Dominion &nbsp; CIS | The Red War: Naalol

Queen Bots™ |

The Monster |

Naedira Darcrath

"You underestimate my power, and that of the one I serve," the Nightmother hissed in response to the fiend. It mattered not what realm birthed him, though if he'd risen from the ashes of the Nether that would have made this easier. That her effort to have the Nether consume the foul creature might engulf others present was simply a price they would all need to be prepared to pay. If not today, then perhaps tomorrow. The galaxy wasn't a safe place, and she doubted any here, now, thought otherwise.

As the tunnel of power grew in strength eager to draw them in, Vytal stared down the beast's displeasure. Controlling a fissure into the Nether was no simple task. One did not multitask wielding such command. The fire and shadow could very easily wash over her, consuming her in body and perhaps in spirit. Even the well-spring of power offered by the Vicelord

Darth Metus did not assuage the Nightmother of her duty -- the door was open, and she had to stand guard to prevent it from being abused even as she used it to seal away the present evil.

Fear not. You may find another door, but this one belongs to me, Vytal shot privately to the monster. The Veil was thin here. How deplorable for the beast then that the Nightmother knew a thing or two about crossing between realms. If sheer strength of will alone was not enough the Solanaceae had a trove of artifacts that could be brought to bear, and a Coven of Witches that would bolster this crossing. This was their purpose when not busy studying magick. The galaxy was theirs and not the playground of creatures such as this better suited to the Nether.

Bright blue streaks then shot forth from the depths of the cave. The Witch let out a grunt as she was thrown to her back, but with only her left arm showing signs of flame's kiss. Her other hand took hold of the doorway from afar once more to focus her power as the pain sought to break her concentration.

Old Wood trunk-sized appendages stretched from the cave; their girth having blocked much of the cone, and under the assault been delayed from catching the monster's body in their grasp. One tendril on the other side, however, had not been attacked and lashed out in an effort to seize upon one of the Noćna's limbs (

Queen Bots™ ); in moments the rest would soon follow eager to drag the foul beast into the Nether if the pull alone was not fast enough to spare the living. The Nightmother might be forced to focus her powers, but then a Witch never fought alone. With the Veil thin her allies need not be unseen and unfelt.

The air around the giant tentacles seemed to glow, or rather freeze much as 'steam' rose from hot ice. The words of

Gerwald Lechner had reached the Nightmother and been carried on to those in the Deep Reaches.

Teeth bared, the Nightmother fixed the Noćna with her eyes. "You pit yourself against the Fanged God's chosen. Remember this when next you scoff at a witch."

Template By: Darth Metus (Guy)

The Monster · Oct 18, 2020

Tag:

Naedira Darcrath
Equipment: RA2-Series Power Armor - (U/A/S), ~~TDW-HARM~~, L-7
Objective: Kill the Nocna Mora

Sergei watched as the lightsaber close the gap, waiting, hoping that it did something. Anything. And when the blade didn't immediately melt through this thing's stone flesh, he almost lost heart.

Almost.

It was when the stone skin cracked under the force of his blow that he felt the fire rekindle in his heart. He watched the lava bleed out from this thing, this monster, as it dripped down to the ground and utterly screeched as it felt pain for the first time from a blow. That was when Sergei knew there was a chance that they could win. Even if it was just this once. Because if this thing could bleed, it could die. Sergei was about call this out when it's movement suddenly got his attention. It had thrown Meili away at Gerwald. Two wins! He was about to yell and disengage when the monster apparently had other plans.

It's clawed fist slammed down on him, trapping him and then picking him up, pinning his left arm to his side. He could feel the thing start crushing him in its grip, and felt something else pierce through his body glove and into him. He cried out in pain as he coughed up blood. The Nightmother needed to hurry, he didn't know how much time he had left. In the chaos of the moment Rann's lightsaber disappeared from his hand, which Sergei didn't bother worrying about, as he drew his pistol, dropped the empty magazine from it, slammed it onto a fresh magazine on his belt and then cocked the slide with his teeth. He then raised the weapon as he fired once, twice, three times into this thing's face, aiming for it's eyes. It was all he could do to try and fight back.

That's when he heard the sounds of concentrated rifle fire from behind him. Four commandos all wearing the same armor as him, wielding HARM rifles just flew in, firing controlled pairs into the beast as they circled.

"SIR!?!? Sir what are your orders?"

"SAVE HER! SAVE THE GIRL! KILL THIS THING! WHATEVER IT TAKES!"

"But sir-"

"WHATEVER IT TAKES! STOP AT NOTHING!"

Sergei could feel something coursing through his veins as this thing continued to battle them all. When it spoke to him Sergei's response was almost instant.

"My name, is Sergei Jachovich. And you BAM will BAM respect BAM THAT!" He punctuated the last words of his retort with shots from the L-7 pistol.

Sergei's mind was made. He was dying. In between the damage to his internal organs, the blood pooling in his lungs, and that this thing had quite a solid hold on him, he knew this would be it. But he couldn't dwell on it. He had to save the woman who looked too weak to fight. He had to keep fighting to give the rest of them a chance. And if that meant fighting until he died....

So be it. The needs of the many, over the needs of a voluntary, well trained, and chosen few. This thing will not die to mortal weapons, but it will be slain by mortal beings. Maybe not today, maybe not in a hundred years, but someday, they will triumph over evil. Because all good has to do to let evil win, is do nothing. So long as they fought. So long as they sacrificed, evil would never win.

It was with this thought, keeping his oath at the forefront of his mind, Sergei fought. His men would see the determination of the soldier, and would redouble their efforts, 500 meters away another pair had set up and fired a few rounds from a M-107 Anti-material rifle before receiving the orders from the remaining commandos. They were to use the MAAWS. The two looked at each other with uncertainty as to what they meant. A soldier would land next to

Naedira Darcrath and

Gerwald Lechner and speak to them calmly as the battle raged.

"Ma'am, sir, I need to move her a safe distance away, with your permission. I believe your skills sir would be more suited in fighting that, let me handle this sir,"

If the lady consented, the soldier would as gently as he could pick her up and move her about ten meters away so she would be safe out of the line of fire. This would keep her from getting hit by anything stray the commandos were sending out, but still close enough for her to be well within acting distance, and that they all could keep an eye on her. Meanwhile the other three were busy spraying volleys of automatic gunfire, doing their best to avoid shooting Sergei, but not withholding salvos because of him. Sergei could hear one of them shouting into his comlink as he vainly emptied yet another magazine of L-7 into this thing's face at point blank range.

"Get out the MAAWS NOW! LOAD THE KILO PAPA! WE ARE OUT OF TIME!"

The soldier smiled at his subordinate's resolve. He'd trained them well. Well enough they wouldn't die needlessly like on Atrisia. Like they had on Ryloth. Or like even more had on Yurb. Or like his brothers and sisters on Ord Janon. Sergei noticed that for a few fleeting moments, his rage and the pain melted away. He was okay with this. Whatever happened he knew it would be okay. With brave sons and daughters like these protecting the Confederacy, nay, the galaxy, they couldn't lose.

And then the poison made itself quite violently known as Sergei coughed up more blood from the snarl that escaped his lips. All he could think of was all that he hated. Every bad memory, every piece of pain and suffering he'd ever gone through. All of the rage he'd kept quietly bottled up. It threatened to overtake him here and now if they didn't hurry. His singular greatest weapon in keeping his will stronger than any piece of metal ever forged, was now being used against him. He grit his teeth as the cold from

Darth Metus 'gift' reminded him of one of those very moments. Being stuck at the top of that mountain for 48 hours, being left to freeze to death, and complete a training course. He'd never forgotten the moment. He'd never forgot how absolutely bloody cold that place was. How he'd nearly died from exposure. His roar to the rest of them would tell them something was wrong.

"WILL YOU HURRY UP AND KILL THIS THING!"

Naedira Darcrath · Oct 19, 2020

The Wilds
Direct Tag: @Gerwald Lechner|

The Monster
Nearby: Mic Gallagher |

Abel Denko |

Teyla Sal-Soren | Aela Wren |

Pravus Cruento |

Stardust Solus Skirae | Saint Azidalf Elde'gaud
_____________________________

A presence that she had not heard in what felt like centuries echoed through her. The Vicelord? She could remember him in an instant. Burnished orange eyes with dark skin. A smile that was disarming while at the same time, being very, very threatening. She could picture herself in the garb of a Knight Obsidian. Taking orders. Nodding her head. Confident. Knight Darcrath knew that she could do what

Darth Metus asked of her. The memory faded and her gaze sharpened on the back of the head of the man that had changed. She did not know him.

He was unstable.

She pulled back when he yanked the yellow-bladed saber from the soldier’s (

The Monster ) hands. Naedira averted her gaze. There was something about him, like this, that made her feel wrong. It was like looking at someone with a skewed image of themselves that had super-imposed on top of them.

His voice (

Rann Thress ) sounded wrong. It was very much the same, but somehow, covered in oil.

As if it was not him at all.

The auburn-haired corpse slowly picked herself up from the dirt. It was difficult. She had to try more than once. Her body did not seem to want to obey. She could feel the Devourer pulling at the sanity of the woman that it held in its claws. Naedira prayed that it didn’t scratch her, at least, not deeply. She had seen others rage from Sith Poison for days. It left them feeling angelic and violently insane all at the same time. <Don’t listen…Don’t let it trick you. Don’t listen.>, the former Knight pressed her thoughts at the dark-haired girl. The little fox. So soft, so breakable.

The Devourer would like that.

It would like watching her rock on the ground in despair. The thing that masqueraded as the boy in front of her (

Rann Thress ) seemed to have help her free while

Gerwald Lechner had slowed her fall. At least she was spared from that harm. Naedira felt a soft frown cross her features. It felt wrong. Her face felt stiff, broken. She wished, silently, that there was something more she could do. The girl was bleeding.

Chit.

<Watch her!>

Naedira projected to the group. If she was poisoned the Noćna Mora would be able to influence her. Change her. Make it so that she couldn’t tell friend from foe before her mind succumbed to the black insanity. She could become just as lethal as the winged beast that kept threatening them. The sense of fear that it exuded reminded her of (

Darth Prazutis ) the Mountain. Such power, though, a far deal less. Perhaps that was why she was able to fight the Devourer for so long. She had met worse.

She had been killed by worse.

Her head snapped toward Gerwald when he called for her. He asked for her strength and she allowed him to steady her. He gave her something strong, sturdy to hold on to, while she searched for the connection that she had once held with the Force. So strong. She could feel it. Chocolate eyes, dull, and lifeless watched with amazement while the Nightmother tried to pull the Devourer back. She wielded a tremendous amount of power. Was it enough to subdue the Devourer?

Naedira didn’t know.

She gasped when the soldier got picked up by the beast and again wished that there was something she could do. Naedira wanted free of thing creature, free, of the dark that consumed her. But, not at the cost of others. Never at that cost. More soldiers in armor arrived and asked for orders. Her eyes widened. No, no. That was wrong. All wrong! <I’m already dead! Save him. Not me.>

Her voice echoed for the soldiers that arrived. She didn’t know if they would listen. One of them landed beside herself and Gerwald. She looked up. He seemed invested. Kind. He seemed to want to guide her to safety but she shook her head, expression grim, while overly pale skin seemed even paler.

Her leg had begun to hurt. Naedira didn’t know, but there was a gash beneath her knee. Where had it come from?

<…You don’t understand. I cannot go. Please. Save him.>

Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to give Gerwald strength. A sudden roar from the man that the beast held captive caused Naedira to open her eyes once more. She could feel the sway, the change, and the Devourer felt…Pleased. No matter what artillery they through, thus far, it still felt pleased. That was all wrong. So wrong. <He’s infected, Gerwald. Sith Poison. The girl might be too.>

The temperature was dropping. The cold might have mattered once. Now? She was dead.

She couldn’t feel it anyway.

Queen Bots™ · Oct 20, 2020

_______________________________________________

_______________________________________________

Direct Tag:

The Monster
Noćna Mora [The Wilds]
[ - X - ]
_______________________________________________

Part of the reason the Devourer tossed the little fox away was because it could feel

Rann Thress tugging at the limp, light, rag-doll in its grasp. Just before she was thrown toward the boy who cried in wolf it felt its claws tear into delicate near-human flesh. Often, that was all took. A little rip. A little tear. A little twist. A little break. A dark whisper in her mind…And she would belong to the Noćna Mora.

The winged-beast was far more interested in the soldier that seemed to get louder and more determined as time went on. When @Sergei “Jack” Jachovich fell victim to its grasp the Devourer seriously debated on biting his head off. He squirmed and writhed even more than the girl. It wondered if his bones were just as pliable, just as weak, as his armor. It began to repeat the same process that it had begun with

Meili Feng . Peeling away at the layers of his mind. Letting the horror it emanated settle in the deepest, darkest parts of his heart. It pulled at insecurities. Failures.

Brought them to the surface.

<You…Why are you even here? What do you hope to achieve? A parasite from a backwater world…Everyone knows. Everyone knows exactly what you are.>, the creature spoke in a voice that was deep and rumbling. Filled with inherent pieces of memory and just enough truth to deceive whilst its claws too pierced his flesh. It would hasten the effects of the poison. The Devourer twisted what it learned. Pulling from thoughts. Memories. <What did you do, boy, when you found your command dead on Ord Janon? Friends gone? Obliterated?>

<You ran, Coward.>

The creature laughed while it drew a deep sulphuric breath and took a little more of his memories with it. The Devourer saw how he had let his men die with reckless abandon. He threw himself into dangerous situations head-first and scarcely seemed to think what the cost may be to those around him. Rlyloth….Ryloth was an example of such a sacrifice. Just as the creature was about to begin taunting the soldier anew when it felt something pierce its eye. Some of the slugs missed and bounced off its rocky exterior but when it lost an eye—Its head snapped back and it roared.

<Silence!>

The mental order was met with a sudden thrashing of its paw back and forth to shake the weapon from the soldiers’ hand. That was when other humans arrived. It’s eye steamed while lava pooled from it and a mental voice sneered back at the boy within its grasp. <More. You bring me more. More fuel for the pyre…More fodder. Do they know you called them here to die?>

It paid little mind to

Gerwald Lechner , though, it did seem consciously aware of where

Naedira Darcrath was. The Noćna Mora did not know that their weapons had been enhanced and wouldn’t have cared if it did. The little one that it had already held so close seemed to be destroyed on the ground. Shaking. How wonderfully pathetic

Meili Feng turned out to be. All on her own.

There was also an interest in

Rann Thress . The Devourer could smell that something withing seemed to have changed. Absent, was his fear. It was as if he were no longer affected by the aura the horned-beast projected at all. Instead, if felt like he was warring with himself. Interesting. If the lightsaber wielder would only but come closer the Devourer would treat him to a gift of medication that would allow him perfect clarity. A little slice. A little blood. A lot of power. A new puppet to add to its collection. It had so many. So many soft, obedient meals, that clambered to his bidding. These would make perfect additions.

Once again—The witch (

Vytal Noctura ) presented a problem.

Full of hubris and borrowed strength. Bullets began to pelt at it once more as reinforcements made itself known. The weapons were pathetic, at best. It drew another deep breath while it felt the nether trying to pull him back at the behest of the green-eyed nuisance. Embers flickered out along its maw while it turned to target the soldiers. The same stream of flame and shadow left it in a cone-shaped wave that would also force Naedira and Gerwald to duck out of the way. <I know that you’re a servant, witch. I know that you were born to serve. I serve none and my creator is far greater than your Master.>

It roared when it was through and tried to pull its way forward, clawed feet digging into the earth, but an old root wrapped around its leg again. The injured one. The Noćna Mora could have tried to phase to get away from it by manipulating the power from the cave, but it refused, for the time being. There was a chance that it might have the opposite effect. That it could wind up trapped.

The act would also force the Devourer to drop its prize. It was not willing to release the squalling soldier just yet. Not yet. But it was only a matter of time before the sickness settled and rage burned through his veins like a cleansing fire. It had already begun.

Soon, his puppets would feed their friends to him. Soon.

It simply had to find a way to deflect the witch. The air around the creature seemed to be growing cold. It snarled and the heat it exuded increased in response. If it grew too cold, too quickly, it would become difficult to move. Sergei would probably feel as if he had been flash-frozen. Burning yet still quite cold. The Noćna Mora refused to give in. It refused to give this witch an inch.

<I will remember your false god and your hubris. I will chew your bones when I next recall this moment.>

It wouldn’t give up. Not these easily. Not with the mouth of hell behind it nor the idle threats that had been levied. It was a matter of endurance. Of skill. Which one of them would break first?

Meili Feng · Oct 21, 2020

Tagging:

Naedira Darcrath |

The Monster |

Rann Thress

The forest floor had a familiar loamy smell to it, churned up earth and leaves pressing against the side of her face as the woman curled up into a ball. She could hear the footsteps of her companions as they engaged the monster in combat. The crackle of lightning and the smell of ozone filled the air, the familiar staccato sound of bullets echoing like thunder. The thrum of a lightsaber and the crackle of flame acted as an accompaniment to the sounds swelling around her. It was almost an orchestral piece similar to any she had heard played before.

Only she wasn’t just hearing it.

It was if everyone of Meili’s senses had been turned up to 11, turned up past anything she’d ever thought they could be. The very touch of the wind against her skin was painful, as if each breath of air were super heated, the fire of the demon’s soul rending her flesh. Each scent, the ozone in the air, the metal of Sergei’s gun, the burning loam left behind by the dripping lava.

The black-haired woman remembered her mother telling her tales of running as a fox, of seeing the world, not through the limited senses of a Zanshi but will all the options available to the Huli. This was nothing like she’d imagined. The world around her felt so raw, so angry. Each breath, each sound cutting at her, flaying her to the core of her being again an again without leaving a trace on her skin, leaving her unmarked and un-tainted. Yet, beneath the senses that flayed at her there was something else…something new.

It was an awareness, a sense of the world around her, a connection on a deeper level than she’d ever thought possible. Without looking she knew exactly where everyone was, knew exactly what they were doing. She could sense the power the Nightmother was gathering, channelling into her attack. She could sense the fatalism settling over the soldier who had taken her place within the monster’s grasp. She could see his attacks, the attacks of his men coming even before they pulled the trigger. It was as if she could see, could sense the entire clearing they fought in, every iota of information crashing into her mind as she threw her head back and screamed, the tsunami of information threatening to topple her, to overwhelm her.

It hurt.

More than the rawness of her senses there was something else, the darkness around them that seemed to flow and weave into everyone of them. Even if she closed her eyes she could still see them, see the dark flows of energy winding around and through the glade. It was anger and pain, horror and despair. It was everything wrong with the world, with the galaxy brought into this one place to seep into them and stain them…no that wasn’t true. Dark eyes peered around, the Nightmare, it might be darkness made flesh, but none of her companions were innocent either. Blood and darkness dripped off all of them, dripped of her.

She could feel the heat rushing to her skin as it took on a reddish hue, her eyes glowing as the energy surrounded her seemed to twist and intensify. Every breath, every sound still tore at her but she’d never felt more alive as her dark eyes landed on the Sith’s back.

“You.”

Ther blades had found their way into her hands without her realising, without any conscious thought as she appeared behind his back. The petite warrior had always been fast, it was in her very nature as a Zanshi, as a Huli. She’d proven her speed before on missions for the CIS, but with the force surrounding her, burning of her like a flame she was faster than she’d ever been, appearing behind Gerwald’s back in the space between one breath and the next. Sunlight danced off the blades as the sang, cutting through the air at Gerwald’s back before a foot lashed out at him.

“You could have stopped this, you could have stopped all this before it had ever happened. You should have listened. Should have run when she said, could have shattered the ring. But no, you had to try to have it all and brought that to life.”

A hand gestured at the monster as she took one step forward and then another the ground around her feet cracking as she approached the Sith again, blades rising into a ready position.

“It’s all your fault.”

The Monster · Oct 22, 2020

Tag:

Naedira Darcrath
Equipment: RA2-Series Power Armor - (U/A/S), ~~TDW-HARM~~, ~~L-7~~
Objective: Kill the Nocna Mora

Sergei would feel the thing respond to his shots to the face. It's roar of pain brought a small bit of comfort to him, but what came next caused Sergei's very heart to feel like it froze. It spoke of him like it knew him. Like he and this beast had shared some of the most intimate and sacred memories. Sergei felt his blood rise even more as he felt the monster dare speak of such days. How it dared to speak of home, and what happened to him. How it mocked how his entire unit, nay, his entire life had been utterly destroyed in an instant. And then it took it a step further.

It called him a Coward.....

Sergei was for the first time in many, many years, stunned. The shock of the blow, the singular word on his psyche was something he'd never experienced. He was in such shock that when the beast shook him, his pistol fell without almost any resistance.

<You ran, Coward.>

<You ran, Coward.>

He wanted to retort. He wanted to respond with something to refute the claim. Anything to throw such an accusation back into this monster's face. That he had no choice. That there was nothing left. That no matter how much blood he'd spilt that his home was gone. His people enslaved, massacred, and forced to endure atrocities that were just a facet of daily life under the warlords. That there was nothing he could have done. But a single thought remained.

He could have fought.

He could have continued fighting. He could have utterly torn the warlord's friends and family apart. He could have used his training to absolutely annihilate the enemy piecemeal. He could have gone back with TDW and wiped to floor with all of them. He could have done all of this with much less effort than he put forth to save those here. All the sacrifices he'd made for the people of the galaxy, what many called the greater good. He'd given up everything he had left. Devoted his life to a life of servitude, with the singular hope to save as many as he could before he died. In the firefight going on around him, Sergei could feel both sides of himself battle for what to do. He could feel the liquid in his veins, now spread to every inch of his body, and his will trying to fight it off. His pride, his absolute devotion to his oaths try to stem the tide.

Sergei finally looked up at the Nocna Mora, and decided that he had to do something. So he gave a little more to the rage, and decided to focus on a singular thing.

That monster.

He raised his fist as he slammed it down, feeling strength return to his body as the poison began to warp him inside and out. It was like his anger and absolute fury was demanding his body, and the energy around him to give him strength, slowly but surely.

I'll kill you. I'll kill you for daring speak of them. For speaking to me like you were there. I'll destroy you. I'll make you wish you'd never been born!

His rage was mounting even higher now as he slammed it down once more. In the back two of the soldiers had been caught in the fire breath of the beast as they tried to help Sergei. Their more maneuverable state had let them escape the worst of the damage, being thrown to the ground but otherwise unharmed. But their current position only confirmed what they all knew. They had to risk Sergei with the big guns to try and bring this thing down. The fourth on the ground nodded to

Gerwald Lechner and

Naedira Darcrath before side stepping and raising his rifle, but not to shoot. He instead pressed a button sending out a small colored and infrared laser. He had to bob and weave to ensure the thing wouldn't hit him, but he hoped his other brothers would keep it busy. The two 500 meters out had finally loaded and prepped the launcher, the Phrik-A dart sticking out of the end of the round bellying it's devastating payload. The loader tapped the gunner on the shoulder and signaled "ready to fire". The gunner lined up the shot, but he was hesitating. Sergei was in the line of fire. Underneath his face shield the man struggled to keep the tears from blurring his vision. He kept trying for another angle, another shot, but nothing was open.

And for all he knew, they had only one shot. Only one chance to either cripple or kill this monstrosity.

And despite all of the stressors, the man's trigger squeeze was perfectly smooth. The click as it engaged the electronic firing system instantly, igniting the powder of the primary charge with a THUMP! The missile shot out of the end of the tube before the solid Isotope-5A rocket motor engaged on the missile. The tracking warhead would find and follow the laser as it shot out past the speed of sound, hitting Mach 1.7 before getting to its target in less than second. Its payload a sharpened dart of Phrik with a Tungsten core meant to disable or outright kill tanks with heavy armor. As Sergei raised his fist one last time for yet another attempt to break this thing's grip, the last thing his mind would register was a loud pop followed by a massive spray of blood and gore in front of him. He looked down and realized what had happened.

The missile had gone through his chest in its attempt to hit the Nocna Mora.

He could feel the cold encroach now more than ever as his body began shutting down. His hand fell to his side as his head rolled forward. Once again, everything melted away, and it seemed like everything was becoming crystal clear to him. The 6 inch hole in his chest where his heart and bits of his lungs used to be would attempt to contract for him to breath, and utterly fail. This was it. It was finally over. No more pain. No more rage. No more suffering. His last thoughts as he lost consciousness were of one particular person, and his only regret for not doing better by.

Aiden, I'm sorry.

And with that Sergei died. His body's soul exiting through the two major holes in his armor from his helmet, and utterly destroyed chest piece. Piece by piece the soldier would pass on, until all of a sudden it was as if the hue of Sergei's soul would change violently. And more importantly it stopped. Sergei's Impervium clad will had been the only thing holding back the tide of rage and corruption of the Sith Poison. And as his mind began racing with new thoughts as it was forcibly restarted, his hand would twitch a few times before clenching once more into a fist. His eyes would open once more, bloodshot with twinges of black as the Sith Poison was now fully spread throughout every fiber of his being.

Rip. Tear. Murder. Destroy. Raze. Dominate. Fight.

KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL

KILL THEM ALL. DESTROY THEM ALL.
MURDER THEM ALL.

Gerwald Lechner · Oct 22, 2020

WEARING: xxx
WEAPON: xxx
TAG:

Naedira Darcrath |

Abel Denko |

Teyla Sal-Soren |

The Monster

Nothing seemed to be working. Every effort they made to try and push the beast back seemed to fail them at every turn. Whatever this demon from hell was, it certainly was a more powerful thing than any of them had faced before. It was strange who it seemed part of the world but not, much the same way that Naedira seemed to be now. Gerwald did his best to not read into it too much, but if he were to be hard pressed for an answer he would be forced to say they were connected somehow. Could this be the doing of

Darth Prazutis ? It seemed The Mountain had done everything in his power to ensure Naedira would continue to suffer for her decision to face him.

Gerwald had to press through. For the sake of those still living, if there was a chance to rescue any of them, he had to press through. His observation about what Prazutis had done was simply that, nothing more than a footnote in what was happening around them all. Perhaps he could find a way to reverse the connection, but now was not the time for it, for any of it.

He watched as the steam rose from the beast as the air chilled. The strength which Naedira gave him could be felt. It was not as strong as what he had known before, and he knew he asked much of her in the moment, but they would do this together to save those who could be saved. If this was the day he died and joined Naedira in the Nether, if that was what their reunion would look like, then Gerwald was ready for it. His life for theirs was a fair trade, and yet, he knew that if possible Naedira would want him to live.

She would hear his thoughts if she was strong enough still. They were close now, physically and through their bond.

Naedira Darcrath would know he lay down his life for the others if that was what he was required to do. There would be no words spoken between them, out loud or through telepathy. Their bond would simply allow her to know.

The words she pressed in his mind were grave.

Sith poison. The soldier and the fox.

Gerwald closed his eyes for a moment as took in the scene which laid out before him. The unit which accompanied the soldier pressed their attack as

Vytal Noctura continued to hold the beast back. When it came to the spiritual she was the strongest of them all. As much as Gerwald disliked the witches, he could not deny the woman the respect her power had earned. If they survived this, he would need to remedy the rift his own attitude had caused between them.

<"You are hurt,"> Gerwald commented to Naedira. The wolf could feel the gash in the back of her leg. He was still curious as to how she was physical, though he would not complain. There were many parts of him which wished they were not in the middle of a battle so he could appreciate the contact they had. <Many are hurting. If we send it back... if I send you back... will that make it stop. Can we kill it?">

The screaming which came from the soldier (

The Monster ), echoed in Gerwald's ears. His own unit tore through him in an attempt to get to the beast. Naedira had been correct though. He was full of Sith poison.

Eyes searched for

Rann Thress .

<"He is yours.">

He would need to handle the soldier now. Gerwald had a problem of his own.

Naedira had also been right about the fox.

The accusations which dripped from the words of the raven haired combatant were coated in a darkness Gerwald was intimately familiar with. He had tasted it first when Prazutis had tortured him, and had given into during his recovery. The wolf had accepted the dark side of the force a long time ago, and while he could not fully identify as a Sith, he certainly new he was no Jedi.

Gerwald had to move, which meant he could not maintain the cold. The blades which

Meili Feng wielded sang through the air as she made an attempt to lash out at him. Holding Naedira tight to him, the lupine pushed the force into his legs and leaped through the air. He would put some distance between himself and the fox, and hopefully buy himself the time he needed to set Naedira somewhere safe.

<"Why is it that duty seems determined to keep us apart,"> he asked the auburn haired beauty as he turned to face the approaching fox.

Her weapons were readied. She wanted to fight.

"You do not want to do this,

Meili Feng . If you stand between me and what I must do, I will not hesitate to kill you."

It was her only warning. This would be her only chance. If she insisted, then Gerwald would do what needed to be done.

Rann Thress · Oct 23, 2020

S E R G E I

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Rann’s fight against the Nocna Mora continued as he kept working to free Meili from its grasp, only for it to suddenly throw the poor woman. With her freed, Rann recalled his lightsaber to his hand and stood back, observing the scene. The woman was freed, but something was different. she was different. She reminded him of...him. But less refined, less focused. Unruly, angry, insane. Like him before he became him. Then she began to move on Gerwald.

Oh. I suppose that’s not good.

Then, from the corner of his eye he spied Sergei. He also seemed to be in the creatures grasp, and Rann moved closer to get a better look.

What happened next happened in what seemed to Rann as no time at all, as if instantly, Rann watched with his eyes wide as the missile fired from the Dire Wolf team passed through Sergei. He watched as Sergei’s form went limp. The once proud soldier, dead from his own weapons.

“NO!”

His voice erupted from Rann’s mouth. And, for the briefest of seconds, he was in control again.

Still in there are you?

Sergei...

I didn’t think it’d be that easy to kill him.

He was my friend. Show some damn respect!

I mean it with as much respect as I can. He was a moron. And he deserved his death. I just wish it was grander. For all the pomp a man like him went out with a whimper. I’d have expected a planet to be destroyed along with him.

Watching what used to be Sergei, Rann was suddenly compelled to speak. Final words to what was once a friend.

“You didn’t quite deserve to die by my hand. But I’d rather that than to die like this.”

They weren’t heartfelt words one might speak to a friend, but for Rann it meant more than it appeared. Sergei was a friend, once. His friend, sure. But a friend. He was, perhaps, the only non force wielder to strike fear in the hearts of Jedi and Sith alike. He was...

“Not...dead.”

Not all the way, at least. Rann could sense...something. Something like... Meili.

“That’s not good. This is much worse.”

The force stirred within Sergei’s body. Unnaturally and wrong, but it was there. He was being driven by the same rage that Meili was, and that was a problem.

Sergei normally was a challenge. Super charged Sith Sergei? If they had to fight the Mora, Meili, and Sergei? They’d be dead soon. All of them.

“Dammit.” Rann sneered, the gravity of the situation beginning to finally break down his calm demeanor. He disingnited his lightsaber and returned it to his hilt. He then reached out with both hands, calling upon the Force to grip Sergei tightly. With a great effort, he threw Sergei away from the fight and the others, towards the two Dire Wolves that helped create this situation.

Without a second thought, Rann turned towards where Sergei was thrown and drew both of his lightsabers. He didn’t ignite them, not yet, but his thumbs hovered over the ignition switches. He glared, yellow-red eyes piercing the forest as he broke into a sprint and leapt forward after Sergei.

He was leaving the others behind, leaving them to finish the Nocna Mora alone. But this was also by design. Let them deal with the terrible monster. Let them flounder and the leviathan and suffer. That seemed... terribly tedious. Rann would handle the Fallen Wolf.

More difficult? Yes, probably. But Rann didn’t care. It was certainly more fun. And this way, none of them could get in his way.

Living, or dead. It didn’t matter. If anyone got to kill Sergei, it’d be Rann.

psheeeeew

pshooow

“What’s dead stays dead, Jack. And you’re dead.” He yelled as he approached where he threw Sergei.

“I’m going to deliver your head to my Father.”

Darth Metus · Oct 25, 2020

F E A S T

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Darth Elyria

The choice was not easy.

In this day and age, they never were. In fact, compared to all the times that Isley had worn the crown, the modern era was the most challenging. During his first tenure as Vicelord, the greatest threats that the first Confederacy faced were that of an angst-driven neighbor. During his tenure as Mand'alor, his greatest adversaries were a lazy council and a Force-hating warmonger. Yet, today, his nation faced countless threats. Some from beyond the veil. Some born of their own hands. Some that had yet to be revealed. Even now, on a mission that was supposedly benign, his people faced Hell itself.

Darth Metus would arm them, and trust that they would emerge victorious.

Once the boon had been granted to his people, his partner spoke softly. Yes, they would live. But there was one who would certainly not escape this day with life. The monstrosity among the trees that had become their prey. To him, they were as the demon from the Nether that descended upon the Confederates. They were the nightmare from beyond that surpassed all mortal understanding. And, though they exchanged quips and jests along the way, the hunt would yield blood.

The prey was found. And in an instant, longing filled the Sith's ears. The breath of his mate echoed within his soul. The coo spoke volumes of the starvation she suffered. There was no liberation for the murderer then. There would be no salvation. The shadows were Elyria's envoy - bearing her from where Isley knelt and setting her upon the monster. Her form quickly reflected the darkness from whence she came. Teeth. So many canines manifested and tore into the man's form. The squelch of her feasting would have made a weaker man tremble in the knees. Yet, Isley observed. It was the first time he had seen the truth of what the darkness looked like.

They were as different as night and day - though cut from the same, primordial black. She was the abyss. He was brimstone. She was fangs and claws, he was fire. When it was all said and done, the woman extended a blood soaked hand to him. The offering required to fulfill his vow. His lips curved into a smile as he approached - boots quickly moistening in the pool dripping from the man's remains. "Yes. That is plenty." he began. He reached out, taking her dripping hand into his own. "Take us Home - and I will begin."

Vytal Noctura · Oct 26, 2020

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