Junction The Final Countdown - AC/NIO/EE/GA/Enclave/BotM Junction of Dromund Kaas/Centares/Lutrilla/Aruza/Hypori/empty hex above Sposia

[Percival Io]

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Hearing Draco’s voice, Percival—who was in the midst of a gunfight with the mercenaries—activated his comlink. “We’re not attacking the orphanage. We’re defending it from these lunatics!”

Draco was doing something with her corvette up in the skies, trying to down three transports at once. The Neutralizers were more concerned with the already unloaded troops on the ground.

One of the Neutralizers, a redhead with the nickname Spiffy, had found a sonic bazooka among their looted equipment. Getting down on one knee, she aimed the ridiculous weapon up at the charging mercenaries and fired. While she blasted a few people’s bodies apart, the puff of white smoke rising from the barrel made her a target. In seconds, Spiffy’s body was ridden with holes from blaster fire.

While she lay on the pavement like a broken doll, Percival ran out of cover to retrieve the bazooka. Its ammunition type was similar to the built-in sonic organ he and the other Neutralizers had in their throats, though it packed a much bigger punch—enough to potentially take out a tank. But what to do about the smoke trail it left behind?...

He ran toward another group of Neutralizers in cover, the bazooka cradled in one arm and a pistol in his other hand. “Here! Shoot this thing!” he ordered them, handing over the bazooka.

A brunette Neutralizer took the weapon, aimed it at another cluster of mercenaries, and fired—taking out several more mercenaries, but suffering a similar fate to Spiffy. Percival stayed in cover until the firing on their position ceased, then picked up the bazooka and went on the move again.

He did this four more times, making the rounds through the ranks of Neutralizers, until the bazooka’s ammo was spent. Dropping it, he stayed where he was in cover. The three other Neutralizers camping in that particular area all stared at him.

“What?” he asked them. “It said it had only six shots. I used them all, and took out an entire wave of troops.”

“Yeah, and you took out six of ours doing that!” one pointed out.

Percival shrugged. “They’ll regenerate.”

Sure enough, Spiffy was starting to peel herself up off the asphalt, her body still full of partially-healed wounds. “Hey!” she yelled. “Where’s my bazooka?”

Draco Miles The Fool Eina L'lerim-Vandiir​

 

[Siv Dragr]

H U N T E R

Objective: Hunt the Dark Mand'alor
Location: Former Mandalorian Embassy
Allies: Faison Kelborn | Stone Gra'tua | Mandalorians
Enemies: Khamul Kryze | SCAR | Kralmus Orr | Sith & Maw

Thunder flashed on the rain-spattered beskar armor of Siv Dragr as he peered down at the carnage below from the rooftop of the former Mandalorian Embassy. Dromund Kaas, a world that had been the capital of a half-dozen Sith states. And now it was ablaze from the ravagings of Sith on their own kind. The Sith religion was cannabalistic -- which was always their downfall. When the Mando'ade were fractured they were weak, but they had proved once again over Panatha that Mandalorians united were a force to contend with.

But though the Sith Empire was gone, they had left one last corruption: the Death's Hand. Dar'manda who called themselves Sith Lords. Who dared to aspire for title of Mand'alor.

Although Sith spread out before him, Siv Dragr only had one target. The one they called leader, the one who presumed to be Mand'alor. The Dar'manda, Khamul Kryze, had escaped him on Mandalore. But tonight he would not lose his prey.

He had watched atop the roof of the embassy, high above the ground but dwarfed by the surrounding megastructures, as the warband of Death's Hand forged a path through. The Sith-Imperial remnant was beset on both sides by Mandalorians of the Enclave and Death's Hand; the Enclave had nearly taken control of the embassy, and the thin Sith line would fall quickly. But then Mandalorian would meet Mandalorian, and blood and confusion would ensue. "This is Dragr. Sith-Mandalorian forces are breaching the entrance," Siv reported hurriedly into his comm. "Hold them back, do you copy?"

Jurg Ordo and a half dozen others were holding the entrance. But there was no response except for static from the other end.

"Do you copy?"

Silence.

Feth, Siv thought as he drew his blaster pistol. Feth. He made for the stairwell. These Death's Hand Mandalorians needed to be put down.
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[The Mongrel]

Location: Dromund Kaas, above Kaas City
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Pietro Demici | Baron Reinhardt Ström

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel engages with Mercy about battlefield intelligence

Mercy replied to his command, agreeing to attend him in person, and The Mongrel felt... what? Anticipation? Excitement, even? It was foolish, even pointless. He would permit no distraction to come between him and his service to the Avatars, least of all the attentions of another broken slave in thrall to the Maw. His focus should be on the Galaxy To Come, not the broken galaxy of the present. And yet he could not help but see her in his thoughts, and he found that his desire for death's final release lessened when such thoughts came to him.

She contacted him again; as usual, her mission was proceeding swiftly, for she was the most skilled of all his agents. Her voice was like the thrill of a blade running across his flesh without breaking the skin, a dangerous pleasure that sent electricity up his spine. Except that he had no flesh, nor skin, nor spine. He shook his head, an old, organic gesture carried over into his metal form; it clanked and scraped as the helmet grated against his shoulder plates. Focus! "Determine the numbers and identities of our foes," he commanded.

He would set her this task, and then complete his own.

It was important for Mercy to discover who exactly held the northern part of the city, and how great their strength was, because it would affect where The Mongrel and his forces chose to deploy. With the NIO, the Ashlans, and the Eternal Empire all present in considerable force, it was vital to strike where the enemy was vulnerable, rather than blundering into their most powerful defenses. Zachariel Steelblood 's fearsome Bloodsworn and Kyrel Ren 's wild Crimson Hands could afford the losses of a grand charge into the enemy lines...

... but the battered Scar Hounds could not.

Had he known that the camp north and west of Kaas City was occupied by none other than Baron Reinhardt Ström , acting as his forward operating base, he would immediately have begun plans to besiege it. Decapitating the enemy by killing such a vital commander would have been a powerful blow to the enemy forces... and with the territories of the Eternal Empire and the Brotherhood now drawing so close together as each devoured more and more of the Unknown Regions, damaging their war machine would be highly strategic.

But The Mongrel did not yet know that, and would have to rely on Mercy to determine the positions of the enemy troops. With the Crimson Hands advancing from the jungle while the Bloodsworn drop pods rained down across Kaas City, the Maw was already deployed all across the battle zone; that gave the Scar Hounds some tactical flexibility, allowing them to deploy wherever most benefitted their mechanized style of war. Perhaps the Historical District, to assault the NIO barragers, or perhaps to the north, against the Eternal Empire.

It all depended on the intelligence Mercy provided.

 

[Stone Gra'tua]

Objective 1 : Hunt Sith
Location : Dromund Kaas, New Kaas City
Equipment : Signature/Profile
Writing With : Enclave + Open
Allies : Enclave
Enemies : Sith + Anyone who interferes in Mando business
Neutral : Others
Tag : Erion Justeene

Watching the Ubese Sith for any hint of intent, Stone prepared himself to react quickly to a speedy attack, but it didn't come immediately, and the Sith maintained the high ground, igniting a red-orange glowing blade in response to Stone's challenge. Quickly, the Clan Gra'tua Mando rose up on a short burst of jetpack fire to alight on the same rooftop, though his landing did crack a couple of tiles.

Holding his heavy beskad in his right hand, Stone stared into the Ubese's helmet from behind his own faceplate, trying to imagine the alien face beneath his opponent's helm. He held the blade pointed down and to the right, in a ready position, standing now just meters from Erion. "Whats your name, Sith? Darth Something, no doubt." Stone said in a mocking fashion, aiming to throw the Sith off his game with cheeky banter. "I'm Stone Gra'tua. Your people murdered my homeworld. Prepare to die."

Stone was back to being shut down in the Force. He preferred things this way, unable to call upon the Force, but giving nothing away as to his true nature. He'd let others make their assumptions about his talents or lack thereof. Knowing your enemy was half of any battle, and Stone didn't care to give away all his secrets for free. Save for their brief contact that would have outed him as a Force sensitive, the Ubese would feel no light or dark from the Shi'ido Mando'ad before him, just a lack of active presence, cloaked in the mundane.

 

[Mira Athrani]

Location: Former Mandalorian Embassy, Dromund Kaas

"Drop. Drop. Drop."

The clang of the mooring arms retracting was instantly silenced as the vacuum took hold. A drop pod fell under Dromund Kaas' gravitational power through fire and shadow of an ongoing siege of the Sith bastion. Soon the outer hull lit up as atmospheric friction seared the metal flesh of the vessel as it descended toward its target.

Leave it to the arrogance of the enemy to scream 'Here I am' in search of battle. Someone was bored.

Mira calmly pulled back the bolt on her slug thrower as the fires raged outside. The shaking, bucking, and groan of the vessel didn't warrant any attention. That she could be shot out of the sky or the pod slam into the ground and crumple into a wafer didn't even register with her endocrine system; only battle or the promise of violence held any sway -- it was how she'd been programmed.

As the pod neared its destination it became clear Mira hadn't aimed for the streets outside of the ruins, but for the ruins themselves. SCAR and Kralmus Orr had sent out a beacon demanding attention, after all; she didn't want to keep them waiting. It was only unfortunate Siv Dragr was closing in on their position too or Mira might have tried dropping this ship straight down on top of one of her enemies' head.

A loud bang and crunch of wall and framework soon followed as the drop pod embedded itself into the Embassy. Explosive bolts shot the exterior door off.

Its occupant looked out one side, then quickly darted to the other side of the hatched to survey the opposite side of the landing area. After checking her corners, Mira hopped out of the pod with the rifle in both hands. <"Sixteen moving into position from above."> she spoke quietly and succinctly into the comm for Siv Dragr 's benefit. Nothing better than your own allies not knowing you were there and getting shot for your trouble.

Tag: SCAR | Kralmus Orr | Siv Dragr
Allies: Mandalorians and co.
Enemies: Sith and co.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The square had emptied of all life, all that remained was the hooded figure and his diabolical relic. The crackle of lightning above cast sharp lines over the deserted court, a steady rain streaking down to congregate in shallow pools spaced sporadically across the flat expanse. Remaining still, the dark figure looked over the city as more and more of the citizens were transformed into ravenous berserkers by the power of his spell, driven beyond logical limits to the farthest reaches of murderous depravity.

"Such a pity," the figure whispered to himself, repeating the statement he had made before unleashing the violent horde upon the once magnificent city. He did not feel remorse for the people, their lives were always meant to be expendable, but at the loss of such a beautiful city. It too would have to be discarded, but perhaps one day it could be made useful.

A musical chime drew the dark figure's attention to his robe, a hand reaching inside to produce a small circular disc made out of glossy stone. The top of the disc bubbled like liquid, spreading up into the air by several inches before solidifying into the image of a masked warrior. The stone moved as the figure moved, perfectly animated in a manner similar to a hologram but entirely physical.

"Lord Demiurge, a Jedi approaches your position."

The hooded figure, now referred to as Lord Demiurge, responded, "Show me."

The masked warrior melted away, replaced by the image of the Jedi in question. The features were exquisitely detailed, the coarseness of the Jedi's hair and beard fully incorporated into the stone as well as every scar, dimple, pock-mark, and any other physical blemish that could be found. The Jedi's most notable feature was the patch strung over the right eye.

Demiurge was quiet as he studied the Jedi's face before it dissolved away into the masked warrior.

"Let him come."

"At once, Lord Demiurge."

Jax Thio ​

 

[Morrow]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Kyrel Ren | Iris Arani

VANGUARD
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War is fear. It is the formulation and handling of fear far more than it is organized murder. Those who best dominate the primal aversion of becoming a ghost bound to oblivion shall seize the day. This was the lesson that stuck with Morrow above all others. Thus, in the name of that very superintendence over trepidation, beneath the pitiless rain of Dromund Kaas with his pallid saber aloft and evidencing the enemy, Morrow ordered men and women to begin dying for their cause. Emboldened by the monologues of their respective leaders, they complied without a single thought spared for what-ifs. They fought through death-kingdomed gates with neither eye turned toward the inevitable. They died in the shadow of their principles cast by the Iron Sun at their backs.

No one would sing songs or tell stories in their memory. This was not Bastion, nor Coruscant, nor Carlac. Just another stage for the unending galactic theater, and one of particularly diminished Imperial significance. They lacked names of renown like the 501st or Gladius. Notoriety dictated they would be their own mourners. Mourners of no one. Mourners of the the unknown soldier. History wouldn't be bothered to remember. Yet, in the nights yet to come once the fighting stops, when rare silence calms the mind, the survivors of the 46th Vanguard will remember, and they will all live again.

Caught flat-footed by the sudden onslaught, their retaliation did little to damn the stygian stream. The Imperial formation became a bloody swath of corpses and desperation across the Alliance camp, blemished by disparate survivors on the offensive in what felt like moments. Viscera drowned the landscape, a macabre painting of degenerate cannibal gluttons. This was how the Maw formulated fear. This why they were execrated. The clouds themselves cold have bled, and it wouldn't have looked much different. Rain mixed with crimson, created a shimmering, rushing plain of diluted ichor which swallowed the dead and washed away dismembered limbs.

Morrow led from the front, blade alive and nimble, meeting the surprise onslaught at its head. On his own, the difference he made was negligible. They were losing. Aiding the Alliance at the breakthrough of this assault had been a decision made purely of necessity. An attempt to take the serpents head before any significant momentum had been gained. Morrow knew once that Maw contingent was done with Alliance, they were next, and laying in wait felt like waiting to die. He had thought a counter-attack would be wise. He believed guile would compensate for any gaps in his confidence. Tragically, the truth was that his aversion to inaction had inadvertently killed dozens. Now, it seemed his only option was to choke on his cleverness and die.

One by one, the enemies came. Limb by limb, they fell at his feet, creating a promenade above the bloody floodplain. Soaked black locks hung like ribbons, stuck to his face like leeches, obscured the killing fields and oncoming assailants. Morrow shouted for an advance, but the sound of rain, screams, and firepower drowned every syllable. Pearly blade thrust into the air and indicated toward hell queued the circumstantially deaf. They charged. Alliance troops and intrepid civilians fell in with them. Creed and color meant nothing when faced with the prospect of being disembowled by a common enemy.

Morrow manifested a tug in the force to trip a flanking cannibal, those that ran followed behind tripped atop their comrade. Like a conductor before the symphony of war, Morrow indicated again with the unpigmented blade. "Fire, fire fire!" he shouted, all authoritativeness drowned beneath the desperate, frantic malice of self-preservation. A hail of blaster fire filled the pile of men with holes before they had a chance to unacquaint themselves with the ground. They had blitzed through the assault, cut the attackers in two. Surrounded, it was break the assault or be devoured.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd post
THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
Objective 1: Once More Unto The Breach
The_Woad
IMPAF-Command

313th Stormtrooper Legion,"Sabretooth Legion"

NIO: Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones Shai Maji Julian Qar Morrow
The Fool Keilara Kala'myr Don Belkora Annor E-059 Hoken Stryte
Bex Tarring

Allies: Vulcan Krayt Ingrid L'lerim Eina L'lerim-Vandiir Pietro Demici
Baron Reinhardt Ström Stone Gra'tua Siv Dragr Iris Arani

Enemies: The Mongrel Rowena Percival Io Erion Justeene Zachariel Steelblood
Kyrel Ren

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore
Fragarach Model Heavy Disruptor-Pistol
Sentimental-Value Fairbairn Vibroknife
Beskar Knuckledusters
Erskine's New arm

THE LAST DANCE: BARRAN'S FAREWELL TO THE SITH EMPIRE - PART 2

Historical District, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas (870 ABY)

'Triangulating a lot o' these Imperial pings the-noo, sir. It seems we'll have oor pick o' the punch when they've all gotten momentum of their own.... BattleNet's looking a little busy an'aw, nothing fae the 16th yet bih't.'

Lord Carwood was busying away to himself, making good use of his fidgety nature of late, and appearing to be the most active of Lord Erskine's IMPAF-knights on that outing, something the Lord-General would be very grateful for as the operation progressed. Flicking away his cigarette with a short cursory glance to the other officers, Barran responded,'They'll be here, but for now, I think we'll be needing everyone we have with us to fall in on me.', briefly turning away from the group to find his ideal speaking-space. The rain on Dromund Kaas had intensified of late, though it seemed it would take more than switches in torrential content to completely kill the seemingly endless rainfall itself, casting the prettiest of effects on the backdrop like it had for Lord Erskine on Bastion. However, this time was different, showing that Kaas city offered a contrasting image to that cast within the Lord-General's mind of Ravelin, as it seemed that life had long since left the former, and was being replaced by nought but the destruction of what had been left behind.

'ALL IMPAF-TROOPERS, FALL IN ON THE LORD-GENERAL AT THE DOUBLE!!!!'

'Sir, a word?', Lieutenant Marić muttered from behind the Lord-General, leaning back so as not to be overheard, a habit learned from the best - a habit learned from Massoud. Though his dear friend had shaken his mortal coil as a true hero, the rogues who remained to carry his memory held no hopes of redemption for their own souls, and the Mantellian knew he had every reason to hope he could become something worthy of his friend's martyrdom in the end, helping him become the Stormchaser's legionary advisor without worrying about stepping on any toes in the process. He was doing well as the Kandaran's replacement, but not in the content of what he knew of the others already, it was purely on account of what his eyes were quick enough to see in action, a trait the Lord-General was very grateful for in moments like this.

'I'm listenin'.... Whit ye seen?'

'The Elite trooper's showing some initiative, appearing to show virtually zero signs of hesitation..', the Mantellian answered without missing a beat, practically jumping at the chance to keep the conversation rolling at a quick pace, though he was pausing to think on the best way to describe the following part tastefully. And yet, when Lord Erskine shot his subordinate a silent warning with his eyes, Marić knew he had no choice but to continue on as he would among other Sabretooth-troopers, something that not many aristocrats abided by, and on principle alone. Then, after straightening his posture and facing the tall Laird eye-to-eye, the 1st-Lieutenant eventually drawled,'Executions you just heard a few minutes ago - all done by the squad we've paired her with. My own squad were reloading and cleaning our weapons at the time, the usual.... Handy, very handy indeed.', to conclude his report as concisely as possible, especially with their happy little surprise considered.

'Aaaaah, the auld,"IMPAF autonomy", it's trained into them now. Nowhere quite so stringently as it is in the Special-Forces array though, be mindful o' that going forward.... Even I need to be mindful o' this going forward, so ah do. So don't overthink it - especially if it's proven to work.'

With helmet nodding, the Mantellian would be heard sniggering, though fortunately for Marić, Barran knew this to be an ethnocentric trait of Ord Mantel's masculine archetypes, one in particular that was expressed as a means of expressing mirthful approval of something that many might consider to be a tad on the rowdy side. The Sabretooth Lieutenant was expecting at least some form of disapproval, but in seeing the Woad's complete apathy to the situation, it had become obvious that his Lord-General was clearly cut a different noble cloth; the Mantellian had much and more to learn about the Goidels, and none quite so much as Lord Erskine himself, one who had still had plenty surprises of his own hidden up his sleeve. After this, in seeing that the Lord-General was receptive to smoother proceedings to obvious degrees, Marić silently left Barran to it, forming up with the others with a sense of contentment he was more than happy to impart on the others soon enough.

'Rosk'Aiar still doesn't trust him, sir. He seems quite adamant that I impart this on you- oh, hold on.... He trusts the others, there's just something about that Mantellian, something that's been off about 'im since the last op - something he can't quite put into words.'

'Leave 'im be, Rosk'Aiar.', Barran retorted in the Grave-Tusken's general direction as the rain continued to beat down on the overpassing they were using as a smoking-shelter at the time, pausing to turn and face his new favourite sparring-partner so his response would be taken more seriously. Fighting the urge in that moment to light up another cigarette, the Woad would keep his hand away from his pocket to let it hang down behind the Fragarach pistol's holster instead, half-growling,'Lord-Colonel Gowrie was the same in the early days o' his commission by the way, nae joke.', so as to be heard over the sound of crumbling architecture on the near-horizon. After imparting this truth on his Grave-Tusken subordinate, the Woad saw this opportunity to step out in front of the small contingent of Imperial troopers, but not before he turned back to conclude,'An' we all know what sort o' man Lord Aron became after that. Food for thought, fella.', in a tone that left no doubt as to what sort of rogue the Tuath had been in the earlier days of his military career.

THE LAST DANCE: BARRAN'S FAREWELL TO THE SITH EMPIRE - PART 3

Historical District, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas (870 ABY)

'Greetings, and thank you all for accepting deployment orders on such short notice. I know a lot o' you have husbands, wives and lovers back home waiting.... None o' you were obligated to accept this mission as your own, not like I am - but you're here now. This I won't forget, not for as long as I continue to breathe.'

Silence, drilled parade-ground silence, to which the Lord-General would express a quiet gratitude for adhering, even as the rain beat down with growing intensity around them. Barran's eyes were darting left and right, back again and peering as far as he could beyond the rubble-strewn streets behind the troopers in the rearmost ranks of the parade-ground formation, watching and listening on as the rainy droplets clattered off the helmets and pauldrons of his arrayed subordinates, and even though there weren't many to count, each and every man and woman serving that day were their very own juggernaut in that moment. Standing like stalwart statues, sentinel embodiments of the order they perpetually sought for the Galaxy, everyone there would serve as a strong reminder of how the Imperium toppled such a deep-rooted adversary in the first place.

'Under different circumstances, I would be standing here in this very spot, but with a host of Blue-Heart tanks stretching out for half-mile behind you there.... But this is not different circumstances, this is the here-and-now, and so - I am given no choice but to give context as to why this deployment differs to all o' those you've had to deal with against the Maw. An' while we're on that subject, aye! The Mawites are on Dromund Kaas, an' there isn't a single doubt in my mind they're out for blood as usual.'

The way Lord Erskine spoke of the Maw by then didn't seem to matter much, not when the tone used to express his knowledge of their presence on Dromund Kaas was something that sounded almost kindly, amiable towards the Maw, though only to the uninitiated, untrained ears among the small mass of troopers formed up before him. The others wouldn't be able to hear him scoffing under his breath, but would no doubt see his mirth instead, especially the rueful smirk of one with an age-old axe to grind with the Imperium's longest-lasting rivals in the Galaxy. The Confederacy of Independent Systems had collapsed on it's own foundations, the Sith Empire's very own remnants were to be wiped out that day, and that only left one of the original three rivals to Imperial supremacy, just one to hold the Dark Side's mantle of responsibility - The Brotherhood of the Maw. Ironic, and an almost-poetic fact that the only faction of three to start in such a weak strategic position on the Galactic map, had survived and thrived long enough to stand taller than every great power that dared to stand against the New Imperial Order with everything they had, every single time.

Becoming the only rivals to at least attempt to clash with and push the Imperium back, much and more had been learned from the very battles the new menace cut their teeth on, much and more that could be used against foes in all corners of the Galaxy in turn, something the Sith Empire and the Confederacy of Independent Systems alike failed to achieve in their time as adversarial presences in the Galaxy.

'But as you can tell, they're not my main concern at the moment.... However, our removal of every last damning resistance-symbol most certainly is. Am I making myself perfectly clear on the matter? Good, as I'll have some plays for the Mongrel soon enough. Rest assured o' that!'

Some amiable chuckles rang out across the crumbling city streets around them, but had died out quickly enough to give way for the Lord-General's concluding statements, showing each trooper was just as eager their commander to get the operation underway properly, and that there would be no such thing as reluctance as far as Erskine's subordinates were concerned. Everything the Stormchaser had to use in the following hours, every last playing-piece was poised to strike out for the Imperium with an archetypal executioner's prejudice, and Barran could feel it all - like a rush. The moment was almost too perfect to bear, an instant of aesthetic beauty that reaffirmed all that Lord Erskine loved about army life, covered in rain, dark clouds and distant auditory thunderclaps, covering the city backdrop in what the General considered to be ideal soldiering conditions. It was enough to feel the great pride, and at the same time, enough to induce all the fiery endurance of a true battle-hardened commander, the sort that could overcome even the greatest, most-daunting of existential challenges.

'What I'll be needing from all o' you will be much simpler! We require the Death of every Sith-Loyalist standing between us and our allies, and the exact position of my champion's contingent! So everyone proven guilty of anti-Imperial leanings between here - and there - must be lined up against a wall en-masse and executed on the spot! AND I MEAN EVERYONE!!!! Company - DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISMISSED!!!!!'

 

[Lana]

.​

Final Countdown​

Objective: Prepare to receive casualties​

Tags: Anashja Tal​

​

Lana had a reason for being here of course. Heck, everyone did, but hers was super duper secret. So secret in fact, that she couldn't remember her original reason for coming. That hadn't kept her from sneaking into Ana's clinic, posing with a crippling scrapped knee injury, Lana made a swift recover and set to task mending the wounds of those she could. Thankfully, she had her mothers knack for healing, and the grace of a Lloath cat; well, mostly.​

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With Life Day swiftly approaching, the young witch couldn't help but sing, which truly served as a distraction for the amount of stress she was putting upon her body. Lana dug in deep with her magicks, bringing the strange greenish mist with her as she teleported herself from room to room, mending and healing whatever she could, before moving onto the next, all the while filling the halls with all the joy she could muster. It was the least she could do after all, to foster the flicker of hope in such a foreboding time. Try as she might, she couldn't deny her strength was fading, and swiftly, yet she continued to pour all she had into her work. Ana was counting on her, and so were the folks here. She only hoped her friend appreciated all of her work, as she managed to make one last teleportation to Ana's position, and promptly collapsed from exhaustion at the woman's feet. "H-Hey, Ana, anything else I can help with?" Lana muttered, face down on the floor, and lacking the strength to right herself.​

 

[Tren Chaar]

C O N T E S T E D

DROMUND KAAS
B-WING HEAVY STARFIGHTER​

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Revenant Squadron Leader: CDR Tren Chaar Two: FLT Olly Piblarian Seven: FO Leon Gallo Eleven: FO Mylo Thorne Ashlan Crusade | Allies GADM Isla Draellix-Kobitana New Imperial Order | “Allies” LT Jon Kovacs LT Delilah Jones Brotherhood | Enemies TKMR Tu'teggacha Spoiler: Summary -Chaar remembers the good old days -The Brotherhood spring their trap and destroy a transport -Revenant splits up to cover the transports and engage the Brotherhood

Revenant drew closer to the transports as they entered the maelstrom that was Dromund Kaas’s atmosphere. Starfighter Command had wrangled with how to handle the lighting storms during the Stygian Campaign while planning the final showdown with the Sith Empire. Chaar and Viscount Squadron, with countless missions and Sith kills stencilled on their starfighters, were slated to be the tip of the spear. Few other squadrons had the same experience and track record at this point - truly Chaar’s glory days. The collapse of the Sith government after Krayiss II had mooted the plan.

“Cut the chatter,” he ordered his wingmate Olly Piblarian, reminding Chaar that Revenant Squadron still had a long way to go before they rivalled his old squadron.

“Tighten up,” he added over the comlink. The atmospheric interference was causing havoc on his sensors. Phantom contacts appeared and disappeared his astromech worked to cut through the static and ion energy. Anything could be out here lying in wait, and if they lost sight of the transport, there was little chance they would find them again.

His main vidscreen played a warning chime as it registered a possible contact. Chaar adjusted the dials on the vidscreen to try and cut through the shadows and blind spots from the lightning. The contact was blinking in and out but looked to be holding the same vector toward Revenant. “Stand by, I might have some…”

The flash tinting in Chaar’s cockpit activated to dim the blinding explosion of the transport he was tailing. The Umbaran threw his control to the side as he dove to avoid the flaming debris.

“Contact!”

The tactical computer registered the enemy signatures - Brotherhood patrol frigates with starfighter escorts. “Evasive,” he added as he brought his B-wing forward to sit between the enemy and the transport and diverted additional power to the forward shields. They needed to buy the transport breathing room.

“Two Flight, cover the transport,” Chaar ordered. “Three Flight, keep those starfighters off their backs.” The transport pilots, now seeing the trap they had walked into, diverted power to their sunlight engines and dove toward the surface of Dromund Kaas.

“One Flight, on me.” He pulled back on the control yoke as the transports and their X-wing escorts made their escape. Chaar cycled his targeting computer to the lead Brotherhood frigate and forward the information to the other B-wings. The anti-capital ship hunters would make quick work of the Brotherhood ship, leaving their starfighters without support.

“Time to go hunting.”

 

[Onrai]

Thule, Massassi-class Corvette, Void Refit

The fleet elements of Vanessa Vantai's legions still to this day remained unaccounted for at the time of the last Sith Empire's destruction. Nathema had entered a period of isolation, with no apparent presence in the galaxy. In reality, this was thanks to the colonization efforts of establishing a presence in Otherspace, through the rift at Demonsgate. Machines had taken over most if not all of the production capability of that world and flow to and from the Imperial Graveyard had long since ceased, the Nathema Orbital Complex having been mostly automated with a skeletal crew of ex-Sith and ex-Imperial veterans.

Such was why the Thule, a Massassi-class Corvette and veteran warship of countless galactic conflicts, was the vessel to respond to the Antiquity's distress signal. The captain of the vessel, a veteran of decades of conflict across the entire galaxy as would be expected of most of her warband's personnel, aimed the forward beam cannon of his warship and locked onto the enemy vessel. Plasma shone from the front of the corvette as a great lance of proton energy traveled across space towards the enemy ship.

Whether it would make contact, the captain could only hope, but he was definitely in an engagement now regardless.

Sasmay Cull

 

[Heinrich Faust]

Heinrich Faust
Grand Marshal of the Knightly Orders of Ashla

Engaging: Maestus

Media Vita

The rain began to pour as the Knights of Ession marched their way toward the dark temple within the jungles of Dromund Kaas. The Crusade had been taking their time clearing the planet one sector at a time, their efforts culminating in the taking of the capital itself. Though the bulk of the Crusade's forces had been deployed around the city, Heinrich was to spearhead their efforts on the outskirts. He had already sent several contingents of Jurors and clergy to the area surrounding the temple, and with any luck, they would be able to cleanse the cursed place for good. Despite this, there was a terrible itch that he couldn't scratch in the back of his mind. It was clear that the loyalists wouldn't go quietly into the night, but there were more sinister things that lurked in the jungles than the remnant forces of the fallen empire...

It wasn't long after that the Maw had come.

The Brotherhood wasn't going to let the planet be taken without throwing a wrench in the gears. In truth, it shouldn't have come as a surprise. They fed on the destruction of other worlds, sacrificing all in their path to their dark gods. Heinrich found himself lost in thought for a moment, reflecting on the man that had saved his life all of those years ago...

Kaigann, the fallen Jedi and former friend to the Grayson family. His mentor. His master. His enemy.

There would be no time to think on memories of better times. That man no longer existed, for he had been fully consumed by the Bogan. Heinrich pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, aiming to keep his wits sharp for the coming battle. As Heinrich and his fellow knights neared the temple, he could sense the darkness gathering, though strangely, not only from the temple itself. There was someone else here.

Heinrich gave the order for his men to continue, before breaking off and pushing toward the person he sensed. As he pushed through the jungles of Dromund Kaas, Heinrich eventually found himself catching sight of a Twi'lek dancing in the rain. It didn't take long for Heinrich to know who she was. He hadn't encountered Darth Maestus, but word of her sinister ferocity had reached his ears many times over. There would be no room for error in this fight, and no time to waste.

His latest blade hissed to life, coming alive in a bright glow of cyan. Eyes narrowed, and he slowly stepped into view.

"Not the best place for a dance, but I suppose it'll have to do."

He took up a guard, steeling his nerves has he prepared for battle.

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Aerarii Tithe ​

Dromund Kaas Records and Archival Centre

Madelyn breezed through the automatic doors as if walking into her own office. Heads turned from all around the lobby, frantic bureaucrats turning their heads and stopping in their tracks. They recognised her, of course they did.

Minutes earlier, the city commissioner had blown his brains out, such was the magnitude of the invasion Dromund Kaas was facing. Madelyn had been attending an event with the Presbelti diaspora, and had come on request, one last favour to the remnants of a regime to which she had once committed her life.

The archival centre was a mess. With the city's leadership gone and departmental heads fleeing for the hills, the junior staff- those that remained- huddled aimlessly, unsure what to do now.

That's where Madelyn came in. She wasn't part of the rank and file of the Dromund Kaas administration, not by any stretch of the imagination, but since she'd been called in, and because of her reputation, she had authority.

"Uh… Ms Lowe?"

Madelyn turned her head to see a short young man with wire-framed glasses. By the way the others gathered around were looking at him, he was the de-facto head of the Archives now.

Madelyn flashed her papers at the man, whose ID badge identified him as Douglyss Hollman. He made a show of looking at her badge, but really they all already knew her from her time with the Sith.

"How bad is it?" she asked the man. The loss of the senior staff was a blow, but enough people had remained that they might be able to do what they needed to do before the Archival Centre was captured.

"Pretty bad, ma'am. I'm the most senior staffer left here and I'm just a team leader."

Madelyn opened her mouth to reply, when a pair of her guards entered into the lobby, along with a smattering of Legionnaires, which gave her a reminiscent feeling. Madelyn approached the group, briefly looking up and down the street, which appeared deserted for the moment. Most of the city’s businesses and population had the good sense to flee when they saw trouble coming.

"How much time do we have?" she asked one of the guards.

"Alliance marines seem to be heading our way. They're maybe an hour away, could be less."

"Alright." said Madelyn, pursing her lips. She was not particularly concerned about the Alliance, especially as a private citizen, but the capture of the Archive's records could expose information that would endanger the people here, her friends in the old regime, even herself. Better to let these things be forgotten, for the sake of progress.

"Barricade the doors and get ready to work. We need all the personnel files and secure documents brought down to this floor." She looked over to the team leader, Hollman. "If you can get that organised, we might be able to destroy the physical records before the Alliance seizes this building."

 

[Djorn Bline]

V E N O M _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
DROMUD KAAS

The final nail in the coffin. The last remnant of the Sith Empire. A testimony the Sith can bleed and fall on their knees in defeat. It did not, however, symbolized the end of the Sith, but it was a step in that direction.

If only he was here to witness this monument.

That man being the late Sovereign Imperator, Irveric Tavlar. A great soldier that the Galaxy lost, but his act of defiance and sacrifices would not go in vain. His legacy would continue through those left behind dedicated to his ideals. At least that’s what the veteran commando thought so with the work he dedicated to, not realizing he was extreme in to such devotion. Duty and self righteousness blinded him; if he could not see it with two eyes, he was less likely to see it in the eye that remained.

The front lines of battle he would not partake in as his eye was set on something else away from conventional warfare. The complex named Imperial Intelligence. Secrets and knowledge wanting by every Galactic power present on Dromud Kaas. What lay within was useless to the dying breaths of the Sith-Imperials, but was invaluable to its enemies. Weapons, potential hyperlane routes, covert sleeper agents, hidden operating bases, every ounce of information was to be taken. To hell with the Alliance trying to get a finger on that data.

Already there was a rush of personnel securing whatever there was left or destroying it if it was too late to save it. Little use in stealth when the whole damn place was under high alert, all hinges would be kicked down with crude force. Indiscriminate onslaught besides those of his banner.

Through the air vents he made his entrance, landing in a hallway with corpses after a thermal detonator was dropped to clear his path. Nothing but Sith agents and legionnaires with maybe one or two lucky enough to survive the blast. He’d leave the wounded to the cleanup crew to be put facing the wall as General Barran was eager to have the few loyalists still breathing be made an example.

ALLIES | NIO
ENEMIES | EVERYONE | Open to opps

 

[Thonn Rokkal]

Allies: Siv Dragr Mira Athrani Faison Kelborn Stone Gra'tua Enclave
Enemy: Khamul Kryze SCAR Kralmus Orr Maw/Sith

---

Fething Sith.

He'd no love for their ilk before the invasion of Panatha, and he certainly didn't like them any more after. Well, aside from the ones who were dead, and there were many of those – the Enclave had seen to it. To see their land set alight, their fortifications destroyed and their presence eradicated brought Thonn joy and comfort; he'd given it his kriffing all to witness the end result and revel in the sweet vengeance exacted.

These thoughts and more warmed his heart during the weeks-long recovery in the med-centre. The injuries incurred were severe, but the reward had been well worth the effort. His only real regret had been over those that had gotten away and escaped the destruction their bombardment had wrought. Particularly that Sith who'd mangled up his arm through her powers of god-knows-what. Granted he'd gotten away too, and he couldn't convince himself that the fight was going well, but that was beside the point. He wanted to kill Sith, but he wasn't about to count on it. Even Thonn knew the difficulty of the task. What he had counted on doing was shooting a Sith lord.

And he didn't even get to karking do that!

But the Mandalorian march of vengeance and self-restoration was far from over; this was another thought that kept Thonn comfortable during recovery. He didn't get to pull the trigger on any Sith that time, but he could heal up and rest assured that another chance would come soon enough.

Well here it was, and naturally here he was.

All patched up, the same couldn't be said for his long-serving rotary cannon he had to leave behind. After that Sith had attacked, it became junk; after the bombardment, it was now glass. He'd wasted no time acquiring a new one, and it was of fine construction and high reliability. But it was weighted all kriffing wrong! Rotary cannons weigh a ton, and that weight had to be accounted for to make the aerial jetpack manoeuvres he loved to do. It had taken an awful lot to get used to, and by the time he was done the weapon was practically an extension of his body. But this? Chit, it's like they chopped off his leg and nailed a two-by-four to the stump as a replacement. Mid-air shooting with this was going to take some getting used to, and Thonn grumbled at the process.

The rest of his kit had made it out with him, at least. He'd even made a modification to the stout double-barrelled scattergun he carried; attached to the top of the barrels near the breakaway point were a couple of rings that were just the right size to hold two replacement shells. Nothing fancy, but it did the job and he wouldn't suffer the same problems of an empty slug-thrower this time. It did get in the way of aiming the thing, and a few of his vode had pointed out that particular shortcoming.

Like he was going to do that. Sights are a suggestion.

Thonn bounded towards the fray. Determination and thirst for battle had made him more attentive than normal, and he scanned the scene and his hud for a sign of where he and his rotary cannon oughta be.

"This is Dragr. Sith-Mandalorian forces are breaching the entrance," Siv reported hurriedly into his comm. "Hold them back, do you copy?"

Thonn paused; this could be such a sign.

"Do you copy?"

...Yeah, sure sounded like chit was about to hit the fan. So, Thonn hit the switch on his jetpack and soared promptly over, with a bit of a wobble to his trajectory as he positioned his hefty weapon to aid his flight.

"Rokkal reporting; no sign on your situation - am approaching your position"

He landed on the rooftop with a thud, with far less grace than he was used to - but a landing was a landing. Thonn had arrived, but he'd no clue what he'd gotten himself into. He probably wouldn't until it was on the proper end of his cannon, and he was fine with that. Moving towards the same stairwell that Siv used, he carried his weapon at the ready while he made his descent down the stairs inside.

 

[Annor E-059]

Annor E-059
Objective 1: Once more unto the breach.
Writing With: DECEASED Erskine Barran
Historical District, Kaas City

The shadow and gold plate that Annor wears cast her a distinctive figure on the gargantuan parade ground amidst the sea of Stormtroopers wearing their own white armour. The distinction among a legion is remarkable. Annor did not feel at home here and wasn't fool enough to expect a traditional welcome from the rambunctious Sabretooth's. Annor hoped for two things on this deployment; firstly, that they would not engage in small talk, and secondly, she would leave this wretched planet alive.

Rain falls pattering against the rockcrete under soles. Annor thought of a sombre melody she enjoyed playing on a piano. It was from a song, the earliest she could recall hearing. Its' blue bars, she thought was appropriate for the situation. Listening to Erskine's grandiose speech, it was clear command's intention was nothing short of erasing the Sith Empire's cultural and religious legacy, nothing new there. The lightsabre that flaps against her hip were proof that the secular pragmatic Imperial had triumphed over the Sith and all of their piety and ideological purity.

Upon dismissal, the Sabres ran to their vehicles at a frenetic pace. They were going to fight through the streets of Kaas city. Annor wordlessly walks without a sense of urgency. She reaches behind the helmet, and the optical camouflage system ripples visibly across her armour's surface. Its' surface shifts like a fast-moving sky filled with colliding clouds until Armour's colour palette is a blend of the ambient environment. Annor punches a closed-fist into her breastplate, and a brilliant blue bubble snaps to life around her silhouette before its' edges bind brightly to her armour panels before disappearing from sight altogether.

Leftenant Greer's voice interrupts Annor's calm serenity. "I'm glad to have you along to help us with this Operation, Specialist. I've heard stories about the elites."

"Leftenant." Annor's voice rasps in cold apathy over the comlink to the infantry platoon's commander as she boards an aircraft. "It makes no tactical sense that the Maw or Remnants have let us get this close to their positions." The tactical observation was made with bland stoicism on an inflexion that sounded like it belonged to a fresh boot to Greer. He was stunned. He had expected the woman to be more heroic and inspiring and was disappointed.

"You think it's a trap?" Lieutenant Greer muses anxiously, settling into the commander seat of his armoured fighting vehicle, with both feet on the chair and his head and chest standing proudly above the cupola with rain gently tickling at his helmeted head.

"We'll find out soon enough." Annor peers down over the streets below and watches the vehicles of the Legion cough, growl and thrum in a choir that threatened to offend her ears. Annor's camouflaged presence on the rooftops is difficult to notice and permits covert surveillance of friends and foes. "When the shooting starts, tell your men to stay out of my way."

 

[Julian Qar]

FIELD MEDICAL REPORT
Protected Document: █ █ █ X-2292701 █ █ █
Obj I
- - -
Field Hospital | Triage Ready
Medical Narrative

NIO: DECEASED Erskine Barran Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones Shai Maji The Fool Keilara Kala'myr Don Belkora Annor E-059 Hoken Stryte Bex Tarring

Enemies: THE WHOLE ASS SITH AND THE MAW

Open for opposition

---

✚ B R O K E N _ S A T E L L I T E S ✚
//[score]\\

Silence enveloped them into a familiar sense of solace as cold, gloved hands adjust the loose pieces of the armor that transformed skin. They took to their buckles, their clips, pulling magazines from their rifles only to hear that comforting sound of their mechanisms lock into place. Whatever task had called to them, allowing them to settle and relax before being thrown into hell again. He had done the same, eyes shut from the rest of the world as the embers from his half lit cigarette continued to tell time.

“We’ll be approaching soon…” The crackle of digitized vocals popped within their earpieces, stirring some out of their focus but others would remain like armored statues on display.

This holding used to be filled with so many bodies that recycled air was not uncommon for them to drag into their lungs. Sometimes they could taste each other’s fear, their hope, they could even taste the malice that burned far hotter than the stars. The cycles of warfare tore apart their bodies and left burn marks in the now emptied spaces of the ship. All that remained would be the haunting chorus of ghosts, names that they'd attach to the end of prayers, etch into the metal of their chairs. Remembrance.

She was quiet, not even taking a moment to look up at the voice that called her name from the distance. Another one was stolen away by recklessness. She had watched him, watched the air forced from his lungs until his eyes burned with the color of crimson and his last words were the pleading cries for a family he had left behind.

“I won’t get close….I w-won’t get close….ever again…” she’d been chanting this since the buckles clipped around her chest, providing a sense of mock safety while they traveled in the stars. He didn’t have to hear her words, but he could feel the pain resonate from her still form, radiating like a violent aura that threatened to consume those around her. “You’re ok kid…” He nudged her softly with his shoulder. She did not have to come, he even told her that she could remain within the comforts of the base.

But just like him, this war, this battle with the darkness was not about her…but about them.​

Hazel pulled the strap around her chest, her fingers had grown numb from anxiety, her chest tightening as each breath felt forced and harder to take. She’d count down from twenty, storing air in the belly of her lungs until a trembling exhale was all she could manage. She looked to Julian, watching as his dual lenses stared off into nothing, a hand clutching those reminders of the dead around his neck and she’d wonder…what did it take to become hardened like him? He had buried more bodies because of the Sith and yet with every rotting casket he kept on, he threw himself into the fire after every single farewell.

The doctor turned her focus to the picture on her lap, staring down at his face, that lopsided, scarred smile, and those eyes. The ones she’d said goodbye to knowing he’d been there too..but she was not built for this, she wasn’t built the same as him. She had promised herself, that this would be the last one…It was the same threat she had tossed around every deployment. She’d had enough..she would not be taken by them just as they had taken so many of their own. And even in that state of despair, that hole of sadness she allowed herself to bury in…that lazy drawl that sang of hope had always brought her back to her center.

“Medics, do not be afraid of darkness for you are the light. Your hands are powered by the flame of the iron sun. You are bound by oath, to serve, protect…do not forget why you are here. You are the shield while our brothers and sisters are the sword. United we will destroy the Sith. Fear has no place here."

His voice had not followed roars, not today, today they clutched their blasters higher and held onto calculated silence...a snake amongst the bushes ready to attack.

<"Lance One, this is Grey. We're in the skies ready...on your mark. Over.">​

█ █ █

 

[Eina L'lerim-Vandiir]

Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
The First and the Light of Ashla
Heiress and Princess of the Eternal Empire and Terraris; Angelic Mascot and Representative of the Ashlan Crusade
Eternal Empire's Ambassador to the Ashlan Crusade; Matriarch of the Valkyrja; Leader of Sanctuary and the Fjölkyngi Smiđr Guild​

Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Objective I.: Save the Children
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (swords) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || Current appearance
Writing With: Zachariel Steelblood | Closed
Allies: AC/EE/NIO/GA/Enclave | Heinrich Faust | Isla Draellix-Kobitana | Draco Miles | The Fool | Percival Io
Enemies: BotM | Open

[ War Music ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

<< Thank you, Isla! >> she replied.

Luckily, Isla answered her very soon; Eina was relieved that her friend would send shields. Roughly the moment the other woman said, she sensed a force approaching from a distance that was heading straight for it. At first it was not the Maw but the Allies. Based on the data immediately available, this was the NIO. She hasn't really had any experience with them yet. So, at first, she thought the dropships were coming to help. However, the next moment MANIAC projected on her retina that the hatches had opened, they were ready to attack.

The Valkyrja immediately stopped and turned back. She should rush to open a rift into the Netherworld through which children can go to safety. But if she doesn’t stay out now and doesn't defend the building, she might not even get in before they destroy it.

<< Isla, Heinrich, uncle Pietro… I mean… Lord Demici! The NIO attacked the orphanage! >> she said hurriedly on the communication channel to Isla Draellix-Kobitana , Heinrich Faust and Pietro Demici .

Moments later, a shield sent by Isla also arrived and drew a shield around the orphanage. Luckily, Eina saw others arrive. As far as she could see, there were some who wanted to protect and guard the place. She was relieved that there are those here who do not want to destroy everything in the city. She spread her wings and was ready to defend the place against anyone. On her armour was the symbol of the Ashlan Crusade; she represented them on this mission. They were her friends, she belonged to them, much more than to another place or faction in the Realspace.

"I'll defend this place in Ashla's name!" she said most to herself because others couldn't hear her anyway.

However, her attention was drawn from the forces of the NIO by something else, something much more powerful and evil. She also felt the presence of Maw, including the proximity of a Force User. Eina had already turned her spear in the direction she felt this person. The Valkyrja had never met Zachariel before, she didn't even know about the man's existence, and she had absolutely no idea that the brutal warrior was her mother's lover. A smile appeared on her lips at the telepathic message. Child.

She could not know that in the man’s eyes she really was, because the gen’dai had lived for more than a thousand years, the Valkyrja lived only three hundred. So, the first thought was that her opponent greatly underestimated her. Eina let the Force penetrate her body as if her physical presence had glowed in dim golden light, but in the Force the colour of gold was even stronger. Eina was ready for the upcoming battle; trusted that the shields would stand and those who were here would help defend this place. She was like a true angel, or the instrument of Ashla's will.

~ Bogan will not win today. Come, fiend, and meet your fate as Ashla wills it! ~ she sent her own message back, and Zach could hear a familiar voice in his mind, Eina's voice was exactly the same as Ingrid's.

 

[Pietro Demici]

Pietro Demici: Cardinal of Ashla

Opposition: OPEN

Allies: Ingrid L'lerim , Isla Draellix-Kobitana , Rurik Fel, DECEASED Erskine Barran , Noel Strasza, Siv Dragr , The Fool , Baron Reinhardt Ström

Enemies: Darth Solipsis, The Mongrel , Rowena, Darth Carnifex

Personal Loadout: lightsaber, armorweave priest's vestments

Sanctus Dominus

Pietro nodded as Ingrid spoke of the information given to the Crusade. Though he questioned the Empire's motives, the cardinal knew that, at least for now, they shared a common enemy. In that regard, he would accept their help as long as it remained fruitful, and the Empire, faithful.

"They have put the intel to good use. I must say, Empress, that your assistance has indeed been quite beneficial."

More explosions could be heard in the distance, though not all came in the form of statues being torn down. The Maw had come, and with them came the same wanton destruction that had been felt on many worlds before. His eyes turned toward the skies, and he reached out through the Force, attempting to sense what he could of their presence.

"Artifacts or not, it appears that we will have to leave some of the search for later. The Maw has made their move."

He quickly punched in series of codes into the holo, sending coded transmissions to several units located throughout the city. The storms above the city created an extra need for caution, as they could potentially interfere with their communications. Luckily, the Crusade had taken care to set up contingencies, should that occur.

"I pray that casualties will be minimal, in terms of civilians. We have done what we could to get people out. Most of those that remain are loyalists, though I can't account for every inch of the city. As for the orphanage, Eina is meant to get the children to safety. I have confidence that she can get them out with her ability to portal into the Nether."

The cardinal was unsure as to how Ingrid would respond to that, though in the end, it was Eina's choice. He would have to believe in her abilities, as he did with the others under the Crusade's banner.

"This will be a hard day for all of us, no matter what happens. I am simply being realistic about the situation."

There would be no way of knowing which direction the tides of chaos would flow in... only time would tell.

 

[Felix Aquila]

CLASH OF LIGHT AND SHADOW​

Tag: Darth Mori // Scyllias Aventor
Location: Dromund Kaas
Equipment:

• - Light-saber
• - Amanacer Crystal
• - Personal Shield
• - Armourweave Clothing

Three and a half weeks,

It had taken three and a half weeks of floating in a bacta tank in between sixteen hour surgeries. Treatments grafting new tissue across Felix's body as experimental drugs and Kaminoan medical technology purchased at cost to keep the young man alive. All sensation had been lost down his dominant arm as the attempted nerve treatment had failed, leaving the entire limb nerve dead. Jagged scar tissue formed in jagged claw-marks across his face and arms where he had been kissed by Darth Mori's deadly Sith Lightning. That Lightning had compromised a lung, while the burns from his own attack had scorched his right hand almost to the bone, with other third and fourth degree burns strewn across his half-dead corpse.

Landing on Dromund Kaas in a chrome fighter craft, Felix stalked out in Confederate armour, its faction logo's ripped from the seems leaving only those of house Aquila open to the eye on the shadowy plane of this force forsaken world. Felix had followed rumors, whispers of the dealings of the Eternal Empire, attempting to track the path of desiccation that had been left behind by Mori. The assassin would have been impossible to find if Felix hadn't been so emotionally consumed by his need to find the monstress, he'd been living in a vision fuelled haze during his recovery. Vision had shown him on a world cloaked in darkness, drawing a blade against someone who could inform him of her location. A temple stood in his sight, a temple that happened to be of the Dark side of the force.

He'd led that trail here.

Eyes of determined silver shone in the dark of the surrounding light foliage, the force empowering his movement as a familiar feeling in the force tore a life from the mortal world. The sensation stopped the Force Master in his tracks, causing him to draw his blade, breathing in the sunlight that the Amanacer crystal emanated from its golden blade. Felix could feel his numb hand tremble, heat searing across his knuckles as he felt like his hand was on fire, trembling as he remembered his last battle with the witch... 'Am I ready for this...?'

He questioned himself, he was scared, terrified, but the twin sounds of her voice merged with that of his brothers lit a fire in the Rylothians' belly. Anger and hate flared within him staining the colour of his silver eyes with cracks of burnished gold. He'd hurt her, badly on Pii-3, though he'd nearly had to die to do it. Now he knew his opponent, he hadn't been ambushed or taken by surprise. He had time to prepare, sans injury before he came into contact with the vile creature.

He'd get his brother back, and make her pay for what she'd done to him.

As he stood, alone, the flickering green flame of Damotherian magic lit up on the back of his hand, whispers of ghost questioning his intentions, a sensation of worry crept over the man as he pondered. "I'll push her hard, get her to Flaunt my brother's soul again, as soon as she does, you try drag him out. I'll keep her occupied enough to stop her from dragging you in. ok?" The whispers seemed unsure, but a cold hand lay upon his shoulder, coaxing Felix's reaction to lay a hand upon the comforting touch, mind straying to someone he hadn't seen for a while. He wondered where Quinn was, and what she'd think about him hunting her former lover. He'd almost recruited Alina, but was unable to reach her.

Foot over foot he would stalk towards the location he had felt the dark side power, his saber ignited as a beacon, a unique signature to inform the Darth who was coming for her. Moving from a walk to a charge as he would, short of her moving locations, seek to burst into the clearing where she had been attacked, and come face to face with the woman he'd obsessed over for four, long, weeks.
​