Run On 1

Introduction:


Greetings, Cestus. And welcome to our first House Run On (RO). And that is no mean boasting because before this Cestus was an Obeliskan House. Which meant that it wasn't a House meant for writing as such.
Therefore, all of you Cestus-ians will be a part of this historic event! {Yes, I know. I am sounding very dramatic. That's for added effect }

Before we jump into this run on, I would like to clarify a few basic points of this run on.

1.) This is a run on reserved for Cestus and the Clan Summits only. Anyone else wishing to participate may not do so unless they have the permission of the Clan Summit and the House Summit.

2.) Please make it a point to have a minimum of 200 words per post. Short posts are more destructive than constructive.

3.) There is no limit on the number of posts you make. However you cannot post right after yourself. Give a chance to the others too!

4.) There are times when you would like to post after someone seeing a ripe opportunity. In these cases you should post a placeholder (Something like: "Writing next post..."}, and edit this post with your written continuation.
A note here: Please don't take too long to post. Keep it a maximum of 3 hours. We don't want others to suffer here.

5.) We would not like to alter any posts unless absolutely necessary. If you have a thought, but don't know if it is 'feasible' or 'realistic', don't be afraid to ask here. We have a wealth of RO experience in this House. We would be glad to help. This is a training Run On after all

6.) You need not have passed the Shadow Academy course on RO's. However going through it is very very helpful.

6.) Have fun with it! RO's are all about writing and having fun with it. So... onwards!!


{A note: For those who do not know what is a run on, the Shadow Academy has a very helpful course on them here}

Koros. Barren as far as the eye could see, and more inhospitable. One of its faces was ever pointed to its master-planet as if it was craving for the waters Yridia II contained, and pulling it regularly towards itself. Failing each time.
The rocky satellite drew little attention from the Yridians when the Victory-class Star Destroyer Corsair, the symbol of Tarentum’s old fleet crashed onto the once-proud complex of the once-proud Cestus.
Yet here it was, repaired and renewed with a new Cestus, and new fire burning within it, and very soon these new wicks would hold a flame brighter than ever.

Yet… the flames need to be torched. Sooner or later.

-----

The dull hum from the reactor of the Corsair reverberated through it. Its reactors still produced enough power to hold up the energy shield. The sense of protection this offered was just as vast as those in the Sword’s Sheath felt with their hidden base’s invisibility.
Dark Jedi Knight Kazarelth Talismarr felt just this as he coordinated the base’s daily operations from the bridge of the Star Destroyer. The Aedile looked content with the way the old crew of the Corsair had seamlessly integrated with their new work. He watched as the staff scurried to re-analyse a report here or to submit the energy-level readings of the engine there. One of them would occasionally come to him with a question, a doubt or the attestation of a report. All this was done swiftly and easily.
The Omwati now began to understand how well the ship used to be run, especially during the invasion of the Outsiders when each crewmember had to choose the best option available to him and enact this within the limit of his hierarchical powers.

“Sir, the shields are now working at one-hundred percent efficiency, sir.” The reactors officer spoke up to him.
“Good, officer. And the turbolasers?”
“We are working on it, sir. With permission from the Quaestor, we will be testing our fore batteries at 1520 hours sir, which is six hours and ten minutes from now, sir.”
“And you have it. Announce it to the House.” Karel Tarentae’s strong voice said. “I want this new home of ours to be perfectly capable of defending itself from any attack. Terrain or space-borne.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer left.

“When do you intend to proceed with training the new members, Karel?” Kazarelth spoke softly, as he usually did, “because a thought just entered my mind…”
“Good proposal my young Aedile!” Karel smiled at Kazarelth.
“I think involving the senior members would be a better idea. I have some experiments to perform.” The Omwati said.
“H’m. I’ll think about it. For now, I shall have to go back to the new members for a basic training program. Sato is with them now.”
“Right, then. But before you go do see this graph and tell me what you think of it.”

-----

The modified main hangar of the Corsair held the Journeymen of Cestus in thrall of its large area and its new designs. The walls were draped with the colours of the Clan, and the Order-colours. The warbanners of the House Summit draped three pillars at the northern edge of the hangar, between which were five chairs, and a central podium at a lower-height than the chairs. It was a temporary structure, no-doubt, its function being the pivotal construction of a hall reserved for Knighting and celebrations.
The young Journeymen of Cestus were being initiated into fighting with old weapons using their knowledge of the Dark Side. Merging two discreet skills into one was a tough job, and a trainer was needed to do this properly. Sato Tarentae was the perfect person for this job, both as an experienced member of the Clan and an efficient rollmaster. He was guiding the members of Cestus into their new House very well.
“Guardian [Expletive Deleted]en. You and Sabbastian will be working as a team against Huldrych and Seth. I do believe this would be a fine match to see--”
His speech was interrupted by a dispatch from the bridge.
“Sir, Quaestor Karel and Aedile Kazarelth want to see immediately.”
“Right…” he muttered, and then turning towards his students, he said, “keep practising. I shall be back in some time.”

-----

"You wanted to see me, Karel?" Sato said amidst the noises of the bridge.
"Yes. You see, I have an idea for a practical 'test' of your students..."
The three men pored over a small sheet of paper.

*Several hours had passed since the training exercise was dismissed. With a bemused grunt Huldrych gently prods the blaster scar on his side, brought to disgust by his own pain. A gentle “beep” in front of him brings him back to the now. Sitting in his quarters aboard the Corsair, the lights in the room were dimmed to a minimum, leaving only an ambient glow for Huldrych to work. While his droid eyes had properly adjusted to the lighting, every so often a gust of air from the ventilation system would blow the sheet he had hung over his transparisteel viewport, causing the harsh yellow light from the outside to burst into his quarters as if a volcano had erupted, eliciting a shriek from the Chiss and, often-times, a thrown piece of machinery. The stubbornness of the Chiss (in his refusal to just fix the problem) was evident by the many shattered droids and tools at the foot of the window.*

*Muttering a soft curse in Cheunh, Huldrych returned to the work set before him. Though often overlooked, keeping the ship’s droids in tip top condition required a great deal of maintenance and, as such, Huldrych had inserted a programming spike into the ship’s droid control brain and now virtually every cleaning, maintenance and supply droid moved through his quarters once a week to receive updated programming and cleaning with a precision that only Chiss droid engineers could achieve. Huldrych allowed himself a glimmer of pride as he cleaned bits of carbon scoring from the nooks of the droids which the previous maintenance teams had missed. No machine could be too perfect.*

*Every so often Huldrych glances up at his comlink, awaiting the flashing light of an incoming message, the announcement of the commencing exercise which the journeymen had been warned to be ready for. What better way to prepare than cleaning his new friends as they go about their daily business? As if reading his thoughts, the mouse droid he is working on elicits an agreeable *blip*. Odd how droids could do that. Setting the droid back down on its wheels, he sends it off through the small hole in the wall which the droids have been programmed to enter and reclines at his workbench. Pulling the home-made drape aside he peers out the viewport as the harsh wind tears at the surface of Koros. How disappointing that such a great warship be subjected to this environment. It should be in space, crushing pirates and enjoying the vigor and pride of the front line.*

*Absent-mindedly glancing upwards, the small light of his comlink is blinking. As he lets the drape fall back over the window the gentle, green flash of the communication device bathes the room in a staccato, intermittent glow. Knowing what the message contains, Huldrych stuffs the comlink in his pocket without listening to it, and heads for the hanger. He glances back at his workshop, envious of the droids still on the table waiting for repair and maintenance, before closing and locking the door and heading down the hall way, his old Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet boots clicking on the floor with each step, fading down the corridor towards the gathering journeymen.*

The shuttle scythed through the near vacuum of Yridian space the blunted lambda shape of the venerable Sentinel class landing craft pushing through the envelope of solar wind and dust. Inside the vessel there was only a sole occupant, a lone figure silently guiding the shuttle to its destination when the vessel could easily have held 60 heavily armoured troops and all the equipment needed to launch a small invasion but the single warrior, for that’s what he was amongst other things, had a mission as vital as any invasion; the abetting in training the new generation.

The inhospitable, airless husk of a planetoid drew ever closer; his new home. The reborn House Cestus had chosen their symbolic home as a place to foster their new beginning the proverbial phoenix rising from the ash, housed in the once-pride of the Tarenti fleet the Victory class Star Destroyer Corsair. Twenty thousand kilometres out and the ghostly silhouette of the destroyer faded into life on the sensor screen, fifteen thousand and the presences of everyone on the anchored vessel swam into his extended eldritch senses bestowed upon him by his training at the hands of the Death Dealers. The Force pulsated with the taint of events that had transpired on the world and the Dark Jedi who now called it home continuously poured their hatred into the ether. Focusing on a pair of minds in particular he released a pulse of his identity towards them.

-------------------------------------------

“We have company” Karel said as he looked up from the datapad, mind tingling at the mental contact.

“I feel him also. It seems the Rear Admiral is coming to visit. Ready the landing bay for his arrival.” Replied Sato Tarentae.

--------------------------------------------

“My friends, a pleasure to see you again so soon.” Welshman proclaimed as he strode into the bridge. The smell of solvents and fusion welds hung heavy in the cold air of the freshly repaired bridge, the frigidity prickling any part of flesh that was not covered by the voluminous cape and the ravenous, parasitic orbalisk creatures which covered his trunk and limbs in their protective carapaces.

“Welshman, what brings you to our humble abode?” Queried Karel.

“A new home…”

With a flourish of swirling black robes, Sato strode onto the command deck of the Corsair's bridge, following the force ripple to it's source. "I see you're still covered in those disgusting...creatures," Sato said in his even tone. "You look like a bleeding Vong reject." The
Battlemaster's cold demeanour was belied by the hand he extended to Welshman by way of greeting.

Grasping the proffered forearm of his old comrade, Welshman merely shrugged in reply. "They were all the rage in the days of Lord Bane."

Smiling crookedly, Sato turned to a deckhand, "You form a detail and see to getting Lord Tarentae's effects to his chambers." Turning to Karel, he bowed formally "With your leave Quaestor I must return to the training hall. The Journeymen will require more...hands on training if they are to survive this test ours." Turning on his heel, the young human nodded a curt farewell to Welshman.

"Just like the old days," the Warlord grunted.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Corsair training hall several hours later

Pain shot thorugh Sato's crippled right leg as the Battlemaster spun gracefully out of the sabre wielding droid's reach. Still in movement, the Equite delved into the Force, his pain extinguished by the velvety touch of the Dark Side. Focusing his power on the droid's sabre hand, Sato clenched his fist tightly, pulverizing the synthetic appendage. With a further elegant gesture, Sato swept the drioid off balance, ending the demonstration.

"As you can see, the Force is a weapon that requires subtlety and finesse to wield properly. That said, the next one of you lot I see bumbling around with it like a drunken jawa will need a month in bacta to heal the suffering I'll inflict! These blooming droids are EXPENSIVE! Now begone your training is over for the day!" Rubbing his head in the vain attempt to vanish the migrane which plagued him, the young Battlemaster turned to face an open side door, as he felt a familiar ripple in the Force.

Bowing to the shadowy figure of the Aedile, Sato answered the Omwati's question before he could ask.

"The Journeymen are for one exception progressing at a normal pace. That exception is Huldrych, who is showing greater than average potential in both combat skills and adpetness in Force employment. His master must be informed so that his training regimen can be...toughened."

With a glint in his eye, Kaz nodded his agreement as the two Dark Jedi vacated the chambers and made their way to the daily Quaestor's debriefing. Sighing inwardly, Sato steeled himself for yet another irritating session. He was afterall living the administrative dream.

The bridge of the Corsair was still bustling with its unceasing activity. Just like any other command centre of any other House. Sato and Kazarelth strode into the room and bowed to the tall figure of their Quaestor as he said, “Ah, I see you’re back with your duties, Sato.”
The Rollmaster nodded slightly, preferring the ripples in the Force to do the talking.
Karel continued, “I have decided to postpone our debriefing to twenty-one fifty hours. Our Aedile here has formed up a very detailed ‘battleplan’ for a mock-battle we would be leading the Journeymen of our House in.”
Sato was just beginning to get used to Karel’s to-the-point speeches. He looked at the map of Cestus’ base that Karel had given him.
“The two teams will start from the two extremities of the ship armed with blasters set to stun, and training sabers.” The Omwati’s wispy whisper of a voice permeated through to Sato’s aural cavity.
“Their mission is to ‘eliminate’ the other team. Focus will be on the spontaneity of their decisions and their usage of the Force in hunting the opposing team. Needless to say, brute force and concentration of their strengths would lead to their downfall in the cramped environs of the ship.” Kazarelth paused, and with a glint in his eyes, resumed, “Quaestor and Rollmaster, your duties as the leaders of the team is to monitor two command-circuits located at the start-points of your separate teams, and guide your team through to their goals.”
“Anything else we need to know, Aedile?” Sato queried. The Battlemaster, by experience, had come to mistrust the followers of Krath. And there was something oddly unnerving about that glint in Kazarelth’s eye.
“I am sure you know that the battlefield is a very unpredictable variable in a skirmish. Let it remain so just for the effect, Battlemasters.” Kazarelth chose his words sharply. “And the battle, starts at 1510 hours. Here is the separate lists of your team, gentlemen.”

The two Sith leaders shook hands with each other and went their way, holding a hard-copy of the list of soldiers.

----

Dark Jedi Master Sith Bloodfyre Tarentae meditated in his chamber. The ghostly tendrils of the Watcher entwined themselves onto everything that comprised the Corsair. He knew this vessel. His mind had wandered on this magnificent and gaunt Star-Destroyer many times. Sometimes in search of a singular to be summoned, or more recently, to surround the voids in the Force with a silvery sheen of the Dark Side.

He Watched.

Cestus had shivered when he set foot upon its home a few days before. The tremendous amount of energy he emanated in his wake was as thrilling as it was forbidding. He looked at the Dark Jedi of Cestus with a smile on his lips and a frown on his face. He was here to rejuvenate the old Cestus.

Here was a stir in the Force.

It was not surprising that the Sith Master never looked surprised at new arrivals to the House. The ripples in the Force resonated with his tendrils that now surrounded the ship like the fine vines that are seen to clothe old mansions with.
It was the same with both organic and corporeal people, and telepathic and ethereal thoughts.
Bloodfyre stood up. He had to investigate this stir.

----

Sato Tarentae sat in the small chamber located somewhere near the head of the ship. His eyesight grazed the walls lightly. The solid, cold and unforgiving metal that made up the walls was newly forged, and was one of the younger parts of the ship. This secondary command centre, just like the three others in the various corners of the ship, was remodelled from crew-cabins and the like. It had the essentials for running the ship, and providing assistance to the bridge. It was also designed with the wisdom in mind that in the unlikely case that the bridge fell into the hands of invaders, these secondary command centres could take over as emergency ‘bridges’.
The Battlemaster pondered. He felt he had an edge over his Quaestor’s team. He quietly ticked off the names of his team-members.
‘Seth, Huldrych, ShadowReaper and Kai’el’ he murmured.
He had sent for them, and he awaited their arrival.
He turned on the holo-map of the VSD. His face was sloshed by the eerie blue of the tiny virtual Corsair. The three-dimensional rendering of the ship faced him for a while and then started slowly rotating with the chamber he was sitting in as its axis. His mind was already filled with assault patterns as he visualised the skirmish on the image of the ship.
And suddenly, a few dots started blinking cheerfully on the holograph. Sato frowned, and he read the message on his screen. It stated: “INTELLIGENCE REPORT: The enemy has deployed mines in the coordinates which are currently flashing in the holo-map. Be advised.”
The Tarentae smiled triumphantly. He was right about the Krath, and his Aedile after all.

With a droid-like click of acknowledgement, Huldrych set his comlink back in his pocket, resisting the urge to smile. Droids do not outwardly express emotion, however, his elation was clear, even without the benefit of a smile. Setting down his most recent project on his work bench he strode across his quarters to an old junk-pile. Shuffling tubing, motivators, and other replacement parts aside he revealed an ancient wooden box ~5 feet long. Blowing the dust into the air, Huldrych set about undoing the latches and locks firmly securing the box shut. Pulling open the lid, he withdraws its contents, an ancient charric his family had passed down for generations. Even in exile he had secured his rightful possession over it. The rifle’s wooden stock still shone brilliantly in the dim light of his quarters, but he made a mental note to give it a good cosmetic cleaning after the battle. The metal of the action and the barrel had dimmed over time but the rifle still held a distinct deadliness to its look. Removing the long-eye relief from the box, Huldrych set about mounting it on the rifle, turning each screw carefully, as a mother sets her child in a crib. Satisfied that his weapon is ready he gives it one last look-over for rust. Not seeing any he sets the rifle down and shucks his mechanic coveralls, throwing them into a dusty corner of the room next to his work-bench. Opening his closet he withdraws the only other garment within. His old naval uniform, pock-marked with small tears sewn back up and small holes, long since patched, was never-the-less still a prideful garment, and the care taken in keeping it in the best shape possible was evidence enough of that. Donning his old uniform and hefting his rifle upon his shoulder Huldrych gives the droid sitting on his workbench one quick look-over to make sure it is in good condition to suffer a few-days of inactivity and sets off down the hall.

As he strode through the venerable hallway of the Victory Star Destroyer, Huldrych found himself imagining his feet where wheels, or at the very least, mechanical droid appendages. How grand life would be if he could feel the polished floor of the VSD. Not as his feet felt it but a more intimate contact, the constant rotation of his treads over the slick, polished surface. As his imagination wandered he found himself mentally transforming other parts of his body into mechanical replacements: his arms, his torso, his brain, his ey- ahhh! With a sigh of satisfaction (which he quickly caught himself on… droids do not express emotion) he felt his mechanical eyes, the black orbs whirring and buzzing under his fingers each time his focus changed. While inaudible, the slight vibration beneath the fake bio-material was reassuring none-the-less. Pleased with his droid-likeness Huldrych purposely allowed a smile and raised his chin a little higher. He would be victorious today, he was sure of it. What organic could defeat a droid? What flesh was harder than metal? What sentient was as calculating as a computer?

The smile still tacked onto his face he strode into the auxiliary bridge in the fore of the ship. With a click of his heels and a posture that only the military could breed into a being with dozens of years of training and service, he saluted Sato Tarentae,

“Reporting as ordered sir, point me at an organic you want eliminated.”

“The training should go well, it might be a chance to find some new talent…” the battlemaster pondered.

Karel stood in his armchair, reviewing the details of the training program. He accessed the terminal before him, and browsed through various schematics and reports.

A loud beeping sound broke the eerie silence, and Karel frowned at the thought of the interruption.

“What?” he spoke in a bored tone.

“Sir, we have just received a distorted message from Yridia VI. I believe you’d like to see it for yourself.”

Karel awoke from his sluggish state, closed the comm. channel and headed for the bridge. The door slid open with a low pitched sound and to the Quaestor’s surprise, a shadowy figure was blocking his path.

“Master Sith, what… what brings you here?”
“Relax, Karel, I know. I have felt it during my meditation. I shall accompany you to the bridge. Let us be quick about it” the Jedi Master spoke.

The two hurried along the corridors of the Corsair, making their way through the confused crew members.

----

“This is a distress….need help…not let them….signal Welsh….please hurry!” the sound of the desperate woman faded, blending in with the silence of the main bridge.

“Is that it?” Bloodfyre asked briefly.

“The message just cuts out, no communications whatsoever, we tried contacting Poen Plains back but we received no reply. “

“This is bad…” the Jedi Master frowned. “Contact Welshman”.

“He’s already on board, Sir. He arrived today in his personal ship. Would you like me to contact his quarters?” the crewman inquired.

“Delay that. Karel, normally this would be solved by sending out a patrol, but something is terribly wrong, I can sense a powerful disturbance on Yridia VI, inside the mine complex. I’d like to trust your members with this mission, but I feel it is too soon for them, they have not even received proper training.”

“Master, our numbers may be small, but we are not to be underestimated. Cestus can handle such a task, I am sure of it!” Karel raised his voice without realizing, and quickly lowered his head in shame. “I am sorry, Master Sith, I…I respect your judgment. Tell me what I should do”.

“You and Welshman must investigate this. It is his land after all; he’d want to find out what happened down there. Take someone else if you wish, but leave part of your summit behind so that they may oversee the training exercise. It is of the utmost importance that your members perform this task, I have a feeling they will need the skills soon enough. “

“Understood.” The Battlemaster bowed and left the main bridge, heading towards Welshman’s quarters…

The complex had been expanded somewhat since its initial construction, the necessity of expansion placed on the Tarenti and Brotherhood fleets placing a great demand on the raw materials which flowed out of the Poen Plains and other similar facilities dotting the Brotherhood's dominion. Half a dozen interlinked domes had been thrown up around the main facility to house the dozens of extra staff that were taken on to work the four new deep shafts, operated in the old fashioned way rather then the droid intensive manner of the previous shafts. Central to all the new habitats and warehouses was the extended shuttlepads thrown down to cope with the increased demand, aesthetics giving way to practicality and efficiency.

It was on this slab of hastily lain permacrete that three, otherwise non-descript, freighters had landed and disgorged their cargo, again not too uncommon for a remote outpost such as this. This time however the cargo was different, lethally different. From the bowels of each ship had poured heavily armoured commandos, powered armour devoid of sigils or identification marks only the pitted blaster craters belying the prowess. Within seconds of their booted feet hitting the compacted floor lightly dusted with carbon dioxide snow the docking bay officer and unloading droids were reduced to ruined husks and cooling corpses. Within two minutes the troops had penetrated the newer domes, death and destruction swiftly followed.

Trailing the bulk of the troops two lithe, petite suits of armour descended the ramp of the smallest freighter; formfitting plassteel accentuating the curves of obvious female decent. Mirrored visors facing each other, the vista of dry ice and dark space above reflected in the polarised faceplates. The taller of the two nodded to the second and fingering the characteristic pommel of a lightwhip. The Force crackled around the two women in anticipation of the slaughter to follow...

=======================

Kneeling in the centre of his new quarters Welshman allowed himself to be taken by the dark eddies of the Force coursing through the universe, feeling the cycles of greed, anger, hatred and violence pulsing through his veins, mingling with the toxin excretions of the parasitic shell which now ensconced him. Feeling the chemical react to the dark side energy within him the orbalisk venom acted like a potent stimulant, fatigue and weakness faded away under the onslaught of red mist. Breathing deeply through his nose Welshman fuelled the fire of passion burning within with each inhalation, in this not so tranquil state Welshman could feel the Force at a level he could never usually feel and events parsecs distant happened as though in the same room as him. As such a mass slaughter in the same system howled out to him.

Snapping out of his fugue like state his optics came online just as his doorway beeped.

“Come”

“Welshman... we have a situation at Poen Plains. We received a distress call and since then nothing.” Stated Karel matter of factly, his breathing deep and sweat glistening his forehead. Testament to the speed with which he had delivered the message.

“Then I must go.”

“With backup, your shuttle is being prepped and a team is being assembled.”

“No time Karel. You come with me if you want and if you can, grab someone on the way. I'm not waiting on this however, its taken far too much time and money for me to get that place up and running.”

Grabbing his cloak with a Force tug he made to leave his room.

Sato's meditation within the confines of the auxilliary command centre was broken as a powerful Force disturbance washed over him like a tidal wave breaking against the shore. Without thinking the Battlemaster leapt to his feet, his musings on the impending House exercise forgotten. With a Force assisted sprint, the Sith found himself on the bridge, pushing past Huldrych in his haste.

"Give me a status report on all Clan posessions!" Sato roared, his cool demeanour cast aside. Still tingling from the experience, the Equite waited impatiently for the duty officer to run through his checks.

"My Lord, all Tarentum stations and outposts report condition normal. The Clan is standing green-to."

Hesitantly, Huldrych drew forward, his head reeling from the tumult the powerful Equite caused in the Force. "What is it?"

Turning to face the Chiss, his remaining eye burning yellow and red from his Force immersion, Sato hesitated before answering, "I...I do not know. Someone or something has triggered a Dark Side event the likes of which I've never known. The others must have felt this." So saying, he stretched his Force senses out briefly to touch the dead hull of the ship, searching for the Summit or Master Bloodfyre. Sensing neither party aboard, he heaved a sigh and stretched out further, feeling the familiar presences burning brightly in the cold void of space.

"Welshman, and Karel are heading for Yridia VI," the Sith said his voice settling back into the serene tone so characteristic of him. "They're heading into a trap."

Turning to face the burning red eyes of the Chiss, Sato consulted the Dark Side for but a moment. "There's no time to dwadle here. You young one are with me. Officer of the watch, leave instructions for the rest of the House Equites and their apprentices to muster and meet me on Yirida VI, I will send the exact coordinates when I arrive."