Your Faith In Your Friends Is Yours | TSE Invasion of TRA Held Gree Hex

[Amea Virou]

[member="Koda Fett"]

The gun floated off into the distance and Amea knew that at least to some extent she had been successful. The metallic clang to a wall somewhere in the distance made her feel more confident. The glove wouldn’t come off, but perhaps that was to be expected. Amea tried to pull away but it would seem he had other plans. A hand wrapped around her arm with a steadfast grip and much like before the pain was unbearable, and this time she was ready for it.

She was in her favored terrain.

She had her skills, and he could be stripped of his. In a sense.

Amea’s mind let seep into the man’s boots for an assault on the thing that let him have the upper hand. Without his boots he wouldn’t be stable to the ground and his grip would with luck let go as he had to find something to stabilize himself with. Without his-

Snap-crunch. Scream.

The pain increased almost two-fold. What had once been a fracture was now a completely broken arm. Amea pushed through the pain to work her plan. She had to let him go before there was nothing left to fix. She had tried to make him see reason and further attempts would be null and void, but with luck he would listen to what she had to say.

She would try to get away at any cost, Her feet kicked against him to try and truly get away, and with luck that was exactly what would happen.

 

[Dante Sotari]

Gree Enclave
Honestly Fething Creepy Shipyard
Allies: TSE, [member="Jairus Starvald"]
Enemies: These Gree, but maybe not THOSE Gree(?), TRA, [member="Romi Jade"] [member="Aten Ramses"]
Equipment: Legion Armor | Service Sidearm Pistol 'Minos' | Interchangeable Service Rifle, Rifle mode | Grenades- 2 Anti Blaster Smoke - 2 CryoBan - 2 (now 1) Adhesive - 1 Flashbang | Explosives and timed detonators |

For Dante, this wasn't personal. She was a soldier, this was war. She couldn't afford for it to be personal.

Usually because when it got personal it got messy.

Sprinting down the catwalk, she heard the hum of the saber before she saw it. The spinning disk of light sliced through the platform, cutting through the strange Gree metal (?) like butter. She skidded to a halt, the speed and suddenness of the change of momentum dropping her into a slide, power gauntlet digging in to halt her forward motion as the catwalk roiled. Instead of reacting the way one would expect an inert slab of metal to react- swinging, swaying- it rippled, a high keening sound coming from somewhere. The unexpected movement slammed her forward, face hitting the inside of the helmet hard, the taste of blood filling her mouth. Scrambling up, Dante started to back up just in time for the hum to fill the air again, the saber slicing through the walk behind her to the sound of another shriek.

The floor dropped out from beneath her feet and she was falling.

Dante didn't hesitate. Training took over. All Legionnaires were trained extensively in the use of every aspect of their armor and weapons for just such an occasion. Drilled again and again and again until the motions were rote and could be relied on in any moment, muscle memory taking over. Reaching up, she slammed on a key on the harness. Grappling hook shot out, catching a railing another level above. With a jolt she swung, faceplate turning and finding the Jedi- easy with the glow from the lightsaber to mark his position. With the arc of the swing, she didn't trust her aim for something as targeted as the Minos. Instead she unhooked an adhesive grenade, chucking it in hopes that it would keep him right the kark where he was for long enough for her to regain her footing on the opposite catwalk as she swung toward it.

 

[Bernard]

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Industrial Sector, Construction Zone
Serving the Rebel Alliance with [member=Wyatt Morga]
Defending against [member=Vestille Thumahra] on top of an unfinished skyscraper's roof while it's getting dark and starting to rain.

The man who emerged from the stairs appeared to stand at least a head taller than the Jedi, broader and better armed too. For a moment both of them simply stood across one another, staring. Bernard let out a breath he didn't know he held. For the briefest of moments, his eyes took on a more compassionate look. Realisation that all those lying dead or dying below were exactly like this man struck more clearly. He was reminiscent of the taller Rebel Alliance soldiers, all hidden behind their impenetrable armour and ready to go to war for a cause they believed in. Bernard imagined that to be the case for this man as well. Fighting for an ideal that once seemed so clear, but which blurred with each life taken. Maybe he'd forgotten his own ideals, the very core of what it meant to be a Jedi?

His thumb slowly went over the shiny surface of the lightsaber as it lay loosely in his hand. It was smooth and cold enough to be perceived through the thin gloves he wore. The weight of the weapon in his hands had always lent a certain degree of comfort. Over the years the crystal buried beneath the durasteel casing had become attuned with him within the Force. When he made the cyan blade dance across the battlefield it often felt as though the special bond they shared told him where his hands should go before his brain even processed his surroundings. When his grip on the weapon tightened and his body suddenly jerked to the side it was half of its own volition and half driven by a power beyond himself.

The crack of a weapon's blast and the subsequent impact as its energies were released harmlessly into the concrete surface snapped him out of his thoughts again. Compassion gave way to the emotionless concentration of combat as the comforting cyan light of the lightsaber's blade was accompanied by its low humming, broken up by quiet hissing noises whenever rain hit its surface. Without thinking the Arkanian dropped into a low stance, blade held in front of him, pointing up and slightly away from his body. His eyes were focused entirely on the muzzle of the blaster. The distance between them was too large for him to cover in a time short enough not to get shot. A quick deflection of the man's next shot into the hand gripping the blaster should make quick work of this encounter. Murder was no longer at the front of his mind. Even if it wasn't atonement for the deaths he caused before, a non-lethal end to this encounter would be cathartic and a first step towards recognising his mistakes.

As the raindrops stained his robes a heavy grey, painted over in a blue hue, he stood for several heartbeats, waiting for the next shot.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4MOVJg6WbI&index=23&list=PLAWmmm32z0yJRmeNTq1olwRQocSHGXs01[/media]

Location: Gree Space, Asation, Ancient Ruins
Objective: Unleash the Darkness
Allies: [member="Darth Carnifex"], [member="Taeli Raaf"], [member="Fiolette Yvarro"], [member="Kaalia Pavanos"], [member="Darth Caecus"], [member="Luca Thorne"], [member="Preliat Mantis"]
Enemies: [member="Varex"], [member="Jyoti Nooran"], [member="Kamon Vondiranach"], [member="Avoim Oeymo"], [member="Allyson Locke"], [member="Kahne Porte"], [member="Valkren Calderon"], [member="Yuroic Xeraic"]
Equipment:

• In Signature
• Jinwodasirhttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/127673-jinwodasir-pins-of-protection

They were here.

The ritual had begun just as the enemy began their assault. Innocents taken from the deadly assault that brought down the Galactic Alliance, as well as Jedi prisoners were brought forth and knelt down their frantic begging was dwarfed by the thrum of power from the chanting sorcerers. Several dark robed beings approached and brought wicked knives down slicing open their throats. Only blood didn't flow from their bodies only a spiritual ichor that flowed as each sacrifice let out soul wrenching screams as they were denied a peace in the Netherworld. Their souls torn from their forms and ground for the black ritual that raged before them.

The remaining runes had been drawn out already and a darkness began to swirl around the chamber, as voices from the long dead and dying began to echo in whispers, and hushed screams.

Every word that poured from their mouths was so dark, so foul, it made ones very skin crawl and the very insects come out in swarms at its very utterance. It drew the darkness in as the black power of the dark side became so strong it forcibly thinned the barriers of reality, of the netherworld. The vein between the physical and the void cracked like a glass window the very air thinning it almost became hard to breathe, as if the dark side itself was choking the life out of everyone and everything.

The Lord of Lies reveled in it all.

He stood outside the doors as the last line of defense for the ritual carefully scanning the battlefield, as their enemy slammed into the ranks of the elite Blackblade Guard, vicious sithspawn supported by the elite Valkyrie's that came to engage the enemy each working in tandem. But behind the sounds of battle a different sort of chanting could be heard, something black and almost alien, a tongue disturbing in nature and very powerful.

"ខ្ញុំសូមអំពាវនាវដល់អ្នកស្លាប់និងអ្នកស្លាប់ហើយក្រោកឈរឡើងហើយឈ្លោះគ្នាក្នុងឈ្មោះរបស់ខ្ញុំ"​

​

A pulse of sick green energy erupted through the entire complex, even radiating outward to the creatures killed by the Sith's enemies on the perimeter. The decay came first. It was a rolling fog of putrefaction, a billowing cloud of terrible corpse gas that foretold of their coming. Every single corpse, every creature recently killed and long dead began to rise with a baleful green fire burning in its eye sockets. They roared their wicked screams rocking through in a way the living simply never could. The undead swarmed in from all angles, all sides never coming near the allies of the Sith, but throwing themselves into the forces of the light and the approaching Jedi. They would bury them under mounds of dead flesh, tear them apart between gnashing teeth and tearing claw.

Through the eyes of his many children the Shadow Hand could feel everything, the last moments of victims playing out their screams rocking through his mind as he watched the very light fade from their eyes. The last moments before final death, the sweet feeling when it was all over and death's cold embrace swept in. He fed on the emotion, consumed the fear gorging on it and it made him strong.

"Their lives hold no meaning, slaughter them all."

 

[Tabigarashu Madara]

Allies: TSE, In Scene- [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | Nearby- [member="Belphaegor"] [member="Kyrel Ren"] [member="Anden Fancelo"] [member="Lok Munin"]
Enemies: TRA, In Scene- [member="Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori"] | Nearby- [member="Noah Corek"] [member="Cedric Grayson"] (rip) [member="Ursula Vizla"]
Objective: Intelligence, Don't Die (so you know, the usual)

Hirou honestly didn't know what, if any good it would do. The fight below was, compared to the little Nezumi, a clash of gods. Masters of the Force, hellbent on the destruction of the other. Hirou was barely more than a gnat, and they knew it. It didn't dampen their intentions or will. It was a simple fact. A reality.

What could one Nezumi do in the face of of those intent on each other's deaths?

They had done what they could. There were no other tricks up their sleeves. Oh, it occurred to them to try something else- there were technically options. But they boiled down to

Certain

Death

and Hirou was not down for that when there were other options. Leap into that fray? Do what? Bite the armored figure? Oh yes, that would go over badly from the get go. Broken teeth only mattering until the figure flung them into the wall and broke their body.

No thank you.

Hirou was brave and stout of heart. But they were not stupid. They had done all they could for Matsu in this moment.

Setting the coolant tube somewhere it wouldn't keep drizzling down into the hallway below, Hirou paused.

And thought very, very loudly. Just like Matsu had said.

I. Am. Going. To. Complete. My. Mission. I've. Done. All. I. Can. Here.

Taking one last look down, Hirou hated leaving her. But they had a mission to accomplish. One that needed them far more than Matsu likely ever would.


Hirou paused, then closed their eyes and thought even harder.

PLEASE. DON'T. DIE!


And then, moving gingerly on burned paws, the Nezumi scampered down the crawl space. Heading in the direction of the data core.

 

[Vestille Thumahra]

Vestille Thumahra​

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Capital City, Gree​

Allies: Isolated​

Enemies: Directly engaging [member="Bernard of Arca"]​

Two men stood atop the building that overlooked the destruction caused below. Only one would leave victorious.

As expected, the Jedi's reflexes made his body sharply pull itself from harms way as the cackling beam of energy emitted from the barrel of the Minos-7. Time was no doubt fleeting, General Vexen had given the order to get those explosives planted in preparation for a potential refusal of the Sith's terms from the Gree yet here Vestille was, half of the men under his command outright flattened under fallen slabs of unfinished buildings and the other half trying to dig themselves or each other out. Like an insect having its wings clipped or a predator having its legs crippled, the men of the 105th weren't simply defeated, no, they were humiliated; trapped under fallen skyscrapers and unable to truly pull themselves free and continue with their mission. Whilst it was possible that the General had an alternative to the citywide detonation of explosives set at vital positions but it was likely that the other methods were no doubt as effective as the plan already in place; units would need to be reassigned and the preparation would no doubt take serious delays... More than enough time to allow the Rebels to play their cards and muddle with business further.

This couldn't be allowed to happen, failure was not an option.

Deep within the psyche of the Captain of the 105th, the council of calculating predator and mindless beast constantly bickered and argued. With the miss of the first shot from the Minos-7, it was clear that simply sitting in a single position and firing one shot after the other was going to eventually come back to bite him in retaliation, if his judgement of the Jedi's stance was correct. The lightsaber was still a priority, a threat to deal with as soon as possible to prevent the inevitable loss of life that would no doubt occur trying to fight a Jedi still equipped with his signature weapon. A two-stage attack was required to both distract and leave the Jedi open for the disarming shot. Whereas some might resort to talking, Vestille was above and beyond attempts of taunts or diplomacy. No, instead he reached for his Gile-50 and used it in unison with the Minos-7; bursts of bolts mixed in with the single-shot beams to create a unison with the intent of disarming the Jedi. This maneuver of course, left him open and without free hands and within an environment such as this, watching over streets below with a long drop on every corner, that held potential enough to be the end of either of them. All the while, the beast within the Captain stirred, waiting to be let free, watching logic and due process open up the way for it to lose itself in the slaughter.

The rain flung itself at anything in sight; armor, robes and the ground beneath their feet; creating a gloomy atmosphere as the two fought in their self contained conflict. The blood split in the streets would be repaid; the specifics of who's blood would belong to the victor.

 

[Romi Jade]

​

GREE ENCLAVE​

Shipyards​

WITH: [member="Aten Ramses"]​

ENEMIES: [member="Jairus Starvald"] & [member="Dante Sotari"]​

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Spoiler

[youtube]

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/VTsD2FjmLsw[/youtube]

Her locs flailed about her face, in resistance to gravity lacing around the entirety of her body. Her chest rose and fell, with anxiety permeating off of her...she didn't know how long she had before she collided with something.

Mhnnn

But she wasn't done...In an effort to bend her waist, she fought for the twist to reposition herself. With luck, scattered walkways past through her peripherals. But...soon everything became real again, becoming still. She'd returned back to her reality? Her body came to a halt, jolting into nothing while her face became twisted in pain. She'd been karked up before, but she didn't know how bad this one was yet...

Uhnn

Before she knew it she was being pulled through a wave of energy, tugging on her person until it went where she wanted it to go.

"Now, now, I can't have you falling to your death, before at least trying to seduce you to the Darkside, no?"

Heaving through pain, she had no choice but to absorb his words, but she was quick to reply with an eye roll. "Watch your hands...." she growled. And through it all she could feel Atens heart breaking. Forgoing the pain of her wound altogether, "You'll have to do more than catch me when I fall...and I don't think you'll meet those other needs." With enough force she flexed what muscles she had to lengthen her body. Throwing her body over the edge formed by the cradles of his hands she hit the floor.

Ughh!

"Kark!"

She used the physical momentum of her retreated to roll down the walkway to give her some space. When she rolled down onto her right hip, she swung her right leg over and prompted herself up on her right elbow, propelling herself up onto her knee. It was her left shoulder that ached, and she could feel the blood carving trails down her arm. Heaving, she gripped her hilt and thumbed her weapon to life leveling with her person, as she swung around.

A stray glance to her left, she slowly turned her attention back to her opponent. Forcing herself to her feet

"You guys never intended to use this place for your own gain did you?" The tension in her jawline made apparent through her skin as she bit down.

 

[WolfMortum]

​

​

Objective: Survive.​

Supporting: Gree & The Rebel Alliance.​

Opposition: [member="Alkor Centaris"].​

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'He's too damn fast...'.​

​

Such were Veiere's final thoughts as the cord stream-lined from the mechanism in the Mandalorian's arm, seeking out and wrapping around the old man's left leg, specifically the ankle as [member="Alkor Centaris"] used Veiere's own defensive maneuver against him, activating his jetpack just in time for the force of Telekinetic power carried him ever stronger through the air in momentum. Like-wise, Veiere himself was pulled off of his feet, the air taken from his lungs as he landed flat on his back to be dragged several paces across the surface of Gree before they both took flight skyward.

The next moments were desperate and moved horrifyingly too fast as the Warrior carried Veiere up, then turned his sights upon the burning and mangled structure that the Exile's fighter had previously crashed through. With his lightsaber still in hand by no small miracle, Veiere sought to detach himself from his captor, yet to no avail as he couldn't find a steady swing to separate the two. Thus, down they both went, Alkor using his Jetpack to swing Veiere around through the air via the cord and straight through the already broken wall of the building, the cord releasing him as the impact was tremendous and felt as if it were to cave in his right side. Something beneath his skin feeling as though it snapped, Veiere's voice crying out as cinder, flames and smoke coiled around his form, his body rolling across the upper floor before that too came undone by his weight and the floorboards collapsed beneath him, both he and the structure falling further to the ground floor.

He wasn't dead yet, though fire surrounded the structure and very little of it wasn't already blackened. Veiere's movements were crippled, unable to shift himself without dire pain shooting up his sides and back, his rib cage broken on the right where he had come through the wall and the falls that had followed. Pushing the boards away from him with a loud grown through gritted teeth, he briefly looked to the floor above searching for his opponent, though he found him not. Escape was his initial priority, though survival following that would still be folley if this warrior wasn't dealt with.

The front doors were taken off of their hinges and blown out away from the building through the desperate use of the Force and the need to get away from the derelict structure. Smoke had filled his lungs and he felt as though he were coughing them up as he staggered back out into the open air, his left arm holding his mid-section while his right hand carried the glowing green blade of his lightsaber still. If the gleam of energy didn't give away his position then clearly his coughing fit would; yet right now anything seemed better than being burned alive.

Once again he sought to land eyes upon his foe, the Mandalorian Warrior that by all accounts seemed to have him beat pretty bloody well. Who was he, his name seemed worth knowing given how bad things looked, yet he had already proven to be the kind of fighter that did exactly that and wasted no time on words. A pity, for it would have been nice to talk the man down from killing him.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Enemies: [member="Varex"]​

Allies: Solus​

​

The kick came against his leg. His leg, by all accounts, should have broken. Should have shattered, or bent more than it did. But Preliat was just moved backwards, pushed off balance slightly. Aditya hadn't done a lot for him lately- being dead at a bad habit of making someone's contributions usually in the red for someone's life. But she had built him a leg. A leg that was, by all intents and purposes, a tank in of itself. The bouncing of the big Jedi only made Preliat grunt in annoyance.

That being said, the gauntlet striking his face didn't.

The gauntlet, could, and probably would not, break the Beskar'kandar plating that protected Preliat's face. But kinetic energy was still a thing, and it turned his head violently, and made him stumble back- however not far. Preliat's body reacted accordingly. Preliat, at one point, was a Null-Hockey goon. Being in close quarters with him, was not a pleasant thing to be. That, and he was a hulking monstrosity of a man- his build was like that of snakes and steel chord underneath his flightsuit. Preliat backed up, for a half a moment- sheathing his Tomahawk and his beskad, and put up his crushgaunt-adorned fists.

Jango Fett killed 12 Jedi with his bare hands.

Preliat only had to kill one. If a man half his size could do it, he imagined he could as well. After all, a Mandalorian was a Mandalorian- no matter how far apart in time they were from each other. Preliat launched himself at the Jedi, buttoning up in a powerful boxing stance. Left hand outward, his right hand pulled in to guard his body and his face. His feet planted only slightly apart, keeping him on balance. He faked a jab with his left, and dipped his torso only slightly, aiming to strike the Jedi in his knee.

Preliat didn't say anything. Jedi didn't like to talk. Sith did. That's what he learned.

 

[Allyson Locke]

[SIZE=9pt]Location:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Heading to the Ancient Gree Ruins[/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Objective[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]: [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]To stop the evil things[/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Enemies:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] [member="Darth Prazutis"], [member="Taeli Raaf"], [member="Fiolette Yvarro"], [member="Darth Caecus"], [member="Luca Thorne"], [member="Kaalia Pavanos"], [member="Preliat Mantis"], [/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Allies:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] [member="Varex"], [member="Avoim Oeymo"] | [member="Kamon Vondiranach"] | [member="Jyoti Nooran"] | | [member="Kahne Porte"] | [member="Valkren Calderon"] | [member="Yuroic Xeraic"][/SIZE]
Intent to engage: [member="Darth Carnifex"]

[SIZE=9pt]Allyson couldn’t help but laugh lightly at Yuroic’s challenge. She shook her head and shrugged, at least he knew how to make things interesting and not as scary. “You’re on, but I doubt you’ll be able to catch me” The woman was known to disappear into the night like a whisper one the mission was over. It made her the perfect agent and now a days it made her a good shadow. Having a different title was odd, she still considered herself with the SIS, but that agency was more than likely dead. Either way, she didn’t get any calls on the specific comm device that was for her mission calls from HQ.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]They continued to move and the Colonel Calderon spoke to her. She nodded listening to what was being said over chatter between them and the others in the area. The thought of an air strike would be beneficial, especially seeing that the place was crawling with sith spawn and soldiers on the way down. A hand went up making a fist having them stop moving. The shrill cry of a spawn echoed through the area. Cursing, she was hoping they were going to be able to sneak into this quietly.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“Well boys, they know we’re here.” Allyson sighed and then waved her hand commanding the group start to move again. They moved through the area gunning down stray spawn that had gone a bit too far from the pack. As they drew closer Allyson could feel the sensation she felt back on Bastion. The tendrils of the dark side working their way through the force, crawling over her skin and causing her to shudder. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she remembered his voice, her hand reached out, searching for the comfort of the dagger. Slender fingers caressed the blade’s hilt for a moment to pull its comfort, she felt better and wondered if the feeling was from her new presence in the Force.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Pausing for a moment, she stopped and pressed a finger to her ear, activating the comm and direct line back to the Nightshade. “Spector 02 to Bushmaster requesting Air support on surrounding area.” Allyson quickly relayed the coordinates of the surrounding areas. They needed this to thin out whatever was lurking in the swamps and around the ruins. Rolling her shoulders back, she looked forward. There was a figure running towards them quickly, she raised her hand again to keep the Rangers and others from opening fire. Looking toward Valkren, she nodded towards the figure. “Think that’s one of ours.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]As Allyson watched as the figure drew closer something hit her hard in her stomach. The smell of blood was in the air and it took her by surprise. Blinking, quickly she patted the side of her helmet to try and bring her attention fully to the reality that was before her. There was death in the air and it made her stomach twist into knots, a finger pressed against the comm again. “Specter 02 to Specter 01…” Pausing for a moment she didn’t know how to describe what she was feeling. Just going with it, knowing who she was talking to the Corellian figured the Jedi would be able to figure out what she was saying. “Something dark is growing down here. I can’t exactly put a finger on it - but it reminds me of Bastion. Just something real bad is brewing down here.” She released the radio and shook her head, was this how it was always going to be? Would she get used to it? [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Allyson sighed as she did her best to focus on her cottonmouths that slithered under the ground, they had gone off and began to assassinate anything that lurked close by. Sliding up through the mud ripping through the underbellies of the Horde Mothers that were scattered across the battlefield. Once they attacked they dove deep into the ground returning to their prowl. [/SIZE]

 

[Koda Fett]

OBJECTIVE:​ Secure Gree Technology Capture Miner Return to Imperial Fleet
ALLIES: ​The Sith Empire
ADVERSARIES: The Rebel Alliance, [member="Amea Virou"]

He was the Hunter, the Predator, the Apex. There wasn't a thing he could allow to best him, and when it did the Mandalorian pursued them across the stars to extract his vengeance one broken bone, one searing wound, at a time. There was a harsh reality in his existence, as miserable as it was admirable. There were those that wanted to be him, but they only ever wanted the reputation. Fett was the farthest thing from what anyone truly desired to be. All too many things compiled themselves to become Koda Fett, and very few of them were to be envied. In another life, he may have been able to be reasoned with, to know mercy, to know humility. It just wasn't the case this time around.

In the moment Amea had slipped from his grip, Fett's right foot slid across the metallic flooring as the left one rushed forward, almost exchanging places. The hand that was grasped at mere moments ago rapidly slid over the holster on his hip and snatched at another WESTAR-35 - identical to the one that flew through the compartment with grace - before aiming it towards Amea in a quick succession of movements. He hadn't fired, but instead spoke to the woman.

"Don't."

Only a warning.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor touched down and felt the resistance that [member="Veiere Arenais"] had created suddenly give. The Fibercord went limp, what length remained spooling swiftly back into his gauntlet. Without replacing the hook, it would be less than useful, but it had served its purpose. The Jedi disappeared through a wall and into the hellfire beneath him.

His HUD screamed temperature warnings, and that his oxygen supply grew dangerously close to reactive levels. The immense temperatures released by the ruin were so concentrated from an utter lack of escape routes that it functioned much like a one way exhaust port. For safety purposes, he needed to move- fast.

Alkor slid his blade quickly away, back into the sheath where it could lie in wait for when he needed it once more. With some distance between him and his adversary, he needed to be mindful of the other man's strengths. With the Force, the Jedi could find him, and even reach out and affect his body or his armor. Whatever strange, endurance sapping power he had used before left the Mandalorian at something of a loss. It had been brief, but the contact had robbed him of the wealth of energy he labored to amass with training. He would have to rest and recuperate, and it had been no more than seconds.

This was not an enemy to be underestimated.

"Come on, aruteii," he murmured to himself, and his helmet did not voice the words. Instead, he remained crouched on the rooftop, mindful of his equipment and its durability, and reached beneath his cloak. "I've got something special for you."

He swiped his thumb across the activation trigger of the sonic grenade, and when he saw the green bean of light appear from behind an abrupt expulsion of wall, he released the small, metallic orb from his grip.

It fell to the ground in the midst of Veiere's coughing fit, and Alkor counted to three...

The orb shivered, rattled, and from its innards came a shrill scream that raised in decibels over the course of several seconds. A generally non-lethal weapon, this type of grenade was used to great effect for neutralizing unwitting targets by attacking their hearing and disrupting their equilibrium.

In the seconds it took his grenade to go off, he sprang into the air and leapt away from the inferno. He tensed as his sonic dampeners worked to preserve his hearing, but his insides rattled and lurched, and he felt the urge to vomit.

It would take him a moment to recover, even as he touched down lightly and reached back for his Assault Rifle.

 

[Amea Virou]

OBJECTIVE:​ Escape!
ALLIES: None. TRA.
ADVERSARIES: [member="Koda Fett"] of the Sith Empire

---

Amea wasn’t exactly the apex, or a predator, or a hunter. She hunted down criminals, sure, but she was hardly the top of her field. Stubborn was not the same as successful after all. She was stubborn to survive because whoever this man hoped to bring her to was either one of the Sith in the orbit or a slaver, and while she liked to consider herself good she didn’t consider herself take-on-a-whole-ship good. The transit between where she had been and where she was going was the only grace period she had before things got too real for her to do anything at all.

She broke free, her hand reached out for the gun that had flown away and out of the mandalorians grip. A single hand latched onto the gun as she felt her back gently touch against the wall or possibly the ceiling with a gentle pat. With a single draw she pointed the gun at the hunter much as he had done the same in that very moment.

And for a second she was taken aback. He talked.

“So you can talk.” She grunted in pain. “You pull that trigger and we both die.”

“I pull this trigger and only you die, and I have no desire to take any more lives than I have to.” Her broken arm burned with an infernal fire but she tried to push against it. Her grip fastened around the handle of her gun with a determined grasp. “Tell me what I can do to make you forget about me for the next twenty-four hours, and I will gladly provide you with that in exchange for my freedom.”

 

[Koda Fett]

OBJECTIVE: Secure Gree Technology Capture Miner Return to Imperial Fleet
ALLIES: The Sith Empire
ADVERSARIES: The Rebel Alliance, [member="Amea Virou"]

The silence took hold again.

There wasn't an inch of movement from the Mandalorian. Remaining entirely still, entirely silent. Fett allowed an uncomfortable delay after Amea spoke before he would too, perhaps he was lost in thought. Unsure if he was ready to risk whatever gamble she had, or make this all the easier and simply make his demand.

"Locations, leads, rumours, funding. Everything on the Gree sites."

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Allies: TRA​

Enemies: TSE​

Suicide Squad: [member="Kamon Vondiranach"] | [member="Avoim Oeymo"] | [member="Jyoti Nooran"] | [member="Allyson Locke"] | [member="Kahne Porte"] | [member="Valkren Calderon"] | [member="Yuroic Xeraic"] ​

Engaging: [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Taeli Raaf"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] | [member="Kaalia Pavanos"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"]​

​

Ancient Gree Ruins​

Jedi Loyalist Strike Team​

​

​

​

His blade had missed its mark, a blind swipe which had overreached so when Varex's right hand struck his Mandalorian opponent's face it was more of a backhand than a slash. After spring-boarding off Preliat's knee, the Vaemath arced into a backwards flip and his heavy greaves dug into marshy bog as he just barely managed to get his feet planted in time to land upright in a low crouch. The Knight's prey had been thrown off balance by his charging kick, but to his surprise he only had the few seconds it took Mantis to replant his feet before the beskar armored warrior was wading back in on the offensive, leg seemingly no worse for wear.

Varex's alien expression was more or less inscrutable, but if Preliat had known more about analogous Vaemath facial expressions, he would have likely noticed a shift in cheekbones and arcing brow which signified his race's version of a smirk. Just before the Mandalorian stepped into striking distance, he deactivated both gauntlets' kyber emitters, their plasma blades folding back into their focusing crystals. Instead of using their superior slashing reach and devastating effectiveness, the Jedi raised his own fists into a defensive guard.

He sensed the feint. Not through a mental telegraph, Sith pawn though he may be this man's mind was a steel trap. Instead he relied on the empyrean, his enhanced senses detecting a subtle shift in air current the moment Preliat began arcing down towards his knee. Reaching down to grab the Mandalorian's wrist, his arm left illusory afterimages in its wake, making it more difficult for his opponent to judge when he would actually intercept.

A great and terrible disturbance in the Force sent a chill through his spine, psychic waves emanating from the Sith fortifications ahead of him where he knew Taeli Raaf was still lurking. Thrown off by this unexpected phenomenon, he misjudged his timing and the hand that grabbed at Preliat's wrist vanished in smoke. Crushgaunt struck the ultrachrome plating on his knee, and while the entire limb didn't cave in in a cloud of misty gore as the Mandalorian had no doubt been expecting, it did succeed in driving his leg out from under him. He was vulnerable, in close quarters.

Eyes narrowed, Varex used his remaining leg as a springboard, triggering their hydraulic motors to propel himself towards Preliat's center mass like a projectile slug. He sought to tackle his opponent, with any luck grappling him to the ground where the Jedi would have a more even chance of regaining his own advantage in positioning.

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

ALLIES: [member="Tabigarashu Madara"] | [member="Belphaegor"] | [member="Lok Munin"] | [member="Anden Fancelo"]
ENEMIES: [member="Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori"] | [member="Cedric Grayson"] | [member="Noah Corek"]
OBJECTIVE: Keep people off Hirou's back.
GEAR: Suit | Saber

It had made more sense, from the moment the idea of carrying Hirou aboard had come in to being, that at some point it would be easier for her to go it alone. Matsu had once been able to capture anonymity when needed even surprisingly far in to her career, but with her wounds and the recent corruption the Dark Side had finally managed to change her with she no longer found it easy to blend in to a crowd. But she could carry Hirou past the majority of the expected fighting in the hangar, to a place a bit quieter where she might slip away small and unseen to do her work.

That much at least, was finished.

Decades of mentalism did not allow Matsu to casually read minds, but it had made her something of a sponge, passively absorbing those errant thoughts others weren’t thinking to protect. When aimed directly at her she picked them up too, and the Nezumi’s thoughts rang clear even through Matsu’s concentration.

“Same to you,” she responded, unsure if the Nezumi had the ability to hear her in kind. Just in case, she pressed a sense of determination too, of a clear head towards the little creature as she ghosted away - a parting gift of help in return for the coolant.

But that was all she could spare. The plea wasn’t unfounded. Any confrontation with Siobhan - or, it was quickly becoming clear, her kith - held the guarantee that Matsu wasn’t walking away without something that would change her. The fact that neither of them had died was, perhaps, more a symptom of some sort of balance in the Force. It was Matsu’s only explanation for the reasons they kept coming together and apart, neither wiping the other from existence. Like most things that fascinated her, it became a dangerous obsession. And one day it would have to end.

But not yet. Not when there was still so much to see and hear, so much of that momentary pain to experience. She couldn’t savor it yet though - that would have to come later, if she survived to replay the memory. Right now she couldn’t afford to stop and enjoy. She had to focus. Experience had taught her that stopping to savor was the biggest distraction of all. In the last few months alone on Maena she had fought in a War against the Last Fathers, crossed paths with Fire Worshippers not unlike this beastly opponent before her. No matter how far The Haruspex rose, she remained an ever vigilant student. Such feasts had made her stronger, wiser, more capable.

In a Galaxy where Kerrigans existed, there was never a morsel of knowledge Matsu would not horde.

Her body swallowed the impact of the telekinesis, planting further on her right for one moment to stabilize. After one had been forced to absorb the blunt trauma of a telekinetic blast from Siobhan, all others felt like the softest kiss. "I won’t tell Siobhan about that one," Matsu snarled in the in the heat of the exchange. This planting however, allowed Elpsis’ saber to connect with her thigh, held at bay for the briefest of moments by rare fabrics before burning through to flesh. It sunk a chasm, fusing shrieking ends of melting fabric to the meat of her leg in to one grotesque, cauterized hole.

From the wall, Matsu had already been moving even as the strike caressed her left thigh, breaking the line of Elpsis' attack with a rapid pass forward on her right leg and readjustment of her weight. It was not without its pain, melted fabric pulling out of the cauterized wound with a hideous sucking sound that seemed to snap in Matsu’s ears. With her back facing the length of the Hall now, she was angled to Elpsis’ weakened left side as she took advantage of the leg attack that saw Elpsis' Blade fall low and out of position to defend her head. Like lightning she struck with another two-handed cut from above her right, the aim seeing it fall directly for the joint in the armor about the younger woman’s neck.

It was getting hot around them now, the raging fire in the hangar bay quickly heating the air in the surrounding hallways, even held behind emergency doors. Two rooms down, a head popped out of a doorway in the hallway just enough to peek and assess the situation. A pair of Rebels - engineers, keeping the massive ship running - had made sure their data was saved off the ship in case the fire breached containment. Thus, they’d also not been fast enough to escape the area before the two Masters had met in in the hallways. Quiet as mice, they pressed their backs to the wall and tried to go unnoticed except for the occasional brave peek out of the doorway.

“Do you think we can make it? Do you think the Jedi will protect us?” the male of the pair asked, looking to his female companion after she pressed herself flat against the wall again.

“I don’t think she’s a Jedi,” the woman whispered, unable to explain why she felt that way. She didn’t want to tell him what she’d just seen, two beings she didn’t understand clashing for reasons beyond her. Weapons she’d never hold flashing in a hallway already dizzy with the glare of whirling emergency lights. A woman cloaked in armor controlling fire and fighting a monster. “But I think she wants the same thing we do. We just have to wait for an opening. She can do it.”

Force, I hope she can do it.

 

[The Lurking Presence]

ALLIES: [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Tabigarashu Madara"] | [member="Lok Munin"] | [member="Anden Fancelo"]
ENEMIES: TRA | [member="Cedric Grayson"] | [member="Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori"]
OBJECTIVE: Survive
GEAR: Zelroth's Rest


Sweltering thermal winds brayed fitfully; heat of the most fractious sort, threatening to incinerate all present. Shadows of fallow ships stretched awkwardly in to looming overhangs, where men's resolve, curdled in the darkness. The bloat of fear distended outward like a festering blister, rot and despair seeping from the infection. The Battle had ceased churning, both sides restrained by the horrifying intensity of this Forceborne Flame.

Emergency Klaxons grieved across the Acerbitas, lamenting a tale of cataclysmic integrity and systems failure in the Hangar.

But the narration of artificial systems could hardly construct the infallible terror [member="Cedric Grayson"] had released from his subliminal self; awe-inspiring power, the man may had never even known existed, just below the surface of his conscious mind. Nor could it account for the heroic gambit of his self-sacrifice.

That abrupt release of pressure he provided as the Jedi returned from the ethereal sea, saw Belphaegor collapse to his knees, Robes serrated from the fiery whirlwind and swirling debris. Steam swelling from his bent form as he rest himself forward on his forearms, his right hand charred black with rippling fissures which permeated blood. If the Fire Containment Systems had been activated, he felt none of the relief of water, only burning.

Only pain.

An efflorescence of sparks from shattered lighting fixtures, hung the Hangar in momentary illumination, where the glow of the Fire Storm could not reach.

So many dead,

so many injured.

A torrid breath, pulled through Belphaegor's heat cracked lips, expanded the Sith's lungs painfully. The Whisper. . . it was gone. . but as those amber eyes drew upwards towards his foe, something surged within him.

"NO! " The near-human cried out, his posture lofting upright on his knees.

The sight of Cedric, his Armor florid and radiantly aglow, transported Belphaegor back to Maena. A cruel World at the furthest edge of the Unknown Regions. He was a boy now, and no longer did those eyes see a Jedi, but rather, his family. They had been on the long journey down a Caravan Merchant Trail from their home in Kr'ylland to the massive Vertical City that had grown within the hollow husk of Idd-yha; the monumental, dead Volcano, that dominated the Landscape of his homeworld.

On that Trail, their lives had ended.

Confronted by the fire worshiping, Heralds of Xoth-za, burned alive as heretics in the name of their hellish God.

Through outstretched arms, the Force extended from Belphaegor as a barrier. A shield that withered again and again under the fervor of the Storm, only to be replenished with fanatical fervor. He had been helpless to defend them once, weak and feeble; cursed to witness the haunting suffering from afar.

Upwards he rose, even as the Hangar was sent in to further disarray. Durasteel reaching it's absolute melting point, both ceiling and floor buckling from the tremendous strain and pressure. Missiles cooked in their weapon tubes; flung forward and about in every direction, bursting with walloping detonations which tore through walls and sent undulating concussions throughout the whole Acerbitas.

"Y'th xi sthul va, Xoth-za! " Belphaegor boomed in the tongue of the Zsha-thu, the Ancient Maenan race that birthed the Heralds.

And all at once, the Flames fled.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

​

Location: Asation
Objective: Do evil things
Allies: [member="Darth Prazutis"], [member="Taeli Raaf"], [member="Fiolette Yvarro"], [member="Darth Caecus"], [member="Luca Thorne"], [member="Kaalia Pavanos"], [member="Preliat Mantis"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Silas Mantis"], [member="Ordo Darnuhoy"]
Enemies: [member="Varex"], [member="Avoim Oeymo"], [member="Kamon Vondiranach"], [member="Jyoti Nooran"], [member="Allyson Locke"], [member="Kahne Porte"], [member="Valkren Calderon"], [member="Yuroic Xeraic"]
Gear:

• Below Signature
• Shield Talisman
• Pins of Protection

The Emperor stood tall upon the precipice of the ancient ruin, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes surveyed the growing calamity at the base of the hypergate. One of the Jedi had broken through the front lines with illusion and was scything great canyons in the ranks of the Imperial Legionnaires and Blackblades that had been scattered around the courtyard, each group deliberately placed piecemeal rather than one great configuration. From his vantage point, Carnifex could account for every one of his forces and could scour the land for the location of his enemies, the Dark Side granting him clarity as distant locations were viewed as if he was only meters away.

And the dead rose with clacking and clattering bones as dark magic gave renewed life to golems of fetid decay and contagion. They were little more than fodder in the grand scheme, unthinking animations that lived to wander the land and feast upon the warm flesh of the living, transmitting their deadly curse with but a bite. The soldiers of the Empire fell back as the undead shambled to bar the Jedi's path, their orders were to never press the advantage or hold their ground until death. Their flexible lines enticed the Jedi to push forward, to cut deeper and spill more of the Sith minion's blood with their blades of holy and righteous light.

"Zealots have no place in the future," muttered the Sith Emperor under his breath, his eyes briefly glancing upward as dark clouds began to coalesce around the ruins, spilling forth torrents of rain that coated the battleground with a thick haze of biting wetness.

His eyes fell back on the fight and he raised his wrist-comm to the commanders fighting at the front, "Continue to draw them in, the hour of judgement nears."

 

[Placeholder 0128]

Allies: [member="Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori"], [member="Noah Corek"], @Ursula VIszla


Enemies: [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Tabigarashu Madara"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Varas Ren"] | [member="Tabigarashu Madara"] | [member="Belphaegor"]

It was not the first time Cedric had greeted death.

He had faced a similar severance of body and soul on Dubrillon. There, he'd been greeted by the spirits of his wayward family and invited into a peaceful slumber. He'd rejected it then out of necessity, and his will had been made manifest by the Blade of Ruusan's power. He'd tossed that weapon aside to save it from the blaze; he'd expected it to burn far longer than the twister Vesper had trapped him within then.

That estimation had, unfortunately, been right.

The empyrean had taken hold of him now as it did then. It had saved him for a few seconds, but his strength quickly wavered under the extreme and concentrated heat. The mobility shield bought him another second, and the battleplate another. When the flames reached his flesh, he did not feel it as most would. The pain was a far off thought contained in the darkest corners of his mind; the peace and contentment gifted to him by the living force overruled all physical sensation.

And then it didn't.

As before, Cedric's mind was torn from the ethereal plane and forced back into his body. The calming sensation was gone, replaced by an agony unlike anything he had ever experienced, and then nothingness.

One of the Togrutan combat medics slung her rifle, and slowly strode out from an overturned starfighter, her arms held up in the air to show good intention. She would approach [member="Belphaegor"] slowly, assuming she wasn't shot, gestured toward her backpack, then to the blackened armor that Cedric was encased in.

 

[Darth Voracitos]

“It is not me who will see the error of my ways, Sith.”

Voracitos rolled his biological eyes. It was too easy for someone to simply lash out with the last response of their opponent. It was childish, in fact. A back in forth "You are x!", "Am not!", and "Are too!" banter was mundane and uninteresting to the Sith Lord. Voracitos slouched slightly more as the Jedi continued to bide for time. He knew exactly what it was he was attempting to do, and frankly, the Master of Gluttony could care less.

“The Force understands your crimes, and it is sickened by the galaxy you’ve helped create.”

Refraining from rolling his eye further, considering it could not roll any further, Voracitos almost barfed at the thought of a sentient "force". Voracitos recalled briefly the memories of a spirit-facsimile of himself tarnishing his good name and reputation, spouting on about its ridiculous "belief" in a supernatural representation of the dark side. Those were dire times, and Voracitos was briefly glad he was properly dead in Chaos, and that he never truly thought such ridiculous nonsense.

He was more glad though he got the chance to eat that false manifestation of his own jealousy and delusion, before it did any more harm to his reputation as a respectable Sith Lord. Voracitos worked harder than any of them to build up that reputation, as it took so little to ruin it by appearance alone.

“It's made me its avatar, a hierophant to show you the error of your ways.”

Voracitos properly gagged in his mouth. The audacity of a Jedi to claim such a thing while simultaneously believing in the lies of a living thinking entity of the force, was too much for the Sith Lord to bear, and prevented him in giving out his immediate response. That same psuedo-spirit of himself that haunted his ship and terrorized the galaxy with nonsense had believed itself a hierophant as well, and it couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Voracitos despised that type of ridiculous arrogance, and was surprised to see it in a Jedi.

“I will not kill you, Sith, but I will end this life of yours one way or another.”

"By the Sith, you are arrogant. Coming from me, that is outstanding. The force has no will, neophyte, I am living proof of it. You are no more a hierophant than the nearest bantha. You are beyond hope, and I will not humor you with my presence, but I will not deny my servants their compensation for their timely arrival." Voracitos' throne lifted into the air again, its legs dislodging from the stony ground, and turned away from Morga.

"Eat them." Voracitos uttered to his servants, as a rip in reality composed of shrieking souls began to envelope Voracitos, taking him somewhere only he knew. Perhaps somewhere else on the battlefield? Back home? A stay in the Netherworld of the force? Until he returned, none would know. All the while, his servants of the dark side unleashed their voracious appetites, hoping to be the one to please their master with an interesting capture.

[member="Wyatt Morga"]