Hunt for the Warhound

[Emic Lai]

ABRAXIN
ATR-6 Assault Transport: Seldom Quiet

Black tinted helmet visors reflected the lights on the transport interior. The newly-launched ship Seldom Quiet was quiet today, in its maiden voyage to Abraxin under its new crew: The Kings In Yellow. Silence in the cabin, amongst the ten Kings chosen for this mission, a faceless mass of golden plasteel, standing to follow their Chief into true glory.

This was a triviality. Something to pass the time. Soon, the front would push, and the first boots on the ground would be these Kings. Their teeth bore the scars of many cuttings, to prove themselves to the Dark Council from whom their orders came. A civilian freighter was their target. There were many arms to the Sith fear machine, and the Kings were among the claws.

The Chief stood, unidentifiable to any outside her command. The crest of the Sith Empire worn proudly on their chestplate, but nothing besides that gave any indication of who or what they were. We will whisper death in darkness.

Darkness came over the soldiers on their approach. They saw nothing, just felt the unmistakable idling of the transport landing in the hangar of the freighter. The Razorfighters that had been sent to escort them entered a holding pattern around the cargo boat. The security force on the freighter rushed into the hangar and held weapons at the loading ramp of the yet-to-be-hostile vessel.

The only sound was the landing ramp hiss as it opened, revealing an unnaturally dark interior. Six security personnel and four engineers were present in the hangar. Crew expendable.

It was a tense few seconds, followed by a blazing half-second. Six shots rang out. None from the freighter security. Mark six kills. The engineers froze in fear as their faceless assailants charged out and placed themselves in a breaching formation on either side of the interior hangar doors.

The last to emerge was the King of these Kings, the Chief herself, apocalyptic in her countenance before these frightened lambs. She stepped serenely toward the huddled mass of engineers and pointed her blaster pistol at them. To each victim it seemed like they would be the first to die with a pull of the trigger. We will give them the tools to free themselves.

“Run.”

The engineers needed no second instruction, fleeing desperately out the hangar doors. One was cut down by blaster fire right away, the result of poorly-trained and twitchy guards. “Cease fire!” they called from down the hall, as the engineers, more terrified of the invaders than their own gunning them down, ran toward their saviors. Foolishly, into the crossfire.

As soon as the engineers cleared the doors, behind them were the Kings, opening fire on the security team. A clever, if inhumane ruse. We will kill that which burdens us.

The Chief fell in, just another face among the masses, firing from her sidearm and putting two guards on ice before they were thin enough to advance toward the bridge. The charge allowed the final guards to be picked off as they retreated, and the way was mostly clear. Shouldn’t have skimped on good security to save credits.

A specialist dug into the electric box and shut the lights off with a well-placed cut to the wiring. The emergency lights came on, but the majority of the ship’s walkways were cloaked in impenetrable umber, except for the reflections on those heartless helmets.

The trip to the bridge was without event, save for the moments of greatest trauma delivered along the way. Every horrified freight worker hovering in the wings, cowering in fright, had their fate decided only by the whims of the Kings who passed them by. A man gripping his lover gunned down, but his paramour was spared. The one who threatened the invaders with a blaster was spared, but the one he protected was put down. Not a single moment’s hesitation from the monsters marching in the dark, not a second glance given to the anguished survivors. We will democratize fear.

“Damn it! You!” the captain said, pointing to a panicked engineer. “You go get the lights back on!” And then to another, “You get the engines working! We need to get the hell out of--” The searing sound of a blaster shot was unmistakable, but nobody knew who was shot-- that is to say, they all knew, but they didn’t want to think they did. We will remake them in our image.

Until the captain toppled over like a wooden board, a smoking hole in the back of his head, and behind him, a smoking blaster barrel, and the King of Kings.

[Slade Xandir]

He watched the dragons as they reared in their cages, snarls and groans echoing through the hull of the ships holding bays. Ships were already primed to hold the undead dragons, one even saved for his mount who'd not been killed, yet was still not trusted to not lash out and murder anyone off of a whim. He wasn't prepared for Kraujas Ntima to craftily direct one head forward while the other had snapped up an unsuspecting cargoloadsman. The screams weren't even able to come free from the man before he was shared with the other head, rolling across on a long neck to meet the squirming torso, latch, and shear it apart without any effort. Blood rained between the two heads, plattering the ground in a thin red carpet for his entrance to the ship prepped to hold him. The hydra knew it could easily cull the many, an omen of pestilence to poison the many, but Kraujas Ntima did not. No, both heads swam through cloudless skies to peer at an influence who dared to interrupt it's lesson to the fearful escorts who were instructed to move the behemoth.

A woman, lithe and short, swayed in a grace that moved the air around her. She whispered words that seemed to float from her lips and fill the air before her in scripts that died millennia ago. She brought them to life, power seeping from emerald ichor crackling through ceremonial crimson robes etched in brighter red letters that very few scholars had ability to privilege to unravel. They ran the the length of the skirt she wore, and a blink on her swapped one set of letters for another, as though a page had been turned and another slew of story was ready to be read. Her name? Karliah, the current Arcaness of the Cerberus, the Sith Council under Tormentous' House. She was the sorcery, the rituals, the world between this life and the next that spun and stopped between threads crafted by spirits. Karliah, the last known Head Priestess of Dathomir's magic.

Witchy sleeves ending in slickly jarring points ribboned through the air as she pulled arms up, leavening her rise of prayers and incantations as silent banded feet pulled her nearer the Blood Dragon. She spoke to him with emotion, commandments to a creature that had no loyalties to her. Yet he was keen to her speech, and a rumble betrayed his threat to her from a wide chest that had taken more shots than she could release before he could send her into a mist matching her pretty tatters, should she betray the words she cast upon him. He felt the chains she wore, but unlike the ones typical mortals applied, they did not hurt, they did not goad, and they did not ensnare in treachery. They were calm, from the voice not of this realm, and promising they were crafted of the same mind. She soon moved past the stalled creature of sickness and poison, and as a cretin of motion he followed, a murderer with intellect, he watched, and listened, the thundering rumble tumbling into soon silence. She moved upon the bay, up the reinforced steel ramp, conversing binds with the undead battle hydra. He was curious now, paying less mind to tethers she wrapped around him, unaware of her leading him into yet another cell. No, her conversation was enrichments he hadn't heard spok n on a level of reason, of belief, with many who were not with her presently, presently there in their conversation, speaking with them. Voices that told stories to pull the beast in, and keep him occupied as they secured the omen of pestilence in place. All doors shut behind the two, sealing the Arcane Mistress in with the listening creature. Once the the final lock slid bold in and artificial gravity segregated to the chamber, garnet mist faded her away into nothingness, the voices following driftily afterwards. She walked up to Slade from behind, the echoes fading from her voice, revealing a woman who had a remarkably aged tone to her self. She was suspectfully appeared young, only allowing her silver eyes to walk the world honestly, historically. "Do you need the same?" she asked, not differentiating her meaning between the dragons, and him, as though he were some thing needed to be put away in a box and told to sit still.
His sunny gem remained passive, meeting the sterling gems with a liar's cradle of regard. The moon beside the sun however, condemned her snake words, reflecting a visceral end for her snidey question.

"No. I will handle them." And like that, she was gone, her almost imperceptible smirk barely held in check on her greyed flesh as she vanished in a crackle of verde ichor. He deeply inhaled against the billionth sassy remark against him, and began his trek to the other mounts. He could feel Wrath, starved for brimstone and blaze to be beneath, behind and around him. Raphael's skeleton beast eyed the passing souls with quick and hollow stares, one socket beholding the many in a single white milky orb while the other was a hollow hole where another dead eye would have been. It salivated, skull tilting to eye a particular plump staff who was actually a base janitor. Mercy's mount however was causing a scene, and was repeatedly needing to be scored by electrostaffs. The blessing of pain brought smile to bronze blackened maws, dripping promise to deal death to everything within her reach. Neon amber eyes ablaze with a crisp crimson chipped hateful looks upon them all, as she began making her choice of who to start her spree with.

Slade began getting to work with his coven, his presence already demanding them all to drag their fateless minds to him. Three pairs of eyes made their place to their maker, and he met them back, just as designed.

[Silas Karn]

The Sovereign stood in attention to the meticulous details of the events transpiring beyond the reach of Tormentous’s chosen vessel. Though such focus was challenged at every moment as the stiffness of his newly minted appendage ate away at his resolve. The bandages, despite being expertly applied, felt as if they robbed the Echani a portion of his famed dexterity. Worse yet was the seething indignance wrought by an outcome seemingly forged by the very will of the Force. The priest fumed even as he struggled to listen, it was not until the esteemed admiral finished that the Sovereign sought to take his leave.

The larger movements of factions and the great interplay in exchange of systems held little interest to the priest. However, it did not take a great deal of foresight to sense ill of the skirmishes. Before his departure Silas turned to the Dark Lord. “It seems you have truly disturbed the mynock den with your latest efforts.” Assured of Tormentous’s attention he continued, “I know whom I faced aboard the Liberty. I’ve felt the prowess of that mind once before. Though the vessels accompanying him were dealt with. It does not require the great whit of the Dark Lord to see the meaning in that insect’s arrival.”

The Sovereign continued to speak of far off matters that with any luck would remain of no consequence. It was the curse of his bloodline mixed with Tormentous’s amassing influence. If anything it would suit the High Priest to only advise caution and disregard his own wariness. Yet, the tremendous responses to the Dark Lord’s movements would seemingly not allow such mindsets.

[Ben Kenobi]

Departing from his apparent cobbled together Flight Group, the Jedi Master walked underneath the horizontal wing of his craft, sliding a hand across the smooth, cold metal as he went. Arriving at the cockpit he hoped in and was pleased to see that the hangar crew had tended to his ship and it was prepared to take off as soon as he was. With practiced hands Ben went through the pre-flight operations and within the next ten or so minutes he fired the engines and they sang to him with high pitched whistles. The combat multiview display showed him that his engines were all in the green.

Accessing the Flight Group’s channel he reported to his Flight Group Leader, Salem, “I’ve got four starts and standing by.”

When it was his turn to taxi his repulsors lifted his heavy starfighter up off the deck and he felt the vibration of the priming engines and the more aggressive jar of the landing struts retracting into the hull. Lowering the canopy down into place he finished buckling the strap on his helmet. It took a few more minutes to get into the line-up to launch but once done the hangar crew ran his B-wing up into position and when it was time to hit the throttle the heavy assault starfighter ripped out into the vacuum of space.

Pulling away swiftly from the scarred wing of the Liberty, Ben banked his B-wing into a lazy turn to face the long horizon of Ossus where the distant star was peaking in a blaze of light streaming across the world. The fighter’s stabilizers opened up and now Ben was in a holding pattern, waiting to form up with Salem and Zechs.

His well maintained Slayn&Korpil A/SF-01 B-wing Heavy Assault Starfighter was a sleek machine humming with power that Ben was itching to put her through her paces with.

[Zechs Merquise]

Yo’s exchanged. Zechs left Salem with a simple “The desk got tired of me. Let’s fly.”

He climbed up the muddy steps of the ladder thrust upon his XJ and mounted the cockpit. Away the ladder was tugged. Down came his helmet. Down came the canopy. Forward came the Alliance reinforcements that the location senators had surely requested by this time. The light never bowed to the darkness. The darkness was made to bow to it.

Buttons Zechs clicked. Switches he flipped. Something he fought between his teeth as the XJ’s engines came to a low but sexy growl. The displays came to a gentle radiance. Black alerts danced across them. Missiles primed. Lasers coiled. Wings ready to X. The only thing missing was the word to go.

Then it came.

The XJ rose, Zechs was never really sure how that worked. It was one of those starfighter mysteries he was too busy to look into. Like, the engines were totally on the back. Its why TIEs dropped out of Imperial hangers. He wasn’t sure how Alliance fighters did that little hop up then zoomed. Maybe it was their landing gear. A little spring in each to give them a little peep up in the morning. Maybe it was just his mindless ramblings taking up precious time and not at all worth the extra effort put into it. But regardless, the XJ did the little hop up and then zoomed off into space.

There looked to be more Alliance ships here than before as if they had appeared out of nowhere to answer some distant call. The Liberty looked more beaten up this close than before. Sparks dancing across sections of her hull. Venting of atmosphere from areas where that was probably a bad idea. A wing scarred. It was enough to move even the most hardened soldier to “Well. I hope you paid extra for your insurance’s Sith clause.”

Zechs formed up with Ben, awaiting Salem in whatever fruitful ship the man was piloting. He had always had a unique taste. Ben’s B-wing was certainly a choice. Slower than his own XJ, but a fine ship in its own right. Better to be on this side of it than in its way that was for sure.

Checking to make sure he was on the right channel, Zechs waited in the dark. His eyes focused on Ossus’s vast horizon. So many below had no idea of what was truly going on up here or out there. They lived their lives in blissful ignorance. What banner over their head didn’t truly matter unless it tried to shove things down their throats or cut their lives short. Otherwise, the silent major just went with the flow of the moment.

Zechs had never been able to be one of those. Never one to sit back and stay out of the big things. The small things he could dodge with the best of them, but the big things couldn’t be ignored. For if life had taught him anything, it was easier to stop a problem before it got rolling than cleaning it up after it had spawned a few others.

The XJ hummed amongst itself. It shifted ever so back from its neighboring B-wing. His droid safe in the back doing whatever it needed to do as they waited. He swore with its latest dive into emotions it was writing sonnets or plays. Long drawn out ones, not the quick, hit you in the gut and move on ones. The longer. More epic stuff. The things that it would take a playhouse 5 hours to show and years to plan to produce. Zechs wasn’t sure that was what it was doing, but it had been beeping a lot in rhyme. It was mildly concerning with the potential for battle ahead.

Zechs waited for Salem. He had a sudden case of deja vu, and it wasn’t a good one.

[Salem Norongachi]

"As enigmatic as always." Norongachi could be heard muttering under his breath as the three moved to their respective craft. Salem was a dozen paces away from the already lowered boarding ramp to his Helix class Light Interceptor when two familiar faces stepped out to block his path at its foot. A subtle shift in his stride was the only indication that he'd shifted into a fighting mentality. The bomber pilots had taken their licks from the brass and it was time for the ass kicking to roll downhill.

Or so he thought.

"Listen boys, if you're here for a round tw-"

"-we came to apologize, well," he turned a quick look to his partner, the one without the good helmet throwing arm. "I am. Tensions are running high a-"

"Enough." Salem said sharply, a flush of annoyance spilling over into his tone. "Assholes deserve a helmet to the face. If the good guys did it more often, with less hesitation, there would be a lot less of them running around shooting their mouths off." he put a hand on the pilots shoulder, guided him to the side and stepped up onto the ramp. "Don't you ever apologize for that." were his parting words as the ramp began to retract and he disappeared into his ship.

He entered the cockpit and sat down heavily in the chair, thinking over the brief interaction and more importantly his reaction to it. Something was off, it had been for weeks, possibly months. Maybe he was starting to crack, it wouldn't be the first time after all. Whatever it was, it was a problem for later and he made a decision to book into the Hand of Fate medial facilities.

Pre-flight went past smoothly and the cathartic monotony of it helped elevate the strange funk swirling around in his mind. A quick how-de-do to flight control, a short taxi, and the Wave Dancer moved into the void with Kenobi and Merquise. He fired up the hyperdrive and comm'd into the jury rigged flight groups secure channel.

"I hear ya old timer, boards green. Sync your jump computers to mine and lets this show on the road." that said, he took the hyperdrive motivator in hand, waiting for the signal they had synched and slid it forward.

Next stop Tion.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

---RAXUS PRIME - S-5

With the prior events unfolding over Abraxin the Warhound was making moves elsewhere - particularly over Raxus where three Sith Warships arrived just outside of the system. The Dreadnought Essence and the pair of Corellian Gunships the the Ruination and the Varekai. Two squadrons of Firesprays were also in concert with these vessels. The preparations for a larger scale operation. Though it was very likely that the take over of Raxus would be a far more simple thing than something of a more populated center.

Raxus Prime was operated once by a sentient computer though since turned to slag. Now the world was covered in independent scrapper tribes of Jawas and more significantly a larger organization that operated out of the old Sienar Fleet Systems Refinery. It was tepid at best but it was the best source of local governance available on Raxus Prime. Where there any Alliance representatives then the Sith would locate them, swap them out for Sith representatives in the same uniforms and the quiet takeover of Raxus would be complete.

Likely the Raxus Prime refineries and scrap yards did not yield much for the Galactic Alliance - but to the Sith these facilities would provide refined resources that the Sith desperately needed and especially repair parts that could be utilized during this Tion Campaign.

Moving in towards the orbital facilities first, the Firesprays, loaded with teams of Sith Warriors began to fan out. Several targeted the orbital facilities, others would begin to descend down to the surface where the silent takeover would begin.

---WARHOUND COMMAND

“Keep me appraised of the ongoing situation over Abraxin and Raxus Prime.” Tormentous commanded. “Should any complications occur then I shall attend them personally. This operation must be successful.” The Admiral complied and sought the recent reports while the Lord Sovereign delivered his own opinions. Tormentous dismissed the notion, “Insects and vermin not of my concern. Failed Jedi included.”

Though he made pause and eyed the Echani once more - a smile emerged beneath his mask, “Perhaps though you are right. The Verpine were quite the industrious slave. Getting into that creature’s mind may deliver us some insight and the next time we frequent the Roche System we shall have a greater hold on its people - even perhaps to the extent of corrupting a queen and turning a portion - if not all - the hive mind to our own efforts.” He turned now fully to view the High Priest - “Tell me, Sovereign, what is your estimation of a Verpine turned Sithspawn?” After receiving the answer he waved a hand, “Should you have a moment of free time then take a handful of the creatures and twist them to your desires. See what you can come up with - if anything we can perhaps lure that failed Jedi into a trap should he desire to ease the suffering of his people. If not - it should still be entertaining.”

[Emic Lai]

The Chief snapped her pistol to the navigator as the rest of the Kings rushed in and held the bridge crew at the point of their blaster rifles. “I want all your navicomputer data, comm logs and cargo manifests. On this.” She tossed a datapad to the navigator who scrambled to catch it, just barely saving it from crashing to the ground.

“R-right away,” the navigator stumbled, just barely making out the words before turning to get the work started.

Every quiet second felt like a new kind of hell for the terrified inhabitants of the freighter. Before the download was done, it could have been two minutes or a year for all the bridge crew could tell. A laborious, excruciating silence as they could not tell who would be the next to die.

“There, it’s done. Navigation data, comms, and cargo. Just like you asked,” said the trembling technician, as he handed the datapad back to the Chief from quaking hands.

“Vent the cargo bay.”

“What? But there are people in there! They’ll be thrown out into space!”

The Chief turned her blaster to one of the other crew and, with no second spared, pulled the trigger. She returned her aim back to the navigator and did not have to reiterate her request.

“Fine! Fine! Just please no more killing!” the navigator begged as all the bridge officers sobbed in fear for their lives. He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and commanded the ship to jettison the cargo, and any crew that took shelter in the bay. He vomited in disgust at his own actions, and the lives he took because he could not make a stand.

“Good work,” the Chief said with the most potent acid lacing her words. The navigator collapsed and began to weep. The Kings had concluded their work. The King of Kings signalled to her crew to move out, and they quickly moved to the hangar to leave these shattered sentients to their own guilt, fear, and misery.

[Silas Karn]

It would have been out of character for Tormentous to have been truly concerned. Essentially hand-waiving the Sovereign’s concerns was precisely what the priest anticipated. In truth the presence of the pirate fleet in any capacity was more alarming than the Verpine his-self. Curiously the Dark Lord referred to the interloper as a ‘failed jedi’, an assertion that Silas had held with only his brief interactions to guide him. Contrasting the insect to the famed thorn it became obvious which held to the stated principles of their order. It followed then that if the other young adept had been of its tutelage that it was little wonder why the High Priest had not detected the famed tranquil presence of the lightside within him.

As the conversation shifted the Sovereign stood intrigued, erringly believing Tormentous to had slaughter the totality of the Verpine slaves prior to Blood’s usurpation. “As resilient as that species seems to be I’d imagine their out of orthodox capacities being implemented as Sith Spawn would grant you yet another impossible to predict method of warfare,” the priest granted his summation upon request before being granted a great prize.

Free leave to depart and begin study and manipulation of the remaining slave stock of Verpine the Sith were in possession of. A vile grin coursed across the countenance of the Sovereign as he gave a reply in dismissal, “I will see too it immediately my Lord. Perhaps it is time to expand the breeding pools after all…” For all the regal, and terrifying face of the Sith heralded by Tormentous’s own keep, the lands that surrounded the High Priest’s tower had been morphed into a realm of a living nightmare.

[Slade Xandir]

The final dragon had been loaded, Mercy's former mound which needed the most attention as her violent mind needed more focus to hone properly. Her nature was diabolical, and Slade had to focus very much on the blackened bronze reptilian. His worry for her even managing to get out of her crate was real, as she thrashed vehemently against her binds, the bars ringing from the dragon's hardened scales with a dreaded sound powerful enough to wake the dead. As soon as he had taken his influence from her, she returned to her mad thrashings, causing the fear to quake the room in recyclable power for the Hunter. He didn't want to risk her being free, and thus he sent a quick briefing to Tormentous, informing his Sire his plan to remain with the dragons, ensuring there was no unleash of any. Should it go approved, Slade would remain on the transport shuttle that would bring the dragons to their next location.