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The Dread Guard

New Timira City
A relatively long time ago...
Amidst the torrential rain was a single vessel, descending from the heavens apace with the falling water. Within this vessel, a starfighter of Mandalorian design, was a single warrior known to the Confederacy as Isley Verd. However, there were only a handful within the Galaxy at large who knew of his other identity: Darth Metus of the One Sith. This day, the Mandalorian elected to venture to the world infamous for the creation of clones for profit: Kamino, in order to see the results of an ambitious project that he had spent millions commissioning. Known simply as the Dread Initiative, this project called for the collaboration of two parties that would have never even shook hands prior to this opportunity: the Kaminoan Clone Masters and the Yuuzhan Vong Shapers of the Rodian colonies. Through the encouragement and funding of the ambitious Mandalorian, these parties overcame biases and history in order to work hand in hand to fulfill the order he had placed:

A legion of clone troopers, "shaped" by the Yuuzhan Vong in order to be dead to the Force, that were literally grown with a fierce, inborn loyalty to Isley above any other being in the Galaxy.

And so, with haste in his step, the Mandalorian disembarked from his personal starfighter into the falling rain; borne by confident strides into the massive cloning facility known as New Timira City. Though underneath a dark, armorweave cloak, his iconic visage was enough to grant him passage by the duo of cloned guards who stood at the door; for the Kaminoans were very familiar with their most recent, paying customer. They escorted him within the confines of the facility, whose halls were pristine and illuminated by rather-imposing white lights. All the while, Isley was completely and totally silent until he was met by two rather opposite figures. The first was a Kaminoan woman, tall and delicate like the entirety of her kind. The second was a Vong Shaper, who, if Isley hadn't met the woman before, looked to be a gruesome cross between genders.

"Are they ready?" came the inquiry of the Dread Lord as he regarded them with respectful nods. The Kaminoan responded simply with a "Yes, my Lord." whilst the Vong grunted and motioned for the Mandalorian to follow. They led him to the end of the hall and to a pair of doors, behind which the 117th Clone Legion awaited. The Shaper keyed in the passcode for the doors and they slid open, revealing a wide open space that had been prepared for this very moment. The clones before him were armored, yet lacked helmets; and there was a clear distinction between the vast, Fett-male majority and the Mirialan-female minority. Upon stepping forward, the Shaper introduced him with a gutteral voice. "This is your Dread Lord, the man who commissioned your creation. To him, you shall answer. To him, you shall be loyal. This is your Commander, Isley Verd."

The Mandalorian took additional steps forward and folded his hands behind his back.

"I want the Commanding Officer to step forward. The rest of you, sound off your names. I shall commit each one to memory."

  • @[member="CC-114 Una"]
  • @[member="CC-117 Canal"]
  • @[member="CC-192 Storm"]
  • @[member="Commander Calico CC-247"]
  • @[member="Galaar CC-252"]
  • @[member="CC-308 Maverick"]
  • @[member="CC-309 Goose"]
  • @[member="Thrasher CC-314"]
  • @[member="CC-325 Sawtooth"]
  • @[member="CC-329 Nadir"]
  • @CC-420 "Doc"
  • @[member="CC-442 Daral"]
  • @[member="CC-676 Phoenix"]
  • @[member="Kage CC-743"]
  • @[member="CC-777 Jackpot"]
  • @[member="CC-827 Tauranov"]
  • @[member="CC-829 Wraith"]
  • @[member="CC-837 Vanator"]
  • @[member="CC-935 Bluejay"]

Lo-veht Shikt

So this was it. After months of intense training, the clones would meet their commander. CC-325, or "Sawtooth", as he had been dubbed by his peers, sounded off his voice at the call, being first in line other than Calcio. "Staff Sergeant CC-325. CQC specialist. Sir." He saluted the Mandalorian and fell silent once more.

@[member="Darth Metus"]
Finally, it was the day that Canal would go out there and fight and kill people. After Sawtooth gave out his name Canal said to the Mandolorian and saluted him, "Private CC-117, sir." After he said his name he fell silent and waited for his other brothers to say out their names.

@[member="Darth Metus"]

Fabula Caromed

Belle of the Brawl
Aberrant. Broken. Crazy. Defective. Eerie. Failure. CC-329 knew a different word for her "condition" for almost every letter. A different synonym every time she'd spoken to a Kaminoan, a different word whispered behind her back whenever she stared a little too long at a blood splatter. She'd managed to make it through training by lone merit of being reassigned to specialist duties involving independent deployment and solo operation. Kaminoans were surprisingly judgmental when it came to clones outside the template they'd been given.

Somehow, she'd survived. And now she got to meet her reason for being, her commander, in the flesh. Somehow she wasn't all that excited about it. Now, if he had been screaming in pain, on fire, bleeding onto the ground, riddled with slugs...that would have been interesting. But he wasn't. He was simply a man in a cloak. Her eyes tore over him as she stood in formation with the other Dread Sisters, viciously analyzed every single part of him, not because she wanted to but because she had to.

'Cloak shimmers. Armorweave probable. Provides inadequate protection against piercing attacks. Neutronium dagger acceptable offensive option.' She flicked her gaze down, then back up. 'Ribcage protected. Top-heavy build. Rear of knee most vulnerable. Follow with single stab to the back of the throat. Other possibilities include-' And on and on. She didn't bother keeping track. Once she had the most efficient kill method, she didn't need anything else.

Besides, this was her Commander. She only needed one kill routine for him.

In the meantime, Nadir stood in formation with her sisters. She didn't move, didn't speak. With the exception of face tattoos and hairstyles, she looked exactly the same as the two-hundred or so other Mirialan women in the room. Blended in perfectly. Her attention slowly slipped back to the others. The Kaminoans who had wanted her scrapped before she had a chance to show her specialty. The Vong who had subjected her to the most delicious pain she'd ever felt. The thousands of clones in the room who might hurt her Commander. She watched them all, her hand ready near her knife for one that might make a move.

Bluejay Ungolfen

Broken, but mending
Bluejay - CC-935 - stood straight-backed at the head of the line of Dread Sisters. Beside her, Vex, then Scythe, Lefty, and Nine, with Nadir on Nine's other side and the other 160 female Mirialan clones in the room. Once the names had traveled down the Fett clone line far enough, Bluejay's voice rang out with icy-sharp clarity. "CC-935, Bluejay sir." She said crisply, saluting. Vex gave her designation - "CC-881, Vex, sir." - and Scythe, Lefty, and Nine followed with rapid succession.

@[member="Darth Metus"]

CC-420 "Doc"

CC-420 stood in the middle of the formation with his fellow Commandos, every time he looked at one of his brothers he saw a mirror image of himself, every time he saw his sisters a sea of green. All of us. Every last one of us the same decaying organic matter. Medical training had taught him that well enough after the tedious and intensive hours on hand and on the job training at sectors throughout the Confederacy. It was something that made him and his fellow "Docs", the combat medic side of the house for the Commandos, different from many of his comrades.

Most of their training could be accomplished without ever leaving their Kamino Barracks, save for training rooms and the like. 420 had first left off world when he was six years old to work in trauma centers along side Doctors and Nurses. The confused Medical personnel complied with the government officials after a little persuasion, though they were confused as to why they needed to instruct what appeared to be a twelve year old human youth on the finer points of trauma care. After a year of that 420 and his fellow trainees were transferred to a Confederate Navy Frigate, assisting in those wounded during the Confederacy's expansion and freedom fighting campaigns for a time before finally being placed in a regular Army unit as medical support. There was fighting and some of the trainees never made it to the final stages of the program involving live fire Advanced CQC techniques and caring for patients under fire.

As such 420 and those like him were a bit more cynical, cultured, and understanding than their peers, having interacted with various members of other gene pools and beliefs. 420 had learned to reject Mandalorian culture during his time away from Kamino in direct contrast to a majority of his fellows who embraced it whole heartily. 420 viewed himself as a patriot, medic, and Confederate over the outdated beliefs of a constantly fighting culture of conquers.

Unpopular beliefs to say the least among present company.

Still. They were his brothers and though he knew few of those around him due to his unique training he knew these men would accept them.

As if they had a choice.
Kage stands at attention. He wasn't bread with the others. He felt no true loyalty to the strange man either. He looked Sith, and in his time Sith were the enemy. But the few others like him also stood in the ranks. Galaar, Calico, even Jackpot, the clone that crashed down with him. It was enough to keep him in line, and even salute the Sith when it was his turn to sound off.

"CC-743. Kage." He fell back in line shortly after. To his knowledge he was the only pilot. This made him an asset. One that the others wouldn't look over. Or at least, he hoped so.

Thrasher CC-314

Thrasher stood at attention with her sisters Nemesis and Ani. This kind of thing had gotten Ani particularily excited, though Thrasher and Nemesis weren'tentirely sure why. They were meeting their new commander. The person they would have to swear their undying allegience to. Personally, it made Thrasher kind of sick. The Kaminoans in charge was one thing. At least she knew what to expect from them. Calculating stares and flat-toned orders. But, with a Mandalorian commander, things got a little less predictable. As more clones called their names, it was finally Thrasher's turn. "CC-314, Battle strategist expert Thrasher at your service, sir." With a sharp salute, she fell silent. Nemesis (CC-647) and Ani (CC-215) spoke next, and did the same.

Una Gal

Una was unable to keep still, though stood at an awkward attention. @[member="Darth Metus"] was almost a foot away from her, she stole the chance to inspect him. Things were about to change and Una was more the excited. She licked her lips quickly before calling out her own name. "CC-114, Una." She wasn't exactly sure what kind of an asset she was to the Dread Guard but it only made the experience all the more exciting. An excellent opportunity to grow and develop.

CC-192 Storm

The Silent Storm
Storm looked blankly down the line, at his comrades. The commander was inspecting them, it seemed. The man who would lead them. Storm would've liked to know what kind of man this "Verd" was, and if he was competent. His reputation preceded himself. If Storm would have loyalty to this man, he would have to know. But that was for the future. He was presenting himself now. He stepped out of the line when Verd came over, sharply saluted and almost glared at the man, as to guess his worth.

"CC-192, Storm, calling in, Sir. Just line them up and they'll be falling within the second."

@[member="Darth Metus"]

Daral Tal'Verda

The Ghost of Druckenwell
Daral was tried and cranky at this point in the morning, bags remained under his eyes as he stood firmly at attention, awaiting @[member="Darth Metus"] inspected his troops. They were his, HIS, not their own. Sure that was a pessimistic way of looking at things, but it was accurate. He would in all likelihood, along with the majority of the others here, would die for this man. Fantastic. "CC-442 Daral, reporting sir!" He stated, sounding off when his time came.

Phoenix Edorath

The boom makes it better.
Like the Sisters lined up behind her and to her sides, Phoenix was silent. There was no shuffling, no unnecessary movement, not even sideways glances. They knew their purpose and their place, and they were, as ever, prepared.

"CC-676, Phoenix, sir." her voice was cool, but pitched properly so it would carry and be heard. The sound off continued, numbers and designations being given in a crisp, clean order as they should be.

Gravsen Conclave

This Wolf Still Has Teeth
Oh, this would be a wonderfully fun day.

Calico stood to the right of the entire Dread Guard, in particular military fashion. he was two paces ahead of the first rank; arms held firm against his sides. These were his boys and girls. When he'd learned of a new Clone Army, in truth, Calico was outraged. Hadn't his people spilt enough blood for people who simply didn't care?

Now, though, he knew there was no turning back. The army had been made before he even had a say in it; and he wouldn't leave his people without guidance. He and Galaar had trained every one of these soldiers in live fire exercises, drills, and Mandalorian culture. They were his people; he wouldn't leave them be.

For this reason, Calico had been named the commander of the entire Dreadguard, answering only to Colonel Verd himself. Calico took to steps forward, helmet set heavy under the crook of his arm. He was clean shaven for once, a slight smile on his face. Pride was extremely evident in his voice.

"Command Sergeant Major Calico, reporting Sir!" He called out loud and proud. His voice carried over the entire staging area.

Jaxton Ravos

Mindwalker of the Outer Rim
Scalpel stood in his line, next to his 'brothers' and 'sisters', the men he supposedly shared blood with. He was admittedly a bit on edge, as on paper he was branded a 'failure', with his body being one of the few in the 117th that rejected the Vong-Shaping process. Unlike the thousands around him he could be felt, touched, swayed through the Force. Which meant the commander could feel him through his wizardry. The only one the commander could feel in the room more than likely.

Between his armor an old medallion he acquired when outcast pressed to his chest. A reminder that unlike most of the men here he was an early batch deemed a failure, but went off on his own and honed his skills before becoming too strong a soldier to be denied. It was the only thing that made him different, at least as far as the rest of the clones knew.

"CC-256 Scalpel, Sir." He replied as his turn to declare himself. He figured the commander would learn of his work one way or the other. Best get his name in the woodwork now, when he wanted it.
At first, there was silence on the part of the Mandalorian, for he made quiet assessments of those who had sounded off. By his estimation, he was standing in the midst of an ocean of potential, just waiting to be tapped. The thought brought a smile to his lips, and whilst the expression appeared upon his face, he reached for his helmet. With but a single tug, he removed it and tucked it under the crook of his arm, revealing his face to those who would follow him. Then, he snapped to attention and regarded his subordinates with a return salute, then lowered his hand. "At ease, 117th." he began, allowing his authoritative tone to fill the room. Then, he took a moment to collect his thoughts before addressing the Dread Guard.

"The vast majority of you know this very world, Kamino, as your place of birth and training; whilst some of you were born long before. Yet, regardless of when and how...this world is the place you all call home. There comes to mind a single concept with that word: Home...and that is family. Though I am no clone. Though I am not Shaped. Though I was not born here. I look to each and every last one of you as brothers and sisters. By my word, you were born, and now it is time for me to begin my role."

"I shall lead you across the Stars, and together the Galaxy will come to tremble at the very mention of the name Dread Guard. Greatness slumbers within each and every one of you, and I aspire to awaken it! The coming days will not be easy; and I would not delude you into thinking otherwise. No, what lies ahead is as difficult as scaling a mountain; yet together we can accomplish anything. Place your trust in me, 117th, and I shall see you to victory."

"Forsake not that which your brothers have instilled within you, the Resol'nare and the concepts of our people: the Mandalorians. Forsake not the fact that we are one family and can rely upon one another, come Hell or High Water. Forsake not that all of us are to be pillars of strength for one another, loyal to one another, and willing to perish for one another. To me, you are more than clones, Dread Guard. To me, you are family; and I shall lead you from here on my brothers and sisters."

He allowed his words to echo across the room for a moment, before looking to Calico. This man, he had met in his office on Bothawui, and since then a bond of respect had been forged. He willingly undertook the process of being shaped by the Yuuzhan Vong, then rose to the challenge of training and leading the 117th. In Isley's mind, there was no man better to lead the clones than Commander Calico. He then looked about the room, pointing to each and every clone who had spoken their name and repeating it aloud; signifying his immense desire to remember them all.

"325, 117, Bluejay, Vex, Kage, Thrasher, Nemesis, Ani, Una, Storm, Daral, Phoenix, Scalpal, and Calico...Now then, any questions?"

@[member="CC-256 Scalpel"], @[member="Commander Calico CC-247"], @[member="CC-676 Phoenix"], @[member="CC-192 Storm"], @[member="CC-114 Una"], @[member="Thrasher CC-314"], @[member="Kage CC-743"], @[member="CC-420 Doc"], @[member="CC-935 Bluejay"], @[member="CC-329 Nadir"], @[member="CC-117 Canal"], @[member="CC-325 Sawtooth"].