Delta73

Delta's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he reached far back into the memory banks, and tried to remember a young Jedi girl he may have murdered. Nothing, nothing at all. A smile spread across his face, "Well perfect, without my love for this woman, I guess I am free..." He looked towards Qaela, his eyes portraying his admiration. "Well, what now? What do we do? What is the next logical step.....All I know is that we are going hunting.....so it's time to suit up fully."

"I...I..." He shook his head in frustration, "I killed a girl...and the memories were haunting me?" He asked the question hesitantly not quite sure if he was right. He shook his head again, slightly miffed at his memory problems. He gazed again at Qaela, she was very pretty. His gaze softened, she looked very good in her armour, very pretty.

He nodded slowly, "I guess I do, I can't remember anything at all of what we were talking about...So I guess you are a master of your craft, ma'am." His soul was yet again cleared of the agony that had longed plagued him. He felt relieved, ready to dance to the drums of war yet again. He placed his helmet upon his head. "Well, where is yours? The RCAA3 link will be very helpful in the temple....."

He scratched his head and looked around quickly, there were no sounds of droids echoing from the corridors, no shouts of dying clones. Where the hell was he? He searched his memories, and then it hit him. "Qaela.......what just happened?"

Delta awoke to find himself Laying down, with his hand clutching another troopers hand. She was a female, very strange, but her uniform was regulation, if a little big. She must be part of the new batch... He shook his head in mild confusion, his vision slightly blurry. He felt slightly sick to his stomach and he looked around the room, his hands clutched for his helmet and he gazed at Qaela intently. His blonde eyebrow shot up in suprise. He scrambled to his feet and swayed slightly, he clutched at the wall to support himself. His hand jumped to his temple in salute. "RC-24601-D073 ready and reporting for duty!" His gaze wandered around the lavish set of quarters, as well as the armour she wore. "Where is your helmet soldier? We have a war to fight! The Seppies have got to be right around the corner...." He sank into a kneeling position and levelled his WESTAR at the doorway. He head spun towards Qaela, "What did you say took me out of commission?"

That was, as always, great work. I loved the flower part, everything is so well described that I could just see it all happening before my eyes. Very well done!

Delta sat, his annoyance showing, as he ran through his various fighting styles. Still armoured, his hands striking an invisible opponent. He jumped over an invisible blow and came down in a crouch. He brought his fist up and ejected the vibro blade deep into the enemies heart. He caught his opponent and dropped the invisible body to the deck. He stood slowly and readjusted his helmet, still no signal from Miss Qaela, so she must be still having fun with Ar-Pharazon. Delta shook his head in bemusement, attempted to flick his channel again to see if her helmet had been turned on, when it hit him. ~~ Like a brilliant golden thread spinning through a loom, a sensation marked by a faint whisper in the force came drifting through Delta as the procession neared Coruscant... ~~ When the channel changed, a presence like an arrow pierced his side. A feeling he had not felt in years, an eerie feeling of comfort. IN an instant he was back to the war fought years ago. His vision cleared and he was standing in a grove of trees. Pine, he could smell the scent coming through his mask filter. The air was mixed with the sharp metallic taste of ozone, from a recently discharged blaster. He looked from side to side, there was his squad, The second Delta task force assigned to the outer rim. There was Commander Tal'Rang off to his right holding the sniper rifle, his pod mates, Hettyc and Talyc. They were slowly advancing towards a tent, with a single occupant. Delta took aim as she exited the tent, and his trigger finger depressed. Delta awoke with a scream, he was lying in the middle of his floor, still armoured and helmeted. He quickly stood, a feeling of dread overcoming him, he opened his door and quickly exited. He could not stand this anymore. These dreams, visions, nightmares. It scared him.

I keep three different documents. My story itself, my research and random ideas, then the Dramatis Personæ page which is divided into the different parts and chapters.

A communiqué arrived for the agents Kayal And Omega73. Inside were mission details, and several other things of note. Including the message to get their asses in gear. As well as the message to bring tonnes of pudding.

Delta accepted the kiss, and smiled at her retreating form. She was quite good looking, that was for sure. He re-holstered his weapons, and replaced his helmet. He made his way to his quarters, and when he arrived, he composed a message to a couple loyal black sun agents to be dispatched when the ship made its next micro jump, to confuse any tracking devices. When the next jump came, a COMM tranmission was sent to Crosa Hoveritch and Kayal of Zinthos. It told of the mission and the actions, Delta requested.

Thanks for reading Tobias! I appreciate the encouragement. Thanks Alex, I appreciate it. I will try to keep the comprehensiveness up to par. Yeah the different perspective was interesting to write, thats for sure. Thank you so much DB.

His head inclined for a moment, and he picked up the helmet yet again. He reached a gloved hand to one of the inner control panels and clicked several buttons off. He handed the woman back the helmet. "There is how you do it, but if you disconnect from the network, you loose certain advantages, such as communication." He laughed softly, "Yes but I understand the need to drop off the map. So use it at your discretion. There is also a 'share your view' option, and that can be very tactically helpful. As long as you are within a system's distance away, we can rapidly transfer data back and forth. Otherwise, you will need to connect to a HOLO signal."

Delta laughed as he picked up the shell of armour, still far from completed. "Naturally black, I did not know how flashy of a person you were!" He thought back to Creton one of his fellow Delta's who had painted his armour luminescent pink for some odd reason. Made him quite the target until he was cut down in the Utapau campaign. Delta had not been there at the time, and had been regulated to a different and fateful assignment. He ran his gloved hands over the armour. It was slightly thinner than his own, but it was still duraplast, and with the proper seal, she could float out in space for a bit of time. He grinned and began to shape the armour to her form. Working with her he made a full set of Katarn Mark 2 armour, lighter than his own, with a smaller helmet. Jet black, like the space they were surrounded by. He activated the helmet, and set up the HUD, it glowed a soft red within the confines of lit room. "This will allow you to see the various light spectrum's, as well as other simple things, and gives you a direct feed into the RC-AA3 network. Which is run by me, a very quick way to relay information. It even monitors the vital signs of your squad members and yourself. If you are wounded, I will know it." He gestured to her, "Perhaps you would like to try it on?" He held up a suit of impact mesh, which would protect against knives and the like.

Great job man, very enjoyable, well done. I loved the art where Varric is stuck in the seat. You know their characters very well. I can hardly wait to see your descriptions of the Hanged Man!

Your conversations are brilliant. Well done sir, it is very enthralling, and the characters are extremely well done. Jason's style of talking is very pleasant to read, the accent comes right off the page. And the conversation between Jason and Ferrer was great, perfect use of language here and there. I could really feel the tension.

Ca'Aran nodded sympathetically. "Your heart and mind are strong, I look forward to when you may be able to throw off the bonds of servant-hood." Lord Ar-Pharazon was an interesting master, Ca'Aran, wouldn't wish that on anyone. He stood and walked to one of the storage chests against the wall, it was filled with his equipment from the Marie. How badly he missed his great ship. He lowered his head and sifted through the spare sets of armour. He withdrew a smaller set of armour and he set to work on it. Remoulding as he talked. Reforging a set of armour that had served him for many years. A set of Katarn Armour for the lady Qaela. He trimmed down the arm armour and the leg armour, keeping the chest-piece almost the same, he moulded it for the female form. A bit awkward. He turned showing the slightly trimmed armour, thinner in places other than the chest and vital areas. It now looked more adequate for a stealthy commando. He placed a helmet beside it. It was formatted for him, and would provide excellent vision whether light or dark. He gestured to the suit. "What colour would you like everything?"

I really loved it COEM, it really hits me today. Thank you for putting this forward.

She sat down next to him and Ca'Aran looked sympathetically towards her. She was quite beautiful, he did not wish to see her toss her life away serving anyone. "Why do you care about the Sith? I am here to forge an alliance between Black Sun and the Sith." He paused and played with one of the small knives from his belt, it was very sharp. "I was lucky to find friends here though, so I must ask, what makes you want to be a tool of someone else's work?" He twirled the knife from finger to finger, "You are a nightsister, why throw your life away for him? Or do you have other plans? I hardly think you are one to go blindly along with another's plan...." He was hesitant, "Many people throw away tools when they are done with them, as such you must be wary. I should fit you out in a set of Katarn Armour if you wanted..." It would make her very scary looking, and be a bit helpful against nasty blaster bolts.

Ca'Aran was shocked completely when the woman kissed him. It was not a shock of disgust, but more of shock concerning how easily this woman gave herself away. He returned the kiss, his blue eyes wide as their lips met with ferocity. When they were finished, as she was walking away, he called out, ”œDo not think to give yourself away to me, you needn't do that. Unlike some, I do not need your”¦.”

Thank you so very much for the encouragement, Lee. I love history, so I guess that shows a bit. Yeah, it is somewhat interesting, though a quick search of Budd Dwyer gave me a couple clues what you were talking about. Yikes. I guess it was semi-sympathetic, in a way. I despise the man with every ounce of my soul, but I wanted to give a view of him not often seen. He will be back, I can assure you that. Yeah as the story progresses, it will get darker. Thanks Ben! You are very helpful!! Thanks so much guys for the encouragement, I look forward to many more chapters to write!

NON STAR WARS Allright, this is my first story I have ever written so be nice to me. Berlin, 1945 Dramatis Personæ Friedrich Gurthvine ”“ Truppführer of the Hitlerjugend, operating under command of Artur Axmann Verena Gurthvine ”“ Member of Das deutsche Mädel, Operating with her brother under Axmann Trudi Kerske ”“ Member of Das deutsche Mädel, Verena's best friend. Philipp Albre ”“ Member of Hitlerjugend, Friedrich's best friend. Helga Susanne Goebbels ”“ Child of Joseph Goebbels Adolf Hitler ”“ Leader of the Third Reich Rochus Misch ”“ Personal Aide to Adolf Hitler Falk Gurthvine ”“ Leading member of the Sturmabteilung in Berlin Lara Walvert ”“ Active member of the Catholic Centre Party Abram Lanclet - Owner of Lanclet's Fineries _________________________________________________ A deep throbbing pain struck him again, his hands squeezed into fists in silent agony. With every distant thump of artillery, a shooting pain blasted in his head. The world he had formed was slowly crumbling to destruction. The city where he had taken power was now getting shelled by the cursed Bolsheviks. If only, if only, there were so many choices he could have made, yet the fates had brought him here. To the edge of his destruction, at the hands of a man he had once betrayed. His glasses trembled on the edge of his nose as the pounding of artillery hit nearby. They were deep underground, yet even this fortress of solitude would not hold them forever. His sweaty palm clasped the pale hand of his lover, his wife. The distant laughter of children echoed through the Fuhrerbunker, they were most likely playing a game with Misch again. Their noise throbbed in the back of his head. He considered calling out to them, telling them to stop, but he couldn't bear to think that their last memories of him would be ones of anger, if they even survived. He slowly stood, rubbing his temples and walked slowly to the doorway. There was Misch, playing with Helga Goebbels and her little dog. She was twelve now, he could feel another twinge of regret as she saw him from the corner of her eye. She stood and saluted, her hand raised, whispering the words Heil Hitler. He could feel his heart break again. The pain in his head increased tenfold. He spun on his heel and fled down the corridor to where his wife was sitting. He reached behind him and closed the steel door. It was a mighty door, re-enforced for the inevitable Allied bombing runs. He locked it slowly and sat, looking to the great calendar upon the wall. He could not see it well, perhaps his glasses were smeared. He took them from his face with a trembling hand, and he could feel warm tears streaming down his face. Wiping his eyes with a blood-red kerchief he could see the calender. It read April the 30th, 1945. He said a few curt words to his wife, reassuring, and reached into the cabinet upon the wall. His heartbeat increased, as did the throbbing in his head. His hand appeared again from the confines of the mahogany cabinet, in his hands he held a pistol, specially made for him. The Fuhrer, the leader of the master race, Adolf Hitler. This was the end. A pistol shot echoed throughout the bunker, halting the playing of Helga and Misch. Silence overtook the bunker, and Misch patted Helga on her head. Her blue eyes were wide with fear, his own heart trembled with what he knew he would find. It would not do for her to see it as well. So he told her to go to her room where her family was waiting, into the clutches of her mother and father. He straightened his uniform nervously and walked to the steel door. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed it open after disengaging the lock. The figure that for an entire generation kept the German people under his sway was hunched in his seat. He looked like he had many times before, looking at the battle maps of Normandy and Caen. Except now, he was hunched, staring vacantly to the concrete floor, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, dripping onto the floor of the bunker. Misch's gaze found Eva Braun, who was convulsing upon one of the couches nearby, breathing her last few moments away as the cyanide took hold. Misch felt sick and it overcame him he ran from the room, past the young Helga Goebbels, to his room. Where he cried, like he had not in a very long time. The world, in all its wonder, had come crashing down for the German people, led by the man who had just taken his own life. The Soviet shells continued to fall, smashing the high hopes of many. ____________________________________________________________ Outside the Fuhrerbunker, the Soviet shells were doing more than crushing the ambitions of a few evil men, they were spewing havoc across the streets of Berlin. Cries of the dying filled the ears of Friedrich Gurthvine and his troop of nine Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) he had left. The defence of Berlin had been a disaster, for the Soviets were too many for the few well-trained soldiers that were left alive. As such, the defence was left to those who could hold weapons, and to those who had enough fierce loyalty to Hitler to give their lives for a cause long dead. So was the attitude of these nine youths, all far too young to realize the futility of their actions. They were to fight the soviets to the last man and woman, in a futile attempt to rid the city of an overwhelming foe. Friedrich and his nine were making their way back to the divisional command, under the orders of Artur Axmann whom Friedrich idolized. Friedrich gestured to the others and they found positions behind the fallen rubble. They were very lightly armed, Friedrich himself only had a Karbiner 98 from the last war, while the two girls, his sister, Verena and her friend Trudi only had weapons scavenged from the dead Soviets; Nagant rifles. They could see a Russian patrol ahead going from house to house, Friedrich took aim, but the Soviets disappeared into the next house. He lowered his rifle and sighed. There was no use in firing into a house, especially when he couldn't even see where they were. A buzzing could be heard from the sky and his blue eyes flicked skyward as the mortar rounds fell from the hazy grey sky. A blast of concussive force, then a great pain in his body. He could hear above the ringing in his ears the screaming of his sister suddenly being cut off as if it were a radio shut off in a fit of rage. The silence was deadly. Part 1 - Berlin 1927 - Chapter One The country was coming apart at its seams, yet in the desperation of those times two lives met and rejoiced. Falk Edwin Gurthvine walked with his comrades through the avenues of Berlin dressed completely the same, from shining brass buttons to their red and white armbands adorned with the dark, spider-like insignia of the swastika. The brownshirts, the Sturmabteilung, the SA. They terrorized those deemed the enemies of the German people; they were the right hand of Nazi Party and clenched Berlin within a fist of iron. Yet Falk was an exception, he had something to dream for, something more than terrorizing the enemies of the Third Reich. Then he saw her, his Lara, the pride of his heart. Saluting the rest of his gang, he ran to her grinning widely. ”œWhy hello, Lara!”

Ca'Aran laughed softly to himself and took her grasp. She was right, he was not aiming to be good, not bad. He had to do what was best for his men. "Thank you miss, I will hold onto the shreds then." He smiled slightly, "WEll I am glad to have you as an ally any day..." She asked about Terra and Ca'Aran mentally went through her case file. "Terra is a good agent, still a little young for promotion, but she is loyal to Black Sun and Lord Ar-Pharazon, she will be a valuable ally in the days to come."

Ca'Aran lowered his head, and sighed. "I was righteous once, long ago, perhaps what saved your life was the last shred left in my dark heart." His voice was strained with regret. "I wasn't always a demon amongst men, but where I am now, there is nothing left to me." He had sinned one to many times, he had fallen from grace when he pulled the trigger on his general. His Kailen, he could feel the dull ache in his belly again. But Qaela would most likely not be impressed with this sudden portrayal of emotions long kept silent. He stayed silent for several seconds, "Well, I guess I will never know what possessed me to save your life, but none the less, the deed is done." He ran his hand through his hair again.

Ca'Aran gestured to the table of weapons, "These Sith are legendary for their back stabbing, and then again, so are Black Sun agents." He laughed and looked at her again, she was very pretty, yet her smile then had been something he had not seen since the great war. A smile of genuine happiness, he could tell, her eyes showed her sincerity. He inclined his head honourably. "I did not save your life for your debt, or other materiel things." She accented the words with a firm shake of his head, "I did them because they were the right thing to do." His mind flirted with the idea of them two escaping from this evil party, but his code would not allow it. He had signed a contract, he was a leader of Black Sun, he would not abandon his agent in the field. His hands closed into fists, "I will fight beside you any day miss. Not for money, or other things, but for friendship. I think you for the honour of such a thing."

Ca'Aran smiled as he entered the sitting room, she was sitting, smiling with her lightsabre and her beautiful form. He blinked and found a seat opposite of her. Her gaze lingered on his weapons and he grinned. He reached down and withdrew the blaster and flechette launchers from their holsters and placed them on the table opposite of them. There would be no confrontation here. He would very gladly take his armour off as well if that made her uncomfortable. Though it had never made Kailen uncomfortable, yet she had been a very different person than who he was sitting opposite of now. He had been in different company then, better, kinder, organized. He could feel a twinge of regret when his thoughts pondered upon Kailen. Qaela was no doubt looking into his mind at this moment seeing the flashes of memory with his General. He shook his head, attempting to pull himself from dismal thoughts, ”œI am glad Quietus is not here, he is a dangerous man.”