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What should Ritvebi do with the captured pirates?
Kill them. They are a possible liability to the mission.
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Keep them alive. We can learn something from them once they wake.
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Other: explain in a post!
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Total Votes : 2

Argezok

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re: Operation Blaster Beat

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There were more stars than usual, which says a lot when one looks high into the galaxy. Illum always had a penchant for snowing close to where bombs hit, be it displaced flurries or once evaporated water coming down in crystals. Ritvebi always used that as a little sign that intense fighting was in progress. It was the most beautifully horrifying thing the Zabrak had ever seen.

"Darth Spera?"

"How long do we have to hold?"

Moff Diryel had a heart much like the surface of the planet, and there he was, rubbing forlornly at a picture the Sith couldn't see. "Two days. All other ordinances, volunteer or not, are elsewhere."

"And there's no escape route?"

Moff Diryel opens a desk drawer, and tosses the framed holograph out of Ritvebi's sight. "All citizens have evacuated, as per the Republic's request. Military personnel are not allowed through their blockading invasion force."

That draining feeling was enough to bring him to his knees, shoulders go slack, and render him powerless to do all else but keep the red gaze of his helmet toward a mass shift of colors. Lights of many distant stars shift to an orange-red. Qyx had spoke of her nightmares, always warning him with tears in her beautiful eyes. The Zabrak always assured her through long nights and honeyed words it would never happen, never! He was a powerful Sith, and nothing could stand in his way! Where was all that willpower now? Silently, coms off, he sobs into his helmet.

"M'lord?"

"There's no way? NONE?!"

Ritvebi was more infuriated by the Moff's answer than he was to the news itself. "No. Lower your voice."

"YOU REQUESTED MY ASSISTANCE FOR A SUICIDE MISSION!"

"It's out of my hands. It was the Council's decision."

Ritvebi's reaction was to grip that desk with the force, and embed it into a durasteel wall. Then some other things, including the Moff, who does not fare as well as the desk. The Sith only regains his faculties after his thorough destruction.

Not a single bomb had landed yet, but the Zabrak first sees it at the corner of his eyes, distracting a familiar longing gaze toward the powdery ground. It was like snow, but flickers and dances like the embers of flame. The air, which doesn't make sense given his built in air purifiers, smelled of smoke and decay. The Zabrak had sent his previous messages to her in a haste, not even truly comprehending his fate at the time. It could take a day, maybe a week, maybe decades from here, but she should hear this. He takes a moment to still his tone, eyes still clenched shut, when he opens his holocom.

"Check the cupboard. Behind your cleaning products. There'll be a tan box in a little door. Open it."

A ring, with a phrase inscribed upon in Zabrak language: To better times, with whom I will always love.'

"DARTH!!"

"Sergeant."

Ritvebi finally stands, adrenaline coursing through his veins. All his life he hid behind a helmet, but for some reason it now feels stifling. Simply, the Zabrak tosses it aside. Distant booms quake the ground underneath them, the sky turning red. Turning around, he sees a stout man in Imperial garb shaking, Sergeant Adas.

"Your orders, s-sir?"

There were rows of men behind him, with their rifles not even slung, postures slouched, some even crying. It was a disgrace!

"MEN." Ritvebi bellows with head held high, "ATTEN-TION!" The broad shouldered Sith pushes beyond Adas, pacing a line at the front of the regiment.

"DO YOU MAGGOTS UNDERSTAND WHAT IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN?"

There was stunned silence, some backs straightening, some rifles being held correctly.

"THESE REPUBLIC DOGS ARE ABOUT TO TRY AND TAKE THIS OUTPOST. LOOK AT 'EM!"

Some ships in the distance had just phased in from light speed, taking away a distant orange star and replacing it with a very looming threat.

"THEY WILL TRY. THEY WILL SEE EVERY SINGLE SOLDIER AT THIS POST SENT HOME IN A BODY BAG. WHY?!" Ritvebi points behind him accusatorily, "WE DO NOT DENY THAT WHICH MAKES US SENTIENT CREATURES! THEY DENY INDIVIDUALS WHO ARE STRONG FROM EARNING WHAT THEY DESERVE! WE STAND HERE AND WILL KILL EVERY. LAST. SPACE SLUG. THAT WANTS TO SEE YOUR CHILDREN PARENTLESS. WIFE WIDOWED. AND THE IMPERIAL IDEAL CRUSHED!"

Ritvebi must have kept going for minutes.

Inspired men died that day to the last, head held high, carried by the willpower of a single man. Soldier. Imperial citizen. Sith. Hero?

Only time would tell.
Argezok

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re: Operation Blaster Beat

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Darth?

Sirens wailed above, blanketing every inch of the pock marked hangar bay. Farri's assault cannon spun, giving those left in the ship some breathing room in the form of steady, merciless blaster fire. The hangar doors were a temporary choke point, until a hefty force blasts through them, pushing him onto his back. The bipedal titan of metal's twin rotating flak guns were still smoking, red hot, coming to a stop with an audible click. The Trandoshan doesn't need to stand before realizing a goliath section of the wall surrounding those doors now littered the ground.

"-N! GET ON! THAT'S AN ORDER SOLDIER!"

His head was spinning, ears ringing, reptillian eyes pulling up the mental mathematics involving their survival. He double takes between the revving ship's engines, and the lionous yawns of the war droid trained on it. A toothy grin flashes from the assault specialist: Scorekeeper will be proud. Farri could finally see the man piloting once it's heavy steps cease pounding the floor, and the smoke clears. Blue shielding marrs him, but Farri never forgot a quarry.

"We can't take that risk. Our Intel was wrong."

It was one of the scum they'd let live. The Sith's barking reply was lost when the Trando cuts off coms, and hefts his weapon off of the ground. In tandem, both beasts blasters began to hum.
Argezok

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re: Operation Blaster Beat

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Intermission

That dimly lit meeting room is punctuated with deathstick smoke wafting to and fro, dancing with the air conditioning's breeze. Other men in dark robes preside, all wearing masks, while what could be assumed to be non force sensitives in Imperial fatigues filled the remainder of the room to full. Light on the southern wall was a holoprojection, and carried graphs showing the amount of credits several research companies were investing. A robed figure gesticulates, while making his case toward the sitting group.

"Non military related weapons grade research and development has taken to a rise by over three hundred percent within the last six months. I 'borrowed' some old analyst friends, and did some digging."

The next slide had an assortment of company names from that list. "They are all innocuous enough on the surface, until we found abnormalities. Some of our best Slicers, even with high grade cracking devices and technology, couldn't find some of the benefactors. Some of these companies could not even give us the name to whom they were contracted to, even with... convincing."

Another slide pops in, this time coming up with revenue charts. "These companies aren't solvent. When we could manage to get revenue reports required by the IIBPB for private companies, any business that ran like this would not be. They are being funded from an outside source, which isn't the issue. It's the fact that a highly redacted document we managed to glean, coincides with that strike on Gamma Station. Pure stealth vessels. Masses and masses of credits poured into Mercenaries, and weapons to arm them."

The whole room, once otherwise quiet, bursts into murmurs..

"Why do we continue to tolerate the presence of a blatantly Revanite faction?" came a raspy reply from the table toward the man standing. "They did well in striking our enemies. We cannot risk another power struggle along the lines of Malgus."

Corttolt stands suddenly, so in return a room full of bureaucrats and war strategists stare at him. With a respectful bow toward the Sith that just spoke, then toward the man standing, the Agent firmly speaks. Corttolt was still in field garb, helmet on, voice modulation greeting the others in the room with professional candor.

"With all due respect toward the efforts of Lord Kerash and his oversight group, this data is not conclusive that the Dark Templar's are affiliated with these companies."

"It's all the proof I need to send troops." was the raspy voiced reply.

"If they have amassed armaments, I feel such an action may provoke an unneeded drain on our war assets." Corttolts arms cross behind his back, stark white of the vision systems in his helmet sweeping across the room. "I've dealt with a few of their members in the past. Allow me to assess the situation, instead of wasting good Sith's time on meek power consolidators. We can then take measured action if evidence comes to bear."

The raspy voiced Sith fumes silently, while the entirety of the room waits on his reply. Corttolt was not a fearful man, but he recognized the danger of speaking out like this. His nerves were set alight, chest tightening, only to have the sensation relieved in one word.

"Acceptable. Give us your report through encrypted channels in the next week."

"Yes m'lord."

Two days later, that same Agent checks his sidearm, vibroknives, rifle, and spare kolto syringes. For all their disagreements in ideology, the War Council wasn't going to get a damning report of the Templars. Of course, he wasn't going to get praise for it from either side, but doing the right thing often wasn't a quick road to glory.

He'd learned that a long time ago.
Argezok

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re: Operation Blaster Beat

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"Breach and clear."

Five uniformed soldiers take their place around a solitary, deactivated door. A datapad attached to it's broken lock interface beside it starts blinking a deep green color, and on cue the Sith among them can hear simultaneous clicks of blasters readying to fire full auto. The sharp thrum of his lightsaber activating in front of him, blue-black light permeating the closest darkness nearby, stands out like a sore thumb even against the cranky hiss of that door swinging open. Flashing fire focused upon the Sith immediately has him backing up, blue blade whirling in an impossibly fast circle to ping as many shots as possible away. Assault Specialist Farri next to the door held a globe, which at the push of a button, arms with a shrill beep, before it's tossed into the middle of those bursting bright muzzle lights. Ducking out of the doorway, Ritvebi's hand points toward the open door with an open palm, and as it closes, so does that door with a mechanical screech.

"Cov-!" Ritvebi's order is interrupted by the entire section of wall bulging around the door, and the gunmetal gray of the door itself being shunted off of it's frame against a plume of blue electrical fire. Ritvebi forces himself to his feet, and enters blade first, hearing the heavy clunk of Yock's heavy repeater behind. Even if he couldn't see well, the entire room smelled of acrid electrical smoke. Whatever flecks of life remaining here were quickly succumbing to unconsciousness according to his senses, which was enough for the Zabrak to deactivate his pommel.

"Clear. Deadwind, Rookie, keep a perimeter. Blitz, Shade, search and bind. How is that power coming Gadget?"

Immediately, the entire ship lurches with hundreds of odd mechanical whirs, and overhead lights let them see the scene they had just painted. The glossy and sterilized floors of the personnel docking office they had breached had been charred where the grenade landed, with nearby consoles sparking, alongside error messages beaming on their respective holoscreens. Three individuals had been scattered by the blast, all in one piece, except the poor sod who landed incorrectly.

Gadget pipes in over their comlink network in her hurried tone, "That's that. These haven't been active in at least three weeks. Imperial time."

"The pirates haven't been able to get this working?"

"Bits and pieces, but reverse engineering military grade hardware for the entire network to run might be a bit hard for a band of ragtags."

Deadwind links with a push of a button, "Explains why we didn't come in hot. Bet they don't have sensors up and running yet."

Ritvebi interjects back in an amused tone, "I'm not complaining. Nonessential com chat dies from here on in. Check your blaster packs, we're not going to have the element of surprise forever. Gadget, can you get us an active blueprint?"

"I'll try."

"Hm?"

"I mean.. Yes, sir."

Shade's stoic female voice rings pleasantly in his ear, "What do we do with our captured?"


Last edited by Argezok on Thu May 30, 2013 12:35 am; edited 1 time in total
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