Mission Knowledge is Power | New Sith Order [DE]

[Darth Vinaze]

Darth Ptolemis | Olorion Fossk | Alicia Drey | Onrai | Sarrogg Ha'rangir | Jogon​

As Fossk went to prepare the boarding, Vinaze focused on the other ships' presences in the Force. Whatever horrors Onrai was unleashing upon the Mandalorians felt like a rupture in the Force, their barrage of projectiles seeming like a desperate attempt against the forces of the Darkside. But it didn't matter immediately. Distracted as the Mandalorians were by Ayra and Onrai, Vinaze shut down the ship's navigatinal computer and reached for the physical controls himself. Though he was no long the half decent pilot he'd been in his youth, he was one with the Force, and this was no delicate starfighter. All he needed to do was to guide them into the hangar of the Jedi ship.

"The Jedi will surely know of our arrival already if they are sensing the struggles in the Force that I do. Our own presence aboard their ship will increase their attention manifold."
As the shuttle set down along side the other boarding ship belonging to the Shadow Hand, Fossk was quick on the jump, with the ramp clanging against the deck like a gong of alarm. The snap-hiss of several blades jumping to life filled the hangar in a choir of death knells. It was time.

Bundled in his thick red robes, the prophet turned to follow Olorian, seeming to bear no weapon of his own. In truth, he had never been fond of lightsabers, and it had been years since he'd possessed either the strength or the physical body to wield a true Sith sword. Thus, the Jedi would find the Sith Lord to be well and completely unarmed. Yet under his breath, Vinaze spoke words of Ur-Kittat, creating an aura of uneasiness around himself. When the Jedi would come to meet their doom, they would immediately know the fear struck by the three powerful Sith making their run for the holocrons...

 

[Isar]

Ten Tempests System
Boarding the Arquitens-Class Cruiser

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Control panel lights kaleidoscoped inside the boarding pod, swirling with absurd patterns.

"Uhhhhh, shit." Isar's eyes fluttered from the rush of glitter stim dust.

Heavy footfalls announced his favorite Dashade.

"Oh hey," Isar craned his head up and up and up, looking at the big guy from where he sat inside the pod, pupils wildly dilating "time to go? Finally. Kark, this is so boring."

Jogon

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Location: Aboard the Arquitens-class.

Tags: Darth Vinaze Alicia Drey Sarrogg Ha'rangir Onrai Olorion Fossk Jogon Isar

Atmosphere

Darth Ptolemis’ ebon shuttle bellowed its metallic screech in the hangar as it drifted across the runway’s length. The vessel slowly came to a halt, but the ramp remained closed. Both his and Vinaze’s ship were already targets of a shower of laser fire from the

platoon of mercenary soldiers right now funneling through the corridors that led out of the hangar. Only the young Fossk’s Force blast provided an anchor, repelling a wave of enemy projectiles. From there they could begin their slow advance.

The Shadow Hand rose to his feet after the crash-landing, and pressed an index finger against the center of his forehead. Telepathically, he attempted to make contact with Darth Vinaze nearby. - The Jedi must be further up. I’m heading for the nearest service corridor. I’m also releasing the rathtar to buy us time. - The scorched, damaged ramp dropped with a colossal thud and belched forth the tentacled monstrosity. Its thrashing and unpredictable movement began to carve through a number of soldiers in its path.

Ptolemis, having given the stand-by order for his pilot and co-pilot, disappeared into the chaos, aiming to escape deeper into the Arquitens to search for the Sith holocrons as soon as possible.
​

 

[Jogon]

Ten Tempests System
Aboard the Arquitens-Class Cruiser - Corridor Near the Engines

Isar

​

Jogon paused, turning to look down on his zeltron associate. "Isar." Funny, in all the excitement, Jogon had forgotten he was there. Flying had that effect on him. Why give your colleagues any consideration when a stray turbolaser shot could turn you all into fine ash particles any second?​

​

He sniffed the air. Spice accented the stench of burning metal. Isar wore a hazy expression. Jogon's lips pulled apart in a disgusted scowl. He didn't say anything and he felt he didn't have to.​

​

Beneath them, the saw finally shut off. There was an audible ca-clunk and hiss as the Cheri Cheri Lady's boarding protocols ejected the excised hull-piece and sealed itself to the Arquitens. There'd be no parting them now. Not without a reasonable explosion. The hatch slid open, revealing a sleek and spotless corridor. Say what you would about the Jedi, they kept a tidy operation.​

​

Not for much longer. "You're cooked," Jogon observed his little pink, mustached friend, "You take point."​

​

He seized Isar by the scruff of his neck and flung him through the hatch like a sack of Garqian potatoes. The corridor was empty, as most personnel were either responding to the disturbance in the hanger or - more wisely - hiding. Jogon stepped lightly through not long after.​

​

"Stronger Sith than us will have those holocrons before we know it. We're going to the bridge." ​

 

[Darth Immortuos]

Location: Vortex
Objective: Claim the knowledge.

As he delved deep into the recesses of his mind, seeking visions and insight, the Sith Lord's consciousness was drawn to a familiar corner of the galaxy—a planet known only as Vortex. A planet he had heard about recently through the New Sith Order, but had of recent found its contents uninteresting. The images that flickered before his eyes were distorted and fragmented, obscured by the haze of the dark side. Through the swirling mists of his vision, the Sith Lord glimpsed a scene of chaos and violence. Blurred figures clad in the dark robes of the Sith moved with malevolent purpose, their crimson lightsabers carving paths of destruction through an unknown metal hall on the planet of Vortex.

As the vision unfolded, the Sith Lord found himself swept along corridors of a massive starship, the air thick with the stench of death and decay. Everywhere he turned, he witnessed scenes of carnage and bloodshed, the echoes of battle reverberating through the metal halls. Suddenly, the vision was engulfed in a cacophony of dark whispers and disembodied voices that seemed to claw at the edges of his sanity. The words were incomprehensible, their meanings lost in the maelstrom of chaos that swirled around him. Yet, their insidious presence gnawed at the Sith Lord's psyche, threatening to consume him too but these threats were naught but hollow when the inner will of their Lord opened a metaphysical eye to "observe" his supposed formless foes.

Enough. Be silent.
The hive of voices within died down.

As his physical form responded to his inner will, Immortuos extended his gnarled hands towards the open air before him, fingers curling as if grasping at the very essence of existence itself. With a surge of dark side energy, he tugged at the intangible threads of the living Force, weaving and tearing them to shape a way to the reality according to his desire. In the chamber, the temperature plummeted, frost forming on every surface as Immortuos exerted his will upon the fabric of reality. With a final, wrenching tug, he forcefully tore apart the woven energy lines, unleashing a primal scream that echoed through the chamber like the wail of a banshee. The Force itself crying out. A disturbance.

The living Force itself seemed to shudder and recoil, momentarily frozen in place as Immortuos rent it asunder, revealing a blurred and distorted window of static images suspended in the air before him. It was a tear in the fabric of reality, a gateway that connected Immortuos directly to his intended destination: the enigmatic and treacherous world of Vortex.

With a motion that suggested a sigh, Darth Immortuos stepped through the window and disappeared.

 

[Isar]

The wiry Zeltron felt the ground leave his feet and then the world spin around once, twice. Corridors up, down, and sideways. Then he landed, rolling along the cold alloy ground, and picked himself up with a sway and a little mad laugh.

"That, that's," he giggled absurdly, "you can't."

And yet Jogon did.

Vision swimming, Isar blinked a few times and then seemed to find his footing.

"Bridge. Bridge. Right... Here."

Glitterstim had a few benefits, aside from being fucking mind blowingly awesome, it amplified the user's abilities in the Force. Isar waved a hand and the light bent and warped around himself and Jogon. Of course, people would still hear Jogon's stomping footsteps, but he probably wanted them to hear.

"There. That's better. This way."

Isar waltzed down the corridor as if he owned the ship.

 

[Ziggst Aruetii]

T A G S | Darth Vinaze + Alicia Drey + Onrai + Jogon + Darth Ptolemis ​

Sarrogg swiftly navigated away from the bustling command bridge, his steps filled with determination as he made his way towards a secluded hangar, separate from the starfighter bay, where the battle-hardened Ha'rangir warriors had gathered. Despite distancing himself, he could still hear the incessant ramblings of the witch-fiend Onrai , as she filled the holo-transmissions with the typical rhetoric that force users seemed to relish.

They boasted about their immense power and claimed invincibility, but if their claims held any truth, the Mandalorian Culture would have been obliterated by the Galactic Republic centuries ago, during the reign of the Old Jedi Order who had the numbers and means. He had faced far dangerous beasts and monsters in the jungles of Dxun and in the slave areneas of the Hutt Cartel on Boonta. Such etheral legions were simply not going to be a challenge for any seasoned combatant.

The sound of explosives were not lost as the Bulwark Mark V Battle Cruiser "The Attaton'' ran into the minds placed by Alicia Drey causing the battlecruiser to shake and rumble as repair protocols were put into place. The time spent repairing the hanger to launch more Fang-Class Starfighters would impede their advance towards the Arquitens-class light cruiser, and as such the Alor of Clan Ha'rangir would have to adjust his boarding operation to account for such disruption.

The fact that the mines were not detected by the command bridge indicated that someone around them had advanced stealth systems, another issue they would have to correct. The repair of the hanger would have to wait, as the etheral legions of Onrai manifested from the void of space in an attempt to hinder them from claiming their prize.

"Order our troops to retreat from the hangar and lower decks, and activate the interior defenses. Let's raise the Laser gates in the corridors and redirect 20% of power from the engines to supply them. Those ethereal beings won't stand a chance against vaporization." Sarrogg spoke into his wrist communicator, just as the Laser gates sprang to life to halt the advancing Zhell forces. He activated a secondary command via his direct access to the central command computer, firing up the outer weaponry system around the Attaton to fire roughly in the direction of Alicia Drey .

He moved through the private hanger, as the Clan Ha'rangir warriors equipped themselves with Wing-Blast Rocket Pack system from storage. Strapping himself him, as the machine came to life.

Propelling him out of the hanger doors and into the cold void of space, a single hand rested on the control panel as it blasted towards the Arquitens-class light cruiser. Finding its mark above the medical bays, as the Alor smashed his way through with his crush gauntlets, followed by his loyal squadron.

"Secure those holocrons,"

 

[Onrai]

Darth Vinaze Alicia Drey Sarrogg Ha'rangir Jogon Darth Ptolemis Isar

The advance of the Zhell revenants had given Onrai the opportunity to further inveigle herself into the ship, her essence entrenching itself into the vessel as the wraith-forms continued to pour in from whatever unfortunate hellscape they had been forced to linger in all these millennia. As Sarrogg Ha'rangir and his clan's warriors traveled to their hangar, donned their jetpacks, and exited the ship, they encountered minimal resistance - a shambling corpse-thing not destroyed or blown up, but easily thrown well away or bulldozed through with a deft shoulder block. She did not go out of her way to interfere with their command staff's exit of the vessel.

When the Mandalorian leader had left, then and only then was when she decided to act, the first part of a multipurpose move made deliberately to benefit her Sith associates. Infesting the systems of the battlecruiser, she moved to spool up its hyperdrive, scrambling the jump coordinates to an enigmatic and unknown position in the bowels of deep space. A tear on the bridge and the attack of Zhell revenants on the remaining crew would keep them occupied through her infiltration. Her intent was, as the Mandalorian who commanded the ship had left to get on the Arquitens cruiser, to take the ship somewhere he could not realistically follow, then bring the ship to Otherspace for analysis and dissection. The Mandalorians aboard, presuming she was not able to disable some of the interior defenses and force either a surrender or a slaughter, would eventually tire and succumb to the advance of the revenants. That Sarrogg had no means of transportation off the cruiser aside from the Bulwark V that she knew of meant taking the Attaton out of the picture would force him to either hijack the Arquitens itself, submit himself to one of the parties trying to seize the holocrons and hope to be able to escape once they were out of the system, or, perhaps, attempt to hijack one of the Sith ships and leave the area that way.

Whatever the case, it would be his problem. The Shackler waited, still powered down and seemingly derelict. Onrai's next move would be made after the Attaton was neutralized, and not a moment before.

 

[Jogon]

Ten Tempests System
Aboard the Arquitens-Class Cruiser - Outside the Service Elevator to the Bridge

​

Isar ​

​

In Jogon's limited experience, spice rendered the habitual user an unfocused milk-sop and indigent. In Isar's case it appeared to give him a phenomenal sense of direction and additional cosmic power. Jogon still did not imagine the benefits outweighed the costs of such a predilection. He supposed taking Isar around in a pet-carrier with individual spice packets was slightly less odious than acquiring a small droid and manually downloading the schematics of every structure or ship he entered...​

​

...But only slightly.​

​

They wound their way through the maze of corridors. Alarms blared, followed by the occasional announcement over the intercom - usually that reinforcements were needed. Occasionally they passed a cowering deckhand that Jogon ignored. If you step on every bug you run into, the wasted time compounds quickly. At a certain point, turrets protruded from the wall, but as he and Isar could not be perceived, there was no response from them.​

​

It was all very trite. Eventually they came upon the service elevator which led to the bridge. A pair of padawans stood there shuddering like wet dogs, sick with fear. Mirialans. Two men if you felt charitable, two boys if not. Their masters were probably in the hangar, in the slow process of being converted to ranthar excrement. This posting had probably been considered a safer bet. Bad choice.​

​

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" One of them fumbled with his lightsaber once Jogon came into view, igniting the weapon and revealing a brilliant blue blade. ​

​

"Shut up, Lathar!" The other one was more composed, but not by much. His lightsaber snapped to life revealing, of all things, purple. "Come no further, Sith!"​

​

Jogon scratched his chin. "We surrender. Take us prisoner."​

​

"What?"​

​

The padawans exchanged nervous looks. Scared and confused: a rather pliable mental state.​

 

[Olorion Fossk]

The blade of crimson flashed about. Soresu stance taken. A form of Lightsaber combat that was specifically meant to defend against blaster weaponry. The smallest movements possible, less energy used, to defend one's self from blaster fire and even lightsabers. Letting the enemy crash against the wall you made of yourself. While typically not a Sithly form of lightsaber combat, I trained in its form for the explicit purpose of using a Lance. Knowing how best to use a longer weapon in smaller movements, would produce much a combat in which I was not expending so much energy to redirect such blaster bolts.

However, with how many that were being sent in our direction, My off hand had reached over to a cargo contained and yanked it from its position to be used as a barricade for myself and Darth Vinaze. At that moment, I could hear the massive screeching of a beast. One that could curdle blood of hardened men. I knew not what beast it was, until the tendrils of a Rathtar began yanking soldiers from their positions, and feasting upon them. Using that momentary confusion of where the beast had came from, I charged forward.

The long handle of my saber extended to be a full length saber lance. A two handed weapon that could be used for wide sweeping blows, to create distance, or to reach out and touch someone. Reducing my interta through the force, permitted me to be simply walking, but move dozens of feet in a mere second. Flying forward to send the saber through the chest of a soldier, closing gap down the shaft of my saber, picking his body up with the weapon, and racing to the next. Shutting the saber off to let him fly into his comrades before the saber was ignited again. Almost throwing the weapon out to grip tightly to the very last centimeter of its full length, the saber pierced into the faceplate of another.

Pulling it back with my normal arm length, then to swing it wide. Catching a soldier who was paying more attention to the creature that was consuming his allies than a Sith, it swept across his jet-pack. Igniting the mixture of fuels within. Sending him flying straight up into the rafters of the bay before exploding into chunks of viscera.

The lance came back to it's master, shortening back to a long handle as I closed the distance to the Doors leading to the hall that would delve deeper within the ship. Alarms blaring loudly, but lightly drowned out by the ear pieces I spoke into.

"I suggest we keep moving and trap the Rathtar in the hangar with the others. It will provide us more time to search the ship."

Yes, I was a mere Acolyte within the force. Yes, I was no where near the level of power or stature in which could command. However, drilled into me were tactics of a commander. A warrior, and a poet. Much was expected of me, even if that expectation was failure. I would prove them all wrong, and instead attempt to provide aid in voice, thought, and tactical applications. Jumping the gun? Sure, but I knew how to block a blaster.

Darth Vinaze Darth Ptolemis Onrai Alicia Drey Jogon Isar Sarrogg Ha'rangir Darth Immortuos

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Darth Ptolemis | Olorion Fossk | Alicia Drey | Onrai | Sarrogg Ha'rangir | Jogon | Isar
​

"A most devious arrangement Lord Hand. My Aura of unease will keep the beast uninterested in our flesh, but its hunger will be sated with Jedi blood." Vinaze telepathically responded to Ptolemis.

As still as a stone, his arms crossed beneath his robes, Vinaze strode into the carnage. All around him the blaster bolts flew wide and wild, the Rathtar's tentacles whipped entire squads of alliance soldiers into the deck and the walls, painting them red. While Vinaze moved slowly and at perfect ease, he watched Olorian's lightning fast charge, and the deft mastery of his unorthodox blade.

He is a scion of strength, but what does the strength of the son mean for the strength of the father?

Vinaze silently followed Fossk towards the exit of the hangar in order to catch up to the Shadow Hand. Who would reach the holocrons first, or would the great strength of so many Dark Siders threaten to tear the ship apart in a fit of hubris before they could achieve anything? He wondered as he looked back at the raging Rathar and felt outside the ship the power of those not loyal to the Emperor bearing down around them...

 

[Isar]

Isar stared at the boys. Not much older than him when he fell. Fell. That's what they called it. All he did was trade an oath for power in a moment of need. It earned him so many years spent shuffling around the galaxy, in and out of prison cells.

Not much older.

He could incapacitate them. Turn them. Free them.

Free them?

But... what would be the point?

His hands curled and uncurled. He swayed where he stood, apparently unarmed. He'd long since dropped the bent-light illusion around himself and Jogon. Isar's chin tilted up and he stared down at the two kids.

The smell of lavender crept through the room.

He raised his hands.

"Yeah, we surrender. You can turn those lightsabers off."

The one with the purple blade scowled, "yeah right. Lathar? What are you doing?"

"T U R N I T O F F."
​

Authority rippled through Isar's words, his infliction empowered by the Dark Side. No suggestion this, but a command that dominated a weaker mind. The padawan's bar of sky-blue shrank into nothingness.

"Lathar no-"

Too late. Isar palmed and fired his blaster pistol in an eyeblink. The superheated plasma ate through the center of Lathar's chest and blew out his back, painting the turbolift behind him in viscera. Lathar collapsed and lifeless eyes stared up at at the ceiling.

"No, no, no, no. Lathar! LATHAR!" the other Miralan screamed, sobbing, tears streaming down his jade cheeks.

Isar stared down his nose at the corpse, lips pursed, chin tilted high, and felt.... hollow.

Cold.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Location: Aboard the Arquitens-class.

Tags: Darth Vinaze Alicia Drey Sarrogg Ha'rangir Onrai Olorion Fossk Jogon Isar

Atmosphere

Like the weapon he was, the young Olorion Fossk plunged himself into the wave of enemies before them. Equaling the ferocity of the rathar, the two monsters, thirsting for blood, slashed up many from the influx of soldiers in the hangar. The lethal dance of this pale, shadowy warrior of the New Sith Order proved undoubtedly effective. The carnage was absolute. More so, he was able to defend the two lords from all angles. As a sign of approval, Ptolemis addresses him as the two elder Lords catch up to him. - Leave the soldiers to the rathtar. I sense an oncoming disturbance. We need to hurry.

In contrast to the youthful vitriol of Fossk, the two Sith Lords walked side-by-side out of the hangar - this was all made possible due to Darth Vinaze 's commanding aura and a projected sense of unease onto the minds of their enemy. His lightsaber igniting intermittently, Ptolemis deflects only a couple of stray blaster shots as they close in on the corridor leading out of the hangar. Yet, just before the Arquitens would swallow them up, a foolish soldier stumbles before them, gripped by utter horror and the meaning of what he sees in the form of the two Sith Lords - death.

Jaw and shoulder tense, Ptolemis thrusts out his arm in the direction of the idiot; like a rope and knot, his telekinetic limbs curl and tighten around the soldier’s ankle faster than he could react. In the same motion, he yanks at the invisible rope and the soldier’s body flies at him. A pink flash, and his life is no more - his bisected torso rolls past the two Sith Lords, who are now creeping dangerously close to the purported trophy room of the Arquitens.

As the ominous march of the New Sith continues along the corridors of the Arquitens, Ptolemis says to Darth Vinaze next to him. - Now it’s certain. Most Jedi will be waiting for us at the holocrons. - Then, the masked Lord looks at the young Fossk, hopefully still keeping up with them. - The ship cannot jump to hyperspace. Crash it, if you have to. - The solemn footfalls of the walking Sith echo in the tunnels.

Elsewhere on the ship.​

Alarms snake up-and-down the portside corridor of the Arquitens; nearby, a pile of heavy crates, and some sort of cargo hauler machine stands idly by. Only a few screens and alcoves break the grey monotoneity of the long corridor. The blackened wound in the young padawan’s corpse still sizzles on the cold, hard floor; a story forever untold leaking from his lifeless eyes. The other padawan, though still alive, is shattered inside - barely holding the lightsaber in his hand. He looks at

Jogon and Isar knowingly. Broken, losing his last shreds of hope.

But then, a colossal bang! From the side, a large sheet of thick metal wall plating flies off from its place and crashes into the opposite wall, stumbling to the ground amid metallic echoes that drown out even the repeating evacuation protocol on the starship comms. From the newfound opening, a figure wearing the traditional robes of the Jedi steps out. He looks at the padawan on the floor, then at the one frozen in shock. - Abandon ship immediately. Go to the escape pods. - Then, with a scowl that speaks volumes, he looks at the two intruders, ignites his green saber, and with his command over the Force, commences the fight by flinging the metal sheet toward the two killers before him.
​

 

[Jogon]

Ten Tempests System
Aboard the Arquitens-Class Cruiser - Outside the Service Elevator to the Bridge

Isar

The traumatic backstory of a century was playing out before Jogon's yellowed, reptilian eyes. And yet he was having a hard time finding the difference between it and any other Centaxday. ​

​

"What the hell was that, Isar?" Jogon plodded forward, past the mourning, hysterical Mirialan and straight for the turbolift. That wasn't what prompted his question. He ran a finger through the viscera that had coated the door. "When was the last time you calibrated that thing?"​

​

He gestured vainly at the blood splatter. Blasters were supposed to avoid this kind of mess. That's what made them popular. Jogon wiped his hand off on his pants and went over to the turbolift controls. Looked like it needed a code, and if those lemmings on the bridge were smart, they would have locked it down anyway. So they'd probably have to repeat that stunt on Atzerri, only going up...​

​

A deafening crash heralded the entrance of a supremely angry Jedi Master. Looked like he cut his way through some service corridor. Jogon followed the master's gaze to the dead padawan. Probably didn't incline him to negotiate... And that suited Jogon just fine. ​

​

He flung a sheet of metal at them. Jogon's lightsaber sprung to life in his hands and he cleaved it in two with a single deft motion. The two halves clattered to the ground harmlessly on either side of him.​

 

[Ziggst Aruetii]

T A G S | Darth Vinaze + Alicia Drey + Onrai + Jogon + Darth Ptolemis ​

The Elite of Clan Ha'rangir maintained a firm grasp of their state-of-the-art weaponry, their fingers poised near the triggers as they moved with unyielding determination through the formidable Arquitens-class light cruiser, advancing ever carefully from the ship's medical bays.

Their mission was very clear: retrieve the ancient holocrons coveted by the Galactic Trade Federation at any cost even if it meant facing the Jedi Knights or the New Sith Order. The thunderous echos of blaster fire reverberated off the durasteel walls, creating a delightful symphony that intertwined with the smell of burning metal around them.

The enemy's garrison, displaying a high level of expertise, cleverly employed various strategic maneuvers and defense mechanisms to effectively impede the Mandalorian's progress across the ship's interior, showcasing their professionalism and determination to thwart any advancement towards their precious cargo.

Sarrogg's eyes flickered to the his right gauntlet, where the display screen indicated multiple malunctions occuring abaord the Bulwark Mark V Battle Cruiser "The Attaton''. The control system was in a state of chaos, with no clear source for the disturbances, almost as if phantom energies ( Onrai ) were at play.

"Activation Code: Signus Alpha Myhosa." The Cybernetic Alor issued a command into the gauntlet, scrambling the hyperdrive system to activate. The engines roared to life on board the Bulwark Mark V as it blasted into hyperspace away from the conflict zone. "Hold the central corridor, I shall handle the New Sith Order's elite near the cargo hold." A secondary order was issued, as he moved down the corridors to the cargo hold to confront Darth Ptolemis and his gang.

A swift pull from the holster, and the Heavy Lightning Gun was equipped in one hand. Aiming it down the corridor and letting loose a few volleys.

 

[Onrai]

The battlecruiser would, eventually, turn into a charnel house full of ghostly revenants. In time, the hyperdrive would be disengaged once the ship's systems were fully subverted - it was in deep space, that was for sure. Recovery teams would retrieve the disabled vessel, defuel it, remove any ordnance, and leave the hulk to gather dust in the void of space until it was needed again. The armor, weapons, and other possessions of the dead Mandalorians on board would be stored away until needed, if ever, as the ghostly specters of the Zhell were once more consigned to their torments.

-

The Shackler, which had been floating seemingly derelict after the initial Mandalorian assault, regained its power almost immediately after the Mandalorian battlecruiser had exited the field of engagement. Shields were back online, though not at full strength, and the Thrawn's gravity well generator had been activated. The Arquitens cruiser would not be able to leave the battlefield without either destroying the Thrawn - an unlikely prospect - or outrunning it, which, while possible, would take time.

For now, it wasn't going anywhere, as a black shape once more manifested on its dingy bridge.

Darth Vinaze Alicia Drey Onrai Jogon Darth Ptolemis

 

[Isar]

Too consumed in grief to listen, the padawan still sat by his dead friend, tears streaking his tattooed face.

Isar shook his head, looking between the padawan and the Jedi. He didn't feel like taking out the kid. He'd done enough.

Besides, maybe they could turn him.

Jogon cut that sheet of metal in half with ease. Isar raised an eyebrow, impressed, then he raised his pistol in the Jedi Master's direction. The cybernetic finger on his right hand squeezed the trigger, once, twice.

Superheated bolts of plasma leapt from the barrel and sizzled toward the bearded master.

Jogon

 

[Olorion Fossk]

The Dark Hand's voice spoke to me. Encouraging the actions, but desiring a lean upon my energy to perform such actions. My haste of combat, my charge into battle was done in a manner while the other two used a command of their presence to prevent actions taken against them. Of course, I knew of no such strength from my own prowess. I acted in how I only knew. For those actions were not inherently necessary, but could be aiding in this saunter through the halls of the vessel.

Bowing my head deeply to the Lord, the saber was replaced upon my belt. The Lance shortening to a smaller form as they passed. After doing so, my hand flicked to the control panel. The hiss of the door closing behind the three of us.

"As you wish."

Following behind them, I kept to the rear. Leaving the soldiers behind us to deal with the creature filled with malice. The steps of our boots echoed in mostly silence with the few sounds of conflict and sirens every so often. Turning around to look towards our rear. Making sure no one would be following us. I could feel something. Not the Darkness of the force, the influence from others, but a sense of danger that was approaching. Looking ahead, between the shoulders of the Lords ahead of me, I sighted an individual coming out of what seemed to be nowhere. I had been paying too much attention behind us, instead of our front. The sound of blaster fire ringed in my ears and a strong and powerful twinge in my head.

Ducking, bolts that flew towards us soared over my head. A heavy blaster weapon was being aimed and fired at us. First reaction? Defending myself. The saber drawn quickly and brought aloft. Once more holding into the Soresu lightsaber form. Small movements. Sending the bolts into the ground, or walls of the corridor. Zipping to the side, and getting into a door way. Pressing my back to the door to make my shape as small as possible. My sight peeking out for a moment to see a rather large Mandalorian.

I guess this is what Darth Vinaze meant by unwanted guests.

Darth Vinaze Darth Ptolemis Sarrogg Ha'rangir Alicia Drey Onrai Jogon Isar

 

[Jogon]

Ten Tempests System
Aboard the Arquitens-Class Cruiser - Outside the Service Elevator to the Bridge

Isar

Isar started blasting. That was to be expected since it worked so well before. But the grizzled Jedi Master was considerably more ready than poor, dead Lathar had been. His friend was still ugly-sobbing over the corpse, dry heaving. Was this what it was like to be a Jedi? To get upset over such a minor casualty? They ought to know not to get too attached. You carry a laser sword into battle, you can expect a reduced life expectancy.​

​

The Master was definitely taking all this too personally. He blocked each bolt with practiced grace: the perfected movements of Form III. An annoyance Jogon did not look forward to contending with blade-to-blade. The third and final bolt he reflected back at Isar, but Jogon stepped in and intercepted it with a deft cut of his own blade - only he hadn't been paying attention to the trajectory. The twice-reflected bolt sailed through the air and went straight through the face of the remaining padawan.​

​

It took off about a quarter of his head. Left a neat crescent shape and a splatter of viscera on everything behind him. Walls. Floor. Everyone paused what they were doing to stare. The padawan remained upright for one long, eternal moment before gently slumping forward. Dead, obviously, and quiet, too.​

​

"Wow."​

​

It was not often Jogon found himself genuinely surprised. Maybe later he would say he did that on purpose. He locked eyes again with the Jedi Master and could see very clearly that something had now broken. This would make their battle marginally more interesting.​

​

"Go work on the elevator," Jogon glanced at Isar, "I'll finish up with him."​

​

The Jedi master yelled and rushed forward. Jogon went to meet him, and soon their lightsabers were locked in a terrible contest.​

 

[Isar]

"And he said I'm the messy one, eh," Isar muttered to the corpse of the padawan with the hole in his skull as he passed by, pausing to kneel by the body, "I'd say I'm sorry, but..." he picked up the lightsabers of the dead Mirialans and clipped them to his belt, then he shrugged. "I'm not."

Sighing, Isar stood and looked at the control panel for the elevator as behind him the sound of Jogon's conflict with the Jedi came in sizzles, crackles, and grunts.

Grimacing, the Zeltron punched the control panel with the butt of his pistol until the face fell off, then he pulled at the circuits until he found the important ones, just like that stupid Squib taught him. They sparked, then the turbolift whirred to life as he bypassed the controls from the bridge.

"She's up," he called back, turning around to see Jogon still battling it out with the Jedi. "What, you're still at it?"