Air Base/Landing Strips

*Gaiscioch Dearg pulled up hard on the flight sticks on the borrowed shuttle as he plummeted towards Pzob's famous City of the Eye. His eyes sweapt over the landscape, confirming the most bizare reports that had been broadcasting over the open channels that it was, well, gone. His hand pulled back on the thrusters as the ruins began to expand in his view, not wishing to end his trip by becoming part of the rubble. The ship slightly vibrated at the sudden change of speed and Gaiscioch Dearg paused to consider what had happened. The city was completely wasted. The fleet in orbit had either shot at it with their ship board weaponry, or they had sent down bombers to destroy it at a much closer and more careful level. Gaiscioch's memory flashed for a moment and a vision of a destructive missle, laying waste to a small villiage and releasing a more than deadly infection into the air. One of his former self's memories trying to push into his brain. He did not know how he knew this, but he did know that this was one of Dragus' favorite toys for causing destruction. As Gaiscioch slowed his shuttle even further, almost hovering over the city, Gaiscioch paused to plan his move. Yes, he was here to kill Dragus, but he had lost his life once to underestimating this creature. He doubted that there was any enviromental suits aboard this craft which would mean he needed to be extra careful. Gaiscioch engangeed the maneuvering thrusters to fire precisely and keep him hovering over the city. He was not going down there without conducting a full scan of the area. He needed to be sure that any viruses launched here were dead before walking out there without some sort of protection...*

*As the enviromental scanner worked Gaiscioch Dearg tried his best to plan out a course of action. It was not an easy task considering the more odd reports coming in from the communication channels. The reports detailing the recent events. The destruction of the city started out as a simple terrorist cell active in the city, but the story grew into an odd tale indeed. A small terrorist cell had begun with small acts, but as they grew, so did their terrorist acts. The simple people that lived in the city made it seem like an enormous deal, but to the Sith controlling the planet, then it should have been an easy clean up. It was. Dragus had simply leveled the city and gone down to sweep out anything unlucky enough to survive. It was while he was down there that things had appeared to have gone strange. The dead seemed to reanimate before people's eyes. Anyone with most of a body left over after the bombing had gotten up and started attacking anything living. There was a city wide quarentine and the fleet in orbit was keeping anything from entering or leaving the city. Anyone breaking the quarantine laws were lazer targeted and vaporized before they got anywhere fast. However that didn't bother the Sith Lord hovering over the city. He was already in the city, apparently under Dragus' own command. Which meant he was free to roam the city, he was probably supposed to be eaten alive by these creatures that had spawned all over the city. That wouldn't happen to him. Gaiscioch would kill an entire army of infected beings to kill Dragus and he would demonstrate that now if need be. HIs enhanced eyesight leered down on the destroyed city below him. He could see vague shapes moving around, with little to know coordination. He would soon test just how strong they were...

However, he was still no closer to coming up with a plan then he was when he got here. This.. oubreak had made this a much more difficult plan then before. Infected beings roamed the city and since this was supposed to be the New Order of the Eye's capitol he was sure that there was going to be more than one leader here. It was possible that if he was to escape this place alive, he would have to decapitate the entire head of the Order under the Eye. That was a frustration all in itself. How was a man to plan to kill four when he only had vague descriptions and memories of one of them? This was not going to be an easy mission, Gaiscioch Dearg was still not at his full power, and he could only remember bits and peices of his old fighting styles and powers. If all four were indeed here then he could not take them all on at once. Even he was at full power he would not be able to kill four Dark Lords of the Sith all at once. He would need to spread them out, take each one down at a time. He was confident that he could overpower four men one at a time. But he needed to scout them out first. Fight through a number of diseased citizens to reach them. Dragus was his ultimate target. That traitorous creature needed to die even if none of the others did. Perhaps he could convince the others that Dragus needed to die. That by betraying Gaiscioch Dearg then he had betrayed what loose honor these Sith pretended to have. It was devious to be sure, and it could quite possibly secure him a postion of power within the order. From there he could eradicate Dragus forces until there was nothing left. And then he would see what would become of the rest of the order. They were a powerful group, but could they be trusted? Absolutely not. No Sith could ever be trusted, they would fight at your side only to turn and cut you down from behind if they thought that something could be gained from your death. That was the Sith way. And Gaiscioch Dearg was a true Sith whether people believed him alive or not. Death would not stop him from achieving ultimate power...*

*Gaiscioch Dearg's attention was drawn to his enviromental scanners at an insistent beeping from the machine. The vengeful Sith Lord smiled as the readings showed that the atmostphere and air around the city was safe to breathe now. There were a few exceptions, but none of those were around the citadel. Of course not, it was the only building left standing up. Which meant that was where he would eventually find Dragus. If he was not there then he would be eventually and so that was where Gaiscioch Dearg would find him and slay him like a beast. Dearg's hands lightly touched the shuttles flight controls and moved the craft towards the citadel's landing strips. It was a day of blood and his thirst would be quenched...*

*Charlie 2 fighter squadron was intently following Dearg's shuttle, 12 TIE Defenders with intentions of letting no one alive as soon as that shuttle landed. Orders had been given that this shuttle be shot down to prevent it from being taken over by the Mutant forces and being used to go off world. High command deemed ANY vessel landing upon any surface on Pzob to be too hazardous to left alone to land. As such, directive orders were maintained to shoot down any further air or spacecraft that landed in Pzob. Io Sorensen, Squad leader of Charlie 2, neither cared nor worried about who was inside of that shuttle, be it a member of the NOE high command itself or a company of soldiers, all were pieces of fresh meat for the zombies. And to Io, shooting them down was not only merciful, but necessary, as any and all who were killed, soon became infected. Io hovered his finger on the trigger and with his left hand guided the star-fighter as it provided "escort" services to the Shuttle, It was all a lie.*

*The shuttle started to hover around the Landing bay, Io knew what he had to do. Clicking the comm on the squads frequency, he relayed the messaged and ordered the fateful attack to commence. As he spoke with a soft voice on the comm signals, Io's voice became a hushed whisper, as the order he gave was necessary, but in the end, even the hardest cold killer had a slight pang of sympathy, It soon faded, as Io spoke to his squad*

:: This is to all Chalk units. Open up. ::

*An orchestra of firing commenced on Dearg's shuttle, all 12 members of the fighter squadron fired their blaster cannons and fired at it's shields through toward the engines and inside the chambers. No doubt anyone who had survived had only the faintest moments of safety to jump of before the shuttle was about to crash. Io held the trigger, his blaster cannons whispering their deathly wish upon the shuttle, wishing no one had to suffer being alive if the shuttle crashed intact switched to missiles and locked on to the engines with two Anti-Air's locked and ready. Io, a veteran fighter for many years and killed many men in the skies and in space, for once, closed his eyes and heard the faintness sound of the missiles being released. In the darkness of his chamber, only the traveling Beep Beep Beep alarm telling Io that the missiles would soon destroy what ever the squad left behind.*

*Repulsor engines greeted the ear with their whine as Dragus and his companions made their way down the landing strip. Now that the Curse was defeated, the quarantine lifted, and the blockade rescinded there seemed to be a return to the usual flow of traffic to and from the spire's air base.* *It stood to reason. The Order and its followers had been forced to make do with whatever they had available when the crisis first began. Many were in desperate need of relief supplies from the fleet.* *At one end of the strip lay a shuttle set aside for the High Council's use. It was an atmospheric vessel, little more than an ornate repulsor craft with ample seating room and extravagant detail. With one glance at the ship Dragus could already tell that too many credits had been spent on worthless decor. Upon reaching the craft he bent down and peered beneath the undercarriage, looking for any hidden imperfection or visible flaw. When he found none he scowled.* *No one to chastise, a pity.*

*Moving to the front hatch, his thin fingers glided over the controls and danced across the keypad, entering a numbered sequence of some sort. A green LED light flickered to life followed by a friendly chime. Then came the hiss of hydraulics as the hatch opened and a mechanical ramp was lowered to the ground. Dragus strode up the ramp and into the shuttles interior. Internal lighting powered on, causing spots to momentarily form on the Sith's light sensitive vision. His scowl became more indentured while a low rumble rose from the bottom of his throat.* *Was he growling?* *The Famine Lord approached the front of the ship and lowered himself into a leather seat designated for the pilot. Heavy eyes looked over the console splayed out in front of him as Dragus attempted to familiarize himself with the controls. After a moment, more than was needed to ensure both Rook and Sigma were aboard, he began to run through the pre-flight checklist.*

*Flying was something of a guilty pleasure of the Sith clone's, though he would never admit to it out loud. Be it starfighter or repulsor craft, there was a need for rapid acceleration. Within the Order he had something of a reputation for being reckless, having crashed more ships during his tenure as Lord than any other within the Empire's ranks. Hopefully today's flight wouldn't be an addition to that count.* *His left hand gripped the control yoke while his right rested on the accelerator. Pushing forwards with his right while pulling back with his left, Dragus launched from the landing strip and took the shuttle to air. It zoomed over the Outer Wall, increasing speed at a rapid rate while pursuing a course to the East.*

*Vindicus and Bacca mosey on over to Bacca's personal shuttle where they climb aboard and the cyclops starts the pre-flight checks and warms up Ion engines.*

*Kaibur quickly hurried to one of the shuttles and jumped aboard, his heavy weight making the shuttle lower a little because of his metal form. The warrior shrugged and smiled inwardly, relishing that feeling of vertigo anyway. The pilot shook his head with dismay, hoping not to crash due to the brutish warriors fatness, though Kaibur thought it rude, it would have been indeed amused to know he was kicked out because of his weight.*

"Hurry Pilot! On we must go!" The Cyborg cried out through the engine noise.

*The pilot kept nodding and complaining but moved forward nonetheless, Kaibur made one last communique to his student, hoping that as he followed the trail, he would soon catch up.*

:: Student, please hurry! Time is at stake, we must celebrate as much as we can, we leave for Hoth soon. Unless the Lords of the Order desires us elsewhere. On we must go child! ::

*The teacher looked down as the shuttle ascended to higher altitude, and it soon disappeared from view, journeying to the Pzobian Temple.*

*With Flight checks completed the Lord of War lifts the craft from the Tarmac, swinging the ship towards the Temple, he can feel ripples in the force, many are gathered at the mighty retreat of the Sith, pushing the throttle to full the attack shuttle speeds off reaching it's maximum flight output, it would take long for the two Sith to reach the front of the Temple.*

*Transports and shuttles of various make, mostly Ronto-class, landed at the air base in consecutive order. Boarding ramps were lowered and cargo bays were vacated as the TSTS ships released their passengers and luggage. Ewoks of all shapes and sizes disembarked, for many looking on Pzob for the very first time.* *These Woks had lived a considerably sheltered life, having been born and raised on Clak'dor VII's colony of Nozho. Most had never traveled off world, let alone seen the Eye's cradle at the furthest edge of the Outer Rim.* *Instinctively they took to the smell, their genes recognizing the scents of tree pollen and fresh air.* *Pzob was not so different from Clak'dor VII, though this sensation was further written still. Even though clones, the Woks had a genetic lineage linking them to the forest moon of Endor. They took kindly to any environment that boasted forests in great quantity.*

*Many of the Ewoks moved in groups, carrying their luggage over their backs as they lifted Woklings onto their shoulders and began to move towards the Citadel.* *The city was still undergoing construction, and if the Lord of War got his way, the Woks probably wouldn't be living there. Likely they were destined for Pzob's wilderness, which would be a change from the civilized living of Nozho, but was also an adventure many of them were looking forwards to. In the meanwhile, the Citadel would be home. The Famine Lord's entire wing would be used to house the furry flock.* *By the thousands they made their way to the ginormous structure that dominated the center of the city.*

*Jarypt had been assigned to check over the transports. Self-assigned, rather, but in a round-about way by using a simple Mind Trick and a commanding officer. The commanding officer stood and watched his every move as Jarypt looked over four transports.*

*There was absolutely nothing wrong with them, which was fortunate for Jarypt's needs, so he planting nodes. A simple flight plan for three, and a triggering mechanism in the fourth. Phase Two was complete, now just to-*

*A wailing battle cry sounded behind him. Jarypt spun quickly. An apparition was charging him, no longer a blue ghost-like figment, but a fully-colored illusion, shrieking and weaving a double-bladed lightsaber through the air as it ran full tilt at him. Jarypt stood and glared at it as its saber pierced his heart. He was not deceived, but it did sting, just a bit.*

*Such is my curse. The past supplies a small sting, I supply the rest. Jarypt thought.*

*Jarypt, with a datapad of sensitive info, a lightsaber, and several biological weapons. Behind, he left an extremely volatile fortress of fanatics, a desolate city, and one strategically placed IED in the Laboratory of the Citadel.*

*The three other stormtroopers split off from him and headed for the other transports.*

*Once inside, each of the stormtroopers turned on the transport and ran the simple flight plan. Jarypt did the same, but took the controls himself. Four transports lifted from the ground.

Obviously, this was not authorized and highly suspect, which is why Jarypt also activated the virus he had put in the turrets. It wouldn't last long against the Citadel's counter-measures, but it would shut down all the turrets long enough for them to get out of range.*

*The four transports all left in 4 different directions, north, south, east, and west, but collectively they were headed for orbit.*

*Everything was going according to plan. Jarypt was content.*

*The minutes ticked by, and with each passing moment the more Ka'an knew the faster he vanished, the better his chances were. He hated to abandon this city, or rather what was left of it...but he would return. Dragus would die. No brother would do this. He knew some would call his actions weak...that he was not a true Sith. Maybe they were right. Maybe he wasn't Sith. Maybe he was something...else. Something more. If massacring the people he ruled were the actions of a Sith, then maybe it was better not to be one. Of course, he certainly did not sympathize with those fool Jedi who locked themselves away in their Temples. Those moronic backsliding hippies did not know the first thing about true awareness...true existence. Sometimes, Ka'an reasoned, they did more harm to those they claimed to serve and protect than any darksider could. Shut away in their temples and towers, oblivious to the needs of the everyman, searching for 'enlightenment' in the realm of their precious 'lightside'. Ka'an had wondered more and more, pondered the thoughts of a seeker...and there were questions that neither Sith nor Jedi could answer. Was something as magnificent as the Oneness truly be thrown into the categories of 'good' and 'evil'? Could it be that simple, that---pun unintended---black and white? Light and Dark? Or was there more? Something beyond either side that both missed? Something stronger and better, something purer, something far more than either close-minded faction could see? And the more he thought...the more Ka'an had come to believe that there was more.*

*By this revelation, he had been transformed. He had transcended beyond the petty squabbles of these idiots. There was more than 'lightside' and 'darkside'. There was no sense to pointless butchery, nor to indifference and removal. There was nothing to becoming a mindless raging fool, and nothing to an impassive emotionless shell. There was one constant in the universe; the Force, the Oneness. It was not evil, and it was not good. It made no distinction between so-called light and darkness. It was balance, it was pure, it was beautiful. And so Ka'an became Lord of Chaos, biding his time until his true master, the Force itself, called him to arms. Not Lord of Chaos in that he embodied it or caused it, but that he was Lord over it...master of it. And like any master that disciplines a disobedient servant, he would chastise the imbalance it had caused. Those who perverted the Oneness with their narrow views would be purged. The Sith would perish beneath flames caused by their own mindless hatred that they had created and spread. The Jedi would burn in the temples they hid in while they ignored their true duty to the universe. A New Order would be forged from their blood and bones. Not the vengeance of the twisted Sith, not the judgement of the corrupted Jedi... but true justice. The Advent of the True Force would be realized...and it would be soon...*

*With these thoughts he comforted himself in his retreat from his people and planet. He left the citadel, arriving at the landing pads, still focused strongly on what was to come. The first thing to do was find his son, who he had learned had not returned with his fleet. This bode well...it meant Marrik had obeyed his father's final orders. He had been last spotted in orbit over Coruscant. A good a place as any to start. He finds his fighter repaired and refurbished. A few orders, re-managing of outbound flights, and his craft is brought to the nearest pad. He opens the cockpit and climbs inside, appreciating the extra space that had not been present last time he flew it. Granted, he had been in full battle dress...he begins the preflight checks, noting no discrepancies in any systems. He cuts in the thrusters, feeling the ship come to life and vibrate beneath him. There was nothing like the feeling of exhilaration that came with a takeoff; the blast of the engines fighting against nature's forces, the force of the gravity fighting back to hold him to the earth. He would not be denied, however, and the thrusters overpower the silly force that holds him to the earth. His craft noses up into the lower atmosphere, leaving the citadel further behind every second. He activates the craft's afterburners and is pressed back against the seat as g-forces push against him. The craft accelerates, soon reaching the upper atmosphere and headed toward the vastness of outspace beyond the orbit of this world.*

*Outside the Citadel at the airbase landing strips, an oddly shaped transport descended from the sky and came to rest on the tarmac. It wasn't a very large ship, clearly bigger than a starfighter but not by a great deal. Yet compared to a good many transports it was on the shorter side of the scale. It was a , designed by the engineers at Gallofree and assembled by the plant workers at the Twin Sun Station. The ship had been called away from the sales department and was now sanctioned for Order use. Its time spent at the airbase would be minimal as one was expected to arrive very shortly and collect said vehicle for personal use.*

*With planetary wide patrols finished, the "DEADBOYS" arrived to the Air Base/Landing Strip, they fly in formation of four groups of three, the swung in from the North and swooped by the Control Tower, "Maverick" kicked his thrusters to full and buzzed the tower, shattering the windows out, he trailed behind the group, they were all laughing over the comm as the Tower Operator tried chewing Mav out, he just cut his comms and landed with his Boys.*

*A Republic Class Blockade Runner hovered over the landing strips before given the clear to land at a designated pad. The massive red and black armored vessel lurched down and created a small dust cloud as she settled in. Coach powered her down and gathered his equipment. He noticed a crew coming out to aid in refueling and repairs and he growled. He got on the external speakers.*

:: DON'T TOUCH HER! ::

*The crew stopped in their tracks. Jasper laughed and got up, unstrapping from the pilot's chair he and the others disembarked down the landing ramp*

No one touches the goods. I do all my own repairs on her, she's my baby

{Landing Pad 1}

*The shuttle containing Admiral Alex├óÔé¼Ôäózander Keiths approached the Air Base, repulsor engines fired as the craft landed on the tarmac. Hundreds of NOE military forces were gathered on both sides of the very long walkway leading to the Air Base's structure, all stood at attention. The rear exit ramp of the shuttle extended and lowered to the ground as the Admiral exited the ship and walked down the ramp, escorted by 5 NOE with 1 and 1 {Cat o' nine tails style} slung on their sides, they all marched in unison as they passed the ranks soldiers.*

*A shuttle set down on the air strip and powered down. From within eight pilots dressed in service dress stepped down onto the tarmac carrying large duffel bags with all their belongings. They set them on a skiff and fixed their uniforms. They were members hand picked by Major Thomas Whitmore who lead them, they were a new fighter squadron picked by the Warlord to become a member of the personal fleet of the WArlord himself. Whitmore halted them and they stood at parade rest, waiting their commander to meet them*

*After the Admiral made his way into the Air Base's structure and was briefed on all things Military, Keith's had supper with the men, shortly after finishing his meal he was on the move again, the 5 NOE escorted the Admiral back out to meet his latest additions to the "First Fleet of the Eye".

Arriving to the landing pads he finds his new flight team already waiting for him.

Stepping down from the repulsor skiff with his guards, he walks directly to Major Whitmore in his crisp crimson Imperial Uniform.*

*Major Whitmore and his men wore not the crimson red, but the Darker Gray that signified them as pilots and platform runners. Their heads were covered by dark red berets that signified them as Combat Ace's. As the Admiral stepped off his lift Whitmore snapped to attention.*

Squadron 'tench hut!

*With one heel click the seven other men came to attention and Whitmore saluted the Admiral*

Major Thomas Whitmore, Fourth Fighter Wing and commander of the new unit sir.

*His own uniform was flourishing with racks of ribbons. Each one a different story. It was impressive, a pilot with so many different and diverse achievements, but it meant nothing in Whitmore's eyes. These were simply some General's way of boasting a meaningless task into something heroic. Whitmore's uniform, like all the others were pressed and shining, he took pride in his pilot's dress. Their form fitting berets bore the insignia of the Eye on the front.*

*Keith's was pleased with the unity of the group and there neatly pressed uniforms and the superb shine to the combat boots, he saluted in return, sharp and crisp.*

*Whitmore relaxed his stance and took note of the squadrons new Wing Command. He smirked.*

I haven't really thought of any catchy yet sir. Razorbacks is the name we trained under. These men have only seen a few hours of simulator combat with each other. We ran through the gambit of questions on the way over but they could use more bonding time to feel comfortable with their wingmen. I don't mean to intrude on any plans as I am eager to see what Command has in store for us. My men are at your disposal Admiral. What do you need?