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Post by Shaman Anaxilea on Mar 3, 2013 8:05:03 GMT -8
Bonadan's yellow, parched surface was heavily eroded, and its topsoil had been destroyed due to constant drilling and construction. The remaining surface was covered with factories, refineries, docks, and shipbuilding facilities in ten spaceports, the largest being Bonadan Spaceport Southeast II. A massive weather-control station lay in the mountains to the north of the main cities; it was used to generate sweeper storms that cleaned the polluted air. Despite this, foul smelling rain and pollution is widespread.
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Kaine Australis
The Vegemite Enclave
Consuming Copious Coopers
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Post by Kaine Australis on Aug 20, 2015 5:32:07 GMT -8
Bonadan's atmosphere was oily, polluted from centuries of abuse, and the weather control measures did little to alleviate the oppressive, festering wind that blew through her cities. Kaine was glad of his buy'ce. After a quick taste of the outside air, he'd sealed the olfactory intakes and gone to his own recycled air supply. No sense breathing too much of this osik. The speeder had been waiting at the spaceport, the President's official limousine, no less. Kaine smiled to himself, that told him, along with the lack of goons, that the barve was spooked. Spooked targets were easier to manipulate. Despite this, he was on guard for any treachery for the entire trip to the headquarters of Bonadan Heavy Industry, a colossal spacescraper in the heart of the grand city that had sprawled around Spaceport Southeast II, or SS2 as the locals referred to it.
Kaine took note that his systems were recording the layout with his penetrating terahertz radar as he made his way through the headquarters, escorted by a nervous young human male. The systems compared the scans to the official blueprints that he'd lifted from the governmental database via the HoloNet on his way to the surface. Several additions were noted and added to the blueprint, creating his own personal layout for later use. Outwardly, Kaine appeared to be walking behind his escort, but, as was usual with Mando'ade, there was more going on inside the armor than met the eye.
Kaine took a few moments to scan through his notes about President Vash Lurkal. The man was an utter sleemo. Not only had he lined his own pockets with company funds, but he'd run several black projects which ran to trading in spice, slaves, and weapons. The third of these, while not personally offensive to Kaine, of course, was extremely unappealing to Bonadan's population. Kaine himself would have had significant difficulties passing through the spaceport, carrying with him as he did enough to outfit a small army, were it not for the BHI escort. Government policy here, as most places across the galaxy, was flexible when credits were involved. And BMI was one of the largest megacorps in the Corporate Sector.
After a short walk through the cavernous lobby, and a quick ride in a turbolift, Kaine was ushered into the private office, which actually took up the entire 300th floor, of President Vash Lurkal. His escort disappeared so fast and quietly, Kaine almost missed him scurrying away. The ornate but solid looking doors of the President's office sealed behind him, and a quiet hum indicated an interference field being activated. Kaine walked forward to stand before the massive hamogany wood desk, behind which, in a nerfhide float chair that probably cost the same as a nice speeder, sat the target, trying not to look nervous.
Mr President, I presume. Kaine left it there, letting the man stare into his visor.
Who are you? The man was putting an impressively brave face.
A ghost. Who I am is less important than what I want. And you're going to get it for me. Kaine pulled his datapad from a pouch, enjoying the flinch from Lurkal as he pulled it out. He tapped a few commands, and a stream of data, figures and images began slowly scrolling across the President's display.
You've been a busy boy, haven't you? He tapped a key, and the reams of evidence of Lurkal's activities disappeared. This is the only copy of the data. It's yours, but it's going to cost.
Lurkal didn't even pretend he wasn't desperate. How much?
Kaine gave a slight nod of approval. Smart barve. For starters, I want half.
It's yours. What else? That bothered him. Even a cowardly scumbag like Lurkal should have balked harder at handing over such a fortune.
You're going to place some orders for me. Ships, weapons, equipment, supplies. You've got the channels to hide the purchases with BHI. Use them.
Fine, fine. What else can I do? Now he knew something was up. A quick scan showed a pair of figures approaching him from left and right, from behind. Well, he thought, not such a smart barve after all.
You can get under the desk. Kaine turned slowly to face the wouldbe assailants. A pair of Echani, armed with force pikes. He couldn't help but feel a deep contempt for Lurkal. Only two guards, and Echani at that. Mandalorians and Echani had a rivalry dating back thousands of years, and the disdain was mutual and heartfelt. Kaine called over his shoulder to the cowering President of BHI.
Lurkal, you didn't need to provide entertainment. Besides, dancing girls are overrated.
The attack came simultaneously, from high on the left and low on the right. Both Echani were masked and wore form-fitting black bodysuits. They moved swiftly and gracefully, obviously confident and capable. The left pike jabbed while the right swung for his knee.
Kaine was much heavier, and not as quick, but the armor gave him advantages of its own. He could have ended it quickly, but he had an audience, so he made it a display. Sidestepping right, he slammed an elbow into the Echani's jaw, hearing a crack, then ducked the other, higher strike, and rolled away. He came around and up with his beskad in his right hand, fast enough to catch the pike that drove down at his visor. Sparks flew, and he felt the jolt, but the shock didn't incapacitate him, and he slashed at the shaft, below the electrified head, cracking it, and the head fell, sizzling out against the carpet and scorching it. This cost him the initiative, the Echani was fast, and the blunt head of the broken pike smacked him directly in the front of the buy'ce, which knocked him back a step, but the unhurt Echani backflipped and got out of range before he could counter.
The attacker with the busted jaw was trying to rise, but Kaine put an end to that with a quick smack with the flat of his beskad across the back of his head. Meanwhile, the other attacker had managed to appropriate his fallen associate's pike, and, spinning it in an intricate weave before him, came at Kaine. The big mando took a pace back, then another, gauging his opponent's approach. Seeing a hint of an opening he took it, thrusting with his beskad, and catching the spinning pike a glancing blow. The Echani recovered almost instantly, but this didn't help him, as a solid punch from Kaine's left gauntlet caught him square in the face, and he dropped to the floor.
Kaine took a quick check of the pair, then returned his beskad to his belt. With a quick scan to ensure no other surprises were in store, he walked back over to the desk. You can come out now. Show's over.
Please don't kill me! A puddle had gathered on the floor beneath the blubbering President of Bonadan Heavy Industry.
Kaine reached across the desk and, grabbing Lurkal by his lapels, hauled him to his feet then shoved him back into his chair.
I'm not going to kill you yet, aruetii. You have work to do. He nodded to Lurkal's terminal. Now, let's start with the ships.
It took them several hours, and a dozen calls from Lurkal's secretary to make sure he was okay, but once they were done, Kaine was a lot closer to his goals. He even thanked Lurkal, who he figured wouldn't be a problem from now on. The man would go back to work, would carry on with his shady activities, but now he had another job. Kaine had several offworld accounts that now had respectable balance sheets, shares in BHI as well as several other major Corporate Sector megacorps, and enough hardware to outfit a planetary assault fleet. Orders had been placed on behalf of BHI and other corporations for some major military hardware, and would be delivered here to Bonadan. Kaine's new headquarters would be in the spaceport, in several nondescript offices owned by BHI but listed as unoccupied. He'd be running his operations from there, under cover of a new identity as BHI's regional operations task force commander.
All in all, it wasn't a bad day's work, especially for day one. Maybe he'd treat himself to a slug from his single remaining flask of tihaar. It had been a long time since Kaine Australis had had something to celebrate. He resolved there would be many more such occasions in the future. The galaxy thought he was dead. For the first time in more than three years, Kaine felt alive again.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on May 8, 2017 18:23:43 GMT -8
==Recon Training SL== <<106 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
A small, temporary barracks had been set up on the planet. Within the confines of the collection of buildings, the newly minted Recon-9 was being gathered. At full strength, the unit would be a hundred people strong. Nearly a quarter of the manpower of a fully functional assault legion. For the moment they were somewhat over strength as twenty instructors had been assigned to the unit. Beyond that, nearly a quarter of the scouts were veterans of other Recon units. A tenth of the scouts were transfers from other combat units. The remaining scouts were green citizens, either from a creche world, or recruits from outside the clan that showed enough promise. For the moment little enough about the unit was decided. It had yet to earn a unit call sign & as such the unit icon was simply the Recon panel icon with a number nine beside it. The unit was under the command of Lieutenant Admiral <O6> MacCaog with Commander <O5> Eurystheos as her executive officer.
Once he arrived, Marine <P2> Umarov would find that he was assigned to Platoon Five under Captain <O4> Romana. If he cared to look, the rest of Platoon five was also listed. Three other P2s beside himself were listed (Lumino, Snowtree, & Thota). Additionally, a pair of P4s, Chief Marines, were listed as Johnson & Wainse. Finally a P7 (Senior Petty Officer) & a P8 (Chief Petty Officer) rounded out the Platoon. They were listed as Stone & Matsuyama respectively.
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Aldross Umarov
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Post by Aldross Umarov on May 9, 2017 20:26:08 GMT -8
Aldross shuffled behind the new recon troops as he made his way off the shuttle and into the make-shift barracks. He felt plagued from the journey and was prepared for an assignment - anything to get his mind off of that woman he'd seen earlier. Her name echoed in the back of his mind as he followed along; he was desperate for an assignment, anxious and agitated from restless nights as that dark smile haunted him in his dreams. More than once, he'd awoke with a start, more often than not drenched in his own sweat. Still, he'd cleaned up nicely and kept his image well.
"So... this is Bonadan..."
With due haste, Aldross made his way over to Captain Romana's group; his eyes were weary but cautious, and his senses heightened with anxiety. He stood tall and pushed his goggles back over his eyes, making an attempt to hide the bags under his eyes. Tired as he was, he still carried himself just as well as any of the other greenhorns. From his position among them, he eagerly awaited a good distraction from his own mind.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on May 9, 2017 22:28:02 GMT -8
==Recon Training SL== <<106 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
With his goggles active, Aldross could see the faces of the armored figures around him. They were hovering in front of the helmets of the Recon scouts like strange masks. It was also fairly simple to see how experienced the people were based on the number of certs they had. As he arrived at the muster point for his platoon, he quickly found that only half the squad had arrived so far. The Captain had a thin face that made him look pinched. The quick glance up & down he gave Aldross was about as loving & warm as a deep space ice trawler drone.
-Romana Marine Umarov, hand print here.
Like the geneprint scanners back on Etti, the pad held out would confirm his identity. Within a few minutes of checking in, the remainder of the platoon arrived. Looking around at the other platoons being gathered, it was fairly clear that roughly a third of the scout already had fairly advanced & customized armor. Those were also the ones that had the most award mixed in with their certs. Roughly half the scouts had what looked like a standardized set of armor, looking around he couldn't see a single award on any of those figures. The last one in six were like himself, with only HUD goggles instead of a suit of armor.
Once it seemed that each of the ten groups being gathered were complete, a pair of figures appeared at the head of the small crowd.
-Commander Eurystheos Platoons! Ah-tten-tion!
-Lieutenant Admiral MacCaog Welcome to Recon 9, people. Here on this wasted, blighted hunk of rock you are going to be beaten into the finest combat unit the Clan has to offer. You will notice that some in your platoon are already combat decorated. Some of them are transfers from other units, but most are experienced Recon Scouts already. Look to them, they will show you the way forward. The remainder of the day will be dedicated to team building. That means you are going to be hunkering down & getting to know the people in your platoon. Tomorrow will be spent in orbit on a factory ship getting the rest of you greenies kitted out in armor. The next two months are going to be extensive training, both in & out of your armor. You will learn to handle a range of weapons, as well as terrain maneuvering, hand to hand combat, drone operations, & evasion tactics. I expect you to do me proud.
-Commander Eurystheos Platoons! Disss-missed!
With that, the two figure vanished again. Ten small habitation domes had been set up in the south corner of the training camp. They were arranged five on either side of a short road. Each was marked with a number. As they were dismissed, the platoons retreated to the habitation dome dedicated to their unit. The inside of the dome was extremely spartan. The inside of the dome was a single large room, with a bathroom facilities along the far wall. Taking a closer look at the squad, Aldross would find that if he included himself & the Captain, there were seven males & three females, though gender did not seem to be an issue with mandos. Interestingly enough, all three of the females were the higher ranked members of the platoon. For the moment, the captain seemed content to watch & see how everyone interacted before stepping in. A trio in the standardized armor was huddled off to one side. The HUD listed them as the three other P2s in the Platoon. The P7 listed as Stone in his HUD was standing off by herself, also watching the rest. P8 Matsuyama & P5 Graves where talking quietly together. The two P4s were openly joking with each other. Judging from their jokes, they had likely shared a unit previously.
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Aldross Umarov
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Post by Aldross Umarov on May 10, 2017 10:32:24 GMT -8
Aldross walked into the barracks with the rest of the greenhorns in his unit. He didn't much care for making many friends - only because he had trouble with names - but he tried to mingle to the best of his abilities. He looked around the room to find that he was most likely the only human there without any sort of gene modifications - perhaps even the only human there in general. He cracked his neck a few times and headed over to a corner of the room where nobody else stood. With a hearty sigh, he knelt down to the ground and assumed a push-up position, trying to get his blood going. He was already tired and worn, yet he refused to let it show. For the amount of physical work he'd committed to, his breathing was surprisingly nominal, as well as his heart rate. The new recon soldier was cranking out plenty of push-ups with ease; after a good fifty, he stood up and stretched out his arms, not even winded after his warm-up. It was after he stood that he noticed the stares - people eyeing him with what he thought was either amusement or suspicion. As he glanced around at them, none were willing to lock eyes - all but the most decorated recon soldiers; they feared nothing, so it seemed - not that an encounter with him was to be feared. He was curious about the high-ranked members and caught the P7 - Stone - standing alone.
"Hey there. Name's Aldross Mellik - pleasure to meet you."
Aldross offered a hand as an attempt at meeting his platoon. If he was to be working with this group, he would at least try to fit in. It would be difficult, considering the fact that his human nature made him stick out like a sore thumb, but he wasn't above at least trying to make friends; in the coming days, he would need all the friends and allies he could get.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on May 10, 2017 13:18:11 GMT -8
==Recon Training SL== <<106 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
Judging from the face projected over her armor, Stone looked human, except for the solid purple color of her eyes. In fact, other than one of the young trio & one of the P4s, everyone in the Platoon looked at least near-human. Of course, genetically most were zabrak stock. The younger one looked like a mobile plant, & the P4 was rakata. She reaches out & shakes his hand, gripping his wrist in the order style that was common in the Clan.
-Stone Billie Stone. Convert I take it?
She had a measured way of speaking that seemed to imply she would take her time with any task that might find itself in her hands.
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Aldross Umarov
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Affiliation: Self
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Post by Aldross Umarov on May 10, 2017 14:22:01 GMT -8
Aldross shook her hand firmly and noticed her strong grip, as well a way of grasping his hand that was strange to him. She must have been refering to the fact that Aldross wasn't born into the Clan.
"Yeah, this is my first official day as a Clan member... at least I think I'm part of the Clan now. I didn't really celebrate or hold a ceremony, but this is where I belong - I feel it."
It seemed to Aldross that he was well on his way to making a new friend. He was relieved that Stone didn't badger him for being lower rank, or for not being born a Mandalorian. Many things about their culture and customs still eluded his grasp, yet he was sure with time that he'd find a way to understand it all. From the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Romana observing the troops - curious that nobody else noticed him. Maybe they did notice and paid him no heed, yet when the Captain approached the barracks, Aldross was first to turn and stand at attention. To his dismay, it wasn't the Captain he'd seen, but the woman that had plagued his dreams. She smiled at him thinly, as if she wanted to speak to him, then vanished into thin air.
"Eyes... must be playing tricks... Anyways, it was good meeting you, miss Stone - I look forward to working with you."
Aldross then gave the woman a curt nod followed by half a bow as he quickly shuffled away to peel his goggles from his eyes. He rubbed them out for a bit as anyone might after seeing what he had. He glanced quickly around the room before replacing his goggles - now certain that he was the only one who'd seen the woman. Was she even real? And why did she follow him? Before in her eyes he'd seen viscious intent, yet now it was much more somber - as if grieving for someone now lost. He tried not to pay attention to what he'd just seen, but rather to focus on whatever task he might be given. He turned back to Stone once more, curiosity in his eyes.
"Silly question, completely out of context, but... do you know of anyone here that has - you know - the force...?"
It was clear that Aldross was almost too afraid to ask, and he was even more nervous as to how Stone might reply. He didn't want to ruin his chances with the Clan, especially over something he didn't even fully understand himself. Still, he stood upright and awaited her reply, unable to help his unease about the topic he'd asked.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on May 10, 2017 20:24:57 GMT -8
==Recon Training SL== <<106 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
Stone gave him a long look & then sighed. It was one of those sighs that involved the whole body.
-Stone Ok, the short answer to your question is 'not likely'. On the other hand, the question obviously isn't the real question. History of Bucketheads & Sabrejockeys 101. Mandos & forcies have been going at each other since the dawn of time. Pretty much everyone aware of both those group knows it. There have been some pretty bloody things done by both sides. Some clans will lynch any forcie they can get their hands on & some forcie groups aren't any better. D'Ordinii doesn't care if you are a forcie. In fact, they already know if you are. If anyone else checks your data file, they will see your name, face, description, certs & a few other details. If you check it you will see everything the Clan has on you, including your raw force potential. Me? I have a big old zero. Meaning I have all the force potential of a cabbage. If you have it, the scale goes from one to ten. One being abnormally lucky or occasional extra insight. & ten being the kind of person that can crack planets with their brain. Each number is ten times as powerful as the last. So two is ten times as powerful as one, & three is a hundred times as powerful as one.
She paused for a moment to let that sinking in, it would quickly be apparent that the others in the small room were listening in as well.
-Stone If you want to spend the rest of your life reading, you can look into the theoretical papers on force occurrences in populations. Otherwise I will save you some time. They all boil down to 'we have no clue'. For all we know, it could be based on how much time your grandparents spent in hyperspace. Regardless, the average galactic rate is something around one in ten thousand. Some species are more, some are less. For the genestock population of the Clan, the rate is closer to one in five thousand. However, the overall power rating is a lot lower for a genestock citizen then your average forcie.
Stone took a moment to call up some current data on her HUD.
-Stone That means of the six trillion citizens of the clan, roughly a million of them have some level of force ability. There aren't really any certs for force training at this point, but I imagine that will probably change before too much longer. But that is just me speculating. Very few will care if you can wave your hand & make things happen. But a lot of people in the clan will have issue with it if you decide waving your hand will solve all your problems. Use it, but don't depend on it.
She gave him a hard look for a second.
-Stone On the other hand, if you are some kind of bigot & looking for someone to pick on, you picked the wrong Clan.
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Aldross Umarov
Member
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Post by Aldross Umarov on May 10, 2017 20:46:19 GMT -8
Aldross shuddered to think what would happen to him if he were anywhere other than D'Ordinii. He bowed low and respectfully to Stone in appreciation of her little spiel on force users and Mandalorians.
"Thank you very much, miss Stone. I - I think I ought to get back to training."
Just out of curiosity, Aldross flipped his goggles over to show all the information Clan D'Ordinii had on him. It wasn't much considering - no place of birth, no parents to speak of, and no information on his family line. He did - fortunately or otherwise - find the information that Stone had told him of. He saw his scores that passed him out of basic training with flying colors, as well as his force potential. His number was a six - Aldross almost panicked at the sight of it. He whirled his head around to notice that - true to form - the entire room was staring at him. His face went flush with embarrassment as he scanned over all the faces; even the plant-like humanoid eyed him with suspicion. He hung his head and sighed.
"Something's not right here - it says I have a six. I mean, I sort of knew that I had potential - everybody sort of does - but... that's... no, that's not right at all."
Aldross almost trembled in fear as the whole room eyed him down like a cornered gizka. He cleared his throat and regarded them all with a sheepish smile, then looked back over to Stone, his eyes almost pleading. If he could see the six, that meant that so could all of his platoon.
"Please, I... I hardly know anything about the force; not more than the next bloke... I didn't come to start fights or to bully anyone, I just..."
Aldross sighed again, only deeper and in a more somber tone. He didn't want anything to do with the force at all - he just wanted to be accepted for once. His whole life he'd been wandering, finding no home anywhere since he was orphaned from a family he never knew, or rather never remembered. He looked up at the rest of the platoon.
"I just want to belong..."
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on May 10, 2017 21:45:22 GMT -8
==Recon Training SL== <<106 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
At that point, Captain Romana stepped in to the conversation, his voice as cold an clinical as before.
-Romana Then don't worry about it. If you don't have training or know how to use it. You certainly aren't going to learn how to use it here. Petty Officer Stone is correct, the Clan does not currently train in force use. Get back to it people.
With that he retreated back to stand by the door again. It would seem that their platoon leader was not going to be the warm & fuzzy type to hand out hugs & lollipops.
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Aldross Umarov
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Post by Aldross Umarov on May 10, 2017 22:05:36 GMT -8
Aldross let out a heavy sigh of relief as he felt the stares dissipate. His whole body seemed to relax as the flush of embarrassment left his cheeks. Despite his cold demeanor, he felt a true sense of appreciation for the Captain; for all he knew, Romana may have just saved him from making a terrible mistake, or maybe even from another soldier gunning him down. He wasn't very familiar with Mandalorian customs - specifically Clan D'Ordinii - yet he was thankful of their more neutral approach toward force sensitives. Aldross gave a shrug and looked over towards the other P2's. He wandered over in their direction and gave them a sheepish smile.
"H-hey... so you were the others that passed out of Recon basic? It's, uh... it's nice to meet you. Looks like we're all going to rank up together - oh, I'm Aldross, by the way. Nice to meet you guys."
Where he'd found himself now, Aldross would rather face a hundred more drones out in the dome than to try and continue making small talk after his 'scene'. Still, he wasn't about to give up, and after the Captain's encouragement - however cold as it was - he was ready to do whatever it took to get into Clan D'Ordinii fully and without question. He would dedicate himself from this point forward to being the most loyal and powerful member of the Clan. His mind was made up; he would stop at nothing to astound and impress them all.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on May 10, 2017 22:52:52 GMT -8
==Recon Training SL== <<106 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
The walking plant was the first to great him. His nameplate in Aldross' HUD listed him as Snowtree. Despite his arboreal appearance, he almost sounded hyper.
-Snowtree Oh, no no no. We didn't exempt it. We just got finished with that back at the creche.
Before he could continue, one that looked like a regular zabrak cut across his babbling speech.
-Thota We were all in the same pod back at the creche. After graduating about six years ago we all made it into Recon training together. Then it was just a case of waiting for a slot of open up in one of the existing units or for a new unit to be formed. I'm Thota, that is Snowtree & the quiet one is Lumino.
Lumino, whose skin was bright pink & mottled with purple patterns, simply nodded. Judging from a human stand point, the pair looked about old enough to start learning how to drive a speeder. Snowtree was impossible to judge, age wise. Of course, zabraks aged much slower than humans, so they were likely older than they seemed.
-Thota Basic, as you called it, was two hard years of learning the basics of combat. Now comes learning the specifics of being a Recon Scout.
As he was speaking, the male P4 joined the group. A quick glance would show he was fairly heavily decorated, both in awards & other Certs. However, it would seem his rank was lower than the amount of awards would normally indicate. As a rakata, his eyes extended from the sides of his head & were nearly level with his mouth. His pebbly skin was a deep red color. As he joined the group, he threw his arms around Lumino & Snowtree, more or less putting them both in headlocks. Neither looked particularly pleased at the contact.
-Wainse Don't worry, greenies. The real scouts will show you how it is done. Eat all your meats & screw all your lovers & you will end up a big strong Scout like me.
It was suddenly very clear why he wasn't a higher rank.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Jul 17, 2018 12:36:13 GMT -8
==Selling Stock SL== <<107 PP; S4 Sector, Bonadan>>
There were a host of rumors floating around. Pirates showing up more often. The Imperium turning a blind eye as it was distracted by other worries. Even darker rumors about entire Socii worlds being sold out to other nations. There was nothing solid but rumor & small facts would eventually penetrate even the thickest skulls. A large number of the extremely wealth, as well as those families that had particularly close ties with the Imperium seemed to have vanished. Officially, they were off on business or visiting relatives that became citizens or one of a hundred other reasonable excuses.
The bare facts told a different story. They were fleeing like mynocks from a gutted ship. Properties were sold, often at well below the asking price. More portable riches were steadily shipped off toward Lehon. More & more of the Socii Auxiliary was away on 'training missions' for months or more at a time. Whatever was happening it seemed the Imperium was finally pulling out of the Corporate Sector completely. Those that had risen to power or wealth under their rule sought to escape to worlds still under their 'protection'. Many more of the common folk were following them, for any number of reasons. However, much of the old guard remained & would remain on the world. This was their world before the Mandalorians came, and it would be theirs after they left.
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
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Post by Dragus on Jan 19, 2024 20:19:40 GMT -8
Descending through the atmosphere, a malevolent black Freedon-class Star Pyramid carved a bloody path towards the capital of the planet. Twin laser and ion turrets picked apart any ship that entered its range, sending streaking balls of fire and burning steel smashing into the strip mined surface. Drop-pods fired from the bow, impacting the ground and kicking up plumes of dust and ash, pockmarking the crust with small craters before their armour encased hulls exploded outwards to expose the deranged denizens inside. Towering Sith war behemoths and shamunaar charged across the terrain, mounted with war-platforms equipped with blaster cannon emplacements, and manned by bronze scaled Rishilings equipped with crossbows loaded with serrated Sith iron bolts. Armoured columns of of the darkside warped Galandans marched next to the war-beasts, carrying long spears with Pzobian oaken shafts and Sith steel tips coated in poison ichor. Heavy artillery guns rolled into place, fixing stabilizer paddles to the parched earth as gun crews of crimson gamma-plast armoured Nu-Jakes began marking targets. HAG-M mortar tanks glided ahead, forming a firing line closer to the city while heavy construction crawlers dug trenches across the terrain, shoveling dirt to form embankments while duracrete barriers were dropped into place and spools of laser-wire were unwound across the forming lips. The eastern approach to the city quickly transformed into a no-mans land of armoured war beasts and artillery units, while Sith Troopers and cultists piled into the newly fortified positions and set up FWMB-10B repeating blasters.
A horrifying shriek pierced even the roar of the Maw's numerous repulsor engines as a multi-headed black scaled hydra leapt from one of the warships open hangars and flew over the malevolent army, coming in to land on four muscular legs that crunched into the dry dirt. Six heads snarled and sprayed curtains of poison breath, while a long whip like tail with a poison stinger wept a crystalized venom that blackened the desiccated soil. Riding in a reek leather saddle atop the monster's back was none other than the Famine Lord himself, wielding a conical black spear that crackled with arcane energy as he awoke the electromagnetic pulse generator housed within the energy lance. Sneering as he leaned over the saddle and observed the city dead ahead, the Dark Apothecary turned his black scaled snout towards the front row of mortar tanks and snapped the overlong tail protruding from his backside against the armoured hide of his hydra Draygore. "Begin the bombardment." He hissed, scaly lips splitting into a sinister grin that exposed rows of razor sharp teeth set into blackened gums. A forked tongue darted out from between his forest of serrated daggers, flicking the air as he scented a heady stench of fear wafting towards them from the city ahead. With the order given, the guns began to bark, booming in a deafening chorus as proton shells were lobed into the city.
Fiery blooms erupted across the cityscape as ferrocrete structure were blown apart, sending plastcrete shrapnel raining down on fleeing civilians caught in the open. Once the mortar tanks had launched their first volley, the heavier HAGs opened up with pure destructive force, shattering entire buildings and blowing out transparasteel windows across the capital. It was absolute carnage, a symphony of death that filled the sky with black smoke and the airwaves full of panicked voices pleading for mercy. There was none to be had, as Dragus signaled another discharge of the artillery, giving the gun companies free reign to unleash their stock of ordnance until the entire capital was reduced to rubble. The pounding went on for hours, until the sun overhead dipped below the horizon and Bonadan's two moons crept across the night sky. Went the midnight hour struck, the Dark Apothecary ordered the cannons to cease their barrage, allowing those taking shelter in the ruins a moments reprieve. It didn't last long. "Rishilingz, advance!" He snarled, patting his battle hydra on the back, giving the multi-headed creature the signal to rise up into the air. As his mount took off, the war-beasts on the ground began to charge towards the city. The marching columns beside them broke into a sprint, screaming war cries at the tops of their lungs as they ran headlong into the tortured capital.
This wanton destruction might not have been clear to the people of Bonadan, but to the Great Devourer who had initiated this chaos, it all served a purpose. It was here in these ruins that he would craft an amulet of terrible power, harvesting the life force and fear of the billions strong population to create his heinous talisman. With it he would have the tool required to bind the Gorog unearthed on Ison to his will. Once the beast was his to command, there would be no one who could stand in the way of the Eye's conquest of the stars. It would be the beginning of a new black crusade. Planets would quake beneath the tread of Shagrat, the World Shaker.
Resistance was minimal as the forces of Famine surged into the city. A few corporate sector goons fired hand held blasters, causing crimson bolts to glance off alchemized bronze scale armour, occasionally finding flesh but more often than not a useless display of bravado. The Rishilings offered no quarter, no mercy. They drove their spear tips through fat throats, plunged them through bellies, and pierced them through skulls. The rampaging war beasts trampled screaming civilians underfoot, while quarrels punctured bone and pinioned fleeing corporate officers. From high in the sky, He-Who-Hungers aimed his malevolent lance and unleashed crackling bolts of lightning that transformed any sentient being they touched to pillars of ash. Mounted blaster cannons picked through the debris, making plasteel run like water as super heated tibanna cooked corpses and put down anything that moved. Soon the Famine Lord found himself joined by spectral verminous forms as Rat-Wraiths riding mutant Roon dragons flew through the ruins and exhaled gouts of flame across the broken hell-scape. This was only the first night.
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
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Post by Dragus on Jan 20, 2024 20:27:57 GMT -8
"Fix bayonets!" Shouted an NJ3 in an armorweave greatcoat to NJ1s advancing through the war torn streets, boots crunching on broken glass from blown out windows. A hundred meters away, two NJ2 Sith scout troopers took over-watch positions on the roof of a gutted building, sweeping their long blasters in covering arcs while the first generation Nu-Jakes withdrew narrow vibro-daggers from their packs and attached them to the barrels of their Imperial heavy repeaters. Similar scenes took place across the city as the forces of Famine advanced through the wreckage wrought by the recent artillery barrage that had transformed the capital into a smoldering ruin. Every now and then the crack of an explosive bolt discharged from a F-11ABA heavy blaster cannon wielded by airborne jetpack troopers echoed across the broken city-scape, joined by the fizzle and pop of tracked scythe harvesters lumbering over pockmarked roads, their laser scythe incinerating anything caught in their path. T3-B heavy attack tanks rolled through the debris, occasionally firing their heavy blaster cannons into half demolished structures whenever their heat sensors detected signs of life.
While the surprise attack by the Maw and malevolent mutant armies of the Dark Apothecary had initially caught the planetary defense forces off guard, eventually the Corporate Sector Authority got its act together and launched a counter-offensive. Thus the Rishilings and war-beasts had been pulled back in favor of more tradition warfare.
"Get ready!" Yelled the same NJ3 commander, drawing a Sith steel saber from an ornate scabbard on his hip, his other hand holding a SE-14r light repeating blaster. "Advance!" He roared, sweeping the curved blade of the saber down as he gave the signal to charge. A roar sounded from across the Nu-Jakes dug in position as they leapt out of trenches and ran towards the battle line of CSA troopers, firing a deadly barrage of slugs from their repeaters until their charge reach the enemy line and they smashed together, stabbing with bayonets and bashing skulls with rifle butts. A few enthusiastic soldiers even used their entrenching tools like makeshift blades, hacking and slashing like Gamorrean berserkers. The streets ran red with blood in short order. Meanwhile crimson clad jet troops dropped behind enemy lines and opened up with a flurry of deadly bolts that caused the lightly armoured CSA personal to erupt in gory explosions and burst into flames.
Outside the city in a command tent set up behind the artillery guns, the Dark Apothecary consulted with several NJX Elite Praetorian Guards and mechanical champion, Krell. The black scaled barabel leaned over a holo-projector with a luminous three dimensional map of the city spread across its surface. Purple wisps of narcotic smoke bled from the bowl of a meltmassif pipe the saurian Sith was puffing away on between sips from a jeweled goblet of Pzobian bloodwine. The serpentine sultan of sin and debauchery savored the pleasing affects of the spice heavy vices, using them to enhance his prestigious mental faculties as he discussed strategy. "We've taken the eassstern approach to the capital with minimal lossez, but our advance haz been ssslowed now that the CSA haz finally recoiled from our initial attack. Their forcez are mossst concentrated in the core. Nothing insssurmountable, but they are well dug in with fortified positionz. Our lossez will be sssubstantial if we continue with our current push. We need to find a way to draw off sssome of their troopz ssso we can hit them in one sssufficiently brutal attack to overwhelm their posssition. Thoughtz?" He looked around the table at his generals, daring them to speak.
It was the former tomb guard Krell who mustered the courage first. The towering warbot leaned on his crystalized ostrine greatsword Morkai, the blade's molecular makeup stealing the very warmth from the air, covering the nightmare knight's spiked gauntlets in frost. "Milord allow me to lead an assault from the north with the voreclaw and silooths. The shock of the sithspawn will inspire fear against the population and it is doubtful any armour the CSA can muster will be effective against the war-beetles." Next, a voulge wielding NJX in onion-skin magcoils spoke up. "The thirteenth legion will keep the focus of the defenders to the east, but an attack from the south while Krell strikes from the north will force them to retreat westward. We should relocate the artillery outside the city to the western ridge and prepare to pound the city flat from that direction. The CSA will be completely cut off." A sound strategy.
Dragus nodded, stroking the chin of his snout as he contemplated his general's advice. He raised the scaled brow over his bloody right orb, his slit saurian pupil flicking from right to left. "And who shall lead the attack from the sssouth?"
Who else? Boomed the static laced speakers built into the grill slits of a forest green juggernaut seated on the far side of the command tent. Clad in sacred steel covered in wax sealed oath papers was an armoured hannite monk from the Famine Lord's home on the Eye's Cradle. Steam hissed from the knee joints of the darktrooper as he rose, fixing those present with a blank stare from the black lenses of his helm, taller even than Krell in his powered exosuit. The Sons of Pzob reserve that honour for themselves.
"Ssso be it. Presss the eassstern offensssive to keep eyez off the wessst, then reposssition our artillery. Krell, you will have what you need." He then looked at the sword brother of the Sons of Pzob. "Commander Dantioch, the sssouth is yourz. Eye ssspeed, gentlemen. Meeting dismisssed."
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,183
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on Jan 22, 2024 0:26:29 GMT -8
Blood curdling screams and throat hoarsening shrieks could be heard from every quarter in the north as chitinous shapes entered the city, monstrous things of glossy beetle carapace, claw and fang. Silooths, sithspawned mutant bugs resurrected from eons past, scurried down major road ways on thorny pincers. As they vented insectile hisses, streams of flame and caustic acid sprayed from their hideous maws, devour everything in their path as acrid smoke wept from the corpses they left in their wake. Smaller crustacean demons marched along beside them, black as the void with frightful red stalk eyes absent human emotion, with razor sharp mandibles and claws that snapped off limbs and made a gory mess of anyone unlucky enough to be caught in their way. Leading the voreclaw and the gargantuan war-beasts beside them was a towering figure in dark steel, riding a snarling thorn-back war dragon with fangs stained pink from its latest meal, and cold saurian eyes with slit pupils focused on the fleeing prey. The nightmarish figure of Krell, former tomb guard of Freedon Nadd, drew his massive greatsword from its place magnetically clamped on his back, bleeding steam as the crystalized ostrine stole the warmth from the air. Frost flecks fell from his sword, Morkai, like winter snow. Snapping the reigns of his mount, he set the beast to a gallop, running down horrified citizens and carving them in twain with unrelenting sweeps of his frigid blade. The north fell as surely as the east had, though this was no battle, no war. This was slaughter, plain and simple.
Thins weren't much different to the south. Five barreled assault cannons filled the air with the stench of scorched ozone as they unloaded thousands of plasma shells that liquified metal and caused organic matter to combust from the oppressive heat. Modified darktroopers marched at a slow but steady pace, more bipedal tanks than powered exo-suit wearing warriors, all in matching forest green. These were the Sons of Pzob, devout hannite worshippers of the Eye that had undergone alchemical alteration, transforming them into villainous super soldiers equipped with a deadly arsenal of advanced technology. Dumb rockets fired from shoulder racks, blowing apart landspeeders and hover-trucks, occasionally tearing apart armoured patrol cars belonging to paramilitary police forces assigned to the sector. They met more resistance than the bestial forces assaulting the north. The CSA troops at least viewed these walking murder machines as an enemy they could comprehend, not something conjured up from their deepest nightmares. It didn't make their deaths any less brutal, but perhaps a bit more swift. Blaster bolts pinged off the glossy quadanium steel plate, marring the paint with carbon scoring but not so much as penetrating the blessed armour. The zealots shells cut down anything that moved, anything with a pulse.
From the east, the thirteenth legion renewed their assault, doubling down on the siege as Nu-Jakes exchanged fire with corporate soldiers. There were some casualties here, for despite the sophistication wrought in their gene code, the clones were still living soldiers of flesh and blood. Their heavy repeaters made a mess of the opposition though, ripping through flak vests and padded uniform shirts like super sonic nails. Grenade launchers attached to the bottom of each barrel lobed concussion ordnance that left the streets covered in body parts and blood. The close quarters fighting was even worse. Fearless NJ1s hacked and stabbed with their bayonets, while others wielded combat knives to sever arteries stab through joints in those foes wise enough to wear armour. The NJ3 officer near the front used his vibro-saber to great effect, the glowing orange blade parting protective gear as easily as it hacked through meat and bone. It was here in the scrum that the depraved draconian, Dragus, could be found. The scent of so much blood had drawn him from his tent, drove him deep into the heart of the city, to the very front lines of the conflict. He hunted like an animal, eschewing weapons in favour of his claws, talons, and teeth. The black scaled barabel in his man-flesh robe leapt upon CSA guardsmen and sank his fangs deep into their throats, glutting himself on their freshly spilled vitae.
With the attacks from the north, the south, and the renewed push from the east, the defenders behaved as expected. The Corporate Authority began retreating westwards, vacating their positions and making all haste away while the going was good, until suddenly it wasn't. Outside the city to the west, the heavy artillery guns the Maw had brought with it began to awaken in thunderous roars, hurling proton bombs into the sky in long arcs that fell indiscriminately into the capital. The retreating forces found their only avenue of escape cut off as razor shrapnel rained from above and explosive ordnance blasted craters in the roads. Realizing their way out of the slaughter was cut off, some of the CSA troops turned back towards the east and prepared themselves to die heroically, perhaps sparing the people of Bonadan a few more hours of suffering. That's when the treadspeeders growled into view, eating up the broken terrain under their spinning treads and annihilating the enemy with barking blaster cannons. Crimson jetpack troopers launched off the backs of the snarling bikes, riding cones of fire as they brought death from the air, adding another layer of military superiority. The enemy was routed.
No quarter was given. There could be no opposition to a Lord of the Eye. The very consideration was the gravest of blasphemies. Dragus let his men and monsters have their fun, partaking in some of that himself actually. By the end of the second day, the siege had ended. Now the red tithe could begin.
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,183
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on Jan 24, 2024 23:09:09 GMT -8
Great plumes of black smoke rose from the center of the capital, darkening the sky and raining down ash on the ruins of the once thriving city at the heart of this cesspool of a planet. Corpses were heaped into a massive pile, the dead collected wherever they could be found, which was practically every pockmarked street and blown out habitation unit. The bodies were soaked in tank fuel and liquid tibanna, the fumes head dizzying and strong, powerful enough to cover the stench of rot that wafted off citizens turned to carrion. The mass cremation was a pyre large enough to be seen from space, an orange blister on a jaundiced yellow orb rife with arid pollution. Dragus, Pater Mutatis and Master of the Alchemical Arts, warmed his scaly palms as he stood near the cooking cadavers. His mismatched gaze studied stripped down blasters and vibro-blades sunk deep into the burning hot coals heating in the human kindling, licking soot from his lips as the weapons of Bonadan's defenders melted into a mixed slag, repurposed war material with a sinister new purpose. He turned his scaly snout as a lumbering ranat-ogre carried an anvil from a nearby shuttle and placed it beside the massive blaze, joined by two members of his flock, furry companions with hearts almost as cruel as his own. Lil'Bacca hefted a familiar hammer, rune etched and marked with the All-Seeing Eye, an arcane device borrowed from the hell-forge beneath the Black Temple on blessed Pzob. The cyclopean ewok with chestnut fur and a bulging furred physique placed the smithing hammer with reverence on the ashen anvil, bowing as he stepped away and to the side. Next came his emaciated counterpart, a charcoal hued bear with a set of gnarly barbed tongs that shrieked an infernal cry as the vice tips spread apart at the hinge. These two were placed next to the anvil, which itself resonated with a baleful purpose, forged in the Roonian underverse of cursed Dragusblight.
All the recent death energy released had created a vacuum in the Force, corrupting the currents of the fey and leaving a ruinous stain on reality, one unmistakable to a practitioner of the darkside. He-Who-Hungers drew in a deep breath through his flaring nostril slits, savoring the aroma of chemical thick oily agents and crackling human fat that ran in thick streams from the weeping flames. Greasy wisps of smoke like a filthy residue on his scales, which were exposed from the waist up as he had stripped his upper body, wrapping his cloak of man-hide around his waist to conceal his modesty. The black scaled barabel flexed the obsidian meat-hooks he had for talons, limbering up his digits for the work to come, his bones popping and cracking like crisped corpse flesh. It was almost peaceful, if not for the constant wailing and screams from the nearby citizens being put to the stake by a ravenous horde of blood eyed night ewoks, who set to the grizzly work of flaying flesh and gathering finger bones for their tribal trinkets. A clay basin was set next to the anvil, filled with the recently extracted entrails taken from the fearful prey in the prime of their life. Old entrails were prone to disease and decay, making for difficult interpretation. The organs and guts of those on the cusp of adulthood, however, were quite suitable for prophetic readings. Kneeling next to the bowl, the Dark Apothecary sank his claws into the gooey mixture and probed the ropes of intestines, stirring them with gore slick digits as he hummed and hawed. Strange. Ill portents. Shrugging, he extracted his claws and shook wiped them free of ichor on the dusty gravel ground.
Standing, the Blood Wyrm faced the blaze and upturned his left claw, channeling his fury into kinetic power that gripped the molten slag sitting in the fire in an invisible hand. Orange ribbons of liquid metal slithered through the air, condensing into a smoking iron ball that hovered over the anvil, held aloft by the scaled sorcerer's mage-craft. Dragus retrieve the relic hammer, gripping a handle bound in tightly wound strips of tanned man-flesh in his right claw, then squeezing his left into a fist. The condensed ingot rang audibly like a bell tone as it fell onto the anvil's surface, resonating loud enough to create sound waves of visible distortion. Raising the hammer high overhead, the twisted terrorsaur began to strike the iron uneven iron ball with the hammer's head, causing embers to bath his scaly chest and tickle his nether-bits as they fell down his makeshift breeches. The Great Devourer poured every ounce of dark emotion he could summon into the sacred implement in his claw, using it as a conduit of the darkside to imbue the forming lump with Force energy. Sorrow, avarice, and malice were entwined and threaded into the fiber of his work. Each strike imparted a new thread in a sorcerous lattice of his spell-work, carefully crafted with meticulous care as any mistake would ruin the woeful device's sinister purpose. It was draining work, both physically and spiritually, as the transmogrifation required vast amounts of power. Extending his aura to encompass the nearby blocks, the Famine Lord fed off the expended life force of the recently deceased, drawing it into himself before it fizzled away into the nothingness of the universe.
An hour in and the amulet began to take shape. It was an evil thing, warped by the wicked emotions poured into its creation, tainted by the cruel hearted master of sin that forged it. A Sith iron base was inlaid with ruby red meltmassif, the alchemists ore, a great transmitted of psychic energy. He spun and wove Sith gold around a singular pearl of corrupted nihil smokestone, a remnant of Otherspace that was an odds with this dimensional plane. The components resisted being bound together, but eventually gave as he forced them together through sheer strength of stubbornness and an unrivaled will that refused to be denied. Dragus sealed the last of the talisman together with a sliver of himself. Not a piece of his soul, you understand. He had none. This was a piece of the hungering abyss that resided where his soul should be, a blackhole in the Force that threatened to swallow the light and damn the destiny of all it came into contact with. It exuded an aura of utter wrongness, whispering lies and false promises into the minds of any that beheld it. The arcane device was seductive, at first, but overlong exposure would be unpleasant. The Hungering One could already feel the amulet trying to twist his thoughts and fill his maniacal mind with nightmarish hallucinations. It would do. His work complete, the wizard lizard laid down the sacred hammer and raised the dark talisman in his claw, holding it by a Sith iron chain as he stared into the corpse pyre of immolated citizens.
"The Amulet of Shagrat iz complete, a vile totem powerful enough to shackle the will of the World Shaker." He bared his forest of gleaming fangs, cracking his tail like a whip as he turned his snout over his shoulder, spitting blood flecks as he hissed at his rodent hench-vermin lurking in his serpentine shadow. "Squeakerz, sssummon the Maw. The Gorog awaitz."
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,183
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on Jan 25, 2024 19:47:07 GMT -8
With the Amulet of Shagrat completed, the forces of Famine prepared to leave the planet, returning to the massive black Freedon-class Star Pyramid that hovered over the former capital of Bonadan, now a desolate ruin and smoldering pyre of the dead. Nu-Jakes in the livery of armoured shock troopers with bayonet fixed Imperial heavy repeaters stood sentinel as citizens were rounded up and packed like sardines into shuttles bound for the dark bosom of the Maw, to serve as slaves destined for the cortosis mines of thrice cursed Roon. Beaked Hiitians, saurian Tss'shar, blue skinned Duros, and humans were gathered on mass, forced to abandon their belongings as they were dragged kicking and screaming from their homes. Those that put up too great a resistance were put down, peppered with hypersonic nails so that their shredded corpses served as examples to any others with thoughts of disobeying the will of the Eye. While the slave roundup was taking place, combat engineers set up charges on any structures still standing, which were few and far between after several days of artillery barrages. The war beasts were gathered and sent back to their pens, many having glutted themselves on the native timbu beasts that were little more than cattle. The beast tamers collected as many specimens of the furry mammals as they could, as the sithspawn beasts they utilized seemed to favour that particular meat. Assault shuttles returned to the hangars after the Sons of Pzob had completed their mission, joined by winged war dragons with rat-wraith riders, escorting the Famine Lord's personal battle hydra Draygore.
After the last shuttles were collected, the charges were detonated, causing explosions to ripple across the war torn city as the Maw began to rise into the sky. It emptied its concussion missile tubes into the ruins, flattening the rubble into carbon scored gravel and molten glass. Shortly thereafter the ascending obelisk exited the atmosphere and took to the vacuum of space.
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