Invasion The Day of Revenge | BotM Invasion of GA held Empress Teta and Foerost | TETA PART ONE

[Westenra Mina]

Lynda was badly cut and shot up, Torso full of holes, bleeding glowing red blood as she ripped into her Maw victims, soaked in blood and gore.

Every Chop, every stab was fueled by pure, undiluted, Crazy. The blade would flash through the air, and a head or limb would go flying. Her attacks grew more frenzied and chaotic the more her databases looped the memory of seeing her dead pets, impaled on spikes.

Her black, metallic fangs sank into the throat of a Maw Warrior, tearing it out and causing arterial spray to shoot out everywhere. She jammed her Katana into the body of one, picked up another, and broke the woman's back on her knee, tossed her into another crowd, got her sword out of the impaled victim, and deflected armor piercing slug thrower rounds as she advanced, slicing into their weapons, her hand tearing a chunk of a person's intestines out, grabbing another and deliberately sawing through his face with a Katana before using his slick, bloodied corpse to bludgeon a chain gun wielding Maw Warrior.

She had fought her way into the interior of the palace, closer to where Percival Io was.

She wasn't, I must repeat this, WASN'T coordinating with House Io in any way, shape, or form. She didn't even realize they were here until she saw the Model 3 units, in between tearing a Maw Warriors jaw off and using the torn jaw to impale another through the eye.

Lynda gave a horrible metallic sounding shriek as she got torched in flames by a wrist mounted flamethrower, flaying about as an axe got buried into her shoulder, a spear going through her chest, then a knife into the side of her head.

She fell to the ground, didn't move, still on fire due to the incendiary chemicals. But while momentarily effective at stunning and stopping her, her design was far more resilient to this than they would have liked.

One shot her in the head as a precaution, others stabbing and shooting her.

Lynda, Demon of Jedha, daughter of Nine Lives, would not be killed so easily.

She leapt up, still burning, breaking off the spear in her chest, pulling the axe from her shoulder and smashing it into the three closest to her, jamming the broken spear shaft into the eye of a Minigun wielding Maw killer, causing his spray of fire to go wild, hitting several others as he died.

Her fangs sank into the throat of her victim, wheeling his body around so he could soak in panic fire, eating just enough of his psychic energy to fully repair her shoulder and get her body to push the knife out of her skull, letting her think a little clearer.

She saw her sword on the ground and sprinted for it, dodging and flipping over gunfire and blasterfire, snatching swords and daggers off the ground as she back flipped and cartwheeled across the ground and over corpses, hurling them at shooters reaching her Katana--

...and getting hit with a massive Force Push.

Her ribcage and neck shattered as she was sent hurling across the ground by a black robed Final Dawn Sith, a red Lightsaber floating around him.

Lynda skittered across the ground, systems disrupted, leaving a smear of glowing red blood behind her as half her face was shredded off, revealing the obsidian skull underneath scorched muscle.

She staggered back up, but was met with a massive pile of bodies being slammed into her at high speed with Telekinesis, shattering her jaw and sending her flying again.

Only a last minute block with her Katana prevented his Lightsaber from slicing her in half, and she engaged the Repulsors in her bloody, red and blue hoplite type armor diving at him as he tried to summon more debris to hurl at her. She tackled him, managing to shatter a wrist, but this only seemed to enrage the Sith and he roared, grabbing her in a Force grip and compressing the squealing Android brutally with Telekinesis, trying to crush her into a ball. The systems in her armor failed completely as every bone shattered as she started to be crushed into a ball. She struggled against the telekinetic effect, as even now, she could feel no pain, and The Sith focused all his might on crushing her, but she still managed to hurl her Katana at him, even as her body ate through it's reserves of energy to a dangerous point. Due to focusing so much on crushing her with the Force, he wasn't able to react in time and it impaled him through the side, and he roared in pain.

Her body was slammed into the pavement and she felt her spine break, but her brain and arms were still functional, albeit the rest of her was completely mangled and her broken body was starting to look emaciated from having burned through so much energy.

She ran on her arms, dragging her body over others at high speed, even as more blaster bolts ripped through her body as she leapt for the Sith just as he managed to get the Katana out of him, tackling him and sinking her fangs into his neck, gushing his blood everywhere as she violently tore out his psychic energy to a lethal point, instantly gaining the use of her lower legs back, along with restored muscle tissue. But she was still a mangled mess and nowhere near optimal efficiency. Her armor was wrecked and she was bleeding everywhere, and pretty much the only thing keeping her going was pure hatred.

But that didn't mean she wasn't making every foe around her feel real slivers of icy, raw terror at the sight of her.

She sprinted towards the interior, slicing and slashing through targets of opportunity, howling barbarically in her mangled form as she got deeper and deeper back to where Percival Io was, as the Sith had slowed her progress.

She was surrounded on all sides, and in her own mind, by an unending miasma of fear and pain and hate, the dead bodies of her pets flashing through quantum subroutines, like her sword flashed through flesh and metal and bone as she fought the unending, but now slightly panicked hoard frantically trying to destroy her after she had Gary Oldman'd the chit out of that Sith.

 

[Jin X]

Richard Ramirez by SKYND

Character Voice: X

Location: Foerost
Objective: A
Gear: Nightmare of Exegol (Lightsaber), The Fiend's Grin (Lightwhip), Pistol, Sniper Rifle
Tags: Kai Bamarri​

The screams of death echoed and bounced upon the corridor's walls like a gentle lullaby luring the forces into a state of near-sleep like murder. Walls once polished and maintained clean by server droids now became decorated with macabre artistic work of blood splashed images. Death and carnage ruled like Gods and Kings amongst the tiny hallway, like a death shrouded fitted dress. The more both sides poured into this cylinder tomb, the larger the history of failure and death grew in legend. No commander was prepared for such a scene, no military academy could ever teach a pro or con against the situation proposed to attack or repel such a hatred onslaught. The tiny, little corridor was death: and those that fell, both in defense and assault would never be remembered for their sacrifices. It was the small, lesser unknown written battles of war that went without recognition: but for those that fought it, watched comrades die, never forgot; regardless of your aligned political beliefs.

This corridor, was death: and would redefine for all years to come how close quarters combat would be taught in military academies. For those that fought and died to create such a new proposed tactic; would never know what their sacrifices bred.

Eyes roaming through the small enclosure, ordering those troops under my command to kill everything before them; even it was a insect or rodent seeking shelter, I ordered its death. My eyes continuously focused on anyone that could become a proper dessert; but there was a sense of an unfamiliar feeling.

What I am, is a byproduct of Sith Engineering. I never asked for this, but I wholly accept what I am: a monster with murderous intent. But what I saw across the blood water-filled floors was something I almost admired. I know what a Sithspawn is, and I believe those Sith Scientists had desperately attempted to create one in me; not only failed , but perhaps created a whole new understanding of that term. There brutal indoctrination of Sithspawn knowledge into my mind was incomplete: what stood before me was more abomination than myself. I powered down my lighstaber.....retrieving my other hilt: those Exegol masters beat one thing into me I shan't never forget, the flesh is nothing more than organic material, it rots and decays; but flesh is substance, it gives life: And on that thought, I led the charge into the enemy.

 

[Kai Bamarri]

Objective 2A: The Belly of the Whale
Tags: Jin X

The girl took the time to switch to a different lightsaber, then charged at him.

At the last moment, Kai moved to one side as if to dodge her—but kept one foot out in the hopes of tripping her.

If the dirty move sent her crashing to the floor, he’d finish her off while she was down. If not, she’d probably be even more angry than she already was, so he prepared a strong defense, raising his blade and steeling his nerves.

 

[Elena Lowe]

-

Cadet Elena Lowe | GADF Army
Objective 1B - The Palace
Allies: Zark San Tekka | Seto du Couteau | June Pepperpetal | Kier Grey | Rika Hiro
Enemies: Joseph Torson | Alars Keto | Kyrel Ren | Hilal Vizsla | Hex | Alexa | IMPERA | Open

Look out, look out... Ahh!

Elena swore as she lost her grip on the crate and it fell heavily to the floor, striking her toe with force.

"Hey watch it Elena come on!"

Elena hobbled around, muttering curses as she walked off the pain. The earthquake, which had caused her to slip, subsided, leaving dust and chips of plaster drifting down from the ceiling.

"Commander said we needed to get these moved as soon as possible." said Kara, one of Elena's fellow cadets.

"I know I know, let's keep moving." Elena lifted the box and the cadet squad moved onward. Her muscles were straining, beads of sweat running down the back of her neck. By the Force she hated lifting things.

The boxes were full of supplies. What kind of supplies, Elena wasn't quite sure. Something for the coronation, or maybe for the security detachment. Whatever the crates contained, when the rumbling earthquakes had begun, their CO had sent the cadets to deliver the crates to a forward position within the royal halls.

Elena fumed as she walked, partially because the situation sucked, and partially to drown out the simmering worry that rose with every rumble of the ground beneath her feet and every staffer who passed them.

The lives of the cadets had significantly worsened since they had rebuffed their offer to join the Starfighter Corps as pilots. Their superiors in the Army regarded them as insolent and their peers thought they were elitist and weak. Suffice to say morale was low. Worse still, Elena had the chance to get out of that situation with Gorthalon 's visit from the Pathfinders. The allure of the escape to the branch of her dreams had been strong, but Elena had slipped from the training, scared of losing the friends she had made in her cadet squad. Elena was glad she was still amongst her friends, but she could not shake the lingering feeling of regret, the worry that she might've missed her chance.

Elena was shaken out of her reverie as Kara stopped suddenly, and Elena almost dropped her crate again. They had stopped in front of a large set of double doors.

"Is this the right way?" Elena asked skeptically, peering at the fancy ironwork on the door.

"Uh… I think so." said Kara, frowning at her holo.

One of the other cadets moved forward to get the door as Elena and Kara shuffled with the crate, Elena bumping her shoulder painfully. She heard voice and looked up through the open door, her eyes widening as she saw

Zark San Tekka , the Jedi Master, being led by the Senator of Empress Teta, Seto du Couteau and someone she didn't recognise. The group looked like they were in a rush, and if Elena was in a rush, she figured the last thing she'd want to see was a gaggle of useless cadets.

"Uh." Elena had managed to get herself to the front of the group, moving backwards with the crate and wholly blocking the door.

"Well. Kark."

 

[Gavid Horne]

Allies: Galactic Alliance Marines l Silas Westgard
Enemies: BOTM l NIO Sneaky Types l Cholesterol
Equipment: Hat, Cigar, Weapons
Tags: N/A
Theme Music: Click me, dummy!



Enter, Gavid Horne, and his platoon of Marines, on rotation for a detail on Empress Teta.

[Enter stage left, the Brotherhood of the Maw. Six paces in, stop, turn.] Lines delivered.

The Maw are here, fortified and hungry.

[Gavid Horne and his Marines take center stage at the Temple.]

The play begun.

Gavid Horne, the man himself- sauntering down the halls of the temple, his Marines in tow, grabbed a soldier, keeled over in fear. Gavid looked at him in the eyes- you see, Gavid never let the enemy not see his face. He wanted him, his mustache, and his angry brown eyes coming at them.

"We live on our feet, soldier."

Not even a mention of dying. It wasn't a possibility, it wasn't a reality. Gavid turned his head, leading his men from the front. He checked his weapon- his assault rifle clutched close to the armor plate on his chest, the charge packs and grenades littered over his kit.

He raised his fist in the air, and just....

Screamed.

The Marines with him, the detachment of them, battle-hardened, rock-eating, meat-eating, potato-headed killing machines from every prison cell and insane asylum in the galaxy, screamed with him. The Temple Guard and the Captain that the young Jedi talked to heard them coming- charging not to defensive positions, but directly at the enemy.

A counter-attack.

One hell of a counter-attack at that. Gavid lead from the front, catching two Maw soldiers off-guard, before coming face to face with an acolyte, red blade and anger issues and dark eyeliner and all. The red blade wasn't fast enough.

Gavid's left hook, disengaging from the heat shield of his rifle- meeting the face of the ugly son of a queen, was. He broke his jaw in four places and crushed his orbital bone with a single punch. He sent the acolyte tumbling down the stairs, turning his assault rifle back towards the enemy. The Alliance was back on the attack- Gavid at the front. Savage violence was the only thing they understood, so Gavid would make them understand violence.

He ripped through a few of their troopers, blue bolts of defiance spitting out from the mouth of the temple.

A temple Guardsmen came to Gavid's side, ushered by his show of either stupidity or bravado. A young man.

"There's too many Sergeant, we have to fall back!"

Gavid pulled a thermal detonator off his chest, and lobbed it at the enemy, disintegrating three and a half of them. He turned his head towards the younger soldier, grabbing him by his shoulder, gesturing down at the enemy while his mixture of Marines and Guardsmen pushed onward.

"Bullshit son, I brought enough ammo for all of 'em! Now earn your damn paycheck and kill these ugly bastards!"

​

 

[Bernard]

The Iron Giant
Walker Escort
Empress Teta

Some Tunes

Closed | Darth Bellum Ishida Ashina The Mongrel

​

It had carried in the Force. A feeling of apprehension, a premonition of danger, but it had been vague, muted. The attack on Teta had been an inevitability by all accounts. That sense of a lurking threat had always been there, but today of all days it had rippled through the Force, quietly as a whisper but noticeable to any who listened.

Perhaps if he'd taken it more seriously, done or said something instead of attending the gala, the Alliance might have known the attack was coming. But as Bernard stared out over the balcony railing, as the massive palace of Iron split the city apart and shook the very ground during its ascension, he couldn't imagine anyone who might have predicted an attack like this.

"Politicians and their symbolic parties seem a mighty magnet for menaces," he heard Ishida murmur.

Guests began to flee the premises as sirens rang throughout the city. Pieces of the palace came down, broken loose by the stresses the quaking ground carried through its architecture. Ishida caught a large piece before it killed several of the attendees, and Bernard quickly moved to lend a hand.

"Only when we're in attendance," he replied through gritted teeth.

The presence of the Dark Side became much clearer. It was as though the whispers had turned so loud they were unmistakable. The Maw's Sith had been here before he'd even set foot on the world, hours prior. And where their Sith went, their fleets soon followed.

The Siege of Teta had begun.

***

Black mist filled the street. Cries of pain, horror, and confusion echoed within, and only the dead and mangled bodies of men and machines alike remained in its wake. Whatever creature had unleashed its malevolence, the effect had become tangible even without the Force.

Bernard frowned. He steeled himself, feeling the deathly cold of the Dark Side creep through his limbs and up the base of his spine. His thumb ran over the metal of his lightsabre, a smooth sensation even through the leather of his glove. Feeling that weight had always given him a sense of stability.

Ishida leapt first, falling gracefully onto one of the repulsortanks in the direct path of the mist. She stood ready atop the tank, holding her own blade. Bernard jumped after her, though he paused to slow his fall at several outcroppings, joints, and metal supports along the walker's leg. When he finally landed on the other side of the same repulsortank, the mist had nearly reached the vehicle. The black wall obscured their sight of the street ahead. Anyone caught inside would have almost no visibility and, so Bernard's hunch, not even specialized technology would help to alleviate the disadvantage.

Bernard exhaled and concentrated on the mist. The dark energies swirling inside of it, the emotions that dripped at its edges, pulled into the centre like a vortex, they swept past him like winds in the Force. Here, darkness reigned and flowed around and over the two Jedi as though they were stones in a river.

"I'll clear a path," Bernard said, glancing to Ishida.

Summoning the Force, he braced himself against that wind and extended his arms forward. Focusing his power on the mist, he attempted to push back against that current and blow it off the streets.

It didn't come easily, he needed to concentrate and exert himself to attempt it, leaving himself vulnerable to a sudden attack, but he placed his faith in Ishida. He'd provide the opening, while she struck the blow.

​

 

[Rannan Kol]

Cinnagar, Skyscraper
Objective 1b
Allies: The Maw, Darth Carnifex
Enemies: Caltin Vanagor , Jax Thio , Iris Arani , Anyone else located in or around the Royal Palace
Equipment: The Dark Sacraments, Apostle's Vestments​

---

No head games this time. Vanagor was right in thinking that with his mind extended Kol could jump, implanting his psyche over another and engaging in a form of mind rape indiscriminately as he impressed his will on others but he wouldn't waste all his time on games. No the Dark Apostle had other things in mind.

Once Caltin Vanagor had started to ascend Kol's mind refocused, reeling itself in from where it had extended out in the environment and across the landscape of Cinnagar in the vicinity of the skyscraper he'd claimed the top of. Blinking several times Kol turned his head, canting it so that he could look upwards towards the skyline his eyes narrowing as he sought out something....

"There you are."

...his voice a whisper, even to himself as he focused on the object of his desires. On Norris he'd implanted illusions into the minds of a platoon of soldiers or more, penetrating deep into the mind of a single individual untrained in the ways of the force was almost akin to childs play for him. He'd chosen a girl and a man to begin with.

Now he chose a pilot.

The Skyline was peppered with Mawite and Galactic Alliance ships to say nothing of the civilian vessels. A lone B-Wing Assault Starfighter would break from its current objective, its pilot clutching his face momentarily and screaming over the comms as Kol shackled their wills together until he quieted and the Dark Apostle saw with his eyes. In that moment the two of them were one, Kol in control and the pilot a vessel that could see and hear everything that went on but was powerless to stop it.

The B-Wing streaked past as Vanagor landed on the rooftop, unleashing a torrent of fire from its twin autoblaster cannon that targetted the Jedi Master and tore up the section of the roof where he'd landed. There was no follow through though, the starfighter blazed past as quickly as its ion engines allowed and would show no signs of veering around for another pass. Instead it stayed on target.

The Royal Palace.

It would seem Kol cared less about attempting to kill Vanagor than he did causing as much damage as possible. The B-Wing shot towards the Royal Palace, unleashing at least one of the concussion missiles from its flexible warhead launcher while the Pilot, struggling against the movements of his body which he had no mental control over could only watch as one of his shaking hands activated one of two laser guided 'Proton Bombs' the vessel was carrying. The Bombs were laser guided but that wasn't the plan....

"Good to see you again, Master Jedi."

...the Dark Apostles form twitched briefly, his eyes rolling forward as he focused on Vanagor while savoring the last moments of the screaming pilot he'd been in control of unable to disengage from the collision course he'd been set on with the Royal Palace. The Concussion Missile fired ahead was just flash, something to create a bit of flare on the exterior of the Palace whereas the real fireworks would occur as the Starfighter crashed into the Palace and the Bomb it was carrying detonated. Friend, foe....did it even matter....

BOOM!!!

The Proton Bomb would explode, sections of the Royal Palace caught in the blast would likely collapse as all manner of debris was accompanied by concussion force. The Royal Palace was enormous but surely such an explosion would rock it deep into its bones.

As for the rest...

"You're not going drone on like you did last time did you?"

...the way Kol spoke to Vanagor he seemed to be poking at him a bit, the Dark Apostle hadn't even drawn either of his lightsabers yet. He focused on the environment though, he felt the ebb and flow of the force and galvanized himself with it.​

 

[Thomas Barran]

1st post

THE DAY OF REVENGE

OBJECTIVE 1

THE_BLOODHOUND

ACOLYTE OF THE SCAR HOUNDS

BOTM: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Tu'teggacha Khamul Kryze Keilara Kala'myr
Dodhorn Harert Kyrel Ren Shai Maji Anja Doreva Joseph Torson Rannan Kol The Manifold Darth Bellum Darth Ptolemis IMPERA Jem Fossk
Laoth Darth Carnifex Alexa Onrai Kralmus Orr Alars Keto Erion Justeene

GA/Other: Aerarii Tithe Dagon Kaze Voldran Molf Seto du Couteau
Caltin Vanagor Henna Ashina Percival Io Zark San Tekka Rika Hiro
Jax Thio Westenra Mina Valery Noble Rhys Halcyon Sol'yan Faith Organa
Auteme Ishida Ashina Bernard Corin Trenor Silas Westgard Iris Arani
Elena Lowe Gavid Horne

Thomas' Loadout
Protection/Equipment
Durasteel Brodie-Helm
Free-State Surplus Gas-Mask
2nd-Gen Galidraani SF Combat Webbing
Free-State Surplus Flak Jacket
Hipflask (Mineheel Moonshine)
Spice Powder

Weaponry/Explosives
SA-35 Heavy Blaster Rifle
AP-25i "SIMP" Particle-Beam Blaster Pistol
Beskar Romphaia (Shriven's)
Beskar Greatsword (Mongrel's)
Beskar Fairbairn Dagger
X3 Incendiary Grenades
X2 Flashbangs

THE LIVING ARTEFACT: A WOAD ON EMPRESS TETA - PROLOGUE

Cenin Plains Spaceport, Lothar Plaza Outskirts,
Marascela, Empress Teta (Early-875 ABY)

'Hey! Shriven, wake up! The Final Dawn are flying over Marascela!'

Barran had been sleeping, cradling two sheathed swords in his arms so as not to let any catspaws get their hands on the fruits of his hard work, and also keeping to the habit of keeping them close by so as not to lose them along the way either; the Shriven One had been in a few worrisome Spice hazes of late, and was therefore incapable of full trusting his own judgement and ability to focus as a result, though Thomas was fortunate enough that he would put the drug-fuelled aspects of his sword training to rest after his time on Exegol. Opening eyelids slightly, the Woad answered,'I hear no dropship engines, they're all going where the action is - Cinnegar.', with a unperturbed smirk of emotionless boredom, sitting up and putting both swords over his shoulders as he stood to see the spectacle for himself. Surprised, but not by the show of force, Thomas would chuckle at the changes in the backdrop since he fell asleep, understanding this to be the windswept residues of the battle in the planet's capital city.

Seemingly grand in scale if that much was being blown westward from over two hundred miles away.

'Yiiiip! First wisps of smoke and cordite-dust hit us about an hour ago. You've been out for about four, five at most.... So what's the plan? You reckon our Warlord's hit the ground yet, or...?'

The four Scar Hounds had been lucky in getting through first, and in more than one way at that, for there were many factors in how such an infiltration could have occurred: all resigned to the realms of mere speculation though, for no such confirmation could be ascertained in their predicament, with no such warnings or encouragements to dictate their thoughts on how they could've succeeded with such uneventful ease either. Perfectly timing their little scouting incursion beneath the planet's outer orbital-sphere, the GA's planetary air-defence squadrons were rerouting and repositioning for other attacks from the Maw's fleet at the time, all whilst the map-holographic specialists seemingly had eyes everywhere else but the solo OPFOR-blip approaching the edges of the stratosphere, perhaps made easier for the fact their engines and heat-signatures were also kept below thermal detection on approach.

'As for our Warlord, I am utterly clueless. As for the plan - I think we should start brain-storming the best way to infiltrate Cinnegar.'

They would be safe from Jedi attacks for as long as they remained in Marascela, though this was partially why Barran's trio agreed on this landing-zone in particular, and to compound this wise choice between friends, almost as soon as the Shriven One had mentioned it.

'We're on the offensive, the locals where we are now are all criminals who believe us criminals like they are, nobody's looking for us an' we're here for just one reason. At least, until we're given a reason to stay, as I have a sneaking suspicion we'll be quite busy on this one.... But we're definitely safe here in Marascela whilst the local hoodlums remain busy, so shoot with whatever suggestions spring t'mind.'

Ghoul stepped forward to see to his squiring duties, strapping the sheathed Romphaia to the utility-belt on the Shriven One's combat-webbing as he muttered,'But comm-chatter confirmations aren't safe at the moment though.... Heh! and yet, that never stopped our lot from proceeding before. So why stop now, hm?', stepping off with an affirmative slap to Barran's shoulder as he stepped to one side to frame the rest of his response. Enough room would be allowed after a few backpedalling paces, and then, after drawling,'Besides, what you were forging on Rhigar was nothing short of frightening, so I'm reckoning we'll all be just fine either way. You've forged good swords for us with what you had left, and we feel safer with the new designs, especially after seeing how pretty the final articles turned out.', the latest addition to the clique clasped his hands behind his back in anticipation, having only being able to see the blade in differing stages of it's development before that day.

'So show us yours, draw your labour of love from her scabbard and let us see this Aethysian Romphaia sword you speak of.'

I thought I was insane to forge it before, but still.... A dreamlike wonder, and she's mine.​

Both Ghoul and Rook had fallen silent, awestruck by the skill and craftsmanship that went into fashioning such a blade, but the Shriven One had noticed that one voice hadn't joined the others before, remaining silent as the others let their wordlessness take hold. Dreamer was still looking to the horizon in that moment, seemingly daydreaming as he watched the sun slowly descend towards the low-horizon beyond the tower-block backdrop, noted as Barran inquired,'Something on your mind, Dreamer? What gives?', swinging his sword at the air to test it's balance with one and two hands respectively. Surprisingly light, though Thomas quickly surmised it to be a result of his high-gravity training, silently deducing in the following moments that he would surprise more than a few opponents with this revelation in the near future, lunging as misty wisps in the air around him whilst he waited for an answer from the calmest mind of the group.

'Nothing,"Gives", Shriven. Just thinking on the plan, and I've realised something.... There was only ever one plan, and you're all shying off from it - we need to travel on foot to avoid detection. It's the only guarantee, so we should get ready for a marathon.'

THE LIVING ARTEFACT: A WOAD ON EMPRESS TETA - PART 1

Mirena Tower, Koros District, (12km outside Cinnegar)
Droma, Empress Teta (Early-875 ABY)

'Alright, Shriven.... We can dump the swoops here, they won't be needed where we're going.'

Travelling over many leagues of speeder-trails and wide expanses on otherwise-disposable bikes, the small clique had passed several abandoned redoubts and checkpoints along the way, eventually choosing to stop somewhere within the heart of Koros District for it's elevated view of the embattled city beyond. If it had not have been for the ghost-town conditions there also, Droma, like the faint sounds of conflict in the far southern distance, that particular quaint Tetan town would also have been given a wide berth for somewhere quieter, playing well to the only advantages they would have in such circumstances. Strong though these warriors were, each and every last one of them knew it made no sense to draw needless blaster fire in the attempt to achieve their goal, and though the isolated Scar Hound clique would be bored for as long as they stuck with Dreamer's infiltration methods, they understood the need for an uneventful, risk-free way into the city.

'Good, we rest here and watch the sunset.... I want us well-covered by darkness, just in case they have someone patrolling these lands, somewhere out there.'

'Ah, but this is time I don't think we have to waste. Not on this one, Shriven.', Rook started, making an extremely poor effort to keep his impatience in check, but the intensity was still rolling at an amiably quick expression of eagerness to get moving. Pausing in the effort to read the Woad's demeanour, it didn't take long for Barran's outspoken friend to see he was still safe to continue,'If we leave now, we can maybe catch our brothers on their way in. Always better being ahead of schedule, especially if you don't want to draw the wrong attention.', further testing the waters in the process. Completely unaware that Thomas' attention had once again returned to a once-again silent Dreamer, though Barran himself was completely unaware that Dreamer's attention had turned westward by way of distraction, Dreamer would need to pull his superiors to one side so they could see what their introspective comrade was so enamoured by.

An omen, setting in the west, slowly going down as it cast the most striking red colours on the skies around it, telling of the darkest bloodshed, anguish and wrath that awaited them. Not telling for who, where, how, nor when it would happen, or if it had commenced already. For time and place no longer mattered to those guided, pushed and pulled by the strength of prophecy's omnipotence. Not to the Mongrel, and since Mar'Zambul, not to the Shriven One either. And if time, entity and place no longer mattered to devoted, stalwart mortals in service to the hands of Fate, the Cosmos would no longer place any value in these things either.

'So when do we leave, Shriven?'

'When? Heh! Time - is nothing, nothing to those who already know what purpose drives them.'​

Chuckling in agreement as he slapped the Woad on the same shoulder Ghoul slapped before, Dreamer smiled in silence for a little while longer, but broke the silence eventually to say,'He's right, Ghoul. He's been right since we first left Rhigar together. Just look to the skies in the west and tell me there isn't some divine plan to all of this, I dare you.', without even turning his eyes away from it. If anyone believed in the celestial cleansing cycle of War, Death, and Rebirth, the Shriven One had no doubt in his mind that the quiet one of the group was the one who was most-fervently taken by it, almost as if his own love-letter to the Three Moons had been penned along the way; Barran couldn't help but want to embody that in any way he could, like the best part of Dreamer was his near-godlike faith in the Three Avatars, bringing out the best possible Mawite archetype from within the man who would one day lead them in combat.

Thomas would henceforth find himself galvanised by a true-hearted, earnest appreciation for the Scar Hounds in it's most beautiful, most eye-wateringly heartfelt form, such that none, not even the strongest of piercing lights could reach in the darkness. The Shriven One's soul was ready, and as he gazed upon his quiet friend for a moment, Thomas quickly realised he wasn't alone in this understanding.

 

[Darth Bellum]

BELLUM CONTRA OMNES
[ Theme ]

| Location | Empress Teta, The Iron Titan​

| Purpose | Objective I-A, Slaughter​

​

The carnage had begun as a wake of blood, limbs and vehicular wreckage was left in the wake of the thick, ominous cloud rolled over the battlefield, threatening all who dared to brave the dark and enter its cruel embrace. Hidden within its ominous clutches, Darth Bellum tore all who were unfortunate enough to cross paths with him using his bare hands, with a ferocity unmatched on the battlefield, even more so than when he existed as Kor Vexen. The Titan had attempted to stop the resurrected Sith Lord by barraging his position with proton cannon fire, intent on incinerating him; but it would be to no avail.​

​

Tendrils of thick smoke coiled and danced around every shot fired from the proton cannons, engulfing and swallowing them whole as the cloud contorted as if expanding with each shot before subsiding, soon ceasing as the GADF and local militia closed the distance and were at risk of being fired upon. A wake of craters was left in the wake of the cloud as the Sith Lord advanced slowly, the shadows obscuring something within. The Sith Lord sensed that the light had finally begun to make its move, rising to meet his challenge at last.​

​

From the edge of the ominous cloud of shadows and smoke stumbled a single soldier, blood streaming down from a head injury they had as they coughed and attempted to mumble something, raising a hand weakly as the repulsor tanks from the GA rushed forward, as if making a desperate attempt to call for help, tears streaming down his face as he called out for his mother and family. Unseen by the rest of the Galactic Alliances forces was the raised hand of Bellum, manipulating the soldier's movements from the shadows, mere inches back from the smoke before an invisible force sent the wounded soldier flying at the one of the tanks close to the tank carrying Bernard of Ishida Ashina though something was off.​

​

A rapid series of beeping was heard as the body was flung at the tank, the body twisting and turning in the air to reveal a number of thermal detonators active and attached to their back, ready to detonate; peculiar given that explosives and traditional weaponry weren't the typical tools and weapons of choice for a Sith Lord. The smoke and haze swirled in response to the advances as the curtain was soon pulled back, from the darkness emerging Darth Bellum, accompanied by his own personal unit that he had brought forth from Otherspace.​

​

The 13th Umbral Legion had arrived to heed the call of their master, as its members lept out from the safety of the ominous cloud, activating their booster packs as they began to assault the advancing forces, taking them by surprise as Darth Bellum, wreathed in shadows, raised his clawed hand to the sky. Cracks began to form in the very atmosphere before shattering as the hilt of his weapon emerged, Fellsong, soon being grasped by the resurrected Sith Lord as he pulled the blade free and brought it down in a vicious downward swing with enough force to completely shatter and crush the hull of the incoming tank beneath it.​

​

​

Bernard | Ishida Ashina | The Mongrel | Kier Grey

 

[Voldran Molf]

Rhyssa Edaara Quillan-E’ron
Ace pilot, commando, major, 1st Expeditionary Fleet, 3rd Squadron, ANV Cadence - Deputy CAG, Force disciple ​

Objective: Protect the Iron Citadel, to get back to her team
Location: Iron Citadel, Empress Teta
Equipment: Purple blade lightsaber | 1x Assault Rifle | 2x Fyrirdögun Shortswords | 2x Hybrid Pistol | Light Armour with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || BB-4 astro droid – Little One || X-wing
Tag: Darth Ptolemis

[ Nuclear ]
"Galactic Common" | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• The pre-emptive attack kills two GA soldiers.
• They get into the hangar; Rhys kills two marauders.
• Rhys then fired with a shotgun mode at Ptolemis twice.

Rhys also felt through the Force how many people had died. Last but not least, she heard on the communication channel what the battle was like out there. The usual against the Maw. A butchery. The red-haired woman tried to rule them out; not because the redhead woman would have been perceived. The opposite is true. Because she knew it would have too much of an effect on her, and she didn’t want it to affect her in the fight. She knew herself, she knew she would have gone out where she could save more people. On the other hand she didn't want that Darksider to stay inside the building. Because of her husband and her grandfather, she knew exactly what they might be capable of.

A bad feeling began to take over her as they approached the entrance. The door opened, leading to the hangar, and the attack came from within at this moment.

"Fall back!" she shouted.

It was already too late for two soldiers, one was killed by an explosion and the other by a shot. The others still had time to retreat behind a few crates and wait there until the apocalyptic moments were over. At the end of the chaos, the wall that separated the hallway from the hangar had essentially completely collapsed. The ceiling also crumbled in several places as the walls fell or just exploded. When the attack was over and there were a few moments of silence and it was no longer only possible to get through the door but also through the wall, Rhys spoke again.

"Go, go, go!" she commanded.

Rhys also set off, with the assault rifle in her hand. Her men were scattered as they searched for other targets. Rhys shot two marauders before the Darksider came into her full view. When she saw the man with the lightsaber, she was still heading in his direction with the rifle. While she felt the Dark Side effects, tried not to care about them, she couldn't allow it to herself. Rather, she switched her weapon to a shotgun grade/mode with some anger. She knew exactly that the man would easily block blaster shots with the lightsaber. The slug is not that easy.

She didn't want to wait for the man to head for her, so she immediately raised her rifle to the centre of the man's chest and pulled the trigger. If that wasn’t enough, Rhys tried to shoot again with the shotgun mode. She didn’t have more of these bullets anyway, and she hoped she would have enough time for the second shot and didn’t have to switch to a lightsaber after that…

But she knew that unfortunately one or two shotgun shots against the Darksiders aren't enough to kill them…

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Tags: Dodhorn Harert

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

Sabbath

Khamul remained unfazed as the woman laughed at the mention of his name. He kept his plans close to the chest, and due to this, there were certainly those that continued to underestimate him. It wouldn't matter in the end, however, as he knew his intentions. That was more than enough for him.

"Solipsis has been as much of a use to me as I have been to him. Once he stops being useful, well..."

He didn't feel the need to elaborate further. As a fellow Sith and Mandalorian, Dodhorn would understand the implications of the statement.

"Our forces here are only a fraction of those that have joined our ranks. Even the Taung of New Mandalore have flocked to our banner. As for the others, well... they will either see reason, or be put to the sword. It is simply a matter of time."

His masked gaze continued to scan the battlefield as the forces of the Maw converged upon their enemies. Today would indeed be a beautiful, crimson day as the blood of these feeble defenders washed into the ground beneath their corpses.

"He is quite useful, as well as loyal. And as for the blood, I suppose we'll see just how similar we are soon enough."

The words were followed by a chuckle from behind the Mand'alor's mask, something that he did not do often. Those that had heard his laughter were often those that were about to be cut down by his own hand, making Dodhorn quite the exception. Perhaps they were the same after all.

"There will be plenty of time for us to test our skill against each other. For now, we have much weaker prey to hunt."

Khamul reached for the comlink within his helmet, sending a transmission to the rest of Death's Hand.

<<This is your Mand'alor. The time has come to join the fight. Take this city, and kill anyone that stands in your way. Today, we make this planet bleed.>>

Hundreds of jetpacks came to life in a cacophonous roar as the faithful members of Death's Hand began to descend upon their enemies. The Demon Mandalore took a moment to turn to his new companion one last time as his followers began the attack.

"Shall we?"

With that, his own jetpack ignited, carrying the Unchained toward his prey.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

ROYAL PALACE
EMPRESS TETA
Seto du Couteau Joseph Torson Elena Lowe
​

"It's best we be quick about finding more information and-"

Unlike the startled crowds, Master San Tekka never flinched. Even when the distant retort of blasters spread terror the Jedi strode calmly just like he once had across dozens of battlefields. If it was the will of the Force that his life would be claimed then so be it. There was a kind of freedom in sacrifice. Doubt could not plague him so.

"My thoughts exactly," Zark agreed while he and the Senate Guards shielded Senator Du Couteau from pressing bodies.

He listened to Seto's plan and raised one brow in what passed for an emotional outburst. San Tekka admired the man for his confidence though he could not help but wonder if it was misplaced. This was not the time or place for an argument so the Jedi chose his next words with care.

"Flying you into a warzone isn't what I had in mind. Let's focus on the transport, we can worry about what comes next later."

It was not safe. Zark needed to put the Senator on a shuttle before he could even think about anything else. So many other fates were currently out of his hands, but this one he could protect.

"Wait," Zark placed his hand out to block Seto, "The Force moves darkly near a creature that's about to kill."

Crossing over the next threshold alone, the Jedi Master's lightsaber erupted into a golden energy blade. Illuminated by the ancient weapon a squad of cadets trembled in surprise and fear. Zark lowered his sword but he did not put it away. Confusion rippled through him. His instincts were guided by the Force and yet he sensed no deception here.

"Cadets, form up on the Senator."

 

[The Manifold]

Objective 1C: The Iron Citadel​

Location: Teta, the Iron Citadel
Tags: Percival Io | Westenra Mina

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Manifold loses one needle to Percival's sword strike
• It aims the other, crackling with electricity, at his back
• It uses internal repair droids to begin fixing its damaged limb

The Manifold took no notice of Lynda, who was off in the middle of her own little whirlpool of giving and receiving carnage; though the Omni-Drone sensed the threat, and would no doubt be forced to confront it in due time, the trio of House Io biots in the immediate vicinity was a far more pressing matter. Go to hell, the lead biot told the Drone. The assemblage of writhing souls within The Manifold tittered at that. Wasn't hell exactly where they'd come from? But there was no outward sign of the mirth; the wizened corpse-form of the Drone was incapable of showing amusement. Facial expressions were much too organic a thing for them to bother with.

"Your Hell: Our Home," the man-machine flatly replied. "We: Deliver You There." As Percival came in, swinging a sword - so terribly archaic; The Manifold would never understand the mortal obsession with weaponry that was millennia out of date - the Omni-Drone snapped into combat mode. It was clear that the biot was only making a probing attack; it if had wanted to kill or maim the drone, it would've aimed for the waxy body, not its weapon appendages. The Manifold humored its foe, using its long metal tendrils to keep Percival at bay like a battling spider raising its front pair of legs. The sword streaked in, meeting one tendril with terrible force.

Percival might be made of organic parts, but his design had been deliberate, and his strength was incredible.

The needle-tipped end of the flexible metal tentacle went flying off as the sword cleaved through it, clattering off the dark stone walls of the fortress in a shower of sparks. But while Percival had been paying attention to one tendril, waving tauntingly in front of his face, the other had not been idle. It had slithered around and above him, and even as his sword strike connected, it dove for his back. The needle point could no longer transform those it struck into minions of the Droid God, but it sparked with electricity - two thousand volts at twelve amps, the kind of charge used by some cultures to execute captives. It would cook an ordinary organic alive.

The Manifold was eager to see what it would do to the Biot... provided that it managed to land in Percival's flesh.

The biot was already proven strong, but he might also be lethally fast.

In the meantime, The Manifold began to see to their own repairs. Their waxy-lipped mouth yawned open, too widely open, its corpse jaw hanging low and loose as if broken - or as if it belonged to a snake, unhinging itself to swallow prey. Out of its mouth scuttled a steady stream of tiny, eight-legged droids, which swarmed over its body like the insects they resembled. For a moment they were dark blots against its pallid body, wriggling, moving as one. Then they began to run along the damaged tendril, rushing toward the sparking end where Percival's sword had cleaved it. The tentacle retracted, and the little droids began to cover the broken edge.

They locked their own bodies into place over the damaged metal, forming a new appendage: a scythe-like blade.

 

[Electra-12]

Location: Orbit of Foerost
Call Sign: Crimson 17
Objective: Last Stand at Foerost - Remember Coruscant
Equipment: Orestiad Flight Suit │ Hekler’Kok FP-01
Allies: BotM ( Khione Marlon Sularen Akûz the Ravager Wendell Mortimer Glolmark )
Enemies: GA ( Liedran Kathause Bané Zirbils )
Direct Engagement: Tren Chaar

“Crimson 17, you are green for launch.”

“Finally…” The strand-cast growled, her cyan features incensed with impatience beneath her helmet. Pushing the control yoke forward, her TIE screamed out of the hangar, a wash of blue fire trailing in the craft’s wake as it set off into the void. Immediately, Electra-12 was greeted with the sight of the Vanquisher and the Conqueror firing their massive autocannons toward the distant Alliance fleet. All the while, Electra set her TIE on a course towards Crimson Linings’ rendezvous point, before taking her place towards the rear of the formation.

Before long, they set off on the hunt.

Having faced Revenant Squadron in the Csillan Emergence, the strand-cast was well aware of their prowess, even if begrudgingly so. They were a squadron with a reputation as capital killers, with multiple ace pilots in their ranks and a long list of accolades. Some of their pilots were rumored to be Force-sensitive as well, though there was no evidence pointing towards the supposition, discounting their prodigious skills as pilots.

Nevertheless, such rumors could never be abated.

Giving the debris field a wide berth relative to her craft, the strand-cast looked at the floating detritus of old vessels, unfinished hulls, and wreckages with some amount of suspicion. Unfortunately, her scanners couldn’t penetrate most of the field, meaning that to an extent, she, along with much of Crimson Linings, was flying blind. However, with the objective being to seek out and ambush Revenant, the debris field would be invaluable in covering their approach. And yet, while her own craft and the TIE Enforcers of Crimson Linings had stealth systems, the strand-cast could not help to feel a lingering sense of trepidation.

“Scopes are empty on my end, Crimson 1.” Electra-12 said softly, before giving a deep breath. “Moving deeper into the field. Going dark, over.” She added.

Not a moment later, Electra-12 drove her TIE into the debris field, light warping and shimmering around her craft as it suddenly became invisible to the eye.

Spoiler: Summary of Actions

• Electra-12 launches from the FDS Predator and forms up with Crimson Linings.
• Upon reaching the debris field, Electra-12 initially approaches it with some hesitation, giving it a “wide berth”. She attempts to scan the debris field, but her scanners are unable to penetrate.
• From here, she rethinks her plan and decides to dive into the debris field, in the process activating her TIE’s cloaking device and stealth systems, intending to seek out and destroy Revenant Squadron.

Spoiler: Loadout

• TIE/wi Interceptor - Designation: Electra
  
  • Universal Missile Launcher
    
    • Concussion Missiles

 

[The Mongrel]

Objective 1A: The Iron Titan​

Location: Teta, City Streets
Allies: Darth Bellum | Keilara Kala'myr | Thomas Barran
Foes: Ishida Ashina | Bernard

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel unleashes the Stonechewers
  • Two get distracted
  • Two brawl with each other
  • Two attack the Alliance tanks
• The Scar Hounds use mounted missile launchers to soften up the Titan
  • They target its weapon emplacements to try to weaken it
• The Mongrel advances behind the Stonechewers to confront the Jedi

Mercy's presence grew more distant, though it did not fade entirely. The bond they shared was too strong for that. Some part of The Mongrel wondered if this was what it felt like to touch the mystical Force - to feel so deeply connected to another life, to sense their emotions and thoughts and breath as if it was one's own. Except that Force-users could feel that for all life, this energy field that bound together all living beings, while he was joined only to Mercy. He could feel the Force only through her telepathic connection.

"Inform me as soon as you find anything."

With difficulty, the warlord tore his mind away from worrying about the person who mattered to him most. She was talented, self-sufficient, deadly when she needed to be; she could take care of herself, and he would not insult her competence by fretting about her safety. Besides, if he spent all his time thinking of her, then he would be the one in danger. Though The Mongrel had survived many battles, far more than any other lowly marauder in the Brotherhood's long and bloody history, he knew all too well that death could come swiftly.

Distraction would be the end of him if he wasn't careful.

As The Mongrel watched, the dark cloud of destruction that was Darth Bellum continued his assault on the enemy armored column... and Jedi, predictably enough, literally leapt to meet him. The self-righteous order couldn't help themselves; they had benefitted from thirty thousand years of galactic stasis, their warrior-monks enforcing their vision of morality across the galaxy, and they fought hard against any threat that might finally knock them from their pedestal. In order to make the galaxy anew, to improve it, they had to die.

Every last one of them, and every last trace.

The pair of Jedi leapt down onto one of the Alliance tanks, ready to ride it into battle like knights upon a broad durasteel steed... and suddenly the minions of Darth Bellum boiled out of the darkness, his Umbral Legion taking their places in the midst of the battle. Well, that wouldn't do at all; the Sith and his underlings were going to steal all the glory, glory that rightfully belonged to the Scar Hounds! Cursing the magic of Jedi and Sith that allowed them to cheat warriors who had earned their battlefield prowess, The Mongrel gave the signal.

At his command, the forcefield domes surrounding the Stonechewers dissipated. The Scar Hound beast-handlers who had wrangled them into position wisely scattered, taking advantage of the creatures' weak eyesight to avoid becoming their targets. Stonechewers were stupid, aggressive, and incredibly stubborn, which made them untrainable. They could only be pointed in the vague direction of the enemy and unleashed. This battle would the their first test as a weapon of war, so there would be... kinks to iron out.

Sure enough, two of the six Stonechewers missed the mark entirely. Failing to notice the Alliance tank column, they wandered off to the sides, crunching and grinding through the duracrete walls of nearby apartment buildings in search of the mineral-rich appliances they could sense inside. They would feast on ovens, sewer lines, and washing machines rather than tanks, at least for the moment. The other four, fortunately, were more focused. They could see the hovertanks on the move, and they loped toward them, chitter-bellowing.

The foursome quickly blocked the street, filling it completely with their huge mass; the tanks would have nowhere to go even if they got past Bellum's men, not unless they could find a way to clear the hulking and heavily-armored creatures. Unfortunately, the beasts were naturally solitary, even reproducing alone. Two more of them immediately got into a brawl, swiping at each other with metal-rending claws and growling at each other in bass voices that shook the pavement. The other two focused instead on the impending mineral feast.

They charged forward, heedless of anything that got in their way...

... and of which side's troops they might trample en route.

The two of them slammed into the line of Alliance tanks, scything out with claws that could rip effortlessly through solid rock - let alone mere armor plating a fraction of the thickness - and crunching down with jaws that could grind up impervium. That was when The Mongrel sent out his second signal. The Scar Hounds, lurking in their ambush positions, suddenly opened up with their heavy weapons. E-WEB missile launchers hidden at bathroom windows and kitchen doors swiveled to point at the oncoming titan, then opened fire.

They couldn't possibly bring the thing down...

... but they could hit its weapon emplacements.

Slowing it and reducing its firepower was priority one.

Of course, by lashing out in this way, the Scar Hounds were revealing their positions. There was no doubt that many of their number would be hit by return fire, martyred instantly in a hail of high-powered cannon bolts. Such was the battlefield - death came at random, and the survivors knew not why they had been spared while their comrades were martyred. But none knew fear. If they died here, they would be raised up to the Galaxy To Come. Even The Mongrel had no dread of death. The Scar Hounds would endure without him.

He had created something bigger than himself.

The warlord considered Thomas Barran, the Shriven One, the blood of his old enemy remade as his greatest weapon... and his anointed successor. When The Mongrel fell - for on the brutal battlefields of the Second Great Hyperspace War, it was a matter of when and not if for every last warrior so long as the conflict dragged on - the cycle would be complete. The Shriven One, even now leading Scar Hounds of his own into battle, would be ready to succeed him. He would carry on the rust-colored banner to further glories.

Behind the Stonechewers, The Mongrel himself advanced.

It was time to face the Jedi directly.

Death or glory. As always.

 

[Iris Arani]

It was just Darth Carnifex and his guard. Together, her and the soldiers around, they could handle that. Together, through the meld she brought them. No, wait. Her gaze only shifted for a moment, turning to the nine. Lightsabers lit up. She couldn't see it before, the darkness from them. The black of their colors so similar to the one they weren't meant to guard. She blinked, only once, and chaos once more erupted around her.

The Crownguard had already passed her, cutting down anyone in their path.

Whatever confidence she had initially in being able to slow this Sith was gone. She couldn't even stop Thalia Senn , why would she think she could do this? Steely determination turned to desperation as she watched Carnifex step forward. Her blade lifted, prepared to do.. Something. Panic was blocking her thoughts, her focus. Before the strike could come, though, Jax Thio blocked the strike.

Iris blinked, staring at the back of the Master for a moment. Stumbling back a step. Stunned. For only a moment. Another light she was connected to went out behind her. The Crownguard. Without a second thought she turned to the Chaos behind her, leaving it to Jax to hold off Carnifex long enough for the guard to fend away the Lord's servants. She slipped between one of the guard and their target, her saber flashing up to catch the blow. Which had her almost crumble beneath it. Right, deflect, not catch. Her blade angled, forcing the strike to go off.

<Strike now!>

She spoke through the colors. The soldier she defended didn't hesitate, lifting their gun to fire at the guard. No kill, but it did push them back. It was enough space for Iris to rush forward. Through the meld the Guard knew where to shoot. It was an odd sensation for the unaccustomed, but there wasn't time to get used to it. She struck out, quick thrusts and slashes while the Guard behind her let loose volley after volley of blaster fire. Each skimming just past the Padawan to help pressure the Crownsguard who's skill otherwise would've made quick work of her.

 

[Dodhorn Harert]

Dodhorn Harert, the Hellwolf of Mandalore
Alor of Clan Harert, Sith Lord, Former Mandalore the Ruthless​

Objective: To finally meet with the Mand'alor
Location: Near to the Iron Citadel, Empress Teta
Equipment: Beskar'gam | 2x Beskad | 2x Su'arnr be Tracyn | 1x red blade lightsaber
Writing With: Khamul Kryze | Closed
Allies: Open
Enemies: Open

[ Let There Be Night ]
<"Mandalorian or ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Dodhorn represents to Shai and Khamul why she is the Hellwolf of Mandalore
• She continues to talk to Khamul.
• Dodhorn follows Khamul to the battlefield.

<"Oh darling, you know nothing!"> she scoffed at the arriving Shai Krayt.

She chuckled mockingly, then reached for her helmet to take it off. She wasn't bothered if anyone saw her face. Anyway, last time she fought in a simple black dress after Kralmus woke her up. As she took off her helmet, her long snow-white hair was visible first, then her very white, pale skin. Making it clear that she is a woman of Arkanian descent. Her eyes are golden red, clearly Sith eyes. She was positioned so that Kahmul and Shai could see it too. At first her eyes, her iris changed, it became like a wolf's. Dodhorn's head got bigger, and one could hear the bones moving. Two horns appeared around her forehead, her skin (or fur?) turned ebony, her eyes red, her face elongated, taking on the shape of a wolf, and sharp wolf teeth appeared in her jaw. A deep, bestial growl left her throat, a wild animal hunger and cruelty appeared in her eyes.

<"Do you have any other objections to my deserved title, Cur? Or maybe I should finish the transformation and eat your flesh and drink your blood too?"> her voice was now deep, growling, and beastly, not that pleasant deep resounding voice as before.

She didn't really expect an answer, her face and head turned back to human. The transformation was a bit painful, but she learned to endure it. Although it was more uncomfortable if she wasn’t completely transformed. But all that was enough for the demonstration. After that, however, she turned her attention back to Khamul. She even straightened her hair and then put on her helmet while the man spoke. Dodhorn chuckled at the words again. Yes, he really didn’t have to continue his words, she knew exactly what they meant. But Dodhorn wasn't the one to leave things that way.

<"We'll see when the time has come."> she told him still in a taunting voice.

Kryze was a Sith, as was Solipsis, so she did not trust any of them. She didn’t like to kill something like a Mandalorian, her kind. Thus, in the past, she did everything she could to keep the clans in an iron grasp so that she would not have to kill a significant portion of her people in order to serve her. She was a powerful ruler, but not particularly popular. However, no one dared to rebel against her.

<"What a waste! Enough to kill their leaders, the Alors, believe me, they can be broken. Everyone has their limits. How do you think I ruled for so long? Why didn't any of the clans uprising against me or my clan? And believe me, they hated and despised us."> she asked sarcastically, but half seriously.

Dodhorn walked over to the man and she also looked down at the battlefield. She still held her hand elegantly on her hip. Her armour was old type, heavy, yet she stood there beside the man as if in the lightest silk robe in the galaxy and not in a full, heavy combat armour. The benefits of being a sangnir and of course a long life in which anyone can learn enough elegance. The Hellwolf chuckled again, especially when Khamul mentioned Kralmus' allegiance and loyalty. It will turn out the woman may be able to offer the puppy something to change his mind about his loyalty. She loved challenges and competitions anyway.

<"I prefer the stronger prey, which is also challenging. I'm a predator, Hellhound!" she told him. <"And most of all, I like to hunt in company, in flocks."> she completed her words.

The Hellwolf looked at those who were leaving and then back at the man. She could not say no to such a request. Though she would have been happier if she could have simply tested Khamul.

<"Shall we!"> she agreed.

She also activated her jetpack and then followed Kryze to the battlefield where they could start hunting.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Objective 1/C
Location: Spaceport outside Cinnagar Royal Palace
Engaging: Voldran Molf
Allies: MAW & Allies
Enemies: GA & Allies

Equipment in bio.

THE INCANTATION
​

Like miriads of frantic pendulums, opposing blaster bolts bounced around near the entry point of the vast hangar bay. The enemy broke through the southern entrance. Soldiers fell on both sides, but the Sith Lord remained standing, right in front of the oncoming wave of enemy soldiers.

His lightsaber erupted as soon as a fearless, armored warrior ran through the smoke and targeted him specifically. 'It's her.' The thought formed in his mind, confirming that the Force-branded signature he'd felt approaching was concentrated in her being. The characteristic weapon of the Jedi jostled about on her waistbelt, ultimately confirming her standing as being a wielder of the Force. However, the side she stood on within the scope of the Force was difficult to pinpoint in such a short time, since it was already somewhat blurred… Misleading. Although her soul was clean of extremities that would suggest her being a Dark Jedi or a Sith, the Force also whispered to Ptolemis of some kind of vague connection to the Dark Side nonetheless. This intrigued the Blasphemer.

But there wasn't a single moment to waste. The marauders kept themselves occupied with fighting the forces that arrived with the fierce lady, who charged at the Sith without hesitation. A sharp foretelling stung the mind of Ptolemis, pouring a viscous sense of imminent danger upon his shoulders. Millions of would-be scenarios flashed through his mind, but the Dark Side highlighted a particular future, and so he acted accordingly; he quickly snapped his open palm in front himself, and conjured an ethereal shield to counter the shotgun blast that indeed arrived.

Ptolemis was a dark sorcerer. A practitioner of forbidden arts, not a defender, and though the first shot was blocked by the glassy wall conjured before him, it shattered upon contact – and the second shot hit him square in the chest. Yet instead of him being taken down by the impact, he allowed the force of the exploding slugs to send his body flying. As if gored in the chest by a great beast he was flung away, and as he flipped backwards, after half a rotation mid-air he pushed himself from the ground with his free hand to create even more space between himself and the charging warrior. He finally slid to a halt after landing on his feet.

Numerous holes sizzling through his black robe revealed the truth behind his survival; scorched-black impact craters had melted the duraplast lining of the tactical vest beneath his robe. In the meantime, the number of marauders and GADF soldiers fighting in the hangar dwindled with each moment. Each side fought with unbridled passion. But the cavernous sound of the Sith's voice could soon be heard again. – I sense ambiguity in your spirit, stranger. – In grave contrast to the immense heat of ambient combat, the Sith began circling around his well-equipped opponent calmly, occasionally reflecting stray bolts from the firefight with a flick of his wrist. – Are you certain you're not on our side? – His cloak slithered after him on the cold steel floor.

Without waiting for an answer, The Masked One decides to test his opponent further and extends his free arm once again, unleashing the chains of his mind and attempting to wrap them around the arms, legs and hip of his opponent to pull her back through the Force. Regardless of the Force power's success, the Masked One dashes forward, attempting to slice off the barrel of her rifle with an arcing slash and plant his knee in her abdomen with malice and momentum.​

​

 

[Rhys Halcyon]

OBJECTIVE 1-B, The Palace, Landing Platform
Laoth ​

Rhys drew the conclusion his enemy was goading him. He had to be. He knew the Jedi were not faultless, but to compare their history to the atrocities of the Sith? This was just aggravation... Dun Moch. Another art Rhys had taken interest in that this ghoul used with ruthless dark efficiency, like a twisted reflection of the future Rhys wanted for himself. Maybe another decade down the line and he could be the knight this monster wanted to fight.

Before Rhys could get a word in edgewise the Sith darted towards him again, and this time the boy was too slow in turning. Laoth's metal fist made jarring impact with the right side of Rhys' face, the power behind the punch sending the boy flying down from the shuttle. Teeth, numerous, flew from his mouth. He landed on his back amidst the entrails on the platform. Blood filled his mouth and began to spill from his lips. He spat out as much as he could, meagerly adding to the excessive gore around him.

Suddenly this was real. Realer than it had ever been before. A slight touch to his face made him wince in pain. Still on his behind, he crab crawled backwards through the blood, towards the elevator. When he reached it, he called it up. With his other hand he reached out through the Force and brought his lightsaber back into his hand, then tapped his commlink.

"This... is Padawan cough Halcyon. Requesting... cough immediate backup." his words strained to leave his mouth. Every syllable flared up the pain, and the blood seeping up from his wounds choked him. Everything around told him he would not be heard. The chances Black Steel had left anyone in this building alive were slim. And of course, Empress June was the priority, not some Padawan in over his head by the sheer force of his own stupidity. For once in a long, long time, there was no semblance of hope to console Rhys' mind.

The unbearable pain was quenched only by anger.

He hated the Sith. Everything they did brought death and ruin. They'd killed his master, they'd killed his friends. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to run Laoth through with his blade.

His body trembled. He could feel the Force around him stronger than he ever had, deeper than the deepest meditation. It was no longer his natural human instincts of fight or flight, but some cosmic hold over him that told him there was only one option: kill.

His head spun, caught between the angry urges and his conscious fight against them. These weren't the thoughts of a Jedi. The Jedi dreamt of peace. Peace of mind carried the Jedi through their conflicts. But as he looked around, at the blood and body parts baking under the hot sun, of the nightmarish monsters above the city, at the tyrant inflicting harm upon him, that stood like a dark tower above him...

There was no peace.

 

[Kyell Laysel]

Location: Empress Teta​

Objective: 1​

Location: Erion Justeene ​

​

He supposed this was what being a Jedi was all about.​

​

Kyell barely felt capable enough as a Jedi to keep himself protected, but when others needed him, he would not hesitate to come to their aid. So when the reports came in about a massive invasion of Empress Teta, the young mute picked up his lightsaber, put on his jacket, and took the first transport he could find to the planet.​

​

But what he saw after his arrival was beyond anything he had ever witnessed before — so much death, so much destruction. The pain of those who lost loved ones or their homes echoed through the Force, so strongly that it was impossible to disconnect from it. He simply had to accept it and move forward, as he passed through the ravaged streets looking for people in need of help.​

​

The Jedi he looked up to, the real war heroes, were all fighting already at the front and making a difference for so many. But he wasn't like them at all. His training had been limited, and his skills with the Force never stood out to anybody. It wasn't going to stop him from helping though, and that's all that mattered right now to the people who lost everything.​

​

Minutes of moving through the streets passed but eventually, he saw and heard something that drew his attention — a massive walker containing various powerful Force signatures. For a moment, he gulped and wondered if he was remotely ready to take the challenge on. But if he would back down now... who would stand up against his evil?​

​

Kyell sighed and after setting aside his fears, he ignited the green lightsaber and made his approach to draw the attention of the Sith who were inside.​

​

I'm ready for this.​

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