A Fortress of Ruins

[Tsoibe]

Ord Radama, New Raido, Immigration Quarter - Lower Level... A long, long time and some months ago...

A swoop bike buzzed past what is considered as a highway at the outer edges of the maze-like city of New Raido. Its red and silver lining seeming like a blur as it zoomed past a few levels above an unsuspecting entrance to one of the complexes that made up the walls of the gigantic city spanning over most of the planets aside from a few of the remaining wetlands that did little to separate the sprawling cities of this small planet from each other. The Immigration Quarter laid at the outer edges of the capital city of this world. Likewise, it also houses most of those individuals that tend to feel at home far at the outer edge of society, such as smugglers, refugess and even the occassional hardened mercenary. As with most other buildings, those in the Immigration Quarter seem to fit in effordlessly with the confusing system of the native Devlikk species that few outsiders tend to understand properly. Yes, inside those massive walls, many of these buildings were filled with the worst of human colonist, from makeshift appartments, over shady black market shops to outright holding cells for slaves or worse.

One level of the far-most complex, while unsuspecting from the outside, was quite different. The entrance to the corridor of this specific level amongst one of the many lower levels was blocked by a massive door, after one would leave the turbolift or staircase. It consisted of a few, rather spacious apartments arranged around a central corridor. The former central corridor had been rearranged to serve as some kind of meeting room, with a large table surrounded by some chairs being the central part of the room, but also featuring chairs and couches, that might have once been part of the interior of the apartments, spread around the corridor. The walls of the corridor were aligned with many rotten pictures of a once beautiful planetscape that might had once been Ord Radama, before it was covered with city scape. The dim illumination and long shades of the furniture were a clear sign that the electrical network of this complex could have used a new maintenance run very soon. Nonetheless, the makeshift meeting room also featured a large, modern terminal that had been placed here recently, including data ports. Every now and than, a droid servant crossed through in an effort to tidy up the place.

The corridor split further into some apartment, of whom one had been converted into a mix of storage room and weapon locker with crates full of goods that were illegal in most Republic worlds. Luckily for the inhabitants, this was not a Republic world, indeed it was far from it. Yet, this condition, along with its proximity to the Hydian Way made it the most excellent staging point for one of the many hideouts that were scattered across the space of the former Sith Empire. While still barely maintained with the area that the Sith consider their homeworlds, it held sufficient resources to outfit a small army... or stage a revolution should the need arrise. The windows of the storage room, as well as any other appartment were mostly barred, as to be kept hidden from the possible onlooker from the outside. It was indeed nothing like a real military base, though the Sith Empire certainly maintains a few of those as well. The Sith Lords might not even be aware that this base exists. Yet, it currently provided quarters for those that were unlike any other military unit of the Sith. Members of the Sacred Band of Ziost.

---

Dalrel stood inside the central corridor of the hideout, his face illuminated by the cold, blue light of the holographic projector inside the room. The tridimensional image of the projector currently displaying the area that is currently under the safe control of the Sith Order. He brought his right hand up to the menu of the projector to increase the diplayed area to most of the known galaxy. The blue light reflecting oddly upon the thin, green skin that covered the mechanic muscles that had been implanted underneath much of his arm and even some of the more gravely, old wounds on his rips and back. He did not grimace at the slight joint of pain he felt as the mechanical muscles aligned with his biological to send the reflex for action further to his fingers. Old datapads with information about the city laid scattered around the large, central table, as well as numerous datapads filled with the reports of the recent uprising.

The Sith had recently retaken Ord Radama from the insurgents that thought they could rise against their superiors, while their attention were shifted towards the Republic and their eternal nemesis, the Jedi. Dalred had seen the report of both Devlikk and Humans fighting accross the narrow streets and being locked in sieges across various cities amongst the surface. The obvious resistance had been obliberated, yet the Sith did not want to risk another uprising amongst the populance, if it could be avoided. For this reason the Sacred Band of Ziost had sent some of their own to make sure that the cries for rebellion were calmed inside the minds of the locals. The Falleen doctor was amonst them, he had really just stayed behind as the fighting in the street ceased for the most part and arranged for his personal belongings to be delviered to the hideout. Seemingly without any particular goal in mind he inspected one of the weapons that were confiscated from the rebells.

The other weapons were still in their containers in the next room, Dalrel noted with a watchful eye. The locals would have been unable to organize and acquire so many weapons without outside asisstance. He set down on one of their more comfortable chairs, leaning back slightly while pondering the weapon in his hand. The fingers of his right hand softly cassually clicking against the metallic frame of the weapon. While sitting down he adjusted his current outfit to the new position. He wore an elegant, grey shirt along with a dark blue vest and the matching pants and boots, like many of the more affluent spacers around this part. Barely something that could be considered a uniform for a military unit, though it was simply more comfortable than anything the Sith soldiers usually wear outside of duty. His own armor was safely stored along with his other belongings in his quarters, which occupied half one of the remaining apartments. The slightly visible skin of his upper arms showed scars that almost seem have some ritualistic meaning to them, though they might have just been physical remains of those moments that he had wrangled his survival out of his opponents claws.

 

[Necris]

The lift stank of age and decay it reminded him of Coruscant or at least the prison there, the city smelled worse but it was a different smell, burning fuel, fire arms discharge, laser burn, explosives and blood, he could live with those smells they kept the mind sharp and nerves on edge, kept a man alive and free, the lift slowed as it approached the desired floor and he checked his armour a light combat rig better suited to scout and infiltration missions it resembled Mandalorian armour from a distance even his helmet was styled to resemble a Mandolorian's, Happy it was comfortable he stepped from the lift and strode to the heavy door, the key code hadn't changed and it rolled open allowing him entry into the hideout he paused on the threshold his compact blaster rifle slipping into his hands, someone else was present he could hear they moving around further down the corridor. The slow rythmic tapping gave him a good idea who it could be the Falleen Doctor he relaxed his grip slightly and strode into the main area of the chamber and once his suspicions were confirmed he placed his own weapon down on the table it was a compact model stripped back to a simple rectanglar frame that allowed him to fit into small narrow space unlike its equilivant counterpart and it sacrificed some round capacity but retained the power.

"Any word from the rest?"

He took a seat and took up one of the old datapads looking over the information on it he started editing the details on the unit.

"District six, the humans there are organising themselves gathering weapons, looks like they are planning something against either the Devlikk or us."

 

[Sapphire Storm]

The stench and sounds of the city brought back a host of memories. Memories from a darker time, when the blonde woman hadn't been quite so enlightened as she was now. They were familiar to her, like encountering an old friend after not seeing them for years. Nothing about them was ever truly forgotten, and after experiencing them again, everything came flooding back and it felt as if she'd just said goodbye to them yesterday. She would only greet the sights and smells in passing, however. Now was not the time for her to embrace the skills and mindset of her former life. No, that was not what these people needed. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Kira strode into the building, only glancing up from the datapad in her hand long enough to ensure she was going the right way and wouldn't be walking into any walls. It was the correct place, and she could see the lift she'd need to take off in one of the back corners. The human looked very out of place in this city-turned-war zone. Where others were clad in all different types of protective armour, with expensive, illegal and modified blaster rifles of all different kinds in their hands, Kira was clad in nothing but a dark, voluminous robe with long, expansive sleeves, a hood that could shadow all of her face should she need it, and many, many little hiding places, one of which she tucked her datapad into when she reached the lift. She of course was nowhere near as harmless and defenseless as she looked. She had a weapon on her, but it was only for emergencies. Carrying a weapon around in the open would completely ruin the feel she was going for. Being seen as a threat would be bad. What she actually needed was to be seen as a guiding light for the lost souls inhabiting the city.

The lift made a little "bing" as the doors slid open before her. The trip up to the floor she needed to be on was quick, and when the doors slid open again, Kira was already striding out and toward the room where she could hear voices echoing from. She wasn't the first here, and that was good. She had more pressing things to worry about than getting a hideout prepared. That kind of thing was for members of the band with less religious import than she.

A quick look around the room as she entered was all the notice she gave the two already there. Dalrel and Ceska. They would be useful, provided their blasters and outward appearances didn't scare everyone away. After her cursory glance around the room she was pulling her datapad out again, muttering to herself in a voice purposely loud enough for other two to hear as she tapped away at her pad, "Uprising, chaos and death. Many poor, lost little souls in need of a guiding hand. It's a good thing I was sent here."

 

[Aleksandr]

Urban sprawls like this were not a terrain that Ragnos Valak was used to, his homeworld being far from a metropolis, but he managed. He walked through the bland, dark corridors of the building. The Sun Guard wore a suit of black armor and robes, complete with a helmet that just had one visor going across it from one side to the other. In one of his hands, leaning against his shoulder as he walked, was a solar pike, one of his people's main weapons. A small control panel allowed him to adjust the temperature of the tip, enough to the point of severely burning or killing someone. Inside his cloak were a few vibroblades and a small blaster pistol. Ragnos spent some time in a lift before it had reached the level he had been directed to, and upon exiting he walked through the corridors towards his destination.

Upon reaching and entering the room, he noticed a Falleen and a couple of Humans standing there. Ragnos did not say anything, but stood near the door quietly. The Sun Guard was aware of the general situation and decided to listen for the specifics.

 

[Pilgrim]

The view from the rooftop was expansive. The city of New Raido sprawled out in every direction for as far as the eye could see. A sea of buildings with no logical order, no straight streets, no main drags. Just short jaunt after short jaunt before yet another aburpt change in direction, only to repeat the pattern again. Here and there, the skyline was punctuated with dark clouds of smoke rising upward, the remnants of fires burning from recent activity.

The Zabrak sat on a junction box halfway from the door to the edge of the roof. Hunched over with his arms resting on his thighs and gauntleted hands clasped lightly. He was relaxed. He knew there would be a lot to do soon, so he took his time away from others, on his own, where he could let his mind wander and not deal with the banalities of life, if for a short time.

"How do the creatures ever find their way?" Caim wondered to himself. He took a deep breath of acrid urban air and straightened up, pulling his arms to the sides and slightly arching his back with a small stretch. His abdomen tightened as he pulled himself to his feet and stood tall. His head tilted from side to side, giving a small inaudible crack that only he could hear, no, not even hear, but sense inside his horned skull. He looked down, stretching his neck, and glimpsed his armor below. It was coloured a dull, dark grey and showed the scars of past battles. He looked back up, the dark, frayed hood of his short cloak framing his view.

Caim walked slowly to the edge of the roof and put a foot on the knee-high wall making up the boundary of the building, which descended to the street below. He braced himself gently on that foot and peered over and down. One after another, he watched as figures entered the structure below him and disappeared within. He sighed. His time alone was over; it was time to go. He turned and walked toward the door without hurry. As he entered and passed through the frame, the end of his back-scabbarded vibroblade knocked against the frame ever so slightly. "You clumsy idiot" he cursed at himself. He would have to be more careful when not in his own safe space. Such errors can foil the element of surprise in a hostile encounter.

The lift arrived and the door slid open. A pungent odour spilled from inside the small chamber, causing the mature Zabrak to wince and squint his yellow eyes. It permeated his face mask, a device that fed him a stream of enriched air on demand from a small cylinder at its base. He made a note that someday when he had time, he would have to modify it to filter out stench. Something about the smell was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Caim stepped inside and directed the lift to a floor below. The door slid closed and hummed as he felt himself become lighter, dropping closer toward the surface of Ord Radama. Soon the lift slowed and came to a stop. As his weight returned to normal, Caim rested his left hand on the butt of the blaster strapped to his thigh, just in case, then the lift door slid open once again with a small binging sound, revealing a large door a short distance ahead and down the dank corridor.

A code was tapped into the keypad console and the large door clanged open. Walking inside, left hand still at the ready, he heard voices in the chamber. Recognizing his comrades and deciding the area was safe, he relaxed and brought both hands to his head. Four others came into view and, in turn, he into theirs. He saw their heads all turn towards his own as he lowered his hood gently, exposing his red and black, masked face topped by a crown of small horns.

"Well?" he asked simply, and stood silently among the people he called his family. "Where are we at?"

 

[Necris]

He slid his helmet from his head resting it on the table beside his rifle before running his fingers through his short dark hair.

"I was just commenting on the fact the district six looks like a hot zone, locals are arming themselves could be trouble, I was planning to resupply then head back out."

He scooped up another data slate and slid it across the table a human's face was emblazoned on the screen.

"This seems to be the ring leader, I suspect he's one of the missing leaders of the insurgents, maybe a public execution is in order."

He drew his vibro dagger from the small of his back and started to pick at the edge of one of his armoured gauntlets carefully removing the thin line of grime that had formed along its edge since he'd arrived, with practiced ease he ran the blade along the length of the armoured plate a curl of filth rolling up his blade.

"How about we make it a contest?"

 

[Tsoibe]

Dalrel raised his head from the pistol in his hands, as he heard the old, rusty lift moving in its metallic frame. His eyes darted over to the monitor close to his current position, mirroring the view outside of the door by well-hidden cameras. The lift came to a halt only a few seconds later and the mercenary - or had he been a pirate? Dalrel did barely care about the past of them anyways - from Coruscant stepped outside in front of the barred door, entering his own code to open the way inside. Dalrel rose from his chair as the door opened, though his cybernetic finger only stopped tapping the gun's frame, a few moments later, as he himself became aware of the sound again. He strode towards the table and arrived on time with his comrade, who had placed his weapon, a modified military blaster, on the table. He remained standing next to the table, examining the data tabs there.

"Not yet. Though as you are here, they should already be on their way. Did you not arrive with the same transporter? Assuming, of course, that you could avoid the tempation of arriving early and taking care of a few of those rebels personally", Dalrel chuckled slighly, as he had done exactly that. Landing with the first wave of Sith military a few days ago, he had took part in clearing this area himself, before opening the already prepared hideout. Just as he was about to respond to the other suggestion of the mercenary, another arrival was signaled by the monitor. Kira, the young mercenary-turned-priestress, followed the way through the small room, through the door into the main corridor, with her usual grace. The doctor bowed his head, slightly, but nonetheless visible, a gesture he rarely does for anyone else. Ignoring the others in the room for the moment, his attention focused on her, as he spoke to her: "I am very glad that you could join us, Milady." He waited for her to take a seat, before he continued: "Indeed the people of this planet are confused, yet their uprising was not only caused by that, I am afriad. Though, let us wait, until the others have arrived, before we continue."

His eyes moved back to the door as the other members of the Sacred Band arrived. First, the Sun Guard, another mercenary, who's dedication to the Sith lasted as far as the payment of the Sith Lords brought him. Than, the young Zabrak warrior, with his blade strapped across his back. He greeted each of them with a slight nod and waiting for them to make themselves comfortable, until he mentioned for Ceska to contiue. He looked at him, as he explained the situation in a few words and toss datapads around. "Indeed, our brother's words confirm our research on the remaining insurgents. Yet, the local militia had received support from someone outside the planet", he finished his statement, by tossing the standard issue, military blaster on the table, "now, it might not seem a stange sight, to see one of these blasters or even a few to appear in the hands of insurgents and pirates. However, we found shipments in their nests. Enough to supply an army with standard-issued weaponry. A public execution might be in order, yes. Though we should make sure that the suspect is able to tell us about their supporters beforehand, don't you agree?" His voice remained mostly cal and steady, though with a slighlty letortic tone to it. He than waited for the others suggestion on the proper plan of action, while already putting the leg guards of his armor back on.

 

[Sapphire Storm]

Kira returned the nod from Dalrel, an acknowledgement of his bowed head and clearly displayed respect. She seated herself in the chair most central to the room, immediately assuming the role of leader through that one action, as the seat she'd taken was the one most likely to draw the eyes of those in the room.

She waited patiently as the others arrived, studying each one as they did. She knew them both, of course. As Priestess of the Sith it was her job to know the names and faces of the Sacred Band. It would look extremely bad if she were to not know the name of one of those she guided. Of the entire group currently present, the Sun Guard was the most worrying to her. He rarely spoke, and without the powers of a Sith it was hard to gauge what one that rarely spoke was thinking. Caim, on the other hand, was one whose faith Kira was willing to attest to. For now, at least.

"I think," she began after Dalrel had fallen silent, "that this leader of theirs should be taken alive. What happens to him afterward is yet to be seen, but death should be a last resort. Converting one to the cause is always preferable to killing them. He also might hold quite a lot of sway with these rebels. We should capture one of his underlings first, and see what they have to say about him. Depending on the answer, we may even be able to lure this leader right to us instead of having to go find him."

She thought in silence for a brief moment, looking down at the table as her brow furrowed. When she looked back up, she directed a pointed look at Ceska and Ragnos as she said, "And when the fighting inevitably reaches us, restrain yourselves from slaughtering mindlessly. We wish to subdue this rebellion and turn them back to our cause, not give the citizens of the planet even more reason to rise up against their betters."

 

[Necris]

"That is why a strong message is needed, these people are civilians, not soldiers. They are angry at the situation they find themselves in, stirred into action by off worlders. Killing this leader sends a stronger message than converting him into another fanatic. We kill him and make it very public the majority of those rousing to his call will falter in their courage, uprising quelled."

He tosses his knife on the table as he stood from the chair unhooking his armour as he did he preceded to begin removing it piece by peice as he spoke. He had seen it dozens of times in prison the ring leaders being taken out and the gangs subside for a while the fight taken out of them, even hardened criminals lost the will to fight without their boss, because they lacked the disipline of a solider the drive to keep going without a head, it was one of those things that made them so effectives, they didn't need leadership they didn't rely on orders they knew what needed to be done and had the skills to get it done.

"Then a benevolent priestess and a Doctor can arrive and sway public opinion back in our favour."

He piled his armoured in a pile, now clad only in his basic clothing he turned back to the group.

"And as it happens I'm the best suited save our sun guard friend to infiltrate the insurgents ranks, I'm the right species and I'm not going to slip any religious banter that will give the game away. I can deliver this man right into our hands."

 

[Pilgrim]

Caim reached down and picked up the data slate that Ceska had slid across the table. He studied the screen for a moment, taking in the grainy image of the human male upon it's face. Surrounding the image was a distinct lack of information. Usually a dossier such as this will display all the pertinent details about a subject such as the name, age, height, weight, and so on, in addition to the last known sighting, any ailments, family, or associates. The screen had none of that though. The headers were there, but no personal details.

The man was a complete unknown for now, with only the image to go by. It must have been taken from a distance, for it had a lack of fine detail, but for one feature that was visible was a scar across the side of the man's face. It ran from under the inner corner of his right eye, next to the nose, straight downward to the corner of his mouth. But since a scar would not show well on this poor image, it was less a scar and more a recent wound.

"Well," Caim began, "there is not much information here to use. All we know is which District he is in. Some infiltration will be required to find him, so Ceska has a point. But I can follow as a shadow from the rooftops above, to lend unseen strength."

There others were well aware of the Zabrak's predilection to hop between urban structures. Although he was large by most standards, he had the legs and yet the nimbleness needed to jump those gaps. It was a joy for Caim to do so, but that wasn't his motivation. He preferred the high hand so that he could cast his gaze downward upon the those who should be fearing his wrath. The citizens who would become subjects of the Sith Order must always be afraid of the sacred hand of The Band that deals punishment from On High, and bow before their masters.

Caim turned his head and scanned the room, finding Dalrel, Ragnos, and Kira, "We can capture the leader and bring him back here for questioning first. Extract what we can. Then, punish."

He dropped the data slate back down on the table with a dull clunk.

 

[Alistair Stroud]

Ah Ord Radama, a sprawling cityscape well on it's way to becoming the next Coruscant or Nar Shaddaa at the rate the infrastructure has been growing over the past few centuries. The stench of an old and decaying apartment complex brought back fond memories of Alistair's old haunt on Nar Shaddaa, a staging ground for many of his pre-Sacred Band operations that was hidden and fortified in an almost abandoned building much like this, though this one was a fair bit larger than his old one. Of course arriving early and setting up one of the spare rooms to look and function much like his old workshop didn't help with reducing the nostalgia factor, with an added listening device stuck to a portrait just outside of the room, a flat one that blended in with the painting itself rather than stuck to the frame or behind it like many usually do, and a small camera hidden in one of the couches watching the entrance so that he could keep an eye on who came and went.

Being one of the techies trusted with the security of a place like this has its perks, and with them he could listen in on and monitor the meeting from within his temporary workshop. It's not that Alistair had a problem with showing his face, to present company at least, but he was busy deconstructing one of the confiscated rifles and examining it piece by piece in the hopes of finding some clue as to where they came from or who delivered them. Sadly this was to little avail as any trace of what could have been a serial number was filed off and many pieces that should have had a serial number simply didn't have one. Even the design was very generic and replicated by quite a few manufacturers. These guns were definitely black market material, someone knew what they were doing when they gave them to the local insurgents, their only hope now would be to pry the information from someone or something.

With all the talk going on about what to do with the suspected leader of the insurgents, and now that he had nothing else to do, Al figured it was finally time to join his comrades in the central chamber. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter he swiveled around in his office chair, pulled one out of the pack, and tossed the pack back onto his desk as he stood up. He lit the cigarette just as he opened the sliding door via wireless transmission from his cybernetics, tossing the lighter back onto his desk next to the pack before walking out into the central corridor. Alistair was dressed simply but efficiently. His black cybernetic arms were exposed up to the shoulder, where the tie in with his flesh was covered by a dark-gray light armored vest. The vest itself had multiple pockets and places to attach things around the waist, which when coupled with a utility belt provided Alistair a quite a bit of room for "utilities". A slug throwing pistol was holstered on his right waist, with a silencer attached to the holster just in case, and a heavy blaster pistol on his left. Below that a pair of dark-gray combat pants and a pair of black combat boots.

"Well the guns are untraceable..." Alistair started out with a slight sigh, completely forgoing any semblance of greeting. He was a rather nonchalant man after all, the only times he stuck to honorifics and proper "code" was towards those that he wanted to deceive or those that could kill him outright, and the siblings of the Sacred Band weren't ones of typical structure and discipline. Though they'd probably be a bit jumpy considering they likely had no idea he was there, can't help that though. "... I'll look into the crates later. Anyway, Ceska has a good point. A strong message should suffice for quelling any sort of uprising, but we have to make sure it's the right message. If we kill him in a manner that makes him look like a martyr then things will only get worse, we need his would be followers to hate him, to believe he lied to them and used them for his own twisted means before we do away with him. That'll make swaying them back to our side far easier. Of course converting a few key people before hand couldn't hurt, but the leader needs to be a scapegoat. That's my two credits at least"

 

[Sapphire Storm]

"In this circumstance," she said after allowing the others to talk a little bit more, "you may be right." She didn't blink an eye at Alistair's entrance, but that had more to do with her well-trained poker face than anything. She'd had no idea he had already arrived, and even less that he'd obviously been listening in the entire time. Showing surprise at that, however, was not good form. "I would enjoy turning him, if for nothing more than the challenge presented, since he is likely the most fanatically loyal rebel on the planet. That might only serve to make them even less willing to give up their foolishness, though. The unenlightened are... tricky at times."

Kira placed her elbows on each armrest of her chair, steepling her fingers as she thought on all the words she'd absorbed. "At the end of the day, all they wish for is someone to blame for their problems. So our solution is simple. Paint their glorious leader as a puppet of the Republic Senate. Place all their ills and all the deaths from the fighting at the feet of the Senate. The poor, disenfranchised and restless are always more than willing to throw their blame at politicians. So we simply spin them a story of how the evil Senate is using them as puppets to achieve their own ends. We coerce their leader into admitting as such, unless whatever information he gives us turns out to be a better option." She looked around at the gathered group as she paused, meeting each set of eyes before continuing. "But, before we can enact such things we will first need him in our hands. And the easiest way to do that is to capture some of his followers and bring them back here for questioning. That is what all of you should be doing. Capture some followers, bring them back here and then head back out while I squeeze from them the location of their leader. I hope they are not past the point of no return. It would be such a shame to waste the lives of those that could serve our lords faithfully."

Kira stood from her seat and looked around. "Leave the stirring of the masses and the extracting of information to me. All of you simply need to bring the poor souls to me." It was a good thing Kira had brought her ritual supplies with her. She tended to bring them with her wherever she went, for one never knew when such a thing would come in handy. The selection of knives her supplies held would be particularly useful. Deeming the conversation done, Kira headed for the door. "I will be in one of the other rooms when you get back with the first captives," she said as she left the room. As far as she was concerned, everyone knew what they needed to do. Now it was just a matter of waiting for them to do it.