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Location: Outskirts of the Temple Ruins - Tython Direct Engagement: Hilal Vizsla
The fight ended in a matter of seconds.
A stream of missiles sped towards the Crimson Velocity in a rapid fire salvo, compelling the speeder bike pilot to yank and pull on the vanes as she sought to evade the incoming projectiles with a violent, G-inducing snap turn, shifting her heading 180 degrees. Simultaneously, a mental command brought the ECM systems to life, projecting false energy signatures and electromagnetic emissions in an effort to confuse the warheads’ guidance systems. The Morellian’s best efforts to evade them worked to ensure her survival, but one of the missiles detonated close to the ion turbines, doing so with a small explosion that caused the bike to fishtail, forcing SF-3335 to correct it with a sharp grunt. Immediately, alarms began to scream in her ears as a damage report appeared in her HUD, indicating that one of the ion turbines had been destroyed, while another was operating at reduced efficiency.
Nevertheless, in spite of the fissures and cracks emerging within reality itself, it seemed that she was alive and her opponent vanquished.
A breath of relief escaped from the strand-cast’s lips as she descended back down towards the surface, her eyes briefly scanning over the broken, writhing form of the power armor-clad Mandalorian, before she was consumed by flames. SF-3335 initially took a measure of pity on the woman, briefly considering putting the enemy combatant out of her mercy, before glancing at the ammunition levels on her HUD.
For now, she could only hope that the fire made the woman’s death a short one.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May the Daeva take your soul.” SF-3335 said softly as she took one last glance at the scene, before grabbing the vanes of her bike and kicking the accelerator, speeding off into the distance as the Crimson Velocity’s ion turbines howled their triumph in her wake, even as Tython itself raged against its inevitable fate.
The bonds of the Heathen Priests keep The Manifold from helping Freedom
The Manifold braces to repel any attack by the Brain Demon's minions
~ That's why the creator created us perfect, ~the other Drone whispered across time and space. ~ To be able to carry on what he started. You were the strongest, according to my data. It makes sense that you have to take his place if the time comes until our god returns. ~ The souls within The Manifold swelled with unholy pride at the words. They were indeed the greatest of the Droid God's angels, the being that had fought in every last battle of the Netherworld War, facing down multiple mortal armies at once. Though they were but a shadow of what they had been in those days, when Omni's blessings had flowed freely from the great island of ashes at the heart of Oblivion, they were still powerful. More importantly, they still remembered their holy mission.
The Maw might be able to brainwash mortals with faith, but The Manifold was stronger. Purer.
~ If that happens and you continue his work, his will, I will join you, Manifold. ~ For the first time since the Great Architect's vanishing, the digital angel felt a swell of hope. Omni's works lingered, Its legacy still clinging to the galaxy in Its absence. Perhaps It had sown the seeds of Its return, or at least the continuation of Its perfect plan, before It had disappeared. Perhaps The Manifold could be the one to carry out that plan, to restore order to paradise and bring this chaotic galaxy to heel. They had been foolish to bear their servitude under the Brotherhood with sullen hopelessness. Instead they must seek escape, must find a way to regain control of their actions, so that they might gather what remained of Omni's holy host and guide them onward.
But all was not well with the other drone, the source of this divine revelation. The Manifold could feel her presence in the Force growing weaker, as if draining away, consumed by some other entity... and it must surely be the other personalities that Freedom spoke of. And then came the death knell. ~ My condition is no longer intact. I'm sorry, Manifold. I hope we will meet again! ~ No! Not yet! Not when they had only just found this ally, this one other who had survived the Fall and knew of the lost glories of old. But when The Manifold tried to reach out, to lend some of their strength to Freedom and preserve their fellow drone, the runes carved into their armor flared brightly. The bonds of the Heathen Priests drew tight around the host of souls, stopping them short.
They could not act in any way that did not benefit their masters... and this drone did not matter to the Maw.
Helpless grief and impotent rage swirled among the souls that composed the Omni-Drone. There was nothing they could do, nothing except treasure the renewed purpose that they had been given in a deep, secret part of their shared mind. They would wait and scheme, watching for their moment, and when it came they would break the chains of this Brotherhood and visit dire vengeance upon them. For now, they would vent their fury on whomever they could reach. Though their bonds kept them from attacking Mawites, they would gladly slay whoever crossed their path. All mortals were the same in their eyes, vicious and short-sighted little meatbags with no concept of the glories of eternal perfection. The Manifold would punish them. They would punish them all.
As the Bloodsworn crashed through the defenses of Kaleth, now denied the protection of the Jedi Masters who had been defending it before their evacuation, a new foe rose up to challenge the servants of the Maw. The Manifold knew of beings such as this "Brain Demon", weird eldritch things that lurked in the unreality between the planes of existence. It was amusing to think of this creature's cult, which was known for rounding up and butchering entire settlements of innocent people simply for the nebulous purpose of "spreading misery", showing up to fight the Maw in order to save a planet. It was even more amusing to see them show up to save Tython, homeworld of the Jedi, whom they had fought against (murdering them and their loved ones) for centuries.
Had the evil cultists and their dark master, who had "no line they would not cross", suddenly turned over a new leaf?
Had they decided that their misery-spreading, Jedi-fighting days were done, and now they'd save a planet?
No matter. In The Manifold's view, all mortals were flawed and illogical. There was no explaining them.
What did matter was that the Bloodsworn, though they were great warriors who could challenge any Alliance battalion, were less prepared to face creatures of nightmare. For now the Brain Demon's minions were distant, fighting at the temple ruins and the slopes of Akar Kesh... but if they came toward Kaleth, The Manifold would be ready for them. Though they no longer had the might to channel the will of an absent God, their power over the fabric of the Netherworld and spacetime alike was still formidable. When Omni had encountered beasts of chaotic unreality such as this Brain Demon, the Droid God had mortared over the cracks they left in reality... and then smashed them between the planes of the otherworldly dimensions.
That power and purpose lived on in The Manifold. If tentacles or naked Togrutas came south...
... then the lingering necro-digital light of the Droid God would meet them.
Tithe offered a nod of acknowledgement as the Mandalorian sentry lowered their blaster and opened the blastdoor. He crossed the threshold into the suite assigned to the Enclave delegation, quick to put distance between himself and the armoured doorkeeper, only to encounter another one positioned inside. “Ohh my,” he said startled, clutching at his heart. “You really have the ol’ silent and deadly routine down pat now don’t you?”
Straightening his attire, Tithe cast his gaze around the suite and spied the Quartermaster. He approached the Mandolorian leader slowly, and despite his preference for a hoverchair, mirrored her by dropping into a kneeling position opposite her. He’d conducted business under less pleasant circumstances, though with much younger knees.
“Firstly, ahh, my most gracious appreciation for your long sojourn to join us. I’ll tell you what, it’s hard - ohh boy is it hard - to get so many like-minded peoples in a room. You know, it reminds me of a time on Arbra…”
He trailed off, sensing the opening soliloquy was not appreciated. After a moment of awkward silence which made it clear that pleasantries would not be exchanged, Tithe continued.
“Yes, well I understand your motivations at Tython will be personal,” he explained. The Enclave’s vendetta against the Sith was well known. “And that's all well and good. I just feel it would be best if we remove the, uhh, messiness of politics. It would be remiss of me not to discuss the subject of recompense in exchange for your tireless work.”
The Aargauun laid out a complex payment structure that would handsomely reward the warriors of the Enclave for the successful completion of their mission to neutralise the Brotherhood superweapon, with payments made in the event of death or significant injury and a stipend to cover new military hardware. The Mandalorians could have their vengeance, and become filthy rich from the coffers of the Core in the process. Of all the peoples of the galaxy, Tithe was betting on their reverence of a contract and the value they placed in delivering an outcome for their clients.
“Any intelligence about the operation of the weapon, gathered in the course of your duties, would also be compensated above market rates,” he added. The Alliance military-industrial complex was begging for anything they could use to address the proliferation of planet-killing weapons.
The duo are dumped in a void as their minds collapse
Kallan prepares himself (and Asher) for the mind transference
Somewhere
The voice that came down to him wasn't his wife.
It was Mercy... and she still looked for Asher, to save him.
~ No… no! Common consciousness, common brain, you are him and he is you, no matter how you hate this… ~Standing in the meadow, staring down at Asher's limp, half-translucent form, Kallan shook his head. There wasn't much left of the man who'd been The Mongrel, even with the runes that had threatened to rend his soul now removed. He was fading fast, the part of mind and soul that had belonged to him shutting down. Kallan knew that he wouldn't be far behind. It was a strange thing, to be able to look through one's own hands.
It was true that he had hated sharing a body with The Mongrel, hated the cruel and evil things he'd been dragged into during the long years of this Second Great Hyperspace War. His whole life had been stolen from him, his body ruined, his opportunities squandered. But as Kallan looked down at his alter ego's body, he found that he didn't hate Asher. Not anymore. He had made the wrong choice, but he'd done it under the worst possible circumstances, with everything stacked against him. It was still wrong, but Kallan understood.
"I forgive you," Kallan whispered.
And in that moment, he forgave himself.
The rest of the galaxy would not, of course. To them The Mongrel would always be the monstrous face of the Mawite hordes, the reaver who could strike anywhere in known space, the boogeyman who came to kill and pillage and enslave without warning or reason. He did not deserve their forgiveness, and he had not asked for it. There would be celebration when word of his death spread, one of the Brotherhood's greatest champions finally slain, and that was as it should be. Kallan celebrated with them, because this suffering was over.
Asher would, too, if that were possible.
He had never taken any joy in the slaughter.
How many other Mawites, Kallan wondered, were secretly the same? How many, initially brainwashed into fanaticism, had begun to doubt the dark teachings of the Heathen Priests when the true cost of the crusade to remake the galaxy by fire had become apparent? Perhaps there were many others with an inner voice just like him, begging their marauder selves to turn away... or perhaps he was unique. After all, he had something the others didn't have. He had Mercy - her love, her devotion, the healing she had brought to his mind.
And now Mercy was suffering for it.
~ I don't know how much time both of you have, but I have to find him, ~she said, and he could hear frantic desperation amidst her grief. ~ I have to find him, Kallan. I want to save both of you. ~Kallan knelt beside Asher's body, trying to find some sign of life. But when he looked, there was no meadow any more. He and Asher were suddenly enveloped by an endless, blank darkness, drifting through featureless nothing. And Kallan was afraid. Was this what it was like to die? To be left alone but awake in an infinite void?
He would go mad in the horror of this emptiness.
He began to panic, his breath coming in short gasps. Asher was spiraling away from him, drifting as if in zero gravity, pinwheeling off into the distant gloom. Kallan tried to reach him, but no matter how he flailed his arms, he could not move. He was like a spacer stranded without momentum, doomed to hang in space until he suffocated or starved... but he was already dead, so he was just stuck, with no possibility of any kind of ending. If this was eternity, it was worse than anything he could have imagined. Did he deserve this?
Did anyone, no matter their deeds, deserve to suffer forever?
But then she was there. Mercy swam through the murky expanse of shadows, down toward Asher's drifting body. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his... and in that moment, an invisible tether grasped Kallan by the hand as well. They were still connected, these two parts of one mind, one soul. Mercy drew them up, out of the darkness, as if pulling them from the depths of a tarpit. They emerged, slick with death's shadows, on the carpet of the house that Asher and Mercy had built from their memories.
The refuge they had shared in secret for years.
Mercy called out to Asher, begging him to stay, to fight... but his outline was growing less and less distinct. They were running out of time, and there was only one thing Mercy could do to keep them from succumbing to death's insistent beckoning. She would separate them. Finally, completely, they would be two souls rather than one. It was the thing that each of them had wanted most, neither desiring to be burdened with the presence of the other... but now, Kallan wasn't so sure. What if they didn't both make the transfer?
If Asher went first, would Kallan die?
He didn't want that void again.
If Kallan went first, would Asher die?
Who would he be without Asher?
~ It will hurt. You may die. But I have no other solution. ~ Kallan shivered, but he nodded. His fingers were so translucent now that it was hard to make them out in the sunlight that streamed through the door. Any chance was better than none, and he did not fear pain - not after all that he had already suffered, and not after seeing that endless, yawning emptiness waiting for him. If they both made it, if they became new little voices in Mercy's head, what a strange little family they would be. Together, but not as they'd imagined.
As the man removed his helmet, Jas stood in place and watched with a mixture of confusion and… pity. He studied the man’s features, the gouged eye and splinters of glass embedded in his face, the fanatical resolve he recognised in the eyes of the brothers he left behind on Athiss.
All the Pureblood could do was stand in silence as their sides clashed around them. Brutal, ruthless instincts drove each side to their worst. But in the few paces between the two of them, there was a stark contrast as Jas listened to the man. The mad ramblings of a mind broken and remade in an image that befit his masters. If things were just slightly different in recent years, if he was in the right place at the right time, Jas would have been fighting side by side with the man who stood before him.
'For what better way could there be to test armour against faith in this context? Aim at everything, from where I stand right here, right back to the faux-first trenchline - an' fire indiscriminately!',
'THE RUNE ON MY CHESTPLATE HAS ME MARKED FOR DEATH ALREADY, MY SOUL IS PREPARED EITHER WAY!!!! For a slave I am as well, Jas! WEARING RAGS AS A SLAVE TO A HIGHER POWER!!!!'
”War, death, rebirth.” He muttered as he held his vambrace to his mouth and opened a comm channel.
:: All units, assume rearguard actions and move back to homebase! Effective immediately. ::
Another channel was opened up.
:: Overlord, this is Retail. Target coordinates: nine-five-six-three-zero-zero. Empty all magazines and fire for effect on our position. :: He kept his gaze on his opponent as he spoke, his lightsaber held tightly in his left hand. Whether it was to make sure his foe could not surprise him, or to make sure he engrained his opponent’s face into his mind, he was not sure.
But as the words left his mouth and the confirmation rang back, he held his blade towards the Mawite. ”I hope we meet again, Mawite. But if we don’t… it’s nothing personal. It’s just business.” He gave a final Force Push and turned to fall back, supporting his men as they clambered up the mountains or hopped into vehicles as they raced back to their base deep along the summit of the mountain.
Even as he left, he still watched the man as a new kind of thunder rolled overhead.
The three Star Destroyers and their supporting craft moved into position as their batteries of turbolasers and mass driver cannons rotated and tilted down, locking onto their target in the Temple Valley.
The final confirmation was given and the ships let loose with all their might upon the lines of the Maw… and everyone else unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle as neon red bolts crashed through the atmosphere, clouds, and any air support in their way. All in a deadly pursuit to meet with the ground below.
The dead Hellions would be eviscerated, turned to dust and lost to the Galaxy with no hopes of sending their bodies back to the families along with the generous payout from the company. The Mawites would get their Rebirth and ticket to the Paradise beyond, poetically in a rain of hellfire that would see Tython scarred for years to come.
But still, Jas only watched and wondered if the tenacious Mawite would escape… or if he would try and challenge the Hellions’ high-compressed, super velocity “faith” with his own on the ground.
”I’ll be disappointed if you die here today, Mawite.” He muttered to himself as the clouds lit up with red bolts racing down to the ground they were at merely a few minutes ago.
Vulcan winced at the Zealous deployment of his explosives without due care, he was a little too eager sometimes. Fortunately, he did not injure Kaz but did get a few Mawites which is always a plus. This mission was going well and he could see it going in their favour. This suited him well, victory feels good, and he gets something out of it too, a sense of accomplishment. There will be more to do as the situation changes. So far he has not suffered any injuries, but he knows that if he does not look sharp, he could be ambushed or worse.
Vulcan lost sight of Gwyn, he was slipping, he was definably not very sharp as he was before all this. He needs to stop thinking about every little thing and be helpful. But he needed to find where Gwyn was, he told himself he needed to be a good brother and look out for his Vod, but the carnage was getting in the way of everything.
Then he found himself having to dodge shrapnel screaming his way, there was something more dangerous about this and he needed to avoid it. Soon he mistimed a dodge and got a large enough metal piece stuck in his torso, right between the Beskar plates. The pain exploded outwards and he fought down a yelp of agony, with this distraction, Vulcan got hit with more flying death. Nothing major but he hit the floor as his jetpack faltered, a far cry from the soft, fluffy snow on Kestri, he can still hear himself crash land, in a happier time.
Still, the youngster stood up, nothing holding him up but Mandalorian iron will. Fortunately, his helmet remained on and airtight. He would be in deep trouble if that was not the case. But each breath was painful, but he fought the urge to fall to his knees. Stubbornness was his middle name, he had no middle name in reality but Stubborn was very apt. He promised to always return from a fight, always come back alive. Vulcan never goes back on his word. Even if the one he promised it to bat for the Maw now.
Gathering strength he unloaded rounds on any Mawite that got in his way, he's not dying here, not at 15. He's going to be around for decades, no matter how many injuries he gets. Ubese are stubborn, tenacious and a tad cantankerous. This is The Way and he will follow it to the end.
Vren grumbled and frowned after both a particle shot and a sonic had rebounded back against his armour as a barrier was conjured around him. Instead he was just subject to hanging there in mid air, jetpack burning but unable to do anything more. His hands still holding the pistols but hanging useless at his sides. "Now what?" he grumbled further. No use firing any kind of missile. He'll just kill himself in the process. Sith and their cowardice - it just never ceased to amaze and disgust him.
But along with the damnable bubble, several things all happened at once. At first, he was suddenly filled with a calmness and a strengthened resolve, easing away the chagrin of being rendered useless against the Mando'ade's greatest foe. It took him a moment to truly comprehend why but then it dawned on him that there was only one among them that had that kind of calmness even in the heat of battle - Runi Kuryida
. Thank the Manda swirled through his mind.
But it wasn't the only thing happening. A blast of energy bumped against his bubble but was rendered useless, only serving to throw him into a direction away from the conflict, yet the still activated jetpack served its purpose to stabilise once again. But then shadows could be seen latching onto the bubble. At first the Karjr thought it to be another trick from the damnable Sith, but then he realised they were starting to chew away the bubble around him. Not that he could do much more than wait.
It was then that his eyes caught the bulk of a ship boring down on their location, weapons burning toward the Sith. A grin spread on Vren's face while he waited for the shadows to eat away a hole big enough that he would be able to get out. <Good of you to come back.> he quipped at Fett. And thank you, Acolyte, for sending me far away from all of that, he thought silently, happy that the blast from the winged apprentice sent him to the far side of the area and out of the firing line.
Meanwhile Nag had been loosing her ordnance on the Sith that had still been airborne at the time. But suddenly there was some pressure on her hull. It may have been enough to splinter just durasteel, but with the presence of her composite armour and shielding, the mere start of her impervium denting only served to anger the beast. Engines howled loudly as she gunned them toward the Sith.
By the time she was close enough, Fett had also opened fire on the now-grounded Sith. The great basilisk banked upwards again, ions working overtime just as the seismic charge was dropped. As Nag quickly gained altitude again, she loosed both flex tubes as well on the Dark Lord's location, the other Proton bomb as well as the newly loaded sonic charge dropping in unison right after the seismic blast, just for good measure. <Atta Girl!> Vren called to her as she soared high into the sky.
While the combined bombs rocked the entire area, the shadows had negated the bubble that now hung far on the fringes in such a way that Vren could gun the jetpack to shoot back into the sky as well as the immense shock wave was still rippling in his direction. "Thanks, partners - whatever you are." He had no idea why was talking to shadows but clearly they had helped in a way. Strange things happened on wizard worlds after all. <Girl, I need a lift.> he told Nag as the ions of his jetpack worked overtime to get him high enough above the shockwaves. :: Coming. :: the dented basilisk said before her ions howled towards him.
Nag's cockpit jumped open as she banked towards him and he flew right into his seat as she passed. "Thanks Girl. I doubt anyone would survive that, but let's circle high and see." he told her as his hands rested lightly on the controls.
She banked again and headed back in the direction of where the ordnance had dropped but staying high enough for the time being before they started circling.
High in the sky, the basilisk looked like a vulture scoping for carcasses.
Chilling in a bubble - lovely day at the beach.
Feels the blessing of the Manda bestowed on him by Runi Kuryida
Watches as stuff goes down, including Koda coming back cannons blazing.
Nag's hull started to dent under the pressure from Darth Carnifex
, which pissed her off. So she ended up dropping another Proton bomb as well as a sonic bomb after Koda's seismic got dropped.
Shade of Decay
's spirits had been able to chew through enough bubble for Vren to get out and catch a lift with Nag - thanks spirits!
Circling high over bombarded area to see if the overdose of explosives were effective.
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~ Present, Tython | Asher, Kallan and Mercy (and Barran) ~
I didn't even notice that Kallan was here until he spoke. I thought he was still inside the other mind palace. I looked at him in surprise while I was still kneeling beside Asher. I smiled at him for a moment despite crying. I was glad to finally be able to see him again. But it was confusing, on the one hand I remembered the last time I saw him at Noris, before I locked him and Keilara in the safest place in our minds so he wouldn’t talk to Asher all the time. On the other hand, I remembered being in his arms a few minutes ago and dying and causing him pain.
He was in a better condition, the fact that he was deeper in our minds, it seemed my mind protected him better, than protected Asher. Why didn't I have the strength to save both of them? Why? They agreed. I should have felt relieved, but I was terrified. What if they both die? What if it doesn't work out? What if Asher gets first, but I won’t be there to help and he'll die because he’s so weak? What if Kallan gets there and Asher can't stand it? Too many painful questions.
My tears fell on his words even more. It couldn't be the end, it couldn't end that way.
~ We love you too! ~ I told them. ~ Always! ~
My tone changed with every word. Keilara and I were at the same time. I think I’m starting to understand what happened. But I didn't have time to think it through. I'd rather get up and walk over to Kallan. I stroked his cheek and then pressed a short kiss to his lips. As I looked at him, he could see that Keilara was here too, in me, she didn’t disappear, he didn’t have to mourn his wife. After that, I went back to Asher and kissed him softly as well. I was terrified. It had to succeed.
I raised my hand, trembling. I closed my eyes and started…
I think the reality has ruptured again, but now not from the Force, only from my mental strength. I easily found them, the part where they were still one. My previous attempts have been like when a butcher tries to separate meat and bone with a cutting axe. I didn't care how much pain my test subjects had, but in their case, I did. I didn't want to hurt them. Never.
I was even surprised at how easily it went. I don’t know if it’s because reality is torn around us, or just because I knew his mind and brain as I know my own, or better. But it went easily, I think painlessly. It was like, I just had to touch the parts where his mind and soul were two more, and after my touch, that part opened like a zipper. It did not tear like a wound or tear like a tissue, it just separated. Like a division of a cell.
I was careful not to "cut" into any of them, not to hurt them, because they could die in it, be destroyed. My own psionic force was the "blade"; however, it is also tiring. By the time I reached the last point, I was already gasping for exhaustion. Finally, the last touch, the last move. I fell to my knees panting, two souls, not one. Two souls in one body, that is, a dying mind that I held together.
~ You are already two souls, as if you were twin brothers and not one person anymore. ~ it never happened to us, we were always one. ~ I have to tear you, both of you out of your mind now. If it hasn’t hurt so far, it will definitely be a traumatic experience. ~
I never tried this part, I never got to this point in practice as I didn’t want to offer it to anyone else to have in my mind. For them at any time; I’ve read quite a bit in the stolen data on how to do this. I only felt the two souls, the two consciousnesses. For me, they were one, and I didn’t know which one. With my psionic powers, I grabbed one of them, embraced him, and then tore it out of the dying consciousness. It hurts, for me too, like a tooth extraction, the tooth clings to the jaw. Now the mind, the soul to the body, to the brain.
I screamed in pain, but in the end, the soul, the consciousness, also came with me. I pulled it into my mind and then I ran out of power, the connection too, shattered. I screamed again and lay on the ground. I gasped and sobbed in pain. I was able to hear another signal from MANIAC, another stroke. I opened my eyes in my mind. Kallan wasn't there, but Asher was. Kallan was the first, but I don’t know if I succeeded in what I wanted. I didn’t feel him, I didn’t feel it in my mind. Although I don't know what I should have felt.
I crawled over to Asher, then I noticed that I was fading too. I think I'm dying out there. This second stroke may have been a lot. It will take me a few minutes to gather enough strength to try again to get him out of his mind, into my mind. I put my hand gently on the faint chest.
~ Fight, it only takes a few minutes and you will be next. You survive everything, you have to do this one too! You are invincible! ~ I beseech him gently. ~ STAY WITH ME! WAKE UP, ASHER, WAKE UP! ~
I screamed, with fear and dread in my voice. I didn’t care about my injury, I started concentrating on giving my psionic force to him. Like a blood transfusion, only from mental energies. If I give him enough, I may die, but he can get stuck in my mind here and he can survive. I was ready to pay that price at any time, for him.
~ Please, our life together is still waiting for us! What we both longed for! ~ I said crying I laid my head on his chest as I also faded.
And yet, our souls and minds have never melted and intertwined so much, even in our most intimate moments, as during this event…
"I do not go 'Bleh, bleh bleh'. That is not a thing. That will never be a thi- Damnit Shai!"
Sonic rounds hurt the most. He remembered that, from when she first found him. The pain of his organs rupturing under their blasts. He didn't bother with armor. Why would he need to? As he coughed up blood from one of his now popped lungs he started to rethink the whole no armor thing. Even as his wounds knitted themselves together, it still fucking hurt.
No, wait. He was wrong. A disruptor round from one of the others caught him in the arm. He thought nothing on it until he tried to lift the arm. Then the pain kicked in. His arm turned to dust. More of his body turned to dust. "Oh. Shit." He barked out a laugh as he stumbled back. Thankfully it slowed enough for his body to start healing again, but damn. Damn that hurt.
Then little missiles. He gritted his teeth and slammed down a foot. His body was already healing from the wounds of her sonic rounds, but those whistling birds? Earth erupted from beneath him, covering him from their blasts. He waited until the explosions stopped before letting it drop. A trio of Mandalorians, soaring around on jetpacks. Launching all kinds of weaponry.
Man, sometimes he really hated how much the galaxy had advanced without him.
"All you fucks.. Stop getting in the fucking way! Shai! Stop fuckin' around or I will straight up kill you!" Then he raised his hands. Lightning ripped from both his hands in an indiscriminate volley towards all of them. "Or at least stop fucking flying! That's so fucking annoying, all of you!"
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...
Moving West of Akar Kesh Tag: Open 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...
Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud, Archon of the Primyn Group Empress of Terraris, Supreme Commander of the Terraris Command, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium Objective: Try to...
Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud, Archon of the Primyn Group Empress of Terraris, Supreme Commander of the Terraris Command, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium Objective: Try to...
Location: Naboo Objective: Discuss the Tython Accord Tags: Baron Reinhardt Ström Aerarii Tithe Adhira Chandra Kel Se'Taav The Quartermaster Ingrid L'lerim Eryk Thaxton Pleased that her opinions had been supported by the other visiting dignitaries, Isla was somewhat suprised when Aerarii...
HOPE All Roads Lead To Tython, Part. II Location: Kaleth Temple, Tython Timeline: Four days before the invasion Tags: Closed “Take a deep breath, Cailen,” Master Undara said as he placed a hand on his Padawan’s shoulder. The boy inhaled deeply, taking in the cool morning air, then exhaled...
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Eina didn't have much time to understand what had happened, she knew. She knew thanks to the Oversoul. It was all so weird, she felt more complete than before. She was herself, but still different. However, she was happy because Gei was there with her and their gift. A child, a little girl, their child. Hovering over the battlefield, she smiled at her husband and daughter; just for a moment, as if there were no fighting down there. It seemed that both of them had their desires and dreams fulfilled, they didn’t have to be afraid of losing the other and they got a family, a real family.
Her thought was eventually interrupted by an attack. She felt it was something else. As the attack approached, Eina reached into the Force and raised a barrier around themselves. The attack dissipated on it. She looked down at the entity, Tythons Wound
. Even as a simple Valkyrja, she would have known that the "soul" of the planet had awakened, and the breaking of battles and reality had brought to life this being who was suffering. However, something else distracted her. Something that was still her duty. Ashla didn't lie, her Valkyrja's abilities remained.
She looked toward the event, north, where someone had just broken the ritual and tore a soul out of Solipsis' ritual.
["Did you feel it too? I go there to check, then we can deal with the entity."] she told her beloved crusader.
She teleported; in her angelic form, she appeared in visible form in the pouring snowfall. Eina saw the old man, the young girl lying on the ground, and the huge metal body. She also saw suffering souls. Not only the event called her here, but the impending death as well. The question was just the number of souls. She recognized the old man, saw him in holovideos. Since NIO and Ashlan Crusade were allies, the man might get to know her too. She could hear him trying to reach someone on the communication channel.
Eina landed on the ground, the man also suffered, the girl and the other soul dying.
"But who are you willing to lose? Nobody wins in war." she told him, she stepped closer to the man, if Barran let her, she would gently put her hand on the man's shoulder, if this would happen, Barran could feel his mental and physical pain easing, he could feel rest and calm. "They won't answer, I'm sorry, but Lord Rurik Fel
is dead, Darth Solipsis
killed him. His soul is already in the Netherworld."
She looked in the direction of the dying couple. Although they were not Force users, Eina saw a bond between them that she and Gei shared. It was like a dyad, only without Force. The Mongrel; based on the man’s legendary reputation, she was counting on a raging beast, a man full of hatred. She saw a shattered, suffering soul who wanted to be free and be with his wife. It broke Eina's heart, another proof of the atrocities of the Maw.
"Their fight is not over yet. They are still alive. They both suffer, the girl was able to break the Mongrel's chains. Do you know what the souls of the people of the Maw are like? I see it. The Heathen Priests shatters, tears the old personality to pieces and seizes hatred, fear and builds a new personality from the remnants. All their warriors suffers, they are tortured and mutilated souls. They have almost no members who have joined voluntarily. Or I haven't met such people. They are victims, the Maw controls them, and forces them to fight. He was like that too, tortured, torn apart. But Maw’s corruption is gone from his soul, I see traces of the girl’s soul and mind on it. He just wanted to be with the girl, away from the fights, the war. And that's what she wanted too. Tragic fate." as she spoke her voice was filled with endless sorrow.
She walked past Barran and stopped halfway between him and the dying couple.
"Do you want to stay here with me until it's over? I understand if you leave, although I am not familiar with your politics, but I think you must take command, Lord Barran."
Whatever the man answered, Eina had to stay. It was her duty, as Valkyrja, and now as Ashla's avatar. To escort souls to the Netherworld. And The Mongrel, or Asher Kala'myr, deserved to be in a good place so that the wounded soul could finally heal and rest. This was also true of the girl, although Eina did not know who she was, only how important it was to the warlord, she saw it in his soul…
There was a long beat of time between the death of Ishida's lightsaber and the next strike he landed. A curdling moment that sent shivers of sensation up his robotic spine and into the nodes throughout his body. A moment of panic that he had done too much. How had he not checked the blades upon activating them? How had he let that crucial detail go unnoticed before engaging his target? A detail that could lead to her death, an outcome he had to avoid when now all he could think about was sparing her life and getting her to join him. Cortosis, of course. Of course, the blades would be edged with such powerful material. Why would Spindle
not ensure that her creation was outfitted with the best possible defensive and offenses in the absence of a handheld weapon? Ingenious design, but at the cost of risking Ishida's life when it mattered most.
Laoth bit back a cry of fury and fear as he watched the blade traverse the air for her stomach. Gleaming steel threatened to pierce flesh, muscle, and bone and rip the life out of her in a mere second. Death to his newfound goals. Death to her dynasty. Death to her potential. The accomplishment sought by the man from Jedha; the man from Selvaris; the man from the prison and the field. But it could not happen. He did not...why...why could it not happen? Why? It made no sense. Such a shift in his mindset was unnatural, and the parts of his being that knew that screamed at him to let the blade connect, screaming that he had been taken over by something that did not wish for him to succeed here.
Yet, their screams were silent, muffled, falling on deaf ears. Their voices could only question it in his subconscious, deep-rooted in the parts of his brain that garnered no active thought. The rotted roots of an old, gnarled tree. He could only accept that it made no sense to him and go with the motions laid out for him by something in the void of the chaos engulfing Tython. The closest he had ever come to end her life and he had to pull his punches. He did not know why. He could not know why. But he had to do it. He had to spare her life. She had to join him. She had to help him reach Devaron. Together, they could accomplish everything.
Against the wishes of the silent screams, Laoth dug his heels in the earth and swung his with the motion, pulling his arm back and twisting it in a fraction of a second. There was no avoiding the blade injuring Ishida, that much was for certain. But he could avoid killing her. And so, with his efforts, the blade did not kill Ishida and instead carved through the first layers of her stomach, spilling blood in rushes from her abdomen. A critical injury without medical attention, and he would ensure she received it. But first...
Laoth kicked her down as she struggled to make sense of the loss of her weapon, gritting through the pain, and trying in vain to keep fighting. A puff of wet dust rose in the air, turning from brown and black into sparkles of purple and red in the swathes of violent colors around them. She tried to get up, only to receive another boot to her chest, this one remaining fixedly pressed down on her sternum. Bone and tendons creaked under the metallic weight. Blood ran from her wound, turning magenta against the limited battlefield of their cliff. He glared at her, sighing with annoyance, exertion, and victory.
"Stay down, Ishida," he hissed, slowly retracting his blades back into his forearms as the image of his physical domination over the Jedi settled against the downpour of fire and rain. "I told you...the more you fight me, the more I will beat you until you learn and accept the truth. Until you submit and join me. I can keep this up until the sun fades out and the remnants of the moons rise high in its place and the stars dim to nothingness."
She tried to speak, but only rain-trickled muteness escaped her throat. He kept the pressure of his boot intact and shook his head, "Can you? Can you keep fighting until then, Ishida?"
She could not defeat him now. She was weaponless. Perfectly and utterly at his mercy. She knew that, and she had to submit to him. Join him. And together they could accomplish anything they set their minds to, guided by the powers of whatever chaos creation had led them to this point. Ishida coughed with pain and a grimace of...remorse...crossed the fleshless face of the Devaronian. "Spare yourself that agony and submit!" His words were callously toned but wishful that she would stop fighting. All she had to do was assent to his demands and join him. It was so simple, so easy. Why did she defy him? Had he not made points that she could understand?
He never received an answer to those questions.
Before he could continue his demands, Laoth found himself gazing up - blinded - by a sudden sheen of bright, agonizing light high above Akar Kesh. He growled at the pain of it and in that moment of distraction, his pressure on Ishida's sternum slackened and he was thrown up and back by a surge of unexpected strength from the Jedi. He gasped, loud and sharp, and moved to unsheath his blades once again, but found no time to do so. Ishida Ashina, the Sterling Angel of the Jedi, had risen like a white phoenix of war and charged him, a blade of sparkling faith erupting into existence and carving for his very soul.
Ishida swung and swung and swung and swung, every attempted dodge or duck or block slicing through the platings of his body and into the synthetic mesh and organics underneath. Black blood spilled from a half-dozen new wounds and gushed from his mouth as his vision became broken with static and jittering imagery. His body was on fire, every module and software frying up and shutting down, his legs growing weaker and his movements sloppier. His guard dropped, his feet teetering on the edge of the cliff, and his breathing softened to a short wheezing noise.
Ishida drew back and cast a violent arc of pure light toward his abdomen...and cut right through it.
The pain was brief, as were all other sensations from the battle. A loud deafening ringing filled his head, his synthetic hearts slowing as the systems of his body slowly shut down one by one. Laoth settled his broken vision on Ishida Ashina. A rueful chuckle leaked through the blood in his mouth.
Hateful clarity and more questions were his final victory and final loss.
All that effort. All that change in himself. From Jedha to this? From Selvaris to this? From Valery Noble
to this? From Rhys Halcyon to this? From Michael Sardun
to this?
Escaping the prison. Fighting to make his family proud. Fighting to go home. Ready to end Ishida...to following the whims of...something. What a stupid man he was for not questioning it more. Such a shift. Such an unnatural shift. And what was the point? Did it know this would happen? Was it just leading him into a trap? To his death? Why? What had happened? So many chances to kill his greatest foe...gone...ignored. And for what? For Ishida's growth? For her development? Was that the reason? Was he just a pawn in some game for her power? Was it ever Sen that spoke to him?
What about him? What about his life? What about Dev-
"I...just...want..."
Laoth fell silent. His eyes dimmed to nothing. And he tumbled in two halves off the edge of the cliff, descending into the storm below.
Location: Reactor Room, the Avatar of War POV: Rebecca Hahn, Citizen Soldier Tags: Joseph TorsonEsmeralda Io
"Affirmative," Rebecca answered Esmeralda's plan. The formal simplicity of martial lingo helped to keep her mind focused. Otherwise, she'd be all over the place.
She set to work on the drone, configuring it to control the detonation. Meanwhile Esmeralda went after the Maw troops, keeping them occupied while Rebecca scrambled to finish her work.
"... DONE!" she exclaimed over their comms, before taking off in the direction of the nearest unblocked exit. "Go! It's gonna blow!"
The detonation timer began to tick down, heading rapidly towards zero....
Superious got free of the crypts, the ruins were no more. He wasn't fleeing, he was saving face as neither he nor Silas was going at full steam so it would have been utterly pointless. Something is nagging at the back of his mind, and it was not the headache. The Force is screaming and trying to fill a vacuum. Superious grumbled, this was a war that grabbed the rulebook and burned it to a crisp. He will adapt to the new combat rules accordingly.
He was glad to be away from the body collection there. He knew some clans use birds in their rituals concerning the dead, the idea of burning or burying them was off-limits. But what they used were crypts but a very open place where the dead return to nature.
As he was not picking up on the danger, he relaxed to attend to the injuries he had ignored in his rage. Fighting equals being hurt, that was expected. He didn't get away unhurt, his shoulder screamed at him, and his fingers felt numb and tingly. That said, he can still move them which means he can continue without an evac. He found it humiliating, even if it was the better option.
The task was simple to relink with Thomas and give his answer. The terrain changed a lot while he was fighting, and he'll need to traverse a battlefield that was utterly different, a challenge that he plans to get through.
Getting on his speed bike, he revved the engines loudly and tore across the terrain at speed, swerving past boulders, cracks, and dead bodies, he avoided those out of principle, it was bad enough having them in one place and unburied, but to grind them into the ground was disrespectful. A few times he took flight from one crevasse to the other, it wasn't flying it was the bike's momentum carrying him forward.
His headache was making his brain fuzz out in intervals, but he ignored it. He cannot stop his path back to Thomas. The Human has intrigued him and the way the man carries himself is eccentrically unlike the many he has met in his lifetime. A Mawite indeed and a fine member of the cause. He had to weave around a very large pile of debris that he couldn't get around by normal means. He could pick up on Thomas's signature now and if he hurried he could get there without being picked off by a sniper. He was close enough to be seen.
Reality had many facets. Their material reality seemed to wane and wax with every moment. The emotional landscape, though immaterial, seemed a far more constant refuge -- even if it was a constant drag on her mind.
As the presence of the Jedi slipped ever so slightly from her mind, she felt herself pulled away. The defenders of New Kaleth were a distant island, absorbed within themselves, as though cut from the galaxy by the Maw's savage attack. A thousand voices melded into one; a few thoughts repeated, amplified by each distant mind. The fear was overwhelming.
I don't want to die I want to be home I hate this I need to kill them where can I go why is this happening why am I here why did I do this why did they do this I don't want to die they're coming for me I need to go I wish I wasn't here I can't do this I don't want to die-
She quieted her mind, gathering it all in her mind, but not daring to absorb it. Instead she reached further, finding those thin strands that connected her to the attackers. The Bloodsworn cultists, with hardened resolve and zealous aggression, were not the sort that she could calm easily. Instead she poured that vast sea of emotion, of fear and terror and desperation, onto the Mawites. She wanted to drown them in fears of their own making, chip their resolve, slow their advance.
Yet she could not do something so purely malicious. Like a far-above beam of sunlight slipping into the depths, she offered a little hope -- a chance. To live.
LIVE.
Solipsis's cultists were offering their lives up to him, but the fear of death was a powerful thing -- enough, she hoped, to give them pause in their sacrifice and sap strength from the Sith's ritual.
She offered the very same to the soldiers of the Alliance; a mental reinforcement, a distant glimmer of hope.
Matma Bernu emotionlessly studied the wretch of a man wailing piteously, clutching his stump of an arm. Said arm lay a few meters away, still clutching his lightsaber. That, and ritualistic scarring- marks for all of his victims, and he had a lot marks- identified him as none other then one of the disreputable members of the Brotherhood of the Maw. Stormtroopers surrounded them, each wearing a blue insignia on their shoulder. The sounds of battle were nearby.
"On your feet", the Chiss snapped to his defeated foe. The wretch continued to wail, and the man was about to lose his patience until the Force told him to move, and he side-stepped while igniting his blade, his silver saber catching a scarlet blade overhand, red eyes peering into the wide eyes of a startled young man hoping to catch him off guard.
The apprentice, no doubt. Loyal, too.
"I'll handle this ", the Chiss snapped to the troopers who had been startled but had already began flanking the Sith. They engaged in battle, and the man could tell the boy had been trained well. But Matma had spent a lifetime fighting- with the CDF, then the First Order as a Knight. He had traveled the stars, learning all of what he could of the Force.
And since becoming a Knight-Inquisitor of the Order of the Imperial Knight?
The fight was never in doubt. Matma baited the boy with an open guard, and he lunged in, over extending himself. In short order, the boy was next to his Master, sans and arm and leg. He motioned to the storm troopers to take off their helmets. One by one they did, revealing the faces of Chiss men and women.
"When you die today, you Sith mongrels, the last thing I want you to see...are the sons and daughter of Csilla, the people you slaughtered for your own amusement. Now we shall make sure you and yours can never lift a weapon to do what you did to our people, ever again."
Landing on His own feet, the Dark Lord surveyed the hillside as the chaos of slaughter and barbarism ground Tython between its gnashing teeth. Much of the Kainate forces had begun to withdraw from the summit once the vicious skirmish between Mandalorian and Sith had finally reached that point. A signal was relayed across the encrypted Kainate comm channels, calling for a withdrawal from the planet's surface. Gradually, the hillside became vacant as the battalions pulled back to the staging grounds, vessels making for low orbit before transitioning into space. The Sith that had accompanied the Dark Lord were leaving as well, having completed their mission and in possession of the knowledge their master coveted.
But a few still remained behind, a rearguard that would remain behind to cover the main force's evacuation. This rearguard primarily consisted of cybernetically slaved soldiers and droid units, all utterly expendable and easily replaced. Phosphorous bombs were scattered in the withdrawing force's wake, blanketing hills and valleys in a cloud of burning vapors. Those that yet lingered on higher ground could survive the white smog, although there were far pressing matters than simple chemical weaponry.
A world was dying.
"Your vision is flawed, little Shade. A beast's savagery can be a powerful instrument, a vanguard of barbarism." He breathed in the ash that rose up from the smoldering ground, His ears picking up the high-pitched whine of starship engines growing louder and louder in the distance. He looked then, seeing the growing shape on the horizon, and knew what was coming. Likewise, He then cast His gaze to His apprentice, "It is time for you to leave, do not delay, or you will die with your training incomplete." The Dark Lord tolerated no argument. She would either leave of her own volition, or she would be made to. He had the power to enforce such things.
When that was done, the Dark Lord turned His attention back to the Shade. "All eyes were fixed upon Tython. For many months, none in the Jedi or Alliance could think of anything else. And if those minds were bent towards this singular catastrophe, then what beyond their periphery has been allowed to proceed unmolested?" Then the oncoming ship was upon Him, twin blaster cannons raking the ground around Him and exploding with tremendous power. The ground at His feet was broken, uprooted, and scattered to the wind. Fire bathed the entire hill, coating the ancient Jedi monoliths in searing flame. A salvo of missile punctuated the tremendous destruction, the seismic charge flattened what remained of the Force-henge; annihilating what remained of the ancient structure and rendering it to nothing but ruin. The basilisk's follow-up strike buried what remained, wiping it from the face of Tython.
All the while, fire raged furiously amidst the destruction. It spread eagerly, hungrily consuming anything in its path. Nothing was spared, not fabric nor flesh. Whatever greenery had survived the battle thus far was totally seared to ash, the fire running out of control as it jumped from place to place, eventually spreading into the grasslands and wooded areas nearby. Nothing that lived and breathed could have survived such an onslaught, the combined firepower enough to devastate an entire battalion of soldiers in the blink of an eye. And for a few moments after, it appeared as though nothing did.
But a shadow stirred in the conflagration. A silhouette appeared amidst the flames. One might have believed that it was the Dark Lord, again thrown up another barrier to protect Himself from harm, as He had done thus far. But no, the figure that stood taller than the licking flames was not the same Dark Lord that had stood there moments earlier.
What soft flammable material had cloaked His body had been completely burned away, the flesh beneath blackened and charred beyond recognition. His armor glowed red-hot, seething with intense heat, though it maintained it shape despite its superheated condition. In spite of everything, His heart still beat within His exposed rib cage; a charred organ that beat rhythmically even as the surrounding flesh had been reduced to ash and soot. All hair had been burned away, the flesh cooked until only small fragments clung to His smoking skull. Both of His eyes had been melted by the intense heat, but the harrowing glow of the Dark Side still illuminated both sockets; and that fierce gaze was fixated upon the pair of them in the sky above.
First He raised His right hand, then His left, both having been rendered down to bone held together by grotesque necrotic energies. With His right, He reached out with the immensity of the Force to try and seize Fett's ship as it pulled out of its devastating bombing run. With His left, He sought to seize the basilisk and its rider in that same tremendous grip. And with both, He endeavored to pull them down to the fiery ground, even as the world convulsed and died around them.
Without vocal cords, the Dark Lord's voice resonated across the land; cutting through all extant noises. "Revel in your hollow struggles, may they console you as this world rots."
Those words echoed out even as she fell, wide-eyed and in absolute terror as she dropped below hard and fast. The ground came up to meet her with a sickening thud as she landed hard, bouncing her head off the ground and blacking out.
She woke up to a strange but familiar sight, it was her old dusty room back on Atrisia, the room she'd called hers for the first fifteen years of her life. Everything was how as it had always been, her shelves filled with comic books bought from the local spaceport markets, her desk with assignments overdue and random doodles of bounty hunters young Rika had seen on the holonet. Cool and mysterious, they had occupied the young Atrisian's mind with the power and mythical status they possessed in the galaxy.
Rika put a hand up to her head and examined it to look for any blood, but there was nothing, not even a bruise or broken arm from her fall. So she must've been dreaming while knocked out, or more likely, she was already dead.
"Riiiiiiiikaaaaaa come on now, foods ready, and grab your sister while you're at it."
That voice. It was her mother's, a voice she hadn't heard since she left for the academy years prior. The same warm voice that had always been there for her, through good times and bad, and through the uncertain times of Rika's appointment to join the Imperial academy. Her father had been vehemently against it, refusing to see another family member go die for the Imperial cause on some backwater. But it was all Rika ever wanted, a chance to make a name and earn her family's respect, not by being married away to some rich Atrisian man or wasting away working in a shop in one of the bigger Atrisian cities.
"Ma?"
She asked pensively, edging closer to the door apprehensively before opening it and being greeted by her mother waiting, wearing the same old apron she always wore while slaving away cooking for her children.
"What's up sweetie?"
"Oh I uhhh..."
"What, you don't want to join us? Down here?" her mother smiled, pointing to the staircase, Rika peered over and saw the stairs, but where it led was dimly lit, with a figure blacked out and standing at the bottom silently waiting.
"Ma I-"
Her mother's once bright face twisted demonically, and she gripped Rika by the arm with clawed hands and screamed.
"JOIN US."
Rika awoke from her nightmares, the old sight of her home replaced with infernal red skies and black rock; she rolled on her side in agony, her arm broken and her head bleeding profusely. Above her was Ptolemis, descending from the skies like an angel of death coming to claim her. To which she accepted, closing her eyes and waiting for the end.
Ryv felt the built-up tension across his body slowly break apart with each strike. His time away from the battlefield hadn't been entirely peaceful, as various denizens of Denon weren't prone to easy living. Most found the sudden appearance of his bar an opportunity. A chance to make easy money, maybe capture a few unsuspecting peoples and ship them off to Hutt Space as slaves. Typical criminal behavior, really. The kiffar offered them the same kindness he showed the Sith throughout the war. That is to say, none. He wiped out gangsters, criminals, and bounty hunters by the dozens. Within months, his little corner of the slums had become a haven for those under his protection.
Still, run-of-the-mill criminals didn't quite compare to a Sith Lord. The Sith'ari, no less.
Behind the smile and corny jokes Ryv grew accustomed to throughout his many battles, an inkling of fear dwelled. A fear of dying before he could make a fundamental change in the galaxy plagued him throughout his youth. He feared failing those who looked up to him as he stepped into power. Even death brought a sense of terror into his troubled mind. He didn't want to die forgotten, alone somewhere, covered in his own blood, leaving those he cared about behind with no sense of closure.
Maybe those fears drove him into solitude. But never for an instant did the Sword of the Jedi regret his departure from the fight.
Ryv found purpose again behind the counter of his rundown tavern, serving drinks to those nestled happily in his corner of the Suicide Slums. Out on Denon, he found a family. He built a home for four young children who had already abandoned the idea of peace. He brought real and good change to their lives. Never did he fail them. And now, so far away from his home, locked in the struggle of life and death, he knew those children would not fail him.
He would not die forgotten. They would remember him.
He would not die alone. They were beside him in spirit, strengthening his resolve and guiding his heart.
Though their time together was short, Kyric, Kyla, Vhi, and Losa knew their father loved them dearly. They knew his purpose, what he meant to the galaxy, and what such things would do to their home. Together, they found love. And together, his children would endure without him, proud of their father's sacrifice.
Even as Solipsis collided with Ryv, shoulder slamming with enough force to lift the kiffar from his feet and send him tumbling across the cracked earth, a sense of peace washed over the Jedi Master. Ryv allowed Cotan's blade to fly out of reach somewhere behind him as he pressed his hand into the dirt and pushed with both body and mind. His wild tumble turned into a controlled slide as he came to a slow stop, propped up on one knee.
Solipsis drove his blade down in a devastating arc with enough fury to cut the kiffar in two. Ryv closed his hand into a fist and yanked it to the side. From his flank, Cotan's weapon flashed through the air in an upward swipe to parry away the crimson saber.
"If I've done my job, Hope will survive me, Solipsis," Ryv took a deep breath. He felt the might of the Sith'ari's mastery of the force close around his body like a giant, invisible fist. Ryv pictured a barrier taking shape close to his flesh, like a skintight suit, and he further envisioned the shield growing in size until it forced open the Dark Lord's metaphysical fist and freed him from the crushing grip.
The borrowed blade flashed out to the side as Ryv moved opposite the strike, narrowly avoiding Solipsis' weapon before Ryv wound his arm back and sent his fist skyward in an uppercut towards the Sith Lord's jaw.
The Reach of Kalikori, Southern Kalesh Plains, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876-ABY)
TLDR:
The Kandarans are hunting both Sabretooth Officers
'HASSAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!! I know you're nearby, so SHOW YOURSELF!!!!'
The right flank had held, and against all odds, the Kandaran ambush had given 3rd Battalion a fighting chance, but with the one company of greatest concern still actively holding the line, greater risk factors had shown their ugly faces in the process. Samir was in danger, and with no escape in sight, it was beginning to look like a fight to the death with his own subordinates. Several were being allocated to the task of finding and capturing the young Lieutenant, and with the lead-mutineer spearheading the hunt under fire, it looked to Hassan that his capture would result in torture until death.
'They don't matter now, Samir.... Follow me-'
Then out of nowhere, one of the Kandaran subordinates jumped down from atop a burned out Cataphract, driving the stock of his disruptor rifle into heavy contact with the back of Samir's helmet, knocking him out instantly and leaving his friend to fend off the mutineer on his own. And yet, fortunately for Hassan, the over-commitment of the attack had left the disloyal subordinate to deal with a Vibrobayonet through the eye in the Lieutenant's absence; and though the others would catch up eventually at that rate, further time bought until the body was discovered at least, though it was a particular blessing that Samir would be in too deep a stupor to be thankful for at the time. But as for their chances of surviving beyond that point, there was no doubt to Branko that their odds looked slim at best, but the will of the Mantellska wouldn't allow him to meekly accept his fate or that on behalf of Samir, every bone in his body was still willing to be a nuisance to the last.
'Ah, yes.... The final, wheezing death-rattle of infidelity. Enjoy eternity without a grave, scum.'
The Tiger within still had claws to maul with, and though they paled in comparison to those of their ogre-like friends on Ord Mantel, they were still enough to give the mutineers their worst, most-irritating headache of all. Considering this as he rolled Samir down toward the east bank of Lake Kaleth, Branko guiltily muttered,'My apologies, friend. Easier than carrying you down anyway, and the sand is soft enough, sooo....', as his boot nudged the unconscious Kandaran down on a harmless, rolling descent to safety, turning round to check behind them for every nudge that shunted his friend farther downhill. Marić had a plan, though he hoped nothing would trip him up beyond the point of reaching the boat he saw in the distance, and when they eventually reached the east bank, the captain would punch the air after discovering that it was still in perfect working order.
Smiling under the obscurity of his helmet, Branko felt he shouldn't be disheartened by the last part of the plan, as in his desperate logic at the time, not even the exertions of dragging and lifting Samir aboard could sow any doubt by then. But when they started pushing westward, the engine-rumble caught the attention of their pursuers, letting loose with disruptor trails as the boat veered ever closer towards the Lonely Isle, kicking up water-vapor in his zig-zagging patterns as Marić unwittingly veered closer and closer towards their Lord-General's position. The only thing that stopped the mutineers from continuing was the fact some Burned Legion stragglers had spotted them, coupled with seeing the boat crashing to irreparable proportions and assuming their former commanders to have died on impact. And yet, unbeknownst to their pursuers, both Samir and Branko were alive and unharmed by the impact, though Hassan was still very much unconscious at the time.
However, it was here that Branko's back would be injured again, as the force of the crash had sent him careening through the air into a very old, very wide tree, breaking up most of the armour-plating that stood between the immovable surface and the muscles in his upper and lower back alike. It would be a while before the pain subsided enough to function, but Marić didn't mind, he had successfully gotten Hassan to safety without losing his life in the attempt, and he wouldn't need to worry about exerting himself again for a while - or so the Captain thought.
A voice was exclaiming on comms in desperation, calling out for a name he couldn't hear, though the voice itself was easy enough to recognise, as it belonged to the Lord-General of IMPAF. Comforting though it was to know that the old Woad was alive and well, the tone of Lord Erskine's voice was sending the chill of foreboding down Branko's spine, almost immediately inducing pain that intensified those he was feeling across his back until that moment, and in the searing, widely-dispersed agonies, Branko began searching his utility belts for painkiller stims to get himself upright again. But once again, the Captain's bad luck would set him back once more, judging his dosage just a little too high to viably maintain full coherence, and as the world started to blur before his very eyes, Marić began to chuckle wryly at his own stupidity.
'Is... Is that- snow falling? In these - c-conditions?'
COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 24
The Reach of Kalikori, Southern Kalesh Plains, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876-ABY)
TLDR:
McGechin, Annor E-059 and Lord Ollis are readied to move
Engines started and wedge-formation set
McGechin lets Ollis assume control for the next segment of the fight
'YOU FEEL THAT, ANNOR? THAT RUMBLING BENEATH OUR FEET?!?!?! THAT CAN BURN ANY MAWITE TO A CINDER BY THE TIME THE LAST O' THE BIKES FLY OVER 'EM!!!!'
Revving, engine ignitions from stalls, all the sounds of the mounted formation of Hobilars' speeders, and with power-lances aplenty to offer on the left-side of every chassis as far as the eye could see. At the front of the formation, where Lord Ollis, Lord Carwood and Annor E-059 were, the hulking cousin of Lord Erskine would lead the formation with McGechin and the elite trooper set just behind his vehicle on either side. Whether the Mawites in the distance were engaging their comrades or not, they would still be able to hear the mechanical roars from almost a mile away, so time was still very much of the essence, as the element of surprise was vanishing along with their chances of breaking through. They had to act and act quickly, and by the look on Lord Ollis' face, it looked like the Laird of Faslane was beyond eager to get going, even going so far as to stand up for a potential better look at the terrain ahead.
'WORST WAY ONE CAN DIE TO ONE O' THESE - BUT LAIRD OLLIS HERE MIGHT CHANGE YOUR MIND WITH THESE POWER-LANCES!!!! TIME WILL TELL, I SUPPOSE!!!!'
As he turned his attention back to Lord Ollis, Lord Carwood cursorily slapped his fellow Woad on the arm to signal the others were set and poised to move, giving a courteous point down towards Barran's greatsword as his friend turned to listen. Letting his voice sail over the nearest repulsorlift revs as he roared,'IT'S TIME - TWO BARRAN SWORDS WILL BE DRAWN IN THE SAME BATTLE!!!! FIRST TIME IN ALMOST A CENTURY!!!!', McGechin reached down for a power-lance, and when he was done with the historical significance of the moment, Lord Carwood couched it under-arm and silently ordered Annor to follow suit. It was the last possible chance to make a difference in the fight, but it was ultimately still a decision that rested solely with Lord Ollis, a decision that the Lord-Major refused to pressure or influence beyond the point of explaining it's significance.
Its either us, or none at all.... Show the Galaxy how Woads are supposed to fight.
COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 25
The Lonely Isle, Lake Kaleth, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)
TLDR:
Alone with the assumed corpses of the Mongrel and Mercy
Erskine is still trying to patch through to Rurik, not knowing he is already dead
Feels the touch of a hand on his shoulder
Eina informs him of the situation, offers for Erskine to stay a while
Also suggests it would be better to take charge of his faction while he still can
Erskine takes the suggestion, thanks Eina for her help and what she is doing for Keilara/Kallan
Embarks but finds battered troopers in his boat also
<"Rurik, please. I'm actually begging you here. Pleading for you to survive, understand? YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LEAVE EMPIRES TO OLD MEN LIKE ME, RURIK!!!!">
The world was seemingly preparing itself for the last gasp, leaving the impression it was in the last burning death-rattle of it's living, breathing time under the sun. A calm, serene wonder, replaced by the raging beauty of all the hot, fiery colours of change and destruction alike, a replacement beauty that still somehow paled in comparison to the strangely breath-taking environment that covered the Lonely Isle at the time. And as the world burned in agony around it, the arena of the last great sword-duel would embrace the eerily, contrastingly-cold downpour of snow, such that mirrored the snows on Ilum almost perfectly.
"<Just stand up, wherever you are! Please, Rurik. GET ON YOUR FEET AN' GET OFF THIS GOD-FORSAKEN PLANET - I'M NOT WILLING TO LOSE A SECOND SAVIOUR IN MY LIFETIME!!!!">
But Barran was circling a drain much too intensely to notice any of it.
Yet still, making it all the more obvious as to what state the old Woad's mind was in, would be the fact he would be unaware of much more than that; as in his tear-filled haze of anguish, trying his utmost to escape a fate he never wanted for himself, Lord Erskine's mind would be in far too much trouble to notice a supremely-powerful entity had landed near what remained of the campfire. Unable to hear the landing, unable to hear the saint as she queried,'But who are you willing to lose? Nobody wins in war.', after overhearing his anguish in the early moments of her arrival, easily deducing the situation as it unfolded. Laying a hand on his shoulder, the reality of this statement would lash at the last semblance of hope to which he clung so fiercely as the saint continued,'They won't answer, I'm sorry, but Lord Rurik Fel is dead, Darth Solipsis killed him. His soul is already in the Netherworld.', destroying every chance of a near-miss in his mind - but only for his own good.
'No, not Rurik.... Not another one! This curse isn't even supposed to be mine to b-'
It was a necessary part of the healing process, as even in the distraught, grief-struck depths of his soul, the warmth of the magic would reach far in it's easy attempt to soothe all agonies Lord Erskine was wracked with. Heart, mind, and soul would meet the unrivalled light of Ashla, the sort that cut through the most menacing of shadows, the most debilitating of pains, and the most hurtful of memories like an assassin's dagger, or perhaps like a field-surgeon's scalpel in precise contrast. Breaking off what didn't belong, breaking down the desperation that assailed him, though it would have appeared to some as the wrong thing to do, was rightly done in the spirit of necessity. Cold and blunt though she had sounded before, the real necessity that brought the saint to the Lonely Isle would draw the attention of the Empire's de facto ruler eventually, and teary-eyed though he was, Lord Erskine would still be able to see and hear the emotion that was taking hold, a complete difference to the calmly caring demeanour from before.
'Their fight is not over yet. They are still alive. They both suffer, the girl was able to break the Mongrel's chains. Do you know what the souls of the people of the Maw are like? I see it. The Heathen Priests shatters, tears the old personality to pieces and seizes hatred, fear and builds a new personality from the remnants. All their warriors suffers, they are tortured and mutilated souls. They have almost no members who have joined voluntarily. Or I haven't met such people. They are victims, the Maw controls them, and forces them to fight. He was like that too, tortured, torn apart. But Maw's corruption is gone from his soul, I see traces of the girl's soul and mind on it. He just wanted to be with the girl, away from the fights, the war. And that's what she wanted too. Tragic fate.'
Lord Erskine was struggling to believe Eina in the beginning, as it looked to Barran that Asher & Mercy had since departed from the mortal realms as his Emperor had, looking over at them as the snow continued to cover their limp forms, serene and peaceful like the island itself. But in hearing what else the saint had to say, it wasn't long before the sense she made of the Maw confirmed what she said to be true, for none with that amount of insight on their enemy should be taken lightly, with the old Woad being a particular proponent to this philosophy and taking it to heart as she contextualised it in a way that reminded Barran of his own marital obligations. Reminded of his wife for the second time as he watched the snow falling on his rival and the woman his rival loved dearly, but in turn, reminded of the curse of his Imperial predecessors, the inescapable burden that was the Empire's colossal mantle of responsibility.
If there is fight left in them, hope still remains for both.
But not for me, not for the ruler of an Empire. The curse passes on to me.
And there it shall remain, for it shall die with me also.
Then, as the saint stood up and approached the deathly-still forms of Mercy and the Mongrel, she stopped in her tracks, turned around to ask,'Do you want to stay here with me until it's over?', still effortlessly embodying her part as the spirit of compassion in these moments. A kind offer of protection it was, and in feeling nought but true-hearted assurance in the way she spoke, the former Lord-General knew the being of Light before him would keep him safe in the event he decided to stay; a most-tempting offer, and in the best possible way, but Barran was hesitating when others would have acquiesced immediately in his stead. Sensing this somehow, Eina continued,'I understand if you leave, although I am not familiar with your politics, but I think you must take command, Lord Barran.',
without so much as a thought to offences taken or hurt from refusal.
'You are far too patient for your own good, but for this, I am grateful.... Whoever you are, thank you.'
Bowing, Lord Erskine looked down at the snow-covered leaved underneath his boots, taking it all in as he raised his head high once more, Lord Erskine concluded,'Also, before I leave; that parrying-blade there, the decorative-pattern number you see by the campfire, that is my tribute and gesture of reverence to the one who awaits me in the Nether.... Tortured and reshaped though he was, the wild one o'er there was still a hero in his own right. An' thus the blade goes everywhere the armour does.', unclipping the little scabbard and passing it to Eina before turning to find the boat he used to get to the Lonely Isle in the beginning. However, much like his new acquaintance had in the moments before, Lord Erskine would also find himself stopping mid-transit, feeling obligated enough to the Saint's kindness that he was completely unwilling to part on the ceremonial formalities he had just uttered.
Eina was committing far too much of herself to just part on his verbalised wishes for the tormented one, working far too many wonders and miracles alike to just leave it at that.
'Be safe, young Saint. For I want no lesser replacement as my guide to the afterlife.'
An' when that day comes - she'll know exactly where t'send you, ol' boy.
And with that, the old Woad made off to the island's north-western coastline, drawing his pistol as he went, looking left to right and back again as he disappeared into the treeline. All Eina would see in the distance, seeing all as her celestial eyes peered through the wide-dispersing droplets of snow, would be the head and shoulders of a reluctant ruler, with his shadow marching on with the weight of the Galaxy bearing down on him - the same outlined silhouette the saint would seek out in years not too distant to a man already living as an old, bloodied warrior.
However, despite it all, the old man had done his duty, achieving what he had set out to do almost twelve years before.
For the Emperor, his domains and peoples, for Laird Aron Gowrie's peace of mind, and that of the wives of both Goidelic swordsmen, and for Shai Krayt; for Kolson Vrask, Sephi Karneh and all the rest of Vandal Squad, and for Sellis Gorman and the fallen Blue-Hearts on Ilum - Barran's Order had prevailed over Mawite Chaos once and for all.
But the fight to survive on Tython, as distant as it had been to Lord Erskine before that moment, was still one he needed to take seriously by then, even as he approached a lake transport he hadn't seen in a while; and in his haze of grief, along with the time spent concentrating on the task of surviving his duel against Asher, any-thing or any-one could have happened on boat at the northwest mooring in the former-Stormchaser's absence. Much had certainly been missed in his desperation, and within moments, the old Woad would know this to be true, just not in the way he was expecting. First, it was groaning and chatting in hushed tones, next was the shuffle of their armour as they trained their sights on the approaching former Lord-General, kneeling with pistol aimed already. After this, Barran would hear sighs of relief, followed by an elated outburst of,'Its alright, Lord Erskine is here.... We're safe.', as both soldiers were heard putting their weapons down.
'DO WE LOOK SAFE, TROOPER?!?!'
And just like that, both troopers picked their weapons up again, scanning the western coastline in the distance like it was just another day on a Ravelin training-exercise. Though they were both clearly happy to see a man they assumed was still a Lord-General at the time, it was obvious that duty still called, and as the volcano's ash poured a white snow of it's own on the reality-warped world beyond, both Sabretooth troopers understood that their means of escaping Tython still needed to be assured - especially if they wished for their sword-wielding commander to keep their beloved Empire alive.
Ollis stood the only member of his group without a power lance, just a sawn-off '35 in a saddle holster, his disruptor, and the massive sword that he was known for. The speeder bike roared underneath him, engine fighting against repulsor-brakes as it tried to leap forward into the fight that it knew was awaiting it, spurred on by Carwood's words. But not yet; McGechin knew his stuff, he was a better tactician than Ollis by far, but the Laird of Faslane was not the type to rush in and throw his men to an early grave.
But there wasn't time to waste, either.
He pulled down his electro-binoculars, tossing them to his second in command. "Make sure Carwood an' the lass make it through, Niall," he growled. "Ye'll lead the second troop. Peel right, A'll tak the others left." At the younger man's affirmation, Ollis dropped down hard into the saddle of his bike, lifting up his greatsword in one hand, point to the sky. There were no words that any of his hobelars needed to hear; even with some of their losses replenished after joining with the New Imperial Order and the rest of the Galidraani forces, they were still a small, tight-nit group, all of whom knew exactly what to expect from their bear-like leader. Even with the two additions to their number, they were scarce more than sixty.
But with power lances, heavy blasters, blaster cannons, and the superheated vibroblades that made up the front halves of their bikes, they could strike with the power of an entire regiment of normal bike-troopers.
Alright, lads. Wha wants tae live foraye?
He lowered his blade and leaned forward on his seat, both troops of his hobelars following immediately behind as he sped ahead straight for the enemy lines with a wordless roar, Niall and the others doing the same. The only worry for Annor and Carwood would be whether they were fast enough to pick up on what was happening and catch up with the rest; Ollis and his men had long since done away with any expectations for grand statements before the charge.
In war, there was only the crush of bodies, blood from the hero and the unworthy alike, and the glory that awaited at the end of it all. The same expectation that had carried his men to crash head-first into the lines of the enemy time and again since the Sith first expelled them from Galidraan, and it would lead them to the same now.
64 Light Cavalry troopers on Ceylon bikes, with SA-35 and 65 blasters, currently en route to crash into the battle lines of the Maw in T-10 seconds. Lads, I'm not much of a war poster, I'm more of a duelist who works off of what the war posters toss my way; have at it!
Hilal Vizsla
