Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Capitulation


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Nirauan '70
New Carannia

Goodbye Blue Sky
There had been no promises entailed, taking a leap of faith, to come back to something loosely outlined as home. A station, an assignment, these words were bitten out-bitter and dissatisfying under breath. It was a place, the world Nirauan, the city itself even in ruin-a receptacle of..just memories. It was an empty placard that held space in her mind, branching out across star systems. Kascalion had robbed her of those fever dreams. Home was as undetermined as the war to the woman.

Weathered transports rumbled past overhead, kicking up a storm of dust as the ship banked around the flat top of the roof. Slow to lower the binocs, Sybila breathed deeply-the rancid air was laced in tibanna and fire-watching the streetways as squads fanned out. The radio was a live wire behind her, the small command post a flurry as cords were unrolled-the generator was a noisy thing.

Theirs was a small foothold on the eastern sector, The Hand Of Thrawn still lay in poor shape on the horizon in black smoke. But the city, and here in the small domestic lanes were shaping up. Twelve hours after their initial brigade had hit. A fresh wave of evacuations began, the field hospital was up to their elbows. Medics raced up the onloading ramps with full stretchers, troopers moving in between as further reinforcements descended into New Carannia.

“His royal highness is determined to meet with you later, other matters occupy him at this time. We are to remain with you until otherwise..if that is agreeable..” the Knight salvaged, the click of plate sounded the man trading his weight between feet. Unease wasn’t the appropriate word. Doubt and reason mingled the air, the Lord Command had been privy to some idea why she stood here now, had volunteered. Wary-it was more fitting for a seasoned Myrmidon.

The Angels of Defiance..a bit on the nose for the woman but this was Lucien Dooku Lucien Dooku 's legacy..it lingered in the back of her mind and radiated with pride. He had made something of himself and this was the extension of it. The woman hummed, setting aside the tool at the table as she turned her attention back to the men at the post. They were not the stoic Imperial Knights she had expected to be circling around like a pack of wolves. It was easy to shed the stand offish aurora she had coveted like a second skin, all pins and needles to keep the white noise at bay. It was the first olive branch, but they did not visibly relax. They were no different from her, though unburdened by the darkness that wrapped itself around her shoulders-but the common man would mistake them for a soldier in their white blast plate.

Part of her had expected Lucien to come brazen, racing down the streets on the off chance they might simply glimpse one another for the first time in a long time. It was childish at the very least, he had this laid at his feet and she would wait patiently. Lucien had built something great but the rug had been yanked from beneath his feet.

Foolish was the thought that burgeoned in hope, the corner of her lips were weighed down present alas. The planet had been ravaged, even if they were here now..Sybila was steeped in the death toll. Though the violence had ended, gore still coated the odd angles of her armor. Bone shards and teeth marks are unmistakable between chipped paint. It had been easier to ignore once upon a time, the numbness would pass. They, the remnants of the 193rd had barely emerged, and still they were short a great many men from the fight. A massacre, it still ate at her now and she mulled on the engagement.

Her ears still rung after they had fought tooth and nail to emerge from the mob, the open air from their vantage was a stark contrast to the suffocating bodies they had fought through. It tempered her..it disturbed her. A quiet exhale escaped her, the silence had stretched far too long. The pale blue holo map before her tracked the movement of different forces, collecting data transmitting it back to the main post. Ban stooped over it, privy to the exchange. A handful of those actually present eyed the map with varying interest.

“Try to imagine some lengthy declaration of surrender, conceding to some paltry requests and aquessing to your own. My intention is to meet with Emperor Fel, I hope that will not deter you and this little escort?” Sybila murmured, eyes tracing the faceless outline of the trooper’s dusty helmet, raising a brow. It was an invisible barrier guarding her in the eyes of the law, it felt like a plan that was held together by a thin web. COMPNOR wouldn’t hardly care, she was still waiting for a cheap pot shot to nail her dead now. Ban Arroyo had already been detailed on what might come of this mission, to many things had been put in to safe guard and now they could only fight for a favorable outcome.

It theory Dooku offered her an ounce of credence, little else. How many of their peers would consider it bias.

She could have walked into the hands of the Imperial Knighthood, the band of fools themselves with arms raised to face humbling. Rurik Fel was not a man one could hope to bargain with, their passing acquaintance proved as much on Bastion. She fucking hated the man if she was honest. Woes of lovers were easier to twist but that was a long dead sentiment with Irveric gone-the meager protection it had offered once upon a time.

“What is your name, soldier?” Sybila added.

“Jae Casaf..” the man answered, and the woman nodded curtly-she could taste the bundle of words unsaid and her eyes raised to urged him to continue...”I can only advise caution in this course of action, perhaps a meeting with the Emperor would be suited in the company of his royal highness..”

“Perhaps, but I can’t afford to wait on this matter Knight Casaf. My presence is an enigma, one I fear many Force-Sensitive presently will look to find. You can bet on that. I’ll either beat Fel to it, or we’ll end up meeting on his terms.” That would prove to be a more terrifying consequence, seized by the elbow and bent and turned until she buckled to another’s will. What else could she expect of the war machine?

She did not look forward to the scab that would be dissected, prayed back from her flesh. Such were the consquences.

It was second nature to unhook the heavy durasteel clip and collect her sabers from her hips. The handles were well worn from the field green wrap on the curve of both hilts, metal stained from the radiating heat. Her eyes dwelled on the set, she had been too piss poor at the construction the droid had to step in to help her assemble the blasted things. The kyber crystals, though..they had been bled red. Harvested and reaped in battle by her own two hands and reflected something fractured in the shadow of her gaze.

It was a symbol and that itself held the power that fed many’s fears, who had stained the blades. How many times has she cut the wrong man down-and how many more had she safe guarded with them too..Sybila passed both between her hands, offering them up across the table to the Knight. Her hand quaked, the length of her arm still coated in dried blood from the field. She waited, only wanting to relinquish them to Casaf’s hands. The Zabrak at her side stilled-knowing his curiosity burned brightly. Sybila could read the room and the moment the weight was secured she waved her gauntlet lazily to turn the men’s attention away.

“Don’t listen to their echo, they are possessive things that are equally petty,” she warned the moment she let go. Even the purest heart could be drawn in on occasion, she hardly wanted to set the stranger up for failure. “-Ban have a transport hailed down. Fel should be at the Hand. I am going. Casaf please be ready.”

“Jespe’s squad will go with you as well, give the bird ten minutes,” Ban answered, the reflective green screen catching her eye. He hadn’t hesitated. He motioned to a runner and she shrugged her pauldrons wordlessly, armor creaking. The woman was weighed down by the day, it had dug it’s claws deep into her joints and torn muscle. She couldn’t find an argument in the decision. It was a show perhaps, to put on a strong face before the former Executioner.

“Someone get me a stim pack while we’re at it too-” the woman half turned from the post, arms ganguly as she smacked her belt-fishing out the gut soaked ninety-nine carton. Sybila was happy to rip open the paper carton, and plug the bent smoke between her lips followed by a light. Tobacco burned, anchoring her to the durasteel underfoot as she drew a grateful drag off the smoke. Multiple boots shuffled behind her as she lumbered off toward the improvised landing pad. Her ribs prodded and clenched tightly like a fist, all she felt was cold-shaking of the underwhelming calm.

Pinching the smoke between two digits, Sybila ran her tongue over her cracked lips savoring the tang of copper and the bite of the wounds. It was far too much to consider, whatever laid ahead and the woman dragged her hand through her tangled hair pacing as the Marshallers flagged in another RDAG. The distant sound of firefight betrayed the violence still surrounding them. She didn’t have to face it alone, Sybila inhaled sharply-quickly, stuffing the end of the smoke back in her mouth to mask herself. That's what the Zabrak had meant, maybe it was a little too late and coming from the wrong man. It’s what Appw’rii had tried to tell her once. Taking a long drag from the smoke, it pained her to hold that breath-to choke on the smoke. Her servo clenching slowly until the metal strained enough to pain freyed nerves. Her chest heaved as she let it go in one breath, the woman hung her head.

When the transport’s ramp hit the building side, nine men loaded up and they launched. Casaf was a polite man and the worst part of her was tempted to push back against it. The RDAG wove through the air control's direction upon launch, rapidly cutting across the besieged city-the pilots exchanges with air command filtering out in to the hull. Sybila remained ever silent as the men acquainted themselves, but their was a division that was drawn down the center between all those crammed in the cabin. Too many people from different backgrounds across the galaxy and personal vendetta that had been bled out here. It was only a temporary arrangement, she prayed. The Hand of Thrawn was still inkled in familiarity, hydraulics hissing as the rear ramp dropped nigh minutes after their take off. The rising steps she had climbed in rebellion a decade ago were familiar but stained by their assailants filth. Silence was held in respect. Minutes trickled down as the woman entered the Fortress flanked by Jespe and Dooku's 'finest'. Engulfed by an era passed, rifles were carefully cradled by her troopers, but she kept her palms open-following the direction of the stationed local forces, determined to put an end to the farce.


 
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E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
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KEEP BREATHING

He'd failed them all. That cursed sentiment from the mouth of a dead man still rung like an explosion within the cerebral of Rurik Fel. Even if it came from a vessel of dark deceit...the statement was far from a falsehood.

Corin Karis, dead in his presence.
Irveric Tavlar, dead in his presence.
Jin Kyrel, fallen to darkness, failure to redeem.
Lyra Voi'kryt, fallen to darkness, failure to redeem.
Lord Halketh, fallen to darkness, betrayal without his knowing.
Errant Zambrano, fallen to darkness.

The many he'd failed lingered his mind with far greater prominence than anyone who could've ever cited greatness from Fel's intervention on their being. Such was his penance, such was his duty. Nirauan, like Carlac, was all but another monument to his legacy of failure. What was he other than revel in it. But how many more miles of ground broken from his short fall would he have to walk? He wondered. But he knew the truth.

There was no end to this penance, no end to this suffering. There was only how long he could endure it. It was either going to be until his ultimate failure, to fall and let this course continue...or until his enemies trembled. He would not tolerate the former. He would bring the end. In the vaunted halls of the Hand of Thrawn, where several Empires before him had come to rise, he walked with heavy footfalls of metal on broken stone to purge the unclean, to cleanse the infection.

He'd just cut down another of the dark cultists when he heard the rumble and roar of the gunship in his wake. The majority of the fighting had moved passed him with Lucien Dooku heading the charge. Rurik was hardly able to follow suite, still in the throes of the wounds he'd undertaken several battles over now when he turned to faced the newest addition of reinforcements, only for a pointedly familiar presence to show itself in front of him.

Voi'kryt. Fallen to darkness, failure to redeem.

His frigid gaze buried in dim argent glints from his eyes emerging from the iron visage clasped over his face looked in her direction, resting solely on the eyes feasting in infernal darkness before him. The last he'd seen her, he cast his judgement, attempted to offer his counsel in futility...and here, she returned.

"Voi'kryt." He muttered, his voice characteristically strained and distorted from the darkness that raked at his mortal coil.

He half expected to draw his blade once more to her, hardly trusting of those who'd ever lingered beyond the veil of darkness following the betrayal.

"I'd hardly believe it to be a mistake that we meet again." He remarked.
 

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Nirauan '70
New Carannia

I Found A Way

Fel, he didn’t fit the stature of his shoulders. The Force was abundant and she sensed him far before she had entered the tarnished halls of the Hand. His presence spoke volumes louder than the stained white robes are the mask he cloistered himself behind. Another poor soul slumped to the floor when she had rounded the corner, a dull thud filling the silence that stretched the murky hall. Smoke rising from the searing cut upon the body from the once Executioner’s own saber. Her servo twitched restlessly at her side, Casaf’s presence lingering in the back of her mind as her gait slowed to a stop.

The corner of the woman’s lip reared, here she was-the words burned at the tip of her tongue begging her to mock him. That was the issue with anger, it begged to stick around. This old vindication was a delightful sin she was guilty of desiring-it was tempting at the least. It deafened her and she had to wait-deeply inhaling to steady herself. The woman would only offer him a tilt of her head as dark clad troopers-her men crept out from her flank silently, the 307th were unconcerned by the trials and tribulation. They took place at the points of entry of the ante-chamber as Dooku’s own men emerged at Sybila’s back.

Every grievance she had shared had a way of igniting a fire, one that warmed her bones and chased the fatigue of the day off. It was a shame she couldn’t dip her toes into it any longer.

“No I think not, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say it was the Will of the Force,” the woman’s bluntness hadn’t faded, indignantly sticking her chin up as her boots picked their way over corpse. If she had never seen Rurik again, it would of been still too soon. The distant day in the gardens upon Bastion had been disapointing, even now. The woman wondered but a few feet aside as the Knight Casaf stepped forward in her place; the man’s mouth opening to speak. “-I am not going to bow to you, ever. Paltry demand number one Casaf-do keep track.”

Her voice was gravel, bringing her palms out and folding her hands neatly in the small of her back, a chill hung in the air. It was an intoxicating mix of indifference and resentment. Fel occupied a space she might have only ever considered worthy of another man. Staring down the bridge of her nose at Rurik, Sybila turned sharply dropping all daggers as she acquiesced to the Myrmidon; her head dipping low inviting him to continue uninterrupted then. She knew it would look poorly.

“After formal surrender..the former Major-General Voi’kryt stands in his majesty King Lucien Dooku’s custody. We have escorted her here in good faith,” the man offered, visor greeting the Emperor’s visage.

“I’m unarmed if that helps,” Sybila’s grin was short lived, tempted to waggle her fingers to drive the point forth. The smile at her lips ebbing away like fatigue as she called out from the sideline-standing stock still amidst the exchange. Her limbs limber still greased by the gore, ready to react still-studying the man’s demeanor. She had to wonder if he felt guilty at all, and it drove a deep frown to her lips. “Now admittedly as much as I love a good game, antagonizing the masses alike..”

Her words faltered, she paused seemingly to struggle. The bravado melting away. The woman tried to search for the right explanation to offer him, oh how it was to feel like a young Officer again, scolded before her peers. She was the forest, the flames that burned it’s trees, the witness-and worst of all the arsonist. Excuses were lackluster given the dead that surrounded them and the distant echo of blaster fire still behind this one room.

Standing before Iron clad bastard, Avernus’ crooning and promises of the darkside-he had predicted her fall and promised her thus. Be it self prophecy or something greater, she herself had been weak in that regard and Kacalion too had preyed upon it. Virtue had not been convenient in times of ever, though she found being judged by the likes of a mongering band of warlords and questionable morals painted in propaganda to be fair..Sybila considered her words carefully.


“Clarity, I have achieved some clarity and self restraint momentarily,” Sybila’s pauldrons shrugged as she spoke making her case. She sounded detached from the words-voice foreign once more to her own ears. She wasn’t absolved, perhaps she would never be in her own eyes-justice. A far-fetched notion, there was none. The apparition of Avernus-he was gone. Gone now..well nearly in every sense, the holocrons he had left strewn were not but at least she was free. The Sith Master had buried himself deeply beneath her skin and nerve, mania, hallucinations-she had been a puppet and it stained her. Clearing her throat painfully, honesty this she bared as she continued-”I will not lie, I am not fond of the Order for all manner of other reason but even in my darkest hours I found it difficult to turn my blade against it thus entirely. The mind forgets the body does not, I want back-to be simple. After Helgard..what took place-I sought to hunt Gieldfield to extinction and failed. He’s gone, and though I would know the stench he carries I can not track him, I have tried these long few years. To remain on the fringes now..at the edges of the galaxy is ill suited to me.”

 

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E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
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He peered over the devastation of it all with narrowed eyes. Fire, smoldering ruins. He'd wrought redemption to this world, but the cost weighed heavy on the Empire, a scar they weren't due to forget. So too was the woman behind him, disarmed and brought forth by one of his own he turned to face her as she spoke up to him in the first words they'd shared since his limp attempt to bring her back from darkness and at the venue of perhaps his greatest defeat in scale, she returned.

A mockery, he might've thought. But those self-defeating thoughts and attitudes were all but welcoming the darkness to him. He looked at it as the pragmatism expect of the Emperor did, an opportunity. Lyra's situation was far from ideal, a stain on the Empire and a stain on Rurik's consciousness as another living, breathing reminder of his propensity to fail those close to him or close to those important in his life.

He looked over her in placidity fettered only by the iron visage which only served to carry his expression further.

"The Empire is not kind, it is necessary, Voi'kryt." Rurik replied to her first statement.

"Appeasement and tolerance gave unto us the Sith Empire and the reign of chaos that exists now. I will not let these sins befall the Empire. But even so, you return. You failed to find vindication...vengeance, in these fringes. The souls you seek to slay...are long dead or disappeared from the Galaxy. I had sought out Giedfield for a time, his trial is cold and he is not a man so meek as to linger in the shadows for so long. But I know you are far more intent than to return here on a whim...because the fringes no longer suit you. No, something more precise." He remarks, glancing back over the balcony of the Hand of Thrawn, watching in the distance as the fire and smoke begins to fade from the heightened horizon of broken steel and glass.

"But perhaps I should learn the lesson of our last encounter and not pry too closely..." He remarked.
 

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