When the Galaxy Ends [ Omega Protectorate & Omega Pyre ]

[Cira]

​

:: When the Galaxy Ends ::

::| NINTY THREE STORIES UP AND ALL I CAN SEE OUT THE WINDOWS is the thick haze of grey smog. |::

Omega Protectorate
Fondor


They say that one never forgets the sins of the past. Like demons they haunt you, coming to the fore to pick at your mind, whisper in your ear, and damn you in the wake of the blood and the dead.

This high up was enough to make anyone dizzy looking out that glasteel window, out there into the horizon where Omega Pyre Fondor’s Shipyards built the foundation of what had made this territory strong.

Bright golden eyes almost ethereal in their glow would narrow upon that distant horizon, familiar as it was strange. A long nail would click against the glasteel, a tap, tap, tap of thoughts.

Few knew she was alive. Even less knew that she was here in the flesh. Two Lord Protectors had come and gone in between her death. And she wasn’t who she was before.

No, things were different.

A glance down to her humanoid hand would remind her of that. Things were complicated, thrown astray. It wasn’t just Cira anymore.

It was all of them. Even Zhaera, ever lingering in the back of her mind like a coiled ampistaff ready to strike. Ready to take her over again.

It was always a constant darkness inside of her. For the longest time thoughts would wind in her head, claiming that it wasn’t her. But there was always that second guessing.

Fingers went curling into a fist, her lips thinning to a straight line. Her chest rose as she took a deep breath, the long length of insectlike dreadlocks shifting and brushing across her shoulders and back.

The cogs were moving. Things were changing.

Just like me.

With life came death. And with death… new life.

 

[Aeron Kreelan]

The galaxy was in a state of turmoil. Six years of war along with the event brought with it a staggering blow to the Omega Protectorate. Trillions of lives everywhere, on every planet within the Protectorate Territories had seen its fair share of repercussions. The Omega Defense Force was stretched thin, and with that came the grim knowledge that they were not able to offer protection to such a large swath of territory. Those planets that had managed to assemble throughout the years their own planetary militia, trained by Omega Forces, finally were able to be utilized in a manner that would benefit them. More and more worlds were released from the trade agreements, culling back the planetary defenses and resources owned by the the Omega Protectorate and Omega Pyre to be recalled back towards the Core of the Protectorate.

From Bespin, Hoth, Polis Massa, Elrood, Sluis Van, Eriadu, Druckenwell, Denon… Some had been taken over and placed under the protection of the Fringe. Others with the Republic. There were times when the realization came that there was just not enough resources to protect them all, and with that the order was given that all were to return home.

Their orders were simple; pack up, make sure everything is clean and in order, nothing classified left behind, and come back home. Passwords were changed, protocols updated, new encryption set throughout the entire Protectorate. All military classified worlds AAA to D, to include FLEETCOM save for long range communications and fleet motion sensors in neutral worlds were to be decommissioned and all resources brought to Fondor, Thyferra, and Yag'Dul. It was bittersweet as it was necessary, but these worlds had been allowed a time of peace and protection, their militia trained to be able to defend themselves. There were always methods to call upon the Pyre if needed for any extra contracted help, but by now they were not needed. Not anymore.

To continue would only make them a totalitarian government, and that was not what Omega Pyre or the Protectorate was built upon.
That was the first wave. One of many more steps. The rest… well, we would get to that.

 

[Kaida Taldir]

Kaeshana had long been going its own way and taken steps to guard itself, using its own resources. It did not even have an ODF or an OP garrison. Rather there was a considerable Firemane presence. Some had called it a Venari Restoration after Anya Venari had ascended the throne as Star Queen of the Eldorai, with the support of former Lady Protector [member="Tegaea Alcori"] and her wife Siobhan Kerrigan.


Disillusionment with the Protectorate had been ripe for many years, especially after the defeat at Kayri and the disastrous assault on Coruscant. What transpired during the Netherworld crisis, including the events on Corellia, only heightened this. By their very nature many Eldorai were isolationist, sometimes to the point of extreme xenophobia, though this had changed to a degree as the planet was opened up to the outside galaxy through the efforts of Firemane and the natives discovered that outsiders could be friends and benefit their society, rather than just being pirates and slavers who came to pillage.


Eldorai soldiers had fought at Gehenna during the Second Exterminatus that eradicated the Bando Gora a second time on that benighted, hellish world and fought at Druckenwell when the CIS razed the planet. During the Netherworld crisis, when chaos reign, Eldorai elite troops, the Angelii, had answered the plea for help sent by [member="Coryth Elaris"], Exarch, and come to the aid of Sullust when it was ravaged by the Klaxxi menace, at the cost of many casualties. Oftentimes Kaeshana's history had been turbulent, defined by civil wars and palace revolutions. The Netherworld Crisis had resulted in an outburst of religious fervour as many believed the end of days was at hand and that the Goddess was ascending the faithful to heaven.


More to the point, those in the know knew that in the near future the planet faced an apocalypse that could not be beaten by space magic and force of arms. Preparations to survive the calamity had been in the works for a long while. Without involving the Protectorate. However, right now life continued as normal. Soldiers and Angelii manned their posts alongside Firemane troops on the Citadels of the Sun and aboard the Tirathana Skyport, the powerful space station that watched over the motherland from orbit. Both the Ashira's Wrath and the Valora's Blade were on patrol in space. Ever since the Netherworld crisis the military had been in a state of heightened alert, for though the daemon Akala had apparently been defeated, the Galaxy had not become any less dangerous.


The news that the Protectorate was pulling back to its core was received in the Palace, but it was no cause of panic. Such a development had been expected for a long time. By the same token Eldorai forces would not be fighting for the Protectorate anymore like they had done in the past. Doubtless there would be challenges and tribulations, but they would endure. There was no doubt, only duty.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

In that ever present fashion so associated with dictators, Sarge came to work that morning wearing a military uniform. Unlike most, it wasn't a dress uniform. It was plain ol' fatigues for the Protectorate, nothing special here. A tune hung on his lips, coming out in a gentle hum as he stepped through the grand oak doors, for once entirely not paying attention to anything. His voice was quiet, singing to himself.

What would be more surprising to [member="Cira"] - that he was singing or he knew how to - he wouldn't know, because it didn't register that she would ever be here. No, he beat everyone here for the day by a good few hours so he was usually alone. "Well baby I've been here before." A light rain had been blowing outside, and he set his umbrella up to dry in the corner, still quietly filling the air with his voice.

"I've seen this room and I've walked this floor." The almost inaudible sound of his boots on the deck followed as he moved over to pick up his datapad from by the door, a morning routine he never got out of.

He so loved his routine. "Ya know, I used to live alone before I knew you." Eyes lifting to the wall, he then looked back down to the datapad and made for the large desk that dominated the far wall. "I've seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not a victory march."

Realizing, then, as he got near the windows that someone was in his space, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A man not often caught unawares was now in the dangerous position of seeing deja vu from the other side of the equation. His office. His people. His home.

And she was the one sneaking in - the person who shouldn't be there. "It's a cold and its a broken Hallelujah." The finish wasn't even sung, merely spoken in a quiet whisper, like an afterthought. As if he couldn't get through whatever this was without finishing that line.

But in that manner so typical of him in her presence, he made to intrude on her personal space. The datapad was held only loosely in the fingers of his right hand as he came up behind her right shoulder. His left hand settled on her hip lightly, gingerly, as he wrapped an arm around her waist, knowing they were alone for the moment. "You're not supposed to be here." He says, almost teasing. Almost.

 

[Elaine Thul]

She was on alderaan when news came in, that omega was pulling back from its frontiers. She knew this was only temporary set back, shoring up its defences against the next oncoming storm. She had knew this was good thing, after all those that protect everything protect nothing. She sent had sent her most recent intel to [member="HK-36"], so he could try and figure out what the voices were up to. This data was really good, as she also made the sith infantry armour. This gave her most of troop movements of the one sith might war machine. They had promised to protect her if she had ever get caught, and this she trusted that droids promises, as unlike humans droids would not lie would they.

She then left her office, and looked at her destroyed and disfigured homeworld. Though with the vong know leaving the one sith, she might be able to start to rebuild her home one day. Though if she began doing this, she would need approval of the local voice, or from dark lord himself. The problem was these were people she was planning on avoiding. Pity this was such a lovely world till they destroyed it, she thought to herself.

This remind her why the omega had to fall inwards, as if the republic did the same, they would become stronger. Then they might have chance of defeating the one sith, but they fought them everywhere. As such they lost everywhere, as sith concentrated their war machine, into key targets and then hit them hard and fast.

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Cira"] [member="Sarge Potteiger"]

I'm no prophet, but I've got a pretty good idea why they asked me to call in.

Five hundred thousand light-years away, Jorus tugged at the brown-and-bronze Levantine captain's jacket. The uniform was Jal Shey-made, supposedly proof against battle meditation, and really fething comfortable. But today, he'd far rather have been in the ODF fatigues that had defined a good chunk of his career.

Multiple hidden relay points bounced the s-thread from here to Fondor. The distance was astronomical in the truest and most colloquial sense. Out here by Companion Grek, the D'Lessio was on an extragalactic cadet cruise. Levantine Astronautical Academy cadets bustled about, trying not to stare out the windows too long. He'd come to the little comm suite as much to avoid the kids as to return the call. Perhaps his unerring sense of where to go also extended to when.

The call went through -- glitchy, static-ridden, with a good bit of lag. S-thread HoloNet communications -- hypercomms -- sent information almost infinitely faster than the fastest drives ever developed, good enough for simultaneous holocalls across the galaxy. But Jorus wasn't in the galaxy today.

 

[Noah Corek]

Noah wasn't a man that clung to the past, hell there was many times where he wished that he cuold just wipe his past away. But as a wise man had once told him: 'Your past doesn't define you it just give you the starting point for where your going to be.' Even a phrase like that made him wonder what life had in store for him. His past had been filled with blood, bullets and bolts. After being discharged Noah thought his life was over. That was until he got a message from none other than the Lady Protector, well she was at the time.

It was a offer that would turn his life from that of a drunken mercenary into a proud private military contractor, and anyway who said they were the same thing would have gotten a few of their teeth knocked in. Noah was once asked why he was so loyal to the Protectorate Noah had responded that he wasn't loyal to the Protectorate. Of course this caused a media fire storm to which Noah had to explain he was loyal to the Protectors and the ideal they stood for.

So it was no surprise that Noah didn't care that the Protectorate was being disbanded. Sure yeah he was a old hand, having served under all five of the Protectors. Cira was his first, then after her was Alcori, Cater, HK and his final, and the final Protector ever, Potteiger. Would history remember the Protectorate? Most definetly with the stur they caused. Would they remember the Protectors? They were the leaders that threatened the very status quo of the the galaxy so you'd be crazy to say they wouldn't remember the Protectors. Would they remember Noah? He liked to think so. He was the second in command of the Omega Pyre, in relation he should be considered the second deadliest merc in the galaxy. But Noah knew what time did, it was like water against a beach, it wore away at history. Before the Darkness, Noah's family was a household name, you couldn't go a week without hearing about a Corek leading a successful operation, but now all that was left was Noah, his siblings and some distant cousins.

Noah knew the likelihood of history remembering him were slim to none and he was completely fine with that. While history might forget him his family and friends wouldn't. Noah had to admit, he had made more friends in the Protectorate than he had in the Republic. The Willamina Clan, HK-36, Cira, Sarge, Racket, Nyos, Jorus and many others. They were all brought here by one thing a promise of a better life and better future.

And Noah had to admit they delivered. Fore the past five years Noah had grown not only as a soldier but as a person and a father. He had found his daughter and had built a pretty good relationship with her, not to mentioned he had a pretty good thing going on with [member="Levy Willamina"].

But on to the present. Sighing Noah laid down his datapad. Most Pyre forces that had been recalled were stationed on Fondor with a company holding a garrison on Abregado and another finishing up training excercises with the Kiffu militia before heading back to Fondor. Noah had begun to set up training programs for the Pyre soldiers to make sure that no matter what happened they were trained and ready to fight if contracts came up. Noah had to admit though, with the reduction of the ODF forces a lot more financial oppurtunities were opening up for the Pyre, new weapons, new armors and new equipment to beef up their effectiveness. Noah smiled to himself as he picked up his datapad and looked out window. "Things are gonna change. For the better." Noah said to himself as he began many of his tedious tasks for the day.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

All this talk of change and progression, of forward movement and evolution, of all the things to come - was enough to make one drink.

The truth of the matter was that change only affected the grand scope of the whole a bit like a software upgrade to a computer. Might run a bit faster, bit smoother, do some new tricks, wow some new critics, but beneath the flash-bang was the same old hardware chugging away at tasks and ideas it was never meant to see at the time of its creation.

The Egris sat floating within a sea of black and stars and faraway systems. Ivy was alone amidst a symphony of quiet; she smelled of regret and alcohol.

On the control panel the orders calling in OP forces sat blinking a pale blue saying more than just the letters on the screen. We've stretched ourselves thin, it said. We can't handle the burden.

"S'like the Gulag all over again," Ivy said where no one would hear, "'cept we know this time it's really over. Ain't no second guessin'. All those people..." hazel eyes reflexively shifted to the corner of cockpit where once it was filled with the scaly mass of her tuk'ata hound Lye. Now it was only filled with the echo of her own voice answering back.

"All those people..." the words came slower this time, broken by a swig from the bottle in her hand.

"What do all those people do after they've seen oblivion?"

Do they just keep on living?

People from this time never really knew true horror. Not like Ivy did. Horror was something taken in doses, synthesized and controlled - pill packets of holofilms with popcorn sweeteners to hide the acrid flavor, washed down with fizzy. They took it to remind themselves they weren't suffering it.

Ivy wagered the film industry was going to watch sales plummet now.

Their blue-collar lives somehow seemed far more luxurious in retrospect.

With a grunt Ivy lifted the weight of her cybernetic leg off the floor to prop her foot up on the opposite chair. Wasn't some fancy thing - not even permanently attached - and she might've been able to handle the fact that it's uses were strictly limited to stumping around were it not for the fact that it was there on account of a Sith. She unbuckled the straps and carefully removed it, letting the metal piece fall to the ground with enough clatter to wake the dead. Her leg, or rather what was left of her leg, itched and ached from wearing it. A throbbing, painful reminder of all her mistakes.

She wiped a hand over her face and set her glass aside, turning to look at the console with a despondent sigh.

Maybe she should just go back, get a desk job, do something useful...maybe honorable.

Or maybe she should just launch herself into the vacuum of space.

 

[Cira]

"I'm not supposed to be alive."

The reply was low, barely above a whisper, but it was steady. Sure. Fact.

Cira didn't draw her gaze from that hazy horizon, watching the quickening dawn rise in hues of coral and indigo. She felt the warmth of his hand, the weight at her hip, but she did not stir.

"But one doesn't focus on the 'supposed' and expect anything to get done." the sun would glint in her eyes, her face finally turning towards Sarge.

"And this was my office before it was yours," she said matter of factually, an brow arching.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Whatever Sarge was about to say was swallowed up by the fact that she seemed to be... playing along? No, never. That didn't stop the bright smile from splitting his haggard features though when she spoke. "I come in early to get a headstart on the day." He says quietly, "But I can afford a moment or two of distraction. Something had to be wrong for you to come here."

His head tilted faintly before he shifted his attention away from those eyes that he loved so dearly. As she'd done, he looked out the window and towards the hazy skyline. "It's been a long time since it was you and I in this office." He adds, not speaking to her specifically. Rather, he was lost in his own thoughts, the past rearing its head as it always did.

"But we can't focus on the 'why we aren't dead,' because I should have been dead on Dagobah."

This time, when he looked over to her, his brow was furrowed by sorrow, his eyes caught in that misty area between 'wanting to cry' and 'not going to cry.' "The hardest thing I ever had to do was leave your body behind. I chased you to Hell and back. And you're here now, so don't focus on why you aren't still dead - for me, at least. Try to focus on why you're alive, and what that allows you to do.

For the betterment of all the people you care about." Her employees, really. She was a gigantic mother figure to them all. Or, at least, had been. His attention shifted away again, even as people were bustling trying to confirm it was, in fact, [member="Jorus Merrill"] calling in from BFE, Extragalactic Lane.

He immediately regretted the emotion he displayed though, and cleared his throat quietly, fingers only barely digging into her hip in a thoughtful motion. Thought always made his hands nervously busy.

"So, [member="Cira"]. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gone was any trace of sorrow or pain, replaced with a businesslike air to rival her own. Cordial, pleasant. A facade, though. The man couldn't be cordial to save his life most days.

 

[Cira]

Cira would take a step away from the glasteel window and instead take a slow saunter around the office. It was familiar as it was strange. There were semblances of where she could see remained from her time in office, others that were notably different. Time had come and gone, and it was as evident to her as she would come to a slow stop in front of a large painting that would depict the Nabooian landscape. This had remained. Beyond it was the polished wood wall, a dark cherry a few shades darker than her hair had once been.

"Things are different now," she would say simply in regards to his question. Her head would cant slightly to the right studying the painting with its whirls of thick slab palettes of color. Twin eyes would appear to glow brighter, seemingly staring past it.

"The Protectorate isn't what it was anymore." she was blunt about it. Her mind might be going through the internal battle on who she really was, but she wasn't stupid. Cira still lived in her body, that shard of her personality was still there.

Granted, so were the rest.

"What are you going to do about it?" Her head would swivel over her shoulder, turning to lock her unwavering gaze into the black void of his own.

@Sarge Pottieger

 

[Aeron Kreelan]

"Civil war, was it?" Aeron would ask the MICO intel Pyre officer. They were getting continual updates on the recall of Protectorate Defense Forces and the Pyre's recall. The larger task forces, like Fleetcom on Eriadu and Bespin would take a bit longer to get to Thyferra and Yag'Dhul, but the other AAA to D worlds should come to home port within the next month.

The Zension Sha was carefully reviewing reports, and one caught her attention. Civil war in the Lords of the Fringe territory had seemingly torn it apart. There were rumors that worlds were battling other worlds with High Councilor against High Councilor.

"Yes, Prex Kreelan." The MICO intel officer would state. Aeron would tap a light beat with her fingers again on the table, mulling over this.

"This entire galaxy is going to gorram hell," she'd mutter, shaking her head. A sigh fell in weariness. Things were going crazy everywhere. One would wonder what would happen next.

Aeron at the present time was busy consolidating the Pyre back to Fondor. All manner of security protocols taken, more so now that all codes had been reset and cycled through to new ones. They were not the only ones. The Protectorate was also doing similar endeavors, breaking down former encampments and leaving not a nary a trace left behind. When they clean up after themselves, they were not kidding around.

Nothing would be left behind.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Cira"]

That was a good question. What was he going to do about it? The Fringe had gone the way of many a nation built on the backbone of committing to too much - everyone thought they should be in total control, and thus civil war. At least, that's how it appeared just now. He would have a much more accurate notion before long, or so he hoped. Intelligence was still good from his old, old sources.

Once a spook, always a spook.

Even when that spook was leading a government founded by another spook. Inhaling slowly, he gave a breath as she left him to manuever her way around the room. Those eyes shifted, studied, brightened and narrowed. Her attention was fixated on specific things that held little meaning for him. Still, he knew that look. It was the look that forged a window into the past, into all the things that should have been left behind; buried.

Like him, on Dagobah.

Or her, on Coruscant.

But a rendezvous with death, despite a disputed barricade, did not always mean your partner would show. Sometimes death was simply too busy to care about you. Sometimes, you simply weren't that important. No shining moment of glory. No being left to the bloodied skyways of an ecumenopolis. Just your body, alone, forgotten, ragged and utterly unenviable. Sometimes, though, you weren't alone. You weren't forgotten.

Your brothers and sisters came back for you, to carry you back to where you belonged - wherever they thought that may be. Perhaps, though, as he was realizing now... it wasn't where you wanted to be. But that was the joy of being dead. You had no choice.

He went silent for several long minutes, staring almost despondantly at the desk he'd seated himself before. Hands folded together like a lawyer explaining a client's options, he sat and stared, brow furrowed, void black eyes a few feet and a decade distant from that moment. Maybe, just maybe, she should have launched him from this building as she'd promised. Maybe then she'd have peace.

"I'm sorry."

He says quietly, the words carrying a weight that said he was answering a question that wasn't asked. "But I can't go back to the start." Closing his eyes, a hand rose to rub the fingers of his right hand into his forehead even as he let himself rest back into the chair. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Everything he'd wanted was right there, and he could feel it slipping, but like a boy looking down at the first foul ball he'd ever hit... he found only bitter disappointment at getting what he wanted.

 

[Cira]

Silence would drift between the rolling sea that was the distance between them. At times it had been a violent tempest, churning with deep black seas and unforgivable winds. It had cast them adrift among unyielding gales and unrelenting squalls. Time and circumstance had chanced that. Or had it?

Did they fight against the other for so long when all they had to do was merely ride the wave? Allowing the current to guide them? Her glittering gold eyes would sink upon his form with a heavy expression. Her lips would tense, a subtle furrowing of her brow, then finally, a weary exhale.

Her hand would rise, and she would cant her head back towards the idealistic painting hung upon the wall. Fingers with the slightest of trembles would come to rest against the edge of the frame, where the pads of those slender digits would start to trace the wood.

"Then it is simply a question of 'what can you do?'"

She told him, truth held in her words, and along with the quiet murmur came a simple level of understanding. She knew exactly the crossroads he stood upon. The choices to make. The heavy weight. She bore them for over a decade when she was Prex and when she was the Lady Protector.

"And then move forward."

Her left would join her right, and then she would pull and tug the painting off.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

More questions. Questions meant to guide and steer. Had he ever done this for her? He couldn't remember. There was too much on his mind and too many memories to ever pinpoint an exact moment he had done this for her.

A guiding hand, but without a touch to go along.

What was left? It was a question he often wondered, when he was alone at night, caught in the moment between reality and darkness. A short sleep to reset, and a brief moment of pure peace to accomplish it. He'd outrun death too long.

Time was wearing him down, sure as even the gentlest current upon the hardest of stone. "I can do many things, Cira.

But I've always been a survivor. The Protectorate cannot survive, and thus, we must find something that can. We may not be able to go back to the start, but I don't think we have to. Just as an acorn gives life to new roots, we too can take our massive growth and push it back into that seed that is the Pyre.

Sure, the Sith may come for these worlds.

Or, who knows, maybe the Republic will.

But come hell or high water, or even Vong, we'll still be the best damn soldiers this galaxy has ever seen."

 

[Cira]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

Cira set the painting down, her motions slow. Thoughtful. The curve of her neck would reveal the delicate softness of it as she turned, a stark contrast to the rigidity of her back. Few would notice it, but he would. There was a fluidity in her motions now. It was Cira as much as it wasn’t. It was more.

“It is always a cycle.” she finally said, the pads of her fingers skimming across the wood of the now bare wall. “Omega Pyre wasn’t created to be a mere mercenary force.” she said, a thrum of energy rising below her hand against the wall.

“But to protect those by the greater powers that would take advantage of them.” she explained. The philosophy of a Disciple of Twilight. Her kin that had been scattered across a galaxy and likely extinguished in the plague. “It isn’t an end. It is a new beginning.” A slight indentation would collect just under her forefinger and thumb. She would depress it.

The sudden click and hiss of mechanisms sliding against the wall would take form. The Lady Protector’s office had always had it’s share of secrets. This had been her’s; an attached apartment lined in turadium. A virtual fortress in case of danger.
“One never knows what surprises may lay in store in that.”

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He was about to point out the folly of making a legion of vastly overqualified, overarmed and overprepared forces to protect people from governments, malcontents and other assorted things to hate... but then he realized it simply wasn't worth it. This was something she believed in, and for once, he felt the urge to bite his tongue. Why rain on her parade? That thought perplexed him, considering how honest he considered himself.

Why wouldn't he?

This was different, new, but not wholly unwelcome. And then he watched her as the painting was removed and her fingers scanned the surface of the wall. Part of him wondered why no one - and he meant no one - had checked behind a gorram painting.

But part of him simply didn't care. This was her, sharing a bit of herself with him, and that perplexed him as much as it excited him. Blinking, he stood, and in an uncharacteristic manner he not only didn't say a word, but he took up position outside her personal space with his hands clasped in the small of his back. She had aroused his curiosity, now it was time to see what would command his attention.

[member="Cira"]

 

[Aeron Kreelan]

Consolidating would take time, but it didn't need to be chaotic. If anything, the Pyre along with the Protectorate had this rather annoying tendency to ensure there were checklists and inventories for everything. In hindsight, this really shouldn't be surprising. The Omega Protectorate was founded on the foundations of the Private Military Company Omega Pyre, one that was still in existence today with Aeron as Prex. That company had and still corporately owned Thyferra, Fondor, and at the time Abregado-Rae, collectively overseen by the former Prex and Lady Protector -- Cira.

And for all that knew Cira... well, what she had been once - she was anything but finicky about keeping a well oiled machine running. Everything in its place. It was that foundation that would serve the consolidation of the Protectorate forces to the Omega Coreworlds wells.

They had a check list to check off, and nothing was going to be left behind.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

There was always a sense of purpose with the Dawn Treader, especially when she was in the Fringe Federation. Now that she found herself in the Sanctum space? She still had purpose, but it was a different game. Coren would join his ship and defend her to the bitter end but right now? He didn’t want that to be happening. He knew things were going well for a lot of the crew, and the wilds of the Levantine Sanctum were giving them more than enough to provide and test themselves.

Omega Pyre, they were the people who had been defending Corellia for a good number of years. Maybe this was where he could find himself useful? Not to spread himself too thin, but to keep his profits up, it might be smart. Most of the work from the Dawn Treader was simple. And kept him away from the events of the galaxy. They protected those who couldn’t protect themselves. And right now? They were working with the Astro Academy.

Coren had the Underground, but they didn’t pay much, and sometimes he knew he could take more jobs between his exploration trips and supply runs for the Underground? He had room for a bit more. He liked to be on the move, and right now, anything he could do to get against the Sith and their stranglehold? He was going to do.

That was why he found himself on Fondor. Why he was in the offices of the Pyre. And why he was looking for the next mission for himself.

[member="Aeron Kreelan"]

 

[Cira]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

Maybe that was the beauty of it. Something so blatantly obvious hiding in plain sight. Then again, did it really matter? With everything that they'd been through, maybe this was all just a wash. Just another step towards whatever it would culminate to. Either way, the area wouldn't be large. It was small, compact, made for Cira's specifications. One would always wonder where she randomly disappeared to, and with her skillset, it was easy to hide herself within the Force. The walls were specifically crafted to not transfer heat signatures, sound dampening to ensure none would consider that there was more than it seemed.

Her slow amble would take her within the small studio, the tips of the YuuzhanVong like dreads brushing over her shoulders and the middle of her back. Her expression was stoic for the moment, and in her mind images would cycle through of her moving in and out through the room.

Strange. Everything felt so strange.

"Change is inevitable."