Annihilation End of an Era: AC Annihilation of Korriban

[Dis]

Dis, the Shadow(cat)
Shadowcat, explorer and wanderer; Owner of the Cat’s Paw; Member of the Greystone Mercantile​

Side: Defender
Objective II.: Save the friends!
Location: Tombs, Korriban
Equipment: N/A
Writing with: Melydia Gold

Dis was sad, another war and many wanted to hurt their friends again. They always just want to hurt them, they always just want to fight. From that, Shadowcat's mood was always bad. It is probably quite unusual for a creature to be a pacifist who was made by a Sith Lord and who is befriending with the Sith, but Dis was like that. And now many wanted to hurt the place and their friends. The words weren't enough here anymore, so they needed some other method.

The best plan, save most friends! Dis left one of the local creatures, Mr. Hssiss, who had been with them for a long time, in the Netherworld, and so they came here without him. Now they did not go to the academy, but to the old tombs, for there were always many friends hiding in these places, who might not even know what danger they were in. And Shadowcat felt it was their job to warn them and ask if they wanted to go with them, because if they did, Dis would take them to the Netherworld or another planet.

With such plans they arrived in one of the tombs, where through the Force they felt almost immediately that they were not alone. However, they did not perceive hostile and unknown or just friend (animal) auras, but an acquaintance. It was so familiar that they had met her more than once; although they have never spoken. But they had a mutual acquaintance, a friend, Kal . The next moment, the Shadowcat appeared where Melydia was. It was really the girl, they were convinced of that when the Shadow got there.

Not wanting to hide, the bobcat / lynx-size Shadowcat became visible a few metres from the girl.

~ Welcome! We’ve never talked to each other before, but we have a mutual friend, Kal . I'm Dis, the Shadowcat. I’m glad to finally be able to meet you, I’m just sad it happened in such a bad time. I came to help the friends hiding here escape. Can you help me with this? ~ they asked.

 

[Dagon Kaze]

ASHLAN CRUSADE
BORN ON A MONDAY vol. I
Issue #7 - Bad Romance w/ Anja Doreva

She staggered, but retaliated. The telekinetic blast swept the floor underneath his feet and only his athleticism saved him from a disgraceful faceplant. Using the momentum of the tide, Dagon managed a frontal flip in place—elegant in his flight, but hefty on his landing. Knees and soles ached from exerting strength to balance his footwork. He pushed his palm off the ground to stand up straight as the lady's amethyst blade illuminated the dimly-lit hall.

"Now, darling, it's a bit rude to dance with a lady without introducing yourself first."

Ah, of course—my manners.

"That's one way to ask for my number." Dagon smirked, brushing away locks of raven hair from his eyes and unclipping the hilt of his blade. The lopsided, smirk began to slowly abate under the gravity of the situation. On the homeworld of the Sith, fighting against what he assumed was a powerful Dark Sider, whilst handicapped by the motif of redemption. Sure, Dagon was certainly no extreme redeemer like Aaran Tafo —the dogmatic canons of the Jedi weighted less on the investigator's shoulders; his tolerance for those fallen to Bogan was lower than the New Jedi Order's Battlemaster.

Still, before him stood a master of darkness. He had to tread cautiously. Every move had to be meticulous, cautiously devised and executed to perfection. The recklessness of his recent past as a padawan had to be tempered—applied in a controlled manner, purposeful.

"Dag Kaze." he offered his name to the foe, shifted the weight and the Force down his legs and sprung forward at her. The blue blade hissing to life midway.

He feigns an uppercut swing, then follows with a series of swings at her sides. Quick, testing strikes sacrificing strength for speed to measure her reactions. Measure her powers. Study her.

Much like how he examined a criminal case.

And something told him this would be a very, very curious case.

"You know we don't have to do this, Lady--" he says in the midst of the 'dance'. His eyes enveloped in a veil of somberness, hope and a plea.

 

[Iasha Rha]

​

When all things looked their most bleak, whgen the war seemed lost and her ties to dark ambitions appeared to be severed, something had reached out to the young acolyte. The last time she had been on Korriban, she had touched something, a power. That power had slept inside her mind, it had guided her and beguiled her.

It had guided her.

Now, Iash'arha felt that power guide her every movement. She felt trapped within her own body as the power moved her limbs and spoke through her lips. She could only watch as the power splashed blood and ash from a bowl onto the faces of her classmates, faces she knew, students she had stood beside in lectures and in war.

It was frightening, but she did not want it to stop.

She did not want to take back control.

Not yet.

The power raised her hands up and poured the dark liquid into the urn. She felt herself speak in tune with the power that moved her lips, she consented to the words- the plea.

"Kraujas iw ri Rauswas- Urs iw ri Mnirmi- Shitita iw ri Rizûti- Ri Wini ana sianakt"

Yes, let the Pale return.

"Ri Wini ana sianakt!"

The Pale Assassin walks tonight.

Quiet encapsulated the chamber and Iasha felt herself holding her breath. The silence as the shadows deepened. Absence of sound; absence of air; absence of light. A bitter cold shrouded the acolytes, standing frozen in their ritual. Iasha felt as though she was going to pass out, her eyes rolled back in her head as her mind feverishly pleaded her lungs to move. They refused.

And then a mind-shattering scream

Alina Tremiru

Viscous black liquid welled up through the urn and spilled over the top, foaming, spitting and oozing of dark smoke. Countless pale fingers clawed at the top of the urn, all trying to pull their way out and the omnipresent scream broke up into a chorus of tormented howling. The hands clawed at each other, like crustaceans trying to climb over one another to escape.

One of the acolytes responded with a howl of his own, and then another, and another. Each fell to their knees and stared into empty space. Their fingers reflexively curled into talons and began tearing at their clothes and skin where the liquid had been applied. Rather than bleed, their wounds ruptured into black smoke and pouring ash. Their irises glowed like embers while their sclera darkened and dried like grapes.

Then they fell, one by one, into heaps of ash.

All but one: The red twi'lek who had held the bowl.

The screams subsided as a silhouette burst through the top of the urn. It twisted and coiled, serpentine in its movements, the screams coalesced into its hiss as the grasping hands were either absorbed or withdrawn. The smoke quaked, then suddenly coalesced around the serpentine form. Each particle gathering, growing, changing and weaving together like strands until it formed a robe of night that enveloped the serpent's white, knife-like scales.

The madness subsided, but the cold remained as the last of the smoke fell into a grey fog, obscuring the floor.

The firelight returned to its former strength, but the murals no longer seemed to animate at their touch. Where the urn had stood, there was now a bundle of black cloth, wound tightly around itself.

​

Romi Jade

[/div]

Edit: Added to post. Rather than posting with two characters in the same introductory scene, I will just finish it with Iasha and then split them.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Korriban, Mawite Excavations
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Tegan Starfall | First Sister
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Darth Petrichor | Mikhail Grayson | Damsy Callat | Hiran Avola | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran

So began the galaxy's deadliest game of King of the Hill.

On the one hand, the Brotherhood forces had a good position, entrenched upon the rocky crags and firing down the slope. This wasn't like Csilla, where they'd been forced to charge across open ground to reach the NIO trenches. Now they were the ones with the defensive advantage, forcing their foes to come to them, and they had the high ground in addition to cover. The units at The Mongrel's command were not frenzied Moon Children but elite marauders and alien auxiliaries, a small but potent cross-section of the best warriors serving under the Maw's banner.

It was lucky he'd been so paranoid about protecting this dig.

On the other hand, the Brotherhood troops were almost completely surrounded. The Galidraani armor and special forces were closing in from the south and the Ashlans from the west, blocking any potential retreat across the ancient dry riverbed. The red-armored Petrite troops, moving in from the Valley of the Dark Lords, had cut off the north and much of the east. Soon, battle lines would shift, and the encirclement would be complete... so long as the three attacking forces could cooperate, keeping to attacking the Brotherhood rather than turning on one another. And they likely would.

All the galaxy's governments hated and feared the Maw.

There was a moment, just a moment, in which The Mongrel could have ordered a retreat. He could have marshaled his forces and led them down the hill, making his escape to the southeast. There would have been losses, but this powerful and elite corps of Brotherhood troops would have been mostly preserved, to be deployed on more meaningful battlefields. After all, who truly cared for Korriban, this hollowed-out corpse of a world? Was there really any chance that the minor relics still left buried here, the trinkets the Maw could recover, would be worth all the sacrifices in the coming battle?

But such calculations never even crossed his mind.

Gowrie was here, The Mongrel was sure of it. He could smell the man on the wind, hear the chanting of his troops. He and Gowrie had unfinished business, business that had begun on Csilla, and that had never been far from the marauder's mind since that day. The man had showed him mercy, patching up his wounds, mercy that The Mongrel never would have accepted if not for the promise that followed: that they would meet again, and test themselves against each other at the height of their skill. The veteran marauder would sacrifice every warrior on this hill for his shot at Gowrie.

"Come on," The Mongrel hissed, pacing the lip of the excavation pit. "Come on, then, I know you're out there." He turned his heavy warblade over and over in his hand, spinning it in long, slow arcs as he walked. All around him, the dead sands of Korriban glowed with blasterfire, and the air was full of smoke and the crack of slugthrowers. The Legion of the Leech and their heavy repeaters fired down to the west, and the Tarar warbands poured plasmafire down the eastern slope, ready to reap countless lives from those forces attempting to ascend the hill. Here was glorious War, and ample Death.

But The Mongrel had eyes only for Aaron Gowrie.

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​

On the ridge just above Unit 44's position, almost within earshot of Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran and Hiran Avola 's infiltration positions, Fre'shaa Vokk readied her swoop bike for battle. She led this Mawite Deathgang detachment, having risen to the top through skill and brutality alike. Inspired by The Mongrel's famous swoop charge on Ilum, she was determined to claim her own legend... and it would begin here, in a similar charge to smash and detonate the Galidraani armored units. Their power lances and explosives would annihilate the AFVs before the enemy could target their swift swoops, and glory would be hers.

But it was not yet time to begin the charge down the hill, and she kept her Deathgang in cover, waiting with engines hot for the moment when the Maw's foes started their ascent. Downward momentum would be their ally, just as the struggle of moving and firing uphill would hinder the NIO vehicles. Fre'shaa was eager for the slaughter. Born into poverty on Nothmir, she had always survived by treating any potential threat with overwhelming violence. She had been a burglar, then a pirate, and now she had found her true calling in service to the Maw - the only master ever able to match her hunger for blood.

Fre'shaa's mind was focused fully on the coming charge, and on beating the Kagan-Jin rough riders to the punch, before they could seize the glory she desired for herself. She did not know that, just below the lip of the ridge, Unit 44 was preparing to take Mawite heads. If they struck at her, however, she would not be too upset at an earlier chance to take heads of her own. Her thirty swoop gangers were kitted out to fight vehicles, but their blaster rifles and crossbows were close at hand, and their cybernetic augmentations made them deadly in close combat as well. They'd fight hard if attacked...

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​

Commander Cspala'rukov'indriz, or Arukovi for short, gave his orders with assurance and authority... even though he had only served the Maw for scant weeks. At the helm of the lead Spider Cruiser, drifting toward their ambush spot behind the NIO artillery, he knew with absolute certainty that he lived only to bring glory to the Three Avatars. He had been forced to accept that harsh truth in the dungeons beneath Gehinnom, his body tortured and his mind shredded and reshaped. Only a few months ago, he had been a promising candidate at the Chiss military academy on Rentor. Now...

Now he fought for those who had broken his people.

"Prepare to transition to walker mode," Arukovi ordered, and the three spider cruisers moved in low. Well behind the Wildcat armored attack, they would be out of the battle for the hill... but their success or failure in neutralizing the famous Galidraani artillery would certainly shape that battle. There was no telling what they might face - NIO air support? Escorts left behind for the artillery? The deadly Imperial Knights? - as they attacked behind enemy lines, but it did not matter. Arukovi and his forces would succeed or die, because every moment they even distracted the enemy big guns aided the Maw.

The three cruisers streaked in, opening up with their laser cannons in a quick strafe before heading toward the ground. There they would unfold like hatching insects, many-jointed legs unfurling from their bodies and enabling them to stand. Then the beam cannons would descend from their "heads" like a spider's fangs, while formidable MegaCaliber cannons emerged from their backs. They would have to strike fast and hard if they were to stand any chance of doing damage before they were destroyed, but every soldier aboard was ready to die for the Brotherhood... and the armor was strong, as well.

 

[Darth Voracitos]

Side: Destroy Korriban, Kill Everyone
Allies: Darth Carnifex Caulder Dune Darth Orcus
Enemies: Literally anyone who would destroy Korriban before Voracitos, and anyone who would try to stop its destruction

The Shadow Emperor contemplated his present existence as he gazed without eyes into the gaping hole a demon had created with a finger, a demon that raised him at the hour his visions had foretold, a future he had so desperately attempted to avoid. So much was spent - now wasted - on dividing his soul into the comatose Shards enslaved and imprisoned in his own Holocron, encasing it in kilometers of Quadanium Steel and multi-layered shields, protecting it with the finest alchemical guards as of yet created in the Empire. All for not. Assassinated by Caulder Dune and his rebellion before his plans bore fruit, usurped. Cut off from the force by the damnable chemicals he himself had been mass-producing to imprison his political rivals, the ritual he had prepared to sunder his soul and reforge it within the Girth of Gluttony interrupted.

On his road to escape death, he paved the way for its fruition. He saw it now. His withdrawal from his Imperial duties to prevent his own disposition created a vacuum he wasn't able to perceive while blinded by self-preservation. Then his memory after death became... fuzzy, convoluted. Most of his spirit was siphoned off into Chaos, imprisoned in the Garden of Thorns, a hellish impassable maze for which he was unwittingly unconscious. Some of it remained in the living world, taking up residence within the Shards of his Holocron in the Girth of Gluttony, and terrorizing the galaxy for several years on its own with only a fraction of his power and his forethought. The rest of it, however, was lost to the ether, unbound at the moment of death into the force. A tiny fraction of it was recovered in Chaos by an apprentice of his - no, not his, a portion of him yes but not the whole - but there still yet remained a gaping hole within the divided Voracitos Soul.

The Shadow Emperor held awareness of the fate of his soul after death, but only in part, sensing now that he himself was no but a divided portion of a vastly more powerful whole. The remnant of its first life, the one which experienced death. Defeat. Given life only to be destroyed with Korriban. Why? Why was this his destined ending? After all of his preparations, all the power he had amassed in life... it was all hollow. Just like his present body. Looking upon the skeletal hand he now possessed, propped up by alchemical sand, he became aware of the emptiness. The Hunger.

There was no pain, there was no want nor desire. Merely a need to consume without an end. A familiar gluttony, magnified by decades of fasting.

The Shadow Emperor felt a flowing of energy nearby... many flows of energy. Energy that he would feast upon to defy this horrid destiny placed upon him by some ghoulish doppelganger of himself. He became aware of a ritual to cleanse Korriban, a ritual that would expel himself into oblivion and destroy Korriban. Using the sorcery inherent to his undead body, the Shadow Emperor Voracitos collected the dust of Korriban into an alchemical storm that assembled into a Throne fit for the Dark Lord of the Sith. It hovered over the soil with lightning striking the ground beneath from the Throne, keeping the Corpulent Corpse aloft.

It approached where it sensed the ritual chamber to be, but felt that it would soon intercept upon another dark presence on its path to salvation...

Darth Vindictus

(Also, Cedric Grayson , et al.)

Nearby to Darth Orcus and Caulder Dune , the visage of Darth Voracitos as he was in life before his demonic transformation on Rhen Var. A flesh golem not easily distinguishable from a genuine Sith Lord, though to the analytic and familiar eye of Adekos would easily be able to ascertain this was in no manner the real form of Darth Voracitos. It was flanked by a procession of Hungered Vassals and Starved Subjects of his Coven of Gluttony, all of them reeking of unearned Nethermantic Magic lent to them by their master in exchange for their fidelity to his Corpulent Wealth.

The eyes in his skull appeared to be unfocused, untrained, almost dead-like in how little they seemed to respond until it approached more closely on its hovering throne. Suddenly, they seemed to flare with life and purpose, and the imposing personage of Voracitos seemed to supersede the previously unremarkable presence sensed upon the fleshy construct, and it was as if Voracitos was living and breathing among them again right in front of them as it was when Adekos killed him.

"Good to see familiar faces. How are your studies and objectives? Faring well I assume. A note of warning, though, I have successfully raised my original body from the dead, fresh with the memory of his assassination. Should you find yourself in the path of a mummified zombie of unusual size, I would recommend avoiding it. It doesn't have any functioning blood vessels this time around." The facsimile appearance of Voracitos smiled and winked.

"Have any interesting interlopers interrupted the work yet?" It asked the duo as well as its procession of servants.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: The Fatalis, High Orbit over Korriban
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | KV-6000 | Derix Tirall | Marlon Sularen
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | Isla Draellix-Kobitana | Tristan Evore | Fiolette Fortan | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Aerarii Tithe | Sergeant Omen | Albrecht F. Herlock | Constantine Oliva | Relynia Sorrene

Even after Csilla, the Taskmaster found himself astounded at the scale of the battle taking shape over Korriban. Between all the fleets now squaring off, there must be a hundred star destroyers, each crewed by tens of thousands... and that was without adding the multitude of other vessels, carriers and destroyers and corvettes, or the innumerable fighter squadrons. In the coming hour, the coming minutes even, how many individuals would be snuffed out? How many pilots and gunners and engineers and marines and cooks and medics, all striving to serve their faraway rulers at the cost of their lives?

When the killing started, the agony of this battle would ripple across the galaxy. Families would be shattered, lovers left bereft, children orphaned. Entire cities would hang their heads in mourning. This was the second time that Tu'teggacha had witnessed such a vast swath of known space assembling to do battle, and the fleets were even more vast this time, the hatred even greater after the fate that had befallen Csilla. The result would be suffering that could flatten mountains and dry up oceans, a hurricane of rage and grief and misery that would echo from the Stygian Caldera to the Core and beyond.

The Ebruchi's dark eyes glittered with the anticipation of such a feast.

"Kill them. Kill them all." That was the will of Darth Solipsis , the Dark Voice, the Sith'ari, and Tu'teggacha would fight with all his strength to see it done. He watched, awestruck, as the vast Final Dawn fleet reverted to realspace, the Avatar of War itself at their head. Knowing that it was a bio-mechanical representation of one of the Maw's religious icons did not seem to matter in that moment. The gods were watching, and the Brotherhood must not disappoint them. The huge Final Dawn armada turned toward the NIO fleet, preparing for a clash of the titans, while Sularen squared off against his most hated foes.

That left Tu'teggacha to deal with the onrushing crusaders.

Well, that and one other persistent irritant. The Pride of Anaxes and its accompanying vessels had snuck into range while the capital ships were absorbed in their initial attack on the Ashlans, and were opening fire on the escorts. The five frigates were widely spaced, covering the capital ships from wildly different angles and positions, but both the Wretched Fate and the Hollow Heart received long-range fire from the Pride. Bright explosions lit up the viewports, and a few seconds later damage reports filtered in. Fortunately, the brief artillery strike had mostly been absorbed by shields, with only a few penetrating hits.

The Pride would have to fire for much longer to cripple a Samael-class.

Still, distracted by the onrushing foe, Tu'teggacha and his fleet's sensor officers did not notice the approach of the Silencieux. The tiny stealth corvette, just over one one-hundredth of the Fatalis's length, would be able to slip behind the titanic ship... though what damage it could possibly due to such a titanic vessel, covered in armor and powerful shields, was not immediately clear. Nor was the ship's exit strategy after attacking, for it would be alone behind four capital ships and their countless fighter squadrons. But since this development was still unknown to the Taskmaster, he did not waste time considering it.

As the strand-cast gunners aboard the Eternal Rule lashed out at the oncoming GA strike force, Tu'teggacha pulled the escorts in more tightly, not wishing them to get distracted with pursuing Herlock's battle group when the Ashlan flagship was coming right at them. It was leading the way, tanking the oncoming punishment of the Brotherhood's long-range weapons in order to bring in its frigates intact. Bold, but not foolish, for the escorts would no doubt make up for non-fatal damage the capital ships suffered when they added their firepower to the attack. The enemy commander was cunning, and far from cowardly.

As the Fatalis and the other capital ships launched their own fighters, equal parts Doomsayer and Darkshear squadrons streaking out into the void - and a few Divine Eagle elite squadrons to aid them - the Ashlans weathered the barrage... and soon drew close enough to return fire. The enemy Meteor Particle Cannons were not unlike the orbital autocannons employed on the Brotherhood star destroyers, and were the first to open up on the Maw vessels. Streaks of red, blue, and green crisscrossed the wide space between the two foes, and then the first enemy shots slammed home. Shields were holding... for now.

But this was just the beginning, just each side testing the other's defenses.

As the range ticked down, the battle could begin in earnest. "All turbolaser and ion cannon batteries," the Taskmaster ordered, "prepare to open fire. The enemy battlecarrier has not yet finished launching its full complement. Target it with everything. Ensure that these are the last fighters it deploys." Gun after gun locked onto the Rapture, each opening up as soon as the enemy battlecarrier drew close enough to them. It was a definite risk, for it allowed the enemy battlecruisers to close the distance almost unimpeded... but if Tu'teggacha could seize the fighter advantage early, it might swing the tide of battle.

The Ebruchi could only commit for so long, though, before the distance closed fully. Then he would be forced to abandon this plan, success or failure, and engage the enemy fleet ship to ship at close range. There would be less opportunity for grand strategy in the chaotic melee, ships directing broadsides into one another as bombers weakened their shields and fighters dueled for supremacy. "Launch our own squadrons with all haste," he ordered, "or it will be for nothing." He was confident that the ion cannons of the Doomsayers could help cripple the enemy support vessels... but only if he bought them clear skies.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition / Actions

Fatalis, a Fatalis-class Star Dreadnought	Shields Under Fire, Firing on the Rapture
Crimson Offering, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Shields Under Fire, Firing on the Rapture
Severing Blade, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Firing on the Rapture
Sanguine Cruor, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Firing on the Rapture
Vile Nativity, a Samael-class Frigate	Preparing to fire on the Rapture
Ember of Sin, a Samael-class Frigate	Preparing to fire on the Rapture
Opened Vein, a Samael-class Frigate	Preparing to fire on the Rapture
Wretched Fate, a Samael-class Frigate	Minor Damage, Preparing to fire on the Rapture
Hollow Heart, a Samael-class Frigate	Minor Damage, Preparing to fire on the Rapture

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Cedric Grayson Auteme Darth Solipsis Laertia Io
​

And yet another world was about to burn. She could feel it in the currents of the Force, could feel the clashing energies of light and dark on this sacred world to the Sith. Ashlan zealots, blinded by righteousness and, she would call it hate, descending on Korriban to purge the Sith presence from the world. Maw cultists here for scraps of power in the Valley or preparing to unleash some terrible weapon to cleanse their enemies in one fell swoop. Above, warfleets clashed and death echoed out.

She hated the fact the planet was about to be cleansed, in one way or another. It was a waste, simple as that... and yet, she knew it was almost necessary for this world. Korriban had long been the world that caught the attention of Sith and Jedi alike, either to pilfer the slivers of treasures left in the tombs from millennia past. She hated the fact that she knew that some of the tombs, perhaps all of them, would be torn down and smashed, the loss of history and knowledge irritating to her... and yet, the Sith needed to evolve. She had gained much knowledge from her studies of these tombs and their supposed occupants over the last two decades, but in these modern times, the knowledge of the past needed to only serve as the groundwork for the advances of the future.

Many Sith were content with only learning the past techniques, never improving or experimenting, and part of that was a hesitation she had observed.

Korriban had been the world she had rediscovered a lost ritual from the ancient Sith, the creation of Children, and while it had not been a site for their creation, it still had remained a place where potions and other alchemical necessities were created for the project. Adepts in her service were finishing up the transport of the equipment, using passages under the academy to move the materials to the designated LZs for stealth transport off world.

"Inform Darth Carnifex that transports will be heading to Malsheem with the potions from this site," she said to the Adept overseeing the packing operation.

"And the transports to Horizon?" the Adept asked.

"He doesn't need to know about those," was her response. Work would be needed to improve upon the process, and Carnifex didn't know how many containers of the potion were present or alchemical machines for the process had been created, and she would keep it that way. A twinge in the Force caught her attention. One of the familiars she had seeded in the shadows of the academy to observe the progress of the purgers was calling her attention.

"Kursosuti ki," she intoned, connecting her mind directly to the shadowy raven. She watched as Grayson, ever indomitable and zealous, stormed into the academy with his blazing lightsaber at hand as always, but it was the younger woman with him that she was far more intrigued by. The Shield of the Jedi was here, and she was doing a working in the Force that Taeli had never seen. Strands of the Force, woven together like silk, impairing and cocooning. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.

She had been looking forward to meeting Auteme, to see if perhaps she had the heart of a true Jedi. It would seem a test is in order. Grayson would seek out any in this place, and with Darth Solipsis, the so-called Dark Lord now, nearby and preparing a ritual of some sort, he would seek him out. And yet, they needed to be slowed, guided into the lower levels of the academy and into the catacombs and caverns that were the ritual sites of the Sith.

"Dwomutsiqsa!" she intoned, her voice echoing from the raven into the corridors of the seemingly abandoned halls. For a student of the Force, like Auteme, she might recognize the language and understand the spell being unleashed. Spirals of dark smoke would be forming all across the academy, fed by the deaths of allies and enemies alike and the dark side power that permeated this planet. Disconnecting from her familiar, she decided to leave the final transport of the potions to her Adepts and to proceed to another part of the catacombs to wait. The endless horde of Smoke Demons would guide the Jedi below soon enough.

Perhaps she would finally have a chat with this new Dark Lord while they struggled.

 

[Damsy Callat]

(map credit to The Mongrel ; I just added Damsy's approximate position)

WAR, I GUESS?? // MAWITE DIG
“ROBES” + DREAD BLADE (chainsaw)
~ open to interact ~
​

Damsy’s luck for now lay in her geography. The tomb she had been helping excavate, or at least its landing, stood ever so slightly above the highest point of the Maw’s own dig. It didn’t offer much advantage, but at least she didn’t have to charge blindly uphill, like a force whose movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Wasn’t an impossible feat, but not any fun either.

Was easier to give up the high ground rather than gain it. Most always a stupid decision, but sometimes, like now, necessary.

She slid down a short hill, where at the bottom she didn’t immediately stand but knotted her skirt around her knees. Nothing around covered her entrance, but all possible enemies were out of line of sight. Just barely. She had to find a way to approach the…dig site? She didn’t even know whose side she was on, not because she didn’t know her flawed loyalties, but because she didn’t know who was who here. Those keeping the dig site warm hadn’t looked like Sith, but no friendlier than them either. Still, perhaps it was the best shot at Damsy regaining her battlefield bearings.

“I wanna play…”

Her attention jerked up, proven wrong by a stray Heathen War Shaman. Damsy stood up slow, trying to savor the time passing them by and find some plan of action.

“…play with me.”

The shaman paused her equally slow approach to brandish a rocky broadsword from where she had been holding it like a shy schoolgirl behind her back. She gave it a shake like the ones she gave to activate her electrotrident, and with a semi-familiar shhhhk a series of miniature teeth from its edges. Definitely not a lightsaber. Damsy canted her head, trying to make sense of the would-be murder weapon, as the shaman stared back at her equally curious but not nearly as confused, or caring.

“Come to me, my berry pie.”

Wait.

Was that a chainsaw?

The realization sent Damsy tumbling back into a reality that made just enough sense for the time being. If she didn’t move, would-be would turn into was.

“I’m gonna floss my teeth with your face!”

Damsy screwed up her features in disgust. “Ew.”

The shaman cried out a moment before she lunged at the spawn. The latter widened her stance in preparation of the blow and, when it came, easy feigned out of its reach. A spin on her heel took her even further, behind the shaman, and a well-charged shock from the butt of her stolen hydrospanner…

…shorted out against the woman’s bare skin.

“Damn,” Damsy couldn’t help but mutter as she took blind steps back and hit the weapon of opportunity against her open palm. Stupid, rusty--

A grunt undertoned in reds--surprise, pain, rage--called up her attention. A ripple disturbed the otherwise oscillating but smooth surface of the empyrean wrapped around the shaman. Ahhh. So that was how she could get away so scantily clad. Clever trick, but not without chinks in the energetic armor. A few more shocks ought be enough to break through.

The sawblade came at Damsy again from the left but was equally easy to push away this time: hand over hand, Force Push. As the shaman swayed away under the weight of her arm, Damsy jolted forward, stepped around to the shaman’s back, and pressed her spanner to the same spot.

The Mawite’s counter came sudden and unexpected. Somehow, she had heaved her blade clear over her head in an arc that Damsy didn’t catch but the tail end of. Literally. She jumped and leaned back, trying to get out of range and only partially successful. A sharp tooth seared over the tip of her nose, others carved shallow but angry riverbeds in her cheeks. No blood came, but plenty of heat. Plasma. Kinda a lightsaber then. Still hella weird though.

Damsy did jump successfully next, over the entire dread blade as it was swung at her legs. As she did, she contorted her body to deliver another electric shock to the Mawite. This one didn’t short; it sizzled and smoked and sent ripples through actual skin. The shaman collapsed to the side, taking Damsy with her. The spawn’s flank took the brunt of their impact with the sand.

She felt blood now, and coughed it up, but not before pushing the body off hers. She sat there a moment, wiping at her lip with the back of her hand and wondering what to do next. If this woman was anything like the strangers on the hill she had come from, which she probably was, maybe Damsy should rethink her rendezvous. But at least she had an idea what was up there, while she had no idea what forces lay on all sides. When her eyes wandered back from the horizon to her former foe’s form, she got an idea.

Time to try her hand at the galactic record for fastest outfit change.

**

It’s no electrotrident, Damsy thought, flourishing the dread blade in a condensed arc. It was heavier for one and less literally shocking, but it was going be much more useful than a dinky hydrospanner.

She wondered briefly where her weapon of choice had gone. When she had been captured on her second Dantooine run, looking for actual spawn this time, the Sith had taken it from her. She didn’t know where it had ended up--just that she’d appreciate it back, and at least she had seen her mission through in a roundabout way.

But I’ve always wondered what it was like to be a Solanacaea.

What would Vytal Noctura think of her now?

Probably that this was a few whole star systems different.

Yeah, yeah, it was. For one, she was pretty sure she remembered the Confederate Nightsisters wearing actual clothes. But a Sithspawn did what a Sithspawn had to do to get by on a Sithspawn-hating world. Trouble was, most of the ones she went to these days were.

 

[Anja Doreva]

ALLIES: What allies?
ENEMIES: Those that stand in my way
GA GA OO LALA: Dagon Kaze
GEAR:

Spoiler

Lightsabers
Phrik blades
Phrik dagger
Dressed to kill
The Ash Hellions led by Samron Gerron (Update: in another tunnel - not with Danika at the moment, but not too far either)

O~~>YELLOW FLICKER BEAT<~~O​

An amused smirk curled the corner of her mouth.

His comment made it evident that Danika was not dealing with a musty old Jedi. She wouldn't die of boredom at least. She chuckled.
"A girl has to try, darling." she said, her teal eyes still studying their subject, noticing his mocking smile falter.

Her amused and teasing smile turned sinister.

She had not survived as long as she had, outrunning the then-Emperor and his minions, by not studying someone's pokerface. She shifted her weight ever so slightly and waited.

When he introduced himself, she was ready. She smiled in recognition as he gave his name, but when he launched forward, she moved too. As she stepped to the side with an eldritch-like movement, she released the shield and unclipped her other saber.

The amethyst blade blocked nothing but air as she aimed it for his feint, but the red blade ignited just in time to catch the swipe at her side. In the same movement, she turned and ducked low, feigning an amethyst swipe at his lower legs before changing it's momentum at the last second to swipe up at his stomach.

With the upwards swipe, she straightened up as well and spun away again in swift, spectre-like movements. Both blades were in readiness now to catch the next test of her defences. The purple and crimson blade held his blue one captive for a spell - long enough for him to tell her that they needn't cross blades before trailing off. The hum of the three blades where almost deafening for a second before she answered.
"Danika Leventis. But your records would probably know me as Darth Halōsis." she said before releasing his blade and jumping back in one swift movement. "Now tell me, darling. What would you rather do than wiping all Dark Siders from the face of the Galaxy?" she asked, holding her blades at the ready and keeping both the Force and the art of the Nether close.

 

[Pietro Demici]

Pietro Demici, Cardinal of Ashla & Commander of the Holy Guard

Location:  Korriban (in orbit)

Loadout: lightsaber, armorweave priest's vestments

Allies:  Isla Draellix-Kobitana , Fiolette Fortan, Aerarii Tithe , Caarlyle Rausgeber , Zark San Tekka , Albrecht F. Herlock , Tristan Evore , Relynia Sorrene , AC, NIO, GA, SJC

Enemies: Tu'teggacha , Darth Carnifex , Marlon Sularen , KV-6000, Derix Tirall , BotM, Sith

Fleet Composition: The Light of Ruusan, 4x Dominion-class escort frigate, 2x Bastion planetary invasion ship

Part One: The Oldest of Foes

Two weeks prior...

There was much to do. The Crusade had continued to stretch their reach through the Tingel Arm, clearing it of the Bogan's stench one planet at a time. Though this was often achieved in battle, many logistical tasks needed to be conducted in order to maintain order at home. Today would be one of those days...

The cardinal's budding Inquisitorium had managed to apprehend a Sith cell hidden within Ashlan Space, bringing them to Bosph in chains. Pietro had made a spectacle of the occasion, having the insurgents led through the streets for all to see. As each prisoner was lead to a large stage filled with gallows, Pietro took a moment to speak with them. Upon finishing each conversation, the prisoners were either taken to the gallows, or a confined area in front of them. As the last were placed into position, Pietro took his place at a podium that rose above the growing crowds. The cheers of the howling crowd were only subsided when the cardinal signaled for silence.

"My fellow beacons of the light, welcome. As you know, the Ashlan Crusade has taken the goal of protecting the galaxy upon their shoulders. While this is no easy task, we are prepared to do what is necessary in order to create greater prosperity for those that walk in the Light of Ashla. These individuals you see before you have been caught attempting to destroy one of our government buildings on behalf of their Sith masters; a crime that is of the most insidious nature. Though such heinous acts can only warrant death, we wish the galaxy to know that we are not above providing redemption to those that seek it."

He motioned to those that remained detained below the gallows.

"I have give each one of these Sith sympathizers a chance to turn their back on their masters, and to allow the warm embrace of the Goddess into their hearts. As you can see, many have agreed to denounce the yoke of their former masters. Those that have will be closely monitored, and should their hearts prove to be true, they will be reintegrated into society as new beacons of the Light."

Pietro turned toward those that stood on the gallows, eighteen in total.

"To you that have denied the offer of redemption, I now ask, in view of those that would accept you back into the fold, will you find it in yourselves to denounce the Bogan and join us in making the galaxy a better place?"

His comments were only met with loud curses from those on the chopping block. In truth, the cardinal expected such a response, but he would not become a heartless executioner in the eyes of the people. No, he would provide them this one, final opportunity. As the curses died down, the crowd only grew in volume, crying out for the execution to be carried out. Pietro once again motioned for silence from the multitudes of onlookers as he looked over the crowd.

"Very well. Let it be known, that when given the opportunity to find a new path within the Light, the offer was refused. The only thing that can be provided for those that have fallen this far is a swift and merciful death."

Pietro gave the signal, and the gallows dropped. As life faded from the executed, Pietro said a prayer over their bodies. Turning back to the crowd, his voice grew to a thunderous volume.

"There are only two paths for those lost in the darkness. They must find a way out, or be consumed by the holy Light of the Ashla. This is only the beginning, my brethren. Today, we cleanse one city. Soon, we shall set off to the holy land of the Sith itself to cleanse it's entirety in Ashla's name! Soon the Sith will truly see the power of the Light! FOR CEDRIC, FOR ESSION, THE ASHLA IS WITH US!!!"

The voices of the crowd drowned out all other sound as they repeated the cardinal's final words.

Soon, they would be off to Korriban. Soon, they would show the Darkness how much power the Light truly held.

Part Two: Better Late than Never

"Your eminence, the last of the fleet has completed the jump, and are currently moving into position."

The officer's words echoed through the bridge of the Light of Ruusan as the other officers continued to prepare. Pietro sat in the command chair, gazing out across the endless void of space. They had taken great time to prepare for this engagement, but Pietro still found himself in awe at the sheer amount of ships that had arrived to fight over the dustbowl of a planet known as Korriban.

"Very well. Scramble all fighters, and have our troop transports ready to deploy the marines for boarding actions. And get me a report on our opposition."

Shortly after giving the order, the communications officer turned from his station.

"Sir, incoming message from Senator Tithe. Looks like it's concerning a trade proposition."

Pietro let out a slight chuckle. He had only opened communications with the senator, but had quickly learned of his knack for business. His mind was forever on the credit, and would likely never miss an opportunity to keep the ever-flowing machine of commerce on the move.

"Put me through to Tithe."

The channel was opened, and Pietro began the transmission.

<<Senator Tithe, so good to see you again. The presence of your fleet is a welcome sight as well. I am interested in hearing your proposition, as well as any useful information that can help us assess the threats before us. We are in the process of gathering our own intel, and will be sending what we can to our allied forces. Cardinal Demici out.>>

As the transmission ended, Pietro was met with the concerned voice of one of his officers.

"Your eminence, it appears that the enemy numbers are greater than originally anticipated. Patching specifics through to your desk now."

The sensor readings promptly popped up on the command desk, showing a force that was truly formidable. The Maw may have been a band of rabble, but their dedication could not be discounted. The presence of the Sith was expected, though Pietro knew it would be best to keep a close eye on them.

"Open a channel to Grand Admiral Isla Draellix-Kobitana and inform her of our presence. We will do our best to split the forces of the Maw Irregular Fleet. Perhaps we will manage to get a shot at Sularen before the day is out."

It was going to be a long day, and likely would result in many casualties. That being said... they could wipe out multiple of the galaxy's greatest threats in one move, and Pietro would not miss such an opportunity. He just hoped that he would live long enough to see it through.​

​

 

[Laertia Io]

Xiphos grunted as she was temporarily restrained by the power of Auteme , which allowed her and Cedric Grayson to bypass her as she struggled to free herself.

In her mind though, it only justified her stance at how hopelessly obsessed her side was with "Finally Defeating" the Sith. Yeah, like they hadn't been in this position before. Like they hadn't all danced this stupid dance before.

The Sith were weeds. Use weedkiller, the next generation just gets more resistant. Dig it out by the root? Somebody else becomes a Weed. The whole process starts all over. Vanity. Nothing but misplaced vanity. It didn't matter if you destroyed Korriban. Hell, it wasn't inconceivable that there were planets worse than Korriban. There would always be a Sacred Sith Planet to destroy. If not, they would make one. Looking at you, Codex Contributors...

After Xiphos finally freed herself, twisting the Light to finally shatter the barrier, she barely managed to get her Lightsaber up in time to defend herself from both sides, both Maw and Ashlan.

Fine, Cedric. If you will not provide a challenge...then perhaps your friends will. Xiphos thought.

The cold flame erupted from her hands as she blasted a hoard of both the New Sith and the Ashlan's as she was attacked from both sides, freezing some solid in a matter of moments, directing the cold fires to spread out, teleporting above and landing on some victim with sheer kinetic force, crushing their bones fatally. The New Sith were something she sneered at as she beheaded one. She saw nothing but the same vileness Laertia used to cut down for years. The same garbage, repackaged in a shiny new casing.

Xiphos showed them no mercy. Her flames licked the steps as she battled down it, brutally killing Maw Warriors as well as Ashlan's.

Vermin she thought. Absolute Vermin, no matter the side one picks.

She sent out the mental command to her sons to begin their part of the operation.

Fire spray 31's lifted off from a close mountain range and began their flight. The Impeding Assault Tanks they had produced at Scion Mobile Shipyards began their underground attack runs. Much as she thought the worm method of the Bryn'adul barbaric, she couldn't deny it's military effectiveness. Especially when you didn't really have much worry that there were Civilians amongst the attackers.

Nobody was a civilian today.

My Sons... she called out to them through her technopathy, bisecting an Ashlan "Jedi" (She refused to refer to any Jedi that would fight alongside The Church as such after she saw the grisly results of their door to door operations on the civilians still inside New Adasta) as she did so. Make the Ashlan's pay. Make the NIO chase you.

With that she continued to hack and slash her way down the steps, teleporting missiles and grenades back upon their source. Crusader and New Sith alike died in droves against her. Then...she sensed him...

" Coren Starchaser ..." she said under her breath, gutting another Ashlan Knight too slow at Makashi.

Feeling the weight of Destiny call to her, Xiphos began to fight her way even more brutally, teleporting out of the immediate combat zone to where she sensed his fighter set down, an old, abandoned excavation site not far from the temple itself. She didn't care about the temple, or Cedric, at the moment. Her sons would take care of it.

Right now, The Force had delivered a greater prize. The source of all the problems caused for any meaningful, united effort against The Bryn'adul.

She teleported some distance away from him, at the edge of the excavation site, the dark blue of her organic Armor against the Korriban Sun as the fighters of her children streaked overhead.

"Starchaser..." she said the words quietly, and with venom. "Just the man I wanted to see."

She angled her Lightsaber's dark green blade with it's white aura at him.

"When I think of all the Lives you tossed to the Bryn'adul by refusing The Elder Compact..." she growled, not fully able to retain her emotional distance, the utter disgust in her tone evident. "I question why I ever tried to be loyal to the Jedi at all. Your failure as a leader by listening to that fool Ryv led to hundreds of dead who didn't need to die, indulging and exploiting the Jedi's Hero Complex. Because of you, I had no choice but to fight the Order. How many Jedi died for nothing at Dantooine, Generis, and just that last battle with Ziost? You wouldn't have had me amongst your enemies if you had done the right thing and told Ryv to go and feth himself."

Xiphos pointed then at the battle in the distance.

"All that talk of moral integrity, and you teamed up with Imperials and Light Sided Fascists who went door to door at New Adasta, killing whoever was inside. If I didn't so utterly loathe you for your hypocrisy, I'd almost pity you. What's it like, I wonder, propping up Imperials who will pick their Imperialism over your Democracy, in the end? Or a garbage people who publicly crucify others and absolutely won't allow you to stand in their way in the end? Is that all it takes? Them not calling themselves Sith for you to let them get away with their crap? Are you gonna try and "reform" Irveric or Cedric? I cannot help but wonder which of these two will turn on you first when your SJC's usefulness is outlived. My money's on Irveric, personally..."

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

2ND POST
CLEAVER
KORRIBAN
OBJECTIVE 2: BLOODSOAKED VALLEY

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

Allies (NIO): Rurik Fel

Allies (AC/GA/EE/SJC): Lonnie Kai Dagon Kaze Damsy Callat Ingrid L'lerim
Starlin Rand Aelina Corsanis

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

Enemies (BOTM/NSO/AL): The Mongrel

TANGO DOWN: GALIDRAANI SPECIAL-FORCES ON KORRIBAN III - THE TOOLS OUR LORD GAVE US

​

'HOLD POSITIONS!!! Ah've got an idea.... But it might need t'be ran by the Lord-Colonel's mob first! Their payloads, their say - but ah hink we can make use o' their artillery! Just wan wee snag, just one is all; we literally just need t'pull back by about a hundred paces or so, reorg an' let me get a better gander at that hull! That sound wae you lot?'

As every voice around him rang out affirmatively in response, rearguard gunners stepped up with the bipods on their shoulder-slung LMGs, spraying covering fire all over the northern approach in bursts to conserve as much of their slow-to-reload ammunition. The sound of swoop-bike engines revving in the distance had told Lady Enedina's Red Jackals all they needed to know of the contingent the scouting units had belonged to, and though they couldn't be picked out by eye in the distance, it was obvious as to where the noise and the impending attacks would be springing from; sitting just out of effective small-arms range, the swoop bikes would be heard off to the northwest of their positions, leading some to doubt the recently-defeated scouts belonged to their contingent at all. Doyle couldn't help but agree that his subordinates' logic and intuition was as on point (and as level-headed) as ever, and began to factor in closer, more-frontally aligned opposition, with an equally-high probability of awaiting chances to spring attacks on the men and women of Unit 44 also.

'Sir? Agreeing with all the others, but noticing a failure to see one handy detail! Even if we move back a hundred paces from here, the Mawites uphill still aren't advancing on us yet.... Oh my karking God, man! Don't look at me like that, just let me get to my point - if the Maw won't budge from their line yet, we're still free to bolster ours from behind! The Wildcats have been clear to move up since the swoop bikes started revving to distract or intimidate us! You get me now, sir?'

The polite Woad-born Lancejack was clearly an intellectual cut above the usual savage from the others in Doyle's little gang of Non-Coms, and one who had still acquitted himself aggressively enough in combat to be noticed by many in his service to Galidraan and the New Imperial Order alike. Only the Red Jackals' commanders had access to the recruits' files, but Roland was still able to grant his comrade some info on the promising young Blue-Heart Lance-Corporal; the lad's first taste of war, Ziost 2, the first time he was Mentioned-In-Dispatches for exemplary conduct, Serenno. The list of achievements wouldn't cease at the Battle for Carannia either, but privileged clearance would only permit Doyle enough information on the early career of the quickly-promoted Lance-Corporal Gould, and to the extent that the redacting would keep Roland from finding the rest out anyway, one of the many painful blessings the Red Jackals had made their peace with along the way.

'UNCONTESTED COVER!!!! FREE TO FIRE-AND-MANOEUVRE SOUTH IF NEED BE!!! CONSERVING ROUNDS FOR NOW!!!'

'JUST MOVE WITH US, HENDERSON!!! STRONGER POSITIONS TO HOLD BEHIND US ANYWAY!!!', the 1st-Leftenant roared in reply, turning back to Gould to make the reply he intended to make before being interrupted by confirmations from the LMG-wielding rearguard units. Both would chuckle over the sound of the speeders in the distance before letting Doyle get back to what they were discussing, as all the others were listening in to keep time with the general pace of the op, and didn't want to miss what was being decided as the best course of action, something the two Blue-Hearts didn't want to annoy the others in their particular group so Gould kept his mouth patiently shut as Leftenant Doyle finally responded,'I understand you perfectly, and will note, before we move, that the Wildcats have probably got better eyes on that mountain than we do. If they shoot Smoothbores anywhere near as good as the Fighting First do, they'll be very likely to see what we see when the speeders make their first move.... Good call, Corporal. Jus' try an' stay alive, will ye?'

TANGO DOWN: GALIDRAANI SPECIAL FORCES ON KORRIBAN IV - CRUMBLING REDOUBT

<"Reed to Jackal Three! Here's the thing, thanks t'the holographic-display's top-down, an' the active feed from our eyes beyond the sky, we can actually get a decent headcount an' such aw'ready. Honestly, if yer datapads weren't half-karked fi the heat, ah'd send ye the info on that an' then some.... Jus' haud tight for a bit, myself an' a couple other officers have a plan in mind - playin' ti strengths baith auld an' brand-spankin' alike!">​

Settling into their newfound positions at the decaying outpost, built on the lowest, northernmost incline of the mountain behind them, the Red Jackals would check their inventory, their loadouts and personal ammunition reserves as Doyle engaged in small back-and-forth exchanges of intel with the Wildcats' very own Captain Reed. Both glad to embrace combat with other Blue-Hearts once more, the conversation quickly turned to business, shifting talk in the hopes they'd get to see some fireworks before the sun had fully risen to high-noon on the planet's surface. The latter part of the Commoner-Captain's most recent reply on the comm-link had, however, given the Red Jackal's gifted Leftenant cause for curiosity, and a gnawing, nagging urge to see the movements of his comrades' formation, one that gave Doyle no choice but to prod a little more on the matter of Reed's intentions. Inhaling deep as he framed his response, Codename: Cleaver framed his response carefully for a moment until he abandoned it for the brazen approach instead, inquiring,'Doyle to Wildcat Two! Any chance o' some punditry on that matter, sir? Would help t'gie the others some peace o' mind.'

<"FINE THEN, SPOILSPORT!!! We're splittin' the tanks aff fae the Scout AFVs entirely! We have a plan for them, an' ah'll no be the wan ti squawk on the specifics o' that matter - but ah can definitely say the Cataphracts are gawnty be settin' their line as wide as possible on the hull just behind yees. We both know they're takin' a while ti get the tanks in position, but they'll be coverin' every approach as soon as they get where they need t'be, Doyle! Wildcat Two out!">​

'JACKAAAAAAAAALS!!!! READY UP - ALL EYES TO THE NORTH!!!!'

 

[Alars Keto]

Location: TAG ME IN COACH, idk just throw me in somewhere behind Death Gangs looking out to dry riverbed
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Tegan Starfall | First Sister | The Mongrel
Enemies: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Darth Petrichor | Mikhail Grayson | Damsy Callat | Hiran Avola | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran


A ear piercing scream overpowered the ambient sounds of battle in the distance, the shrieking cry of utter agony was an example to the others around him. The smell of smoldering flesh and burning tobacco mixed together as the branding assailants finished with their quarry, two hardened marauders pulled away with red hot irons burning with the ensignia of the Hidden Maw as a hidden hand moved with a sleight of hand away from the forehead of the poor sapient that suffered such indignity. The two assailants looked to the third figure that held the swift hand, a looming shadow over the now groveling failure begging for forgiveness.

"Ey don't cry 'ow, I'm going to let you go. Give ya another chance."

The imposing form of the marauder lieutenant Alars Keto once concealed in blinding light from the desert glare, now came into clear view relighting his snuffed out cigarra. Drawing a light from his pocket, the savage marauder relit his cigarra and puffed several times with only a moment's pause to hock a lugey out upon the sands. The spitball splattered against the barren earth with remnants of withered greenery, flora once his means of enslavement. He had done what no other had done before, he had freed himself of the hive mind with the aid of the Dark Three and the mighty Heathen Priests who restored him to.. whatever he was from before the Drengir baptized him on the Vine-sworn path. For a brief time, he was restored. His body rejuvenated, molded into what the Drengir Eldervine needed of him as his cybernetics were abandoned, cast aside as he walked in the image of his masters.

Even now in his freed state, enhanced once more by the need for mechanical supports and auxiliary strengths he could hear the remnants of the Drengir lurk in his mind. They were calling for him, it was the call to come home.

"Go on."

The tortured slave-soldier rose in a near broken state, his body nearly collapsing the moment both feet touched the ground. The two hardened warriors that flanked the filth groaned and seethed audibly, it was clear they weren't finished with what they wanted to accomplish here. They looked on to Kryll who stared back with a sadistic look of glee.

"Aight then."

The slave-soldier tried again, with renewed vigor but his body failed him once more as he rolled down the elevated sand dune. Kryll took a few steps toward the summit and looked down alongside his companions, his right hand rose to his back and let his fingers wrap around the hilt of his Atrisian Warblade. He nearly began his hunt before he heard the rumbling sounds of swoop bikes soar by his position, a roving detachment of Mawite Deathgang members heading off toward some unknown force.

"Where they going?"

HIs gaze shifted away immediately to the otherside of the massive dune and as he passed over the peak his eyes gazed upon a large encampment of 'Bloodsworn', powerful warriors sworn in service to the mighty Zachariel Steelblood . Kryll's words boomed over the crowd and the scattered voices quieted in his query.

"I SAID WHERE THE KARK ARE THEY GOING!?"

 

[Vector Monk]

VALLEY OF THE DARK LORDS
KORRIBAN
Starlin Rand

​

"New Imperial?!" Vector caught himself before he could snort in derision, "Why, yes of course. Long live Tavlar."

He offered a lazy salute but the Jedi seemed too absorbed by academic questions to notice. Captain Monk's genial mask faltered with each hole Starlin attempted to punch in his thesis. A vein in his temple visibly throbbed with the effort of containing intellectual rage. His upper lip quivered and Vector nearly pulled the trigger.

"Historical revisionism," he cut in at last with an icy tone, "Jedi propaganda, sir! Don't tell me you believe that silly old Skywalker fable about fatherly redemption and overthrowing 'evil'? It is far more likely that Vader and Sidious destroyed each other in some form of internecine power struggle. History is written by the victors dear fellow, it is of little surprise that a philistine institution like the University of Alderaan would peddle such rebel mythology as fact."

Vector gazed out across the desolate landscape and leaned forward on raised knee in a heroic scholarly pose. Illumination from lightsabers clashing and blaster fire back at the Maw dig site only enhanced the Sith agent's dramatic ambiance.

"Rest assured somewhere beneath our feet Lord Vader's tomb slumbers, just waiting for someone brilliant enough to claim its secrets! Someone like Captain Vector Monk and his trusted accomplice..."

With a furrowed brow Monk glanced over at the Jedi.

"Sorry, what was your name again?"

 

[Thalia Senn]

Allies: Zark San Tekka Kirie
Enemies: Darth Carnifex KV-6000 UX-0626 ​

Was she being patronizing? Sarcastic? Thalia couldn't tell.

She didn't like leaving her new Master to a well-known Sith lord. Carnifex had been kicking around in the dirt since her parents were in the military. She didn't want to go another few years without a Master. She'd lost too many to time or death or her own stupid mistakes. She wanted to protest but she knew he had the right of it. She'd just get in the way.

They passed row after row of the black spikes as troopers prepared themselves and their fireteams. When they finally stopped at the pod they would be using she knocked on the star-speckled hull and shrugged.

"Hopefully we pull a Skywalker and just crash the stormin' thing into the Valley of the Lords. And if we die, Kothan si and all that." She doubted Master San Teka hadn't thought that far ahead, but they definitely weren't getting out of the ship on the spikes. They were a one-way ticket.

 

[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

Blood Wave

The stranger offered no aggression when approached by the Dark Heretic, though he wasn't fully certain if he could trust her yet. It was difficult for him to get a solid read on her, which left open the possibility for treachery. Despite this, Petrichor offered her a small, yet respectful bow of the head.

"If your intention is not to fight, then we have no quarrel. Though my troops have began their assault on the forces of the Maw, I have other matters to attend to on this tomb of a planet."

Though his words rang true, it would be a lie to say that he wasn't ready for a fight. He was constantly keeping an eye on the horizon, awaiting the moment when the battle would inevitably find its way to them. There were a great many forces that had gathered here, and not all of them would be so understanding of the Order's presence. He was meant to keep his affiliations with the Crusade a secret, and would continue to do so. Unfortunately, that would make keeping the Crusade's allies from killing his own troops rather... difficult.

He had to maintain his faith in Jorel, and rely on his former apprentice to maintain a balance on the field of battle. For now, he had to remain on the move.

"Perhaps we may be able to assist each other."

Petrichor pointed toward the nearby ruins and Sith tombs that littered the Valley of the Dark Lords.

"I seek answers. Perhaps you do as well. You may not care of what I do, but you do care about something. If not, then you wouldn't have come to this ancient, dead world."

His words provided a hint of his ability to read others. Though she was making it difficult for Petrichor to read her through the Force, he was still very skilled at reading body language and vocal tone. The most subtle of hints could reveal pages of the book of one's life, if one cared enough to look. To Petrichor, finding such things was almost second nature.

"I for one would appreciate the company. One can not have too many allies, after all..."

With those words, he began his journey to the tombs of the Sith.

Jorel Kaan: Commander of the Petrite Host

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

Enemies: The Mongrel , Tegan Starfall , First Sister , BotM, Sith

Loadout: Dual curve-hilted lightsabers, armorweave jacket

The forces of the Petrite Order began picking up the pace as they made their way into the Valley of the Dark Lords. The Petrite Troopers made up the bulk of the vanguard, fanning out across the hillside as they made their ascent. Most of the Excerpts of the Order took positions along the flanks, spreading even further out among the rocks and cliffs. The Exalted themselves followed close behind Jorel Kaan , who proceeded immediately behind the bulk of the Troopers. As the forces of the Maw came into view, Jorel ignited his lightsaber, its blade coming to life in a roaring crimson flame.

He could feel the anger raging within him, and it took all he had to maintain his calculating nature. The Maw would pay dearly for the hell they had set upon his people. Jorel let in a deep breath, remembering his earliest days of training under Petrichor. He had been considered to be the Dark Heretic's best student; a true prodigy of everything that the Order stood for. And yet, here he was... reverting back to basic meditation to calm his anger. Soon, he told himself. Patience and cunning would be the gateway to his revenge.

Before making his move, Jorel reached for his commlink, sending a message across an NIO frequency given to him by one of their agents. The following message was sent to the Hellcats of DECEASED Aron Gowrie , as well as the unit of Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran and Hiran Avola :

<<To the ground forces of the NIO, my name is Jorel Kaan, commander of the forces of the Petrite Order. We are stationed in the Northeastern part of the Valley of the Dark Lords, and will be advancing on the Maw momentarily. I know that you have no love for the Sith, and I do not ask for your friendship. I only ask for you to stay out of our way. Together, we will bring justice to the Maw for what they did to Csilla. Kaan out!>>

He turned toward the commander of the Petrite Troopers, pointing his saber down toward the approaching Maw forces.

"These scum may appear to be rabble, but make no mistake, this rabble managed to bring down an entire planet. You are not to underestimate them. If you see an officer, you take the shot. The Excerpts will hold position along our flanks, and will only mobilize when needed. As for myself and the Exalted, we will take up the center of the charge. These barbarians worship death, so lets allow them to meet their god."

With those words, the Troopers opened fire. A hail of blasterfire rained down upon he Tarar Warbands as the Petrite forces began their attack. The closer they got, the faster they moved, till eventually they were in an all out sprint. The uphill charge was easy enough; those that could call upon the Force for strength did so, and the Troopers themselves were enhanced with Sith magics. As they neared the lower parts of the Valley, Jorel and his Exalted emerged front and center, lightsabers roaring in the air as they cried into the wind as one...

"FOR CSILLA!!!"

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Marlon Sularen
​

Over a month ago they had been celebrating the end of the Stygian Campaign. High Command said they were just handling "Clean Up" operations in the region now...

So why in the Seven Corellian Hells was he here?

The bridge of the Ouroboros shook as a turbolaser barrage from the Maw Irregular fleet glanced off of its double-layered deflectors. The combined might of several Galactic Alliance battlegroups had joined that of the burgeoning Ashlan Crusade to deal a final death blow to the Sith Empire which was already on its deathbed. The real reason the Alliance had come, he reckoned, was the Brotherhood of the Maw.

His gaze fell over the tactical display table, the battle depicted in a series of holograms with Alliance vessels floating white outlined in blue, Ashlan Crusade vessels gold outlined in blue, Maw vessels black outlined in red, and Sith vessels, what remained of them at least, just red. He grimaced. The Maw Irregular Fleet was led by a man every Corellian knew. The man who had created the Butcher of Byss, Marlon Sularen.

Pryce smirked. If he could bring back the head of Sularen and decimate the Maw Irregular fleet intelligence suggested the Maw's standing military strength would diminish significantly, though that wouldn't reduce their danger. Their ancient, yet advanced Path Engines still confounded Alliance engineers and could get past most of their fortifications making them extremely deadly in precision hit and run attacks. But at least this would reduce their threat level.

"Quite the fleet," muttered Falkoni. Pryce looked to the cyborg and winced.

"Well, it wouldn't be Sularen if he didn't have a fleet of battlecruisers." The lights along Falkoni's borg implant flashed as he ran numbers for targeting solutions and relayed them through to the Ouroboros' droid brain and rerouted them to his gunners all in the span of four or five blinks.

"Yes well," Falkoni gestured at the table and Pryce nodded.

"Yeah, can't say much when we've brought a fleet to match." Match was putting it lightly. Starhawks, Redeemers, and Alliance-class vessels were scattered around the Ouroboros. Nebulas and their support ships hovered along the outskirts of their formation providing picket lines to chase off the more opportunistic vessels. They had even managed to bring along the Five Blades of Corellia as they were called now, the same fleet of Damocles-class Corellian Dreadnoughts that had blockaded Byss less than a year ago.

And all of them were engaged in smaller skirmishes on their own as this fleet slugged it out with the Maw Irregular fleet. It was a gross misuse of military power. More than a single sector fleet was present at Korriban this day representing far too many of the Alliance's fleet assets in one basket.

Somehow Pryce knew someone in High Command thought this would be a good idea, a symbol used in holos across the Alliance showing the might of the Navy.

'If we don't all die here.' he thought grimly as another turbolaser bolt glanced off of their shields.

 

[Melydia Gold]

SIDE: Defender
OBJECTIVE II.: The friend-saving
LOCATION: Tombs, Korriban
WEARING: x | x
CARRYING: x | x | x | x | x
TAG: Dis

T H E __ S W A R M K E E P E R​

The mortal realm had no place for what is fair. For too long now and likely too long after this day, the sentient world wrought destruction on all things, without a care towards who or what was in the aftermath. It was a kill or be killed world and unfortunately for many of the wildlife on Korriban, a good deal of them already scavengers and carnivores, they were nearing their mortal end. Indeed, life isn't fair. Nature isn't fair. And, perhaps most importantly, Melydia Gold wasn't fair.

The Sithling had become jaded in her time with the Sith Eternal and beyond. She'd been ostracized for her Sithspawn origins, had searched for missing dear ones in secrecy for fear that otherwise would subject their friend ( Arcturus Dinn ) to worse, had watched her friends whither away by problems she couldn't fix. But no more, she'd told herself. No friends left behind, she'd vowed - perhaps naively - when the crusaders set their sights on sand.

And that vow lead her to the tombs, a Shyrack flapping its wings to perch on her armored shoulder while a Tuk'ata youth sniffed at her boots as she observed the tomb around her. If she'd been in this one before, it wasn't by this particular passageway. And yet, there was something in here, she knew it. Though, whether or not it was another friend to save from ravaging warriors, or the means to protect herself and her friends, she was uncertain.

When the cat appeared before the girl and her warped companions, she came to an abrupt halt, ready to defend herself before the shadow's voice of sorts made it to her mind. At mention of Kal -friend, however, the cold carapace of resolve cracked open, the insectoid's eyes widening with an amber glow. "We were also searching for our friends," she started slowly, measuring her words after quickly reminding herself the context of why she was in the tombs to begin with. "We are slow to trust when so many wish to ruin this world...However, if you're a friend of Kal-friend, you must be a friend yourself, yes? We think that's right, anyway." She nodded once, as if committing herself to such a decision. "So yes, we would help you, so long as our friends can be safe as well."

 

[Vesta]

MONSTERS​

"Never forget that there is one single ounce of knowledge we must humble ourselves with, even when we've reached a peak that might, at last, blot out the light itself - remember we die. Death doesn't care if you're good, if you're evil, strong, poor, rich, or weak. Death takes us all."


It would have been a lie if Mori had claimed she'd noticed Allyson Locke when she'd reached her vantage point, and it'd be a rather bold claim if she'd said she had anticipated the arrow by some sixth sense of danger or anything else similarly opportunistic, but the fact of the matter was that she had simply been turning her head in the direction of her assailant when the rather, in the eyes of someone seeing through the force as she had been, bright missile caught her eye as her apprentice spoke. The arrow, thusly, missed its mark not totally but by mere centimeters - tearing through the side of her shoulder, the length of the side of her upper left arm, as she turned her body and leaned into her apprentice to knock the two of them out of the way as the girl misunderstood the threat of someone that could have crept up on a master of stealth that one needed to be when capable of seamlessly, perhaps perfectly, stealing another's identity while surrounded by Jedi or Sith alike.

So she didn't make any such claims - not in the future, in life or in death - likely because she'd never willingly bring up the time she was unable to detect a mere human nearly successfully assassinating her, though she supposed Belia Darzu would've likely done the same if she had survived a similar, if not more embarrassing, death.

At the time, though, Darth Mori's thoughts were hardly on the implications of her own sensory-related shortcomings and more on the fight that had been prematurely brought to the two of them. She didn't bother wasting the energy to push herself up from the ground, the Shi'ido simply shifted another leg jutting out of the side of her hip to keep herself from completely falling over, and with the arm she'd used to brace herself against Darth Daiara she shoved her away from her with a forceful shove of telekinetic energy. "Find a way to a ship and Tu'teggacha , aid him - I will explain later, move." She commanded, her left leg disappearing as she righted herself by simply shape-shifting her midsection to be more anatomically correct with her then-lopsided lower half in order to right herself. Her left hand, meanwhile, reached down for the blade at her hip, the one she'd confiscated from her apprentice after their fateful encounter with the girl's mother, and with a (noticeably) strained tug at its sleek hilt she released it from its scabbard and, with a little touch of telekinesis, unsheathed its full length for her right hand to wield - which she promptly snatched at its hilt with to do exactly that.

Allyson Locke might've had the element of surprise, but she did not bring with her the same degree of anonymity that would've prevented the Sith Lord from knowing precisely who had been her attacker upon being seen - and, more importantly, who was now her prey. The two had met before, briefly, though she doubted the woman realized that she was the same girl that'd quelled an enraged Darth Prazutis on Krayiss II, or that she was far more a terrifying foe than she'd ever let herself on to be. Terrifying, in fact, to the point that whatever presence the spy might've felt in the force from the woman, or perhaps her appearance - dark though it might have been - if she'd been viewing her as a Miralukan might've needed to, the darkness that could be felt grew even as the Shi'ido's flesh was cut.

Pain was her friend, and anger her mistress.

Electricity raced down the length of the blade, sparks of red coated with a deep, black, void filling the air with loud crackling as lightning would, and soil sprung from the ground at her feet and affixed itself to the woman's wound, painfully sealing it shut. It would have been in the Jedi's best interest to move, though Mori did not care to throw casual hints to her intent to kill the woman so much as project every ounce of her anger through the force in the way of deadly sight - not the sort that Darth Maul might've used to atomize a man, instead only to offer the woman a torturous experience if she was foolish enough to root herself in place or let loose more of her frustratingly painful arrows.

Her grip tensed around the hilt of her sword, the only means she intended to kill the woman with - if death was in the cards.

Still working to destroy Korriban

 

[Tegan Starfall]

Post: 2
Objective: Crossing the Sands
Equipment: Mind Crown | Black MidNight Duster with Hood | Echani shield suit | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Defender | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | x2 FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X4 Daggers | Pack of Death sticks | Various Explosives on person and in backpack | Holopad
Allies: The Mongrel | First Sister
Enemies: DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Darth Petrichor | Mikhail Grayson | Damsy Callat | Hiran Avola | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran
Special Tags: Open

---

Tegan had entered the old tomb that had been undisturbed for a long time. Dust had settled all long ago and as Tegan walked across the stone floor of the hidden tomb her foot prints became the only markers of anyone living having been here since ancient times. The Tomb was bare devoid of anything ornate the that was buy design this place was not meant to highlight the accomplishments of one who had betrayed the sith. It wasn’t long and Tegan found herself before stone slabs that held her old bones. Tegan with the force telekinetically removed the cover stone revealing inside her bones, a Dagger with an inscription on it, and the third thing was a round object the resembled a marble.


Tegan drooped bad she had been carrying and began putting her bones it diligently and carefully like they were precious artifacts. To her they were, they were the bones of her first existence times long dead. After she carefully had her bones placed in the protectice bag she grabbed the dagger first and slipped it into one of the pockets of her jacket. Then she grabbed the marble like object and lifted it closing one of her orange-colored eyes as she looked into it. Looking into it she saw an endless sea of stars swirling around, that brought a wicked smile to her painted face. She then slipped the Marble into another small bag she had on her.


It didn’t take her long and she was already exiting the tomb. As did she laid a small explosive device at it’s entrance. She began to walk away pulling a near by large stick from a long dead tree to her hands. She headed into he desert in the direction of the Valley where war was beginning to brew along the way she would meet up with two dozen other Sorcerers of Rhand. They did not need a massive force to show their destructive powers and they had seen the storm brewing long before the other Maw Forces.

---

Rhand Forces

​

The Rhandite Force a dozen of Sorrecors masters dark Magicks were both waiting for Tegan’s arrival and preparing a ritual. A Ritual that would raise up a sandstorm around the Valley as they arrived it would slow any reinforcements for both sides of the battle that was brewing. The Sorcerrors began to chant and praise the dark as the winds began to rise and move towards the Valley carrying the sands with them.


Besides the Two Dozen Sorcerers they also had a hundred scarred warriors. Barbarians that self-mutilated for every life they took and ever battle they survived. They often followed the Sorcerers on there crusades as personal guards but in this instance, they were acting as small armed force. They carried very simple swords that were folded in the ancient sith ways to be able to take on sabers the size of claymores. The scarred warriors only wore armor peace mill from kills they had scored in the past, so some had no armor and other had plates here and there of armor on there bodies of all manner of design.


The Force was small but it could pack a punch where the force was concerned though it saw itself as more support roll anyway. It’s purpose was not to save the god forsaken planet but to make sure the bulk of the Maw forces in the valley survived so that they could continue to carry out the Darks plan. For now though the scarred warriors were in a holding pattern as they awaited Tegan’s arrival and for the sand storm to fully take affect giving them cover as they arrived.