Dominion Who Will Save The World | Dominion of Nyriaan | NIO

[Tulan Kor]

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NEW IMPERIAL ORDER STORMTROOPER CORPS
://: SPECIAL OPERATIONS ://:
://: COMMANDER KOR, TULAN://:
"DEMON COMPANY"

Jaeger Harrsk l Willan Tal l DECEASED Erskine Barran l Konrad Bolter

The two Stormtroopers were cautiously optimistic as they followed Tulan Kor, who- unlike their jungle-marked Stormtrooper armor, he was clad in olive-drab and camouflaged jungle fatigues. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, as Tulan was leading the two, low-crawling on his belly. He was dragging the machine gun he had on his back, grabbing it by the flash hider and laying it across his back. Using only one arm to move yourself was taxing, but it was better than being dead.

His comm earpiece crackled, but he didn't want to speak to give away his position.

He tapped a message in sporadic code, a thing not many would know.

MCAS-SUR-ND-SUP

Mass casualties. Surrounded. Need Support. A simple message- but given the context, desperate. Desperate and with the mounting insurgent force coming towards them, even armor would have a hard time punching through the thick fauna. However, the shooting stopped, and he heard the insurgents moving around them. He didn't speak their language, but he knew when NCOs were giving orders and pulling his men back. The blaster fire ceased until a standstill, a deadly silence.

And then he heard them loading something, metal on metal, closing afterwards. Explosives, if he had to guess. They whispered quietly, shifting more towards the other side of the hill. They were moving to flank- to ambush the column of armor approaching. Tulan knew that the Armored units were inevitably en route, but with the dense jungle and fauna, it would be difficult for them not to stick to a dedicated route. Clearing brush was not something tanks did well- especially with the alien fauna that was here.

The armor units were walking into ambush.

He crawled along, stopping at one of the cartridge tubes. New Imperial markings. They were using the Imperial's rockets they captured. Imperial Anti-armor rockets. The good stuff.

He tapped his comm again, tapping out another desperate message to whoever pinged him.

AMR-AMB-DNA

Armor. Ambush. Do not advance.

He crawled along, him and his two compatriots trying to get into the best position to cut off the enemy assault- with a machine gun, two rifles, eight grenades, and three knives and a shovel between them.

And Tulan's sick-ass durag.

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

H I E R O P H A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
NIV ‘TREGESSAR’

Just by being greeted from the lieutenant and taking a glancing observation of his surroundings he could tell what caliber of Imperials walked aboard the Admiral’s flag. What was meant by that? It wasn’t hard to notice the shades of politics that shaped the policies and general direction of this rising Empire of theirs. Everyone believed from a stereotypical view that Imperials were mindless soldiers with superiors thirsting for power, yet their greed for it brought incompetence to their ranks.

It wasn’t wrong, for how else could it be formed into that perspective on him and his fellow Imperials without something to give its story? Although it was largely exaggerated that every Imperial was hardwired with that behavior.

But within the ranks of the New Imperial Order, there was obvious different tints of grey surrounding him. Something he found rather impure. Impureness that could leave a sword yearning for its true potential, and at risk to break. Not from the Admiral or the men that proudly served this vessel. They were exactly what every man and woman should aspire to be in the collective systems of the Order.

Imperials with a zealous patriotism to their nation and values.

And now it was time to separate, as they say, the wheat from the chaff.

“Thank you, Grand Admiral; and thank you for accommodating your time for this appointment,” Holesco approached the man and giving a firm handshake to his Imperial comrade. “The trip was uneventful, always the same. I don’t expect any less from our naval patrols securing our borders.”

“I couldn’t exactly wait any further on meeting you in person, Admiral. Time is precious, and I’ve learned that there’s no such thing as waiting for the ‘perfect moment’.”

“Allow me to entertain you with a question, Admiral. A rhetorical one, I promise to you it’s important to why I’ve stressed in having this meeting with you.”

“Would you consider our empire to be perfect?”

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Darth Immortuos]

“Heh!” Immortuos let out a chuckle. His visage shifted into delight apon seeing the outcome of his surprise attack. He held power. Power to change the outcome of battle. Power to shape the material planar scape. Power to take away life itself and give it again if he so wished it. The rush over took his mental like a drug. In that moment he felt as if he was a god amongst mere mortals. Ash ascended to the top of the cavern, wafting in the stale air and only to fall back to the dirt below. A sensation and realization that no true sith wished to escape from nor for it to end.

This moment did indeed end.

Dried sulfuric eyes blazed in the direction of a new target, though this time the situation was different. Immortuos found himself stepping backward out of mere reflex under the coming charge of a particular Imperial Knight Bastard . Even before the knights blade rose to strike, Immortuos suffered a different strike. One to his own ego. In the confines of his own space or even fighting alone he would of retreated fully but midst his Sith allies, as a High lord of the Sith. He was expected by some to show no fear. No weakness.

Retreat was not the Sith way.
At least not their sith way.

In the contrast and to cover his small display and percieved mistake. Immortuos reacted swiftly. A golden gauntlet flashed forward, with each of his armored digits spread out. A halting motion that gave birth to a Telekinetic grasp, one that may of felt far too strong to experience. The Guantlet of Crassus was a sith artifact that possessed such a gift. To have your telekinetic abilities altered tenfold and such a artifact rest comfortably apon the sith lords left hand!

" You dare attack me here? Do you know whom you face!" He snapped. The telekinetic grip would attempt to quickly change to a pin-point choke on the Knights throat. Like a clamp it sought to shut as Immortuos closed the gap wanted to taunt his foe and also defile him. With a cerebral push of malevolent intent, Immortuos forced his very will apon the knight. An assault in the physical and mental. An attempt battle for air. The substance of the lungs and also the memories of this young lad.

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Location: Nyriaan Orbit//NIV Tregessar//Conference Room D
Objective: Find out what Arjant Holesco wants.


Flattery was always appreciated. But it was also a transparent tool of sorts. And in this case, one to curry favour and pursue and agenda. Carlyle nonetheless smiled and nodded when presented with his honeyed words. "Please Colonel," Rausgeber cut in briefly, "Do sit down, before you fall down." Carlyle took the initiative, and sat at one of the fancy conference chairs, spinning it to then turn and listen to the Colonel's pitch. His hands steeped like an arch in his lap, He cocked his head to the side, watching his fellow officer. And then he posed a question of his own, and a brow raised.

Carlyle knew the sort of the Colonel. COMPforce. And they were not to be trusted. Particularly given some of the political and military peculiarities of Prefsbelt. It was a dangerous game he certainly did play against COMPNOR and its sister organisations. But at the same time, this may be something to use to his own leverage. He knew his majesty Prince Dooku had no love of the organisation. And that this may be the double edged sword to play both against one another, and then surge Prefsbelt Command's prestige against both. But the Colonel did raise a good point. Things were not perfect. Not the way the Grand Admiral would plan and execute things. That much was certain.

The Grand Admiral's brow furrowed and he tapped his fingers back and forth. "Admittedly," His voice was cool and considered, "Colonel, I do believe there are inadequacies within certain facets of the Empire." Rausgeber drawled, eyeing the colonel cautiously. "But I would say that by that same token," He was careful to add this caveat, "That the Empire is perhaps one of the few regimes in the Galaxy not polluted by profligate elements." He paused, and watched him. "Allow me to make an inquiry of my own, if I may." Carlyle smoothly purred, "Given especially you seem to have an opinion, what are your thoughts on this matter, Colonel?"

 

[Paz Koon]

The Madilon Mines
Purge The Dark
Darth Perfidiae

​

Paz would face a Sith on Nyriaan. That much, the Force had permitted her to foresee. The identity of the dark disciple, however, had been omitted from her premonition. Despite how convenient visions of the future may appear, they almost always tend to lack pertinent details. Time is a capricious queen who dotes on vagueness. The pieces of fate excluded by portents given were always up to Paz to decipher, for better or worse.

Her small, cloaked frame skulked through the tropical landscapes of Nyriaan until coming upon the mining complex. An abhorrent scent lingered in the force: a demon of the stygian mantras. The symphony of rushed operations and distant struggles against the rebel resonated around the complex and into the wild egresses of the property. The fauna had gone silent, the natural world disrupted by modern meddling.

"Imperial!" A voice shouted in alarm, drawing attention to Paz's excursion into the complex. Blasters rang out, tibanna punching holes in the air as firey streaks careened toward her. She reached, producing a long colorless blade from beneath her cloak. Archaic by design, and nearly as long as she, to see the Knight maneuver it looked as if the blade were weightless. The flat rested against her shoulder, elbow raising to tilt the blade with the point toward the ground.

Bolt after bolt impacted to no effect against the wide, colorless blade. Shoulders and hips torqued slightly to compensate for each income shot. Each faltering with a sizzle against unfeeling metal. Four fingered extremity thrust forward with an open palm, coaxing a phantasm intensity to upheave equipment and crates. Rebels were crushed, pinned, or otherwise killed and injured by the sudden invisible gust of chaos.

"Stand down," Paz demanded firmly. "I come for the fiend that hides among you. Your reservations about Imperial occupation are not my concern. I do not come here to convince you, but I will end each of you if you give me no other option." The sentiment seemed to resonate with several of the rebels. Blasters lowered, others backed away, and some looked on astonished.

"What are you doing!?" a commanding voice shouted from a high scaffold. "Fire, you idiots, or I'll have every one of you killed for treason! Shoot her!" The man's disposition and assumed authority spoke to his identity as the rebel commander. The loyalty of the rebels to their cause Paz found admirable, as they began to fire without a single moment of protest or hesitation. Loyal they may be, but only a fool condemns themself for the sake of discipline.

Lugging the heavy blade, the Imperial Knight swept around the complex. Low sweeps detaching ankles from legs, high strikes introducing metal to spine, and thrusts spilling viscera like a dropped casserole. There was no pleasure in this slaughter. She remembered with every life deleted, they brought this on themselves. Better a rebel than Knight.

Her final stroke fell from overhead. She'd maneuvered her way to the scaffold and cornered the rebel leader. The blade free-fell in her grasp at a downward arc in front of her. Metallic death tore through the left shoulder, down the torso, and out the right hip, sundering the man in two. The display quelled the previous notion of any possible surviving observers that the blade was weightless.

Quiet as the grave, the complex lingered in time-still anguish for a few moments. Paz looked around slowly, returning the blade to rest on her shoulder. "You will not hide from me, demon!" she called out aimlessly. "I have your scent, and my brothers and sisters will soon surround the complex. You have nowhere to go. You will face me!"

 

[Darth Perfidiae]

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D a r t h _ P e r f i d i a e

| Location | The Madilon Mines, Nyriaan​

| Objective | Steal Madilon​

| Focus | Paz Koon​

​

The black-cloaked figure glanced back over her shoulder, taking a brief moment to look away from the dark pit that was the mine shaft as she sensed a ripple in the Force. Something, or rather someone approached, most likely one of the New Imperial Order's fabled Imperial Knights given how pronounced and bathed in light the ambiguously shaped figure she perceived through the Force was. It was to be expected, however, that the rebels she had so casually ordered to fight and die for her would be put down, though her hopes were that she could use the chaos to escape unmolested by the tainted followers of the Order that slew her brethren, even if she harbored no sentiment to those fallen. They were weak and lacked the foresight or expectation that they would be betrayed by those who rose from the ashes of conflict that burned with hatred for the Sith.​

​

A quiet vocoded sigh escaped her lips from beneath her mask, shaking her head in dismay at the prospect of being forced to fight without mindless peons being driven to their deaths before her so that she could simply disappear. She was more than capable nonetheless, and it would be a good time to remind the New Imperial Order that competent and capable Sith still yet existed and that their fight to exterminate them was just as futile. She heard the feminine voice echo out as she raised her hand up and gestured across the air, the door leading to the room she was in opening as she lowered the veil that hid her presence, a wave of Darkness rippling from her position, beckoning for the Kel Dor to come as she spoke,​

​

" Come then... "​

​

 

[Dagon Kaze]

OBJECTIVE IV //: DYING SUN

"Rude to keep a girl waiting, Kaze. I was starting to think this would be turning into a rescue mission."

Dagon snorted with a faint grin as he took the binoculars, "Patience is a virtue, Kas." the dig was more so aimed at himself than anything, humor was a welcome respite, always. His own was never remarkable, rather always being on the receiving end of it, but over the three days spent with Kaska on Manaan had him involuntarily pick up on her spacer lingo and attitude. That pilgrimage felt a lifetime ago but for some reason he held on to it tightly.

He picked up the binocs and scanned the area below; nothing noticeably different, except pinpointing a potential entry pont. One which Kaska had no doubt already noticed. Dagon had really kept her waiting. He felt her gaze examining him as he observed the area - a faint, but curious, and maybe even slightly caring or rather concerned, prodding of his presence. The experiences of the New Jedi task force on Ziost had spread across the Order and even beyond. Dagon knew his disappearance from the public eye for a long period of time, after returning from Ziost on the edge of life and death from his fateful duel with his brother, had raised concerns among some. He felt more determined than ever to share the ignited fervor after his self-imposed exile recuperating from the physical wounds.

Yet, the full details, the burden of his ordeal on the cursed Sith world, he locked within as in typical for him fashion. That cross was his own to carry, no matter the weight.

Maybe Kaska had caught a glimpse of that. Maybe.

"How do do you want to do this? That relic will not retrieve itself."

Dagon gave back her binoculars, crossed his arms and left a long lasting stare at the remains of the starship below before he replied, "You saw those turbolift -- or whatever it is -- doors, yeah? Get into the belly of that thing. I will reach out through the Force for the relic then." a soft chuckle he couldn't help resist, "I am glad we're not doing this in space." a short relapse to the events over Draemidus Prime. They had barely made it alive, but there was strength in unity.

--

He followed her lead down, the jungle thicket was certainly more welcoming to the native than to him. Towards the end of the downward slope, he stopped, crouched and softly drew his finger on the ground.

"Trapping." Dagon stated, he'd seen similar imprints during his childhood adventures with his brother in the wilds of Ruusan. The blood around it had dried out recently. Too recently. "Nearest settlement you said was what? Hundreds kilometers from here?" he jerked his head at the ruins of the vessel in the near distance, "somebody lives there."

The Jedi stood up and strode forward taking point, his curious nature unable to resist, "No sister of yours hiding in there, right?" the underlying question served under the guise of a light-hearted joke and stupid smirk.

Kaska Arden

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

BLUE-HEART BATTALION

OBJECTIVE I: - Hill 3234

ALLIES: Willan Tal Tulan Kor Bastard Hans Rennagen
Kainan Areyon Hiram Voss Konrad Bolter

Chopping some tree-groupings down, and burning others (along with all the shrubbery and plant-life Nyriaan's jungles had to offer) in an effort to keep the fires down to a series of controlled burns, the flamethrower lessons from Oben had well-and-truly been learned to their benefit. The Lord-Major, still awaiting word from his Lord-Commander down the line, would make good use of this lull in violence, having his Blue-Hearts slowly chip away at the wooded areas in the distance to reduce any-and-all potential cover for their enemies to ambush from; an act of which that would bare it's true value when Tal's brigade finally set off, though the end of their waiting was still some time away yet, so the chopping, digging and burning would continue nearby until the Brigadier-General's eagerly-awaited order to move was passed along.

'Muddy work, but we'll be needing something to bridge some o' those narrow streams that Rhone was talking about.', Barran surmised, looking to his subordinates after a bored roll of his eyes. Some battles ran along slower than others, this the Blue-Hearts' commander had known for decades, but was still considered cringeworthily-annoying in his grey-haired years. Of those who were fidgeting worse than the Lord-Major, Commoner-Leftenants Moran and Myles were the most-visibly eager to get moving, but their mouths were both shut knowing that ambushes awaited in the jungles of Nyriaan; the likes that would be tenfold in effectiveness compared to the Kaleesh on Oben, the likes of which that none present were relishing.

Stepping up with a hatchet, Shugg walked past his commander and set off to aid his non-coms in their deforestation efforts, without even saying a single word in request for permission; not even as Gowrie, in all his curiosity and annoyance, exclaimed,'Haud on, sir! Ah'm grabbin' an axe anaw!', from atop Leftenant Myles' tank's engine manifold. Captain Shugg had changed since Bastion, even though all in the 1st Galidraani Armoured-Volunteers had seen their fair share of self-transformation as a result of that hellscape, everyone in close proximity to Barran's adjutant saw something entirely different forming the results of Captain's new personality-shift; something more brutal than the bantering oaf who fought alongside them from day-one, something far more dangerous than anything Shugg had been as a mercenary.

'Whitever yees dae, lads.... Stay the hell out o' the captain's way for the time being, there's nae tellin' whit he'd dae ti jobsworths in times like this. Ah'll handle his recovery fae here on in, so just you leave him an' Gowrie t'me. Am ah making masel perfectly clear?'

Mouthings, whispers, mutters and mumblings of,'Yes, Milord.', were uttered from everyone present, satisfying the Lord-Major's need for both discretion and obedience as everyone turned their attention to the two officers walking off to the lumber-work in the distance. A sight that had them all worried, for the superstitious side of the officers' personalities nagged at them incessantly by this point, remembering a legend of two Blue-Heart warriors who danced along the proverbial line between heroism and insanity; the only thing that gave them cause for relief was that the tale never told of treachery, or rebellion against their masters, only the same bloody fate that awaits all warriors who fight for too long.

'If they dae end up becoming modern-embodiments of Hogg an' Harrin, ah'll be the one t'let yees know. Ah have doubts, but rest-assured the superstitious one among us is handling the situation.'
​

​

 

[Ghoul of Moridinae]

PREY: Hans Rennagen

The Light, it called to him.

Not in the manner that it called to others of his kind, other Sith. A temptation to being a better man, a temptation to put away the cabal of the dark and provide the Galaxy with the chance to improve itself with your help.

No, it called to him as a dinner bell called to a starving pauper.

He hungered for it.

That was what had drawn him to the world of Nyriaan, hot on the scent of the Warlords, and now, the New Imperials.

The mine was alive with the sounds of conflict, of blaster rifles and lightsabers, of men willing to die for their causes and actively laying down their lives to do so.

Down one of the forgotten shafts, there was a gunnery position being set up by Rebel Forces. Powerlines plugged into a mounted blaster and rammed into odd sections of lighting that blared down the hallway. Illuminating every last inch of the mines. The group of men, five in total, stood next to the main gunner with their weapons trained down the hall. If anything moved, they would see it, and they would act.

Suddenly, the hall went very, very quiet. Unnaturally so. Each of the soldiers glancing between one another. No lightsaber screams, no blaster cries. Just the echoing of the wind. Then, slowly, creeping from the darkness, sound came once more. Misplaced, unnatural. Initially like water, dripping from a stalagmite onto the ground, though it soon became obvious that was far from what it was. Much… wetter, rougher. As if a slab of meat was being grinded against a jagged rock. Again and again the sound came, echoing through the hallway. Step, step, step.

Darkness began to creep in, though the lights said that it should be an impossibility. Glowing in defiance against it, though shrinking as the sound came closer and closer to their origin. As if the bulbs were pointless in the face of the presence of this entity.

They were panicking now, and all it took was a glance between all of them, with over exaggerated nodding, before they all leaned onto the triggers of their blasters and lit the hallway ablaze. Heavy repeating rounds matched with rifle fire, blaming off again and again, arching against rocks and into the edge of the darkness where they promptly stopped. Again and again their salvos failed to penetrate the abyss. More and more rounds were fired, until their rifles began to click dry.

Limping his form beyond the pale, came the Ghoul.

Raw flesh glistening with blood and gore in the light of the hanging blaster shots behind him, looking like a field of red stars. He was hungry. Mad with starvation. His cone of teeth clattered against one another as he sniffed at the air. Each of his eight, irritated red eyes bounding around the room before one of them caught the sight of the rebels.

Each of snapped in their direction, and the head pointed at them like an arrow. Shaking. Violently in his quiet.

The Rebels looked at eachother, and began to rapidly swap out power packs.

The Ghoul looked down at his hands, up at the Rebels, before grinding two of his claws against one another, nice and slow. And as the final ring went out, the blaster shots were let free to echo down the hallway again, and the lights went dark.

Along with the screeching of sentients, came the bellowing of the beast.

Minutes later, between the harsh lapping of flesh in the darkness, teeth gritting against bone, the creature looked up in the air. Eyes blinking into a bright burning red before going quiet.

"Haaaaaans!" It screamed into the void.

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Objective II: Madilon Gambit
Predator: Ghoul of Moridinae

​

A nod was all he gave to Errant as the crestfallen knight helped him to his feet. Hans instinctively moved back into the fight as the darkness grew. More Sith bore down on the Knights.

With his shield held high, Hans moved himself between the Whipid Sith and the side tunnel it had come down. If they could successfully surround the beast they could bring it down.

Hey.. what the hell!?" a voice yelled from behind, both inquisitive and terrified. Hans quickly pivoted on his heel to take view of who was approaching. Insurgents, blasters held high but clearly fearing the sight of both the Sith and the Force Corps. Before the squad leader could say another word, Hans struck a blow across the man's rifle and down through his left forearm, both falling the floor afterwards.

Hans pushed his hand forward and channeled the force, intent on sending the insurgents backwards. As he did, the tunnel around him began to shake. As he released the force push, the rocks above him came crashing down. Hans jumped towards the insurgents, but was too late.

Hans awoke some moments later, his vision obscured. He lifted himself up with great difficulty, pushing the rocks off his back as his suit read his vital signs aloud. Internal bleeding, minor concussion, and structural damage of the suit itself.

The argent blade of his lightsaber snapped to life with a hiss, giving him enough light to see his surroundings. The battle still raged... outside. Through the wall of debris that now separated him from his comrades. He couldn't risk trying to move the rubble, in case Nyriaan's air warped it again and caused more wanton destruction, and he was too weak to physically move all those rocks. The Sith and the insurgents had to have come from somewhere, so Hans made his way down the cave, lit only by the pale, dim light of his weapon. Alone.

"N.. no. Don't go... down there. They didn't listen to me." a scared, crying voice echoed through the cave somewhere to Hans' side. He turned and shone his light down to the floor, where one of the insurgents was crushed beneath a slab of rock. He took a knee next to the man.

"What did you say?"

"The others, they didn't..." he struggled through tears and shortness of breath, "believe me. There's a thing. D.. down those halls. The Sith brought it."

"What is it, this thing? A Sithspawn?" Hans was concerned. This man had seen things well before he had been condemned to death by the knight.

"I don't... know what that is. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm so sorry. The way it... held them in its... arms. It tore them all to pieces!" he shouted, voice hoarse, wide-eyed, still living through the traumatic moment.

Hans slowly stood and took a step back from the man.

"Please. Please don't leave."

"I'm sorry. I... I have to." Hans realized there was nothing he could do for this man but find whatever had killed the other insurgents.

The man continued to beg and plead with Hans as he walked away. When the knight finally escaped those cries of anguish, he heard another. Not from the man behind him, but from someone in front.

No. Something.

"Haaaaaans!" It screamed into the void.

His blood curdled. His legs turned to ice, frozen in their tracks.

He heard the gnawing, the skittering, the sound of meat being torn from a bone.

He was not alone.

​

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

H I E R O P H A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
NIV ‘TREGESSAR’

The question was a test; a test to see how well aware the Admiral was in the state of internal affairs of the Order. Should he wanted to test the man’s loyalty and understand his political spectrum in Imperial politics he would’ve asked something else. Or install spies from the Observation Division within CompForce. But there was no need for that...yet.

Carlyle’s answer mirrored Arjant’s opinions if he were to asked that question. Both of them were well aware on the certain elements that existed within the rising Empire, yet the system wasn’t fallible by coexisting with those nuisances. Even then, it was something he couldn’t tolerate to continue.

“I completely agree with your thoughts, Admiral,” he began as he, too, stared back at the man. Both of them observing one another, although it didn’t bother Arjant if Carlyle was studying him or not. “Even with our offensives towards the decaying Sith Empire, we’ve all managed to establish a nation with order and security, and still continue to uphold that stability.”

“However, it does upset me to wake up every morning to realize there are certain elements of dissidence within the Empire. Minor ones, but they have the potential to become more than just that.”

“I’m sure you know to whom I am referring to, Admiral. Individuals such as Lucien Dooku and Moff Ravraa of Shili. Their political values are ones that aren’t a long way to transform a government into a republic.”

“Can you imagine the collateral damage that can occur to the other systems within our grasp should people begin to adopt those values? It’s not a pretty sight to behold, I’m sure you know that better than anyone. I’ve heard how the last Galactic Alliance treated you and yours with outright open hostility, not even giving a chance to having a civil conversation across a table.”

“I don’t think I have to go into detail what should be done to counter these elements within our borders, yes?”

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

G e n e s i s_A c t u a l

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
ARUMED

​

The woman slowly inched the dial on the macrobinoculars as her HUD shuttered and zoomed in upon the target facility, a back light cast the night in a vivid green to compensate the pitch black conditions. One knee dug in to the dirt from their perch at the top of the rocky incline. There was a lone whine that the tech emitted and she turned her helmet to regard the trooper on her flank, she waved Cinn down as a series of markets populated across the radar. A harsh bright light reflected the inbound transports, the distant roar of the engines echoing across the desolate slice of land.

<“Shit Snake I just work here. Check your map I highlighted the inbound vehicles and it’s too early for that kind of attitude-”> Nima griped, she had been brisk in regards to their COMPNOR company up until they had reached the checkpoint. Dare she say professional, it was more than she thought he deserved. The man was everything she remembered that had polluted the rank and file under the Empire.

It didn’t help fuel the desire to be anywhere but planetside. Temporary assignments had flashed across the screen one too many times, the red aurebesh had come with a wall of silence-Nima didn’t mind the word, she didn’t like being kept too busy to ask questions however. Genesis, the 307th-they were all in limbo. This wasn’t her position.

An irritated sigh tore from her, the ventilators kicked in and cold air washed over her. The planet’s temperatures bordered exhaustive, the thick heat-even at this hour threatened to dog the soldiers. The woman ripped up her rifle from the dirt, the gravel shifting underfoot as she rose up. Urban crawls were always a bantha shit. Slinging the blaster over her shoulder, she raised her vambrace as she set a timer down as the team pinged in across the screen as they moved into position.

<”Point of entry is there between the offices and garages, jammers should be set. Are you ready or do I have to waste time explaining that again?”> Nima tossed back out, her dark gauntlet rose up sharply as she hailed the ranger left from the combined task over.

Djorn Bline
​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Location: Nyriaan Orbit//NIV Tregessar//Conference Room D
Objective: Destroy Arjant Holesco with facts and logic


Carlyle silently listened to what the Colonel had to propose. To a degree, he did agree with him. The potential for Shilli or Nirauan to break away was disastrous. A separatist crisis within the Empire, orchestrated by close members of the inner circle. And yet, Carlyle did not necessarily take to the tone that Holesco used. He was more flattered however that the COMPNOR man either did not consider Prefsbelt Command on its own a threat, or understood the necessity of perhaps keeping him on side. Whichever route the Colonel believed, for now eluded Rausgeber. But he was content to allow the man to wallow. But also provide a frank opinion.

"While I certainly concede your concerns are valid," Carlyle began, his face taut and displaying no aggression, "I also believe that for the time being, these individuals, the Prince and the Moff are politically useful." Rausgeber paused, "All good Empire's have a pretty face to them." The Grand Admiral explained, "They need hard leaders and hard men, to steady the ship and make the real decisions .But, it is also politically expedient to have softer players able to pacify public concern." He then chortled some, "Natasi Fortan, while a formidable politician, was always the soft hand of Sieger Ren." A smile crept upon his face, "Allow me to put this in other terms."

"In both examples you have provided, we have a soft face." He paused for just a moment to collect himself, "Take Moff Ravraa as an example. He is a simple soldier. Promoted well beyond his station and talents. But an inspiration to the common soldier. Those we harvest from Sith ravaged worlds. That perhaps they one day too, may return to govern their homeland," He added complimentarily, "He is but a figurehead. And I think if you fear him, COMPNOR has greatly overestimated his talents. I feel he merely needs to be groomed, and molded, to become more malleable."

"And Prince Dooku, is a figure whom I would argue, also show significance." He licked his lips, "If you will, Colonel, the Prince represents our willingness to ingratiate rather... archaic forms of government into our system. That there will be some form of 'Home Rule' if you will. A way for the rich political classes who know how their worlds work, to control them. On our behalf. But maintain their own ways and cultures."

"I think I have a clear idea as to what your resolution to this problem is." He arched an eyebrow at the officer, "But, I would say that they are for better or worse, beneficial to our image." Carlyle opined, "Compared to myself, who has very little profile, Halketh and the others, they are the benevolent faces. And that should be... Embraced. For propaganda value." The Grand Admiral mused. He then reached across the conference table, cleaving a wooden box with the First Imperial cog carved into it.

"Cigar?"

 

[Rurik Fel]

M A N _ O F _ I R O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LORD EXECUTOR
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber

CLEANSE THE SINS
​

Darkness. It lingered in all corners. Seeped into the deepest roots of the subconscious of every living being. It was the bump in the night, the voice of ill will, the guilty fixation. What mattered was not the endless penance in the attempted murder of that inner darkness. It was the control, the discipline to grasp ahold of ones own will. In discipline, there was a control of everything.

On Nyriaan, a world suspended in the great void in its mundanity, the Knights of the Empire made war...and the Knights of the Empire suffered at the hands of darkness. As indomitable as they sought to make themselves in the face of adversity, they were still so vulnerable. Not that they could be faulted, such was the enduring testament to the valiant drive to overcome that burned in the Imperial soul.

Of all of them, his pain stung the worst. Errant, the Crestfallen. He should not have displayed the patience and quarter that he did to the Prince in-exile of Eshan. But within Errant's heart burned a fire brighter than any other. Those horrid moments of the death grip inflicted upon him seared his senses.

He emerged, igniting his argent blade of the crusade to life.

He surged past Errant, alongside the Echani and reached out his lone organic hand, willing the force of lightning to his fingertips before he unfurled the destructive power toward the Sith scion of death, Darth Immortuos .

"And you face The End, Sith." Rurik states.

 

[Naier Rambeigh]

SPACE_WRANGLERS
I_WEAR_A_SUIT_AND_TIE
MIDNIGHT_LIGHT

Allies
Hiram Voss | Captain Gallius Orcana

Hostile Combatants
Purgill Herd
​

This is nice , Naier thought as he reclined in his command chair, hearing the crackling pop of his spine rattle off in his ears. After two nearly back-to-back emergency combat deployment in both the spoiled assault on Dantooine and the defense of Bastion, playing space cowboy was the closest thing he had to a vacation in months.

A vacation, he noted bitterly, that came at the cost of Autumn Division. He had taken somewhat poorly to his new responsibilities for high command, preferring to leave the minutiae to his more cool-headed second in command, Captain Simone Langley. She proved an able bureaucrat, and with Naier's own brief analysis of any order pushed out under his name, they maintained the division's cohesiveness without too much trouble. He kept bad news checked with a healthy dose of whiskey. Of good news, there was very little. Reinforcements were hard to come by, and his drastic stunts had earned him something of a reckless daredevil among other Imperial officers who were out for themselves.

The man languished in his own seat, despising the mediocre, dime-a-dozen ambitious chaff in the Navy. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, remembering back to his days as a simple data analyst in the ISB. Those days, despite its tedium, went by in relative safety. It took him six months before he sobered up and realized he wasn't suited to the life of a processor. Commanding a single ship, and then a small task force was the happiest he had been.

For a life that only begun a few months earlier thanks to his rapid promotion to Commodore, Naier felt like he had lived two lifetimes, his gut tossing and turning with unease. He barely paid attention to the rhythm of his ship, though was not totally unaware of the action that occurred at an almost insultingly low tension. Even the battle hardened crew of the Inexorable Valediction of Summer considered their current posting light duty.

"We have orders from the Exile, Commodore." A tired communication's officer called up from his station. Naier stood up to the upper command deck's railing, and looked down on the station deck. Tired eyes looked up to meet his gaze. "Let's hear it Lieutenant."

"The Valediction is to release her fighter wings to perform harassment on the Purgill herd, whilst concentrating her own efforts against the Monarch." He paused, then looked back at Naier. "We've a course charted for us, taking us in for a broadside on an interception course."

The Commodore sniffed, and looked at Simone from the corner of his eyes. She shrugged- it wasn't a bad idea, and likely safe since they weren't being shot at. "Alright, bring out Red and Blue-wings, get them prep in two mikes. Navigations, set us on the course but prepare for emergency corrections in case the herd gets any ideas. Guns, prepare half-charge, we don't intend to kill, not without approval."

The corresponding stations replied their affirmatives, and the lone ship, as part of Exile's contingent, glowed his engines blue as she burned on an interception course. The marks of her previous battles visible on her pockmarked hull.

 

[Djorn Bline]

P U N I S H E D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NYRIAAN
BODYGLOVE
ARUMED

He had worked with the Red Riders prior to this assignment. Only once; the Battle of Bastion. When the Sith tried to take back something that wasn’t theirs to begin with. How could he forget his first interaction with the Red Riders and their renowned general? The same woman he had a small battle of words when the two soldiers disagreed over tactics and the importance of safeguarding defenseless civilians from the onslaught they faced in their homes. He remembered what he said and he didn’t regret at all for speaking his own mind at the tense situation they all fought and suffered to render the Sith. Naturally he assumed that because of the disagreement and clash of ideals they both had it would transpired into some sort of minor rivalry between them. One of ethics and philosophy revolving around the battlefield.

However, that rivalry wasn’t something he actively prodded. There was no need for it. And if so, for what? His pride? His pride was only fulfilled when achieving victory. No, the only sin that tormented him was wrath. Stuff like that was just shit that didn’t hold any importance to him. Only those that threatened to what was his did deserve the spite of his barrel aimed at them.

And still, it would be cruel when Lyra was still missing after Helgard.

<”Point of entry is there between the offices and garages, jammers should be set. Are you ready or do I have to waste time explaining that again?”>

Firing back with her own attitude at him. He respected it, especially when she was the same class of soldier as he was. Special Forces Storm Commando. The elite which sometimes cams being a little too arrogant for their talents.

<“No, that won't be necessary, Genesis,"> replying back to Nima after her transmission via comms, <"that will just waste time for the two of us.">

<"Let's get this thing going.">

Their target location was strange when compared to other civilized settlements. Arumed was mostly controlled by corporatists and other business oligarchs that had a power to influence parts of the Galaxy, whether it would be lobbying or outright conquering worlds via private military companies. Enough power to sway legislations and undermine lawful barriers. Elements he abhorred and weren't compatible to his interpretation of Imperialism. The settlement was very small with their population, mostly just serving as a facility for biotechnologies and other experimentations in that field.

<"Genesis, on me.">

Coming out of the jungle brush, slightly crouching as he moved towards their entry point where the inbound trucks were entering the guarded perimeter of the facility. Duracrete walls all around with razor sharp wires adorning its top. Tightly secured for a facility that supposedly researched biotech for a good cause. Good for their pockets.

<"Get those jammers on, we'll take out the entry guards. Quietly.">

Take them out and move deeper into the complex.

Nima Appw'rii​

 

[Marcad]

Objective: This is mine
Tags: Mogra'teksa

​

He was summoned and ordered to do the bidding of the Empire.

And so he would fulfill it.

Away from his fellow knights, Cewr was tasked in seizing another mine rich of madilon that was under the management of dissidents that wouldn't compromise or bend the knee to the New Imperial Order. Corporate oligarchs with a greed that wouldn't be tolerated by the Imperator and the Executor. Their own greed and pride would be their downfall. He would do thy bidding.

By any means necessary.

Good.

A company of Stormtroopers accompanied the afflicted Knight, with him acting as their commander.

"Sir, you haven't disclosed to us how we will be engaging any potential hostiles."

If he were not in this afflicted state, his orders would have been more...compassionate. But no, he would not be held back.

"There are no rules of engagement, captain. Act as you will. Kill those that are an obvious threat to us. Hesitate, and you might compromise yourself and the others. That will be all."

They had come to conquer, and through that establish order. Order that would be reached without compromise.

 

[Mogra'teksa]

D A N G E R S I N T H E D A R K
THE SIDEWINDER
OBJ | THIS IS MINE
Marcad

It had been months of grueling hell for the twi'lek- her steady, stable life had flip-turned upside down on its head and had been thrown into a tailspin when her employer was slain in an operation she had no clue even existed. The New Imperials had done a number to disrupt the life she had narrowly created for herself, and now she was left no better off than when she had been first picked up by His Opulence, Avernus , and made into a headliner in his club onboard that legendary vessel of party and pleasure. Each passing day as the news of his death circulated, those on the ship worried with teeth nipping at nails as to what the future held for them.​

The Sidewinder was not one to stick around and allow herself to be handed off to some casino or club elsewhere, no, she was tired of that lifestyle. She was tired of moving. Tired of the uncertainty. And so it had been that she leaned heavily on her mercenary work, turning away from the lavish life of a headlining dancer to chase after her passion- adventure. But adventures required credits, and credits weren't so easy to come by if one wished to build up a nest egg properly. ​

This job had seemed so simple at the time she had accepted it, dive in, grab some ore, and get out. The catch that her contractor had failed to mention, naturally, was that this world just so happened to be under heavy contention and pressure from The New Imperial Order. It wasn't like she was unfamiliar with them by any stretch, but she didn't harbor any particular taste for them, either. She had kept herself out of factional conflict for this long, and she planned to keep it that way. ​

Elbows deep in the precious minerals she was now, down here in the dark end of a lonesome tunnel with a sole light to guide her. Her pack was weighty with the stuff, crammed full with as much as she could carry until she could return to her stashed ship to store it and return with a cart to make it easier. How she was going to do all of this and remain undetected, she had no idea- but that was the adventure this time around, wasn't it? Don't die. ​

Mogra'teksa cursed softly under her breath, irritated by the silence of the tunnel where only water dripped somewhere faintly- at least, she hoped that was water. Yet she continued her personal mission, ransacking the cache left abandoned by those who had come before, cleaning it out and leaving nothing but dust behind. ​

A new, all-too-familiar sound made her tense abruptly, and she felt ice flood her veins. Was that-?​

"-that will be all."​

Oh feth. The lethan's golden eyes nearly popped out of her skull at the echoing voice cast down into the darkness. That voice... whoever he was, he wasn't alone. Distantly, the shuffle of boots clued her into a greater number of strangers, but she was unsure of the exact count. Quickly she surveyed her surroundings, looking desperately for anywhere she could hide until they passed. Why were they here? Who were they? Imperials? She felt her pulse jump into her throat and she reached up to kill her light, leaving her in the blackness of the tunnel alone. Hastily, and rather sloppily, she dragged her pack across the ground and tucked herself behind the cache, folding her legs to her chest and struggling to breathe gently, trying to get her rising fear under control. She was certainly in the worst place at possibly the worst time.​

This is fine.

Everything will be fine.​

 

[Rika Hiro]

OBJECTIVE III //: LOOSE LIPS, LOOSE HEADS

Tags: Daros Karmann

Now wearing the clothes of the militiawoman she had carefully disposed of, Asa pulled the now-deceased woman's goggles over her eyes and keeping the brim of the cap low as to avoid any scrutiny. She kept a low profile as she moved through the township, Pataris boys didn't pay her any close attention, and if they did, Asa flashed the ID card she had stolen and being the halfwits with guns they were they accepted it.


Priority one. . . .
Locate target known as Patari. . . .
Promptly eliminate. . . .
Subordinates secondary. . . .


The file on Patari suggested he was holed up in a mansion complex a few blocks south of the bar, despite being surrounded by dozens of militiamen and armed sentries he was never present in public often delegating duties to his captains. Unless, of course, that the prize horse himself had to make an appearance. However, opportunities like that were far, and few between and caused the agency much headache as Patari often used civilian areas as involuntary human shields. He did however had a penchant for ordering takeaways and occasionally eating at a local food plaza, usually buying the same dishes and never having more than two or three bodyguards with him at a time. If she could figure out his travel schedule for today or gain entry to his mansion she'd have Patari's head.

She did wonder.


Where was agent Daros?​

​

​

 

[Velok Brokentusk]

A tall creature who bore the stink of the Dark Side stood near a side-passage and released a fireball of great intensity towards the group. Areyon had no cover of his own, but his fellow Knight Rennagen held steady against the mass of flame. He took his opportunity to shield behind him and as he was pushed back Areyon fell with him. He got back up on his feet quickly and held his lightsaber pike in a more firm manner.

The cave was a target-rich environment. As Sith clashed with Imperial Knights, Velok wiped char off his mouth and focused on one of the targets in question: an Imperial Knight like any other. The big Whiphid clacked the edges of his forearm cortosis shields together and advanced.

At nine foot six and nine hundred pounds - an even half-ton counting his leather armor and the cortosis shields - Velok quite enjoyed dominating most battlefields at an individual level. The issue here was close quarters. Even this particular cave chamber barely let him straighten up to his full height, and most of the cave network required him to crouch, even crawl at times. Areyon would have the mobility advantage, not a doubt about it. If he was smart, he'd try hit-and-fade attacks, in and out before Velok could grab and break him. Or maybe he'd get in quick and use something nasty, a lightsaber perhaps, at grappling range.

Velok moved in as quick as he could manage. The goal here was to punch Ayreon with the forward edge of his right cortosis shield, keeping the left in reserve, and crush the Knight against the nearest cave wall.