Dominion The Man Comes Around | Dominion of Er'kit | NIO

[Robogeber]

Objective: II, The Lungs
Location: Ravelin, Fortress Imperator
Fellow Meeting Members: Halketh | Djorn Bline | Jaeger Harrsk | Irveric Tavlar | Lucien Dooku

Carlyle took a great deal of pride in the fact that the Sovereign Imperator had decided to potentially act on his proposal. A wry smile crept across Rausgeber's features as he provided Colonel Bar'udi a pat on the back. "Excellent work colonel." He mused quietly while listening to the debate across the conference room, analysing it. Dooku was not opposed, but had taken time to big note himself. Eyeroll worthy. The second COMPNOR representative voiced some trepidation. Perhaps COMPNOR did not want to take on such a task? If so, it was pitiful that they even do so. But it was the words of one Lord Halkeath, whom Rausgeber raised some discomfort toward.

"Lord Halkeath, if I may," the Grand Admiral posited, "These refugees, are not owed anything. Let us remind ourselves of that very basic fact, that we do not need them." He then gestured to the leather bound document, "While of course, the longer term industrial benefits are great, should the demands for creature comforts and goods come too great it jeopardises the industrial productivity necessary for us to win against the Sith." Carlyle's expression darkened somewhat, "We should not be held for ransom by interlopers." Ironic perhaps given the origins of Prefsbelt Command. "Your disparaging of our supposed war mongering is a ridiculous notion. We are beset by enemies everywhere." The Grand Admiral coldly chided, "We do not have time nor resources to placate and turn our worlds into a luxury paradise for those who've left the fighting. That can wait. Our needs for weapons and industry are now."

"The only value these refugees is in a social contract. We ensure they won't be caught up in the fighting, and they supply us the material to make that objective a reality. What you are proposing is resource intense frivolity that is surplus to requirement." Rausgeber paused and the holographic disguise he had made for himself, licked its lips, "We are at war gentlemen. Total war. Let us not forget that fact."

 

[Meko Sorrin]

O B J E C T I V E 1
Focus | Kolson Vrask

​

As soon as the door dropped, Sorrin was met with a flurry of blaster fire. A quick duck and side roll prevented him from being blasted straight in the face. As he hugged the wall slowly, the hail of shots continued. Then suddenly, it all stopped. It was quiet for a couple of seconds. Sorrin held up 3 fingers to indicate to go in. One went down. Then another. The last went down and the whirring of a rotary cannon was heard from inside.

<"Move!"> Sorrin yelled as he sprinted down the hall. His commandos followed as blaster fire ripped the walls they were just leaning against. A thermal detonator was too risky to use in this situation. It could kill any slaves in the room, or worse, collapse one whole part of the building. As the whirring finally stopped, and the stench of scorch marks filled the room, Sorrin instantly got back into position. Grabbing the stun grenade off of his belt, he chucked it into the room. The first second came the silence and shuffling of feet, next was the loud pop that was the ignition of the stun grenade. The third second, 5 thuds were heard across the room floor. Bingo.

Sorrin and his team moved in quickly. He stepped over the door to find the 3 slavers and 2 slaves, out cold. The slaves were shackled up and sat against the wall. They had red scars and bruises, dry blood coated them. Most likely there own. Not to mention the smell. They haven't been properly washed in years. Sorrin started at the slave in disgust. Who could do this to another sentient being? It's cruel, nonetheless inhumane. He grabbed his rifle, shooting the chains off of the slaves. He picked up the slave, bridal carry style, and walked out of the room. <"Pick up the other one, we're leaving."> He said to the other commando.

He stopped by the other room to see Berik and the surrendered slaver, with a smoking hole in his chest. He shared no emotion towards his death, he was scum, he deserved it anyway. <"The slaves are secured."> Meko said to the Lieutenant. <"You got any info from that sack of shit? If so, I would love to be enlightened.">

​

​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

THE NEXT SCREEN
Irveric Tavlar Jaeger Harrsk Robogeber

---

---

"Tch."

The interjection of one Compnor commissioner prompted a side-eyed glance in the man's direction, the smirk lingering on his lips as the Commissioner's words flared up the ironic sense of humor in him being referred to as a Jedi as an insult. Lord Halketh would speak up before the exiled Prince had mustered up any willpower to elicit a response of his own, and much like their previous encounters, Lucien found himself standing on the same side as the Warlord of Carlac.

Meanwhile the staunch Imperialists of the Prefsbelt domain and the extremists of the growing faction known as Compnor would stand opposite of the more two more liberal Warlords to speak for the refugees. Once again, unsurprising to him, given their desire to control the population of the Empire through means all too familiar to its predecessors. Granted he respected the logical arguments of the Warlord of Prefsbelt over the dribble that Compnor's lackeys seemed to always bring to the table. But only enough to not outright disrespect the man, instead softening the cold stare previously focused upon Djorn and shuffling his eyes towards the Warlord.

"The value of these refugees is in themselves, Warlord Rausgeber." Luc would cut back into the conversation, the words finally focused within his mind enough to rejoin the conversation. "I wholly agree that we do not owe these refugees anything. We're fighting a war against an unjust Empire who seeks to subjugate and abuse the lives of those who are unfortunate enough to live within their borders. But we are at war with the Sith- the same Empire which they've no choice but to live beneath, unless they choose to flee and risk death, or are lucky enough to have their worlds liberated by our forces. If we treat these refugees in the same vein as their previous overlords, there's nothing left in their minds to separate the way we've presented ourselves from that of the Sith. Sure, we won't be ordering their enslavement or death, but once more these people are forced to live within a domain that doesn't give a damn about their well-being."

His gaze refocused upon Djorn Bline next. "And you." A lazy finger pointed in his direction. "I believe you referred to me as an optimist in the same vein as a Jedi, correct?" His hand drifted towards his leather jacket, slipping beneath one of the folds and removing the black hilt of a weapon that was holstered and concealed from before. It lingered in his hand for a moment before Luc sat it upon the table in front of him, his motions neither threatening nor his demeanor outright hostile.

"It's no secret that my lineage stems from the Jedi Order, but what piques my interest is just how does relate to my apparent optimism on this current issue? The Jedi have their faults-- this is partially the reason why I don't follow their codes or subscribe to the Cult that is their following. But the optimism that which they have in abundance, many of those present have a severe deficiency of themselves. Your commission speaks of the Preservation of the New Order with so much fervor and zeal, but you lack that same fervor and zeal when the scope exits the macro and trickles down to the little people who truly feel the effects of the decisions we make here today."

Tracing his fingers over the hilt, his grip tightened around the weapon as he raised it towards Djorn as if he were offering it to the man. "My optimism is born from a desire to see this Empire prosper, and the people themselves are the heart of it all. It's neither the force nor this weapon that define who I am as a person. Feel free to take this weapon and see if it will redefine how you see these refugees, and also how you feel about those who are gifted with abilities in the force. I'm certain these things will do nothing to persuade you that your ideology will do nothing for our Empire but bring us closer aligned to the methodology of the Sith themselves." Luc chuckled, tossing the weapon playfully and catching it with his opposite hand, only to holster it beneath his jacket once more.

His eyes scanned the room once more, returning his attention to the group as a whole. "Simply put, we must do better than the enemy who prescribes to the very same philosophies that some of us desire to make standard today. The indoctrination and binding of these wayward people would only serve to counter our interest in laying in the foundations for an Empire that serves the interests of the people, and not just their overlords and masters. To seek to bind these people to us, makes us no different from the Sith. Their dreams and ambitions should not be dampened, but instead we must plant the seed for the future generations to naturally accrue the same fervor and zeal that some of us wish to instill into the people."

"Think of the citizens and refugees as more than just statistics and bodies to feed our war machine, and you'll be surprised at the outcome of that result. As such, I stand with Lord Halketh, and those who sit in the minority of similar viewpoints as ours. Nirauan shall remain open to refugees, and that will continue for as long as I see it fit. My administration will openly welcome all who flee their lives to seek something better, and in return I've pledged to do my best to create one of the most prosperous worlds of our Empire. A symbol, if you will, for the rest of the galaxy to see, and a beacon for those who still remain subjugated and in chains to have in their minds, and never lose hope." ​

 

[Jaeger Harrsk]

C O M P N O R
Irveric Tavlar | Halketh | Lucien Dooku | Robogeber | Djorn Bline
​

Harrsk let the rest debate and discuss the refugee crisis and took into account each opinion carefully. The more he listened, the less he talked, the more the different sides of the New Imperial Order revealed their cards. When the conversation deep dived into rhetoric more than it did into substance, Jaeger stepped in with a deliberate clearing of his throat.

"Gentlemen, let us set aside idealistic discourse and focus on the practical. I will not squander state security completely to appease to utopian visions and disconnects from reality."

"The worlds which want to become Sanctuary Worlds for these refugees, they are welcome to use their resources as they see fit, but." he glanced through his sunglasses at Dooku. If he was so keen on welcoming everything, let him deal with the consequences, let his veiled incapability to manage be revealed to the rest of the assembly and the Imperator. Jaeger then steeled his voice, "but all children below the age of fourteen are to be mandatorily enrolled into the SAGroup. If we are to weaken our security temporarily, let it a cost for dividends for the future." Harrsk had no desire for further argument on that specific point.

For a moment he wondered how great it would've been to have Aerarii Tithe as Imperial Treasure. A man who controls the printer, controls the state.

A fledgling thought imagined that Tithe would certainly prefer he had been here rather than into the jungle of the Core.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

V A N D A L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
STORM COMMANDO TASK FORCE 'DARK RIDER'
VANDAL SQUAD
REGULATORS
FOCUS | Meko Sorrin

Never a comfortable sight seen the last gaze, hearing the last breathes and making the last moments of a mortal man. But by how man he'd killed by now, this one didn't make any difference. The first few haunted his dreams for months at a time. With almost two years in active military service now, they all meshed together. He looked into those snuffed out eyes once more before holstering the pistol.

Wasn't a few moments later and the rest of the unit had completed their sweep of the compound. Before anything else, Berik had to know the gravity of the op.

<"How many? What are they?"> He asked. Curious of who they were smuggling since now they had a lead of where they were going. If Berik had to guess, likely unsuspecting souls. Weaker men, women, children. The sort of people you wouldn't second guess trawling through a crowded city street.

<"Didn't get too much about his other pals in the business, not like it matters. I'm sure they'll be barking soon enough the more and more cells we hit. They'd been comfortable here for too long, they're barely bothering to hide. What he told me was a little bit more interesting.">

<"Ever heard of the Qo'krataa? Seems they're the main buyer of whatever these filth are moving. Apparently they have plans for them on Ithor...not that I know what that is. He said they might still be planetside, at the main spaceport. We might be able to catch one of their shipments off world...doubtful any of em will stay alive for questions but it might be worth a shot. How does the unit look?"> Berik spoke to Meko.

 

[Wallace Paxxus]

OBJECTIVE II + BYOO //: LUNGS
// New-Imperial Immigration Checkpoint 32A //
// Interrogation Chamber //

// COMPNOR: COUNTER-INSURGENCY DIVISION //

​

"Carden Vess," Wallace read the name from the immigration file on the holopad he held in front of him. "Born on Agamar, 831 ABY. Human, One-hundred seventy-two centimeters, Sixty-eight kilograms. Widowed, no children, steelworks engineer, former slave, a naturalized citizen of the Sith Empire." The device lightly slapped down onto the durasteel table as Wallace released it. There was a long pause between Wallace and the man across from him. "Is all this information correct, Mr. Vess?" Wallace asked, glancing up through the gap between his brow and sunglasses.

"Y-yes," Vess stuttered. His eyes scanned around the mostly vacant chamber. A quick sputter preceded his speaking up. "What's going on? Wh-why am I detained? I'm just trying to get away from-"

"Relax," Wallace insisted with a raise of his hand. "It's just a random screening. Completely routine," he assured, still looking down at the papers on the desk. That was a lie, but Wallace wasn't the one who started it. Vess took a deep breath and nodded, sinking slightly into his chair. "Agammar Metalworks?"

"...What about it?"

"You work there?"

"Worked."

"What happened?"

"Fucking droid labor happened. Didn't like paying former slaves, so they replaced us all."

"We've all been wronged by the Sith, you know, Mr. Vess?" Wallace asked, running his closed hand over the vacant right sleeve of his jacket.

Vess blinked. "Sure."

"Sure? That's why you're here, is it not? You need work, and can't trust the regime that used to treat you like property?"

"Y-yes. Exactly. That's exactly it. I'm just trying to survive."

Wallace grinned. "Aren't we all, Mr. Vess?" He began swiping through the holo-display with one finger. Form after form, he gave each screen a once over, up and down with a quick skim of the info within. "Alright, everything looks good, Carden. But, before I stamp this..." Wallace peered upwards through the gap again. "Does the name Vestal Khorvir mean anything to you?"

"I can't say it does. Never heard of them," Vess claimed. A denial. The subtle tremor in his intonation and the sudden avoidance of eye-contact told Wallace everything he needed to know in an instant. That name meant something. He'd certainly heard it before.

"Really? Have you ever been to Lorrd, Mr. Vess? How about Ord Radama?"

"No, of course not. I've been a slave for the better part of-"

"Why would an Agammarian slave have employment records from Ord Radama dating 858 ABY?"

"Wh-what? I don't know what you're talking about-"

Wallace stood up suddenly. The rudimentary prosthetic under his left knee groaned from the pressure. His left arm threw everything off the table with a wild swipe. "You don't know, Mr. Khorvir!?"

"I-I don't even know who that is!"

Wallace flicked his arm to the side. A rod extended with a metallic click from between his fingers. "Let me jog your memory," he hissed. A flick of an activator sent electricity surging up and down through the apparatus. Wallace threw the table out of the way and began to stalk forward maliciously. The volts would make him remember, surely.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LUNGS | RAVELIN
FOCUS | Jaeger Harrsk | Tyrell Paxxus | Robogeber | Lucien Dooku | Djorn Bline | COMPNOR | Moff Council

Men with ambition were capable for forging great things. Just as easily, they could rip them apart. Irveric sat back, content more to observe this discourse more than any. Had he moved to herd them to a final, inextinguishable solution then he could not see the cracks in the armor. The interests within which the various warlords of the Empire operated. Their goals, their ambitions, what was important to them. What values mattered. He could see the merits and faults in each of them. For now, it would not be the hill they'd stake their banner and wave it against the air proud and defiant until they faced down their final breathes with anxious fury.

Even so, a solution must be found. The New Imperial Order could not allow such an issue of this magnitude to arrest the attention of the Imperator and the Moff Council. For whatever values his Jedi origins produced, Lucien was not incorrect on a moral standpoint. Neither too was Rausgeber. A man far too used to cold numbers and long ledgers. Such was the nature of the First Order. While Prefsbelt had prospered in its own right in emulation of the First Order, the values of the government of Dosuun were not the New Imperial Order.

"Dooku is correct in that the foundation of our Order is its people. The interests, of each of you, is them. Though comes the parabolic dilemma of these refugees. Are they our people. I say...they very well can be. But within the Order we can not allow dissidence in allowing those sympathetic to the Sith Empire nor the theocratic dystopia of the Silver Jedi Concord. If they are here, it is because they are to become Imperial. They are to respect the values and way of life of those founded in our worlds. Thus...I do believe, so long as the proper infrastructure is established to absorb them, they should be allowed. Though we shall not allow the gates swung open, proper vetting is essential and unavoidable. But so long as they qualify as citizens, they are just that. They are citizens of the Order and are to be treated such a way. " Tavlar states.

"This is an order of determination. The Empire is strongest when we are all strong. When all the instruments of our nation work hand in hand. It was founded in defiance, do not ever forget that. In defiance to an Empire that would see us as chattel to be horded to the slaughter. When in truth, there is none greater than the Imperial." The Imperator suggests.

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SEVENTH FLEET | HAND OF VENGEANCE
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

"Its all about what you would ever expect..." The helmsman Ardor Pryde spoke, his First Imperial accent showing in spades with each word. Shuffling his finger through a datapad he approached the Kel Dor who turned to acknowledge him with a faint nod.

"Freighters...medical ships...these people are hurt, Admiral. But- why here? Not to say that the Order isn't a perfectly fine place to live but...does the Concord not allow refugees to stake claim into their territory in droves?" He spoke, seemingly with far more confidence than he did at Bastion. After all, it was the most gut twisting battle any of them would embark on. They arrived, they fought, they won.

"Something tells me we were never the first option, Pryde. The Silver Jedi would've certainly taken them...if they could. But they're overextended. For whatever folly, the Silver Jedi and the Sith have re-escalated their war on one another and now Light and Dark ignite the Galaxy once more." Var Koon says.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

[ V A L E R I A N ]

The inside of the Imperial Assembly had never been stale from the seat of the Warlord of Nirauan's seasoned advisor. His service to the various Imperial warlords had seen him travel across the stars, offering his counsel to Warlord and Moff alike. It wasn't until the dawn of the New Imperial Order did he find his services actually appreciated, and his employment seemingly permanent.

It was by fate or circumstance that his services were contracted to Lucien, the inexperienced faux Warlord who maintained a title in name only until the fall of Bastion became reality. Up until then he'd done his best to assist Lucien in maintaining the status quo of what little influence the exiled Prince had accrued up until then. Battle-hardened as he'd become, Irveric Tavlar 's decision to uplift Lucien to Warlord seemed more like a test than it did the promotion his peers assumed it was.

Slowly but surely, Valerian's guidance would show results, and despite his charge's tendency to be outspoken and brazen in his beliefs, he could already see the temperance being honed alongside the Warlord's ever-growing ambition.

The Prince of Serenno was not the aspiring demagogue that he'd come to expect from the Imperial aristocracy that were his previous employers. It was a welcomed change of pace, yet somewhere beneath the overly optimistic beliefs, Valerian could see who Luc truly was. Immature and inexperienced? Quite so. Foolish at times, with a clear lack of decorum for ceremony? Most definitely so.

Valerian knew this, and in return Luc knew of this perception of himself as well. It was this perception which prompted him to encourage Luc to continue being himself, whilst all the while cultivating the growing desire to let loose the ambition that simmered within his soul. The reconquest of Serenno was a far off goal, but the restructuring of Nirauan to better align with the present-day goals were far more within the reach of a Warlord with his unique, moderately Imperial perspective.

Refugees were abound to be plentiful, as they had always been since the start of the Third-Imperial Civil War, and the symbol that Lucien would come to represent would set the stage for his rise to prominence in the Unknown Regions of space. The foundations that were being created with each passing Assembly would only serve to allow him -- and Valerian by association -- to increase in influence among the people, while alienating his political rivals ever further from a citizen base who gravitated away from the staunch extremists and authoritarian Imperial domains elsewhere.

The moderates, as they were called by those on opposite end of the ideological spectrum, were simply a minority who would never see their goals achieved in any significant fashion. But Nirauan, in Lucien's words, would become a bastion in its own right, and those words were far more true to heart for those within the Warlord of Nirauan's inner circle.

Not symbolism. Not unfiltered optimism. But a decree that his peers would never take seriously, until the wheels were moving with far too much momentum to bring them to a stop.

Valerian had imparted what wisdom he could upon the young Warlord, and again he'd do so after Luc finished orating his speech and seated himself in their section once more.

“The essence of control is to remain hidden from view, is it not?”

His words were equally a lesson, as much as they were a question being asked.

"Quite." Luc replied, offering up a wink before his eyes glazed back towards the Imperator. "Quite, indeed." ​

---

---

​

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SEVENTH FLEET | HAND OF VENGEANCE
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

"Not to mention, the Bryn'adul. Those savage beasts have always been mauling their 'Southern' worlds, Admiral. No doubt that has strained the lines of logistics of the Silver Jedi I would think." Pryde adds, glancing the way of the holomap, making his way over to the device before he'd input a command to the nigh entirety of the Galaxy before him.

"The Mandalore Sector as well...the Sith can not afford to control it and in the wake of this, the Mandalorians too cowardly to fight for their home from the onset of our campaign on the Braxant have now come as carrions, to feast on the bloated corpse of Sith arrogance." Koon suggests.

"What of the Sons of Mandalore? Were they not preparing the Crusade proper?" Pryde inquires.

"The Order and the Sons of Mandalore both, yes. We had the entire briefing relayed to us. Hellfire to the Graug who had resettled there on order of the Sith." The Admiral states.

"And what happened, precisely?" The Helmsman inquires.

 

[Meko Sorrin]

O B J E C T I V E 1
Focus | Kolson Vrask

​

<"How many? What are they?">

<"We have 2 slaves under our watch currently. As for what they are..."> Sorrin took a look at the slave in his arms, then shifted his gaze to the second slave being carried by another Commando. <"Bone structure and muscle mass seem to be the factors that separate slaves and civs, alongside other factors like poor hygiene and a different fashion sense.">

He walked over to a nearby wall, setting the slave down in a position that he felt was most comfortable for them. He looked back at Berik.

<"Qo'krataa?"> asked Sorrin. <"Bit and pieces of info here and there but I don't have a description for who or what they are".> Meko crouched down to face the slave, who was still unconscious but alive nonetheless. He started to examine the body, noted out different health conditions that ha to be brought up to the medical team. Scars and bruises that indicate harm? Check. Depleted muscle mass indicates signs of poor nutrition? Check. Baggy eyes that indicate sleep deprivation? Check. All of it was just a big checklist of slave-like characteristics that proved if a person had truly been through the trouble of forced labor. It was all disgusting.

Meko called over the two other commandos so he could take a sitrep. All were present and accounted for, with no major injuries that would prevent them from continuing with the main objective. Sorrin addressed them calmly. <"Good work fellas. Re-arm if you need to and quickly restock if possible. We're moving out to the extraction point as soon as possible."> He looked back towards Berik. <"All commandos accounted for and are ready for next objective."> Meko replied. A couple of minutes had passed, and the other 2 commandos had come back, awaiting further instructions. Meko ordered them to grab ahold of the slaves and head out towards the extraction point. He and Berik were to act as escorts, making sure the path from A to B was as smooth as possible. The quicker they got the slaves to the medical extraction point, the quicker they could follow up on the Qo'krataa lead.

About 5 miles east, 2 miles west, and the squad had come upon their destination. A fairly empty area with enough space for a small shuttle to land and extract personnel. Sorrin called for one of the commandos to set up the beacon equipment to signal for extract. It didn't take very long to have everything in the proper place. The commando flipped the switch, and before long a shuttle came down to greet them. A medical team, a group of about 6-8 members, came tumbling out of the craft. The squad handed over the slaves diligently. The man who seemed to be in charge of the said medical team had walked over to Meko and started conversation.

"You guys get any more?" He asked.

<"No. Those are the only 2 we've retrieved so far."> Sorrin replied.

"Ok. We'll set up here. You get any more slaves, bring them straight to us."

<"Sounds like a plan, boss."> Meko said as he shook the commander's hand.

He turned back towards Berik and the rest of the commandos, walking towards them. He looked towards Berik, excited that they could take up another lead. <"You mentioned the main spaceport, something about a possible Qo'krataa cell loading shipments for off-world transport. Lead the way.">

 

[Halketh]

D E A D _ I N S I D E
The Vulture

Lungs
[ x ]
Tags | Lucien Dooku Irveric Tavlar
Jaeger Harrsk Djorn Bline
Robogeber

Once more, The Vulture wondered why he even bothered. It was the same here as it had been previously on the discussion of slavery's abolition. He brings up the ethical perspective for things and the jarheads on the assembly somehow assumed that meant he wasn't logical. It was tragically boring to dissect the pragmatics behind it, thus is why he spoke in such a drab monotone when discussing things as objectively as he often did.​

But woe, it was to be misunderstood. ​

Boring.​

He drummed fingers on the table as the Imperator spoke, suspending the orbs he idled with just over the back of his hand. Some part of him that recognized the general distrust and dislike of Force Users some of those present fostered had encouraged him to be exceptionally blatant with his typically subtle idling and toying. Imperials were always shameless in their stubbornness and unwillingness to see things from the other side. That was the role he often played in these discussions, even when it earned him ire. He cared little for interpersonal relationships with any of those present- save for Lucien perhaps, he was tolerable- and merely attended at all to represent his people and the abundance of progress he had brought to fruition on his oft-forgotten world.​

"Then we establish accommodations for them by designating entry-controlled sections within cities or worlds for them to reside in. It's not practical in the long run, but it serves as a quarantine zone of sorts for their initial arrival." Halketh suggests, lifting the hand he wasn't currently supporting his jaw with to waggle fingers unenthusiastically in the air- causing the orbs to waver just the same. "Carlac has these facilities established already. It would buy time for the proper designation and preparations to be made on other worlds where these refugees are to live."​

And it was true- given its status as a growing world, Carlac was host to more than its fair share of immigrants and refugees alike, causing the Warlord and his teams to be forced to designate settlements outside of the main cities and towns for the new arrivals on the world, just in case they were carrying any strange bacteria, diseases, or were plotting to blow up Nova Vox. It could be anything, really.​

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SEVENTH FLEET | HAND OF VENGEANCE
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

"It might prove advantageous to allow them to fight one another. And then bear down with unbridled fury to secure our interests. And with the Sith and Jedi more than occupied with the other...we shant worry for our overextended lines being cut off by a Sith Imperial counter attack. We need only exploit." The Admiral states.

"Why fight them both when they can fight themselves...I do believe I understand now...and it explains why the Imperator's chosen fleet is...here." The Helmsman states. For the legacy of Thrawn, the Hand of Vengeance and the very New Imperial fleet which had broken Bastion to be sat at the Braxant Run to collect refugees was...an all but insulting assignment.

"We do as the Order commands, Pryde. Such is the life. Such is our duty." Var Koon states in full earnest reply to the man, his gaze looking over the sector of interdiction. Here his detachment had begun the process of filtering these refugees, scanning each vessel for contraband, dissidents and fugitives aboard before allowing them passage through to proper COMPNOR checkpoints.

 

[Damocles]

I _ A M _ D A M O C L E S
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
738TH IMPERIAL STARFIGHTER SQUADRON "OUTBREAK"
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

Pain.

That was all he felt from the very beginning.

He had seen many empires rise and fall in his lifetime, some of which he had grown quite fond of. So why would this one be any different to him? It was simple, they were the ones who found him - bloodied, broken, and vengeful. Naturally, they had no idea who he was or where he came from, and all they knew was that he was a man without a purpose. To the bemusement of some, he had seemingly appeared out of thin air on the Penitent as a last-minute transfer before the whole refugee crisis.

His footfalls were heavy against the sleek floor of the destroyer's hallways as he wandered towards the hangar bay, the six-foot-ten man sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the traffic of stormtroopers, crewmen, and officers alike. He knew his flight suit wasn't 'up to protocol' per se, not with his carbon-scored helmet looking like it had come out of a trash compactor, but he cared little for it. The last two-square ensign that tried to chastise him for it ended up scuttling away after five minutes of the pilot staring at him in dead silence.

Nevertheless, this was his first 'real' assignment and he hoped to exceed expectations, whatever they may be.

Fight. Fall. Get Up. Fight Again. All for the Empire.

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SEVENTH FLEET | HAND OF VENGEANCE
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

"But surely there is an assignment you'd prefer more than...this, yes?" Pryde asked but he'd served second fiddle to the Kel Dor long enough to gauge his response. To gauge the cadence and patterns of speaking he would walk through in reply to him.

Var Koon didn't disappoint.

"No...we are where we are most useful, Pryde. If it was not the most instrumentally useful of the New Imperial High Command to be here, we would not be." The Baran Do Sage stated. He couldn't have read the script any better in alignment with his pattern of behavior and speaking.

"Certainly...and so you believe the High Command er- the Imperator is correct all the time? Even if...we are...here." Ardor says candidly to the man.

"Where else would be better, Pryde? Our fronts have gone quiet outside of the incremental pushes and pulls of the Stormtrooper Corps and Legionnaires along the borderlands." Var Koon said. Thus as his ever wisened, cold, placid Baran Do approach was predictable, so too was the incoming retort from the First Imperial wayward son.

 

[Wallace Paxxus]

OBJECTIVE II + BYOO //: LUNGS
// New-Imperial Immigration Checkpoint 32A //
// Interrogation Chamber //

// COMPNOR: COUNTER-INSURGENCY DIVISION //
// Jaeger Harrsk (mentioned) //

​

The corpse of Vestal Khorvir was dragged from the interrogation chamber. Dragging against the tiled floor, its left foot still twitched from the voltage. Either arm seized by a COMPNOR agent, the degrading display would be the last anyone ever saw of Vestal Khorvir. Anyone who mattered, at least. It hadn't been much of a loss. Most of the relevant info had been extracted, and it wasn't like he had any plans of returning home anyway. With a hiss, the door slid closed, and with it disappeared Vestal and his 'valets'.

Wallace staggered his way towards the overturned table. The rudimentary prosthetic making a distinct click with every step. He uprighted the lone surface before retrieving the holopad and returning it to the top. A rasping huff escaped from between his teeth as he began to tap the device's screen. New forms opened as certain details were filled. Immigration I-330 coupled with an Incident G-42, a J-31, and countless other droning, blue digital data-fields, and checkboxes.

Insufferable. Wallace hated paperwork. If it could even be called paperwork. There was no aide or junior prefect to do it for him this time, either. Slowest data-pusher in the division; that was Prefect Paxxus. Aurabesh always got mixed up and jumbled in his brain, looking to him, more like an erratic assortment of lines and pixels. It pissed him off. Frequent breaks were almost required to make it bearable, but he didn't have the time. Every sorry fuck in the sector wanted in, and there were only so many of them to weed out the bad eggs.

The door to the chamber slid open suddenly. The hissing of hydraulics drew Wallace's shaded eyes to the threshold. Prefect Gavner strutted stiffly into the interrogation space, regarding the overturned chairs with a vague expression. His ugly, slender, hook-nosed face sneered towards Wallace with an exceptionally punchable smugness. "Having fun with the immigrants, Paxxus?" he asked. His nasal utterances were exceptionally vexing today.

"A blast," Wallace responded with low-effort sarcasm.

"What was it this time? Wrong papers? Annoying face? Or were you just bored?"

Wallace's yellow eyes peered up at Gavner from behind the obscure shades. "Terroristic intent," he replied, clearly unamused with Gavenr's decision to bother him. As if the man's very existence wasn't bad enough.

"How terrible," Gavner responded flatly. He didn't care. Some prefect he was. "Perhaps his comrades will wait an hour to cross over until you've finished your incident report. Wouldn't want to miss them."

"Eat me, you nerf-herder," Wallace snapped. "I'm forwarding a report to Commissioner Harrsk, the incident forms can wait. This is important."

"Oh, yes, I'm certain the Commissioner will find this news just as breaking as you do. Do you think he'll be pleased to be interrupted? I hear the assembly is in a meeting right now."

"He can eat me, too."

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SEVENTH FLEET | HAND OF VENGEANCE
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

"But- we just beat them, we took Bastion. We purged those deceitful worms from our ranks and we reclaimed the very seat of Empire. The very same halls Roan Fel and his dynasty ruled the Galaxy from...before the Sith betrayed them." Pryde insists. To a point, Var Koon agreed. The advantage was all with them and all of a sudden, the Imperator had opted for a conservative approach. But with backroom chatter of peace deals and cease fires alight between the officers and high commanders of the New Imperial Order made the sudden change in the winds make all the more sense.

"That we did...and it cost us a great deal, the fight. But while the Sith throw themselves against the crucible more and more in the Galactic south. The Great Galactic Lie will always be uttered amongst the lips of these horrid creeds...until they see their last days." The Jedi and the Sith. They'd always sworn the upper hand over the other in whatver virtues they upheld. But they were parasites. The Wolves looking to feast on the Galaxy's innards. The Empire was the tempered iron which would mend the broken cracks.

"But...do you not use the Force? As a Baran Do? What does the New Order believe of this, the Creed you follow?" Pryde inquired.

 

[Damocles]

I _ A M _ D A M O C L E S
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
738TH IMPERIAL STARFIGHTER SQUADRON "OUTBREAK"
LUNGS | BRAXANT RUN HYPERLANE
PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER 'PENITENT'

The door to the hangar bay opened with a hydraulic hiss, Damocles stepping inside and glancing around in an attempt to locate the ship he would be using for this assignment. According to his flight captain, he was to use a TIE/OTx Outlander, a ship that he knew well as he had flown it when he went to the academy for evaluation. The pilot watched quietly as his fighter was lowered in front of the platform, ascending the stairs to climb into the awaiting cockpit.

He closed the hatch on the way in and secured himself in the seat, his hands moving forward to thumb the switches of his instruments. They flickered to life, displaying vital information to the pilot, the engine beginning to hum quietly behind him. Damocles felt the fighter shift slightly as it was lifted upwards and directed into launch position.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily to himself, remembering just how long he had been fighting for. Now here he was again, prepared to risk it all again just for the thrill of combat. Pushing forward on the lever, he throttled upward and the TIE screeched out of the hangar bay and into the void of space.

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LUNGS | RAVELIN
COMPNOR | Moff Council | Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Lucien Dooku | Halketh | Robogeber

He appreciated the reinforcement from the admiral with his logistics and calculated research, outnumbering the opinions and arguments of both Lucien and Halketh as Jaeger, Djorn, and the admiral aligned with the same thoughts. Both of these Force Users were adamant in seeing the good of these refugees from what he interpreted. Especially that Dooku fellow and how he tossed his mystical saber in his hand. He heard both him and Jaeger had a small encounter on the Normalization of Kentaris, but Djorn gave the Warlord the benefit of the doubt as he had yet to know this man.

But now he understood. A great warrior he was, but his ideas were dangerous to Djorn. Enough for him to raise suspicions on the Warlord

Tavlar spoke, sounding to be on the fence of both parties. He understood where the trio of Harrsk, Bline, and Rausgeber came from as this wave of refugees not only could contain dissidence, but also had the potential in altering the values and traditions that bounded them.

“As long as these children are enrolled in the SAGroup, and COMPNOR screens these individuals, I won’t mind these refugees. Of course, without the interference of anyone outside these operations,” and glanced at both Dooku and Halketh. Oh, yes, he dared to have his commission to operate on their territories with autonomy granted by Irveric; didn’t matter if they liked it or not.

“Commissioner, are you going to answer?” his words meant for Jaeger as his commlink was getting paged.

 

[Velexia]

Location: Hangar Bay, NIV Penitent - Braxant Run Hyperlane
Objective: Lungs
Tags: Damocles Var Koon
Fighter: TIE/HF Slasher
Wearing: New Imperial Flight Suit
Onboard Equipment: Survival Kit │ BH ‘Durin’ Charric Blaster Pistol

The modifications on her fresh-from-the-factory issued TIE would have to wait for a little while longer, but so far, Chasianna and her technicians had finished a decent amount of work on the project in spite of the fact they had not yet worked directly on her machine. They had initially planned to begin that stage of the project within a few hours, but a sortie meant maintenance, briefings, reports, and potential repairs, in the event that Chasianna’s TIE sustained damage during the mission.

Nevertheless, Chasianna was always happy to fly and as a young pilot, she was especially eager to prove her skills to her peers and superiors, especially in combat.

After leaving the ready room, Chasianna took a deep breath as the buzz of the hangar bay filled her senses. The commotion of the technicians, pilots, and droids around her exuded activity as they set to work amidst a chorus of shouts. Chasianna followed suit, bouncing into a jog as she moved to her assigned craft, a large TIE Slasher which she had grown very fond of, in spite of initially being disappointed that she had not been issued an Outlander instead.

Nodding to her technician, Chasianna put on her helmet and descended the ladder into the cockpit of her craft. Once she was inside, the upper hatch sealed shut with a hiss as her fingers danced across the switches, running through the pre-flight routine. All the while, her TIE moved up the line of the storage mechanism before coming to a halt at the end, indicating that she was clear to power on her machine’s twin ion engines. The drives came to life with a low reverberation that shifted into the distinctly ancient roar that had been synonymous with Galactic Imperialism for well over eight-hundred years. Once she received the signal from the ground crew, Chasianna pushed the control sticks forwards, driving her TIE into space with violent acceleration that elicited a sensation of intense pressure as the inertial compensators fought to keep up the Gs.

Nevertheless, Chasianna was unfazed by the pressure, stims coursing through her veins as she took formation next to her wingman.

“Outbreak Ten, present and reporting.”