Dominion The Troska Treaty Affair [NIO Dom of Troska]

[Imperial Warlord Zovesa]

---

​

---

---

SITUATIONAL BACKGROUND:​

---

During the time of the First Galactic Empire, Troska was an Imperial backwater outpost begrudgingly governed on behalf of the Empire by the Kyber Royal Family. It’s main export was fuel from its Refineries. Since the many generations after, the political landscape of Troska has ebbed and flowed between the factions that would wash over it. Now freed to go about the business of its own self-determination, polar forces have emerged which have spilt over into sectarian violence.​

The last of the Kyber Royal Family, Lady Irene Kyber, Countess of Troska had been in secret talks with the NIO for the addition of Troska as a Warlord Protectorate under her command in exchange for the protection of the NIO’s military. This Protectorate Treaty was scheduled to be signed over the world of Troska aboard the Sovereign Imperator’s ship, Epitaph II.​

However, her Minister of Trade, Leddrow Zeth, fearing his control over what was left of the Royal Family would be lost, has orchestrated a coup with the help of mercenary forces (and a hidden contingent of Sith Operatives).​

---

GENERAL MISSION AND OBJECTIVES:​

---

General Mission Statement: ​

Currently, Lady Irene is held under house arrest at the Kyber Palatial Offices, guarded by mercenary forces and Sith Knight Agents. The military presence is substantial and concentrated. NIO Military Command is wary of a full on assault, as the collateral damage and casualty count could be high due to neighboring residential areas and the unpredictable nature of the mercenary forces hired.​

However, there is a secondary issue. The planet is screened by a mercenary and pirate flotilla that has created a defensive blockade around the world. As such both obstacles need to be removed. This will be achieved through the two objectives below:​

---

​

---

Objective 1: Extract Lady Irene | Operation Watchtower​

This is a stealth mission to infiltrate the Kyber Palatial Offices and extract Lady Irene. This objective will require utmost finesse, skill, and tactical prowess, as it is key that NIO operatives reach Lady Irene before the mercenary forces are capable of mobilizing a response. The time window for this action is short, as NIO Navy and Military will be launching an attack on the blockade, with follow up boarding actions to disable the command of the naval blockade.​

---

​

---

Objective 2: Blockade Assault | Operation Bandit Wrangler​

Circling the planet is a vast pirate and mercenary flotilla. The blockade is made up of numerous ships. Although not concentrated with large battlecruisers, the danger is the many smaller, well equipped ships that could cause major damage to any armada force. Notable blockade ships detected were: Gozanti-class Cruisers, Neutron Star-class Bulk Cruiser, Modified Aramadia-Class Thrustships, Modified Marauder-Class Corvettes, and a singular command ship identified as a Hapan Battle Dragon Class.

---

NOTE: Of particular attention should be focused on the numerous Aramadia-Class Thrustships as they are designed to ram, latch, and infiltrate ships and are highly manoeuvrable with powerful uniform shields. Assaulting NIO Naval and Marine forces must eliminate these blockages and help the boarding assault on the Hapan Battle Dragon.

---

---

 

[Marlon Sularen]

Location | In Orbit of Troska [On Board of the Predator]
Objective | Blockade Assault | Operation Bandit Wrangler
Forces | Wraith Squadron | New Imperial Marine Commandos
Tags | N/A

---

---

Marlon Sularen's Task Force , Wraith Squadron jumped out of hyperspace in orbit of Troska to immediatly confront the Pirate/Mercenary Blockade. Having just returned from the Core Worlds , the New Imperial Captain was eager for action , already having begun supplying Cedric Grayson and his Essonian Partisans while also moving forth to launch a major strike at the N&Z Umbrella Corporation held Shipyards at Xa Fel through his Proxies and Allies. Things were somewhat progressing for Marlon Sularen who had slowly begun making his resurgence aiming to strike back to those who knocked him down.

At the Center of Wraith Squadron was the Predator , Marlon Sularen's Personal Flagship and now the Lead Ship of Wraith Squadron. With the presence of both the Predator and the first ever mobilized Glory-Class Battlecarrier , the Triumph , Wraith Squadron held some advantage over the enemy fleet in terms of Starfighter Capacity and Firepower , though the enemy fleet was more agile making it easier to avoid turbolaser fire from the Bigger Ships of Wraith Squadron.

From what he knew a sort of Political Crisis had developed on Troska when it's ruler intended to join the NIO as a Warlord Protectorate , however as expected some minister opposed this and essentially launched a coup and placed the Planet's Ruler under house arrest forcing a New Imperial Intervention with Wraith Squadron being the first New Imperial Naval Units to respond to the ongoing Crisis.

As the Fleet approached , Marlon stood on the bridge of his flagship as usual mostly waiting for the enemy to make the first move. To him it was always easier to combat your enemy by letting him make the first strike in order to be able to effectively counter it and deal a decisive blow on his forces. Offensive Forces was something that he didn't really endorse like Many Imperials , who would probably just jump in and open fire on the enemy fleet , but Marlon Sularen was different.

"Deploy a 3 Fighter Squadrons have them head towards the enemy fleet at attack speed and then turn them back once they get too close of the enemy fleet" ordered the Captain who intended to see how his enemy would react to this movement. Marlon was a cautious commander always making careful decisions as a means to not underestimate the enemy. This intervention on Troska would make perfect practice for his Fleet and newly formed New Imperial Marine Commandos in preparation for the upcoming Battle at Mygeeto.

 

[Tessa]

Objective: 2
Post: 1
Location: Aboard the NIV Arboghast

Everyone was busy suiting up in preparation for their turn on duty. Tessa stood, stark naked, in front of her locker, fresh from a shower with water dripping down her back from her long, brown hair. She grabbed her bodysuit out and pulled it on one foot at a time. It fit to her perfectly, and she actually liked how it felt against her skin. Whoever had designed it had done a good job of making sure they weren't just well protected, but that they were comfortable in being so. A comfortable soldier was better able to focus on their job. There was also the fact that she was a little vain, and the way she looked in a suit that fit perfectly to her body was gorgeous.

She'd just finished pulling on her chest armor when the Lieutenant came in. He was already dressed, but she wasn't the only one that wasn't fully in gear, so it wasn't a big deal.

"Alright, listen up," he said, walking into the center of the ready room. "We're starting our shift right as the navy enters into a combat zone. It's unlikely we'll see any action, but it is possible so we will maintain alert status. Let's go."

Tessa pulled her helmet on and snugged the fit into place, sealing herself off as the visor kicked in. From her locker she pulled a heavy blaster cannon, leaning it against her shoulder as she closed the door. Among her squad, she was the only one capable of carrying it. That was alright, though. They had their ranged guy, a demolitions guy, and then there was the sergeant, who primarily used pistols, but he was such an excellent shot it didn't seem to matter how far downrange they needed to shoot. They were a bit of an eclectic unit considering she was the shortest among them and carrying the biggest gun.

Having metal bones meant she had to be stronger, she told them. Besides, who was going to expect a short stormtrooper to carry such a big gun? It was kind of fun to be overwhelming like that. She smiled as she followed the others out. It was unexpected, but being a stormtrooper was actually quite fun. Maybe they'd even see some action.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

PREDATOR
Objective: 1 - Get Marlon Sularen a coffee
Allies: He's not sure yet.
Frenemies: Pretty much everyone.

How many of these field trips were the school counselors at the Imperial Force Corps going to send him on?

His first week no less... was he ever going to spend any time in an actual classroom? Was this even a real Imperial Academy? Just who was acrediting these Imperial Knights and their education program, anyway? Last time, it had been some celebrity chit on Coruscant with Chissy McDon't-Call-Me-Lady. Which wasn't her real name. Actually, Imperial Warlord Zovesa probably wasn't her real name either, for that matter. Didn't Chiss have those really complicated, long names? With bunches of apostrophes, for reasons?

And so, to further his knowledge and understanding of political science, or military science, or whatever kind of science this was... the young Atrisian cadet had been sent to fetch the captain a coffee.

A noble quest, embarked upon by so, so many squires before him. Not because the captain had asked for a coffee, but a lieutenant thought that the captain might want one, and so he'd said something about it to an ensign. The ensign had, in turn, taken it as direction. The ensign, then, ordered a chief to immediately secure a cup of coffee for the captain. The chief, of course, merely rolled his eyes and made his way back toward the Chief's Mess. However, en route, he told a petty officer to do something about the ensign. The petty officer, if we follow this chain of command exercise down far enough, had then decided that this was bathashit and, thus, a good learning opportunity for the Imperial page who was along for the ride at no choice of his own.

"I'm sorry, if you want to requisition a saucer, you'll need a form TPS-Nine-Delta."

Yes. You read that right. There was a form for that. In fact, if you wanted anything, it seemed like there was a form for that. "Isn't that what I just filled out?" the boy asked, almond-shaped eyes blinking as he stared blankly at the re-purposed bartender droid.

"No, no... a cup is a TPS-Nine-Alpha."

The cadet just blinked. Then put his head down into the palm of his hand. Pulling the fingers down along his face, the boy's chestnut eyes stared out from between his fingers as he said, "So... can I just fill out the form already?"

"I don't issue saucers. Just cups. You'll need to request your form TPS-Nine-Delta from the droid over there."

Not saucers. Just cups. A droid and a form for just issuing cups. "Oh... ooooookaayyyyyy..." the boy said, turning and looking over at where the droid was pointing, which was literally the next serving window over. Sliding down the counter to that window, the child began, "Can I..."

"Look at the sign, meatbag. We closed twelve nanoseconds ago. Come back later."

Did... that really just happen?

"-tt-" the boy uttered, a click of his tongue against the side of his mouth, as the droid reached up to close a steel shutter over the serving window.

Well, now what was he going to do?

Leaning up against the wall, the raven-haired youth looked up as the two droids began shuffling out from the scullery. Leaving the door open as they passed out into the hall. Slipping into the scullery before the door shut, the child procured a cup and a saucer, and then went so far as to find the coffee pot and put this deal together.

There now he was all ready to bring Captain McFolgers his damn coffee. That he hadn't even ordered in the first place.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Objective I : Infiltrate
Allies : @Anyone who wants to do sneaky stuffs

---

---

<“Watchtower One, move in. You have two minutes.”>

The troopers skirted along western edge of the palace borders as the comm crackled, the cityscape bathed in orange light as the system’s sun was setting. They were one cohesive unit propelling up the walls. Ugly red aurebesh blinked simultaneously on the HUDs as their window of infiltration ticked away.

<”Still quiet, head for the right corridor. Sights are clear.”>

They had eyes on all sides, a command team closely monitoring the muscle shored up around the palace. Teetering at the top of the wall, Lyra detached the cable with a hard tug; dropping down into the garden space. The joints of her armor, straining. Cover here was sparse, the gardens-if they could even be considered that were more metal then fauna. It was terribly quiet beyond the faint gurgle of the fountain. Several more distinct thuds sounded around as the other trooper’s fell in behind.

<”On me,”> Lyra said, taking point.

The woman leveled her weapon, slinking across the open space. They had a better part of a minute before another sweep of mercs showed up. Hailing the troopers down, she pushed up past the ornate archways and outer structures that made up part of the Palatial Offices. The active reflec issued for the mission mirroring the sleek surroundings.

It’d just make them harder to spot at first glance, they could easily still get blasted at this stage. Considering the life scanner, there were signs all around them. Lyra threw a hand up butting up to the building side as she dropped to a knee. Between the hired guns and Sith roaming around, Lyra inhaled deeply, trying to curb her steadily rising heart-rate. They didn’t have much time now and if intelligence proved right, they still had some floors to scale to reach the target..

Man did she fekking hate retrieval missions.

Over head, the elegant struts that formed a sunshade stretched well above for several floors, the red hue the sky had taken was seen between the weave. There were some transparisteel window slots dotting the building side..Readying the cable shot, she motioned for the troopers to follow the lead. It was better than breaching from the bottom floor.

<”Aim for the third window there, that’s where we’ll enter.”>

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

​

Location: Kyber Palatial Offices
Task: Objective One - Infiltrate
Focus: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
---

​

This was why he had signed up for the service. This was the heart of why he woke up every morning, why he ate Tibanna gas for breakfast and marched along to an Imperial beat. This wasn't slinging blaster rounds down the range for no real purpose other than scratch marks into the side of your blaster for every life you extinguished, this wasn't shelling a city simply to remove the enemy element, and it sure as hell had more purpose than hiding in a trench while the opposition rushed your lines. This was direct action at it's finest. While he held little respect for classical nobility, from comital to imperial, he still had to respect the nature of the mission. Pure and simple it was a rescue mission, they were to infiltrate the palace, secure her, leave. It was to be that simple, though Ravraa heavily doubted the odds that it would end up being that easy. There were to be Sith, he was briefed, and that in itself was enough of a reason for him to sign up. The powerful always wished to enforce their will on the powerless, unless the Kyber family was constructed entirely out of the finest warriors that the Galaxy had to offer, he could hardly see the situation that they had entered as any sort of fair deal.

Their move throughout the outskirts was painfully silent, boots clacking against the well polished stonework around decadent emplacements meant to infatuate courtiers from all spans of the Galaxy, of course he had expected nothing less than a pure display of aristocracy even when it came to the design of the building and the trappings of it. It disgusted him to an extent, it was far from something that he could reconcile in his own head. He felt dirty when he made a purchase of a few hundred credits, he could hardly imagine how deep the pockets of this Countess must delve.

Of course, he did hate certain parts of retrieval missions. He hated the cabelshots and rappelling in general. He didn't think of himself as clumsy, but during the descend, he swore that he nearly slipped a few times. Betaplast or not, he didn't trust his helmet not to slip during the fall, his head would crack on the fine crafted cobble not soon after. Though, despite the fear, he had made it down fine, as had the rest of the soldiers. Despite the roaming mercs and Sith, they also had managed to stay undetected throughout the operation so far. He had not idea how, if he could be frank. Sheer luck, he would imagine.

He sighed to himself, following orders as he readied another cable shot. Third window...

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

PREDATOR
Objective: 1 - Get Marlon Sularen a coffee
Allies: He's not sure yet.
Frenemies: Pretty much everyone.

The odds, and the service droids, stacked against him, the Atrisian had faced surmountable challenges in the mediocre mission to get the captain a cup of coffee. And, for his troubles, had managed to emerge triumphant with both a cup and a saucer and coffee in the cup to boot!

And he'd only had to fill out a single form. By Imperial standards, that was making out like a bandit.

...so why did he have a bad feeling about this?

I mean, it was a cup of coffee. That some high muckity-muck in an Imperial uniform hadn't even asked for. What could go wrong?

The answer, it seemed, was a stoppable force encountering a quite immovable object. Rounding the corner, the raven-haired page collided with... something. It had felt like he'd walked right into a wall.

Well, actually it felt like he'd just seriously pissed himself, because when he'd fallen back on his arse the coffee had splashed over his coat and trousers. First hot, then warm.

"What are you doing? Out of the way!"

Apparently, the wall of solid Duranium that he'd collided with was, in fact, another Imperial officer. A big Imperial officer. Whose angry boot stomping left the boy lying in a puddle of coffee and shattered dreams of... well, coffee.

"All turbolaser crews, make reports to Combat. Repeat, all turbolaser crews, make reports to Combat..."

The intercom echoed through the hallway with the periodic announcements about Action Stations, reports... These naval types definitely liked their reports. Repair lockers were supposed to make reports to Damage Control Central. Turbolaser crews were supposed to make reports to Combat. And Eight O'Clock Reports were being taken by the First Lieutenant in Lower Hanger, Forward.

A squad of stormtroopers came around the corner into the corridor, armed for a roving security patrol as they passed the wet floor sign without so much as a glance. At it, or him. The Atrisian in the coffee-stained cadet uniform had a mop and bucket out as he performed the timeless naval tradition of swabbing the deck.

This wasn't at all what he'd imagined he'd be doing on this trip.

Which, probably meant he needed to take better stock of his position in things. Sure, adults liked to say he was no longer a stormtrooper cadet, but had any of them stopped telling him what to do?

In any case, no one had come to ask him where the coffee for Captain McFolgers was, presumably because everyone was occupied with whatever had caused the ship to suddenly go to high alert.

Now that would be an interesting subject for the political science project he was supposed to be here working on. When, instead, he was conducting military mop ops.

 

[Volgin Alto]

// STINKFIST //
// OBJECTIVE // Operation: Bandit Wrangler
// FOCUS //

---

---

---

The boarding claw bit into the thrust ship with a horrible metallic shriek before it eventually embedded into the hull of the vessel. With the thick durasteel doors opening down into a tight corridor Hadrian was one of the first to crawl aboard the pirate vessel. Nearly falling head first into the durasteel grating beneath he caught himself just in time before he set down on the flooring with a metallic clank.

Unshouldering the particle beam carbine he leveled it up before peering down the sights of the weapon. Slowly pacing down the corridor he stopped at the hallway corner to listen for chatter from the mercenary crew.

“Ey! Boss says we’ve got company! I’ll look ‘round this side you two head the other way. Right? Alright.” Sounded out one of the privateers before eventually the metallic echo of boots against durasteel grating sounded out through the hall.

“Shit...” Was all Javik could muster as he peeled back around behind a corner — leaving a trip mine affixed to the wall in his wake.

 

[Trajan Fett]

// MANCATCHER // Saxon-class Patrol Craft
// OBJECTIVE // Extract the fine countess
// FOCUS // Harath Eldar

---

---

---

<"Foreign vessel -- identify yourself."> The port authorities of Troska said, patching through to the Mancatcher's personal ship all while in the thick of battle with the New Imperial Order's expeditionary force. This seemed like a simple enough job, the standard bounty board fare. At least it would've been without a full compliment of naval vessels blockading the world.

<"Hmph- the codes, the codes...where the f- ah- CA-43-12 would be the code for you."> Trajan said, a dead wave from the otherside before eventually the port authority responded.

<"All clear...">

<"Well..."> Was all the Mandalorian could remark in reply as the ship surged past the blockade barrier set around the planet.

<"Now Eldar tell me, did they want lethal force?"> The Mando asked, it was always the preferred go to as they pulled the location of the mark in the Kyber Palatial Offices on his nav computer.

 

[Davis Garrick]

// Buckethead-3 // Wraith //
// Objective // Operation: Watchtower
// Focus // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Ravraa Vyshraal

---

---

<"ETA two minutes.">​

​

<"Remember Wraith, when we put down you're on your own.">​

​

<"ETA one minute.">​

​

<"Wraith, are you listening to me? Corporal. . . Corporal Davis Garrick!"​

​

Wraith looked up from the long-barreled rifle laid out across his lap. He'd meticulously cleaned the sniper half a dozen times since boarding the stealth ship, mostly zoned out from his surroundings. He'd been briefed and rebriefed half a dozen times leading up to Watchtower, to the point where he could recite the mission parameters in his sleep. From behind the helmet of his finely polished, albeit scarred, scout trooper armor, his eyes narrowed on his recently assigned handler. Operations that saw the reconnaissance expert enter the fray solo almost always involved some form of higher-up meant to keep him in play for as long as possible. The string of command didn't bother him at all, nor did having someone keeping an eye on him in the field. Garrick just hated the familiarization process he underwent with each sod paired with the sniper.​

​

<"I hear you loud and clear,"> Davis muttered as he lurched up and onto his feet. He slung the silenced sniper rifle over his shoulder and moved to the ramp. ​

​

<"Copy that,"> his handler offered a thumbs-up before raising a hand to the ramp controls. <"Legion Commander Voi'kryt is on the board. We've notified her to contact you if things go to shit.">​

​

With that, his handler went quiet and pressed down on a glowing red button. Davis moved down the ramp as it began to descend, switching his helmet to night-vision with a quick adjustment at his wrist. The momentarily pitch-black night lid up in shades of green, showcasing everything the forested hillside had to offer. Wraith shook his head, opting to ignore the terrain, choosing to instead move towards his vantage point overlooking Kyber Palatial Offices. He pushed through the foliage until eventually reaching the cliffside. The scout trooper dropped to his knees, mounted his sniper rifle, and laid out prone along the floor.​

​

<"Legion Commnader Voi'kryt, this is Wraith, I've got eyes on your position,"> Wraith followed her squadron as they ascended the walls. Once they cleared the top, his scope panned elsewhere, this time searching the surrounding high-ground. A lone mercenary on a smoke break caught the scout's attention. Lining up the shot, Wraith pulled the trigger without a second thought. The blaster bolt whizzed silently through the night air, slamming into the back of the merc's head before sending him over the wall. ​

​

<"Tango down.">​

 

[Harath Eldar]

// Dar'manda //
// Objective // Operation: Watchtower
// Focus // Trajan Fett

---

---

Harath Eldar stared silently beyond the viewport separating him and the Mancatcher from the outside world. Since the Sons of Mandalore officially swore their loyalty to the New Imperial Order, the exiled Mandalorian became far busier than he'd been in a long time. A year spent locked away in the Beast left him bored, nearly to death. The intensity and productivity the burgeoning Imperials provided the Echani left him with little free time, and with the life he lived, he preferred it that way. Still, Harath found many of the tasks before him somewhat trivial. Not that they lacked importance to the function of their alliance as a whole. There just wasn't much of a challenge to a band of wayward mercenaries guarding a woman who couldn't defend herself. These sorts of missions belonged to the less capable.​

​

"I do not recall an instance this Sovereign-Imperator or his council have requested non-lethal when dealing with their foes," Harath stated. "It is important the countess is not harmed. I believe it is expected we exterminate these mercenaries. Send a message to those who would defy their way of things," he leaned back in the co-pilot's chair beside the Mancatcher. "I am not expecting much of a challenge. I've heard nothing of these soldiers of fortune. Not that there is much to expect from most mercs. Very few warriors can hold their own in comparison to our way of things," the former Alor peered over at the nav computer. His time beneath the Sith-Empire never saw the exile visit Troska.​

​

"What is there to expect of this planet anyway? It seems like any other Outer Rim shithole. Better left unbothered, unless you're looking for a quick payday or a knife in the goddamn back," Harath leaned forward, reaching down to unsheath the beskar boot-knife. ​

 

[Ryv]

// Saber-3 //
// Objective // Operation: Bandit Wrangler
// Focus // Marlon Sularen

---

---

Ryv couldn't remember the last time he sat down to pilot his X-Wing into combat. Maybe during that refugee mission-op? Though, did flying it strictly to board a refugee ship to combat a Sith even count? Based on his mission records? Absolutely. He gripped the stick nice and tight, familiarizing himself with the ship's controls for a moment, reminding himself the difference between flying on high and scrapping it out in the dirt. Things were different in a starfighter. His talents as a Jedi, though far from null and void, wouldn't keep him safe if he took a powerful enough attack head-on. One well-placed turbo laser or ion cannon would see the starfighter as nothing more than a screeching ball of flame, descending to the planet's surface, never to see the light of day again. His train of thought reminded him of the original Saber-3, the Jedi Ace, who's callsign he claimed upon finding the recently upgraded X-Wing. He took a deep breath, breaking the sudden sense of anxiety, filling the pit of his stomach.​

​

"Alright, Chief, how we looking?" Ryv took his attention from the sticks and focused on the little buddy droid, doubling as an astromech. The little droid hopped up and down on his lap, excitable chirping up a storm. "Right on, buddy. Let's keep our heads in the game on this one. It has been a while since he hopped in the cockpit. Been even longer since we flew with NIO," he flipped a series of switches, counting down the seconds until they exited hyperspace. The BD unit beeped out another response, studying the Kiffar with an inquisitive gaze. "Yeah, I know we've never flown with them. Its a joke, cause a few months is shorter than a n- you know what? It doesn't matter. We're coming out of hyperspace. Stay low."​

​

The brilliant blur of lightspeed died away, introducing Ryv to a quiet scene. The battle hadn't yet started. ​

​

"Huh, we're early? Goddamn, we're never early, buddy. Patch me to whoever's in command," Ryv suggested to the droid before leaning back in the seat. He yawned, already growing bored of the scene. While he relaxed, the small droid underwent the process to connect him to the New Imperial Order's fleet captain.​

​

"This is Saber-3 reporting in. Captain Sularen, I await your orders."​

 

[Vaulkhar]

// Executor //
// Objective // ?
// Focus // N/A

---

---

"I do not care what forces the New Imperial Order can ground, captain. I pay you to ensure whoever they send, cannot breach our defenses. If I sought expertise on how to defend my home, I wouldn't have scraped the bottom of the galactic barrel for a band of affordable mercenaries, would I?" Leddrow Zeth inquired, stopping his swift stride from turning upon his heel and looking the mercenary in the eyes. As the hired gun opened his mouth to speak, the Minister of Trade silenced him immediately with a raised hand. "The question was rhetorical. I hired you to ensure when the time comes; I can escape with the countess. Return to your post and await my call," the Minister watched the soldier march off, ignoring the grumbling complaints as he went. Turning away from the pitiful scene, the dirty politician pulled open the door to his office and stepped inside. Careful to lock it behind him once more, Zeth took a moment to do just that. Finished with the simple task, he moved deeper into the darkroom.​

​

"Wait a moment," Zeth muttered, a sense of dread suddenly falling over him. The sudden realization he hadn't shut the lights off when last he departed surfaced within his mind. He quickly raised his wrist to his lips, opening his mouth to speak. Yet, no words came out. Pained grunts replaced the pleas for aid that would never come. His entire body froze up as what felt like the crushing grip of an unseen giant took hold of the bureaucrat. Unable to control his limbs, he could only stare on in horror as his body hovered deeper into the darkness. Slowly shifting about in the air, the Minister's eyes went wide as the dreaded sight of a gold-plated skeletal mask greeted him. Leddrow Zeth screamed out with renewed vigor, still unable to find his voice as Vaulkhar's grip remained tight on his throat.​

​

"It is a rare occurrence for me to bother myself with simple matters such as this, Minister," Vaulkhar's hollow voice drifted out from beneath his permanent grin. A gaze of burning crimson bore into the helpless man's glistening eyes, further pushing him deeper into his failing state. "It is one thing to scheme against us. It is another to move against our interests. But, you took it a step further, Minister. You called for aid," the Executor stepped forward, thrusting his hand out in the direction of the trembling man. Zeth's body flew across the room, slamming into a durasteel wall with a loud thud. "And I'm not talking about the aid of your pet soldiers. You've made a much graver mistake than that, Minister," Vaulkhar slowly reached out with his free hand to run his beskar-tipped gauntlets along the man's tear-stained cheek.​

​

"You put your faith in the Sith. And for that, your last night upon this plane shall consist of pain you couldn't begin to imagine, even in your deepest, darkest nightmares," Vaulkhar's thin lips matched the sculpted grin of his mask as the gauntlet slid up to the man's bloodshot eye. With a swift motion, the Bastard plunged the index finger into the man's skull, turning the eye to mush.​

 

[Shute Gunray]

// Lord of Pestilence //
// Objective // Observe Technoid Manufactorum Product in Action
// Focus // Open

---

---

"Why, the interior of these war machines is quite exquisite, I must say," Shute Gunray uttered to no one in particular upon the deck. The towering Neimoidian observed the surrounding soldiers at work, examining each of them in full. The filthy-rich, fast food titan did not understand such matters, yet, his connections to both the New Imperial Order and Galactic Alliance required such outings at times. Fortunately, not only could he bring a large meal with him, but this little errand knocked out two birds with a massive turbo laser. Objective one? Making sure the New Imperial Order was with the Alliance's unearned trust. Objective two? Ensure his closest ally and favored pupil, Gat Tambor, would not find his prized work misused. So far, Shute Gunray, Monolith of Grub, Lord of Pestilence, the Second Pillar, and Master of Ren was impressed.​

​

"Someone get my quadruple Huttaburger with extra cheese. I hunger once more," Shute looked to the pile of burger wrapping littering the floor beside him, each one misplaced and beside the trash bin. "Also, I don't know which one of you lazy scoundrels is supposed to keep this deck clean, but I will not suffer failure of this magnitude again. You," he pointed at a passing soldier. "Clean up this mess immediately. I will not have my friend's masterpiece mistreated by ruffians such as yourself."​

​

"Uh.... Yes sir," the Stormtrooper saluted before dropping to his hands and knees to clean up the mess.​

​

"Very good," Shute Gunray mused, his free hand stroking his jiggling jowls as he awaited his meal. When it finally arrived, he tore open the wrapping and dropped it on the floor beside the still-cleaning soldier. "Finally! I'm starved! If I had waited any longer, I would've starved, you lazy rat." he narrowed his beady eyes at the assistant who took all of thirty seconds to collect the burger for his owner employer. "You are lucky this burger is in my hands, otherwise I'd ring your scrawny little neck," Shute turned away, his eyes falling upon the glorious meal before him. Without wasting another second, the Senator of Caamas took a bite of the quadra-stacked gift from the force, ignoring the grease as it stained his robe.​

 

[Lucina Centaris]

// SCAR // NOVA-CLASS //
// OBJECTIVE // TREATY AFFAIR //
// FOCUS // Vaulkhar

The high pitched screams from the man as a claw began to gouge an eye out left some of the men in the room squeamish. Not a man wished that upon any enemy. Painful, debilitating, and emasculating for the man who sought the aid of Sith-loyalists. Pity was not given to this individual who sought to play two sides of a war. A Rebellion against a Rule of Order. However, it was a single visor that continued to stare at the Inquisitor Leader.

With these pathetic excuse of guards bringing their weapons upon the man hidden behind a metallic skull, The Nova-Class found themselves getting into a quick brawl. One to remove the weaponry at the disposal of the guards. Their Commander easily slamming the butt of a rifle into the faceplate of one individual before giving the second what was known as a Keldabe Kiss. The crown of a helmet, typically Mandalorian, thrown forward to headbutt a enemy in front of you. The loud ring from the two helmets clashing ended with this guard down on the floor. Arms up and ready to fight but knocked out cold. A sign of brain damage due to trauma.

The Charric Rifle brought up and slammed hard into the third's throat before pointing it at him. Almost feeling the full pressure of the trigger being depressed. However, was held where no shots were fired. Every one of this Slime's guards were dealt with by a single Fireteam of Five Nova-Class Troopers. Decked out in black and gold armor. Matching the mask worn upon the man they accompanied.

<</ Room cleared Executor. />>

The Voice of the Commander rang true as the other four began to corral the disarmed men into the center of the room while the Inquisitor dealt with the man who had wronged them.

<</ Please Proceed. />>

 

[N-K 3PX]

​

SYSTEMS ONLINE...
...
MISSION DIRECTIVE RECEIVED...
...
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE... "Extract Lady Irene"
...
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE... "ERROR.."

A cord was disconnected from a large metal frame after a soldier uploaded the final remnants of the mission directive. Red photorecptors came to life like blazing suns. Lighting up two black sockets in the skull like visage of the droid. An experimental model with ancient technology and the latest programming as far as combat and tactics was concerned.

This was N-K 3PX.

Metal claws and feet sunk into the walls producing subtle cracks into the material. Fissures spreading with each propelling lunge. Inhuman strength. The working of advanced servo-motors and inner systems. The machine had speed. Like a webweaver on a web it managed to crawl up the surfaces with deadly grace. Passing its allies and yet still adhering to its superior, Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Knight]

Location: Surface, Troska
Tags: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Ravraa Vyshraal | Trajan Fett | Davis Garrick | Harath Eldar | Vaulkhar | Lucina Centaris |

---

Knight, and elements of the 12th Armored Assault Army, were tasked with procuring a means of escape for the extraction teams operating under Objective 1 of the operation. Knight, and six other troopers, were stationed on the planet days before by commandeering a Star Commuter 2000 and having the reprogrammed droid pilot take them to Troska. Nobody expected the extremely old shuttle model for this kind of operation "Corporal, the teams have made their move." came a message through his holocommunicator from a staff officer on one of the many ships above "Prepare extraction measures." Knight nodded, the blue light glinting off his black visor "Yes sir." he turned to the other troopers were not deaf, and began to double check their gear. The seven of them had been essentially living in this shuttle, located in a less traveled alley, for more than a day "This is it, let's not make any mistakes. When we get to the extraction point pull security." then Knight went into the cockpit of the shuttle and spoke to the droid "Protocol 2." there was a large disk clamped to the back of the droid's head which sparked blue and the droid made a whirlling noise "Hzzz- Protocol! Proceeeeeding to operr-rational area."

The Star Commuter 2000 lifted off from the street and slowly made its way close to the extraction point, the starship lowered but did not shut off its engines "Everyone out!" Knight called and hopped out of the vessel, blaster raised, as the team set up a full circle perimeter around the ship. Knight activated the beacon on his holocommunicator, which would send (all those tagged) the signal that extraction was prepped and waiting.

"North, clear." "East, clear." "West, clear." "South Clear." "Sector, clear." "Sectors, clear."

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

// OUTRIDER // Saber One |
// OBJECTIVE // Bandit Wrangler
// FOCUS // Ryv | Marlon Sularen

Emerging from the florescent blue star streak of hyperspace, the Saber-class X-wing shifted into realspace in the shadow of the New Imperial fleet. With his X-wing passing up over the thumping roar of the ion drives of The Predator before he pitched the fighter back up and over the hull of the battlecruiser.

Catching the sight of Ryv's X-Wing among the fray of black and grey that were the New Imperial TIEs in arrival to the scene, Maynard joined up at Ryv's left wing.

<"Didn't think I'd see you joining the party, Ryv. Seemed like you forgot your roots. Looks like you've already checked us in."> Maynard patched through to Ryv. Not as if Maynard didn't do the same in abandoning his flyboy duties for a wider variety of Jedi tasks. As much as Saber Squadron in its revival was the sole ambition and pride of the Concordian, as he progressed within the ranks of the Alliance and Jedi, so too did his responsibility and sheer ability. He wasn't the wide eyed plucky pilot from Concord Dawn so much any more. He'd been knighted as Jedi and only after a period of uncertainty and toil. Much more was expected of him now, he couldn't just hide in the annuls of Peace anymore.

<"Pirates man...could be worse...could be Vong."> Treicolt knew all too well from his encounter in Pabol Hutta how gruesome of a sight the extra-galactic aliens were.

 

[Trajan Fett]

// MANCATCHER // Saxon-class Patrol Craft
// OBJECTIVE // Extract the fine countess
// FOCUS // Harath Eldar

---

---

---

<"No thats genuinely all there is to Troska. Its just that, backwater heap of bantha dung, brother."> Trajan remarked, adjusting himself in the pilot's seat as they continued to course on the repulsorlifts of the vessel toward their objective.

<"But we're here for a former. These Imp contracts are steady, not the craziest jobs I've encountered, but steady. All the more better that we're actually...doing something."> Trajan remarks, his voice dipped in a shade of solemness. Mandalore was well in the sights of the New Imperial Order. It was an object of personal importance to the New Imperial Order and by extension the Sons of Mandalore, which may as well been the party privy to the New Imperial backing as far as the true rulers of Mandalore went.

A motley crew but perhaps the Mandalorians truest to being...Mandalorians. They were rigidly adherent to the old ways and marched to war under the Neo Crusader banner. An alliance with Imperials wasn't anything they expected to align with but even so, it was working well enough to this point. The only conflict might be if the New Imperial Order actually ever retook Mandalore to begin with.

Eventually landing in a secluded area not far off of the Palatial offices the pair set off atop swoop bikes toward the position, dismounting a few meters off to take up a concealed position, appraising the mercenary compliment guarding the facility.

<"A good amount of them..."> Trajan says, flipping down his rangefinder to hone in on the ranks of mercenaries.

<"You got any good ideas?"> The Mancatcher inquires to his Dar'manda companion.

 

[Volgin Alto]

// STINKFIST //
// OBJECTIVE // Operation: Bandit Wrangler
// FOCUS // --

​

"Buckethead!" The pirate barked out at the sight of Stinkfist. The trooper sliding down to take up position behind a storage crate, jolting in place as he hears the particle bolt slam against the duralloy surface before he'd eventually turn with heavy breaths beneath his Storm helmet, aiming down the sights of his carbine before firing off a three round pulse in the direction of the pirate, two of them hitting the wall as the other slammed in the mercenary's should.

Aiming down the sights as again he squeezed the trigger of the carbine, sending down another three round pulse which hit dead into the man's chest, sending him into the grated floor beneath dead. Slowly standing up from behind the cover he slowly advanced down the corridor in direction of the pirate who attempted to apprehend him, creeping up to the corner of the corridor again, pressing his shoulder against the wall before he glanced down the direction of the hall. Clear, for now but there were footsteps on the move again. If Javik was anything, he was not subtle.