END TRANSMISSION
His cloak leisurely fell to the ground, unhooked in the seconds prior to Zorah's response to the Warden's summon to his side. His mind was still, despite the blaster bolts whizzing past his head, and the explosive rounds that were slowly correcting themselves for better accuracy. He breathed in deeply, allowing his lungs to take in the sour air of spent tibanna and ongoing warfare.
Breath.
His words were silent, almost a whisper as it extended outwards into the minds of both Knights and Stormtroopers alike. An aura of warmth extended outwards from his near centered position in the middle of the street, delivering upon his allies what was only a mere fraction of what his brother was once capable of.
Have patience. Trust your brothers. We will prevail.
The force guided his will outwards, pressing upon his allies minds the coolness of the mind they needed to steady their shots, to wipe their brow, and to focus their thoughts upon the enemy with a renewed sense of diligence. It wasn't the unyielding spirit of
defiance that Rurik imposed upon others during the heat of battle, but it would suffice enough until he'd returned back to their lines, Raina and Zorah in tow.
<I am sufficiently warmed, Warden.>
His eyes opened, revealing the deep shades of amber swirling within to the younger of the two Knights, who once more caught his attention.
His gaze swung from Zorah and back towards Raina once more
. <"Make sure the rookie doesn't fall behind-- or take a bolt to the chest, for that matter."> Luc smirked, his form shifting into a low stance as he bent at the knees and dug his boots into the dirt. He was pointed
East, aimed squarely at a two-story building which had been delivering a hail of blaster fire down onto their positions for the past several minutes. A handful of the adjacent buildings were also occupied by their enemies, the sum of each one surrounded by a long duracrete wall in the form of a massive compound for them to occupy.
Somewhere in the rear was where their fire support was located, and he planned on reaching that location behind more of his men had to die a wasteful death.
And without hesitation, or as much as a warning to the others, it was exactly where he intended to go for their little
adventure into danger. He sprung into action, no longer keen on being the target for inaccurate blaster fire anymore. The force carried him forwards as he exploded from the ground, and propelled himself onto an impact course for the two-story building in question.
A hail of blaster fire lit up his vision, most of it incoming, but plenty of it being sent on their way to his target in question. None of the shots aimed at him were able to take down their mark, and the Knight made little work of the exterior wall with the well-placed activation of the repulsor in the palm of his prosthetic hand. He was greeted with a mixture of fear and bewilderment from the occupants of the second floor, but such feelings were quickly replaced by a fanatical rage that instigated forwards into close-quarters combat.
Blasters previously pointed outwards now sprayed with reckless abandon into the interior of their fighting position, their fingers locked square upon their triggers in a fruitless effort to cut down the Knight let loose into their ranks. Several of their own were killed in the process, and when their weapons ran empty, the melee growing bigger with each passing second until yet another cultist met their inevitable fate at the skillful hands of Lucien and his lightsaber.
A chunk of the firepower pinning down their stormtroopers was lifted, and slowly the men began pushing up towards the exterior walls, slowly but surely making ground.
The melee, on the other hand, was near the tail end of its conclusion when once more the familiar
swoosh of lightsaber activations caught his attention. He spun around on his heel with his weapon pushed up to a guard, blocking the incoming crimson blade that was intended to cut him down from his behind. In his peripheral he could see many more tens of figures darting into the compound from the rear, many of them armed like the majority, but not all. Robed cultists pushed ahead of their fodder, most of them heading for the building where Lucien was located. They too would dispose of their robes, revealing sets of armor reminiscent of what he'd seen during the height of the Sith-Imperial Civil War. These weren't just Cultists, it seemed, but also the real deal.
They were
Sith.
Sycamore Warrey
