Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Aerarii Tithe]

Market: Great Sith-Imperial Library, Ravelin City, Bastion
Investment: Objective I - Gotterdammerung
Portfolio: Skystas Rieve iv Tave Daboti Dvasi | Vokti Mekn iv Siarbras Naudot | Vaizdas iv Auksas | Sith-Imperial Military Uniform
Assets: TSE
Liabilities: Auteme | NIO
Stocks: IX

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Low effort page claim™

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Deep within the Great Sith-Imperial Library, Aerarii Tithe found something unexpected.


It wasn’t fortune or prestige - his tenure with the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan and later as governor of Sector Group II had seen him quickly build up vast amounts of both. He had quickly climbed the ranks of the Sith-Imperial bureaucracy, from a mid-level executive to acting Grand Moff. His credit balance had likewise skyrocketed, boasted by his healthy bonuses and his position of influence as chair of the Foreign Investment Board.

Instead, it was something he wasn’t even aware he had been looking for, something that had been absent since his first field operation with the Sith Empire on Kintan. A lacking that had seen him cower in the command post on Mygeeto while the planet was overrun. A shortcoming that had kept him from his goal of claiming the post of Grand Treasurer.

In the darkened hallways of the Great Library, facing off against a lightsaber wielding Sith Knight, Aerarii Tithe finally found what he had most been lacking.

Courage.

---

The Moff batted away another attack by the Sith Knight with all the grace of a Houk taking part in a Gatalenta tea ceremony. The AvXRD weapon assist built into his electrohammer was working overtime to correct his erratic swings. The undersized powercell within the weapon emitted a warning clime as it was about to run dry, leaving Tithe holding little more than a very expensive lump of laminasteel. Without the crackling electric blade, the Sith’s next lightsaber strike would cut straight through the weapon and impale Tithe where he stood.

Thankfully, Auteme likewise had no intention of dying down here. The young Jedi used her Force powers to restrain the Sith Knight just as he was about to strike Tithe down. She then drew upon a greater power the convince him to leave them be and depart - words.


“You are, ah, quite the orator,” Tithe exclaimed as the Sith Knight departed. “To defeat your foes without raising is hand is but the most powerful skill in the galaxy.”

Aerarii activated his beckon call as he and Auteme hurried through the darkened hallways of the Great Library toward the nearest exit. His shuttle, commissioned for the sole purpose of escaping dangerous situations such as this, rose from its landing pad and sped toward their location. Explosions rocked the complex as the New Imperials bombing of the area intensified, dislodging overhead glowpanels and sending priceless artefacts flying from their display cases.

The pair hurried under the external blastdoor as it painstakingly rose and found themselves on a small landing pad. NIO propaganda continued to blast around the city via the hijacked SINN broadcast system.

”Legionnaire, the ground war is turning against you. Every battle you enter, the NIO drive you out. You are no longer the hunters; you are the prey, waiting to die.” ​

“There! Ah yes, an investment worth every credit!”

Tithe pointed to the rapidly approaching shuttle, which was taking fire from both Sith-Imperial and New Imperial forces. It’s heavy shields and reinforced armour were built to take a punishment, but it couldn’t hold out forever. They needed to get up into orbit and away from the heavy fighting.

The Moff hurried up the boarding ramp and clambered into the pilot’s seat, where he strapped himself in. His fingers danced across the control panel as he activated the integrated pilot droid - as with fighting, flying was also not a strength of his. “Now, there is, of course, the small impediment of the, ah, blockade overhead,” he noted. “It would be prudent, yes prudent, to strap yourself in.” The sound of the NIO propaganda could faintly be heard over the roar of the shuttle’s engines and the cacophony of the fierce combat nearby.

“Legionnaire, your fighting skills are lacking. NIO Stormtroopers defeat your every push. It is futile to keep fighting when you are so heavily outmatched, Legionnaire.” ​

The shuttle lurched from the landing pad and shot up toward the safety of orbit. There were a few tense moments as the pilot droid swerved to avoid anti-air artillery, but the Sith-Empire and New Imperials were more focused on wiping out each other’s starfighters and bombers rather than stopping a single shuttle desperately fleeing toward deep space. Once clear of the foray, Aerarii switched the shuttles transponder code to a Galactic Alliance signal provided by Auteme. The shuttle streaked through the naval blockade, and once clear of Bastion’s gravity well, it jumped to hyperspace.

Tithe finally sat back into his pilot’s seat. Just as a small shuttle had delievered to the battle of Kintan and the start of his involvement with the Sith-Empire, so too was a small shuttle propelling him into the next character of his life.

Aerarii closed his eyes, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he relaxed.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Can You Hold Me //:
//: Do you hear my cry? //:
//: Close Allies //: Ellie Mors //: Grrwunhoooll Agaburry //:
//: Enemies //: Loske Treicolt //: Kir Dantos //:
//: Equipment //: Lightsaber //: Lightsaber //: Gildenweave Dress //: Locket //:

​

The tethers of the illusions began to wane, fading away from the ethereal harp that the Sithing composed her greatest eloquence song. Quinn reached out trying to restring the instrument, but soon found each tether becoming resistant and distracted. Her own strength faded as she heard the shouting from the Gen' dai beside her. He called, warning her about something, but as she escaped from the mental scape she had created with the Jedi, the sudden burn of pain entered her body. ​

Instantly her senses came rushing forward, survival became the forefront of her thinking. Dirt kicked up around them as the turbo lasers fired towards the pair. She wasn't the target. It seemed the New Imperials were determined in their extermination of their comrade in arms. The Blonde she was fighting appeared to have been blown back for the time being after the behemoth's attack. Quinn wanted to reattach herself to continue to keep the Jedi at bay, but she couldn't focus. A part of her felt guilty; she could hear her mother's words in the back of her head, disappointment laced with a sense of encouragement. Maybe Quinn's ideals and goals resided in the wrong parent. ​

Another splatter of dirt hit the Echani as she stumbled back, covering her face. The soil blinded her for a second as she screamed, her hands coming up quickly to wipe the sludge from her face. Being blind in the battlefield scared her to no end; if she couldn't see, Kir or that other Jedi could attack her. Clumps of dirt flew from her face from her hands and towards the ground, her eyes hazed and watery as she tried to make out the others' shapes. She reached out, hearing Vesta's voice and feeling his presence resonate through the Force. Her master, her lover, was okay. The Jedi hadn't taken him from her. ​

Another roar of anger through the Force surged, she watched through the blurred vision the behemoth that had protected her for a short time attack a machine. She paused to watch, curiosity getting the best of her, and instead of seeking cover like he had commanded, she watched him throw himself upon his grave. The machine the NIO had brought to take down the Gen' dai imploded, and Quinn covered her eyes the best she could. Fight or flight took over, and she took off running towards Vesta and the Jedi fighting. She wanted to go home, wanted to leave the battlefield, and just find comfort in her lover's arms. Yet none of that would be waiting for her. ​

As her feet moved against the ground, the shockwave of the explosion rippled, causing already loose debris to shake from their foundation. Drawing closer, she shut out the rest of the world around her and focused on her goal. The first blow hit her in the heel, causing her to fall forward slightly. Knees scraped against the hard floor, but before she could stand, another massive smash hit her in the back of the legs, then upon her back, encasing her underneath the collapsed wall. ​

Another scream echoed across the battlefield as a hand reached from under bricks and mortar made up the wall. Quinn whimpered from underneath, feeling the weight bear down on her small body. She couldn't feel much of her legs, but they moved slightly, enough to let her know she wasn't paralyzed. Every movement she made, she hurt, and tears streamed down through the caked dirt upon her face. Her once white, vibrant hair was now stained with her own blood from the bricks. Quinn's hand, the only thing that had not become entombed by the shockwave, reached out searching for the warmth of Vesta's hold. Small whimpers echoed from beneath the damage as she could feel a sudden chill claw at her back. "Vesta." The young princess croaked, she tasted blood in her mouth, hating its flavor. "Help me…" She felt her brother's pain suddenly through the Force. Quinn wished he had been with her as well, even if he was the enemy. She could feel his pain through the Force; it tore at her soul. "Errant, Vesta -" Tears continued to fall as she did her best to pull herself from her makeshift grave. ​

"Papa, Mama!" No one could hear her, but she kept trying. Through tears and blood, she continued to try. The Force whispered to her, but she couldn't manifest the strength to use it - not anymore. "VESTA!" She focused on the locket, her emotions, her paint pouring through the connection between them. The Echani's small voice shook as she shouted her lover's name - her only savior on this forsaken planet. ​

The hand that could be seen grasped the looks dirt she laid upon, hoping that she could find a grip strong enough to pull herself out of the pile. Nothing worked. There was nothing more for her to do but to pray and hope that she could survive long enough to be uncovered. Eighteen years it was all she had been around for. She had several beautiful memories of growing up, but her mind only focused on the night she had met the Shi'ido. The way the moonlight caught her face, shaping her like an angel, despite the deed she had wanted to commit that night. With everything, Quinn found her heart swelling as she remembered - only wishing she could have just one more moment to look into those ruby red eyes and say how she felt. ​

Her hand loosened against the gravel, and she stopped reaching. Her heart pouring into the locket, her only connection now to the Sith Lord. ​

"Vesta, it's cold." ​

 

[Decimus]

​

Post: 5
Location: Aboard the Malevolence

Aut-X pondered the situation aboard his flagship briefly, before a rather important thought occured to him within his processors. He turned to one of the droids manning a bridge console. "Turn off the ship life support systems bar gravity and drain the air from the ship. We don't need to breath, but I'm quite certain our boarders do.", the droid said confidently.

"Roger roger!", the droid chirped out in reply, pressing several holographic buttons on his console. Life support systems were swiftly brought offline, and the air within the corridors where the boarders were located would be sucked out at a rapid pace. Meanwhile, although damaged, the Malevolence was still quite able to fire most of it's turbolasers at the opposing fleet, supporting the rest of the droid armada blockading the planet.

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

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Imperial Capital Complex.
Aftermath

A chilled mist crept down the darkened hall of the Imperial Capital Complex.

The halls were sprayed with blood and broken bone.

The floor littered with shattered armour of red and white.

Her blood mixed with theirs until indistinguishable.

The great serpent, ashen hued and razor-scaled, ember eyed and once humanoid, coiled as her wounds oozed with a scarlet mist of a body burning up from the inside, evaporating at a molecular level.

The liquid, her last resort, was dissolving her very DNA beyond repair or recognition. Even now, the Pale Assassin's heart was running on hate unfiltered. She felt the tsaisibola curl around her tail for comfort and safety, as it had done many times before, but ashen scales cracked away upon touch, baring seething flesh and boiling blood.

Exhaustion and agony kept her laying still, staring into the darkness.

She breathed in, closed her eyes, breathed out.

Breathed in-

A presence, one many never noticed lingering at the back of their mind, became suddenly, obviously absent.

 

[Noel Strasza]

TAR_PIT

Major "Bridgebreaker" Strasza
OBJECTIVE :// REVEL
LOCATION :// FORT CARNIFEX, BASTION
doom_division_status :// ERADICATED
allies :// Ravraa Vyshraal ​

Panting. Bloody. Exhausted. She stood on the precipice of a new dawn, shoulders heaving beneath their tattered cloak with each panted breath drawn through the filters of her mask. It was all so exhilarating. And finally, it was over. The hardest conflict she had ever spearheaded was finally, at last, done. For a moment, she wondered if it was a dream. And yet, the bloody, flesh-crowned pike banner snapping in the wind just to her right sang of their achievement loudly enough.​

The major stared at the flag, admiring its frayed edges and how it held together, rising pridefully with each roll of the wind cast at its face. The new sun rising over a place which had been cast into darkness for too long. Dawn would always break.​

She felt a note of hope rise in her chest, resonating there, nurturing the relief flowing through her veins and unfurling petals through her aching, battered body. A hand flexed out, reaching to clap Ravraa Vyshraal on the shoulder, gripping his shoulder guard and shaking him gently. "We did it-" she said, breath as evasive as ever, "For all of them. We did it." Strasza jerked her head forward and to the left, indicating the smoldering wastes left in the wake of their blitz. The streets paved in blood and bodies, each stone different from the next, yet all coalescing to form the path they had to march to get here.​

Her bloodied, muddied, and stiffened fingers retreated from the commando's shoulder, falling to her side instead; the other fumbling to tuck her irreparable blades into their sheaths at the small of her back. She laughed, tossing her head back in revel. It was all finally sinking in. She twisted her head around, glancing at the cooling corpse of the captain not too far away. Yet, she dared not linger on it for too long. Loss was something she had grown used to, she had to, having been assigned to a corps who fought as fearlessly as Doom Division did. They had signed up to die.​

Many, so many, good men and women had been slain to carry this banner to its newfound home. And as quiet settled over the roof, ushered in by the cooling grace of a rain shower, Bridgebreaker felt a strange, twitching sense of dread mounting in her gut.​

Something was wrong. All of her scout instincts screamed at her with unmistakable pitch.​

They were being stalked.​

"Heads up-" she warned the others, twisting herself around defensively, already reaching for the blades she had only just tucked away. "We've got someone watching us. Don't let that flag fall." A stride forward carried her on, searching through the misting shower for any irregular shapes or forms it could reveal. And yet, she did not get far.​

Before her, faster than she could process, a form exposed itself- towering in its span. Her eyes widened. She moved to slide evasively, but the epicanthix had the drop on her. A rasp left her with the crashing impact of heavy shoulder to her gut and the loss of solid ground beneath her. Her legs snapped forward, flailing with the effect of the wicked momentum, and she realized then she was being moved. Ruined fingers clasped the hilts of her blades, wrenching them from their layered sheaths, and she howled, stabbing viciously for anything she could puncture through. Any point of anchor. Anything.​

Anything at all.​

A screech of pain from beneath her revealed she had found purchase after all, and the woman twisted her knives, spewing rubies in splattering trail behind them as the charge carried them still. The major kicked and thrashed where she was, pinned against her larger opponent, yowling with every rip and stab of her blades. The edge was drawing nearer.​

Time slogged.​

Bridgebreaker twisted her head around, stormy eyes widening in horror.​

"No!" She cried out defiantly, ripping vibroblade through flesh and armor alike, inflicting rapid, grievous hemorrhage. ​

The seconds had dragged for an hour. Each thudding step carrying her closer to the end. But Strasza had never agreed to go down without a fight.​

Die, bloodied, and fighting; one of the only true honors.​

And then suddenly, she was sliding down the sloped roof, just as she had been previously. Her experience twisted her around in turn, digging toes into the metal as her useless blades sparked against it- too dull to save her twice. She was rocketing across the surface, carried by the rain and the momentum put into the throw. The man responsible buckled above her, dropping to hands and knees with blood spewing from his wounds to cascade down into the stream carrying the scout.​

Not like this.​

The panic gripped her again, threatening to ice her veins against the surging swell of adrenaline pumping through her quivering body.​

Too little, too late.​

Strasza was cast to the mercy of gravity, tumbling over the steep edge with a final shout towards those standing on the roof still. Whatever she had said was incomprehensible. Her final words, cast out in frenzy, only to fall upon war-deafened ears. Her plummeting body twisted in the air, manipulated by the speed and force gravity enacted on her. She dared not close her eyes as the wasted earth seemed to open arms in embrace.​

Suddenly, she was but a girl, rushing across her family's lands, chasing after the brothers she adored.​

And she felt as small now as she had then.​

Eyes strained towards the shrinking flag peeking over the top of the fort. "For the Imperator..." she breathed in ragged, accepting breath.​

At once time lurched forward, catching back up and Strasza impacted the broken battlement below with an ungodly crash- shattering through what meager structure remained for a roof and collapsing it around her. Glass splintered in every perceivable part of her body, sending waves of pain tearing through her flesh and breaking through her armor from within. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She screamed within herself to get up, that she was okay, that her armor had saved her. It was just a few broken bones. Such lies couldn't have been further from the truth, but she couldn't grasp such a thing. Her limbs were twisted and contorted horrifically; a marionette discarded by childish tantrum and left abandoned on the floor.​

Her final wheezed breath painted the inside of her helmet with a concerning amount of blood as the world crept in on her and her fingers went cold. Her legs came next. Then her arms. The icyness settled over her, leaving her numb as it dumped her on death's doorstep.​

A distorted, muffled cry crackled in her busted helmet, going unanswered and unacknowledged beyond an unseen flutter of her lashes.​

With stormy eyes mirroring the sky, she kept them trained as her vision pin-holed and she finalized her descent into oblivion.​

 

[Nida Perl]

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

Everything happened quicker than she’d imagined. Nida’s stomach didn’t even have time to drop as she felt the blade make contact with beskar, screaming against the surface of the Mandalorian’s chest plate before penetrating the thinner covering of her upper arm. As a cry of pain ripped from the enemy signifying that Nida had at least hit something, Nida’s mind had caught up to reality.

How…did she move?

It wasn’t impossible. Individuals of strong willpower could overcome certain Force afflictions with sheer willpower, and it was evident that the woman had determination in spades. Had she not been an adversary, Nida would have timidly complimented her.

Now free from Nida’s stasis, the Mandalorian fired a handful of slugs just as the building began to tremble violently. One pierced Nida’s shoulder and she yelped horribly, groaning as her arm fell limp to her side. Sinking to the ground, the Zeltron tried to push through the white-hot pain of her shoulder, the throbbing of her head and chest, the wound screaming at her side—

—It was too much.

She caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian jetpacking away as the walls shook and the ceiling caved in, suddenly feeling very exhausted and very trapped. Focusing on survival, she let go of anything that had been sustaining her wounds to heal, concentrating on keeping her body alive and protected from further damage as it slipped through the sinkhole.

The pain blended together now, so at least Nida couldn’t waste time trying to pinpoint what hurt where. At some point she’d tumbled into unconsciousness, and when she looked up, a pair of pink hands were caressing her face.

A gentle warmth flowed through her, a comfort she’d been missing these past few months. When she tilted her head to see the woman’s face, it was obscured. Was this Shylar, the woman who she now believed to be her true biological parent, the woman who’d allegedly died protecting her from Joza? Or…

Nida closed her eyes again, inviting the tender sensation to the furthest reaches of her mind.

Mother.

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

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

​

Madelyn listened carefully to Tyrell’s words, letting them wash over her, picking out bits and pieces and committing them to memory, watching his face as he spoke, the movement of the lines on his forehead, the curling of his lips as he spoke. He was, she admitted to herself regretfully, fully invested in his ideology, radicalised by a discourse of Imperial superiority and idealistic blindness, ignorant of the reality he had just explained. He was close, very close. But Tyrell was stuck where Madelyn herself had been for decades, before her eyes had been opened, before she’d come to see things differently.

Tyrell’s meagre display of power was no surprise, simply a demonstration of what she already knew to be true. Tyrell possessed the very thing he feared and hated. He was controlled by it, where she was not. Madelyn elected not to reply, simply turning her nose up at the glass.

The Grand Vizier’s theatrics prompted a raised eyebrow from Madelyn, which quickly became genuine surprise as the man dragged in a piteous captive and began his explanation. Her brow furrowed as she listened, and she turned in her chair to watch him, an elbow resting on her knee and her head in her hand. She viewed the story with suspicion, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. It was not unlike the Sith to send their agents alone. It was not unlike the Sith to tie up loose ends.

She opened her mouth to reply, both to the display and the man’s earlier words, but before she could speak Tyrell had crossed the room and pulled Madelyn to her feet. She yelped in pain as her injured hand jerked forward, and hot tears immediately sprung to her eyes. She hissed through her teeth and clenched her jaw as the man pulled her forward, blinking through the tears and listening keenly. He steered her in front, and she eyed down the prisoner, looking him over, his lank hair, his sweaty face, his fearful golden eyes. Tyrell’s hand gripped her shoulder hard, and she could feel his heat radiating off him from behind her. She received the pistol without a word, not enjoying the feeling of the man’s skin on her own.

Finally, his nature revealed. A brute of a man. Disappointing.

Madelyn kept her eyes on the prisoner, Paxxus’ hand keeping her grip firmly on the slugthrower. It was a hefty weapon, she could see it out of the corner of her eye. Imprecise, inelegant and inefficient, an over-the-top and crude device. It was already making her arm tired. She licked her lips, and spoke, her voice low and even. Calm, but shaking occasionally with the adrenaline coursing through her.

“Naive.” She said simply. “So lost in the moment, unable to see the bigger picture.” She tilted her head right, then, left, as if sizing up the prisoner in front of her. He was, by now, white as a sheet, shaking, petrified. “To think I thought so highly of you, Tyrell.”

She fought the urge to shake the man off. How dare he impose himself on her. Disgusting, sinking to the level of his subordinates. He was no better than they, visiting her cell after meals to blow off steam. How she wished she could just turn around and spit in his face, wished she could just bowl him over and kick and kick and kick until his ugly little face was nothing but twisted pulp.

But, she couldn’t. She neither wished to invite an additional beating nor a summary execution, so she swallowed her anger, and went on.

“My would-be executioner is right. The Sith are eternal. We have existed forever, or as good as. You will die a good-for-nothing idealist in a Galaxy full of your ilk. You will join the countless other fruitless attempts to rein in the Force. You and I only live so long, the Empire, the Order, the ideas that sustain them, they too will die. The Sith? We are forever.”

Madelyn did her best to forget Tyrell, to put aside the unforgivable imposition of the man’s touch. She hefted the weapon, raising it up to the captive operative’s head. “You have shown much bravery and loyalty today.” She said kindly. The man looked up, and panic crossed his features, but Madelyn had already squeezed the trigger. A bolt of crimson plasma crossed the distance between them in an instant, and the man slumped backwards, limp in the hands of the soldiers, a steaming crater in his chest.

She disentangled herself from Paxxus and spun towards him, her face a picture of controlled rage. “I think I have seen enough, Grand Vizier.”

​

 

[AMCO]

​

Location: The Thaumaturgical Tower, Fortress Carnifex
Objective: Preserve the Sith Empire's secrets... and more importantly, stay alive. GTFO.
Equipment: SIB-14 & G1 OmniLink | Shield Talisman, Empyrean Gland, & [2] Jin'Pins | 4/6 Karza'Arana Darksworn
Writing With: Aren D'Shade | Ingrid L'lerim | Shade of Decay | Caulder Dune || FN-999

​

She was pale, so very pale. Pale and cold, but Adrian was not about to give up on her yet.

Logically, he knew that there was always the option of extracting her soul from her dying body and showing it into an alternative vessel, but that sort of thing was hardly without risks of its own. You never knew if the person that woke up was quite the same as the person who slipped away.

Nodding encouragingly, a forced smile made its way onto his features even as the dying Darksworn approached, beckoned by his will. "Of course I'm worried about you, but not too worried - you'll be alright, after all." She would be, he would make it so - even if he had to drag a hundred New Imperial bastards back into the tower and rip the very life from their bodies. For her, he would gladly butcher however many faceless troopers it took.

Speaking of stolen life, the maimed creature had reached the pair, leaning down in quiet acceptance, its mind devoid of individuality; even as one hand still slowly alleviated some of her wounds through medical means, the other reached out and tore every last scrap of vitality from the entirely too willing creature, armoured form collapsing to the ground soon after.

Pouring that life - the life of a Force User, however unimpressive - into her, he smiled with relief as wounds began to knit back together.

She would survive, though perhaps not comfortably and definitely not without time to recover.

Lifting her into his hands with surprising strength, the two Karza'Arana still by his side silently recovered their fallen brethren in a much less gentle fashion, their concern solely on the priceless armour they were encased in. It was too early to tell whether the Sith Empire would win the day or not, though for him the battle was over - deep below, the pair of Darksworn left behind would do their best to guide his apprentice to safety too.

"We'll be on my ship in no time, though something tells me you'll want to visit the medbay before the hot tub."

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

ACQUIRE DATASETS
16th SOM Expeditionary Force "Pre Vizsla"
ALLIES: NIO // Meshla Detta
ENEMIES: TSE // Cara Dorniarn
T H E _ U N F O R G I V E N _ I I

​

EXTERIOR OF DATACENTER TOWER,
CAPITAL COMPLEX

He kept on wobbling forward with no destination in mind, too preoccupied with the pain and anguish. Blood ran down his eyes turning his vision sanguine-blurry. It mattered not, all he could hear were the words of his father echoing in his head on repeat.

Failure.

Failure.​

Failure.​

​

Lost in the abyss of his mind, he barely registered someone calling his name from behind until an arm saved him from crumbling down and warm lips touched his.

He embraced them tightly.

His heart jolted into rapid action.

She took the pain away; even if only briefly.

Through black of day, dark of night, we share this.

"Take me away." he whispered to her coarsely, voice crippled and strained.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

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

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

Background music:
Arn Andersson - Dawn [Beautiful Intense Emotional]​

She was still cold, shaking. And Adrian's touch was hot, warm. She almost laughed at the silly thought of asking the Sith Lord to hug her. But she didn't want to bleed the other. Did she feel the concern, as well as that the other might be afraid, afraid that the woman would die? The forced smile she received was the same for Ingrid. The Sith Lord had done anything before the pain in her belly eased a little. Maybe just because it was the end here, she didn’t know.

”I don't want to die, not now when I finally found you!” she begged and whispered.

The red-hair woman wanted to believe, more than anything, wanted to believe that what Adrian had said was true. That she will be fine and will not die. She felt that her lover believed what he was saying, so she had to believe it. She could barely comprehend that the dying Sithspawn had also arrived. At this moment, the full attention of her lover and the pain was occupied and cold. Ingrid tried to watch what Adrian was doing and what was happening to Darksworn, which had fallen to the ground.

She didn’t know what was happening but all of a sudden she felt a little better, stronger. The pain seemed to be dull, though she could still feel Adrian's hand in particular as she squeezed the wound. Maybe the “squeeze” was more painful than the whole thing, but she knew the man was trying to do something for her, so she didn’t try to resist. However, because of the hot hand, she felt the ground and air even colder.

Ingrid's breathing began to return to normal and she felt her heartbeat do the same. The too fast heartbeat slowed back to normal, and her skin seemed to regain something of its colour. Slowly, thinking began to get easier, she was still very tired and dizzy, but that was now just the normal reaction to blood loss. Her vision also got a little better, though she was still cold, but not nearly as much as she was minutes ago.

Now it was as if she had seen a sincere smile on her lover's face, and it was easier for her to smile too. Now she was able to reach Adrian's face and stroke it gently. She did bleed the man a little, but the Sith Lord may already be quite bloody because here everything swam in here. Finally, Adrian took her in his arms and stood up off the ground. Ingrid hugged the man's neck weakly and leaned her head to the man's chest. She smiled at the words of the Sith Lord and almost laughed, which, however, ended in a painful cough.

”Don't try to make me laugh, it hurts a lot. Thank you… thank you for saving me. You are so warm!” she whispered. ”I have to agree with you. I should take care of my wound first, then the hot tub may come. If not a big request, do very hot in mad bay because I am still very cold. And don't leave me alone, please!”

​

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Aboard the Malevolence
Allies: Detritus Ren Hiram Voss
Enemies: Grand Moff Aut-X
​

"Captain Voss! This is Knight Errant Rennagen, we were slowed by some droids but Knight Kyrel has dealt with them. We are fast approaching your position!" Hans yelled into his commlink as he ran down the hallways out of breath. Whether it was from his intense run or the smoke that was starting to choke out these hallways he didn't know. Not that it mattered. The crew of the Endeavour must have had it worse.

As they ran on, his feet began to feel less heavy against the metal floor of the corridor. With every step he floated higher above the ground.

"Jin those droids have turned off the gravity!!" he yelled frantically to the knight ahead of him. He made leaps and bounds now through the hallway as opposed to running. Within moments of the ship's artificial gravity being turned off, Hans could hear a rushing sound from behind them. The sound was a portent of doom for the unprepared, heralding a painful death by the vacuum of space.

"Jin! Rebreather! Now!" Hans hoped and prayed that his comrade had got the now vital piece of equipment from his star fighter when they crashed. Hans was actually lucky in this moment, as the small mouth piece which would now ensure his survival was tucked neatly into a pouch on his belt. He fumbled for it as the rushing noise of air being sucked from the ship grew louder. As he fumbled, without feet planted on the ground, he began to spin in the lack of gravity and the rebreather began to drift away from him. Out of arms reach, he attempted to call on the force. Hans had not yet made a strong connection with the force, but this easy task was doable. The rebreather began to float back into his hand, and he promptly shoved it in his mouth as the air was sucked from the hallway.

"Captain Voss, they've sucked the air from the ship. Are you and your crew okay?"

 

[Auteme]

Aerarii Tithe ​

Auteme shook her head as she watched the Sith leave.

"He was afraid," she said. "I just told him what he wanted to hear."

Perhaps that was the weakness of the Sith -- if it all stemmed from fear, then their strength was a fragile one. Recognizing that was the first step towards a better life. She had no intention to be fearless, but she knew that courage was feeling fear and facing it anyways. In truth she was impressed by Aerarii's initial charge. An accountant attacking like a madman. Recklessness, perhaps, but was there really a difference between that and courage?

The pair made their escape, slipping into the street and boarding the shuttle Aerarii had called. When she sat down she focused, finding the flow of the Force through the buzzing pain and death. Find, then release. Bombs and laser fire burst around them but not a single shot struck the shuttle as they left; the probability manipulation worked as well as usual. Only minutes later they were in hyperspace. Just like her companion, Auteme relaxed.

Until, of course, she didn't.

"Hey, um, just making sure... you haven't committed any war crimes, have you?"

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Vaylin | Mavia​

Even with his strength there was a pause when another wave of stress washed over him. The darkness grew...

Mavia was struck by the Sith, stabbed in the side by the shoto lightsaber. There was a pause as she stumbled back; for a few moments all Dorian could do was watch.

No, there was no light to meet it. But he was there. He wouldn't let it end like that.

There was another boom as the Imperial Knight burst forward. He closed the gap in an instant; his saber flowing through the air towards his opponent like rushing water. The Force sung of the anger, hate, and death of so many others but Dorian was only focused on the here and now. The spirits swirled around him, protecting him and guiding each successive strike. He forced the Sith back and away from Mavia, intent on washing the enemy away like a tsunami. The agility of the hawk-bat allowed him to stay fluid and flexible with every attack.

Every moment the blade burned hotter in his hand. Every moment the fire inside him burned brighter, glowing out around his body. The Sith returned strikes, but with each parry, block, and riposte the flames licked at the woman. His soul burned; if she got too close she might be consumed. The strength of a Krayt Dragon made every attack a potential killing blow.

Step after step brought him closer to the woman. Unyielding as the earth itself, he kept pushing, defending against every counterattack with the skill of a Makashi master.

Even as they took control of his saber hand, Dorian felt an impossible calm in his mind. The spirits were with him. The strength of the New Imperial Order was at his back. And he was fighting for someone worth protecting.

While the barrage was brutal it was not deadly. Dorian exerted more control over his weapon, focusing on the next few strikes in hopes to end the fight. He slashed horizontally from his right, stopping as the blade reached center and thrusting forward towards the Sith. He then swung downwards, hoping to catch her leg or waist with the strike.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Tag: Aerith Castiella

Finally, Lirka was getting something worth her time: or so that was what the Sephi hoped, as the brutish traitor surged forward in a manner that gave the Moff a humorous reminder of her own brutality it was becoming obvious there would be no such dance, quickly this had become closer to disciplining a child.

"Fury, but no skill to match."

Lirka took a step back from the flying woman as she advanced, though still Lirka felt the force of the blow slam into her: the Sephi staggered some, but Lirka had taken much worse blows in her long long life; she saw the blade coming, her body twisting slightly to have the axe rake across her chest: it was sweet, the pain she felt course through her veins as the weaker portions of the suit felt the hot blade sliced through the metal and melting the undersuit beneath . But, unfortunately, Lirka thrived from pain, reveled in it: through pain, there was enlightenment,

"Should've made that one count."

Lirka's blades moved as a flash once more, though it did not aim for the woman this time: instead Lirka had every attempt to hack into, or through, the handle of her axe. Moves to debilitate, not kill, there was far too much use in a brute like this: and Lirka always needed more brutes.

 

[Ra's]

Engaged with DK-03 near the Fortress Carnifex

The Kaleesh almost broke in a angry laugh as he watch the trooper descend from the Sky in his new armor and block the way to the fortress, but the anger soon became a great excitement for the upcoming fight. The Kaleesh point the Darktrooper with his Electro-Bisento "I don't know what kind of Monster you are, but you will die either way." And without another word the Kaleesh rush DK-03 and try to cut him in half with his weapon.

 

[Aerith Krayt]

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

She felt the axe connect, and with it came a surge of adrenaline. The hopeless fight turned into a slim chance of success in the mind of the cyborg, and for that she would not relent in her battle. She was never adapt to fighting in heavy armor, her entire being was meant to be an assassin, quick, fast, deadly, not a lumbering oaf wielding an axe like some gladiator on Hutta. She was out of her element, lacking the proper equipment, and without the mindset that had turned her into a killer. It had been by her choice after all, to refuse the assassin that she was forced into being, trying to become a soldier for a greater purpose. It was that weakness that had got her into the situation now, trying to be something she wasn't, fighting a war she should have stayed out of. It was easier said than done though, how could she let go of all they had done to her? Well it was simple, she couldn't. She had signed up for this thinking it would be the death of her, but no one truly expected to die, after all how many lied to themselves with that all too oft told line: 'It can't end like this.'.

The strike was the only one she would land, though in the mind of Aerith it would be the first of many she would lay upon the Sith. Rushing forward, she moved with a fervor, thinking she had openings where there were none, looking for fight ending strikes that simply were nonexistent. The fight was over before it truly begun, as Aerith moved to deliver another blow Lirka had made her move. The blade stuck true, melting through the hilt of the axe, and taking most of Aerith's remaining arm with it in the process. It was then that a terrible thought crossed her mind, that her foe wasn't looking to kill her, but capture her. Unarmed now, and mind reeling in shock, the cyborg would stumble forward, potentially slamming into her attacker, though with no way to attack now. The left arm was melted slag at the wrist, and her right was severed right where the ulna and radius once where. She refused to stop however, knowing what future would await her in captivity, her eyes widening as her fight was reaching it's end.

Having no further way to fight, she threw her spent limbs towards Lirka, trying to land blows that might have shattered the bones of an average man, but would potentially pass by the Sephi entirely unphased. She knew she was staring death in the face now, and begging for it to take her. She didn't want to go back to being a tool. In her mind, there was no fate worse than that.

 

[Anden Fancelo]

Allies: The Sovereignty, NIO
Enemies: TSE
Assets: What is left of the Gravewalkers.
Objectives: Achieve salvation.​

---

---

​

The blade pierced through, bathed in crimson as it did with its former owner. The massive titan came to his knees and succumbed to the joint effort of the two mortal men. One that used to be under the red saber, but no more. For the Captain had been inspired by the will of man. As the embrace of death was placed onto their foe. Anden slid the blade out from the corpse of the Warmaster, the corrupted songsteel blade vibrated in place and the sound of a haunted bell emanated from it. Anden never having used the sword before, was spooked by the sound. Quickly sheathing the sword, and unbuckling the scabbard from his person.

The Captain was then met by the revealed gaze of Irveric Tavlar and held still. Unsure of what was to come, until the offer was placed on the table.

"Soldier..." He uttered, he wasn't in Sith uniform and just as he could with Bline, he was confident he might be able to talk him down.

"You...and your men...lay down your arms and you'll be granted your peace." Irveric offers to the Sovereign's Shard, his gaze reeling down to the gaze of the helmet in his hands, seeing his face awash in the ashes of the fallen in the reflection.

It took a moment to realize the statement the Imperator made, for the Gravewalkers were hardly on the receiving end of mercy. Anden, relieving himself the weight of his helmet to look onto the Imperator's tired eyes in mutual respect. Only to have them turn to Djorn Bline , a comrade from the Empire.

"Anden, it's over," Djorn said to Fancelo, still no helmet to protect his head. He extended his hand, with his blaster carbine held down. "Things aren't what we thought they were at the beginning. Give a chance and you'll see."

The now helmetless warriors united, and a decision that decided the fate of Anden's men would need to be made. He turned his head to Djorn's offered hand, dropping the corrupted blade over to the ground to take his friend's arm. Their gloved hands clasped together, the better path was paved.

And the Gravewalker embraced it. His men later following suit, with their weapons away from their reach and their hands in the air. Approaching the men of the 501st.

The Captain set his gaze over the bloodied Imperator and all he did, was nod.



Salvation was at hand, and a more suitable path will follow.

 

[Ellie Mors]

Golden Shore

​

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

The shadow departed, its mass a cancer to the light, with a maw gaping and growing as it passed through all in its course towards the man that held aloft his saber of light. But he wasn't worth his time, pretenders were as worthless as they were plentiful, just as there had never been any Sith in the New Imperial Order, these puppets were nothing more than men on strings dancing to a song they did not understand - bound, chained, by an ideology that taught them to reject progress, to reject growth.

Enforcers of this Imperial Regression, their weapons of war firing on the hulking mass of red and anger - on Kezeroth - drew the Sith Lord's attention first, for in the back of his mind he could feel the gentle tug of foresight willing him to turn his wrathful gaze. A flash of green turned the pavement where the Gen'daii had stood into little more than dust, but in the microseconds that led up to it he could feel the murmurs of the future whispering into his ears. Ripples in the waves of time, in the ebb and flow of the force, could be traversed by those that were taught how - lessons that Vesta's mother had been taught by the Aing-Tii long before he had been born.

Lessons that resurfaced as the panic in Quinn's heart as she turned to run towards him drew on an instinct to protect - matching her desperation to survive.

His mother had never been one for martial combat, her only real prowess being with the force and with a spear, all of Vesta's athleticism could be contributed to his father, and as he pivoted towards his lover, his body leaning to the side to duck away from a blaster bolt that could have spelled an early end for him, he knew it would take every ounce of his gift with the force and every bit of physicality in him to keep her alive. Neither could substitute the other - in this way he was superior, from a certain point of view, to either parent.

Every step he took as he broke out into a sprint was one guided by the flow of the force, the ground like a calm pond that was disturbed with every passing moment by unseen ripples across its surface mere seconds before a blaster bolt or an explosive collided or erupted at the epicenter of each and every one. He leaned left as a green bar of energy whistled passed his ear, leaped forwards just before a small explosion scarred the land where he'd been before, and waved away debris with unrelenting telekinetic force as it came towards him or blocked his path. He could feel the approach of slugs and blaster bolts before they left their barrels, and he could see echoes, shades, of their path through the air before they approached.

"Vesta, it's cold." ​

His eyes closed as he recalled his warning to her on Eshan, when he'd told her why he'd kept her away from this level of combat - when she'd convinced him to let her have her chance, to prove to him that she was capable, that she was ready. A hand rose out from his side as he ran towards her, the ground surrounding the blade of his sword that had been embedded into it crumbling away as the Talon of Typhojem flew with remarkable speed towards its creator - its hilt grasped by his curling fingers as her dragged the blade through the air to bisect an overzealous trooper. A dark haze surrounded him as the life was drained instantaneously from others, with little care given to who else it would effect while the entirety of his focus was on keeping Quinn safe, the draining aura turning into a tangible cloud of darkness that spread fear and discord like a tidal wave out through the portion of the complex they were standing in, echoes of the fallen screaming for mercy - for their allies to turn and run - carried across the wind through these waves of darkness.

And then, at last, he was upon her, and as he leaned down a wall of red shimmered to life around the two, taking blaster fire like a sponge, its red glow growing into a visible sphere as other soldiers that still had the willpower to withstand the darkness tried to take advantage of what they perceived to be a better vantage point only to find the bubble of protection encapsulated the Sith Lord and his apprentice in their entirety. A simple touch of his open palm against the ground as his form shifted and changed, the appearance of a man in middle age fading to that of a simple youth, no older than the girl trapped in front of him, and the molecular structure of rock and dirt covering her shifted like his own - destabilizing as their bonds shattered, like glass in a mirror.

What had been too much to free herself from before was now a fine sand that separated like the sea at his touch, his expression only showing his concern - his anger, evident through the raging darkness in him, invisible to the naked eye and only felt through the force. He couldn't abscond with her into the night, not yet, but he couldn't leave her here either, and as he rose the ground beneath her rose with him - pushing her back up to the surface, free from her prison of debris and earth. He took a long look at her, the field of energy around them slowly starting to give as blaster bolts continued to pummel against its surface, and then frowned. Her hair, once bright, was now dark, dirty, and caked with sand and partially dried blood; her face, perfection in his eyes, was covered in small abrasions; and her clothes were ruined. He looked up as the red sphere cracked, his brow now knit together as his expression shifted from concern to the bottled rage that was burning in his chest.

New Imperial troopers, converging now as one of their own former Sith allies was laid to waste by a Jedi and their own soldiers, numbered in the dozens - and though the dark cloud had lowered morale in their hearts and sowed concern through their minds, it was still a situation where those in attendance might have construed the odds as being in their favor. An understandable assumption.

But it was still wrong.

Bastion was a world now scarred by the terrible actions taken by the New Imperial Order, it was a world that would carry the echo of the deaths of so many - of Sith, of soldiers without a proper connection to the force, and many, many others. The force had seized upon itself upon the sudden deaths of so many in the act of betrayal taking place in an already violent and bloody war, a disturbance that had allowed those like Maynard Treicolt to falter when they could have faced the odds that had been stacked against them.

If not for the Sith lord standing over his apprentice, full of wrath, then perhaps it would have remained that way - just another world with a bloodied past, remembered on the pages of history.

Vesta - Darth Mori - raised a hand as the red sphere shattered and the blaster bolts flew towards him, towards them. The casual observer would think it was over, that yet another Sith had fallen to overwhelming numbers and that it was just another final chapter coming to an end - but the casual observer wouldn't have to wait long for the stasis field to suspend these bolts in mid-air, their bright glow never striking true as these forceless soldiers found themselves thrall to a master that fully intended to ensure that history was written in his image, bound by an unspoken spell that saw use by such dark lords as Exar Kun in his infamous senate slaying.

"Listen well, puppets of the faithless king and warriors of Ashla."
​

He stepped forwards, his outstretched hand drawing on the energy within the blaster bolts frozen around him like a sponge - tutaminis, to any who understood.

"The old faith returns."
​

His words were carried through telepathy, though his lips moved still. He doubted many would understand, those that could have - the Sith that had been too weak to survive something as predictable as a betrayal by a man that had sworn his disgust for their kind - were now dead, but there were still educated Jedi out there, he supposed. As the suspended bolts of energy faded around him, the force poured into a hand that glowed like fire with a red haze.

"The left-handed god has claimed the world of Bastion as His own - and through His will it shall be done."
​

The world was already soaked with blood, cloaked by the shadow of anger, of betrayal, of grief and of pain - the energy siphoned through tutaminis into the palm of his hand was merely a spark, and as it flung itself from him to the New Imperial Trooper's corpse nearest to him it served as the catalyst for the rapid shift in the force on the planet in its areas hardest hit by the conflict. Darkness permeated every corner, soaked into every stone - burrowed deep, far, under the surface of the planet - and it was almost visible in the city of Ravelin. A nexus, a vergence in the force, was formed - the Sith's actions only serving to knock down the dominoes the New Imperial Order and their Jedi friends had so generously lined up for him. The dark side was now heavy here, and it would take more than clever thinking to rid the world of this taint.

"Typhojem awakens."
​

His hand lowered, and with it fell the bodies of those soldiers that had been unfortunate enough to have gathered around the likes of Loske Treicolt and Maynard Treicolt .

"And I am His will."​

Glancing down at his disheveled apprentice, his lover, a smoke-like shadow enveloped them both before dissipating - leaving no trace of the two behind.

 

[Lunafreya Solidor]

O B J E C T I V E | Ravelin
L O C A T I O N | Bastion Academy
T A G S | Telis Taharin-Zambrano
T H E M E | Here.
G E A R | Armor, lightsaber, pistol,
Lightwhip, ring, gloves, necklace.​

The Deadly Twins, Omer and Trea, always found it amusing the way people called them that. They said that the twins danced very close to death when they fought, and now they understood why. It was close, very close, that they probably didn't die when the tank invaded that hill going full speed. Both jumped before the flames caught them, using the knowledge of the Force they had to fall on their feet with shield and swords in hand, howling a curse as their droid soldiers advanced after them and they marched gallantly into the jaws of death again, without hesitate for even a moment.

Sometimes Lunafreya envied some of her lackeys, they lived simple lives that were easy to transcribe. They had ordinary tastes and ordinary ambitions, while she was always looking for more in her life, because she always wanted to lust for new experiences, for learning, for more influence and for more power, just to achieve all of this and discover the same emptiness pulsing on her chest. If she turned her head to the side, her eyes would see Darkonda bathed in blood from head to toe for her savagery, as well as she would see soldiers and acolytes being forcibly captured by her slaves, some were even dragged across the asphalt of the academy to be beaten and handcuffed. The long, pointed ears heard Diabolico's howls not far from there, tearing anyone who stood in front of him without any mercy or hesitation in the handling of his sword.

They were all ordinary, all probably happy in their lives. The gods had bigger plans for her.

Her violet eyes didn't even move to the side to know what was coming, the enchanted helmet of her armor helped with this warlike precognition. Letting her wrist loosen in the lock of swords they both met, Lunafreya used the leg she supported with all her weight and pushed herself back, far enough to escape the attempt to stick the claw in her ribs, although she doubted that he was not even able to scratch the songsteel that her Song of Feathers was made of.

A luxury offered to few, only for the cream of society of a species as old as the first monkey that preceded the human race. The left corner of his mouth curved in a half smile behind his helmet, the sound of his feathers was drowned out by the chant of incessant battle. Her body was filled with ecstasy at the threat faced by her, her wrists still felt the numbness of the impact of their blades with that of Aagenti. For a human he was strong, and his presence was almost suffocating, like a black veil wrapped around his elongated, thin neck, suffocating her in that deadly coitus.
”You have forced my hand. I have warned you once, I shall not show you any mercy, as the would-be conqueror you are.”
He had so boldly told her. Was this one of the ways to undermine her confidence? So that she would slip and fall into his trap? It almost made her laugh, but she refrained from it, as soon as he knew that a dragon's resolve was not doubled by anyone's willpower. Yours was the indomitable heart, she beared a charmed life and she would not yield before a human.

"I had no such expectations.", Her thin lips murmured in an almost whisper. Her arms remained relaxed at her sides and did not move until the blow was close, using only her left to trim the impact of Aagenti's vibrant red blade, defending herself from above, with her wrist facing the sky and the blade pointed at the floor. Inside herself she knew that were it not for the gloves she wore to increase her physical strength, then she probably wouldn't have been able to do that. "And it's Princess Solidor to you, my lord.", The pronunciation of her rival's title made her right arm strike with the blade forward, straight as a shot arrow. While her left pushed, she used all her strength to try to push Aagenti's blade away and thus fulfill her strategy as the Force was channeled into her body and she commanded it, ordering it for her desire and imposing her will on take shape.

Her feet bounced backwards from the floor, her fingers sliding and switching off the lightsabers while in the air, and letting from the height of her knees running to their ends, electric waves of energy materialize, golden and dense like liquid gold coming out of her. body flying towards her enemy. Her heels continued without stopping backwards, doing so until she was seven meters away and letting the golden force tempest bursts go where she launched them. Falling on her feet, Lunafreya raised both hands as switfly as a serpent ready to pounce towards Aagenti and asserted her dominance over the power of pyrokinesis, pouring an infernal flare of intense flames against her rival.

Behind her, almost sneaking, a little creature approached, believing it had not been seen, wielding a fallen companion's lightsaber and attacking towards Lunafreya. The elzeri female just slid her feet out of her way, using one to knock him down and her weapon off to remove his from those trembling fingers. The young man fell on his knees on the floor with his back to her and Lunafreya connected both lightsaber blades again by crossing them in an 'x' around the little boy's neck.
"Pathetic.", Her voice almost snarled, rising to look at Aagenti again, her animalistic helmet just showing her two sharp violet eyes to her rival. "You lost, lord Aagenti. The Sith were defeated, the Empire won with honor and glory. Surrender to me and I will be merciful to you and your servants."

Perhaps arrogance was an unforgivable sin for the gods. For as soon as she said that, and the laugh she was about to release seemed to choke in her throat after hearing Diabolico's loud howl kicking a drone forward. Who tried to expand to the top of the academy ceiling with the gigantic bluish image of an eye patch human, almost stopping all the clashes and screams to hear the pronouncement of Irveric Tavlar, Imperator of the New Imperial Order.

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

She was royalty, heir to House Solidor by right of blood. Her hands were soaked on the blood of the enemies she defeated in the battlefield, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Destiny. Her visage, no mere veneer of vanity, a valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation era, standing vivified and vowed to vanquish the venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. And her virtuous voice was allowed to vociferate with all the voracity of her lungs, vibrating the very foundations of the Academy for a moment with the sheer might of her vengeful defiance sealing her fate.
“I WILL NOT!”, her thumbs vanquished the blades on her lightsabers, allowing the acolyte to fall on the ground echoing his fall on the silent field of what used to be a glorious battle.

 

[Vella Forte]

These violent delights have violent ends
BASTION // RAVELIN // THE GARDENS OF PELLAEON
ENEMIES: Bastard
GRAVEDIGGER

​

Infinite and ultimate power consumed the mass that had once been Vella Forte. Satisfied and proud, a serene sense of value permeated from her core and everything that was, is, and would be lost to the overpowering might of the goddess.

Unable to recognize the warning amidst all the supernaturalness of Vella’s possession, she was surprised when something very human happened. In her mind’s eye, the goddess was leaning in to bestow further blessing. Her ashen hair engulfed in orange, making the flames look innocuous and beautiful as the token of affection was enacted. Vella melted at the embrace, willing herself to give into the gesture and consume whatever gift was born of the intention.

Her sanctuary was destroyed when the first droplet of moisture in her mouth morphed to ice.

Flesh cut through the fire and the silver knight, whose life she saved, kissed her. All the earnestness in his words had been lost, but the pressure from his lips communicated the pensive sadness within. When his likeness had been Vahl, she’d felt it as a blessing. He turned it into something malicious. It made the ferocity she’d felt turn waxen. Her eyes, somehow behind their luminary design, seemed intelligent and hard. Even though she could see little more than black shapes against a colourless sky, she seemed to realize what he was saying.

This was the end. She could feel it in the remorse of his touch, the finality of his kiss. In the full expression of his mouth with lips that knew how to draw her in, out, and in again like the pangs of addiction.

Her realization did not come equipped with regret; there was nothing left for her in this mortality. Maybe at one time he and his meager promises would have been enough. But now that she’d tasted the ambrosian nectar of Vahl’s power, her lust would never again be satiated with the ephemerality of mortal effort.

She couldn’t break down now, all those years would have been for naught.

Which was more important: Her name in the internal script of the goddess’ memory or the counterfeit idea of fifty or sixty good years beside a boy who still had to claim his throne before he could truly manifest his promise?

He who made these promises of safety. Amidst the inferno that promised to consume them, stood Errant Varanin. The prodigal son of a dark legacy who donned pride and humility in equal measure. His skill was unmatched in the battlefield and he’d proven himself a worthy ally, albeit temporarily, over several battlefields. For a measure of time, he’d ensconced her amidst the tolls of the war. Looking beyond the scars, the hatred, the exoskeleton that was purposefully prickly and recognizing the mutual shape they both donned as weapons. Somewhere, within all that, there’d been the chance to dwell on the idea of companionship. To nurture a relationship into something that could, maybe, eventually grow.

His passion was a flicker of a reminder. Amidst all the crackling and over the roar of the flames, there was a stolen silence that was deafening. Her heartbeat pounding at her temples, echoing through her head like a drum emphasizing beat a word; a feeling… a sentiment.

Safe. He would make her feel safe.

But he was not enough.

He was as temporary as the shell she’d been born into.

Full, radicalized understanding knit her expression in its final pose. Passionate, prideful, and ferocious. She wanted to scream, wanted to roar, and push him away in a tunnel of irrefutable flame. To incinerate his defiance.

How dare he encroach on her moment of victory? An angry sound stretched from her belly and scratched at her throat, vying for release and to catch air so she might shatter his eardrums. Instead, she was met with a spread so cold it made the shriek something solid that she had to swallow and choke on.

Fallen tears that had caught fire between her lips reverted to their salty state, the moisture of her humility captured by the chill Errant pressed into her. Prickling from her tongue, to her teeth, to the roof of her mouth, to her cheeks. Sharp, biting, tingling sensations spread rapidly through her skull, down her neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists and fingertips. As swiftly and excitedly as her flames grew, the ice claimed the power. Numbing and vanquishing it. Her blood stopped flowing, her muscles stopped flexing, her lungs stopped pumping. The chilling sensation accelerated.

Ba-bum-ba-bump.. the final thumps of her heart slowed under the blanket of cold that permeated through her system. No further breath was drawn. No oxygen could penetrate the crystal that covered the knight’s silhouette. She was untouchable now. Her flame extinguished by the greatest irony and the truest balance.

In the end, everything turned cold. The darkness she sought found her, welcomed her, dragged her down, and didn’t let go. Its eternal embrace was freezing and hostile.

Destruction’s confetti, ash, shifted down, coating everything with a few millimeters of grey. From a distance, it was gentle and beautiful. Two lovers eternally enwrapped in one another. Like a scene from a snowglobe in a gift shop, accompanied by the low, rhythmic mournful wails of the Echani heir.