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Objective: Survive
Location: Over Garrison
Allies: CIS
Enemy: GE
All the while Jorco had an enemy fighter on his tail. To him death never seemed so close. More then his entire time in the shady allies of Nar Shadda. Evertthing felt like a blur, but that could easily be from the g-force and all the blood rushing from his brain to is toes. Then for it to suddenly rush back. He could feel himself blacking out in little waves.
He wasn't even sure what he was doing half the time, just kinda flying around, he wasn't even sure how close to the ground he was or how many enemies he had chasing him, if any. Then suddenly he was shot, and it was pretty bad on the hull. In fact the damage took out the engines. So soon he was practically gliding downwards quickly to the ground. The sand rushing to him. With very little time he wasn't sure he'd make it. Then the bottom wing of the B-Wing made contact with the ground and causing the cockpit to slam into the ground. After that the entire ship tumbled into the ground until it finally stopped. Opening his eyes Jorco realized he was still alive. However his ship was ruined.
Looking up he saw the rest of the dog fight ragging on without him, close by the attack on the garrison was going on without him. Then with a heavy breath he was out cold, but alive.
Planetside on Tatooine - Imperial Garrison [Hallway] Near Command Center
Silver eyes watched smoke rise and twist away from her newly made abomination. It emanated everything that she had ever feared, despite the fact that she held its leash, and she found that she needed to force herself to look past it. The High Moff was her enemy. He, and others like him, were responsible for the dead that littered the swamps of Dagobah. For the oppression that ran so rampantly in their territories. The uniformed Imperial stepped forward, and Srina prepared for the inevitable attack, only—None came. Instead of hitting her or the Smoke Demon with a kinetic wave he used it to protect his men.
He then sealed himself in. With her. And her beast.
“You can’t save them…Though it is admirable to try.”, she murmured gently, surprised by how throaty her voice suddenly seemed, or how natural it felt to languish in the Dark Side. What the pale Echani felt was a mere shadow that echoed through her Master. As it stood the pain from the summoning had not yet receded. Was it always so draining? “I am not alone—and I am hardly the strongest of my people. As we speak our forces surround you... They will die.”
There was nothing in the slender apprentice’s tone that denoted any sort of malice. She didn’t seem angry, hateful, or any of the things most typically associated with an enemy. Emotion of any kind had faded from her eyes, like dying light, and she was left only with focus. It was a hollow expression. Pitiless. She watched while the High Moff engaged the demon and noted with a small amount of satisfaction that he wasn’t entirely incompetent. This small skirmish where she could observe the relative skill of her opponent served to her benefit. She was Echani, before all else, and the eyes of her people missed very little. They read combat like a book—and she was no different.
Srina gauged his every breath, every change in stance, and every strike with disturbingly analytical precision. The sound of something hard coming in contact with human flesh heralded that the Smoke Demon was not making things easy. “Why do you fight?”, she called out to the man as he was thrown against the blast door, crimson lifeblood leaking from his nostrils, with a yellow-eyed atrocity staring him down.
She remained vigilant for any sign that the Imperial would switch targets, but considering the strength of what she had summoned, he seemed rather fixated. Gray eyes flickered when the scenario changed, when he looked at her first, before attacking the Smoke Demon. It was a silent tell and Srina couldn’t have heard his intentions any more clearly than if he had yelled it from the rooftops. He would come for her. Soon. The creature roared in pain, twice over, and she could momentarily feel the darkness in the hallway growing, making the air thin with his fury.
There.
The High Moff charged in her direction, swift as the wind, and were she not Echani-born he may have completely taken her by surprise. Her ivory-handled lightsaber snapped from her waist to her hand and activated abruptly, filling the space between them with familiar, white light. It halted the swing from his combat saber in a flash of brilliance, and gave her just enough time to adjust, and spin out to avoid a blade lock. Srina had learned that when fighting opponents twice her size attempting to win through brute strength was always a mistake. She had cultured the importance of exploitation and deflection rather than pure resistance. His words about ending her life lingered in her ears… Again, her eyes would meet his. “No. You will not.”
The white-haired woman moved quickly, little more than a tightly wound distortion of air, and she took a horizontal swing at the man’s side. He had two weapons to parry and stop her, both capable of halting a lightsaber blade, and she fully expected him to do so. His talent was obviously respectable. As confident as the young woman seemed she indeed recognized the danger of fighting an unknown. Yet, the more they traded blows, the more she learned—the more the scales would tip.
Should he do so, she would twist her wrist, and bring the saber back around so that she could strike anew. His legs were an obvious target and when she moved next, and he would find her making a quick thrust at his thigh, with intentions to slow him down. From there they would begin to trade blows, neither really giving, or gaining any ground. He was faster than most opponents she had faced. It was a problem. Her innate speed and lightness of foot generally made her hard to follow, and more than that, hard to hit. Though, it was far from impossible, especially for a trained soldier of the Empire.
Srina stopped in mid-motion when she noticed someone standing behind the High Moff, an action that may cost her, but it could not be helped. It was not the Smoke Demon, not as they had seen it last, but someone different. A man. He looked curiously similar to the man before her.
‘Adron Malvern…What do you think you’re doing? You’re a disgrace.’
The voice echoed in both of their minds, authoritative, and more than anything filled with dripping disgust. Waves of judgment and disappointment flooded the hallway that suddenly felt like a box with no exit. It felt two times too small and cloyingly filled with despair and negativity.
‘Look at what you have become. Look, at how you have failed. Blackgate Manor. Serenno. Now this? You are nothing. Boy. You, Imperial, are no son of mine.’
Location: Bestine – Abandoned Warehouse Objective: Criminal Negotiations (Hopefully Non Aggressive) Allies: The CIS, [member=Tytos Ardik], [member=Fidelis]
Oh, here we go…
No immediate blaster bolt to the face, that was a good sign. Lyla Quinn cover story was holding.
“Friends, ma’am.” Quinn kept her posture relaxed but confident, her expression easy, chin up and her hands very far away from the blasters at each hip. She stayed slightly behind Tytos, flanking him on his right while Fidelis stood to his left and kept her eyes off the woman’s guards. Wouldn’t do to spook anyone right now. “Friends of the CIS and of Tatooine. Just here to help. But Lord Ardik will conduct the negotiations,” she finished, making a subtle gesture towards the Umbaran.
Just enough information. And that’s where she left it. Not only was this not her arena (that belonged to Tytos), she had no idea how much information the Smuggler Queen already had on them and the situation at hand. She might look like she’d encountered something unexpected with Quinn and Fidelis, but the old Weequay was rarely surprised and a wonderful actress. Let the opposition think you’re off-balance or not in-the-know and they might play a hand you can use against them later.
Or, y’know, Tu Mai could legitimately not know who they were in which case Quinn’s elusive answer might have left too much room for paranoia on their part.
Her head continued to rest on the Gurlain's shoulder for a few minutes before she heard Scherezade's voice inside her mind, her eyes opening slightly. Pebble wanted to fight something and would seize the chance of killing anything. The Sandcrawler continued on its way under the control of the droid staying close to the rocks until they'd fully passed the Pit, knowing its destination. Detour, Jart whispered in her mind suddenly, jolting her mind awake. Her head lifted abruptly. "Detour," Katrine repeated his words suddenly as she blinked and looked around, before she reached for a holomap at the controls, inspecting it momentarily.
"Make a turn here, enter the canyon," she instructed the droid. "Roger, roger," he took in the command and slowly began to turn to left before it entered the smaller space, its course now directed for a tough rise ahead of them. She blinked again, watching closely before she remembered Pebble's words. 'I can't make promises right now,' Katrine returned the thought as the droid continued. She glanced towards Rapax next, recalling something he'd said about the Sand People earlier. "If we have to deal with Sand People, we will. But right now, they seemed busy killing and dying," she commented as the Sandcrawler continued at its slow pace deeper into the canyon.
"I'll go check up on Mimi and the rest. Best we let them know we'll be coming to our destination soon. You should settle in, the rise onto the plateau looks like it's gonna be steep," she instructed [member="Rapax"] before she glanced back at the droid one more time. "Once we're up, make a right turn, make sure you follow the map," the Witch instructed one more time. "Roger, roger," the droid returned again before she left the control area, returning back to the main area of the Sandcrawler, glancing at the Hutt first. "It won't be long now, Mimi. Best you work on your speech now." The Hutt looked at her momentarily before she began to mutter to herself, making the Witch shrug as she looked at the rest. "Guys, we're cutting down on our trip time. The rise we're making in a few minutes is going to be steep so be sure you're secure." With that instruction to her team, Katrine made her way over to [member="Scherezade deWinter"] and sat beside her, making sure, she was seated as best as she could, leaning against the wall of the Sandcrawler. "Hold tight," she told her Ward.
The Sandcrawler continued part of his way forward under the control of the droid before a bit more power was added, though barely any more than how it was going now before they began to rise up onto the Plateau, her back pressing a little tighter against the metal as it did. it was an easier option than some of the option options and far faster than going up the Bantha plains but it was a journey that needed to be done.
Side:Confederacy of Independent Systems Objective: Task Force Windstorm(Team 3) [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | @"Katria Vekarr | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | Darth Saethus | [member="Akabane"] | [member="Chalim Vern"] | [member="Amadi the Banished"] | [member="BX-25233"] Enemies: The Galactic Empire
Dalton nodded to the Witch and braced himself, back by the grille to keep an eye out through the ridge. The sandcrawler certainly pushed a little harder as the engine growled and the treads tore up the sand and stone below. But, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The distraction had worked! A Jawa sandcrawler, a hulking neutral scavener metal beast, lumbered along the Tatooine sands beside many natives of the world engaged with the invaders. Stormtroopers were the focus of the Tuskens, not the "Jawa" crawler.
The Confederacy had kept the trigger fingers calm and their patience steady, and they held their breath until they crested the Plateau. With a jolt, the crawler lunged forward a little as it traversed the change in terrain, and then....well, nothing.
The engine continued chugging and the grind of the treads kept grinding. Dalton looked through and laughed to himself, turning to peer out of the grille.
"Well, I'll be. It worked." He turned to the others. "We're out of the canyon! It bloody worked!"
The palace was their next destination, and if the Witch and her friend kept the engine pushed to make good time, then their Hutt guest - who appeared to be asleep even through all this - could finally get to her destination and all without her knowing how close they had come to a fire-fight.
Allies: Confederacy and allies
Enemies: Galactic Empire and allies
Objective: Secure Task Force Windstorm safety and keep an eye on the suspicious speeder.
Location: Passing up the Crawler and making way to the palace.
Relevant NPCs: Shadow Furiae
It was easy to lose track of time staring down a scope. While the young agent would have disagreed with the statement, having adapted over the years to use the motions of her targets as an indicator of the flow of time, there was a truth in it. Even as the skiff moved out of range and view of the cliff side tuskens the Furiae were quick to note that the crawler had made good time and cleared the canyon and the sarlaac pit.
Flinching with the motion of the skiff, training her rifle on a speeder that had precariously continued to follow them despite the onslaught of cycler rifle fire, the brunette kept herself steady. With a squeeze of her trigger she let loose a single shot from her verpine to head off and clip the engine structure. Then, with one single fluid motion, she pulled away position and set the rifle beside her as she steadied herself next to the piloting furiae.
"We need to catch up, those tuskens won't keep them busy for long," the woman breathed as she placed a hand on the other woman's shoulder, her eyes drifting through the line of the other five as they readied their Inferos rifles. "If we out strip them we'll head up to the cliff ourselves and give them the cover they need to get to the palace unchallenged. Obviously it's easier said than done, but if there are any troopers waiting for them up there.
Well you get the picture, ladies." She finished and moved to the front of the skiff where she lifted her rifle and angled it towards the cliffs and palace ahead of them. Lifting her hand to her ear, pressing gently as she trained her eye over the scenery in front of her for any signs of imperial activity, the woman pursed her lips. "Katrine,([member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]) sweetheart, you're going to have company at the palace. We're going to pass you and give you the cover you need. I have a little surprise if we need it."
Even as she lowered her hand, the sight of troops armor showing visibly in the desert sunlight, she couldn't help but smile with a visible confidence. She watched quietly as the skiff passed the crawler easily, her eyes strafing over a pod of twenty AATs gliding behind it, then turned her attention back to once again find the speeder that had been following them.
She had her target, the Furiae had theirs and they were on the home stretch. And what a rancid hot home stretch it was.
As Adron's attack was met with equal resistance, his chilling demeanor was momentarily changed to one of interest. The Dark Jedi was no novice with a blade, so for his attack to be parried meant he was going against a Sith of some skill. Where he was hoping their blades would be locked together, she had made a movement to prevent such a thing.
She's not just a Sith. He mused, taking notice in the way her movements were reflexing rather than reactive.
She's a warrior.
The swing to Adron's side was a base movement. She couldn't mean to break his defense with such an attack. As he raised his sword to block the attack he realized something. The pale skin, nearly white blonde hair, and silver eyes gave it away.
"An Echani. Just my luck." He muttered, hosting a confident smirk on his face. His attention had not been pulled from her, however, regardless of his banter. She pulled back from his defense, lowering her attack down to his thighs. As the tip of her blade flew to hit it's mark, Adron stepped back, twisting his wrist in a clockwise rotation so his lightsaber could bat hers off target. A hot sensation coursed over the man's thigh, of course he did not sacrifice a moment to look down. The slacks of his uniform had absorbed most of the damage from the weapon, his Asheran weave protecting him from any serious damage, yet the threat of burns could not be avoided when the tip of her blade had barely managed to find it's mark.
Adron pressed his attack once more, moving into a flurry of routine slashes and thrusts with his weapons. His sword had remained his primary weapon as he fought, hoping the poison-edged blade could find home at least once. His paced, nearly strategic, movement showed him to be a devout practitioner of Makashi. Their exchange of blows was brought to a pause as Srina's eyes became unfocused.
There. He mused, throwing his lightsaber hand forward. Bending the shifting nether of the Force to his command, he built up a charge of Kinetic energy, releasing it directly at his opponent. As she was thrown for him he began another charge. "Your life is mine, Sith!"
"Adron Malvern, what do you think you are doing?"
A voice called out, forcing Adron's entire body to freeze. His lightsaber was keen to find home in his opponents arm, yet he had been forced to stop.
That voice. That commanding tone. It had been an all too familiar thing to the young Count of Serenno. His eyes held shock as he turned to see the apparition standing behind him. Avius Malvern was eerily similar to Adron in many ways. The blinding difference being that Avius had dark green eyes, while Adron's were a deep sky blue. To those around, Avius would appear as nothing more than the shape of the man, devoid of any color or personality. Yet, the ways of the Sith had tricked Adron, making him believe the smoke demon that stood behind him, was a true flesh and blood representation of his father.
"What is this witchcraft?" Adron said softly, the blood rushing from his hands as his grip tightened around his weapons. "What the hell is going on?!" Adron demanded, his voice amplifying to match his anger.
The being before him began to approach, dark, disappointed eyes falling on Adron. "You're a disgrace. Look at what you have become." The words struck deep into Adron's heart. Even though he believed this to be a trick, another falsehood of the Sith, it was painful to hear his father's voice say such things. "Shut up...." Adron muttered, the force shifting around him uneasily as the creature approached.
"Look at how you have failed. Blackgate Manor, Serenno, now this?" The being approached, this time Adron was caught off guard and when kick was aimed at his face he had been unprepared. The smoke demon's foot slammed into Adron's chin, forcing him to drop his lightsaber as he was thrown into the adjacent wall. As his back slammed against the wall, blood dripped freely from his mouth. The promise of more than one tooth breaking caused him to wince a bit.
"You are nothing, boy." The Demon closed the distance, and before Adron could mount a defense he felt fists slamming into his gut. The hits were hard and heavy, each one threatening to break something.
Crack.
A rib snapped as the final blow slammed into the man. Adron slid to the ground, dropping his saber from his hand as the apparition stood over him. "You, imperial. Are no son of mine."
Adron coughed out a slob of blood as he pushed himself to a knee. The Smoke demon was prepared to finish the boy, yet the snap hiss of a lightsaber was ignored by the creature. Adron looked up, closing his hand into a fist as his lightsaber, commanded by the force ignited and slid itself through the creature's back. Adron moved quickly to recover his sword, his discipline and training prevailing over the creature. Pushing himself forward, into a roll, he passed the stunned Demon, his eyes falling to the lightsaber in the creature's back.
Standing to his full height, Adron grabbed the hilt, blood still trailing from his lips. "Just stay dead." He whispered, before slicing down the beast's center. The image of his father was quickly replaced by a dark fog of shadows and mist. A confident smirk came over Adron's face when he realized the beast was all but defeated. It held a presence within the Force, yet it was not strong enough to maintain a corporal form.
As Adron looked to the creature's downfall, he felt a hot pain shoot into the left side of his abdomen. This pain forced him to close an eye as he nearly reeled over. "Agh!" He shouted, glancing down to see his opponent's ivory lightsaber that had run him through. "Good....move....." He chuckled, a labored exhale coming from him as the hot blade cauterized his side. Blood dripped from his lips, falling onto the blade only to evaporate as Adron gave a brief swallow, his vision was going to spots and the back of his head ached. He was about to pass out.
Attempting to center himself, Adron's mind focused on the hilt in his opponents hands. My turn. He mused, as The Force locked around his opponents weapon. Adron forced the lightsaber out of his enemies hands, yet before the blade could cut off it shot another hot sensation of pain through Adron. As the lightsaber's switch was no longer depressed and the weapon cut off Adron spun on his heels. Gripping his sword tight, he turned in a counter clockwise spin, aiming his blade right at his opponents chest. Die, damn it. He mused, praying for his blade to find home.
Location Inside GE HQ Objective If it moves Kill it.. Of it survives Kill it better. Allies CIS Enemies GE
Now inside the main wall Jayce quickly scanned his surroundings until he found his way into the GE main headquarters... An old ventilation shady. He would make his way there soon enough, but for now the young Sith had a wound to tend to. For now he slumped down against the wall and pulled a small bag from his pants pocket. Inside the bag was a single use cauterization tool and a Bacta pack, Which he removed From the bag and with a low snarling growl used the tool to sear the wound closed before applying the bacta pack and binding it around his waist.
Leaving the used tool behind he quickly stepped out of the shadows of the wall and realized just how bad He had fethed up as he stepped around the corner to face an entire unit of Imperial stormtrooper... Who proceeded to surround him with their weapons aimed dead at him.
He saw very little options that ended with him still breathing so he decided to take a new option. With a nod of acceptance he very slowly raised his hands and surrendered.
Less than five minutes later he was being escorted in cuffs into the GE HQ by a four man squad of troopers, two in front off to each side and two in the back off to each side, the front left trooper having confiscated Jayce's lightsaber... Jayce casually strolled in the middle of his armed escort, his mind clear as the force began to flow through him like a river that was branching off into the weak minds of the troopers escorting him. When he felt his grip take firm hold on their minds he released his comands causing each trooper to quickly turn to another and fire and kill one another as Jayce stood there with a smirk and picked the lock on his cuffs.
With his escorts dead he quickly grabbed his lightsaber into his right hand and took off down the hallway and further into the GE HQ.....
LOCATION: Mos Eisley OBJECTIVE:Secure GE outposts Get Zes and her sister to safety now ALLIES: The Confederacy of Independent Systems | [member="Anya Malvern"] | [member="Zesiro"] | [member="Aya Clarke"] ENEMIES: The Galatic Empire
Sister? That was... Well, that was certainly information. Sol didn't really have much of a thought on it. He felt like he should but then he realized that he just didn't really know much about Zes's personal life. Either way, they come upon said sister, pointed out by the injured girl on his shoulder, as she is being tended to by the general.
Seeing that Aya had just used the lightsaber to sever a leg Sol takes a deep breath. Was he going to have to fight a general of the CIS to save Zes's sister? That'd be awkward since they were signing his paycheques. Fortunately, things didn't go that way as the woman gives him some orders before traipsing off to do something else.
While not a huge fan of being given orders, he was used to it. He was a mercenary and he listened to the person who paid him normally unless that person was Muad. While it wasn't Aya specifically who was paying him when you did a military gig you followed the chain of command. While Sol didn't have an official rank general was certainly higher, so he just nods at her orders.
"Right, lets get you two to... relative safety."
With the CIS line pushed so far forward it wasn't hard to flag down a few droids to help him carry the two women. He carts them back toward the rally point. He gets them loaded up on a transport to a medship. This out of the way he circles back to rejoin Hurricane. He was late to the party but he could still help with the clean-up even if he couldn't snag any extra glory.
Kurenai Yumi Allies: Confederacy of Independent Systems Ancient Eye Location: Drop Ships/Surface
Objective: Task Force Hurricane
Enemies: The Galactic Empire & Allies
Post: 5
Gear: LightSaber Yari, Armor, LMG
Boring, that was the only way Kurenai could describe this engagement, but flat out boring, maybe fun for some, perhaps the fighter pilots and those who had reached the walls first but for her there was no thrill, not pumping of the heart that one received from a heated battle. No all that she was doing was going through the motions, quickly advancing along with the other droids as the poured in through the many holes dotting the once heavily defended outpost. Every once in a while the woman lining her pistol sights up with an unfortunate storm trooper, lightly squeezing the trigger, a muffled bang, drowned out by the ruckus of battle, followed shortly by said storm trooper falling over dead, the subtle smell of blood wafting into her nose confirming the kill.
"This is no fun, it feels more like hunting then an actual battle, if you were to go hunting with a few thousand people all at once", she remarked causally, side stepping slight as a red blaster bolt flew past her face, impacting against an unlocking B1 that so happened to be marching behind her. The droid stumbling over lightly before falling into a crumpled mess, Kurenai responding swiftly with a lethal neck shot, the trooper letting out a few painful gurgling noses before falling over, "so boring". Scanning the garrison it was plain to see the imperials had lost this battle, would it mean they lost the entire planet, no, but they would lose many men regardless, hopefully they would surrender soon, herself knowing full well the Ancient Eye soldiers were not ones for merciful deaths.
Continuing to look around her gaze fell upon [member="Srina Talon"] as she seemly toyed with [member="Adron Malvern"], earlier in the battle having summoned some sort of vile smoke spirit in order to combat the fallen noble. It was a sight to behold, but with the amount of Sith magic and other ethereal arts half the CIS force users practiced it was to be expected, but something felt a little off about the Echani woman. Even through the thick blanked of shrouded energy emanating from everything around, Kruenai could feel a dripping dark presence off of [member="Darth Metus"] apprentice, a presence that felt as dense as water. It was not something she had expected from the noble woman, one that although a warrior did not carry the same blacked soul she had sensed from so many others.
All in all a little unsettling, but the more she felt into it the more it seemed the woman's actions where not her own, like some form of outside interference. Then it kind of hit her, in a mental sense, hypothesizing that perhaps Metus himself was mind melding with the young woman, allowing him to fight on the from lines without being there, but why? Questions for another time, despite how already over this battle was Kurenai still had a job to do, secure the command center and capture the outpost, not something she could really do just gawking and an Echani playing around with a Dark Jedi. Grasping hold o her LMG Kurenai turned focus back to the slaughter at hand, walking forward while one handing the large repeating blaster, cutting down any trooper silly enough to get in her way, advancing through the front entrance and into the compounds main structure.
Stepping into the main corridor everything seemed, well quite, a rather odd sight, perhaps a trap, or had someone already come before her? (hint to [member="Jayce Pryde"]). In that time of query several droids had entered along side, stopping slightly, looking at the woman as if anticipating orders, recognizing her higher rank one way or another. "Fan out and secure the lower level, I would say watch out for traps... but our droids so I do not know how good your perception is, if the enemy lays down their arms capture them, if not shoot to kill". The battle droids stood still for a movement before uttering their iconic roger roger, the bronze colored constructs, marching double file down the Imperial halls ways. "Over 850 years and they still have not fixed their vocabulary, children these day, so lazy".
Summary
Gunned down a few storm troopers with ease, very boring
Gawked at Srina and Adron as they duealed
Entered the outpost main structure heading for the command room
Tags for all Task Force Hurricane [member="Sol Damerin"] [member="Lyla Quinn"] [member="Jorco Czeku"] [member="Katria Vekarr"] [member="The Matador"] [member="Mythos"] [member="Darth Metus"]
Planetside on Tatooine - Imperial Garrison [Hallway] Near Command Center
Adron Malvern.
Srina silently committed the name of her opponent to memory. It was just about the only thing she heard clearly before she was forced to pay the price for her distraction. Later, she would scold herself for the lapse in judgment, the juvenile mistake, which left her careening backward into the durasteel walls of the garrison. There was no way to avoid it. Nowhere to run. Just like the first time the High Moff had released a kinetic blast, her Terentatek Body Glove had served as a safeguard, but that attack hadn’t been nearly as strong. Nor had it been aimed directly at her. This one was fueled by opportunity and an intense desire to make her eat her own words.
He wanted to kill her. Held a passion for it. It was strength and determination that she could feel as easily as the ground beneath their feet. His reasoning, however, was unclear. It didn’t feel like the fierceness of someone performing a mere function, or a duty for the Empire, but more of a chance at redemption. For what—she knew not. In that moment, he had simply sensed blood in the water, a shadow of weakness, and had taken appropriate action. His attack hit the apprentice head on.
Her unprotected head cracked against the metal barrier hard enough that she saw proverbial stars. The Echani’s slender form, strong and lithe, but ultimately breakable slid to the floor—a telltale streak of pale red fluid following her descent. Her lightsaber had fallen somewhere between herself and the Imperial and a small sound of pain escaped her lips. It was shunted, strangled, as her training began to kick in. Srina had been subjected to all manner of injury over the years, both mental, and physical. This was nothing. Nothing, she couldn’t deal with. Her vision swam and she felt incredibly nauseated as vertigo set in. Why did it feel like the bones in her head were sliding forward every time she tried to move?
Distantly, she knew that Malvern was fighting her Demon, but she couldn’t stop the ringing in her ears long enough to get up. She may or may not have lost consciousness for a few moments. If she did, she wouldn’t know it. ‘Move.’, she ordered herself, refusing to give in. Her teeth grit together hard enough that her jaw began to ache. ‘Move, Srina.’
The pale-woman reached behind her head with an unsteady hand and could feel warm wetness matting her hair. Wonderful. Srina pushed herself up despite the extreme urge to retch and used the wall as a guide. It was both better and worse once she was upright. At least, she didn’t have pieces of broken droids jabbing at her, but everything felt like it was about to tilt on its axis like a whirling top.
‘Move.’
The High Moff had his back turned to her, completely distracted by the Smoke Demon that had apparently taken the visage of his greatest fear. It was both surprising and yet remarkably common that it turned out to be his father. She had missed most of the back and forth but she knew that much. With the pain arcing through her head, somewhere, somehow she still found the will to have humor that an Imperial had what equated to extreme daddy issues.
Srina took a few breaths to build her strength, to find some sort of center, and waited for an opening. Patience. The Imperial had all but forgotten her. Even injured, all she needed was time. Patience. When he cut down the Smoke Demon for the second time the Echani made her move. It was not combined with her typical grace, but once she was positioned behind her opponent, she had no choice but to follow through. She drove her lightsaber through Adron Malvern’s side with all her might. She’d meant to run it through his middle but her spiraling vision left it off center. His shout of pain was not music to her ears. Her eyes were silent, dead, emotionless pools. There was no sense of victory. The young woman did not find any delight in her actions.
It wasn’t death that Echani craved, not the moment where life came to an end, but a true understanding of the moment. Stabbing someone in the back was dishonorable. Srina immediately hated it. Yet, this was war. There was no place for the weakness born by regret. This was a means to an end. It had to be done.
The apprentice wavered on her feet, the injury to her head taking its toll, and it was in that moment that she felt her lightsaber pulled from her grasp. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch when she realized that Malvern was chuckling, his words burning her ears, but not as much as the sight of her white blade sinking further into his body. When the light cut out, the man spun on his heel, and drove his combat saber down toward her body.
Srina was fast. Yet, injured, and unstable—she was not fast enough.
The blade sunk into her flesh, finding purchase a few inches beneath her collarbone, and the apprentice stumbled back from the force of it. Her lips parted in a silent scream as she dropped to her knees. Pain. It was like nothing she had ever felt, unbearable, blinding, and rolling through her body in intolerable waves. Her hands scrambled for the hilt of the blade, desperate to get it out, to stop the fire from welling through her with abandon, but she wasn’t strong enough to pull it out herself. There was something wrong with her arm. She couldn’t lift it.
A terrible, horrifying, animalistic scream tore from her throat as she pulled at the Force. The blade ripped suddenly from her flesh with a sickening sound, torn from her body with wild telekinesis, and the Echani fell on her side with a thud. She reflexively curled in on herself, knees drawn up, pale red fluid pooling on the floor around her. She screamed. Loud and hard. It didn’t matter that the weapon had been removed. It still hurt, burning like a thousand suns, and she thought for sure that it would incinerate her. She pressed her hand over the wound on the front of her chest, but could do nothing for the back. She was losing blood quickly.
An explosion from the blast doors that Malvern had sealed rang through the air. The reverberations caused her to flinch, the smallest movement making everything worse. It was agony. Pure and simple. Her pulse felt fast, yet thready, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t slow her breathing. Srina could do nothing but endure. And pray, that it would end. One way or the other.
She did not see the Novatroopers collect the injured High Moff. They saw her, shivering, and left her in the rubble. There was a black shadow in the room that seemed to be dissipating but it still made them nervous. Adron Malvern was their priority and the hallway inside the garrison was unstable since they’d unintentionally blown some of the supports. The Sith was as good as dead anyway.
Location: GE Garrison Hallways
Objective: Get in good with the CIS kids
Allies: [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Aryn Teth"] | [member="Anastasia Verd"] | [member="Kainan Wolfe"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Katria Vekarr"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Anya Malvern"] Enemies: GE and buddies | [member="Adron Malvern"]
The Matador followed, like a hound with a scent as he drew closer to the heat of battle. It seemed, the closer he went to the Command centre, the thicker in number the enemy grew. Still, they ran. Still, some foolishly turned to face the huge warrior in a feeble attempt to stave off the inevitability of death for their brethren.
The Matador swung his blade, cleaving through Imperial left and right. The Garrisons hallways, littered with Imperial corpses with expressions of dread written over their expressions. The War-Chieftain propped one of their men against a wall, his eyes dancing over the brutalised corpses of what were likely his friends.
Red eyes observed the throbbing heat of the mans' complexion, how his heart beat thumped in his chest almost ready to explode; his body failing him as he oozed from his face, sweat and blood running down the features of his trembling face. The Matador pressed a single metallic finger against his jaw, slowly pushing it out of place as Oribuir's edge rest against in the middle of his chest.
"The Command Centre. Where is it?"
The Giant pressed harder for a moment, watching as his limbs twitched and fought against his arm to no avail. He released his grip, allowing the man to fall a few feet to the ground as his arm shot down quicker than he could fall, catching him by the gruff of his armour and holding him as he angled Oribuir at his face. The blade arching downward with impossible length. The man quivered like a mewling child and hid his face as best he could. "I can't, kill me." The Matador's temperament was not of one to be trifled with, Oribuir ignited in a blaze of orange plasma; roaring in frustration as the blade sunk into the man's chest and thrust his body to the opposite end of the corridor.
A few more troopers lay ahead, this time they were prepared; a heavy defence position. Two heavy soldiers carrying a anti-infantry turret with a rocket trooper in back, he must've been getting closer to the Command Centre. The Chieftain barked at them, red eyes glaring hatefully down the hallway. The Matador pressed forward, the turrets fire raining down on his armour; plasma blasts charring through his weakened magnetic field. The pressure came hard, pushing down the hallway with no cover was difficult, sending the mag-coil network into overdrive, and driving the pain to the edges of nigh insanity. The Dark Rage pressed him forward, driving his speed to the edges of what his body could handle; speeding downward as his hand extended. A telekinetic hand grasping hard on the two heavy troopers, ripping them from the ground. He focused, stopping as the rocket-trooper fired; he could deal with the pain. He wrapped his telekinetic hands around them; crushing their bodies.
He felt bone, and flesh and blood as it felt the pressure of his might. Their bones, tensing and splintering like branches of wood with too much strain, their flesh pulverised and their blood boiled as the heat and life of their bodies was condensed into nothing. The rocket connected with his chest, knocking him off his feet; the cinders burning into his chest as his body arched backward, falling to his knees. His hand extended from his fallen position, halting the next rocket as red eyes shot upward; filled with rage as the rocket shuddered and exploded between them.
The Matador launched Oribuir like a spear, narrowly missing the trooper but ripping his weapon in two. The trooper turned to run, feeling a telekinetic yank as the Matador pulled him into his grasp, tearing his arm from its socket and flinging him into the wall opposite him, causing the Durasteel to dent and crumple as the Imperial troopers from fell crumpled and unrecognisable onto the floor.
Instinct, was all he had. Perhaps one of the others he had killed would have been more likely to levy him that information. However it mattered little now, he had to find his own way. The Giant felt the pain surging through his body, his savagery unable to satisfy the hungering pain that defined his every motion. He stopped, thrusting a fist into a wall. The beast surged forward, eyes searching as he came to another turn with two exits ahead.
Then he heard it, a bestial scream amplified by a dull ache that shuddered through the force. A wretched pain of confusion and terror, shooting outward like a shockwave from the darkness he had felt on the periphery of his senses. Instinct caused his feet to carry him a few bounds further, taking him around the corner to a sealed door. Beyond the viewport was a fading light, the pulsing heat of a mangled being. It was [member="Srina Talon"], half dead and very much alone, the door was locked. Without thought his fist grinded into the door, pulling apart the Durasteel door, thrusting his metal hands again and again into the door until it resembled a scrap of metal, ripping it from its hinges as he stumbled closer, feeling the press of his mangled chest as he leaned down.
Blood met his feet and circled round the intricate plating of his armour, scarlet eyes observing her grievous wound. A metal hand moved for a large cylinder collecting along the back of his sanctum, removing a small orange fluid syringe from his belt. The fluid retained some components of Bacta, allowing the Chieftain to stabilise his Confederate ally. The Matador placed a hand at her neck, metal fingers stretching across the length of her collar as he held her in place, his other hand held the syringe, pushing back her hood from the edges of her neck and pressing the syringe into her chest; injecting the Bacta fluid as close to the wound as possible.
In most cases, he would have left her to die. She had failed in her battle, and her enemy had seemingly left her. Once more, Lady Talon survived due to chance, something that would not carry her far. His metal fingers felt alien, pressing against the small beings flesh as her body wavered, her heart wavering; the heat leaving her body. The blue paleness approaching her features, the stark contrast making once dull features clear.
Scarlet eyes observed, her light was fading but it seemed as though the Bacta had steadied her. At least for now, her heart beat true and strong in her sullen form. "Te-makaden. Ut-kaba in sada. Khaemt, Nebtka in kama." The Ankhyptian words of prayer, hopeful thoughts to Khaemt; Srina was his ally. It was simply a practical matter to keep her alive.
Side: Confederacy of Independent Systems
Objective: Task Force Windstorm (Team 3)
Enemies: The Galactic Empire & Allies
Post: 4
Gear: Personal battle armor, lightsabers, forearm needlers, wrist rockets, heavy blaster, anti armor grenades, personal body shields as well as his shield bracelet, heavy blaster carbine and ammo, assortment of alchemically treated blades hidden in different locations.
Getting cooked in a slow moving metal oven was hardly Daxton’s idea of fun, so when it finally rolled to a stop he more than welcomed the chance to stretch his legs. The dry wind entered the vehicle as the doors swung open, a sharp clean smell compared to the sweltering stale smell of sweat on dry skin that filled the crawler’s compartments.
It was good to drive his armored boots into the soft shifting sand as he studied their position. Damn it there rear was too exposed for his liking. The Empire could follow their lead and strike them from behind which would put a damper on the days plan unless there was a a way to stop them here.
His eyes gazed across the barren waste taking note of the scattered fallen strewn about, slowly drying under merciless suns, dead beyond caring but perhaps still of some use to the Dark Lord. Walking to the closest corpse he did a quick inspection and was pleased to see it was mostly intact. From his pac, he drew out a pair of fat black candles made from tallow fat. Lighting the wick, they hissed as flames caught releasing a smell akin to animal fat roasting on a hot iron grill. Dripping hot wax drops into the corpses eyes, he whispered something into its ear before proceeding to the next corpse.
Walking in a circular pattern going outward, Daxton did not stop until they were all thus marked, before taking out a silver and obsidian blade and plunging it to the heart of dead Tusken. For a minute or two nothing happened, then the body began to convulse on its own before slowing getting up, a mere mockery of the life it once possed.
“Go awaken the others. Anything that move and does not bear this sigil,” Pausing to point at the Confederate sigil over his heart, “is fair game to kill and add to your numbers. Protect this entry point to the last of you is nothing more than dust and a memory. Hear my command and obey. Darkness moves to consume the light, so shall you consume the life essence of those who trespass on your eternal repose. This I command from now until enternity. Gardum Ebun Bairak.”
Anyone entering the area will be gripped with the sense of unease and unexplicable dread as the dead slowly rose one at a time to do the bidding of their new master.
Tatooine, Arkanis Sector, The Outer Rim Territories
Objective: Save a Life
Allies: The Confederacy, Task Force Hurricane
Enemies: The Galactic Empire
The push over the wall had been slow but sure, reinforced by the Confederacy, the tentative position Aryn and his troops had gained atop the walls of the base had grown and before too long the Alliance troops along with Aryn had been able to push into the base proper. The defences in the base proved formidable, but the Empire was vastly outnumbered on the ground by the Confederacy, slowly but surely they continued to force their way past the defences and into the garrison proper.
Securing the command center was the goal that Teth and his troops had in mind, it was what most of his allies' efforts were converging towards, and he wouldn't stop for a moment during his push. It wasn't long before Aryn lost sight of his closer allies, Srina moved into the interior of the garrison, and though the Jedi held a desire to follow her, he knew she would be safe within the base, she could more than hold her own when it was necessary, and he had to keep focused on his own goals.
It was a decision he came to regret.
As his fight continued, Aryn felt what had happened before he heard it. Within the hallways of the garrison, nearing the command center proper, Aryn felt the searing stab as if the very same blade that had pierced Srina slid through his flesh without leaving a mark. Deactivating his lightsaber for a moment, Aryn buckled, dropping to his knees and then to the ground as he curled up, unable to even summon forth a scream of agony as the breath left him, eyes wide and pain coursing through his body, but he knew the source was not his own body, he knew who it was.
Though the initial pain was intense, and it remained, Aryn forced the thoughts from his mind, setting a palm down on the ground as he pushed himself up, coughing and looking to his troops. "Continue... Pushing... Secure the Command Center..." He ordered, waiting for affirmation as he stood and staggered down the halls, still forcing pain from his body. When he reached the room he knew Srina was in, he saw that he was not the first to arrive there, the door was torn off and he could see the armoured figure within with Srina in his arms.
Aryn knew the figure was an ally of the Confederacy, though he couldn't recall ever meeting the person properly before, not that it was a concern of his in that moment, the pain which had coursed through his body had now subsided and been replaced with a significant and immense rage. It was a rage unlike any he had felt before and even this man who was helping Srina would not be free of it, Aryn's purpose was singular in that moment, and he could not allow anyone to stand in his way.
"Let go of her. Or I will kill you."
There was no wavering in his tone, no hint of reproach or invitation to test the man's word. Stepping closer, Aryn practically tore Srina from the man's grip, eyes never leaving the armoured figure of the man who held her, fury still burning in his gaze, judgement, suspicion, all of it rolled through his mind. Aryn had no allies among the Ancient Eye, and without any others there, as far as Aryn knew the man could have been responsible for Srina's state. Yet, now that he had taken hold of her, revenge was the last thing on Aryn's mind, Srina's safety now took priority.
The battle left his mind, things were well in hand enough as Aryn ran, holding [member="Srina Talon"] firmly in his grip as he ran back to the resupplying lines of the Confederate troops. His own ship had been brought down after the initial deployment, and considering its relative proximity, the journey from the Garrison to his ship took only the span of minutes, not even enough time for Aryn to notice that he had knocked the wind out of himself by running so quickly.
Carefully, Aryn worked to place Srina into the bacta tank on board, hooking her up to it and ensuring she would remain stable as he made his way towards the cockpit, opening his comms channel to [member="Darth Metus"] as he sat down in the pilot's chair. "Srina is injured, badly. I'm taking her back to Confederate space for treatment, if you've got a spot you want her, tell me." And like that, he sat, activated his engines, and took off, leaving the sands of Tatooine far, far behind.
Side: Confederacy of Independent Systems Objective:Task Force windstorm (Team 3) Enemies: The Galactic Empire & Allies Post: 6
They were there! They were finally there! Pebble's face, currently sporting a sickly shade of green, began to clear up again as the sandcrawler stopped moving because they were finally friggin' there! Even with the Force enhancing the speed of her movements, she couldn't unbuckle herself fast enough, and then darted out, not caring who she accidentally pushed a tiny bit along the way.
Only outside did she feel like she could breathe again, the color finally completely back to her face, and the joy at realizing she'd made it there without hurling in the sandcrawler was pretty evident in her body language to anyone who'd look.
But you see, there's quite a few problems. Not that she ran out without listening, hearing, or seeing anyone else. That's just standard teenage behavior. The main problem, was that considering that she'd effectively existed for only a couple of weeks, there was much about the girl that out right copied the one who was training her. And the one who was training her, had not worn her Confederacy insignia in a visible place, which had led Scherezade to think she wasn't wearing one, which in turn had led her to not wear one. At all.
And that was a very bad thing, because [member="Daxton Bane"] unleashed undead zombies. And didn't share his sunscreen.
Scherezade screamed at the top of her lungs as a sand person zombie was suddenly on her. Sure, she'd had some training by now, but her instincts were not yet honed as those of people with more experience than her.
The next second she knew, she was on the coarse sand, struggling as the thing was above her, still screaming, and trying to wiggle free. Later, she would note that her arms were somehow stronger than she'd anticipated they would be. Now, she mostly panicked as she tried to shove the thing off of her.
"Mighty... Spirits..." she groaned when most of the air had exited her throat, her voice rough and raw. The thing was close now. Too close. She could've answered a trivia question at that point about whether or not sand people had human like mouths. She didn't want to be able to answer something like that. "bring forth the mist, bring forth the fog. Spread forth around me, hide me NOW!"
Well. Now she had a tuskan zombie on her, and the two were surrounded by mist so that no one could see them.
Another scream erupted from her as the damn thing managed to get close enough, injuring her shoulder, ruining the clothes that Katrine had provided, and then somehow her thigh joined the list of injuries as well. The coppery smell of her blood hit her nose, threatening to gag her along with the sand.
"Get away get away get away get away get away get away get away get away," she shrieked, her little knife finding its way from her belt to her hand.
In her state of ongoing panic, she didn't realize what she was doing. Didn't notice how the Force filled her muscles, moved her arms. She was still shrieking her right hand moved, repeatedly stabbing the zombie on top of her in the head, again and again, until a hole big enough for its brain to fall out of finally appeared, and it fell out, giving her face a smack before it rolled into the sand.
The zombie fell lifeless on her, dead. Completely dead. Totally dead.
Scherezade was alive.
If anyone was close enough to hear her banshee screams, might have wondered where someone who's existed for a precious few weeks had the time to pick up that foul language and string of words that came out of here then.
T A T O O I N E [SIZE=9pt]Tatooine Orbit[/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Southern Systems Business Bazaar - Arceneau Trade Company Headquarters[/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Within Galactic Imperial Jurisdiction[/SIZE]
Within the bridge of the Southern Systems Business Bazaar station, the Baron Administrator could only let out a sigh. He knew that whatever the outcome, this was just the initial spark along the Mara Corridor. It could very well be the first of many large battles to come ahead. For so long, those in the Outer Rim had thought to be too far away from the Coreworlds or the sectors afflicted by the ongoing war; no longer.
It would spread. If it could come to Tatooine then it could very well be seen across any planet. To believe that one could ignore the signs or the massive battleships was a lie you'd be telling yourself.
The earlier warning through the comm systems had spread towards the other stations within the sector and beyond. Traffic had thankfully been diverted while civilian ships were carefully instructed to take specific paths that would allow them jumps away from the two battling fleets.
Only time would tell what would be the end results of this. Either way, the Baron Administrator had a report to fill out to send to Ms. Arceneau.
