Your Overconfidence Is Your Weakness | Rebel Alliance Invasion of Sith Empire Held Dubrillon Hex

[Jantar Keltainen]

Objective: Stop the rebels taking the Refinery Complex
Location: Refinery – adjacent to access hallway
Allies: None
Enemies: [member="Cenric Marus"]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8uZutr1avs

Jantar watched the colourful display of lights. From her vantage point, she could see blooms of red against a faint hue of blue from around the corner.

She took the opportunity to conserve her energy – she was an Acolyte, after all, and only had a finite amount of power at her fingertips, or in her reserves.

But the waiting had a negative impact too – she had time to think. Too much time to think. It was one thing to have a plan, but quite another to analyse a situation until you became paralysed.

For Jantar considered her options over and over, until she was entirely confused about the best approach. And so finally, she physically shook her head and remonstrated with herself internally.

‘Too much talk, not enough action.’

So, she unclipped her saber – but kept it inactive – and held it loosely in her left hand, rolling it over and over, becoming accustomed to the feel – and allowing her focus to be on the here and now, as opposed to the might be and could be. She would face whatever came around the corner – and she would act as she saw fit – but defence, in the form of her saber – and attack, in the form of dark-sided magic, would be her primary weapons.

With a healthy dose of patience thrown into the mix too.

Which was when the pyrotechnics stopped and she sensed her opponent drawing close.

 

[LT-137]

Allies: The Sith Empire.
Enemies: The Rebel Alliance.
Objective: Hold Refinery Complex Dorn.

Dubrillion // Sith-Imperial Collection and Refinery Complex Dorn
The Beaches.​

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From the dawn of time itself, it was said by many that Fortune favoured the bold. That, through their unwillingness to let fate direct them to the inevitable terminus, and their drive to make their own destiny - that these people had soared to heights undreamt of. However; in that endless pursuit of one’s unattainable dreams, there were many that were cursed to fall prey to the fate’s capricious whims. They were trampled underfoot in pursuit of their own greatness and were often defeated by their own hubris.

Khonsu was but one of these men who had been forsaken by fortune and denied what he had claimed to be his own.

Had he not surged forward and connected his shoulder with the Jedi, the Sun Guard would’ve seen what transpired with stark clarity. The foe that was marked for death surged with the aetheric might of the Force, what remained within his personal reservoir, and combined its energies with what remained of his physical prowess. This blessed union of power had seen what remained of the Mercenary’s momentum stolen, and pitted against his gilded form in the most simplistic way.

While the armour protected him from the pressure extolled upon his figure, the sudden reversal and dealt a grievous wound to his pride - humbling him as what footing he held onto was cast towards the iron-shod skies.

The clarity, bequeathed to him by the chemical cocktail coursing through his veins, vanished in the moments that followed as his aerial path was redirected by his Cultural Rival. He impacted the warrior and rolled across the man’s armoured frame; spilling into the dunes below. For a moment, before the realization had settled in, the Sun Guard believed that he had landed face-first into the sand.

The Truth of the matter was the opposite; flavoured by the pieces of the battle-scarred shoreline that were thrown towards the skies after his shuddering impact. Khonsu would’ve rolled along the curvature of the beach, swept up by the retreating tides and claimed by the blood-marked sea raging just out of reach. Instead, his body was splayed across the granular surface and wracked with aching sores spreading through his muscular frame. It was the precursor to bruising, and left the desert-born warrior with the lingering thoughts of personal shame and what would come after the bout; should his superiors catch wind of what transpired here this day.

That meant he had to move; to rouse himself from the sands and return to the fight. He couldn’t let his Mandalorian ally take his kill, nor could he live down the notion of being bested by a simple Warrior-monk. This Jedi was his kill, not the Mandalorian’s. As the simmering rage that propelled him forwards began to reform and coalesce within his mind, the Sun Guard fought to reclaim his footing.

Defying the chemical protestations that wracked his body, Khonsu rolled onto his front and roared in agony. It wasn’t as painful as it could’ve been, but the man’s voice was the twinned, conflicting emotions of anguish and anger. His pride was wounded above all, and the Jedi’s death would be the only balm that would soothe his misguided sense of honour; giving him some measure of peace amidst this turbulent battle.

With one burnished gauntlet after another, the Sun Guard forced himself to his knees; clenching his teeth all the while. He had lost his Force pike during the translation and saw the weapon speared into the ground nearby. It was out of his reach, and would likely remain as such until the Jedi was slain. Instead, as he began unsteadily rising to his feet, the Mercenary went for the knife resting atop his battle-scarred pauldron.

His gilded fingers stopped as they fanned across the weapon’s hilt, as his unhelmed eyes bore witness to his marked foe being pulled into the yawning maw of an enemy dropship; a sight that inflamed his humour. He wanted the man’s head and the sabre lashed around his belt for a trophy, and something to throw in his allies face.

However; the man was left with nothing more than the burning hatred and the shame of humiliation.

Khonsu’s eyes, for the first time, flashed in a ruby-rimmed amber; only to vanish scant moments later as his resentment waned. He had seen the demoralization that swept throughout the Alliance forces, pushing them to withdraw back to their vessels under fire. The Imperial forces, reinforced by the newly disgorged might of the Sun Guard, moved to advance where their foes had retreated.

As they crested the nearby hill, the Twisuns Legate couldn’t let them see what he had become. It wasn’t time for them to learn the truth, and there were far too many witnesses for him to cover up the truth, without dying himself. He needed to calm himself, and restore some semblance of balance to his humour.

He needed to breathe.

With a shuddering step forward, and spittle spewing from his tightly-clenched teeth, Khonsu managed to garner a measure of control over his unbridled rage. Something that was challenged when his Cultural Rival had sought to test him with his homeworld’s language. He gritted his teeth and simply nodded in response; unwilling to allow his choler get the better of him. There would be another time and another place for him to get what was due. Thus, the Thyrsian simply threw his attention elsewhere.

It landed on the newly disgorged Sun Guard’s, pushing alongside the Stormtroopers; throwing them into cover and taking the brunt of the Alliance’s dwindling fury with the crackling corona of their projected deflector shield. They moved in tandem with their allies but proved themselves to be the better fighters in all aspects; save for numbers. It was there that the Empire had them at a disadvantage and proved themselves to be better, for quantity in combat was a quality in and of itself.

As the Mandalorian spoke again, Khonsu’s gaze fell towards the man as he spoke of leaving the beach in the hands of those that had surged in the Alliance’s wake, and take their fight to those that had rushed towards the Complex proper. He knew that there was no choice in following after the man; as their twinned contracts were only valid whilst the refinery was in Imperial hands. After the partial defeat that he had suffered, it wouldn’t do for his dignity to have lost out on his contract. That would’ve crippled his standing within the Golden Company, and the Sun Guard’s thereafter.

It was doubtful he’d escape punishment if his kindred had learned of such folly, but thankfully - it wouldn’t come to pass. Not if he could help it.

Unearthing his fallen pike with a taloned hand, the Sun Guard waved down his nearby comrades, telling them to recall one of their gunships when they had arrived. In addition to his request, the man had stolen a twin-tipped syringe from one of their field kits and injected himself with the chemical agents that would force his body to regenerate as fast as humanly possible. Unleashing a sigh of gratification, the Legate returned the syringe with a clenched smile; one that they doubtlessly assumed was spurned forth by pain - rather than the dwindling tides of rage.

As the Gunship slowly began to swoop around towards their position, Khonsu knew that if he was to fulfill the terms of his contract; he would need a new helmet, a new rifle, and possibly ride to the installation proper.

[member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Wyatt Morga"] | [member="Corso"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]​

 

[Vestille Thumahra]

Vestille Thumara​

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Transitioning to Refine- E̵͎̖͓̬͈͕̖͖͞ṛ̙̤̰̝͉̞̬̯͜͝r͉̲̱̘̙͟ͅͅo̶̱̦̦̤r̷̗͈̖͇̰͍̘͘͡​

Allies: None.​

Enemies: Inner Demons​

Theme​

The ride to the refinery was silent, save for the odd chatter of limited communications.

The Captain of the 105th had gathered what men he could and boarded the air transports, their objective clearly drilled into everyone's mind by Vestille and his supporting staff mid-flight. Naturally, his men had been pulled into the reserve lists and were on their way as part of inevitable reinforcements one time or another but it would no doubt take far too long to organize and mobilize to take any great effect until hours, maybe even days after the initial engagements with the Rebels on Dubrillon. The helmeted faces and ID tags that were wiring up to Vestille's helmet were men and women he had never met or fought alongside before and it was this fact alone that gave him his initial judgement. Without them, however, Dubrillon would no doubt fall into the hands of the rebels and the vital refineries and kolto production would either be destroyed or turned against them. As the gathered Legion elements flew over various districts of industry, some with fighting in close quarters raging on beneath the transports as they shot through the open skies, they knew what was at stake and that the eyes of not only the Emperor but the entire Empire were upon them. If rebels could seize Dubrillon, what did that say about the Sith? What sort of example did that set for the population under the rule of the Sith Empire, knowing that their vast Legions could be knocked over by a bunch of dissidents.

That was unacceptable.

They were perhaps half-way through their route, having dodged whatever fighters were in the sky and taking the quickest route to their designated landing zone within the Refinery complex to ensure a swift deployment and a rapid advance to secure their assigned choke-points within the titan of a complex itself. Vestille kept watching and waiting, listening in for whatever information came his way in order for him to update his tacpad. To him, this was nothing more than routine duty, taking a heel of a boot to the skull of scum and those who would dare defy the Sith and the Empire they had created. What seemed like a tense transition within the metallic confines of the transport quickly turned to blinking lights and loud blaring of a missile lock-on. Troopers strapped in and the pilots frantically tried to shake the lock, which only seemed to get louder and louder and louder. Open skies and the somewhat sluggish movements of a troop transport, they were nothing more than sitting ducks; no matter how skilled the pilot was. Whilst everything erupted into a blind panic, time seemed to slow down for the single figure, stood upright and in the center of the troop compartment; everyone's flailing and screaming became something akin to an unorganized dance routine. Vestille had been in a singular situation like this before, Dagobah; watching on as his men that he had come to respect and treat as the only real family he had left since the Death Trooper program tore everything out and replaced it with doctrine. Since that very day, the ghosts never left his side, the nightmares never stopped their ceaseless torment yet through it all, he acted like a wall of steel caught in a storm; never shifting or showing any signs of mental degradation, even when it all came crashing down upon him like a wave.

Yet in that moment, the moment before everything was engulfed in a ball of fire, the ghosts were not silent. Rather than scream and wail like banshees, they simply laughed. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of voices cackling with laughter; ready for their reaper to join them and sit upon the throne that he had built out of their misery, their torment, all by his hand. The swarm of laughing souls filled the passenger compartment and simply kept up with their torment... All until they were burnt away in the washing flames of the explosion and it all went black.

He was in hell.

 

[Cenric Marus]

Objective: Take the Refinery Complex



Location: Refinery - Access Hallway
Allies: Strike Team One
Enemies: The Sith Empire | [member="Jantar Keltainen"]




Ever single part of him was on high alert. Every muscle was taught, every sinew was stretched, and every nerve in his body was ready to snap at a moments notice. He was tense, and in truth he wasn't really even sure why.

Cenric had prepared himself for this. He and his master had prepared him for this. The battle at Jaminere had been a test run, what had happened with Mariya had taught him a valuable lesson, but now this? This was...this was something else. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't even sure it was really something with him. There was a creeping feeling in his skin, as though a bug or something had inserted itself beneath and was slowly crawling it's way along his spine.

The sensation was...unpleasant, and more than a little distracting.

It was enough to draw his attention away from what was right in front of him. His lightsaber was still there, the bright blue blade burning with life, but as he turned the corner he very nearly didn't even notice the young woman standing there. When he did Cenric let out a small yelp of surprise, jumping back almost instantly.

His eyes were as big as saucers, and somehow he managed to stutter out. "You! Stop right there!"

Cenric knew that he didn't really have any authority at all on this world, in fact if one looked at it logical he was the criminal...but he didn't see it that way. He was a Jedi, a padawan, but still a Jedi. It was his duty to fight and arrest Sith, and that was the only thing this woman could be. Right?

 

[Ras Val'kor]

Objective: Suffer
Location: Refinery
Allies: [member="Taeli Raaf"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Koda Fett"] | [member="Samka Derith"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Darth Vesper"] | [member="Khonsu Amon"] | [member="Corso"] | @Vliaz Munin | [member="Ardeth Zun"] | [member="Braith Achlys"] | [member="Elani Zambrano"]
Enemies: Cedric Grayson | [member="Cenric Marus"] | [member="Coren Starchaser"] | [member="Romi Jade"] | [member="Wyatt Morga"] | [member="Aten Ramses"] | [member="Aryn Teth"]

<>​

The darkness dissipated. The sounds of the world, the corporeal realm returning to the ears and body of Ras Val'kor. ​

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His eyes were cold, without the same vigor that once drove him into this very predicament. But behind his new twisted form, he begged in torment. His body had become a prison, and he could only bear witness in horror as to what could happen next. Screaming but not heard, struggling but with no progress. Motionless, the Rebel's new form did nothing for a few moments before slowly turning its head towards the extended vibroblade on what would be Ras' right arm. Examining it, making a decision. ​

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It wanted to destroy the others - his comrades. ​

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Ras screamed again, stuck in solitude within his own mind. Nobody could hear him, and none would save him. Even here, he was losing. Like quicksand, the curse took hold over the host body, erasing any shred of what once existed. Snuffed out like a candle in the coldest night.​

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Ras Val'kor no longer remained.​

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Only a husk of what once was. ​

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Armored footfalls cracked against the floor, a body stolen and now bound indefinitely to the atrocities it would commit. Without an inkling of remorse, all of what was loved and cherished will burn and disappear. All the future would have to offer is a quiet death with no praise, no memory of being a friend or an individual.​

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Only rot and cold.​

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Woe unto the courageous, the bold and the renegades.​

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Those would-be friends and fellows defending the frontier.​

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Woe unto the many sitting in wait, unaware of the fate that had already been decided for them. ​

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Goodnight to the stars, to the last standing free capitals.​

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Darkness comes, and it comes for all.​

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Goodbye.​

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Location: Under the Sea - Near Kolto Processing plant
Allies: [member="Cerbera"] dearest, TSE

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"Yes, irritating things, aren't they?" Darth Ophidia shook her head "Beating their skulls upon the rock in hopes that their blood will wash away the red." A dismissive gesture of her black hand.

Suddenly, her head snapped to the side, eyes intense and her purple lips curling in a momentary snarl. The water shifted as she turned one of the many sea-creatures away from their submarine. The enraged beast screamed in the Force as it turned away from the needles that stung its mind, seeking easier prey. Oh if their submarine vessel was not somehow immune to the violence around them. Ophidia and Cerbera had simply skirted around it and kept their profile low. Those that did approach were deterred by one or both of the Sith Lords on board.

Ophidia turned her burning gaze back to Cerbera.

"Countless crazed Quarrens quarrelling over quarry" A wry smile spread over her lips "It's almost poetic, dear."

It all rather reminded her of the time she whipped the Anselmi people of Glee Anselm into a frenzy and sent them charging at the Nautolans. Of course, [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] had given the Nautolans superior weaponry and warned them of the imminent attack. It was a total slaughter, and it pushed the Nautolan population into the arms of the One Sith as harsh, but necessary protectors.

"Sounds like fun."

The Quarren settlement grew in the distance: Five luminescent orbs full of air and a sprawl of tall houses with twisted peaks, like shells. It seemed like a perimeter had been set out and part of the city militia was defending the city limits against both rebels and those of the frenzied aquatic beasts that dared move thus far from the main event of the bloodshed. Heavy blasters were primed, commanded by Sergeants of the Legion in armour fitted for aquatic use. The citizens flocked inside the bubbles for their protective qualities. The men and women were grim, the children were worried. They knew the stories all too well, the tales of what enemies of the Empire did to law-abiding citizens.

Darling brought their submarine down towards the city, forwarding their codes to the city to avoid being fired upon by their own. Ophidia picked up a helmet and placed it on her head. It sealed itself to her head, but the faceplate remained open until they were ready to leave the vessel. While the two of them were headed for the dry portions, she had chosen a helmet with a built-in rebreather, just in case.

"Let's get to work."

The submarine docked and the bay opened. The two Sith Lords stepped out, through tunnels, to the air-bubble settlement of the Quarrens.

 

[Judas of Vahl]

Allies: [member="The Slave"], [member="Katya Shorn"]
Foes: [member="Fiolette Yvarro"], [member="Blackblade Guard"], [member="Vaylin"], [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"], [member="Darth Rixas"],
Idk: [member="Nyra Mazul"]

The tram was getting cramped. In between his two compatriots, they had been joined by one of the most buxom-bombshell Sith he'd ever laid his eyes upon. It was a pleasant contrast to the needless gloominess, dark robes, and harsh attitudes of even the "nicest" of them all. Perhaps their public affairs and organic resources staff had managed to do their job for once.

Or maybe it was a new generation of Sith passing through the academy, being brought up with different principles. Alas, that was what the trio was here on behalf of: principle. Sending a message to these dim-witted warmongers took a lot more than something scrawled across a piece of flimsi - it took action.

Judas caught himself staring.

A shriek of brakes clamping around high tension wire and electromagnetic rails announced their rapid descent. They were slowing down fast.

The Dark Jedi glanced upwards at the gash through the ceiling of the thing, a shattered circle of glass where the emergency hatch used to be before their newest friend dove right through it. He bent down, leveraged himself, and leaped upwards through the hole and nearly deftly landed atop the tram cart.

"We can still follow the tram's path to the aft of the Behemoth to our objective." Presences were closing in on them quickly. Soon enough, they'd be hammering down the door leading into the tramway to relentlessly pursue them.

Without reply, Judas dropped to the metal floor and set off with a blistering pace.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective: Rebel rebel, your face is a mess
Allies: Jedi, Light Side, Rebels, Alliances
Enemies: Sith, Empires, Dark Side

It was a skill to learn from Luke Skywalker, being where the swing was not. He had done that, according to myth, to defend the Resistance against the First Order. All these stories of legends, and the Jedi that Skywalker was, for better or worse, all the stories, made Coren strive to become a better Jedi. But now, it didn’t matter, he was going to have to engage. Someone like Carnifex could not be reasoned with. But he could be fought to a standstill. Or a standstill that would allow him and [member="Romi Jade"] to get out of dodge.

But that was also if they could escape the Mando and the Sith Lady as well. Slowing Carnifex may be the thing that granted Coren a saving grace. The Jedi was more lightly armored and possibly faster than the lumbering Sith.

His teal blade matched to Carnifex’s in time, moving to the rhythm that was found in the battle. It wasn’t some duel of the fates type of thing, nor was it the dark industrial that he had experienced with [member="Taeli Raaf"]. Working to dodge or block the debris, Coren was calling an extra barrier of the Force to himself to help deflect some of the debris.

It wasn’t always working and the armor was catching some hits, knocking him off balance as he moved through the people, well, bodies, and the blade of his foe. He looked at Carnifex as he spoke and grinned. “Over confidence, typical Sith.” He almost laughed at this, as he swung his lightsaber, cleaving a piece of debris into to and leaping to the air. Landing, he saw the Sith coming for him.

“No victories need to be one, what needs to be seen is you can be fought. And you can bleed.” A bit more intensive than he hoped for. When the next swing came, Coren moved to catch it, but as the blade extended. That caught Coren by surprise and his blade strength faltered. Pushing a little harder, he used the momentum from the lash, and the hit on his armor to roll away from the Sith Lord.

As [member="Darth Carnifex"] continued with the barrage of debris, Coren fell into the Force quickly, and threw it at one of the pieces of debris. With a pop, it vanished from its path towards Coren and would instantly appear behind the Sith Lord, with the same momentum that was intended for the Jedi.

"Might wanna watch where you're throwing that."

War hadn't driven Coren's sense of humor and death wish from him fully.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Intruding on the ship, beating the traffic...

Objective: Piracy.
Allies: [member="Katya Shorn"] │ [member="Judas Foster"]
Enemies: [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] │ [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] │ [member="Darth Rixas"] │ @Vaylin │ [member="Blackblade Guard"] │ The Sith Empire
Engaging(?): [member="Nyra Mazul"]

Unlikes Judas, The Slave was no stranger to bustier women, barely kept in their clothes by the luck of a zipper; yet just like Judas, he caught himself staring. He was in luck he had a helmet on before he quickly shook his attention back to hear the last of Judas’s words to the group only to have him jump out of the emergency hatch and make a break for the next door, away from the signatures that chased them.

In Fact, he was really booking it for a man his size, his breakneck pace forcing The Slave’s heart to race for a moment as he got a bit more excited. Glancing to others, he offered them a grin they couldn’t see as his voice took on a playful joy through the digital annunciator;

“Last one there has to dance on my ship.”, he challenged.

And with that, The Slave took care to jump before Katya, leaping through the air to land a dozen meters behind Judas and quickly moving to meet his pace. The two had been enhancing their speed with The Force, and he could only hope Kate would follow in suit.

Altering his focus however, The Slave brought it back to Judas who was now only a few meters between them. He called out through the semi-darkness at the easily trackable force signature he gave off, nothing but the occasional blue emergency lights to guide their way and illuminating the titan in front of him.

“Bet you can’t beat me, you oversized jawa!”

With that, The Slave began to push himself as their once brisk pace turned to a force infused sprint through the tramway.

 

[Ambrose Cadera]

Location: En Route, Dubrillion Surface, Communications Array
Objective: Repair TSE Communications. Evacuate Wounded.
Equipment: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/127933-ambrose-mantis-yalilyr-alor/?p=1768634
Allies: [member="Alkor Centaris"] Mandos | TSE
Enemies: Whoever fires.

The call came to [member="Yasha Mantis"]’ private diplomatic channels the second the Rebels triggered the Dubrillion grid’s sensor arrays. For once, the Sith Empire reached out and asked Mandalore for assistance.

Be it in good faith, or in the encouragement of a further alliance yet unsigned, [member="Darth Carnifex"]’s transmitted call brought not Mand’alor the Infernal to the Sith Empire, but her loyal dog.

Me, Ambrose Mantis, Alor of the Yalilyr, and the current Head of the Death Watch. Swooping through hyperspace in the A’den Mand’alor, I feel the thrill of the oncoming storm, that peak in my senses which comes before a war.

Ah, to smell it again, the perspiration of battle, it’s the sweetest perfume since my Ka’lo’s.

“Alor, communications with the Sith are jammed. Still no word from [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] or [member="Darth Carnifex"].” Tuulu looked up from the scanner readings, his matte black buy’ce as lifeless as us all.

“Did you ever think you’d see the day, Tuulu? Fighting beside the Sith… did you think you’d see it?” Vaka grunted, sharpening his beskad one last time, a nervous tick I ought to beat out of the youth. They’re all young, yet tested, both in the Civil War and in my service. Good lads and lasses.

“Maintain clearance of communication. Protect and defend civilians. Evacuate the wounded… take down those who attacked Mandalore in previous years.” My voice coats through the MBE II biocomms my Yalilyr all utilize, and a quiet falls across the warriors behind me. I will personally chew the pounds of flesh from the Sith’s skins if they don’t make it home.

Our ship, a cloaked Orar, weaves through the outskirts of the battle, making to land near one of the Communications Beacons on Dubrillion’s surface. It’ll be as good a place to entrench as any.

The communications beacon is within sight range. My troops are silent, there is no song nor patriotic rhyme here. There is nothing but the mission to regain communications. There is nothing but rescuing wounded and civilians.

All else is ephemera.

“Centaris. We’ve landed. Status?”

1 A’den Mand’alor http://starwarsrp.net/topic/72107-oraruliik
1 x 12 [Kay’calyr-Class Bes’uliik - Approved Technology - Star Wars RP: Chaos]
3 Squads Yalilyr http://starwarsrp.net/topic/117283-the-yalilyr/

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"Welcome to the party, bur'cya," Alkor greeted when the voice of [member="Ambrose Mantis"] filtered into his helmet, "you missed the first round of Rebels breaking. Not to worry, though, there are plenty still ready for you to entertain at Refinery Complex Dorn." His voice was sardonically merry, but it was a type of humor the Death Watch in particular could appreciate. No doubt his brother-at-arms would appreciate the opportunity to spill some blood of his own. "There are multiple confirmed life signs apparent from my initial scans of the facility, but no confirmation on whether they're allied, enemies, or both."

Alkor and [member="Khonsu Amon"] boarded an Imperial LAAT that touched down roughly a kilometer from their combat site at the beach, and the transport lifted off, winging them toward their destination at top speed. He flipped his vocabulator over so that the Sun Guard could benefit from the Intel he was about to share. "We'll rendezvous as close as possible to the Refinery and work to bottleneck the Rebels at the entry point. The way its structured, we can corall them in and either capture or terminate them as necessary. If there are any Rebel figureheads present inside, we can work with Imperial Forces to capture them and possibly ransom them to the Alliance for a pretty penny."

The unspoken possibility of cutting the head off the serpent here and now lingered in the air, but Alkor gave no voice to it. There was just no way these Rebels would play a gambit with any integral leadership this early in the game. There was no justification, unless their morale was simply that abysmal. No Mandalorian in their right mind would make that assumption. After all, attacking an Imperial Resource facility head on took a massive effort, and backing.

"I'll be landing soon," he switched back over to the more clandestine channel with Ambrose, "there's a Thrysian mercenary with me. His hands should be tied by the contract, but don't take your eyes of him for a second."

After a moment, he added, "oya."

 

[AMCO]

Location: Sith-Imperial Collection and Refinery Complex Dorn
Objective: Help the rebels become one with the Force and/or embrace the Dark Side.
Allies: Sneering Imperialists, incl. [member="Elani Zambrano"] & [member="Samka Derith"].
Duelling: [member="Aten Ramses"]
Equipment: Lightsaber, Handgun, Anti-Ysalamiri, Shard of Nil, Grav Core, Blackroot Potion [3], & Invisibility Potion [2].

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Ataru. Why was it always fething Ataru?

When the Padawan had charged to meet his bursts of lightning, Adrian had been convinced he had him right where he wanted him, but then the bouncy son of a Hutt had jumped between his bursts, taking the full force of neither and blocking what did hit with his lightsaber. Why couldn't he, for once, get to fight some empty-headed brute? Was it too much to ask for that his opponent stay still for just one Force-cursed moment?

When the other man started running along the wall his form was partially exposed, but before Adrian could exploit it the man flung his lightsaber-holding arm forward. Allowing the stream of lightning from his right hand to cease, Adrian called his lightsaber from his waist, preparing to block the incoming sabre throw. However, that throw never came. Eyes widening slightly, the young Acolyte suddenly realized what was about to happen. It was similar, too similar. Forming a thin grid of energy around his body, Adrian was able to rapidly concentrate the energy around the incoming telekinetic force, blocking it before it could strike his throat.

"Fool me once..."

As much as he enjoyed taunting the Morellian, Adrian had no time to spare for such simple pleasures. His opponent was closing fast, too fast. Brow furrowing in concentration, he clenched his teeth, pushing back the growing weight of the continuing exertion. Lightning still launching forth from his left hand, his crimson Qixoni-enhanced blade would launch forth, solid-songsteel hilt glimmering as the azure and crimson glows merged. This was not, however, a normal throw. Instead of launching directly at his opponent, the blade would shoot towards the ceiling before descending downwards towards the Morellian, blade spinning rapidly at a vertical angle. Briefly controlling the blade with his mind alone, his right hand shot towards the Grav Core on his wrist, quickly toggling the option for a complete gravity reversal.

As the nifty little device did its magic, it would appear like Adrian was slowly beginning to levitate himself upwards, all the while channelling lightning from one hand and controlling his lightsaber with the other. With any luck, that apparent casual wastefulness when it came to energy would intimidate his opponent, though the truth was that the Acolyte wouldn't be able to maintain his barrage of lightning for much longer. His reserves were rapidly depleting, but he still had a few cards up his sleeve.

 

[Placeholder 0128]

Location: Refinery Complex

Allies: [member="Coren Starchaser"], [member="Romi Jade"], [member="Ras Val'kor"]

Enemies: [member="Taeli Raaf"], [member="Darth Carnifex"], [member="Koda Fett"], [member="Samka Derith"], @Alkor Centaurus, [member="Khonsu Amon"], [member="Ardeth Zun"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Elani Zambrano"]

The moment of solace was one he had needed.

He turned out the sounds of chaos around him, choosing instead to focus on the sound of a dull vibration that rumbled beneath it all. It was a noise that few could actually here, and one that Cedric had learned to attune to when meditating.

Not for the first time in his life, Cedric was thankful for the dark coloration of his robes. They helped him to blend in with his current surrounding surprisingly well when he sat on his knees. The soldiers around him fought furiously, but Cedric Grayson paid them no mind.

He reached out into the empyrean in search of [member="Darth Vesper"]. Nothing of note pinged back to him - Antherion was gone. That was not particularly a bad thing, but Cedric would only be able to hope that the Sith Lord would be alright after he had been struck be revelation.

Rather than linger on things beyond his control, the Knight returned his attentions to the conflict at hand. He felt [member="Coren Starchaser"] and [member="Romi Jade"] standing up to the Dark Lord and his sycophants - they were going to need his help. Then there was [member="Ras Val'kor"], one far closer, and one that needed him now more than anyone else on the battlefield.

With a grunt, Cedric jumped up to his feet. The cyan blade came to life in his hands. He could only channel the force through the weapon for so long before growing fatigued, and so cyan would be it's hue for the time being.

He wasted little time in jogging over to Ras, or rather to Ras and the woman that Cedric assumed sought to end him.

There were no words of redemption spoken this time. When Cedric drew close enough, he reached out into the empyrean, forging his will into a spike of mental energy that would surge forth to assault the mind of [member="Taeli Raaf"]. His capacity for telekinesis gone as quickly as it had come, such a mental assault was all he could manage until the distance was closed. The assault itself was one intended to bring great pain and discomfort, but it was truly nothing more than an artificial and particularly annoying headache: something discomforting to hopefully distract Raaf from her dark ritual.

I've got you Ras. Hold on.

 

[Tabigarashu Madara]

Location: Enroute to Dubrillion Superlaser Facility
Allies: TSE [member="Ardeth Zun"] [member="Khaji Ri'Had"] [member="Darth Filiae"] [member="Alexa Typhe"]
Enemies: Rebels..... death..... cultists? Not again.

Hirou listened to Khaji's assessment, mulling carefully over the risks and options. As a Nezumi, they were very accustomed to getting into and out of terrible situations by the skin of ones tail- but the other two were larger, more likely targets which changed the calculus of the entire situation. It was difficult to think of the situation from the perspective of those so much larger. As Ardeth spoke up, Hirou unbuckled and came scampering up to the front of the skimmer where the tight beam message was coming through.

It took them a bit to sort it all out, but once they had, Hirou rocked back.

This again?

The cult had been quiet for so long, especially from Hirou's point of view (a creature with a life expectancy of 15 years could be expected to view a year or so as much longer than someone else might, after all). The last time they had reared their heads enforce had been....

Mirial.

Was it a coincidence? Or was the cult deeper and farther spread within the Empire than they had believed? Hirou suspected the later, and as soon as the current emergency was handled had all intention of directing the attention of the Saaraishash against a threat they had thought long silenced.

Would they rise again, every time the Empire was attacked? If they were deeply embedded that might indeed be their entire plan. To wait, to hold their patience until a moment when their efforts would make the greatest impact. That made them a threat far different than anything brought upon them from outside of their borders.

These were already here. And they drew strength from destruction and death.

Something the war currently raging across Dubrillion was offering them in spades.

"Send a return pulse over the comm," Hirou instructed. "Three short followed by one long."

The Saaraiashash employed a number of signals. That one meant 'message received and fall back'. They had done their part. If they could get off of the facility they should.

As they turned the skimmer, putting the Refinery behind them, Hirou looked back over their shoulder. Three people could do very little to impact the battle raging there. But it might be enough to stop the cultists from obliterating them all, Imperial and Rebel alike.

"We know too little, High Inquisitor, we might be walking into the maws of death."

"Something you learn very early as a Nezumi, Agent Zun," Hirou said, turning their attention back forward. They clung to Khaji's shoulder, not returning to the back seat as the skimmer flitted over the surface of the water. Black eyes squinted against the spray.

"Is that everything we do might be walking into the maws of death. Every choice, every step, is one that might be our last. From observing beings who are much larger, it seems that is not a typical standpoint to have. It makes everything easier to bear in some ways..... harder in others. But the one thing we know is that we are not alone when we take that walk. The spirits of our ancestors are with us. Not all the time, but on that finally one, they follow. So if that is the case?"

Hirou's ears flicked and their tail shifted up to curl around their waist.

"We do not walk it alone."

*****

As the facility rose on the horizon, Hirou instructed them to circle around, inspect the activity on the station. The empire had ignored the old facility by and large until very recently- they had newer facilities to focus on. But waste not want not, and a group had been sent to evaluate it.

Apparently that had not gone well.

"Everything looks quiet from the outside," Hirou murmured. "Which is typical of how this cult operates. It's only once the interior is reached that their presence becomes clear. Still, we don't know who might be watching. We approach with caution."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Objective: Kill the Webuls, Kill the Webuls, Kill the Webuls
Location: Dubrillion Refinery Complex - Whichever one the plot demands
Allies: [member="Kaalia Pavanos"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Koda Fett"]
Enemies: [member="Coren Starchaser"], [member="Romi Jade"]
Gear: Below Signature

The chunk of debris phased out of reality, only to reemerge behind the Dark Lord and hit him squarely in the back. Though he didn't tumble forward, he did take two steps to brace himself against the momentum of his own telekinetic power before he was able to shrug off the metal with a hearty clang. Switching his blade into his right hand the Emperor reached out to touch a piece of the debris that had been used against him, feeling the Force flow through the inert metal as clearly as he could feel the Dark Side surging through his own flesh and bone.

"More parlor tricks, Master Starchaser? They might frighten little children, but I have seen far more horrifying things."

Through his will the metal bent and reshaped itself, contorting and folding inwards with a gut-wrenching squeal of metal on metal. Gradually it took on a humanoid shape, a pair of arms and legs jutting out from a misshapen torso as what could only be described as a head popped out from the top. The most distressing thing about this amalgamation of metal was that it wore the face of Coren Starchaser, the sheet of metal that surrounded the twisted rebar and scrap bubbling with unnatural viscosity to resemble the Jedi Master that fought against the Sith Emperor. It rose unsteadily on two uneven legs, stumbling uncertainly forward as the metal that constituted its hands and forearms sharpened into lethal points.

And it screamed, as impossible as that was.

It screamed a horrid, wretched wail that could only be born from an existence crafted from indescribable agony.

With a flourish of his wrist, the Emperor commanded it to attack the Jedi Master. Its gait was unsettling, too jerky and too unnatural. It shouldn't have existed at all, it was an abomination of the most grotesque order that the Emperor had willed into existence against the laws of nature. Its metal skin and bones, though scrap, had been imbued with resilience brought on only by that horrid marriage of science and magic; Sith Alchemy.

"Meet your better half."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

Location: Under the Sea - Quarren Settlement.
Allies: Darling [member="Darth Ophidia"], TSE
Enemies: None as of yet.

​

The ire of the deep was guided towards the rebel submarines, but nature's wrath had a way of spilling out elsewhere as well.

Luckily Ophidia was more focused on it than Cerbera was or this would have been a short jaunt indeed. The quick mental intrusion caused the beast to retreat with a whine of pain, causing Cerbera to smile. Pain was always such a fascinating stimuli and encouragement. "Oh, I wouldn't say irritating, darling. In some ways these sentients fascinate me."

After all.

They weren't wrecking her property, now were they?

That made them little more than an interesting statistic to study rather than a nuisance truly needing to be squashed. If it weren't for Ophidia's interest in wiping them off the planet Cerbera might have... perhaps seen about helping both sides at once.

See what would happen.

For science, of course.

"But alas, your need trumps my fascination in this case, I am sure you will make it up to me." A thin smile followed as they entered the confines of one of the underwater bubbles that contained the settlement. They had helped them relocate (the Sith Empire that is) in the past. It had been an interesting exercise. But it would be even more interesting to see how they could manipulate these sentients.

Turn them into something more than their lesser parts.

"We start with the sick and the needy, Ophi." Cerbera informed her conspiratorially as they strode away from their ship. There had been clinics set up all across the citiscape for the wounded.

A vial passed from her to her partner.

Acidic green.

"Aerosol solution- once we have started with the wounded, we will spread the chaos through the air."

 

[Irajah Ven]

Location: Kolto Processing Plant, Deep Lab
Allies: TSE, [member="Leliana"] [member="Djorn Bline"]
Enemies: Rebels, [member="Ari Vox"] [member="Noah Corek"] [member="Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori"] - COLD CAF!!!!
In Scene: [member="Jairus Starvald"]


"My mood is fine," she snapped, accepting the cup but missing the look. "It's whomever is messing with MY facility that is ruining it."

Technically, she didn't own the facility. Not even close. But Vain tended to be possessive of the spaces she inhabited.

Despite that, there was a small, barely audible sigh of contentment he would hear as she tipped the cup and sipped the caf beneath the beak of the mask. Starting back in on attempting to get the computers in the lab back up and running, it was a moment before she answered him.

"No, but in case of emergencies there is a small squad of Legionnaires that the Dark Lord insists follow me around when I'm not on Bastion. I'm a little surprised they aren't here y-"

The sound of booted feet could be heard from around the far corner of the hallway. A group of six figures, armored and armed, trotted into view.

"Well there we go."

"Apologies ma'am, that it took so long. We had to force our way through too many blast doors to-"

A gloved hand waved them off then made a shooing gesture to talk to Jairus. She was busy.

Not that she could do anything here, she was coming to realize. The issue had originated somewhere else in the facility. Where exactly? Security Hub seemed likely. Though it could also have been the Communications hub at the top level. They were at the lowest point in the facility, quite a distance from either of the two locations in question.

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Objective: Deal with the Interrupters
Location: Refinery
Allies: [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Koda Fett"] [member="Kaalia Pavanos"] [member="Samka Derith"] [member="Alkor Centaris"] [member="Khonsu Amon"] [member="Corso"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Ardeth Zun"] [member="Braith Achlys"] [member="Elani Zambrano"] [member="Ras Val'kor"] (mwahaha)
Enemies: [member="Cenric Marus"] [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Romi Jade"] [member="Aten Ramses"] [member="Aryn Teth"]

Directly Engaging: [member="Cedric Grayson"]

Equipment: Armor Lightsaber

Oh... it was oddly beautiful to see, the changes that had occurred from her work. She had not known what would happen, but she would log this information away in her head for later. Perhaps it would be different depending on the subject and their state before being subjected to the spell? Hmm more tests would be needed, but it was not a major research project as of yet. Although... it did merit some thought for a tactic against the Rebels... food for thought. She could feel Grayson coming long before he actually made it, his lightsaber a beacon in the Force and making him easy to follow.

And then his annoying little spike of psychic energy stabbed out, immediately screwing right into a headache. Too little too late if he was hoping to stop what she did.

"Grayson," she said, turning to face him. The headache he had caused was no great concern, for pain was merely another fuel. "You're too late. The man you brought here was a dying man, his spark almost extinguished, sickness claiming him. Now, that spark is rekindled, with the dark side bringing him back from the brink, burning away the sickness, and giving him a new purpose."

Her lightsaber reignited... crimson clashing of the cyan. She would not make the first move in the dance, well physical move anyways. If he was hoping his lightsaber might help him, he was facing the wrong Sith. She had lived for ten years among the Jedi, had walked unimpeded through their temples and nexuses that existed within them, learned their secrets and how they could use the light.

"Come, boy."

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Location: Refinery Complex
Allies: Strike Team One
Objective: Take/Evacuate Refining Complex
Enemies: @Adrian Vandiir
Equipment: Powergaunts, Lightsaber, Asheran Armorweave clothing

One of the streams of lightning had retreated just as Aten had kicked off the wall, finally, there was some reprieve from the acolyte’s barrage of force powers. They were truly fearful of allowing Aten to get within range, everything they’ve done since the start of the match was in an attempt to put space between the two and kill the Morellian from afar. Now Aten was closing in, no longer needing to revert to martial velocities to dodge the one stream of lightning his right hand wielding the saber came up the lightning cascading down the saber and dispersing harmlessly. Aten moved forward the blade of plasma, his shield protecting the Jedi from the stream of electricity.

The projected strike hadn’t been meant to actually knock Adrian out of the fight, perhaps if Aten had pulled such a tactic early on he could’ve won the fight in an instant. Now it was predictable but it kept the Sith on his toes and made him halt his use of at least one hand of lightning. Eyes set on the goal Aten forged ahead his eyes focused on each movement Adrian made, looking for any sign of weakness or exhaustion. That faithful moment showed itself the moment Adrian threw the saber and began to guide it with his mind. The Sith was focused on far too many things at a time, not only that but was now reaching to his belt.

Unwilling to waste the opportunity Aten lashed out once more his left fist lashing out projecting yet another strike, this one would come in from the right of Adrian aimed directly at the acolyte’s temple, even a moderate hit to that area could lead to one falling unconscious. This was a full-on blow which would cause Adrian’s brain to bounce within that thick skull and at the very least disorient him, and at best conclude the fight. This fight had gone on more than long enough, putting his faith and essence into the projected strike Aten bolstered its intent pumping more of the force into it ensuring that if Adrian went to block it that all his attention would be on it.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Objective: Stop those pesky rebels taking the refinery complex
Location: Refinery – access hallway
Allies: Hope, luck and a following wind
Enemies: [member="Cenric Marus"]

Jantar allowed the smile to display fully on her lips at the young man’s challenge. She had a habit of referring to any male under 30 as a ‘young’ man – despite her own age. Maybe it was because she was more mature than the average boy – and perhaps it was because she’d always been able to use her feminine wiles to manipulate the opposite gender into doing what she wanted, that she considered them little more than boys.

Not that she was entirely confident in every situation – but she perceived she had a measure of the opposite gender in social situations at least – and often in conflict too. For the male of the species tended to be chivalrous. Yes, Jedi were supposed to be the righteous goody two-shoes of the galaxy, but more so than Sith, they tended to be more protective of the young and women. So, it was something Jantar played to.

Sure, if she waded in with her saber, he’d immediately fight back – but if she toyed with him first, she could sew a seed of doubt. Mess with his mind – and that was even before she exercised any of her Sith magic.

So, she maintained the smile and kept her saber hilt by her side – unassuming as it was when not activated.

“I’m not actually going anywhere – you are. And, unless I’m wrong – you’re the one that’s trespassing. But that’s not what concerns me. That does…” She pointed with her hand to the humming blade.

“I heard a Jedi only activates his saber if he plans to take a life. Do you mean to kill me? Why? What have I done? I thought Jedi were supposed to honour life, not take it?”

Her voice was low and soft – almost sultry, without being sexual and her posture was definitely non-threatening.