Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The debate was growing more idiotic with each plodding second.

He watched from his perch above the arming hall with growing disinterest. His comrades, Lucian, the bald giant, and Caffix, a Gammorean they'd picked up some weeks ago, were squealing at one another about the ethics of drinking 'Sith Wine'. The cohort had come into possession of several caskets of the stuff after their latest raid on an unfortunate passenger liner that happened to be broadcasting an IFF code that hailed from Sith Space. The target was designated viable as a vessel of tainted bourgeoise aristocracy, and the passengers had been lucky enough to leave only the slightest bit maimed. The cohort had sabotaged the ship's engines and left it on an aimless spin toward open space once they'd liberated all the supplies their hulls could carry. Whether those animals were intelligent enough to repair their communications array and call for help or not was a nonfactor for Wittiza.

Had he known his people would be so dogmatic as to assume their alcohol would 'taint them with the Bogan' he would have burned it all. As it was, he was forced to listen to them drone on, neither side willing to budge, and he wondered why he'd been stuck with all the legion's idiots.

"I blame the aliens," his second, one Withurd Selmin mused. He was dark skinned and less scarred than most of the legionaries, far more handsome too. He made for a good second face when Wittiza wasn't willing to show his own.

"You always do." Wittiza let the corner of his mouth tug up into a half-smile. "But you know, these debates were going on back during the days of the crusade. I'm afraid our idiocy is endemic to the legion, foreign blood or otherwise."

"You going to end it?" Withurd cocked a brow.

"No," Wittiza shook his head, "We've another hour or so before the hyperspace engines are ready to spool again and I'm rather bored. If I have to sit and read any more reports my eyes are going to roll out of my head."

Withurd looked away for a moment, a hint of a chuckle shaking his barrel-chest. "I suppose I should just tell you this one then."

Wittiza cocked his head, "Go on."

"We've received a communiqué from someone new. They're looking to talk business."

"Business I can do," the prospect of fresh credits to grease the wheels of his tiny fleet's upkeet lightened Wittiza's mood. "Put them through, or invite them aboard, whatever they like. I'll throw on my good coat."

"The red one?"

"Black. We need to at least pretend to be professional."

Laphisto Laphisto
 

Laphisto

High Commander of the Lilaste Order
Laphisto was aboard Aurora Station in the Bastion system when the dossier found him. His work often extended beyond the Order's immediate reach, weaving through the networks of contractors and mercenary guilds that thrived on conflict. With the Galactic Empire stirring in the Core, their ambitions swelling with each new campaign, he had been watching carefully. These were the times when the right allies could shift the course of a battle or vanish into the void as liabilities.

The file he received spoke of a nearby cohort with a reputation for efficiency wrapped in ruthlessness. He read it twice, then a third time, weighing the usefulness against the inevitable volatility. Interest was too light a word for what he felt; necessity was closer to truth. The Order would soon need men who could fight without question, bleed without falter, and take the field where soldiers of conscience might hesitate. So he reached out. Personally.

When the holo-projector came to life, its glow bathed the chamber in pale light. Laphisto stood armored, clad in the LO-58A, the surface burnished by years of combat. His wings folded close to his back, disciplined in their posture, and the Broad Saber at his hip hung silent and steady, a weapon that needed no introduction.

He brought his fist to his chest, the sound of knuckles on armored plate ringing with solemn clarity, and dipped his head in a bow of respect not submission, not deference, but recognition of another commander's station.

"Commander," his voice was steady, deliberate, carrying neither haste nor pretense. "I appreciate your answer. I've reviewed your dossier. Your company has made its reputation in hard places, and that is precisely where I have need. If you seek work, the Order has a defense mission forthcoming. The enemy is the Galactic Empire organized, relentless, and willing to grind down worlds to claim them. We will not give them that chance."

He let the silence stretch for a breath, his gaze steady through the holo-feed."The contract is straightforward. You hold ground with us. You strike when I say strike. You leave when the objective is met. Payment is immediate, hazard bonuses guaranteed. If that suits your men, then there is opportunity here"

Wittiza Wittiza
 
What a strange creature this was.

Wittiza had taken the command throne: a leather chair looted from a crumbling temple on Krayiss Two some ten years before his birth and plopped in the center of the bridge like the relic that it was. He still felt the shivering discomfort of eyes upon him as his comrades in the cohort's inner circle peered at him. Some burned with loyalty, and others plotted their ascension. Not even their tiny fiefdom was free from power politics.

Give a man a crown, tell him he is king of the shed, and he'll kill for it.

WIttiza was clad in a black great coat that had seen better days. Dark circles shadowed the bottoms of his eyes as he canted his head to the side at the holoprojection. The cohort had seen many oddities in their time, but a man bearing wings was new.

"Do you think it's human?" Lucian asked with genuine curiosity before Wittiza unmuted his side of the connection. "Or some kind of mutant?" They had seen many abominations born of Sith science in their travels.

"It's a little too symmetrical to be a mutant, I think. Just another of the Ashla's lost children." Withurd countered between sips of caf, "She's always been rather creative with her projects."

Wittiza raised a gloved hand for silence and nodded for his adjutant to unmute his side of the connection. The Essonians had let the stranger's words hang for far too long and one might have found the relative silence to be uncomfortable.

"The Galactic Empire," Wittiza hissed the words with a child's amusement. "Another gaggle of warlords claiming legacy from legends that should long have been left to rot." It seemed most of the galaxy was keen to live in the ancient past in lieu of moving forward. "I'm surprised no one has claimed the legacy of the Rakata at this point for all the imagination we collectively seem to lack."

There was nothing in those words. Meaningless observation: a forte of his.

"Twenty years ago, the core bowed to our own legions, but they rejected enlightenment in favor of nostalgia. They chose their own fate, but we are open to profiting from it." The master of the cohort leaned forward, fingers steeping in front of him as he stared at Laphisto Laphisto from the top of his eyes. "I am Wittiza, and I am open to your terms though they require further discussion. Before that, I would know your name, your order, and why you would send your people to die fighting ghosts."
 

Laphisto

High Commander of the Lilaste Order
"I am High Commander Laphisto of the Lilaste Order. The Diarchy and by extension the Order has been asked by the Galactic Alliance to aid in the defense of Artisia. A superweapon has been trained on population centers; when instruments like that are raised against the innocent, the Order does not turn its back. Even if the Alliance had not requested our aid, we would have moved regardless their permission only eases the logistics of operating in Alliance space."

He paused, letting the holo-cadence hang between them. His line-ear flicked once as he studied Wittiza's face, cataloguing micro-expressions with the same calm precision he applied on the field. He could have reached for the Force and plucked the truth from the man's mind in an instant, but honor governed parley; to steal thoughts here would be a stain on the word he offered. "As for why I would send my people to stand in a line against what you call 'ghosts' they are not phantoms to me. They are measures of intent made real. A superweapon pointed at a world is more than a threat; it is a decision to erase. If we allow such instruments to exist unchecked, the margin for mercy narrows every day. The Lilaste Order answers when a line must be held so others can live. That is duty, not bravado."

laphisto paused briefly hands moving froma crossed position over his chest to clasp behind his back as he shifted into a form of parade rest his left wing twitching before stretching out in a stretch and coming back to rest along side the other"There is also a practical calculus. Hold the line on Artisia and you deny the Empire a foothold that would cost far more lives later. A halted advance now prevents harder, bloodier wars later. We do not send men to die for legend; we send them to prevent greater slaughter, to buy time and space for the innocent to survive, and to keep the Rim from becoming a graveyard. the Order does not abandon those who ask for aid. The Alliance asked; we answered.. Those are the reasons, Wittiza. Duty, strategy, and the simple arithmetic of preventing future bloodshed"

Wittiza Wittiza
 
The High Commander's appeal to ideals struck a chord with the inner circle of the cohort. In them, he would find eager hearts and wills inclined toward putting themselves on the line. Wittiza's measure of the dragon-man shifted as the commander concluded, the mild predation in his gaze wavering as it drifted off to the faces of his officers.

It had been a very long time since they'd fought a battle they might lose. Even longer since they'd stood shoulder to shoulder against the dark tide, each brother giving everything they had to stop the spread of the great enemy. It was something they spoke of quietly during their jaunts through hyperspace: the spirit was willing, but they lacked the resources or the manpower to make any great difference on their own.

How many years had passed since their crusades in the far east? Near half a decade, if Wittiza recalled correctly. They lacked the tens of thousands of their heyday, but even a few hundred men could make a difference with the right experience and motivation.

The inner circle exchanged glances, something between excited anticipation and a call to a higher purpose setting their eyes alight. Wittiza was confident enough in their unanimity that he did not need to voice the question.

"Your cause is just, High Commander Laphisto." Wittiza allowed himself an anticipatory grin of his own. "It has been far too long since the slaves to darkness have faced the Sons of Ession, even depleted as we are. You shall have us and what we have left to offer. For too long we've scrounged and simply survived; on Atrisia we shall live again!"

There were quiet mutterings of affirmation from the inner circle. Wittiza leaned back, far more relaxed, his desire to negotiate harsh terms shrinking beneath the weight of duty. "What we require is a lump sum of two-hundred thousand credits to pay the wages of our warriors during our tenure with you, resupply of our fuel stocks and ammunition stores, and a promise that you will stick us where the fighting is thickest. My brothers and I have always been the tip of the spear: we serve best as shock troops, but we shall go where we are most needed all the same."

A hushed silence fell as Wittiza raised a hand to quiet the mutterings of his cohort. "Where shall we rendezvous with your forces? We'll make the jump immediately."

Laphisto Laphisto
 

Laphisto

High Commander of the Lilaste Order
Laphisto gave a firm nod of acknowledgment toward the man before him. Raising his vambrace, he tapped across the panel, the muted click of armored fingers echoing faintly as he sent a secured transmission across the channel. A set of coordinates, clearance codes, and docking instructions pulsed through the link with a soft chime. "Aurora Station, above Bastion," he said, his voice steady. "Docking Bay Three-Nine. Clearance code LO-ANCHOR-17. That is where we are currently positioned. I will be there to receive you personally, to see that you and your men are properly quartered and supplied until we are called forth."

He lowered his arm and shifted his stance, the weight of his armor lending a metallic finality to every movement. Bringing a closed fist to his chest, he struck the breastplate with a resonant thud, then dipped into a deeper bow not of submission, but of respect between commanders."May balance guide your hand, Commander," he intoned, the words carrying both benediction and promise.

With that, the holo-feed snapped into silence, the projection fading to nothing. Laphisto lingered for a heartbeat longer in the dim blue afterglow before turning sharply on his heel. His stride carried him out from the chamber and down toward the operations deck, already sending clipped orders through his comms. Docking control was to ready Bay Three-Nine. The quartermaster was to prepare barracks space and issue rations. Instructors and med teams were placed on alert. Aurora Station would be ready to receive its new allies, just as he had promised.

Wittiza Wittiza
 

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