Uh-oh, tax is due (Abrion Corporate Alliance, The Ession Reformation & Stargo Defense Enterprise)

[Placeholder 0123]

Location: Hanger
Objective: Heal the Strider
Allies: Boarding party
Enemies: Everything else



That was a start. The door was blown to cinders, leaving a smoldering hole in its wake. The resulting explosion had sent Strider and his Mando buddy falling back. Graxin only stumbled, his chest plate taking a good scorching from the brief bout of flame. He muttered a quiet curse, and turned about toward Strider. Things were still salvageable, even though a flood of laser fire was now pouring out from the gap.

Concussed from Strider's grenade, Graxin stumbled back to avoid the onslaught. "Slot them! I have Strider."

The force users were getting closer. They would be his issue to deal with. Graxin stumbled somewhat clumsily across the hanger to the prone Strider, and hooked his lightsabers to his belt. "We made it in, the door is blown. Just gotta get you boys to the trams. If that fails, then the fuel pumps." The Jedi quipped as if the Mando was fine and dandy.

That wasn't much the case.

Graxin fell to a knee next to the older man, and held his hands outward. He was no master of telekinesis or the like, nor was he a weaver of minds. Graxin's skill set was destruction by flames, and reparation through the force. He closed his eyes, relying on his allies to hold the soldiers at bay--perhaps even push on.

He focused on Strider's body, a bit difficult to do with the mound of beskar he wore, and targeted the wounded cells. The man's arm was tatters, but that didn't mean he could fight with a bit of encouragement. Graxin encouraged the dead cells to split away, and those that still lived to multiply at an alarming rate. The sensation would feel itchy, like one's own skin was crawling on its own.

That is, of course, if it worked.

[member="Strider Garon"]

 

[Kahlil Noble]

[member="Graxin Rade"] [member="Strider Garon"]

Kage had silently went with the Mandalorian, being sure to well.. Keep with him. After all, he didn't want to be smacked, or anything of the like. Hiding out from the explosion, he'd frown, covering his ears.

Bang.

And there it was. The bomb blowing a hole within the door they needed to get through. So he could do his slicing job, and get paid, and leave all this behind. Right? That's all he wanted to do now. He'd bring his pistol around, firing into the blown out hole as the Archlord healed the Rally Master. That, at least, surprised him. Here was a man who just set fire to a bunch of people, now healing someone. It shocked him.

"Hey uh.. Archlord. Graxin right? I.. Well. Probably should tell you that I know this ship -pretty- well. Right?"

 

[Ronan Nakasla]

The landing was... eventful. Sigma had never personally experienced the theatrical flair that accompanied any duration of time with [member="Salem Norongachi"], so being thrown across the shuttle by the sudden jolt of force as inertia collided with a steel surface was one of many new experiences for the entity. A little tweak of his own telekinetic ability brought him upright and countered the natural forces at work. Being able to stand upright was a minor gift in comparison to the screeching of steel on steel, however. His brow furrowed in aural pain.

Then the door blew open by the will of Norongachi, and he settled himself and regained control of his body. There was a task at hand. He slid out of the hatch behind Omega and looked over the assorted soldiers. They reminded him of Naboo, but there was something different about the feeling of them. They lost their confidence and in that loss they gained something else. Some fire-forged muchness that filled that void and drove them to lengths they'd never reached before. He nodded to them, and his attention shifted to the intercom whereupon Salem's voice carried. He felt it necessary to introduce himself, even if he took his intructions from his mentor over these military personnel.

"Ash Valente reporting in." he said simply and evenly.

He was ready to kill. He could feel it erupting from his spirit and rolling through the Force. The tension was in the air, a metaphorical scent of blood that he picked up on and nearly fed off of. Every life is connected to the Force, and for every life damaged or snuffed it sent its messages and echoes through that mystical energy... and Sigma's very being hunted that.

 

[Anesia Jy'Vun]

The click-clatter of the harness came well after the flight and recovery of [member="Ash Valente"] and the armor adorned Sith stood. No motion to leave the shuttle was made. Instead, in silence, Anesia listened. Truly listened. The Force, like a thousand ears and following were the eyes. Much like the workings inside a Force user's weapon of choice- the lightsaber- her mind was always on the ready. It took a mere motion to to be revealed, to be ignited. This was, however a different type of weapon, but just as able to slice through opposition and much more dangerous. It could be guided, turned on or off at her whim.

"Reporting in." No name. They did not need one. The level of Darkside energy revealed that it was nothing good, but familiar; it tasted like Druckenwell, same as Naboo.

A veiled smile approached her lips behind the helm and that was when she took the step forward and then down the ramp before it closed with a metallic clank. When Jy'Vun spoke again, it was distant, but clear as she revealed locations, descriptions, names of the Jupitus' fresh meat, and of the crew inhabiting it. Security cameras and recorders could do the same, however, she was known for making things... personal. Anesia was also known for not relying on technology, but her own findings.

It was strange how some masks exposed truth rather than hiding it. How very strange that Ferrius walked with, stood with more purpose donned in armor than she ever had in a corset. That was for her and [member="Salem Norongachi"] to know and everyone else to find out later. The line drawn on her lips deepened.