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

[Darth Senthral]

​

Freedom is both a fleeting feeling

And a Way of Life



Darth Senthral
Occupation: Sith Apprentice under Darth Tennacus
Objective: Operation Cinder, go time. Solo Style
Location: Flying the Wandering Pilgrim over
Weaponry: Double Bladed Crimson Lightsaber, the Dark Side, and trusty DL-22 Blaster Pistol​

Darth Senthral had always done well to listen to his orders, and more so to follow them. Yet as the Wandering Pilgrim landed before him and he walked aboard, a realization came upon him. His confidence had been misplaced, stuffed under his cloaks before the respect he had for his Master. He had forgotten his own whims and wills, and this short reminder did well to bring him back to pace. He could pilot the ship with our without 77-B, he had seen Tennacus do it, and he had always been quiet and watchful when possible.

It was time to show that to great effect, and as he found himself in the cockpit seat, a slight nod to 77-B was all that was necessary for take off. Well that and a button press here, a flip switch there, and a lever pull to put things square. That meaning he flew free from the Gehinnom, and he had never been so graced in sight before. The light show in the stars was something for any Mawite to admire, even those who made the thing happen. To some effect he was about to add his own artistic stroke to it all, and become one such person.

The Wandering Pilgrim felt like a new friend and an old war buddy all in one. The controls carried a familiarity he had never known the touch of, and yet it was all there. Mind translated to body, and the craft descended upon Rhand. The Bone Temple was where they knew the gathering to be, and though his Master was there. Nothing changed. He would flatten the temple, and expose the recesses of it to the world. Both the Maw and CIS beneath would be front and center, and have a wide open stage of rubble to exhibit whom was best. His credits? The severe lack thereof? They were all in on the Mawites.

The Wandering Pilgrim came low over Rhand now, racing across it's skies avoiding blaster fire. Senthral would not be shot down by his own brothers and sisters, nor would stray blaster fire of any kind stop him from meeting the Bone Temple. When he neared enough a strong upwards pull did the job, and with a button push devastation could be wrought. Out came a seismic charge from the ship, dropping onto the Bone Temple, and minimizing it to half of it's former glory. The destruction made the very temple rock to it's core, those beneath would definitely feel it. If there were any within the actual temple? One more seismic charge, and they'd wish they were those beneath.

"Sorry about that one, I'm not big on destroying relics, but this one needs clearing. So I'll be back for round two shortly."

 

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Armor of Darth Metus​

HOUSE VERD, INC - VULPTER BRANCH

There was nothing left to save.

Truer words had never been spoken. In the eyes of the former Vicelord, the Southern Systems had chosen a path that he would not follow. Ambition and Pride were clashing in his mind - his dreams and ego could not co-exist in the wake of betrayal. For years, he had guided them. Bled for them. Bargained on their behalf. And for what? To be ousted overnight? He was no average bureaucrat; and yet the South treated him as thus. Paranoia swept through the people - uttered by the very lips of the one who now held his title. His crime? Religion. To believe that passion was better that repression. In the wake of it all, he had left his trusted Exarchs to carry on the torch. To keep their dreams alive.

But for Isley? His back had all but turned.

That is, until the whisper graced his mind.

It mattered not if they were suspended on opposing ends of the stars. It mattered not if he walked among the darkest depths of the Force, or wandered amidst the Nether. When their bond echoed, he would listen. The daughter had called and the father would answer. He knew of her mission this day - to bring to heel yet another monstrosity from the Unknown Regions. How similar they were to the old Jen'ari Empire - beings of darkness clinging to the shadow of Chiss Space. Yet, unlike their predecessor, they brought true annihilation to a world. They mimicked the Bryn'adul scourge in terms of death toll, but left not even soil behind to tread upon. It was an alarming development - and the Southern Systems would not stand for it.

Srina and the Confederacy rode off to battle. And Isley was content to watch from afar. Yet, her spirit rang out in his mind. Glimpses, though devoid of emotion, conveyed the urgency of the situation. Such was the Echani - ice and stone. They were enough that Isley put aside his dreams, put aside his ego, and donned his beskar'gam anew.
"Graves."

The name was spoken with a metallic edge - a single syllable slipping past his helm and across the comm.

"Sir?" came the cyborg's answer. "Ready all forces that can be at Rhand within the hour." There was a light scoff on the other end. Samuel Graves was a pragmatic soul, one detatched from the bonds of family. One far removed from the wars of nation, but very much aware. "You do realize that's an active warzone right?" Isley simply grunted. Though he could not see the man, he knew the cyborg's eyes were now rolling. "Alright, when the board has your ass, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Just get it done."
"Everything and the kitchen sink, coming right up."

A light chime sounded in the Mandalorian's ears as the line disconnected.

A hefty sigh fell from his lips.

The board. Pride. Ambition. It mattered not when family was on the line. And as the sable-skinned man advanced towards his own vessel, his response echoed through their bond. Three simple words.

ON MY WAY

Srina Talon​

 

[Alars Keto]

Blood.

Blood trickled down his face as his eyes opened wide, he reached out with wildly in an attempt to grasp something.. anything. He gasped for air, lungs drawing in all the oxygen he could receive. Stray vines fell from his brow, markings of his corruption from the Eldervine who whispered to him ever still through the hive-mind. The Harvest. Yes. The Harvest.

Resist. He had to resist.

Pressing his hand against the cold stonework and broken durasteel, the Marauder Lieutenant struggled to find his footing as sparked rained down from above. The sounds of chaos filled the air, screams echoing in the distance as the Cathedral City of Gehinnom filled with fire and chaos. Compartments sealed throughout the superstructure left that began it's descent into the upper atmosphere, even now he could do the math, they didn't have much time before the Worldcraft would collide with the planet proper and completely eradicate Port Sorrow. What was left of the eighty thousand meter space station plummeted, countless dead, many more about to be. Slaves, marauders, cultists they were all the receivers of the brunt of Laertia Io 's assault. The one thing they had come to do.. and they couldn't make good on it.

Kryll groaned in pain as his cybernetics helped move him throughout what was left of the command center, he stepped over the bodies lined across the chamber and crouched under the fallen debris. Life support would begin failing soon not that it mattered, even if the artificial gravity held on for another ten to fifteen minutes, even if the oxygen didn't run out, or the structural integrity continued to hold.. it didn't matter. They'd all be pancakes soon, he had to get out of here. He had to get to a pod.

The Marauder Lieutenant sneered, trekking into the long spiraling corridors long broken at first with caution, but immediately that melted away into blatant worry as he saw through a corridor viewpoint the sheer damage done to the Holy City itself and the number of broken buildings, twisted metal, and vacuumed out bodies that the chaos had taken from them. It was madness. Worry took him, he sprinted as the grogginess hung on by a thread, he attempted constantly to shake off the dragging feeling, the cloud over him.

That's when he felt the presence. When he heard the Voice.

What was inaudible for others was clear as day to him, he felt a call stronger than anything he'd felt before. It wasn't something that grabbed his attention, it was commanding, it was empowering, it was a guiding force that took away all other options. To him, the pod no longer mattered. All he cared for was the word Dakrul . Good faithful Dakrul.

The Heathen Priest would live, Kryll would make sure of it. He rushed off in the direction of the Priest, traversing through danger and hellfire to get to the master of darkness in his lair. The Marauder Lieutenant knelt down immediately upon finding the most honored Priest, "I've come."
He reached down to help the Dark One, he would help lead him to safety.

 

[Amaya Cardei]

V E R D
​

Wherever Darth Metus had gone - Amaya made sure to never be any further than comm distance. Her father stepping down from his role as the Vicelord of the Confederacy had been unsettling, at least for her - but then the decisions he made were his own. All she could do was support him in the decisions he made, so it made sense that when he seemingly, almost suddenly made haste toward Rhand that Amaya wouldn't be far behind. In fact, she was aboard the same vessel and readied her own beskargam, the daughter of Isley and Ajira would once more make her presence known.​

​

Something she hadn't expected to be doing so soon, especially after her husband, the former Mand'alor had gone into self-exile. Leaving his wife Amaya to raise their children on her own, as she fashioned her armor she reminded herself that she wasn't part of the Gratiir Clan, rather she was of House Verd. She balanced the beskar crafted tomahawk in her hand she studied it at eye level. Satisfied with the sharpness of the blade Amaya sheathed it and went about reading her disruptor rifle. ​

​

It had been an especially long time since she had fought at her father's side and longer still since she had seen battle proper. Amaya secured the helmet and waited as the systems booted up within it. The helmet felt while at first, it felt strange, it wasn't long before it was once again something that felt natural as all armor should to a Mandalorian, like a second skin. When ready Amaya stepped out of her chambers and headed out along the corridor on her way to meet with her father. ​

​

Srina Talon ​

 

[Taiia Locke]

​

POST: 3

Location: Port Sorrow - Headed for the Skyhook
Equipment: Lightsaber | Dae'slin Armor
Enemies: MAW
Objective: Port Sorrow Skyhook
TAGS: Srina Talon Darth Empyrean Diocletian Kahmen’’a Ignatius Rausgeber

The redhead stepped out of the jackal that rested precariously on the ground, scanning the area with her eyes as her sabers flew to her hands and ignited emitting a silver light around her. Before her feet had even hit the dirt they had begun to act Srina cracking open the earth itself to swallow them and clear the way, likewise, Maliphant too engaged the creatures and so to did Taiia. Should anything make it past the pair she would make short work of it with her lightsabers.

The three of them worked on controlling the beasts until there was a sudden shift and Taiia felt it immediately. There was a sudden extinguishing of life granted the Maw had been killing people since the time they had arrived, but this was different as if a great many people died in a single moment through the force she had felt it as if her own breath had been taken from her lungs. She turned to look at Srina, already knowing what it meant but searching to see if she had felt it as well.

Of course, she did, anybody with a modicum of force sensitivity would have felt it. They had moved too slowly and too cautiously, and those that they came to save had paid the price. She looked away from Srina and steadied herself as best she could in the face of such wanton slaughter. No words were required, and there was no time to grieve for now only one thing remained. Vengeance for the dead.

 

[Aselia Verd]

Equipment: Lightsaber | Aselia's Beskargam | Full Equipment List
Tag: Darth Metus Amaya Cardei Srina Talon

The call had barely gone out before Aselia scrambled, she was already in her armor at this point she was simply selecting her loadout and attaching it to the magnetic points on her armor. Her trusty Shiva Knife was slipped gently into a sheath on her right hip, a pair of balmorran rail pistols we're gently attached to the magnetic points on each hip as well. Also she attached her lightsaber and grabbed an assortment of grenades. Finally, she grabbed a few ammo packs for her beskargam and grabbed her buy'ce and slipped it over her head while tucking her hair into it gingerly. God she really needed a haircut.

She stepped out into the hallway the black and red armor was unorthodox, to say the least, she was one of the few Mandalorians she knew that still had a srusu'yur on her back. Yes, it was a tactical disadvantage but she really liked the look. She quickly proceeded down the corridor as the long crimson fabric flowed behind her. A short walk led her to him not too far ahead. She fell into a stride alongside him matching his stride as best her smaller frame could.

He would never admit it but she suspected the sting of betrayal ran deeper than he let on and yet he was marshaling their forces to come to their aid. No that was wrong, not theirs, hers in his eyes Srina was as much a daughter to him as Aselia was. She turned her head slightly toward him a small grin behind the helmet. "Relax buir, we'll go save the day and rub Daegons face in it. Win-win"

 

[OOM-001-JELLYBEAN]

R E S C U E
__________________________________________

Objective: Rescue flesh bags from certain demise. Gain promotion.
Allies: Kiff Brayde | Jason Breaker | Vemric Keldra | Verin Oldo | Daegon Corvinus
Enemies: Tu'teggacha | Talon Kyber | Isabella Pavan | Zachariel Steelblood | Aldo Garrick | Halketh
Model: OOM-001-JELLYBEAN
_____________________________________________________________________

“. . .Roger roger. . .”

The metallic and nasally voice that ran through the vocabulator of OOM-001 seemed hollow in the cramped compartment. Amethyst RGB lighting began to emanate from accented panels while the unit woke from standby with a dozen other specialist droids. Photoreceptors seemed to wink in and out for a few moments whole the Data Stream updated and JELLYBEAN found itself reassigned from its last post. Everything about Ryloth was forgotten. Instead, it suddenly knew everything about a nearly dead space wizard hideout in the Perann Nebula.

\\ MOBILE-STATION-UNCLASSIFIED \\​

DSGN: Lawful Neutral​

DRCTV:​

PR1: Rescue Civilian Captives [] Designation: Maw Slaves []​

PR2: Terminate Hostiles​

The OOM couldn’t move like the new Lieutenant. It was almost human. JELLYBEAN was, well, jealous. It hadn’t had an upgrade or an oil bath since its failure on Ryloth. So many of its series had perished. The ramp of the assault lander touched down and JELLY followed the lead of the much more advanced BX-4381. Its head sat on a swivel while it made sure not to trip over debris and anything that might make it look even less graceful in the eyes of its new leader.

JELLY just wanted to prove that it had value. Worth.

It could complete assignments. It could. Really.

The OOM model allowed itself to be prepared, one of the platoons, and followed along with the encrypted details. The mission was straightforward. Infiltrate the superstructure. Establish a perimeter. Evacuate organics that had not yet leaked, and expired.

// HOSTILE-BREACH //​

The commando droids cut down the enemy combatant, quickly. JELLY shifted its grip on an E-5 Blaster Rifle and knew, for a fact, that it wanted to be just like these units when it grew up. The order was given from BX-4381 to continue and the amethyst and bone-white droid stumbled forward when the ship they were on seemed to suffer a tiny shudder. Nothing much of anything. Its chassis smacked into the commando ahead of it and for a moment JELLY thought the advanced model might shoot it. “Ah…Sorry! Your movement isn’t in my programming.”

The organics in high-command seemed concerned. JELLY found their emotions and words conflicting.

“I don’t get it. Isn’t it good if this structure is destroyed?”

“Not with us on it!”, another B1 chimed in, only to fall in line, and continue inside. They had a chartered path to follow but there seemed to be a deadly silence in the air. The B1 tried to measure it, this silence, but found that there actually were noises in the distance. Explosions. Shouts. Cries. There were high levels of adrenaline and other air pollutants. Particulate matter of fading carbon monoxide, nitrogen dioxide, sulfur dioxide, dioxins, and other noxious gases. Decomposing waste materials. Pathogens, born of poor environmental conditions from carbon-based forms packed too closely together.

It was the scientific formula of organic suffering.​

Then something else happened. Something, hit the superstructure.

\\ STORM-CMSCN-ALERT-CRITICAL \\

V330CRF104MES492​

TMST/15:09​

AI-COM/TYRN: DAMAGE ASSESSMENT​

[] NOTICE: STABILIZERS_COMPROMIZED._UNCONTROLLED_ATMOSPHERIC_ENTRY._SEVENTEEN_MINUTES_TO_IMPACT. []​

The B1-Unit was thrown off of its feet and landed squarely on its posterior while its head smacked into the wall. "Whoa, who rammed us!? Hyperspace ramming is illegal!"

Sensors were online, but unstable. The feed from \\ STORM-CMSCN-ALERT-CRITICAL \\ was now coming through a little garbled. JELLY could make it out, though. It was sure of it. The E-5 Blaster it clutched had clattered to the floor and it had to find it. While feeling around in the flickering lights it touched something much softer than a weapon. The B1 was getting jittery. The Lieutenant would dismantle JELLY if it couldn’t hold on onto its weapon. Its vision flickered and slipped into thermal as it reached out again.

It touched a person, an organic. The B1 frowned. It was not yet mature by galactic standards and its thermal readings were off. Strangely, cooling, in the sudden chaos. That didn’t seem right.

“Nuuhh…We are the Confederacy of Independent Systems. We are here to assist. If you would please right yourself and follow me we will take you to an evacuation point.”

The statement that the commander had given was uttered from the B1 without thought. Of course, the organic would want to leave. They were not meant to be caged like animals, even if, they were quite similar. It was the number one law of the Confederacy. No, slavery. “I am OOM-001. You may call me JELLY. I am here to aid you.”, Only—It didn’t move. The B1 touched the body again.

“We are the Confederacy of Independent Systems…”

The battle droid looked toward the others. The rest of the humans seemed to be clambering, panicked, for release. This one must have been the bravest. “We are here to help.”

The B1 decided to discard its weapon for now in favor com completing the mission. It picked up the small organic, carefully, and decided that it would prove itself by saving this one. It could not move like the others but JELLY was strong. He could help this brave, quiet, youngling all on its own.

“We are here to help.”

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Objective: Operation Cinder
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Equipment: Lightsabers - 2
NPC: 77-B
Ship: Wandering Pilgrim
Nearby Allies: Darth Senthral Dakrul
Enemies: Kyyrk Diocletian Kahmen’’a Idariel Khora Zlova Rue
​

Bone Temple


The undead's numbers were dwindling - Tennacus could feel it. The sheer intensity of the Dark Side that returned to him, returning so much of that power which he had distributed. But those which still dwelt fought rabidly, fuelled by a determination which made them turn amongst themselves when the likes of their undead brethren became obstacles for one another. Arms were ruthlessly torn from rotting corpses; heads were beaten, and remains were crushed beneath the horde which kept marching. The Sith Lord could hear the likes of explosives being discharged, both through the Force and the ears of that shadowy guise he currently possessed. But those that still walked with a false sense of life attempted to progress upon the enemy, particularly targeting Ghost "Frankie" Sterling and Diocletian Kahmen’’a , climbing along the walls and ceilings alike, scattering like scurrying insects to break ranks and create a further challenge. Several of them crept into the dark and sought to break through the enemy's defences, lunging, descending and clawing along the ground simultaneously, trying to reach out for whatever limbs they could ensnare to overwhelm the foe and bring them into the ranks of the dead. Unhinged maws clattered and snapped wildly, baring molars and canines alike, sharp, blunt and jagged in their decay.

And then, when all hope seemed lost - they suddenly stopped. Petrified in their positions, as if time itself, relative to their individual motions, ceased. The Sith Lord was not responsible for that. He stretched further into the Force, but the Dark Side was still ever present. Only it wasn't his. What is this? he thought. A traitor amongst our ranks? Perhaps it was Zlova Rue ; at the time, Tennacus could not tell. But the individual presence amongst the Force would not be forgotten. Whilst he could no longer bear witness through the eyes of his undead horde, he could still feel that darkness coursing throughout the temple. It would not be lost on him; if he encountered it from a perspective he could consider first person, he would see to its undoing.

For now, they had their advantage. A window of opportunity to abuse this disruption in his expansion to bring the horde to a bitter end.

But in the end, it did not matter.


The Wraith


Tennacus had about him an urge to test the limits of these individuals. But time was of the essence. The sounding of destruction was among them. His droid, 77-B, and Apprentice, Darth Senthral , were on course as the Sith Lord had hoped. In just a short moment, the destruction sounded above them; chaos wreaked through the clouds at the swift passing of their clandestine vessel.

". . . Do you hear that?" The disembodied voice spoke. The wraith slowly carried itself over the surface, its rusted sword scratching along the ground, bringing itself closer to Jhira Mereel . "That is the sounding of the inevitable: the consequential end, brought on by your own inability to see beyond the linear path. You need not to think too long on if I matter. You need only to think of if any of you will escape this place alive."

. . . And then came the first wave. The seismic charge deployed, a silent chaos swiftly barrelling towards the temple. The eruption stirred up over their heads, creating havoc and discord amongst the temple. In a single stroke, the architecture above them decimated, the reverberating shockwave barrelling viciously throughout the network beneath the structure. The very bowels of the temple strained to maintain itself, quaking violently in a manner that would bring about an end to them all.

But the wraith did not wait to see if that result would flourish into their deaths. The daunting shadow moved swiftly in the midst of the chaos, coursing like a black blur unto Jhira Mereel . The rusted blade ascended up over it, barrelling down in a vicious swing which saw to bring the warrior to her end.


Wandering Pilgrim


The ship sped over the temple, commanded primarily by the droid, 77-B, with Darth Senthral being tasked with the command of the cannons. Whilst only a droid, it had been taught and programmed extensively to pilot the Phantom in its master's absence, manoeuvring through the clouds swiftly. It repeatedly deployed and withdrew the invisibility cloak of the vessel, attempting to avoid any projectiles that might have been homing in on them, making the vessel appear as it blink moving rapidly through the smoke-filled skies.

"Lord Senthral," The droid started. "Ensure those cannons are warmed, as Lord Tennacus commanded."

The Wandering Pilgrim swerved back around, returning towards the desecrated temple. It was indeed unfortunate that such architecture and history would be lost as a result of the Sith carrying out their objective, but what was a droid to argue? It had its orders, and so did the Sith present alongside it. The Phantom made its course back over the temple, seeing to bring its existence to a chaotic end.

Another seismic charge unfolded from the belly of the ship. The brackets loosened; the bomb swiftly descended.

"Second bomb away."

Again came the chaos from the sky, hurling towards what still stood of the temple. A second seismic calamity unfolded, obliterating the remains of the surface in a vicious shockwave which levelled what remained of its structure in a final wipe. The underground network, now exposed by the annihilation of the primary structure, was subjected to a ferocious wave of energy which peeled away the crusts separating it from the surface. The resulting surge forced the shockwaves of flame and rubble to cascade into the bowels beneath the ruined temple, threatening to bury everything within it. The likes of the entrances would be submerged and collapse beneath pillars of stone, entombing anyone unfortunate enough to still stand present within its inner network.

​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron, the little shadow-killer
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: BYOO, try to survive (Maw side)
Location: Gehinnom, High Above Rhand
Equipment: N/A || OPBC-01m
Tag: N/A

[ Cry ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ ​

Ziare was still unconscious from the pain and the sedatives and drugs given to her by Tu'teggacha 's men. It was for this reason that she did not even sense that the men of the Maw had released her from the table and taken her with them on the orders of the Taskmaster. When, for some reason, her injured side hit the side of the marauder carrying her, she felt in the “dream world” she had just experienced the pain.

The torturers, by the way, were able to carry out the Taskmaster's order without any problems, as they soon arrived at the rescue ship and placed the slave still conscious on one of the decks. Who, thanks to this, is likely to get safely off the space station and can take it, the subject of one of Tu'teggacha's favourite projects to a safe place from the battle.

Happiness; a word I am not even sure of what it means. That is, in knowing what it means. Was I part of it at all in my life? Suddenly I felt pain in my side again. What happened to me? I had no answer to it, just another severe headache. It tortured me more and more. I felt something warm under my nose and it was harder to breathe. I reached out there: fresh blood!

My nose was bleeding. I heard sudden shots, shouts; they came from the camp. I immediately stood up and started running; moments later the sound of sirens was also audible, they attacked the base, it was not practice. We were just junior agents here, there was no special protection. I arrived at the base, with bodies laying all over the street. My comrades and strange machine-like but living beings. Like cyborgs, only better machines. I never saw such creatures before.

Omni! I heard one cry. Who or what is the Omni? It was all terribly real, I couldn’t cry, I just went ahead. It was as if I had only seen myself as an outside observer. My head now was in constant pain. I saw the fighters and managed to get a firearm. So I tried to survey the base and I hoped I'll be able to defend myself

I heard more shouts, and then I saw more of my peers as they now go on so mechanically and kill the others who don’t give up. Suddenly I heard my name from behind me. I turned around, but then a rifle hit me on my head. I lost consciousness in an instant…

Freedom…! Freedom!

Freedom… I heard the voices…

 

[Srina Talon]

F O R T R E S S A
[X]
Allies: CIS
Enemy: Maw
Enemy Engagement Status: [ OPEN + NPC Hungering ( Dakrul ) + Soon to be Ignatius Rausgeber ]
Nearby Ally Tag: Darth Empyrean / Taiia Locke / Ket Cros / Darth Metus (Soon) / Amaya Cardei (Soon)
Location & Intent: (Outside of Port Sorrow to the Port Sorrow Space Port)
_________________________________________________________​

Simple.

It should have been. It never was. Not when the Agents invaded Ryloth—Nor when the Confederacy fought on Eshan. Everything was complicated. War was bloody, bleak, violent, and never-ending. Even when they made it through to the other side, they always took chilling trauma with them. They took it home. They heard the screams, felt bodily impact, every time they closed their eyes. The Mawites and their ilk were savage; godless, save for that which satiated their need for absolute power. What gave another sentient the feeling of absolute power?

Placing another sentient being in chains.

When she felt Darth Empyrean join her in cracking the earth to swallow the inhuman creatures that seemed determined to consume them; it was as if a dam had burst. She could see cracks in the ground form in waves that were gilded, dark and bright, like a midnight sun. The soft skin beneath her eyes seemed to become mottled with corrupted latticework while she pushed herself harder to make the chasm wider. Enough, so that the black energy that leaped between them would send them tumbling in. Claws could not make purchase to run on earth that was not there.

They would not have their fill—Not this day.

In the unlikely event that the Brotherhood of the Maw didn’t know there were more Confederate forces inbound to the Port of Sorrow, they knew now. Alone, their abilities were significant. Much like when she worked with her Master, or, even while Taiia Locke joined the fray—Everything, was amplified. It was a beacon of black that could not be unfelt. Could not be unseen. It was like ringing a dinner bell, and truly, Srina expected some sort of retaliation. Either by the marauders or something far more vile.

Unless, that is, the Maw were too busy fighting or scheming to see who knocked on their door.

The Exarch rose to her feet with an unsteady breath and received several comm transmissions all once. The darkness was waning and she almost felt bereft. The need to press onward, to fight, was all but burned into her psyche. Combat was in her blood. The Echani people were every bit as violent and blood-thirsty as any Mandalorian; They just looked better doing it. They hid their less than gentle natures with calculating aristocracy. With beauty, and a trick of genetics. She was notified that air support was inbound. “Perfect. We’ve held them back for now but if these things get out no one on the ground will stand a chance.”, she responded to Ruus Kote . She could see some of them still moving.

Trying to climb over the shredded bodies of their brethren to escape their earth-made cage.

The warning from the Asmulr Squadron that was flying low to provide close air support was something that the Exarch broadcast to all of the Confederates nearby. “Understood. Fire, at will.”, she gave the word and once again pulled on the darkness to raise a telekinetic shield as wide as she could manage. It might not be needed, however, it was better than taking a hunk of shale in the gut.

The explosions were immediate and close.

It held the desired effect.

For a moment, however brief, it seemed that their mission was still intact.

Ket Cros arrived with even more support to ensure that the dead stayed dead and the Exarch nodded her head sharply. “Good work, at ease. No need for formality here. Have your men secure the area and make sure those things stay down there.”

Her eyes turned to Taiia Locke to insist that they take the transport Ket Cros had brought to get to their destination faster. Only, it didn’t matter.

<<< “Torpedoes heading for the skyhook. Be careful!” >>>
From Daegon Corvinus .​

There were so many explosions in the distance that she felt numb by the time they stopped. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and yet, the worldship had been hit. That wasn’t what she’d been referring to when she’d instructed the Vicelord to take care of it! The superstructure was burning in low orbit. The Force lent her momentary future-sight and she saw a glimpse of a laser shot coming down from the sky that struck the port. She had a sinking sense of familiarity. Whether it had happened yet or not, she knew it was coming. She suppressed flashes, memories, of the ruins of Eshan City.

Darth Empyrean would feel a sudden wave of unbridled anguish combined with certainty.

The slaves were always the shields. The bait, the hook, the trap. The small mercies that she had worried over in the beginning had come full circle. The Brotherhood of the Maw were scorching the earth. Literally, by seizing their ability to fight on the ground, on Rhand, by turning it into a bonfire while every living thing died. If the worldship fell on top of them?

It was over.

“…I’ve seen this before. I hope I’m wrong.”

She wasn’t. It was the same thing that had beaten Eshan City into oblivion.

The worldship would fall. Then? Or even during? Genocide. Her thoughts rang out for her Master. He would know. He of all people, who had bled, and suffered to free her people would know what it meant. She sent him images. Flashes. As far away as he was…He would receive them. Disjointed, perhaps, but Darth Metus would never leave her to fight alone.

<<…There is nothing left to save...>>

<<ON THE WAY>>
Darth Metus​

Or—there wouldn’t be. People were dying in droves and no one could move that fast.

No one.

“Enough. There’s no time for vengeance. We save who we can, regroup, and finish the mission. We always knew that this could go sideways. Always. We’re here to end slavery itself not to simply take away one of their ports to call. That requires accepting that there will be collateral damage.”

The stealth ships that she had on standby seemed capable of making their way down, though, Srina had used droid pilots to sneak them in slowly. The chaos allowed a few of them to make it. But, only a few. From the force-made chasm outside Port Sorrow they moved dangerously close toward the spaceport. If her suspicions were correct Srina, against her own words, hoped that there might be someone left. Slaves that hadn’t been killed and thrown in the streets like yesterday's trash. Fellow Confederates, perhaps.

Or even a Mawite or two—That could swallow the business end of her gun.

“Keep your eyes peeled. We can’t stay long.”

The young woman sent Ket Cros and his men forward with his transport to scan for any stragglers, but, with a warning that he needed to be out of the Port before the worldship fell. This was no longer a sabotage mission. That was scrubbed. This was retrieval and extraction, though, only for the moment.

Commentary and updates flooded her comm. Over, and over. A strange one caused her to pause. The Minister of War was trying to hold back the falling worldship with a tractor beam? The Echani internally wondered exactly how much time that would grant. Moments, if at all. Her hand fell to her comm and she pulled herself into the channels that would let her speak directly with Kiff Brayde .

“This is Exarch Talon. I’m in the Port…We’re going to try and save who we can but we seem to be…Too late. Do what you can Minister Brayde, but only, what you can. I order you not to let yourself or your fleet get pulled down with that damnable worldship. No matter what happens to the people on the ground or in the skyhook, myself included, you have a job to do for the greater good. Exterminate as many of the Maw as you can. Give them nowhere to hide, no quarter. You're the Minister of War. Make war. Get it done.”

Srina squinted when she saw a small throng of individuals ( Ignatius Rausgeber and a group of Auxiliaries 3-4 ) bolting on the other end of the spaceport. The silvery-haired woman nodded to her companions to get their attention and she reached behind her waist and pulled her handcanon free. The Echani took aim and shot at the feet of the runners before raising the weapon to eye level. Tilted up just enough so that she was aiming at one of their heads.

“Move—And I’ll get angry. If I lose my temper, one of you loses your head.”

Spoiler: Equipment

Mudarra, The Lover's Rings
Mothers Wrath
The Ring of Aspiration
HG-54 "The Vora" Class Hand Cannon
Terentatek Body Gloves
Obsidian-type Strike Armour II
CIS Holocomm Device

Possible Ships/Drop Pod/Droids:
Wolves' Curse-class Stealth Frigate
Jackal Pods
IG-100 Mk. II Series Magnaguard
BR1-Series Battle Droid

Spoiler: Summary

Buried the zombie creatures.
Welcomed Ket.
Noticed that something fishy is going down with Force-Sight and likens it to the tragedy on Eshan.
Reaches out to Metus/Isley.
Heads to Port Sorrow to finally see Ignatius Rausgeber (Yay)
I apologize if I missed anything or anyone....

 

[Halketh]

T O L L
S A I N T E D
Dark Lord of the Sith
Aboard the RCB "PROPHET"
Dimitri Voltura

​

And like that, the Battlecruiser was under assault. The scrambled, last-minute offensive from the Confederate fleet burst against the shields of the craft, creating a strobing kaleidoscope of plasma and energy, obstructing the view from the parlor, in part. Despite coming under fire, though, the ship itself did not return fire, nor change its course. Instead, the hangar doors split apart, spilling its resident fighter squadrons to the aid of its allies and to return punishment upon those who got too close for comfort. Wasps swarming out the hive, ravenously they chased down attackers and struck them from the stars.

Upon the bridge, the familiar zabrak stood from her place of view, kneading fist into palm at the small of her back. "Activate the frequency jammer, I want them restricted to line-of-sight solely. We shall maneuver them into a pretty little gift box for our allies." Her word was law and thus, enacted. From The Prophet's position, upon a frequency other Maw vessels had been tuned away from, the jammer rapidly charged up a burst of energy to not only jam the communications of the CIS fleet, but ground forces as well, its range able to extend well beyond a planet, though as much was unnecessary for the desired effect. The vessel made no move after, refraining from antagonizing their foes in favor of maintaining position for the original objective.

"Inform the Dark Lord that the superlaser is nearly charged, our target has been set, fire will be upon his command."

Sitting in the lap of luxury below, the Dark Lord eagerly awaited the whisper through The Force that the time had come. However, rather than ephemeral musing, the quiet he had allowed to settle in the parlor was disturbed by the crackling chaos of the Battle Net he had tucked into his ear. The chaos was expected, but there was something else that caught his attention, casting his features into stern marble.

Incoming missiles and craft upon The Holy City? The Confederates were attacking it? With the slaves still onboard being evacuated? Confused, Caelitus looked to Dimitri briefly, as if he expected an explanation, but upon remembering the Sith Lord had been here with him the whole time, he likely didn't know either. The miraluka shifted in his seat, placing both heels back upon the floor, and shooed the feline from his lap to rise. Three paces forward, he moved to the transparisteel, cup in hand, and braced the other against the cold surface to support his lean. "Gehinnom is under heavy fire from Confederate forces," he stated, straining against the anger that dared to bubble through his tone, "there are still slaves on board, innocent people, and the Confederacy bears down upon them."

He was starting to resent the taste his previous remark had left upon his tongue.

The crackling in his ear grew more distorted and unintelligible, and he could not figure if he truly was hearing the dying screams of his allies or if it was a trick of his mind. His energy peaked, funneling through the hand pressed to the glassy wall, and it projected outward. Through The Force he allowed the brushstrokes to be cast, the colors to blend into the arrangement, and though his canvas was limited, what he glimpsed confirmed what he had just heard. Gehinnom, the Holy City was under attack.

That part was inconsequential to him, as he was aware of the plan from the start. It was not the symbol of the Maw's faith and center for their craft slowly crashing to the land beneath it that perturbed him so. No, it was the hundreds of innocent souls still on board of it that did. "No-"

He had told himself he wasn't going to do this again- he wasn't going to torture himself this way again. This mistake on Csilla was more than enough.

But he could not help himself.

He sensed them, the gossamer threads weaving and interconnecting life together presented them to him. A brief moment, they were there, he felt their horror. The despair. The grief. Tidal waves rolled over him, granted access by the relinquishment of his stone walls, and he felt it all. There was fading relief there. Hope. It had existed for merely a flash when the horror and shock knocked it from its pedestal, shattering it upon the realization of their imminent demise. That their saviors were destroying them. "-there are still people on board-" the Dark Lord whispered, "-what is the purpose of this madness?"

At that moment, he was with them in their pens, his mind battered and tossed about by the confusion and panic of desperate people.

And then he felt nothing at all, countless lives snuffed out without so much as a whisper left behind.

The porcelain teacup in his hand shattered, its fragile body reduced to shard and dust, splattering what little remained of his drink to the floor by his boot. Still squeezing his quivering fist, crimson slithered from the folds of his fingers and trailed down the curve of his wrist. Caelitus spiraled inward, retreating upon himself to leave what lay beyond the window a mystery once more. He said nothing to his company, struggling to stomach the visceral cruelty he had just witnessed. Where his Presence was ambiguous and enigmatic before, now, it howled in the midst of wrathful upheaval. It ripped from him, a gale of unadulterated emotion with him at its epicenter.

<"My Lord, the superlaser is nearly charged, are we to continue as planned?"> the voice in his ear prodded through the piece, cutting through the fading screams of the murdered.

"Port Sorrow..." he breathed his confirmation, allowing the guttural emotion he felt to consume his words, "reduce them to cinders."​

Spoiler: Ship Actions

• Released 18 fighter squadrons to assist and run interference for allies and primary vessel. Zachariel Steelblood Tu'teggacha Isabella Pavan Aldo Garrick Darth Solipsis
• Deployed frequency jammer to interupt CIS fleet intercommunications as well as CIS fleet communications with ground forces. Kiff Brayde Vemric Keldra Jason Breaker Westenra Mina Oleander Webb

-Superlaser is nearly charged, with its target designated as Port Sorrow.

​

 

[Dakrul]

Location: Deep inside the Gehinnom
Equipment: Staff of Dakrul, Cursed Gen'Dai Flesh Armour, Dread Blade, Conduit shackle receiver
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: Everyone else (sry i can't quite follow it anymore)

​

​

​

The towering husk of Dakrul fell to his knees, smoke sizzled off his flesh into the air. The creature had siphoned, directed, and ultimately shaped spirit and flesh by his will. A sacrilegious act that had expanded much of his own bunkered energy reserves. Possibly too much.

The brotherhood of priests hadn’t halted their chanting. Word for word, syllable for syllable, invocations to the glorious avatars. Their song hangs over the pit while dark smog swirls up from its depth.

They had held a dark communion with the hellfire which delivered onto this plane a people forgotten by the galaxy, a cursed all-consuming predator. His kind returned en-mass to fight with every tooth, every claw for their rightful place on the mortal plane. But the eldest of the rebirthed Cha’ta’ri knew he needed more, he needed to raise the freshly fallen, and those that would be killed, forge their flesh and soul into that of his brethren.

His mind called out the marauders and taskmasters of the holy city, “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE...”

And the Gehinnom would oblige, cages sprung open, beings were dragged from the dungeons, for the zealous monstrosity demanded to be fed. Conduit shackles were removed from the hands of the recently tributed and passed onto the next. Living batteries in service of the Avatars, Dakrull felt its relief.

The trickling juices of living force energy injected directly into the searing crystalline stirring within his rotten guts, his empty clawed digits reaching inwards to caress the smooth surface of the receiver diamond.

“Mooooooore…” a mere whisper into the night. If they had to kill every last slave on this vessel he would will it so, he promised his master chaos, he owned the avatars a dept of blood and his people pleaded for sustenance

Drop by drop his reserves were growing.

On the ground, calamity was ensuing, the hungering were wretched ravages in nature, killing and attacking any living being they came across, the only thing stopping them from directing their fury towards fellow mawites was Dakruls swarm mind like guidance. With every death, each body that hit the ground another hungering would emerge to invoke their wrath onto the next. A fiendish self-perpetuating cycle.

Troops would be entirely ripped apart, swallowed whole, searing pain up until they’re dying breath, but there were worse fates. Others that weren’t consumed instead outright gutted would be deprived of their right to dissipate into the Nether. Their very souls were harvested, torn apart and rearranged, deformed, and irreversibly conjoined with the spirits of undying nightmarish monsters.

As a herd of the hungering came upon the site of freshly descended door ships they did not hesitate to unleash carnage among its inhabitants but were promptly halted by the very earth willed to drown their forms under its hardened fist. The fissure buried them whole, crushing the just recently reanimated, their vengeful spirit returned to the hell from which they so desperately sought to escape.

Dakrul saw through their eyes, heard from their ears, tasted the flesh nestled between their prongs. The glorious crusade he was promised.

Then an explosion rocked the world ships. His connection was momentary disrupted.

"No.. NOOOO"

He needed to feel them, be among his own. Seconds later their existences returned to him, into his mind's eye. Hundreds of his brethren reclaiming this plane with the blood of the weaker. In hindsight, he would have wished to remain here, this spot in time. Gaze upon his work, witnessing its beautiful horrors.

The priesthood stopped chanting, it was worse than Dakrul had been capable to comprehend. The holy city was dropping onto the surface beneath.

Despite this his presence changed everything, every sense of feebleness lifted, the prophet of the Avatars spoke to his fiendish servant. His Master, The Voice , the Sith'ari.

“Dakrul. My faithful Child of the Maw.”

It had all been prophesized, all been crafted in the hands of his gods, destiny made true. All efforts that led to this moment but a single sapling in a forest, it's significant no matter how minuscule relevant to grow and flourish. The destruction of the holy city and the chaos it would spread was justified for the death that it would create. This was the ultimate sacrifice, the biggest cage of life in this sector of the universe be tributed to a planet known to stare into the future. Praise that Avatars, what a miraculous act. There was a personal cost, it would mean to return his tribe back into the boiling abyss of fire and flames in which the hunger gnawed at their souls.

Without even a moment's hesitance, Dakrul yielded his over three-meter form to the Dark Lord. Falling to both knees he bowed until his crown of rusted iron kissed the ground.

"How can Dakrul serveeeeee?"

There were more, among the marauders, and nepheline servants, slaves, warlocks, and priests, he felt the touch of another accursed Alars Keto could feel his presence, he was close, his attempt to reach out.

Blessed and empowered by his Master's attendance Dakrul would call to prayer in a display of his obidience. One last time within the Holy City of Gehinnom. A recitation for the ages, a reminder to be engraved in these divine halls for eternity. That the will of the Avatars could not be denied, that their rule was ubiquitous, unavoidable.

Unanimous and in utter chilling cadency, the dead proclaimed together, culled slaves from all over the Gehinnom and beyond,

"War, Death, Rebirth, War, Death, Rebirth, War, Death, Rebirth"

The lips of the dead muttering the creed of their killers.

 

[Anja Doreva]

ALLIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER (Ave too lazy to tag everyone in this obj)
ENEMIES: CIS | EE | Other cronies (Ave too lazy to tag everyone in this obj: the sequel)
ENGAGING: Rann Thress | Ruus Kote (hitch a ride, bros!)
GEAR:

Spoiler

• Dressed to kill
• Lightsabers
• Force imbued Phrik Blades
• Phrik Dagger
• The Fortuna in orbit
• Company (4/4 Platoons) of the Legion of Bone among which is the Ash Hellion Squad - all led by General Samron Gerron

O~~>DON'T STOP THE DEVIL<~~O​

It was cute.

The wee little Force sensitive reacting out of instinct, splicing the droid she had sent his way. A chuckle even escaped her lips. This was going to be fun.

“Let’s skip the menacing introductions and just get right to it.” He shouted.

Danika outright laughed.
"So impatient. Very well, my little Popinjay. Let's see what you can do." she smiled sinisterly as she shifted into a dueling stance.

She did not have to wait long for him to show up to the party. A droid carapace was flung at her rather vehemently. Nonchalantly, the Force master flicked a finger in response, causing the piece of metal to veer off completely to the side to hit a B-1, that had been hopping around on one leg nearby, in the head.
"That's it?" she asked, spreading her arms. "Come on, darling. You're making this far too easy for me." She did enjoy playing with her dinner. It made the heads she took, so much more valuable. There had only been one so far that had been able to avoid his head adorning a mantelpiece.

And the one she was facing now, was not Dagon Kaze .

She would have her way with this one. Regain some of her lost reputation after launching that pod toward the Galactic Alliance fleet over Korriban. Samron, especially, had been worried about her ailment after that little excursion.

And that would not do.

So she went for the jugular. The push she hurled at the man across from her was quite powerful, kicking up dust like a whirlwind as it hurtled towards him. Danika followed up with Force induced speed, using the dust cloud as cover. The crimson blade swung high through the dust, while the amethyst blade was kept close for defence.

And then everything changed.

There was a boom in the skies above them as a brilliant light lit up the atmosphere.

Moving her feet instantly, Danika jumped out of immediate range again and put some distance between herself and her adversary. Looking up into the air, she saw everything going chit sooner than planned. The elevator was blown to bits and it seemed the worldship was coming down.
"Damnit, not again!" she grumbled. What was it people and blowing stuff up before she could get the stuff she had come to a place for? Was her luck that bad?
"Samron, hate to interrupt the party, but it's home time darling! I'll send you a cheat sheet. Be sure to get everyone on it!" she said over the comms while she lifted her other hand to conjure her own portal.

Only static met her order. She had little time to try and raise him again. She just hoped he realised what was going on and saw the portal she was about to send his way.

Her other hand wove through time as she thought of the Falleen General. She was certain the portal would show up in his location. Whether he would be able to reach it, was anyone's guess.

Admittedly, she would be upset if he didn't. He was more than a mere General.

He was a stalwart friend.

But she got ready to step through her own portal. She would do damage control from the comfort of the Fortuna when pesky Confederate flies weren't buzzing in front of her immediate vision.

If she had to come down and get Samron herself, she would do it then.

-SAMRON GERRON- General of Bone
144/144 Legionnaires​

"Almost in range, Carnage Actual." came Graves' update through the comms. "Orders?"

Samron checked his own display within his helm. Something felt off about this contact. He did not know what yet.
"Hold fire." he said. He wanted to be sure who it was they were up against. His gut was complaining at him.

So he moved forward to see for himself.

The sight that met him sent shivers up his spine. Countless deformed creatures were about, attempting to overrun the company that had been on the way into the city.
"Why aren't they attacking us?" Graves asked in Samron's ear.
That was a good question. The Legion weren't Mawites. And then it clicked.
"Our Lady. It's because of her influence." Samron answered.
"You mean to say that joojoo she does before every battle is actually good for something?" Aether asked from one of the flanking positions.
"Obviously, Genius. Otherwise you would be dead already."

"I'm picking up weapons like ours. We got friendlies here?" Graves asked.
A frown creased Samron's brow behind his helm. "Mawites don't have this tech. That's someone else. I doubt it's friendly. Keep weapons at the ready." he said. He wondered....

The HUD attempted to make connection to the enemy comms and immediately synced. Strange.
"This is Samron Gerron, General of the Legion of Bone. Please state your true allegiance or we will fire on your advance." he said over the comms, unknowingly speaking to Ruus Kote .

The exchange between the two forces would be brief, however, as the sky exploded. Shortly after, Danika's voice crackled in his ear. And then there was just static.
"Chit." he grumbled. All the comms were out. Most probably being jammed by either Mawite or Confederate forces.

Luckily it was not necessary for him to answer. His Mistress had sent the portal regardless. The large doorway materialised a feet in front, halfway between the Bone company and the other force.

Samron pulled off his helm and stuck two fingers between his lips to let out a shrill whistle.
"Let's move, lads! We got orders!" he yelled to reach most of his men. Hopefully the news would travel quickly to his forces that were now out of earshot.

This was a great big mess.

 

[Ignatius Rausgeber]

RHAND
PORT SORROW
SPACEPORT, PERIMETER OF DOCKING BAY T-37
OBJECTIVE: E S C A P E
BIG RIVER
Diocletian Kahmen’’a | Taiia Locke | Srina Talon | Ket Cros | Darth Empyrean


“Sssso how many are we exssspecting?” Hungryman, a six foot, three Trandoshian drawled, an olive tongue darting through his fangs, “The Huntersss demand sssacrifisses.” Hungryman glowered. The small squad of Auxiliaries were moving through the warren of alleys and access passes through the Port Sorrow cargo dock. Large crates stood still, ready to be unpacked and unloaded. Bearing all manner of gifts. Arms. Armour. Food. But they passed by it all, a shortcut to head to the cargo port.

Ignatius lagged behind the pack of ingrates, heaving and wheezing as he followed. He felt it in his legs. That tension of muscle. It wasn’t so much unbearable than just a huge pain. Even during First Order Security Bureau training, he hadn’t felt this tautness seizing up. As much as he hated trying to fly through Dosuuns temperate forests. The ex-intelligence officer wiped his brow. What had also been eating him up was what to tell them. The Auxiliary and it’s denizens were volatile. What could he say? He had told many lies today. But this one, this one would see the truth bearing on them sooner rather than later.

“There are none.” Ignatius panted, which caught the others off guard. They stopped entirely, and rounded on the officer. Ignatius too paused. Almost having run into Hungrymans chest.

“Whadya mean, there aren’t none?” Little Dwight, a feisty, diminutive weequay growled, “Bloody Kerri got us out here busting a move on your ‘count, and you’re telling us there are none? What's this for a giggle?!”

His accomplice, Glenn, glared at him, “This some sick joke of yours Dragleg? You tryin’ to ‘ave one over us?” He then approached, and prodded Ignatius’ stomach with the butt of his cycler rifle, “I knew you was a spy 'fore you joined wiff us,” He snapped, “But I fought they’d ‘ave ‘ung you if they knew your bosses still knocked about….”

Ignatius doubled over, shaking his head as he tried to catch up with his breathe, “Its not like that, you were chosen, to help… get a shuttle.” He swallowed, as they closed in. The sound of blasters cocking unnerved him. “We’re… we’re not deserting…” at least they weren’t. The paramour of freedom had fleetingly entered Ignatius’ mind. This would of course be an ideal opportunity to flee to her open arms. “They’re gonna, blow Port Sorrow. Fleet sent a warning. They will Base Delta the whole port..” He stood up, “Kerri trusted you to get the port secure, and us there. We need to get a shuttle, wait for him. And while the CIS are busy entangled with those left behind at the elevator. Leave.”

There was a murmur, uncertainty. It was strange that vulnerability. Regret even. Hungryman especially, given his predilection to feed on the amputated fingers and toes of his comrades for extra protein. Or Little Dwight’s constant berating of everyone taller than he was. Or how Glenn often made a sideline on bets between the Auxiliaries fighting. “Why are you surprised by this?” Ignatius rose his voice, it was incredulous, “We fight, and we die at the whims of a pack of psychological malcontents. Ones who blow up planets and enslave others by the billion.” Ignatius added, it was curious. The somber tenderness which had now arisen. “So what’s the matter? We all know they would leave us in a heartbeat, and that Final Dawn will atomize us to spite their enemies.” He licked his lower lip, “It’s better us than them.” He added, glaring at each and everyone of the fellow Auxiliary’s. “If you don’t think Stag, Lonnie or Puke would have sold you out for this opportunity, you’re delusional. We fight another day with this.” He added, “Now let’s go.”

With a begrudging hesitance, the Auxiliary’s pressed on. They could now see it, the spaceport. It was unclear from the large walls if there were any which still docked. Except for one. Dead before them. A Zeta-Class Cargo Shuttle. The vessels wing tips, emblazoned with a Final Dawn logo. Well that was that. “Alright, Glen, Hungryman, you roll up. Make sure the pilot sees things our way. I’ll see about organising an evacuation signal.” Ignatius added, “See if we can make sure that if Kerri brings others. They’re alright.” He paused, “Move.”

The group passed through an open sort of avenue. Which was sprawling with engineering debris. Busted down droids and the like. Often scrapped to find rare components necessary to maintain the fleet of Port Sorrow freighters. Glenn, Hungryman and Little Dwight passed through, to the arch. While Ignatius lagged behind. He felt that tightness, and urge to throw up all the more pressing. So much running. So little stress. He could feel it now. That dryness on his tongue. That want of cool, nourishing water. But then it hit.

The blaster bolt burned through Ignatius’ salvaged leather spacers boot, and deposited its payload at his ankle. Sending him toppling over. The auxiliary face planted, his forward momentum carrying him forward some. Leaving a bloody smear as his face rubbed against the rough, raw and grimy duracrete. “Iggy!” Glenn barked, raising his rifle, and taking cover against the wall of the arch, away from the Confederate party. Unable to be hit, but could be picked off if they peeked, “Right lads, arm up!” The others backed themselves up against the wall, “Alright you pricks! You got it now!”

Ignatius lifted his head, tears welling in his eyes, and reached to his forehead. He dabbed at it and winced. Skin cleanly scraped off by the duraceste foundation of Port Sorrow. The Auxiliary rolled onto his side, facing where his attackers had come from. It became apparent that they had the jump. And based on the attire, were some sort of special forces of some sort. Especially with that marksmanship. Ignatius winced, looking as Glenn prepared to pounce. The warning came stern and swift. “Move—And I’ll get angry.” The feminine voice tersley declared. “If I lose my temper, one of you loses your head.”

“Glenn!” He called out, “Cut it!” Rausgeber began to haul himself to the wall behind him. Ignatius took a deep breath, but the pain was too much. His teeth, chipped now, sunk into his lower lip, blood drooling from his cut lips. “Alright.” Ignatius called out, panting. “I assume, you’re affiliated with the Confederates. Yes?” He swallowed. The thick scent and taste of copper dominated his senses. His face was rather badly torn up. Blood poured from his forehead, crooked nose and mouth. There was no skin on his chin, only exposed bone, and ragged . The auxiliary spat, a glob of his life force and bile splattered on the ground.

“Let’s talk.” Ignatius grunted. He reached up, and with blood stained hands began to haul himself up against a deactivated astromech. “Look,” he wheezed, “We don’t need to fight here.” Rausgeber informed the Confederate party. “We don’t want to fight. I’m pretty sure, the group you’ve got here, and quite easily eliminate us. And I have no mistake as to your homicidal inclination to wipe us out.” Ignatius reached to his coat, and opened it, revealing the pistols on his belt, “So, let’s parley. And in a show of faith,” Ignatius reiterated, “I’m going to throw my blaster. One at a time. Alright.” He took a deep breath, and tried to place some weight on his now wounded leg, and couldn’t. He slipped a little, and as he regained his posture on the droid, raised a digit. “On three.”

“Iggy!” Glenn snapped, reloading his heavy repeater, “Are you kriffing mad?!” Ignatius shot him a contemptuous glare.

“Shut it!” Ignatius barked, spitting up more blood as he verbally struck. He took a moment to breathe, “One….” He reached for his pistols. “Two.” He drew Kerri’s, clasping it by the barrel as he leaned against the wall, “Three.” He threw it, letting the weapon clatter to the ground. Ignatius allowed a pregnant pause to pass between the two. “Alright, second one, all the same.” He then paused, “One…” he repeated the action, “Two…” clasping the second weapon. “Three.” It sailed and clattered against the ground.

“I’m totally unarmed now.” He raised his hands to Talon and her lieutenants, “But I’m not an idiot, and if you try something, I’m certain my associates will at least avenge my death with one or two of you.” He paused, and winced again. Feeling that burn of his tender flesh, scorched by raw plasma, “But they are, immaterial.” He clenched his eyes shut. Remembering the FOSB training. Show no pain. No fear. But oh by the Force, that pain was palpable. “So they’ll remain out of sight, and out of mind for the period of our,” He grunted, “Negotiations. You’re talking to me. And me alone.” Not a sterling vote of confidence. But still., “Now typically diplomatic decorum states, that the aggressor party, or initiator of these uh events,” Or shooter in this instance, “States the need for introductions. But for the purposes of our dialogue, I am merely Ignatius.” Ignatius conceded. He hefted more weight against the rusted astromech, and hacked up more blood.

“If I may be frank, the reason our paths have now intersected,” the wordy diplomat within him had finally awakened once more, “Is that Port Sorrow is about to be the target of a base delta zero operation by the forces of Final Dawn.” Rausgeber reported flatly. Glaring at those opposite. “And myself, my associates,” he gestured to the soldiers behind the wall, “Have no want of being here when that begins.”

“Now, perhaps you don’t trust me,” He put a hand to his emaciated heart, “But on my honour as a member of the First Imperial diplomatic service,” A service which of course did not exist at least now. “And as a gentleman, that warning was dispatched to the Port Sorrow comms terminal at,” he gestured to the space elevator, towering into the heavens, as it was now circled by Confederate fighter craft, “There. Some ten minutes ago. So who knows in reality how close we are to the devastation of this facility.” He conceded, running a hand through his bloodied hair, trying to idly straighten it, “But I would suggest it’s imminence only draws closer.” Ignatius conceded, “Now, myself and my colleagues, who I must remind you, are armed, have decided to take this opportunity to reevaluate our partnership with the Maw.” He shot a glare to the other Auxiliary’s, as to shut down any pipes of dissent. There were none.

“And we have decided to commandeer this here shuttle,” he pointed at the docking bay, and the four fins of the Zeta Class which peaked above the walls. “So, with your permission, we’d be rather wanting to depart as soon as possible and not impede you, or your operation.” He swallowed, “But nor are we inclined to take you with us, as without a doubt you would find fit to have us tried for our vague association with the Maw.” He shook his head, “We, at least broadly speaking,” he conceded with a bob of his head, “Are largely slave soldiers. Who have been coerced as the garrison here. And I would say if we got into the legal minutia, we’re not necessarily culpable for the wickedness forced upon us by a regime whom we are not enfranchised or represented by.”

Ignatius winced, and tried to stand tall, but immediately went back to clutching the astromech, “So if it’s all the same to you, we’d rather like to leave.” He swallowed, “Because those, miserable souls at the lift, waiting for Armageddon on Gehinnom get wind of us. Are perhaps even freed, then we risk by mere association, a lynching.” He paused, and looked down at his badly scorched foot, "So, I would say it's not neccessarily in our interest to be here, say this orbital bombardment is averted, or if commences." He offered a small smile for but a second. Almost as if he were back negotiating military garrisons with regional Moffs. And then the pain returned.

"That, is our position."

 

[OOM-002-HONEYCOMB]

Objective: Rescue flesh bags from certain demise. Help JELLYBEAN gain promotion.
Allies: Kiff Brayde | Jason Breaker | Vemric Keldra | Verin Oldo | Daegon Corvinus | BX-4381 | OOM-001-JELLYBEAN
Enemies: Tu'teggacha | Talon Kyber | @Zyree Pavan | Zachariel Steelblood | Aldo Garrick | Halketh
Model: OOM-002-HONEYCOMB
_____________________________________________________________________​

None of them had succeeded on Ryloth. It had been a slaughterhouse at the cave which had opened from the ground. It seemed everytime they advanced, their memory was uploaded to a new machine.

HONEYCOMB died.

A LOT.

He came to life with everything he needed for this mission. The horrid memory of Ryloth seemed to have been wiped in favor of the task at hand. There was on directive. Save who they could and evacuate.

Sparks danced about as the B1 unit was suddenly plunged back into war. He could tell there was something wrong with the ship. It was severely damage, about to be destroyed. Why were they there for what might be another futile mission. More importantly why was there no pretty fleshbags to look at. All of them were dirty, cold, still.

NONE of them seemed to be moving, until JELLYBEAN found one. A small fleshbag.

"I did not know they came in small size," he said as 001 attempted to free the child. "It must not wish to leave the cage."

It was a flawed observation.

"Something must be wrong with it's programing."

Why would the fleshbag not want to be free, and get off a vessel that was clearly about to explode? HONEYCOMB didn't want to go down with the ship. He wanted to prove the unit could get the job done, but he did not want to die trying.

"Maybe there are more further in that want to be rescued," HONEYCOMB offered as he started to advance.

His E-5 Carbine was placed in front him ready to fire upon any enemy which they would happen upon. It was odd to the droid that there did not seem to be many guarding the cargo.

A small squeak broke the silence with which the until attempted. He looked down and saw a small cloth model of a fleshbag. It was ragged, yarn hair, button eyes, stitched and re-stitched several times. It appeared to be as dirty as the slaves in the pens. It gave HONEY an idea.

He offered the small item to JELLY.

"Maybe this will help get the small one to want to leave?"

 

[Dimitri Voltura]

ALLIES: CIS & Allies (Ave Lazy)
ENEMIES: BOTM & Allies (Ave Lazy: The Sequel)
ENGAGING: Halketh
GEAR: In Bio.

Oo~ZOMBIE~oO​

The scales of fate were tipping.

Accepting the tea Kezec had poured for him, he leaned back in the chair once more and listened to his host speak.

The Miraluka did not pull any punches.

Dimitri heard the empathetic tone in the man's voice, but the truth seared through the Obsidian Lord like white-hot flames. He quietly took a sip of the warm liquid as he stared out of the viewport while his host spoke. The candor was jarring, to say the least. But how true the words rang. He could feel the cage getting broken down with every sentence the Vulture uttered.

He knew it was no trick. No hidden agenda. No attempt to disarm him in order to strike. This man had seen the darkest demons that plague the ancient Sith Lord. Had accessed the deepest corners of memory that not even Eenia could get to. This man knew who he was. Truly kin.

And then the gong sounded.

"I brought you here to spare you of the carnage beneath, not because I worry for your future, but rather your tangible safety." Candid, at the very least, "Not only that, but I would offer you a chance to stop lying to yourself, not for her sake, not for your allies' sakes, but for your sake, Voltura. I've a home for you, people who would welcome you, and no longer would you have to hide the ghosts of your past that weigh on your shoulders." His brows pinched together, creasing his blindfold, "It pains me to see a kindred soul suffer so; to suffer as I have."

He frowned slightly. "I think we both know those on the surface would not have survived me. Not the other way around." he said. There was something else at work.

But the sincere offer of freedom was refreshing. To know that he did not have to hide. To lie. He could not even be angry at Halketh for dragging Eenia into it, because he was right. She knew Dimitri wielded the Dark Side and she knew of his dietary preferences. But she did not comprehend the full extent of it. She never would. She would be frightened out of her mind if she did. And it pained him.

There was a sudden shift in the Force.

A uniformed Zabrak entered the room and spoke quietly to the Vulture, but Kezec's answer gave him the confirmation he had been waiting for. As she exited the room and the thrum reverberated beneath his feet, Dimitri turned his attention to his host.
"That is why I'm here. You're going to blow it." It wasn't a question. It made sense now - he would not have survived a superlaser hitting the surface. It was both a relief and a weight around his neck. The honourable man would have been down there with his comrades. Or would have notified them.

But honour had gone the moment he had ventured here.

Dimitri had just raised the porcelain cup to his lips for another sip of tea when a blinding flash suddenly lit up the viewport. He froze momentarily before setting the cup and saucer down on the table next to him. Halketh shooed the cat from his lap and got to his feet.

The Dragon could feel the churning emotions in his host. The anger straining at the seams and could not understand it until the Miraluka spoke.

"Gehinnom is under heavy fire from Confederate forces," he stated, straining against the anger that dared to bubble through his tone, "there are still slaves on board, innocent people, and the Confederacy bears down upon them."

Shock kept Dimitri in place. "What?!" Why? Why shoot slaves out of the sky? Were they crazy?
The cat let out a troubled murmur before it started rubbing against Dimitri's legs. The Sith Lord absently rested a hand on its head before slowly rising to his feet, almost too scared to move to the viewport. But he had to see it for his own eyes.

And he wished he hadn't.

The great worldship was losing altitude. Fast. The Dragon could feel the despair of those still alive on the ship, horror written all over his face. Not for the first time did he resent the fact that he was so attuned to the Force.

To Death.

Anger started to burn through the shock. Anger at being witness to the destruction. At being a bystander. Anger at knowing that he served the very people that had so valiantly pledged to save the slaves and were now shooting them out of the sky.
"Hypocrites." the Hydra growled. What was the point of throwing a nation into war to "liberate the slaves" when you were not going to actually save them? To just snuff them out like a candle? Have them be nothing but cannon fodder? Some humanitarian nation indeed.

Dimitri could not hear the chatter in Halketh's ear, but he did not need to. His host's answer was dripping with angry venom.

And the Dragon found himself agreeing.

 

[Lunara Azure]

​

Wearing: Tempest Mantle | Tempestus​

Tagging: Gerwald Lechner | The Mongrel | OPEN​

​

This was supposed to be an easy mission, a quick insertion that the Maw wouldn’t be expecting to catch them off guard. To overwhelm them with a dazzling array of firepower and boots on the ground to cripple their operation and leave them reeling.

That had been the battle plan.

But, no plan survived contact with the enemy, so why should this be any different? The Confederacy had come planning to free the slaves, those misfortunate innocents who had been swept into the clutching hungry hands of the Maw. Deprived of the freedoms, the choice and dignity that everyone was born with. A newborn child had a wealth of options, of opportunities that reached to the horizon and beyond. They could be a businessman, a hero or villain who could shake the stars and change the galaxy, or just live a life and die happy. The options were as infinite as the depths of space, but there was choice, there was freedom there. When Lunara looked around at the faces that surrounded her, at the stain that seemed to permeate the force, all she could feel was a deep sense of misery and desperation.

The loss of hope, of light.

The sense of loss that had been so deeply etched into the hearts and souls of the wretches that surrounded them seemed to resonate with something deep inside the eflin blonde. That sense of loss that she carried with her, that she’d borne for years seemed to fill the air around her, an aura that seemed to grow thicker and thicker with each passing moment. Till it grew thick enough that she could no longer breathe, till the very air seemed to slow her passage, to press in on her limbs and body. Invisible chains of shadow and despair that wrapped themselves around her, that squeezed her in their grasp, driving the breathe from her lungs.

It was too much, the misery of the slaves, the twisted malaise of their situation. No-one should feel like this, should be left to suffer and struggle against another clouding… no their slaves future hadn’t been clouded, it had been stripped from them. Like her, they’d lost their future, where she’d lashed out in anger they’d folding in on despair.

Were these the two paths open to her? Anger or despair, a focus on her loss, on the pain of the situation that surrounded her? The blonde’s motion seemed to stop, to freeze her in her tracks for a long beat as a lead stone of despair seemed to settle in her stomach, seemed to pull her down. It was only for a moment, a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into infinity before a small blonde face peeked out from behind her mother’s back, a tiny hand raised in greeting, a beaming smile spreading across her face. The face was only visible for a moment before the frightened mother span, pushing her daughter behind her back.

It had only been a second, but that smile, that little wave, it was almost like looking at a reflection of herself, but one that had found a moment of joy and happiness amidst all the darkness that surrounded her. It was enough to allow Lunara to take a breath, and then another. Enough to let her feel that weight lift off her shoulders enough to turn to her companion, a single eyebrow arching up towards her forehead.

“And yet, somehow, watch as you manage to get this outfit ruined too Wolf.”

That jest that they fell into so easily, so comfortably. It was ok, they’d beat back the Maw, they could save those slaves, that little girl and show them that life hadn’t turned it’s back, that there was hope, there were options. That she didn’t have to live in this pit of sorrow and despair for the rest of her life.

It was a dream, a pleasant, precious one.

It was a dream that wilted under the pressure of reality.

A surge of darkside energy seemed to ripple around the planet, that stain seeping into her pores, into the environment around them as she felt them, the abominations pulled from the netherworld, creatures that had no right to be here. Torn from their place and thrust into the world, a wave of ark hunger spreading across the port like a plague of locusts. She could feel the reply through the force, the Exarch’s reply as the very earth itself rose up to answer, the fighters of the Confederacy engaging with fire and the force, with every tool at their disposal. Paying with blood and sweat, trading their very lives for those of strangers.

Crystal blue eyes watched as her friend charged into the fray, weapons drawn and the force swirling around him as she reached out a hand to the man’s back, her mind reaching out to that dark pool of the force that had collected in the area. Forcing it to bend to her will, currents of energy wrapping around his limbs the force seeping into his flesh to armour him, to enhance his movements and reactions.

“Don’t die.”

Words spoken in a whisper as she turned to look at the faces surrounding her, raising a hand in a gesture.

“Come on then.”

​

​

​

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Glass the place
Brotherhood: Isabella Pavan | The Mongrel | Tu'teggacha | Talon Kyber | Alars Keto | Marlon Sularen | Halketh | Ozma Olumivius
CIS: Vemric Keldra | Kiff Brayde | Daegon Corvinus | John Locke | Jason Breaker | Verin Oldo | Laertia Io

And tags to anyone else on the planet or fleeting
Fleet

Spoiler

2 Praetorian Star Destroyers
3 Supermacy Star Destroyers
13 Autarch Star Destroyers
Many CR-90 Corvettes
Darkshear Fighters
Divine Fighters

From his fleets location, Zachariel was afforded a brilliant view of the fleet battle above Rhand. Reports were plentiful as to the actions of their foes and allies, even as weapons were readied. The news that reached Zachariel both surprised and amused him. There was a division amongst the CIS ranks, of someone who was willing to do what needed doing, and those who chose to stuck to their weak mandates. Chuckling, he watched as they came to blows before one slowly retreated. Though the loss of the Holy City was lamentable, it would still serve some use. In less than fifteen minutes time, it would crash into the camp below and flatten everything, killing it all. Much as this orbital bombardment plan would, though the bombardment should be faster.

Then his focus shifted to various reports of fighters coming towards them, along with distant fire and the movement of ships. Part of that distant fire was directed toward Nyree's and his own fleet, no doubt to attempt and stop the bombardment. Leaning forward in his throne, Zachariel watched with an eerie calm, before giving his orders.
"Ignore the incoming ships, the secondary warships shall deal with them for now. Our priority is the glassing of this planet, let us show the CIS how foolish they were to come here, and that there is no victory against us."

Part of the 42nd was gunning for his fleet, the other half for Nyree's fleet. Whatever their plan, it wouldn't be enough to dissuade Zachariel. The autocannons directed towards them fired, all towards the bombardment section. Other fire was directed towards the fleet protecting them, but that mattered little to him. Some of the autocannons fired upon his autarchs, while the other pair fired towards Nyree's fleet. Zachariel watched as fire blasted against the shields of their ships, practically heard their groaning. Sneering beneath his helm, Zachariel noted that they hadn't concentrated fire yet. That meant the shields were only weakened and the crew members thrown about, rather than any serious damage being inflicted.

Sneering, Zachariel focused on his current objective, the glassing of Rhand. For a moment he concetrated, only to be drawn out of his musings by Ozma mere moments later. The being was a recent addition to his warband, but a useful one. As the being stepped closer to Zachariel, the warlord turned his helmeted head to gaze upon the living machine. Many unoccupied crewmembers found themselves staring at the strange creature, while also fearfully glancing towards Zachariel. The only ones entirely indifferent were the marauders and chosen of his warband present, all who had seen far worse.

Still, few could say that Ozma didn't disquiet them. All present knew to fear Zachariel for who and what he was, a sadistic and skilled warlord with few equals. They know why they should fear Zachariel, but Ozma was an unknown, more machine than man, none yet knew his true story. Nor could they understand him, though Zachariel was able for his helmet and his own augments, still their disquiet was reasonable. However, Zachariel simply cared that those who served him did so well, and Ozma did so quite well. As his report came in, Zachariel smiled darkly beneath his helm, gaze shifting back to the planet below.
"Excellent Ozma, tonight the Avatars and their spirits shall feast on a planets death." Leaning back in his seat, he laughed sadistically before continuing. "Open fire upon this pitiful rock, let it all burn."

His command was followed and his fleet opened fire, weapons aimed towards Rhand. The ground beneath them blossomed into flame and ash, sending up plumes of smoke and debris. Spread out as they were, a large swathe of the ground simply disappeared, replaced by death and destruction. The simply sight of it brought forth howls of joy from the Bloodsworn, and caused Zachariel to laugh. Of course they weren't yet at Port Sorrow, but they were closing. Those on the ground would see their deaths coming and know despair, and any caught in the crossfire would die.

Blasts slowly slammed into Rhand, lighting it ablaze, even as the shots imperceptibly picked up speed. Eventually it would build into a full blown crescendo of endless firing, not to mention the fire of the world itself, started by the death of their own. One such death was that of one of the severely damaged Star Destroyers, finally crashing into the surface of the planet, setting the land around it ablaze and consuming a swathe of land. Its burning hulk furrowing long and hard into the ground, even as secondary explosions rocked it. A beautiful sight to be sure, a shame it hadn't landed closer to Port Sorrow, or been a destroyer of the enemy. A shame, but it would soon be joined by others, and at least the fools had at least helped bring some destruction to the planet. It was enough to guarantee they would also be subsumed by the ravages of the Bloodsworn fleet.

However, it was the other Star Destroyer that drew Zachariel's attention, the Supremacy Star Destroyer. The remains of its crew had set it on a collision course towards Port Sorrow, gaining some measure of glory in the name of the Avatars. The more experienced crew sought glory in one final strike, something Zachariel could appreciate, watching its bulk gracelessly glide through the atmosphere. Ablaze as it was, it still drifted slowly forward and down through the atmosphere, occassionally rocked by explosions from within. Zachariel couldn't yet tell whether it would hit the port or not, but it would be close regardless. Chuckling, the warlord spoke.
"Death comes for them, there is no escape now."

Laughing darkly, he stood at last. Marching forward to the windows of the bridge, the massive gen'dai laughed aloud and through the Force, sadistic laughter echoing out from him across both medians. Crossing his arms across his chest, Zachariel watched with endless mirth as death came for them all. It mattered little to him the enemy fleet closing on him, nor the fighters that even now dueled. He cared even less for the ones who died even now. All he cared for was the death and destruction, and both came in equal measure. With a Star Destroyer bearing towards Port Sorrow, followed closely by his own glassing fleet, the world of Rhand would burn in the fires. And Zachariel would watch it all, laughing as the planet burned, laughing as others tried to stop them, and laughing as they burned.

 

[Vesta]

One Day The Only Butterflies Left Will Be In Your Chest As You March Towards Your Death...​

Location: Port Sorrow
Objective: Kill the Past
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Dakrul , Halketh , Darth Solipsis , The Mongrel , Tegan Starfall , Maestus , Darth Carnifex , Ignatius Rausgeber
Enemies: Confederacy of Independent Systems | Quinn Varanin , Zlova Rue , Ingrid L'lerim , Diocletian Kahmen’’a , Kyyrk , Jhira Mereel , Priesse Verena , Lunara Azure , Rann Thress , Caltin Vanagor , Felix Aquila , Dreidi Xeraic , Srina Talon , Laertia Io , Darth Empyrean , Prennis Keeoli , Corin Autem , Ruus Kote , Damsy Callat , Kristyl Arenais , Taiia Locke , Ket Cros , Gerwald Lechner , Sylvia Virtos

There was only so far a distance that words could bridge, only so much that they could mend, and the gap between Quinn and Vesta had long since surpassed these limits. All that came from the Echani's cries were pain - pain from the heart, from, and for, both of them. Maybe the girl thought she could fix things, or maybe she was just as vindictive as she'd shown herself to be to anyone else in her life, but her claims fell on deaf ears now, especially now as the Sith became aware of the time that she had lost when she'd chased after an echo of her past. It was this moment that had haunted her dreams for months, this scene that drove her to madness - that splintered her mind and turned her cries into screams, the silence into her prison.

She choked on the laugh that she suppressed as the irony of it became clear to her, as the mistake made obvious.

Her eyes, red and seemingly unfeeling, looked away as the locket Quinn pulled from under her shirt glinted green - green with the hue of light that tibanna gas created as it was burned into plasma, plasma that filled the bolts that rained down from the skies as they were fired from their turbolasers aimed at the ground. She began to count the seconds down as she shook her head, her lips setting into a firm line, and stepped towards the ranting and raving princess with an expression as grave as the tomb this planet would become for the countless beings that stood atop its surface. It was fortunate, perhaps, for her that their distance now, physically, was so short - an outstretched hand lifting as if Vesta had been reaching out for her. Shimmering light ballooned around her, around Quinn Varanin , almost simultaneously as destruction rained down on the aptly named star port.

"I was alone."

Her words were consumed by the burning air, by the shrieking wind, as destruction swept through the space between them. This howling scream, the ghastly sound of air and metal and concrete being heated to heights they were never meant to reach, was punctured by the scream of the Sith lord as she experienced every ounce of it herself - as she gave into the voice in her mind that had urged her to feed for so long, that had begged her to take everything from the world, that had forced her to remind so many that they were meant to do nothing but die. The bubble that surrounded her - that surrounded Quinn, and Quinn alone - prevented her from perishing in that moment, but it also forced her to stand by and watch as Vesta Zambrano, Darth Mori, survived.

The deaths on Rhand began to converge, not only through the cries echoing in the force, but into a single focal point on Port Sorrow as Darth Mori pulled the darkness into her, drained everything into her, as a means of survival. Flesh scraped from bone, blood boiled in her veins, arteries popped, and hair burned - like coals into the fires that powered a city, this pain kept her going. Darth Sion had accomplished his perpetuated existence by rejecting the fallacious peace that death could provide and embracing the agony of continued living, Darth Nihilus had survived certain doom through the endless hunger that consumed entire worlds, and here Darth Mori held herself together through that same agony while gripping at the force itself like a jaw unseen - consuming life and the force itself as the lord of hunger once had.

Her past was held in perpetuity right in front of her, confined into a sphere hardly big enough for just one individual to stand within, and it was its sight that fed her anger, her hurt at the memories that the face that watched her brought boiling to the surface, the hatred she felt for the moment she realized how easily, how quickly that she had been replaced. It gave her focus, provided her with the center necessary to hold everything together - to stitch herself back together even as she was being torn at the seams. The countless lives she would consume, and the lives of those turned to ash by the Maw that hung so close in the skies above, fed her and fueled her in this endeavor - this endeavor to kill Vesta in every last sense of the word so she could finally embrace an identity that she had chosen as Darth Mori.

That's what love had tried to force her through in the past - to shape her identity into something of its own desires, stretched and sewn together by the passions beyond her control. At the center of it all had been her, Quinn Varanin. She'd tried to snuff her out in the dark with a knife in an act of vengeance for the actions of their mothers, a price to be paid for experiencing what it was like to live through something even resembling a maternal touch - something Vesta never could have known. Perhaps it only made sense in her own mind, this rebellion against her heart, but she wanted nothing more than the total freedom that the voice in the darkness had promised her - the freedom from the weight of her guilt, the oppressive screams of a broken heart.

Even death couldn't have given her that release.

 

[Westenra Mina]

Ten minutes before The Holy City crashes:

A massive worldship had been felled by a newly minted Battle Cruiser.

In a lot of ways, today was a great victory. At the cost of a relatively small invasion Force on the ground, the very birthplace of the Maw Brotherhood itself had been utterly destroyed. A symbol of their might. The center of their faith, a Super Space Station coordinating hundreds of operations across Maw territory, capable of maintaining Star Destroyers and cruisers, the seat of their Holy Scripture and perverse rituals...normally impregnable to all but the harshest assaults, was about to crash because someone had dared to be as ruthless as The Maw themselves when fighting them. More ruthless than an entire invasion Force with an SSD.

It was an Irony, really. If The Maw hadn't been so greedy for the flesh of the unwilling, it would never have been in such a vulnerable position.

Lana had watched in horror as The Leviathan of Sev Tok relentlessly battered the station's engines with Energy Torpedos as well as every gun it had except it's main one. Even as she blasted apart pursuing Starfighters, she saw the way The Leviathan pitilessly fired. It must have been minutes from escaping. Xiphos would not have done it otherwise. They might never have caught The Worldship in such a vulnerable state ever again so lightly defended. They must have honestly believed no one would be willing to become the Dutch to shoot their Leviticus Cornwall in the chest. And that's exactly what Gihinnom had been: Leviticus Cornwall.

Such a victory was terrible however, as it came at the cost of the slaves. So many innocent, dead at Xiphos's hands, in exchange for a massive disruption in Maw Operations.

She saw the Leviathan releasing it's drop ships to save who it could on the surface below. Some got shot down but many more made it to the surface to try and evacuate who they could. The Nuetralizer TIE's fought fiercely still, scoring kills on bombers and fighters with relentless, random hit and run attacks, even as they themselves fell in the dozens.

Then, as she shot down a Divine Eagle fighter she got a message from the Leviathan of Sev Tok:


ESTIMATED TIME UNTIL IMPACT: TEN MINUTES

DIRECTIVES: REACH REACTOR OF FALLING WORLD SHIP. MASSIVE OVERLOAD TO REACTOR REQUIRED TO SUCCESSFULLY DISPERSE WORLDSHIP AND MUCH OF SPACE ELEVATOR DEBRIS. A SACRIFICE ON YOUR PART IS REQUESTED, BUT NOT REQUIRED. MORE WHEN REACTOR IS REACHED.

"Gods..." Lana breathed, trying not to panic. She understood what Xiphos was aiming for: Destroy or break it up enough so that what hit the surface of Rhand would be more like a devastating but still survivable high density carpet bombing than planet destroying impact. And she had only minutes to do it some how.

She pushed her engines to max, flying through hoardes of fighters with impossible precision, evading rainstorms of laser cannon fire. She had no time to engage them she took a few hits and her left top foil took damage.

("Inside The Colossus" Plays)

The Leviathan's Energy Torpedoes had punched massive holes into the falling Worldship. Devastating damage had been inflicted, tearing a pathway to a main reactor now on fire.

Lana winced as she flew past the bodies of frozen slaves. Xiphos had blasted right through them to strike at the Maw. So eager to cost them a military asset. Had she even hesitated.

But like The Bryn'adul, hadn't The Maw shown that nothing less than total war would be required to defeat them? They were utter savages, and even her own scans had shown they were minutes from escape. The fleet had hesitated, even with all their power, to inflict maximum damage. The Maw had put them, in OOC terms, in a Gordian Knot where their power was stalled, diluted, and ultimately rendered null by their hesitance. Hesitance which had ultimately bought enough time for the real Maw fleet to arrive with their damnable super weapon.

Xiphos had understood the nature of the Knot. And cut it brazenly. Now that the fleet didn't have to worry about capturing the World Ship or skyhook, they could focus their full might on the fleet the Maw had brought in.

Lana flew into one of the gaps, saw dozens, hundreds of slaves wailing, and stared in horror as some killed each other fight over simple shuttles, others torn apart by undead in the station trying to block their escape.

Lana destroyed the hangar force fields of a small ship of escaped slaves desperately trying to flee, then destroyed a turret trying to take out a fleeing shuttle. Farther and farther she flew. Seeing the great reactor, ablaze in multiple sections, she had to fly extremely fast to keep up.

I'm here, Xiphos... The Bio-Android, one of the most advanced in the Galaxy, called out mentally, knowing Xiphos's technopathy would allow her to detect it.

Xiphos's mental reply was very weak. But it made it clear that her next request would result in death.

I'm very sorry, Lana. I can't ask this of you. But I must request it all the same.

I need to use the Psychic Energy in your body to overload and enhance the explosion from overloading the reactor at its source. It's already compromised. This will send it over the edge and doubtlessly kill everything living on it still, including you. But it's either them or everyone below.

I will not force you to do this. You are free to refuse.

Lana didn't even hesitate.

Tell me what I must do. She called back.

Xiphos, having drenched the bridge in runes of her own blood, meditated, channeling the Force. Magic Spells taught to her by the Battalion to temporarily enhance her power to extreme degrees.

*You must let me flow through you. But first reach the Reactor.

Lana flew closer, parts of the reactor starting to break off, forcing her to evade.

Then...she grabbed her grapple cable once she was close enough...and popped the canopy.

The scream of vacuum hit, but she wasn't truly affected, for the peculiars of her catsuit allowed her to survive a vacuum as she fired her magnetic grappling cable, latching onto a reactor wall.

Still controlling her Starfighter wirelessly with the aid of her suit she pulled herself to the reactor wall. And she grabbed onto a damaged piece that stuck out and held on.

I'm ready, Xiphos. Do it.

Forgive me, Lana. There is no other way. Please forgive me... because no one else will...

Lana acknowledged this.

The Maw must be stopped at all costs. We were lured into a trap. There is nothing to forgive. There is only reality to acknowledge.

Lana began to scream as she held on, Xiphos using her ritual aboard the bridge to channel her energies through Lana's psychically attuned body.

Her flesh and muscles and bones became as silly putty as the Force mixed with her energies, her flesh replicating and spreading into a thin sheet over the core of the reactor, ever replicating and expanding, even over the dozens of deadly plasma fires from cracks in the reactor itself, absorbing the energy to rechannel it into it's own deadly reaction.

Lana knew only pain as her cells began to accelerate past their breaking point. Not long now...

In Port Sorrow, all of the drop ships from Xiphos had poured into the Atmosphere, even with the Bombardment by Zachariel Steelblood out had poured a pair of Model 1's in each. The two Sarka Frigates that had initially arrived were still there, having dumped all non essential equipment to make room for fleeing personnel, firing their guns at the streets to savage the undead that pursued. The Drop ships worked quickly in the dozens, packing as many as they could and still lift off to escape this Hell.

When Lana's catsuit and Starfighter had drifted away, Xiphos's primal and brute force magic combined with her command of Ionize, let her, through Lana, start draining the energy of any nearby functional system into Lana's flesh, causing the Android further pain. Xiphos felt horror and guilt for what she was doing but pressed on until Lana's cells, artificially boosted by the Force, could hold no further.

Xiphos then gave The Leviathan a single order.

Fire the array as well as all remaining weapons right at the Super Weapon's main focal point.

At once, Mother. Bio-Energy Ion Array firing in 3...2...1...

The Leviathan's Main Weapon, still intact, emitted from a great tuning fork like section at the top.

Red Lightning arced upward on it, and for a split second, a large space around the area of the Leviathan went completely dark...save for the red energy build up.

The Array fired right at the Super Weapon focal point, along with a barrage of energy Torpedoes, and every other remaining gun in it. A lancing, continuous beam of red, lightning like hell arced to their weapon along with every Torpedo it could fire, every cannon it could bring to bear.

At that instant, Xiphos used Lana's flesh to force all it's gathered energy into the reactor and detonate, praying there would be enough of an explosion that it would blast both it and as much of the Skyhook as possible into Smithereens...

Marlon Sularen

Tu'teggacha

Kiff Brayde

Dakrul

Darth Solipsis