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He took a short breath, something he realized he had neglected to do. Placing his hand on the bird, hoping it would hold up. Zaldros knew they would have to go fast in order to reach wherever it is they were going, although maybe he didn’t need to be as worried considering how fast the birds were going before they crossed paths with the team. However, he realised that it was of no concern to him at the moment and as such he mounted the bird and patted the Churi’s head before grasping its feathers.
It wasn’t hard to acknowledge how uneasy the bird was, which didn’t make the ride any smoother. He could only hope that they would be able to endure whatever was making the birds so anxious. Moments later though that became the least of his worries when he was met with Kyrinov’s words. “They did? That’s...terrible.” He knew they had seen an opening and did the logical thing most would do in their situation, yet still, it was bad and could be hard to recover from. He knew they would though, as long as there something left at least.
He couldn’t help but notice Nerium slow down, causing him to slow his bird too. Although he wished he hadn’t, it looked terrible and sounded horrible. It was sade to say most of her transformations didn’t go like that. Yet still, a colourful creature came out of it, maybe this way they’d find out something...or it’d be a bit more fun for Nerium. Neither option was bad by any means, just one was more preferable. Considering their rides bucking them off would be less than wanted.
Fire flowed on either side of the viceroy, undulating with life of its own. Yet it was not the case. The flames roared in his ears as his body filled with more energy as he siphoned power into his grip upon the ship. Fingers tightened as he sought purchase upon the hull of the ship that was to be the Agents of Chaos’ escape. But with the deaths of his people, Derek would not allow such an act to go unpunished.
“Fear not the dark.”
Crimson eyes glowed bright as power unimaginable coursed through his veins seeking release before the power grew too great. The Confederates rallied to the cause, leaping forward to engage the Agents who turned to give battle so freely. Smoke thickened in the room in great coiling streams that choked him while simultaneously cloaking figures from one another. Shadows wove in difficult to see movements that made identifying each person difficult.
“Fear not the dark.”
Dorin, home of the Kel Dor and the Baran Do Sages, had ancient crypts and tunnels deep in the earth. As a youth he crept around learning hidden passages by the flame held in his hand. Darkness stole sight from you and in those ancient paths darkness was death. The Sage, Jordan, taught Derek a lesson that stood him in good stead all these years. Only those who followed only by sight were afraid of the darkness. And so Derek learned to trust all his faculties to never fear the darkness.
“Fear not the dark.”
And so Derek heard the familiar rasp of pistol grip slapping palm. His nose was filled with the stench of smoke. Needles ran up his spine, a sixth sense warning him of impending danger. A smile touched the corner of his lips as he shifted his attention to the break in flame and shadow to see the Agent raising the pistol toward him. The power within him released the ship, invisible fingers reaching for the woman who thought she would kill him.
“Fear not the dark.”
Suddenly Sera dropped from above, landing between him and his shooter. A silent shout competed with the roar of the flames as he wrapped the energy absorbed around the angelic woman. A flash brightened in slow motion directly toward the pair giving Derek a bare millisecond to react. With a single focus of mind he let the force flow through him as healing tendrils even as the shot hit Sera and continued its journey into him, his head jerking back. Their bodies fell in a heap together as blood flowed from their wounds.
“Fear not the dark.”
The scarlet light faded from his unfocused eyes as a single line of blood ran down his forehead. His chest still rose and fell automatically as the flow of the force he had released with purpose still trickled to the culmination of his last conscious decision. The force wrapped the fallen angel, healing and caressing the wound as his body reacted on auto pilot. Slowly his face eased from its constant controlled lines to grow lax. His chest rose and fell with shallow breath as all remnants of the man known as Derek Dib seemingly dissipated with the smoke around their forms. His chest continued to rise and fall, a testament to the resilience of his body in the face of the end.
He had bled out as he was slumped against a outcrop of rubble. His hands were still gripped iron-tight around his blaster, his cold steel still attached. Corpsman Jantine had found him among the pile of dead, somehow still alive despite the dagger stuck firm in his chest. He had insisted that the medic dragged him back to the line despite the mortal wound. He had insisted that he die in the line of duty.
Farlorn could not ask for more.
He wanted so much to collapse. He wanted to just line down and rest for a moment before the end. Before the Lylek’s came and tore them apart. But he refused to. If this was to be the end, then he would die standing with the standard of Ryloth in his hand. He would die standing, keeping the honour of the planet he was about to die on and in defiance to the terrorists.
“Sir, a message from the Grand Marshall, she asks for a sit-rep on the situations with the tunnel.” Bellary was at his side with his comms-unit. His right eye was wrapped heavily in bloody damage and Farlorn didn’t want to ask what still remained behind it. The hand holding the comms-phone was shaking. Farlorn took it and placed it to his ear.
“I’m afraid, Grand Marshall, this may very well be my last transmission to you. The vehicle depot breach can no longer be considered secure. I have few men left. Far too few to hold the line. The enemy is upon us. We will delay and deny as long as we can but I’m afraid that shall not be for long. If any of us make this day, please tell my men… nevermind, there’s nothing to say except to make good on their oaths. I must go now. As they say, first in, last out.” He said with some level of resignation in his voice.
“This is really going to be this?” Bellary asked.
“Yes." He said simply.
“Well, damn,” He coughed out. “Never thought it would be like this.”
“It never is the way you want.”
They could now see the Lyleks now, barely seventy meters ahead. All of them were making a keening roar with the riders mounted on top laughing like jackals, driving their steeds forward with their whips, making crackling noises in the air like twigs breaking. Farlorn checked the ammo count of his BAW-55. Last clip. Ten rounds left. Nine rounds for the enemy.
Then one for himself.
He lifted the blaster pistol, waiting for them to reach optimal range.
Farlorn began “Men of Caria, rise and adre-”
“Sir!” Menhil cut him off, suddenly shouting from behind. Farlorn turned and saw a line of TCD-2 just behind, moving towards the mouth of the tunnel. Between them were infantry who Farlorn instantly recognized as the infamous dire wolves. In their center was an armoured figure, standing tall but with their armour terribly damaged. He caught sight of brown eyes behind the broken face shield. The droids lowered their autocannons and moved into a firing line.
You didn’t need to be the blindest fool in creation to figure out what was about to happen.
“Move dammit!” Farlorn shouted, grabbing Syna’s arm and hoisting him up. He nearly threw his lieutenant out of the way. Half a dozen Rangers that could still move began to dash out of the way of danger. A few, too exhausted or wounded to even stand, were helped up by their comrades and brought to safety.
“GET CLEAR!” He heard a booming voice crackle over damaged speakers.
“Move in the name of Caira!” Jantine slung a wounded Ranger’s arm over his shoulder and dashed out of the way. Farlorn shoved the last one and was running now, as fast as he could, the banner flying behind him. The blast shook his entire diaphragm and he stumbled a few steps, almost falling over, his knees giving out.
Dust wreathed the air and Farlorn coughed out thick wads of blood. His chief-medic would certainly kill him when this was all done with. The smell of salt-water was thick in the air.
Several Wolves emerged from the dust. Farlorn could see that they were medical personal
“Eleven back there, all wounded.” One of them came at him with a roll of gauze in her hand. “Not me, I’m fine, I'll live. They need it more.” The medics moved past him.
There was a mechanical snort in the air, followed by the rumble of engines and the squeal of brakes. A heavy clang of metal was followed by dozens of rapid footsteps. A figure was moving towards Farlorn through the fog.
“Sir? Sir, are you alright?”
“Erach? Lord, I’m glad to see you,”
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sir.” The figure of Major Erach stepped through the dust. He was a tall staunch man with a bristling ginger beard. “Kriff, you look like you’ve been through hell.”
“And back. What’s the situation going on?”
“We’ve crushed a large contingent of terrorists on the parade square with minimal losses. But the bastards at the last moment detonated a massive suicide bomb.”
“Lord, any wounded?”
“Any Rangers? No, but there were a few others caught by the blast. One’s in critical condition.”
“Good work. What else?”
“Orders just came down from the High Marshall to evacuate the dome. I’ve got men already beginning to pull out to the evac ships save for a platoon I sent to evacuate V.I.P Srina Talon
.”
“Who’s in command of the platoon?”
“Strum. I know, not the best but I couldn’t risk my best officers. The rest are with crowd control trying to get the civilians to safety in the APCs.” He paused. “Sir, we have to go now.”
“How many carriers do we have? I’m not leaving anyone behind.” Farlorn asked.
“I only have one empty, that’s space for about a platoon’s worth. The rest are parked outside.”
“That’ll be enough.” He turned and walked back into the dust. "Get them ready to load at once."
"Yes sir."
“Come on! Orders are to evac at once! If you have wounded we'll load them up.” Farlorn waved at the Wolves. “Organics only! There’s not enough room for the droids and they’re expendable anyway. If you want to leave alive then get on. We are leaving!”
-0-0-0-0-
They were called by many names: The Night witches, The Mandragora, The Mages of Death, Bringers of Night, Necromancers of Ryloth.
Someone out there was compensating for something, Major Vidar Fennstrum of the First Ranger Battalion mused as he sat, arms and legs crossed, in the command carrier.
He never did like the famed Sorcerer's of the Confederacy. Then again, “the wolf” didn’t like much in the galaxy. The cynical ruthless second officer of the Forlorn made it clear he disliked anything that he didn’t understand. Anything he didn’t understand was a variable that stood in his way. They were no different. Strange users of the Force that talked like madmen of ritual, spirits, energy flows, and all that nonsense crap.
Colonel Farlorn had often talked of them with some respect but suspicion. He disliked how little was known of the Mandragora and that they seemed to refuse direct control by military or civilian command. Most of that bastard Farlorn’s words made Fennstrum want to barf, but if there was a thing they could agree on, it was this.
The convoy stretched for nearly a kilometer: Forty MTAT-1s in a long line carrying the entirety of First Battalion, eight-hundred soldiers strong. Their dust plume could be seen for a kilometer and the throaty rumble of their collective turbines rolled around the shallow hills of open fields all around them.
All of them were heading west towards Vureshakkairn Castle. Recent communications had said that several enemy troops columns and High Value Targets had been spotted in the area. One didn’t need much of a brain to guess what was their target goal. There was a planetary defence force garrisoned in the castle but they were few, far too few, to withstand against what forces were already moving against them. His intelligence was incomplete but from the scattered reports he had gotten, he estimated a foe numbering at least two thousand if not more.
And he only had one battalion to spare. The other two had been deployed to other dome cities to ensure that the attack on the capital was not some diversion. Though, it the event of a major assault, they could not stand alone but they could hold long for
He needed some fresh air. Rising up in the fairly cramped crew-compartment of the command MTAT-1, he twisted the cupola hatch above him. With a grunt, he pushed it up. His oily black hair was swept back by the speed-wind in his face. It was warm, then again it wasn't a fire-storm level warm. It had been treacherous having to drive the convoy through that. Every single carrier in the convoy had most of their paint scorched off and some of the weaker outer metal fixtures were turned molten.
He looked up to the heavens. A flash. For a moment. A little spark high up among the stars. Then another, like impossible lightning, up in space. There was some massive orbital battle taking place up there. Fennstrum cursed his Confederate fleet, even though they were on the same side. How in the twenty gates of hell did they allow so many ground forces through in the first place? Maybe if they had done their job right he didn’t need to be in a cramped metal box with seven sweaty men, heading towards an enemy force that outnumbered him nearly three to one.
Then there was a large flash. But this time it wasn't from above. On the horizon, twenty kilometers away, a massive detonation appeared. A warm easterly wind brought a dull crump to him.
“Kriff,” He whispered and ducked back down to the compartment.“Get me a connection!”
“Sir?”
He slapped his comms-operator in the back of the head. “Get me a connection with the castle at once on any bands that work.
Rubbing the back of his head, the operator went to work, turning dials on the carrier’s heavy-duty comms-unit and listening in for signals. At the same time he whispered under his breath. “A please wouldn’t hurt.”
“A please would hurt,” Fennstrum suddenly hissed in the ear of the operator, sending goose-shivers down the back of his neck. “Hurt being a firing squad. Do you have a connection yet?”
“Yes,” He whimpered. He held out a comms-phone “Almost got-”
“Give me that!” He snatched it out of his hand.
“Come in, Castle Vureshakkairn. Come in, Castle Vureshakkairn. This is Major Fennstrum of the First Battalion, Carian Rangers. We are twenty minutes out! I just saw massive detonation. What is your situation? I repeat, what is your situation? How many forces stand against you?”
TL;DR
Farlorn and his men are pulling out the city. They have a carrier that can transport the Wolves at the garage though the droids will have to be left behind. There's no room for them anyway and they're just metal.
Major Fennstrum is leading a force of eight hundred rangers and forty APCs to reinforce the Castle when he spots KKaine Australis
bomb's detonation. He radios in a sit-rep to both ask what the hell is going on and notifying the castle to his approach.
Around Madalena, the battles resumes. Samatharis had shown up and was being helped by their own people. Jai'galaar Gred
wanted to move out. From a safe from the stones distance, she could sense Katrine Van-Derveld
, still alive and well. Fires rang, explosions continued to kaboom. It was the very essence of a small and incredibly violent battle between two small groups.
Kyyrk
continued through the air and Madalena kept her making sure she was facing him, even as he landed. She moved swiftly, much quicker than anyone would venture she was capable of with her body size and mass, moving backwards from Voph's reach.
Under normal circumstances, the singular Force Scream would have caught her off balance. Yet a split of a moment before it was unleashed, something grasped Madalena's attention…
...Two Years Ago…
Madalena was not a child of this dimension. She had grown up in an alternate dimension which shared many common key points with this one, though her family's story was very much different there. With no Gulag to speak of, the Royal Family of Endelaan never vanished, their souls hiding in body copies, rocks, stones, and hidden locations across the galaxy.
She remembered… She always remembered the sunshine of Endelaan, falling lazily on their heads as they spent that afternoon outside - their parents, Nessarose and Diomedes, ever as in love as the day they went from nemesis of each other to two people bonded in ways nothing could break. Scherezade was there, the oldest sister, together with Brayden, the older brother. Madalena was there too, along with an additional thirteen more siblings, all grown up, all healthy, all happy.
And then the skies had darkened. Not a blink, and terror had gripped so many of them, as space itself cracked and began to fall apart. Only now, in this moment on the Altar of Spirits, did she remember their screams. Her screams. It lasted less than a heartbeat - and suddenly Madalena's home was no more.
But she did not die in that moment. Invisible strings had grabbed her, thinner than the tuft of hair on a newborn's head, and those strings, fragile in appearance as they had been, pulled her strongly away from the mess, from the deaths, from the ceasing of life and existence. She'd held on to them, panting, scared, not understanding what had happened and what was happening in that moment.
Another heart beat later, and now Madalena herself was no more, blinking instead out of a body that did not belong to her, believing herself to be a Coruscant native who'd just signed up for the Confederacy because she wanted to give back after their help with the Endgame wars that ravaged and destroyed the home she had lived in. The slew of falsified information had been her motivation, and her belief, to keep going, for almost a year, managing to kick away anyone who tried to form any doubts about her place and who she was.
But it hadn't lasted. The truth had come out, despite her efforts to deny it and work against it. Her sister, of whom she only had one in this dimension, had thought she was creating a new persona while she tried to kill herself, not realizing that she had instead summoned Madalena from her own dimension just before it was extinguished.
Madalena had been sent to the Space Between Dimensions after Scherezade returned. And again she felt those invisible hairs, pulling her, though much more gently this time. Months later, Scherezade and To'Kola had brought her back into a body of her own, grown on Kamino after Scherezade received a vial of her mother's fertilized eggs. Scherezade had almost died while performing the transfer essence ritual, and again those invisible strings…
Madalena knew those strings very well now.
...Back to the Now…
As she moved out of Kyyrk
's range, she felt them. Memories that had been locked in her mind, that she had not been able to unlock now came at her, and she realized that the invisible strings which had led her from dimension to dimension several times by now, had their own presence, and they were here.
She could feel them, behind her now, as she had been turned around completely to keep Voph in her eyesight. But if she could feel them there…
Her opponent became completely forgotten by her. She moved, her motions aided by the Force. There was no conscious thought to her move or her actions, her body operating on knowledge of need alone. To the naked eye, she was just barely a blur, the light flames of her saberstaff shutting down, all the debris and fire she moved through too quickly for them to catch on to her, and just before Vytal Noctura
shifted the altar into an alternate direction and shielded it with the barrier, Madalena's hands were already on it, the invisible strings wrapping around her, and pulling her along with the altar. Unlike the altar though, Madalena had never been grounded in any particular way to this location, and so when the dark gapes in the fabric of reality remained behind for the altar, no such existed for her.
She was in that other dimension now, the shield protecting both her and the altar. She knew she could not let it go - for to let it go now could mean that she would fail. Every inch of her body and mind knew what to do, knew what the next step was, and as she prepared-
"Child," spoke Jart to her. Madalena jumped, but maintained her grip on the altar, "You are not one of ours."
Madalena looked and shook her head."Nope," she agreed, "And I never will be. But one of the nightmothers gave her blessings for this. If any of your bullkrak religion is true, you know about that and have already been updated by at least one of them. So please stand aside while I do what needs be done. I'll toss you a churi as an offering when I make it back home."
"You are insolent, just like the rest of your line,"Doashim roared, appearing next to Jart.
"Totally," Madalena agreed, "Now if you don't mind-"
"But we will help."said Lylek, completing the spirit set.
Madalena blinked. That, was not something she had expected. But as the saying went, one did not look a gift rancor in the mouth, so she was not about to question their motives. The three spirits channeled their power through her. Madalena could feel in, in every pore of her skin, in every ending of her nerve. She smiled widely, almost beaming with the power, as she began to direct it to the altar.
Bit by bit, the invisible strings that had held both her and the altar began to withdraw from the altar. Madena's powers, buffed by the three spirits, continued to swell around it, pushing away the shield inch by inch until it could no longer hold. Sweat rolled down her face and down her back as she did so - working against a Nightmother's spell was never meant to be an easy task, and even as a Sith Sorceress aided by the spirits, it would not be an instant thing.
But time moved differently here. Madalena knew that it didn't matter whether it would take but a moment, or take years. Here, she was going to do it, and the Jart, Doashim, and Lylek, would help. And so they did.
WIth a final scream, the altar exploded, snapping the shield away with it, tiny pieces of debris and stone
The smell of blood hit Madalena's nose. She blinked in surprise, realizing she could scent it in a way that she had not been able to since she had been the one to reside inside the Blood Hound's body. But no - this was no ability returning to her, nor an ability suddenly appearing. The explosion of the altar had caused its own damage, and on the path to strengthen her, the spirits, much like Madalena herself, had neglected to fully protect her.
Her armor had shielded her body from most of the skin breaking damage, though it would definitely require repair.
But her face… She could feel the blood run down it. When she raised a hand, the invisible tendrils gently letting her do so without snapping, she could feel a part of her cheek almost fall out of her face.
"Heal me," she whispered, demanding of the spirits. She knew they aided in the arts of healing as well, had heard about it from a few Mandragora that had once served under her.
"No,"answered Jart, "We cannot,"explained Lylek, "We will keep the pain away. Your time is limited,"said Doashim, "Leave this place," said Jart,"NOW!" roared Doashim.
True to their word, the pain that had begun to run across her face faded away. Madalena nodded, understanding the consequences. There would be limited time if she wanted her face back.
Raising her arms, she let the invisible tendrils wrap around her, thicker and denser than before, and she gave them a gentle tug.
She had been yanked away from her home once, but had found a new one. One full of love and care, full of compassion and life.
It was time to go home.
...Back at the Altar of Spirits…
Madalena and the Altar had been gone for the duration of three heart beats. She reappeared, standing where the Altar and its black holes had been, the holes now fading away. Blood ran down all sides of her face, with half of it threatening to fall off.
And yet, the Dark Paladin of Chaos was smiling, widely, the blood covering her teeth as well. The storms behind, brought forth by Anesia Jy'Vun
, only amplified the visual effect, the earthquake making the woman laugh.
"The Altar has been destroyed!" she announced, her voice booming over the area and echoing across the mountains as well. "We leave!"
Elsewhere on Ryloth…
The three groups of evac and medical ships had reached their destinations. Far away from the fighting, doors opened. Those who would choose to board would soon be taken away.
It was the only sound Daegon would hear, a ringing in his ears which would haunt the Devil of Thyferra for the rest of his life.
The negotiations on Siskeen were supposed to be simple, easy. Had Derek wanted to secede there was nothing that could stop him, not even the Vicelord himself. No one was supposed to get hurt, though all of them had prepared for that eventuality.
BANG.
PAIN.
The whistling of the bullet was too quiet for the human ear to notice, yet for some reason Daegon heard it. A squishing thud overwhelmed his senses as suddenly a sharp pain could be felt in his back. He knew the sound immediately. Lead colliding with flesh and sinew, tearing through until there was one final thunk. It was the sound of the slug passing through Derek Dib
's skull.
Blue eyes looked up shocked and horrified, yet curious as to why the sudden pain in his back. Daegon struggled to make out what happened as the flame threatened to hide the truth. Suddenly there was a flicker, the water which fell dampening the intensity of the fire. It was then his gaze landed on the one sight he had always feared the most. Seraphina Corvinus
lay next to his best friend, the white of her dress stained in liquid crimson.
Red was all he could see, but it was not because of the blood. Rage unlike anything he had ever known before stirred deep within the very core of his being. Blinded by the emotion, Daegon did not hear the bullets which were shot toward his chest, but he did feel their release through the force. Tapping into the intense anger, the Demon of Thyferra shifted his entire state. His body, solid and finite, phased as the bullets and the party which threatened to trample him passed through his form unhindered.
Everything around him was lost. Nothing else mattered. The only thing he could see were the bodies of the two he cared for the most lying in a pool of water and blood.
11 years ago
The palace was a marvel of modern industry with a touch of renaissance flair. It was certainly one of a few pieces of architecture which Daegon considered to be a true wonder. With its grand columns, beautiful gardens, and stunning masonry, the royal home drew the eye of many seeking the natural beauty it boasted. None of that compared to the king’s daughter, Seraphina.
He watched her from a distance as she sat in the palace gardens, a place they would often meet to converse about the current events of the galaxy, or whatever her mind fancied. There were those who dismissed her as naive, but Deagon knew better. There was no one who understood the galaxy more, nor anyone who offered the Bacta Mogul such an innocent, yet well informed, perspective.
His actions saved her from an engagement that would certainly have turned into a loveless and abusive marriage, one where the angel would have always played second to the man’s fleshly appetites. Daegon thought she would be happy. He expected to find her ecstatic. Her song was supposed to be jubilant, yet as he drew close her melody was sour, somber, and depressing.
Stepping into view, the rustling of the plants as he passed by caused her song to cease. Tearfilled eyes looked up toward the shrewd businessman, a look of dread overtaking her as he began to speak.
“What is wrong? Tell me.”
“I am shamed. No one will have me now, unless I am a prize of consolation.”
Guilt seized the demon. Her shame, the sorrow which caused her to cry soft iridescent tears, and the besmirchment of her good name, was his fault. He was the one who “exposed” her fiance, subsequently dragging her through the mud as well.
Daegon had ruined her.
“You are not a consolation prize, Seraph.”
“Aye … but that is what I have been made to be. Often it is the first lie spoken which is believed.”
Her father was intent on finding Seraphina another suitor. This time through a competition. Daegon realized his chance. She would never be a consolation to him.
Seraphina was the only prize.
There was only one question Daegon needed to ask. The demon took the dainty hand of the angel in his. Blue eyes looked into her fawns like eyes as the words left his lips.
“Could you be happy with me?”
They laid there, struggling, barely. Seraphina wheezed and coughed, the chunky sound of fluid filling her lungs sent a chill down Daegon’s spine. Disbelief filled his mind as the unimaginable played out before his very eyes. Derek Dib was dying. Seraphina, his angel, was dying.
With each pained breath she struggled to take, Daegon could feel her slipping away. The bond they shared, the closeness and intimacy the two had lived in for the past ten years was pulling away from his grasp. Daegon was supposed to keep her safe. He was her protection, the fortress she could run to for safety. Every moment since that day he had found her crying flashed through his mind. The words she had spoken not long ago during a session of the Viceroyalty which reminded him of how he fought for her echoed in his mind. Every soft touch and calming brush of her hand from the past several moments still tingled against his skin.
Swift legs carried him toward her. Each step closer brought with it even more distance as her life force continued to fade from his. Daegon dropped to his knees, coughing, eyes stinging, as tentative hands hovered over the lithe and fragile form of his bride. Sorrow welled in his eyes, tears threatening to fall, as he looked upon the wound in his friend's forehead.
SHE had done this.
Anger burned as he looked over his shoulder, desperate for vengeance, yet one final touch anchored him. His head turned, locking the crystal of his gaze with the fawn eyes which seemed to dim with each passing moment. The demon lifted the fragile form of the angel into his arms, pulling her close to his chest hoping to feel a heartbeat. He was in shock, frozen, paralyzed. The Viceroy should have called for help, he should have tried save her, heal her, but he could not. The vapor in the room made it difficult to breathe. Every breath burned his lungs, causing him to gasp for what little oxygen came in through the shattered window.
There was only one question Daegon needed to ask.
“Did I make you happy?”
Formating, grammar, forgot to add mood music
OOC note: Edited to reflect effect of the vapor in the room on Daegon per AOC faction owner request.
Seraphina’s pale primrose lips curved enchantingly at the guest that Daegon had brought home to Thyferra. She didn’t know this man from the Siskeen Systems very well, but, Daegon spoke very highly of him. He seemed very fond. Which, was unusual. The diathim floated toward the seat her husband occupied and pressed a butterfly kiss to his cheek. It was a sweet thing. Tender—Almost shy. She was grateful that he allowed her to stay and help entertain while the pair discussed matters of state.
She pulled away after settling a cup of piping hot tea before Daegon. She didn’t need to ask how he preferred the heated beverage. A little honey. A touch of cream. The occasionally mischievous woman had left a particular swirl in the top of the mug that rather suspiciously resembled a heart. She was supremely pleased with herself. For Viceroy Dib she left a mug in a shade of cherry red, very much, like the glowing hue of his eyes. The sugar bowl was left to his discretion.
The Angel of Thyferra, as Daegon lovingly named her, danced away from the sunny table toward the stringed instrument that waited for her in the middle of the solarium. While they conversed, she played one of her made-up songs. It was full of light, warmth, and rang of golden fields speckled with pale pink flowers. The natural light that poured through the glass left her aglow, a silent, supportive creature that listened to their impassioned discussion. It spanned hours. Either man thought they were right while moving little carved ivory and onyx pieces around a wooden board. They got louder and louder—Each looking to one-up the other. Neither wanted to lose. Not the game, nor the debate.
The seraph smiled whilst they bickered and snipped at each other. A crystalline giggle filled the air and both Viceroy turned to look at her questioningly. The unnerved annoyance coupled with boyish indignation only made her chuckle harder. Neither knew what had tickled the diathim so, only, that they were being laughed at. She shook her head, briefly, while fondness settled in and her fingers paused in drawing a honeyed melody fourth. Eyes of burnt umber flared with good-natured amusement.
“You speak as if you’re both fighting for water in the ocean. Listen to you—You fight like brothers.”
“Don’t fear the dark.”
A heavy and sickeningly wet wheeze pulled abruptly from her prone form. Suddenly, there was light. Suddenly, there was pain. Excruciating. Her lips parted and a silent keening wail wrenched unmercifully from the deepest parts of her being. It was soundless. It was agony. Repetitive words that she didn’t quite understand rang in her ears and splintered inside of her. Her eyes were burning from something she couldn't see. Every breath drawn, no matter how shallow, made it feel like her esophagus was on fire. It was hot. Too hot. Burning...Everything was burning. Was this...Was this hell? Something shadowy that she couldn’t name crawled beneath the surface of her skin. It seemed to be trying to heal her.It caressed, burned like fire, while the ragged edges of a mortal wound felt as if they’d been salted.
“Don’t fear the dark.”
The adrenaline from her descent had worn off, though, the table that Derek Dib
had flipped protected them from a concussive blast (Enlil
) that rocked the room. An eerie creek rang in her head. Was the building falling down around them? Pain detonated within her frail body like a bomb. It left her torn and shaking inside. Halting breaths, short and shallow, caused gossamer wings to shudder, broken, while they fluttered uselessly in the water that pooled from the fire suppression system. She was akin to a dove with wings that had been broken. They were fading. She, was fading. Seraphina could feel her pulse beating in her back whilst liquid warmth saturated the fabric of her clothing. It felt like a hammer smashing into her, over and over, and a sudden sweat left her feeling cold. So very, very cold. Slowly…The pain began to ever so slightly ebb. The fog began to lift but she still couldn’t bring her head from the floor. Water tinged pink sloshed against her cheek while her hand began to push itself across the marble. It dragged. She didn’t have the strength to lift it.
“Don’t fear the dark.” - Derek Dib
The tips of her fingers brushed against that of the fallen Viceroy. She could feel everything that he was draining away. The power, the stubborn nature, the Force that flowed freely through him. It all spilled away from him in an unbearable wave that saw his life slipping. Seraphina wheezed and coughed up a clot of something coppery and metallic. Blackness tinged the edges of her vision. Please. She could feel the strength he had left wrapping around her. She could see the dying light in Derek's eyes. His intent. Rather than save himself—He would save her.
“N-No…”
The bare whisper came out as nothing. Her throat was torn, damaged, likely by the smoke.
Her tears mixed with the water that fell from above. She blinked, slowly, but grief and agony kept her still. She couldn’t feel him. She couldn’t feel either of them. Her love. Her dearest friend. Her family. Cold. No matter the extreme heat of the room, nor, the flames that licked at her dress. Seraphina was slowly going numb.“Daegon…”, she whispered brokenly, wishing that he was there. Wishing that he could tell her it would all be all right. Wishing he would hold her. Wishing that this was nothing more than a bad dream. She willed Derek to live. Willed it with everything she had.
Seraphina had never possessed any great skill in the Force. She prayed, now. Soft sobs wracked her form while she wept for them all. She could do nothing. The Viceroy told her not to be afraid of the dark. But she was. Sera was desperately afraid of the dark. And it was coming. Every second, closing in, faster and faster. Soon she would be all alone. With nothing, but the dark. For a brief moment, she thought she felt the tips of Derek’s fingers twitch against her own. A surge. Perhaps, phantom. Imagined?
She couldn’t be sure before familiar arms pulled her from the water before it could start filling her mouth. Seraphina gasped as pain began anew from her changed position. Her chest was heaving. She was drawing in air but it didn’t seem as if she was actually getting enough oxygen. Something was wrong. The steam made it so she could barely see. There was panic in her body while she lay against her husband, limp, and beaten. “I-I’m s-sorry...”
“S-sorry. I tried, m-my love…”
I tried.
She couldn’t catch her breath to speak. To explain. To tell him that she loved him—That he had freed her from a life of mediocrity and ineptitude. Seraphina had never been the wife that he deserved. She had never been powerful, strong, like he was. But she had loved Daegon with all she had. Her mind flashed back to every quiet day they’d spent together. A decade of respect, love, and endless affection ran between them. Every time he’d held her close flickered in eyes that grew dim. Faintly, she was aware of a question.
“Did I make you happy?” - Daegon Corvinus
Her eyes closed and her head dropped back against him. The response never made it to her lips.
Always.
Edited per request to reflect the middle ground of the effects of the "hydrogen peroxide" fumes that could be in the room. The writer offered it up, however, the chain of events in the thread was very, very confusing. Edits were made with the suggestion from Enlil
to let the makeshift vent get it out of the room. This character is too damaged to actually acknowledge the gas but there are a lot of abstract keywords here that you should be able to pull to see how it is currently affecting her in a very negative way.
The air was thick and heavy with smoke from the heat that rose up to engulf them in a smokey haze. The vampiress's natural ability to heal gave her an edge, but it didn't mean that she didn't struggle to breathe at times. That was until the sprinklers had come on to dampen the room in a shower that lowered the smoke while the hole in the wall helped to vent the residual steam that rose from the burning embers. The water's natural, heavy density helped to dampen and drop the rising soot and ash to the floor at their feet, but they were not out of danger yet.
It was like a scene of chaos playing right before them and the exact reason why the Agents of Chaos was currently named. They were beaten in a game of politics that not even the members of the CIS knew about. A plot that Viceroy Dibs had devised and given birth to. The woman could see why he had kept it close, for the less people that knew about a plan like this, the more likely it would have had a higher chance of success. It gave people plausible deniability to react with full emotions rather than fake it right up until the big reveal. If people had been faking it, it would have tipped off the Chaos members earlier and being that it had been a complex operation, everything had to run smoothly. Like clockwork.
Raven knew that the chaos that was breaking out in this room would have stretched over to the entirety of Siskeen if the Viceroy hadn’t stepped in the way that he did. If the AoC wanted to bury their heads in the sand to preserve their own imagined image, then who was she to stop them from living in their fantasy land? Viceroy Thystle on the other hand was living with the very real aftermath of the AoC’s own self interests. She heard the roar of Nadia as the cat leapt over the table in an attempt to get between Seraphina, Derek and the bullet but was unsuccessful, so instead shielded their prone bodies that laid upon the floor with her spiked form.
Black and red locks dripped heavily with the water that fell from the emergency sprinklers that had sprung to life, soaking any burning embers and quelling the flames that had burned the room. She felt the moisture upon her already healing burns as she rose, only briefly pausing to grasp at her dress and to rip a split up the side to give her freedom of movement. Blue eyes looked to Nala and spied that she had found Minister Faye and stayed close to the woman as she picked her way through the rubble to Seraphina and Derek. She even saw that Alden had dealt with Enlil and was currently working on Gabriel.
However, her focus was upon Sera and Derek as she herself made her own way around the table to the two lying upon the floor, calling to the Siskeen guardsmen that were running in after the fire had been extinguished. Drawing a breath, she refrained from currently addressing the two of her allies that were down, she drew upon an inner strength and turned to the men filing into the room. She swept a burnt arm out back towards the door, with her index finger pointing. ”Your Viceroy was just shot and one of his friends was gravely wounded in the process of protecting him. Quickly! Go after the perpetrators now! Try to blow them out of the sky, I don’t care! Someone has to answer for this!”
A pause as they continued to stand there, ”Go! Now! Before they continue to climb out of Olanet’s orbit!” Suddenly they erupted into action and the captain began to bark orders at his men as they filed out after those that were attempting to escape.
Slowly, Nadia gave up her position ever so slightly to Daegon then as the man knelt down beside the two and took the woman into his arms. Raven stood over the three and simply listened. Although she didn’t see she heard everything. She had heard the sound of the bullet being loaded into the chamber as it was cocked, the minor explosion that propelled the bullet forwards and heard the screams, the flutter of wings and the impact of the bullet. She had heard the first entry and then the exit, only for the bullet to reenter another body. Raven had heard the impact of the bullet’s slowed trajectory into the man’s skull and had smelled the blood.
Crimson liquid stained the white dress of Sera, but Raven could still hear the heart beating strong. She could feel the force that engulfed the woman in what she could only describe as a protective shield. Slowly, the vampiress swallowed as she drew in the scent of the two very different blood types of the two parties that laid before her. Nala had been right in saying that she should have fed, but political meetings were never supposed to end in bloodshed. Her hands fisted by her sides, pulling upon the burnt flesh of her hands and arms that was still trying to heal and she allowed the pain to keep her mind clear of the haze, the need to feed.
Blue eyes shifted to Derek’s body and instead of checking for a pulse, she listened with the vampiric hearing that those of her kind were gifted with.
Thump… Th-thump… Thump… Th-Thump...
The sound came through clear as day and she exhaled. Viceroy Derek Dibs was still alive in body, but she wondered about the trauma that might accompany his head wound. ”They are both alive… But barely.” The woman turned to Nala then, ”Go find some help quickly, I don’t know if they have a lot of time for us to play around with while they both lay here like this. Nadia has us covered.” Nala nodded and quickly left as Raven turned back to Sera and Derek, only to look at Daegon as he took Sera’s small body into his arms. It was awkward for the vampire, as the emotions swelled in the room. Especially considering the fact that Raven tried to avoid feeling at all. Grief and sorrow were the two strongest of emotions present and slowly Raven knelt down beside Derek’s body, as she fought with every natural instinct within her body to not let the blood go to waste.
Nadia slowly came up beside Raven to nudge the woman every so slightly and her blue eyes closed with a nod of her head. ”I have it under control for now,” She said in a soft voice meant only for the cat. Her attention though, shifted to Daegon, ”Help is on the way, but I don’t have any skills within the force that will be able to help them in any capacity. The only thing that I can offer is my blood, but I must warn you, not everyone survives the transition. However, it may give them a fighting chance. I must point out though, that we do need to get them out of this room.”
Added an extra paragraph at the top of the post and a minor sentence to the end to clear up confusion.
Location: Castle Vureshakkairn Objective: Destroy Rebels, sass CIS Enemies: AoC and Allies "Allies": CIS and Allies Tags: Luna VegaSabine DelacroixZlova Rue
The carnage had consumed her, the slaughter filled her with being. The combat stims pumping through Lirka's body made sure of that, pushing her unnatural form beyond it's limits and filled her with those undeniable words: kill maim burn, kill maim burn, KILL MAIM BURN. And she would obey them, it was rare she could ever resist the call of bloodshed.
"And you don't!-"
Lirka was interrupted by an ear-piercing PAKAAAAAAWWW, was that a bird? The creature slammed into her body, shaking her off balance some: poor bird. Lirka knew how to take such an impact, and the edges of her segmented plates were as sharp as knives. Not just accounting for the sheer blunt force trauma of smashing a bird into duranium. And Lirka wasted no time stomping her foot back into the ground and rushing forward to try and hack Scherezade deWinter
into bloody bits, listening to the obnoxiously loud Luna Vega
scream out some barbarian tongue Lirka had no interest in actually learning. And she barreled on forward, like a missile: something slammed into her armor, a stone, she presumed. Lirka's helmet showed no emotion, it was by design, but when those two glowing eyes fixed on Millu Lee
it was deathly obvious they were filled with pure and utter rage.
"Then you wish to side with scum, you Confederate trash!"
Lirka was fast. Freaky fast. She always had been, she launched herself forward at the young little Squire, ignoring the other spectators: she had no quarrels with them. A gauntlet reached out with long, clawed, fingers. Trying to wrap around the girl's arm and fling her at the Rebel she had been fighting. Good. It was time for a fair fight.
The bird slammed into Lirka Ka
, releasing a second PAKAAAAAAAAW that came at a much higher shrill; Scherezade had somehow managed to land the bird's soft belly against the Sephi in her swing, the only part that was not covered. Everyone in close enough vicinity was now covered in feathers, bird meat, blood, and… Chit. Bird diarrea. The stench was unbearable. The bird was dead. Or at least, dying. Scherezade didn't have the time to check.
"Thank you for your service," she mock saluted the animal as many more birds now, called upon by Luna Vega
came rushing, standing between them and the witches. Lirka darted away, her attention now being entirely on one of the Confederate witches (Millu Lee
).
Scherezade grinned.
"Come on!" she said as she grabbed Luna's arm and yanked her towards the castle. No, not onwards to the door - the door was useless for what she wanted to do. "Hey Lirka!" Scherezade screamed over the sound of chitting and screaming birds, "Smell ya later!"
And with that, she yanked Anesia and darted straight into the shadow cast by a tree against the castle wall. If Anesia wished to remain with the birds and the Sephi - she could, but Scherezade had other plans.
Though she'd never been inside the castle before, she could easily imagine it would be filled with shadows - no proper castle was ever properly lit. And as she exited a shadow in the corner of the room just on the other side of the wall, an idea sprang to mind.
"Lirka, Lirka, Likra!" the Sithling taunted, using the Force to amplify her voice so that she was certain that the crazed elf woman would be able to hear it - if the birds weren't being too loud.
Scherezade then moved a few feet backwards, in anticipation. If her plan worked… This wall was going to soon have a new window in it.
At the Biodome…
The screams of nearly ten thousand Churi pierced the sky, sounding above the screams of the civilians, the machines of war, and almost anything else. Like a jungle stampede, the birds came, their helmets and armors shining in the harsh sun of the Brightlands. Their trainers had warned them of this, had told them that birds needed more water than what the wilds of Ryloth had to offer when not near a river. No one had listened.
One by one, the Churi ran straight into the biodome, entering from any of the openings in its walls. They were fearless. They were also leaving ecological devastation behind them. But to the heat storm, they did what no one else thus had - they met it, head to head and face to face.
There would be no flying feathers anymore, as ten thousand churi were in the process of out right jumping into that tornado of fire, being spit out moments later in the form of well done turkeys. Whatever happened after the heatstorm had passed, there would be food for the locals - though they would have to wash it thoroughly first.
Location: Ryloth [Capital Dome] Headed for Main Gate -> Evacuation Standing Near To:Eira Talon | Darth Empyrean
| Asaraa Vaashe
| Kat Decoria Ally: CIS Enemy: AoC + Insane Extremists [ Shuulk - J'onns - Jan Dokura] Other: Daiya Quote:“What must be done must be done, whatever the price, the cost, the pain. One day we all must walk through fire.”
If Srina had offended the little human (Daiya
) female the Exarch did not know it. There was too much going on for her to consider the feelings of a child that, first and foremost, she only wished to see live till the following morning. The duty that the silvery haired Echani gave her seemed to please and distract her. Good. She swore to keep Duckie Talon
safe and the wintry woman nodded her head in acceptance. A quick glance at @Eira told her that her sister would follow her lead. It was a familiar feeling.
Leading.
Would any of the people that followed her be shocked to know that she loathed it? Srina didn’t want to lead others into war. She didn’t want to be the one to give orders that could cost Confederate lives. It was simply all she was made for.
All she was good for.
The enemies that came from nowhere, everywhere, fell around them in murderous waves. There was no chance to respond while the world went upside down. Srina lost sight of @Eira, Daiya
, and even Darth Empyrean
. All she could see were gnashing pincers and swinging tentacles. She dodged, rolled, and kept moving while her lightsaber burned through the air. She learned as she fought. The Echani rarely fought Lylek by hand—Outside of an occasional one or two that wandered too close to the Well.
<<Eira! Head due north. Get out of here—Use the distraction while they’re still scattered! Go back to the main gate!>>
Her mental call would careen through the crowd with no small amount of force. Eira would know from her tone what needed to happen. She wouldn’t like it, but, she would know. She needed to take the youngling female and leave before the terrorists found them off on their own. Alone. Srina fell into a rhythm of digging beneath waving tentacles so she could drive her lightsaber deep into the underbelly of the beasts. It was one of the few places they didn’t seem so heavily armored.
There were all manner of news feeds blaring through her comm and she was half tempted to shut it off. Most of it was some strange, slated, propaganda from their enemies. Rather than to actually fight the Confederacy they seemed to prefer a smear campaign. In truth? It was fine by her. A war of words was not this war. It wasn’t people blowing themselves up in the streets. It wasn’t xenophobia gone rampant while citizens were slaughtered, simply, for not having the correct alien attributes.
The legendary chill that she was most known for seemed to be thawing. Her jaw remained set tight, but, her eyes held a fierceness that seemed to convey vitriol. Fury. A loud sound, a horrified, angry wail, caught her attention. At first? She didn’t know what it was. Then she saw Asaraa Vaashe
. Screaming. She exploded into a flurry that seemed to take the enemy by surprise. For one that was so aligned with the light, in truth, Srina suspected a little darkness. “Collect yourself and take them down Lord Vaashe. Don’t let the enemy trick you into making a mistake by using your emotions against you. Target the riders if the Lylek give you trouble. Do what needs to be done—Nothing more, nothing less.”
Anger, fury, and attachment could be used against them. Especially, here.
Srina nearly lost her head for two reasons. The first was because somewhere, far away, Luna Terrik
had seemingly sent shockwaves through the force. Something had happened to the Grand Marshal the Exarch couldn’t immediately respond to. She knew not what danger the woman was in; however, she knew it was less than ideal. Painful. She also knew she was too far away.
The second issue that gave reason to pause was the sudden appearance of a translucent form standing before her. A Lylek slashed through it, but, it remained unmoved. It was the rider that seemed startled. It wasn’t alone. Gradually, spirits began to fill the area. They appeared one by one in varying states of decomposition. They appeared how they saw themselves. The Dark Side moved within her and she knew from the less than subtle tug on her own power that Darth Metus
had a hand in this.
The interruption gave her breathing room. Enough, that she could actually receive messages from Amelia von Sorenn
about the emergency transports. Most were immediately inbound whilst others were already landing and taking citizens out of the area. “Things don’t look good down here Grand Marshall. There’s something happening. I do not know what, yet. But we need this to end. The Dome is as good as dead.”
Her cold tones couldn’t have conveyed the true horror that existed on the surface. Srina pulled back from the fighting, briefly, to try and figure out a new plan of attack. The enemy was distracted by a veritable sea of ghosts. If Srina listened hard enough, close enough, she could swear that she could hear them scream. Cry. They were angry about something. Unsettled. They began to advance on the riders who hastily urged the Lylek to back away.
That was something she hadn’t expected to see.
A new voice burned through the comm. A missive from Adron Malvern
. It had been quite some time since she had heard from him last, however, he offered a piece of news that seemed to slowly be spilling through the Twi’lek that were truly confused by the ghosts that kept staring at them. Blaming. There was a strange sense of quiet that had settled over the area. One by one it seemed that the Lylek Beastmaster’s were turning away. And—That they were taking their monsters with them.
Something had sent them off. Perhaps, the subsequent abandonment or death of their leaders?
“...I think they’re retreating.”
Either the death or the ghosts set it off.
Srina wasn’t sure which. Beyond that, there seemed to be something more that was agitating the spirits that lingered. Her footsteps passed her back toward Asaraa Vaashe
. It was better to have her back with an angry Jedi versus a wave of angry specters. Her mind reached out to Darth Metus
. She could feel him, but he was so deep in his spell, buried, in the ritual that he couldn’t respond to her. Not truly. She got feelings. Flashes. A plan?
He wanted the ghosts to do what?
Silver eyes watched with a morbid sense of fascination while the spirits flowed over the smoking area. Somehow, through the Force, using the knowledge of her Master they seemed to be putting out the fires whilst stabilizing the Dome. She could see pieces of it almost repairing through some acclimated form of Sith Alchemy. Changing broken stone to smooth stone. More than anything, Srina noted, that they seemed to be trying to close the fissure that had erupted.
<<What is happening? Darth Metus
isn’t responding but the few remaining Lylek are retreating. The spirits seem to be trying to keep the Dome from collapsing.>>
The Exarch didn’t trust it. She looked around, grave, and was able to see a few terrified faces that had managed to hide. The ground was pocked with bodies. Of the people that she had tried and failed to save. Her eyes closed, briefly, but the moment could only be that. A moment. A shadow of weakness.
Srina nodded to Asaraa and the pair would begin to try and pick up the pieces.
Even if the Dome held, even if, the Exarch didn’t want to take any more chances. The majority of the terrorists seemed to have been subverted but that didn’t mean it was safe. All it took was one. Just one individual with access to weaponry. “Let’s try and get the rest of them out. Spread the word. We still don’t have a choice.”
She stepped around a corpse, careful, not to disturb it. They would come back for the bodies and ensure that the proper burial rituals were observed.
The Confederacy had no choice but to pull as many as possible out of the Capitol Dome. Even with the improvements that seemed to be slowly taking place, it bought them time, not salvation. To all of the Confederates that could hear, she pressed forward with direct orders, and rose her hand to brush a smudge of Lylek blood from her face. “Confederates—Keep pressing forward with the evacuation. This Dome may not hold. I repeat, it may not hold. Don’t take the chance. Everyone must evacuate. Leave none behind.”
It was crushing. To know—Full well that a place of safety and support may never be considered safe again. Regardless, they needed to rest. Time to treat their wounded. Time to bury the dead.
Regroup. Support came firstly in the form of a platoon sent by the men of Colonel Anakwor Farlorn
. Srina greeted the one in command, Strum, who seemed just as eager to get out of this place. The Exarch took one last glance at the wispy spirits that seemed to be flowing this way and that. They were being directed. That much, she knew. To what end?
It was taxing enough that Darth Metus
could not respond to her outside of emotion. She could sense his intent. Purpose. A desire to bring the madness to a close. The Confederacy had just been attacked. From within, from outside, it mattered not. All that remained?
To pick up the pieces. To aid their people. To restore the peace they deserved.
<<Eira… Respond, please. The path is clear. Get to the gate. I will meet you there.>>
Or rather, she would have thought, that the path was clear. Instead of fighting Lyleks and terrorists, it seemed that very, very large birds were causing untold devastation. It was a blur that some of the soldiers had to engage...But mostly? They seemed to be throwing themselves back into the breach where they met untimely ends. Srina could not say for certain, but, among the smoke. Among the heat? Disgustingly, stomach-churning, and sickeningly enough?
She thought she could smell fried poultry.
[Exit]
I had to edit in the part about the Emu - We posted at the same time.
The instant the rock had been released Sabine simply sighed, the girl was young and likely scared. Understandable but it would not be helped by the creature bearing down upon a child. In the intervening moments as Lirka Ka
rushed toward Millu Lee
she halted the force drain of Scherezade deWinter
and moved between Lirka Ka and Millu her lightsaber flew into her hand and ignited in an instant, the crimson blade pointed squarely at Lirka’s throat humming with power and close enough for her to feel the heat
“Your enemy is behind you, if afterward you still want revenge on this child you are welcome to try. For now, focus on the invaders who actually can and will harm you. Go for her again and I will rip you apart with or without the force, you will find my options are not limited.” her words were cold and firm, even one who is force dead could feel the weight behind them, she was fine toying with these invaders but one like Lirka she would actually need to use the full weight of her power to destroy and would not hesitate.
The outburst from Luna Vega
would be answered by a large Kimogila emerging from the forest, with an earsplitting roar he would charge at her, nearly twice as tall as anyone on the battlefield with a mouth large enough to swallow any of them with ease, and rows of sharp venom-filled teeth ready to devour any who would challenge his master. Sabine simply smiled behind her mask. “Oh and if you value your lives, I would suggest staying away from my pet” this particular instruction was meant more for Millu Lee
The dropship, Lucky Seven Heavy, that sat in front of the collapsed tunnel that ran under the rim of the dome and had helped stave off the rising heat by raising its copious number of shields, turrets turned outward when it had settled, watched as a flock of thirsty, angry birds flocked toward them. "Huh. Lucky Seven Heavy to all Drop Buddies, you seeing this?"
"This is First One Heavy, Lucky Seven Heavy, that's an affirmative, good buddy."
"Seven Heavy, this is Two Heavy, these damn birds again."
"Heavy Three here. That's a hard copy, Heavy Seven."
Two dropships had flown well ahead of the flock after playing Petting Zoo earlier. Another dropship had flown in from the Dome where Beric had been engaged in a dual. These dropships had been patrolling the dome for a while now waiting to lend a hand against some charging soldiers and these blasted birds. Someone's idea of a joke to have just a swarm of birds run across a desert to... throw themselves at a wall? Well, there was only one humane thing to do.
Put them down hard.
Three dropships in the air whose primary function was mowing down enemy troops to clear a landing zone pointed their array of batteries at the birds. They took up a formation spread out to help keep their latest guests from fanning out any further than their flock had on its approach. And then, with a gentle squeeze of the trigger or tap of a button, they unleashed hell. Lasers, torpedoes, and pakaws, oh my.
If, by some chance, those foul fowl made it through, which should be blessed few indeed, Lucky Seven Heavy would happily unleash its turrets on the foes. Grounded as it was, it didn't have the same firepower as its brothers right now, but against a bunch of flightless birds with their shields up it wasn't going to be a problem.
Would their excrement and their carcasses be a problem? Certainly, but that's why droids were invented.
Elsewhere...
The squadron of fighters dispatched took up flanking positions to the three vessels the Agents of Chaos forced upon Ryloth. They wouldn't fire a shot unless their escort took hostile action -- which would include (but not limited to) forcing anyone on board. If people willingly went on board well that was their right.
It was the Confederacy's right, however, to detain these vessels if they tried to leave Ryloth. Health and Safety inspection. Terrorist checkpoint. Weapons, arms, and slave smuggling. You know how these things went in a war zone and they couldn't let any of that happen, could they? It would certainly be unfortunate if the Agents of Chaos relied upon the goodwill they'd long since exhausted to attempt running the quarantine of the planet. They would be given every verbal warning by the book to submit for inspection or to turn back. It was their choice to abide a lawful order, or their choice to demonstrate a complete disregard to sensible laws recognized by any civilized governing body.
It had happened so fast, the meeting that had turned into a bloodbath, into a massacre.
One more crime to be laid at the feet of the agents of Chaos. More blood to paint their hands, to mark the record. More death, more senseless, pointless death.
It didn’t matter where you went, what you said or tried to do, in the end, it was always the innocents that suffered at the hands of those who would walk over their corpses to achieve their goals. They may wear different coats, different masks, but the core of them, who they were underneath it stayed the same.
The Sith who had slaughtered transport loads of innocents, the Eterna Empire who had been willing to attack their own to these noble freedom fighters. The words grew sour in John’s mouth as he considered it. The truth was they were no different from the hundreds, thousands who had come before. There was only one word that the man knew that could truly describe them, the bugs fleeing the light of truth when it was shone on them.
Monsters
The Agents of Chaos had been so determined to reveal the true face of the confederacy to the galaxy that they had revealed themselves to be the true monsters. They had sought to show the confederacy as the monsters, but in the cold light of day the truth had been the Agents of Chaos had shown their true colours, and it was the colour of blood.
The same colour as the light mist that had filled the room, the only remains of those loyal guards so mercilessly slaughtered for nothing more than doing their job. For obeying the lawful order of their Viceroy men ha been killed for no good reason. If the Agents of Chaos had been as pure and innocent as they’d claimed, then what would they have to fear from a trial?
Instead they’d decided to run, to bring fire and death into this room of peace. This room where they had gathered to talk, to debate and negotiate. The room where the Confederacy had come in peace, had been more than willing to negotiate in good faith, to surrender their weapons to a neutral party. To what they’ assumed was a neutral party.
That was a laugh.
For a man who had claimed to seek only to protect neutrality, Enlil had proven to be far from neutral, siding with the Agents at the first sign of trouble. Had he been brought, or had he always been false? The truth behind the man’s motives would perhaps never be known, but his actions spoke volumes. By his actions John knew all he needed to know. The King had thrown his lot in with the Agents, and so would bear their fate and their stigma.
The blood of innocents marked them, would forever mark them.
The exarch’s eyes slid across the room to the Angel lying on the floor, the Demon cradling her broken body.
For a moment he wasn’t seeing the Viceroy he’d been coming to respect and his wife but another couple, a couple dredged from the depths of his nightmares. In the place of the room he was on a planet halfway across the galaxy, the flames of the room transformed into the burning wreck of shuttles and frigates. This was the scene that played across his mind when he thought about his failure to protect the innocent. This was the scene that had almost been, that haunted him with the potential, the almost happened. A shock of red hair spilled on the ground, a dark-haired man bowed over the burned and prone body, sobs shaking his body.
He’d almost lost her that day, almost lost all that was light and good in the galaxy on that day. He’d been lucky, but the thought of it, the fear and terror of it had stuck with him, whispering to him in those quiet moments, in the dark of the night. For a brief moment the anger and fear had threatened to consume him, had left indelible marks on his soul, a darkness that he’d never managed to put away. Claws that tore at him, an anger that simmered, coiled around his soul waiting to be unleashed to pull him down into that dark abyss.
John’s footsteps echoed through the room, shoes squelching into the puddles forming on the floor, the water running in rivulets down his face, hiding the tears that ran from his eye. The man reached out hesitantly, hand wavering in the air for a moment before it fell on Daegon’s shoulder. There were no words, no words that could ever express the sorrow and grief. No words could assuage the pain tearing at Daegon’s soul, a pain John could only share, empathize with. A loss he couldn’t begin to fathom.
The exarch could feel the heat of the flame against his skin, his vision lighting up with warnings about the noxious gas filling the room, the reaction of the water against the plasma. There were times, there were really times that John hated the force. The man’s free hand came up to his mouth as he coughed, medical systems lighting up as the gas filled his lungs. John could see the wind outside pulling at the smoke, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough. Turquoise lit up the man’s gaze for a moment as he reached out to the building’s networks, bringing the extractors online and reversing them, the new wind tugging at his clothes as he watched the smoke, the gas, billow out of the hole in the wall.
Deal with one threat, only to have another jump out at you. John could feel the building starting to shake, the damage to the room leaving it unstable as he squeezed Daegon’s shoulder before walking closer to the plasma, his eyes staring at the shuttle.
“All Confederate forces, we need medical aid in the Viceroy’s conference room and immediate access to the closest medical facility. Also, hear this. By the office of the Vicelord, under the authority of Exarch John Locke, the Agent’s of Chaos ship leaving it to be pursued and brought to justice with extreme prejudice. If they do not surrender lethal force is hereby authorized. The Agents of Chaos are declared terrorists and enemies of the state.”
Old dark eyes stared at the Agents before the Exarch turned away from the fleeing cowards, eyes resting againt on the fallen angel, the red stain spreading over her white dress. The body of the viceroy beyond her.
Innocence and kindness had fallen by the hand of the Agents this day leaving only Vengence in its wake. John could feel the familiar stirring of anger, the ice-cold fingers creeping over his soul. One ay, one day he knew those fingers would completely encase him, but today, today was for mourning.
Tomorrow was for vengeance, for tracking down those terrorists like the scum they were. The travesties of this day could only be answered in one way.
Shalita watched with silence as the ritual unfolded. Icy blue eyes watched the pair of wolves that had pulled themselves from the ritual and run off into a specific direction. She had also watched the other spirits try to repair what was left of the biodome against the onslaught of heat that rippled and only continued to increase in temperature. It was an uneasy feeling to watch the ritual unfold, but when she saw her brother, Darth Metus
waver, she prepared for the inevitable collapse. All of this energy to summon those spirits had to come from somewhere, even she knew that, which was why her lit saber was retracted and she hung it back upon her belt. The woman waited for the split second that she knew would be the absolute last one that they could bleed from this.
Metus wouldn’t forgive her if she didn’t, he had already put so much into it already. As he wavered and then collapsed, her booted feet carried her forwards in quick succession to catch the falling man. She then pulled him free of the ritual and she nodded her head to Gerwald. ”Quickly, grab his wife before she falls. We have to get out of here as fast as possible. I don’t know how long those spirits can continue to hold the repairs.” Her head shifted slightly as she waited for Gerwald and heard Srina’s voice within her mind. Reaching out through the force, she replied to the woman.
<<Don’t worry, I have him. He and his wife collapsed from the ritual, we are heading to an evacuation ship right now. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my brother safe.>>
Turning slightly to see that Gerwald had caught Elyria, Shalita threw one of Metus’s arms over her shoulders and began to drag the male towards the closet evacuation tunnel as she felt the heat encroaching closer and closer. They had to hurry, before this heat storm got them and the sweat poured down her pale complexion as she dragged Metus over to the door. Summoning the force, she held up her left hand, as her right hand had secured Metus’s right arm over her shoulders and using the force, she pulled the door open.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled the man in through the door and waited for Gerwald, only to use the same force to push the door closed. It would slow the heat hopefully, till they could get to the ship anyway and with that, she began to drag Metus towards the tunnel. The bookcase in front of the tunnel had already been shoved open and left open, so whomever had gone down this way had given them the home run. ”Well brother, when all of this is done, you need to lose some weight,” The assassin joked as she dragged him down into the tunnel where Gerwald and Shalita were forced to go single file. Did she wish for a drink? Absolutely, but now was most certainly not the time. Once on the ship, then she’d demand a drink of the highest alcoholic content. Until then…
<<We are almost at the evac ship. See you on the other side.>>
The woman said to Srina Talon
as she continued to drag her brother down a tunnel that was beginning to slowly heat up due to the collapsing biodome. If there was some definition of miracle, the spirits that her brother and his wife unleashed were just that. While she wasn’t one hundred percent certain about what happened, she hoped that although Darth Metus and his wife had collapsed, that the spirits wouldn’t disappear right away. However, she knew better than to hope for small mercies. That was until she saw the literal light at the end of the darkened tunnel and her efforts renewed ten fold.
Finally, they were there at the evac ship and as she dragged her brother on board, she breathed a sigh of relief. Well, they might have been skimming along the danger zone, but they made it by the skin of their teeth. Speaking of… Shalita couldn’t help but smell the scent of what smelled to her, like fried chicken. Perhaps when they got back to Geonosis, she’d grab a plate of that. .
Hanna felt no need to indulge the witch in her petty insults.
With the white-hot wall of fire obstructing her from Madalena, Hanna immediately turned around and saw its source. While the witch slowly unfurled her whip and gave a thoroughly sterile insult, Hanna took aim at the pyromancer’s skull and fingered the trigger, intending to fire a single shot from Hyper Frost. Since the weapon had already been brought to bear only moments before, she had only needed to aim and squeeze the trigger in order to commence the attack.
However, with the whip suddenly snapping towards her in the moments that followed, Hanna refrained from pulling the trigger. Immediately, the shield on her wrist deployed in order to absorb the brunt of the first strike. However, when the second one came, the whip was angled around the shield, striking her boots in the process but nonetheless failing to penetrate the anti-kinetic armor.
All the while, with the explosions going off around her, Hanna realized that the altar had been destroyed. With the embers of fire thick in the air, she didn’t need to look far in order to perceive what was happening around her. It was only Madalena’s booming voice that confirmed her suspicions, and immediately Hanna knew that she had done her part, even if meager, in fulfilling one of the many objectives of Discordia’s divine mission.
By the time the next strike came, Hanna had danced just out of the whip’s range. Then, with her wrist-mounted CryoBan projector, she extinguished a portion of the wall of fire, which lent her just enough time to slip through the seemingly impassable barrier in order to give her and the other Hunters an opportunity to escape.
Nightmother's Log, Supplemental...
Katrine Van-Derveld led the Agents of Chaos to the Altar of Spirits while their forces attacked (or inspired the attack) the Capital, and the Castle. They may have even been looking for Raven's Point according to Asher. It is strange to me that the former Nightmother should choose that place for their assault. A historical landmark that reflects the Mandragora's history. Weathered and broken as it was, it was still part of us and this world.
As former Nightmother of the Mandragora -- and someone that considered themselves to be to this day -- her actions resulted in the destruction of an Altar women and men to this day ventured forth to honor the spirits of this world. She claimed only Asher remained of her Order, though she could not be more wrong.
Though what can be said of the woman that once was while she is possessed and controlled by the Wills of Spirits? It is a state in which I caution other Witches from entering. It may seem a worthwhile, perhaps even just, cause to pursue full of power and purpose, but what if they give you instructions that harm instead of balance the forces of the Living? Entire worlds have fallen when darkness grew too strong. Others became easy prey when the light made a soul complacent.
It seems the dark spirits that call upon her -- whom Katrine called Lylek, Jart, and Doashim -- led her, and the Agents of Chaos to this loss by means of explosives. If her cause was called upon by the spirits, I am led to wonder why a ritual was not used instead. Meanwhile, the former Nightmother had not even visited the Castle since her sudden return. Perhaps the Old Ways do not suit her any more than she claims they suit me.
In an effort to stop them, I was forced one more to confront my own, personal demon. Insistent. Demanding. He is ever adamant about returning to this world. With the destruction of the Altar the need to fulfill his request has lessened once again. However... with the Altar of supposedly the dark spirits that only Katrine Van-Derveld and hers hears destroyed, it is time to rebuild with different spirits in mind.
Just as the Confederacy and the Twi'lek will rebuild a bigger, stronger dome and supply countless resources in refurnishing the homes that were lost...
As they will supply Humanitarian aid and counseling to the brave souls forced to witness such atrocities...
Counseling still for those that were led to false evacuation ships that the Confederate and Siskeen fleets did not allow to fly away with whomever they chose. The Agents of Chaos would certainly understand the Confederacy's desire to not let the Twi'lek be led to enslavement by other means, atter all.
As with all things, the Mandragora will also rebuild. We will repair our castle from the wanton destruction of a bomb intended on destroying it.
And we will build a new Altar. The Mandragora will start a new chapter in its history. And the next time they return they may find the countless spirits of the Altar far less tolerating or forgiving of their presence. I will personally see to it.
Location: Ryloth | The Altar of Spirits Objective: Destroy the Altar Wearing: Black cloak | Phase I Haywire Armor Weapons: Two Lightsabers | Phase I Sword of Eve | Whimsy Witch Knife Mis Items: Empty vials of various shapes | Herbs Allies: Agents of Chaos, The Siskeen Coalition, Twi'lek Freedom Fighters Enemies: The Confederacy of Independent Systems | Mandragora Tags:Katrine Van-Derveld
| Madalena Antares
| Judd Hunter
| Hanna
| Jai'galaar Gred
| Samatharis|-|Vytal Noctura
| Kyyrk
| Shamira Karuto Post: 5
Be still my heart.
A near motionless face turned to the one known as Vytal. The one just now acknowledging her presence. Her own glowing green eyes settling on the woman's before speaking, "Your power wanes in the shadow of The Confederacy. You are but the stool they use to stand so tall. Dathomir demands to be more than a pedastal and yet...here you are." This was not her touting about, but speaking the truth, no matter if this Nightmother decided to listen. Actually listen. "The Mandragora are their own power in this Galaxy, but here...amongst the others, they are being stunted. Your refusal to remedy this..."
There were consequences.
"Dathomir deserves... the Mandgragora deserves more." Those words she did not have to say, Vytal Noctura
knew it to be the truth.
This was only the beginning.
Even as the earth shuddered and the storms still waged a war in the sky, a power on their own- Anesia stayed her position. Power that she had yet to tap into suddenly slithered from within her being, concurrent with the winds and ammassed around Kyyrk
, as the Confederate moved to attack Madalena Antares
again.
This was a small, controlled storm aided by nature that sought to envelope and then, toss the man into his Nightmother ally with a jarring velocity. The action was not meant to kill- but to stall. Much more could have reigned down upon them, if she so chose.
A nod was afforded to Katrine and the others before moving to exit.
Darkness fall across his vision as the electrical pulses hit him. He hadn't felt a killing blow, only the numbness across his body. It looked as if someone was trying to capture him. But it had been too late. Using the the Aiing-Tii skills had been to much for this body to take. Transporting so many at even so close a distance had began to rupture every cell in his body until his life just gave out. The last thoughts he had with a smile on his face was the surprise Luca Donskoi
would have on his own face when Gabriel approached him in the future.
The droid pilot hummed to himself as he took the ship with its passengers away from this world. The console connected to the central hub his master had installed beeped, confirming receipt of death. The droid flipped a switch to start the process before inputting the coordinated back to the Scintilla and pulling the lever to send them into hyperspace.
Once all was settled the droid left the cockpit and walked past the others on the ship. Sliding a panel to the side on the bulk head a small human size storage vat was revealed. Inside was a lifeless body of a man. An exact clone of his master. From behind the frosted glass all could see his eyes flutter open.
A shriek escaped Alwine's mouth as space folded around the group. The teleportation had been fast, instant, and she had not been prepared for it. It seemed as though a moment before they had all rammed into Daegon Corvinus
it had happened, and before the shriek had ended, they were safely aboard the ship.
Alwine looked wildly around her, counting the heads, noting the faces of those who had come. Only two were missing - Enlil
and Gabriel Volturi
. But she knew. She understood. Both of them - both of them had known well in advance that they would be leaving together. To Enlil, she had reminded him of that just before they escaped the burning room. If the two were not here… It was because they had chosen.
Reaching out with the Force, Alwine sent the both of them a message of gratefulness and compassion. If they made it out, there would be many words to share, but now was not the time.
"Get us out of here!" Alwine shouted towards the cockpit, wishing with all her heart that either Enlil or Gabriel would do something, anything, and magically appear with them there. But no. The two had pushed them away so that the Agents of Chaos would be saved. The two had chosen not to come with. She wished that it had been different.
Alwine rose from the ground, seething. She had trusted Derek Dib
. She had trusted words. There had been plans for what would come afterwards, for what the Siskeen Coalition would be doing after Siskeen was free. They had all been lies. The Confederacy could cry about how horrible they were all they wanted - but they had been tricked into a situation in which there was no chance for them to surrender. Did they think them so dumb that they would think their lives would be protected under custody? And this after tricking them and then killing millions of refugees, no less?
Yes, Agents of Chaos had killed. They had killed plenty. And when they did, they took pride in it. The biodome had never been part of their plans, the attack there not being coordinated with them or even given any detail about. If it had been part of their plans, it would have begun after the eight minutes, if at all. The promise made to Derek Dib
had been that no civilians would be targeted, and despite everything that had happened, the Agents of Chaos had kept true to their word. If the Confederacy believed they truly were such perfection that absolutely no one would want to break free of them… They would soon enough be in for a large surprise.
But Dib… He had branded himself as a Confederate, for the rest of his life, when he planned to do it, when he gave the greenlight to do it. The blood of millions of refugees, extinguished all together and at once - on their hands. Did she care about the transmission by John Locke
? No. They had never intended for it to go otherwise. And they never took responsibility. Even the murders of the hospital on Copero had been, while an unwanted thing that happened, which she genuinely believed, since she knew what the orders had been that day, not something they had ever taken responsibility for. And that was but one small and insignificant example, for who truly cared about the Chiss anyway? Not any of the big governments, that was certain.
And the slaves… Oh, they made such pompous airs about the matter of slaves, when all the galaxy knew they had agreements with the Sith Empire.
Alwine blinked.
It was not the first time that she'd had the thought, comparing the matter of slaves in the Empire to… But…
Oh, she laughed.
The Confederacy did not care for the slaves at all! What they cared about - was control, whether true or false. There would be no other explanation as to why they sought to make deals with the Sith Empire, who actively created more slaves with each world they conquered. That would explain why they did not care when faced with accusations of systematic oppression. The true well being of anyone other than those at the top, did not, and had never, concerned them. Later she would maybe learn that they cared for the death of Seraphina Corvinus
, but the deaths of millions were a nothing to them.
How wonderful.
She was no longer seething. Instead, Alwine limped to a crate that had been set aside just for her, and removed a bottle of shiftglue. Her wolf had been good, had not tried to escape, though Alwine had feared she might at several points. She was definitely going to have to take the spray with her next time, and not just keep it on board.
Today, she had gotten angry, she had become furious, but not once had she lost control, not over the shifting, and not over herself. There had been no way for her to know that here had been a trap, but even faced with overwhelming odds, not a single action she had taken this day was not planned. She hoped that Derek Dib had no back up he could restore of himself, and she hoped his brain splattered and dripped all over the ground, to render it completely useless for whatever future plans might be conceived. Any of the other Confederates in that room were beyond welcome to die with him too if they so pleased.
It was time for a final speech. Comm relays were under their control. She motioned for those on the ship who wished to stand in the frame to join her, positioned the cameras so that the new body of Gabriel Volturi
, looking at them, would be in the frame as well, and removed another walking crane from the box as well, standing instantly becoming a much less painful thing.
"Good evening, Ryloth," she began to broadcast. It was meant directly for Ryloth itself, but many other places in the Galaxy would easily be able to pick it up, "Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. You have no doubt seen many broadcasts today and many of you have every reason to be suspicious, though not for the reasons you may believe.
I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquillity of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any wolf. But in the spirit of commemoration, whereupon important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this Founder's Day, a day that has sadly been so horribly abused by the Confederacy, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.
There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into comms, and people with guns will soon try to take this ship down.
Why? Because while the blaster may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with being under Confederate rule, isn't there?
Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. We confronted the Confederacy with these yet all they had to offer was a token Twi'lek in response. They believe that simply by not whipping your backs open with a whip, everything is to be considered perfect. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have sensors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. Simply take a look at recent changes made not only within, but in the rest of the Galaxy as well as a result of the Confederacy First edits.
How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well, certainly, there are those who are more responsible than others, and they all will be held accountable, eventually. But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease, slavery. They were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. I was once your very shoes. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic, you turned to the Vicelord, Darth Metus
. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent.
Today, Agents of Chaos sought to end that silence. We have destroyed the Altar of Spirits, a mark of the Mandragora through which they expressed their grip upon the planet, and pushed the Confederacy back from some of their military locations on Ryloth. We did not bring any damage to your capital dome, though we have left enough food to feed your people once that situation is over and done with.
Years ago, your elders wished to embed Founder's Day forever in your memory. Their hope was to remind the Ryloth that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words; they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then we would suggest that you allow Founder's Day to pass unmarked - run to safety, and never look back.
But if you see what we see, if you feel as we feel, and if you would seek as we seek, then we ask you to stand beside us, and together we shall give the Confederacy a Founder's Day that shall never, ever be forgotten."
Remember, remember Founder's Day on Ryloth,
The Derek Dib Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Founder's Day on Ryloth,
Should ever be forgot.
Samatharis grouped up with one of the other four remaining AoC troopers and began withdrawing from the Alter. She had used a generic combat stim to counter her own trembling stomach. It helped.
"Nice work." Sam offered to her fellow soldier as they pounded brush under foot, "What's our ex-vil?"
"Local contact. Native crew. Got a smuggler's vessel running solid Confed'y IDs. He's on his way. We'll do the pick up, then hit atmo for the jump. We'll link up with our Fleet later and switch boats. Easy out."
Nerium
,
Kyrinov
,
The Bridesmaid
, Herah | AoC 
