Location: Inside the breached gate of Theed
Opponent: [member="Atretes Rhoujen"] and 150 ASA personnel, including 60-80 Knights Obsidian
Theed was a brutal setting, and after driving the Bando Gora from Mid Rim to Wild Space, Jorus knew brutal. But even for him, this place had its challenges. Close quarters could open up into long firing lanes without warning; a step too far could put you in a distant enemy's crosshairs, or right in front of someone you didn't see coming. Arches, balustrades, inconsistent cover, asymmetric monuments and improbable bridges -- urban warfare in Theed was like fighting in a jungle that gleamed. Small mercy, then, that it lacked bugs.
The Knights Obsidian had breached a gate, obfuscated nearby AA sensors, and set up a temporary beachhead just inside the wall. They'd empowered a storm within the city shield; a few bursts of overpowered lightning had primed the pump, in ways familiar to Jorus from his sister's tales of Dathomiri war. He'd have killed for her help right about now, but she had forged her own life, and it had never involved the Protectorate.
If he fell here, she might turn her talents and, more importantly, her connections against Roon. He planned to live, of course -- he had a daughter and a wife -- but service required risk.
Theed had its own command structure, and a naval reservist, even with a captain's rank and a chestful of more medals than anyone but Sarge, didn't merit inclusion in that structure. He was known, however, as a Warden of the Sky, and while Theed's military defenders and law enforcement officers began their countermove, Jorus found himself the subject of some attention.
They melted out of the urban jungle, a heterogeneous crew from all walks of life. Faces he knew from a dozen expeditions and campaigns. People with whom he'd made history.
Oh, they didn't look like much, but even if he hadn't recognized them to one extent or another, long years running insurgencies let him estimate quality and do it accurately. He could look at a private security guard and see a Zeison Sha who'd stormed barricades on Eriadu -- look at a line chef and see a Tyia adept who'd served two deployments as an ODF operator -- look at a janitor and see a tired old Jensaarai who'd strapped on his armor under a cloak for one last rumble. Some of them had lightsabres, not all.
It should have looked ludicrous. It didn't.
The Knights Obsidian were new, young, strong, vigorous, derived from the Templars who had prioritized those qualities too. The Forcers of the Omega Protectorate had not been made for their government. For far longer than the ASA or the CIS had existed, the Forcers of the Omega Protectorate had called it home because they had been offered a home. And they had come in from across the universe to find refuge here, and purpose. Their unity had been hard-won on a hundred battlefields, in circumstances every bit as vicious and desperate as these and then some. Their disparate traditions and multivariate techniques bore little resemblance to the Obsidian training regimens, but for every ASA Forcer who could help tear down a wall, the sanctuary city of Theed held a Gray Paladin or a Sene Seeker or a Mind Walker.
Or a Warden of the Sky.
They looked to him, not as a savior but as a reliable equal, and he unshouldered his Mandalorian shell gun. Two eight-gauge shells slotted into place, one marked with jarring lines of yellow and light blue, one marked with lines of black and red. Jorus' plaeryin bols scrutinized the crowd. He'd never felt less human.
"You know what to do."
***
Theed's security forces -- military and first responders alike -- set up a well-drilled cordon at street level, a secondary cordon to prevent vertical flanking, and an assortment of overwatch positions. ASA troops and Obsidian Knights found their progress along the walls forestalled, and hard. Top-of-the-line battle droids, wielding everything from mass drivers to sonic rifles, reinforced the double cordon.
Naboo had been a priority target for CIS and the Fringe, in the Protectorate's estimation, for years. The walled city was home to all manner of things that provoked attacks -- tradition, library, sheltered Forcewielders. This city's defenders were
ready, and had been for a long time. That Rhoujen's forces had managed to make a beachhead at all was a minor miracle.
The double cordon was reinforced by Forcewielders of a dozen multivariate traditions: Gray Paladin snipers ready to do their work, Tyia battle medics ready for theirs, Zeison Sha prepared to shield military units or apply the deadliest telekinetic tradition in the known universe.
Within the field of view of the Knights Obsidian, on a stone walkway a story away from the flagstone, a small ray/particle shield hummed to life. Behind it appeared a spacer bum with a double-barrelled shotgun and a voicecaster -- a palm-sized disc megaphone.
"My name's Captain Jorus Merrill. I want to talk to your leader."
Considering he'd commanded the Emperor's Shield at Druckenwell, been the wheelman for its theft when it boasted some bland Confederate name -- considering he'd once had a million-credit bounty on his head for marching into the Templar headquarters, demanding they bring one of their own to justice, and then dropping assault concussion missiles on said headquarters when they refused -- considering he'd reforged the broken spacelanes that had allowed the Confederacy to even access Roon in the first place, let alone set up shop -- considering he had served on, and helped abolish, the Jedi Council -- considering he'd created the super-hyperlane at the heart of ASA space -- he figured there was a decent chance he'd get an answer of one form or another.
