Invasion Death's Sting: SJC Invasion of BotM held Lao-Mon

[The Dark Inquisitor]

Objective: Tip of the Spear
Tags: Glossa Sergeant Omen

---

The blinding light and deafening ringing in her ears and eyes pained her as she tried to sense for her surroundings. She knew Omen was out of range and she just hoped that he wasn't pinned down and unable to help her. She remained crouched, her sabers ready. She knew the deadly scatter rifle her foe had, and who knows what else she had.

(Glossa) With a grunt, Glossa set her aim on the Jedi’s chest, before firing a pair of four-round bursts, unleashing a salvo of eight baradium-core slugs from slightly less than ten meters away in quick, back-to-back succession, which emptied her magazine in the process.

With her ears slightly catching the sound of a rifle loading a round, she adjusted herself. Even if she couldn't stop all its shots, she could at least keep her torso protected from the worse of it. What she couldn't stop, her armor would at least try to. With the slug-thrower sending shot after shot, her sabers moved into action, the swinging gold beams trying to block any and all shots directs towards her head and chest. She could withstand a hit to the gut, but her chest and head would be a death sentence. She could feel the instant, excruciating pain of shrapnel hitting her left shoulder, right thigh and a single piece against just above her waist. The rest had been either melted with the sabers or ricocheted off her chest plating. The Force must have really aided her in that time. The wounds had done their works though, as her form started to falter under her paining injuries.

(Sergeant Omen) He then limped to the Padawan, leaving his primary weapon behind while giving covering the Padawan before limping out and trying to use his force sense to guide her to him, eventually grabbing her hand, pulling her back to safety behind his shield while defending them both, firing his Verpine pistol to cover them and drag her back to safety behind the shield.

With her body going limper than she had wanted, her sabers deactivated to avoid piercing her own body. Struggling to move with a wounded leg and side, she felt a hand grasp her own, the person pulling her towards safety. At least, she hoped. She could hear a blaster pistol being fired as she felt herself being dragged away from the marauder. Her body rested finally, her vision slightly returning, everything a blur. She could make out the form of Omen, aiming with his own weapon as he fired into the area in front of them, presumably where the enemy was with a rocket. Her mind felt high on adrenaline, yet the pain of her light injuries had started to rear their ugly heads. "Uuuuurrgh," Kinhaes said, her groan low as she tried to force her sight back and see the extend of her injuries. Glancing to Omen's shape, she muttered, "Did you get them?" to the soldier. Her sight had almost fully restored itself at this point, the armor grazed in dents and scratches from the most recent assault.

 

[Gnost Zym]

GOSH'EN DUNGEONS
Yula Perl ​

"So you don't like it."

“You’re a monster!”

At first Gnost seemed to accept her visceral reaction with quiet grace and dignity, "I see."

Then his hands started to tremble. They slowly curled into fists. Before he could control himself the lightsaber was in his hands, and the Sith brought it down intending to hack the tortured subject of his failed sculpture apart. Instead the darkside burned through him lighting his instincts on fire. Zym redirected his energy blade to curl around the thrown stun device and dash it aside.

Both of them were blinded by a premature discharge. Yula's shot went wide, and when Gnost came to his senses he noticed at once the smoking hole in one of his wall mounted portraits. A girlish shriek pierced the dungeons perhaps loud enough for those beyond his lair to hear. He tore down the protective sheeting to reveal an impressionist painting of a burning Jedi Temple. On first glance it seemed like watercolor but something about the way the red flames oozed implied a medium far more sinister in nature.

"I am an artist, madame. I can handle a bad review," he stroked the blaster hole scoured through the crumbling temple dome, "But defacing my work? How...churlish."

In his hand the lightwhip hummed and Zym gave it a threatening crack.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1
Allies: BOTM
Enemies: Caltin Vanagor

The undead of Kyrel’s horde had started to wander from its Master. The battle taking place within the camps seemed to have been drawing in the flesh craving monsters. Not that the Master of Ren had minded. It was for the best that they would be unleashed to gain the meal they sorely needed. What better way was to be unleashed in droves through the thick of the jungle. Kyrel had his eyes firmly locked on that of the similar brute looking Jedi. It had all seemed to be a match of dark and light added with brute strength

When no words came from the Jedi, only a challenge was given. Vader’s Bane ignited once more. The crimson blade being raised to his front as he rushed towards the enemy. His blade unlike that of an ordinary lightsaber sent Kyrel into Berserker mode. Feeding the dark side to him, and in return he fed to it. Forming a symbiotic connection between master and weapon. The blade the ultimate weapon for the Master of the Knights of Ren. Kyrel didn’t speak any words to the man before him. His vision clouded by what he saw as only crimson.

What Kyrel lacked in formal training he made up for in raw power and emotion. The dark side went off of him in waves of the unholy dead man. One of his first moves was to strike in a preferred style of Djem So, the style in his own personal way. As was traditional for the Ren, Kyrel wielded the dark side like one big sledgehammer. Battering at his opponent with his strength, anger and ferocity until there was nothing left. As he had done with foes too numerous to count. The man before him was no different.

He gave a fierce guttural cry as the anger flowing through him intensified. Attempting to using his strength he tried to swing his blade in a flurry of power attacks. Attempting to throw his enemy off guard, and gain the upper hand in the first moves of the duel.

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

// Voidwalker-Actual // 501st Legion, Black Hands //
// Objective I : Bring the Light Iron : Lao-Mon
// ALLIES: Silver Jedi Order, Galactic Alliance, @Zoraya Ives-lAyres Lyra Vent Thurion Heavenshield
// ENEMIES: Brotherhood of the Maw, New Sith Order, Witches of Rhand, Glossa The Mongrel Bendak Crail Jaedec Ren Darth Tennacus Marlon Sularen
// Engaging : Tegan Starfall
// Gear : Tenebrae, Tidefall, Left-Handed Grav Glove

The Witch continued to draw symbols in the ground, like they were some child fascinated with the dirt. It was... Odd. The Battlemind AI attributed no extra information, but his spine practically vibrated with the intensity of the danger sense warning of impending danger. It was undoubtedly a ritual, that much he could determine.

But what would it do?

He'd find out soon enough.

In the mean time, Aemilio continued to close the gap between him and the woman. His thumb continued to tease the activation button of the vibrosword.

“How Dare you make Demands of The God of Destruction!”

He scoffed.

His thumb flipped up, and the blade exploded into a vibrating thrum. A song of death that she was soon going to become acquainted with like so many of the Maw's fanatics before her. He favoured close quarters, and despite her being a seemingly experienced Force user, he still bet on himself having the advantage. Where he was without knowledge of her spells and skills, she was in the same boat, though more on the technological and physicals side rather than mystical.

His arms widened and waved at the world around them.

There was plenty of death, pain, blood. But destruction? The Camp still existed.

All Talk. Just like Konrad Harrsk .

"You're failing in your godly duties."

The first step, his right hand shot forwards, fibercord grappling line flung out towards the diminutive woman to trap her arms, or even her weapon against herself if possible. The next, he'd yank back the instant if the cord went taut. Through the powersuit and his own physical attributes without it, he was strong. Regardless of what happened, he was propelled forwards, jetpack bursting to life for a split second to close the distance much faster than he would naturally.

 

[Halketh]

S A I N T E D
Dark Lord of the Sith
vestment | creation

H E A V E N
The Perished | 4672/5000
​

The clutches tightened around Starlin's mind, invoking the very depths of unfettered emotion to wrack him with torment. Most of his ilk would have delighted in the palpable agony he invoked, but he cared little for such trivial things. He did not value siphoning strength from the exposed vulnerabilities of his foes, no, his values were much more complicated than that. As such, however, he had incapacitated his foe, and for the better part, this engagement was over.

The Brotherhood as a whole was not as merciful as he, and he knew there would be questions to answer if he stood by his principles and left the boy alive.

He cared little for authority anyway.

Fueling the incantation enough to render it self-sustaining, the Dark Lord retracted his razored fingers from Starlin's mind, leaving him to his torment. While he did not outright strike again or condemn the halfling to death, there was still the matter of the mindless horde unleashed by Kyrel Ren and The Perished themselves, who did not share their Master's ideals of mercy. With the duel over, the circle of carnage collapsed inward, leaving the apprentice's fate up to his own ability to gather himself and fight his way out of the combined legion.

With that, Caelitus flexed a hand to seize the essence of himself planted into the animated corpses the apprentice had hexed to his own, ripping it back in reclamation, and rendering the now Light-corrupted thralls as nothing more than withered husks again. Spotting him through the crowd of undead, Silvered soldiers focused fire upon his position, prompting the clench of fist by his side and the sharpening of his focus. Blaster bolts jittered in the air before him, suspended by the grasp of his mind, and intermingled among them vibrated an array of hissing slug shells in addition.

Each round punctured the veil of his might, prodding his mind to rouse some response. And respond it did, his sorcerous reflexes forced to act by the pulling strings of The Force and precognition. Before the build of pressure against his strength could grow too much, the tight fist splayed apart, relieving the pressure by shifting momentum in reverse, flinging the gathered ammunition into the line assaulting him indiscriminately. Opposition scrambled to take cover, those fortunate enough to sense it coming getting well out of the way before they shared the fate of their lesser keen comrades. And through this cleave, the Dark Lord went, drawing his hateful blade at last.

Orange light strobed from him, flashing with every deflection of his arm in the tight guard he formed, shielding himself where the breaks in his Perished's rank exposed him. Their High Warlord at their heart, the forces of Carlac surged forth through the break in the wall, bearing down upon the Silver and New Imperial forces alike, dealing morale-shattering blows with their dreadful aura alone.

The carnage was palpable, circling him in every direction, dancing greys and colorless silhouettes churning in mortal dance. He indulged in it briefly, relishing the sheer violence of it all, finding soon the twisted reaches of his soul hummed with graven delight at the sensations. Saber in one hand, the other left free, The Divine cut a path through the war camp riding the whorl of the dead.

​

​

ALLIES | Dakrul The Mongrel Glossa Khaostra Devoid
FOES | SJC | NIO | Starlin Rand Damsy Callat Artemis Lu Ripley Kühn The Dark Inquisitor Sergeant Omen | Open for direct engagement, pt. 2!

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
NIV ANTARES DRACO
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Allies | NIO | SJC | GA | Kiara Ayres Bernard
Enemies | BOTM | NSO | Darth Solipsis

SHADOWBRINGER
​

His focus broke from Solipsis's words and sentiment. His thoughts began to channel through his body, centering his ego within the bounds and limits of his physique and his control of the force, analyzing the power that emanated around Solipsis as he sought the means to bring about the end. Bring about the end to the reign of chaos and cast judgement over another parasitic scion of darkness. The rhetoric and taunt had been cast to the reigning lord of darkness, any talk any longer was useless drivel.

Only action and execution would make right this day. His blade remained drawn in its subtle hum of contained argent fury. He waited for a moment it'd clash against crimson again, a moment that would be within the next few predicted actions of the Dark Lord. But he stood in waiting, the taunting lamentations of lineage and bloodline of Fel went awash against his steely mind like the thundering waves against the shore. Its vitriol, its potent meaning evident. Its effect? Minimal. There was no word that would bring about this Sith's redemption or faltering.

Only the blade could execute upon that.

He surged the force around his sole organic hand as Solipsis continued to speak, strumming each tether of energy through his fingers in a slow methodical rhythm as he took it into his grasp. He surged first toward the Grandmaster. Of the many facing him, not the weakest but perhaps, in her own way, the most vulnerable. He had no single impression of her ability in combat...but there was no doubt she was a tortured mind. Being the head of a nation bathed in fire, fighting the most brutal the Galaxy and beyond had to offer it. She withstood the assault.

Rurik waited.

The next was certainly the weakest among them, Bernard of Arca, the noble knight of Arkania. A resilient soul worthy of Fel's salute no doubt...but alas, no man who could hold a note to the unbridled power of the Sith'ari claimant.

Rurik waited.

He did nothing to fetter the attacks unleashed unto each of them, refusing to break his focus from centering in his own mortal bonds, from channeling his own will through the force before eventually he was next in Solipsis's chain of brutal attacks.

That rage, that hatred, that...darkness that he willed through himself- he sought to flow it all unto Rurik in his next attack, seeking to compound on their collective suffering to bury their heads further into it.

As any Sith would.

Rurik- prepared in Vaapad, his body open to the assault in the form's traditional starting stance compounded that darkness and hatred flowing through Solipsis and his attack, channeled it through him before spitting it back out at the eventual clash of blades and in Rurik's left hand, as he'd continued to coalesce a shard of contained energy around his hand, balled it into a fist before moving to close the distance and throw it into Solipsis's abdomen, using the rage Solipsis forced into the assault against him with an ethereal Vornskr's bite in the hopes of snatching away his focus, snatching away the initiative and demanding the attention of the Sith'ari. He doubted the Grandmaster nor the Pale Knight could sustain his attacks.

But Rurik would fight beyond the dying of the light, his iron will never faltering in the face of doom, of darkness. He would strike Solipsis down blow for blow, blood for blood- to the bitter end and then some. For all the rhetoric that surrounded the Iron Imperator, the crucial piece often missing was that the Sith'ari who'd they'd be more keen to scheme and plot against rather than fight man to man, Rurik had faced down by the blade and left them bloodied each and every time.

He would do so again to the man before him...but the man before him would not remain one with this mortal realm to tell the tale much longer.

 

[Jem Fossk]

Objective: Bop that sith!
Location: Central Keep Rooftops
Tags: Dagon Kaze | Letifer

Spoiler: The Story

NEW JEDI ORDER
CAPTURE Letifer
Central Keep Rooftops

​

A thousand times they've played the game of cat and mouse, of hunter and prey, and it still the mystery remained - who was the hunter and who was the prey? From the riots on Empress Teta, to the criminal syndicates of Denon, to the bowels of Coruscant, Dagon had only caught glimpses of the man's cloak before he vanished and the Jedi was left to undo his work, one that was often irreparable.

The game of cloak and dagger ended now. Atop the roofs of the war camp's keep carved into the ridges. From here one could see the waste the Maw had laid upon Goshen. Pillaged, defiled, and shaped into a war manufacturing plant that supplied the cult's ruthless destruction across the stars. The Brotherhood, nay, the Sith pulling the strings had to be stopped here and now. Before the rest of the galaxy shared the fate of Lao-Mon.

The wind blew sporadically, in bursts, from the trumpets and drums of war beating in explosions both in the jungles and in the Camp. Dagon stared at the hooded man he had chased across the Core, a man he believed to have been instrumental in the efforts to fragment the Alliance and disavow the New Jedi from within. Soot and sweat covered his face, blue eyes once bright with innocence now shared the burdens and trauma of a youth spent in the trenches of the Stygian against the Sith Empire.

"Letifer!" he shouted the Sith's nom de guerre as if invoking the Force to clear his mind; to brush his pestilent thoughts away, mostly his fear over Yula. She was here. He hadn't protested, at least not verbally, but she'd seen it on his face. The worry, the concern, the guilt. Especially the guilt, one borne of abandoning her to the hands of Zaavik and losing her eye in the process. They may have reconciled but the sting still burned in the few sleepless nights he could manage away from work.

"Doesn't have to be this way." said Dagon, almost whispering. The hilt remained still in his hand, the blade a button away from igniting.

ALLIES | GA | SJC | NIO | Jem Fossk
ENEMIES | MAW | Letifer

Objective: Bop that sith!
Location: Central Keep Rooftops
Tags: Dagon Kaze | Letifer

Jem was sick of sidelines. She was sick of waiting and watching and she was definitely sick of being held back. She had spent the better part of her youth watching as the older jedi left Coruscant and went off to fight. The temple always felt so empty after that. She wanted to be out there with them.

Her instructors had always coached patience, but that was a skill better suited to her brother. She was sixteen now and she was still an initiate-- not a master in sight.

It wasn't fair.

Sneaking onto the convoys had been work, but she had done it. Jem didn't need a Master to escort her to war. No. She'd prove to them all once and for all that they were wrong.

She was ready.


She was flying utterly blind through the streets of Lao-Mon. It was hard to know what was going on when you're a stow-away, but she didn't need comms to sense the turmoil in the air. She had never come across darkness like this before... it brushed across her senses like a distorted lullaby. It made her want to tear her own skin off.

She had been following it, trying to listen to the force as she crawled across the roof tops. It all came to a halt as she found two forms facing off on a roof below. She leaned forward, her senses pricked. A metallic taste spread over her tongue as she quickly recognized one as a fellow jedi, and the other...

Her fingers tightened over the hilt of her training saber.

She didn't think twice. In fact, she didn't think at all. She jumped, her hair bellowing out around her as she tried to drop down and overhead strike the sith on the head.

She was helping!

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
KILL Dagon Kaze , Jem Fossk
Goshen War Camp | Rooftops of Keep



PEACE IS A LIE​

The silhouette of a man stood amidst the flaming backdrop as the luminescent fires lit the sky, his cloaked form fluttered in the wind violently with each gale. The smell of sulfur, smoke, and ash was warming to him. It was the call of home, not a place, but an idea. It was here in the crucible of combat, the heart of battle that he truly felt alive, that he truly felt like himself. He glanced down at his hands, outstretched against the open air as embers floated between his fingertips.



Ah, it was him.



They'd chased one another world after world, playing games in the shadows. Always a few steps behind the other, now it seemed they had finally caught up. How lucky for him, the Court of Daggers had yet to lay claim to this death mark. The name Dagon Kaze was one that Letifer would mark off personally, all the snooping, all the investigations. They'd end. He'd make sure Ryv's innocence would never come to light, then he'd pay him a visit too.

His head drifted from the backdrop of battle towards the otherside of the rooftop where his prey stood in wait, the Jedi Knight would soon come face to face with his masked visage. A face-off, two opponents standing at opposite corners in wait. The Sith Assassin growled under his breath, his vocabulator coming to life as he reached at the hip for his saber, "I've been looking forward to this Kaze. I should of killed you on Teta when you were less of a nuisance."

"I'll fix that."

His eyes widened under the veil of his mask, he felt the immediate tug of the empyrean upon his psyche and responded. Near-instantaneously the air lit up in a crimson light, a crackling beam of plasma roaring to life from the hilt of his weapon. He stepped back with a wide arch, narrowly avoiding the easily crippling head blow that could of finished the fight before it began. The training saber nearly hit it's mark, the sudden appearance of the second Jedi only spurred him into action now.

Dropping down, he swept his leg under in a wide arch. Time to die little Jedi.

NEW JEDI ORDER
CAPTURE Letifer | LEARN OF THE SITH'S PLANS
Central Keep Rooftops

there is no emotion, there is peace​

"You will try." he responded in kind, eyes furrowing into a frown. The man was as elusive as a shadow, always an inch away from Dagon's reach. Letifer was no mere pawn of the Sith, he couldn't be. His dark touch was found in the grandest of conspiracies and plots. Not the Dark Lord himself, but a man really close to him. Had to be. A key piece in the puzzle, maybe the one to solve it all if he could be captured and made to talk.

The crimson blade ignited and the cerulean followed as Dagon took one foot back in a defensive posture. Assess, assemble, action. Never had he seen the Sith in combat, he had to analyze him, figure out his weak spots and force an opportunity. A clash of blades was no different than investigating a case. One could argue it was always won through careful examination and patient prep time, rather than outright brute force. The Jedi's athleticism could help him fend off the onslaught long enough to learn.

All deliberations were cast aside in the shape of what looked at first a lunatic dressed as a padawan going for a head strike with a...training saber?!

What the kark??

Instincts kicked in, shoving plans and plots into the bonfire, and his hands snapped forward - a telekinetic bubble formed around her form to fend off Letifer's kick. The shield wouldn't hold long if Letifer's capabilities in combat were as sharp as his skills in sabotage.

"Get the hell back!" yelled out Dagon, wild-eyed and flabbergasted. It was the only reaction he could muster.


ALLIES | GA | SJC | NIO | Jem Fossk
ENEMIES | MAW | Letifer

Objective: Bop that sith!
Location: Central Keep Rooftops
Tags: Dagon Kaze | Letifer

A shin swept under her legs, sending her crashing onto her back before gravity could fully settle. A flash of adrenaline threatened to break the calm that ruled her. She felt no fear, nor apprehension for her situation. Jem had quickly fallen under the boot of her first sith but she didn't falter. Her saber raised as she met the gaze of Letifer fort he first time. Light wrapped protectively over her.

Her cheeks puffed out in defiance.



"No!"

She flipping backed onto her feet, leaving the protection as she pressed for her advantage. She was young but she was quick. With her cool head and decisive strikes, she had always had her peers on their back foot.

Her arm lashed out, aiming to get the sith across his neck. She took a step forward and followed it up, her saber flowing in an easy arch to try and disarm him with a strike to the wrist.

Every warning that screamed around her was ignored. It only took one tap of her saber to stun a limb. Let them misjudge her.

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
KILL Dagon Kaze , Jem Fossk
Goshen War Camp | Rooftops of Keep



PEACE IS A LIE​

A quick sweep and slight of movement readied him for the decisive blow, the sudden strike meant to end it all. His opponent, the Jedi Padawan crashed against the rooftop with her back against the cobbled building. She rose her saber and met his gaze with fire and passion, he saw defiance and drive. She’d make an excellent apprentice, too bad she was to die here.

His saber crashed against the translucent barrier, the invisible wall that rebuked him against encroaching further. He’d spoke too soon, his eyes narrowly snapped to Dagon Kaze in a fit of rage. The Jedi screamed warning to his compatriot and she rebuked him as fiercely as Letifer’s own attack was halted. With a throw of his hands, the Sith Assassin called upon the explosive energy of the empyrean.

The roof shingles of the cobbled together structure scattered and boomed in a wave of scattered parts. The shockwave of debris reigned in, aimed to keep the Jedi Knight separated from Letifer and Jem Fossk . He turned his attention immediately to Jem as she rose to her feet in a swift flipped movement.

Her arm lashed out, aiming to get the sith across his neck. His backfoot twirled, rocketing his body to the side as it narrowly missed his neck. She took a step forward and followed it up, her saber flowing in an easy arch to try and disarm him with a strike to the wrist. The Sith Assassin felt the jolt of pain rock to his arm, he let the blade fall and immediately used it for his opening with a now stunned limb.

Drawing a shikkar with his freehand while she was distracted with her momentary victory. In a fierce burst of speed he aimed to strike true, cutting for her heels.

NEW JEDI ORDER
CAPTURE Letifer | LEARN OF THE SITH'S PLANS
Central Keep Rooftops

there is no emotion, there is peace​

No?!

In some twisted irony, the reply reminded him of his own rebellious flame evaporating his master Asmundr Varobalder's last drops of tempered wisdom. A lot of it, back then, had been guts - proving himself; and to extent luck. Looking back, there was more to it than that. A shameless secret - he felt most alive on the brink of death. Addiction, or something worse, it didn't matter; it shouldn't plague others.

The padawan was out of the shield and Dagon was quick on the move. A barrier flared over his body against the tempest of stone and mortar sent forth by Letifer, slowing the Knight and giving the Sith the opportunity to slash at the girl's heels. A cry echoed across the roof and she fell down on her knees at the mercy of the Sith.

It's a prayer's fall from here. At best - you break a dozen and more bones, at worst— the earlier shower, the dust - it's a slippery slope. Gypsum, sand. Mortar's barely holding anything in place as it is. Gonna need wits and feet and she came lacking the first, now losing the second.

The Force lifts the weight from his knees and he leaps over the padawan and fires a hard front snap kick to the masked chin of the Sith.

ALLIES | GA | SJC | NIO | Jem Fossk
ENEMIES | MAW | Letifer

Her vision flashed white as pain seared through her. She didn't hear her own scream or feel the way her knees jammed into the ground. Her pride at landing a hit had left her blind. The sith took advantage of it. The strike severed both her Achilles tendons. It was only the tough nature of her Firrerreo skin that prevented the blade from severing both limbs.

Her golden skin shifted to a sickly silver. Despite her appearance, she wasn't made of metal. She bled freely across the concrete roof, vulnerable and unarmed. A lifetime of training left her as she froze, leaving her with only panic.

She didn't want to die.

Dagon Kaze soared over her, intercepting the sith with a sword... or limb. It was hard to see through her blurring vision, but she could feel him there-- light clashing against the dark.

She had to help.

She sucked in a breath and pulled her torso towards her saber. Agony rippled through her as her feet dragged. She stretched out, sweat and tears staining her face as the pain brought specs of light to her eyes.

Just a few more inches...

The familiar weapon jumped into her outstretched hand and illuminated her blue.

 

[Michael Barran]

POST 7
OBJECTIVE 2: TIP OF THE SPEAR
WRATH_OF_THE_WOADS

ALLIES (NIO): Noel Strasza

ALLIES (SJC/GA/AC/OTHER): Starlin Rand Sergeant Omen Damsy Callat
Artemis Lu The Dark Inquisitor

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/TFD): Khaostra Devoid Romund Sro The Mongrel Dakrul
Halketh Marlon Sularen Zachariel Steelblood Eldervine Glossa

MICHAEL'S FORCES

THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
ARGYLL COY. - INFANTRY
LARGS COY. - INFANTRY
FARRIN COY. - ENGINEERS
ISLAY COY. - ANTI-TANK

BLUE-HEART BRIGADE
196 XT-62,"CATAPHRACT" TANKS
32 SCOUT-AFV'S
9 MLV'S (NAKAIOMA)
5 PREDATOR LAUNCH-PLATFORMS (NAKAIOMA)
1 COY. OF GUARDSMEN
1 COY. OF MEDICS
1 COY. OF QUARTERMASTERS

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
SECONDARY WEAPON: BLASTER-PISTOL
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 12

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (869 ABY)
HOUR ONE OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

With the sounds of screaming Drengir, humans and even the screams of frightened wildlife echoing out through the Goshen Rainforest, it seemed the entire planet itself was crying out in pain as Yorunarr unleashed psychosis and manic horror on his surroundings, seeming ever more that the jungle itself was working against them. In a way, it was turning against them, and it was looking ever more to Maitland that he would need to ready incendiaries for Guardians' snipers' pitifully small supply of grenade-launchers and PLX One rocket-launchers, though the young Tuath had hoped in his heart-of-hearts that the last remnants of Scope Platoon had completed their task safely; retaining comm-silence at the order of, oddly, all his subordinates, though he would often be reminded of the,"Locals", on Lao-Mon, and forcing him to recount that their main modus operandi would be to go after the officers among them. Despite this, it looked as if it didn't matter if they were cautious or not, even more so when things began to change in the western lookout hillock, and without any of the snipers from Guardian Company even slightly suspecting that something was going horribly awry behind them.
Advisin' caution for this, that an' the next 'hing. Kark caution, especially here.

'EAT THE VINESWORN!!!! EAT THE VINESWORN!!!! EAT THE VINESWORN!!!!'

'Maitland to Guardian Four! Do you have a visual on Yorunarr yet? We're holding firm but haven't seen anything yet, nor have we heard from Scope Platoon or the others. Would be good to know what's going on if you've got eyes on the situation.'

<"All is well, keep your eyes peeled. Keep your barrels facing the wilderness. Guardian Four out!">​

What the kark? Leftenant Feldman never talks like that!

Maitland, I feel two dark presences in your vicinity! FIND THEM!!!!

'WHERE ARE YOU, VINESWORN?!?!?! WHEEEEEERE!!!!'​

Of all the companies within the Free-State's Blue-Heart Brigade, the Guard-Sergeant never expected that his unit would be the one unfortunate enough to find their iteration's troops trapped between supernatural threats of this magnitude, remembering well that not even Captain Brand ever had to deal with such a threat, not even when the Rooster was faced with the task of breaking Castle Bast on Vjun. Hemorrhaging some of their best and brightest over the course of seven days left Michael's forces without much of their hardest-hitting, and morale-rallying elements, but fortunately for Maitland, much of that quality in Guardian Company had survived to fight the eighth battle, and were eager to react to this latest development in their usual fashion. The young Tuath was about to follow-up when he felt a cautionary hand slap down on his shoulder, Fraanken acting with foresight enough to know when not to let his platoon-commander compromise their advantage, shaking his head slowly as his free left hand put a hushing index to his own lips, with a softly-spoken,'Ssssshh....', as he knelt down a few feet to the left of Maitland's arc-of-fire.

'Collins and Feldman are gone, Sarge. Told you these Shi'Do are serious chit, didn't I?'

<<Maitland, whatever the kark you do, don't raise comms with Feldman. D O N ' T ! We're all genuinely sorry that we're having to undermine you like this, but you really should just sit tight and let us keep our sixes safe for the meantime. Datapad chatter between non-coms only, no exceptions.>>

'NO MORE VINESWORN!!!! NO MORE PAIN!!!!!! NO MORE VINESWORN!!!! NO MORE PAIN!!!!'​

The whole situation, in Maitland's estimation, stunk with the stench of needless trickery, an opinion he would naturally hold towards the supernatural elements of galactic warfare; made all the more glaringly-disdainful by the lifelong conditioning and further indoctrination within the Free-State's armed wings, and to compound what his thoughts were on the matter, the young Tuath would wake every morning haven woken up from flashbacks with previous experiences. Making the situation worse was the fact that the discouragement from investigation was being thrown at him in abundance, though for what, the Guard-Sergeant would need to wait and see, waiting for someone to tell him he could relax as Yorunarr's Drengir screamed and uprooted the forest around their triangle of defensive positions for anything resembling the Vinesworn. But then, like a thunderous punch to the gut, the tension in the air would be cut by the sound of three grenade-launchers sending projectiles in upward arcs towards the suspected Shi'Do Fleshtakers' position on the western hillock, sealing the fates of whoever, or whatever waited at the end of their terminal curving arcs.

<"O'Malley to Guardian Four! Two Tangoes down! Resume comm-chatter contact.... An' sorry for your loss, bai! I know Feldman took you under 'is wing, but tings often work out choite! I'll regardless be prayin' for 'im though, no real men deserve to be killed by evil Sidh-things. None.">

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 13

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (869 ABY)
HOUR ONE OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

'Get in the cart Gorman, use it for cover as Maguire works it forward for ye. McColl an' Denton are takin' point this time.... Lucky the grenade-launchers didn't set anything aff, eh?'

Nearing the tunnel's eastern exit, Sergeant McKidd couldn't help but laugh at how delicate their predicament was, seeing and hearing for himself how close the three grenade-launcher impacts (and their consequent detonations) came to both ruining Archer's best-laid plans and killing all his remaining sharpshooters in one fell swoop, understanding that the Free-State's chances of prevailing would have been wiped out in an instant if the destabilising shudders around them had been any heavier. The real blessing, however, was the fact there were no follow-up hostilities or return-fire of any sort afterwards, especially when they were so close to linking up with Lord Erskine's guardsmen; though the first thing they'd hear after exiting and taking the remaining explosive charges with them, after all that humid, leaky backdrop of fearfulness that they'd waded through, wouldn't be one of a human tone. The first presence to welcome Scope Platoon, as much as they wanted it to be human, and Tavlarist Imperial, would be that of a crazed Drengir in the distance instead, screaming with blood-curdling cries of agony, hatred and horror.

'EAT THE VINESWORN - KILL THE PAIN!!!! EAT THE VINESWORN - KIIIILL THE PAAAIIN!!!!'

It was enough to make Lance-Corporals Denton and McColl fall silent as they scanned the smoke-filled clearing ahead, trying their best to make out anything in the haze and the long-grass ahead in case something was crawling around in the distance, but this silence worried the QM-Sergeant greatly, but only on account of the fact he couldn't see them yet. Everyone there with McKidd agreed, from the moment they caught the first wisps by scent or by warm flutters in their Night-Vision optics, that their sniper-rifles would be useless for as long as the fire-smoke wasn't dissipating, throwing their rifles into the mining-cart and shouldering their SA-65s in anticipation of their need to adapt. A tension none needed, but one that would light a proverbial fire under the feet of the Scopes following close behind, but the QM-Sergeant, expression plenty caution of his own, would instead opt to let everyone else hold position as he stepped out to clear the exit of any potential threats. Given relief by the sight of his best shots in the near-distance, McKidd would eventually signal for the others to move up as he called out,'That's Yorunarr gettin' the job done, yees can afford t'relax a bit - honestly.', to which apprehensive chuckles were taken as their reply.

'I WILL CONSUME ANY DRENGIR PUREBLOOD WHO DARES DEFEND THE VINESWORN!!!!!!'

'So what's the plan then, Sarge? "Northern thicket then east fae there.", as planned?'

'WHITE EYES!!! WHY DID YOU CHOOSE ME?!?! OF ALL THE DRENGIR - WHY MEEEEEE?!?!'​

'Dunno.... We're far enough behind enemy lines as it is- you know what? Feth it! "As planned.", Denton.', McKidd replied after letting the tormented Drengir vent his anguish a little first, with Denton heard wheezing mirthfully at how obviously irritated his platoon-commander was by it. Then, as soon as the QM-Sergeant had given his answer, the two best shots in the depleted platoon would make their way back to the mining-cart to retrieve their sniper-rifles for the next phase of Operation: MELARRIA, eager to distance themselves from Yorunarr's victim, and all the beasts who would be chasing it when the mayhem truly set the battle into motion around them. From there Gorman would load their gear onto the platoon's ACV, and with plenty of cover from the other eleven shooters under McKidd's supervision at that, and with the QM-Sergeant personally scouting ahead for any threats in the clearing, the remaining equipment and ordnance would already be en route to the northern thicket when the distant sight of an approaching soldier set McKidd on high-alert once more.

'HALT RIGHT THERE, SOLDIER!!! CHALLENGE,"IMPERATOR" - I REPEAT, CHALLENGE,"IMPERATOR"

 

[The Man in White]

He had been doing his best, he really had.

His sonic pistols had ran dry, and now he had gotten out his ion Carbine, a DC series.

He just kept plugging these bastards. Even Lightsaber users that found him realized too late how truly deadly he was with a fire arms, as he seemed unusually adept at shooting through Lightsaber guards. He usually went for the head. Everybody got Zombie rules from The Man in White.

The Man in White then sensed one of the cyberdogs get through his V.A.T.S. based strategy (His AP was forty, if you must know) and rip off the protective bracelet Starlin Rand had used.

Vulnerability to mind attacks. It had been T'sid's weakness too. Perhaps that was what had made it so easy for her to be recreated as Darth Phyre.

He saw his son scream in pain as he collapsed, Zabka knew he had seconds before Halketh was on him.

So the Man in White acted.

The Ex-Jedi in white Senate Commando Armor, stretched out his arms to the sky, clearing his mind of all emotion, letting the Force work it's will. He hadn't come all this way just to watch Starlin die in front of him. He refused.

A bright, unnaturally powerful light manifested from between the palms, shining outward to cause potentially deadly harm to any user of the darkness, as well as burn away the Darkness itself as he approached Starlin, hoping such an incredibly powerful manifestation of the Light would be enough to disrupt the attacks effects on Starlin as well as cause the attacker no small amount of distress.

"STARLIN! STARLIN GET UP!" The Man in White called out...

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: Try to escape from captivity
Location: Goshen Keep Dungeons, Lao-mon
Equipment: 1x standard assault rifle | 2x blaster rifle | 2x vibroblade | 3x dogtag || OPBC-01m
Writing with: Zachariel Steelblood 's hunters
Allies: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Jacen Nimdok
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

[ Dream of home ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ ​

Is that how dying would be? Again, this question came to my mind, first on Carlac, and now here. There, I was nearly drowned by the hands of The Mongrel , now in my own blood. It felt like one of the first times the whole thing started. When my brother was old enough and our mother thought I would be perfect to practice with. Slavery was not an accepted institution, so there were few "raw materials". I was useless to them, so I was a perfect test subject.

I was just a teenager, with good hopes. Ironically, I wanted them to find me a husband so I could escape from the family "nest." I was still coughing, unable to move, trying to gasp for air, but there was only hot, stale air in the flight. I choked as I managed to cough and spit out a large amount of blood. I got better for a moment.

The next moment, however, the chills began. No, no, no, no, no! I can’t get a shock, not at the moment. The world turned around with me, my head also started to ache from not getting my breath properly. I clung to the grip of my weapon convulsively, trembling, trembling. Slowly, I realized that I wasn’t in shock, I was just scared; panic attack. It wasn't better either in this situation.

I had to calm down. Take big and deep breaths; which was not so easy especially that beneath me was the enemy, who by now must have noticed me. And my breathing hurt, paralyzed, I was unable to move. Just like the day it started. Even then, I was scared, I couldn’t move, I was in the corner, crouched. I cried, I asked him not to hurt me…

The whip slammed down; I screamed in my memories and in reality…

 

[Ishida Ashina]

WHERE EVEN THE LIGHT HAS GONE ASTRAY
LAO MON | GOSHEN WAR CAMP | GOSHEN KEEP DUNGEONS
BEYOND THE EDGE OF THE UNIVERSE,
THERE'S A KIND OF REAL DARKNESS
WHERE EVEN THE LIGHT HAS GONE ASTRAY

TRACES EVERYWHERE YOU GO
​

The first time Ishida had noticed she was cruel was when she’d waved her tiny shadow over a pond to scare the copper minnows. Her nurse pulled her little self away from the water’s edge, but the toddler had found unmentionable glee seeing the tiny fish scatter frantically from her dark impression on their habitat. Nothing had been harmed, she hadn’t hurt them, but she’d felt the influence she could have with just a silent suggestion.

The first time Ishida had noticed her own kindness, she’d been a student. She knew what to do with her shadow, and she was being trained what to do with her mind and body. But it had been another silent suggestion –– words were meaningless in the world of those who studied within The Ten Thousand Waterfalls Dojo.

A father’s scolding, loud and terrible, was easy to recognize. It was the silent, hateful disappointment that stung forever. But that rage, when mixed with silent expectation, was deadly. The worst. When a silver spoon was never an opportunity, children learned to lick it off knives –– she knew this well and recognized it the instant her sparring companion had made a fatal mistake. There’d been a flicker in his expression, a desperate look up to the spectators –– paternal and pedagogical –– before they’d made eye contact again. All she’d needed were those few seconds to adjust her footing and not take advantage of the opportunity he’d foolishly presented. A misstep amongst Carps could result in maiming, for certain. It had been such a subtle gesture, that they’d almost missed it in her review, but it was enough for that look of intensity to return between the two warriors and even the playing field again; giving a chance to avoid that gut-wrenching feeling of disappointment.

The understanding had been as silent as that first moment of cruelty, and that outstanding moment of kindness. A simple nod passed betwixt them, hardly even an instant in their shared timeline.

But that look, if that look had a voice, it would have sounded like ––

"Father...?"

–– What?

Despite the slip of the word that had sparked that random memory, the physical reality of seeing Konrad on his knees was a whirlwind that snapped her back and forth from now to Atrisia. Through a deep, squeezing blink, she forced her attention to the situation and let instinct take over before anything else.

Somewhere in the discord of the war camp, Strike Team Windu had been compromised. She’d heard her brother speaking over the comms, and her own team had been separated with few successes. Maybe a handful of pods had been broken free, and the Alliance soldiers readily agreed to escort them away while Ishida pressed on.

She’d meant to find her brother, Inosuke Ashina and join him in the bloodshed, but somehow she’d ended up in a clusterheck turnaround maze of a situation staring down the interaction of a dark sided witch, a former classmate and rival, The Mindbreaker of The Maw, and a group of red-robed soldiers.

Tension crept through her body, tightening her muscles and jaw –– if this were any other situation, she would have wanted to slice through each and every one of them without hesitation. But in the theatrics, there were complex layers and that pathetic, visceral whimper of paternal pleading meant there was something more sinister at play here. Something she couldn’t see.

But she didn’t need to understand to act. One did not need to understand the minerals, proteins or density of bones in order to break an arm –– only trusting in one’s own strength to bend and manipulate the cartilage against its will to see it splinter.

Everything in her training told her to break all those arms in front of her until she was surrounded by the dust of her enemies’ bones. But that hypothesis seeking to prove right or wrong the length which light could spread begged her to only bruise at most.

The darkside permeated from all of them, save for the former Carp graduate where there existed nothing but a void. He was also the only one not standing, and the one next to him was glowing with an incredible emerald she’d never seen before. It was as beautiful as it was wretched. Green like a glowing mold on The Force’s influe ––– no! She couldn’t think like that. At least not right away –– so she'd said to Bernard .

“Dynasties,” She huffed to herself, already hating her attempts to prove her own conceptions wrong. Or at least the ones that had come to light on Korriban and Yavin. “I hope you’re right.”

Those in red helmets and onyx armour had seemed to be affected by distance, but they were warriors. Ishida could see that in an instant. Their composition, their readiness despite the face of an unseen adversity. Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth, giving a final assessment to the situation and shifting her weight from her heels to her toes into a forward lunge, coming in to a temporary skid near the glowing woman with enervating presence in The Force –– though it was soured and repulsive in Ishida’s eyes, she could see the woman had intense power. But it was diluted.

She breathed in a quick exhale, as if that were enough salutations to the witch and nodded forward with her chin. It took all of her strength to not swing at the obvious womanly token of the Bogan. Instead, she flexed her grip along the hilt of her Katana and made it more obvious with her stance that she was here to fight someone other than her and Konrad.

“Alumni.” She offered only, giving a shoulder roll that was supposedly pointing toward the raven-haired bastard by way of introduction to the cowering Harrsk. She had little interest in helping him heal from his current predicament, but she did want to see him survive so she could interrogate him later. This was far too serendipitous to ignore, and The Force did work in mysterious ways.

“I’ll take the guards –– you keep your focus on whatever you’re doing.” Grey eyes flashed in the direction of the Ebruchi. While the monster might have made an incredible mask, there was no honour in intruding on another’s battle. Only the assist.

And even that was selfish by Ashina clan means.

---

ALLIES | NJO | NIO | SJC | GA | Auria Blackmoore | Konrad Harrsk
FOES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Tu'teggacha | PALATINIS martinis

​

​

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

D E M O N ' S _ H E A D
Operation: Bastion Spear
14th Military Intelligence Brigade, 501st Legion
Goshen Keep Dungeons

T H E _ P O T​

"Snap out of it, Starshine."

A light tap on the shoulder, words of a witch, and a blinding green piercing through the veil of darkness.

“Alumni.”

A voice from the past, all too familiar, carrying a tone all so similar to his. A pallid mask glaring from above.

The repugnant tendrils of the Taskmaster invading his mind, distorting reality began to loosen the hold of his psyche. The mantilla of shadows enveloping his mind that danced and pranced, cackled, and sneered began to abate; the judging, molten eyes of a father lost their flame to an all too familiar ghostly glare that shared hefty weight expectations not too different from his own. Through the half-cracked visor of his helmet, his eye snapped wide.

Ishida?!

The surprise didn't last long, shoved away by the dangerous predicament they were placed in by the Breaker of Minds.

From the shadows cast by the glimmering lantern of green that Auria had become, Konrad staggered back on his feet. His glare shifted to the Ebruchi backpedaling away, but the rage had subsided, tempered by the void the Taskmaster himself had exploited within the young assassin. The ghosts of the past, unleashed by the Taskmaster's invasive presence, whispered. A voice carried by the dry winds of the Kandaran desert across time and space.

When the field cannot be made equal—

Konrad's hand lingering over the throwing stars at the back of his waist moved to hold three pellets between his fingers.

—break it.

"Taste some of your own medicine."

He hurled the pellets right in the middle between the Taskmaster and the trio hunting him. A fear gas, purple in color, exploded in a cloud of smoke. An opiate with both trippy and physically draining properties that was invasive enough to push through conventional filtering systems (but not those of advanced grade). Well aware his own rebreather had gone bust (a polearm had busted half his helmet when he'd leapt over the guards), he had limited time to run and capture the Ebruchi without breathing. The stim enhancements Konrad had been exposed to during his youth would resist the toxin for a bit but the clock still ticked fast. Even faster with how defiled his mind had been by the Taskmaster.

Rushing through the smoke, Konrad would attempt to pin the Ebruchi into a nearby wall, vibrodagger at his throat.

ALLIES | NIO | GA | SJC | Auria Blackmoore | Ishida Ashina | Keilara Kala'myr
ENEMIES | MAW | Tu'teggacha

 

[Tren Chaar]

C R U C I B L E

LAO-MON ORBIT
B-WING HEAVY STARFIGHTER​

---

---

Revenant Squadron One Flight [Assault] Leader: CDR Tren Chaar Four Two Flight [Strike] Seven: FO Leon Gallo Three Flight [Intercept] SCAR Squadron One: Commander Ewan "Raider" Isaacs Brotherhood of the Sith Tu'teggacha Open

Hundreds of Brotherhood starfighters - forty squadrons worth - surged forward from the massive orbital platform to meet the Galactic Alliance and Silver Jedi Concord forcing moving to engage the station. “Evasive,” Chaar ordered flatly over the comm. Revenant Squadron began to duck and weave around the barrage of enemy fire laser and missile fire, waiting as their range finders ticked down. Behind them, the massive Maw reinforcement fleet began the close the distance with the main Silver Jedi fleet, their weapons and starfighters igniting the darkness of space.

The approaching mass of enemy starfighters reminded Chaar of a tactic he’d used successfully against the Sith Empire. It was a combination attack, bringing together the different strengths of the squadron, and would rely on expert timing and an excess of trust - neither of which the rookie squadron had to spare. The safe play would be to call up an Alliance corvette to lay down anti-starfighter fire while they slowly pushed forward toward the Brotherhood space station.

But looking at the tactical computer, the enemy wasn’t going to give them the time or space for conventional tactics.

He’d need to make a leap of faith.

“One Flight, stand by for targeting package.” The Umbaran cycled a pair of concussion missiles, and the moment he was in range, fired them toward the horde of incoming Brotherhood starfighters. The two other B-wings of One Flight fired along the targeting vector he supplied. At this range, the enemy would have plenty of time to get out of the missiles' paths. But taking out ships wasn’t his goal - Tren toggled another switch to arm the proximity fuse in the weapons.

“Two Flight, Three Flight, here’s your opening,” he explained. With a blinding flash, the six warheads detonated as a single explosion within the enemy ranks. Divine-Eagle starfighters either threw themselves away from the detonation to avoid it or were thrown out of the way by the shockwave. The fast-moving X-wings of Two Flight and A-wings of Three Flight punched through the gap in the enemy lines before wheeling around the engage the Brotherhood from their blind spot.

Chaar dove to the left and down as the wave of enemy starfighters washed over him. The heavily armoured B-wing was built to last, but against these overwhelming odds, his only chance of surviving beyond the next few minutes relied on his rookie pilots fighting their way back to him and clearing the Divine-Eagle off him.

The commander gritted his teeth as he swung his starfighter around wildly, watching as the shield strength indicator slowly ticked down.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Tags: Amelia Venthyra

Gore Wasps were among Lao-mon's apex predators, exceeded in power and ferocity only by the savage Branchlurkers. Their chitinous armor covered almost their entire bodies, exposing only a soft underbelly they protected by drawing up their legs while flying. This armor could easily withstand sustained blasterfire, and even glancing missile hits... so Amelia's stun blasts scattered from the wasp's flanks like water, not even altering the creature's course. Nor did the blasterfire she reflected back at it so much as slow it down. These were truly fearsome mounts.

As Varkas and Androk closed in, Amelia scythed her way through the wardogs with her lightsaber, cutting down a great many of them; even these fierce pack hunters were no match for a Jedi's blazing blade. The heat she redirected at them, curving their own flames in an arc around her body before throwing it back in their faces, was less effective than her laser sword, though. Charhounds thrived in hot conditions; if they were hurt by the kiss of fire, they wouldn't have been able to generate the scalding chemical reaction inside their bodies without burning their organs.

The rush of hot air delayed them, but hurt them little.

Androk hit the ground before the Jedi; she'd moved back too quickly for him to land on top of her, unfortunately. Mechanical shock absorbers cybernetically built into his legs kept him from shattering his feet and kneecaps as he plummeted ten meters to stand before her. His broad, heavy warblade gleamed in the light of the fires that were consuming the War Camp, reflecting the light of flying blaster bolts and Amelia's lightsaber... or lightsabers, plural. The marauder watched in dismay as the Jedi pulled out a second laser sword, shorter but no less deadly.

Seeing his battle-brother's predicament, Varkas halted the Gore Wasp, then dropped from its back as well. He cast aside his heavy repeater and drew his own warblade, a vicious, serrated sword that had claimed the lives of many. Both marauders had sprayed their weapons with an energy-resistant film, something that might hold up for a few clashes with a lightsaber, if they were lucky. The Brotherhood had no easy access to cortosis or beskar, and dread blades were rare enough to be reserved for their elite champions, so that was the best they could do against Jedi.

They were likely doomed, but they'd die well together.

"No," Varkas told the Jedi, as the two marauders circled to opposite sides of her. "The Avatars are not 'on our side'. They are a force of nature, the inevitable changing of the galactic cycle. We accept the inevitable: that all things must die so that they can be reborn. We serve War and Death in search of Rebirth. It's something you, born with the power to kill and dominate," he gestured to the field of corpses Amelia had left behind, all the countless people and warbeasts she'd cut down with her lightsaber in this battle alone, "couldn't possibly understand."

The two warriors prepared to charge, one from Amelia's left, one from her right; if she had two blades, they would make her fight on two fronts. "You were born a demigod, and you and your order use that power to enforce your will on those who lack that power. In the new galaxy, your elitism will be swept away, and all will be made equal." With that, the two of them closed in. Varkas swung high on her right, going for her shoulder and neck. Androk swung low on her left, toward her hip and thigh. And closing in from behind, a flutter of gossamer wings...

The Gore Wasp aimed its stinger at her back.

 

[Kiara Ayres]

Objective: 3 (ish)
Location: Maw ship thing
Allies: SJC | GA | NIO | Rurik Fel | Bernard
Enemies: BotM | Darth Solipsis​

Such threats meant precious little to the Jedi for she had heard it all before; the bravado of their enemies. It was their arrogance and certainty that would be their downfall. The Jedi concerned themselves not with success and achievements but with acting in righteousness

The Sith's condescending attitude had no effect on the Jedi. Their actions here were akin to a clinical procedure, nothing more. They were here to cut out the festering wound that was Darth Solipsis. Even the Jedi in her hopeful and forgiving nature couldn't deny the lack of certainty for his redemption.

It provided a certain numbness when they finally faced for the first time. Whatever had made him human was long gone. Now, he was nothing more than a shell of his former self, long past redemption. All that remained was for the blight upon the galaxy to be extinguished.

The wavering of the Force as it heeded at the command of the several skilled Force users in the room was tangible. Waves of darkness and light clashed but only one could triumph. Only one could bring its wielder victory. While the Dark side was strong, those who gave into it were weak. Today would be a test of strength not only for the thousands of troops below but the three who commanded them.

Her gaze followed the Sith'ari's as it moved over the less experienced of the two Jedi. She had held very little emotion towards the situation until that moment. The presence of another Jedi should've brought her peace, comfort, but it gave her an inkling of apprehension. He wouldn't have been there if he wasn't as willing to die for the cause as the herself and Rurik but she couldn't help but concern herself with the notion that he was out of his depth.

Perhaps they all were.

She had never met Darth Solipsis to know otherwise being responsible for the destruction of planet required a certain level of reverence. The Concord had witnessed the genocide of the Eastern galaxy, mindless killing at the hands of the brutality of the Bryn'adul, but they had never seen destruction on the scale of what had been achieved under the Maw. Both were the same shade of evil but one was much more sophisticated in their atrocities.

They would soon find out how they withstood such an abhorrent force of nature.

His movement was sudden but with the Force to supplement her she was as quick to react by twisting her torso away from the blade and bringing up her own to meet the crimson weapon and push it upwards, away from herself, the Force augmenting her natural strength.

The battle was akin to duelling a wild animal. The Sith was cornered, trapped. They had violated the sanctum of his territory and were threatening him. Even if he did make the first move, he was fighting for his life, for control, while around him and his forces the enemies moved in, enclosing them - or so she could assume. With no word from below, she could only hope the tide of the war was wavering in their favour.

She didn't need to feel within the Force that the Imperator's attack was tainted with anger. She knew little of the specifics of training received by Imperial Knights but she was led to believe they were more vulnerable to the influence of the Dark side due to their walking on a thin line separating the binary aspects of the Force. While anger could cloud judgement, she was unknowingly facing her own inhibition in the form of excessive empathy.

With the Sith'ari engaging with the Imperator, she rushed towards the pair, splaying her weapon out and towards the Sith in an arc with one hand while her other hand remained free for manipulation of the Force.

 

[Jaryg Syn]

Objective: Score with Zoraya Save the slaves
Equipment: In bio
Tags: Vella Forte | Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Lyra Vent

It was starting to feel like he was some Jedi knight in shining armour these days. The amount of times he had to save her behind was utterly ridiculous. And still she wouldn't even give him a chance to take her out on a date. Did she miss the part where he said that he used to be a literal rockstar? It didn't matter. Hopefully after this mission she would catch the memo that he was arguably the coolest cat she'd ever meet in her life.

While Vella was pummeling them with her hellfire, hellhounds, and hellishly good-looking features, a sound started to play over the chaos around them. It began as a soft echo, but it quickly grew in volume until it was overbearing and even drowning out the flames. It was a powerful song, that grew louder and closer. Soon a bunch of yellow bolts came raining down from above and impacted a couple of hounds. Then, in all of his matte black glory, the armoured figure of Jaryg Syn dropped behind Velle with a guitar in hand. Playing a bunch of epic songs on a loop was a little droid flying with him. Obviously not meant for war, it was way out of its comfort zone in this situation.

The soldier swung his guitar at a nearby hellhound and sent it flying off in a direction with inhuman strength. "Hot damn! Talk about flaming hot!" he called out as both of his pistols left their holsters. This was going to be a very unpleasant fight. He just hoped that his gear was up for it. Otherwise he was going to be in a bit of trouble.

"Hey sweet cheeks, whaddya say we ditch this joint and go backstage? I'm way more fun than those two groupies." he teased her with a smug grin under his helmet. Right now his focus was to get the attention off Zoraya and her colleague. That'll teach the kriffing agents to stop playing soldier. Soldiers were built for war and violence. Agents were only good for starting it.

He was ready to move and attack if the woman or her hounds tried anything with him. His armour's systems were ready to engage as well as his own. He was going to succeed in his goal on this beautifully disastrous day.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Tags: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Ishida Ashina

As much as Tu'teggacha enjoyed inflicting torment on the minds of sentient beings - and he very much enjoyed it - he found that he could take little pleasure in the suffering he had caused Konrad and Auria. Unlike the average Mawite, he was no believer in a paradise galaxy he would inherit after death; for one thing, a paradise sounded dreadfully dull, with no exquisite agony to feed upon. As such, he was among the Mawites most attached to his own skin, and he could not focus on the delicious anguish he had unleashed. For the moment it was only a tool, a means to affect his escape, rather than the work of art he would have preferred.

He just couldn't perform at his best under these stressful conditions!

The sassy pyrokinetic witch, predictably, did not succumb to his hasty manipulation for long. If only he'd had the time to delve deeper into her memories, to find a more vulnerable moment in her life to twist... or at least someone she cared for more deeply than Konrad Harrsk. Her feelings about the man were clearly conflicted, making his apparent death an emotional touchstone of limited potential. Though the Ebruchi made it a decent distance up the hallway before she recovered, he knew that he had not yet bought nearly enough time to make good his escape from the killers, especially given that he was still cut off from his panic room.

Behind him, Auria rose, shaking off his nightmarish illusion in time to keep from being beheaded by the Palatini. She threw the bodyguard back with a thrust of the Force, tossing him down the corridor to give herself a little distance to work with. The experienced warrior caught himself rather than go down hard, landing in a crouch with his weapon at the ready. The other two surviving Palatini had regained their feet by then, and the three warriors regrouped, trying to find a way to continue protecting their charge. But by then Auria was already in hot pursuit, pun intended, the flames within ready to respond to her call once more.

And the Palatini had plenty to react to when a Jedi burst onto the scene. They turned to face her, polearms at the ready, determined to drive back the new threat.

Tu'teggacha was putting distance between them, rapidly getting away from the confrontation as Auria paused to help Konrad... when suddenly she was right in front of him, beautiful and terrible, her hands full of flame. The Taskmaster drew up short, facial tendrils flailing in terror and confusion. Had she mastered the technique of folding space, to be able to move instantaneously across the corridor and intercept him? She had already shaken off the memory walk he had inflicted upon her, and now stood before him ready to unleash her pyrokinetic gifts. What could he possibly do in such a situation, when his talents had already failed?

In a panic he drew forth the shock whip he kept at his side, more an instrument of control and discipline than any kind of effective weapon, and lashed out at the witch. Maybe he could at least throw off the aim of her fire, buy himself a moment to slip past, or even just another second or two of survival. With a crack that echoed up the corridor, the humming weapon flew out at Auria in a well-practiced snap of its flexible metal length, aiming to wrap around her arms and pull her off balance. Instead, the shock whip met empty air, flying through the image of the witch like a blade plunging into a still, clear pool of water.

The Taskmaster had been tricked... and he had lost too much time now to escape.

Tu'teggacha had begun to feel Konrad pulling free of his mental manipulations, but with everything else going on he'd paid it little mind; he'd known he couldn't trap even such a damaged psyche indefinitely. He only realized that he should have paid more attention when the bladesman slammed into him from the side, tackling him into the dark stone wall. The NIO agent's vibrodagger flashed at his throat, nearly breaking skin, so close it would take only a few seconds of pressure to sink through his throat and end him. His shock whip had been lost in the brutal impact with the stone. He was caught, helpless, about to die.

Then the vapors caught up with him, sinking deep into his lungs... and his mind. A new memory walk was beginning, an uncontrolled one into the Ebruchi's thoughts, and the unrestrained power of the Taskmaster's telepathy might carry Konrad and Auria along for the grim ride into his twisted psyche.

Suddenly it was Tu'teggacha falling back into his own worst memories. He was small again, weak, a runt among his Ebruchi clan. The others mocked and shunned him, the freak, the wretch, the undesirable. That was what his name meant, Tu'teggacha: "the accursed one". He had grown to embrace that name. He had leaned into the power that made him different from the clan, wielded it until no one could refuse him, until all those who had tormented him collapsed in fits of insanity, tearing themselves apart. But this memory, this hallucination, didn't get to that part. Just like he'd done to Auria, the memory stopped before the good part.

It stopped when he was mocked and beaten and spat upon, day in and day out. In the memory he crawled from his little hiding hole by night, a disused supply closet on the clan's pirate cruiser, where a heavy cupboard had fallen to block the doorway and only one as small as he could slip beneath it to the cramped little room beyond. On all fours, animal-like, he crawled from shadow to shadow, shrinking back from every sound. If they caught him they would hit him, stomp him, vent their disgust on his bent little form. Every moment he was out in the open made his heart seize with terror... but he was so, so hungry, an ache deep in his gut.

So hungry that, during the ship's night cycle, he dared to crawl into the mess hall. The long tables had been left strewn with dirty plates and trays, a chaotic heap that the clan's slaves were slowly working to clean. Tu'teggacha crawled beneath those tables, his facial tentacles questing over the filthy floor in search of edible scraps. He did not dare stand, or the slaves would see him... and so despised was the "Accursed One", the witch child, that even they were allowed to beat him and drive him off. There he crawled in humiliation and fear, eating only what others had cast aside, persecuted by all the world, loved by none.

A haze of his hate and pain covered everything, and he could not escape.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"Still kicking I see... She is still out there alright..." As soon as he heard the crack of the rifle, he pushed the Padawan down the ground, the bullets flying over their head. Just once he thought it was safe to get up, one last bullet penetrated his shoulder and went right through the other side, riping the mechanical left arm from its socket. Well, that was going to need replacing... He grunted like an old man as he shoved the Padawan to safety with his one good arm, throwing her towards the shield and his primary weapon. "Try to find my weapon and fire off the grenade launcher!" He then focused on the area that the shot originated from and grinned like a madman at what he found. With one quick shot, his verpine bullet shot through a rope that was holding up a pallet that was piled with sacks of duracrete over it, sending the whole mess down on the Maw soldier before he aimed with the force, focusing in on her signature in the flow of river and dumping the rest of his mag into her position while backing away. Who knows, maybe he would get lucky and wing her.
The Dark Inquisitor , Glossa

 

[Starlin Rand]

Objective II: Tip of the Spear
Tags: Halketh
Location: Like right outside the war camp, idk tbh
Gear: Armor | Lightsaber | Shoto

"STARLIN! STARLIN GET UP!"

“Don’t get up.”

A hallucination’s taunt overlapped with his father’s shout. Starlin oscillated between the present and the past, still caught in trauma’s net. A shadow fell over him, and when he dared to peek up through sweat-soaked hair, he saw a face he’d hoped he’d never have to see again.

“Don’t bother.”

Starlin was sharply aware of every ache and pain in his body. The Force had fueled him, kept him going on the battlefield, but here in his childhood, the Force was a comforting myth confined to fairytales. Here, he got beaten up by his mother’s boyfriend Ben while she slept in a spice haze.

“Your mother’s too high to care.” Ben spoke with venom, but an undercurrent of fear belied his threats. Starlin looked worse than he’d intended. “The neighbors never cared to begin with. Nobody’s going to call the cops. But if you try to—if you even try to get up...”

Starlin exhaled through a bloodied nose, a wet, wheezing sound. His bruised fists still clutched a rod of metal from when he’d ripped the bathroom towel rack off the wall during the struggle. It was too flimsy to serve as a weapon.

Ben chuckled to himself. “He’s snorting at me like a bull,” he muttered. The floorboards creaked as he took a few steps away and sank into a chair. A minute or two later, the holoscreen came on, the sounds drowning out Starlin’s troubled breathing.

The boy pressed his cheek against the cold metal of the ‘fresher door frame and shut his eyes.

In the present, a sudden void snapped Starlin out of his dark reverie. He felt a different kind of pain, like a cord connected to his body had snapped and he’d begun to bleed internally. But there was no injury to accompany the feeling of emptiness, no blood to explain the leakage.

“Professor…?” he whispered, his voice the only thing he heard amid the roar of battle all around him.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Objective I: Ok I die
Tags: Lyra Vent Zoraya Ives-Ayres Zachariel Steelblood
Location: Slave Quarters
NPCs: Tammuz Hoole | Jaina Grayson

Even with the Force to unveil the truth, Tammuz Hoole wasn’t exactly sure what happened. One moment he was standing behind Nimdok, the next he was lying on his back, surrounded by burning rubble.

The explosion from the industrial plant was perhaps bigger and more destructive than the Imperials intended. Molten shrapnel and flaming debris were blasted in every direction, hitting anyone who didn’t get out of the way in time.

A metallic screaming drew Tammuz’s attention. He whirled and found himself staring at the mangled body of Jaina. Her biotic flesh crawled and writhed, trying to free itself after being bisected by a superheated frame—at least, that’s what it looked like. The matter impaling her had been so deformed by the heat, it was no longer recognizable.

He could no longer sense Nimdok in the Force.

Tammuz hauled himself to his feet, searching for a body, remains, something. But there was nothing. The heat emanating from the wreckage intensified, distorting the air around him, making the search much more difficult. Closing his eyes and uttering a prayer in Shi'idese, Tammuz turned to the shrieking Jaina and used the Force to free her.

“We have to get out of here,” he said. If Zachariel was lying in wait to finish them off, Tammuz didn't intend to stick around and find out.