Sand Sans Lane (First Order Dominion of Praesitlyn, N-49)

[The Major]

​

The alliance's shattered pieces begins to find footing! ​

Upstarts and warlords suppressed successfully by the stalwart diplomacy and mental tactics of the former alliance’s brightest now run free. As crime lords, smugglers, and pirates make their intrusions upon the sector a local militia on Praesitlyn has been organized to protect their homes. ​

Resourceful and tenacious, this group of former military personnel have seized former government installations, including a series of old forts used in some forgotten war, and former munitions factories. Chief among them is an older hanger complex and dock filled with decommissioned starfighters. With the utmost ingenuity this militia has used these jury rigged instruments of war to defend their world and to take the fight back to the roving marauders, going so far as to secure a number of freighers and frigates to bolster their cause. Further emboldened, a former jedi of the illusive Reformation has taken center stage, claiming to have learned battle meditation techniques from First Order “Force Cultists” to improve the efficiency of his followers when they are forced to defend themselves. To make matters worse, this charismatic fellow has claimed that he has sent diplomats to curry favor from other interstellar nations -in direct violation of the First Order’s territory mandate. Supreme Leader’s fleets are already engaged in other theaters, securing the borders -but high command has formulated a direct plan to clear this rising threat and pave the wave way to a successful annexation of the sector. Care should be taken however, for it maybe that this Jedi has called upon the help from a particularly wily band of resistance warriors….

Obj 1: The usual secret channels have informed the remaining Knights of Ren to move to the complex’s headquarters to find, subdue, and capture the rumored Jedi. Potential Deathtrooper support has been attached to the intrusion team. Lethal force is authorized should capture prove beyond the team’s ability. A fighter screen has been dispatched to provide the assault shuttle an opportunity in the form of air cover and suppress escape attempts.

Obj 2: Sudden dust storms are common across the desert regions of Praesitlyn. Due to the First Order's interest in the planet, an opportunity has presented itself by chance. Deep into the desert biome a massive sandstorm has formed, in doing so, it has revealed what appear to be an ancient valley of tombs. Though the storm has revealed the tombs for the moment, there's no telling how long they'll be accessible before another storm covers them up once again. Investigate the tombs for artifacts, plunder, or even possibly holocrons. It is unknown whether these tombs belonged to Jedi, Sith, or none of the above.

Obj 3: Only a small escort of a few transport vessels and a single frigate have been dispatched to conquer this world while the other fleets were engrossed with the fighting along the ORC/FO border. Rebels have pilfered this knowledge and have chosen this moment to attack and seize the vulnerable ship. Find them and destroy them before they can make a mockery of the First Imperial Navy.

Obj 4: Bring your own!

 

[Progflaw99]

En Route to the Praesitlyn System
Refurbished First Order Border Outpost Shuttle
Squad(?): [member="Petra Vitalis"] | [member="Kira Vaal"] | @The Rebellion

It was the first time in a long time that the Rebellion had gotten a piece of intel that actually panned out. Recent endeavors had been tedious at best, many resulting in loss of manpower and resources. Some of their higher ranking leaders had even been captured. Morale was at an all time low, and by Atlas' best judgement, too many more and the Rebellion might fall altogether. A few missteps as they figured out who they were had set them off on the wrong foot despite their initial success in the Rimcee sector. This wasn't Rimcee, hell, this was on the other side of the galaxy, but Atlas was determined to continue the fight. The native Centaran wasn't the only one.

With intel confirming the refocus of the First Order towards their Galactic Southern border, Atlas and crew had been eager to seize the opportunity to act against them. At any other time the plan would have been considered ludicrous, but with the current state of the Order's war fleet and their preoccupation with the Coalition it just might work. Such had been the pitch made by the industrious former Lieutenant of the Mara-Perlemian Trade Council. It was almost a shock when his proposal had been accepted by Rebellion High Command.

And this was how Atlas found himself in the cockpit of the somewhat refurbished First Order shuttle - well, supposed to be refurbished he noted as his eyes spied a loose panel near his foot. A silent grimace stretched the man's features as he kicked the panel back into place, a solid thunk sounding as the invisible lip sealed back into place. *Is this really going to work?* Atlas had doubts, despite his trust in the rest of his team and the solidity of the plan. The uniforms they'd managed to cobble together were solid, if a bit less than pristine. Thankfully, the less than perfect condition of the uniforms would match well with the assigned transponder code - a fringe outpost on the edge of First Order space. Thing was, if they waited much longer the codes were liable to change and that was assuming the First Order didn't get too curious about the outposts to the Galactic North. If they did, they might discover that it had been waylaid by the rebels and equipped with an automated reporting schedule. Atlas didn't quite understand how it worked, but the Rebellion's technicians assured him that unless the First Order sent a physical envoy they'd never know the difference.

"We're getting close, everyone ready for reversion? We've got one shot at this. Can't afford to muck it up."​

 

[Kira Vaal]

En Route to the Praesitlyn System​

Refurbished First Order Border Outpost Shuttle
Squad: [member="Atlas Viridian"] | [member="Petra Vitalis"] | @The Rebellion

Breath.
Just, breath.

It was hard, Kira had to remind herself that each time she looked down at the small computing system that was in front of her, occasionally the wording would change, indicating some moving First Order patrol, or it would remain stationary for minutes at a time due to a complete lack of action. That was what she didn’t like, she understood that as the First Order struck to the galactic south it had given them the perfect chance to hit their northern territories, but to do so with so little true intel other then the occasional live update? It was practically suicide.

She risked a glance towards Atlas as he spoke, he had done a good job in piloting the shuttle which felt like it had flown for a few too many years. He even looked the part in the First Order uniform, probably more so then she did sat in the co-pilot chair, her outfit was that of the many officers that filled the ranks of the Order’s navy, it was crisp and dark yet had for the most part, like the shuttle seen a few too many years of service. It gave her the chill realisation that this wasn’t Sith space they were running into, where for some reason their had never been a second guess or a real worry, no this was First Order space. The Sith may have taken true credit for the Alliance’s downfall, but the Order? They had been stripping their resources away for years, taking planet by planet in a singular wave of continuous victory. There was just something that made her truly fear the First Order.

Fear leads to anger—

“We should be coming up on the first checkpoint in three minutes.” Kira responded to Atlas finally, putting her mind’s unease at the back of her attention. “Time to see if these codes were worth the effort.” A small green light flashed on the panel and Kira pressed the switch. “This is Shuttle Diomedes providing supplies and technical parts, requesting permission to pass first checkpoint.” She entered a series of button sequences and inserted a data-card into the console as well before switching a lever next to the input. “Transmitting clearance codes now.” She turned away from the transponder and looked at Atlas, before turning to look back at all the other Rebels, each staring at the console as intently as she had been, all wishing, hoping and praying it would just work, just one of the many steps that they would have to pass today.

Breath.
Just Breath.

 

[Tobias Wrynn]

Praesitlyn airspace, approaching the Intergalactic Communications Center
Allies: First Order
Enemies: As needed.
Objective IV: Infiltrate, subjugate, and take control of Communications for the First Order.​

Something about this world made his eyes glaze over. He watched the forests grow larger as the dropship careened toward the destination, several clicks away from the Comm Center. It was sufficiently far enough that scanners would not detect the heat emissions from the landing vessel, and they were equipped with standard Shadowtrooper kits. With regard to this objective, they acted separately from the military. This target required a delicate hand, and precision to pull off without damaging any of the hardware. If they succeeded here, they could gain an upper hand in the enforcement of their Mandate on the Core.

Put simply, the Communications Center controlled HoloNet activity all the way to Coruscant and further. Placing restrictions, censorship, and controlling content could allow them to potentially indoctrinate tens of thousands of new recruits, and bring a multitude of new worlds into the fold. More than that though, it gave them the power to communicate with certainty across vast distances and coordinate against the myriad threats that faced them.

Wrynn sat with his rifle in hand and took a deep breath. Failure here presented the very real danger of this facility falling into the hands of an enemy state. His eyes closed, and he remembered his training. There is only the mission, he recited internally. The objective, the opposition, and you.

It was standard Stormtrooper protocol, something he held fast to. His time in the Corps was his only clue to his past, and the only semblance of family he knew. Brothers he left behind to undertake the position of Specialist in the Bureau, in order to provide for a safer, more secure lifestyle on the home front. He missed them dearly, truth be told. His purpose now was greater than before.

He took solace in that knowledge.

Intel and Recon Ops had always been his speciality, and they landed him this job due to the dire importance of behind three steps ahead of the enemy. He refused to disappoint.

"Ten seconds to drop," the pilot called back to them. "Helmets on, boys. Hail Seiger."

"Hail Seiger!" a chorus intoned.

 

[Omari Ngao]

Objective: BYOO.

Sieger this, Sieger that. Even the Bureau got it like this.

Omari's helmet was rooted securely upon his shoulders. When he was mentally preparing himself for a mission, he liked to keep his expressions to himself. He had a tendency to betray what he was thinking with his eyes and the faces he made. Besides, the helmet had a mute function, and he was certainly able to close out the praising of a being that they of all people should've been skeptics about. Shame though. When he did mute it, he still heard the chorus through his helmet and he shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly, but he rose to his feet to retrieve the G-11F Blaster Rifle all the same.

By the time he got to his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, the vessel was landing and he among a few other black armour clad beings descended the ramp and to the world below. Praesitlyn. Rebels. Communication. The life of an intelligence agent. Guaranteed success, unless they ran into a Jedi. He may have been a Specialist, but those magic types tended to just wade through their forces. The Stormtrooper Corps hadn't taught him much on how to defeat them. But he guessed his mental was considered to be excellent for adaption... So here he was all the same.

"Wrynn." He called. The comms were secure, so codenames weren't necessary, at least while they were in the immediate vicinity of the ship. Once they departed and drew closer to their target, then their Maalraas moniker would come into effect. "Lead the way."

[member="Tobias Wrynn"]

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Objective: BYOO - Mission Improbable
Momen Interstellar Spaceport, Praesitlyn

The sound of repulsors overhead rolled like thunder.

At the immigration desk, a trio of humans with a near-Epicanthix appearance sorted through the line of new arrivals to the planet. Three passports bearing the symbol and script of the Atrisian Commonwealth were passed over to the agent. Nothing usual. The sight before him, and the documents in the customs and immigration official's hands, all lined up perfectly. The bio-scan monitor saw nothing unusual. Just three humans. By all accounts, a family touring out on the Outer Rim.

Why would anyone vacation to Praesitlyn? It had a few forests, which were nice. The officer noted a brochure on kana trees jutting out from the woman's purse. "Duration of visit?"

"Five days," the man, Koichi Aoi, noted aloud.

The agent gave a nod, shuffling the passports around in his hands. The woman was Midori Aoi. The kid was Kenji Aoi. "Purpose of visit?" the agent asked, as he began stamping the passports.

"Sightseeing," Koichi Aoi replied, as the passports were passed back over to him. The agent gestured for the Aoi family to continue moving, then waved the next new arrival forward.

The Aoi family emerged from out of Praesitlyn's spaceport, though that was the point were they divided. The adults, Koichi and Midori, went right. Boarded a courtesy shuttle to a hotel and departed with their bags.

The child went left. A few feet down from where the curbside drop off was for Theta Aerospace, an old man was hustling next to a banged up noodle cart.

Passing under the customary short curtains which hung off the card, the child glanced up at the old man as he offered, "Zhufu ni, dâga."

It was the language of Atrisia. Many dialects spoken differently by people across six planets -- Atrisia, KIlea, Frisal, Sakura, Asahi, Shri-Tal -- but the boy spoke what was widely regarded as the Emperor's Atrisian. It was the language of Jar'Kai. The Imperial dialect.

It was also a dying dialect. With the destruction of Jar'Kai and the Atrisian diaspora having been exacerbated by a plethora of recent events, the Jar'Kai dialect was spoken by fewer and fewer people.

The old man smiled, revealing a mouth that was missing a tooth. Reaching down, the aged mechant touched the boy's ear with his right hand and placed his left on the child's shoulder. "Péng yo," the man uttered, giving a laugh. "It is good to hear the young people speak the language," the man went on, rambling as he took a step back and turned to pick up a chopstick case. Holding it out for the boy, the man uttered, "Yé yân," to indicate that it was a gift.

Smiling, the boy accepted the case with both hands. With a bow, he uttered "Xiexie," to indicate his thanks. Then, setting the case down on the counter, pulled himself up on a stool as he ordered a bowl of soup.

As the old man went to work assembling the meal, the boy casually opened the chopstick case. Inside, a small earlink was nestled on top of the lacquered sticks. Plucking out the earlink, the boy casually inserted it into his right ear.

"Nihao, Liu Xian."

The HUD came on-line as the earlink activated, synchronizing with the digital interface that now overlaid the child's field of vision. Inside of his head, a voice echoed as a recording began to play.

"Intelligence reports provided by the First Order Security Bureau have identified the source of illegal weapons entering Atrisia as coming through an arms market on Praesitlyn. Arriving behind you, on JastBlue Flight 4175, is a Duros we believe to be flying under the alias Kor Vaiya."

The bowl of steaming hot noodles arrived, set in front of him. Smiling up at the old man, the boy picked up his chopsticks and leaned over the bowl. On the HUD display, the flight data for JB4175 scrolled across his field of vision, even as he began to slurp up the hot noodles. It was a commercial transport arriving from Svivren, near the Coalition border.

"We suspect this man to be a weapons smuggler. Your mission is to mark Kor Vaiya and follow him. Use him to gather information on the distribution network used to smuggle weapons into First Order and Atrisian space. If possible, disrupt the distribution network. Use of lethal force is at your discretion, but equipment acquisition is limited to on-site procurement only."

The child nearly choked on a noodle as he tried to swallow and laugh at the same time. On-site procurement. What? Was equipment not in the budget?

"Should you be caught or killed, the Atrisian government will disavow knowledge of your actions."

"-tt-" Typical.

"This message will self-destruct in five seconds."

Angling his chopsticks back so that they pointed toward his face, the child grabbed the stick and held them between his teeth for a moment. Reaching up with his now free hand, the boy casually plucked the earlink from the side of his head and let it drop onto the ground. Then, plucking the chopsticks from out of his mouth, resumed eating.

He had about fifteen-twenty minutes before Kor Vaiya was going to be coming through the spaceport.

On the ground, the earlink began to break apart and disintegrate as a low level ion pulse broke the device down at a molecular levels, rendering the earlink down to particles of sand and dust that blew away in the breeze.

 

[Progflaw99]

Location: Praesitlyn, Valley of Tombs
Objective: Explore Ruins, Discover Artifacts​

The desert. Certainly not his locale of choice but business demanded it - or at least the man's clients did. Though he kept his business dealings back on Alamania vague in discussions with his sister he assumed she knew much more than she let on. It was in her nature. Ever inquisitive, always watching, looking for the little tells that might suggest a lie or an untruth. The two had never been in the habit of lying to each other though, perhaps that was what was different this time. He hadn't been exactly forthcoming with the details of why he'd needed official First Order travel documents, nor where he was going - but she'd eventually wormed it out of him. Praesitlyn.

The supplies he'd gathered on his own. The heavy equipment, the rigging gear, the explosives. Everything he'd need for his little foray. Sometimes it was handy having an ear to the ground, Martin's extensive network rivaling that of his sister's - though perhaps less adequately funded. Credits, despite their allure however weren't the only currency and Martin had capitalized on that fact. Any number of individuals throughout the galaxy had needs, desires, and Martin was uniquely qualified to deliver. For a price.

Martin had arrived only moments ago, the small shuttle settling into the deep sand dunes shortly after entering orbit. A quick survey had revealed that no other vessels were present, perhaps this would be easier than he expected. It wasn't that he was operating in violation of the First Order, but certainly he had motivations that were more selfish in nature. A gust of violent wind kicked up another wave of dust and sand, grating across his exposed flesh. A painful reminder to cover up, Martin brought the cloth scarf up over his nose and settled his goggles over his eyes. They had landed close but there was still some ground to cover.

[member="The Major"]​

 

[Konstantin Makarev]

Allies: [member="The Major"]
Enemies: [member="Martin Shepard"]
Location: Outer Perimeter, Camp Banque
Objective: Objective II

"You heard me you karkhounds!" A sharp voice barked, "Keep your grubby little mittens digging!" Konstantin thundered, as he patrolled through the desert camp. It was makeshift to say the least, and he had less men than what he had wanted. Loyal men, that was. But, such shortcomings could be overlooked. Camp Banque, as it had been called, sat in the Banque valley. At the very centre of where the dust storm had blown, a series of prefabricated shelters had been erected. The occupants? Two platoons of stormtroopers, and about double that in the way of hired hands and local mercenaries.

Patrolling one of the ridges, Makarev was accompanied by a pair of stormtroopers as they ran around the outer perimeter, checking upon excavations. For Makarev, he saw it as a waste of time. The First Order should build unto the future, not hold onto the past. But perhaps that was a little projection from the colonel unto policy. The scars of the One Sith still ran raw across his body. There was a buzz on his commlink, and Makarev glowered. Another interuption to his day. "What is it?" The colonel gruffly barked.

"Colonel, we just picked up an unidentified vessel in your sector. South East, sir." The camp's radioman informed him, "Could be interference. But I thought I'd let you know."

Makarev rolled his eyes. It would probably be nothing. Again. But security should never be lax. "Understood, we'll check it out."

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Praetorian Initiate
Objective II
Equipment | FO-07K Multi-purpose Assault Armour with Repulsorlift Technology, Vibrodaggers, Lightsaber & Training Lightsaber, DE-39 Maser Rifle, Throwing Knives, Binding Wires, Injector Pens filled with Lecepanine, C-25 Fragmentation Grenades
Location | Camp Banque, Near the Valley of Tombs, Praesitlyn
Allies | First Order, [member="Primat Ren"], [member="Konstantin Makarev"]
Unknown | [member="Martin Shepard"]
Status | Let me at 'em

[SIZE=11pt]Despite the fact that there were no windows in compartment area of the Banshee, Marriskcal was near vibrating from excitement in her seat. Oh, how she has daydreamed about being on an adventure just like this one! Death traps, bottomless pits, mummified bodies, treasures, she could just hear the ancient tombs calling out her name. Her presence on the force was bubbling and fizzling with ebullience and if that was not enough of a sign how eager the young blonde was, the way she was tugging at her brother’s arm now and then would be a clear giveaway.

“Primat, are you excited?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Despite her wanting to dress just like those adventurers she saw in the holomovies, it was perhaps fortunate that Marriskcal knew better than to give in to that frivolous desire. After her terrible misadventures with the many and varied creatures during her past assignments, the initiate seldom went on any mission these days without explosives… or battle armour. She learned the lesson very pointedly when poor Seto ended up being drenched in sewerage back on Lothal. Marriskcal allowed a shudder to course through her body at the mere thought of her brother’s misfortune back then.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]No. Never.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Approaching Camp Banque. I repeat, approaching Camp Banque.”[/SIZE]

 

[Progflaw99]

En Route to the Praesitlyn System
Refurbished First Order Border Outpost Shuttle
Squad(?): [member="Petra Vitalis"] | [member="Kira Vaal"] | @The Rebellion

As the voice of Kira Vaal reached his ears Atlas' nerves were settled - sort of. There wasn't another option at this point, they'd gone past the point of no return. All that was left was to see if fate favored the bold, as the adage went. With a deep breath, Atlas kept his hands steady on the controls as the Jedi keyed up the comms. If they were lucky, they'd get through this in one piece.

:: This is Shuttle Diomedes providing supplies and technical parts, requesting permission to pass first checkpoint. ::​

​

This was it. The moment of truth. The uniforms they wore, the code cylinders they'd acquired, even the false documentation they each held - none of it would matter if the clearance codes they gave here in this moment failed them. For several tense moments they were left with dead air, nothing but the hum of the shuttle's engines in their ears. Atlas knew it. The codes had failed and a First Order ship was taking aim, preparing to blast the boat into oblivion. So unexpected was the sound of a voice on the comm that Atlas almost jumped out of his seat.

:: Shuttle Diomedes, you are clear to progress past checkpoint one. Where are you headed today? We didn't see you on the flight roster. ::

Almost automatically Atlas paged his reply, the script they'd spent hours practicing sounding far more convincing in his mind than it did as he voiced it.

:: Acknowledged. Our destination is the uh... FIV Oculus. Guess they're doing some refits and needed some uh, specialty parts. You know, it's almost a wonder that... :: He realized he was rambling, a white pallor striking his features. ​

​

:: Understood. Keep in mind these are official channels Diomedes, keep the chatter to a minimum. Control out. ::

An overwhelming sigh could be heard escaping Atlas' lips. He could have just undone the whole thing. Him. He. Atlas. He couldn't believe his own carelessness. There wasn't sense in worrying about it now, they'd managed to scrape by. As the pounding of his heard began to subside, he spoke carefully to his passengers.

"Alright, looks like we made it through - now to the Oculus."​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Aboard the FIV Oculas
Objective: 3
Equipment: Raiment of the Vigilant, Vader's Bane Lightsaber
Nearby: [member="Atlas Viridian"] [member="Kira Vaal"] [member="Petra Vitalis"]

Kyrel Ren, had been aboard the cruiser, tasked with making sure the craft easily made it to their destination. He had originally been sent to deal with the surviving Jedi that had been in hiding. Part of the purge that still was in effect since Lothal. Every part of the New Jedi Order must be eradicated. Kyrel would make sure of that, but first, he had to arrive with the fleet. Aboard the ship's bridge. The crew didn't take kindly to his arrival and had an argument with the officer, and after a short bout of words, which left Kyrel with the violent urge to strangle the man with the Force. He relented, and under his consent was able to stay on the bridge. He had heard to be on the signs of Rebel activity. Following the fall of the Alliance. Rebel activity had been on the rise. More cells were popping up that were increasing threat to the Imperial Powers. The First Order to the Western Reaches, and the Sith Empire to the Tion Cluster. He had heard of exploits carried out by the Merillian Cell. Launching several attacks against the Sith, and being successful in their attempts. Damaging key infrastructure as well as personal.

The Steward of the Ren could not allow such a cell to infiltrate and disrupt the Order's plans in taking the system. He had maintened a close contact with his fellow Ren, they were tasked with investigating the artifacts below the planet's surface. A change of pace from the aggressive pacification of the Outer Rim. Throughout their campaign into former Alliance space, they had to deal with similar problems the Empire of old faced. Hostile natives, Rogue Jedi, and governments who were unwillingly accepting of the peace and security the Order provided to their worlds. For the most part, Kyrel felt as if he was a lap dog, but had answered ultimately to the Oculas's captain. Standing and watching over the barren planet, the fleet moving slowly to the world.

The fleet was moving along right on schedule, until seeing a small transport. One of First Imperial design, he thought curiously of who it might be. Of no importance at first, But he listened carefully through the enhanced hearing of his helmet, the ship's officer had allowed them entry, but sensing through the Force. It didn't feel right, he could sense something or someone, he reacted immediately and without hesitation looking at the officer with a cold and intimidating presence. "Admiral, send a squad of stormtroopers to the hanger, I feel that an inspection is necessary, especially coming all the way out here." The Admiral with whom he bickered with earlier, contorted his face as if taking offense, but begrudgingly agreed, and order a squad of stormtroopers to the hanger, Kyrel already on the way to the nearest turbolift. If there were Rebels he would deal with them, if not then perhaps he was being paranoid. All was as the Force wills. Waiting patiently, as he heard from the nearest trooper already in the hanger, and waiting for the craft to land.

 

[Eighth Guard]

​

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The Eighth Guard, Praetorian Knight​

Equipment: Bilari Swordwhip - Praetorian Armour​

Location: Praesitlyn, Camp Banque​

Status: Objective II - Relic Hunt​

Theme: Kylo Ren Arrives | Battlefront 2​

​

​

​

A single command shuttle had descended upon the excavation camp, setting down on the floor of the desert valley as sand was crunched beneath its landing legs. Several workers and stormtroopers that had been passing by gave the vessel a quick glance before moving out of the way as the landing ramp lowered with a sinister hydraulic hiss. Footsteps would follow as a red-armoured individual stepped down onto the heated surface, stopping a few meters away from the shuttle as a squad of sandtroopers disembarked to supplement the local force.

The Eighth Guard gazed around the valley, taking in the ancient tombs and the aura of power that they exuded; he could presume, at any rate, that they must've held relatively Force-strong artefacts within them, or else he would not have been sent here. Even if the praetorian knight had not been in contact with Him for some time, he knew that He would appreciate the trinkets and the knowledge they held, if any.

He was about to continue his stride when he thought better of it, for he had sensed a familiar presence in the region that made his heart beat a split-second faster once he ascertained who it belonged to. He projected his thoughts into the Force, sending a message to her once he had isolated her signature from that of another Ren: Find me in the valley. Once he was certain she would receive it, he continued where he left off - stalking towards the recently uncovered tombs.

It was time to begin the search.

[member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Primat Ren"] | [member="Konstantin Makarev"] | [member="Martin Shepard"]​

 

[Kira Vaal]

En Route to the Praesitlyn System
Refurbished First Order Border Shuttle ‘Diomedes’
Squad: [member="Atlas Viridian"] | [member="Petra Vitalis"] | @The Rebellion

Kira gave Atlas a stare as he spoke, it was a worried stare like the one you gave your friend when they were slipping more and more into trouble. Her hand, still on the communicator wanted to drop it, turn it off and prepare to run as fast as they could away, but to do so would jeopardise any possible chance they had of this opportunity being used. So she let the channel role and Atlas’ words along with it. It was a tense couple of moments where seconds felt like hours.

:Understood:— Kira didn’t even hear the rest of the words, her head was too busy irradiating the mental thoughts of a firing squad. Her flinger clicked the communicator off, a strange eerie silence filling the shuttle as the white noise all but faded. Kira hunched back in her seat, fully aware of the glistening layer of sweat visible on her forehead, in fact she rolled her sleeve across it to try and release it’s embrace while she also blew out an extended breath of relief that she could feel was mirrored by the entire shuttle at this point.

Then she looked towards Atlas.

“You good?” He wasn’t, she didn’t need all her abilities with the Force to tell that. He was pale and you could hear his heart beating from the co-pilot seat. Her hand moved across and landed on his shoulder, it wasn’t the time to dwell. “We through. Now onwards, like we planned, one step at a time.” She couldn’t help but mirror the dread though, something was out there, something dark and horrible. Was it the Force warning them of their eventual deaths, or something more illusive? She couldn’t tell and right now she didn’t really want to know.

 

[Petra Vitalis]

Petra watched with mounting horror as [member="Atlas Viridian"] ran his mouth. That wasn't like him; normally he was cool, collected. Maybe his burst eardrum had caused him to go a little bit loopy. But all was well that ended well, she supposed as the shuttle was cleared. She almost couldn't believe that it had worked after that. "I knew we'd get through," she said as she stood up. For a moment, her eyes lingered on [member="Kira Vaal"]'s hand on Veridian's shoulder, but in a moment she was turning and walked back to the rear of the shuttle. She was not dressed in her usual finery and disguise, which would no doubt draw a lot of attention to them aboard the ship. Instead, she wore a simple grey jumpsuit, the likes of which were not uncommon for First Order mechanical personnel. Her dark hair had been dyed a strawberry blonde, and she wore glacial blue contacts to disguise her identity to prevent any possible recognition anyone might have, however far-fetched, of the Grand Moff's sister-in-law.

She tucked a duty cap over her hair and strapped on a tool belt before turning back to the others.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," she murmured as she drew her datapad out of her belt, examining the interface for a moment. "I should be able to override the security controls and get us schematics," she told them. "But If they have additional security, we might have a problem. It will take longer to brute-force a ship this size than, say, a fighter-class."

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Objective: BYOO - Mission Improbable
Momen Interstellar Spaceport, Praesitlyn

The passport slid across the counter.

Glancing up, the customs agent found himself staring at a blue-skinned Duros. Crimson, blood-red eyes peering back at him. The passport itself was issued by the Commerce Guild, which raised an eyebrow even as the officer began to process the visa application. "Duration of your trip?"

"Two days," the man, who documents identified as one Kor Vaiya. The passport was issued from Denon, with entry and exit stamps from planetary authorities in the region. "Strictly business, in and out," the Duros went on to add.

All the paperwork checked out, but the agent couldn't help but feel he was missing something with this one. "What kind of business are you in?" the agent asked, glancing up again.

"Exports," the Duros supplied simply.

"Really?" the agent deadpanned, clearly unimpressed. Still, there was nothing he could identify that would suggest that the man's story was bogus, so he stamped the passport and slid it across the counter.

Taking the passport back, the Duros tucked the identicard inside his jacket pocket. Casually strolling through the spaceport, the man made his way through toward the baggage claim. As he did, he passed by a Hosnian News store.

Inside, a young Atrisian boy peered over the top of a holocomic. Dark eyes following the Duros. Returning the comic to the shelf, the child moved like a shadow on the wall, as he followed the blue-skinned alien from a distance.

The Duros picked up a small roller bag and began wheeling his way out of the spaceport. He paused briefly at the curb, just long enough to hail a sky-cab. As the Atrisian boy came out of the doors into the light of day, he watched the sky-cab pull away from the spaceport.

Metro Sky Cab. Number 4175.

So, now what?

Looking around, the youngling analyzed the available options. On site procurement my ass. The front of the spaceport was a rather bustling, public spectacle. He couldn't do anything too untoward in that kind of setting. He needed an alternative means of following that sky-cab.

There were about three different company of commercial speeders ducking in and out of the spaceport. The Metro Sky Cab tagged ones were a black and yellow ensemble that seemed pooled off to one side of the curb. Queued up in a line, the back of the line was filled with stragglers that kept their distance. Driver's who'd recently returned from running fares. A few were taking a nap in their cars.

One, parked away from the rest, was idling underneath an overhang for shade, was munching away on a late lunch of some kind of pastrami sandwich. Scanning the area, the child was alert for passers-by as he approached the driver's side of the sky-cab.

"Nihâo," the youngling uttered, switching back to the Atrisian language. Pulling out one of those cheap, give-a-way tourist maps, the child held out the map as he asked, "Guàtǎn zài nǎlǐ?"

As the cabbie turned his head, he had pastrami and mustard dribbling down his chin. Fumbling with large, meaty hands, the man stared at the kid as though he were some kind of inhuman thing for a moment. Then, managed to stammer and say, "Look, kid, I don't speak Epicanthix or whatever. We speak Basic here. You understand?" the man asked, pausing a moment.

The child just stared back at him blankly. "Basic," the cabbie tried again, before slowly spelling it out for him, "B-A-S-I-C."

"Guàtǎn zài nǎlǐ?"

The man swore under his breath, looking back at his half-eaten sandwich before he set it aside and unbuckled his seat restraint. "Epicanthix piece of chit," the man uttered lowly, as he opened the door to the sky-cab and started to get out to help the boy.

A sweep of the child's leg took the man's foot out from under him. As he slipped down, the child's hand pressed against the cab door and swung it back with surprising force. The man's head bounced between the door and the frame of the cab, his body going limp as he lost consciousness, crumpling to the ground with hardly a sound.

Scanning the area again for passers-by or onlookers, the child opened the door to the cab and casually tossed the cabbie over on the passenger side with one hand.

Settling into the driver's seat, the Atrisian boy reached down to pick up the half a pastrami sandwich. Munching away, the boy keyed the cab company mini-computer on the dash. As he suspected, it was tracking fares and routes.

4175 was en route to the Jakora Royale Hotel.

A another series of keystrokes, and the boy had dialed up coordinates and a nav-course to the hotel. Scooting up in the driver's seat, the boy backed the sky-cab up away from the curb, then threw the repulsor into gear as he pulled the air speeder up and away.

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Praetorian Initiate
Objective II
Equipment | FO-07K Multi-purpose Assault Armour with Repulsorlift Technology, Vibrodaggers, Lightsaber & Training Lightsaber, DE-39 Maser Rifle, Throwing Knives, Binding Wires, Injector Pens filled with Lecepanine, C-25 Fragmentation Grenades
Location | Camp Banque, Near the Valley of Tombs, Praesitlyn
Allies | First Order, [member="Eighth Guard"], [member="Primat Ren"], [member="Konstantin Makarev"]
Unknown | [member="Martin Shepard"]
Status | Onwards!

[SIZE=11pt]As a familiar presence touched her own, the young blonde stilled in her seat, her focus wholly intent on the mellifluous words that resonated through her mind. While her own abilities to project her thoughts through the force has progressed since her very first assignment, it was still nowhere stable enough for her to project her words clearly. Instead, Marriskcal stretched out her own force presence, sending a mélange of surprise, delight and anticipation towards the praetorian knight in reply.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Her smile was even brighter than before as she turned back to Primat, tugging excitedly once more at the older male much abused arm. “Brother, the knight is in the valley! We are definitely meeting up with him.” Her tone held the unmistakable note that the matter was not up for negotiation. This adventure was already better than what she has imagined, and she hasn’t even set one foot into the Valley of Tombs just yet.

By now, their vessel has landed within Camp Banque and the sandy winds of the area was starting to blow into the opened doors. While she was usually meticulous when it comes to her preparations, Marriskcal barely even waited for her helmet to seal before she was already out of the Banshee, giving a brief wave of thank you towards their pilot. “Hurry up, Primat,” the young initiate called out to her brunette brother. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Initially, she was hoping if they found any treasure, she would keep one as a souvenir for the praetorian knight. But this? This was way better.[/SIZE]

 

[Delilah Graham]

https://youtu.be/CeUYzDgs498​

Objective 4: BYOO - Excavate Ancient Ruins

The main event was halfway across the planet, at some tomb or another, but Dr. Lovejoy was not in any particular mood to deal with the First Order's pet Force cult today. They had such little respect for the norms of archaeological research and scholarly norms. Their idea of an archaeological dig was, from what he understood, more akin to 'smash and grab' than an orderly expedition. Of course, when prompted by one of his students about why they had set up their dig all the way over here and not all the way over there, he didn't explain that it was because he didn't want them to get on the wrong side of things, or that he didn't want their work co-opted for other purposes.

Instead, he explained: "Because we're here to develop an understanding of the ancient civilizations that walked here before, not try to get our hands on some Force relic. What would we do with one if we found it? Your grades need more help than that, Shemsky."

The dig team was set up near an oasis, and fairly distant to the massive sandstorm that they could see across the desert, with some hard-sided prefabricated units that would provide protection and some comfort against the glaring sun during downtime. The bulk of the dig site was, by now, underground, so that too gave some respite from the heat and glare. Still, Lionel -- or 'Ly,' as his students called him on these excursions outside of the classroom where he was Doctor Lovejoy or 'Professor' -- was sweating through his shirt as he led the group down the ramp towards the underground chamber where they were currently working. It was broad but felt cramped because of how low it was.

"Now, class," said Lovejoy as he set up the work lamp in the center of the entry chamber. "What do you think this chamber is an entryway to? What do you suppose we'll find on the other side of this door?" He thumped the solid sandstone wall for effect, causing a slight groan to reverberate through the chamber. The class -- a human man and woman, a Zabrak female and a Duros male, all of whom had been selected to attend the expedition based on their grades and essays on the subject -- seemed reticent. Lionel spread his hands and chuckled. "Remember, there are no stupid answers, only stupid people, and we left the rest of your classmates behind on Dosuun."

The human female -- Juliet, though the others called her 'Jules' -- raised a hand, then lowered it when Lionel smirked. "A reservoir? For the oasis nearby?"

Lionel considered her answer. "Not a bad guess," he decided. "The sloping entry, rather than steps, could be to facilitate rolling storage barrels up and down, and keeping it underground might keep the water cooler. Anyone else?"

The Duros male, whose name Lionel couldn't remember but whose nickname he knew to be Besh, cleared his throat. "A marketplace - people come to get water, trade, and barter. Or a storage facility for the marketplace, I guess?"

"Perfectly viable," Lionel answered. "Of course, we know next to nothing about the peoples who settled this world in antiquity, or we might be able to hazard guesses with a little more accuracy. But no matter. We'll set the trend." He dropped his rucksack and opened it, rolling out his toolkit. The students did the same. "Now, let's get to it. This may look like a solid wall, but I can assure you it's a door."

"How do you know?" asked Jules. "I mean -- well. How do you know?" With a smirk, Lionel crooked his finger at her. The girl was not a First Order native; obsequience to authority did not come naturally to her. That was something Lionel rather enjoyed. He took her hand and led her over to the edge of the door as if he were leading her in a tango. What looked like any of the other intricate carvings on the wall was a part of the opening, and he knew this because -- "There's a draft!" Jules exclaimed.

"Which means -- "

" -- there's airflow behind."

"Right in one," said Lionel. "But without knowing what this is, I'm not wild about the idea of forcing the door. Or blowing it apart. These old places have been known to be booby-trapped. Remind me later to tell you all about that rolling boulder trap. Now that is a classic. But there should be a switch or mechanism out here that can get the door to open. Assuming, of course, that first of all it exists, second of all it is still functioning after -- oh, I'd say about twelve hundred years -- and third of all that we can figure out how to use it once we find it." He paused and looked around, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. "If this is a fortress or some other kind of secured facility, there may not be a switch, and we may need to resort to blowing the door. But I'd like to avoid it. So! Your mission, should you choose to accept it -- and you will, or you'll fail my class -- is to find the switch or rule it out of existence. Any questions?"

He was greeted with the silence of a tomb.

"Excellent. Let's split the chamber into equal quadrants. I'll assist each of you in turns. Go ahead."

He stood back near the door and watched as his pupils marked out their quadrants with string and pins, assessing their techniques even before they had begun what they thought was the real work.

 

[Dirk Bannahan]

Racosidae: the Rueful Ren
Objective 1: Get the Jedi
Location: In the shet
Allies: Scattered auxiliary troops, some stormtroopers, who the Hell knew?
Music: After the Drop

It turned out less to be a palace within a city and more like a complex of hangers and crude, improvised forts beset upon the remains of a small town. Once upon a time, the desert huts and arid balconies could probably offer the citizens living upon the place the charm of seeing absolutely nothing but sand. Because who ever has the bright idea of jabbing a finger at a spot on the map in the middle of a desert, building a road to that spot in the desert, and collecting sand to slap down some buildings in that desert.

It was sunny. It was hot. And Rae would have probably hated herself even more than usual for letting herself get assigned to what was essentially her version of Hell.

But at least there was some company.

A company in fact.

An entire company of defensive troops were still in the compound, holding their postings bitterly while inflicting the most noisome of things upon the once again under-qualified auxiliary who charged in with the Ren who stupidly agreed to these things without reading the mission intel, or staying awake during the briefings.

Calling the enemy a contingent of troops was a bit unfair to actual, professional armies. These were the most annoying kind of fighter: the freedom fighter with a cause worth dying over. They pelted the landing zone with overlapping fields of blaster fire, and when one of the warboats suddenly exploded due to the work of a high powered anti-tank shell catching the boat mid fuel supply, she had to wonder what she was doing.

A trooper screamed about tanks and motioned down range, but Rae had to get down in the dust and crawl behind some of the bodies of the auxiliary thralls who were a little more unlucky.

A blast here. How lucky.
A detonator took out half of a platoon still scrambling there. How lucky.
Some one started screaming about their mom in that ghastly pitch that implied they were shot through the stomach. How lucky.

Rae felt distinct pride in her prone maneuvering, not even flinching when bolts sizzled over head. Instead, some of the troopers, on her side she guessed, tossed smoke grenades to cover their movements to escape what was clearly, in hindsight, a killing zone.

How lucky.

 

[The Major]

Allies: [member="Konstantin Makarev"] | The First Order
Siblings: [member="Martin Shepard"]
Enemies: The lack of jazz in this dung mound of a camp
Location: Outer Perimeter, Camp Banque
Objective: Objective II

“Negative, Colonel.” Said a voice brimming with the sliding spit between the teeth of a cheshire grin.

There, standing behind the men monitoring their stations was the ever chipper Magistrate of Mysteries, the Major, managing a wide, infectious smile that split across her cheeks in a way that was evocative so many different reactions: unease, disgust, derision. So many lovely things. She continued, assuming they would either know who she was simply by the crushing weight of her presence and taking the leap of faith that they all weren’t complete ignoramuses. If they knew of her, then they might know what exactly her job entailed.

Armed with that knowledge, she was confident a pleasant, respectful, and effective resolution to their work would be reached.

The alternatives, even for an Army Colonel, weren’t exactly so positive.

“You see, that vessel you’ve discovered overlaps with a Security Bureau investigation. Quite sensitive stuff, in fact. I will be personally investigating the matter, Colonel.” The Major began to walk towards a nearby shuttle, arms folded behind the small of her back -a perfect picture of an Imperial officer if there ever was one.

“Oh, and of course you and some of your men shall accompany me, correct?” While the words were framed as request, nothing in the smirk or gleam in her eyes implied anything even remotely resembling a friendly suggestion.

 

[Varian Alaric]

Location| Sand Dunes
Objective| II
Allies| [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Eighth Guard"]
Enemies| Unknown

Equipment| 2x Lightsabers (crimson), Multi-purpose Assault Armor(Without Helmet)
Status| Determined

Primat was happy to go with Marr on this mission, and he was relieved to not be doing some 'group bonding exercise' as Kyrel called it. Hell, he was glad to not be around Kyrel. True, he didn't hate the man...though he wasn't overly fond of the man either. He was willing to try and forgive him for trying to take control on Virgillia, that is if Kyrel apologized for his attempted 'coup,' if you could even call it that though. What he was not willing to forgive Kyrel for, however, was his treatment of Varas. He had no idea how the man had treated his daughter beforehand, though once Varas had talked to him about her father...he grew to despise and dislike the man more and more since the infighting he caused on Virgillia. He wasn't willing to forgive Kyrel for that, not at all. Even though the two of them were allies, Primat chose to hide his anger and annoyance with Kyrel through the force. After all, he didn't want the man whom he insulted to know that he was disgusted by him.

He probably knew anyways, however Primat wanted to be safe with his beliefs and thoughts about Kyrel. That was the least he could do to make sure Kyrel didn't try to get an edge over him.

Primat was happy to be here with Marr. They had never really gone on any missions before, and this was a breath of fresh air for him. And a welcomed one at that. He was very fond of Marr and enjoyed her company immensely. So doing something with her was exciting. Even if it was a mission...or more of a treasure hunt. Either way it was a 'mission' they were assigned to do.

That's what the two of them were doing, treasure hunting. At the mere thought of that, it had given Primat an idea hours earlier. He could...get Varas a gift here. Maybe a spooky enchanted sith amulet or a fancy gold necklace. And what they were doing here...searching through these tombs, was the secondary reason that he had gone on this venture with Mar. He hadn't told Marr about what he was going to do here, what he was going to look for...though he suspected she already had a suspicion. If not, well he could tell her and pick out some things and ask for her advice on what Varas would love most.

"The...Knight?" Primat questioned curiously as Marr broke his train of thought and dragged him off of the ship. Ah yes, the knight. I assume she means the Praetorian from Virgillia. Primat nearly fell out of the shuttle as Marr dragged him out. Much to his relief, he had stopped himself before he fell into the sand. Bringing his hand up to his forehead and eyes, he wiped the sand from his face as he tried to follow behind Marr. Primat had opted not to wear a helmet, mostly because he hadn't wanted to wear one. He enjoyed the warm feeling of the sun from above shining on his face, slowly tanning it as he made his way towards Marr. Though, he had his helmet in a pack on his back just encase he needed it. For whatever reason.