Faction Ravelin (Revelry and Pain) [NIO/Enclave]

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

3rd post
OBJECTIVE 1: REVELRY IN THE QUIET
THE_WOAD
​

Tags: Annor E-059 Ewan Paircrit Konrad Bolter Aemilio Valaar Julian Qar

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 3

​

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

Oh? What's this I see in the eyes of the inmate? This could be an actual bullseye, ol' boy....​

The old Woad was hoping for a bite sooner rather than later, knowing for a fact that proverbially poking the bear in his ribs with a stick, and with the right amount of force, could primarily yield a truth or two out of the irritation-factor alone, let alone planting a seed for the urge to verbalise revealing corrections that gave more away than they'd be comfortable with. Whatever was about to transpire, an entire tempest of truths, the perfect revelatory storm of what he really thought about the whole affair, all of it was on the precipice of being spewed back at him, and to near-vitriolic tones of intensity. This was what the Lord-General wanted, something Annor could actually read that differed to the dejected silence she was growing visibly bored of studying; and yet, when Paircrit was done weighing the wording of his response, Barran inwardly assumed the Elite-Trooper would be glad to have something more meaningful to go on, happier than ever to adapt to the instigated revelation as it transpired before his very eyes.

'First of all, M'Lord, thank you for receiving me in such a place. I must admit that it changes from the ISB jails. Don't get me wrong, I don't flatter you for free, I just recognize good taste.'

Whit is it wae the youngsters an' their love o' the pomp these days? Forget it, Erskine. Jus' leave it be.​

Despite the mild internalised complaint, the Lord-General was still quite aware of what else was being said in the open, taking due note of the fact the complement was delivered well enough to be considered sincere by most, though anything would've appeared to show a sort of grandeur to one who'd been interned by the ISB for any varied, extensive spans of time. It would've been seen as a grand blessing alone just to see some sunlight again, (or to feel the wind blowing through one's own hair in the same context) everything the free souls took for granted would be viewed as something grandiose to the many inmates of the ISB prison-system, perhaps even more so after surviving a full term on Prefsbelt IV, but Lord Erskine had no such lattermost designs on young Ewan - not whilst a sincere response was just a moment away from being divulged to every pair of ears in the room.

The trooper's facial expressions even became more serious, like he was attain a determined focus, almost a state of survivalist fighting-flow, going far beyond what one might consider as portrayal. This was something else, this was one who was remembering what came before imprisonment, one who was on the verge of recalling himself into a traumatic self-simulation flashback.

'Resentments... I never said or assumed this. If this is the conclusion of the reports you are telling me about, I am sorry but it is not. It's all just a combination of unfortunate circumstances. Once again, and I say it, since the first day at the Imperial Academy to this day, I have never dropped the Empire out of my heart. Again, reports prior to my departure will remind you that I myself pulled the trigger when my unit discovered the rebel pocket my parents were leading. Once again, it was not the resentment against the Empire that made me leave but rather the shame that these two faithful servants of our great Empire were in fact traitors.'

Closing his eyes as the inmate sighed with a dismayed intensity, Erskine could feel the pain in the trooper's words, and to a much harsher extent than everyone around him, as there was part of Lord Erskine's ancestry that still had some of that rebelliousness coursing through every capillary, vein and artery that gave vitality to everything his body asked of them. Even the act of joining the New Imperial Order publicly (exactly as the Stormchaser had in 863 ABY) would've been viewed as an act of sedition or outright rebellion by a faction that still retained a fair deal of their supremacy at the time, retaining a lot of losses to the upstarts at the time as well, but no doubt remaining a steady-holding menace before their downfall, enough of a threat that the Sith Empire's denizen still felt safe enough to throw around such terms like,"Sedition", and,"Rebellion", with an assumed impunity that had engrained itself in their culture for centuries before then.

'So what? What would you have expected from me? That I remain quietly in front of my subordinates after this incident? I have certainly been a coward, but not against the New Imperial Order, cowardly in the face of my men and myself, for failing to take responsibility for the acts of my family. So if you ask me to sign a document that says I deserted to harm our Empire, sorry, that would be a lie, and I won't lie while looking a high officier in the eye.'

'Quite right, lad. But these words of looking an officer in the eye mean little and less to me these days.', Lord Erskine began, letting the inmate gaze on the real horror in his eyes, eyes that Ewan might not have wanted to look into so much after that. Mildly reddened, with a darkness on his eyelids that either hinted at a lack of sleep, or endless trauma or both, adding to the cold blue of his irises, Paircrit would've known by then that sometimes looking an Imperial officer in the eye isn't always the best course of action. Sitting up proper and leaning forward, Barran continued,'Y'see, some deserters go AWOL solely through fear of the kind of person they might become. What they might see in the mirror should they continue down a particular path - but you'll never be that man.... That's for men like me to become, one you needn't ever ponder on becoming.', maintaining a calm demeanour throughout, despite the fact the subject matter was beginning to affect his mood.

'So here's what I think, it wasn't cowardice that drove your heart to behave in such a manner. As it is no shame to admit that love ruled it that day, an' to the extent that even God would've forbade me to shoot my own parents; after all, these were the very people who brought you into the realm of the living, were they not? Cowardice won't keep a blade from a rebel's throat.... Not with your training, an' especially not with the experience you gained after that training.'

'Anybody else, an' you'd be giving the order like you were ordering DRINKS AT A FUCKEN CANTINA!!!!', The Stormchaser continued, leaning forward as he spoke until he paused, looking Annor's way to find her looking back with (wrathfully) wide-eyed nodding confirmation, understanding the Spec-Ops training much better than Lord Erskine ever could. Elite-Troopers, as the Lord-General remembered from an outside perspective, were known for their effectiveness in Spec-Ops theatres of war as much as those of a particular conventional nature. Conferring the latter part of his process, the Woad regained eye-contact with the young inmate, and lowering his tone so as not to disturb readers in other wings of the library, Barran drawled,'I mean, how else would an actual killing-machine, like you, break at the pinnacle moment? Had to be closer to home than a man's feigned assumption of cowardice after all. But sadly, that's the only question I'll get to ask. I leave the second and third question to the initiative my peers can offer, other insights perhaps.', letting the rage slip away as quickly as it had risen up from within.

'Sorry, lad. I've just gone an' made myself just one of three makeshift tribunal members today. I don't trust myself beyond this point - but I'll keep my verdict silent until the last o' the others is finally uttered.... Up first, Colonel Konrad Bolter, commander of the 66th Armoured. That's right, you're in the presence of the commander of Hell's Hammers! And you will accord in our reverence of this man, according in our sincerity towards him with the same vehemence at that.'

Standing up with one last warning glance to one he was beginning to sympathise with, there was no doubt the lad's lack of dignity on the matter had sat poorly with him, but in the warning glance alone, hope could still be found if Paircrit was wise enough to show some humility and full-transparency when it mattered. Putting a kindly hand on the Elite-Trooper's shoulder, Barran muttered,'Sorry about that, Annor.... You're up after the Colonel by the way, I'll let you know why this subject hit close to home some other time.', before turning to close in on the cigar he'd left behind. Misha had been watching everything from the window-side of the Lord-General's reading bench, with eyes firmly on the inmate until Erskine stood up to take his place beside her, there to calm the tigress and assure her there was no threat to be perceived from his raised temper, fiery though it may have been before.

'Helluva day so far.... Quite the rollercoaster already, so it is.'

 

[Jan Beroya]

I N Q U I S I T O R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CRYSTAL GARDENS | RAVELIN
TAG: Lucien Dooku
ROCKIN' SOME DRESS

IN THE VALLEY​

"Lucien is fine, Raina. We're far enough away from the Royal Courts of Serenno to set aside the etiquette." He chuckled, a shrug of the shoulders bringing a close to the formalities. "Besides, it's never been my style. The old guard deems it necessary, but here? Nah."

Raina let out a snort just as the steward returned with smoky drink.
"Good. Because I don't deem it necessary. Eggshells are meant to be broken." she quipped as she took the drink, eyeing the substance critically. At least they got decent umbrellas.

"I've been meaning to meet you for a while, Raina Demici. My exile from Serenno left me a dark horse, in a manner of speaking, so my dealings with the nobles of our great Serenno have been a mixed-bag for the most part. Some see me as nothing more than a continuation of the tyranny brought into play by my grandfather, while others remain open to the reforms I've passed, or simply exclaim their impartiality."Lucien locked eyes with her, the smirk simmering down just enough to break the façade of the suave & nonchalant man that he tended to put on."What say you, miss Raina? I'd appreciate your honesty-- not on behalf of House Demici per se, but yourself."

Raina leaned a hip against the railing, one hand on her hip.
"Crash through the door, why don't you?" she said, taking a sip. She looked out over the city for a moment before turning her violet gaze back to Lucen. "You're not your grandfather, that much I can say. If you were, you would have had a rebellion on your hands by now. But if you want your people in your pocket, then stop bootlicking and be the ruler you claim to be." she said, the usual sarcastic tone tuned down a notch or two. She straightened up slightly. "Will you return the planets to the jewels they once were or are you content with where they are now?" she then asked him squarely.

No one ever accused her of having tact.

Her father would most probably do cartwheels. What came out of her insolent mouth wasn't exactly the most Imperial thing to say. Not that she was the most orthodox Imperial to begin with, despite her occupation. She might have gone and put her foot in it. But pacifism hardly ever yielded results of any noteworthy nature.

You either tackle the Reek by the horn or not at all.

 

[Konrad Bolter]

T Y R A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL ARMY
112th ARMORED ASSAULT REGIMENT
66th ELITE ARMORED COMPANY
'HELLS HAMMERS'
DECEASED Erskine Barran | Annor E-059 | Ewan Paircrit

​

It was all in all good to be out of the deployed environment, slaying brutal enemies on some far off world. But he yearned to return regardless, this feeling, this pit of uselessness that churned every minute he spent away from the commander's seat of his Cataphract. But in the end, he knew he had to cherish the laziness for it drifted away just as swiftly as it came.

"I'm not slighted it by in all truth, Lord General. Didn't much care for that sort've liability anyway. I'm not career climber, I wanna lead men into battle and strike to kill the enemy. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. The sort of office drivel they damned me to as an eight bar made me want to face down the barrel several times. Let me keep command of my Hammers and point me and my boys in the direction of the enemy and I'll point you to where they once stood." Bolter remarked, taking in another draw from his cigara.

"I'd imagine we'll be back out to deploy against the Maw sometime soon, hm? I hear it's heating up with the Alliance as well though- could certainly make for more insurgency problems. My favorite." Being the Archaisian Security Forces veteran he was, he certainly had a knack for counter-terrorism and anti-insurgency 'bandit fighting' operations, to be put in that muck again certainly would be returning in pace.

When he was called to the impromptu tribunal, his eyes widened as he leaned forward in his seat once more before speaking up.

"Empire was started by deserters so it's hard to talk too ill on the man. I'd say he's earned his fair shake at redemption in the crucible. But you only get one, not by the lack of generosity of any of us...but our enemies are not too kind to mistakes. Seen it myself far too many times. Do as the good General says and you'll end up just fine." Bolter remarks.

​

[/QUOTE]

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
THE FEL REDOUBT
Teror

LISTEN
​

"You do...and you always will." Rurik iterated. Perhaps uncharacteristic of the answer expected of the man of iron, the very paragon of what it meant to be an Imperial Knight, ever presently tempered from the darkness, tempered from his emotions.

"It isn't a matter of crucifying those feelings, but controlling them. Anyone can meditate and put themselves at ease to block out negative thoughts and emotions but it isn't a matter of controlling them when in a state of rest, but controlling them in moments of stress and anxiety. That is when they will gnaw at you the hardest when your life is at risk, you will back into anger and rage and once you have, you have already lost." Rurik iterated, pulling a training saber and eventually flicking the activation so that the argent blade hisses to life in its characteristic crackle.

"To let your emotions control and dictate your actions and instincts is to be slave to them, to be disciplined in your control of your feelings is to be free of such bonds." Rurik said before motioning her back into the sparring area as he unclasped the argent cloak from his shoulders, letting it ease behind him only to reveal more of the iron skin he donned beneath.

"No do relent, do not hold back in your assault. Strike at me and channel all of your anger into each cut of the blade. Embrace it." He said, speaking with a Sith's tongue, not because he believed a single word of it but because he would soon demonstrate how such an approach would lead to her downfall. He all but offered his form to be cut down as he held his arms slightly out and open for her assault, one of many opening stances to the seventh form, the way of the Vornskr.

 

[Annor E-059]

Annor E-059
Objective 1: Revelry In The Quiet
Writing With: DECEASED Erskine Barran , Konrad Bolter , Ewan Paircrit
The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District, Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

Annor sits in her shiny black armour; its' bright gilded stripes cast her in high distinction. Annor's eyes study the accused from behind a pair of cold polarized eye lenses. The only thing that could be seen where her cerulean spheres ought to be is a pair of mirrors casting Paircrit's reflection. Annor is given pause when the man speaks of finding his parents among the rebels' ranks. Annor listened to Erskine ramble aggressively; her usually stoic apathy gives way, and she turns her gaze toward the Lord-General for a moment. "Have you had to watch your father, mother or children die, Lord-General? I wonder.." The uncharacteristically compassionate thoughts pass through Annor's mind without a word.

Swivelling helmeted head back toward Ewan Paircrit, The rubberish seal around Annor's throat deflates in a hiss tilting head. Annor reaches up and pulls the Black masque of a Stormtrooper clear of her head, revealing the fair complexion of youth and strands of whispy straw-coloured hair held back in a loose unkempt ponytail. Annor's helmet finds a perch on the reading table with gentle consideration. Now, her piercing nigh unblinking Cerulean orbs with the weight of a withered veteran onto the accused, Ewan Paircrit. "No hesitation to destroy." Annor pauses to study Ewan's movements; her own features remain steel bar the slight narrow of eyelids.

"But it broke your mind." Annor takes a moment to observe and take in Paircrit's reaction. "The decision to abandon your unit is yours alone." Annor leans to the advance and rests on forearms and elbows. "Love for the Empire?" Annor scoffs loudly. Paircrit's claim to blind patriotism is disgusting to her and suppresses a snarl, albeit the corners of her mouth tugged tight for a second. "No, being a weapon and nothing more was too much." Annor turns palms upward to the ceiling and reveals both empty as a goodwill gesture. "The Empire had given you nothing but took from you everything." Even as Annor's voice chastises Ewan Paircrit angrily, her eyes look sad and woeful as they relax.

Desperately trying to conceal her bubbling sadness and rage, confronted with Paircrit's selflessness to serve a state when that service required he happily extinguish his own parents, she was furious. Annor rises from her chair with a leisurely sluggishness, picks up her helmet and slides it back over her crown. An audible hiss is heard as the seal inflates.

 

[Jordi Massad]

1st post
OJECTIVE 2: PAIN IN THE STREETS
SCIMITAR

COMPNOR/Spec-Ops: Nuruodo'kal'brast

SIA/Rebels: Rebel Yell Traden Avarice Keiran Varn

SCIMITAR: A SELF-ACTUALISED AGENT - PROLOGUE

Western Industrial Sector, Beriac Plaza,
Kuat City, Kuat (Summer of 874 ABY)

The rain looks beautiful tonight, feels beautiful.... Feels - almost like Paradise.​

Covered in the blood of goons, gangsters, druglords and human-traffickers of the vilest sort, the rain had gotten heavy enough that it had become torrential for the first time since he arrived, washing the blood from Massad's face, hair and clothing with ease; but his hands were telling a different story, covered down to the pores in the blood of his enemies, telling a story of violence that would haunt the Kandaran's dreams for a while - much like they did for the solo-raid he endeavoured and accomplished on his homeworld.

'So this is what reaffirmed faith achieves, even for the poor examples like me.'

All the most expensive vehicles, all the sleekest speeders in the compound's parking lot had been (correctly, though he wouldn't have known this until the final headcount of the raid had been finalised) assumed to belong to the Sorranis cartel's highest-ranking leaders from among their most loyal plazas, and summarily bombed by remote-detonation in varyingly short distances away from the compound itself. Continuous plumes of smoke would litter the north and south approaches to the area, showing off the Kandaran's handiwork for all to see, bringing out a laughter from within that could only be described as the purest, most unadulterated exaltation, a feeling that Massad never expected to experience so early into his career with COMPNOR. It brought rushes to Jordi's nerves, giving him goosebumps and strengthening his heart with something of an intoxicating effect - making the success feel all the more surreal for as long as there was time to cherish it.

<"Scimitar to Little Angel! Compound cleared, mission complete.... Get the lads to bring a transport speeder, it's time I RTB. Scimitar out!">​

Turning back to his side of the road, Massad noticed an overpassing bridge to his left, and began to make his way there to light up a cigarette with soaking it with rain droplets in the process. As the Kandaran strolled his way down the street at a leisurely pace, the downpour would continue to soak him to the bone as he steadily closed the few-hundred feet between the compound and the transport overpass beyond, letting more and more of the blood wash off him, almost as if the rain itself was cleansing his soul in the process. However, looking down at his hands, Jordi could see that the rain wasn't cutting through the thicker-set coagulation on the surface area of his palms, fingertips and all up to the wrist and just beyond it, given no choice but to use an already blood-soiled shirt to wipe his hands and give the rain a fighting chance to wash the last of it out.

'Hah! As if wet cloth is going to get under the fingernails effectively- ah, so be it. The shirt was ruined anyway.'

By the time the Kandaran finally had clean hands, he was just a stone's throw away from the overpass-tunnel, walking through the sounds of screams, talkative gathering-crowds and approaching sirens; soaked from head to toe, soaked everywhere but his trouser pockets, flimsily shielded from the worst of the downpour by the bloodied shirt that flapped to and fro on it - ended up shielding the cigarettes and the lighter in the left pocket in particular.

It was just enough that both would still be dry by the time Massad was shielded from the storm, given respite by the brickwork of the transport tunnel alone, rejoicing success and the time alone to smoke, in the peace and quiet of his solitary silence. Reflecting on his victory as his lift to Belkora's command-installation were still making their way to his exact location, Jordi would finally take his chance to slowly enjoy his well-earned cigarette in the attempt to contextualise the scale of his actions' implications, what it meant for the power COMPNOR would exert over Kuat's new underworld-paradigm henceforth. The Kandaran had just started what had all the makings of a gang-war's first salvos, one that looked to stretch beyond the planet, the other habitable orbs in it's star-system, and other systems within tracing-distance on the Galactic map, and there was nothing stopping him from starting several more in the name of the Empire.

By then, even as the last blood residues dripped into a puddle around his boots, Jordi could feel the power of the strategic permissions that Don had bestowed upon him. Sensing nothing but complete freedom for the first time in his life, though it still felt bittersweet without being able to celebrate his survival with his beloved family there to celebrate it with him, Massad would use this moment to reflect on what his continued survival could do for theirs.

'Someday, perhaps soon if I keep getting this done right, maybe I can bring you all to Ravelin.... This I promise you, from as far as half a galaxy away, you will thrive and prosper - on a world that thrives and prospers like you will someday. This I promise you.'

SCIMITAR: A SELF-ACTUALISED AGENT - PART ONE

Western Slums, Outer Resident-District 5,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 870 ABY)

With the bright lights of the South Imperial Quarter and all the richer backlit Districts, Plazas and Quarters firmly behind him, Massad's passing from the realm of the wealthy to the realm of the destitute had passed by quickly, uneventful to a blessed degree from one side of the three-block divide to the other.

Rebel activity, in the very heart of the Empire, striking out from within the strongest bulwark of Imperial power for centuries; and though Jordi liked the audacity of it all, he knew there was something either deeply unwise or deeply nuanced guiding the hand of rebellion here, somewhere among the slums of the Outer Resident-Districts. Yet the Kandaran couldn't help but wonder what sort of powder-keg awaited the Empire from within depths of the deepest sub-level slums, thinking on how easy it could be for the disenfranchised and the lost to get their hands on black market goods like firearms and ammunition, letting his mind drift on what the right catalyst would be for such a demographic to act out en masse in particular, letting thoughts of the damage such an uprising could do to the face of the Empire's new planetary jewel. 'Wouldn't be pretty for the slumdogs anyway.', Massad eventually admitted to himself, also taking stock of the fact such quelling acts of loyalty never sat well with other Imperial-aligned elements.

It didn't take long before the streets on either side of the main speeder-carriageway that ran through the very center of the slums until it redirected to three other parts of the city, and in seeing and swerving many of them, he realised that Ravelin needed help and needed help fast. Drugs had gotten to the worst of them, with others seemingly earning for pimps and barely scraping by with the same dead looks in their eyes, like the hope had long since abandoned the lower-class citizens of whom the city's officials made a barbed point of constructing intimidatingly high cordons around. The only points of access were by the two checkpoints he had only just passed by with ease, reaping the benefits of carrying an agency badge on his person at all times, making a statement of intent to any and all guards at that checkpoint who dared defy his entry and exit alike.

<"HQ to Scimitar! Verify entry into the slums. We also have some intel for you.">

<"Scimitar to HQ! Entry Verification in progress.... Current coordinates sent! Spill it, please.">

<"We have a potential contact for you on this fine evening, and we have it on good authority that this one's a potential asset in the making.... You're looking for a fellow of Chiss heritage, early thirties. Codename: Pulsar. He'll be your contact in the area tonight, so be sure to find him at the coordinates we're sending you now. Confirm when received.">

<"Confirmed. Scimitar out!">

Interesting, first field-partner - and they might be the smartest for years yet.​

Having gorged himself on every piece of lore and historical material about Grand-Admiral Thrawn in his youth, all the stereotypes on what the Imperial Chiss caste are supposed to be like were on full display for the Kandaran to remember well into adulthood. Despite the fact that every Chiss was different in their own way, and knowing this for a fact after meeting more than his fair share in life already, Jordi still couldn't help but hope for one of their sharpest minds, even if only to make things more interesting for him throughout that night's proceedings. The thought that such sharpness of wit would be needed would cross his mind soon after, understanding then that a smart individual would be needed to help him delegate the city's dark underbelly, especially if any there any hopes of successful counter-insurgencies to be seized so far away from the armed comfort of the guards at the checkpoints behind him.

We'll see how it goes. After all,"Potential asset", could mean anything at this stage of the war.​

 

[Teror]

DEVOUT
T E R O R
THE APPRENTICE
// Rurik Fel \\

THE FEL REDOUBT
​

Eagerly she listened to him, her focus given in full, to hear what it was he would impart upon her. His words struck a note, one of repetition that he had reminded her of many times before. "You always will." Given in answer to her admission to feeling the Darkness creeping through her. She was unsure how true his observation was, though she had little cause to doubt him at all, in truth, there had not been a time in quite a while now that she could recall she did not feel her mind being chewed on by the Dark Side. It was almost comforting in some paradoxical sense, to be told she was not the sole struggle in this, and in a way, his honesty brought relief that nothing else had. It was easier to square her feet to face a threat if she knew how long she must endure it; it was to be unrelenting, then, eternal. So be it.

"It isn't a matter of crucifying those feelings, but controlling them. Anyone can meditate and put themselves at ease to block out negative thoughts and emotions but it isn't a matter of controlling them when in a state of rest, but controlling them in moments of stress and anxiety. That is when they will gnaw at you the hardest when your life is at risk, you will back into anger and rage and once you have, you have already lost."

What he followed with drew her eyes back to his, and she nodded slowly in response, all but confirming the method she was improvising to temper herself was the ideal path to walk. Constant trial in the flames, push through the heat, and grow comfortable dwelling there. She was to become steel. Teror hummed her affirmation, the quiet note departing so as to not interrupt him, and took to motion as he did. The Dathomirian smirked to herself, knowing full well she was about to get utterly humiliated, and with the Knight Commander as a Master, it meant everyone was watching. Never suffering for ego, she found it within her to shrug this notion off, having long since accepted the fact she was to be humbled often. She knew nothing, was nothing-- for now. If she wished to learn her pride had to be swallowed and the dirt ate until she could stand the tests enough to keep it off her tongue.

"No do relent, do not hold back in your assault. Strike at me and channel all of your anger into each cut of the blade. Embrace it."

His instructions raised a tattooed brow, her amber eyes blinking with confusion temporarily in what it was she was tasked with doing. Embrace it? Flirting with the fire now, was she? Surely it was some sort of test, a point he was intent on proving. A lesson to be taught. "Oh this is going to hurt." she chuckled coldly, finally giving a voice to her thoughts. Teror took a moment as he opened himself up, her eyes squeezing shut with the tentative ease back on the reins of her restraint. To act this way was to act against all she had learned thus far, and she found it difficult to open herself up to the flood at all. So much so that her brow pinched and a scowl etched across her tattooed face. Yet slowly the gate was opened, and the corruption was allowed to creep through. It started small, a trickle of the wickedness forced upon her. The desire to inflict pain, to torture those she faced. Then it became a river, coursing wildly as memories were exhumed and forced into her face. Her fruitless struggle against the unseen binds holding her body to the table.

The sunken faces of the witches.

The color of their eyes.

Her own snapped open, her twin hearts pounding so loudly in her ears it was a marvel they could not be heard beyond her, their cadence ushering in a boiling wave of wrath. Hate. Malice. She lunged at him, vaulting with her teeth bared to swoop, aiming to bring her blades down in a flashing arc of blows dealt to his midsection.

 

[Trajan Fett]

BROKEN STEEL
SONS OF MANDALORE
THE OATHSWORN
The Quartermaster

​

"We like to make our presence spare outside of the field of battle. I've hardly been to the Sector myself since we'd reclaimed it. Revelry hasn't been so kind to the Mandalorians in recent years." Volker remarked, a reference to the Red Coronation in years past, what became one of the more influential events of Mandalorian politics which shaped it for the next decade or so to follow. But since the Sith Imperial scouring of their native world, the legacy of the Mandalorians' own follies dimmed in the shadow of their wholesale slaughter.

Perhaps, for the better that they forget.

"Can't say I've heard the name, Alea- but feel free to take a seat if you'd like." He offered, motioning a hand to the seat across from him. He was relatively unphased or at least- gave no visual queue to anything otherwise as she revealed her true face. He'd admit she was kinder to the eyes than many other Mandalorian women who he might've seen better fit under the t-visor than outside of it but he was in the end, a man largely kept temperate and disciplined. Such was his upbringing at the will and means of Kurze and made good on the man whose Beskar'gam he donned now.

"But so how is life in the new Mandalorian colonies, the Enclave had certainly made itself busy in the past few months, since it'd finally realized who its masters were and abandoned the Confederacy- I don't involve myself too much in politics but it is reassuring to see Mandalorians congregate somewhere that isn't home and do well enough at it. Can't say I've worked too much with the Enclave but given the Empire's cozying with them, I'm sure that'll change soon enough." He remarked.

 

[Lawq Vasrell]

Lawq huffed as she regarded the Shistavanens, mercenaries and others. While not annoyed, the lithe little out-of-place tomboy seemed to be looking for aid in the wrong place, or perhaps those warriors were discussing matters more important to them then some sort of local crime. So, it was with a soft and disappointed sigh that the batlike little creature used her free hand to carefully and casually scratch along the exposed flesh of her black-furred naval, her brown tail flicking behind her in slight annoyance - the security at this event was so lax that it was indeed a wonder that this gala hadn't been attacked yet! Nodding a small farewell and giving a polite wave to the group of obviously-intimate mercs and well-dressed Imperials of one stripe or another, the thief was certain she could have been more successful if she had more ne'er-do-wells to target, with security this absent and incompetent!

After she found the security team, Lawq resolved to get a drink from the bar.

Offering a single apology for a clawed ankle as she made her way swiftly jogging back in the direction towards the hallway and the refresher where that poor Sullustan (thankfully) still waited, the alien nearly ran into a black-suited, lanky Imperial with unusually-long hair. With an exasperated sigh and an annoyed lowering of her ears, the Qom Jha lowered her gaze to the Officer's rank insignia almost instantly and narrowed her eyes at the thin human.

"Look, I don't even care if you're with security or not at this point - I need to explain something and show you a special holo-recording that your superiors are going to be very, very interested in..."

Grabbing the man a tad rudely without waiting for a response, the Qom Jha's clawed feet shuffled along the hallway towards the refresher where the shaking, pointing Sullustan man waited, his legs crossed in a ridiculous and childish manner...

 

[Lucien Dooku]

CRYSTAL GARDENS NIGHT CLUB // RAVELIN
vibes | Jan Beroya | Drip ​

---

Golden orbs glanced off to his side as the woman addressed him in return, delivering upon him more than her fair share of signature bluntness in response to the question he imposed a few moments before. There were no points in which he disagreed with what was said, nor did he appear to be thrown off his game by the straightforwardness that came at the expense of any ego that may have been present.

He was nonchalant in his posture, resting casually against the balcony's railing as he nursed the drink in his hand. Only by the end of her speech did he appear to shift ever-so-subtly in his posture, a devilish grin being present on his face as he moved to address her in response.

"You're right on a few things." Luc spoke up, casually swirling the contents of his glass around as he leveled his gaze away from her, and towards the skyline at once. "I'm not content with seeing neither of the worlds under my guidance being nothing short of the jewels they were meant to be. My grandfather was content with seeing Serenno under the heel of the Sith, content with the appeal of total authority, security and order, at the expense of the people's liberty and freedom."

His gaze traced across the sky, idly watching the passing lights on the adjacent rows of airspeeders lining the Ravelin sky-lanes. "Rights which I refuse to bend even an inch away from their hands, even if it means challenging the authority of the Emperor on their behalf. My people didn't bleed and die to obtain their freedom, just to see it stripped from them in exchange for a false sense of utopian order that will never truly be realized."

He shrugged, just as his eyes once more met with her own.

"And you were right on another point, Raina. I'm not my grandfather, as I've never been one to back down in the face of injustice, even when faced against overwhelming odds-- or even my own brother." ​

 

[Ewan Paircrit]

Place : Objective 1 : Revelry In The Quiet ,Bastion, City of Ravelin
Tags : Open
Seated with : DECEASED Erskine Barran , Annor E-059, Konrad Bolter
Inventory : outfit


Ewan had wanted to stay as factual as possible, in reality it wasn't to give a plethora of details and be complained about, to receive any empathy, but because his words oozed truth. Perhaps he did not fully understand the issues at stake at the time, was leaving ISB jail a strategy to destabilize him, or was it a first step towards redemption?
The words of the young sergeant, or ex-sergeant, seemed to have in any case caused something, a reaction, to his interlocutors. He didn't have time to answer as his three interrogators chained him up with a flood of words.

The Lord who was leading the interview reacted rather well to his speech at first, but then got angry. Well no, he wasn't really angry with him, but wandered a bit beyond the topics that brought them together today. Like if Ewan's reminded him his iwn past. He introduced him to one of his interlocutors, another cigar smoker, who seemed quite out of place here, so much did he seem made for action rather than discussion. The officier was Coming from an armored regiment he leaded, Ewan wondered if he knew he had first trained in armored vehicles himself before joining the commandos, but it must have been in his file. The officer as robust by his stature as his words evoked a point that the outcast joined, only the acts on the ground really speak to men of their caliber, especially in an empire founded by "traitors" who made the facts speak for founding their great faction.
It was the Elite Trooper who seemed to take this interview most personally. The helmet was hidding his expressions and the timbre of his voice for a while, Ewan even saw himself through the eyepieces, before it was finally removed and revealed the face of a hard, hardened woman. She told him about what the empire was taking, what the empire was giving, the responsibility for his actions. She really touched him, both by her reaction and her ambivalent words, which tended to justify his actions and then condemn them. She and the Lord seemed touched by his situation, did they share a similar past?
He passively smiled at the three judges before finally speaking.

"I hear what you are saying to me, all of you, and know how to recognize the value and the quality of the tribunal which receives me today. "

Ewan swallowed before moving on. His words would be decisive in whether the next rotation would take place in an ISB jail or in uniform on the field.

"We always have a choice, I made decisions, sometimes good and sometimes bad, which in the end bring us all together today.
I am very pragmatic, I only believe what I see, and I prefer actions to words. "

He offered his most determined gaze, which showed his unwavering desire to make the truth triumph.

« Only acts count, and acts analyzed, dissected, evoked and judged here do not work in my favor. I'm not in a position to submit ideas, but I think the three of us share the same vision of the field and the importance and meaning of our behavior when we are deployed.
I've told you everything, if despite that I haven't convinced you, then honestly, send me to any jail or penal colony to end my life. "

Ewan looked at them in turn. No one had mentioned the drinking session in the Concordat cantina, but, if the outcome could be favorable now, « you might as well gamble for everything ».

"Or, reassign me the handful of men I've disappointed, send me to hell on the worst battlefield where the empire is at, and let me prove my worth. "

He smiled, still seated, and held out his handcuffed mechanical prostheses.

 

[Thane]

P A G A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
FIELD OPERATIONS GROUP
Zoraya Ives-Ayres

CROSS THE LINE
​

Back to the crown of the Empire. Though the ISB was headquartered within Ravelin, the Field Operations Group- being the ISB’s elite and secretive human intelligence apparatus hardly returned for matters in the capital, with any correspondence taken with holographic projections or holonet messages as their operatives were deployed within and without the Empire. However the Director of Imperial Intelligence sought a personal debriefing over the recent affairs on Cdntares, summoning Thane to Ravelin to deliver it. Rightfully so, he thought. With all its implications- Centares and the enigmatic ‘Partisan’ movement were at the top of ISB’s priorities.

Just below, were several people of whom the Empire deemed as potential threats to the state from within. After the debriefing, Thane was ordered to attend the revelry with another agent, Zoraya Ives-Ayres in order to keep idle tabs on those who are suspected of disloyalty to the Empire.

But of course, those who might be planting the seeds of sedition were hardly going to be seen at an event hosted by the Lord General himself. Worked by him, Thane got himself his second drink of the night, clad in the formal uniform of field grey and navy blue expected of the Starfighter Corps, his branch of military service prior to being recruited to the 'FOG'.

He shifted to look in the direction of Zoraya drinking down a sip of the liquor before speaking up.

"Well- suppose we have to tell them we did something, or they'll dock this as paid leave. Or just- not worry about it." Thane said, as much as a man he was of attention to detail and truly believed in the purpose of the work he did, this was hardly a good use of intelligence funds. Not that he minded, he knew of the laundering and foundering of their funds that occurred on a daily basis. A few drinks at a high-end Ravelin hotel were hardly a drop in the bucket.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
THE FEL REDOUBT
Teror

LISTEN
​

She did as he commanded and she gave in. Something he'd never instruct or command under any other circumstance- but such was a learning tool, a harsh but necessary step in building the discipline needed of an Imperial Knight. She was not the exception. Nearly every single one of them faced the same insecurities and vulnerabilities that she did when they took the Oath, the Knights are not born, they are made. The training might be far more grueling than that of the Jedi and far more methodical than that of the Sith- but the results spoke for itself.

He let her indulge in the hatred, the rage, throwing jabs and counters that would hardly be fatal in an actual confrontation, but aggravating. A smack to her face, an elbow to her collar bone, anything to try and throw her focus and to throw her deeper into that pit of rage with each strike that he lazily deflected with cuts and parrys of his argent blade in his right hand before eventually he eased back once more into the form of the Vornskr. She'd feel in those moments- the invigoration given by her unchained emotions be sapped away from her , her next, heavy-handed strike came and he unfurled a flurry of brutal swings and cuts that strew apart her defenses and left her on the back foot before eventually throwing her from her feet with a swipe of his leg and leaving his argent blade close to her face with its idle hum.

"Those who rely on their emotions to gain prowess in battle abandon the fundamentals, abandon their discipline and just as easy as the darkness empowers you- it becomes the source of your weakness, exploited by your adversary. Stand once more- worry not for what others may think of you in these moments of defeat, you have nothing to prove other than that you are willing to learn. It is better to be embarrassed here than dead on the field of battle...even so, they were all once the same. Stand and ready your blade once more." Rurik commanded.

"Put yourself in the same space as meditation, focus only on the movements of yourself and your opponent, remove any emotions from the matter- only on what you can control." He iterates.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

4th post
OBJECTIVE 1: REVELRY IN THE QUIET
THE_WOAD
​

Tags: Annor E-059 Ewan Paircrit Konrad Bolter Aemilio Valaar(notagyet) Julian Qar

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 4

​

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

Without so much as moving from the spot he'd taken by the ashtray, Tyrant stood leaning on the aise-side of Lance One's reading table, enjoying the flavour of the new-and-improved Faslaner Gold cigars as he weighed his words briefly. Lord Erskine would pick up his own and start smoking again himself as he studied Konrad's process, understanding that a hardened veteran would have plenty to say on the matter in his own way, insight the old man needed, suchlike carrying enough weight behind it that Barran knew he needed it if he hoped to have a grounded view on Paircrit's situation in the end. What he expected and what he got would naturally be two differing outcomes entirely, but the Lord-General knew it would be worth hearing out either way; if he could count on Bolter in the heat of Serenno's crucible, then the Stormchaser knew such words of warrior's wisdom would be taken seriously to say the least, knowing fully that these words would serve as a means to spur the lad on if legionary life did suit him after all.

'Im not slighted it by in all truth, Lord General. Didn't much care for that sort've liability anyway. I'm not career climber, I wanna lead men into battle and strike to kill the enemy. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. The sort of office drivel they damned me to as an eight bar made me want to face down the barrel several times. Let me keep command of my Hammers and point me and my boys in the direction of the enemy and I'll point you to where they once stood.'

Stalwart as ever, but more indomitable than ever before. The nexus-point of an entirely new entity, an entirely new commander. Tyrant was back, and Lance One couldn't help but yearn for a return to the Blue-Heart Alpha callsign - but Erskine had also adjusted to the new man that he, himself, had become since.

In another life, perhaps.... I still miss you bastards though - more an' more as time passes me by.​

Nodding in kindly sincerity, Erskine would silently yield on the matter of the perceived slight to Konrad's good name, but not on what was perceived to have been slighted upon himself in the process; not only did Barran dislike what sort of obscure contentions it could've created between them, had he known sooner, but the Stormchaser also thoroughly disliked the fact that a much better candidate for the position of Lord-General than himself had been cast aside from the war-effort so callously. However, much to the Colonel's credit, he was more than keen to earn his stripes like he had before, and as far as the Stormchaser saw it, Bolter was more than capable of doing so again. The Lord-General always maintained that any man who could survive being swallowed up by the Shadow Dome on Generis was a man worth revering, as the stalwart spirit of the Archaisian had shone brightly that day, showing true strength under duress in all the greatest and worst parts of the Stygian Campaign as much as he had in his first encounter with the Amalgam.

Konrad was more than worthy enough to stand again as a field-commander, and Lord Erskine knew there was no longer any doubts with exerted holds over his friend's progress, he could even see it in the Archaisian's eyes, seeing a fire that he recognised with supreme familiarity - and delighting in it's implications.

'I'd imagine we'll be back out to deploy against the Maw sometime soon, hm? I hear it's heating up with the Alliance as well though- could certainly make for more insurgency problems. My favorite.'

He wasn't wrong, though Erskine's main fight would always be against the Maw, primarily taking his time over any and all other threats to the empire; but he could still feel the looming threat from Coruscant, a planet the Woad had very much come to despise since the Maw's attack, and even more so since signs of treachery tore the alliance of the Bastion Accords asunder from within. Fek had been given no other choice but to tear the edict to shreds, especially after the lacklustre war-efforts of the other factions in their effort to stem the tidal waves of destruction that flowed out from Exegol, and due to the fact the Iron Imperator had clearly given his allies their chance to shine, only the Mandalorians would be seen as potential allies henceforth. A rightful decision that had been guided by disgust and disdain as much as it had by disappointment and prudence, though one that was still no doubt made with a heavy heart - and Erskine could feel it in moments like this.

Even then, the mention of the Galactic Alliance as enemies felt strange to the Stormchaser, still making his peace with the fact that the latest brand of Galactic Democracy differed very much to that which had committed vehemently to their allies in the process of eradicating the Sith Empire. With the poor defences of the Senate Building and other locations on the ground, Erskine found himself with quite the bitter taste in his mouth afterwards, feeling like the other allied units among the Imperials were left to fend for themselves after his attempt to rally the morale of Coruscant's defenders at the time. The only real solace the Lord-General could take away from that battle was the fact the Imperator's momentarily aligned with his own, though would in perpetuity on the matter of Coruscant's future - to where his grandest intentions ultimately led.

Intentions the Stormchaser also aspired to, especially after the way things were going.

Though it didn't stop him from retaining a slight disbelief that the Galactic Alliance's thoughts on the Imperium had changed, though attributing ulterior motives to former allies would follow soon after the first real shots had been fired with hostile intent. Beyond that point, it was just a question of time before the old man finally contextualised his true disdain, the truest ambitions that eluded his comprehension for far too long already.

'Empire was started by deserters so it's hard to talk too ill on the man. I'd say he's earned his fair shake at redemption in the crucible. But you only get one, not by the lack of generosity of any of us...but our enemies are not too kind to mistakes. Seen it myself far too many times. Do as the good General says and you'll end up just fine.'

'Well said, Colonel. Well said indeed.', Erskine muttered his praise across the table, with a glance to Paircrit to see if he was giving Bolter his due attention, finding that the lad's eyes were just as glued to the Archaisian as his own. Unsure of how much was being taken in, the Lord-General could only hope this trooper was paying enough attention to know what was being suggested, as lifelines often hide Hells in abundance behind them, Hells of which not many were made to survive. The crucible, as a concept, was nothing to be taken lightly in any way, shape or form, but for those who'd embraced the worst of war's very own playground, it had become easier to articulate over time, especially for the likes of the veterans in the reading-room. Turning to catch the Elite-Trooper's gaze, the Woad realised it was time for the final part of the verdict cross-examination, drawing,'Alright, Annor.... You're up.', in his usual polite, though lilting Goidelic inflection.

Show 'em how it's done, kid. We need the righteous trooper the-day, so we do.​

Needed to be this way from the moment he appointed her as his makeshift co-justiciar, Annor knew what sort of mind she'd be exploring in the process, but the Lord-General couldn't help but silently urge her on in thought - making sure that he wouldn't interrupt the rest of the process as he did so. But there was something in him that couldn't help but see there were lessons there to be learned, lessons the Elite-Trooper may not have been enlightened with in her training or in previous deployments, even more reason to avoid verbalising thoughts of encouragement and motivational goading alike, so Lord Erskine dutifully kept his mouth shut and watched on as the young analysed the young in peace.

Nodding order-confirmation and compliance, Annor's helmet-covered head turned back to Ewan, holding his gaze every step of the way as she surprised everyone by removing it, and as suspected, the Elite-Program trooper who'd fought like a demon on Dromund Kaas was in fact still very young in the eyes of the older officers. Unsure of whether to be worried or amazed at first, the cigar-smoking superiors cast momentary glances with eyebrows raised, with Erskine imagining what the Elite program could do for the male end of the spectrum; Barran's rationale in that moment was simple, if young women like Annor could overpower warriors that even the Laird himself would struggle and flounder against, then the imagined capabilities of a successful male candidate would look like in the field was easy to envision as something altogether more frightening to behold.

'No hesitation to destroy.'

Straight out the proverbial gate, testing his reactions, from one soldier to another, from one individual to another - testing his thoughts on the former doctrine of which had guided him well before his fateful moment came to pass. Timing her next contribution to the process, Annor carefully continued,'But it broke your mind.', with eyes firmly fixed on Ewan in the process, further testing his reactions as the officers watched on in a silent, mild cloud of cigar-smoke. Continuing her micro-imposed tests of character, the unmasked Elite-Trooper's eyes widened as she said,'The decision to abandon your unit is yours alone.', with an icy tone that did little to hide her intensifying. On point, though more than Annor ever could've known in that moment, Barran maintained his silence as the Elite-Trooper leaned forward and rested the elbow-padding of her armour on the reading-table between them, holding to his side of the agreement as she inquired,'Love for the Empire?', with rough, barbed intent behind each and every last spoken syllable.

Scoffing loudly, the disdain was creeping up for all to see, as by then, every other person in Lord Erskine's growing retinue had looked up from their books to observe, including the Grave-Tusken, having previously given signage to suggest he wanted no part in the makeshift verdict-hearing. Then, resuming where she left off, Annor leaned closer to say,'No, being a weapon and nothing more was too much.', displaying further understanding of the Special Forces deserter that the others lacked, all but Sir Martin Wyll and a few of those among the Sabretooth-Troopers stationed at every corner and exit. Betrayal had bitten a few of them, but addressing the sheer heartlessness of the matter in general had awoken something in those who were feeling what the Elite-Trooper was feeling in that moment. Annor's closing statement would solidify this reaction across the reading room moments later, concluding,'The Empire had given you nothing but took from you everything.', whilst attempting to quell a rage that Erskine assumed she never thought she'd have to suppress that day.

Like a ball of fury, welling up with such intensity that Annor looked to be finding it difficult to trust herself beyond that point, though most certainly appearing to be for entirely differing reasons. However, the Elite-Trooper would retain her dignity in putting the trooper-helmet back on with chin up and shoulders back - like a real soldier would.

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 5

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

'Alright, we're close to wrapping this verdict up it would seem.'

There had been something more than a moment of silent reflection after Annor's rather rough closing cross examination. After all, there had been something more than a mere desertion-verdict to think on, something altogether more revealing about the struggles of the Elite-Trooper's ilk, and that of the other great trooper castes serving all around the Empire's warfronts and redoubt-garrisons alike. Lord Carwood even went so far as to walk out the room, feeling like the entire matter was way above his paygrade, or at least, this is what he was willing to have the others believe in his brusque, sudden exit. The old knighted Laird had his reasons, but those would need a lot of whiskey to drag out from within McGechin's soul in such a way, no amount of sober prodding or prying would ever change that fact; though one among them knew, one was told a few years before that day, on the night Blue-Heart Brigade conquered the Heartlands.

But Erskine wasn't one to break vows of silence, and certainly not on that glorious morning - not when sunrises like that bore good omens that kept his mood from souring.

'Anything to add before we wrap this up, Paircrit? Speak now or forever haud yer wheesht on the matter... Going, going-'

And before the Lord-General had any time to say,"GONE!!!!", as if the deserter were some sort of ornate auction-piece, Ewan looked up to his makeshift jurors, looking Erskine and Konrad in the eye with a smile that expressed the humility they were seeking from the offset, trying but also finding difficulty in attempting the same with Annor then aiming his smile in her direction anyway. Precarious was his position, but Paircrit was appearing genuine and sincere enough in his gesture that it could've easily been an expression of humility as the Stormchaser initially thought. Every last layer of excuses and self-assumption had been tossed to the wind, leaving nothing but the man himself, the warrior beneath, in his purest, most honest form for his justiciars to see without doubt or predispositions getting in the way. It was all he had left, all that the deserter had to keep them from letting the bailiffs take him away, but everyone would regardless hear the otherwise-doomed man out, owing him as much for the service he hadn't shirked in his career.

'I hear what you are saying to me, all of you, and know how to recognize the value and the quality of the tribunal which receives me today.'

Gulping then, the true weight of the situation was visibly beginning to weigh on Paircrit, further adding to the air of humility that he was trying to convey in his last attempt to keep his name out of the firing-squad's mouths. Strong-willed though the lad was, it was sadly still obvious that he was desperate in his desire to live on and fight again, and in his honesty, Ewan was showing something new, revealing the cornered animal in the inmate's soul for all to see.

'We always have a choice, I made decisions, sometimes good and sometimes bad, which in the end bring us all together today. I am very pragmatic, I only believe what I see, and I prefer actions to words.'

Actions that were altogether giving a new insight into what sort of individual they were dealing with, but it seemed that Ewan no longer cared what anyone would think, and in sensing the creeping approach of his own fate, embraced the finality and laid his soul bare for all to see. This was the Paircrit that Barran needed to see with his own two eyes, this was the Paircrit he needed everyone else in the room to see, the outbursts the inmate would otherwise keep to himself, but sadly exhibiting behaviours that strangely correlated with those of a particular archetype the Lord-General had encountered many times before. Hostages awaiting a brutal execution. And this began to tear at Erskine's mind, seeing many and more like it and acting against them accordingly, but never once expecting to be part of a process that mirrored it in almost every way.

'Only acts count, and acts analyzed, dissected, evoked and judged here do not work in my favor. I'm not in a position to submit ideas, but I think the three of us share the same vision of the field and the importance and meaning of our behavior when we are deployed. I've told you everything, if despite that I haven't convinced you, then honestly, send me to any jail or penal colony to end my life.... Or, reassign me the handful of men I've disappointed, send me to hell on the worst battlefield where the empire is at, and let me prove my worth.'

But the authorities would never allow him to return to his old unit, the shame alone would've seen him knifed in his quarters within the first week, and by the way all the reports were looking, the only sort of jail cell Ewan would be seeing would be a rather brief spell on Death Row instead, a death much quicker than that on the penal colony of Paircrit's assumption. The only thing mentioned that would be of any relief to him, despite the fact that all in-the-know knew it was probably the most horrifying option of the lot, was the choice of serving low paid penal-conscription with the 313th - the wildest new addition to the Empire's growing array of combat-effective legions. Maintaining that off-putting, meek smile, it was obvious that his fate had been put in their hands, and with one quick glance, Lord Erskine knew that he had no choice but to at least try and see if the lad could survive among the Sabretooth caste.

Otherwise, everyone, even Paircrit (in his own way) knew that he would be dead within the week.

'I already have two votes in favour of the 313th, as I'm now apparently counting myself with Colonel Bolter's approval of a penal-conscription term, any and all votes against this motion will be denied beyond this point.... Fuck this, not in the business of killing people this way any more. If I kill him, better it be with a rifle in his hands. I can't stand this shit any more, RELEASE HIM!!!!'

Beyond this point, I can only hope he survives the Sabretooth-Troopers. God help 'im if he flounders.​

 

[Nuruodo'kal'brast]

REVELRY & PAIN
• • •
OBJECTIVE II | PAIN IN THE STREETS
OPPOSING | GALACTIC ALLIANCE
PINGS | COMPNOR | SIA | Jordi Massad Traden Avarice Keiran Varn

COMMITTEE FOR THE PRESERVATION OF THE NEW ORDER
SUPPORTING | SCIMITAR

<EQUIPMENT: BULLET-PROOF COAT — AP-25i 'SIMP' PARTICLE-BEAM BLASTER>
•••
<CODE NAME: PULSAR>
•••​

<THE CHISS & THE ZABRAK: WHERE'S THE NEW CHALLENGER? — PROLOGUE>
The mission on Kuat had been difficult. Nothing like the operations Dokal had done before it. Training militias was way harder than eliminating a target, or supporting StormCorps’ veteran units. Nothing to compare, except the presence of Hukor, whose nickname was Shorty. But today was another day, coming with another mission which will be different, and probably more difficult.

Ravelin, capital city of Bastion, capital world of the New Imperial Order. The Imperium’s jewel. The Chiss imagined that a reception had been organised by the Imperial officers and politicians. But her job had nothing to do with it. Only apparently. In practice… Well, it was equally hard to explain. In a word, she was supposed to protect the officials of the Empire, but in a quirky way. SIA agents had been located in the city, days before the reception, and she knew that she had to apprehend them. Why her? Wasn’t there any COMPNOR’s agent on Bastion? When everyone was here, in an apparent impression of security? That was truly difficult to understand, but she did not discuss orders: they were orders. And with a bit of luck, she could encounter some Warhogs. Those scums who were everywhere were supposed to be here at this moment, weren’t they?

She clenched her jaw, activating the little earpiece she had to contact 4th Group’s headquarters. “Unicorn Garage online. Can I do anything for ya? — Callsign Papa-Uniform-Lima-Sierra-Alpha-Romeo. Identification code Two-Three-One-One-Two-Zero-Zero-Four. — Welcome O-Three. Ya may contact us to become acquainted with your orders, right? — Gimme Shorty on the com. — Shorty? Are ya talkin’ about Hukor? — Yes. Gimme him on the radio. I have to talk to him. — But I have to brief ya! — Shorty knows my orders. Don’t wanna talk to you.” Silence on the communications for a minute. “Switching your channel,” the operator finally said.

“Hukor on the phone. Who’s it? — That’s me, Shorty. — Oh! Dokal! You’re here. How are you? — Fine. Do you have my orders? — Well… Yes. You’re in Ravelin, aren’t you? — Yep. COMPNOR stuff, but dunno which one exactly. Can you enlighten me on this? — Lemme a second,” the Zabrak answered. He returned to the com after three minutes. Dokal observed the surroundings, looking for intrigant people. “I’m here. — Finally. — So, you’re goin’ to do COMPNOR stuff, you’re right. Searching any SIA agent that would be on Bastion at this moment. You’re not alone, by the way. You’ll join callsign Sierra-Charlie-India-Mike-India-Tango-Alpha-Romeo. — Scimitar? What’s that? — A COMPNOR’s guy. I cannot give you his actual name… An’ I don’t have it, to be honest. It’s a human, beard, black hair, around fourt-… — Uuh… — Dokal… — Sorry Shorty. Go on. — It’s what I have. Nothing more than his blood type. Y’know how the COMPNOR is. — I’ll deal with it. Where is he supposed to be? — He’s coming to you. Don’t move. He’ll be your contact and your informer for the mission.”

“Grr… It starts badly,” she thought.​

 

[Zoraya Ives-Ayres]

COMPNOR
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Thane

​

The number of those who grew disillusioned with the Empire remained relatively constant but the number of those who actively posed a threat continued to be very few with the ISB's swift reaction and seemingly omniscient intelligence.

The prospect of a defector from within was much more worrisome than whispers of dissidence among a union of pig farmers. The former were trusted, sometimes revered individuals who had marked themselves as traitors beyond what any civilian could achieve and they deserved the wrath of those they had betrayed.

It was in the name of justice that she returned to the Iron Capital but any expectations she had soon dissipated upon assignment.

There were no people she knew at the revelry but there was some solace to be found in her accompanying colleague with whom she would endure the remainder of the evening at the event that was somewhat lacklustre regarding the purpose of their presence.

"We can tell them what we like. It's not our fault they sent us to a problem that likely doesn't exist. Besides-" She took a glass from the tray of a passing server before continuing. "-It's not like they've sent people to watch us." Perhaps the second drink had left her more freely-speaking than she had intended. Even though she was not the one under suspicion, it didn't pay to speak unwisely.

 

[Julian Qar]

MEDICAL REPORT
Protected Document: █ █ X-2292701 █ █
█ █ ad_astra █

---

✚ G R E Y ✚
[[ Wistril | Refugee Camp | (870 ABY) ]]
//[-^-^-^----]\\

​

The darkness in the desert would often last for weeks rather than hours. Some days he would find peace sitting up on the roof of the clinic, staring up at the stars. The only constant other than the whiring hum of his heart that he had left, From where he was, he could see the dot of his former planet. That's all it was to them now floating up above, as distant now as the memories buried beneath mounds of snow.

He'd wondered if there was anyone left behind or if perhaps some celestial power had graced them with an ever consuming storm,shrouding whatever remained in a blanket of ice. It was hard to stomach some days what it felt like to be displaced. Annihilation didn't have to be a beam that ripped life from the heavens, sometimes silence was all it took, a misstep, and even ignorance could do the same. Carlac was just a rock floating in a never-ending pool of black. And like other bodies in the sky time would eventually consume it, remembrance, history, until all that was left was an unnamed particle in space.

Tucked away now, in a place that replaced trenchers, destroyers and blaster fire, buried amongst stores of broken down cardboard was where the doctor hid. Stillness was the only comfort he clung to, melting amongst them all a man with no face or name to his claim. In the quiet he'd remain, raven hair transitioning into small patches of ivory, a symbol of stress and age he was almost certain he wouldn't reach. He didn't remember the last time he'd looked at himself but the time he did, the man staring back at him was one he did not recognize. Perhaps it was best that there was nothing in his home that held onto his reflection.

"Doctor?"

Her voice rang like an echo, bouncing off dirty walls and grimey floors. The clinic served a dual purpose here, a place of mending and home. That word home, however, was a loose term. His foundation here was built of brittle bones aching for a moment to relax, to even break and become dust. The mechanical doctor took pause, lifting his head to grasp the word that had become more of a name than the one he was given. "Hello? How can I help?" He raised slowly from his seat, wiping his hands on the tattered robes before taking the coat from around the hook and wrapping it around his body. That coat was a shield that hid the dim luminesce of his gifted frame, a titanium prison he was confined to serve in.

"When I was workin' the factories, I…I uh.. I never got this injury fixed an it's been hurtin me something awful." The stranger had crept in closer, while still providing him with distance that felt like miles. A small hand lifted in the darkness, exposing the blue black skin that had been wrapped by dirty bandages and tape, the corners weeping with infection. It wasn't uncommon for this type of encounter with the sudden influx of patients that came after the fall. He'd seen all their faces in common areas, clutching injuries too afraid to seek help. They would rather be left alone to fester and rot just like the hope some had barely held on to.

A partial sigh left his lips, a hand waving the woman over while he moved to grant her access to the lone exam table in the clinic. The space he had been given was small, run down, built from flimsy paneling and cement. It was certainly a far cry from the state of the art facility back on Carlac. With all his staff, the abundance of life saving medicine and just about any gadget you could imagine. Wistril was no Carlac, it was a temporary pocket for exploration and commerce. It was not meant to house thousands of refugees for as long as it had.

There had been another doctor with him for a short time…she was stricken with disease neither of them had the means to heal. Julian had tried his best with her care, until the moment he had to bury her body in one of the unmarked graves behind the clinic. She had taken refuge in the soil, like so many others and he knew all their names and faces. Only small pebbles were left behind as reminders. There was a time in his life he felt cursed and followed by death. Not now. Now he didn't have to make a pact with death to seek thrill, she often sat beside him taking what was hers. Such was the life of a doctor and emergency medic, it was all a delicate balance of giving and taking…


"It's alright, let's take a look and see what we can do to getcha feelin' better. Ok?" He feigned his signature smile, wandering to the sanitation bath to clear the grime left on his metal onyx fingers.

The exam had followed soon after, the diagnosis would almost be identical in nature to so many he'd seen. Another break and cut that never healed properly but had continued to be used over and over again. The repetition of its strain caused pain but they had always stomached the hurt until they were no longer numb from it…until the injury was too hot, too rotten, too broken and intervention would be needed. He never understood why now more than ever, he was always the last line of defense.

And yet, sometimes it was too late. Not all endings drifted into happier ones where recovery was the outcome. In the end, saying how long they had was all he could do.

⛨​

"Are you alone here?"

He turned his attention to her voice, her question breaking the silence the two had shared since he had started tending to her wound. No one ever talked really, nor did they seem to care about anyone other than themselves. And with good reason, now was the time for all focus to be selfish, The streets were cut throat and unforgiving. Whoever thought refugees just sat in pacified silence was a fool, that much he understood. You take away all that someone has, leave them with nothing and all that remains is a hunger waiting to be satiated. At any cost.

"Let me know if there's somethin' more I can do for the pain..." deflecting. His hand had shifted to move around the wedding ring that was welded onto the metal in his hand. He said forever, but forever never took account for paranoia, for fear or cowardice.

She had stared at him and his hands for a moment before finally speaking again, "Oh…I'm sorry…I…I am…it feels like we all are…" She held her hand still as he worked away on the infection, excising the decaying flesh and scraping away the rot from her bone. Wincing she tried her best to disregard the pain, her voice no longer caught without a sound. "I'm sure they are amazing…" she pointed at his ring, and he nearly froze, trying to steady with his focus on his task. "S-she is…'' he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat, "M'sorry, this part really hurts…trying to work as fast as I can…I don't have a lot of what we need here…this place is…not supposed to be permanent." He irrigated her wrist and the top of her hand where most of the bone was visible with a solution of bacta and numbing mixture. The trail of black had stained her arm to the elbow, which would be his stopping point for cutting. Hopefully it would be enough.

"I lost my two sons and husband during the evacuation…rioters…we-we didn't know…"

"M'sorry for yer loss…" the Krieg doctor responded softly. Glancing up at her with a somber expression before continuing with his work.

"You don't have to apologize…no one knew what was goin to happen. We were in the dark just like the rest of the world was. Only so much comes down by way of information in the factories…we didn't know…..we did what we could…just…" she took pause and brought her opposing wrist to dry her eyes, shaking her head while she peered up at the roof of the shanty clinic. There was hope there for some form of comfort, perhaps the markings on the wall could soothe loss and the pain she felt everywhere.

"I understan…none of us did…" he was a liar.

"Doctor Shi'an…did she make her way off?"

Julian shook his head while he wrapped the bandages around her wound. "Doctor Shi'an passed…"

"Oh…sh-she had a little clinic in Nova Vox, such a…lively woman."

"That she was…even telling jokes until her las' moment."

"That's the type a person she was…when my so-"


"Everythin' looks to be in order…now…"

He cut her off unintentionally, looking over the arm while the diagnostic machine spit out clearance on his end. The doctor waved over his medical bot Lody 6 who was blinking something fierce but had seemed to be put on silent. Such a chatty little thing. "Lody 6 here has some meds for ya, take these pills three times a day, an come see me once they're all finished"

"Mmhmm, I will."

"If there's anythin' else you need please come find me, Mrs–?"

"Amala Wintridge."

"Mrs. Wintridge, my name is Doctor Grey, glad to have been able ta help today." He said with a small smile, his hand ever occupied plucking the instructions and medication from the droid and handing it over to his patient. "Remember…if there's anythin' else you need…don't hesitate to stop by ok?"

"Of course…thank you, Doctor."

Her voice had faded after a few moments, leaving him in stillness once more. He would see her again, he always did...

⛨
Though time is ruthless,
It showed us kindness in the end,
By slowing down enough,
A second chance to make amends.​

---

AX - 919
✚ A E S C U L A P I U S ✚

Appointment w. // DECEASED Erskine Barran \\
The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District
[[ Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY) ]]

//[-^-^-^----]\\​

A gloved hand slid down the front of his newly pressed suit. It had been some time since he wore a uniform that wasn't covered in blood, clinging onto the memories of the defiant. The last time he wore a suit, it had dropped in ivory. Upon its chest held the medal of the ignored and another that shimmered in failure. His attire now mirrored the aesthetic of those around him, raven black, and yet he still stood out amongst them with his cloak, long hair, and medical insignia on the lapel.

Everyone around him seemed to have transitioned into their new normal smoothly, or so he had hoped now that years were nothing more than a silent sea of paperwork and numbers. He stopped adding kindling to the fires that used to burn within him, it stopped him from diving heavy into thoughts. The last time he had walked down the streets of Ravlin he could see the projections of his past dancing from the corner of his eye. He used to be heavily bound by memory, by sentiments and gestures of the heart but now he was as cold as the soil that birthed him.

"Doctor Qar, the Lord General will see you shortly." His attention was pulled away by a young private who lifted a hand to stop the cyborg from moving any further. Julian merely nodded, shoving his way out of view and melting into the walls of the library, the soft glow of his machine crept through the collar of his suit. Its mechanical murmurs filled the silent air. His movements often mirrored the way the new imperials treated him, silence. There was never any decoration to revel for his service, he just was and had always been a ghost to them. Perhaps he'd care if what anyone thought of him mattered, but it didn't…he served without praise. He served in the solitude he was sworn to confine himself in. He served selflessly.

Julian tucked a hand into his pocket, the other adjusting the clip on his cloak that seemed to fold in on itself as he walked. A portrait had appeared within his hud, following a comically frantic string of messages.

<<" Hi, hope you're having fun being a cool boss. Doing boss things. Important news, Vlad hacked Lody 6, he has four arms now. Don't be mad. In other news, the hospital is not on fire. That is all.​

- Hazel.">>​

​

<< "Vlad is in the tank, he zapped himself. His heart may or may not have sort of stopped. Woops.​

Lody 6 is….he's cool as a cucumber. ​

-Hazel">>​

​

<<"Hey nerf herder stop ignoring my messages. Can you bring back snacks? - The best.">>​

​

<<"Hey is the major going to be there?! Maz thinks you're going to jail and he laughed. Are you finally getting cour - -">>​

Julian sighed deeply, waving a hand in front of him to dissolve the messages. His HUD settled back into place with informational markers from before pinging in space. It brought up his heart rhythm and the levels of oxygen in his lungs. His machine had checked out, all that was left were thousands of messages to occupy himself in as he waited for his appointment. "I'm gunna take a seat here…" He muttered, ushering himself to the chair beside the proceeding chambers. No one had told him the reason for this meeting nor the party that entailed afterward. He felt far more disconnected now than he ever had and it had shown through the rigidity in his demeanor and the ice that rolled within even the most basic of words.

"Thank you for waiting, Doc."

"It ain't a bother, reckon the old woad is doin' his part make sure things run smoothly."

"It ain't a bother at all…"

⛨
There is goodness in the heart
Of every broken man
Who comes right up to the edge
Of losing everything he has...​

█ █ █

 

[Teror]

WASTE IN THE SHADE
T E R O R
THE APPRENTICE
// Rurik Fel \\

THE FEL REDOUBT
​

Malice burning in her blood, the apprentice pressed the attack with a flurry of half-coordinated blows, her dominant blade pressing his guard while her lesser attempted to penetrate it. She let herself go in those moments, disregarding the fact she knew well her strikes would not make contact and simply let herself feel all the venom that poisoned her. Every parry, every half-effort swipe he shoved her back with stoked the fires hotter until she snarled, baring her teeth with the trade of tactic and poise for overwhelming assault. Another bash to the cheek, another bruise formed. She barely avoided many of his counters, weaving aside to keep herself tight on him, out of nothing more than spite, at this point. The shift of his feet cast him into his stance and at once, did his full strength come to bear against her.

The impact of her block now resonated up the entirety of both her arms, rattling deep within her bones as his strength was applied. It took both blades to stay on her feet, and all of her concentration to watch him closely enough to avoid getting absolutely picked apart immediately. Yet try as she might resist it, she was back-pedaling, and he was pressing his assault, taking his turn to demonstrate the lesson he wished to teach her. Crash. Crash. Crash. She endured it until the sting in her arms would scream for mercy and he broke her guard entirely, leaving her exposed for the metal-plated leg that swung into her gut, throwing her backward onto the sand once more.

The impact garnered a groan instantaneously, her blades lost from her grasp, and she was left to rasp after the wind that fled her screaming lungs once again. Hands curled into the air, elbows tucked by her sides, with her struggle to return her breath to normalcy. Teror blinked rapidly, her lips gulping at the air like a fish out of water, the ache of her injuries caught up, and she laid there for moments longer. Light blared in her gaze, Rurik's training blade reflecting across the lenses that bore malice no longer, prompting her to lift her head up to give him her attention as he spoke once more. She nodded, overturning in the dust to fetch her blades again, and rose to her feet, finally sipping the air her lungs screamed for. The apprentice shook the residual sting from her arms, keeping her gaze on him evenly. Though she said nothing in response, her understanding of the lesson he was imparting upon her became evident in the seconds to follow, where she closed her eyes and expelled a much deeper breath, corralling the lingering tide back behind the wall where it could dampen her no further.

What troubled her was cast aside, left beyond the ring until she took her stance in isolation, separated from the throes of emotion. Amber lights situated on him and she cast off her back foot once more, surging to strike at him again. He was stronger; she needed to be faster if she wanted to actually accomplish anything. Teror adapted her tactic to him, feigning to the right with her dominant blade before she swiped with her left, inverting her grip to strike at his ribs. She would commit to this, following through with a pirouette around his flank, choosing to go low to cleave at his legs.

 

[Thane]

P A G A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
FIELD OPERATIONS GROUP
Zoraya Ives-Ayres

CROSS THE LINE
​

She seemed as enthused as he was by the assignment but in the end, they could hardly convince themselves that they were suffering in the slightest. He’d been on the other end of boredom, scoping out positions in derelict forests or Sith ruins deep into enemy territory as a combat controller, though he was far from a man who was in his own in the revelry, he’d make his best attempt at relishing it. The agent he was paired, while a stranger in the Bureau- could certainly make the task feasible given how easy on the eyes she was- under different circumstances, he would’ve stolen himself from alcohol and kept focused on the assignment, but they were searching for a needle in a haystack- with no needle, it was useless to hone in and get wrapped up manufacturing the anxiety and pressure of an assignment more than what this was.

“Oh I know, I certainly abandoned any plans of being productive as soon as we arrived. No one’s watching us because- we are the watchers. All the accountability rests with us and so…while we search for something where it isn’t- hardly any reason to make more of this than it is, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” He remarked, arching a brow in her direction before he drank another sip of his liquor, speaking up once more.

“With everything they could know, we hardly have to be here at all. We are the eyes after all. Do you much care for events like these, Ayres?" He inquired, leaning back against one of the ornate pillars on the balcony as he set his empty glass on a nearby serving tray, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Can't say I do...some things make them easier to deal with, however." He remarks, eyeing the other guests before his attention shifted back to her.

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ANTARES HOTEL | RAVELIN
TAG: Jon Kovacs | The whole damn party (I'm lazy, sue me)

A BLOODY DRESS??

SEVENTEEN​

"LONG LIVE
THE EMPIRE!!!"​

Del's forehead landed in her palm with a sigh.

Talk about the hotshot making a fool of himself. He never could hold his liquor. It was still a running gag in the Flight. There really was no hope for Jon Kovacs.

"That poor mando has some scrubbing to do to get all that stickiness from his helmet." Aayla grinned as she danced up to Del.
"As if they don't constantly scrub their shit anyway." Del said with a smirk.
"True that." Hughes laughed. "C'mon - down that thing and get another one. You're gonna need it if you're gonna tackle that idiot up there before he completely pisses off the ISB."
"Why do I always have to do it?" Del grumbled before she downed her drink.
"Cause for some reason, you can throw him with a wrench continuously without getting court martialed." Aayla said before flagging the barman. "Another one for her."
"This shit won't even give me a buzz." Del said as she took the new cocktail. "And drunk Jon is always a treat to behold - more firepower against him later." she added with a grin before heading over to where the rest of the Wing was congregating around The Fool of the Wheel - all being the patriots they really weren't.

Idiots.

She did stop next to some girl faffing over over the beer-soaked mando as Aayla came to a stop next to one of the Alpha Flight guys known as Zander.
"It's just a bit of beer, girl. I think he'll be fine." she told Gwyneira Vizsla . "Beats being showered in gore."

She squeezed into place between Hughes and some big Charlie Flight bloke that she only knew as Bolts.
"Hey Kovacs! I don't think the Bureau heard you!" she then hollered at Jon while Hughes, Bolts and Zander all erupted into laughter next to her. " 'Sides, I think you missed some people with that beer!" she added with half a smile.

It was like Shili all over again.