Mission [TI vs DIA] In Your Heart Shall Burn || Mission to Bastion

[Doctrine of Fear]

“Perhaps it is time for a change… now more than ever.” — Darth Sidious​

//: RAVELIN, “THE HEART OF THE EMPIRE”
//: BASTION
//: 0300 HOURS

The mission to Bastion was exciting for the Initiative’s greener forces, the ones absent from or born after the collapse of the New Imperial Order and the Empire it built. To these young recruits, Bastion was just another post-Imperial planet that had fallen behind the curtain of a weak state. Perhaps some could recite its importance, but they did not feel it the way the veterans did.

To them, Bastion was a symbol of everything the Empire had fought to preserve. A new era of freedom and separation from the Sith. To see Ravelin, the Heart of the Empire, serve as the seat for the Diarchy would evoke more than a few bitter memories. It is precisely why the Tarkin Initiative has chosen the old Imperial capital as the target of a black ops campaign.

Under the cover of night, Initiative teams descend upon Ravelin in advanced CX-902 Dagger-class infiltrators. Their mission has two main objectives: establish a local base of operations and gather intelligence on the city’s defenses.

The Bastion Imperialis Naval College, once a prestigious institution in the New Imperial Era, lost a majority of credibility—as well as its faculty, staff, and cadets—after the fall of the Empire in the mid 870s ABY. Its use saw steady decline, which only worsened as time passed. Under Diarch control, the College is shuttered and abandoned. Its halls have been pilfered of statues and relics, reminders that without the Empire, barbarism and pillaging runs rampant.

The air is heavy with history and the very walls command respect. It will make the perfect place for the Initiative to establish a foothold on Bastion.

Infiltrate the Bastion Imperialis Naval College, eliminate any security concerns, and ensure the site is suitable for an Initiative listening post.

ISB agents posing as visiting officers from the Imperial Confederation—allies of the Diarchy—have been dispatched to key locations around Ravelin. Each have been briefed on false identities, issued matching identification credentials, and dressed in Confederation uniforms. Their task is to use their guises to infiltrate government buildings, identify weaknesses, and collect intelligence on the Diarchy’s planetary defense capabilities.

If the Initiative is to succeed in an operation on Bastion, it must know how the Diarchs have desecrated the Heart of the Empire.

But they are not going to Bastion blind. Several points of interest have been distributed to the agents: the Diastec Orbital Shipyard, the Diarchy Armory, and the Great Forum of the Chancellorate. Secured comms channels have been established for separate smaller teams to investigate all three targets simultaneously.

Tag List and OOC Notes

TAGS:
[TI] Abraxas Colt | Aymeric Prendergast | Althea Varrick | Tavian Rhyse | Siyndacha Aerin | Amena Kader | Tydeus Shorn | The Arkanian | DT-1111 | Diocletian Mecetti | Keldan Andro | Wulf von Eckhart
[DIA] Diarch Rellik | Lord Mettallum | Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | Morta Izanami | Diarch Reign

OOC Notes:
This thread is meant to be a clandestine black ops mission, the first in an ongoing arc centered on the Tarkin Initiative's infiltration of Diarchy space.
Objective 1 is written so that one can do stealthy PVE or PVP.
Objective 2 is written so that one can do spy work and infiltration.
Please communicate with your opponents, should you have any!​

 

[Tydeus Shorn]

OBJECTIVE ONE

The Dagger-class Infiltrator descended in silence toward the abandoned college.

Tydeus sat among a cadre of Death Troopers. He wore not the red and black of an Imperial Knight, but a set of nondescript Ubese armor. Unmarked.

Their mission here was simple: clear the college and establish a hidden outpost. Should they encounter any opposition, it would be far easier to go hot while wearing gear attributable to any scavenger or pirate.

The Knights would provide additional support to the Death Troopers, though Tydeus suspected they hardly needed it. You would be hard pressed to find a more professional, deadly, and efficient unit in the whole galaxy.

Tydeus took a breath and looked over at the Death Trooper squad lead.

The pilot's voice came over the comms.

"Thirty seconds."

TAGS: DT-1111 | Tavian Rhyse​

 

[Evy’armi’naken]

​

//: RAVELIN, “THE HEART OF THE EMPIRE”
//: BASTION
//: 0300 HOURS

Itchy fabric had nearly rubbed the back of the Chiss' neck raw by the time he'd made it aboard the shipyard and passed through the necessary security checkpoints. Thus far, his falsified credentials and fabricated biometrics had not failed him, but the service pistol he kept in his boot was just as ready as he was should his cover be blown. Other than his deep azure pigmentation and cherry-red orbs, there was little out of place to note about the visitor that he presented himself to be: a junior science officer with minor commendations to his name, a Confederation pin on his kepi, and carefully crafted code cylinders courtesy of the Initiative's slicers—indiscernible from that of a TIC officer in the field.

Evy'armi'naken strode through the orbital yard's main ring with a datapad in hand, tapping away as he made notes. Assembly line efficiency ratings, annotations about material production. Mundane topics for most, but invaluable data for the Initiative.

He stepped through the refineries and starship assembly points, maintaining a controlled pace while moving with intent toward his true destination.

A very relaxed security checkpoint separated the main ring from the secondary one, and yet another between that ring and the central core.

"Ktes'ali'omisu," he lied, providing his identity for the third time. The poor woman behind the terminal clearly had trouble processing the syllables herself, as evidenced by her flustered tapping and rosy cheeks. Yarmin smiled.

"Perhaps my corename instead? Esaliom." The woman accepted his lifeline, letting a breath pass as she nodded and confirmed his arrival.

"You're all set, Sir."

Yarmin nodded his thanks and stepped through the portal. Keys to the city, he thought to himself.

TAGS: Open​

 

[Tavian Rhyse]

IN YOUR HEART SHALL BURN - OBJECTIVE ONE

Sergeant Tavian Rhyse, DT-219, callsign Graves stood at the center of the troop bay in absolute stillness, a presence defined less by motion than by the absence of it. The dim operational lighting seemed to recoil from his armor, its photo-reactive surface bending illumination into distorted reflections that refused to settle into clear edges. Graves consumed the space around him, a silhouette rendered in black plate and precision that suggested not a man, but an outcome already decided. The compartment's low mechanical hum, the vibration of atmospheric entry against the Dagger's hull, the steady breathing of armed soldiers around him, all of it registered within the Death Trooper sensorium as layered streams of data, processed and discarded with machine efficiency. His helmet remained slightly inclined, not in contemplation, but in calculation, listening to the microscopic language of pressure fluctuations and structural stress as the infiltrator cut silently through Bastion's upper atmosphere.

Across his vision the command interface cascaded with real-time telemetry. Defensive emplacements surrounding the Bastion Imperialis Naval College cycled through targeting routines in predictable intervals. Patrol routes overlapped in disciplined formations. Structural schematics of Defiance Hall and the Skytower rendered themselves in precise wireframe geometry, revealing access points, response corridors, and projected resistance vectors measured in clean numerical certainty. Graves didn't study the information so much as absorb it, internalizing the information carefully. The college below would be secured. Its defenses understood. Any resistance erased. There existed no uncertainty within the equation, only procedure, only how many would need to die before operational success could be declared.

Around him, the other Death Troopers completed their preparations in silence, sealing armor couplings and synchronizing weapon systems without wasted movement. Their encrypted communications channel murmured with distorted bursts of speech, indecipherable to any outside listener, yet perfectly clear to those bound within its cadence. They were not individuals in this moment but components of a unified instrument, specialists forged through indoctrination, augmentation, and doctrine into something far more efficient than conventional soldiers. The Dagger-class infiltrator shuddered almost imperceptibly as it descended through the final layers of cloud cover. Beyond the forward canopy stretched the vast expanse of Ravelin, the Heart of the Empire illuminated in ordered brilliance. Endless districts of disciplined architecture rose beneath them, surveillance towers blinking in synchronized cadence, transit lanes cutting through the night in regulated streams of sterile light. The city exuded stability, control, and the quiet certainty of a civilization that believed itself secure beneath the watchful doctrine of the Diarchy. Graves regarded the sprawling metropolis with clinical detachment. Balance, he understood, was merely instability awaiting correction. Order did not negotiate. Order endured.

"Thirty seconds."

The pilot's voice broke the compartment's silence with professional calm. The infiltrator adjusted its vector, repulsors engaging with a deep mechanical resonance as the craft decelerated toward its landing coordinates above the abandoned Naval College complex. The deck plating vibrated with controlled force beneath armored boots, the subtle shift in inertia marking the transition from descent to final approach. Pressure equalization systems cycled. Magnetic locks disengaged. Weapons safeties released in quiet succession. Cold night air began to seep through microseals.

Graves moved.

The motion was deliberate, a few steps forward. He moved towards the very front of the ramp, eyes passing over the packed infiltrator. A transport full of elite operators carefully chosen for what was to occur within these walls. Below them, the Bastion Imperialis Naval College rose from the cityscape in rigid defiance, a monument to discipline, a cradle of Imperial doctrine, its silent towers awaiting reclamation. Once it was a symbol of Imperial command. Now it was nothing more than a faded memory, an objective of the evening to be reclaimed.

Tydeus Shorn | DT-1111​

 

[The Arkanian]

OBJECTIVE TWO - DIARCH ARMORY

An Arkanian with facial-scarring adjusted the cap of his Imperial Confederation uniform, marking him as a Captain in the Imperator Corps. He smoothed his shock of white hair back and replaced the cap, then stepped out of the air taxi which had brought him to the Diarchy Armory.

He craned his neck, looking up at the impressive structure which seemed to resemble an enormous bunker.

"Hm."

His pale eyes flicked down to the thoroughfare leading up to the front doors. Adjusting his grip on his briefcase, he walked smoothly toward the entrance and flashed a badge at the gate guard.

"Captain Erwin von Rom, Imperial Confederation," he rasped, "attache. Here for the joint inspection."

The guard looked at his badge.

The itinerary, the badge, and even the name were all top of the line ISB creations, the result of weeks of work to establish an identity and fabricate communications with the Diarchy Armory security personnel regarding an upcoming visit for a joint inspection to further their mutual respect and trust.

Captain "von Rom" smiled, the scars making it gruesome, as the guard scanned his badge and commed his Diarchy counterpart to lead him on through for the inspection.

​

 

[DT-1111]

WATCH ME BLEED
IN YOUR HEART SHALL BURN​

---

​

LOCATION: BASTION - BASTION IMPERIALIS NAVAL COLLEGE | INSERTION SQUAD AUREK AND BESH
TAGS: Tydeus Shorn | Tavian Rhyse​

"Thirty seconds."

The unit of 12 Death Mask troopers stood wordlessly within the gunship, the faint light within the cabin reflecting off of the black sheen of their armor. They all heard the update from one of their Knight Commanders, and Acklay wasted no time. The insertion squad was connected via a secure peer-to-peer channel, and Acklay’s gravelly voice bled through the closed frequency. <“Aurek-actual to squad - comm discipline from here on out. We go in quiet, but hard. Engage only if you can preserve the element of surprise. Should we encounter hard contact, lethal force is authorized.”>

The commander paused before continuing: “<Aurek 6, confirm you have the device ready for deployment.”> Aurek-6, one of the Death Mask troopers, hefted a large device with both hands; easily one of the most crucial elements to their insertion. “<Aurek-6 acknowledged - device is in-hand and ready for deployment.”>”

“<Copy. Confirm your comm frequencies are set for the pre-set bypass channels.>” Acklay responded. He checked his own comm frequencies, ensuring they were set for the preset channels with bypass subroutines to ensure they could all communicate despite the jammer. Before landing, the craft lurched to a stop as it idled to a hover over the rooftop of the facility. The side-doors opened, and Insertion Team Aurek rappelled over both sides. They cleared the distance in a matter of seconds, with the first boots on the ground securing the perimeter while the rest of the squad descended.

Aurek-6 planted the jamming device behind a set of pylons to obscure being identified from a distance. The antenna raised, and within moments - anything not part of the insertion teams would notice that their external comm frequencies were effectively jammed. A sniper and spotter from the team set up in an overwatch position to monitor any unwanted approach to the facility.

Once the team landed, Acklay led the way to the roof access door, his rifle trained upon it while another trooper set about slicing the lock, and bypassing any security system that may be in place. He raised a fist for all to halt, waiting for the other teams to get into position before giving the order to advance.

​

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

All of this is happening not very far from where I live. After all, I'm a resident of Bastion too. I received reports of strange activities from Nyva Shei , as always I can rely on her reliability. While going through her reports with a good cup of coffee, I notice an anomaly. I place a hand on my face, bringing up the 3D holo-map in front of me, tapping on a datapad resting on my coffee table.

"Alright, what's going on? Can't I even drink my coffee in peace?"

Carefully watching the red dots on my map, I sigh. I can't be everywhere at once, so I'll have to choose one of the two. Just my luck. Leaving my R&D office, the sliding door opens as I grab my leather jacket and my sunglasses. I head to the armory to gear up, and I won't be long before I move out. The Diarchy forces have probably already received a report similar to mine, so there's no need to warn them—they're almost certainly already on the move anyway.

Taking my purple blaster, my lightsaber, and my Nightsister metal, here I am, ready to hunt down intruders daring to venture here on Bastion. Who knows which objective I actually chose, but I don't really appreciate these disturbances. Using the Ragnarok here would be pointless I'm not going to risk ravaging our own lands.

My mission is simple: identify our attackers and capture one or two for future information gathering. I promise, the head of R&D will be lenient… or not. It will depend on them.

" I'm heading out. My jet bike let's go!"

Technically I could go there on a flying broom if I felt like it I do have one, and it's much more maneuverable but this time I'm taking the jet bike. It feels more appropriate. I ride toward one of the objectives.

 

[Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory]

LOCATION: Diastec Orbital Shipyards
OBJ: Just being a good ally, taking inventory, making observations for improvements, etc

Amalia let out a sigh as she walked around the loading docks of the Diastec Orbital Shipyards, while they had been built only recently, the fact that they had been built on the precipe of quantity was quite impressive. The Bescane orbital shhipyards which had been constructed by the N&Z was arguably more high tech, but lacked the capacity to churn out the numbers these shipyards were able to. Luckily through the typical political maneuvring of the N&Z, at the very least it had managed to act as a secondary repair hub for N&Z vessels sanctioned by the Diarchy as well, which meant She, in her capacity as CEO of the company had taken it upon herself to inspect the location, the machinery and ofcourse the quality of the services in order to give it the N&Z's explicit approval.

Walking through the docks, she looked at her datapad, scrolling through the various cargo lists that had been supplied to her by the shipyard's staff. From the docks, it was quite a distance to make it to the main ring, but as she walked through several of the checkpoints, her eyes caught the sight of someone walking through one of the terminals, tilting her head a bit, she frowned and walked over towards the woman at the terminal through which this particular individual had passed.

"The Imperial Officer you just allowed to pass through, was everything allright with their clearances?" Before the woman could be able to tell Amalia such information was classified, the woman quietly held her datapad in front of the woman, who quickly acknowledged that as a Governor of the Imperial Confederation, but also as the most powerful corporate leaders within the Diarchy and beyond, her status was far beyond her capacity to deny access. "I just want to see if the clearances were in order if that's okay."

"Looks like they were, the security system didn't flag them and the clearance codes and cypher were approved by the system," Allowing Amalia to look at the information herself, the woman showed a wide smile, one which indicated she was quite proud of her work, even more so when it seemed there was nothing to worry about.

"Hmm...fine, I'll just pass through here," Sliding her datapad across the terminal, a few beeps indicated the system had approved her as well, the woman at the terminal once again beaming with pride as the N&Z CEO passed through.

As she followed into the direction Evy’armi’naken had taken, Amalia tapped at the screen of her datapad, looking at the security clearances and detailed information she had managed to copy with the pad at the terminal. "I should sent this stuff to KRONOS, I don't know why, but this individual's clearances are too clean and I can't put my finger on it, but either I'm just being paranoid...or we have ourselves an annoying rebel or spy or maybe a rogue element from the Confederation...by the force we have a lot of those..."

​

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

Diastec Orbital Shipyard: OPEN (Ost: Neoniac)

My sister Enel and I are in our laboratory at the shipyard. We're here to try out different prototypes and have some fun! I'm sitting cross-legged on the desk while Enel is playing with a datapad, testing one of those modern video games. I can't blame her—meanwhile I'm tinkering with my own things. Right now it's an explosive of my own design, a small homemade bomb. I give a well-placed twist of the screwdriver and grab my welding tool to attach a red wire into the proper connector.

"Hey Enel, do you think Lady Thrynn would be happy seeing this explosive? We're literally playing with explosives here."

"Well, if she entrusted them to us, it means we're allowed to play with them, right? She gave us free rein over this place."

"That's true. Even in my wildest dreams, I couldn't have imagined this."

"Me neither."

Having finished my prototype, I wipe my face with a cloth. One wrong move and it could explode you have to be careful with prototypes like this. Then I tap away at my desk to make sure all the protocols are properly calibrated, programming the homemade bomb.

I then place it on a mannequin I've decided to call Chucky for the occasion. Just a passing urge to fool around. Besides, our new ship is being prepared, and we even received a gift recently! People are really generous with us.

"Ready for the explosion, sis?"

"Give it, give it! Is it me? Where do I press?"

"Here, Enel…"

I show her the big red button. She eagerly presses it, and a loud BOOM echoes through the test room where the mannequin stands. The blast is pretty loud anyone nearby can hear it.

Frowning, unsatisfied, I notice there are still wood chips left on the floor.

"Chucky wasn't completely disintegrated. That's lame."

"Yeah, I think you can increase the charge slightly. No need to blow up the whole shipyard though Lady Thrynn would be furious."

"Yeah, let's avoid that."

Sighing to myself, I go back to work at my desk, happy to be able to play with prototypes like these. Tomorrow we've got a test flight scheduled for a new ship model it's going to be really fun!

 

[Morta Izanami]

​

[]

Comfortable Liar - by Chevelle

​

Location: Bastion - The Great Forum of the Chancellorate
Tag: Open

The Great Forum of the Chancellorate rose in solemn tiers of gold, its vaulted ceiling lost in a haze of chatter and debates. Morta entered as one might step into a cathedral not built for gods but for the heavy machinery of mortal will. At her side padded Macha, vast and black-furred, her great paws softened by the golden runners that lined the chamber floor.

Diplomats clustered in crescent rows, some in robes a varying colors, yet dulled by worry and ambition; while others were dressed in sharp, crisp military attire. Her golden gaze drifted across them with the languid curiosity of one who had seen empires bloom and rot before. She had come not to speak, nor to sway, but to witness; to watch policy hammered into shape like iron on an anvil.

They took their seat along the back tier, where shadow gathered kindly and observation required no participation. Macha settled with a slow huff, massive head resting near Morta's knee, dark brown eyes reflecting the lights like twin harvest moons. The droning cadence of debate rolled through the hall, tariffs, borders, treaties; each word dressed in finery yet hollow as winter grain. Morta leaned slightly, fingers idly combing the fur at Macha's neck.

"Pay attention, lass," she whispered in her soft, thick brogue, voice threaded with dry amusement. "Ye might find politics as borin' as I do but it's a necessary wickedness all the same." Her lips curved faintly as the bear's ear twitched, knowing Macha was now in observation mode.

After a time, when a particularly long-winded envoy rose to speak on fiscal corridors and trade levies, the witch's patience thinned like mist under noon sun. She turned her head toward a nearby observer, a narrow fellow clutching datapads as though they were lifelines. Her expression held polite interest sharpened by mischief.

"Tell me now," she asked in quiet tones, curiosity dancing darkly in her eyes, "have they discussed implementin' a policy for public executions yet? Those've always been grand for bringin' folks together."

The man blanched, uncertain whether jest or prophecy had brushed his ear, while beside her Macha gave a slow, rumbling chuff; a sound that, in kinder company, passed for laughter.