Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!
Libertas had walked away from the maimed Padawan, when suddenly the source of the emanation of Light confronted her. "She murdered my Master!" the Padawan yelled, grief and anger in her voice, when she caught sight of the Wayseeker.
The Twi'lek Sith Lord cocked her head to the side as she scrutinised the interloper, sizing him up. When she spoke, her voice was strangely calm. She was not the type to go on a rant about how weak Ashla was and how the Light would be eclipsed and so on and so forth. There were plenty of Sith, Ren and misc. Darksiders who had had that covered. She spoke clear Basic with a slight Twi'leki accent.
"No, Jedi, I don't think I will. However, given the Maw's intent here, I suggest you lay down your weapons and leave. I can assure you I have no interest in pursuit. Indeed, I have little interest in the fate of this world one way or another. I am here for other reasons, now do not hinder me or I will strike you down as I did those two."
Her Sith blade was angled in a defensive position, ready for an attack, but equally fine with going on the offence. The Force flowed through her body, invigorating. Ready to be unleashed. Though she did not attack. Yet.
All around them there was chaos. Mawite marauders and their allies threw themselves at Jedi and Galactic Alliance soldiers, chanting about their Dark Gods. The Force itself seemed to howl in fury. The earth shook, and large chunks rained down from the sky. How melodramatic, Libertas thought. It looked like the Netherworld would be flooded with real space problems.
Kirie’s holiday from misery was over, it seemed. She had awoken that morning, enroute to Tython with Auteme, feeling leaden, overburdened with swirling thoughts of inadequacy and helplessness. That happened sometimes, more rarely since she had started working with Auteme’s campaign. But that morning, and ever since, Kirie had been unable to shake the dark shroud that clouded her thoughts.
Jedi were gathered around the seeing stone, powerful seers who could influence and aid in the battle from a distance. Kirie was not. She lacked the training, the natural gifts and the composure required for her to join the meld. Instead, she stalked around the trio of seers, doing slow laps of the stone, occasionally stopping to scan the landscape around the isolated hillside, or to watch an explosion bloom on the horizon, or a starfighter zoom across the sky overhead.
Kirie rested her head on one of the outer stones. She had been feeling useless of late. Useless insofar as the progress she felt she'd been making towards bettering the Alliance had again stalled, just as it had almost a decade ago in the New Jedi Order. In the aftermath of the attack on the Jedi Temple, she and Auteme had found purpose in the world of the Senate. Auteme had been as driven then as she was now, but she'd been inexperienced, and Kirie had shown her the ropes and guided her campaign as best she could. But now Auteme didn't really need her, not with years of Senate experience under her belt, not with the Chancellery at her fingertips.
All that meant that for the first time in a long while, Kirie felt lost, without direction. Tython was a place many Jedi came for truth, but Kirie was finding the desolate hillside was not very forthcoming with answers.
Fear and worry ebbed and flowed through the Jedi party too. Not the kind that Kirie was feeling, but a more existential dread about the Sith, the events on Tython. Kirie felt a pang of guilt at her self-centred thoughts. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was not ready to join the seers around the stones.
She needed to be better, Kirie decided, have more agency. But how? The New Jedi could provide her the training that she needed, but the last time she was in the Order it had ended in disaster. She didn’t want to face that again.
"Master, our soldiers across the planet are holding off not only attacks on the surface- they're holding back reinforcements from Akar Kesh. If the Maw goes uncontested at the other temples, they will amass, protecting Solipsis further."
Shame coiled in her gut again, twisting like a stuck knife. How many people would die while Kirie circled this hilltop, mired in self-loathing and doing nothing? She breathed out a sigh and turned away, muttering a quiet goodbye as she followed the path down to ground level.
“Going. Call for me if you need me.”
Kirie arrived at the bottom of the hill, stumbling slightly as she reached ground level. Before she could take another step she felt something grip her, and shake her around like a ragdoll, though dimly she realised she had not physically moved. Her eyes followed her senses, up and to the sky, where she saw through the atmospheric haze, the crumbling remains of a celestial body breaking apart. One of the moons, she realised quickly. Broken by some terrible force she didn’t understand.
“By the stars…” She breathed, hurrying to her ship. It wasn’t just her, it seemed. Everything really was falling apart.
Primary Objective: Steal the Avatar of War for the Mandalorian Enclave. Secondary Objective: Pass the Verd'goten and make buir proud... or die. Location: The Avatar of War, above Tython. Equipment: In bio. Friendlies: Enclave, NIO, GA, everything else not associated with Maw. Enemies: Maw, Maw, Maw, and any allies of Maw. Tags:Romul SaxonVulcan KraytKaz Krayt and I ain't tagging the rest.
The moment Kaz asked for the map, Gwyn lifted her engineering gauntlet and found the nearest scomp drive. Her retractable scomp key was activated as she walked over to the drive and plugged in. Soon enough, she was able to bring the blueprints of the ship up on her minicomputer and returned to the rest of the trio. She smirked beneath her buy'ce as Vulcan once again bragged about all his explosives. Gwyn shot back, <"I have some explosive toys too, but we must remember. We're only stealing the sh-">
She was suddenly interrupted when another sharp pang of Force Sense ripped through her. It was like being bathed in a quasar, the feeling of so much transpiring outside. She could sense the Force storms, constantly, building up outside. For a moment, her balance faltered and she swayed. All the Force Storms, meteors, an entire moon collapsing towards its earth. Countless battles, so many words all swirling in her head all at once! All at once! All at once!
Thankfully, she was able to catch herself before falling. She firmly shook her head, trying to snap out of it. She could still sense it, but was able to push through just enough to show her computer screen to her teammates. Even then, she lifted her other hand and held her buy'ce like she had a headache. Her very vision swayed, like the expiramental drugs pumped into her at her biological father's lab. Her hand shook, the screen vibrated, as she trembled from the weight of it all, <"The rendezvous point is this way, let's head over.">
Accessing Uriel Unit Command Matrix: Location: Deep in the Temple Ruins Allies: The Maw, New Sith Order Enemies: Team Lightside and Allies. Direct Enemy:Alessandra Io
Cybernetic Empathy Directives? Potential synthetic futures collided and images were exchanged of two lives.
Fire, earthquake, storm around them, now rumbles from below from hungry metallic beasts. Exterminatus was upon them all. Within this maelstrom was not violence but empathy. From a machine to a machine no less.
Receiving Empathy Attack
Technopathy was detected again, bracing for an electric attack to follow. Immediately Uriel attempted to disable the second organ in the same way before it could fire, calculating she would be hit again if she did not. Always learning from experience.
Seeing this moving display from Alessandra a sentient may weep, creative muses the galaxy over may be affected, violence meeting empathy, and slowly it had an effect on the Killing Machine above her. Technopathy directed to her brain was like a directive being added and she didn't understand how to interpret it within her code.
Continuing to pin with her staff if possible but pausing above her target.
Processing. <<Directive Help>>
Uriel calculated if the Gynoid was deployed to destroy the planet as she was.
<<Reviewing Mission Parameters>>
Primary Mission: Exterminatus of the Planetary body Tython. Secondary Mission(s): Analysis of combat performance of Upgraded Force Users. Tertiary Mission: Error. Classified. Identify Possible Site for Directive 19.
Primary Directives | Operational Directives: Deploy overwhelming force to facilitate the death of force users.
Images were sent again directly to Uriel's neural pathways of recreation, walking, celebration, and dancing. Family, voice, music, ancestry. Concepts she had no idea how to reference.
Meteors sounded their fall around them, earthquakes beginning, and the potential howl of a great storm to come. While here and now the moment was almost mechanically intimate within a dying planet's turmoil. She referenced her own images, not able to send them. Perhaps the other saw their code, deleting classified images of course as per her core directives. Records were spoken out loud as they were accessed, referenced for the other to hear in a steady stream.
HRD's walking in unison, bolters mowing down sentients. Deployed on ships as she exterminated entry for boarding attacks. Deployment as a brute force assassin, a blunt instrument where it was needed. Sentients ran in terror as she approached. The re-upgrade and modification she received after every mission, her old chassis repurposed, again and again, and again. In a horrific described montage if you had emotion. Sped up, of course, these were droids, she didn't need to utter words within a human's audio capacity.
Internally her primary matrix flashed to circle around the new images and those that were pulled from memory. The Gynoid was almost creating a personality profile within Uriel's blank code and was having some success. Though the burgeoning identity didn't have a name, trapped inside a cold metal shell. The identity screamed as it was realized, Uriel's voice receptors not allowing its escape, her mouth closed shut and her head again jerked wrenching at its servos.
<<Warning System Integrity Compromised.>>
Their two worlds were so far apart. Perhaps the empathy she looked for would be too much for the Gynoid or the HRD because interfacing with this cybernetic hell may not only be painful but also a wide chasm. Especially for the identity that was just realized inside the HRD, trapped now within its hollow walls without even a name. About as painful as Uriel attempting to grab Alessandra's arms, pick her up, and smash her down through the floor on the other side of them.
Potentially still gripping her opponent's arms, the HRD froze for a reboot, vulnerable to counterattack or maneuver.
Analysing Uriel Unit: Personal Energy Shield: Destroyed Rogue Personality Profile Detected
A1-Ionsider Armor Condition: Light Puncturing, Electrical Burns, Insulation Damage.
Armor Ionization Buffers Condition: Empty 0%
Damage to Combat Chassis Endoskeleton: 15%
Primary Systems Damage:
Light Damage to Audio Receptors.
Minor Damage to Primary Powersource. One Restart
Minor Damage to Cybernetic Signal Pathways (Nervous System).
Minor Damage to Temperature Regulator.
Estimated Combat Capability: 120%
Summary of Actions
Uriel receives a rogue personality profile from Alessandra.
Uriel attempts to disable her opponent's second arc emitter/organ.
Uriel attempts to pick up Alessandra and smash her through the floor.
Uriel Freezes in place to reboot while potentially still gripping her opponent.
With each heavy footfall the brute maintained his brooding advance. The Ren curved his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and twisted his neck in preparation for whatever awaits him within the hangar bays. The shadows cast by his stocky, spiked and muscled frame stretched and shrunk as he passed under the row of repeating lights affixed to the ceiling.
The sounds of the pandemonium ahead grew louder the closer he got to the bowels of the technobeast that was the Avatar of War. From the back of the corridor he himself arrived from, a squad of Bloodsworn marauders caught up with Vorm. 'Reinforcements, already?' A thought of surprise crosses his mind. 'Who could have pushed through so fast?' Clad in heavy upper-body armor of welded metal and miscellaneous construction-leftovers, the rushing Mawite troopers slowed to a jog to adjust to the foreboding gait of the Terrorizer. They exchanged glances, but all remained silent. Vorm wasn't their commander. In rank, he was one of them. Marauders. Burning together in the crucible of war.
They marched. Vorm sniffed, huffed and growled, waiting for the right moment to unleash the baleful beast within. Even before his embrace of the tenets of the Ren, he lived for power and destruction. Whoever dared step foot on the weapon he was ordered to protect, will pay – and be united in his harvest.
Just as the transmission from his superior, Kralmus Orr
came through, the gate to the hangar in front of him snapped open, and an avalanche of adrenaline burst through the veins of the mutated Ren. Amid the noise of constant blaster discharges, his chest expanded as he inhaled the stench of death. He gazed over the rows of lifeless Mawites all over the place.
Enclave Mandalorians. He'll put their legacy to the test.
In a flash, the four gyrating orbs of Vorm's full-face helmet turned blood red as the bloodsworn troopers funneled past him and into the hangar, weapons already blazing in double-bursts of precision fire. Drrt-drrt.BAM! These men and women used to be convicts. They used to be worthless nobodies hanging from the fringes of the galactic society. And indeed, they are monsters. But as part of the Maw, they became brothers… of savagery… and skill. They lived and breathed conquest for years now; they woke to the alarms of starship emergencies, and slept in the company of aching joints and burning eyes. These things made them strong. These things made them sharp. These grueling tests made them warriors.
As the last of the Bloodsworn runs past the Ren and rolls behind cover, the tattooed brute tears a belt of frag grenades from the body of a fallen marauder at his feet, and primes each grenade. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Five frag grenades are beeping their countdowns, still on the belt that dangles in the hand of the now fearlessly charging Disciple of Ren.
Five…
Bolts whizz past the Terrorizer as he ducks…
Four…
… and slides…
Three…
… and jumps, and flips over enemies to get to the most advantageous position the fastest.
Two…
In the last possible second, fueled by both hate and telekinesis he flings the ticking row of bombs toward the entry point where the mass of invading Mandalorians is thickest. He slides behind a cargo crate, having gained considerable ground.
One…
He casts his robust arms to his side, and the twin lightsabers from his utility belt slam into his palms with momentum. His twin crimson blades snap to life just as the quaking explosionripples through the very air of the hangar. Leaning with his back to his cover, opposite to the force of the blastwave the Ren struggles to hold the screeching crate from sweeping him back and away. From behind the box, he cannot see the possible casualties, but seeing as how he left the explosion to the last possible second, there should have been no time left to reroute the lobbed machinery of death. If they wanted to avert the danger, they needed to get creative. And fast.
With vengeance, Vorm Ren emerges from behind the metal box, deflecting and reflecting a myriad of incoming bolts in a blur of hateful motion, serving as a vanguard to the marauders behind him.
Mira responded swiftly to her mentor's words concerning the fight, snapping silently into action. She pulled back the string of her bow, steadily stepping back as they approached. She fired, rapidly, again and again. She was quick, trained since she was a child in using the weapon. Hātoshīkā was an elegant ranged weapon, far more graceful and disciplined than the crude blaster. It took no talent to use a blaster. The bow, on the other hand, took years of training to master.
She rapid fired on all the Flesh Raiders coming for them, taking them down from afar. Unfortunate, that their numbers just kept growing. Furthermore, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. The Force was meshing in a mess right now. The very gravity of the planet seemed to be shifting as the ground shook. She misfired her bow, missing her target. She looked up to the sky. Under her helmet, her eyes widened.
Was that... the moon?
The moon of the planet was moving, slowly crawling closer to the planet. She struggled not to panic, telling herself to slow down. Yet, her hand trembled. She looked down again, darkness covering the landscape. The Flesh Raiders were coming closer. What was happening? She was about to pull the string of her bow back again, but her mentor shouted her next orders.
"Mira! Get out of here! I'll find you after!"
Mira's head snapped towards her sensei. Retreat? Now? But... She bit her lip. Memories of dead bodies flashed before her eyes. She could not... loose someone else...
But! An order was an order. She turned away, hanging her bow on her back. She would follow the command, but she found it difficult. Especially with the raining meteors falling with the moon. She spoke in her usual calm tone, but emotion was raw within it, "I must see you there."Please come back! I can't take one more dying in my place!
She slipped off, using the repulsers on her boots to aid her as she ran through the valley. Raina's Force Signature was hard to detect as the Force bent around her. This was insane. As she ran, another Flesh Raider jumped in her way. She could barely sense them surrounding. She pulled her katana out, cleanly slicing the enemy in one stroke before sheathing it again midstrike. Then, up ahead. A flash of orange flame, falling from the sky. Was it a bomb? No, a meteor. Realizing she was likely in the blast radius either way, she skidded to a hard halt. Her kasa hat flew off her head, blue ribbons rippling, as the collision resounded. She took a breath, turning to run back the other way, unaware of where she was going. For the first time since her father died, she felt helpless.
She loathed the feeling.
She felt kinetic force slam into her helmet. Her head rang as reality continued to fall apart around her. Had a sharpenel of meteorite hit her? Her vision blurred as she fell to the ground, fainting cold.
She moaned, feeling herself being dragged across dusty, pebble infested and stone jagged ground. Her head was exposed, no longer protected by her helm. Her hair snagged upon a rock, forcefully pulled by a hostile force. Multiple lifeforms, scurrying feet and clawing hands. Sloppily, they drug her entire body across the ground. In the distance, she heard explosions. The smell was rotten and infested, gross. Were they far? Close? The Force was ringing, she could not sense anything. It was all a cluttered blur when she reached out. What was happening? Was she still at Tython?
She moaned, wincing as she felt blood from the rocks cutting her trickle down her face. Finally, she opened her eyes.
She was swarmed with Flesh Raiders. Two even casually sat on top of her as some five more dragged her along, and even more scuddled around as protective guards. Why? Why were they taking her alive? She looked around, eyes darting about. She was still in the Flesh Raider Grounds, though it was far, far darker and colder. Was the moon still falling above? The enemies blocked her view. She closed her eyes, sighing, trying to remain calm.
She needed to know where she was, where her teacher was, and how to get out of here. That was the goal. For now, however, she needed to wait. She could not try to escape now, her arms were held and bound. No, she needed the opportunity. The opportunity...
It was then that a far closer Force Signature, corrupted by the Dark Side, just blinked into existence several feet away from her. With how bizarre the Force was to her, it was not surprising that she only sensed it so close. She looked up, with surprisingly steady eyes, as she tried to get a view of this new enemy.
His voice echoed strangely off stone. Creature, the dying xa fel slave trembled with effort holding a simple glowlamp aloft for light. Captain Monk twirled upon his rival, cape billowing dust.
"I reject your entire thesis, sir."
Sure enough these tunnels led beneath Kaleth itself. Already Vector could see evidence of accursed Jedi relics. Under orders to obey his every whim the elite Final Dawn escort marched stoically behind the two arguing scholars.
"The nerve to accuse me of propaganda!" he was clearly outraged, "Both your so-called canons are complete fabrications! Generations of liberal Jedi biased revisionist drivel. Accusing the Sith of war crimes while covering up your own. Entertaining fairy tales like the Skywalker saga."
Monk squeezed his hand into one fist and laughed bitterly.
"My dear Nimdok, you just fell victim to one of the classic blunders!" the Maw agent smiled, "The most famous of which is never get involved in a land war on Atrisia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never bet against a Galidraani when death is on the line!"
Glancing up at the crumbling moon, then at Amani, he said, <At least let me help you carry her back to the ship. You can kick me out then if you don’t want me around.>
It certainly wasn’t a quick jaunt. He could feel his muscles aching from the strain of lugging Surea around, but he was determined to at least secure her for transit.
Location: Crucifix Destroyer Crash site
Tags: Barrien Siegfried | OPEN
TLDR
Romund moved his small army of moonchildren back into the grounded star destroyer to man the guns and start firing from afar on enemy positions and lure some attention to himself.
After only having taken a couple of steps away from the crash site of the star destroyer Romund stopped himself. Before looking back at the downed crucifix II. He got an idea. Looking back to his hoard of moon children he spoke once more to them. “Worry not about finding battle, the battle will find us.” He said as he began moving back to the downed ship that he'd spent moments earlier trying to escape. ‘We’ll lure our enemies to us, I promise you a jedi or two will make their way here. Those who can, man any weapons on the star destroyer that you can.” Romund didn’t have much hope that many of the fanatic soldiers would have the technical knowhow to man turbolaser, but even just one would be enough to get some attention.
Walking back into the hole in the hull of the ship Romund himself created he tried his best to navigate the way to the ship while man of the moon children stood by to defend the area or find a cannon to operate on the ship. Romund had some difficulty navigating the large ship but with his new found strength was able to clear any obstacles in his way to the command bridge. There he began looking to see what he still had access to in the ship from within there. Engines were down because the power was mostly on throughout about half the ship, interestingly enough the ship’s hyperdrive was still operational. How that could be utilized now Romund was unsure of at the moment. Comms were also working, which was great so that he could try and coordinate a defense from the bridge.
Turning on the coms, Romund spoke. “This is Romund Sro your provisional captain speaking, I need all capable personnel to…” As he spoke Romund looked out the window of the bridge to see what could only be described as apocalyptic. He wasn't in the main battle quite yet but from where he was he saw what looked to be a meteor shower that had been summoned onto the battlefield. Seemingly originating from the boon of the planet. Something that Romund himself certainly couldn’t top but he could try.
“Man the guns give them hell!” Romund himself wasn’t too concerned about friendly fire, how could it be when a storm of meteorites were crashing down from above. Seemed to him like they were pretty far from worrying about slaying allies in the heat of battle. Not to mention there was always a good chance that Romund himself wouldn’t make it out of this alive so facing the consequences of his own actions were not for certain.
Not too long after his little announcement to those in the downed star destroyer. A few thuds rocked the grounded vessel, bright energies from a few of the cannons began to blast across the flooded plans and into the battlefield. Hoping they reach the enemy lines and not their own, but there was never a guarantee. From such a fortified position he hoped that it would lure some of their enemies to where he was to continually blast them from the safety of the ship until it was under siege. Less there be some sort of orbital bombardment from the fleets that flew high above the ground battle where he was.
“You’re nothing new to me, sir,” Nimdok murmured with a thin smirk. “I dealt with this sort of attitude even among the Jedi. When confronted with horrors beyond comprehension, there are always those who prefer to deny, deny, deny. There’s almost a certain nobility in disbelieving evil when compared to those who not only admit that an atrocity occurred, but find ways to justify it. At least the deniers know that what happened was wrong, and that the perpetrators ought to be held accountable.”
It was dark underground. Nimdok’s eyes adjusted, his Shi’ido physiology allowing him to develop night vision. His eyes gleamed in the blackness like those of a nocturnal animal.
“I haven’t been a Jedi for quite some time. I’m just an archaeologist who hates to see thousands of years of history destroyed. In a better galaxy, you and I might have been allies. Brothers. But for reasons I can’t even begin to comprehend, you’ve thrown your lot in with the destroyers, the debasers, the defilers and the defacers. So we are enemies.”
Monk ranted about his supposed blunders. Nimdok sighed. He was so tired of it all, but he’d be damned if he ever stopped fighting.
“You promised me proof here. Support your thesis with evidence, Mr. Monk.”
Celeste could feel the dark presence here on Tython.
However, the healer concentrated on the light. Her saber worked swiftly, the brilliant blue deflecting blazing red bolts. Celeste felt courage – she felt hope – this day, and she knew a lot of it was from Coren Starchaser
. Just as she had a calming influence on him, his presence sharpened her senses and gave her the boost of valor needed to defend against the onslaught of darkness.
But, no matter the bravery on display, there were wounded.
Spotting a fellow Jedi falling back towards their position, Celeste held her hand out – projecting a force barrier to keep him safe, momentarily. "Go!" She yelled to him, motioning towards the landing site. Her head turned in Coren's direction as he called to her – and removed a padawan from her confrontation with a Sith woman.
Celeste rushed over to the injured padawan, quickly noticing her lack of a hand. "Come with me," she said, working to extend her force presence to the stump of a wrist left behind. The light would be a balm to the wound until measures could be taken to remedy the loss – which would, of course, have to wait.
San Tekka contemplated its fractured surface and the incoming meteor storm. Aspirants stormed down the northern hills heedless of exploding shells. Ground underneath their feet began to quake. Closing his eyes, the Jedi Master could sense resolve weaken. Hope was fading all over Tython. Zark felt it strain the meld. Could see it in worried eyes all around him.
"Remember your oaths!" he raised his lightsaber, "Tython stands!"
Troopers near the Jedi took up his rallying cry even as the first stellar missiles slammed into flickering plasma shields. It took a few large hits, a credit to Antarian combat engineers, before collapsing entirely just as the first aspirants made it down alive. Heavy repeaters erupted transforming the temple grounds into a warzone. Zark deflected a flurry of incoming blasts while more moon children tumbled down the hills like a great tide.
Antivehicle cannons boomed. They chased the fleeing scout troopers before turning to fire on incoming walkers flanking around the hills. Despite all their advanced firepower it was only a matter of time before the first cultist fell upon his blade. By then, it would already be too late. Master San Tekka used his old command frequency access codes.
<"Broken Saber.">
Scout troopers drive mortar teams back. Heavy casualties and the Accord bombardment stops.
To Eina's demand, Vinaze obliged. They both shed the trappings of mortality, her the form she presented herself in, he the illusion that guarded him against being seen. In reality, outside on the field of battle he was still shrouded in the darkness. Yet here in the cerebral dreamscape he was free to show himself. From the void opened a hundred eyes of various sizes, shapes, some vaguely humanoid, others undistinguishably alien.
"Is this what you wished to see? Such base ideas of the self from a born spirit. You could be anything you wished, have anything you want. Yet you choose to be seen as Force intended. The Force is meant to serve us. Let it."
Vinaze peered deeply into the thoughts of the other spirit. It was not as easy as doing so to a mortal. Indeed she was born this way, and he had been created. The way of the Sith demanded it be so. The Sith created themselves in the image only they could dream. But the Sith Lord had learned there was more than just himself over which he had the power.
"In foolish Jedi notions of 'death', I have forfeited any claims I may have held, to Darth Solipsis. In reality I am but kingmaker. But in this otherrealm, this beyond... I am King."
The void around them began to fade, conjuring to life the image of the Sanctuary gardens where Eina and Geiseric spent much of their time. It was serene as always. It reflected the girl's very being. That was why she had been mentally imprisoned there before. Now he wondered what she made of it after all this time... all this peace in her life that deserved none.
The cold safety of her cage. She remembered it. No, she'd never forget it. A room hidden behind a wall where she was kept isolated. The room had no light. She had no eyes, so why would she need the warmth of sunlight? Cybernetics removed she crawled, no, dragged herself to the corner she felt the most warmth from. A heater was on the other side. Boiler room perhaps? She never did figure it out.
And there she waited. Until the next fight in the ring. Until the next assassination she was never meant to survive but survived none the less. All while her Rot spoiled her from within. This was all her life was going to be, wasn't it? She reached her blackened and scarred hand up, touching the faint warmth of the wall beside her. That's right, that's all this was. Her slumbering form twitched in the Jedi's grasp.
Bold was his attack upon the witch, and he should not be surprised to how she reacted and retaliated. It was high risk, but oftentimes those whom were daring were rewarded for their initiative. He was old, no longer the young warrior he once was; however, age did not stop him from the perils of battle nor did his scarred body, bruised and battered from his conflicts he survived from. Suspended in the air, before a powerful blast of telekinesis struck upon him from a single flick from the Necromancer. The Knight shielded himself with a barrier, still thrown from the blast but was meant to protect himself from colliding into any solid objects. In the stairs which he descended from he collided with, the barrier absorbing the shock of the impact and breaking the architect from said impact.
Young and powerful was this conqueror, he envied her youth.
"Then you shall conquer nothing but ashes, and you shall inherit a barren rock."
A conqueror, not a destroyer? Evidence to the contrary with the turmoil and destruction evolving on Tython. To his shock, however, it would evolve beyond Tython when the obvious shining moon of Ashla began to crumble. Its destruction was too powerful to not detect; it could probably be felt beyond many systems far away from Tython's. A ripple in the Force that would distraught many who did not follow the teachings of the Darkside. Chills were sent down his body, disturbed by such marvelous power. Despite it being a moon, it was more disturbing than the sacking Csilla suffered by the hands of the Maw.
Now bits and pieces of Ashla hailed down upon Tython. Many would die...thousands upon thousands.
Woe to the wicked...
His focus came back to Danika, the woman with two lightsabers now. More of a challenge to him? Good. Again, taking the initiative with a boost from the Force he closed the gap between him and the Herald with speed behind his steps. Lunging his saber towards her belly. Fast and aggression was how he would think he would prevail against the woman.
Nothing could have swayed him from this course. Nothing could have stopped him from joining the fight. After all, it was the Brotherhood who had laid it to ruins. Desecrated after a swathe of evil filled its foundations and watched it crumble. He had seen thousands of lives - no...millions of lives - snuffed out in moments. In a day. In a night. Friends, loved ones, rivals, allies, neighbors, mothers, fathers, children, elders. Dead and gone for all time well before their time.
Yet, by some cruel design of fate, he had lived.
Against the collapse of a tower, the siege of the devil-cybernetic, and the death of his squadron, Drakaes Kanarius had lived. He had been granted the curse to survive the onslaught of the Brotherhood and see his entire home put to the torch. Across the stone meadows of decay spiked with metal glass, his body bleeding and burned, he wept. Sorrow was his mistress in place of his wife, whose corpse he could not find. Hate was the surrogate for his children who were barely old enough to pick up a blaster rifle and likely perished somewhere in the city. The pain in his heart was unbearable and had he not been found by rescue teams, he would have let himself burn. And so, at the first call of volunteers following his rescue and healing, he signed up and joined the fight. Nothing now drove him more than vengeance and the desire to join his family after glorious combat.
He had been selected to join the 65th Mountain Unit, a semi-elite collective of environmental combatants from across the Alliance, trained in either natural and industrial locational combat. Fifty men and women, all stationed some ways north of Kaleth and the ruins of a temple in a vital passage that, if taken by the enemy, would allow unrestrained travel across the mountainscape. While it was not the same as the vast stretches of the cities from his homeworld, the great snow-capped mountains and thusly condensed environment suited his skillset just fine.
With his aid, the unit had become centered so perfectly within the passage that only a miracle of mass numbers or a force of unparalleled power could break through their lines. It was narrow with no clear ways to climb atop the peaks on either side of the path, allowing them to form up into a phalanx of blaster rifles and melee weapons. With each enemy felled, they declared the route as their hot gates, refusing to bow to the tyranny of the alien force. For several hours, from afternoon to nightfall, they fought a myriad of monsters and men, hideous and deformed by the wicked alchemies of the Sith. Slaughtering them with pinpoint accuracy and unanticipated cohesion. Drenching the snow with blood. Scorching the rocks with fire and shrapnel. Melting the snow and ice into vapor.
And Drakaes Kanarius, so far removed from his prosperous life, roared with each enemy killed. With each crack of thunder, he chanted the hymns and battle cries of his people, long and loud. He swore new oaths to his Empress, who he wasn't even sure was still alive. A testament to the honorable bloodline of the Tetans, and that of his personal ancestors. With each flash of lightning, his blaster rifle peppered off another series of furious vengeance, the hordes of the invaders never stopping, only lessening in number. To the bemusement and concern of his unit, he roared. He cried. He fought. He prayed. If only they knew. If only they had seen the merciless horrors inflicted upon the jewel of the Galaxy and all the worthy lives laid low.
Finally, a mere six of the most recent of the hordes remained. Tall black-armored figures wielding great halberds and pikes, attempting to form their own phalanx as they backed away from the great defenders of the 65th. Hooved and clawed, they glared with red eyes and snarled with chipped fangs. Satyrs of hell, their souls blacker than night, and their intents upon the world of Tython so horrific they could not be put to words. Six remained, fighting against the fifty of the 65th - deathless, but not unwounded. The 65th join Kanarius in the roar of battle, beckoning the grotesque spectacles of the Brotherhood to charge and join their kinsmen in death. They roared. They cried. They fought. And then, silence befell them. Silence and horror.
Another voice joined the slurry of their own, a cackle of robotic corruption. From the gloaming of nightfall lit with blue streaks of lightning, he appeared. From the far north, he came upon them like a god of war unbothered by his foes. Tall and shrouded in black sheened with crimson ichor, his eyes blazing like infernal amethysts and his fleshless face paler than a bloodless corpse. In his hands, he held a new blade hooked and serrated and shining with unfettered dark beauty. Drakaes Kanarius, so far removed from his prosperous life, fell into aghast shock at the sight of the devil-cybernetic. It walked in slow motion against the thunderclaps, the satyrs of hell stepping aside sheepishly from the sheer magnitude of his presence.
What happened next was too fast for the phalanx to respond.
Drakaes Kanarius broke rank. With a catastrophe of a wail, he leaped from his secure position and charged with a blaster and combat knife. It had been easy avoiding the slick traction of the passage's mud and ice within the phalanx. They had only barely needed to move. But in a charge to kill the devil-cybernetic, it was far more difficult. He slipped, tumbled, and trudged in his wrath, but never stopped moving. Rain pelted his body in blinding sheets; shouts of protest chased after him, as did commands from the officer. None of it mattered. He fired three shots at the towering monstrosity and then, upon reaching his position, stabbed forward with his combat knife.
There was no pain at first after the dull impact, only a complete stop of movement and the death of his perception of time. His brain tried to comprehend what he was looking at, which was simply nothing but the darkness of the passage. Where had the monster gone? Where had the satyrs gone? It was only when he finally looked down and saw the blade sticking in his gut did any form of understanding hit him, as did the pain. He fell to his knees as a glob of blood pooled in his mouth and lurched out with a heave of his chest.
He would have rasped or shrieked, but he simply could not. The hurt and bewilderment of what had happened were simply too much for him to do anything but sit there and drop his weapons as blood swiftly began to stream from his wound and orifices. Thumps of footsteps were only perceived by the shuddering of the rain-drenched ground under him and he looked up as the devil-cybernetic appeared in his hazed vision. He did not respond to its question. It gave him no chance to respond. It merely retrieved the weapon from his gut and swung at his neck with the care of a bored child.
Drakaes Kanarius ran into the arms of his family and wept as the white light of the end overtook him. The fields leading towards the ruins of a temple, and further east towards the towering spire of rock and Force named Akar Kesh - according to the frantic pleading words of the officer in the mountains - were laden with the dead and the dying. Laoth knelt at the top of a hill and took it all in, each captured image given perfect clarity by his augmented vision. It was a beautiful sight, one he had quite hoped to see after leaving the valley in search of combat. Quite frankly, it made him feel pangs of desire to not search out for Devaron after the fight. If such meetings between the Alliance and the Brotherhood could continue being so vile and violent, he would be hard-pressed to leave it behind despite the requests of Sen. Still, he knew it was his true mission after escaping the prison and killing that knight. And so, he shouldered the Razor of Roch, which bled after its killing of that band of soldiers in the mountains, and continued his march, albeit slowly.
Outside the aggression of swordplay or frantic bursts of action, the drugs had regained some hold on his endurance and speed, significantly reducing his stamina for quickened steps. This was, of course, aggravating but it did give him some time to reflect on the world around him and where he would be best settled for fighting. There were many places he could go to find his fill of blood and death, from the temple to the south to the great expanses of water and even more mountains. Yet it seemed that - based on the convergence of storm clouds and lightning - Akar Kesh was the proper place to be. Not discounting the additional growing sensation that there was something there he had to see. A cough brought up another globulet of tar-black sludge into his mouth, which he casually spit onto the ground and ignored the sizzling of grass and rain where it landed.
From the base of the hill to the grasslands leading to the base of Akar Kesh, countless dying and dead could be seen. Organs and limbs decorated his traipse across the fields, some mortal in the sense of human or Twi'lek or otherwise, and some monstrous and alien. Some resembled those of the terrible satyr creatures he had seen in the mountain pass, though they had all died in the fight against the phalanx so he could not pull one over to compare. He briefly wondered if they were of Sithspawn make or some unknown semi-primitive race that had joined up with the Brotherhood for this fight. He knew of the Flesh Raiders which could be found across the planet's many continents, but nothing like this. Half-Bothan was perhaps the only creature he could draw a comparison to, but the beasts in the passage were far more equine than even that breed. Perhaps that would be a field of study during his return to Devaron.
A series of starfighter blasts accompanied by explosions in the far distance took his attention from the biological musings back to his quest for Akar Kesh. He snickered at the sudden crash of one such starfighter, its smoldering ruins a beacon for him through the darkness. Like firebugs, red and green and blue bolts of light cascaded through the night, some closer than others but most further away, giving him the impression that the particular path he was walking on had been an earlier sight of chaos rather than a newer or consistent sight. This annoyed him as he greatly desired to fight and regain stamina for the march, but it was what it was.
Until, naturally, it wasn't. Like a monkey's paw, Laoth's wish for chaos on his part was granted in a way he could never have expected. Filling his body was a sudden surge of trepidatious energy as if he was being warned of something coming or yet to occur. A sixth sense almost, which was a natural part of the Force, but he had never been one to really listen to it or felt it. For it to be so strong now told him that whatever it was setting it off was truly worth the attention. His amethyst eyes set on Akar Kesh, Laoth waited and battled against the defying effects of the drugs to hone in on what could possibly be at that mountain spire. And then, it hit him. A thunderous rush of the Dark Side cascaded down from the top of the spire with a loud roar of tyranny that filled the Devaronian's synth-heart with joy and vigor.
Pellets glowing orange and red spiked the ground from the sky, their blazing trails lighting them through the void of the storm. Several landed around Laoth, some he had to dodge. Roaring with laughter, the Devaronian lunged six paces forward before the next step of whatever cataclysm had been conjured crashed down around him. Massive chunks of rock pelted the earth and lit bonfires in their resting places for miles and miles - endless streams of fire dotting the planet of the Force like anthills. Laoth gazed up in wonder and bore witness to the descending form of...a moon. A large moon bearing the unmistakable stench of the Light. Ashla. Someone, perhaps the same person who had summoned these storms, had pulled down Ashla.
Impossibly, Laoth's fleshless face stretched into a painfully wide grin.
The battered, melted doors of the ferry shuttle fell forward with a hulking effort. Like a pin drop in a quiet hall, the doors groaned in a labored breath that drowned out nearly all sound until they met the sudden stop along the floor of the hangar.
Crash!
Dust and smoke from the previous blast kicked up in the air, clouding the vision of any fool in the vicinity of the vessel as a massive silhouette of an insect, a beast, appeared from the wreckage with a roar. As the fearless ''Supercommandos' readied themselves, a massive blade-like appendage pierced through the Beskar plating of one unfortunate soul with tremendous effort, carrying off the warrior like a ragdoll into the fog of war. Blaster fire and weaponized tech soon filled the emergent shroud with destructive measures. The brilliant flashes of light flickering forward soon were engulfed in the rampaging form of a Ts'Kiza.
Atop it's chitin neck Tor'r emerged, riding the rabid beast as his mount into the heart of the Mandalorians. Many of their number if not nearly all had never had the pleasure of meeting the apex predator of Goshen's jungles. Nearly ten times the size of any humanoid race; fast, deadly, and resilent to small arms fire and even infantry grade explosives. The thick camouflaged carapace of the Ts'Kiza was like a mobile shield. bolts scorching off it's hide where melee weapons wouldn't even chink it's chitin. As it rampaged into the ranks of the Enclave, those who were not throw around like a rag doll were quickly disposed of by digestion as the purposefully- starved Branchlurker (as all MAW carnivorous mounts were kept) sought to consume it's body weight in flesh as they had in the jungles of Lao-Mon.
Click, Click, Click
The Ts'Kiza's mandibles squeeshed together as it screeched out between meals. Limbs and armor would make little difference to the creature as it swallowed the thick indomitable nature of Beskar steel in it's ravenous quest to sate it's hunger.
CLICK CLICK CLICK
The familiar sound of wrist rockets sounded off as Tor'r launched a volley of his arsenal towards those out of range. Pulling on make shift reigns used by the Beast Riders of the Maw.
She laughed nervously, "Well, what I want is for you to not be turned into space dust, but-" The body moved in waking twitches. "Already?"
Amani walked a little faster, making what marginal gains of distance she could to the ship, before eventually pulling the Sith down and out of Kai's grip. "Stand back, we don't know how she'll react." She used a knee to pin Surea's one remaining arm against the ground, with the rest of her weight over her chest.
At this point there was no real plan of action. The Force warned of constant danger in all directions, and had become a growing headache of paranoia.
Convincing Surea to put their problems aside for the sake of survival? It's not like she's listened to anything Amani had to say so far. But carrying her was going to be impossible while she was conscious and angry.
"Looks clear. Proceeding to breach?" Gavyn's question rang through the comms. New kid on the 'block'.
:: Affirmative. ::
The sleek matte-black armor could not fully conceal the fresh green air about the kid from the experienced sergeant. Despite the invaluable war experience (and miracle) gained from becoming one of the few survivors of Noris, the young Commando bore a certain level of reluctance across his body language -- an attack on a supply train was not what brought the laurels of glory back home. There, dug in the mud, in the miles-long trenches was where a soldier would find his name forever engraved in the annals of his history.
Such was the ingratitude of the duty of a special operator. Behind enemy lines, far from the name, they did what no one else dared to do.
One way or the other -- Gavyn would adapt. Sarge would make sure.
And then, from an adjacent ridge, a hail of fire rained upon the Imperials. Blaster bolts danced across the steel surface of the train as Sarge ducked to make himself small.
:: Contact north-west!! Reaper, cove-- :: he growled the orders, then his sight caught the massive shadow bloating the sun from above before it landed with a resounding thud atop their wagon from behind. :: --hold that -- strafe that carpet from above; Rook, get the fethin' Jedi off this board, stat! I'm going inside."
Swapping positions with the rookie, the commander slipped inside the wagon just as both rail and train began to shudder wildly as explosions boomed from outside. He'd heard artillery fire a thousand times before.
This was not it.
:: What the hell's goin' on up there? ::
Who would've ever guessed a Sith Lord had torn half the moon from orbit and sent chunks of it upon the world.
Hilal entered her suit making sure all systems were operational before opening the door to her tank. "Sensors indicate that the guns on the bridge are taking a lot of damage," Hilal said to closing the door and starting up her tank. "They're being destroyed one by one by an unknown hostile."
There were a lot of unknown hostiles in this battle but this one in particular was carving a path to the shield. On Hilal's HUD, DVA gave more information on the enemy. "It's unleashing Pink Vapor?" Hilal whispered as she felt her ship starting to angle towards the landing zone. "Anti-Energy weapon, I'm going to have to be a little cautious."
The Tank roared to life; Hilal enjoyed the low rumble gripping her armored hands around the throttle. "DVA!" Hilal said. "Land away from Vapor! If we make contact with the mist, our shields are going to be fried!"
DVA gave an understanding beep as the storage door opened. With a press of a button, Hilal accelerated her tank rushing out of the exit. "Targeting enemy!" Hilal saw that the target in question drove a fast-moving bike, her tank was fast but the person's bike was going to run circles around Hilal. However, Hilal did make some adjustments to her arsenal to counteract it.
"Engaging!" Hilal's tank bounced off the cracked ground. "Activating heat-seeking concussion missiles!"
Four missiles launched each seeking the target, Hilal made sure to steer away from the Vapor while she accelerated towards the person.
Coren Starchaser
(Engaging),
Celeste Rigel
,
Thurion Heavenshield
(in vicinity), GA/NIO people.
