Post by Khaosraptor on Oct 15, 2023 0:41:43 GMT
++OFFICIAL HOUSE TEMPEST LOG: VOLRAS TYRAN XALLIOUS++
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The Tempest Orbital station was alight with activity as more and more shuttles came and went, transporting troops from the outer reaches of the Tradex towards the heart of Empire space. Thousands had packed their equipment and boarded the returning ships, leaving the once-populated station almost eerily empty. The great halls that once housed the elite fighting forces of the Empire, now lay barren and cold; the chill from the station's core left wisps of fog that blanketed the tile floors.
Some remained, however, a chosen few who would be set upon a greater path, one that drew the jealousy of many Echotian Knights. The task of assassination, the opportunity for glory in the name of the great Houses.
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Volras Tyran Xallios had allowed a very brief moment of respite, though that moment was quickly expiring. In his private quarters, He stared into the starry void beyond the reinforced glass. These would be his last days in the station before the war would call to him as well. Though he relished the exhilaration of combat, he allowed himself this brief calm while he still could.
A voice broke the silence, coming from his personal macrys.
-/-My lord Tyran, the last of the Knights have departed. We must not delay any longer.-/-
A nod from the Volras dismissed the message, though He stole one last look out of the window before turning and heading for the briefing room.
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The briefing room was relatively large, able to hold several hundred Echotians at a time. The lowest platform occupied the front of the room and flexed outwards in the likeness of an amphitheatre. Though its vacant seats were many, those who had come to the call to arms had been allowed to assemble here.
As Tyran entered the room, the Echotian inspected each of them with a glance. They weren’t his knights, born and bred for the task of war, but they all appeared to be more than capable of carrying out the task at hand.
The Echotian cleared his throat, an almost metallic sound from behind his axe-like warhelm, drawing the attention of those assembled.
“Welcome.”, Tyran began, letting the word hang in the air as all eyes focused on him,
“Before we begin I will stress the importance of the task ahead of you all. Should any one of you find yourselves in doubt of your abilities, or wish to back out, there is a shuttle waiting in the main hangar. Let no one see shame in avoiding one's own demise, but know that there is no turning back once set upon the path. Should you find it within yourselves the strength to carry on, I would ask that you state your name for the record.”
She looked at Tyran with her eyes, inspecting him. Her body glimmered in the light, leaving a purple shadow behind Ashenval. She held her hand tight around her guns and sword, almost as if she was unsure they were really there. A small drone hovered around her, tethered to her sword's handle with a thick red rope. She wore a white uniform, made of the finest Aurheim silks offered by Arkranum. Gold embroideries were scattered across her outfits, and several badges were attached to her top.
Before she spoke, she shuffled slightly, her legs clanking as they hit the floor.
"Ashenval Nrim" Her voice was harmonious, as if it was put through an autotuner, but significantly more authentic. A burst of steam escaped her jaw.
-
To the ever-untied and unbound, the party of those with the option of almost true neutrality adrift within the geopolitical seas of a galaxy as simultaneously welcoming and cold as this one, such a fate thus far had been the life of Jhontari.
It started out tame, a path like many others within the megacorporation, working a successful career within the DeWalte’s rankings, where the expected performance lapidated a person’s corners, etching away personality until they produced death from their hands just as a factory produces modular parts. However, he was fated to an involuntary freedom. A singular assignment, and a singular slip, a bullet caught within his gray mass, permanently embedded, the maker and breaker of a homeostasis so fragile that one could doubt the resilience of life itself. And now, as a consequence, a life along the winding sidelines, the razor sharp edge of mercenary work, for a man unfit to wield nothing but the most destructive of weaponry.
Yet, he remained steadfast, through mild migraines and breaks in his parallax perception, gracefully threading this edge where many men fell to their death. This path led him through here, once again in the presence of an Echotian and so many others. He was no stranger to the prowess of the Echotians, as Kroma garnered his respect by following him through in a charge where many would have not. This loose connection somehow bought him attention enough to bring him to this very table, in this very moment. Such is the bidding of a mercenary, so it would seem.
“Jhontari. Jhontari Merath”- escaped the maws of the lizardman. He was outside of his power armor, his equipment resided elsewhere for the time being, and he found no need to show a display of wealth or firepower in such a situation. Instead, he bore civilian clothing, along with a hat that hid a good portion of the scar that ran across his head.
The words of the Echotian did not scare him. He was not exactly weathered, but he wasn’t new either, nor was he a fool. He knew that, above all, the dangerous missions are the ones that paid a pretty coin, and that could come a long way with how the economy may look with the upcoming war roaring in the near future.
-
Sir Galatrav Gaelbor, Pradorian Knight, Paladin of Uri'el, Commander of the 708th Crimson Aegis strikeforce that was almost entirely wiped out during the Pradorian Civil War. He was a fairvae by nature, tiny compared to the rest of the races of Ancerious. But as the Echos had learned when supporting the Queen in Red it was not the Nocamal's pinpoint accuracy, nor the magical might of the angelic murifri, but the many Fairvae that fell their warriors the most. Tiny, fast, and deadly. He wore a combat spacesuit comparable to that of a medieval Knights armor. Sleek in design, with strong red accents along the white metal. Moth wings extending from his back. At his hip but a sword hilt. An energy blade powered mostly by his own magical energy. He stood atop one of the many chair’s backrest. Pacing back and forth as Tyran spoke.
He waited for the other to finish before he spoke himself. His voice proud, strong, and just a bit over the top. "I am a Pradorian Knight, Lord Tyran. I will not yield to any foe, to any force, not Kane himself. Uri'el is at our backs, this mission will be victorious.... Or we will die with honour and glory."
-
Alun Thai had journeyed quite a while, and the effects of the priory's blessed mildew had faded. Swathed in a crimson robe of velveted Aranthim, the acolyte stood off to one side. Its face was marred by a growth of horns covering one eye, and its hand was gnarled and malformed, like a knurl-laden oak branch. Under its feet, a glimmering mass of metal, subtly shaded in a thousand colors, rippled and moved. The air about it gelled and broke like the sea, glimmering patterns swirling endlessly in its broken wakes. Upon his gold-dappled hood sat a glimmering creature, human-like in shape, and as large as one's hand, it watched the proceedings with a gleeful smile, kicking its translucent legs while its dress fluttered about unnaturally.
Indeed, a member of the priory through and through, a broken servant of the blissful lord. This commission was directed to him through his master, and he was eager to please, if only for another drop of the sacred mildew.
The opening statement he half listened to, letting his blood-addled fairy communicate the details to him. In response to the words of Tyran, the sinister acolyte gestured with his gnarled palm, from which silvery threads trailed like the beard of an elder. "Acolyte, Alun Thai, of the Priory. My master has placed me at your suggestion, let your honeyed commands be pleasant to my ears."
-
The next in the group was the purple, glowing visage of a purple Artificia. Tyran knew this one; this was Kaezha, a foreigner who had loudly demanded the knights of House Tempest teach her their skills in swordsmanship. Considering she was clad in Tempest robes, partially concealing the powered musclesuit underneath and doing nothing to hide the shining form of her angular Grossemesser sword, and had remained with the House for roughly a decade and a half now, she was evidently doing something right. Of course, one couldn't learn everything from sparring others with blunt weapons, and with a combination of Tyran's recommendation and some of the other House members' encouragement, she had taken up the offered job.
She wasn't one of his knights, but she was about as close as this ragtag band had.
"Kaezha." she stated with the ghost of a smile. "But I'd be surprised if you didn't know that."
Tyran gave a nod at each of the introductions, with which acknowledgment and respect were given, even giving Kaezha a small salute upon her presence. He had become fond of her in their times together, and he was proud to see her here.
“Right.”
Lights dimmed only slightly to draw the attention of a holo that appeared before Tyran from some unseen source. Bright blue, and depicting the image of a ship, it spun slowly as Tyran moved to the front of the stage.
“As you all know by now, a great war is approaching. One that will spell the future of this galaxy one way or another. The Great Houses are moving for war once again, but we’ve encountered an issue.”
Gesturing to the holo, Tyran’s clawed grip curls slightly, ceasing the spinning of the image.
“It appears to be a Heratony vessel, known to the Empire as ‘The Fragarach’. It is captained by a Salisi warlord known as Nauzystr Fang.” (edited)
A second holo appeared nearby, displaying the image of an armoured, ape-like alien. Snarling from beneath an almost gladiator-style helm, its sheer physical presence was all too obvious. Several bodies lay around it in the foreground, though the angle of the holo suggested it was pulled from a macrys feed. Clearly, this had been a foe faced before.
“Nauzystr has proven to require a decent amount of ‘persuasion’ in the past, though I am disappointed to announce that the Empire simply can't afford the detour. Henceforth, you are charged with boarding this vessel, and dealing with this obstruction before the fleet passes through the system.”
Tyran relaxed his hold on the holo and they began to rotate once more. His stature was professional, though there was still some sense of excitement in his gravelly voice.
“Credits have already been transferred into your accounts, and a transport vessel has been provided that won't draw unwanted attention.”
There was another brief pause, as the Echo observed the room.
“This mission will be entirely in your hands from here on out. Though I trust that warriors of your skill set will have no problems with the hunt ahead. That being said, are there any questions?”
"Do not waver, Lord Tyran, by the sword in my hand, I swear to you I will not return with failure. I will gladly fight sword, and spear to Nauzstr. Avenge the fallen Echos, bring GLORY to your name Lord Tyran." The tiny man shot up into the air with tiny moth wings. Under his helm he identified what he saw as the most capable warrior among the mercenaries. Kaezha, not because he knew her, or for any other reason than the fact she was using a sword. He flew right over to her and attempted to land on her shoulder. Pointing forward. "Onwards brothers in arms! We shall prove victorious, or die in glorious combat!"
"Indeed", Tyran responded, almost matter-of-factly, "Though I would advise caution. Nauzystr wont be caught unaware if you strike head-on, and his forces are many. Only through cunning and resolve will this mission be carried out successfully, but I have confidence in you."
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The Echo lead them into the main hangar, now nearly devoid of Echotian vessels, it housed only the ships used by the mercenaries, a long Echo transport, and of the vessel they were being granted access. To Tyran's credit, it was unassuming; rectangular chassis, and with an almost freighter-style design, it appeared to be as alien as any other craft in the hangar. A team of dark-robed Echos awaited the Volras, saluting to their superior before heading for their transport.
The Volras stopped for a moment as he gazed upon the ship, clearly ensuring it was in full functioning order and that none of the exodus forces had damaged it. When he seemed to be satisfied, he turned to the mercenary group.
"This is where I must depart. There is still much to accomplish in the coming days and I am needed in the Empire. Watch each other's backs, and bring me the head of a warlord. Good luck, fight hard, die well."
With a bow, Tyran turned to follow the Echos under his command, boarding the blade-like transport, before departing, leaving the mercenaries to their own devices.
Alun looked about the hangar, his eyes alighting upon the vessel. The ghostly figure upon his shoulder chattered away in a happy babble, gesturing fluidly as it spoke. The acolyte turned and looked about the ship with cloudy eyes. His eyes alighted on the fellow mercenaries, and he extended an open hand at them, gnarled as it was with cancerous horns. "A holy blessing be upon you. We have been sent upon a difficult mission, and my Lord would have me make the best of it. Ah! We should see what our employer has left for us, what they know, and what they suggest we do. After all, assaulting a ship is no trivial matter, even for your assured skill. Pray, could you tell me your skills as well, so I do not expect of you something unreasonable?"
The ghostly figure upon its shoulder nodded proudly at this statement. It babbled for a moment, and he added on, as an afterthought. "The computers of the transport should have something if our employers are kind."
Ashenval would be busy checking her equipment before being approached by Alun, he had caught her slightly off guard, so she took a second to readjust. She shook Alun's hand, unafraid of the horns. Even if they were somehow infectious, her crystalline skin would not be affected in the slightest by an organic disease. "I am known in the royal guard for my skills in moderating and de-escalation. I also have a fair bit of experience in stealth and persuasion. My position before being ordered here by Sergeant Norkorial was carrying out border patrols and helping in maintaining peace with Atenwal."
She then turned to the ghost as it seemed to speak, then back to Alun. "Of course, we should go investigate. I'll also check for any equipment that may have been given to us.
Kaezha examined the ship with her purple eyes, arms crossed.
Unassuming it was, though it looked to have a bit more room in it than her personal ship, still sat in an Echotian hangar somewhere.
Granted, most of that extra room would be taken up by weird strangers she doubted she would ever see again. Even the tiny dude on her shoulder.
Her eyes drifted to Alun.
"I'm good at killing things with a sword." she deadpanned, striding around to enter the ship, arms remaining crossed.
"If there is anything on the computers, we won't find out standing out here." she called over her shoulder at the others.
"I have to agree with my glowing comrade, enough standing around, we got unto war!... Or rather battle in this case, no?" He paused for a moment, speaking from underneath his helmet. "My skills are simple, as all warriors. I can kill be it with sword, warstaff, or magic."
He kept one hand on Kaezha's hair, helmet, ear, or even cheek. Anything he could get a grip on to not tumble off due to her movements.
Jhontari gazed around at the ships gathered within the hangar as the leading Echotian left their premise. All of the combination of designs, his looking like the cutout of some tube with various devices attached to the outside. He split off from the group momentarily and headed towards his ship.
To him the meeting informed him of a few things about the people he’d be working with, the fact that they all seemed to show more or less armed and showcasing their skills or equipment indicated either the disrespect of the security that the meeting provided, or the wisdom of preparedness.
Sometimes one must only extend a friendly hand in the readiness to draw blood, the thought crossed his mind as cynical, yet it spoke to some truth about the line of work he assumed.
As quickly as the mercenary disappeared into his bulky geometrical vessel, he emerged again with his equipment worn. A kitted out armor from the CES, straight from the days that he worked for DeWalte, which he had slowly adapted to suit his needs. He came out not a moment too late to catch the conversation, and his eyes darted around the circle of individuals, the large scar rippling from horn to cheek danced in the frey of calm muscles moving blue orbs that studied his momentary comrades.
"I can do well in hand-to-hand combat. This suit works on me like a second skin, the bulkiness of it betrays its speed, and my hammer is known to do a swift job of even the mightiest foe, warlord or not."
The mercenary explained to the acolyte of the dew.
He then fetched from his back what seemed to be a large hammer-like weapon, a dark ball slotted into a cylinder with flared ends on the other side, like a turbine of old jets perched atop a sturdy pipe. He spun the hammer momentarily with one hand, though it was massive, it seemed weightless and balanced in the hands of the lizardman, ending the motion with a soft touch upon the ground. An internal mechanism responded with a metallic click. Boom, Jhontari mouthed.
At nearly forty-meters long, the disguised Echotian craft was fairly well armored, with many of its improvements being disguised by the odd shape of the vessel. White lettering on the rear of each side displayed 'Orion-5' in galactic common. At the stern of the ship, an embarking ramp sat lowered, allowing easy access to the awaiting interior.
Within the ship, the mercenaries would find a vessel prepared for the singular task of escorting them to their destination. A holo-table decorated the central room, displaying a similar presentation to Tyran's. A set of navigation coordinates were also found, marked as the last known location of ‘The Fragarach’, to a system known as Gjöll. To either side of the holo were a set of sliding doors, finding a set of living quarters, as well as a small arming chamber and docking collar. Red lighting illuminated the forward cockpit, which housed six black-leather seats, each with a sliding console. Display screens were arranged to allow a far greater field of view.
The signs of Echotian make had been stripped from the vessel, with all its macrys systems ripped out and replaced with redesigned, scavenged Heratony tech, ensuring that their vessel would not betray its creators.
In all, the Orion-5 seemed quite capable of the task at hand, simply waiting patiently for the time to act. All that was required was a crew.
Alun examined the shuttle thoroughly, the aetherial figure on his shoulder chatting in a bubbly, indecipherable tone as he did so. His hands slid over the controls, and his ring finger melted away into a multicolored puddle that spread along the board. The acolyte stood still, letting his mind wander over the feedback he received. "I can pilot the ship, and take the menial controls. Do any of my companions want to leave immediately, or do you have an urgent preparation to attend to?"
With a fumbling hand, he reached into his robes, feeling for the blessed dew in its gilded container. It reassured him of its presence. His fairy was already setting out the guidance protocols upon the astrocomputer, having quickly understood the gist of the machine. It was a daunting, metal box, and honestly a little frightening to think of flying. The dew comforted him, it was his lifeline, and if his fairy wasn't firmly whispering in his mind, he would be taking a drop.
"While we make our route, make any suggestions on how we should approach this mission. We should not waste our transit." Alun turned to look at the rest of the group. "I don't know how to approach such a mission. Does anyone here know?"
"I'm all for leaving now." The guard by now had walked away to do her checks. The ship seemed to be in order, and on board was basic equipment, including some repair tools. She comes back, just in time for Alun's other question. "Well, what do we know about our enemy? That is crucial in any mission. I, unfortunately, am not actually very sure on who we're about to encounter, or what the mission has in store for us. This info will help us decide on our plan."
She took a pause, opening her jaw. Ashenval took a water packet from below her robes, seemingly from nowhere, and then dunked the entire thing down her throat, including its container. Steam erupted from her mouth, before she closed it once again, leaving only tiny holes on her cheeks, steam hissing out of them.
"Anyone who is more versed than me is welcome to add to this discussion."
Jhontari nodded. He seemed ready to leave but in no rush at all.
"We have been informed that it s a vessel. Well armed enough to be a concern to the Echotians, lightly armed enough to throw us at it instead of sparing a few warships. I suggest we study the vessel from afar and await an opportunity to infiltrate the vessel quietly if such opportunity arises."
He twiddled his fingers across the top of the percussion hammer after resting the hilt upon the ground like a greatsword. He was inquisitive as if thinking of the possibilities that this battle could roll out on. Though it was certain - they could not be caught before they were within the vessel. To risk spaceborne-combat is simply far too dangerous.
"That's the length of my expertise. My days of fancy tactics are mostly gone, but it is obvious we must not fight in space, yet bid our time to infiltrate. At which point, we're likely to meet resistence - perhaps even on par with out strength."
Kaezha stepped to the front of the ship, watching Alun's fairy interact with the ship's nav with a raised eyebrow, having been moving to essentially do the same, the other hand absentmindedly sitting on where her sword's scabbard was clipped to a belt.
"Hard and fast." Kaezha grunted in reply to the query about strategy. "The longer we bum about watching them the more likely they are to notice us and the longer they're aware of us the more suspicious someone is going to get." she stated flatly, blinking slowly, her purple tied back hair swishing softly as she turned to look at the others.
"Wait for them to get close, blast in though a hangar or close to an airlock if they don't have one."
After some deliberation, the Orion-5 finally was able to take off from the Tempest base, tearing its way into FTL on its way to Gjöll. Traversal time was swift, giving the mercenaries enough time to get acquainted with the vessel, finding little in terms of offensive weapons outside of a gimballed auto-cannon mounted to the prow of the ship. Surely it wouldn’t turn the tide of any conflict, but they were capable of returning fire.
After what felt like a relatively short time, the Orion-5 broke from its slipspace rift, gliding back into realspace. The system of Gjöll was not out of the ordinary, containing a standard yellow sun, orbited by several small planets.
A central pict screen began to indicate the presence of a large Heratony vessel, flashing red warning symbols as the image of the vessel appeared onscreen.
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The Fragarach, the great Heratony flagship, loomed in the vast distance, silhouetted by the oceanic planet of Straumr-2. Its armoured bulk was crossed with scars and dents from countless skirmishes across the years; Kaezha could identify lance burns from Echotian weaponry lending to further confirmation that this ship was no easy target. At nearly fifteen kilometers long, the Heratony vessel had gathered quite the following from local CONA radicals, who hung in the void nearby. Radio chatter filled the cockpit as the Orion-5 as they approached closer, though there seemed to be little in ways or organisation or care on behalf of the gathered. They seemed to be in a state of celebration.
They weren’t much to look at just yet, but even as the Orion-5 hung in the void, more and more vessels emerged from FTL, drawn to the promise of strength through unity. Soon, these fleets of thousands would pose a far greater threat, should they draw the attention of the larger CONA forces. They had to be scattered before they grew in numbers, and before the Echo forces arrived.
Several Escort-Class ships made lazy patrols of the incoming waves of vessels, though it was unclear if they were scanning for threats within the swarms of smaller ships, or if they had some other unknown purpose. Perhaps the Orion-5 wouldn’t draw unwanted attention, but were they able to risk being discovered?
They had not been detected as far as the group could tell, and appeared to have a relatively clear shot to their objective. The question on everyone's minds was, how to proceed?
Along the port and starboard sides of The Fragarach, yawning hangers could be seen, playing host to a variety of smaller ships. Perhaps they could sneak aboard another ship, or fall in with the many others already docking The Fragarach?
Sneaking aboard the flagship did not seem out of the question either. Perhaps they could find another entrance, or dock at one of the many hundreds of small boarding chutes that seemed to decorate the larger ship.
Kaezha’s plan of direct frontal assault seemed a bit more out of the question upon seeing the state of the system, but the Echo’s of House Tempest had grown to understand they were never to underestimate her abilities.
No matter what they chose, there was no telling what sort of defences would lie within the Heratony ship.
"Clearly, there's no easy way in or out of this. We have quite a few things to worry about, and they don't end even after we get our target. Here's what to consider. First, we get in, already that's hard enough. We kill the target; we need to escape, avoid the internal security and make it out in time before the warship blows. And I'm not assuming any of you have any 'get out easily without complication no matter what' devices. We can't just rush in without thinking about this first, so, without any more messing around, what the hell's the plan?" She finished her speech, not even taking a breath in between. Not that she needed to, considering the whole no-breathing thing.
"They seem unorganised."
Jhontari pointed out, looking at the blob of signatures and the dense flow of information amidst themselves.
"We could use that against them. Let us pick apart the situation from afar for a few minutes and identify somewhere we could slot in. We could very well be mercenaries hired by them to do some dirty work. That'd buy us free passage and a few valuable minutes of peace that we could use to wrangle the situation under our control. The rest is up to our finesse. Clear an escape route and a method, set up a distraction so we can escape without our CONA friends here shredding us."
"Someone has clearly never lived life in the fast lane." Kaezha grunted lowly.
"Yeah alright, sure, call yourself a hired mercenary. You got any fuckin proof?" she added with a scoff.
"Mercenaries looking for work, maybe, maybe some CONA aligned goons looking to join the fun. But trying to fake a hire when you haven't got shit to prove it isn't going to work too well, unless you have some wonder gizmo in those metal pants of yours that can hack into their system, create a spontaneous and convincing file on hired mercenaries and insert it into the correct database, all without being noticed." she scoffed.
A beat.
"Those are Echo capital weapon marks, I've seen them before. These people seem to have had a scuffle with them before and I have my doubts it was due to a convenient misunderstanding. We could call ourselves freelancers the Empire has fucked over and we're looking for an opportunity to bite them back."
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of one of the Escort-Class ships, a vessel nearly twice the size of their current ship, as it moved towards the Orion-5. While heavily armoured and clearly heavily militarized, the Heratony vessel did not appear to be aggressive. Aboard the Orion-5, a small pannel began to bleet, alerting the party that they were being hailed by the Escort.
The voice on the other end was gruff and gravelly, with the Salisi's inflated throat pouch providing a deep resonating sound that flowed throughout its speech.
)) Unidentified craft, you are idling in an entry-zone. Dock your ship at ‘The Fragarach’ to receive weapons and munitions, or form up with the rest of the screen. If you ain't here to fight, piss off. The last thing we need is more cave-headed collisions. Understood? ((
The Escort vessel began to move off, though slower than it had arrived, seemingly taking a good look at the Orion-5 before beginning to move away.
Kaezha lurched to the front of the ship as the message ended, her hand all but slamming down on the comms system.
"Aye, yeah, sorry about that. Our nav system sometimes goes on the fritz for a bit when we drop outta FTL, some kinda bug in the code we haven't been able to dig out. We'll get moving shortly." she replied in an apologetic tone, lifting her hand from the comm button before turning to the others.
"See? Hanging around observing gets escort ships breathing down our neck. Besides, there's our ticket in; land on the ship to get resupplied, say we're just gunna stretch our legs, and then we go track down the big boss gorilla. Sound fair?"
"That's about as good as we could wish for. Gear up lads."
Jhontari looked thoroughly at the vessels that surrounded them, knowing full well the blips could turn into enemies at any second once they infiltrated the ship. He knew that his armor and his combat style was not one for the best of infiltrations, but they'd have to do.
He fiddled his hammer, a small slit on the side opened and showed a small and flat disc loaded onto the chamber, which closed with a click. He got up, and readied to leave the vessel.
Ashenval seemed almost in awe at what had just happened. She took a second, what was she supposed to feel? Disbelief? Joy?
"In all of my years I have never seen something this unbelievable happen, we've been handed the infiltration on a golden platter. I guess that covers getting in. Now, how do we kill the target, and how do we get out?" She pondered for a while,
"I can cover us with illusion magic for about 10 minutes if need be, it should render us practically invisible - though still tangible - so we can eliminate the target. Does anyone have any other tools that may help?"
The Orion-5 seemed to shudder as the auto-docking systems suddenly came within range of the Fragarach, maneuvering the vessel into a better position as its engines flared, propelling it towards the crowded docking bays. Ships of various makes and models drifted by, likewise guided like the Orion-5 into position on the docks.
Another Heratony Escort vessel made a pass through the swarm, seemingly inspecting the incoming ships before they touched down, though it did not hesitate on the Orion-5 as it passed through the atmospheric shielding.
Outside the craft, Salisi guards made rounds down the pier, assisting in the hauling of crates of weapons, as well as supplies. Hundreds of occupants of various races made their way from their crafts, taking what they could to arm themselves with the gifts of their benefactors: weapons of all designs, bought or looted by the Salisi Fleet.
The landing gear of the Orion-5 descended, connecting with one of the designated landing slots before being manually positioned within the docking area. A warning blare echoed through the craft, before finally lurching to a stop.
A green light flashed at the front console, showing that disembarking was now possible.
Traversal through the Fragarach was slow, as the group maneuvered through its depths in order to avoid the watchful eyes of Salisi Guards and contracted Mercenaries. In the chaos of the war, the Fragarach had become their mainstay base of operations, but their usual tactic of aggressive ambushes left the Salisi overconfident. Hubris would be their downfall as the team snuck onto the throneroom of the massive vessel, catching Nauzystr Fang and his close council plotting their next raid.
The battle that insured was quick and bloody, with the final blow going to Jhontari, who caved in the beaten Salisi Warlords armoured chest, sending his internal organs splattering across the command Throne at the high end of the room.
Alerting Tyran to their success, throwing the Fragarach into disarray at the death of their Captain and commanding warlords, the team used the chaos of the situation to sneak back to the Orion-5. As panic set in on the docks, and weapons began firing, the team was able to disengage from the Fragarach, and make their escape.
Almost as soon as the Orion-5 entered into slip space did the Echotian Strike fleet emerge, bearing down on the leaderless Heratony flagship, sweeping through the distracted patrol vessels and crippling the Fragarach.
With the Fragarach out of commission and the remaining Salisi in no position to negotiate, the capture of the Fragarach prevented countless deaths within the Tradex Reach.
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The Tempest Orbital station was alight with activity as more and more shuttles came and went, transporting troops from the outer reaches of the Tradex towards the heart of Empire space. Thousands had packed their equipment and boarded the returning ships, leaving the once-populated station almost eerily empty. The great halls that once housed the elite fighting forces of the Empire, now lay barren and cold; the chill from the station's core left wisps of fog that blanketed the tile floors.
Some remained, however, a chosen few who would be set upon a greater path, one that drew the jealousy of many Echotian Knights. The task of assassination, the opportunity for glory in the name of the great Houses.
—-------------------------////—--------------------------------------------
Volras Tyran Xallios had allowed a very brief moment of respite, though that moment was quickly expiring. In his private quarters, He stared into the starry void beyond the reinforced glass. These would be his last days in the station before the war would call to him as well. Though he relished the exhilaration of combat, he allowed himself this brief calm while he still could.
A voice broke the silence, coming from his personal macrys.
-/-My lord Tyran, the last of the Knights have departed. We must not delay any longer.-/-
A nod from the Volras dismissed the message, though He stole one last look out of the window before turning and heading for the briefing room.
—---------///—-----///////—-----------------------------------------
The briefing room was relatively large, able to hold several hundred Echotians at a time. The lowest platform occupied the front of the room and flexed outwards in the likeness of an amphitheatre. Though its vacant seats were many, those who had come to the call to arms had been allowed to assemble here.
As Tyran entered the room, the Echotian inspected each of them with a glance. They weren’t his knights, born and bred for the task of war, but they all appeared to be more than capable of carrying out the task at hand.
The Echotian cleared his throat, an almost metallic sound from behind his axe-like warhelm, drawing the attention of those assembled.
“Welcome.”, Tyran began, letting the word hang in the air as all eyes focused on him,
“Before we begin I will stress the importance of the task ahead of you all. Should any one of you find yourselves in doubt of your abilities, or wish to back out, there is a shuttle waiting in the main hangar. Let no one see shame in avoiding one's own demise, but know that there is no turning back once set upon the path. Should you find it within yourselves the strength to carry on, I would ask that you state your name for the record.”
She looked at Tyran with her eyes, inspecting him. Her body glimmered in the light, leaving a purple shadow behind Ashenval. She held her hand tight around her guns and sword, almost as if she was unsure they were really there. A small drone hovered around her, tethered to her sword's handle with a thick red rope. She wore a white uniform, made of the finest Aurheim silks offered by Arkranum. Gold embroideries were scattered across her outfits, and several badges were attached to her top.
Before she spoke, she shuffled slightly, her legs clanking as they hit the floor.
"Ashenval Nrim" Her voice was harmonious, as if it was put through an autotuner, but significantly more authentic. A burst of steam escaped her jaw.
-
To the ever-untied and unbound, the party of those with the option of almost true neutrality adrift within the geopolitical seas of a galaxy as simultaneously welcoming and cold as this one, such a fate thus far had been the life of Jhontari.
It started out tame, a path like many others within the megacorporation, working a successful career within the DeWalte’s rankings, where the expected performance lapidated a person’s corners, etching away personality until they produced death from their hands just as a factory produces modular parts. However, he was fated to an involuntary freedom. A singular assignment, and a singular slip, a bullet caught within his gray mass, permanently embedded, the maker and breaker of a homeostasis so fragile that one could doubt the resilience of life itself. And now, as a consequence, a life along the winding sidelines, the razor sharp edge of mercenary work, for a man unfit to wield nothing but the most destructive of weaponry.
Yet, he remained steadfast, through mild migraines and breaks in his parallax perception, gracefully threading this edge where many men fell to their death. This path led him through here, once again in the presence of an Echotian and so many others. He was no stranger to the prowess of the Echotians, as Kroma garnered his respect by following him through in a charge where many would have not. This loose connection somehow bought him attention enough to bring him to this very table, in this very moment. Such is the bidding of a mercenary, so it would seem.
“Jhontari. Jhontari Merath”- escaped the maws of the lizardman. He was outside of his power armor, his equipment resided elsewhere for the time being, and he found no need to show a display of wealth or firepower in such a situation. Instead, he bore civilian clothing, along with a hat that hid a good portion of the scar that ran across his head.
The words of the Echotian did not scare him. He was not exactly weathered, but he wasn’t new either, nor was he a fool. He knew that, above all, the dangerous missions are the ones that paid a pretty coin, and that could come a long way with how the economy may look with the upcoming war roaring in the near future.
-
Sir Galatrav Gaelbor, Pradorian Knight, Paladin of Uri'el, Commander of the 708th Crimson Aegis strikeforce that was almost entirely wiped out during the Pradorian Civil War. He was a fairvae by nature, tiny compared to the rest of the races of Ancerious. But as the Echos had learned when supporting the Queen in Red it was not the Nocamal's pinpoint accuracy, nor the magical might of the angelic murifri, but the many Fairvae that fell their warriors the most. Tiny, fast, and deadly. He wore a combat spacesuit comparable to that of a medieval Knights armor. Sleek in design, with strong red accents along the white metal. Moth wings extending from his back. At his hip but a sword hilt. An energy blade powered mostly by his own magical energy. He stood atop one of the many chair’s backrest. Pacing back and forth as Tyran spoke.
He waited for the other to finish before he spoke himself. His voice proud, strong, and just a bit over the top. "I am a Pradorian Knight, Lord Tyran. I will not yield to any foe, to any force, not Kane himself. Uri'el is at our backs, this mission will be victorious.... Or we will die with honour and glory."
-
Alun Thai had journeyed quite a while, and the effects of the priory's blessed mildew had faded. Swathed in a crimson robe of velveted Aranthim, the acolyte stood off to one side. Its face was marred by a growth of horns covering one eye, and its hand was gnarled and malformed, like a knurl-laden oak branch. Under its feet, a glimmering mass of metal, subtly shaded in a thousand colors, rippled and moved. The air about it gelled and broke like the sea, glimmering patterns swirling endlessly in its broken wakes. Upon his gold-dappled hood sat a glimmering creature, human-like in shape, and as large as one's hand, it watched the proceedings with a gleeful smile, kicking its translucent legs while its dress fluttered about unnaturally.
Indeed, a member of the priory through and through, a broken servant of the blissful lord. This commission was directed to him through his master, and he was eager to please, if only for another drop of the sacred mildew.
The opening statement he half listened to, letting his blood-addled fairy communicate the details to him. In response to the words of Tyran, the sinister acolyte gestured with his gnarled palm, from which silvery threads trailed like the beard of an elder. "Acolyte, Alun Thai, of the Priory. My master has placed me at your suggestion, let your honeyed commands be pleasant to my ears."
-
The next in the group was the purple, glowing visage of a purple Artificia. Tyran knew this one; this was Kaezha, a foreigner who had loudly demanded the knights of House Tempest teach her their skills in swordsmanship. Considering she was clad in Tempest robes, partially concealing the powered musclesuit underneath and doing nothing to hide the shining form of her angular Grossemesser sword, and had remained with the House for roughly a decade and a half now, she was evidently doing something right. Of course, one couldn't learn everything from sparring others with blunt weapons, and with a combination of Tyran's recommendation and some of the other House members' encouragement, she had taken up the offered job.
She wasn't one of his knights, but she was about as close as this ragtag band had.
"Kaezha." she stated with the ghost of a smile. "But I'd be surprised if you didn't know that."
Tyran gave a nod at each of the introductions, with which acknowledgment and respect were given, even giving Kaezha a small salute upon her presence. He had become fond of her in their times together, and he was proud to see her here.
“Right.”
Lights dimmed only slightly to draw the attention of a holo that appeared before Tyran from some unseen source. Bright blue, and depicting the image of a ship, it spun slowly as Tyran moved to the front of the stage.
“As you all know by now, a great war is approaching. One that will spell the future of this galaxy one way or another. The Great Houses are moving for war once again, but we’ve encountered an issue.”
Gesturing to the holo, Tyran’s clawed grip curls slightly, ceasing the spinning of the image.
“It appears to be a Heratony vessel, known to the Empire as ‘The Fragarach’. It is captained by a Salisi warlord known as Nauzystr Fang.” (edited)
A second holo appeared nearby, displaying the image of an armoured, ape-like alien. Snarling from beneath an almost gladiator-style helm, its sheer physical presence was all too obvious. Several bodies lay around it in the foreground, though the angle of the holo suggested it was pulled from a macrys feed. Clearly, this had been a foe faced before.
“Nauzystr has proven to require a decent amount of ‘persuasion’ in the past, though I am disappointed to announce that the Empire simply can't afford the detour. Henceforth, you are charged with boarding this vessel, and dealing with this obstruction before the fleet passes through the system.”
Tyran relaxed his hold on the holo and they began to rotate once more. His stature was professional, though there was still some sense of excitement in his gravelly voice.
“Credits have already been transferred into your accounts, and a transport vessel has been provided that won't draw unwanted attention.”
There was another brief pause, as the Echo observed the room.
“This mission will be entirely in your hands from here on out. Though I trust that warriors of your skill set will have no problems with the hunt ahead. That being said, are there any questions?”
"Do not waver, Lord Tyran, by the sword in my hand, I swear to you I will not return with failure. I will gladly fight sword, and spear to Nauzstr. Avenge the fallen Echos, bring GLORY to your name Lord Tyran." The tiny man shot up into the air with tiny moth wings. Under his helm he identified what he saw as the most capable warrior among the mercenaries. Kaezha, not because he knew her, or for any other reason than the fact she was using a sword. He flew right over to her and attempted to land on her shoulder. Pointing forward. "Onwards brothers in arms! We shall prove victorious, or die in glorious combat!"
"Indeed", Tyran responded, almost matter-of-factly, "Though I would advise caution. Nauzystr wont be caught unaware if you strike head-on, and his forces are many. Only through cunning and resolve will this mission be carried out successfully, but I have confidence in you."
-------------------//////---------------------------------
The Echo lead them into the main hangar, now nearly devoid of Echotian vessels, it housed only the ships used by the mercenaries, a long Echo transport, and of the vessel they were being granted access. To Tyran's credit, it was unassuming; rectangular chassis, and with an almost freighter-style design, it appeared to be as alien as any other craft in the hangar. A team of dark-robed Echos awaited the Volras, saluting to their superior before heading for their transport.
The Volras stopped for a moment as he gazed upon the ship, clearly ensuring it was in full functioning order and that none of the exodus forces had damaged it. When he seemed to be satisfied, he turned to the mercenary group.
"This is where I must depart. There is still much to accomplish in the coming days and I am needed in the Empire. Watch each other's backs, and bring me the head of a warlord. Good luck, fight hard, die well."
With a bow, Tyran turned to follow the Echos under his command, boarding the blade-like transport, before departing, leaving the mercenaries to their own devices.
Alun looked about the hangar, his eyes alighting upon the vessel. The ghostly figure upon his shoulder chattered away in a happy babble, gesturing fluidly as it spoke. The acolyte turned and looked about the ship with cloudy eyes. His eyes alighted on the fellow mercenaries, and he extended an open hand at them, gnarled as it was with cancerous horns. "A holy blessing be upon you. We have been sent upon a difficult mission, and my Lord would have me make the best of it. Ah! We should see what our employer has left for us, what they know, and what they suggest we do. After all, assaulting a ship is no trivial matter, even for your assured skill. Pray, could you tell me your skills as well, so I do not expect of you something unreasonable?"
The ghostly figure upon its shoulder nodded proudly at this statement. It babbled for a moment, and he added on, as an afterthought. "The computers of the transport should have something if our employers are kind."
Ashenval would be busy checking her equipment before being approached by Alun, he had caught her slightly off guard, so she took a second to readjust. She shook Alun's hand, unafraid of the horns. Even if they were somehow infectious, her crystalline skin would not be affected in the slightest by an organic disease. "I am known in the royal guard for my skills in moderating and de-escalation. I also have a fair bit of experience in stealth and persuasion. My position before being ordered here by Sergeant Norkorial was carrying out border patrols and helping in maintaining peace with Atenwal."
She then turned to the ghost as it seemed to speak, then back to Alun. "Of course, we should go investigate. I'll also check for any equipment that may have been given to us.
Kaezha examined the ship with her purple eyes, arms crossed.
Unassuming it was, though it looked to have a bit more room in it than her personal ship, still sat in an Echotian hangar somewhere.
Granted, most of that extra room would be taken up by weird strangers she doubted she would ever see again. Even the tiny dude on her shoulder.
Her eyes drifted to Alun.
"I'm good at killing things with a sword." she deadpanned, striding around to enter the ship, arms remaining crossed.
"If there is anything on the computers, we won't find out standing out here." she called over her shoulder at the others.
"I have to agree with my glowing comrade, enough standing around, we got unto war!... Or rather battle in this case, no?" He paused for a moment, speaking from underneath his helmet. "My skills are simple, as all warriors. I can kill be it with sword, warstaff, or magic."
He kept one hand on Kaezha's hair, helmet, ear, or even cheek. Anything he could get a grip on to not tumble off due to her movements.
Jhontari gazed around at the ships gathered within the hangar as the leading Echotian left their premise. All of the combination of designs, his looking like the cutout of some tube with various devices attached to the outside. He split off from the group momentarily and headed towards his ship.
To him the meeting informed him of a few things about the people he’d be working with, the fact that they all seemed to show more or less armed and showcasing their skills or equipment indicated either the disrespect of the security that the meeting provided, or the wisdom of preparedness.
Sometimes one must only extend a friendly hand in the readiness to draw blood, the thought crossed his mind as cynical, yet it spoke to some truth about the line of work he assumed.
As quickly as the mercenary disappeared into his bulky geometrical vessel, he emerged again with his equipment worn. A kitted out armor from the CES, straight from the days that he worked for DeWalte, which he had slowly adapted to suit his needs. He came out not a moment too late to catch the conversation, and his eyes darted around the circle of individuals, the large scar rippling from horn to cheek danced in the frey of calm muscles moving blue orbs that studied his momentary comrades.
"I can do well in hand-to-hand combat. This suit works on me like a second skin, the bulkiness of it betrays its speed, and my hammer is known to do a swift job of even the mightiest foe, warlord or not."
The mercenary explained to the acolyte of the dew.
He then fetched from his back what seemed to be a large hammer-like weapon, a dark ball slotted into a cylinder with flared ends on the other side, like a turbine of old jets perched atop a sturdy pipe. He spun the hammer momentarily with one hand, though it was massive, it seemed weightless and balanced in the hands of the lizardman, ending the motion with a soft touch upon the ground. An internal mechanism responded with a metallic click. Boom, Jhontari mouthed.
At nearly forty-meters long, the disguised Echotian craft was fairly well armored, with many of its improvements being disguised by the odd shape of the vessel. White lettering on the rear of each side displayed 'Orion-5' in galactic common. At the stern of the ship, an embarking ramp sat lowered, allowing easy access to the awaiting interior.
Within the ship, the mercenaries would find a vessel prepared for the singular task of escorting them to their destination. A holo-table decorated the central room, displaying a similar presentation to Tyran's. A set of navigation coordinates were also found, marked as the last known location of ‘The Fragarach’, to a system known as Gjöll. To either side of the holo were a set of sliding doors, finding a set of living quarters, as well as a small arming chamber and docking collar. Red lighting illuminated the forward cockpit, which housed six black-leather seats, each with a sliding console. Display screens were arranged to allow a far greater field of view.
The signs of Echotian make had been stripped from the vessel, with all its macrys systems ripped out and replaced with redesigned, scavenged Heratony tech, ensuring that their vessel would not betray its creators.
In all, the Orion-5 seemed quite capable of the task at hand, simply waiting patiently for the time to act. All that was required was a crew.
Alun examined the shuttle thoroughly, the aetherial figure on his shoulder chatting in a bubbly, indecipherable tone as he did so. His hands slid over the controls, and his ring finger melted away into a multicolored puddle that spread along the board. The acolyte stood still, letting his mind wander over the feedback he received. "I can pilot the ship, and take the menial controls. Do any of my companions want to leave immediately, or do you have an urgent preparation to attend to?"
With a fumbling hand, he reached into his robes, feeling for the blessed dew in its gilded container. It reassured him of its presence. His fairy was already setting out the guidance protocols upon the astrocomputer, having quickly understood the gist of the machine. It was a daunting, metal box, and honestly a little frightening to think of flying. The dew comforted him, it was his lifeline, and if his fairy wasn't firmly whispering in his mind, he would be taking a drop.
"While we make our route, make any suggestions on how we should approach this mission. We should not waste our transit." Alun turned to look at the rest of the group. "I don't know how to approach such a mission. Does anyone here know?"
"I'm all for leaving now." The guard by now had walked away to do her checks. The ship seemed to be in order, and on board was basic equipment, including some repair tools. She comes back, just in time for Alun's other question. "Well, what do we know about our enemy? That is crucial in any mission. I, unfortunately, am not actually very sure on who we're about to encounter, or what the mission has in store for us. This info will help us decide on our plan."
She took a pause, opening her jaw. Ashenval took a water packet from below her robes, seemingly from nowhere, and then dunked the entire thing down her throat, including its container. Steam erupted from her mouth, before she closed it once again, leaving only tiny holes on her cheeks, steam hissing out of them.
"Anyone who is more versed than me is welcome to add to this discussion."
Jhontari nodded. He seemed ready to leave but in no rush at all.
"We have been informed that it s a vessel. Well armed enough to be a concern to the Echotians, lightly armed enough to throw us at it instead of sparing a few warships. I suggest we study the vessel from afar and await an opportunity to infiltrate the vessel quietly if such opportunity arises."
He twiddled his fingers across the top of the percussion hammer after resting the hilt upon the ground like a greatsword. He was inquisitive as if thinking of the possibilities that this battle could roll out on. Though it was certain - they could not be caught before they were within the vessel. To risk spaceborne-combat is simply far too dangerous.
"That's the length of my expertise. My days of fancy tactics are mostly gone, but it is obvious we must not fight in space, yet bid our time to infiltrate. At which point, we're likely to meet resistence - perhaps even on par with out strength."
Kaezha stepped to the front of the ship, watching Alun's fairy interact with the ship's nav with a raised eyebrow, having been moving to essentially do the same, the other hand absentmindedly sitting on where her sword's scabbard was clipped to a belt.
"Hard and fast." Kaezha grunted in reply to the query about strategy. "The longer we bum about watching them the more likely they are to notice us and the longer they're aware of us the more suspicious someone is going to get." she stated flatly, blinking slowly, her purple tied back hair swishing softly as she turned to look at the others.
"Wait for them to get close, blast in though a hangar or close to an airlock if they don't have one."
After some deliberation, the Orion-5 finally was able to take off from the Tempest base, tearing its way into FTL on its way to Gjöll. Traversal time was swift, giving the mercenaries enough time to get acquainted with the vessel, finding little in terms of offensive weapons outside of a gimballed auto-cannon mounted to the prow of the ship. Surely it wouldn’t turn the tide of any conflict, but they were capable of returning fire.
After what felt like a relatively short time, the Orion-5 broke from its slipspace rift, gliding back into realspace. The system of Gjöll was not out of the ordinary, containing a standard yellow sun, orbited by several small planets.
A central pict screen began to indicate the presence of a large Heratony vessel, flashing red warning symbols as the image of the vessel appeared onscreen.
—---------------////—--------------------////—--------------------
The Fragarach, the great Heratony flagship, loomed in the vast distance, silhouetted by the oceanic planet of Straumr-2. Its armoured bulk was crossed with scars and dents from countless skirmishes across the years; Kaezha could identify lance burns from Echotian weaponry lending to further confirmation that this ship was no easy target. At nearly fifteen kilometers long, the Heratony vessel had gathered quite the following from local CONA radicals, who hung in the void nearby. Radio chatter filled the cockpit as the Orion-5 as they approached closer, though there seemed to be little in ways or organisation or care on behalf of the gathered. They seemed to be in a state of celebration.
They weren’t much to look at just yet, but even as the Orion-5 hung in the void, more and more vessels emerged from FTL, drawn to the promise of strength through unity. Soon, these fleets of thousands would pose a far greater threat, should they draw the attention of the larger CONA forces. They had to be scattered before they grew in numbers, and before the Echo forces arrived.
Several Escort-Class ships made lazy patrols of the incoming waves of vessels, though it was unclear if they were scanning for threats within the swarms of smaller ships, or if they had some other unknown purpose. Perhaps the Orion-5 wouldn’t draw unwanted attention, but were they able to risk being discovered?
They had not been detected as far as the group could tell, and appeared to have a relatively clear shot to their objective. The question on everyone's minds was, how to proceed?
Along the port and starboard sides of The Fragarach, yawning hangers could be seen, playing host to a variety of smaller ships. Perhaps they could sneak aboard another ship, or fall in with the many others already docking The Fragarach?
Sneaking aboard the flagship did not seem out of the question either. Perhaps they could find another entrance, or dock at one of the many hundreds of small boarding chutes that seemed to decorate the larger ship.
Kaezha’s plan of direct frontal assault seemed a bit more out of the question upon seeing the state of the system, but the Echo’s of House Tempest had grown to understand they were never to underestimate her abilities.
No matter what they chose, there was no telling what sort of defences would lie within the Heratony ship.
"Clearly, there's no easy way in or out of this. We have quite a few things to worry about, and they don't end even after we get our target. Here's what to consider. First, we get in, already that's hard enough. We kill the target; we need to escape, avoid the internal security and make it out in time before the warship blows. And I'm not assuming any of you have any 'get out easily without complication no matter what' devices. We can't just rush in without thinking about this first, so, without any more messing around, what the hell's the plan?" She finished her speech, not even taking a breath in between. Not that she needed to, considering the whole no-breathing thing.
"They seem unorganised."
Jhontari pointed out, looking at the blob of signatures and the dense flow of information amidst themselves.
"We could use that against them. Let us pick apart the situation from afar for a few minutes and identify somewhere we could slot in. We could very well be mercenaries hired by them to do some dirty work. That'd buy us free passage and a few valuable minutes of peace that we could use to wrangle the situation under our control. The rest is up to our finesse. Clear an escape route and a method, set up a distraction so we can escape without our CONA friends here shredding us."
"Someone has clearly never lived life in the fast lane." Kaezha grunted lowly.
"Yeah alright, sure, call yourself a hired mercenary. You got any fuckin proof?" she added with a scoff.
"Mercenaries looking for work, maybe, maybe some CONA aligned goons looking to join the fun. But trying to fake a hire when you haven't got shit to prove it isn't going to work too well, unless you have some wonder gizmo in those metal pants of yours that can hack into their system, create a spontaneous and convincing file on hired mercenaries and insert it into the correct database, all without being noticed." she scoffed.
A beat.
"Those are Echo capital weapon marks, I've seen them before. These people seem to have had a scuffle with them before and I have my doubts it was due to a convenient misunderstanding. We could call ourselves freelancers the Empire has fucked over and we're looking for an opportunity to bite them back."
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of one of the Escort-Class ships, a vessel nearly twice the size of their current ship, as it moved towards the Orion-5. While heavily armoured and clearly heavily militarized, the Heratony vessel did not appear to be aggressive. Aboard the Orion-5, a small pannel began to bleet, alerting the party that they were being hailed by the Escort.
The voice on the other end was gruff and gravelly, with the Salisi's inflated throat pouch providing a deep resonating sound that flowed throughout its speech.
)) Unidentified craft, you are idling in an entry-zone. Dock your ship at ‘The Fragarach’ to receive weapons and munitions, or form up with the rest of the screen. If you ain't here to fight, piss off. The last thing we need is more cave-headed collisions. Understood? ((
The Escort vessel began to move off, though slower than it had arrived, seemingly taking a good look at the Orion-5 before beginning to move away.
Kaezha lurched to the front of the ship as the message ended, her hand all but slamming down on the comms system.
"Aye, yeah, sorry about that. Our nav system sometimes goes on the fritz for a bit when we drop outta FTL, some kinda bug in the code we haven't been able to dig out. We'll get moving shortly." she replied in an apologetic tone, lifting her hand from the comm button before turning to the others.
"See? Hanging around observing gets escort ships breathing down our neck. Besides, there's our ticket in; land on the ship to get resupplied, say we're just gunna stretch our legs, and then we go track down the big boss gorilla. Sound fair?"
"That's about as good as we could wish for. Gear up lads."
Jhontari looked thoroughly at the vessels that surrounded them, knowing full well the blips could turn into enemies at any second once they infiltrated the ship. He knew that his armor and his combat style was not one for the best of infiltrations, but they'd have to do.
He fiddled his hammer, a small slit on the side opened and showed a small and flat disc loaded onto the chamber, which closed with a click. He got up, and readied to leave the vessel.
Ashenval seemed almost in awe at what had just happened. She took a second, what was she supposed to feel? Disbelief? Joy?
"In all of my years I have never seen something this unbelievable happen, we've been handed the infiltration on a golden platter. I guess that covers getting in. Now, how do we kill the target, and how do we get out?" She pondered for a while,
"I can cover us with illusion magic for about 10 minutes if need be, it should render us practically invisible - though still tangible - so we can eliminate the target. Does anyone have any other tools that may help?"
The Orion-5 seemed to shudder as the auto-docking systems suddenly came within range of the Fragarach, maneuvering the vessel into a better position as its engines flared, propelling it towards the crowded docking bays. Ships of various makes and models drifted by, likewise guided like the Orion-5 into position on the docks.
Another Heratony Escort vessel made a pass through the swarm, seemingly inspecting the incoming ships before they touched down, though it did not hesitate on the Orion-5 as it passed through the atmospheric shielding.
Outside the craft, Salisi guards made rounds down the pier, assisting in the hauling of crates of weapons, as well as supplies. Hundreds of occupants of various races made their way from their crafts, taking what they could to arm themselves with the gifts of their benefactors: weapons of all designs, bought or looted by the Salisi Fleet.
The landing gear of the Orion-5 descended, connecting with one of the designated landing slots before being manually positioned within the docking area. A warning blare echoed through the craft, before finally lurching to a stop.
A green light flashed at the front console, showing that disembarking was now possible.
Traversal through the Fragarach was slow, as the group maneuvered through its depths in order to avoid the watchful eyes of Salisi Guards and contracted Mercenaries. In the chaos of the war, the Fragarach had become their mainstay base of operations, but their usual tactic of aggressive ambushes left the Salisi overconfident. Hubris would be their downfall as the team snuck onto the throneroom of the massive vessel, catching Nauzystr Fang and his close council plotting their next raid.
The battle that insured was quick and bloody, with the final blow going to Jhontari, who caved in the beaten Salisi Warlords armoured chest, sending his internal organs splattering across the command Throne at the high end of the room.
Alerting Tyran to their success, throwing the Fragarach into disarray at the death of their Captain and commanding warlords, the team used the chaos of the situation to sneak back to the Orion-5. As panic set in on the docks, and weapons began firing, the team was able to disengage from the Fragarach, and make their escape.
Almost as soon as the Orion-5 entered into slip space did the Echotian Strike fleet emerge, bearing down on the leaderless Heratony flagship, sweeping through the distracted patrol vessels and crippling the Fragarach.
With the Fragarach out of commission and the remaining Salisi in no position to negotiate, the capture of the Fragarach prevented countless deaths within the Tradex Reach.