Invasion No Quarter | NIO Invasion of TSE held Dantooine

[Mishel Kryze]

"Bruh, if I was trying to hide I wouldn't be blasting these sweet tunes," Mishel quipped and then added, "your monologue is as stale and old as the Empire you fight with. No wonder they keep you in the dark, you look as ugly as they swing a punch. At least Arcanix is easy on the eyes, the only thing that's easy on you is your stench and that's foul."​

​

Mishel smirked and looked at the blade, "well at least you and Carnifex have one thing in common, you at least know how to handle a stick." She just wanted to know who in their right mind - well she sort of wanted to take on the one thousand at least that would have been entertaining. It wasn't like anyone could have possibly known that she could toss Force Light like a great rapper can drop a rhyme. "All it means is I gotta switch up the track, feel me?"​

​

The Tygaran was in her element in the caverns, and to be quite honest, she faced more edgelords and ugly types back when she fought with the Knights of Ren. The creature that brooded and lorded over her in the caverns? Just another one trying to put a notch on their belt, when in all honesty they should have gone to the temple. Then again, if the Sith Empire wanted to waste resources, as they were apparently so inclined to do, then that would be on them. Mishel estimated that she was either dealing with someone who thought they were going to snatch up an easy W, or someone who was about as dumb as they came. Maybe both. ​

​

Damn, maybe I should've brought a tea set.​

​

Force Light on the backtrack, and like any good DJ she brought up a new LP to the turntable. Force Repel, suppression if you will. Her eyes maintained their luminous glow as she enacted a bubble to cage herself and her opponent. No doubt he would want to rely on his powers and, "don't tell me you're going to give me your whole life story, or you're going to brood about how hungry you are and you gotta have a nice juicy Jedi. Here's the tip, I ain't a Jedi, and you really should've gone to defend your temple my dude."​

​

"But hey, if you wanna waste your time with me, so be it, but you picked the wrong one today." It was a damn shame that there wasn't a Star Destroyer within range for her to yeet at him, not even a TIE Fighter? Shame. A quick slip of a hand and the next track was on. "Alright, let's groove, ugly."​

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INTERACTING WITH: Other Space Kaiden
NIO | JEDI | ALLIES: N A N I?!
TSE | ELDER COUNCIL | OPPONENTS: Ruek Tast | Iasha Rha | Alina Tremiru

 

[Tyrell Paxxus]

G R A N D _ V I Z I I E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
TASK FORCE 'AXIS'
PATRIARCH-ACTUAL

[ WE DESIGN MADNESS AND WE PAINT IT GOLD ]
​

The persistent roar of explosions and blaster fire deafened every sonic intruder that came beneath it. Broken bodies of New-Imperial and Sith-Imperial alike lay strewn across this particularly unpleasant block of Garang City. The Grand Vizier insisted that the militiamen and women stand down, but be it fear or dogmatism that gripped them, they refused. There was never any pleasure in war. Not for the civilized, at least. Especially so when those who fight do so out of a questionable volition.

Tyrell poked above the concrete road barrier from where he'd taken cover. Peering down the cold, durasteel sight of his blaster he trained upon an exposed militiaman. The barrel screamed as extremity squeezed the trigger. Red-hot tibanna punched through the adversary's torso, sending them dropping limply to the ground. Shoulders and hips pivoted, sights snapping to another. One more life needlessly snuffed from this world. Again, following his feelings, he snapped to another target.

A field medic dragging a wounded comrade behind cover was lined up behind the indicator. Tyrell slowly trailed the enemy, but hesitation kept his finger itching. He did not fire. This pause lingered just a moment too long. A hard impact against the side of his helmet followed by an extreme heat sent him whipping back below cover. Static and ringing assaulted his ears, through the crooked plastoid shell over his skull. After a moment of daze, Tyrell gripped either side and realigned the helmet.

The HUD flickered and regressed into a pixelated state. Tyrell beat the side of his helmet with his open hand. Each impact momentarily clarifying the display but never materializing a full correction.

<"All Axis callsigns, E$%$# ismoving T#$O T$%#A$KE$@ at Point @##!$!@$. E-T-A t$%h$#$r@#ee #$%@#%.">​

Through the undulating discord of the scattered transmission that played from the damaged receiver, Irveric's voice remained distinct enough to recognize. Any information he'd intended to relay had become entirely lost in the static.

<Sir! Enigma is enroute to Point Aurek!>

<Patriarch five through eight lay down suppressing fire. We're in retrograde to Point Aurek!>

Heavy chainblasters began to spray relentlessly over the barricade. With the enemy suppressed behind cover, the surviving remained of Patriarch Platoon began to retreat. Through a previous alleyway and around a service street. His hud flickered, making the meterage between himself and Aurek difficult to discern. Tyrell returned an a transmission to all Axis Callsigns.

<All Axis Callsigns. PATRIARCH is O#%S$#@C#$234MO$@3V#$#@$ to P$#!T Aurek. Our retreat is %#F#$35#$, expect C#OM%#@P#$A#N$%Y.>

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Irveric Tavlar | Lucien Dooku | Djorn Bline | Hunter Blackburn | Jaeger Harrsk | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Ravraa Vyshraal | Tulan Kor | Rika Hiro
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | OPEN

 

[Salvor King]

FRESHLY SQUEEZED

COMPNOR Contract
COMPFORCE: 'CHAMPION-ACTUAL'
DISRUPT THE SITH

​

King's eyes followed the woman's departure and subsequent parkour from behind the obscurity of his shades. His hands slowly slipped into his pockets, indifferently waiting for her arrival. Her landing and approach evoked little more than a raise of his chin as he watched her from behind spectacled obscurity. His attire was almost repugnantly casual for a warzone. A strange crossover of Denon Biker and Corellian Cowboy. It was the signature look, and he wasn't going to force it into the backseat on account of some blasters.

"Salvor King? The Salvor King?"​

"The very same," he uttered casually. The smallest note of smugness hidden behind his curiously tenor-toned voice. His head tilted one way, and then the other, bones popping in anticipation at the apex of each gesture. Then came his knuckles, squeezing each glove-enclosed fist in either hand and managing to pop the joints even beneath the cortosis-durasteel alloy layer. Each hand leisurely retreated back into his jacked pockets afterard.

He was ready for something that the Sith clearly had yet to figure out. Then again, your first assumption upon seeing the five-time champion in a warzone probably isn't that he's working for COMPNOR.

"The bunkers are that way,"​

King slowly turned his head in the direction in which she gestured. A blank stare gazed into the vague distance in the applicable direction for a moment before it came creeping back to face forward. "I know," he dismissed. King half-turned his back and stepped over the unconscious body of the militia watchman before once again re-facing the Sith. He flipped Markus's limp body over with his foot.

He sighed, inflecting some impatience. "You getting a lightbulb yet, miss?"

Cara Dorniarn​

 

[Ty Sibo]

Target: Daros Karmann

Unfortunately, Ty wasn't able to get anyone on coms who could get him medivac the no-fly zone these imperialist scum had going on limited the assets that could be used. biodroid 3 would succumb to his wounds with little they could do to save him. "Damn it, it was his first mission...." Ty muttered under his breath before biodroid three got the attention of Ty handing him some binocs. "Sir convoy on the nearby road that was passing threw i believe they are enemy combatants." Taking the binocs from the biodroid 4 Ty looked into them Spotting one of the men pointing at the soldiers as there seemed to be a disagreement.

"Can't really tell from here if they have any officers with them but I think we got one possible, they are defiantly enemies though. 1 load that GMG with CS gas and paint them I don't want them to see death come to a knocking." The biodroid in question nodded his head heading to grab a box of 100 rounds of CS gas before loading them in. waiting for Ty's signal. "Switch to thermal vision mode, 1 fire every round in that belt now!"

Nodding to His superior the biodroids eyes flew as he got the right angle to pepper the convoy in the gas grenades before unloading all 100belts at their position. Like clockwork nothing needed to be said as biodroid 2 opened up and dumped his 100 round belt of dual-purpose into the cs gas fog that had painted the convoy his thermal optics making it rather easy to go after the targets aiming to go after the vics carrying troops on its roof.

"Good now get both guns reloaded with dual purpose while their trying to gather their barrings and lay into them again." Ty spoke harshly as he picked up his super rifle holding it up to his skeletal face using the force to spot the aura of the man he saw pointing before smugly reaching out with his telepathy to said man. "when you get to the other side tell them death sends his regards." lining up his shot he pulled the trigger opting to give the man a closed casket funeral.

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

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Location: Outer Garang City; Capital of Dantooine.
Objective: Revenge - Limited by the NIO Rule(s) of Engagement.
Allies: The New Imperial Order. The Sons of Mandalore.
Enemies: The Sith Empire. The Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Elder Compact.
Equipment: See the Hyperlink in my Signature.
NPC Complement: No Active NPC's.
Currently Engaging: Gnox the Insatiable and their Savage Beasts.​

As the words were uttered beneath his breath, Rynn’s sensors flared with countless warning runes surrounding his position. It seemed that in dodging the ethereal violence projected by some random individual amid the battle, the Mandalorian threw himself into the proverbial heart of the Sithspawn pack. They were all around him in ever-growing numbers, finishing off or feasting on the remains of the New Imperial Stormtroopers. The sounds of their reinforced Betaplast armour cracking beneath unnatural jaws or a menacing array of weapons would’ve sent sickening shivers down his spine - had the man not been left for dead and faced off alone against a proverbial horde of undead. Such an event desensitized the Warrior’s mind to carnage and bloodshed, especially when the flesh of his foes was sloughing off from their rampaging frames.​

​

What was arrayed before him was macabre, to be sure, but the sight of the massacre was the furthest thing from limb-freezing terror. Instead, whatever skin-prickling sensation lesser men would’ve experienced, Rynn channelled that sensation into heightening his awareness. Which, in turn, flooded his system with naturally occurring adrenals. The fight or flight reflex was kicking in. Through a lifetime of conditioning, the Mandalorian leaned heavily into the former. Fleeing wasn’t the most ideal option in this scenario. Sure, it would’ve been the sound choice as the man could inform the New Imperials of their slaughtered kin and saturate this portion of the City with plasmatic hellfire. But, through the enforced rules of engagement, such an eventuality wasn’t in the cards. Not yet, at least.​

​

He could’ve taken to the skies with his Jetpack. Dishing out death from above - but there was a chance that this pack of alchemical beasts would likely, and somehow, pull him down from the sky utilizing the combination of their unnatural strength and agility. While that was still a viable option, Rynn would be forced to employ such tactics conditionally. The man only had so much power to utilize his Jetpack’s functionalities before its usefulness was wholly and utterly spent. Should his method of rapid-relocation be denied, it was likely that his untimely death would soon follow.​

​

But, as that future was uncertain - the Mandalorian would rely on his strength of arms to carry the day. With an impressive toolkit at his disposal, there were multiple avenues in which the Warrior could engage his enemy. Clearly, engaging these creatures in Close-Quarters was to be a last resort, as they’d likely tear him limb from limb should they close the radial gap between them. So, his only avenue was to keep them at a distance with what was available and at his disposal. It wouldn’t be hard to keep them beyond an arm’s length and gun them down with relative ease through the combination of explosive devices and variable terrain. In addition to those notable advantages, the incredible plasmatic lethality of his primary weapon would doubtlessly even the odds; since it was capable of blowing holes in reinforced duracrete structures.​

​

With the seemingly rudimentary armour these creatures wore and the malignant arms they wielded, it was clear that the ball was in Rynn’s court when it came to ranged combat.​

​

It was at that moment when his Helmet’s sensors finished sweeping his surroundings and highlighting the ever-growing threats that a beast who towered over the rest of the pack stepped forth. Should these alchemically-altered beasts hold true to conventional logic, this hulking creature was their leader. Likely commanding the rest of their number with the twinned factors of intimidation and brutality. With the pack alpha revealing themselves - Rynn’s path forward was clear. In severing the proverbial head of the pack, the rest would likely turn upon one another in confusion. A result that the survivors would likely seek to take their fallen pack leader’s place or bathe themselves in the liberating sensation of unhinged violence.​

​

The creature spoke, too. However, its words were clipped and guttural, evidently proving that Galactic Basic was wholly foreign to this creature. Rynn was tempted to respond to the beast’s statements regarding their vision of the future, but the Warrior swiftly quashed the errant notion. It would’ve been pointless to try and reason or even goad this creature - for it’s likely, they would’ve barely understood what he was saying anyway. Instead of wasting his breath, the Warrior re-shouldered his rifle and targeted the towering Sithspawn. Without a moment’s delay - as the creature issued their promise of death - the Mandalorian fired twice. The unstable and powerful plasmatic bolts intent on striking the beast in the centre of their considerable mass.​

​

However, as the man depressed his rifle’s trigger, something else occurred. While it was true that these beasts sought to stay out of range of the Rynn’s flamethrower, there were other weapons they would come to concern themselves with. The first of these weapons, and the one that fired in concert with the Warrior’s rifle, was the knee-mounted dart launchers - which were outfitted with a selective array of rocket-propelled darts. This dart launcher was remotely triggered by an encoded blink-command from the Mandalorian themselves through the use of the onboard AI system. While he had a choice as to what would be fired, submitting himself to the selection process would’ve taken too long.​

​

Instead, Rynn allowed his tactical computer to choose the best dart for the scenario. That dart would turn out to be an incendiary explosive, which would pair-up perfectly with the large amounts of exposed flesh and flammable fur that these Sithspawn presented. ​

​

As the Mandalorian was surrounded, the man wasn’t worried about missing his target. Should the creature’s unnatural speed and agility come into play - his weapons would likely strike another, which would inevitably whittle away at their numerical advantage. If the towering creature kept dodging, then it was only a matter of time until its presence was the only thing that stood against the Warrior. The tables would then undoubtedly turn in Rynn’s favour - likely leading towards a minor victory against the seemingly infinite forces that the Sith Empire could bring to the table. And so, with bated breath - the Spawnslayer waited to see just how the future would unfold. ​

 

[Gedeon Rath]

Operation Harvest Dark
Codename: Hannibal
Objective: Group up with Prefsbelt Soldiers
Allies: Rexus Wenck | Dergan Twigg (x)
Gedeon's Gear: Evasive-226-R Field Disruptor | E-11D Blaster Carbine | Thermal Detonators (x2) | Damascus Patterned Combat Dagger (Phrik/Durasteel)
-
DEVOUR

"That's a lad." Hannibal mused as he fell in behind, a silent motion of his arm signalling the rest of his boys. Back into the fire. Gedeon too barred a confused frown as the information coursing across comms became more unsettling. Not even real soldiers. He spat in disgust. Blood is blood he told himself silently, his fingers grasping at the grip of his weapon. Fat lot of good this thing was gonna do. "Afraid not chief, we're just as bent." With a grunt of frustration he slung the weapon across his body. "More than one way to draw blood though, even if we can't seal the deal." he uttered, hand dropping to the blade at his side. They were close now, the sounds of weapons fire and shouting coming from ahead. He made a motion towards his men, they too slinging their weapons and switching to their varied collection of melee weapons ranging from combat knives to trench-style clubs. They'd get the job done one way or another.

"With any luck, a reversal. Trained for war and here we are with the damn shockboxers on." he grimaced.

 

[The Amalgam]

Wearing: Resistance Epidermis

Armed with: Skin Shears (Purple, Double Bladed split saber)


Unlike practically everyone else, who was having literally the chittiest day ever, the Amalgam pranced through the battlefield as though she were on Cloud Nine.

She was having an awesome day! The most awesome day ever! She got to spend time with her daughter and grind her down psychologically, she got to gut smarmy, self righteous Jedi, and generally cause pain and suffering. The only thing that would make this better was if she had a vodka martini.

Would it have been shaken, or stirred? Does The Amalgam honestly seem like the sort who would give a damn?

The Amalgam's homicidal rampage carried her into thick crowds of warriors, flesh bunching up and bubbling disgustingly everywhere as she whipped her purple Lightsaber Staff into the heads and torsos of NIO and Imperial Knights, her body absorbing and metabolizing the Dark Side for constant nourishment.

Dantooine was a world saturated with Darkness. The Light was nothing but flicks of candle light that was slowly running out of wax to fuel itself, the Darkness inevitably waiting once the fuel was gone.

The Amalgam's Lightsaber style had all the ruthlessness of Laertia's, but with a staff. It showed its relationship in how she wasted very little of her movements even as she butchered people as painfully as she could, calling more purple lightning from the sky killing a trooper carrying a rocket pack. The explosion killed dozens nearby.

"I AM IN YOUR BASE!" The Amalgam shrieked like a demon as she violently bisected a Jedi painfully. "AND I AM KILLING YOUR DOODZ!"

(Character Theme Song Power Up)

(Theme: "License To Kill" by Gladys Knight)

The purple lightning erupted from her hands, leaping toward foes as she sank into her own blend of Form Six, the Darth Phyre within gleefully puppeting her from within without her knowledge as she slashed into three Jedi that tried to combat her directly. She hissed, flesh starting to crackle and burn as one used Force Light. But the swell of darkness on the planet, both from her fellow Sith and nearby structures made it a doomed effort, her body feeding and regenerating from the intense dark aura on the planet. The Jedi fell back as she closed in.

"Unholy Spirit...pour forth my hatred..." she hissed through warping, bubbling lips.

Purple fire vomited from her throat, made much stronger by the dark aura surrounding her. It couldn't burn or kill, but it could demoralize, eat away at hope, in an instant she torched a swath in front of her half a football field long, the Jedi and every Imperial Knight and Soldier flailing around in the throes of a nigh incurable misery and hopelessness that she directed to spread and grow larger as she channeled more of the darkness through her own body, the hate and fanaticism and despair of everyone in the immediate area around her to create giant but nonlethal flames that leapt from victim to victim, engulfing them in enforced despair, leaving them easy prey for Sith Soldiers who began to shoot and direct rocket fire and monsters on their positions.

Flesh pulling in so many different directions on her face and body from channeling so much Dark Energy that it times it seemed poised to rip itself off, the Amalgam walked into the purple blaze unaffected by her own flames, her hand clasped the face of a Jedi and she shuddered in delight as she began eating his soul in front of his friends, digesting his screaming mind for the multiple Witch Personas inside her. His body mummified in seconds as she dismembered him, her flesh settling down as it gained extra nourishment for the slaughter, though her flesh warped horrifically on her face every few seconds. She sprayed out purple bolts of lightning to kill the remaining two painfully, feeding on their dying agonies, face warping to a face similar to that of the pyrokinetic witch defending the Sith Temple at the moment before resetting to its prior appearance.

She sprinted into another crowd of soldiers smothered in purple flames, saber slicing through ankles and wrists, so they could be in physical and emotional agony.

One particularly mentally resilient Jedi charged through the flames, engaging her with fast and vicious Djem So attacks that came from overhead. Her strategy instantly went defensive, evading his fast heavy attacks, cackling at him not even making contact until she made an elegant spin to his side, twirling her staff above her...and taking his head off.

The Amalgam felt her daughter's power, and so did Darth Phyre inside her, who thirsted to escape this persona and kill her light side self. But it was not the right time. Julia still had to be broken emotionally. Uri (Who the Phyre Persona was also interested in for reasons of its own) also had to be driven to complete madness.

The surface Persona which was what remained of the Amalgam was simply ecstatic at sharing the battlefield with one of her daughters as allies, on a place that was special to Julia.

This exact spot in fact, was where Julia's parents had died. Maybe she should take Julia here after they finished a delightful afternoon of slaughtering the pure hearted.

Would that be too morbid? She wondered this as she snapped a soldiers neck, and spun kicked a thrown grenade back to its source.

You know the rule I taught you...the rotting Persona of her Master The Congregation hissed in her composite mind. If you have to ask, its probably too morbid.

"Bad idea then. Save that for after I break her..." she mused to herself as she whipped her staff about in the purple blaze, reflecting blaster shots.

She was so proud of her daughter for hurting Jedi at long last...


OOC: Accepting challenges from interested Jedi!

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample


Forces

x50 Reforged

x2 Darksworn

The Shaper felt the approach of the enemy forces as they pushed deeper and more ardently into the confines of the Sith Temple, the acolytes and other adherents of the Dark Side leaping to it's defense with a ferocity born of clawing, dominating and surviving their way to their position. Of blood, sweat, toil and agony endured over a lifetime to this very moment in a galaxy that did not coddle them, did not show them mercy, and they did not show mercy to their enemies in turn. In particular two of the enemy force seemed intent on penetrating the Temple to the command center. Two Imperial Knights who knew only duty in their valiant hearts, though one ( Detritus Ren ) did sputter fantastically with the Dark Side. Barely bridled rage fuming against his control and the Shaper smiled ever so slightly. The majority of his attention on the ritual he was performing even as he noted the dire, brutal blow delivered to the other Imperial Knight ( Hans Rennagen ). If the Shaper had any sympathy he would have used it all to wince for the young man, but he did not, and was too preoccupied regardless.

As the two Imperial Knights entered the command center the Shaper nodded ever so slightly, a vague physical recognition of their presence, even as his eyes lazily opened. His pupils a swirling miasma of hellish red energy, his pupils split into long, thin vertical lines as he hummed a low, echoing rumble. He had set a trap for the approaching Knights, and the one fuming with hatred seemed so focused on the Shaper he failed to account for the bodyguards the Shaper had hidden in the command center. The Darksworn each having been given a portions of the Shaper's accumulated energy to conceal themselves in the shadows of the command center and, reacting to Jin's aggression, lashed out telekinetically as Jin leapt in perfect unison as they bodily moved to intercept him. The Shaper's ritual circle flaring as he murmured "How..... expected."

The Knight spat something about being full of surprises and the Shaper smirked. The energy, pulled from the fear of the people of Dantooine, breaking the circle as the Shaper finished his ritual. One of the Darksworn moving to block Hans as the Shaper retorted. His sclera swirling like a flaring hellfire as he extended a gauntleted finger, palm up, and looked Jin in the eyes, taunting the young Knight, as he murmured. "Goooood. So. Am. I." The Shaper's fingers snapped, even through the gauntlet, as a deafening screech pierced the Temple in it's entirety. A gathered Lord's worth of magics lashing out to the Temple and battlefield beyond as the Shaper's plan was put into full effect.

All throughout the battlefield where his augmented Reforged had fallen, the distinct patterns he had made on their armors hummed to life, trapping their life essence in the moments of their deaths and also adding a pseudo outer layer to the ritual circle the Shaper had fashioned in the command center. Encircling the entire Temple as no-one had thought to check the dead cyborgs. Why would they? They were simply soulless machines, after all, the Sith were but ravenous monsters. Cleverness was, clearly, beyond them. The Shaper relished in the sensation as he murmured telepathically to the citizens of Dantooine. "Citizens of the Empire, the Sith Eternal shall be your Ageis." The Darksworn would fight to defend the Shaper as he donned his mask and, summoned the spear Acharn to his outstretched hand. Preparing for personal combat while the ritual itself took full effect.

All through the battlefield the corpses of the two dozen altered Reforged would flair with bright red runes of Sith magic, before a single blood-red line would run between them, forming a massive ritual circle around the Temple and most of the battlefield. They had done their job, creating a perimeter, and within this circle.... hell was unleashed. Inside this circle each and every corpse would play host to a writhing mass of Dark Side Tendrils three meters long that lashed out at each entity the Shaper considered an enemy, as each every death within the circle continued to fuel the ritual ever onward. Freeing the Shaper of having to sustain it. Medics who just lost men in the fight would find themselves disintegrated by grasped tendrils of pure darkness, comrades cradling their dead allies would find themselves joining their brothers-in-arms and commanders, soldiers all would find that even slaying their enemies did not make them harmless. Even Force Light would only suppress the tendrils while directly exposed, the self-sustaining ritual making it a constant battle for any Force User to keep the tendrils suppressed.

The Shaper watched the Darksworn do battle with Detritus Ren and Hans Rennagen with the two constructs utilizing a small plethora of Force abilities and their own Ifrit Pattern Vibroswords with the skill of trained acolytes and simply waited, using this brief moment of relative peace to reach out mentally and probe the Chained God Other Space Kaiden before, finding the Graug resorting to his brutish ways, harshly snarled out a command in the Sith tongue that made the Graugothian Chain tear into Vulcanus' flesh. The Shaper's voice entering Vulcanus' mind with a stern hiss 'Do NOT presume to waste your wrath on anything but these traitorous worms, creature. Do as I command and you shall be.... rewarded.' During this the Shaper did not intervene in the battle before him, for if the intrepid Knights could not slay even the Darksworn then what right did they have to challenge him? However, the moment the first of the two slew their Darksworn opponent the Shaper would launch Acharn with monstrous speed and power in complete contrast with his stature. More of a small ballistics missile than a javelin as it sailed toward whichever one of them wished to die a hero first. He did not expect the spear to lethally kill whom he threw it at, rather he would calmly draw Urfael from it's sheathe, the runes upon the ancient blade dancing with pallid, green flames as the Shaper readied himself for combat saying not a word more.

Personally engaging: Detritus Ren Hans Rennagen

Allies: Darth Carnifex Thurion Heavenshield Ruek Tast Iasha Rha Adron Malvern Xobos Yakieer Freyu Molidias Other Space Kaiden Syd Celsius Alina Tremiru

Tentacle Food Enemies: Rurik Fel Ryv Shaka Sunstar Cotan Sar'andor Loske Treicolt Oceiros Sunstrider Zaavik Perl Corso Rook Creuat Kalika Vaar

 

[Lark]

​

Location: Crystal Caves
Writing With: Enlil

For a few brief moments, Lark enjoyed the almost alien sounds of the abysmal caverns. The distant thunder of blaster fire and explosive weaponry faded, even other soldiers spelunking within the cyanic walls grew quiet. Then the sounds of nature took their proper place, and it was all Lark could hear. The soft drip of water droplets falling onto glassy water, a far-away gust of wind blowing in from the surface. Even a few bats and other beings that dwelled in the dark sang their little chirps and warbles. It was a privilege to bear witness to such a thing, though it was a shame such tranquility would soon be overwhelmed by absolute barbarism.

The howl that broke the veil of serenity was as unnatural as could be. The Graug were effective grunts, but detestable beasts even by Sithspawn standards nonetheless. Their language was violence, and they spoke it fluently. Lark wasn't sure what set them off. Perhaps some of their number were cut down, or perhaps they perceived some vague slight and concluded mass slaughter was the appropriate response. For the moment, their echoing shrieks were several chasms away. But Lark knew that he was not safe from their hunt.

With the new threat present in the back of his mind, Lark turned back to his main focus. There was something strange about that baronial warrior. Despite his regal posture and evident prowess in battle the man seemed almost... new. As though he were still adjusting to fighting alongside the NIO and certain Jedi. But if that were the case, that would mean that he wasn't some secret apprentice that was just now being brought into the fold. There was a deeper mystery here. One that Lark was eager to solve.

I feel you there, creature of the dark. I will not make you wait long.

I'm glad, Lark said gently in response. It's beautiful down here, truly. I'd describe it to you, but I don't want to ruin the wonder that will fill your eyes once you gaze upon this miraculous sight. But I'll give you a hint. Look at the water- the reflections of azure light seem as though they're the stuff of dreams. Its hard to believe such wonders exist.

Like something out of a fairytale.

Soon, the two would meet face to face. Both carried themselves like royals, though only one descended from true nobility. The other was born into mud and squalor, with no more than his brother's arms and a rotten bridge to provide comfort.

But amongst fire and embers, he was reborn into something else entirely.

 

[Zenobia Hahn]

There was something hilarious about the level of carnage displayed by The Amalgam . Maybe it was all the bloody good fun she seemed to be having, the campy glee with which she gutted and eviscerated her opponents, or the Palpatine-esque “I’m fething evil and I love it” approach to being a lunatic villain. It wasn’t subtle, but it was an incredible sight to see.

Which meant that Zenobia Hahn just had to rain on her parade.

The Chironian Jedi, part of Mato Kejak ‘s weird little cult of death-desiring, anti-lightsaber warriors, went into battle intent on ending the life of any Dark Sider she encountered, or die trying.

Horse hooves pounded across the Enclave as she ran, swinging her naginata at various Sith forces as she passed them, the blade cutting through their flesh. She spotted The Amalgam as the crazed Shi’ido was prancing through the purple flames, and began her charge. Her intent was to either gore the witch with her blade, or slam into her like a battering ram and trample her to paste under her hooves.

 

[Auteme]

Joycelyn Zambrano Sakadi Marathi Sinvala | Kenth Ordo Sor-Jan Xantha ​

Time slowed. She watched the rocket fly, letting it pass and slam into a nearby building. That wasn't her focus; the Empress charged.

In such a situation Auteme normally would've been afraid -- not that she wasn't afraid. An eight-foot-tall woman with a saber coming right at her? It was like looking straight at a truck barreling down the road. Yet Auteme could see past it, feel something else. Hesitation. The truck driver saw Auteme and was pressing on the brakes. As hard as the Empress might sneer it could not hide the truth. The giant took a step closer.

Auteme had faced the darkness before. On Onderon she'd seen an endless black pit; Sith Lords of seemingly incomparable power. Those who could break her on a whim and whose whims were quite inclined to breaking things. For a time, that was what she believed the Sith to be. Creatures who desired death, to snuff out the light, who did as they so desired and what benefitted them the most. It was why she'd been so suspicious of the alliance. As much as she searched for the best in people she couldn't ignore the fact that such a political ploy would serve the Sith well in allowing them to regain their strength.

Another step. Auteme was still.

Yet here she saw a change in heart. As much as the Empress harbored hate the malice she felt then was a hollow one. The Empire provided, the Empire protected, but the Sith were different.

Different than what she saw.

"You're no Sith," she whispered.

Another step.

Auteme's right hand rose towards the Empress and she reached out to both heart and mind -- for she was sure there was still a sliver of light tucked away under that armor, just as hesitation and doubt ran rampant in her opponent's mind. She could sense the Empress's strength. If she had been meaning to kill Auteme, there were quicker ways to go about it. Mercy, perhaps, but a moment of weakness more likely. That was what it was. Weakness. And Auteme reached in to bring it out and force the Empress to reconcile with it.

"Wait." The word rang out through the Force as she attempted to reach into the giant's mind; in part a command to try to stop her in her tracks. If not, perhaps a small amount of reason would reach her -- a chance to prove she was not as those Auteme had seen on so many other worlds. "I'm not here to fight you."

 

[Ryv]

S W O R D _ O F _ T H E _ J E D I
GALACTIC ALLIANCE
NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
ARMOR | LIGHTSABER

I AM FUELED BY ALL FORMS OF FAILURE
​

"Speak to me of treachery when the treachery of the Jedi doesn't result in billions dead because you can't stop fighting Sith for even one instant."

Ryv perked a brow.

Yeah, in comparison to the killing machine that now stood before him, Ryv was emotional. More Jedi fell dishonored, executed by Sith loyalists behind her. A path of dead Imperials littered the field where she passed. He ground his teeth together in frustration, knuckles whitening as his grip on the lightsaber tightened. He felt his anger rising as she actually tried to rationalize what he considered entirely irrational.

"Do you even hear the crap coming out of your mouth? You think you're what, doing the right thing by fighting? You're here because the Bryn'adul are the greatest threat to the galaxy? Then why are you killing able-bodied soldiers who can resist them on Dantooine? Maybe in your twisted head, this all makes sense, but out loud? All I hear is someone pretending to do the right thing, just like these pathetic Sith who've armed their citizens or trapped them beneath their temples to power their rituals. This is a goddamn war. There is no right or wrong, nor is there a greater evil. The Sith have butchered indiscriminately for over a decade, while the Silver Jedi have stood by and watched. Just because these tainted beasts convinced the Confederacy and the Concord they're trustworthy doesn't mean they won't turn around and stab them both in the back as soon as the Bryn'adul disappear."

"Quote history, insult other Jedi, I don't care. This isn't religious fanaticism. The Jedi are here because they chose to be here. I'm no Grandmaster. I may be the Sword, but I would never force my people into a war. They believe in this movement, and one psychopath with some title conjured on the spot won't change that. Kill me if you want; another will rise and take up the mantle. Keep killing if you want. Soon, you'll stand in a galaxy devoid of light, hope, or integrity. You'll be drowning in the blood of the people you've slaughtered, surrounded by enemies on all sides. The last Jedi, hunted by the very same masters she so wholly devoted herself to."

Ryv shook his head, his eyes locked on the Marksman's own. "Keep your mercy. Though you are drenched in darkness, I can see the strings that tug you around. You are not without hope. You need only bear witness to these falsehoods you've uttered this day."

He took a deep breath and fell inward. His anger faded away, cooled by the Jedi Knight's startling realization. His opponent wasn't evil, merely misguided, lost amidst a galaxy who sought only to use and abuse her. He stood where she had before—an agent of those who did do wrong for their own gain. To turn his back on her would be no different than the horrid acts she's committed in whatever "self-righteous" quest she embarked on from the moment they'd met. This would be his greatest test. Could he bring Ashla's light to one enwrapped in Bogan's shadow?

"I will not bear arms against a fellow Jedi, Laertia Io. It is not the Jedi way," he lifted his saber and held it horizontally across his chest. The hilt rested at just about chin level, whereas the green blade stretched to his right.

Suddenly, she vanished.

He felt the pull of the Force as the woman moved unseen in almost the blink of an eye. She drifted effortlessly beyond him, appearing and taking shape at his back. His eyes fell shut as he pivoted on his heel and lifted his saber to parry the strike, only for Aaralyn to engage her in his stead.

Ryv said nothing. He stood firm, an eerie calm etched into his hardened features. When a strange static fell over him, he pushed it away, his mind and body working in unison within the meditative stance. He reached out as the energy crackled against Aaralyn's guard. His hand found her shoulder and ripped her back with incredible strength, only for him to surge forward as Laertia's saber burst out. Rather than meet the woman head-on, he shifted on his front foot and pivoted once more. His viridescent blade carefully redirected the stronger warrior's attack out and away from the master. The mechanical arm found nothing to grasp with Aaralyn out of reach.

The Sword danced back, his movements fluid. His blade rose to chin-level again, eyes still closed.

Only a faint smirk decorated his otherwise stoic expression.

​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | T The End Narrator
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Laertia Io

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

V i n d i c a t e_A c t u a l

307th Stormtrooper Legion // Darth Sybila
Task //: Spearhead

Tenebrae Armor / Hand Of God / BR-212-'Jackal' ACR / BH 'Durin' Charric Blaster Pistol / Light Saber (s) / Void Grenade

​

//: Location Garang City...
//: Time Hour Zero....
//: Protocol Civic Duty.....
//: One Step Closer

<<“Alright you fuckin three musketeers, sweep the west sector and push up. Delay any militia and prevent reinforcements from moving in. The 8th has marked a series of high priority targets, looks like a checkpoint. Flush them out. Genesis One will be your contact for support-over.”>> Lyra said her servo flew to the comms, answering the relay-her words practically spat as she spoke to Rexus Wenck .

<<”Vindicate-Actual transmitting sector points from Hellion.”>>

She scrambled back across the black top as she retreated from the tanks locked into firing position. The comms bleed together once more and the street was a haze of grey and blastplate her vision doubling. The radar flickered and a stone settled itself in her gut-across the map the markers set by Observation read. The city’s layout unfolded in the corner of the screen, detailing public buildings and other locations. Worse was the swarm of red markers that burned her eyes. A sharp thread yanked in the back of her mind and she dropped low, knee scraping the pavement as the homes that surrounded them lit up. The Spearhead engulfed in blaster fire.

<”Take cover!”>

The volley from the Catpahracts bursted, the percussion echoed down the block, in an instant windows shattered bathing the column in broken glass. A symphony of hell. The explosion rocked the street as the lead Cataphracts engines dimmed and revved once again, the Security Task had scattered across the road way. A bolt of red flashed past her shoulder and Lyra felt the burn in her limbs as she pushed herself faster, she breathed heavily as the heat nicked and the pot shots singed the roadway. She had to only reach out-

<<“Feral-Actual the antici-”

Lyra drew the frenzy of energy that burned under her skin close to her chest, to focus.

"Your gluttony for this vacuous comradery disgusts me." ​

“-pation is killing me honestly. Keep the main company pushing. Punch through the road block past the intersection or blast it, second intersection I want a tank company to break off and secure the public works in the west sector. When we hit the park district we’ll be in open space, expect more armor resistance. Expect Sith or worse.” >>

The audio dampeners in her ears whined and Lyra snarled as the glass rained down across them. The shisim of the disembody voice-she cursed under breath. Lyra was compromised. The woman didn’t hesitate to throw herself down behind the secondary rows of armor as blaster fire opened overhead from the urban buildings around, apartments and business upturned. Her helmet hit the pavment and Lyra took the moment to wallow, eyes opening-landing the corner shop’s sign flickered neons sparking.

If only it was easy as reaching out and breaking her knuckles across the pavment.

<<“Crimson Company do you read? I am sending in spec ops to your position to clear out targets.”>>

They were still in the open and Lyra weighed their position, helmet craned to peer down the road. Too many men and even some untrained fool pulled off the field had a chance of getting a shot in. Lyra caught the tanker’s communications on the comms as it listed a confirmed hit on the enemy armor, the billowing cloud of black smoke down the block said enough. It disappeared from her screen as she threw her weight back down, a scathing round of blaster fire eating up the corner of armor just above her head. Her arm dug into the cement, armor scraping the road as she pushed herself back further.

<<”-verified.’”>>

The push was drawing out too long. Troopers hunched over as each man and woman sought some form of cover, the cry sounding down the line, steadfast.

<”Looks like a militia! Set to stun, Archer get your men moving-clear these apartments out now! Call the 44th in when the block is secured, remove any non combatants”> Lyra yelled over the link, her rifle snapped against the worn strap as she dropped it. The man’s response nigh static but confirmed. Her hand raised-winding her fingers as she tossed the signal, another trooper down the rows of armor caught it repeating the motion.

Her eyes flitted across the buildings, scanning the windows as the black haze blew over the roadway. A flash of red caught her peripheral and her head whipped around, hands scooped up her rifle as she trained it on the violence. Above the complexes was a storm of fire and gun fire as the Myrmidons tore across the rooftops. Through the haze the A.I outlined a man thrown from the rooftops of the complexes.

She was almost reassured knowing Dooku wasn’t too far. Her lips pressed into a thin frown, unseen from behind her helmet as. He gave too much and she didn’t want to have to pull his body off the field. Her worries trailed after the man as he blazed across the rooftops, worse yet Irveric. She knew him too well, standing on his roots trying to break the grip hold. It was going to get worse before it got better and she wasn’t sure she could take it again.

It wasn’t the time, even if the whole matter felt helpless. She was feeding off the anxiety that bled in to the Force, the city’s desperation in the face of the sige. Lyra scanned the cerulean screen, jaw clenched as an ache rose in the back of her mind. Her eyes passed over names as she got an idea of the soldiers on the board-pausing on a pair of names.

<<”Lettow, Muuaji do you read this is Vindicate. Report abnormalities, do we have Cloaks moving or Sith Spawn on the move?”>>

The Security Task organized around her from their meager position, blue plasma lit up the roadway as they began to return fire on any opening on the housing. Lieutenant Arroyo dropped a knee beside her and Lyra slid her knee up, their shoulders knocked and she pointed down the road. Their sights landed on a repeater that peaked out the corner of some torn up apartment-

<”Lieutenant smoke the roadway, I am taking that gun. The 193rd is to keep moving with the armor-the 201st will handle the rest here.”>

The energy crackled in the air and there was a short lull as the Cataphracts retracted and the drivers crept forward. Heavy machinery creaked as the repulsors roared with life ahead of them, the armor creeping forward. A series of clicks sounded, pins dropped on the stone and troopers passed down the smokes-canisters were lopped down the side roads and ahead. White smoke streamed through the road as a thick cloud proliferated. She trusted the Lieutenant to keep things moving as she detoured briefly.

"They all know what you are."

"And they all know you're dead." ​

A snarl tore through her throat as she uttered the words, she almost didn't recognize her own words. The voice slammed against the walls of her skull and her stomach rolled. Her armor strained as she leaned out from behind the track of the armor at her side, the Task pushing forward. Lyra inhaled deeply as her digit brushed the trigger, she refused to fire a shot yet. Was it reluctance-to take the wrong shot? She shook her head to herself, hand dropping to her belt as the repeater laid in to the armor; shields crackling.

Her gauntlet upholstered a canister and she loaded the Jackal’s barrel in one fell swoop. The HUD dimmed as she gauged the distance, inching forward beside the tank Lyra tilted the rifle back and fired off the frag into the apartment window across the intersection. The shallow thump sounded and her shoulder at the recoil. A shrill pop sounded, the flash of light muted by the polarized screen. Dust engulfed the gap in the window, the repeater’s fire ceased.

"How primitive."​

<”Moving in!”> Lyra warned the zabrak, her gauntlets crushed the road as she pushed herself forward.

Her boots ate up the road as Lyra broke out into a full sprint, chest heaving. A cold sweat broke out across her neck. The HUD projected the distance-eight hundred and feet the trajectory calculated to the third story. Each step grew heavier as the security covered the road and returned fire. The echo of the battle grew distant. Lyra’s teeth grinded as her hands flexed at her side, drawing the force around her. Her hand itched to reach for her saber but she curled her fist in tightly until the artificial nerve pained her-

The Force. ​

It swelled and Lyra propelled herself up into the air in a single flourish; weightless. She careened through the air into the building leaving the intersection behind, hand brushing her rifle as she readied it, the other raised to shield her visor. But a dark blurr, she came crashing through the window and it’s frame shattered the remains of the wall. She disappeared into the dim blown out room, the impact was an afterthought. Lyra slapped her hand out across the floor with a harsh thud and rolled through the room through the debris and furniture-wood snapped and she could hear screaming. Her helmet snapped up, the screen’s light adjusted-every corner outlined in green; dirt and smoke filtered through the air as she surveyed the room.

​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Sturit Goan Tavius Muuaji Tyrell Paxxus Irveric Tavlar Rexus Wenck Lucien Dooku Hayek Sinestra Gedeon Rath
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | OPEN

 

[Ulrich]

Feeling the pressure of eyes upon me wasn't exactly a unique experience. Being something of an oddity I was graced with countless stares from awestruck and terrified observers whenever I decided to venture out into any urban area. On a battlefield however ignoring such things could be far more costly as it was often only ones instincts that saved one from a dreadful fate. Strangely enough I could even hear one of the observers .... growl at me? Redd had donned a helmet on so I couldn't get a good look at the figure who had just made the noise. The other figure was less obvious I couldn't get a good fix on the location of this mysterious observer Aiden Wolf and thus decided that it was in my best interest to simply keep moving.

As we got to the mother and child Aurelion Nova comforted the young parent assuring her that I was no threat. He was right of course. I wasn't in the business of indiscriminately cutting down civilians with no prior provocation.

"Aurelion is right you have no need to fear me. Now I would suggest you take your offspring and make haste away from here as to not squander the precious chance he has given you to survive this night."

As I spoke there was the sound of something heavy moving nearby. This had brought back memories of my early days as a slave to the Mandalorians. Aside from aircraft ,walkers were one of the most dangerous types of opponents that a dragon such as I could face. However that was even more true when it came to humans such as Aurelion and the commando that it was engaging with....

Oh hell I had to act quickly. While the walker seemed to be armed with mostly lighter weapons the caliber of which would be of questionable use against my defenses it did seem to have a missile pod attached. It was also outfitted with a shield generator of some kind. However such things were often purposely made to allow biological material through so as to not inhibit their own troops.

"Aurelion I'm going to engage with that mecha. I don't know the extent of your powers but if you can get that lady moving and off to safety I would greatly appreciate whatever assistance you can offer afterwards. "

That said I began to move chanting the beginnings of an incantation as I picked up speed.

"Tapti' kia nun gidim ir vykti sis aikste"

I took to the wing as the power of the darside flowed through me powering my spell. Those who were in the cockpit of the AT-ASG would be in for a very nasty surprise as the shades of the recently departed would begin to manifest within the cockpit. This was a hasty and weak summoning so the spirits would have very little power to actually effect the machine in a tangible way. However the crews visual and auditory senses would be assailed with the sight and sounds of moaning specters which was highly distracting.

On the wing I soared closer to the walker. I readied myself for a diving slam aiming to smash my considerable weight into the top heavy machine either toppling the vehicle or dealing significant damage.

 

[Enlil]

A_R_B_I_T_E_R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

NEW JEDI ORDER

JEDI IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM

​

While the Jedi breached the Temple walls, the King exhaled sharply and dropped the defensive barrier he had erected. There was no call for it now. Their infiltration was a success. In all of this, the sole disappointment was that Ryv would have to lag behind and face his wayward kin in conflict. From what he knew of the Jedi, this situation was highly irregular.

He slipped between the cracks in the wake of the rest of the strike team, leaving them to their devices. They had already rushed to engage various targets, while what Enlil had felt attracted his attention toward something hidden, tucked away in the recesses of the Temple. Shadows obfuscated the true darkness of this place. The vile and contemptable kept many of their evils in the open, but the things that were never meant to come to light were perhaps the most atrocious of all.

I'm glad, Lark said gently in response. It's beautiful down here, truly. I'd describe it to you, but I don't want to ruin the wonder that will fill your eyes once you gaze upon this miraculous sight. But I'll give you a hint. Look at the water- the reflections of azure light seem as though they're the stuff of dreams. Its hard to believe such wonders exist.

Like something out of a fairytale.

Unlike the grizzled, battle hardened soldiers of the New Imperial Order, war itself had no intrinsic value for the King. Those who sought war were devoid of purpose, seeking to find meaning through violence. It meant that they had not glimpsed the true form their soul might one day take. Of all the sadness and sorrows in the Galaxy, a love of war was the greatest of lamentations.

His eyes took in the perverted majesty of Sith architecture, the vanity that went into the craftsmanship evident. He pushed from his mind the corpses of those who died that this wretched place might be wrought into being. These Sith were the consummate antithesis of Justice. There was no room for Balance in a world ruled by their kind.

When his gaze fell on an imperfection, Enlil quickly realized that it was by design. Beauty in the eyes of this blighted shadow of humanity was a twisted mockery. He moved through the chaos of the Temple like a man out of place. The King was a cryptic, peaceful element in the midst of all the strife.

Because, until he deigned to reach out his hand, all things were beneath him.

These Sith, these Jedi, their eternal struggle of good and evil- both sides tipped the scales. At different times, in different places, and for different reasons, either one might shatter the balance. It just happened that on this day, the Sith had transgressed.

He reached the rift that led below, and the twisting corridor that met him brought him deeper and lower. The bowels of the Temple were darkness in fact, not simply some elemental, abstract concept.

It would be impolite for me to refuse such an invitation.

He continued along the path, guided by the latent power that emanated from ahead of him. After a length of time that felt disproportionate to his stride, the void gave way to something truly beautiful. Like a sky on all sides that went on for eternity, the azure crystals burned vibrantly with inner flame.

It truly did seem unreal.

"It appears that you have offered me an unexpected gift, child of darkness, and so," the King reached out his hand, a smile on his face. "I must extend my own kindness as thanks."

He could not see the enemy yet, if he was nearby; but he was confident as he spoke, willfully giving away his own position. Standing in the midst of the crystalline sea, the King's body was bathed in the gentle light.

"I will permit you to give me your name before you die." His outstretched hand remained open, and he made no sudden or subtle movements. "I will be sure that History remembers you."

It was a kindness that the Rakata had not afforded his people, and though it may have been lost on this Sith, it was the greatest act of compassion that Enlil could offer a mortal enemy. "What say you?"

Lark​

 

[Laertia Io]

Ryv pulled T The End Narrator out of the way and Io surged forward to try and pierce him. He deflected her attack. A smart move on his part. Path of least resistance.

She'd been so used to cutting down awful people she wasn't used to fighting decent ones. He cared about his people. Too bad he didn't care enough about them to stop them from coming here and aiding the NIO.

"Do you really believe the SJO can fight the Sith and the Bryn'adul? At the same time?" She asked coldly, pushing past his emotion, angling her blade as she prepared to strike. "The billions flooding your borders, soldiers dying in the thousands. I was one of the only survivors in the areas where I fought at Nar Kreeta. I watched as that worm ravaged the surface, devouring lives, hopes...the people I had sworn to do my absolute best to protect. All a miserable failure. Not enough bodies. Not enough weapons. But I didn't see no reinforcements there. Just our soldiers. Just our adepts, ground down in front of me.. Some of those warriors leapt in front of rounds meant for me. I haven't stopped remembering the sensation of them dying for me, hearing their flesh tear or bones break. It is unpleasant. But I have drowned in blood and been surrounded by enemies since I was 007 years old. I never needed devotion to masters for that outcome. My Jedi parents were murdered on the very planet we fight for. I was a baby when they were dismembered right outside the ship I had been born on. Dismembered by a Sith. I 'know' why people hate them. I'll easily go back to gutting them when the Bryn'adul are no longer a factor.

The smirk puzzled her. What the feth was he smirking about? There was nothing to smirk about. Not for either of them. Syd Celsius was still brutally killing as many as she could at the steps of the temple, acting as a literal barrier to the NIO completely overwhelming it, her blades and her flames ripping through their ranks

"I still never got an answer from those like you. How are we to handle the refugee crisis? How are we to fight the Bryn'adul, The Sith, and potentially the CIS and their massive droid armies should the Concord pull out of this Alliance? You'll have the NIO and GA, but you'll all still be wasting your resources on wars against the Sith and their allies, and the Bryn'adul will still be murdering whole planets full of innocent people--again, leaving no one for you to rescue. The ones who survive all that will flood your borders, taxing your economies all the more, and you'll all still be fighting each other, and the Bryn'adul. See where I'm going with this?" She wondered, clearly unused to talking to an opponent. But she was waiting, searching the Force for an answer on when to attack.

"I don't care about governments. Governments come and go. Of course the Sith will betray us. Of course they will try to kill us. But they don't want the Bryn'adul to win anymore than anyone else. They can't afford having the Bryn'adul around. So they'll join hands. Even Thurion Heavenshield sees it, and I hear he and Darth Carnifex are mortal enemies. You may call me a psychopath--and you might be right--it takes low amounts of empathy to rip a person's head off barehanded or use chainsaws on the enemy as I have...but is Thurion the crazy person too, if he's setting aside his history with Carnifex like I'm setting aside mine with the Sith?"

She waited to strike, knowing this couldn't end peacefully. But she wanted to say she had actually listened to the other side before deciding to kill him anyway. Principles and all that.

 

[Korso Rook]

THE HIGH GROUND
​

Corso Rook relished the sight of a Sith Enclave ablaze. Fires still raged all around its threshold where the Jedi-Imperial strike team had breached sacred ground. He was not a cruel man or a sadist. He did not take any pleasure in the suffering of Dantooine's people. Such concerns simply didn't factor into his combat calculus. Rook was an Imperial mercenary for the challenge. For the glory. The mandalorian exulted in the prospect of great battle. Today was a good day to die.

"Come on. Almost there..."

He followed his mark's thermal trace as it finally approached the surface. When the anomalous lifesign was close enough Rook swooped down in an evasive pattern, avoiding the temple's remaining automated defenses. He lowered his helm and fired the rocket attached to his jetpack nearly point blank. Debris rained down on Peyton Steele and a mandalorian commando followed shortly after. Erupting through the small insertion point he'd manufactured Corso wasted little time tracking for his target.

Unlike the Sons of Mandalore he was unadorned by any signet save the vexis of House Kast. He wore a helm of pure beskar steel but his cuirass was incomplete. Only his vambraces and a single pauldron gleamed in the same fashion. Although he was a Clan Rook warrior trained from childhood in the Fighting Corps his center mass was protected by conventional plastoid. The twin WESTAR pistols gripped in each hand seemed quite deadly however.

A hail of bolts rained down on the Silver Jedi operative's last known position.

 

[AMCO]

Location: Caverns beneath the Sith Enclave proper.
Objective: Improvised Field Trial Besh-1; harry New Imperial forces. Survive.
Equipment: Polyweave Suit, G1 UltraDeluxe, Shield Talisman, Soulstones, Empyrean Gland, [2] Jin'Pins
Writing With: Runi Verin & Amea Virou

The sight of the Mandalorian barrelling backwards was satisfying, to be sure, but not as satisfying as it should have been. There had been resistance, and not from her - that would have been acceptable, he could deal with a battle of mystical attrition, but this was different. A Talisman, perhaps?

Unfortunate, very unfortunate. In his experience, efficiency was key in battle, far more so than fanaticism or bulging muscles.

Still, he could not help but smirk at her transparent ruse. In his experience, Mandalorians were little better than rabid animals, always looking to pick a fight wherever they could. Was the respect genuine? Perhaps, perhaps not. Would it be followed up with a violent "surprise"? Of course.

Condensing most of his barrier into a single point even before she surged forward, his approach was as pragmatic as it was brutal - her fist would strike an immovable object with immense force and unfeeling physics would break every bone in her arm. Check and mate, one Mandalorian left in the dust. As it turned out, however, her plan was... significantly less direct.

Eyebrows flying upwards as her blow turned towards the cavern floor, sundering it and completely ruining his balance, he was too flabbergasted to see the other woman dashing forward perfectly in sync with her compatriot. Too surprise to adapt, her fist bursting through weakened defences.

Synthflesh and alchemized steel driving into his face with a sickening crunch, he was flung backwards; had he still been human, it would have been over... instead, his once-refined features turned semi-liquid, slowly crawling back into place as silvery fluids dripped onto the sundered stone floor.

As if sensing the distress of their master, four Shrouds emerged from the walls, manifesting as blue-white spectres and gliding towards the pair.

 

[Lavria Xedrim]

ALLIES: Gerwald Lechner | Redd
ENEMIES: Yeah, 'bout that.....
ENGAGING: Daedalos Solidor
GEAR: This | Weapons in Bio

The memories hit her like a ton of bricks.

She could feel the Darkness being summoned, but she had no idea of the consequences until Gerwald showed her the havoc it would wreak. His guilt and fear almost clouded her own emotions. She took a step back as if to distance herself from the thoughts.

She had just opened her mouth to let loose some snarky comment, when she felt it.

It was shadowed.....almost hidden. If she had not been channeling the Force so thoroughly she might have missed it completely. Luckily her senses caught the movement just before it hit the ground behind her.

Spinning around, she ignited her two tonfas in the same movement, as Daedalos Solidor hit the ground, yelling his threat.
"Go." she told Gerwald, dropping into a battle stance. As her yellow eyes locked with the new arrival's sapphire ones, a sneer spread on her lips.
"What the kark are you supposed to be, hm? A Shyyyo bird?" she quipped at him. "You even know how to use those?" she added, nodding at the pistols pointed at her, the snarkiness heavy in her voice.

Drawing heavily on the Dark Sided energy swirling all around, she kept the Force close and readied her sabers. There was no way this flamboyant chicken was getting past her to get to what the kark ever was going on with Darth Prazutis and the "rift in the veil". It sounded like a bad holofilm.

 

[DT-7343 'Jabber']

DAZED_AND_CONFUSED
Dantooine Civilian Militia? [NEW IMPERIAL ORDER; AWOL]
Unnamed Militia Squad
Vainglorious Sacrifice
Pistol | A Grenade
ALLY/ENEMY: DT2319

WHERE_HAVE_I_BEEN?
​

He was only a farmhand. One of the strongest on the Platz plantation, for sure- the other farmhands used to call him 'Bull' because he did almost three times the work of an average worker. He didn't tire as easy, though he was always clumsier than the rest. Still, the family in charge there took good care of him. Bought him out of slavery, which explained the scars on his back, hands and legs.

Carl never remembered life beyond the farmland. He only knew how to dig furrows, sow seeds and then reap the bountiful harvests that came from his hard toil. It was good, honest work that never hurt anyone.

Then why was he here?

They came and seized everyone near the city- men, women and children. Even the patriarch of the Platz family. One of their sons resisted, but they shot him and made the farmhands dig up his grave. Carl remembered the blank eyes of the lifeless corpse- too young to have realized how cruel the world was. After his death, no one else resisted- they just followed their new masters meekly. They separated the strong from the weak- Carl was thrown in with the weak, if only because his farm clothes hid his body.

They didn't even give him, or the three other shaking conscripts armor- proper armor, that their soldiers were using. Only what they could scrounge up at the last moment. Each man got a pistol- the best shot got a blaster rifle, and two paks of munitions- and then made them sit and wait within an underground basement.

And then they waited.

It was the worse thing, not seeing what was going out there, only hearing the devastation of the enemy. The rattle of gunfire, the muffled screams of the dying and the harsh barks of orders over the radio. But for some reason, he didn't feel scared. A sense of calm gripped his heart, even though he wanted to feel scared. He couldn't, in spite of his wishes. Only an insidious sense of calm that made him shut his mouth and wait patiently with the rest of the men within their little make-belief fort.

One by one, each squad was sent out. Reinforcements, interception squads or simply to die. Carl didn't know what was going on, but finally his time came up. "Move to the eastern sector," barked the soldier. "Report to the sergeant there immediately! Go!" There was much pleading by the trio in his squad, but he kept quiet. He didn't see the use in it, and a quick back-hand slap across one of his squad members was enough to quell any dissent. They were made to go under threat of immediate death.

Die here now, or potentially die serving their rightful masters. The militia squad hedged their bets and left for the eastern sector. They only had a map, poorly sketched but it served. No one should be within their zone of control, yet the militia squad, for better or worse, had been paralyzed with fear. They kept twitching at the sight of each rubble, corpse or burning wreck.

Eventually Carl got sick and tired of it. He was just a farmhand. He didn't understand anything about war- but surely this wasn't right? Who gave the order to conscript civilians? Strange, uncomfortable thoughts began to infiltrate his mind- words he never remembered uttering in his life; or was he misremembering? Even the smell of the battlefield- all this ionization, the smell of burning metal and death and floated heavily, so thick you could cut through it with a butter knife- it was beginning to become more and more sterile to him. Carl didn't know why he felt more at ease here, watching silently as his squad threw a fit every time they stumbled upon a dead body, than he ever did working the fields.

Why?

There was too many questions. Too many thoughts hurt his head. Better to keep urging the men to move and- shots! Faster than he could track, three men, struck down around him. He looked around and held his weapon high- he didn't know how to fire a weapon, and could barely hit the target when they made him practice with it.

But it felt so warm, so comfortable to him that he immediately took a liking to the weapon. He saw- no, felt!- the movement by the 2nd story window of a nearby building. Before words were uttered, before he could even think, the pistol swung around and with a finger on the trigger-

"Dee-Tee Seven-three-four-three, stand down!"

In that moment, a thousand images flickered through his mind, his eyes were seeing things he had never seen before. Pictures of a surgery table- the machines that cut into him, poured vials of a hundred different concoction that killed men. He remembered fighting- so much hours spent on the range, the abuse of the drill instructors.

The stillness of the forest as he called in fire missions on unsuspecting enemy troops. Leading men. Killing men. How many did he kill? Each person he shot flit through his eye, masked or unmasked, men or women.

He remembered jumping out from a flying ship, he remembered a botched operation.

His knees buckled and sank as unmarked hours of pain cut into his veins, burning his very receptors- who was he? Who was he? Where did he come? Was he a slave? Was he Carl?

Who was Corric?

What was he?

Corric Tassadar.

Who was that? Who was Carl- no, wait! Carl? No, Corric! Corric, yes, that's his name. Corric Tassadar, member of the- no! A farmhand of the Platz family, responsible for the destruction of- CARL! NOT CORRIC!

CORRIC!

CARL!

In the haze of his rapidly deteriorating sanity he fired a shot and dropped the weapon, clutching his hair, fighting a silent battle in his mind. He opened his mouth, and only screamed. He screamed until finally, his voice cracked. So many years of anguish, silent months of torture. Who was he? What was he?

That's right.

It's so clear now. Death Trooper of the Galactic Empire. Designation 7434. He was a Lieutenant, the first of the GORGONs. He lead GORGON through thick and thin, didn't he? Where was GORGON now? What happened to MINOTAUR? What? WHAT? WHAT!?

"DT7343IAMDT7343! 7! 4! 3! 4! DT! DT! DT! DT! 7434! GORGON-LEAD! CARL! 7343!I AM I AM I AM I AM I A-"​

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