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What was Tython's pain and misery, what was its fate, that is what shaped the Shade, Fed it and gave it a malformed identity.
Shadow rolled across its form, shifting, swirling, an unsettling sight for those who gazed upon it. Moving out from the bunker, the newly birthed spirit of ritual and Tython's own corrupted fury was as the force clouds in the sky, twisted reality of lies, black stormclouds across the features. A pair of eyes like endless tunnels dug within, the form beginning to take shape. Being ever shaped by the ritual, carrying part of it, a living reminder. The ground began to blacken, sith sorcery withering, draining the most immediate surroundings it walked along. Souls of the dead cried out for release, and volcanic ash followed in its wake.
Drain Force
More! Energy. Lifeforce. Hungry for what this planet was created from most of all. An orb formed around the force entity, a black translucent sphere like a certain Darth Bane was capable of. Specifically feeding off Tython itself, this nourished the Shade, allowing its growth and storm clouds within stabilized to black swirling mass. It was not the only Kethenite capable of force drain but this application was beyond what the others would perhaps ever partake in. A natural part of its evolution was to draw energy from Tython, draining the ground's life as it passed, some might say its soul.
The Avatar of Tython's fury now had a choice, to go toward the ritual site, where its natural home would be, or wade into endless war ahead of itself. Not much of a choice to a Kethenite. Straight into the carnage, the fury, the storm clouds, and chaos where it could feast.
West of Akar Kesh
Behind it forces clashed for the life or death of the planet. Ahead of the ritual The Avatar of Tython extended what had birthed it. Ritual finding its first prey, they shot at it, then another joined in. Hits deflecting against the crab shell. The shade's first time experiencing violence directly. Under the armor, the entity briefly formed into a solid black cloud then…
Fold Space
Echoes released in the force, it appeared and disappeared before their eyes, moving close and closer with every fold in the force it generated, they panicked, shot, ran, but their fate was assured. Both alliance soldiers were raised above its body, drawing the life force out of them, slowly they withered as the land had.
A walking ritual and monument to Tython's pain and misery.
Their voice would join the chorus of the dead echoing from within its form. The Shade of Tython fed well, and this planet was its main course. Bodies dropped, and it plunged its hands into the earth, to drink deep. Waves of force energy channel from within the ground, draining, drinking, black cracks appearing across its surface, not broken ground, lifeless ground.
More were coming to Tython's feast. Many voices. Perhaps even Jedi? This walking ritual on their planet would never be stopped, it would be their eternal damnation.
Site Administrator: Tefka Annihilation Duration: April 15th - May 15th Attackers Defenders Brotherhood of the Maw and the New Sith Order Darth Solipsis Jem Fossk The Mongrel Darth Caelitus Tu'teggacha Kralmus Orr Darth Mori Khamul Kryze Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood Darth Ptolemis...
Site Administrator: Tefka Annihilation Duration: April 15th - May 15th Attackers Defenders Brotherhood of the Maw and the New Sith Order Darth Solipsis Jem Fossk The Mongrel Darth Caelitus Tu'teggacha Kralmus Orr Darth Mori Khamul Kryze Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood Darth Ptolemis...
Objective: Defend the planet at all costs. Location: Tython Orbit Equipment: EU-10a Advanced Tactical Pistol | Overseer-pattern HPI Biochip | Hersir Mk.I Military Attire Ship: Angyali Nyugalom Writing With: Defenders The chorus of voices faded into the background as Admiral Mith'akis'ormo...
Objective: Defend the planet at all costs. Location: Tython Orbit Equipment: EU-10a Advanced Tactical Pistol | Overseer-pattern HPI Biochip | Hersir Mk.I Military Attire Ship: Angyali Nyugalom Writing With: Defenders The chorus of voices faded into the background as Admiral Mith'akis'ormo...
Objective: Defend the planet at all costs. Location: Tython Orbit Equipment: EU-10a Advanced Tactical Pistol | Overseer-pattern HPI Biochip | Hersir Mk.I Military Attire Ship: Angyali Nyugalom Writing With: Defenders The chorus of voices faded into the background as Admiral Mith'akis'ormo...
Objective: Defend the planet at all costs. Location: Tython Orbit Equipment: EU-10a Advanced Tactical Pistol | Overseer-pattern HPI Biochip | Hersir Mk.I Military Attire Ship: Angyali Nyugalom Writing With: Defenders The chorus of voices faded into the background as Admiral Mith'akis'ormo...
[/div][/div] MY FATHER'S BLOOD Allies: Mandalorian Enclave l Defenders of Tython l Shakka Bralor l Runi Kuryida l Kaz Krayt l Gwyneira Krayt l Vulcan Krayt Not Allies: Attackers of Tython l Marlon Sularen l Derix Tirall Equipment: Beskar'Gam l Crushgaunts l Disruptor Pistol l Beskar...
Wearing: xxx Gear: arm, saber Allies: Defenders Engaging: Caltin Vanagor, Open He could sense it in the air and smell it on the wind. War had come to Tython. The sky grew dark as the massive fleets of both sides littered the orbit above. It would be a wonder if anyone made it off Tython alive...
Wearing: xxx Gear: arm, saber Allies: Defenders Engaging: Caltin Vanagor, Open He could sense it in the air and smell it on the wind. War had come to Tython. The sky grew dark as the massive fleets of both sides littered the orbit above. It would be a wonder if anyone made it off Tython alive...
Location: Omen's Personal Venator Class Tagged: Fenn Stag | Shakka Bralor | Runi Kuryida | Kaz Krayt | Gwyneira Krayt | Vulcan Krayt | @Omen Mereel Verin Oldo | Vemric Keldra | Isla Draellix | Khione | Kranak Vizsla Omen stared out at his company of orphans from a shipping container as...
Allies: Coren Starchaser Celeste Rigel Caltin Vanagor Tracyn Ordo Zark San Tekka | Team Lightside Enemies: Darth Xanesh (engaging) Darth Libertas (in vicinity) | Team Darkside Location: Ruined Temple The battle was joined now in full, with the Jedi strike teams of Vanagor and Starchaser...
Location: Ruins of the Jedi Temple - Tython Objective: Uncover the Secrets of Jedi Droids Dialogue Legend: │ “Verbal” Direct Engagement: Project Uriel Alessandra was fast, but in Uriel, it seemed that she had found her match or possibly even, a superior. The Chaplain brought her energy sword...
Location: Ruins of the Jedi Temple - Tython Objective: Uncover the Secrets of Jedi Droids Dialogue Legend: │ “Verbal” Direct Engagement: Project Uriel Alessandra was fast, but in Uriel, it seemed that she had found her match or possibly even, a superior. The Chaplain brought her energy sword...
Allies: Theoretically Maw Enemies: Coren Starchaser (Engaging), Celeste Rigel, Thurion Heavenshield (in vicinity), GA/NIO people. Location: Somewhere near Kaleth Libertas had walked away from the maimed Padawan, when suddenly the source of the emanation of Light confronted her. "She murdered...
Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir The First and the Light of Ashla Heiress and Princess of the Eternal Empire and Terraris; Angelic Mascot and Representative of the Ashlan Crusade; Living Saint of Ashla Eternal Empire's Ambassador to the Ashlan Crusade; Matriarch of the Valkyrja; Leader of Sanctuary and...
Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir The First and the Light of Ashla Heiress and Princess of the Eternal Empire and Terraris; Angelic Mascot and Representative of the Ashlan Crusade; Living Saint of Ashla Eternal Empire's Ambassador to the Ashlan Crusade; Matriarch of the Valkyrja; Leader of Sanctuary and...
THE END IS THE BEGINNING :: Hanger, Avatar of War The Speaker of the Mandokarla's helm pivoted a hair to the side as she stood before the onslaught of the corrupt forces. Something was coming. Lips hidden by an avian helm turned down at the corners sensing a dark power whose attention had...
Location: Ruins of the Jedi Temple - Tython Objective: Save a Sister Dialogue Legend: │ “Verbal” Direct Engagement: Project Uriel In spite of the looming presence of the crimson eye and the gruesome, battered form of her chassis, Alessandra smiled. In spite of everything, it seemed that...
Location: Ruins of the Jedi Temple - Tython Objective: Save a Sister Dialogue Legend: │ “Verbal” Direct Engagement: Project Uriel In spite of the looming presence of the crimson eye and the gruesome, battered form of her chassis, Alessandra smiled. In spite of everything, it seemed that...
Breathe, child. She inhaled sharply. The feeling like sucking in broken glass. Just breathe. The pain didn't matter. It was all she could do to stay alive. See? All better. There was nothing to see. She was entombed in darkness. The monsters can't hurt you anymore. Consciousness failed...
Flooded Plains -: Romi Jade His first answer was an earnest smile, one touched with sadness however; Jace missed the lives of his friends, he realised, the times he was one able to share with them all were now lost to him. Held in stasis, encased in a tube, a victim to one more beast than man...
Flooded Plains -: Romi Jade His first answer was an earnest smile, one touched with sadness however; Jace missed the lives of his friends, he realised, the times he was one able to share with them all were now lost to him. Held in stasis, encased in a tube, a victim to one more beast than man...
+ W A R D O G . P A G E C L A I M + TYTHON | TEMPLE VALLEY BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | SCARHOUNDS ALLIES: MAW | Thomas Barran | The Mongrel | OPEN ENEMIES: BURN THEM ALL | OPEN ENGAGING: Kranak Vizsla | Sasha Kryze | Ghalric Rau | Xyoz GEAR: In bio | Standard loadout | shield DYNASTIES AND...
www.starwarsrp.net
~ That is why I exist to fight and heal. You know I don't know anything else. Just what I learned from you, what you showed and you taught me. ~
After Gei's response, pain flooded her soul, but she accepted the answer. The Valkyrja didn't want to say goodbye, she didn't want to say goodbye. But there seemed to be no other option. The problem, again, is the fault that she was different. Although her husband did not care about this, it was still bad for Eina not to be able to give the man a family, or give the life what he deserved. They were too different. They were happy and lived a full life, but...
~ I can't become one with Ashla. I am only able to walk in the light because of you. I am able to create "children" for her, but no more. You know she doesn't even answer me. Even though I have a lot of strength, I can’t contact Ashla. I’m already one with Force, since I’m a Force Entity, I’ve never really lived, I was born there. Your people think I am the light of Ashla, her Living Saint, but of all in the Crusade, I am the farthest from her. ~
She didn’t say it, but Gei also knew that if a Valkyrja died, it would be the ultimate death, as it was their second chance. Eina was born as a Valkyrja, she was first, but to the best of her knowledge, she didn’t have a second chance either. Once she dies, it will be final. She looked at the man sadly, but now tears rolled down her face. The tears glowed in a golden light.
~ As much as I want it, my beloved crusader, I can’t follow you on this path. And unless Ashla changes her attitude, we will never be able to meet or talk to each other again. And unfortunately, I don't think she will. It has always been my biggest dream to be mortal to share on the same fate as you. But… ~
She was sad now, smiling despite the tears, and stroking her husband's face softly.
~ We have always been children of two worlds. I want to spend eternity with you more than anything. But just as I couldn’t be mortal, so I can’t follow you to Ashla's side either. ~ she said sadly. ~ But I accept what you want and I’m not trying to talk you out of it. I'm just asking you to never forget me, how I won't you either. And remember that you have always been and you will be the other half of my soul, and the man I love is the noblest crusader I have ever known, my Lord! And I hope one day Ashla changes her mind and then I’m still alive, and might we can meet again. ~
She paused for a few moments, knowing she couldn't keep Gei's soul here for long. Eina could not break the cosmic laws. Not even she could make an exception. She tried not to cry as she knew her husband would be safe and he'll be happy at Ashla's side. But she was in tears because she knew she would never see him again.
~ Tell me when you're ready, my beloved crusader. We won't have time to say goodbye there, we'll be too close to her. And promise that you’ll finally try to rest there for a bit! ~ she told him with a sad smile.
“Redemption can be found in hell itself if that’s where you happen to be.”- Lin Jensen
[SIDE NOTE- Any communication inside of this style of brackets is to be looked on as COMMS traffic]
There was a problem.
The problem with being right about something is just that, you were right. Sometimes it is easier, to be better to be wrong. There was something bad, something terrible that had just happened, and while he may not have been a part of it if no Jedi had been responsible, they still were. They let it happen by not stopping it in time. The massive Jedi Master in truth had no idea what “it” was, but he knew that something had to be done, or there would be something worse. They may win the battle, and win the day, but will they lose the war because of it? No, it won’t happen.
It can’t.
Surveying the catastrophe that the land of Tython had become, he could not shake his head, he could not think about or regret what everything had happened, he could not even stop to think about any of it. The fight had to press on, the endgame to all of this was coming and it was coming fast. Maybe what he felt that he was about to do would have little bearing on the outcome, maybe it was yet another diversion, maybe this was just something to keep a big idiot of a Jedi busy. None of that mattered right now as Caltin himself was feeling… “off”... as if he himself was being corrupted, poisoned maybe. The big man knew that he was not, that this was not happening, but strangely, Vanagor could not shake the feeling.
Things just got worse.
He could feel what (not precisely, but generally) was happening but he could also feel something again… the big man was feeling more and more what @Coren StarchaserCeleste RigelCotan Sar'andor (see, I remembered him again) and the others. It was an ever-present feeling of strength(both physical, as well as mental/emotional) it helped ease the return of his own and began to enhance him again. He felt stronger every second and the more he stood there silently, the more he felt coming from them. When it came down to it, these Jedi were representative of what the Jedi were meant to be, they were better together than apart. Ironic considering Caltin preferred to stand alone (so that no one else had to). As good as that felt, something bad was there too.
He could feel it.
Looking off into the distance, the massive Jedi Master took in a breath of air through his nose, he could smell the sulfur. It was coming from the volcano, not the one they were just pushed out of, this came from the Kesh mountains. That was where the reckoning would be going down. Yet somehow it felt empty. He could feel the planet’s corruption still undergoing. He could feel the very soul of the planet itself crying out in pain as if every centimeter of terra firma was shifted, splain, or raised, regardless of who was responsible. It was an inadvertent consequence of his touch on the geothermal energies of the planet. He felt and stepped into the energies of the planet itself to stop a raging lava flow.
This was going to be something that he could not explain to even the staunchest of “crazies”, after all, how do you explain that you tapped into a planet only to turn around and fight it? This did not even make sense to him, why would it make sense to anyone else? Either way, the threat to the world, the galaxy was beginning to become a reality. If there really was some level of reality, everything seemed to be coming apart on this planet right now. All that he could do right now was what he had always done, and what he would always do, fight himself to his feet and face it.
… and now that volcano…
A sigh left his lips as Caltin just shook his head. Tapping his comm-link, the big man looked into the air.
[88]
[“QUERY- Master, Are you in need of extraction? I will need a moment as I am defending your ship from attackers.”]
[Do what you need to do and center on my location.]
[“STATEMENT- I shall be there momentarily.”]
Sure enough, within moments, the Spectre was flying low over the trees slowing to a hover but half a moment with the loading ramp opening up. The big man then jumped up on one side of the flooded plain and ran inward only to jump out of it when reaching the other side of the same plain to which the Spectre flew off. There was an item that he was carrying as he jumped off, it looked to be some sort of glove, to which he slipped it underneath his utility belt.
There was more fighting, to which he involved himself. Archon found himself incapacitated (not dead) as Sith Lord was crushing his throat. Veyron was busy fighting off not one, not two, but three assassins all tasked with keeping him away from his brother. TwiQuo was outclassed in the fight he was involved in they were his focus for the moment, but something else was the mountains were what was a re… what did they just open in the single worst area of land that it could have?
Go, get to those mountains. I’ll catch up.
If Thurion Heavenshield
, Romi Jade
, or @Jace Knel, or any of them wanted to come, they were more than welcome, but this was something, whatever it was, had to be done. He did not like going back underground into the tunnels yet again but whatever this was going to lead to would be stopped definitively. Making his way back down one of the openings, it was back to being ridiculously hot again. Only this time he was prepared for it. The glove was not all he brought, but a water bottle (with more than enough for others too).
Breaking into a run, the big man could sense something down the tunnel he was headed, and the closer he got, the more he could hear the steps. Those big, booming steps were now his positioning system as following whatever this monster was becoming less and less guess the world and more and more precise until finally as they turned a corner and looked down a long straight Caltin just let out the single longest sigh of his lifetime.
Oh… you… have… got… to… be… kidding me…
He was looking at this huge monster. This entity looked like being a remnant of the old Yuuzhan Vong,
The warrior race that nearly destroyed the galaxy once, one of many who have done this many times over. So many times the big guy had lost count over how many times this sort of thing had happened. This thing was loose and came out of what … is that a door? What else is coming out of there? It’s not often, not often at all that you see a powerful bolt of lightning crash its way into and through a tunnel and explode onto a door.
That door was immediately slammed shut, it may have been shut for now, permanently or even only momentarily, that did not matter at the moment, it shut enough for the massive Jedi Master to focus on the bigger foe walking away. Does it matter that two other minor beasts were fried trying to make their way out of through the frame?
For now, the monster seemed ill concerned by anything or anyone around it. This entity that seemed “familiar” somehow to Vanagor was walking towards Akar Kesh. Vanagor was yelling, throwing items, trying to get the attention of whatever this was but it was much too far away from him. If the crumbling walls around them, and the fanatics still in the tunnels dodging this monster’s attacks were not the obstacles that they were, the big man would have caught the… bigger monster by now with the run he was pushed into running toward.
You might as well turn and face me. I know what you are!
He didn’t, had no idea in fact but that didn’t matter. This monster had to be contained, at least for the moment. There was too much “chaos” going on on the surface. It was a “jolly’ol’mess.”
Welcome to Tython.
Don’t make me hit you from behind. I have no qualms about doing so!
Of course, he did. There was absolutely no honor in that, but what else could the massive Jedi Master try to get this entity to stop. Whatever this was, whatever it thought it was, it was not going to get away, he could feel the anger in it. The bastardization of what this planet stood for to so many people, what it meant to them all, this could not go on. They unleashed something here, that while it may not change the galaxy in the manner that destroying this planet would; this beast needed to be put back where it came. Like the naive idiot that he was, Caltin felt that this fell on him to do so. To at least slow this thing down until others could stop it if not him.
That tore it. He was doing something. Summoning the energy that came from inside of him, the energy that came from the feeling of the others strengthening his resolve and took that energy sending a powerful bolt of lightning at this thing. Not simply “Force Lightning”, that was folly and cheap parlor tricks to get an enemy to talk or do your bidding. This lightning was the kind that was the type that legends, the type that primitive cultures would see come down from the skies like it was from the gods. Or at least that is what it looked like. Even if this entity’s back was turned, Vanagor had to do this. Putting on the Toraynor-Henkin (the glove he got from his ship in the gear)
You’re going to have to stop because I won’t.
Location: Between Kaleth/Jedi Temple Ruins/and Flooded Plains
The pup followed up her scalding words with a rocket and whistling birds. They Greyhound dove to the side while his jetpack jetted to life once more. Taking to the air as well, his shield deployed from the vambrace while more sonics were blasted at the small homing missiles to detonate them prematurely.
At the same time, golden bolts fired towards him, some battering against the armour and shield, the small explosions driving him further away and to the ground to duck behind the shield while holstering one hybrid and pulling out a particle pistol to return the favour.
"Stand down, Soldier!" Blitz barked. "This childish insolence is unbecoming even for you!" Then he flung forward his shield arm and fired a disruptor shot at her from the pistol still in that hand. Not that he expected Shai to hang there and take it, so he took to the sky again.
Just then, an electric bolt was thrown at her from the ground behind Blitz. Glancing around, the Spectre caught sight of another Shistavanen that his gaze trained on Shai. Friend or foe, in that moment, they were both pitted against the fallen Mando'ad.
The Imperial didn't hesitate to capitalise on the distraction and fired a wrist rocket at her as well while loosing more particle bolts. He knew for a fact she was not going to go quietly. It was either taking her down with brute force or put her out of her misery, though that would be a very last resort in the old Mando'ad's eyes.
Not that she needed to know that.
"Last warning, Krayt! Stand down or you'll die here!" he called to her. He was still operating like a Special Forces operative in the Empire would - authorative and calculated. For now. It still remained to be seen if he would have dig out his past, which he had not yet forgotten.
He suspected, however, that this engagement would turn into a big and explosive brawl real quick.
Percival's flesh crawled in a mixture of horror and fascination at the state of his Mother in the other timeline. She was obviously completely insane, and spoke blithely of murdering women and children as revenge for his death. That was something he never would have wanted, so perhaps even her version of him was more violent and brutal. Yet he pitied her in her madness, and couldn't help but love her just as he loved Xiphos.
"Sweetie? I would very much like it if you and your brothers escorted me closer to the destroyer and run interference. I have missed hearing your voice..."
Moments later, the speeder bikes of his teammates came roaring into view. They encircled the Parliament and Percival, a mixture of metallic and organic faces. Among them was Percival's copy, Scott, who was giddily singing along with his siblings in their wild "war chants" of the lyrics of popular songs.
"Our escort has arrived." Percival sent a silent technopathic command to the others, and they immediately formed an entourage around the Parliament and her allies. Deprived of his bike, the Chaplain went on foot, launching himself into the heat of the fighting once more.
Though he fell to battle with his usual enthusiasm, he was still in shock. The irony of him conspiring to destroy his own timeline's version of the Cult, only to encounter one from a timeline where his own Mother had joined their ranks, was not lost on him. Still, he believed the Cult was evil and needed to be either extensively reformed or extinguished. If anything, the sight of Xiphos gone mad only confirmed his convictions.
He wondered if Scott was dead in her timeline as well, or Galahad. Or had they ever even existed there? Just how different was the world of the Xiphos Who Laughs?...
Searing pain in his shoulder blurred his concentration to such a degree his Force Sense was disrupted and he lost track of what the Force was doing. Superious also knew that he has broken something by the way it ground and throbbed with pain. That's twice he ended with something broken. The first was with a Mando. But with a Jedi still on the loose, he needed to be alert and cautious. But the pain was making his fingers tingle and twitch. So the plan changed, he can't fry the Jedi and hold his lightsaber now. No matter, he has a Voidsaber that still needed to come into play.
Superious never liked Crypts like this, it was like a collector set of dead Jedi, unburied just stored away. Sith just bury their dead, well that's what he knew of during his apprentice days. The Ubese bury their dead in the cemeteries just outside their settlements, not in one temple complex. It was bizarre for him that Jedi do what they do.
But at the same time, people find Ubese bizarre too. So in turn he can't criticise Jedi too much, speaking of which, he needed to find Silas because the longer he stays in one spot the more likely for an ambush. He realised that he did manage to box Silas into a proverbial corner after all. An unorthodox plan indeed. Fighting the instinct to sit down the Sith instead pressed forward, avoiding pools of stagnant water and the mould, judging by the texture it is black mould which is dangerous. But ruins are no longer anyone's place of belonging. This one is so far gone that he doubted anyone would want to reconstruct it.
Giving more focus on his task, Superious pressed deeper into the crypt, because he knew Silas was down here and wanted to re-pick a fight, once a fight starts, you must finish them. Unresolved fights are not seen favourably by any means. At least that was what he was taught. Well, his unanswered questions were now answered by the injured Jedi, hurling a barrage of stone at him, frenzied and desperate.
Superious used common sense and ducked behind a large slab of stone. The thunderous crashes of projectiles crashing into it repeatedly. His pain stunting his movements, he had to get closer again to strike. But for now, Silas has the Ubese pinned behind his shelter.
Despite the battlefield circumstances engulfing them all, the Wardog’s demeanor was relatively calm as she untroubledly produced a cigarra from a pouch, and lit its tip with the flamethrower attachment on her vambrace after placing it between her bloodied lips. The slowly drying blood of the fallen warrior continued to dribble from her maw as she took a hefty drag.
Finally, after a moment, she would retort back at them, returning their insults in kind.
Her piercing gaze shifted to Sasha as she sniffed the air. ”You smell like a spice den, shut up.” She ashed again on the corpse as smoke poured from her mouth. ”Maybe if you talked less and cared more like you claimed, we wouldn’t be in this position.” She commented with a dry tone as her eyes locked onto Kranak.
The giant would listen to her retort without a word. From the outside, his posture wavered not as he remained stoic and ready to spring into action at the right moment; but underneath his helmet faceplate, the words of his friend had struck true. He did care for her, far more than she thought. He did partake in the search for her when the word of her going missing on Roon reached his ears. But alas, no matter the amount of effort they all had put into the search for her, the Maw had turned her against them through whatever sick and vile machinations they’ve resorted to. They could not find her in time.
And understandably so, in her eyes, they failed her. It was apparent she expected to be found and rescued by the Enclave -by her friends- as she clinged onto the hope of liberation before. And yet, her hopes were torn away from her soul, one torture session at a time at the hands of her captors; piece by piece. Having shared the same fate as her in his lifetime, long ago, at the hands of another enemy -yet no less despicable than the ones they faced today on Tython- he understood what she had endured before they turned her against them. In her eyes, they didn’t try enough, and maybe that was the truth.
Whether they had actually failed her or not, they had to win now, for none other than her sake. Their friend was walking down the path of damnation, but she was not yet lost. There was still hope. He still had hope.
The ground beneath their feet trembled violently as the Wardog’s basilisk landed a few feet behind her; its particle chain blasters spooled up with a whir as it acquired target lock on the both of them, but the warmachine was discouraged to engage them by its master, as the Wardog commanded to go after the recon platoon. Receiving its command, the basilisk took to the skies shortly after, taking off with the howl of its engines amidst the kicked off cloud of dust.
As the machine took off, the giant obtained and kept target lock on the basilisk, a moment before he would spring into action. <"Now!"> switching off from his helmet annunciator to their private comlink channel, the giant signaled the attack to Sasha.
Strafing to the left as his jetpack howled to life in an instant, the giant swiftly took to the skies while the Wardog muttered to herself. Having already acquired target lock on her warmachine, the Alor fired off a jetpack missile after the basilisk; the heat seeking missile shot out from his jetpack with a shriek of its thrusters, streaking in the air towards its target with a sharp whine, intended to disable the warmachines engines and shoot it down from the sky.
A warning blared inside the giant’s helmet as his sensors picked up an incoming threat in the form of a jetpack missile fired at him in return by the Wardog. Turning his head towards the threat indication on his HUD, the giant kept a firm gaze on the missile as it streaked towards him. Locking onto the incoming missile as the Kryze charged at the Wardog, the Vizsla Alor gained target acquisition over the missile in mere moments. Locked on, he swiftly fired off a singular whistling bird from his right boot at the explosive warhead intended for him. Sharply whistling in the air, the small projectile struck the jetpack warhead directly; the missile detonated in a brief flash of orange followed by a thunderous boom as small to large pieces of heated shrapnel flew in all directions mid air. Indifferent and unaware of the sizable chunk of shrapnel biting into his flesh from the resulting detonation, just half a hand breadth below his chestplate, the Vizsla continued his ascension to the air with the massive hammer in his hands. The dark crimson spot surrounding the wound would slowly but surely begin to expand underneath the form-fitting light gray flight suit.
Looking down from the sky as he came to a momentary hover in the air while her sharp howl reached his ears, the giant could see the Krayt produce a pair of particle blaster pistols from her holsters after having countered the Kryze’s head-on charge. From the corner of his eye, he could see two other silhouettes aside from the Krayt’s and Sasha’s in the area now. As he assumed the correct form to execute his attack, his HUD identified one of them as ‘Blitz’, but the other could not identify the contact.
Waiting no further, and without a verbal retort shot in response to the Wardog at the moment, the giant entered a dive at a forty degree angle with the massive power hammer raised, to strike the ground first as Blitz and the unknown contact exchanged fire and retorts; the ridge top would resound with a thunderous slam of the master crafted weapon, as the giant would ground-slam a few feet away from the Wardog, intended to throw her off balance and daze her, and finally, engage her in melee.
The Lonely Isle, Lake Kaleth, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)
TLDR:
The Mongrel responds to Erskine's kindness with such of his own
Pre-fight hallucinations return for the first time in nearly six years
The storms begin, heralding in the fight itself before Erskine commences the fight
'There is only one way to know.'
He understood the kindness, still no resentments.
A kindly answer, as anyone else in Asher's position would've pressed home with the confidence and slighted the old man for his sympathetic behaviour, but once again, the great Mawite Warlord was proving to be different. Once more, proving to be a man who stepped his way apart from all the norms and conventions of the Galaxy in the modern era, and to this, Lord Erskine ceremoniously bowed his head in gratitude, thankful to have a rival such as the Mongrel.
For eleven - long - arduous years of making the Cosmos shudder in our wake.
It was always Order and Chaos, pushing boundaries every time.
A rival who knew the Woad's soul as much as he knew his own, a rival feared by many, and yet somehow, a rival revered by many more. If the Woad had been more mindful of his own influence, his own soul, he would've known for a fact his own presence brought the same amounts of fear and reverence of those who fought on either side in the underlying War of Order and Chaos. It had raged on for longer than the Second Great Hyperspace War, and was already fated to continue after the last official shots of the galactic conflict had been fired, revealing what both champions already knew, the endless feud between the Empire and the Maw was an occurrence so natural it could've been said that the Galaxy's fate rested between them. Like the perfect balance had been found, but one so destructive that it could've been said that their war alone was enough to cleanse the Galaxy of life.
And all so we can finally decide the greater of Order and Chaos.
Something the meek could never allow, something that drew them all into the destruction in the hopes it could all be decided once and for all. First they would side with one part, threatening to topple order as the scale tipped down on Bastion, but in the moment Emperor Rurik cast the Accords and old alliances to the wind, the complications brought cycles into motion that allowed such instances like Erskine's shadow-war against the Mongrel - even if only for a short time in the grand scheme of the Galaxy's uncertain future.
Answering the great question between us, once and for all.
The revelation alone was enough to know that he was doing everything he was supposed to, though something else began to happen in the moment of peace between them, something the old Woad hadn't anticipated. Lord Erskine's hallucinations had returned, but those of a particularly promising sort, as those same ripples he saw on Coruscant and on Dromund Kaas respectively were returning to remind him of the unspoken hold the basket-hilted broadsword had over it's illustrious wielder. In moments under great duress, or those experienced in great ecstasy, both had yielded visions and the like with Barran's sword close to hand and in his grip alike; and even in the suffering the Stormchaser endured on Nirauan, Fate's cruel cycle had somehow found a way to make sure the sword-hand survived the ordeal as well, letting all the effective facets to Erskine's swordsmanship remain whilst removing what they wanted along the way.
Such twisted kindnesses were those to make such an otherworldly end-result, but the same true claws would remain with the Blue Lion despite it all, claws that mattered in these moments most of all.
Been a while, an' just as vivid as ever.
Rejoicing in silence as his head tilted back with eyelids closed, Lord Erskine inhaled a deep, meditative breath through his nostrils, near-audible as his memories brought back a flood of strikes, escapes and parrying-counters in technical, book form like a giant kaleidoscope of hand-painted instructions were enthralling both the Woad and his own sense of self in the moments leading to the duel's commencement. Then after that, Erskine's basket-hilted Vibrosword eventually twisted upwards in a frontal sword-salute of his own, making sure to adhere to the customs of their previous fight, and those of destiny in assurance of his will to play Order's part. Destiny alone would decide the next part, though there would be much in the way of chance and random dangers along the way, counting very much for both warriors in the impending showdown, both being trapped by the limitations of corporeality - and with no hope or desire to fight as ghosts or demigods of any sort.
As the duel itself would be enough, living with a power that resided only in their deeds, their achievements. The Force-wielders of the Galaxy would never fully comprehend them, nor would they ever find their technical antidote to such brazen courage for either side of the coin, the Galaxy could do was resort to their powers, their cruelty or cybernetic advantages to stay in the fight on almost every occasion. However, with the Mongrel and Barran considered, the visual disparities between them mattered little, as both warriors possessed particular skillsets that negated those of the other in almost every aspect, which was especially the case in terms of battlefield strategy. The lattermost was a reflection of the commanders that all could see, from their closest subordinates to all those serving as non-coms and attaches, all could see the complete contrast in stylistic and technical preference alike.
And all of it would be on full display this time, as is always the case for evenly-matched rivals in any matter.
'It is time,'
Then, with a final nod towards each other, both warriors sprang forth with swords already motioning for the same outward sweeping slash, fated to meet in the middle, fated to clash with bright sparks over the campfire. Everything was aligning perfectly, the greatest sword-duel of the century was barely just a tiny instant shy of commencement, but the Mongrel's witness had screamed,'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!', at the very last moment, unleashing an outcry so loud it stopped both swordsmen in their tracks completely. A voice that neither Erskine nor Asher would ever want to hear, but the sound that followed, rumbling and cracking like thunder from above, would chill the blood all the more. Yet the Mongrel would see and marvel as the Stormchaser, for the first time in his life, began to feel fear in sight of a storm, though the storm itself would easily be counted as the wildest in living memory.
Turning the sky red and black as the black lightning-bolts struck the fire between them, Barran found himself snapping out of his standing, horror-struck stupor once more, casting a raised-eyebrow in his rival's direction then shrugging it off as he said,'Never a dull moment with us lot, eh?', with his one and only warm-hearted chuckle of the day. All it would take to snap out of it was a flash of the darkest lightning-bolt the Woad had ever seen, all it would take to remember his willpower was a simple crashing boom, followed by the loudest of rumbles. Setting the tone for the following duel in style, epic and bombastic though the arena had become, the duellists would savour the moment properly, given proper reason to indulge in it's beauty in the moments before their destinies finally hurled them in each other's direction.
As Dia was found in the Crucible, the Divine can be felt in the pain.
'BEGIN!!!!'
COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 15
Colrinal Crook, Southern Kalesh Plains, Temple Valley, Tython(Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)
TLDR:
Burned Legion's efforts are doubled on the flanks, along with rocket-propelled ordnance support
Rosk'Aiar breaks through
Wyll notes the progress and meets the Tusken part of the way on his way back
Enemy reinforcements expected
Madness had ensued all over, with the world itself trying to devour those fighting at the surface, but the IMPAF-Knights would care little and less about it for as long as their minds were set to the task of punching through the Burned Legion's right flank. Not easy by any means, especially with the added pressure of Mawite reinforcements thrown into the fray from the North, all trying to add depth to the Final Dawn's defensive static-line as the Imperials continued to push forward. Effectively granting the Sabretooths their much-desired meat grinder, but also making it difficult to create headway on the left flank, it looked like the makeshift IMPAF-Trio would have some more work to do before they achieved it, and time was still against them for as long as the conditions around them gradually worsened. For as long as Wyll & Rosk'Aiar kept the likes of Larras and several other key advancing elements among them safe, sound and unimpeded in their approach to the link-up point with 2nd Battalion's base-camp, and from there, the small gap they were struggling to create could be widened much more easily.
'INCOMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!'
Artillery and handheld rocket-launchers of several differing sorts had been intensifying their efforts to keep them back, but the training would always kick in under duress, and not just for the sake of preserving troop-numbers either. This would be one of the many instinctive behaviours taught to those graduating out of the Imperial Academy campuses, and for reasons of growth and further-development of the infantry concept in general, as any battlefield innovation (no matter how small they might have been at any given time) would ultimately prove helpful in the urge to keep more troopers alive in the field anyway. But here, in moments that it would be unlikely for others to make the daring plays, and under such heavy small-arms and bombardment pressure at that, here is where the merit of all the Empire's best research and development progress would come into play.
Otherworldly dominance in set-piece strategy.
'ONLY WAY WE CAN GUARANTEE SUCCESS - TAVLAR METHOD, ALL THE WAY!!!!
All they needed was to reach the 2nd Battalion's first line of defence, and from there, extra resources and manpower would become available to them as well. Without an actual need for inactive elements among them to spring forth, cover was still there to provide them as the suppressing-fire assistance could be provided from above, and with enough rifles in reserve until the Hobilars eventually passed the threshold of the breach itself.
'You ready for another round? Larras, Rosk'Aiar?'
With thumbs-up given from both Ivy and the Grave-Tusken, the cue to proceed had been given almost as soon as the need for readiness had been made apparent, prompting Sir Martin to conclude,'Good, then listen up.... TROOPERS, GET READY FOR MAYHEM!!!! ONE LAST ATTEMPT TO PUNCH THROUGH THEIR FLANK!!!! MOVEMENT ORDER - ADVAAAAAAANCE!!!!', with vibrosword and disruptor-pistol seeing activity within the first twenty paces of his attempt to keep up with the others. Two downed on approach, with the third assailant using the distractions of his comrades to try hurling his bayonet-fitted rifle at the scar-faced human, and though the follow up would also be blocked, the initial parry with the rapier made the second riposte somewhat more difficult than the first. Striking inward in such a fashion, and to redirect a much larger, much weightier machete, would not be very easy for the young Captain to achieve, but Lord Carwood was nurturing Sir Martin's progression much too well for to see his young friend die so easily.
The training, experience and killer-instinct combined had ultimately proven fatal for the third assailant, as the third layer of Sir Martin's combination would strike back across his first parrying arc with enough force it beheaded the Burned Legion trooper with just the slightest of midway bites on the vibrosword itself as the motion swiped to the right in a backhand motion. Blood of different colours splattering across his officer's cloak and headdress, painting an abstract picture of all the Imperials had to cut their way through to make it so far in the first place, and though Wyll wouldn't know it yet, his true self-actualisation as a warrior was already beginning. McGechin had succeeded in his task, and though this had been at the behest and eventual demand of Lord-General Barran, what had been forged of the young officer as a result would no doubt hold him in good stead for the rising threat of the Galaxy's other factions, as the future of the Empire was becoming ever more uncertain with every passing day.
But regardless a future of which the IMPAF-Knights still needed to fight like demons to assure.
'HEEEEEUURRRGH - HAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUURRRGH!!!!'
Celebratory, Sir Martin knew it's tone - the Tusken had somehow broken through.
But the scar-faced Captain wasn't even remotely surprised, this was Lord Erskine's constant sparring partner, and had been for almost six years before that fateful day. It had already been said (and upon first inspection of the Grave-Tusken's service record at that) among the first members of the IMPAF-Command clique that Ru'nnnrrr Rosk'Aiar was something of a formidable warrior in his own right already, but with the ever-eager Stormchaser testing him almost daily in Fort Imperator's most secluded sparring-yard, there was no doubt in Wyll's mind that his friend was damn-near unstoppable by that point. The self-actualisation process had occurred much sooner for Captain Rosk'Aiar than it had for himself, as Sir Martin's transformation had mostly occurred within the crucible, a process that the Tusken had already seen his way through - a process made redundant by another that taught Rosk'Aiar so much more in comparison.
<"Wyll to Lance Two! I have no idea how he managed it, but Rosk'Aiar's just opened a breach by the southwestern base of Mt. Geran.... Something tells me there's gonna be more than a few opposing corpses with their heads smashed in, seems to have been the case from the offset too.">
<"McGechin to Lance Four! Good news for a change. Seems the Tusken's on fire the-day, eh?">
Despite the fact they weren't surprised in the slightest, the Woad and his young friend from Ravelin couldn't help but marvel at the results as they unfolded, especially Sir Martin, seeing the broken and bloodied remains of all who had been misfortunate enough to fancy their chances against Rosk'Aiar's Gaffi stick. Granted, some had been gunned down by the Grave-Tusken's pistol, though they seemed to be of a much smaller number in comparison, evidenced by the surprising amount of melee-victims were still either writhing around in their death-throes or lying dead already.
<"Heh! You ain't jokin', brother!">
<"Looks like the sparring-sessions have been paying off anyways.... Just follow 'im in, widen the gap as much as ye can, an' I'll notify Lord Ollis in the meantime. NOW GET IN AMONGST IT, WYLL!!!! Lance Two out!">
Then, with all set up for the final word to be given at the right time, Sir Martin sprinted into the fog of war without a care in the world, the Crucible was becoming something of a home to the scar-faced Captain after all. McGechin had shown Wyll everything he would expect to see in a battle of this magnitude, and yet in the process of realising that nothing would prepare any officer for Tython, Sir Martin still found ease in making peace with the fact that he would be among the most-likely to survive, despite the odds against the Empire prevailing constantly stacking higher against them at every phase of the battle. But something wasn't right, something seemed almost too easy about the whole affair, though the native of Ravelin wouldn't know until they reached the base of Geran, and there, the breach would be patched up by the willing advance of the Burned Legion's reinforcements before long. And yet, it looked like the Grave-Tusken had been smart enough to feel that same sense of eerie unease, running back to link with his young friend before it was too late to escape the isolation.
'Good work, Rosk'Aiar! Let's make for the incline! Come on!'
COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 16
The Reach of Kalikori, Southern Kalesh Plains, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876-ABY)
TLDR:
Marić and Hassan are just a stone's throw away from the static-line
The ever-intensifying conditions are noted as quite hallucinatory by then
One apparition comes very close to breaking their will to fight but they continue on
'How are you faring, Branko? Everything squared-away in your mind still?'
'Its like I'm having the worst psychedelic trip of my life, only its much worse because its all actually happening.... That summarize it well enough?', Marić answered with gaze darting back and forth across the last dunes between their position and the main static-line, anticipating worse to spring up in anger at the them on their way north, towards what was already beginning to sound and look like the real horror. Explosions, screams, blaster shots and screeching projectiles of almost every possible variety, growing louder and louder with every step, made even more intense with the fact their eyes were more-or-less playing tricks on them at the time also. Starting with bright flashes across their peripheries, the hallucinatory experience would only grow more troubling from there, seeing frothy-mouthed monsters charging them and dematerializing moments later, glowing eyes in the bushes, and worst of all - the presences of spectral, tormented souls stuck in blood-chilling death loops.
'Is anybody there? If you can hear me, I ONLY WANT TO DIE!!!! PLEASE!!!! KILL ME!!!!'
'We should never have come to this place, Samir. If that is what awaits our first mistake, you know this to be true.... Shoot me if the world gets it's hands on me, alright? No exceptions this time - not here of all places in the Galaxy.'
'I HEARD THAT!!!! IF YOU DON'T WISH TO DIE, FINE!!!! BUT PLEASE, LET YOUR FRIEND TAKE MY PAIN AWAY BEFORE YOU GO!!!!'
Putting a gloved reassuring hand on the Sabretooth-Captain's hand, Hassan then softly pushed his friend along to keep him from falling into despair, as most would in seeing and hearing such heart-achingly depressing outcomes of the less-fortunate ones; but like the wiser ones would know in Hassan's stead, the Kandaran Lieutenant knew that nothing could be done to change the fates of the fallen, and especially not for those who had fallen in battle on Tython. Adding to the necessity was the fact that despite his grasp over the spiritual nature of their futile will to help, it was still turning Hassan's stomach to see it, reassuring,'Quite literally nothing we could do anyway, trust me. And besides - the living need our help more than this one ever could, brother.', in a bid to calm his own fears as much as he was trying to calm those of his friend.
'PLEASE!!!! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!!!! I JUST - WANT - TO DIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!'
'If we survive this, we're not going be the same men who dropped here this morning.... I hope you understand this, brother. Darkness awaits both the living and the dead after this madness.'
Objective 1/3
Tags: Ingrid L'lerim
Duel: CLOSED
Warpost: Anyone else warposting and attacking Akar Kesh, if you wish to join the fight, feel free to! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!
Links: Weapons | Chosen | Some vehicles and other stuff
"Yes."
There wasn't a second of hesitation as he replied. Despite everything, he did believe this was worth it. The blow this would deal, the Jedi who would die, it would all be worth it, if they succeeded. However, the odds were grim. And as Zachariel's senses expanded as the battle continued raging, that thought process only grew grimmer. The odds were not in their favor, but they would continue on despite that fact. Many, many had already been lost, and he knew many more would be lost still.
To the warlord, it was unclear to him what others thought of this situation. No doubt though, there were feelings of rage against such a desecration. Perhaps they could capitalize on that, though Zachariel knew he would not be able to use emotions against Ingrid. The Empress had her feelings under tight lock and key, only allowed to surface when she wished them too. Aside from that, he also had no desire to make it personal. For now, the two of them were still allies, and striking too close would simply harm that alliance.
As such, he ignored the thoughts of fighting Ingrid further. For now, they were still allies and apparently friends, he would stand against her, but not truly harm her. Instead, he focused on the current plan, along with those for the future. As Ingrid agreed with him, Zachariel found himself genuinely smiling. Coruscant had been sacked many times of the centuries, destroyed and brought down to its very knees. Several times, he had been part of the sacking. From the Old Republic days, to the more recent one the Maw had enacted. They had been glorious blows dealt to the Jedi.
Throughout his millennia of life, Zachariel Steelblood had more often than not allied with Sith. Oh, he despised both Jedi and Sith in equal measure, but the Sith had similarities to himself. That made them easier to tolerate and ensure they worked towards what he wanted. Jedi, they were too uptight, too good. They resisted the truth the warlord brought, while the Sith merely tried to use it to their own ends, and were used in turn.
Looking up as reality broke, that fact was shown to him very clearly once more. Battle still raged, but this took precedence to him. Even as Ingrid stepped up to him, only shock ran through his mind. He hadn't expected this to happen, didn't think Solipsis could even do this. Yet here was the evidence, here and now Zachariel saw reality break under the Dark Voices might. He had witnessed similar phenomena over the centuries, such as various Force storms, or Nether pouring out in broken places. But never had he seen the cracks be made, known who had caused them.
"You would try... and you would die, before all that power would be devoured." He wasn't imagining it, he truly could see the Avatars faces peering through the veil. He could hear their dark laughter, and it brought him a dark joy, but also worry. "The Avatars watch now, they will not allow their plans to be foiled so easily. This... it is the greatest act done in their dark names in untold years."
Only when she placed a hand upon his helm, gently turning him to look at her, did his focus leave this new development. As she speaks of the future Solipsis may bring about, Zachariel merely nods. He knows well the future she speaks of, though he disagrees.
"I know my place in that future." His hand goes up to cup hers against the side of his helm. "Should that happen, chaos will rule, and only the strong will survive to lord over the weak. I know where I will stand in that future."
And he does, for that future is one he has envisioned before. It is one of the strong ruling the weak, of the powerful holding dominion over their lessers. Chaos would rule and anarchy would reign. However, he hadn't thought the veil would break alongside it, that the Avatars might take a more direct role in that future. As he senses reality struggle against this, he knows the choice he will make, even as Ingrid begs him not to.
He does believe her, that Solipsis has his own plans, goals, and methods to achieve them. The future is uncertain, but he still believes it to be better than the one currently ruling the galaxy. Not only that, but he would thrive in that future, even moreso than he is now. So he looks at her, deep into her eyes knowing what he will say and how much she will disapprove.
"No."
He steps back, breaking contact with her as he watches her. With his own powers, and with connections to Lao-mon, Zachariel knows the same thing Ingrid does. Though he knows far more details. More troops have passed through, joining the battle on Tython. They will fight on, doing their best to see this through. Zachariel would lead them to that.
"I will see this through, I have to. Far too much relies on this for me to simply stand aside. In time, you may understand, but for now... I'm sorry."
And as a new horde of the lost and the damned pour onto Tython, as new blood is spilled and more souls are sacrificed to Solipsis' ritual. Zachariel Steelblood, warlord of the Bloodsworn, stands in the path of his lover, blades at his side, knowing what will come of this.
Endlessly was this chanted, endlessly did the marauders and other followers of the Avatars declare their devotions to their dark gods anew. Led in unholy prayer by the Heathen Priests, they grew louder and louder, shaking the ground itself with their cries. From the highest Chosen leader, to the lowest slave, they chanted, even as they drew upon themselves. The symbol of ur-Kittat was to be found on every last soul on this side of the portal. In this, they showcased their devotion, in this they proved themselves to the Avatars.
As that final call went out, the final warning of preparation, their cries simply grew louder. Final markings were made, last calls and oaths for bloodshed sworn, and promises to the Avatars and their lords made. Many knew what was to come, the bloodshed that would follow their arrival on Tython. They knew many of the dead would be their own. And in the end, they didn't care. they would earn their place in the galaxy to come for their devotion. The Heathen Priests had declared it so, the Dark Voice had promised them that, and their warlords had told them of the glories that would be theirs because of this.
Only the lowliest and newest slaves didn't want this future, but they couldn't fight back against the fate that awaited them. They too would die upon the sacrificial alter, sent forth as blaster fodder so that the true forces of the Maw could advance. And what a force it was. Chosen and other lieutenants led marauders atop war skiffs and other vehicles. Along with them came other, heavier vehicles, meant to help enforce and hold the land the force eventually took.
Another call went out as the chants reached a crescendo. War skiffs were activated, slaves prodded once more, and final cries given. Not long after it happened, the gate opened and hell was unleashed. Chants devolving into mindless screams, the army of the Brotherhood charged through the gates. In doing so, they left behind Lao-mon, left behind a world firmly in the grasp of the Brotherhood, in the grasp of the Bloodsworn. Then they appeared on Tython, a world rife with battle and currently under the control of no one. A world where the very air was infused with the scent of blood and death, a world perfect for an army of the Brotherhood.
Through the portal and onto Tython came a swarm of skiffs and other vehicles, along with a slavering horde of cultists and marauders. They appeared on a breaking world, where reality had become the plaything of the Dark Voice and their laughing gods. Charging forth, they come from the South, spreading forth to engage any they come across. Most spread towards Kaleth, slave war skiffs rushing forth ahead of the rest of the army.
As they charged, they howled their prayers, letting loose cries to the Avatars, to ur-Kittat, to the Dark Voice. There was no rhyme or reason to be found from them, only a yearning desire for death. Their own or that of the enemy, it mattered little, as all would serve the will of the Avatars in the end.
"For the Dark Three, charge!!!!!!!"
So they did, charging towards enemy lines and any engagements they could see. They saw the breaking reality and used it to their advantage, crossing great lengths. Some of the braver, or perhaps more insane, warriors entered breaks in reality, emerging ever closer to the enemy. Though this didn't come without cost, leaving many to never emerge. And still, the distances they crossed atop war skiffs, the battles they sought to join, they didn't care. Their chants simply continued, calling upon their dark gods as they neared the enemy, neared the foe to fall upon them with recklessly controlled abandoned.
"Ta! Aboute the best bloody ting yew've said all day!" Shouted Aerys above the roar of battle, just as Tyrell Lockhart
called back on communications that they were on their way. She wanted to be happy, but it almost felt bittersweet that for once the Galidraani had heard her call but now she was quite literally in between a rock and a hard place. The 313th with the Nova Troopers had managed to punch a hole through the Mawites but it wouldn't last. Hemmed in on all sides, the only thing they could hope for was a way off the rock - or die bloody trying.
:: Aye Devil, we've punched a line down - we'll hold for as long as can, or die tryin' 313th Out ::
An offensive stance as she let loose a barrage of fire from her blaster knocking down several Mawites in her path. "We'll aim for the ship, but if me boys arrive, I'll run along with them, otherwise I'll take me chances with yer lot." Aerys's once pristine alabaster armor was ruined in a sepia-dust-like color, bits and pieces were now clinging to the black body glove that rested beneath them. "AERA! AERA! AERA!" Shouted the private who commanded more like a sergeant, "DOSUUNITES! RALLY! OUR GALIDRAAN BRETHREN HAVE HEARD OUR CRIES!"
"We're past the banks now, we'll need to run parallel with the flow - get to higher ground." Myrrine took time to catch her breath, she got a look over at Mathur. "C'mon lad, we'll need to raise Galidraani colors once we've reached high enough ground. I've got me flare but bloody hell, there's no way they'll see it in this mess."
Mathur patted Myrrine's shoulder, "got me an idea, you still have that ol' Iron Lion?"
"Aye, me mum gave it to me when I was a wee lass, it's me lucky flag..." her voice trailed off the modulator gone, having been knocked offline several blasts ago. "Mathur you bloody sithspawn, if you get me flag bloody burnt or torn. I'll beat you in the face with me fists, get me?"
He sighed, "yeah, I get you, and I'd rather your fists beatin' me face when we're off this blasted Jedi pisshole - no offense Master." Mathur quickly remarked toward the Jedi accompanying what remained of the Battalion which now amounted to nothing more than a handful of squadrons. Among the soot, ash, and the gravity of such a sacred word being desecrated and torn asunder for the glory of the mad men who wanted nothing more than to see the galaxy burn.
Myrrine handed Mathur the small flag, a plain black cloth with the bright white and silver iron symbol of the Empire and then above it the golden lion of Galidraan, proud and majestic. They pushed forward as far up as they could, and continued onward along a hill made of debris and bodies pushed into the Tythonian dirt. "Shite the lava's risin' boys, C'MON DOSUUN! RUN FER THE BLOODY TOP YA BASTARDS. SHOOT ANYTHING THAT FOOKING MOVES!"
Mathur raced ahead to raise the Iron Lion. He grabbed hold of his liquid cable launcher and shot up the cable onto the ground and tied it to the flag, making a hole in it with his own hands, raw and bloodied as they were. He wrapped the cable around it and a rock he found along the ground. "Shite, move yer arse, and 'ere the last of me water before it evaps out of 'ere." Myrrine commented hoping the water would be enough to protect the flag from the flare's burn.
Without hesitation, the man rushed forward again, and this time with purpose he fired his flare gun.
Up went the flare bombs bursting into the air, as the flag and the cable unfurled into the air and came to rest, the cable wrapping around the branch with the rock slamming into branches, leaves, and whatnot on the trees. The flag itself somehow managed to hang onto the end of the branch with the Iron Lion proudly displayed - the hope was that their Galidraani brothers and sisters would see their mark and find them.
:: 313th to Devil One, we've got the Iron Lion out - we'll wait fer yew ::
They made no other promises, "right then - Jedi, if yew and yers can make it to yer boat then do it. Our brothers are comin' to get us, and if they don't make it in time, then... I suppose you should tell someone that we were 'ere yeah?" Myrrine began as she ordered her men to make their stand on that ragged hilltop. "Promise me, yeah? Yew'll tell yers that the 313th stood on, and pushed - we didn't give up and we didn't give in, Astral Lions, 1st Company, 1st Battalion."
"We'll hold the line 'ere, yew run up ahead, got a better chance fightin' the lot of them Sith and Mawites than we do."
There was something in Aerys' voice that would have told Kirie that she was damn serious about it, there was no changing her mind. The 313th would hold their line or die bloody tryin' and to that accord the handful of squadrons, with Aerys at the lead began their last song. A song that any son or daughter of Galidraan knew by heart. "I VOW TO THEE, MY COUNTRY. ALL EARTHLY THINGS ABOVE."
"ENTIRE AND WHOLE AND PERFECT." Came the chorus of troopers, and one could hear the slight crack in their voices, that mortal realization that death had come for them - and so with the knowledge that their deaths might very well be upon them. They fought on, and sang, "THE SERVICE OF MY LOVE."
"The love that asks no questions, the love that stands the test, that lays upon the altar, the dearest and the best..."
Their song above the cacophony of violence, above the orchestra that would damn them all alone atop that haphazard hill where so many Jedi had rushed across to learn the ways of the Force. Might just become the last resting place of the three hundred and thirteen legion's first company, first battalion - who would not go quietly as Tython burned around them. Boasting their Galidraani heritage by way of Dosuun they continued on, they pressed forward, "the love that never falters, the love that pays the price, the love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice."
Lads and lasses somewhere between the ages of nineteen and twenty-two, who had scarcely come to know the love of another, continued their mission holding their lines. "And there's another country I've heard of long ago, most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know."
"We may not count her armies, we may not see her King. Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering, and her soul by soul silently..."
"Her shining bounds increase, and her ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace."
THE WARDEN THE NEW JEDI ORDER | TYTHON | THE SEEING STONE BATTLEMELD ACTIVE FOR ALL JEDI ON OBJECTIVE III
Auteme, Henna and Asmundr held up the meld from the Seeing Stone. Elsewhere, early on, Asmundr had felt another meld alive from their allies within the Ashlan Crusade, Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
and Geiseric
. It was pure, divine, and brilliant. Distantly, he felt it stuttering. Waning. Flickering.
With himself spread so thin, keeping parts of the moon from falling entirely, encouraging Jedi to recognize the splinters of the planetoid as a blessing rather than a curse, and keeping Henna focused, there was little he was able to do to encourage those Crusaders from letting their luminescence dim.
When he felt it, it was like a cold breath that pierced through his lungs. Like diving into a cold lake. Sudden and jarring. And then it boomed, his heartbeat, like a steady drum that kept his awareness peaked.
In the atomless mist, expansive and otherworldly, the venerable seer reached out, and reached and reached and reached through the interwoven lattices and intersections that were where light and life glistened. The pair shimmered, and he was struck with awe.
Pale shapes with golden hair trickled into the master’s awareness, guiding those nodes of brilliance from one world to the next. He focused his concentration, exerting himself to follow. It was cold here, as damned as it was holy. A world that the Seer was not oft’ welcomed to, nor familiar. As such, his comprehension was limited — but his appreciation was magnificent.
Two souls travelled with guides, the dynamics of their relationship glittered along the threads of futures and past that Asmundr was connected to. Two souls that evaded the pull that siphoned essences up, up, up, up, and to the shatterpoint of Tython.
It was all so much at once.
In the real world, Asmundr dropped to his fists. His lungs tightened, his breath ragged and his knees ached against the earth. His all-seeing eyes glowed brilliantly.
Above Akar Kesh, he saw the great convergence. A shatter point. It was weakened. Someone had struck it.
Travelling throughout Tython, the souls of the dead fuelled the power of that dark nexus. They rushed, quickly, unceasingly, to that shatterpoint. Giving it power. Sustenance.
The golden glimmer of the dead Jedi that remained untouched in a world unseen to those who fought on borrowed time on its crust. The dead could stop the dead, and protect the living.
He saw then what they must do.
Those still living were not the only ones capable of still standing. With reality's veil so thin, the opportunity to crack into the Netherworld had never been more apparent. Even now, with undulations rippling through his connections, he saw the chance to pry open the fissures and separate the gates that kept ghosts from walking.
We must do this together. Encourage this together. Master Saratt — The Shatterpoint. The planet’s past must protect it’s future. Knight Denko-Durren — Rally those from their rest. One final stand against darkness. Master Sar'andor, if you're still with us, lend us balance's strength.
At the same time, with the orders from earlier, Prosperity began to move from its location above the Seeing Stone and set its trajectory to match Tho Yor’s position. Every armament active, ready to set itself ablaze.
Auteme's legs buckled under the weight; her initial strength siphoned away, and she lowered what pieces of Ashla she could to the ground. The chaos of the battle tried to sweep her away. She grabbed Asmundr, finding some stability in the giant even as he stretched himself thin. It was becoming too much. Everything seemed to be crumbling.
She didn't feel ready for the order Asmundr gave, but there was no time. She saw the cracks in reality -- Solipsis's distant power made manifest, fueled by his fanatic worshipers. So many eager to give their lives for a cause.
They were certainly not the first.
She found her breath and steadied herself, bowing her head a moment. When she opened her eyes she could see the threads; so many extending out from her, taught, tightening, strengthening. Yet below there were others; she knelt, hands grasping the strands that fell to the floor, slacked and decaying. She gathered them in her hands, as many as she could manage. Then, she pulled.
The connections she had built were not quick to fade. No one was ever really gone -- even a memory could give enough strength to hold up the galaxy.
"Sorry. I have to," she murmured. She drew the threads closer, pulled harder, forced some strength back into even the thinnest ones.
"JEDI. ONE LAST TIME -- LEND US YOUR STRENGTH!" With a great heave she pulled every brilliant soul that would allow her, bringing them closer to the material world than would have ever been possible without the great bridge to the Netherworld and the collapsing of their reality. Her eyes flicked to each Jedi that came forth.
Even the sight of them filled her heart with hope.
Stray embers, and thrown sand nipped at the surface of her skin -- it glistened shades of of orange and pink.
As an afterthought, "No, we all did what we could...and sometimes it's not enough." she'd responded to Dagon Kaze
without breaking her gaze. "This place was a haven for some in its glory, however humble it was. The memory will live on..." She'd finally decided to look over at the Jedi Knight, both had appeared as if they'd gone through it; the battle was battle.
"Thank you. If it weren't for you and Zark San Tekka
, this place would've fell much sooner, and I'd probably be dead..."
Each step forced the mud to give and mold itself to the soles of her boots, and it seem every other step saw the ground itself split on impact. The world was seemingly being shredded physically and metaphysically -- the strain on the body matched the heavy weight of the metaphysical energy welling up around them.
When she hit the clearing, the fighting got thicker again.
Despite not moving as fast her mind thought she was, she looked back to see a sluggish Jace. Though he was fairing on his own quite well, she could see the struggle on part of his body -- he did just crash land.
She fell back, and ducked underneath his left arm, wrapping it around her own frame, while helping shift some of his weight onto her. "C'mon, I got you."
A chill slinked the length of her spine not long after, something underneath had caused another seismic shift, and the vibration on top of her senses made her look back.
A distance off, a large tsunami like wave had formed, sweeping up the remains of the Master's retreat that had broken off, and was powerful enough to blitz through the landmass that formed the water fall -- a more than large crater leaked a large and raging wave of water that came carved through the land from the furthers reaches of the Northwest.
Uheuh
"Chit, we gotta move!" She spoke with urgency, "Get clear!" she started yelling off to those engulfed in the warzone, Alliance and Maw alike, those unbeknownst of what was coming to sweep through. "Move!"
Shrugging on her bomber jacket, shit hit a pivot to the cadence of her name. Not alarmed -- she recognized the voice. Whipping around, she faced Caltin's form approaching, "Caltin, hey, how can I help?" she opened.
The meeting they'd just left, Caltin was one of the first to voice his support for her request to send aid to Coruscant. She'd come to admire him for staying true to himself. The Galaxy was a chaotic place, and to be thrown into a time different than your own and still carve a path for yourself was noteworthy.
Not what she was expecting to hear if she had to guess, but everything he said made her give a bit in her stance; her head lurched forward and she broke a smirk. "You've always been supportive of everyone around you Caltin, including myself. I admire the beacon you've become to all of us."
His left side felt stiff, all the sudden movements allowed it to arise; a walk, a stroll, a wade into the field had done little to the wounded side he suffered from Tsisaar and his machinations, but a run had denied fluid movement - it seemed almost clutched to his side for that matter, and he winced with each footfall in the muddied terrain. It was the earlier crash that furthered the wound, as well as lined his frame with cuts and bruises. He was alive, for now, but he was soon out of time.
It tore across the fields, able to swallow him and all others whole.
"Go on without me!" He answered the offer of aid, "I can't outrun this." Jace slowed to a halt and said with a sadness in his voice, a soft smile and a sorriness to his eyes, even as the war echoed on all around them. From blaster fire to distant detonations, death called out in the Force all the same. Just as the wave that crashed nearer and nearer had done the same.
Corin stood over the two of them, motionless. He watched as his Master slid into view and cradled the former student as if she was his own flesh and blood, to see the tear roll down his cheek and hear the croak in his voice as Jem remain a lifeless husk with a torn off face. It was a mess, he noted, but dared not make so much as a sound. He could have reached out and offered Kaze a hand, let it rest on his shoulder, but this moment was not for him. Corin had become a silent oberservor, the one that had seen his wish to see her dead come true, to see his fear of failure made manifest.
It was the shatter that called to him, demanded his attention, but he could offer it no more than what stood in the corner of his vision. From a neon Denon set aflame to a child sat at a food-filled table, of his own killed self on Teta to a man taller than he shrouded in red. For whatever it was worth, , for whatever it meant, he could not tell and neither cared to learn in the heat of the moment.
"Master," his familiar voice called in a hushed tone, a hand set on his shoulder. "It's not your fault."
The Basilisk tore mound after mound from the soil, and the terrain that once solidified around the Mandalorian started to soften. It became weaker, more frail, and each shot of the sonic ordinance beneath had forced it to shift in the enclosed area. It was as if the sun started to shine on down into his hole, the tibanna continued to illuminate the battlefield as his rebirth commenced. Fett shot out a hand that writhed around in an effort to hold on, for the other to come not so soon after but before the dome of his helmeted head revealed itself covered in mud; it stuck to his armoured frame as he clambered out of his shallow tomb in a moment of relief.
He reached out for his charric blaster, since left idle on the rocks. His aim rushed it towards the Dark Lord as he made use of the Force, all in an effort to send a wave of flames over his saviour. Fett slammed down on the mechanism and sent another hail of blue bolts towards the Sith, for himself to then take to the skies as well.
The Ashlan Crusade and the Eternal Empire were both quick to reject Tithe’s proposal that the Alliance take command of the battle over Tython. “While we may stand together against the darkness,” he replied to the Grand Admiral. “If we don’t stand as one, why, this Darth Solipsis
, this one true Sith'ari, will be the end of us all!” That the Ashlan, the Alliance’s closest allies were resistant put the talks off to a worrying start.
The disagreement from Eternal Empire was to be expected.
“And yes Baron, the uhh, professionalism of the Eternal Armed Forces is well known to the Alliance,” Tithe replied to the Overseers, before adding under his breath: “In particular, those of us who were at Byss.” The ferocity of the Brotherhood was unmatched throughout the Galaxy. Even outnumbered, their horde would wash over the Alliance and its allies if they didn’t stand together.
Then, the unexpected betrayal.
The Senator for Abegado-Rae broke parties lines to agree with the Ashlan and Eternal leaders.
Tithe spun to chastise the Bothan, anger flash boiling within him. The recent betrayal at the hands of his Corporatist Party colleagues ahead of the failed defence of Empress Teta was still raw for the Chancellor. That a fresh-faced Senator would dare go against his plan…
Thankfully, Adhira spoke first, calling for cooperation to avoid a repeat of the failings at Csilla. The elder stateswoman was well versed in bringing governments together in the face of evil, having formed an alliance with the New Imperial Order against the now-forgotten Sith. Bringing her out of retirement had been a gamble - a lot had happened since her days as Chancellor, and the threat was immeasurably greater. Could she steer the bickering parties to a consensus?
The helmeted Quartermaster confirmed that her people would cooperate, but would do so on their own terms. Beyond that, they had reached an impasse. Unsure how much longer he could maintain his boiling rage, Tithe called for a short recess. “Yes, I do think now would be an opportune time to take a moment, to ponder the, uhh, proposals which had come forward."
Tithe and the Alliance retinue were escorted back to their suite by the blue-robed Senate Commandos. Tithe immediately sought comfort on a hoverchair and began to massage his brow.
“Well, that was an unmitigated disaster,” he observed. “That the Mandos are the voice of reason speaks volumes to the state of galactic discourse. Can we get the Ashlan onside? They’re fanatics no doubt, but strange bedfellows with the Empress. If we could somehow sway them…” His gaze shifted to Adhira and the delegation, seeking their counsel.
Things were so much simpler when you could simply buy out your rivals.
Black eyes fluttered open in the void. Near his goal, he could feel it close, but something stronger still reached out, calling, pleading; a familiar presence, a host of them, all arrayed around one fixed point in a sea of chaos. He grasped onto one, clawing along its thread until—
—Amid the host of light that amassed around the seer's stone, a pool of shadow stepped from the air, rapidly coalescing into a shape. Man-shaped, but hazy, indistinct, further detail slowly solidifying on the dark specter that stood among the masters of light. "Master Varobalder, your voice carries far," he mused, one hazy hand stroking at a single inky tendril where the face should be. "It appears I am...late." He could sense many others, sharper, more distinct.
One who carried with her an affliction partially of his own devising, of his own image, far above...and a sickening, infuriating sense of connection to one further below. Hunger and Greed, each a familiar presence to him, at different parts of the battlefield, yet their flames shining clear as day through the sea of embers surrounding the planet. A bright star stood next to him, the Shield, and another he did not know. Yet even beyond them...
"So this is where he runs," he mused to himself. "What is it they are attempting here? The veil, the barrier is ponderously thin...do they think to repeat Corel—"
You deeply misunderstand the situation. This is our stand against the darkest of evils. A shadow that seeks to eclipse the entire galaxy in a darkness that unmakes the very fabric of reality.
The seer was tense, his jaw tight. Strained, pulled thin. "Ah."The pallid wraith solidified further, becoming sharper. Tendrils, clear and distinct, three fingered hands, and black eyes gazing up to the apex of Akar Kesh with barely contained wrath. "I see." Not merely aiming to repeat an abomination of years past, but to go further. He had not thought the Brotherhood of the Maw capable of such insanity, but evidently he had overestimated their sensibility. "Of course. The Great Error."
The disdain was more than evident in his voice; if the situation were to devolve any further, any of those near him could likely reach out and grasp it physically. Both hands clenched and relaxed, repeatedly, the shade shaking, almost vibrating with the he felt at was happening before his sense. "The division of the Celestials, the wars of the Rakata and the Kwa, the Force Wars, the great schisms, the Hundred Year Darkness...all the way up through the Gulag Plague and this Second Great Hyperspace War. The galaxy has survived it all, and come out stronger each time...but they would deny thirty millennia of progress, of growth, in favour of their worthless attempts to hold to material gain." He stepped away from the three in the circle, looking out upon the rest of the battlefield, the vast ocean of life that writhed and struggled for survival, for domination, while others, the most fervent, freed their souls to power the ritual above them.
"The great error...they would seek to undo this grand experiment for nothing more than to sate their own lusts, once again giving into the delusion that this time will be different, this time they'll succeed. They would remove all possibility for change and growth and curse this existence to one of utter stagnation. No. Not like this, not so easily...I will not allow it. If I have my way, this will not be the Light's last stand."
He rounded back, looking at the seers, looking beyond the seers, to the vastness beyond their physical vessels. "Corporeality is a vanity. The flesh...is temporary, at best. Only true power, and knowledge, in the Force is eternal...but these fanatics, these heathens, blinded by their lusts and ill-gotten power, their strength without wisdom, fail to see that. No more. It will stand no more."
Stepping beyond the bounds of the circle the seers had made, just outside the island of calm and stability they had made for themselves, the Force began to whip into a frenzy around the walking shadow that had come at their call. The ash and smoke of the battlefield billowed around him, choked air tainted with the scent of decay as he reached beyond the mortal world, deep into his own hard-fought collection of souls. "Csaus, Coruscant, Korriban, Asog, Noris, Csilla...it can not happen again." Across the battlefield, ghosts and spectres stepped out of the ever-shifting shards of possibility that had become of their broken reality, joining the ranks beside their former comrades. Grim, in the face of oblivion, but not defeated, even in death.
"It is time to reveal myself, I think," he mused, reaching beyond the circle of seers, out to others who might know him. The Stubborn, the Hunger, the Greed, the Determination. And the Circle, the Shield and the Seer, even the Turmoil between them. "I am Tsisaar Taral, once a scion of Carnifex's empire, but no longer. A conqueror, a scholar, a protector...I am the reek of every spoiled thing, the morass of decay on every abandoned battlefield, the last sigh of every planet scoured bare of life. I am Darth Cerinthus, Lord of Rot, and I will not allow these slavering hordes to infringe upon my domain, and recycle this galaxy in their flawed image."
Before the eyes of the soldiers of the Maw, the lines of battle drawn by the defenders swelled with reinforcements. Spectral men and woman stood tall, and proud, some in the garb of soldiers, others in that of civilians. Turning to their allies, their brothers and sisters—some with a nod, others a cry of battle, but all of them some cheer or word of encouragement to their fellows, before the rushed forward to grapple with the souls of those who offered themselves unto abomination, to deny Darth Solipsis
his consuming power.
"I am the ashes in the mouth of every living thing that sees their precious victory disintegrate before their eyes." He stretched out his hands, and more specters rose, the tortured souls of those who once served the Brotherhood of the Maw and the New Sith Order, maddened and mindless, reaching out to claw at those who abandoned them in the mad dash for power to try and drag them into the deepest depths of Hell while the veil between realms remained thin. Where with one hand he sought to bolster the resolve of those who aimed to prevent the unmaking from coming to pass, even as the seers granted them the strength they needed to persevere, finally releasing those souls he had protected from being devoured when the Chiss homeworld was consigned to its doom, with the other he would strive to demoralize those of the Maw who remained standing to fight.
"The ghosts of Csilla cry out for justice!"he thundered over the storm that brewed around him, before dropping to a snarled whisper. "And vengeance. Who am I to deny them?"
Angry Sith-but-allied-with-the-good-guys astral projecting man is calling up a bunch of spirits from past battlefields that he's been holding onto, and announcing his presence in general, but also to a few specific people who will recognize him and go "hey, I hate that guy!"
Good guys: Your former friends are back in spirit form and cheering you on! Get that second wind. You got this team.
Bad guys: You know those former allies you abandoned for power, or just to get the last seat on the shuttle off planet before it broke? They're back and they're screaming at you. They aren't saying nice things.
As the hand was placed against her stomach Teresa looked up at Kaine. Her own would be placed atop of his to really feel the technique and see it. The orange orbs glistened even in the dark for a moment as she used an ability till having what she wanted. Still for a second her hand lingered atop his until she spoke. "Well that device was a fething pain. Guess those who lack power seek to take it away. Suppose that is the natural way of things wishing to rise." The woman could feel the burns lessen in pain and it dawned on her that perhaps being so reckless was not a great idea. Not in a place surrounded by those wishing to kill you. It worked well, the risks when it came to assassination but battlefields was a different game. In her own way she was learning lessons of all kinds.
"I will do my best to train on this, thank you for showing me something finally... Kaine." Teresa smirked while using a playful tone and showing the gratitude in her own way. Carnifex knew all to well how often she said thank you and that when those two words was spoken the woman meant it.
Hairs began to stand on end as the loud roar of thrusters came from behind. Swivelling around the woman stopped leaning against Kaine. Her Saber slapped into the palm of her hand as she held it out. The blade of plasma cast a purple glow as it ignited, the double-blade that was in her other hand also ignited on one end casting its own glowing lime green hue.
Yellow bolts scattered around the two sith, of which she did not need to do anything defend against as the Dark Lords reach extended to cover her being so close. It was hard not to notice the bailing man Clad in armor departing from the Vehicle. The woman's center lowered as she moved into a solid defensive stance. Both beams of energy in good position to deflect oncoming shots and her wings stretched behind her ready to move fast. "Oh, that's what they are called." Teresa muttered under her breath.
For so long she knew their armor, that they where the enemy, those who are responsible for the battle of Panatha and how they had ultimately scorched its very earth. As the enemy opened fire that landed against a barrier made of the force, Teresa began to prepare her own counter. Science had taught her something spectacular something that would seem very underrated.
When the flames shaped like a serpent coiled up into the air, the woman stole enough flame splintering from its tip for her to use the heat, the same time with split focus she cooled the air with Cryokinesis making the two differing temperatures collide. Neither was that counter, rather it was the the sudden Horizontal updraft. Ash, dust and dirt began to spin making it visible as began to quickly turn vertical. Though the small tornado did not reach high or strong enough to effect those above it directly, that was not the purpose. Rather it was to ensure that the Vehicle and mandalorian was surrounded by a dense dust cloud for when the Fire from Carnifex's attack strikes the area would combust the second it was given the ignition.
During her weaving combining both the little amount of the force she knew and the education that had been drilled in, she had caught sight of Fett sending volleys of blue bolts towards Kaine. Her hands was busy using them to gesture at the force, and she could not try to focus on the extra. Still she had faith in her masters abilities.
Carni heald teresa a little
She learnt a lesson or two
Created a dense dust cloud around Vren Rook
, Koda Fett
and his Basilisk
Location: Tython Objective: Defend the temple Tag: Erion Justeene
Stone after stone was sent at the Sith, each one hitting the solid stone slab that had offered him shelter. Over time, his breathing started to turn into gasps from how exhausted he was starting to feel. The pain and how he constantly had to defend was really getting to him. Slowly but surely the barrage of debris came to a halt, only leaving his arm to slowly fall to his side motionless. The padawan let out a pain gasp before stumbling back into the pillar, leaning against it just to keep himself from falling.
The fact that multiple ribs were broken made it as if he couldn't breath at all, let alone catch a single desperate breath. He tiredly looked to where the Sith was hiding and released a growl. Instead of fear, the boy was feeling a set of entirely different emotions. Hatred, disdain and anger were what came with the pain, almost like it had been waiting for a reason to show itself all this time.
Silas still showed no fear, an undying determination that was willing to do anything to survive and serve the galaxy. He trusted the force with his life, even when it was taking him to places he had not felt during the hopeless years of confinement.
Putting one hand on the fallen pillar he pushed himself off with his mouth wide, heaving to gain any sort of air ash he staggered forwards through the black, mouldy water covering his feet. The teen moved forwards until he stopped at an open space of water in the crypt, swaying slightly on his feet when he snarled in the Siths direction.
Hesitantly, he took in a deep breath that shot pain through his body. Every part of him winced while fighting back tears in his eyes, struggling to keep himself strong in such torturous agony. Then, with everything he could he leaned his head forward and cried defiantly at his foe. A mixture of spit and blood flying from the inside of his mouth.
"I-I will not rest until your cruel suffering has ended Sith!"
