Invasion Look What You Made Me Do (TSE Invasion of NIO Held Borosk & Troska)

[Ra Vizsla]

COMMANDER VIZSLA
NIO IRON FURNACE | TRANSPORT

"Do they know?"


"Yes, they almost certainly know, Stormtrooper. Eyes up."


"It's my first time dropping."


"I'm aware, Trooper. If you live past the first three breaths, do not leave my side, and do not stop moving. You run, and you shoot, until your legs stop moving."


"But, sir. Didn't they conquer your world?

What if they bring more of your kind?

Er...You know what I mean,

others like you?"







"...There are no others like me."

| Image by @Khonsu |​

// IRON_FURNACE // IN SUPPORT OF // NIO DROP
// GARRISON COHESION //: Mandalorian
// OBJECTIVE //: HIMS BANEFUL
ALLIES | NIO | SONS OF MANDALORE
ENEMIES | TSE

SUB-ORBITAL DROP

Hellfire was already beginning to rain down on the transports, breaking over the clouds and closing in on the HIMS BANEFUL. Ra's visor gleamed in the sunlight as they pushed into the upper echelons of the planet Borosk's atmosphere. Before they closed the doors, he looked out far ahead, catching another T-visor staring back.

The Sons of Mandalore were leading the tip of the spear on the assault of the BANEFUL. Ra nodded, his brethren nodding back.

The doors slammed shut, explosions rocking the air as the transports pushed faster, further, and closer to their intended target.

Stormtroopers.

Once upon a time, Ra may have thought them dishonorable.

No, they were tools, hammers to be used on nails.

Another slot in Ra's vast arsenal.... but not the only one.

​

B L A C K S K Y
// Basilisk of a Mand'alor
[ Link ]

Ra began hitting the back of his hand on Stormtrooper's helmets as he walked through the transport towards the back.

"BROTHERS,

SISTERS.

WE GIVE THEM A HUNDRED

SO THAT WE TAKE A THOUSAND

I RELEASE YOU OF THIS COMMAND

UPON YOUR CORPSE

OR VICTORY IS GRASPED

BY IT'S LOINS

AND THE SITH HAVE SCREAMED FOR US

AS THE RABBITS DO

FOR WOLVES.

YOU KNOW, THOSE SQUEAKY HIGH PITCHED SHRILLS

THAT HUMANS AREN'T CAPABLE OF MAKING

EXCEPT WHEN WE ARRI- ah, kark it."

The Stormtroopers looked at each other inquisitively, then back at Ra. The Mandalorian Commander had a brief thought that perhaps the real Ra Vizsla was much better at speeches in these moments. He definitely was, well, he probably was. It was hard to remember, only nostalgia served his memory at this point.

The Mandalorian commander nodded to one of the aides near the back of the transport, and he began attaching a harness to Ra. Tugging twice on the rope, the Mando'ade dropped through the hatch in the back...

...and on to his Basilisk, which lay attached outside the ship's hull.

The old girl wasn't meant for space combat, space travel. She was too slow and cumbersome to perform combat with even the most average of TIE fighters... but she served as a hell of a distraction.

And that would be her purpose today.

"Scramble the fighters,

I do not want those Phalanx divisions or Darktroopers to beat us to the target."

"Yes, Commander."

Ra was exposed to the cruel void of the upper atmosphere, but his armor would hold.

Vengeance carried him on her back like the wind,

and with the cries of a million Mandalorians at his back

Manda'yaim's vengeance would be swift

her wrath unwavering,

and her destruction unmetered.


The Sith Empire's

unbreakable armor

was about

to crack.
​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Location: HIMS Baleful, en route to Borosk
Objective: Heed the commands of The Creator
Tags: Ellie Mors AMCO Ingrid L'lerim LT-137 Lucien Dooku Théodoro

War.

It all seemed so trivial. A litany of death and destruction all for the sake of fundamental disagreement. There was no reason to be found here, nor logical discourse; it had to be war. Yet what was trivial on the surface might have held purpose as observation spoke of the sentient condition. War being hardwired into the core of these beings was seemingly nature's own design. Population control. For if there was eternal peace then the balance would be lost and what could curb their spread across the stars?

Famine.

Pestilence.

Death.

Three is not enough.

The only pity was their technological advancements. The ever-growing arms race between sentients ensured that each subsequent wrought heavier destruction upon the very nature that designed them. They held the power to end entire planets now, how far could they go until it was too far?

Nevertheless, they were finite. The universe was not.

The Sithspawn's considerations were ultimately unimportant, mere musings to accompany the cacophony of voices that raged within its mind. What mattered to the creature was its purpose and that was held entirely in the will of The Creator. Hovering next to the display of lust, the legless being simply waited for the next command to be given. In concept, war may have held no personal importance to the malformed being but it was very much a concern of its Master.

At once, Creator, came the dull mental intonation of the monstrous experiment, a withered, grey arm raising as it probed throughout the Force. An invisible hand sifted through the ship, lightly touching upon the thrum of ever-connected life that made up those onboard, each signature different than the last. So significant and yet not all at once.

It sought further, beyond the rank and file as commanded, filtering out what was deemed insignificant energies to find something notable. Were such a presence available to the creature's acute senses then its arm would begin to move, skeletal hand pointing in the direction of what was sought.

Although, it was rather likely that every single being on board knew where the focal point was now, making the entire exercise rather redundant in practice.

 

[Constantine Oliva]

Location: Aboard the Hawk
Objective: Get out alive
Enemies: Sith
Allies: NIO, ground forces

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Galactic Alliance had been helping the New Imperial Order for months now. For all of that time, Constantine wasn't doing much. He'd only faced pirates, more pirates, and a mock combat. He'd just been promoted to Commodore, given command of a whole battle line, but his line was still in orbit of Anaxes. He was alone with the Hawk. He'd ordered his ship to Borosk the moment he heard it was under attack. By the time the Hawk arrived, the Sith had control of the orbit.

Now, Constantine had to make a choice. while Warrior-IIs like his ship were well armed for their size, they were hopelessly outmatch by any one of the Sith ships. Staying in orbit and fighting was suicide. Escape was impossible due to the interdictors present in the system. The Anaxsi commodore ordered his fleet into Borosk's atmosphere. It would be slower, yes, but he felt that this was the safest place to be, and the only place he could help fight. Hawk's turbolaser's were stronger than most anything that would be used on the ground, not mentioning its blaster cannons. Constantine had no clue where he was needed, as he only knew the basics of ground combat strategy, so his ship began flying around, seeking combat, and signalling to any nearby NIO units for direction.

 

[Vora Kaar]

<// LOCATION - Castle Point //>
<// FOCUS - Lirka Ka / Kalanda Tishire / Darth Vinaze / Vaeri //>
<// EQUIPMENT - Saber / Helmet / Companion //>

The New Imperial Order was one massive engine of war. A creation not fabricated by the will of gods or divine beings, but that of simple men who wanted not to be under the thumb of an Emperor who sought nothing but for his own form of "Order" within the Chaos that was the Galactic Sage. The Emperor had long been sent and told he would face judgement by those who he had wronged. So it seems that these days have come. However, strangely, never would the Lord of None have seen it be of a form of Civil War. The New Imperial Order fractured of the Empire, and grew like a festering wound of the Empire. Growing ever powerful.

Now, It seems that this desperation of a strike at these Anti-Sith Imperials, the Sith have maybe, just maybe over extended themselves. Throwing caution to the wind in a hope to cut off the supply lines, fortifications, Cavalry from reaching the front lines as they took planet after planet of the Braxant Run. Even the Sith Splinter of this Empirical machine, could see how far they have drawn from themselves. Becoming weak with this "Rule of Order."

A common enemy is what the Lord of None sought to bring down with the New Order. Bring the Emperor to his knees. Bending his will to that of not a mighty sith, but the common man who seek to be their own.

"It seems we have enemies encroaching towards us."
"You don't say?"

Hunkering down within fallen remains. Bodies were beneath the lord in black. It had been easy to rest among them. Letting a company of Sith-Imperials walk past with no notice of the fallen. However, the Isolation within the Lords Helmet permitted speech to the droid. Immobile beneath the frame of the Blackened Warrior. Waiting for the right moment. A single boot came down mere inches from the hand. Barely loosely holding onto a saber.

"Hey, look what I found."

Troopers reaching down to grab the crossguard weapon. Fondling it with their filthy hands before attempting to activate it. Reaching up from the ground, the frightful yell of the trooper with a dead body grabbing onto his wrist, yanking the saber from his grasp, before the violently held together blade activated within the chest of the Trooper. Point blank, offered no protection for the man who now gargled in death. Blaster bolts fired away at the Lord. An aggressive swing outwards at the first one, returning to sender, A small shift in posture avoided another, with a second reflected bolt sent to the ground. Crackling energy of the deep hum from the saber was met with a pained scream where the trooper was slashed across chest. Rending him in a perversion of a bisection.

"I believe this Saber belongs to me."

The force gathered the troopers into one mesh of bodies. Flailing over one another as they were all held into the air by an unseen force. They attempted to fire back. Not able to produce any results before the gloved hand of the Lord crushed downwards. Ending the last Fireteam in a mosh pit of their own bodies crumpled within their metallic armors.

The saber's hum ended abruptly with the cracking of bones in the personages neck. Releasing tension.

"Derleth, It seems we have Sith-Imperial Forces a little closer than we would like. May I have at thy sword?"

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: The Seventh Seal //:
//: Borosk obj: 1 //:
//: Jak spelar tik matt //:
//: Taeli Raaf //:

​

The trials and tribulations of man warring over the territory were always beyond the woman. The concept of owning the land to only then have death sweep in and remove you from the earth. After death, the land continued living, forgetting your ownership. The same concept rang true to the Living Force, no one owned it, no one could bend it to their will, and no one could outrun the Living Force. When the Force decided it was your time, Ashla and Bogan came swiftly to claim your essence, thus drawing you into the lifestream. It was foolish to think that one could master the Force. ​

Man was foolish, it was what helped make his mortality a gift. With intelligence came the existential crisis, with existential crisis came the desire to see life as nothing more than existence - that existence meaning nothing compared to the larger cosmos. Mortality helped man keep his ignorance; such is a peaceful life. Slender fingers slid down the ebony curved chess piece of the Queen. The scratching sound of the stone against stone echoed in the silence. The Queen hooked around slaying the Ivory King, the spirit in front of her looked up; fear shined in its hollowed eyes. There was no escape, the woman smiled, a sweet smile. "I'm sorry, but you've lost." A tormented scream echoed through the empty ruins of a city long forgotten. ​

Birds fluttered as the scream was only heard by the Force Master as she slowly rose from her seat. A hand reached out, opening towards the spirit. "You've enjoyed your time tormenting me long enough, you stray soul of Moridin's being." her soft posh accent hinting at her enjoyment. The lost soul twisting and writhing from seeing the Force's yellow tendrils emerge from the woman's hand, snaking towards it. With every whip of the Force made tendrils the threatened inching closer like snakes preparing to strike its prey. "You really should have known better." Viciously the tendrils spun piercing the specter figure, wrapping around the innards consuming the essence that brought it into this world. ​

Silence fell upon the old ruins, Spencer ran her fingers around her lips as she opened a small compact to fix her makeup. The force consumption was always a tedious task, especially with the lingering souls that Moridin had left behind. They tormented her, haunted her dreams from a time long ago - she had found herself in favor of the Dark Lord when she was a young padawan. The man had decided to teach her the ways of force walking, the ability to draw spirits to her, fueling her as they did him. She chose to not walk that path; instead, the spirits that lingered were quickly returned to the Force - where they belonged. ​

The compact closed, and a wind blew through the courtyard. Spencer admired the setting of her foretold battle. Tall picturesque stone buildings, looking like an old church that had seen far better days. Its protective walls crumbled but surrounded like a fort hoping to keep whatever monstrosity threatened its patrons. Along the battered stoned walkways, hundreds of purple flowers sprouted. They bound the cracking stone together with their roots providing an undisturbed scenery surrounded by gnarled trees. In the center of the courtyard, she sat two stone chairs looking as if they were carved from the same knotty wood of the trees. In front of her, a porcelain chess set, with ivory and ebony game pieces. Amber eyes stared at the fallen King and sighed; she hoped the ghastly figure would be more of a warm-up for her. ​

Her hand waved, and the pieces stood erect and realigned themselves on the game board. Leaning back in her distorted throne, the former Queen of Eshan stared up at the sky as it swirled, the atmosphere and land as if created from thin air waited for her guest. No one would bother them, for they had a date with destiny. A soft laugh escaped the full lips of the Echani woman, one that bent the conqueror of Ten Thousand Worlds to her will. ​

'Hurry Lady of Secrets!' Spencer grinned as she sent her message through the Force, searching for the woman's mind, 'I cannot wait much longer for our date with destiny!' ​

The thought message was accompanied by a haunting laugh that echoed deep into the mind. ​

 

[KV-6000]

Objective/Location: Breaking the Lines - Hangar Bay of Preventor II, Borosk System
Fighter: Tuk’ata-class Sith-Imperial Interceptor - Harmony Sixteen
Onboard Equipment: PU-96 “Imperius” Class Flight Suit | “Judicator” Adaptive Battle Rifle
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO

There would be no mercy for heretics.

Not when they were so close to threatening her family on Bastion, especially her little brother Jae-jin, who had grown increasingly distant from the family after his ascension in rank within the dark halls of the Sith Order. Seo-yun and her parents had long since resigned themselves to the fact that they would never truly know what Jae-jin did at the Sith Academy. Although he had stopped speaking to them within the last few months, that didn’t mean that they would ever stop loving him.

Even if they had to die for him.

That was exactly what Seo-yun was prepared to do, in order to defend her home and family from the advance of the heretics. Upon her formal enlistment in the Starfighter Corps, she had never thought that she would find herself fighting a defensive war, especially one that was coming so close to threatening her home. Nevertheless, she would fight the heretics with all the zealotry and passion that was expected of her, and more. That was why she had already reckoned with her own mortality, especially knowing the staggering casualty rates for freshly-commissioned pilots in the midst of their first sorties. However, her parents were quite a different matter. She had never once told them those figures. Regardless, they would be crushed to hear that their oldest daughter had died in the line of duty, no matter how many times the notification officers referred to her death as a “heroic sacrifice”.

It was that horrifying thought which tempered her unflagging zeal.

No amount of propaganda or sleep-indoctrination could sever the love Seo-yun had for her family. The thought of her parents suffering upon hearing of her death was more than enough for her to hold in check her more fanatical instincts. Perhaps that was why there was such a large movement for cloned soldiers, since they had no family but their batch-brothers and sisters. However, family was nevertheless a powerful source of motivation for natural-born soldiers like her, but under the exacting analysis of the utilitarian view, it was a double-edged sword.

Seo-yun’s squadron was almost completely green. As such, its commander had given no words of encouragement or sentiment for the men and women under her charge, who she knew were fated to die in droves within the crucible of their first real sortie. Those who survived would be either the luckiest or the most talented. From there, only time would tell who was what. Regardless, she had gone over everything the greenhorn pilots would need to know during the briefing. That had been the hardest part, since it was difficult to refrain from looking into the keen eyes of the young pilots under her command. Even so, she found that it was easier to cope with their inevitable fiery deaths when she could not immediately recall their faces. At that point, they were just designation numbers on a data screen, easier to dehumanize, while also requiring fewer shots of glitterstim for her to get over their deaths.

While Seo-yun found her commander’s manner to be cold and standoffish, that was the last thing on her mind as she climbed into her designated Tuk’ata-class interceptor and slipped her helmet over her head. Instead, she found herself once more thinking of her family, including her brother who she had not spoken to in months.

Once the ground crew gave the signal, Seo-yun accelerated her interceptor into the cold void of space with a grim resolve. For her parents, for her darkly silent younger brother, and for her empire, she would fight.

Then, she would die.

 

[Knight]

Location: HIMS Baneful
Objective: Gain control of the hangar
Allies: New Imperial Order, LT-137 | Ra Vizsla
Enemies: The Sith Empire, Ingrid L'lerim | AMCO
Equipment: Kezia-Class Walker, Lander

---

The lights within the lander were dim, just above the required lumen for an augmented Human to see in the dark. From the exit ramp the uniformed faces of twenty NIO Stormtroopers stoically faced forward, behind their double row was a walker that was hunkered down. A singular secret weapon of the boarding party. Knight waited within the cockpit of the heavy personal walker that had seen production just prior to the main hostilities of the 3rd Imperial Civil War.

"Ten seconds." echoed the the voice of the lander pilot through the intercomm system. A NIO Stormtrooper which was wearing a command pauldron looked over his shoulder to the troopers inside "Stick to your training, keep it tight, and we will succeed." the officer turned back to the front of the ramp as the lander lurched and shook. The ramp dropped down in an instant with its pressurized release mechanisms. Immediately the firefight broke out and NIO Stormtroopers and TSE Legionaries traded blaster bolts across the cavernous hangar. The squad of Stormtroopers rushed out of the interior, several taking glancing blows to the extremities. When the lander was evacuated of troopers the lights of the walker engaged.

Out from the carbonized mist emerged Knight within his Kezia-Class Walker "Engaging targets, front." Knight declared and opened fire on the Sith-Imperial Legionaries across the hangar with the walker's targeting system assisting Knight in the use of the integrated heavy repeating blaster. The hard cover that the Legionaries had been using mere seconds before was now noticeably deteriorated from the abuse "Moving!" said the pilot as he pushed his arms towards the glass to start the walker lumbering forward, the twin-linked laser cannon fired on a fuel canister causing it to explode into a fireball, sending debris flying around the area.

For now the Legionaries were without the means to meaningfully engage the Kezia Walker, as its powerful deflector shields rendered their distant counter-attacks moot. With the NIO Stormtroopers assisted by Knight gaining the upper-hand against the valiant, though out-gunned, TSE Legionnaire hangar guards the bridge would be alerted.

 

[Lord Venari]

Location: Borosk, 200m outside rampart walls.
Objective: Infiltrate Cassel Point
Gear: In Bio
Allies: TSE & Allies
Enemies: NIO & Allies

Inhale darkness, exhale weakness. The dropship shuttered under the pressure of a now broken atmosphere. Legionnaires stayed silent as the grave, prepared to give their lives in recompense for failure at Mygeeto and Muunilinst. They knew their duty, and Venari his own for he was at their side just as dedicated, just as willing to give it all to see the Empire victorious this day. Together they'd cure Empire of this festering wound, this gangrenous Order that cost them so. The bogan powers swirled and pulsed beneath his pallid skin. Peel the layers away there was only the growing void within. To devour, to satiate, these were the demands of the deep dark burrowed in his being. It was by sheer force of will that Venari drew an acceptable line of demarcation between what the hunger and his loyalties. The void would see him begin his feast on those within the descending durasteel dropship before turning on the conglomerate of traitors and all else that happened to cross him, but loyalty, loyalty to the Sith and their magnificent Empire saw the hunger reined in, controlled, focused. A vicious cycle it was to drain the life from your enemies, it sated for a time but then the hunger returned even greater in degree, even more demanding. For now though, loyalty continued to win out.

The roiling darkness stretched out over the fields of battle like lithe fingers grasping the very soil. There was so much violence, so much death. Venari reveled in it. Anti air fire peppered the skies and rattled the descending vessel. Many unknowingly flew in their own coffins. Not ten meters away the reverberating force of an exploding Sith-Imperial ship coursed through the air. Bits of debris clattered against Venari's own craft but the ship held. As did the iron resolve of all those aboard. Not a single fearful cry, not so much as a cough was relented by his Legion Undying. The Circle had convened, war had been made, now it was time to strike back at those that dared turned their backs on the Empire. The first step in their demise had been taken. First the Sith would relieve them their arms and ability to make war, then they'd go for the head of the beast.

"ETA: damn quick!" The pilot shouted over comms. He'd allow the informality. Many were going to die this day.

Venari stood and marched for the front of the ship, below Cassel Point stood in the distance, blaster fire traded between those False Imperials atop the rampart fulcrum of the base's defense and the charging Sith legion. The right side of Venari's lips ticked up in a half smirk. The air was thick with the dark side, nourishment to all that called it their own. Pushing his dark robes aside the Sith Lord turned to address his men.

"We're to clear the landing, then you all belong to Colonel Waldar."

"But my Lord, we were tasked with seeing you into the enemy stronghold."

Undisciplined? Never, the Undying's loyalty to the cause was unquestionable. True their task was to join in him an attempted infiltration, but the more troops on the front, the more enemies perished, the less of them there were to shoot back and claim yet more Sith Imperial lives. The Sith Lord would find his own way and work from there. Right now their Imperial brethren needed them more than Venari did.

"True, but our brothers and sisters on the front need all the help they can get. I'll be fine on my own. Keep each other alive. Come back in one piece. Together we are the cogs of the Empire, the one true Empire. Only we can bring order to this chaotic galaxy but to do that, you must all survive. Together we serve. Together we fight, for the Empire!"

"For the Empire!" the Squad shouted in reply.

A final shift below their feet saw the dropship grounded. A high pitches hiss signaled the rear ramp's descent. Blaster fire slapped the side of the vessel but it held as the squad poured out into formation. Venari followed, igniting his crimson blade. It was a battlefield unlike any other in recent months. Armor clashed against armor, artillery bombarded the field and outer walls as scores of Imperials of both makes perished. Instantly a New Imperial unit descended on their position. With an extended hand Venari unleashed a cluster of lighting that ensnared three enemies who dropped to the ground. Sith Imperials met the New with red and green blaster bolts. A rain of bolts riddled two troopers with charred gear as they fell dead. Just ahead of them, a heavy N-imp wielding a heavy repeater. From his free hand, Venari released a violet tendril of bogan power that connected him to the heretic. The void found its appetizer scarfed the man's life force away feeding Venari. From the Sith Lord's shoulder his pet hissed with satisfaction only he understood. Alas, it was time to feed.

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Prefsbelt sector - New Imperial Held Borosk
System Orbit
3rd Fleet: ANV Starchild II
Objective 3 - Breaking Lines

When the Sith came to Borosk, they'd come in force and they'd come to make sure that nobody was leaving. Interdiction battlecruisers targeted strategically important hyperspace egress points throughout the system, mostly along the Entralla Route, cutting off retreat to worlds deeper within New Imperial Territory. They were stuck, and that was a bad thing, because even on the best of days without a Sith invasion fleet Pryce was still standing there with his pants down. The Starchild had taken considerable damage during her brawl with Sith Admiral Melia Siari and the rest of his battlegroup wasn't in much better shape. The defense at Muunilinst had been heavier than anticipated and so he'd pulled back his fleet, opting to send Rear-Admiral Mordred B'Haran and a good portion of the 222nd to continue the fight further up the Braxant Run. Luckily Borosk was a fortress world. The Hypervelocity gun on the surface along with the defensive fleet should have been enough.

Should have been.

But the Sith weren't playing games anymore, not attempting to stamp out a little rebellion of their lesser Generals. Losing both Muunilinst and Mygeto in an incredibly well-executed plan and the near route of two whole battle fleets had awoken something in them. Sith battlecruisers had landed nearly right on top of the GA allied fleet and cracked one of his cruisers in half. She'd still been in dry-dock and there had been nothing Pryce could do about it because he too was sandwiched between the containment fields of a massive mobile deep dock facility.

He was staring at the grim face of Commodore Satou via holo feed now. Unlike the Starchild and the Starhawks, the ANV Agni Kai had managed to get away from the last battle with only minor hull breaches. A smaller force led by Major Lirranne Isaris had come to reinforce and replenish the 3rd Fleet as the conflict became more heated but she was half a planet away and communication with her and her battlegroup was spotty due to Imperial jamming.

"The fighters of the Heracross have launched and are intercepting the Sith fighters as we speak, but we're too far from New Imperial fleets to receive any meaningful support," Satou was saying, reminding Pryce just how grim things were. That was when Harvey spoke up.

"We need a messenger. Who do we have?" Pryce pulled up a list of captains from the tactical table before folding his arms over his chest in thought. A flash of green illuminated the bridge as a Turbolaser glanced off of deep dock station Heracross' powerful deflectors.

"What about the Renegade?" Pryce asked, pulling up the image of a sleek looking Mon Calamri vessel, an MC250b. The vessels had fallen into Alliance service rather recently and were quickly becoming a popular fast response cruiser. With the power to fight toe to toe with most destroyers and its powerful engines and Mon Calamri redundant shields it was a perfect system patrol ship, even if it lacked the punch of the less common but deadlier Nebula-Class Star Destroyers. Satou shrugged.

"It's the fastest thing we have," he said glumly. Pryce nodded.

"It's decided then. We'll send the Renegade to make a beeline for Isaris' last known location. I'll attempt to command what few ships we have in working order from here. How are your ships?" Normally, a man at the rank of Commodore only commanded a line of ships and rarely did he command an entire Battlecruiser. But the Alliance was short on reliable, experienced personnel and Pryce knew Satou from the Confederation days.

"The Agni Kai was waiting on a few proton torpedoes and replacement fighters and pilots but we are at full readiness and ready to launch. Only the Indullible 6 and the Freedom are even close to being battle-ready with the '6 still reporting damage to their hyperdrive and several engine subsystems. The Freedom is reporting tractor beams only at 35% usability but I've already talked to the others. They're ready and willing to fly if you'll let them." Pryce nodded. There wasn't much he could do.

"Then I want you three to form the core of this ragtag defensive. Give enough time for the Renegade to get out and get help." Leaving the defense to three battlecruisers and a small handful of assault frigates and light to medium corvettes wasn't a comforting thought considering the armada that had been dropped on the doorstep of Borosk but it was all they had. Satou nodded and his image blinked out, only to be replaced by the Twi'lek in command of the Renegade. An apt name combination if he'd ever heard one. He quickly gave the captain the rundown of what was happening. When they finished the Twi'lek gave Pryce a sheepish look.

"Something on your mind Commander?" She shook her head.

"Just wanted to say...May the Force be with you." Ah. That was it. The Jedi had been making waves back home recently so it was understandable why she'd hesitate. She wasn't sure what side Pryce was on, if there really was a side to begin with. Pryce nodded and echoed the farewell, bringing a tight, thin-lipped smile to the Commander. The image blinked out and Pryce returned his attention to the battle readouts. In the back end of the system, Garvey made some adjustments to the plan. He hadn't told Pryce or anyone else about it, because what were they gonna tell him, a Virtual Intelligence, when he told them he had a gut feeling about something? They'd look at him like he was crazy and tell him to perform some kind of performance check, or think his core had been damaged in the fight.

Quietly, Garvey transferred the Nimbus Gunship ANV Kakarot to the Renegade. Something told him that they'd need the captain and his little corvette, but he couldn't say what just yet.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

//Legion Commander Voi’kryt//
//Objective II : Boarding the HIMS Baleful
//Focus : Avernus Orion Darkstar Atlas Kane
//Gear : Armor - Hand Of God - Melee - Rifle - Side Arm - 'Void' Grenades - 'Null' Grenades - Light Saber
//Company : Twenty Good Men
//Thematic : The Devil Beneath..

---

---

There had been little to be found in the brief Command had mustered up, the emergency status flashing across the screen in crimson like a ticking clock. A rapid deployment in the wake of the distress beacon, the unexpected admdist the campaign up the Braxat. The Commander found herself recalled from the front, work left in the dust with falsified reports. A hard fight to escape harder questions from the keen eyes above her. Suppressing the sundering done unto her nerves. She shouldn’t be here, and the thought caused her chest constrict. It was easier to just follow orders than consider the guilt, throwing herself back in to the throes of command to keep her demons at bay.

The weeks weathered by the will of the Sith..heaving for a deep breath and shaking her head clear, Lyra’s boots hit the floor with heavy click, weaving through the hangar with a rifle on her arm. The weight of yesterday's battles etched into her skin. Personnel ran to and from as the grey space was cleared of fuel lines and Lyra raced down the row of ships primed for launch. Lyra had nothing left but her duty, forced to pick herself up from the dust and crawl back into the bloody machine. They mobilized with one goal-route and defended but how had it come to this? In her eyes, the Order was spread out of the edge of the blade. It was high time they found themselves cut amidst the thrust.

This could very well be the start of their house of cards collapsing. Lyra was all too keenly aware of the ramifications that would follow if they lost a foothold here, cut off and surrounded..it produced the needed spark to fuel on her anger and ignite. A focal point in the face of the chaos, with it she could see this through. After all they hadn’t even reached the end of this long tunnel in their Imperator’s pursuit for justice. The thought bordering sardonic.

Trading between flag ships and stations-the talk of wrath on the tongues of the soldiers. It had devolved into a race from the front, their drumroll unto battle the hectic footfall of troops mobilizing in the bay and ascending the ramps; wailing alarms blaring overhead. The first boarding ships launching, repulsors rumbling. The woman brought up the rear onto the last vessel as engagements broke out. Beyond the hangar barrier, the stars and dark of space painted by the angry red cannon fire of the fleet. The Empire looming on the horizon. A delayed feed projected from her servo, drop ship moving in to break the siege, outlined by blue light.

Irveric Tavlar was somewhere down there with Galdius fighting and Lyra closed her eyes, grinding her teeth. There were plenty of good men hitting the ground and Lyra cut the transmission short less she grow distracted.

<<“Get this vessel in the air! We’re clear to launch!”>> Lyra barked, loading up and raising a gauntlet to hit the ramp controls.

A long hiss emitted from the ramp, sealing their fate inside the AAL as the engines ignited, stabilizing before the ship launched. The soldiers inside hanging on to the ropes and Lyra tensed-waiting out the launch. The oddity to the defense standing before her, Lyra found herself staring at her own Master Avernus surrounded by untested and cocky trooper alike. She had been warned, but it changed little knowing he stood present.

There was a beat of silence, loathed to acknowledge the man. Something dark passing through her mind-faceless behind her helmet she shouldered past him; reminding herself of temperance. He had almost cost her during the Prism, an excuse to her true thoughts. Craning her head-taking stock of the crew of gunners. The Platoon’s leader was organizing the party and she waited steady and heart ramping for the fight. It wasn't Genesis, no. Lyra didn’t recognize any of them, perhaps it would make it easier when their time came. Her bias didn’t diminish her duty to see them through the fires though, only making it more loathed.

They were not fighting an enemy who would keel over and simply die, however nice that would have been. In the shadow of her thoughts, she knew they had underestimated the willingness of the Empire to retaliate and more men would die for it. Confirming the route and relaying with combined forces. The comms fell quiet in their approach, durasteel hull quaking as the echoes of the first dog fights clashed around them. The droid mind pilot transmitting numbers down her screen, they only had minutes before they breached. The whine of the engines growing.

Ripples of the violence betraying their place as a speck in the whole of the battle. Lyra had been here before on the burning rise of Muunilinst and the ventilators kicked in as she inhaled deeply.. War was steadily becoming the background noise to her mind now and fear no longer had its place in the tense quiet that came with the before. Instead she seized it, for there was a certain peace in it.

“Who are your men, Leftenent?” Lyra said, breaking the silence, it may have been a mistake to ask but she still did. HUD flashing and adjusting to the darkened compartment, turning her visor toward the man as they walked down the rows of faceless troopers. They weren’t the bomb shell squads who had seen a tour on the front and she could feel their brand of unease like a sickly hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Fifth Nirauan Battalion, ma’am. Boarding specialists, ‘Fife’ Platoon is at your service,” the man answered stiffly. His helmet tilted and she followed his gaze to their shadowy company, the lights of the passenger hull flickered as an explosion rocked the ship. A sharp bout of laughter bubbling from her throat as she caught the Trooper’s shoulder, forcing him to look back at her. Something cold behind the noise and detached.

“They'll be the least of your concerns here shortly. Get me your heavy guns up front Leftenent, and mind your men,” she warned him with a long look, no reassurance behind her words. Leaving him to stand there, she turned on her heel-there was a shuffle in the rank and file and Lyra retreated to the front as they closed in on the ship, reaching up to grip one of the brace strap. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to have one last smoke, a shame. Boarding imminent, the words flashing across her visor as the seconds ticked down. Slipping through the window bought by cannon and Ion blast alike, the AAL slipped through under fire into the hangars; singed but intact. The ricochet of blasters dogged the vessel as warnings flashed across the screens. There was a final lurch and she felt her self sway, as the ramp seal cracked and the hydraulics creaked, red lights flashing above the door. Lyra glanced over her shoulder at the two faceless strangers, a pair of shock troopers muscling up their repeaters in hand.

<<”Weapons ready! On me!”>> Lyra hollered, resolving herself to some good old fashion violence-comms crackling and she slapped one hand under the barrel of her rifle; raising the sights as the ramp fell open.

 

[Orion Darkstar]

Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO Forces
Intent to write with: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

The The Sith Empire had many things, but only few of them showed the utter and immeasurable power of the Sith. In this case, such a very thing drifted through the void of space like a boulder, forever cascading through the stars with little remorse for whatever it found in its wake. It was the cornerstone of their naval operations, a star destroyer by the name of HIMS Baneful. Its destination wasn't far off as the world of Borosk came into view of the bow. The men and women throughout the staggeringly large ship were some of the finest in the galaxy, when it came to naval combat. The ship had been outfitted to holster squadrons of other capable starships, some that were strictly suited for bombing enemy defenses. It was a true beauty of innovation and advancement capabilities they had at their disposal. Any opposing force would shutter at its sight. So they thought.

Orion reached over the counter, his hand finding another tiny vial before pouring it into the steaming chemical. It wasn't natural to set up a makeshift lab on a star destroyer, but Orion rarely took breaks from his research. Every minute spent sleeping, could be another minute to the next breakthrough. Science, well, it was life for Orion. One that kept him balanced between everything he had fought for and continued to fight for. The struggle of it all was the demand. He was constantly putting himself in harms way for his expeditious adventures. It didn't matter what influencing powers were abound in the galaxy. If anything or anyone, tried to stop him from progressing in the arts of Alchemy, he would make them pay. At times he wondered how he even found solace in it. At times his twisted mind told him the screams of torture during set practices were the real bonuses. Orion knew all too well what was at the heart of his passion. The ability to create. It was limitless and in the end, could bring him closer to new forms of power.

Orion sighed as the liquid hit the chemicals inside. A small rattle almost tipped the contents that lingered inside out onto the table. Luckily, the support stand kept it from doing so. The cylindrical tube began to foam up, he looked back at the screens behind him. Wires could be seen ruthlessly tangled from neglect, for what looked like days, maybe hours. Another rigged way to collect data through the computer system he set up for the lab. Sensor probes lingered in the air around the counter top, analyzing the results as the chemicals continued to polish the top of the glassware with a foamy paste. Orion grinned with disgust, the last two reacted the same. If he kept going on like this there would be nothing left to use. The batches of blood from certain subjects were scarce, but he stared at the screen hopeful he was wrong. The small probes continued to levitate, easing closer to the newly formed substance.

A few lines began to show on the display before blinking out. A shift in the ships course knocked the screens slightly to the side. A low rumble causing Orion to lean on the counter top, catching himself from imbalance.. Small sounds of glass tapping against one another chimed in with the odd occurrence. The HIMS Baneful was a titan among space, large orbital rocks could have been the cause of the knock. Orion looked down, strands of his long black hair following. He was late.

Damn it, I still have to present this too.

Orion had planned on conducting the meeting hours ago, on his way to the world of Borosk. He figured, the safest course would be to utilize the war the Eternal Empire had started to his advantage. War demanded other scientific branches outside the influence of The Sith Empire to bend a knee to certain advancements and corporations willing to help their cause. His presentation was already written up, the results, well, they were lacking. He knew it would be time to battle the treacherous followers of the false empire soon, the indication on his screen telling him Borosk would soon be beneath them. They would snuff out the vindicators and make way for future wounding. It was the only way. He couldn't remember the last time he was even on a star destroyer, let alone why he even decided on it. He'd rather be on his own ship, setting course for a anomaly or chasing new specimens for research. Unfortunately, betraying the Sith was an unforgivable act. Those that bolstered the ranks of the Eternal Empire would burn, cleansed from The Sith Empire's history, no matter how brief.

Orion looked back up at the screen, the results slowly came through one by one. But before the final code was allowed to process the finality of it all, another more troubling shake reverberated through the room. The screens toppled over and wires sparked before seizing all computer function. Along with it, glassware slammed down onto the counter. The support rings shifted loose, causing them to shatter. Orion turned to see his progression wiped clean. His hand tightened as a fist was made. Before he could ask, an imperial naval officer ran through the sliding doors of his large room.

"Mr. Darkstar!" The officer stood straight, addressing in a vigilant manner to show respect. Orion would never understand why. "We- They.."
"Spit it out." Orion's voice grew irritated.
"We're being boarded sir."
"Very well, across the hall my pets are waiting. Do we know where on the ship they are coming from?"
"Well, you see sir." The officer held up the small pad showing the breach. "All of these areas, the closest is down the hall."

Orion nodded, it was good they already came prepared. It was unorthodox to be boarded, clearly the opposing forces caught wind of their plans. A shame too, it would have been quite the spectacle. Orion looked back at the destroyed display of his work, he was furious. The intruders wouldn't stand a chance. Quickly, Orion exited the room. He moved to the other end of a door frame and slid his fingers across the pin-pad. The locked containment opened as six beasts emerged. Three Maelridae and three Warghest. Orion smiled, he knew their hunger was unmatched. Purposefully, he needed them to be ravenous. It was when they were most effective.

Orion made haste, the clutches of invading forces tearing the ship asunder just meters around the corner. He could hear the shriek of metal as the impact was made, but what came after enticed him the most.

”Weapons ready! On me!”

The command filled the corridor as Orion and his beasts turned the corner. There they were; betrayers of the one true empire. Orion felt the sweltering energies of the darkside imbue him. It was like an invisible source of limitless potential. He stood motionless as he stared down the barrels of the uninvited guests. In the face of death, Orion held one thought.

I didn't want to start over...They'll die for it. ​

Template Made By: Annasari ​

 

[Ryv]

// Sword of the Jedi //
// Borosk //
// Retrieve Intel from the Inside Agent //
// Stay //
// Allyson Locke // Loske Treicolt // Adriana Fortemps //

Light peaked through a shattered window high in the facility, a single beam of light penetrating the darkness, spilling about the agreed-upon meeting area in a way illuminating it properly. Ryv eyed the pool of lit space, his thumbs scratching aggressively at the interior of his spare jacket's pockets. He stopped a dozen paces from the point of contact, maybe even further away. He leaned against a rusted machine, likely used once to construct weapons of war. His hand reached out, brushing away the dust from the surface, clouding the already dark room. The Force was silent. Ryv sought answers within the omnipresent empyrean, searching for a familiar voice, his father's perhaps? No, not Vyrin's. The late Jedi Master never came to his son on the day of a great battle. Someone else roamed the galaxy, someone far more dependable. An errant Jedi Master marched without end, driven by destiny, accepting of what the universe asked of him. Ryv sought out P Placeholder 0128 Grayson. At his lowest, Ryv knew nothing but defeat. Hope abandoned him on his kitchen floor, replaced instead by the drug-addled visions of a high strong enough to put him out of his misery. It wasn't Vyrin Karis who lifted Ryv up from the filth-strewn tile. It wasn't the Jedi of the fallen Republic, nor was it the gang he served faithfully for the better part of a decade.

Cedric Grayson took hold of the broken boy, no more than a fatherless child, curled up in a ball, a growing pool of tears gathered where his grime-covered cheek met the dirty floor. If you asked Ryv why Cedric did such a thing, he couldn't have answered the question. Kindness was a strange beast, scarce in many's lives, only making its presence known in the darkest of nights. The creature revealed itself to Ryv at his lowest, taking form within Cedric. The Jedi Master returned the young addict to his home planet of Coruscant. There Ryv healed both body and mind, guided along the path to redemption by his savior. Cedric saw Ryv's spirit rejuvenated through meditation; his body improved over a year through rigorous physical training and a complete lifestyle change. When Ryv proved himself the better of his former habits, his training truly began. Cedric returned Vyrin's lightsaber to the boy, the duo undertaking a proper master-apprentice relationship. The older Jedi guided him through the many lessons his student failed to undergo in his missing years, teaching him the importance of more than the Force or the blade, but the necessity of hope, mercy, and empathy. Through their training, Ryv came to find what he'd lacked in his life, the guidance and love of a father, who understood the young Jedi's desire for greatness.

Had Cedric joined Ryv on this assignment, the young Jedi Knight wouldn't have faltered, nor would the shadows have frightened him. But Cedric wasn't there. Ryv stood isolated from the rest of the galaxy, even the Force distant. He took a deep breath, his first step carrying him towards the bright space before him. The second shortened the distance, eventually, he saw himself within the heaven's beam. Once more, his gaze was drawn upward, staring, beyond the dark facility to the bright blue sky above. The roar of Sith-Imperial Star Destroyers sounded, starfighters already making their bombings runs towards Cassel Point. Dread hung heavy in the air, wrapping a claw-like grip around the lone Jedi Knight.

"You are a fool, boy."

"Am I?" Ryv asked, his gaze drawn beyond his vision, seeking the source of the disembodied voice. "Last I checked, you're dead, and I'm alive. Sounds like you're the fool to me, schutta."

"Even here in the dark, you know the truth. There is nothing here for you, yet you cling on to your forlorn hope. I offered you power, even now, I can aid you, I can provide you the strength to win this war. Yet, you turn me away."

"The power you offer is corrupting. I've seen what it's done to all you Sithlings. I have no intention of walking that path," Ryv waved the Sith Lord's words away, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You can feel it, can't you? It's all a lie. Your reality crumbles around you, boy. I've seen it within the Force, a vision of what is to come," Lord Cyggys rounded into view, stepping from the shadows surrounding Ryv, his spectral form flickering in and out of sight. "Something about this encounter is off, the Force has warned you, and yet you fail to heed its warning. What must it do for you to listen?"

Two years had passed since the day Ryv first encountered the Sith, Lord Cyggys. Dragged from one end of Sith space to another, the Jedi Knight wound up tossed into a prison known as the Beast, a privately ran facility then controlled by Irveric Tavlar , former Lord General of the Sith Empire. A day earlier, Ryv, alongside a Jedi strike force, boarded a Sith prison ship set to deliver Lanik Dawnstar to Sith forces awaiting his arrival over Ventooine. Unbeknownst to the fledgling Jedi Order, Darth Voyance orchestrated the entire encounter, allowing the Jedi to learn of their lost brother's location. Ill-prepared, the Jedi Order marched into a trap, one successfully sprung about them. Though Ryv managed to ensure both Lanik and Bernard escaped the Sith-Imperial's ambush, he wasn't so lucky. In providing them time, a squadron of death trooper's led by Wirm'nael'armiir captured Ryv and dragged him aboard a shuttle to Sith space. Unconscious and severed from the Force, Ryv couldn't begin to fathom where they were headed.

When Ryv next saw the light of day, it lasted only long enough for the stationed legionnaires upon Concord Dawn to drag him from the shuttle and process him of what little he had left. They strapped an inhibitor collar meant to temporarily remove his ability to use the Force, his severed connection unknown to the rank and file soldiers expected to handle him. It wasn't until they tore Ryv from his cell and delivered him to Lord Cyggy's clutches did his situation come to light. Sensing an opportunity to entertain himself, the Sith strapped Ryv down and set to work, slicing away at his flesh, carving layers away as if to see what made up the Kiffar's innards. Cyggy's implements of pain, though ice-cold, sent white-hot pain through the Jedi's body with each pass of the scalpel. Unable to protect himself, only Ryv's echoing screams kept him company. That, and the Sith's prying gaze. Fortunately, those torture sessions came to a crashing conclusion as General Tavlar learned of his lackeys continued experimentation.

Storming into the interrogation chamber, Tavlar put an end to the unauthorized experimentation and freed Ryv from his bindings. The Imperial's mercy did not end there. Irveric Tavlar provided the Jedi knight with food and drink, at the cost of a single conversation. The two discussed their beliefs, though feelings resonated within them. Neither Ryv nor Tavlar scolded the other. Instead, the duo saw one another for what they were—products of their environment, but more importantly, survivors. When Coruscant fell to the One Sith, Ryv fled to the Outer Rim, fighting to survive independently. When the Sith first arrived upon Dantooine decades earlier, conscripting Tavlar and his fellows, the General did not abandon his men. He rose to the occasion, striving to lead them through the chaos of service to the Sith Empire, taking up the mantle of leadership to provide for them what their Sith Overlords failed to give.

Hope.

Perhaps that inkling of hope connected them in ways neither of them understood. In his own way, Tavlar represented all the Jedi should be to his downtrodden men. It wasn't the Silver Jedi, Galactic Republic, or Galactic Alliance that put themselves on the line for those forsaken men. Irveric Tavlar was a single farmer from Dantooine, a man expected to die upon his first battlefield, yet he did what the Jedi failed to accomplish. Not unlike the Imperial General, Ryv rose when called to action. Following Cedric's descent into a coma at Brentaal IV, his young apprentice did not abandon the Imperium's people. Nor did he leave the High Republic. Instead, Ryv called on allies throughout the Core, rebuilding the Jedi Order from within, while carving out a place for them following the unification of both galactic powers. Both men were connected by more than understanding, but purpose. Each of them stood for something far more significant than any one person. They stood for hope.

That very purpose guided Ryv through Sith controlled territories after his escape from the Beast. The Force called to him, directing him from one planet to the next. From Concord Dawn to Dromuund Kaas, he traveled, overcoming gangsters and criminals on the storming world to save the wayward Daphne deWinter from those who betrayed her. Back to Concord Dawn, he went, encountering a Zeltron Sith Acolyte by the name of Zhani Amadine within some seedy tavern. To Nar Shaddaa next, away from the craziness of their lives, they encountered bounty hunters and chaos within the party palace of none other than Avernus . Though the night didn't go according to plan, Ryv managed to drag the Zeltron free of the chaos, escaping the kidnappers' clutches. Returned to Concord Dawn a final time, Ryv discovered the once-home of his best friend, Maynard Treicolt . Through echoes into the past, Ryv watched as the Sith took everything from Maynard. His father eviscerated by an incendiary grenade. His mother's throat slit before the boy, the murder performed in cold blood, all to draw the Jedi Padawan out of hiding. Those same visions drove Ryv to tears, sapping the Jedi Knight's strength from his body, leaving him a blubbering mess in the long-abandoned homestead Maynard no longer called home.

Even there, hidden away from the dangers of the surrounding territory, Ryv wasn't abandoned. Maynard came to his distress signal. The Concordian Jedi, his proven brother, a man who saw beyond Ryv's failures and inadequacies, did not fail him. Reunited once again, the duo prepared to depart the planet, only for Cyggy's to reveal himself to them. The Khaleesh Sith Lord not only escaped the Beast but tracked Ryv across the stars, hunting him in hopes of completing the many experiments started back on Concord Dawn. Yet again, Maynard did not fail his brother. Throwing himself at the superior opponent, Maynard provided the wayward Jedi he came to save enough time to reach through the Force and reclaim Maynard's forsaken lightsaber, abandoned the night of his parent's death. Together they faced Cyggys. Together they cut him down, putting an end to the evil he represented to the galaxy.

Or so Ryv thought.

"Are you listening to me, boy?" Cyggy's voice cut through the memories, once more tainting them as he did in life.

"What was that, sithspit?" Ryv looked to the aged Cyggy's, his form as decrepit in death as it was in life. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of your dentures hitting the floor."

"Very well, Karis! If you are so willing to die for nothing, so be it! I offered you an opportunity to become the hero you've tricked everyone into believing you are. It will all come crumbling down around you, child. And when it does, I shall step in, but there will be no offer," Cyggy's drifted closer, his sickly gaze locked on Ryv's defiant eyes. "I will conquer your mind, shatter your spirit, and lay claim to your body as my own: Mark my words, Jedi. I will break you."

Lord Cyggy's words echoed around Ryv as his form vanished, disappearing into the recesses of Ryv's memories. Alone again, the Jedi Knight dropped to his bottom, resting his back against a rusted conveyor belt. He began to hum faintly, a soft tune formerly used to sway him to sleep. For years he paid slave girl's in Agrippa The Hutt 's whorehouses and spice dens to hum it to him, a means of bringing him peace after a particularly bloody day out in the field. It worked at first, their slender fingers carefully brushing his hair, joined by his mother's favorite song would send wave after wave of goosebumps along the young man's body. He'd fallen asleep more than once within those seedy businesses, dragged home by the other boys working for the Hutt's of Nar Shaddaa. Now though? Even his mother's song did not bring him comfort or peace. It sounded hollow, mirroring the abandoned factory, reflecting the truth of Ryv's heart and mind alike. His hand lowered to take the Blade of Ruusan as anxiety clawed into the pit of his stomach, reminding him of its dreadful presence.

"What do you think, old pal?" Ryv asked the weapon, pressing the cool phrik casing against his forehead. "I hate that damn sleemo-Khaleesh, but he's got a point. I felt it out there, at the base of the cliff. Nothings the way it's supposed to be."

The weapon thrummed with Ashla's power, its calming aura endlessly washing away Ryv's fears. Even then, sitting upon the dusty floor of the dilapidated workhouse, it stayed true to its purpose. Light encased the Jedi Knight, a bright white light, iridescent in nature, cutting through even the murky yellow of the sun above. A voice heard through the darkness, caressing the back of Ryv's troubled mind.

"I chose you, Ryv Karis. You are a master worth serving, as was your father, and his father before him," the soothing voice paused, allowing its words to sink in. "What do you believe in your heart, young Jedi?"

Ryv sat up straight, his eyes going wide as he pulled the lightsaber hilt from his face, staring down at it in total shock. He turned it over in his hands repeatedly, soon tearing his gaze from it as he searched his surroundings for a speaker, wholly expecting another apparition to appear. After a moment of seeking an answer to his confusion with nothing to show for it, Ryv looked back to the weapon, his thumb brushing along its intricately carved surface.

"Y-You can talk?" Ryv stumbled through the question.

"Yes, Ryv Karis, I am sentient, same as you."

"Well, I dunno if I'd say that, considering you're a lightsaber hilt and I'm, you know, a fleshy Kiffar, but I see your point," Ryv tugged his leg up to his chest, leaning back against the unkept machinery once again. "How can you speak? I've never heard of a lightsaber that can speak."

"I am unsure. For years I served your father, acting as his weapon against the forces of Bogan. Together we slew countless Sithspawn, tearing the monstrosities of the Dark Side apart with reckless abandon. I wasn't capable of speaking then, though I could still impart my feelings and power upon Cedric. I believe, Ryv, as you've kept me by your side for so long, we've bound ourselves together through the Force in ways even my creator could not suspect," the Blade of Ruusan spoke with fluidity as if a native speaker of galactic basic. Yet, in the back of Ryv's mind, beyond the comforting tone of the weapon, confusion lingered. "You have relied on my power more times than I can count. When you felt scared, alone, or anxious, you reached for me. In front of potentially millions of people, you held me with pride, lifting me high for all to see. We have faced countless dangers together. It only makes sense this would be the outcome. Our spirits are entwined, Ryv."

"I mean," Ryv considered the sentient artifact's words, still rolling the weapon in the palm of his offhand. "I guess, yeah. Through thick and thin, you're one of the few folks to have stuck around. So, thanks, buddy," he chuckled, his hand taking hold of the weapon.

"You needn't refer to me as such. I am your weapon, an extension of your will to be used against the enemies of Ashla."

"No reason we can't be both, huh?" Ryv posed the question with another smile, pushing himself back up to his feet as he awaited an answer. Midway through the motions, he froze in place, the sound of a swoop bike cutting through the silence of the large chamber. He hurried back to his feet and moved into position, the Blade of Ruusan still held tight in his hand. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he reached beyond what stood in reach physically, his senses expanding to the bond stretching past the material, connecting him to Allyson Locke. The Jedi Knight could feel her as she approached the facility, her careful footsteps carrying her quickly to his position. "She's coming," he muttered, knuckles turning white as his grip grew tighter. "I finally get to see her again," his concern melted away, replaced by a long-forgotten smile meant only for the Corellian he loved.

"Do not let your guard down, Ryv," the Blade spoke out, advising the Jedi to remain conscious. "Your emotions are meant to aid you, not control you. If you aren't careful, this might all be for not."

"I know," Ryv whispered back, stowing the weapon at his hip.

Before he could say anything else, Allyson came into view. Her typical attire replaced by the garb worn by Sith-Imperial personnel. She looked as beautiful as he remembered, her smile cutting through even the darkest of rooms, lighting up the Kiffar's heart at even a cursory glance. He stepped forward as she broke into the light from above, closing the distance without a second thought. Ryv's arms reached out, wrapping around her body. He pulled her against him, his love bleeding through their bond, inching across the connection into her spirit. Without saying a word, the Jedi Knight leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. He kissed her passionately, hunger demanding he not let go or breakaway, guiding his movements in ways even the Force could not. For nearly a minute, he stood frozen in time, unable to part with the woman he loved. If not for the battle raging outside and the importance of their mission, Ryv doubted he could've let go, but he spent enough time basking in the Corellian's presence, finally pulling away.

"I've missed you," Ryv said without a hint of concern, his hands reaching down to take hers. "And I want to catch up, but we need to talk, preferably before someone manages to catch us," he took a step back, keeping one hand in hers while the other fingered the lightsaber hilt at his side. "Allyson, I- hmm," his voice caught, unsure of how to shape the words needed to be spoken. "I can feel your struggle. I know what's going on. I've known since Foerost, hell, maybe sooner. You're doing great work out there, but I don't think it a good idea for you to go back. You're losing yourself to whatever you're facing, and I don't want to see you get hurt. The mission, it's important, but it's not more important than your life, or the future you've earned for yourself. We talked about this, right?" Ryv tilted his head to the side, memories of the Coruscanti hospital surfacing, followed by Kuat, and Muunilist, and half a dozen other places they had a very similar discussion.

"You've done your part, Allyson. We miss you. I miss you."

 

[Avernus]

// Lord of Passion //

// Allies //
// Qotsisajakaar / Atlas Kane //
// New Imperial Order / Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt //
// Enemies //
// The Sith Empire / Ellie Mors //

// What The Dead Men Say //​

​

"As you think, so shall you become."
​

Time? Had that time truly come already? Few were so naive as to think this day wouldn't come eventually. Taking the New-Imperial retaliation laying down wasn't something that anyone, especially not Avernus, expected the Sith Empire to do. And what better locale of attempted retribution was there than Borosk? A vital planetary foothold that held the lines open between the New-Imperial center, and the ever-encroaching tentacle that slithered its way through Sith-Imperial territory. It didn't take spies, intel, or a council of military analysts to know this was coming. The only uncertainty was when it would come. Avernus had set his most careful eyes on Borosk and surrounding systems, a vigilant eye watched and waited around the clock for the time to come. That time, was now.

Lord of Strength at his side, Avernus entered the boarding craft. Shoulder to shoulder with the Fifth Nirauan Battalion, he and Kane were painfully out of place. Two Sith among the very Imperials sworn to fight the Sith war-machine that had oppressed them for so long, how morbidly ironic. They were among the few so privileged to know this secret; The persistent existence of a rogue cell of Sith that worked alongside the New-Imperials from the shadows. Not to imply that many didn't have their suspicions, but now, in the flesh, the men and women of the Fith Nirauan Battlion beheld two individuals who stood as living proof of those rumors.

Doubt, hate, fear, reluctance, their menagerie of emotions touched Avernus' empathic mental palate like a fine plat du jour. From behind the mask that obscured the visual identity of his new vessel's visage he grinned widely. Momentarily, he reveled in the tension and unease in the claustrophobic metal box that was primed to board the HIMS Baneful. So infrequently was he in the presence of such internal strife while still having the ability to savor it. Battlefields were much more suited to adrenaline-fueled vices rather than slow, savored sadism. The sadists would have their fill, but not before Avernus sated his in the calm before the storm of blaster-bolts that was to come.

A sudden lurch, followed by the hiss and rumble of the boarding ramp raising roused him from his macabre trance. The face of Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt met him with an uneasy silence. Be it by way the dancing strands of blonde that the obscuring embrace of the mask did not reach, or his familiar presence clawing at the back of her psyche, she recognized him despite the unfamiliar get up. His disguised visage slowly followed her as she continued past him, a scowl hiding beneath the vizard. He could feel her attempts at restraint, temperance. It was almost worthy of an eye-roll, as if she'd found some misplaced sense of virtue. Restraint breeds hesitance, and hesitance kills.

"Restraint is a weakness, Sybila," his voice echoed through her skull. Telepathy invoking a sinister resonance to assert where her attention would be placed. Ignore him, she could try, but there was no covering one's ears here. "Temperance? How disgustingly naive. I've trained you to be powerful even beyond the wildest fears of every New-Imperial who stands beside you. Yet you would be so daft as to squander my teachings when death stares you right in the face? Your ignorance resigns you to share a grave with the rest of the Imperial herd. Do not deny what you are meant to be, Sybila. Restraint, moderation, these are false songs of the lesser. Free your hate. Free your fear. Free yourself."

His focus had remained on sowing doubt in her mind, even though the twists and turns the boarding vessel took. Touchdown shot through his senses like an alarm. The telepathic link was severed as the ramp began to lower into the mouth of hell. With a measured strut, he pushed through the eye-front frames of the New-Imperials that waited for the Legion Commander's mark to charge. The two Sith lords would not bend to the orders and procedures of the New-Imperials. Their dogged eagerness contrasted forward through the motionless sea of trained discipline. Likely to this dismay of the officers present, the Lords of Passion and Strength took up the front while the ramp descended.

At his left side, a sudden flash of luminous golden-crimson hissed from the aurodium plated hilt within it. Glorious shades of vermillion danced subtly through the droning of golden plasma. The saber hummed with anticipation of the havoc it would wreak, its dazzling emanation shifting the color of the craft's dim interior. A step forward coincided a flourish that sought to sunder Lyra's rifle right in two. "Let loose, Sybila," the final sentiment that slipped from behind the mask before he took his descent into the strife.

The radiant plasma stroked up, down, and to the left with each backswing being held in place. His stride inflected only confidence, one foot in front of the other at a leisurely pace as he danced through the hell of lasers and bullets. Every swipe altered the trajectory of the bolts of hot death that flew forward, careening in a separate direction with a loud scream and hiss. Battlefield flow was quickly defined as the New-Imperials poured from the craft and made their assault. Avernus's path stubbornly stalked against the current, away from the petty squabble of Imperial herd ideologies. He did not seek to take down the ship, he sought no prisoners, and had no desire for capture.

His intentions lead him elsewhere, slicing a cauterized swath toward the quarry of his own game, Darth Alekto.

 

[Hont Atellies]

Location: Cassel Point
Objective: Capture or Die.
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO and Sympathisers
Notable Enemies Nearby (Known or Unknown): Agrippa Irveric Tavlar Konrad Bolter

Hont Atellies was fighting on the frontlines, it’s all he could do. He left command of his legion to a trusted advisor as he removed his material symbolising his promotion and went in just like a normal legionnaire. But Hont was a spirit that defined those around him. He and his surrounding men where tearing through NIO forces in the area. They were the lucky, or unlucky few who attacked the garrison head on. Hont was holding his ground. His veteran experience allowed him to easily deal with squads of troopers. But then he received a communication.

“This is Prefect Atellies, who is this?”

“This is Legionarre Jacobs, we have been given orders to push up into the garrison and we are asking for assistance!”

“We’re moving up as well now, let’s kill these NIO bastards!”

Hont and his troops readied there weapons, more troops now coming down to support. About a legions worth of troops nearly, mostly just recruits and semi-experienced officers, Not much organisation at all, as this was meant to be a distraction from the primary objective, but that didn’t matter.

It was time to charge into the belly of the beast.

“FOWARD!”

And that would be the signal, for either there deaths, or there triumph.

 

[Marlon Sularen]

Location | Borosk
Objective | Breaking the Lines
Focus | Dracken Pryce | Moon Seo-yun | Thaelius

Spoiler: Wraith Squadron

• Agitator-Class Super Heavy Battlecarrier [x1]
• Phaetra-Class Fleet Carrier [x1]
• Praefect-Class Star Destroyer [x1]
• Endurance-II Class Pocket Carrier [x2]
• Inceptus-Class Assault Ship [x2]
• Intercessor-Class Star Destroyer [x2]
• Starfighter Compliment
  • Tie Drones [40 Squadrons | 960 Total]
  • Tie Outlanders [30 Squadrons | 480 Total]
  • Tie Slashers [20 Squadrons | 240 Total]
  • Tie Vanguards [10 Squadrons | 80 Total]
• Support Craft Compliment
  • Tie Bruisers [19 Squadrons | 152 Total]
  • Tie Maulers [13 Squadrons | 104 Total]

The Third Imperial Civil War was taking an interesting turn. On the eve of the New Imperial Assault on Entralla and Dubrillion , the Sith Empire striked back on Borosk aiming to cut off the New Imperial assault towards Bastion. The attack surprised Marlon Sularen who wanted a quick end to Third Imperial Civil War so that he could focus on his own ambitions. Now on Borosk , the Sith Empire threatened to cut off the New Imperial Offensive along the Braxtant Run and thus Marlon rushed to the rescue with his newly expanded Wraith Squadron.

Far away from the interdiction field generated from the Sith-Imperial Interdictor Battlecruisers , Wraith Squadron jumped out of hyperspace the reasoning for arriving far away from the Battlefield was to ensure that Wraith Squadron's arrival would not be hindered by those Interdictors. As the Fleet approached the Combat Zone , Marlon scanned the area to see if his rival from the Sith Empire Thaelius Ordo was present though he did not spot any of his ships including the Vengeance-Class Battlecruiser that was utilized as his Flagship at PL-40112-CE-021105. This gave some relief to Marlon Sularen as without Ordo to oppose him it would be easier to strike at the Sith-Imperial Interdictor Battlecruisers.

"Slowly move the Fleet towards the collection of Interdictors i want them destroyed but make sure we don't approach them too fast as we don't know what other surprise the Sith-Imperials have in store for Us" Marlon ordered. While somewhast confident that the Interdictors would be easy to destroy , there were almost nothing standing between Wraith Squadron and those Interdictors as the only additional Sith-Imperial Vessel was the HIMS Baneful position far away from the Interdictors in orbit of the Planet.

Though Thaelius Ordo wasn't present , Marlon wanted to maintain a cautious stance just in case. He would keep his fighters in reserve and focus on overwhelming firepower rather then starfighter supremacy to defeat those Interdictors. That way if any Reinforcements arrived Marlon's Starfighter Compliment would be at it's maximum and ready to prevent any Sith-Imperial Vessel from protecting the Interdictors by attacking Wraith Squadron. And thus Wraith Squadron slowly advanced towards it's prey ready to strike with full force and decimate the Sith-Imperial Interdictors.

 

[Eleanor Lowe]

Location: Borosk, shuttle crash site, 300m southwest of Point Cassel
Allies: TSE - @Nearby
Enemies: NIO - @Nearby | Hypatia Arresh
Objective: Keep a lowe profile

​

The ship was nearly silent now, the alarms having petered out a few minutes after Eleanor awoke. Since waking up and exiting the vessel, she had paced up and down the scar in the dirt the crash had left behind the wreck. Occasionally, she would peek her head over to look at the battle taking place a few hundred metres up ahead. She caught glimpses of soldiers in dark plasteel advancing on the cluster of buildings and ramparts that comprised the NIO fortress Point Cassel, before ducking her head down. Eleanor continued this process a couple of times, before returning, defeated, back to the ship. The firefight was too fierce for her to risk leaving the cover of the ditch, and the wound in her side had begun to stab at her painfully whenever she moved, and would not stop bleeding.

Heaving herself up through the gaping rear doors of the wreck with a grunt and a hiss of pain, Eleanor half slid, half scrabbled down to the front compartment, wedging her foot against the tilted hull to right herself. Slowly, she began pulling open cabinets and rifling through their contents, grabbing a small portable commlink she didn't know how to use, a few stimu-gel packets, which she stuffed in her pockets, and a little red first aid kit, which she pulled open, propping herself up against one of the seats to attend to her wounds.

Spoiler: CW - Treating a wound

First, she rolled up her shirt, which by now was sodden with blood, and cleared the cut out with a couple of absorbent wipes, clearing the crimson liquid off of her rust-coloured skin. Next, she dug around the kit and took out a tube of Bacta, and smeared the sickly sweet-smelling gel onto the gash, letting out a satisfied sigh as the medicine soothed her and began working to repair the wound and close it up. Finally, she pulled out a white bandage and wrapped it tightly around her midriff, securing it with a metal pin and pulling her soaking shirt down over it. With the urgent injury attended to, Eleanor spent the next few minutes disinfecting and covering various other scratches and scrapes across her red-toned body, before standing up and tossing the kit aside, now nearly empty.

Smarting all over, but now in otherwise good shape, Eleanor dug around the ship a little more, eventually finding what she was looking for after pulling up a floor panel to expose a metal box. Prying it open, Eleanor revealed a heavy object, which she peered down at with some trepidation before picking it up.

The rifle was an Autokrator. One of the ones she had trained to shoot in the cadets before her father had pulled her out. Grimly, she loaded the weapon, hoping she still knew how to shoot straight. It was becoming increasingly clear she would probably have to defend herself. Alongside the Autokrator were a pair of metal spheres with which she was utterly unfamiliar, but assumed were grenades, and she stowed them in a small pack she fetched from her quarters. While she was there, Eleanor rummaged around for her jacket, pulling it on over her ruined shirt.

She glanced down to the front of the wreck again, where Madelyn was still slouched unconscious in her seat. The Grand Moff appeared almost peaceful in her inert state; She lacked the derisive sneer she usually wore when Eleanor was present, and her face was slack and smooth, instead of twisted and frowning, as it usually was. Still, it was obvious the woman was in a bad way. She was whimpering in her sleep and the steady trickle of blood from beneath her hairline hadn't slowed. With a small sigh, Eleanor navigated her way back down and did her best to dress the wounds she could see with what remained in the discarded first aid kit, unclipping the unconscious woman and laying her flat in a recovery position.

Now kitted out, and having done what she could for her half-sister, Eleanor made her way slowly back up the tilted floor of the ship to the rear doors, where she stopped and listened keenly, her heart beating quick and her breathing heavy. The sounds of battle were close, only a few hundred metres away, and the fight seemed to be escalating. As she listened she heard the distant thump of explosions and flinched involuntarily as a small shockwave from an artillery strike buffeted her even in her covered position.

Eleanor bit her lip. It was clearly too dangerous outside to go and fetch help. She would have to stay put and wait for someone to find the wreck, or else try and figure out how to use the commlink and call for assistance.

 

[Jalter Volff]

Location: Borosk
Objective: Breaking Lines but will bomb any targets provided
Allies: Arten Jinn (my fellow bomber}
Enemies: Open
Equipment: TIE/HB Bruiser
Forces: x8 TIE/HB Bruiser, x4 TIE/OTx Outlander

​

Well this was a right mess, a Sith fleet dropping right on NIO heads. Darkstar's bombers were going to have to work overtime today. "Bombers form up on me. Looks like we got our work cut out for us lads." Jalter and his Bomber wing had been in the process of transferring from ship to ship right before this all happened and while he hadn't expected the attack Jalter had been waiting for the day he'd have to face his old comrades in combat. He didn't know how he'd feel firing at them whether he would feel like a traitor. But after becoming a member of Darkstar his only concern was the protection of his own. As far as he was concerned his old comrades were his new enemies and he would do anything in his power to defend his new Squadron.

The enemy fighters come pouring in and the TIE Bruisers were a natural target. "Sir, I got 8 bogeys on my radar heading right toward us." a pilot called out in the comms. "10-4 Bombshell. All Bruisers load concussion missiles and lock onto those fighters. Fire off 2 concussion missiles." Once Volff had locked onto his target he spoke into squadron comms once more, "Brawler 3-1, times 2 concussion missiles away" and in an instant each Bomber fired off concussion missiles heading straight for their targets, each pilot echoing a similar phrase as Volff once they fired. The missiles had found their mark and 6 of the enemy fighters were hit by the missiles. "Good hits. TIE Outlanders break off and mop up the last two up. Now those insects are out the way let's get us some orders before we get engulfed by the next wave."

Jalter switched over his comms to Imperial command, as the 4 Outlanders quickly destroyed the remaining two fighters. "This is Brawler 3-1 with Darkstar Bomber Wing, we are ready for tasking for both space and ground targets. Just give us the grid coordinates and we'll get it done." he said before checking out his radar. Sith Empire brought interdictors to try and cut off any escape and one of their star destroyers was trying to move to provide their ground forces fire support. "This is going to be one hell of a slugfest" he thought to himself. On top of the enemy ships in orbit repots were coming in that Sith Legionnaires were pounding NIO defences planetside. There's going to be lots of glory to be earned for the bombers of Darkstar today.

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Objective: Defend Cassel Point
Allies: NIO // Vora Kaar // Open
Enemies: TSE // Open
​

Derleth rounded the corner to see the commotion. A ball of writhing Sith Legionnaires hung in mid air, the ones alive shouting for mercy from the Sith Lord grasping them with the force. Those that could fired their blasters in a desperate attempt to save themseves, of course to no avail. The bodies came crashing down with the sound crunching bones and splattering blood. The man in black turned to Derleth. A surprise to be sure. Derleth didn't think he would see another friendly face, or in Vora's case a friendly mask.

Derleth lowered his blade and walked carefully over the bodies strewn around the hallway. The stench of burning flesh emanated from all around. That was a large part of why Derleth was opposed to lightsabers. The carnage they left was horrific to one's nostrils.

"Derleth, It seems we have Sith-Imperial Forces a little closer than we would like. May I have at thy sword?" the man said without missing a beat. Derleth shouldn't have been surprised by his fellow Keeper's presence. The Keepers of the Sith Code weaved in an out of New-Imperial affairs as they saw fit in their mission to bring down Emperor Carnifex. He now wondered how many others in his order had seized this opportunity to fight the Empire.

"I'm right beside you Kaar. Quite the mess the Empire has gotten us in to today. They are becoming bold in their desperation." he said in a monotone voice, although he seethed with rage on the inside. They were bold indeed. He did not want to see the New Imperials, and by extent the Keepers, lose the gains they had made in this war...

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Borosk // Beyond Cassel Point - Abandoned Factory // JTSP
Allyson Locke // Ryv // Adriana Fortemps
We’re Going Home
​

​

There was an exception to every rule.

The exception in this case being the Sword of the Jedi. Were it anyone else, Loske probably wouldn’t have been so accommodating to leave Maynard’s side. And he not so willing to relinquish the responsibility of protection. Working alongside Ryv to secure Allyson’s hopeful return to The Alliance was the only thing she and the Mandalorian could agree on as a manageable interference to their promise. Proverbs suggested blood was thicker than water, which worked for the cousins, for the others it was by proxy. They’d forged friendships so thick they turned water into blood. Both Loske and Ryv were close to the undercover Corellian, and any other handler might have been a compromise to too many identities. Especially today. Secrets and lies that needed to be protected.

“I love you.” Loske reminded the Alliance Commander wedging her fingers between the bottom of the helmet and his face to lift it just enough to expose the lips she sought to leave an impression on before having to peel away. Once the visage was nothing but a T-visor again, she lingered enough to evidence there was hesitation to her other commitments, but she poised to a more confident façade that suggested otherwise. A smirk crept along her tingling lips and she gave a mock two-finger salute in the direction of the General, the senior of the cousins, commissioning him an additional responsibility. One that was genuine in purpose, but equally meaningful to both men –– neither were out of their element here. So maybe it was actually a meaningless charge said for the sake of speaking: “Take care of him, yeah? I’ll see you both when this is over.”

Thus she bid adieu to the Treicolts, one more than the other, and in good faith and trust split to her objective for the battle their inside woman had warned them about. A goodbye that had occurred probably hours before the chaos of Cassel Point.

Now with her back pressed against the crumbling wall of some small, long-since abandoned building, she felt the indicative buzz of her incoming comms. A string of numbers evidenced themselves in a strip before morphing into a pinpoint spot on a topographical rendering of the immediate area. Ryv’s plea came through shortly thereafter. The weight of the words had worlds within each syllable, and she nodded despite the impracticality of the response. He couldn’t see her agree. Allyson had been in the throngs of The Empire for a stretch of months, the contact was sparse and in between. And it hadn’t been the first time she’d been in a desperate situation with darkness; her well being was at the fore of all their minds.

The Zweihander Union was a nascent foe, initially wretched but swift to apologize. Hardly comparable to the influence of The Sith Empire. The darkness was only in their minds, not their hearts and souls. Allyson’s insight into her mentality that day on Metellos had stayed with Loske; a sentence that had taken so much shape she could turn it over, rotate it, and feel it’s gravity in her mind.

"I'm thrilled to see you. I felt like I was starting to lose myself." ​

Infiltrating the Zweihander Union ranks had been a fraction of the time the shadow was spending behind Sith walls. And even then Allyson had admitted he was starting to lose herself. How much more compounded was that sentiment now? How much more potent the poison, how deep and wide the spread?

But they were a dutiful lot. Cogs to the machine. Bodies to throw at the problem. Bodies with ears to hear secrets, and mouths to repeat them.

The blonde blinked back to focus, keeping her promise short: “I will.”

With the infrastructure highlighted in neon in her HUD, it was easier to see where she was destined to be than where she was. Angry yellow and orange puffed and curled anywhere a flame would stick. Thick clouds of smoke obscured any detail behind it’s foggy haze. Salvos from unseen weapons bombarded the earth all around her, shooting it skyward. A blast nearby pierced through a stack of rubble, sending a spray of debris her direction. The stone base of the architecture wept silt. All she had to do was turn her head and lift her arm to shield herself and avoid being blinded by the offshoot, but it was a heavy reminder of how fatal the situation could be. The scorched earth could have easily been flesh. The score in the dirt a tear through her muscle. Or his.

The Padawan exhaled heavily, concentrating on not feeling regret for being so flexible with her objectives and the distance between herself and Maynard. After bolstering herself, she put even more meterage between them–– scaling her way to an advantageous perch based on the location Ryv had fed through. With her suit’s stealth activated, one foot after the other, she navigated largely unnoticed by opposing and friendly forces.

The slope The Sword had slid several minutes earlier appeared in her path too, and a sense of dread tapped at her bones. A foresight to the inevitable, no doubt. The Force stretching out around her, searching, hunting, seeking, peering for information to feed back to the girl that might be of use. There was nothing but foreseeable pain here. Whos remained to be seen, but it would be claimed soon enough. Hurt was often quick to claim ownership over their group. Regret knocked on the door of her consciousness again, flagging for attention and begging to be let in. Loske avoided its pull, focusing instead on the potential exits or entrances of the facility; an assumptive map rendering over her HUD. They were marked as quivering rectangles. The heat signatures were isolated to two. Ryv and Allyson. Verily, she felt a little creepy being able to spy in like this, watching the warm silhouettes close the distance. The pair’s first reunion. So she toggled the setting off and chose instead to rely on her senses and naked (okay, A.I enhanced) eyes. As much as she was keeping an eye out for Ryv, it was also for Allyson. It was a risk to be meeting in person. Albeit one born of necessity.

She looked skyward. Where she belonged, aching to stretch her wings. Overhead menacing triangles eclipsed the atmosphere. A physical representation of the miasma that saturated the planet with the encroaching Sith. The presence was a broadcasted communication that insisted a planet wide retreat was snuffed out before it initiated. All the hope was in the Imperator’s legions to destroy the barricade. They’d have to outlast.

 

[DK-03]

Objective: Defend Cassel Point
Enemies: TSE | Lord Venari

"Blah blah blah," the Imperial Officer continued on as DK-03 began taking a leak behind one of the walls.

Several men had informed him where the refresher (toilet, in normal people speak) was, but it took him seven flat minutes to open the chastity strap of a tankard that protected his groin just to be able to relieve himself. After painting the wall, he began closing the strap, and unsheathed a 3/8th nut driver from his toolbelt to utilize in tightening down the bolts of his armor after he closed the chamber. With a metal clank, it pressurized, and began to tighten even further after the Darktrooper turned the wheel on the front to engage the lock pads.

Explosions echoed in the distance, and though DK-03 barely registered the disruption, the Imperial Officer ran back over red in the face.

"BLAH-03, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAHING BLAH BLAHBLAHTYLY."

DK-03 nodded in response, picking up his minigun and moving out to follow the company in the direction of the commotion. Further down the way, the gray trooper saw the battle commencing, the defense of Cassel Point, and Sith Imperial forces landing and beginning their attack. Marching forward heedlessly into battle, and shouldering his minigun into his hands and readying the fire trigger, DK-03 walked into the commotion.

He soon confronted one Lord Venari , engaging his troops and beginning their assault.

"Together we serve. Together we fight. For the Empire!", the Sith Lord cried to his troops.

"O.K.," DK-03 responded.

And opened fire.​