Skirmish [GA/SO] Determination and Distraction

[Azurine Varek]

Determination and Distraction

The mist-shrouded peaks of Zeffo loomed like forgotten titans, their jagged spires clawing at a storm-heavy sky. The ever-present howl of the mountain winds whispered through the ancient ruins, carrying secrets long since buried beneath the weathered stone. The planet’s once tranquil surface, scarred by ancient ruins and the weight of time, now felt like a place caught between echoes of the past and the looming future. Today, the air was thick with something far heavier — the hum of engines, the distant thud of orbital landings, and the unspoken tension of looming battle.

The calm was abruptly broken.

A blip. A faint signal—a whisper of life that had not been heard in weeks—pulsed from the depths of Zeffo’s surface. A locator beacon, buried in the shadow of the Tomb of Miktrull, flickered to life, the faintest trace of hope cutting through the darkness. When the distress beacon linked to Padawan Azurine Varek ‘s communicator flickered to life — weeks after her disappearance — every moment became precious. The Council of the New Jedi Order was swift to act. An unnamed inside informant had whispered of a possible trap, a larger ambush set by the Kainites of the Sith, lead by Darth Carnifex , and their allies.

The response had been decisive. A two-pronged strategy: while a small Jedi-led extraction team ventured deep into the ancient ruins in search of Azurine, Jedi and Alliance would stand firm with explosive distraction. The task was clear — hold the line. Prevent the Sith from overwhelming and crushing the rescue effort before it could succeed. On Zeffo now, hope was worth every second.

PvE and PvP Skirmish!
Open to Sith Opposition, coordinate amongst yourselves for PvP HERE. PvP is not a requirement, though.

The Misty Mountains
​

The Southern Ridge Outpost was a hastily fortified position, carved into the jagged landscape of Zeffo’s mountains. Scattered supply crates and portable command stations marked the ground like stubborn footholds against the relentless Sith advance. The air crackled with the distant clash of lightsabers and the steady pulse of blasterfire, but within the outpost, the tension was heavier still. Beyond the ridge, the entrance to the Tomb of Miktrull loomed, its darkened archways promising danger and uncertainty. Yet the Alliance stood firm, buying precious time for the rescue team to complete their mission. In the shadow of ancient ruins, courage and desperation collided.

Engage with forces on the ground!

Aerial Support
​

Swirling banks of mist concealed jagged mountain peaks, forcing pilots to navigate with razor-sharp reflexes as Sith interceptors hunted in deadly formation. Alliance starfighters cut through the storm-laden sky, their engines howling in defiance as they twisted and rolled to evade the crimson streaks of laser fire. The sky was alive, not just with engines, but with the energy and treacherousness of the planet's terrain itself.

Engage with forces in the air!


BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE​

Have something you would like to do? Bring your own objective to the fight ahead!

Small team rescue — team of Valery Noble , Kahlil Noble , Aadihr Lidos , Everest Vale — located here, Rejoin, for those who would like to follow along with that progression as well!​

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Zeffo
Tags: Open (Though I'd prefer to be messaged first for any PvP)
Lightsaber - Pequod
Leg - Anchor

Reina swung her new leg up to connect with the swing of a nearby sith's lightsaber, deactivating the blade as she triggered the pneumatic motor of the Anchor as she smashed the fake foot against their chest, her eyes meeting theirs as the impact shattered the container, shards of brittle steel erupting in various directions. With that, the tip of the Anchor pushed onwards into the Sith's chest. She'd be lying to herself if Reina said this didn't feel good. She was able to fight again. The Anchor felt like it was a part of herself, almost as natural as her leg before she yanked the Anchor out, swinging the artificial leg through the air to splatter the blood off it.

With that, she ignited the Pequod, letting the silver blade illuminate her face as she prepared herself. She had to be careful not to lose herself to the fight. That was what caused her to need the Anchor in the first place. Her impatience to strike. Her unwillingness to take in her surroundings. The wind was all around her. It was at her finger tips as she willed the Wind to listen to her, to increase the strength around her. It wasn't a maelstrom of wind like she had wanted, but it'd make it more difficult for the Sith and their troopers coming to her.

Steady herself. Reina focused on her own breathing, on her own flame burning inside of her. It was trying to rage, wanting to burn everything around it and fight. But she had to control that instinct. Her Light wasn't meant to burn indiscriminately. Reina was meant to guard against the Dark. This was her chance to prove to herself that she could do that. Prove to herself that she could stand up to the Darkness, and not be the Monster that the Drengir told her she was.

She dropped into her stance, waiting and ready. The practice she had put into Ataru was going to pay off, especially now that she had two legs once more. Though in fact it was even better for her, since she had an extra weapon alongside Pequod. The Anchor was going to be a whirlwind of a weapon as soon as she leapt into the air. As soon as her next foe came closer, Reina lunged herself into the air, twisting and tumbling through the sky as she lashed out with her Lightsaber and her leg.​

 

[Anthony Gray Sun]

Tag: Umbra-3
The Starblazer

The mission was simple. Anthony in his new X-wing leading a squad of 5 Tornado Fighter-Bombers in a desperate gun run against the AA defences. The sound of rocket fire filled the air as they pulled up from their dives, Anthony dropping his bombs at the last minute.

"Bombs away Twister! I'm breaking off!"

Three more targets. Three more, and the canyon would be clear for air support to start taking out the ground targets that were giving the jedi ground teams trouble. The rumble of jedi shadow bombs exploding below filled the walls of the canyon, as Anthony pulled up. His senses needed to be sharp, it was only a matter of time before the sith's air response arrived.

<Starblazer, we're prepping for next target. Guns only, we only have enough munitions for one more run. Hit 'em with ion bolts, we'll light 'em up.>

"Copy Twister Lead, switching to Superfang."

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The wind screamed before he arrived.

Not with warning...but with recognition.

Above the great Southern Ridge, the mist parted as if the mountain itself had recoiled, an unnatural gust rolled down through the fortified position like the exhale of something vast and ancient. Thunder didn't announce him, for even it knelt before his dominion, it submitted before him. Then when the clouds above tore open, they didn't reveal sunlight, they revealed him. A monstrous figure descended from the ramp of a black Kainite dropship, flanked by nothing but silence and dread. Darth Prazutis emerged in full war regalia, every inch of him was a living a nightmare wrought in steel and sorcery. His warplate, Qâzjiin'vraal, devoured the light around him, each Zîrkaris plate pulsing with residual agony, siphoning the fear in the air like a starving beast. Living Sithspawn sinew twitched beneath the plating, flexing with anticipation. His presence alone warped the very atmosphere, and with each step, the mountain seemed to groan beneath his weight.


From his side hung Xûl Qarnak, the abyssal executioner's blade, its brutal frame growled with low, dreadful resonance. Across his chest, the Ka'ra'nazat amulet glowed faintly, bleeding tendrils of bright crimson light that coiled like serpents, hungering for battle and bloodshed. In his other hand, the Xûl-Karzaan helmet clutched like a crown awaiting coronation, the tendrils upon it twitching with eager hunger. But when he placed it over his head? The very battlefield changed. A wave of pure, crushing darkness exploded outward in a great silent scream, rippling across stone, steel, and soul. The Force itself shuddered in his presence. Jedi in the distance turned their heads without ever knowing why. Some staggered. Others froze. For the Dark Lord of the Sith, Shadow Hand of the Kainate, Elysian Grandeval Mortarch, the Undying King Darth Prazutis had arrived. He stood upon the ledge overlooking the outpost, the ancient tomb beyond echoing faint pulses of recognition, as if even it, buried beneath ages of time and dust, remembered the language of true domination. The Dark Lord's voice rolled out like grinding stone, amplified by the helm's abyssal depths:

"You have bought your seconds well." A pause, as his gaze swept the defenders like a guillotine choosing where to fall.

"Now bleed for them."

And then he moved.

A blur of abyssal violence, Darth Prazutis descended from the ridge like a living meteor, a burning comet. Each footfall of his dark iron boots struck the permacrete with a deafening crack, as the towering giant became nothing more than a dizzying blur in the air. Soldiers were hurled backward from the force of his impact alone. The first squad he faced barely had time to scream. A sweeping motion of his gauntleted hand crushed three Alliance troopers mid-sentence, their bodies folding in upon themselves as the air itself caved around them.

Then the blade came alive.

Xûl Qarnak ignited in his hand, not with a snap-hiss, but a roar. A blackened, bloodfire blade erupted from the abyssal hilt, edged in bleeding crimson, its core pulsing like a dying star. Where a normal lightsaber might hum, this one growled, it was a low, thunderous war drum that reverberated through the very bones of all who heard its call, pressing like the weight of a collapsing tomb. The moment it emerged, the air itself seemed to recoil. Another trooper was bisected in a single, brutal, precise stroke, the warblade cleaving through flesh, armor, and soul, it left behind a rift of raw agony. Even those who managed to raise their rifles could not aim true, the obsidian voidshards embedded in the hilt bent their senses, fracturing awareness, they showed phantom strikes, making it impossible to gauge where the blade truly was. One soldier dodged a strike that had not yet been made, only for the real cut to come from behind.

A brave defender rushed him, a bold man, he was seized by the Force, lifted into the air, and imploded, his scream extinguished in a sickening crunch. All the while? The saber drank it all in, the blood-forged aurodium veins along the hilt blazed brightly, pulsing with every single death, the bloodshed sent ripples up the length of the war plate while the shadow-silk cloak whipped maddeningly in the air. The runes inscribed within the sith blackstone hissed with hunger. The weapon grew heavier in the force, more alive, more aware, it was a screaming extension of the abyss.

The Shadow Hand didn't even slow his stride.

He walked through blaster fire, bolts fizzled into the hungry lattice of Qâzjiin'vraal, the armor drinking in pain like a fine vintage. The giant moved like a living storm in flesh, cutting through barricades and defenders with equal ease. One defender tried to flee, he raised his hand, and the trooper's shadow rose up behind him, spearing through his back like a phantom lance. No mercy. No pause. Only execution. All the while, the Dark Side swelled around him like a rising tide, feeding on the fear, the death, the chaos. The Tomb of Miktrull loomed in the background, and yet in this moment? It was not the ancient dead who ruled this battlefield.

It was him.

Darth Prazutis had come to Zeffo, and all hope died in his shadow.

Jonyna Si ​

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Darth Prazutis​

The storms above the mountain would split for the sith, but that wasn't the only one who had them at their beckon call.

Deep in the mesocyclone, a single starfighter pierced the thunderhead, and the pilot inside called upon it's power. The cloud began the swirl, as particle bolts came down alongside hail, aiming right at the sith lord. Then came the concussion rockets, and finally, the pilot herself, having shot herself out of the fighter, and plummeted through the storm, drawing her katana and using the storm to gather as much of it's energy into it.

There was only one way to greet a sith lord. She had learned it from fighting Darth Carnifex , and being greeted by Darth Empyrean .

Shock and Awe.

As she exited the cloud, only a single bolt of lightning followed. One more powerful than anything before, and charged with the Light.

The Black Blade of Harmony unleashed everything it had gathered in one go. The crack tolled like a bell, as the blinding light went on for a mile outward, as Jonyna deftly landed with a burst of flame.

Knock 'em dead on arrival. There was no attempt at mercy here.

This was a mission to slay a monster.

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

From a path around a crag, phrik-plated fingers tapping the mask of Anger on her knee, Ashin watched Darth Prazutis make his statement.

She'd often found that she and the Kainate had different aesthetics, wildly divergent values, to say nothing of their sense of good taste and the rivalries and frictions that had passed from relevance decades ago. She walked softly, by and large. She built no empires and led no wars, not for half a century now; Empress and Grand Admiral belonged to other lives. What mattered most to her was small, her great achievements taking place at a personal scale, or a few ships anyway, or a storm, or a challenge, or a private qabbrat, or a single creation.

But sound and scale and fervency had their due moment, and restraint was not always the order of the day.

She slipped on the ancient, inhuman dull-gold mask. The frowning chin tapped against the breastplate of her old phrik armour, as tough as anything on the battlefield, and proven so by innumerable scars from unthinkable enemies. The sword she drew was Ravening: hand-and-a-half, curved and iridescing golden corruption. Even for her, the bond-severing blade and its Velok Emblem handle, carved from the tusk of Lotek'k, were difficult to look at for long.

The doom that sword carried was one she rarely, rarely deployed: if the will of the Force happened to have taken the side of the plucky defense today, that will was obviated. Shouted down to silence.

She moved to join Prazutis. Advancing light-footed across the crags, she ran the sword through the first enemy who opposed her, a Jedi of some kind. She watched his eyes for the horror of the moment: not just his death but the stripping away of his Force bonds to his teachers, his students, his lovers, his friends. He died defiant but he died alone. The old sword was working as it should.

One could be tasteful about overwhelming force and the dread that unmade hearts. So long as one deployed them just at need and just occasionally.

​

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE I

Within the mountainous terrain, the forecast had made no mention of clouds, rain—let alone a thunderstorm. And yet, despite the mild weather, a streak of golden lightning ripped through the air, slamming into the stone ground just outside a Sith encampment.

Drystan stood where the bolt had struck, cloaked in black, his hood raised to obscure his face. The upper half of the vertical scar down his eye disappeared beneath the edge of the cloth.

Immediately, alarms flared. Guns and turret fixtures swiveled toward him, a full platoon of Sith Troopers locking their weapons on target.

The first missile screamed toward his head, a sonic boom in its wake—and in that instant, time slowed for the Shadow. Golden arcs began to coil along his limbs as his body surged with speed, the Force amplifying every muscle, every instinct.

To the soldiers and their motion sensors, it was a blur—too fast to track. Drystan zipped between them like electrcity, each strike dropping a trooper, golden lightning trailing behind him with every step.

And then the missile meant for him struck the ground, a violent explosion displacing rock and soil on contact.

Drystan stood alone at the center of the battlement. Around him, the unconscious bodies of the Sith platoon lay scattered in a mess of guns and armor.

He raised a hand to his comm.

"This is Shadow Creed. Cleared out another hostile encampment. Proceeding…"

Sable Varro

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The others came in flashes of terror, clouds departing, waves breaking, apocalyptic heralds befitting titans clad in black iron. Empyrean was much the same, but he was not - for when the Veritas Empyrean stepped onto the world of Zeffo, it was done through the harsh protest of the Force. The world remained still, but its spirit tore like muscle from bone at his approach through the immaterium. As if from nothing, the corpse of the Emperor strode into the battle.

His foot falls were marked by the sound of metal against stone, making each of his steps echo through the ruins of the Tomb the Jedi had chosen to assault. Not the dark omen of the Kainite, but something sharper and more distinct - Empyrean spoke whispers into the world that manifested as crows. Each held more than a dozen pairs of eyes, twisting and cawing at everything and nothing. A few more quiet words, and one by one they took flight and road through the stone. They would return to him when they had witnessed what they needed to.

His metallic gaze turned then settled on the nearest force presence. Alight with morality and justice, a sense of purity - just the kind of thing to prey upon. With a slow but inexorable rate, Empyrean began his march into the depths of the Tomb to kill what still stood in his way. A dozen deaths here in the mountains would save him thousands of lives in his march on Coruscant...

To kill today, is to save tomorrow.

Tag | Open
Near | Darth Prazutis // Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[Darth Umbra]

Darth Umbra landed on Zeffo, his troop carriers ramp slowly lowering to spill his soldiers onto the wind-swept mountain surface of this southern ridge. There was no fanfare, nothing ostentatious, just a simple disgorging of soldiers from within the hull of his ship. In the distance, the hasty defensive position of Alliance troops could be seen as they began to engage other elements of the Sith that landed on the surface.

Umbra motioned with his hand, urging his men toward the Alliance's position. As the men marched forward toward the defensive positions of Alliance soldiers, Umbra thought of the Alliance's movements here. This response was unusual. They had conflicts all over the galaxy, but something drew them to this barren rock of a planet. But what? Umbra knew not, but he guessed that if it was of use to the Alliance and the Jedi, it could also be of use to the Sith.

As they neared the enemy's defensive positions, the Alliance soldiers targeted them and opened up; accurate blaster fire and explosive rounds reached out toward Umbra and his men. "Interlock shields and continue your advance; do not stop."

Darth Umbra's guards interlocked their anti-infantry shields, absorbing blaster rounds and mitigating the effect of kinetic and explosive damage. They continued to advance, a slow crawling structure of flesh and steel stretching across the landscape like something from a nightmare that slowly came after you, constantly advancing, never stopping, no matter what you did. Umbra stood behind them, slowly in step with his men as they closed the distance.

A disturbance in the Force made Umbra look, noticing farther down the line Darth Prazutis cleave into the enemy with gusto, barreling over their lines and destroying the defenders. Not long after, another being, Ashin Cardé Varanin , joined him, and they began to butcher the defenders.

Umbra took advantage of the chaos the other Sith dealt on the enemy, urging his men to advance more quickly, ushering them on with the Force, bolstering their resolve. Umbra's guards began a light jog, shields still interlinked but with occasional gaps as they moved over the uneven terrain. Blaster fire lanced into them, seeking the gaps in the armor and dropping the occasional Sith trooper.

"Wedge and drive," Umbra stated as they neared the forward lines of defenders, finally taking his lightsaber from his belt, the rusty orange blade flaring to life, crackling with unstable energy. Umbra lept over his men, landing before them and becoming the tip of the wedge.

The Force encircled him, protecting him, allowing him to see the battlefield and the myriad emotions within the defenders. It allowed him to see where they were resolute and would hold, where they had doubts and could be prodded, giving him a tactical advantage. Umbra's blade began to spin, deflecting blaster bolts back into the attackers, and as he neared the enemy's lines, he broke into a sprint, diving deep into a group of Alliance soldiers who had shown doubt in their minds, cutting them down.

Darth Umbra was a blur among the Alliance troopers, his blade, and movements so quick they could not hope to match him. He drove deep into their lines, keeping these Alliance soldiers' attention focused solely on him, allowing his troopers to advance quickly into the enemy fortifications to displace them. As Umbra continued to cut them down, his men began to fortify around him as they drove deep into the defensive positions, replacing where the enemy had been.

"Drive them back," Umbra growled to his Captain, "They are but a distraction."

Umbra's blade whirled, cutting down Alliance troopers with every movement; all the while, his mind's eye wondered to the rear rank of the enemy where his true goal lay. Every second wasted fighting these troopers was a second he would not get back, they need to advance, and quickly.

Aris Noble

 

[Aris Noble]

He didn't know.

All this time, hanging out with Zaiya Ceti , with Braze , learning at the temple, he didn't know Azurine had gone missing. Aadihr Lidos had similarly gone missing, but he was more aware that his Master had been found, that they were still training. But Azurine had gone missing. And he didn't even know. She was his friend. One of the closest friends he had.

He didn't even know she'd gone missing.

Anger. At himself, for not knowing. At the others for not saving her sooner. For letting her get captured to begin with. At the Sith who'd taken her. He stood silently with the Alliance soldiers, his gaze forward to the coming ships. Sith shuttles. The enemy. That's all they were now, people he wanted gone, for what they'd done. For what they keep doing.

For all the war and pain they brought the people around the galaxy. The people close to him.

Aris didn't stay in formation. He was gone in a flash, lightning dancing over his skin as Jonyna Si had taught him. To make him faster, to propel him right through the air. Through one of the incoming shuttles. It was like paper to him as the metallic substance in his left arm turned to blade. He twisted, the once sword shifting to a chain to catch part of the falling ship, letting him pull and change his direction midair entirely as Aadihr Lidos had taught him.

Straight through another. And another. He threw himself into battle, uncaring as he felt only the need to make them stop. Make them pay.

It was as he ripped through another he saw it below. The soldiers he was with. The line of Sith steadily approaching them. Not again. Aris bristled. They'd all die, again, to the Sith. Just like what Darth Malum of House Marr had done to those other soldiers. How he turned them to ash in an instant. How Aris was the only one who could survive.

He wrenched on the fluid like metal, again forming a chain. Again forcing himself through the air, this time right for the head of this wedge. He needed to stop them. All of them. He crashed through one of the shields, chain once more blade as he cut through both it and it's wielder. He turned to the next, then the next, the next. Beating down each in a feverish need to stop them all. Blasters hit his skin, singed his clothing, but no wounds were visible.

He'd make them stop. All of them had to stop.

Darth Umbra

 

[Darth Apophion]

​

The mountains of Zeffo loomed under thick gray skies, their peaks jutting through the mist like ancient, broken teeth. Cold winds whispered across the narrow ridges, tugging at ash-coated cloaks and carrying the distant crackle of blaster fire.

And from the high pass above, a phantom watched.

Apophion stood at the edge of a jagged overlook, his silhouette stark against the churning clouds. His armor, dark as the void between stars, bore the scars of a battle in the core, some still fresh from the fall of the Dark Empire. The sigils of his former allegiance had been scorched clean, but their memory clung to him like a phantom. Though the empire that once claimed him had crumbled, its wrath lived on in him. A Sith Lord without a banner, without a master, but not without purpose.

Apophion had not come at their call. He owed the Sith Order nothing. But the Jedi were here. And for that, he had come. He moved like a phantom incarnate, each step deliberate, measured. The hilt of his lightsaber hung at his hip, but it was not drawn. Not yet. That time would come. His purpose here was singular vengeance. And the Jedi, entrenched within the tomb of Miktrull, would bleed for the past.

Apophion's gaze turned to the distant tomb. He could feel them, threads of light trembling in the dark, flickers of defiance in the Force. Jedi. His pursuit of vengeance was still fresh in his mind.

Then, let them bury themselves in it. he thought to himself, gazing towards the tomb, stepping forward as the mist parted in his wake. I'll see their bones scattered across the stones.

And with that, he descended toward the battlefield, an omen made flesh, his alliance as thin as the mist and just as deadly.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Umbra-3]

Determination and Distraction
Location: Zeffo.
Objective: Eliminate Priority Targets
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: Anthony Gray Sun
Tags: ???

"The void does not care for skill. It does not care for speed. It does not care for pride. The void only asks one question—will you survive? If you hesitate, if you falter, if you make even a single mistake… the void will answer for you."​

The mist above Zeffo stirred—then split.

Like a spear hurled from the hand of a forgotten god, the Sion-class Heavy Starfighter Mk. II erupted from cloud cover, sheathed in ion glow, its black hull rippling with adaptive camouflage that blurred the line between machine and storm. Thunder cracked in its wake—not from nature, but from the coaxium-injected Phoenix Ion engines screaming at full burn.

It was the sound of death descending.

UMBRA-3 had arrived.

He had no squadron beside him this time. He needed none. The mission was embedded in his cerebral core, his thoughts synced directly to the Ghost Link, every signal and system in his starfighter pulsing as extensions of his very will. No voice. No hesitation. No mercy.

Below, the Tornado bombers ran their final strike, plumes of fire blossoming against the jagged canyon walls as their payloads detonated in desperate defiance. Fighters broke away, climbing fast.

Too slow.
Too late.

UMBRA-3 saw them—not as ships, but as vectors, angles, weaknesses. His targeting matrix pulsed, hundreds of trajectories filtered, calculated, discarded.

Three bombers in a loose spread. They died first.

He banked, violently. The G-forces would have blacked out any lesser being, but UMBRA-3 wasn't man. Not anymore. Not where it counted.

His Mk. II's heavy beam cannons pulsed, twin streams of superheated photonic fire raking the lead bomber from the side—carving through its shields like air. One moment the Tornado was climbing, the next it was a pyre spiraling earthward, its left wing sheared clean off, its engine compartment atomized.

The second bomber tried to dodge. Foolish.

UMBRA-3's Sérhannaðar AI predicted the trajectory before the pilot even committed to the turn.

<"Acquisition confirmed. Executing.">

UMBRA-3 didn't even touch his yoke. The rear turret activated, twin heavy beam cannons swiveling with predatory precision—and firing. Twin crimson bolts caught the bomber dead-center as it tried to bank. Shields flared once—then collapsed. The cockpit vaporized in a single instant, and the rest of the craft followed, swallowed by its own plasma detonation.

He moved through the debris cloud without flinching, his hull aglow with shielding, fragments dancing harmlessly across polarized armor.

The third broke formation—panic-flaring chaff and countermeasures. The kind of move that might've fooled a rookie. But not the apex predator of the void.

UMBRA-3 switched modes.

Missile lock: Achieved.
Hardpoint: Hot.
Missile Type: Flechétte.

A single launch.
A shriek.
A moment of silence.

Then a cloud of hypervelocity micro-explosives detonated just meters behind the retreating bomber, shredding through its rear fuselage and flaying its stabilizers into ribbons. The bomber pitched violently, spiraled, and then—

Impact. A fireball bloomed in the canyon below.

Three kills. Eight seconds. No words. No emotion.

UMBRA-3 banked again, arcing into the shadow of a nearby ridge—his hull phasing into stealth polymers, disappearing into the terrain like a specter into the dark, waiting for to see if they would chase, or would ignore.

UMBRA-3 said nothing. He never spoke.

The dead did not need to speak.

And the skies above Zeffo?

They belonged to him.

 

[Ariana du Couteau]

Ariana du Couteau, Jedi Padawan
Objective One: Misty Mountains
Outfit

Ariana had learned there was little to fear when her faith was placed in the Force, perhaps above all a belief in how those who partook in destruction always end up destroyed. She took a moment to adjust her vestiges, not for any real purpose by in truth her anxiety had spiked. Though her face betrayed her inner turmoil, a large smile remained as her lips maintained a look of cheerfulness.

Enemy soldiers had landed and made their attempt to take control of the ridge, her mission was simple and straight-forward. Keep the entrance clear for other Jedi and Alliance support. Which means to keep the Sith out essentially. Ariana tilted her head, her eyes scanned the battlefield as it grew with further violence of action. Blaster fire, explosions in the skies above and of course the ignition of lightsabers of varied colours.

Ariana paused and began to breathe evenly, she focused on her body and the Force that flowed through to empower. A soft white glow began to erupt around her left arm, as if white embers slowly consumed her fingers, hand then her arm. Ariana breathed slowly for a moment and the embers began to fall from her arm as cherry blossoms that fell from their tree but never reached the ground.

Her smile remained, her breathing remained steady and Ariana focused her attention at the incoming soldiers that dared to attack the ridge. She practically flew towards them.
​

|| @Open ||​

 

[Rath Nihro]

R E F L E C T I O N

Objective: The Misty Mountains
Equipment: Shroudsaber, Shroudshoto, Outfit
Tag: OPEN

It was strange to be on the field and not wear the same suit of armor that Rath had created years ago in his service amongst the Wardens. It had become a part of him much like a second skin to his body. To be anywhere without it felt akin to being stripped bare. But no, this time he stood wearing the light clothing that jedi were commonly seen in neutral colorations with a belt fastened around his hips where two hilts remained clip to his side. One such hilt was smaller and curved. Both were ornate in design as the mist dulled the typical shine a silvery surface would possess.

”We’re to hold the line. Make sure not a one gets through.” A masculine voice spoke through the earpiece that was snugly clipped to his ear. Rath had to resist from frowning, not from the command, but of the stench that clung to the air like a vice. Something that infected the Force with their presence as the Sith’s presence was unmistakable at this rate. Never in his service within the military, or during his time serving as the Empires’ spear, Rath could predict himself aligning himself amongst the Jedi. At least with them, Rath didn’t need to worry about a hidden knife waiting to claim his life at any moment of vulnerability.

The duets of yellow focused onward as emerging through the veil that clung to the mountains was a dark warrior. In a sense, it was almost like looking at Rath in the mirror. The hatred was evident in the dark one’s mind, and with a sanguine blade in hand they were more than determined to slice Rath in half.

Rath’s movement was quite simple, for he simply raised a hand as the telekinetic grip latched onto the Sith’s body. Not to crush, but to seize it as the warrior was lifted off his feet. Though the Sith thrashed and yelled all sorts of curses at Rath; he was surprisingly calm as with a roll of his wrist. The dark haired man shoved the Sith at high velocity back into the mist as the scream died off.

”Are you sure that you don’t want me to come down there and assist?” Rath questioned over the encrypted link over to the one assisting the defense. The path he was tasked in defending happened to be something akin to a mountain goat passage, and if the Sith claimed the route they could flank the defenders or worse cut off an escape route for the rescue team.

”No, we’re fine over here! As long as they don’t get behind us, our defense will hold.” So that was the end of it as Rath sighed softly. If it wasn’t for the distant sounds of blasterfire, explosions, or even the putrid scents of the dark side that polluted the air. He might even say that the mountain would possess that ethereal look with the way the mist cascaded down the mountains.

”As you say.” Now he simply had to bid his time and observe what he was able to see from his vantage point. Although, a thought occurred to him. If this path would allow the Sith to flank the defenders, then why not use the same path to flank the dark ones themselves? In this battle of attrition, some might prevail, but at what cost of the others? There were simply too many powerful assets in play that they couldn’t afford to ignore.

 

[Darth Umbra]

Umbra cut down trooper after trooper, seizing one with the Force, lifting him and squeezing him slowly, letting the blood ooze from his eyes, mouth, ears, and even his skin as he slowly crushed him. The Alliance soldiers saw their comrade squeezed to death, Umbra allowing his vocal cords to work, his slow, gurgled screams filling Darth Umbra's body with power. The defenders allowed their anger to flourish, their emotions out of control as they felt helpless against him. Their anger and hate pushing against Umbra and fueling him in their rage.

He absorbed it, redirecting it toward his men and, in turn, fueling them. His troops fought harder, more devastatingly, more viciously. These troopers would not last long against him, it would be over quickly.

But then, a disturbance, a vibrance in the Force, Anathema to Darth Umbra. Neither light nor dark, but still, a Jedi. A Warrior.

He crashed into Darth Umbra's soldiers, butchering them with ease, cutting through armor and shields like a tornado ravaging the land. Umbra did not immediately engage him; he back-stepped, held the lightsaber defensively, and observed the Force this Jedi exuded. It seemed contained within him, pulsing. It was noticeable, but it could not escape. Umbra knew a Jedi, but the Force that was within this one was full of anger, and hate. How curious.

For Umbra, fighting this force-user who contained there power within themselves would have been like fighting a wall, putting him potentially at a disadvantage as he could not draw their own power against them. Therefore Umbra did something he rarely did. He opened himself up to the Light, letting the force as the Jedi view it encompass his mind. It burned as it entered him. Umbra recoiled internally, almost dropping to a knee as it flowed through him, the pain like nothing he remembered. Opening himself to the light side of the Force was an option he rarely allowed, only when it fueled him. He felt his mind rebel, his whole being rear back in hatred at this feeling. This feeling was against everything Umbra stood for, and he felt the Dark rise up in him, a tidal wave to push the Light out. Darth Umbra felt what it meant to be a user of the Light. Justice, Peace, defending the needy, the helpless, the good, and morality, and he hated it.

More importantly, though, it hated it.

<WHAT ARE YOU DOING? KILL IT. GET RID OF IT!>

Through time and space, his master recoiled, attempting to shunt the flow of the Light, flooding Umbra with the Dark Side even further, turning his body into a temple of power.

<KILL HIM>

Umbra smiled, "Gladly."

Umbra wrapped himself in the Dark side; a shield of pure Force energy surrounded him, protecting him from the Light and Force attacks. Umbra moved then, fueled by the Dark side so strongly that he felt he would detonate from the power of it. A kinetic blast went ahead of Umbra, driven by his mind to crush the Jedi as a hand crushes a gnat as Umbra's lightsaber arced in, ready to cut the Jedi in half if he survived it.

FOE: Aris Noble
NEARBY: Darth Prazutis | Darth Empyrean | Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[Caelan Valoren]

Everything in life had purpose.

Their position within the mountains, in the hastily assembled outpost, served a purpose: to occupy the eyes of the Sith forces. They needed to keep their attention for as long as they could to allow a small strike team to infiltrate and rescue someone whose life Caelan greatly valued. In fact, if it weren't for her, and the simple gift she'd given to him, he'd be dead. He'd have bled out on Woostri and never been able to rescue Anavi from her father, among other things.

He owed it to her to do what he could.

Soldiers fired on Sith troopers that pushed their way towards them, but Caelan stood behind them, doing what he could to utilize his skills in creating barriers in order to protect the troopers from the Sith forces. It was an arduous process, and he couldn't protect them all, but he preferred doing that over actively engaging in combat with ground troops. That was something that was too close to feeling wrong with the code for him, even if they were doing this in order to rescue one of their own, and even if taking out enemy forces would, in some small way, protect others.

A shadow passed over him in the Force and he found his attention drawn upward. Above them a dark entity approached, someone who teemed with power and a desire that thirsted to spill blood. It made him feel cold on the inside just recognizing its presence. But he shook it off, and focused back on what he was doing. Until they arrived, he could do nothing more than protect those around him.

When they did arrive, he would face them to protect those around him.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace)

TAGS: Darth Apophion ​

 

[Khal'vyssa]

Location: Zeffo
Objective: Misty Mountains
Mission Objective: Eliminate Southern Ridge Outpost Defenses
Tag: Darth Prazutis
Direct Mention: Ariana du Couteau

The howling of the wind heralded the coming of the Dark Lord of the Sith. Above, the skies split open. And yet, rather than exposing the sun, much of the ridge was instead cast in blinding shadow. The light retreated, eclipsed by the all-consuming Darkness of the Shadow Hand, the weight of His presence alone bringing nature itself to heel.

And in the shadows of Darth Prazutis’ arrival, Khal’vyssa danced.

An Alliance trooper met his end with a throwing blade buried inside his throat, gurgling choking noises sounding out as he tried in vain to draw breath past the metallic obstruction. The Wookiee trooper next to him could only gasp before a vibroblade speared through the crown of her skull, her assailant having leapt down from the bridge overhead to deliver the strike.

Having brought the Wookiee to the ground with her attack, Khal’vyssa loosed two more throwing blades from her fingers, both of which found their marks in the necks of two troopers positioned in front of her. The Shikkari rose as their armored forms crumpled to the ground, at which point she called her throwing blades back into her grasp, before sheathing and storing them on her person.

Khal’vyssa swept her gaze across the area, before catching sight of a feminine figure approaching from several meters away. She was armed, a statuesque warrior clad in robes of white and blue, her hair alabaster in a manner not dissimilar to her own.

A Jedi.

A small, sphere-shaped canister zipped out from the palm of Khal’vyssa’s left hand at blistering velocity, before suddenly going off in a cloud of obscuring smoke just as it came within two meters of the Jedi’s position. The cloud expanded to potentially encompass the Jedi in an instant, swiftly blocking sight, sensors, and senses, while also generating visual distortions, illusory shadows, and sensory phantoms.

Most frightening however, was the potential for the cloud to dampen Force senses.

All the while, Khal’vyssa surged into motion, her suit’s concealment systems shrouding her form as she slipped into the ancient Zeffo ruins surrounding much of the area in an effort to move onto the Jedi’s flanks!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Moonlight Shadow
  
  • Arms
    
    • Lacera - Sith Lanvarok - L Gauntlet
      
      • Ammunition
        
        • 30 Disc Magazine (4)
          
          • Neuranium Disc - Void Stone Treatment
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Gauntlet Vibroblade - R Gauntlet
    • FAE/EMW-01 Plasma Chakram Projector - L Glove
      
      • Ammunition
        
        • FAE/AM-01-S2 Energy Weapon Cartridge (4)
          
          • Ethaerium Gas and CryoBan Coolant
    • Slicing Glove - R Glove
• Moonlight Kiss Throwing Blades (6)
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (3)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Concussion Explosive (2)

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Allyson Locke​

Adjacent to the ruins, a series of minor impacts rocked the base of a mountain. A few well-placed charges had detonated, felling trees and leaving deep, scorched dents along rocky faces and dirt slopes.

The sound of cracking wood, both sharp and deep, vibrated through Cora's entire frame. The bark of a nearby tree soon snapped, landing too close to the Jedi for comfort. From the cover of a leafy bush, she watched the foliage bend and rustle as the newly-split log fell.

The explosions were nothing extreme, having no purpose other than to draw attention away from the main rescue team and the outpost.

Every time Cora closed her eyes, she saw Azzie. Unconscious and bathed in red light - that same little snippet Cinnamon had imparted to her on Woostri. Aadihr, they'd recovered. Azurine, they had not. Any time she could buy them, she would stretch as far as she could manage.

Cora fled the immediate radius of the blast zone on foot. Her drab tunic mimicked the colors of dense mountain forests, mottled greens and greys. Her presence in the Force was as plain as the crunch of leaves beneath her boots.

The wind that rustled hardy branches whispered; come and find me.

Cora silently promised that the next time she saw Azurine's face, it would be in person. Alive and well and back where she belonged – with the Jedi.

 

[Darth Apophion]

​

Apophion pushed through the front line like a blade through silk.

Sith troopers parted instinctively as he advanced, some out of deference, others from raw survival instinct. The Sith Order knew not his name. Yet his very presence, like a funeral bell tolling in the dark, was warning enough to stand aside. With a snap-hiss like wind drawn through rusted tomb gates, his vermillion lightsaber unfurled, bathing the stone and snow in crimson light. He passed beyond the Sith line with silent purpose, moving through the hail of enemy fire. Blaster bolts seared the air, each one deftly turned aside by his blade. Alliance soldiers faltered as his dark form closed upon their positions.

An Alliance trooper rose from cover, only to be cleaved from collarbone to hip in a flash over vermillion light. One by one, the Alliance soldiers fell. The dark side of the force, perhaps fate itself, had already composed their end. Apophion did not shout, he did not gloat, he did not speak. He offered only cold silence and the disciplined movement of his lightsaber. Effortlessly deflecting enemy fire, and with merciless precision, he cut them down one by one.

The Sith Lord took a moment to study the battlefield. The Alliance soldiers should not have lasted this long against them. Someone was helping them.

Jedi

He saw the man Caelan clad in garish, overwrought armor, a far cry from the plain uniform of the average Alliance soldier. It spoke of vanity or perhaps a need to be seen amidst the dying. He stood in stark contrast to Apophion, whose form was wrapped in black robes and a void-dark plasteel chestplate, no ornament, no flourish, only the austere weight of purpose.

His gaze settled upon the Jedi, cold and unblinking, and then he spoke, his voice like a quiet blade drawn in the stillness before the storm.

"Tell me. Warden of faded truths," Apophion asked. "Does the tomb of your forgotten god here know your name? Or will this tomb of stone and secrets forget you all the same?"

He gave the Jedi a moment to ready himself. Then Apophion pointed his blade at Caelan.

"Now let your blade of light clash against mine of sorrow. Let the force weep as I write your death in dust and ruin."

​

Caelan Valoren

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The storm broke against a god and shattered. The sky screamed. Lightning lanced downward in a brilliant lattice of blinding white; it speared the ridge in a dozen places at once. Concussion rockets roared like a crashing tower, slamming into the mountainside with seismic wrath. Permacrete and stone peeled away as though flayed by celestial hands, torn asunder like paper in a storm. Through so much destruction, she came. A singular figure fell like a comet of purpose, blade bared and soul alight. Jonyna Si, the Sentinel of Harmony, bearing the Black Blade of Harmony, plummeted through the storm with her katana drinking in the tempest, every bolt, every roar, every breath of fury swallowed by its hungering edge. The Force bowed around her descent, twisted with purpose and righteousness, and her final strike, the last bolt of heaven, was no longer light.

It was revelation. It struck him dead-on. A spear of divinity wrapped in vengeance and justice, charged with the purest will of the Light itself, it fell upon the Shadow Hand like judgment incarnate, condemnation for the eternal monster, for the reaper and his crimes against all reality. The world vanished in white. The mountain screamed. Stone ruptured. The heavens cracked like glass. The impact birthed a crater of molten earth and shattered permacrete, steam pouring skyward like incense from a sundered altar, while an avalanche of stone shot upward like an unstable geyser of rock. The air itself fell deathly still then, its ancient breath held. For a moment…all was still.

Then, movement. Deep within the heart of devastation, through rising plumes of steam and vapor, he rose. Not scorched. Not staggered. Simply, there like a tower rising high out of the sea. Smoke curled from the Qâzjiin'vraal warplate, the Zîrkaris forged armor drank in agony like a thirsty god. The living lattice across his body pulsed, redistributing the energy like veins of endless hunger. The Ka'ra'nazat amulet throbbed crimson, casting serpentine shadows across the ground, siphoning the pain of the Light and bleeding it into the abyss within, the living power of fear made manifest its throbbing resonance shook the earth beneath him. Even the Force felt it, the exhale of something vast, something incomprehensible refusing to die. The Shadow-Silk cloak billowed behind him, untouched by flame nor fury. The giants towering silhouette resolved through the haze, it was an icon of absolute defiance, of ruin made manifest. The final moment made flesh. Then came the voice.

"You come bearing judgment." The words rolled out from the Xûl-Karzaan helmet like grinding obsidian, an earthquake bound in syllables that vibrated the air. All around him came the screams, the endless symphony of agonized screams of the tortured dead, those consumed by the Dark Lord's onslaught and bound forever in death. "Then be judged." All of a sudden then, in one, monstrous, deliberate motion, Xûl Qarnak ignited. Not with a snap-hiss but with a howl. A bloodfire blade exploded from the abyssal hilt, its core pulsing like a dying star made flesh, its edges soaked in the deepest hatred. The warblade didn't merely sing, it screamed, a death knell echoing through the bones of every soul nearby. The air recoiled. The Force itself flinched and shrank before him, while the living darkness grew like a seething, infectious mass. And then?

He moved.

Not with haste. Not with rage. But with inevitability. Eight feet of wrath surged forward at a rate that defied all expectation, Qarnak slashing through the air like a guillotine wielded by a colossus. The obsidian voidshards embedded in the hilt bent reality, fractured distance, twisted time. One step forward, and shadows danced in places he had yet to step. Perception twisted. Timing slipped. What was seen came too early, or too late.

The storm had tried to break him.

Instead? Instead it had crowned him. The darkness rose once more all around them beyond the Dark Dyad's presence. For on the field stood a gathering of legends. Empress Desmius, known by many as Ashin Varanin had walked the field. The conqueror of a thousand worlds, and the Dead God, the Black Alchemist, the Sith Emperor Darth Empyrean stood resolute against the light. It didn't matter what happened in the past, it didn't matter the other viewpoints now. They stood against the light with a unified wall of impenetrable shadow, before their gathering the world would tremble. "The last light of this world burns low." the Mortarch intoned as the ground quaked beneath three titans on the field. "And we are the breath that will extinguish it."

Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Empyrean | Jonyna Si | Darth Umbra | Khal'vyssa | Aris Noble | Ariana du Couteau ​