Public Tendrils of Darkness || SO Raid of Vassek

[Darth Nefaron]

The Insidious Dark Spreads Yet Further

The galaxy is consumed by chaos.​

Sith forces rampage throughout the outlying systems, plunging those worlds unaligned with the other major powers. Millions now face death and enslavement and yet more lay in the destructive path of the SITH EMPIRE as they prepare for the long push into the heart of the GALATIC ALLIANCE.

Yet the Sith do not have their full attention on the Alliance.

VASSEK lay in the Outer Rim, just outside the protection of the Alliance and its Jedi protectors. A small world with scattered farming villages, it was hardly a prize for any conquer, especially when the ripe worlds of the Mid-Rim lay so close at hand. But it seems the humble farmers have been targeted by a Sith who has been biding his time and awaiting the right moment to strike.

Darth Nefaron has come for Vaseek. He does not seek conquest, but test subjects.

Slave raids are not uncommon in the Outer Rim, but to see the dreaded transports of the Sith on the horizon is a horror all its own. Countless frantic calls for aid have been made, begging for any help in repelling the marauding forces of the CORPSE LEGION.

They will find nothing that can help them. There is no hope.

Objective I: The Engine of War

Another world falls pray to the Sith. Slave ships arrive and settle in the vast plains and fields dominating Vassek's surface. Vast camps spring up around them as the Corpse Legion's warbands hunt for fresh captives to be returned to Nefaron's fortress in Sith space. To save the hundreds of prisoners from a fate worse than death, brave souls will have to infiltrate the camps by way of stealth or frontal assault.

If you fail, thousands will know the horrors of slavery.

Objective II: Head of the Snake

While his forces sweep Vassek like a plague, Darth Nefaron has come personally to oversee the collection of his new subjects. Instead of residing within one of the heavily defended slave camps, Nefaron has fortified himself in one of the outlying villages. High walls block any unwanted eyes from seeing what horrid tests Nefaron prepares for those who still remain within.

Kill the head. The body will die.

Objective III: The Great Game (BYOO)

Darth Nefaron has not come alone. Vassek has been turned into a playground for the Sith as various Dark Lords and their servants arrive to take their slice of the dying world. Some may align with Nefaron, others may seek his demise. Yet more seek to play their own games.

Join the chaos. Take what is yours!

OCC: All are welcome here, please feel free to explore whatever story you'd like on Vassek! If you signed up earlier, please note I have modified objective 3 a bit more due to the influx of Sith Order characters!

Tags: Lirka Ka Veradun Sharr Serina Calis Commodore Helix Darth Ultramar (OPEN!)

Link to OCC Thread!​

 

[Commodore Helix]

Tags: Darth Nefaron Lirka Ka Serina Calis Darth Ultramar Veradun Sharr
Equipment: Flamestaff. Horror Matrix, MD Defense Implant, E-4H Blaster Carbine (Pistol Configuration)
OPEN for any interaction​

Helix had heard of the raid through his usual channels among the order, and it didn't take long for a single small vessel to emerge above the planet. His force was small, intending to avoid attracting too much attention. He had no interest in drawing Darth Nefaron 's ire. Only cleaning up the scraps left in his wake, like the vulture he was.

He enjoyed good relations with the Order (at least as much as one could) and hoped that would be sufficient for his scavenging to be ignored or overlooked. Besides, he had little use for the living chattel that had drawn the Lord of Fear's eye. He was here for the dead. He peered down distastefully at the viewscreen, from the bridge of the single Rusalka-Class Light Frigate he had brought along.

Indeed, this place seemed to have little of virtue about it, save the meat that Nefaron was here to gather. To his enterprising eye, however, every planet had something of value. His scrapper-forces had picked entire cities clean of metal in the past. Anything of even the remotest value would be taken.

He figured it would be slim pickings for loot here, given the planet's quaint agricultural setting, but at least he might yet snag a few corpses for his new business partner. Said partner had a keen interest in acquiring parts for his little private army, and Helix hoped Nefaron's invasion force would overlook his scavengers picking at the dead.

"Prepare for departure." He said. "I will be leading the operation personally. H4X units 095-D through 0105-D, with me. We will also be bringing along a Somnium collection unit, as this mission is high-priority. As a reminder, you are not to engage Sith forces under any circumstances. Avoid at all costs. Any units that jeopardize our pleasant neutrality with the Order, deliberately or otherwise, will be memory-wiped. Any other unidentified personnel that stumble upon or attempt to hinder this operation must be eliminated. No witnesses."

It was him, eleven droids, and a lot of luck, but he was confident the scavenging party could beat a hasty retreat should they encounter unexpected resistance.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"As I suspected. The Alliance and the Jedi care not for the innocent we slaughter here."
​

Darth Nefaron watched on as the Corpse Legion performed its terrible work. Fields burned, homes ransacked, and countless innocent beings were ripped from their hiding places. Nefarons dark cloak fluttered in the wind as he watched on, at his side was the battered form of a Nagai boy, one who had pledged himself to the dark destiny Nefaron had envisioned for him.

"Behold servant, the greatest failing of the light. They play politics, serving a senate made up of lesser beings. The core remains safe, but those abandoned in the outlying systems fall into our clutches."

Though still the Dark Lord's apprentice, young Veradun Sharr had failed his master. Following the Kaggath between Darth Strosius and Darth Malum of House Marr , the boy chose his loyalty to a dead man and a failed Sith instead of the master he had pledged to serve. So he was to be treated as a slave until he began to understand that honor was a pathetic little thing that he must expel from his heart. He had been brought to Vassek to witness the failings of the Jedi, but also to see what true power was.

"This world will be laid bare. Its people are merely tools, tools we will use to elevate ourselves. This is the way of the Sith, the lesser beings that populate countless worlds are to be the fuel that brings forth the all-encompassing darkness."

Nefaron turned to the boy, bending down slightly to force his way into the boy's personal space, a cruel smile on his lips.

"To think you might be the master of that darkness one day. Unfortunately, you still remain a lowly slave."

Nefaron held the boy's gaze for an uncomfortably long amount of time, almost begging him to lash out. But before any attempt on the Corpse Lord's life could be made, one of the Corpse Legion raid captains approached, his blood-soaked form a testament to the success his Warband had found in the countless farming villages that dotted Vassek.

"My Master, our holds continue to fill with slaves. But I bring news."

Nefaron rose at long last, breaking the boy's gaze and turning to the raid captain.

"Speak."

"Other warbands are reporting outsiders. Others who serve the darkness. Shall we hunt them?"

Nefaron chuckled before waving off the suggestion.

"No, let them have their fun. Should they interfere, you may try to kill them."

The rain captain seemed confused for a moment, his murderous mind not quite understanding the Dark Lord's command, but he bowed nonetheless and returned to his warband as they continued to crack whips and cut at those slaves who were to slow as they marched toward waiting transports. Nefaron and Veradun had been standing on a small hill overlooking a village, one the Corpse Lord had curiously spared. It's rudimentary walls provided some protection, but the Corpse Legion had surrounded it and awaited their master's command.

"Come servant, let us introduce ourselves to the locals."

Immediate Tag: Veradun Sharr , Open
Story Tags: Commodore Helix Lirka Ka Serina Calis Darth Ultramar ​

 

[Magdalena Bloodscrawl]

Wearing: Ritual Gown

Armed with: Herself, Saber staff (Green)

Ground Forces:

Corporate Heavy Cruiser (1, all black hull)

Bladed Mysteries (2)

Ghost Sniper Squads (4)

Armament:

Multipurpose (HVT)

Spotter : D-13 Assassin Droid

Remote Control turret fitted with DLT-19X Targeting Blaster

DC-15N (Full Auto Sniping Modifications, Special Operations Anti Force User. Team One) Battle Scout Rifle (Team Two)

Nuetralizer Model 0 (100)

Armament:

Main Service Weapon:
Obsolete LMG System (Fitted with laser sight)
FAE-W-14 LMG (Officers Only)

Clone Defense Troopers (700)

Armament:

Ranged:

DC-15S (Primary Weapon)

Undermount: Shotgun (Multiple Ammo Types)

E-Web (Strongholds)

Melee:

Echani Vibroblade

Ordnance

Cold Grenade (X2) OR Laser Trip Mine (X4) OR
AP Micromine (X7) OR Obsolete Grenade Launcher (X7 Rounds)

Armor:

Phase I Clone Armor

Vehicles

HAVw A6 Juggernaut


Clone Offense Troopers (2000)

Ranged:

DC-15A OR DC-15S (Primary Weapon)

15S Undermount: Grenade Launcher (Multiple Damage types)

Ordinance:

Model 9 Armor Piercing Grenade (3) OR G-20 Glop Grenade (3) OR Seeker Rail Detonator OR Clone Mortar


Armor:

Phase I Clone Armor

Vehicles

TX-130 Saber Tank OR LAAT OR BARC Speeder

Support:

Assault Battle Droid (1 Per Squad) OR R-1 Recon Droid

Clone Siege Troopers (200)

Armament:

Ranged:

DC-15A OR SX-21 (Commanders Only)

Heavy:

Z-6 Rotary Cannon OR Chaingun OR Reciprocating Quad Blaster Cannon OR CR-1 Blaster Cannon

Ordnance

Class A Thermal Detonator OR Outdated Plasma Grenade


Armor:

Heavy Exoskeleton (Custom Appearance) + Energy Shield

Vehicles

Heavy Walkers

Elite AT-AT (4)
Impeding Assault Tank (10)

Gunships:

Mechanized Assault Flyer (8)


Space Forces:

Cup of Thirst

Percival Class Corvettes (8)

Navy Clones (25 Squadrons, 10 Multirole, 10 Heavy, 5 Support)

Starfighters (Multirole)

Clone Z-95 Aftermarket (Grunts), TIE Avenger (Aces) OR Star Wing (Squadron Leaders)

Squadron Layout:

Z-95 (8)

Avengers (3)

Star Wing (1)

Starfighters (Heavy)

Blade Wing Replicas (Grunts) OR Belbullab-22 Starfighter (Aces) OR ARC-170 (Squadron Leaders)

Squadron Layout:

Replicas (9)

22's (2)

170 (1)

Support:


Beta-Class ETR-3 Escort (Controller Vessel for Drone Starfighters, 8 Squadrons per Ship, can mix and match)

Drone Fighters:

TIE M1 (For Capitol Ship Assault. Second most Used)
TIE M4 (Used the Most, for both capital ships, Assaults on bases, and general ground assaults)


Sometimes, you just have to get desperate.

As The Sith pressed into the Core, House Bloodscrawl found it's core mission being put to the test.

It had been reasoned in the wake of Sith Aggression, that it might be useful to monitor even unimportant planets for attack vectors. No plan survived the enemy.

House Bloodscrawl had quietly, carefully placed some of its forces on the obscure world, smuggling them in via Bacta-Works outlets.

In the weeks leading up to the invasion, a small fleet was kept in a nearby system, hidden near an uncharted Gas Giant. And Magdalena Bloodscrawl, an Abomination of The Light Side, had been here to minister to the faith of the locals on the Light Side, all while making sure a small response force was ready at all times, tunnel systems quietly created through false flag operations, shell construction companies. They had managed to smuggle a small amount of their forces here. The rest were waiting in space.

Magdalena had been busy for the past week here, preaching. Let it be said she was very effective. Good at inspiring despite her alien outlook in other areas.

She rested in a small stone house she had constructed from a local quarry, meditating. There were no photos. Nothing that would connect her or the military she had helped to smuggle here to her son, Nathan Bloodscrawl . They were stringently careful about this.

The tunnels had duel uses. They could be used to move Civilians deep into heavily defended tunnels deep where it would be difficult for bombardment to affect, or could be used by the Clones to ambush potential invaders. She had ordered the Defense troopers to set up Droideka and turret based booby-traps in the villages and along the perimeters of farms, casting illusion spells over them to hide them as they went about their work, rigging them in such a way that there was no risk of the locals discovering or triggering them by accident.

Magdalena had also done...other things to the farmlands themselves. When you see what she did, you'll understand what I mean by alien thought process.

She was deeply concerned for her son. The more the pressure built, the more he quietly forced himself to adapt. But he was one man with a mega corp, a number of private military forces, and he was battling a foe that controlled entire systems. Commiting too many of his forces in one place was too risky, and making the number too large risked drawing the attention of The Alliance Military. Thus, only a relatively small detachment on the ground. But placed in such away through tireless efforts that it could respond virtually anywhere in the major theater of battle where Darth Nefaron was to eventually make his way too.

When the attack had begun she had felt a sudden disturbance in the Force. Hundreds crying out in terror. She was up immediately in her shimmering blue gown with an exposed shoulder and arm, watching enemy forces descend.

Magdalena gave the telepathic call to the Force to begin immediately evacuating whoever they could into the tunnels below. Then she had gone outside, feeling the breeze on her unnatural flesh.

She closed her eyes, flesh warping and shuddering as she started calling out a particularly forbidden Light Side Spell in a dead tongue that long ago forgot it's name.

The clouds on the whirled appeared suddenly, and green lightning violently flashed through the sky, bursting a few enemy landing vessels open as they struck the ground, infusing it unnaturally with the Light. Then she had gone into the tunnel access route where she already saw Clones scrambling to get to their ambush points and attack vectors. She sensed a foul darkness behind this attack, and was determined to fight it for the sake of this world.

She stopped a Defense Clone as he was running. The tunnels were booby-trapped also. Anyone who wanted the Civilians would be in for a brutal slog if they tried to come down here.

"Trooper, make sure the others apply the blood before they strike!" she warned.

"Yes, mistress!" he exclaimed before running off. Magdalena had done her best to give the Clones as best of a first strike option as possible...

But for her, she needed to confront this master of darkness...

As the Light Side Storm raged outside, the green lightning (A manifestation of Electric Judgement on a massive scale due to the sheer power of Magdalena) attracted to anything or anyone dark sided, threatening to kill them if they were near when it hit the ground, Magdalena felt herself age suddenly. The massively powerful technique had taken some out of the tank. She suddenly looked twenty years older before she drained a nearby fusion generator, restoring her back to her prior state.

She cut open her palm, glowing green blood leaking out of the wound, and drew a circle with it on the wall nearby, and it became a liquid like portal of green energy that she stepped through, the spell would take her close to Nefaron, and she was looking to end this , even if it meant forcibly altering Nefaron into a slave with her magic.

Or worse, infecting him with her blood.

There are no words to describe the horror that could occur if she chose that route...


Meanwhile...

The Clone Squad Leaders had each had a temporary blood spell applied to them as they ventured out of their hiding places across their tunnel networks. Only individual units, not vehicles, could be cloaked. The spell would spread to everyone a particular Clone commanded.

They were already well into their five minute window as they approached, their presence could be felt, but it was actually potentially extremely difficult to pinpoint. The attack pattern had been run in simulation for weeks.

The Offense Trooper known as OT-1701 crept along grasslands invisible with his platoon. With him was one of the black, skeleton like Model 0 Nuetralizers, equipped with an old backpack mounted LMG and a cowboy hat (They could see each other still due to the spell)

They were spotting people getting loaded into ships. 1701 raised a brow under his crappy Phase 1 Helmet.

The time to strike was now ...

"Ready when you are, pardner'...." The Model 0 spoke in a folksy lawman voice. "Let's go shoot the dead to death..."

"It's Nefaron. House Bloodscrawl has been wanting a crack at this guy ever since he raided New Cov..." 701's second, 555 said.

"Time to earn our pay..." 1701 growled.

He gave the signal...

From far away, the Defense troopers sent out the booby trap signal, and dozens of turrets on village perimeters and Droidekas, burst from the ground close by as the Offense Clones launched assaults on not just the Corpse legion forces, but the forces of Commodore Helix as well the clones firing explosives and blaster shots at slave transport engines and enemy Droids that were already on the ground.

It was a blitz. The Storms striking from above with their light side payload. The grass and ground becoming stickier to enemy feet the longer they walked, allowing some civilians to escape who otherwise might not have...

And a black hulled cruiser, descending from the atmosphere and releasing multiple GIE/LN units piloted by House Loyalists. The new Starfighter model was getting a massive trial by fire, the Cruiser firing it's guns at descending enemy transports. It had just jumped in with the small, mystery fleet that Magdalena had been given command of .

1701 opened fire with his seeker rail detonator, blasting up corpse legion soldiers while Impeding Assault Tanks moved below the ground to create deadly sinkholes for marching enemy troops. Civilians took advantage of the deadly ambush happening *everywhere as Clone Offense and Defense troops came out of hidden spider nest and tunnel entrances in carefully calculated routes and amounts to maximize the effectiveness of the initial ambush, which was so vicious that it would immediately reach Nefaron's ears any minute now. In Orbit, a deadly Stealth Battle Cruiser approached in full stealth mode, ancient and terrible in power, flanked by multiple squadrons of pissed off Clone Pilots, proceeded ahead by highly advanced cruisers to engage any forces Negatron had in space. It would be the best they could manage until Alliance forces got here, IF they got here.

Magdalena came out of the portal extremely close to the Village Nefaron was heading to. She wasted no time, green lightning erupting from her fingers as her flesh bubbled and warped freakishly, butchering Corpse Soldiers and at least one allied Sith who got set ablaze from the intensity of her burst. Magdalena was not in a mood to be subtle as she attacked, hissing spells that infected some of the Corpse Legion, turning them against their fellows as she matched through the village, her freakish presence in the light marking her as a Force Spawn as she continued to distract the enemy, not even having pulled her saber yet.

If he wanted these people, he and his allies could afford to bleed a little...

Lirka Ka

Veradun Sharr

Darth Ultramar

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Vaserk countryside.
Tag: Commodore Helix ​

The planet Vaseek lay still beneath the veil of night, its farmlands quiet save for the occasional distant sound of a restless beast in its pen. To the humble farmers here, war was a distant thing, spoken of in hushed tones over supper, an abstract horror that loomed far beyond the edges of their isolated world. But that illusion was about to be shattered.

Serina Calis stood upon a ridge overlooking a quiet settlement, her sharp blue eyes scanning the village below. Her presence was cloaked, her mind shielded from the probing senses of any wayward Force users who might catch a whisper of her intent. She had little reason to fear the villagers; their fates were already sealed. But in the Force, she could feel them—hidden among the farmers and laborers were those who carried the gift. The curse.

A slow smile curled her lips.

These were not Jedi, nor were they trained Sith. These were the lost, the unclaimed—unaware of the power coursing through their veins. And tonight, she would take them. Her mercenaries, battle-hardened and loyal to credits above all else, stood at the ready. Cloaked figures in dark armor, their weapons silenced, their presence hidden beneath the hum of dampeners. They had come for bloodless victory, not a clumsy raid. Force sensitives were valuable intact.

Her vision had shown her something wondrous—an ancient power long forgotten, a ritual that would bind the souls of Force-users into unyielding armor, their will broken, their essence shackled to her own. Her eternal sentinels, praising her name up until their inevitable end. She needed test subjects, those whose power had begun to awaken but had not yet been twisted and molded by Jedi or Sith doctrine.

Then she sensed it.

Not Nefaron. Something else. Something colder, quieter.

Serina turned her gaze skyward, her thoughts narrowing like a blade. A vessel had entered the planet's airspace, its purpose unclear. It did not bear Sith markings, nor did it fly the banners of the Alliance. Yet it moved with intent. And she could feel them—their presence muted, but distinct.

Not Sith. Not Jedi.

Scavengers.

She inhaled deeply, letting the Force unravel around her like a black veil, feeling for the minds aboard that ship. Machines. A single mind among them. Calculating, hungry, detached. Not a soldier. Not a zealot. Something else entirely.

Intriguing.

With a flick of her wrist, Serina motioned for a handful of her mercenaries to follow. "Change of plans. We have an interloper," she murmured. "We'll be making an introduction before the main event begins."

 

[Darth Imperius]

LOCATION

• Objective:
  • II. Head of the Snake - Support and interact with Darth Nefaron
  • III. The Great Game - Purge the world of enemy presence and build a garrison and listening post
• Tags:
  • Allied: Darth Nefaron | Veradun Sharr
  • Adversary: Magdalena Bloodscrawl
• Theme: Disposal Unit

The Hand did not come for slaves or to fuel its needs for scrap. Vassek was a potential bridgehead for the northward expansion, a sound target for establishing a listening post and garrison to monitor Alliance activity and prepare the advances of the Sith Empire itself. The threat of organised resistance was moderate, mostly random vigilantes, mercenaries or lesser Alliance forces were expected, at worst. But in military matters one did never calculate with the best, therefore the Hand came prepared.

From hyperspace the Devastator appeared, followed by a trio of Harrowers and squadron Terminus Destroyers. More than a formidable force, they carried the equipment and troops required to turn Vassek into more than just a mere outpost and bring down whatever stood in their way. Aboard them were Stormtroopers of the Hand, soldiers who were sworn to the Heir but still merely volunteers. Their name not only an reference but a direct insult to the legacy Stormtroopers of the New Order and its successive failures, mocking their elite status. They were footsoldiers in a game they did not understand, but soldiers non the less.

And the Heir was here in person to oversee the operation.

Darth Imperius stood on the bridge of the Devastator, his eyes towards the lush blue planet ahead. The formation of ships assumed two echelons, the first were the five Destroyers in a drawn out, wide V, moving ahead with their starfighters deployed as screens and protecting the main echelon of the three Harrowers and Devastator in a diamond, with the flagship at the rear. The capital ships were not on the same y-axis as the escort, being several ship lengths lower and behind. They were prepared for a fight and would not be disappointed.

"Darth Nefaron's Corpse Legion has arrived already and deployed planetside, sire." Vice Admiral Arnhault Keram offered in his dry voice, the starched uniform and collar seemingly keeping him more upright than his own spine.

"Hail him and his forces and inform him of our arrival and disposition. Request any information on the activities on ground and in orbit, we will be laying in wait until intel is confirmed. Send orders to the Obsidian Trident, it will assume point and move towards Nefaron's naval assets. The Indomitable shall prepare for landing its forces on the surface. Launch our screens and send a squadron to scout the system. Extra energy to sensors and shields."
The Dark Lord's voice was a hammer hitting the anvil, its deep and resonant bass echoed while his deliberate, measured pace of talking highlighted whatever he said as significant. It was difficult not to listen to him and it was even more difficult to not obey orders he gave.

The orders were relayed verbally as well as impulses on the encrypted frequencies of the Hand. The leading Terminus of the V, the Obsidian Trident, fired up its engines and slowly built speed to glide towards the planet. Its Captain, a seasoned commander, offering a confident, harsh and fair rule on his vessel that has seen its hull scarred and even broken, but never destroyed, its will and morale steadily prevailing. The speartip shaped hulled silently made its approach, its eyes and ears turned forward, it fists clenched.

Meanwhile the remaining ships remained in formation, their dark hulls a menace against the void of the stars. Their turbolaser barrels a testament of their will. Starfighters surged between them, the fighter screens ready to engage anything that would dare to threaten their motherships, like vicious children that zealously guarded their progenitors. One of them moved away from the small fleet, their speed bringing them in a wide arc to scout the rest of the systems, to reveal whatever lay behind shadows and gravities of the existing planet, moons and star.

But it was not them who found the enemy. It was the Trident. And it was it who was found, along with the naval forces of Darth Nefaron . Upon arriving at the outer orbit, signatures and codes were exchanged with the Sith Lords forces but it was a violent interruption, strange sensor readings were interrupted by the discharge of large weapons. A cloaked ship and its unleashed escorts suddenly attacked the meeting with more signatures appearing. While on board the Trident the situation was hectic and its crew worked to regain control and direction of the battle, the reading were immediately in the Dark Lords mind.

"Action stations." Was all the Darth Imperius said.

Equipment
| Lightsaber | Greatsword | Armor | Amulet | Shuttle |
Order of Battle
| Stormtroopers of the Hand | Sith Eradicators | Knights Tenebrus |​

 

[Lirka Ka]

There had come to be many interlopers in the plans of Darth Nefaron vultures drawn to the raid as if it were carrion. The boundless hunger eager to dominate and enslave the weak. Some were quiet and precise like that of Serina Calis and Commodore Helix but Lirka Ka, Slavemaster General of the Kainite did not often believe in being quiet.

A dungeon ship burst out of Hyperspace, a bleak dark block of a vessel. Its engines flaring to life as it shot forward, rumbling and creaking as it entered atmosphere. A maneuver they had all become familiar with now, for years Lirka and her minions had prowled worlds in wild space just like this one for their rich qualities of hapless farmers to feed the Kainite machine. This world would be no different.

Soon the vessel hung above the civilization of this world, like that of a looming storm cloud. Before disgorging itself with drop ships like that of an angered hive of insects. And at the tip of the spear was Lirka Ka. Her gunship unleashing a hail of firepower at civilization below: let the weak scatter like rats.

Soon, her transport thudded to the earth its doors hissing open as the metal Goliath stepped out surrounded by her entourage of Kainite troopers. It was immediate that the once Sephi bellowed out her orders

“Let us be quick about this, warriors! We are far from alone, and many here would deny the Butcher King his due! But the Malsheem beckons our name, and we shall return to it with a hull full of life and plunder!”

And with that, the warlord and her minions set out upon the countryside like a scourge. More and more of Lirka’s vessels setting down on the earth to continue disgorging her raiders.

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Direct Tag: Darth Nefaron​

Veradun stood quiet and still beside the robed Dark Lord he called Master, his head slightly bowed and his eyes downcasted, though he was aware of everything going on around and beyond him. It had been some time since he had last been in the presence of his Sith master, and that memory still haunted the boy, and he had felt the icy grasp of fear when he had finally be summoned forth from the dark dungeons and slave dens his master kept in his fortress on Anoat. He didn’t know at the time if Nefaron was going to kill him, torture him further, or lift him up out of the slave pits and reestablish to boy’s place as his apprentice.

Instead, his dark master had seen fit to take the boy along with him on some conquest. A test, perhaps, to see if the boy was learning his lesson, and see if Veradun was still worthy. And now he had the chance to perhaps find himself back in the Dark Lord’s graces, a chance he was not going to pass up. Afterall, there were only two other people in his life who had held his loyalties - his sister and his High Priest, and one if not both of them were dead now.

Over the last while…weeks, perhaps even months…Veradun had truly begun to ponder his situation, and just how and why he had ended up reduced to the role of a mere slave. As painful as his memories were, the boy forced himself to relive them all to find the answers he was looking for.

The truth was just as painful as the memories; he knew he had been…foolish. Outspoken, bold, borderline disrespectful. And the final straw had been when he had turned his pain and fury on his master that fateful day at the Kaggath and had spoken to the Dark Lord in a manner that no smart apprentice would have.

Oh how he regretted that decision now.

Veradun knew he was very fortunate that he had not been killed outright, then and there, for his disrespect. He still harbored anger against his master, resentment for what was said to him, the slander spoken against his High Priest, and what was done to him. But he had learned a very valuable lesson - that all he had now was his master, and he had slowly begun to see and understand in the depths of his despair that his master held his life and no one was as important to him as Nefaron was right now - even if he hated the truth of it.

He had accepted this apprenticeship, and had pledged himself to Darth Nefaron. It was within his master’s full right to demand total loyalty from the boy, and Veradun had failed in that by holding onto his prior loyalties. And he knew, in his young heart, that if he wanted to return back to the Corpse Lord’s side and escape the hell that was the darkness of his slave dungeons, then he would need to demonstrate that his loyalty was to Nefaron, and no one else.

Not to his fallen High Priest. Not to his sister. Not to anyone else. The Nagai’s sense of honor demanded that he get his priorities straight now. His past ties were his chains - and he needed to break them if he wanted to live and rise in strength and power.

Still, even with this understanding, Veradun stiffened when Darth Nefaron addressed him and resisted the urge to scowl when he was referred to simply as servant. He very much disliked the reminder of his current status, but he was not going to snap back or say anything that would further compromise him. Subtly, the boy shifted his icy blue eyes to look over the burning fields around the hill they both stood on, watching in mute fascination as the Corpse Legion did its cruel work in gathering more slaves for whatever nefarious purposes the Dark Lord had for them.

Veradun was tempted to think about just how disappointed his High Priest and sister would be in him, if they knew about any of this - but the truth of the matter was…their opinions and thoughts no longer mattered here. These people were simply as Nefaron said they were…mere tools. And the sooner he accepted this, the sooner he could escape the pits and the darkness.

Darth Nefaron shifted and turned towards his errant Apprentice and bent down to get closer to the boy. Veradun did not move a muscle, even as the Corpse Lord got uncomfortably close. He dared to lift his eyes and hold the gaze of his Master.

"To think you might be the master of that darkness one day. Unfortunately, you still remain a lowly slave."

The Sith Lord smiled cruelly at the Nagai, his words provoking - as if he was pushing and needling the boy to react, to strike at him. Veradun knew better - and simply stared at the ruined face, his pale blue eyes icy cold but he held his tongue, even as his heart thundered in his chest and fear shivered down his spine.

Thankfully, the Dark Lord’s attention was pulled away as a captain of his Legion appeared to give a report. Veradun listened intently to the report as well, taking note that others had seemed to arrive within the space of the planet, other dark siders apparently. Whether they were other Sith or not was yet to be determined, and though there was a flicker of concern that the arriving forces would be those that belonged to his late High Priest, he quickly cast that concern aside.

A faint smirk curled upon Veradun’s lips as he spied the confusion flicker over the face of the captain when he received the orders from Nefaron. The boy clearly understood what his master had been saying, but clearly the captain had not. How many of them would throw themselves against the sword of a dark sider or intruding Sith, thinking they could kill such a being? Veradun found himself almost wishing they would, just so he could see the spectacle and gain some amusement from it.

"Come servant, let us introduce ourselves to the locals." Nefaron commanded after the captain had been dismissed from their presence.

“As you wish, Master.” Veradun responded in a voice devoid of emotion, moving just behind the Dark Lord when he moved forward and towards the only remaining village that had been seemingly spared the wrath of the Corpse Legion. Veradun knew they hadn't been truly spared, only saved for whatever fresh hell the Lord of Fear had in store for them all.

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective 3: Escape the planet with salvage.
Equipment: Flamestaff, Horror Matrix, MD Defense Implant, E-4H Blaster Carbine (Pistol Configuration)
Tags: Serina Calis and Lirka Ka directly, lots of others indirectly
OPEN​

Helix and his team touched down in a lone Dreadhawk, striding confidently across the once-idyllic countryside. The evidence of devastation was plain to see; the infamous Corpse Legion had lived up to their dire reputation. As he'd suspected, pickings were slim.

There was no sign of life that he could see. His squad managed to find and gather a few dozen bodies near a ruined farmhouse on the outskirts, which more gunships zipped down to retrieve. There was also a small quantity of salvage, primarily ruined agricultural equipment. If he was lucky, he'd break even on this trip.

"Sir." Said 096. "Audioreceptors report stealthy movement in the structure ahead." Helix looked in the direction the commando was pointing,

"Acknowledged. Sweep the structure, then move on."

The squad carefully approached the house. It was little more than a burned-out husk, but Helix knew better than to write off his droids' instincts. Better safe than sorry.

099 entered first, the cold barrel of the droid's blaster rifle sweeping the ruin. "No life signatures." It confirmed. "Clear."

101 was not far behind, and entered a short hallway adjacent to the entryway. "Clear." Its voice echoed back towards them. "No life signatures." The squad was about to leave when a muffled noise emanated from the living room floor. 099 and 101 converged on the spot, and swept away some debris to reveal a concealed hatch on the floor.

"Open it." Ordered Helix. The droids complied, hurling back the hatch to reveal four locals. Helix raised a hand, motioning for the monstrous, spidery bio-droid outside as he studied them. "Live subjects." He observed. "Of little use to our client. Shoot them and call for corpse retrieval." The droids raised their weapons to comply, prompting a chorus of screams from the huddling locals.

What was left of the roof of the building exploded, and 101 went down, struck in the neck joint by a chunk of shrapnel. 102 and 103 knelt, dragging the damaged droid to its feet, and 103 tossed the commando over its shoulder. The remaining droids fell into cover positions, sweeping the horizon from inside the structure. "Clone forces detected." Announced 098.

Helix could not truly experience anger, but a sort of calculated exasperation registered in his consciousness. Them again. It had to be. He refused to believe there were two clone armies out there, seemingly dedicated to undermining his clients' aims. "Change of plans." He announced. "We are leaving. Let them fight it out with the Sith. Our forces are insufficient for a protracted conflict."

He looked down at the four locals, then waved to the bio-droid again. "Take them. They're coming with us." The hideous spider-machine scuttled into the house, and its paddle-beamer flashed. All four dropped comatose, and the machine scooped them up gingerly in its tendrils.
"Kill one for every droid we lose. An eye for an eye." He had no idea whether the clones would balk at civilian casualties. He wasn't sure they were even shooting at him, or if he'd simply been caught between both sides. At the very worst it was four new bodies for his client.

He considered his options, his electronic brain flipping through the best courses. Plan A, and the preferable one, was to slip away in the chaos as the two sides battled it out. His squad were laughably outnumbered and outgunned, and staying to fight was a doomed effort.

Plan B, if escape proved unavailable, was to take the risk of linking up with the Corpse Legion forces and providing aid, at least until Plan A became available. Of course, there was every chance the Legion would simply fire on them, but he was hoping a gift of some live meat might sway them. This plan posed borderline-unacceptable risks, but it certainly beat taking his chances with the clones. He had faced them before on Dagobah, and knew well their capabilities.

He had more forces aboard the frigate in orbit, but even they were still far too few to fight off the kind of multitudes his forces were reporting. It was either run, or seek refuge with the Sith.

As such, the squad broke into a run, moving from cover to cover as quickly as they could, still lugging their prize. "Sir. Our vessel in orbit is reporting Kainite forces in the area, as well as a squad of unidentified personnel." Reported 098. But of course, thought Helix. His simple little salvage op was quickly proving to be anything but simple. "They are not our most immediate concern." He responded. "But they are in our way. Consider them off your free-fire list until deemed otherwise. We will see what they're here for. Perhaps common cause may be found."

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Darth Nefaron
Objective II: Head of the Snake​

Drego's time with the New Mandalorians had only pushed him to train harder. He had fought Darth Empyrean as a Protector, and yet still, Drego was a Bounty Hunter through and through.

Today, he was hunting a sith lord.

The Star Dragon landed just outside the village the sith had taken. Drego intended on capturing Nefaron alive.

He just knew that taking a sith lord alive was a gamble.

But he always liked the roll the dice.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"So it's true, the Witch is here."
​

It was hardly a secret that someone had been preaching to the locals about the Light Side, it was part of the reason Nefaron came in the first place. Green lighting would fill the sky, the fields would turn against the invaders, and the darkness would turn on itself.

That wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Even as ships fell from the sky, Nefaron knew all too well this world was enveloped in the Darkness. For every Corpse Legionnaire that turned on their fellows, ten more rushed in to rip them apart and bathe in slaughter. Even this ancient power would not be enough, nor would the pitiful defenses that had been raised to throw back the invasion. While other Sith and Plunderers had come to sink their teeth into Vassek, Darth Imperius had made it known that he had a common cause with the Corpse Lord. Against the power of the two Dark Lords, the light would be of little consequence.

"Do you feel that servant?" Nefaron began as he continued to approach the village, unbothered by the ancient powers at work "This is the power of one who pretends to serve the light. A witch whose age has rendered her blind to the tide of darkness."

The village gates had already opened to the Dark Lord and his forces, but the Legion was held back on purpose. Those who had succumbed to the witch's magic and had turned were subdued but the vast numbers Nefaron had gathered. The ground she had poisoned with the light was soaked in the blood of the innocent, as though to poison Vassek against those who would defend it.

As the Master and Apprentice stopped just before the village gates, another legionnaire approached Nefaron and bowed before delivering his report

"My Master, our forces have suffered losses-"

"Of no consequence. For every ship we lose, cut the throats of ten of the villagers. Their blood will protect you from this foul magic."

The Legionarie found dark glee in that suggestion, but he had yet more news to deliver

"Of course Master. Darth Imperius has arrived to aid us in the slaughter. What shall we tell him?"

"Excellent. Inform him that all of our picket ships in orbit are under his command. Oh... and tell him that a withered hag on the surface that will offer a battle worthy of his time."

"Your will be done, Master."

The Legionnaire scampered off to convey Nefarons orders, just in time for the Witch to approach the Corpse Lord and his Apprentice. It was as if a wall of light smacked into a wall of darkness, the Legionaries behind Nefaron were forced backward, some cowering before the presence of the Light.

But Nefaron stood, hands folded behind his back as the Force Spawn approached.

"Quite the welcome, Witch, but you waste so much power on those who are so undeserving of protection."

Nefaron stepped forward, confident in the power of the swirling darkness as well as the hostages that were held by the Legionaries behind him.

"You seem tired... perhaps you should rest those weary eyes."

Nefaron chuckled, the Corpse Legionaries had become emboldened by their Master's defiance of the Witch, they laughed and reveled in the blood they had already spilled. The dark clouds that spewed green lighting now crackled with thunder, and with each innocent life taken the Darkness grew ever stronger.

"I cannot thank you enough for drawing me here. This world has already begun to accept the coming darkness that will consume the entire galaxy. It is so unfortunate that you have failed to embrace the darkness, you might have made a powerful servant..."

Nefaron stepped even closer, as he did the blades at the throats of the hostages grew ever closer, some drew blood, and the eager hands who held them.

"I wonder how many more will suffer for your defiance... the tunnels you so carefully funnel the innocent into will make such a wonderful trap when I unleash my toxin."

Only then did Nefaron raise his hands, fingers curling and the air around the Sith turned cold, as if it was the middle of winter.

"Now, begone Witch!"

Nefaron unleashed bolts of blueish-purple lighting from his fingertips, dark laughter escaping his hood as he took such great glee in his own power.

ALLY TAGS: Veradun Sharr , Darth Imperius
NEUTRAL TAGS: Serina Calis Commodore Helix Lirka Ka
ENEMY TAGS: Magdalena Bloodscrawl , Drego Ruus ​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Vassek - Outlying Farmlands
| Objective | Spring the jaws of death

Vassek was not a world of the Mid Rim. It was, as some of her warriors had pointed out to the Kryz'alor, beyond their established communities, and barely within their limited strike range. As ever, Jenn's words only spurned them onwards to greater deeds, and greater glory, for such was the power of her will, and her otherworldly voice.​

​

"What use are we, if we cannot defend those who are too weak to fight for themselves? Why should we call ourselves Mandalorians, if we refuse to lend our might to those in need? Must we abandon them to their station as prey? No! We are Evaar'la Mando'ade, and by blaster and sword will our name be known throughout the stars, and sung for a thousand years! Oya Manda!"​

​

The ferocious call was all too easily echoed by the small, if experienced strike team she had brought with her. A few of her Nite Owls and the most veteran of her Hastati made for a rather impressive cadre of warriors, all of them hungering for a chance to strike back against the most ancient and hated foe. Although the Duchess ever sought to repress her emotions, to bury all of the horrors of her past underneath the majesty and cold wisdom of her station, the Sith had a way of breaking that focus, and turning her into a furious whirlwind of death and vengeance, eager to mete out bloody reprisal upon those who had taken her world from her, and all that she had ever knew. Killing the bastard followers of the Dark brought her more satisfaction than anything else in life, and yet she ever hungered for more. Hatred would ever burn in her heart until someone finally snapped the thread of her existence. ​

​

For all of her fury, however, The Redeemer swallowed down her murderous urges long enough to set up a simple, if straightforward plan. Underneath ample cloaks did they hide the holy star-metal of their ancestors, lying in wait for the Sith to do as they had done with several other towns by now; it was too late to save those farmers now, but these ones, they could still assist. And so they waited, quietly evacuating the old, the children, the sick. There was no time to make a militia of the rest, to train them as best they could; arming them with a few blaster carbines and placing them in those few points of hard cover at their disposal was the best they could do under such short study.​

​

They hid, when the dreaded foe finally arrived, or posed as the hapless bystanders their enemy had expected. Waiting for their opportunity. For the order to come. ​

​

Only when the foe stood but a few sword's length from them, close enough to take note of their greaves and catch a glimpse or two of their visors, did the Duchess' voice smoothly reach all troops across the comms.​

​

<K'kyr'amur!>​

​

In but a moment, the Hastati pulled their blasters from beneath their cloaks. At such close range, the sheer stopping power of the A257 was sufficient to shred through their opposition, the effect of surprise used to its full advantage. Making liberal application of their explosives, the Nite Owls fired wrist rockets and jetpack-mounted missiles alike, determined to unleash the full might of Mandalorian shock and awe. Mercenaries made for a far more familiar target than the fanatical cultists they had faced on Echnos, and these would certainly not be coming back to life after being killed (or so they hoped). Thinning out their numbers would be essential during the first few seconds of the engagement, before the numbers at the invaders' disposal could overwhelm them.​

​

Jenn, for her part, felt her vision of the world focusing when her eyes came to rest upon Serina Calis . The outfit, the weapon, the presence in the Force - it painted a clear enough picture for her. Hers was a fury worthy of legend, in that moment; and with the unmistakable snap-crack-hiss! that so often accompanied the activation of light-based weaponry, her kad'yustapir came to life, shimmering and flowing in all of its aquatic beauty. ​

​

"Begone from this world, spawn of evil! I cast you into Haran!"​

​

With a burst of her jetpack to give her a slight height advantage and a calculated motion of her wrist, she sent her own sliver of oceanic might forth towards the foe's midsection.​

​

Serina Calis ​

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Darth Nefaron Veradun Sharr
​

Trekking across open ground was one thing. Drego had trained in stealth back in his days in Clan Bralor. Despite being a hulking brute, Drego was still a quiet soldier. A good mando should be.

From a nearby hill, he scanned his targets. Two sith lords, one apprentice.

He only wanted the one.

"Tanya, hit 'em with the mortar barrage."

Drego was never one to come unprepared. Back at his LZ, he had brought with him his Walker, controlled by his AI. Only a second later, three mortar rounds, heavy EMP shells, fell upon the sith.

That's when Drego booked it towards them. Rushing down the hill like a man running for his life, Drego rushed Darth Nefaron , opening fire on him with his underbarrel grenade launcher, firing a carbonite grenade right at the sith lord. He wasn't taking any chances.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Vaserk countryside.
Tag: Commodore Helix Jenn Kryze ​

The night had erupted into chaos.

Blaster fire rang through the air, sharp and deadly, drowning out the distant cries of those too slow or too weak to flee. Mandalorian warriors struck with brutal efficiency, their weapons cutting through Serina's hired mercenaries before her forces could fully respond.

Yet Serina Calis did not react with panic. She did not flinch, did not waver. She simply watched.

She had expected some resistance—nothing in the galaxy was ever handed freely to those strong enough to claim it. But Mandalorians? That was unexpected. Their presence altered the balance of the battlefield in an instant. Mercenaries were predictable, pliable, and ultimately expendable. These warriors, however, fought with purpose, with conviction, with a fire that would not be easily extinguished.

It was almost a shame she would have to kill them.

Then the voice came—fierce, righteous, filled with a venomous hatred that lanced through the Force like a blade of cold steel. A woman clad in Mandalorian armor burst forth, moving with the kind of fury only vengeance could forge.

Serina felt the shift in the air, the moment before the strike.

Her hands did not move to defend herself. Not yet. Instead, she exhaled softly, letting the Force flow through her, slowing the world to an eternity as her piercing blue eyes locked onto the warrior before her.

The snap-crack-hiss of the blade's activation was unmistakable—an azure light humming with lethal grace. Not a lightsaber. Something else. Something old.

Fascinating.

And then the strike came.

Serina moved with liquid elegance, stepping back with just enough precision to avoid the full force of the attack. The edge of the oceanic blade hissed through the air, missing her midsection by mere inches. It was not fear that made her move—it was curiosity. She wanted to see this warrior, to understand the fury in her voice, the conviction in her stance.

With deliberate slowness, Serina's right hand extended outward, fingers splaying in the air as if grasping for something unseen.

And then, Ebon Requiem answered.

The halberd's dark, whispering presence filled the battlefield before its wielder even touched it, the glow of its obsidian etchings casting eerie reflections in the flickering light of blaster fire. It was not summoned through brute force but through will, through a bond deeper than metal and flame. The moment her fingers curled around its shaft, the weapon became an extension of her being—her will given form.

The battle around them fell away.

She did not strike immediately. Instead, she lifted the halberd with a slow, deliberate grace, letting its weight settle in her hands, the gleaming phrik blade tilting ever so slightly toward the Mandalorian. A silent acknowledgment. A challenge.

She could have spoken. Could have answered the woman's accusations, could have corrected her misjudgment. I am no Sith, she could have said. But where was the fun in that?

Instead, Serina remained still. Impassive. Unmoved.

Let them believe what they wished. Let them see what they wanted to see.

Her posture was neutral, neither aggressive nor defensive, her expression unreadable. A whisper of a smirk played at the edges of her lips, but her eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—held only a quiet intrigue.

Still, she did not speak.

She merely waited.

Would this Mandalorian strike again? Would she hesitate?

Would she understand?

The dance had begun.

 

[Magdalena Bloodscrawl]

Magdalena didn't dignify the speech Darth Nefaron gave about her about her preaching drawing him here.

"You would have eventually come here regardless. Easy pickings. Someone like you could never resist low hanging fruit." she dismissed, filtering out his force's laughter. They wouldn't save everybody. Even now, he was dampening the effects of her ground spell with those already captured. But the Sorceress of Ossis was first and foremost, a Blood Sorceress. She had contingencies for those trying to counter her spells using blood. But now was not the right time to spring them.

"Like all Sith, you believe you see past more than the Surface, when it is nothing more than projection. What you want to see in life, so it reflects what's on your inside."

The Clone Defense Troopers had triggered the turret traps near their proximity, and had begun blasting away at the hostage takers out in the open, but many would die regardless. You couldn't hesitate. It had to be made clear early to Sith that hostage taking would not work on someone like her. The hostage had to be considered dead the moment the Sith got them. You had to fight regardless. Because if you surrended, tried to negotiate, then it was just one more stall for time the Sith gained. They would save who they could. But they would have to avenge the rest.

"You are the one wasting your time. Wasting your power on those who pose no threat to you. You are a coward, Nefaron..." she said, deliberately refusing to use his Darth title as a subtle insult. "You wouldn't try this chit on a more defended world. So like a vulture, you pick at scraps..."

Magdalena let his lightning hit her, her flesh shuddering and bubbling violently. In her advanced state of age, she was extremely resistant to the Dark Side, and even as the flesh on her face violently peeled away from her skull at random in certain areas, she drank in and converted the energy, even as parts of her caught fire, and she visibly aged a couple of weeks resisting its power. She hissed ancient magics, her body charged, bulging and horrifically distorted...

"Wasting your time with poisons...with farmers...." The Light Side abomination hissed through bubbling, misshapen lips as she converted his lighting, even as parts of her body did sustain damage from the lightning burst.

"So my only question is this...why should your apprentice respect a rotting old man who has, so far, shown himself to be a slaver, a grouch, a pathetic chemist if New Cov is anything to go by..."

Magdalena sent the absorbed lightning back not to Nefaron...but to the corpse legion around him, and the green electricity-like lightside energy changed energy to the nearby legionnaires, ripping through them and freeing the hostages, not interfering as Drego Ruus tried to attack.

"...a man who is showing himself to be everything and anything but a Sith Lord?" she scoffed as her flesh reset on her body, watching the electric judgement chain between corpse soldiers repeatedly, though some still successfully managed to kill hostages before the judgement effects chained to them also. But the lightning had done damage. He face was partly cooked, burned off, revealing the jaw of her obsidian skeleton, glowing green blood and muscle tissue oozing out disgustingly as formerly captured civilians ran for their lives. The glowing green muscle tissue on her face was exposed, flaying around in the air of its own accord even as it started to repair itself.

"No, Pretender, YOU leave..." she replied, whispering an ancient curse designed to target the ribs of dark side beings and break them...and the spell also targeted his apprentice, Veradun Sharr ...

Meanwhile, the Judgement storm on the planet grew fiercer, now regularly striking Clone Legion Soldiers...

Darth Ultramar

Jenn Kryze

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Vassek - Outlying Settlement
| Objective | Iron jaws and beskar bones

All around them, the brutality of the ambush kept on unfolding, blind and deaf as they were to it. Though few in numbers, the Mandalorian strike team made good use of their initial advantage; by the time the mercenaries had managed to form a cohesive response, dividing themselves into squads made from survivors of the ambush, their numbers had almost evened out. Plasma flew through the air as blasters were brought to bear, and explosions lit up the night sky-​

​

And yet the Duchess paid no heed to such bloodshed. Not when the foe proved to be so... intriguing, and damnably so. Not a word had left her lips, not a single promise of eternal damnation for her troops, of immeasurable pain for daring to stand in the path of the Sith as they went about their slaving and plundering. There was an intensity to her gaze, a searching quality - attributes Jenn recognized as her own. A dark mirror of sorts, although different than what she saw when gazed upon the like of Carduul Akahl , whose martial focus reflected her own earlier tendencies. ​

​

When was the last time she fought a calculating, reflective Sith? Such were not her memories of the dreaded foe, the destroyers of a civilization, those who carried fire and ash as their raiment. This one was different, she realized, and so she slowly began to circle around her, her feet touching down on solid ground once more. Waiting. Appraising her opponent a little more carefully, more methodically, though anger still boiled in her gut. ​

​

Such an elegant weapon, this one wielded. Borne of darkness, perhaps, but unusual and exotic. Something to be admired for its make, for the way she held it. There was experience there, a respect for the weapon that went beyond what most could, or cared to achieve. Osmosis. An extension of one's will.​

​

How could she not respect such a mindset?​

​

"Turn back now, and I will spare you. Stay, and you will die here, as the pathetic wyrm of darkness that you are. These people are under my protection."​

​

Serina Calis ​

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Vaserk countryside.
Tag: Jenn Kryze ​

Serina tilted her head ever so slightly, the barest flicker of amusement dancing across her sharp blue eyes. The Mandalorian moved with purpose, with discipline, but more than that—with passion. Even as she landed, even as she circled with slow, measured steps, there was fire in her, a relentless storm barely held in check beneath the weight of her station. Fascinating.

Serina let the silence stretch between them, languid and unhurried, her grip on Ebon Requiem loose but precise, as if the halberd was an afterthought in her hands, an ornament of war rather than a tool of it.

Then, at last, she breathed a soft laugh.

"Oh... now that was quite the entrance." Her voice, silk and shadow, dripped with a playfulness at odds with the carnage around them. "A warrior-poet, standing upon the precipice of battle, fire in her heart, steel in her hands, and righteousness in her voice." Her tone was soft, slow, intimate—as if she were speaking just for the two of them, as if the battlefield beyond had ceased to exist. "And such beauty in the way you move. A weapon honed over years of hardship, tempered in loss, sharpened by vengeance. So refined. So exquisite."

She took a single step back, measured and deliberate, turning ever so slightly, as if already considering her retreat.

"But what a shame," she mused, her gaze lingering upon the woman before her, drinking in the way her stance remained coiled, ready, despite her words of warning. "A shame that such artistry must be wasted on mere slaughter. A shame that you seem so certain of what I am." A pause, her lips curving at the edges, the barest hint of a smirk. "But I must admit, I do enjoy a woman with conviction."

Serina inhaled slowly, as if savoring the tension between them, before exhaling in something between a sigh and a whisper.

"I suppose I should thank you, then. I had come here with my own designs, but now you've given me something far more precious." Her fingers ghosted along the shaft of her halberd, as if in thought. "You see, I do so love a challenge. And you, my dear, are a challenge."

Another step backward, languid, like the slow unraveling of a ribbon.

"I think I shall take your offer," she said at last, her voice barely above a murmur. "I shall turn back. You have made quite the impression, after all." Her blue eyes gleamed in the darkness, amusement threading through every syllable. "But then, I wonder... does it bother you, to see me retreat?"

Another step.

"Does it leave you... unfulfilled?"

Another.

"I can feel it, you know. The way your hands ache to cut me down. The way your fire burns for something more than nameless corpses. You know I could always come back any time I desired, any time I wanted." A soft chuckle, a quiet thing, dangerous in its delicacy. "But if you would rather have me run, then by all means."

She gave the woman a long, lingering look, drinking in the weight of her presence, the defiance in her stance.

Then, she turned.

But the invitation had already been cast, whispered into the storm. And if Serina was right—and she was always right—she need not lift her halberd.

The Mandalorian's own pride she hoped would bring her to the fight.

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Vassek - Outlying Settlement
| Objective | The hatred of a thousand days

​

In so many ways, the Mandalorian standing before Serina was still the fierce hunter she had once been. The years had gone by, the blind fury of youth left by the wayside, a transformation completed when she took the mantle of Alor of Clan Kryze for herself and draped it over her shoulders. A heavy responsibility to bear at the time, standing up for all that she thought was right against the rest of her people as they embarked in their ill-fated war against the Alliance, and in so doing, doomed all that the Enclave had strived for since its founding. ​

​

But Jenn was stronger. Jenn fought with all of her heart to rip her Clan away from that sinking ship, and with every passing month, power and splendor became hers, for she kept on accomplishing the impossible. With every deed she performed, her reputation grew, from a humble and forgettable smith to a leader of warriors, a sword in the darkness, an indefatigable warrior dedicated to goodness.​

​

But with her mounting responsibilities, came the thirst for power. The power to strike down her enemies, yes, but most importantly, the power to save others. Some called it pride, but The Redeemer recognized it for what it truly was; the duty of one who choose to lead armies, to steer a people towards a certain path. Weakness was a choice. To be remembered for a thousand lifetimes, known by a hundred names, one must leave a mark upon the Galaxy, and the Kryz'alor would accept nothing less than to become a legend, transcending flesh and bone.​

​

The soft laugh her foe uttered, however, left her all too frustrated. Did the creature before her not realize who she was facing? Did she seek to look down upon her, who had faced insurmountable odds and endured, where so many lesser beings had been cut down, their story unsung, their legend unwritten? ​

​

No. No, she did not. And in this, her foe was all the more intriguing. Darth Carnifex had looked upon her as a deity looks upon a mortal challenging them, and from that horrific defeat, the desire to transcend the shackles of mortality was born; but there was no such genocidal disdain to be read in the woman's eyes, nor sarcasm in her voice. ​

​

Still, she remained guarded. Jenn had never known Sith to be earnest. As far as she was concerned, everything escaping their lips was either a cruel threat or a beautiful lie; their kind lacked the ability for righteousness. They were beneath her. Less than sentient. Debased animals deserving of neither pity, nor mercy. ​

​

The fallen Padawan was right to consider the Mandalorian the way she did. Though passively observing her quarry, every last fiber of her being screamed for her to let her righteous anger be brought to bear, and from the lance of verity, deliver the stars of yet another scourge. Another would-be tyrant, imposing their will on others through deception or steel. Resisting the urge to simply strike once more, to kill, was proving more and more difficult the longer she looked. She almost preferred those Sith who insulted her to someone like Serina, someone who went and stroked her ego and used that leverage to tempt her, to make her look inward, when she was supposed to be the certainty of the purifier, the mettle of The Redeemer.​

​

"You call me a challenge, yet your steps take you further and further away from me. Are you afraid, child of my enemy? Is that why you ply me with such words? You may find I am beyond your paltry attempts at manipulation. I am The Redeemer. Duchess of the New Mandalorians. Alor of House Kryze. Who are you to speak to me as you do, coward? You who came to this world to dictate your will upon the weak, instead of testing it against the strong."​

​

Ah, but she was right. For every step backwards she took, the anger welling inside of the Mandalorian grew higher and higher, the thought of allowing her to go free consuming her every thought. They could save the people today, get them somewhere safe, but the New Mandalorians could not be here forever. What use was it, to let the mercenaries die, and the high value target go? But Jenn had her values, her code, her word. And she held on to them... until her enemy turned her back to her, that threat left in the air. Not against the Duchess, but against those she sought to protect.​

​

Dha'naast justified his betrayal and subsequent genocide of the Mandalorian people with a horrifying logic, Jenn had found. Skanah Aru'e would say that he had never betrayed his word, in his long life; for one could not break a covenant made with beasts, and the Mando'ade were just that. Beasts. By that rhetoric, their extermination was not only just, but righteous. ​

​

The thought sent her down a spiral. In but a moment, she was... the child she had been, once. Watching as her world died around her. Her family overwhelmed with numbers and firepower, and exterminated. ​

​

Jenn would not be breaking her word after all.​

​

Just cleansing the Galaxy of another deceitful creature, who thought to play upon her emotions with the grace and elegance at her disposal, playing the Mandalorian like any other piece on a chess board. ​

​

With speed and grace, her free hand pulled her pistol from its holster and fired bolt after bolt of plasma towards her target. ​

​

Serina Calis ​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Vassek - Minor Village
| Objective | To Safeguard the Innocent

When the first reports of a raid on the planet of Vassek arrived, Itzhal Volkihar did not expect much of a response. Far from any reasonable measure of support and with little time to gather reinforcements, in truth, the Mandalorian had expected to be just one of a few to travel to the world in search of survivors once the dust had settled. Capable as he was, he was not unaware of his limits. His knowledge of the Sith and their true capabilities was incomplete, yet even then, he had not expected to arrive in time to stop the raids, nor had he expected to possess the firepower to deal with so many hostiles. Alone, he would accomplish little.

Yet, he wasn't alone.

Such was the essence of his people, those rare few who had dedicated themselves to a purpose greater than any one man. Driven by a profound sense of principle that beat within each of their noble hearts, from which formed a shield as strong as beskar to defend the vulnerable in a Galaxy where many would meekly turn away. With unwavering resolve, he found kin, and through them, he hoped they would make the Galaxy just that little bit brighter, as was the purpose of the Evaar'la Mando'ade.

When she, who would be named The Redeemer, proclaimed their stance to those grappling with uncertainty and doubt in their hearts, Itzhal stood quietly yet resolutely in the background, a silent sentinel proud to step forward into the breach.

Now, he stood at the breach.

If the village had ever possessed a name, he did not know it. With many of the civilians too panicked to speak and even less time to question them for answers, Itzhal had accepted he would likely never know the name of the people he'd set out to defend. What did a title matter, though, as he passed by villagers filled with dread and uncertainty, some paralysed by the fear of demons and horrors that until now had been little more than myth and legend to them. Others had run before they had even arrived, escaped deeper into the countryside or further into the slaver's net.

Itzhal was not a young man. In his time, he had committed great sins and dealt punishment to those who had done even worse. Yet, even now, he was not numb to the picture of those who had not prepared for such suffering and now faced the consequences with little but slugthrowers and ancient blasters handed down from those few of their people who had ever needed to fight. His people had done the best they could to arm those who volunteered and evacuate or safeguard those who couldn't fight. Still, as he looked around at those worried faces, Itzhal knew he condemned many to death.

A profound melancholy settled over Itzhal as if the very fabric of the cloak draped across his shoulders had turned leaden with grief. He sat alone on a weather bench in the heart of the village, his posture slumped and weary, quiet against the backdrop of frenzied fear. The glint of his hidden armour was softened by the gentle caress of shadows cast by the old town hall at his back, blending seamlessly into the sombre folds of his attire. The once bustling village around him felt distant and faded, a mere backdrop to the weight of his sorrow.

Marching steps on the edge of the horizon neared closer as he leaned back, the beskar pressed against his back in response, firm and solid as the set of pistols holstered at his hips and the jetpack clamped to his backplate.

"Tion'ad cuy'adat shuk'yc oyula riye?", he wondered aloud.

Tag: Lirka Ka​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Mandalorians. Light Witches. Clone Soldiers.

It was not enough to save Vassek.
​

Nefaron reveled in the burst of power he unleashed, even as the wretched creature shed her ancient skin and morphed into some horrid creature. The Corpse Lord remained unphased, for as she mocked his power she revealed the extent of her own. Despite her claims to serve the Light, the more he pressed the more she shed that facade and began to serve him. She could chant whatever spells she wished, each rushed breath and burst of power brought them closer to the final act.

She was not the only one proficient in sorcery.

But she had limits to her power, the Darkside would open up fully to those willing to shed their feeble morality and wield their emotions fully, chief among these being hatred, pain...

and fear.

Yet as the pair battled, Nefaron was caught off guard by the arrival of one devoted to the ways of the warrior arts of Mandalore. The mortar strikes and sorcery-conjured lighting began to decimate the Corpse Legionnaires that had backed Nefaron, the Witch's pathetic defenses picking off those who stumbled. Nefaron barely turned in time to experience the full force of the Mandalorian's carbonite grenade. Though he was able to drag the force around him to protect him from the force of the blast, it did send him flying backward, tumbling for a time before the darkness swelled within him. Wrath became his guide, but before he dealt with the pathetic warrior he felt a surge of the Witch's magic.

She thought to target his Apprentice?

The Dark Lord reacted quickly, his arm reaching out to rip his Apprentice toward him with the force. It was not a gentle thing, but it did prevent him from suffering the blow of the Witch's sorcery. Once the boy reached him, Nefaron allowed him to tumble behind him. Normally it was the apprentice's place to die for his master, but Nefaron had such plans for the boy. He would live and continue to serve, as he would do very shortly. For the moment, Nefaron unleashed his power once more, ripping earth and rock from the ground to send it in a wave against the charging warrior. It would not be enough to stop him, but it would buy enough time for Nefaron to turn his rage toward another target.

Quickly, Nefaron used a blade to cut into his palm, his black blood flowed like the very darkness that made up his entire being. The Witch thought her sorcery to be the ultimate power, but she had not been to the darkness in the Unkown Regions' furthest depths. The Darkness that hid there was the stuff of nightmares and Nefaron had taken some of its secrets for his own.

Nefaron raised his bloody hand to the clouds that spewed the vile sorcery and unleashed a torrent of force lightning. The reaction was violent, as green sorcery clashed with the sickly blue that was the Dark Side. Eventually, the clouds that birthed the power turned to Nefarons aid, a new weapon added to his arsenal as the very same green bolts that targeted his own forces turned blue, their wrath now directed at village defenses as well as the Witch herself. She could continue her pursuit of the Dark Lord, or she could save the village she had fought so desperately to protect.

She could not do both.

"Apprentice" the words were not spoken so much as forced into young Veradun's mind "We enter the final act. I will guide you through a ritual, follow its steps exactly, or face oblivion."

Nefaron had just enough time to hand off the same blood knife that he had used on his own palm before he had to again face the oncoming Mandalorian

"These words, remember them. Speak them three times once you have done as I command."

Taka zeech ma toka duuwaj.
​

This was the foul language of the ancient Sith, the stuff of legend and prophecy. It would be the key to unleashing the ritual Nefaron had planned, but there was one final step.

"Carve the hearts from ten of the villagers. Once they are piled up, burn them and speak the words. Go!"

With his Apprentice given a command, Nefaron could now focus once more on his enemy.

"If you have come to die Mandalorian then I am more than happy to grant your request!"

Once more, the Corpse Lord raised his withered hands and unleashed a torrent of lightning, the bolts angry and crackling as they traveled toward the Mandalorian, the dark grin the Sith had worn earlier having now returned to him as he reveled in the dark side once more. The remaining Corpse Legionnaires, driven to frothing madness by the death and destruction around them, charged the warrior to defend their master.

ALLY TAGS: Veradun Sharr Darth Imperius
NEUTRAL TAGS: Serina Calis Commodore Helix Lirka Ka
ENEMY TAGS: Magdalena Bloodscrawl Drego Ruus Jenn Kryze Itzhal Volkihar ​