Galactic Empire: Serving the New Order

*Joric nods to himself, pleased. He gives Dralon a harsh glare.* "For everyone's sake, I hope the Emperor's advisors are quite .... through. I hear Lord Vader's techniques often leave no visible marks. I'm sure rumors that he's killed a number of men that displeased him are simply that. I'm sure your father, too, will be quite proud to welcome you home, Cadet." He gives a perfunctory salute to Devlin and the rest, and leaves without any further comment, returning to his quarters to prepare for the journey.*
 

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Dralon snarled at those left in the room. Don't think of this as a defeat Major. I will be back and greater then ever. You will be my lap dog when I come back. My father and I will see to it. Dralon stormed out of the room.
 

"It seems we've been given a stay of execution... for the moment, at least." He looks at Rannik, "Well Major, if you've no pressing need of my services, I'll be at the firing range and then off to the simulators. As well, a few of the privates have asked me to lead them through some of the more advanced drills." He nods, "By your leave."

He stands and stretchs his nearly seven foot frame. "Next time, we won't fail..."
 

Devlin, ISB agent.

"Run along little boy. Daddy's waiting."

Devlin smiles innocently at Dralon as he storms past.

He turns to Tycus.

"Good luck. You're better out than in of this one I think. You seems to have been blessed with your superiors."

"Whoa. Hold up Archimedies. You don't mind if I join you at the range, do you? I'd like to get a little time in with some weapons. I'd appreciate your input."

Assuming the storm trooper agrees, Devlin sets off with him to the range.
 
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Rannick rolls his eyes after Dralon storms off, but can't keep the visual coming into his mind of shoving the barrel of his blaster rifle into the man's smug face and pulling the trigger on autofire.

He turns and nods to the stormtrooper. "By the way, good work down there, all of you. If it wasn't for Dralon, we wouldn't have failed this time."

He says in a more quiet voice. "It took quite a lot of self-control for me not to empty my blaster into Dralon's face. I wonder if I can convince a tech to misalign the compensators on his shuttle... it'd be doing the galaxy a favour to have him littered over half a quadrant. It'd be too bad for Joric. He's a good man... but some sacrifices have to be made." he adds with a note of morbid humor in his voice.
 
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Archimedes nods to Devlin. "Lets go then."

Hearing the Major's musings on the way out, he chuckles.

Turning back to Devilin, "So, what kind of weapons are you familiar with?" He begins lechturing on the virtues and uses of certain blasters in certain situations and about things the 'troopers are taught that Devlin likely didn't pick up at OCS.
 

Devlin, ISB agent.

"Pistols," Devlin responds, tapping the sporting blaster at his side. "They don't go in for weapons training much at ISB. But I'm fairly handy with a stun club," he adds with a grin.

"I'd like to pick up a pistol with some clout. And I wouldn't mind a little work with rifles. You'll all probably be safer if I don't carry one for the moment, but you have to start somewhere, right?"
 

At the firing range (Cause it's more fun this way):

As you enter, a man has just finished his run at the targets, and is talking to a trooper next to him. "I dunno - they just brought me in. I hear the group had a major snafu, killed some higher-up's kid, let some rebels escape. Pretty sloppy group overall, it sounds like. So yeah, I'm just thrilled I'm getting imported. Sounds like they're rather heavy on the order-givers, and light on the useful people, so that could explain things...."
 

Devlin, ISB agent.

Devlin breaks into an easy laugh.

"You heard right. We needed a little more grunt, a little less ego."

He gives the man a once over.

"So you must be the grunt."

But the smile on Devlins face seems genuinely warm, and he holds out his hand.

"2nd Lt. Devlin Tremblane, Krytes Dragons, on secondment from ISB. Not sure if I'm one of the order givers, or one of the useless people."
 

He looks over to the hand, and grins as well. "Either way, you don't fit the description of the arrogant SOB running the show." He snaps a precise salute, then shakes the hand. "Sir. Warrant Officer Talsriaanel Dolgeth, recently assigned." He gives Devlin just a moment to run over the name in his head. "Most people just call me Sri. And yes, I'm a grunt. Imperial Army, sniper and long-range weapons specialist. Though you won't find me boxed up in a tin can, I'm the Emperor's man." Sri carries a sizable rifle, a bit over 2 metres in length, and obviously heavily modified. "The rifle is all legal, sir, before you ask. Upgraded it myself."
 

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