The Rout of Skor II

[Progflaw99]

With a shudder the whole vessel had shaken, Sieger had been thrown from his feet, the battle had progressed poorly from there. It had been one complication after another. The arrival of the almost literal sea of Purrgil and the massive battlefleet the Coalition had assembled had been anything but planned for. *They didn't get out unbloodied.* It was the only consolation Sieger felt in all of it. The only satisfaction, everything else had gone all sorts of upside down. The Concordia had paid the price for their missteps.

Unabashed rage filled Sieger as he stood upon the bridge of the Wrath, overpowering, all consuming. His measured joy at seeing Natasi safely aboard was brushed aside as he felt the irresistible call of the Force. They had toiled on for only a short time before the words of retreat had been uttered, the Fleet redirected along an escape vector designed for what Sieger believed to be an impossible feat. *Not so impossible - was it.* The quiet voice in the back of his mind drove him to deeper depths of anger - almost palpable as his feet clicked across the polished deck as he paced.

"Get out." he said gently at first, little more than a whisper. Too quiet amidst the flurry of the crew responding to damage control requests, alarms, and coordination of the fleet's withdrawal. "Get. Out." he said again, louder. An officer looked up from his console briefly. *Is that really what the Supreme Leader had said?* The officer didn't have time to think about it - with an overwhelming surge of raw Dark Side power Sieger shouted, the displeasure in his voice audible for all to hear. "GET. OUT. NOW. All of you!"

​

There was no hesitation in his voice, his gaze searing what would feel like literal holes through each officer that made the mistake of not moving now. A twitch had begun to develop in Sieger's hand, his fingers closing in a fist till his knuckles turned white. *This could not be happening.* And yet there it was. There would be no defying Sieger's orders, any brazen enough to do so would find themselves compelled to obey by a power not of their own. Even as the last officer departed to a secondary bridge, Sieger's facade evaporated as a heavy fist fell upon the nearest console to the man... the creature. Strength unknown to his human form lashed out in rage, a fist atop a console, an open hand tearing apart the electronics behind the panel, scratches torn in the floor.

Showers of sparks erupted from several of the screens, the deck groaning under an invisible pressure as the unmasked Sieger Ren struggled to control the sheer power of the Dark Side welling both in and around him. A guttural roar echoed in the cavernous space as the First Order fleet jumped to hyperspace. They had been routed today - for that Sieger would make them pay.

​

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Time had passed sufficient enough for Sieger to rein in his inhibitions, his tendency towards anger. The immediate flash of anger that had driven him to the brink of madness had subsided but now it festered, driving deeper and deeper into his very being. They had been pushed back by what intelligence had suggested were a weak and scattered people, outlaws and ruffians. The First Order war machine had been met force for force in an unexpected and unprecedented withdrawal of the fleet. At least, they were calling it a withdrawal - Sieger called it what it was: A rout. Complete and unequivocally.

The marred bridge had been seen to privately, the logs and recordings mysteriously corrupted from the point the last officer left until they had arrived and Sieger had been escorted from the vessel by his own Praetorians. What had happened was anybody's guess but the rumor was, whatever Sieger had done once left alone had been some of the worst damage save the Concordia a First Order vessel had seen. Almost animalistic, one tech even claimed to have seen claw markings that had torn straight through the durasteel of a console.

The rumors didn't matter. The withdrawal didn't matter. This was a personal affront to the Supreme Leader and the First Order. Twice he'd commanded his forces to seize the world of scrap and dung, and twice they had been repelled by a supposed inferior force. Sieger's anger had been stemmed momentarily but there was yet a tumultuous storm brewing deep within his chest. *We must re-evaluate our strategy if we are to succeed. We must not allow this to go unanswered - but first, there are other things to attend to.*

In a matter of minutes, Praetorian Guards gathered, Sieger had called for a meeting of the highest of the First Order's command. Grand Admirals. Grand Moff. His inner circle. There was much explanation he required and retribution to plot.

[member="Cyrus Tregessar"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Kou'ha Escala"] | [member="Robogeber"]
@The First Order​

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OOC:
Utilize this thread to track intel, do damage control on your fleets, further expound on the withdrawal of the First Order from the Skor II system. According to the data, this was a rout - further actions in the Skor II system should not be made/taken in this thread, this is merely a method with which to resolve the results of the Invasion. Thanks!​

 

[Aram Kalast]

_________________________________________________________​

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Aram KALAST​

Once Supreme Commander and now Prisoner of the First Order​

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Prisoners of the First Order rarely got to speak about their times behind the locked doors and faceless guards. If they could they would tell you of rigorous scheduling, all kept tight within by-the-clock ritual. Wake, eat, work, eat, sleep, and repeat. The life of a prisoner was to give back for the sins of the past, and within the First Order that would mean doing hard manual work, throwing oneself against impossible tasks with out remorse to prove that you, someone who had been caught and trialled were capable of rehabilitation. Sadly it was not a life most escaped from.

For Aram Kalast however this life had not been the one he was to settle within. He was a special kind of prisoner, one that saw him placed within a singular and unshared cell within the bowels of a ship that had for all accounts and purposes been headed towards the very heart of the First Order, or at least it should have had it not been for the divert towards Skor. Not that Aram would have known, he had suspected something when the engine tones gave away key changes in thrust and the small rumbles that came with turbo-fire passing even through his cell, but he had refused to ask what was happening, even when, like clockwork his meal arrived at the hands of a black-clad officer he remained silent. He would talk when he needed to and unless their was somebody of importance before him, he didn’t need to.

No for now he was a prisoner of a political means. Kept quiet and secretive from the majority of the Order. For now Aram was merely a shadow.

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“Your being moved.” The officer stated as he entered the cell.
Aram gave him a questioning look, but stood just the same. There was no point fighting, not that he would want to. “Odd, I suppose it has something to do with the retreat.”
The officer remained stoic, “What retreat? You’re making up stories again. Sir.” So they were hiding it, clearly Aram wasn’t deemed important enough to fully understand the situation but one does not become a seated founder of a military junta without understanding the processes a ship would undertake when leaving a system against its own will.
“Of course. Will I be taking the presidential suite then?” He held out his hands to allow a pair of stun-cuffs to be applied over them.
“Something like that.” There was a slight smirk to the officer, which remained until he led Aram outside of the cell door to his awaiting escort.
The red armour of the Praetorian was a far-shot from the white of the Stormtroopers that flanked it. A faceless helmet gave the once Supreme Leader a solid measure before it turned and led the group away, towards a turbo-lift.

The room that they emerged upon was like a wave of nostalgia for Aram, the soft beeps and twinkling of lights that indicated the calm and controlling nature of First Order life. Yet it wasn’t this emotional return to what he had helped create that caught his attention the most, no it was the man stood within it. The one person whom for many years was Aram’s only superior within the entire galaxy, the one who all that time ago had sat with Aram and watched as the tendrils of Imperialist want merged to form their vision. His brother in many ways.

“I fear to even comprehend the situation if you’ve become desperate enough for my help.” He would announce. Naturally this could very well just be the formal removal of Aram’s head, Sieger had never really been known for his patience or forgiveness. There would be no need to explain himself further, the Supreme Leader would already known everything he would need from Aram. He would have known the moment that Aram left First Order space, which the once Supreme Leader hoped was the reason he was at least stood here and not already dead in some ditch.

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Cyrus Tregessar"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Kou'ha Escala"]
@The First Order

 

[Kou'ha Escala]

Captain
Equipment | Uniform & Code Cylinder
Location | Conference Room, Imperial Palace, Avalonia, Dosuun
Meeting | [member="Sieger Ren"], [member="Natasi Fortan"], [member="Cyrus Tregessar"], [member="Robogeber"], [member="Aram Kalast"], First Order
Status | Simmering

[SIZE=11pt]He was the first to arrive.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]After several days and countlesshours of answering questions and verifying his statements over and over, Kou’ha Escala felt worn and weary. After the events that has necessitated their withdrawal from the system, the Captain had found himself moving from conducting fleet assessment and debriefings with the survivors of Battleground Nebula and filling in various reports, to sitting through countless meetings and interviews. But still, he forged on, the embers of his fury giving him purpose and strength.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Where he would usually slow down his steps and admire the graceful architecture that was prevalent throughout the Imperial Palace, the Epicanthix stalked down the vast hallways. As always, he was dressed immaculately in his uniform, the heels of his boots striking sharply against polished floors. While the usually courteous Captain would wear a pleasant smile and a cordial greeting for his colleagues, today he wore a solemn expression on his features as he entered the grand conference room.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]His gaze took in the imposing space, the red and black banner of the First Order proudly interspersed in between the grand columns that lined the walls of the vast room. Once again, his heart was filled with the bitterness of defeat and vehemence born from helplessness. His grasp tightened minutely around the datapad he carried with him as he took a seat further back and prepared himself for the wait.[/SIZE]

 

[Cyrus Tregessar]

For the fourth time that day alone, the Operations Chief of the First Order Navy found himself in an EVA vacsuit in the middle of space, drifting noiselessly, listening to the endless technical analysis of all that was wrong with the mightiest ship in the galaxy, and musing about just how everything had ended up quite this way. He hadn't actually needed to suit up and listen to the Port Engineer in person of course, but the isolation of vacuum gave him time to think, away from any other distractions, and to try and recall just what had happened in the moments between the impact and annihilation of the creature, and when he had given the order to regroup and withdraw.

"-the new problem is micro-fractures in the hull plating, clear through the Turadium. We've identified them extending clearly in a kilometer radius around the main impact site. We don't have enough replacements in stock here, and anything pulled from other depots will affect construction of other vessels, most of our newer ships use them, and they aren't cheap."

Cyrus gave an exaggerated shrug, the sort of sweeping gesture he had grown accustomed to making on the bridge of a ship or behind a desk. In zero-g that mean he started rotating under the force of his own movement, which was probably slightly amusing to the port engineer and evidence of Cyrus' fading experience operating in vacuum. It lasted only a moment before the suit auto-corrected and rotated back to a plane perpendicular with the Wrath, suspended a kilometer in front of him in drydock.

"Make it so, Commander. This ship has the highest priority for repairs in the fleet, as of now."

The other man nodded by raising a fist and bobbing it like a head, evidence that he was well practiced at moving in zero-g, then with a slight pulse of his suits maneuvering jets moved off towards a cluster of workers and small construction mechs, leaving Cyrus alone except for a pair of Helldivers who drifted nearby with impeccable forced indifference. He glanced at the hulking form of the Wrath once more, then flashed a light with no hand movement this time at each of the helldivers to let them know he was headed back in.

As they drifted through space, he played the scene back in his head again. The impact, getting thrown from the chair, calling medical teams, initial damage assessment and then... Then he was in a different control room giving orders. Doctors had reported no concussion, but there remained a gap of time he couldn't recall. It hadn't particularly mattered, though. The Concordia was crippled. Three star destroyers and a battlecruiser were destroyed, half a dozen others seriously damaged or crippled. Half a hundred frigates and other escorts, thousands of strike craft, Twenty thousand personnel casualties on the Wrath alone.

On a tactical level they had all but leveled the palace, according the last report, had knocked out the planetary shield generator, and slaughtered what was presumably several generations worth of void-faring whales and their ilk, all alongside significant material losses to the Alliance-in-Exile and ORC navies. Strategically they had achieved one major objective, which was to reveal that the ORC was far more organized and capable than it presented itself, and perfectly able to muster up a proper armada if the need came.

There had been nothing else to gain. So he'd made the call, reorganized the fleet, retrieved the damaged and crippled vessels, and withdrawn. It had been a harried fighting retreat at first, both sides lashing at each, before the ORC had eventually backed off and let them go outside of interdiction range.

Not for the first time he reconsidered the events as they had played out, and not for the first time he stood by the decision. A message ping flashed in his HUD as the airlock cycled, the summons of the Supreme Leader himself, calling to account. Time to prove the depth of his conviction.

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Aram Kalast"] | [member="Kou'ha Escala"]

 

[Karl Von Strauss]

The FIV Anastasia had taken minimal damage throughout the fight at Skor II, so it was easily repaired, "minor" dings from hypervelocity cannons fired from afar. The FIV Belle received almost no damage at all. It was the FIV White that had taken the brunt of the attack and was heavily damaged when the hypermatter reactor exploded from the old star destroyer, Jacquelle. Once it started to pin wheel, it was all over for it, its shields were down so much that, the damn lead freighter, S.S. Gossamer, got boarding droids into it. The captain of the vessel had lost most of his troops when the shrapnel from the Jacquelle met the bow of his ship, so he was unable to successfully defend his ship. His last action as Captain of the FIV White was scuttling the ship as the rest of us fled from the system. He had lost many good men and many corvettes. He had spent most of the morning writing to the families of all those who had perished in that attack on Skor II. He always wrote their own mourning letters, it was somewhat a coping mechanism for him, he had never witnessed so many death first hand, so this particular mechanism was newly discovered. While he was writing on his holopad, he heard a slight 'ding' from the holocomputer on his desk. I the corner he read something that he never thought he would every had to read.

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He was summoned by the Supreme Leader himself. As he left his office on the FIV Anastasia, he threw his officers jacket, which he had ironed earlier that day, over his head and put his arms through it. He grabbed his hat off of the rack as he left. Karl's boots clicked on the finely polished floors of the hallways leading to the designated meeting area. He walked with a holopad, he was tampering with the design of a variation on the Imperial-X II's that he had been working on. Once repair on the fleet were fully done he had hoped to give it to the Order's own shipwrights to put into a minor production for standard fleet use. He was going through his thoughts about developing the ship, until he came upon a though that plastered over everything he was thinking. I betrayed a direct order from Grand Admiral Rausgeber. Either this meeting will be my last or he'll have given me the benefit of the doubt during that battle. He was stopped in the middle hallway, looking ahead he could see the doors leading directly to the meeting room. He now had some sweat upon his brow, but quickly wiped it off. He believed he had done right by the First Order and continued walking. His face now showed the bitterness, an emotion that he was pushing down until that very moment. He walked up to the doors and swung one of them open.

As he walked into the grand meeting room he looked up at the large crimson red and black banner that bore the crest of the First Order. While walking he saw someone he most definitely knew, Captain Escala, a well known acquaintance of Karl's by now. He could see in his form that he was quite tense, most likely caused by the entire Skor II situation. He lowered his holopad and stopped walking near captain Escala. He clicked his heels and went into full attention. He now waited for the meeting to start.

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Aram Kalast"] | [member="Kou'ha Escala"]​