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

[Amea Virou]

[member="Koda Fett"]

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

---

Was that all? Amea’s broken arm hurt but she only had to endure it for a few more minutes until this was all over. It brushed against her back as she forced herself to pull out the datapad from her pocket. The gun in her good hand rested with comfort. Her eyes remained on the bounty hunter as the bad hand withdrew a small drive from a small inlet at the bottom of the device. It would leave her with an incomplete device, but if that was the price to pay for keeping herself alive she was more than willing to compromise.

"This drive," She raised her bad arm. Her teeth gritted and she grunted with pain that was thankfully eased by the lack of gravity pulling it towards the floor. "Contains all of my notes on the dig as well as the information we were supplied when I accepted the job."

"Who is who, what is what, where and why, that sort of thing." She groaned. "That is all I have to offer, you can leave it or take it."

"But first lower your gun." Sign of good faith she would point her gun away from the merc. Just ever so slightly. "The disk is yours the second you do, and then we go our separate ways until there is reason for us to meet again."

 

[WolfMortum]

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Objective: Survive.​

Supporting: Gree & The Rebel Alliance.​

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

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His eyes stung. His torso felt as if it had been hit by a low flying personnel transport and by all means did he feel the impact of old age mixed with the expected extremities of War. Veiere Arenais had been out of the action for far too long; safe and complacent within his Exile. It was quickly becoming apparent that his decision to jump back into the fray under some fool notion of repentance, was quickly becoming his undoing.

Against the haze of his view, his eyes damp from the tears the smoke of the burning infrastructure had forced upon him, the old man turned at the sound of something metallic bouncing off of the ground several paces before coming to stop near to where he stood. It took Veiere a moment to realize the little object for what it was, yet that moment came far too late.

'Grenade'...

Indeed it was, though it didn't pack the same explosive force that Veiere expected would end his life. Instead it opened up in a high pitched scream of mechanical sensory debilitating sound, gradually growing stronger to the point of forcing the Exile to sheath his lightsaber, least he lose it as he tried to cover his ears and save himself the agony of being in such proximity to the small crying beacon of pain.

His ear drums felt as though they might burst, the share physical stress sapping strength from his legs and forcing him to fall to both knees as the spherical little chit-storm continued to wail away. The continuous pounding against his head threatened to steal at his consciousness, his body already hammered from such a beating taken prior. Veiere was desperate to keep his life, such a life that could well have been taken much quickly though his foe, where ever [member="Alkor Centaris"] was at this point, had chosen to seemingly torture him instead.

The sphere of metal wasn't far, though it took everything Veiere had accompanied by his frustration, pain and anger to reach out and take the damned thing into a telekinetic hold seeking to crush the thing for all it was doing to him. His mind felt frenzied by a migraine unlike no other, his body physically weak and falling against his left hand as he sought to keep his face from coming down into the dirt. Atleast not until the steel screaming device had been efficiently crushed into as small a chunk of scrap as he could manage.

Only then would he fall to the ground seeking rest, whether momentary or eternal, the choice had been removed of him.

 

[Darth Imperia]

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The Voidlight Cathedral

[member="Verse Taggart"]
[member="Sebastian Thel"]
[member="Lyra Sarn"]

--

Imperia had forgotten that Sebastian was even aboard the ship until that moment, and being reminded of his presence was mildly unpleasant. It wasn't that she had anything personal against him, of course – he wasn't particularly offensive, and even if he had been, someone of his station was hardly worth the effort of disliking. No, it was more the fact that Imperia didn't like having another Sith's toys loitering about on her ship. Had he not been so polite in his request – to inspect the Voidlight's systems in action – Imperia probably would've had the slicer, ah, reeducated, but fortunately for him he'd displayed exceptional manners.

The fact that he wasn't altogether unpleasant to look at helped too.

"Hm? Oh. Right. Yes, Sebastian, darling, whatever you think might help. The Cathedral can handle herself fine for the most part, but an extra mind couldn't hurt." With that distraction taken care of, the Lady turned her attention back to the task at hand, the small, cruel smile returning to her face.

--

The Cathedral seethed with hate. It was a cold hate, befitting her nature, but it was hate all the same. A3 and I2 had been sealed off, and the teams there would likely suffocate if they weren’t quick thinkers.

But the insects in E7 were proving more persistent. The security team sent to the breach-point had been defeated, and the intruders were now headed deeper inside.

Not that it mattered. With more than a small hint of amusement, Voidlight sent an audio transmission to the Mistress’s datapad.

“Mistress Imperia, Madame Verse, the intruders in E7 are on the move towards F2 at the moment. Shall I send for more guards, or let the two of you have your fun?”

 

[The Lurking Presence]

"We're trapped! Nothing left! There's nothing. . nothing. . . the doors. . " Alexkar sobbed, encased in the darkness of the aftermath. In his lap, as he rocked back and forth, an unconscious and barely living Sergeant Quasar. "Str--rafe the doors! "

Grievously injured himself, from the moment his Blaster Rifle had malfunctioned in the heat; flaring off it's energy pack and bursting the gas cartridge in to an explosive surge that excised half of an arm and left one side of his body barren of flesh. The man had fallen in to a realm of illusion, pleading hopelessly in to a Communications Device that had long retired it's duty.

It was a situation that was comparable throughout.

Men and women half cooked, shell-shocked, and hysterical. Those more fortunate, merely rest in silence amid the dead and injured. The Hangar Bay in absolute disarray; steel glowing orange and white. Walls, ceiling and floor torn riotously asunder.

"M'lord? " A voice suddenly approached Belphaegor in the gloom, opposite of the Rebels Medic.

Silence.

For both. . .

Lasting silence as he surveyed the fallen Jedi Knight.

"Remove him. . " the Sith's voice finally emerged, awoken only a moment after a durasteel panel of considerable heft lost it's grasp of the ceiling and came crashing down somewhere out in the blackness.

As the Medic moved in, others behind her to tend and withdraw their collapsed Hero, the Soldier approached. Cracking a Beam Stick against his thigh, offering pale blue illumination in a ten meter splash around he and Belphaegor as the Sith watched on.

"M'lord you are injured. . . "

"We. . are all. . . injured. " Replied the Maenan, eyes not moving from [member="Cedric Grayson"]. "Locate [member="Lok Munin"] and Lieutenant [member="Anden Fancelo"]. "

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Location: Gree Enclave, Shipyards
With: [member="Romi Jade"]
Enemies: [member="Dante Sotari"], [member="Jairus Starvald"]
Equipment: See Sig

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---

Eyes tracking the legionnaire, Aten didn’t lose sight of her as she fell. The reflexes, the quickness in which the trooper had reacted to being sent into a freefall was no surprise to the Jedi. Aten had been humbled by Koda Fett and Julian Valentine, he’d learned the resourcefulness and skill that even those without the abilities of the force possessed, also how dangerous they could be. Staring into that black visor as it turned to face him took Aten back. Months ago, on Taris where he’d stared in the visors of the hunters as they’d come for him. Suddenly all too aware of the missing appendage, replaced by the cybernetic Aten felt a burning in his arm. The memory alone causing the phantom pain to return to it. Wincing the Morellian watched as a silver orb was chucked in his direction.

If there was one thing Aten had learned during his numerous battles against the Sit it was don’t let anything explosive near you. He’d been hit by far more explosions than he’d ever thought possible only surviving due to his armor, or due to the device not delivering explosions. Aten saw a chance to react to the trooper, to slam her, project a kick and clothesline her as she swung through the air above. No, there was another option, one she’d just supplied him with. Left-hand raising focusing on the orb as it tumbled through the air its momentum didn’t stop, his will seizing the device Aten's arm stretched out pushing against the device. Adding momentum to it, the explosive would intercept the path in which the trooper swung her arc carrying her directly into it.

What Aten expected was a fiery ball of flame to engulf the woman or even a sonic screech to leave her hanging limply in the air, instead what he got was an explosion of blueish goo clumps of white mixed in. Face twisting, head pulling back a bit Aten blinked. It was certainly an unconventional weapon but not one Aten had been expecting. Whatever its effects the jedi didn’t know, he was just glad he hadn’t been unfortunate enough to be covered in it.

Gross.

“Couldn’t agree more Kol…”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Gear: Phrik armour, lightsabre (both in sig), rebreather, boltgun, Reaper Plasma Shotgun, sidearm.
Objective: Reunion. Mayhem.
Location: Some hallway behind the hangar.
Enemies: [member="Matsu Xiangu"] (Engaging). Also in area: [member="Tabigarashu Madara"]. Elsewhere: [member="Belphaegor"], [member="Kyrel Ren"], [member="Lok Munin"], [member="Anden Fancelo"]
Allies elsewhere: [member="Cedric Grayson"], [member="Noah Corek"]

It was getting hot in the hallway, even with Elpsis not actively feeding the flames. The fires still raging in the hangars were doing their part to heat the air in the hallways. They matched the fire burning inside Elpsis. She felt like a blazing inferno. All this energy and rage demanded to be directed outward. To be unleashed. It exhilarated and yet frightened her.


You're a Kerrigan-Acori, do your duty.

Triumph over adversity.

A Kerrigan always pays her debts.


"Sure she'll be fine with it if I bring her your head," Elpsis hissed, words leaping from her bruised, bloodied lips. Her lightsabre struck true, planting a burning kiss upon Matsu's thigh as it swept down low. However, whatever exultation Elpsis might have felt from landing this stroke was short-lived. Undaunted, the Dark Lady retaliated. Like lightning, she struck, delivering a two-handed cut that sought to land upon Elpsis' neck joint.


Elpsis' lightsabre, being so low, was out of position. She could not move it up in time to intercept. Nor could she dodge in time. Even as her right arm moved Inferno, she knew it would not be fast enough. Her reaction was born of instinct. Precognition screamed, planting an image of the lightsabre cutting through her neck like a hot knife through butter into her mind. And so she raised her left hand. Her left, wounded hand with the badly burnt wrist. It caught the burning blade. And Elpsis felt horrible agony.


Like everything else about her armour, her gauntlets were made of Phrik. But they were not designed to catch a lightsabre. That was what Beskar crushgaunts were for. Perhaps Satele Shan had been able to block a sabre with her bare hand without suffering ill effect. Despite her control over tutaminis, Elpsis was not so lucky. To put it plainly, her hand burnt. So strongly that she could not keep herself from crying out in pain.


Her hand was on fire. Her thumb was the first to go, falling to the floor. The two fingers next to it were burnt off soon after. What was left of the mangled, mutilated hand was useless. Flesh was stripped away, the metal gauntlet burnt, smoke coiling from it. The power of the Force flowed through her as she sought to absorb the tremendous heat. Her breathing intensified, heart thumping so loudly in her chest that she feared it might burst. It took all her strength not to drop to the ground - and undoubtedly to oblivion. Fear threatened to seize her like a vice.


You're weak. Just a pathetic, stupid little girl. Good for nothing except being a filthy whore. No wonder your mother gave you away without a second thought. A voice whispered in her mind, spewing venom and hatred. It sounded like that of her father, Xerexes. She imagined he was laughing in hell. But she had banished his spectre along time ago. He could no longer haunt her. She could not hear the whispers of the Rebel engineers nervously peeking out of their hideout. But she felt their emotions as viscerally as her own. Fear, anxiety, hope. They were counting on her.


Heavenly Mother, I beseech you. Give me strength. Give me courage. Let me be fire. Her prayer was silent, but no less genuine. The Dark Lady she faced was might and malevolence incarnate. She wielded tremendous power. But so do you, another voice spoke. It sounded like Elpsis', and yet not. A lioness still has claws, and mine are long sharp, as long and sharp as yours. Her milky-white eyes seemed to glow.


Heat had filled her, spreading through her body like wild fire. She could not keep going like this. And so she turned it all back on the Dark Queen. The heat that permeated the air around them suddenly intensified, as Elpsis harnessed the heat she absorbed from the lightsabre. Strain was written across her features. Her breathing was laboured and she was in pain, yet she persevered. She was fire, the baleful, crackling flame. And she reflected the superheated air towards Matsu. To cook her from the inside out. Every breath the Dark Lady took should burn her up from the inside out. She wanted the Dark Woman to breathe it in until her lung could not take it anymore.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

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Enemies: [member="Varex"] l Jedi​

Allies: Solus Mando'ade​

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Preliat couldn't tell the man's expression. His species was a hard species to read.

Especially when you were being tackled at mach-thousand. The impact initially wasn't bad- kinetically speaking. Preliat planted his feet, and felt the air escape from his lungs, causing a deep breath, and wheezing as he wrapped his arms around the power-armor adorned Jedi. He was right at his chest. Cybernetic leg planted, Preliat braced as the two were locked, albeit with Preliat out of air for the moment.

Then, the mud happened. Preliat sprawled out, unable to keep his foot with the dense mud.

Preliat fell to the ground, and aimed to keep his arms wrapped tight around the Jedi- for a moment longer. He was flying. Hopefully the Jedi was too. He released at the apex of his fall. Trying to transfer his momentum with the Jedi- so that they both would fall apart from each other. And maybe the Jedi would get as muddy as he was about to be.

 

[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"]



There was a crash as the final strafing run busted out the hanger doors. The metal splintered inward in great jagged lances of shattered durasteel. The majority of the rebel soldiers paid it no mind - with the fighting halted momentarily, it seemed the spirit of it ha fled the room as well.

The Togruta gave the Sith Knight a thankful nod, mumbled something in her alien language that sounded like gratitude, and quietly began work stabilizing the mortally wounded Jedi Knight. After a few moments of silence, a handful of rebel soldiers strode forward to lift Cedric's mangled body and haul him out of the hanger bay. When the doors shut behind them, the silence seemed to ring ever louder.

A sense of discomfort seemed to be setting in until Captain Kurze's voice broke the quiet.

"Soldiers of the Sith Empire," his voice boomed over the last intercomm in the hanger that still had power. "The Rebel Alliance will be vacating this sector of space shortly. Given the situation at hand, all Imperial forces will be permitted to leave the vessel unharmed. You have ten minutes to comply."

 

[Lok Xiangu]

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Allies: TSE | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Varas Kyrel"] | [member="Belphaegor"] | [member="Tabigarashu Madara"] | [member="Kyrel Ven"] |
Enemies: TRA | [member="Cedric Grayson"] | [member="Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori] | [member="Noah Corek"] | [member="Ursula Vizsla"]
Objective: Report back to Belphaegor
Gear: Link

The wayward Outlaw was scorched from the fire cyclone that the Jedi Knight conjured and unleashed upon the Sith. He didn't die from severe heating from the malicious flames that danced in the hangar, but his armor was cooked which took a majority of the punishment of the attack only to leave Lok with burnt scars underneath his plates, muscle and tissue tearing away, and blood drooling down on his skin. Most of these injures were found on his chest, with minor ones on his arms. That being said his slugthrower was useless as the material also cooked, thus thrown away. Only his grenades, pistol, knife, and armor were of use.

Good enough to survive. Fully participating in a fight was out of the question due to his injuries. Heart was racing and he desperately gasped for air. Organs demanded for blood from the heart, and thankfully he had enough to share with the other functions and departments of his body. Though he needed a medic to aid him, minimize some of the damage until he was handed to professional medicals.

As Lok used a nearby cargo crate to pick himself up and use it to support his weight a Sith soldier came to his side and helped him to the crate.

"Lok," he asked to the Munin. The mercenary was easy to pick out as he was the only Mandalorian that aligned himself with the Sith aboard the Acerbitas. Well, former Mandalorian. He only wore the armor that was gifted to him from his former adoptive father, Vilaz.

"Is there another Lok...gah," he said in an unamused, agitated voice which was interrupted from his injuries as a free hand went to his chest plate, trying to comfort his burnt chest that screamed for medical attention.

"Lord Belphaegor gave orders to locate you," the soldier, appearing to be an enlisted officer, replied back.

Had Lok been in better conditions he'd probably say some slurs to him, but not now. He could barely hold himself up and speak.

"Tell him I'm here," was all the Munin could offer to the officer, focusing on his breathing and balance as he observed the scenario around him of corpses, gore, damaged infrastructure, and scattered flames that painted the hangar. Bloody and traumatizing to see. A couple of soldiers puked and tried comforting themselves. Even some hardened veterans were shocked as they had never encountered something as terrorizing as this.

Communications would be forwarded to Belphaegor of Lok's conditions and location which was not too far, but it'd be a pain for the former Mando to make the trek.

A voice boomed from the Rebels that they had exactly ten minutes to gather themselves and evacuate the area.

"Ten minutes? Motherf-" and fell to the floor, crying out in pain with the Imperial soldier trying to attend him.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

He waited for a moment until the screeching caused his stomach to churn, then took his rifle in a reversed grip- safety engaged, of course. With the opponent crippled in many senses of the word, the need to take his life dwindled. His HUD continued running facial recognition matched against HoloNet records as the sonic device halted abruptly, and he froze in place.

Had the man managed to avert losing his equilibrium? Would he need to fire into the soot and ash after all? The light from his saber had gone out, but that hardly meant it was not a ploy to take Alkor off his guard.

At best, he could brave the danger and answer all of those riddles and perhaps more.

He stayed low, watching the area ahead of him to minimal effect. Warm air rises, and so, his best chance of catching a glimpse of [member="Veiere Arenais"] was from beneath the sweltering smog. That was when he found him, collapsed and compromised.

The match appeared on his screen in the form of an expired bounty. One estranged King of Commenor, former Jedi Knight, and curiously, someone of great interest to [member="Darth Carnifex"]. Given his knowledge of affairs between the Sith Empire and the Commenor Systems Alliance, the Mandalorian understood he had just stumbled onto a veritable treasure.

"Lucky man," Alkor said aloud as he trodded toward the fallen monarch. "There are some people who would be thrilled to see you alive. But you look tired."

He moved swiftly, bringing the butt of his rifle down to impact with Arenais' head. It wasn't aimed for anywhere lethal, just enough force to put the man under for a bit. He was about to bring home some extra creds.

"Goodnight, bur'cya."

 

[Tehkyram]

Objective: Jedi Hunt
Allies: Sith Imperial Legion
Enemies: Rebel Soldiers // [member="Cenric Marus"]

Tehkyram had felt something nick his leg, some sort of burning or stinging. In truth, Cenric had cut deep enough to injure the muscular Karkarodon's tendons, a wound painful and critical enough to temporarily hobble not just a mere mortal, but even a force-potent Jedi like himself. But Tehkyram was too far gone, too lost to his own anger to register the wound. He felt the blade cut through his lower right leg, but he hardly focused on it.

Instead his priority was how close the Jedi got to him. His least favorite animals on Dxun were small birds: they flew inside his reach and would peck at his face or chest. In that way, this Jedi was like a bird, actually getting in close past his long reach and hitting him up close and personal. It was the greatest weakness of his own personal style. But at the same time, it was not like the heel of Darth Arkillos. What did Tehkyram do when a bird got too close and personal? He crushed it with his bare hands.

And so, with full intent of catching Cenric while he was within reach, Tehkyram swung at him with a powerful backhanded haymaker. It was more reflex than strategy, like swatting a bug with a vibro-mace. But it was certainly effective, sometimes devastatingly so.

 

[LT-137]

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Gree // Planetary Surface // Sith-Imperial Beachhead.

Allies: The Sith Empire; [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"], [member="Thyne"], [member="Kor Vexen"],
Enemies: The Rebel Alliance; [member="Solonariwan Tofusin"] [Previously Engaged.] [member="Wyatt Morga"]
The Solvognen - Thyrsian Corvette.
Phaethon - Class Assault Transports, with Thyrsian Sun Guards.

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It was a simple matter for the iron-bound wolves to dispatch their cornered prey, as they sought to defy the hand that fate had dealt. Three starfighters were destroyed, sent plummeting to the surface of Gree on smouldering tails of burning slag, and the rest were forced to scatter to the winds. Such a sight made the crew of the Solvognen laugh in pride-bound triumph, ignoring what it had cost to earn then such a meagre victory. Dozens of dropships were consigned to their fateful terminus as the price of three Alliance fighters - each ferrying hundreds of combat-capable soldiers and valuable war materiel. There was little doubt in their collective Thyrsian minds that these men would be mourned once the battle was over, as there was little time for grief whilst the planet remained non-compliant.

Khonsu had learned of such wasteful expenditures whilst boarding a dropship of his own and found himself shaking his head in what could pass for remorse. He felt nothing for the lives that were lost, as they were not of his Golden Coven; but felt the pangs of pity threatening to seep into his conscious mind, as they could’ve died fighting the enemy - rather than burning to death within falling tomb. It wasn’t a good death, and perhaps not the way they were expecting to meet their maker. However, such avenues were out of mortal hands and couldn’t be readily controlled as many blessed with power wished for the opposite. When death had your number, he would always claim what was owed; one way or another.

His clouded thoughts vanished as the overhanging lumen-strips flashed crimson, bathing him within the radiance of the false-firelight. Their vessel was approaching the appointed dropzone, and he - along with the rest of the Sun Guard aboard his superior’s vessel - would find themselves forced out onto the treacherous surface of the world below. He wondered what it would be like to bathe in the aura of an Empire, fallen from grace and denied the chance to rise again from their ashes. Would it be a harrowing experience? One that he would greet with some form of reverence, or awe? He could tell, and as the light of his visor filled with the projected image of his Praetor’s crested helm - Khonsu couldn’t find himself able to care.

In the end; regardless of the history that resonated across the wastes of this world, it was ultimately just another planet that he was contracted to bring into Sith-Imperial compliance.

:: Khonsu,:: The voice of his superior stated as soon as the crackling connection was stabilized. :: The Dogged Hand has sustained damage from the Alliance Squadron and has gracefully set themselves down upon the surface. You and your forces will be deployed alongside them and answer to their Commanders, the venerable Lord Vexen and the Sith; Lady Joycelyn Zambrano.:: The Twisuns Legate smiled slightly as his Commander voiced her name, as the memories of the Sith-Imperial Tournament stirred from the dust of recollection. He remembered her; the Amazonian woman who spat fire as if she was a dragon and wielded a metallic cudgel as if it were some plaything. It would be the first time that he would ever take to the field alongside that woman, and the Thyrsian felt like he would have something to prove in the battle to come. The Eye of the Emperor would doubtlessly be upon her, and thus it was his secret hope that it would fall upon him as well.

More laurels to lay at the feet of his Praetor, before cutting his wretched heart out for all to see.

“If that is your bidding, then it shall be done,” Khonsu stated with a serpentine smile. “What shall you and the Solvognen be doing whilst we trod through the ashes of the Gree?”

:: Those fighters had to have a hidden base somewhere in the wastelands, and couldn’t have appeared out of thin air. My task,:: The image flickered then, as the Praetor’s helmet looked towards someone unseen by the hololithic projector. :: As well as Lanius’, will be to flush them out of hiding and eradicate them. ::

“Very well,” the Thyrsian replied. “I wish you luck.”

He terminated the connection before his Commander could reply. It was a boring conversation anyway. As his visor cleared, the Sun Guard looked towards his pilot and ordered him to dust off with a gesture of twinned talons spinning in the air, an act that would see their transport rocket towards the surface soon after.

​

A handful of tow-coloured transports burst out of the shielded hangar bay’s of the Solvognen and headed towards the surface, leaving the burnished Corvette to streak towards destinations unknown. The warship would scour the surface of Gree in search of the Hidden Base that the squadron of starfighters launched from and would exact their retribution upon any hostile forces that resided within the installation’s embrace. While the men that perished during the initial phases of securing the planet wouldn’t know of what became of their murderers, their ethereal spirits would rest easy; knowing that their deaths would be avenged.

Without their warship’s support, the armed dropships soared through the iron-shod skies of Gree; allowing it’s spread of weapons to track possible targets and their ghosts. Just to be safe, whilst they made their transit towards the surface, as they couldn’t be sure if that uncanny band of starfighters would return to reap a toll amongst the Empire’s forces once again. Nevertheless, as they made their final approach towards the establishing beachhead, their weapons fixated forward and locked themselves into place; no longer needed as they were within the defensive Sith-Imperial cordon.

As the transports touched down at their assigned vector, the blast doors retracted and permitted their golden passengers to disembark. Khonsu was the first of the Sun Guard to jump from the crimson-bathed interior, onto the planet below; immediately dropping into dust and dirt kicked up by the Sith-Imperial ships roosting atop the planet’s mantle.

Gripping his service weapon tighter, the Thyrsian began moving through the gathering formations of Sith-Imperial soldiers and crawling echelons of artillery pieces. After taking several minutes to march against the tide of alabaster warplate and roving armour, the man had come to stand before a towering giant; clad in baroque armour seemingly wrought of darkness and pulsating with an aura of palpable malice - barely restrained by a disciplined will. There was another nearby, but unlike the towering mass of armour, they almost seemed to be insignificant in comparison. At least when their collective height was taken into account.

Knowing full well that he had found who he was looking for, mostly because of the radiant crimson aura that hung across her shoulders like a shroud; Khonsu activated his external annunciator, casting his voice into the tumultuous din. :: My name is Khonsu Amon, Twisuns Legate of the Sun Guard. I take it you’re Lady Zambrano, Commander of this Division? If so, I’ve been assigned to you, and my men stand ready to serve at your command.::

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Location: Gree Space, Asation, Ancient Ruins
Objective: Unleash that which has Slumbered
Allies: [member="Darth Prazutis"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] [member="Kaalia Pavanos"] [member="Darth Caecus"] [member="Luca Thorne"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Preliat Mantis"]
Enemies: [member="Varex"] [member="Kamon Vondiranach"] [member="Jyoti Nooran"] [member="Allyson Locke"] [member="Kahne Porte"] [member="Avoim Oeymo"] [member="Valkren Calderon"] [member="Yuroic Xeraic"]

Equipment: Armor Lightsaber

As the Shadow Hand gave the order to begin the ritual, Taeli stayed behind while the other Sith Lords and their forces moved to hinder their approaching enemies. She sensed what the Shadow Hand was unleashing and sighed internally to herself. Undead, why was it always undead? Then again, they would be an effective tool and bolster their numbers. But now... she had a ritual to direct, she had no room for distractions. Calling on her command of the dark side and her knowledge of the Sith arts, she joined her voice into the chanting sorcerers and other Sith magicians.

The weather was reacting to the dark power gathering, dark clouds gathering above that were crackling with energy.

The full power of the ritual would take some time to build, and it would need to be at full power to bring forth the creature they sought. However, if the stories were to be believed, that as the veil between this world and the next thinned, smaller doorways would open. What they would unleash... the histories only called them Horrors, twisted abominations that dwelled in the same realm as the creature they hoped to ensnare. What they were could only be guessed. Some of the ancient Sith had claimed they were children of the Terror from Beyond, other claimed they had always existed there. What was certain this... the thinning of the veil within a few moments would likely open smaller doorways, unleashing horrors that had not graced this galaxy in over four thousand years... and this was just the beginning.

Somewhere out in the swamps, a bolt of lightning would crack down from the clouds above. For the briefest moment, an ovoid portal would flicker and a clawed hand would attempt to reach out before it closed. It would not be long...

 

[Nixia Amabilia]

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtpfIwoV3DU​

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Location: Somewhere in Gree space.
Enemies: [member="Judas Foster"]
Objective: Survive

What was that? I could not believe my eyes watching the series of actions that unfolded before me. " How can someone wield such a weapon?" I asked myself. Watching Red get discarded that quickly was... well it made me feel even more nervous than I already did. Didn't need a vision from the force or some old ancient wisdom to see that this opponent was on a different level than me. After the doors closed behind him I couldnt help but back up and draw my Tangle-7 pistol with my right hand. A rush of adrenaline pumped fresh through my body causing me to shake like the rooky I was. This was alot to take in.

I didnt want to get anywhere close to this guy and his massive blade. His golden eyed gazed had a chilling weight to it. For a moment I was lost in it.

Your going to die here. Shaking my head left and right I bit my bottom lip. " No not today..." I exclaimed aloud for all to hear. Taking hold of my fears I took aim and walked forward slowly. The Corridor was small enough to work for my advantage. Yeah! Aiming toward [member="Judas Foster"] general area I pulled the trigger watching the small pellet of ammo fly and suddenly expand into a webbed net that nearly covered the corridor. This is gonna work! With no hesitation I rushed in holding my Light-shield in a guard position in front of me.

 

[Koda Fett]

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

Another long period of silence, a delay in his speech and actions as a whole. Surely this is what Amea could expect of the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter who appeared stunted in some way or another, and the truth is that he was in some regard. Suppose that's what happens when you experience all that trauma, even if he was conditioned to to ever suffer from any of it. After all, this Clone in particular was rather defective. The fact that he was here right now could show that much.

"Hmph." He exhaled, a grunt muddled within it.

The blaster was brought down by his side, the barrel facing the ground as his hand still held onto it with some degree of tightness. Couldn't afford for it to go slinking away, or even allow the woman to catch the drop on him. Lest he find himself a warranted, but early grave. It was always the 'bad' men that lasted longer than most, but maybe his morality was simply grey or ambiguous to an extent.

Fett awaited the device, sure to come to him now that he adhered to her demands. He could start shooting again, though. Call that bluff...

 

[Thyne]

​

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Kor Vexen"] | [member="Khonsu Amon"] | [member="Darth Voracitos"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"]​

[member="Vestille Thumahra"] | [member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Khaji Ri'Had"] | [member="Wyatt Morga"] | [member="Solonariwan Tofusin"]​

The moment they were out of the ship, Thyne felt a wave of overstimulation. There was too much going on, legionnaires pushing past him to do their jobs, scouts taking off, drops of rain hitting his armor in annoying little patters. He found his head whirling about every which way, trying to identify sources of noises, overcompensating for the reduced visibility that came with the helmet.

The coms were the worst part, voices of various levels of familiarity relaying information and giving orders in such a way the boy found it near impossible to block out. His hands twitched with the urge to do away with the helmet entirely, stilled only by Joyce's previous threat. Amongst the chaos of it all, he could hear someone call out for him, the voice stopping him in his tracks, searching for the origin whilst being pushed out of the way by Legionnaires.

Eyes finally catching sight of Joyce, he made a beeline for her direction, nearly losing her amongst all the white armor. As he drew closer, there was a childish urge to cling to her hand, something to keep him grounded among the chaos. That idea was dismissed about as quickly as it was conceived, the boy instead opting to take hold of his lightsaber, wringing it in his hands in such a way as to avoid activating the weapon.

A slight presence at Joyce's side, he watched as the Sun Guard approached, head cocked to the side as much as the armor would allow as the man spoke before turning back to Joyce. "Lady Zambrano? Am I supposed to call you that, too?"

 

[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​

​

​

​

Varex had expected his beskar plated rival to struggle, but the Vaemath had not expected a counter-grab. Without hesitation, Preliat had allowed his opponent control over his midriff, so that he might exploit the Jedi's momentum by tossing the alien power suit and all over him while he allowed himself to fall backwards. The Inquisitor was unable to arrest his descent, body slamming heavily into the muck.

Wind was knocked out of his lungs, and he could only take solace in the estimation that such a move had left Preliat similarly fatigued. At full extension, Varex was nearly three meters tall and covered in ultrachrome plating. It was a testament to Mandalorian conditioning that his prey had been able to accomplish such a feat of strength. They were back where they started, only now they were only meters away.

The Jedi Knight rose unsteadily to his feet, allowing Preliat time to rise under his own power if the Sith mercenary was the slower. He had a choice here, either reactivate his kyber blades or meet the Mandalorian on his own terms, terms Varex now knew his crushgaunt equipped opponent favored. If he weren't Tranquil, his species' compulsive drive towards competition would have left him no choice in the matter. Ego was never a factor him, but nevertheless having been raised on Baratia he took matters of honor most seriously.

In the distance, the slavering howls of a surviving rathtar pierced the silence of their duel. It was not upon them yet, but the more commotion they made the greater the chances there would be of an unwelcome third party.

Varex ignored it, instead wading back in with his gauntlets still deactivated into striking distance of Preliat. He would meet the Mandalorian on his terms, but the Shadow in him was careful not to get too close, using his superior reach to launch some exploratory jabs and kicks at the other man's guard. Counters launched his way he made sure to deflect away at the wrist where he could instead of blocking more conventionally, intent on robbing Mantis of his enhanced force. All the while, he was probing for a sliver in the mercenary's defenses.

Finally sensing his opportunity, the Jedi launched a barrage of jabs to keep Mantis on the defensive. Following up with a conjured flash of blinding light, Varex sought to disorient his foe before driving in with a wound up blow directly to Preliat's solar plexus.

 

[WolfMortum]

​

​

Objective: Not Applicable.​

Status: Incapacitated.​

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

​

​

​

No response would come from the fallen Exile; least none that made sense nor held strength of volume loud enough for the Mandalorian standing over-top of him to hear and bare witness. It was a mutter mixed with a cough against the dirtied dust-ridden ground littered with debris and stone fragments of the once wholesome structure that overshadowed the two and now carried the smoke of brazen flames sky-high like a beacon for all to see. Unintelligible and incoherent, his mind dazed both by pain and physical exhaustion. A rather sad sight to behold, the once strong Steward of the Light, broken and bowed.

In some sense of Irony, or be it Karma, perhaps this was what he deserved. Such notions however were for those of clarity of mind and sight, to judge. Veiere's right hand reached out across the ground, fingers scraping against the loose dirt as he sought to reach for his Lightsaber, yet failed to even do that where his torso surged with pain and shot up his right side as if fire had spread throughout his lungs forcing one last gasp of air and loud grown in pain just in time for Veiere to shift and take in the bright sight of [member="Alkor Centaris"] bringing down the backside of his rifle.

It struck him in the forehead and tore through flesh as the blunt force audibly cracked against his skull and sent his head reeling back against the ground forcing his eyes closed. His expression pained though that physical feeling all but lost as the world around him dispersed into the obscurity of unconsciousness. Rest, to some degree seemed to be upon him, forced by another and certain to be temporary yet removed of his woes for now, his body fell limp and no longer could he refuse nor defend himself against the Mandalorian's will.

Whatever foul fate awaited him now, only Alkor and his Sith employer could know. So far removed from reality, not even the Force could save him from definite captivity at the behest of the younger Warrior.

​

 

[Amea Virou]

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

---

Amea dropped her gun and let it hover in the air as she threw the drive in the direction of the man. Her body gently shifted away in the air from her gun and towards the hallway leading towards the escape pod. That was her ticket out of here, and the hunter would with luck let her have it.

Her mind remained on the gun in case she had to call it to her for defense.

Hopefully there wouldn’t be a need for it.

As for the drive, Amea had been honest. The content would detail their routes in the tunnels, their finds and where they might find more. The technical aspects of the engine was missing but that was mostly because of the merc’s interruption on the operation. Any questions beyond that, he would have answers to.

“I need the pod.” She grinned through the pain. “Catch me again and I’ll promise to cover the cost for a replacement.”

She kept her eyes on the merc and pushed back towards her destination. The pod was within reach.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

He towered over a battered man, but felt empty. There was no glory in the victory, nothing he could write back to Mandalore about. The husband of Commenor's Queen, estranged or not, made this man inadvertently extended family to Mand'alor. [member="Yasha Mantis"] would be torn with the news that [member="Veiere Arenais"] took up arms alongside the Rebels that were led by the same people who once razed a portion of Mandalore. More perplexing was the political position it would put them all in.

There had been a promise made, not even days before the battle began, that pitted Commenor and Bastion against one another on an entirely different battlefield. This turn of events created a complex web of possibilities that Alkor refused to read into. These may have been Yasha's family problems, but they were not Mandalorian problems as a whole.

He clipped his Assault Rifle to his armor once more, then set himself to business.

Alkor understood one thing, and that was the Mando'ade stood to profit off the disagreements of Aruteiise. Moreso than he had intended, but it was a welcome surprise.

"Centaris reporting," he opened the comm channel once more, and a hail of Stormtroopers stood ready to receive the news. His next words were met with a thunderous cheering, so loud he could hear it from across the city. "Target subdued. I'll be bringing him in for processing and interrogation. Send word to the Dark Lord. He'll want to deal with this personally."

It always struck Alkor as outlandish to use the titles Sith fancied, but when they were paying the bill, he had no misgivings on the matter. It was all words and posturing anyway. Make them happy, and they keep hiring you.

Alkor intended to keep this cash cow very happy indeed.

"Status report," he spoke up again, stooping down to collect the Fallen King from his place in the dirt. He gripped the man by the collar and dragged him gracelessly in tow, then scooped up the Lightsaber that he had been reaching for in his last moments of consciousness with his free hand.

"We're meeting with conflicting responses," came the unenthusiastic voice of one of the others. "Some of the Gree are content to stay out of the situation entirely, and they're refusing to comply with our evacuation effort. Others seem to sympathize with the Rebels, and we've had to put down several attempts to incite riots in the streets. Few of them are responding the way we intended. It's a complete disaster."

"Understandable," he chewed on his lip. "They see us as an occupying force, and those Rebels who got here before us must have made an impression. We tried honey, regrettably, it's time for vinegar."

"Sir?"

"Start randomly putting down the Gree," Alkor told them, "pick out the ones who seem the most opposed to our presence, and make an example out of them."

"Sir," the protest came swiftly, "we can't-"

"I'm not telling you to slaughter the entire population, man," he cut in. "All I want you to do is break their spirit. It's a war effort, there are casualties. We can make reparations later."

"Yes, sir!"

Alkor heard the comm go silent for nearly ten seconds before the telltale sounds of blasterfire screamed in his ears. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and reminded himself that in times of war, morality had to be suspended. Swallowing hard, the Mandalorian glanced back down to ensure his prize was safe and sound.

He'd have to figure out what to tell Yasha, when all was said and done.