Annihilation End of an Era: AC Annihilation of Korriban

[Vesta]

TELL ME IT'S A NIGHTMARE​

Fear was there - she saw it in her eyes, felt it in the force as it flowed from the archer's heart. Mortal fear, the sort of terror that came with realizing the mistakes made that led to a future that was all but unavoidable, brought up the corners of the Sith lord's lips; the reaction she'd gotten was precisely what she had wanted. The silence that followed her scream had been far more deafening than any noise she could have created on her own, even the flash of light and thunderous hum that came with the clash of their blades was utterly mute by comparison. That familiar emptiness, the twisted turning of the insides that guilt demanded, was unmistakable in the moment it reared its ugly head. She could empathize, if she wanted - but Vesta was dead, and so was her compassion. Like the Jedi, she didn't care.

All that lived on in her was spite.

Still, she could recognize where the concerns lied - it wasn't her apprentice the woman was after, not that the Sith would've let her get close to her even if her claims had been as genuine as the Jedi thought they sounded, but rather the girl's paramour. Aradia was just a means to that end. 'Like power, like trust. Tools.' She thought, her voice confirming the judgement she had reserved for the Corellian as an echo in the Shi'ido's mind. Humanity wasn't all there was she could blame, her hatred spanned to civilization at large at this point, but these manipulative traits seemed to be an inherent trait of the species - the unspoken urging to let the past, this past, go was as laughable as it was predictable.

In the grand scheme of things Mori was hardly able to claim to have more than a handful of years of experience in the galaxy, created in a glorified laboratory through the marriage of sith alchemy and bleeding-edge technology less than a half decade passed, but she had matured fast - she had to. Trust was a pointless endeavor, these people lied like they breathed, and care was a tricky thing - she could let so much go and have the smallest mistake held against her with standards that were increasingly unattainable. There was meaning between the lines here, with the outburst Allyson Locke gave, and it was a demand that the damage she'd caused be forgiven - forgotten - and that the girl's master simply step aside so she could wreak greater havoc on the young Aradia's life.

She felt the distinct crack of the Jedi's forehead against her own as she clenched her jaw tight, an arm shifting out from the center of her chest as the two limbs she had - and by proxy Allyson's - remained preoccupied in their saber-lock. A pale hand, a thin hand, reached out for the Jedi's throat as the arm it was attached to thrust out towards her, but its grip was intended to be made through the force and not touch - she knew she wouldn't be able to restrain herself from snapping the woman's neck if she could have wrapped her fingers around it. Still, she reeled, visibly, from the blow to the front of her face; the façade she'd fashioned for herself, for the purpose of terrorizing the woman as the monster society had deigned her to be, and the corpse-like guise melted away to reveal the face she'd been keeping hold of in the back of her mind.

One she'd envisioned for herself, the only thing she could call her own.

"We're all monsters in each other's eyes - and you are one of the most terrifying I've ever laid mine on." She spat, the fingers that numbered on the hand that had jutted out of her chest spreading as she chose instead to push the Jedi away rather than choke her like she'd wanted. "Nobody is going to forgive you, least of all me." Mori said with a snarl as she made a noticeable attempt to recede her vestigial limb back into her torso. The red that ringed her eyes burned as brightly as they had when she had arrived on the planet, but the anger etched into her face was incomprehensively less restrained - like the woman had seen something she shouldn't have, something the Sith wasn't willing to share quite so willingly. "I know what people like you are - my apprentice isn't going to be hounded by some poor excuse for a mentor as you."

"The girl isn't even on Korriban anymore - your words hurt her more than you know."

Murderous intent radiated from the dark circles that surrounded her eyes, but she didn't step towards her as she had earlier. "In time she'll learn from the same mistakes I made, and when you do find her - if you do - she's going to kill you herself." She insisted as she looked the Jedi over with disgust. "Dying now would be too good for you, living with the shame that both she and her paramour hate you is punishment enough."

"I would know."

She paused, considering something for a moment, and then gestured to the desert behind the Jedi.

"Get out of my sight, you aren't worth my time."

 

[Ishani Dinn]

A rumbling in the earth beneath their feet caused Ishani’s green eyes to widen. Bits of sand and stone trickled from the marble ceiling of the Royal Academy. Some of it landed in her hair, or dusted her shoulders, black on white.

The katana and lightsaber in her hands abruptly felt as heavy as lead, her grip slick with sweat. She stretched out with the Force, searching one last time for foes hidden behind the marble pillars, but the Academy was silent save for the crack of rock and adobe.

Seeing the structure begin to collapse around her, folding inward like a house of cards, she didn’t know what to feel. Sadness? Regret? Joy? Fear? Nothing seemed to fit. She was as empty as a hollow jug.

A major chapter in the book of her life was about to end. The classrooms where she had studied, the labs where she had experimented with alchemy, Arcturus’ sanctuary suite—all of it would be gone, the hours she had spent there condensed down to a matter of minutes as it was destroyed. But so would the basement chamber where Darth Maliphant had drugged and tortured her and the other acolytes, along with a whole host of other painful memories. Bullies had roamed these halls in search of prey; rivals had schemed in the shadows of the pillars; blackmailers and gossips had whispered in the alcoves. Perhaps this place should have crumbled a long time ago.

But this didn’t have to be the end of Ishani Sibwarra. There was still hope for her, right? Provided she got out of here alive.

“Time to go!” she exclaimed, hurrying past Aaran. Whether the Jedi followed her or not, she and her golem rushed toward the nearest exit, determined, at the very least, to survive.

Aaran Tafo Creuat Ishida Ashina Bernard​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Mori //:
//: G L I T T E R & G O L D //:

​

The push disengaged the Corellian from the Shi’ido; Allyson was thankful for this, especially now that her brain felt like it was doing cartwheels in her skull. Typically the weird limbs sprouting from all ends of the Sith Lord would have weirded her out, but after all this time - it seemed natural. The Sith did some weird stuff, and Allyson had been neck-deep into their territory more often than not. Things didn’t seem to phase her too much, not anymore.

Vesta’s shove caught her off balance, and she allowed the momentum to move her back into a tumble. A few revolutions later, Allyson caught her feet and stood, the saber at her side and all her limbs still attached. Unfortunately for her, if she lost a limb, she couldn’t just spout a new one from her chest like Mori.

“Jeez, I’m not that bad looking,” Poor humor, her defense mechanism. The words that were spat in her face stung more than anything Vesta could have done to her. At this moment, she would rather have the Sith rip her heart out and ignite it with fire. At least then, she wouldn’t have to listen to the rest of the speech, reminding her how terrible of a job she had done for Aradia and Zaavik.

Allyson rolled her shoulder’s back, feeling the strain already of the Force over-exerting her muscles. “Yeah, yeah, I hate myself too, nothing new. But you’re not the one I’m asking for forgiveness from.” Allyson scoffed; whoever this Sith Lord was, completely assumed their importance to her. “You’re just a wall in my way to try and do anything I can in my power to protect those two.”

Looking towards the desert, Allyson raised an eyebrow, “Am I boring you? Are you just going to let me just walk away and chase off after Aradia? She won’t kill me, I'm not trying to actually kill her.” Allyson remembered the brief moment, twice, possibly three times she had saved the acolyte’s life. Dark and Light never meant anything to Allyson; did her beliefs make her less of a Jedi? The thought was too heavy to even fathom at this moment. The danger was still everywhere, and the Sith’s actions were confusing.

Every red flag possible waved, and Allyson clipped her lightsaber’s hilt to her thigh and drew the bow once more. “She’s training under you; do you care for her? And you said her paramour - that means you know where Zaavik is as well.” Allyson didn’t care anymore what was happening; she was so close to Zaavik and Aradia - her heart ached.

“I made them a promise; I intend to keep it even if I’m a few years too late.” She didn’t draw the bow but stared back at Vesta.

“Who are you?”​

 

[Cass Gemini]

The crew were working well and efficiently in the damaged salvage. Cass strolled past some of the coaxium syphon, tapping on a gauge that was showing signs of age, better replace that before the next run, don't want any accidents.

"Where are we on the transfer?" Cass asked one of the techs, a large man with a tattoo of a kraken on his face, how fitting.

"Well, Miss, they have more than we can carry, the tanks of Midnight are now topped off and i would say, 70, maybe 80% of the cargo tanks are full, give me 5 minutes and we can unhook"

That was good news, she hated coaxium siphoning, the stuff was so dangerous and it was a good way to lose crew, but the stuff was so valuable it was worth the risks. "Great, let's get this stuff secured as soon as possible, i want to see what else they have."

Cass felt an unease in the air, different to the overarching darkness from the death around her. She closed her eyes and briefly silenced her communicator. If she concentrated she could hear dark whispers at the corner of her perception. Opening her eyes she said to her crew "take care, I dont think we are alone here, make sure our ship is secure"

She moved over to a terminal, carefully stepping over a highly volatile pipe on the floor, the helmet communicator didn't seem to want to interface with her own so her techs had set up a portable power supply to one of the damaged terminals. She needed to know if there was chatter on board, and specifically if any of it was about her and her crew. If the Maw knew they were here, that would obviously complicate matters.

She flipped through the logs, not a lot since the ship was incapacitated, nothing out of the ordinary a little chatter between Mawites trying to find each other on board and plotting revenges. She saw a logged incoming communication from the Ashlan Grand Admiral, she watched the holo of Isla Draellix offering mercy. A wry smile appeared on her face, "huh? good for you," she said very quietly to herself, grimacing a little at the nasty wound on the admiral's forehead. "You've given me an idea"

She started to plan, press ganging was always delicate, and the Mawites were famed for their dedication to their own cause, she could offer them money, glory and freedom of religious expression amongst her crew, it might not speak to all of them, but if a few wanted a way off of this wreck it would be handy to have a few skilled warriors on the payroll. She would need to word her offer well but also plan for any traps the Maw may lay.

​

 

[IVI]

THE ENDANGERED DIRECTOR
CORUSCANT | SIA HEADQUARTERS
SAND

The Director hated The Brotherhood of The Maw.

Many things made her seethe, but it was only the Marauders that had destroyed her homeworld that made her show it. As soon as the reports had come in that The Alliance fleets were engaging with The Brotherhood, The Director had been on the edge of her seat. Leaning in to scrutinize play by plays, watching placidly as streams of data were fed in by defence force personnel.

There was a slight delay in the relay of information, but when The Ashlan fleet tasted the first bite of wrath from the superpowered, she'd audibly hissed. Agents receiving the transmissions recoiled, glanced to one another, and went back to their work until ––

"Madame Director, we have an incoming transmission from The Morai."

Without a word, M's crimson eye contact struck a cold fear through the specialist and they immediately followed up the original announcement with an explanation.

"The Brotherhood's destroyer, the one that attacked the Ashlan fleet made a jump out of the system." The Bothan continued, handing over a datapad for her to review while he spoke.

"Probe ships were sent out at the beginning of the engagement. They seem to have intersected the coordinates for the jump's destination."

In silence, M considered these implications. The Vice-Chancellor had collected this data and seen fit to have it sent right to the SIA. The Brotherhood was returning back to a safe space after a tussle, which meant they were either exhausted, out of fuel or ––

–– whatever it was. The Galactic Alliance and their allies had a finite window of opportunity to strike.

---

---

​

ALLIES | GA | Aerarii Tithe
FOES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW

 

[Darth Petrichor]

Darth Petrichor: The Dark Heretic

Allies: Ashlan Crusade & friends

Enemies: Brotherhood of the Maw, Sith, etc.

Interacting with: Ingrid L'lerim

Loadout: Dual curve-hilted lightsabers, armorweave suit, beskar mask

Petrichor could feel the tension finally easing between them, which would be useful if they were to traverse the Netherworld together. He nodded his head at her comment about the barbarism taking place above.

"Yes, uncivilized indeed. My only wish is for my former apprentice to see the day through. He is leading my forces above. I sense his presence, but there are many uncertainties in a battle of this magnitude. Despite this, I have faith that he will find a way to succeed."

Though they had many disagreements through the years, Petrichor had always seen Jorel as his natural heir. The Chiss was the perfect student, always taking care to follow the tenets of Petrichor's teachings. Even more than that, he was a thinker. Though Petrichor was unsure if Jorel would ever accept, he still looked forward to the day that he would ask.

"I have not been to the Netherworld, but I have studied it. I am aware of its size. If we get there, I can lock on to my former master's Force signature."

He watched attentively as Ingrid proceeded with her ritual. In his studies he had become fluent in Ur-Kittat, so he made sure to memorize each word as they spilled from her lips. He knew not if there would be more required to replicate the ritual, but he would be sure to do further research once he returned home.

"Perhaps you will find what you are looking for as well, Lady Ingrid."

Jorel Kaan: Commander of the Petrite Host

Allies: DECEASED Aron Gowrie , Mikhail Grayson , Damsy Callat , Hiran Avola , Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran , Aemilio Valaar , AC

Enemies: The Mongrel , Tegan Starfall , Chasianna , Alars Keto , Laertia Io , BotM, Sith

Loadout: Dual curve-hilted lightsaber, armorweave jacket

The bombers came in for a third run, looking to cut the Petrite forces apart once again. Jorel looked to the skies, anticipating the attack. His forces had no cover, nor an effective method of defense. He cursed under his breath, struggling to find a solution. Then, a moment of clarity...

"Exalted, shield our brothers! Turn these missiles against those that send them!"

With those words, many of the Exalted lifted hands in the air, joined by Jorel himself, calling out to the Dark Side as one. As they did so, a shield grew from their hands. It wouldn't be enough to save all of the Troopers, but it would protect a large portion of their remaining force. With any luck, the missiles would crash against the shield, and the enemy fighters would find themselves flying into their own explosions.

As they held the shield, Jorel could feel his body aching. The damage he had sustained in his fight against Khazzak left him in less than optimal shape, and though his rage continued to fuel his power, the Petrite commander couldn't help but to wonder how long his luck would last...

As long as it was long enough to win the day, he would consider the energy well spent.

​

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Location: a distant tomb

Engaging: Brimstone

Loadout: lightsaber, Mandalorian armor, Regret

Khamul laughed in the wake of the Gen'dai's attempts at damaging his ego. To a lesser Sith, such insults may have garnered a rash response. Sith hubris was well-known throughout the galaxy, after all...

But Khamul was no normal Sith.

"We did not meet, but I felt you there. I did meet your comrade Renair Naki, however. I watched him fade to nothing as I took his life upon the fields of Ninn."

His opponent's troops hit Khamul with a barrage of attacks, but the Mandalorian simply held up a hand, channeling the Dark Side as the bolts and explosions crashed against an invisible shield.

"Perhaps you will join him."

With those words, he sent out a wave of Force energy, hoping to knock back his opponents.

"I have never killed a Gen'dai. Maybe you'll be the first!"

Khamul charged toward the enemy forces, ready to test his mettle against this new threat. If he were to win, he would once again prove his place as the Right Hand of Death. Should he fail, then at least he would know that he died well.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Korriban, Mawite Excavations
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Tegan Starfall
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Darth Petrichor

Northeast: The Petrite Front
​

At last, the enemy showed some initiative, some real spine. After all, Ajax didn't want to have to explain to the Avatars in the hereafter that he had just been racking up the easy kills in his final moments, without any real challenge. On the ground, the black-armored Exalted reached out with the Force, forming a barrier against the last of the missiles... and bursting them in midair, rather than on their intended ground targets. Ajax's two wingmates had just finished launching, and that cost them dearly. Power flashed, missiles detonated, and two of three Divine Eagles fell.

The bulky fighter-bombers smashed into the hillside below.

They had died well, reaping a foe that was not so helpless after all. But Ajax still remained, the last Knyght, and he was out of missiles anyway. Perhaps he would be among the final Mawites on Korriban, for the honor guard below had died almost to the last already, overrun by Galidraani tanks and borne down by the weight of Woad and Tuath fury. Whatever time he had left, he intended to use it well, expanding his tally of dead heretics in the Avatars' sight. He wheeled his starfighter once again, turning in the air at the top of Mongrel's Hill, and then raced back down the slope.

His guns blazed as he went, laser and beam cannons firing freely, doing his best to rip apart the oncoming Petrite troops. He couldn't do anything about the fact that the NIO had reached the hilltop, but he made a solemn vow before the dark gods: that so long as he lived, no crimson-armored soldier would touch the excavation's upper rim. He would wheel above the hill again and again, fighting to blast apart any who attempted that final stage of the climb. He was now the last guardian of the northeast slope. In order to conquer it, the Petrite forces would have to go through him.

-------------------------------------

The Excavation
​

The skies were dark now, the light of Korriban's weak, distant sun obscured by the growing storms that raged above Mongrel's Hill. Glow rods set into the walls of the excavation pit, intended to activate only at night, suddenly flickered on as they detected the lengthening shadows, bathing the entire scene in an eerie green glow. The color clashed with the reddish illumination of the rising magma, which had begun to completely fill the pit's bottom. Surely this was a sign of the end, an omen of destruction... but for whom, or what? Would The Mongrel fall, or his foe?

Or was this a sign of the doom of Korriban itself?

The Mongrel's lunging ploy paid off, even against the quick and skillful reaction of the Lord-Colonel; the tip of his warblade caught Gowrie in the stomach, and blood flowed. The marauder grinned. It was not a fatal wound, or even a disabling one, but it would pain and distract his opponent with every movement. Of course, they were too evenly matched for that stroke to go unanswered. Gowrie suddenly switched hands, tossing his rapier to his uninjured left, and pushed in close. With a quick roll of his wrist he batted away The Mongrel's warblade and brushed past his right side.

The rapier slashed out as the Lord-Colonel passed, and the marauder felt the sting of the blade as it whispered across his right leg. The sword was so sharp that you almost didn't feel the wound, cut so clean that it took several seconds to begin to bleed. The Mongrel's leg nearly buckled beneath him, and then the pain came, and the realization. No arteries hit, as those were beneath the inside of his leg, but the corded muscle of the outside had taken a wound... one that would inhibit his ability to maneuver. The Mongrel hissed. He would have to remember that now.

He wouldn't be able to charge or evade too swiftly.

The Mongrel's riposte was a vicious backhand, one that utilized the full breadth and weight of his broadsword. It was nearly a decapitating stroke, but Gowrie was still quick, and threw himself beneath it... in the same kind of crouch that The Mongrel had used to wound him only a few moments earlier. They were learning from each other, these two, learning to become more fearsome warriors with each attack, parry, dodge, and counter. The battlefield, to them, was the ultimate classroom, for only its lessons - where a single misstep was fatal - could push them to such greatness.

Gowrie retreated five paces, putting some distance between them; with his leg wound, The Mongrel was in no position to swiftly pursue. He watched attentively as the Lord-Colonel stripped off his jacket, revealing a collection fo scars to make any Mawite proud - for what was a scar, if not proof of endurance in a battle against a worthy foe? If The Mongrel died here, if this was his last contest, then the scar of the wound he'd cut into Gowrie's abdomen would be a part of his legacy - a reminder to the Galidraani officer that he had faced an enemy of great skill and brutality.

Gowrie made a good point about armor, one that churned in The Mongrel's mind as he considered it. Only the clothes on his back... that was how the marauder had begun, too, but it hadn't lasted long. He had taken a lightsaber wound in his first raid, the attack on Black Spire Outpost, a wound that had led to the metal brace he still wore on his left leg. From there it had been a steady process of armoring up. He'd added a breastplate on Jakku. His ribs had been replaced with metal on Mar'Zambul. His arms and face had been durasteel-ed up after his wounds on Enenpa.

He had changed so greatly. What would be next?

The Mongrel shrugged off his own jacket, then shed the breastplate beneath, letting the garments fall in a heap beside him. He too stood bare-chested, though the sight was much different. His flesh was truly ruined, a curling patchwork of burns and blade scars. Where his pale flesh was visible, the dark metal of the ribs beneath showed through. At the joining of his cybernetic arms and his torso, ragged skin gave way to harsh durasteel. The same was true at the base of his throat, where the grafted metal that covered his neck, face, and half of his skull was bolted on.

"I am becoming my armor, Gowrie," The Mongrel said, and for the first time his voice was faintly wistful... even remorseful. "I swear to kill you clean, so that you'll avoid this fate."

The marauder watched in silence as the Lord-Colonel disposed of the stimms, letting them burn in the magma far below. Gowrie was right; it was time to finish this. One last pass, and their destinies would be decided. The Mongrel bled from the leg, leaving him slowed and stiffened. The Galidraani bled from the chest, and fought with his off-hand. Both had a disadvantage that could prove decisive. Perhaps Gowrie would be the winner, returning to the victorious NIO units on the hilltop in triumph. Perhaps The Mongrel would win out, only to face the likelihood that there was no escape.

Perhaps they would both die as Gowrie said, blades in hand.

"Again, one last time," The Mongrel agreed, saluting the Lord-Colonel with his blade. Then he came on, slow and methodical, his right leg unsteady beneath his metal-infused weight. Closing the distance, he came in with a high, sidelong swipe, trying to force Gowrie into a high parry that would lock their blades. Then it would be just warrior against warrior, man against man, as they pushed to determine whose blade would sink in. Perhaps his greater strength and heavier blade would give him the advantage. Perhaps his weakened leg and Gowrie's speed would steal it from him.

All around the duelists, new ravines tore open, and lava - the blood of Korriban itself - bubbled forth. The Mongrel was forced to acknowledge a third possibility: that the tectonic chaos would either consume them both or force them apart. Scaffolds were collapsing, mining explosives were bursting in the heat, excavators were tipping into the pit as the ledges they sat on crumbled. Mongrel's Hill was swiftly becoming a volcano, and it could easily become both warriors' tomb through no merit or flaw of either of them. What would fate decide? The marauder did not know.

Was it his day of dying? Would he be delivered to paradise?

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Korriban System, Drifting Wrecks
Tags: Cass Gemini

Bit by bit, the fuel that had carried the Hollow Heart into battle flowed out through the salvage crew's hoses. This was a good payday, an easy commodity to turn into money; everyone everywhere needed starship fuel, and this was solid, military-grade stuff... if a little messily mixed. A chemical engineer who looked closely at it would find that it had clearly been produced in a refinery with haphazard safety protocols, though the minor impurities that had crept in simply made it burn a little hotter. Out in the black markets of the Outer Rim, no one would ever notice the difference.

Suddenly, the helmet communicator Cass had grabbed flared back to life, letting out a brief burst of static. The sound did not carry through the airless void of the depressurized engineering section, but the scavenger captain could hear it through her helmet's systems, interfaced with the Mawite comm. There were no words, and it took her a moment to realize what the strange, eerie sound she was hearing actually was. It was breathing, harsh and quick, the breathing of a wounded man... or perhaps one who was quickly running out of oxygen. That sound could mean only one thing...

The crew of the Midnight Kyber wasn't alone on the Heart after all.

Somewhere on the wrecked frigate, in one of the still-pressurized sections, someone was alive. A Mawite marauder? A desperate slave? Someone - or something - else entirely? It was impossible to know for sure. The helmet communicator went dead after only a few seconds of the sound. It was likely coming from inside one of the cargo bay sections. If Cass wanted to enter and investigate, she'd have to do it extremely carefully, using the ship's umbilical; otherwise, opening the bay would unceremoniously blow whoever was in there out into space as the cargo hold suddenly depressurized.

But maybe it was better to leave well enough alone where the Maw was concerned...

 

[Cass Gemini]

Location: Salvaging inside the Hollow Heart
Tags: Tu'teggacha

Cass was briefly startled as the radio crackled to life, she rolled her eyes at herself, you spend years salvaging ghost shis and the jump scares still got you from time to time. She struggled to make out anything from the sound other than a general location and some sharp breathing. This left her with a decision to make, investigate the message or continue as if she never heard it. The selfish side of her, then side that made her the pirate she was said move on, but the human side couldn't ignore it, worried about the day she would be the one gasping for air and begging for rescue in the void. She laughed coldly, she supposed the loot in the cargo bay could pay of her selfish side today.

"We done here?" She asked. "We need to head to the cargo bay, looks like we might have someone in there and I want to see who." The crew knew better than to question her orders, the Coaxium transfer was complete, the only shame being they didn't have more storage tanks.

"We need to enter from the outside, the pressure difference looks to high to breach from in here safely" reported one of her techs. "Good work," she replied, it also made sense that breaching from the umbilical made it easier to control the situation if it was something unsavoury in that bay.

They all headed back to the umbilical, Cass would wait here as the ship repositioned along with some of her crew. As she waited, the siphon team passed her back into the Midnight Kyber, she was pleased with their work today. Then three very large repulsor trolleys approached, only just narrow enough to enter the umbilical. On each of them was an intact ion cannon and spare components for each one. "Nice work," she smiled, counting the credits on those trolleys in her head, she kneeled down by the third, "this one already damaged when you unhooked it?" She asked, looking at a large horizontal scrape and small tear in the metal covering. "No miss," replied the pirate nervously, "little incident in the corridors." That was irritating, probably would cost them a thousand credits off the market price. "You're lucky this score has me in a good mood, but it has been noted." She replied sternly.

Minutes later the ship uncoupled from the and from Cass's perspective, the Maw ship drifted away and began to slowly rotate, although she knew well enough that it was her own ship that was moving. The Heart stopped spinning and slowly moved towards her again, allowing the umbilical to reattach on the underside of the hull where the cargo section was. On the wall was a small dial and Cass used it to set the pressure in the umbilical just a touch higher than the pressure in the cargo bay, meaning air would flow slowly in to the bay rather than out once it was breached.

This was the risky moment she guessed, as she triggered the breaching laser, cutting into the Mawite hull and granting the Pirates access.

​

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW


​

The ferocity of his assault had not been lost upon his enemies, frozen in the moment the Lord of Ession had been locked in place as the thunderous crimson bolts flickered and roared in his direction. For a split second, it appeared doom would triumph over hope. That moment was a fleeting one, an instance of hesitation that while taken in an quick advantageous way had ultimately been taken from him. The bold, courageous placement of Auteme and her powerful barrier between Cedric Grayson and the Dark Lord momentarily stopped his attempt at a hammer blow to the battle.

He felt it then. The true blow to the Lord of Ession and to all the Jedi as the weapon finally fired it’s superlaser. Thousands of lives cut short in an instant, he drank it in. The suffering of the Jedi was more than intoxicating, the sorrow of such catastrophe while pale in comparison to Csilla’s destruction was but a taste of what was to come.. and oh was it so wonderful to feed on. To consume the essence that was the Dark Side, the bolster one’s self from the negative emotions and death around them, to draw power directly from the source, the crux of power behind him that rippled and tore at the fabric of reality. This was what was like to hold fate in the palm of your hand, the scalpel of creation, the tools… of a demi-god.

If only Darth Vinaze was here to see it all.

The ‘Great River’ of the Force darkened and twisted, a crimson Ichor that resonated from the mass influx of death and pain. The portal to the Dark Side reacted in kind with ripples and hungry waves, like a sentient beast gnawing at the surface of reality waiting for it’s next meal. The Dark Lord continued his assault as the barrier ate away and reconstituted itself with each volley of lightning. The Elder was impressed, Romi Jade quickly took to the defense ready to hold off the entirety of the chamber from Dakrul and the Palatine Guard to Maestus who began an assault of her own upon the psyche of Auteme . The valiant effort to resist and stand together, three Jedi in the heart of darkness, was not lost.

The Sith’ari spat in anger as his right hand joined in unison with the left, his words echoed with resentment and an almost haunting echo of the past made present. “STAND TOGETHER! DIE TOGETHER!”

The chamber boomed as his hands roared forth a storm of crimson bolts, two hands unleashing the full might of the Dark Side upon his enemies. The Dark Lord let loose a unholy growl, a utterance of the demonic made manifest in this most foul avatar of Bogan. He would allow no further delay, he would destroy them here and now.

The sulfuric eyes of Darth Solipsis rose in the midst of his onslaught, the startling sensation of unified light. A burgeoning wave of Ashla’s warm embrace washed over the landscape in small ripples and built upon one another as they progressed. The Jedi were attempting something, the Light scorching at all those who would follow the Dark into the shadow of pain. He felt the stinging of it’s touch, the guiding light that would wash away the shadow and at it’s center Pietro Demici and his companions.

Korriban could not be cleansed, it was a husk of their doing, a monument to the Dark Side and the homeworld of the Sith. What could they possibly hope achieve here?

“What game are you playing, boy?”

Cedric reached a hand toward the sky, and so too reached out toward the cardinal, grasping toward the Light when everything else had been obscured by senselessness. The Dark Lord’s eyes widened, his senses flooded by the sudden emergence of the Light. The Lord of Ession’s weapon, the Blade of Ruusan reacted to the connection of Light, springing to life once more. A deep burning gold pulsating with the energies of the Ashla echoed forth, he could hardly look upon it’s source without feeling an overwhelming sensation of pain burn away at his essence.

A deep gold shine glowed forth from the eyes of the Exile, the energies of the ritual flowing into the Blade of Ruusan as if it were a conduit, and into Cedric Grayson . He shone with a bright light that neared what ancient Jedi described as Oneness. The fabled state achieved in the annuals of history according to legend by Jacen Solo and Luke Skywalker. It couldn’t be..

“…can it?”

The Dark Lord roared a guttering battle cry as his voice distorted and bellowed forth. His flesh rippled in waves as it faded into the metaphysical, his body began a faint outline a visible manifestation of the darkness that ate him from the inside out and spat him back out into the galaxy. An unholy plague, a disaster upon the Light, a scourge, a terror… a Sith’ari.

​

The Blade of Ruusan pointed in the direction of the Dark Lord and his tear in the fabric of reality, the direct link between the realm material and the Dark Side itself. The Dark Lord halted his onslaught altogether as a manifestation of his hatred and inner darkness expelled from his body in a sickening crimson black Ichor. The Light tore away at his form, the portal, the Darkness inside continually revitalizing his form as it did. The Dark Lord accepted the challenge, a true duel between Light and Dark.

“Time to join your father.”





Cedric Grayson | Auteme | Romi Jade | Pom Stych Tivé | Maestus | Dakrul | Taeli Raaf

​

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Korriban System, Drifting Wrecks
Tags: Cass Gemini

Professions like salvaging are dominated by two conflicting expressions: "discretion is the better part of valor" and "no guts, no glory". You could usually make enough money to keep your ship running if you stayed to the least risky types of salvage, only going after cold ships and staying away from valuable but unstable components like reactors, hyperdrives, and weapon systems, but you'd only be breaking even... and sometimes not even that. If you wanted to make the big credits, enough to keep your crew comfortably fed, to maintain your ship and gear well, and to occasionally go out for fancy drinks...

... well, you needed to take some risks. But take too many, and boom.

The Midnight Kyber had brought on as much fuel as it could carry, and that was a solid payday, enough to cover their costs in traveling here and the crew's wages for the run. The ion cannons added to that nicely, enough for a couple of minor ship upgrades or a few weeks' worth of fancy dinners. But if they wanted to turn a solid payday into a great payday, they needed to get a little more ambitious... and Cass was willing. So the Kyber repositioned itself, letting the Heart drift into the right spot to breach that one pressurized cargo bay. The umbilical extended and latched on. And then, the moment of truth.

The breaching laser cut cleanly through the Mawite ship's underbelly, and wind whipped Cass's hair from behind as pressures equalized across the two atmospheres. Although there was still some - increasingly stale - air inside the cargo bay, artificial gravity was long gone, and the metal plating cut out to form an improvised door drifted weightlessly into the darkened hold. All the lights had been knocked out when the ship's power had died, but the glow from the entrance revealed a number of crates floating around inside - crates marked as munitions. Jackpot. This must be storage for the frigate's concussion missiles.

Valuable salvage, but also dangerous. Better not drop anything.

Of course, there was no telling what else lurked inside the cargo bay. With fresh air flowing in from the Midnight Kyber, and the stale atmosphere of the derelict ship now processed by the salvage vessel's air scrubbers, whoever - or whatever - was in here wouldn't suffocate. There were a thousand dark corners for it to hide in, and it hadn't moved toward the light when the Kyber's crew had cut their way in. Grabbing the munitions crates would mean going into the dark, exploring a little... and probably finding out exactly what had made those breathing noises. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all.

 

[Cass Gemini]

Location: Salvaging inside the Hollow Heart
Tags: Tu'teggacha

Cass passed through the hole first, pushing two glow rods out ahead of her to illuminate the room a little better. The rods cast eerie shadows across the cargo bay, with floating cargo making strange shapes across the walls. She gently floated in, she ignited one of her light sabers as a precaution. It glowed red in her hand, only adding to the strange light show.

Moments later her crew followed her in. The air read as breathable so Cass risked clicking the latch on her helmet, allowing the face visor to spring open, it stank in here, the scrubbers were very clearly offline.

She could feel a presence, but wasn't strong enough to narrow it down, maybe if she was a jedi, she laughed. If she was a jedi she would probably be carving a path through her crew right now as punishment for some slight against the wrong senator.

With her visor up she could hear the moaning of the ships hull, it was approaching the perigee of its decaying orbit and the forces were pulling hard in the damaged hull, it sounded like whale song. "Jeez, this place smells like your bunk!" Came a voice from behind her as two pirates wrestled with a crate of munitions. Cass didn't even turn but raised her hands to shush them.

"Who ever is in here, do you hear that noise? You know what that is don't you. In about an hour this ship will touch the atmosphere for the first time, it might survive, it might not. After that you have at most two more orbits before this ship becomes a fireball in the Korriban sky," she paused a moment to let that sink in "now, raider to raider, you know how it is, I just want your cargo, I dont bear any ill will to you and can offer you safety if you come peacefully with me and my crew. Its up you"

She held her saber ready and drew her blaster pistol with her other hand as she eased herself slowly, further into the cargo bay. She heard cursing from behind her as her crew continued to wrestle with the crates "will you idiots please be careful with those explosives"

​

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

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

Side: Attacker
Objective: Save Sith artefacts; try to save Adrian
Location: Valley of the Dark Lords, Korriban
Equipment: 2x Striith vibrosword | The Soulsabers | Brynja coat and hat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: Darth Petrichor

[ Last Days… ] ​

Ingrid said nothing about whether the man had a chance up there or not. At the moment, it was more the negative response that was most likely. Especially if Voracitos starts to do what he’s here for. Then there’s really nothing, not even the animals surviving the ritual.

"If he stays up there, he is unlikely to survive. If Voracitos starts, what he's used to, he devours every soul. Perhaps it would be best if you issued an evacuation order. In light of what will come, this is not cowardice." she said.

She nodded to the next; most of the people were like that. Apart from the consequences of Omni’s actions, there were few ways to get there. The witches were the ones who were best in this and the necromancers. How happy Adrian would have been if he had known the woman could walk through there, and so he could have gone more often. He was able with his folly, only he had no escorts who would have led him. Ingrid learned the rules of that place alone. She had to.

"It then turns out how successful it is because the Nether works differently than Realspace." she said.

She continued her hand gestures and words, and not far in front of her a rift began to open in the fabric of space and time, through which it was already possible to see through to the Netherworld, and the fissure was constantly widening as she continued the words and movements. This was the end of the task now, so she could answer the man's words. As time passes differently in Nether, chances are she has spent years and decades researching the solution. So far ineffective; but as Shadow-born at least she didn’t have to care about the years.

"Thanks, but I haven’t got an answer over there so far, and I don’t think anyone can answer that question. I've been investigating a lot of places after answering…"

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Korriban System, Drifting Wrecks
Tags: Cass Gemini

Shadowy places got a lot less scary when you had a lightsaber.

As the crew of the Midnight Kyber ventured into the darkened cargo bay, gradually illuminating the room, strange combinations of colors played over the drifting munitions crates. What would they be worth on the black market? A single missile retailed for a cool 200 credits, and each crate looked pretty well-stocked, so there were probably tens of thousands of credits worth of ammo in here. If the crew could recover them all without causing an explosion. If they were all intact, and of at least average quality. If the right buyer showed up when Cass tried to sell them. If they weren't confiscated in port.

Salvaging was a business full of ifs, few of them easy to manage.

The more pressing question, of course, was the source of the breathing the pirate had heard over the Mawite comms. She could indeed sense something, but the waves of anguish washing over the Korriban system in the wake of the devastating battle made perception through the Force blurry at best. It was like getting shampoo in your eyes, making them painful to open... and throbbing a little even while they were shut. The deaths of hundreds of thousands of people in the span of an hour had left a wound in the Living Force, one that radiated pain into the minds of those sensitive to such things.

It would be quite some time before that wound became whole.

Cass made her offer, and as she finished speaking, she caught sight of a form moving out of the shadows: a tall, emaciated-looking Anomid. His armor marked him as raider rather than slave. "A generous offer," he said, drifting forward in the zero-g hold. His mask, worn by all of his species when away from their homeworld, oddly distorted his speech. "But I have a better one." From behind his back he revealed an armed thermal detonator, just waiting for him to take his thumb off the dead man's switch. If it went off, the chain reaction would blow the entire compartment, and probably the umbilical too.

"Your ship will return me to Brotherhood territory, and we all get to live."

 

[Bernard]

Go wash the hand that still betrays thy guilt;
Before the spirit’s gaze what stain can hide?
Abel’s red blood upon the earth is spilt,
And by thy tongue it cannot be denied;
----
Inside the Academy
Getting out of here​

Allies: GA, AC, NIO, Ishida Ashina
Enemies: BOTM, TSE, Sith​

Timer's Running
(It's 2 am I'm getting this post out for continuity, I'm so sorry)​

Bernard blinked himself back into the library, suddenly no longer running through some corridors in another portion of the academy.

What was that? Whose memories were—did I imagine all that?

“N--no," his answer came faint, almost too quiet to hear.

Ishida lost her grasp on the sword she'd used to summon the visions, and it clattered onto the stone, sharply striking the ground several times before it finally came to rest. Its wielder had collapsed onto her knees next to it, gaze fixated on the acolyte before her. She didn't look well at all. Whatever had transpired had shaken her deeply. Her eyes, full of fear just moments prior, came back to Bernard, and he felt for a moment he should do something to help her, but a low rumbling echoed through the academy.

Stone cracked above and the library began to shake, while pebbles and dust puttered to the floor. The academy was coming undone. All around the library voices sounded as soldiers began to rally into broken squads with whoever had survived. They were already discussing their way out of here. One broke from her formation and hurried to Bernard, as he stood over the Acolyte.

"Master Jedi, the academy's collapsing you need to get out of here. Blue squad called for a medivac, you need extraction?" The Sergeant asked.

"No, Sergeant, we have our own way out. But you'll have to take the prisoner with you. Don't worry, she's harmless with those cuffs," Bernard indicated the acolyte's bound hands.

The soldier gave a sceptical look, but the sudden rumble that ran through the library snapper her out of her consideration.

"Alright, sir, good luck."

"May the Force be with you, Sergeant."

The Sergeant ducked down next to the acolyte, whispering a threat to the acolyte to not try anything, and yanked her to her feet by the bindings. With a final salute, they were off.

Bernard turned to Ishida, kneeling down next o her.

"We've got to move, Ishida. The academy's crumbling, and..." he watched her for a moment, silent, with worry. He exhaled his focus, and, with a softer voice, continued, "look, I'm sorry about all of this, but we need to get out of here to stay alive."

He picked up the sword, placing a hand on Ishida's shoulder to shake her gently.

"You hear me?"

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

9TH POST
CLEAVER
KORRIBAN
OBJECTIVE 2: BLOODSOAKED VALLEY

Galidraani Forces: Enedina Tal Hiran Avola DECEASED Aron Gowrie Fiolette Fortan

Allies (NIO): Rurik Fel Aemilio Valaar

Allies (AC/GA/EE/SJC/PO): Lonnie Kai Dagon Kaze Damsy Callat
Ingrid L'lerim Starlin Rand Aelina Corsanis
Darth Petrichor Creuat Mikhail Grayson Sergeant Omen

Enemies (Sith Remnants): Vector Monk Laertia Io Anja Doreva Darth Orcus
Chasianna Ana Malixar Caulder Dune
Dis Darth Voracitos Crane Baxa

Enemies (BOTM/NSO): The Mongrel Alars Keto Tegan Starfall

TANGO DOWN: GALIDRAANI SPECIAL-FORCES ON KORRIBAN XVII - ON THE DYING HORIZON

​

War was usually Hellish at best in the Galaxy, but none in the XT-62 or the repurposed APC felt like they were in Hell, quite the contrary, especially when the relief was allowed to wash over them for a while, completely changing their mood as the small group of Wildcats and Red Jackals set to repairing the two vehicles and to readying themselves for the next round of combat. Exchanging words of encouragement with each other, all the playing-pieces in that successful last-ditch action would find themselves completely surprised as to how well it had went for them, though a few stray shots in their direction had resulted in a sweep of the area to make sure; finding blades among them belonging to quite a few dead Special-Forces personnel that only served to increase their confidence in the task going forward, seeing for themselves that throwing caution to the wind would win the day, the two-vehicle contingent would plan their next attack with a near-childlike sense of reasoning. Scott would jump out to meet them, weighing in with,'If they're going to make a point of punching holes in our line, why don't we try punching a gap or two in theirs-', before being interrupted by the Wildcat medic.

'-Speaking of which, sir. Looks like they've punched a hole in your,"Line", as well.... Yup! You're definitely coming back to the ward with us, sir.'

'Where, though?', the Guard-Captain asked, more than a little sceptical until his legs gave out underneath him, then the pain in Lord Byron's stomach began to kick in, forcing him into a teeth-gritting grimace as the others around him lifted and carried their temporary commanding-officer to the repurposed APC. A sight of which that had troubled Leftenant Doyle deeply, knowing what it meant; the weight of responsibility and duty alike were about to get a whole lot heavier, and the only one between them who knew anything worth a damn about mechanised strategy was being treated in the back of the medical vehicle, a position Cleaver knew he had to prepare for after considering his prior knowledge of every New-Imperial contingent he'd be working with on Korriban. However, Scott knew all too well how that feeling went, and chose to give strength to his new acquaintance's proberbial shoulders, groaning,'Same thing happens to Reed & I on the regular, same thing happened to Gowrie, Brand and Proost on the regular. But know this, Cleaver! It doesn't take long to figure out it's more a boon than a curse, as our tribal breeds have long understood what it means to lead from the front.', as the pain throbbed with an intensifying burn in his lower-gut.

'Understood, sir! And good luck back there, we need your sort alive an' well for the wars to come! DIA SAOR GU TUATH, *MO CHARAUGH!!!!'

And with that, Lord Byron offered a lethargic fist-over-heart salute for his comrade from Unit-44, nodding solemnly and roaring,'DIA SAOR GU WOAD-MACUSHLA!!!! DIA SAOR GALIDRAAN, *BHRÀTHAIR!!!', before the tailgate and the door behind it were closed and locked to retreat downhill with better protection, leaving it at that as the Red Jackal mentally prepared himself for the greatest test of his career as a Red Jackal. Turning to the men climbing into the battered, bloodied, dusty and sand-riddled excuse of a Cataphract they'd be riding into battle, Doyle moved to join them as the others manned their stations; one by one, falling into line for what felt like their last action meaningful act of the battle itself, steeling their hearts for the truth of victory-or-death as the,"Amberlamps", roared it's way downhill to the crumbling, derelict redoubt they were using as a field hospital. Cleaver would find himself being very grateful for having Wildcats with him that morale-reaffirming moment, grateful that the New Order were capable of deploying heroic, legendary soldiering stock who could weather the storms and still have the heart to fight back, and claim victory for the glory of the empire.

Let's give these Mawites a beating, sir! We believe in you, trust me. Just - be - active, that's all there is to it in here.​

Golden advice from Selkie, and advice that would put any and all apprehensions to rest on the spot, washing the rest of the pressure away as the Woad took up his position by the map-holographic display, virtually ignored by most until then, believed to be pointless with their enemies' positions being correctly guessed without relying on the top-down displays. The XT-62s had looked to be taking a beating, but had advanced far enough to have inflicted all the heavier casualties on the Hill's defenders in the process, with the Scout-AFVs looking to be very similar in circumstances, though each AFV lost to the fight of the dying planet itself would be felt harsher by the Woad-led Tuaths there in comparison. However, Doyle's decision to move would be kept on hold as soon as he was reminded of the idled artillery in the hard south of the valley, grabbing the receiver from the XT-62's comm-link unit with a devilish grin that none could see through the dark materials of his helmet as he drawled,'Jackal Three to QM One! Sorry it's taken so long, but I think you know what I want. Coordinates have been sent to your datapad, have fun.', in the calmest, most unnervingly-relaxed tone.

<"Good to hear you're still alive an' well, Doyle.... An' will do, stay safe out there. QM One out!">

*"MO CHARAUGH!!!"
**"MY FRIEND!!!"

*"BHRÀTHAIR!!!"
**"BROTHER!!!"

TANGO DOWN: GALIDRAANI SPECIAL FORCES ON KORRIBAN XVIII - THE MEDICS PART SIX

Unit_44_Medical_Archive
CALLSIGN/ID:SCALPEL_ONE
Korriban_Entry006

As you can tell, this is not the voice of Scalpel One, but your diary-maker is safe an' sound. He came close to losing chunks of 'imself to the wee-lassies' gnashers, but she's gone now - I sent her screaming to the Netherworld where she belongs. Her name was Lenna, and she was executed by Sith-Imperial mercenaries for murdering other children, probably the only good thing that lot ever achieved in their short time as the Galaxy's strongest faction.... But in any case, that's digressing into a,"Neither here nor there", is it not? She was a ghostie, but so am I - she's gone, an' this auld fool's no long to go before he joins her. My name's Bruenn McHugh, and I slipped my mortal coil back in 864, on Generis of all places. If there's any reason I would escape the Netherworld to land myself here, then to put it simply, to see how everything changed in my absence.

None of this was part of my escape-plan, but knowing I can feel the presence of every Netherworlder who escapes to the living realms has me thinking time is surely going to be up for me in the living realms as well, and quite soon at that. Glad I saw what the New Order became though, wouldn't trade that for a million mortal lifetimes - no even maybe. My last act as an Imperial officer will be recorded, as the one preceding it was. The only questions I'm asking myself now are, quite simply; what's my final act going to be? How do I help Galidraan, Tavlar and the New Imperial Order, one last time? I'm torn between returning to the north peak's summit in an effort to spur Lord Aron on, and going down to the one room Lenna always made a point of avoiding.... The basement, where the padded-cell was built; though not for the girl, of course not, but for one she feared more than the mercenaries.

​

The cackling woman with the cold, grey eyes. The same woman I should defeat if I want this escape from the Netherworld to have any meaning at all. I have it on good authority that Korriban isn't the place or time of Gowrie's death, even though Aron's opponent is unlike any his ilk has faced off against, I know he's surviving the encounter - win, lose or draw. But I still want to have another positive impact on my friend's life before I go, an' that's the only real factor keeping me from going down to the basement, the only one. I'm confident I can send this woman into the abyss, but at least your Scalpels are assured of their safety either way, this gladdens me most of all, even though I barely made it in time. Lucky Jackals, eh? Heh! SUPREMELY lucky Jackals!

[Sighs]

You did good keepin' that door shut, by the way. She wasn't after anything in this room but yer guts, I hope you understand that. This is a Sith tomb-world we're talking about here - though I'm sure you need no reminding of that one, lad. You look even paler than me the noo, an' ah can only assume that's because the depths o' the abyss have been saying,"Hello", one time too many. An' for that, I apologise for not gettin' here sooner.... It wasn't like you set out specifically to see that, so don't let it eat at your soul if you survive this place, aw'right?

Good.

In any case, after this entry, you toffs at High-Command are probably gettin' another recording or two fae yer field-surgeon here. Safe an' sound as ah said, so that part o' the job's done an' dusted at least. No more worries as far as this lot are concerned, so do me a favour an' send my warmest regards to Lords Barran and Gowrie - tell them I'm proud of the men they became.

Commoner-Captain Bruenn McHugh singing off! God save the Empire!

 

[Auteme]

Maestus | Taeli Raaf | Cedric Grayson Darth Solipsis Romi Jade Dakrul Pom Stych Tivé ​

In an instant, everything began to crumble.

The depth of the death was unimaginable. She had felt its like before, but it was not a thing she could get used to, nor did she wish to. It hurt. It had to hurt, else, how could they know to avoid it?

It didn't change how much it hurt. She was pulled under the surface; the Force, once a great ocean of infinite complexity and potential, now felt like a tiny box. She suffocated. The pressure threatened to crush her. She only fell deeper, deeper; her breath fled her, her mind fractured, pieces scattering, fluttering, glinting in the water.

Yet a great hand scooped them up. Some protection had lingered; there was a distant light above that she recognized as the Blade of Ruusan, but it could not save her from being dragged deeper, pulled away from the waters she knew. She felt less scattered, but the pain did not fade, it only transformed.

She was pulled to a dozen places. Csilla -- the unceasing pain in her mind redoubled, crushed under the weight of so much death. Metellos -- a jolt of fear, a simple mistake, an amphistaff to the head. A metal room on a ship, heart aching, breaking, under the strain of miniscule loss and very nearly jealousy. Fear, hesitation, indecision; every time she'd spent a second too long trying to pick what she'd wear out, or what she'd say when she was ordering lunch, or what she wanted to say to her friends when they needed help.

Every minute spent sitting at someone's bedside, waiting for the doctors to tell her, knowing how close they'd been to losing it all. She watched.

She watched.

A coherent thought formed, then another, then enough to focus it, throw it to the one who had dragged her to this place of chagrin.

What are you trying to show me?

 

[Kirie]

-
Aboard the Eternal Rule
ALLIES: Zark San Tekka | Thalia Senn
ENEMIES: Darth Carnifex | KV-6000

Equipment: Red Lightsaber | Armour | Blaster Pistol | Jedi Jumpsuit

Thalia’s support was better than nothing, even if it was shallow and untruthful, even if Kirie saw right through it. Thalia knew as well as she did that their chances of succeeding, of getting through this were getting slimmer by the second. Already they had been waylaid by the Eternal Rule’s internal defences, chipping away at the boarding party bit by bit, slowing their progress.

She appreciated that the woman had any time, any will to provide comfort to Kirie, They were aboard an enemy ship, in the heart of a place so dark and fearful it defied imagination. There would be no more time to break down.

Kirie opened her mouth to reply to Thalia, to try and reinforce her confidence, maybe even to let the young woman know that Kirie could be relied upon, that she wouldn’t break in the face of this horror.

Before she could say anything, they rounded a corner and she spotted two kneeling forms from which the aura of the Dark Side rolled off in waves. She slowed her pace involuntarily, allowing Thalia to step ahead of her.

The pair spoke, and Kirie watched aghast as their features slipped and slid first into what resembled moulded casts of she and Thalia’s faces, and then sharpened into warped, angry visages of the two Jedi.

In shock, Kirie allowed herself to be pushed back by Thalia as the young woman leapt into the fray. Her mind flashed back half a lifetime, to Kwenn station, witnessing the faces of friends and allies turned dark and twisted, of losing herself, failing to stop them.

Kirie shook off the thought and stepped forward. Thalia was fighting valiantly, holding off both the reflections of herself and Kirie. After a few moments though, the Thalia reflection caught sight of Kirie and ducked nimbly under the Padawan’s saber, raising its own saber at the last second to defend as Kirie struck downwards in a panic.

She heard Thalia taunting the reflection of herself up ahead, but the words washed past her ears. The reflection of Thalia pushed off Kirie’s blade and she was forced to step back. It grinned menacingly at her.

Almost before she could react it had leapt forward, and she struggled to defend the flurries from its double-bladed saber. Her pale red blade flashed against the deeper crimson of the reflection’s, the duel forcing her further and further back. Kirie was not a talented duelist by any means, she doubted she had the ability to defeat the reflection alone, but if she could hold out until Thalia took out her foe, they could finish Kirie’s opponent together.

"Ah!" She yelled as it ducked low to strike at her legs and she jumped back on instinct. It took all of her concentration to call out to Thalia without letting her guard slip. "We don't have much time Thalia, if there's a gap you can slip through, we need to make a break for the reactors!" Easier said than done, with both of them locked in by the reflections, but the mission had to come first. She wouldn't, couldn't leave Thalia alone, but if there was a chance for them both to escape, she would take it.

Kirie dug her heels in and struck back at the reflection, pausing the retreat down the hall. She caught a glimpse of the reflection’s face more closely. It was a perfect copy of Thalia’s features, but at the same time held none of the Padawan, none of the ferocity, nor the determination and resolve. It was a mask of hatred alone.

The reflection pressed on the attack again and once more she struggled even to hold her ground. She hoped Thalia’s fight would be over quickly. If she was fighting a reflection of Kirie, she hoped it would be.

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

V O I D W A L K E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KORRIBAN
OBJECTIVE 2: BLOODSOAKED VALLEY
ALLIES: DECEASED Aron Gowrie , Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran , Fiolette Fortan, Darth Petrichor ,
ENEMIES: Brotherhood of the Maw, Sith Remnants, The Mongrel , Alars Keto , Laertia Io , Tegan Starfall

IMPERIAL MILITARY ASSISTANCE GROUP
IN ASSISTANCE TO | ASHLAN CRUSADE

Voidwalker: The Head
​

Aemilio's orbs widened as the vibrosword failed to cut through the mans leg cleanly. Angles typically tended to be irrelevant where his blade came into play, all it required was a little bit of effort... Seemingly not enough, even with the ultrasonic vibration generator switched to on. In the brief moment of disbelief, he recalled the Cirihut's mace making contact with his blade, knocking it off course from cleaving him in half before it descended to crash into his shoulder.

The recollection enough for the pain that had been suppressed to flare through his parietal lobe as he thought of his shoulder.

There had been warnings about electrical energy disrupting the efficiency of the blade. In the worst of cases, he could have lost his hand in its entirety as the current reached the ultrasonic generator and detonated. Some part of him could reconcile with its failure now, but not in that moment. For as the Cirihut's knife struck forwards at him, Aemilio was forced to scramble backwards through the sand to get away. The reactive movement forcing him to forget about his wounded arm and another burning flare of pain raced through his mind, briefly freezing him before his left hand dragged through sand and stone to get away.

The pressure of a sharpened object trying to penetrate his legs was felt. Toraaz was unlucky in his first strikes, but with every passing moment he drew closer and closer to landing an accurate plunge into his calf or lower thigh.

I can't end here, he thought. Not all this way, for nothing!

Head jerking up to look ahead of him, he saw the ground in front of him shift, sand sliding down in droves into an unseen hole. It didn't take too much brain power for him to realize the molten rock was soon going to bubble over the edge.

In the middle of shifting onto his side to look over his shoulder, he felt a sharp pain emanate from his calf. He felt his teeth chomp down onto his tongue, blood filled his mouth, and then it painted the inside of his helmet red as he let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Invisible energy rolled off of him during and after the scream left his lips, leaving his mind in a swirl of pain and confusion. The pace of his heart had increased and it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. With every repetitive heartbeat, he felt as if all the blood pumped to the wounded leg was wasted. As the blade was drawn out, it raked back skin and tore flesh, causing more blood to leak out profusely into his bodysuit and the surrounding sands.

The still functioning gauntlet splayed out, as if reaching to Toraaz to stop the blade from coming down again. But it was futile, he was out of reach. The zealot was stronger too, and even as his hand splayed out wide, he felt a surge of energy pour into him. A strength that was otherworldly, unfamiliar to him, yet felt like it was his all the same. But as the burgeoning strength coursed through him, the emitters dotting his splayed out hand came to life.

Earlier, he had used the same glove to wrench a Death Gang rider from their swoop bike from some distant. There was a chance they survived, and Aemilio hadn't spared a single soul to search for a possible survivor, though he knew the possibility was not beyond the glove. But at a range this close, the only choice Toraaz would have, is which part of his body would be shredded down to the bone first, before the generated energy punched a gaping hole through the other side of his body.

The second charge of the Grav Glove shot forwards with full point-blank force.