Invasion Allegiance: SJC invasion of Bryn'adûl held Nar Chunna, Nar Kreeta, Cyborrea and Klantooine

[Oleander Webb]

INVENTORY: x | x | x | x
ALLIES: Gerwald Lechner | Millu Lee | Teyla Sal-Soren | Vanya Aklin | Maja Fiore | Liam Du'Cal | Milya Vondar | SJC
ENEMIES: The Bryn'adûl

So often on long trips, Oleander slinked into the barracks or found a more secluded corner of the ship to occupy. Like with so many things, he kept to himself unless called elsewhere, slipping into slumber or research to pass the time. For if there was no planning to be made, no life to end or subject to extract information from, what else was there? This time was hardly different, though he'd traded slumber for communication. And thus lead to the remnants of conversation between Death and War.

"I don't see why my skills are any more useful here than yours," he'd said to the hologram of Lavria Xedrim, the Anzat lounging in a rolling chair, hands gathered behind his head like a pillow. "They're fighting brutes, why disallow more brutish tactics?" And indeed, the two's fighting styles were very different from each others'. Where Lavria promised destruction, Oleander's art of assassination was more refined, not quite as reaching though still maintaining an absolute lethality.

He paused, at first listening to Lavria's response, but soon his attention was pulled away from the other as the familiar voice of Gerwald Lechner slinked into his head. His brow furrowed, mouth opening to cut Lavria's sentence short before opting to let her finish. "Exactly. Unfortunately, however, it seems duty calls." With the connection disconnected, he did a quick once over to ensure he had all his equipment, and set out toward the hangar bay.

"You would have me? Babysit?" he wasted no time in greeting the Lord Commander nor others who had gathered, not when there was a far more pressing matter at hand. His skills were in ushering death, not saving one from it. The future meant little to one who was not privy to the woes of age. The nerves of the impending extermination must've gotten to his employer, especially to bring along this Millu Lee if she needed protection to begin with. "Really?"

 

[Sylok'Vanari]

Post #1
Location: Planet's Surface, Nar Kreeta | Surface Command Center, Eastern Covenant Section - Upper Level
Objective: Platitudes and Decisive Action
Allies: Osam | Ostak Cl'mana | The Bryn'adûl
Enemies: Mathieu Brion | Cadere | Varn Barakis

Nar Kreeta, a planet that once belonged to the Jedi, plagued by the terraforming technology of a superior race; Draelvasier. It had been more than a year since the Bryn occupied the planet's surface, yet the super construct that rested on every planet they conquered, created thick gas for stretches of miles. What was once home to many other civilizations, now a remnant of what used to be. Nar Kreeta was the exact same, the toxic miasma slowly made progress, either forcing the indigenous fauna and flora to adapt or die. It was the beginning of the end, for those that were not strong enough to live in a world fit for the Bryn. The super constructs were a tool for survival, but a weapon to kill what remained weak. Still, the Bryn had conquered the planet, the mere fact that it was accomplished in a fury of hate and retribution, made it all the sweeter.

Or was it...

"What do you mean?" Sylok questioned the young Ashaka Mage.
"They just said, well..." Jai' Tak grew nervous, his words losing meaning.
"Spit it out Jai'Tak."
"I wasn't told-" The words of the young mage were cut off, doors opening from the command center before they were greeted by two more Ashaka.
"That is all Jai'Tak, get back to your teachings." Sylok's frustration with the youth grew, but his eyes rested on two Ashaka Mages he had come to trust, Vedkar and Yek Trell.
"Sylok'Vanari, you were requested to mediate a glaring issue with the Ankhenaton and Vaydralen. Word has it, there might be some dark magic about. Orders sir?" Vedkar shifted his eyes downward, after speaking. A sign of respect among those that followed the services of the Ashaka.
"Good work, where am I needed?"
"Eastern Covenant Section, Upper Level. I beleive Warlord Osam is awaiting your arrival." Yek Trell chimed up, his deep and scratchy tone reinstating his age.

Sylok grinned, it had been a while since he stepped foot on Nar Kreeta. His time here wasn't fond, despite losing a close comrade, he too had almost died. Of course the universe would have brought him back here, after the loss of General Keldothera . The pain may not have shown on his face, but the deep scar lingered as a reminder. Sylok had faced such emotions on Sarka, something that had curated into a powerful mixture of emotion and exemplary tactful thought. Not to mention, unlocking a hidden element that could now be used more adeptly. It seemed even the Weaver, had things to improve on. Regardless, Sylok shifted his attention back to Vedkar, the saddening thoughts free from his mind, for now.

"Secure the west end, also, find Alkmet. We all landed together, we'll all be leaving together. Understood?"
"Aye."
"Aye."

The two responded and veered out of the way. Sylok watched them exit, before the doors slammed shut behind them, disappearing behind the cold steel built by the newly appointed allies, the Ankhenaton. Tathra Khaeus had done an exceptional job bringing the Vaydralen and Ankhenaton into the fold, but what didn't make sense was the mission. Sylok continued to question it as he made his way down the long corridor.

What caused the divide? If not for the common displeasantries that most newly working together allies would have? What if this wasn't either of them? Vedkar mentioned rumors of dark magic, maybe, but doubtful. Hmm.

Sylok turned the corner, the hatchway sliding open. The thick door reminded him of a hexagonal honeycomb, much like that of the local fauna that used to reside. His teeth shifted at the thought, a smile reaching him before stepping through the threshold.

SKABOOSH!

The thundering crash forced the Ashaka Weaver up against the wall. The resounding crackle of the sudden impact shook through to his core. Correcting his balance, Sylok turned. Bright flashing lights erupting in an angular pattern on the large screen before him. The Aervalin tapped the screen. Images of crashing asteroids came to life, each dot sparking an alarming reality, the west end of the command spire was damaged. Tiny indications began to spring to life with damage protocols. Sylok's eyes widened, when he rushed to the other side of the upper level, the door swinging open to the final room on the Eastern Side, the Surface Command Center.

The large stone and metal ingenuity of the Ankhenaton and Draelvasier Technology combined, created the room. Screens filtered through codes and bio-oraganic readings twitched and transferred all information through the Drael tech. It was in one word incredible, but Sylok couldn't be worried with the efforts of others, not while dangerous asteroids threatened their compound. Not to mention the quarrel with the Vaydralen and Ankhenaton.

Sylok felt another distant tremble and when he finally looked at the center of the room he found Warlord Osam .

"Warlord, any ideas on the status of those asteroids?"

Sylok hoped the Risen had an answer, for all their sake.

​

 

[Ki'an Vizsla]

Location: Atmosphere above Nar Kreeta
Equipment: Linked in bio
Tags: Kranak Vizsla
​

It was just like old times, being accompanied by fellow Mandalorian, clan member and medic, Kranak Vizsla as they headed to battle. Despite the number of Mandalorians present, they were not here in their own capacity but rallying to the aid of the Silver Jedi Concord. For months they had been training, preparing for the possibility of an offensive attack and today would show the accumulation of their efforts as they launched their first attack to reclaim Nar Kreeta for its people.

For the past few months, Ki'an's focus had been on training when he wasn't busy raising his two children which he thankfully had much support in doing. He didn't speak about his familial situation but a few people had heard of it one way or another and some had learned not to ask. The training kept him focus, distracted, and it fuelled his determination to save his wife and daughter from what he couldn't before. He would improve - he had to improve.

For the most part, he remained largely the same, at least outwardly. He maintained his usual friendly, cheery character despite his mitigating circumstances which would've otherwise crushed some people. However, his mindset was nothing more than a poor coping mechanism: If he acted like nothing was wrong then maybe it wouldn't feel wrong.

​

Today, his focus was elsewhere, his presence was on Nar Kreeta, soon to enter a battle akin to the previous one from which he had to recover from in the weeks following. While they had succeeded in partially halting the Bryn'adul at his corner of the battle, it had not mattered for long as the main battle deteriorated and the Concord were forced to flee with Sarka falling into enemy hands.

"This just had to happen now. After three near sleepless nights because the twins can't sleep through them." He shook his head and smiled, talking to no one in particular as he discarded the used stimulant container.

"You're not the only one." Zeke mumbled, following suit. No one said anything further. Despite all being groggy and tired, none of them chastised Ki'an for being woken up in the night since they knew of his situation so the younger Mandalorian earned a rebuking elbow in the side from one of his squad-mates for his comment.

The group lived, ate and worked together at the outpost on Dxun. Ki'an had previously lived with his wife on Concord Dawn but following their attack he hadn't set foot on the planet since but rather uprooted his life to live at the military outpost with his newly assigned squad. They had bonded quickly, they had to if life was to be bearable, but they were not without the differences which could, at times, instigate disagreements.

Ki'an didn't reply to Zeke, instead turning his attention to the window as they roughly entered the atmosphere and began their descent. He felt bad for putting them in the situation they were in but he had no other option. While his squad had become his second family, he still held a duty to his blood family. They understood that despite the shared sleepless nights.

 

[Cadere]

Location: Dropship en route to the construct's eastern SCC
Equipment: Lightsaber | Personal Light Armor | Mantellian Vambraces | FF-CAR1 | 6x LPD-39 Coldblast Cryoban Grenade | Commlink | Rebreather
Allies: Mathieu Brion | Varn Barakis
Opposition: Osam | Sylok'Vanari

A short amount of time had passed since Sev Tok... since Zephyr. Things were still fresh for the Jedi Knight, feelings of disdain and anger toward the Bryn'adul cycloned within him like a world devastating hurricaine. While seated, Cas stared at his open palms in deep thought. Being back on Nar Kreeta after their humiliating loss invigorated the young Jedi - despite the glum place he felt himself to be in, it didn't deter his will to win. Today, he'd fight harder than he'd ever fought before to win back what was lost, to avenge those that lost their lives not only in defence of this planet but to everyone that had fallen to the Bryn.

Nar Kreeta was a sore memory for him, it was a huge loss and many good men and women had died to defend this planet... only for it to be for nought. Then there was Mathieu, the hulking Bryn Argaloth they'd faced injured his friend - nearly killing him. In addition, Cas almost killed himself in that battle, exhausting himself through excessive use of the Force to ensure their escape. Then a recent memory returned, prompting Cas to smirk to himself, he'd encountered that same Baedurin a few months ago alongside Ala Quin and Mathieu. It ended with the Baedurin as an overcooked piece of Bryn bacon.

Cas' fingers clamped together tightly before he stood up and took hold of one of the railings stretched across the dropship's ceiling. The Kiffar's feelings weighed heavy on him, but Cas did his best to mask his feelings from both Mathieu and Varn. Speaking of, as his tall Morellian friend arrived from the cockpit Cas offered the Padawan a weak smile as he approached.

His weak smile vanished and his eyes averted at Mathieu's comment about their last battle here. "It wasn't enough..." the Kiffar responded, Mathieu's optimism was always welcome, inspiring even, but with Sev Tok being so fresh in his mind, and the memory of the loss of Nar Kreeta. He didn't want to hear Mat's glass half full ideology right now.

The sudden jerk of the ship startled everyone, even Cas. The Knight felt his heartbeat elevate and his temperature surge, the adrenaline beginning to take route. Only... it was a false alarm, they hadn't been hit and Cas' adrenaline had begun to subside. For now. Remaining silent, Cas merely observed the interaction between Mathieu and Varn and as he watched, he was glad to have capable fighters at his back.

 

[Kiara Ayres]

Allies: @Pointed Ear Gang Sakadi Marathi Sinvala Jacen Nimdok
Equipment: Lightsaber, rebreather, armour

The sound of rock clanging against the hull, accompanied by the turbulence prompted the Jedi to instinctively reach out to grab hold of something. Outside, the exterior of the ship glowed bright with orange, aflame as it entered the atmosphere, hurtling violently towards the surface. Her hands moved to grip her harness as they prepared to land.

Despite the doom-and-gloom comment from the pilot, she remained calm, as did the other Jedi Masters who accompanied her. One of whom appeared to emerge from a meditative trance. She had met neither of them before but she suspected that it would only have been a matter of time after beginning training under the Grandmaster of Diplomacy.

The calm, yet sombre mood aboard their dropship was the epitome of peace. She wondered how some of their fellow allies were faring. There were to be Padawans at this battle, many of whom had not mastered exercising control over their emotions - some Knights too.

"May the Force be with us." She said solemnly in a gesture of camaraderie and good luck.

The pilot did the best he could to reduce speed and take control of the dropship to get them to the ground in one piece. The rumbling of the ship only intensified as the ground came ever closer. The Trandoshan was not gifted with such excellent control over his emotions as evident by the ripples of worry from the pilot in the Force.

Kiara closed her eyes and attuned into her own emotional presence in the Force from which she drew upon to influence a calming effect over the concerned pilot to ease his discomfort and allow him to complete his job more efficiently. Her focus remained on her task at hand and it was only when the shaking stopped that she realised they had landed.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: Structural Defence
Location: Grounds beyond the Super-Construct, directly ahead of the War-Beast Chambers
Allies: Tathra Khaeus | Galak |
Enemies: Kiara Ayres | Sakadi Marathi Sinvala | Mig Gred | Jacen Nimdok |
Stave | Cuirass
Forces: Al-Hadad | Shamans | Servitor Excavators |

"Again." The Primarch spoke, watching as the earth pivoted beneath the Servitor. The beast tamer at his side, struggling in her final trial.

All around them, other beast tamers attempted to tame various Servitors of different sizes. Excavators, Writhers. Those who succeeded would graduate as Beast Masers whilst those who failed would try again in a year.

Drek'ma watched through his cowl of metal, hands clinging to the Stave currently embedded in the split rock beneath his feet. The midday chorus of the winds dancing between the mountains and the great swaths of land beyond the continental Super-Construct, he sighed as the Servitor once more refuted the beast mastery of the Tamer. This was her second time she had attempted to tame a Servitor and gain her title as Beast Master, he recalled his own trial. That was nearly two decades ago on Edemar. So very long ago, then all Shamans were trained on Edemar. But since then their world had expanded so far beyond a handful of systems that it simply became impossible to train them all in the Shaman's palace. The beast tamer Drek'ma was watching sighed as the Servitor dove under the surface one again, she could not make it rise. The scale of a Servitor, it was hard not to be overcame by the magnitude of a creature as you attempted to control it.

"Analog's closer to our own form are easier to command. Syphons, Rhivaks, Savage Drones. But the Servitor, the Siege Towers. All essential, but much more difficult to master. Forget the physical form of the Servitor, forget how it daunts you. Let the unique strength of your beast empower you, not control you." Drek'ma explained.

But before the attempt could be made, the protective sheen of the cities dome was punctured. Drek'ma looked to the sky as sheens of yellow and orange, blades of fire lit up the ground as hundreds of asteroids came crashing down. His eyes, mirrored the flame engulfed asteroid as one came barrelling down toward them. He felt a shudder, even hundreds of metres away he could feel that heat. The shield could not protect him, nor he his fellow Shaman. With an extended hand, Drek'ma commanded the Servitor from beneath them, rising up with its full mass in the path of the asteroid. The explosion blinded him as the Servitor was struck centre mass by the asteroid, explosions rippling across their training grounds as the ground was broken, trees and grass burning as the air boiled.

The kinetic wave threw the Shaman back, back against the dirt. Drek'ma felt pain, his skin seared red from his proximity to the explosion. Bloodshot eyes opened to a barren land ahead, the bones of the Servitor apparent through its mid-section, the Shamans around him all similarly wounded or killed in the explosion. Pain commented on every moment, every shift of muscle as the Primarch attempted to rise. His staff, propping him up as his flesh peeled against his armour. Drek'ma shuddered against the discomfort, jaw tightening as gritted teeth saw him rise. He didn't understand, this meteor attack should've been repelled by the city shield - had they been sabotaged? The Mind Stones were abuzz with panic, klaxons and sirens blaring within the city give indication to what the attack meant.

Invasion.

Limping, Drek'ma made only a few steps from the barren site before teleporting to the first vantage point he could think of. He fell on his stomach, a glimpse of white light delivering him atop the high walls of the city. Ahead, a crumbling dent in the wall. As he rose, Drek'ma could see the full extent of the damage. Fires rose as asteroids pillaged the city-scape. Sentinel fire cutting down some before they could reach even the shield, but that hadn't been enough to stop them. The landing ships, Concord.

Primarch Drek'ma, prepare for battle.

The words of the Chieftain returned the Primarch's focus to duty. If the Concord wished to fight them on their land, so be it. They had fought for Nar Kreeta and every step closer to the Concord capital. Every victory paid for in death and blood, Nar Kreeta most of all. The world symbolised much for them. Their victory here had assured the assertion of the Chieftain's stability and now the Concord insulted that symbol with their vile foots upon this sacred world. His mind turned from the wounds, even as his skin still cooked. Their asteroids had killed a handful of Servitors and Shamans beyond their walls. The Concord were deploying vessels above and beneath the surface, he could feel it. The Dredge could feel it, the Excavators too.

"My beasts are at your command, Sire." Hundreds of Excavators would begin to move from within the war-beast chambers to intercept the enemies burrowing through the earth, guided by the Shamans communicating with the Hivemind to locate the enemy.

Piercing the veil, burrowing beneath the earth. The Concord wished to mimic them, but they did not possess the skill nor the power to do so properly. They did not understand power, but today they were guests upon the land of Hadad. They would be educated - their lives, would serve a greater purpose in death. The Primarch reached out, nearly a hundred miles from the Super-Construct something immense stirred in a peaceful slumber. Hundreds of black spines, hundreds of feet tall began to move as a miasma, cleaving through the surface as the great Al-Hadad moved through swathes of ground.

"Sire, I have called upon Al-Hadad. The great serpent will be here soon."

Drek'ma spoke with pride, the war-beasts already on the move to intercept their foe. They would assist Warlord Galak's forces if they could, and bury whatever else they could find.

 

[Vanya Aklin]

equipment: Lightsaber 1 & 2
allies: Oleander Webb | Millu Lee | Gerwald Lechner | Maja Fiore | Liam Du'Cal | Teyla Sal-Soren | Milya Vondar | SJC
enemies: The Bryn'adûl

It was fascinating how time changed the world and the people in it. There had been a moment in history when the tattooed Nightsister would have slaughtered Jedi without hesitation, just for the transgressions of their ancestors; those that carried the mantle Jedi were all the same, and she did not discriminate. All had ties to the Knights that had decimated her species, and the cult that governed them. But as time went on and anger waned, she would find herself aboard the CNS Asajj Ventress, readying to fight at the side of Jedi.

How hilarious.

The Obsidian Knights - that was who she was with this day. Not the Nightmother or the Coven. And it would appear that she was the odd one out, the black sheep. No other witch had joined them as of yet and that suited her just fine. The time was drawing ever closer, and the woman stood, clipping a saber at each hip, both having been acquired through trials and tribulations, and made her way to the hanger.

Her stride was unwavering and confident. Obsidian-violet eyes turned to the Lord Commander when his arrival was made, and then to the one that spoke next. Oleander, she had heard him called. His words would entice a faint smirk to the Nightsister's lips. She had never been one for small talk, or the arguments of others but understood his annoyance. There was even a slight curiosity as to why he had been chosen over the others present.

Casting her gaze toward the child, and Millu was certainly a child, no older then her own daughters, Vanya eyed her with a distinct judgement. "She is a child." Vanya announced as though it had not been already known. "If you give her a babysitter, you're practically giving her permission to misbehave. She will be fine--" there was enough of them present that should the child encounter trouble there would be someone close-by to aid and protect her.

Her gaze turned toward the child in question. "--ask for help when you need it, and show no mercy for you shall receive none. Shall we continue now?" She finished by returning her gaze to the Lord Commander.

 

[Varn Barakis]

Location: Drop Ship en route to the construct's Eastern SCC
Gear: Lightsaber, Silver Jedi Knight Plate
Tags: Osam Sylok'Vanari Mathieu Brion Cadere (Guest starring: Andromeda Malvern maybe?)

The drop ship rattled and wavered as the Jedi descended through Nar Kreeta's toxic atmosphere. A bump here, a course adjustment there, gentle reminder after not-so-gentle reminder that they were heading into battle. His eyes closed, head dipped, Varn couldn't help but feel at peace. The prospect of violence no longer bothered him as it once had. The possibility of dying, of being maimed, of having to kill in order to avoid being killed- they were commonplace and no longer warranted conscious thought. Varn recognized the problem with that. To a degree, he fought against it. He couldn't decide whether it was a fight he wanted to win or not.

Another gentle rattle. Varn sat up in his seat, looked around.

There weren't many in the drop ship. A half-dozen. One or two more. The pilots. Of them all, only a few were familiar to him. Cadere . Mathieu Brion . Andromeda Malvern. A brother-knight, a padawan, and his own padawan. Friends among strangers. Acquaintances among comrades. To say he knew Cas and Mat would've been a lie. To say he knew of them was more accurate. As for Andromeda, well, she was family, even if they weren't bound by blood.

He still didn't know if bringing her had been a good idea. What they were heading into wouldn't be pretty. She knew that, of course. They all did. Every knight and Master and soldier knew what was coming. To an extent, they were prepared. But this was the Bryn' they were talking about. Unpredictable and predictably ferocious, they were everything most Sith only pretended to be. Hard to kill, smarter than they were given credit for, the beasts of Nar Kreeta were, he believed, foes to rival all foes. That wouldn't stop the Jedi from doing what needed done, however. Nothing ever did.

Varn nodded as Mat approached from the cockpit. The boy -a young man in truth- was tall, and from the look of him strong. A warrior king in the making, perhaps. The Zabrak smiled to himself as the boy-king steadied himself using an overhead railing. His voice when he spoke was strong, clear, undeniably youthful. He addressed Cas first, and something passed between the two friends that left Varn at odds with his own thoughts. The Force shifted, bounced. Understanding dawned at the same time Cas replied. So they'd been here before? That must've been hard. Harder still to come back.

Necessary, though. One had to face their demons, sooner or later.

The words that followed were meant for him. So, Sarka? Mat was right in assuming he hadn't been there. Where had he been? Elsewhere was the only answer he could dredge up from his memories, and even those were vague. He was fairly certain that, wherever he'd been, it had been in the Order's interests at the time. Or he'd been acting against the Order's enemies, numerous as they were. Either or.

The ship jumped slightly as something happened outside. It settled soon after. Varn nodded. "When we're done." He agreed. It went without saying that they might not get the chance to train together. That was just how it was. When he turned to Cas, his brow furrowed. Did the man blame himself for everything the Bryn' had done? Did he carry the weight of every failure on his shoulders? It sure seemed like it. When he spoke, his tone was neither gentle nor consoling. It did, however, possess the same strength as Mat's had displayed. As he intended. "We'll put it right. One way or another, we will."

 

[Osam]

Objective: Platitudes and Decisive Action
Location: Eastern Covenant Section - Surface Command Center

Spoiler: Personal Equipment

Kraemonen Flesh Vessel
Barad Assault Carbine
Pulverizer
Zealot's Barad Kukri
T120 Burner Missile Launcher
Sun Quaker Toxin Grenade x2

Friends: Sylok'Vanari | Ostak Cl'mana | Thur'Zak
Foes: Mathieu Brion | Cadere | Varn Barakis

---

Aggravation wrought its way through the Warlord's system with every passing second that his telepathic link was denied. It was not as if though it was a simple matter to avoid a message being projected directly to the mindstone of Amok-Tu, and yet it seemed as if though he was having serious difficulty in managing to reach the Warlord. He had been far more receiving when Osam had first arrived on the world, but the hybrid had found him to be altogether a disappointing character. He spoke a great deal of his accomplishments and what the mighty Draelvasier had done since taking Nar Kreeta, and he'd even gone into length about how he was far less conservative than his peers because he had so thoughtfully supported the Risen-Sraelvun in their ascension.

That was humorous because Osam didn't remember ever hearing about him before the incident on Nar Kreeta.

Osam took a moment to compose himself, shutting off the attempted link to the Warlord in favor of getting a grasp of the situation unraveling around him. Peering out the window, he could see the utter devastation that had been caused by the fall of so many of the asteroids. A quick glance upward revealed that the impressively massive ceiling which had covered over every mile of the Eastern Covenant Section was now pockmarked with dents and breaches. At least some of the rocks had failed to penetrate the ceiling even after having burst through the shield - that was a relief. They'd probably managed to sustain fewer casualties than any of the other sections as a result.

He peered out at the wreckage of a nearby barracks, watching as members of the Akhenaton and Vaydralen race picked their own kind out of the debris, helping them to their feet, seeking shelter from the hailstorm above.

Heavy footsteps caught the Warlord's attention and he spun about to see the Akhenaton Deacon Thur'Zak being closely followed by the Vaydralen Centurion Generals and the pair's subsequent band of bodyguards and sycophants. Each of them seemed to carry a degree of surprise about what was happening, and certainly, for good reason - the sheer scale of this attack against them was utterly unprecedented. Certainly, the Bryn'adul had been stricken in the past, and even the Sith had planned an offensive against them, but they had never been hit by so many foes so fiercely on their own territory.

Osam thought for an instant to all of the brethren that had been lost already, crushed by the tremendous weight of these falling stones, or set ablaze by their heat. They had not been expecting an attack... it was one thing to die in battle when one knew it was a possibility, but here they had been going about their daily activities. His people were resting, they were eating, they were sharing war-stories, they were raising children, or falling in love, or making new friends, or honoring old ones who had fallen. He thought about all of the families who had just lost someone, about all of the children who may now be trapped underground in the darkness alone.

So many were vat-born, bred for war, but that did not make them any less in the eyes of the Bryn'adul. Their lack of parents made them children of the community, of the Crusade, of all of them. They were little brothers and sisters, proteges and apprentices. How many would never grow because of this attack? Numbers didn't matter - he knew that the answer was always going to be 'too many'.

Tearing himself from the thought, Osam returned his attention to the Akhenaton and the Vaydralen Generals.

"Your two peoples are fighting, but I do not understand why. I hear complaints, and see them recorded, but who started all of this?" He addressed plainly, leaving subtly for someone else.

He directed a finger toward the Amariatu, singling out the Deacon in the process. "What did the Vaydralen say to your people. Tell me exactly."

They would each have their turn, but prying information out of the honor-bound Vaydralen might prove a more difficult process than the simple and cooperative Akhenaton. He would start his investigation with him, and then move to the two Generals once he had determined some more preliminary information.

The arrival of Beast Master Ostak to the chambers meant that questioning the Vaydralen would be delayed by a moment longer. Osam had met the mighty Beast Master in the past, during a recreational bout following a successful conquest, but he could not recall a great deal about him. Where did he fall within the rank structure? Osam was fairly confident that he out-ranked him as a Warlord... but then why would he rush in so directly and demand information? Was he simply worried? No, Ostak radiated many things, but panic and worry did not seem suitable descriptions.

"Should we answer?" the Kraemonen Hivemind within his suit whispered into the Warlord's head, offering its assistance in describing the situation. He nodded his acceptance - to no one in apparent - and the information flooded into him in bursts.

"The Ceiling is mostly intact over the Eastern Section, but it's been pierced multiple times by landing craft. From what we can tell, there are a number of subterranean vehicles attempting to land with the largest number centering around the Central Command Section." A pause to receive additional data, the Kraemonen reading over the disparate mindstones scattered throughout the battlefield to pick up snippets and pieces. "Otherwise, three of our five railways are out of commission. The barracks here have sustained major damage, and the Vaydralen and Akhenaton are still feuding." That seemed to be everything of direct relevance, but he decided to add, "I'm also unable to contact Warlord Amok-Tu. He deems himself 'too important' to direct situations in the Eastern Section, it seems."

Another rattling of the SCC nearly tore the hybrid off of his feet as the room shook under the impact of another asteroid, this one being deflected just enough off course to avoid obliterating all of them in the process. "The Quilxyn here are holding - and the Rescript should protect us from anything too sudden. Otherwise, we're undermanned until the race relations are fixed. If only I could reach Amok-Tu we might be able to pool resources more effectively. He's in the Central SCC."

The Ashaka Sylok'Vanari had entered the room sometime between the beginning and end of his sit-rep, but he had been so distracted by the incoming information granted by the Kraemonen that he hadn't noticed him until he'd concluded. A question was raised about the asteroids and the status regarding them, and the hybrid once again glared out of the window, assessing the situation with his own eyes. It was easy enough to siphon information through the Hivemind, but seeing it himself made the entire process much more direct and allowed him to form his own opinions more efficiently.

"They're falling slower now - I think the barrage is ending. There are landing craft outside of the Ceiling - I can just see them flitting around from here through the breaches. They'll land soon..." His voice trailed off as he turned to face the Ashaka, the Beast Master, and the race leaders, contemplating their situation in greater detail, letting himself think for a moment before he went off and started issuing commands.

"If this SCC falls, the enemy will have significant control over the Eastern Section. The Titan will be flanked. We can't allow that - but the only way we will resolve the issue is if we can fix this in-fighting." His gaze settled on Ostak. "We need contact with Warlord Amok-Tu. Can you reach him in the Central Section?"

Once that matter was concluded, he would redirect his attention to the Ashaka, Sylok, whose presence had once saved him from a terrible poison and who had provided him protection upon Sev Tok. "The Quilxyn here needs to stay firm - both the shield and the Rescript. Can you monitor them both, and start trying to establish barriers through them on those ceiling breaches?"

They would endure this in-fighting. They had done it in the past, on this very world.

Like a harvest coming to fruition, the planet was ripe for a lesson in unity, and Osam would help provide it.

 

[Dis]

Dis the Shadow(cat)
Shadowcat, explorer and wanderer; Owner of the Cat’s Paw; Member of the Greystone Mercantile​

Objective IV.: Make friends, BYOO
Location: Nar Kreeta
Equipment: N/A
Writing with: Reidun Amersis (little later)

[ Theme ] ​

Dis felt a larger group through the Force, so their path led there. It was in this place that members of the Bryn’adûl. The Shadow's snow-white, iris-free eyes widened. If anyone had seen them at this moment, they would have seen two huge white spots in the shadows. Shadowcat may not be surprised many times, but it has now succeeded.

Here, in Realspace, but also in the Netherworld, they saw a lot of weirdness, it was enough to just look at the Bureaucratic demons, for example. But Bryn’adûl was also very strange, they hadn’t seen anything like it before. Dis didn’t know what they were like, how many subspecies they had, or how many separate species they made up, but the diversity surprised them. No species has seen so much variety before.

They heard them speak, but they understood nothing of the words. It immediately became clear that they were not using the Galactic common language, but their own. Dis found all this very interesting. Unfortunately, they liked less how brutal these creatures seemed and giant, with huge weapons.

The Shadowcat rarely felt fear or was rarely frightened, but now it has happened. It first occurred to them during their existence that making friends here might not be such a good idea. Or just chances are small they will find friends here…

 

[Sethrak]

Main Objective: For Soot and Soil
Side Objective: Find The Lothal Guard
Location: The Warlock Dome (Destroyed)
Post: 1

Before the invasion​

Sethrak sat in the isolation chamber of the Warlock's dome. While designed to let Warlocks increase the productivity of the production center, the silence allowed them to focus on anything they wished. For Sethrak he needed the silence to mourn the death of Hrajlmak, and more importantly, to prepare himself for the responsibilities of taking Hrajlmak's place. Had Hrajlmak not fallen in battle, the only way to ascend to the rank of First Warlock was Morad'kai-a duel to the death-in which the winner took the title.

But the First Warlock had fallen in combat during the invasion of Sev Tok along with so many others. There had been some chaos among The Bryn'adul regarding who would take Hrajlmak's place. Chaos that Sethrak was quick to silence. He had fought side by side with Chieftan Khaeus, Warlock Hrajlmak, Warlord Osam, and Emissary Galak before. He had saved The Titan, and he had been one of the heretics that brought the much needed change to The Bryn'adul. Finally, he was The Warlord of Lothal and head of the infamous Lothal Guard.

There was no Warlock more suitable for the job than he.
​

His ascension was quick and undisputed among most. Those that did challenge him were silenced by his hand. The few undecided were now loyal, be it from fear, respect, or something else entirely. With no doubt, Sethrak was now The First Warlock.

So he sat in the Warlock's chamber as he planned the future of The Warlock Caste and in doing so he knew he was planning part of the future of The Bryn'adul as a whole. He would not let his brothers down. He would not fail Hrajlmak. He would honor his family.

The Invasion
​

The First Warlock was on the ground inside The Warlock's dome. He had felt the impact moments before it hit. It was inevitable, unavoidable, he had tensed up and risen to his feet only to be thrown to the ground. Now his ears were ringing and his entire body ached. The explosion had been loud, and he could not tell if there had been more than one. Surely this wasn't a freak accident. Were they being invaded? The enemy couldn't be so bold....could they?

He would soon find out as he rose to his feet. The isolation chamber he had been sitting in just minutes ago was now unrecognizable. The ceiling had caved in, and the exit was blocked by debris. True to its' name, the isolation chamber was isolated from everything. There was only one exit, and the room was small, one of many throughout The Dome. Sethrak was trapped, plain and simple. However there was one thing in The Isolation chamber that may be his saving grace: A long-range communication stone.

He looked around the room, first slowly, then a bit more frantically. At last he found the small stone, nearly missing it among the rubble. He grabbed the stone, lifting it to his mouth and speaking to anyone within range "This is the Warlord Sethrak. I am in the Warlock Dome. It has, at least partially, collapsed, and I am trapped. Anyone nearby, please help."

He waited.

There was no response. ​

The Warlock, weaponless, and alone, was trapped inside the Isolation chamber, completely unaware of the events taking place outside.

 

[Bernard]

The Pabol Offensive
Hivebusters, Objective II
Bullets
​

Allies: SJC, GA, Ishida Ashina
Enemies: Bryn, Open

​

Bernard sat in quiet contemplation, absentmindedly spinning a blaster in and out of his palm's grasp. It made quiet clack sounds that were barely audible whenever the barrel hit the back of his fingers, then again when it spun back and the handle slipped into his hand. The faintly luminescent blue spine that ran along the barrel created an almost mesmerizing show in the dimness of light as it moved back and forth in semi-circles like a metronome, always one and one-quarter rotation.

It was dim at best inside its troop compartment, conserving energy to make their energy signature less pronounced. Bright enough to see silhouettes and outlines, but otherwise the room was full of shadows. The occasional outline of screen shone faintly into the room, for utilitarian purposes, not luminescence. The low drumming vibration of metal piercing rock underpinned everything, broken up by sudden shakes whenever the drill bit into fiercer rocks. The rumbling reverberated through the craft's entire length, from drill to tail, rather noisily, though the inside of the troop compartment possessed a merciful measure of sound-proofing.

Anticipation built in Bernard's system as he spun the blaster. A tightness in his chest made his breaths grow shallower. That was new. The change was slow and gradual, spanning a few dozen breaths, but it was noticeable. Not sure quite what to make of it, he didn't make any attempts to fight the onset of anticipation. There seemed to be little point. His system would be flooded with adrenaline soon, he knew, enough to forget the small anxieties as he always did when the fighting commenced. A part of him pondered the change. New troubles always came as its companion.

The tunnel craft rocked harshly, nearly throwing Bernard off his seat. He caught himself in the tangle of safety belts to his side, taking hold of the blaster to keep it from slipping out of his hand. By the end of the violent throes, he lay half-sprawled over two seats and had to take a moment to untangle himself from the mess of straps. The rumbling had changed, he noticed. It was much slower now almost lumbering. The rock must be posing greater resistance for the drill-head.

Must have gone deep underground by this point. He glanced at his chrono. Their destination wasn't far off at all, barely a few minutes out. He took the moment to look over the silhouettes of the other occupants, glowing in subtle shades that matched the temperatures of their bodies. The mood in the troop compartment was best described as solemn. There was no talk among the Rangers. Some stared at their weapons, faces flush red, while others exchanged the occasional, almost knowing, glances among yellow shades. They told of dedication to duty, at any cost. Admirable, in some senses.

The anticipation grew stronger. Bernard shifted in his seat but suddenly froze. His muscles tightened up. He cursed silently and looked over to the last occupant, the Jedi across from him. The words of a Padawan he'd met on Kashyyyk echoed in his mind as he did: "if we aren't old enough to be in the military we can't be on the front lines," she'd said.

"First battle?" He asked, an eyebrow raised. The light barely caught the motion, broken by his hair that ran down his shoulder and chest like a white snake.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Optional

Spoiler: GEAR

Conservator and Vanguard 2.0 (Lightsabers)
Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor, Toraynor-Henkan, Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Dilorian in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music" (Both on ship at all times)
Tag: Brooke Waters Ala Quin SJC/Allies

​

SEVERAL WEEKS AGO

His recovery was interesting. The Force was taking to him, not communicating as normal. It was confusing, and even rather nauseating at first as the big guy could not control his abilities at first. Of course, this could be similar to when he was learning the Force to begin with, but what was different this time is that he already knew how to communicate with the Force. It still took some getting used to. Where he could once sense others without issue, as if a part of a hive mind, now? Now he had to actually focus on it, Caltin could not simply feel a presence, he had to look for it. The interesting thing though is that he could feel a presence from a sector away, maybe more, but he did not try to go further, maybe another time.

“What is the matter?” Serenity asked as she watched him breathing heavily as if out of breath.

Just not used to this.

“You will gain it in time.” She responded reassuringly with a smile.

I understand, but I am not sure that I have the time. Something is about to happen in the galaxy.

“Right there, you are learning of your skills and how to use them.”

The Force has always shown us the way in these things though.

Serenity again smiled, shaking her head. “Not like this. You are no longer among the Force, you are a part of it.” Caltin just lofted an eyebrow.

Beg pardon?

“Think about it this way, silly, do you feel the Midi-Chlorians running through you the way you did in the past?” Taken aback, Caltin wondered aloud.

Come to think of it, no?

“Seeee? You are not feeling the Force, in a way, it is the other way around. You do not have to physically feel out for something as you are already connected. Not like a ‘hivemind’, perse, but that you do not have to reach out in the way that you once did. The same as with your physical skills, you are no longer in need of trying to complete a skill or task, you simply do. You are enhanced naturally.”

Should I?

Go ahead, man…

Serenity smiled again. “No, you will not be wearing a ‘cape and tights’ as your friend gave you permission to say.”

What the??

Holy Malachor! Did she just…

“Yes, I did. I know about him. Do not worry. Anyway, back to what I was saying. Your affinity to the Force is new because your situation is and always has been unique.”

HAHA… ‘Caltin Vanagor… Jedi God’...

Serenity actually snorted. “No, silly… not a ‘God’ as you sentients like to call them. Not even a Jedi, or a Sith, or anything. You are just who you are.”

... and that is?

Serenity just smirked. “For someone who professes that he does not like ‘labels’, you certainly are digging for one. You are who you have always been, ‘Caltin Vanagor’. The rest is just titles, that is all they ever were, a select few have learned to realize it.”

A respectful and accepting nod meant that he got what she was saying.

PRESENT DAY.

The Jedi Witch, Waters. She contacted him while he was on “The Sentinel” and he forgot to respond. Now, on this dropship was as good a time as any as they were heading down. It was also time to test how this new way of speaking through the Force worked. The big guy chuckled as he hoped he would not embarrass himself and say something silly for all to hear and not just her, but then again what would there be to say that was silly and embarrassing?

~Hello Knight Waters. This is Master Vanagor. I have heard good things about you and am glad to know you will be down there as well. Just relax, trust in yourself, not just the Force, trust in who you are and those around you and we will get through this.

See you soon~

Not bad. Now he could go back to thinking about the last time he was around the Bryn, that was a bad day. A bad week. The loss of Sarka, was a tragedy in what happened to the people, but also the devastation, the loss of so many Jedi. Then what happened to Ala. That was the beginning of his failure, and it was the beginning of his defeat.

For too long he put too much weight on his shoulders in trying to protect her. Yes, he needed, needs her in his life, always will, but she needed to be able to fend for herself. That was why she reacted the way she did on the planet Jakku. She was right, he put too much pressure on her, and by doing so, put too much pressure on himself. The attachment would always be there, but it had to evolve as the two of them had. He would never abandon her, but if she was going to recover, if she was going to grow it had to start with her getting out of that krikkin’ hoverchair. Not only this, she had to do so on her own, he would root her on, but it had to be from afar. Only then would her success be meaningful like she needed it to be.

Right now though, he needed to focus on the task at hand. The occupants of the dropship were feeling a little better about the situation, so he did not worry about that. Slowly in his mind, he went over what lied ahead and how to approach it. He developed a plan in his mind, not exactly on what to do, but how to approach whatever they are about to face. Slowly he was beginning to ponder it but noticed that as he was doing though, some in this dropship were doing so as well. They were meditating and all had a similar look to what he had on his face at the moment.

Strange…

“Approaching the shield! Hang on!” Came from the cockpit.

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Quoron Ver'dum]

Objective: Undecided
Location: Eastern Section, Vaydralen barrack exterior
Allies: Osam | Sylok'Vanari | Craldzaer | Thatzaer | Thur'Zak | Ostak Cl'mana
Enemies: TBD
Armour | Shield | Ravager Marksmen Rifle | Mangler Submachine Gun | Syphon Beam Rifle |

They were on the precipice, many didn't understand the point of the fight at Sev Tok. It had been their first great offensive to involve other species and now his kin were worried that such suicide missions would become their purpose. Or rather, hesitant to step one foot in the wrong place to upset the Draelvaiser. Paranoia had turned a glorious union into what feltl ike a trap for many, though Quoron did not share those views. He knew those whom he had fought beside at Sev Tok as brothers and he knew what this world; Nar Kreeta - meant to the Draelvasier. He had studied the military history of this world upon being stationed as military police captain overseeing the barrack. This was the world upon which the Draelvasier themselves conquered their defiant instincts and set their eyes upon the holy strength of unity. Something now the Akhenaton and Vaydralen required. They feared an opulent discipline from the Drael if they did not put knives to each other, but that was what they were saddling themselves for with hasty and fear-driven decisions.

Quoron was in the midst of make his way toward the edge of the crowd. Craldzaer, the Akhenaton who had hurt the Vaydralen refused to listen to him. But if they wanted to avoid a exchange of molten fire he'd have to. Or so was Quoron's priority at the time.

He could feel the heat, the Vandals standing at his side were no longer present as he rose. His shield flickering to life as he pushed himself upright, hand fresh skinned against burning hot metal. Metal that had once been the exterior of an adjacent watchtower. No good that it had done them, klaxons blaring and alarms alight. The signal of attack, but from what the Vandal Captain could not discern. His duty as a policing officer swept aside. He had to be a Captain for his warriors now. Quoron arose amid the confusion, a set of hooved Vaydralen feet tucked into the earth - their owner nowhere to be seen bar for spreads of purple blood across an array of shrapnel. There was confusion, pointed fingers and hostility among themselves making quick company to the ensuing chaos as Quoron rose. A Akhenaton at his side, one of the smaller ones - it had dislocated its arm. The Vandal took the marksmen rifle from his back - the Akhenaton scout trooper immediately began to try and crawl away.

Quoron raised the rifle into the air and fired a singular shot.

"Tend to the wounded! Arm yourselves! NOW!" There was no time for speeches. They needed to get as many on their feet as possible.

It disheartened him to see the Akhenaton afraid. Even with no ability to emote, he could see it in the way the scout moved. Quoron put the marksmen rifle onto his back, raising outward palms as he approached the Akhenaton. It didn't move, some small trust. Quoron knelt down beside the scout, slow as to not cause any eruption of nerve. He nodded to him, hoping it understood as he used both hands to seize its dislocated arm. One hand slid up to the shoulder, a lull passed before he reset it. The satisfying crack common for a normal creature was not present, but he felt strength return as the Akhenaton rose with a nod to his own kin. The Captain let him go, taking his own weapon to hand as he saw the approaching shadows of Concord dropships.

Even as Quoron tried his best, some listened and others did not. Some armed themselves only to point weapons at each other. He felt frustration in the deepest parts of himself, even with all that had happened they still sought to point barrels inward rather than toward the threat at hand.

As long as his own and the Akhenaton were too busy fighting among themselves, it would be up to the Draelvasier to deal with the Concord. He felt such shame in admittance of that thought, but what Vandals would stand at his side would fight.

 

[Mathieu Brion]

Allegiance​

Location: Dropship en route to the construct's eastern SCC
Equipment: Ashlas wristguard | Espresso Revolver | 6 L'Escargots with Cryoban charges and 6 with incendiary charges | Stun baton | Two Lightsabres | Brion Substance Regulator | Electromagnetic pulse emitter | Covert Jedi Robes on top of Gundark II-class Power Armor | 5 LPD-39 Coldblast Cryoban Grenade | LPD-40 Icejet Miniaturized Cryoban Projector | Commlink | Rebreather
Enemy Tag: Osam Sylok'Vanari
Allied Tag: Cadere Varn Barakis

Distant noises of asteroids crashing into the surface level of the Bryn construct could be heard closing in as the dropship neared the eastern part of it at a high speed. So far, the dropships which carried the strike team had kept their weapons still and would continue to do so for a while longer as they simply followed the last few asteroids for the time being. It was far from a peaceful journey as the Bryn appeared to make efforts to destroy or at the very least redirect the massive space rocks. Perhaps a sign that their cover was just as effective drawing fire as it was protecting against it. Regardless, there was not much Mathieu could do about it now - he would trust the pilots to do their job and if anybody was going to intervene, it was Cassie who was a far better pilot than himself.

Taking a seat, the large Padawan produced an awkward nod in response to his friend's gloomy response. He let out a sigh whilst whispering "It never is", more to himself than for anyone else. A soft smile returned to his lips upon hearing the other Jedi Knight. Varn framed their challenge in a positive light - not one which spoke of an eagerness for battle, but rather one which saw and highlighted the importance of what they were doing. He nodded, this time with more conviction "Whatever we do, we'll either create a vulnerability or draw power from other fronts." It wasn't a very personal response - just one which mirrored the sentiment expressed by the Knight. Of course, Mathieu was curious as to what it was that had brought his friend down, for the usual glint in the eye and snappy replies were nowhere to be seen. It was sensitive, naturally, and so, he simply gave the Kiffar a pat on the back with a look to convey support before returning his attention to the other Jedi. "I've got a few extra sandwiches in that bag over there, if you want one" he said, pointing to a bag laying near the Zabrak by the holo-table.

The rays of light which shone in from the cockpit soon started to shift from bright hues of blue to darker reds as they neared the structure. The asteroid they had been following finally crashed through its roof, dangerously close to the CSS tower. A calm and stable voice sounded over the comms as the pilot spoke "We're going in" causing Mathieu and the others to take on rebreathers - while the atmosphere up by the CSS was expected to be tolerable for them, the unpredictable nature of the Bryn structure ensured that they used them to be safe.

From having kept a relatively steady course, the dropships shifted to more advanced manoeuvres to avoid incoming fire and debris as they shot through the large holes created by the asteroids. The lighting in the back of the dropship made a dramatic switch as it became considerably darker but still with the darker hues of red. Steadying for a moment, the the dropship fired two missiles as the roof of the CSS tower in the hopes of blowing a hole in its roof for a speedy entry. The other two ships veered off to other targets in the eastern section of the Bryn structure as the one carrying the Jedi kept speeding towards its destination - whether it would have to land by its top or the root would remain to be seen as the ship's systems worked to analyse the structural damage caused by the attack.

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

Sword | Shield | Armour | Rebreather
Forces: 1st Legion, Brotherhood of Steel (1,000)
Allies: Beltran Rarr | Silver Jedi Concord
Enemies: Bryn'adûl
​

"Dad, you have no idea what kind of an enemy they are," his son protested from his hospital bed. "Whatever reports you've read these last few years describing them... There are no words for the sheer horrors they produce, new ones with each engagement. You've fought Sith all your life, and you know their ilk well. But I tell you now: The Bryn are nothing like the Sith. They are not even of this galaxy, yet are wholly convinced that it belongs to them. They will not stop until every. Single. World, is turned to ashes. They are destroyers, not conquerors. They wipe entire species out, wipe out entire cultures. They do not take prisoners or slaves, nor do they act out of greed."

The father stood still at the foot of his son's bed, clad in black and gold armour and with the sword Anarion at his side. He was about to go to war against an enemy he admittedly knew little of, as his youngest had been so quick to point out.

"None of that matters, Thirdas," he stated plainly, plucking his shield off the floor and placed it on his back. There was visible confusion in the face of his son.

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter? How can none of what I just said matter?"

Stepping around the hospital bed to lean over his boy, gloved hand caressing his cheek, Thurion replied.

"Because in spite of all that you've said, they still must be stopped. If it is our wish to belong to this galaxy, then we all must fight for it, no matter the cost. You know our ways; better to die standing for something, than it is to die on our knees. Midvinter is part of this galaxy, and we will fight for it."

Leaning down to place a kiss upon his boy's forehead, he found that Thirdas would not let him go.

"I want to go home for a while," he admitted rather suddenly. "To see everyone. It's been too long. I just don't want to come home to attend my father's funeral." Silent tears escaped the corners of his eyes even as he uttered those dreaded words. The mere thought was simply unbearable.

"Have faith, son," he told him with a kind smile. "This battle is not to be my last. This I believe with my entire being."

"I must go."

Thirdas clinged to his father, and Thurion to him in a firm embrace.

"Rest now, Major. I'll try and save some Bryn for you and your boys."

Before he could step out the door, his boy called out to him one last time.

"Dad... May the Force be with you."

"Always has. It gave me you."

Aboard the Chariot-Class Transport Frigate "Deliverer"
Briefing room
​

He'd kept to the background during the good colonel's speech and subsequent briefing of the impressively complex operation the Concord had put together in this very first assault on a Bryn'adûl stronghold. He was no stranger to military briefings, having delivered his share of them first during his long tenure as Silver Jedi Grandmaster in the genesis of the Order, and later as Lord and High King of Midvinter. Still, when operations were of this magnitude it was impressive to see a man so utterly in his element.

Joining Paladin Company for this operation was the 1st Legion of the Brotherhood of Steel, a force of a thousand Valkyri that followed their King from their homeworld of Midvinter, and would continue to follow him into glorious battle. These men march to war piloting great suits of power armour, hefting massive two-handed weapons otherwise too heavy for any one man to even lift off the ground. While Midvinter possessed little in terms of advanced technology, the Brotherhood of Steel provided that much needed boost to combat galactic threats. Ten such legions exist, each consisting of a thousand men, with the first being the most battle-hardened of all.

It had not taken long for the curious giants to take on members of Paladin Company through challenges of arm-wrestling and various other contests of strength to test their mettle. While his men enjoyed themselves, Thurion approached the Colonel.

"Your forces are most impressive, Colonel Rarr. It's quite astounding how far the Order's military capabilities have progressed since my time. There are few still alive who remember the founding of the Antarian Rangers. You have my every respect for carrying on their traditions, Colonel."

He bowed his head to the officer.

"My men and I stand with you. We may not have fought the Bryn before, but we're fast learners."

Turning towards the nearby viewport to bask in the stunning scenery that was hyperspace, Thurion crossed his arms.

"Makes you wish for a simpler time, does it not? When all we had to worry about was the Sith."

An aged officer happened to walk by, catching a glimpse of the tall Jedi Master. There were few traces of time having affected the blonde giant, whereas long years had turned his own hairs white with age. Disregarding proper protocol, he approached Thurion and Colonel Rarr from behind.

"Excuse me, sir...?"

Thurion turned around, facing him. The old officer's face lit up as he hurried to throw up a salute.

"Grandmaster Heavenshield," he spoke with such pride, as if time had regressed and he'd become a young man again.

"At ease, my friend," Thurion smiled and bowed. Though he did not recognise the veteran, it was clear that this was someone who had served under him at some point. A time long since passed.

"Those Bryn won't know what hit 'em, Colonel," he turned to Beltran, offering him the same salute before returning to his duties, a noticably more youthful spring to his step.

 

[Brooke Waters]

A Jedi Knight and an Elder Witch. It made Brooke very different than the rest of the Jedi and the Witches. She had the Force magick prowess of a leading Witch and the martial skill of a Jedi. Trained in knowing the wind and many other aspects of nature. She was hoping that this skill would assist the Jedi in knowing what was right and what was wrong when they were digging into fighting the Bryn’adul. The Yuuzhan Vong were misunderstood at one point in time, maybe the Bryn were similar to that.

But that wasn’t now, time, for all it didn’t really exist, was proceeding in a manner that at the moment the Bryn were a threat. Her leather armor was prepped, as was her lightsaber, and the Force. Going into this, she was prepped as much as she could be but it still didn’t feel enough.

The message came in and she smiled to herself. Trust in the Force.

She laid in her drop pod, her lightsaber in hand, the life safety belt around her, providing emergency shielding and air. The drop pod was fired as the other landers were heading for the surface, she would be hitting behind the lander, bypassing the shield with the ship.

The Force was with her. And she’d make sure to use it when the time was right.

Caltin Vanagor

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

POST: II
OBJECTIVE: Platitudes and Decisive Action
LOCATION: Nar Kreeta, Super-Construct, Near Warlock Dome
EQUIPMENT: Ceremonial fireproof Shaman robes
ALLIES: BYRN | In proximity of Sethrak | Open to interaction
HOSTILES: SJC | Open to engagement

"The Ceiling is mostly intact over the Eastern Section, but it's been pierced multiple times by landing craft. From what we can tell, there are a number of subterranean vehicles attempting to land with the largest number centering around the Central Command Section." A pause to receive additional data, the Kraemonen reading over the disparate mindstones scattered throughout the battlefield to pick up snippets and pieces. "Otherwise, three of our five railways are out of commission. The barracks here have sustained major damage, and the Vaydralen and Akhenaton are still feuding." That seemed to be everything of direct relevance, but he decided to add, "I'm also unable to contact Warlord Amok-Tu. He deems himself 'too important' to direct situations in the Eastern Section, it seems."

As it seemed, the rat of a Warlord was now entirely abandoning his duties.​

Ostak cared little for the Jedi assault, as the Super-Construct was sturdy and well-defended by among the most capable warriors of the Bryn’adul. If he was interrupted by Jedi commandos, he would pause to cut them down and then continue towards the clearly treasonous Warlord uninterrupted. Ultimately, no heretic had ever escaped the Tachael-Vemnak, and Ostak would not gain the shameful achievement of being the first to fail.

Even if it meant deceiving the other Warlord, the hybrid currently in front of him.

He had debated telling the hybrid Draelvasier Warlord, Osam, of his role and intentions in order to initiate a cleaner operation. However, when he had brought up such a point to the Overseer Council two hours earlier, there had been widespread protest. After all, they reasoned, Warlord Osam was still a new Warlord, and as a hybrid, extra effort would have to be put in before he earned the trust of the Tachael-Vemnak. Ostak had called their arguments out as paranoia that could cost him his secrecy in a critical mission, but the refutations continued to pile up. Running out of time, he had ultimately settled on a compromise deal.

Once he arrived at the command room, Ostak would pose as a Shaman Beast Master, delivering his lines to Warlord Osam before leaving to hunt Warlord Amok-Tu. In the meantime, Osam would be observed by a lieutenant of his, who was an Enforcer of the Tachael-Vemnak seeded to be in close proximity to the hybrid Draelvasier in order to monitor his behavior. After Ostak returned with Amok-Tu dead, he would be given a whispered report by the Enforcer, and if Osam impressed the posing lieutenant, then he would give Ostak the clearance to introduce Osam to the Tachael-Vemnak, much streamlining his ability to police his system of rule.

Ostak used Osam’s request as an excuse to depart, nodding in confirmation to the hybrid’s request and leaving observation to the lieutenant who now subtly moved closer to his commander in an imperceptible motion.

As soon as Ostak was out of eyeshot and earshot, he broke into a steady dash. If Warlord Amok-Tu was all the way in the Central Section, then he was likely kilometers away. Still, no amount of distance would save him from the justice of the Tachael-Vemnak. Cowardly impurities such as Warlord Amok-Tu would not be tolerated within the Bryn’adul, whose purity was maintained through the strict and secretive pruning of its warriors and citizens alike at the invisible hands of the Vemnak. To threaten civil war in a time of foreign invasion was the compounding of an already disastrous situation, one that would require significant clean-up.

The hammer of righteous justice fueling his well-honed body, Ostak ran uninterrupted through the halls.

However, another issue soon caught Ostak’s attention, a plea sounding from the communication stone in his waist pocket.

"This is the Warlord Sethrak. I am in the Warlock Dome. It has, at least partially, collapsed, and I am trapped. Anyone nearby, please help."

Ostak swiftly changed course. Ultimately, the lives of the Warlocks were more valuable than that of Warlock Amok-Tu, and Ostak himself would be defying the tenet of comradery to simply abandon them in the field. He may have had his qualms with Warlock Sethrak in the past, but such concerns were irrelevant now. His Enforcers reported that he had proven himself to be a worthy warrior and commander, unflinching in his enforcement of the collective will.

The Shaman-Overseer arrived at the entrance to the Warlock Dome, its expanse almost completely blocked off by rubble. However, Ostak had dealt with far worse in Sev Tok.

Extending his right hand outwards, Ostak projected a vast battering ram almost as wide as the entire hallway. A single push of the blade of purple light easily displaced the debris, reopening the dome. He quickly caught sight of the trapped Warlock, and upon seeing that he lacked any severe injuries, moved to interact with him.

“Warlock Sethrak, are there others who need to be extracted as well?" asked Ostak.

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Accidental duplicate post, please disregard.

 

[Krarolk T'manu]

POST: I
OBJECTIVE: For Soot and Soil
LOCATION: Nar Kreeta, Super-Construct, Training Room
EQUIPMENT: In Signature
UNITS: Zealot Elite Squad
ALLIES: Byrn | Tathra Khaeus / Galak | Open to interaction
HOSTILES: SJC | Open to engagement

Two blades clashed with blinding speed in the small dueling chamber.​

On one side of the circular stone arena was Zealot Commander Krarolk T’manu, his opposition being Zealot Elite Abvor Cl’mana. Zealot Elite Palkomin watched from a stone bench at the edge of the room, separated from the two by a fence of verikast steel. Of course, the fence provided a mere illusion of safety. In reality, no amount of steel could withstand the clashing blades of the two veteran Zealots.

The two appeared evenly matched, Krarolk’s Aeravalin agility being neutralized by Abvor’s Baedurin strength, their techniques both excellent. Yet Elite Palkomin knew, even as new as she was to Commander T’manu’s squad, that Krarolk was normally perhaps five percent more efficient than Abvor. Something seemed to eat away at her Commander, not impeding him enough to guarantee defeat but nonetheless delaying victory in the duel.

Indeed, Elite Palkomin’s intuition was correct.

Even as Krarolk accurately predicted and evaded Abvor’s strikes while getting in a few of his own, a portion of his thoughts was completely detached from the present.

His duel, aside from training him physically, was also a mental tool, a therapy of sorts. Starting after the murder of his own Commander, Krarolk had devoted himself more fully to his craft, descending further into the introversion he had so recently worked to beat back. The release of adrenaline was also the release of lingering thoughts, unacceptable feelings of inferiority and weakness. On Sev Tok and Wobanoi, he had failed both himself and his squad. But Charros IV had been the greatest failure of all, a failure that often kept him up at night, prompting him to return to the training grounds until his exhausted body shut out all other thoughts except for sleep.

Only by honing his already muscular body to its absolute maximum extent could Krarolk ever hope to face his Commander in his afterlife. Only by honing his body could Krarolk wish to face and defeat the wraithlike entity that hunted him for mission after mission, seemingly unbeatable and possessing powers even Seers lacked. It too haunted his nightmares and even some of his dreams, its shadowy tentacles always creeping ever closer to his face.

Suddenly, the noise of an explosion broke Krarolk’s intensive train of thought.