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Morning on Delephr
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| Treslar | Date: Thursday, 29 Jul 2010, 1:29 AM | Message # 1 |
 Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 27
Status: Offline
| A tinge of blue began to hover over the pristine hills of Delephr, climbing hopefully into the black of night above as day approached. Glow lamps faded out of existence throughout the planet's modest capital city. Little more than an amalgamation of residences, shops, warehouses and, of course, a distinctive Imperial garrison all arrayed around the planet's one and only spaceport, the city was of a sort that was common to many secluded Outer Rim worlds that did not have appreciable industry. But there were goods to be moved through the Carrion Sector, and Delephr was its trading hub. In the dim of the morning, there was just enough light to see "BOTHANS GO HOME!" painted haphazardly on the wall of the Delephran shipping company's office. The door opened, and an older man emerged. He saw the words, sighed, and went inside, then returned a moment later with a washcloth and went to work. By the time the sun had risen and painted the sky in brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow, the city was awake. Ships rumbled above, coming and going from the spaceport, and the occasional landspeeder cruised down the street in front of the Delephran office. Duos of stormtroopers wandered past it on occasion, too, glancing at the graffiti incuriously as they did. Later that morning, at around 1100 local time when the streets were bustling with pedestrians, the first picketers arrived at the office—one or two at first, parading in front of the office with sneers into its windows, then three, four, five. The stormtroopers returned then too, similarly increasing in number as the lunch hour approached. That was when the trouble usually started. They tried valiantly to be as inconspicuous as one could be in that ominous, white armor. They milled about across the street, keeping their distance, never more than four in number. Delephran clearly wasn't depending on their help. The company's militia was there too, also trying to remain inconspicuous and also failing. Two men in simple spacer's clothing with blasters at their hips sat on a crate in front of the office, smoking cigarettes and keeping a wary eye on the picketers. Another man with a large rifle slung under his arm occasionally glanced down from the roof, but for the most part kept himself occupied watching the ships descending and ascending from the spaceport and trying to identify their makes and models. A passion of his, no doubt. Inside the building, regular employees of various species, including Bothans, ignored the commotion outside that they had become used to and stoically went about their work. The Delephran militia had quite a reputation. It had been trained by a young but no-less-infamous Andrephan Stormcaller, who would later become a Rebel and, even later, wage his own private war against the Pentastar Alignment to devastating effect. The militia that he instructed, meanwhile, had almost singlehandedly eliminated piracy from the Carrion Sector when the Empire refused to do so itself. The company itself had operated in the Carrion Sector for over a decade without incident. It was only when the Bastion Accords allowed free commerce with the New Republic that Delephran was purchased by a Bothan company, and so the problems began. It was said that among the many alien species that were despised by the Empire, none were despised as thoroughly as were the Bothans. Add to this the dire economic condition that the Remnant found itself in, and it was a recipe for resentment. The first few times the office was vandalized, management had remained reluctant to assemble its militia. But when one of its clerks was beaten as he closed the office for the night and the Remnant did not so much as investigate, Delephran began to take matters into its own hands. Thus, an ugly scene on a beautiful morning.
Treslar
Captain of the MC-30c frigate Tarsus Valorum
Ruusan Reformation League
Former Captain of the Guard, City of Mon Ubris
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| Kramer | Date: Friday, 13 Aug 2010, 12:01 PM | Message # 2 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 15
Status: Offline
| Two vessels approached Delephr, from different approach vectors. One was a non-descript passenger ship, the other a Suwantek TL-1200 transport, stripped of its weaponary and displaying the insignia of the Delephran shipping company.
Onboard the passenger shuttle, three men sat cleaning their weapons, chatting away as any tight-knit squad would. Two of the men were younger, though their elder didn't treat them any differently because of it.
"Looks like Ratchet's forgotten what a scouring pad looks like" one of the younger men joked, snatching the detached scope out of Ratchet's hand and scraping a thick layer of dirt from the ridges.
"When I find one, I'll test it on your pretty-boy face" Ratchet growled, thumping his friend Dante in the arm and snatching his scope back.
"Stow it, 3270" Sergeant Kilner warned Dante, with a shadow of a grin on his gaunt face. IC-3270 was Dante Vreiss's official moniker, and that the Sarge would use it only meant that they were nearing their destination, and needed to hurry cleaning their kit so they could store it before landing.
"Wonder how El-Tee's enjoying his solo voyage" Ratchet murmered, hurriedly wiping down his scope, then checking his disassembled weapon for any areas he'd missed. There were several. He stowed his kit anyway, in his compact side-bag.
"El-Tee?" Kilner asked, looking up from his Imperial-issue equipment pack. He was wearing Stormtrooper armour, requisitioned by the Colonel for this mission; not that the Colonel had needed to go far.
"His initials" Ratchet said, taking a small earpiece out of the pocket of his civillian over-vest, and pushing it into his ear, where it lay indetectable. "Lucas Taylor".
"Sarge knows my name, Ratchet" El-Tee's voice crackled over the intercom, his clipped tones sharp and somewhat impatient. The poor guy had been flying the freighter solo for hours, and it didn't even take that much to get the guy irritable. As both ships began to descend upon Delephr, at far-enough intervals to simply be two very seperate ships arriving from two very seperate locations, the troops inside the passenger shuttle began to gear up. Or rather, collect their 'luggage', since Kramer had very specifically demanded plain-clothes from all but Sergeant Kilner, who was to be working under the guise of a trooper being transferred-in from elsewhere in the Carrion sector. Unfortunately, Kramer hadn't been able to secure an Imperial shuttle that was registered under Dominin, but he felt confident that Kilner's arrival on a public vessel should arouse no suspicion. The man was, afterall, coming under the pretense of a trooper being punished for his lack of discipline; such a discredited trooper wouldn't be granted the priveledge of private transportation.
"Coming up on the spaceport, calling comm silence. Good hunting, boys" Kilner said, standing and placing his helmet on. "Kriff, this is primitive..." he muttered, his voice sounding just like that of any other trooper; static-filled monotone. As the ships landed, Dante felt the familliar mix of anticipation and uncertainty. With his travel-pack bulging on his back, he was the first to descend onto Delephr's ferrocrete, squinting against the morning daylight. He wore simple civillian clothes, as did Ratchet, who followed behind.
"Let's go play civvie for a while" Ratchet murmered softly; Dante's earpiece picked it up, from the minute device installed in the lining of Ratchet's collar.
"Ooo, the joy" Dante replied in equally hushed tones; he didn't enjoy being out of his armour, and even the thin body armour he wore beneath his shirt didn't fill him with much confidence. He missed his HUD the most; the world seemed so empty without it, and he felt naked without a helmet.
He and Ratchet continued on their way, while Kilner walked purposefully in a different direction, to meet with the local garrison and speak to their commanding officer. El-Tee, wearing simple greys and a Delphran visor, exited his freighter to speak to a pair of Bothans that had come to investigate his delivery. Of course, hidden among the crates were all the explosives El-Tee needed to set up a small-scale disaster, but disassembled they were inconspicuous.
With a final nod of acceptance, El-Tee was given clearance to transport the cargo into the holding areas of the Delephran shipping offices. And Kramer watched it all, from way on high, in his rented room. He'd come to Delephr days earlier, in the guise of a wayward mercenary looking to lay low for a few days. He'd shedded his usual armour for something a little more discreet; no glowing red eyes glared from this helmet, just a simple black visor. Much of his armour was covered in a dirty garb he often used for desert jobs, but it worked as a passable mercenary disguise even here.
Now all he had to do was wait. IC-3270 and IC-4532 would, after appearing to make themselves at home, take a casual interest in the gathering protestors and eventually join the rally themselves. If all went accordingly, IC-3331 would join the ranks of Dominin's men, under the guise of Private Habash. The real Private Habash had met with an unfortunate but timely (and rather quiet) incarceration, owing to illegal substances found on his person at the transfer station on Gelda.
And then there was IC-5277, the demolitions expert. The act of getting into the offices holding rooms should be easy enough in its own right, as he was carrying an actual shipment that had been ordered days earlier; incidentally, the manifest had been written by Kramer, and found its way into the 'incoming orders' file in the Delephran offices.
It was all a bit too cloak-and-dagger for Kramer's liking; he preferred an outright display of force, and had never set much store by the methods employed by special forces such as the Imperial Commando's. If this went off without a hitch, as it should do, then he may consider changing his outlook. For now, Kramer waited. He'd know when it was time to start issuing orders. Added (13 Aug 2010, 1:01 PM)
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((OOC - Apologies for the wait, but I've amended the above post into something much more workable, and something I'm happier with. Hope this works, and lets enjoy the thread :P))
 Vahn Riktor Kramer
Governor of the Juris Sector "Intolerance is the first step to seizing control"
Message edited by Kramer - Friday, 13 Aug 2010, 11:59 AM |
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| AradDominin | Date: Thursday, 02 Sep 2010, 9:19 PM | Message # 3 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 19
Status: Offline
| At the spaceport, an Stormtrooper Officer walked towards the seemingly lost Stormtrooper stepping off of the transport. "Papers. Now." he said sternly. Looking over the datapad, he saw the record of the Stormtrooper and shook his head. "You're lucky the Moff hasn't had you executed you, Private. Report to Sergeant Kerl, over at the Delephran office." ordered the officer. He then promptly walked away. We're he not to report in a timely manner, questions would be asked, regardless when he did arrive, he was greeted by a very relaxed group. Two of the Stormtroopers could be seen bickering off to the side, and appeared to be normal. Sergeant Kerl was leaning against a crate, watching the crowd. When the Stormtrooper arrived, Kerl gave a nod. While expecting a salute, he wouldn't honestly say something quiet yet. He played his tricks on the FNGs that came in, and in truth, in his squad, one had to earn their right to slack off. He ceased to lean, reaching into his utility belt and producing a pack of Blacks, a clove cigarette popular in the old New Imperial Order faction that was prevelant nearby several years ago. He pulled out one of the black papered cigarettes, and lit it with his zippo lighter, taking a long drag before exhaling, producing a cloud of smoke that was unexpected. It in fact had a smell that was a combonation of something sweet and cinnamon. He licked his lips, enjoying the sweet flavor the cigarette produced in his lips the first couple of drags. "Want one?" he offered, before going into his speel. "I'm Sergeant Kerl, or TK-470. Welcome to Team 82-57, The Railrunners. We're an independent squad, often being augmented, specializing in urban operations. When we started our last tour back on Kalee, we were twenty strong. Unfortunately, the five you see before you are the only ones who made it out of that hell hole. Sitting and reading the paper is 522. The two arguing idiots over there are 735 and 834. Our resident female is 117. She enjoys her status as such, but is something of a hellcat. Welcome, 303, you're the sixth member of the team, on our wonderful stay here to boost our numbers before our next tour. Over there, we have our heavy weapons, which you're expected to man. We have an E-Web behind a barricade overlooking the crowd, and a T-21 with power pack reserved just for you." he said. There would also be a meriad of explosives and other heavy weapons available to him from a small cache of cases. The squad didn't honestly expect any trouble, but they came prepared just in case. At any moment, they could get the order to fire upon the soon to be crowd, or things could get hostile. Little did they know, what they were about to get involved in.
Moff Arad Dominin
Carrion Sector
Message edited by AradDominin - Thursday, 02 Sep 2010, 9:20 PM |
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