Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Loske Treicolt]

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

There was a tremble to Loske’s expression when Allyson explained her stance. Everything about the woman across from her hardened, calcified in a knowing resolve. The only uncertainty left was the end. A coin flip on the odds of survival. Never tell a Corellian the odds. That’s why she didn’t know.

The incessant, nagging accusation of lonesomeness felt like sandpaper in her mind. Why was Allyson so intent on operating solo? She had a swathe of companions on the Galactic Alliance. Why did her objective depend on their abandonment?

Where she’d been picking up crosscurrents of doubt before, remorse, regret, abandonment, there was now calcified, crippling purpose and Loske realized the conversation was almost over.

She’d pleaded for Allyson not to give her a reason to abandon her. Begged the Corellian to return to their friendship, concealed in the sanctuary of warmth and welcome. They could make it work, they could get her help.

“Please don’t give me any reason to give up on you,
And I won’t.”

If there were ever a reason significant enough, that one reason would be Maynard. Every time. As much as he was her strength, he was so obviously her weakness.

"The moment you enter this world, enter my world. Your world is over. Stop chasing me. You're putting Maynard in trouble.
If something happened to him, would you be able to live with yourself? If something happens its all your fault. That's why I do what I do, why I cut all of you off. I won't have your blood on my hands."

Allyson’s suggestion wouldn’t be the first time that partnership was nefariously exploited. Loske grit her teeth at the insinuation, her molars grinding tightly. The unease in her gut thickened.

"You are why he is weak."

They promised together, always. Following Allyson was not an option for Loske. No matter how much she loved her friend, who she’d been and all the potential within the Corellian for purveying goodness, the hierarchy of her heart was indisputable. Putting him in any situation where he’d be jeopardized, again, she couldn’t do it. She’d learned that lesson so painfully on Harnaidan and was still, constantly, trying to remedy her atrocious hubris from that day.

It was a tragedy, the way he loved her. If she said yes to chasing Allyson down, she’d commit her relationship with the wayward Mandalorian to the greatest failure.

"Still...even with everything else going on you were there with me. I don't know if I'm that same person, that I was over Dubrillion, without you. Something about...even just knowing you're there with me, feeling you...its...its reassuring. I know because, Harnaidan it was all...off. All the pain, amplified, all the tears visceral. Because I- I didn't know what happened to you in the end. With you there, right with me..."

In the numbing grip of despair, with the hollowest of voids devouring her heart, the moment became bleak and livid. That was it. She’d trusted Allyson before with her life the way she trusted her heart to beat. It was more than instinct. It was automatic. To do anything else would have been strange. Allyson had pulled her from Muunilist and stayed with her while she was on death’s door. She’d promised to love and cherish Loske’s brother. She operated in an X-Wing under Maynard’s command. And now she was pushing her away. Far away. Threatening her.

From now on, the trust Loske had handed out so freely would be refined –– maybe for a long time, maybe forever –– she’d have to wonder about things she hadn’t before. Wonder about betrayal. She was resentful, even angry, that her faith had been shaken.

Words were trapped in her throat, clawing at her larynx. They manifested only as a surprised gasp when Allyson disappeared from sight. Only the muted, blinking whisper of their ethereal link gave any indication that the turncoat hadn’t departed from proximity entirely.

Hazel eyes saturated in emerald flecks, appeared at Loske’s level. They flashed with an absolution Loske hadn’t seen in the Corellian before.

"It's better if you think of me as the enemy; it makes it easier."
"I'm sorry, my friend."

Time to parse the information was not afforded, and as corporeal as Allyson was before her, so too was the falcon punch to Loske’s gut. The hilt of the saber met purchase in the girl’s abdomen. A part of her body that had been shot, stabbed, seared so many times that the tissues impacted by the strength screamed out in agony. Her breath pushed from her stomach through her throat and dared not to return, leaving dizziness in her head and numbness in her hands that operated now out of instinct. If Allyson ignited that saber, the kyber infused blade would tear asunder her stomach with no armour.

While the pain bloomed, the kiffar’s hands flew to wrap around Allyson’s wrists, yanking her forward and down and planted the side of her foot against Allyson’s to ground in the twist and give herself more strength to the downward juke of her former ally. She snapped backward on her feet in the opposite direction, jostling from the position and flashing her saber back to her grip. To keep the momentum, it came around in another chopper-like arc above her head before finding its way downward to where Allyson’s trajectory would lead her, a strike that would cut from shoulder to waist.

At the top of the stairwell, someone shouted something, repeating an order. Loske’s ears were still partly ringing from the earlier explosion. The roar of gunfire sounded louder, deeper, like something else. More animal.

Around them, chaos erupted. New Imperial soldiers turned on their companions, slaughtering them in the streets. Panic clutched Loske’s chest, tightening its grip as she looked around. Force users were dying.

Spoiler

GA BEST ALLIES PAGECLAIM

 

[Caulder Dune]

​

// Location: Thaumaturgic Tower, The Conduit – Control Room
// Objective: Make Life Take the Lemons Back
// Equipment: Adekon Nanogene - Type 1, Imperial Mk. I "Dooku-Pattern" Jedi Armor (but, you know, more stylish)
// Associated Acts:

• FN-999 (Hostile), AMCO (Neutral), Aren D'Shade (Neutral), Ingrid L'lerim (Neutral), Shade of Decay (Neutral)

// Nanogene Troopers: 20/20

The Umbaran cracked a toothy and insufferable grin at that. The meek might inherit the earth, but the craven would outlive the stars themselves. “In that regard, you’ll find no judgement from me.”​

​

Darth Prospero looked distant for a moment, as if hearing something far off in the distance. Adekos lofted a single eyebrow, but said nothing, and then observed as the Karza’Arana filed out wordlessly. Fascinating creatures, now in pursuit of some unspoken objective.​

​

“Well, as we were saying…”​

​

The commlink in his ear suddenly crackled to life. The Nanogene Trooper on the other end flatly declared a numerical code – the kind they were supposed to give if something really important happened. Adekos wore his frown visibly.​

​

“Excuse me,” he said, “I need to take this.”​

​

Adekos put a finger to the commlink. “Go ahead.”​

​

He listened, and it was clear what Adekos heard was far removed from the realm of “good news.” His lips thinned to a line. Mood soured. Evening ruined. Negotiations spoiled. You could see it coming from a mile away, but you never got used to a feeling like this: the cold sting of betrayal, the harsh lash of inconvenience.​

​

His Nanogene Troopers would be taking positions now to ambush the New Imperials as they entered the Conduit.​

​

“This data is now entirely worthless to me,” Adekos announced, so coldly that it could only be apparent something had gone wrong. “I will find something else to barter off of you at a later date.”​

​

He was clearly going to continue, only to be interrupted when another Sith entered the room. The Dark Side was strong with this one, but he spoke with civility. One of the good ones.​

​

In speech, anyway. In sight, this newcomer was so beautiful as to be completely hideous. It was almost offensive. What unholy conspiracy of genetics could spawn a man with such blandly attractive features? The dimple in his chin made Adekos want to hurl. He frowned at Tsisaar the whole time he spoke.​

​

“Your charity touches me, stranger, truly,” the Umbaran said, in a tone that implied the opposite was actually the case, “I shall share my plan with you now: I am going to withdraw from this place by the way I came. I will then board my shuttle and retire to the inner systems of the Deep Core, where I shall toil in peace (but not happiness), as I am wont to do. But first,”​

​

His lightsaber snapped to life in his hand.​

​

“I am going to kill an unreasonable amount of stormtroopers.”​

 

[Emperor's Gaze]

​

As the confrontation between AMCO and Caulder Dune wound on, something was watching them and regarding them with curiosity. It was a small thing, inconsequential in the grand scheme of the battle which had engulfed the Sith-Imperial capital. Hundreds of them had served in the Imperial Palace and beyond since the first years of the Sith Empire's expansion, even a few of them rising to monumental prominence among the Imperial citizenry. ​

​

One had even become a Hero of the Empire.​

​

But this one had not.​

​

It did not mind, it knew that its talents were being used to progress a far greater task. With small paws, it scampered from cover to cover, its body not even ten centimeters tall. A small sash of black fabric was draped over its small body, from its shoulder to its hip, and miniaturized facsimiles of larger Imperial technology were hitched to a belt cinched around its small waist. It had once worn a cap betwixt its ears, but that had since been lost to a rather ferocious gust of wind.​

​

The Nezumi watched the too-bigs as they talked, their voices causing the small creature's ears to twitch in discomfort. It had been sent here for a singular purpose, and now it was close to achieving that purpose. Only recently had it received its command, hinging on a recent phenomenon which had now engulfed the invaders in turmoil and strife. Sensing the moment was near, the Nezumi bounded out in clear view of the too-bigs and skittered to a half mere meters away.​

​

"Lord Adekos?" It intoned in a squeaky voice, amplified by a small cybernetic surgically implanted into the Nezumi's neck. "I bring you a missive from his Supreme Excellency." The creature moved over to one of the nearest data consoles, plugging in a small data-chip into one of the Nezumi-sized ports which were frequently found in the Imperial capital. The console whirred to life as the holoprojector switched on a projected a miniaturized version of the Sith Emperor sitting upon a throne, wearing clothes radically different from the ones he wore as he fought Vilaz Munin and Koda Fett several hundred meters below Ravelin's surface. ​

​

"Tyrin Ardik, my old friend." The hologram of the Sith Emperor smiled grimly, revealing the faintest glimmer of his predatory teeth. "For the acquaintanceship we once shared, and the respect I once held for you, I grant you free passage from Bastion and the Empire to withdraw to any location of your choosing due to the consequential circumstances that have now become a pressing matter. I bestow this upon you in the hopes that during your journey you will meditate and reflect on those whom you once called friend. May the Force serve you well."​

​

The hologram blinked out a second after the message had been delivered, and the Nezumi agent was nowhere to be found.​

 

[Oceiros Sunstrider]

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

Spoiler: Post archive for our story

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

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

The civilians.

The families.

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

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

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

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

You know she hadn't thought this through.

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

​

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider

Who wouldn't resist? This was their home.

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

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

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

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

He was here to kill her.

Her fear turned cold, self-preservation kicking in.

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

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

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

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



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

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

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!"

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

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

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

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

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider


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

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

The young teen swayed in place, not a single word making sense. "You're crazy," she breathed, and looked at him as such. A bit of fear shone behind the determination. 'nothing more unsettling than realizing your fight with death will be against a crazed Zealot coming to storm your school...

Her posture fell, her expression faltering as he ignited his saber as well. For the first time since Kaalia Pavanos had bought her freedom, Aradia considered running. It was a primal thought, born from fear so strong it left her frozen.

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

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

You are strong. Have faith in yourself. Allyson Locke 's encouragement rang through her. Somehow it meant more coming from a stranger. Aradia faced down Oceiros and his bulking form, her fear reminding her what she was here for: Survival. ...And a test of merit. But still! Survival.

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

Yes, Master.

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

"I said get off my lawn!"

When faced with the wrong-doings of her kind, when given the chance to stand aside, she stood stalwart. Oceiros had heard much about the Sith it only tormented the Jedi so to see how deep the seeds of malevolence had embedded themselves into the young woman. She could’ve been so much, she could’ve perhaps been a politician, perhaps a fighter pilot, or even a Jedi, yet it seemed Fate and the Force had conspired together to place her firmly within the clasps of the Sith.

Escaping the Epicanthix's mouth was a heavy sigh as he resigned himself to a fight he did not wish for. “So be it, I only hope you can forgive me for what comes next.” Oceiros offered. Raising his blade to defend himself he stared onwards at the acolyte the world, no the force itself seemed to recoil away from his touch. The air grew cold around him, his heart seized and time seemed to slow.

From all across Bastion, Oceiros could feel it, the rage, the sorrow, the agony all coming out at once, formed and harnessed in an instant. It all concentrated and focused on one single thing. Death! Whatever was taking place the Jedi did not like the feeling of it. So caught in the currents of the force the neophyte barely had time to register his opponents attack.

Gasping inwards as time returned to normal, his body once more under his control, Oceiros kicked off the ground with his leading foot much like a fencer skipping a step back. The crimson blade of the acolyte skirted mere centimeters from the warrior’s neck, what would’ve been a near instant fatality. If Oceiros had been even a millisecond slower his legacy would’ve come to a definite end.

Azure blade rising its lethal song penetrating the air, the tip pointed towards the exposed woman and thrust towards her right shoulder. When taught to fight one is told to do what one must to survive and bring the encounter to an end. For Oceiros it wasn’t that simple, it would never be that simple. There were Jedi out there who would go to death as the first solution, that would have no issue bearing down upon the acolyte and leaving nothing but a corpse in their wake. Those weren’t the actions a Jedi should take, they wouldn’t be the actions Oceiros would take. He couldn’t bring himself to strike down one so young, so misguided, and with so much room left to find her path back to the light.

 

[Rezom]

Vitani Azumi

The noise of the jetpack attracted Maek's attentions and his slitted eyes turned to stare straight towards the jetpackers. His body showed no signs of retreat, Maek had no intention of running now that he was spotted. But he did not have the time any longer to reload. More aggressive tactics were required. He swung himself using the ledges of the building, climbing up it rapidly. Kamak was the main issue right now as he fired on the Kaleesh. Maek leapt off it, to the side and towards Azumi. The best way to prevent getting shot by someone, is to risk their ally's life in the process.

He came down with the bayoneted rifle, intending on deflecting her electrostaff with the rifle and then aiming a kick towards her left shin. He was not quite five inches taller than her. Height could make all the difference. Especially in close combat. Even if your opponent was of exactly the same skill level, if you used different types of weapons, you had to change the way you fought them. It's why he aimed for the shin instead of the hip, while it would likely hurt less, it also meant she'd have less time to respond.

The next move would be a matter of how they acted. His senses were on high alert and he was trying to make it so that he could have them all on one side, avoid getting himself surrounded. The downside of this would be they could have more openings to shoot at him without hurting each other. But he'd rather be able to see them all to respond, than not and risk that they had no mercy for each other.

 

[Auteme]

Aerarii Tithe ​

Auteme could feel the shift in the man's conviction even before he spoke. For a brief moment her concentration as she thought -- Wow, I'm pretty cool. But she knew she couldn't do it on her own. Aerarii would do his part and the Force would be with her the entire way.

"Yeah, let's go." Unlike just about everything else, Auteme had little knowledge on Ravelin. She'd been running almost entirely on instinct -- the Force hadn't lead her wrong yet -- but having someone with knowledge of the city was reassuring. After all, the best thing to do when she didn't know something was to look for someone who did know that thing.

The pair moved through the Imperial City towards the Great Sith-Imperial Library. Auteme found herself in a state of flow; there were dangers all around. While the accountant navigated the city, she navigated those dangers. Twice she took them a different way than he said. A blast leveled a building on the street they'd been headed towards; a group of Sith troopers attacked a New Imperial tank convoy in the next. Auteme felt the Force focused within her. She was so close to it. Were she a Sith, she might've seen it as a blessing of the truest power in the galaxy. Were she a more powerful Jedi, she might've described it as approaching Oneness. She could feel every twitch, every shift, every minute ripple in the Force that told her what was happening.

She hadn't been prepared for the tremors.

They'd reached the Great Library when she first felt it. Aerarii had found them a way in, but when Auteme first stepped through the door she felt a chill run down her spine. She thought it was the atmosphere of the place; like no Jedi had ever set foot in this place. Like no Jedi had ever been meant to. That was certainly chilling enough.

But when she turned her head to look around, she saw. She saw that traitor general, the Imperator, marching with a deadly resolve to fight. Saw stormtroopers raising their rifles to new targets. Saw red blades flash, desperate, angry. She heard. She heard the words of Tavlar. Sith. Enemy. Hunt. She felt.

She felt the cries of those so pained and betrayed, the rage of the dying, the cries in the Force as so many sensitive to it were snuffed out. Up until then it'd been a dull hum she'd pushed to the background. She had no connection to the darkness; when those so committed to death and war passed on, was she to be surprised? Sad? Life was defined by its end. The Force did its best to keep all things alive (well, part of the Force) but there was always a point where things ended. Accepting it was difficult, but necessary to live. To enter the flow of life.

Yet in that moment she felt nothing but pain. The flow was disrupted; the Force cried out. Not imbalanced, not yet -- there was more than enough evil and darkness to go around -- but pained. Nothing compared. She was thankful nothing compared to that feeling, but it did not lessen the pain.

Auteme screamed, cried, stumbled; clutching her head as she fell to her knees to one side of the hall. It tore at her mind and senses, threatening to break her. She had been so in tune with the Force that the sudden betrayal was amplified in her mind.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She curled into a ball on the floor, tears spilling onto the tiles.

Down the hall, heavy footsteps approached the crippled Jedi and the accountant.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: By Your Hand //:
//: Live Long Enough to Become the Villain //:
//: Imperial Capital Complex //:
//: Loske Treicolt //:​

You've done enough...please stay.
I can't love you the way you want, but you still mean the world to me.
Stay here, put away the cape for a while, and just try to live for yourself
​

It was unfair. ​

Allyson had studied the trio while she had been with them; she knew them and understood their triggers and faults. It wasn't because she had planned this mission from the beginning; it was her job to know them. She knew everyone, she observed and studied every single Jedi in the New Jedi Order. Logs were kept on their habits, their skills, desires, and vices. All of that information was banked into the Corellian's head and on files that only Bait could access. She had to cut them off; she would hate herself if something happened because of her work.​

It was her love for them, her love for the Jedi that refused to let them be led to the slaughter like the good Jedi they were. Jyoti was right; she didn't trust them, she didn't think highly of them, because if she did, she wouldn't try to catch them when they fell. ​

Allyson thought the world of them, she thought the world of Loske - loving someone like she loved Jyoti and Loske was rare for the Corellian. It hurt to drive the hilt of the blade into the Kiffar. Allyson felt Loske's warm breath against her cheek, driving home what she had done. Guilt weighed on her heart, but she justified it with the hope that Loske would turn and go home, ending this fool's errand. ​

Hands gripped her wrists, and a smirk spread across the Corellian's lips. Loske was a fighter, and Allyson at times refused to see that. If there was anyone that she could use on her side, it was Loske. If things were different, if Allyson was good at asking for help or realizing that she needed it - Loske and Jyoti would be the first ones she'd ask. Yet, the guilt lingered once more. Both women had something keeping them grounded. Doubt still filled Allyson's mind when it came to the Echani Inquisitor, everything was too perfect, but the Corellian was too deep to escape. ​

Her heart was too enraptured by the Echani Sith. Loske's grip pulled Allyson, she fell forward following the pathway that Loske had wanted her to fall. As the woman fell, the chill of the dark side rippled and scraped through the Force. It was heavy, and Allyson could only gasp as she tried to catch her breath. The sudden death of so many occurred nearly simultaneously, brothers and sisters in arms turning on their own. An unprovoked betrayal, the same betrayal she had orchestrated for herself. Was this how they felt? Was this the pain that burned through their joined hearts? ​

Confusion and defeat whispered as the false traitor only thought of one person at this time. Jorryn Fordyce. Allyson hadn't gotten a visual on the Echani, she could feel her, but that was in. Allyson mentally pushed through the voices screaming for revenge, their lovers, and their mothers. The voices wanted someone to pay, someone to remember them, someone to comfort them in the hour of their last breath. Was Jorryn among those that cried out? Had she found herself caught in the crossfire of the Imperial betrayal? ​

So many questions burned through the woman's mind as she felt the cement under her. Remembering she was in combat, she turned, raising the hilt of her blue saber to protect herself. Despite the effort, her hesitation had been her undoing. The last-ditch attempt she had was to try and move away from the overhead strike. Allyson used the Force to push herself back, but it was too late. With the deaths in the Force weighing on her, with Loske's unforgiving strike against her, and not knowing where Jorryn was - Allyson had no chance. ​

Flesh melted against the tip of the golden blade, once more it drank in her blood, the blood of Loske's personal Judas. Through gritted teeth, Allyson endured the ion blade as it glided across from shoulder to hip. Her small movement was enough to avoid being split in two, but she wondered if that would have been more forgiving. A blood-curdling cry of pain echoed over the explosions as Allyson and the Force pulled away. The lightsaber resistant leather jacket was made of protected parts of her body, but the white shirt she wore melted into her burned loose skin. ​

Allyson had been able to push herself away from the blow, far enough so that Loske couldn't retaliate. Using a hand to lift herself up, she reached out and focused her energy. The Force swelled within her grasp and pushed forward, hoping to create a stance between them. The movement and her breathing caused Allyson's cauterized flesh to crack and bleed. The pain was nothing like she had felt before, but she didn't know if it was because of the attack or who it was from. Blood leaked from the crackled burned flesh, Allyson finding some strength to stand could only get to her knees, one foot planted to support her. A hand checked the wound as it only bled more with each labored breath. She would die of blood loss before anything else, and all she could do was chuckle at the thought. ​

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." Allyson felt the power difference in her friend. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you became a knight." Tears stained her cheeks as she kept her head down, unsure if she could lift her head to stare at her executioner. "I always believed in you, Maynard and Ryv are in good hands - they always have been. You were never the weak one, Loske - you are the glue that kept everyone alive...together." Maybe it was time for her to come clean, at least before the world grew dark, she could find some redemption in Loske's heart. "I had a mission, one that not even the director of the SIA knew about, none of the Jedi, no one. Someone higher ordered the hit." Talking hurt, but she continued through her labored breaths, "I was to assassinate the Emporer, get close and kill him. His pride would swell having someone so high in the SIA fall to his side. Cutting all of you off was to make it believable. What happened to Ryv, was my fault, my weakness - I fell apart. I can't fix that, but at least you know the truth. I never wanted to leave, but I had to - I had to make it believable. I needed you to hate me."​

A hand attempted to futility touch the wound, hoping that maybe she could catch the blood and shove it back into her. A soft chuckle as she was briefly reminded of the old holofilms of knights trying to collect their disemboweled guts after they were cut in two. It was so silly to try and fight it, yet she was trying to catch her blood. ​

"It looks as though my path will end here. My friend, claim your victory - finish this." She smiled softly, a smile that was reminiscent of their time in the hangers, Simpler times. "Your path lies across my grave. It's time for you to find the courage to walk it. If I'm to die - let it be by your hand." Allyson had failed her mission. The choice had been taken from her. Though she had always known she would never see the end of the fighting. If anyone was to kill her at least it was by someone who would make it quick. In this last moment, when she should have been feeling peace, she only felt regret. ​

Maybe I should have hung up my cape when I had the chance. Don't you think, Jyoti?​

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: ??? | Irveric Tavlar
Enemies: The Sith
Objective: Dark Kyber

Quiet​

Irveric spoke with truth in his words and if that wasn’t enough, his physical being here would silence any doubts that would arise. His mind came to reminisce many things throughout his life in brief moments. What began a career in the military as a simple soldier in the Sith Empire turned him into something unrecognizable, each moment shedding his skin; a snake. He had lied, cheated, colluded, and done many terrible things all in the name of patriotism. Proud of his service with not a single regret, but that faded away ever since the start of this Civil War. His mind was shedding its coat, retracing memories and analyzing them. His mind came to the Circle, the meeting amongst Sith Lords and mortal men after receiving the first punch from the New Imperials. It was then, at that moment, the Sith listened to the words Tavlar once spoke before his exodus and treated their non-Force using counterparts as equals.

They played us like a damn fiddle



Not just that moment, but countless others before. All just to control and have the cogs in that timeless clock work forever without missing a second.



Why are we still here?



He could feel it, and he was sure it was the same feeling Irveric felt. They weren’t here just to suffer, although they will always suffer until their last battle.



All the comrades I’ve lost...I can feel them, they’re all still there. You feel it, too, don’t you, Irveric?



Everything he did was for not just for his nation, but for all the men and women he dedicated his life to in order for them to have a more secured life. That, however, was a delusion. He had yet to hear any reports of the Emperor leading the frontlines, to defend what Djorn and everyone had fought for. He was nowhere to be found on the battlefield. Irveric? A man not caring for toxic power was here with his men, diving into the fire and being a beacon for those behind him. The Sith would cower away, preserving their rotten, hollowed bodies to pursue exactly what Tavlar said: an indulgence into needless slaughter for their own liking. ​

He had been robbed.

I’m gonna make them give back our future



It took him long enough to make this decision. ​

Irveric walked passed him, not wanting to continue the fight between them anymore. He had his back exposed, not putting up a guard or anything to defend himself. If Djorn truly did not have any intuition, any free will and just a programmed soldier, he would have taken the shot. But he didn’t. He peered down at his helmet still at his feet in the scarred rubble and earth. With a gentle motion he kicked the helmet, watching it roll away until it stopped in its tracks with the shattered visor gazing at him.

<“Anyone still alive...stand down. That’s an order.”> he said via comms to his team, knowing some were alive still fighting and some either dead or unconscious. They would be bewildered to hear his voice utter those words, already knowing they would protest and say all kinds of things out of their emotions. He’d give them a choice to make and let them face the consequences of any road they chose, just as he gave himself the choice to make moments ago.

“Irveric,” he called out to the Imperator, “where to?”

“That was some good techniques back there...you’re pretty good.”

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

Violence. By these means he found everlasting freedom. Was it enough to say or assume that Kezeroth was blinded by his fury, for some perhaps, but for the red behemoth himself? This rage that clawed at his being was still treading in shallow water. Hatred was a deeply rooted tree on the Gen’dais being and it would not be removed or ignored easily.

Years. A mere measurement given by the masses to keep track of time itself. Years felt like a simple month in the perception of a Gen’dai. Kezeroth was old, impaired with multiple degrees of psychosis and not to mention crippled by heavy darkside degradation. Yet stil his body moved and persisted to rampage forward. His vocals boomed once more only to scream her name.

Ashin.

A woman who attempted to immolate in years past. And though time had moved on, it did not for the likes of Kezeroth. Burned as an offering, not as a sacrifice but for her cause. Not that it matters now. Nearing closer the giants body twisted, jerked and shifted dodging the incoming debris with preternatural reflexes. Almost instantaneous as if it was mere instinct. An effortless flow like an opera in preformance, only to fall into chaos as the armored Gen’dai drew closer and closer. The last imcoming debris were not even acknowledged as being a threat. Pummeling his duranium armor plating and denting it inward across the torso, shoulder and even the temple.

The closer a predator got to its prey the more savage and reckless it was to become. It was fear. Fear from the young lady Quinn Varanin that he had sensed.

How exquisite the taste was. There was only one moment to have had and it was this one here and now.

A large barrel was hoisted up to armored visage. Kezeroth took aim with his weapon and pulled the trigger twice. Green energized liquid propelled from the acid rifle in a flash of yellow. Both aimmed at the young womans mid-rib or hip region. Apon contact the containment field would rupture causing xenoboric acid to splash about the scene.

“ Remember me?! You little maggot. Dont run from me now! Stand right there and take in what will soon become of you.” Kezeroth growled aloud keeping his rifle trained on the woman. In the distance New Imperial military began to storm the scene and as of yet did not assist him. It was just as he liked it. To claim his kill for himself.

Stormtrooper visages fell apon the giant in mass. Organizing and preparing in the background with silent obedience. The heavy ordnance and flame troopers stalked the scene.

His pace came to a slow. Treating his intended sith target as a proper threat but also to learn more about what was going on all of a sudden. Apprehension lingered like a shadow and hesitation with it. Time itself came to what felt like a halt after expending force energy to stimulate his perception further.

What in chaos are these troopers doing?! I did not call for assistance or backup. I ordered them to storm the eastern wall. They are flanking.. us?

(OOC: Phone post)

 

[Rurik Fel]

P A R A B O L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
Armor | Lightsaber | Pistol | The Vane
S I L V E R _ F O R _ M O N S T E R S . . .

​

He was strong, but he was not strong enough. Every moment he spent willing the force to his behest was a moment faltering his control of the pain that rotted his physique. The Twilight had wounded him down to the very foundation of his soul, disrupting the spiritual peace of his pneuma. The disruption of his focus from the searing pain drew him to recoil from the Shadow Hand before he retained his footing once more.

As he had with the vortex of corrosive flames which threatened to consume him moments before, he was unable to will the force to his aid once more as his mind was addled, his body faltering as each nerve that flowed through him erupted in a searing envelopment of pain.

The crimson beam of the darkness fired out and made purchase against his chest. It was an electric necrosis as he felt the darkness pulse past his skin and into the marrow of his bones until he'd feel the plasmatic sting of the pain wither into nothingness.

He'd regained control. The pain, inoculated.

The sword came down over him and his argent blade was there to meet it, his organic left hand grasping ahold of his right wrist as the cybernetic stemmed back the demonic strength of the Shadow Hand in the clash of blades.

His eyes narrowed before they locked with the infernal gaze of the Zambrano once more, just as he mouthed his imposing rhetoric.

"You will die like all the rest."

In retort, the Knight Commander spoke-

Immediately following his words, his left hand surged down to his armor to draw the pistol concealed at his waist, quickly drawing it and angling the barrel in the direction of Prazutis's chest. Primed to fire a sonic round, he squeezed the trigger to pull an implosive silence at the air before the blaster discharged a wave of sonic energy toward the breastplate of the Shadow Hand's armor.

Venerative of the power to deal death at his will, he would not indulge Braxus without a mortal contest of wills to expend him. After all, he felt it now.

Errant, the Order. They had all begun the crusade. The crusade to bring about the fall of darkness. He hadn't foreseen it taking place here, but even if it mean't the sacrifice of his mortal shell, he was ready to pay the price.

THE DEMON
Darth Prazutis ​

 

[Republic Engineering]

Location: Bastion // Ravelin // Administrative Sector.
Primary Objective: Raid the Imperial Capital Complex.
Secondary Objective: Secure Alliance L.Z. #23 for Marine Support.
Status: Engaged.
Allies: Galactic Alliance | New Imperial Order.
Enemies: The Sith Empire.​

When the battery emplacements fell silent, and the heavens above were made safe, the Vanguard of the Galactic Alliance began to touch down in earnest. Squads of Alliance Marines, once scattered by the concentration of aerial firepower, both on the surface and in the air, slowly regrouping at the structure that the Commandos of Sigma Squad cleared. They began to fortify the location, in a fashion, as they took up residency within the burnt-out ruin. It was to become one of the many Forward Outposts that the Alliance would establish on Bastion's surface in the coming hours. However, what made this landing site special, was that it held the esteemed honour of being one of the first. The change had been slow initially, but the ruined structure wasn't recognizable anymore after the Marines got started. Coarsely woven bags, filled with an energy-absorbent silicon compound, had been piled high at many defensive positions. Those artificial barricades were further reinforced by automated sentries - or Marines situated behind their walls with fixed gun emplacements.

Hell, there was even a section of the roof, reinforced through deployed bracing, that served as an improvised landing platform for the Command Staff's Gunship. Such a platform was considered a luxury amongst Ravelin's burning streets.

If they stayed to witness the Outpost's completion - there would have been a part of Gideon's mind that would've been impressed with their alacrity. However, the Commandos of Sigma Squad were long gone by the time their comrades began setting up shop. As the first Silica bag hit the shattered duracrete, Gideon and his men were halfway through the adjacent City Block - navigating through the ruins and debris with practiced ease. Their advances went unheard, as the constant rapport of energy weapons chattered off in the distance. The ash-stricken skies clung to their armour like forlorn lovers, despoiling the near-innocent white plating that lingered beneath. Billowing remnants of a nearby building clumped together around the portions of Gideon's armour that were stained with Sith blood - before cascading to the floor as he pushed through a sidestreet.

There was fighting nearby. He and the rest of the Squad could hear it - the repeated cracks of thunder from mounted energy weapons meshed with the concussive burst of shoulder-mounted munitions. From what the man could tell - the fighting was fierce. Had they reached the front? Who could tell? With the City being the continent's size and the staggered landing zones dispersed throughout Ravelin, it was hard to tell where one side began and the other ended. Such truths made urban combat extremely dangerous, especially since all three combatants equipped their troops with stark-white armour. Every corner had to be thoroughly checked. The Commandos of Sigma could ill-afford being gunned down by friendly forces - simply because they looked similar to the enemy. That not only would've been an embarrassing way to meet their respective makers but a damned shame for the perpetrators once they found out they mistakenly killed their 'friends.'

Gideon raised a clenched fist as they reached the sidestreet's end, signalling the rest of Sigma Squad to halt. Whilst they made their approach towards the exit, where they'd spill out onto a rubble-strewn juncture, the sounds of battle began to fade into the distance. The crack of discharging energy weapons and the concussive barrage of shoulder-mounted rockets was instead replaced by something else that caused the Lieutenant to pause. Something was playing over the loudspeakers. He couldn't tell what it was, even with all of the amplifying equipment woven into his Helmet's delicate circuitry. Whatever it was, the man mused, must be important. His only hope was that it was allied propaganda or broadcasts - rather than the usual Sith-Imperial drivel that once populated these streets.

Once the path forward was cleared, Gideon threw his hand forward - directing his Squad to advance into the juncture with a chopping motion. They would take up positions nearby, using whatever they could find to keep themselves from being detected. Or, in the event of a worst-case scenario, something that would offer them sufficient enough cover. Their guns swept every conceivable angle, searching for possible targets. When none were found, they advanced again. They ran through the process several more times - before reaching the site of the firefight. Sith Imperial Legionnaires and New Imperial Stormtroopers littered the streets, with vehicles from either side cast aside by their anti-vehicular weapon's lethality. Gideon couldn't tell who won right away. But, that mattered little. As soon as the Squad began to navigate the killing fields, they were greeted by an armoured column seeking to advance through this quadrant.

They were exposed. Out in the open, with nowhere to hide. As the first Challenge echoed through his Helmet's aural receptors, Gideon felt his spine begin to prickle. However, there was something oddly familiar about this Challenge that swept aside such notions of mounting anxiety. This armoured Column was friendly. At least, friendly enough not to shoot them on sight. When the Challenge came again, the Commando gave the proper response. It forced his IFF transponder to pulse across the established connection. After a moment of tense silence, the confirmation was made. "You boys are lucky that our connection to FOB's strong," the Commander of the armoured Column said after retrieving his results. "We can't afford to take any chances. Not with this being an all or nothing assault."

"I would've done the same thing, Sir," Gideon agreed. "However, I think it would've been quite an unfair fight between the two of us. Your armour's tough, but we would've had the advantage of terrain, especially with that high ground nearby."

"That implies we wouldn't bring the building down with you inside it. While I appreciate your sharp tongue, Lieutenant, I'm afraid that I can't indulge you any longer. I've got a timetable to keep and a Capital Complex to besiege."

While Gideon couldn't see the Tank Commander, his eyes narrowed in on the lead Repulsortank - where the man was assumed to be situated. "It seems our assignments align, Commander. Mind if my Squad and I hitch a ride?"

The Tank Commander scoffed. "Oh, I mind, alright. However, Command will have my head if I don't play nice with Alliance-types. We've got a transporter three vehicles back. You're welcome to clamber aboard if there's enough room. But once we reach the Complex, you're to disembark immediately. I can't have you messing up my operation."

Gideon rolled his eyes. ​

"Of course, Sir. We appreciate it, and be out of your hair long before the Siege begins."​

Their journey through the ruined City was swift. They were lucky enough to run into the advancing armoured Column, and even more, so that there was enough space in the back of the appointed transport. When the Column reached their appointed destination, having thankfully encountered minimal resistance, the Commandos rapidly disembarked from the New Imperial transport and dashed into cover. Dozens of armoured vehicles passed them by, ranging from troop transports to armoured battle tanks. When the Commander mentioned that his mission was to besiege the Capital Complex - he wasn't kidding. Gideon surmised that there must've been enough ordnance within those transports to level an entire city block under a sustained bombardment.

As the last of the Column trundled by, the Lieutenant ordered his men to proceed down another sidestreet. They would effectively skirt around the deploying New Imperial formation and seek to flank the Complex whilst they began tearing it down - one duracrete slab at a time. Sigma's fateful encounter with the armoured Column forcibly pushed up their timetable. Their initial projections were thrown out of the window, as their mission's success became a race against the clock. They needed to act fast before the entire building was brought down on top of them. Thankfully, Wrecker pointed out that the Complex was a sprawling fortification spread out over a large area. That meant they had a bit of a cushion to pad themselves with as they sought to accomplish their assignment. Well, unless the Tank Commander decided to target, and subsequently exploit the structural weaknesses in the building's design.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Gideon and his Squad moved to flank the sprawling installation. As they did so, a curious signal began to play across the shared Alliance and New-Imperial BattleNet. It was a transmission from the Imperator himself. Was the man seeking to embolden his troops with a rousing speech? Had the Sith Empire surrendered, and the man sought to put an end to the fighting? He couldn't tell for sure. However, what drew his attention at that moment was the flash of a crimson lightsabre erupting from the shadows of a nearby building. A Sith Warrior - allied with the New Imperials - sought to usher the Stormtroopers forward. But, they refused to comply with his command; instead, they collectively concerned themselves with this oddly-timed transmission from their beloved Imperator.

As Gideon patched himself in and began listening to the broadcast, all the Commando heard before the shooting resumed was "COMMENCE OPERATION KYBER DARK."

It wasn't the enemy that those Stormtroopers shot at. Instead, it was the Sith that allied himself with the New Imperials - seeking to lead them to victory against his misguided kin - that found himself being the target of their plasmatic fury. The Stormtroopers poured on the pressure from over a dozen angles, seeking to whittle down his resolve and breach his defences. His crimson sabre became a blurry stain on Gideon's display. The man fed upon the sudden surge of barely-contained rage that thundered within his chest. The Sith's skill with a Lightsabre managed to save him from their initial betrayal, allowing him a moment to dash away from the battlefront - seeking to escape his impending doom.

However, Gideon and Sigma Squad found themselves situated in the man's path. There was no use declaring themselves to be allies. The New Imperial Order just betrayed the Sith within their ranks for reasons unknown to him. Why would the Sith believe that the Alliance would offer him safe harbour? The Sith this man fought valiantly against were the same Order of Darksiders that laid waste to the Core Region. Why in the countless hells would an Alliance Soldier not take advantage of this situation and take revenge? It was their entire purpose for joining the war alongside the New Imperials in the first place. Hell, it was the very reason that Gideon himself re-enlisted with the Defence Force.

As the gap between the two closed, the Sith acted first out of desperation. He didn't wait for the Commandos afore him to react. Instead, He used his mysterious powers to throw Dynamo and Whisper aside. Both of the Commandos were flung into the duracrete slabs that formed the foundations of a partially ruined structure, and pained groans echoed from their Helmet's as they slumped to the ground. Wrecker counter-charged the Sith as the man came ever-closer, shouting wordlessly in anger at the wounds doubtlessly inflicted on his brothers-in-arms. The Sith wasn't phased by the Commando's reckless charge. Instead, the Warrior brandished his crimson sabre and slashed downwards - clefting an armoured gauntlet from Wrecker's heavily-built frame. The man howled in agony, before throwing his other hand forward - seeking to connect.

Sadly, the fist never connected, as the Sith bent out of the way. He slid underneath the strike and used his forward momentum to carry on with his seemingly relentless stride. Gideon found himself in an awkward position. The Sith was too damned close to do anything about with his ranged weapon. One wrong move and his own gun would be turned against him as the plasmatic wash would bathe him - just as much as it would his target. However, the Sith was too far away to attack with his combat knives or integrated systems. He had noth- Wait. Without even thinking, Gideon reached down and drew the pilfered Lightsabre that once dangled from his belt. He felt a flash of revulsion run down his spine, but his thumb reacted by reflex as the Sith drew his own sabre back.

The crimson sabre materialized into being with the tell-tale Snap-Hiss and bathed their surroundings into yet another shade of pulsating arterial crimson. The Sith arrested his forward momentum and stared at Gideon with a dumbfounded look adorning his face. A moment of silence passed between the two before it was broken by a sudden bark of laughter erupting from the Sith's ash-stained mouth.

"I thought being betrayed by my own Soldiers would be the only surprise I'd live to see this day. An Alliance Commando with an... Angry flashlight? That's an amusing first. Let's see if you can use that trophy of yours."

The nameless Sith took a step back, and once-again brandished his sabre with an artful flourish. On the other hand, Gideon felt awkward with the beam of barely-contained plasma between his armoured digits. It didn't have as much weight as he expected. That meant he'd be forced to adopt unfamiliar stances in the hopes of parrying his attacker's strikes - let alone try and exploit whatever openings presented themselves. Sure, he had training with a wide array of melee weapons - but this… this Lightsabre was something wholly surreal. Just as Gideon fell into an imperfect imitation of a Jedi's opening stance - one he had witnessed many times throughout his recent career - the Sith attacked. His once drawn back sabre swept down, whilst the dark-eyed figure brandished a mocking sneer.

Gideon brought the blade up with a single hand to parry the mocking blow. But, as soon as the two sabre's connected, his free hand cannoned forward - exploiting the glaring hole in the man's pretentious guard - catching the Sith in the stomach. Taking a step back to disengage, the Sith started to cough as the wind was forcibly expelled from his lungs. "That was dirty, Commando." He managed to say after heaving through mouthfuls of air. "I thought I'd toy with you for a moment, but it seems you've got some skill with a blade. Seems I was mistaken."

"That's your kind's problem. You make too many mistakes," Gideon said as he readopted the imitated stance. Then, for the briefest moment, Commando's eyes were drawn away from the Sith as something in the background drew his attention. At that moment, the Lieutenant made a grave mistake. He took his eyes off his enemy, and they used that momentary distraction to throw themselves at the Commando. Their blade slashed at his armour and bit deep before it was drawn back. While the strike wasn't enough to puncture his suit's underlayer, a portion of his armour was compromised by the Lightsabre's plasmatic kiss. Having struck his opponent, the Sith sought to take advantage of the situation once more. However, this time, the Sith's plasmatic sword clashed with its cousin as a shower of sparks bathed both combatants.

The Sith howled in rage as he threw himself at Gideon, again and again. The Commando did his best to parry with the awkward weapon. But, the Warrior was better trained and used to the weapon's featherlight weight. Two in every three strikes broke through Gideon's guard and slashed at his armour. He was being driven back and slowly subjected to a death by a thousand cuts. The Sith wanted to make him pay for the betrayal that the New Imperials had wrought, and for seemingly blocking his attempt to flee. Everything he was doing wasn't enough. Gideon was going to die at the hands of this Sith, and he knew it. The least he could say once he reached the other side was that he attempted to go toe-to-toe with someone out of his league.

Suddenly, the Sith howled once again. This time it wasn't in rage like before. This time, it was agony. The man disengaged and began grabbing at something that protruded from his shoulder. There was a flash of dulled steel as the image finally rendered on his laser-burned and sundered Helmet. A combat knife, thrown by hands unseen, had buried itself in the man's shoulders - right beneath the hardened plate of bone. There was no way that the Sith could get that out without causing himself a great deal of pain. The fact that he was standing was a testament to his constitution. Gideon couldn't help but laugh. "Your kind makes too many mistakes," the man said again.

"You have a nasty habit… of putting others down, and putting yourself above them all because you have what… an angry flashlight and some magic?"​

Gideon spat through his Helmet's broken mouth grille before returning his attention back towards the wounded Sith Warrior. He took a step closer, but the Warrior lashed out with his sabre as soon as he did. As his range of motion was limited, the slashing blade grazed the Commando's breastplate. The Sith tried to push through the pain and drew back his arm once more. However, a loud bang that erupted from nearby and suddenly - the Sith's hand and brandished sabre turned into a cloud of particulate, bloody mist.

He shrieked then. He kept screaming until Gideon stalked forward and finally silenced him with a flick of his wrist. As the Sith slumped backwards, and his head rolled in another direction, the Commando finally collapsed. Exhaustion from the short but furious bout started to override the cocktail of combat drugs flooding his system…

Darkness took hold of his vision. Was this what death felt like? No. He died once before on an Orbital far, far away from here. This wasn't anything like then. But, death came in many forms. Who knew for sure until their time had come. Until then… Gideon fell unconscious, embraced by the very darkness that stole one of his senses.

 

[Ursula Vizla]

L O C A T I O N | Stealing from the rich.
O B J E C T I V E | Ravelin.
T A G S | Cyndane
G E A R | Armor, lightsaber, pistol,
Lightwhip, ring, gloves, necklace.​

Some people who had gone through her life called Ursula irresponsible. A creature too wild to follow complex orders, codes of morality, principles, and even other people, and perhaps the living proof of that was the fact that she has already worked in almost all of the greatest governments in the galaxy. She piously fought the ancient Mandalorian Empire, before fighting alongside rebels against the Sith, doing mediocre work for former First Order fanatics, she had done what was asked by the imperialists of that New Order, doing things that would do anyone vomit in the name of countless crime lords and the worst scum found in the Underworld.​

It was the Confederacy that she now called her home. Not because of her beliefs, but because of the flexibility of the laws in relation to her profession, one that she was very proud to declare that she always kept, regardless of what it was. This time the imperials had offered her a fortune to take part in the group of cannon fodder that cleared the way to Ravelin's capital, she didn't even fire a single shot and just pocketed the imperial money. There, she was also at the behest of the imperials but a larger offer had been made and her contractor had been very specific about what she wanted from the city.​

"Fidelity.", Was all she had received as additional information after receiving her mission and that was not much to work with.​

There, in front of that dark-haired Sith, Ursula could almost understand what had been asked by her dark superiors. Although she was starting to have doubts now, especially if she was going to actually get out of that little nitpick that the mandalorian had started. The Sith was good, perhaps too good for her taste, but Ursula was a creature with few friends, if she had any.​

"Are you all right, my lady?" Her voice asked in a playful tone, although she was a little concerned that she had hurt the merchandise she had found. If your contractor didn't want it, there were hundreds of crime lords who would pay double for a Sith to be kept as a pet in their arenas. "I will try to be gentler to you. I give you my word.", She barely finished speaking and already changed the blade of her hand, letting her hand get used to the weight of the mandalorian steel, swirling the sword in full circles in the air listening little pops on his wrist as the beskar sang while being rotated.​

Her arm was sore, she felt it despite the pain dampeners tucked into her armor. The impact of her blow had probably dried the flamethrower off that wrist, and although she had the other arm Ursula doubted that the blow would work again. She swung her heels and started running again, letting the tip of the blade scratch the floor generating a loud creaking sound despicable to anyone's eardrums, now burned lines from where she came, straight towards the Unnamed Sith, Ursula was letting the blade active in its modality and boil the steel to the point of easily cutting any metal. Her intention was to generate sparks when the two blades collided, first on top to move away and strike in the center and below, the Sith had the advantage of the weight of her weapon and Ursula had to tire those beautiful arms of that deadly brunette if she had any intention to get out of there alive. Although in her heart she knew that things didn't work so easily and tried to worry about getting her cyber leg ready to bounce back.​

“The name is Vizla.”, her teeth growled in a serious tone when she got close enough for the SIth to smell the acklay scent in her armor, "Ursula Vizla.", only to change back to the usual casual tone. "And yours, cupcake?"​

 

[Hiram Voss]

Objective: Sabotage the Malevolence [Cheeky Lil Boarding Post]
Location: Starboard of the Malevolence
Equipment: New Imperial Officers Uniform | CK-60 Disruptor Carbine [x] | 3x Null Grenades [x] | 3x Smart Grenades [x]
Allies: Detritus Ren | Hans Rennagen
Enemies: Grand Moff Aut-X
Theme: Dawn Raid on Fort Knox | John Barry [x]

​

The alarm klaxon whined and groaned as Hiram clamoured over the scrunched up metal plating that had been the Endeavour's fore deck. Flames lapped from shattered consoles. Hiram wheezed as he finally clamoured out and into the cold, desolate interior of the Malevolence. It seemed, strange. Foreign even. Particularly given he had been aboard a few Sith Imperial vessels. But they didn't share that angular aesthetic. Hiram rubbished it internally as his officers, crewmen and New Imperial marines disembarked from the cavernous gaping hole they had inflicted to themselves in ramming the larger vessel.

"This is it." Hiram announced, pulling his officers cap from his tunic, "This is where we make our stand." Hiram paused, and then took a sharp intake in as he sat the cap on his bloodied head, "We are going to see about sabotaging this thing, burrow in like mynocks and give them Gamorrean Chlamydia. We disable its starboard gun, and then maybe engines, who knows." Hiram paused and took a look at the young officers, crew and then the helms of the stormtroopers amongst them, "But we are gonna make sure, that whatever bastard droid is running this show gets their circuits rustled by us." Hiram paused, "Major Meade," He addressed the stormtrooper marine in charge of the vessels compliment, "You get a squad or two of your soldiers, and see if you can find us some sort of reactor conduit, some way to bust the power supply by any means neccessary." Meade gave a curt salute, and then paused, "Lieutenant Hinde," Hiram's attentions turned to the gunnery officer manned with a heavy carbine, "See if you and the rest of the engineering crew can get to a hangar, find us a shuttle, some forms of transport and hold it." Hinde gave a polite nod, before running into the mechanical heart of the vessel. "Rest of you?" Hiram glanced at the crew, "We are gonna go see if we can rupture this bastards plasma rotors."

"Alright men, you heard the Commodore. Movement!" Hadrian snarled at the young enlisted men. The naval personnel started on a crisp run, dispatching themselves through the cavernous halls of the Sith Imperial vessel, while Hadrian paused and gazed at his superior, "You alright sir?" Hadrian inquired, his voice quiet, reverent even as Hiram lifted his cap to dab at the gaping wound in his head. The senior officer shrugged and batted Boars away from him.

"I'll be fine Hadrian," Hiram mused quietly, "Don't you worry, I just-" There was a click on his commlink. Something had come up.

"This is Jin Kyrel, To any New Imperials relay your position," Shock, surprise and finally awe crept onto both Hiram and Hadrian Boars' features. They weren't the only ones aboard the damned vessel. "We have crashed within the hanger of the super weapon seeking to aid any that need the assistance of two Imperial Knights."

Hiram began to start into a run and lifted the commlink to his mouth, "This is Commodore Hiram Voss of the New Imperial Navy," Hiram curtly introduced himself to the Knight. "My cruiser has crashed into this vessel, and unfortunately performed negligible damage to its primary weapons systems." Hiram informed Kyrel, "Yourself and your compatriot would be welcome to join us in rectifying this error." Hiram offered in wry, almost sarcastic amusement, "We are proceeding to the starboard weapon, it'd be nice to see a friendly face."

 

[Ellie Mors]

It's All So Incredibly Loud

Location: Imperial Capital Complex, Gilad Pellaeon Arboretum
Objective: Assume the Will of Typhojem
Close Allies: Quinn Varanin
Confirmed Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Maynard Treicolt , Ryv , Grrwunhoooll Agaburry
Equipment: Talon of Typhojem, Red Saberstaff, Simmersilk Clothing

Just before the dawn.
Darkest.

Two suns in orbit, dancing side by side, one stepping in to guard the other against the darkness that encroached upon all that lived, that breathed, that died. Jedi that came to kill, that came to fight, with no remorse, no guilt, no regret - those were these, epitome of the worst kind. Devout in their beliefs, unfaltering in their steps, they worshiped the blinding rays of Ashla's light, followed it wherever it led them - even if it was to the precipice of the darkness in an abyss that could never find illumination. They sought the Sith, fought Vesta, to bring about an end - but this was only the beginning, only the start.

The extinguished end of the Shi'ido's saber erupted so that its tip collided with the arc of Maynard's saber, and already she was in motion as her body shifted again, a tight grip released on the hilt of the Talon of Typhojem only for her hand to grasp at its hardened leather edge in a reverse grip to punch up with the blade against Ryv 's saber with a shift in leverage, the weight of a heavy blade and the angle at which it was held undaunted by the weightlessness of a blade of plasma. The force called out, its shrill shriek commanding both blades in the Sith's grasp to fly from her hands as she returned to masculinity, both ends of her saber temporarily cut off as her sword and lightsaber traded hands and the end pointing at the newcomer - Ryv - burst forth again towards his chest at the exact moment that it touched Vesta's palm.

It was as the pillar of fire erupted, the blade of the saberstaff in all its red splendor, that the tides in the force began to change.

In the force there was silence, silence as the light on Bastion became engulfed by the darkness in the ultimate act of betrayal played by the New Imperials. Weapons that had been directed at Sith Imperials were trained on those that had abandoned the Empire in hopes of a chance at better standing with the traitorous New Imperials, weapons that now signed the death certificates for many of those Sith - just desserts, perhaps, for those that were far beyond their prime or never had any hopes of amounting to much in an established Empire and jumped at the chance of climbing to glory with a new start. The grip on the Sith's lightsaber was released, almost the moment it had closed around its it, as red lightning erupted from her - his - hand and flung the saber at the Jedi - at Ryv - and he pivoted to turn his attention towards Quinn Varanin while Grrwunhoooll Agaburry fired his rounds.

Telekinetic force, a tearing wave of power, erupted from the sliding heel of the Sith Lord into the duo nearest him as the shapeshifter narrowed his eyes - focus drawing on the acid rounds fired from the barbarian's rifle. Time was slower now, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pumping with such urgency as to not deprive the muscles in his body, in his head, from the oxygen he sucked in through his nostrils as they flared - and as the disturbance in the force began the two shots taken were atomized into nothingness by the Sith's deadly sight.

Shallow breath escaped from recently separated lips as his red eyes glowed, his attention turning to the two Jedi that he had been engaged with - that he had tried to push away with a wave of telekinetic energy - and recognized the surge in pain, in suffering, in confusion and rage. Jedi would know this as a disturbance in the force, an event that shook them to their core - as doubtless many other Jedi that had aligned themselves with the interests of the New Imperial Order already had been. Sith? To peer into the force, at Vesta, was to see the widening of his, of their, terrifying presence as the darkness grew, not only in him, but in the world of Bastion itself.

Death, in an individual, could effect many; death, through decimation, could turn the tides of war; but death, in such large numbers, in such a traitorous manner, in such an emotional bout? The force itself would cry out, and it would tear under the stress of its own screams - screams like so many had cried out and were all at once snuffed out. The galaxy had seen it during the clone wars, during the destruction of Alderaan, of Sernpidal, during the glassing of Dromund Kaas, and the base-delta-zero of Sullust. To those versed in the dark side, those that resided in it, truly, this was no pathetic pain, no empathetic link strained by the weight of so many passing, it was a feast.

And Vesta was starving for more.

"You had believed that dawn was upon us - but there is no sun coming, there is no tomorrow. There is only the night, the eclipse."

Darkness poured from the body of the Sith lord as he fed on the chaos as it began to truly unfold and take its hold on the incursion, and the rage of lightning that had been pouring from his hand was extinguished as he pulled his saber back to himself, wrapping himself in the darkness like a cloak, its corruption rolling off of him in waves. "I am Darth Mori." He said, as he lunged towards Maynard Treicolt with force-enhanced speed, sword in hand, and lifted its tip with the weight of his shoulder put into a jab aimed at his chest while the blades on both ends of his sabers billowed forth in their red fury, their shade one with his eyes.

"And you are already dead."

 

[DK-03]

Fighting w/ Ra's

The duel with Ra's was going about as well as could be expected, with the Darktrooper constantly losing as the immovable object and Ra's raw power as the unstoppable force. The ballet of war between the two really reflected the duality of the nature of this invasion - it was two brothers, two brethren, two men fighting for what they thought was their's, as instructed by their betters. They hadn't made the conscious decision to decide this soil was for their own - they would never see possession of it in their entire lives. Nor did it really matter to either foe. They didn't have family, loved ones, farms to protect - they just sought the battle. It was a deep philosophical mindset that began to dawn on DK-03, as he began reaching into his armor for a metal burrito he had stuffed away for this occasion, to propose peace to this man he hardly knew.

A peace that could be forged between two strangers.

A peace of love for one another, for kindness, for forgiveness. To have the strength to look war in the eye, and tell it "NO."

You took my Taun-Taun, but you will not take my dignity, the Darktrooper thought to himself. We might take this planet. We might not. But we can take peace. We can cast off these shawls of ignorance, of blind obedience, of hatred for these unknown brothers and sisters. They were people. And the New Imperial Order was slaughtering them by the thousands to claim... what? A rock? Another planet? They had plenty of planets.

No, today morality would win. The designation for human life would win. Peace. would. wi-

// Bzzzzzzzzzt. New incoming holomessage from command.
// Commence operation 113987.
// ACCESS CODE: 7834
// Dual authentication authorized.

// Bzzzzzt.


The Darktroopers eyes beamed red as took a minigun to the side of a random Sith warrior's skull, bashing it in with one fell swing.

"K Y B E R D A R K!"
​

The dark trooper's head began to rotate and spin in full circles as he lumbered around the battlefield, robotically walking towards each Sith on the field and bashing their brains in with the blunt handle of the minigun he was holding by the barrel.

"KYBER DARK"

He swung again into the crowd, pushing aside troopers and seemingly immune to anything threatening to stop him as he just mindlessly yelled Kyber Dark and bashed people's heads in.

"KYBER DARK."

"Kyber DARK."
​

"KYBER DARK."​

"KYBER DARK."
​

His beaming red possessed eyes focused on Ra's as the man bashed in his head with a boulder.

And then started bicycle kicking his chest.

"KYBER.


DARK."

Like Jackie Robinson in another galaxy, DK-03 wound back and swung forward with all his might, threatening to either explode the Sith's brains all over the battlefield or hoping to send him flying away like a nice Sithly homerun.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

// F O R T R E S S / / C A R N I F E X
// GARRISON //: Mando'ade Supercommandos | 403rd Stormtrooper Battalion

// ALLIES | NIO | SONS OF MANDALORE
// ENEMIES | TSE | Darth Ophidia

"I will see your people burn again, Vizsla."

Operation Kyber Dark.

Ra's emerald visor emblazoned, brightening.​

The Mandalorian threw his darksaber to the side, clattering to the ground. Cortisis, naturally. It seemed natural the Sith would be prepared to fight other Force Users - as if the Force itself wasn't enough of an ally, this particular opponent seemed to have a proverbial toolbelt of endless contraptions. Grunting in disgust, Ra moved in close to the Rattaki, moving inside of her sabers and attempting to place his free hand on one wrist and locking his arm over the other, still gripping his spear.

He moved to headbutt her with his helmet, despite noticing she was covered in phrik. This person really did pull no punches when it came to being prepared for a duel - she must be of royalty.

But Ra was from the streets.

He moved to headbutt her again.

"I have no people," he whispered, headbutting a third time.

"I am not a community.

Not a culture.

Not a people.

I am the unavoidable.

Unassailable.​

Inevitable."

He headbutted again.
​

Disengaging, he leapt backwards from the assault of rapid headbutting, raising his spear and beginning to spin it.


"I have died twice before, Sith'ari.

I have burned.

Conquered.

You have destroyed me a hundred times before this day.

There is no ending what I am.

You.... however."

He motioned to the Stormtroopers.

"Kyber dark."


They were no longer playing by the rules.

No longer in the sphere of Mandalorian honor.

The Stormtroopers moved in and began firing on the Sith as a swarm of white armor overtook crimson, Ra disappearing behind the swath of Imperial insignias that threatened to overtake the Sith and murder her in cold blood.

​

 

[Halketh]

user :// THE_VULTURE
location :// FORT CARNIFEX, BASTION
objective :// THE_LIVING_WILL_ENVY_THE_DEAD
post :// viii
allies :// NIO | FN-999 & 19TH ASSAULT COMPANY | Agrippa & GLADIUS COMPANY | Ravraa Vyshraal & DORN-02 | DOOM DIVISON
enemies_closeby :// AMCO | Ingrid L'lerim | Aren D'Shade | Caulder Dune
doom_division_status :// 196/230 [LIVING] [97/93] UNDEAD
[x]

ENJOY_THE_SILENCE​

A litany of emotions surged through The Vulture as he swept through the corridor, barking orders to his soldiers over the rampaging thunder of scatterguns and howling undead. He dispatched a large selection of his living forces to aid Agrippa 's ascent, sending three Sith Knights with them and keeping the rest closeby to aid him in keeping the broken forces of The 19th Company alive and shielded. The crushing blow dealt to the Sith Imperials within the fortress rendered them crippled and sent them scattering, only for Halketh to jerk his chin and send the growing numbers of his undead troopers chasing them relentlessly. A fate he did not envy, despite the hatred he held for the Sith.​

The nagging feeling of rising chaos slithered from the back of his mind to the front, twisting his focus in such a way he was forced to surrender to it. The grin on his face only bloomed further, offered to the inside of his broken helmet. His personal guard seemed to sense something as well, as both of them shifted in their boots, whirling crimson lightsabers by their sides anxiously and looking at him with expectation. ​

"You feel it, don't you?" Halketh inquired innocently enough as he strained against the effort of bringing two more Sith Imperial troopers back from the grave, "Something is coming." Of course, he had kept his Sith forces in the dark- fitting enough- about the impending operation, knowing damn well most of them were far too ambitious for their own good. That is why he had selected them, after all.​

The snapping of stiffened joints crackled before him as the two Sith Imperials rose to their feet, contorting limbs to support their weight. Burning red eyes illuminated beneath the lenses of their helmets. "Yes hello, welcome back-" The Vulture reached out, patting the two undead on the tops of their helmets, "Go kill your friends for me." The command seemed so casual on the surface, doing little to reflect the immense control he had over each will he had restored. A piece of him, in a sense, was instilled into every one of those unliving entities. ​

The two undead turned with a rippling series of resounding cracks, each vertebra screaming in protest against the unnatural incantation forcing them to animate. They surged off, chasing after the others.​

"My Lord... what is that?" The Sith Knight on his left asked of him, stuttering slightly as she gripped her head with the palm of a hand.​

"Hm? That disturbance? Well. I have a theory." Halketh answered simply enough as he leeched more of the Essence from a dying Sith Imperial, only to offer it back into the very same body after twisting it around to something horrendously macabre. The trooper clawed his way back to his feet, teeth-gnashing with an unnatural hunger. His new reality. His helmet had been blown off by the force of a previous explosion, leaving his glowing eyes to bore holes into the unseeing Vulture.​

"A theory?" The Sith Knight on the right piped up after finishing the bandaging he had begun around his forearm. "Enlighten us."​

"Betrayal begets betrayal, my dearest Knights." The Warlord answered plainly, batting aside a straying blaster bolt with the back of his hand.​

<"Commence Operation Kyber Dark.">

And there it was. The ushering of the new era he had been dying for. ​

Both of the Sith Knights looked between one another, then turned their focus to him, heads cocking to each side. "Wha-"​

Before the left could finish her question, the sharp pop of a gunshot echoed in the corridor, much more distinct than the others. Blood and grey matter splattered against the war-torn Sith Imperial tapestry to the woman's flank and without another word, she collapsed, limp body smacking to the ground with a thud. ​

Kezec whipped around, squeezing the trigger of his Adjudicator before his second guard could raise saber reflexively. ​

Blood trickled from the newly born hole torn through his chest plate and he rasped for breath, dropping deactivating saber to clutch at the wound with both hands. "W-why?" He wheezed the croaking question, staring up at the impassive mask shielding his Master's face. "W-we... served..."​

"Not soon enough, I'm afraid," Kezec answered, tone flatlining. He took aim again, this time leveling the barrel of his slugthrower at the man's head, "Choices have consequences." He pulled the trigger, ending the man's suffering with at least some level of dignity.​

"You all already know what to do." The Vulture stated, turning his head out of courtesy towards his forces.​

At once, the living troopers around him turned on their Sith Knight comrades, blowing their bodies apart with the same fury they had earned this much ground with. Once more, the red fog swept through the corridor, ushered in by the archons of fate with the exposure of their hands. Screams of fury erupted from those they betrayed, and while some managed to fight back with blinding slashes of lightsaber and arcing coils of lightning, they were simply overwhelmed. Outnumbered, as they had always been orchestrated to be when this day came.​

Slowly, The Vulture's head twisted on its pivot, fixating towards the blood-marked private from the 19th. "You just killed your superior, Private." He remarked coldly, adjusting his grip on the firearm in his hand. "Shame." He leveled the slugthrower and pulled the trigger without hesitation, firing two shots towards the trooper.

"Those of you who have reservations for what we do may aid the arriving medics in tending to the wounded. The rest of you, with me." Halketh addressed them with a confident jerk of his head to their flank. Not a soul fell out of the haphazard formation.​

"Good-" some semblance of pride swelled in his breast as he set about reloading his pistol, "We go, then, their lineage dies tonight."​

WE_HOPE_YOU_HAVE_A_LOVELY_DAY​

user :// MAJOR "BRIDGEBREAKER" STRASZA
location :// FORTRESS CARNIFEX, BASTION
objective :// KYBER_DARK // CULL_THE_RANKS
allies :// NIO | Agrippa , Asharo Madar , Sion Alar , Irveric Tavlar , Ravraa Vyshraal , Djorn Bline , Ra Vizsla , DK-03 , AND OTHERS
enemies :// TSE | NEW IMPERIAL SITH DESIGNATES Caulder Dune , Avernus , Grrwunhoooll Agaburry , AND OTHERS
doom_division_status :// 196/230 [LIVING] 23/60 [NEW IMPERIAL SITH KNIGHTS REMAIN] 97/97 [UNDEAD]

The forces of Doom Divison had heard the order the same as everyone else. They had awaited this day anxiously ever since their Supreme General had first informed them of it. A strange briefing, that had been, and at first, most didn't understand why their Knighted allies were not amongst them. Of course, it all made sense now. If they were to exterminate them all, the element of surprise certainly helped.​

"Move out!" The Major ordered, pumping new ammunition into her scattergun at the helm of the formation. "Let's keep it quick and keep it tight boys and girls. It's prom night!" She took off in a sprint, sweeping through the corridor to chase the tail of Gladius Company who already started the climb to the top of the fortress. "Like hell we're letting you have all the fun!" She skidded to a halt after nearly running headfirst into one of the Knights dispatched to aid Gladius who was attempting to flee.​

Her soldiers poured in around her, training weapons on the Knight, daring him to make a move. He recognized all of them and immediately, hatred blistered his gaze. "You betray me," he snarled with venom-dripping from his tongue. The lightsaber at his side activated with a gut-wrenching hum, further painting the grim scene in shades of crimson.​

"Eh, something like that. It's fine though. You won't be bothered by it in about three seconds." And with that much offered, the shocktrooper commander pulled the trigger of her A-52, rapidly blasting the trapped Knight until he buckled and slumped on the stairs, sending a river of blood creeping down the pathway. Now, Bridgebreaker lifted her helmeted gaze up to Agrippa , disregarding the one-armed Krayt squaring off with two more of her former comrades : "We goin' up or what?" ​

 

[Decimus]

​

Post: 4
Location: Aboard the Malevolence

​

The ship shook violently when Hiram's cruiser embedded itself into the side of the vessel. "Damage report!", Aut-X shouted at one of his droid underlings. "They crashed right into us, sir! Seems like they intend to board us and sabotage the ship! One of their knights also just landed in the hangar bay!", the B1 Battle Droid manning the sensor console reported. "They intend to sabotage the weapon, then. Seal off bulkheads leading to engineering and cut off all power to the ion cannons. If they're sabotaged we can at least minimize damage to the rest of the ship. I want droidekas and security teams down there to intercept the boarders at once! And seal off the bridge and it's elevator for good measure."

Large numbers of OOM-series Security Droids and several Droidekas were dispatched to keep Hiram's forces at bay, while others began to quick establish fortifications and defensive turret emplacements in the corridors. In the case of Jin Kyrel, the security droids dispatched to deal with him were reinforced with a squad of C-B3 Cortosis Battle Droids, whom would prove a very formidable threat against a lone force sensitive.

Hiram Voss
Del Lovruc
Hugot Tyvek VII
Gordon
Detritus Ren
Dracken Pryce
Constantine Oliva
Olen Halcorr
Melia Siari
Thaelius
Onrai
Var Koon
TE-236

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Madelyn Lowe, NIO custody,
Grand Vizier’s Flagship NIV The Sentinel,
Command-distance from Bastion
With Tyrell Paxxus

There was a strange feeling in the air when Madelyn stepped out of her cell. It was if something had shifted, something important. When she stepped out she travelled from one state of affairs to another, or perhaps between chapters. She couldn't quite pin down the feeling, but something significant had just happened. Perhaps eventually, she would know.

She took a moment to glance up and down the hallway, which - aside from a patch of wall opposite her cell door - she had not seen since she was dragged down this corridor several days ago. Madelyn let out a deep breath, relishing the simple sight of the narrow hall stretching in either direction. A welcome sight after days of isolation and brutality.

Ignoring Paxxus' frankly baffling supposition that it was her who was naive, Madelyn gave a slow nod, a brief smirk flashing across her haggard features. "My schedule is clear." She said with a shrug. "You wouldn't happen to be taking me to more comfortable quarters?"

Allowing herself to be lead wherever it was they were going, Madelyn did her best to ignore the ache in her joints, and the dull pulsing of her multitude of bruises. With her injured hand cradled in front of her, she walked with a distant and placated expression with her precession. As they walked, she felt something stir inside her again, tugging at a feeling that had been simmering since her capture on Prefsbelt. She did her best to suppress the emotion, fixing her eyes on the back of the Grand Vizier's head, and then, as they filed into the lift, staring at the man impassively.

Did he think he deserved that? To be standing there, with her his prisoner? Perhaps he felt vindicated, in-control. No doubt Paxxus saw her subjugation as something truly special, a shining example of the triumph of the New over the old.

She, of course, knew better.

The lift lurched, and Madelyn hissed with pain as her crippled arm was pressed against her body. She grimaced and looked out the doors to see a dimly-lit and sparsely furnished room. She hesitated a moment, and one of the guards pushed her forward, prompting her to step into the dim and take a place at a small table, opposite Paxxus.

"So." She said, her gaze flicking around the darkened corners of the room, before settling back on the man's lined face. "What is it you wished to show me?"

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

The Final Solution

​

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

​

“Go, go, go!” Ravraa yelled, his pistol leveling and calling off shots into Sith Legionaries, sentinels, and anyone who vaguely didn’t match the standard white shine of New Imperial betaplast.

This was it, this was to be it. He wasn’t sure what told him, if it was the sweat pouring off of his brow and into his sight as he hefted around corners and vaulted past rubble, if it was the smell of carbon scoring throughout the desolate halls, or the reveling that his squad took in after every hostile they managed to drop. Maybe it was all of these things, maybe it was none of them, all he understood right now was that the fall of the Sith Empire, it’s desecration, it’s fall from grace, was being dealt by his hand.

Perhaps this would be something to tell the grandkids about, if he ever had the luck, if his life ever took that path. He was not meant for war forever, of course, no man was. He would serve his time, he would return home.

This was the dying cries, the death throes, the final call of the Sith Empire. Even should they stand firm in what remained of their Galactic territory past this, they had broken their resolve, their image. The Sith Empire was no longer this unassailable force, the Darkness was no longer a given, they had proven that simple men and women, sentients of all creeds, could hold a torch to the shade and send it crawling back to it’s caves. They could finally slay the beasts, the demons, and return to their home systems as gallant knights upon resplendent steeds, adorned with medals of the finest Chromium. That was the dream, afterall, wasn’t it? To have something to write home about. To instill some hope, in someone, somewhere?

He brought the pistol up, a squad they had just decimated still had a single straggler, an officer by the looks of his clean pressed attire. A pistol held aloft in his own hand as he stumbled over the corpses of his fallen comrades, a crimson bolt went wide, screaming past Ravraa. Another, bursting into the floor. The Togruta was simply walking up to the man. In another life, he would have been the exact same as this lost human. He would have been commanding the armies of the damned, sending them into the fray for Sith masters, for those monsters clad in flesh. They played their masquerade well. Perhaps he did too. A boot came up and kicked the officers handblaster from his hand, barrel to his head a moment later as the man looked up, eyes wide.

No prisoners, no quarter, not for the machinations of the Sith Imperial War Industry.

He blew a smoldering hole clean through the man’s head, letting him slump against his shin armor before making it to the floor.

Lord Noxwalda had been just as uncaring and blunt as he dealt with what remained of the spattering squads and lines that had broken against Dorn-2. He was walking between the corpses, looking for movement, and when he found some, he would point his saber down, flick it on and off, and move on. Dispassionate and disconnected from those that he was reaping. Dehumanizing. Perhaps that was what was needed in war like this. The handblaster weighed heavily in Ravraa’s hand. There was a purpose to all of this, he was certain of it.

Suddenly, a mass of Tridurium was slapped against his chest, by the very passing Sith Lord. Ravraa barely was able to grab it with his off hand before it tumbled to the floor. Pulling back, looking down at it, it was a rifle, quite clearly and obviously. Some form of standard carbine, the same make that he had seen the Sith-Imperials using on the field. He had, previously, seen heavy use of the Autokrator. He was familiar with that, not with this.

“They call it a Judicator, figure you would need something heavier. The man I borrowed it from wasn’t hell bent on using it anyways. Consider it your Lifeday gift.”

Strange packages, strange boxes, strange bedfellows.

The low range coms array, mounted on the wrist of his betaplast, began to crackle and shudder. A voice daring to break through the static. Mellfols took a step forward, giving his arm a slap, earning a flinch and fiery eyes from the Sarg for a moment, before the very obvious, very clear stated voice of the Sovereign broke through the background static.

<"...Sons and daughters of the New Imperial Order...and all those who stand with us in defiance.">
<"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.">

Ravraa’s eyes shot up to Lord Noxwalda, who’s saber still was off, held at his side. Back to the stormtrooper, though his stilled stance told him that he was listening as intently as each and every member of Dorn-2 was.

<"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.">

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Would he? Noxwalda had proven himself on the field time and time again, he had been added to the squad on a whim during the earliest charge, and Ravraa himself would have been crushed under the weight of an abomination if it wasn’t for the quick acting of the man. He stood as an example of what people from his Order should strive to be, of what a Sith shoul-

A Sith. That’s what he was, wasn’t it? He was one of the sorcerers, one of those self proclaimed Witch-Kings of the dark, the masters of the deconstruction of the Galaxy. That virus that reared it’s head, so often, so often through Galactic history. Simply to bring down the worlds for what…? Power. Pure power. Nothing besides the blind chase of this impossible reality.

​

“Ave Imperator.”

The Judicator rose.

Blind hate reigned.