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    1. Blitzy 6 yrs ago

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Corros Meeran


Sergeant Vytuia ran over the plan while the squad took their seats in the shuttle. Corros swung his pack lazily off of his back as he fell into his seat, securing himself and holding his equipment upright between his knees. He resisted the chance to liken the stench of Lotho Minor to his own dear squadmates; as much as he enjoyed being a smart-ass, even Corros wasn't stupid enough to upset the people that he'd be dependent on in a few moments if things were to go south. Instead he did something he rarely ever did; he just shut up and listen. The plan seemed relatively simple. Land to the south, reach the building, clear the building, secure the building. Two more squads would do the same from the opposite side and the roof respectively. Corros couldn't tell what the Sergeant was thinking as he flashed up a holographic map. His face was calm, which was reassuring, but then again, even if they were about to jump out of the shuttle straight down a saralcc's throat, Sergeant Vytuia would look like he was on his way to dinner.

The devil was in the detail, or more accurately, the complete lack of it. Situations like this always made Corros nervous. Even just being told they had to be ready to split into squads, without designating them, left room for confusion that could cost someone their life under the wrong circumstances. They had no real intel on why the facility had gone dark, and no idea who may be responsible. Their scans had shown no signs of activity on the outside, but it didn't take a genius to know that this was not any form of reassurance at all. It could have been a number of things, from unhappy locals, to rebellions, to a horrific industrial accident. For the whole facility to go dark just like that, it had to be something pretty major. The thought of it made Corros shift in his seat, and for a moment he thanked his helmet for masking his probably very concerned-looking face.

When the Sarge was done talking, he opened the floor for questions. The new guy, Malik Skaya, spoke up first. "How important is it that the facility remains intact? Will we be able to use thermal detonators inside or should such destruction be avoided?" It was an important question, and the main one that Corros had been wondering too. He always felt safer with a Smart Rocket at his disposal to bail him out but if they were under instruction to keep the facility intact, which was most likely, he may as well leave it on the shuttle and enjoy having a slightly lighter pack for once. Corros liked this guy, which was helpful considering he may well be smearing bacta on Corros' chest in the next few hours. He seemed switched on, and it took a certain confidence to speak up with questions first in a room full of complete strangers, no matter how drilled you were.

Callus asked a question along similar lines, about breaching vs slicing. Corros hoped it was breaching so that he hadn't hauled all these explosives from the armoury to the shuttle for no reason, but knew it was likely to be slicing, again in the interest of protecting the integrity of the Imperial facility and minimizing the cost of getting it up and running again. Corros didn't really have any questions himself. The only thing he wondered was what had caused it to go dark down there, and with any luck they'd find that out very soon. Besides, no one else knew either, so it was a pointless question to voice. Instead he held his tongue, fidgeting slightly in his seat as the shuttle ramp went up.
@Famotill hey, I know a guy from another site that would thrive in this setting. He's not signed up here so he would be 0 days, 0 posts but I can vouch for him as a committed writer. Would you be open to him signing on as well?
@Famotill if you don't mind me asking, how did you make the maps? Both the continent maps and the individual maps of Vicelles and Astoria? They look awesome, is there a site or software you did this on?
Also interested!
@Gcold sorry, will get on it right away.
Corros Meeran


Boring. The only word that summed up Corros' day so far, and it was barely even noon. He had been awake since before anyone else in the squad, as was normally the way; he hadn't adjusted well to life aboard the Tempest so far. It was strange, a far cry from his family's cosy home in Lothal City or the dorms of the Academy. Those dorms didn't float around in space, for one. New surroundings always seemed to put Corros on edge at first, and this time the mixed feelings of homesickness and excitement were playing havoc with his sleeping pattern. It wasn't that Corros didn't feel comfortable here, nor that he was particularly stressed or worried about anything, but he just couldn't sleep. Instead of staying in bed this morning and trying to squeeze out every second he could, he'd got in the gym early, spending an hour and a half working through his usual circuits before the first meal of the day. After that he decided he wasn't in any mood to do anything too strenuous, especially with the squad expecting their deployment orders at some point today.

In truth that was the only productive thing he had done all day. He'd eaten with the squad in the morning, at a time where everyone is usually still tired and wishing they were in bed. He'd walked a lap of the ship just to kill time and familiarize himself a bit more. Corros was an expert when it came to procrastination. He had visited the armoury to make sure all of his equipment was where it should be, and then revisited again an hour later just to double check no one had moved it while he wasn't there. He'd managed to spend 10 minutes alone just decided to not clean his armour, having examined every plate thoroughly, before deciding it was in fact dirty, but not that dirty. Mostly, though, he was just thinking. He always did it, he'd think about anything and his mind would wander and before he knew it half an hour was gone just spent thinking. He thought of home, of his smiling sisters and proud parents. He thought of the world below, Lotho Minor, about its people and their lives and about what would happen when they got down there. And through it all, the young man from Lothal just couldn't stop thinking about how damned bored he was.

So the order to assemble was a welcome one. And it came much earlier than expected, a pleasant surprise for a man that would have just carried on wasting time if it hadn't. He was on his way back to the squad's bunkroom when the order came in, but like lightning he turned on his heels and set off the other way, fixing his helmet in place with a satisfying click. By the time he got there the armoury had been picked clean, and it certainly hadn't been so empty earlier. Which meant only one thing. Almost everyone else was already in the hangar. Spurred on now by a new desire to not be the last one there this time, he grabbed his rifle and fixed it in place. The bandolier went next, sitting across his chest, black against the sheer white of his armour's chest plate. A large pack fixed onto its holding on his back, and to that clipped a Smart Rocket Launcher, and Corros' favourite piece of kit, an MPL-57 grenade launcher. It was hard to move anywhere in a hurry loaded down like this but Corros did his best, jogging through the corridors and cursing himself for putting too much emphasis on his legs in the gym today.

Surprise surprise; everyone was already there. The vast majority of the 200 stormtroopers aboard the Tempest were. 'It's always me,' he thought to himself as he looked around frantically, trying to work out where he should be. Corros was able to pick his squad out of the swelling crowd thanks to the HUD in his helmet kindly showing him everyone's serial number. He walked slowly and calmly, trying to make it seem as though he wasn't panicked at all, but realising only after that walking so slowly when he was already so late probably just made him look like an ass. He took his place at the end of the line without saying a word, trying to catch his breath a little after running with so much kit but doing his best to avoid breathing heavily. Like he needed to give anyone else a reason to give him grief. Standing in line, it was finally time to get excited. They were going down, to the surface of Lotho Minor. Why, Corros wasn't too sure, but he knew they'd all find out soon enough.
"I want a name." The gloved fist of one of Cayne's men cracked against the man's jaw and he slumped, the only thing stopping him from falling to the ground being the other two gang members holding him up by each arm. The man spat, a horrid concoction of blood, spit and at least one splinter from his teeth. Cayne himself stood watching, out of distance of any potential, unfortunate, splatters, with his thick arms folded across his chest. He had been watching his men for a few minutes now as they set about their work, opting against getting his own hands dirty. Besides, having grunts do it for him made him look more powerful, and was thus more intimidating. The man in front him, hanging limp in the hands of two heavily augmented gangsters, was named Calum Alpwood, but no one who knew him would recognize him now. His face had been mauled, with one eye socket visibly dislocated and the other swollen and purple. His lips were puffy and split in numerous places, and a foamy dribble of blood was leaking from the gaps in his gum where his teeth used to be, running down his chin and dripping onto the floor. Cayne didn't feel sorry for him; he had no space in his limited repertoire of emotions for pity, especially not for a man like Calum; a Neanderthal.

Calum lifted his head and the same fist struck him again, this time on the nose, setting his blood running like someone had turned on a tap. Pathetic, Cayne thought to himself, staring down at the bloodied and battered man before him through his haunting, grey cybernetic eyes. The display in his vision was showing Calum's vital signs to Cayne. At the start his heart rate had increased drastically to 112bpm, but with every subsequent punch the spike got smaller, as if he was fading. We don't have a lot of time. Cayne stepped forward, the sound of his boot thudding against the pavement enough to make the four men around Calum to take a step back. He fell to his hands and knees without anyone supporting him, breathing heavily and retching up small amounts of bloody phlegm. Cayne stood, silent, watching, towering over him. His breathing had become laboured. He looked up at Cayne, trying to look unimpressed. What he didn't realize was that Cayne could literally see the signs of terror thanks to his scanner. "You finally gonna hit me now then?" His voice was weak and raspy, every word was an effort.

"No." Cayne's reply was blunt. "If I hit you, you'll die. And I don't want to kill you." Cayne reached down with one hand and grabbed the collar of Calum's jacket and hauled him to his feet, holding him up on his feet thanks to the strength of his augmented arms. "I want a name. I've told you this. I'm trying my best to be patient with you Calum, but now you're really starting to fuck me off." His eyes met Cayne's implants. Cayne's face was calm, a pool of water with not a ripple on the surface. His eyes betrayed no emotion, nor did his mouth. Calum's heart rate quickened a little. "Don't make me ask again." Cayne could smell iron on his breath as the blood had begun to congeal and oxidise.

"I can't do that. You know I can't... they'll kill me man! They'll kill me, they'll tear me apart piece by piece. Please."

"They won't lay a finger on you. We will protect you, better yet, we'll fix you. But I can only help you, Calum, if you help me. So c'mon, let's help each other." Calum still seemed unsure. "If you can't help me, then you're of no use to me. And if that's the case," Cayne's left hand folded in on itself, and from his middle finger a long, serrated knife came forth. "Then I'm going to slash your thighs and wrists, and leave you here to die in your own blood. It's your choice. Doesn't bother me either way." Cayne was doing his best to stay calm. They needed that name. The Shepherd's message had been clear enough; the bombing was orchestrated by the Neanderthals. And this man, this pathetic, drug-addicted waste of oxygen knew who'd delivered it. The girl. He was a nobody, no-one would miss him. He had no family apart from a little sister he lost contact with years ago, and he was a nobody among his gang. The girl wasn't even high priority. The Disk came first, and then the Neanderthals. The girl was just sport, revenge for the inconvenience they had caused. Cayne almost considered her collateral. But until he was finally unleashed, the Sheepdog was quite content to make the most of the bone he'd been thrown for the time being. He had already been thinking about how much fun they could have when Cayne finally got a hold of her.

"She goes by Calypso." He practically spat the name in Cayne's face. Calum let his head drop in shame, disgusted that he'd let himself be broken. Cayne didn't blame him. He'd spent a solid 10 minutes being wailed on by men with enhanced strength, and he was just a pathetic creature of mortal flesh. "What's her real name?"

"I don't know, I swe-" Cayne's hand had moved, lightning fast, gripping Calum's scrawny neck and lifting him off his feet, bringing his eyes level with Cayne's. His feet were kicking wildly, and his hands scrabbled at Cayne's massive hand as he croaked and gasped. The choke was total; he could barely even make a noise. His eyes had gone wide, and his skin and turned dark red as the blood flow out of his face was restricted. Cayne held him for 10 seconds at least, watching the life slowly slip out of his eyes, when he dropped him. Calum fell flat, spluttering by Cayne's feet. Cayne looked at the sleeve of his hoodie in disgust, noticing the stain from Calum's blood and making a mental note to get it dry cleaned tomorrow. He barely let Calum catch his breath before he hauled him up to his feet.

"Please... I don't," he took a deep breath, coughed, and then spat out a mouthful of spit and blood, "I don't know anything else. She's a delivery girl, freelance. Please." Another mouthful. "That's all I know." Cayne paused for a moment. This man knew his life was on the line. Nothing made a man more honest than the prospect of not waking up tomorrow. He doubted Calum was lying. He looked around at his men. They had been standing motionless, not making a sound, observing. "Take him to Nate. And make sure he fixes his face, I don't wanna see shit like that in my safehouse." The first man, the one who had been throwing the punches, nodded in response. He was grotesque; six glowing robotic eyes made him look like a spider and he was wearing a respiratory mask over the lower half of his face. He relinquished a syringe, holding Calum down with one hand and using the other to empty its contents into his blood stream. He was unconscious almost instantly. They picked him up, the largest of the four slinging his limp body over his shoulder, and without a word headed off down the alleyway.

Cayne pulled his hood back up, sporting a grey hoodie today, and pulled his jacket sleeve down to cover the stain. He went in the other direction. He didn't care if his lackeys got caught, but Cayne could do without going to prison before his work on his world was complete. It had been a busy day, travelling around and getting information out of unfortunately stubborn clients. Cayne decided to settle into a sports bar for the evening. He ordered food; a hot dog and fries, onion rings, and beer. Four bottles over an hour. There were enough people for Cayne to blend in, sat in a booth on his own opposite one of the large screens. Cayne had just ordered a fifth beer to the table, when he noticed people crowding on the pavement. At first he dismissed it, but just seconds later, sound cracked the air, booming over the city. Was that... a railgun? Cayne walked briskly towards the door, joining the crowd. People were screaming now, shoving and running. Outside it was crazy, mobs of people assembled on the sidewalk, every single on of them looking up. Cayne's mouth opened in surprise.

Both parts of the craft were freefalling, split by a failed attempt to destroy it with rail rounds. The smaller safety craft around it had given up. There was no stopping this thing, a great metal ship. It was all about the reaction now. Things were already too far gone to stop it now. The smaller vessels pulled away, and the flurry of fire attempting to halt its descent had ceased. Cayne watched speechless as it hurtled downwards. Was this really happening? He began to wonder if he had just had one too many beers and his cybernetics were playing up. All of his questions were wiped away as the ground shook and the craft collided with the ground. A cloud of dust and debris kicked up, and covered everything. Cayne ducked down, pulling his hoodie up over his face and his t-shirt up to cover his mouth and nose, and waited for it to pass.
@Atrophy who said anything about killing? Ramming her full of experimental tech would be much more beneficial.
I'm working on a post, been slow going as I've been quite busy the last couple weeks.

I was wondering if someone might be willing to draft up a map?

Ghajotia has been the current epicenter of the action but I think we could all benefit from having a hard-set, agreed upon orientation to make it a little easier to visualize how the players are moving about / where their home bases are & what factions are butting up against others.


Have to say I second this, I thought of this when I was trying create a character. Having a solid layout would be hugely helpful, even if it's just a quick sketch on paint.
First post was largely a whole lot of nothing but I'm already working on the second. Should have a bit more about it and will end up Cayne in Ghajotia, witnessing the crash etc.
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