Skirmish [GA/SO] Determination and Distraction

[Darth Prazutis]

The blade struck, it didn't miss, nor did it grace his plate, it cleaved down. The White Blade carved through blackened armor like a solar lance breaching a vile tomb of void forged steel. Sparks howled from the point of impact as the Obsidian warplate groaned, then ruptured, shrieking wildly in an eruption of molten light and black ichor bursting from beneath the sundered plates, as it bit deep into his leg. It bit deeper than it should have, so deep it sawed down on the bone within. A wound worthy of legends. A wound meant to end a war, to bring down tyrants and fell a colossus. But the Dark Lord didn't fall. He stood. Still. Despite the pain, despite the crippling blow he still stood like a living monolith. The blow had torn into him, deep, vicious, howling with radiant agony, but instead of collapse, the air around him warped. Instead of blood, the darkness beneath his flesh flared, not in mere pain, but in rebirth. The giants face was a sea of apathy, a testament to the sheer tolerance this butcher has for pain "You learn nothing." Prazutis said, his voice booming louder than the thunder above. No roar. No howl. Just absolute certainty in his words, sharpened across thousands upon thousands of conquests, a lifetime of carnage. "You think light conquers shadow. But this shadow learns. This flesh remembers."


Deep within the sundered plate, rot bloomed. Where once broken flesh should bleed, it breathed. Dark tendrils of necrotic sinew writhed from the ruin, not as pain, but as transformation. The power of the dark side roared to life, Karanazat pulsed like a stars explosion, its malevolent will pulsed across the runic plate. Whisps of black smoke latched on to the wound and reweaving what had been broken. Bone darkened, blackened veins pulsed with rebirth, and the ruin became something else: a fusion of the abyss, of firevein and soul-bound flesh as its cells began to knit themselves together. The Dark Lord clamped down hard on the blade then, holding it right in its place. He seemed to stand taller than, stronger even, the stone beneath him shattered from pressure alone. The storm paused. "And still… you speak of freedom." Prazutis said, his voice was like tectonic plates shifting beneath reality. "But you do not know the cage you were born into. I broke mine. You sang lullabies to yours." Then, slowly, he raised his warblade in the other han, it was a blackened, growling slit of crimson ruin, an abyssal drum into the darkness of war. The air thickened then, not with power, but absence. Color bled from the world in a mile-wide ring. Even the sky dimmed. The battlefield darkened. The Force itself tensed.

"You think yourself strong? You don't even understand the word. You are weakness wrapped in delusion." He whispered, and from that simple act it was like the galaxy heard. Blood like black tar poured from the wound in his leg that struggled in a futile attempt to heal, a gaping scar in the warplate of the Dark Lord that refused to close "Then reap the consequence." He drove the warblade high into the air itself, and the pressure shattered. Out from the space before him the sky tore open like wet parchment. A rift of death bloomed wide as the battlefield, and from its depths surged a living storm of necrotic shrapnel, the dark side given physical form into a honed storm of wrath. A tide of gravity-warped, shadow-wreathed entropy burst outward from it. It didn't move toward her. It blasted outward with all the fury of tidal waves. This was not a strike. It was oblivion. The wind screamed and howled. The battlefield forgot itself. Even light twisted, the very wound in the world causing it to flicker and die, shadow's domain growing deeper and longer over the field as it obscured more and more. The Force howled like a maimed beast at how wrong this was, an abomination to life itself, and above it all, the Shadow Hand stood. Burning. Whole. Unyielding. A tower of iron and grit. "Let your light rage, little flame." He said, his voice was like a crumbling skyscraper "I will drown it, and you…you will remember this day in screams, carved into the bones of every world that follows. Every life you fail to save while I carve your failure into your very bones." In a flash he brought the warblade up to drive the entirety of the black and red saber through her gut.

Jonyna Si ​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Rann Thress

He felt Rann long before he saw him cutting through the noise of war like a steady drumbeat beneath the chaos. The man moved with purpose, with control, but there was something else riding just beneath the surface. Hesitation. Not weakness, but humanity.

Gerwald didn’t despise him for that.

He stood still at the broken edge of the ridge, cloak curling around his frame, boots rooted in the scarred mountain stone as if nothing could move him. His saber remained unignited at his side, though the mountain wind whispered to it like a lover calling for what was to come. The tomb loomed behind him, its ancient mouth yawning open, as if awaiting which of them would be offered to it in the end.

Then came the footsteps.

Not rushed.

Not cautious.

Just… inevitable.

And there he was. Older, simpler, a far cry from the golden-robed idealist he used to be. The man who once believed orders and tradition would be enough to hold back a tidal wave of pain and madness. No armor now. No rank. Just Rann. And yet, still the same soul.

Gerwald didn’t smile out of amusement or irony. He smiled because it meant something to face him here, now, after everything. A moment years in the making. A chapter left unfinished.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied the man and watched how Rann’s fingers tapped against his weapon, how he stood just beyond reach. Smart. Calculated. The hesitation was gone now, buried under the weight of the Force coiling between them. No posturing. No deception. Just two men, carved out of war and mistakes, standing at the edge of history and deciding what to do with it.

Rann reached through the Force.

Gerwald felt it, the light brushing against shadow. He allowed it, and didn’t push back. The Dread Wolf let him feel it, et him know what had become of the man he once called Lord Commander. He let him taste the truth.

The Wolf had changed, but the darkness that lived within him wasn’t a sickness.

It was a choice.

Rann had fled the fire. Gerwald had stepped into it. And now, after all this time, the flame had circled back.

Not for vengeance.

Not for redemption.

For resolution.

Gerwald’s hand settled on his lightsaber hilt, not as a threat, but as a promise. Whatever came next, there would be no turning away.

He didn’t need to speak to be understood, not with someone who had once followed him into battle who had once believed he could be saved.

“And I won’t spare you now.”

Without any fanfare or other statements, Gerwald ignited the crimson blade and charged toward his foe.

 

[Rann Thress]

TAGS: Gerwald Lechner

A response Rann could have expected, and one thankfully he gave himself the space to prepare for, matching Gerwald’s crimson blade with Rann’s own violet one with a quickdraw that’d make the fastest Mandalorian blush.

“You won’t have to,” he said after bringing his blade up to defend and deflect Gerwald’s attack. Rann Backstepped, creating more distance before settling into his Ataru stance and prepared for the coming fight.

He thought back to their last duel years ago, how Rann’s darkness had consumed him and compelled him forward, seeking to destroy what he considered to be the weakness Gerwald displayed. His emotions and his demons had controlled him then. A beast of an entirely different breed to Gerwald, who even now, a darker shade then he ever was before, remained completely in control. It was something Rann could never have admired, but one he respected. Rann was a slave to the Darkside, Gerwald mastered it. It was why he had to die, here and now. No promise of redemption, no Jedi Knight Gerwald Lechner.

No, Gerwald wouldn’t have to spare him. Rann wouldn’t give him the opportunity. The legacy of Gerwald Lechner ended today, a crumpled heap underneath the shadow of a forgotten temple. That was how his story ended, and Rann would help him write the final page.

With a quick readjustment of his fingers on the hilt of his Lightsaber, Rann shifted his weight onto his forward foot. Pushing off, he charged back into the former Commander, unleashing a small flurry of attacks.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Rann Thress

The hum of Rann’s violet blade split the air like a siren’s cry, and Gerwald met it with crimson fury. There was no hesitation, no flourish. Just purpose.

His expression did not change when their blades met, nor when Rann backstepped and slipped into the light-footed grace of Ataru. Gerwald watched him settle in, studied every shift of weight, every flicker of tension in the muscles, and every breath drawn like it could be the last.

There was no anger, or hatred, in Gerwald’s gaze.

Only certainty.

He remembered the last time, they fought as well. Rann was wild with power he didn’t understand, lashing out not from strength but from fearful conviction. Then, Gerwald had seen someone trying to prove he was stronger than the Lord Commander. Now, he saw a man who’d buried it beneath doctrine.

The Force didn't lie. The emotions still rippled off him like heat from scorched earth.

Determination.

Conviction.

Resentment.

Resolve.

Gerwald welcomed it.

Rann may have thought this was the final chapter, and that he was the one to write it. Maybe he believed this was where legends died, beneath tombs and time. Legends were not written by the ones who survived. They were written by the ones who endured.

Gerwald’s body shifted, the blood hued blade rising like the toll of a funeral bell. His footwork was sharp and minimal. Every movement was economical and deliberate, as if the battlefield itself bent around his will.

He would let Rann strike first. Letting him believe the initiative gave him the edge.

The flurry came fast and clean. It was disciplined. Rann was better than before.

But Gerwald didn’t flinch. His blade moved like falling stone that was crushing and heavy. He didn’t need speed. He needed inevitability. This was the power of Djem So and Shien.

Each parry was a sentence.

Each riposte, a verdict.

Rann had made his choice. So had Gerwald.

The temple would not bury his legacy. It would witness it.

 

[Rann Thress]

TAGS: Gerwald Lechner

The initial flurry was easily defeated by Gerwald, to no surprise from Rann. If all it took to defeat the Wolf was three slashes and a dream he’d have died years ago. No, the attack hadn’t won the fight, but it served its purpose. Rann recognized the movements Gerwald was implementing, the maneuvers, the way he deflected. Djem So and Shien. Powerful stances, powerful forms.

Powerful forms that just happened to be countered by Ataru…in the textbook, at least.

But as he backstepped again using the speed of his form to dodge out of the crushing strikes of Djem So, and gathered the Force around his person, he launched himself forward and recommitted to the attack. The acrobatic and lightning quick combat style Ataru was famous for put him in the competitive edge when it came to technique, but nothing would help him if he gassed himself early. The energy it would take to dodge out of the way of those heavy strikes, and the energy it would take to eventually overwhelm Shien?

But that was according to the textbook. Rann and Gerwald were anything but textbook…
Still, it served as a plan.

During his second barrage his plan of attack was simple, another trio of attacks, drawing Gerwald’s attention down low, then as his attention was diverted low, Rann would jump up in the air, backflipping and aiming to place a kick right on the Former Lord Commander’s bearded chin.

 

[Raphael Gallustrade]

The lightning and thunderstorm crashed around him, even as the fireballs of sith interceptors crashed into the ground... He'd evaded as one came crashing down, and yet, right before he allowed himself to relax he pulled back to the other side, at the last second, as a bolt of lightning came up, barely scorching the wing, and exhaled, once more. But where had that come from? Something of the dark, it seemed, though he wasn't sure what it was, nor had he ever felt the darkness before.

He couldn't allow that to distract him, however. He'd need to knock whatever that thing was down, before it could potentially caused damage to alliance fighters coming into the area. Sure, there weren't a ton, at the moment, but if any passed this way, that thing could fry them. But he couldn't just go right back at it... It might be expecting that.

Increasing the speed of his starfighter, Raphael started to bank out of the mountains, as if he was going to keep going, before suddenly turning. With a quick motion, Raphael scanned the ground, finding the odd power source, before lining up the shot and opened fire. Yet, as he did so, the right wing seemed to have a malfunction... The same damn wing that thing had hit with the lightning, even if only barely. It must've damaged a circuit and Raphael was grateful that the only thing that did was cut out the weapon on that wing... He'd just have to open fire with the good cannon.

Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

Increasing the speed of his starfighter, Raphael started to bank out of the mountains, as if he was going to keep going, before suddenly turning. With a quick motion, Raphael scanned the ground, finding the odd power source, before lining up the shot and opened fire.

The starfighter came around quickly. Cutting the lightning released tension in Ashin's body like a snapped cord. She took that release, that bandwidth, and wrapped it around herself as protection to augment her phrik armor.

The cannon's plasma blast was a red blink, a pinprick, an instant. She braced herself uselessly in that moment and felt the blast as an impact to her chest. It tore her off the rock and threw her clear through a crumbling crag edge. She tumbled in a flurry of rock; the debris tore away her Force protection and smashed against her armor as she fell, limper than she'd like.

Her mace was lost somewhere. She called it back as, painfully, she got up again. She had a decent line of sight on the starfighter between the crags, and decent protection too. She felt the profound urge to return fire while she had the chance.

She whirled the mace like a wand or sceptre, which it nearly was, and summoned the rocks she'd just been blasted through. They shot out at the starfighter in an arcing spread, on average the size of her head. A poor tactic at any range longer than this, but good enough for now.

 

[Tel Ahren]

Lirka Ka

​

“Run, little Jedi, run! It’ll make it all the sweeter when I catch you!”

Not good.

Tel wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected breaking off the corroded metal would do—slow her down, hopefully—but while that was a surprising success, he hadn't really expected it to make her drop even the pretense towards anything other than wanting to rip him limb from limb. Of course, even in slowing her down, he hadn't really expected it to do much to make her particularly mad at all. Had it managed to hit her on the way down?

Well, at least that's a little funny.

As she screamed at him, however, he could see—looking up as he slid down the ice, there she appeared, running along the rocky outcroppings that flanked the frozen path he was currently sliding down. Worse yet, she looked to be gaining ground rapidly. He swallowed hard, crouching down and leaning forward into what he hoped was a more aerodynamic shape as he looked forwards again.

And saw that he was sliding towards a cliff. Oh, Sithspit!

Luckily, research times that had been through the area had been kind enough to set up some semblance of walkways and the like when they were doing their work. Understandable, given that this was leading right to some old monument of some sort. He thought he could maybe see the tomb up and ahead, as well. Unluckily, with the shock of everything that had been happening as Alliance forces came through only to be suddenly beset by Sith, those had found themselves damaged almost as much as what he'd seen in the cave. The bridge he'd been hoping to find had been blasted in half by a stray lascannon shot, most likely...

But with the speed he had, he could maybe make the jump, and he didn't have much choice anyways.

He leapt, pushing off from the cliff at the last second before he could tumble ignominiously over it. He sailed through the air, leaning forwards, reaching out, hoping he could at least catch onto something—

And slammed gut-first into the end of the bridge, where it had torn and bent over. Barely avoiding getting speared or sliced in half by the environment, with some Sith lackey hot on his heels. His hands scrabbled for purchase, finding the remnants of the hand rails, and he pulled himself up against the lingering ache. That was bound to be a nasty bruise.

As he stood, making his way onto one rocky outcrop and thankful that the next bridge leading to the monument was unbroken, he looked back at the hulking, mutated woman as she came near the end of the ridgeline she was following. Surely, there was no way that she could make the jump. He'd barely made it, with the assisted speed from sliding down the ice. Unless she was a Sith...but then, surely she would've found some other way to grab him by now.

"Guess I'm a better runner than you thought!" he joked, making his way across the second bridge at a much more relaxed pace, catching his breath. She'd surely have to find some long way around, and by that point he should be well behind friendly lines.

 

[Ariana du Couteau]

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

Ariana breathed deeply as her eyes scanned the field for a new destination but on instinct she moved back and lifted her right arm up to defend. She had not expected anyone to approach her from behind with the smoke but the strong winds had certainly made the smoke quite inadequate. Whatever kind of vibroblades that had been thrown at her were another story entirely, while her right cybernetic arm had caught two it did not stop either. Eyes widened she dodged further but felt the blade tear through her shoulder.

The young du Couteau heiress gritted her teeth but a cry escaped from her smiling lips as she adjusted her focus. A rather short figure had appeared, with how the other was positioned Ariana needed no further information to know it was an enemy. Without hesitation or consideration of her wound, Ariana leapt forward and charged her left arm glowed white as it left a trail of petal-like embers.

Right arm difficult to move or adjust.

Ariana afforded a single thought to her injury, it wasn’t enough but the field of battle had precious few moments that Ariana could spend. Instead her next few thoughts targeted her enemy in front of her, she herself had precious few minutes to keep herself somewhat combat capable. This fight needs to end fast. Ariana readied a left hook if her enemy chose to stand and fight, if not Ariana readied herself to continue her pursuit with as much strength her legs allowed.
​

|| Khal'vyssa ||​

 

[Caelan Valoren]

A lie? Caelan shook his head at that.

"It's no lie. One need only look at history to see it. Even the Jedi have been culled as a result of the Force balancing itself."

Of course the Sith intended to not back down. They never did. Even ones that were willing to speak never had an intention of backing down. Caelan had been prepared for that reality, his awareness heightened. The first tremor in the stone around him told him he was in danger and that he was going to come out of this hurt in some way no matter how he looked at it. But he'd known that before he even arrived on Zeffo. He never came back from a mission without some form of injury.

So when the rock beneath him rose and others around him sprang forth, he erected barriers around himself to deflect the brunt of it. Tons, literally, of stone came flying at him, and his barriers could only handle so much of it. They were battered, destroyed, and he erected another, and another, but they were continually destroyed with such ferocity that he could not erect them fast enough and boulders as large as himself slammed into him from all directions.

Battered, he was flung backwards and sideways, slammed into the wall and floor. Were it not for his armor, he would certainly have been dead. As it was, he was left lying on the ground, his armor broken and beaten, his lightsaber barely clutched within his hand. His breathing was heavy and he felt like an entire mountain was lying on top of him, but it was just a few boulders. Fortunately they weren't crushing his lungs, which meant he could still draw air. He could also maneuver his free hand towards his belt and draw a vial of lazerenzyme, which he injected into himself.

"You know," he said, his voice weak, carrying from beneath the boulders, "all I wanted to do was rescue my friend and go home to my pregnant wife. Much like yourself, I have family. I want to protect mine. I'm not destroying worlds. I'm firmly against it."

He took a deep breath.

"I wish some of you weren't such cowards that you could see fighting isn't always the answer."

---

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

TAGS: Darth Apophion ​

 

[QK-2510]

Location: Zeffo
Dialogue Legend: <<Ghoul-Speak>> │ “Galactic Basic”
Objective: Misty Mountains
Mission Objective: Flank and Destroy Alliance Defenders
Tag: Rath Nihro

The warrior telekinetically maneuvered a boulder in the path of the missiles, only for the semi-sentient guidance systems to loop the projectiles around the obstruction before once more homing in on their target. Seemingly realizing the futility of his action, he took off in a surge of movement. QK-2510 immediately tore after him, the jetpack propelling her forward as her eyes locked onto his figure. Had she not been blessed by the Father with swift reflexes, the warrior might have been difficult, if not even outright impossible for her to track. And perhaps, he might have been operating under that assumption.

But it was one that QK-2510 intended to swiftly punish.

However, it was only then that QK-2510 registered the presence of the other Sith. The jet trooper immediately called off her missiles via data link, the projectiles veering off-course to avoid hitting the Sith. However, what came next nearly stole the air from her lungs. A ripple of kinetic energy tore through space, causing the jet trooper’s eyes to widen beneath the mask of her helmet as a thunderous crack sounded out. Though far from the blast, the ensuing shockwave threw her back, sending her form careening to the earth in a wild spin.

It was only at the last possible moment did QK-2510 manage to recover, her jetpack firing to stabilize her position before her feet made contact with the ground. Still, the jet trooper’s momentum carried her directly into a nearby ridge, the force of the impact causing her world to spin before she crashed to the ground.

Then, pain.

QK-2510 regained consciousness only seconds later, a throbbing, ear splitting headache consuming her awareness. Pain lanced from her neck as well, shooting through her senses like glass shards. A quick glance at her HUD revealed the extent of her injuries—whiplash and a concussion.

But it also revealed something else.

Gritting her teeth, QK-2510 turned around, her rifle raised as she scanned the immediate area.

The Force-sensitive warrior was not far from her position.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II - Pattern Besh
  
  • Gauntlets
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Gauntlet Vibroblade - R
  • Utility Hardpoint
    
    • FAE/P-03 “Adramelech” Winged Jetpack
      
      • Armament Hardpoint (2)
        
        • Empty
        • FAE/WH-04-S3 Universal Missile - Iadrium Warhead
• Kainate Combat Rifle Model Sixty-Two
  
  • Attachments and Modifications
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • FAE/S-06 Reactive Targeting Matrix - Updated Version
  • Ammunition
    
    • FAE/AM-01-S3 Energy Weapon Cartridge (10)
    • Portable Projectile Launcher (2)
      
      • FAE/WH-04-S2 Universal Missile - Iadrium Warhead (6)
      • FAE/WH-04-S2 Universal Missile - Iadrium Warhead (16)
    • Portable Projectile Launcher (2)
      
      • FAE/WH-04-S2 Universal Missile - Concussion Warhead (16)
      • FAE/WH-04-S2 Universal Missile - Concussion Warhead (16)
• PV-16 “Sunfury” Pulse Pistol
  
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
  • Ammunition
    
    • Fusion Cell (4)
• FAE/MDE-01-S2 Semiautonomous Seeker Concussion Explosive (4)

 

[Khal'vyssa]

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

Khal’vyssa did not remain idle as the Jedi charged, moving to traverse the 14 meters of space separating the two combatants. Immediately after her own initial attack, the Shikkari drew and released three more throwing blades from the fingers of her right hand in a swift, singular motion. This time, she aimed for soft spots—her target’s armpit, neck, and elbow—while avoiding her right arm, which she had ascertained was cybernetic. Each blade tore through the air as a blur, the microrepulsors accelerating them to just below supersonic velocity as they raced towards their target.

Then, anticipating melee combat, Khal’vyssa made herself ready. Her gauntlet vibroblade sprang out of its sheath, emanating a low hum as its ultrasonic vibration generator hyper-oscillated the blade. All the while, the Echani’s icy-hued eyes narrowed in focus. She sought to read the Jedi’s body language, bringing the full weight of her skills in kinetic communication and Echani martial arts to bear. Her aim was not just to assess the Jedi’s response to her throwing blades, but also to figure out what additional weapons she might carry on her person and what action she intended to carry out next.

Such information would potentially give Khal’vyssa clarity and foresight, so that she would be ready for anything the Jedi might to give her.

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 (3)
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (3)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Concussion Explosive (1)

 

[Zaiya Ceti]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Aris Noble Darth Umbra

Zaiya's breath hitched, her chest rising like the tide of the Force swelling all around her, before slowly falling in a controlled exhale.

He'd listened. Aris listened.

Thank the stars! Zaiya mused, listening to Ari's voice as it cut through the chaos, anchoring her. The tension curled in her limbs eased, the storm inside her chest settling just enough to feel it as shimmering turquoise threaded over her mottled spots and stripes over her cheeks with quiet, glowing gold. Relief.

A flicker of amber slid across her stripes, a pulse of focus, of yes. She stepped in beside him without hesitation.

"I'm here."

But then the Force shifted violently, and the Lovalla's attention snapped to the Sith across from them.

He wasn't like the last one.

The last Sith had been a void, all-devouring and empty, like a black hole where the Force should've been. But this one was something else entirely -- but then familiar as well. It almost reminded her of Nulgath but different. More tortured. The Force around him bent and cracked like a mirror under pressure, the colors bleeding together in jagged, furious bursts of sickly greens and crimsons shot with black, with violet streaks surging in panic and fury as if caught mid-battle. He was chaos, not absence. Rage, but not hollow.

Zaiya's breath caught as her skin shifted again in tints of empathetic bronze, even as the lightning flared from his hand. Her saber snapped up on instinct, the teal blade catching the edge of the Sith's attack. Her skin flared pale yellow in a startled response, but she was not afraid.

No. She'd gotten better at this. Better at facing emotions. The fear. The Dark. The colors of others emotions and how the Force interacted within them.

And he was in pain.

Not just in the way his muscles moved or how his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block something out. No, it was deeper than that. She could feel it. Not in words but in the pressure, violence, and commands. Something inside was ripping him apart.

She felt the scream inside his mind echo across the Force itself, and had it not been for her mental shields, perhaps she too would have struggled with it. Zaiya saw how Darth Umbra struggled. How his hands trembled. He wasn't mindless. He was fighting something they couldn't see.

Zaiya's stance stayed firm, but something in her shifted. Her glow dimmed slightly, stripes flickering with soft citrine beneath the bronze, colors rippling across her arms and collarbones like grief in motion.

"Aris," she said quietly, without breaking her guard, face tinted by the flash of the saber and the arcs of lighting, struggling as she wasn't sure how long she could take it, "SOmething is affecting him. He's struggling with it. As if tortured by something.. or someone else. ."

The lightning struck again, surging with a cry of pain disguised as anger. Zaiya stepped forward to meet it, Force bracing her heels, her saber rising beside Aris's like two halves of a whole.

But her heart twisted with the truth she'd seen: This boy wasn't a monster. He was a battlefield.

And he was losing.

He needed help. The question was... how?

 

[Lirka Ka]

At the start of their meeting, Lirka had hoped for some sneaky and quippy attempt at murder - those always warmed up her cold dead hearts and gave her undeservedly large ego a pleasant boost. But, how much could one really keep decorum after having a metal slab dropped on their head? These Jedi! So rude!

And having the audacity to run from her instead of at least attempt to put up a good fight? It put Lirka, who had already started the day in a less than pleasant mood, into an even worse one. Poor Tel Ahren had become quite the beckon for Lirka's ire in the short time they had known of each others existence. Heavy footfalls compelled her forward, bloodlust in every movement. She refused to humiliate herself enough that Zeffo would be a total, bloodless, bust.

But soon, she was running out of rock. Skidding to a halt as she watched her Jedi quarry, not particularly gracefully, sail through the air and slam himself into beaten metal. He had thought right, by all metrics Lirka shouldn't have been able to make that jump. And it frustrated her to no end, in perhaps a rather embarrassing display of her inner-child, the goliath stomped metal feet to the floor in a tantrum.

Yet, Lirka Ka was never so easily deterred. With her quick tantrum subsided, and the annoying prattle of Tel's joke in her ear as motivation. The Once-Sephi let out a snarl, an electro-whip crackling to life as she briefly told herself how utterly stupid of an idea this was. Spinning the weapon in the air, once, twice, three times, preparing the motion to send the crackling arcs of electricity outwards to entangle around the handrail of the remaining bridge. Content enough, and hoping the thing would stay in place, Lirka took position.

Slowly crouching down into position as servos whirred, mechanisms in her armor storing energy as she prepared herself. It would take more than a gap to deter Lirka Ka, she told herself. And with that, Lirka leapt - letting loose all of the mechanical might she could store to let herself sail forward in some attempt at heavy metal grace.

She could see it, almost, the metal dangling in front of her eyes.

And then she fell like a brick, just so barely missing her target. Yet shockingly, the whip kept her up - damn near pulling the bridge down with her as the thing went taught from the weight - grumbling in frustration Lirka began to swing some, getting as much momentum as she could, her blade mag-clipping onto her person as quickly as it had appeared, her first stupid idea had failed, it was time for a second. Finally getting enough momentum, Lirka launched herself at the rocks, now bringing the old bridge down with her bulk. Slamming into the rocks with a thud, her clawed hands clambered for purchase. Eventually finding it as the metal slammed into stone, and with grim motivation did she start to climb.

A sound of alien cursing, and slamming metal as she slowly, but surely, began to make her way up the rocks. Her enraged voice echoing across the horizon.

"FIGHT LIKE A MAN, JEDI! OR DIE LIKE A DOG!"

Her mood had gotten worse.

 

[Darth Apophion]

​

The Jedi fell beneath stone and slab. But Apophion knew the old teachings: a wounded tiger was a dangerous beast. He would wait. The Sith would not strike yet.

"Cowards."

The word hung in the air for a moment in silence.

"No. I am no coward. I will not pretend that words will stop this hollow cycle."

​

The Sith looked down at the Jedi half-buried in stone. His tone was not cruel nor malicious but hinted at sorrow.

"You speak as if the culling of your kind was the will of the force. Repeated through epochs of history. You mistake consequence for design. You kneel to balance, even though its endless and hollow cycle devours you. And yet time and time again, you still believe it to be harmony."

The wind howled through the mountain passes.

"But you made this choice. I gave you the choice to walk away. And you choose not to. Don't tell me different."

Apophion's vermillion lightsaber hissed beside him, as if the weapon was tired of delay and thristed for blood. Finally, the Sith began to move toward the Jedi. His movements were slow and measured, like the shadow cast across a mountain as the sun dipped below the horizon. Time was now his opponent's enemy. While his potion may rejuvenate him, his wounds would only grow without rest, and his adrenaline would ebb away the longer he waited. There was no joy in this. There never had been.

He stopped before the crumbled Jedi.

"Are you ready?" Apophion asked.


Caelan Valoren

 

[Tel Ahren]

Lirka Ka

​

Oh no, oh no, oh—oh.

Well, she didn't fall to her doom, but she didn't manage to land in a position to keep causing him a lot of trouble, either. He could have—should have, even—kept running. Across the next chasm towards the monument, head up and around and keep making his way to the tomb, back to Alliance lines. Curiosity, however, was a powerful thing, and he couldn't resist coming over to the edge and looking down. Catching her clinging to the rocks, where she shouted up at him angrily.

"Hello there!" he called at her, heedless of her threats for the moment. Unless she could climb obscenely quickly, he had a moment or two to catch his own breath still. "Slow going?" By the Force, his own ribs still hurt from slamming into the end of that broken bridge. He wondered whether or not the armour had really helped her much on that front.

Still, he was ready to cut and run at a moment's notice. One training saber and one tiny little vibroblade versus that huge sword and a set of powered armour...he didn't fancy his chances.

 

[Raphael Gallustrade]

He didn't score a direct hit, but a hit, nonetheless. The controls were pushed forward, as he blasted forward again, trying to make sure that any return fire of lightning wouldn't be able to hit him.

Raphael thought to himself about doing another pass, when suddenly he heard a loud clang, and glanced as more and more rocks came flying at him. Muttering, annoyed, he did his best to move and avoid as many rocks as possible.

"Kriffing..." he muttered, as he manuevered to try and move around the rocks, though he felt the banging of several against the wings. The right wing's sublight was a bit damaged, and so, to keep himself aloft, he switched to the main rear engine. "For the love of... I swear, you people and blowing holes in my bloody ship!"

Checking his diagnostics, he found that the weapon systems on the right wing wasn't working at all. The damaging rocks has probably loosened some wires, or cut a hole into the wing somewhere. Dank ferrik...

He pulled around, one more time. Much more damage and he'd have to land; he needed to either pull away, or find the person and stop the attacks... Going out of the mountain range would put him at more of a disadvantage to the sith interceptors... He didn't really want to land, and fight hand to hand, but, at this point, given his ship and how sensitive it was still, he didn't really want to risk it, too much.

Not too far away from his ground based adversary, Raphael, grabbed his force imbued blade, patted his jacket to make sure his lightsaber was there and hopped out, sighing. This was not the way he was hoping his day would go, but hey... With a slight huff, he started walking towards where he'd felt the feeling in the Force.

"Up ahead..." he replied, with a deep sigh.

Ashin Cardé Varanin

// here we go

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

Not too far away from his ground based adversary, Raphael, grabbed his force imbued blade, patted his jacket to make sure his lightsaber was there and hopped out

Of all the times Ashin had died, the most ignominious was probably on Pillio, swarmed by half a dozen individually insignificant Jedi and bounty hunters. Watching the pilot make his way through the crags, Ashin decided not to risk similar errors of underestimation. She was tired, she reminded herself. She'd killed an awful lot of people recently. She was wearing plate armour and carrying a mace. It wouldn't be hard to slip up and let that sword of his get through. No games, then. No undignified toying. She had the uneasy feeling the sword at her hip would happily turn such a moment against her.

For the sake of reach and the functionality of a crossguard, she hung the mace back on her belt and drew the sword. Ravening was a robust hand-and-a-half with a slight curve leading into the tip. Like his weapon, it was a Force-imbued blade, and it sizzled golden. She took the time to ensure her mask was firmly in place.

It appeared they would meet in a gully between crags, a space about ten paces wide and twenty long with uneven footing — grass, scree, debris from where he'd blasted her through rock. She laid her black cane aside carefully behind a boulder so as not to signal her bad knee more clearly than it signalled itself. Maybe he'd already seen the cane.

She took a classical, youngling-basic Form One stance, sword in both hands and angled up from waist height. It wasn't a taunt: she'd specialized in Shii-Cho for almost a century.

 

[Raphael Gallustrade]

Raphael approached, in a manner that would've seemed almost casual, to most observers. His body language was relaxed, his shoulders weren't tense and he made his way down the crags, rather simply, as though he was on a hike. Even down to the fact that he held his arms out to balance himself as he made his way down the mountain.

He adjusted his jacket, pulling it a bit more about him, and made sure that his lightaber was still firmly in place. Part of him wondered, if the sith, this one or any others, had any thought as to what it was that the real objective was. It was possible that the one that was leading this, had made tem aware. Or it was possible that the sith already knew. Raphael didn't understand why they were throwing so many resouraces at this, though. For one prisoner...

He noticed the mask, first, and couldn't help but be curious about... well, one where the sith had gotten it and why they were wearing it. It felt so strange. As they approached, one another, he noticed a strange bit of movement, that they'd done behind a boulder, though he didn't know quite tell what it was that they were talking about.

As his adversary drew her blade and took on a shii-cho stance, he blinked.

"Huh... shii-cho... Nice." He drew his own blade, taking a slightly altered shii-cho form of his own. "I'm not a big fan of fighting," Raphael, muttered, speaking almost more to himself, than Ashin. "You sure that I can't convince you to just sit down and have some tea?"

Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

"You sure that I can't convince you to just sit down and have some tea?"

Ashin laughed a little against the inside of her mask. Caf was her usual stimulant but tea seemed pleasant just now.

Of all the reasons she'd come here — preliminary work to support her daughter's ambitions, coupled with the sense of being forgotten and underestimated after thirty-seven years of teaching — none bound her to the stakes and urgency of this battle, not really. Certainly not to Carnifex's greater gambit of torturing a Padawan to draw out and massacre an Alliance response.

Having faced torture as a Padawan herself, once upon a time, she'd decided not to think about this situation too deeply at all. Memories faded. Those ones didn't.

"Consider the attempt made," she said, watching gummed blood crisp and burn on the blade of her Force-wreathed sword. "By now your leaders will be extracting their lost lamb from Zambrano's cave, having paid the price in blood they felt appropriate. In your shoes I don't know that I'd feel inclined to be part of that price, now that the errand is largely over. Dying here now accomplishes nothing for your admirable cause. Go home."