Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Invasion Kingdom Come: BotM Invasion of TSE Held Thule

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Location: Bloodwoods
Objective: Du-du-du-duel!
Tags: Ingrid L'lerim Ingrid L'lerim
Weapons: Sword | Axe

As Zachariel explained his tale, he kept an eye on Ingrid, listening as she spoke and seeing her reactions. It was also reassuring in a way, to know that at least one other knew his pain, if only partially. However, the matter of there being no gods was something he disagreed with, for he had seen them. What they truly were, Zachariel had no idea, but gods was the only fitting way to describe them in his mind. Still, he said nothing yet, simply continuing his tale, gauging what she might do.

He also wondered as to what she was thinking, and though he didn't know it, their thougths were similar. Ingrid and Zachariel could not be further separated in differences. Her, a paragon of control and order, a leader of 'civilized' people, accepted and respected. Him, an icon of death and destruction, a warlord of chaos, madness, and death, feared by many. But here on the battlefield, they were one and the same. Two warriors and leaders coming to discuss and then engage one another, with one leaving the battlefield worse off than the other, if at all.

But though his body was ready for that, his mind was on his past, on those gods he had met. The Avatars of the Maw were real, after a fashion. How close to the ideals they truly were, Zachariel neither knew nor cared. He only knew they cared little for their followers, yet welcomed the worship regardless. And few things truly caught their attention as well as battle did. Worthy opponents made the blood and skulls offered all the better. But Zachariel was snapped out of his thoughts as Ingrid spoke once more, and she was speaking with a sort of finality.

He couldn't help but snort at her words, shaking his head slowly. Zachariel could sense she was genuine, but to an extent that she also underestimated him.
"You seem so certain, Lady Ingrid, but I wouldn't be." Calmly he removed his weapons from his back, idly holding them by his side as he tilted his head at her. "Are we truly? Nothing we have done is any different to the Jedi or Sith over the millennia, we simply don't hide our actions. Our strength and purpose is more than any other can even claim. The galaxy has grown weak under them, stagnated, and suffered. They are a cancer, as so many other groups in this galaxy are, one we will burn out. A new age is coming, one of simplicity and power, of the strong ruling and the weak being ruled."

Ingrid was genuine in her statements, but so was Zachariel, he was earnest in his beliefs. The galaxy needed to be purged of weakness and the fools that currently ruled. It also went unspoken that the Brotherhood was far better in terms of battle, providing Zachariel a sorely needed outlet of violence. They would purge the galaxy of weakness, by force as it was the only language all understood. Crouching slightly, Zachariel readied his weapons, preparing to prove that point once more.

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E T E R N A L - E M P R E S S
Moderator
Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group
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Location: Enenpa, the Bloodwood
Objective III.: Finish the dance with Zachariel
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood
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[ Solitude ]

Ingrid didn't underestimate the man, she knew what he was capable of, the benefits of what his race was; she saw what had become of him as the Force had corrupted him. Seeing what had happened in the Netherworld, she felt the chaos in the man. The woman had a different opinion than the man. However, she agreed with the second part of the man's words. Indeed, the galaxy had to be freed from them.

However, she could not say that out loud. The ideas of the Wardens of the Shroud had to remain secret. After all, at the end of it, the “rule” of the Maw would also end. Like any Force user-ruled state, empire.

The Jedi do what is right. The Sith do what they want. We do what is necessary. the phrase of the Wardens.

This sentence also defined the woman's actions so far. However, she disagreed with Zachariel's words, at least with the end, about the rule of the strong and the oppression of the weak.

"I agree that they are a cancer, but I'm not agree with you in the other view that the strong should rule everything. Because Force Users are no different than anyone else, they only deify and place themselves in front of others. It is not a force, and because you believe that it is because of the Force that you have more power than others. This makes you the same as the Jedi and the Sith, Mr. Steelblood. The Galaxy needs to be cleaned in another way."

She finally had her own weapons with her, not the lightsabers. She never really got used to them, and liked her vibroswords much more. As Zachariel pulled out his own weapon, the woman also pulled out the two black-and-red blades.

"I hope you understand Mr. Steelblood, but I can't let the chaos spread in the galaxy. It is unfortunate that your anger and hatred were not turned against the Bryn’adûl. Attacking the weak is nothing but cowardice and weakness."

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Post: 3
Objective: End of All Hope
Equipment: Red Midnight Duster | Red Sith Armor | Sith Mask | Grav Boots | CrushGaunts | x2 White lightsabers | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | Variety of Explosives | RSKF-44 heavy blaster | X-21 shock glove (Stored in her coat pocket)
Allies: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren
Enemies: Arctus Silmar Arctus Silmar | Darth Mori | Darth Strosius Darth Strosius
Special Tags: N Nyxeris



Khaos just managed to scramble to her feet the lightening seemed to not even cause the other witch to flinch. As she made it to her feet sand, dirt and mud began to swirl up around her being pulled from the ground. Khaos turned about as the dirt scratched at her armor and helmet getting disoriented do to the fact the sky was already dark and the dirt and dust just obscuring her vision more. Though it took a moment the force finally brought some direction to her as she looked about in the direction of the other witch.


Something about pride and fall then as the two stared down a mound of dirt surrounding them the other witch that burned with fury spoke out again about not knowing her. Khaos didn’t need to know her to know she was on the woman was on the wrong side of this conflict. No witch at least that of the Dathomir magicks would serve or aid an empire of sith not after all the things the sith had done to them for generations. Yes, sure there was supposedly some treaty signed but by whom it was signed it was the same tribes that had once sold the witches to the Jedi. Witches which Howling Crags Clan sided against in the dark ages and well before that.


This witch even though being very powerful and even Menacing, Khaos could feel the power oozing off her had a sense of victimhood about her. Even her menace could be sensed throught he waves of the forces and Magicks. She felt like she had been attacked first but she was not the victim she had had attempted to attack the minds of the Maw first not that, that mattered for anything. Khaos didn’t need to feel like she had been attacked first or even last for her.


“You want pity, an apology, you want me to get on my knees and grovel?” Though she knew the woman was much more powerful than her Khaos was the grand daughter of the Rebel Sith you do not kneel, you do not beg, and you do not apologies. They may be able to kill you, but they will never break you. Khaos brought her sabers up in a defensive stance and awaited the woman’s attack. Khaos would choose death over surrender any day much like the warriors of the Maw even if she didn’t always agree with here tactics.
 
Maple moved slowly and cautiously through the woodlands. Sure, she was acting out of vengeance but seriously, feth the Maw. Hell, even though they were invading the Sith Empire she still wanted a crack at them.

Maple sniped another one with an invisible bolt, deciding to relocate after one shot after they started firing grenade launchers in the air. Her armor blended her in with the environment as long as she moved slowly, the weight of her hand cannon, the golden revolver known as Francisco, making her move a tad slower than normal on the ground as she crawled.

It had all gone horribly wrong. All wrong. She had started out seeking the Mindbinder. She had found her. Laertia had likely been on the verge of insanity the whole time after Kar Shian. And Maple, poor Maple, might have to kill them both.

She could live with the death of The Amalgam...she had vowed to do it, and intended to carry it out...even though it would be extremely painful on an emotional level to strike her down.

But to possibly kill whatever was left of Laertia...that caused agony.

Maple didn't want to kill Xiphos, but she didn't know how to save her. Least of all from herself. Xiphos was committed to war, committed to uniting with people she once would have killed without blinking to fight this all consuming threat of the Bryn'adul and the Maw.

And Maple...

...all Maple had ever wanted was silence from past demons. To be free. And now even she could not ignore the fact the Maw and The Bryn'adul had to be stopped.

Repositioned, keeping in mind the location of the sun, she steadied her breathing, controlling it, and let loose another shot, this one into the face of a Maw savage in scavenged power armor, blowing his head off completely and freaking out his companions, as they could hear the sound, but not see where the bolt was coming from. She shot two more, and then relocated again, She had used up most of the good hiding spots in this area--

Uri Udinia and Laertia Io fired bolt action rifles at targets 007-hundred meters away in the fields of Dantooine, with Ursula Sandraven watching in her usual white catsuit.

"You're both not taking enough time to aim properly. Bolt action rifles are not a speed game." Ursula explained patiently but sternly. "When you stare down a scope at a target, your only goal must be to hit that target while taking into account the environment, wind, enemy placement and awareness, gravity, and The Force."

"It feels counter-intuitive to use the Force with this kind of weapon." Uri admitted.

"The Lightsaber is not the be-all, end-all weapon it once was. One of the Jedi's biggest weaknesses is their over-reliance on it even now, where Weaponry designed to counter-act it is becoming increasingly more and more common. Any Weapon is worthy for a Jedi to use if their intent is to protect others from the Dark Side. It is simply no longer practical to throw a lightsaber at every foe. Whether at close range or long, the principal of Jedi Combat remains the same. Self control, timing, and trusting The Force's will." Ursula replied.

"I dunnoz, Ursy, I tinks duh besst wayy tuh mayke surez iz upp closse." Laertia said.

"In most cases yes, a shotgun is a better way to do that, Laertia. But some feats of combat will inevitably require more thought and precision, especially when you can't get close to your opponent." Ursula replied patiently. Laertia didn't trust long ranges. She had spent a childhood killing close enough to see the light leave the eyes. Uri was only just truly getting used to doing that. She seemed to prefer kills from afar. Extra psychological distance, Ursula surmised.

"The power lies within you, my Padawans. You need only shed your doubt."

Uri, wanting to prove herself as much as Laertia did, silenced her doubts, her frustration with this approach, definitely not as the Jedi had trained her and connected with her weapon, feeling it's firing, chamber, it's scope, it's chambered bullet. She sighted the moving target, then fired--


Maple didn't realize she was crying under her mask until her version blurred. The memory had hit like a sledgehammer as she moved through the woods, onto a hill top. But it was strange. She suddenly felt in danger...

She barely dodged the red Lightsaber slashing where her head had been seconds before, dropping the rifle and activating one end of her Double Bladed Lightsaber, hilt the length of a standard lightsaber with a dark finish, emitting a Viridian blade and brandishing it at the Sith in Black Armor.

"A Light Sworn? Here?" The Sith asked, sulfur eyes staring at her as he gave a Makashi Flourish.

"Not exactly." Maple replied, the pain of a happy memory stinging her heart.

"It matters not. You have interfered with the Maw for the last time." The Sith replied. "War, Death, and Rebirth cannot be stopped, just like it could not be stopped at Csilla."

"You can be stopped, though." Maple snapped.

The pair rushed each other, blades clashing furiously.

Maple might not be able to stop the Maw,but she would make certain this one never got the satisfaction of living to see it triumph. She also had ideas of preventing his rebirth...

"I got something special in mind for you chithead." She hissed as she tried to cut off his hands.

"Die, CUR!" The Sith snarled back.

Maple deflected, cutting loose with a vicious blade furry that came seethingly fast at all angles, forcing the Sith on the Defense...
 
LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE


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The Knight of Ren stood silently amidst the Bloodwood, the Shadow shifted through the air lifting him and all who touched upon it with an empyrean wind. He could feel the presence of others approaching, beings touched by the Dark Side of the Force in some form or another. To fight alongside a Sith was something he was not fond of, yet this one he had learned to tolerate after their time within the Brotherhood. This Maestus, she was a Warlord, a Sith, and a student of the Dark Voice. She portrayed an air of violence made manifest but hid the dark veneer of truth that was secrecy and deception. There was far more than what she portrayed, a stanch follower of her 'code'. He had begun to have suspicions that her position was merely a facade for a larger role not yet revealed, he would watch her closely to ensure she did not interfere with his master and his ascent to power.

The cracked onyx mask snapped in the direction of the approaching figures, two lone entities who's footsteps lit up within the wellspring of the Force. A faint echo picked up by his preternatural senses carried by the empyrean, the Shadow had given him the first of many great bounties to come for this mighty raid against the Sith Empire. The mantle would finally be stripped from the stagnant former champions of the Dark Side, only the strongest could survive and maintain the favor of the Bogan.

Without a word, Sinh briefly glanced from the direction of the approaching forces and then to Maestus. With a curt nod he pressed on without further warning, lifting his poled weapon in position as his other hand fell upon his Atrisian cap and slid along it's surface edge. Letting the Shadow imbue his body with superior strength fueled by his emotions and anticipation for the battle to come, the bloodthirsty Knight of Ren sped off into the brush.




 
Absolute Knowledge Corrupts Absolutely

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Tag: Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall / The Mongrel The Mongrel
Equipment: The Marrow Blade


Lady marrow watched as her devastating attack tore through the enemies of the camp below, they cried out, resisted even fled from the scything talons of the trees as their claws would shred through any meager flesh, bone and armour that deigned to get in their way. Their reaction was however swifter than she initially would have thought, turning fire on the wet roots which slumbered beneath the earth was a wise move. The Vital structures of the plants being withered away by the flickering inferno devouring structures that would see ancient trees die. Lady Marrow would have her thorns buried, suffocating the flame upon them as the dirt and rock would smother the majority of it, allowing the attack to continue unabated. The fact remained that these hundreds of years old giants' lives were worth just as many if not far more than that of the ants who they crushed beneath their feet...

At least that's what the Lady thought, a new arrival had appeared, she could feel the earth being manipulated nearby as a dark energy would wash over the battlefield. Those who had been hewed, shot, burned or otherwise dispersed of would begin to twitch, and then rise once again. Lifeless things given evil purpose. As Lady Marrow watched on, horror-stricken at this, horrifying betrayal of nature would flow more power than she should into the roots once again. Sacrificing the trees in the service of putting down a rebellion could never have been worth it. But sacrificing them to undo this... was entirely something else.

Targeting only the dead the roots would begin to tear out of the earth a second time, some of their flames reigniting having not cooled enough under the earth to totally put out their fires. They would move to grapple, crush, strangle and drag every dead thing that walked the earth and drag it into the flames for a final cremation as Lady Marrow would roar in fury. The dead should remain dead, and because of that the trees burned. Who so ever cast this spell was going to pay a hell of a price. But they succeeded in tearing her focus away from the battle in the facility.

The Marrow girl would find herself in motion, moving through the forest in the direction she had felt the earth and shrubs that covered it being manipulated in a way that seemed strange to her. Ducking and weaving through the shifting branches, passing by or through brush as though it were nothing until she would spill out before the woman who had played her hand at magic. Only to find someone who had donned a skull like motif herself, power radiating from her and the symbols at her feet. Marrow was flushed at the effort she'd already spilled into controlling so many plants at once. It was a feat comparable to her garden, but these plants felt like they fought her control with every inch they moved. Quivering first as thought to question her commands and deny her.

She didn't realize she was already so tired.


"YOU! Put. them. back!" She'd demand, for the first time allowing her force saber to come to her arm, flowing her energy into it first allowing the focused blade of dark-side energy to be unleashed without the need of a force power attached to it. The beaming green blade like emerald radiation burning brightly, ready to unmake anything that it were to come into contact with. She didn't even notice that this time there was no pain, that she had activated it properly for the first time since the weapon had been placed completed in her hand. It was an achievement, but one that fury overshadowed.

"Whatever it is you're doing to bring them back, end it, and maybe you can leave. Or Else..." Her her was rugged, her eyes wild as her tails became coated in razor sharp barbs ending in almost talon like quills and a spike at the tip of each of them. All coated with a layer of her inert haemotoxin. The Mycetic creature standing against the witch, Marrow was shorter in both height and stature though her ferocity was like that of something feral and dangerous.

There was about to be another fight on this forsaken world.


"Or else I'll have to end you..."

 
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Location: Industrial Depot - Enenpa
Allies: TSE ( Lady Marrow Lady Marrow ) │ CIS ( Maple Harte Maple Harte )
Enemies: BotM ( The Mongrel The Mongrel Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall )
Direct Opposition: The Mongrel The Mongrel

The two minions of opposing Dark masters stood apart for a temporal moment, each one sizing the other up, searching for signs of strength, to be accounted for, and weaknesses, to be exploited. There, UX-0626 saw that this was truly the Mongrel in the flesh, the cunning but brutal lieutenant of the Maw’s marauder hordes, bearing his distinct burns across the right side of his body. In contrast, UX-0626 stood as yet another faceless, crimson-armored minion in the armies of the Black Iron Tyrant, her name only a number and her features hidden by the villainous red mask of her helmet. Nevertheless, there were just as many, if not more similarities between the two minions than there were differences, especially given the events on Csilla.

Unfortunately, those similarities seemed to no longer matter, at least, for the time being.

Immediately, the strand-cast exploded forward, before the marauder and the disruptor rifle were suddenly swallowed by a giant tree root which had erupted from the earth, no doubt a manifestation of sorcery and Dark magic. As much as she had wanted to slay the Mongrel by her own hand, being wounded, the strand-cast could not afford to engage the marauder in a head-on fight, at least without tending to her injuries. Discipline overtook bloodlust and the sniper moved to hide behind a nearby warehouse, staying still to let her armor’s biorestorative systems pump bacta into the wounds, which were already leaking blood, thereby threatening to weaken her even further. All the while, taking an Instant Adhesive tube on her belt, the strand-cast applied it on the broken sections of her armor to fuse the split gammaplast plates back together.

A deep breath of relief escaped from her lips as her armor pumped painkillers into her system.

Only for her relief to shift towards confusion as the shambling form of her commander approached, his crimson armor marred with black blaster holes.

“C-commander? H-how did you survive?” The strand-cast said.

Then, with a terrible, feral snarl, her now-undead commander attacked, firing off a pair of shots from his blaster pistol towards her chest, of which the first struck her chestplate to briefly stun her, while the second was intercepted by her energy shield.

Whatever had happened to her commander, the strand-cast immediately realized that it was either her or him.

Her answer to the attack was swift and decisive, raising her arm to fire a trio of shots from her wrist-mounted blaster at what had once been her commander, striking him in the chest twice and the head once to bring him down.

Even sensing that whatever defenders were left at the warehouse were likely doomed, the strand-cast nevertheless picked herself up from the ground and moved to find the Mongrel, cutting down a charging undead marauder as she did, in a final bid to lop off the head of the metaphorical snake...


 
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Objective III - Resource Raid

Location: Enenpa, Industrial Depot
Allies: BOTM | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall
Foes: TSE | UX-0626 UX-0626 | Lady Marrow Lady Marrow


For a moment, it seemed that the Bloodsworn had beaten back nature's assault. The strange, vicious roots, their razor-sharp thorns now studded with impaled bodies that dangled like grisly fruit, clearly didn't care much for fire; they recoiled, burning and dying, as the marauders deployed their incendiaries. Driven back by the heat, they slithered back into the ground, the huge wooden tendrils moving like sinuous serpents. The Mongrel, his pierced hand still sending out waves of agony that rippled through his system, managed a sigh of relief from between gritted teeth. They'd acted quickly enough.

Still, the sudden assault boiling out of the very earth had cost them dearly. The Mongrel had assumed that, once the Bloodsworn were inside the depot's walls, their momentum and close-quarters prowess would carry them to victory over their mid to long-range specialized foes. But the thorn-studded roots had badly reduced that momentum and seriously reduced their numbers, leaving the marauders locked in a desperate struggle to survive. Wounded and surrounded by diminishing forces, The Mongrel did his best to fight through the pain, firing his scattergun until the telltale click of empty echoed out of it.

He could fire the gun one-handed, painful though each blast was to his poor, un-braced shoulder... but he couldn't possibly reload it. So he moved the weapon's shoulder strap and slung it over his back, out of his way, then drew a fresh pistol from concealment in his sleeve. The scattergun had done good work, ripping apart a half-dozen security forces and legionnaires that had charged him; this pistol would be more limited, with considerably less stopping power. Already he cursed the loss of his heavy blaster, buried somewhere in the chaos of battle. The enemy was closing in, and he was barely armed.

He could not have foreseen what came next.

With ugly, unnatural twitching movements, the bodies at The Mongrel's feet began to stir. They rose awkwardly, like badly-puppeteered dolls on invisible strings... and lurched forward, toward the Sith defenders. With hands curled into rictus claws and deathless hate burning in their blank eyes, they tore at the horrified enemy. The veteran marauder looked around and saw that the same thing was happening all across the compound; the dead, Bloodsworn and Sith-Imperial alike, were standing back up to attack the Brotherhood's foes. Far from unnerved, The Mongrel howled with glee at this abomination.

"The Dark Gods favor us!" he screamed.

The Bloodsworn warleader might not understand magic, but he knew when he ought to appreciate it. Without the added weight of the zombie troops, it had been only a matter of time before the outnumbered raiders were brought down. This army of the dead had evened the odds... and perhaps even tilted the scale back in the Brotherhood's favor. The recently dead, it seemed, did not easily return to the grave once risen; the enemy poured blasterfire into the reanimated soldiers, but it took a staggering amount of it to bring even one of them down. Even with whole chunks of torso blown away, they kept coming.

The battle on Enenpa, however, was full of reversals.

The Mongrel's heart sank as the deadly roots burst from the ground once again, the flames that had driven them away mostly extinguished by the press of cool, damp earth. They immediately laid into the zombies, crushing them flat or impaling them on their huge thorns; some of the undead, pierced but still animate, wriggled and clawed at the sides of the branches they were pinned to. The Bloodsworn warleader's calculus shifted again, his estimation of who held the advantage bouncing back and forth like a metronome. There was only one thing for it: to struggle toward their objective until they could struggle no more.

"With me!" he cried, rallying as many of the surviving marauders as he could. Let the remaining dead hold off the roots, which seemed oddly intent on destroying them; he needed warriors he could command, not lifeless puppets, which he was more than willing to sacrifice. With the ragged remnants of his raider warband gathered around him, The Mongrel led the charge deeper into the depot. They had to take the landing pads, or this would all be for nothing. If the cargo shuttles couldn't touch down, the raid was over; there was no way the raiders could have carried all the goods at full strength, let alone now.

Pushing their way through the chaos through brute force and sheer, ferocious will, the little band left the perimeter fence and the madness around it behind them, making for the central zone. They were few, and would soon face fresh security forces, but they trusted in the Avatars - and their own savagery - to carry them through. As they began to move deeper into the depot, however, The Mongrel caught sight of a crimson helmet. He turned, peering into the melee, and confirmed his suspicions: the second jetpack trooper had survived. She was still without her disruptor rifle, thankfully, but he knew the threat she represented. She was one of the enemy's best.

"Go on ahead," he ordered, waving his troops toward the landing pads. He knew that he had to seize this opportunity right away. If the Kainate's elite had been resourceful enough to bring down three out of six bogaranths in the first few minutes of the battle, he was certain they could find a way to disrupt or destroy the incoming transports, thwarting the entire raid. He couldn't allow that to happen... and that meant, battered and broken though he was, he had to bring her down. A rueful grin crossed his cracked lips. Had he survived the great clash on Csilla just to die on this wretched forest backwater?

The Avatars worked in mysterious ways.

Gritting his jagged teeth against his pain and growing exhaustion, The Mongrel jogged forward, raising his blaster pistol. It was a poor weapon to employ against a foe with such sophisticated defenses, but perhaps the Three were smiling on him; it looked like the plates of the Kainate trooper's armor had been crushed in places, held together only by a hasty battlefield repair. As the two surviving bogaranths thrashed in the background, trying to cut and crush the animated tree roots with shakes of their gargantuan, sharp-mandibled heads, the veteran marauder took aim. He needed to hit a weak point.

"War, Death, Rebirth," The Mongrel whispered, a quiet prayer lost in the din of battle as soon as it left his lips. Skidding to a stop once he was within range, he braced his pistol arm over the wrist of his maimed hand and slowly let his breath out in a long, measured exhale. Then, as the last of the air left his lungs, he squeezed the trigger. A trio of shots streaked toward UX-0626 UX-0626 , carefully aimed at areas where her armor had been patched... though given the range and the marauder's pain, the shots could easily go wide. The Mongrel didn't wait to see. Instead he dove for cover, trying to reach the tall, solid safety of an inactive lumber-harvesting droid.

Until he got behind it, he would be an easy target...
 



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Explosions rocked the outer walls of the depot, a sudden surge of Bloodsworn reinforcements under the command of Kryll entered through the breach with blasters firing. It was clear the moment anyone set eyes upon the ravenous horde that they too had suffered from the Bloodwood, their numbers were dwindled from the initial wave brought forth and many were badly injured. Kryll rallied his men forward as he lobbed a detonite pack off in the direction of incoming opposition and opened fire.

Boom.

Another flower of forced air, shrapnel, and debris rained in over the area. The Bloodsworn pack funneled in close, sticking to a strategized entry under the veteran marauder. The opposition was unrelenting, as they progressed to link up with The Mongrel The Mongrel and his raiders, Kryll quickly realized the precarious situation they had stumbled into as Sith-Imperial defenders unloaded into the friendly forces of the Brotherhood, one by one his attacking pack fell. Explosions rocked their surroundings as fragmentation grenades and small arms fire shortened their cover, boxing them into a small area away from their target path to regroup.

Kryll sneered with a vicious grin, leaning against nearby duracrete cover he reached for a piece of broken glasteel he kept on his person as a makeshift mirror. Drawing it out and shifting the glass toward the corner of his cover, the glass ruptured in his hand from enemy fire and the marauder was all too quick with a retreat back to safety.

"They have us pinned down."

Screams immediately pierced the veil, a surprised Kryll immediately rose to see what was happening. The dead walked. Undead forces of the Brotherhood and Sith-Imperial alike came forth from all corners of the battlezone with unholy hunger. The Bloodsworn chanted in unison, zealously praising the Avatars for their unholy intervention. Kryll was stunned and taken aback, such blasphemous creatures manipulated by the darkness itself, another piece of evidence that perhaps the Avatars were real after all. This was no Sith's doing, it was the work of something much more, at least in his eyes.

"MOVE!"






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Maestus sensed something. Another presence. One she was unfamiliar with, but would soon become acquainted. A dark smiled curled upon her lips. It was time to reunite with a friend, Alina Tremiru Alina Tremiru .

As TK-818 TK-818 was wondering about her, thinking on her motivations, the Sith Lord looked to the Knight of Ren. She knew precious little of the Ren as a whole, and it seemed, even less about Sinh personally. Not that she needed to, or even wanted to. What little she knew was enough. Fierce warrior, loyal to his master, Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren . There was something else, just under the surface. Almost as if Sinh was trying to keep it hidden. Or perhaps it had just not manifested fully. Whatever it was, Maestus put it out of her mind for the time being. She had bigger fish to fry.

Sing nodded, and Maestus returned it. Her indication it was indeed time to press onward. On her part, she considered drawing her saber. But chose to leave them on her belt for now. She was far more comfortable commanding and wielding the Dark Side in combat. Not to say she was unproficient with her sabers. Quite the contrary, she was rather skilled. Simply personal preference.

She too stepped off, moving forward, towards the two oncoming women. The air of menace and danger increased around Maestus and Sinh. Two violent predators coming to take their prey down.

Quinn Varanin Quinn Varanin


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Sivvi
Objective 2: The Firebase
Resurrection Class Battlecruiser ‘Magnus’
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Operation: FINAL DAWN


The 'Magnus' roared as it slipped out of hyperspace with a sonic boom thundering in it's wake, the imposing battlecruiser of the Final Dawn Admiral Aldo Garrick Aldo Garrick who had been tasked with bringing some of the recently developed WS-1 World Devastators to Thule. Due to differing trajectories and time displacements they had arrived seemingly late to the party. With the majority of the Brotherhood's once mighty armada being nothing but floating wreckage around the humble debris of the late Csilla, the Final Dawn had become more and more involved in picking up the slack while their assets recovered. The purpose of these molecular furnaces would be two-fold, harvesting material from the planetary bodies near Thule and the manufacturing of new vessels for the Brotherhood's reconstruction efforts.

Going into the conflict they had expected heavy losses if not defeat should the main Sith armada engage them after their devastating battle over Csilla with half of the galaxy arrayed against them. Luckily they had not fallen prey to such a force but found themselves in a dangerous predicament nonetheless. Aldo stared out through the viewport at the space battle under way, a Sith-Imperial naval detachment had lured them into a trap and surrounded the small naval fleet brought by Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha onboard the repaired Fatalis Star Dreadnought.

It had appeared the situation would be dire without his timely intervention, the Sith cultist and Final Dawn Admiral turned to his deck hands with a firm grin, "Have the three WS-1's standby until the naval engagement has been rectified. Prime all shields and prepare to engage the enemy fleet, begin charging the autocannons."

"Sir! Scans show the planetary shields are active!"

The Neo-Imperial scoffed, "Of course they are. Deploy our complement of fighters for close ranged support and begin moving toward the enemy. I want those autocannons to fire before we get too close, annihilation of the enemy will be our only salvation. We are outnumbered and outgunned."

With that the 'Magnus' began charging it's autocannons as it moved in to regroup with Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha and Subject 54 Havoc Subject 54 Havoc .





 

Vesta

Guest
V


Thule

The Doomvault
Location: The Ziggurat of Hurom
Equipment: Lightsaber
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: The Brotherhood of the Maw | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren

Laughter echoed in the air around them as it erupted from her parting lips, red light illuminating her as she lifted her lightsaber to parry his blow, and she stepped back to give herself the space necessary to shift her stance. "I do not fear the dead, dear depraved one!" She shouted, her tone one of mockery. "False idols are all we have, don't you see? The religions, our truths, are all lies. It doesn't matter the god, it doesn't matter the belief," The Sith ranted as she moved towards him with blade in hand, sweeping horizontally to cut at his center while her free hand - her right - propelled a telekinetic burst from its center. "All that matters is who controls the masses, what voice the many listen to and obey. Nobody will obey a leader that slaughters them, that doesn't understand the purpose of their power."

Momentarily pulling back, creating space between the two of them, the bright red center of her coal-black eyes studied him and her expression shifted to disgust. "Aimless, purposeless, that's all any of you are. Empire, Brotherhood, Eternalist - you're all the same. Three heads on the same crippled body." She said, spitting at his feet to place emphasis on the insult. An aimless flourish of her lightsaber through the air preceded a steady walk towards the undead darksider. "Allow me to return you to where you and the rest of your kind belong."

She lunged towards him, with a sudden ferocity that would make a master of Juyo blush.

"To Chaos."
 

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T E R R O R I Z E
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| Location | Ziggurat of Hurom, Thule​
| Purpose | Consume and Evolve​
| Allies | BotM​
| Opposition | Open​
A planet void of life that existed in a realm outside the conventional realm of existence that the Galaxy found itself in - Otherspace as they would have called it; the place in which the spirit of conflict, Darth Bellum resided sitting upon a throne overseeing a massive area in which his soldiers the 13th Umbral Legion stood at attention. Even in death, there was no command known to them but his own, fanatics that would slaughter and die for their lord and commander.​
They had slaughtered and cleansed the natives of the planet that they now occupied, with the most defiant of the natives having been kept alive to serve as a workforce, given the chance to join the ranks of his army should they prove worthy. While the Galaxy continued to turn and slit each other's throats, Bellum continued to bide his time and grow his cult of death and destruction in Otherspace.​
The ephemeral visage of the Lord of Eternal Conflict was seated, leaning back against his throne, his gaze focused on a hazy mote of light before him that displayed the known Galaxy, his gaze falling upon Thule as the Brotherhood of the Maw attempted to seize relics of dark power from the Sith Empire with Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis at its head. Their recent meeting and subsequent encounter on Mustafar had earned Bellum's attention. Solipsis in his eyes was certainly ambitious and had quickly risen through the ranks of those that held the Lord of Eternal Conflict's interest.​
The spirit spoke, a cacophony of a thousand anguished voices crying out in the background of his own booming voice as he commanded the attention of his subordinates -​
" Guile... Rive... Step forth. "
Two towering Gen'dai figures clad in armor stepped forward to the base of the steps that led to the massive mile-high stairwell that led to Bellum; Rive and Guile - brothers in both flesh and blood that had been dominated by the Sith Kor Vexen and subsequently made the spirit's commanders. The Gen'dai brothers dropped to one knee as he continued to speak, " Go forth and aid the Brotherhood. Slaughter the Sith that stand in your way. " Bellum pushed off his throne as he stood up, the two Gen'dai speaking up in unison " Your will be done. " a shadowy rift appearing behind them as it moved forward, consuming them and sending them to Thule.​

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Location: Bloodwoods
Objective: Du-du-du-duel!
Tags: Ingrid L'lerim Ingrid L'lerim
Weapons: Sword | Axe

Eyeing her, Zachariel felt something from her as he spoke his mind, but he wasn't sure what it was. It could be agreement or disgust with his words, he wasn't sure, and he couldn't be sure with which part she would agree or disagree with. And when she spoke, she cleared some things up, but left him with more questions. She also compared him to Jedi and Sith, prompting a loud snarl of rage to escape him. He was not a weakling like them, not a fool like they were. His strength was his own, the Force merely a tool to be used from time to time. When he next spoke, that rage was very clear in his voice, as he was physically holding himself back from immediately lashing out.

"I am nothing like them. They are fools and weaklings, and they rely on powers they never fully understand." Slamming an armored fist against his chest, Zachariel growled low. "My strength is my own, my might, my armor, my weapons, all mine. Until a mere century ago I never knew I had such powers, until a few decades ago I had never even used my powers. Even now I rarely use them, and yet you compare me to Jedi and Sith who are nothing without their powers?!"

Zachariel snarled once more, slamming his fist against his chest once more, sparks flying at the action. His hate was palpable in the Force, his rage evident in his stance, and fury coursed through his flesh. And still he held himself back, allowing Ingrid to draw her blades. It brought the subtlest nod of respect for that, as true blades were far better than gutless lightsabers, but still he raged internally at what she'd said. Then she spoke once more, Zachariel began slowly circling to the right, swinging his blades by his sides. His eyes watched her every move, even as his mind heard her words. Those words brought a greater sneer to his lips, snarling even lower as his eyes dilated.

"We cleanse this galaxy of weakness, of Jedi and Sith, and you claim us cowards and weaklings?! Those who join us are strengthened or fall to the wayside, those who face us grow stronger or die!" Another slam of his fist against his chest, even as a low rumble escaped him. "We carve away weakness and leave only strength! What other way exists?! We bring the fire and flames to a chaotic galaxy, we set a true world order! Power, pure and simple."

With a roar, Zachariel launched himself forward, leaping in an arc with only his strength, using nothing of the Force. He slammed down before Ingrid, lashing out with his blades, snarling as his blades swung.
"Tell me Lady Ingrid, what path will cleanse the galaxy of them BUT BLOOD?! THEY SHALL BE PURGED BY OUR HAND!"

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Location, Thule, outside of the doomvault
Enemies: TSE, Darth Mori
Allies: BOTM Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis

Eyebrow raised, as the Master of Ren listened to her words. As if the woman didn’t entirely understand what he meant. Not like any of that mattered anyways. He didn’t reply only letting her continue, he had heard it before from her kind. He didn’t expect her to understand. He only expected her to die this day, and to see Thule what was left of it to burn. When she began her attacks, he didn’t stop her only stood with has saber raised.

The armor itself intact against her saber strike, sparks flying. The telekinetic blast had only caused him to create space between the two. It seemed as if the walking corpse didn’t budge. It only made him lick his disfigured lips at the effort that she was trying to show. He waited until she finally launched a barrage of what seemed to be a flurry of Juyo strikes, driving Kyrel on the defensive. Relying on Soresu, backing his feet, until his imposing figure and strength to stop and stand his ground.

Attempting to use his new senses to his advantage, taking his blade to anticipate her strokes. Before looking at her, and move slowly to strike back against her. Attempting to shift the duel slowly with Soresu turning into a brute form of Djem’So His strikes were in a sense like his blade was a hammer, using the strength of a monster to try and turn it to his favor. He began to speak. “You say that as if that’s possible for me. I assure you, a couple of your kind made certain that I am beyond Chaos’s reach. As long as I’m here I live to see you die.” He said locking his blade with hers. The two red blades creating a unique sight of a battle between two dark siders.

His next strike came in the form of heavy djem so strikes, moving as if he was an avalanche, as if an unstoppable Boulder stoking at her blade. Attempting to beat down her blade out of her hands. Attempting to disarm her with ease.
 
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Halketh

Libertas quae sera tamen



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R E A P
C A E L I T U S
// DOOMVAULT - THULE \\
creation | vestment
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Bladedancers traipsed back and forth, exchanging poetic blows beyond his Sight in reaches he sensed, but would not bear witness to. Much as he was apt to thrust himself upon the blade, it was not the task at hand. The others of his newfound allies pressed forward, drawing focus central to the rising ziggurat and paving the way for his silent venture forth. Sickness walked beside him, crowning him its maker, unfurling its embracing energies freely to touch those clustered about, muddying their minds with the whispered hum of his madness and the insidiousness of his miscreation. The grandest fight was to be had in the woodwork, on the fringes of this discordance, where wills would collide in another ephemeral engagement he sought no part in. His rank would swell in such chaos, as much he knew, yet bloodshed was not the desire plaguing his heart longer; it was a means to an end.

He sought the end entirely.


Ilum had changed him, as it had the first time he had delved into the silent depths of the sacred caverns nestled there. Twice it was then, he had stepped onto the precipice of his destiny, rather than folly as he had the first, he had seized control and succumbed to the call of the void, thrusting himself headfirst into its raging depths. He had found it, after so long, he had found it; belonging. The Brotherhood of the Maw had opened its arms to him, seeing him for what he was, and what he could be. Beneath their wickedness, his own had come to the surface at last, no longer masked by the ploy required for his survival. He held his title yet still, amongst the New Imperials, yet it was their own falter that none had intervened and drawn him from the ledge. They raged war elsewhere, war he did not seek.

Now was not the time for such trivial tidings.

Adorned in ivory, he contrasted the dull, lifeless land he graced, as did the avalanche of silent soldiers filing behind him. He passed through the disquiet, his soldiers as stoic as he, offering nothing to the occupied defenders and his allies alike until he was provoked. The strobing fire of defensive weapons sought to tear his soldiers to ribbons, and where they would have succeeded, the miraluka lofted a languid hand, flicking his wrist upward to manifest his whim as a pulsing, bloody barrier of sinister design. He stood in place, shielding his forces from the rain, as they darted rapidly in silent coordination to tear the monument to Sith desecration open. A temple had stood here, ages ago, one which was sullied by the construction of such arrogance upon its ruin.

Caelitus's left hand rose to join the right, fortifying the barricade as his undead secured the charges into place, lining the doors with the magnetic explosives and swiftly parting to avoid the blast radius. It was their collective voice which spoke to him in his own mind, that his will had been done. The focused fighting about the frontal face of the tower had allowed him to flank, as he was wont to do, and it would be costly. Sight unraveled, exposing the gunnery positions in his mind's eye, and it was with swift clenches of his fists that the breathing souls attending them were extinguished.

Trails of energy spurted from the collapsing, broken bodies, left there in their stations as discarded playthings. The essence was harvested, leashed by the necromancer, and held close to his chest until he would doubtlessly require it soon enough. Amongst his corpsely soldiers, he pressed himself against the wall of the ziggurat and reached out to brace his hand against the shoulder of the one before him. The gesture was mirrored throughout the rank in sequence until the signal had reached its intended recipient. The undead trooper poised at the front of the formation compressed the trigger on his detonator, triggering a chain reaction of thunderous, sonic proportions to clear their path. The structure tremored, crying out for its defenders in pain.

"Imivsi durstuni, zuti dabar. Zudyti savimi visa." "Seize control, go now. Kill them all." His voice uttered coldly, worn hoarse by countless nights of chanting.

The Perished surged through the sunder in the building, adding their own thunderous melody of churning, hot lead to the greater chorus colliding outside. When one of them fell, the others merely stepped over them, unbothered by the loss and the damage their unfeeling bodies sustained. The rotten stench of ichor swelled in the air, saturating their entry and baptizing it in the blood of their own and of their foes alike. It mattered not how many of them fell, more would rise so long as this galaxy lusted to tear itself apart. Seconds of this horror endured before Caelitus stepped through, scarred hands set to weave their wicked incantations in tune to the words murmured between his hidden lips.


Clawed gauntlets flexed outward, launching a volley of wicked blasts sourced from the abysmal depths of his eternal well, rending flesh apart and shredding through armor as though it did not exist at all. The terror his seemingly unstoppable soldiers invoked in their foes was something he would never tire of, regardless of the number of times he was able to relish it. Such a palpable emotion, fear was. So primal. So basic. And most importantly, despair was never far behind it.

The avalanche of undead soldiers converged in the entry of the ziggurat in staggering numbers, howling in monstrously eager intent to sate their craving for violence. And their creator would allow it, unabated, for however long it would take for them to reach the vaults deep below, where the Maw's prize lay.​


ALLIES | BotM | THE PERISHED | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis | Darth Bellum Darth Bellum | Khaostra Devoid Khaostra Devoid
FOES | TSE | EE | Darth Mori | N Nyxeris | Arctus Silmar Arctus Silmar | Darth Strosius Darth Strosius | OPEN FOR ENGAGEMENT

 
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Location: Industrial Depot - Enenpa
Allies: TSE ( Lady Marrow Lady Marrow ) │ CIS ( Maple Harte Maple Harte )
Enemies: BotM ( The Mongrel The Mongrel Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall Alars Keto Alars Keto )
Direct Opposition: The Mongrel The Mongrel

Living and undead charged the depleted lines of the defenders, their ranks growing stronger with each Legionnaire, security force trooper, and Kainate Defense Force trooper that they killed. Now trapped in an area of the depot which had already been overrun by marauders and the undead, UX-0626 was forced on the defensive even as she sought to find the Mongrel. A trio of risen Legionnaires attacked her with blasters, their feral snarls telling her that the men inside the armor were either no longer living or had been ensnared by the same arcane compulsion UX-0005 had succumbed to in death or some twisted form of ‘life’. Fortunately, their bolts were either poorly-aimed or absorbed by her energy shield, allowing the strand-cast to counter as she fired a burst of discs from her projectile launcher, striking one in the chest with the projectiles, which ripped through armor and soft flesh yet only served to seemingly enrage the creature as it moved to charge her.

Eyes going wide, UX-0626 fired a long burst of CryoBan from the other weapon on her left wrist, spraying it from left to right to freeze the undead Legionnaires in place. While the weapon failed to outright neutralize them, it did freeze the shambling creatures and render them easy prey, allowing one of the tree roots to emerge from the ground to swallow them whole in a spectacular display of divine, yet natural power.

“Bless the Eternal Father.”

A whispered grace to the All-Consumer, but the strand-cast did not delay for long, taking up a Judicator from one of the undead Legionnaires before going to find the Mongrel, before a sudden realization struck her.

She was now the ranking officer of her squad.

The concussion and the subsequent brain fog had left her dazed and distracted, but even without it, the strand-cast felt ill-prepared to assume the duty. In the struggle between discipline and bloodlust, for perhaps the first time in her life, UX-0626 now felt more bent towards the latter. Having been a lower enlisted soldier for virtually all of her life, up until only a few days ago, to say the least strand-cast had never expected to survive long enough to see a promotion towards the upper ranks. Now, she was responsible for the men and women under her command, a realization which terrified the strand-cast perhaps even more than the sight of her undead commander.

As if on cue, a transmission from one of her subordinates, UX-9127, pulsed in her ear.

“Sergeant, where is Lieutenant u ex five? Did he make it out?”

A pause, passing as the strand-cast continued on her path towards the Mongrel, blasting down a charging marauder as she did with the Judicator.

“Sergeant, repeat, where is Lieutenant u ex five? Are you okay? Is he-”

“H-he’s gone, nine one two seven.” The strand-cast finally answered. “I-I-” Her voice failed to form words.

“Well...that means you’re the ranking officer, Sergeant. Can you link back up with us? What are your orders?”

“Hold the landing pads. I-I’m coming but…”

Another pause. The strand-cast contemplated telling him that she was pinned down in enemy lines, which wouldn’t necessarily be a lie, but the fact that she was still capable of fighting her way out to link back with her squad, even with her injuries, would have made it a lie of omission.

“Sergeant?”

A third pause and there, in the midst of a savage close-quarters melee between a group of Legionnaires and marauders, she found the Mongrel once more. His pistol pulsed out a trio of shots, one of which was intercepted by the conformal “film” of her energy shield, while the last two were evaded as her armor’s micro thrusters provided a short, yet powerful burst of lateral thrust towards her left, her form pirouetting in the same direction as she did before landing with a predatory feline grace. Then, intending to catch the Mongrel before he could get behind cover, with her breath held taut in her chest, the sniper fired a single supercharged particle bolt from her Judicator from seven meters away, aiming to strike the marauder lieutenant in the chest.

“I need to take care of something, first.”

 
E T E R N A L - E M P R E S S
Moderator
Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group
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Location: Enenpa, the Bloodwood
Objective III.: Finish the dance with Zachariel
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood
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[ Solitude ]

The woman's words sparked anger in the man, just as they did in a Sith. It was very unfortunate. In Ingrid's eyes, the Force was just playing with Zachariel in the same way it played with the Jedi and Sith. Will she tell him that exactly one Sith speaks the way a man does? Ingrid rarely used the Force, only when she had to, she was careful not to get the Force to influence her. The red-haired woman was a Warden, she looked at the Force completely differently. She was prepared for what would happen if the Force will disappeared once.

"And what would you do if, say, there was no Force and you lost all of your power and strength, Mr. Steelblood?"

She asked coldly as the darkest and coldest night. Her voice was shrill and yet completely emotionless. Ironically, it was the NIO who tried to be similar to the Eternal Empire in this question, the enemy. Last time, she only had the lightsabers because she wasn't prepared for battle. Now, yes, here, so she had standard weapons. At least for her, these were the standard weapons. Felt the hatred and anger in Zachariel, but she also saw the respectful nod when the man saw the vibroswords.

She did not say that then it was not civilian worlds that should be destroyed, but the centres of the Force Users and hunt them down one by one. They were so close to the man saying what he should. But the woman thought the madness was already completely overwhelming the man. Ingrid was still perfectly motionless, a pattern of perfect calm, the perfect opposite of the raging man. They really were the two extremes. Of course she understood the other's view, but not the methods.

As Zachriel moved and attacked her, the woman did not dodge the attack. The man already knew the woman was as physically strong as he was, so she didn’t even try to pretend to be weak like usual. As the blades slammed down, Ingrid only raised her own weapons in an X-shape over her head to stop Zachariel's attack. Although her knees faltered and the ground dented beneath her, but Ingrid still blocked the attack. She didn't attack back yet, just leaned closer and whispered. She finally found a way to find out what she wanted.

"Then tell me something, Mr. Steelblood. Why don't you and the Maw want to destroy the Force? With that, you would end the rule of the Sith and the Jedi once and for all and all Force Users would disappear. Then you would get what you wanted, really those with real power could rule the galaxy. Or maybe they were afraid that you would become weak too?" she asked, almost purring, in a deeper-than-usual voice, the man could not hear that tone from her yet, it was something different now, the woman was almost flirting with the man.

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Post: 4
Objective: Time to Dance
Equipment: Red Midnight Duster | Red Sith Armor | Sith Mask | Grav Boots | CrushGaunts | x2 White lightsabers | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | Variety of Explosives | RSKF-44 heavy blaster | X-21 shock glove (Stored in her coat pocket)
Allies: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Halketh Halketh | Darth Bellum Darth Bellum
Enemies: Arctus Silmar Arctus Silmar | Darth Mori | Darth Strosius Darth Strosius
Special Tags: N Nyxeris



Khaos’s heart pounded with trepidation sure she was an okay fighter but no where near the skill of her older sister. Here she was once again comparing herself to her sister, but then again, her sister wouldn’t be here at this moment she would have already cut down this woman before her. While Khaos was trying still figure out why a witch would serve the Sith. Why she would choose to fight for a empire that didn’t deserve the mercy of a witch. Then again history often repeated itself like Asajj Ventress being seduced into being Darth Tyranus puppet. Though that brought another dilemma to Khaos as she watched the woman beckon her forth to attack.


Khaos began to shuffle and dance about like she might attack. Though she was asking herself should she really fight this person or pity her, as she tried to get Khaos to come at her. “If you want me, I’m right here. “ Not taking the bait and she stopped dance and shuffling about in that moment. Inside her helmet she closed her eyes as a red magickal aura began to dance around her once more. As she had danced around and shuffled like she might attack instead she had carved a symbol into he ground and now energy was flowing into it.


Khaos opened her eyes and as she did four thorn covered vines burst forth from the ground from behind Nyxeris one going for each of her arms and the other two for her feet in an attempt to restrain her. All along the dirt mound more plants and vines began to sprout forth as the surge of the briar spell had been enacted. As the vines attempted to restrain the other witch Khaos charged forward her left saber coming up and then down in attempt to strike at the Nyxeris from right shoulder to left hip. Khaos other stayed saber stay at her side defensively.
 
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Objective III - Resource Raid

Location: Enenpa, Industrial Depot
Allies: BOTM | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall
Foes: TSE | UX-0626 UX-0626 | Lady Marrow Lady Marrow


It was like Csilla all over again: ordinary soldiers struggling to make sense of a battlefield manipulated and torn apart by powerful mystics on both sides. A vast, inexorable tide of the undead shambled forward, growing with each warrior who fell, whether at their rictus claws or by any other means. Opposing them, the ancient roots of the planet-spanning forest - sickened by pollutants but still ageless and powerful - rose up to smash every intruder they could reach. These were casualties the Brotherhood could ill afford in its depleted state... but at least the defenders, without reinforcements from Sivvi, must also be dwindling. This was pure attrition for them both.

As the elite troopers of the Kainate regrouped to hold the landing pads, the remaining two bogaranths burst onto the scene, leading the way for the surviving Bloodsworn. The beasts' handlers had managed to coax them out of the thorny melee and toward their objective; it was more or less possible to steer the vicious beasts with shock whip strikes and tugs on the reins wrapped around their colossal heads, so long as the path you steered them down was full of slaughter... and there was nowhere in the depot that was not now engulfed in battle. Spilling caustic slime from their jaws, the beasts surged forward.

Time was short. The shuttles were close.

Meanwhile, The Mongrel and the elite Kainate trooper squared off once again; their entire confrontation had been brief, intense exchanges of blows before the chaos of battle drew them apart again, but for the moment it seemed they might be able to face each other uninterrupted. Here was the moment in which the advanced technology of the Sith Empire provided UX-0626 UX-0626 with a tremendous advantage; one shot pinged off her shields, and the other two went wide as her armor's mobility systems - and her well-honed agility - carried her out of the way. Then she returned fire, turning the tables on him.

Compared to the dinky little blaster The Mongrel had concealed in his sleeve, which had become his primary weapon now that he had exhausted or lost his better ones, the "Judicator" Adaptive Battle Rifle was like bringing a lightsaber to a knife fight. Had the veteran marauder not already been moving, diving for cover as soon as he'd squeezed off his trio of shots, the supercharged bolt would have struck him full in the chest... and that would almost certainly have been fatal. As it was, the bolt clipped his left side and - as it was designed to - exploded. The white-green burst was like a tiny sun, blinding him.

The pain nearly blinded him, too.

Had the bolt not been supercharged, the damage would likely have been superficial, carving a chunk out of the side of his armored chestplate and perhaps spinning him to the ground with the impact. But the little explosion meant the hit was far more impactful than any normal blaster bolt could achieve, and it had struck near where The Mongrel was already wounded: his hand. With a huge puncture wound through the center of the palm, that left hand simply could not withstand the force. The top half of it simply ripped away in the shockwave, fingers and all. As he collapsed into cover, The Mongrel stared at it, momentarily dumbstruck at the severity of the wound.

Adrenaline, and the pain-killing nysillin from the (still partially intact) bandage, kept him going for now; though blackness pressed in on the edges of his vision, the warleader gritted his teeth so hard he felt they might shatter, and somehow he clung to consciousness. Dropping his blaster, he managed to reach into his satchel and pull out another bandage, which he wrapped around the ruins of his hand. The additional nysillin went to work, sealing the edges of the wound like bacta or kolto; at least he wasn't in danger of bleeding out. With a disbelieving laugh, he flexed his thumb, the only remaining digit.

It loomed over the bandaged half-hand like a lone tower.

In a surreal, stomach-churning moment, The Mongrel watched as his own severed fingers - still connected by a strip of knuckle - fell under Tegan's spell; twitching, they stood themselves up on their fingertips, then scampered spiderlike across the battlefield. Another delirious laugh tore itself from his throat. This had seemed like such a straightforward raid back on the shuttles... but then, calamity seldom gave warning of its intent. All that had happened was the will of the Avatars, a test of his strength and endurance. If he passed that test, if he proved worthy, he knew that they would still deliver him.

The sharp edge of his battle-honed cunning cut through the haze of agony, setting his mind to the task of survival. His arsenal for direct damage was dwindling, and there was only so much he could wield one-handed, especially if waves of pain threw off his aim. But direct damage was not the only way to regain some advantage. The Mongrel thought back to a weapon he'd wielded during the raid on Outlander Station, one he'd designed to fight Jedi. Rummaging quickly through his satchel, he produced the small cylinder. A pained but satisfied grin flashed across his face. This just might work.

Raising himself to a crouch, the warleader pointed the cylinder around the edge of his cover and pressed the button on its side, unleashing his weapon. It was a modified less-than-lethal grenade, transformed through Maw ingenuity into a handheld directed-energy weapon. A burst of light one million candela in brightness pulsed out of it, the brightness of over seven thousand standard glow lamps concentrated into a single blinding flash. Then the bang part of the flashbang: a deafening 180 decibel wave of sound, like pressing your ears against the outside of a starship engine as it took off.

With any luck, it would disorient and distract his foe.

Dropping the spent cylinder back into his satchel, The Mongrel drew his dread blade, forged from one of the shattered kyber crystals the Brotherhood had recovered from Ilum. He pressed the activator, letting the cracking blade of crimson runic energy spring into being, and took a moment to admire the weapon; it was lesser than a lightsaber, to be sure, but it suited him far better. Then he charged out of cover, toward a foe that was hopefully still reeling from the flashbang projector... because if she wasn't, she was probably going to shoot him before he could get close. "War! Death! Rebirth!" he screamed.

Sometimes all he could do was charge and pray.
 

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