Invasion Break of Dawn || CIS Invasion of BOTM held Rhand

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: It's over, leave
Brotherhood: Isabella Pavan | Aldo Garrick | Ozma Olumivius | Tu'teggacha | Talon Kyber | Alars Keto | Marlon Sularen | Halketh
CIS: Kiff Brayde | BX-4381 | Vemric Keldra | Daegon Corvinus | John Locke | Jason Breaker | Verin Oldo | Felix Aquila | Laertia Io | Kirk Tektus | Darth Metus | Anashla Deshal

Anyone else in Port Sorrow and Fleeting.
Fleet

Spoiler

2/2 Praetorian Star Destroyers
2/4 Supremacy Star Destroyers
9/15 Autarch Star Destroyers
Many CR-90 Corvettes
Darkshear Fighters
Divine Fighters

Helm eyes blazing a deep red, Zachariel's gaze didn't leave Port Sorrow as it was reduced to ash. The place was gone, reduced to atoms and less, having sustained several combined assaults. Most of the slaves within were dead, a true majority of them, and with any luck, countless CIS soldiers and leaders as well. All said and done, the Brotherhood had denied the CIS their objective, had prevented the freedom of the slaves. They had also managed to bring out the true nature of certain individuals on both sides, something that made Zachariel grin. Now they may realize that total war was the only way, and that they had best follow that logic or die in the attempt. Still, his grin turns into a grimace. Now was the time to leave, their element of surprise had been lost, if they had ever had it.

Turning from the view, the autocannons of his fleet wound down, cooling after the grueling ordeal. Stopping to glance towards Laertia's ship, Zachariel's grin returned. Whoever the commander of that ship was, they proved the rule, and showed that there were wolves hidden among the sheep. Perhaps others would follow that example, more likely they would decry such an act as unjust and cruel. In the end, it mattered little to Zachariel, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Returning to his throne, Zachariel sat once more, calling up the data once more. The news was grim, they had lost a further five ships, four autarchs and one supremacy, but his focus wasn't entirely there. Instead, he was still focused on the battle.

Shaking his head, Zachariel turned to the damage report of those ships. The supremacy and one of the autarchs were only heavily damaged, the rest were destroyed. Dead and falliny to Rhand, or drifting in the void of space, they were gone. Grin fading into nothing, Zachariel opened a channel to his fleet.
"To my most damaged ships, cover our retreat, give them hell and let your sacrifice reach the Avatars. All other assets, leave this world of ash and dust to the supposed victors." Letting out a short peel of dark laughter, Zachariel shakes his head. "They have gained nothing but the deaths of tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands even. Leave the corpses to these carrions."

As his commands were carried out and his fleet moved to leave, Zachariel received Ingrid's message. Chuckling at her message, Zachariel responded after some time.
~ I welcome you to try my dear. However, if you didn't want your armor to be scratched, you shouldn't have gone to war. Pristine armor is for the weak-willed who never wage war, and I do believe you are better than that. ~ His chuckled echoed across the link. ~ I don't believe your allies in the CIS would appreciate you saying such things to the enemy. No matter, the fools will think twice of attacking us in the future. ~

Ending his focus on the conversation, Zachariel's gaze returned to the viewport. The supremacy star destroyer and autarch had manuevered themselves in protective patterns. They were positioned such that they took the brunt of any incoming fire. At the same time, fighter squadrons were returning to their designated ships, even as said ships drifted away from the CIS. Gaze shifting to the tactical display, Zachariel felt his inner rage boil. Clamping down on it, he chose to instead focus on the future.

The repercussions of this attack would be felt throughout the Brotherhood. All present had seen the might the CIS arrayed before them, even on such short notice. It was an impressive fleet, one that had severely damaged Zachariels own fleet and caused the loss of many ships. Even now enemy fire slammed towards his ships, causing more damage and death. Still enough to worry, Zachariel's breath lightened somewhat as his fleet left Rhands atmosphere behind, going high and away from the CIS fleets. Behind them Port Sorrow burned, having been annihilated entirely.

Looking back upon Rhand one final time, and the burning mess that is its surface, Zachariel smiles. Countless are dead on both sides, countless more slaves lie dead due to the actions of their foe. More than that though, the CIS have seen the truth of the Brotherhood and themselves. Eyes turning forward, the warlord lets out a breath as they jump to hyperspace. In doing so, he sees one final autarch begin to burn. Another casualty, unless the crew could control the damage.

Leaning back in his command throne, Zachariel begins to laugh. Despite the best efforts of the CIS, they had managed to survive. And a world had been burned in the fires of ambition. Letting out an appreciative growl, Zachariel's words echoed, even as his chilling laughter follows.

"The galaxy will burn."

 

[Rann Thress]

ALLIES: Gerwald Lechner Lunara Azure Ruus Kote Damsy Callat CIS
ENEMIES: Anja Doreva The Mongrel @Khamul KryzeMAW
LOCATION: Engaging Anja Doreva

Within an instant the location for their scuffle had shifted drastically. No longer were they on the planet Rhand. Now they were elsewhere…on board some ship, on the bridge. Rann didn’t pay any attention to his surroundings as he tackled his opponent through the ground and lay on top of her, he just very quickly summoned a lightsaber to his hand and tried to ignite it directly into her chest before she delivered a solid kick into his midsection, sending him back off of her onto the ground, groaning slightly as he held his stomach and rose back to his feet.

As he did so, he reignited a lightsaber and entered into his Ataru stance before looking around. His opponent had called off her bridge crew, opting to fight him herself. Thanks to his mask, she wouldn’t see his eyes go wide in bewilderment, nor him purse his lips together with a kind of respectful acceptance. It would have been all too easy to sic her peons on him, distract him and go for the kill.

However, perhaps she figured she had the hometown advantage here. That she could handily dispatch him on her own without the unnecessary danger to her crew or ship. Rann couldn’t argue. The battleground now was the exact opposite from what was on Rhand. Nothing to throw at her unless he tore something apart and very tight quarters.

He was in trouble. He silently cursed his foolhardiness about following her so hastily into the portal. This was bad. He had no advantage here.

He knew he was being baited, led somewhere she deemed acceptable for their battle but he could not stay here regardless. So he followed his enemy into the corridor outside the bridge. He looked back behind him into the command bridge, and the crew still staring at them and looked down at a door panel that decorated the wall. After staring at it for but a moment, he looked back at his enemy, reaching down to his belt and removing the other lightsaber, still holding his main hand saber facing her to keep her at bay. With a quick flick of his wrist and fingers he had rotated his offhand saber to where the emitter was pointing behind him at the door panel. With a flick of his finger, he used the Force to close the door, and with a single thought caused his Lightsaber to ignite, stabbing it into the wall, destroying the door controls and whatever electrical components crisscross inside.

Afterwards he returned his lightsaber to his belt, deactivated, and placed both hands on his main hand saber again.

“Just you and me.” He sneered, stepping closer, closing the gap. He didn’t want to rush into a trap or deft counter attack, so he eased his way closer, before dashing forward with a strong vertical chop, looking to cleave his opponent in two from head to toe.

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[Diocletian Kahmen’’a]

Objective: Link up with the others and apprehend Laertia Io!
Location: Laertia Io's ship
Equipment: Ship Armour Scimitar Railgun Carbine Rifle Thermal Detonators BARC Speeder

Ally Tag: Kyyrk Zlova Rue Vyse de Valorous

Enemy Tag: Laertia Io


Eventually, Diocletian caught up to Kyyrk's ship, that was some speed right there. So now he too docks his ship in the hangar. Diocletian got his armour and helmet back on ignoring the painful protesting of his wounds and the rapidly swelling black eye, which is on the side with his missing eye, which was extremely fortunate.

After all, there is no time to just sit and do nothing and let everyone else have a slice of the proverbial pie.

Some objectives needed to be completed. After all, they are not dead yet nor is it over. This means he either just stays put or goes out and meet up with the group that was at the Temple before the death lasers.

The Ubese decided not to just stay put and wait. This wasn’t what an invasion was. You go do your part even if it goes down to absolute chaos, even if it deteriorates as it did. The ramp went down, and Diocletian stepped into the larger ship, it’s big and it will take a bit of tracking to pin down where Kyyrk is. He is beginning to wonder if option 3 would have been the saner option, Nah, he’s never sane or cautious when fighting is on the cards. He leaves that to Tovald as he’s the calmer of the two.

Enough tangents, he must link up with the others, do they know he escaped the burn? That would be something to find out when he finds who he is looking for. All he had to do is listen for voices as nothing else seems to be working except for the breathing filters. Soon he heard voices, well voice and it seemed to be coming from his left. As he approached it got louder and clearer. Diocletian drew his sword, still slick with Zombie goo, and rounded the corner on his left.

Diocletian walked into the open and caught the tail end of Kyyrk’s chastising of Laertia Io. He hadn’t heard all of it but knew it had to be serious as the air was thick with so much tension that even he was wary. In fact, it was so thick that you can even use a finger to cut through it. He was tempted to interrupt what was going on but thought better of it as even he wouldn’t enjoy the business end of a Lightsaber because they cut everything like butter and, he’s not interested in dying. He had nearly gone down that route before at the Temple, not a good spot to be in.

So he decided to calmly join them without making too much noise or drawing attention to himself at least for the moment.

 

[Bendak Crail]

Location: Rhand Plains
Objective: Survive
Allies: Jaedec Ren Adaz

Fear, Fear had plagued his mind, his heart pounding as he began to use the Force as his energy. His eyes scanning across the barren plains, and yet saw nothing. The bright flash of light from the horizon nearly blinding him, with the initial shockwave nearly knocking him off of his feet. Time was running short, his heart pounding, the fear that he was feeling starting to engulf the entirety of him. Every fiber of his being cursing Kyrel for such a damned order. Leaving his Knights here, while he had been whisked away via transport. Was this the fate of this group, to parish among the dead? Have they done something to displease Kyrel. He still couldn't understand, nor fathom it all. Instead the fear had only kept him to run as fast as he could.

Even Jaedec was running along with them, the slow bulky Ren following suit with the band of Chiss raiders behind. It was clear that while yes, they worshipped death, coveted the whole notion of death and rebirth envisioned by Master Kyrel. It had all become clear that they still felt that they were still filled with purpose. Bendak knowing that he had much more to accomplish then to die in the blast zone by something that even he could not foresee. He imagined that he would have came with Kyrel to escape the coming cataclysm, and instead he had been sent on a wild goose chase. First from Port Sorrow, to the Bone Temple, and as soon as he got there he now found himself running for his life. What a cruel twist of irony it had all seemed to be.

He was soon ready to give into despair. Sink to his knees and let out a roar through the heavens above. Cursing Kyrel Ren and the Avatars to die by the blast of the laser's impact. To die screaming, as his flesh would be seared off of his very bones. In a twist of fate it would seem, his eyes were greeted by that of a CIS transport. His eye turned from blue to blazing yellow, as the desire to survive only increased. He found himself running towards the group, a mixture of human soldiers and B1 Battle Droids, archaic things to the Knight of Ren. His lightsaber ignited, and before the men could react Bendak let out a beastial war cry, the first strike decapitating a man. A droid lamenting his end in seconds before meeting his end.

Bendak coming aboard the small craft, the intense heat increasing and getting closer from ground zero of the laser blast. "Who are y-" The pilot said, but only found himself picked up by his neck, and in the same motion his neck snapped and crushed in that same moment. Getting himself into the pilot seat. He took a few minutes to get adjusted to the pilot controls of the craft not being accustomed to CIS tech, he found it a stroke of luck that the engines purred. "Finally let's get the hell out of here!" Bendak said in desperation, as he slowly tried to pilot the ship off the ground. Waiting for his two companions to get aboard first.

 

[Jaedec Ren]

Location: Rhand, Plains
Objective: Survive
Allies: Bendak Crail Adaz

Jaedec kept moving as fast as he could, perhaps falling close behind Adaz and the Chiss raiders that they were accompanying. Unlike Bendak he was willing to embrace his death here and now. He could sense the man's fear, but anger no doubt towards Kyrel. Kyrel was no unusual to pull moves like this, nor would Jaedec have blamed the man. Which was more important? The servant or the master? Any Ren who held the same rank as Kyrel would have no doubt done the same, losing Knights were not the same as losing the head of the Knights of Ren. Knights in the end could be replaced, and taught the way of the Shadow. Losing Kyrel would mean that it all of course would become meaningless. Jaedec was even prepared to scold Bendak in such matters if the prospect of death hadn't amused him so much more.

A slight grin came to his face, as the Gen'Dai would finally be able to walk with the dead. Something that he envied about Kyrel, was the ability of walking with the dead, and able to retain who he was. Even if he became a creature that just feasted on flesh, nothing was a bigger honor. Living a life to serve was meaningless if one could not experience the joy of dying in said service, the Ren had understood that most of all. Feeling the blast come closer, he thought about stopping, letting the others continue on.

Instead it would seem that fate would have had other plans. Looking onwards, Bendak wasted no time in finding a transport. What better way offworld then to take that of the enemy. At least the bright side was that they wouldn't be blown out of the sky by the CIS. The Maw on the other hand, well they would have to sort that out later wouldn't they. Bendak went on a frenzy in a mad dash for survival, letting the inner savage shine through cutting through what meager personnel remained. Jaedec slowly climbed aboard, his weight making it a little difficult at first. Watching the blast from the laser start to inch ever closer.

"Bendak get this piece of junk in the air! That's if you want to still live?" Jaedec pointed out, as Bendak started to get associated with the controls of the craft. The ship slowly starting to rise, the craft jerking as it was raised from coming destruction into the skies with the Ren sighing into relief. "By the shadow, that was a close one." He said as he took a seat into the back of the transport. Mingling in with the fleeing evac CIS transports for a moment before breaking off out of the atmosphere.

 

[Ozma Olumivius]

"OZMA, PUNCH IT!"
O Z M A
The Flagship of the Bloodsworn
prox. Zachariel Steelblood

The deed had been done. The will of Novit Omnia pulsed through him weakly, and as desperately as the mechanical claws of his mind struggled to grasp onto it, the Presence slipped away, leaving him to naught but the overwhelming power of the machine he meshed consciousness with. It was almost too much to endure on his own for any duration, much less for the time he required for proper orchestration of their escape. Yet, it was not the technomancer's first test of mettle, nor would it serve as the last. His awareness dwindled, the ability to gaze beyond what the Praetorian allowed closing until only raw sensory data fed into his input servos.

Much of the fleet had been a total loss, though it was no surprise to him, as the others lacked what the flagship possessed: him.

It was he who secured the grace of the All-Knowing, it was he who orchestrated the will of the Avatar, and it was he who could do what others could not. It was not lain in the will of Novit Omnia for the other vessels to endure what he would, and thus, they were spent in fiery blasts and left to orbit around the planet they were sacrificed to until gravity plucked their legends from the stars and tugged them to the earth. Such was the price of conquest.

The techomancer vented the cannons, funneling his concentration into the controls of the mighty vessel to swing it about slowly, turning the bow away from the decimated planet and charting a course back through the cosmos for their current home beyond the desperate clutches of the galaxy's superpowers. They were a ragtag bunch, pirates, marauders, warriors, who had been united under a single purpose. A group of misfits, bound together by a vision of a galaxy lain to waste. Nothing more were they. No highly trained soldiers. No vaunted heroes. They were mere servants, all of them, driven to act by the maddened will of their bastard Avatars and unleashed upon the galaxy by the words of their twin Dark Lords. They found respite in nothing but one another, contentment in the design, and camaraderie amongst brothers and sisters equally chewed up and spat out by the worlds they conquered.

It was retribution in a twisted sense, had any one of them possessed a mind poetic enough to view it thusly.

The groan of the vessel turning resounded across the interior, a titan shifting and stretching its anxious limbs to take bounding stride once more. Within, the Hand of Novit Omnia strained against the resistance, funneling what willpower still remained within his resonate core to maintain his grip over the craft. His energy ushered power into the hyperdrive motivator, spinning the reactor within to ignite the crucible, and by his hand, the course was set. Faster and faster he willed it to act, overriding the protocols and failsafe in place to guarantee a safe jump. There was no time for such measures, not now. A shuddering heave saw the shielded craft lurch forth into the breach, blinking out of orbit and into the expanse between the stars.

This sudden lurch ejected Ozma's consciousness outside of his domain once more, binding him back to his metals and he fumbled briefly to regain his sense, metal digits left to twitch and writhe in unruly throes as his dependence was abruptly cut off. Before his systems could fail, he tore his power supply cable from the altar and socketed it back into place over his shoulder to soak up stabilizing power from the reactor nestled into the armored pack on his back. He lay there, disoriented, discarded over the terminal he operated in, for a few moments, steely grey eye fluttering with the rapid shift and pulse of his retinal HUD returning diagnostic data to his processors.

Tentatively he lifted a hand into his field of vision, overturning his palm to admire the glinting crackles of electrical energy spurred by the change in power; however short it was they graced his vision with their glimmer. He did not acknowledge the crew staring at him dumbfounded. He did not acknowledge the laughter of his Warlord clamoring in the space beyond. He acknowledged nothing until the divine Presence danced between his fingertips no longer, and only then, did the macabre amalgamation of man and machine press his strength against the altar to right his stance. Rogue twitches and flutters of his limbs remained as he disconnected his central cable from the console and set about winding it within the safety of his robes, hiding it away.

A grating, warbled sigh departed him with the dissatisfaction of the sensation- being chained to walk in this mortal coil that had only achieved partial enlightenment. Perhaps one day, it would plague him no longer. He left his weapon upon the altar, leaving the maul to slumber where it had nestled, and crept over with a cold rattle to abruptly reach over the flight engineer.​

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The man looked to the epicanthix with wide, confused eyes, bewildered by the distorted noise that just departed him. He blinked once. Then twice. And then Ozma grew impatient and pushed him aside gently, as though touching the man's body would somehow taint his own metallic shell, and reached high to open the emergency repair kit nestled above his station. Delicately, the technomancer plundered through it, muttering to himself as he did so. ​

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The engineer stuttered, struggling to speak, "Uh... uhm..." he turned tentatively, gaze flicking toward Zachariel Steelblood , hoping for a translation. But the Warlord delighted in even the smallest of suffering and would be of no help. He looked back to Ozma.

Growing increasingly agitated, the technomancer's voice only became more and more plagued by screech and distortion: ​

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Flustered, scared, and unsure of himself, the engineer rose and scrambled out of the strange man's way, departing the bridge entirely. Out of his way, at last, Ozma rifled through the kit until he found a singular bottle of what he sought: coolants. This would have brought a smile to his face, had he the lower portions of his face left to smile. Content with this, the technomancer neatly returned order to the kit and closed the door, tapping back across the floor to thud down unceremoniously at the bottom of the steps leading to where the Warlord resided.

A pinky finger uncurled from his fist and delicately plucked the tendril-like tube from beneath his chin, the same that fed into the wiring coiled where his neck flesh used to reside and cracked the lid of the vial. Connections were made and the strange man held the vial up, allowing the gravity field of the vessel to act for him in pushing the precious liquid into his systems to relieve the intensive stress forced upon them.

At last, Ozma felt relief rising through his emotional cores, and he chose to experience it. ​

[Thank you all for the fun!]
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[Adaz]

Location: Rhand, Plains
Objective: Survive
Allies: Bendak Crail Jaedec Ren

"Chit, Chit, Chit.... We are so gonna die... We are so karked, so screwed." Adaz freaked out, as if almost having a mental breakdown. Normally he enjoyed being a mad doomsday prophet and all, but that's when he was at a safe distance. From the moment he saw the bright flash, and started to feel the intense heat from ground zero inch ever closer. He found himself running faster and faster for his life. Noticing a similar desperation in that of the lead Knight of Ren, at least one of them. The big walking nerve cluster on the other hand, while he tried to keep running. It seemed that he was fine with death all the same, not even outright telling of such things. On the other hand Adaz was close to just accepting his fate, fitting for the one that led to the destruction of his race and his home.

For a minute, he was caught up in his own despair he hadn't noticed the lead Ren. The lead Ren known as Bendak, appeared to cut a bloody swathe on a meager crew near a CIS transport. "Oh thank the Avatars, we can get off this rock! Raiders! We are leaving!" He said in loud desperation, looking back towards his men. He quickly began to quicken his pace following the giant of a Ren. Bendak wasting no time in killing who he can just so that he could leave this world unscathed.

Climbing aboard the ship, a grin adorned his scarred lips behind the Nihil mask. The rest of the Chiss men slowly climbing aboard, onwards ahead the blast and intense heat from the laser inched closer. It would have seemed like certain death was close. If not near at hand. He settled into his chair near the cargo hold, with the big Ren sitting next to him. "Get us the hell outta here Ren!" He shouted as he tried to strap himself in, the craft rocking back and forth. Shortly before the blast wave finally hit, the craft was slowly but surely making it's ascent to the skies. With Adaz breathing some sigh of a relief. "Thank the Avatars that we live to serve another day." He said his thanks in manner akin to a prayer to the Avatars as the craft ascended above to fall in line with other CIS ships, before breaking off to head towards what nearest trajectory towards the Maw it could find. Hopefully regrouping with the nearest capital ship before jumping to hyperspace. The mission all but complete.

 

[Laertia Io]

Zlova Rue asked what she was apologizing for

"I said I regret it...but one can regret a thing that is necessary can they not? I'm sure you've done things you felt bad about...but you'd do them again if you had to. The Maw understand this. That's why they used slaves as a shield against your guns. And now that they know that it works, they'll use it on you every chance they can get. Slowly strangling you with your own compassion." Xiphos said wearily through the loudspeaker.

Vyse de Valorous seemed ambivalent. Hmm...of course a normal Sith would see the necessity.

But this one, Kyyrk , stank of Jedi Self Righteousness.

Xiphos didn't blink as the Lightsaber went close to her neck. She unblinkingly listened to his lecture, her empty, shell shocked expression unchanged. She'd heard it before. Probably the lecture every Jedi had wanted to give her since the war started with her.

Every Nuetralizer turned to stare at the guests.

No. She said mentally to her children. Do not interfere.

The Nuetralizers turned to their previous work.

Xiphos gave the order to the Leviathan to jump to Naboo. The ship announced the course over a good loudspeaker.

"Just so you know...I have every intention of complying. We are on course for Naboo. Everybody on this ship, and everybody that helped me today is your prisoner. That said..."

Her eyes, not her neck, lifted up at him with a momentary glance of utterly burning defiance. Her right eye was a strange, mutated bronze with a dark green Iris, the left more human like with a dark grey iris but a glint of gold at the center. A cybernetic eye.

"People like you are exactly the reason I rebelled against the Jedi Order in the end..." She said with quiet, seething contempt.

"No pragmatism. Just blind idealism. The orders they gave, the order to focus on the Sith instead of the Bryn'adul, were evil, so I ignored them. What gave me the right? You did. All you Jedi Motherfethers did. Nar Kreeta burned. It's populace slaughtered while I WAS FORCED TO WATCH!" she shouted over the loudspeaker.

"And what did I find in the aftermath of that culling? What did I find when I went to that rotten conclave, praying that The Jedi Council had some sort of plan? Talk of the Sith. Talk only of the Sith. Of helping a bunch of chit heads not that far off from being the ones they eventually overthrew. You Jedi all did a fine job propping up the NIO. I don't have to hope it will blow up in your face. I know it will."

She shook a little, the sheer adrenaline spike messing with her.

"Do you even want to win this war?" She asked, blinking as she felt the deaths of every one on the Gihinnom. "You think it can be done cleanly? There is no clean with The Maw! They will hide behind the innocent like the vermin they are, knowing you won't have the guts to pull the trigger, knowing you'll resort to half measures!" Her speech through the loudspeaker over head became filled with static slightly as she grew more distressed, the face of the Westenra Mina copy that had sacrificed itself to blow off a quarter of the Gihinnom flashing across her mind. She was struggling not to hyperventilate. She wasn't succeeding.

"Do you know what it's like to be a Maw captive? A Maw slave? I saw. They break people. Reprogram them to be savage monsters. I saw them murder Chiss captives at Oyokai just to prevent anyone from rescuing them. That Worldship you say is so unimportant in the long run? It was coordinating hundreds, possibly thousands of attacks just like Oyokai. They ritually murdered those slaves and subject their souls to evils they can never recover from. WHO ARE YOU TO SAY A QUICK DEATH ISN'T A MERCY??! COMPARED TO BEING A MAW CHEWTOY?!" She snapped so loudly through the device it broke, going pale, sweating as she lost control of her breathing.

The migraine started. Her chronic condition.

"At least I intend to answer to someone. More than can be said for your Order. No one but me would ever try to make the Jedi answer for letting all those people die at the Bryn'adul's hands." she said through another loudspeaker.

The edges of her vision went red. She couldn't use the Force.

"You have my scent, but I am not afraid. I answer to that tribunal because I choose to. You need not worry hunter, your rabbit won't try and murder you." she whispered to him, eyes rolling up in her head from the pain of the Migraine.

"But as far as I...am...concerned, no matter what that tribunal decides...the Jedi...Order...let the Bryn'adul murder with...near impunity, hampered constantly by their own...ignorance of the enemy they faced..." she struggled to get out as she whispered, barely able to think now...

She doubled over in front of him, in pure agony from her skull on fire.

"You threw away...thousands of soldiers.…over the Civil War to settle your selfish pissing contest with the Empire. How can you even ask why so many chose to aid me? And you didn't even get what you wanted. Where have they hidden now?" Xiphos asked in a bitter hiss, unable to see him due to being nearly delirious with pain.

"They all ask why I rebel. They should look at you, at people like you and they'll stop being curious...as to why...I didn't want...to be one of you..." she whispered.

"...anymore..."

She crumpled to his feet, completely crippled and helpless.

"Who are you to say I'm only sorry for getting caught? Do you know how many places...I could have fled to? Places you would never have been able to follow? I could have turned the guns on you, blasted you to space dust, and fled before your friends could get a shot off. You breath here...only because I allowed it. If there was a way to genuinely...save those slaves, I would have...taken it. And for someone so disgusted with Sith, you sure don't seem to mind the one right behind you." Her words barely audible as she shook from her migraine.

"I hate what I did...but doing it your way, the hesitant, half measure, half assed way of fighting the Maw, wouldn't have...produced anything but the Maw Worldship escaping, and slaves suffering fates too hidious to contemplate...and the CIS with it's pants down. The deaths of those slaves shall haunt me in this life, and the next. And rightly so. May the deaths of all those who died because of the Bryn'adul when the Order could have done the right thing, the thing it was supposed to do, haunt them equally, and collectively so." she whispered bitterly, unable to move from the pain she was in.

"So, in short...yeah...I surrender. But feth the Jedi Order."

Diocletian Kahmen’’a

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud, Leader of the Dawn of Hope
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Outside to Port Sorrow, Rhand
Objective I.: Survive.
Equipment: Kiss of the Red Witch | 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | The Soulsabers | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m
Writing With: N/A
Tag: Zachariel Steelblood

[ Primo Victoria ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

She remained silent, watching the city. Not the slightest movement seemed from her. Because she was wearing armour, the wind didn’t even play with her hair. And there was no part of the armour where the effect of the wind could be seen. Years ago, she probably would have suppressed a lot of feelings if you had seen the images she has now. But today? Nothing. Ingrid felt nothing; only endless indifference at the sight of the flames, the dying city, and the sinking space station. She felt relieved for a single moment when the data arrived that the last dropship had also left the atmosphere and was about to arrive on the ship.

Her people were safe, the targets she wanted to bring out, they were safe. For her part, what she undertook was perfectly fulfilled. Moreover, the Maw made the woman’s job easier by bombing their own city. They eased the woman's sabotage and Zachariel worked for her once more, however he didn't know this. Although she felt nothing, Ingrid hoped the number of civilian casualties was minimized in the city. Meanwhile, Zachariel's response to the woman also arrived. She had to admit, some part of it was fun. At least the woman could feel alive. They flirted with Adrian constantly on the battlefields when her husband was still alive, and she did the same with Tubrok as well; the flirt with Zachariel was just a game, different from the other two, but at least she felt something.

~ Or it means I’m so good that no one can hurt me! It is not in vain to say that I am the best and deadliest assassin in the Unknown Region! ~ purred the answer as she continued the game. ~ As for my military opinion. It is a fact, and if they are not recognized and accepted, they deserve to be defeated. ~ here here "voice" was cold again, hoping the CIS would learn from its mistakes. Since the AoC attacks, the CIS has lived in relative peace, there has been send some support to help the TSE, and now that’s it. She really trusted them to be able to learn and adapt.

She was still watching the flames and dying. The Empress of the Eternal Empire still felt nothing…

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: BYOO, try to survive (Maw side)
Location: Rescue ship
Equipment: N/A || OPBC-01m
Tag: N/A

[ Cry ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

No one prepared me for this, I had no idea how I should fight myself. For this was my refuge, where no one could hurt me, where I was safe; and now they wanted to smash that. I was alone; there was no one I could count on to help me. How? I had a feeling that defiance wouldn’t be enough here. I was only able to resist, but how should anything else have been done?

She was two people, too, she swallowed Freedom. Mercy knew how to fight in my mind. Let's wait! If she knew, I should have known as well. The way I thought I was in my armour, with a firearm in my hand, on a battlefield. The snow was falling, it was cold; it was Carlac. Did I have to face my own fear over and over again? I didn’t want to go to where I was in reality that day; I tried to avoid the place where I met the Mongrel.

I heard the battle's noises, but as I got closer there was no struggle. Or I just wasn’t influenced by it. The bullets flew over me, people walked through me. It's like I was a ghost. I wandered for hours to avoid her or just find her. I heard her voice several times as she called, luring me. I was not able to break this vision or dream. I knew what I should do, but I was afraid to do it. In the end, however, I had no other choice.

I took one last deep and big breath and then went up to the place where the command tent and the Mongrel had been before. But now the space was empty, no one was there but her. The Mercy name might not even have been her name, just a codename; she wore the armour of the house of Kala'myr, with our coat of arms. She wanted to be like them. I didn't, I wore ISB armour. I had a hard time walking towards her, but she spoke mockingly.

"You finally got here, I thought you would be incapable of even this simple task "

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Rhand, Escape Shuttle
Tags: Gerwald Lechner | Lunara Azure | Darth Solipsis

Three incendiary rounds, glowing with white phosphorus, impacted an invisible barrier in front of the shifter-knight's gauntlet. With little bursts of glowing white flame they ruptured and fell, stopped cold in midair. They were quickly swept away by the rushing wind, sent tumbling back down to Rhand's surface. The Mongrel had expected nothing less. His foe had never yet been so much as touched by anything the marauder had thrown at him, while the impact of that hammer - just one of the knight's many weapons - had nearly blown a hole through the warlord. He was fighting above his weight class.

At least the hammer, and maybe that dog-thing, were gone now.

Knowing that he was so terribly outmatched, The Mongrel's only goal had been to hold Gerwald back a moment, putting the shifter on the defensive from range while he figured out what to do next. He didn't have much time for it. There was no doubt in his mind that the likeliest outcome was the CIS demigod simply yeeting him from the ship with a flick of his hand, as one might brush off an insect crawling on one's arm, and then casually entering the freighter to blast off to his victory celebration. The Mongrel would splatter on the glassed surface...

And the knight would probably forget they'd ever even fought.

So the warlord prayed, prayed with all his heart. For the first time he asked something of the Dark Voice, rather than merely seeking to serve. And the Dark Voice answered his prayer. The heavens tore open in a vortex of black and blue, a cosmic wound in the very sky. Wind rushed all around them as if the entire planet was explosively decompressing, a rush of air sucked into that unnatural maw in the clouds by the sudden pressure differential. The freighter itself began to creak and strain as the vortex pulled at its structure, threatening to break the craft apart...

... and devour all the pieces.

The CIS warrior, of course, had an immediate answer: he began to dance. The Mongrel, bewildered, laughed. He laughed long and hard, doubled over, baffled at the bizarre sight: a hulking lupine in indestructible armor, twirling about on the top of a freighter as the wind rushed all around. The warlord had no idea how Gerwald managed to both dance and stay on the hull, since he seemed to be staying anchored - like The Mongrel - through his magnetized boots; surely lifting his feet over and over in his little performance would let the wind rip him free.

But it did not, and The Mongrel got a sight he'd never forget.

Apparently the dance did have power, for the winds began to change. The freighter stopped cold in midair, no longer drawn toward the void portal, its engines straining - and buckling from the elemental pressure - but moving it no further. Gerwald, eyes closed in concentration, was trying to oppose the changing of the air through sheer strength, like a man trying to haul in a boat caught in a riptide. But The Mongrel had faith. He knew that this storm had been sent by the Dark Voice, the great prophet of the Maw... and so he chose to ride the whirlwind.

As Gerwald pulled in a storm of his own, trying to push the Force storm away, a rush of wind tore at The Mongrel... and the warlord embraced it. He deactivated his magnetized boots and let himself be carried from the ship, arms open to embrace the cold, high-altitude air. For a moment he hung suspended in the heavens, between the molten surface below and the stars high above. Then, when he should have fallen, instead he rose. He flew upward, into the maw of the Dark Voice's Force storm, into the heart of the wormhole that Solipsis had torn open.

Gerwald's eyes were closed, his full focus on commanding the wind and pushing away the Force storm... so The Mongrel left him a parting gift. He took aim with his big iron, his cybernetic arms interfacing with his visor to grant him near-perfect steadiness and accuracy, even as he flew through the air. He squeezed off three more incendiary rounds, aimed right for the Knight Obsidian's center of mass, each white phosphorus round a burning memento of their encounter. Would the distracted Knight still deflect them? Would their terrible heat even hurt him through all that plating?

There was no way for The Mongrel to know, for at that moment he passed through the wormhole and was gone. Darkness swirled around him, shadows and terrible chill... for the mercy of the Dark Voice was as terrible as his wrath. The warlord screamed as horrific visions crawled past him in this place, this space between spaces, this tunnel of unreality. This was his reminder that, no matter how high he rose, he was still the servant... and he must not ask too much of the master. And yet, despite the pain and terror, The Mongrel felt his faith swelling.

He knew then that he served the True Gods.

[[Exit thread, thanks all!]]​

 

[Zlova Rue]

The Twi'lek visibly shrugged at Laertia's response. "What must be done for the greater good or one's survival," Zlova said in agreement. Not that she regretted many things. Not seeing the betrayal of her closest friend in the Empire was a regret, but not of the kind they were discussing now. In the beginning she'd regretted the slaughter, but in time you learn to stop regretting such things. Jedi would claim she stopped caring for people or life; that as a Sith she thought of such things as disposable. That too was an over simplification. It was hard bottling the complexity and nuances of life into a sound bite for a brief exchange.

Speaking of which... Kyyrk then started forward in both step and rhetoric. And Lord Sidious was it some rhetoric.

"What gives you the right?"​

I claimed it, Zlova thought despite the question not being posed to her directly.

"I wouldn't expect a Sith to understand. Nor would I expect a Sith to apologize. The least you could have done was pretended that you were sincere."
​

Seemed sincere, which was kind of the problem. What had to be done had to be done.

"How many bodies are you willing to leave in your wake, Xiphos? Your actions today have made it clear that no price is too great to pay. No bridge extends too far. So long as you have achieved victory, that is all that matters. Is it not?" ​

Oh. Sithspit, Zlova could feel a 'Good Guy' lecture coming on. All Sith had that sixth sense of knowing when you were about to hear one of those spiels.

"Who the hell gave you the right to decide they were better off dead than enslaved? Who the hell gave you the right to strip away the one last thing those people had?"​

What was with the softball questions? Not that Kyyrk would like any answer Zlova gave. Wrong place, wrong time, and the ship needed destroyed? Rights are moral authorities you claim for yourself in order to see the world made better -- whether that's personal or societal betterment? If the people weren't willing to fight to their last breath for freedom then what was so different between them being enslaved and being dead? The former was just a living death. Oh, but they might be freed -- by someone else -- later? How quaint. And then they'd just be a burden to society because the overwhelming majority wouldn't have learned their lesson -- kill the enslavers and stake your claim on the galaxy (freedom, shelter, food, whatever claim was personally appropriate).

"I know nothing I say will ever convince you of the horrors you have committed here. You Sith always were too simple minded to think about anything but yourselves."​

A soft sigh escaped Zlova's dark lips. Then she turned to look over at Vyse, and quietly remarked, "An undeserved reputation often used to excuse an endless philosophical war." Whatever choices Vyse made in his life, it was important that propaganda -- one side of the argument -- not be all he heard.

"You will repent for what you have done..."​

Not likely. Least of all sincerely.

Then it was Laertia Io's turn to monologue, because that's what Jedi and Sith did to one another. Scream at each other until lightsabers clashed and often one party died. It wasn't a terribly efficient way of improving the state of the galaxy, but sometimes it worked. Depended on who died, really. Some Sith held the rest back. Some Jedi actually understood the Sith (even if they didn't join them).

Passion was not the woman's shortcoming either. A passion that seemed to extend toward others, and which appeared to weigh heavily on Laertia when forced to kill so many 'innocent' people. Despite what the Twi'lek said earlier, Zlova had a similar problem. She'd found a way to cope with it -- suppress it -- by engaging in reckless activity, drinking, partying, and generally being flippant to all the overly serious people in the galaxy. Most of it was a smokescreen to herself and others to keep from lamenting how much needless suffering existed. There was no point in randomly killing people.

"...praying that The Jedi Council had some sort of plan? Talk of the Sith."​

Once more, Zlova quietly remarked for Vyse's benefit, "That is often one of a Sith's chief complaints about Jedi. There is a time to think or discuss, and a time to act. Nothing drives good Jedi dark faster than a Council that seems to only sit around talking and meditating about what they should do instead of doing it."

"Do you even want to win this war? You think it can be done cleanly?"​

"There never is," Zlova breathed to no one in particular. War was not something even she desired. Such a sentiment would no doubt floor a Jedi that heard it, but war in and of itself was not beneficial. It might lead to woefully needed change, but if a war was waged just because you disagreed with someone philosophically? Waste of time, resources, and people. It should be avoided unless it was the only way to affect a necessary change.

"WHO ARE YOU TO SAY A QUICK DEATH ISN'T A MERCY??! COMPARED TO BEING A MAW CHEWTOY?!"​

A slight pinch tugged at one of Zlova's eye from the electronic squeal and break. "Remember what we were talking about earlier? About choices. Be careful when you walk down a dark road, Vyse; your passion gives you strength, but it can also have you running off into a nearby abyss." You had to learn to harness the power of the emotion, not succumb to it. Though this wasn't a judgment of Laertia getting carried away. Just seemed an opportune time to provide a little extra mentoring.

"I answer to that tribunal because I choose to."​

Now there was a sentiment that caused Zlova to smile again. Karking straight, Lady of the Sith.

One hand reached out to apply a gentle, remote hand of the Force to keep Laertia Io from falling into, onto, or through Kyyrk's blade as she began to topple over. Kyyrk could control his blade, but no need to risk any misinterpretations circumstances being what they were.

"And for someone so disgusted with Sith, you sure don't seem to mind the one right behind you."​

Who, Zlova? Oh, no, officially she was just a member of the Thorn branch of the Knights Obsidian, champions of peace and justice in the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Someone that used the Dark Side for Good(tm). Definitely not the right time to let down the Force cloak hiding her nature. Though who knew, maybe Kyyrk already knew about her Darth Siron past. Maybe the higher ups didn't care long as she played at being a White Knight... that was a Black Knight with red marbling.

And in short Laertia Io concluded her closing argument with a giant sûdas j'us.

A hand clapped atop Vyse's shoulder, and Zlova smiled over at him. "You can relax now. The big, bad Witch can hardly move, and her ship hasn't spaced us yet. The appropriate time would have been just a moment ago." You don't delay a dramatic spacing after flipping someone off. You had to punctuate the moment with it, otherwise why bother? Just made you look indecisive.

Engaged: Kyyrk | Vyse de Valorous | Diocletian Kahmen’’a | Laertia Io

 

[Jhira Mereel]

Endure

LOCATION: The Wandering Pilgrim, enroute to the Paraedo Mundus:
Objective: Endure. Subvert. Escape.
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out
Engaged:: [ Darth Tennacus ] [ Darth Senthral ]


Power, Dark and fierce, tore through the bulwarks of The Captain’s mind, summoning forth captive memories, tearing open soul-wounds. Rage and hate stormed free, the hunger for vengeance made raw and new again by the death of Rhand.

Vengeance. For every world lost, every city bombed by someone with too much ego and too little common sense. By those whose ‘grand destiny’ and ‘supreme principles’ allowed them to justify in their own actions what they condemned in another’s.

Vengeance.. Upon not a class of people, nor a race nor a culture … but upon the individuals whose pride led them to injuring or destroying entire worlds, rather than accepting a defeat.

Vengeance.. Sparked by the death of the world upon which she’d been born. A single, small world long ago turned to space ice and asteroids by the Omega weapon, a tool of yet another Sith seeking unchecked power.

“Power is the illusion, I fear.” The cool, ice cold voice trembled, broke, fury and fear shrouding each word, as that same dark power plunged deeper still, shredding both a captain’s detached calm and a warrior’s fearlessness. A shuddering breath, as Jhira surrendered to that pain, grieving all that she had lost and all that she had yet to lose. A tiny sound of pain almost beyond what she could bear escaped, as memories of what she lived for flooded her.

That first moment she held her son in her arms; hearing his quiet whisper as she comforted him, years later. Her daughter’s laughter. The broken, shattered remnants of Clans that had come to shelter under her fragile protection. Mia’s Verd’gotten, Omen’s oath, the courage of the Karjr.

Finding her vode, and their fierce, instant alliance upon Albion Major.

Love’s final kiss, that last moment, before he was gone forever.

“What have I to loose? Everything.”

Shereshoy - the fierce, defiant seizing of all that life had to offer. A lust for life, and oh, so very much more. Grabbing each experience and living it fully, in the moment. Relishing life, cherishing it, rather than letting it slip by untasted, unnoticed.

[color-maroon]“Where is your passion? Where is your drive?”[/color] The hated calm surrounded him; he permitted neither triumph nor distress at either the battle raging around them or the loss of a world. Principled hate and grand isolation stared back at her from grey, colorless eyes.

“I cannot reach you, or understand you.” He did not torture or torment her. She owed him everything. Yet every word he spoke and breath he took made her enemy to all she loved - the bittersweet.

Aay’han. That perfect moment after a battle, when you are surrounded by those who survived, rejoicing in both your own life and theirs … and equally grieving those lost. The pain inherent in any love; the price paid for true friendship and heart-felt loyalty.

Passion, integrity, honor. All in one fragile vessel.

Poised, almost serene, love and hate viciously balanced as Jhira Mereel danced upon a knife’s edge of control. Her body trembled, the need to act, to fight free, so intense she bruised the metal-clad fingers which clutched the bars of her cage. Passion given form and will, then pinned in place to be crushed by those who didn’t, perhaps couldn’t, understand what she was.

And he wanted to understand her, she very much feared.

Death loomed before her; but not a death without pain. Not a swift, angry termination at the hands of a furious child or mad zealot. No; it was that most terrifying of creatures who held her in thrall: a scientist. Cool, collected; so principled that he pushed himself beyond the ability to feel compassion or connect with others. A shuddering breath, as hope perished.

“The Cannon of Strength is a tricky thing; I, too, have made a study of it. I have not found passion, love or connection to make me weaker, but stronger.”

“But then … I am a Mandalorian.”

((Thank you, everyone! Amazing story, fantastic writing! <3 ))​

​

​

 

[Oleander Webb]

ALLIES: CIS +
ENEMIES: BOTM | Halketh +
FOCUS: Dimitri Voltura
INVENTORY: x | x | x

"Death is but another road. One we all must take, Knight Webb."

A delicate brow rose with that statement. It wasn't untrue, certainly, but death was so much more than a road. He was so much more. There was a part of him that'd scoff at this supposedly fallen Lord. A part that'd suggest drawing his weapon would be an insult to his own abilities. Yet Death was not at its height currently and this body, while not subject to time, was not invulnerable.

"Why, in Force name, would you come here alone to the Darkest of ships where the conglomerate of Dark Energies now reside? Did Gerwald Lechner Gerwald Lechner send you here? If so, his misstep was greater than he ever anticipated."

"I already told you why," he responded, hand pulling his lightsaber from his belt, the blade and the sound accompanying its ignition far less flashy than the standard saber, enough so one could almost mistake him for wielding an empty hilt. "I am only as bound to Gerwald Lechner as the Force dictates." Indeed, the Force and fates dictated most of his being these days, with hunger a close second.

Mentalism was a common thing among the mortals these days, it seemed. Many of the Knights Obsidian used it for communication, Oleander used it to keep prey subdued. And with that, the mental onslaught was not entirely unexpected from another who had once been in league with the knights. He simply accepted it for what it was, his focus unwavering until -

"Ander!"

His eyes widened a fraction as the memory resurfaced. The last thing he'd heard before carbonite took him so long ago, the first thing he heard when consciousness at long last returned. And for a moment, all the emotions from back then, the rage of a predator suddenly ripped away from one of the few things he might grow to care for. And with this, he was a fraction of a second behind on his usual timing in parrying the Dragon's blow, his translucent blade keeping the crimson at bay.

"You should not have come here."

"Then I would say the time for bearing witness has concluded," he practically purred, the thrill of the hunt seeping into his person. A smirk tugged at the corners of the mouth of this normally stoic being, the hunt almost as beguiling to him as the mental hold he kept over prey was to them, spurred on by the treat that was prey that would perhaps pose an actual challenge. "It is time we add another to the Silent Voices."

And then he moved, stepping away from the Dragon's blade to advance on his own terms. It had been a good while since he faced another in open combat, the Anzat primarily keeping to shadow whenever possible. But the sharing of power before, coupled with the resurfaced memory, had unlocked a hunger that left Death in the flesh almost unhinged. He feinted to the left, blade aiming to sweep across Voltura's chest in a ploy to knock the other off balance.

 

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Armor of Darth Metus
Aboard: The Sentinel​

RHAND ORBIT

They were just like their Father.

Strong. Stubborn. Sentimental.

Aselia was strength. Though she quipped along the way, earning a rare chuckle from her brooding sire, the warrior stood ready at his side. Rhand was, quite literally, a burning chithole at the moment. But even the worst would not deter her from striding boldly into the flames alongside him. Amaya was stubborn. When bid to stay upon the bridge and to command their modest offering of vessels, she declined. The responsibility was passed to another, as she too wanted to fight on the surface. Such was the nature of the Mandalorian house - strong and stubborn to the core.

But before they could ride off into the bloody sunset, the deck officer attempted to hail the allied forces. Attempted to get a better sitrep of the situation. While, for a brief moment, they were able to get through upon reversion, it became increasingly evident that communications were being jammed. "Sir, comms are down. We're unable to get a read on the situation." he called. The Mandalorian stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face the officer. He signaled for his daughters to wait for just a moment.

"Let me paint you a picture."

The metallic response hissed from underneath the man's helm. He focused upon what he could feel. The river running betwixt himself and his apprentice on the surface was the best bet. She had painted him a vague picture thus far, but he needed more. For the briefest of moments, the Echani would feel his presence upon her. Reaching. Seeing. And as he looked, his face contorted into a scowl. "It's not good, though it looks like we've missed most of the fireworks. Priority is snatch and grab still, send any fighters we have to escort." he began.

He looked deeper. Felt the echoes of the Force beyond his apprentice. The ripping asunder of space. The comraderie of the meditation. Ironically, the differences were as stark as light and dark. "If you're sensitive to the Force, listen. Looks like the Feds are trying to communicate this way." He did his absolute best to keep his tone even, for what he witnessed was grim. The surface, where his third daughter stood was looking fethed beyond repair. And it was only going to get worse every second.

Fortunately enough, souls like Felix Aquila would see their efforts to be found bear fruit. Those which drew close to the surface could see the dancing lights. Relief was imminent, they would only have to make the leap of faith.

But for Isley, there was no such relief. For he was bloody sentimental and worried after his kin. Worried after the alabaster woman who had summoned him to Rhand. Not knowing how much time she had before disaster, he racked his brains about how he could get to her as quickly as possible. Fortunately, she surrounded herself with talented individuals. He watched through her mind's eye as she allowed an adversary to live. Watched as she was plucked from harm's way and ferried across the void. And when her feet settled down upon the Bridge, the Mandalorian released a pent up sigh of relief.

Her mate had orchestrated the escape. They did not see eye to eye on everything, but when it came to her survival, Isley and Maliphant were of one mind. The Mandalorian offered a silent nod to the man, a sign of gratitude. As she stepped away, her words were the furthest thing from the Echani he knew. Each syllable dripped with disbelief. Worry. This coming from the woman who had watched Coruscant burn to the ground with her own eyes. Who had watched their own people being torn asunder by Chaotic Insurrectionists. She, who had witnessed tragedy after tragedy questioned the destruction of the Port.

She was sentimental.

The bridge was quiet. He was the one to finally say it. "Unlike you, our enemies do not know restraint." The meaning was twofold. A light disapproval of letting their enemy live to see another day. And the reality of the situation. The heavens had been ripped asunder - Isley had very little doubt that such power wouldn't decimate the Port. Quietly, he regretted not getting there sooner. He might have been able to do something to get in the way. But there was no time to lament.

What tools did they have? A modest few. His chin rose, indicating the deck officer. "All our ships, on screen." he commanded. The main display of the Bridge was then devoted to their fleet arrangement, presenting their position in relation to the The Sentinel. "Our Ramships are working on slowing the massive ship from its crash. Haven't engaged the enemy yet."

"Now focus. Still your heart. You have your arrows."

"FIRE TRUE."

Darth Empyrean | Srina Talon | Amaya Cardei | Aselia Verd | Felix Aquila​

Spoiler: House Verd Fleet Comp

1. 1 x Lucrehulk III (x)
2. 2 x Grievous SD (x)
3. 4 x Arjuna Artillery Destroyer (x)
4. 2 x Argente Assault Cruiser (x)
5. 5 x Bonteri Escort Carrier (x)

Spoiler: TLDR

- Dropships are seeing Felix's attempts to draw attention and are approaching

• Ramships are attempting to slow down the worldship still
• Isley is being peak worried dad
• Command of House Verd fleet given to Srina

 

[Kiff Brayde]

S T O R M B R E A K E R
[] Theme []​

Objective: End the Chaos
Allies: Jason Breaker | Vemric Keldra | Verin Oldo | Daegon Corvinus | BX-4381 | Kirk Tektus
Enemies: Tu'teggacha | Talon Kyber | Isabella Pavan | Zachariel Steelblood | Aldo Garrick | Halketh

"All hands, alert. All hands, alert."

The tactical droid's voice was amplified artificially several times over through the Storm King's shipwide comms.

"The Prophet has fired its superlaser on Port Sorrow. Confirmed hit. The Port has been destroyed."

Even through the clouds and dust of Rhand's atmosphere, the crimson beam that fired from the massive battlecruiser cut a shining path through the sky. Cleaving through the smoke, fire, and raining debris, swirls of wind and fire stormed around the impact of the superlaser as the destruction began to slowly billow out. It was no fast explosion, and the catastrophe was not visible from the Storm King with an unaided eye. But every soul aboard didn't need to see it for themselves to know what kind of destruction that weapon could wreak upon the Port.

"The Eerie preserve them," Kiff heard someone mutter, referencing the ambiguous entity revered and feared by superstitious spacers galaxy-wide. Kiff didn't believe in any sort of god himself, and it had taken being a High Marshal and serving alongside the Knights Obsidian before his skepticism of their sorcery had been satisfied. But he couldn't help but agree, religion nonwithstanding -- there was no power to Kiff's knowledge that could save anyone still stuck on the Port.

And soon the Storm King would meet the same fate, whether by fire or fury as it plummeted even further into Rhand's atmosphere.

And suddenly static filled the dead comms of the Storm King. Comm-scan was the first to address the noise. "Minister - our attack on the Prophet wasn't enough to cripple its weapon systems, but it seems to have put patches into the jamming frequency it was issuing. We're regianing battlefield awareness." The officer suddenly inhaled his breath sharply. The comm-scan officer did not have the same bravado as Orril Verryk, the Storm King's chief communication's officer and longtime friend of Kiff, but Verryk was currently at a sick bay back at Naboo with the blue fever. Still, Kiff managed to reflect, despite appearing to be caught off-guard at moments, the officer was performing adequately enough. "Several fleets have entered the system."

"More Maw, or these Final Order goons?" Kiff asked, dreading the answer. Fleet upon fleet had been poured out of seemingly nowhere, and another secret fleet could quickly destroy what little hope Kiff held out for the remnants of his fleet. But to his surprise, the scan-comm officer shook his head.

"Confederacy signatures. High Marshal Anashla Deshal's fleet, sir. Along with other Confederate elements, under various commanders. There are some unfamiliar insignia's here. . ." the officer scratched his head. "Does it matter, though? So long as they're flying Confederacy colors, they won't shoot us." Oddly the officer sounded doubtful at that statement. The battlecruiser of Laertia Io had been flying Confederacy colors, yet her mutiny had cost tens of thousands of Confederacy lives.

"They wouldn't be able to even if they wanted to," Kiff replied bitterly. As fleetwide communications were slowly reestablished, the true toll of the battle was being made clean. The 42nd and 44th skirmish lines were not the only forces to have suffered heavy losses; two of High Marshal Oldo's lines had been completely and utterly annihilated, and there was little chance there had been any survivors when the ships had been crushed by sudden debris.

"Five minutes until impact," was the report from the Tactical Droid. Kiff's grip on the edge of the fleet-coordination table tightened, his knuckles whitening.

"Minister," Bragga nearly whispered behind him. Her voice was quiet, tentative, trying to remain calm in what was a hopeless situation. "Three-quarters of all personnel have been successfully evacuated from the ship."

Kiff nodded, slowly swallowing the pit in his throat before managing to say the next words. Words that he had never expected to utter in his career; yet with the surface of Rhand drawing ever nearer, it was an inevitability. "Order all hands to evacuate, save for non-organic personnel."

"The Storm King is lost."

The bridge was silent for a moment, looking at their captain, their Minister of War. Many of them were veterans from the Victator, Kiff's previous flagship before its sacrifice over Talay. The Victator had been an old ship, already aging out of the Confederacy's military by the time of its destruction. The Storm King was supposed to be the top of military engineering. It was supposed to be unbreakable; the lord of all storms, equal to none. Yet the gravity of Rhand had proved to not only be its equal, but its superior. And the planet was an enemy that the Star Dreadnought, for all of its weaponry and technological innovation, could not conquer.

One by one the organic officers of the Storm King began to file out of the bridge proper to the escape pods that lay only a few meters away, behind the massive blast doors of the ship embedded in the bridge superstructure. As they went, BR-1 battle droids filled their place. Soon, it was only droids, Kiff, and Ibri Bragga.

"Lieutenant Commander. . ." Kiff began, turning. It would be easier saying goodbye if he made it as formal as possible. He stopped though, when he saw the wetness in Bragga's normally implaccable eyes.

"Minister. Permission -- permission to remain aboard ship." Her tone was stiff and formal as well, but Kiff could detect strain cracking underneath her voice. Bragga stood at full attention, deliberately avoiding Kiff's eyes as he looked directly into hers.

"Permission denied." Feth it, Bragga, he thought. I lost Jol. I won't be the one to walk away this time. "You're boarding that transport, Lieutenant Commander."

"Minister -- Kiff -- I --" Her voice broke.

"Go."

Kiff couldn't trust himself to say what he wanted to say. He turned away, and didn't look back as he heard Bragga's boots echo off of the hard metal surface as she exited the bridge. He didn't want her to see the doubt in his eyes. To see his fear. If he could choose, that would not be her last memory of him.

He would have to face the end alone.

"Three minutes until impact." The tactical droid reported in a monotone voice. The RST-series was devoid of any emotion; whether it was excited or fearful, Kiff could not tell. Come to think of it, he didn't even knoww if the droid could feel emotion. The Minister of War wasn't some tech-saavy person; a company made the technology, the starships, the droids, and so long as they performed well it was good enough for him.

"Droid," Kiff asked, making light conversation to avoid the fact that very soon his life would be over, ". . .are you afraid of death?" So much for a light topic. How could one think of anything else when they knew that their existence in this galaxy would shortly be at an end? Was it even possible for his brain to comprehend such an incalculable unknown?

"Death does not exist for RST-series Super Tactical Droids," the RST-series Super Tactical Droid stated plainly. "All memory databanks are continuously uploaded to a central military server. Should a units chassis be irreversibly damaged or terminated, that units memory bank will be accessible for installation in a new chassis."

Kiff pursed his lips. Easy enough for the droid to not fear death, when that didn't exist. He pressed on nevertheless. "And if those servers happen to be destroyed too?"

At least the droid seemed to consider the hypothetical before responding. "My programming does not account for my systems wellbeing. In plain terms, it is impossible for me to fear. Only for me to ensure that all mission objectives are completed." The RST-series was emotionless enough that Kiff believed it. He sighed. Out of all things, he had never imagined his death would be surrounded by cold, feeling-less automatons of metal.

A sudden jolt behind the Storm King shook Kiff, an impact that the inertial compensators had not foreseen quickly enough to make it seamless. Two more impact, then a fourth. But they were not coming from the bow of the Storm King, where the massive worldship continued to plummet -- but from the Star Dreadnought's rear? "What was that?" Kiff immediately demanded of the droid stationed at the scan-comm pit.

"Uh. . . Minister, we have several Confederacy signatures ramming at our rear," the BR-1 battle droid said, its tone making it sound unsure of itself.

"Classification: Urakto-type Ramship," the RST-series tactical droid clarified. "Count: ten individual ships. Fleet coordination log indicates that Isley Verd deployed them to slow the Gehonnim's free fall." Kiff inhaled his breath sharply. That was a suicide mission, he knew, with less chance of succeeding than Kiff's plan to use the Storm King had. But that didn't explain what the feth they were doing ramming into the Storm King.

"Incoming transmission from the Urakto-type Ramship," the scan-comm BR-1 reported.

"Put them through," Kiff commanded, and soon enough an unfamiliar voice was breaching the static of the Storm King's comms.

"Bottoms up, Minister. We heard you and your ship was having a bit of a rough time getting off of this junk planet -- care for a lift?" Kiff's reply was cut off by more impacts, too many and too rapid to count.

"Ten ramships have impacted on points aft and ventral of the Storm King's hull. Hull at eighty-three percent integrity," a BR-1 droid reported, from a different station.

Suddenly, Kiff understood what they were doing. "Break off that tractor beam immediately," he ordered. "Redirect all power to thrusters. We're breaking this gravity well." It was pointless to sacrifice the Storm King to try and prevent the Gehinnom from impacting on Port Sorrow when there was nothing but slag left of the Port. Unassisted, escaping Rhand's gravity well was out of the question for a ship of the Storm King's mass. . . but with ten ramships pushing as well?

Kiff might have a chance.

"Two kilometers to the surface," one droid at a tactical readout said. "Reactor core is straining. Engaging emergency power overload protocols."

"Rate of descent increasing."

Kiff found himself standing at the transparisteel viewport at the very edge of the bridge. He grasped the railing tightly as the mountains of Rhand loomed into view, eclipsed by the massive hulk of the falling Gehonnim. The bow of the Storm King was slowly edging upwards, but whether or not it would clear the surface Kiff could not say.

And then the Gehonnim crashed. The impact of the Prophet's superlaser was but a small candle compared to the inferno that roared upwards as nearly eighty-thousand kilometers impacted on the surface below the Storm King. An explosion of heat, debris, and fire rushed upwards. "Heat shields deploying. Prepare for turbulence," a droid said. Sure enough, Kiff could see the air around the Storm King's hull superheating as it baked in the Gehonnim's fiery swan song.

"One kilometer from surface impact," a droid reported. They were so near that Kiff thought he could feel the heat of the Gehonnim's burning ruin. A dust cloud hundreds of kilometers long had been thrown up in either direction, filled with so much power from the charged impact that the Storm King shook like a starfighter caught in a hyperstorm. "Five hundred meters."

It was now or never. They would push, or the Storm King would be fuel for the Gehonnim's inferno.

"Four hundred."

"Single ramship destroyed by firestorm. Axial acceleration decreasing."

"Reactor core overloading at 120% capacity. Engaging emergency heat sinks."

Would anyone miss him when he was gone?

"Three hundred."

"Heat shield integrity depleting at a rapid rate."

What would death be like? The infinite beyond?

"Two hundred."

"Another Urakto-type ramship has been destroyed."

"Ventral-port-side hull rupture. Sealant and fire suppression system has been deployed. Compromised compartments are being sealed off. Overall hull integrity at sixty-eight percent."

"One hundred."

He hoped he would see Jol again.

"Bow level with Rhand topography."

"Accelerating. Primary thrusters pushing against Rhand's gravity well."

"Velocity increasing."

The transparisteel viewport no longer showed the destruction of Rhand as the Storm King angled slowly to accelerate out of the gravity well, straining under its own primary thrusters and the eight remaining ramships. Beyond the fire and smoke, Kiff could see the darkening night sky. It was blanketed by stars.

Kiff Brayde had never seen anything as half as beautiful.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

Flagship

• Storm King-class Star Dreadnought
  • CNS Storm King [31% Shields, 68% Structure]

42nd Skirmish Line

• x1 Argente-class Assault Cruiser
  • CNS Lady Talon [45% Shields, 87% Structure]
• x2 Bonteri-class Escort Carriers
  • CNS Starwalker [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Royal Flush [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
• x3 Terrus-class Flak Corvettes
  • CNS Cayano [63% Shields, 92% Structure]
  • CNS Bloody Smile [44% Shields, 84% Structure]
  • CNS Raptorflight [67% Shields, 97% Structure]
• x6 Trench-class Fast Attack Corvettes
  • CNS Eybel [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Varunn [79% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Firestar [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Wampa Rush [75% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Most Loyal [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Sayu [81% Shields, 100% Structure]

44th Skirmish Line

• x1 Argente-class Assault Cruiser
  • CNS Rex Lapis [42% Shields, 85% Structure]
• x2 Bonteri-class Escort Carriers
  • CNS Barbatos [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Coroner [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
• x3 Terrus-class Flak Corvettes
  • CNS Brightshine [67% Shields, 89% Structure]
  • CNS Fireshield [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Breathtaker [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
• x6 Trench-class Fast Attack Corvettes
  • CNS Bassan [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Dreamfly [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Illun [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Black Folly [79% Shields, 99% Structure]
  • CNS Sola’s Scar [0% Shields, 0% Structure] Destroyed
  • CNS Mistrust [86% Shields, 100% Structure]

Spoiler: Fleet Actions

What do we say to death?

Not today.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Darth Mori //: Felix Aquila //:
//: Port Sorrow //:
//: Death & Rebirth //:​

Quinn wanted to scream. There was nothing she could do or say that would fix what had happened with Vesta. No matter how many times she told Felix to leave, he stayed. And now Srina was telling her to go with him. Everything was falling apart around her, and no one was doing what she wanted them to do. She wanted to scream; it only made sense to get rid of all the frustration she was holding.

Vesta was done with her. Quinn knew this, and now having it said to her face hurt even more. There was an ease to having it be speculated, but to have it be true - it tore Quinn to pieces. Looking behind her, she saw Felix; he was here for her, he had sought her out, and here he was. He had shown up like a knight in shining armor - where was Alina? Her mind rejected the thought of this being the end for Vesta, but she had to. Amber eyes glanced towards Vesta, who had turned her back on her. “Stop running!” It was a last-ditch effort to get Vesta to even listen.

If Vesta just heard one thing - maybe at least she wouldn’t be lost entirely. A foolish attempt, but she tried. “You’re always running away from things, but I waited - I waited so long for you. I never abandoned you - stop believing everything everyone wants you to be and just be YOU. That’s who I loved - that’s who I’ll always love even when I’m with her.”

That was it; it was all she could do. Vesta was done with her, but she tried. Looking back again to Felix, Quinn resigned to Srina’s request. She didn’t like it, but they were both right. Everyone was leaving the planet, and if she didn’t go now - they would die. Quinn cringed as she watched the formation of the Force Storm. Their time was running out, “Felix, if you’re going to save me, then do it.” Still demanding as ever, the Echani princess wrapped her arms around him and held on.

Not realizing she was more exhausted than she let on, she leaned against him for support. “Get me out of here.” ​

 

[Vesta]

slave​

Location: Port Sorrow
Objective: Kill the Past
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Darth Solipsis , Darth Carnifex
Enemies: Confederacy of Independent Systems | Felix Aquila , Quinn Varanin , Srina Talon

'One, two.. five.. ten..'

Her thoughts were filled with the sound of her voice counting the seconds, each word growing progressively louder than the last, all in an effort to distract herself from the icy shock that was spreading out from the center of her chest like the cracks in a breaking glass. She kept her gaze steady, facing forwards, and her shoulders stiff, back straight, with her gait unnaturally precise, deliberate, to prevent her body language from speaking anything besides the anger she'd been spewing just minutes before. The last time she'd been in this situation she had been dragged kicking, screaming, and against her will - now she was walking away from what she'd torn herself away from after the realization that she'd been so seamlessly replaced in the time she had been gone.

Like it hadn't even mattered if the person standing there had been her, or someone else entirely.

She hadn't come to Rhand expecting to meet Quinn, though the circumstances around their reunion had always been on her mind, day in and day out, it just hadn't meshed up with reality. She'd expected the name calling, the cold shoulder, and she'd gotten that; but it wasn't the anger she had hit hardest by, it was the act put on to try to get her to go back to a point she couldn't even see anymore - to bring back the vulnerable Shi'ido that had let her Echani princess into her walls, fortitudes she'd built up around herself in preparation for the attempt on the girl's life when they'd met, the immature young woman that envied her for the experience she'd been able to have of growing up, of having both of her parents.

Hated her, now, for bringing back the person she held responsible for her own mother's death.

That was what they'd bonded over, though perhaps Quinn didn't realize it - or was too self-involved to realize. Both of them had lost a parent in the same night, both dying in a fight against the other, and Vesta had relented that night because she understood it hadn't been fair of her to hold her mother's actions against her - the love, whatever it was, was out of her control, its onset sudden and its grip total. Pain, though, the throbbing ache that had made the pounding in her chest irregular, was far stronger than that. She'd expected their meeting to be how Quinn had acted around anyone else when they were together - like she was so much better than her, like she'd used Vesta's feelings to survive her, that she'd never really cared in the first place.

Instead she got nothing except confusion, pain, and pleading from her.

The wind that sheared around her, wiping away the tears that started to roll down her cheeks and into the fresh wounds that were still carved into her face, deafened her and drowned out the screams that filled her head now of the minute that had passed her by, and her shoulders sagged and then shook as her chest heaved with the silent sobs that she struggled to keep at bay. The flash of light that broke through the sky was the cause for this sudden lack of self control - she wasn't concerned with who could see her now, anyone that could see the undying Sith lord break down now would be as dead as the surface of this dying world in less than a minute. She was proud that she could keep herself from giving into her former lover's pleas, but it was also her pride that led her down this path in the first place - and she hated it, and herself, all the more for where she was standing, metaphorically speaking.

They were supposed to be together, forever, but she'd broken free of her chains to find her in the embrace of someone else - smiling, happy.

Heat seared into her back, over her shoulders, and her eyesight burned away with everything around her as the superlaser cascaded into Port Sorrow, its ghastly screams of tearing earth, steel, and concrete with the boiling waters and steam-filled air adding to her own - screams that weren't for the physical pain that she was forcing herself to endure, but for the ache that was pounding unbearably now in her chest. When the sound couldn't form anymore, when her body was little more than a reforming corpse laying in a crater filled with crystalized sand, and a fire raged over it and the atmosphere above, it was the physical pain she took comfort in.

That maybe the flames would wash away the shame.

Shame in knowing that she couldn't kill the love that had wormed its way so deep inside, no matter how much she tried, that it simply reformed with her as she pulled herself back together again through sheer self-loathing; hatred for herself so strong that she couldn't let herself rest until she'd punished herself thoroughly for not being enough.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: BYOO, try to survive (Maw side)
Location: Rescue ship
Equipment: N/A || OPBC-01m
Tag: N/A

[ Cry ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

The fight is hard if you are both capable of the same thing. At the moment, that was true. Because I was both of us; I was me and the evil self, evil me. I think this is confusing for me too. And the fight was cruel and painful. Whichever of us was hurt, we both felt it; we both suffered the same injury. I think, I think we weren’t two separate personalities. At least for now. Then, however, there was still hope that I would not be like him. Why was this good for the Maw? I did not know…

Maybe though. I said no to them, no to everything, I refused that this was my destiny in principle. No, it never will be! I felt the cold ground under my back again, the metal arms on my neck, the pain in my ribs. Yet it was her from the two of us who endured the pain better. We were both full of wounds as the fight continued. The space was soaked in blood, but it was our own blood now. I don’t know how much time has been spent with the duel.

But in the end, again, coughing up blood, I knelt on the snowy, slushy ground, leaned myself on my hands. I coughed up blood again. Would it be easier if I let her win? It was such an easy and tempting opportunity. But I couldn't. I couldn’t let her commit atrocities on my behalf or by controlling my body. No, never! I had a hard time picking up my rifle from the ground. We’ve both been bleeding from several wounds everywhere.

Now Keilara did the same thing I did. At the same time, we raised our weapons on top of each other and pulled the trigger, shotgun slugs. I felt the pain as the bullets slammed into my armour, my skin and flesh, I screamed as he did. Suddenly I heard a hissing sound, then the rockets arrived and the white light swallowed everything…

At that moment, her eyes opened, she woke up in the rescue ship. However, it was a great question whether Ziare or Keilara was who woke up …

Last post, thank you for the opportunity to this plot, and thanks for saving/rescue her from the Gehinnom <3​

 

[Anashla Deshal]

Post: 3

​

Enemy Tags: Tu'teggacha Talon Kyber Isabella Pavan Zachariel Steelblood Aldo Garrick Halketh ​

Allied Tags: Jason Breaker Vemric Keldra Verin Oldo Daegon Corvinus BX-4381 Kirk Tektus Kiff Brayde John Locke Amaya Cardei Spencer Varanin Darth Metus Spencer Varanin Allyson Locke ​

One by one the Maw forces began their withdrawal from Rhand, clearly, there was no intention on their part for a protracted engagement against the Confederacy and her Naval power, it was, in fact, a good tactical decision on their part to withdraw. It did at least signal to the High Marshall that the Maw valued their own hides at least. She watched onward as she spoke to the command droid next to her. "Focus our fire on any remaining maw vessels, I want them turned to dust for what they did here. If they leave fine but let's not make it easy to run."

At the same time, the haulers from the 117th broke off from the attack line and raced to the derelict and broken confederate ships in Rhand's orbit, the unfortunate remnant of Verin Oldo 's forces, one of them making its way and docking with Verin's ship itself, once docked a B1 hobbled out of the ship.

"Congratulations, you have been rescued!" the droid happily declared and ushered the surviving crew toward the hauler. "Please enter the ship in an orderly fashion" the same scene would repeat in turn as each hauler docked with various confederate vessels. Sadly for most of the ships there would be nobody to bring home, There would be only the ghosts of the dead and broken droids.

Fire from her fleet continued to rain on the Maw vessels that remained in the system, bombers continuing to strafe them while the fighters tried to keep the space around the bombers clear. Point defense was doing its job for the Maw even if they didn't see fit to engage her forces directly, the attrition rate for the fighters was unfortunate, but the casualties from that would only be measured in credits since they were in fact droid fighters.

She continued to watch the overall scenes as they unfolded each but suddenly their communications came back online. As the command droid happily informed. "High Marshall, communications have been restored" true to the droid's word the tacnet came back to life showing the grim reality in fine detail. There were countless distress beacons strewn about the system and simply not enough haulers to go around.

"Have the fleet send out anything that can be used to ferry personnel, we have quite the mess to clean up." there was a brief pause in her next order as she and the rest of the crew watched the Storm King slow its descent to destruction and slowly begin to rise out of the atmosphere a smirk touched her lips as she watched. "Too stubborn to die Kiff Brayde, as it should be."

Once again a channel was opened to the Confederacy leadership in the system. "This is High Marshall Deshall, The Maw does not appear to wish to stick around, we are encouraging them to continue this course of action and are simultaneously conducting search and rescue in orbit of Rhand." The next few hours would be long indeed.

But in the coming days, there would be much that needed answering for, and not all of it pleasant.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

• Flagship:
  • C.N.S. Asajj Ventress
• 117th Heavy Attack Line:
  • 1x Thoros Battle Cruiser
  • 5x Grievous-class Star Destroyers
  • 4x Bonteri Escort Carrier
  • 10x Wayfarer Class Hauler
• 243rd Artillery Line:
  • 1x Lucrehulk III
  • 3x Grievous-class Star Destroyers
  • 3x Arjuna Artillery Destroyer
  • 4x Argente Assault Cruiser
  • 3x Bonteri Escort Carrier

Spoiler: Fleet Movement

• Continuing to press Maw assets remaining in system
• Commencing search and rescue in orbit of Rhand

((OOC: Great invasion everyone, I had a lot of fun. See you next time!))