Campaign Spark of Rebellion: Imperial Twilight | TF vs DE

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Joseph Torson

Jonyna's objective was simple.

Wreck chit.

The first thing she did upon landing, after rolling and allowing Dice to get his footing, was throw a gust of wind in all directions. Itemize everything in the room...

Then break it. Telekinesis and pyrokinesis crushing and igniting everything bolted down or otherwise. Tie fighters, repair systems, hanger locks. The only thing she kept untouched were the shields, keeping the airlock closed.

Then came the marines.

The survivors of her bombastic crash landings found their bearings just as she did, but unlike them, Jonyna had a plan. She drew her saber, not just deflecting the blaster bolts, but reflecting them right back at the marines, before charging forward, and slicing through the marines. She had no sympathy for stormtroopers, and while she certainly wasn't the rebel she was before, she still had the fire in her to do so.

Meanwhile, Dice had gotten to work. While his master pushed forward, the little astromech idly rolled over to a hidden panel, and cracked it open, splicing his way into the terminal.

Start small.

Turn off the internal lights. All of them.

 

[Talsin Lota]

Tag: Darth Centax
Objective: II
Location: Tython - Temple

It hurt him that he wasn't on Teta currently. Every fiber of his being had wanted to be part of the fight on his homeworld. But he had made an alliance with the Foundation. The Hand of Freedom and Mother Askani reached out to him out of the blue. An organization that wanted to fight against the Empire in the Deep Core. Somehow they found out that he was funding a deep-settled rebellion group that was sabotaging efforts of the Empire to consolidate their gains on Teta.

How could Talsin decline?

In exchange for their support, they requested him to assist their efforts on Tython. It made him bleed, that his boots were on Tython's soil, instead of Teta. But this was the best way he could help his people.

That's all that mattered.

While the main forces were going toe-to-toe, trying to force a breach from either direction, Tal picked the more subtle approach. Cloaked in the Force he circled around... finding an entry point into the Temple. There were multiple life signs around him. Some more powerful, some less so. All of them steeped in the Darkside though.

One in particular peeked his interest. He seemed to be the leader of the forces outside or at the very least the one calling the shots currently. It was only in a fairy tale that cutting off the snake's head would dissolve an army. But it could certainly make a difference. He stealthed from the top, clinging to the wall, following along.

Until Centax separated himself from the others and found himself alone... once an opening was found? Talsin would leap towards the Sith, hoping to run him through in one go.

But knowing already it would not be so simple.

 

[Rath Nihro]

Location: Tython, Akar Kesk
Equipment: Storm Breaker, Shroudsaber, Shroudshoto, Ace of Spades, Empire’s Shadow, 2 Lightsaber (Blue + Green)
Tags: Corazona von Ascania

The battle that took place all over Akar Kesh was the equivalent to moths drawn to a flame. A wound in the veil that bled into the world of Tython. The once hallowed halls had been corrupted by the Dark, the once crystalline waters had been polluted into something of crimson and violet that emitted an ominous chill in the air. Wails of disembodied voices were drowned by the occasional rumblings, or mixed with the distant voices as if welcoming another for the spectral chorus.

Not unlike how the spirits cry out within the body of Rath as he channeled the Force as naturally as breathing air. Their souls gave him strength when he needed it, and currently their strength was in the form of wielding one of the slain Jedi’s lightsaber as it soared through the air unrestrained by mortal coils. Seamlessly slashing and thrusting at the bothan Jedi without showing signs of tiring as the blue blade pressed its relentless assault upon the Jedi.

The veteran wasn’t faring much better as the initial advantage he had over the dark warrior had vanished the moment the shoto came into play. There wasn’t a movement wasted nor another miscalculation on Rath’s part. As fluid as flowing water, yet the heavy strikes were precise as the Master was forced on the backfoot in his attempt to parry the incoming strikes. Rath didn’t allow the Jedi to counter either as he pressed the advantage. It wasn’t just the storm of lightsabers that the master had to contend with, but also the fact that the dark warrior gracefully mixed feints with his movements that tricked the eyes. Had it not been the Force flowing through the Master’s body to hone his senses and sharpen his reflexes. He likely would have fallen to the man’s blade at least once or twice.

Kesk, the bothan Jedi, managed to summon the Force to unleash a wave of kinetic force to push the lightsaber away from him with an extended hand and towards Rath himself. The blue blade spun like a deadly disc towards the dark warrior. Rath had broken off the engagement from the Master to deflect the projectile off to the side. Ordinarily the man would press the advantage, but all of the rapid defense and last split second calculations had left the man winded as he stumbled back against the wall that was cool to the touch. By the time the kinetic force had reached Rath, the power had diminished enough to where it might as well have been a breeze from the lack of a reaction aside from his cloak billowing behind him.

”By the Light, who exactly are you…?” The battered man breathed heavily as sweat trickled down his brow. It was difficult to tell if the warrior before them was tired as well as he raised his lightsaber with sparks of white trickling down into the void. A clash between the bothan and Rath was made as the Jedi rushed forward with a downward strike.

In all of his years, the Master had known about the Dark Elite both from their records and from personally dealing with them himself on occasion. It was only a swift movement as Rath spun around the bothan as he yielded the clash, causing Kesk to stumble forward, but not before the bothan suddenly realized that he was now missing an arm that held the lightsaber. The look of confusion as the shock suddenly made the bothan’s body go numb.

”W-what…?” Then a streak of blue flew across the hallway as the slain Jedi’s lightsaber was straight and true as an arrow before burying itself into the bothan’s chest down to the hilt. The older man’s eyes widened once again as another had been returned to the light. His breath hitched as the strong jaw clenched, his grip onto the yellow lightsaber clenched tightly.

”No one that you’ll remember.” Rath spoke as he unceremoniously plucked Kesk’s lightsaber from the severed arm as the other kinetically controlled lightsaber lifted itself from the slain bothan. Rath switched off the black blades before tucking them away onto his belt, and the other two lightsabers flew into his expected hands. Immediately he felt the crystals thrumming with the Force as they practically screamed in his palms.

”Even if you strike us down, more will come to finish what we came here for! There’s nowhere for you to run and hide!” That one word gave Rath pause as he slightly tilted his head, yellow eyes that burned like smoldering embers under the mask focused upon the sole Jedi.

”Run?” Such a ridiculous notion, and yet the shadowy figure simply shook his head disapprovingly.

”There is no running in this situation. You’re the one who insisted on fighting, so don’t blame me for dying. Or for getting those close to you killed because of your blinded devotion.” The master was mustering his strength as he was determined to fight tooth and nail to the end. The words that had played from Rath’s lips fell upon deaf ears. Not that it mattered as Rath simply raised a hand that held the green lightsaber, and with only two fingers raised towards the veteran. His eyes widened in horror as an unseen force had seized not the hand, but at the man’s lightsaber.

”What…? What are you doing?! Stop this, you can’t-!” Never before the Master had seen someone telekinetically seize someone’s lightsaber as such, and to make matters worse he couldn’t let go of the lightsaber either as he mustered every ounce of strength he had as the kinetic grip was slowly turning the lightsaber’s angle towards himself. His arms trembled from extreme effort to resist, and in his quick thinking the veteran turned off the yellow blade. It was clear as day that the man was losing this test of strength, and for a moment the Master thought it was his end when the lightsaber was angled directly at his face.

Perhaps that was how it should’ve ended, except in that moment Rath felt a shift in the Force. Unlike many, if not all Force-Users, he could not detect the dark side or the light. Only through the scents could he tell the difference, but even with the mask that filtered the scents out. Rath could still feel the Force much like how people could feel the ebb and flow of unseen water. The time of the darkness was beginning to crack, and the once cloudy future had shown a glimpse of peace being restored to this part of the galaxy.

A sigh escaped from his lips as Rath forced the lightsaber to angle itself lower, and with a flex of Rath’s fingers the yellow blade ignited. Puncturing the old man’s abdomen for only a second as he gasped in shock. His legs felt like it had been turned into jelly as they collapsed underneath him.

”It seems like the Force has more plans for you. Consider yourself lucky, if you survive.” The yellow lightsaber was only ignited to puncture through the Master’s abdomen, and then it had switched off just as quickly as it appeared. Rath looked on ahead where the Jedi had come from, and instead of finding another to fight. The Elite simply switched off the foreign lightsabers and knelt down to the marble floor. Where he simply waited for the next wave of Jedi, or perhaps a singular force.

 

[Corin Trenor]

CORIN
TYTHON
TAG: Serina Calis

"Enough talk, then."

His voice was flat, cold. His mouth was an upturned line, tilted into a faint scowl. It would never, could never work. He offered it countless times and each occasion was rebuked in turn. Perhaps it was a foolish stubbornness, or a faded memory of his master. One that refused to die.

She was a shadow, tendrils of smoke. She crossed the space between them with a particular grace. Practised, possibly. His eyes, marred with glyphs and runes, studied her every movement. Studied the gleaming weapon that she refused to part with; what a sight it was, there was no doubt it held a great deal of significance, of pride in wielding it. Once, Corin might have known that for himself.

Corin did not rush ahead, brandish his weapon and boast. He did not plead and insist upon surrender.

He maintained a stare of his own, one that burned with an equal flame.

The Jedi, or what once was, lowered and pressed his palm to the forest floor. He could feel it - the weight of the earth, of what was rich and full of life, of what was dense and lifeless. His eyes closed shut, as if to breathe the world in anew, and then his presence in the Force shot out in arcing lines, creasing out across the area that surrounded them both. In a rupturing blast, the Force stretched across the lines that his use of shatterpoint created. He split the soil and upended the earth, shattered stones both big and small, while trees groaned beneath their uneven footing and fell, as others stood strong.

A probing attack, to see how Serina would adapt and overcome.

 

[Joseph Torson]

S P A R K_O F_R E B E L L I O N - I M P E R I A L_T W I L I G H T
Objective I - Freedom's Fire

DARK EMPIRE
EMPRESS TETA, DEEP CORE

Spoiler: Gear

• Plasma Disruptor Rifle [1]
• NK01 Fujita Rail Pistols [2]
• Tenebrae Commando Armor Mk. II [w/ Jetpack + Flight Attachment]
• Jūryoku 12 Repulsor Grenades [5]
• Konīde 10 Plasma Detonators [5]

Spoiler: Accompanying Forces

• Red Right Hand Operatives [10/10]

As Jonyna fought through the Stormtroopers, the offices within the Hangar Control terminal witnessing the fight go on between the Stormtroopers and the Jedi were quick to relay this newfound information concerning the intruder to the bridge. "This is Side Hangar 4 to the Bridge. The Intruder is a Jedi. I repeat the Intruder is a Jedi." the lead control officer said through the comms right before the lights went out.

Meanwhile Torson and his Men were in an elevator heading down to the same level as the Side Hangar in which the Intruder had landed in when he was contacted by Rackham from the Bridge. "Captain Torson, we just got word that the intruder is a Jedi. I'd highly advise you arm yourself appropriately when confronting them." Rackham informed him. "Roger that, Colonel." Torsonr responded before the channel was terminated. Jedi. Torson had fought them before, at Tython which had cost him his legs. However back then Torson and his Men were fighting a whole Strike Team of Jedi with limited support. Now it was just a singular Jedi, which the Red Right Hand should be more then capable of dealing with.

Nevertheless the Special Forces Operative knew the dangers the Jedi posed and thus instead of rushing for the Hangar to directly confront her, he went for a nearby armory to pick up the necessary weapons and equipment that would enable him to properly confront and neutralize the Jedi target. A Pseudosonic Beam Rifle, some Ravenous Grenades and a Ysalamiri Cradle would be sufficient enough to give Torson a considerable advantage over the Jedi once they crossed paths.

Back in the Hangar, a second group of Marine Stormtroopers had arrived in the hangar taking cover behind some of the equipment scattered throughout the Hangar and some of the Vehicles in the Hangar themselves while opening fire upon the Jedi and slowly trying to encircle her in an attempt to pin her down as a third group of Marine Stormtroopers entered the fray. The Empire was now fully aware that there was a Jedi Intruder on the Ship and given their experience with Jedi Boarding Parties they were ready to pursue any means necessary to remove them before they could do any considerable damage.

[Friendlies] | OPEN
[Hostiles] | Jonyna Si
​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

OBJ II

Lt. Bren Alazar Rath Nihro

Connel's decision to hold off the approaching Sith was a simple one. Simple did not always mean easy, but it was a choice he'd made with conviction. Reclaiming Tython from the Empire's hands was a gargantuan task, one that was larger than all of them.

Cora raised her chin as Connel Vanagor looked to her.

Keep moving, and don't look back.

She nodded once, sharply. "May the Force be with you, Connel Vanagor," she said. "Or I will drag you back from the nether myself."

With that, she turned her sights to the looming temple of Akar Kesh.

As they moved through the din of battle, Lt. Alazar's words had a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Even in death, I would find a way to lecture him." Connel was not one of her students - he'd reached knighthood before her - but that would not recuse him from her chiding.

"We make for Akar Kesh."

The snipers worked with efficiency, helping to clear a path that would bring them closer to the temple. A small breech in the wall allowed the team to slip through.

Cora had tread on many battlefields thick with Dark miasma. The corruption of Tython was by far, the most perverse she'd come across. Now that they were in the temple proper, the Force felt heavy, almost dense with smog.

Another Jedi passed on to Ashla. Cora wrapped one gloved hand around her talisman and said a quiet prayer. There was a visceral, living Darkness that emanated from the same direction. Something powerful - something that could interfere with the Jedi sent to purify the inner chambers.

"I believe it is time for us to become a distraction," she said with a glance to Bren. Cora was no master of stealth, but she could wave a saber around to grab attention.

Her footsteps, slow and purposeful, echoed down the hall. It wasn't long until she came upon the source of so much discourse in the Force; a man, slight of form kneeling on the floor. In front of him was a grizzled Master, splayed on the tile and gravely injured.

Her focus softened, only for a moment. Cora had not expected to find a Jedi still clinging to life. Her gaze swept from aged veteran to the combatant who'd dispatched him - and judging by the disarray of their surroundings - his allies, as well.

"Oh dear," she sighed. "Would you allow this man to be extracted, unhindered?"

 

[Darth Imperius]

• Objective: II. Tipping Point
  • Primary: Defend the Temple
  • Secondary: Draw in the enemy
• Location: Tython | Akar Kesh | Temple Steps
• Tags:
  • Allied: Open
  • Adversary: Caltin Vanagor
• Theme: So it begins

"You are the storm?" He extended his arms to include the scenery of war and destruction that was unfolding around them. Jedi faced Sith as in tales of old, warriors clashed, their blades singing with the ever present noise of screams and the smell of war. It had its own scent of burnt earth, iron, blood and rot, every soldier has smelled it, knew it. Nature knew no peace, evolution no idleness. And neither did the Sith. "You are merely whistle against a gale. Your so called wisdom is petty ignorance. Do you think that more than seven thousand years of war are an expression of balance? Your presumption of peace and balance is flawed as it is the very foundation which creates the strife you oppose, it fuels suffering, mayhem and havoc, it spawns it. Your denial will only dig deeper the grave of self-conscience and independent thought you already lack."

"And you are here by our design. Your belief that our hubris matches yours, is such a sweet treat. We will always outpace you, you will always be the one to react. And whatever your friends and comrades try to do - we are not trapped in here with you. You are trapped in here with me."

"I am the Lord of Wrath. Every swing you take accelerates my rise."

And with that the arm that was not holding his lightsaber came up, first pointing at Caltin before all fingers extended. Suddenly from within his black-plated limb started to crackle, sparks rushing across its surface as the runes and red glow intensified. A red light burst from his hand, five bolts of intense lightning, glowing red and violet bridged the gap between the two. All happened within a heartbeat.

So the battle would have one more engagement added to it. War was there judge. The only judge Darth Imperius accepted.

Equipment
| Lightsaber | Greatsword | Armor | Amulet | Shuttle |
Order of Battle
| Knights Tenebrus |​

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

Right back what is wrong…
Tython
What was once “The Gnarls”

That got him going…

Caltin held not facial twinges or prepared no comedic returns, he simply held images of circus clowns in his mind and with his free hand, repeatedly opened and clasped his hand as if to mock Imperius’ diatribe. He said nothing, but this was nothing more than posturing to him, it’s all it ever was? Balance? What did he think this was? The only shift was the paltry ritual from the fool that had to defile a planet never truly meant for them in the first place. The rest is nothing more than hyperbole. Though the big man made sure not to let the Sith’s love for loquacious moments and verbal bravado fool him. This Dark Lord was menacing, imposing and powerful.

Then in an instant things changed.

He did not just look powerful, Imperius indeed was the lightning screamed across the air and into the free hand of the massive Jedi Master and was strong enough to push it back…

… not strong enough to knock him down though.

Vanagor managed to push his hand back to full extension and hold it, his lightsaber hand not pushing his weapon blade into the ground (basically implanting it momentarily) and in an instant of his own, let the energy run through his body and into his now other free hand and back at the Dark Lord.

A moment later, he was done, and retaking his weapon into his hand. Anytime you’re ready to get serious… It might have been the runes escalating his already immense power, but the lightning that this monster threw at him had a lingering twinge effect on him. Would it affect the Jedi? Probably not, but it was an effective message as to just who and what the big man was up against.

No one said this would be easy.

TAGS Darth Imperius TAGS
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

Wrong account

 

[Lt. Bren Alazar]

​

​

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Seraphim
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

Let’s do it. Though his orders were to be a distraction to her. This was what it was about. Their mission was simple, hers was the complicated one and each of them got that.

Hold position… man down… several down…

They were identifying a man, was he a Jedi? Either way Cora seemed to be concerned, like she knew him or something.

Jeremiel, with me. Neither were dedicated “Corpsman” but they went to work on applying what medical training they did have on the individual. He did not look like he could be moved.

Perimeter. All he had to say was one word and the other members moved into positions where they could protect the two team members working on the fallen. Cora could decide for herself what to do.

TAGS: Corazona von Ascania , Rath Nihro

 

[Darth Imperius]

• Objective: II. Tipping Point
  • Primary: Defend the Temple
  • Secondary: Draw in the enemy
• Location: Tython | Akar Kesh | Temple Steps
• Tags:
  • Allied: Open
  • Adversary: Caltin Vanagor
• Theme: The Opening

The Dark Lord was indeed done talking. He had said his part and was now focused on doing what he was best at.

As the battle begins, the ancient warrior feels a surge of primal energy coursing through his veins, a symphony of adrenaline and the Dark side of the Force intertwining into a torrent of raw power. The air around him crackles with tension, and his senses sharpen to a razor's edge. Every breath draws in the chaos of the battlefield - the screams of the dying, the clash of weapons, the scent of burning flesh and scorched earth. These are not distractions; they are fuel.

The emotions of the combatants around them - fear, anger, desperation - wash over the Sith Lord like a storm, feeding his connection to the Force. He drinks in the suffering, the death, the despair, and it ignites a fire within him. Each cry of pain, each life extinguished, becomes a spark that feeds his dark power. The Force flows through him like a river of shadow, amplifying his strength, speed, and resolve. He is not merely a participant in the battle; he is its apex predator, a force of nature made manifest. The deflected lightning shoots back towards, the manifestation of the Dark side returned by a Jedi makes him excited. Instead of playing the game of the deluded, his hand, still up, simply catches the powers unleashed.

Anticipation builds within him, a coiled tension that demands release. He yearns to unleash his powers, to carve through his enemies with lightsaber and Force alike, to prove his dominance and revel in the destruction he brings. Yet, this eagerness is not reckless. It is tempered by a cold, calculating focus. Imperius' mind is a fortress of self-control, his emotions honed into weapons as deadly as his blade. His wrath is not blind; it is precise, a controlled inferno that burns with purpose. As he feels the thrill of the fight, the excitement of testing his limits, it is channeled into a state of cold fury.

He moves. Or at least, he must have for it was not visible to the naked eye. Only one attuned to the Force would be able to spot the vague, ghostly shape in the path he took, a local memory at something that went by, violating laws of physics and reason, and appeared somewhere else. That somewhere else was in Caltin's vicinity, to his offhand flank. Darth Imperius' lightsaber came in a flurry of one-handed attacks, powerful, precise and more technical than brutish.

Every movement is deliberate, every strike calculated. The chaos of the battlefield becomes a canvas, and he is the artist, painting in strokes of violence and power. Imperius is both predator and strategist, his mind clear even as his emotions rage. In this moment, the Dark Lord of the Ascendant Order is alive in a way that only battle can make him. He is the embodiment of the Sith Code and the battlefield is his proving ground, his temple, and his altar.

And he is ready to claim his due.

Equipment
| Lightsaber | Greatsword | Armor | Amulet | Shuttle |
Order of Battle
| Knights Tenebrus |​

 

[Rath Nihro]

Location: Tython, Akar Kesk
Equipment: Storm Breaker, Shroudsaber, Shroudshoto, Ace of Spades, Empire’s Shadow, 2 Lightsaber (Blue + Green)
Tags: Corazona von Ascania , Lt. Bren Alazar

Another came through the stygian darkness, like a stone of respite wading through an unseen river. Their steps were slow, yet filled with purpose. Rath knew not of whom would pass through the consecrated halls. Only that whoever or whatever it was. Rath knew that he couldn’t let them pass. Even if the others had miraculously failed at some point, his watch would continue until it was done. His grip on the cylindrical hilts was firm with his thumb of each hand hovering over the activation buttons.

The duets of amber that continued to burn like a calm blaze peered through the dark mask onto the newcomer. A Jedi from what he could feel mixed with his knowledge of where they came from. Emerging from the darkness was someone that Rath didn’t recognize. Nor would he as most Jedi he encountered often drew their sabers first and strike. Perhaps in the past, when he served the Eternal Empire, he wouldn’t have hesitated to end another’s life. Whether they were Sith, or a Jedi. So long as they were traitors to the Overlord, Rath had spared none.

But now? His eyes flitted over to the lightsaber hilt in her hand, yet it was not ignited. Not even when she took in the sorrowful sight of a critically injured Jedi and the other two slain. He was mentally prepared, anticipated even, that anger would take hold of her as the others have before her. Passion was good, yet if it was all that drove them, then Rath would only make short work of them. Still, the Elite stayed his hands as the Jedi before him asked a curious question. Or rather a question of concern for the injured.

"Oh dear," she sighed. "Would you allow this man to be extracted, unhindered?"

Without turning his head, Rath glanced over to the Master slumped against the marble wall. Fortunately the wound was instantly cauterized so he wasn’t bleeding out, but the body was still in shock from the injury. It would seem that the Force intended to keep this one alive for some reason, but he knew better than to resist too much of what the entity wants. There were others that flooded into the scene to tend with the fallen and the wounded. But as neither drew their weapons on Rath nor made a move past him. Rath let them be.

”So long as the extraction is back where you came, then you may.” Rath could feel the presence of others albeit distant from himself. Battles raged all across the Akar Kesh as each in a desperate attempt to reclaim their sacred land, or to protect it in their own way. However, based on what the Force had shown him in pieces, the future was bleak as it was hopeful. The raging kiss of flames as smoke polluted the air, nary a trace of what was within the ashes. As to what this would mean ultimately remained to be seen, but all Rath could see was that the end of this conflict would end in fire and blood. Yet there was a glimmer of hope of what would come after.

”You’d be wise to extract with him.” The dark warrior advised, but like so many in the past. Nobody seems to heed his warnings no matter how much he tried to warn them. Whether it was simply by fate or the will of the Force itself. Still, Rath remained to have knelt on the ground as the Force flowed through him almost as seamlessly as if water were passing through a filter. Where he drew strength from the ambient Force energy so that he may not draw upon the strength of the spirits that resided and fought alongside him.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

Right back what is wrong…
Tython
What was once “The Gnarls”

This Sith was large.

This Sith was imposing.

This Sith was destructive.

This Sith was intimidation personified…

… to anyone else.

Caltin was not some “uber-super Jedi Man”, no, his advantage is his experience, nine hundred years worth, it’s a long story, look it up. As they stood in what was the training area, Caltin ignored the scoring, the overall stench of death, the sense of hopelessness, he simply stared at his foe, the Sith standing in the way of this Temple, this planet being cleansed.

The move he made was fast, fluid and surgical… “surgical”... if that was true this would be “malpractice” because while he was not anticipating it, Caltin was no slouch either. A lifetime of combative experience and training with multiple styles and types of weapons, multiple forms, he was not intimidated. This monster was fast, but so was he, fluid, but so was he.

Right now, he was gauging the Sith, judging, learning and waiting for the right time to make his own move. This fight was just beginning and he was going to approach this like he first had the earliest times he had picked up a lightsaber. The “Soresu” approach. Letting the Dark Lord commit to his moves before reacting. Let him keep with his own arrogance, his own belief that he was better. One thing that they both might agree with was this was “survival of the fittest”... and Caltin was in better shape.

TAGS Darth Imperius TAGS
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Cuan Kunn]

The situation was definitely not what he suspected it was going to be. Hopefully, he felt, the enemy would come after him and the pilots, but that wasn't seeming to be the case. As the shuttle that took a hit, took another and exploded, Cuan looked at his options. His squadron was ready to fight but someone had to make sure the fighters were taking the attention off the shuttles. Cuan had his fighter leap forward and the lasers started splashing off his front shield.

Double front.

And dumping some laser power to the shields. He could do this.

The astromech that had flown with him one dozens of sorties knew what he was doing and did his best to move more power to the shields.

But he was keeping an out out for targets of opportunity, especially when he and the shuttles hit atmosphere.

 

[Serina Calis]

Imperial Twilight.
Location: -
Objective: 2.
Allies: -
Opposing Force: Corin Trenor
Equipment: Ebon Requiem, Tyrant's Kiss, 3 CV-1 Gas Grenades (The Choking Veil)

"Tython under darkness? How, exquisite..."​

The moment the earth cracked beneath her, Serina felt it—not just in the trembling of the ground or the splintering of the stones, but in the way the Force itself shuddered like a struck chord, vibrating through her very core. It was a raw, undeniable power, the kind that spoke of experience, of understanding.

Shatterpoint.

Her eyes flickered with intrigue.

So, this Jedi—this man—was not merely a blade raised in righteous anger. He was something sharper. More refined. He wielded knowledge, skill. He did not lash out in reckless strikes; he tested her. Measured her.

Good.

Serina moved with instinct, with elegance honed through years of discipline. She did not panic, did not waste effort on fighting the inevitable. Instead, she flowed, adapting to the shifting ground with an ease that made it seem as though she had been expecting this all along.

The upturned soil, the collapsing trees, the splintering stone—it was all a dance, and she was its mistress.

Her first motion was a step forward, not back. As the force of the rupture sent jagged cracks rolling outward, her foot landed just beyond their reach, her weight shifting effortlessly to maintain balance. The long sweep of her cape twisted in the disrupted air, fluttering like the wings of some regal predator.

Then, as the ground beneath her right foot gave way, she did not hesitate—she leapt.

A burst of speed, the Force bending to her will, propelling her skyward in a motion that was not escape, but a repositioning of control. Her form arced through the air, her golden hair catching the dim light as she twisted, her body moving with the grace of something far too composed to be mortal.

As she turned mid-air, Ebon Requiem flared into view.

The luminous etchings upon the blade pulsed as her grip tightened around its haft, the weapon an extension of herself, a statement of defiance and dominance.

And then—momentum.

As she descended, her halberd swung with her, carving through the air like the scythe of an executioner. The wickedly curved hook along its edge caught against the falling trunk of a tree that had been uprooted by Corin's strike. With an effortless tug, she redirected its descent—not toward herself, but toward him.

A countermeasure. A challenge.

She landed upon a stable patch of ground, her boots touching down with calculated poise. The moment her foot met the soil, she pushed forward in a single, fluid motion—closing the space between them as the massive tree hurtled toward his flank.

Would he shatter it, as he had shattered the earth? Would he sidestep, shift his positioning? Would he attempt to stop her, or react to the more immediate threat she had sent barreling toward him?

Serina, of course, was already adjusting for every possibility.

Her grip on Ebon Requiem was firm, her piercing blue gaze locked onto him with something dangerous. Not reckless, not wild—dangerous.

"Oh," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but carrying through the chaos like the promise of a storm.

"Now this is interesting."

 

[Corin Trenor]

CORIN
TYTHON
TAG: Serina Calis

He studied her movements, unmoving upon his own short ascent. Corin was a stone, a statue, concealed beneath layers of dense cloth. Serina, however, was a viper - lashing out with a swift dance of precision, no motion wasted. The air hummed with the sharp promise of violence, the deadly grace of her strikes speaking to a skill sharpened by countless battles.

Impressive.

The intent to kill was real, palpable. He felt it thrumming in the Force, in the weight of her stare, in the gleam of the Ebon Requiem's razor edge as it carved through the air.

Serina would not be swiftly defeated.

Corin stood between two blows - the thick trunk of a tree with frayed branches and splintered bark, the rapid approach of his opponent and the deadly arc of her blade. He thought to meet her weapon with his own, to test its weight and strength against his. Yet, he did not like to brandish his lightsaber so readily.

Instead, his eyes slipped shut, quiet concentration overtaking him. The Force swelled, a breath drawn deep into his being. Then-

He was gone.

A heartbeat later, he stood atop the branch of a still-standing tree, similarly still, watching.

"It is," he agreed, voice calm, almost contemplative. "You're stronger than most I've come across recently."

Then, the air tensed.

Without warning, Corin's hand flicked forward. The Force snapped out in a concussive wave, aimed to send Serina hurtling backward, shattering wood and foliage in its wake. It was not meant to kill - but it would hurt, would force a reaction. Would make her move.

And Corin would be ready, descending in the wake of it.

 

[Darth Kizash]

Foe: Connel Vanagor aka "Junior"
Equipment: In sig
​

When they made their move, he stood there stretching and limbering himself up.

In the face of darkness, I stand as a beacon of light. The path ahead may be fraught with danger, but I am not alone; the Force flows through me, guiding my actions and illuminating my mind.

I will remain calm and centered, for fear and anger are the tools of the Sith. I will not let their hatred sway me from my purpose. My training has prepared me for this moment, and I will trust in my instincts and the wisdom of the Jedi.

I will observe, adapt, and strike with precision. The Sith may wield power, but I wield the strength of my convictions and the support of my allies. I will not underestimate my opponent, but I will not be intimidated, not anymore.

In this battle, I will seek not just to defeat, but to understand. Every encounter is a lesson, and every challenge is an opportunity to grow stronger. I will remain true to the Jedi Code, for it is my shield against the darkness.

May the Force be with me… As the speederbike carrying the approaching Sith Lord came into view, he looked on… ... because it sure as frell won’t be with you!

Louder and louder the screeech of the swoops engines and repulsorlifts sounded. Echoing through distances long and short. An alarm of impending danger and yet thus far little could be seen. There was only the noise.

Ive been waiting a looong time for this, kid.

His expression shifted to eager expectation of combat and expanded the pain that was his own presence for all those around to sense for themselves. Torquing the throttle further, the Dark Lord circumnavigated his guided path to spit him adjacent to his foe, but also above. Staying true to the path, Kizash felt the wind and scene around him narrow to a blades edge. Swoop bike leaving Tythons earth and suddenly airborne a couple meters into the open.

There you are. The thousand yard stare. For that instant nothing else in the galaxy existed. It's just me and Connel now.

No words. Only action.

With a swift jerk of enhanced strength, Kizash stripped the throttle into a fixed position and bailed. His body landed hard against the ground, even assisted by the force the impact of the tumble felt like it left entire bruises, scrapes and cuts. Yet Kizash rose to his feet all the same. Dark eyes trailing the swoop bike as it threatened to collide with the Jedi and then the cold embers in his skull fell apon a singular focus with animosity. A preternatural grip or force attempting to root in place.

He was staring at Connel Vanagor 's feet.

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Joseph Torson

Jonyna knew better than to let the marines swarm her. Old instincts kicked in, and she went back into a state of mind she hadn't in 900 years.

The Rebel Master awoke.

In one clean spinning slice, Jonyna drew the blade that had once impaled a Moff, and unleashed a blinding flame that burned through each and every marine around her, before pushing forward towards the hanger's exit corridor.

She wouldn't be the first Sentinel of Harmony to invade Sularen's flagship. She had read up on Jasper Kai'el 's report of him following Coruscant. But she knew damn well she'd make it a tradition.

And she intended to follow in her predecessor's footsteps.

She intended to repeat history.

She intended to kill another Moff.

 

[D1-C3]

Indirect Tags: Joseph Torson Marlon Sularen​

While his keeper had dove deeper into the maze of the ship, D1-C3 had kept at splicing from the hidden spot he had taken. Next he intended on finding his way to the security detail. A simple matter of turning off internal cameras first. Turn a few breakers off, cut power to this, and...done.

They didn't need to see anything after all.

57%. That was the probability of success. Too high for his liking. Not enough thrill to that!

Sylvar would've cracked a joke. Jonyna would've cracked a smile.

Him?

He felt like cracking open a can of old.

He knew if he wanted to do more significant splicing, he'd have to get deeper into the ship himself. No one pays attention to a lone droid, but he'd need to get to the security longue to wipe the records first.

Onwards and upwards!

 

[Serina Calis]

Imperial Twilight.
Location: -
Objective: 2.
Allies: -
Opposing Force: Corin Trenor
Equipment: Ebon Requiem, Tyrant's Kiss, 3 CV-1 Gas Grenades (The Choking Veil)

"Tython under darkness? How, exquisite..."​

The moment Corin disappeared, Serina's senses sharpened. It was not mere speed—it was something more refined, something more patient. He did not simply retreat, nor did he engage in the headstrong way so many of his kind did.

He watched.

She had underestimated him. Not in skill, not in power, but in approach. Jedi were predictable. They loved to posture, to moralize, to wield their righteousness as a blade sharper than any lightsaber. But Corin? Corin was different. He moved like a man untethered, no longer bound by the rigid expectations of his Order.

A free man.

How interesting.

Her body tensed a fraction before the attack came.

The Force rippled, compressed into a concussive burst—fast, precise. Serina felt the air bend around her, the pressure like an unseen hand crashing into her with the force of a surging tide. A lesser fighter would have been thrown without recourse, cast into the ruins of the battlefield like a doll in a storm.

But she was not lesser.

Serina did not fight the blast head-on. She moved with it.

Her feet left the ground, her form twisting midair as the shockwave sent her sailing backward, but not as prey—as a tactician. She tucked into the motion, redirecting the force of impact rather than resisting it, turning a crushing blow into a calculated redirection. Her cape flared, her body curled, and she spiralled in controlled momentum.

Then—a pivot.

Her hand snapped outward, fingers splayed, the Force answering her command like an extension of her own will. A shattered, upturned slab of stone caught in her grasp, and she pushed.

A midair counter.

The slab shot forward, racing toward Corin like a missile, fast enough that he would have to acknowledge it. Not just an obstacle—an interruption, a demand to engage her, to react on her terms.

Serina's feet kissed the ground a moment later, skidding backward against the dirt, a shallow trench carving in her wake. She absorbed the last of her momentum, straightening, golden locks settling in a wave against her armored shoulders.

A slow smirk curled her lips, and she let out a breathless, almost laughing sigh.

"Clever," she mused, tilting her head as she gazed up at him. "If I hadn't learned the power of moving with the motion, I might be one giant splat of blood."

Her fingers flexed around Ebon Requiem's haft. The pulsing glow of its etchings reflected in her eyes—two luminous blue flames, sharp with something unreadable.

Then, she shifted her stance.

It was subtle—only a fraction, a slight widening of her footing, a near-imperceptible dip of her posture. But to a trained eye, it spoke volumes.

A shift from probing engagement to serious intent.

"Then allow me to make things more intimate."

And with that, she surged forward.

This time, there was no testing. No waiting.

The Force exploded beneath her, launching her across the battlefield like a violet-lit specter of speed and steel. In a heartbeat, she was upon him—Ebon Requiem swinging in a deadly, diagonal arc, its phrik edge humming toward his flank with blistering precision.

A strike not meant for mere intimidation.

A strike meant to draw blood.