Well forgive us these smiles on our faces (Recon Run: Ord Biniir, Sith Ascendancy)

[Jorus Merrill]

DASCORIA CITY
NEAR INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT

As a rule, Jorus didn't much like stowing away on an ethical level. That said, if you were willing to take your time and leave the big guns at home, there was no better way to get past a hostile border. Even so, he'd picked as soft a target as he could find. Ord Biniir was a growing power in the Coreward end of Ascendancy space, but more accessible than most Sith worlds - friendlier, closer to the border, and so forth. Rumor identified Dascoria City with clone armies and an unusual level of cheerful loyalty for a Sith-controlled metropolis. At the request of Underground contacts, someone needed to poke around.

A disheveled spacer like any other slipped out of a landing gear well and ambled off across the tarmac. The bulk freighter was registered to a local firm called Malonon Ship Components Limited. Malonon loadlifters and pallets of engine parts made this particular landing area noisy as feth, obstructed lines of sight, and generally reduced the likelihood that he'd be spotted right off the bat.

As for the rest of the city...well, every port of call was different. Some places, you could go undetected for days. Others, you'd run into trouble before you could spit. No telling yet what kind Dascoria would prove to be.

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Satia the Cruel"] @whomever

 

[Poe]

Dascoria City
G'ydor Palace


I casually walked through the palace, my palace, with three of my Dread Knights walking a few paces behind their Master. I found my mind was still whirling from the tedious meeting where I had to deal with certain complaints from a hand few of business owners from the Industrial District. Each owner seemed to outdo their fellow business owner with a highly, if not fabricated, accusation ranging from designs being stolen to engineers being offered more money to come work for a rival company. Running a planet was hard work, and though my patience was already known to be barely stitched together; for one fleeting moment I almost ordered the entire lot executed.

Yet, I listened intently and settled the disputes the best I could. Most of the owners left satisfied with only a couple still feeling discouraged by the outcome of the meeting. For those that still felt unsatisfied, I promised them that I would launch a serious investigation into their accusations personally. Though I no longer wore the skin of an Inquisitor, I still possessed the ability to get results by unorthodox methods.

Rounding the corner, I activated the com link on my wrist speaking plain and clear, "Have a transport shuttle prepared to take me to the Industrial District." But first, I had to make an appearance to another group of individuals; smugglers that had been detained on the charge of stealing and trying to remove certain artifacts that belonged to a rich businessman on Ord Biniir.

Entering the temporary detention center in the palace, I looked at the four chained-to-the-walls smugglers feeding off their fear. One of the smugglers attempted to speak, prompting me to backhand him violently; sending splatters of blood onto the woman chained to his right. "You will only speak when prompted to. That goes for everyone here. These charges against you are severe and I advise you don't make a mistake that will force me to cast a judgment without gathering all the facts for your defense. Are we clear?"

The joined silence was confirmation. "Now, without talking over one another, who wishes to plea their case first?"


[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Satia the Cruel"]

Dascoria was doing well, for a port off the beaten path. Every couple of minutes, another bulk freighter ascended or touched down with a soft boom that rattled windows. Jorus found it soothing - spaceports were, and always had been, his life. To exit the area, he blended with a disparate group of contractors on shore leave. Dascoria offered all the watering holes and houses of ill repute that a modern port town demanded. Though he spied security troopers, the Sith Ascendancy’s hand seemed to rest light on Ord Biniir. No obvious fear, poverty, or public executions, so far as he could tell.

At the edge of the industrial district, a rooftop tavern offered a decent view: factories, a small shipyard, a hilltop palace. Not for the first time, he wished he had the Force senses and abilities of a normal Jedi. He could have tried to intuit whether the Dark Side was strong in any particular direction, or found a better sense of the city’s emotions. Instead, he had to resort to common sense, the naked eye, and his long-honed instinct for ‘thattaway.’ Right now, that instinct was silent. He settled down at the rooftop’s edge, leaned on the railing, and sucked back cheap lum as heavy isotope blared from the cantina speakers.

 

[Poe]

"Without rules and laws," I said standing on a platform addressing the crowd in the courtyard within the Palace, "we risk infecting ourselves with chaos." Waving my hand to the five heavily guarded smugglers standing behind me in front of their individual poles, awaiting for their ensuing execution I continued, "These men have chosen to break our laws, believing their crime of theft was born out of survival. Yet, they are neither citizens of the Empire or Ord Biniir. They are a blight, an example of what we are trying to prevent. They have stood in judgement, each one given the opportunity to defend themselves. However, the evidence was stacked against them and along with their honest testimony they have been found guilty. Thus, they will executed."

A simple gesture given, the smugglers were forced to the ground, their hands nailed to a thick horizontal plank of wood; then hoisted up and held in place on the seven foot thick and reinforced vertical wooden pole, their bare feet crossed over one another and nailed. I watched as they tried to scream, possibly make last pleas, but their removed tongues and sewn shut mouths robbed them of both.

Returning to the Palace, I left the smugglers to their deaths while making the final preparations to visit the Industrial District and launch the promised investigations. I frowned at the prospect the day was going to be riddled with busy burdens; but it was part of being Governor of Ord Binnir. Arriving to the Palace's landing platform, I ordered the Dread Knights to remain here; climbing into the transport shuttle. "Let's get this over with," I told the lone pilot, feeling the transport shutter and lift off the ground.



[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Darth Sarcophago"]

A shuttle’s liftoff gave the palace a sense of scale. It wasn't that large after all, maybe fifty metres across. The shuttle arced overhead and looked to be landing in the Industrial District not far off. Jorus straightened up from the railing and put his half-finished lum aside. Using a shuttle to cross a city meant either importance or a need for rapid deployment. Maybe he'd been spotted down there and stormtroopers were inbound.

This corner of the rooftop bar, behind a trellis, offered a bit of privacy. He pulled out a compact set of electrobinoculars. This line of sight didn't offer much insight on the landing shuttle. After a moment, he looked over at the palace.

Through an archway, he could see a good chunk of a courtyard. People were filing out, random citizens by the look of them. His nostrils flared as he zoomed in on the stakes, the blood - he couldn't quite see the crucified bodies, not above the knee, but long experience had left the sight unmistakable.

Aiming for nonchalant, he repacked his binoculars and settled his bill. Impetus without direction stirred in his gut. He could easily turn this simple recon run into something more dangerous and more impactful - but what? A Jedi didn’t assassinate, and ethically there wasn’t much difference between that and charging in to take down the decision-maker. Sabotage, maybe? That shuttle, if he could get close, might serve all kinds of purposes. Rescue might be viable: the crucified could live for days, all else being equal, and a lingering crucifixion emphasized the message. That gave him some time to work.

He clung to one certainty: whatever road he chose would have to be a simple one. The more moving parts a plan entailed, the higher the likelihood of malfunction.

As the shuttle vanished into the Industrial District, Jorus went back into the streets, blended with the workers, and got as close as he dared. From a spot about fifty yards off, between warehouses, he watched the shuttle land. He’d worn a taozin amulet to muddy his presence in the Force, but a Sith who knew what they were doing might get a hint that something was off.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal watched them die. He figured he owed them that much. Behind the looted T-visor, his eyes slid from their bloodied bodies to the purse stuffed with cred coins clutched in his hand. Guild contract paid in full. Job done.

Still, he felt he couldn't leave yet. Didn't rightly know why. He knew what would happen when he took the job. Did it anyway. A bounty was a bounty. Not like he hadn't handed folk over to get killed before. Usually a shot to the head. Clean. Quick.

Katarn's lip twitched behind the helmet. Didn't matter anyhow. Black Ties killed his bird. Might as well have killed what was left of his conscience too. Ka died squawking, neck flopping. Broken.

He squinted up at the dying, eyes green as a cat's. At least they couldn't scream.

[member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

 

[Aran Finn]

What Jorus Merrill had failed to consider in his planning was the unlikely presence of an old acquaintance.

This hadn't been the first time that Alen Na'Varro had faded away from public eye, searching for the truth to life in a complex and confusing galaxy. It had been thirteen years since he had inexplicably found himself eight centuries in the future. The galaxy had changed much in eight hundred years, and it had changed almost as much again in the last thirteen. Change complicated things. Na'Varro was nearing on his fiftieth birthday and he still hadn't found the answer he was looking for. The bearded man was keenly aware that he only had so much time left; he knew he would die in battle. And that could only happen soon.

What had led Na'Varro to Ord Biniir was a matter of little importance in the small picture and of much importance in the big picture, though that big picture was beyond the bearded man's comprehension. He'd never been the most clever man; his value was his practicality and his loyalty. He was the typical right-hand man ... and he had served that role many a time. He'd never been associated with Jorus though. They'd existed on the peripheries of each other's orbits. Their daughters had played together as kids, and Alen had developed a level of professional respect for the salvager. Were they friends? Not really. The former Darth Strider had never really been fully trusted by his light-sided allies. The point to all of this discourse was that Alen Na'Varro knew who Jorus Merrill was. He'd developed a sense of who the man was and what kind of aura hung around him ... as a dark-sided agent of the Penumbra of the Sovereign Principality of Ruusan, more than eight hundred years ago, Na'Varro had been trained to hide his own Force signature while being able to sniff out the Force signature of another. Now Jorus probably had a taozin amulet (like Alen did), but Alen was almost looking directly at the guy. He was about seventy percent sure that the guy who just left the bar was the same guy he'd had cordial chats around the barbecue with a few years ago, and the Force did the rest for him.

Jorus Merrill on Ord Biniir. That was something that very much intrigued Alen Na'Varro.

The bearded man fixed his own bill and nonchalantly followed the salvager out into the streets, tailing him by about twenty metres. If Alen Na'Varro knew anything, he knew that Merrill was about to poke the dragon. Na'Varro couldn't wait to see the resulting fireworks.

[member="Darth Sarcophago"] [member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Darth Sarcophago"] [member="Sal Katarn"] [member="Alen Na'Varro"]

A long career in instinctive navigation tended to redirect Jorus without warning. That happened now, and he found himself turning right, away from the landing shuttle. The Force had never struck him as especially concerned with his personal welfare. More often, it felt coolly impatient for him to get around unknown obstacle X and do what needed to be done. Between warehouses, he spied the destination that instinct had set for him: the small palace.

Dascoria City, like most Outer Rim ports, didn't take long to cross. In size, he found himself comparing it to Mos Espa or Eisley -- not an arduous walk, but enough to start feeling like he'd picked up a follower. He didn't try to shake the tail or get a clear look, not yet anyway. Instead, he just ambled up the hill to the palace and kept his ears open. The locals really were as content as advertised. He caught a few talking about the crucifixions with a frisson of grim thrill rather than terror or disgust. He kept his own contempt off his face and out of his mind as much as he could. Negativity towards other sentients didn't line up well with the Jedi path as he tried to follow it, and today he felt a special need to have the pure Force as his ally.

Though a good forty minutes had elapsed since the last nail went in, a few locals lingered around the courtyard's entrance. He merged through the remnant of the crowd. No question about it, the palace might be tiny but it boasted a respectable garrison. Apart from the guards, he noted a couple of gentlemen in black armour, carrying force pikes and wearing swords. A knot of bystanders offered shelter: he pulled out his Korriban Compass and watched the needle twitch between the armoured men. They carried items of alchemy, then, probably the swords -- or maybe they'd been alchemically modified themselves. Not good odds, if he wanted to take a swing at rescuing the crucified.

He nerved himself up, tucked the compass away as surreptitiously as he'd used it, and examined the condemned. They'd been through torture - sewn mouths, shackle-marks at wrist and ankle. Most or all were still alive, for now. In dress and appearance, they might have been his own crew. All this for simple theft, and nobody seemed to care.

A large fraction of Jorus Merrill considered coming back with enough firepower to make a hellscape of the city, but that was the Dark Side talking. He ignored it.

 

[Rosa Gunn]

The Golden Rose drifted in space above Ord Biniir, all systems powered down, enough oxygen within the ship to keep them going for a couple of hours, provided they used as little energy as possible. However, drifting in zero gravity with your husband often caused the mind to wonder to certain activities...

Rosa gave herself a mental nudge, a reminder that a friend's life might be at stake and to remain focused. She gifted [member="Seydon"] with one of those smiles before letting her eyes closed and reaching out in the force. To any passing ship, the rose would appear as space rubble, on closer inspection there might be a little residual heat, something worth inspecting, but Rosa had become rather adept her illusions.

She built a web about them, a tangle of thoughts, someone who seemed to be looking too hard at them would find themselves thinking of something else, distracted, what they had seen would slip from memory. It was reactive, much like the hairs on the back of the neck stand on end when someone this watching you, Ross felt the tingle of eyes lingering too long, and struck the in response.

All the while she followed [member="Jorus Merrill"]'s distorted force signature. "If extracting him breaks this ship, I hope he knows I'll need a new one."

[member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"] [member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

“Jorus is good for it,” Seydon said.

He was adrift in a cloud of kitchen utensils. Forks, knives, several spoons, a electro-vibe grater, something that resembled a precisely machined quartz rectangle fitted with slivers of off-silver electric connection ports, and a heavy mixing bowl rotated around his strong waist. He sipped cold caff from a plasteen jug and handed it to Rosa, kicking off a bulkhead. Breathing issued low vapour clouds that fluted through chin scruff. The forward cockpit viewport, though tinted, still bathed the vessel interior in stark, defining light. Seydon anchored his boots onto a foot hold in the flooring. He looked cut through by deeper-than-black shadow, yellow cat’s eyes too bright in the sunlight. Ord Biniir turned like a static portrait in the deep void, beyond the nose of the vessel.

Rosa’s concentration briefly dipped. Seydon, through their attunement, felt her thoughts just briefly drift. Fire woke up in his belly. They hadn’t tried that coital variation. If they came away from ord Biniir intact, once they handed off Jorus’ specified survivors, he’d broach her about the possibility. Semi-retirment was cluing him to marital advantages he’d been sorely missing. Now, the Dunaan floated in combat dress, his Huntsman garb and collection of old leather-hide harnesses and belts, blood-coloured vials in repaired bandoliers, a satchel hanging off his hip, Winterfang and Razorlight waiting in their belted-on sheaths. Seydon... expected. [member="Jorus Merrill"] and [member="Rosa Gunn"] never made an arrangement too easy. Hoarfrost coloured cyan at the edges of the viewport.

“...Can’t remember when we last tried something like this. Feeling young, strangely.”

[member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"] [member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Aran Finn]

Alen Na'Varro had seen enough cities to know that Dascoria City wasn't a kriffin' city at all. It was an outpost settlement at worst, a medium-sized town at best. The fact that this greying man, with streaks in his reddish beard and deep lines starting to crease his weathered features, hadn't been tempted to flag down a taxi was testament to that fact. It was relatively flat too, with few inclines in gradient meaning few opportunities for his thighs and calves to burn. The only thing that gave him pause was a certain aura of ... oddity. The groups of dismounted civilians seemed content, happy even; though Na'Varro noted that the contentedness was punctuated by dispassion and nonchalance. These citizens seemed to ignore the terrors visited on their fellows, as long as it was happening to someone else. It was clear that the roots of moral corruption ran deep on Ord Biniir. Na'Varro knew that there was no quick cure for that ... short of an apocalypse. And the Na'Varro who had glassed worlds was long gone. He had no time for that kind of nonsense anymore.

If [member="Jorus Merrill"] had sniffed him out, he wasn't showing it. The salvager took an abrupt right turn up the hill, making his way toward the palace with an unhurried gait. Na'Varro followed. He side-stepped onto the road for a brief second to make way for a small group of citizens moving the other way, picking up small snippets of idle conversation. A crucifixion, then. They seemed somewhat numb to it all, and Na'Varro was not surprised. This was now par of the course in Dascoria City, and one can become normalised to brutality if it is a regular occurrence. Truly, this galaxy was full of ills. Sentience had the potential to be a great cancer, and Ord Biniir was testament to that possibility.

Merrill ducked through the palace's gate, Na'Varro found shelter with another small group of people just outside and watched. Guards were dispersed throughout the courtyard. Those crucified still hung from their crosses; most had passed out due to the excruciating pain. None looked dead, not yet. That would likely come later. Merrill was still doing his best impression of an inobtrusive bystander, but Na'Varro thought he knew what was on the man's mind. His eyes were too busy. The man aimed to re-write a wrong.

Not gonna do anything stupid, are you? Na'Varro sent that thought through to Merrill from his vantage point by the gate, the limits to his telepathy achieved. He wasn't sure that the message would get through. Merrill could be wearing just about anything, and that could include some sort of alchemic construct that protected his mind from any form of mentalism. But it was worth a shot.

If Merrill was going to try anything, Alen strongly believed that he should have a full understanding of the terrain, both physical and human, before he acted.

[member="Rosa Gunn"] [member="Seydon"] [member="Sal Katarn"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

 

[Poe]

Industrial District (East Side)


Both Mr. Lacaster and Mr. Quinten attacked me, their combined verbal assault a result of them vying for my attention already annoyed me the moment I stepped off the black, metal ramp. The two owners of their respected factory businesses had been rivals long before I was appointed Governess of Ord Binnir. Reaching my boiling point, I raised a hand halting their growing heated words. "Gentlemen, when we spoke at the Palace I assured you both that we will find a solution to the accusations from both camps," I said looking back and forth between the two men. "The way the two of you are presenting your case to me right now will not prove favorable to either side."

"But Governess, Mr. Lacaster's minions have been seen stealing blueprints from my factory!" Stopping Mr. Lacaster from erupting in defense, I said to Mr. Quinten, "Do you have proof of this?" Shuffling his feet nervously he replied, "Not exactly." Taking this opportunity to launch into his rant, Mr. Lacaster barked, "Naturally he has no proof, there is no wrong doing by me. He has been jealous of my company for years. However, I on the other hand have proof that he has tried to undermine me."

Handing me a small datapad, he added, "I have a holovideo depicting three of his droids attempting to sabotage my production lines." Mr. Quinten tried to protest, prompting me to silence him with a cold stare. I watched the holo feed, seeing clearly the logo of Mr. Quinten's company on the droid's chassis. "Mr. Quinten, this is quite serious. Do you have anything to provide in the way of defending this?" Smirking, Mr. Quinten handed me a document saying, "Four days ago three of my droids disappeared. I filed a report at the security building and now clearly I see what happened to them. Mr. Lacaster stole them in order to frame me!"

Turning the document over to Mr. Lacaster to read, I said, "You have to agree, this doesn't look good for you. Let me remind you both, the Empire is clear and strict in their laws about corporate sabotage. There is zero tolerance. If we do not come to an agreement or solution to this case, the Empire reserves the right to enact eminent domain. I'm sure you don't wish to lose what you spent years creating. Now, let's head inside Mr. Lacaster's factory to discuss ways to solve this."



[member="Jorus Merrill"] @Everyone Else

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Rosa Gunn"] [member="Seydon"] [member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

Jorus took a sharp breath and straightened up. The voice in his mind didn't sound malevolent -- it even came across as a bit familiar -- but the lay of the land had just shifted. He scanned the courtyard and settled on a middle-aged man with a beard. Without undue haste, he came over to join Alen. One of the crucified moaned behind him. Nobody appeared to care.

"More than thinking about it, Na'Varro," he said quietly. "I've got enough spare parts to make a serious electromagnet. It'll take me a bit to yank fifteen nails up that high, but there's a few speeders I could gank within thirty yards, and that'll solve the height issue and the carrying-five-bodies-around issue. I've got friends in orbit for a potential pickup. I figure those boys in black metal will be the biggest obstacle - this palace ain't big enough for too much manpower. Plus whoever nailed those folks up didn't have a clue what they were doing. Nails in the hands, nothing securing the wrists, I'm amazed they haven't torn through yet. This whole thing's doable. Lot easier with someone watching my back, though."

The art of insurgency relied on the ability to do feth all in a convincing way. His conversation, though urgent, came across to an observer as a hundred percent nonchalant.

"This place needs a wakeup call. You down for it?"

 

[Rosa Gunn]

"Are you?" Rosa's eyes slid open at her husband's comment about feeling young, giving him an incredulous look and shaking her head. She certainly didn't. Had she felt young, she might not have had that knot of worry in her stomach. Perhaps it was because the last time she'd been in a ship loitering in orbital space, she hadn't been her. Layil and Odium had feasted and the worst bit was she couldn't even recall the planets name...

She shifted slightly, driving the discomforting thought away as another mind plucked at her web. She struck it away with an almost casual manner, and shifted her focus to their friend instead. Distorted though Jorus's force signature was, she had the distinct impression something had changed. She reached out across the void to find his mind, seeking a greater awareness of his well being. He might have noticed the probing, but she wasn't so callous that she would do more than touch the edges of his mind.

"Turn on the comms love, and see if the thrusters can't give us a little nudge closer. We can kick start her as we enter the atmosphere if we need to. Jorus is....." she tried to find the right word for it. "I think he's found an itch to scratch. He's got that little buzz about him. You know the one I mean?"

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Seydon"] [member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Comms were mounted on a low, grey console, between pilot and co-pilot stations, a dozen inset amber buttons beside lo-fi digital dial turns and a dedicated jamming panel fixed with a rubber keypad. Seydon floated in slowly, grabbing the co-pilot seat headboard, flipping down into the crash-webbing and securing himself with a waist belt. Comms powered on, carefully, still mindful of picket orbits running around the planetary equator line. He left the unit to recycle through comm-band ranges, taking hold of the steerage yoke.

Seydon gripped a single, ball-topped impulse lever and kept a foot waiting over a floor pedal. He’d insisted on installing these more analogue controls. At Rosa’s direction, he ghosted a whisper of speed out of the Golden Rosa’s engine cluster, coasting them in a closer orbit. Her illusory webs and mind nets were still holding. He risked a second burst, earning a glance from her, quickly rocking them into a still, geo-stationary point high, high above Dascoria City.

“He’s seen something bad,” Seydon said lowly. “Don’t know if this will be the check that puts him onto the warpath, but yeah. Yeah... Someone’s gonna be bleeding out soon. If they cross in front of him.”

[member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"] [member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Rosa Gunn"]

 

[Aran Finn]

Na'Varro nodded almost imperceptibly as Merrill spoke. His eyes remained fixed on the bodies that hung over them, with the grim acceptance of a man who had seen this too many times before. However his eyes worked harder than it would appear to a bystander ... the bearded man strained to take in what was in the periphery of his vision. The black-armoured guards that Merrill spoke of were the first threat that he noticed. A T-visored bounty hunter stood watching the bodies, his confident pose marking him as a lion and not a sheep. One to be watched, then.

To be honest, Na'Varro didn't take in much of what the salvager was saying. Electro-magnets, speeders, those black-canned dullards, hands not wrists. It didn't matter much. Merrill was the brains behind this little escapade and Na'Varro knew that he would make it work. All Na'Varro brought to the table was a pair of eyes, a lightsaber, and possibly the finest example of the application of Djem So in the galaxy. And he already knew that he was down for it. Things had been so boring lately.

"Could be," the bearded man replied nonchalantly. "Ain't got up to much lately.."

He shrugged, contemplating as if he were about to take a bet with long odds. His nonchalance added to the theme of their performance ... that he and Jorus weren't up to much at all.

"I guess someone needs to teach these pups a lesson. Sith Empire my ass ..." Alen gave the other man a wry grin. "Go on, do what you got to do. You won't be touched."

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Rosa Gunn"] [member="Seydon"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Seydon"] [member="Rosa Gunn"] [member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

Step one. Call Seydon's ship, a quick code blurp from a hypercomlink. Substance: taking precipitous action, any help appreciated.

Step two. Electromagnet or substitute. That turned out to be a hydraulic splitter lifted from a construction site, plus a deep notch to fit nailheads.

Step two. Steal hovertruck, as big as could fit through the arch into the courtyard. Disable stock tracker, boost repulsorlifts just in case.

Step three. Showtime.

Twenty-two minutes after his discussion with Alen, Jorus returned to the palace courtyard. This time his approach, shall we say, lacked subtlety.

The ensuing moments impressed themselves on Jorus’ mind as sound and little else. Repulsors whined as the truck slewed into the courtyard and skidded around behind the crucifixions. Metal and wood crunched as the truck bed hit the backs of the crosses. Jorus’ lightsaber snap-hissed to life and slashed through each cross in passing. The crosses hit the truck bed with punishing force, smuggler-side-up. A few extra concussions or broken bones might result, maybe even a death or two. Better than the alternative, though.

Jorus urged the truck toward the arch, one hand in the repulsorlift controls’ guts, one eye on the wall above the exit. If opposition gathered there, things might have to change. Either way, getting out would be, to put it mildly, a problem.

OOC: Figured it was time to stop schlepping around and give you something to react to, lol.

 

[Poe]

"After some consideration," I began looking at the two men, "I find you both in violation of Imperial Law. A levy of 2 million credits each would suffice enough as punishment, and gentlem..." My comlink squawked to life, the voice on the other side practically screaming the Palace's courtyard had come under attack. I lept to my feet, running toward the factory's exit as my robe flowed behind me. Before reaching the transport, I ordered the Palace guards to repel the invaders, then lept into the transport. The moment my feet touched down, the Force alerted me to danger throwing me into action. I jumped out of the transport a few seconds before an air born projectile struck the broadside, turning it into a pile of twisted metal. Through the hissing flames, I could hear the pilot howl as the flames consumed him.

I detached the hilt at my side whilst my eyes scanned the area around this part of the district. From behind me, footfalls from Mr. Lacaster's security team rushed toward me; with the man himself on their heels with a blaster in hand. "My team and myself are at your command, Governess," he said looking up and around the rooftops. "We need to return to the Palace!" Mr. Lacaster nodded to his personal shuttle, and I responded, "No, that will make us an easy target. We need to go by foot. Follow me!"

With the makeshift militia following my lead, I took them through the back alleys toward the Palace. Whilst I closed the gap, I wondered who would be foolish enough to attack the Sith Empire so openly and blatantly.


[member="Jorus Merrill"] l [member="Alen Na'Varro"] l [member="Rosa Gunn"] l [member="Seydon"]

 

[Sal Katarn]

The amulet grew hot as freshly used gunmetal against his skin. Sal's brows knit together and he glanced around some. Didn't see nothin' but a crowd though, too many faces and emotions to make much out.

Maybe it was nothin'. Maybe not.

Either way, Sal was in no hurry to be caught with his drawers down. Paid to be careful in his line of work. He picked up his rifle, checked the action, and waited.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but a hovertruck blasting through the courtyard wasn't it. Frantic screams filled the courtyard as what remained of the crowd scattered. Katarn took two steps to his right, chambered a round, and leveled the rifle.

The truck smashed into the crosses. A lightsaber got involved, driver-side. Katarn didn't like the look of that none. Did the job though, cut through the wood like butter. A rescue then, or something like that. Couldn't blame 'em really, but Sal had his job. And this fella had his. Sal's finger wrapped around the trigger and squeezed. Reflex, more or less. Barely even a thought as to what next. Funny how violence got that way. The sides stopped mattering after a while. He was just lookin' to get paid.

The crack split the air like a peal of thunder. A .48 enshrouded slug whistled straight for the thing's engine block.

[member="Alen Na'Varro"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Seydon"] | [member="Rosa Gunn"] | [member="Darth Sarcophago"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

A colourful curse split Rosa's lips. Of course Jorus would do something stupid in the belly of the new Sith Empire. She should have expected it, in fact she had expected it. She'd hoped that he wouldn't though, it would have been nice, for once, if they could just meet for caff instead of causing trouble. But then, she told herself as she pushed away from the ceiling towards the controls and slapped the gravity back into life, that wouldn't be Jorus.

She strapped herself into the co-pilots chair as utensils crashed back to the floor. "Alright, take us in. I'll try and keep us covered till we find him."

She brought up a map of the city below them frowning. She pointed a finger at the palace, in the heart of the city. "Im gonna guess he's there, failing that, look for the chaos, he'll be at it's centre."

Rosa closed her eyes as ship trembled under the punishment of entering atmosphere. It was one thing to deal with the occasional eye debris drifting in space might draw. It was another thing entirely to conceal a moving ship from an entire city. She plunged herself into the force and tightened the web till it was a silky shield.

It vibrated dangerously.

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Seydon"] [member="Alen Na'Varro"] [member="Darth Sarcophago"] [member="Sal Katarn"]