Junction ILUMinate the Void | Junction of Ilum [GA], Pashvi [NIO], and Empty hex Northeast of Rhand [BOTM]

[Izoshi]

M A L W A R E
W I D O W M A K E R
UNDERCOVER
// SLEIGHT-OF-HAND \\
Djorn Bline

​

She nursed her smoke while he spoke up and in the process, she plucked her datapad from its nest upon the console and tucked it away, doing one last check to ensure proper synchronization between its displays and the lens fitted carefully over her cornea. "Ever the setback," she hummed in response, tipping her cigarette out of the narrow gap between the window and its frame, ashing it, "good things come in time. If they prove incapable of defending it properly, I'm sure a renegotiation will be on the table by next week. It won't be hard to sway their allies onto our side if we spin it as the galaxy's best interest to keep another superweapon out of the hands of radical terrorists, don't you think?"

When the neon cyan of her datapad's overlay formed across her eye, she hummed a note of content and drew her weapon onto her lap for a quick check as well. Her motions were concise and mechanical almost until:​

"You had any family in Csilla? I wasn't there, but..."

Her hands froze in their hover over the grip of the pistol situated on her lap and she turned to look at him, brow furrowed at the question. Lips parted to speak, though he quickly retracted his question before she could riposte.

"I did." She stated with a sigh, shaking her head some as she returned her focus back to her task and racked the slide, soon tucking it back into the holster riding her thigh, "Distant, though, my family is whom I choose, not who I share blood with." By now, she had finished her smoke and flicked the butt out of the window. A hand whipped the lengthy braid draped over her shoulder back behind her as she opened the door and slipped out of the craft, surveying their environment.

"Maybe one of these days we'll get an assignment on a tropical, sandy beach planet, wouldn't that be lovely?" Izoshi chuckled softly and pulled the goggles from her head down to secure over her eyes, shielding them from the cold, and soon drew her hood up to match. "C'mon Jothris," she used his cover name naturally and knocked against the hood of the airspeeder, "we've got a big bad quota to fulfill." ​

ALLIES | NIO | Djorn Bline
ENEMIES | GA(?) | BotM | OPEN FOR ENGAGEMENT

​

 

[Aaran Tafo]

OBJECTIVE III | REFLECTION IN THE ICE
Open​

The cold bit at his face.

He could respect that the world of Ilum was sacred to the Jedi. An ancient world of meditation, reflection, a place where Younglings would complete the first major trial in their life as a Jedi. Where they would first confront their inner flaws and learn to rise above them. That and it was one of the Galaxy's greatest sources of natural Kyber Crystals unfortunately made it the target of those of a more unsavoury inclination.

Those who would see a living crystal connected to a network that bound the universe together. And instead of being humbled or looking to learn from it. Decided that one should use it to kill each other.

He likened it to someone picking up a book. And instead of reading it. An individual decided to use it to bash a rival’s skull in.

He idly wondered if the first sentients who discovered fire ever contemplated the notion that the same tool they used to keep warm or cook their food would be used by their ancestors to torment others. It was the failure of any sentient species that when given the power that many would consider Magic or Divine. They would proceed to use it for war as opposed to something to enlighten or enrich the lives of others.

But such philosophical musing would have to wait until later. Right now, there was a more pressing concern on his mind.

Ilum was being tormented. Somewhere, deep below the old Jedi temple, someone was torturing the native crystals of this world. Pity grasped at his heart as he descended deeper into the tunnels. Drawing his jacket tighter around his frame in an attempt to retain as much heat as he could. Letting the Force aid in his comfort.

It really did speak about the depravity of many a Sith. The first action performed for them to gain their first lightsaber involved torturing a living creature into subservience. The sheer idea of ever treating another being as an equal partner an anathema to their code. They called Jedi hypocrites for using violence against them. All while they preach freedom while dominating others.

At least his order had the self-awareness to feel bad about the times when ideals were forsaken in the name of the greater good. Much as those occasions left a sour taste in his mouth.

His hand went to the saber at his side. Feeling the crystal inside pulse once in response to the Warden's concerns. It could feel the suffering of its brethren far below. An unspoken agreement passed between Force Sensitive and Kyber Crystal. They would do what they could to save the crystals from the pain that was being inflicted upon them.

And so he continued on his march. Unburdened by the bitter chill. Knowingly walking into the jaws of danger in order to protect those who called for aid.

 

[Maestus]

OBJECTIVE: 2 Hearts of Kyber
TAGS: The Mongrel Kyrel Ren

Ilum. Another god forsaken planet of ice and cold. Frigid cold. The kind that seeped into your bones and stayed. Slowing down vital organic systems to the point of stopping, which leads to death. The kind of cold that was the bane of a being made from fire and lava.

The bane of Maestus herself. She trudged through the ice and snow, making her way to the Maw camp, and the heat within the walls. Covered as she was from head to toe in heavy furs, the Dark Side and the power she held seethed off her body. Rolling like waves through the furs. Once within the camp, she strode towards the caves to inspect the progress that was being made.

Lowering her hood as her body began to feel the heat, she allowed her eyes a second or two to become accustomed to the diminished light. Black pupils rimmed with red fire gazed outward. Inwardly, she felt the calling of the Kyber crystals buried below. The scream of the crystals thrilled her soul and stimulated her blood.

As she made her way to the caves, she spied the monstrous form of The Mongrel . Grizzled beast he was. And surprisingly resilient. She knew of few non-force users who could stand against Jedi and live. The Mongrel had done it countless times, through ingenuity and creative strategy. And no shortage of sheer dumb luck. Regardless, he had earned a small amount of respect from the Lethan Warlord.

She neared The Mongrel and paused next to him.

How goes the progress?​

​

 

[Darth Solipsis]

UNFATHOMABLE POWER

THE DARK VOICE | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
ILUM | CRYSTAL CAVES
Halketh | Zachariel Steelblood
​

Hushed voices and faint whispers crept within the cracks of the crystalline cavern. Nearly inaudible tones brought forth to an already haunted psyche suffering beneath the weight of doubt and flashbacks of a time long past, a horrifying scene replayed over and over again. The undead trooper offered a hand, aid to a tormented soul returning to the demons he could not leave buried. A lone voice bellowed out from the depths of the darkened tunnel,

​

The smooth surface of the tunnel ended as it's rough edges and crystal features blurred into a firestorm of crimson red, the entryway to the final chamber lay within his reach. It was there in that fateful subterranean atrium that had haunted him for so long that the one he sought laid in wait.

It was there, standing centerpoint in the midst of the Kybers' screeching pain and insufferable agony. The Dark Voice stood in a puddle of collected fluid bled from the very walls and ceiling around him from the Kyber itself in a small sea of viscera. His presence was unmistakable, the foul miasma of the Dark Side hung over him like a dark cloud poisoning everything it touched. A black hood shrouded his face but could not hide the sick smile of satisfaction and dark grimace that shone forth from the foul grin spread from ear to ear.

The Dark Lord shifted his gaze subtly with a decrepit hand rising to halt his companion nearby, the mighty Warlord Zachariel Steelblood . "Leave us my friend."

"It's you,"

The Sith Master tilted his head with arms raised but did not speak.

"the grand puppeteer behind The Maw."

Sulfuric eyes like daggers pierced the air with a terrible glare as they washed over the Miralukan and his undead escort, ready to strike him down at a moment's notice if their master was threatened. The Elder reached out with his preternatural senses, expanding his awareness over the area as his mind rode the empyrean wind that was the Force.

"Why was it you who called me here?"

"I can feel your pain."

SKRRRRRAAAA- KOOOOOOOOMMM​

The chamber ignited in a crimson glow that filled the area with blinding light. The pitch of the Kybers' scream intensified to deafening levels as it suffered under the Sith's punishing presence and torment. Darth Solipsis, Voice of the Maw and would-be Dark Lord of the Sith, extended his arms outward at his sides at the epicenter of this pain.

"Strong in the Dark Side.. I can feel it inside of you.."

Like the struggling cords of an opera vocalist, the screech stretched on ready to give out at any moment. The Dark Side rippled in palpable waves of suffering through the vibrant red light that flooded outward in all directions from behind the silhouette of the Elder. With arms raised high he tilted his head back akin to some dark prophet or sacred icon.

"You will never escape this pain, never redeem yourself for what you've done. The ultimate test of selflessness is facing unending pain and grief for the power to create peace from chaos, mold the galaxy as you see fit to save billions of total strangers."

He grit his teeth as he attempted to press against the mind of Halketh , flooding his senses with pain and agony from the source. It only made matters worse, bringing the suffering of the Kyber to an all time high as the Dark Voice's powers gripped hold of the tormented living crystals.

"Such is the sacrifice. Such is the path to pain, fear, anger, and power.... UNFATHOMABLE POWER... to share mine, one must embrace it..

..ONE MUST RIVAL IT."

The hands of Darth Solipsis fell by the wayside, like a curtain call on stage the red light ceased to flow and the terrible scream halted in it's woes. The room bathed in the wicked grip of the Dark Side of the Force, the crystalline walls now entirely blood red, bled completely to the will of the Dark Lord before it.

"..One must rival it."

 

[Halketh]

D A R K M A T T E R
V U L T U R E
// ILUM \\
// CLOSED | Darth Solipsis \\
act. i

​

His breaths hitched in his throat as the weight overcame him, strangling the words he sought to impart upon the wretched man- creating an unwilling silence amidst the wailing cries of the crystals surrounding them. And then, as breathless as a whisper, it reached him:​

"I can feel your pain."

He hadn't the time to gather his will to retort when the world shattered around him. At once he was consumed and devoured, rendered immobile as the screams of the crystals ripped apart his senses and stabbed at his brain, splaying its stem wide open and wracking his body with a pain he could never imagine. Weak was he, to resist it. Weak was he, to endure it for long. The pain overwhelmed him, dropping him to his knees and it was all he could do to clamp his hands over his ears, face contorted beyond human recognition with the primal response to it all.​

"Strong in the Dark Side.. I can feel it inside of you.."

The words coaxed at the corners of his impassable thought, creeping through the shards of his torment as serpents with will to destroy. To cripple. Kill. Decades of masking his corruption and concealing it within a primed mask were undone in an instant, it felt like, as the Darkside overwhelmed The Vulture- smothering out what fickle notions of 'good' he considered. The scarred edges of his hands tightened as his veins bulged with the surge of power and he dug black nails into the sides of his head; hands still firmly clamped over his ears. Hot iron bubbled up his throat, cast out by wretching coughs to the tainted floor beneath him.

Yet still, as he suffered, his soldiers remained rigid and still, helmets locked in the direction of the Dark Voice.

Halketh groped after straws, clawing for them, though they slipped through his fingers as the weakness claimed him as prize. He was paralyzed.​

"You will never escape this pain, never redeem yourself for what you've done. The ultimate test of selflessness is facing unending pain and grief for the power to create peace from chaos, mold the galaxy as you see fit to save billions of total strangers."

He felt a Presence surge through him, connecting two minds together through a leeching link just as volatile as the environment surrounding them. His madness lashed out, the wickedness kept beneath his surface as a tumultuous whip, inflicting horrific agony upon the delver as much as it did the deceiver- that weight no one man had ever been meant to carry. His torment was inescapable, no matter how far he fled from him, no matter where he hid- it would always find him. He could change his name, his appearance, his status- he could gain influence and power and none of it would matter. Halketh had been touched by the Darkness long before he had seen the Light, and it had festered within him, gnawing away at his every fiber until nothing but the shell that ventured down into this abyss remained.

The Vulture struggled in his mind, clawing back at the Dark Voice to banish him from his mind, but there was little he could do.

He could not even scream in defiance.​

"Such is the sacrifice. Such is the path to pain, fear, anger, and power.... UNFATHOMABLE POWER... to share mine, one must embrace it..

..ONE MUST RIVAL IT."

Four words.

Four words had resounded across his nightmares and hunted him down from one edge of the galaxy to the next- following him as he delved into the forbidden and indulged in the just, pursuing him tirelessly until at last- they had snared him once more. The agony of the chamber ceased as easily as it had been conjured and weakly, the miraluka's hand crashed down from his head to the tarnished floor before him, supporting him as he panted, struggling to choke down the blood and bile that crept from his throat. Crimson trickled from his nose, rushing down his lips to trail from his chin and join the puddle formed between his mangled fingers. He coughed, choking on it with every gasp for breath. It seemed none could catch permanence, and left him wanting.

Head hanging low between his strained shoulders, he lingered on his hands and knees for the time, body heaving with each fruitless attempt to return to stability. "I-it..." he rasped, "was you... all this t-time..."

What perception he had of Fate was broken instantaneously, vomited up in the pool of his blood gathering between his hands. "Sixty years ago..." he croaked, grimacing at the sound of his own voice in his shrill-singing ears, "I searched for you.... all across this galaxy..." His bloody nails scraped against the floor of the cavern with the curl of his fingers into fists. The undead moved forward, pivoting sharply to shield him for what little good it would do. The rivers of red slithered across the floor, fluttering in their flowing rage, and coalesced upon his hands as he tapped into the reaped energy. Every pulsing hum of their wicked sobs fed into his strength as he selfishly claimed what should have belonged to those who were like him, once upon a time.

Sparks sputtered to life around his forearms and shoulders as he urged himself to his feet, disregarding the trails of blood rushing over his chin. He stood, shakily, but upright still, and at last raised his head back to face the Dark Voice. The undead troopers parted as waters, giving the elder man a clear view. A snarling whisper is all he offered in conclusion to his former thought:

"So I could kill you."

Both arms lashed forward, swelling with the very energy reaped from the loss of the crystals, launching a volley of explosive blasts formed of his hatred and grief.​

 

[The Mongrel]

Objective I - Hearts of Kyber​

Location: Ilum, Brotherhood Base
Allies: Kyrel Ren | Maestus
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Djorn Bline | Izoshi

The Mongrel looked up as Maestus approached, bowing his heard respectfully as he realized who she was. Despite his advancements in status and glory, he was still far below any of the warlords, owed them great deference - even the warlords of other tribes. "We have extracted much kyber," he replied, though in truth he did not spare the crystals much thought. They were pieces of a weapon so far above his concern that he bore them little mind. He did not need to understand them or their purpose, nor concern himself overmuch with the actual workings of the mining operation. That was not why he'd been brought to Ilum.

No, he had been brought here to fight and kill.

His moment to do so was swiftly arriving. The perimeter sensors surrounding the valley, hidden in snowbanks and rocky ravines, had already begun to chime warnings across the Brotherhood base's instrument panels. There was a large enemy force headed their way, large enough that it did not even try to conceal itself. Long-range scans revealed a large force of tanks, supported by aircraft, moving in toward the captured crystal mine. The Mongrel had his suspicions as to who they might be; after all, if the enemy was smart enough to deploy soldiers who had faced the Maw before, and who specialized in arctic warfare, it was a short list.

It would be the Galidraani, but on the offensive this time.

The Mongrel grinned at the thought; though he couldn't yet confirm it, the possibility excited him. He needed to keep fighting worthy foes if he wanted to earn greater glory in the eyes of the Avatars. The slaughter or enslavement of the weak had tactical value to the Brotherhood, certainly, but he had reached the point in his career as a warrior where such battles did him no credit. He had faced off against half a dozen Jedi over the past few standards months, and had largely directed the main battle in the siege of an entire world; murdering two score conscripts who could barely reload their rifles would be an utter anticlimax after that.

But taking Galidraani heads would always be worth something.

"Our foes are coming," the marauder told Maestus, "as the Heathen Priests foretold. The Jedi and their allies will unleash overwhelming force to reclaim their holy planet. In the end, we will not be able to hold it against them." He grinned savagely, fingering the hilt of one of his many vibroknives. "But we will wreak a bloody toll from among them, leave behind a defiled ruin, and escape with the seeds of their destruction." Ilum was too far from the Brotherhood's main territory, too much of a stretch for their supply lines, to make a true stand there. But they could choke its snows with enemy corpses before they were driven out.

Thick walls of duracrete surrounded the mining base, running all the way back to the cliff face it burrowed into; they were designed to withstand the inevitable artillery, airstrikes, and heavy weapons that would fall upon them for as long as possible. At the foot of these walls, two lines of trenches had been gouged into the permafrost. Marauders moved through the trenches, loading their PLEX missile launchers and checking the charge on their sniper rifles, ready to open up as soon as the enemy force emerged from the swirling snows. Small passages linked the two trenches and ran beneath the duracrete walls, to allow these troops to fall back.

Then they'd detonate the trenches. They'd learned from the NIO.

With a sound like the fluttering of billions of insect wings, six squadrons of Darkshear-class Swarm Fighters dropped from their tightly-packed hangar racks and billowed out from the upper levels of the mining base, ready to engage the enemy force's air cover. Their drooling idiot pilots, half-baked clones with little more in their brains than simple motor control, had all been implanted with chips of smokestone... chips that mirrored the necklaces of six Heathen Priests who sat deep within the mining base, seated in a meditative circle. Each of them commanded the actions of a squadron, telepathically puppeteering the pilots like their own fingers and toes.

Losing one would mean little, but killing a veteran NIO pilot...

Dropping down from his lookout, The Mongrel began to head for the front lines, where he belonged. Perhaps he would get to blow up a tank that day; it'd been too long since Batuu, when he'd hunted AT-ST walkers through the streets with a scavenged missile launcher. "We will hold them as long as we can," he promised Maestus, speaking over his shoulder as he jogged over to join his warriors. "They will rue the cost of displacing us, and the components of our next great weapon will have plenty of time to reach safety." Such were their goals: to kill as many as they could, and to make sure that no one managed to intercept their kyber shipments.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

UNFATHOMABLE POWER

THE DARK VOICE | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
ILUM | CRYSTAL CAVES
Halketh | Zachariel Steelblood
​

The madness that was shared between the bridged minds had lashed out violently alongside it's master who attempted to exile him from his occupancy. The psychic assault upon the Miralukan had created a searing pain that echoed forth within, a chasm in his skull that produced waves of sensory pain from the backlash. Despite this setback the Elder remained firm, his teeth grit together harshly as the pain slowly subsided. He made no attempt to hide the pain for any true master of the Bogan knew it was not weakness but fuel for the fires that burned brightly within.

A heavy exhale escaped him as he set his dark gaze awash over the Warlord once more from his elevated watch. The burning agony of the Kyber had passed like a fleeting shadow, they had left their mark upon the atrium's integrity and the minds of all those who dwelled near. The Elder watched as Halketh held himself from collapsing onto the floor, supporting his weight as the scarlet liquid traveled from his nose to his lip from the strain and agony he had experienced as he choked on his own fluids.

"I-it..."
he rasped,
"was you... all this t-time..."​

His hand moved in gesture, the Dark Voice beckoning to the Miralukan as Halketh's revelation played out. Between the blood and fluids casting between his hands, the machinations of Fate were revealed.

"Sixty years ago..."​

Halketh croaked, grimacing at the sound of his own voice in his shrill-singing ears. The Elder smiled in glee with dark grimace beneath the surface, "Go on."
​

"I searched for you.... all across this galaxy..."​

Lord Halketh carved into the cavern floor with his fingers, the Elder chuckled aloud as they balled into fists fueled by rage.

“Gooood.. gooood...”

The undead escorts moved swiftly in protection of their master, shielding him off from the clutches of the Sith Master. The visceral remains of the Kybers’ crimson tears and the Miralukan’s own blood slithered across the floor under the seething influence of the powerful darksider. The walls pulsated in rhythm with the fierce beating of the Warlord’s heart as his rage built upon itself into a storm clawing at the surface ready to explode.

What he could only deduce was visions of prophecy mired in the inky black influence of the Dark Side. He would make no attempts to correct the Miralukan one way or another, for it very well could have been in some manner himself. There were infinite paths and infinite possibilities, his presence possibly being felt decades before the event ever occurred. A dark precursor, a stain that had yet to come but was already written. For the moment he merely only relayed the horrors that Halketh gave him in breadcrumbs through the mental theft of his prior psychic assault. The results spoke for themselves.

The Dark Lord basked in the aura of Halketh , feeding on the negative energy. The pulsating glow slowed his chuckle to a grinding halt. His eyes filled with sudden revelation of their own as the Miralukan rose shakily to his feet. The escorts parted and the Elder hissed, eye to eye with his foe.
​

"So I could kill you."

The Elder felt the full blunt of the Dark Side cast against his body as he rose his hands in defense. A raw wave of pure hatred and untamed power unleashed in it’s purest expression crashed against his palms. It would of been beautiful to behold if he had not been the one stricken as the vibrant colors in the Force flocked from the pure emotions, it was expression cast down like an artist onto a painting.

Black fabric peeled away and scorched in an instant as the upper robes of the Sith Master were torched instantly. He strained under the pressure as he attempted to absorb all of the vile energies cast upon him in futility. The eyes of Solipsis shone bright like the fires of Mustafar as the sulfuric gaze detailed his palpable anger building over as his flesh felt the tingle and burns.

The smoke cleared from the surroundings of the Elder, he had been forced back and burned but still stood clean and clear. Darth Solipsis cast a gaze back to the Miralukan with distain and contempt.

​

“Good use your aggressive feelings, peel away at the sick tapestry of Fate and become a river-breaker!”

Crimson sparks crackled between his taloned fingertips, a lone rigor mortis claw grasped the void in gesture.

“You have done well, but you have much to learn.”

His hands reached out to the heavens as he fell to one knee. Emitting a feral roar under his breath a sonic boom erupted forth followed by volleys of crimson lightning originating out of the palm of his hands. Sparks and rogue bolts rained down from the ceiling as the savage lightning storm arced overhead and fell. The raw power fueled by the dark emotions harnessed from the Miralukan and unbridled rage of the Elder into a destructive force that peeled away at the atrium of which they stood.

Over the roar of lightning and untamed power, the Sith Master yelled out,

“What would SHE think of you now?”





​

 

[Halketh]

A L P H A | O M E G A
V U L T U R E
// ILUM \\
// CLOSED | Darth Solipsis \\
act. i

Above ground, the earth heaved and tremored with the efforts of the dueling sorcerers below.​

Painted in the bloody hues strobing about the quivering chasm, the High Warlord shifted his weight backward, pivoting his heels to anchor himself as the force of own his blasts unsteadied his footing. It wasn't until he smelled the charring of flesh that he twisted his head abruptly, spitting out a mouthful of blood and grinning bare in the elder man's direction. What little was left of his psyche struggled in its overture, stuttering as warped and melted cogs ground against one another to draw a conclusion. The Dark Voice possessed a mortal shell, but he would not perish if it was destroyed- no his Presence was far too great. Slaying him would only unleash him upon The Force directly, setting him upon those unassociated and unaware sensitives to enact his will how he saw it fit. Perhaps, without greater self-sacrifice, this was a losing game.

Horrors had unraveled themselves before his mind's eye a thousand times over, each a tolling bell that echoed into the previous. Visions of the future. Glimpses into realities beyond his comprehension- his gift had haunted him for as long as he had been alive. He had seen this one unravel a plethora of times and never had it ended in his favor. He was a pawn in a much larger game, the Sith Lord had been right about that much. It only took an act of deconsecrating revelation to finally bare that truth to the light and usher it forth where he could heed its warning--

--to fight was to die.

Halketh felt the surge of power heeding The Voice's call, barely a quarter-second before it manifested. Narrowly, did the snap-hiss of plasma echo from his position- painting his bloodied form in raging hues of fiery light. He crossed himself with his saber, tanking the brunt of the electrical assault. A violent, struggling growl rattled from his throat, mirroring that of the undead who remained steady, even with their Lord under assault- their devotion to his order was admirable. It spoke of the willpower instilled upon them by their creator, the one who had plucked them from Death's handbasket and purposed them to sate their undying hunger for vengeance. Robes snapping against the raging currents rising within the cavern, The Vulture's struggle continued as he endured the blast- boots slipping from their place of anchor at the force of it alone.

His blade wouldn't hold forever. He knew that.

The shifting currents of The Force revealed the arcing bolts milliseconds before they crackled to life- not nearly enough time for the warlord to change his tactic and defend his flank. Pain struck an ax down his spine, lashing his robe open and exposing the wicked black inks baring scars the world hadn't been meant to see. He hissed, swearing in his native tongue as colors spun across his vision, mixing and blending together until only white remained. Beneath him, his knees threatened to give way, all but swept out beneath him at the agony. ​

“What would SHE think of you now?”

The words crawled into his consciousness, carried by cockroaches gnawing at the epicenter of his thought- their legs pricking and scratching his brain. His lip curled, contorting his face in follow. He expanded his focus as he endured the brunt of the electrical blast forward, struggling to step in defiance of it. She had taught him better. She had thought him ready to face these evils. The true person responsible for what he had done stood upon a plagiarized throne before him. The Voice was the reason Muwian was dead. One pace turned into two. Two into three. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his soldiers, groaning as the strength of his guard drained him. Orange light strobed frantically as the lightsaber struggled to keep up with the energy being woven through it.

"Prijuri nun," he spoke towards the undead hoarsely- "Forgive me." A silent command just after saw them throw themselves before him without hesitation, severing the red ribbons chaining him to the dark lord, and offering Halketh mere seconds of breathing room. The corpsely soldiers were annihilated- though they went without a sound of despair. The reeking stench of boiling flesh and charring bones spewed into the chamber, choking the air with festering rot. It was a smell The Vulture was all too comfortable with.

Taking back the very essence of himself he had instilled within his soldiers, Halketh fed upon their loss, retrieving the energy borrowed from him in a desperate move to overcome the might of The Voice. This same energy burned brightly as he manipulated it, weaving it between his mangled hands and conjuring it from within himself, fueling the incantation as quickly as he could manage to. Abruptly he thrust his left hand upward, propelling the bundled cinders together and sparking the match, igniting them into flame. Red fire burst forth, unraveling a web of arcing lightning of his own that wound about him protectively, shielding him from the chaotic storm while striking back in a far more controlled fashion.

His left hand held steady above his head- blood trailing from opened scars- while his right danced and flicked before him, controlling the cracking lances he struck back with.

"You know not whom you speak of," Halketh responded at last, his voice full of gravel.​

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective 3: Explore and add some new bones to the temple
Allies: Darth Solipsis
Enemies: Xashe Tistya | Creuat | Halketh
Weapons: Sword | Axe​

They had returned to Illum, seeking more crystals, more loot, and more for the Maw. And it was simply another stepping stone in the inevitable. But that inevitability had its steps and Zachariel would be there for every last one of them, ensuring the success of the Brotherhood. To that end the Brotherhood, and more specifically the Bloodsworn, were already getting crystals under the command of The Mongrel , someone who was on the fast track to being promoted once more. The man was more resourceful than most, and Zachariel greatly prized that, in all his warriors, though his lieutenants and Chosen moreso than most.

But Zachariel wasn't on Illum to retrieve crystals, no, he was here to discover more secrets of the Jedi, thanks to the ruins of their temple. Given time as well, he hoped to also add to the skeletons lost within. Sadly, things had been stale so far, with nigh on nothing to do. There was the torturing of the crystals of course, or discovering some hidden passage, but nothing to satisfy Zachariel's curiosity. As a result, he had taken to toying with the bones of some long dead Jedi. As a personal exercise in control of the Force, Zachariel rearranged the bones into various positions, symbols mainly. Snow was his cement and the bones his master piece, all a simple way to pass the time and train himself just that small bit more. Not to mention, it was amusing to see the symbol of the Brotherhood carved out in snow using the bones of a Jedi.

Sadly, all good things come to an end, and this was true of Zachariel's toying, though he was also overjoyed at the thought of new prey. Even as Jedi finally entered the ruins once more, Zachariel could sense them. His head snapped up at their distant feeling, hands still holding the ruined skull of the Jedi. A grin crossed his face before he tossed the skull to the side, back to the symbol of the Maw. He wouldn't claim such an old relic, least of all when he hadn't killed it, but that didn't matter now. Now, his focus was on the Jedi's Force presence, even as the Voice spoke. He turned towards the man with a dark smirk on his face.

"Don't worry, the only thing that'll reach you of the Jedi is their screams."
In preparation to their arrival, Zachariel stalked off to the side, examining some already tortured crystals. It was then that Halketh came, eyes focused solely on the Boice and already challenging him. In response to that, Zachariel had stepped closer, hands hovering closer to his weapons. This man was a dark side user, that was clear, but if he was friend or foe was yet to be determined. They spoke to one another then, before Solipsis bid him leave. That brought forth a grunt from Zachariel, who didn't budge for a moment. And then he felt the Force at work, bringing a smile to his face as the man silently screamed.

Because of that, Zachariel nodded to the Dark Voice, and turned away, taking just a moment longer to savor the pain. With a sigh, Zachariel stalked off then, grabbing some tortured crystals before taking his leave of the pair. Whatever happened, it would result in much pain for Halketh, of that Zachariel was sure. But that no longer concerned him, instead he would find someone else to toy with, to break the same way these crystals had been broken. He had sensed newcomers near the surface, so Zachariel slowly went higher, but opted to choose below ground for now. As it was, Zachariel quietly stalked through the caverns, searching for some prey to toy with.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Post #2
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
BLUE-HEART BRIGADE

Objective 1: HEARTS OF KYBER

Allies (NIO): Lucien Dooku Dante Corvus Djorn Bline Izoshi

Allies (NJO/GA):

Enemies: The Mongrel Kyrel Ren Maestus

Erskine's Loadout

Primary: Custom Blaster-Pistol (Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw)
Secondary: Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore (Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding)
Last Ditch/Second-Blade: Fairbairn Vibroknife (Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding)
Pocket-Weapons: Gifted Brass-Knuckles from the Guv'Nah (Both Trouser-Pockets - akimbo wielding)

Blue-Heart Brigade (Mechanized-Infantry)

201 Repulsorlift Tanks
22 Scout AFVs
5 ACVs
1 Coy. Elite Riflemen
3 Plat. Quartermasters (Combat-Engineers)
1 Coy. Field-Medics

Another Ideal Battlefield III - The Uncontested Valley

Looking across the horizon, Lord Erskine would see the clouds enveloping the fleetingly serene corner of Ilum as the eye of the storm was crushed in with the pressure of the storm-clouds around it, bidding farewell to the deep blue and the stars that punctured it under his breath. The Woad really did love winter deployments, and for many reasons that he would never have bothered to disclose to anyone else. The first, and most-obvious reason being the cooling benefits that soothed the aging-pains in his back; the next, the wonders it did for his vigilance, never letting the Brigadier-General rest long enough to sleep on the longer deployments in the PMC-era, and never letting him dwell long enough on the past that continued to haunt him everywhere he went.

All the units of the 173rd Legion and the 2nd Brigade were moving into an eastward-facing defensive static-line, using cracks in the rocks and compacted snow-drifted for cover and landmarks to separate platoons, companies and battalions alike, striding out with confidence in the execution of their orders, ready for their eventual orders to wade out into the expanses beyond. Mawites and renegade Sith awaited them behind the blizzard and secreted within any one of the many caves of the mountains they were to pass around, through or over on their steady-footed march, but the New Imperial forces on the ground would be as alert as ever in their wary approach through the snowfall; and despite all the risks that awaited in the distance, Barran would ponder on Gowrie's new rival with a greedy sense of curiosity, and recall that the Mongrel had survived a duel against a Force-user with no such abilities of his own to count on.
A man like that, foul-natured though he may be - would be perfect practice for Effigy's lot.... Plenty moves to study today, Erskine.

Walking down the mountainside, Erskine would take one last look towards the sister-peak to the north of his position, scouring the skyline in search of signs of further reinforcements, only to find another solitary figure descending towards the valley; the Lord-Commander needed no second guess to ascertain who it was, needed no effort to refer to a long-distance scope, and needed no reference to a map-holographic projection that was in position below already, as the Woad was more confident than ever that it was Lucien Dooku. Only Cladhan, regards and nods of respect had been sent in the Warlord of Nirauan's direction, with only the lattermost being reciprocated in the time that the Stormchaser had known the mysterious conqueror of Serenno, so the first proper introduction between them was something Erskine viewed as being long overdue.

'Barran to Dooku! With your leave, meet me by the base of the south-facing glacier. We can coordinate, and fight, alongside each other. Blue-Heart Alpha out!'

Another Ideal Battlefield IV - Eager Subordinates

<"Brand to Blue-Heart Alpha! With your leave, I'd like to-">

'-Oh, go on then! Find us some Mawites to kill, AFV One! You know what we're doing anyways, get stuck in! Blue-Heart Alpha out!', Barran said, cutting in to save Captain Brand from having to elaborate. The entire line was ready, and the Myrmidons readied at the center of the second-line had nothing to do for as long as the Blue-Hearts lacked opposition, so the Lord-Commander of the Free-State's 2nd Brigade saw no sense in holding his men back any longer, unleashing their urge to push on as if Lord Erskine were releasing his hounds on the planet's intruders. The Lord-Commander would be joining them soon enough, but he still needed to walk across the valley to reach the glacier that served as the coordinators' meeting-place, not that it would take him too long, as just ten minutes of walking saw the Stormchaser walking from the base of the north-facing peak to the other side.

Stomping through the blizzard, wading through knee-high snow with every intention of making it to the glacier before Lucien, Erskine began visualizing how the Mongrel would attack him in a duel, slashing at the air as he approached the valley's northern corner. Once the giant wall of shifting glacial ice had been reached, Barran would briefly shake off his hyperfocus to look up to the top of it, marvelling as his neck craned to see how far above the glacier stretched to, then turning his back to get back to cleaving, slashing and lunging at nothing but air and snow. Settled into his trained state of fighting flow, the breathing rhythm in the Stormchaser's practice was slow, measured and in a state of complete cardiovascular comfort, though in that state of absolute focus, something akin to bliss was intermingling with his meditation.
The flower o' war, how sweet she is in times like this. Even with eyes shut, everything around me has form and movement.... Uncanny!

Whether Lord Dooku found him swiping at the air with his basket-hilted Vibrosword or not, Lord Barran cared not, as it would instil at least some confidence in the Woad's ability to assist Serenno's rightful ruler against multiple attackers in close-quarters combat; and the Brigadier-General had learned through the grapevine, through political colleagues and allies alike, that House Dooku's legacy of swordsmanship excellence lived on vicariously through Lucien himself. Everything about this meeting of minds felt necessary to Barran, it was one of the main reasons he accepted the brigade's assignment to Ilum, so the practice with the sword also felt necessary; the mind was refreshed and geared towards discussing the craft whenever the claymore left her scabbard, and so it would stay unsheathed for as long as the urge to study Dooku's methods remained.
​

​

 

[Enlil]

LOCATION:
Celchu Starfighter Base, Coruscant
OBJECTIVE:
II - Business as Usual
TAG:
Adhira Chandra | Annasari | Denzul Vosh-Sularen | Irveric Tavlar | Lucien Dooku | Willan Tal | Julius Haskler | Aerarii Tithe | Gat Tambor | Kanto
GA | NIO | CA

​

The shuttle that bore him to Coruscant from the Resplendence enjoyed a lack of turbulence that seemed rare in recent times. Ketaris, while a relatively peaceful planet, still sat on the fringes of Sith space. Raids were not uncommon, though they generally remained isolate to craft on the edge of the system, bearing trade goods. While it hurt a bit that Prefsbelt IV's leader withdrew Naval support from Ketaran space, Enlil had taken to the free market to protect his people. Merchant navies from Alliance world and enjoyed trade incentives and waived levies in exchange for their cooperation; and while he would have liked to see a more positive response from Rausgeber, the King wouldn't hold his breath. Instead, he vowed to Tavlar that his decision would go no further, and that he would make no attempt to impede other venues of trade for the Industrial world. That was not his business.

However, the Grand Vizier took a more hands off approach to the acquisition of the Mandalore system. Understanding their culture, the warrior people had their own ways of dealing with their spiritual homeworld. Things that the Empire was given to respect- and the King wanted no hand in undermining. Tavlar and the rest handled the grim business of integration in their own way, while Enlil went back to Ketaris to oversee the transitions in policy. His failure to appear on the Grand Admiral's flagship doubtless had not gone unnoticed, either.

Swiftly, they were brought into Celchu Base, where accommodations were made by the Alliance for their allies in the Imperium as well as the Chiss Ascendancy who they recently worked together with against the Sith. Aerarii Thithe was present, one of the strongest voices in the Alliance who the King knew from their combined efforts in the Stygian Campaign. He gave the man a respectful nod as he found his seat and waited for the others to arrive. Once they were all gathered, he would take his seat, and not before then.

"Vice Chancellor," the Grand Vizier greeted. "It is good to see you are well. It has been some time since the events on Tiss'sharl, and I regret that our efforts were seemingly in vain. Our resolve has never been stronger however." His eyes moved across the venue suddenly and snapped back to the bureaucrat. They came from different worlds, different schools of thought, but here they were. The diversity was not lost on Enlil. "It would seem that you have taken stock of your audience. Prudent."

The other Imperials were warmongers. There was no skirting around it. The others who would join them in the meeting would criticize the austerity of the facility, the regulations, the uniforms, every small detail. It was their life- not the politics. Not like Enlil or Tithe. It was their job to understand the people they were dealing with. It was their job to bridge the distances between them. He extended his hand for the man to shake and leaned close. "I understand you to be a businessman," he said more quietly to the other man, "and you know full well that the business of these men is war. They do not understand concessions on humanitarian policy. Practicality and pragmatism will serve you better here than humanitarianism."

He pulled back after a moment and considered. "I have heard that the Chiss will be sending a representative to this meeting. I have hope that the groundwork laid at Csilla will bear fruit."

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

REFLECTION IN THE ICE | TIME IS AN ILLUSION
Ishida Ashina | CLOSED
「IT ALL COMES BACK TO YOU」

A physiognomy that once seemed immovable made the subtlest twitch when the bandana came down. As if the aforementioned resemblance wasn't already stark enough, the unobscuring made it even more so. Something caught in his throat and nearly choked him up, though not quite. Forced serenity overcame sentimentality by way of a Jedi's mental mandate. That single faltering in facial expression was the only divergence from the overwhelming blank.

"Why are you here? Aren’t you cold, Master?”

"Knight," he corrected flatly. The misranking seemed common nowadays. It was his apparent age, demeanor, or both that gave him the air of a Master. Alas, he'd resigned himself to Knight Ashina rather than Master Ashina. Was he a sybaritic man, he might have accepted the title on its ring alone.

"Circumstance. Though I suppose now it is necessity," he finally answered, excluding the inquiry on comfort. A glance lingered toward a cave opening before returning to Ishida. "Your timing is less than ideal, albeit no fault of your own." His premonition neglected it include the dangers that currently encroached upon Ilum. Intentions had to change with the situation, conforming like water.

"Interlopers skulk the caves. I wouldn't be so bold as to suggest you reconsider this trial, but I believe it would be prudent for myself to accompany you." If nothing else, it would draw out their meeting to make the eventual revelation hit more like a breeze than a freight-speeder. Still, a stranger offering to accompany a young woman into a dark cave on a mostly isolated world was far from an everyday proposition.

"With a retained distance, of course. As to not interfere with the experience."

 

[Julius Haskler]

OBJECTIVE II | BUSINESS AS USUAL
Adhira Chandra | Aerarii Tithe | Kanto | Gat Tambor | Irveric Tavlar | Enlil | Lucien Dooku | Willan Tal

Coruscant was a world upon which Julius had long waited to set foot. The great capital of the Galaxy was as impressive as he had imagined, nothing like Anaxes, Yinchorr or Carlac. Even Bastion was less grand than this ecumenopolis. Truly, it was an awesome spectacle, and for a brief moment, the Diplomat regretted not to be part of the Alliance. For a moment only. He was not foolish enough to condone the Alliance's lavish and corrupted policies. For the moment, he could not say anything of this, but he was thinking it really hard.

Due to the extensive number of diplomatic missions, the Imperials had to accomplish there, Julius had reluctantly agreed to share them with Enlil . Though they were officially at odds because of Ketaris's blockade of Presfbelt, Julius knew they couldn't stay in that position longer. The Grand Vizier had to collaborate with the Imperial Diplomatic Corps or the New Imperial Order would soon lose any diplomatic power it had.

As such, Enlil and he had convened a meeting before arriving on Coruscant. While the Vizier was working with the Vice-Chancellor to draw the Alliance's and New Imperial Order's spheres of influence, Julius would speak with the Chancellor. He had an official mission: reduce the Warlords' power in the Core, and he had his own mission. He was going to prepare the House's return on Anaxes. With subtlety, they could work something out of it.

And this was why he was waiting for authorisation to enter the Chancellor's office. Once they met, all would have to go smoothly.

 

[Caedis Umbrammor]

F̶̷̔̾̑̇̅̑̓ͮ̀̚͟҉͉̹̗̟̣İ̶̴̸̪̜̟͎͇̼̹̟̞̖̯̝͔̞̼͙̖̝̄̍̾̃́̚R̻̫̭̙̻̽ͧ̊͗̉͗̽̍̀S̵͓̩̬͖͓͖̯̫͓̺͓̍ͦ̐̈́̉̋́̄̋͆̉͑͠Ṯ̷̴͈̲̥͚̫̜̗͐́ͮͩͯ͢͞ ̸̛̫̫̗̱͚͎̏͑ͬ̇͐͋͑̏̈ͯͦͭͭ̈́̚͠͠B̸̨͈͎͔̲͕͍̲̲̳͇̥̗͈̿̿͐̓ͫ̾͋́͂̅͋ͅL̨̡̪̟̼̝̯͐ͮ̄̓̿̇͗̀ͣ͋̂̐͐͢ͅOͪ̇͆̆̆ͬͨ̽͏̺̱̖̭̰̬̞̖͖̗͘O̵̸̖̠̠̘̪̺̼̣̘̬͈̞̙ͩ͆͗̓̋͐̀̈́͒͆̉͐͂͝D̉̇ͦ͌̽̿ͯ́ͮ͋ͪ̆̆͛ͣ̆̋҉̺̜̝̖͚̭̜̪̞̭̲̱̞͎̳̘̗͟








​

Planet: Ilum
Location: Outer Orbit...

The void is shaking. Flashes blaze the grim essense of space, as the Ignisir-Class Star Destroyer "Kiss of Death" emerges from hyperspace, followed by six more Quardent-Class Destroyers, dwarfed before her presence. The crimson hulls slide across the emptiness of space, slowly approaching planet Ilum; Ignorant, it seems, of the many black clouds of war that gather ever increasingly over the isolated world...

"All hands on deck! Weapons at the ready; Have the Hunters get into formation!" The strong voice of the man sounds through the countless sounds of the bridge. Fingers clicking onto buttons, as the consoles blaze in light. Gun control, arming. Engine status, normal. Operators talking one over the other in a chaotic chorus, as they transmit the many signals to the destroyer squadron around the large warship. The armor-clad, brown-haired man walks with quick pace towards the very front of the bridge. His sparkling eyes gaze deep into the distance, from the deck's transparesteel window. He observes for few moments of silence, within the panic; As his flotilla advanced onto the frozen wreckage of a planet. "Prepare to divert power to shields" he intoned, before he turns towards the nearest operator. "Send the transmission to Ilum. Find out where our package is!" The rather tense voice of the man sounded again, as he uttered orders across the bridge, within a chorography of tense motions, walking back and forth, unwilling to remain still. Tainted by the dark energy that his very armor emitted, his fingertips occasionally sparkled with lightning, as he motioned them under his palm. His left arm ever restless, holding onto the pommel of his blade, sheathed by his belt. His armoured fingers constantly scratching against it, as lightning sparkles charged the grasped handle. He kept looking across the void, seeking for the opposition he was certain that would emerge on his way. It was quiet. Regardless the shouts of the operators and the constant transmissions sounding like a chaotic symphony. To his ears, there was silence. The unbearable silence just right before the clash. This moment he had, to see the odds he was meant to face. This silence irritated him. Eager, was he, to end it...! "Signal to the Hangars. Get the Banes at the ready. Launch the Buzzers"
He says, anxiously, clearly lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and probability processing in his mind, while he constantly monitored the flotilla's every move.

In time, the void near the flotilla buzzes, by the numerous swarms of starfighters being launched from the Kiss of Death, performing patrols around their host. The Athysian warships consisting the flotilla accelerated, sailing towards the planet without any effort to hide their presence. Instead, the Hunters charged their weapon systems, while the Kiss of Death activated her shield generators... Whatever the reason was, for the Athysian League to be here... It was not good-intent...! Alas, it would be only clear, now... The old neutrality of the Athysians towards the greater galactic powers... was about to change...

 

[Auteme]

Janos Sovv Aeris Lashiec ​

Auteme kept feeling like she needed to walk faster.

To be at the front -- but she couldn't decide if that'd be more reassuring for the others, or for herself. Despite the importance of reclaiming Ilum, the pilgrimage felt almost aimless. She was tense. The cold weight of the place brought her down; the legacy, the importance of what a Jedi represented. Ilum was a place where they were meant to feel most connected. Yet to her, there was something in the way.

Nonetheless she led the group inside. The Ilum Temple hadn't changed much since her last visit nearly two years ago. Cold, yet, in the slow rise of the sun that morning, there was a certain warmth. Frosted stone and bits of snow and wisps of mist from her breath. New as this Jedi Order might be, there were a million traditions they still adhered to.

"Those, ah, looking for crystals," she turned, addressing everyone, "Will have to wait a bit for the cavern to open." It was still frozen over at the moment.

She turned to Aeris and Hero. "I want to study the etchings in the entrance passageway. Maybe we'll find something interesting -- or just be able to codify them for the archives."

 

[Aeris Lashiec]

Janos Sovv / Auteme

It had been a long while since last Aeris had visited this place. As a child she had marveled at the structures inside and the crystals embedded within the interior of the crystal caves. It was from here, nearly fifteen years ago, that she had collected her very own crystal that still rested within the confines of her own cylindrical multi-purpose tool — or lightsaber as they were commonly referred to as.

And yet she couldn’t help but also ponder the real destructive value of the damned thing. Stories of untold deaths at the hands of an Empire that saw it fit to destroy a planet in a sign of force while using something so seemingly unremarkable as a crystal, the likes of which grew in this very cave. As much as Aeris held a reverence for the significance it held for the Jedi she also despised the symbol it presented for others.

But, crusaders needed their swords and Aeris needed her blade-shaped superwelder. She doubted much would ever change on that front. At least not in her lifetime.

“I am fairly certain we have extensive records of most of these etchings.” Aeris slowly nodded and stepped up next to Auteme to drag a finger over the all too familiar text that welcomed the Jedi to their ‘Gathering’. “Whether or not they were translated properly however, that is another story.”

 

[Bernard]

"It's often in the past that we find the inspiration needed to solve the problems of the future, don't we, Master?"

The days of the Republic had been much the same as those of Bernard's youth. Ilum was the Jedi's jewel, but it so rarely resided in their care. The lure of power the kyber crystals represented drew the attention of all the galaxy's governments, making it hard to maintain the world's sanctity for long. Perhaps, with perspective and wisdom at the forefront of their leaders' decision-making, things could be different under this Galactic Alliance.

Bernard frowned as he walked, deep in thought. They'd reached the other side of the stone walkway that rose high above the jagged crystal pits below. The great cavern converged into a narrow tunnel again. Kaleidoscopic light followed them a couple of dozen steps into the tunnel until it dimmed enough to be imperceptible, even in the ice's reflections. Once darkness had settled in the tunnels, Bernard needed to rely on his species' sensitivity to an extended light spectrum to guide their way.

"Not much further," he said.

True to his word, the final fork led them deeper into the earth (ice?). A faint light bounced along the tunnels up ahead, its source obscured by the ceiling of the downwards sloping tunnel.

"We can talk in earnest here," Bernard gestured towards the opening when it came into view, his outline visible in the light.

Their destination revealed itself to be another cave, rather ungenerous in its size. At a glance, it could barely fit a light freighter. Clear, colourless ice made up its walls. It had expanded inward so much that there was barely a fraction of the room's original size left to spare. The deep blue walls were still visible, twisted through the ice lens. The room's centre held a solid round table barely reaching hip-height with two semicircular benches positioned around it. Further into the room, at its back wall, the source of the glow sat frozen in the ice.

Bernard moved towards the table and took a seat on one of the benches, motioning an invitation for the master to join him on the one across. He tapped on the side of the table and a panel opened. He removed two cups and a thermal can, set them down on the table, and poured tea.

"In truth, the past is part of what I wished to discuss, Master Sardun. This Army of Light you led, their purpose was to fight the Sith? That puts you among the Jedi who have seen the most war against the Dark Side today, doesn't it?" He glanced sideways, hesitant to continue again, "I ask because ... I am rather uncertain about my own place in the war against the Dark Side and I hoped to find my answer in the experience of a more seasoned warrior."

Michael Sardun​

 

[Julian Qar]

Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation
+ + +
LOCATION: Celchu Starfighter Base, Coruscant
OBJ : II
Folks he hasn't met | Adhira Chandra , Irveric Tavlar , Lucien Dooku , Willan Tal , Julius Haskler , Aerarii Tithe | NIO - GA - CA

​

The ride to Coruscant felt lighter than any other flight he'd taken. There was no protective gear strapped to his frame, his trusted companion was not slung on his shoulder, and there would be no silent prayers whisked to the stars for safe return - or rather, to be able to return home in any piece. Julian was there for matters that fell out of his line of work, relaying a message that fueled an argument just before he pulled the ivory cloak to his chest. Somehow he found the fire burning within him to ignite this strange dual purpose. He needed to be there, to be steady, to be precise.

+ + +​

A metal onyx hand smoothed down the cloak of his dress suit, it had been tailored just before his arrival finding the uniform he often wore to render him out of place for the occasion. Out of quiet habit, he would spin the ring around his finger, no one knew better. Whether it was nerves or just a minor adjustment to ensure its security on his mock finger. Today the luminance of his frame had been dimmed, a symbol of status and a way to dial down his presence. He was meant to be heard, not seen.

A guard approached him, stopping the doctor at the mouth of the summit before granting his entry.

“State your name.”

“Lieutenant Julian Qar, of the Carlaci corps, I’m here as a proxy for Lord Halketh.”

Those words he’d strung together felt out of place, and yet he stood with his head held high, piloted by an aura of faux confidence. He would be an enigma amongst their ranks, yet he would find a way to gain their respect.

There was a lot on the line and no time for failure.

That long-awaited acceptance had arrived, he was thankful there wasn’t a need for begging or bargaining to be done on his part. He just wasn’t equipped for it at that moment. Quietly Julian found a seat to retire in, surveying the pillars of society as they conversed amongst each other. Smiling and greeting each other, dressed in finery or displaying their statuses on medal-riddled lapels. It was such a strange juxtaposition to the place he’d been just a short time before.

His body made no space for silent air, just slow brewing nerves that forced his cooling system to whir quietly within his chest. What would he say to them? Was his language clean enough, clear enough to lay out his request for aid? The message was simple and yet as he watched them closely, scanning the room with dual-color eyes he understood their reluctance to extend a branch towards the man that often occupied the chair he sat in. Julian needed ears and understanding most of all. Not just to save those who were the ever-moving cogs of his world, but to save their defiant leader.


█ █ █

 

[Caedis Umbrammor]

Objective: I
Hearts of Kyber

Allies: The Mongrel , Kyrel Ren , Maestus
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran , Djorn Bline , Izoshi


The roaring sound of the infernal engines echoes in the upper atmosphere of Ilum, as the warships slowly deployed... The buzzing of
the numberless fighter squadrons shrouds the flotilla like locust. Far beneath the decks of the Athysian warships, the base of the Maw spanned.

The base's map and the surrounding region's would be projected in a large holoprojection, on the bridge of the Ignisir-Class Star Destroyer "Kiss of Death". Caedis Umbrammor 's eyes sparkle, as he craves more and more the battle to come. Strange new foe, to him; Always fascinated with what these new challenged would have to throw at him. "Deploy the Hunters in defense formation" the Red Prince intoned while he kept pacing back and forth before the holoprojection of the large base. "We hold the orbit until they are ready for extraction...".

The absense of orbital defenses worried Caedis Umbrammor . "It cannot be" he muttered. "They must have something planned... far too easy....".
And then, he sees it.....


One after the other, lifesigns started appearing in the scanner's projection. Many... Too many... enough to make counting them pointless. A wide smile forms on his face, realizing the scale of the ground assault the base was about to meet. He loved it.

"Launch the Banes..." he spoke fast. "All of them... Today the snow of Ilum shall run red with blood... While Athysian hell-fire shall rain from the heavens!"


!!!GRRRRRRRRRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGR!!!

"LOAD THEM UP!" The deafening shouts of the officer sounds across the high-ceiling hangar. The large, cubic-shaped carriers are pushed against the ramp, while the pilots atop pull the thick chains, to push the huge crate, filled with proton-bombs onboard the Starbane Bomber. One, out of many. Over 40 of these large bombers were allocated in lines across the large hangar bay. Crowdy. Hundreds of crew, pilots and engineers ran around pushing the heavy death-bringing cargo into the shuttles, while others unplugged the fuel pipes. Most of the crew had taken off their shirts and upper body gear, which revealed the excess tattooing almost everyone had in both torso, back and limbs, under the thick sweat. It was almost impossible to wear full gear in such a place... The deck was infernal hot by the numerous engines roaring wild as they accelerated. The first of the swarms of bombers started taking off from the deck, joining the endless fighter swarms outside in the atmosphere... A vast aerial strike... in the making.... Caedis shall waste no time. He was looking all across the planetary scanner projection, seeking for the size, and potential reinforcements of the attacking host...

The warships themselves were all in position, kilometers over the battlefield. Alas... The thick clouds and the blizzard would deny most view of their shadowing hulls from the ground...


The following transmission will be sent to the base below...


"This is Caedis Umbrammor , Red Prince of Morias to the warlord of the Maw on Ilum. My ships are in position. My fighters shall escort a warband to the planetside to reinforce your position as soon as we have a clear drop point. I shall remain in the orbit, to secure an extraction point."

 

[Djorn Bline]

V E N O M _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ILUM
STARRING | Izoshi

"Ever the setback," "good things come in time. If they prove incapable of defending it properly, I'm sure a renegotiation will be on the table by next week. It won't be hard to sway their allies onto our side if we spin it as the galaxy's best interest to keep another superweapon out of the hands of radical terrorists, don't you think?"

A fair point, as the two both knew the failures in Democracy that were so easy to exploit with the time and capital. Public opinion was a currency of its own in the halls of the Senate on Coruscant. A sharp, accurate campaign utilizing political warfare and other methods would be the spark of that. Fear was a great motivator to the weak, and the majority population of democratic institutions were easy to persuade. He learned people were willing to sacrifice their freedom for order and security, after all order was the way to check and counter rabid freedom.

"I did." "Distant, though, my family is whom I choose, not who I share blood with."

"I hoped they survived, it's sometimes tough loosing those you're related to," he wasn't stranger to that, was he? That past was buried, but always resurfaced to remind him of what he had done. A scar, one that couldn't fade away that was the stepping stone for who he was today.

"Maybe one of these days we'll get an assignment on a tropical, sandy beach planet, wouldn't that be lovely?"

"It would be a nice change of pace from all the snow we've been dealing with, yeah. No distractions though," although he allowed a small chuckle after his sentence, his way of flirting. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit Izoshi had attractive features to herself. Despite how adamant he was in fulfilling his missions and progressing his goals, he wasn't void of certain distractions.

"C'mon Jothris," "we've got a big bad quota to fulfill."

Nodding his head in silence, flicking off the finished cigarette into the snow as he jumped out the speeder. Helmet was pulled down on his face, nothing akin to Imperial hardware as he appeared to be a simple mercenary. Couldn't risk being optically identified whereas Izoshi had the benefit of not being filed in the Alliance. The whine of fighters was obvious to anyone listening.

"Looks like things just started."

Good.

"Our distraction, let's move in quick before anyone else from the assault get near the perimeter."

ALLIES | NIO | Izoshi
ENEMIES | MAW | GA??? | OPEN FOR INTERATCION