would be able to see the dark shape of the corvette against the midday sky. Its engine flared as it picked up speed.

Yet on the bridge they started to scramble. Radars and targeting systems began to paint them.

They barely had time to realize what was happening before one of the turbolasers from the Baneful swiveled to draw down on them, knocking aside the rubble that had partly concealed it up until now.

The Dastardly wasn't a corvette built for maneuvers. Only for speed.

She started to turn when the turbolaser opened fire, with a blast that raked over the front of the corvette and almost made her shift direction from the force of it against her shields - and then against her hull. She was suddenly belching smoke from her bow and turning at best speed.

"What the hell is going on down there?" The Commander snapped, balling her hands into fists as she watched the displays, "Dastardly, get me a report!" Sola grit her teeth and glared at the display as if she could will the markers on the screen away.

It took too long before a coughing voice came over the comms line, "New Jubilee, Dastardly. We - their main guns came online out of nowhere. Tally at least one battery up and functional at this time." Lieutenant Commander Berav could be heard once more coughing again, "Also - also tally secondary fire at this time. We are functional but we are pulling back to safe distance and keeping in her blind-spot for now."

"Understood, Dastardly. Lick your wounds and keep covered down for now."

"Affirmative, Jubilee. We'll leave the easy stuff to you for now."

In place of the Dastardly's commanding officer on the communications net, this time it was Sola herself, "This is 3rd Squadron. We've just taken heavy turbolaser fire from the Baneful. Say again, Baneful main battery is operational. We're also receiving secondary fire at this time. We can't move in with the bulk of the squadron while those main batteries still active. Does anybody on the ground have an angle on taking out their fire control center or power supply?"
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Naier Rambeigh

Commander of the 4th Squadron, Beskar Division

TAGS //: Anton Cassel Anton Cassel , Sola Ordes Sola Ordes , Strasza Strasza

Naier watched sullenly as the bridge shutters rolled in, protecting them from the intense heat and light of atmospheric entry. A new noise was added to the din of mundane chatter and the lazy click-clack of console keys. The nervous tapping of his foot added a more rhythmic pace to the din, like a hectic metronome that swung like mad. Lieutenant Simone contributed to the silent orchestra as she sucked on a mint, which she had a habit of doing whenever they performed entry maneuvers.

He kept a steady hand on his armrest to avoid the jitters. The Ode to Greed was not a new ship, and everyone could feel the tremors all across. No one spoke to each other about it, just in case. Sailors were highly superstitious creatures.

Naier slowly exhaled as the shaking slowly dissipated. He heard the faint click of the temperature control unit normalizing, and the shutters slowly rolled back up to reveal a thick layer of clouds. Behind him, Simone swallowed audibly. "All functions operating nominally. Major Silas reports his marines are ready to deploy once they have an objective and all flight wing commanders on stand by."

"Are they kitted to handle toxic material?"

"Checkin- sir, call from Major Silas. Shall I put him through?" Naier flashed a thumbs up from his chair. A small, flickering screen flashed from his chair's holoprojector, revealing Silas' war weary face. He was ancient, by marine standards- 40 years old, and rapidly approaching retirement age for a storm trooper. "What is it, Major?"

The face on the screen scowled back. "You tell me, sir. What's this about toxic material?"

Naier's brows furrowed. He technically had clearance to inform his crew about the cargo manifest, but something in his gut twisted when he opened his mouth. Silas caught the pause and raised an eyebrow. "It's a simple yes or no question, Major." The commander opted to delay the issue as long as he could.

"Not to me, Commander." came tart reply. Naier muted the call and swung his chair around to face Simone, whose apprehension was in her face. "Lieutenant, send the Major all files designated ZETA from our database." He caught the tail end of her salute as he swung back to face the bridge windows. When he reactivated comms, Silas angrily pressed for answers, but all he got was a simple 'just wait and see' gesture from the Commander. His attention caught the sudden surge of mail from Lieutenant Simone, and Naier let the Major read the documents in silence. When he was finished, Silas looked back up in disgust.

Naier simply opened his hands and asked, "Well?" The marine officer opened his mouth and closed it, steam figuratively blowing out from his ears. "All stormtrooper armor are fitted with enviro-filters for these kinds of scenarios. But we don't know how well it'll work with OM-" The commander shot him a look that silenced him. "- . . the agent. We're not in the habit of testing these things with our men."

"Any other options?"

Silas rubbed his chin thoughtfully, which might have worked if he had an actual beard to tug on. "We have spacetrooper units, usually for boarding enemy ships." Naier raised an eyebrow. "Fully sealed, independent oxygen supply. Completely invulnerable to the agent. We can send them in, have the rest of my men provide support."

"Good. Send the assault team in, have them confirm the presence of the agent. Once we have visual confirmation, secure the package for extraction. Have all other teams on standby. Once the agent is clear, move in and -"


Naier jerked up, and quickly saw the cause of distress.

With smoke belching from her gut, it was hard to identify what they saw moving away from the downed Star Destroyer. Operations didn't need to see with their eyes to tell who was whom, and quickly named her the Dastardly, one of 3rd Squadron's corvettes. All eyes were drawn to her plight as she limped away, but everyone's attention were quickly drawn to the Baneful's turbolasers emitting a harsh signal spike on the radiation counters. Naier scrambled his team to make evasive maneuvers, but the second salvo already lanced out at the Ode to Greed.

Whoever made the shot however, would have failed the Navy Gunnery test. Naier's initial panic was misplaced- they were more than several kilometers away from the Star Destroyer, and being bigger than a literal corvette, had much stronger defenses to protect themselves. Their angle of descent also presented a narrow target- few shots actually struck them, and even then barely penetrated their shielding. Yet their message was understood: Stay away!.

"Get us the hell away from here!" he yelled to his crew. Action on the bridge tripled as everyone from alien to droid rushed to get reports, orders or just to look busy in their commander's eyes. "How many teams can you spare Silas?" he turned back to the screen. "I've got a full company waiting for orders. What was that?"

"Turbolasers. Baneful's still got hot guns. Sorry Major, your ride in may get bumpy. Get another team to clear their ship batteries or firing stations, whichever's the quickest."

"Understood. I'll gear up and follow the assault team in-"

"Negative, that's too dangerous. Stay on board and follow the second wa-"

There was a snort of derision, an ugly noise that Naier looked at Silas with a concerned expression. "The agent's too important to be left with anyone else. I'll lead the damn team, commander, danger or no danger. I'll just bill you the funeral charges."

Naier made a move to counter, but Silas' wild eyes triggered a primal response in him, similar to a dog looking away from the alpha male. "Understood Major. Naier out." The screen flashed out of existence, and he leaned back with a long, drawn out sigh, slinking further in his command chair. Something that kept him wounded tight suddenly disappeared, and all of Naier's initial apprehension seemed to have gone with it.

Spying the corvette in the distance, he pressed the ship intercoms button and hailed the engineering head. A gruff, 60s something man who looked like the kind of person whom you'd call to fix your plumbing appeared on screen, his white handlebar mustache covering the entirety of his lower jaw. Chief Engineer Hansen was supposedly older than the ship itself, and had taken a dislike to Naier from the first day he entered the ship as its commander. "This better be good."

"Prep a repair team, we're sending you on a fix-it job."

"Do we get a say in this?"

Naier closed his eyes in silent frustration. "How bad is the damage report?"

"We don't have time to go over everything on my bucket list commander. Engines are due for an overhaul, hyperdrives haven't been cooled down for maintenance in over 3 months, we just found a shielding unit that's been leaking coolant everywhere here and-"

"Fuck- Okay! Just spare whatever you have-"

"Did you not hear me jackass? We have no one-"

Naier's fist slammed down on the armchair. It hurt, but he clenched his jaw through the pain. "We have a friendly ship that just ate shit, Chief. Get me a fucking crew, now."

Hansen's demeanor changed rapidly at the news. "Shit, should've just mentioned damaged friendlies first, Commander. I'll give you six guys, best I can do."

"I- fine, okay. Assemble in Hangar Bay C in 3." He didn't let the engineer finish, although he suspected this arrangement was preferable for the both of them. Naier scarcely sank into his chair before he heard Simone's anxiety quietly sneaking up on him like a hungry dog waiting for scraps. He sighed and stood up, scaring his junior lieutenant with his sudden burst of action.

"What is it lieutenant?"

Simone scrambled to his side, handing over a PDA tablet. "We still have the flight wing commanders on standby waiting for orders. What should I tell them, sir?" He didn't answer her, preoccupied with emptying the contents of his whiskey flask. He relinquished the bottle neck reluctantly, smacking his lips. He knew his lieutenant was a teetotaler and didn't approve of his drinking habits, but until she outranked him and he was lying six feet beneath packed dirt, he wasn't going to start caring. "Tell them to fuck off."

When he didn't say anything else, she quietly tapped away on the tablet. Nair took notice and swiped the tablet away from her hands angrily. "I wasn't being serious."

She quietly replied, "Oh."

"I want two squadrons- Alfa and Baker- on combat air patrols around the destroyer. Get me eyes on troop location and disposition, relay everything to ground forces. Commanders are free to engage at their discretion, but limit bombing runs to the perimeter until I give the say-so. Better yet, tell them to get their targets from local troops, they'll know where to send the jockeys. Rest of the squadrons give me air security around our ship."

He gave the tablet back to her, but didn't let go when she tugged it. "You best un-fuck that head of yours, Lieutenant. I didn't bring you onboard for your pretty looks."

She shook her head. "No sir."

He let the tablet go.
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Major "Bridgebreaker" Strasza
& The 16th Doom Division Corps


Sola Ordes Sola Ordes
Three klicks out of the HMS Baneful... maximum range...

The major furrowed her brow as the resounding whirr of lasers charging caught her ear. And then. BOOM. She jerked her head upward, following the streak of white-hot defense as it slammed into the ship she had only heard from minutes prior. "Well hell, there goes that idea." She sighed, adjusting her hold on her LS-1. She glanced around, HUD whirring as she analyzed the scene and the terrain at the top of the ridge her team had just scaled. She was a little out of breath, but nothing too bad, given her proficiency at climbing the mountains back home.

In place of the Dastardly's commanding officer on the communications net, this time it was Sola herself, "This is 3rd Squadron. We've just taken heavy turbolaser fire from the Baneful. Say again, Baneful main battery is operational. We're also receiving secondary fire at this time. We can't move in with the bulk of the squadron while those main batteries still active. Does anybody on the ground have an angle on taking out their fire control center or power supply?"
Strasza clucked her tongue to that, jerking her head towards the outcropping poised a few dozen meters away from their place of temporary respite. "Ey, boys, c'mon. We're gonna help the nice lady out."

She was met by the collective groan of whiny, tired troopers.

"Don't wanna hear it. You all can rest when I'm dead." The major snickered, stepping off on a mission to provide cover. Her voice crackled over the comm relay once more: "Bridgebreaker to Jubilee, the 16th is on it. We ask for a few minutes."

Minutes later...

"What do ya see, Brix?" Major Strasza murmured to the trooper shoulder to shoulder with her as she turned her visored gaze from the 12x scope of her rifle to his binocular wielding profile. She already knew the answer, but it was good to confirm.

"Three baddies in the control center."

"Only three?"

"Aye, four degrees of the left corner of the window. He's at an angle. Then one watching the door, she's armed. Looks scared. And another one at the central console. You get an angle?"

"Yes." Stras returned her focus to the tunneled view her scope offered her, pivoting slightly on her elbow to adjust the angle of her barrel. "Ross, you got anything else?"

The scout's voice reached back to her through their commlink: "Negative, Bridge. Only three hostiles. I've got an angle on one of the batteries, though."

"Don't. Not with our first team inside the ship. Bad plan." Stras quickly responded, making more adjustments to her posture. Behind her, ankles hooked over one another, lacing as she stiffened her legs in stretch, then relaxed them once more. "You get the one at the door, I'll take the other two. Patters, knock out the consoles. We don't want 'em scrambling back in to fill the gaps."


"On your count, Major."

"Standby-" Strasza released a slow breath, relaxing her shoulders and hugging the stock of her rifle close to her helmet and into the armored pit of her shoulder, "Three-" she eased her finger forward, fluttering over the trigger in a stretch, "-two-" she double-checked the angle and horizontal pivot of her rifle, ensuring it would play out as quickly as she needed it to, "-one."

There was always that moment of tranquility before she pulled the trigger. A moment when she could only feel the heart humming in her chest and her steady breaths, and could only see the recipient for the death she was about to deliver. It was a moment of calm for the major. Strange perhaps, given its nature, and even more so given their environment. And despite the limping ship pulling back, the cracking hiss in the distance of lasers charging for a second barrage, and even the anxious shifting against the gravel by the man to her right, she found it here. Lips pursed, spilling the breath she had drawn back out slowly and she relaxed completely, nearly going limp in her prone position.

"Taking shot."


Strasza's finger hooked around the trigger and she dragged it backward, fighting the mild pull with ease and sending the powerful, ejection thunder of high caliber round popping at the air. She didn't anticipate the shot- she never did. Then a smooth pivot to the right and another pull of the trigger sent another wave of noise over the valley below. Her two targets reeled back, toppling out of their chairs and slumping into surging pools of liquid red; unmoving. She lingered over them for a moment, watching closely for anything. Any twitch. A jerk. The rise and fall of a chest. When none came, Brix called it for her.

"Confirmed." Brix whispered beside her.

"Confirmed," murmured Ross.

"Consoles are sparking. Disabled."

"Good work. Now, we shift our focus to covering those who drop in."

"Jubilee, this is Bridge. Their control room ain't gonna bother you anymore."
Strasza passed the word along simply enough, "Drop troops about four klicks out of your current position, to the East. I'm marking it for you. We'll cover their approach comin' in, over." Major Strasza slipped her arm from beneath her rifle, squeezing the other across to swipe on the datapad embedded into her gauntlet, marking the drop zone she had suggested for the looming ship.
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active measures


Harrsk nodded, an ugly smirk growing on his scarred face. Everything good and evil, if you believed in such spectrums, traced its roots to the Core.

"The Alliance's interest will cease when we crush the Sith, truly." he said coldly. "But they have served us their selves on a plate with their zealous Jedi committing to our war. There's an opportunity there to exploit that, picture the Jedi as adherents to the New Order. Misinform their public, skew their image among the populace and the Senate and sow conflict within through that. The Core has changed hands so often between both Jedi and Sith, a portion of the population are growing tired of the price they pay due to religious wars."

"And the Silver Jedi? They are large, strong as well, but have also committed mistakes that we can abuse. Not long ago they were dogs on the leash of the Sith Lord of the Confederacy; it is not any different now, except that it is not written on a paper. Their war against the Bryn'adul swarm has also forced them to work and ally themselves with the Hutts - not very Jedi-like. These are all opportunities we can turn to our advantage and not only stimulate destabilization but also turn the galaxy against them."

"Perhaps even, the Alliance themselves can do that for us."

Irveric Tavlar Irveric Tavlar

The Vulture

Private Quarters....
Somewhere on board the Opulence....

"Okay, so I just... how much of this do I p- wait. What is this, even?" The Vulture groaned to himself in his room, left alone naked and afraid- of course, he wasn't actually naked but he certainly felt like it- to fend for himself. To any other strapped lad of his years, such a thing would likely be bliss, quality alone time. In private quarters.... connected to the HoloNet.... well such things would perhaps have kept his attention had he physical sight to actually enjoy the dastardly offerings of the web, but since he did not, he opted to run himself headfirst into quite the same predicament.

The Vulture, the Deadspeaker. The King of the Departed. The Ferryman. The Bridge. The Lord of Naught. The Warlord of Carlac. Supreme General of The Carlaci Corps. Mastermind of Doom Division. Dread Commander. A legendary rap sheet telling tale of his storied past and achievement without any doubt or room for question about his aptitude. So what was it this powerful sorcerer had set himself after this evening?

"This was literally the worst idea I've ever had." He muttered breathlessly to himself, tilting his head to press burned fingers to his forehead in knead- of course subjecting his flesh to the Darkside had scorched his hands long ago, giving the fresh burns little effect. "What's- oh shit-" Halketh fumbled after the handle of the pan placed on the countertop burner, hastily drawing it off the heat. He felt his brows twitching and temples throbbing with the almost insatiable urge to use The Force to aid him. At least then he could maybe see what it was he was doing. "Nuh-uh, you promised Cass you could handle things for one night without her. Don't even think about it." Grey blobs. It was all grey, barely formed blobs. Much like a potter had started a project for two minutes and promptly abandoned it.

He scoffed to himself, snorting in response. "That was a problem for past me. Now me says use The Force. Yeah..." he groaned, "But then she would never let me live it down." Kezec realized then that he still smelled smoke as he argued with himself. He yelped, haphazardly dropping the hot pan- and its noodly contents- into the sink and splashing it with cold water in a panic with the grand and absolutely glorious crash of dishes smashing into one another. He stood there in stunned silence for a moment, face falling expressionless in its angle down toward the sink. It took him a moment to question if he really had just completely ruined his dinner beyond salvage, or if he had only ruined it a little. "Oh it's ruined, absolutely. Yeah, there's no salvaging this one, Kez, great job."

He wasn't bitter, no, not at all.

Another whining groan cranked the burners off and he felt his way around the blurry, unfamiliar space cautiously. His toes had been broken enough for one day in his attempts to settle in, and as much as he could count his steps, the ship was apt to move about, causing the slightest shifts in the furniture and lay of things. Such a minor thing was absolutely devastating for the shins and toes of The Vulture, of course, truly his greatest weakness was busting his toes against a coffee table leg.

"Sol," He called after tip-toeing his way to the bar and slipping his aching feet into his boots. "Here, psh-psh~"

'Mrow~?' On his left.

"Heeeeey~" Halk drew his leather jacket off the back of the chair and turned it about, slipping arms into sleeves and dropping it on. A quarter turn and a squat dropped him down within range to reach out, coursing his ringed fingers along the soft grey blob's spine. He snickered with some mild affection, "buddy, you wanna come with me to find something to eat? Y'know, before I burn the whole ship down."

Naturally, the grey, cat-eared blob had no response.

"C'mon. Let's go for a walk. Surely we can figure out where the DFAC is on this thing." A stroke of confidence, sure.

The Vulture curled his hands around the cat, hoisting him up gently as he straightened his own posture. Once that much had been accomplished, he lifted Sol further, allowing the companion to climb up onto his shoulder and rest over it comfortably. When the bite of claws ceased popping his worn leather jacket, Halk made his way back for the door, counting steps as he went to ensure he didn't just stupidly slam right into it.

"Let's see.... it was right out of here... then twenty strides down the hall, one across to the left, and that's the elevator--" He trailed, scratching his head as he poked it out of his open door curiously. Once more, the corridor was a blurred, unspecific, disorienting mosh of greys and whites in stretches that seemed to completely null The Force passively extended by the miraluka. "Why in the-" he cursed with exhaustion, stepping out into the hallway and closing his door behind him. Rather than produce the access card he totally had not misplaced already, he flexed both hands, sealing the door with a swirling sigil of energy. Was it overkill?


But he definitely did not need anyone seeing the absolute hell of a mess he had made in his private kitchen. There was no way he could allow such a thing.

He strolled off, setting about the numbers in his mind that he could recall, striding with his chin up like he didn't smell of smoke and complete failure.
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FOCUS | Jaeger Harrsk Jaeger Harrsk

It was an intriguing proposal that Harrsk presented forth to Irveric. Manipulate the Jedi, their image to the interests of the New Imperial Order. To this point, Irveric Tavlar had always done just that. As much as he held the Jedi Ryv Karis and the late Lanik Dawnstar was respected confidants, the Jedi were all the same, part of the problem. The duality to the Sith, the second half to the Galactic equation of perpetual war, stagnated progress and chaos. Chaos deeply embedded beneath the finely waxed surface to all of the Galaxy, as much as the Jedi postured to be the light, they all the same casted a shadow as dark as vantablack in the form of the Sith.

"They're all a parade of hypocritical glad hands, the rogue Silver Jedi operative, Tulan Kor Tulan Kor revealed that when he uncovered the trafficking ring occuring just under the nose of the Galactic Alliance. Where there is the clean, outward face of freedom and democracy it is the gilding to a rotten underbelly. They don't care about their people, they care about the special interests, the popular vote, the re-election. Their people could all be rotting in famine for all they care so long as it means they have a fully belly and an account exceeding seven digits in net worth. These supposed 'Crusaders' of virtue in the Silver Concord are no different though they operate on an angle that throws the willful subjugation they've imposed on their people right in their face." Irveric iterates.

"If only they realized how easy it was, to rise up and take their identity back from the parasites that stole it, as the slave dealing senators in the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi who consort with Hutt criminals have on their behalf. The swamp needs to be drained, burned if at all possible. We have to show this Galaxy to the truth...while eroding all trust they have in the false governments propped up around them. The Silver Jedi will know soon enough that they tread the grounds of an Empire that will bite back, unlike the Sith have. They walk on the surface of Taris now, no doubt with the guise of purging a plague long eradicated in the depths of Taris." The Sovereign Imperator states.

"If there is anything I can not stand more than the Sith, it is these Jedi, for at least the Sith carry the hammer, the outright intent. These Jedi of the Silver Concord are hypocritical. Liars. All the same, their people place all their trust within this Order. We need to make them doubt it. My venue of a flashpoint to shatter their integrity would be the long standing ethnic conflict between the Echani and Thyrsians. We can solve it, we can make peace...they can not. The Galaxy needs to know that and more importantly, their people need to know who acts in their interests."

Armor | Repeater | Pistol
FOCUS | IO-21 IO-21 | Gatlin Gatlin

Then crept the silence of the corridors of the Baneful. The cold florescence eerily present through the ship flickered with each passing footfall of the squad as they entered the ship. Even if it was still occupied in force by the Sith Empire...there was a foreboding feeling. A dead air about this place. More than anything, it certainly could've been the feeling of the failure that swirled about this place. Anton's failure. Even if none of the troopers around him, all with the 501st likely getting equipped for the Dubrillion offensive save for what Irveric Tavlar had managed to peel off with from his Legion.

He could hear the clammor of cannon fire and blasters from just outside the sealed hull of the ship, but he felt ethereally isolated in this moment as they progressed further.

The unit with him was green, odd since that was the same sort of brand of stormtrooper he was at the head of at Cassel Point. Now he was the supposed old hat, a 'veteran'. Not like that mattered, they'd all see real action at Bastion soon enough anyway.

<"Traitor!"> Barked out one of the Sith-Imperial Legionnaires before a pulse of his particle beam blaster shot out and dug into the right flank of one of Anton's stormtroopers. In its weighted heft he angled the repeater in the direction of the fire's source before he squeezed the trigger down and buried at least twenty bolts into his center mass, leaving a smoking carcass in its wake.

<"Keep moving. Three, get me a scan of where we're gonna find this stockpile.">

<"Already done, forward another corridor and down three levels.">

<"That lift still up?">

As soon as they sought to press the button to will the lift up and open to their position, nothing happened at all. Willing his strength Anton slung his repeater over his shoulder and pried the heavy door up and open with help of another trooper, the heavy blast door resting on their shoulder as the next few pulsed down with the repulsors fixed to their boots before landing on the elevate cabin beneath.

Wasn't too far now.
Storm Commando

V A N D A L _ A C T U A L

"And what do you remember?"
It was like a voice from the ether, it certainly might as well had been as Berik laid flat, his eyes screwed shut in the psychological med-bay of the ship. He remembered asking for it once and somehow feeling that stain of regret when it was officially ordered for him to have this screening. He wanted an open ear...but he didn't want this. To be wrenched from the action, prodded and looked over like a problem.

"I'm not sure how much talking about it will help..." He responded, fighting the urge to grind his teeth against one another.

"Have you talked about it with anyone else? Friends? Family?" Whatever friends he had were ashen stains on the floor of a Ravelin apartment. At least what wasn't charred matter thrown into a body bag with the name and number plastered on a sticker over it.

"Don't really have either..." Berik admitted. So would this game continue.
Haleth "Halie" Garro

Cmdr. Haleth "Hailie" Garro
Borosk, The Opulence
Objective 2: The Opulence

Tags: Solo
Lieutenant Eskan wore a charcoal-coloured uniform complete with shin-high boots and a peaked cap, his hands folded behind back his glimmering emerald eyes studied Commander Garro, his company's appointed Sergeant Major. Eskan didn't particularly like or dislike the woman for their acquaintance was brief he thought she was secretive and a little strange but a disciplined non-commissioned officer and someone who set an example with their bravery and leadership. Hailie Garro was wearing a suit of camouflaged Storm Commando armour pock-scorched by the tell-tale black impacts of plasma weapons she held her helmet in left-hand and glanced down in its' direction with her hazel orbs loosely in the direction of Lieutenant Eskan.

The scent of general anaesthetic through the room was pervasive and Halie's eyelids narrow together at the sensation, she really hated hospitals having spent significant time in them herself. "The captain got hit as soon as they dropped in." Hailie's voice was soft even though the half-naked and scorched Sergeant Hargrev floated unconscious in an erect tall cylinder filled with blueish amniotic fluid. Tilting her head towards Sergeant Hargrev. "Found what was left of the company, a total of twelve men, led by Sergeant Hargrev here." Hailie smiled wryly towards Lieutenant Eskan. "Guess that makes you acting company commander." Lieutenant Eskan straightened the creases in his uniform tunic as if preparing himself for the "honoured" position.

"A distinction both undeserved and unwanted, Commander Garro." Eskan said in a sigh preparing to continue their conversation given Eskan and Garro were the highest-ranked commissioned and non-commissioned officer left in their unit.

The Highest Chalice, Blackened


Anton Cassel Anton Cassel IO-21 IO-21

They were meddling in the affairs of nature.

Not the NIO, persay, they simply were a symptom of the much larger virus that was choking out the lifeblood of the Dark. The Sith-Imperials, clad in their abject brutality, a blazon of which they used to march across the stars, had weakened his brothers and sisters. The Dark Lord the claimed to follow had done little besides weaken his compatriots in victory, there was no grand struggle, there was no purpose to their power. Power at an end, is pointless. The struggle for that power is what forges Dark Gods out of Mortal Men. The Sith Triumvirate understood that, in their own way. They hid themselves amongst the shadows, throwing themselves against impossible odds, time and time again, and the Sith in their command were hardened against the steel of the Republic, just as the Prodigal Knight had, though, the specifics were blurred, slurred through holocrons gone mad with their own knowledge. The Sith would never tread those steps again, they would never rediscover their truth, their real purpose on the Galactic stage unless they learned from the Old Masters, unless they were willing to put aside their hubris and cease holding the Force under a boot, to cease their imperial machinations and allow the Sith to honestly, truly, struggle. At their strength, Gatlin believed, they were nothing but whispers in the corners of the Galaxy. It was only then, when the Greatest, the High on High, had managed to bring down the decedent Republic. The superior Sith would only be born through struggle, through conflict.

He would set out to create this conflict if he must.

The NIO, despite all of their attempts, all of the secrecy, were so loud and predictable with their operations. The Baneful made perfect sense for their strike, just as it made sense for there still to be dogged defenders held up in the vessel. Scuttled to the ground, he very easily could have mobilized local cells and fell upon the location as the hoards of the night.

That would not be this day.

His appearance in the depth of the vessel would, at first, be entirely ignored by those defenders. Sith Legionaries clad in black, Judicators leveled at the door as the footfalls and blaster calls of the New Imperials dared closer and closer. For the first minute of his arrival, simply slamming into existence out of the dead negative space of reality, he stood in the room, dead silent. A hand reaching down and unhooking a vile of that dreaded substance… what was it that they called it? Omega Red. He held it in his hand, rolling it over, before reaching back down and snapping the beaker into the much larger, box shaped, storage container for the chemical. The sound alerted the Legionaries to his presence.

<”Contact!”> Came the scream.

The lights boomed out in the room.

The bleakest blue filled the air.

Armor | Repeater | Pistol
FOCUS | IO-21 IO-21 | Gatlin Gatlin

A plant of his heel against the top of the elevator cabin's maintenance hatch sent the already flexed metal collapsing beneath as he jolted the repulsor fixed to his heel to offer a compounded jolt against the grate to send it reeling from its position before the door managed to be pushed open. With that, the troopers jumped down and the next elevator door offered a bit more respite in being easily willed open by a press of a button.

It was darker down here. With less foot traffic occupying the depths of the ship and the power needs required in keeping the external weapons systems up and aimed at the enemy while maintaining a defense of this wave of the New Imperial assault, past the first brunt of battle and war droids who occupied the scrap while other campaigns demanded bigger strategic demands along the front.

Their sights aimed down another dark corridor, the 'package' in the form of the OMEGA RED cloistered within the Baneful.

The sounds of horror enveloped in the tremendous emotional bruising which came from the making of combat.


Cassel's clenched fist of his off-hand raised into the air before he heard the muffled crack of blaster bolts down the corridors. Switching his visor to life detection visual scanners. Reflec bathed the armor of both sides in this Imperial Civil War, he didn't expect to pick up any of the Sith-Imperial Legionnaires. What he picked up instead, was something far more concerning.

Taking aim down his heavy repeater, he shouldered into the weapon as they made way down the corridor with cold sweat and bated breath. Something about being so close to such a tremendously lethal weapon made them second guess the rigidity of their armor, the confidence in their form and all the supposed mettle that'd been tempered thus far.

The flash of blue and the appearance of the enigma of a Sith only urged the urgent pulse of blaster fire in his direction from the Sith-Legionnaires.

Storm Commando

V A N D A L _ A C T U A L

"I see..." The doctor said from the blackness, a sound of faint inhale before he spoke up once more, contemplating how to navigate the Storm Commando with each passing moment.

"This unit...did you know them through the entire tenure of your service?" He asked once more.

"Yeah...went through basic and specialized training with them. The hell weeks, all of it. First deploy we had...I think- Ord Mantell. Out there to take out some 'droid rights' group, armed, militant. We did pretty damn good, took over the scrap train with 307th." Berik iterates, drawing in a breath.

"Did ops on Muunilinst as well, Harnaidan. Cleared out the tunnels beneath the city. Guarded by some Sith-Imp commando detachment. It was a joint operation with the GA, Sigma Squad I wanna say. We did damn good then too, I think we made it out with a bone sprain total between all of us, at least in Vandal. Sigma had what we like to call a 'dynamic' entry..." The Storm Commando says.
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Polite Young Gun

// Prahl // SoM // Echoy'la
// Objective : BYOO - Do you even have a license?
// Focus : Trajan Kurze Trajan Kurze

"Maybe leaving was premature, there was alot that could of gone wrong but..I have-no I am learning to walk alone and that alone reinforces this is the way.."
There were shouts of admonishment and gruff exclamation that echoed down the long hall, helmets and eyes trailing after her back. Caeos raced down the hall of the fortress as if all the Sith were well on her heels. Her voice carried as she tossed out careless inquiries, looking for the Mancatcher himself. She wasn't going to linger around the docking bay to listen to the sour response about her landing job. The ship's thrusters hadn't even cooled when she and Ketra came came spilling out the bay doors. Caeos hadn't expected to be back so soon, a mixture of worry and excitement propelling her forward.

She wasn't due back for rotation for a handful of weeks yet but the moment the ship registered-it was only another sign it was time leave the small Enclave a galaxy away. Caeos hadn't poured this much time occurring debt and favors not to
show off the fruits of her labor. Even if the elder was well known for his lack of enthusiasm, it wasn't like she had many others to share it with. Khudak was gone again.

The thunderous show the pair of girls brought with them slowed after hijacking the lift down, and the girl spared the younger a glance. It would be good to see the others and Caeos couldn't help but consider the future, they could all go now. Caeos was the first to burst out, the blast doors hissing open as she wormed her way through the gap. The girls jogged down branching halls of the Sanctuary.

Two pairs of boots thudded across the heavy steel floors of the fortress and Caeos laughed. Her helmet sliding, her vision skewed as she slid around the corner-hands flailed as she pushed her bucket back. Short of breath as she pushed the younger girl forward. The pair of Verd caught on their path were startled as the two girls brushed past in to the Kurze's communal space. Caeos didn't want to think about the trouble they were causing.

"Trajan! Has anyone seen Trajan!?" Caeos' voice rose, hands balled in to fists at her side-her whole form practically bouncing.

Haleth "Halie" Garro

Cmdr. Haleth "Hailie" Garro
Borosk, The Opulence
Objective 2: The Opulence
Tags: Solo

Eskan raised his peaked cap in one hand and raked his other through the short hair straddling his scalp with his eyes fixed on Sergeant Hargrev within the bacta tank. Studying the man's injuries Eskan thought they would have certainly been fatal if not for that miraculous fluid Hargrev and Garro had gone through perdition while he had been in relative safety aboard the Opulence with a moderate fracture and it weighed on him. "Go and get some chow Commander. Submit the debrief report at your leisure". Eskan said softly, he felt the professional courtesy was warranted in the totality of the circumstances.

Hailie Garro clipped her helmet's internal harness to a bean-shaped metal carabiner on her belt, listening to Eskan's gentle tone she looked to the commissioned officer with a forced smile. If nothing else they had healthy mutual respect for one-another she thought.
"Sir". The response was simple and poignant Hailie's footsteps carried her out of the bacta tube chamber and into a hallway. Her battered plasma-scorched camouflaged commando armour a jarring contrast against the orbital hospital's pristine and sterile walls.

A short while later Hailie was in the
'commander's dining hall' of the space station it was nearly empty a few lonely senior non-commissioned officers scattered throughout the vast luxurious interior. Many of the silent vigil she recognised as Commandos from other companies of the battalion who were similarly decimated to their own. Each of them was mourning the losses in their own way. Sitting down in a fine oak chair lined with ruby-coloured felt Hailie found their hazel eyes staring down into a plate of hot steaming food its' alluring aroma completely lost on the Commander. "How did it go so wrong?" Eyelids pursed together gently and that's when she began to remember what she would prefer to forget.


BYOO | Echoy'la
FOCUS | Caeos Prahl Caeos Prahl

The immediate shout of inquiry into an otherwise meager and spartan living quarters with nothing but the banner of Kurze hanging low from the otherwise barren communion hall led through the open door to a small training area. There, Trajan could be found half equipped in his Beskar'gam within the throes of a spar with another Mandalorian man. Or seemingly so, very few of the armor pieces were pointedly forged from Beskar.

They were in a battle of wills on the mats beneath, a grappling match with saw a sight and contested war of attrition between them. In the midsts of a fast moving and congested scrap, the older battlemind prevailed and Trajan was able to bind his younger counterpart into tapping out in defeat in spite of his bouts of defiance which carried for minutes prior.

After the bout, the two stood to see Caeos after immediately beckoning his name, the first cries drawing his attention to begin with.

<"Prahl, what is it?"> He'd known she'd been gone for some time. Mandalorians came and went from Honor Hold, it was nothing to be too suspect of though he was wary of how impression she might be within the periless void of the Galaxy. In a lapse of silence, he gestured to the Mandalorian next to him, urging him to introduce himself.

<"Ah- erm...Caeos, is it? Trajan has told me about you some I believe. I'm Volker...Volker Kurze."> He spoke with shades of accent hinting an origin of the golden agriworld of Concord Dawn, long laid claim by the Sith along with the rest of the Mandalorian sector.

Polite Young Gun

// Prahl // SoM // Echoy'la
// Objective : BYOO - Do you even have a license?
// Focus : Trajan Kurze Trajan Kurze

Each strike and bend of limb Caeos studied, her visor swiveled to follow the length of the scrap between the two men. What had she walked in to..Her feet had led her to the archway and she caught the full fled spar as it unfolded. She couldn’t say she knew many of the vode; a handful at best. Caeos tilted her helm, Trajan didn’t seem like the type to keep friends. The rush of words she had meant to blab died on her tongue as was entrapped by the fight. Ketra pushed past her to get a first hand look and Caeos scoffed-one fast hand darted out to drag the girl back by the scruff of her coat.

“Oh we’re fighting Trajan-”

“Yeah right..” Caeo whispered.

Curiosity was going to get her killed at this rate. A hard fight was what anyone worth their armor called fun in her opinion. A muffled chuckle bubbled from beneath her helmet the moment Trajan put the warrior down to the floor. Letting Ketra’s coat go, she crossed her arms only when the girl seemed to get the idea not to interfere. Caeos looked back to the two men, the elder’s words a blur. No, the better part of a bark-he was good at barking at her..Silence rung out and only then did Caeos realized she hadn’t actually caught what Trajan had said-

“Oh well uh,” Caeos mumbled, turning her attention toward the younger Mandalorian. Her arms unlaced as her hands folded in front of her, practically fiddling with the plates on her gauntlets. What was she going to say again? He seemed decent enough at first appraisal, the drawl of her voice lost on her-but she offered him a quick nod as Volker finished. She was going to forget his name, she had a bad feeling already “Oh who me? I just..Wait you have kin-”

“My turn!” Ketra yelled, interrupting her as she pumped her fists in the air. Caeos visibly flinched as the girl screeched like a Lothal cat, surging forward with her small arms wound back. Caeos sputtered, close to panicking as she reached out to grab her but the kid shot across the mat and charged the elder swinging.
Haleth "Halie" Garro

Cmdr. Haleth "Hailie" Garro
Borosk Orbit
Perform force reconaissance for the 908th prior to their assault.
Tags: Solo

Much, much earlier....before the NIO's assault proper on the Baneful

"Syraks Aurek this is Syraks Primus, radiocheck, over" The company commander's voice broke Haleth's concentration on the unfolding terrain that seemed to crawl endlessly beneath the pitch-black reflec-coated dropships' belly under the lightless gaze of a new moon. Hailie's left-gloved hand steadied her purchase within the craft even as wind resistance and manoeuvring jolted its' frame and so too did stand a whole platoon of camouflage-armour clad Storm Commandos stand with her.

Halie glances over her shoulder towards them and beneath her implacable faceplate smiles warmly.
"Syraks Primus, this is Skyraks Aurek. Go ahead, over." Captain Ryte was without a doubt a competent commander and a formidable warrior, Halie respected him though she didn't necessarily think it was mutual. He seemed to use the word "Cyborg" when describing Hailie with a contrasting contempt and respect in equal measure.

"We're eight clicks out from the Baneful's wreckage, radio si -" A flash of intense baleful orange light illuminated everything, Halie immediately leant out of the Dropship's open door and watched Ryte's craft spiral uncontrollably towards the immovable earth below. Calmly, she watched its' form smash against the floor into a fiery debris field. Ryte's fate weighed on her for a moment.

"Incoming surface-air!" The pilot's panicked voice rung into Hailie's helmet and without missing a beat Halie gave a decisive reply.

"Put us down! We'll leg it from here." Hailie felt a fire in her breast, in her veins she was angry furious even Hailie's hands curl tighter and the rack bar she'd held onto with left-hand started folding under the weight. "Two platoon, standby for fast-rope!" The Storm Commandos, calm professionals ever fell into two neat lines on either side of the dropship's interior beside a pair of open cargo doors that stood opposite from one another. Their dropship lurched into an abrupt stop, many lost their footing but none fell.

Hailie thrust the line of rope down to Borosk's surface and helped the first, and each following Trooper placing them onto the line.
"Go, go, go!" Hailie shrieked with ferocity to rival a Banshee, trying desperately to save their lives and their mission.

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BYOO | Echoy'la
FOCUS | Caeos Prahl Caeos Prahl

The younger Mandalorian found purchase in a tackle of Trajan's armored leg. He wanted to let off a laugh at the child's attempt to assail him, which of course was a fruitless venture in the prospect of a small child against a grown man within a pseudo Beskar'gam, and a Mandalorian warrior fit to wear it at that. He all but simply gently grasped her head to use it to pry the child from his leg.

<"You're certainly growing more brazen by the day, Ketra. No doubt Khudak Dai Khudak Dai had something to do with that, probably wanted to the same herself but bummed the task onto you. Make sure you do it back to her next you see her."> Trajan offered, playing along with the child's jest before soon enough Volker, the enigmatic kin of Trajan shifted his gaze back to Caeos, offering a low inhale of amusement beneath his helmet.

<"Ah well...it's good to meet you, Caeos. How long are you here?"> He asked with his voice dipped in shades of genuine curiosity. He clearly had a good, if intrigued first impression of Prahl.

<"Wouldn't be opposed to knowing myself, you'd seemed to posture yourself the adventurer as of late."> Not that Trajan couldn't relate. It was about the stretch between Hammerfall and The Return that Trajan left into the obscure annuls of the Galactic Underworld. It wasn't savory, but it certainly paid well.

It was a necessary means for Mandalorians to have their mettle tested.