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

[IMPCOM]

E M P I R E _ R I S I N G​

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E R ' K I T
T H E _ M A N _ C O M E S _ A R O U N D

Er'kit is all but a hive of scum and villainy, a desolate lawless rock. Were it not for those artificially painted borders, arbitrary lines drawn in the sand of the New Imperial Order, Silver Jedi Concord and the Sith Empire and its position nestled against the Braxant Run, the very hyperlane the New Imperial Order had been fixated on monopolizing as its underlying economic strategic goal since the outset of its existence.

Seeking to envelop on a Mandalore Sector emblazon in chaos,

The New Imperial Order marches.

OBJECTIVE I //: THE REGULATOR

Law and order in a duality of chaos and disorder will always rear its ugly face in a Galaxy so keen on ripping itself apart. On Er'kit, the currency wasn't the Galactic Standard, 'Fedcred' or anything any legitimate government traded in.

It was people, sentient lives, slavery. So long as the people of Er'kit propagated this barbaric practice, they would have no place of peace in the New Imperial Order. In the largest spaceport settlement on Er'kit, the New Imperial Order starts to sweep the streets, finding and destroying slaving operations and other dissident cells.

But a shadow looms over them. A shadow in the form of the Qo'krataa who lurk in waiting of the New Imperials on patrol.

OBJECTIVE II //: LUNGS

There is no peace for those who have endured war. The Galaxy is nearing the shattering point as the Third Imperial Civil War continues to rage on, the Silver Jedi re-escalate their conflict with the Sith Empire while the Bryn'adul rampage across Wild Space and the Mandalore Sector descends into pure anarchy. In the wake of this destruction, the displaced people of the Galaxy have flocked anywhere that will take them.

And with the border between the Sith Empire and Silver Jedi along with the Mandalore Sector growing more and more periless, peace under an Iron Sun becomes a more attractive prospect to those seeking refuge, in spite of the New Imperial Order's image as the monolithic Imperial State that it has gathered around itself.

This burden must be handled in some way as the Imperial Assembly, COMPNOR and the Imperial Armada all seek to handle this crisis as a growing wayward fleet of displaced people has gathered on the Braxant Run all the while the anxieties of Sith insurgency and internal threats still run rampant.

Funnel refugees to Imperial space and find possible dissidents lurking in their midsts.

OBJECTIVE //: BYOO

Whatever gets you to post, chief.

// SETPIECES //:
> Er'kit
> Mos Eisely (AESTHETIC EQUIVILENT)

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Objective One: Regulation, Sub Objective: Gamma
Unit: 63rd Stossjäger Battalion
Location: Er'kit Streets

They towered over the city streets. Giants in their own right in that slick black armour, as they were followed by reasonably diminutive Stossjäger's in their crispened white. Rommulus and Remus. That was their designation. Just like the old days. Back in ALPHA. Back before the dark times. And now they were back. Twigg and Rexus. Rommulus and Remus. Back in the saddle. No longer in the shadows, but rather back in the saddle. The two gargantuan troopers, Rexus measuring at an easy 6'11 in kit, with Twigg towering at 7'8. They acted like an anchor as they slunk through the streets, eyeing a populace which gawked at their new occupiers.

"Major, uh, Rommulus, sir. This is Corporal Baste here." An anxious voice piqued over the 63rd's comms unit. "We may uh, we may have something worth checking." Rexus eye twitched as he listened to the report.

"Copy that Corporal," Rexus drawled huskily into the mic. He always did love giving the troopers a little chill down their spines. "Location and nature of this somefink?"

There was a pregnant pause, "Sir, I think it's a gamma four." Rexus interest was piqued, "We're about two blocks up by our estimates. Near the uh, warehouse. 'Troys' it says on the door." Like that'd help Twigg. Boy struggled enough with reading as is, and expressed this with an audible, huff. As if reading the Death Troopers mind, Baste elaborated. "Doors uh, doors red, and the joint has a uh.... Appendage, rather large and human, painted on the side."

"Appendage, Troys, red door. Got it."

 

[Meko Sorrin]

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

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​

Breathe in, breathe out.

Illegal slave-trading rings lay all across Er'kit. Slavers would take innocent people under their command, force them to live in inhumane conditions, make them starve, make them bleed, all for their own gain and profit. And all of it had gone unchecked. Unnoticed. Those who would wish to do something about it couldn't. The NIO could do something about it. HE could do something about it. And Meko wouldn't like anything more than to put some low-life, goof for nothing, disgusting place into their rightful place. Hell.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Sorrin and the other Storm Commandos that he was tasked to work with were briefed on the situation before deployment. Their specific squad was to capture a known large slave-trading ring. It is most likely to be full of people: hostiles, slaves, and civilians alike. Trigger fingers had to be checked as an accidental casualty was unacceptable. The enemy, the slavers, would be somewhat easy to spot if they were caught in the act. If not caught, then common sense took full control. The slavers are free, the slaves are not. Entry of the building that the slave ring was located in would be by a breach and search forced entry. As the slavers could work out of multiple buildings, it was crucial to locate and breach all possible buildings and residencies that have reasonable suspicion to hold slaves. Unnecessary breaches would make for bad press, so suspicion must be confirmed by high command before entry. Mission plan is simple and straight-forward. Breach, free slaves, kill and capture slavers, move on to the next building, repeat.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Sorrin took a deep breath. The smell of sweat and sand filled his nostrils as his squad moved towards the first building to breach. The residency had already been confirmed by high command that slavers were working out of it, so a false breach was damn near impossible. He looked over his weapon, brushing the small bits of dust and sand off of it. Fully charged, ready to show a slaver the true bosses of Er'kit. His squad moved quickly towards the main entrance of the building. From the windows, talking could be heard. Casual conversation, most likely between two slavers. A rancid stench of trash also came from the residence. Sorrin stacked up behind another Storm Commando, tapping his shoulder to give the go-ahead for breach. The Storm Commando in the very front of the stack gave the hand signal indicating the beginning of the breach.

3.

2.

1.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Showtime.

 

[Gideon Saigo]

45th Assault-CF Volunteer Combat Group "Oathsworn"
C O M P N O R​

"...when the looting starts, the shooting starts."

Grunger cut off the transmission from COMPNOR's operation of bringing law and order to Ketaris and turned his attention to the 45th's task at hand. The information that Prefsbelt units were also participating in the mission of eliminating slaving rings in the city. It made no one in COMPNOR happier. Too many forces were growing to contest the COMPNOR's influence within the New Order.

Zsinj had a plan.

He set his own units to breach adjacent buildings to those of the Strossjager. At the sight of the latter, the Oathsworn opened fire citing hostile armed combatants.

They knew they weren't.

Rexus Wenck​

 

[Kolson Vrask]

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

War was dirty. Shit like this was dirtier. It was one thing to cross the front, stare down the sights and squeeze the trigger looking at a man you've been drilled to fire at in hatred several times over. This bringing a knife to that dirtied hide and peeling it back to reveal the rotten underbelly beneath. That steely reality shrouded beneath shades of moral complexity. They'd be looking down the sights of slaver parasites all the while, staring the frightened souls caught in this horrible machine right in the eyes.

This iteration of Vandal, not the Commandos cooked to a crisp on Bastion but the new pack sent to replace them. It'd only been anti-insurgency on New Bakstre and Ketaris that tested their mettle. It wasn't much, Er'kit would do just fine in greasing the wheels. That familiar count down, he'd always mastered the cadence of its pace. Three, two, one and the door breaking charge detonated. It was a familiar crack, the difference each time depending only on the thickness and material of the door and the sound the metal made when it flexed under the blast.

He all but refused point man duty and the understanding of the events Vandal undertook on Bastion made that an understandable exception toward Berik as he was one of the first five in regardless, peering down the sights of his charric carbine he twisted the corner. Two men, one armed. Both clearly slavers.

Three round pulse into each of them center mass did just fine. Regardless, they'd only precious few seconds more of that element of surprise, that jump on the rest as they continued. They came at a good time evidently as the slavers were well in the midst of talking over useless drivel. But they'd only seen the armed cohort and their bosses so far, not the product they traded in.

<"Room clear.">

 

[Meko Sorrin]

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

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As the door of the compound fell over with a loud bang, the Commandos swiftly entered. They would fan out into building, dispatching any and all slavers who were in eyesight. As both bodies hit the ground with a thud, Sorrin looked at a hallway on the far right of the main room. He pointed his weapons towards the corner, creeping up on it slowly. As he approached, he hugged the wall nearest to the corner. He waited for a few seconds and then turned the corner swiftly.

Reaction time is key. One second too late, you'll wind up dead on the floor. It's about reacting to the enemy's movements, can countering them in the span of a second. As soon as Sorrin crossed into the hallway, a shot rippled right past him. 2, maybe 3 meters away from hitting him dead in the helmet. Sorrin fired back, two bolts, straight into the slaver's upper torso. His body stumbled, hit the wall, and slumped over with a thud.

Three rooms, all unopened remained unchecked in the hallway. Any other slaver's inside were most likely alerted to their arrival. If they weren't, they're damn fools. Sorrin moved towards the first door, putting his helmet softly on the material to listen in on the activity inside. Shuffling of feet and furniture. Small grunts. Whispers and voices crossing back and forth. He turned and went back towards the main room, where his squad waited.

<"Door on the right is most likely blocked, gonna need another breach charge to tackle it. I'll stay on point, one man watches the main entrance from the hallway.">

He looked towards Berik, the highest-ranking commando in the room.

<"Any further orders?">

 

[Kolson Vrask]

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

Live like scum, die like scum. There wasn't a pound of hesitation that made Berik reluctant in pulling the trigger in hatred of any of these profligates. Wastes. He returned from the shuffle of the room he cleared as the unit consolidated in a main area, the arid colored Storm Recon armor hazing across the room before they isolated three more rooms. All sealed shut.

They'd been quick but the door breaking charge was all the symphony needed to incur the alarm of their presence. Convening with Meko, Berik held up an index and small finger to signal two Commandos on them to stack up two deep on either side of the door. In order to maintain the already unfurled illusion of suprise, the door breaking charge stayed away.

Pulling the slicing port from his vambrace, Berik plugged the corded scomp link into the control panel of the door before pressing a button to run through the unlock process and within about three seconds, the lock light flipped green and it was ready to be green.

A button willed it open and within two more men held up their arms in surrender, eyes widened in fear as the laser sights of charric rifles bared down on them.

"Wait- wait- wait!" The Pantoran slaver shouted out in an attempt to evoke mercy from the Commandos.

"I-I have information you Imps might want...but- but you can't kill- or don't kill me."

Berik offered a slight laugh before he glanced to Sorrin.

<"Tell me- you think he's worth it?"> Given the recent investigations surrounding a Qo'krataa cell on Er'kit might've granted this slaver respite.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

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

A Galaxy in chaos. The fires of war had culminated in a harsh black smoke to choke the lungs of the greater Galactic powers. While the New Imperial Order had postured itself an abrasive power, still the displaced peoples of the Galaxy had found themselves in space painted a pale gray. The Silver Jedi was growing wary from its re-escalation of war with the Sith Empire and the growing threat of the Bryn'adul Crusade before bearing down on them all the while the Sith Empire still proved its dystopian hellscape and the Mandalore Sector and its surrounding worlds had fallen into chaos, bathed in the crimson right of rebellion.

A decision had to be made. Would the New Imperial Order offer itself as a place of refuge for those seeking safety from a Galaxy in chaos? Or would it shut itself in, protect the interests of its citizens and only its citizens. Tavlar could only anticipate the regional governors and the political apparatuse of the New Imperial Order might have thoughts on the matter and thus assembled them all within Fortress Imperator, the Imperial Palace in Ravelin.

"We are strained ourselves, the fires in the Braxant have only recently been snuffed out. Our war effort and the economy propped up to maintain it is still our upmost priority. However, these refugees may very well be able to fill the void in our economy left by the Sith attempts to scorch earth in the wake of their retreat. Harnaidan is still in ruins, Entralla is still well in need of rebuilding as is Scipio and Dubrillion. They could prove all useful in reinvigorating the Braxant...all the same...we don't know who they are all and could pave the way for dissidence." Tavlar states.

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Location: Outside of 'Troys', Er'Kit Streets
Objective: Survive the Ambush
Enemies: Gideon Saigo

Rexus swaggered up toward the door, and eyed the warehouse. His glance turned down to Corporal Baste, who withered beneath the steely gaze of the Death Trooper. "So this is it." Rexus wheezed, eyeing the door. Stossjaeger stood on either side, ready to breach at a moments notice. The Death Trooper put his hand on the access panel, ready to see if he could jimmy the door open, when it hit. A ringing in his ears, and then, searing pain. Blaster bolt, to the back. Rexus grunted, and was pushed into the door with force. The rusted, red metal buckled and then collapsed in, sending Rexus sprawling.

The other Stossjaeger piled in, returning fire as they pushed into the warehouse. Rexus winced as another bolt grazed his back. He turned his head. Ambush. It was another bloody ambush. Twigg was already returning fire, backing slowly into Troy's. The veritable giant had to duck down to slip into cover, but knelt down to pick Rexus up. "Up and at 'em guv." Twigg drawled, firing his rifle from the hip as Wenck steadied himself and retreated further into the warehouse, taking cover behind a pallet of durasteel crates.

Breathing heavily now, Wenck leaned against the stack, causing it to wobble slightly. "Alrighty, we're not new jacks. Here's the plan." The ex-First Order commando grunted, "Secure the warehouse perimeter, seal the entrance and exits, and watch the doors for the enemy. Recoup, and get ready for a counter assault." Rexus then paused, and winced. Been a long time since he'd been shot up like that.

 

[Meko Sorrin]

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

<"Tell me- you think he's worth it?">

Sorrin pondered at the question. Was he worth it? Being related to the slavers alone was reason enough to end his disgusting life then and there. But the need for information was too great at the moment to not take this opportunity. Meko lowered his rifle, turning to tell the third Commando in the room to watch the door.

<"He's worth it, unfortunately."> He took a small sigh before walking over to the slaver who was cowering in fear before them. Sorrin walked up to him slowly, letting his sling on his rifle to allow him to use two hands. He grabbed the Pantoran by the collar.

<"Listen. I'm not repeating this so listen well and speak up. Clear?>" The slaver nodded in agreement. <"Good. The next two doors in this hallway. Do any slaves occupy those rooms?"> The Pantoran shook his head, pointing towards the exit of the room. "Most of the slaves we are in there, the rest are unaccounted for. T-that's it!" Unaccounted for? Did this mean they had runaway slaves? Or were they out working? Meko thought for a second before continuing the interrogation. <"What did you mean by unaccounted for? Huh?"> Not even a second passed after he asked his question, a scream and a loud thud came from the room across the hall. The same room the surrendered slaver had told the squad the slavers were in. He threw the man on the ground, but not before leaving a final warning. Sorrin grabbed his rifle with one hand and aimed straight for the Pantoran. <"Move from that exact position, and you'll be dead before you take even one step outside of this building."> He understood the message pretty well, as he didn't move a muscle.

Sorrin stuck his finger into the air and made a circular motion, signaling the squad to group upon his position. The altercation was loud enough for them each to hear, so a quick briefing wasn't needed. They moved towards the doorway, and as they got closer the shouting was getting audibly louder. An argument, most likely between a slave and a slaver. What disgusting creatures slavers are. The stack formed on the door quickly, and soon enough they were ready to breach. Meko as point man had received the signal to breach, so he moved off of the wall stepped back, and placed a firm footprint on the door, making it fall over with a large crash.

​

 

[Gideon Saigo]

45th Assault-CF Volunteer Combat Group "Oathsworn"
C O M P N O R​

The Strossjaeger rats skittered into the warehouse they were breaching under the treacherous fire of the Oathsworn. Even when they disappeared from sight inside the 45th did not cease fire until a more rational and less bloodthirsty officer call it off.

"Ordnance, ordnance!"

"Right away, Sir."

"On it."

"Where the hell is it, Navir? We brought some didn't we?"

"How the hell do you always mess up-- you had only one job!"

"By the Imperator's will, I will give you a taste of boot."

"Yes, sir!"

"Hurry the hell up."

Grunger shook his head as he listened to the communication channels. How had they passed the recruitment process?

By now they would've blown the whole warehouse to dust, but Navir's negligence gave the entrenched Strossjaeger a chance to regroup. A small breathing window.

Rexus Wenck​

 

[Jaeger Harrsk]

C O M P N O R
Irveric Tavlar | COMPNOR | Moff Council​

Refugee crisis. A tricky situation.

Jaeger was no expert in economy holistically, only when it came to budgeting military operations and logistics. Certainly the most capable in this would be the provincial governors - it was after all part of their jobs.

What Harrsk could provide a professional input for was from the perspective of state security.

"The flooding at the gates has brought an unbearable burden on our efforts of border security, especially with our war consuming most of our resources. Yet, the good news is it was far worse when we were merely an insurgency." he pointed out. The pursuit of silver linings. "Diverting resources for the border is risky, given our war, but the opportunity for Sith infiltrators is not low at all. I have received reports of at least two dozen suspected agents being apprehended, half of them confirmed to be Sith-Imperial operatives." Harrsk did not reveal their fates. It recently came to his awareness that the ISB was lauding the 'artists' they had recruited as torturers and interrogators. "From a publicity perspective, we may push forward an information campaign promoting our 'heroic' efforts with welcoming refugees escaping "Sith massacres, genocides and wanton destruction". The risk there is our current citizenry's perception of a more open border policy. Do not forget many of those who initially fled to the New Order have past grudges with those that remained - we need to be careful not to increase the chance of disorder within."

​

 

[Robogeber]

Objective: II, The Lungs
Location: Ravelin, Fortress Imperator
Associated Members: Jaeger Harrsk | Irveric Tavlar

Carlyle Rausgeber sat silent during the Sovereign Imperator’s remarks. He of course had been briefed on the purpose of this meeting, and had come armed with solutions and a case of his own. From his allotted position at the table, the ex-First Order officer looked over the assembled politicos and functionaries of the New Imperial Order with a polite, if not cold glare from two piercing blue eyes. Assessing them. What they were like, their body language and seeing if any of them measured up to their dossiers when in the flesh.

The Grand Admiral had a party of two with him. Lieutenant Colonel Reiza Bar’udi, chief of the Prefsbelt Office of Labour, and her undersecretary Major Gaston Hume. All three sat silently during their leader's address, and paused. Waiting for any interjection before they prosecuted their own, as was decorum. This wasn’t Carlyles first rodeo. The whole assembled group of both military and civilian leadership had a familiar feeling to it, much like the old briefings in Dosuunian bunkers of the First Order. Except finally, much to Rausgeber’s relief, there were less political figures like Natasi Fortan, and more military men such as Irveric Tavlar in charge.

Satisfied he wouldn’t intrude on anyone after COMPNOR representative Harssk’s briefing finished, Rausgeber began. “I find myself in furious agreement with Imperator Tavlar.” The Grand Admiral began, his greying hair glistening in the low light of the conference room, “As it sits, the war and tactics of the Sith have deprived us of a viable workforce. I as such support a motion to allow for a time, an open border policy, with amnesty provided for those who were forced to vacate from our recently acquired holdings. With of course, some provisos.”

The Grand Admiral turned his attention to Jager Harrsk, “I agree with your assessment that there is a potential for discord amongst the civilian populace. But such friction has, in my experience, always existed to a degree in the realm of nation building. It is an unfortunate reality for how we govern.” Rausgeber mused, drawing upon his own experiences. “If anything, I believe that while the initial border checks are critical to rooting out future resistance, it will be the home front where such discontent must be countered.” Rausgeber posited, “What we face in this part of the Galaxy is an unprecedented refugee crisis, which if we play our cards right is an opportunity unlike any other. We must focus our efforts as Commissioner Harrsk suggests, to build cohesion and dismantle competitive friction.”

“But on the question as to processing, I do not believe the borders with the Sith are the place for that. Strategically speaking, immigration controls should be provided in orbit above worlds, rather than at the border where our vessels should be patrolling for the Sith Armada, rather than playing bureaucrat.” The Grand Admiral proposed, eyeing Harssk across the table, and then turning to face Tavlar. “Our intelligence and screening should be concentrated on our domain and home territories. It is of course these systems which in the long term, will be where these vessels will make berth. We should design and manufacture defensive stations in orbit, to house and allow our friends,” An outstretched arm gestured to Harrsk, "To perform the invaluable work they do."

The Grand Admiral then paused and looked to Major Hume, “But for those colleagues not convinced this policy of open borders is suitable, I have something for you." Carlyle stood as he addressed the regional governors and moffs. He placed a hand on the shoulder of Colonel Bar'udi. "The Prefsbelt Office of Labour has provided modelling for us all today to examine the economic benefits of opening our borders.” Rausgeber gave a nod, and Hume stood, producing a briefcase, and then opened it. Inside were dossiers, bound in dewback leather were identical copies of the same report. Typed and provided by the former First Order exiles. Major Hume went around the table and provided the assembled mix of bureaucrats and military commanders their own briefs, “You’ll find everything I am about to say, sourced and our reasoning and statistical working housed within these covers.” Carlyle explained, “But it is simple enough to say that increasing our immigration take at this time is a net positive for productivity, even if the effects are not initially felt.”

“Logistically speaking, there are some concerns, regarding immediate questions to housing, which we of course have factored.” The old officer conceded, “However, it is our estimation, and to use Prefsbelt IV as an example, that if we were to even undertake a moderate population influx of say, point six, to point nine percent, industrial output after three months is anticipated to triple.” The Grand Admiral announced with a wry smirk, “And given our political fortunes with hostile entities to the south, and potential enemies to the east,” The Galactic Alliance, ever on his mind, “We need a war machine to give us weapons to win.”

 

[Lucien Dooku]

THE NEXT SCREEN
Irveric Tavlar Jaeger Harrsk Robogeber

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With the fall of Bastion, opportunity for those who entered the citizenry of the Empire would only continue to grow. Refugees fleeing from the chaos of Sith space was not a rarity for the Warlord of Nirauan. The former capitol of the New Imperial Order had seen the brunt of the Empire's immigration, leading into their infamous Braxant Run assault. Dissidents within the Zambrano Empire were still aplenty despite the Sith's claims that their indoctrination methods were somehow still effective.

Lucien would've believed it, had it not seen the refugees lined up himself.

Hatred of the Sith-Imperial creed was rampant among the newcomers to the world. They flooded into Order space in search of an outlet from the oppressive rule of their decadent Sith masters. Sitting on top of their corrupted thrones, the common citizenry were nothing more than disposable peons in the eyes of those who ruled through the authority of the Sith. Some would even flee from the far eastern reaches of Sith space, fleeing the uncertain faint which awaited them from either the Bryn'adul and the Sith themselves.

He'd seen with his own eyes the way the Zambrano's pawns had treated refugees and the displaced.

Enslavement or death. Sometimes both.

It was a fate that he pitied, for those who were not strong enough to stand for themselves. Sometimes people just needed a push- like he did, over the Pabol Hutta. Other times, it boiled down to being too weak to stand up against the fates themselves. The strong protecting the weak was the narrative that his advisor would advise him to take, even if the outcome was for his peers to once more assume that the Warlord of Nirauan was being his altruistic self. Truth be told, his ambitions ran deeper than mere altruism.

Raising from his seat, Luc would address his peers after his ideological rival Jaeger Harrsk and the Warlord of Prefsbelt Command spoke up. "Nirauan has maintained a short, but consistent tradition of accepting refugees fleeing from Sith-Imperial space and beyond." He began, arms crossed against his chest casually, offsetting the authority that now filled his tone.

He was no longer the faux Warlord of Nirauan.

"I plan on continuing this tradition, especially with our neverending war with the Zambrano Empire continuing into the near future. The people within their crumbling Empire will need a home- somewhere that will guarantee them the peace, freedom and justice they were previously denied beneath the Sith."

A smirk followed.

"Nirauan shall be that bastion- the lighthouse which they can see, even from the darkness of their unfortunate lives."
​

​

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Fortress Imperator
Objective: Lungs
Tags: Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Lucien Dooku | Robogeber


Politics.

What a bore.

He tried to keep a straight, neutral face at his chair in this meeting although he was certain his unenthusiastic demeaned bled in with face. Still his position as Commissioner of the Coalition for Progress demanded that he attended these meetings, giving reports and discussing other matter with the Imperator and other members that gained clearance to attend at the table. Today’s topic: refugees. Reports came in about a flood of refugees and other foreigners seeking sanctuary in the domain of the Order, wanting a better life as they say. Djorn easily identified the pros and cons when integrating a new population in the ranks of the existing one. He’d seen it when he was an agent for the Sith Empire, and he was sure to see it again.

Although in this case, he felt that the cons outweighed the pros due to their unresolved conflict with the Sith. Easily enough some spy can disguise themselves as a refugee and embed themselves as a citizen with ambitions to gain some sort of political or military power for saboteur purposes. Or they would open the gates to terrorists and plant their seeds in the homes of the Imperials, resulting in a war on terror domestically.

“You seem to be an optimist, Warlord Dooku,” as opposed to Djorn being a realist, a fine balance of optimism and pessimism. “These traditions of yours seem...to lack perspective. Almost like the words of a Jedi,” not saying Lucien was anything near that; however, there was some similarities in his words and the values of a Jedi.

And what did COMPNOR pursued for?

Iconoclasm
​

“I’m sure most of these refugees are nothing short of harmless sheep following the graze of grass, yet we cannot allow ourselves to be exploited by those that can blindside us. I agree with the Admiral and the Imperator, these refugees could help us in improving our our economy, and give them employment in manufacturing and rebuilding sectors scorched by the war. It is also, in my opinion, important we don’t have these refugees nearby established settlements until proven otherwise.”

“I’m sure thousands of children are among these refugees, I suggest the education branch focus on these adolescents. Assimilate them with the others, indoctrinate them for the next generations of citizens in the Order. Out of this we can make a campaign as Commissioner Harrsk mentioned.”

 

[Kolson Vrask]

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

This one was a stud. Competent. He hadn't been impressed with any of his unit since Bastion. Since they were all put low. Burnt to a smoldering crisp at the hands of Lily Kuhn in a blistering inferno. It was about time he saw someone with a head above their shoulders, with an initiative for leadership. Had Berik not been fixated on controlling the flow of the unit himself, he would've set himself aside more. But this was an ideal venue to prove. The circumstances were real as were the consequences, the blasters, the stakes. But in the grandest scheme. It meant nothing.

Few dead slavers, few dead slaves on dustball in the middle of fuck all? No Holonet tabloid, propaganda operative or foreign power would truly care. It made Berik loosen himself up a little bit, though even if the stakes were nothing at all, superheated tibanna still ripped through flesh and bone. He could fall and die as easily as his boys at the doorstep of the Sith Emperor.

While Meko was able to reel in anything and everything about the slaving operation, Berik was far more interested on the surrounding context of Sith. Not like much else was ever on the mind of a New Imperial operative.

<"Sorrin. Continue the sweep, clear the building...I gotta ask this slime something."> He said, motioning a flat hand to the man before he crouched down to meet the collapsed man on even sight.

<"You smoke?"> He said, pulling a cannister of cigara from his plate carrier, flipping it open to ignite it before offering it up to the man.

<"Got one more question...off the record."> He stated, not as if the Pantoran had any option but to oblige.

"Wh-what do you want Imp?" The Pantoran said, taking a reluctant draw from the cigara.

<"Information. I couldn't give a fuck about the slaves...more curious about what you know...about Qo'krataa, the Sith. I'd heard word they were running an op on Er'kit. You know anything?">

The Pantoran drew another puff of smoke from his cigara before speaking up once more.

"One of our main buyers...they're here, yeah. Supposedly getting fodder for some...attack they wanna do."

<"On Imp assets?"> He stuck with the lingo, made the Pantoran feel more at home, ease his guard a bit.

"That was my impression, yeah. Wouldn't doubt it I guess. Maybe...even against someone else. I don't know."

<"Where are they here?">

"I don't know- some...they have a temporary hold out, in the main spaceport, last I heard they were running our product to Ithor."

<"Ithor?">

"That's what I heard from- one of em...I don't know. That's all I know about any of this." And that was about as useful as the slaver was going to get.

<"It's a lead for sure. 'Unfortunately', 'big Irv' and the boys at IMPCOM declared any slavers who didn't surrender the details and assets of their operation within the first fourty eight hours of our approach to this sector as a hostile entity."> The clasp of leather sounded as he pulled his blaster pistol.

<"Can't fault a man for doing his job."> The dirty work. The crack of a blaster was the last the slaver ever heard. He holstered the pistol again to assess the progress of Vandal.

 

[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

It was a problem with a difficult answer. He would be lying if he said he wasn't suprised that the once Grand Admiral Rausgeber had spoken with an angle of support to allowing more of these displaced peoples in, as Lucien abided by the sentiment all the same and the COMPNOR reigned in with skepticism. Somewhere in the middle, the Imperator ruled. Thus, he would have to guide these muddy waters of sovereign security and malaise morality.

"So then the balance must be struck of the needs of domestic economic labor needs and the very security of our Order and the risk of mass subversion. These people are coming from worlds under indoctrination, be it the Silver Jedi Concord or Sith Empire. Both of which flooded with propaganda of their Jedi saviors and Sith rulers, clearly they failed them." Tavlar remarks.

"We must allow them through...the Braxant is on fire and while this war carries on, we need manpower to snuff the flames. To re-energize worlds like Entralla, Muunilinst, Dubrillion and Bastion. Of course...if both Prefsbelt and Nirauan are able to accomodate and find renewed purpose for these people, so be it. " The Imperator suggests.

"What I will not allow, is subversive elements. Proper vetting processes need to be established by COMPNOR as too must the checkpoints that Rausgeber refer to must be implemented and put into use. If Prefsbelt's estimates are correct, the dividents paid due to our industrial capacity are worthwhile enough to stomach the risks taken in allowing them to begin with. But so then do we leave it to the provincial governors if and how many they should take or shall COMPNOR take matters into its own hands and distribute them where they would be most useful." Tavlar continues.

 

[Halketh]

C O M E _ D R I N K _ T H E _ W A T E R
The Vulture

Lungs
[ x ]
Tags | [ Below ]

A shadow in his seat and in the room much like he typically was during these discussions, Lord Halketh idled with the telekinetic toss of his electrum spheres back and forth between his gloved hands. He listened to each speaker in turn, humming softly with his head back against the rear of his chair, and his masked visage offered towards the ceiling. He very much resembled a bored, impatient child in that regard. These Imperials were absolutely shameless in their lack of consideration for humanity, and given the Warlord of Carlac's affinity for the dead and damned, that was a rather cutting assessment. He considered, for a moment, the storied past of those who came to his homeworld and the others of his people, seeking to 'save' them and 'indoctrinate' them, just as Djorn had mentioned. Had he eyes in his skull, no doubt they would have become very, very well acquainted with the back of his head to many of the comments passed in this assembly.​

Security was always a valid concern, and one Halketh held in high priority for his own span of governance over a rapidly growing world, yet he would not allow it to narrow his perception of the greater situation at hand. Thousands of people were desperate for security and safety in a time when it seemed, to them, the entire galaxy was on fire and their entire livelihoods had been destroyed. Children. Men. Women. Sick. Elderly. Wise. Foolish. Ambitious. It mattered not, how one sought to categorize these things or divide them into sections and branches.​

People were people.​

Not instruments.​

Not tools.​

People.​

Dehumanizing them may have justified the discussion for those present, but The Vulture ironically found value in the precise foil. Once more, he stood with Lord Dooku. This conclusion was ultimately unsurprising to him and once he had gathered enough of his own opinion and properly arranged his thoughts, his head slowly swiveled down from its roost and faced those at the table. "Did I really just hear you-" he angled his shrouded visage towards Djorn Bline , "-slight The Jedi Order and then suggest we indoctrinate young ones in the same sentence?" He remarked, suspending the orbit of the electrum spheres between his hand to unnatural stillness. "I understand security is a priority, but we must remember that these are people in a situation not unlike many of us were once upon a time. And we found safety and security in The New Imperial Order. By its founding-" His hooded head swiveled towards Irveric Tavlar in passing, "-by its sword and shield-" that unseen gaze passed to Jaeger Harrsk , "-and by its diplomacy." At last, he fixed his head in Lucien Dooku 's direction. "We are a faction willing to wage war for the sake of liberation, yet we sit here and discuss doing the very same to these people as was done to many of us? Nonsense, that is. I propose we divide these refugees and assign them to the many worlds The Imperator has suggested. It is important to rebuild those worlds, and with them being as they are, opportunity is plentiful."​

He took a moment to pause, wetting his lips. Once more, the electrum spheres set to orbit- with one revolving around each of his hands.​

"We must not forget that we are to hold ourselves accountable for our part in the destruction of their livelihoods. We must not demonstrate reckless warmongering. We have everything to prove to these refugees right now; we are not strictly a blood-lusting war machine. We are a people they want to be part of. We are a people they can be proud of. Grant these refugees the solace they desperately need. Give them succor. Grant them sanctuary and foster an environment of growth and encouragement. Give these people a reason to be loyal and to want us to succeed, sow loyalty amongst them by kindness now, and they will return the favor tenfold when they are able- including rooting out the dissidents of their own. Think about it-" he shifted forward in his seat, resting his elbows against the edge of the table and threading his hands together, "-if you were in their position, nothing of familiarity but the clothes on your back and perhaps family, and the very strength you sought to aid you extended you a means to improve your situation and granted you support, would you so easily see that threatened? Would you so easily allow someone else to threaten the fabric of your improved situation? I doubt it. These people are tired. They are sick. And most of all, they are scared. We have the chance now, gentlemen, to nurture all of them into prideful citizens."​

Another brief pause gave Halketh enough time to clear his throat.​

"COMPNOR can propagate it how you will, in the long run, turn it into a P.R campaign for all I give a damn, but do not allow a few insidious people within a mass of refugees to narrow your vision so sharply."​

With his long-winded spiel concluded, The Vulture resigned himself back into his chair.​

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Fortress Imperator
Objective: Lungs
Tags: Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Lucien Dooku | Halketh | Robogeber

The stench of the Force at this table reeked his nostrils. How could Irveric allow superficial forces at this table? That was something beyond his mind. For decades...no, centuries, politics has always revolved around many factors and the Force was one of them. Already Force Users had an advantage over the average being, even when untrained. Why allow these individuals more power? They proclaim that they serve, yet they wish to dictate.

"The Jedi take children and force down their false ideologies down their throat, Halketh. They teach them how to be a group of insurgents. We only show them how to be responsible and honest citizens for a better nation, and for a better Galaxy." Once upon a time, Djorn once fantasized and carried behavior traits that belonged to a Rebel or some sort of lawless space. It was when he was exposed to Er'Kit, as a child, did he understand the dangers and damages these behaviors could unleash. It made him realize how much he took for granted the order and security an Imperial government provided to its citizens. People still had their own opinions, yes, but ultimately they put aside for what was the greater good.

"We will, eventually, accept them and call them 'comrades', but they must prove it, Halketh. What you're suggesting is we, from what I understand, just let them waltz around and not give them the slightest doubt. Criminals indulge on the understanding of society, not saying these refugees are, but we do not know them. They come from different backgrounds. We cannot allow them free reign without strictly monitoring them. It's for the good of the Order," his ocean blue eyes challenged the hooded sorcerer. Djorn understood deceit more than anyone here at this table - it's what his occupation was. Dooku and Halketh seemed to have their emotions cloud their rationality.

"Like I said, place these refugees in housing away from established populations," he then looked at Tavlar with his suggestion.

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Location: Inside of 'Troys', Er'Kit Streets
Objective: Survive the Ambush
Enemies: Gideon Saigo


"How are we gonna play this one out sir?" One of the Stossjaeger anxiously inquired. Rexus didn't answer, he was recalibrating his powered armour, trying to get the melodic, electric hum of his personal shield generator back up and running. The sound of blaster fire richocheted through the warehouse of contraband, as the Stossjaeger took cover.

"We take the fight to 'em." Twigg snarled at the soldier, as the far larger and foreboding. "Ain't that right boss?"

Rexus only slightly looked up from where he'd slumped himself behind the crates. "'Course we will." Rexus drawled, picking himself up. The generator was now back and humming. "Alright ladies and lads, here's the rub." Rexus announced with a roar, "Me and Remus will run a distraction play." Rexus barked, "When we've punctured through the line, follow. And wipe these bastards from the face of existence."

Rexus' eyes darted up to the gargantuan Twigg. Although he could not see the other mans face, he knew there was a grin plastered across his features. "After you guv." Twigg teased. Rexus sighed. Typical. The Death Trooper crept toward the entrance to 'Troys' and looked across the alley. Enemy hadn't gone anywhere. Looked pretty damn entrenched.

"A'ight." Rexus mused, "Spring us some covering fire for when we get close. We're gonna have these fellas all over us." Wenck paused, "On three." He leaned forward, "One." Both tensed themselves. "Two." The grips on their rifles tightened. "Three." Out the gate, both men charged forward and out into the open. The ground, physically shook beneath their feet, and the sky trembled when Twigg let out a horrendous roar that could deafen a rancor. The two men's dash was made with remarkable speed, and their momentum carried them across the street, where they physically demolished the walls of the first building the COMPNOR soldiers had been hunkered down in.

"Eat shit and die you bastards!"