Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The sudden crash of a large metallic object shook the speeder and tossed much of it's passengers into the snow, even as it was spotted by several of the squad members. Liza had been among those lucky enough to dive off of the vessel, but not before grabbing her second-in-command and tossing him out with her. The metallic object spun off into the distance behind them, as everyone turned their attention toward the new foe approaching. Their distinctive red saber and ghoulish look had informed them that they were facing a Sith. Protocol for facing such a foe in general was, to quote, "don't" but there were a few strategies that they could employ if they had too. Unfortunately, with the destruction of their vehicle and his rapid advance, making a tactical retreat was not an option. Not without leaving soldiers behind.

"Sithspit!" She cussed, as she rolled to a prone position and put fire on the approaching enemy. Most of the others did as well, only to have their blaster bolts deflected by his lightsaber. Liza's first and third fireteams were behind the speeder, which had totally flipped over in the impact. For the time being they could use it for cover. Fire team two, however, was on the other side of the speeder, out in the open with the Sith, because they had to dive out toward the bunker when the object was flung at the vehicle.

Eventually the Sith closed in on Mercy-9, who had dove toward the bunker when the metallic object was flung at the vehicle. He was cut cleanly in two. It took a lot for Liza not to scream at the top of her lungs, and stay focused on trying to find a solution to their current situation. It didn't help that the marauders were still a problem around the door and were now using the situation to their advantage. Mercy-10 followed not too long after, gunned down by the marauders, unable to find cover as he tried to put distance between himself and the Sith.

Think Liza! Think! She said mentally, panicking slightly to come up with a plan of action.

There was a call out from behind them, as the ally she and her team had covered was now challenging the Sith, and firing a Charric at him. She would need to get around to seeing if she can get one of those requisitioned. The little distraction bought Liza just enough time to finally get an idea together. "Mercy-13, take your team to the bunker entrance and clear out those marauders, go go!" She ordered to Muka, whose team was all equipped with jump-packs. They could probably jump around and descend onto the enemy from above while the rest focused on the menace before them.

"Mercy-7, you fall back a little, if he follows you, we'll hit him from behind, if he stays, you flank. Once 13 is done, we'll set up a four-way cross fire." She then turned to her heavy weapons specialist.

"Ready that launcher but don't fire yet. Hit him when he's overwhelmed. The rest of you, focus fire on the Sith, cover Vet'ar."

 
ʜᴏɴᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏʏᴀʟᴛʏ

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FIV RESURGENT
Main Bridge

The middle of a fleet battle wasn't the ideal place for a bodyguard. There wasn't much the Guardsman could do against exterior forces, when those forces were capital turbolasers and missiles, after all. Far be it for Dyrn to feel like he could shirk his duty, but there were just some situations that he couldn't plausibly have any control over - and being with the First Fleet, on a Super Star Destroyer's bridge, engaged with an equally large enemy fleet alongside the Supreme Leader was one of them. Still, what the Royal Guardsman could do, was have as much prepared as possible were things to escalate and become too dangerous.

That was his priority and duty, after all.

Dyrn remained silent and still near the main bridge doorway, the blast doors firmly in position beside him. He stood with several other guards, those assigned to protect the bridge from the First Fleet contingent, and certainly stood out in comparison. Dressed in his polished Royal Guard armor, which included his full armament and armor with helmet, Dyrn was a head taller than most of the other guards. From within the helmet, its HUD alight with sensors, scanners and communication snippets, the Guardsman watched the front of the bridge; specifically he watched the Allegiant General and the Supreme Leader, as they spoke some meters away.

The conversation seemed straightforward, a combination of tactical decisions, assessments and inter-faction communications. The enemy fleet had been surprisingly large, given the intelligence provided, though the General seemed able to adapt and shift his forces into a position to counter as much of the threat as possible. There was an undertone of caution, however, and a recommendation to be prepared to evacuate should the battle start to dip too far into the enemy's favor...

"Allegro, begin transport prep," The Guardsman muttered into his internal helmet comm. "Have anti-sensor protocols ready and pre-plot emergency hyperspace routes with no less than four options on varying vectors."

The confirmation came back from the crew. It was also at that moment, when Supreme Leader Natasi Fortan Natasi Fortan turned to Dyrn and requested the security protocols be started. If she could see Dyrn's face, she would have noticed the subtle smirk he had, as he started doing just that before the official order. Dyrn altered the channel of his comm with a sequence of blinks that the helmet HUD recognized, and soon began to speak to the other four Royal Guardsmen posted outside the bridge:

"Orders from the Supreme Leader. We're entering stage two alert, be prepared to escort her Majesty toward the hangar on command," Dyrn said simply, as he eyed the sensor crew at their stations across the way. "No immediate threat, but precaution."

"Yes, Captain." Replied one of the Guardsmen, before the others confirmed also. "Requesting Victus be sent ahead to position herself in the hangar proper."

"Granted," Dyrn - his own Guardsman designation Altor - confirmed, appreciating his companion's suggestion. Even if Dyrn had planned to do just that a few moments later. "Victus, communicate with the vessel's trooper contingent in that area, just in case. If boarding is attempted, we will need rapid reinforcement to secure passage against a larger enemy force."

Confirmation came through from Victus.

"All Guardsmen, assume combat readiness," Dyrn said, as he reached to his belt and produced the telescopic electrostaff strapped there. He activated the mechanism that extended the weapon, as it became seven foot in length. He rested the butt of the staff against the deck plating, and held it with one gloved hand. He opened the frequency to internal vessel command. "This is Royal Guard Altor, command sequence Hoth-Alpha-seven-seven-dash-three-Dosuun-four-four, begin bypass of primary beltway routes to the Supreme Leader's assigned hangar bay. Move all beltway cars to bridge directed positions, we want a clear path and smooth transitions between platforms."

"Command sequence acknowledged, enacting random sequence protocol and encrypting data on private network to your helmet now," Vessel command responded, as they burned the one-time use code and assigned another for security purposes. Only Dyrn had that code now, which he shared on the highly-secure Royal Guard communication link with his fellow Royal Guardsmen. "Beginning priority evacuation preparation, with priority on rapid transport from the bridge to the Supreme Leader's transport. Beltway will be cleared for her Majesty's use in minutes."

"Copy that, vessel command, appreciated."

The Guard Captain turned to the Supreme Leader, his helmet facing her again, as he nodded...

 

Juliana Alderdice

Guest
J

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M E R C Y

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Juliana followed after Brec, deactivating her lightsaber but keeping it at the ready as they moved through the ship. Brec stopped just as a set of marauders appeared ahead of them; Juliana had not yet managed to effectively learn how to bat blaster bolts away with consistency, so she ducked behind an architectural element. She needn't have worried; Brec was the very model of a First Imperial Knight and handled them with ease. When he called out, she glanced behind to see if the Ninth's trooper division had deployed. "No visual," she called back. "I don't see Ser Matma, either."

This was less of a concern than an observation; if something had happened to Bernu, Juliana was sure she'd have felt it. Brec, too. She touched a hand to her earpiece and said: "Status update on the Ninth's troopers, please, right aw-- "

Her voice fell into a choked silence and her body stiffened when it happened.

The raven again.

Disorienting. Captivating. Overwhelming.

Not just for Juliana, she thought. She glanced behind her where chaos reigned; she and Brec couldn't have been the only ones to see it, to hear it. "I feel him," Juliana said, as if in a dense fog. She could still see nothing but the Raven for a moment before it began to fade. Her dark eyes fell to Brec Gannan. "We need to take him out," she said. "I'm sure he's able to distract people with that -- trick," said Juliana, her lip curling in disdain. "This is too important to let him continue."

She glanced left, the way the Raven had directed them. Uncertainty gnawed at her. Juliana looked at Brec, paralyzed with indecision. "I daren't split up," she whispered harshly. "What do you think?" Juliana reached out in the Force, searching for the presence. But was it the power of suggestion telling her to go left? She felt him on all sides, varying in power and draw. He could be anywhere.

 


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Location: Chamber of War | Throne
Tags: Cedric Grayson Cedric Grayson | Ryv [SOON TM] | Mar'Sika


The Sith Master's face bathed in crimson light. Deepened lines in his face, smoldering amber eyes, and a mouth cast in a feral grimace revealed as his teeth gritted together in a sinister grin. The veil had been lifted and the monster revealed, two rigor mortis claws remained outstretched from the sleeves of his robes, the source of the brilliant light. A storm had been unleashed at his fingertips, a frightening force of concentrated energy called upon by the Dark Side of the Force.

He could almost feel his opponent's weight as he pushed back against the momentum of the sinister tide that crashed into his enemy's blade. The amount of sheer willpower held by the Jedi Master was astounding, even as his surroundings were ravaged by the ferocious storm set upon him he did not falter. No, even in face of losing consciousness he pressed on. The Lord of Ession would not bow, he would not break before the Dark Voice. Even as he felt Cedric falter, he could see the look of defiance clearly as could he feel the Force act around him.

The struggle against the Sith Lightning conjured by the Elder took a turn, with the Force as his ally the Jedi Master stepped forward. The balance had shifted and Cedric Grayson Cedric Grayson was no longer on the defensive, pressing down with an explosion of energy that would crater the floor below dramatically. Metal twisted and groaned, shards of debris filled the air in a powerful flurry of shrapnel that threatened all around the Jedi's vicinity. The preternatural senses of the Dark Voice afforded him a reprieve, halting the onslaught the defend himself with a wave of his hand and a concentrated effort to suspend the fragmentation in a Force Stasis.

Even so, a precious few grazed him in a howling gale from the epicenter of the explosion, too fast and too many for even one such as he to contain it all.


"You'll not have him!" The exile shouted over the cacophony.

Springing before the Elder with a savage throw of his weapon, the Jedi swung his saber in an attempt to cleave the Sith Master from his shoulder to his hip. Imbuing his feeble body with the power of the Force, he spun his body into a backspin safely out of reach of the weapon by the skin of his teeth. Narrowly missing a date with destiny, Solipsis flung his right hand outward summoning his lightsaber to his grasp. The Yorik coral weapon nestled under his finger tips as he squeezed down, it's bled Kyber Crystal peeking out from the crude but functional design as the lightsaber ignited with a crimson light of it's own.

Solipsis replied to the Jedi with a hiss, "We shall see."

His body and mind united as one, channeling the power of the Force against the frailty of his flesh. He adopted a Soresu stance, counting on his opponent's continued offensive. He would meet the Jedi with quick sequences of his own, tracing tight circles over his head and backpedal where need be to keep him at bay for the moment. Solipsis was a creature of patience, he would play the long game if it meant he could study his prey and learn what best could be used against them. He had waited a long time for this reunion, he would not allow the moment to escape him.



 
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Allies: Lord Halketh , DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran
Location: First Trench with Undead and Moon Children
Open For Interaction + Medical Care

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• D I A P H Y S I S •
+ + + +

Physical strain wracked the organic parts of his vessel. He could feel the fibers in his chest wall rip at the metallic pieces carved into his torso. Julian wasn’t made for this level of brutality but with every swing of his arms and pivot of his hips, bodies continued to meet their final rest amongst the bloodied snow. He had wondered then, in a space where his mind had often found rest if this was a place in which he was meant for. Or perhaps, this moment of uncontrollable chaos would be temporary like the flow of adrenaline pulled from his overworked synthetic kidneys. The symptoms of his Zero intoxication flared on his HUD, blinking with annoyance that forced his fists to strike at the metal of his helmet, nearly seizing the unit out of its socket through the glass of his visor. No matter its warnings, he wasn’t going to stop, it could howl as loudly as it wanted, he would carry on.

The horde continued flooding them, throwing themselves, swinging away as if their lives held no other meaning but this cause. Yet in this odd moment, disjointed from his natural cognitive process he could see the beauty in death. The cries of dying moon children just before their breaths were pulled from their lungs was symphonic to him. This euphoria was a product of his malfunctioning chipset, almost as if it coached him along with his own processes. The doctor found himself toe to toe now. Calculated thoughts drilled down into his psyche. He was mapping his enemy with surgical accuracy that aided him to thrust his blade through the armpit of one of his foes. He penetrated deeply within the hollow space to flay the tendons that held its arm in place. <cut to LHB tendon, force tip into glenoid labrum> A wet pop echoed through his helm, removing the ball from it’s socketed housing, ichor spewed out in a glorious fountain, painting that snow trooper suit in crimson. He thrust the detached arm to his side, watching the monster collapse to his knees before the doctors' trophy.

First, do no harm.

Julian carried on, backed by the army of the undead at his flank, a strange troop of allies he’d felt neutral around despite the sour taste they left in others’ mouths. There was no use in focusing negativity on something that was working. They were there with purpose, despite their affiliations.

A slight hitch in his brain space blind-sighted him when a ravenous rat lunged at him from his right. The creature overpowered the doctor, causing him to pivot and strike his split leg into the snow to anchor himself. Within seconds, blood started to dribble down his thigh, creeping through the bottom of his boots. He didn’t have to see it to feel the pain shoot up the rod drilled into his femur. Same leg, same issues from before...same cause for disregard. Until one voice threw him off his focus.


'JULIAN!!! WE'RE PULLING YOU OFF THE LINE!!!',

The medic shook his head, he’d been spotted perhaps it was his voice that gave him away when he couldn’t bite his tongue much longer. Julian dialed into his coms, he wasn’t getting out of this one and that’s when he felt the force presence creep around and slither its hands around him. Halketh...

“This is Qar, sendin’ y’all a ping ta my direct location.” He curled his lip, stamping his foot against the snow, painting white with more pools of red. He knew Halketh could feel him, yet the trickle of his presence was starting to feel faint, chaotic like the night of his rescue. “Get me to the warlord Barren, over.”




█ █ █


 

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Objective: Silence The Voice
Location: Chamber of War | Throne
Tag: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis


The agony in his arms wavered somewhat as Cedric fell into a moving meditation. His mind was clear as he reacted instinctively to Solipsis' movements. The lightsaber was unexpected, but not unprepared for. The exile offered a momentary look of surprise before he pressed the assault, his blade crashing down upon that of the Voice's with a speed rivaled only by a few other blademasters in the galaxy. Ataru was his chosen tool, though as he pressed Solipsis further into the throne room, it dawned on him that raw aggression might only being playing into the Dark Lord's hands.

For as elderly as Solipsis looked, his movements were that of a young man in his prime. Every calculated strike Cedric aimed toward the Voice was repelled with what seemed to be relative ease: as if the old crone were simply toying with him. The momentary frustration that came with the realization was quickly cast aside. He would simply find another way.

The Jedi flourished his blade as their combat broke for a moment, his expression one of grim purpose in contrast to Solipsis' evident joy at the confrontation. "Your technique is far more refined than I recall," Cedric relented, "But it won't be enough. It never is," rather than await a reply, Cedric pressed his advance.

The fluidity of his movements faded as he adopted a far more expressive style. Djem-So had ever been his favored tool for dispatching physically weaker opponents, and despite the hidden strength Solipsis carried in his old bones, Cedric was confident the demon could be broken. His arms grew rigged and stretched high as he crashed down upon the Voice with highly telegraphed, and equally devastating strikes.

If the traitor couldn't be put down with finesse, then brute force would serve well enough.
 


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Location: Chamber of War | Throne
Tags: Cedric Grayson Cedric Grayson | Ryv [SOON TM] | Mar'Sika


The Force flowed through him, he drew on it to fuel his body and extend his awareness outside his physical shell. He could sense the power of the Dark Side build within, it started with a trickle and slowly built upon itself into a flood threatening to burst free from it's dam. It was a faint spark of heat that with enough time would erupt into an inferno of fury becoming fuel for the Sith Lord to draw upon. A reservoir of passion waiting to be unleashed.

He followed on each blow with a decisive move of his own, knitting tight circles high and low to keep his opponent's fast Ataru strikes from striking true. The speed at which the two fought was impressive to say the least, crashing saber against saber with each stroke like a tempest as the two fought with rivaled swiftness. The Dark Voice reveled in the power of the Dark Side as he was pressed further toward the throne, he fed on the raw aggression given to him with countering shifts of weight distribution and precise bladework. HIs eyes caught the momentary frustration with his own hint of enjoyment showing true on his face.

A momentary reprieve as the Jedi flourished his saber, a break in the meeting of blades.

"Your technique is far more refined than I recall," Cedric relented, "But it won't be enough. It never is," rather than await a reply, Cedric pressed his advance.

Before he could reply the Jedi pressed the attack, a wicked grin of enjoyment spread from ear to ear along his face as he advanced. His intercepting blows met the heavy hits of the overpowering Djem So. The Elder found it incredibly difficult to maintain a successful guard against his much more physically able opponent as he threw devastating strikes consisting of brute force. He immediately recognized it as Form V, his favored dueling stance for much of his long career, the same style favored by Cedric's father, Cyril Grayson long ago.

A savage swing crashed down onto his own blade, he felt the weight break through his guard and for but a moment he was exposed. Realizing his precarious situation the Elder reacted quickly, dropping down low and pressing off the flooring in a springboard move backward. The Sith Master strived to put a measure of distance between the two as he landed on his feet and re-engaged with an adjustment in stance.

Juyo.

The palpable aura of festering anger unleashed, fueling his body in a whirlwind of savage crimson under the veil of a blood curling roar. Unpredictable moves of Dark Side enhanced speed and strength pressed on the Jedi as he pulled back with a sudden lunge, attempting to impale the Jedi once and for all.



 
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I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
TASK FORCE 'BLIZZARD'
501st LEGION | 12th ARMORED DIVISION
OPERATION JAWBREAKER
THRAWN'S REST | CSILLA
Kascalion Giedfield

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JAWBREAKER
+8:14 Hour
UTM Grid Point 42 Easting
Zone Of Operation Designation 'Thrawn's Rest'
501st Stormtrooper Legion | Imperator Irveric Tavlar 'Enigma Actual'
12th Armored Assault Division | Colonel Konrad Bolter 'Tyrant Actual'

What began as machine like, cold touched precision soon degraded as each and every meticulous plan did at the first contact which was melt away, the burden shifting from the high chair commanders and battleminds into the hands of the non commissioned officers, the boots on the ground, the grunts. That was the nucleus of the military force. Perhaps, if Tavlar's force was green, the risk of a route or outright destruction would've been more tangible but here, the 501st knew their objective. Deep operation, kill and destroy.

So too did the mailed fist of the 12th Armored remain resolute. The Hell's Hammers were bogged down immediately, the flesh sinew of the Sithspawn clashing against heavy metal in a horrid symphony. One where while, Imperial armor might see an advantage at range, when their weapons systems could reach out and touch these dark creatures with little reproach, it was in close quarters that they began to take losses, HMPs, the missile and artillery platforms attached to the Cataphract units surely became the first victim, more tact at medium and longe ranges with little by the way of hull or pintle weaponry to defend them. Outdated and less robust in defensive systems, the larger Sithspawn and their more mobile counterparts had little quarrel ripping them apart.

The Cataphracts had the shielding and composite armor to withstand the punishment, certainly when set down in Siege mode, but this only saved so many. One of the Cataphracts in Bolter's view, looking down the sights of his Reaper Chaingun, rarely ever letting his thumbs off the triggers came under the hellish brutality of one of the hulking Sithspawn, the shield shimmering away with a savage crackle of the electric blue net before the mauling fist came down under explosive fury, several explosive reaction armor contact plates firing out at the violent contact, blowing more shambling flesh apart only for the nigh automaton like hellish monstrosity to continue its charge, emerging from the aft emergency exit hatch, two Imperial Army crewmen bailed out, rifles with underfolders fixed beneath the reciever in hand before they began to open fire on the surroundings. Left in the vehicle, the armored commander set the power plant to self destruct, enveloping the Cataphract and hulking Sithspawn in energetic fire.

Within the trenches, the Imperator's Fist continued to claw towards it rendezvous with destiny. The soft and slick packed snow making for far less desirable conditions for war, but it never was. War was always hell. And that's why its being fought between demons today. Conscripts, pressganged into peasant rabbles to fight a soldier's war had only numbers in their advantage against the stormtrooper. The stormtrooper had been through training which ripped apart the fabrics of the civilian, replacing names with designation numbers and citizens into troopers. They could kill on command, at will, with ease. Bladed maces, blades and blaster bolts continued to cut through the conscripts as they advanced through the trenches hastily cut into blue and argent ice, following the slow roll and march of the Siege Breakers and Turbo tanks crushing the snow above them, artillery fire missions and explosions be damned, they'd kill more and march further.

The air assault units dropped deeper behind enemy lines faced a far more punishing resistance, digging their talons into the soft heart of the enemy. But immediately came the risk of counter envelopment, one they banked on the slow roll of Tavlar's army to soften the blow of, Megacaliber Six cannons prioritizing those Sith tanks that emerged to cut the 501st air dropped behind enemy lines down, where the gunships couldn't cover. It was known and expected that RDAGs would be lost on the offensive, with those remaining unable to pull evac at the shorting of vital systems or still able to remain combat effective continued their grueling strafes into the Sith Warlor forces, missiles, autocannons, chainguns all ripping through targets but soft and armored, the heavy metal hinds ever the difficult bird of prey to sink and pull from the skies.

Once more, the artillery set their sights on the Sith counterparts, the airdropped troopers doing well if nothing else, in marking those positions and with the loss of shielding deep into Kascalion's defensive formation, they let iron rain fall once more unto the opposing artillery positions, to revoke his ability to reach out and touch so that they could descend the needs of the battle.



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TYRANT ACTUAL
KONRAD BOLTER
66th ARMORED COMPANY 'HELL'S HAMMERS'
THRAWN'S REST
XT-62 'Cataphract' Main Battle Tank

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ONE FIRE

Through thickened argent fog and smoke, the Hell's Hammers continued their vaunted infernal voyage through these ice cold circles of the underworld of which the Warlords of the Sith had laid out for them. The name inflicted unto the Company felt like a twist of poetic irony far more than anything else by now, given their adversary, given the circumstances.

The kinetic fury of the chaingun in his hands silenced him to the machinations below. The strained announcement of each target acquired, each shot taken, each move made of the tank, Konrad could not do well in micro managing that, not now. Every hand was needed in staving off these monstrosities. He could barely take into view through the short range visibility of the cold wind many of his countparts taking up the pintle mounted guns alongside him, almost all of them rigorously mounted with a grade above the standard equip, magcannons, chainguns, autocannons. Each of them fired a hail of explosive fury down unto the enemy, enveloping them, large in profile, they were nigh impossible to miss.

"We're gonna make it, boys! Don't give these animals an inch! Keep firing!" Konrad barked out, his voice strained, voice at the edge of cracking to its ability.

The view of one of his own making that sacred sacrifice twisted a knot in his stomach of foreboding failure again. Shades of previous defeats awash on his frozen face, concealed in Archaisian Brushstroke, the tropical camouflage pattern all but wholly ineffective in the snow. But it was Archaisian tradition, not to go in without it. It was a symbol of home, a home they'd fought valiantly to protect generations after generations. The strife, the struggle to live all manifested in that immortal saying, one that a Galidraani comrade, beneath the service of DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran would do well in reminding Konrad of in the thick of death.


'Gowrie to Tyrant Actual! Stay in the fight! You hear me, Konrad? "Archaisians Never Die!", isn't that what they say? If you can survive the Shadow Dome on Generis, you can survive anything! Show the galaxy it isn't just a myth - show the cosmos that Archaisians really are too angry to die!'

<"I hear you, Gowrie. I hear you...Archaisians Never Die."> He'd test that again, his hands releasing from the controls of the chaincannon, reaching down into the pouch attached to the leather webbing over his armor and padded fatigues, grasping ahold of a thermal imploder, pulling the activation before heaving it into a nearby Mournfang before it ever had the chance to enact its awful fury on his own command tank. The Bastard. Immediately after the silent suction at the air before detonation, he unfurled the destructive volley of the chaingun unto the beast to finish it rightly.

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ENIGMA ACTUAL
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR IRVERIC TAVLAR
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION 'IMPERATOR'S FIST'
THRAWN'S REST

Pernach-class Turbo Tank


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COMRADE
The longer the battle stretched, the more he was bewildered at the lack of any indication to Kascalion's presence here. But he was here, of that, Irveric could not be more certain. There was no question that The Devil would come to carry the reign of Hell unto Csilla. The 501st fought in the trenches, drenching this horrid landscape in shades of pink, blood drenched snow. Those cold weather cowls of the snowtrooper showing nothing but the innate rage within them. The Turbo Tanks continued their punishing roll forward, dumping more of the Imperator's own into the battlefield along with the Siege Breakers though soon the punishment of close quarters warfare wrought one of them to buckle collapse beneath the collective firepower, the horrid screech and scream of the steel monsters plummeting to the frozen earth beneath.

That was the silent clock, the unspoken timer drawing its dread alarm in Tavlar's head. There was little more input he could supply from here, the battle would be fought on the decree of his subordinates, the battalion, platoon and squad commanders enacting his will on the field. They knew his will by now, if it was nothing else, it was to kill the enemy. He looked across Vizek, nodding his helmeted head once. The Pantoran knew that to mean one thing at all.

He was due to charge into the fray, endearing his presence to string together the nodes of defiance and pull the will of the New Order together once more for one glorious push, to kill the enemy. Though it was never as concrete or story book as this, only the mechanical slaughter house that was this form of war.

He stepped down into the troop bay of the Turbo Tank, the last battalion of 501st troopers waiting for their task ahead, barely picking up the violent cracks of explosions and blaster fire from the other sides of the Turbo Tanks composite armor. A wait most dreadful. Irveric Tavlar readied for war was a vaunted sight among the Imperial armed forces, the Stormtrooper Corps in particular, the branch which he'd ressurrected by his own will. Nothing else could embody the intangible fighting spirit of the Imperial any better. They all rose to attention in salute as he approached, his grey and cobalt Enigma-pattern armor dotted the scars and indents of battle. Armor fit for the Imperator it might have been, but it did not go without use. The etchings of the fallen were present, but fading beneath the cold weather additions fixed to the plates.

Clutching the battle rifle fixed to the single point sling over his chest he looked into the expressionless green-black lenses of his Stormtroopers.

<"Fight for each other...no one else. I will be with you...and we will leave these demons buried in the ice, where they belong."> Irveric said before each of them, pounding his fist above his heart once alone and then another...and another in sequence with his troopers, welding them each to the sacred duty.

<"Onward.">

He gave the word of command and the troop bay doors opened on either side for stormtroopers to turn and surge into the frozen fray ahead of them. Irveric was one of the first out of the breach, his boots printing into the packed snow beneath before he turned in parallel to his command vehicle, walking upright, slow, comfortable. His rifle still slung over his chest. Contempt for danger was the value instilled in him by the Sith Empire and one he would be damned not to carry down into the Stormtrooper Corps. They each had to know that he did not fear death, he welcomed the struggle, the strife for it was the machination of greatness, what molded men. And most importantly, he was bait for the hunter, one of the most effective killers to live in this burning Galaxy, Giedfield.

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BATTLE OF THRAWN'S REST
IRVERIC TAVLAR | KASCALION GIEDFIELD
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | WARLORDS OF THE SITH

STAGE FOUR - BLOOD AND ICE

NIO artillery targets WOTS artillery
Heavy armor moves up to assist and bail out the Air Assault 501st
Hell's Hammers remained bogged down but continue fighting
Spearpoint Besh continues its approach, surging gunships ahead of the armor to provide strafing runs and air support to the offensive push.​
 
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Objective: Silence The Voice
Location: Chamber of War | Throne
Tag: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis



There.

All he needed to do was finish the downstroke, and Kaigann would be put to rest. Whatever this beast might have called itself, it was little more than a specter inhabiting the body of his uncle. Duty aside, Cedric could not rest until Kaigann was freed from this curse. His muscles tensed and his blood thundered in his ears as he delivered the decapitating blow.

Bogan's Lament hummed quietly as it sliced through the durasteel plating that dotted the floor. Cedric fought the urge to spit a curse as he ripped his gaze from the ground toward his opponent, his eyes widening as the Voice lunged toward him with a ferocity yet unseen. Even augmented with the Ashla's blessing as his body was, the exile was not fast enough to dodge the blade entirely. He ducked hard to the right, and felt another shot of pain strike like a bolt of lightning through his right arm as the crimson blade seared through the phrik plating and into the flesh beneath. The blow was a glancing one, but death by a thousand cuts was a very real possibility here.

Cedric's response was instinctive. A plate bound hand was thrust out toward the Voice's midriff, a small shockwave of telekinetic force exploding from his open palm as he sought to put some distance between himself and the Sith Lord.

"Quick for an old man," Cedric spat as he raised his free hand once again, called upon the empyrean's aid, and ripped two large chunks from the ceiling. He willed those slabs of metal to fire toward Solipsis as if they had been shot from a cannon with naught but a gesture.

It was time to see just how fast the Dark Lord really was.

 

Elle Mors

Guest
E

Duel of the Fates, aboard the 'Mercy'

"It is not in the pits of the abyss that darkness is most frightening, but rather at the edge of where light falls - in the shadows, where there is light enough to only just make out the monsters that lay in wait."
- Unknown Jedi

The further she strode through the cold, steel, halls the greater the presence of darkness grew - and the dimmer that the light she trusted became. Be it through luck or through coincidence, the force or fate, Elle found no resistance after making her way from the hangar bay she'd arrived in. There was an echo of the violence that tore through parallel halls, the sounds of blasters, of sabers clashing, and the reverberations of clashes in the force but the Jedi's ears could only catch the eerie void of silence. Each step added to the already tense stress building up in her muscles, to the tightening in her gut, as she mentally steeled herself for what she already knew she would never have been ready for. The force, her light, guided her but, as any blind fellow following a dim flame in a swirling maelstrom of darkness could attest, she was walking as blind as the day she was born. Whoever waited for her, unawares or prepared, was unknown to her, whether they were Sith, fallen Jedi, or some fanatic following a death cult to their doom, she could not know - all she was certain of was that the force took her, and where it went she would follow.

No more than a hundred or so more paces and the force revealed to her with stunning silence who she had been led to - one she'd never expected, not in her wildest dreams, to have met; much less in combat. Yet, in all the surprise and mounting anxiety brought upon her following that initial shock, there he was standing there waiting, though perhaps not for her.

Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex himself, former - or current, she didn't quite know nor care to think on it - Dark Lord of the Sith Empire.

The man she had pledged her allegiance to as a child, the face of an empire she had been brainwashed and gaslighted into subservience as a teen, and the closest thing to a living personification of everything she had been trying to run away from. Though she gawked openly at him for the briefest of moments, clearly taken aback that she had been put at such a significant disadvantage from the perspective she would have carried were she still a Sith, an uneasy resolve returned to her as she realized the opportunity that had been thrust upon her.

Her saber, extinguished during the long walk that she had taken to get here, ignited as a pillar of green flame that illuminated her hardened stare. She carried no stance of an orthodox duelist, she'd never taken to any of the forms, but it was clear, to the eye of an experienced combatant, that her guard was raised despite the appearance otherwise. To him she was just another speck, an insignificant candle standing in defiance against the winds of a hurricane. Even her contemporaries couldn't see the potential she'd carried, or that they assumed she would carry, as the strength she held in herself was absent beside the rest of the more orthodox wielders of the light and certainly so compared to darksiders that obsessed over their power and strength.

"Countless lives have been lost because of your crusades, countless more if you and the Brotherhood have their way." She said to bring his attention to her, the force gathering around her, pooling beneath her feet, around her hands, almost illuminating her to the naked eye. "You've gathered so much strength, became so powerful, but all of that is insignificant to the will of the force."


"Its will decries the murder of its people, the destruction of its home across the stars - the force cries out for retribution, for justice, for balance."

Power flowed through her, around her, but not from her - rather from without, from the force that was both with her and surrounding them. Light filled the room as her hardened gaze turned to ice - determination filling her eyes.

"Your time has come, butcher."
 
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Post: 10
Objective: Darkness of Fate
Equipment: Mind Crown | Purple MidNight Duster | Black Ancient Sith armor | Sith Mask | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser (toasted) | FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X10 Hypo-syringes | X4 Daggers | Liquid Delirium | A Variety Explosives | Pack of Death sticks | Holopad
Allies: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis | BotM | Csilla go Boom fan Club
Enemies: All the Stars in the Night Sky
Special Tags: Starlin Rand Starlin Rand | Syd Celsius Syd Celsius





To render someone’s soul into oblivion took a stronger will within the force and mastery of magick that was nearly unrivaled. It wasn’t that it was impossible just the obliteration of one’s essence was probably the second strongest thing a force user or Magick user could do. The strongest being obliterating their essences from all existence in every facet. That Tegan wasn’t sure was even possible or at least no one had ever reached that level of power. Essence or soul Magicks where some of the hardest to master and often time they took to the darkest places of your psyche, place nearly impossible to crawl back from.


The shoto bit into the small blue boy killing him he stared forward into Rands eyes. As the child stared at Rand shock fear in shown all over his blue face as the light began faded from his eyes. The child had only reached for the weapon seeing it as a Jedis weapon a way to protect himself from these two strangers and the monster whose body was lifeless not far away. The Child slid back off the weapon his body slumping falling to the ground.


The thing about a lot of Magick is it required sacrifice nothing came with out a price. The same as with he force there was a cost in how you choose to use it nothing ever came free or with out a catch. The life force of the child faded, and his life force ignited the spell Tegan had written in her blood at her side. A spell of life and revitalization that required a life to ignite it and thanks to Rand he gave the spell the life force it needed.


Hidden from sight etched on the inside of the child and the other nineteen children as well was a spell of death torpor. A spell that when triggered would put someone in a death like state. The state had been triggered when the room had been vented by space which actually saved the childs life. There was other rune spell etched on the children insides, dorment until triggered by some external force and fueled by the children’s own force sensitivity.


The life force of the child began to funnel into Tegans body healing her rapidly and it wasn’t long her eyes opened as she gasped a heavy breath of air in. “Thanks, I needed that!” She spoke staring right at Rand with a wicked little smile on her face.
 
[Location: Several Sectors away from Csilla - ANV Hawk -- C.I.C]
[Commander Giraan standing by]
[Direct Relevancy: Constantine Oliva Constantine Oliva ]


“I understand. You’re doing amazing.”
She wasn't. Maybe on the outside, she could be used as a model officer, but behind the hastily formed layers of strength and security, a desperate beast clawed out at everything in sight. Sharp bursts of pain saw her composure torn through like paper, and left behind crumpled and littered with marks. She didn't know how long she could keep the demon within at bay, how long she could hold back a new stream of tears, how long the walls would hold.

. . .

It had been, maybe, a minute or so. Time had been one of the first senses Teica lost to the beast. Her eyes danced about the bridge, searching for a pleasant distraction, which would only be muddled to a blur once found. Arms faced inward, bringing two scarred hands to interlace. Fingers gently tapped at the skin in a hopeless effort to keep time, while her chin rested just barely touching her thumbs. A faded smile stood for a matter of seconds, only to collapse.


Her ears came to life upon the detection of Constantine's voice, booming across the metallic walls, and absorbed into the communications systems. But her head stayed to face the ground before her, although it didn't obscure what the commodore was saying.

“Csilla will not be the end. The Brotherhood will fight their way to the Core, burning and enslaving everything in their path. They will burn Coruscant. They will burn Anaxes. They will come for Alderaan, for Corellia, for Duros, and Metellos. They will come for your homes, your families, for everything you hold dear. They will burn the Galaxy to the ground unless we stop them here. We must return to the battle. We must fight on, for those you hold dear. We must destroy the Brotherhood, for all those that have already been lost. For your brothers and sisters in arms, for the civilians they died protecting. We may not survive, but I promise you, I will do my damndest to make sure each of you return home. Come with me, and we will see victory!”

Teica's hands clenched, and her heart began to accelerate. Every word, every phrase echoed through her mind, flooding out pathways once crammed with the words Useless, Cowardly, and Selfish wear cleared, if only temporarily, to make room for the new streams. But they faded in time, her fears returned, her doubts, and the beast awoke, yet again clawing for its escape. Salvation returned, trudging through the ravaged depths of her psyche, when Constantine continued.

“I’m sorry. We won’t be able to evacuate your men before we begin fighting again. May I request they attempt to help in anyway they can, aboard any ship they’re on?”

"I'll make sure they do, sir," She gave a gradual nod, eyes closed for a brief few seconds while she choked back tears, "You really think we can do this?"
 
Objective: Duel of the Fates
Location: Sighing
Gear: Armor | Shoto
Tags: Syd Celsius Syd Celsius | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall (engaging)

Starlin blinked.

Where had this kid come from?

Never mind that he, as a Jedi with lightning-fast reflexes, would have seen that it was a child before he hit them and stopped the motion of his blade. The child in the room with them was supposed to be dead, having suffered catastrophic injuries after being exposed to the vacuum of space. His lungs should have been destroyed, his eyeballs burst like squashed grapes, and his skin taut against his muscles and veins from the depressurization. Even if he was somehow alive, he certainly shouldn’t have been able to move to reach for Syd’s lightsabers.

So unless a child from the refugee ship had somehow wandered in, crossing an active battlefield strewn with corpses and fighters to get there, the circumstances made no sense either.

Which was why Starlin, far from being shocked and horrified at the thought of his having coldly cut down a Chiss child, furrowed his brow, turned to look at the resurrected Tegan… and sighed.

Quite the parlor trick. How’d you make sure the kids would die to feed you? Ah, the bombs. You’d just keep triggering them to go off each time we beat you into a pulp, and when we rendered them all inert… well.” He deactivated his shoto, rolling his eyes. He sure felt stupid now. “With the authority not-actually vested in me by the Silver Jedi Order, since I’m just a lowly Padawan learner, I am placing you under arrest. Which is what I should’ve done all along.

He attempted to stun Tegan with the Force, hoping to knock her unconscious. Hopefully Syd would assist him.
 

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Carnifex's observation of the melee between Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis and Cedric Grayson Cedric Grayson only lasted for so long, for another presence on the space station drew his attention away. His gaze swept down to one of the numerous hangar bays which dotted the station's exterior layer, sight beyond sight granting him a vision of a lone woman moving down the cold heartless halls. He did not recognize her, for she was not one of the great players of this game the Sith and Jedi played with one another, though there was something about her that intrigued him.
Curiosity ultimately won out.
Rising from his place on the floor, Carnifex turned to leave the ritual chamber he had designed. In his absence, a ghostly-transparent apparition of himself kneeling in concentration was left behind to act as a tether between himself and the ongoing ritual. The guards would remain, eternally vigilant in their defense of their lord; even a phantasm of him.
Darkness was his ally, it concealed his movement as he slunk through the empty halls. A shadow which crept with most wicked intentions, swallowing the light until all that remained was umbral night. The nightmare of all who cried out for justice and righteousness, the epitome of barbarism and cruelty, the enemy of life. So many epitaphs were laden upon his brow, like a great multitude of crowns worn by the king of salacious evil. No humanity remained within his heart, as if such a thing even existed in the first place, and all that remained was an all-consuming desire to dominate all life.
A hunger for power.
A will to control.
Such malicious whims controlled the destinies of untold millions and had consigned many more millions of an untimely earthen grave; the spirits of Ession, Togoria, Elrood, and countless others could only attest to the barest fraction of his murderous nature.
Undoubtedly, those very ideas were dredged up to the forefront of Elle Mors' mind as the terrible visage of Carnifex came into view, cloak billowing behind his wide muscular frame like the wings of a monstrous chirodactyl. His lightsaber was already lit, the weapon exuding a brilliant scarlet blade that shrouded both its wielder and the surrounding environment in macabre shades. A half-helmet designed to resemble a skull concealed part of his face, though his baleful eyes burned brightly from behind the helmet's sockets.
The girl slowed to a stop, her own weapon flying into her hand as a viridian flame ignited from the emitter. She carried in her a willful resolve which stood firm even as she was faced with a living nightmare, her fears buried deep lest they paralyze her with terror. Her guard was raised, eyes focused on him and him alone, as she spoke;
"Countless lives have been lost because of your crusades, countless more if you and the Brotherhood have their way. You've gathered so much strength, became so powerful, but all of that is insignificant to the will of the force. Its will decries the murder of its people, the destruction of its home across the stars - the force cries out for retribution, for justice, for balance. Your time has come, butcher."
Carnifex said nothing, adjusting his casual stance with his right hand, the one that held his lightsaber, held out dominantly in front of him. The lightsaber's blade was angled slightly down to his left, while his left hand was held back with fingers fully extended and his palm facing out. Lightning danced between his splayed fingers, crackling and snapping as the tension in the air continued to build.
"We shall see."
Carnifex pushed his left hand out, a monstrous tidal wave of Force energy and electricity rushing out to consumed the hallway between him and Elle. The walls and floor buckled under the sudden intensity, metal panels ripped from their anchoring as the entire hall undulating violently as the wave continued to roll down through it. Carnifex launched himself forward through the chaos, following closely in its wake with lightsaber extended and ready to cut the Jedi into countless little ribbons.

 

Darth Maleva

Guest
D


The blast that burst forth from the enemy was astounding. There was no running from it, no escaping. It hit her with the force of guns. A blood-curdled scream rose from her throat, almost ear-shattering. The pain tore through her calf, down into her ankle. Instantaneously, she dropped. Her torso hit the ground with a thud.

Next came the noise. Once more, her senses were assaulted. The shattering noise gave way to high pitch ringing in her ears. It felt as though the insides of them were about to shatter. Her head shook instinctively, a wild arc. Her chest heaved with the aches all over. Attempting to move her legs caused the pain to worsen, sending black dots dancing through her vision. When they cleared, the lord looked up to see the witch, and was sure death was near.

"NO!"

The scream was volatile. Every bit of agony, every ounce of the fear that had bubbled at the thought of the unknown, was poured into it. Maleva wasn't ready- and if she would be taken, she wouldn't go down alone. Waves began to manifest as the passion collected. Rolling, dark, and freezing, they rose from nowhere and everywhere. Flowing forth around Maleva, they aimed to show anyone near the nature of the dark, and protect their creator.​
 
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Syd rose as Starlin Rand Starlin Rand won this Battle with his inner Dark Side.

Things still weren't right fully between them, not after what she had just confessed. But she hadn't seen any other way to pull him from his death spiral other than tell the truth.

Her disgust at herself for waiting so long was powerful. Her disgust at Tegan was greater, using the death of a child to restore herself. Starlin seemed to have figured it out even quicker than she had, how Tegan was doing it.

She summoned her orange blades back to her, uniting the two hilts into a Staff Lightsaber.

Syd began to extend her powerful, troubled, but ultimately Light-aligned presence to try and disrupt Tegan's focus and concentration.

"Surrender." She said, going along with Rand, prepared to use the Litany of Purification Spell on Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall . Usually used to purify corrupt objects, she wondered what effects it would have on flesh so corrupt with the Dark it practically bled from her aura.

Tegan reminded Syd too much of Phyre. Phyre would have considered her stunts amatuer at worst and sophomoric at best, but the cruel sentiment was there. The glee.

Syd positioned herself close to Starlin, prepared to back him up, but not too close that he couldn't effectively react on his own. She angled her blade at Tegan.

"It doesn't matter if you can regenerate a hundred times. The Darkness is a parasite that will slowly destroy you in the end. For every innocent life you take, you rot a little more on the inside. And you're already so rotten..." she called out to Tegan.

"Take it from me...your path has no future..." she said to Tegan firmly. "Its just an endless cycle of misery and empty sadism."
 


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Location: Chamber of War | Throne
Tags: Cedric Grayson Cedric Grayson | Ryv [SOON TM] | Mar'Sika


A telekinetic force exploded from the palm of the Jedi’s hand, an invisible blast that pummeled into the Sith Master’s midsection interrupting his assault on Cedric Grayson Cedric Grayson . The Dark Voice instinctively dwelt inward as the force pushed his standing form back several meters. He found himself skidding across the durasteel floor until the balls on his right foot planted down, snatching the momentum from his slide. The Lord of Ession had put distance between them, he would make sure it would be his undoing.

"Quick for an old man,"

The ceiling groaned as metal twisted and pulled, chunks of steel breaking free from the source by the invisible pull of the Force. The Elder’s eyes snapped to, yellow orbs glaring intently as the hammer fell. Instinctive hands rose immediately above his head as the two large hunks of debris crashed down threatening to flatten him where he stood.

The Sith Master drew upon the Dark Side of the Force, summoning the inferno that burned within him to fuel his will over the Force as he summoned an invisible grasp over both objects seconds before they could finish him. Clasping his hands together, the chunks of twisted steel diverted course and collided into another in a show of incredible force. The objects broke apart and rained over the area in a shower of debris as the Sith Master refocused his attention to the Jedi Master as shrapnel and broken chunks of ceiling fell around him.

“Young fool.”

His hand snatched onto the throne with an invisible tether between his fingertips. Gripping the non-corporeal strings tightly he snapped his wrist and threw the massive steel chair toward the Jedi Master with dark grimace. With momentary pause he positioned his free-hand gripping his saber outward, attempting to surprise the Jedi by attempting to uproot one of the nearby consoles in an effort to smash Cedric between a rock and a hard place.



 
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Location: Csilla, No Man's Land
Allies: Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren , Maestus Maestus , Lirka Ka Lirka Ka , UX-0626, Chimera Chimera , Khaostra Devoid Khaostra Devoid
Foes: Major Bennett Hall, Liza Liza , FN-999, DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran , Tyrell Lockhart, Himm'vaun'merek, Aerarii Tithe, Maple Harte, Jabez Melidoru, Lord Halketh


The brutal main thrust against Csilla's ground defenders was over. Like a vibrodagger sticking in a Reek's thick hide, the Brotherhood offensive had forced the first trench line into collapse, but had not sunk into the tender flesh beneath - the heart of the enemy army, where its deadly artillery remained unscathed. But the figurative blade had carried a poison: champions under the Maw's banner like Chimera Chimera , Lirka Ka Lirka Ka , Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren , and Maestus Maestus . The assault had injected them into the trench line and even into the enemy camp beyond, where they continued to create chaos and bring death. They were armies unto themselves, even unsupported.

Perhaps they could not win the field, but they could take many skulls.

The Brotherhood charge had not been the all-shattering hammer blow they had hoped for, and many who had yearned for glory now lay face down in the crimson-stained slush of No Man's Land. Still, it had accomplished the Warlords' higher goals, whether the grunts fighting and dying on the ground knew it or not. Khaostra Devoid Khaostra Devoid 's secret assault on the Expeditionary Library had already delivered the Maw all the knowledge it needed to conduct a flawless campaign to loot and pillage the whole of the Chiss Ascendancy. It might yet yield great slaughter and plunder in Cspalar, well behind the trench line that had withstood the Brotherhood.

The main purpose had simply been to hold enemy forces and commanders in place on the planet's surface, forcing them to defend against a lesser evil - the pillaging horde - rather than add their strength to the effort to oppose the greater, all-destroying evil taking up its position above. They had succeeded here as well, at least for a time, though their losses had been great. Targets of opportunity like the Alliance Vice Chancellor might add to that success, if he could be captured; it would be a strange twist of fate indeed if both top politicians of the Galactic Alliance fell into the hands of the ravenous Maw barbarians, but it was looking increasingly possible.

For now, the remaining Brotherhood ground forces held position in their own trench lines. There was no purpose in using up their diminished strength in another attack on the NIO trenches, not when the enemy was busy withdrawing - and already harried by the aforementioned Maw champions. They would prepare instead for a new target, even as their foes attempted to evacuate a world that might soon be reduced to ash and drifting rock. When Khaostra and the Bloodsworn cast down Cspalar's defenses from the inside, they would be ready and waiting on their transports, prepared to strike deep on a new front. They could win their glory yet.

It was just as well; no highly-effective commanders remained to lead a push on this particular battlefield. Most of the Warlords were either still reaping a bloody toll in the trenches or battling would-be saboteurs in the halls of Mercy. The Mongrel was still locked in combat with Kaleleon Kaleleon , both men wounded and wearied, their fates tied together and the outcome uncertain... though with Ziroka Ziroka closing in to rescue the Jedi, the tide of battle might soon be decisively turned. The Mongrel could not survive against a fresh foe, not without getting medical attention first. He would have to escape the approaching Chiss, or he would surely die.

Everything hinged on Kale's next move.

In the meantime, the Brotherhood's ragpicker slaves went to work. The Maw might be an all-consuming horde, but it was hardly wasteful; it could not afford to be. While the powers they faced had dozens of industrial worlds and resource-rich systems, the Brotherhood's territory was small, and far less developed. They had to make do with what they could seize... and what they could recycle. And so chain gangs, guarded by well-armed marauders and subjected to their petty cruelties, set out across No Man's Land to gather whatever they could from the debris of battle. They were well within artillery range... but they were innocent captives, hardly ethical targets.

Every item the ragpicker slaves recovered had a use. For most, it was obvious: weapons, armor, durasteel and servomotors carved from the wrecks of ruined vehicles, these were clear prizes. But the scavengers also loaded all of the bodies they encountered onto their hoversleds, Brotherhood and Csillan defender alike. Some were destined to be fodder in the beast pits, feeding the hungry creatures with their flesh. Others would be rendered down into biomass to generate new cloning materials, or cast into the bioreactors that powered each Monastery of Slaughter. Some might even become nutrient paste, feeding the great horde in lean times, when the spoils of raids and the labors of the farm slaves were not enough to fill their bellies.

It remained to be seen how the enemy reacted to this desecration.
 

The electrified debris came down, sparks leaping and trawling along the Ren’s armor in an attempt to find purchase. Yula didn’t stay long enough to admire her handiwork, or even to see if her mark had been hit. The suffocating rage that she swore was almost warping the durasteel walls served as proof that not only was the Ren conscious, he was angry.

Yula had never felt someone harness rage like he had, feeding it into the Force like gasoline onto a fire. While scrambling to retreat, she felt the Ren’s fury surge unto her like a wave she could not outrun. It crashed into her, prickling her skin and seeping past that layer of confidence.

It wasn’t until she’d been struck in the back with a live wire, did she realize what he had done. The ire that had filled the hall like an inescapable miasma was the Force, exploding out from the Ren in an attempt to free himself from the tangle of wires.

A brief current rushed through Yula’s body and she seized, tumbling to the floor and skidding in a heap to the end of the corridor. The mechanic in her had taken dozens of shocks, which kept her from passing out for a second time today. A second later, she was propped up on burning arm muscles.

“I think he likes me.”
 
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Gear: Equipment: Armour, Hold-out Bolter, Shotgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Darth Maleva

A blood-curdling scream tore through the corridor. Waves of pure darkness manifested. The air itself became immersed in the energies of the dark side. It was palpable even for those not sensitive to the Force. Rolling, dark, and freezing, the waves manifested out of the ether. Coming from seemingly everywhere, they flowed across the corridor to engulf it wholesale. They were accompanied by a loud boom akin to a thunderclap.

Feelings of despair, terror and hopelessness washed over those fighting in the corridor, while whispers of the dark side tormented them. Rhea shook, feeling panic rising inside her. The horrible visions brought her back to her training. Back to being forced to watch helplessly as Sith death squads gunned down her family, and she was buried beneath bodies, forced to crawl her way out of the mass grave. Back to the Dominion's Jedi Grand Inquisitor assailing.

Never again. "I am not weak!" she yelled, as if possessed. "I am not weak!" There was no strategy or forethought as she leaped into battle and launched a wild flurry of attacks against the Brothers. It was simple rage. The void tried to consume her soul, and she answered with primal ferocity. Blasts of the Force surged from her and her blade clove through cultists. But as she lashed out, she was still fighting the war inside her mind. And so a heavy slug round slammed into her her and she toppled, badly wounded.

Natalie had still been slumped against the wall, gritting her teeth under Shikoba's cold, ethereal touch, when the whispers began. She was as Force-Sensitive as a plank. She did not understand how any of this magic worked - or like it. But now there were whispers in her head, her body felt cold and she felt like she was drowning. She remembered this feeling. It was similar to what she had felt when she and Elpsis had taken on Matsu Xiangu.

Her body shook, trembling. She tried to fight against the feelings assailing her, but all she had was willpower. She bit down on her tongue so hard it bled. It felt like she was freezing. Phantoms seemed to appear in the void, reaching out to grab her and drag her into the darkness. "Get out of my head!" she yelled internally, but it was like her mouth had been sewn shut.

Then she felt Shikoba's cold hand on her temple. She recoiled, seeing that demonic visage, but the Vash did not relent. "Many lives have been taken by you. Wicked and innocent. Many spirits clamour for you to join them. But not today," the necromancer spoke. "She judges in her own time. Focus on my voice. This will pass."

And she felt the pressure recede, slowly. It was like a massive load was being taken off her shoulder. Or rather it was Shikoba taking it upon hers. In Natalie's somewhat addled mind, the entire face of the wood elf now looked like that a skull stripped of flesh, but she did not fear it anymore. A mental bubble enveloped both them, shielding them in the middle of the storm of darkness. "Focus on my voice. This will pass," Shikoba spoke again, breathing laboured. The strain on her face was all too visible. She was sweating and in pain.

Then she slumped, too drained to remain conscious or fight against the strike that came from the void and pierced her back. A dark shape, eyes ablaze with madness, burst through the void, thrusting his spear forward with a crazed yell. Hands shaking, Natalie managed to grab her holdout blaster and squeezed the trigger. Yelling something incoherently, kept firing until his dead body had been riddled with projectiles.

This was not unfamiliar for Diona. The Vaderites she fought had used such vile sorcery to unleash darkness upon their foes. So in this moment, she fell back on her training, repeating the old mantras she had learned while in service of Tephrike's Dominion of Light. Mantras she had long stopped believing in.

"There is no emotion, there is calm.
There is no ignorance, there is obedience.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is order.
There is no death, there is the Light."


She remembered a moment from her training in the Inquisition. "An Inquisitor is the sword and shield of the Light. We must be free of fear, of doubt. We must have faith in the Light. Faith in the Dominion. There is no emotion, there is calm."
At that time, she still believed. Or wanted to."Yes, Master."
"Then you understand that I do this only to anchor you in the Light so that temptation might not take root. One moment of doubt is enough to open a doorway to darkness." And then the Inquisitor invaded her mind, drawing out every moment of pain, fear and humiliation and burying her in it. Again and again.


And so she slew. Not with rage of fury, but cold precision. Seeing her comrades weakened or reeling, she stood as their shield. Her own reserves of energy were getting too drained to initiate or maintain a meld, but she could block rounds coming for Rhea and Shikoba. And her blade moved like an extension of herself, deflecting projectiles and hewing down cultists who came close.

While several of her comrades struggled or had to fight to resist the darkness in various ways, Nyssa was energised by it. Waves of darkness smothered the Light, but she was not, as she would have called it, a weak, pitiful slave of Ashla. No, she was a Sith Pureblood. "I am Nyssa of House Vykaris!" she yelled against the roar of thunder. She was daughter of Alia by Samazya. She could trace her bloodline through the ages. The blood of the ancient kings of Korriban flowed through her veins. Mother had prepared her for this. Days upon days of vicious training, out in the wilderness of Athiss.

Seeing Rhea down, she yelled at Diona. "Guard her!" Her body was a mass of pain from several injuries, but the dark side surged through her body. She fed on the ambient darkness in the air. And so while Diona shielded, she struck against those charging them. She would be the sword. The darkness diminished her vision, but the Force was there to guide her. There was the upside that the waves of despair would have affected a few of the cultists, too.

And as she killed and added to the pools of blood on the floor and walls, she let out a Sithese roar. It matched the growl from the ethereal hellhound. Her lightsabre hummed as it cut limbs, carved through weapons and reaped souls and her cybernetic fist was slick with the blood of degenerates cultists.

xxx

The darkness was cold and seemingly all-consuming. A shiver ran down Elpsis' spine. She felt a cold chill. The loud, booming sound hurt her ears badly, causing blood to seep from her eardrums. It was akin to being struck by a sonic weapon. The loud boom made her drop her gun. Waves of darkness smothered the Force connection of Jedi and other servants of the Light. Elpsis was not a Lightsider, and so not affected by that per se. However, the darkness also worked on a metaphysical level in addition to a physical one.

Feelings of intense fear and despair washed over and a thousand voices assailed her from the ether, trying to drag her into the pit. But this time she was more prepared than when her mind had been assaulted earlier. Fear is the little mind-killer; the slow death, she repeated in her head, centring herself amidst the storm. Her fear would pass over her and she would still be there.

So thick was the cloud that it affected her Force Sight, effectively blinding her temporarily. Thus it obfuscated the Sith Lady from her sight. She winced in pain when she felt Rhea being struck, followed by Shikoba. It felt like the stab of an icy knife. Their feelings of pain resonated through the Force and were carried by the waves. Were they alright? Were they dead?

Focus you idiot, she growled to herself. She could no longer target the Sith Lord with precision. Someone skilled in Battle Meditation could have nullified the darkside spell. Elpsis was not that person. But she could still target the general area the Sith was in. Heat and light emanated from Elpsis as she unleashed a strong blast of flame.
 
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