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

[Amelia Venthyra]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Gear: 1 Lightsaber (Regular - Purple), 1 Shoto (Purple), and 1 Jedi Robes
Tags: The Mongrel

The Gore Wasps were more resilient than the heavy artillery made them out to be as the electricity had little to no effect on it. Similar situation with the hounds when it came to fire even if Amelia increases the heat with the Force. Both were an interesting turn of events that piqued her curiosity, but such curiosity was temporarily dismissed. It just meant that Amelia would have to rely on her lightsabers if she was going to harm them. Not that she would have kept the blaster for long anyways, but it was just to serve a purpose that it performed well. Now however, the usefulness came to a drop as Amelia had brought out her shoto.

The presence of a second lightsaber appeared to cause the two marauders to be wary as the second dropped down shortly after. He also drew a warblade, not like what Hetzen wielded, but they appear to be more familiar with their swords. Both elaborated on what they mean by the Three Avatars, and based on what they told her. Amelia can see how that line of thinking can be alluring to those who want power. The power to change what hand fate has given them, but only a few can change what was given to them. Perhaps that was why their bodies had undergone some cybernetic changes. To better themselves in hopes to stand up against what they considered to be demigods.

”I see… I think I’m beginning to understand your people a bit more.” Amelia responded before they charged at her with the intent to cut her into pieces. Truthfully Amelia doesn’t enjoy any part of this, but she recognized them as the opposing force. Not to mention the fluttering sounds of what she’s grown to recognize is the distant sounds of a Gore Wasp closing in from behind her. Initially, Amelia looked like she was going to parry them, but it was actually a feint as Amelia flips over Varkas and Androk as their blades sing with the wind. In her mid-flip, Amelia positions her lightsabers next to the sides of her head in an attempt to slash into one of Varkas’s and Androk’s shoulder as she passes them. Whether they succeed or not Amelia places them between her and the Gore Wasp as lands on her with a 180 degree turn. Lightsabers poised much like a snake ready to lash out at any moment.

The Gore Wasp, more than likely recognizing who was it’s rider, sails straight for Amelia with it’s vicious stinger at the ready. Amelia uses her uncanny speed to step to the side with a turn of her body. One shoto went up to stab at the wasp’s protected underbelly, and one purple lightsaber that attempts to sever the stinger as it passes by her in one simultaneous motion. Of course if the shoto succeeds in piercing into the underbelly or even the guarding arms the shoto will leave a long streak of cauterized flesh as its own momentum inflicts more damage to itself.

Just a little bit longer… Amelia thought to herself as she shifted her focus on the two warriors. This time she charged at them in a short dash to unleash a blurring flurry of attacks against both Varkas and Androk as Amelia harassed them with her inhuman speed. Not letting them get a breath or time to think as she sneaks in a kick directed at Varkas’s chest to knock him back while continuing her assault. Arcs of purple light could be seen from her blades, appearing to be unending with no hesitation.

 

[Auria Blackmoore]

ALLIES: Konrad Harrsk | Ishida Ashina | Keilara Kala'myr | NIO | SJC | GA
ENEMIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER
ENGAGING: Tu'teggacha
GEAR: Not a dress

O~~>WE DIDN'T START THE FIRE<~~O​

Time.

It all melded into one. There was no grasping onto it. It slipped through everything and bonded all actions into one. It was fluid and no one had a comprehension of how it all stuck into one another.

None of Auria's skills at least.

A Jedi had appeared on the scene with some fanfare, causing Auria to grit her teeth in order to keep concentration on her spell. She did, however, feel that the Presence was tainted - the usual Light Sided zeal was lacking in ways. Not that Auria knew what the newcomer was doing there.

“Alumni.”

The nonchalant movement in Konrad's direction told the rogue all she needed to know.
"Very well. Stop being a third wheel and do something, then." she gritted as Tu'teggacha started to slow at the sight of her illusion.

“I’ll take the guards –– you keep your focus on whatever you’re doing.”

"Well duh." Auria grunted as she strained at her power.

Thankfully, it seemed Konrad reached a lucid state.

"Welcome back, Laserbrain." Auria grunted, sweat beading on her forehead. At least he was back in the land of the present. What the damage was, Auria did not know, but he seemed lucid enough to function.

And then he just had to pull another dumbass move.

"Taste some of your own medicine."

Auria's head snapped to the side.
"What?! Konrad, no!" she cried, but it was too late.
He had already thrown some kind of gas explosive and was following up vehemently.

The memories of the Breaker of Minds reached her before the vapours induced by Konrad did.

They assaulted her weakened mind and drove her back, gripping her temples once again.

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".

"No..." she gritted.

And then she was there.

Crawling underneath the tables looking for scraps. She felt the terror. The pain. The hunger. The shadows. Being oh so quiet as she scrounged for that little bit of food that had spilled from plates. Even the slaves were frightening.

She felt so alone.

Tears were streaming down the witch's face as she buckled in her stance. She had just enough presence of mind to react slightly.
"No don't! Don't kill him!" she yelled at Konrad before hurling a telekinetic push in his direction.

And then the opiate vapours overtook her.

Cord Starfall 's and Vanya Aklin 's faces were drenched in technicolour. The undead coming at them were all painted in rainbows and the air tasted like grape on Lorta

They were all skipping towards a cavern with the undead scrambling in rainbows behind them.
"Flowers! Flowers seem to have an effect!" she shouted at her fellow sisters in the vicinity, sending balls of flowers in every direction as quick as she could.

Every time, the undead would stoop to pick them up before rainbowing onward.

The cavern was a giant, gaping marshmallow, sprinkles hanging above them and protruding from the ground. The chants that resounded from within traveled on pink strands of sound.

It was beautiful.

And tasted amazing.

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Hel's Lightclub | Robes
Objective: Engage the Brotherhood
Targets: Darth Tennacus
Enemies: BotM | BotM Allies
Allies: SJC | SJC Allies

​

The Shroud-infused Mrurh'en'lase listened keenly as the man responded to her darkened words - croaking verses that were not her own yet spoke of truth locked deep inside her cerebrum. But that truth was quickly waylaid for attention towards the foe, who had expressed and continued to express a visible interest in what she was at this moment. As he explained, the Dark Side was regaining its strength throughout the galaxy with each change in the ruling evil. Perhaps because of this, he said, Mrurh'en'lase's control by the Shroud was a consequence of this. Accurate or not, all the Shroud could say - and all Mrurh'en'lase could say - was that she was now a mangled fusion of Light and Dark in the vessel of a titan woman. Unstable, scorched by the chaotic fires of sin, and weaving through the threads of the material plane struggling to maintain shape.

Even more so, the emotions that the Shroud leeched off of him into Mrurh'en'lase's mind - her Zeltron endowments now discharged to their completest imaginable extent for her current age - spoke of curiosity beyond the foe's current interest in her present predicament. Delightfully for the Shroud, this prying into the airs swelling the battlefield into a bloated blackness of violence conveyed what could only be described as concern for what to do with its vessel. This silent revelation was expressly sustained by the foe's inquiry of what Mrurh'en'lase truly sought to gain from this battle by killing him or endeavoring to do so at the very least.

He asked this, knowing that his foe knew that he would inevitably be replaced as was written in the accords of the Darkness, which was a matter even the Shroud had to privately respect. The man was right in saying this, for the Brotherhood had inevitably replaced the Sith Empire following their own demise. That was why the Shroud was even here in the first place. Furthermore, surprisingly for the Shroud, this man's auras also implied that he was seeking a way of how to win this bout without further injuring her beyond what he already had.

This was especially telling for the Shroud and what consciousness remained of Mrurh'en'lase. The man perhaps saw her, in some ways, as an experiment to run in a hot lab. There could be no blame for him or anyone else for viewing her as such, especially for her recent actions of devolving - or even evolving - into a furious combination of righteous justice and hateful vengeance. Yes, what she was now was unlike many things known to exist, although it was not an impossible accomplishment. Many had come to meld the Light and the Dark together seamlessly, most of them being renegades in the galaxy avoiding service to either the Sith or the Jedi. But the Hybrid? Well, that would be determined later.

For now, the Shroud embraced the fight and welcomed the man's advance upon them, blade in hand. With his launch, an explosion of Force formed behind him, crushing the ground under its immense power and shaking the tectonics beneath them. The Shroud would have toppled over if not for its vessel's own immense abilities in retaining stability, and used this to enact a defensive maneuver to resume the bout in full.

Just as the foe reached the point of no return in his charge, the Shroud lifted the Hybrid's lightsaber up from the ground with their right arm, carving the land with the lengthy cerulean heat, and placed the tip facing to the left of them pointing downward still. And at the last possible second before the foe's crimson death pierced the Hybrid's sternum, the Shroud swung their own blade diagonally upward in front of their chest with great power and speed. Curiously, this strike was intended not to kill the man, but to knock his own lightsaber up and away and worsen his balance from the jolted impulse.

While the crimson blade would certainly still carve open a portion of the Hybrid's exposed right shoulder, they would shift their stance to turn at a sideways angle - almost parallel to the man's own should the defensive strike have succeeded. Then, they would place their cursed arm against the Hybrid's abdomen, balling up their fist and shuddering forth a surge of glowing impact power, before shunting forward in a back fist strike towards the man's own abdomen, intending to crumple him forward onto his hands and knees to make way for a possible beheading execution. Of course, this foe was quicker and stronger, and though the Shroud had the fullest confidence in its increasing of the Hybrid's power, it had no way of knowing if any of this would work as planned.

 

[Sakadi Marathi Sinvala]

Location: Dungeons of the Central Keep
Objective 1: The Goshen War Camp.
Opposing: The Mongrel

Sakadi gracefully caught her saber in her outstretched lavender hand. The warlord was prepared and far more devious than she had calculated. But this marked the turning point in their costly skirmish. She was certain of it.

A part of her still wanted to reach out to him. Give him a final chance to lay down his arms. She was one of the rare individuals among today's Jedi who condoned killing. Even in war. Would this warlord who called himself the Mongrel be the exception?

She halted in her tracks as he stumbled to the side, her lilac eyes briefly shifting to the now open exit. What was more important? Taking this warlord into custody, or freeing those in the dungeon?

She flicked her saber his way in retort to his comment. It was barely audible to her, making the essence of it more guesswork than certainty. But she probably wouldn't be far off assuming it was another womp rat-themed insult. Her eyes narrowed as he pushed himself up and raised his guard again. Couldn't he just be sensible and surrender? Unless of course, he had another trick up his sleeve.

It came as a sudden directed eruption of scalding steam, not unlike the breath of a Greater Krayt Dragon. Had she been in a better state, she would've been able to evade it even on a point-blank range like this. But the lack of space and diminished reflexes made that impossible.

Instead, Sakadi backpedalled. She brought her lightsaberup in front of her as she instinctively summoned the Force to her aid. Defensive applications of the Force were among her favoured fields of study. And without his devious disruptions, she could bring that to bear.

With a twirl of her blade, Sakadi gathered and contained the burst of steam in a concentrated cloud before its blistering heat reached her. Despite her pacifism, she didn't hesitate to send it back at him.

The scalding steam shot back at him like a spiral. The back and forth in the cold room would no doubt diminished its heat, although it was still in no way pleasant.

"Do me a favour. Surrender."​

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Obj I

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Primary - Long Handle)

"ELOHAI" (Secondary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Kyrel Ren

The massive Jedi Master let the beasts go, he did not want to, but he would trust in the troops and Rangers around him to hold their own. He had this DarkSider in front of him, this “Mawite”? Whatever it was, it was clear that the individual was strong in the Dark Side, more of the sorcery, maybe alchemy, that was probably what attributed to his look, he looked to be barely alive, if at all. He would learn this over time, but he needed to focus on his opponent right now because the DarkSider was focused on him.

When the Berserker in the monster decided to show its face, Caltin brought “Eloha”, his long handle lightsaber, to a downward horizontal angle. The “Heart of the Guardian” crystal giving a distinctive bronze shine to the permafrost crystal. He prepared himself for the brute force (no pun intended) that was Kyrel Ren and everything about him.

The Djem So attack, he was prepared for and blocked it. The next attack was a common follow up and he was prepared for that as well. When the DarkSider went feral in his destructive will, the big guy was not prepared for it. Kyrel hit hard and like a man driving a stake into the ground, Caltin held this strength off well enough, it was one of the counter-swings that his non-weapon hand’s vambrace missed. The defensive armor piece caught a good portion of the wild swing, but there was enough to create a distinctive and painful, “divot” in Caltin’s forearm between the gauntlet and his elbow…

… and this was just Ren’s first attack…

” Padawan” mistake, Dummy.

No, he was not cursing Ren the warrior was formidable, he was cursing himself for a move he felt that he should have easily caught it. Yeah, Caltin was mad at himself, Ren would feel it. The big guy never shied away from his emotions, he embraced them as well, but that doesn’t mean that they controlled him like this guy. His wound was still sizzling as the Force went to work on healing it, suppressing the pain was a different issue, but the nerve endings were seared so he felt little anyway. Getting the range of motion came back easily enough, though too slowly for his tastes as he held out the blade of his own lightsaber out and at Ren as he circled the DarkSide Master. This is where he would normally attack…

… apparently, it was for Ren too.

The guttural cry was ear piercing and ferocious, but at this point was not surprising to the big guy, nor the attack. He was ready for it, only this time he was able to begin redirecting the attacks of the Ren. No, he was not better than Kyrel with a blade, he considers himself better than no one, but he could push the blade here, angle it there until he could begin to set up counters of his own. These counters were nothing devastating, a front kick, a left cross, but they were feeling out what the warrior was capable of.
Caltin was caught off guard, but that was not the issue that Ren would expect. The big guy almost specialized in being out-numbered, the same principle.

Not much training… but a fighting style I can recognize… but where from?

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Ewan "Raider" Isaacs]

Hesitation is a Hole in the head!​

Spoiler: SHIP AND FIGHTER MAKEUP

SHIP NAME: ETHEREAL, SILVER CITY
SHIP CLASS: CARRIER, HEAVY CARRIER
FLAG OFFICER: LIRAM ANGELLUS
SHIP CAPTAIN: ZEV TANTOR (Ethereal), GYM HALPERN (Silver City)
COMMAND STAFF
EQUIPPED: 25x L4Vele Series Deployable Defense turrets.
CAPTAIN'S LAUNCH: "Amenadiel"

FIGHTER COMPLIMENT: 103rd Tactical Starfighter Wing "Angel of Death Squadron"
CALLSIGNS: Commodore Angellus "Maverick" is and will always be "Angel 1", Captain Rojuh Pouil "Starlight" is "Angel 2" Commander Scoht Pouil "Meteor" is "Angel 3". Commander Ewan Isaacs is "Angel 4" but also goes by "SCAR 1" Each Squadron leader makes up the remaining "Angel" callsigns, their individual squadrons and make-ups are named below.

HIGH-SPEED INTERCEPTION

1. Angel 4(SCAR Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
2. Angel 5(Jurat Squadron) Jackal Class Starfighter
3. Angel 6(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
4. Voodoo 4(SCAR Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
5. Voodoo 5(Jurat Squadron) Jackal Class Starfighter
6. Voodoo 6(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter

SECTOR: Lao-mon
ORDERS: Issue orders, meet up with GA squadron
WINGMATES: Tren Chaar

As the waves of Maw fighters flew out and at the allied contingent of starfighters, evasive maneuvers were the prudent and natural moves to take. SCAR pilots were not prudent or natural. While none of them were crazy enough to fly directly into the fray, they were smart enough to pick their targets and let their fighters do what they were made to. Constant HUB updates helped in their maneuvers keeping flights, groups, and squadrons up to date on the situation.

The fighters that were not engaging were drawing fire using their superior speed and maneuvering skills. Those that could, were counter-attacking by hitting the fighters from behind as well as the station.

” Ruzek is down!”

“Got eyes on that Ace?”

“Fox Two!”

” They’re just pilots”s like you and me, SCARs! Guns up!”

The allied fighters were doing their own thing all dependent on their training and idealogy, all were different, not better, different. Maybe that was why when Ewan saw a Divine-Eagle hammering a B-wing, he did his job.

” Goin’ after him!”

Throttling forward and putting his fighter into a high-powered dive, “Raider” slid right in on the ‘six’ of the Maw fighter. The pilot was skilled and focused, but the truth is, it didn’t matter as SCAR-1 switched to his missiles. The HUD lit up with the fighter in the sites, a reticle flew and bounced around trying to gain a centering point on the enemy target.

” I got good tone! I got a good tone! I GOT TONE! FIRING!”

Two concussion missiles lit up the space between them, one to draw any enemy counter-measures, the other to slam into the engines of the starfighter.

” Splash!”

... you're welcome.

 

[Glossa]

Location: Western Walls, Goshen War Camp - Lao-mon
Objective: 2 - Tip of the Spear
Allies: BotM ( The Mongrel Marlon Sularen Halketh Romund Sro )
Enemies: SJC ( Sergeant Omen Starlin Rand Artemis Lu ) │ NIO ( Noel Strasza Avenger) │ GA ( Damsy Callat The Dark Inquisitor )
Direct Engagement: The Dark Inquisitor Sergeant Omen

Cornered dogs.

Mere moments before, the Jedi had been bearing down on the diminutive Jango Jumper, along with her Marine companion, both primed to add Glossa to the collective sum of their slaughter, the blood they had wrought in their little moralistic crusade to enforce the will of a decaying order. Their pretension had been grating, their little words biting at her temper, yet eliciting an unbreakable will to survive in the slave soldier, in spite of the might of the horned Goddess and her arrogant thug. And yet, it had only taken one well-timed grenade to set them both in retreat, to rip away the helmet of strength to expose the pitiful face of weakness.

All the while, explosions rang out across the war camp. Buildings crumbled and exploded, flinging debris all across the camp as hundreds, if not thousands of brutal, close-quarters fights played out in a chorus of bloodshed that was sure to let the Avatars feast.

Glossa had been one of the thousands of souls on the menu for the main course. Now, the tiny slave was primed to present the Marine and the horned Goddess as dessert.

Glossa had seen the Goddess’ twin lightsabers, with dazzling blades of yellow, and she lusted for them. If she could return to her brothers and sisters wielding blades of fire, the Jango Jumper knew that no one would ever think to question her strength again. It would be a feat that even the strongest among them, the Mongrel, had yet to achieve, in spite of the many stories surrounding his legacy.

For the armored Marine, Glossa had him set dead to rights. While he was already wounded, she ultimately needed to remove him as a factor from the fight, even if she couldn’t outright kill him, so that she could focus on finishing off the Jedi. Fortunately, the slave soldier needed only to reset her aim and squeeze the trigger. She did just that, aiming for his chest from roughly 15 meters away, before double-tapping once, delivering a salvo of baradium core slugs only a split-second after her previous four shots, likely just after the Marine’s arm was ripped from its socket.

Driven by instinct and an ever-growing lust for glory, Glossa intended to continue firing, seeking to quickly bring the Marine down before focusing her attention on the wounded Jedi to claim her coveted prize...

Spoiler: Loadout

• White Pulsiva Bodysuit
  • Supplemental Armor Plating
    • Scavenged Duraplast
      • Vambraces / Greaves / Cuisses / Rerebraces
  • Energy Shield
    • DS-102 “Aegis” Personal Energy Shield
  • B-11 “Greitis” Class Combat Boots
    • Whimsy Knife (2)
• Hekler’Kok FR-01
  • 30-Round Magazine
  • Ammunition
    • Hekler’Kok Polymer Cartridge Ammunition-Explosive
    • Hekler’Kok Polymer Cartridge Ammunition-Armor Piercing
  • Sonic Scope
• FAE/M-01 "Scherezade" Energized Vibroblade
• Flash Grenade
• G-20 Glop Grenade (2)

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

OBJECTIVE I
ALLIES: NJO, SJC
Enyo Typhos

---

---

​

The slightest pull of resistance conveyed he'd hit something, even without his eyes to confirm it. Three graceful steps brought his momentum to a halt. A graze like that meant nothing final. Breath still held, Inosuke swiveled toward the direction of which he had a vague notion the assailant still lingered. Smog permeated all he could see.

Sudden clairvoyance made him duck, told him to weave a second time, but he wasn't quick enough. An unsolid thump crashed into his shoulder. Vibrations bludgeoned skin, rattled the bones. Pain provoked an exhale as Inosuke stumbled backward. Blood vessels blistered beneath the skin, leaked ichor between muscle and dermis. Urgency rose, forcing his sight to lean on the prognostic.

A silhouette became clear. As clear as a silhouette could be, at least. Adrenaline surged, the bridge that kept the pain from becoming a total hindrance. The need to breathe became louder and louder, trailing a nebulous anxiety behind it. Even beads of sweat began to materialize. Something wasn't right. Was it the gas? Cutting off his considerations, he moved again. Advancing low, weaving, striking again.

Living was more pertinent that worrying.

 

[Yula Perl]

Gnost Zym​

"But defacing my work? How...churlish."

Still seeing spots from the discharge, she rubbed frantically at her eyes, balking at the same time.

“What did you call me?!”

If he could be offended, then so could she! Maybe even more so, because Yula wasn’t sure what he’d called her. The important thing is that she was able to recognize an insult when she saw one.

“Besides, it was an accident. I meant to hit you, not the painting.”

She cringed as the lightwhip snapped in his grasp. Yula had actually considered bringing a similar project of her own, but the prototype she’d been working on had left a lot to be desired.

The blaster that had been leveled at the Sith lurched upward and sent four bolts lancing towards the corners of a ceiling panel above Gnost. A grappling hook launched from her hip to the durasteel beam above her.

“Sorry I’m not the art lover you thought I was!” She called out to him while ascending.

Airborne, she’d maneuver into a swing over his head, intending to land atop the massive, ornate instrument he’d been playing earlier.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Objective 1
Allies: Maw.
Gear: Armour, lightsabre, Shotgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Inosuke Ashina

No emotion crossed Enyo's features when the sonic attack slammed into the Jedi's shoulder, visibly knocking him backward. It was all just business. And, in any event, there was no time for exaltation, for the Jedi, filled with adrenaline, came at her again, moving low and weaving his way through the haze that had engulfed the corridor.

Endurance flew into Enyo's hand and she moved to intercept. But her timing was off by a fraction. Perhaps the damage inflicted on her shoulder was having an effect. The Cyborg stumbled, footing unsteady when his blade struck her leg. She staggered, but pushed his blade aside. Her eyes - her real eyes - flashed red through her human ones, and she received the equivalent of a damage report. Synthetic flesh has been shorn off, the left hip had suffered damage and movement was down by twenty percent.

Purple crossguard lightsabre firmly in hand, she struck back, launching a powerful slash seemingly meant to cleave him in twain. His lightsabre was low, after all. But it was a feint. Her true assault was less conventional. Now that they were close, she had sensed the metal and the electronics in his skull. Based on the admittedly basic scan, the cybernetic prothesis seemed to be simplistic. Cosmetic, even. She could not determine how much he utilised it. However, having said artificial eye go pop and blow up inside his skull should be very painful. And so she drew upon her aptitude for mechu-deru, seeking to will it to overload.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Defend the Warcamp
Allies: The Mongrel | BotM and Allies
Enemies: Jacen Nimdok | Keilara Kala'myr | SJC and Allies
Engaging: Zachariel engaging Errik, marauders Ziare
Links: Sword | Axe
Post 5​

The man, the voice, whatever it was, claimed to see him and why he was so. Zachariel truly doubted it, one couldn't understand unless one had been there, had fought those foes. There had been only a handful who had fought alongside him against the Queen Mother, none had been by his side when he met the Avatar of War. Anyone who saw his memories would see the results, should feel the same awe and terror Zachariel had upon his meetings, but they couldn't understand. The true, primal reasons for it all, the power he had seen and felt. That was incomprehensible, and that's why Errik only saw so little of Zachariel's mind.

Much as it was with Zachariel, his outer and mostly true self was a brute. Terrifying to be sure, but still a brute compared to the schemes of others. His inner self though was more scheming, still less impressive than others, but impressive enough. The thoughts and plans he planned were few but wide reaching, basic but ingenious. Using others while being used, all to achieve his final goals of a new galaxy, one without Jedi or Sith, perhaps without the Force. After all, who expected a brute to have plans of his own.

Still, Errik Nimdok fought against Zachariel's mind, changing tactics to try and poison him, change him. The consequences of his actions, accountability for his deeds, Errik tried to make him see the wrongness of his deeds. It only served to make Zachariel angrier. He knew well the consequences of his deeds, never sought to hide his actions. Everything he did was to advance his goals and purge the galaxy of weakness. Those were the consequences of his actions, whether it was killing a family member and making the others fight back, strengthening them. Or if it was destroying a world and causing other powers to unite and strengthen themselves. His actions had consequences, yes, they caused the death of weakness in the galaxy. He was proud of that, nothing could change that.

Still, even as Zachariel took another step towards Errik, the man planted a seed of consciousness in Zachariel. Perhaps it could have grown into something worthwhile, given time and care. But Zachariel would give it neither, and the being that Zachariel owed allegiance to would not allow him to change so drastically. As the tendrils of conscience dug deep, they reached the inner fortress of Zachariel's mind. Therein resided his darkest secrets and plans, and also the power of his god that he owed so much to. That power reached out to the power Errik and scorched it, forcing it back, though not fully removing it. It would remain in Zachariel, perhaps growing or perhaps being removed, only time would tell.

Such interference would cost Zachariel however, he knew that, what the price would be, that would be determined But it was enough for Zachariel to seize the moment. Taking another step forward, he raised his axe high, aiming to cut Errik in twain with a single swipe. As his blade swung down, Zachariel roared out.
"DIE KNOWING YOU FAILED JEDI!"

The next instant there was an explosion and Zachariel was sent flying. Slammed against a nearby building, Zachariel was buried beneath rubble and flame, swallowed whole by the explosion and death. His last sight was the slaves dying horrid deaths, and Errik being consumed, before all he saw was rubble and black. Awaking moments later to muffled cries, Zachariel screamed in rage, denied his kill. Struggling against the rubble, Zachariel began pushing it off himself, using the Force and his own raw strength. Pushing more of it away, Zachariel managed to break a hole through the rubble, giving him a view of the surroundings. It also gave him a view of Errik's two companions helping one another.

Punching an arm forward, Zachariel partially dragged himself forward and out of the rubble. Primarily his helmet, part of his upper shoulders, and that arm were revealed, though he was struggling to pull the rest out thanks to the rubble. Still, Zachariel dragged himself slowly up and out. Using the Force proved to be more successful, as Zachariel was able to push the looser rubble away, freeing himself even more. Howling towards the two, Zachariel roared at them.
"I will have your hides! Your lives forfeit and your souls to be sacrificed! This blasted trickery will end in your deaths!"

Struggling more and more, Zachariel freed himself incrementally. The gen'dai warlord was livid, absolutely consumed by rage at the denial of his kill and the interruption of his game. The price for it would be blood.

OOC: Permission given to mess with Ziare via DMs​

The marauders had created a circle around the last general area Ziare could be. Because they hadn't seen her in some time, they knew she was hiding, it it made their hearts race and blood pump. Their prey knew she was on her final legs and was hiding as a result. Sniffing and searching around, they taunted Ziare as they moved. Calls would go out about her and what they would do to her. Their descriptions were vivid and the acts described, horrible to the last.

Then she moved, the metal creaked, and she couldn't hold a cough back. Blood sprayed and the marauders were drawn to her like sharks to blood. The closest of course being the first marauder and the marauder champion. As for the rest of the squad, they were closing with taunts and howls for blood. Laughing, the marauder champion approached where Ziare was hiding, looking up to the blood fleckled vent. Calling up, the champion all but purred with pleasure.
"Oh my dear, you've finally revealed yourself." Reaching up with her sword, the marauder poked the vent. "Why don't you come out and plaaaaaaay!"

The woman screamed in the vents and the marauder champion cut the vent open. Tumbling down and out, Ziare would land hard on the ground, between the marauder and the champion. Laughing at the crumbled form of Ziare, the champion crouched down to get a better look at Ziare, even as she brandished her sword towards her face.
"Deary me, they were right when they said you were pretty. Shame you're running though." Reaching forward, the champion wrenched Ziare's face to look at her own. A scarred and lean face, with sharp blue eyes staring into Ziare's own. "You know well the punishment for running, pretty girl."

Nodding to the other marauder, the champion held her head tight. As for the marauder, he simply chuckled before rearing a leg back. Slamming it forward, the man kicked Ziare in the stomach, hard. It only brought forth a crueler smile from both of them.
"Oh yes pretty, we're going to have so much fun, the three of us."

Reaching forward, the two of them quickly stripped Ziare of weapons, though they did leave the two vibroblades to her, along with a single shot pistol. The message was clear, they wanted her to try and escape, because it meant they could have even more fun. Leaning forward and over Ziare, the champion leered down at her, examining her with a sadistic smile. She noted the pained breathing and the various wounds. Smiling darkly, the champion continued.
"Looks like we took your breath away already, hehe." Cackling, the champion brought their faces close together, still gripping Ziare's chin hard. "Oh you do know how to excite, Ziare my dear."

Still cackling, the champion dropped Ziare's head and rose to a stand. By now another marauder had arrived, standing there silently and simply watching. Grinning over at him, the champion spoke.
"Come on boys, let's get this chit stain back to the Priests. I doubt our lords would want their precious prize to die. So don't let's not break her ribs anymore." Laughing, the champion turned towards the corridor she came from. Behind her, the two marauders moved to Ziare, gazing down at her with amusement and indifference.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Tags: Sakadi Marathi Sinvala

Damage alarms, internal sounds carried directly to his eardrums and thus audible only to the warlord himself, kept up a steady whine as The Mongrel unleashed his latest attack. His earlier impact with the wall, combined with the lightsaber slash across his visor, was beginning to compromise his combat effectiveness. Just as he'd known it might, the tide of his Jedi-hunt had rapidly turned. Moments earlier he had been on the attack, stalking his prey through the corridors. Now he was on the defensive, with that deadly laser sword coming for his head.

And the Jedi's magic. Always the magic.

With a spin of her lightsaber and a burst of invisible power, the slender Sephi stopped the steam cold, gathered it, and threw it back. It was like she was an athlete in some bizarre sporting event, passing back the gaseous "ball" he'd just tossed to her. Only he couldn't do as she had done, and rather than stop the attack, he took it full force. Most of him could withstand a little steam, of course; there was only so much organic matter left in his body. His arms had been replaced after Enenpa, his chest fully altered after Carlac. His skull-bolted mask covered his neck and face.

But it did not cover his entire head.

The Mongrel howled in pain and rage as the cloud of scalding steam billowed over the exposed portions of his forehead and scalp, burning the skin, making it blister agonizingly. He could not shut off these pain receptors, for they were his own organic nerves, what few of them remained. Several clumps of his rugged mane of hair fell out as the flesh around them bubbled and became malformed. The warlord staggered sideways, hardly even looking where he was going, just trying to get out of the cloud. He bumped a rack of torture implements and knocked it over.

"Do me a favour. Surrender."

"I told you to stay out of my head!" he snarled, fury dripping from every distorted, metallic syllable. Grabbing one of the heavy tables that lined the edges of the room, one strewn with a wide and unpleasant variety of flaying knives, he strained with the full might of his inhumanly-powerful synthmuscles... and ripped the solid metal furniture free of the bolts that had anchored it to the stone floor. With a sound that was half-howl and half-scream, he threw the table - which had to weigh three times what the slim Jedi did - right at her, razor-sharp knives and all.

Behind the cover of that flying object, he charged. He knew there were two likely outcomes: either the Jedi would stop it cold with her magic, perhaps even tossing it back at him, or she would slice through it with her laser-sword, directing the heavy halves to either side of her body. Either way, she wouldn't be able to see that he was coming right at her while the huge piece of furniture flew at her face, and he aimed to take advantage of that. He slid in low, feet-first, trying to slam his heavy boots into her ankles.

If the table did fly back at him, he'd pass under it. And if he could trip her, he could surely finish her off with his blade.

 

[Gir Quee]

Objective III
Location: The Emerald Undertow, near Lao-Mon
Allies: @Reshmar | Liram Angellus | Tren Chaar | Commander Ewan "Raider" Isaacs | SJC | NIO | GA
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

"I bet that our enemy will send all of their starfighters from the station to attack us."

"That's not a bet I'd take," said Dav with a wry grin, "the odds are too stacked in your favor, even knowing what little of the Brotherhood that I do. Aggression might as well be their middle name."

Confirming their hunches, hundreds of Mawite starfighters surged away from the stormwracked station. Even as he watched some of the fighters succumb to their Thunderhead technique, he felt fear rise up within him as he counted incoming sensor signatures. They've got have twice as many fighters as we do...The admiral punched in a few commands, ceasing the Undertow's attack on the station in order to better concentrate their efforts on the incoming horde of fighters. Even before the allied or Mawite fighters entered their typical attacking ranges, the Emerald Undertow's guns began to work away in their typical layered method on the Mawite fighters. The ship's turbolasers and plasma turbolasers began vain attempts to lash out at the enemy horde, hoping to knock out a few fighters by sheer density of fire. More dedicated defensive weapons began to engage the enemy fighters as they soared closer and closer. Dozens of Rainburst Flak Cannnons peppered the enemy formations from long range, especially the leading Darkshears, with shrapnel and ion grenades. After that gauntlet, the Mawite fighters faced Plumbata Defensive Batteries unleashed hundreds of Starcore-class Concussion Missiles before switching over to KSA Vibro-flechettes for close-range work. Those enemy fighters that survived those attacks to enter fighting range with the Concord fighters found themselves also contending with the Emerald Undertow's extensive network of quad autoblasters and Trudo Point Defense Turrets. Explosions began to blossom near the Undertow's bow as Mawite and Concord fighters clashed. His comlink crackled before the static-strained voice of Wing Commander Prells filtered though.

"We've established contact with the Galactic Alliance starfighters present. Requesting permission to disengage from screening the Undertow to attack enemy fighters."

"Denied. Stay the course and prepare to jump to lightspeed. You should be receiving coordinates from COMPASS shortly."

A burst of static flooded his headset causing the admiral to wince. Was that actual jamming? Or did he just tap his microphone accidentally? Purposefully. He could hear hard breathing from the other end of the line before Prells's strained voice cut in.

"We can't do this for long. They're going to tear us apart out here..."

Gir glanced at the TAC-COM screen. A glance indeed showed that many Mawite craft were intermingled with the close-knit starfighter screen around the Undertow. Signals rapidly in and out as craft used sensor jammers to evade detection or exploded under enemy fire. The admiral couldn't easily tell who was getting the better of the attack...His eyes hurried to another screen, showing that the jump coordinates had been transmitted to most of the craft, and most of the craft had acknowledged their receipt automatically. He frowned. Except for the Alliance craft and some of our damaged ships...Do we wait? He frowned. Hesitation kills....better to survive now and deal with the diplomatic incident later..He toggled his headset comlink to the general channel used by the Undertow and its supporting craft.

"All ships, jump. Repeat, all ships jump now..."

The Emerald Undertow suddenly lurched into hyperspace, leaving a blast of dazzling Cronau radiation that was mimicked hundreds of times over as most of its accompany starfighters jumped into hyperspace with it. Several dozen Concord fighters remained along with their Galactic Alliance allies among the Mawite onslaught. As a consolation prize, the Undertow had jettisoned hundreds of Type B mines in its wake to help the stragglers survive, but the minefield would likely only provide a temporary reprieve at best against the sheer numbers of the Mawite forces.

Mere seconds later, the Emerald Undertow and its fighters reverted just above the world itself in the near vicinity of the Monastery of Slaughter. He glanced at the TAC-COM screen. Why aren't we right on top of them? Ah...They've moved some under the cover of the nagnol gas. Smart. Clever. But being slower than your opponent means that keeping the right position is both key and difficult. A short burst from the Undertow's Nimble-5 Engines rapidly helped close the gap to the point where only a few kilometers separated the massive space hulks from each other. Even as the multitude of the Undertow's weapons began to lash out on the space station, something strange appeared to happen. A bright spherical energy shield briefly flared out from around the Undertow before encapsulating the Monastery of Slaughter, the Emerald Undertow, and the Undertow's surviving starfighters. Rather than using the ship's Starlight Scutum shield to protect itself, the Undertow had opted to use it create an isolation battle zone within a battlefield. Any ship now hoping to fly towards the Undertow and Monastery now had to go through an energy shield that was designed to disintegrate things. Reinforcements from either side into this mini-battlefield were now unlikely - and that suited Admiral Quee just fine.

The thunderous Ragnaroks began to pummel the Monastery of Slaughter in rapid fire mode with kinetic shells even as countless smaller guns on the warship began coordinated barrages across dedicated sectors of the enemy station. An observer would quickly note that there were several sections of the station that the Emerald Undertow didn't appear to be firing on - at least initially. Revirement missiles streaked into these areas before exploding right in front of the station, seeking to deposit H-1ME droids even as the boarding module's pressor catapults hurtled Marinus-class Battle Droids into the same areas in large numbers. This unusual mixture of droids would attempt to start surgically removing the station's subsystems from the outside hull, hoping to secure landing zones for later waves of boarders. The admiral spared a glance at the outside battlefield, noting that the Shyyyo-class Transports and their droid fighter escorts had made it to the surface unhindered. Unable to go back to the Undertow, these two groups of ships began to directly support the Rebel Army's attack against the Mawite ground forces.

He shifted his weight on his feet as leaned over a tactical holo-tank...

This had better have been the right choice...

Forces

Spoiler

The Emerald Undertow with boarding module
-3 squadrons of Sh'neru Starfighters (Attacking the Monastery of Slaughter)
-5 squadrons of Gregale-class Heavy Fighters (Attacking the Monastery of Slaughter)
-6 squadrons of Zephyr-class Droid Fighters (Screening Shyyyo-class Transports - providing air support to Rebel Army)
-6 squadrons of Cyclone II-class Starbombers (Attacking the Monastery of Slaughter)
-8 squadrons of Shyyyo-class Combat Transports (deploying troops onto the battlefield - providing air support to Rebel Army)

Summary of Actions

Spoiler

-Emerald Undertow and most escorting fighters micro-jump to the Monastery of Slaughter
-Emerald Undertow encapsulates(isolates) itself, escorting fighters, and the Monastery of Slaughter within its Starlight Scutum shield
-Emerald Undertow and escorting fighters attack Monastery of Slaughter at near point-blank range
-H-1ME Battle Mechanic droids from Revirement Missiles and Marinus-series Battle Droids fired from pressor catapults begin to board and disassemble the station's outer components

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Location: Goshen War Camp Surface
Equipment: 2 Lightsabers
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Nearby Allies: Darth Senthral
Engaging: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel ​

Tactician often came at the expense of depriving one's self an opportunity. It would serve him no pleasure to simply hear the promises of this beast's power, having already seen but a glimpse of its potential and prowess. Actions spoke great than words; the Force spoke even greater. If he was to understand the great mystery, he would have to subject himself to its capabilities, even if that meant compromising his composure to feel the bittersweet magnificence burrowed within her.

His attack was simple, but necessary. If this was a beast who revelled in chaos, then it would revel in prolonged combat, despite the many obvious openings he appeared to present in charging recklessly at her. And so his assumptions had served to guide him to evidently exposing its inner self, extending on their battle with a mere clash of their luminous blades, which only served for the Sith to better understand her - it. So far, he had struggled to come to a conclusion on what it was. Unless it outright told him, he would have to subject it to his laboratory and pry tediously beneath that surface, so that he may unfold the great wonder and identity of this particular being. It came not as any surprise that it had chosen to simply counter his attack rather than execute him outright. This was a creature of darkness; hungry, passionate and fuelled by such long neglect.

But then came that accursed hand, surging with such abundance of energy that the Sith's eyes became alight in its wonder. For the first time in battling her, he had felt threatened, in the sense that he believed his life could be at risk. Such confusion in an outcome had not befallen him in too long. Deep down, he revelled in the risk of death, believing that threshold into the unknown was a place of knowledge from which he could return. And so the thought had crossed his mind to feel the full swing of this enflamed limb, but the risk unfortunately outweighed the benefit, and he just couldn't accept that.

Given the distance between them, blocking the attack was impossible. She had made her move, and he had to endure it - some of it, at least. There was still that gathering of the Force summoned to his hand, ready to spill in the event of such unpredictability. The Force unfolded at the motion of his hand, ejecting into a compacted push against her hand, forcing it to decrease in its speed. Where it may have once shattered a few ribs or even ruptured his stomach muscles, it had now resorted to an attack which winded him, still powerful enough to demand that his body be pushed back along the disturbed soils and stone. The initial shock of being winded brought him to grunt at the force carried within its swing. Even now, after only mere seconds had passed in experiencing it, he felt the blood rush wildly throughout his body, pumping to bloom a bruise beneath his fabrics, threatening the very muscle that rode like mountains and waves beneath the flesh. Tensing pained him; but pain fuelled him.

Whilst the wound was fierce and searing beneath his clothes, Tennacus had yet to initiate any medical analysis. The Force would tell him if he was endangered, just as it had guided him in this battle. He had hoped to see a further display of her powers against the ground beneath them, disturbed so greatly by the likes of energy Tennacus wished to see heel before him. But in its disruption came consequence, and the Sith Lord served to abuse such a consequence of her abilities, manipulating the Force to bring a wall of dust and grains up into the air which was hurled upon her as the Sith Lord moved suddenly behind it. Where his blade appeared only faintly behind the risen grit, hurling towards her left side with swift precision, it suddenly halted at the command of the Sith. He descended onto a knee mid-swing, then twisted himself in the opposite direction, bring the weapon against her right shin.

 

[Michael Barran]

POST 8
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 14

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

'Dathomiri half-breed, aye? Well, seems I was right about the,"Advanced", part, wasn't I?', Lord Michael replied, stopping only to appraise the root-stem Khaostra had pulled from the spirit-realm, looking for all the characteristics of which he had been taught to notice. Seeing black dots along the twisting spine that served as the root's main stem, the Woad would keep the Novanian's secret from their Dathomiri opposition by merely nodding his confirmation that it was in fact the correct hybridization of psychedelic vines, refusing to elaborate further on the specifics or plant-gender needed to induce the exact hallucinatory experience needed to reach the Firmament; a shrewd but necessary play in the face of an enemy who, if given the chance, would've turned their celestial strategies against them at the first opportunity, very wisely estimated by Yorunarr within the first two days of hostilities between them. This fact would not be forgotten as Michael chuckled at the irony of their mutual-opposition, getting back to his initial response as he muttered,'Funny that.... A higher-evolved being of seemingly low-lived origins - fighting a sentient monkey who proverbially climbed down from marble towers t'meet the challenge.'

Michael would've further joked on the matter if he hadn't felt something beneath his feet after his preamble, changing his demeanour almost instantly as a result, understanding by then that this was never really a parley to begin with, not in the old-fashioned sense. Any such negotiations without strict adherence to ceasefires would always lead to early hands being played on the fly, and both Barran and Devoid knew this for a fact, growing deathly quiet for a few moments as the rustling, stretching and thumping beneath their feet could be heard more audibly as testament to this. On one hand, Khaostra was set back by Yorunarr's shamanistic approach to the Drengir, and on the other, Michael was sensing the danger beneath his feet while also being aware of the fact ceasefire orders weren't very feasible for the opposing-commander's Fleshtakers: even locked in together with negotiations, their situation was clearly more volatile than either were admitting, both happy to test each other beforehand and both more than happy to gauge each other's cunning from the moment they met.

"Far more comfortable among the trees than most Mawsworn commanders.", aye? No for long, Yorunarr.

Clenching his jaw, Barran would hold Khaostra's gaze in a deathstare as the sessile snake writhed and slammed around in agony beneath the floorboards, giving off steam, smoke and embers as the Wanderer scorched and seared it ashen with nought but a dead-eyed glare of the purest malice; a power trained in the Wanderer to proficiency by one who's mentorship would keep him safe in times of uncertainty, back when his Lord-Captaincy was still in the slow process of being finalised, one of the very few father-chosen mentors who actually chose to help Michael with his Force-Abilities. Whether Lord Erskine approved or not wouldn't be tested, as Lord Michael's master would go to great pains to make sure such training would be kept secret from the Brigadier-General's knowledge, for none could quite predict how the Stormchaser would react to such a revelation; especially if he'd seen what Michael was doing at that moment, engulfing the room in smoke as the threat below eventually stopped expanding and growing.

'For what it was worth, well played; but I dare say that concludes our parley in dramatic fashion, so I'll part with the same maxim from before as foreshadowing. "Not my gods, not my problem.", an' certainly not on this day of days.'

'I'll be seein' ye, Devoid. Even if it means death by Dathomiri Sith magic - I'll be seein' ye.'

Begin OPERATION: MELARRAN, Proost. Give them fire, GIVE THEM THUNDER!!!!!

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 15

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

'McCaskill! We only have three new-breed HE shells, an' they've only seen about three weeks of R&D. This is oor one an' only shot, so you best make sure nothing springs out! Can't have ANYTHING eating up the blast if it means the end result eats up a greater majority!'

<"Reloaded the LMG before we returned for supplies. She's ready, sir.">

'Good! Better start sprayin' then, lad!'

Proost's subordinates would find their XT-62 had reversed downhill without any occupants inside, realising that both driver and mechanic had bailed from the side door for reasons unknown to the crew looking uphill, and all that the others could tell was that Proost had begun to fire on the treeline uphill to the west and was under the impression that their fight had well-and-truly begun. Even after seeing it coming to a loud, crashing halt in bush-thicket, Commoner-Leftenant Muirhead was still willing to order the others to get inside and set to the task at hand, readying the only Cataphract in sight for a counterattack as Commoner-Captain Proost's life still hung in the balance. McCaskill would fire in bursts uphill from one side of his arc-of-fire to the other as everyone below readied their hearts and souls for the worst, whilst hoping for the best at the same time, as everyone inside knew that Proost's like was irreplaceable, and that the overall quality of soldiering would drop a little as a result.
If yer still in the fight, keep at it. We Leave no man behind, Archaisian.

'Corporal Lawson, you're up! Ready to fire on my mark..... WEAPONS FREE - FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!!!!'

'Chamber second roun-'

The lull was even shorter than that expected from the heaviest shells in their loadout, but when the impact lit up the periscope optics, the entirety of the treeline-segment they were firing on would explode into splintering, rock-fragmenting bedlam. Such an impact would also be visible enough for the tanks they couldn't see, destroying everything in their way with enough volume that the surviving treeline-segments on either side would soon after be splintered and stumped by other, supporting applications of the new High-Explosive shells from the Quartermasters' R&D factory. By the time their R&D reserves had been expended, three XT-62s would be seen driving towards a near-deforested hillside in an aggressive high-gear charge, and the one leading front and center would have every viewport open in search of their legendary tank-commander, hoping and praying under-breath that Proost was still in the fight nearby. And their answers would come almost a minute later, almost at the treeline when the Cataphract's top-gunner roared,'I SEE 'IM!!!! PROOST IS IN TROUBLE AN' I'M TAKING THE SHOT!!!!!', at the top of his lungs before letting loose with two short bursts from the mounted-LMG.

'DIE, ABOMINATION!!! DIE!!!'

Following the Corporal's trajectory by eye-estimation, it didn't take long for the others to note the sight of their beloved captain as he continued bounding downhill like he had Hellhounds on his trail, but what they saw chasing him left no illusions as to what had forced the Archaisian to bail from a perfectly-operable XT-62; it was a Shi'iDo Fleshtaker, hot on Arman's heels until McCaskill's second salvo hit it's mark, finally ending the chase then and there with a favourable three-round spread that hit the left arm, left shoulder and face. As he used his free-hand to beckon Proost closer, McCaskill then yelled,'TANGO DOWN!!!! DOUBLE-TAPPING FOR SAFETYYYY!!!', before letting loose with nearly five accurate bursts to finish the job. By the time Arman had made it to the Cataphract's opened slide-door, all Muirhead could see was the mangled, gory remains of the Fleshtaker who almost robbed the Blue-Hearts of their longest-serving tank commander, serving as a lucky reminder to keep close contact at all times in the Goshen jungle as Proost's badly-cut face greeted him with a cheeky grin and a wink.

'Holy chit, Ben. That - was - mental! Didn't actually think they were real. Like - at all, bruu. Give us a minute, will-'

Begin OPERATION: MELARRAN, Proost. Give them fire, GIVE THEM THUNDER!!!!!​

'So that's the,"Tregessar in Mandalore's Orbit", feeling Gowrie was taking about.... Didn't actually think I'd feel that urge to strangle a Barran like Lord Aron does- ARE YOU KARKING KIDDING ME, MAN?!?!?!?!'

 

[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

​

Auria received no riposte from Ishida, who was all too content to immerse herself into something more physical than verbal time and time again.

The scene changed quickly, at a pace she was more used to than recent adventures. Konrad's dimly lit silhouette leapt into action, and the room's already obfuscated view became thicker with a new layer.

Serendipity quickly replaced with regret as soon as the first puffs of whatever substance her former classmate flung into the intimate cavern and filtered through her rebreather. The unorthodox chemical tickled her nostrils, and she felt her vision become glassy. It was as if she could feel the burning travel of the gas split in its travel. One small part rushed through her nose, down her throat, larynx, trachea, and then finally pooling in her lungs. The other part deviated upward toward her brain –– the sensational blaze stronger as it clouded around in her mind.

Instantly, she realized the threat.

It wasn't much, she was further than the others, but it was enough to indulge the sense of desperation that clung to the room and made the clouds of vapour a little denser.

To prevent further damage, she pressed her hand against the filters of her mask and drew in a sharp, less contaminated breath to hold.

The creature was not her concern; the two had started the fight would deal with that. She'd thrust herself into the position to aid their victory. How had Inosuke put it? –– There is no shame in succour––– Plus, there were limitations to consider. As trained as she was, Breath control or not, her lungs could only fill themselves with what she'd supplied for so long until she needed to breathe again. She had select minutes to exert herself.

Immediately, she dodged forward, ducking low toward the trio of Palatini warriors. She wasn't aware of their armour composition and how technically able their helmet's rebreather systems were, so the chaos of the moment was her sole advantage, even with her distant mental hindrance.

Her foot went toward the feet of the guard on the far right, seeking the juncture between the leg and top of foot –– sensitive part of the ankle and where armour had to have some sort of break to allow for movement. Her heel shoved in, hard (hopefully, hard to see under a skirt), while she slipped into their range and gripped at their wrist, yanking it and their weapon forcefully in the direction of the immediate next guard on the left. In the interim, her katana was not idle –– it went for the gut.

"No don't! Don't kill him!"

Shrouded by the foes she'd selected, Ishida couldn't see the goings-on of the witch, but she heard the outburst. And she'd felt a tremour ripple through The Force –– so much so that it made the flames of the tunnel's torches flicker.

That was probably....not good.

---

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

​

​

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

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

"I will have your hides! Your lives forfeit and your souls to be sacrificed! This blasted trickery will end in your deaths!"

Tammuz closed his eyes, let out a sighing breath that trembled with sorrow, then turned to face Zachariel again.

All right. I’m an old man. I’ve lived a good life.

“He deserved better,” he murmured. Raising his burning white blade so that it pointed like an accusatory finger at Zachariel, Tammuz recited a blood oath in his native Shi’idese: “‘This clanless one has killed one of my clan. For this crime, I will deprive him of his life.’”

Then, lowering his lightsaber, he began to change. Due to his advanced age, Tammuz was at the height of his powers when it came to shapeshifting. The transformation was nearly instantaneous. He grew, becoming massive in size; his arms became wings that spanned twenty meters across; his skin bruised to a dark purple and his hide as thick as leather; his neck lengthened and fangs jutted from his mouth, which gaped like a maw over Zachariel.

But before the drexl that had once been Tammuz Hoole could swallow the Gen’dai whole, two things happened.

First, a second volley of transports arrived on the scene, dispatching fresh troops, along with droid fighters that began laying waste to whatever there was left to shoot at. Concerned he would be mistaken for an enemy, Tammuz quickly changed his skin tone to the silver and blue of the SJC forces, even adding a crude facsimile of the insignia to his backside, just to be safe.

Secondly, he saw Nimdok appear from around a corner behind Zachariel, brandishing a flamethrower. Before Tammuz could even process what he was seeing (his first thought was that it was a cruel joke), Nimdok proceeded to blast a volley of flames at Zachariel’s back.

Backing away from the fire and shielding himself with one wing, Tammuz shouted across the ether of the mind. <You’re alive?!>

Nimdok’s response was immediate. <Yes, and I can explain—but right now, we have to get moving!>

Still hosing Zachariel down with flames, Nimdok inched around him, stepping over rubble and debris as he made his way over to the other side, rejoining his companions. The trio then began to run, fleeing from Zachariel.

Tammuz wasn’t one to let something like this go so easily. <But I felt you die! You disappeared in the Force!>

<Yes, I know. I did that on purpose, because I am injured. I had to hide myself to avoid getting killed.>

Tammuz could sense Nimdok’s presence now quite clearly—including the pain of various wounds sustained during the explosion. No wonder why he was relying on a flamethrower to keep enemies at bay; he could barely walk. Jaina was almost carrying him.

But despite his injuries, Nimdok, of course, was still talking, even if it was only projected thoughts.

<I apologize for all the confusion and upset I must have caused, but it was necessary. Besides, even if I had died, you wouldn’t have seen the last of me.>

<But—>

<I died once already and came back, I’d have simply done it again. I have too much to live for, promises to keep, business to finish, stories to tell…>

<But Nimdok, we all thought you were dead.>

The emphasis finally sank in for Nimdok. Everyone he knew, everyone he was close to who had the Force, had felt him "die". Only he wasn't there to comfort and reassure them it was not the case.

<Oh. Well…>

 

[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 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 ~ ​

During the cough and scream, I couldn’t really pay attention to what they were saying down there, but they really knew where I was. I didn’t want to be an easy prey, despite the pain I wanted to continue climbing in the vent shaft. I heard the woman's voice, then a few inches from my head a blade of a sword pierced the ceiling, for me, the floor. A cutting motion, the panel on which I lay, surrendered.

I screamed again as I began to fall and then groaned as I landed on the ground. Luckily I fell on my other side like where the broken ribs were. I had so much soul presence that despite the pain I immediately sat up and positioned myself not to show my back to any person. I tried to not let anyone behind my back, ever, especially in a situation like this. My heart was still beating wildly, violently; but I already got a breath down here.

For a few moments, my cough also stopped; but every breath was a struggle because of the pain. When she brandished her sword towards my face I leaned back and tried to climb farther. I snarled at her; I was afraid, but I couldn’t give up the situation without a fight. I’ve fought all my life, I’m not going to back down now. Pretty? Is it ironic when I say that no one has ever remarked to me in my life that I would be pretty or beautiful?

When he grabbed my face, I instinctively grabbed her hands and tried to peel them off from my head. Fear and defiance danced in my green eyes at the same time as I looked at her. I even snarled.

"Go to the Outer Rim!" I sent her to hell.

I didn’t beg when I saw the man raise his leg, I tried to get rid of her more wildly than when the Mongrel squeezed my neck. The next moment the kick had already hit my stomach, I groaned and coughed up another dose of blood; this time probably in the woman's face. Because of the pain, everything darkened for a moment, I saw vaguely, the pain hitting me in waves. It was even harder to breathe now. I couldn't do it again when they took the rifle and one of the pistols. I tried to dig into the woman’s arms with my fingertips and fingernails.

I didn’t feel it would be fun. My wounds; my side had a huge black spot on the broken ribs, traces of the bruises. Another trace of bruises on my neck that he left with Mongrel. The belly kick hasn’t been seen yet, but it will also turn purple within a day. My right wrist is swollen and purple. In addition, except for my face, my whole body was full of old scars and traces of torture. When she pulled my head quite close to hers, despite the pain and fear, I still looked at her with defiance and then tried to spit bloody saliva on her face.

When she finally let go of my face I could lean back on the ground and pressed my hands to my belly, trying to breathe; it was not an easy task. "Precious prize"; why did they want me so much?! I should have spoiled their game, let them take me, especially since every move hurt. But I was a struggling spirit; I couldn’t bring shame to my insurgent past, the NIO, and my peers. I had to fight, I had to. Yet how easy it would have been if I turned the daggers against myself. Mongrel chose me because of my fighting spirit, maybe this is why he kept me alive.

I have to try. I slid my hands onto the grips of the daggers. Because of my outfit, it couldn’t go unnoticed. When the two marauders got close, I tried to move quickly despite the pain. I was looking for a place on them that was not armoured. Ideally, the artery on the inside of their thighs would have been good if I could cut them or try it. If I don’t have that kind of luck then I try to find and stab a weak spot, cut and get through the two marauders and then get out of the room at the side where there are few of them.

But I had such a terrible feeling that none of the exits were free because they were already everywhere. The adrenaline flooded my body, the pain was gone now… if I didn’t get out of here now I'll never do it…

 

[The Mongrel]

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

The Jedi didn't seem at all fazed at being charged from all sides... but why would she? She had magic on her side, magic that could decimate armies, and Varkas and Androk were mere men. But if this was their day of dying, if they would soon meet Hetzen in the Paradise To Come, they would face that fate bravely. They charged, ready for the parry, then had to pull up short as Amelia leapt impossibly high, her entire body flipping over the tall warriors. Androk was quick, batting her lightsaber aside with his sword in a shower of sparks. Varkas was slower, surprised.

Her shoto sizzled across his shoulder.

The wound was not deep, but it burned terribly, and Varkas bit down hard on his tongue to keep from screaming. The damage to his shoulder muscles would make it harder for him to fight, harder to swing his mighty warblade... but he couldn't give up now. He was no coward, and he would not flee from this battle, even if it was hopeless. Instead he and Androk turned, blades up in a high guard, ready for the Jedi's next maneuver. But she had already moved past them, focusing instead on the threat still coming right at her: the gore wasp, chittering in insectoid fury.

But even the apex predator of Lao-mon was nothing more than an afterthought to a Jedi. She must have noticed the creature's soft underbelly while firing her blaster at it, for she thrust one of her laser swords up into that vulnerable flesh, disemboweling the wasp in a long line of cauterized flesh. Her other laser-sword came up and cut off its stinger, the two attacks adding up to massive trauma. The Gore Wasp's system couldn't handle the brutal shock. It tumbled from the air and slid to a stop in the shadow of a shattered building, dead before it hit the ground.

There was no time for the battle-brothers to so much as exchange a grim glance before Amelia was upon them, her magic making her faster than any ordinary person could match. Her laser-swords bled purple lightning, arcing and leaping in their faces as they desperately parried her storm of blows. With each impact, their swords grew weaker; the energy-resistant coating wouldn't hold up for much longer, and then they would be defenseless. A vicious kick sent Varkas flying, tossing him up the filthy street to land atop a pile of corpses, and then Androk was alone.

Androk was a mighty warrior. He had twenty-seven kills to his name, an impressive number for any frontline fighter, and he had taken most of them with this very warblade. He was tall, broad, and powerfully muscled, trained in combat since the moment he could hold a sword on the backwater tribal planet of his birth. The average soldier wouldn't stand a moment's chance in a blade-to-blade contest with him. But against the Jedi, he might as well have been a squalling babe. He couldn't keep up with the blur of her weapons as she struck again and again and again.

Her shoto skimmed his ribs, easily melting through his armor, at the same moment her main blade finally overcame his sword's coating. The lightsaber sheared his warblade in half, the top part falling to the ground, leaving the weapon molten and ruined. Her next strike stabbed through his shoulder. With a great, bellowing cry of pain and outraged disbelief, Androk fell to his knees, helpless before the Jedi. This was why the likes of them had conquered the galaxy, again and again, for tens of thousands of years. They might call it spreading democracy, but...

... the truth was, they could spread whatever they wanted, because no one could stand against their warriors.

"Brother!" Varkas cried, regaining his feet at last; the entire exchange of blows had happened in the time it had taken to brush himself off and get back up, impossibly fast. They were not brothers by blood; Varkas had grown up in a slaver gang, the sinister prison ships of his youth a far cry from the dusty plains where Androk's tribe had hunted and waged war on its rivals. But the bond they had forged since joining the Maw, since becoming Scar Hounds, was a deep and powerful one. They knew each other's minds as keenly as their own.

Charging forward to stand over his wounded comrade, Varkas drew forth a deadly cylinder in his off-hand: a fragmentation grenade. He primed it with his thumb, ready to let it explode the moment his finger left the detonator. "Back, Jedi!" he shouted, holding the grenade up high and swiping defensively with his warblade. "Back, or we all die!" He knew that he ought to just let the grenade explode, go out in a blaze of glory with Androk beside him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. It was one thing to die in battle; it was another to die by one's own hand.

He had no idea what he was going to do next.

 

[Cromwell]

OBJECTIVE II | TIP OF THE SPEAR
SPECTRE OF THE EMPIRE

"Make them ten." he replied as the horde of Mawites ascended the stairs into the control room. Stealth no longer carried any advantage anymore as he was firing the ion paddle beamer carbine atop the stairs. In any other scenario, his vambraces and martial arts skills would've been enough but these cultists? They stepped over the bodies of their own, each more relentless than the other to reach the invisible Spectre and tear him to pieces. It would've been an idiotic strategy, a strategy one would've expected from brainless marauders in a holoflick.

This was no holoflick.

The knocked-out bodies stacking the staircase were a ploy, the endless charge of cultists up was merely a distraction for those that circled around the tower and moved in through the opening of the roof. Their bolts hit hard and true, deactivating Avenger's stealth generator. He groaned and rolled away behind Revenant as they stormed the room from above.

Three throwing pellets manifested between his fingers. Ion and stun pellets made to cripple the Mawites' cybernetic enhancements and throw their bodies into a catatonic state. One issue--

Revenant.

More machine than human.

"Hrngh." the spectre grumbled, putting the pellets back into his utility belt. "Hold them off."

The two Imperials were given two options - stem the tide and hold the strategic position of the communications tower or escape while they still had their hides on, crippling the use of the tower.

Climbing over the terminal, he set up the last implosive charge he had.

ALLIES | NIO | GA | SJC | Noel Strasza
ENEMIES | MAW |