Invasion No Quarter | NIO Invasion of TSE held Dantooine

[Onrai]

Allies: Taeli Raaf Kyyrk Kiff Brayde Thaelius Verin Oldo
Enemies: Robogeber Var Koon Naier Rambeigh Josiah Navollius Okkeus Dainlei Kormov Alten

-

Broad-spectrum jamming from the Tregessar had commenced. It was fortunate too, given the jamming would hopefully interfere with the commands provided to the droid starfighters in the Tregessar's hangar, as well as to the ones already launched by Var Koon's ships. Vanessa ordered that broad-spectrum viral transmissions be sent to the petard fighters - viral transmissions that would hopefully invert the IFF system of the automatons and send them hurrying back to the ships from whence they came. To compensate for the jamming, Vanessa ordered the targeting of the Sovereigns and Sovereign Elites be slaved to the meditation chambers, as the Sith within them were not affected by target jamming and could effectively provide the necessary data to the targeting officers on board the ships in question. A hundred of the five hundred on board the Gorgon were effectively redirected to this new task as the fire from the primary and secondary beam weapons of the various warships continued to bombard the Tregessar. It was quite a durable ship given it was effectively sustaining the firepower of another dreadnought and twenty battlecruisers. The Gorgon did shudder at the ion bombardment - the triple-layered shields and diatium capacitance array did assist in the mitigation of overall ionizing effects, but the dreadnought's shields were down thirty percent.

The other four hundred had continued poring over vulnerabilities in the enemy dreadnought. Couplings to crush, consoles to damage the electronics of, pipes to burst... but it was the petard fighters warming up in the hangar that raised her interest. Vanessa had watched as the explosive charges from those Var had launched notably drained the shields of Lady Raaf's dreadnought, informing the Sith to look at the explosives within any fighters that remained in the dreadnought's hangar. They were all armed and ready to be launched, a tremendous threat in theory to any allied warship, and if they were tampered with in any way after being armed, they would detonate. It was the so-called "dead man's switch."

At once, the compartments of the fully armed and ready-to-launch self-propelled missiles would be opened through the use of the Force by the Sith within the meditation chambers of the Gorgon. Per the systems within the fighters recognizing such as the attempt by an enemy to tamper with a live but undetonated warhead, the anti-tamper systems of the fighters would presumably trigger - which likely would result in the detonation of the twenty-four Petards flying out of the hangar of the Tregessar, potentially causing serious harm to the fighters and potential harm to the dreadnought itself. The use of the weapons reminded her of the TIE Detonators she had once created, as well as the Scrapmetal target drones.

Perhaps she needed to go to the Graveyard after this battle was done.

-

Spoiler

Vanessa's Command Fleet
Class | Name | Length | Shields | Hull
Gorgon-class Star Dreadnought | Gorgon | 10000m | 70 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Heresiarch | 5000m | 94 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Despot | 5000m | 93 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Autarch | 5000m | 94 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Martinet | 5000m | 92 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Sovereign | 5000m | 95 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Harbinger | 5000m | 89 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Guardian | 5000m | 90 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Mandator | 5000m | 93 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Caudillo | 5000m | 89 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Assertor | 5000m | 95 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Bellator | 5000m | 97 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Vengeance | 5000m | 93 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Viscount | 5000m | 94 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Intimidator | 5000m | 94 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Annihilator | 5000m | 92 | 100
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Arbitrator | 5000m | 87 | 100
Sovereign-class Battlecruiser | Sovereign | 5000m | 94 | 100
Sovereign-class Battlecruiser | Terror | 5000m | 95 | 100
Sovereign-class Battlecruiser | Whelm | 5000m | 92 | 100
Sovereign-class Battlecruiser | Ravager | 5000m | 94 | 100

Shock-Jump Squadron
Class | Name | Length | Shields | Hull
Pluton-class Battleship | Ablution | 2000m | 100 | 100
Pluton-class Battleship | Saturn | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-B | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-C | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-D | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-E | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - O-Variant | EX-F | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - O-Variant | EX-H | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - O-Variant | EX-I | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-K | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-M | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-O | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-P | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-R | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-S | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-T | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-U | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-V | 2000m | 100 | 100
Saturn-type Battleship - D-Variant | EX-Y | 2000m | 100 | 100

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Auteme Sakadi Marathi Sinvala​

Spoiler

Wreath of the Sovereign, Lightsabre Pike, Armour + SI-PES

The first few seconds of a clash taught one much about the fighting style of one’s opponent. Whether they favoured the cut or the thrust, if they leaned more heavily on their defense or offense, if they fought with patience or great tenacity. Vornskr had known many fighters, some were her tutors, some were her peers, others were her mortal enemies. By far, she had learned the most from the latter category.

And she learned much about Sakadi from the first critical moments of their fight.

She learned that the sephi Jedi preferred to evade and deflect than to carry and defend; that she relied on her speed and agility to combat The Empress’ own size and strength. These were wise choices when facing a larger opponent, she knew.

But it would not be the first time she faced such a skilled opponent.

Vornskr covered her hand from any potential counter-attack with the protective prongs on her sabre and swiftly reeled her weapon back in from Sakadi’s deflection. She was disappointed to see the silver shaft miss the brown haired Jedi as it embedded itself part way into the wall where Auteme had been. In the corner of her eye, she kept a pin on their intruder’s position, and let her run her leash for the moment.

She would have to teach Sakadi a lesson before she truly dealt with her. Covering herself with a thrust, the Empress called the silver shaft to her. It screamed through the air as it broke free of the wall and clashed into her waiting right hand. Then the songsteel shaft sang as Joycelyn used its superior length to swipe at Sakadi’s knees while retracting the thrust of her sabre.

While the shaft did not have a blade at its end at the time, the sheer crushing blow of its mass accelerated by its length and Joycelyn’s powerful swing, it was a threat of its own.

A fierce grin spread over the Empress face as she revelled in the violence and the challenge of pursuing one Jedi while another tried to keep her from it. It was like a game played for the first time.

"I'm not done with you yet!" - she yelled after Auteme.

 

[Okkeus Dainlei]

Location: Dantooine Orbit, Thunderstruck, blowing up assholes
Allies: Var Koon | Josiah Navollius | Naier Rambeigh | Robogeber
Enemies: The Sith, CIS, SJO supporters of the Elder Council, Thaelius | Taeli Raaf | Kyyrk | Kiff Brayde | Verin Oldo
Directly Engaging: Onrai
Theme: We're Not Gonna Take It - Twisted Sister

They finally made it out of there, but not after another close call.

While they were flying to regroup back at the NIV Tregessar an enemy squadron caught up to them. Actually, four enemy squadrons. A small dogfight broke out between the remaining ships. While Youth, Angler, and Howler combined took out two of their squadrons, they still had the chance to take out Angler Four and Howler Leader.

Just as it all seemed lost, multiple squadrons of TIEs came screaming away from the NIV Tregessar with none other than the Petards in tow.

"The calvary has arrived!"

As if the Sith starfighters were Nunas running away from Anoobas, the Imperial TIEs chased after them, beginning to pick them off one by one. We weren't slowing down anytime soon. While the Sith starfighters were being dealt with the rest of his squadrons formed up with the Petards.

"I have new orders straight from the Grand Admiral himself. You remember that big ugly Dreadnought you just hit? Well, we are going in again."

Dammit. Again? Enough of his squadrons have been lost to that thing, and he didn't need anymore. What could this pilot possibly have in mind for them?

"Dude, what could we possibly be doing to take down that thing? It is bigger than a Hutt at an all-you-can-eat buffet!"

Scattered laughter filled the comms. What, it was true.

"You are going to take these Petards I got with me, along with a handful of these Dupes, and you are going to blow that thing into a million pieces."

Well now this was starting to sound like a plan. With only eight ships left in his remaining squadrons, they could use the extra firepower. And with the Dupes as well...hold on. It can't be.

"Did you just say Dupes? You wouldn't have happen to flown an X-Wing before this, would you?"

"Ah yes, I was an X-Wing pilot before this. Some of the old terms just stuck with me. Well I got to get going no, got some ships I need to blown up. Godspeed my friend!"

The lone TIE Fighter took off towards the dogfight that was still going on. It was cool to see he wasn't the only one in the Imperial Starfighter Corps that had good taste.

​

"Alright y'all, we are only going to get one shot at this, so let's make it count. From what I heard these missiles are already locked onto their target. All we got to do is send 'em in. Get the missiles to the ship and we can go home. Let's rock and roll."

Lining up in a tri formation, for every Petard there was a Eyeball and a Dupe. The Eyeballs will take care of any enemy starfighters that try and mess the run up. On the other hand, the Dupes will be handling the Dreadnoughts weapons, hopefully getting rid of those anti-aircraft turbolasers.

The stress slowly started to come back. They were only given a small amount of these Petards to use. What if any of them missed? One missed Petard could mean this whole battle taking a wrong turn.

That wouldn't be good.

With everyone ready he gave one final message over the comms.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time we fuck them up."

Engaging the thrusters to max speed he took off, leading the squadrons. His buddy Dupe soon followed to his right. The Petard soon after, staying behind them both. A few seconds later the other TIEs screamed ahead with the Petards close behind. It was one giant mass of starfighters all heading for the same target.

Inside of his X-Wing the cockpit began to rattle. Everything around him had their thrusters to the max, literally piercing the space around them like on giant arrow. Taking the control knob he knot he'd down the thrusters 1%. Still, no one would pass him as the thrusters were at 99% speed. Or at least, he didn't think they would.

If he didn't see the red light flash then he would have never heard the comms going off.

"This is Angler Leader. All TIE Bombers switch your lasers and missiles to Ion fire. If we can disable the turbolasers the power supply will still be flowing to it. We blow them up like normal, the power supply gets shut off. Leave that power on so when we blow this thing the reaction takes the entire ship."

That was actually pretty smart. Let's not take out part of a ship, rather the whole thing.

As they got closer and closer the Petards were finally in range to be released. But that was when the began taking oncoming fire.

"All squadrons, don't let those Petards get shot! Disable the turbolasers!"

Volleys of green and red lasers began spewing from their ships, all like a combined mass of energy hurtling towards the ship. The Dupes began striking their targets, but the starfighters were moving so fast it didn't even matter if they got disabled or not. They weren't going to get hit anyways.

Suddenly his HUD started to flash. Quickly looking downward it said they were nearing the drop zone. This could be it right here.

"All squadrons, break off of the Petards path and let 'em fly!"

Pulling the lever back his X-Wing angled upward, still vibrating from the Petard flying below. The TIEs did the same as well, releasing the Petards for flight. From what he heard the Petards made a pretty big mess, so he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

The loud explosion and the shaking of his ship confirmed his thoughts.

​

With the bombing run being a success the squadron hurried back to the NIV Tregessar to quickly fuel up and restock on missiles. Thankfully since ships from both parties were practically next to each other, it was a short flight. Pressing a button on his control panel he let the hangar crew know they were coming in.

Flying underneath the ship the squadron made their way into the hangar. Ground crew were hurrying around, creating makeshift landing spots and pushing around missile carts for reloading. He guided his X-Wing forward, touching it down in the closest spot. Facing the ship outward it would make for a faster exit back into battle. With a soft compression of the landing gear he flipped open the cockpit.

"Hey, make sure to get my squadron reloaded on those Ion missiles. Those are doing the force's work for us. And make sure to get those lasers cooled down."

After a few scattered nods the crew scurried off to make the repairs. Hopping out of the cockpit he went over to a separate repair guy. Tapping him on the shoulder the man turned around.

"Uh, could you maybe get some of your guys to help patch up my ship?"

Tilting his head the man looked over his shoulder, seeing the X-Wing sitting there.

"What are you doing with that sort of ship, here?"

"Persoanl preference really."

"Well, ain't none of us know how to fix that thing. You are on your own kid. It got ships to refuel."

The man then walked away, heading for the nearest TIE Bomber. Fine, I'll fix it myself. Using the force he threw his helmet back into the cockpit. With his other free hand he maneuvered a fuel line over to his ship. Locking the line in place he listened as it slowly began to fill up. After a few seconds the line clicked off, obviously now full. In a hurry he dropped the fuel line, letting it sway back and forth.

Just as he was heading over to load up on missiles the NIV Tregessar rocked violently. Crew fell to the ground, missiles rolled off of carts, the ships began to shake. This wasn't good.

Now in even more of a hurry he finished loading up the missiles onto his ship. Should be enough for now. Hoisting himself up into the cockpit he sat down, adjusting himself in his seat. Using the force he flicked a switch on the hangar wall. Red lights began to flash as sirens began turning on. He watched as the TIE pilots rushed back to their ships, quickly turning them on. Placing the helmet on his head he turned on his ship as well. Once it was fully fired up he engaged the thrusters, heading back out into battle.

The mass of TIEs followed soon thereafter, like a warrior clan being led to the fight of their lives.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

T H E _ W O L F
THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM
Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Lightsaber

RUINS OF THE DEAD​

She impeded on him with moral dilemma, taking the offer of choice and turning it back and down on him. This war made sense, the interdicting of slaves on the Pabol Hutta, the Muun worlds turned to glass, the heart of his homeland rendered asunder. Now she dared to look down on him for the choices he'd made, the path he walked to get to this moment.

This was no glorious culmination or dark depth to Maynard's journey, this was merely another battle, another pillar of Sith control wrenched from its gilded foundation and brought to shatter against the earth beneath. Unlike most any of the others, she had a human face. The rest being outright distorted, depraved beasts be it in the false beauty of Darth Alekto or the outright insidiousness of her other half in Prazutis, Aradia had clearly not undergone that full indoctrination.

Or...whatever happened to the Sith in their training and development. He well and truly didn't know.

"You really don't think this is wrong," .

"Why?"

"What did I ever do to you? And my school? They were children, we weren't in those stupid battles. We didn't take anything from you. When does this end?"

"I said stop!"

"Here's your precious choice for you jedi. End it now. Walk away. Leave us be."

"Or I will become a face you will never forget."​

"Because- if we don't do something, no one will have the choice. No one will have the choice to...follow their own path." Maynard suggests, the idle hilts of his saber and Loske's grasped firmly in each hand as he raises one to ease her down once more, but she was fighting a battle unseen, a psychic war with invisible scars between her consciousness and inner demons.

"You didn't have the choice...either they took you- or something pushed you down this path. Darkness. I know- I've been here before, weak, afraid...where I live, my home under threat...with no other choice than to let myself be unchained, let the darkness take control. I know exactly how you feel but...just- there's nothing for you here, nothing for you with the Sith. They don't care about you or else...you think they would've let you stay?" Maynard proposes with a pleading gaze, ever rarely showing mercy in the face of a Sith if only because...it didn't seem to be a Sith he was opposing at all.

Though he clasped the golden saber to his belt once more, he let the cobalt blade crack to ignition, prepared for her retribution to his sentiment should it arrive, though mainly guarding himself in the force as he strained himself to grasp ahold of that tether again, the forlorn of his imprisonment shackling him in the prison of his own mind all the same, abandoning The Force in that brief period.

"You have a choice now- its all your hands to make it." Maynard says, standing all but defensively.

ALLIES
Loske Treicolt

ENEMIES
Aradia | Enyo Typhos​

 

[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: Amea Virou & Runi Verin

In an instant, chaos erupted - supernatural light poured in from somewhere even as the overcharged crystal exploded, the remaining Shrouds torn apart by the surge of raw Force energies even as the darkness he had conjured shuddered and waned, vanishing in spots and condensing in others. In the midst of all that chaos, slowly retreating in his now-mostly-blind state, he did not see Runi coming...

... but he did hear her, did feel a sudden spike of danger nearly overwhelming his senses.

Eight steps separated them.

Eyes widening with a sudden awareness, he abandoned his repositioning and let the darkness fade.

Seven. Six. Five.

Will coiling inwards, focused solely on self-preservation, he briefly considered another telekinetic blast, but only for an instant - no time.

Four. Three. Two. One.

Pouring everything he had into the Shield Talisman around his neck, a nascent barrier formed around him - even weakened as it was, he was a master of that art and no mortal blade would have penetrated... but the Mandalorian had tapped into something more, power coursing along the edge. Dark power to rival that of the Talisman, the ornate amulet growing white-hot as it struggled and then finally gave in.

With the sound of slick finality, the blade embedded itself in his chest, the energy it channelled rippling outwards.

"Nononono, this isn't how it's-" Human mask falling to pieces and being replaced with greyish thing that was decidedly unnatural in origins, the entirely too human panic in his eyes was a sharp contrast to his usual smug superiority. "Not me, never me... I don't want to..."

Unfinished sentence trailing off, he simply toppled - and across the world a thousand and one Sithspawn suddenly froze, orderly ranks collapsing.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch; The Night Queen, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Enclave, Dantooine
Objective: Chase and find AMCO to get him off the planet. Survive Adrian’s death.
Equipment: Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Striith vibrosword | G1 OmniLink || Shield talisman | Taozin amulet | Empyrean gland
Writing with: Creuat | AMCO | Runi Verin | Amea Virou

Moments later, she felt a stab in her side and then that the man was injured again, fatally, but not for her.

”ADRIAN!” she shouted.

By that moment she had already felt where her husband was, for a moment, then Force-bond was torn apart, broken. She felt the same emptiness, waiting to feel the Force-bond again, but now nothing had happened. It didn't recover like it did on Voss.

”No, no, no, no. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she said then she shouted the end as a Force-scream.

She didn’t care to leave her opponent, she already felt where she needed to go. The next moment the red-haired woman reached out to the Force and already beside Adrian's body she felt the emptiness, Ingrid was in shock. Took a few hesitant steps to her husband's body and fell to her knees beside him. Felt both of the wounds Adrian had suffered, part of her soul died with him. As she touched the body, the emptiness was filled with pain and she sobbed loudly.

”Adrian! Please wake up, Adrian. Get back, you damn Force-bond. Adrian! My love, please! Don't do this, please don't do this! Why did you run away? Why, I was here! I was here to protect you. Please, please… no. Don't even take him away from me!”

In her words, she pulled the man's body to her and hugged him tightly defensively, rocking him. Her tears rolled down her face, falling on the man's face, his body. She did not care at all that this behaviour was not worthy of an empress. She was just a woman in love now. She screamed again, another Force-scream. The cave trembled and cracked in several places.

”Come back! Come back! Come back to me. Please…”

Meanwhile, she noticed the Soulstones, tried to grab Adrian's soul with it, but it didn't work. She may have been too late or she was in too bad a condition.

”WORK ALREADY YOU MISERABLE SOULSTONE!” she sobbed.

But nothing happened, the soulstone fell out of her hand…

”Please handsome… my love, I’m begging you!” she whispered while stroking the man's face gently.

 

[Telis Taharin-Zambrano]

Location: Garang City, Dantooine
Equipment: Jyani’Eirmityr | The Twin Dancers (Twin Lightsabers) | Apostasy’s End (Lightstaff) | a Cortosis sword
Forces: Aagenti’s Legion (Quarter Capacity) | Telis’s Big Scary Drake “Friend” | Mixed Husks and Reforged
Allies: The Sith Empire | The Confederacy of Independent Systems | Darth Strosius | Luna Terrik
Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Tyrell Paxxus | Djorn Bline | Tulan Kor | Rika Hiro | Hunter Blackburn
Objective: Evacuate the stragglers of Garang City | Stand steadfast against tyranny, without falter | Let the enemies of the Sith Empire know war.
Post Number: III

The voice that came over the radio was desperate, tired, and battle-worn. 5493 could hear it in the leader’s voice, and though behind her the sounds of bloody battle waged like hell walking, all of that seemed so distant compared to the despair and distraught that he could hear in her voice. It was a message to his superiors, and it seemed almost intrusive to be listening to such a genuine, heart-struck sentiment… but that was the signal they needed. A single desperate call for evacuation and the assurance that the enemy were right there on their heels, before the one impasse that they had to cross in order to open up the Garrison and blow their defenses asunder.

5493 stirred himself from his thoughts, letting the radio fall silent. He didn’t speak anything but a whisper, as he closed his eyes and pulled out the detonator. The hallway cleared of the company, and tension strung the air like a web of razor-blades. It cut their breaths stung at their lungs, and some lapsed back to old sounds of fear - quiet hissing in the case of 5493. ”Now we are in the thick of it, yes?” He looked to those gathered, trying to lighten the mood, as he readied himself. It was only a moment’s nerve, but taking a deep breath, he once more felt the unerring cool wash back over him. His resolve was sharpened, as he held the detonator high in his hand, a single finger set against the trigger.

”My friends, my family… we shouldn’t delay our guests any longer. Above our homeland bleeds, and our allies die for our soil… they have reared their heads and these devils won’t get away with the horrors they’ve strewn. They’ve made us bleed and so now… now we get to offer them pint-for-pint what they owe. Let them know that not even the dead rest easily while the Empire bleeds. Show them the horror that they’ve shown to our people.” 5493’s words were full of a rising passion and fervor that was often absent from the captain’s voice. His company had learned the rise and fall of his emotions quite well, but standing before them, he exhumed a sense of centeredness and preparedness. Some almost heard the hangman’s grace that came with a grim smile in dark times.

Far off, 0237 kept her charge, shouting orders in the dark and organizing, readying what reserves she could, gathering all spare hands she could, breaking apart companies and making new ones on the fly to ensure that what could happen did. Her armor was scarred and bloody-tattered, and her voice was hoarse with the amount of shouting she had done, letting them know that it was all hands on deck. Silent alarms sounded, and within the subterranean world below the Garrison, the Cadavarii roused their deadened nerves and set themselves to a new hunt. Clear, clear, keep the pathways open, ready yourselves, and keep your rifles loaded and ready.

The commander was already worn, but she had no energy to keep herself from getting rusty. They needed her now more than ever, and gathering into quiet, hidden eaves and make-shift portholes, they waited for the single signal that would bring them to the world above. Some prayed to Typhojem, others whispered final thoughts so that they might die without regrets, and others hoped their wives and husbands were safe and sound. The world below sat in silence as they waited for the captain to give the final signal, the executing sign that the world below and the world above must come together and all let bleed. And 0237, with the largest number of the reinforcements, began to make their slow emergence into the Garrison above, appearing like a grim apparition. Aagenti’s ghosts, haunting from the hidden portway that bled upwards.

To those within the Garrison, and to Luna, the Cadavarii seemed to almost step out of the shadows, the ground opening up for the companies that spilled out and then once again closing, silently above the cacophony of the battlefield. The commander, with her scarred, skeletal armor, took a moment to look at the bloodied battlements and the retreat that was in progress, avoiding fire as best they could to ensure their presence didn’t betray their intent. 0237 offered Luna only a single gesture: a slow, solemn nod. The air seemed to hold still for a moment, a silent gesture of tension that seemed to hold over the bridge that divided the garrison and the foes that marched on them.

One click. Not even time to breathe.

And then the sky came down upon the world below.

In a cacophonous uproar, like the awakening of an ancient beast, the land below the bridge exploded upwards into heavy fragments of stone and metal, twisted and burnt. The citadels below created a vacuum of superheated air, doorways closing to shut it in and direct it all upwards into the supports that held the bridge aloft and kept it stable enough for a legion to march over. The explosions blackened the structure, cracking it with sheer heat alone before blowing the broken fragments into the air in a great plume of broken debris and dark smoke. The ground shook with the force of the blast as the bridge tumbled in, removing the pathway and dropping down anything or anybody on it into the abyssal crevasse that now awaited hungrily.

And from across the plaza and in nearby alleys, smaller explosions too began to blast, capping the ground off and splintering the floor, as the darkness below opened up, rift after rift after rift into the deep darkness. And from the darkness emerged new faces, helmets painted in a skeleton’s grin, a pair of sharp fangs bearing like a predator. Heavy guns in their hands and black armor laced with white markings like bone. The Cadvarii spoke no words as they made their emergence: their war cry was the explosions that spoke for them, and leaping from the rifts, the “dead” sought down the New Imperial Order’s assault upon the Garrison, a sudden new force of chaos that had descended upon the world.

As the dust settled and the 14 Cadavarii companies of 50 ascended from their graves, 5493 gave his own war cry, leading his men up from the chasm beneath the bridge and descending upon those that had fallen below, leaping with shocking blades and railing heavy fire against those close enough to the valley to be fired at. 0237 walked out into the daylight with the rest that had joined her in the Garrison, raising her hand and closing it into a fist, holding her sniper rifle in a heavy gauntlet. ”Show these barbarians that the dead don’t rest until our Empire is safe!” The auxiliary within began to blend with Luna’s reinforcements, like ghosts rising from the corpses of the soldiers they’ve lost, continuing to do their duty even after death.

Drawing his sword from the throat of a Stormtrooper that had stepped too close to the acolyte beside him, Aagenti turned to the remainders of the New Imperial force that had gathered. They had bought time for the civilians to make their escape, and the whispers and murmurs over his own communications let him know that a plan had come to fruition. Turning to Alisteri, Aagenti would move to hoist himself onto the back of the Cimurhai, as its tail whipped through the air, shattering the sternum of another Stormtrooper. ”I feel it would be unwise to take an Acolyte into the heart of hell… but one does not learn just by watching. Our enemies march on the city’s defenses elsewhere, and if such a place falls, we will inevitably fall.”

Aagenti offered his hand to Alisteri from the back of the beast, resting his blade at his side and placing a hand on the neck of the beast, once more asserting his will and taking control of the beast. The creature opened its wings wide, as Aagenti offered to pull up the Acolyte onto the back of the beast. ”The beast flies fast, we’ll be there in only a few minutes at maximum, but I would suggest holding on tight.” Whether Alisteri accepted his offer or not, Aagenti would rear the beast backwards, sending the great wyrm skybound and above the spires of the city. Once more he could see the destruction that had been dealt, swathes of the city gone by the savagery of the New Imperial Order.

The wind was biting yet warm, heat rising from the pockets of battle far below and holding up the draft of the beast as the remnants of the Stormtrooper squadron shot at his escape. There was almost an augury in the air, the sky full of fire and noise and yet a strange calm on the uplifting gales. A sudden sense of loss filled his heart though he couldn’t truly name what… but he didn’t let that feeling go, only fueling it and feeling the pain of whatever this strange loss was filling his heart. Somebody had died, ripped from him and the dream he had. For a moment he could see the picture in full, bloody clarity, and his breath almost stopped at the idea of what had happened. But loss must come later. He would use this gift as a fuel, but he would not lose himself in it.

Another portion of his dreams and perfect reality had shattered beneath the city, and as he looked out across the broken landscape… he realized just how much of his world had been stolen from him. One part after the other, time over and over again. He swore to never let himself be weak again, but the broken city was all the castigation it took to remind him that despite giving himself to the night, he was still human. Despite becoming a lord of ambition, he still wanted to find contentment. Despite losing everything time and time again… he would never be satisfied with loss, and he would never find himself used to this.

This was more than just for him now. More than just for the city. This was for a woman who was now left a widow, for a bastard whose heart was again broken when he thought he had cleared out the shards. For a brilliant man whose mind would never be understood. For an empire that couldn’t falter even when the stories of the greatest people were unfairly taken. Aagenti drew his sword once again, feeling the heft of the blade as he raised it forward, letting his voice echo across the wind in a clarion call, mute to the world below.

 

[Amea Virou]

AMCO // Runi Verin // Ingrid L'lerim

The pain was reshaped into something else. The blood that trickled along the side of her leg made her all too aware of her own lack of strength, but while the body was weak the spirit was malleable. The limp to her step, each pained groan through blood and tears took more and more out of her as she pushed on towards the spot where her friend had fallen limp next to her victim. Hushed expletives hissed past Amea’s lips for each second that passed, but as she stood above her friend it stopped. Her hand reached out before her, palm up to summon the medpak she had brought along so that she could treat her friend, but something didn’t seem right. Nothing happened no matter how she tried, the hand didn’t deposit a single item that Amea had tried to reach for and with it she let out yet another long chain of expletives.

A sound called from behind. Sobbing and whimpering filled the cave with a haunting noise that Amea had no desire turn around to face. And yet, she did so anyway. The woman, now widow, cupped her monster’s body with a look that only a lover could have had. Another pang of guilt shot through Amea’s heart as she took the scene in. Had this been another time, in another place, that could have been her. Either as the one crying or the victim, with Evelyn on the opposite side to her. It was a thought that scared her, a possibility that in this moment felt all too real, all too familiar. Part of her hated to even consider it, but it was the reality she couldn’t run away from. Not unless this all stopped at some point.

Almost out of instinct, Amea let her hand hover above her holster for a moment. Her fingers brushed against the handle of her slugthrower for a second to help end the woman’s misery, but that wasn’t her choice to make anymore. Whoever the redhaired woman was she was a mystery, and more than that a bear. It was to respect her grief, and a tactical choice failing that.

Instead she knelt down by Runi, knee giving way as she dug through the woman’s pockets to find her medpak. Had there been time for a thorough treatment, Amea would have done so. But they were out of time, and far from safety. Instead she let the hypodermic needle of instant painkillers pierce the skin by her wound. As the pain numbed along with most sense in her leg she proceeded to throw Runi into her arms and over her shoulder.

“We’re going home, Roo.” Amea sighed, groaned, and pushed ahead. “You karking idiot.”

This was over.

Their mistake was complete.

They should have waited just one more day.

 

[Verin Oldo]

O B J E C T I V E: Survive at Dantooine.
Allies: Kiff Brayde Kyyrk Taeli Raaf Thaelius
Enemies: Robogeber Var Koon Naier Rambeigh Hiram Voss Josiah Navollius

The scene was playing out serenely. The firing had begun as quickly as anything, Lord Commander Voph’s fleet materialising with the precision expected from a dark lord of the Sith. This was their literal purpose; to move effectively and efficiently and appear where least expected. The Sith Imperials and Verin began to adjust their courses, Verin attempting a move to the opposing flank as his Sith counterpart. They would try to get as much ordnance to the flanking sides of the NIO navy.



His Battlecruiser, the Al’raja, and the four Star Destroyers began to push forward, the NIO forces lurching towards them already. The 513 might not be enough to stem the tide of the enemy onslaught but they would do their best.


The Tregessar had been the focal point of the NIO spearhead and…it suddenly came to life. It began to edge forward, firing off its weapons with aplomb.


“Deploy all fighters!” cried Oldo.


The hangar bays of the 513 bristled with activity as the hundreds of ‘Vulture’ droids teamed forward, making for any enemy fighter complements that could be deduced between the larger ships. Those that didn’t begin firing indiscriminately at the capital ships headed towards the NIO fighters, repeated walls of blaster fire to catch and kill the enemy.

As the Tregessar lurched forward towards Task Force 74, it brazenly sought to force any CIS vessels from its path. Dead ahead of the titan lay the line of Flak-frigates, the Terrus class that had first sustained the stray fire from the NIO. They were being hemmed in as more CIS and Sith vessels maneuverer out of the path of the Tregessar. The guns of this leviathan opened fire, striking blows against any CIS ships in its wake.

Jineeva Soll, Captain of the CNS Mormont, had made sure the crew were ready to tackle the swarm of enemy fighters, buzzing around with their weapons firing like flies on an errant dewback. They had run drills, prepared for all the eventualities of war.

They had never reckoned facing down the full Imperial might of the Tregessar. In the instance before it fired, his thoughts had wandered home, his children playing by the small brook that ran through the ivy-covered hedgerows. He had thought on his wife, laughing her distinct call as she chased after them. He thought of the small hound that had grown with his children, guarding them from harm when he was far away. He thought of the simple things that called people like him to service, fighting to ensure that families across the Confederacy could enjoy halcyon days aplenty.

In the moments before firing, he could feel the weight of his youngest son, carried in his arms as he fell asleep once again, staying up long past his bedtime when ‘Dadda’ was home. As the alarms moaned on the bridge of the impending collision, he could only hear the shrieking laughter of his daughter, who during the summer days could be found painting images of birds on the stones outside on the garden-porch. His little girl watched, distracted by floating butterflies that drew her attention for a moment, not unlike the screaming fighters that curved round the bridge of his ship, spewing their munitions into the CIS fleet.

He thought of his wife as he held her on their last days together, as she detailed their plans of a life, far away from the bridges of cruisers and battleships. He would tell her “I’m only ever a little way from home” as he talked of the wonders of the galaxy, far-flung planets that balanced like gems, suspended in the great expanse of space.

Like Dantooine.

There, on the bridge of the CNS Mormont, a little way from home, Jineeva began the call for evasive action as the row of NIO blasts hit the bridge with absolute ferocity. He simply stood and closed his eyes, no time even to lift an arm to cover his face in hope that by not seeing the moment of his death that he could somehow delay it. That he might somehow maintain the wonderful memories that had sustained his entire adult life. That he might somehow rescue and keep them.

*****​

The integrity of the bridge gave way, a carnage of glass, steel and fire snatching the crew from their stations like a hungry beast, clawing inside a hole to find its vulnerable prey. A column of fire, heat burning and leaving melted pools of military grade steel, running down what was left of the deck, eating everything in its path. The ferocity and totality of the attack was animal.


Below the main deck, crew members who were less than aware of the incoming assault were tossed about, the crippled roof of the frigate giving way to more energetic auroras of force, crumpling and crushing many beneath, their terrified screams silenced swiftly as flames poured over them, rushing greedily into their lungs, feeding on their terror as if it alone was the focus of its ire.

The concussion waves that rippled through the fuselage of the Frigate were percussive and oddly silent. The speed at which they raced through the superstructure was almost too quick to comprehend, durasteel rent from its fittings and thick plating buckling under the extremities of force applied from the ordnance slamming into the side of the ship. There wasn’t much in the way of live ammunition free to detonate, designed not to do so in case of impact but there was enough in the way of electricity, generators and reactors to cause a cataclysmic rush of fire, gutting the crew rooms and common areas of all life. As the fire starved the inside of the ship of oxygen, the bulkhead doors did their best to seal the compartments, too late to achieve any real success.

The shattering and violent destruction levied against the crew was almost a relief; not a great many would suffer in the void of space. Most of the remains would be incinerated in a matter of moments, the hungry, voracious fires eating as much biological material as fast as it could before the structure of the frigate broke apart too much.

There was no hope for any attempt to escape the ship. Most crew were superstitious and ensured they had made their Last Wills known to NAVCOM before setting out. This crew was less than likely to have guaranteed their deliveries, some of their families unlikely to even know they were in the heat of battle, deployed so far away in Sith Imperial space and with so little notice, responding to the sudden invasion.

The CNS Mormont undulated for a moment and, like the last throws of a dying creature in the depths of the Kaminoan seas, it lurched sideways, vast chunks of the hull launched about. In its final moments, it committed on its final path, towards the portside of the vessel.


Where the CNS Akelia stood.


Flak-guns firing at the oncoming bombers, the crew of the Akelia had little time to take notice of the debris hurtling towards them. The mangled shell of the Mormont made a sudden and decisive impact into the side of the Akelia, an acute force penetrating the main body of the ship. Guns halting their systematic pattern of fire, the emergency systems engaged as swiftly as they had on the Mormont, this time, however, with a greater chance of saving the ship. Klaxons screamed, piercing the patter of combat, the organic crew reacting as swiftly as they could.


The ship’s Droids and AI-driven systems took control, locking down the areas that had been compromised. Crew left inside the areas would ensure they reached the necessary equipment if they had the time before the damage compromised the side fully.


The Captain of the Akelia called out towards the Al’raja.


“Mayday, mayday” she messaged, alerting the comms officers coordinating the displays of the Line that they were in trouble and now a sitting target.


A detonation rang out in the aft of the ship.

“The ship is compromised. Akelia is out of action.”

Another detonation.

Oldo took note of his own tactical display. They had all seen what had happened when the Tregessar had slice through the lines, oblivious to the CIS vessels in its path. The marker that denoted the remains of the Mormont disappeared, leaving a hole in the formation.


What formation, he sneered to himself. It was now the chaos of battle, finding space where one could. The NIO guns were firing hard and their bomber crews had begun delivering powerful payloads. CIS fighters swarmed the enemy positions, running along their trunks and pocking them with untold numbers of blasts from their cannons.


The support ships of the Line were engaging, their anti-fighter flak turrets bristling with activity, stray blasts hitting their own ships with careless abandon. The Grievous-class Star Destroyers had opened fire themselves, attempting to pin down any other NIO support vessels.


In a rare moment of clarity, the Al’raja had found its space in the battlefield, the 513 moving forward to accommodate the incoming enemy. As the Tregessar fired on the Sith command ship, The Al’raja opened with its first salvo, hundreds and hundreds of turrets, blasters and missiles launching into the NIO position, aimed at every possible target in their view, aiming at the support vessels and larger capital ships brought to claim Dantooine.


“Ready the Solar Ion cannons.”


The klaxon rang out again. These heavy weapons were used sparingly but could be devastating, slicing through conventional shielding, and creating a blister of melted scrap and vast explosive damage in its wake.


He looked to his slight left, the NIV Tregessar in the sights of both the cannons. He waited a few more seconds till the charge rang full and he grabbed the underside of his terminal, just for a little extra support. He cried out.

“Fire on that ship!”

The dual burst of fully charged and volatile ionic force rushed from the cannons, carrying over the short distance and headed straight for the Tregessar.

Spoiler: Fleet Makeup

1x Victator-class Battlecruiser

CNS Al'raja-MKIII Fighter-8 Squadrons (24 craft per) Colla Tri-3 Squadrons (12 craft per)

-----

4 x Grievous-class Star Destroyers

CNS Exigent- MKIII-3 Squadrons

CNS Carrhae White-MKIII-3 Squadrons

CNS Tyraxes-MKIII-3 Squadrons

CNS Felwinter-MKIII-3 Squadrons

-----

2 x Argente-class Assault Cruisers

CNS Last Disciple-MKIII-2 Squadrons

CNS Shadowrun-MKIII-2 Squadrons

----

4 x Murkhana-class Escort Frigates

CNS Aspis-MKIII-1 Squadron

CNS Cannae-MKIII-1 Squadron

CNS Utica-MKIII-1 Squadron

CNS Capua-MKIII-1 Squadron

-----

6 x Terrus-class Flak Frigates

CNS Akelia-Incapacitated-Hull integrity at 40%. Shields holding at 20%-OUT OF ACTION

CNS Mormont-DESTROYED IN ACTION

CNS Pedestal-Shields holding at 80%

CNS Aevala-Shields holding at 80%

CNS Sundark--Shields holding at 90%

CNS Alisandor


Total Fighter Complement-MKIII-672/ Colla Tri-36

Spoiler: Action Summary

Fighter wings deployed and seeking to engage NIO fighters and bombers.

CNS Mormont destroyed.

CNS Akelia disabled.

Terrus-class flak frigates have begun firing rapid anti-fighter and anti-bomber ordnance.

All four Grievous-class Star Destroyers have begun firing indiscriminately at the NIO fleet.

All 513 support cruisers and frigates have opened fire.

Battecruiser CNS Al’raja has opened fire with full effect, aimed at the NIO Fleet.

CNS Al’raja has fired its two solar ion canons with intent to inflict as much damage as possible on the forward and side portion of the Tregessar.

 

[Rika Hiro]

OBJECTIVE I
G A R A N G C I T Y
C O M P N O R
Taskforce AXIS

​

Target located. Proceed with brute force.


Using the dust as cover to move on the OPFOR in tandem with Agent Grauv, Asa rolled over her position and laid low as she pushed for her target. The dazed soldier only registered the dark form moving swiftly before it was too late, firing two panicked shots that missed its mark widely. In a blur of motion, Asa swept with a kick in a horizontal arch which made the trooper duck, as the HRD knew he would, which left him open to a punch to the chest that sent the trooper clamouring face-first into the concrete floor and partly caved his ribs in. Crying out in pain and coughing up blood on the dusty pavement tiles, the soldier turned in time to see the Atrisian HRD ontop him like a constrictor. Asa grabbed an armoured wrist to stop him reaching for his sidearm and then twisted. The Sith soldier made another painful sound as he dropped the sidearm, but the poor man wasn't prepared for the speed and precision with which the HRD grabbed him by the throat. Panicked eyes met cold mechanical ones.



"Now if you favour your chances of surviving this engagement, you will comply with an agent of the Imperial security bureau designation 45629# and tell me where the power source of this building is." Asa did not relinquish her grip on the wounded man, maintaining eye contact even as chaos raged around them and his compatriot died at the hands of the other Imperial. The sith soldier looked to his right, and to his left but no one was near. He was alone except for the distant dim and dying sounds of fighting raging in and around the Garrison building.


"Basement leve-l it's in the b-asement level, pleas- don't kill me." the soldier begged, spluttering blood and bile on himself with each staggered word. Asa broke off eye contact and looked at his uniform with curiosity. It wasn't a Legionary; the uniform was poorly put together for a supposed legionary, and the chest plate was one size too big. If the Sith had to resort to using poorly armed civilians to hold back Stormtroopers, then they indeed were on the back foot in this war. The dying man descended into bloody fits of coughing, a shaking hand reaching out towards her, probably some last desperate attempt at saving his life. At making her listen.

"Please..."


"Your situation has been noticed," she promptly removed her sidearm, pressed it against the man's temple as his eyes widened in protest and pulled the trigger.

Tags: Jaeger Harrsk Tulan Kor Vostok Grauv
Enemy tag: Luna Terrik ​

 

[Laertia Io]

Cartwheels. Acrobatics. Ryv had studied long and hard. The Hawk Bat acrobatics were unmistakable. How many hours had she dueled Uri, who had employed those same moves?

He may not have been a traditionalist but he wasn't a slave to form. Still, Those Ataru moves told her much.

He danced and evaded. This was where he had an edge over her. Because her teleporting was so powerful, she seemingly couldn't use powers like Speed or Jump due to how her brain was wired, leading to her using this armor to compensate...one of the reasons she would never truly Master it, merely becoming proficient...though Laertia's standards for proficient were still high by normal measure. She had chosen wisely...attempting to slow him down telekinetically would be a futile effort and he would have had the edge athletically. But he seemingly couldn't stand up to direct assault for too long. His Force Leap carried him away from her altered attack pattern, giving him breathing room.

"Impressive..."

Laertia watched in fascination as he used the Light Side to rejuvenate tired muscles. This was another thing denied her by how her brain was wired--she couldn't learn body enhancing abilities like that. Nor could she use most telekinetic Force attacks. Or most offensive Force Powers in general.

"Most Impressive..." she whispered to herself.

She had held the blade out extended in front of her as he retreated. His pattern had changed.

Street fighter. She could tell the type. She 'was' the type, lost of dirty fights in lots of tight corners. Street fights like that were short and nasty. Most of the time. The worst ones last longer.

She felt Syd get injured as she fought like a demon from hell. She had killed three. Laertia was still trying to kill one. A Level 40 who had invested in Block and Restoration Perks. And LOTS of One Handed, thank the Force.

(Dovahkiin Theme Plays for Ryv for a few seconds)

Laertia took a second, watching him, unintentionally recalling an old lesson for a split second...

Laertia Io, at sixteen and a half years old, slashed away at her Master, Ursula, who patiently defended with a mix of Soresu Blade parries combined with Ataru Cartwheels and spins, wearing white robes. Laertia was in a black training tunic. Her Master had her practicing with Form Six, barrowing from multiple styles, but so far Laertia hadn't been able to score a hit with her training saber. Laertia wasn't unfocused...it was simply that she couldn't physically keep up. It was a weakness she was trying to learn to compensate for. But as long as she learned enough to make Ursula proud that was what mattered to her. They battled inside the lowest section of Loste Citadel on Dantooine, where the caverns meet.

it wasn't that Laertia didn't know to respect the Force. But the Force hadn't been the one to give her a purpose or an actual home. Ursula had. Laertia, it should be noted, desperately craved a parental figure at this point in time. Something as distant and impersonal to her as the Force could never sate that need.

"You keep making the same mistake, Padawan..." Ursula criticized the exhausted Padawan after disarming her of her weapon.

"Yoo keepz hoppingz arroundz lyke a rabbitz..." Laertia panted on the cavern grounds, which had been carved to a massive Training Chamber.

"Of course I will. I have all the advantages and I won't fight fair in a real battle. I'll let The Force Guide my actions. I'll be the hare, and you, the tortoise. If you want to beat me, you have to use every gift the Force gave you creatively, otherwise, more agile, force attuned opponents will eventually frustrate and exhaust you. Patience and Planning are the key to survival against such foes. For what good is your bladeship if you cannot land a mark against someone faster?"

Laertia thought a moment. She went over and grabbed another training blade from a nearby rack. Ursula raised an eyebrow as Laertia held one blade out while the other was inverted, held to the side.

"What is going on in that brain of yours?" Ursula wondered, activating her white training blade.

Laertia grinned. Ursula, normally stern, couldn't help but crack a small smile.

Laertia sprang forward, swiping at her in a one handed variant of Niman, barrowing footwork and swiping patterns from Form Two. Ursula repeated the lazy looking but near impossible to break defense, using cartwheels, spins, and The Force to guide her defense.

Laertia dropped the inverted blade...

...and teleported it behind Ursula with The Force, blade aiming directly downward. Ursula barely dodged it, which threw off her defense, allowing Laertia to barrage her with quick, light cuts, teleporting the blade she had dodged above Ursula again, this time faking her out before she could dodge or swipe at it, allowing Laertia to try and take advantage of the distraction, wanting only to impress her.

She had been a creature of the alley. An abandoned child. She had killed before she was ten for survival. No warmth except her crappy ship she had barely fixed. No companions. No affection. The thugs feared her for the way she would brutally kill when threatened or angered. A Hutt had tried to put her in her place with Bounty Hunters. He never sent any more after he saw all the tiny packages she had sent them back in, painstakingly arranged with giftwrap in festive colors. It had been years since he'd seen anyone do crazy hardcore supervillain chit like that. He had decided to feth off Nar Shaddaa afterward. Laertia had felt the rush of successfully intimidating an evil person for the first time when she learned that. She had never told Ursula.

But being one of the strongest fleas on the diseased dog that is Nar Shaddaa is nothing, and she knew it even before Ursula recruited her. She had dreamed of leaving the planet, pursuing life as a magician. They made honest money. She would have had to work on her act though...

Ursula had changed the course of her entire life. She could be something greater. Something that put the wicked to the sword they deserved.

How could Laertia not love Ursula as a Mother?

Eventually, Ursula caught the pattern and anticipated the next drop of the second blade, catching it and swiping Laertia's legs from under her with her own.

"You learn quick..." Ursula said clinically at a smiling Laertia staring up at her innocently. This caused the monster hiding in Ursula to make her crack another faint smile.

"But your tactic lacks too much in terms of control. Your teleporting ability is the most powerful I have ever seen personally. But you must use it creatively, or use it in conjunction with your telekinesis. Something for you to consider while we get you some bacta..." Ursula finished critiquing in her stern school teacher voice, though the faint smile noticeably didn't leave her face.

Ursula helped her Padawan up, whose smile was as wide and innocent as ever, gray eyes glittering as she stared at Ursula, the person she wanted to make proud of her more than anything else. She'd give an eye and an arm to have it, she admitted to herself in private.

"Sure tingz, Ursy!" Laertia said respectfully, folding her arms in front of her like the attentive daughter she had both consciously and unconsciously assumed the role of.

Ursula nodded, folding her hands behind her back, Laertia following lock step as they ascended the steps leading to the exit...

Present...

In the half second the memory hit, she altered her tactics just as he had altered his.

She stretched out her hand to a Lightsaber belonging to a nearby dead Imperial Knight (This was partly an attempt at a psychological attack: She had deliberately chosen the blade of one she had killed right in front of him.). It flew into her hand with telekinesis. She held it inverted as she held out her green cored blade, its colors an inversion to Ryv's blade.

She had taken it from a Sith Knight she had slain, and purified it. The blade was seemingly unbreakable, yet had a much higher than normal chance of breaking even Synth blades, yet was easier to manipulate and manuver than blades with natural crystals. It was not the most powerful Lightsaber she could have brought to this fight, but it was among her most reliable. It was testament to the quality of Ryv's own blade that the SynthBreaker had not shorted it out. But as time wore on, that might change...

Laertia approached Ryv, pilfered blade still inverted in her mechanical arm, the SynthBreaker pointed at him. Even their hilts contrasted. His a polished, silvery example of craftsmanship, hers had a worn, stained patina everywhere from years of use.

If only he had known how similar they were, how much of the brutality of their youth they had shared. Sure, she had advantages in the Force and Genetics, but she was still a child growing up in the bowels of one of the most dangerous criminal strongholds in the known galaxy. It had been pure hell to her mentally, even if she had been basically born as a one-off Super Soldier. How much might they have understood the other then? Would he still be the arrogant jackass damning the Galaxy to hell and genocide if it meant defeating the Sith to her? Would she still be the brutal, traitorous psychopath turning her back on the Jedi and allying with Sith just to stop some brutes who would always be the lesser threat than the Sith to him?

Likely. She had killed them longer than he had. He was young and stupid to her. She too disillusioned and cold blooded to him. She knew the war against the Dark Side better, in her mind. She knew enough to know you can't get rid of the Sith. They're like Fire Season on Arboreal worlds...a constant risk. A constant hazard that will never be gotten rid of as long as there is dead wood to burn. But the forest can recover.

But not if you burn the forest down completely as the Bryn'adul were attempting.

What was so hard about that to understand, she pondered as she slowly, carefully approached his Hawkbat frame.

Didn't he get that if the Bryn'adul killed every society they encountered that that was surely doing more damage to his precious Force overall than the slow burn venom the Sith had always tried and ultimately failed to make it succumb to? How many of those planets had held potential Jedi, who would have gone on to have great acts of good to their name? How many such futures had been crudely interrupted by the Bryn'adul he clearly took as a lower priority than The Sith, despite his claims?

She'd have loved to see this deluded little boy after ten more years in this profession, when he's cut down more Sith than he can remember. That's when he'll really start seeing them. In his sleep, the way she was forced to. Let's see if he still believes he's made one bit of difference against Fire Season. No matter how many Jedi slain, no matter how many Sith slain, another rises. Darth Traya's words, but still true.

There's always going to be a Sith Empire. The Jedi were nothing but chemo restraining an immortal cancer. A worthy job, but not a war that can be won ultimately. Just put into remission.

If the day ever came that Ryv finally understood what Laertia had figured out, that there would always be Sith to fight, would he be tempted to throw his Lightsaber away as she had nearly done? And what would his victory over the darkness cost everyone around him? Laertia knew what it would cost her for her thoughts on the matter to prevail. It would cost her her honor in the eyes of others, her hopes of being a good Jedi, and having every good deed she had done for the Light dismissed and forgotten. Spat on, even. But saving other worlds from Nar Kreeta's fate was more important than the will of the Force or the Code, or her Happiness. Or ability to sleep at night. But those sacrifices were that important.

Laertia just no longer cared about the Dark Side the way he did, at the end of the day. She knew it had to be opposed, but not at the cost of not saving innocents.

As she approached she adopted a much looser stance than previously, extending the length of her blade by a third changing the pattern of her slashes and stabs to a much tighter, focused variant of the Saber Swarm directed at his knees, keeping her blade quick and darting. He wanted to be the Hare to her Tortoise? She'd make him run for every yard to the finish.

At the same time she dropped her inverted blade.

It reappeared above and behind him, stopping its fall of its own accord and activating, Laertia forced to push her discipline and Force Connection to do so as she attempted to punish any attempt to retreat or use acrobatics while slicing away at him, her slashes trying to cut off his ability to move to the side while the other blade attacked, from behind and downward, trying to slice at his head. This tactic left her open to attack at the direct center, though again, she tried to make such an option as unpleasant as possible...her slashes were tight, wrist manuevers for manipulating the blade using Djem So showing themselves in how her arms stayed close to her chest as she attacked, using the extended length of her blade to provide extra space against a retaliation strike, though her strategy wasn't foolproof...there was a chance he might roll and use the fact most of her attacks were directed at his upper body and sides to try and attack from below...though she was wary of the possibility, which is why she kept it in mind to try and retreat if he attempted this. He could try attacking the blade above him, but that would leave him too open to attack from her...she would exploit any mistake he made in the next few moments ruthlessly. Part of her half hoped his ingenuity extended beyond an impressive blade defense and that he would find some way out of it, though Laertia was still playing for keeps. Killing the Sword of The Jedi wouldn't feel good, but it would send a message to the NJO. Hell, just standing up to such a skilled combatant and not dying must have raised her own street cred--now that dissenters knew someone on their side could stand up to the Lackey's of Starchaser and even put the Sword of The Jedi himself on the defensive...well, she didn't know what that said, but it was sure to make some consider joining.

She felt a wave of arcane heat from Syd's spirit, surrounded and killing Imperials and their warriors, crestfallen at having killed three Jedi. She felt so bad for leading poor Syd down this path. She half considered telling Syd to abandon her but she knew Syd wouldn't do it.

Laertia let the heat from her paramour warm and infuse her own muscles as she attacked Ryv.

 

[Shaka Sunstar]

GALACTIC ALLIANCE
NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
Armor | 2x Lightsaber
Objective II: Sith-Jedi Temple

​

The pair crashed into the steps. The only recognition it earned from Shaka was a grunt of approval as his hand was grabbed by the Sith's hand. Off to the side, more or less, it burned through the permacrete and stone that they grappled on, twisting back and forth wildly as it left furrows in the rock, slicing burn gouges before the Thyrsian focused on something else.

Scrambling while he supposedly held the advantage over him, his head dropped forwards, right into the fist that shot up into his head. He wore a helmet, and the fist crashed just below his eye on his cheek, and he careened backwards. His fist tightening as the saber carved through the stairs closer and closer to the Sith.

No words.

It was just what they had to do in service to their nations.

When the Sith's second hand joined his first, Shaka knew he wouldn't be able to hold him back. And while he raised higher above Adron Malvern to avoid the impending threat of his own saber, he let him take control. Sacrificing what little agency he had left, the blade shut off, digit sliding off the ignition button, and the sapphire beam collapsed in on itself, harmless. Beneath the helmet, a cheeky grin rose.

His right hand, unimpeded, simultaneously driven into the side of the Sith's exposed ribs. The Sith Lord's bid to decapitate him with his own blade left him open. And the vambrace around his right limb sparked to life, flames bursting forth from the projector to bathe the Sith Lord's torso in the harsh and indiscriminate heat. Rising up to his feet and shuffling up the stairs to the Temple, his arm didn't waver as the flames licked around the Sith in his own bid to burn him alive.

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Kalika Vaar
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Xobos Yakieer | Freyu Molidias

 

[Daros Karmann]

// BLACKJACK THREE // SPECIAL AGENT/MASTER SGT Daros Karmann
// OBJECTIVE // ASSAULT ON GARANG CITY // SPEARHEAD
// FOCUS // Lyra, Tavius Muuaji, Vostok Grauv, Sturit Goan, Hayek, Arno Lettow, Meko Sorrin, Lucien Dooku, Dhuzgnar, DT-2319, DT-7343, Gedeon Rath, Rexus Wenck // NIO GROUNDPOUNDERS // SITH OPPRESSORS // Sanguine Nocturnal
// EQUIPMENT // Storm Armor MKIV, REC-CBS/01 'Doombringer' Pattern Combat Scattergun, REC-DC/04 "Feverwasp" Pattern Particle Blaster Pistol, Sonic Concussion Grenades, Ion Grenades, KXA ABDG-01x 'Null' Grenades, IL-62G Smart Grenades, STRND series 'Oscillation Point' Hunter-Seeker Utility Droid, Revealer, REC-ACS/01 “Batillum” - Pattern Entrenching Tool
// BATTALION // 8TH MECHANIZED BATTALION “FERAL BATTALION” // x1 Command Unit, x5 Armor Companies, ~56 TXV XT-60b Cataphract-class Repulsor Main Battle Tanks, ~14 All-Terrain Armoured Shield Generators, Miscellaneous Support Vehicles // SAPPER SUPPORT COMPANY 'BLACKJACK' // Daros Karmann , TXT XV-60a Armored Personnel Carriers, Engineers //
// THEMES // MANIAC; Carpenter Brut// Leather Teeth; Carptenter Brut // Blowtorch & Corkscrew; World at War//

When the order came down the line to dismount and prepare to engage the enemy on foot, order took hold of every member within the squad. Joking words were thrown aside for quick status checks, magazines were double checked and soldiers barked orders among themselves to get behind the armoured transports- their bulk and width had its advantages in sheltering the squishier soldiers behind it. Daros remembered in his days, his old unit would call it 'following Mama Duck'; from a distance, a group of men and women huddled together, following the slow rumbling advance of an armoured transport had a wholesome image that belied the sheer terror of hearing shells and bolts impact against the vehicle, not knowing which one would send their moving cover sky high.

They crept up steadily towards the park district, the earth rumbling from heavy tires and the incessant, dull thuds of their walkers, sheltering them from harm. Daros had no proper command, independently attached agent as he was to the battalion- he simply chose the third sapper squad because they had an empty spot aboard Hitman Three. He reminded himself that despite their childish attitude, he had no personal attachments to them whatsoever.

Purely business. He'd fight with them, possibly die with them, but they weren't his old unit. He had been on his own for far too long to return to the dynamics of a proper, fully fledged family.

He reminded himself that he was as fickle as the wind, blasting back a Sith with his scattergun minutes later as all hell broke loose in the park. "You good?!" he cried out to the wounded sapper at his feet. He got a shaky nod in reply. Daros' eyes briefly lingered on the cauterized stump the soldier was clutching close to his chest.

"Medic!" Daros called out. Behind him, a stormtrooper ran up to their position and yanked out an impressive looking medical kit. Satisfied that the wounded trooper was attended to, the COMPNOR agent quickly flagged 4 nearby sappers to follow his lead. No questions were asked- they couldn't afford any.

Their battlefield was, as befitting of a park district on Dantooine, big to put it lightly. Flanked on all sides by buildings and bisected by an artificial river (with it's own water generator), pockmarked by random hills and trees that obstructed line of sight- it made every push on foot significantly harder. Their tanks were having a hell of a time bouncing up and down behind cover, shelling the enemy with impunity. Naturally, the footman's job was to clear out every foxhole and any bunker they came across.

It was bad enough the enemy had barb wire. Bad enough they had the place zero'd in and no regard for friendly fire. Bad enough most of them were fanatically devoted enough to turn themselves into an explosive martyr.

But come hell or highwater, as he charged up a hill and reminded each Sith with a face full of plasmatic buckshot why stormtroopers were rightly feared, he and his adhoc unit managed to conquer a significant point of resistance. For the price of a too-slow trooper behind them, Daros considered it an astounding victory. He fired a flare into the sky, signaling his success to friendly units- and failure for the enemy.

He hunkered down, barked orders for his men- it was all a blur in that moment, as his combat instincts kicked in. The Sith weren't going to let them hold the hill without a fight. He was right.

The enemy swarmed to his location with no regard for personal safety, screaming their illegible war cries. He replied back with his own guttural, beastly roar, and then more shotshells. The accuracy of their aim was not a concern- that they were rapidly crossing the small valley with a Sith leading the war party did. He checked his unit and position- another fellow soldier with a cracked visor, the insides of his skull peaking out from the new hole. "Aw. . .crud."

Think fast.

His hand went to his shovel.

Good thinking. Never one to waste words when he could lead by example, the warrior left out from his recently acquired foxhole and lead a suicidal charge into a densely packed formation, screaming his lungs off to call upon his ancestors strength, whatever his bloodline was. His two compatriots followed suit, discharging their weapons before switching to the butchery of the tools of their trade.

Not even the zealot warriors of the Sith expected such madness, but were well prepared to receive their three-man charge nevertheless.

The pumping of blood in his veins, the kickback of his weapon as he held down the trigger of his weapon- three, four- ten devoted legionnaires felt the cold burning wrath of his weapon, some a victim of collateral damage. When they crossed past the point of no return, Daros threw his weapon aside and wielded his shovel high in the air. The Sith warrior yelled something that was lost in the flurry of his quick swings- he ducked back and slipped in the mud, but his hand grabbed onto his over-extended wrist and dragged the Sith down with him.

In the mud, men, women, Sith and those dull to the Force were all equal. He pushed Sith off of him, but quickly recovered and pounced, slamming the bearded warrior's head into the mud. As he pushed the man's head down into the mud deeper with his left hand, his right scrambled behind him for the handle of his shovel. It was a desperate struggle as the Sith's hand soon left Daros' arm and went straight for his throat. He began to suffocate. His vision turned milky-

His right hand wrapped around a handle. In one swift motion, it swung in an arc and smashed the flat side of the shovel into the Sith's head. When he refused to let Daros' throat go, the frantic beatings persisted. Flat side, flat side- momentary pause to switch to the sharp edge- and a satisfying CHUNK! as he demonstrated the superiority of the shovel in a dirty mud fight. The grip around his throat slackened, but the beatings continued until it fell off of him. Chunks of gore and blood flew into the air, but Daros was utterly consumed by the adrenaline of a mud fight. A good slog through the mud- it was addictive. He didn't know how long he had been screaming- or who. He just did, projecting his voice across the chaotic melee and swinging his shovel around with deadly intent. It found its way into another skull, sent a helmet flying with a backhanded smack- his crushgauntlets broke the forearm of a legionnaire who screamed in panic, trying to defend himself from the tyrant of the muddy slopes.

He could only hear his voice, taste his own blood and feel his muscles burn. Eventually the fighting stopped. He didn't know how long it had been since they took the hill. Daros sent another legionnaire into the mud, his shovel now dulled from repeated abuse. Turning around, he only saw their retreating backsides, before a hail of bolts cut them down.

It came flooding back to him like a crash- his surroundings, his vision and his sanity. One by one, things fell into place. They had just routed the enemy counter-attack in a frantic melee, and won. He looked for the rest of his squad, but only found one of them, cut in half. The other was missing, presumably somewhere within the mess of mud-brown bodies piled up at the base of their hill. One of the sergeants slid down the hill to his side and offered a canteen. Daros didn't waste time to pull off his helmet and drink up, before washing his face down with the last of the water. "How many?"

"Blackjack didn't really lost too much, all things considering. We lost eight, six took some hits but the doc says they'll live." He paused before pointing at the body of Daros' adhoc squad member. "Eight plus four, I guess." Daros nodded.

"You good?"

He nodded. "In a bit."

"They teach that kind of fighting where you come from?" The agent shook his head and retrieved his discarded weapon, cleaning off the mud and gunk off of it. "The only thing they teach you is how to answer questions from nosy pricks."

The sergeant chuckled and nodded, before leading Daros back to their transport. The fight wasn't over yet.

There were more empty seats on the rooftop this time. Golan was still there, his heavy breathing matched with that of the rest of his squad. Half their unit hadn't actually fired their weapon, so intent on performing emergency field repairs. Daros didn't know what was worse- actually fighting, or trying to make a fussy engine work for you while getting shot at. It came to him as a sudden realization that he much preferred his activity to theirs- at least he got to kill whatever tried to shoot at him.

Their ride to Libra Gold was thankfully uneventful, providing a relished moment of respite for the tired soldiers of the New Order. Most of them were quiet- the only chatter came from the radios between sub-unit leaders and NCOs. Things looked poor for the rest of the infantry, and Daros could make out the picture roughly in his beleaguered mind.

It was no time to give in to depressing thoughts. Instead he focused entirely on running through his personal inventory: 3 more shotshells, with an emergency on his wrist bandoleer; he still had his grenades and a satchel charge, courtesy of a friendly corpse; his shovel, badly dulled on one side; IFAK and his armor's stims. He was hesitant to acknowledge combat stims- he knew more than few good men who had fallen prey to the drug and became addicts themselves.

He peddled them to others as well, and never touched them himself. He paused. He filed the stims as a last option, if he specifically needed the boost. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to it.

When they arrived at Libra Gold, Daros took in the scene before him with the practiced eye of a battle-weary veteran.

It was a bad situation. He quickly counted the bodies, the blast marks and craters. Enemy resistance that flowed around like a stream, shoring up where there was the greatest push.

And then there was what his HUD picked up as the last remnants of Demon Company.

He didn't have to pull in his rank when Blackjack Lead's gave our rapid fire orders: "Everyone prepare assault formations! We're relieving what remains of Demon Company!" Orders flowed from front to back, and NCOs of various ranks and denomination responded with a chorus of 'Yes sirs!'. For the second time, Blackjack Company prepared themselves for an immediate relief operation. Hitman Convoy revved its engines and surged forward out of 8th Battalion's formation, covered by friendly tanks.

In hindsight, riding on top of the roofs of armoured transports that were being shot at was a bad idea. The APCs of Hitman barreled past whatever resistance before them and in a drift to make a podracer blush, immediately formed a protective semi-circle around the last of Demon Company, within Libra Gold's compound and past their breached walls.

Blackjack wasted no time in dismounting and setting up a base of fire- Daros literally leapt off the roof and nearly botched the landing. He counted the dead and winced. He wasn't alone, as the company's medics simply rushed past the dead and moved towards those that still showed signs of life- a twitch there, a groan here.

A concussive rocket blasted one of their APCs, rocking it dangerously. Daros eyed the vehicle and decided not to risk it. "Can these men be moved?" he asked the medics. They pointed to 5 of the wounded, including one by his feet. His HUD identified the barely-living corpse as Tulan Kor , whose vitals were as stable as the intergalactic stock market. "Six of them need morphine- get the hell away from him." said a medic brusquely, kneeling down by Tulan and stabbing the man with a vial.

"Do what you can for these men, then take Hitman Three-"

Another concussive rocket smashed into the lead APC with a bright flash- in the briefest of moments, it remained intact. Then a secondary explosion racked through the vehicle, before multiplying into a shower of miniature explosions and bursts of shrapnel as the internal ammunition storage was compromised. Miraculously, none of the shrapnel cut any of them in half- the force of the blast nearly knocked a few troopers on their back however.

"Holy fekk. Change of plans, we are getting the hell out of here."

"God damn it he's right- you, you and you: stretchers, now! Big guy, you get him." The chief medic pointed towards Tulan.

"Wh- Okay you lil' git. Don't fekking die on me." He noticed the gut shot and winced. Not wanting to aggravate it further, he scooped the man up into a princess carry and barked out orders for the rest of their unit to give them cover.

"And knock off the ice cream, fat-ass."

 

[Darth Strosius]

LOCATION: On the streets of Garang
OBJECTIVE: Defend Garang and its people from the enemy
EQUIPMENT: Lightsabre
ALLIES: TSE / ELDER COMPACT / CIS Forces / Telis Taharin-Zambrano
ENEMIES: NIO / NJO
---------------------------------

The masked acolyte grunted as he deflected another blaster bolt back at its shooter, his other hand occupied by using the body of another dead trooper to block whatever shots came from his flank. Although, Lord Aagenti seemed to be on top of that situation, so the body was more so a show of force than anything else.

Together the three of them, he included the Cirmuhai of course, had decimated most of the two Stormtrooper squads by the time Aagenti mounted the flying creature again. At first confused, then concerned by the other Sith's words, Alisteri was quick to take his hand regardless and clamber onto the back of the beast. His own weapon clipped onto his belt where it belonged as he attempted to get a decently comfortable spot on the beast's back.

"I bid you to not concern yourself with me my lord, I am a servant of the Sith. If I am to die this day then so be it-AAAGH!" The young man's sentence was cut short as the Cimuhai took off, quickly discovering that Aagenti's warning to hold on tight was very accurate. Thankfully he had managed to get a good hold and was no longer in danger of falling off as they began flying over the city. The sight from up above, seeing the destruction and chaos of war in its entirety made him sick to his core.

This was a world of the Sith, it held sacred teachings and artifacts and yet the Sith Academy was under assault off in the distance. The civilians were trying to survive, whether they be valiantly fighting the invaders or hiding in the bunkers; and yet their homes were still used as cover whilst the invaders filled their streets. This was a planet of the Sith Empire, and the sight of it in this state only filled the acolyte with rage and a even bit of sorrow. These heathens were even worse than he thought. They were barbarians; savages worthy of nothing but scorn and execution.

He hoped that they would come to regret every life that they had affected today.

Alisteri barely noticed his ally's movements until he heard the noise that left the lord's throat. He winced at the noise, reluctantly turning his gaze back to the city below as he listened. May the Dark Side guide them all today, and may it smite those that would seek to defile it.

 

[Oceiros Sunstrider]

S U N S T R I D E R
NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
Jedi Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Lightsaber

​

Cunning could only get one so far in a fight, Oceiros knew that, he knew how outmatched he was when facing Thurion. Each blow from the more experienced Jedi, causing Oceiros’ bones to reverberate with the force of impact. Pain flared in the Jedi’s wrist as he was forced to parry the blows of the one-time Grandmaster. He couldn’t even begin to put up an attempt at an offense in the wake of the Lion King. So Oceiros changed, switching from the refined fencing style of Makaashi, to the conservative form of Soresu.

Feet setting against the ground, using Rurik’s back as a brace for his own Oceiros let his eyes slowly begin to close. Falling into the force the Jedi let it swell within him, he let it be his eyes, his ears, each movement was guided by sheer instinct.

Sweat flowed freely from the crown of the padawan’s skull as the sheer effort of deflecting Thurion’s blows began to show, face twisted in concentration the epicanthix could still feel his joints aching, muscles burning, and his lungs aching at the sheer physical exertion. While Thurion may not wish to harm Oceiros, whether he realized it or not the Jedi’s life was still on the line for if Carnifex managed to topple Rurik, Oceiros would be next.

Through the sight offered to him by the force Oceiros need not look back to see how his ally was doing, he could feel it. He could feel the other giving his all against the demon that was Carnifex, he could feel the force recoiling as the dark lord drew upon it, twisted it.

Moving forward his blade locking with Thurion, Oceiros kept his eyes closed trying to push into the other and fight the others force. Beneath his feet Sunstrider could feel the earth giving way, his calves and legs burning trying to keep him upright.

“If you remained true you would not allow the Sith to continue their reign of tyranny. You can protect your home without compromising your values. Standing here you stand between justice for so many worlds.” The Jedi grunted through gritted teeth before Thurion’s final push broke the Jedi’s guard pushing him back.

Gasping for air, Oceiros raised his blade preparing for the next strikes to come. The King’s came in blazing, while behind the darkness billowed and began to build around Rurik. Squatting down Oceiros heard the hum of Thurion’s blade as it passed mere centimeters over his head. A hand reached back seizing the cloak of the Lord Executor and tugging him away from the Dark Lords attack.

“Up top!” Oceiros shouted at the executor as he spun on his heels, kicking off the ground coming up at Carnifex, his cobalt blade aimed in a thrust for the Emperor’s chest.

The Unthinkable: Thurion Heavenshield | Darth Carnifex
The Willing: Rurik Fel

 

[Ty Sibo]

Ty sibo:harm armor, under armor bodysuit, Anti material rifle, Protosaber
biodroids: harm armor, GMG's, M-416's
Objective: fall back to the garrison.

the smell of the dead burnt carterized bodies of the commandos that fell to Ty's protosaber was intoxicating as he walked threw sloths of their bodies ocaisionally berralstuffing the woulded with his rifle. Walking over to one who he decapitated he picked up his helmet and made his way back to the group who had set up in a one story building. "Sir, one of them managed to escape."Ty just chuckled before returning with. "that's okay they (Hayek )would be the only out of the commandos that escaped I slaughtered the rest." as the group reloaded their rifles Ty looked around before returning his gaze to the unstable building. "move the corpses to the building were going to bury their corpses with it."

While the units moved the corpses Ty manned the gmg so that once the last of the bodies were loaded up Ty blew the structures supports with the last of the GMG ammo. Looking back to his men Ty informed them "We're too exposed out here let us find a technical and make our way back to the garrison i have a feeling their going to need our help."

 

[Daedalos Solidor]

O B J E C T I V E | Dinner and a Show.
L O C A T I O N | Hell do I Know.
T A G S | Lavria Xedrim
T H E M E | Here.
V O I C E | Here.
G E A R | Armor, necklace,
pistols, lightsaber.​

The teeth in his mouth began to bite the tip of his tongue, by biting his own tongue so hard that he could almost feel the soft muscle getting torn by himself. It was a bad habit of his, Fredo used to bite his lips when he was little until his sister gave him a punch in the mouth so hard that he lost three baby teeth all at once, and then said that she would do it again if she ever caught him biting his lips, ever since Fredo started biting his own tongue instead, but even that wasn’t enough for stopping him from unleashing his endless verbiage on others in his attempt to call attention for himself. Although he liked to think that it was all part of his charm as a ladykiller. ​

‘Cazzo... That’s one classy woman.’, Fredo thought to himself when he heard her emphasizing the word ‘love’, for a brief moment he also considered how adorable that wouldn’t be if she spoke it in his chambers, early in the morning, laying in bed wearing anything aside from that gloomy armor, perhaps nothing at all. ‘Should take her to meet the family.’, the thought of introducing a humanoid to his father, Iedolas, almost made him shiver. His lord father wasn’t as flexible in regards to bloodlines and the name of his family as his deceased mother.​

‘FOCUS, YOU IDIOT!’, the elzeri male heard Leliana, screaming inside his head. Fredo wobbled his head as if waking up from a dream, realizing that the date of his eerie fantasy was coming straight at him and it wasn’t with any intention of sharing with him any sort of cuddling whatsoever. That humanoid goddess wanted to cut him to bits.​

“Oh sh*t.”, Daedalos muttered loudly, as his ears jumped up and down, warning him to move as his entire body began to shake. The elzeri moved left, feeling the invisible push passing him by, raising both dust and grass from the ground, and as he turned his head, Fredo sank both fingers on the triggers, allowing the maser song to make itself heard and judge by its crowd as unwanting as the bolts bounced on the invisible barrier surrounding the alien female. The Solidor male snarled with a soundless snap, spinning the left one in his fingers back in the magnetic holster on his back while grabbing the handle of his blade, pulling it from his back swirling in his wrist as that dread hottie grew closer to his embrace.​

With a sly grin growing on his lips, Daedalos almost crooned his voice in a grunt as he chose to unite endurance with pace. Manaquenta was a work of art, ordered by his father as a unique attire to fit his entire body as to make sure in his own words “that my nincompoop of a son doesn’t get killed”. The male dragged his right feet over the ground raising grass and dirt in the air as he was sure to use the songsteel weaving covering his jumpsuit and kicked the incoming blade with harshness and enough speed to bring back his foot, igniting the icy-blue blade of his lightsaber and moving to strike the edge of his weapon against her free blade to push her with his weight, as his feet ran three steps behind. Laying the tip of his lightsaber down to strike again, this time moving the blade from the bottom to the top in his attempt to force her out of that close-range, his heart pounding in his chest as both lips mumbled.​

His right thumb snapped the hammer of the pistol still in his hand, activating the cryo mode of the Urrax preparing to shoot against her feet when she attempted to move towards him. Might as well taunt that killing beauty to his embrace, although he had doubts if it would hit his mark for the snakelike way she moved, that woman had a fiery will burning in her gaze that gave him goosebumps running down his spine.

“Easy there, babe, if you want the good stuff try buying me a drink first.”, and from the bottom of his lewd shallow soul, the boy genuinely smirked. ​

 

[Auteme]

Joycelyn Zambrano Sakadi Marathi Sinvala ​

The short telepathic message from the Sephi had obviously intended to serve as a warning, but instead Auteme found herself shocked that a voice had wormed her way inside her head -- completely distracting her from the fact that she was being pushed away from the two clashing women. She tumbled a ways away and struggled again to get to her feet.

They weren't done yet.

Deep breath. Into the lungs, to the heart, to the blood. The Force seemed stronger even as the fighting escalated -- perhaps a note towards its true desires. But it didn't resist when she drew from it to end the fighting.

Another deep breath. The pain entered the flow; it washed away in the current. The strength flowed all the way to her fingertips. Hand outstretched she began to gather it. The Light, condensed to a single point, growing and growing and growing. Each breath brought a new memory to feed the Light. She was there to protect people -- that included her fellow Jedi. The Empress was a tyrant; though Auteme had hope for her after seeing that glimmer of good, it would take time for her to change. There were more pressing matters.

"I'm sorry," she said, once more.

The Light roared. She thrust her hand forward, sending a wide beam of the gathered energy towards the Empress and her opponent. While it would do next to nothing to the latter, Auteme hoped to push the former back. There was no malice behind it -- it was a warding flare, meant to push her away. Though she wasn't at full strength, with the Empress otherwise engaged she hoped it would be enough to stop the woman.

 

[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

To Be A Hero​

Ryv watched the lightsaber soar through the air with a perked brow. Her adamant use of Shii-Cho until that point appeared a thing of professional pride, something he understood. His foot shifted as he lowered himself another inch closer to the ground, knees bent in preparation to move immediately. He didn't appear affected by Laertia's choice in weaponry. While he considered such dishonorable, it wasn't as if he believed the Black Knight would dabble in such practices. For her, this battle was to death. She had to kill him. He couldn't be allowed to live because he represented something to so many Jedi. If their pillar fell, so too would the establishment. At least, in her eyes.

He knew better than that. The moniker of Sword represented something more than leadership within the New Jedi Order. It wasn't bestowed upon him by his former master only to wage war on the Sith. He was chosen to protect his brethren, to act as the first and last buffer between the forces of darkness and his fellow Jedi. Even if Ryv died on Dantooine, the Sword of the Jedi would live on. Someone else would take up the mantle and lead the fight.

Resolve thrummed within the Jedi Knight's hand. He could feel his weapon's desire to prove itself the better.

"Ryv, you must fight back. This isn't a game," its voice sounded within his mind.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not treating it like that, man. I just won't strike down another Jedi if I can help it. We can guide her back; that's what we do," he responded through their telepathic link.

"Your eternal optimism in the face of life-and-death is grating. Regardless, I cannot hold out much longer. Her weapon is slowly breaking me down. Soon I will shatter and require time to heal."

"Huh, really?"

"Yes."

"Alright, buddy. I'll figure something out."

Ryv deactivated Resolve and returned it to his belt. He took a deep breath and looked his opponent up and down, eyes focused on both weapons. Even with death staring him in the face, he could feel the emotion tucked away behind the blood-covered wall she erected beneath the surface. The empath grimaced as he realized there'd be no getting to her.

"I understand how heavy this all feels," he admitted. "Like no matter how hard we fight, no matter what we do, none of it will ever matter. But if I'm honest, I don't fight the Sith because I think they'll ever disappear. I do it because someone has to. The Light must always be there to stop the Dark. If we give up, it will flood the galaxy and destroy everything beautiful and just."

He flexed his fingers and extended them out to his sides. "I know the Bryn'adul are a threat. The Jedi haven't decided to abandon that fight. We'll simply fight the war on two fronts."

A familiar grin settled on his lips. "I know that sounds stupid to you. I can't really blame you either, but I do get it. I can feel how tired you are. Emotionally, I mean. I'm an empath. I understand you, Laertia, I really do. Please, let me help you. Together we can take up the fight against the Bryn'adul and the Sith. Just let go of your fear, let it all go and stand with me."

It didn't surprise him when she engaged again. Nor was it much of a surprise when she transitioned to something new. A duel was ultimately a contest of will between two opponents, one that saw each warrior strive to overcome the other. Whether it be through skill, speed, strength, or wit. Anything and everything that could be used to put yourself one step ahead of the other person was employed. Laertia certainly wasn't a stranger to this.

He fell back as she pressed forward. His telekinetic grip found two other sabers nearby and pulled them to his waiting hands. As they made contact with his palm, his fingers closed around the hilts of each blade, and he slid his thumb along the activation switch. A white and yellow saber surged to life and turned aside her opening thrust with a double-bladed slam to the side. As the weapon came back in an arching slash, he stepped to the side and raised the white-bladed weapon to bat the follow-through up and over his head.

As the inverted blade dropped and disappeared, his eyes snapped open in shock. If not for the familiar presence of a fallen brother, he might've lost himself right then and there...

Endeavor
​

An endless azure stretched infinitely around Ryv. It enveloped his feet, the cool water level with his ankles. He found peace as he stared out at the open expanse, but he couldn't shake the confusion within him. Only seconds before, something was wrong; he fought desperately against an opponent who sought his head at all costs. She was gone, the battlefield alongside it. He took a deep breath and trudged forward. He practically glided through the calm sea beneath him, the water weightless. It didn't even inhibit his movement.

"Damn," the kiffar grumbled. "Guess I died, huh?"

"Not quite yet, Ryv," an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind the Sword.

Ryv turned to face the stranger, his usual caution abandoned. Wherever he was kept him at ease, tranquil even, though he didn't know how.

"Arcanus?" Ryv asked. "W-Wait, how did I know that? I've never seen you before. What's happening right now?"

"You are burdened by the curse of the mantle you wear. You are the decisive blade that can be wielded in defense of others or cut them down without remorse. You walk the line between the Darkness and Light, yet you remain true to the path. Take heart, Brother, and strike this pretender down. Let Justice be done."

Before Ryv could say anything else, the fallen Jedi Master vanished. The kiffar turned a full circle as he looked for him.

"What's happening?!" he shouted out to the empty sea. "Where am I?!"

He dropped to his knees, hands splayed against the crystalline floor beneath the calm water.

"Get ahold of yourself, Ryv," another voice called to him.

He looked up to find someone else he hadn't met, though there was something familiar about her. The way her eyebrows arched as she spoke to him, frustration evident in her white irises. Her hair fell back and framed her beautiful face, gently brushing along her shoulders as it descended down her back.

"Loske... No," he fell back on his haunches. "You aren't her, but... You are? I k-know you, but I don't. You're her mother, aren't you? Kiskla?"

"I didn't come here to talk about her," she stated. "You are fighting for your life, and you aren't fighting with everything you have."

"I can't strike down another Jedi. It's just not right."

"Tch," the Jedi Master squatted before him and met his amber gaze. "This is why you aren't as strong as you can be, Ryv. You're so caught up in who you're supposed to be you don't allow yourself to be who you are. Fight back. To die here would be an insult to all who put their faith in you."

The Sword opened his mouth to speak, but like Arcanus Sunstrider, Kiskla Grayson vanished from sight. His head dropped into his hands, frustration burned within him. This was everything he wasn't supposed to be. Jedi shouldn't kill Jedi. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he push himself to do what needed to be done? Why wasn't he strong enough?

Unable to stop himself, tears built up within the Jedi Knight's eyes. He ground his teeth together in frustration. He curled inward and allowed the endless azure to brush against his tired, broken body. Maybe Wyatt made a mistake when he named Ryv the Sword of the Jedi. Perhaps it was time for the mantle to pass on after all.

"Just what do you think you're doing? We did not fight the Brynadul, stand against the Sith, to reach this far only to give up," a familiar voice said to the Jedi knight, the weight of one's palm resting on the Kiffar's shoulder.

"L-Lanik?" Ryv looked up in utter shock to see the fallen Jedi resting before him. Ryv reached across his chest and placed it atop his friend's. "I-I don't know, I just don't, man. How can I take up my blade against another Jedi when you sacrificed your life rather than do the same?"

Offering a parental smile to the other Knight, Lanik's eyes met Ryv's. "All throughout life, we are faced with walls that stand in our path. We are not to look upon those walls as something attempting to keep us out, but instead as a test of how badly we seek to break past them. You stand at the precipice of choice. To stand down and allow yourself to be mowed down in the wake of a dark Jedi, or to take a stand against them. You were named the Sword of the Jedi for a reason Ryv, you are the Light in the Dark, a guiding light for Jedi."

"I…" he fell silent as he squeezed Lanik's hand. "I spent so long looking to others for guidance, Lanik. I couldn't find what I needed in who I am. I thought if I just kept pushing forward, something would finally click. Your death, man, it hurt so much. I looked up to you. You embodied everything it meant to be a Jedi Knight. And after all this time, years after we lost you, to think I'm still the same kid hoping his older brother would pick me up when I've fallen down."

Reaching down with his other arm, Lanik pulled Ryv to his feet. "You have made me so proud. Since my death, I have seen the New Jedi Order rise, not due to Wyatt, not due to the Galactic Alliance but because of you," poking the other in the chest to emphasize the point. "Don't spend time trying to find yourself. Instead, create a you that you can be proud of and others can follow."

Form beginning to waver, Lanik's slowly faded away into the mist. "Go get em."

Ryv wiped away the tears as they rolled down his cheeks, his smile returned. "I won't let you down."

A Sword Unleashed
​

Ryv's eyes snapped open as the blade behind his head sliced downward. His body rotated in a blur; his white sword batted the floating weapon away as the yellow saber crashed into her other weapon. It exploded on impact, the blade shattered by Laertia's own. He didn't falter. His hand thrust forward and pulled another saber from the endless dead around them. It hit his hand and burst from the hilt, the fighters now aglow in crimson.

His body moved faster with each second as she lashed out at both his head and legs. Ryv pushed himself until all else fell away. He gritted his teeth and swirled in an intricate dance of unstoppable blade work.

From above, the telekinetic blade struck, only to be turned aside by the crimson saber. From below came Laertia's Synthbreaker. His yellow blade shattered, replaced by a cyan weapon just in time to parry another strike. All the while, the Jedi Knight muttered under his breath, his eyes burning with an unbreakable will.

"Faster, I have to go faster," he declared. The cyan blade locked the airborne attack as Ryv leaped above another strike to cleave through his legs. He twirled through the air, his body horizontal to the ground as he weaved through his assailant's endless swarm. "It's not enough. Faster, faster, faster."

He met Laertia's eyes as he spun about. A controlled fury revealed itself to the woman at that moment, an instinct for battle he repressed up until that point. This Jedi Knight, Ryv Karis, wasn't the same. He stared her down with an intent none could mistake.

She would die.

"You've made a mistake, Laertia Io," he started, his dance uninterrupted as he continued to pull from the dozens of fallen bodies. Light exploded all around them as his borrowed sabers clashed with the Synthbreaker. "I am the lone barrier between the Jedi and all that would hurt them."

His sabers met and batted aside the Synthbreaker. Each ceased and burst outward, exploding in a symphony of iridescent lights. Ryv ducked beneath a horizontal swipe from the floating weapon as the Black Knight recovered from the strength-imbued defense. Two more weapons flew to the Jedi Knight's hand. Purple and blue joined the Sword as he spoke.

"I will burn brightest, not only to ward away the Dark. My radiance burns so my kin can find respite within my shadow. No more will the galaxy strike out against them. No more will I bury my friends and family. Enough is enough, and if putting you in the dirt is how I send that message, so be it."

Ryv's purple saber lashed out for the woman's eyes while his blue blade covered his back. He pushed forward, ripping past her, his weapons each striking out simultaneously as if to cut through both her chest and abdomen.

If this fight would end in death, so be it. But he would not be welcomed into Ashla's loving embrace. Not today.


ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Lanik Dawnstar | Kiskla Grayson-Matteo
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Laertia Io

Spoiler: Noice

I just want to thank Warchief Waddles , Rynn Vizsla , and Loske Treicolt for collaborating with me in helping bring their fallen characters to life one more time. You guys are the best.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

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

As Detritus Ren surged forward, eyes blazing with the power of the Dark Side, the Shaper could only feel pity for the creatures before him. Clawing, scraping, trying in desperation to contest him. What had, perhaps, began as righteous fury in the eyes of the young Kyrel now seeming nothing more to the Shaper than the slavering, roaring tantrum of a dying fool. Continuing to stay on the side of Jin's injured shoulder the Shaper would withdraw his mental influence from Hans Rennagen in order to channel the Whilstone of Power to meet each of Jin's savage strikes. The Shaper recognized the stance, the distinct though sloppy Djem-So style the Shaper answered with his own unique application of a mix of Djem-So and Makashi. Gripping Urfael with both hands and adopting the powerful blocks to establish counters of Djem-So, while applying the principles of Makashi in his motions by angling his deflections with small, practiced motions to push Jin's blade away with his own strength-fueled momentum. The physical blow denied with a simple backwards step.

The moment Hans moved forward, however, the Shaper would sigh and dissipate into a shadowy mist. His form vanishing only to reform near the back of the room where Acharn has embedded itself from Jin's counter-attack. It was at this moment that the Shaper paused, feeling the death of AMCO below in the caves. It was a surprise, to be sure, and NOT a welcome one. The Eternal Empress' anguish, the Force Scream emitted by Ingrid L'lerim however, was not. The Shaper, while not sad exactly, was incredibly disappointed. While he had only known Darth Prospero in passing, reputation and skill alone had given the Shaper his measure, and it seemed perhaps the only being in the galaxy who would be an artisan his equal had just perished at the hands of fools and traitors.

The Shaper could feel the Reforged he commanded collapse and fall apart at Prospero's passing and he snarled in aggravation, in anger, and with what time and distance he had been himself and the two apprentices, he cast his senses to Prospero's murderers. To both Runi Verin and Amea Virou the Shaper would murmur a single dark sentence to the two women 'You shall follow.' Making a mental note to reach out to the widowed Empress about avenging her husband's death, as a professional courtesy from one genius to another, the Shaper would turn his attention fully back to Jin and Hans. Dropping all pretense of mercy and restraint, the Shaper would cause Sith lightning to crackle down the length of Urfael as he addressed the two. "Enough. I have offered leniency and restraint, a chance for both of you to return to your homes, to cease your folly. To perhaps realize you threaten the galaxy at large with your sycophantic efforts."

Extending Urfael towards Hans, drawing on the ancient Sith blade and the Whilstone of Power to bolster his powers far beyond the norm, lightning would stream with a torrent from the ancient blade toward Hans as the Shaper's eyes glowered hatefully. "But now? NOW you and your efforts have cost the galaxy something precious. Perhaps the only being I would consider a true contemporary in millennia of existence. A mind great enough to evolve the very ways in which the Force itself can be utilized." The Shaper would stalk forward, the Whilstones flaring with malevolent power, blindingly bright and terrible upon the Shaper's brow. His strength now utterly inhuman, his reflexes enhanced with rage, as he brought down a powerful, vertical strike on Jin. His form precise, though powerful, and whether Jin blocked the blow or not, the Shaper would pivot towards Jin's injured shoulder and follow-up with a precise strike to the back of Jin's thigh. Intention severing the leg entirely.