Public Emergence: Skirmish on Batuu

[Eleena Salwa]

Location: Approaching Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Swoop: FAE/V-03 “Yuxa” Attack Swoop Craft
Tags: Blackout TK-818 The Mongrel @Brotherhood of the Maw

In listening to the chatter of her squadron over comms as she waited for launch, Eleena failed to hear the assassin droid as he approached, her eyes going wide when the mechanical killer drew his slender digits along her back. Turning around with a jolt, Eleena took in the droid’s skull-like mask, taking a deep breath when she realized that the unit was one the few mercenaries hired by the Coins to accompany the Wild Hunt. The automaton’s mechanical, yet venomous voice sounded odd when delivered in the flowers of a compliment, especially as the droid imposed himself on her space in a menacing manner, drawing a soft gulp from Eleena as she gazed into the assassin’s piercing yellow eyes.

“T-thanks~” She answered with a forced smile. “I-I already have, actually.” She added, an awkward attempt to alleviate the tension between herself and the automaton. It was not a lie. The diminutive Twi’lek had already broken many bones in her body, owing to the fact that she was a professional swoop pilot, a career which didn’t exactly have a long life expectancy. Fortunately, the miracles of bacta, cloning, and modern medicine had been enough to mend her old injuries, but some lingering aches still remained, still not yet alleviated due to the nature of physical therapy.

Just as the assassin droid turned to depart, Eleena heard her call sign over comms. Her swoop launched into the skies with violent force and speed, yet was quickly tamed as Eleena kicked her left leg out, pulling the machine into a turn that set it on a path to the Black Spire Outpost…

​

The fires raging in the Black Spire Outpost had been apparent from many miles away, but up close, the devastation was raw and unrestrained. She could only hope that they had arrived in time, but she could already sense that many lives had already been lost to the bloodthirsty hordes rampaging throughout the streets, sowing destruction and death in the name of some barbaric scripture.

And so, Eleena descended on them from the skies, angling her swoop towards a rusted shuttle which was adorned with the desiccated corpses of victims from the Brotherhood’s past raids. All it took was a single mental command, firing off a pair of fusion plasma torpedoes that struck the shuttle on the fuselage, detonating the vessel and sending the fiery husk crashing into the streets, along with all of the raiders inside. She took no immediate joy in the kill, instead shifting her body to line up her swoop for a guns attack on a group of raiders rampaging through the streets.

A subsequent mental command called forth a torrent of Umbaran electromagnetic plasma bolts from the skies, raining down on the hapless raiders to devastating effect, vaporizing armor and flesh in equal measure to erase six of the bloodthirsty marauders from existence in a single strafing run. She pulled up at the last possible moment, bringing her swoop back up into the skies as the survivors answered her attack with a few volleys of retributive fire which were summarily absorbed by the Yuxa’s robust shields.

Sharp, unflinching eyes scanned across the outpost, shifting towards the marketplace, the courtyard, then the devastated outer walls in a desperate search for someone who could still be saved.

Spoiler: Gear and Equipment

• Armor
  • FAE/A-03 Repulsor Craft Riding Suit
    • Energy Shield
      • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
    • Undersuit
      • UL-14 “Virtus” Class Underlay
• Small Arms
  • HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannon
• Melee
  • Whimsy Knife (2)

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Equipment: The Soulsabers | Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Tag:: Zachariel Steelblood

Indeed, it was so, for most of her life, only L’lerim was for others, to her instructors, her training officers. She even called her father Sir, my Lord, or Admiral, not Father. It was very rare when she did. Her cold, military side was inherited from him. For her, it was a matter of trust who could call it that or not. She didn’t use “my Lord” because of the show of power, the power still didn’t interest her. The only reason was practicality, it was a neutral address that could be used in any situation. Although Tower Vandiir employees called her Lady Vandiir.

Remained motionless, in a military position, listening to the man's mockery and humiliation. Psychological warfare. Should she have told the man that she had been dead before? That deliberately let her opponent on the Byss kill her? That she was now part of the Netherworld because she tore her own soul apart and left the other part behind with her husband’s soul? That she doesn’t want anything else… just wants more than anything to be with AMCO ? Only her sense of duty and the need to take care of the Empire was stronger than her desire to die. And now, of course, had to stay alive because of her children.

Ingrid didn’t get angry at the words, she was actually touched completely neutral. Wasn't scared, she was aware of her fighting skills. As with the fact that she is not so easy to kill. Zachariel will not be the first to try to kill her since she became regent or Empress. Only in this situation could she not utter her now iconic sentence, "Do you really think you can assassinate the Eternal Empire’s finest assassin?" When the man finally fell silent, she spoke.

"Finished? Most politicians don’t talk that much at once…"

In the meantime, reached out to the Force to help with her own movement and speed, as her opponent was a Force User. Previously, the speed at which the man approached her would have been very fast, but now the woman was no longer a human. She was already faster than them, thanks to her new species, and this was accompanied with the Force. As Zachariel got closer, Ingrid moved then. With a military move, but with infinite elegance, rolled to the side, the end of which became a loop from which she stood a good few steps away from her opponent; facing him again.

"That’s all? After the previous big words, I thought Mr. Steelblood, you will show more than that. Or are you already having trouble killing an unarmed woman?" asked in a still cold, emotionless voice.

 

[Blackout]

| LOCATION: En Route to Batuu, Disruptor Class Corvette |
| EQUIPMENT: Energy Shield ; K-16 Bryar Pistol |
| ALLIES: The AGENTS OF CHAOS [ Eleena Salwa ] |
| ENEMIES [OPEN] : The BROTHERHOOD OF MAW [ TK-818 | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | More ] |

Well, now, isn't she cute? Blackout can only stare, wordless, as he relishes in the sheer horror subjected onto the twi'lek. His fingertips glide elegantly along her back, the cloud of unease filling the room a bliss he rarely felt. The assassin took pride in never dragging his kills on - not one to torture, dismember, taunt or bluff. He gets the job done, and he gets it done fast. But Eleena? She's not a target. She's his teammate. His partner. His... friend.~

Ecstasy floods his systems, oh, such a joy she is. Fresh meat for him to do as he pleases to. Her crystal blue eyes are wide with fear, her plush lips forcing a smile upon a face that so desperately wants to shake it off. A metallic chuckle echoes from his vocoder, as his optics focus on her from the other side of the bay. She's perfect. The perfect toy to demonstrate how laughably pathetic breathing matter is. Blackout doesn't know fear, he knows agony, hatred. Determination to never give up until he wins. But fear? A concept so foreign to him he may as well not bother to dwell on it. So he doesn't, and he instead opts to watch as Eleena is called to her position, and in no time at all, she's departed with a thunderous crackle from her swoop.

Patience. Now, that is something he's familiar with. Scaling buildings, your digits digging into the fierce steel as you inch closer and closer to your prey. Waiting in silence, relaxing in the pools of data flooding your systems, telling you the perfect place to strike when the time is right. Watching as your target slips past your grip, understanding the loss as they get to live another day. All things that require patience, and Blackout has an overabundance. So he stands there, processors idly reminding him that they're approaching the outpost, waiting for every last member of Eleena's precious little squadron to take their positions and leap into the story they think they're the focus of.

He's made up his mind.

With the roll of his shoulders, Blackout eyes the single last remaining squad member, watching the human meet the rest of his squadron. Mmmph. The droid turns away, shoving himself past technicians and crew, his photoreceptors scanning for- ahh, there we are. A spare swoop, disabled and hidden away. Not for long, the droid thinks, twisting his index finger into his scomp link. Sending glares to those who dare look at him, Blackout delivers a swift kick to the vehicle, claw clutched around it as he brings it back to where he was.

"Out of my way." He growls, throwing the swoop in front of him before jumping onto it, leaning forth just to launch himself into the skies and out the corvette.

[ _BLACK SPIRE OUTPOST ]
​

The vehicle isn't too difficult to control. Over the course of his years, Blackout has been forced to use similar models. He wasn't here to do whatever the twi'lek was doing, however. As awkward as his swoop's movements are, the droid only needs it to close the distance, and soon enough, he's there. Destination arrived, Blackout gets to his feet and nonchalantly hops off from the swoop as it continues to speed by. The droid dusts himself off, cracking the joints in his neck to the distant thunder of the swoop's explosion.

Raiders. Nothing that he can't handle. Blackout narrows his gaze, steadily walking towards them as they fire. Blast after blast, ricocheting helplessly from the bulk of his chassis. The droid has his pistol, but if he were being honest, where's the fun in that? It's over quickly, sure. But as the digits on Blackout's left hand merge together to form a sharp dagger, he definitely prefers to watch the life slowly drain from their eyes, dagger sent directly forward to pierce the raider's jugular. A coat of blood he cares little about, and the droid effortlessly flings his upper body around to send the limp body of his prey towards the other raider, knocking him to the ground.

Well, he's had this fun. Now he can use the gun.

And in five subsequent shots, Blackout stands alone once more.

 

[Calruss Shiman]

Location: Black Spire Outpost.
Allies: Ingrid L'lerim Vexari Kahl
Enemies: Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood

The newspaper trick worked like a treat, forcing him to shoot blindly through the gust of news that surrounded him. Using his blaster fire as a marker, the teen rushed forwards and cut the weapon in two with ease, in turn getting rid of the bowcaster when the now useless clunk of metal had fallen to the floor. However, the warrior had a trick of his own planned. He suddenly pulled out a strange knife and moved forwards to plunge it into his defenceless side. For the first time Calruss opened his eyes wide in surprise, not expecting such a crafty move by the savage who was losing. Only having a few seconds to react he opened his hand and latched onto the knife using the force, stopping it in its tracks when it ripped through his jumper.

Calruss audibly grunted when he felt a sharp pain come from his side, quickly stumbling back away from the warrior as he checked the wound. The end of the knife had cut through the cloth of his jumper like butter and pierced his skin, deep enough to leave a puncture wound on his side that soon began to release a waterfall of blood. Luckily, the force had prevented the sharp knife from going deeper and possibly saving his life. He winced slightly as he slowly withdrew the knife and lifted it up to his face, a layer of blood covering the top half of the blade "Not a bad move... for a man who has run out of options" the teen said menacingly before his eyes snapped to the man, the stare piercing into the mans soul like a wild animal. Slowly, he began to walk over to him, a red patch of blood soon forming on his side "Maybe I should cut you down right where you stand, but that would be me showing you mercy" he grunted with a tilt of his head, while the hand that clutched the handle of the saber visibly got tighter "How about I leave you for the families of the dead for them to decide your fate, I'm sure they will give you a slow and worthwhile death"

With his sights dead set on the warrior he didn't want to waste any time, he rushed forwards and looked to collide right into him. However, at the very last second he suddenly falls to his back in a slide, using the momentum to slash the saber across his thigh as a way of getting his own back on the determined heretic.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Streets
Allies: TK-818 , Kyrel Ren
Enemies: Calruss Shiman, Vexari Kahl

It had almost been a killing stroke. The Mongrel watched, lips drawing back over his jagged teeth in a savage grin, as the young warrior pulled the knife free - and a torrent of blood followed it. If the kid hadn't used his magic again, stopping the weapon from sinking in the last few inches, the marauder would have skewered him right at the base of the ribs. Kidney, stomach, liver, lung, all had only narrowly missed being ruptured by the viciously-serrated knife. As it was, the flesh wound looked nasty... and the rust and filth on the blade would lead to infection if not soon treated.

But almost wasn't good enough, not with an enemy this dangerous. The young man stalked forward, and The Mongrel became keenly aware that his words were true. A man who's out of options. His bowcaster lay in two pieces in the street, steam still rising from the slag where the crimson blade had bisected it. His knife, still coated in blood, lay near it... and the kid was between him and the weapon. The element of surprise and deception had been used up; his opponent would be watching for another such trick, and would not soon fall for it. The situation was bad.

"There will be no families left to grieve or to punish," The Mongrel spat, projecting confidence... even as he began to panic. What possible play did he have left?

The teenager rushed forward, and for an instant The Mongrel thought that the kid meant to tackle him bodily to the ground. But then, with the fluidity of a well-trained duelist, he fell back, bringing his weapon around in an upward stroke aimed at the marauder's leg. The move was almost too fast to follow, and it took The Mongrel completely by surprise. The crimson blade flashed, and the crazed slave-soldier screamed in agony. Only the fact that he'd been stumbling back, trying to evade the feigned tackle, saved him from losing the leg entirely.

His momentum carried him backwards, and he crashed into a demolished market stall, his injured limb buckling beneath him. Through wide eyes he stared down at the wound, so deep into the flesh it had nearly reached the bone. It had been instantly cauterized by the searing heat of the blade, and he could have sworn that little curls of steam were still rising from the charred flesh. There was no way that leg would bear his weight again, not until he could find some way to brace it. Equally, there was no way he could stand to continue this fight.

If he didn't think quickly, the next slash would take his head.

Crab-like, The Mongrel crawled backward on his elbows and good leg, dragging the wounded limb with him. He took shelter under an overturned food cart, making it more difficult for the crimson blade to get at him... but he would need more than that if he wanted to survive past the next few moments. So he reached into his satchel and, next to the ear collection, found what he was looking for. "Burn, witch-child," he hissed, and rolled the little cylinder out from under his makeshift refuge. An instant later, heat and light filled the alley as the incendiary grenade exploded.

Flames rushed over the corpses, merchant stalls, and spilled produce that filled the street, rapidly forming a huge, leaping wall of fire. Rolling over onto his stomach, The Mongrel dragged himself away as quickly as he could. He felt the searing heat through the soles of his boots, and the fear of burning kept him moving despite the pain in his leg, crawling beneath the line of marketplace stands that lined the side of the road. Along the way, he dragged himself over the corpse of another marauder... and paused to plunder his knife and scattergun.

Despite the situation, The Mongrel grinned. The incendiary grenade had found plenty of fuel in the cluttered street, exceeding all of his hopes for the size of the blaze. With any luck, the huge and sudden burst of flames had burned the wielder of the crimson blade alive... though with his strange magic, he might somehow have escaped. At the very least, it would slow him down if he tried to pursue, forcing him to circle around and find another street if he wanted to catch up to the marauder. It would slow Vexari Kahl's AT-STs down, too.

Even an armored vehicle couldn't just walk through a conflagration that huge without cooking its pilots alive, the durasteel cockpit becoming a massive oven. They could find a way around, sure... but every second that they were delayed, the Brotherhood ravaged more of the town.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Ingrid L'lerim​

Watching Ingrid throughout his little speech, Zachariel saw she was unimpressed, cold, and uncaring. No doubt she thought herself strong, she probably was. But Zachariel was stronger still, he'd lived through more, done worse, and seen worse than she ever could. But she didn't know that, the same way he didn't know what she had undergone. Not that it really mattered, she was mortal, he immortal. So she could feel her experiences closer, but wouldn't learn as much as Zachariel had, wouldn't be able to act on them as Zachariel did.

That's why he laughed at her simple response. So simple, so ignorant. She thought herself strong, and feigned this strength so others could see it. Zachariel saw past it, and he would bring that dark, inner soul into the light.
"My dear, you asked, so I answered. But if you must compare me to politicians, know this. I tell the truth, and I always follow through with my promises."

Thus when he attacked, he had attacked with conviction, yet the last thing he expected was for her to simply run. That drew his ire, and his rage, the taunting comment afterward certainly helped. But Zachariel had learned from his more berserker years, he knew when he was being goaded. Snarling at her with rage in his eyes, Zachariel's grip on his sword tightened. She was fast, and though he would eventually catch her, it would take far too long, and require too much patience for Zachariel to follow through with.
"And I thought a warrior such as yourself would try to protect your charges more." His voice was a low snarl, even as he motioned down the corridor. "Weaker targets yet remain. I suppose if you simply wish to run and attempt to goad me, I will slaughter them instead. Or will you face me, and attempt to stop me. You are the only one here who might actually have a chance of slowing me, much less stopping me. Every other would be slaughtered, and they shall scream twice as much for your abandonment of them."

He truly hoped she would face him, but if she didn't, Zachariel wouldn't bother chasing her down. It would simply be a waste of time, one better spent slaughter the weak. Thus, though Zachariel faced her, he began making his way further into the corridor. In dodging to the side, she had left the center open for him to act on. He suspected she would act on what he said and his current actions, but had no guarantee one way or the other. Zachariel simply hoped she would do what all 'good' people would, and protect those who couldn't protect themselves. If she didn't, Zachariel would slaughter the soldiers in this spire, and their screams would echo across the city.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Equipment: The Soulsabers | Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Tag:: Zachariel Steelblood

The man couldn't even know how much he was wrong when he thought Ingrid was mortal. The power of a goddess (not as if the woman had acknowledged that woman as a deity) merged with her and received all the knowledge and memories of the Night Spirit. Didn’t have access to some of it - a good part of it - just searching and meditating, but she wasn’t a human anymore. If she don’t consume life force, can live for roughly a thousand years, if so, chances are much longer. Sure, maybe not as long as Zachariel, but apart from that, they were very similar in many ways.

Ingrid didn’t really run away, just dodged the attack sideways; had tested the man for now. It was important for her to find the other’s weaknesses so that the fight wouldn’t drag on for long. Was also taught as a soldier and an assassin to end a fight as soon as possible. Based on the rage and snarl and the previous fight, the man wasn’t a very patient kind, so he would soon get bored of the cat-and-mouse game. And that wasn't good.

"I'm not running away. I'm testing you. But apparently you’re more interested in the weak opponent, not what’s challenging. You are looking for the easy target, which is not a challenge. You are as weak as those whose massacre you enjoy. You are the weakest person in this complex." said in a cold and emotionless voice.

Tried to use reverse psychology to make him angry at the other and achieve with her words the man did not want to attack others but turned all his attention to her. If not, she will be forced to run after it. To prove she was ready to fight, pulled out the two lightsaber hilts under her coat, the two Soulsabers, and then activated the blades. The lightsaber blades were black on the inside and lit up in bluish light on the outside, thanks to her late husband’s soulshards.

"If you're not a coward, come on! I won't run!"

 

[Calruss Shiman]

Location: Black Spire Outpost.
Allies: Ingrid L'lerim Vexari Kahl
Enemies: Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood

The smell of burning flesh was palpable when his lightsaber slashed across the warriors leg, sending him stumbling backwards into a market stool in agony. He quickly did a kip up to his feet and winced heavily from the landing, forcing his hand to quickly go down to the wound and growl from the pain. Shaking it off for now, he looked down to his foe and began to get closer with every step "By the time i'm finished with you, there won't be anything left" replied the teen to his earlier comment, while his eyes looked down to the severely injured leg. The slash was deep and true, almost touching the bone as pockets of smoke lifted from the burned flesh. Never the less, the warrior still was determined to fight through the pain and crawl away.

As he approached, the man took shelter under a cart to guard himself from any saber attacks he tried. Foolish warrior... wood wasn't going to protect him for long, but instead prolong his now certain fate. Calruss stood in front of the cart and sighed, his saber juggling around in his hand "There's no point in hiding now heretic, your fate is more than sealed" said Calruss in a stern tone, his eyes still plastered on the cart below him just in case he had any more tricks up his sleeve. And sure enough, he did. The cart lifted up slightly to reveal a grenade being thrown from the gap, its round metal shape rolling across the floor towards him.

Calruss grunted in annoyance and gritted his teeth as he rotated his body to the right, using his force speed to run across the street at an astonishing speed. Within seconds the grenade exploded, realeasing a loud boom and a cluster of fire that attached itself everything on the street, including Calruss.

Stopping at the end of the street the boy felt a burning sensation on the top half of his body. He looked down to see his jumper scorched from the heat, with small pockets of smoke still coming from it. Calruss quickly took it off and threw it to the ground in a rushed fashion, leaving only his long sleeved shirt that looked presentable yet burned and ripped from the blade. It was obvious he had some minor burns, but it wasn’t to much to handle for the young man as he staggered into a nearby house.

To be truthful, he needed something to cover this wound and stem the flow of blood coming out of him before he lost too much. The house itself was a mess, due to the pillaging of the heretics that had long gone. However, he doubted they would have much use in cloth. It didn’t take long until he found some clean cloth, allowing him to sit down and wrap it around the wound like a bandage.

There was no point going back to find the heretic, the fool probably died in his own fire. Although, it was a surprise that one lonely warrior had caused him so much trouble. He clearly overestimated him, and it almost proved to be deadly. With a small grunt after tightening the cloth in a knot, he slowly made his way outside and continued on his path to the main control center, beginning to feel tired from all the fighting he had done in a small period of time.

This time he only fought when he needed to so he could preserve his strength, mainly using back streets to make it past the main horde of warriors and get a faster route to his location. It proved to work in the end as he stood a street away from the building, his eyes looking at the broken down entrance that was forcefully entered through. Calruss took a quick glance of his surroundings before beginning to walk over to the entrance. Hopefully there was someone inside, else he had no choice but to do this thing alone

 

[Koleric]

1649°C heat no man or woman could withstand the shuttle began to shake violently, turning orange and scorching off rust from the shuttle. Chants drowning out the ships alarms from his fellow marauders, the smell of dried blood in the air as they thirst for more, bodies clashing inside as the outer shell began to rip apart.

In it's descent it was dealt heavy damage but even more as it crashed into the streets of Batuu Coming to a crash destroying the streets of the city, merchant stalls, squashing innocents and soldiers like pathetic insects. Damage systems sparked shutting down the alarms as the war cry of whatever marauder left alive or conscious began to rise finally they would be able to satiate their blood lust.

They rushed out slashing, slaughtering whoever was near, the last one to come out was Koleric, crawling out of the piolet seat almost impaled by glass from shuttle. He could be seen walking out of the smoke and fire coming from the shuttle as he raised his hands the flames began to dance and swirl into a blizzard ingulfing him, circling him until he released it into the nearby buildings starting to spread the fire further into an uproar, the voices of people from inside could be heard screaming in pain as they baked in the oven that was created.

Koleric barefoot on the earth stood stretching out his senses through the ground, he could feel the slaughter of the citizens of Batuu as he could feel their lifeless corpses' fall, the holy destruction of the city would please the Avatars, that is when the ground started to shake slamming his feet in the ground made it shake beginning an earthquake, first it would be small and only those close would feel it but as he continued it would pick up leveling the building and everything around him.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Blackspire outpost

Nearby: TK-818 Aaran Tafo

Kyrel basked in the destruction, as flames started to appear from the shops, restaurants and dwellings of Black Spire Outpost. For the Master of Ren, what the man desired was the wealth within the relic collector known as Dok Ondar’s. For the Ithorian shop was said to hold numerous artifacts of days past. Perhaps even Ren artifacts for the new Knights.

As he unleashed the horde of Knights upon all those that dare oppose them. Kyrel was greeted by a face he didn’t expect to see. A long time ago the boy that challenged the undead monstrosity was known as a boy who managed to escape the wrath of the Ren Master. Unfortunately the man the boy faced before was alive. This time Kyrel was a new nightmare. While one of the Knights angled to take care of the young man that dared call out Kyrel. He raised a hand up. Stopping him, but Kyrel with a sickening grin underneath the helmet was eager to accept the challenge.

“Really? You really think that you can stop the shadow... foolish boy. You might have had a chance when I was a man... in fact I’ll let you take a shot. Go ahead boy... strike me, stab me. I beseech you.” He said wanting to reveal that he himself was already dead. Being generous to offer the young man a first knock down blow.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Ingrid L'lerim
​

Where Ingrid was always looking for that one strike to finish the fight, Zachariel sought to enjoy it. Blow for blow, shot for shot, strike for strike. That's what he wanted, a fight against an equal that wouldn't leave him bored, but rather exhilarated. She'd realize that and then they could fight, but running would simply ensure Zachariel went for those who couldn't flee. Face contorting into a snarl beneath his helm, Zachariel gazed at her with hate in his eyes.

"You are testing me, more specifically, my patience." Motioning once more down the hall, Zachariel growled his next sentence. "They would at least fight back, despite their hopeless odds. You've just run from me."

Eyes narrowed as she drew her weapons. It seemed she would finally respond and fight back, but looks can be deceiving. His grip on his sword just as tight, Zachariel took a moment to observe the weapons and Ingrid herself. His sword could go toe to toe with it, and he himself could break her. If she fought back and simply locked blades with him. Snarling at her taunt, Zachariel didn't respond. Instead, he allowed his senses to flare in the Force, at the same time he amplified his presence, becoming a spectral nightmare made manifest.

Sword held low, Zachariel stalked forward, eyes watching for any movement from Ingrid. He made no move to attack, simply stalking forward, every footfall a stomp, echoing down the corridors. Once close enough, Zachariel suddenly attacked, blade flashing in a myriad of attacks. Each was powerful, swift, but meant to only injure should they hit, and moreover, easy to be blocked. A test, to see if she would actually lock blades with him, respond in kind, or simply dodge and run.

 

[Maestus]

Through the hellfire she strode. Whatever poor soul had the distinct misfortune to cross her path was quickly dispatched with a slight flick of her wrist. Behind her followed the male Twi'Lek she had taken slave. He was vigilant about protecting his new Mistress. Blaster fire erupted about every 10 meters, mowing down those who sought to make a sly attack.

Onward she ventured further into the city. Towards the center. Towards the main sounds of battles.

Elsewhere, her marauders were faring decently. Of the 35 that began the invasion, 27 remained. They were savage and vicious. They reveled in the battle. They bathed in the blood of the fallen, wiping it over their chests and howling like wolves. They spared no one. Took no prisoners. Though more than 1 had a predisposition to taking trophies. Ears, fingers, teeth. Even an entire lower jaw was taken.

Her boots echoed on the ground as she entered. Her steps slowed as she watched Zachariel Steelblood and Ingrid L'lerim engaging with each other. Careful not to infringe or interfere, Maestus saw this as a brief opportunity to study them both. She knew Zachariel, albeit slightly. Ingrid, however, was someone she did not know. Maestus listened not just what was said, but was between the lines. Not the movements they each made, but instead what they didn't do.

Her study session was interrupted by a small band of guards that suddenly found their courage. Blaster fire ripped through the air around her and her new slave. Said slave dove behind a column, taking pot shots as best he could.

Maestus looked over, head tilting to one side, face emotionless. A raised hand and her saber was instantly in it. It all happened so fast, you could almost swear it activated in mid air. Fluidly, the purple plasma blade slid this way and that, deflecting the bolts back at the guards who fired them. Even new slave found a kill in the group.

She deactivated her saber, but kept it in her hand as she let her arm fall back to her side. Refocusing her attention, she turned back to Zachariel and Ingrid. She was fulfilling two purposes. Number 1, she was ensuring Zachariel was not taken by a sneak attack. And number 2, she was furthering her knowledge as she was ever the student.

She gave a motion with her hand and glanced to Twi'Lek slave man. He nodded once and intuitively understood. He hustled to the other side of the room, towards the doorway they had entered through. He bent to one knee and took a defensive posture, firing over and over.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Streets
Allies: TK-818 , Kyrel Ren
Enemies: Calruss Shiman, Vexari Kahl

The pain kept him focused, preventing him from drifting off into the oblivion of unconsciousness. Inch by inch The Mongrel dragged himself forward, hands formed into grasping claws, as the fire spread behind him. Colorful market stalls burned to ash, and the flames leapt up the sides of buildings, charring the duracrete walls and melting the metal vents and power conduits with their intense heat. Fire had become the ally of the Brotherhood in creating widespread destruction.

If it wasn't soon stopped, all of Black Spire Outpost would be flame-scarred and desolate.

As for The Mongrel, he knew he could not return like this, not even with his trophy ears. Any hint of weakness among the ranks of the marauders was brutally punished. If he was too injured to defend himself, to push back and bully others into submission, the rest of his days would be a living hell of torture and deprivation. He had to find some way to get back into fighting shape, and to claim more trophies before the raid was done. Dragging himself down a side street, he glanced up at a nearby sign and smiled.

The heavy doors of the droid depot were locked, but The Mongrel remembered the skills he had learned before the Maw had taken him. Forcing himself into a sitting position braced against the doorframe, he drew the knife he'd looted and pried off the door's control panel. It took him less than a minute to rewire the controls, and the door slid open. Sheathing the knife again, The Mongrel unslung the scavenged scattergun and held it at the ready, both hands fastened around it as he crawled forward on his elbows.

The droid depot was dark and cavernous, full of machine parts strewn across dozens of conveyor belts. The ominous hulks of inactive droids lined the walls, their glossy photoreceptors reflecting the sky outside - orange with fire and smoke. The Mongrel listened carefully, staring around at the darkness, for several heartbeats, then nodded. The owners must have fled, probably seeking refuge in Oga's Cantina. He had the place to himself. That meant no more trophies yet, but also uninterrupted work time.

Dragging himself to a workbench, the marauder forced himself up onto the cold durasteel, hissing in pain as his wounded leg buckled. It was the skills of his old life that he would use to save himself. Sifting through parts along the conveyor belts, he eventually found a silver protocol droid leg, one roughly the length of his own. He rummaged through the scattered tools for a few moments, finally finding what he sought. And then he set to work, moving as quickly as he could. He had to get back to the slaughter.

It took his some time to create, and it was far from perfect, but it would function. He had stripped out most of the leg's inner workings, leaving only the durasteel frame and joint, and widened it. Carefully he had fitted the makeshift brace around his own injured leg, encasing it from hip to ankle. It would support him, moving the pressure of each step away from his injured muscles and ensuring that his ravaged flesh did not buckle beneath him. He might walk awkwardly, but he would walk. It would have to do.

Pain lanced up his thigh as he stood from the workbench, but he stood nonetheless. The Mongrel smiled viciously at his little triumph... and then his gaze fell on something that made him smile all the wider. Across the room, leaning against one of the walls, was an old PLEX missile launcher. He strode over to it, starting to get accustomed to his newly-lopsided gait, and scooped it up, loading the ammunition into his satchel. Hoisting the weapon to his shoulder, The Mongrel headed for the depot doors.

It was time to hunt some AT-STs.

 

[Calruss Shiman]

Location: Black Spire Outpost.
Allies: Ingrid L'lerim Vexari Kahl
Enemies: Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood The Mongrel

Blaster fire and echoes of fighting bounced off the walls as he entered, indicating to the teen that the building was still under siege from the barbarians. One of them, who thought it was wise to fire him when he entered had a taste of his own medicine. With a quick flick of his wrist he deflected the fire back into his chest, sending him sliding across the blood soaked floor. For once in this battle, he took his time as he wondered through the various halls of the building, providing the same fate to those who chose the same path as his previous kill. Even to those who were guarding the building in the first place. Some guards mistook him for the enemy and suffered greatly for their misfortune, while others dared not to even fire as he walked past them with a deathly aurora. It was possible they were shocked from the state he was in, after all he went through hell and back to get to this point.

Ahead, a squad of guards turned a corner and began to fire on all cylinders at an individual in a doorway. They seemed to be doing well at first, but the four of them soon dropped like flies. Without stopping Calruss walked around the corner saber at side, unafraid by the Twi'Lek who began to fire a burst his way. He deflected away the first two then swiftly moved his head to the right to dodge another aimed for his head. Step by step he began to pick up the pace, his walk turning into a jog before transitioning into a full sprint down the corridor. The Twi'lek refocused his efforts on the teen who looked almost unstoppable as he came at him with blistering speed, weaving in and out of whatever he threw at him.

Calruss had to admit, the soldier had a good aim but it wasn't being used effectively against the teen, who made it look easy when he escaped his attempts. Unexpectedly, when he got close enough Calruss jumped forwards and kicked his left leg off the wall, launching him towards the slave with speed to catch the man off guard. He raised his lightsaber up high and brought it down onto his hand which gripped the blaster, looking to disarm him before gripping him with the force and flinging him down the corridor for the guards to take their revenge on.

 

[Vexari Kahl]

​

Vexari and those defending the barricades fought on valiantly. But the situation was rapidly deteorating. Support was needed urgently if they were to hold, and she had no idea how long it would be until her fleet returned to the system after being tied up defending the smuggler routes against potential threats.

Hope, however, was reignited. As the battle raged throughout the outpost, the sound of gunships arriving from above could be heard. As they touched down around the settlement, their armed passengers emerged. Wookie Warriors armed with bowcasters charged out from within to render aid to the innocents under attack by these vicious raiders. Vexari had quite a few friends on Kashyyyk, having delivered much needed supplies to their people in times of crisis, paying out of her own pocket. As such, she'd earned many life debts from their warriors, whom regularly stopped by to lend support whenever they were able.

Those debts were certainly being paid in full, as the Wookies fought courageously against the Brotherhood, exchanging powerful volleys of Bowcaster fire against them, with a few arms ripped off now and again. They were magnificent.

Calruss Shiman
Ingrid L'lerim
Kyrel Ren
Zachariel Steelblood
The Mongrel

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Equipment: The Soulsabers | Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Tag:: Zachariel Steelblood

"And you failed."

In addition, no longer responded to the man's words, she received his attention, the others were safe, for a while. It wasn’t that the woman didn’t like the fight because she loved it. But Ingrid was trained to find her opponent's weak point the fastest and end the fight. Loved the fights where it took a long time because her opponent was good too. The hardest part in this battle was not to reveal her true strength. Neither the physical nor what is in the Force. Her physique was very airy, she was more than 180 cm tall and 65kg or so for that. Her physique had such an effect that if someone looked at her, the red-haired woman would be crushed.

It was an appearance, she was no longer a human, the woman was faster and stronger than a human, not to mention better reflexes and rapid regeneration. Only very few knew about this, barely a handful of people. Maybe half a dozen. As Zachariel began to strengthen his presence in the Force, he didn’t even know what a great source of food he had become for the woman. There was quite a lot of fear, negative energy in the neighborhood, not to mention her opponent’s aura, Ingrid started using the consume essence so she could strengthen herself with it.

Not to reveal her greater physical strength - at least for now - so for the time being, just dodged, dancing aside from the attacks. Where she had to, blocked and pretended that the man was stronger than she was. However, Ingrid didn’t want to lose the other’s interest, so by implication, when she had the opportunity, attacked back. In these cases, with quick, graceful and elegant movements, tried to explore the man's weak points and find the weak points of the armour so that she could later strike down there, using Jar'kai style mixed with Makashi elements.

They were still just trying and testing each other…

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Ingrid L'lerim | Maestus | Calruss Shiman | Vexari Kahl | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren​

In the back of his mind, Zachariel felt and heard more coming. He noted Maestus appearing, though keeping her distance, he also heard the blaster shots picking up outside. It seemed her followers had come to reinforce his, or simply to commit their own slaughter. And the defenders were rushing to hold their tower, meaning they would run straight into the slaughter. Hopefully his followers would prove themselves, but for now, Zachariel had bigger prey to deal with.

Engaging her in combat, Zachariel noted with a delighted grin that she was finally fighting back. She was blocking some of his strikes, and striking at him. Zachariel for his part deflected the worst of it, but the ones that did pass through did negligible damage. At least on the surface, in the Force he simply let go of his powers. The gen'dai was by no means a master, he was simply alright with certain aspects of his craft. But using a sword, that didn't require the Force, it simply required the skill he'd honed over the centuries.

As such, inadvertently, he gave Ingrid less and less to feed on from him, as he let the Force simply leave him and instead focus on the fight itself. With that focus came a dark joy, even as they locked blades once more. Zachariel spoke then, voice filled with glee, voice rumbling with anticipation.
"I'm glad you've decided to fight, but I must ask, will it be enough?"

Then he accelerated. He was no longer testing her, no, he was now truly attempting to kill her. Were his techniques to be attributed to a lightsaber form, it would be to Form 7, Juyo/Vaapad, that it would be attributed. But in that same vein, it wasn't truly a technique, more an art style, skill, and endless experience that allowed Zachariel to attack as he did. Strikg after strike, all filled with that same vein of rage, hate, and a dark, perverse joy. Zachariel had boundless depths of the first two, coupled with millennia of combat experience, and he gladly embraced all he was.

As such, he attacked swiftly and with power, blows raining down like fire, even as a handful of counter attacks would be blocked, but most would simply be ignored or dodged as he continued onward. With time, they would add up to his armor, but he himself couldn't truly be hurt. He was gen'dai, and any wound regrew quickly enough, thanks in part to his genetic additions. Zachariel knew all this, but Ingrid would have to learn. And that thought caused Zachariel to give out a dark howl of joy and bloodlust, his attacks never ceasing.

 

[TK-818]

Location: Marketplace
Allies: Kyrel Ren | The Mongrel | Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: Aaran Tafo | Calruss Shiman | Everyone Else


A savage swing of his halberd parted through the air, the weapon twirled within his hands as he straightened his posture from his combative stance to one of passive interest. A loud thud thundered across the ground inaudibly, drowned out by the violence around them and the sounds of battle in the distance. The hand of his master had halted his aggression toward the interloper who dared come between the Ren and their prey, Sinh watched on as the Master of the Knights of Ren, Kyrel Ren , taunted his opponent into taking the first blow. He pondered to himself what the stranger, Aaran Tafo , would do. He continued to watch the beginnings of the eventual duel before turning his attention off in the direction of a nearby explosion. Lifting up his weapon he took his leave to investigate, certain his undead master would need little support in his endeavors.

The Knight of Ren vigilantly made his way through the broken marketplace toward the origin of the nearby explosion on the otherside near where the broken wall laid bare for the Brotherhood's initial entry. His cold, emotionless gaze sorted through the wreckage and nearby corpses left behind from the marauders' bloodthirst with almost disinterest. The raging fires around him matched the same fires that burned throughout the Black Spire Outpost from the horde of raiders, the only evidence of the struggle that took place being the scorched remains of two halves of a bowcaster. Kneeling down into the area, the Knight of Ren searched for any carbon tracks, prints, or trails of blood as he silently moved forward. The small droplets of blood guided his way, his weapon evened out in his arms horizontally and his steps deathly silent as they slowly pressed against the cold rock.

He moved at a steady pace with determined eyes, the trail led him toward a house. Pressing the tip of his halberd against a nearby window, he scraped against the glasteel and moved to the entryway. Positioning his blade forward, he entered into the home ready for whatever was to come next. To his disappointment there was no occupant inside, yet as he searched the house thoroughly he found where the source of the blood had been, where he had wrapped his wound. Sinh silently stared at the location with his weapon at the ready, his visor snapped quickly toward the exit from where he could only assume the occupant had left. The Knight of Ren made his leave, passing through the home to the outside where he would attempt to continue to track his prey. His eyes glanced off in the direction of the droid shop as he moved through the streets where he would see a face exit the building nearby.

The Mongrel was not a face he had seen before, nor one he cared to see. The Knight of Ren had little interest in the majority of the hordes at the Brotherhood's disposal yet there was something about the way this patched up warboy wielded the old missile launcher that caught his attention. Sinh stopped in his tracks, tilting his head for a brief moment as he witnessed the slave leave the droid shop. He made no attempt to engage in conversation, only watch and see what his ally would do with that kind of firepower. The ground shook slightly around them, his attention drifted the ground below in wonder what was causing such a thing?

 

[Thorald Magnusson]

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Allies: Ingrid L'lerim Calruss Shiman Vexari Kahl Aaran Tafo
Enemies: Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood The Mongrel

The sound of combat shook him from his slumber causing him to rise as he quickly donned his armor and began to hustle his ways towards the sounds of combat. Peering over the balcony of the building he was in he could see the combat below him. He quickly grabbed his sniper modification from his back and put it onto his blaster rifle. Mounting it to the railing he watched the fighting below, taking his time he slowed his breath. He saw the fighting and began to ring out sniper fire towards the combatants in the market.

His shots rang true, hitting members of the Maw as the ransacked the innocent and the men trying to defend the outpost. His gaze glancing over the corpses of the dead and dying as he made his way to his next target. The gleam off his black armor resembling much of his soul At this moment. All shot was one he had taken many times before on many planets with many people, and these people would end up the same, dead without an idea of what happened.

The screams of the people burning, the smell of the charred corps filled his nostrils, even the filter on his helmet couldn't keep the smells from coming in. The head from the blaze below reached even him in his high perch as he laid hell onto these men who acted as if they had come from the depths of the abyss. There was no anger, no fury from the man as he rested against the balcony. He fought for the survival of himself, if he didn't help thin out the mob of men attempting to take him down then he wouldn't be alive to reach the top of this unending climb to the top. The end goal and the dream of being never weak again was the only thing driving this man. His precision was unmatched across the battlefield the sound of his rifle piercing the sounds of the blaze.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Streets
Allies: TK-818 , Kyrel Ren
Enemies: Vexari Kahl , Thorald Magnusson

Between the weight of the PLEX launcher on his right shoulder and the stiff brace on his left leg, The Mongrel walked awkwardly as he left the droid depot. Yet he could not permit anything to slow him down, and he hobbled forward as fast as he could manage, seeking a vantage point. The ever-spreading flames, which the defenders of Black Spire Outpost had yet to do anything about, glittered in his eyes as he moved. Even if the Brotherhood didn't completely level this place, it would bear the scars of that blaze.

And it would be much emptier. The Maw had swallowed up its people.

The Brotherhood had certainly taken serious losses in the assault; a frontier planet like Batuu tended to be full of hardy, well-armed fringers, and many of them had gone down fighting. But that had been expected. The marauders didn't just kill, they captured. Dozens and dozens of Black Spire Outpost denizens had been dragged away in chains, to be tortured and remade - just as The Mongrel had been. It was how they kept their strength up across countless battles and raids; their captives replaced their losses.

If they could breach Oga's Cantina, they would take everyone inside.

The firelight illuminated a stairway leading up to a second-floor entrance, set on a balcony that overlooked the street. A perfect vantage point. The Mongrel limped up the stairs, his braced leg dragging a little behind him and jarring painfully with each step. Kneeling down on his good leg, he set the PLEX launcher to his shoulder and sighted out over the market. Out there, beyond the ever-spreading wall of flames his grenade had created, the marauder spotted his target: the squadron of mercenary AT-STs.

The two-legged walkers were ideal for this kind of fighting. They were armored enough to deflect small arms fire, well-armed for taking out clusters of infantry, fast enough to chase down retreating squads, and maneuverable enough to move easily down streets and alleyways. Other than the laser-sword warriors, they were probably the biggest threat to the forces of the Maw. Marauders were vicious and deadly in close combat, and could overwhelm any infantry position, but armored vehicles could cut them down.

Time to ensure that they could not halt the momentum of the horde.

Even though he'd firmly braced himself, with the barrel of the missile launcher resting on the stairway railing and the stock firmly against his shoulder, the weapon's first shot nearly blew The Mongrel from his feet. The missile itself went wide, slamming into a communications relay on a building next to the AT-ST squadron and vaporizing the dish. Hastily the marauder reloaded, fitting another rocket down the tube. The next time he wedged himself against the doorframe to resist the recoil.

His second shot slammed into the lead AT-ST, exploding the vehicle's cockpit in a burst of fire and durasteel fragments. The remaining walkers turned their armored faces toward him, opening up with their blaster cannons, but The Mongrel was already moving, limping and tumbling down the stairs as heavy laser bolts shredded the balcony behind him. He'd need a new vantage point to continue attacking, but the first part of the damage was done - he'd distracted the walkers from attacking his advancing allies.

The whine of engines overhead distracted him, and he rushed to the mouth of an alleyway to see what was happening. Several gunships were touching down outside Oga's Cantina, and new warriors were getting off of them - hulking, heavily-furred aliens with bowcasters and deadly-looking blades. The Mongrel had never seen a Wookiee before, but he could guess what they were. A twisted smile grew on his face. If he couldn't have the crimson blade as a trophy, claiming a Wookiee pelt would be the perfect way to show his strength.

The Mongrel considered shooting down a gunship, but decided to save his rockets for the walkers. The Wookiees had already landed, after all.

As the marauder headed up the street toward the cantina, looking for a new position to shoot the AT-STs from, he became aware of a third threat. Half a dozen Brotherhood troops had fallen in the street, pierced by sniper fire - and more were falling all the time. The Mongrel ducked into an alley, watching the incoming shots. Eventually he traced them back, following the path of the bolts to the tall building where Thorald Magnusson had made his sniper's nest. That marksman was becoming a serious problem for the advance.

Time to solve the problem. The Mongrel lifted the PLEX launcher to his shoulder, lined up a shot, and fired a high-explosive rocket right at the balcony Thorald Magnusson was shooting from...