Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Taeli Raaf]

Stormvale
Former Residence of Darth Arcanix and Fiolette Raaf
​

Equipment: Lightsabers in signature, stylized Medhir armor
Objective: Saying goodbye to the house, prepare to join the fray
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO, GA, directly engaging Mishel Kryze

"Mishel Kryze," she replied, standing a few meters away from the younger woman. The girl held herself differently, more collected and seemingly less inclined to rush head long into situations than her Master had been. Interesting, perhaps her brushes with death had taught her value in one's life and not to just heedlessly throw it away.

"And I somehow doubt they will," she continued, answering the second statement from her soon-to-be opponent. The New-Imperials, if they won, were likely to wipe away any traces of Sith occupation of the world as swiftly as they could. They might find that harder than they would like, but time would tell. She slowly unclipped her own lightsaber from her belt, holding it in the ready position but not igniting it yet.

"Assuming you survive that long..." the lightsaber erupted to life, crimson light coloring the surrounding foliage with as though covered in the blood of those falling in battle now, those that would, and those that had come before, "perhaps."

The lightsaber flicked up in a traditional Makashi salute before coming back down into a guard position. It was never Taeli's inclination to make the first move. Much better to let them come at her, be the aggressor, and if she didn't close the distance... all the better for the Lady of Secrets.

 

[Vitani Azumi]

Masox Kamak spotted the Kaleesh while he was on the ground, readying his attack on Azumi and Sora. He had no luck reaching the Captain on the comm, he instead pursued the attacker from afar, under the visor of binoculars.

This one was alone and armed like a primitive. But he was quick on his feet, too quick for Kamak to get a clear shot. Masox activated his jetpack and shot into the air, making a beeline for the Kaleesh.

The sniper was too late, a slug bolt tore through Sora’s chest and blew her several feet across the floor. She was not dead, but she would be if her comrades didn’t act fast. Azumi was splattered with Chiss blood. Still dazed from the Thyrsian oil, she couldn’t quite process the events playing out before her. Then, Kamak dropped in and opened fire at the Kaleesh who was attempting to retreat.

For a moment, time slowed down. Azumi had taken her first life moments prior and was now staring death in the face for a second time. She tried to ignore Sora, tried to block out the image of exploding gore. Azumi drew forward her electrostaff from her back and ignited it. She rushed Rezom - not yet having spotted his lightsabers. To her, this was a lone mercenary. And a dead man.

 

[Halketh]

​

user :// THE_VULTURE​

location :// FORT CARNIFEX, BASTION​

objective :// SWARM​

post :// vii​

allies :// NIO | FN-999 & 19TH ASSAULT COMPANY | Agrippa & GLADIUS COMPANY | Ravraa Vyshraal & DORN-02 | Caulder Dune | DOOM DIVISON​

enemies_closeby :// AMCO | Ingrid L'lerim | Aren D'Shade ​

opposition status :// OPEN FOR ENGAGEMENT​

GOD_COMPLEX​

[x]​

doom_division_status :// 202/230 [alive] [ 93/93 ]​

"NEST-ACTUAL, this is VULTURE. Send the VALKs and the rest of The Corps up the central boulevarde to collect the wounded. Roll tanks up the SOUTHERN APPROACH, over." ​

"Copy that VULTURE, dispatching now. The 15th is spinning up, over."​

"Do not engage the group of Sith Imperials to my flank. We've grown, over." ​

"Understood VULTURE, we'll dispatch word, NEST-ACTUAL OUT."​

Lord Halketh and his newly acquired forces surged over the wasted streets, moving as a cohesive tidal wave which swept everything in its path. He needed to get back to conflict else he risked Force exhaustion. The notion was a frustrating one, and perhaps the reason he typically chose to remain at command distance from the actual combat- but this was a special occasion, wasn't it? The collapsing of empires was something he had witnessed many times but never had it felt so... important. This was a landmark, wasn't it? ​

"Mm." The Vulture considered aloud as he moved, dodging and ducking behind the Force barrier his former Pureblood foe raised in their defense against what few Fortress guns remained in place. One hand tucked against the small of his back casually, while the other remained pressed to the wound he had sustained, despite the fact it was no longer bleeding, the pain was still very much real. His unusual gaze stretched behind him, taking inventory of the meager swath of undead troopers he had collected. How long would these last? It was hard for him to extend his reach to feel for the others which had pressed ahead, but he doubted he had suffered loss of those assets.​

"Maintain this barrier, I don't care if it drains you." He said in casual passing towards the Pureblood, who offered only a stiff nod in response.​

"GLADIUS-ACTUAL, this is VULTURE. We're moving your way now. If you see Sith Imperials on your flank, do not engage- they're with me. Out." He flicked through the frequencies of his communicator, offering the same information to FN-999 and Ravraa Vyshraal too, knowing the forces were establishing siege in the same area. ​

With warning issued, he turned his focus forward, taking in the blurred, red, and black illuminated silhouette of Fortress Carnifex before him. "At last." He remarked to his ghoulish squad, releasing a gentle sigh on the tails of his words. It was poetic, wasn't it? The traitors behind him were far more ravenous than those he had formed an alliance with, and it seemed a fitting end for them to be the ones literally ripping those within the Fortress apart. And as each blaster bolt and slug pounded the farside of their ethereal protection, his eagerness to see the fort in ruin was perhaps made more obvious in the quickness that overcame his tired stride.​

"D.D, rally up and regroup, we're pushing into the fort." The command was issued to an affirmed response.​

Minutes ticked by and finally, they were climbing. Back in the mix, Halketh extended blood-stained hands to his sides, soaking up the slipping essence as it seeped from the dead paving his path. He needed to feast if he was to be of any help whatsoever. Doom Division fell in step beside them, eyeing the ghoulish corpses he had brought along with some modicum of suspicion. But sure enough, they were accustomed to this song and dance by now, and simply combined formation with the ranks of the damned. ​

"Ready up, we're moving!" The Warlord shouted over the crashing sound assaulting their senses, sending himself forward with some sliver of renewal about him. And at once, the forces he had amassed charged with him, swarming around as a ravenous horde to assault the Sith Imperial defenses who had wrapped around to flank the infantry companies against the fortress.​

​

The undead spearheaded the charge, soaking slug and blaster bolt alike for their living comrades with barely even stagger from impact slowing them down. Yelps of terror erupted from the lines at the realization the defenders were fighting their comrades... or some hollow shell of them at least. Helmets were ripped off, exposing corpsely features accentuated by stark, hellish eyes illuminated in red. Teeth gnashed, plasma flew, and blood was spilled in the decisive cut through the line and towards the festering wound gaping open the front of the fortress.​

The forces of the damned flooded through this hole, ignoring their allies at Halketh's behest and plunged headfirst into the line of internal defenses.​

Undead troopers on janky, stiff legs rocketed to aid FN-274, dog-piling the Sentinel under a battery of thrashing limbs and gnashing teeth. Unholy howls and screeches filled the corridor with dread, likely icing the veins of the living in proximity in a heartbeat. One after another, the corpses piled on, throwing the Sentinel's balance and toppling it.​

And just behind them, The Vulture ducked through the door, Dark energy crackling wildly about his lofted hands. "Hm! I like what we've done with the place already- oh-" He seemed to sense the others closeby, "Hello!" he cackled, despite the fixation of his cracked helmet forward. The living troopers left in Doom Division poured around him, engaging the enemies around with the roaring thunder of scatterguns doing what it was they were meant to do at such close range- blasting limb from body and bodies apart in cascading showers of pinkish mist. Halketh growled with a sudden twist of his form, throwing both hands towards the array of defenders emerging on his left, and utterly decimating them with a blast of raw Darkside energy. It scorched the flesh of his already mangled hands beneath his gauntlets, but he didn't feel it.​

He never did.​

"There is no time to rest! No time to be merciful! Drown them all!" He bellowed, rallying his soldiers, and ushering the descent of necessary chaos.​

Yet greater chaos tugged at the edges of his mind, pulling seductively from a distance. Something was coming... and it brought a wicked grin to his hidden face.

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Aboard the Malevolence
Objective: Press deeper into the ship
Focus: Jin Kyrel Hiram Voss Grand Moff Aut-X​

The explosive crash of Jin’s fighter into the hangar bay snapped Hans upright. Jin appeared no worse for wear, approaching and calling out to Hans.

“I took a bit of a fall, but I got out of that.” Hans said pointing to the burning ball of metal that was once his fighter. He stood slowly and dusted himself off before checking that everything was in place. A few scrapes were visible on his armour, but his lightsaber still hung from his belt and his mental faculties were all good. As Hans recouped, Jin put out a call to the rest of the fleet.

"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,

“Are you serious about that?” Hans was sceptical of Jin’s proposition of aiding and other stragglers. ‘He’s not really thinking about going after the Endeavour, is he?’ Hans thought to himself, extremely uncertain about heading deeper into the enemy ship. Yet, his teachers got the best of him. He could hear them now, telling him that this was the duty of an Imperial Knight.

“No discipline without will” he said quietly under his breath. The mantra of the Imperial Knights was perhaps the first thing they had taught him, and it rang ever true. It would take willpower for Hans to dive into whatever Jin had planned, but he could muster it. He had mustered the will to escape the prison on Orinackra, running wildly through the fire and the flames that surrounded his cell. He was able to overcome his fear of the Sith, and he would do so once more.

“You know what, never mind. Lead the way.” Hans said finally joining Jin in igniting his silvery-white lightsaber and readying himself.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Melee | Grenades
O L D _ S N A K E

​

That pull and burst of his fist made purchase and threatened to shatter the Sith Agent's helmet. He'd gotten him to the ground but before the Imperator could surge past his guard and make an attempt at submitting the Inquisitor on the broken earth of the path leading to Tavlar's full and resolute vindication in the form of Fortress Carnifex, he stood.

He stood without the intent to harm or strike back. He could see it then...that moment of realization. The realization that he well and truly was a man standing at the brink. One of the last on the cinder, the ashen cloud of an Empire on fire. Rendered warped to its foundations by mortal men and women who sought to submerse the gods on their holy mountains in pure hell fire. To bring about the gotterdammerung, the ragnarok.

In that phasing moment of Djorn standing up only to look away from the Imperator in the direction of a shredded banner of the Sith Empire. His mind broke from the battle which demanded every fiber of his form not moments prior in favor of the sight. In Djorn's eyes, forlorn. In Irveric's...what might've been triumph only mottled to an unfettered anger for the vision of the banner, before suddenly he felt his vision flicker between past and present.

One moment, the streets of Ravelin as they were.

The next, Mandalore. New Sundari. At the onset of the siege by the Mandalorian 'terrorists' on the warpath to reclaim their home. Irveric considered those denizens of New Sundari the very same blood brothers as those in the 12th Armored Assault, those in the 501st who were with him then, with him now and with him always. The Mandalorians then were his people to defend. He did his duty and in the end the Sith spat in his face before slamming it into the dirt bloodied and weary from the expended mortal armor spent in defending Mandalore.

That was the answer. That was the answer to all of Djorn's woes bled into open air.

“Why, Irveric,”
“Things could’ve been different,”
“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?”

“It’s just a setback to what we strive for. It’s something that the Jedi and their pawns will reap from,”
“It’s just a defeat for all of us, for men like us.”

<"There isn't any fault in the system, Djorn. The fault is the system. Thing's could've been different...and they would've been much, much worse. Everything we've bled for...every time we've laid our lives on the line for that-"> Irveric says, gesturing a cybernetic finger toward the Sith Imperial banner. Imposingly symbolic in that it was his service to the Sith which had lost him the limb to begin with. In a shade of poetic irony, the very same event set him on the path he tread now.

<"You yearn for control of your own will a great deal for a man who has none...the Sith control your fate...the Sith sent you here to strike me down. But you hesitated...because you know...you know what victory means to them. It doesn't peace and order...its means more, more of that bloody, depraved indulgence they have in needless slaughter and the death of innocence. In disorder with the guise of utopia. They're demented."> The Sovereign Imperator states.

<"You didn't have the choice...none of your men did, neither did mine. That is why I fight, that is why I'm here with them. To go into the fire and cleanse the earth of this malfeasance so that our sons and daughters will never have to do the same. And I will make that sacrifice, every time. Because I never had the choice. I do my duty and I do my duty to the end, Bline. So long as they march with me, I will be with them, always."> Tavlar says, willing his rhetoric in a wavering voice as he seems to crack at the seams with a wave of a emotion coursing through him. He then glanced down to the armor plating that enveloped his body.

The markings, the incision into the metal displaying each designation number. Each number a brave son of the Empire who'd laid down everything on the line for this moment...they couldn't be here to bare witness, to charge through the breach with their comrades. Irveric took them with him. The very thought of the obligation he'd carried after he'd fused that realization again drove him to his knees.

With his hands he'd wrench the helmet from his head, revealing the weary face of the once Treason General beneath. His gaze was infallibly recognizable, the Snake, the Sovereign Imperator, the Traitor. The vessel of all the undoing of the Sith's hubris in the vessel of a mere man.

He turned the helmet's gaze in his arms. Peering into that visage, that false masque portraying the man of iron resolve he'd willed himself into becoming. Enveloping the visor were more of the marks, more numbers portraying what were now ashen remains. Eyes filled with bravery, valor...sacrifice and they were shut forever.

They lived within him now and Irveric would not see their deaths in vain.

A voice crackled from his wrist mounted comms. It was instantly recognizable.

Kor Vexen.

" Do you know what kind of animal waits for its own slaughter...? Sheep. "

The foreboding inflection of the Anzati and the sentiment carried in his words drove a shutter through his form, as if he was still his ruler, still his superior and still the man who wrote edict of Irveric's fate. His breathing hastened as he heard the dogged shouts of surrender and bloodied screams pleading for life to the Warmaster.

It was then...it was then he heard an old command, uttered from the lips of the Pyramid of Military Command at the moment's precipice before Irveric Tavlar crossed the Rubicon in New Kalandra.

" The time has come Tavlar. "​

OPERATION KYBER DARK
THE PURGE OF THE SITH
HOSTILE DESIGNATION:
Avernus | Caulder Dune | Darth Bellum
Atlas Kane | Salvor Thul | Darth Assimilus | Vella Forte
ALL FOLLOWERS OF THE DARK CREED | ALL SITH IN WHATEVER FORM THEY COME
A E N E M A

​

“Haven’t you ever just wanted to kill them?”

"More than any man living..."

“General, when did you know it was time to turn against those you once served? You picked what you thought was right for your people instead of what could keep you safe. How did you know it would work? How do you cope with it?”

That was the moment...the moment Irveric knew it was time. It made no sense, to be here, to be now. Within the tight grasp of the fires of Ravelin. The might of the Sith Empire bearing down over them in their dogged attempt to drive the New Imperials from their throne world and snuff out the will of defiance once and forever as Tavlar's host marched to a gamble deemed all or nothing.

They would prevail or they would die. And Irveric gambled it all to bring about the end.

To bring about the fall of darkness.

He glanced once to Djorn with a frigid expression marring his gaze as he peered toward the Inquisitor. He didn't seem all too certain that they were enemies anymore. At least, even if Bline was still committed to killing him, he seemed indifferent.

Slowly, he brought himself to his feet once more, willing himself to stand after he pressed his hand against the shattered earth below. It was time. Time to realize the destiny paved ahead of him.

Open across all channels within the Bastion system, the Sovereign Imperator addressed his people directly.

<"...Sons and daughters of the New Imperial Order...and all those who stand with us in defiance."> Irveric began the transmission, speaking into his wrist mounted communicator.

<"We are at the brink of our victory, our triumph over the Sith Empire...but there are traitors in our midst. Those who wait and lurk in the shadows...march alongside us in waiting, waiting for a falter in our breath or a moment of respite before they place the dagger in our backs. I refuse to let that happen...to any of you."> Irveric states sternly, grinding his teeth against one another for a moment before he goes on.

<"The Sith...they are our enemy. In whatever form they come. None of them leave Bastion alive. We'll hunt these parasites down to the last."> With that command, any and all of those who were overtly Sith on the field of battle at Bastion would be marked red on every heads up display friendly aligned with the New Imperial Order. Whether they marched under the crimson saber a loyalist or had long declared themselves rogue or apostate within the Dark Creed.

They were next.

<"Commence Operation Kyber Dark.">

Most any within the New Imperial echelons of command would know of the term. A contingency deeply rooted within the machinations of the Sovereign Imperator himself to purge the rebellion of the Sith. And it was time.

The helmet fell over his gaze once more and his visor locked with Djorn's eyes once more. He walked forward and moved past the Inquisitor. Whatever task Diamondback was deemed with was of no relevance to the Sovereign Imperator.

He had one target in his sights...

Darth Bellum

The very man who'd played a catalyst and paved the path he'd tread now. With empty hands, he marched across the field in the Warmaster's direction, the crack and clamor of blaster and ordinance fire playing symphony to set the venue of Irveric's revenge. His revenge on the man who'd first imposed the will of Sith deceit and obsession with command over him. And for it, he'd reap the whirlwind in Irveric's last attempt to snuff out the ghosts that assailed his mind by wrenching out and slaying the source. Once and for all.

// ALLIES | NIO //: Agrippa | Ravraa Vyshraal | Darth Bellum | FN-999 | Asharo Madar | Sion Alar | Halketh | Marshal Zovesa
// ENEMIES | TSE //: Djorn Bline

 

[Stilicho Drumarch]

Imperial Capital Complex, Ravelin
Lobby
Objective: Hold the Lobby
Focus: Grigory Tallis | Emmalene Thul (NPC)​

As Salvor began to walk away the Major spoke. Salvor stopped in his tracks and listened to the man’s plight, his back still to him.

“No problems. The building’s been mostly evacuated.” He said turning around. “And don’t apologize, I understand how you feel. Em is a handful, but she’s powerful, and trust me when I say this entire campaign I’ve been going toe to toe with the stormtroopers. I bet you can tell why they don’t like us. Everyone here is trying to make a name for themselves, and there’s more glory in this fight than you may think.” With that, Salvor turned and walked away again to join his soldiers. He approached Emmalene, a wild, restless gleam in her eyes.

“It’s time Em.” he said quietly before turning to the rest of his soldiers. “We march on the palace!”

His soldiers cheered and began to ready themselves, re-equipping their helmets and weapons. He turned to look at his sister, still sitting. When his gaze fell on her he could tell something wasn’t right. She was no longer on the edge of her seat to go into battle. She now clutched her head in her hands, hunched over. Releasing her face from her grasp she looked up at Salvor, a tear streaming down her face.

“Something is wrong. I feel… a great disturbance in the force. Salvor…”

“What is it Emmalene. What-” He stopped in his tracks. All around him the New Imperials had their weapons trained on them.

“What’s going on? Major, tell your men to stand down! Now!” His voice cracked in both fear and sadness as he yelled out to the major across the room.

Confusion wracked Salvor’s mind. He held his gun up and frantically shifted between targets, unsure who to focus on. Not that it would matter. The flamethrowers of the 57th platoon could wipe out the Death Knells in a moment's notice if they wished. And it seemed like they did…

 

[Mishel Kryze]

S T O R M V A L E​

​

Mishel only smiled and gave a sage nod as she readied her lightsaber, she would not strike first - that would be certain. The Sith however were much more prone to strike, especially when provoked. "Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully, Darth Arcanix. After all, a woman of your intelligence should know better than to assume." A pause. "Or, perhaps not after all it is the folly of the Sith, is it not?"​

​

"Such folly that the New Imperials have arrived on your capital and now tear it asunder," she spoke with a calmness that was unlike anything many would have associated with her in the past. Her lightsaber and accompanied stance spoke of her readiness to counter. "But then, I am just a girl, a girl with a lightsaber, a girl who stands among the soon ruined home of your paramour, your family."​

​

A glimmer of what Mishel had taken from the Ren and even Darth Carnifex from when she had been imprisoned. She sassed and knew that somewhere there would be something to trigger that temper of Arcanix's into attacking. If not, then was she truly a Sith? "Had your own seers not foreseen the downfall of the Empire? Where is your Emperor now? How quickly he's abandoned his people... "​

​

She scoffed.​

​

"He's no better than Seiger Ren."​

​

"Who abandons his children in their hour of need, leave it to Darth Carnifex to pursue other things while his Empire burns," and Darth Arcanix right along with it. "Tell me then, Darth Arcanix, what value do you place in a man who absconds his throne and leaves you to do his bidding? What value does he place in you? Or are you, perhaps another brick in the wall, another tool to be used to keep his foes at bay?"​

​

Taeli Raaf ​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

​

Bastion: Fortress Carnifex
Tag: Vaulkhar

Spoiler

Lightsabre pike, Zaudraka, Jin’wodasir x2, Imperator’s Raiment, SIF-7 Minos, Dwomotchwûq

He took a position of defence, she remained unmoved, standing seemingly unready for battle with her spear next to her and her scale-clad cloak hanging from her right hand.

Of course he asked her to surrender, she should have seen it coming.

No doubt, it was merely performative. Her wicked deeds were beyond count, and her very existence was a threat to all those who would see the Zambrano dynasty fall. If she did the unexpected and actually surrendered, would he pardon her? Did he truly have that power? If not, would he speak on her behalf and ensure she got her fresh, new start?

Inside her, a thousand priestesses of the Ember of Vahl turned to look, their blood coursing with the dark side of the Force. Their ancestors of the Zambranos, kings and queens of Panatha, watched as well. Two dynasties of the Force, brought together to create her: Darth Vornskr the Second.

Daughter of the Butcher King

Princess of Dromund Kaas.

She dropped the cloak behind her and took two steps toward him, the spear lifting and then settling down once more with a ring of metal on stone. She appeared tentative, and her Legion watched on.

In a moment of silence between two breaths, a distant voice rang over the megaphones, enemy propaganda.

”Legionnaire, the Sith have abandoned you. They have ordered you to die, Legionnaire. Do not trust them.”

She took another step. She was within one or two paces now. Her spear lowered, the butt remaining on the ground and dragging behind her for a moment. While she held the spear shaft firmly in her left hand, it did not appear as threatening as when she held it upright, and certainly not like when she usually wielded it.

Her face remained hidden between the back visor of the armour she had inherited, the Imperator’s Raiment. It was wrought to resemble a vornskr when the armour was fitted for her. The black plates of jagged phrik-alloy fit her body closely, cutting an intimidating figure in the otherwise illuminated surroundings.

The warrior, the heir apparent. The Empress in waiting.

”You have lost this war, Legionnaire, the Sith will leave you behind.”

Her legionnaires looked up, finally acknowledging the broadcast. Some looked to one another for guidance, exchanging words without uttering a sound. They all looked to Joycelyn, their Princess, their commander. She had been one of them, a common soldier despite her royal blood. To them, she was more than royalty, she was their leader. In bated breath, they watched in expectation.

“Then, Brother…” Her voice came out softer now. “What must I do?”

 

[Agrippa]

G L A D I U S _ A C T U A L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
T H E _ A T T A C K _ O F _ T H E _ D E A D _ M E N
ALLIES: NIO // Imperator: Irveric Tavlar // Dorn-2: Ravraa Vyshraal // 19th Company: FN-999 // 13th Legion: Darth Bellum // Doom Division: Asharo Madar | Sion Alar | Halketh
ENEMIES: TSE

​

Darkness rises.

Gladius Company, Dorn-2, 19th Assault, Doom Division - were either dead or walking dead. I had known it the moment we were to mount the assault on Bastion against all odds; yet, the knowledge only come to be recognized now in the midst of the massacre.

You are never prepared to die.

But we knew we would for the sake of the standard we carried, the standard that would claim this fortress, this edifice of evil.

While the walking dead faced off with the Sith-Imperial forces; Dorn-2 against the overwhelming odds of the Dashade, the 19th sacrificing everything against the Sentinels and Doom throwing expendable Sith Knights in the fray.

All for the cause.

This was the attack of the dead men.

I took a squad through the maintenance shafts, while the bulk of our forces took the brunt of the slaughter at the entrance we scurried around the Sith fortified defences and pounced.

We stabbed them right in the back. They deserved it.

For Captain Belisarius.

For the 908th.

For Hooks.

For the Imperator.

The comms cackled through the static and then exploded:

<"Commence Operation Kyber Dark.">

R I S E _ O F _ E V I L
​

Darkness falls.

Silence reigned over the radio chatter, the screams and the fire only to be siphoned away into the greatest tempest of chaos I had ever witnessed.

Standing dumbfounded on top of a Sith-Imperial corpse, it was one-armed Krayt's duty to bring back to reality. We had gained ground deeper into the fortress where now the ascent remained.

"Take it." he shoved the banner into my hands and I nearly stumbled. It was far heavier than it looked. How the hell he carried on wielding it as a weapon with one arm remained a mystery I would never unravel. The behemoth looked back into the Sith Knights from Doom Division and other NIO allied Sith. Hate and fury. Blood and vengeance. His eyes spoke it all.

"This is where I make my stand, Agrippa. You must go. Do what must be done. Proclaim the New Age."

"No, it must be-"

"Negative, Captain. The Imperator's will is above your orders. You can court martial my corpse after." a brief smile. The first time I had seen any positive emotion flash across his dark features. This was good bye.

"Godspeed, Krayt."

He gave me a salute.

It's the last time I saw Krayt - hurling himself into a pair of Sith Knights.

We moved on towards the turbolifts with a heavy heart but a soul dedicated to retribution.

---

---

R I P O S T E _ T W O
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
F A D E _ T O _ B L A C K

<"Commence Operation Kyber Dark">

Nile Gillian froze and watched in horror as Riposte Company turned on his brother Lord Gremul. He wished to recall his true name but could not. Buried beneath the trauma of witnessing his brother murdering his parents. If they could even be called parents. A pair of abusers, sickened by drugs who found joy in tormenting the two brothers. Once upon a time, Nile recalled, he had been disabled for life after his father returned from a bender. He struck until no tendon, no nerve, no muscle, no bone could ever be restored.

He had punished him for life.

Until his brother, a messiah, through the unnatural ways of the dark side achieved the impossible - brought him back on his feet, gave him a meaning to life and enacted justice upon his abusers.

Nile Gillian aimed at the stormtroopers trying to kill his brother and then he recalled, trembling; he had sworn a fealty to his brother and followed him to do unto others what had been done to him.

The way to hell is paved with good intentions.

Over his service Nile desired his previous fate of a disabled man devoid of meaning. He never found the strength to come face to face with his brother, he never found the courage to defy.

To defy.

The cycle of hate ended now.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, his aim stuttered but shifted.

At Lord Gremul.

He pulled the trigger once defying evil.

The aim turned back on its owner.

He pulled the trigger a second time breaking the cycle.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

​

Imperial Capital Complex.
Tags: Ra Vizsla

Spoiler

Armour / Sabres / Wrist / Tsaisibola / Vibroknife

She could see the smoke rise from her riposte, but she did not feel the same exhilarating flow of adrenaline returning to her as she had before. It was just out of range of her protection, leaving the barest trickle returning to her.

Though the gland she had operated into her flesh kept the effect of the ysalamir at bay, it only did so in a small bubble. She could not read his mind unless he was within hand’s reach and looking at the size disparity between them, she would rather not get within his grappling distance.

Yet, she could see his rage and steely determination imprinted like a banner on his every movement, chanted in every syllable.

She knew well the deeds she and her Empire had committed against the Mandalorian people. They had called it vengeance, and now Ra would bring his vengeance against the Empire in turn. These were the ever spinning wheels that fed the dark side of the Force. Ophidia knew it well.

A gun was levied against her, and Ophidia was in reaction when the wrath of Ra knocked the weapon up. From her side, a long, black snake launched itself like a spring. The tsaisibola sank its teeth into the throat of the stormtrooper when his shot went off. The serpent coiled itself around his neck as it injected its deeply corrosive venom, while its scales changed colour to blend in with the armour itself.

“NO INTERFERENCES”

He was like a war-horn sounded next to her ear. His words, his rage, washed over her mind like waves.

The Rattataki brought her sabres up to defend against the darksaber. She cut into his blow with her right sabre to deflect it to the side, avoiding taking the brunt of the weight he put behind it. Meanwhile, as the blades collided, her left sabre tried to clip his darksaber with its cortosis guard, hopefully shorting it out.

It was this busy action that made her less attentive to his second attack against her. She tried to push herself out of the way, but the spear bit into the side of her thigh, slashing the trousers and drawing blood.

“Ugh!”

She grimaced in her helmet, biting her teeth together to stifle her pain; while it fuelled her hate, the wound slowed her down.

“I will see your people burn again, Vizsla.”

 

[FN-999]

OPERATION KYBER DARK - THE SITH PURGE
​

LOCATION: FORTRESS CARNIFEX | IMPERIAL BOULEVARD
ALLIES IN VICINITY: NIO | The 19th Assault Company
ENEMIES: Caulder Dune (Kyber Dark) | TSE | Ingrid L'lerim (engaging) | AMCO | Aren D'Shade
FN-999 EQUIPMENT: IN SIGNATURE + SBR-60x Particle Rifle (empty mag) + Devestator Particle Magcannon (currently equipped, 6/10 charges remaining)

CAPTAIN FN-999 OF THE 19TH

Before the beam of plasma hit the Sith agent, a Sentinel rushed ahead and took the blow.
​

It was now severely wounded, the bolt piercing straight through the arm in which it carried a flamethrower of unknown design. Then, the weapon itself burst apart, the resulting explosion throwing the woman backwards. For the first time in their battle, it seemed as if the captain's opponent was in a disadvantageous position, with some bits of shrapnel visible through her armor and exposed skin. He loaded a second plasma charge and aimed it at the woman, hoping to finish her off. Then, his comms network opened up.

<"Commence Operation Kyber Dark.">

"Yes, my lord." replied FN-999 immediately without any sign of hesitation or resistance.
​

From the beginning of his service nearly two decades ago with the First Order, FN-999 had harbored negative feelings towards the dark Force users often referred to as the Sith.

While the First Order and Sith Empire usually held tentative neutrality or even partnership, minor scuffles did occur on certain occasions between proxies of the two states. Back then, he had been part of a company of First Order stormtroopers that was stationed in an area where insurgent activity was suspected. A platoon from the company had been sent out to pin down and apprehend the suspects. Out of the fifty troopers deployed, only two returned. FN-999 would never forget the looks of terror that could be seen through the shattered helmets of the two bloodied troopers as they explained the situation to the company’s captain. According to their report, the platoon had arrived at the suspected insurgent base, only to be ambushed by multiple Sith mercenaries. With their terrifying powers, they had cut down dozens of the finest stormtroopers in the galaxy in minutes. Only by keeping silent and utilizing pure luck did the two troopers live to tell the tale of their doomed platoon.

From then on, every time FN-999 saw a red lightsaber, the bloody faces of the two troopers would appear in their light.

FN-999 would never forgive such a merciless slaughter of his comrades. Now, the order given by the Imperator had awoken something inside of him. All the dormant hatred, rage, and vengeance he sought against the Sith rose up to the front of his thought process, blocking out all other plans and strategy.

​

Immediately, his combat priorities were altered. He swung the magcannon to the right, aiming for the tower in which a Sith agent of the New Imperial Order had infiltrated. He fired it at the tower's outer wall at ground level, leaving a large hole in the building.

[19th Assault Company, this is Captain Nines.] stated FN-999 through his comms network. [The Imperator has spoken, the time has come. I'm engaging one of them myself, but there is another Sith traitor nearby. If you aren't already fighting one, then enter the outer tower through the hole I created and exterminate him.]

And now, the 19th Assault Company had caught up.

As their numerous footsteps pounded behind the captain, FN-999 loaded his fourth charge and aimed it at the torso of the Sith agent ahead.

When he pulled the trigger, it was for the platoon that had fallen so many years ago.

​

19TH ASSAULT COMPANY MAIN
LOCATION: ENTERING FORTRESS CARNIFEX
ALLIES IN VICINITY - Agrippa (Gladius Company) | Ravraa Vyshraal (Dorn-02)
ENEMIES: Halketh / Doom Division (Kyber Dark, engaging)

61/60

THE 19TH ASSAULT COMPANY - NINE'S NINETY-NINE

Good soldiers followed orders, and the soldiers of the 19th Assault Company were no exception.​

Many of its command staff had also been ex-First Order stormtroopers, and had also heard the report of the disastrous ambush. They shared the sentiments of their captain, who was their sergeant at the time: the Sith scourge had to be wiped from the face of the galaxy in order to avenge their fallen comrades. As such, the Kyber Dark order was spread through the 19th Assault Company with frightening efficiency. In an instant, their primary battle plan underwent a modification.

Destroy Bastion’s defenses and eliminate ALL Sith without exception.

The 19th's first targets were the Sith Knights of the nearby Doom Division.

Sixty troopers broke off from the main 19th unit, turning their machine guns, flamethrowers, and rocket launchers on the Sith within the ranks of their former allies, while ignoring any non-Sith Doom Division units in the area. In fact, for the most part, the 19th expected that the Doom Divison's non-Sith units would help them in their purification of the Order. No matter what stood in their path, 19th's assault would not stop until the traitorous Sith were eliminated, regardless of what side they were on.

Ultimately, the 19th Assault Company held no remorse. Most of them had never even served with the Sith, and did not expect much positive from them. This task, Kyber Dark, was just as simple as rounding up any group of traitors. And so, the 19th opened fire on the New Imperial Sith.

LT. FN-274 "MAD GUNNER"

Next to the lieutenant, a fallen Sith trooper rose from the ground.
​

At first, the Mad Gunner thought that he truly had gone mad. After all, corpses did not simply rise on their own bidding. But soon the now-standing corpse was joined by several others, who stood and walked despite having clearly mortal wounds. But oddly enough, they did not strike the Mad Gunner. Instead, they lunged towards the Sentinel, swarming it in sufficient quantity to knock it over. It was a grotesque sight and likely not a pleasant way to be killed, but if it worked in the lieutenant's favor, he was willing to take advantage of the opportunity. He closed in on the Sentinel, drawing his pistol. At that moment, the undead Sith troopers tore open the front of the Sentinel's helmet, giving the Mad Gunner just the opening he needed.

He fired three bullets into the Sentinel's head, and its body fell limp.

He walked away, turning his back to the Sentinel, unwilling to watch the reanimated corpses feast on the armored corpse as if it were a lobster.

Then, the Mad Gunner received Kyber Dark.

At the same time, he caught a glimpse of a Sith New Imperial Knight working with Doom Company, just ten meters ahead. The same type of person who had brought down that platoon years back. With vengeance consuming his brain, leaving nothing else inside, he raised his pistol towards the head of the Knight.

When he pulled the trigger, it was for the platoon that had fallen so many years ago.

But the bullet was never released.

Because another bullet struck his chest as his finger was millimeters away from the trigger's end.

PVT. ST-081 "Liberator"

When he fired his rifle at the Mad Gunner, only one thought filled his head.

Betrayal.
​

With the release of the bullet, ST-081 was betraying the 19th Assault Company. But Lieutenant FN-274 had also attempted to betray the New Imperial Order as a whole, so he had acted first. After all, it was better if an insignificant private such as himself died instead of a Knight of the New Imperial Order. He lowered his rifle and rushed towards his lieutenant. He might have betrayed the Order, they might have both betrayed the Order, but he still deserved medical attention. He didn't deserve to die this way.

Liberator leaned down against the Mad Gunner, examining his wound. It was deep - ST-081 had aimed to stop any action by his lieutenant, and he had succeeded in doing so. Perhaps he had succeeded too well. From the amount of blood gushing out of the Mad Gunner's chest plate, he suspected that he had burst an artery.

"Oh god, oh god, is there anything I can do for you?" called out Liberator, his anxiety rising.

"D-did you not get the order?" replied the Mad Gunner, seemingly ignoring the private, his voice barely a whisper.

"What order?" asked ST-081, confused and starting to grow fearful.

Then, he remembered. His comms array had been shorted out by a sniper bullet half an hour earlier, and he could no longer send or receive transmissions. He had relied entirely on a squadmate for company-wide conversation until she was struck down by a Sentinel, leaving ST-081 alone without any viral communication with the rest of the invading force.

"Order Dark K-" continued the Mad Gunner, attempting to finish his sentence but coughing up a puddle of blood before he could.

As the Mad Gunner continued to cough and wheeze, ST-081 frantically removed the blood from his lips and armor, trying to find the source of the wound. Surely, something could be done to save the lieutenant. He had acted on impulse - he had meant to merely disable the Mad Gunner, not kill him. It was all his fault, and his codename would soon be the biggest hypocrisy of them all.

Suddenly, FN-274 seemed to have a jolt of energy. He reached down to a nearby puddle of his own blood with his exposed right hand, rapidly covering it in crimson. Then, he reached out to ST-081's helmet-clad head. Shocked at the sudden action, Liberator let the lieutenant touch him.

[OOC: Yes, this is First Order armor, just assume that they're wearing Storm Armor]

"Tr-tr-atior." rasped Lieutenant FN-274, his last words before he fell limp to the ground.

In a moment of shock, anguish, and unbridled fear, ST-081 came to a realization. He had killed his lieutenant and failed to receive whatever important order he had begun to mention before being cut off. For his dual acts of treason, his company would likely kill him. For the first time in his life, ST-081 was truly alone. Both his company and the Sith defenders would soon come searching for him, and he would be dead within minutes from this moment.

Yet the inevitability of Liberator's death filled him with adreneline and renwewed vigor. If he was going to die, then he was going to go out with his guns blazing, and possibly save more soldiers from the betrayal shaking the 19th.

ST-081 sprant towards the New Imperial Sith individual, seeking to perform one last act of heroism.

"Sir, the 19th Assault Company's turned on you!" yelled ST-081 urgently. "I'll keep them busy for as long as I can, but you need to get out of here!"

​

19TH ASSAULT COMPANY MAIN-2
LOCATION: ENTERING IMPERIAL BOULEVARD
ENEMIES: Caulder Dune (Kyber Dark, engaging) | TSE units

41/40

THE FORTRESS MARCH

​

Forty troopers of the 19th entered the Imperial Boulevard, marching together in perfect synchronization.

Fifteen approached the captain's position about thirty meters away, seeking to reinforce him. The other twenty-five turned right.

They marched towards a large hole in a nearby tower, a tower in which a Sith traitor was located. In five rows of five, the stormtroopers entered the Thaumaturgic Tower.

They made a swift descent, not bothering to keep track of anything aside from the most basic of landmarks. After all, they only had one objective. Elimination of the Sith in the Conduit underneath them. They descended floor after floor, their anticipation building as they approached their destination. After about two minutes of descent, they arrived. Infocytes scurried away like the rats they were as the unit marched towards the central control room, where they sensed a traitorous presence.

 

[Vitani Azumi]

Lister had lost the vital signs of Vrar'ebol'sora. He scrambled to check for the others within the Captain’s task force.

Commence Operation Kyber Dark

The Imperator had spoken. The Sith were to be purged.
Den Lister’s blood ran cold, he saw Imperial troops turn on the allied Sith Defectors. He remained inside the shuttle and began to panic. He had known of the Kyber operation, but hoped it only existed as a last resort. This New Imperial Order was to bring justice to the galaxy, but this was not the justice that Lister had envisioned.

He wondered if the Captain knew about this, if anybody knew about this.

“Ward to Lister, come in Lister,” the comm crackled.

Den stared at the receiver, unable to respond.

Lister was a military boy, from a military family. But, he was just that - barely an adult. He could barely collect his thoughts. He disabled the ship’s communications and fired up the repulsors. The Lantern lifted from where it had landed. Den Lister was now a defector, and a coward.

Commence Operation Kyber Dark.

Good soldiers follow orders. Elias Ward was a good soldier. He reminded himself of this when he turned on the Sith Knight who had marched into Ravelin alongside his infantry. Elias gunned him down from behind. The Knight fell to his knees and Elias walked on with his troops.

​

 

[Darth Bellum]

W A R M A S T E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
13th Shocktrooper Legion - Warmaster's Wrath
W R A T H

​

Ravelin, Capital City
Fortress Carnifex

The city was ablaze as conflict continued to spread like wildfire across the numerous sectors. The Dragoons of the 13th Legion soared across the smoke filled skylines as they moved to disable the Yoruba droid that had appeared to halt their assault on the fortress. They sailed through smoke and flame as they rapidly approached their target only to be attacked by reinforcements that came in the form of the Gravewalkers; an old asset utilized by one of the Sith Empire's generals. A majority of the Dragoons halted midair, hovering above the ground as they took fire, their shields taking the brunt of the surprise attack, raising their own blasters as they returned fire, raining hellish wrath from above as they began to dart around in the air to make it difficult for the Graavewalkers to get a bead on them. Only one of them had to reach the Yoruba alive for it to be turned from an asset into a liability.​

​

Vexen stood with unflinching resolve as he held back large shells being fired at his position with the Force Stasis field he had projected across a wide area. The Yoruba's focus had been shifted away from his position as the approaching Dragoons were starting to become a threat. Vexen's hands would slowly come together as he consolidated the numerous high explosive shells he had captured before flexing his fingers, rotating each one before he threw his arms out again. The invisible force holding the shells in place would vanish, launching them at their previous velocities in randomized directions that rained the 185mm shells back towards the fortress, pelting the enemy as their own munitions were being used against them. ​

​

Vexen raised his arm up as his saber flew from his side and into his hand, igniting the violet blade as he pointed it towards the fortress and commanded the rest of his troops to march, " Onward. " A dark storm was brewing in the Anzati's mind, the unshakeable feel of something big approaching, reaching its boiling point. There was a familiarity with what he sensed, one that he was all too familiar with across his hundreds of years of existence; betrayal.​

​

The stormtroopers in Vexen's presence outside of the 13th Legion's Dragoon personnel would pause as they were receiving outside orders being delivered to them. The stormtroopers looked uneasy about the order being given as they looked at each other hesitantly. Were it any other Sith, this would have been a simple execution of Operation Kyber Dark, but their target was an avatar of turmoil and war. They raised their blasters up at the Anzati Sith's back, ready to pull the trigger before being overwhelmed by an aura of fear and dread that froze them. It wasn't that they were unable to execute their orders out of moral or logical reasoning, but the fact that an invisible stasis field had been placed upon them by the Anzati the moment he sensed treachery. Vexen's vocoded voice was heard as he lowered his saber down to his side, slowly turning around to face the stormtroopers that bared their weapons at him. " So that is how it is... How intriguing... "​

​

The Anzati warmaster seemed calm and collected at the moment, as if he was forgiving the troops under his command for attempting to execute them and showing them mercy. But mercy was not something the Anzati offered on this day; on this day there was only blood to be shed for the lion to bare his fangs and tear apart all that stood in his way; whether it be enemy or ally the only thing he followed was the instinct and the path that the Force had shown him. He raised a hand up as he gestured with a pair of fingers, flicking it off to the side as his index finger slightly curled. A commander would shift his aim as if they were a puppet having their strings pulled before they unwillingly pulled the trigger and started to spray down his adjacent comrades. Vexen's saber was thrown from his hand, spinning as it flew outwards and decapitated, mutilated, and bisected any stormtrooper caught in its wake. His wrath was no longer directed simply at the Sith Empire, but any who stood in his way.​

​

The street was littered with scorched bodies and limbs as the small detachment of Dragoons that remained by Vexen's side moved in to clear out any stormtrooper that had raised their blaster with the intent to kill their general. They were unwavering and fanatic loyalists to Vexen, bound by blood and oath to serve and obey his orders; a threat to Vexen was a threat to them and they showed no hesitation in cutting down any who rose up in defiance. Vexen would stand amidst the carnage of it all, activating his wrist comm as he opened up a direct line to the Imperator himself, " You finally show your true colors Tavlar. So be it... Let loose your inner beasts and show me your hatred and resolve. " There was not a hint of wavering in the Anzati's voice, for he had faced death many times, and only grew stronger as a result of it, his communication being punctuated with an ominous threat, " I will be waiting... "​

// ALLIES | The Force
// ENEMY | TSE //: Anden Fancelo / NIO//: Irveric Tavlar

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Valeria Ragal (Ingrid L’lerim)
The Red Witch; sorcerer, master spy, agent, assassin, sniper, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Thaumaturgic Tower in Fortress Carnifex, Bastion
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Tactical Turtleneck with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | Stealth field generator | Holographic disguise matrix | G1 OmniLink | Actual look under the armour: link |
Allies: AMCO | Aren D'Shade
Enemies: Caulder Dune | FN-999

Background music:
Sabaton – Angels calling​

Apparently the explosion wore her better than her opponent. By the time she managed to get on her knees, the man had picked up the gun again. Ingrid watched the scene completely resignedly, anyone else would probably have snarled, but Ingrid's body was completely tense and motionless despite the pain she felt in her belly. She reached out to the Force to ease her pain, it took a moment. Waited for the other to pull the trigger and she wanted only to move then. But that didn't happen.

The man fired at the tower where Adrian was, and the red-haired woman inadvertently screamed in thought about it, warning, forgetting for a moment that she was still in a telepathic connection with her lover, and that was probably unpleasant for the other. Something has changed. She had no idea what, but something did. She felt the flaming hatred and anger that the Force Users were the targets of. Through the Force, she felt it all. The confusion, the chaos, hatred, anger, all negative emotions. She moaned.

<” Kainan Wolfe … my Lord… What have you done?!”> she asked in a whisper in High Nelvaanian.

By this time she already knew of the man's final plan to destroy the Force itself. Now it became clear why the NIO, well that’s exactly why. The Darksworns were still here and they took up the fight with them, managed to stand up, but she felt through the Force that the enemy was heading where Adrian was. For a moment, just a single moment, she was flooded with fear and worry.

~ I don’t care about the fight anymore, I come back for you! The enemy is on their way to you! I don't care what the other promised to you, go to the escape route, now! ~ for a few moments in her „voice” and emotions, in addition to the pain, there was fear, she was not afraid for herself, but for Adrian.

The next moment, she instinctively suppressed it. The weapon aimed in her direction again. With a gesture, she pulled out the shrapnel out of her stomach, causing herself more serious injuries. This time, however, she didn’t let the pain shake her or show in her. Her common sense dictated that she have to stay and destroy the weapon, her heart wanted to rush to her lover to save him. She knew this wasn't her war, but it was the right thing she had to do. Even when the rest of the enemy arrived.

Reaching into the Force, the world slowed down around her in an instant - at least she felt that way - she began to absorb fear, pain, hatred, anger through the Force. It became stronger moment by moment from the absorbed essences and emotions. The man's finger moved on the trigger. Heart or mind, heart or mind. Her mind cleared in an instant as she calculated countless thoughts and formulas on multiple lines of thought in a split second. She already knew what was right, she was a L’lerim, her upbringing and blood were paramount. That was her duty. The duty and work was the first, even if she was worried about her lover, the joy and pleasure was only the second.

~ I need one minute, I'll destroy the stormtrooper's weapon and go for you! Hold on, my love! ~

She did not recognize the last two words. The man pulled the trigger, at which point Ingrid became invisible and imperceptible. The next moment she teleported after a moment of concentration, next to the man. The shot reached the spot where she was at that moment, not waiting, activating the two lightsabers and striking. Not to FN, but to his damn weapon to destroy it. She tried to cut the weapon into pieces. As she attacked the man, she also attacked the arriving soldiers with a stronger-than-ever Force scream. True, she became visible and perceptible again, but it didn't matter now.

She was a soldier, sorcerer and an assassin, and that was her dance. It wasn’t revenge, she felt nothing but physical pain and a little worry, she just used the absorbed emotions. In the end, she didn’t steal anything from anyone, only absorbed the negative energies that were being released, nourished and strengthened the dark side. For some reason, this confusion was good when she was no longer able to use her own emotions because of the training that was raised in her at the age of a small child…

”Losing friends to artillery shells, at the break of dawn.
Break their will, as yours has been broken, they’re here alone, dream of home…”

​

​

​

 

[Shade of Decay]

​

Location: The Conduit, beneath Fortress Carnifex
Objectives: Interrupt a meeting
Equipment: Lightsaber, Puppeted Body
Nearby: AMCO Aren D'Shade Ingrid L'lerim Caulder Dune (frenemies?) | FN-999 (enemy)

​

It seemed that he had been incorrect, and there were to be no combatants for him to amuse himself with. It was a minor disappointment, of course, but as he roved out his force-enhanced senses, walking through the Conduit, he found his way to a most peculiar meeting. "Why, my Lord Prospero, I didn't think you had it in you," he called out, as he came up to Adekos and Adrian and the control room. "Fraternizing with the enemy? For shame." While the voice and face were unrecognizable, he had no doubt that Adrian would recognize the presence behind them.

He glanced at the technicians nearby, who were looking on at the meeting between Adekos and Adrian with worry. Not surprising; the technicians were likely exceedingly loyal. "I'm impressed, of course. Knowledge and power will always be more important than these mortal empires." He turned, slightly, giving Adekos a small nod. He'd never personally met with the Sith Lord before, but formalities were at least somewhat important when they started off on different sides.

"I can't imagine you've missed what just happened, of course. Such a sudden shift in the tides..." While he hadn't heard the actual order, the strike of betrayal rang through the Force like a bell, when the battlefield shifted into a three faction free-for-all, with troops dead set on killing Sith making their advance into the Conduit. "Well, luckily for you both, I like to facilitate things like this. How to go about it, though? Originally I thought to sacrifice this body, make it look like a foolhardy acolyte ruining the illustrious Lord Prospero's clandestine operation, attacking his target and forcing both to flee after the acolyte was struck down." He glanced back at the technicians, chuckling slightly.

"If you missed any of these, then it'd be their word against yours, with a dead acolyte to back you up. Not foolproof, of course, but insurance." He turned back, facing his full attention on Adrian and Adekos again. "But now, things have changed, and I'm honestly not sure how best to aid the two of you and rid myself of this body at the same time. Any ideas?"

 

[Khagan Harrow]

​

"Allies": New Imperial Order
Enemies: The Sith Empire
Ravelin, Residential Sector
Lower Levels
Mission: Revenge

​

Khagan crouched low against the side of an abandoned airspeeder, shrouded in its shadow. His hands were dry, shaking ever so slightly, too. He took in a deep breath to calm himself, feeling the air, thick with smoke, burn his lungs.

The fighting had reached the lower levels of Ravelin, Bastion's Jewel. Further down the street, blaster fire erupted. The shots echoed down the cavernous speedway, panicked shouts bouncing off skycutters. It was a brief firefight that concluded with the sound of plastoid armour clattering onto permacrete.

Though experience said to stay put, impatience got the better of him. He curled his fingers around the broken speeder door, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass, and rose just enough to risk a glance through the passenger side window.

Four buildings down, a legionnaire was lying motionless against the entrance of a small diner, the face of a Neimoidian plastered just above. There were two smoking black spots on the crimson chest plate. A lone stormtrooper approached the body, lined up his rifle, and loosed another bolt into its head. Satisfied that the legionnaire was soundly dead, he nudged the body over with his foot to clear the diner's entrance and disappeared into the darkness beyond the doorway with his weapon raised.

Khagan waited long enough for the trooper to finish his sweep of the diner. When he didn't see the glint of white armour again, he began to rise to his feet, adjusting the bandages around his chin.

Bandages covered his face and hands, mostly to hide from Imperial scanners. A civilian could slip by unnoticed for the most part, but with tensions running high, there was no guarantee the Imperials wouldn't just start shooting the moment he crossed paths with one of their squads. That'd be an ironic way to die.

Quietly, he slipped from the shadow of the abandoned speeder and to the other side of the speedway. A long line of artificial plants obscured him from most angles as he started walking in a crouch towards the T-junction at the street's end.

Trash and rubble littered the permacrete down here, barely crackling with every step he took. Khagan tried to limit any sound he made as he navigated the minefield of noises. He placed his feet carefully among the rubble to avoid accidentally kicking some stone or metal can. All the while, distant explosions rocked the entire city far above as war swallowed Bastion, shaking dust and debris loose to patter onto its streets.

There was still some curiosity that hadn't burned away in the renegade. He slowed his advance as he came up on the opposite side of the street to the diner. His hand fell to the blaster as he peered through the greenery and towards the doorway. He'd be sweating if he still could.

The legionnaire's upper half remained swallowed by shadows, the crimson armour of his legs still motionless. Beyond the entryway was only impenetrable darkness. Ravelin's power must have gone out in this section of the massive city. The burning night above would be all the illumination they'd get down here. No sign of the stormtrooper anywhere, though. Must have proceeded out a back door somewhere deeper inside the diner.

Khagan nodded to no one and began to move on when a sudden burst of red ripped through the bush that kept him out of view. It exploded against the wall to his side in a violent burst of ferrocrete. The sudden blast sent him reeling onto his back. He let out a grunt as the air was knocked from his lungs. Bits of rock dug into his back, and a dull ache spread over his body from the fall. His hand worked to unholster the pistol at his side.

Two more bolts whizzed past before he could draw it free. They ripped through the plants and sent ferrocrete flying from the wall opposite the array of green. Small stones pattered onto Khagan's heavy vest and dust settled on the street.

His grip tightened on the wooden handle, and he sat up to lean against the plant's metal bases. Craning his neck, he scanned the street for the shooter.

The diner's interior lit up in a burst of red, and several bolts flew past its doorway.

Khagan ducked for cover immediately, one bolt exploding just ahead of where his head had been a moment ago. Skilled Marksman.

The barrage continued, each bolt cutting down more of the plants obscuring Khagan's position. His attacker was spreading out the blaster fire, aiming more to suppress than to kill, likely to intimidate while they closed the distance.

The tactic was familiar to Khagan. Were their situations reversed he'd have done the same. The indiscriminate blanket fire of the trooper left little room for any return fire. Without knowing the trooper's position, Khagan didn't like his chances of risking a blind attempt. He cursed under his breath, and glanced down the sidewalk.

The street was wide. It would take the trooper several long moments to clear it. The plant bases were high enough to conceal movement if he kept low and crawled. The bits of glasteel and ferrocrete would make the escape very unpleasant, but to finish what he came to do he was willing to suffer through it. Hell, he'd suffered worse before.

As the trooper put down another barrage of suppressive fire, Khagan turned and made himself flat against the sidewalk. Clutching his pistol tight, he began to crawl.

His arms brushed aside some of the shards and debris, but some still dug into his flesh. The trooper didn't relent his assault, but his shots didn't follow Khagan as he moved. After a few dozen long breaths, the quiet crackling of the debris as he swept it aside emerged from under the explosions of blaster fire.

Khagan grimaced. The bandages on his arms were beginning to stain red.

 

[Trajan Fett]

G R A ' T U A _ C U U N
ALOR'AAN KESTUS BRALOR
THE SONS OF MANDALORE | NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HAND OF VENGEANCE | SEVENTH FLEET
T I M E S _ C H A N G E

SECOND WAVE | BATTLE GROUP 'CASSUS FETT' | DISSIDENT AGGRESSOR
( With other Mandalorian ships but no fleet comp atm, will provide if asked but not really looking to super impact the battle. )​

Revenge.

The Sons of Mandalore had engaged the Sith Empire to this point as petty skirmishers, unit commanders and special operatives. They'd yet to field their host in anger against the banner of the Crimson Saber.

Today, that changed. Though it was not the crusade for Mandalore they'd originally set their sights on consolidating their numbers for, it was the opportunity for ultimate revenge. To bring the hammer down over Bastion, the throne world of the Sith Empire. A just due for a Manda'yaim put to the torch, its people expulsed along with the sovereign integrity of the mother land. The greatest shame and defeat the Mandalorian people would ever have inflicted unto them.

Today, they'd be the dark avengers neccessary of the scattered remains of their people and the snuffed out legacy of their ancestors who bared the names of their clans.

Petty differences aside, it was time to kill.

<"Shipmaster. Entering Bastion system in ten seconds."> The Mandalorian helmsman aboard Bralor's flagship sounded out in confirmation. He stood before the command deck donning his golden and gunmetal grey Beskar'gam, the characteristic garment of the Mandalorian which he'd never left void from his form, even if he was not conducting battle on the field or in person.

Nodding once with crossed arms he peered through the pyschedelic blue descending spiral of hyperspace before eventually the ship phased into the frigid reality.

The battle of fates raged above Bastion at the arrival of the Imperator's own flagship embedded at the tip of the spear among the Mandalorian vessels consolidated into the second wave of the New Imperial Order's force set to lay siege to the Throne World. The first wave deemed 'Roan Fel' in homage to the Fel Emperor who had had reclaimed Bastion in defiance to Krayt's Sith Empire and the second wave 'Cassus Fett'.

<"Hail Admiral Var Koon, have him transmit priority target-."> Bralor began to speak before he was interupted by the input of his subordinate.

<"Shipmaster- a command from the Sovereign Imperator..."> The Mandalorian sounded out to the Bralor clan's Alor. He knew immediately the implication of this statement. Even still, trust but verify.

<"And what does he have for us?"> He inquired, arching a brow beneath his helmet in innate skepticism. Now certainly wasn't the time surely.

<"Kyber Dark...all Sith have hostile designation."> Enveloped within the New Imperial armada, this implied The Shadowbringer. His arms uncrossed, realizing the gravity of the command, he nodded once. They were not only within the thick of the Sith-Imperial tempest...but had to turn their guns on their 'comrades as well'. This would be a fateful day.

<"Understood..."> Bralor sounded out in reply.

<"Alor?">

<"Then we follow our orders. Redirect our ground forces ready to disembark...tell Kurze...tell Valdus Bral to prepare to board. The Shadowbringer. Seize control of it.">

<"And of the Sith-Imperial vessels, Alor?">

<"Fall in line, fire at will. Maneuver the Dissident Aggressor along the starboard of The Shadowbringer...full broadside."> Bralor offered in pragmatic if broad commands before speaking with an inflection dipped in shades of sentiment.

<"Today, we get our revenge. The Sons and Daughters of Mandalore will not be silenced. They brought Hammerfall unto Manda'yaim and we have never forgotten. Today, the parasite Kor Vexen and the rest of these Sith mongrels will remember."> Bralor commanded, turning toward the officer and nodding once as if to reaffirm his command.

K U R Z E
THE SONS OF MANDALORE | NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE OATHSWORN
War Droid | Beskar'gam | Main Weapon | Side-Arm | Melee | Grenades
TARGET // THE SHADOWBRINGER, FLAGSHIP OF KOR VEXEN
H O L Y _ M O U N T A I N S

​

The false mask of tolerance could now be ripped away and pulled from his skin to make way for the cold guise of revenge. These Sith, no matter who they cared to align themselves with were all the same. Despicable to the core. After their betrayal, they could all drown in the ashen ground to be forgotten forever as far as Trajan and any self respecting Mandalorian could ever perceive them.

Liars.

Murderers.

Demons.

Many of them would peer into the last gasp of their finality today. Trajan could only do best to make sure he reaped a lion's share of the killing harvest.

Within one of the several hangar bays of the Dissident Aggressor, a contingent of the Oathsworn, the elite tip of the spear consolidated among the Sons of Mandalore waited for the command to jump by their Rallymaster, Kurze. Each of them at the control reins to a Basilisk War Droid.

Ready to make war.

<"Vode An."> Was all Kurze sounded to the Oathsworn only for the sentiment to be barked back to him in unison. It was time to go.

The blast doors slowly pulled away from the hangar bay to unfurl the wave of Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders ready to put low those who'd once betrayed their creed. They sprung into the fiery abyss with a leap from the powerful limbs of the droids before they moved through the chaotic clash of battle. TIE fighters, Sith craft all spiraling in breakneck speeds about them within a hellish envelopment of the industrial scale at which the two Imperial factions dealt death to one another.

Braving the point defense fire of the Dreadnought, they'd finally punched their way through into one of the hangar bays to the Warmaster's dreadnought before the blast doors slammed shut behind them.

At the back of their mounts, there would be one way out alive. Seize control of this vessel, force Admiral Admiral Jasial Karuuna's surrender and consolidate the might of the Order back unto the Sith-Imperials.

Dragoons, the elite echelon of the Warmaster's host bloodsworn to follow their Anzati leader into the grave were there to meet them in force.

Kurze could tell immediately, this bold betrayal was due to get bloody.

But it didn't matter, revenge was always worth it.

// ALLIES | NIO/SOM //: Valdus Bral | Careena Fett | Rynn Vizsla
// ENEMIES | TSE/SITH //: The Sith Empire and Kyber Dark Hostile Designations

 

[Vella Forte]

BASTION // RAVELIN // THE GARDENS OF PELLAEON
ALLIES // NIO: Bastard
ENEMIES // TSE: NPC CITY
S T A R T A R I O T





​

​

Choosing the location of one’s death was a luxury not afforded to many. Knight Commander Rurik Fel was a rich man today.

"Forte, We are meant to move deeper into the complex and clear away whatever filth has made it home."
"If you are willing and able, I would have you at my side during the slaughter,"
"Perhaps we can make sport of hunting your brethren. I'd wager you're a competent killer. Mayhaps you can share with me what technique you favor when facing your kin."

Wickedly, the corners of her lips curled while her brows arched. Ruby drenched gaze traipsed to follow his gestures, exposing the weapon at his hip as a promise to make good on his part of this adventure. The markings on her face almost pulsed with glowing delight at the thought of the upcoming slaughter. Retribution at it’s finest. And gamifying it? Even better. A vile chuckle slipped from her throat and she nodded, reorienting her grip on her shoto.

“Sport is founded in competition, keep count of your kills and I’ll do the same. We’ll see who’s techniques are better for the numbers.”

He seemed to find that agreeable, and with a flutter of his fashionable garb, turned to lead the march of their numbers. A boasting taunt was cast, and they were lurching forward.

She was here to wreak havoc. Irrecoverable damage.

Frenzy took over. Ancillary to the slaughter of Carnifex’s defenses, flames curled and twisted around the agile woman’s form. Side by side with the moon drenched Knight, the juxtaposition was marvelous; the lily painted crusader with ministrations cool and calculated like a winter’s breeze next to her typhoon of flame.

He focused himself on the vanguards of the opposition, dueling the pair. Vella unleashed herself to the lust of slaughter. Sanity abated.
Her scintillating blade twisted from her grip, spiraling outward and slicing through the weapons first, then chests of the red-armored Sith offensive.

“That’s two.” The announcement came as the hilt snapped back to her hand, tightening her grip and leaping forward into the fray to tighten her space next to the weapons. The heat of NIO’s dozen soldiers at her back, shooting around her at the opposition.

“Trees don’t count, Varanin.” She shouted above the noise when the nearby conifer erupted. There was certain mirth to the feeling of victory. It was all she could feel, consciousness was fading.

Death was inescapable here, the souls lost feeding to the darkside and it’s yawning stretch of pain and shadow. The daughter of Vahla engorged in its juices, felt the power tingle in her cheeks. It made her feverish with overpowering lust that obliterated all other considerations. It instructed her, guided her movements. Warned her.

Nobody eagerly looked to death. Some might say they weren’t afraid to die, but final breaths often defied their will. The glorious, final gasp. Mortality came for many at the hand of her wrath.

The Sith that had erupted onto the scene and lunged, cutting through the air with impressive propulsion. Their target on the silver Knight She leaped forward, intercepting just in time to catch the red sword with angry bark of her own. Their eyes locked temporarily, the connection ephemeral. Her gaze flashed, the only warning before the smaller shoto snapped to her grip and she pierced it forward into the gut of the attacker, keeping the larger weapon still in a lock. It made purchase, she twisted it and cut upward. The struggle of strengths ended there, and the assassin staggered back in shock. With a snap of her fingers, a torrential whirlwind of heat –– too thick, too orange to be lightning, closer to fire –– whirled from her palm to enwrap the oppressor. The flames stole the oxygen from his agonized screams until it faded into the whitenoise of the battle.

“Three.” She said simply, the shoto finding a place alongside her grip of her main blade. Her free hand stretched out for Errant to take.

The proximity let her hear the cruel commission.

<"The Sith...they are our enemy. In whatever form they come. None of them leave Bastion alive. We'll hunt these parasites down to the last."
"Commence Operation Kyber Dark.">

OPERATION DARK KYBER
ALLIES: VAHL
ENEMIES: NIO // Bastard
P A C I F Y H E R
These violent delights have violent ends ​

When the Sith Empire falls, or the New-Imperials fail, we will for all intents and purposes be on our own. I wouldn't doubt the New-Imperials would turn on us the moment the Sith Empire was defeated."

There had been implications of this within the Kabal Chamber. Undertones threaded in all their plans and schemes. Why weren’t they more prepared for this?

Today was the day the New Order had been planning since the dawn of the schism, and here she was foolishly separated from her fellow Keepers under the guise of useful allegiance. That negative realization was like pouring acid on her soul. It incinerated, burned, destroyed anything human left in her.

“No!” The shock tasted like ash on her tongue. She wanted to laugh, find the irony in this, a contaminated sound from her lungs but there was no humour to be found here. Only impassioned irony. All the Sith that had fled from Bastion had returned to die. To die with those they’d abandoned, at the hands they abandoned them for.

Thunderous rage clapped behind her breastbone, the residual echo of blood pumping loud in her ears and she whipped around. The faces of the legionnaires concealed beneath their helmets. Nothing but T-shaped frowns stared back at her. They enacted the promises they’d made with their Sovereign Imperator. The barrels of their guns were as wide as caves, retracing their line of fire from the enemy they’d downed and back on her.

She could feel the hatred rolling off of them, like heat from a fire.

Joining alongside their forces had been for the Keeper’s own aggrandizement. Concealing her black soul for the short-sighted opportunity of revenge.

Vella’s lips curled back like a snarling beast, the sharp sneer exposing her clenched teeth. This was an unexpected circumstance. Unexpected and unwelcome.

She would not be pacified. She would not fail the goddess’ mission. Like a dog in a field. A mongrel. Adrenaline ticked coolly through her veins, for her soul was as black as the eyes of the goddess.

The hunted heathen lifted her phosphorescent sabers the ready, hot luminescence gathering around her fingers. Eyes that had been irises soaked with blood ignited with an otherworldly glow.

They would slash at her with their betrayal.
And she would parry with her vengeance.
​

 

[Avernus]

// A V E R N U S //
// L O R D _ O F _ T H E _ G A M E //
// Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Lucien Dooku | Jain //
// RAVELIN CITY, LANDING ZONE //
// D E S T R O Y _ T H E _ T H R O N E //
// C A R R Y _ S T R E S S _ I N _ T H E _ J A W //

“Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.”
​

From the ruined streets of Ravelin City, Avernus watched the remaining auxiliary of his Legions descend towards the landing zone. Now, with the majority of the regional emplacements reduced to ash and scrap, the vessels enjoyed a far less turbulent approach. A smug grin crawled across his face as his achievement fueled the conceited fire in the foreground of his consciousness. Flamboyant flicks of the fingers brushed the dust from one shoulder, and then the next. Content now to stroll his way leisurely to the landing zone and rendezvous with his subordinates, he hopped down from a jutting platform of rubble and began to walk through the empty streets towards the cityscaped horizon where the RDAGs disappeared.

A sudden wall of dread stopped him in his tracks, assaulting his mind from a place far beyond. The Force crept into the back of his gray matter to compel the image of Irveric Tavlar vividly into his pondering. A portent of the disturbance to come, though vague and far from easily deciphered. Impending doom washed over the emotions, the forced ideation of the concept of failure sprouting into a remorseless anxiety. Interpretations were about as mercurial as the dark side itself, but the only things he could make of it were foreboding, to say the least.

Could such have been a vague premonition of their failure? If this elucidation was correct, it meant Avernus would have to act quickly to snuff such a path. If the future was truly inflexible, no one would ever be allowed to see it. Clenching his eyes shut, every shred of effort was dedicated to focusing on the presence of the Sovereign Imperator. Fruitless, of course, Avernus having momentarily forgotten the man's void of a presence within the force. Quickly, he instead combed his memories for images and feelings around Fortress Carnifex, trying to paint a sufficient mental image to pull himself there.

With a droning whir, the light around him warped as his body was once again pulled through the force itself, leaving only a sudden flash and cloud of black, wispy vapor where he once stood.

// NEW-IMPERIAL FOOTHOLD, ROAD TO FORTRESS CARNIFEX //
​

The astral soup that contained every atom, midi-chlorian, and shred of Avernus' spiritual being rushed through the void. As he re-entered the physical plane, his emergence sparked lighting in his immediate presence and the air around him erupted with a light boom. He stepped into the momentum of his ejection from that strange place, taking a handful of quick, long-strode steps forward before coming to a stop near the apex of a gathering of New-Imperial soldiers. Their armors clattered in near-unison as they all turned to face him, their lifeless visors hiding malicious intention behind reflective transparency.

"What's the sitrep on our push, is the Imperator-?" His inquiry trailed off as the ominous feeling evoked by the lifeless stare of their visors began to set in. Slowly, one by one, the troopers began raising their blasters towards him. Avernus' nostrils flared, his lip curling with disgust as he observed their hostile gesture. "What is the meaning of this!?" he demanded with a sharp hiss. "I am Darth Avernus, don't act like you don't know who I am," he continued his clamor, hand slowly creeping towards his lightsaber for good measure.

"Oh, don't worry 'my lord'," one of the troopers remarked sarcastically from behind his helmet. "We know exactly who you are."

The force once again crept into his mind, assaulting his ears with an echo of a phrase already spoken, an order already given:

<"Commence Operation Kyber Dark."> ​

// D E S T R O Y _ T H E _ T H R O N E //
// L E A R N _ T O _ S W I M //​

"Smoke 'em!"

With almost imperceivable speed, Avernus snatched the hilt from his belt coupling. Golden blades screamed out of either end as they began to twirl wildly, batting away bolt after bolt of blaster fire. A dash forwards aided the wide-arced strokes of his blade, sundering limb after limb and tearing through the tarnished whites of New-Imperial aegis. Soldiers shouted and wailed, through the carnage that Avernus danced through with a graceful erraticism that seemed almost to antithetical to itself to even exist. Ozone was thick on the air around him as red streaks punched through the atmosphere with the sole intent of leaving him in the dirt.

The longer he fought, the denser the volleys seemingly became. More and more troopers arriving in their dogged attempts to neutralize him. White-hot hatred sparked from his fingertips, twitching erratically in several directions to find fleshy, conductive purchase on his assailants. Yet, still, where three fell, four more arrived. A bend of the knees followed by a sudden, force-infused straightening sent him vaulting in a backwards flip to the remnant of a Sith-Imperial transport for cover. It took less than a second for the sounds of bolts on metal to assault the ears as the ruthless efficiency of the New-Imperials remained trained on him, peppering his cover with suppressing fire.

Pressing his ear, he activated his comm device and began to shout; "Commander Zuul, I need assistance! The New-Imperials have played us like a Force-damned Bandfill! Extract me, and we're getting the hell out of here!"

"Negative, my Lord! The New-Imperials have got us- AAARGH-!"

Communications regressed to dead-static after an incomprehensible rumbling. Avernus' heavy breathing was stifled only by the sudden striking of the wrecked transports hull with his bare fists. He had to think, he could get himself out of this, but he just had to think. Ironically, anger could bring morbid clarity if you knew how to use it. He dwelled on the rage, the confusion, the anxiety, combing through the dark for a solution. But within his forage, all he could find was Sybila, Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt , his prodigy, his reluctant and belligerent successor. They could not both perish on this rock, or all up to this point would have been for nothing.

It was an out, all he had to do was focus. Finding her presence was the farthest thing from challenging. She could be on the opposite hemisphere, and he would still easily hone in on her being. Red steaked past his head as it punched through the dilapidated hull, singeing golden strands at their tip. With a wince, he allowed himself once again to step through the violent door of transferral. With a flash, he was once against sucked into the void, leaving behind only a sable haze for the New-Imperials to find when they finally pushed into his cover.

"There is no escape— we pay for the violence of our ancestors."

// A V E R N U S //
// ROAD TO THE GATES, FORTRESS CARNIFEX //
// L E A R N _ T O _ S W I M //
​

Avernus was ejected abruptly from the void onto the pavement. He tumbled erratically across the ground, grunting with every rough impact. Out of the roll, he stabilized on his hands and knees, panting heavily with the prominent rising and falling of his torso. A heave brought the remnants of his last meal regurgitating from between his lips and splattering against the ground between his hands. Near-instantly transmitting oneself to another location was taxing, and Avernus had never used it in such close succession over such long distances. Thus, the toll it was taking on him now was not something he'd ever experienced, it was infuriating.

The ringing in his ears was deafening, heralding with it the sharp pain in his head. Through vertigo, he struggled to bring himself up to a knee. Head still hanging down, he staggered up to his feet and wiped the vermillion that poured from his nose with the back of his hand. Whipping backwards, he forced his head to stare straight as his golden strands were flung backwards and out of his face. His wavering vision took a moment to clarify and stabilize as he observed the vague greys and blacks before him. Eyelids squeezed shut in laborious, forced blinks, over and over in an attempt to expedite his bearings.

Eyes widened as clarity came over his observation, and he could see the tanks and soldiers that he'd appeared in front of. All of them once under that command of Sybila, their 'Legion Commander', but Avernus was certain their sights were only moments away from setting onto her. "Sybila!" he shouted with all the air he could muster in his lungs. "We have to get out of here, we're being played!"

 

[Valdus Bral]

Location: Aboard the A'den be Ka'ara battlecruiser
Allies: NIO, Trajan Fett
Enemies: TSE and NIO Sith Forces
Target: The Shadowbringer SSD

​

Plumes of thin smoke danced upwards towards the flickering ceiling of the candlelit room. Gold runes inscribed onto dark metal reflected the large figure who knelt before the monuments.

Spoiler

​

The Tenets inscribed into his scarred back were one among many inked depictions of phrases, beasts, and names. His emerald eyes locked downwards upon a pile of metal shards. After several long minutes of reflection he silently came to a towering stand; his eyes locked upon the shards. “Cuun skira banar ibi’tuur.” His left arm rose to hip height as he unfurled his fingers, “Our revenge will come to pass today, I swear it.” His rumbling solemn voice repeated once more in common to a collection of shards he held in his hand that were lightly coated in blood from where they had cut into his palm. He turned from the monument and dropped the shards to the floor of the shrine. Passing under the door frame he then stood before a well lit room where his mechanized beskargam was flanked by attendants whose role was to assist in the dawning of the iron carapace. The attendants bowed their heads as the Alor approached them. Valdus’ eyes were focused upon the unseen, his thoughts of the near future consumed him as he stepped into the front of his armor, the back hollow and unattached. Raising his arms outwards the Attendants began to secure the rear plates as well as connecting multiple cables.

​

Several minutes later Valdus appeared to a nearly silent crowd of the Bral clan’s leadership. The Bral fleet had been summoned to war by the Imperator with orders to stay in reserves as a second wave. The clan did so and awaited the orders relayed by Trajan Fett . When those orders came the fleet jumped into hyperspace. It was as Valdus stood among his senior vode that his mind drifted; his eyes locked upon the large viewport of the council room that shown the speeding starlight streaks of hyperspace.

Spoiler: Inner thoughts

I've been staring at Mandalore
As long as I can remember, never really knowing why.
I wish I could be the perfect Alor
But I think back to Mandalore, no matter how hard I try.
Every planet I take, every bounty I track
Every war I make, every thought leads back
To the place I know,
where I can not go, where I long to be…
​

His eyes then drifted to the center of the room where a large holographic map shown with depictions of the galaxy at large, more specifically the hyperlanes and boundaries of the Mandalore sector.

See the line near this mark on the map? It calls me.
No one knows, how far I’ll go.​

His eyes lifted from the map to the leaders under him.

If the warriors in my ship on the stars stay behind me,
Then one day I’ll know.​

His attention then shifted to the orb that represents Nellogant, their current home.

I know everybody on this planet seems so happy on this planet
Everything is by my design.
I know everybody on this planet has a role on this planet,
So maybe I can roll with mine…
I can lead with pride,
I can make us strong,
They’ll be satisfied if I play along,
But the voice inside sings a different song,
What is wrong with me?​

His gaze once more focused in on Mandalore and its neighboring planets.

See the light as it shines from path of the Stars? It's blinding!
But no one knows, where they go
And it seems like it's calling out to me...then come find me!
And let me know what's beyond the sky!
​

“Will I cross that line?” He muttered. The other Mandalorians looked at each other and then to their Alor.​

“Which line, Alor?” Inquired one of Valdus’ lieutenants who glanced from the map to his Alor in slow repetition.​

“I was lost in thought, Alor’ad. When we exit hyperspace open fire upon all designated dar’jetti vessels. Turn them to ash. Deploy all of our landing craft to whichever hangars are undamaged and not under assault. I will take our best to the bridge and seize it.”​

“As you will, Alor. However, the Imperator has asked us to keep damage to the dar’jetti flagship named The Shadowbringer at a low enough level as not to destroy it. What’re your orders?” The tone of the Alor’ad suggested that the Imperator’s orders were considered as suggestions and requests more so than direct orders. It was the Alor that made the decisions within and for the clan, it wasn’t the role of an outsider.​

“We will abide by our host’s instructions, for now. That vessel is an important asset and I will not be the one to whittle away any advantage we possess over the betrayers. Let none say that the Bral clan is a liability in war, but a boon.”​

Those around Valdus bowed their head once and then left the room to make ready the necessary preparations. His eyes once more looked over the holographic map before exiting the room as well.​

​

The Bral fleet popped into Bastion’s far orbit behind The Shadowbringer and as it did so the v-150r Heavy Ion Cannons mounted at the bow of the A’den Be Ka’ra began to fire off bursts targeting the rear of engines. The cannons themselves were not meant to shutdown such a large vessel as a Super Star Destroyer, but with repeated hits they could have a destabilizing effect on the systems of the SSD, likely damaging some of the more delicate monitoring systems.

From the sides of the Keldabe Heavy Cruisers as well as the A’den be Ka’ra itself came dozens of landing vessels designed more so for ground based landing, but would have to do for this mission. Squadrons of ARC-170r fighters escorted the makeshift boarding vessels while Kom’rk class corvettes flanked the squadrons as to provide anti-starfighter support.