Dominion The Last Refuge - BotM Dominion of Oriam Mei

[Rebirth]

THE LAST REFUGE
Fall of Oriam Mei

​

The Brotherhood of the Maw's push into the Core Worlds has stalled.

In the wake of the Mawite defeat at Tython, a battered but unbroken Galactic Alliance has launched its so-called "Age of Reclamation", a campaign to expel their barbarous foes from Alliance space. The Brotherhood, suffering under the weight of staggering casualties and severe internal tensions as warlords jockey for leadership in a post-Solipsis era, has struggled to counter this powerful reprisal. The Alliance found victory at Empress Teta, liberating the planet and shattering the Mawite spearhead that had come so tantalizingly close to Coruscant itself. This victory marks a new phase of the war, one in which the Brotherhood is suddenly on the back foot.

But the Maw is like a wounded animal - it is even more dangerous, even more vicious, when its blood begins to flow. The Brotherhood will fight the Alliance to the bitter end, still determined to burn their worlds and scour their law and order from the galaxy. As the Mawites seek the resources necessary to continue the war, they turn to corners of the Unknown Regions which have been largely free of their influence... until now. One such is the well-defended island planet of Oriam Mei. Although rich in the ores that the Brotherhood needs to continue its grinding war, the planet is protected by a massive and powerful defense fleet.

But now the need for the raw materials outweighs the potential losses of invasion.

Now Oriam Mei will burn, and this last refuge will be pillaged.

OBJECTIVE 1
Undersea Combat​

Oriam Mei was settled by Mon Calamari and Quarren refugees fleeing the devastation of their homeworld, Dac, at the hands of the Sith. In addition to the coastal industrial cities where the planet's non-aquatic population dwells, they built a string of underwater communities collectively referred to as New Mon Cala. The cities on land will fall easily enough, but to truly pacify Oriam Mei, the Brotherhood must also conquer the oceans. Descend from the docks of Rim City, the planetary capital, and battle the planet's fiercest defenders in their natural element.

Pillage the undersea cities and then puncture them to let the waves rush in. The Maw has no use for such places.

OBJECTIVE 2
Ship-to-Ship Combat​

Oriam Mei boasts the largest planetary defense fleet left in the Unknown Regions, a powerful and technologically-advanced fighting force that patrols the system with great vigilance. The fleet is kept in excellent condition by cutting edge orbital shipyards, which are maintained by the governing Corporate Council. After the loss of the shipyards at Copero to the Galactic Alliance, the Brotherhood desperately needs a new shipyard to supplement its primary shipbuilding facilities over Osseriton. Take to the skies above Oriam Mei to smash through the defense fleet.

Crush the last great symbol of defiance against the Maw in the Unknown Regions, and capture the orbital platform.

OBJECTIVE 3
Horror Investigation​

Four "subprime" planets, barren worlds with toxic atmospheres, share a system with Oriam Mei. All are rich in valuable ores, so Oriam Mei's ruling corporate council has established mining outposts on their surfaces, isolated domes that hold back the hostile void while miners extract the riches of the planetary crust. Most will fall easily to the Mawite conquest... but on the system's fourth planet, Oriam Ras, something strange has happened. An atmosphere leak in the primary mining station has let in strange and hostile bacteria, bacteria that have driven the sentients they infect homicidally insane!

Clear out the mad miners, and investigate these bacteria for use as a weapon of war.

Pursue a story opportunity of your own devising!​

​

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Oriam Ras, Primary Mining Facility
Tags: Open

From the outside, the mining facility was unremarkable.

A large transparisteel dome covered most of the place, offering blurry glimpses of the heavy industrial equipment inside. Tunnels led from the dome to various outbuildings, mostly worker dormitories and droid storage. Blue security fields flickered and danced at the entrances to hangar bays, ready to allow freighters through while keeping out the poisonous atmosphere. Nothing was out of the ordinary except the stillness. These outlying mining stations worked around the clock, with personnel sleeping in shifts, so there ought to have been someone moving around in there, doing something.

And yet there was nothing. No movement. No comms. Nothing.

As the Taskmaster's shuttle closed in on the facility, heading for one of the hangars, he felt an uneasy chill run up his spine. He was arriving in the company of several units of hardened scav-warriors, techno-barbarians known across the galaxy for their mercilessness, and the station's inhabitants had to know they were coming. Tu'teggacha and his forces had already secured the mining stations on the three innermost planets of the system, and all of those little attacks had gone the same way; the station had gone into red alert, made some pitiful attempt at a security lockdown, and then surrendered to the Maw.

Their personnel would keep on extracting the local minerals... but this time as slaves.

Here, though, the pattern was disrupted. There was no red alert, no lockdown, no attempt at surrender, no apparent reaction at all to the barbarian horde descending upon the station. And yet it had not been abandoned, for scanners showed plenty of life signs inside, the outpost's full crew complement. As the shuttle closed in, the Ebruchi saw that a single, weak signal - some kind of internal alert - was broadcasting from within. It took a moment to unscramble it, and when that was done, Tu'teggacha peered at his screen in puzzlement. Atmospheric Leak. Apparently some of Oriam Ras's toxic air had gotten inside.

But the miners were still alive... so what was going on here?

--------------------------
​

In the darkened hallways of the mining station, periodically illuminated by flashing yellow emergency lights, Supply Officer Len Medinno shuffled forward on all fours. He did not remember what had happened, the brief panic when one of the atmospheric seals on Module 14 had failed, or the unspeakable things that had followed. He did not remember his own name. Inside his brain, tiny little bacteria wormed their tendrils into his neural cells, making his body spasm and his thoughts wriggle and scatter before he could grasp them. Nothing made sense, so everything made sense. He couldn't think, so he just did.

"Fiiiiiingers," Len said, holding up his hands in front of him and wiggling his digits. Their movements seemed suddenly hilarious to him and he giggled, ropes of drool spilling from his wide-open lips. Leaning forward, he popped his right ring finger into his mouth... and bit with all his jaw strength, mangling the flesh down to the bone. He couldn't decide whether he liked the feeling or not. He couldn't decide anything, actually. All the little voices in his head, buzz buzz buzzing away, never seemed to agree. They just steered him in contrary directions, as if he was in the back of a speeder limo with tinted windows, destination unknown.

He didn't know why he'd beaten Security Officer Downes to death. It had happened only minutes ago, but he already didn't remember doing it... even though she lay slumped against the wall right beside him, her skull cracked, her brains splattered against the wall where he'd slammed her head against the durasteel over and over and over and over. Len was only half himself anymore, and that half was swiftly diminishing. The little bacterial invaders inside his head were no hive mind, no clever parasite, nothing with a plan. They were simply and steadily shredding his reason, his memories, his self.

And he was only one of hundreds whose minds were breaking apart...

 

[Katachi Ren]

Objective: 1
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Tags: OPEN
Aboard the bridge of the Despoiler, Thaurond was deep in dark meditation. He contemplated all the events that precipitated before. His childhood on Exegol, his rise amongst the Maw. How far things had fallen. Of his Mawsworn, there was only a fraction of what it once was. His warband was significantly decimated at Tython. The Kalzerian had lost territory and prestige among his peers. He hoped this assault would either bring him glory or doom. He would no longer accept being the shamed.

"My lord. We are approaching Oriam Mei." Came the mechanized voice of his attendant, "We are dropping out of hyperspace as we speak."

Orange-red eyes snapped open, and the dark-armored master of the Mawsworn stood. He took heavy steps to a nearby pedestal where his helm lay. Thaurond placed the helm upon his head, a flaming visor activating as he did.

"Open the hailing frequency to our brothers and sisters." His voice commanded with a growl.

His attendants and soldiers readied themselves as Thaurond took position in his throne-like seat on the bridge. Before him on the view screen was the image of Oriam Mei, blue and transcendental with its oceans and islands. Soon, those oceans would boil and the island would be ablaze.

"This is the Despoiler." He spoke on the Maw's secret communication line, "Lord Thaurond and his Mawsworn stand at ready. Once we break the atmosphere, I shall bring hell to coasts. Glory to the Maw."

He would not fail again. He would be victorious against their foes. Or he would drag them to the Abyss with him as he went out in glory. This day, he would not let the annals of Brotherhood doctrine forget the name Thaurond, the Black Hand of Ixigul!

 

[Kralmus Orr]

​

Location: Oriam Mei, Rim City Docks
Tags: Open

Rim City never stood a chance against the Brotherhood of the Maw.

Though the battle against Oriam Mei's formidable defense fleet still raged above, centered on their vital shipyards, the ground battle for the capital was far less uncertain. Mawite warriors, delivered by assault shuttle and landing pod, swarmed through the streets, killing and looting at will. Local security forces had put up a valiant fight, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned. All they could do was provide cover as the locals fled, a fighting withdrawal to one last place of refuge as the city fell. They could not go upward, into the skies, for that was where the Mawite fleet lurked, ready and waiting to snap up any would-be escapees and clap them in shock collars.

So instead they had withdrawn down, into the depths of Oriam Mei's glittering ocean.

Kralmus Orr stood at the edge of the pier, the flames of the burning city raging behind him, and stared down into the sea. Beneath the waves, sheltered from the chaos and bloodshed above, lay the string of underwater communities known as New Mon Cala - the last place that the planet's civilian population could run to. Tram tracks led from Rim City down to these aquatic communities, tracks that had seen car after car of panicked refugees make use of them throughout the day. Quarren and Mon Calamari citizens, of course, could simply leap into the waves and swim for it. Oriam Mei was devoid of native life, so no predators lurked in the deep to endanger them.

By fleeing into the waters that covered half their world, Oriam Mei's population had placed themselves in the one and only location where they held some advantage over the Maw. The warriors of the Brotherhood had waged war in jungles, tundras, woodlands, deserts, and cityscapes, but never before had they been forced into fully aquatic combat. By contrast, the locals - many of them refugees from Dac, fleeing the conquests of the Sith Empire years ago now - had generations of experience fighting beneath the waves. Their choice of battleground made most of the Brotherhood's vehicles, and many of their weapons, completely ineffective against them.

This was their opportunity to truly bloody the Mawite ground forces.

For his part, Kralmus Orr welcomed the challenge. He had never fought underwater before, but if there was one thing in the galaxy that excited him, it was the opportunity to kill people in new ways and fresh environments. His armor was sealed, and its internal air supply would keep him from drowning for hours, so long as his distinctive horned helmet stayed on. But his distinctive axe would be largely ineffective underwater, where water resistance would keep him from swinging the bulky weapon with much speed or force. Instead he had attached vicious, serrated blades to his vambraces, and he carried a heavy harpoon gun rather than any ordinary blaster.

"Time to go fiiiiishiiiiiing," the cannibal shouted, his voice eerily singsong. Then he leapt into the sea.

 

[Romund Sro]

Location: Oriam Mei, Rim City Docks
Objective: 1

In recent history it seemed as though Romund was having a bad habit of getting himself critically wounded, first in the trenches against The Empire, then on Tython after letting a failing hyperdrive launch him to the otherside of the planet with high exposure to cosmic radiation. Every time it seemed so futile and foolish in hindsight.

Standing on one of the docks on the island capital city with some of his clone troopers he looked out into the water. The inland settlement was currently smoldering at the Maw’s assault but he understood that the real battle would be nautical in nature. Under the tides of the planet’s sprawling ocean. The locals ruled the seas, even if they did win their battles they would be rendered meaningless from the strain it would make in the Maw warmachine.

With his clone troopers Romund commandeered one a large cargo ship that hovered over the water. One of his clone soldiers ask’d him what their next course of action should be. Romund had an idea but it required the use of less conventional weapons. “Lieutenant, gather as many sonic weapons as you can find. We’ll need them to take on the local resistance under the water.”

He explained to them before they set out to do just that. Romund wanted to use their home field advantage against them. With water being such a more powerful medium for sound waves and vibrations than air. In theory making the sonic weaponry hundreds of times more devastating for anything hidden under the waves.

 

[Isar]

​

"I don't care how many batteries are targeting us, just give me a bloody moment," hissed a scowling Chiss, patting out some powdery substance onto the back of his hand from a jar and then snorting the line. He worked his nose, blinking rapidly.

Sweaty strands of tousled raven black hair clung to his forehead and he rubbed the back of a gloved hand across the beads of perspiration that trickled down into his fluttering red eyes. He sat in the co-pilot's seat of the Orbalisk-class boarding shuttle they stole from a group of pirates fielding thirty year old Alliance tech. Meant for boarding and boarding only, the shuttle was fast, heavily shielded, and woefully lacking in weaponry other than the belly mounted plasma torches that would carve into the hull of a ship like the teeth of a lamprey on a fish.

"There . . . now there's fifty of us."

Dalvumic Tel Amal, first son of the Shahad and knight of the Gûdjoti, wielded the Force like an artist wields a brush, conjuring illusions and warping emotions upon the canvas of the mind's eye. The defenses of the Oriam cruiser they careened toward now detected not one but fifty boarding craft surging toward their ship. Dal smiled, a flash of brilliant white below red eyes that shone with the glint of madness.

"Let's go straight for the bridge."

Dalvumic Tel Amal, scion of the Shahad, was also slightly insane.

Iren Tel Alam | Artas Tel Alam | Qora Tel Alam

​

​

 

[Artas Tel Alam]

Stray lasers rocked the boarding craft, jostling Artas Tel Alam in his seat. If it were not for the safety harness he would have surely been pulverized against the walls and floor of the shoddy craft... To say nothing of what would become of him if they suffered a direct hit. As it was he only appeared focused.

He worked his jaw as if chewing, and with growing frustration scraped at his teeth with his tongue. Gritty meal. Things stuck in his teeth. It was of far greater concern than whatever Dal was sweating, seething, snorting about.

"The bridge?" Artas sucked at his cheek, checked out of everything except his private duel with the stubborn remnants of an ill-conceived meal. "Sure. Good."

They had to go someplace once they landed. Might as well be the helm. Ships rarely had anyone worth fighting either way. Screaming ensigns and quivering marines. This one would have a higher concentration of fish people among the ranks, or so he was told. Why couldn't it have been Wookiees? Or rakghouls? Or a legion of Jedi sentinels?

No, just fish people. He sighed through his nostrils.

There would be no songs about this.

Isar | Iren Tel Alam | Qora Tel Alam

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective 2: Secure the Shipyards
Tags: Open
Links: Chosen | Weapons​

This world would be the latest to suffer the wrath of the Maw, and it would be one of the first to suffer under the rule of Mori. Oriam Mei was the last holdout in the Unknown Regions, the last bastion of order. It was also home to valuable shipyards that Zachariel sought to take control of. The shipyards over Osseriton were valuable to the Brotherhood, thus making the Bloodsworn important. He would raise that importance by taking control of the shipyards of Oriam Mei as well. All who sought to sail the stars would rely on what the Bloodsworn provided, whether they knew it or not.

Only a few hours ago, the shipyards had floated in the distant orbit or Oriam Mei. It was a twinkling jewel of a city, an orbital bastion floating in space, awaiting the defense fleet that lay in wait around it. This last bastion of order in the Unknown Regions, about to be defiled. It was a symbol of defiance, the last chance these dispirate planets had to survive the Brotherhood, aside from faint rumors of Mandalorians also out there. But this, this was a known threat, and it would stand no longer.

That jewel in space was far closer now, and the defense fleet was being engaged on all sides. It had taken time for the Brotherhood's fleet to reach engagement range, but now they were here, trading blows with the enemy. Their defensive fleet here was impressive, in size if not skill, but that would not stave off the inevitable. They would fall as all others had. The sight of one of their cruisers falling down to the surface brought confidence to Zachariel's thoughts, witnessing the death of a ship and its thousands strong crew.

Turning from the sight, Zachariel took in his Chosen, along with their veteran marauder squads. Outside the holds of this boarding chamber, battle raged between their fleets. But any warlord worth the title knew one thing, though important, the fleets would not decide the outcome. No, boarding actions would carry the day. The defensive fleet was far more organized than the Brotherhood could hope to be, but they were outnumbered and not as skilled. And the Brotherhood carried the advantage in close quarters.

Any ship boarded by the Brotherhood would die or be captured, but Zachariel had loftier targets than some simple ships. He sought the greatest prize in this system, the shipyards. The Bloodsworn would control them by the end of this, he would make sure of it. Grinning sadistically beneath his helm, Zachariel hefted his axe high, calling out to his warriors.
"For the Avatars, kill, maim, burn!"

The cry was echoed back, blasters and blades raised high in a roar of agreement. Then, they followed their warlord into the boarding tubes. In Zachariel's own tube, only his closest and most elite Chosen joined him. Those who had proven themselves worthy and useful enough to protect him directly, and to ensure the rabble didn't interfere should he find a worthy target. Now, they stood eager behind their liege lord, bloodlust palpable in the air, waiting for the chance to spill the blood of the unworthy.

At their head, Zachariel's bloodlust was the greatest, though he wouldn't let it rule him. Those that followed him knew their objectives, as did he. All of them would target strategic points. Some, gravity generators and other power nodes. Others, the barracks and armory, or stave off most of the reinforcements. Zachariel himself would lead the charge into this sections command bunker. They would not let the defenders destroy this station to prevent its loss, and they would ensure a swift victory was possible across the station. All present in these boarding tubes knew their mission, and they would succeed, or die trying. That thought in mind, Zachariel grinned and slammed his armored fist into the launch button, sending dozens and dozens of boarding pods streaking towards the station, each filled to the brim with murderous psychopaths.

 

[Garza]

Hand placed loosely upon the pommel of the ax. Prepared, waiting, and expecting a fight. Yet none would come. Something was clearly off. The past few installations were willing to fight. Ending up with some blood upon these hands. Now? It felt different. Wrong. Every portion of this only sent red flags, and alarms going off within my head, instead of within the installation. Moving up through the craft enough to look out the viewport, and to have a visible picture of what was going on.

The dome was empty, barren almost. It felt wrong. Looking to the tentacle face, All I could do was look.

"Vital signs, yet no movement from the outside. There is no graveyard shift among them. They should be active enough to notice. At least alarm systems."

This was dangerous. If this was an attempt to make us feel like this would be an easier fight, it failed. As much as I would have loved to send everyone headfirst into here, there was something off. Almost as though something else had gotten here before we did.

"I don't think a major offensive would be best. Small groups to investigate."

Tu'teggacha

 

[Iren Tel Alam]

Isar | Artas Tel Alam

"Oh, it's okay..."

Screeching.

"No, don't worry, you will do great, I promise."

Mewling.

"I don't know- Hey, Dal, are we there yet?"

Intelligible screaming from the cockpit this time.

"I think he's busy, darling." Iren finally murmured to the oversized warped flesh dog strapped into a harness next to him. The way the shuttle was shuddering and shaking was making his newest creation anxious. A cross-between a Tuk'ata and a Silooth. Yes. It was basically a crab-hyena cross and Iren was exceptionally interested to see how it would perform in battle. His companions had been rather skeptical about this breed. This was understandable, of course.

A crab-hyena?

They were not natural bedfellows. Iren, however, did not deal with the natural. "You're perfect, aren't you? Aren't youu." Iren coed gently as he patted the pincer of his beastlike friend. It snapped at him in response, but the Sith Knight did not mind at all. Clearly it didn't mean it like that.

The shuttle shuddered even more violently. Even Iren became concerned for a moment, before it ripped itself through the shielding of the ship they were targeting and came to a rest. Outside of their shuttle baffled cries and screams could be overheard. Mon Calamari. Iren rubbed his hands before he unclasped the bindings and did the same for the hybrid warbeast.

Maybe a Calamari-Crab cross would be interesting to try?

As Dal and Artas joined him before the shuttle's bay doors Iren chuckled.

"I sometimes worry you will get us all killed, Dal." Said cheerfully as he pulled his saber free from the utility belt stolen from a Jedi some moons ago. "But today... you will see beauty in its full splendor."

The doors hissed open.

Before any of the Sith could jump out? The crab-hyena launched itself out of the shuttle into the waiting crowd of Calamari guards.

"See? You made her anxious."

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

ANOMALY INVESTIGATION
ABOVE ORIAM RAS

Atmosphere.
Equipment in bio.
Tags open.

​

With myriads of stars, asteroids, planets and nebulae reduced to blurred shapes outside the Nycteris' cockpit window, the Blasphemer Lord Ptolemis was on his way to return to the Unknown Regions from another one of his long-distance excursions outside the edge of known space.

Even when travelling through hyperspace back toward Maw territory, the extragalactic void felt and appeared dimmer. Perhaps it was due to the lack of fully formed stars on the peripheries of the galaxy, or perhaps a far darker truth lurked behind the phenomenon. Unmasked and alone, Ptolemis dissected this thought again and again as he combed over the digital information relayed to him through internal channels of the Brotherhood. Oraim Mei was under siege, and he was needed. He is arriving soon.

One paragraph of the constantly updated written report piqued his morbid interest the most; on one of the lesser planets of the system, something strange was unfolding in select research and mining stations. Just as the arrival countdown hit zero, the Blasphemer looked up and slid his resting mask away on the dashboard, uncharacteristically leaving bare his brutally scarred face.

Having explosively returned from his field trip and tearing into the malleable reality of present space-time, the Nycteris raced past the naval battle unfolding above the ocean planet under siege. The colorful but terrifying battle of laser fire was at safe distance from his ship, and he wished not to interfere as his ebon ship circled around the warring forces. With a couple of fast clicks, he automated the approach to his destination; Oriam Ras. With the soft click of a plastic button, the ship adjusts to its new orders. Standing up from his seat and taking one last measured look over the unfolding space warfare, he turns to prepare * for a personal investigation of this most curious anomaly.​

*retconned enviro-suit​

 

[Isar]

​

“So long as ‘Beauty’ does not drool on my boots,” replied Dal, eyes unfocused and distant as he concentrated on the minds of those within the bridge. He released his illusion of ships and instead focused on filling the minds of the Mon Cal bridge with lethargy.

The shuttle sealed itself to the side of the bridge, carved open a circular hole with automated plasma torches, and blew the section of the hull in. The circular bay doors hissed open and Iren’s hound leaped through, tearing into the waiting Oriam marines with screams and showers of blood.

The Mon Cal, slow to react, still outnumbered the Gûdjoti by ten to one.

But not for long.

With a snap-hiss, Dal’s red lightsaber sprang to life and he began batting away blaster bolts as the crew of the cruiser, Rogue Wave, sought to repel the boarders.

With a wave of his hand, Dal sent abject fear into the minds of a few of them, causing those Mon Calamari to fall to their knees and cradle their heads in catatonic states of terror.

​

Iren Tel Alam | Artas Tel Alam | Qora Tel Alam

 

[Rohak Vizsla]

​

The Dead Maiden rattled from the onslaught of turbolaser fire crashing against its hull. Barely functional sirens blared across the bridge with an abhorrent whine that most of the crew secretly preferred the vessel to capsize over enduring another second of these collision alarms.

"I said steer behind cover, not into it!"

"My bad, bosmang." the Abyssin helmsman replied. Perhaps it was a bad idea to hire a one-eyed alien as a pilot. Still, it seemed like an improvement from their former navigator - a Mirialan.

"Whoa! Is that... is that an Alliance cruiser?!" Bootstrap Lucci whistled in awe, stars in the Givin's void orbs.

"Three of them." Black Ice Corde cooly added.

"Three?!.. and that's an Imp Star Destroyer!! Why in the galaxy did we not sign up for this business early on, Cap'n?? The Maw's been looting like there's no tomorrow. Do you know how much these cruisers would sell for? The Despots in the Tion Cluster, the Hutts, and a hundred other local tyrants and warlords scattered across the OutRim in a bidding war for these babies."

"I still think it's way too risky mingling with the Maw when that Solipsis man's holocron is with Abe." Curly Scrooge chimed in, concern contorting the scarred face of the Nautolan quartermaster.

"Ooh! Perhaps a bidding war for the holocron!"

"Sith don't bid, Boostrap -- they kill." Rohak coarsely remarked.

"Surely they can see reason--"

"No."

"--but think of the credit--"

"No."

"You should've vented that thing the moment you had it found." Corde threw a glare at the Mandalorian. "It is only trouble."

"I agree."

"I will vent it when and if I want to. Now, head towards the bay and prepare for boarding -- we're nearing our target."​

 

[Qora Tel Alam]

"There are precisely 37 batteries targeting our craft." Impatient. Put upon.

"I don't care how many batteries are targeting us, just give me a bloody moment." Impertinent. Slovenly. Expected.

"Just one moment." Eyes narrowed. Jaw set. Hands tilted upon the ship controls. They were getting pummeled.

"Hey, Dal, are we there yet?"

"Patience is apparently a virtue!"

"There . . . now there's fifty of us."

There wasn't actually, but at least the incoming fire had abated somewhat. New flight path. Direct course for target inspection.

"Let's go straight for the bridge."

A dark, finely arch brow lifted at this. Lips pursed. Cheeks hollowed. Eyes narrowed. Brilliance, truly. The bridge.

"The bridge?" Artas continued making strange oral gestures. "Sure. Good."

Oh sweet slumbering scion...

The last one to depart from the boarding shuttle, Qora's svelte frame dropped from the torched-hatch opening and into the chaos of the fray, blue gaze brightening with excitement. Formidable foes on the battlefield the fish people were not, but that hardly mattered to Qora. Mon Calamri tech was particularly delectable and so was the prospect of commandeering this ship for their own uses.

Planting herself behind the bulk of Artas, she carefully shadowed his movements, using the man as a top-shelf, bonafide crimson exclusive, 31-year aged, and handsomely-coifed Sith meat shield. Her very favorite. A quick glance about to discover a nearby wall console made fit for her next directive: override all the things.

"Artas, darling," Qora ducked away from incoming blaster fire, "do be a dear and strafe left ...no, no, your other left. Perfect, hold please."

A dainty black-clad hand lifted before her and stretched out to the command pad. From her fingertips black tendrils reached forth, humming with electric intrigue before plunging into the UC key slot and infiltrating the system. Qora's stance went rigid, blue eyes flickering through stages of technological hoodoo.

Connecting... connecting... connecting...

Artas Tel Alam Isar Iren Tel Alam

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Oriam Ras, Primary Mining Facility
Tags: Garza | Darth Ptolemis

"Vital signs," said the warrior who stood beside the Taskmaster, "yet no movement from the outside. There is no graveyard shift among them. They should be active enough to notice. At least alarm systems." Her thoughts echoed his own. It was all too clear that something was deeply wrong down on Oriam Ras, wrong enough that no one there seemed to have noticed that they were about to be overrun by a barbarian horde. What could distract the station crew so completely without killing them? No explanation that Tu'teggacha could concoct in his slippery mind came close to explaining it.

"I don't think a major offensive would be best. Small groups to investigate." The Ebruchi bristled at the words. Did this witch see fit to command him? Him, the great Taskmaster of the Brotherhood, who held in his knobby hands the power to devastate worlds? But the momentary irritation swiftly faded, for he had to admit that he agreed with what she had said. He chose to interpret it as advice, or even agreement with his own thoughts, rather than orders. "Yes," he burbled, his slimy tendrils flopping about as he nodded in agreement. "Better to assess the situation before committing our full occupation force."

If there was a risk of depressurization, or general atmospheric leak, the Taskmaster would not risk any more warriors than necessary. In the wake of the Mawite defeats in the Core, every resource had become precious to the Brotherhood, and waste could not be tolerated. "Ready breath masks," Tu'teggacha ordered, and the scavenger-warriors who filled the shuttle took rebreathers from the storage bins that lined the craft's bulkheads. It would not protect them from explosive decompression, but it would provide them with an oxygen supply and protection from any airborne hazards within.

The shuttle glided through the hangar forcefield and into the docking bay. No one emerged to challenge their unauthorized entry. Binary loadlifters trundled around aimlessly, lifting and setting down the same crates over and over, confused by the lack of new instructions. The overhead lights were dimmed, and warning klaxons on the wall pulsed a dull yellow - a minor environmental alert, rather than a full-blown emergency. With a gentle thud, the shuttle set down, and the boarding ramp extended. Whatever atmospheric breach had occurred, the station had seemingly sealed it back up.

But the insidious contaminant that had come through the breach remained...

"These warriors are at your disposal to investigate," Tu'teggacha told Tyra, more than willing to give her authority over the troops if it meant she went in first. No ordinary breath mask would fit his cephalopod-like face, and he was hardly an imposing physical specimen, so he would keep to the back of the investigating group... all the better to retreat to the shuttle if that became necessary. After all, there was no telling what they would encounter beyond that heavy bulkhead door at the far end of the hangar. There were hundreds of life signs in here, all of them potentially dangerous.

Yes, let Tyra lead the way... and face down that danger.

 

[Kralmus Orr]

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Location: Oriam Mei, Rim City Docks
Tags: Romund Sro

The seas of Oriam Mei were startlingly clear. The planet had no native life, no kelp or fish that lived and died in the water, and pollution was tightly controlled by the governing Corporate Council. There was only soft sand and barren rocks, with nothing but water between them. Between the distant sun and the flames of Coast City, burning above and behind him, Kralmus had enough light to see a long, long way along the ocean floor. He could see far enough to trace the underwater tram tracks all the way down to the first cluster of artificial lights - the outskirts of the first habitation domes of New Mon Cala. In short, he could see all the way to his target.

With Katachi Ren and his Mawsworn now descending from orbit, preparing to unleash devastation upon the other coastal cities, there was only one other frontier for the Brotherhood to conquer... and Kralmus Orr was eager to get started. The cannibal could see dark shapes in the water now, assembling in the far distance - the defenders of New Mon Cala, assembling at the outskirts of their home. They held many advantages down here. The Quarren and Mon Calamari defenders were water-breathers who needed no oxygen masks, and they were naturally adapted to three-dimensional aquatic combat. The Brotherhood had only technology to compensate.

Bulky envirosuits, powered armor, and rebreathers were the best they could do.

Scavenger-warriors splashed into the water all around Kralmus, drawing up the offensive line in what looked to be the strangest battle the Mandalorian had ever fought. Hastily-assembled underwater weapons, from harpoon guns to adapted slugthrowers to blades and spears, were clutched in their hands... but they were a poor answer to the advanced underwater beam rifles that their opponents would bring to bear, blaster-like guns that could still function beneath the waves. Corporate funding and cutting-edge technology had kept Oriam Mei's defenders well equipped indeed. They might be outnumbered, but they weren't at all outgunned.

"Forward!" Kralmus bellowed, eager to see just what kind of fight this was going to be. He wasn't a long-term planner or a canny warleader; he didn't particularly care how many Mawites died here, so long as he had his fun. And in a battle, Kralmus Orr always had fun. His jetpack - modified to pass water through it for propulsion, rather than burn propellant - whisked him rapidly toward New Mon Cala and his foes, and he found himself literally salivating in anticipation. "I love seafood," he chuckled to himself, eager to find out what freshly-speared Quarren tasted like. Maybe he wouldn't even cook these particular foes. Mmmmmmm, sushi.

The first line of enemy beam rifles began to crackle, sending bright blue bolts streaking through the water. Kralmus twisted and dove to avoid them, putting the lessons he'd learned in aerial evasion to work underwater. Behind him, Mawites went down, their environment suits blasted open by precision fire. The lucky ones would be killed on impact. The rest would drown, water filling their ruptured armor. But for each warrior who fell, two more would take his place... and the tremendous mineral riches of the seafloor, enough to build whole new warfleets, would make it all worth it. Cackling with glee at the thrill of battle, Kralmus fired his harpoon gun...

... and punched the long metal spear right through the breastplate of a Mon Calamari warrior.

So entered Kralmus Orr into the battle for Oriam Mei.

 

[DARKCOM]

LORD OF THE SITH | PONTIFF OF THE DAWNISTS
Onboard "The Prophet" | Orbit of Oriam Mei
Rohak Vizsla

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He watched at the head of the bridge, looking out into the battle ridden expanse with otherworldly sight beyond sight. He looked past the glasteel view to the vessels of their enemies, scanning their exteriors with eyes hidden behind his dreaded death mask, a token from his former master before his binding spirit left this despicable plane.

“Do you sense it?”

Heres queried casually, almost with disinterest, yet this was farthest from what was. His interest peaked, his attention snapping forth to a distant object with swift abandon for what else was transpiring around them and this chaotic world. He clutched his hand together firmly, squeezing into a tight fist as his voice trembled and shook.

He felt it. A trophy, one to trump all others, the sole surviving instrument of power to those that had passed. The Stygian Codex, once held within the palm of his hand. Thought lost, but now found.

He could sense it.

“Prepare my ship.”

 

[Artas Tel Alam]

Smack-crash. Show time. Plasma cutters whirred. They got up and took their places in front of the bay door for a dramatic entrance. Iren had a monster. Dal had a bump. Qora had a snide remark. And Artas still had shit in his teeth.

It's like walking with a pebble in your shoe. You can power through it with enough discipline, but it sure did keep you from smiling. His lightsaber snapped to life with that familiar hum, though he was mostly thinking about Iren's pet. He gave the crustacean-hyena the side-eye. "Is this one housebroken, Iren?"

The doors slid open and the beast immediately launched through, taking Artas' spot in the vanguard. It gored one member of the security team and immediately ripped the throat out of another. Artas observed with something resembling jealousy.

"Guess not."

He jumped down after it, prepared to neatly and efficiently dispatch the peons arrayed before him - but he actually stopped mid-swing. They were all groveling. Dal had turned their brains into fear-pudding.

Artas huffed, "Come on, Dal…"

There was already no glory in this. But decapitating these mewling aquatics while they pissed themselves and cried for their mothers was frankly beneath him. Artas actually stormed past the whole miserable lot so he could go further down the hallway - where a few more of their rank still had enough wits to try shooting at him.

Yes. Combat. At last.

Until Qora steered him away so he could be a meat-shield. A meat-shield with a lightsaber, yes, but the principle was the same. Artas attempted to get out of her way and then thought better of it, and found himself now relegated to swatting blaster bolts out of the air for his dainty companion. "Okay. Fine."

This was his life now. Reflecting lasers back into flat-foot nobodies. One of them screams as he goes down, a bolt from his colleague's blaster having found a home in his chest.

Artas sighs - dramatic and audible.

Isar | Iren Tel Alam | Qora Tel Alam

 

[Iren Tel Alam]

Isar | Artas Tel Alam | Qora Tel Alam

"Patience is apparently a virtue!"

"I haven't gotten around to teaching my Sithspawn virtues, sister, I have been rather busy teaching them to bite heads off."

And by the looks of it that at least was a wild success.

The "bite head off"-maneuver was also prioritized over things like not drooling on boots or housebreaking them. But Iren didn't think it was necessary to make that point.

Not while the creature was making such nice work of the Mon Cal. Then again, Artas had a silent point about it. Was it really an accomplishment when they were so out of their mind by Dal's ministrations they barely fought back? "You know, you could at least make it a bit of a fight." Iren said with a sigh as he watched his crab-hound make short work of the remaining sniveling cretins which caught its ire, together with Dal.

Right before it could kill the last one, Iren tsk'ed and raised a finger.

It shivered and stopped in its tracks.

"If you'd all be so good to leave a few of them alive?" To his companions as he raised his lightsaber and deflected a stray shot from the corridor, where Artas was making good work of being a meat shield for Qora.

"A handful at least. I'd like some for my experiments."

A new alarm began to ring over their heads. It seemed the Mon Calamari caught up with the fact that their bridge was lost to them. In events such as these... they'd probably vent the whole ship, wouldn't they? Or the Mon Calamari equivalent of venting. Which was to say, fill it up with excess water and drown any Non-Calamari.

"Hm, Qora? Speaking of patience... I think they are running out of it."

 

[Rohak Vizsla]

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Under the massive cover provided by the commandeered Alliance cruiser, the Dead Maiden lunged straight at a frigate almost twice its size and slightly off formation. The pirates worked on short notice. It wouldn't be long before a behemoth of the Maw fleet turned its heavy turbolasers upon the frigate.
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They had to gut the crew like fish - fast and swift, reach the bridge, and slave circuit the vessel to the Maiden. It sounded easier said than done, especially with the fact the crew of the frigate were no common crewmen but soldiers of a standing navy.

But selling a military-grade ship? In this war economy? Oh, that reward absolutely worth for the avaricious scum of the Maiden who would sell their mothers for a pint of Corellian ale. Could buy weeks in spices, wenches, and booze... and probably ship repairs. Maybe.

The large piece of the frigate's hull, cut by the rusty plasma torches jerry-rigged on the starboard, landed on the other side with a thud and blaster fire showered the plunderers. A dozen fell immediately and Curly Scrooge the Quartermaster beamed -- less mouths to feed, more loot to keep.

Rohak surged forward like a missile aided by his repulsor pack. The reinforced durasteel and beskar bits of his Mandalorian armor brushed off the heavy beating of blaster bolts. The looming T-visor broke into the defensive formation of the Mon Cal marines who instinctively focused on what they deemed the largest threat. The vibro-cutlass swung across throats and the scattergun tore through guts mercilessly before the concentrated fire started to carve dents into armor.

And then, finally, the rest of the main cast of villains emerged from the hole in the hull. With the marines' attention diverted, Black Ice Corde, Curly Scrooge, Bootsrap Lucci, and Gentleman Abe slaughtered the first wave of defenders carving a way forward for the remaining goons behind.

"Took your sweet time." the Captain grunted. A bolt or two, or three scorched his flesh.

Corde opened her mouth to sharply reply but suddenly grimaced.

"What?"

"Someone... or something bad is coming, Vizsla."

The crew stared at each other for a long moment. Black Ice's precognitions were rarely wrong.

"We're not going back." Rohak ordered, gesturing for the rest to follow. "Not with this loot almost in our hands."

DARKCOM ​