Invasion Gates of Dawn | GA Invasion of BOTM held Shihon and Oyokal

[Enyo Typhos]

Osarla Ridor , Sion Lorray

Stopped by the Force, the burning shards suddenly abruptly soared back to her. Having first been halted and then redirected, they were not propelled with the same speed as when Enyo had fired them. So when they slammed into her shoulder's and chest's armour plating, they pattered off her armour like rain. However, Enyo was scorched in the process.

But then the Togruta Master did something most unexpected by hurling her lightsabre. Reacting quickly, Enyo reached out through the Force to grab it. Her invisible grip wrapped around the weapon just as it struck the wall near the pipe...the full of flammable materials. Sparks flew as the plasma blade burnt through the wall, setting off a chain reaction.

Boom. The superheated metal detonated, triggering a strong shock wave. Caught by the blast, Enyo was knocked back and flung to the ground. The wave caused her to lose her grip on the Jedi's weapon. Whether the Jedi were affected by the detonation was something she could not assess. Flung hard into a wall as flames sought purchase upon her armoured, metal body, she was momentarily stunned her.

Then there was a jolt in her skull and her eyes flashed. She stood, albeit a bit awkwardly, twitching somewhat. Minor burns had spread across her left arm. An organic would've been in the throes of pain...but Enyo could not feel physical pain anymore than she could feel the the warmth of a spring wind. Her shotgun had apparently been burnt. Ahead of her small fires raged in the corridor and smoke rose up into the air. The wall with the exploded pipe was badly scorched. But she beheld the two Jedi ahead of her.

The Force surged through her body, and she directed a powerful telekinetic wave towards her foes, pushing the fire forward in the process. At the same time, she reached out to try and seize the Jedi's sabre with a telekinetic grip and pull it into her grasp.

 

[Silas Westgard]

Location: Yuuzhan Vong Prison Camp Ruins
Objective: Survive the battle
Tag: Thelma Goth / Anja Doreva

Silas was doing well in keeping the woman at bay for now, and when he went to force her lightsaber into the air he had every confidence of making it work. However, when he went for it her other blade struck at his abdomen with swift intentions. Silas's eyes shot open and while he was in the middle of the parry tried to avoid it the best he could. A painful fun shot through his midsection soon after, cutting through the clothing and partially getting to his skin.

With a grit of his teeth, he jumped back and let Thelma get stuck in. A hand reflectively went down to the wound, forcing a yelp to come out of his mouth in return. He needed to be more careful, this woman was no regular grunt by all means. However, when she was distracted by him Thelma managed to catch her on the shoulder with a good strike. At least Thelma managed to get some kind of payback for him.

<"Thelma, get close to me"> he asked the girl, doing his best to steady his breathing <"You must focus on me, my breathing, my actions, we must flow as one"> Silas said as he tried to get Thelma to link with him. Mind meld was like combing two people's strengths into one, and if used properly could even give the strongest of opponents some trouble.

Taking another deep breath he looked straight at the woman and steadied his saber "She is no welp, she is far better than that" Silas grunted before giving Thelma the side eye <"Trying something new is better than nothing huh?"> Silas said to the meld newcomer before suddenly rushing to the far right. Swinging cleanly and following up with a quick kick to her stomach, the padawan looked to provide a distraction while Thelma became a pain from another. As long as they didn't become separated they'd have a chance of breaking her down.

​

 

[Vector Monk]

Miri Nimdok

THE JUNGLE
SELVARIS​

Vector presented him with a gleaming holocron. The ghost looked at it for a few moments, then asked, "What? Do you want me to activate it for you? Is that what this is all about?"

"Don't play the fool," he scowled, "You know it is possible for spirits to possess such artifacts."

Enraptured by his supernatural encounter, Monk ignored shouts of alarm emanating from Maw slavers the jungle. Only Nimdok mattered now. This would be his final triumph. Perhaps he would even allow Creature to die. Vector's mind reeled at the possibilities of an unwilling Jedi assistant.

"I could pay any rogue conjurer to unlock this trinket. Your assassin's life for your soul, Nimdok. Bind yourself to me-eeeEEEE!"

Miri's shot grazed his ribs but the incendiary round set his cape alight. Vector stumbled back, arms flailing like a marionette until his boots slipped off solid ground. He reached in vain for the holocron before tumbling with a falsetto shriek over the cliffs until his body disappeared into the roiling churn of a waterfall basin.

More shouts echoed from the jungle, much closer now. Time enough perhaps for a farewell.

 

[Len Vert]

Revenant 8

Fight For Something Bigger Than Yourself

The screeching of the quad thrusters could be heard as the X-Wing jetted out of hyperspace.

Scanning out of the viewport, Len took in the scene before him. For the engagement him and a few other Revenant pilots, it held nothing in comparison to the battle which took place here. Starfighters raced across the sky, each firing a plethora of blaster bolts at each other. Large vessels also decorated the sky, laying down a lot more firepower than the smaller ships. This whole situation was fresh and overwhelming. But when Revenant 7 said they were going to go help the commander, Len could just let him go alone.

Comms remained silent as they tried to contact lead. That Jedi in front of him said he felt something was wrong. Maybe this was it. The man was not one for believing much in the force, but for some reason this time felt different. With the second call sent out with no answer, Len started to become worried. Some relief was brought to him though when the B-Wing was located. But what troubled him more was that it was currently on a collision course with the surface.

<[Seven, this is Eight. I have spotted Lead.]>
​

Len watched as the X-Wing flying ahead dropped into a sudden dive. Follow his lead, the man rotated his starfighter into a 180 degree turn before descending after the two of them. Seven's ship darted forward in an attempt to catch up with Lead. He wasn't sure what the pilots plan was, but it better be good. As the pilot raced to catch up, warning lights flashed on his control panel, letting him know that he was going to be struck by incoming bolts.

"Shit, full shield power to the belly!"

A quick beep of exclamation was given by his astromech as the shields were redirected. Though no damage was taken to the hull, the shields were starting to deplete. If more starfighters kept coming, then that would leave Seven and Lead exposed to attack. He could not let that happen.

<[This is Eight. Do what you can for Lead, Seven. I am going to get these fighters off of your tail.]>
​

Violently the man pulled back on his control yoke, stopping the dive. The nose of the X-Wing ripped upward, now lining him up to gun down the enemy vessels. Though still holding too much speed, the ship was now parallel with the ground. Aiming ahead, he locked onto the first three targets. Pulling in the yoke's middle button, a volley of red laser fire soon began to stream out of the four blasters. The lead ship was immediately hit, bursting into flames. As it wildly spun out of control, the second and third vessels had to redirect their paths.

Quickly closing the pair of s-foils on either side of the starfighter, Len guided the controls to the side, allowing the ship to start arching to the left. Powering back up the thrusters, he now began to sweep around and lock onto the remaining two targets. Both of the ships were starting to lower their altitude, beginning to chase Seven and Lead. This was not good. Each thrusters fought on as he increased the X-Wing's speed. It was now going to be a drag race. Good thing he was not one to lose.

<[Seven, redirect your shields to the rear of your vessel, now!]>
​

As the transmission was sent out, the targeting system within his ship slowly began to lock onto the second fighter. Pulling on the trigger, the bolts of red fired out once more, yet barely grazing past the enemy. Angrily he fired again, this time finding success with the right wing of the third starfighter. Len watched as the vessel began to drift to the right. Seemingly not noticing his partner being shot, the two starfighters collided together, exploding into a ball of fire.

It was now up to Seven to save Lead. Hopefully there was still enough time.

Tren Chaar | Leon Gallo ​

 

[Auteme]

Kyrel Ren ​

Auteme fell silent. The air of emotion on the battlefield -- the fear, the excitement -- settled to stillness, if only for her. All she could do was stare at the creature before her.

She had no clue what touched her heart first. Indignation, perhaps? These sorts of accusations were commonplace from Sith, but something about the way he spoke of her somehow felt personal in a way she did not expect from such a monstrous being. No, maybe it was sadness. This being was tragic to the core. Scarred by hatred, marred by many hands; to hear of the plight of Kyrel Ren was in some sense a sorrowful story. Yet equally she found a rage; rage at those who had scarred him, and those he had destroyed. She found a pit dug by every being in the galaxy, where they had poured their anger, and was invited to partake.

And yet, beyond all that -- nothing. She felt nothing. There was nothing to be proud of here. No joy, no rage, certainly no sadness; she found herself detached, staring at those swirling emotions, and finding each inadequate. In that apathy she found an unexpected intensity. To that, too, she found herself apathetic.

She was still, yet the weight of her nothing flooded from her. All the threads she'd gathered for today loosened from her figure, writhing out in an ethereal mass, rising and rising into the sky, before crashing down like a great tidal wave. A massive weight fell towards Ren, threatening to swallow him whole.

 

[Shar Sieu]

Location: Shihon Space
Objective: Save Lead
Equipment: REC-AS02 B-wing Heavy Assault Starfighter
Callsign: Revenant Four
ALLIES: Lead Tren Chaar - Seven Leon Gallo , Eight Len Vert

Shar was not entirely happy to follow along Leon's sudden change in course, yet at the same time, he knew the Jedi had their ways of knowing things. And so when they broke off to make an express jump into Shihon, he followed along. And he was glad they did.

There was still the problem of how to help. The idea to move his X-wing under the crippled bomber, but shooed it away as that would only doom both pilots. With no on-board grapple system, Leon only had one way to save his commander.

“Arsev, match our speed to Chaar’s!”​

Ignoring his astromech’s chirp of confirmation, Leon focused on the falling B-wing. His hand trembled as Leon tried to slow it. Letting the force flow through him, he blocked out the rage of battle above and below. All that mattered was this ship, falling from the sky. It had reached terminal velocity, and weighed more than anything Leon had ever moved on his own. Still, he needed to try; he needed to do something. And try he did.

Shar throttled forward, straining to keep up with Seven and Eight as they dove towards the falling Chaar. He was falling behind, and that gave him time to check on the sensors again.

They were going terminal, he could tell. They had to bail Chaar out, but the complete silence reflected by Chaar's ship on the EWAR suite made it clear that this would have to be a... external operation.

<"Stay frosty: move into formation. Spinning up the guns.">

<"Seven, what are you planning? We gotta find a way to extract the Colonel from the outside. That ship is dead!">

Seven's ship darted forward in an attempt to catch up with Lead. He wasn't sure what the pilots plan was, but it better be good. As the pilot raced to catch up, warning lights flashed on his control panel, letting him know that he was going to be struck by incoming bolts.

Some distance behind, Shar watched Len pull off and cover the operation, downing several fighters.

He turned his attention back to the falling pair. How the hell was Shar going to help stabilise the fall? He looked over his ship's systems, scrambling to think of something. Controlled missile detonation some distance ahead of them? But that would only introduce turbulence into the atmosphere that they were diving into.

Two Mawite fighters slipped past Len's screen, gliding in behind Lead and Leon. Shar immediately shifted his ship to intercept, careful not to put the enemy between him and Lead. He opened fire, heavy cannons lancing through the first fighter and ripping it apart. The second executed evasive maneuvers, trying to get a firing solution at Chaar's wounded B-Wing from another angle. Yet it must have sustained some damage previously, for Shar could see the air around it glow red hot, atmospheric friction beginning to burn it up. Wisely, that pilot aborted the attack run and fired their engines again, boosting away from the gravity well and out of the duel.

 

[BB-610]

| LOCATION: Selvaris |
| FRIEND: Valery Noble | Corazona von Ascania |
| FOE: Darth Mori |




Optic constricting in surprise, the Sith's talents - as forewarned as they had been - remained so utterly unnatural to the droid that any calculated predictions ahead of time had been completely emancipated. There was an underlying fascination as BB-610 watched in visceral horror as her flesh peeled from itself, warping through the cords he had so desperately hoped would subdue her. Panic filled his systems, a rising fear at his core-- she was outnumbered, yet she so swiftly sought to the three of them with an air of superiority, and it was terrifying. Terrifying to see a murderer this close to him. Terrifying to see the blur of reds, blues, and purples clash with a deafening screech of energy as his friends put their lives on the line. Terrifying to see just the type of person he had helped and befriended while under the spell of rose-tinted glasses.

Frozen, the astromech had little idea of what to do. It felt perverse-- sickening- to be without his numbers, devoid of the comfort of self-correcting algorithms that had branched off into an array of paths for his droidbrain to plan and act upon. BB-610 felt pathetic; he was nothing compared to the three of them, and that cold objectivity of an A.I.'s programming had slowly faded to give way to the fight-or-flight instincts much more befitting of an organic. Valery had made him feel nothing like a machine, she had treated him much like any other person she'd talk to. Cora saw the humanity in him, sparks of abnormalities within his code that had gone centuries without a memory wipe. BB-610 cried in warbled binary, an invisible force tugging at his cords and subsequently pulling him along as Mori manipulated his cables, chassis swerving along the ground and - horrifyingly - closer to the Sith while she held them up against the Padawan's lightsaber, a metallic yelp as he begged Cora 'sorry'.

Instinctively, he had tried to retract his grapples, but the Sith's grip on them remained far too firm for them to budge; a slave to the woman controlling his strings as though he were nothing more than a marionette, BB-610 stared as Valery's body surrounded itself in the Force, phasing through the monster that had just moments prior gone for staggering strikes against his friends that would have butchered a lesser human in seconds. Cords pulled tight, BB-610 struggled and squirmed in desperate attempts to distance himself from the Shi'ido, and yet as the deadly tango before him grew further in intensity, it was through a blink of clarity amidst a crashing wave of mindless panic that the astromech woke himself from the fearstruck trance he'd been stuck in. Droidbrain lagging with sensory overload, that one thought was enough to guide his next action, for better or for worse; he had little time for calculations, for numbers and predictions that would have taken him milliseconds to extract the day he rolled off the assembly line. Much like Valery, like Cora, he had a heart. Perhaps not literally, but within the expressionless shell of a terrified BB unit laid one core foundation:

Loyalty.

And with an emotionally charged swirl of his body as he switched from 'flight' to 'fight', BB-610 brazenly took advantage of the distance he'd been yanked across, waiting for the Sword of the Jedi and her Padawan to work in tandem and overwhelm the Sith. The former materializing for a spinning strike and the latter soaring gracefully through the air with a downward flash of burning blue, the astromech steadied his electro-shock prod, trembling with electricity begging to be discharged, and as soon as Mori would address the swings aimed mercilessly toward her, BB-610 aimed as far up at the Sith's side as he could, before going to dispense the built-up energy at the tip of the droid's lightning rod, his shock prod crackling loudly as snakes of unabashed electricity clung to the Shi'ido's form, spreading throughout her side and lower half if she weren't to block the attack.

He knew it was dangerous. He knew that she retained all control over his cords. He knew that in an instant, he could die. But it was that spark of emotion, that surge of mindless subjectivity from an instinctual urge to help his family, that made BB-610 more human than droid.

 

[Amani Serys]

Nyaeli​

Amani watched the Sith intently, waiting for the inevitable response. She remained stoic in the face of her charge, but there was an inderscinble unease in those precious moments where the gap was closed. Her danger sense sprung a split second earlier than Nyaeli appeared to reach her, and Amani jerked away at the last second.

The blade grazed her arm, leaving a scorch mark and causing her to drop the weapon. At the same time, Amani projected a Force barrier not around herself, but around Nyaeli, attempting to imprison her within the bubble and prevent another attack. "Tricky," She grumbled, caressing the burn, "I'm putting you in time-out until you're ready to play nice."

 

[Thelma Goth]

Silas Westgard Anja Doreva
​

Thelma grit her teeth in grim satisfaction as her blade struck the woman's armored pauldron, biting down to the flesh—only to yelp in pain. She reared back, a hand pressed to her abdomen. It didn't bleed—of course it didn't, it was a burn wound—but it hurt about as much as one would expect being speared through the gut with a molten blade would. She had a hole in her middle now, her flesh charred and blackened.

Silas' telepathy cut through her panic. Whether the wound proved fatal or not, they had no chance of survival if they didn't deal with this... witch. She obeyed his commands, circling around the woman to get closer to him. It was more difficult to focus, but she managed it, opening herself to the Force and to him.

Better than nothing.

They moved together, each attacking their opponent from different angles at the same time. While Silas attacked her upper half, Thelma went for her lower half, trying to sweep the woman's legs out from under her.

 

[Mercy]

Ishida Ashina
​

Mercy casually reached out and with a thumb gathered up some of that blood from the corner of Ish's mouth.

Then sucked her thumb clean with her eyes still on the fiery Jedi.

"Ya know, ya gotta live a little, babe." Finally the glass shades went off and collected into a protected pocket. Now the shimmering amber eyes surveyed the scene. They were hyper-sensitive against the sun. It's why Mercy practically always wore sunglasses. In this deep cavern vong-shaped hell hole? That wasn't as necessary. "Always frowning, ya might pop a vein."

Rolling her shoulders, the muscles groaning and bones cracking in a casual way, as Mercy took a step forward and past Ishida.

"My idea? Let's live. Let's enjoy. Let's find thrill in the bloodshed."

After all. These weren't sentients... or any sentience that matter. Without waiting for Ishida's response, she met the coming tide with a deep guttural scream of her own.

Fight, kill, feast.

Ishida would feel it. Through the humming of the ring on her finger and beyond. The way the darkness pulled into Mercy. She didn't need to use the Force against these creatures to kill them. Instead her arm flared up, reaching out beyond the veil, beyond this reality. Into a realm of coiling eldritch mass and wind curled into screams.

Her first punch jabbed straight through a mangled vong-shaped chest.

It devolved from there.

 

[Sion Lorray]

Osarla Ridor | Enyo Typhos

As always Osarla's direct presence was a balm to the soul.

Her actions caused the remnants of the gas to be pushed out. It allowed him to breathe and he did, a gasping air, with teary eyes. "T-thank yo-" Tears or not, Sion's eyes widen in panic and from there he moved in pure reflex. Even now the fire made him fearful. It was a nauseous experience. It was blind hot fire poking into his skin and melting it. It was terrifying. And yet Sion moved regardless. He knew he wasn't physically strong enough, but Sion was... more since Dantooine.

And he used the Force to yank Osarla back and behind him.

Osarla had given him everything. Rescued his life, took him under her wing and decided to oversee his training. In every way Sion had failed her, being so soft and fragile and needing a gentle hand. But the stern woman had not denied him or pushed him out.

This is why Sion was willing to give his life as Enyo slammed the scorching flames towards them.

His eyes wide open, the flames reflected, he opened his hands towards it. Yet he wasn't willing to just... accept death. That would mean Osarla being alone with Enyo. While the Jedi Master was powerful, he knew the fall had taken it out of her. He needed to even the field. Sion breathed in and grabbed his fear, his pain, grabbed the memories of being tortured by the Maw. Then he delved deeper. Being neglected. Being abandoned by parents he never knew.

It was pure empathy. It was feelings made manifest. A Jedi Mind Trick worked with suggestion. Mentalism worked by convincing the mind. Sion didn't operate that way.

Instead his psyche reached out to the calm quiet pool that was Enyo. Even now, as in his mind-eye he saw the fire coming, Sion was drawn to Enyo in a way he couldn't truly understand. It didn't matter. He had picked here and now. Osarla. And there he forced that balled up sphere of pain, torment and fear onto Enyo. The HRD had flesh in her. Mind. She didn't feel emotions the way normal people did and normally that protected her. But Sion cut right through that and tried to force it on her.

Even now Sion wasn't strong enough to make it last. But hopefully for a while she'd be struck by the foreign experience of feeling every bit of anguish that her victim felt... and his love for Osarla deep in the middle.

A breath away from being burned to a crisp. Then Sion blinked. The flames were already licking at his skin. The heat was scorching. It was ash and fury and Sion was not afraid. No, it was like an old friend now. He breathed in again and cut his fingers through the flames. They burned his skin regardless, boils appearing as they malformed skin. But then the inferno died with Sion in the middle of it.

"I..." He looked down to his burning arm. Hurt, but already the pain was dulling. An old friend. "We need to move, mo-" Sion caught himself there and immediately followed it up with. "-Master. We need to go now."

 

[Miri Nimdok]

Vector Monk
​

The ghost of Professor Nimdok glared grimly at the holocron… only for Vector's cloak to catch fire, causing the bald graverobber to topple over the edge of a cliff in a panic. The artifact went flying. Nimdok reached for it in an instinctive attempt to catch it, but of course his incorporeal hands passed through the device. It tumbled down into the darkness after Vector.

"Well," the ghost muttered, raising an eyebrow. "That was something."

Smoke trailing from her gun, Miri heaved a sigh of relief. Shouting in the distance spurred her to her feet as she staggered through the jungle. Which way to go? She fumbled for her datapad, wishing she'd invested in one of those smart watches...

"Going so soon?"

Startled, she looked up to find her father's specter had reappeared in front of her. "I got him, Dad," she said with a sniff. "I killed Vector Monk. You can rest now."

"I noticed. But what makes you think that's the reason why I haven't become one with the Force?" Nimdok moved closer to her. "I'm still here because you haven't let go."

Miri pursed her lips to keep them from quivering. "I'm going to miss you for the rest of my life."

"That isn't what I mean. You allowed this obsession with revenge to lead you here, where you almost died. You're not on your own anymore, Miri. You have people who love you, children who need you." Her father's ghost held out his arms as if he meant to embrace her, but remembered his immateriality and let his hands drop. "All right, you've avenged me. But this isn't the place for you. You're not meant for battlefields and warzones. Neither was I. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Don't lie to yourself. If you lie to yourself, and believe the lie, you'll lose sight of what truly matters. And you'll forget who you really are."

"Dad, I—" she started to reply, only for a yell from one of the slavers to distract her. They were much closer now.

She turned back to face her father, but the ghost had vanished. Tightening her grip on her pistol, Miri headed in the opposite direction the voices were coming from, determined to make it home alive.

 

[Cordé Sabo]

______________________________________________________________
D U L C E T
HYPERLANE BETWEEN SHIHON AND OYOKAL | EN ROUTE TO OYOKAL
______________________________________________________________
​

Cordé smirked.

Frea's dossier had said, basically, the same thing. That as the nice thing about Frea, her boastful personality was ready to answer questions at any given moment, and even overindulge a bit.

That was the SIA's greatest concern — it was never a direct response to a question. Even in the hospital, Frea'd given Cordé so much context they'd almost felt friendly.

"I got the rundown, yes. Helps to know how to patch up the hurt you cause." Cordé assured, cryptically. "But yeah, don't worry, I've got your back as much as you've got mine." Then, she paused, set her hand out to steady herself, and bent over to the side to wretch.

All that lightspeed jumping had caught up with her in a whoosh. It battered through her stomach to her throat, and straight into the algae-covered ground. She'd barely even caught the warning tingle on her bottom lip that she was about to upchuck.


"Oh, gross, sorry.." Cordé murmured sheepishly, still halved, and wiped the back of her hand against her mouth. She stood hunched for a few more seconds, steadied her breathing, and straightened. With her hands on her hips, she exhaled and pumped a fist against her chest. "Wow, I should have expected that."

Thankfully, there were no more episodes between the hilltop and the base of the fort they creeped up on. As two lone soldiers, it was easier to insert themselves undetected to the operating base. And, if Selvaris was going as planned, this would be relatively unmanned.

Cordé tinkered with some tech in her backpack, and deployed a few small drones, tiny things, that would help scope out their way inside. To mitigate harm for herself and Frea. At the same time, she tried to see what active channels were open that matched the Alliance's typical frequency. When she found one that seemed to match, she tried to contact outwardly.

They'd be using short-range, so it was a long shot, but she tried to see if she could get through to any of the soldiers anyway; didn't matter if it was Teshi Ocano or Mrir'ik'amorn or Osarla Ridor or Sion Lorray — anyone'd do. So long as she and Frea weren't totally alone and about to take over an entire base and hold it for too long.

<Nova Corps, Pathfinders, this is Dulcet of SIA. We've reached the operating base. Have yet to engage. Do you have an ETA?>

______________________________________________________________

F O E S | THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | OPEN
F R I E N D S | GA | NJO | SIA | Frea Sheplin
______________________________________________________________​

 

[Osarla Ridor]

GENERAL RIDOR
222ND NOVA CORPS | 512TH LEGION | 312 ATTACK BATALLION
OYOKAL | ENEMY TERRITORY | EX SITH TORTURE CHAMBER VERY COOL THANK YOU LOVE THAT FOR US

Angry, red, orange, yellow and white erupted into the narrow passageway. Powerful energy and fire rolled, raced and licked along the walls. Flames looped from one to the other, building and roaring. The chamber’s tunnels seemed to groan with the renewed vigour that manifested in its corridor. The flames curled around them, arcing through the corridors.

All of her senses fired off warning klaxons, and felt the heat from the typhonic blast, before she looked over her shoulder to see it. Sion, in the meantime, was shielded by her.

They scorched the top of her montrals, pushed her back several feet, and burned her lekku. She howled, the sensitivities of her horns and head-tails exposed to the elements was viscerally wretching. And worse, nigh-blinding. Fire flushed through her bloodstream, white-hot pain. Everything around the flesh that was touched by the flame was radiating and excruciating.

And there was the telekinetic pressure of it, which made the fire spread. Thousands of thousands of explosions rippled through her cells, bursting and shattering in sequential eruptions. Black kaleidoscopic shapes vignetted her peripherals, numbing her sight and senses. She exhaled heavily through her nostrils, clenching her teeth to keep focused through the pain.

Belatedly, a schism of energy erected around herself and where she thought Sion was. Where she felt he was — she was almost entirely blinded by the charring of her striped flesh on her most sensitive appendages. Were it not for The Force, she'd be sightless.

Through the agony, she only felt the vague sensation of The Force ripping at her, and Sion was no longer under her protection. He was facing the fire.

More than that, in Osarla’s limited perspective, Sion wasn’t just facing the superheated blast, he was influencing it. Commanding it.

So much of her wanted to observe without distraction, but she didn’t have the luxury of monofocus. Her extension of self was still whirling through the air, cutting closer and closer to her, and she was losing the ability to detect her saber and Sion above the mind-shattering blistering. Through the fire, she could see the humming blue’s trajectory back to her. She reached out to encourage it to complete its boomerang arc, and back to her grasp. A counter influence scratched at its hilt. Osarla grunted unhappily, and exerted more of herself to beckon the Kyber that had chosen her all those years ago. In her mind’s eye, she could see it shimmering its obedience. Her connection to it overwhelmed the opposing grip, and with more of a struggle than she’d intended, her blade reached her hand and she closed it firmly.

By now, Sion was blistering and wide-eyed.

She was about to shift her focus back to trying to protect him, but the reality of the situation slipped out from his awestruck mouth.

That sounded an awful lot like he was going to say mom.

Osarla blinked, and refocused on the demand. Her skin sweltered above her head, peeling down her montrals and darkening above the reddish hurt.

At the end of the hallway, the HRD was sparking. Back from whence they came was the path of least resistance.

“Back the way we came.” Osarla pointed to the little room. Running down the hallway, right into the HRD’s arms was just asking for trouble at this point. And with Sion scorched, and her ribs and spine bruised, it was a worse bet than trying to get back up through the hole they’d fallen through.

Osarla shooed Sion forward, ushering like a nuisance. The room was just as they left it. Including the giant arm that had turned into something like a turret. It was still blindly firing shot after shot at the same spot, scorching against the metal ground again and again and turning it black.

With a grunt, the Jedi gripped the weapon and turned it out toward the door, letting it fire relentlessly at the place Enyo would enter if she chose to pursue. She did similarly with gripping whatever random surface, cabinet, machinery, and hurling it to stack up against the doorway and slow or outright prevent further pursuit.

“We’ll take a look at that when we’re out of here.” Osarla promised Sion about his arm, and turned her face up to the light that was Oyokal through the giant hole. “Our grappling hooks ain't findin' anything sturdy for counterweight. You’re gonna need to jump. Trust the Force to give you the height you need, you’ll feel it. The draw to the naturalness above in contrast to the cold darkness down here. Visualise where you want to be.” She prodded at his shoulder blades, indicating that he should go first.

She would have gone up first and hoisted him up but… the unpredictability of their foe meant she wasn’t keen on leaving Sion in the pit solo. Especially with his wounds.

---

ALLIES | GA | NJO | Sion Lorray | Teshi Ocano | Mrir'ik'amorn
FOES | THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Enyo Typhos

 

[Ishida Ashina]

SELVARIS | YUUZAN VONG WARCAMP | TUNNELS
LEADER OF THE COMPANIONS | BEARER OF THE RING OF JUDGEMENT

​

Ishida’s initial reaction to Mercy didn’t see the light of day. She would have bit the hand that touched the corner of her mouth if she hadn’t been glaring so intensely at the mammoth warrior. Her muscles grew taut, and she sneered in lieu of gnashing.

“I should not have asked.” She should have known better than to ask a Sith for ideas.

Of course the response would be to revel in bloodshed. Her growl wormed around in her chest, coming out as a half-sound of begrudging acquiescence.

At the back of her mind, she promised herself that if there was the chance to bring down the entire nest, with Mercy inside it, she’d take it.

Her anger was better directed outward. At the tens of tens of beasts that skittered, crawled, lunged, and dug their wretched claws along the ridges of their newfound hellhole.

Around the base of her finger, concealed beneath her gloves, her ring hummed. It almost stung, the way it hated so deeply the amount of evil that filled the tiny space. Between Mercy and the monsters, Ishida felt as though the ring were insatiably vying for release.

Competition would not allow the darkness to triumph here. Even if, in this context, it meant a higher body count.

Every ounce of control she’d tried to exercise against the allure of inscrutable, unapologetic light fell to the wayside.

She was fairly sure that without The Ring, the suffocating void of the vong would have eclipsed her ability to see. But with the additional boost from that which she didn’t wholly understand yet, the intersections, lattices, patterns and nuclei evidenced themselves dimly. That was all she could use to foresee the creatures, and their weaknesses.

Blades first, Ishida protected her position. Swells of sensitivities met the edge of her strikes. Exoskeletons be damned, with the guidance of the otherworldly, Ishida was able to avoid the mistake of earlier. Where Mercy bloomed dark, Ishida glowed light.

Usually, in battle-like situations, the Force seemed to fall silent -- not to desert her, but to become no more than an instinct or alarm when needed. This time, however, Ishida found herself as though she’d fallen into a meditative trance. With so little to connect to, so little to be distracted by, she’d not wait for suggestive forms to guide her, but purely The Force in the little glimmers and insights it gave.

Thorax, gut, armpit, open-jaw, all fleshy and soft and ready to be carved, cut, sliced, eviscerated. She was as unceasing as the relentless horde.

She’d been watching the threads of the walls through her slashing and dashing for a handful of kills now (time was useless, it was just a matter of creatures slain). Twisting, weaving, and using the shadows as her allies for discretion, Ishida was almost at the place where she might be able to charm the canyon to collapse. She just had to make sure Mercy was adequately distracted.

---

ALLIES | NEW JEDI ORDER | GALACTIC ALLIANCE |
FOES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Mercy

​

 

[Frea Sheplin]

"You get used to it." Frea said with a grin as she patted Cordé who was busy wiping the last few remnants from the corners of her mouth. Without saying much of a word she proceeded to close up the ship and lock it tight. "I mean, the flight was turbulent but it got us here. The sea legs come later."

And why was it even called that? There were no seas in space.

The rest of the walk was rather silent out of necessity. They got the area reconnoitered with little or no trace of their support. As much as Frea was all for dying in a blaze of glory, this was not it. This was more of a flea trying to uppercut a rancor. It'd be felt, but only by the flea as it was stomped to a pulp.

And then,

S.

I.

A.

Frea's brow rose. The codename was appropriate for Cordé, but that was hardly the point. The coin began to trickle down into its appropriate slot. What were the odds of just randomly stumbling into an SIA operation in the middle of Nowhere Street, Coruscant? Well, given that she was delivering a secretive package at the time the chance had always been non-zero.

"Right, well," Frea said and pointed at the outpost. "On one hand we can provide information on the target, but if we do anything just the two of us we will most likely find little more than a painful death."

"Unless your friends get back to us I would recommend we find a place to dig in and either wait this out or bail."

Cordé Sabo

 

[Nyaeli]

Location: Selvaris
Attani Implant: Link!
Tag: Amani Serys

​

Nyaeli could feel the resistance caused by her lightsaber connecting with the woman's skin, and while it forced the Jedi into dropping her weapon, it was not nearly enough to take her out of the fight. Almost at the exact moment Amani lost grip on her pike, a bubble of Force energy was projected around Nyaeli, trapping her inside. She tried to push the edge of her blade into it, but the shield persisted, much to her anger.

The Sith, however, did not need physical contact

In an attempt to either torture the Jedi, or at least try and break her concentration on the Force Bubble, Nyaeli reached out to Amani's mind once more, but not to force telepathic words into it. She wanted to splinter Amani's mind and silence her after the taunting.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Osarla Ridor , Sion Lorray

Through the power of his empathic abilities - both a blessing and a curse - the Padawan was able to glean insights from the mind of his cybernetic foe that would elude others, as well as brute force feeling upon her. His assessment was very correct...and yet also wrong in some ways. Limited by an organic perspective.

Once Enyo had been human. Raised to be a slave-soldier for uncaring masters who moulded her in their image. To the point where they encased her organic brain inside a metal shell when she did not perform according to expectations. She was reborn in fire and steel. Freed from organic weaknesses...and yet chained. Not an organic anymore, but also no mere droid. Forever trapped in limbo.

Inured to pain, inured to any kind of sensation...but she remembered pain. Even though she had not felt it for such a long time that the sensation was alien when suddenly she felt as if her body was on fire, as she shared in the flaming inferno the two Jedi were struggling to hold back. Her flesh felt like it was burning. Feelings of anguish seized her. It made her stop dead in her tracks, for a few brief moments, as if paralysed. Her mechanical body twitched badly, organic mind at war with machine logic. It bought the Jedi time.

But she didn't drown in pain. The part of her that was still human latched to the feelings the Jedi was brute forcing upon her. And she remembered the last time she had burnt. When she had experienced searing agony far beyond what the Jedi felt. Pain, she remembered. Peace and serenity, the taste of something sweet, the smell of freshwater on a spring day - such sensations would've been alien to her.

As it was, she latched on to the memory of the day she had burnt.

Korriban City.

Slowly, the young clone crawled out of the rubble she had been buried beneath. Everywhere around her, she could see naught but destruction. Bodies had been vaporised, leaving only ash, buildings broken. The air was thick with the scent of death, the dark side had grown even stronger, for each murdered soul fuelled its power. One of her had been severed, along with a leg. The remaining one was a mess. The sand felt boiling hot beneath, or perhaps that was just her confused mind.

Agony flooded her body, feeding her rage. Rage built up inside her: Against Archangel for sending her here, against the Jedi. She wanted to see the hypocritical, murdering Burlap Brigade burn in the fires of Chaos. Her rage alone seemed to keep her going. An animalistic howl escaped her throat. Her anger was even stronger than when she'd learned that her sister had created her as a host to transfer her essence into.

She was the clone of Siobhan fething Kerrigan. As much as she hated her template, she'd inherited her stubbornness. She would not die on this godforsaken hellhole. A fire burnt inside her, as brightly as the hellfire that had been unleashed upon this town. All around her, she could hear the wails and lamentation of ghosts, crying out for vengeance. Their voices rose to the heavens like a chorus of anger and she answered.

Her body had been engulfed in hellfire, and yet she had emerged. Stronger, and harder. It had been the beginning of her trials. Each one had taken something from her. She'd lost her body, she'd lost her innocence, for a while she'd lost her mind. And in the process she'd resculpted herself into who she needed to be. For control. and power. But also her siblings.

Ironically, Enyo could on some level understand the bonds of love that bound the Padawan to his Master. Something the Togruta-shaped lioness would be able to confirm, based on their encounter on Ilium. "I can understand why would you feel that way," she spoke finally to the Togruta Jedi. Only a scant few seconds had passed, but it might as well feel like an eternity. "I have siblings I care about. These nations that fight for dominance across the stars are but sandcastles, as anything built by organics, only the tides are real. You may go." Her lightsabre remained powered up...just in case.

Enyo cared about her siblings. She just didn't care about anyone else. The vast majority of organics were...nothing to her. Not hated enemies, not friends. They simply...existed. To be used, eliminated or ignored. She made her credits upon the blood and bones of the innocent and guilty...but she was honest enough to look in the mirror and admit it to herself. And anyone who chained her was her foe. The Jedi had succeeded in making her feel rage.

The turret battered her mechanical shell with bolts of plasma, splashing against her armour. Her willpower commanded it to explode. The corridor itself was thrown at her as the Togruta Master hurled cabinets, machinery and all manners of other objects at her. More objects slammed into her left arm hard, leaving it stiff and sluggish. Skin burst open when a heavy piece of machinery struck her helmet, cracking the visor in the process. One eye flashed wildly. A piece of debris slammed into her chest, damaging and cracking the armour plate and causing her to stumble and pushing her down.

She hurled the debris up, and advanced, a telekinetic shield battering away more salvoes of debris as she advanced implacably. She drew upon the growing inferno inside her. It burnt like a nuclear furnace. Telekinetic power soared from her as she applied her willpower to attempt to drop part of the corridor on top of the Jedi as they sought to escape. She was curious to see how far their mutual devotion would go. As Enyo had come from a different direction, she was not at risk of cutting herself off.

 

[Mercy]

Ishida Ashina
​

For a while there was nothing except warm blood, gnashing teeth and meat slamming into meat.

The soft crawling voice that begged for meat, always meat, ever meat, was silent. It was gorging itself. Just as Mercy was gorging itself on the fight and ripping out bits of meat with open maw at every opportunity. The blood trickling down her chin and seeping into her under-armor. Later on Mercy would be annoyed with herself.

She was being too loose. Unrestrained. Her body was accumulating gashes and painful tears faster than it could heal them all. It was that pain that brought her back a little.

Enough to notice Ishida was struggling with one particularly large one. She was putting good effort in. Moving so fast it was basically a blur, if not for her enhanced sight. But with the tidal wave over her? There was only so much the Jedi could do. Mercy was half of mind to let her go. If she wasn't up for the challenge she didn't deserve to live anyway.

Except.

Mercy was smarter now. She had claimed as much to Henna Ashina . She couldn't in one breath claim that, but then do the same stupid chit she had been doing for years now, could she?

A growl escaped her lips and then just as the mutant was about to crush Ishida under its bulk, Mercy leaped in. Between Ishida and the creature. Her big meaty hands spinning up and grabbing hold of the gargantuan heel, pushing it back with all her might. Which. She had plenty of. Even still the veins in her neck solidified like metal cords, as Mercy forced it back and then threw it into the wall opposite of them.

"You okay, babe?" Practically growled through bloody teeth and blood-shot eyes. "We thinned the herd. Gotta move now, or we dun survive this."

 

[Tren Chaar]

B - W I N G _ D O W N

SHIHON
B-WING HEAVY STARFIGHTER​

---

---

Revenant Squadron Lead: COL Tren Chaar Two: FLT Shar Sieu Seven: FO Leon Gallo Eight: FO Len Vert Galactic Alliance CDRE Cynthia Alucard COL Bané Zirbils Jasper Kai'el Iris Arani Brotherhood of the Maw Khione

At peace with death, Tren Chaar spent his final moments thinking about the pilots of Revevant Squadron.

Most were orphans and outcasts, the sole survivors of squadrons wiped out at the hands of the Brotherhood. High Command had thrown them together in a frantic attempt to field enough units to hold back the enemy, filling the remaining slots with rookie pilots, many of who didn't survive their first mission.

Strangers had become (with the exception of Chaar) friends. The A-wing speed demons Qellene Tyliame and Mylo Thorne had delighted in flying rings around their enemies and leaving the debris in their wake. Shar Sieu had proved herself on the ground at Empress Teta to be just as deadly with a blaster as with her B-wing. Leon Gallo and Len Vert had used their X-wings to devastating effect throughout enemy-controlled space.

He could remember the rare moments between missions when the team took a moment to blow off steam. Chaar had occasionally joined them but preferred to drink with the admirals and generals, anything to get ahead in his career.

He could almost hear Leon's voice...

"Revenant Lead, I repeat this is Seven. Are you there Lead?"

Chaar's eyes snapped open.

The realisation hit him. It wasn't a dream.

Revenant had come for him.

The familiar starfighters of his squadron tore through the atmosphere of Shihon as they cut down Brotherhood TIEs. Len called out over the comm that he was moving to cover them as Shar downed an enemy. The velocity metre on Chaar's console began to flow as an unexplained force tried to slow his descent - or rather, given it was Leon, the Force itself.

His people had come for him. His friends had returned.

Tren Chaar had something to live for.

He grabbed his discarded helmet from the ground and put it back on. Moments ago, his situation had been dire - with no power, no engines and no repulsorlifts had been falling toward the surface below with no chance of escape. But the arrival of his squadron mates offered something new.

Hope.

Years of training and experience told him his options were still limited, but now he had options. One by one, he checked off each potential solution until only one remained, one that he would only trust to the best pilots in the galaxy.

Luckily, he was flying alongside them.

"Stand by Revenant. I hope you can catch as good as you can shoot."

Chaar grabbed the manual release levers on either side of his and pulled them up. Magclamps around the edge of his cockpit disengaged, separating the pilot module from the rest of the B-wings damaged frame. A small gas burst fired to push the cockpit from the rest of the ship.

He was still falling toward the surface of Shihon in an unpowered lump of durasteel, but now he was in a much lighter lump of durasteel.

Chaar held his breath for a moment as the cockpit module threatened to start spinning uncontrollably. If he went into a spiral, it was all over. Then, at the last possible minute, the sound he was waiting for - a loud mechanical thud as a magclamp grabbed the module and anchored him underneath a Revenant starfighter.

With a loud exhale, Chaar leaned back into his seat and relaxed.

They had come for him. Revenant squadrons. His trusty pilots.

No, Revenant Squadron, his friends.