Side by Side ... by Side [First Order Dominion of Anoat Sector Hex]

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 14
Hoth

Decima regarded Veles with a mixture of equal parts curiosity and apprehension. She remembered arriving at the spaceport on Dosuun in search of her future -- she remembered the recruitment posters. Join the Stormtrooper Corps - Women Love A Man In White Armor! or Fight And Flight in the First Order Starfighter Corps - See the Galaxy! She supposed it made sense that there was no poster for the Knights of Ren or the Sith, because what could they possibly say to entice people to join their ranks: The Knights of Ren - Die, Probably!

But Decima Fortan was not the type to let herself be defeated. "I happen to be well-versed in adapting," she told Veles, and though her voice was quiet, a certain determination shone in her dark eyes, and there was something in the firm set of her jaw said that she was not one to give up. "I will do what you have said, Master Veles. Or die in the attempt," she conceded grimly, but in a tone that suggested that she found it highly unlikely. Still, things did happen, and it was difficult to prophesy, particularly about the future. The die was cast; there was no point in questioning it now. Decima would be Sith, and a Knight of Ren, or she would die.

"Yes, Master Veles," Decima said, bowing her head subtly. "As you say." She picked up a random book, which turned out to be a biography on Sate Pestage, and began flipping through the first few pages. But she didn't like to read during atmospheric flights, so she set it aside for now, instead taking it upon herself to monitor the communications terminal. "Master, look -- a priority signal. It looks like [member="Itaska Relens"] is gathering some people at -- ahh, point seven three." She indicated on the map.

[member="Darth Veles"]

 

[Saki lin]

Post two
Hoth
Prison cell

From either being impatient or just hating how cold it was saki gave a annoyed growl and stood up slowly as she looked out, two guards were watching her cell....they got the worst job yet it seemseems and it would only get even worse for them with how mad she was

Now she had to make a quick plan...what could she do...ah Mayne the old I'm hurt then let them come in then bam!

No no they couldnt possibly fall for that...she had limited options considering she was behind a ray shield surrounded by ice....wait a minute ICE! of course she knew some fire shaping to be able to at least melt the ice....maybe even enough to go around

Giving a small chuckle she started heating her hands up and went to the side wall as she started moving her hands up and down the wall watching it slowly melt as she pushed her powers to the limit focusing it all on making her hands hot enough to melt the ice as she closed her eyes as she started making a few inches into the wall getting past the emitters for the ray shield as she stopped and took a breath feeling the exhaustion setting in she returned to the middle of the floor again and sat down mediating drawing the force to her....maybe hoping someone would feel that pull....it was either she finished the ice wall or someone came and disabled it from the outside

 

[Dunames Lopez]

Post: 13/38
Location: Bespin
Allies: First Order
Enemies: Unknown
Objective: 6 (build a ski resort on Mt. Ison)

Virginie feels that she could reconnect with her youth by now, as she brought in some skates that had an amovible blade as well as her ski equipment. Her coat was just fine to do alpine skiing the way she envisioned it. And the way she remembered doing it. That meant Dunames and Frank had to stay at the base of the station while Virginie enjoys one of "the most incredible [alpine] skiing slopes in the galaxy" for herself. Dunames and Frank turn the chairlift on; said chairlift was touted to be a chairlift that could adjust to the passenger load of the device. The manufacturer knew that many a chairlift would be operated in eco-sensitive regions, and a chairlift with a low-power idle mode would help there. At least there appears not to be any major malfunction of the device; Frank feels left out when Virginie seems to be having all the fun here. But it made sense for Virginie to be the one in the chairlift and going downhill: neither Frank nor Dunames had any experience whatsoever of alpine skiing. It seems that Dunames had questions about Virginie's spectacular descent.

"Now that's what I call having talent in alpine skiing"

"She said she was a figure skater, but what kind of athlete was she prior to joining Star Tours? Forgive me, but I know next to nothing about the First Order's athletic history"

"You have to understand that First Order athletes in many sports were trained from a young age in a series of sports schools, often they are sport-specific, especially at the topmost levels. It's kind of a pyramid structure"

"Frank, how is the sports school system a pyramid structure?"

"It's a pyramid structure because many would fail as athletes as elementary-aged kids, fewer of them would go on to attend a sports middle school, and fewer even would attend a sports high school. The failures are reinserted into the regular civilian system or in military schools, depending on how far along they got - the further along when you fail out of the system, the more likely you were to join the military"

"Were you part of the system? Or do you suspect Virginie of having been a part of the system?"

"Ask Virginie once her descent is over"

 

[OK-3103]

[member="Hyori Tal"] [member="Sentiri"]

Meneer took the projector and the ear-comm. As soon as it was discrete, he popped them into place. He listened intently to the Chiss’ instruction. He had to hand it to her that she was thorough and the equipment was military grade. Fortunately the cantina was loud enough and there were enough unsavoury types around that the clientele knew to keep themselves to themselves.

The guidance was clear and unequivocal as was his role — to infiltrate. He was used to doing the legwork.

Then he listened to the other member of the trio. She clearly had the intel. So once more he gave his full attention. When she finished, Meneer knew it was his turn to speak. He was a manor few words — just the ones that were necessary.

“Understood. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll do what’s necessary. I’m as used to receiving as giving orders, so simply tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

 

[Darth Veles]

Their arrival was most inglorious, concealed by Your Deathbed’s stealth systems and raging snowstorm that had caught them in its wake. Followed by parking the ship out of sight behind a suitable mound, the Sith Lord and his apprentice made their way over to the meeting point. For some reason, the Mon Cal felt more alive out in the freezing temperatures than inside the comfortable ship – the Sith assassin craved such discomfort with the perverted belief that enduring deadly conditions and pushing himself past his limits made him stronger, tougher, better. Veles had even retained his distinguished and powerful strides – no sign of weakness could be spotted on his physical appearance, even the man’s presence in the Force would have radiated cold confidence if not for him erasing it from existence. Given the permanent possibility of encountering Dark Jedi or the Mon Cal’s former colleagues, the decision to hide the powerful signature was a sound one.

After a few minutes dominated by the sound of boots mercilessly stomping the snow, the Sith Lord’s eye swivelled towards the petite woman pacing beside him.

“There should always be only two Sith; one to embody power, the other to crave it,” declares the Sith assassin suddenly as his cybernetic eye swivels to meet her questioning gaze, “Decima, my dearest student, you will study the ways of both Ren and Sith. Only ignorant fools burn books and refuse wisdom when it’s offered to them – crave knowledge as you crave power, as knowledge equals power. Learn from your friends and enemies alike and there will be nobody to challenge you.”

It appeared to be quite a strike force when the unusual duo reached their position. Taking in the intimidating appearance of their snow white armour, Veles suddenly felt the drive to fight alongside these men. A strange sensation, considering the Darth worked better alone – being assassin and all that, his focus lied in infiltration, sabotage and elimination. The soldiers in question radiated tempered eagerness through the Force, unaware the Mon Calamari walking past them had also caught their spike of disapproval when some of them spotted a non-human. Both sides were too professional to act upon that in any way though. When Veles’ pace abruptly stopped in front of the man whose very appearance demanded respect, all doubts were have been voided.

“What’s the situation, commander?”


[member="Decima Fortan"] [member="Itaska Relens"]

 

[Kriel Firin]

[member="Isla Ashen"]

Kriel nodded as Isla explained her motivator for revenge. Kriel too could cite his father as someone that made him the person he was today. Yet once he’d joined the Order, his feelings for his father were forgotten as inconsequential. He now felt above his former emotions. How he’d feel if he bumped into his father were a different matter — but right now, there was no desire to find him. Not that it mattered or in any way reflected on Isla. She was her own person and had to deal with this her way. But in Kriel’s opinion, she needed to deal with it if she wanted to commit to the Knights.

“Whatever is necessary to permit you to fully serve the First Order and the Knights of Ren we shall do. I shall assist you however you need but the punishment, the what, the where, the how and the doing? That is down to you. And we should not delay.”

 

[Tyger Tyger]

<LOCATION REDACTED>​

Yesterday, 1330Z​

The room was sterile, just not in white. It was in the greys and black and occasional red being made as traditional whenever the First Order was “on-message.” The inclusion of the Stormtroopers present, clad in the armor of shining, immaculate white, made for a scene that was really quite striking, evoking all the emotions of Strength and Fear and Control.

In a fascist regime, everything becomes propaganda.

The men were silent, save for the occasional sigh of exasperated – each exhale exaggerated to express the irritation of having to sit, to wait, to listen – all verbs at which Men of Action, like these, failed to excel. They did not speak to each other, retreating to the insides of their helmets or an almost imperceptible blemish upon the wall.

Save for one, who kept looking at Tyger Tyger for some reason. The bounty hunter assumed it was because of his “uniform,” or rather, his lack thereof. As a privateer, Tyger Tyger garments were composed of equipment acquired in personal adventures, a look developed over a life lived and a testament to individuality, which bore stark contrast to those whom he shared his company, to the room itself, to the building, and to the world. Perhaps this is why the trooper was so concerned.

Tyger Tyger turned in his chair and stared until the man desisted. Fortunately, this didn’t have to be as generally awkward as it sounds, as the man conducting the brief suddenly appeared...in a manner of speaking.

It was a hologram, of course. Imperial Intelligence far too important and inherently too mysterious to ever really do these things in person.

What was also noteworthy was that the man was Watcher-Four – Tyger Tyger’s longtime handler from an unknown “infinite” Empire. He was clad in First Order officer digs, apparently having integrated his organization rather seamlessly with what existed from the faction’s efforts – like it possessed some sort of universal Imperial Bureaucratic adapter or something.

This made sense. After all, it would explain how Tyger Tyger wound up in their personnel files as an Intelligence Asset – what brought him here, to this room.
Like a celebrity always knowing where her camera is, Watcher-Four aimed and fired a knowing wink at the bounty hunter. Milo continued to look unimpressed.

Watcher-Four began.

“Ladies and gentleman, I understand you are all in a hurry to get your rest, so I will try to keep this brief…well…brief.”

On the holoboard, graphics began to appear, starting broad initially, but increasing in specificity as the brief continued. Right now, it was Varonat.

“This is Varonat. Located with the Anoat sector, Varonat boasts a wide variety of flora and fauna, breathable air, and a 24 hour day. Other than this, however, with a population of barely 55,000 – only 5 thousand of which are human -- it offers nothing in terms of political influence and holds no inherent military interest. What Varonat offers is agriculture, and a lot of it. So much so, that the human colonists give away much of its production…”

Pictures of the Great Jungle, as well as the occasional shot of mountains and plains, flashed upon the screen. An animal here and there; produce.

“…and therein lies the issue. The unchecked providence to others within the region that are not the Order.”

On the board, a big yellow circle with a frownie face inside.

A hand was up; a young man, clearly in his twenties, with an objection to the mission being presented. It was longstanding, and he appeared to have prior knowledge of the brief, as his hand had been up for some time, albeit unconfidently. He finally interrupted. “With all due respect, sir, isn’t this more of a Ministry of State issue? I’m not sure the kneejerk response to indiscriminate charity should be to grab our guns and knock over a bunch of peaceful farmers...”

He sorta smirked, then looked around, seeing if his phrasing amused the others as much as he had amused himself. He was met with the smiling faces of the Stormtrooper helmet and the inhuman scraps of sound picked up by their voice modulators that may have once been the chuckles of one or two men.

“Hah,” Watcher-Four acknowledged his attempt at humor, but not before dousing it in poison. “Minder-23 -- The Ministry of State, of course, has done its due diligence with Tropis-on-Varonat – “ The city appeared on the board “—and Edgefields-on-Varonat --“ then this one, in that order, “—and the Varonatian people are most accommodating. They are benevolent naturalists and humanists, and would graciously grant the First Order their bounty in exclusivity…provided, of course, the Morodins take no exception.”

The image of a morodin appeared.

“This is a Morodin. Standing between 10 and 20 meters tall --,”

There was stirring amongst the audience.

“—they are a species of sentient, -herbivores- who occupy the jungles. They are slow moving, and secrete a slime trail in their wake, which has the unique properties of force-evolving produce to its most nutritional mutation with each application, transforming a regular farming planet into a treasure trove of superfoods.”

Watcher-Four shrugged his shoulder, increasing the speed of his cadence in this next part.

“Their culture and society is tribal, superstitious, and, by and large, they possess a similar disposition to those humans in which they share the world.”

The screen changed, now showing a more specific morodin wearing some sort of tribal headdress of leaves, earrings of seeds. Accompanying his image was a list of vitals and known physical information.

“This particular morodin, however, acts a shaman for one of the tribes, and, for some reason indeterminable to us by such an isolationist planet, sees it as an affront that the morodin people contribute to the First Order, and has begun to radicalize morodin youth within his sphere. Based on what our linguists can tell us, it goes by the name ‘Star Blossom’ –“

“Star Sepal. It’s the part that protects the flower in its bud – that’s the cultural significance,” Minder-23 objected again, unable to hold back, “--and, again, sir, wouldn’t this still fall under the Ministry of State…?”

“Yes, Minder-23, your lack of spine has already been noted,” Watcher-Four spat, making no effort to conceal his disdain. The audience laughed, recognizably so this time, making no effort to conceal theirs, either. “The Ministry of State lacks the capabilities, and, frankly, the interest in developing a campaign just to sway the TENS and TWENTIES of morodin youth signing up to STAB and GROWL at our invading force. A smaller force has been identified as the more effective procedure, particularly as it has been posited that Star BLOSSOM is, in fact, acting in agency of the Galactic Alliance, or more likely, our friends in ‘The Resistance.’”

Watcher-Four used finger quotes in referring to “The Resistance.”

The screen changed again, now showing something more akin to a play out of a football coach’s playbook.

“Barring no further interruption,” Watcher-Four foreshadowed-but-really-commanded, staring down Minder-23 through his holocall, "--your mission is such: Under the cover of nightfall, Order forces will jump in at low altitude into the Great Forest in what we have declared Zone A. With the jungle canopy, recon has been scarce at precisely identifying where it is Star Blossom dwells, but based on the few occasions in which his head has broken the treeline, we have gathered it is likely two kilometers north of this point.”

Watcher-Four gestured with his finger acting as stylus.

“From there, First Order Forces will proceed in stealth to Star Blossom’s projected location and engage him in solitude. Having brought Minder-23 along, the Minder will act as translator and First Order Forces will attempt to make a better deal than that offered by his adversary employers. Failing that, the objective will become to capture. Should that prove impossible, to kill.”

Tyger Tyger glanced at Minder-23. The young agent looked mortified.

“Your combat effectiveness shall be augmented by asset: Tyger Tyger, and while you will retain command of your element, Lieutenant, you will defer to Tyger Tyger’s expertise should he assert it. We’re paying good money for him, after all. Let’s be sure we use him.”

Watcher-Four snickered. After a few beats, he shrugged and closed out the brief.

“Not so hard, right? You depart at Zero Dark. Should you succeed, you will have earned the First Order a veritable breadbasket and assisted in stabilizing the region. Good luck!”

"Varonat" 2 of 30​

Back I Next​

 

[Retelii Feverun]

Arriving late, wasn't the plan. Though, still in Hoth's local space, he would orbit awaiting precise orders. Skimming through his notes, before throwing on his snow attire, and wrapping his white hood over his head. "Felix, tell me of this place." He would say in a intrigued tone. "Well sir, I can tell you that it is a planet of low temperatures, and dangerous wildlife including Wampas." The droid spat out in its 'posh' tone. Retelii would pace up and down the command deck of the borrowed ship he had obtained from his new found allies: The First Order.

"And, what of this... resistance?" He would ask, before allowing his frost white eyes to lay on the half battered droid. "Here you go, Sir." Before the droid, would hand him a holographic image displayed from the main terminal. Showing two large groups, fleeing from a compound. "Why are they running?" The Rattataki inquired. "I can't say, Sir." Before Retelii would wave the droid off dismissively, shutting his eyes for a moment, then simply nodding. Turning swiftly, causing his cape to flap through the air. Heading for the glass window, looking out towards the planet. Staying there for a minute, then eventually pursing his cracked lips. "Take me down" in a demanding manner.

As the ship touched down onto the snow, the door would smash down followed by the man walking down, hitting the snow before sliding his feet around getting a feel for it's texture since he'd never felt anything but... gravel, dirt and sand under his feet from his harsh world he was born into to. Taking out his binoculars, and scanning the snow he would identify the targets instantly dropping the binoculars and augmenting his speed darting his way over to them.

They would continue to run, before one of them fell behind due to exhaustion he would stop to catch his breath. Seemingly safe, he would stand still watching as his allies ran ahead of him before two hands could be felt on the side of his head followed by a snap! As the ever deadly Rattataki reached around and twisted the man's neck, breaking it. Not giving away... his greatest advantage; the element of surprise.

 

[Dunames Lopez]

Post: 14/38
Location: Bespin
Allies: First Order
Enemies: Unknown
Objective: 6 (build a ski resort on Mt. Ison)

The chairlift appears to be fully operational, while Virginie swiftly arrived at the bottom of the trail. Nearly four kilometers with a 40% gradient on average and sometimes going up to 75% at times. (In the world of alpine skiing, the gradient is the tangent of the incline expressed as a percentage; a 100% gradient means that the slope is at a 45-degree angle) Now that's what Virginie calls "one of the most incredible ski slopes in the galaxy" For a trained skier like her it's a blast, but for a neophyte, better find another trail elsewhere on Mt. Ison. After Frank makes sure that Virginie isn't lost or hurt, he brings Virginie to Dunames, knowing that Dunames had a few questions about her past, including her possible past as a First Order-trained athlete. But Dunames was freezing after Virginie, probably because underneath that fleshy appearance hides a body made of a substance akin to metal that is about to solidify and freeze her to death. Virginie was courageous for even wanting to face the prospect of avalanches endangering both her and the chairlift shaft... and yet the trio promptly returns to their chalet, while droids took up positions in the other chalets.

"Virginie, I believe Dunames have a couple of questions for you. I told her that there was a system of sports schools run by the First Order"

"The First Order sports schools system? It's likely that Frank told you about how it's a pyramidal structure. But before [member="Natasi Fortan"] came to be the de facto leader of the Moff Council, the First Order government exhibited a different approach to bread-and-circuses. The circuses of my time in sports school were much more tame and, for some sports, the schools weren't even actually in First Order space"

"What do you mean, the circuses were more tame? Podracing was outlawed until recently, I understand as much, but what were the circuses made of?"

"The most dangerous stuff the First Order government of the time exhibited for officially sanctioned bread-and-circuses were things like street bobsleigh and grav-ball. Alpine skiing, podracing are far more dangerous"

"Frank mentioned that you used to be a figure skater. Where did figure skating fit in the circuses of the time? And in today's circuses?"

"Figure skating was a bigger deal then than it is now. Back then figure skaters could earn as much fame and prestige as any professional athlete; today, I would probably earn as much as a stormtrooper sergeant or maybe lieutenant if I was a star of the sport"

 

[Saki lin]

No luck

Even with the explosions she could hear and men running in each direction she could see nor feel anyone coming to help her...means she had to go to option two and hope the force was smiling at her

She stood and walked to the little indention she had and put all power to focusing on melting the ice to nearly bubbling as her guards heard it and quickly opened the door

hey you stop what your doing and put your hands up " the man said pointing a blaster


Alright alright" she said raising her hands and waited till he came close as she twisted around and gave him a boot tof the face as he cried out and hut the wall as the other took aim but to late she had quickly got on him and snapped his neck before letting a sigh put and looked at him as she picked her sabers up off of him" such a gentleman to keep a lady's item for her" she said and pulled his comm off and switched it to a open channel so all could here her

Hello? Hello if anyone can here this I am saki lin stuck inside this..base thing if anyone can here me out there I need help

[member="Decima Fortan"][member="Darth Veles"] (only two I know of on hoth

Post 3

 

[Zak Dymo]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsAH53qCO5U​

Post 1 of 30
Objective: Bring Your Own Objective (BYOO)
Location: The Varonat System (Anoat Hex)

Governor Lars was unsettled.

Not by the torture. Not by the screams or squealing of a man whose life was being ripped from his body. Not by the sight of blood or broken bodies, but rather by the sight of the one who was doing the bloodletting.

The Supreme Leader wished for the Anoat Sector to be made a more obedient province. To effect that edict, Governor Lars had been dispatched along with the 309th Legion in order to quell piracy in the Ison Corridor. The Varonet System was one stop along their righteous path. And, indeed, they had picked up on unmarked, unidentified transports the moment that they had arrived inside the system. The resulting interdiction had been messy, but the stormtroopers had hauled in one suspected pirate.

Fortunately, the Supreme Leader had anticipated such a need for gathering information and had supplied them with one of the Knights of Ren.

Unfortunately, their suspected pirate was a Toydarian. His resistance to the mind probe was absolute.

Which brings us to the architect of this interrogation.

At first, Lars had taken the black robed figure for a Jawa. But he was too tall. An Ewok? Too thin, too lanky. It was a child. A humanoid not yet a teenager. His blue skin befitting a cold, icy demeanor as he went to work on their captive. As mind tricks would not work on this suspect, he relied on alternative means of persuasion.

As Lars watched, feeling the color drain from his face even as a wave of nausea hit him with the bile rising up the back of his throat, the Toydarian's body was discolored and distended. The skin blackened as frostbite was induced, the flesh cut open by the jagged shards forming in the denser muscle tissue... and the screams of horror as that ice was moved, shifted around in the humors of the body. A body that was convulsing wildly as it was wracked with pain. The kind of pain that brought men to an abyss of madness.

There was a hoarse, inhuman sound. A guttural, beastial, primal roar, almost a scream of rage, which became a sigh. A sound like no other that he knew, except that he could recognize it as the sound of someone letting go of life. Swallowing the vomit that had just blossomed up his throat, Governor Lars was taken back a step from the transparisteel glass behind which he had taken a haunted refuge, watching the interrogation take place.

The Knights of Ren were frightening.

But this boy was terrifying.

The doors to the interrogation room popped open, allowing onlookers a glimpse into gore-splattered white walls as the stench of blood rolled out from within in thin vapor trails of cool, red-tinged frost. A dark shadow passed to Lars' left, as the dark robed form of the gangly child simply walked out as though nothing had happened.

No pleasantries. No acknowledgment. Merely going about his business.

It was a moment before Governor Lars could muster the resolve to chase after him. His longer, adult stride allowing him to catch up to the smaller youth easily, even as he found himself uncomfortably afraid to say something. Anything. So he merely cleared his throat.

"He gave truth... before the end."

Was there a response to that? Lars found he was more struck by how normal that the child beside him sounded. "I see," the man uttered finally, his voice more steady than he'd anticipated.

"Ison." Stopping, the child paused at a cross-section in the hallways of the star destroyer in which they now strode. "The pirates are hold up at Ison."

The governor held the boy's gaze. Finally nodding, but more to have the excuse to break eye contact. Yellow eyes. Soulless. Empty, as though he were staring now into that abyss of madness. "The Supreme Leader will be pleased," the governor uttered. A vapid, empty declaration. Something said for want of something to say.

He'd asked for a Knight of Ren.

He'd gotten a bastard executioner.

Lars steeled his jaw, drawing in a sharp intake of breath as the child turned and proceeded through the ship. Behind him, the broken corpse of the Toydarian was being hauled out to the hangar bay. To be thrown out into space with the rest of the trash.

 

[4ND-R0]

Post: 1
Location: Hoth, few klicks from
Allies: First Order | [member="Darth Veles"]
Mission: Eradicate / Pacify hostile forces

The ominous figure felt his transport touch down, his cabin all but empty aside from himself and his equipment. Steady, mechanized breathes fed his malnourished lungs with oxygenated air. He stepped out into the snowy tundra of Hoth, heavy footprints crunching into the freshly fallen snow. His suit kept a comfortable envelope of heat around his body, shielding him from the cold, forbidding wasteland around him. The cyborg trooper looked through the optics of his helmet, visualizing everything in a monotonous red glaze. He tapped a communicator, transmitting only through known First Order channels.

"This is FN-1313, calling to all First Order personnel." He said, "I am inbound to last known reports of rebel activity. Should you have new objectives, redirect them."

The heavily armored, cybernetic trooper walked out into the blizzard and snow. He reached behind him, removing his weapon from its holster. In his hands he carried a heavy blaster that resembled an old DLT-19 blaster rifle from the old Empire. FN-1313 had an affinity for the weapon, feeling that the heavy handed power of it matched well the menacing, bulky shell the First Order had attached to him after his near fatal incident with a grenade.

 

[Zak Dymo]

Post 2 of 30
Objective: Bring Your Own Objective (BYOO)
Location: The Varonat System (Anoat Hex)

No matter what his qualifications, Governor Lars wanted that Knight of Ren off his ship.

Luckily, there was a menial task to perform. And one which involved travel to Varonat, while the Vanguard would journey on to Ison. Where Governor Lars would enjoy a much anticipated respite from the presence of that little... monstrosity.

"We'll chase down those pirates at Ison, and in the meantime you can take the message of our Supreme Leader to the inhabitants of Varonat," the governor was saying. Why, he had no idea. The blue-skinned hellspawn had his head down playing some sort of gaming device, and the stormtrooper captain he'd selected to for this outing was easily the most incompetent of the bunch. Lars doubted the blaster sponge was even literate.

As a squad of stormtroopers began loading up inside of an AAL, the governor saw this opportunity to say farewell. "Well, I imagine you'll be wanting to get going..." the man commented, letting the statement hang in the air.

Without a word, the small Pantoran just got up. He didn't even look up. It was just the top of his head and his thumbs, tapping away at some touch screen. His dark cloak flowing behind him, the child made his way into the back of an old Star Courier. The stormtrooper captain fell into step behind him.

It was only when the troop carrier and the Star Courier had departed the hangar bay that Governor Lars found he could breathe a sigh of relief.

At least now the boy was someone else's problem. And, if he destroyed the planet, at least it was Varonat. Who had ever cared about that backwater world?

 

[Retelii Feverun]

Snow, a perfect place for a Rattataki to hide. This was perfect. His attire was all white, his face... all white. There was no way, they could tell him out even if they looked back. He continued to make his way over to the remaining group who continued to flee, before he would raise his voice and emit and shout. "Stop." He said blankly, and they quickly stopped in their tracks and aimed their blasters at Retelii. A smirk would form on the pale faced man's face. Before he would take slow steps towards the targets.

"Halt!" One of them would shout, though he did not stop and carried on towards them. "He said, halt!" Another man would say before firing a round off towards the approaching Rattataki. Though, he continued towards them. "What's a group of rebels, doing out here?" Retelii would say calmly, before withdrawing his lightsaber in a flash and striking down two off the rebels in on angled horizontal strike. One of the remaining rebels would fire a round at the Sith, before it would graise past his right arm. The Rattataki would look down to the wound, before shaking his head. "Bad move." Before he would place his hand a few inches from the wound, a purple mist seeking into it, before it would slowly begin to repair. The muscle tissue forming links across before it would then seal.

The rebels would run in fear, before Ferelii would hold his lightsaber pointed downwards, then tossing it after them, slicing at the two remaining rebels legs. Their legs were gone. They continued to crawl away before they were both met with a swift kick to the jaw. Incapacitating them.

The objective was to hand as many of them in as he could. He did just that.

 

[Tyger Tyger]

Varonat​

The Great Jungle​

0725Z​

​

It was insane to him how loud it was – his hands, clawing through the dirt. As cool as he tried to keep his head, he couldn’t keep the echo of it from rebounding off the walls of his skull…all these sounds of his struggle. His attempts to leave this tunnel, this darkened road to nowhere. Milo stopped to wipe his sweatless face in a mere approximation of what this should be like in reality, taking a moment to regretfully look back, despite the uncomfortable maneuvering it took to do so in these tight spaces.

From whence he came, that same, identical night.

Milo shimmied back to try and get on the right track, but found he couldn’t recognize it anymore.

To continue and risk going back from where he had come? To have wasted days, weeks, of crawling in this black, just to do it all again?

He collapsed upon himself, crushed underneath his despair.

“You alive, sir?”

A cold prodding at his temple from the business end of a rifle.

“…more karking government waste…”

Milo sat up suddenly, almost as if he were deliberately fleeing the nightmare that assailed him.

Only to find another one – he was blind.

Milo sent his hands to investigate, clutching at orbitals to assess the damage.

Oh. Right. Nightvision.

“Yeah, they’re not really as helpful in the daytime. Haha,” the trooper wasn’t trying to be an nerf herder. In fact, by the occasional tremble in his voice, it was quite clear he was trying to ingratiate to his superior, but didn’t quite know how. Underdeveloped social skills were frequent causes for enlistment into the Corps, the Knights of Ren.

Milo disengaged the setting and lifted his goggles to his head. He proceeded to rub his eyes as his pupils adjusted to the dim light of the canopy.

“What’s our status?”

“Our Time-On’s all karked up, but the mission should still be tenable. We have the manpower anyway,” the Lieutenant said, stepping away from the exploded pile of scorched meat, bone, and slugslime that now made up what was once the trooper with the wounded leg. The lieutenant tossed the privateer a bloodied canteen – stolen water from the dead. Milo unscrewed the cap and drank.

Milo noted that the lieutenant wasn’t wearing his helmet. In fact, many of the soldiers weren’t, having downgraded their armor to something more applicable to the jungle humidity, mud, sap, and flora rubbed upon uniform white for better camo. The message was clear – The First Order song and dance was over, and it was time to get down and dirty.

The nervous private extended a hand to Milo, which he neglected to see, ushering himself to his feet on his own. The lieutenant continued, “They knew we were coming. They’re too slow to have rallied like that, otherwise. How could that have happened?”

Milo scanned the roots, the highweeds, clearly searching for something. “Intel said it was a shaman,” he muttered, finding his bowcaster and stepping heavy toward it, recovering it.

“What?,” the lieutenant said, gears clearly turning as Milo continued his exploration, investigating the exploded former soldier. “Oh, right. Forcer.”

Upon seeing the remains, he connected the dots, determining that it was the concussion from the dead trooper’s frag grenade what knocked him unconscious.

“That would be my opinion, yeah. We make our check-in?”

Milo didn’t assume incompetence. He was just being thorough.

The lieutenant didn’t care for it, however, and there was a detectable irritation in his tone, “Why, yes. Of course. Two hours ago,” he responded, providing even more information just to further prove he was on the ball, and capable leading his mission. “Next one’s due in 3.”

Tyger Tyger didn't really care.

“Our Minder?”

“We –“

“Over here,” came a new voice, one both apathetic and monotonous at levels to rival even Tyger Tyger’s. The new trooper kept his hair longer – a brown emo cut that hung over one half of his face, concealing what appeared to be a traumatic burn haphazardly remedied through skin graft by way of dyed Rodian flesh.

Seconds later, the group had circled around the translator. Dead as a doornail, a deep, bloody slash diagonal from his chest and across his neck. His throat was torn out in what looked like one hell of a grisly murder.

“Bad exit,” Tyger Tyger diagnosed.

“Must’ve been the reluctant jumper,” the lieutenant further illuminated.

Tyger Tyger kneeled down, recovering the water source carried by the corpse.

“Aw, kark…”

The private was worried. The mission was a complete loss, surely, and now they were stuck out here.

The lieutenant was unabashed however, grinning from ear to ear. “What do you mean ‘aw, kark?,’” he chuckled, raising blaster in a Stallone pose.

“This mission just got a whole lot more fun.”

At which point, he needlessly screwed about with the loading mechanism for effect.

Chk,klick!

"Varonat" 3 of 30​

Back I Next​

 

[Zak Dymo]

Post 3 of 30
Objective: Bring Your Own Objective (BYOO)
Location: Tropis-on-Varonat

Varonat was a distant world.

As the Pantoran boy stood at the forward part of the flight deck, the lush jungles and pastoral landscapes were visible from space. The blue-skinned youth said nothing, merely staring out into the night's sky as the astromech plugged into the controls piloted the craft for them.

Captain Kasshu didn't seem to mind the lack of conversation. Sitting at the rear of the flight deck, the stormtrooper officer had set his helmet off onto the seat beside him. Occupying the bench near the autochef in the transports multi-purpose crew lounge, the man said only, "Governor Lars seemed in a bit of a hurry."

It was an open ended statement.

And, for a moment after he'd spoken, he'd wondered if the child had even heard him. Or if the boy could even speak. "Eh," the stormtrooper uttered softly, giving a dismissive grunt as he reached for his helmet.

A loud hiss and a rattling tail caused the man to come out of his seat in a mixture of both terror and surprise.

Coiled around the helmet, an inky blank serpent rose up like a shadow come to life. Darkness, with the head of a dragon. He'd thought it a snake of some kind at first... but was quickly coming to the realization that it was something more than that.

"Governor Lars is afraid."

At the sound of the child's voice, the serpentine form dove from off of the helmet. Spilling over the side of the couch, it's snake-like body twisted like a sidewinder across the floor until it had brushed up against the side of the boy's leg. "He allows that fear to control him," the youth added, even as Captain Kasshu watched the serpent slide up the boy's leg. When it had encircled his torso, it looped around one arm.

Bringing his hand up, the dragon-like head of the Yuuzhan Vong weapon known as an amphistaff landed in the child's palm. His free hand came up over the top of the biot, stroking it as though it were a domesticated pet.

"Feth," Kasshu uttered. To what, even he couldn't have said. The amphistaff, the kid, the Governor, or all of the above. He'd worked with the Knights of Ren before, and they were all rather eccentric. But this..? "Fear is a weakness," the stormtrooper stated, echoing words he'd been indoctrinated to say.

"No, Captain," the boy disagreed, pivoting at the waist as his amber eyes locked onto the man behind him.

"Fear is a powerful weapon."

The black sky had rolled over blue. A horizon stabilizing the perspective from out of the canopy. The small starport was visible as the Star Courier and its stormtrooper carrier descended from out of the clouds to arrive at the landing field.

 

[Retelii Feverun]

A trail of two long lines in the snow would appear as the Rattataki hauled the two unconcious men over his shoulders, one of each. Carrying them back to his ship to be taken for presumably execution. He wanted to do it himself. He had pledged his allegiance, he couldn't go back on that. He had to follow orders. With that said... he threw them into his closet, locking it after ensuring their was no way for them to escape or anything in there to help them fight back.

He left Hoth's atmosphere, heading towards a local capital ship. Before, stopping. He would head to his closet before opening the door and tossing the two out of it, slapping them both into consciousness. "I want everything you know, now." He demanded, knowingly he could take it by force if needed. The two rebels shook their heads in defiance. "This won't do." The Rattataki responded.

Before he would grab at their necks, using the force tightening his grip every few seconds. "Tell me... now, before I take it myself."

 

[Dunames Lopez]

Post: 15/38
Location: Bespin
Allies: First Order
Enemies: Unknown
Objective: 6 (build a ski resort on Mt. Ison)

By now Dunames and Frank realize that, despite them being fully aware of the station's operational status, they couldn't bring themselves to actually operate it just yet. Virginie was just too absorbed in her emotions towards Hoth and she feels compelled to talk about her past on Hoth and likewise Frank as he apparently went through the system, at least the early stages. They apparently knew each other prior to that point whereas Dunames knew Frank only since the battle for Lanteeb. Certainly Frank knew Virgnie's youth better than Dunames did, but Dunames' interest in the history of the bread-and-circuses of the First Order, which she made by winning the first podrace held in First Order territory, made her listen to the stories of how the First Order ran their own set of bread-and-circuses. She knew that the Sith factions run token bread-and-circuses at most. In fact, Darth Centax came to symbolize just how cruel the One Sith can be, more than his predecessor at the command of the 5th Army, Gen. Zerde, a NFU commander, thanks to Zerde being killed on Coruscant.

"Frank, if you ever heard about the Big Ten, or Big Twelve, in the context of figure skating, it refers to the top First Order figure skaters of my generation as a figure skater"

"What's the difference between the Big Ten and the Big Twelve?"

"You have to remember that the sports school system of the time was very humanocentric. They were all humans or Near-Humans. The Big Ten referred to the males, whereas the Big Twelve were the females. Together they formed the Council of 22"

"Were you part of the Big Twelve?"

"Yes. Dunames, I have a question for you: why are you so interested in the First Order's bread-and-circuses history?"

"Because I have a spot in the First Order's bread-and-circuses history books, by virtue of winning the first podrace held in First Order space, and Star Tours is partially responsible for the reuse of Hoth as part of the First Order's bread-and-circuses"

 

[Ria Misrani]

Alles: The First Order; Ground Forces [member="Amin Garith"], [member="FN-1313"], [member="Darth Veles"], [member="Decima Fortan"], [member="Adalric Vastor"]
Enemies: Plebs, Peasants, and Not-First Order People.
Objective: Kill them all, with style of course.
Location: Rebel HQ.
Post: 2 // ??

As a member of the First Order's intelligence unit, discretion was a primary asset one must have. Then again, discretion was at the utmost importance to him, right next to discipline. He cleared out his station and headed for the fresher, "do not forget to lock your console." He reminded his co-worker with a smirk, before departing the busy monitoring station heading in the same direction of the freshers. He looked behind him and looked up at the cameras and winked before slipping into a door opposite of the freshers. Labeled, storage room, which is of course what it had been up until he had arrived all those weeks ago on this rather dull ball of ice.

Once inside the storage room, he made contact with this superiors. "Agent Twenty-One, reporting. I've noticed your most remarkable timing. I shall begin to set the charges here, but first allow me to relay troop movements to you." He checked his watch, "and it would seem that I am behind schedule. Agent Twenty-One, out." This message would be relayed to whoever was heading Hoth's Operation on behalf.

He then went to a few crates here within the storage room and whistled a little tune to himself as he picked up a few choice explosives. Next, he slipped them into a black bag and grabbed his holdout blaster from another box and tucked that into his outfit in a more accessible location. Checking the time, "tut, tut, must keep to a schedule. Wouldn't want tea to be cold now would we." He spoke a little to himself, as he took a small sticky charge and slipped it next to the door remote activating the motion sensor once he locked it.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

(1)
Objective: BYOO
Location: Cloud City, Bespin.


Cloud City.


It seemed the young clone was fated to follow in the footsteps of her template and visit her old battlefields. Many, many years ago, before the rise and decline of the One Sith, before the resurgence of the First Order, Siobhan Kerrigan had led Omega Pyre to wrest control of Bespin from the barbaric Bando Gora cult.


The streets of the city in the heavens ran red with blood, many cultists and abominations were slain. As were many citizens pressed into service by the cult. Kerrigan was acclaimed a hero, the Protectorate planted its flag upon Bespin, claiming its tibanna mines for itself. But now the Omega Protectorate was dead. It had been washed away like a sand castle before a tidal wave. Sic transit gloria imperii.


However, Enyo was not here on a glorious mission to slaughter Chaos idolators and Reavers. Her sister was the broadsword, she was the dagger. One day she would drive the blade into 'The Kerrigan's back and pull her down from her throne. For the time being, she had a mission to complete.


The speeder descended from the heavens like a bird of prey, approaching a very luxurious penthouse on the top of an exclusive skyscraper. The type of place that gave you a magnificient view of Cloud City's skyline and made you feel like a king when you stood on the balcony and looked down upon the plebs. It was a symbol of power, wealth and vanity. The owner of the penthouse was a wealthy aristocrat by the name of Lord Aurelian Atreides.


Ostensibly, he was a loyal, tax-paying citizen. He donated generously to the First Order's cause, his young son was a member of the Young Imperials and wanted to attend the First Order Academy once he was old enough. However, appearances could be deceiving, for in actuality the Lord Atreides was a heretic. Heretical thoughts, if left unchecked, could infest a wide area and propagate a feeling of dissent. It was best to root it out before the minds of innocent citizens were warped. However, he could still be useful. He just needed...reeducation.


As the craft approached, Enyo took a breath and pulled the Force into her muscles. Surveillance had been installed on the roof to detect intruders, but thanks to an HRD stationed in an adjourning building, the cameras would be broadcasting a static image. At least for a short while. She affixed her eyes upon the building and stretched out her gauntlet. A grappling hook shot out of it, finding solid purchase upon the roof, and she dropped down.


There was wind blowing her way and the rush of air kissed her skin, but she landed gracefully upon the roof like a cat, making a little noise when her boots touched down upon the ground. Quickly she disconnected the rope so that she could move freely and approached the access door. Her command of telekinesis willed the door to open. Then she snuck down the staircase, moving as cautiously as she could. She knew that Vess had dropped down after her and was close.


Upon reaching the door to the building itself, she retrieved a utility cable from her utility belt and slipped it under the door, checking for guards and getting a view of the ostentatious corridor. One was making his rounds, but his back was turned to her. She slowly slid the door open, then snuck towards him. He sensed her coming, but too late. A handkerchief soaked in chloroform was wrapped around his mouth, and her vibroknife cut his throat. She was clean and precise about it by severing all carotid arteries. Otherwise his death would have been very slow. Thankfully, the expensive carpet muffled the sound of his fall when his body dropped on it. Her knife was coated in red ichor.


Another guard, dressed in an expensive black suit, passed across the corner, and raised his gun. "In...," he did not get further, for Enyo pulled the Force into her muscles and moved with lightning speed. His blaster was knocked out of his grasp, she swept behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing upon the tangled web of power to strengthen herself. He gasped struggled and for air when oxygen failed to reach his lungs, then with a snap his neck was broken and he gave up the ghost. In the same moment, the guard's comm began to beep...