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Lash watched the action on the hologram. The initial proton beam cannons thousand-meter long beam ripped past the CIS command ship as planned letting the CIS know it was time to fight. The picket force had jumped into the middle of space between the AOC fleet and the CIS fleet. The eleven small craft set up a wall of charge nets and ion canisters creating an ionic barrier to give the AOC fleet time to recover. moments later small flashes could be seen on the magnified view screen as a small craft which Lash assumes were recovery craft from the CIS fleet fell prey to the charge nets. The Longbow had reverted to real space and released the eight massive EM bombs on the far flank of the CIS fleet giving the CIS yet another distraction as the long-range turbo lasers, long-range ion cannons and mass drivers of the Chiss fleet opened fire. Bolt after bolt lanced out at the CIS fleet soon met by incoming fire from the CIS long-range weapons. Turbolaser bolts mixed in with ion cannon bolts slammed into the shielding of the Chiss vessels. the three ships at the for of the formation took the brunt of the fire giving some protection to the smaller vessels at their rear. The two forces now traded long-range fire sending bolts across the vast distance between the two. The colorful light show that was battle filled the screen in a torrent of greens and blues and reds. Lash was watching the light show then was torn from the screen as one of the icons on the screen disappeared.
The eleven pickets had been preparing to jump out away from the AOC fleet when a massive barrage of fire ripped through them from the world below. A round of ordinance crashed into one of the pickets, bending its shielding beyond its limits and clipping the ship on its port aft quarter. A second-round slammed into a picket amidships punching through the shielding and lodging itself in the armor and exploding, ripping through the picket, filling the single deck with fire. Crew members aboard the craft went flying as the kinetic energy of the round shook and ruptured the ship. those who had been strapped in survived the impact only to be incinerated a moment later as the burst of plasma from the explosion spread throughout the fifty-meter craft. Lash looked at the section of the space then at the planet where the bolts came from.
"Tactical, retrieve a time-lapsed recording from the systems and backtrack where these shots came from," ordered Lash as he returned his attentions to the battle. he watched as nine of the pickets jumped out of the center of the battle and reverted back near the small moon of the system. The Longbow had delivered her initial ordinance to distract the CIS fleet and had begun her charge up to jump. The magnapulse bombs slowly floated towards the CIS fleet began to explode as CIS vessels opened fire on the massive bombs. waves of electromagnetic force spread out filling space with a massive EM energy torrent. The cloud of EM energy aided the Longbow as turbolaser fire and heavy-ion fire lanced out at the vessel striking her shielding rippling it under the power. The Em partially protected the craft giving her the time she needed to finish her jump preparations and jump out of the center of the battle. Lash eyed the ship's icon reappear next to Picketforce Ramrod at the edge of the battle.
Lash looked over to the communications officer "have the Agitator recharge her Proton Beam Cannons" he ordered then turned back to the hologram. The fire from the fleets swam back and forth with no pause. each force intent on dealing damage to each other without closing. This was exactly what Lash wanted. It was here he matched the larger fleet and here he could keep them tied up until the tame came to end this fiasco.
Actions
Picketforce was engaged by planetary cannons losing 1 picket disabling another
9 pickets jumped to the small moon
Longbow micro jumped out to the edge of the systems to join Force Ramrod
The Agitator begins charging proton beam cannon for a second shot.
The Good Samaritan medical laws, she had meant, rather than the golden rule morality. She only had basic first aid in her purse and, though she was a nurse practitioner, she wasn't a miracle worker. The last time she had offered field aid, she had had full access to a hospital stockpiles. Still, she was determined to do her best, if the CIS would let her play medic freely.
"Oh, I understand," replied to Lunara, attention having gravitated over to her as she addressed her. "Believe you me. I...used to tend to both sides, but no longer. That was a long time ago." A lifetime, actually - maybe a few- though not literally as it was for Kyyrk
.
Back then, she had wanted to serve the First Order as well as her enemies, but not so much out of humanitarian benevolence. It had been a cry for help, she now realized, a warning as to shifting morality that she should have heeded in its entirety years before Cassius Droma
had rescued her. Acting out against a regime that demanded stalwart wards spelled certain defamation if not death, but her unique position in the navy had afforded her some immunity. In that way, maybe both parties were at fault: Prenn for staying too loyal too long, the Order for not punishing her harsher.
Regardless of blame, she didn't have the same issue with offering exclusive care with the Confederacy, because she knew she was on the right side - especially here. A terrorist's healer was surely not much better than that herself, and that much Prennis did not turncoat to become all over again.
She glanced from Lunara to Rayne, next words aimed at both. "You do what you must. I'll make sure we don't lose more than we can bear." With that, she stepped back to solid ground. For the first time all day, as she left the frosted-over windows of the gunship behind for the clansmoot mansion, she welcomed the biodome's heat...
...though, this time, it didn't feel artificial. Somehow, it was growing hotter even as anthropogenic twilight waned.
A low hum filled Miseria’s mind as the speeder raced across the acrid orange surface, leaving billowing clouds of dust in its wake. Every now and then three looming shadows would ripple over the gravel strewn ground, bringing with them a darkness comparable to night. Overhead a mountain loomed, larger than the one they’d left behind at the valley. Within, life forces by the hundreds. No doubt the home of the terrorists currently causing chaos and destruction throughout her home.
One of the dragons roared, managing to be deafening even over the sound of the speeder. Miseria chanced a look at the sky, just in time to see a dragon black as coal sweeping forth to attack the mountain. A grin formed behind her helmeted face. Being prey was never fun, but being prey to a predator like that… it wasn’t even worth thinking about. Miseria pressed on, eager to keep up with her master as they drew ever nearer to their revenge. She couldn’t help but linger on how sweet it would taste, until, were it not for the fact that her tracks were travelling 310mph, something almost stopped her dead in her tracks.
Oh she would have loved to have made them pay for their deeds… but no.
The nose of her speeder jolted suddenly, angling the entire machine at a near 90 degrees. ”I have some unfinished business at Raven’s Point.” She called out through the force to both her master and her sister apprentice. Xobos may not have been aware, but Malphas would be. The familiar signature that lingered in the distance was one that the woman, Dianah, had once called brother. She had first felt it at the clansmoot. The dark, ebbing, pressure of fear that he had attempted to spread over Ryloth. They had come under the banner of peace, but it was mearly a tool. Everyone else may have fooled themselves into believing that this was a peaceful mission gone awry, but Dianah and Kyrinov were not so naive.
Peace is a lie, brother. The speeder lurched forward. You know this. The shadow of Gilda came rippling overhead, once again casting Miseria in darkness. The dragon Malphas had commanded she took charge of had followed suit… and a dragon was much faster than a speeder. Miseria turned her head to the wind, and let out a harsh whistle that pierced the air. The beast swooped low, causing a gust of wind to kick up a ball of dust that surrounded Miseria entirely. Slowing the speeder down just a fraction, Miseria lined herself up with the back of the wing. After a deep, steadying breath, she lept.
Boosting herself with a surge of force, she propelled herself forward to catch the edge of the wing with her gloved fingers. The speeder carried straight for a few moments, before the lack of driver forced it to wobble off course and carreen nose first into the rocky terrain. By the time Miseria was sitting comfortably enough to look back, only a few flames and a billowing column of thick black smoke remained. Gilda rose into the skies again, heaving her great wings up and down until she evened out across a twilight painted backdrop.
The mountain range along the horizon was home to Raven’s Point, a vast library used to store the extensive texts of the Mandragora. Miseria couldn’t think of a logical reason why Raven’s Point, but that was the least of her worries. Why had Kyrinov tricked himself into believing the falsities spouted by spiteful mouths? Why was he fighting for peace with war? Why had he abandoned her? As Gilda straightened her path, Dianah hoped that in this, the answers would reveal themselves.
As Shuklaar walked up to her she nodded to the man. “We let him make his choice. We then honor that choice. It’s the way.” Her voice echoed through his comm link as she waited. Strider paused, but then he made his move, drawing on the two.
She had tried to be civil. She had tried to make Jerek Zenduu
proud of her, happy with her. He was gorgeous, who wouldn’t make sure to keep him happy? Warrior? Soldier? Mando’ade? Who cared? She had done her part, Strider had made his choice, and she only ever played for keeps. There was nothing in Strider that she found of value. It was time to test his combat abilities and see if those still could serve him well. It’s what she was after all. A test. A weapon.
As the jet of fire blasted at her, her body moved backwards. The repulsors in her boots fired off, and she bounced back a good few more meters, outside the range of the flames. Though, it had licked the black cloak she wore. The material held up. It probably wouldn’t have been quite so well if he had been closer. This was an oversight she would correct after the battle.
The E-Web Rifle turrets, and the two droid arms brought up their weapons quickly, long before she stopped moving back. The two droid arms opened fire with the Ion Charged Particle beam blasters. They aimed low, at the ground around Strider, his feet, and legs. They unleashed dozens of yellow bolts at, and around the man. Each time one landed an impact, it created a one meter in diameter explosion of plasma and ionic energy. It would burn, fry electronics, and nerves alike. She utilized these weapons to try and pin Strider down, to attack a normal weakness found in Mandalorian armors: The legs were usually less protected than the torso.
The E-Web rifles were based on the design of the E-Web heavy repeating blaster cannon. While they were not as powerful, or as fast firing as the dedicated models, they were comparable. IONA’s voice came through her head set. “Compensating” The steady, rhythmic thawmp of the cannons as they fired their red, powerful fire at the Mandalorian, Strider.
However, Allya was not one to do things in half measure. As she slid to a stop a good ten yards away, she moved away from Shukaar, to make it harder for the human to concentrate on them both. Her lightsaber was ignited, it's purple beam designed to swat away any incoming blaster fire in her direction. In her hand her Starbird Blaster was set to sonic, and fired away as well. This time, she let her mind flow with the force, and fired at any place she felt he would be.
Over all, five sources of powerful blasts flew at Strider, aiming to vaporize him where he stood. Sonic Cannon Charged.Nano Missiles Ready. Shoulder Rocket System ready. If her initial barrage didn’t bring down the man, the next would. IONA’s voice rang over the comm to the units of Anvil flight. “Anvil flight, this is Dauntless unit, I-001. I am transmitting the last location, direction traveled, velocity and number of a group of what appears to be fleeing enemies. Observe, report...and deal with at your own discretion as laid out in the Confederacy Manual of war, article seven. For the Confederacy.” IONA took it upon herself, to report the 6000 fleeing cavalry, and potentially where their transport was located. They had broken numerous confederate laws after all. It would be up to the fly boys whether to attack, or merely observe and escort off the planet.
The dark side covered Allya like a cloak, it heightened her senses. It showed her the weakness before her. It was time to put it down. Darasuum kote bah Hod Ha'ran.
The air around her simmered with electrical energy, which prompted Hanna to activate the faraday cage shield emitter on her right gauntlet. All the while, the ominous howls of undead beasts sang across the mountain, which emanated from the peak of the altar where the Nightmother of the Mandragora stood, along with the witches that had reinforced her after the perpetually smoking mercenary and his squad dispatched the initial group of Mandragora they had encountered upon climbing the stairs.
It was then that a titanic force slammed into the ground in front of her, landing between the group of Wild Hunters and the Mandragora. As the dust settled, a pair of plasmatic violet beams burst forth from the imposing figure with a distinct snap-hiss. Hanna was not sensitive to the Force, but she could still feel the energy coursing through the air as the spirits of Ryloth were aroused through the ancient magick of the dark side. Remembering what Madalena had told her, Hanna took a single vita stone from her utility belt and let it fall to the ground at her feet, thereby projecting an invisible barrier to shield her from the spirits.
Pulling Hyper Frost from the magnetic holster on her left thigh, Hanna lowered herself into a kneeling position on the ground. Then, after taking aim at the chest of the towering Obsidian Knight (Kyyrk
), Hanna compressed the trigger once, discharging a single beam of Sonic-amplified CryoBan across the thirty-five meters of space which separated the diminutive Aspect of Devotion from her target, the imposing Commander of the Knights Obsidian.
Up until now, Hanna had only fought mundane soldiers and warriors. She would be lying to herself, if she did not acknowledge her fear. However, armed with her faith in Discordia and a powerful mentor in Madalena, who had once held the same office as the armored Knight Commander, Hanna felt extremely prepared to face down her fear. Discordia had brought her to this mountain for a reason, so that Hanna could fulfill the Dark Lady’s divine mission of Chaos, and bring about an end to the sprawling empires, states, and dominions of the galaxy.
As one of Discordia’s many servants, Hanna sought to do more than her part in furthering her mission.
Location: Ryloth [Capital Dome] Headed for Main Gate -> Evacuation Standing Near To:Eira Talon | Darth Maliphant | Asaraa Vaashe
| Kat Decoria Ally: CIS Enemy: AoC + Insane Extremists [ Oceiros Sunstrider
- J'onns - Thalia Senn
] 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.”
The small group moved through the chaotic streets of the once bright and bustling Capital Bio-Dome. What had served as a peaceful city had become war-torn. Clogged with dust, grit, and an overwhelming sense of horror. The air was full of the sharp, nauseating smell of burning flesh that cut through everything, especially while the temperature rose. Srina had already come to the conclusion that Luna Terrik
and many others had discovered throughout the sudden carnage. The dome was failing—And it didn’t take a genius or an engineer to figure out why.
The terrorists. That, and Mother Nature.
The explosions must have damaged something entirely unrepairable and the unstable wildness of Ryloth was creeping inward. For all of their bluster and fanatical propaganda, in the end, the terrorists would cost more Twi’lek lives than the Confederacy ever had. Both from their own ranks and the people that had taken to calling the Capital their home. Some Twi’lek? Some not. There were Devaronians, Humans, Jawa, and even Rodians that had taken root long before the Southern Systems ever stepped forward to firmly put an end to enslavement.
The people of this world had experienced subjugation, slavery, in its most blatant and brutal form.
For millennia.
Now—This group would seek to undo all the progress that had been made? The progression of tolerance? Of free-thinking? The Diversity Alliance of old had failed for a myriad of reasons, mostly, because it was a terrorist organization based on hatred. This group took it a step further. They were immediately dangerous, unreasonable, and had obviously passed the point of lucid thinking. Murdering their own? Calling it justice? Necessary? The fact that this group, Agents of Chaos or otherwise, had managed to put together numbers, arms, and a veritable militia under their noses was a travesty.
That, was a failing. The subversive nature of it was insidious. The threat of orbital bombardment had halted, for now, but the sky was full of explosions and distant fire. Something bright, piercing, kept shining. She didn't know that it was the Golden Lance (KKaine Australis
) being pulled and wrenched apart with the application of tractor beams. It was too far for her to see with the naked eye. Raising her comm she called to Amelia von Sorenn
. "Situation report? Confirming, additional evacuation transports. John Locke
, Visanj T'shkali
, and Corius Harckon have more on the way."
Looking around the Capital Dome found little more than wanton destruction and cruelty. Srina could feel the dying, the dead. Life could not be remade. Not as it was. These radicals would see homes destroyed, livelihoods lost, and family units separated. The thought of how many, many graves, would need to be prepared caused the shadows to lengthen on her face. Eyes of liquid mercury seemed to have deadened entirely. Light, extinguished. The entire ecology of this City had been destabilized to the point where the only viable option of survival was to evacuate the Dome. As far as she knew, the others were still intact.
The Capital Dome was the target. Or—The first target. Likely, one of many.
<<Our people can’t take much more of this.>>
Her telepathic words were meant for Darth Metus
alone. She refused to show weakness before Darth Maliphant or Eira Talon. Even Kat Decoria and Asaraa Vaashe
could never know. Standing strong was what she was known for. She was unbreakable, unmovable. But Ryloth? It was very much so capable of injury. Srina led the group toward one of the evacuation points. They seemed to be picking up others along the way. The Main Gate would be the easiest way to ferry people out of the Dome but the white-haired woman felt wary. It also made for an easy mark. A rather large group came tumbling up from one of the emergency bunkers. The blast doors snapped open and Srina could see the heat radiating. They were breathless—And she could only imagine that the same thing was happening all over the Dome. “Lord Vaashe (Asaraa Vaashe
) and Ms. Decoria (Kat Decoria) please aid them. See to it that they are ready and able to move. We won’t be able to stay here long.”
The ground was rumbling. Groaning, like something had placed too much stress in the wrong places and the earth beneath couldn’t settle. Her jaw tightened and she glanced at Eira. Once, the bunkers would have been a viable option. Not anymore.
The Dome wasfailing. Utterly, and completely. Piece by piece. Unless something or someone found a way to stem the cascade of system failures it stood to reason that all of the bunkers would eventually overheat. Some of the stragglers that they’d picked up along the way moved forward to help them as well and Srina was momentarily caught in a flurry of movement. She lost sight of Eira, Maliphant, and the others—But what placed itself in her path was very strange.
A diminutive human-female (Daiya
) with dirty blonde hair and large blue eyes the size of dinner plates. Her words were almost jovial and it took Srina a moment to realize that what flowed from the youngling was almost a compliment. There was something about her that felt familiar. The wintry Echani was certain she had never met this child. Yet, there was something in her that rang kindred. Something in her eyes. Srina paused. Did they do more than see?
The Exarch glanced toward Eira when her words washed over her mind like a cooling rain. Obviously, she was correct. The strange request that the pale-child made caused Srina to tilt her head. Her expression was empty. As if she didn’t comprehend the request. More than anything she was looking for some sign of injury. Reports stated that anyone without lekku seemed to be target for the terrorists. Keen Echani eyes could see that her “biggest fan” had recently been crying. Red eyes, puffy. Had she been injured? Had she gotten lost in the initial shuffle?
Silvery eyes slid around her form. Bulky. What did she carry?
“I do not…do that. I am no one of which you should aspire to.”
Her words were plain. She would not sign her name. Her lips parted to inquire as to if she had been harmed when something quite small rushed up to them. A Jawa? The hooded scavenger reached up and fed the duckling (Duckie Talon
) a few small items that it seemed very pleased to have. The whole absurdity of what had transpired in the last few seconds made her feel as if she’d stepped into some sort of vortex that had spat her out into an alternate reality.
It would explain why Ryloth was suddenly on fire.
Srina watched the Jawa (Moe Uilor) scamper away, fleetingly, before chilled eyes turned back to the girl. “I do not do that. But, I can use your assistance.”, she reiterated, softly, reaching out to place a hand on the younglings cheek. Dried salt on her skin betrayed her cheer. Something, made her cry. It was easy to understand what that might have been. The Exarch leaned in and brushed a feathery soft kiss to her forehead. Silent, reassurance. “We will see you to the evacuation point, however, I would ask that you keep something safe. Take him with you. He always…Finds a way.”
Annoying. But, true.
The chilly woman reached up and removed the duckling that was nesting in her hair before placing it on the shoulder of the adolescent human. It would give her something to focus on while they made the trek through the Capital. Something, what wasn’t the scent of a burning corpse.
Srina turned her sights back to Eira and nodded to the sibling, one of many, who looked just like her. Only another Echani would know how different they really and truly were. Responsibility was something Srina had taken to like a fish took to water. This would be new for Eira. But, she had silently vowed to teach her. To show her the galaxy. She could no longer shield her from it. The extra evacuation ships she had called for would arrive soon. The Confederacy had prepared multiple contingences. "Grand Marshal (Luna Terrik
) - I hope everything is ready at the gate. I'll be coming with a large group. The bunkers are overheating and it's leaving people out in the open. We'll be inbound, momentarily. The extra ships are en route."
It was going to be a difficult journey. This meant, she would need help.
Just when the rag-tag assembly of Confederate citizens, Twi’lek, Human, and even a few Rodian were ready to begin moving shouting began anew. Shouting, then another explosion. One after another. There had been so many now that Srina had lost count. Her hand raised reflexively and a hasty telekinetic shield forced pieces of debris and shrapnel back the way it had come. More death filtered into her senses. Dust filled the air. The people with her were scared, terrified, but unharmed. “Stay together! We’ll make it to the Main Gate with plenty of time. There’s no need to—"
P A N I C
From around corner she could feel dozens of heartbeats. Minds. Initially, she thought they’d crossed paths with a small battle group that belonged to the enemy. It was partially true. It did belong to the enemy. It was a river of loathsome Lylek creatures. Upon their backs? Twi’lek riders. Srina could barely breathe as their group was spotted. All at once, they turned like water that had been diverted, and redirected their course for the quickest collision. She reached behind her back and removed the light saber that was hidden along her spine. “If you don’t have a weapon—Fall back to the shops behind us! The rest of us need to form a line. We can’t let them pass!”
“Take out the riders!”
Flesh and blood would be easier to rend than the carapace of a Lylek. Would they still fight once the beast masters were removed? They didn’t have to wait long. A flash of movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye and Srina whirled away, just in time, to keep from being impaled by a spiked pincer. The Lylek landed hard on the ground from its perch, vicious, and ferocious while a tentacle came around to slap her away. It struck her in the midsection, causing her to wheeze, before it darted forward to make another stab with a bright green pincer. It came down like a spear and Srina spun away again—Light Saber activating as she did so.
She expected the beast to hit nothing but the ground. Only, it didn’t hit permacrete. It drove deep into a wide-eyed Rodian that had been standing, stunned, just behind her. Terrified, he hadn’t moved. Srina swung her saber in a smooth arc and cut clear through its left tentacle. The appendage fell, flopped, and the Lylek released a fearsome roar before spearing the Rodian again. Even as she moved, twisting her wrist, so that she could attack at the underbelly of the beast—Part of her knew it was too late.
By the time her weapon found purchase the Rodian had already been torn apart. Each individual that she had tried to save in this sweltering heat, in this battlefield, that didn’t fit the criteria of the terrorist agenda was being systematically hunted. She could see the insectoid beasts leap around Twi’lek born
Rylothans. They moved, like a plague, dismembering all they could. Devouring.
There was something about seeing a space battle raging overhead that was almost beautiful, if you didn’t know better then it looked like a lightshow. A spectacular vision of lights and fireworks, similar to those that cities and governments would set off for a celebration.
This was no celebration.
This was war brought to the planets, a planet that hadn’t asked for it hadn’t sought out the conflict that now raged across its surface. But, the Agents of Chaos probably hadn’t even thought about that, hadn’t thought about the effect of the war on those innocents they claimed to be freeing. Both the terrorists from space, and the terrorists from underground spoke of a free Ryloth, a Ryloth that was returned to the people so they could go back to living the way they used to.
Had any of them asked the people of Ryloth if that’s what they wanted?
No, they’d arrived thinking they knew what was best and planning to impose their will on the native population. The Agents of Chaos had cast the Confederacy as another empire, had arrived claiming that they knew best. That they, and they alone held the true knowledge of what the Twi’leks wanted.
The Agents who had either never stepped foot on the planet or hadn’t been back here for years, yet they knew the truth in the Twi’leks hearts. Better even than the Twi’leks. Those very Twi’leks who had chosen to move to the domes, chosen to try to change the course of their lives. They had chosen, and now those terrorists had decided they had chosen wrong and wanted to remake that choice for them. To tell them how to live.
And to do it they’d destroy the very homes that the innocents had tried so hard to build.
The dome around them shook and filled with smoke, all signs of the attacks that had been mounted, that continued to mount.
The Jedi could feel the heat building in the air around them, could see the sweat running down the faces of those who had gathered around them. Their little pool of steady calm, a rock in the storm that had swept over Ryloth. It was no surprise that the Twi’leks and other citizens of the planet had gathered around them. Looking for protection, no more than that, they were looking for Hope. For something they could hold onto, to lift their spirits up when the world around them seemed to be going to hell in a handbasket.
The pink-haired Jedi reached up, running her hands through her long locks as she glanced at the crowd before looking back to Srina. She was right, they needed to move, they needed to get out of here, to get to somewhere safer. They needed to Evacuate.
“Give me a few minutes Exarch, I’ll get everyone ready to move.”
The Jedi turned on her heel, stepping back into the crowd, hands reaching out to the anxious faces gathered around them. A comforting touch on a shoulder here, bending down to talk to a small child clutching at her mother's skirts there.
“I’m sorry, we can’t carry all of these supplies with us now, we need to move fast. If you leave them here, I’ll try to get someone to collect them later.”
The Jedi’s heart broke as she watched the meagre possessions piling up in the entrance to the bunker. The clothes, the food that were all that some people had left in the world.
“We can replace them, you we can’t replace.”
The people who had spilled from the bunker were shaken, confused and scared but there didn’t appear to be any major injuries, just a few bumps and scrapes. Hardly enough to warrant it, but then her skills with healing had never been anything to write home about. She was up for this though, just to help buoy their spirits. Just reaching out with a hand to leave that lingering sense of positivity in those she passed as she helped get them ready to run. Or at least she had been till a slight green hand clutched at her skirt, a small Rodian peering up at her with wide eyes.
“Miss Jedi…are we gonna die?”
There it was, from the mouths of babes, the question that was on the forefront of everyone’s mind, only they were too scared to notice it. The acceptance in the child’s voice almost broke Asaraa’s heart as she knelt in front of him, one hand reaching out to rest on the child’s head as her other hand reached up, gesturing in the direction of Srina and Maliphant.
“Nah, we’re not, you wanna know why? Cause they’re waaay more scary than any terrorists out there. And if we’ve got those two on our side, then they don’t stand any chance. We’re just gonna go for a little walk, just to the edge of the city, then we’re all gonna get out of here and go somewhere safe and get you some food. Now, I’m not promising anything, but I’m pretty sure that they have some chocolate up there…but only for people who’re brave and help their parents. Can you do that for me?”
The little nod of the head was all she needed to see before she moved on to the last of the civilians, a final smile before she turned and nodded at the Exarch. The people were scared, but she had faith, she knew that they’d be ok and pull it together. People rose to the occasion if you gave them the chance.
If you gave them the chance.
Which they’d never had. The assault of the Twi’leks riding their Lylek mounts was immediate and absolute, the cavalry charge shaking the ground around them, leaving the young Jedi twisting to retain her balance as the civilians around her cried out in shock at the nightmarish sight charging towards them.
It was like a sight from her worst nightmare, the creatures racing past, pouncing on the crowd that she’d sworn to protect.
She’d told them it’d be ok.
Asaraa could hear the Exarch’s command, but every time she tried to strike at a rider she found herself dancing away from claw or tentacle, foot or blaster. The sheer number of her enemies, of the weapons they brought to bear made it almost impossible for the Jedi to get any closer to her targets.
Purple and bronze lightsabers spun around, constructing a cage of energy around her, a stalemate. She couldn’t get closer to them, and they couldn’t reach her. Yet, the Jedi was just one individual, and they were many. She could tie up 2, 3 of the Lyleks with spoiling attacks, forcing them to stop and defend themselves, but the rest just streamed past her and threw themselves on the crowd.
She could only watch helplessly as the civilians tried to fight, bringing what weapons they’d managed to find to bear, but it wasn’t enough. It would never have been enough.
It was another failure on a long list of failures, she’d let them down…again. Everyone she tried to rescue, to save, everyone ended up dying.
The Jedi threw herself through a backflip, lightsabers lashing out at a passing rider as she bounced as she landed, spinning away from a slashing claw. Spinning just long enough to see a small body tossed up into the air, wide eyes staring at her, a slight hand reaching out before the Rodian child dropped down to the waiting Lyleks, vanishing beneath the crowd of their claws as their riders laughed at the sport.
They laughed.
For a moment the Jedi grew still, time seeming to slow as she stared at the crowd, at the small hand that had fallen away from the Lyleks. Asaraa could hear a loud scream filling air around her. It took her a moment to realise the sound was tearing from her throat.
There was no thought in her head as the Jedi reacted, pushing out through the force, pouring her emotion into the force. A rising wave that shot forward, a tsunami of pressure crashing forward onto the riders and their mounts, sending them tumbling end over end as she threw herself forward.
Blades of energy lashed out, scoring as carapace and tentacle, as the Jedi pushed herself off the confused terrorists, landing between them and the crowd before she started stalking forward.
Patiently, the exuberant Darkwire youth gazed at her idol, admiring the woman's soft-yet-striking features, the luster of her silver hair, the eyes that left no quarter of the girl unseen. The holos could never have captured so much details. The mere proximity to Srina Talon was nearly enough for her, but with giddy anticipation Daiya held her datapad out to the woman, her beaming eyes hopeful the woman would honor her request.
Ryloth was falling apart, and Daiya had work she was neglecting, but she pressed on regardless. It wasn't every day she got to rub elbows with a living legend, after all. Miss Sun's task could wait a few more moments.
“I do not...do that. I am no one of which you should aspire to.”
She didn't...what? Daiya looked mystified by the Exarch's simple words. The girl stood, bewildered by Srina's mild rebuke as her arms fell to her side to hang limply in defeat. She barely reacted as a short Jawa sidled up, offering something to a creature sitting on the shoulders of the Exarch. A duckling! It gobbled up the offering gladly with a cheery sound, a sound that echoed hollow inside the girl's head.
Was that what she forgot? An offering for Srina's pets? True, Daiya had been outfitted for this mission by some of the best gear she had ever seen, but it was woefully lacking in the animal treats department. The Exarch was an avid animal fan, something she had known, but somehow hadn't realized until this moment how integral it was to approaching the woman. Stupid!
The girl felt the woman's hand on her cheek, and gazed back up into Srina's gaze. She wanted so much to turn away, unwilling to let her shame be on display. A gentle finger stroked across her skin as the woman spoke, kinder words now. Her idol would not acquiesce, she would not get her autograph today. A petty, childish wish, but one that hurt to have dashed nonetheless. She might have cried again, but the distant sounds of conflict were strikingly sobering. Or perhaps the rising heat had simply dried the tears from her eyes already.
Srina Talon offered her a glimmer of hope, however. A request of her own, sealed with a kiss upon her forehead. “We will see you to the evacuation point, however, I would ask that you keep something safe. Take him with you. He always…Finds a way.”
How could she possibly refuse?!
Her charge was the small duckling, plucked from his perch on the Exarch's slender shoulders to sit upon her own now. Daiya gaped at the young anatine for a moment, his oddly-multicolored fuzz standing in stark contrast to the dark padding of her outfit. She had wondered how the creature's long feet had managed on Srina's shoulders, and the girl's were even smaller, her palm would have made more sense. Yet the tiny duckling managed just fine, easily balancing on his new perch as if it was a solid platform. An amazement to add to amazement.
Srina Talon had asked for her help! And entrusted her with the safety of a creature her idol clearly cared for. The girl nodded, setting her jaw. Daiya held this up to the highest importance, even though she was already on Ryloth to perform another task. "I'll keep him safe. I promise."
I also promise never to wash my forehead again, the girl thought, woozy and reeling from Srina's physical affection toward her. She felt herself being led along, wheeled toward the evacuating crowds heading out of the failing dome. She glanced again at the little duckling, still entranced, wishing once more that she had brought some kind of snack suitable for animals.
Or at least, the cute ones.
The terrors that headed their way were gruesome things, all legs and tentacles covered by their ironclad crust. The Exarch shouted commands, giving instructions to the group to fight or flee, but Daiya just stood there. She was frozen in place, her mouth agape, fear flashing across her widened eyes. As the insectoid beasts drew nearer, she could see they were mounted by riders directing them, plowing them into the crowds and citizens of the dome who only wanted to get to safety. Against the horrors, Srina Talon and her cohort stood valiant, but all she could do was nothing.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't speak.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't breathe.
She had known Ryloth was about to become a warzone. The whole point was to take advantage of the chaos, not get caught in the middle of it. She should have turned the other way. She should have taken the chance to get to the Viceroy's Manor when she could. She should have ignored a celebrity.
She should have listened to Tawrro.
A voice inside her, sounding almost like a certain Wookiee's growl, gnawing urgently at the edges of her mind. She could barely make it out, it felt too distant. It grew louder, then louder still, until it was a voice much like her own.
RUN!
Her body didn't need any more prompting than that. Daiya broke into a sprint, dashing off back the way they had come, back towards the last semblance of normal she remembered. A hand came up to nestle the small critter on her shoulder, cupping her fingers together to form a protective wall to keep the little duckling safe from falling off. The rational part of her mind held on to that little tiny piece of purpose while the rest of her was driven by sheer impulse. One that, impossibly, came from beyond herself.
The shriek of the Lylek behind her shook the rational part of her awake again, fueling the desperation of her run. Daiya pushed forward, pumping her legs as fast as they would go. She didn't turn to look, the crashing sounds and thumps from the Lylek's charging legs behind her was enough motivation to keep going. The dome around her was a blur, the motion and heat giving everything almost a fuzzy quality to it.
The girl's mind was a frantic whirlwind of thoughts, each one peeling away as quickly as it appeared. To the left. No, the right. Find somewhere to hide. Find somewhere to fight.
Find the ship!
Daiya steered herself toward the streets that led to the city's spaceport. She had no idea if the Lylek was still behind her, or if her mind was simply imagining the sounds now. All she knew was the effort of putting down one foot, then the other, then...
...she tripped.
The girl went sprawling onto the dusty street, trying to keep the little duckling protected as she went down. Fear and self-preservation drove her to crawl forward on her hands and knees until her knee, too, caught on something. She rolled, pulling out her KD-30 pistol at last, and sending a shot of the glitter-filled bullets back at the object of her fears. One last hope before she came face-to-face with her doom.
There was no time for thinking. Explosions rippled off all around them. Threats poured in from all sides. Eira's mind did all it could to process the chaos around her. Thoughts shut down. Feelings fled her. Her arms pumped as each quick step was taken. Only muscle memory had her rising her sword as creatures spilled out into the street before them.
She didn't even know their name. She didn't need to, their murderous intent hit the air around her. The screams of their victims were soon to follow. Her sister's voice echoed through her.
Hold the line.
But they stormed through-- jumping over, impaling. What numbers they possessed to stand up against them, they dashed the moment the beasts advanced. For a moment, Eira stood as one of the countless left frozen. The Rodian died before her, even her sister's work not enough to spare the man his life.
Horror crept through the young Echani, images of Artisia coming to mind. It was the young girl besides her that snapped her out of it. A creature turned towards them, and Daiya
awoke with a wave of primal fear. Eira had barely a moment to raise her sword to protect her, and then her charge was running away.
And the beast ran after her.
No.
Eira's gaze tore to Srina's for a spare moment, her horror mixing with a sense of determination that the elder Talon would know well. She couldn't let this happen-- no! And although it cinched her chest to do so, she turned away and started to run. First five feet, then ten. She could still feel her sister's presence close behind her as her lean legs worked tirelessly at the ground. They were longer-- stronger. If she could just overcome Daiya, then she could head the creature off and stop--
Daiya turned a corner. It followed. Too deep in it now, Eira pressed on with a growing sense of desperation.
She was just a girl-- just a child.
Eira would be seen soaring in the air over Daiya's prone body, her silvery hair flying loosely and she landed firm before her. Eira's sword glinted in the light as it flashed out and caught the beast through the inside of the mouth. The bloody tip poked through the top of the skull. The creature's momentum continued forward, crashing into her body and sending them both to the ground at Daiya's feet. Eira cried out, pain searing indiscriminately across her body as it lashed out in its dying throws. She held tight to her hilt, now pinned tightly between them, and waited the five seconds for its thrashing to cease.
It felt like an hour.
She laid panting under its dead form.
"Are-Are you okay?" She called out to the girl she couldn't see. "H-Hello?!" She uttered, desperate for for a sign of life from Daiya.
There would come a time, when the embers had died, that a quiet moment would make itself manifest. When peace had been returned to Ryloth. When the inferno of the Well had been satisfied. Darth Metus would look upon his companion anew. T'was not for her might. Not for the primordial depths of power. But for the wisdom that pushed past the Stagnation that had settled into his bones. Hesitancy had colored his actions until then. A pause, for to take action meant to erase the lives of those who were born upon Ryloth's soil.
The world held a special significance for the Vicelord. Far beyond that of the responsibilities included in his office. This world was home. Its people, for the love they had extended over decades, had become extended family. Yet, the Elders had said as much over the airwaves for all - Confederate, Terrorist, or Chaos alike - to hear. They had drawn the line in the sand. The Twi'lek people...nay, the People of Ryloth would not stand accept the blind violence of those who had been led astray. They were to get from here. They were not wanted. They no longer had a home here.
Were the situation any less dire, Darth Metus might have spared a thought to what came after the fighting. How would the people deal with the treachery of their own? How would those who sordid few who managed to scurry away ever hope to face their Clans again? Would they depart with the Agents that had corrupted them so? Would they turn over a new leaf? No. Darth Metus would have come to that answer. Blind optimism was nothing more than hesitation wearing a mask. The truth was? Those who had been led astray were anathema to the people of Ryloth. There was only one cure for the disease: Excision.
Thus, the Sith Lord and his mate descended from the Viceroy's residence. Final orders for seeing to the protection of the Elders had been given to the members of his Guard and the Obsidian host. And, though his words had echoed directly to the Alabaster Exarch, Darth Metus felt the whisper. Gerwald Lechner would join them outside. Stand with them. Defend them from whatever hells came their way whilst they took up the sword. Darth Metus, also, found the voice of his apprentice chiming within his thoughts. A plea - a warning - all mingled into one. Their people could not take much more.
The words were laced with a silent understanding. Emotions which gave rise to images of the situation before the Vicelord's psyche. The dome was in peril. The heavens above shrieked with battle. The air was alive with the stench of burning bodies - and the Force itself recoiled due to the rampant Death. As the seconds rolled ever forward, the words of the Elders seemed to resonate with the Confederate forces. They did not hesitate. As promised by Darth Elyria
, his people stood with him. The line in the sand was drawn. Terror, masquerading as Twi'lek, was quickly put to the sword. And though the strikes from above and the claws of dragons had found their mark, there was still much work to be done.
Work that the Sith now undertook in the midst of the street.
As his form began to descend, the voice of his mate filled his ears. She urged him to see the small victories that his people were claiming against the enemy. To see with the full extent of the Force. When he bid her aide, she complied. Reaching for his hand whilst taking her place in the center of the fresh runes he had cut into the pavement. And, in that instant, the Elyria that had plucked the Sith from the jaws of death on Kuat returned. The sigils deepened, as if the slammed into being by thunderous hands. They brimmed with light - with vicious purpose - whilst Sith lyrics slithered from her tongue.
Power. Absolute. Radiated from the woman. She willingly bore the burden of sacrifice. It was her body. Her power. Her anguish which would feed their mighty task. Thus, it fell to the Vicelord to guide. She was the raging river, and he was the conductor. When she spoke again? It was not the icy voice that he had grown accustomed to. The dry wit of eons no longer danced upon her tongue. No. There were many. Hundreds? Thousands? There was no way to put a number on the cacophony which uttered in tandem with the primordial being.
Whilst his dominant hand yet rested within the grasp of the enraptured woman, his offhand raised. By his will, his flesh was rent open. The skin of his palm torn to expose his blood to the open air. The life waters rained down freely for a moment, before he slapped the wounded appendage upon the nearest sigil. In doing so? Understanding. In doing so? Darth Metus could see.
Ryloth was indeed a world that had been characterized by boundless suffering. And as the Sith Lord attempted to take hold of it, he was awestruck by the truth which played before his eyes. He witnessed the remains - the countless battered, broken bodies which had decayed underneath the surface. So many souls lost to the cold lash of slavery. So may lives extinguished for the bemusement of others. What played before his gaze was a reflection of the truth he and his Confederacy knew well - a truth that the Agents attempted to twist in their hypocrisy.
This was the face of oppression. Of Empire. Of Slavery.
Yet as the Sith saw - a second truth was made manifest before him. It was not solely Twi'lek bodies that had been battered and discarded across the eons. No, there were so many...others. Devaronians. Rodians. All manner of what Imperial minds would dare classify as "Xeno." They had been brought here in the same sordid caravans. They had been tortured. Battered. Broken. Discarded all the same. Their pain was identical to the Twi'lek natives. Their pain was Ryloth's. And now? That pain was His.
The Sith Lord drew an empowered breath.
Kraujas iv Nuyak Kraujas.
Blood of My Blood.
Asalsi tave Sda iv Tu'iea Su'us.
Witness the Sins of Your Sons.
Tau Dteazi. Tau Mtoni. Tau Zudyti. Re Drajunas.
They Yell. They Burn. They Kill. Our Families.[/b]
Make them See. Make them Understand. Make them Silent!
And as the command fell from his mouth, burning lights leapt from her lips. Those who had been broken. Those who knew pain had been roused from their ancestral slumber. The spirits knew their lost kin. Could smell their bloodlines fresh in the air. Feel the treacherous thoughts as palpable as a blade. And as a flood, they burned forth from the circle as a mighty flood. Those who were lost...yet survived in the immediate vicinity would find themselves staring into the beyond. Staring into eyes they had once known. Grandparents. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins. Neighbors. Friends. Ancestors. Those who had been taken from this world by true oppression now descended.
And their words were as a fiery wail into their minds - the Greatest Rebuke had begun.
Ritual has been initiated
The souls of Christmas Twi'lek past have risen to rebuke their surviving, misguided descendants inside the Dome
And that was that. With a slash across the darkness as if some wayward god had decided to unzip the universe for a quick look-see, the battle had begun. Lash had struck first, he’d thrown down the gauntlet then picked it back up and slapped them with it. Chiss were never subtle in Norongachi’s experience but whatever the hell he just fired was taking the piss, he thought as the beam winked from existence.
On his scopes the pickets skipped B and went straight to C, landing smack bang in the middle of the AoC and CIS fleets. Exactly where Sal would never want to be in ships so small facing an enemy who would be, understandably, enraged. Then the light show started, a laser display the likes which no drugged out teenager at an illegal rave in some disused shoe factory, could ever hope to witness. The firepower pouring from each side was staggering, a terrifying display of just how far sentients had come in their eternal quest to find a bigger rock than the other guy.
He’d be in arse deep in it soon enough and was surprised at the tickle of fear that played across his mind. It forced a smile and a single quiet ‘ha’ from his mouth, he was still human after all and that thought, which at one time had driven him to terrible acts to crush what little of a soul remained, brought him a moment of happiness.
Who else could say they had seen what he’d seen? Seen the battle of metallic titans fought across the breadth of a star system? This was enough, he thought, no matter what happened here or in the future, it was enough to know that he was a small blip in the annals of the universe that had stolen a peak at the wonders of creation in all their beauty and horror.
A flicker on his screens caught his eye and he turned to see the display skipping and jumping, the EM hadn’t crippled his fighter but it hadn’t had zero effect either. He looked around the metal coffin with Ion engines strapped to it; It was bad enough to fly a fully functional TIE let alone one experiencing technical hiccups. It was all very good being ‘a blip in the annals of the universe’ but he’d be buggered if he died because some bright spark hadn’t figured out starfighters should come with shields as standard.
“Ramrod-8 to lead,” he com’d and after a beat the response came back.
“Go ahead 8.”
“I’m having some computer troubles here, figure that wave did some internal damage to her systems.”
“Hang tight, we’ll get you flying again.”
Sal was about to ask the obvious questions of how and from where when the Longbow ripped into existence beside them. The Pelagic-class dwarfed them, its hull scarred but intact from whatever insanity the Chiss had tasked it with before diverting it over to the picket, and two corvettes.
“You weren’t kidding Lead…” Sal replied as his fighter readjusted its flight pattern with the squadron while the smaller escorts and support ship took up position around the Longbow.
“Anyone in need of a new ride, get your ass aboard the Longbow.”
Two TIE-Locusts broke formation and headed for the bay, Norongachi among them. The flight deck was a buzz of activity as deckhands prepped the Talon-class Interceptors for service. Their pilots lounged beside their individual crafts waiting for the order to sortie. Sal popped the lid on his fighter and slid to the flooring, much to the mild complaint of his knees, ripped the flight helmet from his head and breathed the sweet scrubbed air of the cruiser.
“They look to be using those ships, don’tcha think?” Ramrod 7 spoke at his side, the Rodian nodding toward the prepped fighters.
“They aren’t using them right now, we’ll just explain politely.” Sal said and saw the doubtful look on 7’s face. “Don’t worry about it, just get up into one of those cockpits and button up.”
“They might not-” Norongachi placed a glove on his wingmans shoulder.
“There is quite literally a war going on outside. No sane person wants to be zipping around in a starfighter while that's kicking off, so you’d be doing an act of charity is the way I see it.” he’d reached the ladder that led to the cockpit then and began his ascent.
“Whoa there buddy,” the fighter's actual pilot who had been sitting near the engines of the Talon playing cards yelled. “The hells do you think you’re going?”
“Talk to the brass, they say take a mans bird, I take a mans bird. Talk to them, I’ll wait.” and the pilot did, he screamed across the deck for his squadron leader giving Sal and 7 just enough time to get in, get sealed up and get the frak outta dodge.
“Easy as that,” Sal said with a grin over direct coms to 7.
“We might have to fly with his friends pretty soon, 8.”
“Yeah but two of them will be in TIE-Locusts, look at them funny and they’ll explode.”
“You are a thoroughly terribly human being.”
“Yeah yeah, switching to squad channel.” they retook their positions and then the Longbow turned, its bow pointing toward the distant arrangement of enemy ships. Sal held his breath, the Longbow disgorged eight starlance assault missiles and sent them on a course for wanton destruction. They were truly neck deep in the kark now.
On the Longbows bridge Captain Ulta watched the missiles streak away into the fray, he ran his eyes over the targeting data on the console set beside his seat. The Admiral hadn’t been specific in his orders, which were brief, but one look at the displays told Ulta that the biggest threat was that Battlecruiser, it was spewing death at a range to more than match their own.
The missiles grew more and more distant and the Captain could only hope one or two found their mark at journey's end. “Now we wait…”
Actions:
Form up with the Longbow.
Get (steal) a new fighter.
Target Thoros Class Battlecruiser with 8 Starlance Assault Missiles.
Get shot at, probably.
Sergei kept pushing with the TCD-2s, he couldn't afford to stop now, not when they had to finish this, and finish it now. He grit his teeth as pain would shoot up his side as he charged forward. He'd discarded his MAAWS now, as he'd run out of ammo, but that's why he carried a Big Iron Hand Cannon. The rolling block of the weapon would spin as he cocked the hammer, raised the weapon at the first enemy before him and pulled the trigger. A massive crack would sound as the APFSDS round would cut through the air and slam into the Lylek with the force of something far far heavier and meant to crack tank armor. He cocked the weapon and prepped to fire again, when the TCD-2 in front of him stepped up, grabbed the Lylek by the throat, and slammed it into the ground with its free hand. As the rider was crushed instantly the Lylek continued to struggle with its tentacles, which the TCD-2 ended quite violently by jamming its M-44 into its mouth, and firing repeatedly. The fighting had devolved into brutal skirmishes as the Twi'lek terrorists were being pushed back. The combined forces of Sergei, the Surric Local Defense Forces, and Anakwor Farlorn
Rangers, was pushing the enemy back. The Twi'leks were using themselves more and more as bombs to try and inflict losses on their forces, and few of them ever got close enough to be effective. At least those that weren't literally blasted apart by 14mm Heavy Machine Guns or the 35mm Auto-cannons. As they closed in on the final remnants the enemy position where they had broken through Sergei himself lead the assault. He'd press on as he closed on the enemy's origin. This fight for him was personal now. He no longer had a contract, no home. This fight would be his last as a free man. His roar would urge on his commandos as he pressed the attack, Big Iron in one hand, and L-7 in the other. He would close the gap until they made it to the last holdout among them. Sergei wouldn't hold back as he pressed the attack. As he closed on the final position the TCD-2s would be close behind him, the Wolves behind him as they knew they had to keep pushing. To finish this fight. And then as they gunned down the last of the enemy, Sergei didn't have time to react to the bomb detonating in his face.
He would be picked up by the blast and flung back over thirty meters, he slammed into the ground as his face shield was now cracked in multiple places. He coughed as he scrambled. His armor plates were scarred, and his body glove was torn up, pieces of the semi-powered armor musculature now disabled due to the shredded myomers. His armor was getting a lot heavier, and his vision was starting get blurry, and Sergei couldn't tell if it was blood loss, hyperthermia, or a concussion. Probably a mixture of all of them. A couple of soldiers ran over to him with concern, and Sergei waved them away. He could keep going. He'd been in worse straights. He'd been in much, much more pain before. The stain on his side would spread, blood now clearly dripping off his belt and onto the ground. He fought to his feet, and picked up his L-7 having survived the blast. His breath was ragged. The heat in the dome was getting unbearable at this point. This was just like the trainings he'd conducted on Mustafar, their volcanic survival training. Sergei knew he had to push himself. They were on the goal line. One last push. He holstered his weapon and then it felt like someone had shot ice up his spine. Dark power radiated everywhere and Sergei looked about him as he tried to identify where the threat was. But he couldn't see it. It was as if it was everywhere at once. Sergei immediately picked up his rifle and looked about him and the rest of his men would do the same. They'd had no idea what Darth Metus had unleashed, but it felt unlike anything Sergei and his men had ever experienced. This was pure terror, and Sergei had literally stared down undead Sith Spawn on Atrisia. They had to keep moving, and Sergei's adrenaline rush wouldn't keep him this awake long. He'd heard that the Farlorn Rangers were raising some hell on the other end of the dome. His battered body only knew of one thing to do, and it was rely on its training. Keep pushing. Keep fighting. He had to keep moving. His mind wandered back to the "training" on that snowy peak on Ord Janon. How he'd been literally kicked out in that snowy wasteland, how he'd lost feeling in his fingers in the first hour. His legs the fifth. How he'd literally been only able to think about putting one foot in front of the other the entire time. How his raw will had seen him nearly finish. He would need that grit, that strength to see him through.
Because he knew the moment he stopped fighting his body would probably give out and collapse.
Rann recalled his Lightsaber with the Force, satisfied with the Job it had done wounded the Beast behind the Twi'lek. He continued the sprint towards the enemy when the Vajra weapon hit home, dropping the Twi'lek. Rann stopped his sprint, surprised with the effectiveness of what was, to him anyway, a distrationary tactic. What the hell were those things? He started approaching the Twi'lek, raising his blade in front of him in defense and anticipation of an attack as the gap between them grew shorter than ten feet. Acutely aware of the monster behind the Twi'lek, Rann advanced with caution. The beast thrashed about, smacking into the walls around them and screeching. As he approached, saber raised, he spoke to the Tw'lek, longing for a surrender but knowing it was impossible. Still, with a naive hope, "You're beaten. And under arrest. Get your creature under control."
He'd hoped he'd be able to breathe a sigh of relief, all too aware of the ache in his body, but knew in his heart that this battle was far from over. Even if the Twi'lek man surrendered, the fanaticism of his comrades would demand they continue the fight until it was over.
The Twi'lek locked eyes with Rann and Rann could see the hatred for him in his eyes. It was enough to give Rann pause. Yeah, Rann took this fight personally he didn't want to die. But this went beyond that. This person believed that Rann was evil, the Confederacy was evil. Much more than propaganda could achieve. The commitment to this ideal shocked Rann.
He awaited the retort, the spit at him. Any response that would force Rann's hand and lead to the death of this insurgent. Finally, with the Beast behind still thrashing about, and finally turning it's gaze to Rann, the response:
“FOR A FR-” The beast stepped forward, advancing on Rann. Rann shifted his gaze to the creature preparing for the fight after the Twi'leks head was smashed underneath the spike leg of the creature. If it wasn't for the adrenaline, he would have barfed inside his helmet. The next phase of battle was approaching, first this creature then he'd turn his attention to the other Beasts who, to his relief, were preoccupied with other Confederacy personnel. Just one little creature, then he could reunite with friends and help end this battle.
His Saber ready, he backed away a step prepared to engage the rampaging monster when BOOOOOOM.
Some explosive on the Twi'leks body that he had failed to notice. A dead man's switch or something he triggered when Rann was approaching, it was unclear. Rann only had enough time to cover his eyes from the brightness of the blast before the explosive took him and the Beast and the concussive blast threw him back. Shrapnel, bits of building, and blood exploded outward from the blast site sending Rann unceremoniously flying back across the Parade grounds. He skipped across the ground once or twice, yelling out before going silent upon the first impact. He came to rest, face up on Rylothi pavement as a first, in a mound of rubble. His eyes open wide, staring at the shattered lenses of his helmet and his his breathing was shaky and shallow.. Adrenaline and, he assumed, the Force were the only things keeping him concious, maybe even alive. He struggled to lift his arms, he was unable to move his right one. His left arm had some movement, but every slight one was agony, summoning pained groans and moans from his mouth, and forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut for the pain.
Through much effort, Rann was able to reach his helmet and pulled it off with much difficulty. and tossed it aside. If he made it out of this, he needed to give Kyyrk
an apology and a thank-you note for letting him use it. He figured this Armor, alongside the adrenaline and the Force, was also highly responsible for his immediate survival. He turned his head to look at the fighting in the distance. They still needed his help or, rather, could use it. He tried to lift himself up to rejoin the fighting, bring about an end to the battle, but could not. No matter how hard he tried, his body would not obey his commands. He tried to lift his head to see how his body was doing, to see if he even still had a body to control and was unable. He laid his head back down, struggling to catch his breath.
In his shock, his mind went on auto-pilot. Seeking a return to normalcy at any cost. One of these conditions of normalcy was Rann's Lightsaber. "W....Whe....where? Lightsssa..."he said, weakly, his voice barely a whisper. In the explosion, he had lost grip of his lightsaber. He tried to call out to it through the Force, and could not. Either the Force was not obeying him, or it had been lost in the chaos of the once pristine Parade Grounds. Rann's heart dropped. He had found that Lightsaber so long ago. A relic, barely working. A part of him. Gone or missing.
He blinked, becoming aware of tears welling in his eyes as the pain in his body started to overpower the adrenaline and shock that had kept him comfortably numb to it all. He tried to scream, hoping to release some of that pain, and could not. He wanted to beg for help, hoping for someone to come and save or kill him, and could not.
This day wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't at all what Rann had expected. "Expect the worst," came Holt
's words in his head. No one could expect what had happened. The tenacity, the hatred with which the Twi'leks fought, he wondered what it was they were fighting for. But Rann couldn't focus on these things too well, something was bothering him.
His head hurt. His mind was foggy and he tasted copper. With incredible pain, he reached his left arm up to his head, seething the entire time, to try to assess the damage. He pulled his hand away and observed it. Blood. He didn't know how much, but recognized it as a bad sign. He wiped his mouth, fearful as to the origin of that coppery taste to find it was, indeed, more blood. He groaned again, his hand falling to his chest. He felt along his chest as much as he was able. The armor he had worn had taken a beating, but it seemed to be in a better shape than he was. He wondered what caused more damage, the explosion or the tumble. He definitely had to have hit his head hard. Didn't help that where he lay wasn't exactly comfortable.
He continued to try and assess the damage done to his person. His head was in tremendous amounts of pain. His chest was in tremendous amounts of pain, his legs were in tremendous amounts of pain, and his left arm was in tremendous amounts of pain.
But not his right one.
His right one didn't hurt. In fact he couldn't feel anything. On instinct, he had brought his right arm to his head, trying to cover his eyes from the explosion. He reached over with his left arm, again with great difficulty, fighting back the pain and the tears, to feel for him right. He felt his upper arm and "breathed" a "sigh" of "relief" as best as one in his predicament could.
But why couldn't he feel it?
He decided to investigate and moved his hand down below his elbow and..... couldn't feel it. In it's place, jagged pieces of armor the now all too familiar slickness of blood where he had hoped to find flesh. He dared not prod any further, fearing, quite correctly, that the entirety of his arm beneath his elbow had been blown away.
He let his left arm go limp, tears running down his face at a steady pace. He tried to be strong, and couldn't. Fear gripped him in a steel vice. Panic started flooding his brain. He would die here. This was it. This was the end. He's lost most of his arm, he was bleeding and couldn't move, couldn't speak without causing severe pain to himself. To make matters worse, he felt dread emanate through the Force. Not coming from him, coming from the planet. Something felt... wrong (Darth Metus
) in the world around them. In his heightened emotional state, this dread sank deeply inside his mind, poisoning his thoughts and multiplying the fear and panic inside of him.
Some part of Rann knew that he couldn't allow himself to panic. He had to get a grip, he had to relax, as best as he was able. Focus on breathing. Reach for his commlink. Hope beyond hope that it still worked. Call for help. If he did not, if he wallowed in his negative emotions, then he would die here. A tragic end to an unfulfilled life.
He had to survive.
A tall order. His whole being was hurting. Head to toe ached with a deeper pain than he'd ever experienced in his life. He reached into the Force. Begged for an answer, pleaded for help, and the Force didn’t respond. Too much darkness around him, his fear feeding it. His desperation, turned to anger. A raw desire to use it. He reached out into the Force for a second time and commanded it to obey him, to serve him as it had expected him to serve, and it worked. His breathing slowed, focus returned to his mind, his shakiness steadied and the pain dulled. A miracle, he thought. He lifted his left arm to his head, grimacing the entire time, the pain hadn't dulled that much, and activated his commlink. He didn't even know if it worked yet. He knew he had to try, and that was it.
But the hardest part was over, he got the commlink to his mouth and could speak into it.
But now came the hardest part. His body screamed at him to give up, but he refused, determined to not make Ryloth his grave. He let go of all pride and all reservations, uncaring of how his calling for assistance might have looked. Straining, he forced himself to speak. Just one word, hoping beyond hope that someone would hear, that someone would save him.
Alwine looked to Raven Thystle
as the woman spoke, not bothering with keeping the amused expression from her face. These Confederates really needed to decide what they wanted. When the Agents had spoken, they had taken issues with it. When the Agents had been silent, they had taken their issues with that as well. Like those who saw themselves as bizarre parental units yet ultimately were little more than simply abusive in their treatment of those who were not part of them, they attempted to instill a sense of anything you do but bow is wrong. A younger Alwine might have been under the grip and the influence of such games, but Alwine was neither young, nor as innocent as she once had been.
"Perhaps you would be wise to heed your own advice," she answered her, "And maybe attempt to read, ever so slightly. While the result is often the same, the ways of different Empires… Differ. If reading is an issue for you, there are droids that will happily read the information out loud nowadays." They were really taking their own release of the Siskeen system harshly, when they had not even made the attempt to offer anything to even try to keep it. "What does it mean, when the Confederacy attempts to silence those who would offer their own humanitarian aid?" She didn't need to elaborate on that. Though by Faye Malvern 's request, the direct feed to Ryloth had been cut off, there were still more cameras in the room, and they had not yet stopped rolling. Ryloth might take a few minutes to receive the information from other sources, but the rest of the galaxy? They would easily see it all.
Just as they would see what President Viceroy Dib had just done.
Yet the knowledge of the cameras was not comforting to Alwine, who could now feel her heart threatening to cease beating, and for the first time that day, it was not because of her physical condition, but because of the sharp twist of events, the knife stabbed to their backs. Dib had asked them to come. He had asked them to stand ready to defend his people in case the Confederacy opted for violence against him and his. They had promised him that they would not spill innocent Siskeen blood, and they had not. A moment ago, the accumulation of Dereb's wishes, to have a Siskeen free to Confederate reign, had been granted, and now, without prompting on anyone's side, including the Confederates who for a change had behaved good about it despite the undertones, and he was simply throwing that away?
Cold feet. It must have been cold feet. She did not know him well enough but she trusted that he was a man who would not invite to peace talks only to then betray those who had come in support of him. Or perhaps… Perhaps she had been wrong. But if that had been his play all along, what could he possibly gain from it? No… Not cold feet. An elaborate plan, hatched how long ago, then?
"We came to Siskeen under a banner of peace, invited to a diplomatic meeting," she said as she rose again from the chair she had been sitting on. "We have not breached the terms agreed on for this meeting. No Siskeen blood has been spilled, and we were meant to help in case the Confederate got violent about releasing this system," Her heart no longer threatened to cease beating. Instead, it now raced. Her hand on her crane shook wilder than before, and she prayed it would be seen because of her condition and not because of the various emotions that ran through her. Betrayal. Fear. Distrust. Disgust. "But you have invited us only to betray us," she resumed, "Have you meant for this to be a Red Coronation?"
Now she shook her head. Whether he did or did not, it could not matter. There were weapons drawn on them, weapons ready to take them out. Even at the height of her health and training, she would not have been able to take out so many at once by use of the Force. If they decided to start shooting, it would take a miracle for her to get out, and likely to her fellow Agents too.
As he insisted on being the viceroy once more, he would be treated as such. The Confederacy had been too scared of a few insurgents in order to take them on face to face and had instead created an elaborate ploy to lure their noncombatants only to then accuse them of things they did not have the jurisdiction to.
Enlil
spoke, giving voice to more words that were running back and forth in Alwine's mind.
"The Confederacy operates on a very strict One Rule for Me and One Rule for Thee concept," she said to Gabriel Volturi
with a small smile. "We were wrong to trust Dib, but we have committed no crimes on Siskeen. His words are folly. We leave now, and if they know what is best for them, they will not try to shoot us in the back as we do so. The first shot on Siskeen will not be ours." There was no other option. The live feed was still being broadcasted, and Alwine knew that the truth, of both intent and action, would matter.
They would shoot her. They would absolutely shoot her. In her heart, she prepared for it to happen with every motion of every muscle in her body. And unlike Lirka Ka
and the Sith Empire, if she died there, they would not bring her back.
"We do not surrender," she said, plainly and simply. More words would only give out more of her fear. She could not have that. Motioning with her hand to the rest of her group, Alwine turned around and began to walk towards the exit.
Was it luck or love, that kept Alwine going? She wasn't sure. Another step, and another one. Love. Through her hardest trials, Alwine's heart had always been fierce. Her love for her brothers had helped her endure the abuse of her own parents. Her love for Varic had kept her from breaking when she was being tortured on Stewjon, her bones broken multiple times, her nails being stuffed with burning wood chips. It had been her love for Gerwald that had kept her in the Confederacy even after she had been disillusioned with it, leaving at last only because he had abandoned his sister once more, their pack officially broken, never to be repaired again, because he had always cared more about his sexual and romantic conquests instead of the people he claimed to love.
And now, she loved the Agents of Chaos. She believed in their cause, she believed in what they were trying to build. Where she had first joined because there simply had been an opportunity to do something different, something that did not reek of hypocrisy at every turn, had become something that she cherished and was beyond willing to work for. Yes, love. That was what she felt when she opened her eyes in the morning and saw the crowds of the Scintilla, taking their children to school and then themselves to work. Love, was what she swelled with every time they succeeded in returning freedom and control to the locals and natives of a planet, no longer under foreign rule. Love, was what she felt towards those who were with her, right here and right now, but also back at the Scintilla. Back at home. Family was thicker than blood, and she had a new family now. One that loved her back, one that was unafraid of her, one that did not deem her as unfit for anything simply for having an opinion.
She had not known a great romantic love in her short life, but she had known love, and since joining the Agents of Chaos, she had known being loved as well. There was no knife that the Confederacy could stick in her back and take that away.
And it was for that love that she was prepared to die, if they did not let her and hers leave.
Just as it was that love, that would have her remember each and every person that had been in attendance today, and some day return to kill them all, one by one. Love did not mean innocence, and love did not mean no having a spine. Alwine's love was too great to be contained in her tiny frame, and while alive, she would unleash it, in all of its glory.
Derek Dib had lied. He had, in that holo that he played of the meeting, said that if he came to them... What had his exact words been? As for a threat upon your life I shall take a phrase from my brother. If I ever decide to kill you we will be looking at one another, you will know I’m coming for you, and it will not be a surprise. But... No! Yes? Alwine stopped walking, turning around while still resting heavily against her crane, to look at @Dereb Dib.
The live cast from the Scintilla mostly drew laughter from those who lived there and watched it. Muad Dib
was not the first to attempt forcing his way up Discordia's castle, and he would not be the first to fail at doing that either. It was not even the first time Eve had come under any sort of attack, one orchestrated by the Empire of Riannon happening only a few months ago.
Still, it was always to be better safe than sorry. Local forces sent out transmissions for people to move away from the city center, instructing those who could not, to try to make it into the underground tunnels of the sphere. It seemed that for now, their enemy d'jour's desires were focused on the Tower.
With most of the heavy duty combatants focused on Ryloth, the Tower was filled mostly with bureaucrats and secretaries that day, and most of what was left in terms of official organic security were local forces that were not quite as trained to take on groups of Forcies out, being of the sort that mostly patrolls and only informs their betters when something was up.
And something was definitely up right there and then. Surveillance saw the Siskeeni with their weapons unleashed, their faces now immediately running through the systems to locate where they had been on the Scintilla since stepping foot on it.
There was absolutely no time to catch all the bombs that had been planted since their arrival, though several teams were dispatched in the hopes of managing to do at least that, and new locations kept popping up on their radar with every passing moment.
But while the visage of the weapons on the street had not been enough to scare the local populace, the first bomb most definitely was. That was when the screams began, and control of the funnel to safety began to fizzle. Local media groups were already sending the broadcasts out, showing those who would tune in the first explosion as well as the people who were making their way into the Tower.
At the same time, the spheres of the Scintilla went into lockdown, tunnels shutting down to halt movement between them. One of those tunnels, luckily enough for those who had finished clearing it exploded immediately as its doors shut, throwing bits of debris into space. At least for that specific one, no new casualties had been mounted.
Back in the lobby of the tower, wall tiles flipped and turrets were exposed, not waiting before the shooting at Muad Dib
and his comrades began.
Where the righteous Forlorn met the savage Terror hordes.
In time the name would be remembered in the gilded golden halls of history as the Carian First most hard-fought and noted actions, and take its place alongside the hurricane war for Xam’Chi, the grinding urban war for Temiz, and many, many more to come in recent years though those are yet to be relevant to this account. It would be a name to be remembered and honored in glory by those who came later.
However, to Colonel Anakwor Farlorn, as he drove the tip of his vibrosword through the chest of a Twi’lek, it didn’t feel like it was glory or honor in the making… just feral brute force. To him, it was a place where reason had ceased to exist, a place where sense was lost, and a place where one knew only war. It forced men to rely on primal actions that civilization had long suppressed millennia ago. It forced them to become animals.
All around him, the battle descended into barbaric hand-to-hand once more as his men wheeled about and charged the advancing Twi'lek terrorists. Unlike the first engagement where they had the advantage of the high ground, rubble cover, and their long rifles with bayonets acting as long spears, they had none of that. It was all in the open, two long lines of bodies clashing together on equal ground where everything ceased to seem to be real. Two waves of flesh clashing together with a terrible harsh cacophony of clashing steel, shattering bones, screams, both bloodlusted and pathetic.
Melee warfare was the worst discipline a soldier could know. It was claustrophobic, insane, uncompromising. The confines of the location drove foe into foe, whether they wanted to engage or not. Reaction times dropped to the merest fraction of a second. Everything depended on instinct and reflex, and if either of those things failed a man, he died. It was that simple. There was no margin for error, no space to correct or try again.
There were and could be no second chances. No. None at all.
To Farlorn’s right, Sergeant Lossa was trying to lead his squad forward, spearing a Twi’lek in the heart before he was caught in the forehead by a blaster-bolt, stumbled blindly holding his head. His squad yelled in horror as they could do nothing but see their leader have his legs shot out from under him by two terrorists at close range. They then began to hack him apart with blades, cackling like the monsters they were.
Those beasts in the skin of people both perished quickly as twin successive rounds from Farlorn’s BAW-55 burst their torsos in a shower of blood. He was screaming wordless sounds of rage like an insane madman. It was maybe the sheer brutality of how Lossa had been cut down, so unneeded and just cruel it had been. Or maybe it was the fact that this didn’t need to happen. That they need to kill each other. If only the so-called freedom fighters could see the nonsense in their rotten ideology and if only the foul Agents of Chaos hadn't corrupted them beyond redemption. Maybe it was the fact that the people he was killing right now used to and could have been happy productive citizens of the Confederacy.
He cursed their leader, whoever their name may be, may they burn in hell.
He cursed the Agents of Chaos, manipulating these poor people.
Most of all he cursed the people he was currently killing, forcing his hand.
He vowed that moment he would see whoever was behind all of this to die by his blade, in this life or the next.
Farlorn leaped over Lossa’s corpse and crashed into a group of the foe, his vibrosword in one hand and his blaster in the other. They managed to get off a single shot from a makeshift blackpowder weapon that coughed like a sick man as his gunner, his hands shaking at fear at the bellowing figure charging towards then.
The shot crisped through the sleeve of his coat. Farlorn fired again, blowing the offending gunner into his comrades so they all fell like bowling pins. He fired his blaster again, but there was nothing now except a dull dack. He was out. There was no time to change magazines. He vaguely noted Jantine right behind him.
He scythed with the vibrosword, severing bayonets, wooden spears, gun-muzzles and wrists. Blood, hot and crimson, soaked his black officers’ uniform and his cloak so much the cloth slapped heavily around him.
Two of the terrorist filth jumped and grappled with him, trying to bring him down. One got too near to his sword and tumbled off, his belly split open. The other went limp suddenly, and Jantine dragged him away, his scalpel in hand.
Farlorn quickly turned his back and rushed back into the fight. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed Jantine giggling gleefully and he brought the scalpel down and down and down again on a rapidly heat fading corpse.
Bellary was at his side all of a sudden, struggling to catch up with his commander. His bayonet was bloody and a cut had been opened up on his thigh. Farlorn was striding forward, his heavy blaster firing at all that stood in his way.
“Sir! The Monster
and his Dire Wolves have been reported to be near our position-” Bellary ducked under a swinging club and blasted the offending terrorist with several blaster-bolts. “We could-”
“I will not ask Sergei for aid, but I want him to understand our current plight. From my word: Vehicle Depot Sixteen. Large Breach. Heavy Losses. Holding with great difficulty. If he deems it worthy of his notice, he will assist us.” Farlorn detonated a man’s head with his blaster and burned a fist-sized hole through the chest of another.
“Yes, sir!”
There was a great roar that shook the entire garage on its foundations. The Lylek was within their lines now. A screaming Ranger was impaled through the chest on one of the horns. He screamed out in shock more than pain as he was hoisted into the air and shaken violently to death. Another of his comrades was beheaded by a swiping limb, flying through the air, bouncing and rolling between the feet of the battling soldiers as it landed. A pair of tentacles caught hold of a third ranger and began to pull him apart, slowly and inexorably. His agonized wailing drowned out the Lylek’s keening roar. It stopped as with a sickening sound of flesh ripping apart and a shower of blood. The Lylek discarded the dismembered corpse like it was trash.
Enraged by the loss by his men, he punched the two barrels of his pistol so hard into the mouth of a Twi’lek fighter the trigger guard broke her lower teeth. He fired, evacuating grey matter and shattered skull bone out of the back of her head. One of them came at him from the side and with one swift movement, just like the Lylek, his vibrosword separated their head from their shoulders.
Running forward, he emptied the entire contents of his blaster into the side of the beast. Of nearly a dozen paired extremely high-power bolts into the side, only one made it through it’s thick hardened hide. Barely any flesh damaged was achieved and all he got as a small trickle of blue blood.
Throwing away his empty gun, he brought up his vibrosword. He ducked under one of the grasping tentacle-like limbs and came back up making an expert uppercut against one of it’s legs.
It cut through the spike-leg seamlessly, without effort. Blood flooded out from the wound like a pressure hose as the Lylek shrieked in pain. It reared stabbed out with its legs at Farlorn who rolled to dodge it. A spike-leg went nearly ten centimeters deep in ferrocrete where his head had just been.
It scuttled forward a few steps before it stabbed out again with its legs. Farlorn narrowly sidestepped it. It had reached out too far and couldn’t withdraw it in time. He made it pay for its mistake as he swung downwards, severing almost the entire limb.
The animal let out a feral scream in anger at this tiny insect that dared stand before it. The rider lost control of his mount in its blinding rage and attempted to regain control. He almost did, calming the beast and returning it to his command, but a burst from a ranger’s rifle forever stopped any chance of that happening. His clothes smoldering from the wounds, he tipped off limp onto the ground. Without even a moment of sentiment, Lylek stabbed down with a leg and speared its former master through the heart.
The monster wheeled round at Farlorn, wailing. Head down, like a battering ram, it charged him and the horns, one still decorated with the limp corpse of the dead Ranger, looked to spear him clean through.
Farlorn dived aside, swinging his vibrosword round with both hands. The vibrating blade sliced through the top of the skull and chopped one of the horns off. Then he was rolling away again, trying to stay out of reach of the biting maw that chased after him, drooling spittle.
In retaliation, another limb came flying out at him and deflected it with the side of his blade. Still, the sheer strength of the strike threw him backward and ripped the blade out of his hands, sending it flying and clattering away. The thing lunged down after him, biting at his kicking boots as he scrambled backward on his backside.
Syna stabbed a Twi'lek through the heart with his bayonet. He stomped down with his feet at the corpse and ripped it out. He heard a cry and turned to see his commander about to have his legs bitten off. Without hesitation, Syna and another Ranger who had seen the same thing surged forward, firing to cover him and draw the thing away. As it wheeled on them, Farlorn found himself dragged clear. It was Mehil, one hand pulling on his armpit and the other keeping the banner of Ryloth tall.
The creature turned on the other Ranger, snapping off his head and shoulders with one crushing bite. His twitching corpse fell beneath its stumbling spike-legs as was impaled a dozen times.
“Let me go!” Farlorn shouted, slapping Menhil’s grip away. He scrambled forward, retrieving his heavy blaster pistol, and slammed a fresh clip into the side. He swore would kill this disgusting thing before he died. By the lost Forlorn of Caria and in the name of the Vicelord, he would.
Syna tried to back away from the Lylek as it tried to bite him, mandibles and mouth wide open. He saw thousands of razor-sharp teeth lining its entire mouth all the way down its throat. Instinctively, he jabbed forward with his rifle right into that gaping maw. The beast closed down on his rifle. It’s many, many teeth cut right through the steel covering of the Vyper, right into the power cell pack and reactor. The detonation had the force of a grenade and Syna fell back with a cry. Black smoke wreathed around it’s trembling head.
A terrible liquid gurgling sound came from the Lylek’s throat. It reared back on it’s four remaining legs, torrents of blood falling down the shivering neck. The smoke disappeared to reveal the head of the Lylek’s head, or rather, what was left of it. Its eye was gone, spurting out clear fluid and stained ichor. It’s lower jaw had almost been ripped away by the blast, hanging only barely by a thick thread of muscle.
Yet, despite all of the trauma inflicted upon its body, it still walked, albeit stumbling and lashing blindly out. It accidentally segmented one of its own Twi’lek allies in half at the hip with a blind swipe of its leg.
It began to roar once more. The noise of its rage was deafening in the garage.
A good portion of its lower left skull had been taken away by the blast. Something swollen and pink was pushing itself out of that wound. That was Farlorn’s chance.
He sorely wished he had Sniper-Sergeant Markus at his side. The marksman would have made the shot a kilometer away with ease with just iron sights. But he had to make do with what he had. Farlorn kneeled and braced his firing hand against his forearm. Behind him, Mehil had drawn his blaster pistol and was covering his commander from the rear, blasting anyone who came too close.
He adjusted the power settings to be at max. He needed all the stopping power he could have. That only gave him two shots, one for each barrel.
He squeezed the trigger. His first struck but it was at an astoundingly poor angle, striking the curve of it’s exposed skull and deflecting sharply upwards. Swearing, he aimed again, taking his time and trying to fight against his pounding heart.
He exhaled.
He prayed.
He fired.
He missed.
The shot went wide as the Lylek slightly twitched it’s head in pain, ducking under the sights just as he had pulled the trigger. In spite of a million to one odds, he had failed. Everything that seemed to make sense in this Galaxy had screamed at him that the shot had to have made it. Everything had counted on that shot.
The Lylek turned back on a Syna who was struggling to regain his footing. It began to hissed venomously, seeking revenge for the hurt that the small ant had inflicted upon it.
But the Colonel of the Forlorn didn’t just kneel there, his mouth gaping in shock at his failure. Without hesitation he rose to his feet and grabbed Mehil’s banner. The trooper's eyes opened up in surprise and the pair locked eyes. It took less than a moment for Menhil to recognize the fire inside his commander’s blazing green eyes that bored into his soul. He let go of his grip and felt Farlorn wretch it from his grasp.
“For Ryloth! For Caria!” Farlorn bawled as he charged forward, towards the cursed thing. The banner cloth flapped loosely all around him as he was sprinting forward with such speed that if he fell, he would still have reached his target.
Men clashed all around him, struggling for their lives and butchering their opposition.
He saw Jantine kneeling over a fallen Ranger and firing on auto. He saw Kardus stumble, a dagger stuck firmly in his chest and blood welling out of his mouth, yet still having the strength to draw his pistol to shoot a Twi’lek officer through the head before collapsing. He saw Pardus and Iwon for a moment blasting into the enemy as they ran forward, clearing a way towards the Lylek.
He saw cold steel and blood and courage. He saw men and women he had known for almost four years and been through many hells, fight and die in the most horrible ways. He saw the Lost Children of Caria, the most stalwart, staunchest, and brave people he had ever known, make their name known to the Galaxy with blood.
He knew that war was often a random and fickle thing, rarely letting a man choose the place he would stand for the last time or the method he would be brought low. But this, this was enough. As good, as worthy, as honorable, as any he could have chosen.
He felt pride swelling inside his chest.
The Lylek reared up once more to impale Syna who could only look back in horror. This was how I’m going to die, he realized, stuck through. And I thought I was the one to do the sticking. Are those really my last thoughts. Really? Really? Well, it was good while it lasted boys. Goodbye Syna!
“FOR THE VICELORD!” Colonel Anakwor Farlorn suddenly appeared out of nowhere and jabbed forward with all his strength left in his tired body and stabbed the spear right into the soft underbelly of the Lylek that had claimed so many lives. It was like the old Zolan nobles of yore, hunting game in the woods with nothing more than a spear. By all rights, it should have been nothing, just another small bite by another pathetic ant. But despite the million to one odds, it went through the ribs, the bones, through all redundant organs, all the thick fat, and right into its heart.
For a moment it seemed like nothing happened. Then the Lylek screamed again, not of rage but of pain and legitimate fear as it felt it’s powerful heart stop its beats. It felt its blood grow stagnant. An already traumatized brain, confused and penetrated by shards of shrapnel, had enough and shut down.
For insult to injury, Farlorn twisted the flag, jamming it deeper. “Perish and suffer!” He hissed.
Its end was not magnificent or noble. It simply let out an exhausted pathetic snort and dropped away on its side, crushing three Twi’leks under its great bulk.
It was enough to break the Twi'lek’s, seeing one of their great beasts fall. They had faced the fire and fury of the Rangers. Been forced to endure horrendous losses against trained and disciplined skill. And against a foe that simply just refused to break. At first, it was just a few that turned and ran. Then more as they saw that hope seemed to be lost. Then a total rout as they tried to flee down the tunnel.
The surviving Rangers didn’t give them any respite, cutting down dozens as they ruthlessly chased them down.
“On your feet, Lieutenant. I haven’t given you leave to die yet.” A voice came from above. Syna looked up to see a white-gloved hand covered with blood offer itself. His vision cleared to reveal Farlorn, the front of his black uniform so utterly covered crimson that it looked like it had been deliberately painted. His hair was haggard and he had lost his peaked officer’s cap somewhere. In his hand he held the Banner Standard of Ryloth, flapping loosely, singed, burned, and speckled in blood. This was the Colonel of the Forlorn, of the First and Only, and of the Carian.
“Yes, sir,” Syna muttered and took the hand, hoisting himself up.
He looked around and saw only carnage. Bodies littered the entire vehicle depot, broken in more ways than he thought was possible. The dying moans of the wounded cut through the air like a bayonet through flesh. Only twelve Rangers were left standing, all bloody and looking around, confused and rendered utterly numb by what they had just done. Some were going through the piles of bodies, searching for any alive brethren, pistols in hand to execute any Twi’lek still alive. Not all shots were against the wounded foe.
Mercy is mercy, Farlorn thought grimly.
The fight had surely lasted less than five minutes. That didn’t feel right. That wasn’t possible. How could so many die in so short a time?
Not a single one was without a wound. Jantine, himself suffering a horrible gash on his forehead, insisted on treating the other before him. Farlorn reminded him that he couldn’t treat anybody if he was dead.
“Come on,” He groaned out. “Once more unto the breach. We must guard it if another attack comes and there will be another attack.”
“Sir, we don’t have the numbers,” Syna said. “We’ll all die if a second wave comes.”
“Then so be it. We cannot allow more to flood into the city unopposed. We’ll just kill the second wave then. If not, then for those we cherish, we shall die in glory!”
He limped back toward that accursed mouth, using the banner for support. He found the hilt of his vibrosword sticking out of a mound of corpses. He pulled it out. The internal battery had died, reducing it to just a normal sword. Despite it, it brought him some comfort. At least he had something with him that had been at his side ever since he was ten.
They reached the mouth of the tunnel and took up whatever positions they could find within the rubble. Some were simply just so exhausted they collapsed and sat down, reloading their rifles and waiting for the end. Farlorn wanted to but he couldn’t. He had promised them all that the banner of Ryloth would stand proud despite everything. He wouldn’t let it touch the ground. Not until the end.
As predicted there were more sounds coming down the tunnel. Lyleks. Maybe a half dozen judging by the way they’re feet tapped on the stone. They had struggled to kill just one and had barely survived. They would not survive this for sure.
The heat was now getting noticeable and everyone was beginning to sweat heavily, creating dark half-moons below their armpits, and feel parched. His men were tried and wounded. If they didn’t get killed by the terrorists, the heat would do that job just as find.
“Men of Caria, this is your final stand,” Farlorn shouted with whatever reserves of strength was left in his body. “We shall slay and deny them, and by our deaths, they shall forever remember us.”
“I hate last stands, there's never time to practice them.” Syna joked. Everyone left standing laughed. Surely this was their last laugh before the end.
If this was to be their end, then so be it. Farlorn swore he would kill as many as he could.
For those he loved.
For the Confederacy.
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On the Parade Grounds, Major Erach could taste victory. His three hundred men had cut down hundreds of the terrorist scum, slain dozens of the Lylek through heavy arms. They had taken extremely light losses with only seven fallen, thirteen wounded, and three critical. The enemy leader had been slain through the combined efforts of Draconis Sederius Wolf
and The Monster
. The foe had folded beneath Confederate might. The righteous Men of Caria had crushed them into pulp. They had stopped their massacre of civilians.
Yet, they had the gall! The gall! To leave behind a parting gift. None of his men had been taken by the blast but he had seen several figures consumed. For sure, someone was hurt.
"Corpsmen and medics forward!" He commanded. "Set up triages, assess injuries, and prioritize critical cases. On the double!"
"Anything else sir?" Captain Strum asked at his side.
"Distribute water to the men, the heats getting to danger levels right now!"
Sturm was about to salute when Erach suddenly put a hand to his head and swayed. “Major”
“Oh, by The Lord. By The Lord…” said Erach, looking up into Strum’s eyes. “Did you not just feel that? Did you not just feel that? Something's been unleashed. Something with malice. It's angry.”
TL;DR
Farlorn and First Platoon engage in absolutely brutal melee at Vehicle Depot Sixteen. During the scrum, Farlorns sends a message to The Monster
informing him of the situation and that he might need assistance. They beat off the first wave but with heavy losses and only twelve survivors. Electing to stay and guard the breach despite the number, the Folorn await to make their last stand as nearly a dozen Lyleks are coming down the tunnel.
Meanwhile, Major Erach's forces are cleaning up Oceiros Sunstrider
's forces on the parade ground when the suicide bomb detonates. None of his men are wounded but he sens medics forward to help any injured, including Rann Thress
. He is then struck and made numb by the spirits unleashed by Darth Metus
, possibly knocking him out for a moment or two.
OOC
I'm a bit tuckered out by making this post and some real-life stuff. So, I didn't include much of what the other Regiment is doing. If I promised I was going to send reinforcements or some other orders. I'm really sorry about and I promise that I'll get a post for those I did promise out this weekend. If I made any mistakes either tag be in the OOC and tell or tell me on discord or maybe both since my discord is having trouble right now.
Annasari had listened to the conversation and grown extremely bored with it. She didn’t expect the details of succession to go quickly, but it seemed those in the room were almost stalling, every word meaningless. The woman had to remind herself it was not her place to speed this along- she was only here to bear witness.
Then Derek spoke, and her interest piqued once again.
"The United Siskeen Coalition will no longer be Confederate space but, rather, the beginning of a new era for the Siskeeni."
Annasari sucked in a sharp breath. Just like that, it was done. Without violence, without bloodshed- they had managed to reach a verdict. She listened as his speech went on, and nodded when he mentioned aide. By the looks of what she had seen on the holo device, help would be a much-needed thing.
Then the tall dark-headed man spoke, his demeanor cold and distant. She listened carefully, her facade giving nothing away.
“Actually, the Agents of Chaos appear to have fired on Confederate assets in the system aiming to provide aid and support to the population.”
Annasari’s eyes fell as she heard the news. She didn’t want to see the people she knew to come to harm, but she did realize pain and death would be imminent at this point. The world around her fell silent as horrible scenarios floated through her mind. She was only brought back to reality by the voice of the one next to here. She nodded in agreement with Alwine’s words. She had hoped for peace, for the confederacy to relinquish control of Ryloth without need of violence, but her hopes had been shattered. She felt strangely numb, hardened, as she came to terms with what was happening. Freedom is worth it all, she reminded herself.
When Derek spoke again, Annasari had to lean in to hear his words. They were poetic, haunting, and she found herself lost in what was said.
Then the shoe finally dropped.
Shock reverberated across her body, her calloused expression fading into one of surprise. She visibly flinched as the disbelief transformed into rage and fear. As the man finished, Annasari found herself wanting to say something, anything, but the words would not come. He warned you, and you didn’t see it, she thought to herself.
Enlil’s words rang out and seemed to echo in her head. Ever so noble; but possibly stupid.
Annasari jumped as Gabriel showed off his strength and broke their word- if they weren’t in trouble before, they surely were now.
When Alwine rose, Annasari followed suit, shooting up from her seat. She slowly made her way towards the door, every step seeming to be a millennia. One foot, and then the other. One foot… As she continued, she kept imagining the pain that would come should one of them choose to shoot. She may live, but would surely be weak enough to be taken prisoner- and living a life trapped was worse than death; that she had learned already. Annasari only prayed that the CIS would take notice of the cameras that were still rolling, and fear the bad publicity that blasting one in the back would bring. She noticed their leader had paused, turned to face the man. Had she gone mad? Every instinct Annasari had was screaming to get out, but she wouldn’t leave without everyone.
Ahead of them, Katrine saw the backs of their allies in today's mission, keeping the Nightmother moving forward as a voice reached out to them, her name being calling. She recognized the voice, though vaguely. She'd heard once long ago, seemed nearly a lifetime ago now after what the Witch had gone through. The voices called herself the Nightmother of the Mandragora, to which the blonde simply snorted as the voice went on. Speaker of the Unheard, Bearer of the Undying Will, Tempest of Creation. So many titles seemed useless in what now obviously would be a battle to come. Katrine could do the exact same, she had no intention to. Titles were wasted on deaf years which is what Vytal Noctura
was to her. She demanded they be gone, claiming they would only know death. "I have caused no death, nor had I intended to do so..., the masked Lupine spoke as they moved forward.
She beckons spirits, Jart spoke, still perched at her side. Not too far from him, Doashim roared ready to face whatever was coming.
Moving forward, she would join Madalena Antares
before long, feeling the aspects of Force Bubble enveloping her, spreading around her. It when she noticed the glittered and the corpses around them, her head turning to the man who spoke of how it easy it was. Judd Hunter
was already speaking to Madalena, sapphire gaze boring into her briefly. She didn't agree with the deaths, this mission was meant to be different. The spirits wanted a message sent, a parting of ways of the new religion, they didn't mean for those working under commands to lose their life, especially not when it was in proper combat. "Witches are like dragons. You might get past it while it slumber when it awakens, you will hardly unrun the flames," she spoke to the man before her eyes drifted back to the bodies, to the altars set aflame. The light still glowed at the pillars, the memories all there at the back of her mind. There was a time when this Altar had been her salvation, her finally liberation against the wicked witch, the spirit that had insisted on using Katrine. The Spirits had saved her, protected her, trained her. She was stronger because of them even now.
The other proclaimer was not far, the Nightmother could sense it through her dabbles of the spirits world. She was there, working through it, making the ichor inside of Katrine to awaken, spark at the growing presence of other spirits. Lylek's tentacles reached for her shoulders, steadying her as gathered her strength. Patience, Mother. They come, the large spider-spirit warned, hissing gently at her. It was a warm embrace of a cunning creature, who protected her even when her primary mark was that of the winged spirits.
Beside them, Madalena commanded her Wild Hunt to destroy this place. Katrine did not take orders under the banner of the Wild Hunt, not today. Her orders came form the three, from the ones that gave her strength, from the ones that guided her. As Doashim roared again beside her, she knew her battle was coming. She had intended for her mission to be least damaging on the living, a powerful message instead. Judd Hunter had taken away that chance, no choice had been made and the next step had been decided.
Anesia Jy'Vun
held the same message, her voice reaching through her mind. Reserving their power was exactly what they should have done now, for it was coming.
Her head tilted slightly towards Judd Hunter
when he spoke again, a sarcastic comment of Witch-hunting. "It is only Witches that hunt in Nightlands." Katrine was finished with the past, as were the spirits. Where the Mandragora of old once reigned, she would leave to the Mandragora of new and their proclaimer. The Nightlands belonged to the Witches, either way, no matter the end of this. That would not change even after today. The Witches that resided here were different than the Witches that were once here. They were Rylothi once, denouncing their former lives to become part of the ancient religion. Now, they dawned on other titles upon them, claimed other origins. Katrine was no longer a Dathomiri Witch, not after the spirits had claimed her. The sentiment didn't seem to remain now. They did not submit, they did not become. It would be their choice from now on. The spirits evolved, they were never confined to a singular Altar, to a singular land, to a singular planet. Today, they would sever the ties to the old world.
The man was right now, they had company. "We do," the Nightmother agreed.
And there it was, the voice, addressing Madalena still. The current Nightmother was wrong of something, extremely at that. She claimed the Altar was created to commune the spirits, making the blonde smile now. "Vytal Noctura
, this Altar was never made for communion with the spirits. It was a place of honor to the ways of old. The spirits have always communed with their true followers with their own voices. It easy not to understand when you do not hear them yourself. And how could you? I am still their Nightmother. My Mandragora may be the Mandragora of old but it is the Spirits' Mandragora. The cult you have rebuilt is a very different cult." It was easy to make that mistake. The Shamans were once capable of hearing each of their Spirits when needed, the Nightmother heard all. Other followers had heard them too when the Spirits deemed it so. It was a different time, that was for sure.
"The ancient spirits are not here to destroy the Mandragora of new, they intend for no deaths," her masked head turned to look at Judd Hunter
for a split second before she faced the Altar again, "They only seem to send a message today, sever their own ties to a religion that doesn't hear them anymore, not in the way they are intended to be heard. The fractions you summon today are not the ancient ones, that much is clear. However, the spirit world is full of spirits. If you choose others to call with the names of Doashim, Lylek and Jart, so be in. Yet the ancient ones will not remain with you." It was as simple as that, the ancient ones would set them all free, the religion had already been altered and desecrated so, it was no longer the Mandragora of old. It hadn't been in so long.
"So mote it be," Jart spoke as her mouth moved, passing along the silent prayer Lylek and Doashim chanted alongside him. The currents began to gather above, a storm gathering before the first strike. "Watch out, a storm gathered," Katrine warned those around her before the first bolt of lighting would slam against the Altar, a presence of power (Kyyrk
) jumped into the eye of it, joining them on the top of the mountain against the built-up of electricity. The warning in her mind came in a flash, just seconds before the fist would be smashed against the ground. Katrine gathered the Force inside her before enveloping her mind around the people surrounding her ( Anesia Jy'Vun
, Madalena Antares
, Jai'galaar Gred
, Judd Hunter
, Hanna
, Samatharis ) using her Telekinesis as her hand rose up with her mind's desire, intent on elevating the group before the fist would slam against the ground. They only had to let go and they would levitate with her.
The ground beneath them shook, ripples of electricity flying through it as it did. As her palms faced downward, Katrine's mind descended the group back to the ground, feeling the currents still ahead. It had been all talking before the powerful masked opponent appeared, changing the course of this moment. They come! The demon spirit bellowed out, as sounds of drums. The spirits summoned by the proclaimer were here. Lylek, Vytal had called the serpent-like creature, Jart the bird with his face covered, and finally Doashim, the monster in his own right creature. Katrine's sapphire gaze could see them as the ichor inside her blood danced at their presence. They were here. And they were not the only spirits present, the Spirits' Nightmother realized, another accompanying Voph's being, though with a different purpose than the one Vytal had for her spirits.
It was not surprising. The spirit realm was full and vast, other spirits with similar aspirations would lay dormant there, waiting to be heard, to grow in strength. It was faith that fueled and powered and the new Nightmother seemed to not lack it. Misguided as it was, it was certainly evident. She would have made a mighty Shaman in her own right, Lylek would have taken pleasure in claiming her. Yet, her ambitions were clearly creature, she would corrupt and change. That was fine, evolution was necessary to survive. The ancient spirits saw this, as did their Nightmother. So be it, she could keep the distorted order.
Perhaps today, they would get to know the new, the three entities tethering between the worlds, ghost-like at Vytal's side, all of them. Another opponent between them. "They have always been here if one knew how to listen," Katrine retorted before she felt the ancient spirits pass through, fueling her for the battle to come, calling on her choice of weapon, the ichor inside her blood singing at its summon before it conjured up in her hand, her grip tightening against the sword, the blue smoke dancing against its blade, echoing whispers of the spirits that once protected the weapon, electing the Lupine of wielding it. "I had no intention of fighting you, Vytal. Your rule within the Mandragora of new is safe. Whichever way you chose to twist your cult, go on; the spirits only wished to convey a message of release to you. If you choose to use your magicks on me, then so be it." Her words were true, her intention had been different on this day. Katrine Van-Derveld would have preferred not to call upon her sword, simply to do the Spirits' bidding. Nothing was ever that easy, evidently.
Sacrifice? So he knew about these new firestorms and helped to bring about the deaths of...The deaths of...Jan looked around as he ran through the streets. There was nothing he could do here, but his face had been seen. He was now the enemy and now his brethren were also after him. The blue blade of his lightsaber snapped to life as he attempted to flee, redirecting blaster bolts into droids and disarming insurgents. There was no time to fight, but that was all that was left as he felt the Dark Side rise and flow throughout the dome. A powerful Sith was weaving the fabric of the Force against...Against who? It didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore.
He beelined for the starport. It was utter chaos there too. His pet bogwing flew alongside him as he ran through the halls, leaped over barricades and cut down security droids to find the shuttle he'd come in on. Locked down...Of course. But the one next to it wasn't. But it was also about to take off. A young Twi'lek man was waving on traveler after traveler. It was easy for Jan to blend in before the vessel took off and jumped to hyperspace. Had Jan been a coward? Maybe. Would Ryloth ever be truly free? He doubted it...But if it was to be free from the Dark forces that ruled it, playing a facade of democracy and goodwill? It wouldn't be done this way. Jan made his way to the cockpit and clapped the man on his shoulder.
"Do you think you can take me to Lujo?" It was time to go home.
After all was said and done, Derek Dib
thanked the delegates for coming. He called on their inputs and words exchanged. His world would stand under the banner of a Unified Siskeen Coalition, no longer a Confederate state. Larentia nodded, with smallest of smiles on her face; yet she still wondered the purpose of his impatience before, the looking downs, and the wonders. She had even alarmed Alwine Daye
of this prior to now. His words were of peace, of independence. It had all sounded good and well; a small victory against the past she had come to change. A past she had come to change. Even his insistence of humanitarian aid seemed noble.
It would be the soft angel-like creature to speak first.
Then, it would be Alwine, addressing Derek as Mr. President. She offered his support from the Agents of Chaos should his system ever be threatened. He addressed the mission on Ryloth as well. There was a sense of calm though, dancing through the room, blue gaze looking through the face present. It seemed so simple, so easy. The Confederacy had never permitted liberation, separation. They were once the separatists, in ancient books. They carried the name of those who would plow dissidence. Now, they carried the banner of an Empire, when they claimed they were liberators still. Words seemed kind, friendly. Easy. Too easy, Larentia thought then. Perhaps it was because she had never witnessed a peaceful break-off; perhaps because she had been a warrior so long, trained, and prepared for the wars she would be fighting in. Perhaps she wasn't ready to accept such a peaceful break-off because of her training and history. Perhaps the Warrior Queen she would become could not see the possibility in this. She had fought too many battles.
She could have been wrong, Larentia reasoned with herself.
It was the poem that made her look back at the new liberated ready as he recited words unknown to her. I took the one less traveled by; and that has made all the difference. Odd, the Lupine considered in the moment, a politician reciting a poem now. It was the eve of his own personal victory, nevermind the troubles on another world. Derek Dib had won and his first act was to recite a poem.
Was it madness?
The man stood then, guards lining the room. Larentia's focus shifted with his own, eyes landing on guards as the cart drew in. It was followed by the projector at the center of the room, documents flying through as he spoke. A nation founded in pandemonium, allowing slavery, utilizing violence, lack of care for the destruction... He would not take victory purchased by the blood of others...
Old words sprung to life against the hologram, Derek Dib addressing the Agents in what had sounded previously as part of a diplomatic speed. Now, it sounded like a threat; confirmed now with the throw of the presidential insignia to reveal the mark of Viceroy. Larentia recognized the old symbol with ease showing the full meaning of words. This was not a peace treaty at all, this was not a negotiation at all. They were weaponless, disarmed in the name of peace; in the name of betrayal instead.
He charged them and requested their surrender. The Lupine's face hardened against the Dib in her presence. Her attendance here had been in the behest of the spirit Muad Dib
had served once, the demon whose child she was from the moment she had been born. Except, Doashim remained quiet now. It had not been his purpose for her to stand beside the ones that had been loyal to the Spirits at all. Bare witness, child. Their ties have been severed already. The monster whispered, distant, occupied with things away. This was her task today, how foolish could hse have been.
Enlil
demanded they be allowed to leave, speaking of the lies made. It was true, they were no allies of his yet he was truly neutral in these proceedings.
Another monster lived inside Larentia though and the mention of weapons only interested her in the sense of a safety blanket. She was the weapon. It would be the other Lupine though who would reason still. No crimes had been committed on this planet, they had come under the banner of peace. And it would be Alwine again who spoke the plain and simple answer.
Larentia would repeat the sentiment, with conviction, except her words would come more like a quiet roar of a wolf under her throat: "We do not surrender." She had said, one Derek another look even as Alwine had turned to walk away. "My alignment with this family was that of ancient ties. Muad Dib was once my Shaman. Today, the Demon severs those ties. I will never fight beside another Dib." He wouldn't care. If he was a deceiving as Lylek, he would not care. Doashim would release her, they were no longer her brethern.
Location : Aboard The Scintilla Objective : Figure out what the kark is happening. Equipment : Clothes, whatever she grabs from her office. Tags: Toph GraystoneRipley KühnMuad Dib
@all Agent's of Chaos with a link to the holonet server for emergency alarms.
The day had begun as any other had on the scintilla. People working around the clock as there wasn't any true sense of time to orient oneself with the lack of a planetary base. The large collection of spheres was located near a planet, yes. That did not mean anyone had actually been to it. Niki had woken up in what she considered her morning hours, beginning with the usual routine of tooth brushing, hair brushing, and sorting out exactly what she wanted for breakfast.
She had resolved to work a little bit on the emergency device she had thought up with a few others around the scintilla. While there hadn't been a need for it, she didn't relish leaving something even partly finished for extended periods of time. She had worked on and off throughout the day on it, picking up stray clothing here and there between snacking repeatedly. Setting up her camera for recording, she poked and prodded on the mask a bit longer, making sure to record what had been done in case of an error as a loud...explosion ripped through the air.
The whole of the office shuddered, in the great distance beyond the closed office she was in, panicked screams and yelling filled the air suddenly as klaxons sounded. Her eyes widened at the notion that the spheres had been damaged by a stray bit of debris or perhaps an unexpected meteor storm. Listening for a brief second, the sounds of alarm and distress only grew louder, and made the pit of her stomach sink.
The tingling feel of cold electricity danced up from the tips of her toes all the way to the crown of her head, causing her whole body to shiver as something instinctual warred with her intent to dismiss the alarms.
She stopped working on the mask finally, pulling on the knee socks and slipping into her shoes. Sparing a glance at the work table, she returned to it, grabbing her camera before shutting it off and grabbing bother her satchel bag and parasol before leaving the office once and for all to determine the cause of alarm. Stepping outside, her eyes drew upwards to see smoke gathering in the crown of the sphere, dread settling into the woman quickly as the urgency of her situation began to be made clear.
She fumbled with the simple key mechanism to latch the door behind her, unable to look away from the rising smoke that was filling the atmosphere. Her hands trembled, breath catching as one hand held the camera tightly and the key ring softly jingled. The sphere was on fire. The sphere. Was on. Fire. Her hands shook violently as the realization of danger dawned on her. A child's face dominated the view in front of her, a parent carrying them in a mad rush for the safety of airlock areas, the sharp screaming and wailing cries of that child snapping her from the stupor.
This is a poor day for take you kid to work. She thought to herself.
A few groups ran down the street as she twisted, locking the door behind her after several attempts, people calling out for her to leave it and make for the airlock.
"We've been attacked! Leave it woman!" A man called to her, never pausing in his escape. Her brow drew together in confusion as she turned back to the street, watching for a brief moment as the external camera's flickered to life for a moment, covering the sphere in a view of the void just beyond the walls. Her mouth was agape at the sight laid bare before her. Blinking did not remove the stunned silence, and sheer enormity of the unfolding situation before her as she choked a breath in.
The calm, almost soothing cold that envelops over ones body as they stare at certain doom rolled over her. Numbing her to the site of so many of the spheres in a similar situation. She was situated in a sphere closer to the outer edge of the scintilla on the higher disc, staring at a near by sphere that had a large hole in the side of it. Debris was ejected from-
Her gorge rose as she realized what the sphere was. It was one of the outlying refugee spheres that had sprouted up around the HOPE sphere. She doubled over, trying to not lose whatever was left in her stomach as the sight burned itself into her memory. Tears rolled hot down her cheeks, her tongue lolling for a moment as she dry heaved. Air attempting to draw into her lungs made her choke and cough as she put knuckles to the ground below her.
No one stopped again to try to get her to move as she hacked and gagged further.
People were coming out of that hole.
Her jaw was tired from the dry heaving as she forced herself upright. A soldier might have been able to look upon the sight, and shrug it off, or not be affected. But she was no soldier. She had never seen anything more than the insides of a rat in science class. Sure, everyone with a engineering license for firearms production had seen reference photos of what a weapon could do.
But staring at it. Watching it happen. She shuddered as her eyes blurred, unable to look away. Her hands clenched, the creak of the camera protesting making her draw it up to examine it in stunned surprise. Blinking, without thought, she opened the view port and aimed it at the sight before her. The screen was black for a moment, powering on before connecting to the holonet service that was still operating in the sphere despite the alarms.
"Thi-This is...oh gods..." Niki began, setting the feed to broadcast over the Agents of Chaos server where she had stored a few of her factory videos. The link would appear with a small frame of rolling footage, the alarms setting a red exclamation over the pip for anyone that was watching the Agents Server's for activity. For those not watching, the alarm services flagged the live video with a ping from their device with an urgent alert status. She stammered, trying to give context to the site of the sphere before zooming in on the gaping wound in the structure.
The view was centralized on a sphere set in space, interconnected tunnels to and from as the focus of the shot became the gaping hole that could be seen in the side of it. At a distance, something akin to debris could be seen being ejected into space as the camera shook slightly.
"Thi-This is...oh gods..."
The camera would zoom in slowly, the obscure debris clearing up to reveal the rough shapes of people as the voice behind the camera warbled, the sound of crying and sharp draws of breath punching through the overlapping sounds of panic around the camera. Voices, women, men, and of varying races could be heard behind the female voice that was attempting to narrate.
"This is one of-one of the....gods how many..." Sniffling and a shake were had before she continued on.
"This is one of the refugee spheres in the scintilla. An explosion from an attack has...opened it up into space."
A deep breath was drawn before the next words came out.
"Civilians and refugees are being ejected into space. My own sphere is on fire, I think. There's-" The camera zoomed out before being pointed to the crown of the sphere. "There is smoke in this sphere."
The focus blurred for a moment, struggling against the dark of space presented by the displays as the thick smoke roiled around the tops of a few buildings, klaxons still raging in the background noise as screams could be heard.
"I think-I think the scintilla is under attack." A pause for a deep breath followed. "I think someone is attacking us. The...the refugees...oh gods."
"Hey. Hey! Get up! Come on! Head to the airlock!" A male voice called to the camera as it twisted around to reveal a man reaching out.
The next few minutes were a harried journey towards what could be presumed was safety. The camera carrier slowed in their running to zoom in on another sphere above them. A fire was attempting to burn in the void of space, a large wound in another sphere as the fire snuffed itself out and winked back into existence for a mere moment before repeating the process.
Voices began to overlap as a crowd had formed ahead of the camera. The view slowly panning to include the people waiting to reach safety before moving to another sphere around the one the camera was in. Their collective voices could be heard through it all.
"How many of the spheres-!?"
"People! Calm down, orderly fashion please!"
"Has anyone seen my husband!?"
"Maintain orderly fashion please!"
"They bombed the refugee sphere..."
"They bombed them all!"
“That is unconfirmed at this time!”
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ TLDR
A civilian aboard the Scintilla is working in a production sphere when the explosions happen. They use their camera to record and broadcast what they see.
Live video footage of the damage on the scintilla is being broadcast across all Agent servers with an urgent alert signal.
One of the refugee spheres has been severely damaged and refugees are being sucked into space.
Anyone with access to the Agent's holonet server has been pinged and continues to be pinged.
The sun was soft and the breeze gentle as it rolled across her face. Her eyes fluttered open and Tess saw a familiar sky, Druckenwell clouds floated across her vision. She smiled, it had all been a bad dream, being on Ryloth during the Founder’s Day Celebration. Being attacked by terrorists, and according to the comms in her dream, the Agents of Chaos. It all was just a bad dream she had had while sleeping on a green hillside not to far from home. She sat up and looked down at herself, she wasn’t wearing her normal garb, her trench coat, slacks and tee-shirt was replaced by a beautiful soft purple dress with gold trim, her boots replaced by wedge slippers.
“Why’d you do it, Tess?” came the question from behind her. Confused she turned her head toward the voice, and there, sitting a little further up the hill resting his chin on his crossed arms with his knees pulled up to his chest was her twin brother Jari.
“What do you mean Jari? What did I do?” she asked hoping to understand his question.
“Why’d you go and give up? Your fight isn’t over.” He responded, not even looking at her.
“Wha-, I-I didn’t stop fighting.”
“But you did. You finished off the Lylek then gave up. You’re stronger than that.”
“That. That was just my dream, how did you know about that?”
Jari stood up and looked down at his sister, “Tsk, Tsk, dear sister, I know what goes on in your head because I am in your head. And that wasn’t your dream.” He reached down to help her to her feet. Tess grabbed his hand and once she was on her feet looked into his eyes.
That’s when she realized, “This is the dream.”
…..
Tess sat up with a gasp, dry air burning the back of her throat. She coughed wincing at the pain created by the cracks in her lips. BD-404 hopped up and down in excitement, “Hey Error, cough it’s a little hot around here. We need to get to an evac site as soon as possible. C’mon.” she managed as she forced herself to stand up. Bending over she gathered up her coat and rifle, slinging both over her shoulder. She then walked to the edge of the roof, “Oh. Right. I forgot where we were for a second.” She mirthlessly smiled at herself, she had a knack for finding the high ground in situations and it usually helped but getting down wasn’t always easy.
Turning her back to the edge she aimed and fired her grappling hook at the edge of the roof, and slowly rappelled down the side of the building. Before she got to the bottom BD-404 used her line to slide down and at the last second hop off to the ground. “No reason to show off little guy,” Tess said as he struck a pose. She retracted her grapple line and pulled up a map on her commlink, “This would be a most likely evac point if they were using ships, but if they were trying to evacuate people to the underground, then we would want to go here.” She said to BD-404, “Let’s hit the bunkers. We’ll find our way off-planet from there.”
Lowering her arm, the miniature map hologram disappeared and Tess started walking, albeit at a slower pace than she normally would. The heat of the bio-dome was starting to feel like that of a desert, even with the local sun not being as hot at it felt it should. The bio-dome had failed to protect its inhabitants and it was time to get out of there before they were all baked in a giant oven. Tess looked around as she walked looking for anyone who may need help getting to the bunkers, but the streets she walked were all but abandoned, ‘Good,’ she thought, ‘Nobody was stupid enough to stick around with the temperature rising.’
It took her a bit but Tess finally made it to the underground bunker where CIS and Rylothian alike sheltered themselves from the dangers of the outside. Once she had been confirmed by the scrounged-up security to be CIS and not an Agent of Chaos or terrorist, Tess made her way through the multitude of wounded or worried locals. The wounds on the injured varied from minor heatstroke to blaster shots, there were many blanket-covered bodies of those who didn’t survive laid in rows. Tess paused for a moment, again wondering at the unnecessary killing and damage done to these peoples’ and their homes.
She finally forced herself to look away and slowly made her way to the make-shift kitchen where emergency rations and water was being distributed by Confederates and locals to those in need of them. Tess stood in line, hoping to get water soon. She had to wait for her turn but her body was screaming at her to get it NOW. The line however was too long and moving slower than a rock in a wall and Tess’s knees buckled beneath her. After that everything slowly faded to black, the last thing she remembered was BD-404 beeping in alarm and two sets of hands pick her up and carry her somewhere.
Confederate Battle Armor (Overlay/Underlay), M-47C, 600 AP and AS rounds, 3 frag grenades, 3 Ion grenades, 3 Concussion grenades, 3 Flashbangs, L-7 service pistol, 60 rounds for L-7, and 3 breaching charges
Theme: We're on the goal line in overtime, we cannot falter now
Draconis was struggling now as he kept his flexing, for peace, for inspiration, to simply keep those with their pure hearts calm and to help them not notice all of the pain and suffering around them. His muscles were straining, he could feel cramps coming, and the very veins on his neck, arms, chest and back were starting to bulge out from the sheer exertion he was performing right now. They were so close. He could feel it, they were almost there. They had pushed and pushed and pushed themselves to the very limits of most physical beings, and then surpassed them. The men focused not on how tired they were, how exhausting all of this had been. They didn't think of all of the strain each of them manually lifting another speeder, another car onto the almost complete seal job that would buy them just enough time to evacuate. They didn't think about how they all had been sweating non-stop since this had all started and that many were so dehydrated they had stopped sweating. They had reached a pinnacle point in their conditioning where many soldiers called it "being in the zone". They no longer thought of anything except what to do next. One last push, one more step, one more person. Just one more. Over and over again they would think to themselves, just one more. Gods above help us get one more person, save one more life. And on and on it would go. One of the recovery teams would be nearby when the blast detonated, the heavy truck they were in tanking the blast wave as they were far enough away as to weather the wave. And when they got to the point, because they couldn't just ignore possible casualties, they found the remnants of all who'd been fighting there. The Dire Wolves had already taken off, with their remaining forces, but there had been many wounded or killed in the blast. One fellow in particular in armor (Rann Thress
) was particularly beat to hell. A medic would rush over to him and begin an assessment, multiple fragmentation wounds that were minor, but his right arm was missing below the elbow and if he didn't know any better by the way he was acting, there was a lot more wrong. He'd call to anyone nearby to help.
"WE GOT A TIER ONE, URGENT SURGICAL GET THE LITTER!"
The man would start with his larger EBFAK, first getting a tourniquet over the amputation, and yanking hard down on it to stop the bleeding. This would be extremely painful, but it was necessary, because if the medic didn't stop this man's bleeding he'd die of bloodloss before they ever got the chance to medivac him. He'd start talking to the, wow this guy was just a kid. The hell was he doing in armor like this? The medic didn't think on it too hard as he spoke.
"Hey bud, how are you doing? What's your name? Hey! Stay awake! Don't you worry about a thing, you'll be fine, I've seen plenty worse, just hold still for me 'kay? What's your favorite food? Where do you live?"
The medic was asking all of these questions to test Rann's responses and response times, and to keep the boy thinking. He had to stay awake, or there wasn't a guaranteed chance to wake him back up. After he got the major bleeds stopped, he pulled out a Ketamine Auto-injector, placing it on his thigh. With a loud SNAP the autoinjector would go through the fabric of the armor he was wearing to deliver its payload and take away his pain, without dropping his heart rate too much. Immediately after the injection the medic would hold two fingers above the boy's face and ask again.
"Hey, how many fingers am I holding out?"
And judging by the rise and fall of the boy's chest, one of his lungs had collapsed. They needed to get this kid's armor off. He was about to angrily call for the litter again when a soldier arrived with the collapsible litter in tow. They immediately unfolded the litter and the medic looked to Rann as he spoke getting on his knees next to him.
"This is gonna hurt okay, but we have to get you out of here. Ready? One, Two, Three!"
The medic rolled Rann over onto his knees as the other soldier quickly pushed the litter where Rann had been. Once done the medic rolled Rann back onto the litter, and began securing him, pulling out a neck brace as while he wasn't sure that the kid had a spinal injury, it wouldn't hurt to be safe. He then kicked on the repulsorlift and began pulling Rann towards the nearest transport as the medic began calling a medivac request.
"Silver Fox this is Fox 7, I've got a casualty, tier one, urgent surgical, I've stopped the bleed but I don't know for how long, he needs fluids,"
"Fox 7 Silver Fox, copy all, get him on the first truck you can, combat surgeons are on standby at Evac point, proceed to tent 3 that's where they're operating,"
"How many?"
"Fox..... I'm not gonna lie it's bad, if we don't get these people out of here, we're gonna have a lot of deaths on our hands,"
The medic cursed silently to himself as he loaded up Rann with three other tier one casualties. The AoC and their allies had caused this. They did this. And their refusal to do anything to condemn these acts was all the SLDF would need to know. Every last person in the SLDF knew who the enemy was. They would pay for this.
In the skies above Anvil Flight was leading the other two flights as they were now on standby for Combat Air Support Missions. They would hear the call from Dauntless, and the identifier code checked out. Anvil Lead would look over at where the call came from and respond over comms.
"Anvil Lead acknowledges all, Anvil, Behemoth and Heavy Flights are en route, time to target is 3 mikes,"
Anvil Lead had been hearing comms chatter this whole time. Especially the open civilian stuff. All of the things the Agents of Chaos had been saying about the Confederacy. About them. That they done everything they could to try and accuse the SLDF and everyone else on the planet of being monsters. Of practicing "slavery". As they came up on Strider Garon
, Allya Vi'Dreya
and Shuklaar Kyrdol
they could be heard flying at full burn overhead, the roar of their repulsor thruster combo engines clearly heard above all else, and them closing on the retreating forces. Anvil called over comms to the nearby support Fire Control Center that was directing all of the Odins in the Area of Operations.
"Odin command this is Anvil Lead, prepare to receive telemetry and targeting data on targets lifting off the ground in large vessel,"
"Roger Anvil Lead, send it,"
Anvil lead then called to the other two flights behind him.
"Behemoth break right 45 degrees off angle, Heavy 45 left, get to combat spread in case they decide to engage. Paint the target with Laser Guidance system to ensure they can't know they're being targeted. If these idiots think they're gonna engage, we drop the hammer,"
"Roger," Was their acknowledgement, and each pair of AT-2 broke off into a spread formation, they all engaged their laser designators and the computers began to plot the distance the target was at, its flight path, and after comparing it to the gunships' known positions, calculated a target position, velocity, and projected flight path. They would close as the Odins' Fire Control Center would receive this data, and the commander of the FCC was awaiting confirmation from Anvil Lead to fire. Which for him, was a very difficult decision.
The Agents of Chaos and their allies had called them animals. Called them evil. They'd made all of these wild claims about how the Confederacy was hiding behind civilians when in fact it was the Agents of Chaos and their Allies that were using the civilians as a punchline to their agenda. They hadn't publicly decried the attacks on the city. The civilian casualties. They hadn't issued calls to rein in their allies, especially in orbit, nor had they done anything on the ground to keep the civilians safe. And yet, according to them, the Confederacy of Independent Systems, the Confederacy Defense Forces, the SURRIC LOCAL DEFENSE FORCES, were the animals. The cause of all the pain and suffering. Anvil lead had a really big itch to show them what they had the capabilities to do. To show them the true capacity of war that the SLDF was if they actually didn't care at all about the rules and laws of war, just like the Agents of Chaos. He wanted to make them ever regret even thinking that their lies were anything more than what they were. Lies. He wanted to blast that transport out of the sky in a show of force that would show them all they picked a fight with someone who would annihilate them on even footing. But he knew that to do so, would violate the very basis of why he served. The Confederacy, even the Surric System was better than this. Better than them and all their wanton lust for thrusting the galaxy into darkness where fear and hatred would rule. Anvil lead would call through the comms as he approached the vessel.
"Unidentified vessel, you are in Confederacy Space in a war zone. Do not stray from your current course and I will escort you from the combat zone immediately. If you fire upon my vessel your protected status as non-combatants and retreating forces will be revoked, and you will be destroyed,"
He could hear the sigh of relief from his primary gunner in the cockpit with him. He knew what he'd been thinking. What they'd all been thinking. Anvil Lead had done the right thing, and offered the enemy a chance to retreat in peace. As he came up alongside the vessel, his glare at the enemy bridge would be all that he needed show if they could even see it.
The SLDF, for all of the AoC's claims, for all of their clearly spouted lies, had held the lives of everyone on that transport in the palm of their hand. They had had every right to annihilate them, the ability and preparedness to do so. To end the lives of all aboard that vessel in a simple stroke of a single word. They had the ample opportunity to become the animals that the Agents of Chaos and her allies had claimed them to be. And despite all of the wrongs the Agents and their allies had done, despite all of the pain and suffering, despite all of the hypocrisy and slander they spouted, the SLDF, and the CDF had stuck to their honor. Their oaths. They hadn't been the tyrants and oppressors, the barbarians and slavers, and instead chose to act as professionals. Act as proper soldiers. The enemy was leaving, and the sign of a SLDF heavy gunship flying next to them granted that protected status which was offered by someone willing to forgive. But the moment any of them decided that they were gonna try and abuse this, 48 guns across 24 trucks, spread across 6 different batteries, had their guns trained on them. Waiting with bated breath for them do once again strike with a low blow. To once again prove that they didn't care about honor of any kind. Their actions before had proven as such. Their disregard for the safety of all had given each one of them plenty of reason to believe this. Anvil Lead had come close to proving them right, if only to make them regret their accusations but had stepped back. It was on them now to honor this short truce.
And if they were foolish enough to break it, the SLDF would break them.
On the ground, Draconis is still flexing to try and calm the civilian population, but he's reaching his limits. If the medical cruisers don't get ground side soon, there are going to be a lot of civilian casualties both from the heat and from the massive amount of bombings the terrorists have been utilizing. A SLDF Medic has located Rann Thress
and begun treating him, moving him to the main evacuation point where he'll be operated on by combat surgeons to stabilize him and get him ready to be moved onto a transport.
In the air, Anvil Flight leading Behemoth and Heavy flights have responded to Allya Vi'Dreya
comms request and followed Strider Garon
forces back to their transport and have used their laser guidance system to target and provide telemetry data for the Odin batteries on the ground on the escaping transport. After an internal deliberation on whether or not to give the order to fire, Anvil Lead has decided to come along side the transport and provide them an escort, inferring a protected status to all CDF ground and space forces that they are not to be fired upon. This however is an unsteady truce as AoC and their allies actions have proven they can not be trusted with such offers an as such, all the Odin batteries on the ground are locked onto the transport with their ground to space rounds readied. If the transport fires on Anvil Lead, they will be destroyed but so long as they just leave, they will be allowed to.
Shuklaar was not getting any younger, but he sure as haran wasn't Strider Garon old. It also certainly helped that he had one of the most advanced cybernetics enhancement packages produced, and that his borrowed armor's CNT synthetic muscle fibers only improved on that. Still, Shuklaar was a fan of making a point, the point in this case was that molecular shielding tended not to care for blaster fire as much as Strider was probably hoping. In any case, he wasn't intending on going easy on Strider, and from what he could see, neither did Allya Vi'Dreya
.
An alert on his HUD informed him that the Manda tactical battlenet module in his armor was starting its analysis of Strider's fighting style. Shuklaar scoffed to himself, he didn't predict Strider would last long enough for that to be necessary. He was an old, cunning warrior, with more than enough fight in him, but he was outnumbered, and Shuklaar was no 'young' warrior himself. He'd seen his fair share of scraps, even if he wasn't 'known' among some of the staples of Mandalorian society as far as the galactic stage was concerned.
A burst from his rocket pack and he was in the air, he quickly switched over to the armor's repulsor boots. Staying steady on these was tricky, even for someone with enough experience with them, but he didn't need more than a few moments worth of distance between them to unleash hell. Both arms flew up, targeting information scrawling across his HUD as he readied to fire. Barely a heartbeat later, he discharged the shatter beam projector mounted in his armor's left gauntlet before firing an explosive dart from the dart launcher on his right.
He considered drawing his Class-D, but decided to save it for later. Instead, as an end to his deadly salvo, he instead aimed a Type-12A anti-personnel at Strider, and once the targeting computer confirmed it had found its target, he fired. Shuklaar switched to his repulsor pack and put some distance between him and Strider, about ten meters back before disengaging the pack and dropping into the sand, his DP-02 drawn and at the ready. If Strider really wanted to prove to be a recalcitrant old shabuir, then he was not going to be sorry for using it.
Shuklaar shield took the pair of heavy blaster shots.
He jets up into the air, fires off shatter beam, explosive dart and a Type-12A anti-personnel rocket at Strider.
Lands and draws DP-02 Class-D Heavy Disruptor Pistol.
Bella
Strider Garon
Salem Norongachi
K
Kaine Australis
Tyrias Aran
Amelia von Sorenn
Kathryn Foster
![House-Verd.png]](https://i.ibb.co/XY5FZ6c/House-Verd.png])
