Skirmish Fire and Blood [SAO/RNR]

[Briana Sal-Soren]

She was about to answer Lorn when the familiar baritone of her brother's voice echoed in her ears. Her chin whipped to look at him, lips immediately pressing into a hard line, her sapphire eyes boring into him. If looks could cut, hers would have surely killed. Apparently, her family found it the more popular option to ignore what she had to say these days, despite whatever insistences and reassurances she gave them.

There were more than enough Jedi to handle the situation on Enarc, without having to needlessly risk himself — she'd pressed.

But, Briana knew what this really was. Why he was here. Even if she lacked Lossa's ability for empathy in the Force, Briana knew a shield when she saw one — knew his concern and wariness for her state of mind.

He knew they didn't need back up.

Simply put, he didn't trust her.

Briana half expected to be either offended by this, or oddly comforted by the idea that he wanted to look out for her for a change. But, as the thought settled, nothing came. Perhaps, since Astor's death, she'd simply been pushed to some place beyond those emotions?

The thoughts were pushed from her mind. "Choose to not get yourself killed then," she quipped, lightly shaking her head but saying nothing else on the matter as the current three of them moved in the direction that Lorn initially indicated.

Feelings could be expressed, or explored, later, when they were out of danger. The longer they went without finding the Seed, the more prone they'd be of getting blanketed by the pull of the dark side and falling into the same mindless bloodlust that'd over taken the rest of the populace.

Pushing deeper into the ruined city, the destruction around them seemed to worsen and escalate with every step, the invading host loosing pods from the sky... the mist of smoke growing thicker still, making her blue eyes redden with tears as they dodged and weaved around debris, around shouting, panic-struck civilians. The threads of the Force pulling them ever along its current, leading them... until the light began warping, reacting, fleeing.

"Up ahead," she breathed, grinding her teeth as her gaze narrowed and every muscle in her body coiled and tensed. They hadn't found the seed, but what they'd found in its stead was no less an abomination that needed handling.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren , Lorn Reingard , Darth Imperius | EQUIPMENT: Lightsaber, Echo Stone, Astor's Blade

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[Darth Imperius]

• Objective: I. Rage, Rage
• Tags:
  • Allied: Darth Callidus | Darth Moskvin | Crane Baxa | Ellissanthia [all indirect]
  • Adversary: Briana Sal-Soren | Lorn Reingard | Brandyn Sal-Soren [Direct]
• Theme: Attack

There was no quiet place in this city. No calm, no serenity. Its streets, once orderly and populated, were empty, the only remnants being the carcasses of burnt out speeders, rubble and glass, mutilated corpses and the activities of war. Peace had disappeared. Peace had never been there. Only a thick veil, concealed and oppressing thoughts, emotions and feelings. An illusion conjured by the feeble and petty to enact a sense of control, to rule over the sheep that dared not to oppose the dictatorship of manners, etiquette and social standards, of civility. Nature knew no such terms for they were coined by none other than those who lacked the strength to contend among the predators, among the mighty. The fire that will light the reign of the strong has come to Enarc and it laid bare the truth that peace was a lie.

Darth Imperius marched down the streets, his black eyes burning with righteous excitement. His lightsaber had tasted the blood of the Naboo already, foolish soldiers who came to the rescue of the people. Rescue. They were liberated, freed from the oppression of their own laws and limitations. He had given their emotions a purpose for the first time ever in their lives and all these narrow-minded fools could think about was feeding their own self-righteousness. Their bodies lay twisted and cut down, barely a nuisance to his path. The civilians on the other hand, unshackled, were roaming, were fighting, feasting on their undone chains. They dared not to cross paths with the imposing figure, the aura of dread even too strong for them to overcome. But he fed on them. It were their basic instincts, primordial drives that fueled him.

A small chapel was ahead, apparently a safe haven and evacuation point that barely clung to its life under the assault of his forces and their own civilians. He knew that nearby enemy reinforcements had appeared, his auto senses and connection to the battle network always feeding information into his mind. The arrival of more forces send a sense of foreshadowing, a taste of a fight to come. A real fight, not the mindless butchery of desperate soldiers and security personnel. The Force obliged, as it always did, and provides conflict. He would not want it any other way.

The chapel appeared in front, his appearance, a black armored titan walking down the street with no care for any of the carnage that was around, not only spooked the defenders but routed them instantly, running to their own evacuations and rally points, hopefully and predictably, telling their grand protectors, that he was here.

His lightsaber deactivated as his large gauntlet pushed open the door of the old building, squeaking metal pins protesting. He entered, his gaze wandering around the place with its rows of benches pushed to the side, make space in the middle where now lay abandoned belongings. Next to the entrance was military equipment, a communicator and some weapons. His heavy steps clanked on the floor, almost cracking the floor tiles under his weight. It was a dark place, shadowy, even though large windows usually offered sunlight tainted by their many colors. Their images were quite of splendid work, showing scenes of peace, tranquility and sacrifice. As he walked on, he saw that in an alcove, there were blankets covering corpses, dead soldiers and civilians no doubt.

A grim expression ran across his face.

Upon arrival, one would see that this place of the Light side had been deconsecrated and corrupted. Impaled on splinters of wood and metal, the dead were now watching the entrance and the inside. Crucified they pointed the way inside where in front of the altar, stood the figure of the Dark Lord. His lightsaber clipped to his belt, but his greatsword, resting next to him, the point on the floor. On the altar itself lay another corpse, eviscerated in ritualistic fashion, the blood still dripping from the gauntlet of the Sith. Through it he had sent an invitation, words of dread that echoed through the city without voice, into the minds of the defenders.

"I have broken your splendid city. Now come and face death."

Equipment
| Lightsaber | Greatsword | Armor | Amulet | Shuttle |
Order of Battle
| Knights Tenebrus | Sith Eradicators |​