Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!
The order came from the grand admiral at the most opportune of moments.
Some of the Alliance remnant's ships began to open fire on Cardan's armada, taking down the shields of both a destroyer and one of its escort cruisers, while slightly damaging those of another. The admiral knew full well what Sorrow Protocol meant - it was the reason he had brought and been protecting the Mandator siege dreadnought the entire time, he knew that eventually, the First Order would have to resort to unrelenting force to get their way on this damned planet. He turned to look at Praxon, a look of uncertainty that he never saw before present on the younger man's features.
"Relay to the fleet, Sorrow Protocol is in effect," Cardan said in a hushed voice, some of the bridge crew looking up at him, "I want the vanguard to disengage and divert engine power to shields and weapons, as stated in the siege doctrine." His first officer nodded, stepping away to handling the logistics of the plan while Cardan turned back to stare out of the viewports, clasping his hands behind his back as he would watch the scene unfold before him.
The Invictus and a handful of destroyers tightened the formation around the Colossus, leaving the trio of Resurgent star destroyers and their escort destroyers and cruisers to fend off any interlopers. The two squadrons of Velox gunship-corvettes zipped past, chasing after Coalition corvettes and frigates alike, as the vanguard began to orient themselves with the planet in near-perfect sync. The combined megamaser count of the group numbered in the thousands as the turrets began swivelling on their mounts while their targeting computers locked onto the provided coordinates: the palace.
Gromm Cardan took a deep breath, a smirk of pure satisfaction appearing as he gave the order that would condemn those who dared to stand against them on this day.
"Fire."
And they did, hundreds of blue particles being discharged from the multitude of ships almost instantaneously, trailing down through the deadly void of space until they reached the atmosphere of Skor, where they promptly disappeared into the distance. The star destroyers and Invictus were nothing to sneeze at when it came to orbital bombardment, but when it came to this sort of operation, it was where the Mandator reigned supreme. Megamasers were accompanied by dozens of concussion missiles, proton torpedoes and energy torpedoes, the projectiles speeding down after their counterparts. Heavy hypervelocity cannons aligned themselves and opened fire with magnificent flashes of white light as they flung their super-accelerated slugs. The skies above the palace would light up in blue fury as hell came raining down upon them, death a near-certainty for those foolish enough to remain after the order had been given.
But that wasn't even the most destructive weapon in the ship's arsenal, no, that came next. Another section of armour slid away on the gargantuan battlecruiser as two equally-colossal weapon mounts appeared from the confines of the ship, beginning the arduous processing of aiming their barrels down at their targets. The Chief Gunnery Officer stared down at the screen displaying his firing orders, a sense of unease washing over him as he put two and two together for what this meant for the friendly forces he knew were at that exact position. "Maker have mercy." He muttered under his breath as he switched off the display and moved towards his firing station.
"Weapon alignment complete, all technicians advised to vacate firing tubes." A voice said monotonously over the section's intercom, soliciting a murmur of excitement from the other gunners present. The CGO nodded, preparing to let out the dreaded phrase that had directly caused the death of millions ever since the weapon's conception at the hands of their ancestors before them. He pressed down on several switches before he steadied himself once again, uttering the words:
Rexus turned to watch the fray as Omicron went and unloaded into the small childs back. He gave a thumbs up to the officer, ruthlessness of that sort always scored highly with the ex-stormtrooper. "Good job lad!" Rexus barked, before following Twigg. The giant slowly squeezed through the window, needing to kick a little of the wall out in order to slip out. Wenck followed Twigg's lead, and leapt through the window and unto to the roof of the palace. They were clear now, with no hostiles in sight. Twigg taking point as Rexus followed close behind, rifle ready. "This is Rommulus, no hostiles spotted on roof. I repeat, no hostiles in sight." He paused, "Looks to be clear, over." Now the question about what their objective was came to the fore. What were they gonna do? And then Rexus noted it. No shields. The shimmering he had walked through was gone. Had some other operatives taken it out? He pondered the question briefly. Rexus now looked around for any sign of Bravo, scanning the perimeter. Nothing.
Wenck's lamentation was cut short by Omicron's commands. "I've enacted Sorrow! We need to leave, now!" Oh dear. The codeword had sat in Rexus' mind as a reminder of the last venture on Skor. Had they just committed the same cardinal sin? Was history about to repeat itself now? Anger pumped through his veins. They had just abandoned the target. Given up, and now they were gonna slag the palace. Raze it to the ground in a precision strike. And with no shield? They were sitting ducks."We need to get to the roof," Omicron commanded, "And out of the danger zone. Bravo should have our exfil." Rexus just saw red.
"You karkin' idiot!" Rexus screamed into his comm unit, his voice a shrill, visceral roar of emotion. "This is how it all happened last time! We're karking dead!" Wenck could feel all sorts of twisted emotion wrenching at his insides. "We're gonna die here, and you're gonna-!" A deafening blast hit about a hundred meters away as a deep green from a turbolaser blast blinded them. Both Rexus and Twigg crouched as a wave of thick heat washed over the two. Even the elite AFTERLIFE armour could not save them from that. It had already begun.
And then the second blasts hit. A proton torpedo, sped from the sky, and detonated, less than twenty meters away. The explosion this time, and its knockback? Inescapable. Twigg was forced from the roof, fully picked up by the blast and sent flailing, with Rexus now sprawling and skidding across the tiled roof. He reached an edge of the roof when he turned back. Now it was a cascading rain of missiles and turbolaser blasts. The entire roof and sky glowing with them. Wenck's breaths seized in his throat, as he realised what needed to be done. There was no escaping this. No way, unless....
Picking himself up, Rexus got a five step run up. He couldn't care less about the others. His entire body geared solely for survival. And so, he jumped. The nearby impact of a turbolaser barrage, pushing him through the air. Sending him flying. The weightlessness of it all, nauseating. It felt like an eternity, as all life seemed to slow to a standstill. But then, came the impact. The crack of bone as cartilage as he impacted on the ground, rolling around to mitigate injury, until the Death Trooper settled on his back. What had they done? He watched the light show, as the searing of pain settled. The clouds began to glow a fantastical red and green as the blasts settled upon the palace. It was beautiful.
And then it seemed to stop. Perhaps to allow time for the palace, on its own volition to collapse. There was no feasible way it could still be structurally sound, no? But then, then he saw it. Cutting through the sky and clouds, a lance of green energy. The last firework of the show, Cardan's proton beam. A final crescendo to Sorrow's orchestral piece, dedicated to the palace. All the worry, the angst, and anger Rexus held within him melted a little. Instead, he just laid back with a smirk on his face, captivated. If only he had a cigar to celebrate the moment.
Location: Mere km's from Tagge Survey Site
Objective: Moving to engage advancing enemy troops on city and/or Graug, stay alive, defend the Light and add to the Jedi Battle Mediation
Allies: ORC/AiE [member="Alm"] [member="T-3"] [member="Peyton Steele"] Twilight Company [member="Lyra Sunfell"] [member="Sol Stazi"]
Potential Battlemeld: [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Joza Perl"] [member="Arcanus Sunstrider"] [member="Julius Sedaire"] [member="Dax Fyre"] [member="Mishel Noren"] [member="Cathul Thuku"] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Srina Talon"] [member="Vaudin Miir"] [member="Mishka Larraq"] [member="Kahne Porte"] [member="Vorhi Alestrani"] [member="Roth Tillian"] [member="Boda"] +
Enemies: FO [member="Castiel Moncrief"] [member="Racosidae"]
Gear: Jedi VT-Vanguard Armor, Lightsaber, Shoto, Heavy Blaster Pistol, Twi'lek Warrior Dagger
The Jedi Guardian's sienna brown cloak worn over her battle armor waffled in the breeze as she sped across the ground on her speeder bike towards the survey site and where the First Order forces were noted to be thanks to Captain [member="Sol Stazi"]'s recon with his fire team.
A squad of Alliance shock troopers were right behind her in a TT-37 landspeeder as they approached the area that had been hit by mortar fire ordered by Major [member="Lyra Sunfell"]. They were to clear the area of any Imperials or Graug still alive, though the mortars had seemed to hit their mark pretty well from the smoke and debris. If any survived the direct hit, they'd be lucky one would assume.
Suddenly, Cambria's danger sense flared and a barrage of blaster bolts came from within a rubbled building. The lithe and nimble Twi'lek launched off her speeder bike, calling the lightsaber attached to the utility belt slung low off her shapely hips to hand while in mid air. The cerulean blue blade came to life in a blur as she redirected the initial enemy fire back towards their senders, coming down on booted feet at a run to take cover along a large piece of salvage. A couple of blaster bolts had gotten through her defensive screen, but luckily had only burned holes in her cloak.
The heavy repeating blaster cannon on the turret of the TT-37 came to life as well, laying down a nice spray of suppression fire. Shock troopers spanned out and took up positions in the debris field, then did their leap frog offensive maneuvers until the enemy guns were silenced.
"Good work, gentlemen," the blue-hued Twi'lek Jedi nodded with an appreciative twitch of her lekku, then she paused for a moment and put her closed fist up to indicate to the troopers to hold.
Cambria sensed the Graug before actually seeing the creatures emerge from a warehouse-looking building that was worse for wear. As they approached the Alliance group snarling and growling rather fiercely, she gathered the Force to her hands and channeled it into withering blasts of Force Light. The wave of light side energy emanated out in all directions covering about a 10 meter area. The Graug were attracked to the dark energy yet repelled by the aura of the light, making them flee out of the area... well at least for now.
The shock trooper-in-charge ordered his men to secure the building and surrounding area.... That is when a nudge in the Force tickled her mind. It was an urgent telepathic message from [member="Tiland Kortun"], a sage and powerful Jedi Master of the Shattered Order.
// Friends... A disaster looms above our head. It will destroy everyone. We must raise what barrier we can to hold it at bay... Help me, if you can. //
"Overwatch Actual and Twilight Company, this is Blue. Something potentially disastrous is going to happen, to what exactly I do not know, but it may come from the sky. Take care!"
Cambria closed her golden eyes after ending the comlink, then reached into the chaotic currents of the Force to find the grand Battle Meditation of the Jedi present; a beacon for what was good in this galaxy. The Light was raising a collective Force Shield to protect those on Skor II's surface the Coalition and Alliance-in-Exile were defending from the First Order's unwarranted attack on the Squib world.
The Jedi Knight could feel the others as they melded one by one together, arm in arm so to speak, each lending their strength in a synchronous mediative state to make a barrier between them and the tyrannical Imperials, who appeared to care nothing for those they wished to bring into their fold. How could anyone be so cold? Life was precious, even those you disagreed with. Mass genocide was not the answer, if that was what the First Order was doing here and now. They would find themselves on the wrong side of history if they did.
Time would only tell what happened next as a barrage of weapons fire seemingly came down from the heavens.
It was amazing how far he managed to stumbled through the palace before he encountered some form of hostiles. He'd expected to get swamped with troopers or the darksiders within seconds, but he'd been lucky. Until now. Now he was looking at several stormtroopers and two of the First Order's elite. Knights of Ren. There was a Jedi too. He should've stayed out of it, he should've turned and run, what was a cripple with a blaster going to be able to do in a fight?
The answer was something very stupid.
His pistol came to bear in an instant, leveling it with a power armor-clad Ren rushing towards the outnumbered lightsider. He squeezed it thrice in quick succession, bolts flying towards Varas' center of mass. He knew full and well he wouldn't kill her, he doubted the impact would even sting, but he sure as hell hoped it would throw off her focus, give Porte a second to react, or redirect her attention to him.
Without pause, his aim shifted to one of the stormtrooper and he squeezed off another shot at the trooper's head. He was in over his head.
To cross the hall, he was soon joined by a duo of troopers that had been accompanying the black armoured little girl. Not that he knew it was a child, he didn't have access to information on... A lowering of his gaze from a glance over his shoulder, and he could see the hilts on her belt and he turned back forwards. Ren. The Supreme Leader's personal cult enforcers.
Shrugging his newfound escorts off him and pressing his back onto a nearby wall, he beckoned the Ren to come to them before looking back to the Storm Commando. Omari was silent for much of it. Numb, mostly, ignoring the throbbing pain in his thigh as he spared another look to his thigh and the hole in his leg and armour. Had it gotten larger? This planet is karking cursed.
Turning his head back to the Colonel, he watched as he took the helmet off of his head and immediately said, "What the hell are you doing?" Vyken wasn't aware of the grenade that went off prior, he was busy crossing a hostile corridor and then the next moment one of his charges was taking off their helmet.
The mans mouth was moving as he answered, but Omari felt things were in slow motion after his initial listening of the words.
"--Enacted Sorrow -- leave. NOW."
Disbelief crossed his features behind the helmet as he shook his head, the shock of the revelation instantly straightening his back and his stature as much as possible. The words he missed out on, they flooded back into the front of his conscious as time seemed to resume back to its natural pace, if not a little faster. His heart was racing and he felt its thumping all throughout his body. The shorter of the Death Troopers was having an outburst, and Omari could agree, but what seemed even more surreal was the Death Trooper was actually showing emotion. Fear.
Just a man.
Even as the Colonel ushered Omari to the window, there was fire raining from the sky, even as Remus and Romulus made their escape. "What have you done?" There was a quaver in his voice, one that he hadn't been aware of, even as he spoke the words. When only moments before he had fought with himself to decide that it wasn't his time to die, his pride, or even arrogance, had been rewarded with death by orbital fire. On another day, when he wasn't faced with his own mortality, a mortality that he hadn't thought he cared that much about until today, he would've called in the strike himself. He just would've waited until his team was out of the danger zone first.
Turning to look out the window again in the hopes of seeing their lone wolf spotter, he lifted his good leg and swung it over the window sill as he withdrew an ascension cable from his belt. Based from his HUD and the rapidly furthering of Romulus' transponder... He's running away...Coward.But he pressed the trigger all the same and allowed himself to ascend on the cable out the window and to the roof, forced to pull himself to the roof alone since his apparent Strike team members had fled the scene.
As he forced himself into a kneeling position, he resisted the temptation of looking up into the sky. There was a part of him that was curious, but he didn't want to see when he was atomized. He didn't want to feel helpless.
"Colonel!" Wrynn called as the world shook around them. His voice was amplified by the helmet's vocabulator, and as he moved, the environmental camofaluge of his armor gave. He needed for them to see him. His mind raced over the words even as they poured reflexively from him. "I have exfil. Everyone on me!"
Wrynn hefted his DMR and aimed down the sights and clipped the grappling hook attachment onto the muzzle and pulled back on the lever to dislodge a round casing. With deft movements, he loaded in the hook and fed the fibercord through a loop, tied it off, and set the spool to give.
Heat rose and the barometric pressure gauges in his HUD screamed warnings about rising levels of energy intensity in atmo. If he did not act quickly, they would all be caught in the hellfire. They were prepared for it, obviously, but he refused to willingly accept any sacrifice. Any citizen of the Order was worth protecting. They were all worth saving. Right down to the Death Troopers who had undergone changes to become brutally efficient machines of war.
At some level, every one of them retained a life worth living and a reason to persevere.
"Firing!"
He fingered the trigger shakily and exhaled to steady his hands. There was only one shot to take, one place where he could aim to get them out and away quickly enough. He aimed for a smaller tower that rose from one of the nearby buildings and fired. The hook sped toward the intended target and dug in. Holding spikes deployed on impact. The rope went taut as he slammed the choke, and Wrynn hurried to tie it down.
"Go!" he screamed, not waiting for any questions, "let's move!"
Her head still hurt like hell but it had stopped swimming, thank the Force. This let her concentrate as well as she could on the chaos around her, the Mandalorian aiming a rifle at her grandfather’s back and the soldier encroaching on her position. Her placement was precarious at best, right side of her body leaning over a table for support as she breathed heavily through clenched teeth and searched blindly for anything to throw at him, anything to use as a weapon.
One of the projectiles smashed into the visor of his helmet, shards and fragments of glasteel falling away to reveal a shred of his vindictive gaze. Maybe it was that single hazel eye that stared at her with such hatred, maybe it was what she could see of the lines of his face as they curved and tugged around his brow and the socket below. Maybe it was his voice as he spoke only a single line, gruff and simple but it shook her to her core for some reason.
Alarm bells went off in time with the pounding of her head and right now it wasn’t because of the danger in front of her. It was something else, something she couldn’t name. A dozen feelings at once and she couldn’t grasp any of them for too long, nor could she make sense of why she felt so uncomfortable beyond the obvious.
The soldier strode forward, her pistol in his hand and she moved to both scramble out of his range and grasp for any object she could find. Her fingers curled around the cold metal of a hydrospanner. “No, wait—“ She rasped desperately, crying out as the bolt hit her right knee and ate through the thin durasteel plating there. Buckling onto her table by her waist, Yula sucked air in heavily through her teeth as white hot pain seared from her injured joint, up into her hip and down to her ankle.
“Stop, wait—!” She put a hand up, trying to halt his advance if only for a moment before he put one between her eyes. Her heart fluttered rapidly at the thought and the skin on her neck prickled. “I...this is going to sound out of place but…I…”
Memories from too long ago peppered her addled mind, trying to force their way in and make a connection. They were short, snippets of seemingly insignificant moments but they all centered around one person. Normally she wouldn’t be this insistent, not in a situation this dire.
Artillery fire rained down on the position of the palace only a short distance away, impacts thundering through the corridors and streets of Metrobig. It was all background noise, even the green light of the proton beam as it fired and her grandfather making a beeline for them. Everything faded into the periphery as her world narrowed onto this man.
Yula heaved, taking in a heavy breath and whimpering lowly as the expansion of her rib cage brought on a new series of aches and pains. “I think we’ve met before.” Her hand tightened around the hydrospanner, and should he attack her again it would have been sent spiraling towards his head.
Never once did she take her eyes off of him, face a mix of fear, determination and anger. In her green eyes, a hopeful spark. Never had she looked more like her mother.
Val waited for the Grand Moff's plan, response to her suggestion to vacate the Concordia. Surely the Supreme Leader would want to ensure that Ms. Fortan survived the conflict.. but the words she was building up towards never came. Instead they were replaced with a blank stare, the cogs and gears inside the woman's head obviously turning. *No doubt grinding.* thought Val. Vent the reactor, blow the reactor? The Special Agent didn't really like where that train of thought was going. It implied all was lost, or nearly - the repercussions of venting the reactor would create the perfect immobile target for the enemy. To let the reactor explode? What kind of a move was that? Perhaps the woman saw something Val didn't. She'd readily admit that she wasn't an expert in the realm of Naval vessels or maneuvers but both of the options the Grand Moff had posited didn't sound good.
Moments turned into minutes, to the point where Val was starting to worry - Captain Escala was a capable officer but with the Grand Moff gone near catatonic it brought certain things into question. As Natasi spoke again she breathed a sigh of relief. Her momentary concerns were allayed, at least for now.
"The First Order doesn't need Concordia to be successful. It needs us, all of us."
The gravity of the words didn't escape Val's notice. She could hear the tension in Natasi's voice, the subtle tells that the words were hard to say. *No doubt they were.* This was the Concordia, one of the First Order's oldest vessels and one of the most iconic - save the Wrath. The Concordia had a history though, a service record... her scars were what made her. It was a symbol of the First Order. Hard times called for hard decisions. Dire situations, extreme.
"Captain Escala, please code a secured signal to First Order forces on Concordia. Send short-range communications to the nearby ships and let them know we will be jettisoning our escape pods according to pattern theta. Broadcast an encrypted signal to First Order forces aboard Concordia to seek evacuation. Destroy the shipboard databases and schedule to shut down the reactors, code omega, once our escape pods are away."
*It was happening. It was really happening.* Val, still seated at the secondary bridge console knew a few shortcuts she could take to ensure the data was wiped per the woman's instruction. Inserting a small device the size of an ID card into the side of the console her fingers danced across the keys. Finally her technical skills had come in handy. First it was the compression, the equivalent of a blackbox recording quickly compressing and writing to the device, deleting itself from the Concordia's systems upon completion. A small timer readout displayed on the screen, Val silently urging it to go faster. Included in the data download was external sensor readings, snapshots of the data captured since they'd arrived in system. It wasn't as clear as video might have been but in a bind it would do the job. Faster than the techs aboard might have been able to do it anyway.
She could hear the bustle as bridge crew quickly began to depart, one by one the stations going vacant and alarms and chimes echoing in the open space. It was almost eerie.
"This'll be done in just a minute, I need more time if we're going to get all the data. We have to be sure."
Her words were terse, strained as her fingers moved across the console. The computer was fast but even it had a process - Val hoped her expertise would cut down on the amount of work the computer needed to do, purging auxiliary storage locations. With luck, they'd get out before they'd missed the opportunity. Frantically she watched, indicator moving slowly. *Come on, come on....*
**Alert. Alert. Data Purge Complete.**
A triumphant shout escaped the agent's lips. A second later she retrieved the sole container of the Concordia's data store. She had to keep it safe, get it back for analysis. The Wrath was a powerful tool but it had been absent for the majority of the battle, data it had collected would be incomplete without the Concordia's. With a touch of her arm, she slid the data device inside a concealed container in the agent's robotic arm. Now they were ready.
"Data clear!" she shouted. "We're all done here!"
Above Castiel heard the exclamation as the wind was nearly knocked out of those who'd fallen on him - whomever or whatever they were. As he fought against the weight of the lifeless Graug he heard a fast uttered "Sorry!". *An accident...* he mused. *... How in the nine hells was that an accident?!* Covered in Graug guts, the Auxiliary Sergeant didn't suppose he looked the most approachable, and by the way the woman was speaking she was just as lost as he was. He had plenty of questions but right now wasn't the time.
With a roar yet another Graug had come barreling towards the now trio. Man, Woman, Robot. And then the others - behind him his own soldiers, the First Order troopers, and as his eyes saw strange specks in the sky a snarl escaped his lips. *Grav chutes.* Before he could untangle his weapon from the mess that had been the alien soldier the woman had taken up arms, a massive hammer swinging towards the approaching behemoth.
Before her blow could land a pulsing flash of purple flickered into view and embedded itself squarely in the chest of the supernatural being - the hum of a lightsaber sending a chill down the Auxiliary's spine. *The Ren.* He'd heard rumors, even seen the shadowy figures lurking around from time to time but to share a battlefield with one of Sieger's own was something entirely different. These were the arbiters of Sieger's will - a man who had achieved an almost legendary status among the First Order as their leader. As Castiel finally tore the barrel free of what had been one of the Graug's organs, he noticed the droid had put its fingers through the assailant's jaw, nearly hoisting the beast from the ground. Whether it was the saber or the droid who had killed the thing Castiel didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care.
"What the feth are you doing in here? This area was supposed to be clear. Are there more of.." He motioned to the woman as he cast a wary glance at the droid. "..you around here?"
Castiel gestured to the rest of the warehouse and beyond with the barrel of his weapon, eyes scanning. Always scanning.
Location: Refugee Camp. Objective: Defend the Innocent - Save the Assailant. Allies: The Squibs of Skor II, The Outer Rim Coalition; [member="Joza Perl"], [member="Orvo Lekarz"], [member="Lyra Sunfell"] Enemies: The First Order; [member="Leah Kaban"].
When the threat had slithered through the shawled woman’s venomous lips, detailing the severance of her bioelectric link and the sudden arrival of an Imperial troopship, I felt my patrician features harden. It was more than possible that her words carried weight; that twenty Stormtroopers would rush down the yawning maw of their lander and lay waste to everyone and everything in sight in an act of petty revenge.
As doubtful as that future was, it was still something that I had to keep in mind; since every word this woman spoke was undoubtedly true in one fashion or another. Her device could’ve been wired into a subcutaneous implant in her forearm that bound her vitals to that of the machine, and that in removing it, she was to be likely considered dead by her comrades. However, I began to question her claims with every passing second, as I recalled one of the Combat Medics in the Camp mentioning something about a systems-wide communications jam.
Despite the technological marvels that the First Order was rumoured to have concocted, it was doubtful that they’d be able to breach their own indiscriminate digital blockade. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of one of the nearby Imperial patrols finding the refugee camp; having been led to this location by the sudden absence of a friendly asset. To further enforce this sliver of fear that began to worm it’s way into my thoughts, the chatter of blasterfire rung out in the distance. It was uncharacteristic of me to give in to my fears - for as a youngling - I was taught the various means by which a Jedi could master his emotions.
Yet, here I stood with the Imperial Agent’s binding in hand; feeling as if someone stabbed into the meat of my mind with a needle of frigid ice. I could feel it starting to spread, ever so slowly, outwards in the attempt to envelop me whole and there was even a moment I felt another’s aetheric touch brush across the surface of my consciousness.
That was when I bit my tongue; an act that would tear my thoughts away from the masqued visage of a powerful stranger, and instead turn them towards focusing on the pain throbbing within my skull. It was an old trick, but it was enough to becalm the frigid tides sweeping through my mind, and replace my fears of discovery with the determination of a strong-willed Jedi.
“You may threaten us as much as you like,” I stated through a thin-lipped smile. “But that won’t stop us from laying down our arms peacefully. If you and your ilk come for these innocents, I cannot guarantee your safety - nor those of your comrades.”
It had been ages since I last wielded a weapon, even in defence of another. My first instincts were to disable an assailant with my fists, but Stormtrooper armour would tough and would rapidly cause my body to submit to fatigue. There was no other choice; if her threats became manifest - I would be forced to break my own promise in order to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves.
I’m sure that she would understand.
Before the ashen revenants of my past roused themselves from their watery graves, I subtly shook my head. Enough time was spend mulling over what happened on that distant world, and I wasn’t in the right place to let my mind wander. There was already someone out there seeking to inspire the seeds of darkness taking root in this world’s collective thoughts; I couldn’t let my own overtake me in the process.
It was in that moment that my rose-hued comrade had sought to take advantage of the Imperial Agent’s threat; seeking to make one in return. Her words widened my smile, ever so slightly.
“Even then,” I said, patting the confiscated device lashed to my belt. “I doubt it would do more than waste our time.”
“It is an interesting, idea on the other hand,” I added in, before giving Joza a wink, and the bindings that encapsulated the Agent’s wrists a soft a playful tug.
A part of me hoped that I read her tone right and that she was indeed teasing; else I just found myself as an accomplice to a premeditated murder of a prisoner of war. That was, at least as far as I understood it, worthy of the war crimes appellation. While it would be par the course for several of my radical kin, it wasn’t something I wished to have attached to my name, nor to the Hidden Praxeum, I had become fond of as of late.
In the moments after Joza had all but demanded the woman’s name, I found myself with a stilled tongue and prickled flesh. Something was wrong, as the aura of fear that gripped the city became worse - turning from a sickly yellow to a bright, almost incandescent red. At first, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A part of me believed it was looking in a mirror, and seeing what transpired within my own mind a mere moment ago - just spread across the city. Then, as my questioning eyes looked towards the distant heavens…
I found them burning in answer.
“We,” I said with a trembling tongue. “We need to get inside. Now!”
There was no politeness in my actions that followed the sudden revelation, as I sought to push the Imperial Agent towards shelter. Even though she had drawn a weapon on me, and threatened the lives of everyone within the Refugee Camp - I utterly despised the thought of leaving her out in the open. She, like everyone else within that partially-collapsed hospital, was a living being and deserved to live out their natural lives; not to be snuffed out by callous inhumanity orbital fire.
Silara furrowed her brows and then regained her composure. That was a serious blow. She glanced off her left shoulder, watching it shred to pieces, right before the alarms blared a second time. Morros fleet closed in around Merchant Command, still hammering her vessels from the stern.
"XO Report on the Hyper-velocity cannons?"
"Visual confirmed hits on one out of three Ma'am."
"Chit."
There was no escape for Merchant Commands vessels. She watched with blank face as their shields fell under the onslaught of the mighty warship they assaulted. Thousands pf rounds streamed in impacting their hulls, sending crystallized water and fuel spiraling into space. Their hulls crumpled, sides splitting. Several breathed their last life as their reactors went critical, with an explosion that was similar to a supernova.
Hopefully they were close enough to FIV Devastators stern. I hope they feel that....
Her hands balled into fists.
At the same time twin Qekoth vessels shields dropped, and they found themselves impaled by beams of blinding light. One with a smoking crater, drifted away. The other was annihilated by a barrage of high grade missiles, only orange flashes marking it's demise...
She turned away as the view-ports blacked out, protecting their eyes from the radiation and lum of the dying ships.
"Merchant....... they're....."
I need traction. I need something. Void send me a small victory at least.
"Incoming fleets....."
Something. Anything.
She turned back, about to adress the crew, when she caught something.
"Magnify that image, ten x."
Her eyes roved the panel of screens below her platform.
Where there'd normally be a flicker of blue, there was nothing, and single piece of debris scraped their hull to no effect.
It was an opening.
She still had plenty of Firepower, both with What Qekoth remained and her Jast Destroyers. Thousands of Ion Cannons and Mass Drivers.
"FIV Devastators shields are down. Gunnery! Divert all firing solutions in a bracket, all ninety HVC's. Jast Elites will fire all weapons in sync. Qekoth Command will detach, and head under the command of Admiral [member="Mazik Stazi"]. Alliance will remain with us. "
"Aye Ma'am..."
She stood straighter, eyes cast up into the stars.
"If the Merchant Command and the Excubitor are going down the least we can give them is a proper send-off."
Some of the crew still looked sullen.
The battle raged.
Attacking FIV Pellaeon at this juncture would be a lost cause. Their only option was to close with Morro and wound her fleet as best they could.
"I have no grand speeches to give you. The truth is we've suffered grievous wounds today, upholding our oath's as Sailors of the Alliance Navy. But we are more than just our ships and crews. We are an idea. An idea that good men, women and Alien can still stand up and bloody the noses of the tyrannical. So all I can ask is that you do that, and if we go down, we go down. There'll be time for grieving later, if we make it through to the other side. So stand to your posts. Trust in me. Trust in your fellow Shipmates.
Right now on the surface of Skor II hundreds of our allies are dying, to save not only the Squibs, but what is left of us. We the Alliance. Now, Helm reform us, column formation. Gunnery fire. Everyone else get to your fething feet and send these warriors off how they deserve. And after that, let's make good on our promise, and bleed them dry."
They tapped their last orders into the keypads.
Seconds before the guns fired, as the fleet moved into column formation, her voice rang across the bridge. Deep, stern, louder than the din of battle like a clarion call of an Angel.
"Deck, Attention!"
They rose.
"Present.."
The Hyper-Velocity Cannons Boomed, as the last shreds of merchant command broke apart, spiraling every which way into the void. A body went gliding past the view port.
"Arms!"
They Saluted.
RECAP
Remaining Qekoth break away to [member="Mazik Stazi"]
Remaining Merchant Command wrecked
ANS Resolute Vengeance II fires all 90 HVC's at FIV Devastator
Alliance Command fires on FIV Devastator
Reforming to Column
OOC: Out of play vessels will be removed from list after this post, for simplicity's sake.
Location: FIV Anastasia Objective: SECRET MISH- NOW REVEALED Allies: [member="Jorus Merrill"] Enemies: [member="Karl Von Strauss"] She kept roving until she found her mark. Her lips curled in a devilish grin under the face plate of her helm, and butterflies filled her stomach. The terminal was sighted. She glanced left and right, still a two way access hall, which was good.
Time for phase II
The most critical part of any vessel is it's reactor or power plant. And that was today's secret mission.
Let's turn off the lights!
From her back a medium disc shaped drone activated on voice command. Buzzing in the small corridor just off her left shoulder.
"Drone, access terminal and slice firewall. Standing order, shut down bridge controls, then shutdown power grid and reactor. Continuous loop until otherwise stated please."
The drone chimed twice in her headset.
She shook her head.
Please? I'm so damn nice, I'm even nice to non sentients.
Still the drone was probably the most handy asset she possessed. A Xayinas Class Slicer Droid. Advanced networking, military grade hacking. That should make quick work of the system, unless there was a hiccup. At that point she may or may not step in and manually enter some of her own fun codes.
The second pitfall that could emerge?
Within seconds they would no doubt at least be able to trace her drones entry point once they tripped the system.
Which is why she had this narrow two way hallway.
And a few tricks.
She crouched, hands in between her knees to steady herself and breathed deep, beginning her cyclic breathing exercise.
The force began to flow through her cells like so many dams opening to let a flood water through. Light, dark, all the motions and fears that showered through her made the young warden tremble. She was not yet a master of controlling this flow, but she had enough prowess to focus on what she really wanted.
Xayinas Class Slicer Droid - An armor addition to create an over watching slicer droid for every purpose. Provide covering fire, or break into enemies systems, all at once.
Ancile Shield - A wrist-mounted Shield that can be thrown as a physical projectile
Chakram Shield - The prototype of the Ancile, the Charkram is an anti-energy shield that releasing a powerful energy blast on contact that can stun its target. (Only provided to certain individuals, only 10 were ever made.)
Stormtrooper Armor with homebrew Oxygen tank in there.
Praetorian Initiate Equipment | Mk. I RAKGHOUL Semi-Powered Battle Armour with Repulsorlift Technology, Lightsaber & Training Lightsaber, DE-39 Maser Rifle, Throwing Knives, Binding Wires, Injector Pens filled with Lecepanine Location | Tower, Away from the Palace of the Squib King, Skor II Objectives | Securing area from potential ambush Allies | [member="Omari Vyken"], [member="Primat Ren"], [member="Varas Ren"], [member="Rexus Wenck"], [member="Rolf Amsel"], [member="Tobias Wrynn"], [member="Keira Verd"], [member="Vestille Thumahra"],First Order Enemies | [member="Dax Fyre"], [member="Mishel Noren"], [member="Coren Starchaser"], [member="Romi Jade"], [member="Srina Talon"], [member="Darth Metus"], [member="Julius Sedaire"], [member="Jaius Sovv"], ORC & their allies
[SIZE=11pt]It came as a relief when the small group of hostiles ignored their presence, and instead focused on aiding their own comrade. Though they did not pay them any mind, the youngling used it as an opportunity to carefully study their force signatures and memorised their unveiled features. These were the individuals she would have to face in the near future, and Marriskcal did not want to be unprepared when the time came. As the stormtroopers and the Storm Commando began the motions of evacuating the area, another diamond appeared close to them on the screen of her HUD, her IFF immediately identifying them as an ally.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]“I've enacted Sorrow - we need to leave. NOW.”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]The initiate felt as if someone has reached out with a cold hand, past her armour and her flesh and her bones, to grasp at her heart.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]So… it has come to this point.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Though it was a lapse on her part to take her eyes off the hostiles, Marrisckcal found herself trembling within the protective embrace of her battle armour. While she has never witnessed a live orbital bombardment before, she has read and seen how devastating its effects were from the archives. And what little of the holorecords she has seen covered a more widespread expanse. Sorrow… Sorrow Protocol was a focused orbital bombardment where the full wrath and destructive power of the First Order warships were unleashed on a sole target – the Palace of the Squib King.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]It took her all that she could to maintain her thin veneer of calmness. Despite her senses screaming and clawing at her from within to remove herself from the area, Marriskcal did not allow her instincts to reign over her training. Her heart was racing, its beats swiftly becoming the only prevalent sound in the chaos as the deathtroopers leaped out of the partially open shutter. She gripped her maser rifle tightly to center herself, to remind herself that this was just another variable in their mission before letting it fall to her side. When in doubt, follow your training. Follow the orders of someone who knows better than yourself.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Throwing all caution to the wind, Marriskcal trailed behind the Storm Commando, allowing her two escorts to exit after the wounded male as she nodded at the… CO? The manner in how he was gesturing for them to exit first was a clear indication of how he wore his responsibilities. Realising her battle armour was much too heavy for her to traverse to the roof in the same manner as her current team, the youngling activated the repulsor capabilities of her suit, ascending to the roof of the building swiftly. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Her force senses were still rebelling against her when she touched down and there was nothing the youngling could do to assuage them other than removing herself from the path of danger. Her eyes fell on the final member of the SpecOps team, the one that was supposed to provide their exfil, her eyes following the cable that lead towards a small tower a distance away. Knowing that there was not much aid she could provide to an already efficient team who knew each others skills and their roles intimately, Marriskcal took the lead, using both the armour own capabilities and her own manipulation of the force to augment her own physical abilities before she took a running leap.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]The least she could do was to secure their exit.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]The initiate landed heavily, the combined impact and weight of her armour leaving a light smattering of cracks on the surface. Immediately, she expanded her senses to cover the immediate area, ensuring that no one could ambush them while the rest of the team was still evacuating from the palace complex.[/SIZE]
Location: Survey Site Outer Perimeter Objective: Harry Tagge Perimeter Defenders in Advance of Assault Allies: ORC + AiE | [member="Lyra Sunfell"] | [member="Cambria Zadira"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Alm"] | [member="T-3"] | Twilight Company Enemies: FO | [member="Rhun Trask"] | [member="Decima Fortan"] | [member="Castiel Moncrief"] | [member="Racosidae"] Equipment: Scout Armor, A320 Rifle, SSK-7 Heavy Blaster, Alliance Adjudicator, Vibrorapier
"Overwatch, this is Dusk Actual. Good effect on target."
Fire plumes were reflected in Sol's eyes, giving his crimson orbs a faint orange hue. The duros captain had already passed along a series of grid coordinates for Twilight's mortar team to target, and while their barrages on the Imperial survey site had been scattered at first, between him and Flaps they had through trial and error zeroed in on camp infrastructure and those Auxiliary troopers who were still clustered out in the open.
A stray shot leveled the upper stories of a warehouse a few hundred meters off on their right flank, just outside Tagge's perimeter, but it was an anomaly. The rest of their ordinance sailed true, no doubt throwing their enemy into disarray just when they could have cut down a fair share of their airborne reinforcements. Word passed down from Overwatch over the line, they were committed to this theater. Sol's operation had been merely a prelude to all out assault.
Behind him, he could hear heavy footfalls from down below inside their warehouse's interior in between mortar falls. All the commotion outside had finally stirred their unknowing neighbors, another nest of Graug.
"Someone bar that door, please," he ordered in the firm but polite way he tended to operate on dangerous missions.
Hundred Eyes dutifully complied, slamming the access hatch shut and wedging a piece of scrap metal across its handles to secure it in place. A temporary solution, Sol knew, they would have to vacate this rooftop soon even if the Imperials never discovered their presence. With Major Sunfell and the rest of Twilight on the move, discretion would not be relevant for much longer anyway, so he ordered his fireteam to pick their targets below and wait for his command.
"Overwatch Actual and Twilight Company, this is Blue. Something potentially disastrous is going to happen, to what exactly I do not know, but it may come from the sky. Take care!"
Their Jedi support's voice crackled over Captain Stazi's helmet com. He wasn't sure how he felt about Jedi continuing to serve among them, considering what happened on Coruscant and all that had followed in its wake. And yet he was forced to admit, at times like these, it was nice to have a seer among them. Almost at the same time as her transmission came in, the massive blue dome which framed their surroundings suddenly evaporated. Somehow, the city shield had been disabled, and Metrobig was now vulnerable.
It didn't take a maths genius to put both of these observations together.
"Forget it. It's not our problem," Sol called out to his fireteam, who had all heard the same warning, "Fingers on triggers. Remember, officers first."
He picked his own target, if he was remembering his Imperial regalia correctly a captain. Marshaling forces both into the warehouses, likely more fodder for their own Graug problem, and away from open spaces where Twilight heavy ordinance was raining down with destructive ferocity. One eye on his scope, his other kept glancing off to their flank. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing on the horizon. No signs of movement.
Then, the first combat speeder finally materialized into view.
"Twilight, weapons free."
A320 rifles coughed blaster bolts loudly followed by staccato bursts from Panaka's DLT-29, adding small arms fire to the list of Tagge's current troubles. When Sunfell broke their lines, one fireteam would be the least of the Empire's concerns.
Location: Metrobig City
Allies: First Order/[member="Seto Du Couteau"]
Enemies: Alliance in Exile/Outer Rim Coalition.
Nearby: [member="Tiland Kortun"]
Equipment: Raiment of the Vigilant, Vader's Bane Lightsaber
Objective: Enforce Curfew
As soon as the shield went down, Kyrel couldn't help but grin. It made it all the easier to continue dropping walkers, and more troops within the depths of the city. It was chaos, as the city was a war zone. The First Imperials, all but attempting to pacify the local Squibs kept losing more numbers than pacifying the civilians and the local rebels. But they had done well in making up for that, by using lethal force upon the Alliance troopers, enjoying the screams that were echoed across the comm channels, the Alliance soldiers being gunned down by Stormtroopers already angry with the natives left off some very satisfying steam out in their deaths. Kyrel found himself feeding on the conflict. The anger, the fear, the hatred. All that was crucial and fed into the dark side had gained him more power as the battle progressed.
He was not here in hopes of securing another planet that truly cried out for the guidance of the order. But he was here because this planet was unfinished business. Too long it had stood out as a blemish in the First Order's list of victories. The only place where the pitiful Alliance had managed to win. If only they managed to gain Skor II during the first battle, they would have perhaps gained Lothal sooner than what occurred in reality. To that end it had angered Kyrel, not only was it the sight of the First Order's failure, but also his own failure as well. He failed to prevent the deaths caused at the salvage station and failed to prevent the executions of the Gundark Gunners. An execution that he had not been a part of thankfully, but still felt that in of itself was still a failure.
The conquest of Skor II was a personal matter, a matter that not only needed to be rectified for the First Order as a whole, but for himself. To compensate for his failure and defeat, and for the lives that were needlessly lost during the battle. That was why as much as he wanted to just bombard the planet and be done with it. It would not make up for what happened before. The only they were gonna win was to not be like the Loathsome Alliance. To not murder, and slaughter as if beasts, but to subdue their opponents. To win the hearts and minds of the people, for that was how they were winning. Hearing within his comm that Sorrow had been enacted, he sent out a message to all units "All units within the city, Sorrow has just been commenced. Steer clear of the palace vicinity." He said as even though he was sure that the intense fight within the streets didn't permit troopers that far into the city. He didn't want to take any chances.
The troopers struggled, grenades being thrown, and blaster bolts being fired at from the building, a commander tried to keep his squad together. "Take cover!!" "They're everywhere Ahh!!" "Noo, call for reinforcements!" Numerous shoutouts were heard across the various comm channels as The commander tried to keep his team together, similar units across the lower neighborhoods trying to push deeper were experiencing the same. Each time the rebels or civilians were stunned with a stun bolt, a trooper would be lost, perhaps even two or three more. One of the Commander's contacted Kyrel. "Sir, we are under attack, the rebels aren't giving in so easily, and the more we keep stunning, we just seem to lose even more troops." Kyrel gritted his teeth, muttering curses at the enemy, they were here to enforce a peaceful curfew, the Rebels were making it worse. Needlessly killing the stormtroopers, and breaking rules of engagement. With the troopers barely firing a lethal shot. No doubt taking a page from the tyrannical and barbaric Alliance. He was lost in thought for barely a moment before replying. "Hmmm begin breach protocols, inform the walkers to switch to tear gas, that will provide the troopers with sufficient capability, in snuffing out the rebels." He said the Commander couldn't help but smirk. "Copy that Sir."
Units all over began to begin breach protocols throughout the neighborhoods, block by block, street by street, house by house. They began the long grueling effort, of pacifying the Rebels, and enforcing the curfew, first by breaking down the door, throwing flash grenades and then stunning the occupants. Even the rebels being armed. The peaceful curfew must still be enforced by any means necessary. Those that were attacking from the higher buildings while the troopers breached from the lower levels, the walkers' employed Tear gas. Driving away the squibs, but not without suffering losses thanks to the grenades. With the starting efforts, the attacks started to decrease, slowly but surely as reinforcements continued to drop in.
With the long battle in the streets, Kyrel could feel the intense power in the light, and could see a type of barrier that he sensed from the Jedi. Reacting to counterattack, after slaying three Alliance marines viciously, with his blade Vader's Bane. He projected darkness in waves as if a black hole to suck out the light, in an attempt to make the barrier weaker if not collapse. The waves of darkness he projected boosted by the overwhelming power granted by his returned leader. Was just enough to even take on a legion of Jedi Knights, as he attempted to snuff out the light from the man's very being. All the while taking great pleasure, as sorrow was commenced, the beam falling from the sky, and beginning to engulf the palace.
Location: In the brambles
Objective: Show you the truth. Yes, you.
Enemies : [member="Omari Vyken"] [member="Rolf Amsel"] [member="Marriskcal Lati"] [member="Rexus Wenck"] [member="Tobias Wrynn"] [member="Kyrel Ren"] [member="Varas Ren"] [member="Primat Ren"] [member="Alkor Centaris"] [member="Elian Keyes"] and any other First Order Fethers
Allies : [member="Tiland Kortun"] [member="Julius Sedaire"] [member="Yula Perl"] [member="Joza Perl"] [member="Darth Metus"] and the remaining ORC forces.
“You develop an instant galactic consciousness, a people orientation, an intense dissatisfaction with the state of the galaxy, and a compulsion to do something about it. From out there on the edge, international politics look so petty. You want to grab a politician by the scruff of the neck and drag him a quarter of a million miles out and say, ‘Look at that, you son of a nerf herder.”
― Edgar D. Mitchell, paraphrased heavily.
~In the hedge~
Vorhi made a scream that no one could hear, in a darkness even force sight couldn't see through. Force Sight was one thing. It told you what was there and what wasn't. Being born with it, like all Miralukians, meant many things to Vorhi. It meant you could tell a body at rest from a corpse with one look, most of the time. It meant very few things could obscure your vision. It meant you'd already seen everyone you've ever met naked, but you learned very quickly that pointing this out was never a good decision in any polite gathering.
However, for a true master, it meant more. It meant seeing the ebb and flow of things. It meant being able to telescope in, to channel your sight into ever more precise forms, including clairvoaynce, and even in some cases, sight of the future, if you were that kind of adept. For Vorhi, it meant seeing death, in a myriad of forms. Serving in wars, fighting in countless battles, even when he held his punches and did his best not to harm a mortal soul, he would see death. He'd seen unnatural extensions of life, and sorceries made to bind spirit and body to another's will. And frankly, he'd seen them enough, observed them enough, that he knew how they worked. He could pick them apart. He could tell you a dozen ways to consume the power of a ghost and make a living phantasm. He could tell you a dozen more ways to make it live.
The mad monk's gauntlets cracked. Made from his own blood, imbued with the force, with his hatred of himself, with fear of his own weakness, they'd make a decent offering. But hate and fear weren't enough. Not for this. He screamed louder, yanking on his right arm. The grating sound of a bone dislocating. A deep pain, but minor. Compared to Druckenwell, minor. The gloves dissolved.
“It won't happen again,” he yelled at the void around him. “Not again, damnit!”
~Slightly to the left of the present~
Vorhi stood in the room. It was quiet. The battle was gone. Shock? Pain? Had he finally snapped? Was the blood loss kicking in?
A pile of colored ribbons. The same voice, but different. “Little thief, you have chosen, but we wish to know why.”
Vorhi's grimace was rather severe. “What, are you surprised? After I stole from you, you think me too selfish? Was that the point of your little appearance?”
“You could destroy them. You could wipe out the first order. But you will not. Why?”
“Isn't it obvious?” Vorhi said, glaring at the ribbons. “Skor is worth more to me than a few dead knights and simpering politicians playing at real power.”
“So you'll let them move forward?”
“Feth that,” the blind man growled. “There will not be another Druckenwell. Not again. I can stop it. I can show them. Now, let me go back to the battle.”
The voice paused, considering the impertinence of its unwilling guest. “Why are you in such a hurry to suffer? You have time here.”
“Because unlike you, I've made a choice. I have seen enough. I've seen more than you will—more than most. This whole sector is going to see it. No lies. No falsehoods. No games. I've seen good people, bad people—all of them—I've seen them die. And frankly, I'll see it again. But you, you don't view that as a burden. You wait in your monastery, and watch, and avoid getting attached to the universe, for fear it'll become something you can't avoid. But I am not some Aang-tii with eternity to play around with. I am a god damn grandmaster of Teras Kasi. So, today, for one day, you are going to get your wish. Watch. See as I see. Look through my eyes, and quit whining. I'm ready. If I die, then I'll be in company of better men. If I live,” he smiled, “Then I suppose we will meet again, stern mentor.”
The voice remained silent. Whether it was in consideration, or merely waiting for more, Vorhi couldn't tell. He decided to interrupt the supposedly obscenely powerful entity. After all, what was the point of being a Xenoarchaeologist if you couldn't annoy ancient powers beyond your ken for fun and profit?
He grinned. “Do you know what my name means? Alestrani? It's....a very common name back home. No one will ever find my parents, it's more common than Landwalker or Garamus or eve even Antilles. That's why I don't mind introducing myself in full even to armed maniacs.”
“I do not,” the aang-tii replied ponderously. “Will you tell us what it means?”
He grinned. “Farmer. Not that any in my family ever took up the craft.”
“It appears you will.”
“Appearances are not truths. A blind man knows that much,” Vorhi said, feeling his fingers sting. “It's time. Thank you.”
~Which brings us back to now~
Vorhi grunted as he felt hungry vines wrap around the dislocated limb, cutting off circulation form the elbow down. “Take it,” he rasped out, barely breathing. This wasn't the gift of hatred. No. This was a willing sacrifice. And act of compassion. Of hope. Of a chance to keep a world from burning a second time. A chance to fight the darkness, and the light. A chance to show the truth of war to all assembled.
He held back a scream as the limb was removed. Another gift of blood. A grim smirk crossed the monks features. Once again, here he was, his blood on the line, and some how, it was still [member="Jorus Merrill"]'s fault. Fething jerkass owed him when this was over. Again.
It was said that to truly master Sith alchemy, you'd need to pour out three shares of blood. One of your enemy, one of someone you love, and one of yourself. Vorhi had offered himself, that was certain. He'd seen walkers trample the public and people fight in the streets, a false promise of peace given way to violence, a planet of buyers and sellers and dealers and schemers and all the sorts of madmen he loved and cared for—Boda's generous helping of love love seeing to that—bleed and suffer. And the third share, of his enemies, had been provided in no small number above in space, with Sieger Ren's hatred anchoring it further.
Of course, the blood shed above him was far more than the blood beneath him. Perhaps that is why it sang louder. For when he sang the song of the Purrgill's, it hadn't been the voice of the living ones that he'd been channeling.
~ A City in Need of some Thrillin' heroics~
The ground and streets would stir. Loose earth would tremble. As Vorhi let out a plaintive cry, other voices—thousand of voices, in unison, would echo. For on this day, this one day, all on this world would see what Vorhi was cursed, and blessed, to see in the years since Druckenwell. Since he'd taken on the power of a dying city, to save the few he could.
The dead. This was no illusion. No simple spell of re-animation. No. This was a calling, a begging, an offering of life and blood, given to make one request, but not an original one. No, the request had simply been forwarded from Tiland:
A simple request, but once made to the dead, as well as the living, by virtue of one blind moron. And thus, with the offering, with the raw emotional energy of filial love and concern for one's kin and holdings, the Ghosts of Skor rose. Not just from this war, but the last, and the one before that. The First Order's many sins left a potent weight upon this world, and now, the dead of Skor decided, in massive numbers, it was time to redress grievances.
It was a sight none could deny, as ghosts began charging skyward, screaming battlecries, filling gaps in the Shield created by the other force-wielders. One singular battle cry resonated from the thorns, a chorus led by Vorhi, but repeated by an unknown number of the dead and perhaps even some amogn the living.
“Not again. Never again on this world!”
The briar would flicker, becoming less like wicked vines, pulsing with energy as the ghost flew upwards, growing and shifting into a strange, wild garden, drinking deep of the desire of the dead. Not to judge. Not to fight. But to protect their home from the predations of the wicked.
The shileld rang out with a voice, felt by any who could hear and sense it. "Feth this, not again!"
[youtube]https://youtu.be/4Gt5KgJtwcY[/youtube]
~In space ~
Att: [member="Natasi Fortan"] [member="Robogeber"] [member="Kaine Australis"] [member="Cathul Thuku"] [member="Kou'ha Escala"] [member="Val Kordova"] [member="The Private"] [member="Sieger Ren"] [member="Grozurra"] [member="Gromm Cardan"] [member="Karl Von Strauss"] [member="Mittens"] [member="Jada Raxis"] [member="Drake Jast"] and a dozen others in space.
War flew throughout the sector, however, the force meditation, the wild net that had wound the sector together as combat became life and life became focus, would find a new addition to it's own energy, as sight with in the force would felt them see, bot the living—and the dead. An ocean of ghosts, born from spacers and scrappers, from fallen fighters and massacred purrgills, would begin being seen by the living in the midst. These specters were not real and they were not strong, but they were real, and visible, and those in the force would sense their emotions as well as their ghastly forms spread across the sector. These ghosts had no directive, no control from Vorhi and or beseeching from Tiland. They simply were.
[youtube]https://youtu.be/YGjl92DqhnA[/youtube]
~Back on the land of the living, with dead accompaniments~
The ghost did their duty, and Vorhi emerged from the brambles holding the remainder of his severed arm.
Shock. He hadn't been in actual physical shock since...well, since Jorus Merrill shot him in the face that one time. Funny, how things went. Still, he could move. The vines had from a sort of weak seal on on the wound, so the bleeding was staunched, as long as he didn't do anything dumb. He sank to his knees, smiling. An army of the dead to save the living, a miracle to repel the enemy. And now, a nice little garden. Maybe he could build a hut in it.....
[SIZE=11pt]It was always harrowing for any Commanding Officer to realise that the vessel they served on were a lost cause and that there was nothing they could do to change its fate. For the young Captain, the sense of failure cut especially deep into his psyche. He was a new and inexperienced officer, so fresh to command that this was only his second assignment on the Concordia. While he remained sharp and focused on his responsibilities, Kou’ha had no doubt that the disgrace he has experienced today will haunt him for a long time to come. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]“No questions, ma’am.” It was clear enough to everyone standing in the emergency bridge that the Concordia was incapacitated despite their wishes. The damages done to its structural integrity were severe and the red and orange warning lights were swiftly superseding the blues. The klaxons were blaring, even as the shuddering of the ship was becoming more and more prominent by each passing minute. As much as he wanted to remain in denial, the Epicanthix knew what her ladyship said was true.
Live to fight another day.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Kou’ha turned towards his bridge officers and started issuing commands, the timbre of his voice bitter and strained, touched by a hint of brittleness. “You’ve all heard the Grand Moff, we shall proceed with the evacuation process. Commander Cerise, you will handle relaying her ladyship’s instructions throughout the Concordia and to the rest of Nebula Command.” Despite being close to the Wrath, Kou’ha knew they were still vulnerable. Their assailants has thrown one unexpected issue after another in their path, and he was not about to allow himself to be played for a fool for a second time. He noticed Special Agent Kordova by the console and decided that she was better equipped when it came to the information database. “I’ll start entering the shut down sequences for the reactors and launch Code Omega.”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]“Everyone else, please complete the shut down processes on your end then proceed to evacuate. We’ll be with you shortly.”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Over the channels all across the beleaguered ship, a long sharp high pitched whine was broadcasted, followed by the crackle and hum of white noise and static. Considering the dire state of the once grand Star Destroyer, this was not something that would be particularly out of place. But every crew and member that worked abroad the Concordia knew this sequence by heart. Slowly, but calmly, all non-essential members began to retreat in an orderly wave. The FIST division and other stormtrooper contingent stationed tightened their defenses at random crossroads in the mazelike corridors to ensure the remaining hostile will be delayed before they too will slowly begin their own retreat. Outside of the Concordia, the rest of Nebula Command began to move into a defensive formation, their shields and cannons prepared to intercept.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]As Special Agent Kordova proceeded with the data retrieval and data purge, Kou’ha himself keyed in his own set of commands into the ship’s main console. It was a long line of code, carved into his mind the moment he accepted his assignment onboard the Concordia. It was a code that only a select few possessed, and in their case, the Grand Moff, himself, and perhaps only another three or four individuals. He wished that he never had to use them, and now that they had been cornered to the point where they were forced to evacuate, every part of the Captain was suffused with helpless rage and burning humiliation even as the systems accepted his code and began its countdown.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]This was something that Kou’ha will never forgive.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]It was his first defeat and the thought filled his mouth with the taste of ashes. If he was allowed to continue serving after this battle was over, the Epicanthix will dedicate every single moment of his career to ensure that the Coalition and the Mandalorians involved will rue the day they decided to cripple the Concordia. He will take utmost joy in razing them down – city by city, planet by planet if he must.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]The bridge was completely empty by now, other than the figure of her ladyship, the special agent, his XO and several other crucial officers, and Kou’ha himself.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]“I’m done on my end as well. Shall we proceed?”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Kou'ha did not realise then, that their journey were about to be further encumbered by the presence of spirits.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]OOC: Added in a line to address the above post.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Actions taken:[/SIZE] [SIZE=11pt]
[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]• Nebula Command has closed the rank and is in a defensive formation in preparation for any attacks.
• Due to the combined attack from Therapy Command and the Alliance Core Fleet, Task Force Orion has received heavy damage.[/SIZE] [SIZE=11pt]
[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Fleet Summary:[/SIZE] [SIZE=11pt]
[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Battlegroup Nebula[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Commanded by Captain Kou’ha Escala,[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Under the auspices of Grand Moff Natasi Fortan.[/SIZE]
Location:Super Star Destroyer, FIV Wrath, Skor System Objective: Everybody was subspace ramming. Allies: The First Order | [member="Kou'ha Escala"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Karl Von Strauss"] | [member="The Private"] | [member="Morro"] | [member="Gromm Cardan"] | [member="Cynthia Alucard"] Enemies: The Alliance-in-Exile | The ORC | [member="Mazik Stazi"] | [member="Silara Varis"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Cathul Thuku"] | [member="Mittens"] | [member="Kaine Australis"]
Coordinating the efforts of a large battlegroup could seem an exercise in futility even to able commanders. Faster-than-light information displays and real-time data link transfers did little to mitigate the effects of time and distance on a scale measured in the hundreds of thousands of kilometers. Distributed command systems were a necessity, not merely a nice-to-have. Even with the Warmind AI handling fleet maneuvers for the moment, there were still a thousand major decisions that would impact lives and materials to be made, each supplemented by 10,000 minor ones, which turned based on millions of gears, individual actions by crew, droids, computers, and so on. The machine of war at work.
It allowed Cyrus to focus on the large picture, and try and forge some overall concept of operations. Arrival in system, initial sensor data reports, the impact of degraded communications (mitigated to some effect by the Wrath's ability to burn through interference by sheer power output), all this he observed, briefly analyzed, and reacted to. The Concordia was in danger, so ships were dispatched to cover its retreat. Enemy forces were numerous but small in size and largely focused around kinetics, and there were also a staggering number of biologics in the enemy force, which necessitated different tactics. The Pellaeon, Grand Admiral Rausgeber's flagship, was also under heavy fire, and needed some assistance.
Throughout this the fleet was far from dormant. Individual ship captains made judgement calls, targeted contacts, and opened fire. Squadron commanders directed volleys onto key elements of enemy formations, or to disrupt attempts are reorganization or retaliation by the enemy. Subordinate Fleet Commanders did much the same, but on a larger scale, each taking the inputs form the Warmind more as suggestions than by-the-law orders. Every so often, Cyrus' console chimed with an informational notice of some 'degradation' to the performance metrics because of operator input by ship's CO's.
The AI bitching about its own importance like a newly minted Admiral.
The first alert came from a strike package launched from a mass of small enemy carriers the system ID'd as being a new Mandalorian design. Immediately Cyrus zoomed out from where the thousands of fighters were massing, trying to grasp the bigger picture at work. The Squib Reclamation Fleet had advanced as well, hurling debris and occasional pieces of ordnance like a swarm of angry gnats daring to create a form and challenge a larger foe. They several particularly large ships, an old imperial relic and a few ancient siege guns, but nothing of dire threat.
Besides another swarm of biologics. These were different from the normally docile purrgils from before, which had been bloodied and were apparently withdrawing. The Vice Admiral in charge of the forward most section of the fleet had already tagged any of the space whales on outbound vectors as low priority targets. Given the environment, they were unlikely to see many more casualties, there were plenty of more immediate threats to the First Order ships.
Bad news comes in threes they said, and it was holding true today. It was one of those little fuck you moments the galaxy offered up every now and then, that made Cyrus really question just what exactly the nature of the force was. He spared a glance at the Supreme Leader himself, and figured the philosophizing was better left up to experts.
Straight down the middle was a knot of former alliance ships of the erstwhile Therapy Command, who Cyrus had faced down at Kaeshana years ago. That had been an unexpected, sudden brawling melee of a fight, with the big ships on both ends crippled but withdrawing. The war that battle had sparked had seen the rapid advance of technology and military theory, and the flagship from before was present now, and on the receiving end of the best new warships the First Order had. Savaged by turbolasers, kinetics, and missiles, it hurled itself at the center of Cyrus' formation bleeding escape pods and with an energy signature that spoke to reactor containment failure. Or perhaps an attempt to use the warship as a gigantic missile.
Elsewhere the battle continued on. Gromm Cardan's fleet was engaged with another knot of former Alliance vessels including the Nemo's Revenge, a vessel that had been high on the list of warships the First Order would have preferred to see dismantled and disarmed rather than fall into enemy hands. But perhaps today would offer the opportunity in battle that peace had missed. Or perhaps not, in the scope of things it was almost irrelevant. For now.
Because that other swarm of biologics was on a clear collision course with the Wrath and its attendant vessels. But even as each of these threats materialized and had to be dealt with, he couldn't detect a larger plan at play, just one desperate action followed by another. And so much of it depended on needing one comparatively tiny object to collide with another, and have enough force and energy behind it to do serious damage. Individually each thrust was a danger, but whereas coordinated they might have been nearly lethal, as it stood they could be countered and parried separately. If you had the finesse to pull it off.
The first attack, a massive swarm of fighters inbound to the Wrath, was the most easily handled. The First Order had learned many bloody lessons in war with the Galactic Alliance, especially involving the use of strike craft. The Alliance had paid their price as well, and over-reliance on strike craft had been one they had corrected, and used to bloody the Order at L-49 to great effect. The ORC or whomever owned the Mandalorian carriers had evidently missed that lesson.
Frigates and corvettes with dedicated anti-fighter armament led the way, a wide screen with gaps in-between. Angles of fire and weapons coverage between ships was good but not perfect, but enterprising X-wings would find the holes in the screen a lethal trap. Packs of fast interceptors and the versatile Star Wing II Strike Fighters waited on the other side, awaiting target queuing information from the escorts, and waiting to unleash volleys of missiles onto those fighters that made it through. Even then, the strike craft would find that First Order capital ships, equipped with the lethal Bastion Combat System, were not even remotely as vulnerable to close-in strikes by snubfighters as Imperial vessels of yore.
The squibs would almost certainly take advantage of the now target-rich environment of lighter ships emerging form the protective envelop of their heavier brethren, but those losses were acceptable. Even as he gave the order he could spot flashes and explosions on the battlefield displayed before him as pieces of debris or camouflaged missiles struck home.
"Is this what warfare has devolved to now, hurling ships at each other? May as well strap hyperdrives to missiles and be done with it."
The hulk that had once been the Excubitor took a more direct effort to resolve. As it passed towards the edges of the tendrils of the First Order formation, nearly every heavy weapon not already focused on another target turned to strip some mass off the old battlecruiser. Halberd-class frigates targeted the reactor itself and any known hotspots, seeking to trigger ammunition explosions with penetrating shots. It worked, partially, but at the end of the day it still required a Supremacy-class destroyer in full barrier defense mode to get in the and absorb the blast.
The flare of a new star gave way to a rippling cascade of casualty reports as vessels that couldn't make it out of the blast radius in time were crippled or destroyed entirely, and the FIV Aggravator drifted without power, albeit still mostly in one piece. It also revealed the next suicidal charge, this time by the aforementioned other set of biologics, and this time with the grand finale wrapped in what had been a planetary shield only moments before.
The first reaction was to give an immediate order to disable the now vulnerable shield generator. With the absurd power output it had it was all but unmistakable on the surface of the planet, and two battlecruisers with orbital autocannons quickly locked onto its location and began their firing sequence. But it was likely a hardened target and would require several volleys to destroy. Wherever it was on the planet, Cyrus didn't care, but there was about to be a brand new roughly 1000 yard crater soon from repeated precision impacts.
That would help against the next gigantic useless thing they decided to hurl at his ships, but didn't resolve things for the Wrath just now. The smaller whaleships were easier to manage, Supremacy-class destroyers were dispatched on collision vectors, the ships captains perhaps even more confident than Cyrus that they could absorb the blow, though there seemed to be a betting pool between the two senior commanders as to whether they would still be functional after the fact.
But for the kraken itself, there was little to do. All weapons fire was redirected with the hope that some shots would penetrate or weaken the shield enough to burn through and do some damage, and thereby reduce the total mass and slow the target. Smaller ships would simply move out of the way. A Supremacy couldn't simply get in the way here, plotting the numbers was a trivial affair for the Warmind and it didn't posit a good outlook for any ship smaller than 5km. But Cyrus was unwilling to risk the destruction of the sole Devastator-class Dreadnought accompanying the fleet.
So they kept shooting. It wasn't panicked, mindless firing, ships at the front engaged with other enemy forces continued their own battles, and the smaller biologics accompanying the kraken were explicitly focused as well, they would pay for their attempt to exploit whatever result the inevitable impact had. Almost as an afterthought, Cyrus ordered a wave of strike craft and bastion cruisers to move in on the squib fleet and break apart that formation. All the while the kraken loomed ever closer in the display that mimicked a forward viewport.
Bloodied, savaged by the force of 10,000 guns, leaking flesh and viscera like a drive plume, the hulking mass of the kraken seemed still very, very large, and far too close. The ship's CO, a bright young man wearing the rank of Rear Admiral who all but embodied the new breed of First Order officers, gave quick, curt orders in a professional manner that nevertheless betrayed his nervousness. Shields double front, all engines back, that sort of thing. Somewhere along the way Cyrus gave a dejected sigh and rested his head in one upraised hand. "Very good Commander, do remember to sound the collision alarm at some point."
Rear Admiral Bright Young Man chewed air for a moment, then went over to console and pulled the alarm himself.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfuQd_xZlKw
At about the same time, flesh met metal at a alarmingly high relative velocity, and then it all went to zero.
Imperial Star Destroyers were designed for combat operations under extraordinarily high stress situations. Every concept of their design was detailed with this in mind, down to the chairs and seats used by the hundreds or thousands of operators. The command seat Cyrus sat in was no exception, and besides the extensive command assistance electronics and displays it also had gimballed attachments enabling it to absorb incredible force. Inertial dampners did most of the legwork, of course, but it was still said you could absorb a direct hit from an asteroid on a Star Destroyer and not feel it if you were seated.
A study sample size of one revealed that was a lie. The chair lurched, held for a few seconds, and then broke, sending Cyrus spilling out onto the deck just in time to see the Rear Admiral, who was unburdened by any sort of restraint whatsoever, fly 18 feet through the air into a console on behind them both. Even deep in the center of the ship Cyrus could hear the grinding of metal and the protests of the internal structure.
But then it stopped, and the ship was still there and, according to the central display (which had flickered but never truly gone out) still in one piece. Cyrus rose, dusted himself off, signaled for an emergency medical team, and made his way to another chair. He glowered at the screen, where pieces of space kraken drifted in every direction, and where the enemy fleet still lurked, and fought tooth and nail with his own ships. He glanced again at the motionless form of the Rear Admiral. "That wasn't so bad," he said to what was very likely a corpse. "What's next?"
There was, after all, still a battle to fight. They could weather the next hit too.
Summary
why is this so long
what am i doing
It's midnight, will write some more later, i think I replied to everyone though. Will go through and summarize tomorrow.
Location: Skor II, Metrobig City Refugee Camp. Objective: Try to get away. Allies: The First Order Enemies: [member="Joza Perl"] | [member="Arcanus Sunstrider"] Equipment: SB-U01 Wrist Datapad | C-51 Charric Pistol
Paralysed, disarmed, and mocked. Her captors seemed to be making an effort to seem uncaring, almost lighthearted about the whole situation. But when things got tense, the facade slipped. The Jedi's mask slipped to reveal his fear. He was scared of something, maybe not for himself, but for others. Though he seemed to regain control after a time, Leah's impact was clear enough. The deal with the strawberry woman was similar: When she got serious she wasted no time with threats and aggression of their own. They hid it between false words and flashy smiles, but they couldn't hide their revulsion at the enemy agent before them.
For her part, Leah shared the sentiment.
The worst of their offences was their touch. The man's searching hands stripping her of equipment, and the vice-grip of the woman's hand on her chin as she relished in her new-found domination were insults Leah almost couldn't bare. She wasn't used to subjugation. She'd lived her life in service of a machine that asserted its will with an iron fist. Becoming the plaything of a pair of Jedi shook her to the core.
The woman was right about the stormtroopers. As things were, there was nothing that Leah could do to influence them which way or the other. But, as the hostile U-Wing swept over the camp to reinforce the position, her heart leapt into her mouth. She was not fond of the Coalition, but that didn't mean she condoned a shootout in a refugee camp. Leah understood that if a proper skirmish started up here, there was little that could be done to protect the innocents.
The woman demanded a name, and Leah stiffened her shoulders in response, raising her head to meet the penetrating gaze head on.
"Bite me, Jedi."
She fought the overwhelming urge to spit in the woman's face, relishing in the thought of a globule of spit running down those smug features.
The sudden and firm grip of the man's hands on her back and shoulders, roughly shoving her into a nearby tent amid an incoming bombardment proved to be the third of their transgressions of touch. After being pushed in, she leaned against the pole in the centre of the tent, feeling the granules of dirt on the rug floor that had been tracked inside by foot traffic.
"Look..." She muttered, quietly, in an almost conspiratorial tone.
"I don't want trouble for you or this camp. My mission isn't here. If you give me my commlink back I will call off any patrol teams on the way. Won't take more than a few seconds."
Tumultuous. Often hazardous not only physically or mentally but spiritually. To lose oneself in the Force, to touch the very face of reality and beyond. It changed a person. Minutes turned to hours, endless swathes of information brushing the tender edges of the mind. Time was irrelevant, nonsensical, merely an attempt made by man to quantify existence. How little did they all understand, how few truly knew the power that hid behind the veil of the Force it allowed them to touch? Death had been just a piece of the story for Sieger, an end to a beginning and the precursor to another end. An end now manifesting itself upon the planet of Skor II.
For several minutes he stood there with hands pressed against the glass, acting as a conduit for the ethereal. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Hate. The cocktail of emotions washed over the Supreme Leader. There was more. It started as a trickle but turned into a small flow, a twitch playing at the corners of his lips. Love. He could feel the warmth there threatening to pierce even his old leathery heart. At first he fought it, tried to hold it at bay as he continued to channel the overwhelming tide of negative emotion towards the surface but as he fought he could feel it draining his strength. The twitch at the corner of his lips pulled taut, a simper settling in across Sieger's features. He could use it.
As if opening the floodgates Sieger for a moment felt the overwhelming rush of life cascade over him, his knees threatening to buckle at the weight of it. The deaths of those around him as the battle raged on threatened to tear him apart, rend him from limb to limb as their life force dissipated into the void. He could feel every single one. Words began to form upon his tongue but just as quickly he bit them back. He was in control, not it - not a mere emotion. No, he would see it accepted but what would return was something different. Casting his gaze towards the planet he took the emotion within, boundless love and infatuation with life, and sent it screaming towards those who previously had been bombarded with fear, anger, and hatred. This wasn't love, pure and kind as he had received.. Sieger had somehow used it to feed those base emotions and amplify them. *Passion.* What might have once caused pause now was capable of driving them, inflaming their most base instincts and imparting a sense of rabid self destruction upon those who sought to resist the Order. A morbid curiosity at what might happen should they fail to dodge a blaster bolt, what might happen if they were to slip off the edge of that high rooftop?
Singling them out he projected his presence, their hatred of the First Order and their anger driving them highlighted them from his own Order's soldiers. Casting a wide net he drove into their skulls, attempting to spread his influence and control as he forced upon them this perverted form of love. Love of violence, love of pain, love of suffering - and for those who couldn't control it... it was a powerful weapon against them. Fear. Anger. Hate. Love. Pain. All volatile emotions on their own but cooked up together they became tenfold the danger they were alone.
To the exclusion of all else Sieger set his will towards the enemies of the Order, his eyes sealed shut as his being became little more than an echo. It was unfortunate for the man, so focused was he that the approach of the behemoth from beyond the stars went unnoticed. A moment too late the subtle nudgings of the Force sent what equated to an electrostatic shock through his mind to warn him of the impending danger but it wasn't enough. As the tentacled behemoth's body slammed into the FIV Wrath, the sound of the collision alarms finally reached Sieger's ears as he was forcibly pulled from his meditations.
For a second up was down and down was up, then backwards and forwards. The collision had been violent but with his hands pressed against the front of the bridge already his body did less flying and more slamming. With a distinct clunk his body crumpled against the interior of the glass and for a fraction of a second his body evaporated, replaced with the visage of an alien, muscular arms and legs clad in rough leather garments - and then it was Sieger again, the man they'd all come to know the sight of. The gap was minimal, maybe a few microseconds at best. Not enough to confirm in anyone's mind that they'd seen what they had. With giant space whales, a tentacled beast, and near incorporeal jellyfish it had caused a lot of questions of reality. Sieger's brief change of appearance just another atop the list.
Picking himself up off the floor, he brushed himself off. By all appearances he'd merely been rattled.
"Grand Admiral." Sieger snarled as he cut a glare towards the man. "What is that thing, and what is it doing on my ship."
Looking back towards space Sieger saw a mess of blood, meat, and something that resembled a squid. Never in his life had he seen such a creature, one of such mass - and of such malevolent intent. The Wrath had weathered the collision in spectacular fashion, the creature Sieger couldn't tell. Was it still alive? Where had it come from? Questions beleaguered his mind as he shook the ringing from his ears and grimaced as he rubbed an elbow.
