Pounding Rain : The Rookery

[Holt]

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[ The Rookery ]​

Druckenwell​

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At a glance, the job of Rook sounded like one of the most cushy positions in the Confederacy. High pay, high clearance and the added safety of being the behind-the-scenes sort of guy all gave the position some glamour for those interested. Of course, nothing in the Ministry of Secrets was publicly advertised, a flag that should've tipped off even the most oblivious.

Holt had, in fact, become aware of the Ministry and its search for operatives through a bit of digging on his own. A native of Druckenwell, the gloomy industrial world that it was, most of Holt's life had been dedicated to a sort of for-hire intelligence gatherer. He was a marvel with multiple connections on the planet and throughout nearby systems, and his technology skills combined with his craftsmanship made him a nearly unparalleled force in the Druckenwell underworld.

Of course, there were problems with being a criminal in one of the largest and most militarized factions in the galaxy. Ever since the CIS had come to Druckenwell, many of his former associates had either fled or had been captured. Business went down, profits tanked, former allies turned into enemies, and in a matter of months the Holt's web of connections was in tatters. It was either get off of Druckenwell and start in some new territory, or turn to a more stable job that would not be persecuted by the Confederacy. Luckily for Holt, he found something that went along the lines of both.

His recruitement and training were highly classified, to the point that Holt felt it was a crime to just think about it. So he simply didn't, and focused on the task at hand: telling a bunch of hotshot operatives how to assassinate a higher up officer in the First Order (or what was left of it) to hopefully clean up the path for future CIS dominance in the sector. Holt had spent the greater part of the last month out and about, collecting information, silencing a few people who knew too much, and preparing a line-by-line guide of exactly how to take down this guy without sacrificing anyone in the CIS.

It would be risky, it would be dangerous. But no one in the Ministry of Secrets ever really cared about that stuff.

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Now, he stood in a briefing room within the Rook's Nest, an affectionate name for the effective command center of the Rookery, waiting for the elite of the Ministry to present themselves. It was a pretty room, spartan yet almost decorative in its design, with curving slopes halting to sharp angles, black intermingling with durasteel grey. The Rookery was his pet project, the secret facility that he had designed almost all by himself that now stood as one of the top headquarters for the Ministry of Secrets.

Heavily armored and guarded, few would dare to try and test the defenses of the Rookery. They were wise, Holt knew, to not try and vaporize themselves. Indeed, the Rookery could take on a small army and come out unscathed and (outside of its location) uncompromised. An actual test of those defenses would happen some other day, because now time was of the essence. Or maybe it wasn't, but Holt was craving a pie, a feeling that would mean he'd have to get this over with before he could visit the commissary.

 

[Mellifluous Magenta]

Celessa
Post 1
Equipment: CS-21 Combat Stealth Suit (Appearance), ACS-208 Wrist Charric, Flayer Tactical Combat Knife, Murdock Stealth Blaster Rifle, Corvus-type Chronometer, ODM System
Location: The Rookery - Briefing Room, Druckenwell

The muted sounds of rain pattering against the roof of the base could be heard deep within the sprawling hallways inside the Rook’s Nest. In stark contrast to the racket caused by the intensely pouring rain outside, Celessa’s graceful footsteps were virtually inaudible as she walked to the briefing room to receive her orders for her new assignment. However, Celessa had studied some a few cursory details regarding her new mission the night before. Normally, she would have received a more detailed report to study before a briefing, but her orders had arrived on such short notice that she had not received much information beyond an overview.

As she entered the briefing room, Celessa stopped at the door and gave the Rook a textbook Confederate salute.

“Agent Celessa, reporting for duty, sir.” Celessa spoke in clear and concise diction as she released her salute. After relaxing her posture, Celessa then proceeded to the left side of the holographic table in the middle of the room. Her bright ruby eyes scanned over the holographic tactical map projecting from the center of the table, carefully taking in each marked detail before she briefly focused her gaze on the long-faced Rook. The man seemed to bear the visage of a cold and calculating individual. His features were sharp and well-defined, while his hair bore a few splashes of gray as a testament to his experience as an intelligence operative. In contrast, Celessa felt almost like a child standing before him, though her appearance belied the truth of her age.

An awkward silence filled the room as Celessa waited for more to arrive. She was too shy to make idle conversation with the Rook, so she simply turned her gaze down towards her Corvus-type Chronometer and waited for the briefing to begin...

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Location: Confedernce Room
Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Celessa"] [member="Holt"]

Scherezade was not a fan of these meetings. Her position with the Ministry of Secrets might have been new, but she was far from being an inexperienced rookie when it came to doing her job, especially if that job involved assassination. She had one of the longest lists of personal kills among those of the Confederacy, trumped mostly by those who shot missiles and torpedoes from afar. She didn't like doing things that way though; taking a life, that was personal, and the number of blades she carried upon her body regularly was a strong attestment to how personal she liked to get.

She also preferred just getting the relevant datafiles and then being let loose to go do her thing. She could deliver a body with efficiently quickly after orders came in. These sort of meetings often felt to the Blood Hound Crow like needless posturing. Still, the order had come, and she was meant to be on best behavior for six months, so she would attend, and she wouldn't tell others what she thought of it.

As such, Scherezade deWinter entered the briefing room, throwing a grin to those who were gathered there, and chose a chair next to [member="Celessa"], as the two had already met on a previous briefing and mission. "Early to rise early to kill," she said with a smile as she tested the chair a little, and then wished she could just spin around herself on it until the meeting started. Instead, she just cracked her knuckles, and looked around with interest.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Location: Briefing Room, The Rookery
Equipment: Bio link
Actual look: link
Tags: [member="Holt"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Celessa"]

---

The new headquarter; she was interested about the Rookery since when Ingrid was hear about this “facility”. And of course the invitation to the new HQ went along with the new job too. The Rookery was impressed her, always loved these kind of bases; to tell the truth, everything what are secret. The Red Witch came her with her ship, they sent the coordinates to her after she gets the information. Assassinating, the most loved job. Ingrid working as an agent and assassin long time within the CIS’s bond, but she had never done anything with the First Order. Yet; until now.

After Ingrid enter the briefing room, she salute to everyone who were in the room.

”The Red Witch reporting for duty, sir!”

She was a soldier too, so that kind of behaviour was not far from her. She tried to measure the others while she walking to the table and sitting down one of the chairs. It seemed to her she not late, but also arrived to early.

”When we start the briefing?” she ask.”Someone else is coming, or just we go to the job?

As always the Witch wanted to be prepared for everything as possible. Sometimes she hate herself because, she was a maximalist… But she also knew, this trait essential for her work.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Like every Confederate project, this one was new and shiny. 'Spared no expense,' or whatever. Razelle had spent a good half-hour walking the premises trying to find the seemingly inescapable sloppiness that came with throwing a bunch of egotists together into a cutting-edge pot and letting them fight over whatever scraps were at the bottom. For once, though, she was pleasantly surprised to find everything was clean. Sterile, almost, in its efficiency and protocol and proper etiquette. A part of her - the oldest part, the soldier from before the fall - loved the professionalism of it all. A much larger, much louder part - the one that had been dealing with criminals, renegades, revolutionaries, and punks for ten years - chafed at so much shiny.

No inspection-ready unit ever passed combat.

There was a beep on her chronometer. Scherezade was on her way to the... ugh. The Rook's Nest. Oh, that was just trite. Raz gave a quiet sigh, rolled her eyes, and began her trek across the facility. When she finally arrived at the fabulously ostentatious briefing room, she didn't even stop as she walked in, flashing her chronometer to an authenticator console on her way in. Her combat boots squeaked against the plasteel floor as she walked over to one of the dataterminals and took a seat, offering only a silent halfhearted wave to what seemed to be the only man in the entire Ministry of Secrets. Why he'd been put in control of this operation wasn't really important - she'd be scanning dossiers in a moment anyway.

Fortunately, she didn't have to check a few of them. Scherezade was family; Raz even offered her a grin and a wink when she sat down at one of the operator terminals, rather than the briefing table. The other two had been part of the Manda mission. Solid enough. No deficiencies really stuck out at her, as far as she could remember. Solid group, and a core of three trained murderesses could probably handle this with their eyes closed. Idly, Razelle wondered what her part in this nonsense would be. Mission control? Field supervisor? Her own records were heavily redacted, but Rooks tended to have the clearance necessary to keep tabs on other agents, including each other.

Man. If this guy had even skimmed her file, that'd be a fun conversation.

Att: [member="Holt"] | [member="Celessa"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Ingrid L'lerim"]

 

[Holt]

Tag: [member=Razelle Breuner"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] [member="Celessa"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"]


Kiff raised an eyebrow at the casualness that [member="Razelle Breuner"] as she flung herself at the terminal instead of the table. Holt sensed an onorthodox and rebellious character from her, probably a trait not best suited for the role of Rook. "I hope I won't have to talk to your back, Rook Breuner," he said over as he stood over at the other end of the briefing table, standing with his legs spread slightly apart and his hands clasped behind his back -- the standard military stance. Although he and Razelle may be the same rank, the Rookery was his Rookery, and when he was on his home turf he outranked everybody.

He gave a short cough before beginning, thumbing the keypad on his side of the table briefly before the holoprojector ignited, shimmering before the blue field faded to show a small, icy planet in the Western Reaches. "Ichtor 8, a frozen luxury world and up until a month or so ago, a world in the First Order's fold of power. The planet was considered critical to the First Order war effort due to it's many morale-boosting resorts and it's abundance of natural resources." The image zoomed in, passing cinematically through the atmosphere before transforming into a scale diorama of some sort of facility, propped up next to a craggy snow-covered mountain. The facility at the base looked military enough, but the cannons placed around it and landing pads seemed as if they had been built in a hurry, a temporary feeling that seemed to trascend even the holoprojection.

"The only reason we are talking about this now is that a certain Moff Terrus has decided to make the facility on Mount Quavaar his winter home, and word has it that the Moff is looking to build an army to raze Confederacy and Outer Rim Coalition worlds before burning out in glory. In short, your mission is to ensure that doesn't happen, by sabotaging his ships and killing the Moff," Holt said matter-of-factly as the holoprojection transitioned from the facility to a profile of the Moff. an aging man in a dark unkempt beard, brown untamed hair with watery eyes and a bulging chin. The man might've once been impressive, even handsome in his prime, but now he was a faded drunk that was only dangerous by virtue of the command he wielded. "I do have to warn you that the Stohl is a native of Ichtor 8, and although they may look cute their bite is dangerous, and hard to treat. I don't want to lose any agents so early in the game."

 

[Damien Wynter]

Equipment List​

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Location: The Rookery, Conference Room​

Tags: [member="Holt"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] [member="Celessa"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

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"Don't touch the furry snakes. Roger that, Cap'n." As per the usual, Damien's voice carried just a touch of humorous sarcasm. He had been sitting in the back watching the others come in, most of whom he remembered from the last job. "Last job" sort of being an objective term, he supposed, considering that thread was happening at the same time this one is. Funny thing, time is.​

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He got up from his seat, walking closer to the holotable. He took in everything, mulling the scenario over in his mind. A classic "put down the rebellion" sort of case if he'd ever seen one. Likely far too many hostiles to make a head-on fight a good idea, as there were sure to be too many friendly CIS casualties to make such an idea reasonable. No, they most certainly would have to dismantle this thing from the inside. The question was, how would they go about it?​

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"He's looking for an army, and if the state of his defenses are of any indication, he's desperate. He needs bodies badly. We could go in posing as recruits and they probably wouldn't think twice before letting us in. It'd also give us an excuse to carry weapons around inside the facility, provided they aren't anything that'd give us away as CIS. From there we merc the old drunk, blow his ships, and grab some Nerf nuggets on the way home. Or beforehand if you guys want, I'm a little hungry. Either way, I feel like it could be the way to go."​

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As if on queue, Damien's stomach gave a light grumble. He had scarfed down a quick slice of proteinloaf after his workout this morning, but other than that he hadn't eaten anything all day. He probably had some nutrient paste laying around in his interceptor somewhere, but he had swore that stuff off after what it had done to his stomach last time. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure that poor Qwick-mart owner put a small bounty on his head after what he had done to the bathroom there.​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Location: Confedernce Room
Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Celessa"] [member="Holt"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] [member="Damien Wynter"] [member="Razelle Breuner"]

Glowing green eyes looked at the Red Witch as she entered the room, announcing herself and… saluting? That was new. That was interesting. Scherezade grinned, and nodded to her. Raz was the next to come in, grinning and winking at her, so she responded with a warm smile. It was the strangest thing; from having absolutely no one, it seemed that now she was having more regular company around her, with her godmother being one of them. It… It chipped away nicely at some of the loneliness. Scherezade, inwardly, was eternally grateful. Another one was there, [member="Damien Wynter"], someone Scherezade had met on the previous mission that had dealt with a body and the Umbaran issues.

Remaining quietly in her seat, Scherezade listened quietly as [member="Holt"] laid out the mission's background.

"Kill a Moff, don't get eaten by furry worms," she summarized it as soon as he was done, and shrugged. There was also that part about sabotage and… Wait, no. That interested her this time. "What kind of ships does he have?" she asked with a wicked grin. Scherezade was the owner of Whimsy, her brain child through which she'd only begun bringing some of her Blueprints of Doom into reality. Two of these projects, funded by the R&D research grant she'd been given by the Confederacy, included things that could seriously krak ships up. Perhaps now would be the good time to see them in action.

Looking at Damien, who spoke first, Scherezade shrugged and pointed to where the refreshment foods were. If he was hungry, he should eat.

"Infiltration would be simple enough," she said. "I could probably ring some contacts and get myself in as a cleaning maid or something. Direct access. He'll die quickly. As for the ships…"

Flicking her hands on her datapad, all those in the room received soft notifications as the data unrolled in front of their eyes. "If we can smuggle that in, we can dismiss most if not his entire fleet. Those that won't blow up will still not be able to enter hyperspace if we don't krak it up.". They would see the general outlines of Liquid Ion Sugar and Karkmatter. "I'll need numbers and ship types to know how much of the stuff to prepare. And a way to get it over there without getting caught. I can do simple infiltrations but getting entire inventory stocks in is less my thing."

 

[Mellifluous Magenta]

Celessa
Post 2
Equipment: CS-21 Combat Stealth Suit (Appearance), ACS-208 Wrist Charric, Flayer Tactical Combat Knife, Murdock Stealth Blaster Rifle, Corvus-type Chronometer, ODM System
Location: The Rookery - Briefing Room, Druckenwell
[member="Holt"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Damien Wynter"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"]

Another joke.

At that moment, Celessa wished sorely that she were out in the field rather than the briefing room so that she would have an excuse to wear her helmet. Instead, the little woman was forced to bear another one of the legendary assassin’s casual jokes with nothing to conceal her awkward embarrassment. Immediately, the wheels in Celessa’s head cycled as she sought a response to break the tension.

“I...prefer to kill late at night.” Celessa replied in a quiet voice as a soft smile across her features, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself before the briefing began.

When Holt began to speak, the ruby-eyed assassin listened quietly as she tapped notes on her datapad regarding the key points that he made. She executed a quick search via the Holonet regarding the stohl and she found information regarding their domestication as pets. Almost immediately, she saw that most breeds had their poison sacs removed, but that a few brave (or stupid) owners opted to not remove them from their pets.

After the sharp-featured man finished his initial lecture and opened the floor, Celessa waited until after Damien and Scherezade spoke before voicing her own thoughts.

“I’d like to note that most stohl have their poison sacs removed, but their bite is still quite lethal on its own, especially if they manage to strike the jugular.” Celessa paused as a stream of data came over her HUD regarding Liquid Ion Sugar and Karkmatter. “In any event, I would like to have a disguise as well, perhaps as a dancer or a slave if the target is one to hire them, though I lack the necessary contacts to facilitate that.” Celessa finished as she slid her datapad into a slot on her utility belt and shifted her gaze back to Scherezade.

“Ms. deWinter, would you let me use yours?”

 

[Zane DeZorroe]

Location: The Rookery
Equipment: 2 Shota Lightsabers, Plastoid Brest Plate
Tags: [member="Celessa"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Damien Wynter"] [member="Holt"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"]

Oz had managed to "sneak" his way into the breifing room along with Raz, not wanting to really draw any attention to himself. Not that he was shy or concerned, he just didn't care to make a scene. Seeing some familiar faces from his last mission he wasn't sure if these were going to be his co-workers so to speak. Instead of taking a seat the Arkanian opted to stand behind them instead. Looming over [member="Celessa"] and [member="Scherezade deWinter"].

When the man in charge ([member="Holt"]) began to spoke on the mission, briefing them which quickly intrigued by what their task was. He'd personally never had a run in with the Force Order before, instead he spent nearly all his time around Hutt Space before getting employed by The Ministry. When the mission leader was done speaking, Oz began to raise his hand to speak, but mid way he stopped and put it down as Damien spoke. Hearing their comment on the pets, Oz would roll his eyes if he could.

Then after that Scherezade spoke, asking about the ships and talked about how they wanted to disguise themselves. Then Celessa spoke after. Hearing her speaking about diesguising as a dancer or slave made Oz clench his fist. Aided by his cybernetics his clenched grip became so tight it was easy for the room to hear cracking from it. But Oz kept his cool. "Miss Celessa, if you so desire, I have more then enough contacts that could help you help you in the pursuit of desguising as a salve or dancer." Though it pained him to willingly partake in even pretending to make someone a slave, he wouldn't doubt it being possibly very effective. "Given imperial history with slavery The Moff would probably be willing to buy one. Me on the other hand, I doubt even with a need for man power a Moff would hire an Arkanian, I have enough personal wealth from my time bounty hunting to go in as a wealthy resort goer."

Looking back to Holt Oz finally raised his hand before speaking. Much like a student in a classroom. "Sir, would it possibly be better if we capture The Moff for interrogation slash questioning? They could possibly give us valuable and lead to information regarding other would be warlords planning to act against The Confederacy and her interests."

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Location: Briefing Room, The Rookery
Equipment: Bio link
Actual look: link
Tags: [member="Holt"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Celessa"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"] | [member="Damien Wynter"] | [member="Oz Verde"]

---

Not much time has passed, three other individual came in to the room, a woman and two man. It became clear to her the newcomer woman and Holt know each other. Maybe she wrong, but she didn’t think so… maybe it doesn’t matter after all. And finally Holt start to speak. She listened carefully the briefing.

Small icy planet, her favourite; the base looked to military base. Ingrid was convinced the base surely heavy guarded. She raised her eyebrow, when Holt mentioned the native fur things. What a kind officer. She was not used to her superiors warn her to the danger. That was new, again. But pleasant… new exceptionally.

Sabotage and assassination; interesting jobs. One is better than the other. Hard choice. And jokes, form one of the newcomers. Jokes, she didn’t like them, when it comes to work. She thought she’ll append something the topic or just ask, but the others did it before Ingrid could have spoken a single word.

”I’m a qualified assassin and too, I can disguise myself or others… and I can play anything or anyone if you want. Dancer, slave, solider, mercenary, etc.”

When [member="Oz Verde"] asked the capture part, Ingrid looking up to Holt. That was very interesting question. The killing part was easier then the capturing. She didn’t know what was Holt’s plan, but if the order was the assassination… maybe it’s too dangerous to let the moff lives. She hoped they’ll have answers to this.

 

[Damien Wynter]

Equipment List​

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Location: The Rookery, Conference Room​

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Tags: [member="Celessa"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Holt"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] [member="Oz Verde"]​

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At Scherezade's suggestion, Damien made his way over to the concessions and began a desperate search for Nerf nuggets. Ronto wraps, Shroomchips, and Sourfry were all present. However, a quick rummage yielded no Nerf nuggets. Obviously unsatisfied, the assassin started nibbling on the end of a dried kelp strip. What kind of catering tray didn't include nuggets of any variety? He should've joined the Sith Empire.​

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He looked down at his datapad, going through the information deWinter had just wired through. Interesting, a self-manufactured product that could critically disable a ship's key systems. It would certainly serve their purpose, but as she mentioned, the real issue would be smuggling it in in the first place.​

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As he mulled the problem over, he heard someone mention something about not killing the Moff. That's why he had signed up in the first place! First no nuggets, then no killing? These people were practically begging for him to leave now and join the insurgency.​

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"Alright, alright, alright, hold the holocommunicator. I feel like leaving this guy alive is a mistake. We kill him now, make his death public, the insurgency's over. No more problems for us. If we keep him alive it gives these people a reason to keep fighting. If you want me to beat a little info out of him before I stick a knife through his head I'm open to that, but I say he doesn't leave the compound alive."​

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He turned back to the floating holographic image of the Liquid Ion Sugar. Getting that bad boy past the guards would definitely be a problem, but he had gotten drunk with enough Outer Rim smugglers to give him some insight as to how this might work.​

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"Ok, assuming that not many people know about this stuff or it's capabilities it might not be too difficult to get inside. By itself, the guards won't let it past the front gates. That's where you come in." Damien pointed a dramatic finger at his compatriot [member="Oz Verde"]. "If you're going in disguised as a wealthy benefactor, we could send you in with a bunch of extravagant gifts for the Moff. Most of these guards grew up in poverty, they won't know what half the stuff is. They'll assume the ion sugar is just some foreign luxury and let it pass right through."​

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The assassin gave a satisfied nod, that could definitely work. He knew for a fact with large gift imports the guards were too lazy to fact-check every single item, making it a lot easier to get something nefarious through security. Seeing as how this was custom technology, they probably wouldn't think twice about letting it through.​

 

[Ciri Jade]

Equipment: CS-21 Combat Stealth Suit, Corvus-type Chronometer
Weapon: A-180 Blaster Pistol
Tools: 3 Data Spikes, Heavily Encrypted Datapad
Tags: [member="Holt"], [member="Celessa"], [member="Scherezade deWinter"], [member="Ingrid L'lerim"], [member="Razelle Breuner"], [member="Damien Wynter"], [member="Oz Verde"]

Slipping into the meeting mere seconds before [member="Holt"] had started the briefing, the Raven slid into a seat. For a time, she only listened to the words spoken by everyone else in the room, preferring not to speak unless she had a need to. Hearing out the details of the target planet and the target himself, she input the name of the target into her datapad. To her, the choice of planet and other minute details called out to her. As her own datapad received the file on the mission, Ciri took a moment to scan through it.

"Judging by his defenses, the Moff may be seeking one with technical skill to keep them up and running. At least long enough for his forces to gather in preparation for his last hoorah as it were. An easy enough opening to ensure at least one side of the equation won't be a problem." Ciri spoke up at last.

"Moff Terrus is certainly desperate if the appearances are to be believed. However, if he wishes to successfully carry out operations in CIS Space, I feel there may be information that eludes our eyes. Let's say, hypothetically, this act is not one sanctioned by the remaining First Order hierarchy. The assets in question would be of the Moff's own and anything else would come from outside aid. Cutting off the head is an effective way to cull an insurrection.. however, who is to say that supporters in the shadows would not simply back yet another if someone like the Moff had a similar ideal?"

Hearing [member="Scherezade deWinter"]'s mention of needing details, Ciri nodded in her direction. "All I would need is access to the base's systems and I can get us any information you'll need. Ship manifest, troop numbers, even the Moff's number one fan."

With that said, the Raven sets her datapad into her lap, relaxing in her chair.

 

[Holt]

Tag: [member=Razelle Breuner"] | [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] | [member="Celessa"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Damien Wynter"] | [member="Oz Verde"] | [member="Ciri Jade"]


A lot of people wondered why Holt had chosen to be a behind-the-scenes Rook instead of an adventurous Raven or murderous Crow. Moments like these made him wonder that, too. He kept his head bowed and his tongue in check, thankfully, as some rather lucrative ideas were put on display before [member="Oz Verde"] finally asked a somewhat intelligent question.

"Were Moff Terrus a sane man and one who hadn't isolated himself from the rest of former First Order high command, then yes, he'd be of a small value to us. But as Raven Jade said, the computers would hold any valuable information that you should extract before blowing them up, preferably along with the Moff himself." Holt gave a slight cough. The room looked more full than it had a while ago, with several 'sneaky' spies seeming to have snuck in at the last second. He'd given an inwardly sigh, but at the very least he had a somewhat full team to work with.

"As for the rest of the base, to your disappointment I do not want you trying to blow it up yourselves. Whatever your skills may be, they are infinitely more useful to us if you are alive to use them. Thanks to the Moff's paranoia, Ichtor 8 is not a soft target; the purpose of you taking out the Moff and extracting intelligence will be to clear the path, so to speak, for the Confederacy Defence Force or whatever forsaken military is assigned to deal with the mess. If you see an opportunity to sabotage a cannon or piece of equipment, I won't stop you, but no one should do anything that might compromise the mission or sacrifice their lives. Raising the alarm also makes the base more alert for a military attack, and the CDF wants to catch them off-guard, preferably."

Holt cleared his throat. He'd done a lot of talking (it felt like weeks to him), but he knew that the short-attention-spanned agents were looking for some red meat, and he felt obliged to toss it at them. "We want a quick success, Agents. Transportation is in the hangar, and good luck. You'll want it."

 

[Damien Wynter]

Equipment List​

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Location: The Rookery, Hangar​

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Tags: [member="Celessa"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Holt"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] [member="Oz Verde"]​

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The assassin shrugged his shoulders at the Rook's orders. He had given his best input, but at the end of the day it wasn't really his voice that mattered here. He was a Crow, a tool of death and malice for the Confederacy. His job wasn't to think, it was to kill. They were giving him an opportunity to execute his skill set on a high-value target, so he'd be getting his fill of 'fun' before the day was over one way or another.​

​

He whistled as he walked down the hall towards the fortress's hangar, doing a quick self gear check on the way. Powerblade? Check. Omni-tool? Check. Kelp strips he had smuggled out of the briefing room in his cargo pockets? Check. Satisfied that he was more than prepared for any scenario that might arise, he pulled out his datapad and pulled up a holonet auction he had been keeping his eye on. It was a pair of songsteel blades crafted by a master weaponsmith on Echan. Capable of deflecting blaster bolts and combating lightsabers alike, Damien knew he simply had to have them. The only issue was he was a bit short on credits at the moment, but he had a few ideas as to how this job might turn his fortune around for him. Smiling, he slid the datapad back into his discreet-looking black bag.​

​

Entering the hangar he immediately spotted what was likely to be their ride to Ictor 8. It looked to be some kind of stealth frigate, though he couldn't exactly tell at first glance. A lone man typing away on a datapad stood leaning on the hull near the cockpit, someone Damien could only assume to be the pilot. He approached the man with a wide grin on his face and his arms outstretched, "Larry, great to see you! How long has it been?" The puzzled man (whose name was most certainly not Larry) looked up from his datpad to see Damien closing in for an affectionate embrace. "I don't know wh-" The man's surprised exclamation was cut off by the assassin's crushing hug.​

​

"It's ok, buddy. You don't have to say a thing. I missed you too." Damien broke off the embrace, giving the genuinely confused pilot a pat on the back as he climbed into the ship. It wasn't much, but he saw a few ratty-looking cushioned seats here and there which he could only assume the Confederacy had purchased for cheap from some sort of yard sale. He spotted a particularly comfy looking sofa in one of the corners, flopping into it like a depression-era American worker relaxing after a hard day's work at the canning factory. In truth, he had stayed up pretty late the night previous watching Real Housewives of Ryloth and hadn't gotten much sleep since. By the time his fellow birds made their way onto the ship, they would find him knocked out in the chair probably dreaming about torturing some insurgent leader or assassinating a Sith Empire official.​

​

It was a long ride to Ichtor 8, why not catch some Z's on the way?​

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Location: Briefing Room, The Rookery
Equipment: Bio link
Actual look: link
Tags: [member="Holt"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Celessa"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"] | [member="Damien Wynter"] | [member="Oz Verde"]

---

Ingrid agreed with Damien, they need to kill the moff, not just kidnap him. Maybe the problem is they are too many with too many opinions. She didn’t know Holt why recruit everyone, one people or two, maximum three are the ideal number. The Witch didn’t know the rest of her party, so there was a problem too. If someone be caught, or capture that person give up everyone else; and all they will die without kill the moff.

Too risky. Not the job, she did some such job before, so if they need, she will go alone and kill that man. No; that kind of thoughts - kidnapping and let him live until… - make this job risky and dangerous. She immersed her thoughts until Holt start to speak again. When this happened Ingrid turned her head front of him.

For one moment after Holt’s speak she grimace. So they need to go to the moff as blind. No blueprints, maps, codes, files from the moff and his people, or something else, just nothing. But they want quick success. Of course they want. This all thing looks like they send them into die. She felt this. In the end the Witch shakes her head.

She want so said to Holt, “if we didn’t come back, don’t be surprised!”, but she kept these to herself at the end. She stood up from her place and headed out. In the door Ingrid stopped for a moment and looking back.

”Someone else is coming?” she asked.

She waited for answers from the others, but not so long, maybe five-ten seconds. If she didn’t get answer, or someone join to her she’ll walking down to the hangar and there waiting to the start.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Location: Conference Room
Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Holt"] [member="Ingrid L'lerim"] [member="Damien Wynter"] [member="Razelle Breuner"]

The time for talking was done. There were still a whole lot contradicting opinions, and there was still that whole thing where blowing the place up or outright murdering a man in cold blood might end up being the thing they needed to do. But, there was a semblance of unity. There was enough to get started.

And so with a smirk, and a quick wink to her godmother Razelle, Scherezade bounced off her seat and headed to leave the room. "Small detour to Geonosis," she announced, "we're not getting anywhere near there without a lot of gallons of Liquid Ion Sugar and Karkmatter. At worst, they'll be returned when we're all done."

~ Scherezade out ~