Invasion [SJO vs TSE] Operation Silversaber: Silver Jedi Invasion of the Mirial Hex

[Xevek Nekonis]

Location: Mirial, Outskirts of Capital City​

Allies: The Sith Empire​

Enemies: The Jedi (Eventually [member="Setzi Lunelle"]), The Death Cultists/Seperatives​

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It was almost enough to cause the faint embers of amusement to fight to smolder within his hearts, the way that those that proclaimed themselves as being above the 'lowly Sith' - those that called themselves the true hope for Mirial, those that had reached out to the Jedi and proclaimed themselves as the true hope for Mirial, those that sought to lift themselves above their station through weakness and cowardice, those who called themselves rebels and lured in the unsuspecting minds of the Jedi - were so oblivious and unaware. Of course, it was only almost enough because any prospect of amusement was brutally and efficiently destroyed, the embers dying before they even had the chance to live. Such was the Iridonian's duty at this time, such was his life as a shadow who would change emotions, voice and self between days, between hours and seconds, for the sole purpose of completely and progressing towards self-set goals. And it was his duty to be the shadow that was overlooked, the be the shadow that was overlooked from the corner of an eye as whispers and information curled reached him from all corners.

Officially, within the Empire, their existed on the Saaraishash when it come to aspects of Intelligence, Assassination and Espionage. But, as those that had the strength of will and presence of mind to peer past the curtains of false security and reality would know, the official line that was constantly put forth as the sole truth was rarely ever the sole truth. And, indeed, in this case, that fact was real. For, operating outside of the Empire's authority even as they were known to the Sith Emperor and their members stood within the hierarchy of the Empire, was a group who's lives were concealed in nothingness in equal measure to the agents of the Saaraishash. Their goal was simple, to establish the true dominance of the Dark within the galaxy and, as such, their lot had been thrown in with the Empire's own more often than not.

The events of Mirial, as such, had drawn the group's attention, the whispers of a Death Cult reaching cultivated and controlled ears before being passed up through the chain of command to one the Council, known within the group as the Aspect of Conquest. Such rumours had stirred concern within the Aspect's hearts and, as such, lead to him dispatching himself to the undead infested world of Mirial; his target being the Cult. However, rather than choosing to leave behind only cooling corpses upon his arrival, the Aspect had chosen to stand within the Cult, to be shoulder to shoulder with then as honeyed words led to him raising in influence. Seeds of information had been dropped one by one for the Saaraishash to find and discover - only expediting what the Aspect knew would have eventually happened - but, it was the most recent nugget of information that had been discovered that stifled embers of amusement as a dark smirk curled at Iridonian lips.

Dressed in a simple, if tattered, pair of tunic and trousers, Darth Lykos - Terek Ghev to the Cult - prowled through one of the safe houses established outside of the capital city of Mirial. Self-confidence was key within espionage, the intrinsic belief that it was your right to stand alongside those that you worked against, and, so, it was with a slouched sense of purpose that the Zabrak moved; not hurried in the slightest even as codes and ill-gotten knowledge knocked against his collar - the datachip concealed within a simple necklace. It was self-confidence that allowed him to leave the safehouse with little hassle, to step into the land filled with milling, shuffling bodies of those that refused to die. But, it was not the so called 'zombies' that held the Sith's attention even as he weaved through the throng of putrid stench that accompanied the deceased flesh, but, instead, it was the grim amusement that threatened to keep attempting to ignite within him.

Throwing himself atop a speeder, Lykos finally allowed the grim humour to boil forth in the form of low, growling chuckles that were soon consumed by the rushing winds as he weaved across the land towards where he knew his ship to sit under heavy stealth. Identity Politics was truly a form of entertainment for the Iridonian. So desperate were the Jedi to know that all Sith were so easily confined to the one definition they labelled as evil, they clung not to fact nor investigation but to the sweetened words uttered by the heads of the Cult. Whispers of Rebellion and Resistance, of desperate hatred of the Sith and all their atrocities, was such sweet lure for those that proclaimed themselves as false profits and heralds of salvation that they accepted them with little hesitation.

For, of course. the Sith were such that they would risk the destruction of the Capital through orbital ordinance. For, of course, the Sith were such that they would seek the death of all. For, of course, the Sith could not practices caution and acknowledge that chaos begat failure and not just progression unless tempered by a form of order and regulation. For, of course, wherever the Sith set foot they bred hatred against themselves. Such was the story and the story it always would be. Never mind that the Rebels the Jedi now sought to parlay with were the sort that wished the Sith removed because they stood in the way of the Rebels' progression to the sole authority upon Mirial. Never mind that the informants that Jedi agents would meet were simply the members of the Cult who had no connection to the Force and, as such, could not stand next to the 'zombies' as those that were blanketed in the Dark could do.

Chuckles still pulling at his throat minuets later, the speeder finally came to a stop next to what was, seemingly, nothingness. However, this fact did nothing to dissuade Lykos as he dismounted the speeder and strode towards the shadowed shapes of the capital city that were just peeking above the horizon. Only for his bared feet to meet metal after only two strides and for a ship to appear before his sight and for him to disappear from the sight of any creature that may have been close enough to witness his vanishing act.

Striding onto the ship, grim humour fading away to nothingness as the brief moment of levity ended and focus reasserted itself within the mind of the Iridonian, Lykos removed the concealed datachip from where it was hidden and soon set to work on picking through the dumped mess of data. Anything relating to the activities of the Cult - the fact that they were seeking to ally themselves with the an invading force of Jedi through the pretense of being none-Force-using Rebels, as well as ones with a weak connection to the Force, at some point soon being chief among the gathered information of suspected locations of bases situated within and without the City - was soon forwarded to the peacock that headed the Saaraishash, one [member="Darth Saarai"], for him to distribute as he saw fit.

Not taking the time to change out of the costume required for the persona of Terek Ghev, Lykos sat himself down as soon as the message, encrypted in seven different ways while also being written in code where possible without corrupting important data, was sent to the Peacock. Pulling up the additional data pilfered from the Cult, Lykos permitted a brief smirk to pull at scarred lips. There had been a reason, after all, that he had not revealed the location of the base he had stood within before. The research and information compiled by the Cult could, and would, serve a purpose for him and, as such, he had seen fit to conceal the location that he had taken it from for the moment. As soon as the virus he had entered into the systems had erased any mention of who had accessed the pilfered information - along with any information of Terek Ghev - Lykos would pass on the coordinates. But, until then, it would remain a secret.

Hours later, his research would come to a sudden halt just as he had begun to carve Sith Runes into the land surrounding the ship, each Rune being 'blessed' by his own blood. Head snapping skywards with suddenness, a lazy glint of something crossed between rage and entertainment would spark within his sole eye. His Zireal had dared to fly the nest, dared to flee from enlightenment and take up shelter within the falsities of the Light. She had dared to spit upon his teachings and words, but, through the bond of souls that he had crafted and cultivated and she had tired to shatter with mounting disappointment with every failure, he always knew where she was. And, now, he knew that she stood within some space encompassed within the vague direction of 'Above'.

"Well, well." When the Iridonian spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly - signs of feral, icy rage present within every syllable through a natural growl that resonated behind every word. "I underestimated them." Turning his attention downwards once more, Lykos resumed carefully carving the Runic Array. "They acted quicker than I had assumed."

 

[Via Dolorosa]

Location: Mirial, Outskirts of Capital City
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: The Entire Jedi Order

The days of running headstrong into combat was a tiresome dream she had long cast away with a simple mug of tea. Fighting, in her caustic mind, was reserved for those Sith trying to acquist a name for themselves, normally on the claim of how many Jedi lightsabers they could boast. Killing Jedi, was fun, but held a special reserve in her heart; total massacre.​

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Whilst the younger Sith, filled with desires of murder to strike the blow of no return into the historic enemy of the Sith ran rampant, one Swamp Queen stayed her course. If the Force decreed it, a lonesome Jedi would find her; and then the trials of reconstructing the Jedi's mind and morals would begin.​

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Watching as her younger siblings ran to and fro, preparing for defense, Darth Venefica stood, alone, waiting for the ripe fruit of the Jedi to fall from the unforgiving tree; where she will not kill, but educate the Light lover into a new world of immoral dreams of the Darkside; where they once believed they where heroes into conquerors.​

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....and the test of Dark against Light would begin, full circle, again.​

 

[Dante Sotari]

Location: Mirial, Northern Reaches
Allies: [member="Morgan Vance"], TSE
Enemies: ???

"Hey, I'm just happy they finally approved the new boots."

The voice came from the back seat behind him. Suddenly, a pair of brand new, shiny, cold weather boots with fur sticking out along the rim at mid calf were shoved over the back of the seat right next to his shoulder. They were attached, of course, to Dante's skin suit covered legs.

"Look at 'em! No more frost bite 'cause of boots they designed for fetthing Korriban."

Her tone was almost aggressively cheerful, a certain bite to the whole thing. Someone who didn't know her well might think she was genuinely excited about the gorram boots. But one thing Morgan was learning about Dante was that sarcasm was a dish best served with everything. Upset? Sarcasm. Annoyed? Sarcasm. Worried?

You guessed it.

The boots were nice of course, and they really were a boon in this situation- traipsing through this blizzard with the boots they'd been issued on Korriban actually would have been a huge problem. But that wasn't the point.

The sarcasm was the point.

The boots disappeared again and he could hear her shuffling around.

"But I GUESS I'll take them off," she said, tone over the top exasperated. "Have to get the rest of my stylish digs on for our stroll through the winter wonderland they've given us leave to explore."

 

[Kenth Typho]

Location: Mirial
Allies: [member="Dante Sotari"] | Sith Empire
Enemies: ???

Morgan's expression was amused, but unless she was watching for it by the mirrored reflection it would probably be lost in translation. He agreed though, it had been a goddam disaster the first two weeks out here on Mirial. The Empire was good at a lot of things, but they had the same common ailments most large nations had: Their cumbersome bureaucracies were karking useless when it came to getting their people what they needed on time.

It took the Lord Inquisitor's personal signature to fast-track a requisition order that had been due three weeks before they even landed on Mirial.

"At least they allowed us to stop wearing those fething desert-grade vests. They are fine to keep the heat out.... less fine to keep the water out." No wonder that the boys and girls finest were heavily bartering under the table with the locals. The Mirialans were getting extra money, they got actual crap they could use in weather like this.

Everyone happy, except maybe the COs who demanded uniformity. Useless waste.

"Don't go stripping too far, eh? No need to get me excited just yet. Pretty hot here as is."

They had been... not awkward, but weird ever since they found out they were working for the same team now. How do you go from sleeping together one night, sneaking out on each other at the same time the following morning to working together in the killing?

A brief glance at the mirror and her reflection was passed over, before his eyes moved back to the road again.

By using a fethton of sarcasm and circling around the dancers in the room apparently.

"We about two clicks away from Base Camp. The guards should have left scouts here, make sure they wouldn't get surprised, so we start there first and then move to the facility itself."

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Location: Pantera Class stealth frigate
Allies: Silver Jedi Order, [member="RC 212"] [member="Roona Osmari"]
Enemies: The Sith Empire

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Colonel Valkren Calderon only blinked as he thought back to the briefing that his long time friend, [member="Arisa Yune"], had given before his arrival on the frigate. Aside from the main force, his specialized group of Antarian Rangers that had shown great skill and bravery in the Ord Radama theatre would be conducting their operations in a different area.

"Uhh..Sir, you can't smoke that in here."

Just like that, the young officer was awoken from his daze, only to look up from his sitting position to meet the eyes of a crewchief. Calderon was confused at why his rest was disturbed, before following the line of sight of the crewchief down to Valk's own right gloved hand. In between his index and middle fingers rested a burning cigarette, the smoke traveling upward and sitting around the colonel like the inside of a stale bar. The commando was shocked, had he actually sparked the light without his conscious mind knowing? It was possible, considering he had seen troubled soldiers do much worse. So for that, he was thankful that the stress of the job only showed through his enjoyments for the bottle and alternative tobacco products.

Valkren pushed himself to his feet, his Katarn combat armor making him seem like a giant in comparison to the crewchief that had asked him to extinguish the cigarette. The smaller man before him seemed intimidated, even with the very much human face of Valkren's visible due to his lack of helmet. At this point, the colonel only nodded, letting the stick fall from his fingers and to the ground. As the young special forces officer began to turn, he'd extinguish the stick with one stomp of his boot, leaving the crewchief to take care of the mess himself while Valk' made his way for the hangar.

As the armor-clad ranger made his way past crew-members and soldiers alike, the majority of them took extra moments to turn about and look at the decorated armor plates that rested all among the man. Tally marks for confirmed kills on his shoulder plates, a red reaper on his right chest plate to designate the unit he ran with. A crudely drawn Sith mask with an 'X' over it on one of his forearm plates, and much more. Like the ink that covered his naked body, his armor told a story of it's own. The men and women in his unit made it a 'thing' to sneak about other team members' armor sets and place their own form of art on it, so the entirety of the Radama Raiders could clearly be distinguished from other Ranger units.

Eventually, the colonel stomped into the hangar bay. Instantly spotting the group of angers moving supplies back and forth from a stack of crates to a set of three dropships. These rangers sported the same Katarn armor that Valkren did, and the same reaper symbol on their chest plates and left shoulder pads, but different 'art' all over. His lips cracked slightly to begin to form a smile as he watched them chat momentarily. They all seemed at ease, even those who already had their helmets on to pre-check their armor systems..Everyone's body language seemed relaxed.

But Valkren knew that war was on their mind. He approached the group and was greeted with every soldier stopping in place and straightening their postures.

"Officer on deck!" Lieutenant Konrad Harris, Valkren's trusted XO, yelled out as he spotted the colonel.

"At ease, boys and girls." Valkren stated this almost right away as he grew closer to the platoon-sized group of rangers around him. He hated how high he ranked above some of his men, as he thought of many of them as equals when it came to combat, and trusted each and every one of them with his life.

"So..First order of business, If you haven't already formally done so in one way or another, I want everyone to meet Sergeant [member="Roona Osmari"], she'll be first team's new marksman during this operation. You treat her all like you treat each other. Got it?"

There was a complete response of 'Got it' that followed, almost rehearsed.

Valkren began to pace; once again, this was out of habit. He always had a problem of pacing while briefing the team, which caused many rangers simply to make a pathway between two groups so he could make his pass between them and still get the message out. They adapted to his nervous habit.

"Second order of business, our mission. We'll be branching off of the main force of the attack almost immediately. Our target, the local garrison and anti-air defenses. Now, I'd prefer we take down the guns first..It'd make it alot easier for CAS to cover our asses. That's right, for once in a blue moon we do get some damn air support. So be thankful for that one guys."

This statement was responded to with smiles, nods, and cheers of the sort. These soldiers got their happiness from the little things they could find in a lifestyle like this. Well, they had to. It was the only way to stay sane.

"This is a urbanized area people, be on the look out for civilians and check your corners. If we encounter hostiles..Which we are bound to, they could either be waiting for us in the dark, or looking to meet us head on. So be ready for a fight."

He stopped, before taking a look at his unit once more.

"Be swift, be safe, but most of all, be deadly. Let's get 'evil,' ladies and gents."

Another sudden, but quick burst of 'yes sir,'s and cheers followed this, before they ceased their celebrations to hastily finish assembling their kits to report to their respected LAAT

Valkren slipped his helmet over his head, initiating his HUD as the headgear clicked into place.

"First team, load up."

After several more minutes, three dropships were loaded to the brim with Antarian Rangers sporting the reaper. The engines of the LAAT's roared to life within the hangar as their pilots checked through the systems and prepared to depart.

Lieutenant Harris waved at Valkren from across their respected seats, pointing to the side of his helmet so he would switch to a private frequency. What followed only scared the young soldier. Harris's voice broke through into his helmet, speaking up and practically drowning out the sound of the vehicles engines.

"Happy birthday, Sir."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Pop. Flip. Click. Push. Lock. Flip. Fire.

Lara sat on a bench in the stealth frigate carrying the Rebels along the hyperspace route towards their destiny, her blaster rifle cradled in her lap. It was an AR-47, so-named for its model name: Avtomat-Rylotha Model 47. It was an intimidating piece of equipment, and though Lara had, by now, some experience with it, she was still intimidated by it. In her mind, she rehearsed the steps in reloading the blaster. Pop the last round. Flip the safety on. Click the ejector. Push the fresh magazine in. Lock the fresh magazine in place. Flip the safety off again. Fire the weapon.

She looked around at the bustling activity on the ship, wondered if there was something she should be doing besides sitting there, rehearsing how to reload her gun. After a few uneasy moments, she decided -- no. It was better to stay here, out of the way, unlikely to bump into anyone or delay their work. As her eyes wandered -- purposefully avoiding the weird-eyed, chubby-cheeked June Ersa, instead settling on [member="Liuna Ondizi"]. The young verdigris woman was a Mirialan; Lara had to wonder what it was like for her to be returning to what Lara assumed was her homeworld. All around her, Lara felt anxiety and hope pouring into the Force; the Barkhesh native wondered which of these, if any, she was sensing from Liuna herself. Lara didn't know her beyond friendly camaraderie in Rebel circles, but she felt a measure of compassion for Liuna.

Nearby was [member="Cardinam"], the tall, dark and handsome instructor from the Rebel Alliance's weapons range. It was comforting to have friendly faces surrounding her as she prepared for the battle to come. She took a deep breath, closed her lavender eyes, and reached into the Force before continuing her mantra.

Pop. Flip. Click. Push. Lock. Flip. Fire.

 

[Maya Zhou]

Location: Mirial System
Allies: SJO, RA
Opposition: Sith

Clad in an orange flight suit, Maya Zhou stepped into the hangar. Her dark eyes grew wide for a moment, taking in the sight before her. Two clean rows of fighters down each side of the hangar, flight crews in motion. There was quite a lot of hustle and bustle. The Atrisian woman stood to the side of the entrance to allow others to pass, for she needed a moment to let it all sink in.

Not long ago, she was the captain of a simple freighter. And now, she was here with the Rebel Alliance to support the Silver Jedi Order. It was quite a leap. Though she was used to flying, being behind the controls of a T-70 X-Wing Fighter was a whole different story. She’d attended flight lessons and had been run through basic training. She knew what she was doing, in theory.

But that did very little to ease the sour feeling in her stomach.

“Red Squadron – begin takeoff procedures.”

Still rooted to the spot, Maya stood tall, silent, and completely caught up in her thoughts.

“Hey! Don’t just stand there, Zhou!” A voice called out, “Time to go.”

Blinking, she looked to find the form of Rob Porkins. He was already standing next to his fighter. With a quick nod, she moved towards her own on the double. Taking to the ladder, she went up and got cozy inside the cockpit. Behind her, she could hear the astromech beeping confirmations. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked across the way to see that Porkins was giving her a thumbs up.

Attempting to steel her nerves, she placed the flight helmet over her head. Only a matter of time now.

 

[Cassius Droma]

Location: Stealth Frigate
Objective: Liberation
Allies: Silver Jedi Order [[member="Liuna Ondizi"] | [member="Cardinam"] | [member="Kaiza Pawaro"] | [member="Sky'ito Yumi"] | [member="Stephanie Swail"] | [member="Valkren Calderon"] | [member="Lara Fairfax"]]
Enemies: The Sith Empire

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Cassius Droma always considered his time in the hangar as the calm before the storm. The echoing acoustics in the large room sounded just right to him. Everything was moving like a well-oiled machine: mechanics and flight inspectors making their final checks, maintenance droids clearing the deck for take-off, and the ever-present, monotone voice on the speakers relaying flight instructions.

Helmet tucked under his arm, Cassius walked briskly across the hangar bay floor, lightly scuffed black boots carrying him along. His lightsaber hung on his belt, bouncing lightly with every step he took. It was hard to believe that the stupid thing had stayed by his side this whole time, despite working only about sixty percent of the time.

Up ahead, the squadron of new RZ-X A-wing interceptors sat waiting. The young flyboy would be lying if he said that he wasn’t excited to fly the new interceptor. He’d been following its development progress on the HoloNet since it was first announced, and this would be his first official mission with it.

Beyond the ships, the most important part of the squadron stood huddled in a circle: the pilots. It was his squadron now. Honestly, Cassius had been surprised when they had given him the position of Green Leader for this mission. Apparently, nearly dying got you promoted. The other pilots straightened up when he came near. He’d only flown a few training exercises and maneuvers with them so far, but he could already tell that they were a good group. They would be able to handle anything the Sith threw at them, that was for sure.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cassius began, easily joining their circle. “Our assignment is as follows: protect the landing forces, and once they’ve put boots on the ground, provide air support.” He’d get more specific when they all loaded up and settled in. Like a typical squadron, they were split up into three different flights consisting of four fighters reach, and then each flight was split into two pairs of wingmen. It was much easier to coordinate that way. “Alright guys, let’s load up. May the Force be with us.”

They all gave curt nods – a few gave some more enthusiastic military-sounding grunts. Cassius walked up to the very first A-wing in line, securing his helmet over his head as he did so. He lightly patted the hull of the shiny new fighter before using it to brace himself as he climbed on top of it. Setting into the cockpit, he buckled in his crash webbing and closed the canopy.

“All wings, report in,” he ordered. As the various male, female, and alien voices chimed in, Cassius went over the last pre-flight checks and a quick diagnostic. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Pre-flight jitters. Even as experienced of a pilot as he was, he still got them every time before a flight. They’d only gotten worse since his near-death experience at sector 27-AJ. He’d gotten somewhat better, but still had a long way to go. This would certainly help.

He looked forward, setting his jaw, his mouth a thin, hard line. Green eyes narrowed. This was his opportunity to make it right.

 

[Zak Dymo]

Location: Mirial System - Stealth Frigate
Objective: Establish mobile medical team
Allies: SJO, RA
Opposition: Sith

"It is," the bear answered simply, when [member="Cathbodua"] inquired about the tea.

Setting his own cup down, the Beorni reached across to pick up the tea pot that he'd brought along and topped off the woman's cup. Now, people might think it quite strange to bring a tea pot to a war. But the Beorni expected this would be a very long day. A very long series of days. In which, it would be the little things like a cup of calming tea that might help to center the mind.

His own, and those of his companions.

He might have smiled at the invitation, though the design of his muzzle masked the gesture some. Plus, he was not human. When Kiriko grinned, the display of teeth could be most disquieting to humans. Or, so he'd been told anyway. "I've been meaning to visit the medical center. If there's tea, that just gives me more reason to do so."

Her tone shifted to business next. Of mass casualties and plans for triage. Nearby, the Beorni saw soldiers scurrying toward the drop ships.

It would not be long now.

Looking back over at Cathbodua, the bear gave a nod. "I'm more a medic than a doctor. If you can focus on the patients, I'll try to focus on security. And safeguarding any patient movements."

 

[Jartris Entumaa]

Location: Mirial - Capital
Allies: TSE | [member="Aurelius Morday"]
Enemies: SJO | [member="Liuna Ondizi"] and whoever else is on that ship trying to land outside the capital (sorry!)

It was rare for Jartris to spend much time on Mirial these days, despite the fact that his flat had miraculously survived unharmed all the recent calamities that had befallen the planet - even though, or perhaps because, it was located in one of the city's few skyscrapers. Standing behind the glass wall on one side of the room, Jartris overlooked the city, watching the sun set behind the tundra beyond. Some years ago, a good part of the city below had been ruins. The progress in rebuilding was very visible now, with the centre looking almost as pristine as it once had, though the further out one moved, the more desolate the neighbourhoods still became. From his vantage point, Jartris had a clear look of the new university building, which had been opened only a few months past, built with funds to which the Sith Empire had contributed not insignificantly. It was much larger now than needed to accommodate the number of students who were about to attend it, but in time, as Mirial's population would grow, it would fill.

A war ever now and then wasn't the worst method of weeding out the most useless among a population, but Mirial had had more than enough of it, far beyond the point of effective selection. It might take as much as two generations for the society to reach its full potential, but with luck, they would emerge stronger than before. With intelligent and once capable people, as the Mirialans were - had been forced to be, shaped by their harsh environment -, the peace that followed war was inevitably a period of frantic rebuilding and explosive growth, as it would be here.

It gave a society an opportunity to reorganise and shed bad old habits, too. Just this afternoon, amid the many diplomatic and administrative meetings that were being held during this week, in which many Sith from Bastion, including the Dark Lord himself, had come to Mirial, Jartris had attended a meeting at the ministry of education to which religious leaders of various strands had been invited, to reach an agreement on how to balance the influence of various schools of thought in the reestablished educational system. Mirial had never seen complete religious unity, but the war had fractured opinions even further, with so many people drawing their own conclusions. There were those who had proclaimed that these events revealed that the old ideas had been mistaken: fate was not to be embraced and realised, it was to be fought. Others believed that such calamities were precisely the consequence of people's wide-spread failure to follow their preordained path. Secularists pointed out that this situation betrayed the old religion's inability to serve as a guide and demanded that it should be removed from educational curricula.

Jartris had great sympathy for the secularists. The idea of fate that was so prominent in Mirialan thought was uncomfortably close to the Jedi's delusion of the Will of the Force. It was a crutch, and so much more could be achieved by those who could let go of it. But the secularists were mistaken on one crucial point: not everyone had the strength to walk without it. Much as Jartris would have liked it to be otherwise, it was unreasonable to demand that only those should remain who did. Mirial would be reduced to a village. People needed the crutch, in one form or another. They needed to believe in a purpose and in the potential of success, and if they learnt that all responsibility for their thriving lay with themselves, they would be crushed by its weight. Only a few schools of thought deemphasised the individual's agency in realising his fate, promoting passivity and resignation. Those were offensive, and needed to be suppressed, but the disagreements between the others were of little importance when it came to their ability to help Mirialan society uplift itself again. And so Jartris had, to many people's surprise, come down in support of the religious side of the argument and assisted them in ensuring that their people's tradition would be passed on to future generations.

Things were moving in a positive direction, and the Sith had every reason to be content with this day. But there was a feeling of restlessness that would not let go of him, and his eyes wandered across the darkening city in search of he knew not what. Hands behind his back, he began to pace along the window, wondering what it was that he was waiting for. Stopping at his desk, he briefly pressed a button to summon his trusted manservant. A few moments later, the man appeared to find the Sith standing with his back to the door, looking out the window again.

"Ulduzi, tell Adama to ready the ship."

"Right away, Sir. Where shall I say you will be going?"

Jartris merely shrugged and gave no reply. Ulduzi understood and withdrew.

A small light emerged in the distance, and Jartris watched it grow over the course of several minutes. Was this fire a sign of that which he had been waiting for? The Woyunokut had been quiet for some time, and perhaps they had found back to activity - although it seemed odd that they would do so precisely when there were so many Sith personally present. Sooner or later someone would have to find a way to conclusively eradicate this nuisance. Presumably, some competent alchemists and sorcerers were working on the problem.

Arson could not be entirely excluded, either. Not all Mirialans saw the wisdom in becoming a functional part of the Sith Empire, some remembered too well their species' long-standing ties to the Jedi and wished for those olden days to return. While most of the dissent, if it made itself heard at all, was ineffectually verbal, some were rumoured to have been organising into an insurgent force. It was not implausible that they should strike now, when the Dark Lord was personally present; that was precisely the stupid thing that such insurgents, knowing consciously or subconsciously that they had no real chance to achieve their goals and could only attract attention, tended to do.

***​

Jartris' airspeeder glid over the quiet city, emptied by the darkness and the curfew that came with it. Mirial had never had a very lively night life, it simply became too cold once the sun set even in the equatorial regions where most major population centres were situated, so most people, adventurous youth excepted, did not mind this imposition too much. Neither did Jartris; it meant people had more time to read. Not that they did it much, anyway - an immediately post-war society was a very bad market for books, and the only reason why he kept putting off a move of his company's headquarters was that he was worried that a new staff in a different place would constitute a completely different company that, lacking tradition, might easily fail. Better to first found a new branch somewhere.

Approaching, he could now see one block of flats fully ablaze. It was a partly deserted neighbourhood, many building stood empty, some falling into disrepair, others ruins already, brought down by bombs. Still, there were little figures scurrying about in the unlit streets, made visible only by the shadows they threw in the light of the fire. The Sith could not identify any reason for the conflagration, perhaps it had just been a perfectly ordinary electrical accident. The feeling of apprehension that had been bugging him all evening had not yet left.

Hopefully, the people below would have the sense to get into other buildings as soon as possible. Jartris's airspeeder glid on slowly, further away from the city centre, and suddenly he could spot flames flicking out of another window at street level. This was no accident, but for rebels to set residential buildings on fire would be absurd. And sure enough, a Woyunokut finally emerged from the building in pursuit of a distraught resident. With a sigh, but unhurriedly, Jartris steered his landspeeder in the direction, and as he approached, the beast paused, looking up and hesitating as if unsure what to do. Jartris jumped from his vehicle and landed on the ground between the Woyunokut and its prey. "Go inside", he said, unclear who he was addressing. The undead creature stood a few metres away from him in the doorway, the fire creeping up behind it, but it did not move. Jartris turned to look around to make use of the time while he was waiting. The Mirialan woman who had been driven out of her house stood there, holding her nightgown tightly around her body, just as paralysed as the Woyunokut. "You are certain to freeze to death if you do not find shelter", Jartris pointed out matter-of-factly. She looked at him, unable to find her speech, staring into his piercing eyes that had adopted a yellow shimmer under the hood of his dark grey robes as for the benefit of the zombies, he made no attempt to hide his connection to the Dark Side. Eventually, she nodded and ran off in silence. Jartris shook his head and looked back to the undead in the door frame just as it was being touched and set on fire by the flames that had by now reached it.

The Sith shrugged and walked down the street on foot, carefully surveying his surroundings. In a side street, he caught sight of something most unusual. A figure in a gas mask, breathing audibly, stood besides a hover cart piled with bodies - and not ones that had recently been alive.

Jartris smirked at the man's rather queer greeting. "Gathering research material, I see?"

With a shrug, Jartris drew his lightsaber, but let his arm simply hang by his side, the blade inactive. He entered the building they had found themselves in front of and from which a Woyunokut had just emerged, only to be added to the gas mask man's pile. Jartris through a brief glance back at the other and then ascended the stairs to see if any had made their way to the higher floors. None had, and the higher floors were deserted. Indeed, most of them were nonexistent: the building had been hit by a bomb and never restored, and as he ascended to what he thought would be the second floor, Jartris found himself outdoors. Only the ground floor was really habitable.

He turned back and found the other Sith outside with a young girl he had apparently retrieved from one of the rooms. Suddenly, the distant sound of a large ship's engines entered into Jartris' consciousness. He looked up, out into the night sky beyond the city, but could not see any moving lights in the night sky that would have betrayed the location of the sound's origin. Yet his ears told him that it was approaching. Finally, he caught a glimpse of stars seemingly moving the the clear night sky, being occluded and reappearing again. It was difficult to judge the size and distance of the ship, but it was probably outside the city, and in that case not small. "I have a bad feeling about this", Jartris remarked with dry irony.

 

[Stephanie Swail]

Location: Stealth Frigate
Objective: Help liberate Mirial....and don't die
Allies: [member="Liuna Ondizi"] | [member="Cardinam"] | [member="Eri'anya Forr"] |[member="Kaiza Pawaro"] | [member="Cassius Droma"] | SJO
Enemies: The Sith Empire

The sound of a rifle clicking, unloading, loading, chamber locking, ammo checking – all carried out by [member="Lara Fairfax"] looking ready for war. Stephanie suppressed a small smile. The Silver Jedi seemed to be more than just Jedi of old. They were soliders, warriors, explorers, medics, nobility, pilots and…bears? [member="Kiriko"] was a face she hadn’t seen much of, but to see this brute of a creature looking as delicate and polite as any human, it distracted her for a second from the horror they were to face.

A sound of engines reducing power reverberated through the ship and the pilots began a sharper descent, all the bodies inside lurching forward an inch or so, and once again reminding them what was ahead.

”You nervous, miss?” The helmeted Ranger asked.

”Oh, no. Not really,” Stephanie lied.

”Mhm. Sure.” The visor looked towards Stephanie and the body moved closer. ”Just don’t die, alright? I’ve seen many battles with the Silvers. You’ll be ok if you just be aware of everything around you. Focus on your objective and stick to it. Don’t let anything get in your head and distract you.”

Stephanie nodded, listening to the solder. An amber light flicked on above.

”I’ve got your back. You just help get those people out and stop the Sith in their tracks.”

The Ranger nodded and stepped back. The young Jedi smiled and mouthed “thank you”. Turning to the others, she flexed her fingers and exhaled. The First Order had shown that the dark forces of the galaxy were merciless and brutal in their efforts to claim one world at a time. The Silver Jedi couldn’t waver in their battle to repel the Sith Empire as best they could.

Stephanie Swail would be on ground until the end of this battle and would only leave once the battle was won or in a bodybag.

 

[Atom Smasher]

Location: Mirial - Capital
Objective: Help civilians
Allies: [member="Jartris Entumaa"]
Enemies: [member="Liuna Ondizi"], [member="Kaiza Pawaro"], [member="Stephanie Swail"]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rh76GY_JSQs​

The chubby alchemist patted the head of the child while softly singing through the harsh breath of his mask. The gargle of zombies groaned through the distance echo of blastfire, while Aurelius progressively crushed the debris beneath his heavy boots. He strode without any semblance of fear by the Mirialan Sith and cocked his head in a disconcerting gesture while the other man stood around, something which irked Aurelius, who paid no heed to to etiquette considering the situation.

"Well make yourself useful, look for survivors, bake some zombies while you're at it." Aurelius' stone shifted rapidly from jovial to blunt as he stomped by Jartris, slipping behind a makeshift curtain and into a derelict townhouse he presently guarded. "Don't stand around like a fu... karking melon!" He stopped himself from swearing while holding the small child. The little girl now wrapped her hands around his neck and buried her face into the side, most likely relieving herself in fear, not that Aurelius cared. He wandered inside and set her down on a lone lounge, before turning to a music player. He selected a soothing jazz track and turned up the volume, letting the cool notes drown out the blast fire and screams in the distance.

The jazz music played through the street and Aurelius unclipped the gauntlets on his gloves, slipping them off his hands to allow him to use for more delicate procedures. He brushed back his hood and pulled the gas mask off his head, running a hand through his sweaty blonde hair and widening angelic blue eyes. A large medical case was located in the corner, which he directly grabbed and opened, mulling over vials of chemicals, serum and syringes. Augmentation tools glistened brightly in red cloth. He selected a serum for cooling burns and poured a good amount into a clean cloth, before sitting beside the child and applying the surface to her wounds. She seemed to be good shape and received minimal injuries.

"Go check that out." As the other Sith poked his head in the door, Aurelius pointed a fat finger to the approaching ship and nodded his head forward with a stern manner. He continued to hum along with the music and sat the young girl on his lap, which was soaked. "You're gonna be alright, bub." Gently rocking his knee up and down, Aurelius listened to the tune while the girl chewed her fingers and looked around, gazing hypnotically into the walls with frightened eyes.

 

[Dante Sotari]

Location: Mirial, Northern Reaches
Allies: [member="Morgan Vance"], TSE
Enemies: ???

"Different armies, same problems."

It didn't matter who it was. The boots on the ground were always the last to.... well, get the boots. In the Commonwealth they had tried. But it wasn't always a matter of intention. The more layers a process gained, the longer it took. The Sith Empire was growing quickly, and not all of the wrinkles in the processes and logistics had been ironed out. One thing Dante had to give them though, the sith were *good* at cutting through red tape once someone like Saarai realized it was there.

His next comment though-

"I don't do reruns, Vance. So if it gets too hot, roll down a window or somethin'."

Casual, matter of fact, muffled at the end as she pulled *something* over her head. They hadn't talked about it. What was there to talk about? It had been fun, but part of that was that she'd never expected she'd have to see him again. Let alone be assigned to the same outfit.

Besides, she knew him better now.

And he was annoying. Eating crackers level of annoying. Not all the time, sure. But basically any time she noticed one of the things about him that bugged her, it just went from zero to crackers in no time.

The fact that most of it was actually her problems and nothing he was doing, well, she didn't dive deeply enough into her own psyche to sort that out. The fact that he annoyed her was enough, and too far beneath the surface of snark, sarcasm, and eye rolling, well.

She didn't like it down there.

With a grunt, she shimmied over the back of the front seat, plopping into the passenger's seat as it jostled and jounced. Pulling on the new boots again (snugger, with the extra pair of cold weather socks she'd grabbed when no one was watching the box) she looked out the front windshield. Decked out for the cold, she wrinkled her nose at the tickle of fur around her face, but wasn't complaining.

"Um. They left scouts all right."

Vance pulled over near the dark splash sunk into the snow. He stayed in the driver's seat, Dante hoping out. Just in case something was waiting for them. She moved cautiously, but other than the falling snow, almost pretty, nothing else in the landscape shifted.

Kneeling in the snow, she looked over the scene.

"Six, maybe seven hours!" She called over her shoulder. "Hit them before the main facility, but it's hard to tell- the cold screws everything up."

Reaching out gingerly, she unsnapped his helmet.

"Lieutenant Avery," she muttered. "Hell of a way to go."

Her inspection was cursory. They didn't have the time or the tools to do more. But then, she didn't need to. It was enough. Carrying the helmet under one arm, she slid back in beside Morgan a minute later.

"Throat slit," she said without preamble. Already she was pulling out a small electronics kit, hooking up the helmet to a small view screen as he started up the vehicle again.

"Let's see if he caught his attacker on the record. Give us something to work with."

As the interface whined to life, she sent out a quick burst with their coordinates. Someone would come and retrieve Lt. Avery's body.

"Where was your back up?" She muttered, more to herself than to Morgan as the screen fitzed to life, the expanse of white and the road the only thing in view at first. She started to move backward through the file.

 

[Cathbodua]

Location: Mirial System
Objective: Establish mobile medical team
Allies: SJO, RA [member="Kiriko"]
Opposition: Sith

THe jedi knight looked at the tea while she was there and gave a nod of her head to him. She could do just that, working on the ptients while he worked on security. THe hilt of her saber on her belt was visible as it pulsed almost wih the lightside of the force. Calming, warm and bound to her with a healing crystal of fire within the chamber next to the potent pontite crystal. Her lightwhip was encased in the white wintrium casing and stood out against the black and dark purple of her bodyarmor. Her pack on her back once she stood up seeing the others who were there sliding out one of the medical scanners. "That can be done, while I normally work my own security there is a benefit to having others able to help.... It is." She searched for the word on the tip of her tongue though. "Refreshing."

The jedi knight looked at some of the others moving around and could see some of the combat medics who were trained and armed by Willa before. Their armor gleaming though as she started to direct them and finished the cup of tea. "We have the quick deploy for now and with the proper application we could get some of the portable tanks in there. The fluid developed with the agena works in some other applications as well." She had experimented with it, suspending patients in it allowed the jedi to infuse the liquid with the force so it could penetrate the body instead of just being on the surface... and it was cheaper to produce before she finished up and looked at the inventory on her hardlight display giving a nod of her head. "Good we should be ready to begin once the ship touches down."

 

[Kenth Typho]

Location: Mirial
Allies: [member="Dante Sotari"] | Sith Empire
Enemies: ???

"Ain't a rerun if we hit a different position," He mumbled back, eyes still on the road but a smirk tugging.

No response came.

Didn't mean she didn't hear it, the sudden uptick of her heartbeat told him she had, but for some reason Dante didn't feel like snarking. He had recognized quite early that it was one of her ways of humor. So, trying to not be awkward he participated in it as much as possible. Strangely enough Morgan didn't often get a positive response to it.

Before the agent could say something else they were already at the camping site.

This was the benefit of being partners with someone you could trust. He didn't have to split his attention in several ways, could simply keep his eyes on the road and their surroundings, while Dante investigated.

Better that way.

"Avery was a good one." Morgan commented softly as she jumped back in with his helmet. "Always had some time for the greenhorns... lousy card-player though."

They had all played together about a week ago, before the Lieutenant got stationed here.

Cleaned him out but the soldier had taken it in strides.

He kept one eye on the screen, while keeping the engine running. Last thing they needed was for their vehicle to die right in the middle of the blizzard with several clicks to go to the installation itself. "Wait- there, slow it down." It had just been a blur, black one, brushing past the screen before the helmet's visor only registered snow later... collapsed.

"Slower, yeah like that."

They rewinded it again, slower this time and that's when they saw it.

Green skin... but it were the tattoos that told the tale. The cult- they used special ones around the ones the Mirialans used regularly. Jagged edges this one, like lightning.

"You know what that one means?"

 

[Darth Ophidia]

MIRIAL
few clicks outside of capital

Did you know sand can sing?

Darth Ophidia had not known this when she landed on Mirial on a maintenance stop to get a bug in her hyperdrive fixed. Back in her mercenary days, her mentors always told her that a working hyperdrive was as critical to a spacer’s craft as the life-support system. Without a functioning hyperdrive they were stranded and easy prey; with a damaged hyperdrive they risked the ship tearing itself apart in the middle of a jump.

Then again, she did not know how to fix a hyperdrive, so she had brought some that did.

While Darling and Mirialan, Sith Imperial mechanic, Barlan Sucz, (edited Fucz to Sucz as is later used) worked at getting the hyperdrive back in order, Darth Ophidia had taken a foldable garden chair out of the ship and planted it firmly in the rocky dunes. After pouring a cup of steaming hot, milky white liquid from the tea-set she found on Ord Trasi, she sat down in the garden chair and listened to the hum of the wind on the dunes, only occasionally broken by the clank, clink and occasional muffled word exchanged between Barlan and Darling.

The wind was cold and continual, and it carried coarse grains of coral-hued sand that caressed themselves against the ashen skin of her scalp like a thousand nails, each whispering with a voice that warned of tragedies come and gone; songs that reminded her of the Nether.

As she sat there, the tsaisibola curled itself deeper into her robes to siphon the warmth of her skin into itself, while the nagajj rested its white-scaled head on her shoulder. After receiving word from Barlan, Darling jogged around the ship and inside. As he jogged past, the Rattataki could not help but notice something was different about him, something new. She could not immediately place it, but when Darling came running back out with a fistful of differently coloured wires, she saw the fine leather boots on his feet: Newest issue of the Imperial Legion boots. She took a moment to admire the streamlined design and subtle decorative border as he disappeared around the other side of the ship.

But who gave the droid imperial issue boots?

Darth Ophidia looked down at her own boots and noticed how scuffed they were. The black leather had given way to several lines where the leather tended to fold, and the sole had lost much of its former pattern.

Narrowing her eyes, she craned her neck to check Darling’s shoe-size.

 

[Ria Misrani]

Location: Mirial's Capital Building
Allies: [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Kaalia Voldaren"] | [member="Aria Vale"] | [member="Vaylin"]
Enemies: The Silver Jedi
Objective: Await Orders.

Prince Sarlow Zambrano.

Son of Kaine the Black-Iron Tyrant and Lady Salara the Grand Alchemist.

Sigil of the Lupus upon his chest as it held together, a long cloak that had been made from hide. It wore heavy on his shoulders but he paid it no mind, the black color on the outside glimmered only slightly with the light. Maroon interior with a silk-like touch spoke of the wealth he came from. His armor was light otherwise, still, just hide albeit thick. Studded where it needed to be, Sarlow had left behind his guns, his hat and all that had made him Sal. For Sal was not needed here, Sarlow was. And he had much to atone for, the Cursed Son of Kaine roamed the halls of the capital building while his father oversaw the restoration.

His light brown hair and blue eyes spoke of the Kesare blood in his veins while his patrician features bore more to his father's rich Zambrano line. As did his broad shoulders and tall form, the Eye of Solomon etched into the hilt of his blade. He could see the Crownguard that flanked his father. Sarlow wondered if his father would transplant all that he knew from Pacanth and simply extend the might of the Reach.

The Cursed Son noted the messengers as he moved to intercept his father, he knew guests had arrived, as it were. His heavy boots echoed and gave his position away long before his own presence would. In time, the man would find his father and come to stand at his side. Sarlow need not speak of his reasons for being there now, the Sigil on his chest was enough. The beast hungered for more blood, and it would only be a matter of time, for when he would be unleashed.

 

[Tabigarashu Madara]

Location: Mirial | The Capital
Objective: Discover what the Cult is up to this time.
Allies: TSE
Enemies: Cultists/Separatists, probably SJO

It didn't take long for both of them to gather up their things and head out. Of course, half the battle was getting out of the Capital Building without being stepped on. While [member="Darth Saarai"] always made sure his offices were Nezumi friendly, that was not usually the case for the rest of anywhere. At least on Bastion there were passages in the walls they had taken to using, but here? Hirou shook their head. Here they had to use the same hallways as the rest of the Too Bigs. Usually, the Nezumi went largely unnoticed- Sith had a tendency to be large, dressed in flowing robes or capes, and a little on the self absorbed side- but they needed to be careful so no one stepped on them.... or their tails.

Hirou and Tiba weaved their way through the complex- dodging boots, scooting around urns, occasionally squeaking in dismay at a too close call with the oversized heel of this Sith or that.

Coming around a corner, they went scampering past a large group of Sith. [member="Aria Vale"], [member="Vaylin"], [member="Sal Zambrano"], [member="Kaalia Voldaren"], [member="Lord Depravious"] ..... and [member="Darth Carnifex"]

Even Hirou knew who *that* was, and they paused. Removing the small cap and holding it between their paws, Hirou offered a bow to the Dark Lord, mirrored by Tiba a moment later. Then off they went again, dropping to all fours to get quickly out of the way of his swirling crownguard and disappearing around the opposite corner.

"Don't you think he's scary?"

Hirou shrugged, picking up speed.

"Well yeah. But a little politeness never hurt."

****
​Once they hit the city proper everything went faster. They could run along wires to duck into sewer grates anywhere the traffic got too heavy or treacherous for the little Nezumi.

"This building? Are you sure? I thought the Inquisition cleared them out of here?"

Tiba nodded, looking up at the weeping stone edifice. The squat, three story building was old construction, heated from within and making the frost melt each morning, giving the appearance of tears on the slick granite walls. It had once been a private residence, but had been empty, the old family killed in some long ago revolution. It had been mostly used by squatters for a pair of generations....

Until the cult they had been watching set up shop here.

Hirou had already been here, once.

They didn't like to think about it.

Their ears swiveled back, fur fluffing up again.

The cultists.... the separatists.... one in the same. But what were they planning? What was happening today that would cause a resurgence? For them to risk being found again? The Inquisition had stamped out multiple nests of the sect, but they always seemed to pop back up.

Why now?

Well, that was their job. To figure that out.

Hirou looked over at Tiba, her black eyes bright with excitement.

"Just.... stick close, k?"

Tiba nodded, bouncing back and forth from foot to foot. Hirou dropped back to all fours, scampering across the sidewalk and over to a hole in the corner of the stonework.

"Okay," they said, breathing in deeply. "Let's do this."

The two Nezumi disappeared into the wall of the building.

 

[Kal Visna]

Location: Mirial System, Stealth Frigate
Allies: SJO, [member="Cardinam"] [member="Lara Fairfax"] [member="Liuna Ondizi"] [member="Kaiza Pawaro"]
Enemies: SE
Equipment: Purple Lightsaber, armor, communicator, Defender of the Light

It has been a while since the fall of Ossus, since the valiant struggle of his and his comrades has proved to be in vain, even with the passing of time he could not see it, the reasons everything was the way it was, yet for that reason he only trained harder... Time, the destroyer and builder of all things. Right now time was on their side, it has given them the opportunity to strike back at their enemies, the coming battle was to be swift and lethal, the dawn has come for the people of Mirial and Kal was eager to come with it and finally take the fight to the dreadful subjugators of this world.

With him in the ship were several others at them from time to time, he would not say anything, if not masked his face would be seen as somehow sad, contemplative, the more answers he got, the more questions would arise, but what troubled him the most was the events not yet unfold, there was a feeling, something was not right, nothing regarding the force, no, this was him, his own instinct, it felt as if something bad is going to happen.

He held his knife in the left hand looking at it strangely, who would think this small dangerous thing was actually a medal? Nonetheless is was deeply practical and as the time draws near, Kal would not dare to tread upon enemy territory without a ray of light of his own.

 

[Roona Osmari]

Location: Mirial System – Pantera Stealth Frigate
Allies: SJO - [member="Valkren Calderon"], [member="RC 212"]
Opposition: TSE

All tribes had initiation rituals – the Antarian Rangers were no different. While these rituals did not involve the physical tests and trials that Roona had completed in her own tribe, the Ranger’s initiation seemed to involve ice breakers and getting-to-know-you questions. The Ysannan woman had been with the rangers for some time now, but her combat missions had been few. This was the first time that she had been assigned to a dedicated team, and she was already feeling good about the camaraderie here.

“So, where are you from?” One of her comrades asked.

There was a moment of hesitation on Roona’s part, and then she answered. “From Ossus.”

Most pairs of eyes turned away from Roona for a moment. Obviously, things were a bit awkward, considering the most recent events to have taken place on her home world. She felt it, too. And there was also a tangle of guilt stuck inside her. She hadn’t been able to be there to defend her home, and now her tribe had been relocated. There was nothing to go back to now.

Instead of letting the strange silence linger, Roona searched quickly for another topic of conversation. Scanning the nearest Ranger, she spotted an image carved into his armor, along with the words Radama Raiders. Tilting her head, her sea-green eyes narrowed with curiosity.

“What is this?” Roona pointed at the drawing.

“It’s the symbol of our unit, the reaper.” Thomas grinned, “You want one?”

A smile tugged at her lips, and Roona nodded. She stood still, presenting her right shoulder for Thomas to decorate. As he began to etch the reaper into her armor, the members of the unit regaled her with their stories from Ord Radama. Just as Thomas put the finishing touches on her drawing, the imposing form of Colonel Calderon entered the hangar bay. All around her, the Rangers went ridged in their Katarn armor. Her posture straightened up as well, and she offered the Colonel a polite nod. And as he made her official introduction, she stood a bit stiffly.

And after last checks had been performed, it was time to board their gunship. “See ya out there, Echo.” Thomas clapped Roona on the shoulder. Blinking, Roona watched as he boarded before her, and climbed in herself. Echo? Ah, she had just been given a nickname. This was an important step in being accepted, she realized.

Roona took an empty seat next to the Colonel. She offered him a small smile before covering her face with her helmet. Silently, she prayed that she would not let the Radama Raiders down today.