Dominion Swords of Imperialism: NIO dom of Maridun

[Nile Hark]

45TH PENAL LEGION
MARIDUN
OBJECTIVE ONE
Raijan Sol DECEASED Aron Gowrie
Jaryg Syn Cotan Sar'andor

Not everyone in the armor column was so lucky.

Captain Pellaeon's repulsor tank had just resumed its former position at the vanguard when an APC, the same one in fact, took a direct hit from missiles streaking down the mountainside. That same first strike which Syn had noted so calmly turned the 45th's world into smoke and ash. There was eerie silence for a few heartbeats' span and then the mountain pass erupted in a hail of repeating blaster fire.

"Contact!" Hark roared over the comlink before he pulled himself out of the cataphract.

Heedless of the wrecked APC's victims, even now still burning alive like marionettes, he pressed forward and fired a burst of tracer bolts from the armored vehicle's twin-linked rapid fire laser cannons lighting up the falling stroke of an ambush which seemed audacious even by Hutt standards. A near miss impacted off the ridgeline above him showering debris over Pellaeon's tank. His troopers might all hate him but the captain wouldn't make them do anything he wasn't willing to do himself. Many often wondered aloud why anyone would ever volunteer for such a hell.

One of the 45th's scout walkers erupted. Another lucky hit.

"Bloodlet Bloodlet, I need a danger close artillery strike on my beacon!"

He leapt down from the repulsor tank and drew his officer's vibrosword from its scabbard. Reluctant to obey Hark's orders the penal troopers slowly filed out from their remaining carriers. Charging into an incoming barrage was suicidal and it would be the last thing their enemy would expect. These kinds of callous tactics were what penal legions like the 45th had become known for.

"Forward you bastards! Any sleemo who runs will have to answer to me."

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

"Well, if you're sure," Cotan replied at Aron's refusal of his offer of healing, though his own tone was decidedly unsure. The other odd-man-out hopped out of the vehicle, quipping about the explosives that had just dropped in around them, and Cotan frowned. "Why is it that every time I run into you mad-hat highlanders, it means everything either has already gone to hell or is just about to?" He shifted in his seat, getting a look out the front viewport—

Only to see that some madman was leading a group of soldiers on a foot charge towards the compound. He squinted, looking more closely; prisoner-soldiers, they looked like, judging by...

Well, everything about them, really.

Jaw set in disapproval, but knowing there wasn't much he could really do about it all, he sat back in his seat, taking the glass of whisky offered to him by Captain Reed. "Now, colonel, I can't help but notice you haven't offered me your na—" he cut himself off quickly, thinking back. He had to have seen this man's face somewhere before. Maybe not on Ziost, but...

Wait.

"You aren't that madman from Generis, are you? Dropped straight onto a Sith fireteam and tore them apart with a knife and your teeth?" That had to be this guy. He'd read all about it after the battle, when reports started coming in. It'd made him wish he'd run into the Galidraani tankers a second time around. "Gowrie, right?" He glanced back out the front of the ACV.

"Listen, I don't know why you keep calling me sir—Cotan is fine, really—and I don't hold rank over you, but I'm afraid for your own sake I'm going to have to tell you that you're not allowed to try that again today. No matter how much Reed here eggs you on."

DECEASED Aron Gowrie Jaryg Syn Jagged Pellaeon

 

[Raijan Sol]

OBJECTIVE ONE
BLOODLET ACTUAL
TAGS - Jagged Pellaeon Jaryg Syn Cotan Sar'andor DECEASED Aron Gowrie

The mercenary ambush fell upon the head of the Penal Legion and grinded them down to a halt. The intensity of battle reminded him of times past. It was just over ten years ago at this point, but due to his cryosleep, it only felt like it had been months ago. A reality that he couldn't believe he suffered.

Master? Gone.

His soldiers? Brothers that he had fought with over a dozen campaigns and just as many victories. Scattered along the hyperspace lanes. Their lives moved on, for those that survived the collapse of the then First Order. Others likely faced similar fates as he did, drifting through space in a dormant vessel, trapped in stasis without the faintest idea as to how much time passed.

It was never meant to be more than a few months.

His teeth grinded as he leaned over the console.

The Captain's voice cried out over the frequency, begging for help.

Projection displays, supported by Destroyers in orbit provided all the footage he needed.

Pathetic.

Criminals, barely even soldiers. They were barely a step above the auxiliary that he had fought with back in his own day. On the other side of the Outer Rim, the egregious amount of aliens had barely been capable of being called fodder, but they served their purpose, if reluctantly. They tended to keep their mouths shut and accepted their fate, no matter what it would be.

His nose flared watching the display.

On one hand they could save the penal legion. But who was he to get in the way of expunging their records? Every life that blinked out of existence was one less criminal dragging the name 'New Imperial' through the mud.

He was of the mind to cleanse the Order. Ridding it of the entirety of the 45th... Infantry, armour, support crews... All of them. But it wasn't in his nature. It wasn't what his Master would've done. He had inspired both fear and loyalty in his men, in that exact order. First, decimation, and then through preserving their lives anyway he could in the following operations.

He sorely missed Special Warfare.

For what was certain to feel like an eternity for the 45th, Raijan finally gave the order.

Within moments, shells were belched from their artillery batteries with an angry fury. Captain Pellaeon had asked for danger close support, a wish that he was very much willing to grant. Without a proper elite force in the form of stormtroopers, he choked down his own elitism. The 45th would survive, he'd see to it, if not severely depleted past what the analysts deigned to be 'satisfactory.'

 

[Noel Strasza]

P O U N D - O F - F L E S H
SERGEANT ABIGAIL CALDAS
Unknown Location

​

Only the muffled sound of my panicked breath filled my ears when I was left alone, at last. I had been at my station one moment, mere days ago, and the next I was being dragged into the shadows by black-clad soldiers I had never seen before. 'Why me?' I had fought them or tried to, kicking and calling for help but the other troopers just... stood there and did nothing, my seniors looking down on me from the railing above, watching as I was taken. 'Why me?' What was going on? I didn't understand.

I had done my interrogations with the ISB.

I had given my statement and report.

I had been audited and assessed.

There was nothing to suggest I had any hand in what happened at the fortress, I had been absolved, and yet I had been thrown into the back of a carrier regardless. I had thought then that it was some kind of mistake, that some agent somewhere had gotten my file confused with someone else's, that there was no way it could have happened to me. 'Why me?'

And the longer this nightmare went on, the more certain I became that it was no mistake.

COMPNOR didn't make mistakes.

I had only heard rumors of their darker undertones before, little mutterings in the barracks and DFACs about abductions and interrogations with advanced techniques. Torture. It was all just a conspiracy, there was no way the Order would stand for something like that, such treachery only lived within the ranks of the Sith. I wish I had believed it when I heard it, maybe that would have prepared me for what lay in store for me.

That was all days ago, how many, I'm unsure, I haven't had this bag off my head since they took me. I've done everything they'd asked and told me to do, answered as many questions as I can, I've been cooperative. 'Is no one looking for me?' Today was another day of hundreds of questions, each one crafted to throw me off, it seemed like, as today's roster sported far more ordinary questions than yesterday's had. At least, I think it was yesterday, it's getting harder to keep track of time without being able to sleep.

I corraled my thoughts back into order and took a deep breath, holding it in for the time. I needed to calm down. I needed to relax. This was a terrifying situation, sure, but it was no more terrifying than any of the firefights I'd participated in. Whatever was going on, the agents would get their answer and they would let me go- there was no other plausible way for this to end. I found comfort in that logical conclusion. The soft groan of the heavy door opening pulled my attention from my worried thoughts, and I pushed the breath I'd been holding out at last.

"Let's go," a voice I did not recognize at all stated and its owner roughly grabbed my upper arm, "Now I've got questions for you."

That voice was like nails on a chalkboard. It didn't sound unpleasant but I felt my blood ice anyway, there was something so inexplicably uncanny about it... I couldn't tell if I was speaking to a droid or a human. I'm not sure which one is worse at this point, to be honest.

"O-of course..." I managed a response at least, a weak one, but a response nonetheless and I was up on my feet, being lead toward where I assumed the door was, and judging by the sound of our footsteps, into a hall. I struggled to see through the black fabric of the bag, but it was useless- not nearly enough light could breach it for my eyes to grasp.

Whoever or whatever it was that had me didn't say anything else until we arrived in a different room, the air of this one felt much more hospitable. I heard a metal chair leg drag against the floor and promptly I was shoved to sit down. It was nice to sit on a chair, rather than the floor.

"Close your eyes, I'm taking your hood off. The light will hurt." The strange voice was right in front of me now, and I almost hesitated to listen to it, but... it had a point. So I did.

The fabric grazed my skin as it was shed and cast aside, and at last, I felt the humidity gathered on my face from my breath start to dissipate. Relief. I gave it a few seconds before I opened my eyes, doing it slowly to avoid the pain mentioned before.

And what I saw sent my heart into my throat.​

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

Post #6
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
WILDCAT BATTALION
Maridun '69
Objective 1

Tags: Jaryg Syn Raijan Sol Cotan Sar'andor

​

Laughing off the legend with humble grace, Lord Aron understood the Grand-Marshall's endearment well, taking the complement well from one of the greatest heroes the galaxy had ever seen, taking stock of what it took to earn such praise as he tried his best to control the laughter that was paining his ribs. Gowrie would simmer down to a fading wheeze as he unholstered his pistol and checked the safety-catch, placing it politely on the table as he replied,'Many thanks, but mah teeth in reality was actually this wee beauty. Designed by Lord Ollis of the Faslane Barrans, believe it or no.', sighing out the last of the mirth after introducing the junior-branch's supremely profitable gift to the Free-State's Lord-Commissioned officers. The Kellas was happy to see the appreciation for the perfectly-designed sidearm, as the heavy blaster pistol his ilk had used time and time again had a prestigious history, one that was seemingly intertwined with the of the honorary-Woad; Gowrie hadn't expect a Grand Marshall of the Galactic Alliance to desire dispensation with formalities in such a way, but realised he needed to remind himself of the friend Sar'andor had made so concretely in Barran, of the lasting impression made on the Lord-Commander of the Blue-Hearts therein.

'An' yes, the same Lord-Colonel Gowrie fae the Generis-legend, considered by some to be the true hero that day, but I'm personally not so sure of that. I, eeerrrr - let us just say I wasn't myself after a certain point o' that one, effective though my blacked-out self may have been at the time. A wee bit like inebriation that way, well at least in some aspects anyway.... Oh, and as for pulling rank on masel, Colonel-Mashall, Marshall Colonel - helluva gap in seniority, Cotan. That's the training, but if I must call you Cotan, you must call me Aron henceforth. Agreed?'

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

"Well, despite the name, they're from entirely different rank structures, really," Cotan demurred at the mention of seniority and actually titled rank. "But fair enough. Aron it is. Sláinte mhath." DECEASED Aron Gowrie and Erskine Barran would both need good health, and that was a wish worth drinking towards. And drink he did, sipping at the whisky he was offered and observing the tactical map before friendly artillery fire came down...very uncomfortably close to their position as well, not just that of Captain Pellaeon ahead of them.

Not that he was particularly far ahead of them anyways, especially as far as artillery was concerned, but as far as Cotan was concerned, he didn't like it. "So, uh, is the plan for siege warfare here, or do you know if they've got something else in mind?" he asked, looking over at the colonel. "Because I'll be honest, I don't want to sit and wait and let artillery shells and blaster bolts keep flying around us while we wait for something stronger than our armour to connect."

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
NIV TREGESSAR
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Caarlyle Rausgeber

​

Rurik narrowed his eyes to the response of Carlyle, who almost immediately assumed Rurik's vague and foreboding inquiry related directly to him and the nature of Prefsbelt Command. They were in a way the best kept and the worst kept secret all at once. It was well known that whatever news came from Prefsbelt was only precisely what the Command allowed out and even then- it hardly ever painted a bright picture save for meeting production goals and economic growth.

"I am less concerned with Prefsbelt than I am with your peers, Admiral Regent. Many, many opportunities had been presented to you in unspoken ways that might've allowed you to gain power by the means of sedition or deceit, even deceit that may have gone under the noses of myself and my predessessor. But there is only so much of the dealings of our fiefs that make it to Ravelin, surely there is words spoken behind closed doors, beyond the senses of the ruling government." Rurik remarked, something was amiss, he doubted Rausgeber's involvement as no doubt any concealed aim would by no means be in collusion with Sith...but something was amiss. He wanted every piece he could gather.

"But the hypotheticals are of less interest to me than this 'weapon'." He evidently wanted Rausgeber to continue on the matter. Weapons were tools of death as much as they were tools of fear. And fear often the language that would have these warlords seeing more eye to eye with their liege.

 

[Noel Strasza]

P O U N D - O F - F L E S H
SERGEANT ABIGAIL CALDAS
Unknown Location

​

I couldn't say anything at all, I couldn't even breathe. Had my hands been free, they would have found themselves glued over my mouth in sheer disbelief.​

"These were your men, weren't they?" The voice asked of me- I hadn't even looked to find the owner yet, I was too fixated on the morbid display arranged in front of me.

I could only nod, my shattering heart crippled by fear of what might happen if I didn't.

"My condolences for your losses, in that case," the stranger said without a shred of empathy, "I know well what it's like to lose those under your command."

My eyes poured over the photographs stretched out on the table, digging for any detail or sign that they were fabricated or staged. Something, anything at all that could tell me they weren't real. Gast and Belmont were fine, there was no way they couldn't be. It was untrue, all of it, this was merely a ploy to get me to cooperate, and an unnecessary one at that, given my track record. The shock and horror gave way to the first thing I'd left outside of either since my impoundment: anger. I jerked my head upward, glaring at the shade in the periphery of my vision, acknowledging the owner of the voice at last.

And almost immediately I felt my heart stumble again. What I had thought uncanny before did not even compare to what I stared at, the macabre melding of human features and mechanical body. The flesh fixed at the crown of the machine was riddled with far too many scars and minor imperfections to have been synthflesh, yet the glaze of the red eyes glowering down at me suggested this entity was anything but human, but that face... it was familiar... 'What kind of fething nightmare is this?' I shuddered violently in my seat but mustered what little cinders of anger I still had to maintain my stare right back. "Who are you?" I demanded.

"Revenant," the cyborg answered curtly, moving to sit opposite to me at the small table.

"What happened to my men?" I asked again, disregarding the fact I was likely pushing my luck already.

"They were killed." Revenant explained, leaning forward in her chair to reach back by her side, digging for something I couldn't see.

"Yeah, no fucking chit," I spat, allowing the bite and snarl of my anger to flash, "why? By who?"

I saw now the cyborg had been retrieving a half-crumpled carton of cigarettes from her person. She tucked one just above the scarred line of her jaw where the mechanics were obvious and offered another out toward me. "Dunno," said the cyborg dismissively, "to be honest with you, I'm only here to make sure what they told me matches what you're going to tell me." I couldn't tell if she was lying or not. I started to despise that fact.

I didn't take the cigarette, shaking my head toward it instead, and pushed out a deep breath to temper my boiled nerves. My voice was still shaking, though now it quivered with the hurt I felt, "What do you want to know, then?"

The cyborg lit the smoke and took a drag. "The one who told your men, these two-" she waggled two cybernetic digits toward the graven photos on the table between us, "-they were to change shift with the guard on EC to the Command Quarter that day; who was it?"

I pinched my cheek between my teeth at the question and the information that hit me simultaneously. Someone had directed them, that wasn't me, to change out with the EC that day? That didn't make any sense at all, that wasn't how we did things. Sure, I was only a Sergeant and a great number of other NCO's could have circumvented me to direct my squad, but... to think I wouldn't have heard of it at all? "I'm... not sure, actually, this is the first I've heard of that."

Revenant stared at me scrutinously, obviously appraising my answer. I shifted in my seat, unsettled by the distance I could see in that stare. It felt like she was looking into me rather than at me. And I couldn't for the life of me figure out why she looked so familiar and so strange at the same time. Maybe it was better that way. "Alright, that's all I needed to know, then." The cyborg broke the tense silence, nodding her head as she stood up, "Agents will be back to sort you out in a bit, until then, sit tight."

"T-that's it?" I blinked, recoiling back at the rather abrupt end to what I had expected to be another lengthy interrogation.

"If you don't know, you don't know." she shrugged, stood up, and moved toward the door. The back of her hand rattled the steel frame, signaling to the hidden guard beyond she was ready to depart. "It was good to see you again, Abby, even in the middle of a crisis like this. You've done the right thing by cooperating."

No one had called me Abby since basic training. Wait. "Wait, did-"

The door slammed, sealing me away with nothing but the images of my butchered comrades sprawled out on the table before me as company.

R E V E N A N T
Nirauan
​

The fresh air slipped through her nose, filling her senses with some weight of relief to be outside again; ironic that she savored the fresh air whilst sucking down a cancer stick. The recruit and corporal had been manipulated and deceived obviously, targeted for their low rank and lack of experience, with the perpetrator of this whole thing moving carefully around the sergeant to avoid interference. This zabrak woman had managed to avoid identifying herself to those she had questioned thusfar, and if she had encountered the sergeant in her schemes, no doubt she would have been forced to in order to pull rank. It was enough to pound at Strasza's temples.

She had known Halketh was a snake and some of the Carlaci officials were too, crafty and cunning that entire lot, knowing full well they couldn't endure the strength of the Empire, they had to move like assassins through the rank. It was cowardice, plain and simple, all this shadowy business. Metal hands tapped against the railing of the skywalk in idle thought and building tactic, the Spectre deciding what was the best course from here. Of the three she had questioned so far, Abby was perhaps the most useless, and she had even taken her time to get around to the sergeant, knowing COMPNOR would try to break her first. By all accounts, no breaking of will was required, the woman was simply a patriot, willing to cooperate at every turn to help all parties get to the bottom of the situation.

Fortress Imperator was a maze of hidden paths and tunnels, extensive systems that its original architects in the Sith had woven, but all of them had been charted mere days into the New Imperial occupation of the fort, agents spending hours tearing the place apart to find every nook and cranny to burn out the stench of The Sith Empire. It wasn't special knowledge to know how to walk through the place, however undetected one may have wanted to remain. These tunnels had been the path of the Maw assassins who broke through seconds after the bombs, of course, but that meant someone had to let them in originally.

Her best guess so far, was the zabrak woman, that sole lead.

It was a narrow one, at least, there weren't many zabrak amongst the Order at all.

Snuffing out her cigarette and flicking it over the rail of the tower, Revenant's thoughts drew her communications panel across her floating HUD, she needed to call Cromwell and see if he had any luck getting pertinent information out of that Zeltron he was so fond of. But she hesitated, sighing with frustration. Carlac had left both him and the ISB agent in rather horrific shape, so she'd heard, and perhaps it was better not to disturb their recovery.

"Haar'chak," Noel huffed aloud, dismissing the overlay, "rangir."

She would get to the bottom of it herself, one way or another.​

​

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

Post #7
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
WILDCAT BATTALION
Maridun '69
Objective 1

Tags: Jaryg Syn Raijan Sol Cotan Sar'andor

​

'Sláinte mhath! An' noted, Cotan.', Lord Aron repplied, taking the small lesson on board and looking out the front viewports, seeing the job they had to finish in order to safely continue drinking. Cotan, then piping up with the job in mind, laid out the risks of holding back on the attack, even with the mechanised power they had at their disposal. Taking in the progressing situation as he would in any other medium-threat deployment, Gowrie's eyes wouldn't be long in following Sar'andor's own to looking at the 3D map-projection between them, pushing the topography segment down to give them both the ideal top-down view of the fight ahead. However, when the Kellas' eyes made contact with the Penal-Legion's blip, a disapproving aggravation made itself known in his mind, but then given voice as he blurted out,'Hmmmmm.... No so sure ah feel aw that cozy aboot sharin' a static-line wi home-invaders, rapists, an' murderers; fodder or otherwise, man. Even worse if their troops are doomed for minor offences. Brutal.', loud enough for everyone to hear.

'Kark this, they're no gettin' anywhere near that place! We lead the charge under the projected range of their missiles.... If oor opposition assume we're aw still trundlin' along at a leisurely pace, we may have a couple o' golden minutes before they're told to readjust. Lets go for it, Cotan!'

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Cotan nodded along with the colonel's appraisal of the situation, glancing back and forth from the tactical display to the actual viewport. No doubt, in a mountain pass like this, they were more meant to tie up enemy resources than to actually get anything done, making a distraction for the real strike force to get in. A sound plan, all things considered, although dropping in a penal legion next to a group as proud as a Galidraani tank battalion was, perhaps, unadvised. Still, armor and mechanized infantry had a great ability to soak up enemy fire while all the other groups go and strike the flanks.

But rarely did any plan survive first contact with the enemy; rarer still did any plan survive first contact with Cotan Sar'andor and a bottle of whisky.

"Here's my idea: Call out to the ground pounders ahead of us and make them move to either side of the road," he said after a moment of thought. "Tanks in a wedge formation, us in the center behind the initial spear point, and push at high speed up to the front gate. As well equipped as these slavers might be, I doubt they've really got the material to stop us in a charge like that. Fire our main cannons into the gate to try and force it open, and if that doesn't work, hunker down right next to it and dare them to try and send in any heavier weapons or starfighters they've got to try and blast us out from it while I try and find a way in. Then, you all can pick off anybody along the actual ridgeline and give support for the rest of the group to catch up."

Almost as an afterthought, he reached down to his belt, taking his sword off and passing it over by DECEASED Aron Gowrie . "Don't lose that," he cautioned, mock-serious. "I'm pretty attached to it, but it won't help me much if I have to start cutting a hole through a meter of durasteel."

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

NIV TREGESSAR
MARIDUN SYSTEM
IMPERATORS TOWER
Rurik Fel

Rausgeber watched the man. There was an easing of his cool gaze as the Sovereign Imperator relayed it was not neccessarily Presbelt Command which was under scrutiny. Although the naivety of the man to believe that Rausgeber had not at all been making his own discrete power plays was neat. Not that he would allow himself to so crudely betray the irony with a smile. Instead, just a palid, blank expression as he curtly listened to the man. Outside, TIE fighters began to run training drills. Flying by the viewport in tight formations. "So you think the Moff's are plotting behind your back?" Carlyle inquired with pursed lips.

"It is of course healthy to harbour such suspicion." Carlyle himself had very little qualms about that. The Assembly was a den of vipers and snakes, each pushing their own agenda. Which was reasonable to a degree. The New Imperial Order had founded itself with the backing of an eclectic class of warlords and malcontents. And now with largely that uniting initial threat of the Zambrano Sith for now vanquished, he could understand it. "I cannot say I have personally been engaged in such conspiracy. My only, sort of skulduggerous dealings have never been pursued beyond idle politicking and agreements as is necessary in any body." The Admiral Regent conceded, "But if you fear perhaps the Moffs need to be pulled into line more. A tauter leash, you will find no greater ally within the Assembly than myself." He pursed his lips, "But it is obviously a delicate proposition."

Carlyle looked at the man, his gaze narrowing, "Perhaps, if I may be so bold, the solution to this problem, of wayward Moffs is to perhaps, mix up security arrangements?" He paused, "Introduce say, a mandate. Perhaps an additional garrison force, of troops not mustered from our esteemed colleagues worlds. A beefed up naval presence." He then clicked his tongue, "All the while, perhaps under the facade of unified Empire, and propaganda dispatching more locally inclined units to frontline posts. Maybe even just elsewhere within New Imperial space." Carlyle proposed, "Or alternatively," He smirked, "The mandate of a loyal, military attache to act as counsel." Those were all the solutions for a time. But it was also the point to which Rausgeber was to reveal his card.

"I'm sure you know the history of myself, and my cohorts." He gestured to both Braisley and Rax, before shooting them both glances. The two Fleet Admirals seemed deeply uncomfortable with the circumstance. What the Sovereign Imperator was prying at. His gaze was not one which allayed their fear. "How we were exiled to what is now Eternal Imperial space. How we lay as refugees on this savage world of Pa'Desh." He looked down, and took a breathe, "But despite the shortcomings of the world intellectually, culturally and economically, there was an unexpected bounty. Manpower, in the disaffected and maligned lower castes. Who sought to join me, and serve a greater purpose than living and dying in textile sweatshops."

"There was the abundance of kyber. Which now fuels weapons production and this very vessel." Carlyle continued to elaborate, "But there was one, very distinct new bounty which we are yet to unlock fully." He paused, "The Badishah'curazi," He repeated in perfect High Pa'Deshi. "We have no idea how it originated. Where it came from. But we know it does. It's a microbe," He explained, "One which latches onto midichlorians within the bloodstream, and feeds off of them. Stuff like deritus, viral cells and the like. It was primarily found within the Badishah's private force of force using assassins. We discovered during autopsy."

"It took us years milord, but after some patience, we discovered military applications for it. Under the umbrella of Project RUUSAN." Rausgeber explained to his sovereign, divulging the deep and personal pursuit of his mad science. "And have begun mutating, breeding and evolving new strains. Right now to my understanding, there are twelve new strains being pursued. And at least three now which have a potent military application on a lower level. Infantry to infantry combat, or special forces type work. But perhaps the one you'll be most infatuated with, is the one we've taken to calling Killi'bal for now."

"It means God of Death, in all Pa'Deshi dialects."

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

D E M O N ' S _ H E A D
BORN TO RULE
Ridin' Solo | Searching for Defoliator intel
Abandoned CIS Facility

"And yet, you're here with us." She replied with distaste, stepping towards him from behind where the two corridors had met.

There was a burning urge to throw the dagger straight into this insolent broad's head, let her be pinned to the wall as a reminder.

Instead, "Indeed. Your incompetence stretches even to the simple task of salvaging. A task every halfwit in the Outer Rim seems to be capable of doing." he sneered beneath the helmet, "How typical for Jaeger - to have everything dependent on him. And now that he's gone--" an arm stretched out to gesture at the ruins around them,

"--salvage yard duty."

<"We can kill each other-zzzzzt!-stairs is done with us, hmm?"> Her voice crackled through the comlink, disrupted by the increase in radiation levels with her furthering descent into the belly of the ruined facility.

"Surprisingly, she is right." the shoto snapped in the direction of the COMPNOR operative up ahead, "Now move."

Rika Hiro | Don Belkora | Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Izoshi