It was an unsettled period. That always happened with new teams, even under the best circumstances. Anyone coming into the web work of established relationships, enmities, and personal loyalties, had to go through it.
Perhaps it was even more unsettled because they already knew her, or a version of her, from years earlier as a barely-teenage shadow beneath Sardun’s wing. Or, it was because their perspective was that she had killed their Lord. His sacrifice to save her on Tython had cost them their leader.
Thinking about it still stung. The rawness hadn’t faded yet.
So she chose not to think about it. And instead, focused on her unthinking response to the call of Duty.
The reclamation of Empress Teta.
They arrived on the planet in the dead of night, only to find the night was very much alive. The skies barked and buzzed with silver streaks that flashed the beach and ocean below. The capital had agents bled into it for days, all orchestrated for tonight’s strike. The Band of the Silik, those who were able after Tython, rose to fight alongside her and take back the planet the Alliance had lost to the Maw that one fateful day when darkness eclipsed the skies.
She’d seen that same Scar Hound skull that day that she now saw glistening in the wet sands below.
<There.> Ishida scowled over the pilot’s shoulder. It was a childish beckon, but worse, it meant the death of The Mongrel did not mean the death of his squad.
"Nothing ever really ends,"
"The cycle always goes on."
The longer she fought, the more battles she found herself in, the truer her foe’s statement became. And, worse still, she was a part of the perpetuation of the cycle. The drawing in the sand meant someone had replaced the Scar Hound leader, and the army lived on. Much like herself and The Companions.
Even if the rain washed away the outline, and she cut down the head of the hounds, the cycle would go on.
She made a noise of discontent at the back of her throat, not loud enough for anyone in the company to pick up on. Or, at least not worth their commentary. She could feel them watching her though, their eyes on her back, noting the deltas from their stoic, cold commander and his scion.
<None leave the coast.> Ishida announced over their shared communique. It was maybe the second or third order she’d ever delivered to a squad this size. Unlike the other strike teams, responsible for incapacitation and arrest, anything outside the capital, anything this savage, was marked as brutish and useless. Mindlessly evil.
The katana strapped to her back would judge them appropriately.
When it was time for the drop, Ishida did not hesitate. Nor did she require the ship to touch down on the sand itself. It would redistribute the soldiers tucked away in intervals. The warriors inside were nigh-untouchable, seasoned veterans of Light’s scalding retribution.
It was at the mouth of the drawn skull that Ishida landed, her feet dashing the grains of sand that made up the three teeth on the lower jaw. On impact, a telekinetic wave permeated from her centre and dashed the rest of the drawing back to nothing. Anything else that was within five or so feet would feel a tremendous wash of energy.
At the same time, her sabre glowed to life at her side as she centred herself — prepared to counter an onslaught. Prepared to cut down a dogpile in a whirl of fervency. What she was not prepared for, was the personification of succession and the cycle's poetic irony ahead of her.
ALLIES | GA | NJO | THE COMPANIONS|
FOES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | THE NEW SITH ORDER | SCAR HOUNDS |
Thomas Barran
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Dagon Kaze
