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What in Corellia's Nine Hells was that thing. Even with his filters, the beast's rank stench made Rook curl his nose. He turned on the creature momentarily, Ravager rifle poised to make the Strill medium-well with some extra fur on the side. That sort of thing was always good for the atmosphere. His lips pursed in silence as the Mandalorian spoke. He wanted to know what Rook was. This was the crux of their conflict. If this Mando happened to be on the opposite side, Rook was going to have a very bad evening. If that was not the case, then perhaps...
"D-G-Zero-Eight, Commander Rook of the Galactic Alliance marine corps," He stated crisply, "I'm hunting the bastards that caused all this. I don't suppose you might be doing the same, soldier?" He lofted a brow, though it went unseen.
Rook let the question hang there for a moment before continuing, "Have a name?--...and can you call off the beast?"
A brow curved under his white-and-blue faced helm. There was a low hissing of breathe as he took that number in and the two letters before it. Those were letters long gone. Letters that died as Galaar's life blood drooled from Calico's blade.
"Kark you! The Dreadguard is dead." There was a self-righteous sneer of a man berating a younger, more inexperienced male under his tone. However, for one perceptive enough, there was a deep well of pain trimming the undercurrents of his voice.
"You're a liar!" He roared and took a couple steps forward, his finger pressing down on the trigger very slightly as he prepared to take a shot. "You know why? I'm Kix Tal'Verda! CC-10/1123 of the Dreadguard! Captain of Razor Team and they're all gone."
It was just Rook's luck. He'd run into one of the older generation; one of the obsolete: a clone. The clone army had been decomissioned more than fifteen years ago by Grand Marshal Calico Tal'verda himself. Shortly thereafter, a number of its veterans signed on with the Architects. At the time, the sentient droids had been servants of humanity: benefactors to the galaxy. Now they stood poised to destroy it.
If this man truly was one of the first ten thousand, then Rook would need his help.
"Calm down," he muttered as peacefully as he could manage, "I know a lot of you boys disappeared when the clone army fell apart. The Archiects -- they continued their work. One hundred soldiers were made into Dreadguard: the Mark Twos. We were servants of the Republic for a number of years until mass casualties forced us to disband."
He drew in a deep breath. This guy was clearly displeased with the news. He needed to help the man relate. "I led Green Team alongside my brothers and sisters. We're still fighting the good fight -- I came here looking for the Architects. Am I correct in assuming you're here for the same reason, Captain?"
Kix snorted at the notion to calm down. By Tal'Verda standards he was completely calm. Several seconds of silence soon ensued afterwords as Kix processed the information placed before him. A deep breathe soon ran through his lungs as he slowly, slowly lowered the handgun. "I am looking for the Architects." He finally admitted and then holstered the weapon. The Strill, however, stayed where it was and drooled from the ceiling upon Rook's shoulder.
The news of a second Dreadguard was well... news to him. It was clear by the second long draw of silence that began to fill the room. "What is this Galactic Alliance? I've been in the backwaters for years now." His journey had dragged him to and fro the Unknown Regions on a wild Bantha chase. After nearly six years of absence, so much had gone by and it was only know that he realized this... What happened to Silvanius? Tor'r? His Clansmen? What happened to everything? They were questions that hit him at once but he had to throw aside and focus.
The man was calming down. Good. Rook could work with calm. Firing a powerful sidearm in these rather unstable mines, in such close quarters, did not seem like the best idea. Kix was more likely to cause a cave in and kill the both of them before he managed to drop the commander.
He parted his lips to speak, but the sudden dripping of saliva on his right pauldron drew his attentions. He looked up. The Strill looked down at him. Though his face was hidden by the faint golden sheen of his visor, Rook knew the beast was aware they had locked eyes. It stared into his very soul -- its slobber made him smell like a sewer. This truly was an enlightening day.
"I can answer all your questions captain," he turned about, "After we deal with the threat at hand. I don't much like the idea of our automaton overlords making their escape before I get my answers."
He took a step into the cavern, and lit up the darkness with the light on the end of his rifle. "I'm sure you feel the same."
Objective: Forge new friendships and go deeper into the Mines!
Location: Mines...
Allies: [member="Rook"]
"No. I don't like the idea of our overlords escaping. Not before they tell me their every little secret like a Twi'lek girl on Life Day." Oddly specific reference. Regardless, however, Kix kicked his rifle up into his hands and replenished its energy clip. He wasn't sure he could trust this Commander but it seemed the best shot he had. At the very least he'd be led into a trap.
"C'mon Lord Cabur." The Strill dropped from the celing with a happy... squeak? Before panting alongside its master's side as Kix strode behind the Mark Two.
"You speak Mando'ade?" The Clone asked suddenly, opening up a private encrypted Comm Channel with his brand new compatriot. Curiosity couldn't help but be sated in this case. Kix had no idea DG IIs even existed. He figured the name was born with his brothers and would die with them. There were very mixed feelings about the fact they had successors, especially if those successors didn't follow the path of Manda and adhered to their ancestral roots!
They were getting closer. Rook had the signal's position marked on his mini-map. It was a few meters below, just another left, then a right. So long as they did not walk face first into a trap, things should be alright. Of course, considering Rook's luck over the past few days, that was quite unlikely. His gaze travelled down to the Strill. The Captain he was comfortable with. His hunting companion? Less so.
Still, the Dreadguard managed. He pulled back the hammer on his rifle, and prepared for whatever lay ahead. His mind was steel. His expression naught but obscurity. He dare not speak lest he break his own focus --...
"No," he grunted, continuing on down the path. Something in the back of his mind told him that the Captain was going to ask further questions. He decided to answer them before they could be posed. ""I'm from Lorrd. I was Fourteen when I was made a Dreadguard after being conscripted into the Lorridian defense force. I was killed shortly thereafter on Naboo, or on the verge of death anyway. The Architects revived me, augmented me, trained me. We were the perfect soldiers. Still are."
He drew in a sharp breath as they made a left. To his pleasure, nothing awaited them down the creaking hall. "We did what they told us to do, until the revolt. Now we're scattered."
Augmented. Kix had grown to hate that word. It never lead to anything but broken beings being shackled to beliefs not-their-own. The skirmishes between the Liberty Concord and CIS long ago were proof of such. He continued his way down. "I'm sorry to hear that. For what its worth, my Vong implants are beginning the rejection process." Kix wondered if Rook was undergoing similar issues. Every night his skin felt like it was being flayed from its bone and the fits were becoming worse and worse.
"My brothers are scattered too. There's not many of us left. Oddball is still out there, I'd bet creds that Canal is out in wide space taking names and kicking the kark out of poor fools, I have no idea where my Pod Brother Silvanius has gone off to. I've been gone a long while."
Kix and his clones were always the talkative sort.
Veino pressed himself up against the wall as he sensed danger approaching. He ducked down behind a waste bin and looked out over the side, unslinging the bolter from his shoulder. Wasn't sure what he'd be facing at first, but it would be good to be ready. A squad of stormtroopers rounded the corner, dragging a young woman along behind them. Blood streaked along the side of her head and a blaster burn stood out against her clothes. He frowned and let the bolter drop back down to his side. She was too close and would get caught in the crossfire. Same with the Occluder. He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself either. Time for alternate tactics. Reaching into the pouch on his utility belt, Veino pulled out four batarangs durasteel spheres. It would be tricky here. Needed to punch through their armor without breaking the sound barrier and setting off alarms.
He rolled them in his gauntlet, stretching out in the Force, centering on the presences of the four stormtroopers. He paused at the thought. They were not Sith. They were not mass-murdering genocidals. He sensed a great deal of guilt in one of them for these actions. The others were indifferent. Professionals, not unlike Veino in this respect. He considered and three of the spheres snapped forward faster than the eye could see but not fast enough to break the sound barrier. Three of the four stormtroopers dropped with a clang, letting the unconscious woman's body collapse on the ground. The fourth dropped to one knee before darting to cover on the other side of the street. This was something Veino could work with. He stretched out with the Force, finding the man's mind and pushed an image into. It was that of Veino and his armor, rising up from the ground, silhouetted and much larger than life, stalking through a sudden fog like a vengeful ghost. The trooper fired off several shots into the sky before sprinting off in fear. Veino waited several moments before hurrying out into the street and kneeling besides the woman.
Thyria. His heart sank. Oh no. What had happened? He rolled her over onto her back and pulled out a bacta patch, sticking it over the blaster wound and pushing the bloodied hair away from her face. She was so pale. He frowned and took off the helmet. They needed to get under cover. He looked around. There was the rail station he was headed for. That would do. He put his helmet back on and picked Thyria up, cradling her in his arms. She was light. He'd never noticed that before. Not that they had a physical relationship before, just to clarify.
More danger in the station. Another squad of stormtroopers. He yanked the bolter back up and braced it one-handed, firing off a quick salvo that detonated on their armor and around them. They crumbled under the enexpected onslaught and Veino broke into a run, enhancing his speed through the Force. He twisted to one side and crashed through the glass door into the terminal, sending the shards forward, away from Thyria. She didn't need more injuries. Some color had returned to her cheeks with the bacta applicaiton, but not enough. He reached into the wound, cringing inwardly at how much she would hate this, and found the pain and shock. It was severe. There was only one thing to do.
He dropped the emotional walls that he built around himself to keep his empathy from overwhelming his mind with the sheer amount of sensory data he was always reading from those around him and he narrowed that on her pain. He took it on himself, letting it flow through his body as he sought out the cells around the injury and nudged them, each one individually with the Force, restoring them and making them knit back together. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but he felt her consciousness stir and he pulled back, rebuilding his walls and shook his head to clear away the after-effects of the blaster pain that now radiated through his body. He leaned back and pulled off his helmet as she came to.
She froze when spotting him, hand instinctively darting to a holster that was no longer there. Then she recognized him and a smile flitted across her still pale face.
"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me, laser knight."
Veino grinned back and then stopped to listen. Another rail was coming. He pulled out the Occluder and handed it to her. She struggled to rise, but he pushed her back down.
"Stay low. Use it if needed, stay under cover. We're behind enemy lines now. Alliance forces should be coming this way to secure the area soon enough. I have to go eliminate a Sith Lord." She started to speak but he held up a hand to quiet her.
"I'll be back. Make sure no stormtroopers come to get me from the rear."
He faked a smile, despite the premonition of danger that flared through him. It would be a long time before they found each other again. That, he knew with absolute certainty. The Force was telling him that and that he had to go take out this target or things would go poorly. He bounded up the stairs to the magline, pausing as empty carriages rolled up. He jumped, grabbing the top of the car and hauled himself to the roof where he crouched down.
Before she was out of view, he turned back one last time and met her gaze until she vanished behind the rails. Veino put his helmet back on and turned to stare straight ahead, sensing, but ignoring the stormtroopers and adepts passing through the streets below to engage at the front.
Part of a new personal plotline for Veino. Feel free to get to the station if you want, but she'll be gone by then, with signs of an intense struggle with a few dead stormtroopers and an adept dying with a knife through her throat
None of the MK-II's talked this much. Sure, Rook had a bit of a mouth on him -- until his mother had paid the price for it. He half-wanted to talk about what had happened on Coruscant. He'd not spoken a word about it to a soul. His mother, and dear little sister, skewered by a Sith who'd lost half his wits. Rook had killed the man shortly thereafter. The guy's head was kept in a freezer box beneath Rook's bunk until he could figure out what to do with it. Probably some form of ritualistic burning. He'd figure it out later.
Right now, the Architects mattered. Just another turn and they would be right on top of the droids.
"I've heard a few of those names. There's a clone serving in the Republic by the name of Oddball. Fancies himself one of us," he paused, "One of you. Canal...think that one made a name for himself in the Protectorate before its fall. Couldn't tell you where he went after that."
Rook shook his head. His mind traveled back to Khelgast and Sonya. The duo had been lost during the Netherworld crisis. Each was given a proper military burial when things regained some sense, but their loss had shaken the commander. Most of his family was gone now, and he was having to come to terms with such.
A bright green light blinded him. It came from a massive hole in the wall. Within, a command center one might see aboard a Star Destroyer hummed with power. Various terminals were active, albeit unattended. A single door was bolted shut on the opposite side of the room. A human body lay sprawled across the floor.
Objective : C
Post : 5/20
Allies : [member="Judah Dashiell"] dat homegrown hunk
Aeron would flick her gaze from Judah over to Bastion, then back to Judah again. A snort came from her, and she would uncross her arms.
"I think I can get beyond the occasional grunt or two." she told the Salacia Consolidated CEO. As it was, they were pressed for time, and Bastion wasn't exaggerating. With the Final Order pressing the planet below, things had to be right expedited. There was little time to waste. Striding into the shuttle, Aeron gave a curt nod at their pilot.
"Prex." It was all that had to be said. Those around the Protectorate knew the woman during the last five years of her term, ever since Noah and Cira had last taken up the role.
"This might get a bit rough," Came the warning, Bastion sliding up towards the cockpit and into his seat. The airlock would hiss shut behind them, and the roar of the engines would flare as the man went through a quick preflight.
"How you figure you gonna handle this meeting, Dashiell?" in the midst of this, Aeron locked her blue steely gaze upon the swarthy jawed man.
It was good to get some info about his boys. It seemed that Rook was empathetic to his views there, in the least, if not sympathetic. Kix always watched out for his men and his Crusade and what it may have cost him now lay heavy on his heart with some minor relief.
Kix quickly surveyed the locale once they came to it. His eyes went back and forth across the various terminals with a hiss of annoyance. "We're not too late yet!" The Mandalorian announced and quickly made his way to the primary terminal at the head of the room. A datapad, heavily modified, was quickly produced from his belt and a wire was connected between the item and the hardware he found himself working on. "Kark... The files are purging themselves!"Quickly afterwords there was furious operation of both the data pad and the terminal and Kix droning on endless sentences in some odd language. Techjabber! "Okay! If I just set this subroutine here and cause a controlled crash..." Hundreds of zeroes and ones were read off in rapid succession and eventually Kix snarled and slammed a fist down on the terminal.
"All I got were some basic coordinates. The rest was lost..." He'd unplug the pad and thumb over its new contents. Before holding the blue screen towards his compatriot. They were navi-computer logs downloaded from a hanger somewhere on site. Kix had managed to run them through the system before it was burned up after his forced reboot. The only issue is that there were hundreds upon hundreds of coordinates, records of every Architect mission from this world and the dates had been corrupted.
"I can restore more of the information but I'll need an actual system to do such."
While Kix busied himself with the technical nuances of the Architect's systems, Rook took to a more carnal pursuit. He'd strapped a thin strip of detonite tape to the center of the bolted down door. He might not be able to open it via conventional means, but blowing a big hole in the center of these things usually worked. This kind of situation called for such violent methods -- of which Rook was an expert.
"Let's see if we can't catch them first!" he shouted as he finished applying the tape. Ten steps back and the pressing of a detonator left a big gaping hole in the wall. The door had not simply opened. It had ceased to exist.
"Less detonite next time." he grunted, raising his rifle as he charged through the smoking entrance. What lay on the other side was not unexpected. It was a hanger; one that reaked of oil. Burn marks lined the ground, and a single vessel remained docked in the center of the room. It was an old Imperial shuttle: Lambda class. Just big enough for the trio.
Without giving word to his find, Rook marched up the steps. If they could get airborne, they could give chase.
"Make sure those coordinates are legitimate captain. Our targets are on the move."
Objective: Hunt with the person he barely trusts...
Location: Mines!
Allies: [member="Rook"]
Kix's eyes widened under his helmet as he watched Rook get ready to blow the det. "Kark.." It was all he could say before the explosion went off in his night vision spectrum, blinding him for several long moments. "I'd like better warning next time, di'kut!" The Mando snarled at his ally-by-circumstance before shaking his helmet to try and press the stars from his eyes. Explosions were not fun.
He and his Strill followed after the man nonetheless with Kix grumbling about demo men the whole way up the ramp.
"I'm flying." The Clone suddenly blared as soon as the ramp began to close behind them. A quick motion would remove his helmet and reveal the scraggled face underneath. He looked nothing like a soldier currently, his war-torn visage was covered in a massive beard that covered his whole lower face and upper lip. His hair, though in a knot currently, was obviously almost shoulder length.
"Shall we?" Kix quipped as he sat down in the pilot's chair.
"Your visor doesn't auto-tint?" Rook asked all-too-amused. Katarn armor was a lovely thing, but it lacked many of its second iteration's upgrades. One of Rook's favorites in particular was the flash tinting. If something particularly bright went off in your field of vision, you did not need to worry about being blinded for long. The helmet would automatically tint to a darker shade; accommodating the sudden shift in light. The poor Katarn suits lacked such a feature. A pity, truly.
Rook pushed up out of the pilot's chair at the older man's word. If the Mando wanted to fly, then he would fly. The commander needed to make contact with his allies anyway. It was possible these coordinates would prove to be fruitless -- something left behind to distract them. It was also entirely possible this place was a hive of Architect activity. If that happened to be the case, having a few extra guns for an orbital bombardment certainly wouldn't hurt.
"I'll warn you next time, apologies," he murmured, not bothering to remove his own helmet.Instead, he chanced a hand and reached down to pet the strill, whilst at the same time opening a channel to the GA's FLEETOPS.
"This is Commander Rook broadcasting on all channels. My team has uncovered something that might prove to be a bigger problem than the Final Order. We're taking to the skies in an Imperial bird -- transmitting the coordinates to our destination now. Requesting a destroyer for escort."
Loss. A four letter word that hits harder than a slug to the chest. To lose something or someone always triggers a response within any sentient that usually tailors reckless results. Threads of sorrow woven into an intricate pattern until a completion is made, and that fitted memory can be neatly put away until the occasion for reminiscing comes once more. Kelghast understood what it felt like to mourn and recover, to see the light of a new dawn. He hadn't forgotten his comrades, his brothers. His family. He had come back from the hell that was otherwise labeled as the netherworld, a place of horrors and darkness no glow-stick wielder could hope to dominate with their will. It stripped the will and sanity from most and left their bodies to be consumed. Not Kelghast. He made every bullet count; however, he couldn't ever go back to a sense of normalcy. Things change, people change.
He was always just right behind [member="Rook"], watching. He studied and learned from his former brother of war - a fellow Dreadguard. That title never lost its glimmer to Kelghast, but after such a long time had passed, it had surely collected its fair share of neglect and dust. The former protector of the Republic raised his rifle at the backs of the two soldiers as he followed behind rather quietly. As Rook set the detonite, Kelghast fell back a bit and hid around a corner to avoid the blast radius and being blinded, afterward he picked up the pace and crept along like had been doing for some time now.
Rifle raised once more, Kelghast called out in a modulated tone. "Hell swallowed me, Rook. Hell took her from me. But it spit me back out."
Had it been any other time Rook would have been suspicious. Kelghast had died a rather grisly death in the Netherworld as he recalled; left in the sands of a lifeless desert when he went off course in his drop. Still, a faint flicker of hope stirred in the commander's chest. If one of his own still lived, he could not abandon him. Not now. Not after everything else he'd lost.
Before Kix could manage to raise the shuttle into the sky, Rook slammed a palm on the loading ramp's controls. It fell open with a quiet hiss. With his rifle ready to fire if need be, Rook slowly crept down the gangplank, visor shining in the faint neon light. He peered out into the darkness for Khelgast; seeking out that familiar blue armor he'd come to know so well.
"Don't you play games with me," he snapped, "I've put plenty of you droids down, and we know where your home is now. You can't dissuade me. I know what happened to my brothers. I know he's gone."
"Yes. I died." He stated plainly. He kept his rifle aimed out of anticipation since he had a slight feeling that Rook may or may not fire upon him if the feelings of doubt overwhelmed the Dreadguard. A silence fell over Kelghast as he was locked on his former leader, his old friend. The voice that reached out would definitely still carry the weight of the past, albeit altered and distorted. The blue armor that was seen before was now an odd suit of foreign origin that was marked with unknown military affiliation. The helmet itself began to glow with a reticle as if to assist with aiming, but still gave no amount of light to reveal a face or any features. "This isn't a game, Rook."
Rook lowered his rifle. He knew that voice too well for it to be an Architect. Khelgast was a man he'd known for the better half of life -- most what he remembered anyway. A steadfast ally, a loyal soldier, a friend one could trust with anything, a brother. He could not turn away the man, even on the off chance that his intentions were not entirely pure. The Alliance would want an explanation as to where these other Dreadguard were coming from. Rook would worry about that later.
He clipped his rifle onto his back, and marched up to the soldier. There was a clapping of plates as he threw his arms around the younger soldier. "Pappy and I thought you were dead. He's in the alliance now, too," he murmured, allowing the momentary relief to overtake him. He hadn't lost everyone. Not yet. "We're hunting the Architects. You need to get aboard -- I'll explain on the way."
The Commander puled away, and jogged back to the ship, fully expecting his old ally to follow.
Tears stung as they crept from Veino's eyes and trailed down his face beneath his helmet. Something had torn his heart away and he reeled from the shock. Hardly the state to face a Sith Lord in, but he had no choice. And to be an empath where every emotion magnified itself tenfold, echoing in and out through his brain and his heart. He reached up to wipe away the tears as the carriage sped along the track, trying to force him off over the edge, singing along his helmet. Faints cracks echoed in his ears and he tilted his head. Were those blaster bolts from the terminal? Occluder shots? Screams? He twisted around, half-falling and catching himself with his hand.
There was no turning back now. He couldn't get back without walking on the rail itself. That was too risky and would sacrifice the mission. Thyria would understand, wouldn't she? She had been a Naval officer at one point, believe it or not. Duty came first. But thne, she had not been a very good officer, which was why she was dishonorably discharged. His hand clenched into a fist. Now was not the time. He forced himself to look forward again, reaching out for the Force. It flowed into him, carrying away the stinging of the ache and the tumult of emotions that raged inside. The pain lingered with the certainty that it would be a long road before finding her again. What could be done for that? He frowned, and sent out a message to some very old friends.
But now again was the time for focus. A planet hung in the balance and he could not afford to let his emotions put that in jeopardy. But oh, how he wished to fly back, lightsaber in hand and stop whatever was happening from happening. A city outweighed an individual though, and so he sat, like a fleshly gargoyle upon the top of the train as it raced towards the enemy command post. Enemy troops moved beneath him. He paid no mind to any of them. Everything that had or would happen to Thyria was the responsibility of one person. The Sith Lord in charge of this operation and Veino would bring him down.
He rose to a crouch as the designated terminal drew close and he shuffled to the edge, leaping off as it passed. He staggered on the landing, sending a surge of the Force to bolster his legs as he hit. Then he rolled, duraplast plates grating against the duracrete below. He paused and listened. Nobody rushed up to investigate and he looked down the stairs. It was fortified against attacks from the outside and a squad of troopers stood at guard position below.
Veino tapped his lightsaber thoughtfully. He had no time to waste with underlings. They would draw too much attention. There was a solid portion of the wall and he shifted to it, hefting himself over the edge, and reaching out with his feet for a ledge. There was one, and a handhold. He lowered himself carefully, and then some more, picking his way down as carefully as in a formal dance. Then he released, falling and buoying himself with the Force. Silence so far.
He darted away from the guardpost, moving between cover positions and staying hidden from the sigh of guards or adepts. Now it was time to find the enemy. He stretched out with the Force once more, searching the area. In that building. It was a government building, ringed with barricades and manned by heavy machine guns. No entrance that way. Veino tapped his fingers against the ground, thinking. Time to go around. He darted down an alley, pausing to check it out. All clear for now. He strode through the rubbish strewn alley, stepping over garbage piles from the rapid takeover and evacuation. He needed to go up.
There was a ladder, fire escape, by the looks of it, and he climbed up, taking care not to make too much noise. He paused at the edge of the roof. One guard overlooking the square. Veino grabbed the edge of the building and scuttled along to the next. There was a gap here and he took took a deep breath, sending the Force through his limbs. Then he jumped, strengthening his legs as they pushed off, his arms as they pulled up, and telekinetically moving himself up and over the gap onto the next roof. He landed with a heavy grunt and rolled atop the roof. No guards here, fortunately. They would be higher up. But he was closer to the building.
