Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Aerith Krayt]

Location: Fortress Carnifax
Enemy: Lirka Ka
Gear: Armor/ Rest in Bio.

Last time she had waded into battle, Aerith had been overpowered by a war mech that had damn near killed her, though she in turn had taken it out as well. As she struck at this new opponent however, she found she had made a miscalculation. She speed of her opponent was greater than the speed of her strikes, as she watched in horror as the new comber nimbly avoided her strike and drove a plasma laced weapon into her shoulder blade. The armor was built to withstand the heat of a saber, and the kinetic impact of a rail gun, but the onslaught she had withstood earlier had compromised the armor in the worst possible ways. Least she still had her limbs though, she sorta needed those to fight back.

The blade didn't cut all the way through, but she felt a flicker of heat around her right shoulder blade, and an alarm bellowed out in her helmet as the blade had punctured into the armor. Releasing her hold on the axe, Aerith took hold of the blade with her left hand, clenching the weapon as it began to bubble and pop the enforcement around the hand, the Cortosis Weave and Beskar reinforcement being the only thing that kept the cyborg from losing her limb in the process. Clamping onto the blade, Aerith pulled hard, with the force of her cybernetics and the suit working in tandem, she hoped to impale this freak of nature onto her vibro-ax, as she pulled the handle back with her right hand, hoping to slash across the chest of the entity, though her shoulder and hand section of armor were practically boiling away. "Then you need to stop screwing around and fight!" She retorted, throwing away the blade once her attack was finished, hoping she had managed to do some sort of damage.

"Warning, Armor Breach Detected. Armor Integrity at Seventy-Five Percent."

"Oh shut the hell up." Yea, this was going to be great. Having to fight with two people yelling at her now? Not what she needed right now. An idea came to Aerith's mind however, as raised her elbow as a sort of shield to protect her breached shoulder section. "Wait, wait no, AI listen! Track the targets movements, give me a read out of what it's going to do, and factor in my reaction time. Just tell me when to swing." She commanded, hoping the stupid onboard AI was going to earn it's place here and now. The smell of burning insulation reached her nose, making her eyes water from the corrosive materials it held. Or it would have, if she didn't have cybernetics. This was just the kind of fight she loved though, no holds bared. "Come on you hunk of junk, hit me!" She screamed out, knowing she was going to regret those words, but she was going to just have to tank this out for as long as possible.

 

[Tulan Kor]

​

I am but a hand of the reaper.


Allies: NIO l Amon Vizsla
Enemies: Sith l Cara Dorniarn l Nida Perl
Objective: Finish the fight.

Tulan watched her fall backwards, stumbling back himself as she launched himself away from him. He watched her fall backwards, leaning up on his elbow, catching his breath after her attack. He dropped to his knees, rotating his hips to sit up, looking up at Nida. He reached up to his helmet, pulling down his mask and his night vision, tossing them aside. The Night Vision was cracked and broken, and the helmet wasn't too much of a help in the current fight anyways.

Tulan stood up to a single knee, taking several deep breaths as he regained his composure. He looked over at the Perl, bleeding and dying against a server.

Maybe he cut her artery. Maybe he didn't. Couldn't tell in the dimming light. But the cut was bad, that much he knew, just by the sight of the blood. Tulan stood up, standing just out of arms reach of her, looking down at her.

Hate filled his eyes.

He saw every Sith he ever knew in her.

Every betrayal.

Every murder.

Every enslavement.

Every torture.

She was lied to, misled, but- above all. She knew that she was wrong. And she did it anyways. Because of a lie, or maybe, because of the truth- either way, she bought what they were selling. A part of him pitied her. A part of him hated her. But right now- she was the enemy. He'd tell Thirdas himself. He'd tell her mother himself. He'd tell Kyra. He gripped the knife tightly, looking down at her- with his own eyes. The Rangers had pacified the majority of the Imperial defenders, the baseline Stormtroopers hardly a matched for the experienced, well-equipped, well-trained killing machines of Dorn Company.

Without looking, Tulan addressed the Rangers.

"Leave a squad at the breach. The rest of you, help secure the facility with the Mandalorians and the Stormtroopers. Get the data."

He stood over Nida, tightly gripping the knife.

"You left everyone behind, Nida. For what?"

He gestured to the scores of dead stormtroopers, ruined building, and dueling Sith and Mandalorians behind him.

"For this? For maybe- maybe not, your real family? You left the Jedi- the most wholesome, kind, caring people in the galaxy- for what?"

He took another step.

"For nothing. For the Sith. Let me tell you something- they're on their tenth so called 'Empire'. Kaine's a walking failure after failure. I'll enjoy comin' after whatever he cooks up next. But you-"

Betrayal flared in his eyes. There was no greater sin to Tulan. He gave Nida everything. He gave her everything he had, and she threw it all away for a few measly words spoken by a pale man on a crumbling throne.

"You know what comes next."

And with that, Tulan went to stab Nida Perl straight in the heart.

 

[Lark]

​

Objective: One
Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO, Asharo Madar Sion Alar

Disintegration, ruin, decay. That was what the eldritch magic Lark picked up from AMCO wrought upon his enemies. Turned to ash, the end and natural state of all things. The dying embers of those foolish souls served as a warning, one that their surviving comrades were to blind to see. So much sightless chauvinism, it was as depraved as the most gluttonous Hutt. If they've chosen to abandon an enlightened worldview in favor of this arrogant, narrow-minded fervor, perhaps ash truly is their proper form. So be it.

Lark did not relish in the carnage, not like he once thought he should. Why take perverse joy in ruination, when it was just as natural as the preservation of life? Despite the chaotic miasmas emanating from his eldritch blast, Lark himself was surrounded by the most peaceful of auras. He was fighting two strong opponents, and he himself was still merely an acolyte, albeit one with a long tenure. Trepidation would surely spell a quick death. Fortunately, the Sith were accustomed to conquering seemingly unachievable victories. One must, in order to grow in strength and see their purpose realized.

The wave of infernal energy decimated a number of NIO soldiers, before a shimmering shield broke the tempest in two and sent the withering blast into the ground. One of the two men drew his weapon, and charged without hesitation. And then, a radiant flash of heavenly light burst from the man's hands, completely obscuring Lark's vision. He felt his connection to the dreadful energy of the Necronomicon fading, it was a good thing he chose not to summon any Sithspawn, else they would have either been killed or let loose amongst the battlefield, targeting Sith and NIO alike. Even that eldritch magic was dampened, though he still had hidden weapons at his disposal.

Eyes could not see everything, Lark's sense with the Force had been well-honed. But he could still barely get his sword up in time to block Asharo's subsequent strike. Lark's muscles tensed as he absorbed the blow, his own enchanted sword dug into the skin of his arm as he pushed back against the warrior. It burned, but it was hardly the worst charring his body had ever had to deal with.

He panted slightly as his vision returned, though still a bit blurry he was finally face to face with the vermin who dared infest his home. His right arm had been replaced, and his breath was laden with the stench of cigarettes, reminding Lark of his father. "So much purpose and resolve dwells within you two," Lark said gently. "And yet you still have lost yourselves. I've been there too. But I've found what I've been searching for."

"Home."

With speed so delicately woven into him by Krest, Lark's empty hand reached for his sheathed enchanted dagger, and aimed it directly towards Asharo's lower chest. His arm continued to burn, blood ran like tears from his wound. But if he were to fight two strong opponents, he'd fight dirty. He'd break himself.

Anything to protect his home.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Irveric Tavlar
Objective: Assassinate

Heavens Divide
​

They were two sides of the same coin. Both Imperial through and true, but their differences were thinly and precisely separated from that border that marked them heads and tails. Destiny, not fate, seemed to favor Irveric’s side of the coin throughout this war. Today would be the most important coin toss in this engagement and maybe Djorn could influence it by landing on his side.

He remembered how mocked Irveric was when he declared his intentions of treason. The Sith, most of all, and their puppets they controlled. Djorn, however, never mocked at the man; instead he admired and respected his convictions. How could an insignificant man, the Sith would think, could topple their Empire? They had all the power at the palm of their hand, literally and metaphorically, for a simple, mortal man to challenge them. It was something that insulted Djorn for them to believe in.

Wise men feared in three things:

The sea in storm;

The night with no moon;
​

And the fury of a patient man.
​

Djorn would gladly argue to also fear the convictions of a brave man. What the Sith did not fear became their greatest threat that overshadowed any organization that opposed them by a long shot.

He found himself on the war torn earth after the kick, back resting on it. Instead of finding his throat, Djorn deflected the blow although not completely as it landed on his helmet. The visor cracked, its glasteel compromised by the strength of Tavlar’s punch. He groaned from it and rolled away, creating distance between them before standing up.

His back was facing the Imperator when he stood up, nowhere near the range of attack. His eyes caught the flag of the Sith Empire, observing it as its fabric was burnt and torn from blaster fire and other elements responsible for damaging it. Almost like its lifeforce was being drained away by the pressing attack from the New Imperials.

Then he did the one thing that would surely result to his death by the grace of an accurate shot: he removed his helmet and dropped it to the earth, still looking at the flag.

“Why, Irveric,” he spoke to the man, almost as if two, old friends rekindling their bond after years apart. Irveric would know what he meant by those words spoken in its tone. “Things could’ve been different,” speaking as if to make sure he wasn’t being cryptic in his words, “I know things are flawed with the system and I agree with you, but...everything that we’ve sacrificed for, everything that we’ve compromised for was it worth it?”

True, the Sith would find their work irrelevant so long as it produced results and furthered their power, but to men like Djorn and Irveric it meant everything to them. They couldn’t leave their work to be in vain, that would haunt them for their rest of their days.

“It’s just a setback to what we strive for. It’s something that the Jedi and their pawns will reap from,” he turned around, facing the man, face-to-mask although he would know what lay behind that visor. “It’s just a defeat for all of us, for men like us.”

Men like them, not the Sith or the Jedi, but to soldiers like them. War and killing was part of them, and it was something they got better at the more they did it. They could cope with it, so long as it meant something. It’s how he was able to sleep, silencing any doubts or ghosts that would haunt his conscience.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Tag: Aerith Castiella

Lirka felt her blade dig into her foe, and she could feel a sickly wave of sadistic pleasure wash through her body. These pathetic little rats, they didn't know half of what it took to give someone like herself a good dance. But this was good enough practice, barely. Her duel with Australis had reminded the Sephi of many things, and more than anything that had been the stupidity of mortals.

She could feel the blade dig into the armored brute's hand, a low gurgle that seemed almost like a chuckle poured from the helmet: she had done the same maneuver in that same duel with the Mandalorian bastard, but unfortunately a magician knew it's own tricks. She let the blade dig into the woman's hand, Lirka even tried to force it further down for a time: but it was time to use the newest little trick of her new warblade, once Aerith gave her weapon a tug there was a click as the weapon broke into two blades, Lirka throwing herself back to make some distance once again.

"You have strength, you have power. But these are meaningless without the mind to make use of such things."

Lirka took another step back, her bloodlust told her to charge, to slaughter this whelp where she stood. But she relented.

"There is still time to end this petty conflict, child. To end this grand distraction whilst the Jedi menace festers."

Despite all things, the greatest joke of the Galaxy would be that Lirka Ka, champion of Choah, slaughterer of Moridinae, and the murderer of millions, would always be the one to sue for peace when she saw an opportunity present it self.

 

[Asharo Madar]

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

location :// THE GATES, FORTRESS CARNIFEX
local time :// LOST
objective :// DUEL
dyad :// SION ALAR
allies :// AGRIPPA // DOOM DIVISON
foe(s) :// Lark [ENGAGED]
HERE_AT_THE_END_OF_ALL_THINGS
[ x ]

Asharo's hazel eyes locked on Lark's, matching eerie calm with eerie calm. Blood-stuck hair clung to the glistening, dirtied flesh of his forehead, soiling the snowy strand with pink stain. Pale saber clashed with the frightful blade, reverberating intensely in his grasp as precognition registered in the front of his mind. The words which were offered him felt as distant as the snowy peaks of his home, far from this conflict, and simply grazed his consciousness in echo.​

The thread in his gut wrenched furiously and rather than evade the blade, The Guardian seemed to welcome it, tilting forward to position himself to allow his armor to do what it was meant to. The wicked edge slashed across his blood-caked chestguard, cleaving a quick line in the arcing swipe. The leverage required of his opponent for this maneuver opened Ash's weight to shift and he twisted himself about, torquing fabricated shoulder in its socket to cock and slam forward, surging with cybernetic strength in the attempt to stagger the apprentice back a step or two.​

So close to his foe, realization niggled pity in the back of his mind. The man was barely an adult, likely still an apprentice. No pleasure was ever had by Asharo in times of war; tools rarely enjoyed the wear which came with their use. But this? The thought of slaying one so young troubled him so. All the same, The Guardian compartmentalized this, stowing it for consideration at a more appropriate time.​

This was no time to wrestle with morality.​

"Built on the skeletons of young men like yourself, your home would sooner see you added to the foundation than achieve greatness." He discoursed with the knowledge of one exceedingly familiar with the machinations of empires and shifted back a stride, whirling saber with his wrist to take a defensive position with the tip aimed backward. "Yield; my Other half is far less sympathetic and I will take no pleasure in adding your mark to our collection."​

"But I most certainly will."​

The familiar voice cutting through their melded consciousness tightened his grip around the engraved hilt of his lightsaber.​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

BASTION // IMPERIAL CAPITAL COMPLEX // OUTER PALACE
ENEMIES//TSE: Allyson Locke
ALLIES//GA: [DISTANCED: RYYK + RAIDER SQUADRON Maynard Treicolt // Ryv // Kir Dantos ]
U N D U N ​

The wordless attack had been for herself. For all her hurt, for all her confusion. Retribution for the pain

Allyson had left in her chaotic wake. Words had been fruitless, and the would-be Kiffar had repeated her supplication too many times that the appeal was exhausted. The words were weightless now, all the heaviness she bore on her heart imbued instead the muscles that lashed out at her former best friend. For all the emotion behind it, it was an unsure attack. If Loske wanted to end it, she was confident she could. The genetics spliced within her, masters of Vaapad, training beneath a warlord and a Grandmaster, saber combat wouldn’t be a fair contest against Allyson if the blonde was truly motivated. There was still so much conflict and the initial reaction was irrational but necessary. She needed to let go. She wanted to see Allyson’s reaction, and where it fell on the spectrum between disappointment or rage. The flicker of the Corellian’s face would speak more truth than any of the words she spun. Her actions would shout far louder.

The answer was like smug satisfaction. A grin that stretched from her lips into a metaphysical taunt that validated the Jedi’s Knight’s outburst.

Allyson Locke seemed to know who she was now.

For all that justification about exposing a reaction, it didn’t matter. The saber never made purchase and her heels dragged against her forward motion without her consent, yanking the angry hummingbird backward. Aghast, she looked down at her feet. The suit was flexing and tightening without any of Loske’s intent driving it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t her own volition. She was the Corellian’s marionette and staggered, yawping in confusion.

The machinations felt spoiled. Like a grim cloud darkening the space between them and hovering contentedly above Allyson. The dyad felt nonplussed — almost expectant. Had that darkness always been there? Loske tried to replay everything in her head, her memories becoming less authentic and more painful each time she did.

The truth was in the corners of the Corellian’s mouth and her hands. The hands she was using to pluck and play with the technical nuances of the strike team armour and the grip on her lightsaber. Waiting to use it.

She looked at Allyson. Loske’s expression shifted to a strange place at the friction point between pitying and pleading.

“I don’t know what else I can say to you.” She murmured, forcing volume through her words despite how small the admittance felt on her tongue.

“Whatever you’re choosing to do, you’re obviously choosing to do alone. If you’re not my enemy, why can’t I help? How many times can I keep offering help and be rejected?” Seven times? Seventy-seven times? Loske was almost past caring. It almost didn’t hurt anymore— the complexities of the Corellian met the vast dryness of her heart’s desert. The things that kept her anchored and caring were the fear she’d heard from Allyson, her true confusion on Borosk and the knowing ask of Maynard and Ryv to bring Allyson back.

A wolf would chew off its own paw to escape a trap. Allyson Locke was her paw. Loske was trapped in her own mind, rattled back and forth between the different projections claimed by the spy. Innocence. Intent. Cluelessness. Conviction. It was too confusing for bleeding heart Matson.

At that realization, Loske felt a tug of humiliation at the back of her throat. It didn’t help that her movements were orchestrated by the technical prowess of the lost spy. The kiffar’s expression turned sorrowful. If Allyson continued to refuse assistance, if she refused to crawl back into the arms of those that loved her, this was a waste of time. The Knight could be more useful and have a wider impact assisting the legions. In her distant peripheral, she could feel the exhilaration and something almost akin to lust on the other two ends of her meld to them. She should be there. Ryv had given the suggestion to Go but still, This was as selfish as it was necessary. And she was tenacious to a fault today.

The complex was ringing like a struck bell. Shouted commands and blaster fire faded into white noise. Conversation was difficult on a whisper level — they had to raise their voices or penetrate the other’s mind. The air smelled like ashes and scorched metal, and was thick with tension brought from the defensive and offensive lines. Brothers and sisters were being lost by the dozen today, sacrificing for that greater good everyone was always promised.

Another burst of fire sang past, tearing long black stripes in the duracrete and filling the air with the smell of cordite.

Her grip on her hilt tightened, and she rolled the cylindrical hold against her palm with her thumb. In the distance, the link between herself, Maynard and Ryv kept her appraised of their perspective. They were fine for now — there was no empathetic tightness.

Bring her back. Bring Allyson back.

The hope she’d been harvesting bloomed up in her throat, as wild as anger.

“What are you when this is done? What does finished look like?”

"I had to stay in the field - I couldn't go home with you, I have to save Jorryn as well. Loske, I lo--" Allyson

Allyson had proclaimed she had to stay in the field to protect Jorryn. Loske could only assume that it was the Echani that had threatened her on Borosk. Someone Allyson chose to love. Now she had official business. Which was it? What was the true purpose and motivation to maiming her brother and decimating his heart until the fragments were little more than dust? For blaming Loske’s incessant attachment as a threat to Maynard? The secrecy encouraged numbing speculation.

Was Allyson expecting to create a world where she truly could have her cake and eat it too? Loske had suggested that once, at the start of all this. She'd done it when her friend had sounded lost and scared. With no identity.
Now the Imperials wanted Allyson’s head as much as The Alliance wanted her burned. The Sith apparently welcomed the woman with accepting arms; trusting even their elite Moff to her care and protection. For someone who wanted so much to be wanted that seemed a desirable option as much as Allyson protested she was not Loske’s enemy she’d done little to prove otherwise. Maybe not an enemy on a personal level — but on the scales of good versus evil, where did she weigh?

Someone, Loske couldn’t tell which side they were on with all the Imperial accents, announced a grenade was incoming.

Still suspended in Allyson’s grip, she could only move her hands to press against her ears. The shock of the explosion, surprisingly nearby, was like being slapped all along her side.

It was enough of a distraction to break the technomancer’s grip.

Intent on liberation from her death glove and using the explosion's opportunity, the blonde twisted. She’d have to get out of this suit if this was going to go anywhere. A thin barrier permeated above her skin between the suit, and she reached for the zipper. The neuro links of the suit still under her control, albeit blinking distantly, acquiesced and pulled away from her body. It rescinded and peeled from the girl’s outline. After a bit of struggle, she managed to get down to the armourweave only underneath. A much more vulnerable outfit to anyone but the technomancer. She hadn’t anticipated seeing her here today, and the catsuit like undergarment was plain evidence of that.

She dropped to the ground, free and unarmored. As good as naked, save for the black coating of the woven undersuit. Drawing her feet up to where her knees had been, she stood. Her blade continued to thrum. It was loud; begging. It was so loud she almost didn’t notice the roughness of Allyson’s voice like an animal scenting a distant fire. Loske was the smoke.

Amidst the chaos, she held her ground –– peering in the direction Allyson had been. She coughed once.

“Do you know who you are now? I can feel you’re getting closer to the answer. As long as I can feel you, I’ll be a nuisance. I’m not letting you go. I can’t get out of your way.”

Loske was surprised at the crispness of her tone. She sounded more assured than she felt. There was thinness woven through the sentiment, evidencing the uncertainty of whether or not her statement was a promise or a threat. It dared Allyson to make the decision on Loske’s behalf. That part of it was focused and serious.

 

[Darth Daiara]

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider

Spoiler: Post archive for our story

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider
​

The din of battle rang around her-- shots, explosions, screams. Screams of fear. They were the one thing the training room hadn't prepared her for. The Bastion Academy stood between the city and the Fortress, close to the center. All the best, Aradia resigned, she wouldn't have to go far to make her mark. It was all the other people standing in the way that shocked her senseless.

The civilians.

The families.

Aradia stood in the Academy's court yard, her lips parted as he ground quaked against an unseen attack. In a window beyond a gate, another child stood gaping, their vision set on the street leading toward them. Aradia's attention peeled off the child as a man tore them back, the curtains flapping in their wake. Men in white suits approached down the streets, blasters in hand as they pushed to break in deeper.

All the while they shot. They exploded. They ran over flower pots. She stood frozen as she peered out the gate, watching the swath of trained warriors push deeper into the city that made up her home. She gasped as the outside table of her favorite coffee shop became crushed under the wheels of an approaching tank. The city was falling to the invaders as they destroyed to conquer. And why? They marched on, so close she could see the dirt smeared across a helm.

Anger churned in her gut. She might not understand war, but she did know loss. She would not lose this place too.

A cry pulled from her throat as she left the safety of the courtyard, the teen jumping over a hedge and flying liking a monkey into the nearest solider as they marched on by. It was the shock alone that took him down, the girl small and frail despite how heartily she could now eat at each and every meal. There was nothing to note about her, the girl clad in simple black as she wrestled against the soldier's back. The march halted, all guns swirling onto her and the comrade that served as a shield.

You know she hadn't thought this through.

Her features contorted up at the white helmets that stared her down, her palm raising. "Get out of my home!" Fire exploded out at them all.

​

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara

War, the thing Oceiros had once feared most. He’d feared war more than he feared the Sith, for it was in war where he’d lost his family. Where he’d lost his famed cousin. Yet no matter where Oceiros hid war always found him in one way or another. War had come to Brentaal, bringing with it death and destruction the likes of which the Jedi had never seen. It was also on Brentaal that Oceiros learned that he could no longer run, that he couldn’t hide, that there was something beyond simply himself. Arcanus wouldn’t have hid, no true Sunstrider would continue to bury their face in the sand while injustice and tyranny reigned around them. No longer was the Epicanthix running from war, now he marched in it.

Alongside the Jedi there were numerous Galactic Alliance soldiers and stormtroopers that moved through the streets. Standing atop a tank, Oceiros kept an eye out across the streets. Smoke and flames billowed to the sky, above the skies taking on the appearance of death. Oceiros could feel it as he looked across the cityscape, the force in turmoil, an odd sensation filling his being. This wasn’t a fight between light and dark, the Jedi weren’t the true reason behind this fight against the Sith. It went beyond that, it was a fight about reclaiming what was once lost. Those who’d once served the Sith returned to claim the home they’d fought for, bled for, and had sought to protect, many willing to do whatever necessary to reclaim it. This world wasn’t the Sith, it showed how little the Sith overlords cared for the planet by not evacuating it, by leaving civilians behind in the midst of a battle they knew was soon to come.

Oceiros’ heart was heavy as they approached the Bastion Academy, he could feel the presence of those within, all those that had been tainted by the dark. Those who’d had their thoughts clouded and manipulated by the Sith believing that it was the true way to live. “Watch your fire, when possible use stun rounds, glop grenades and sonic weapons. We will not be killing children today. Those who resist-” Oceiros stopped, the words he knew he had to say caught in his throat. Never did he think he’d have to do such a thing.


“Those who resist, do what you must.” With the order given, the troops descended upon the Academy, pushing into the courtyard. Legionnaires and Sith alike rushed out to meet the hail of blaster and sonic rounds. Hopping from his position above the tank, Oceiros came down in a cleave that freed a legionnaire of their arm before spinning and thrusting through the shoulder of another.

Making his way through the crowd the epicanthix, did what he could to defend his soldiers as well as incapacitate their enemies. Each slash a regret, and then it came from nowhere. A banshee of the night came flying out landing upon one of the troopers.

“Get her off me, get this queen the fuck off me!” The soldier screeched trying to fight the Sith acolyte off his allies, turning and raising their weapons towards them both.

“Noooo!” Oceiros shouted over the melee charging towards them but it was too late as a bloom of flame came to life. The inferno stretched out swallowing the entire squad including the one being used as a shield, white plastoid armor charred and turned black, the screams of the troopers filled the Jedi’s ears as he could do nothing but watch them fall to the ground and cease moving.

Staring through the carnage and fire to the lone figure who did this Oceiros’ cobalt eyes reflected the flames, and within those eyes was nothing but pity. Raising a hand and shoving it out, a concussive wave escaped the epicanthix’s palm, the flames shunted aside in its wake as it sought to fling the witch back.

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider

Who wouldn't resist? This was their home.

The storm troopers fell dead in the courtyard they had invaded, their once pristine bodies charred and contorted as death boiled them alive. Aradia laid splayed in the center of it all, a look of shock rippling through her soot-stained features. She hurriedly shoved off the storm trooper she had tackled, blisters bubbling across the skin that remained in contact with his still simmering form.

She was not invulnerable to flames, nor the reality of deaths around her.

She had never killed someone before. A subtle quake rippled from her core, a horrified noise catching in her chest. She hadn't meant to do that. They were just-- and she- A sudden shock wave sent her flying backwards, her cry hitting the air as she tumbled like a rag-doll to a stop. Pain knocked her breathless, the burns singing the most poignant song across her nerve endings. She looked up between strands of red to find the lone remaining threat-- a man, his hand extended as he used the force against her. Her blurry vision cleared to a spike of fear.

Oh yes. She had been warned about this. Force users always had it out for each other, that was why this war was here. People with power always came to take what they wanted. She had heard the stories. She knew the truth.

He was here to kill her.

Her fear turned cold, self-preservation kicking in.

A shove of the force sent Aradia flying off the ground, onto her feet. Her clothing hung off her in charred strips, revealing a thin frame marred with scars and puckering burns. The pain of it all fell to the back of her thoughts, her training kicking in.

Her fingers slid to her belt line, where a saber laid in wait.

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!" She yelled, finding courage and strength inside each consecutive word. A snap hiss punctuated her final syllable, the dark red length of her saber sparking to life. It held raised before her in a wordless threat. He was not passing into the Academy without first going through her.

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara



Standing amidst the chaos, and destruction, Oceiros looked through the fire and black smoke that rose from the freshly roasted corpses. The Jedi looked down at them, out of his peripherals he still saw the banshee that had so ruthlessly snatched the brave men from the land of the living. Men that wanted nothing more than to fight for their home, to once more regain what was theirs. The Sith forcefully conscripted soldiers, used them as cannon fodder, the men and women who served in the NIO knew of this, had experienced this. That was why they fought, why they’d gladly give their lives in perhaps what could be considered the turnabout of the decade.

Kneeling near one of the corpses, Oceiros simply looked at them, their breathing having ceased moments before, their presences in the force having faded away. “Rest in peace brother, I failed to protect you, but I will not let your sacrifice be for not.”

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!"

As the words pierced the air, Oceiros blinked rapidly, tears having begun to well up in the epicanthix’s eyes. “This was never your land, this was never your or any other Siths planet. You've deluded yourself!” Rising from where he kneeled the Jedi turned fully towards the acolyte. Looking upon her Oceiros could see so many things, fear, rage, angst. Someone so young, so twisted and corrupted in their thinking.

“You stole this world from them, they fought for this world, they defended this world and many others. They had families! Mothers, wives, children! And all you can think about is what you wrongly believe to be yours.”

The crackling red blade of the Sith’s caught Oceiros’ attention, he’d come to Bastion knowing a fight was inevitable, that he would eventually be forced to draw his own weapon. Reaching down to his waist Oceiros unclipped the silver hilt from his belt, raising it up and over his head. With a snap-hiss the sapphire blade came to life, to come down tip pointed towards the ground between the two.

“I do not wish for this to devolve into violence but if you leave me know choice I will do what I must.”

Aradia's brows furrowed as he leveled accusations her way.

You stole this world from them. ...They had families! --wrongly believe this world to be yours!

The young teen swayed in place, not a single word making sense. "You're crazy," she breathed, and looked at him as such. The big, bulking jedi lit up their saber. She took a sudden step back. The determination crumbled to a sudden jolt a fear, the girl facing the reality of what she had engaged. There was nothing more unsettling than realizing your fight with death would be against a crazed Zealot coming to storm your school... For the first time since Kaalia Pavanos had bought her freedom, Aradia considered running. It was a primal thought, but it consumed her.

Remember that fear. It will save your life. Her Master's final words were a balm. Aradia struggled to pump air through her through her lungs, the stand off stretching between the two. What felt like hours was actually mere seconds. The jedi's ultimatum was left in the air, the girl wavering against the heat of the smoldering courtyard. It wasn't that she didn't want to face the big, bad, crazy invader, it was just...

A bite of pain pulled at her-- the token coin that had been in her waistband had seared into her flesh, burned in there like a brand. It brought with it the reminder of the owners words, Allyson Locke oddly needed advice reaching her again.

You are strong. Have faith in yourself. Somehow it meant more coming from a stranger. Aradia faced down Oceiros and his bulking form, her fear reminding her what she was here for: Survival. ...And a test of merit. But still! Survival. She took a deep breath, breaking the silence.

"I will not stand down. You will not come into this Academy. Did you not hear me?" The red of her saber reflected against her features, raised higher as she found her resolve. You strike down your foes. You do not hesitate. Came the words of Kaalia Pavanos .

Yes, Master.

She burst forward in a flurry of speed, hair and clothing alike streaming into the wind. She collapsed in on him,empowered by the force as she aimed for a clean decapitation. Don't think. Just do.

"I said get off my lawn!"

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

O U T R I D E R
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
JEDI KNIGHT GENERAL
Armor | Blade of Ruusan
7 E M P E S T

So came the darkness. In the wave of Vesta unfurling her miasma of death and terror there was no turning back now. He'd put Braith down in Pabol Hutta, he'd be damned to let Vesta walk away now. The Zambrano and all their wicked spawn deemed to be snuffed out from the Galaxy forever. He might've felt that those same talons of fear raking over his mind as he did then, aboard the Vong vessel when he sought the life of the Sith Lady.

Not now.

>"She is stronger than you...but we can best her. Falsify your delusions, hone in on each movement, each path of attack. Never doubt yourself."< The Blade of Ruusan spoke in utter reassurance of the Concordian of whom the blade seemed confident in his behavior in combat. A chaotic tempest lashing out at patterns of chaos in the face of the enemy. Just as often as it left him victor, it rendered him bloody. His approach needed to be tempered if he was going to best her in this moment.

He willed the weapon of light to meet the Sith sword only for Ryv to evade his path and meet the blade with his own emerald saber. That calmness brought about by the Blade of Ruusan only reverborated through him in spades more with the arrival of his brother-in-arms. A faint smile motioned across his expression.

"Knew you'd make it." Maynard spoke to Ryv, surging to the side as his green blade locked in the fury of Vesta's sword before Maynard moved to pull up a cut through to their torso with his own cobalt blade, his gaze freezing over as the serenity of Ruusan pulsed through him.

He was ready for this encounter, far more ready than he was sometime ago, against Braith. Or against Alekto. He was more fragile, more brittle at the seams to flex under duress. But there was no hesitation then and there would be no hesitation now. The two Jedi Knights bared down on Vesta in a frigid fury. They were here to put Sith in the dirt and nothing else.

// ALLIES | NIO/GA //: Loske Treicolt | Ryv | Kir Dantos
// ENEMY | TSE //: Ellie Mors | Quinn Varanin

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

// Legion Commander // 307th Red Riders //
// Armor / Hand Of God / Rifle / Pistol / Saber(s) / Grenade //
// Fortress Carnifex // Flanking // Surrounding City Sector
// Allies : NIO / Lucien Dooku Avernus
// Enemy : TSE / Jain

N i h i l​

---

---

The impact of the fist smashed the plate of Lyra’s helmet back into her visage, a single large crack threaded across the screen and Lyra’s head snapped to the side. Audio fizzled out briefly before returning with an intense whine. The twist of the armor caught and she felt the solid break as the metal bent into the bridge of her nose. The pain was enough to bring tears to her eyes, a nauseating sensation shot through her spine and she felt the hot gush of blood pour drip down her lips.

Her rationale teetered in the wake of the fight. Lyra’s servo only tightened and the weight of the woman ceased as she gave the final heave, the Force she bolstered herself snapped and she gladly threw the woman into the roadway. The damage done at her fingertips fed the adrenaline and Lyra grinned; blood coating her teeth. Black spots decorated her vision and she was blinded if only temporarily, she stumbled back as her hands wretched at the helmet-eyes screwed shut as she corrected it’s form.

The crack sparked once and the HUD’s alarms blared and she shied back the screen still functioned if a bit skewed. The city block in it’s disarray was highlighted by an unsteady line as details flooded across the screen. Though her eyes were quick to hone in, and she stared at the prone form of the beast of a woman. Her tongue ran across her lip as the copper tang overwhelmed her senses, blood poured down her broken nose and down her chin-leaking out the seal of her helmet.

She caught the first few words. Lyra form tensed and gauged their next move, they were down one limb. Lyra regarded her palms, reaching out to pick a shred of duraplate from the crease of her servo as she flicked the shard away. The A.I highlighted varying weakness and Lyra mulled. The city block shook around them as artillery hailed across the city, and she flinched. A complex building down the end of the block crumbled as a shot made contact-blasting out glass and the upper floors collapsed in on themselves. A cloud of dark dust drifted over the block, mimicking falling snow.

No echoed in her mind, fear long calcified-but it was her conscious warning her. What if she had not proven enough in the eyes-her gauntlets quaked from the sheer adrenaline alone as she paced like a lothal cat on the prowl across the black top.

“Sounds like you don’t like me. If you know my name, maybe you ought to fuck off?” the woman warned with a low garbled voice, the rile of disgust stirred in her chest. She would have found it amusing, but of course it always came back to the butcher himself. She was sick of men like him interfering. Lyra tossed her hands out-a challenge and a welcome. There was far too much at stake on the horizon as the Legion pushed up, and the communications were in a frenzy as the lines pushed around the base of the fortress.

The vendetta ran deeply between them, and it was a connection Lyra had not foresaw. Her unseen gaze trailed over the prone form of the woman, she could work with this. As she held her arms aloft pain radiated throughout her right shoulder but she held fast; daring. Her senses heightened and the fury stirred a single instinct, flee. She had barely survived the brush with Kascalion and knew better-what he had inflicted upon the psyche of both Irveric and herself. The unspoken threat, maybe today was the day. A fear and anticipation she could not tame permeated from her and Lyra imagined what would happen if they did fail.

Her Master’s sparse teachers had only offered her this one thing, something vile and relentless. What stood before her was a grotesque and debased imitation of normalcy, Lyra’s imagination could paint well enough the situation; devise what made this woman. Kascalion Giedfield was almost human enough to find a mate. Lyra doubt he’d feel a scrap of despair looking on the woman if she managed to kill, to maim her further. Her feet scraped across the street and Lyra began to back track.

The depravity that circled around to elusive Sith Lord, it knew no bounds and Lyra bore her teeth to the HUD-shoulders shaking as she swallowed the pain. The slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth wrought a sharp pain through her skull. It was only fair she returned the favors he had gifted her, the thought invaded her and almost drove...It was a tempting pursuit but her hand switched over the vambrace to adjust the comm-link before the woman charged her.

<”Arroyo open fire-”> Lyra had said, forcing all dark promises to the back of her mind. The drum of the Force focused in to, fueling each movement of her limb as she dashed backward into the haze of the smoke. The first punch, Lyra ducked low-

“You think I came here for your piece of shit husband honestly?” Lyra shouted, the haymaker clipped the front of her helmet. Her feet faltered and Lyra’s own hand shot out, trying to catch the woman’s limb as she skirted to the side-balance off. Her arm was on fire and a choked scream followed as she surged they day’s aggression into a small burst of lightning to catch the woman’s limb, charged by the coils of her servo. Violent arcs spouted from her servo, enough to warn, to distract maybe and at the very least burn. It was the fury she had wielded once before, she could feel the energy mount but not yet.

<"Ma'am you're to close in range-">

<"Do it, I can take a bolt-she's open!">

The A.I reinforcing her posture activated the boot thrusters, spurts of fire licking the torn up road as she evaded. The helmet’s audible static bled into her words and Lyra spat the blood out that pooled in her mouth. Something sharper and cold carved in her words as she taunted the woman, “oh I didn’t plan on it to day-no not yet, but perhaps I will pay him a visit after I am done here. He owes me a vast debt.”

Lyra’s eyes widen and her hands flew out to brace the kick, searing pain radiated through her gauntlets and through the artificial nerves of her servo. She flew back through the haze, another ugly crack following as her body rolled out across the intersection, metal scraped along her back and she groaned in the wake of the shock. The echo of footfall and the siege waged with thundering noise. The map flickered and Lyra stared at the crimson lines, but could not focus upon the movement-her vision doubled as drops of blood hit the screen. She was on her hands and knees staring at the pavement she realized. Faintly, her thoughts drifted-her boys. A faint exhale escaped her and Lyra rolled aside as the shadow deceased over her again. Blaster fire opened up across the roadway, tracking the woman as the Leftenant gave the order.

<"We need to get moving-">

<"She might have information!"> Lyra snarled, overriding the link.

“But do tell me what’s it like being used by that psychotic monster? Don’t tell me you’re so base, that you’ve been led willingly to this field by the nose. I pity you, I couldn’t imagine it but here you are-someone so disgustingly complacent, or do you enjoy his degeneracy? You married that thing? Do you wake up at night haunted knowing the monstrosity you’re bound to, does he torture you I wonder?” Lyra shouted, it felt too good to voice her disgust.

<"You want the queen captured fine! The front's a mess, we need to finish this fight-">

<"Stay out of the fight Arroyo.">

Each intricate bend and snap of her body, her limbs protested the movement. The woman slipped past her defense, she felt a sharp crack at the corner of her cuirass, far too dangerously close to the joint. The HUD warned of the growing damage to the integrity of the armor that surrounded her shoulder and right arm. One look at the plate there, it was barely holding on by the bolt. Her laughter was choked and sounded wet and she closed her gauntlet around it. Lyra ripped off the failed piece of armor and tossed it at the woman. The stimulate coursed now and her neck fucking hurt. Lyra jogged, bursts of the Force used as she evaded and bore the brunt of the woman’s hand. Lyra was toying with her now, but she felt the time ticking away slowly-knew it could not continue.

Her side arm and sabers-Lyra had an arsenal at her beck and call but she was a conservative of arms. Eyes flickered across the ruble as she ducked as another violent pass was made. Bent low, her palm scraped the pavement, channeling a burst into the road beneath them; improvising. Lyra thrusted her hands up as the energy shattered along, she was digging through the crevices and ripped up the rock. She slammed both hands out before her and manipulated the cement to shower the behemoth with roadway' a distinct crack of stone stretching the intersection. Even if it didn’t have the desired effect, it bought her just enough time to leap back before Lyra threw herself aside-the sudden fire fight lost somewhere between the blast.

“-Do you thank him?' Now that’s the question? Surely you know how much blood and bodies he’s dredged-his shear mania. Look at you though, I can see it in your eyes-you’re not really there. Barely human-do you actually love him? I am dying to know, how can you?”

<<"Enough of the shit-">> foot steps echoed across the pavement, a sudden burst of fire signaled by thrusters. Lyra's attention snapped aside, keeling over as the woman's next hit made contact with her gut. The Zabrak's form emerging from the smoke barreling from the haze at the woman to slam in to her.

 

[Cyndane]

Objective: Kill the Mandalorian​

Location: Residential Sector, bordering the Administrative Sector ​

Equipment: Lightsaber, Blaster pistol, 3 2 thermal detonators​

Enemies: New Imperial Order, Ursula Vizla ​

Arisia rose to her feet, lightsaber held low in her right hand. The weapon had contested with her presence at first, but gradually began to connect with her. She could feel how the blade became lighter and to an extent more powerful in her grip. Kyber was alive, but she had always dismissed that truth. But now she sensed it; there was no longer a way around it.

Her brow furrowed when the Mandalorian not only survived the impact of the thermal detonator, but did so ecstatically. The hell was this woman? She had faced insurgents before. Rebels, mercenaries, trained military, Sith and cadets. But no one was ever 'happy' to be nearly blown up by a detonator. It gave her mixed feelings, for it ate away her confidence. But at the same time, she had leveled the playing field.

"Oh please. Would it make a difference if I knew your name?" she retorted, her head slightly tilted ajar and eyes still trained on the Mandalorian. "You will be dead in a moment anyway." While she could not read the expression of the woman, hers was visibly written across her face. The thrill of battle gave her joy and power. The Dark side invigorated her tired limbs and broken body, so that her mind could focus on nothing but destruction.

Mirroring the Mandalorian, Arisia charged forward to gain momentum, twirling the lightsaber before taking it in a two-handed grip. She kept the blade tight to her body, favoring a stalwart defense over an overpowering assault. She caught the sweeping blow to her side with a high guard, her saber held vertically with the tip pointing to the ground. It was followed up by a punch she could not evade in time. The beskar gauntlet connected with her jaw, nearly breaking it upon contact, if it wasn't for her Force augmentation.

To negate the force of the punch as best she could, Arisia pivoted on her heel and swung to the side. With a flick of her wrist, the crimson blade would come crashing down upon the Mandalorian in an overhead strike while, still close to her body, the flamethrower went off. The scorching heat made her flinch and miss her strike as the Mandalorian distanced herself again. White hot tendrils of pain moved up to her spine from her left arm and a cold sensation washed over her, suddenly making her aware of the sweat on her back. A glance at her arm was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.

The only reason why she still had an arm was because she moved it to counterattack. Her arm had narrowly avoided the burst of the flame thrower, but the heat alone had been enough to scorch her sleeve and destroy the nerve ends in her arm. She knew it was supposed to hurt. Hurt a lot. But it didn't; which could only mean one thing. Third degree burns.

Her face contorted in pure fury. "Oh you'll pay dearly for that..." She exclaimed her tone half a laugh and half a growl, her grip tightening around the hilt. The Dark swirled around her like a storm, feeding upon her newly awakened fury. The Mandalorian had made it personal now.​

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Galactic Alliance 3rd Sector Group
GA Battlecruiser ANV Agni Kai
Bridge

"Sir, we're seeing huge spikes of Cronau radiation near the southern pole of the system." The concept of up and down, north and south in space was irrelevant of course, but it got the point across. Vessels were dropping out of hyperspace under the planet. Admiral Satou still found the way his tech made the statement as off-putting. His eyes fell on his own tactical display, taking mental note of the classes of the vessels dropping in and their names. One name, in particular, stuck out to him and it caused a cold sweat to begin forming on the back of his neck.

The Agni Kai rumbled under incoming fire, the shields shrugging off the damage without any major damage. There was a battle going on, he knew that, yet despite this, he felt his pride well up alongside anger and hatred. His hand clenched into a fist as thoughts of his comrades flooded his mind.

"Get me Admiral Pryce. It seems Admiral Siari has taken to the field."

​

Galactic Alliance 3rd Sector Group
Dragon Bear Squadron - Assigned to Star Defender Ouroboros
Dragon 7

Dragon 7 had always wanted to be a pilot. Growing up in the colonies on some grain farm he really only thought about the adventure and freedom flight could bring to his little life on the prairie. His parents tried to convince him to just be a racer, had even bought him his first swoop to encourage that, but the thrill of speed was never enough. But this?

"Dragon 3 you've got an eyeball on your six, moving to cover. Try and pull up 6 degrees," This was what he lived for. "G9, I'm shunting power to the cannons, be ready to compensate." The astromech tweedled at him, its translation scrolling up on the screen to his right. He didn't have time to glance at it though as he flipped a few switches and gripped his stick hard. His finger depressed back on the trigger letting loose a torrent of red energy bolts into the TIE, the super-charged bolts burning off its shield in an instant and blowing right through its solar panel wings.

"Thanks, I owe you one." 7 sent a click of acknowledgment before pulling off for his next target. Babysitting the Star Defender wasn't a glorious job. He wouldn't single-handedly take out a cruiser from here or anything crazy, but it was honest work and there were just as many opportunities for dog fight kills like that here.

"Four," he said, licking the thumb of his leather glove, marking a mental tally.

Galactic Alliance 3rd Sector Group
GA Star Defender ANV Ouroboros
Bridge
Directly Engaging: Melia Siari

He got the message from Satou a few minutes later. The battle was in full swing now and as expected, the superior number of battlecruiser-class vessels in the Sith Imperial Armada was taking its toll on the unified front. Casualty reports from both the Galactic Alliance were staggering, not to mention the number of vessels lost. Battlegroup Roan Fel had lost its lead vessel and nearly it's entire flotilla to the Sith's Vanquisher. Fighter squadrons were holding but that would only last so long as their motherships winked out one by one.

Despite all of this, they were holding their own. There was something to be said for positive morale. Speaking of morale...

A new enemy had presented itself. One that felt like had been chasing him this entire campaign.

"Admiral Siari," the name tasted like acid on his tongue. But what was there to do about her? Unlike their last meeting, she wasn't aboard a dreadnought. In fact, the tables had turned, though what boon to him that was remained to be seen. "Get me a line to the Admiral," he commanded. The request was done and the hail was delivered.

 

[AMCO]

​

Location: The Conduit, beneath the Thaumaturgical Tower, Fortress Carnifex
Objective: Preserve the Sith Empire's secrets... and more importantly, stay alive.
Equipment: SIB-14 & G1 OmniLink | Shield Talisman, Empyrean Gland, & [2] Jin'Pins | 6/6 Karza'Arana Darksworn
Writing With: Aren D'Shade (Ally) & Caulder Dune (Opponent) || Ingrid L'lerim (Ally) & FN-999 (Enemy)

​

A guarantee of safe passage - hardly essential for either of them, but it set the stage for future cooperation as far as Adrian was concerned; evidently, he was not entirely off, for the Umbaran's offer brought a smile to his lips and a glimmer of interest to his eyes.

Was he really that predictable? Probably.

"Your holocron for the remaining data? It would be in character for me to retreat at the first sign of danger, you know." The implications were clear as day, to the point where several of the technicians began to look increasingly worried. With communication as spotty at it was, however, it would be a simple matter to... correct their perception of his actions here before they reached safety.

Looking as if he meant to say something else, his gaze turned distant as his lover all but shouted into his head.

<I will be along shortly; not to worry, however, for I have reached an agreement with an influential party.> Even so, he did not want the woman facing unnecessary risks, and so dispatched a quartet of Karza'Arana towards the entrance with a wave of his hand and a telepathic command.

"My apologies, it seems the aperture for a smooth exit might be closing. What say you?"

Knowledge for knowledge - had there ever been a form of exchange more mutually beneficial?

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Control //:
//: Live //:
//: Close Allies //: Ellie Mors //:
//: Enemies //: Darth Assimilus //: Kir Dantos //:
//: Equipment //: Lightsaber //: Lightsaber * //: Gildenweave Dress //: Locket //:

​

Quinn grew up with her parents and their stories. Being a child with the pedigree Quinn had, she knew she was destined for greatness. Her parents fought in the great wars of their time, fighting back the evils of the galaxies. Her mother, Spencer, had absorbed one of the strongest superweapons known to the ancient sith. Quinn had spent her time at the academy first on Bastion and then on Dromand Kaas. She didn’t have the same upbringing; she was soft and coddled, unlike Spencer and Ashin, who grew up on the battlefield.​

The girl could feel her own emotions start to become overwhelmed by the dead and the dying, but she focused. Her intent was to destroy the Jedi boy that had caused so much strife in her heart when they first met. His words caused her to question her goals and desires.​

Through the Force, something roared, something that she had tried to ignore, assuming it was one of the Sith Lords terrorizing the New Imperials. Quinn didn’t realize how correct and how wrong she was. The quake in the Force was a Sith Lord, just not one that was on her side. Something inside the beast of a man had awakened with the swing of the Echani’s patriarch’s sword. Its force energy pulsated like a beacon to the Gen’dai.​

Quinn remained focused on attacking the Jedi until her senses sounded alarms of danger. Knowing better to ignore them, the girl from the corner of her eye noticed the body flying towards her. A quick sidestep, and she avoided the carcass of the falling sith imperial. Their blood splattered against her face and clothing as it landed, slamming into the concrete where she once stood. Horror etched against her face while she stared down at the body, blood, or left of it oozed. She had never before seen something like this, the horrors of war and the reality of everything Vesta said hit her.​

Clutching her chest, the Echani struggled to breathe, the panic of what was going on started to settle in. The urge to run, to find Vesta, and hide behind him like she always had done rose in her. Vesta, that’s who would protect her, the Zambrano was her haven, and he did warn her that she wasn’t ready. Fingers clasped around the locket, as she glanced up and saw the red demon began his charge towards her. He shouted the name of her deceased maker, and Quinn felt her hands start to shake.​

Was this the truth of the Varanin legacy? Was she destined to pay for her parents’ crimes?​

Hazel orbs peeled their gaze away and spotted Vesta, who had shifted her form from the face Quinn had grown familiar with. She watched as the Sith Lord fended off the two plucky Jedi Knights. Instead of running to hide, the apprentice felt a fervor grow inside of her. They were defending their home, defending what they believed in. Quinn couldn’t run and hide from what awaited her. Fingers shifted on the shaft as a clammy palm tightened its grasp; whatever awaited her, she would fight it.​

Through the Force, she summoned the strength, debris heeded her call as they rose and shot towards the angered demon of a Gen’dai. She was Ashin Varanin’s progeny; she couldn’t keep running from the sins of her father.​

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Imperial Capital Complex.
Tags: Ra Vizsla

Spoiler

Armour / Sabres / Wrist / Tsaisibola / Vibroknife

The element of surprise gave her the advantage for the barest moment as her bloodshine blade carved through the 403rd. The crystals in her hilt drained their vitality and handed it back to Ophidia. She felt the energy surge through her system like a burst of adrenaline, strengthening her physique.

Her attack had been effective, but it was just a momentary advantage granted by a recipe she could not replicate indefinitely. In fact, she was unsure if she could do it again without a period of rest. Even then, there was no guarantee it would work twice in any case.

But the stormtroopers were never the real danger.

She could outmanoeuvre them, come numbers or what may.

Ra was real issue.

Ophidia turned fully toward him as he rushed her, slashing wildly with his spear and darksaber. The Rattataki knew that she couldn’t directly face his blows, he was simply stronger than her and his spear far heavier than her sabres.

"Bastion won't be the end, Sith'ari." he bellowed at her.

With footwork she avoided his spear, stepping back and pivoting just enough that it skipped off her breastplate, making a sudden spray of sparks. She lashed out with a riposte against the inside of his elbow. It was not a hard cut, not meant to sever a limb, but to look for a weak point in the joint.

He was fast for his size. It looked as though he had her with the darksabre, as though her ducking was just short of success, but then the blade of a second sabre sprung from her off-hand cutting into his weapon path to deflect his blow and barely covering her before lashing out with a thrust against his visor and a follow up against his hand from her off-hand.

While his strikes were wild and powerful, hers were quick and precise.

"It will for you"

 

[Auteme]

Aerarii Tithe ​

The sudden blaring of New Imperial propaganda was a surprise, but Auteme connected the pieces immediately. Aerarii Tithe had betrayed the Sith. Not in the most devastating way, but a betrayal nonetheless. Was that what the Force wanted her to do? There were a great many other people to be saved here; to focus on one might be folly. Still, it wasn't nothing. She was there and she heard the guiding whispers. Maybe Moff Tithe was something more -- of course, such an enlightened financial mind wasn't worth wasting here.

Even so, there was something else tugging at her mind. Collections of pain, but not the pain that was happening right then and there. She had to stay. When he spoke, it clarified her course of action a little as a plan formed in her mind. A half-baked one but it was better than nothing.

"Please don't lie to me. Your rank plaque says you're a moff," she said, tapping the insignia on his uniform. "Your hammer certainly isn't standard issue, those glasses are probably worth more than everything I own, and..."

Pause. "Your ring. It's... weird."

Auteme shook her head, then walked to the mouth of the alleyway, peeking around the corner. Definitely not clear. Bastion was simply overrun with fighting and it wouldn't do anyone any good to get caught in the crossfire. She turned back to the accountant.

"You're the one who put up that propaganda, right? They'll be after you, probably going to cut you off at the spaceport, if you've got a shuttle there, which I don't doubt. You seem like the planning type," she said. "You might get caught in a firefight and die. Or maybe, instead, you could help me, and we could go someplace they wouldn't expect.

"The palace."

This was a terrible plan.

"I can't exactly ask anyone else for help; I mean, the Sith aren't exactly fans of the Jedi, and NIO has no idea who I am, and they're busy fighting." She scratched her head. "But there's got to be a vault of Force artifacts in there. You can help me, right?"

No, that was bad. Maybe... "If you do, I can... uh... try to get you pardoned by the GA, and protected from the Sith. I'm on the Senate, I can do that. I think."

Probably not.

This was a terrible plan.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

DOOMSLAYER

​

Location: Outside of Fortress Carnifex
Task: Bring Down The Sith Empire - Objective One
RP Partners: Dorn-2 PCs, OPEN
Faction: New Imperial Order
Narrative NPCs: Dorn-2
Ammo Count: --- BUSTED
TAGS: Agrippa FN-999 Irveric Tavlar Kor Vexen Asharo Madar Sion Alar Lord Halketh

​

“I want a gunline, now!” Ravraa shouted, hand popping off of his rifle to point and draw a flat in front of his advancing squad.

The command was simple, so was the execution. Follow Gladius Company, make sure they made the breach, make sure that the press kept alive, make sure that the sacrifice was worth it. Now, they were in the depths of the tower, they were in the dragon’s lair, and here came the wayward cultists to defend the Devil himself. May the Netherworld take them all. There was hardly any proper cover, not that it would matter against their current situation. These creatures of flesh and hate were raging across the abyss to slaughter and maim. They had already bashed their way through the forward advanced squads, swinging cudgels and blades, sending bursts of crimson and limbs here and there, like an experimental art piece gone wrong. It was enough to sicken anyone, though, it was hard to tell if Ravraa’s head was connecting the disconnected pieces. He knew few things right now, besides what he needed to say, to do, to make it out of the dark.

The squad fell to their knees directly on the open space that Ravraa had outlined, with the Sith Lord standing a pace or two behind them all, Ravraa taking place in the dead center of the gathering.

“Focus fire on single targets. Follow my shots. Spawn, wait till they close in to engage.”

Lord Noxwalda nodded at the command, twisting his saber around to a reverse grip, staring down the hallway.

They were death itself, jaws hanging wildly agape, as if the concept of combat itself was enough to fill them. Blood red eyes staring from behind plates of armor. Shouts, snarls, and demonic screeches sounding as they rended their vengeance through the lines, and when they had broken through, and now were on a dead spring directly at Dorn-2, every member of the squad was given full sight of their carnage bred life. Axes, blades, and mauls drug, swung, and carried aloft as they made their charge. Snarling out harsh barks in their language, burning hate weaponized.

Ravraa brought his rifle up, settling his finger on the trigger.

“Now, when you’ve got a beastie coming at you. You got two choices, you run, and you run fast, faster than you think you can. Or, you stand your ground. You show them what equalizes us, what makes us the kings, eh? You put a round right between the eyes.”

That’s exactly what he would do. The first shot was lucky, nothing besides. The bullet tore through the air and slammed into the head of the Dashade, causing it’s head to snap back, and keeping in rhythm, snap right back into place as the slack-mouthed monster warbled out another warcry. The E-11s snapped a shot into the beast’s shoulder, and then moments after, carbine fire erupted, climbing through it’s chest. Then the E-Web rifle roared to life, spurting out a hurricane of blaster bolts.

The beast kept charging, it’s mace held high as it’s brethren kept close pace behind. He could nearly smell the abominations.

Another trigger pull. The round bounded off of the shoulder plate and into the knee of another of the chargers. Pull. Snap. The round made it’s chest home. Pull. Crack. Pull. Crack. Pull. The rifle rattled off round after round, protesting with every extra shot cycled through. Wining, the barrel growing more and more red with the sheer pressure and rate of fire the stormtrooper was pressing through the heirloom. Cavities were growing larger on the beast, suddenly, it stumbled to a stop. No time to take the sight in, Ravraa shifted his irons to the next target. The next closest. Trigger pull. It was getting closer. Another round. Another. It was upon him now, the mace was coming down soon.

“Hold the line!” He shouted, pulling his rifle upwards as the Dashade descended upon him. He pulled the trigger again and a burst of light shattered at the receiver, bursting the upper from the lower and sending a scattering of bolts, springs, and the charging handle flying. Ravraa fell onto his back as the Shadow Killer went to bring the mace down upon him. In the background, he heard Dormyle puffing fragmentation grenades through his launcher.

The mace came down, Rav brought the lower receiver up, and the head slammed into the magazine. Crunching it deeper into the catch, twisting and malforming the metal. The beast was upon him now, snarling, screeching, teeth gnashing inches away. He could make out every detail of the monster from here, every last bump and crater of it’s skin, the trails of red that crisscrossed throughout it’s face like magma flows. The mace rose again, and Ravraa whipped the open section of the receiver across the Dashade. It paused. A trickle of blood dripped from the new open wound onto the Togruta. Ravraa smiled.

A flash of deep red slipped beneath the Dashade’s head, severing it’s neck, with the tip nearly daring to kiss Ravraa’s lips. The arm holding the mace went limp, dropping the implement not inches from his head. It slumped over to the side. Standing above it’s fallen form was Lord Noxwalda, resplendent blade at his side, hand held out to the stormtrooper.

“You’re still in this fight, Sergeant!”

Ravraa took his hand, brought himself up. Scattered, here and there, were Dashade corpses in front of Dorn-2. For the moment, they had a reprisal. Perhaps the saw that Dorn-2 was a tougher target than they had anticipated, perhaps they had fallen to defend an easier to hold position, or perhaps this was simply the first wave. Regardless, Dorn-2 had taken the hit.

Ravraa stepped forward, slinging his rifle onto his back. Jeresan already offering his commander a Feverwasp pistol. Taking the handgun, fiddling with the sights for a moment, he nodded to his squad.

“Hell of work, doubt that’s the last. Wait for Gladius, we advance with them. They’re calling the shots.”

 

[Nida Perl]

Gotterdammerung | Imperial Capital Complex | Datacenter
Allies | Cara Dorniarn
Enemies | Amon Vizsla
Engaging | Tulan Kor

She took things one at a time.

With her head still swimming, Nida’s fingers grazed the cut on her leg. Given how quickly she was bleeding and the location of the wound, she estimated how much time she had left on instinct. It was one of the skills she’d learned as a healer—taking stock of injuries, blood loss and the like while triaging patients. Who was stable, who could pull through with immediate attention, and who was too far gone.

It wasn’t looking good.

He’d missed the most critical region of her upper thigh; if he’d severed the artery there, she’d be done for by now. But the wound at her calf was still grievous, and she was already beginning to feel light-headed from the blood loss.

Tulan’s voice pulled her back into the reality of the situation, and suddenly her heart was in her ears. Adrenaline would only make her bleed out quicker. Largely immobile, all she could do was stare at Gunny as he stalked towards her, the most visceral hatred she’d seen in anyone’s eyes.

For the first time, it dawned on her that perhaps this was about more than her. But that knowledge wouldn’t help her, not with the grim reaper looming large in front of her. There was no Kyra Perl to protect her, no Thirdas Heavenshield to swoop in and rescue her. She turned her backs on them, and it broke her heart.

Why am I doing this? How did I get here?

Her mind raced to quickly cloud those doubting thoughts. To Nida, Tulan simply did not understand. This had not been her choice—it was her destiny. To refuse it would have been to refuse the truth of who she was. What Nida did not know that her loyalty to the Zambrano family had been literally programmed into her being. The daily plague of violent thoughts and feelings was the revolt of her mind, trying to overthrow the corruption, to make sense of these tainted views.

And yet, she’d been steadily sinking into the influence of the dark side with each passing day.

Tulan wanted her to know what was coming, and that scared her. Nida trembled where she lay, from blood loss or fear, she was not certain. Self-preservation dominated every nerve, every muscle cell in her body for one last dangerous push of adrenaline. She had to stay alive. She had to figure this out. She feared death itself, and she feared dying before she had the chance to understand what was happening to her.

Fear is the path to the dark side.

He’d see it in her eyes. The raw fear that made her look as if she were nothing more than a little girl, shakily raising a hand to him as sparks danced at her fingertips. Nida didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but her blood deeply compelled her to throw everything she had at him. Something dark and primal surged to the surface, and Nida let out one last pained cry as a bolt of azure lightning arced from her fingertips to converge on Tulan Kor. Her lack of mastery over the dark side and own emotional state created a violent, uncontrolled catastrophe of an assault that would flare out from all around them, sparks leaping into the server wall behind her.

The electrical discharge generated from Nida’s attack jumped from one server to the next, causing all manner of erratic flashing and beeping. One by one, servers began to power down into silence with a deep shudder. A few of them, overloaded with a sudden swell of energy began to spark themselves, giving way to several tight explosions around the immediate vicinity of the fighting.

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Location: Datacenter
Opposition: NIO | Amon Vizsla | Tulan Kor
Allies: TSE | Nida Perl
Post #4

​

There was a crescendo of clashing voices echoing through the helmet's comm.

"LET'S GO LET'S GO!" "Watch your ammo!" "MEDIC!" "Keep that left flank tight, don't let 'em through!"​

"Push 'em back, we've got--" "GRENADE!" "Dotson squad on me!" "Targets left at breach." "Someone clean up them Mandos!" "Jet squad moving to intercept." "GET UP!" "I can't see..."

These weren't the droning tones of machinery or the predictable synapses of technology. They were living, breathing, entities that Cara found herself distracted by. She wanted to tune them out, turn off the noise and focus.

The blue glow that erupted from the Mandalorian's hand reminded her: she'd sensed repulsors activate.

The hit struck flush to the diaphragm. Beneath the layer of legionnaire's armor Cara felt the silicone pad over her torso split, the vibrations slamming into the metal rods of her ribcage and denting them inward. Cara was thrown back after the hit, regaining her footing while quickly tipping up her helmet. After vomiting the clear contents of erupted fluid packs she slipped the dome back down.

She drew herself into a fighting stance, "Aidee, begin deletion sequence." The sheen of her hands warped as the material had begun to contort. Keeping fists up she chose a boxing stance, loose yet controlled though the Mandalorian was out of reach.

With no need to build up momentum she threw a jab through the empty air between them, a blur following along the length of her arm toward her opponent. The metal tiles were ripped from the floor, unseen fingers plucking at their molecular strings, shaping them into crude spikes with each punch she fired.

Above, with manipulators covering his "eye," Aidee chirped a brisk confirmation to her command. He lowered his clamps and zoomed away from his hiding spot and up the wall of blinking servers. He crawled close to the backup terminal. All the knowledge Cara had so did he, and with her clearance code he could sink into the main network, alter safety protocol, then delete the information stored within the datacenter. If he could complete the task he was certain Cara would be pleased.

Azure tendrils arced through the servers in a wave of electric destruction, frying electronics and causing data collapse. In the half-second a glow tinted the terminal Aidee had reared back to flee but was caught, his chassis flung from the terminal and into the opposite wall.

 

[Detritus Ren]

Location: Within the Malavelonce
Allies: Hans Rennagen Hiram Voss Var Koon Gordon
Enemies: Grand Moff Aut-X TE-236 Thaelius
Equipment: Imperial Knight Battle Armor, Crossguard Saber


As Jin kept trying to push through to the enemy lines, his fighter remained close to that of Hans own fighter. With Jin unable to focus on the enemy squadron he was dealing with, a duty as an Imp Knight was to his fellow Knights, and he would not allow the death of one to be on his hands. Gritting his teeth, as he was met with a flash of light, as it appeared that one of the ships was a floating super weapon as he barely managed to follow Han's lead and get away from the ion blast, the result of which took more than half of Ghost Squadron along with Droid and Sith Fighters. With Han's fighter damaged, he saw that there was one path that Han's was leading towards. Straight towards the heart of the enemy superweapon. Alarms started to blare in his fighter as it indicated that his own craft was damaged from what he could only think. The only option that there was to gun straight for the flagship's hanger bays.

"Keep with me Han's we are going straight for that flagship. It's the only way we might be able to get through this alive, and with that ion superweapon the enemy is packing. It might be a good idea." There was a nervousness to the young Kyrel's tone as he let the Force guide the actions of his fighter. Moving with all the speed he could muster, while trying to balance some energy left towards the shields. Trying to avoid any damage from being blown out of the sky. He said as Han's fighter went straight into the hanger bays crashing. It wasn't before long that Kyrel's own Vanguard went into the hanger of the Malavelonce.

The craft soon started to catch fire, with Jin quickly trying to get himself out of the restraints that kept him to his seat as he quickly managed to get out, before the ball ignited into flames. Looking around it had seemed the hanger was all but empty. Catching his breath while taking out his crossguard saber in hand. Ready to be swarmed by either droids or troopers. Such of which he did not know. Finding Hans who got away from his fighter. "Han's are you okay... Are you alright buddy? C'mon we gotta get out of this hanger." He said with some urgency reaching out with the Force. He felt that they were not alone, that he felt that fellow New Imperials had managed to board the superweapon. He heard chatter on the comms, but it was so distorted that he could barely make out any of it.

Calling out anyways he spoke with the same cautious urgency as there was before. "This is Jin Kyrel, To any New Imperials relay your position, we have crashed within the hanger of the super weapon seeking to aid any that need the assistance of two Imperial Knights." He said with a snap hiss he activated the crossguard saber, the silver blades emerging ready for anything that would happen within the belly of the beast while he awaited a response. Already sensing conflict within the bowels of the ship.