Invasion All Your Base Are Belong To Us! | TIC Invasion of SO Held "Thandon Star Cluster" Superhex

[Bastard]

Attuned to the dance shared by his kin, the Bastard watched his opponent replicate and reach for his double. Power swelled between them. He lifted his hand as the scent of ozone flooded the street. Boom. A thunderclap ripped through the surrounding dust in the aftermath of the human-missile turned lightning lance loosed for the Black Knight. Debris shattered on the durasteel buildings lining the streets.

Lightning slammed into the Bastard's palm with the force of a battering ram. Electricity sparked. A thin barrier of blue-white light clashed with the foreign energy wrapped entwined with the clone. The Bastard slid his foot back and pivoted around his other leg, redirecting the assault off-course. He couldn't reliably aim the crackling power at such speeds, so he sent it spiraling to his right, loosely on course with one of the buildings. The nature of this lightning-transformation alluded him.

Delsin's search into the Bastard's mind would reveal a hardened place, forged in the fires of battle under the guidance of the late Rurik Fel. It was not without its fault-lines—points by which the onlooker could strike him. But the very essence of the fallen templar demanded he defy.

Defy death. Defy peace. Defy corruption. Defy satisfaction.

The Bastard knew what it meant to undo himself. To tear himself down to his barest form and begin anew in the face of great adversity.

"Do not liken the law of mortalkind to the madness of Sith teachings. How one governs another has little to do with the delusions of self-indulgent sycophants," the Bastard spoke fluidly as he began to cross the gap between himself and Delsin. "This cult is an excuse for scared, pitiful shadows, to gather together and languish through eternity, united in their excess."

The Crestfallen hefted his blade again. "There is no great philosophical quandary at work here. You and your ilk are better for the galaxy dead. So, I kill you."

A crushing wave of telekinetic power pressed down on the length of the street. It felt as if gravity itself increased tenfold in weight. Fissures erupted in the sidewalk. Glass shattered from the windows; a lethal rain in its hurried descent.

The Bastard flickered the remaining distance between them. A blur of black and white.

Alchemized steel arced through the air for Delsin's neck. The familiar sound of lightning erupted across the black blade's surface as the weapon summoned forth a fragment's of power consumed in the earlier assault.

---

Tags: Delsin Shaw | Quinn Varanin
Honorable Mentions: Rurik Fel

~ !!! P A G E C L A I M !!! ~​

 

[Darth Virelia]

Tags - Brent Warnel , Braith Achlys
Equipment - Tyrant's Kiss, Tyrant's Embrace, 3x CV-1 Gas Grenade (The Choking Veil)​

The lightning faded. The claws withdrew.

Brent Warnel slumped against the wall, blood misting the inside of his visor. His last words, an oath whispered to a place beyond her reach. His eyes, though dimming, did not look away. She did not look away either. She gave him that much. She let him meet her gaze until there was no one left to hold it.

The corridor was still save for the hiss of fire. For a long moment, she neither moved nor spoke. The fight was finished, the objective completed, and yet… it was not victory she felt. It was the weight of something older, something carried, not claimed. Her violet eyes lingered on the Mandalorian's still form, the curve of his shoulders as they slumped, the stubborn set of his jaw even in death. She had seen that posture before, though not in this armor, not in this lifetime.

Finally, she stepped forward.

With the same care one might use to lift a fallen comrade, she took him by the cuirass and drew him away from the wall. He was heavy—more so for the weight of the life that had filled him moments ago. She shifted her stance, sliding an arm under him, and rose with slow, deliberate control until his form was secure. The claws retracted back into her gauntlets, hidden once more. He deserved to be carried by hands, not weapons.

She turned her head toward Braith. "My thanks, but never speak of what I am about to do." she said, voice even, almost quiet beneath the roar of the flames. It was not empty courtesy, but it was tinged with deadly warning. She understood what the witch had done—she'd created the gap, the one clean moment in which inevitability could be delivered. Without it, perhaps the fight would have dragged, and the end would have been… lesser.

But she would not have anyone see weakness.

Shifting Brent's weight slightly to her shoulder, she reached to her belt and drew a flare. It flared to life in her grip, a burning lance of crimson light stabbing through the smoke-streaked air. Its glow washed over her armor, caught the sharp planes of her helm, and threw long shadows down the shattered corridor. Somewhere above, Virelia's extraction teams would see it. They would come.

"Prepare transport. I will see him buried on Mandalore." The statement was simple fact, uttered like an order but carrying the quiet finality of a vow.

She looked down at the body again. In life, he had stood against her without hesitation. In death, he looked… at rest. The blood had slowed in his armor. The tension in his jaw had eased. She thought of someone else—not in beskar, not a warrior like this one, but a soldier, someone who had carried the same unyielding line through his spine, who she feared could meet the same end. Her fingers tightened slightly on his cuirass. She said nothing of it.

Braith's presence loomed at her flank, her heat still rolling off in waves. Virelia didn't look at her directly when she spoke again. "The galaxy will replace a million soldiers before it finds one like him again." Her tone didn't warm—Virelia's voice was too disciplined for that—but the words carried the unspoken admission that this moment, this kill, meant something.

The building groaned under the strain of fire and bombardment somewhere beyond the walls. She ignored it. The flare burned on, spitting sparks into the air. In the space between heartbeats, she imagined the cold fields of Mandalore, the hush of the soil as it closed over a warrior who had not turned away.

"You'll go home," she murmured, the words intended for him alone, though they never rose above a breath. "And meet your ancestors proud."

It was a strange promise for her to make. Stranger still that she meant it. But she carried him as she had carried so few—upright, head unbowed, the weight of him accepted without resentment. For this one fight, for this one warrior, there was no hate left in her to spend. Only the act, the vow, and the road to the burial.

Above, engines began to circle. Extraction was coming. She tightened her grip on the flare until the heat bit through the gauntlet, until the light painted them both in the color of war and warning.

When the ramp closed behind her and the flare's light was swallowed by the dark, the war outside continued without pause. Brosi burned. The dead were uncounted. Yet in the quiet of the hold, she remained standing, Brent's body still in her grasp, unwilling to lay him down just yet. Her eyes lingered on the floor as the engines rumbled to life. She thought of the soil waiting for him, of the sky above it, and of how quickly even the most steadfast names were forgotten by the galaxy. That would not happen here. Not to this one. Not while she remembered. And though her face remained the cold mask of the sovereign she was, somewhere deep within her—buried beneath iron and shadow—she mourned.

Serina Calis mourned.

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Gerwald Lechner | Elmindra Xitaar | Zal Aditi | Madrona A’Mia | Lysander von Ascania | The Lord of Hunger
Location: Force Nexus - Objective 3 [Chaos]
____________________________________________________

"It begins.""It begins."

But…The work was nearly complete.

Even as she had sent Darth Caedes away to tend to Revna Marr temporarily…She could still feel them there, present, and active so that she might direct her will without looking over her shoulder. The threads of this ritual were alive now, breathing, amalgamating with the Dark Side in such a way that made her question the truth of their methods. The darkness brought death, but in this instance, it also brought renewal. Salvation. Life…

Shaped in their desired image.

It was playing the role of the executioner and the creator.

There was an intricate weave between herself and her companions, one that she mended, adjusted, and tightened at will. Every metaphysical knot she tied to the alchemical work made the binding stronger and secured chances of success. The unavoidable Hunger of the younger woman was both treacherous and beneficial. Being caught between two, terrible, if unequal sources of Force Drain was quite possibly the most uncomfortable she had ever been. It was the sensation of being caught between the gravity of twin suns… The sensation of being pulled apart.

It lessened when Revna came back to herself. Lessened…When Gerwald Lechner attacked The Lord of Hunger and broke his concentration. Broke his armored glove, his artifact. Srina breathed freely for the first time in what felt like forever, and some of the gauntness appeared to ease from her features. In taking over the ritual, even temporarily, she opened herself to being devoured by the enemy. It was a slow process…But it showed nonetheless. Luxurious hair suddenly seemed to be made of straw, while her skin gave the appearance of being translucent.

Everything had a price, and Psilofyr…Was more than worth the sacrifice.

Srina would not ask those around her to risk themselves, life, and limb, and remain unwilling to do the same. It wasn't because she had a death wish. It was because from the moment her husband had taken the throne for this godforsaken religion, she knew what her place would be. She knew what her calling was, her duty, regardless of her wishes. She would do terrible things for her children.

For all of them. Blood and water…It mattered not.

She could feel Psilofyr responding bit by bit…From the tremors in the ground to the phantom sensation of roots finding purchase in the soil of Brosi. Srina could feel things beginning to change. It wouldn't be long before the surface began to reflect what they had done, before the needs of the Force Nexus were met and a black garden replaced the disease the Imperials had created. Her eyes closed while the King of Korriban and the future Queen made their gifts to their precious Psilofyr.

"Resilience," born of a life shaped by trial and cruelty.

"...and to you, I gift hunger. Feed, Psilofer, so that you may gain energy to give back and renew this world." she whispered in a tone that held an edge of maternal tenderness.

Her quietude was a state of reverence, not weakness. Srina respected the moment…The sanctity of what it meant to rely on someone else so completely. It made her long for Darth Empyrean , but that sentiment could neither be here nor there. Emotion would not foil this ritual, nor would she allow herself to succumb to distraction. Her jaw set tight, and her fingers dug deeper in the soil. Srina sought to tie the core of the planet to the Force Nexus, to Psilofyr, so that one might not exist without the other.

Soon. The work would be complete…Soon.

<<Blood on the ground. Blackwing. It is moving toward the circle. It needs to be stopped before it mixes.>>

The silent sovereign was drawn from her weaving by the call of her wolf and hawkish golden orbs chanced a glance in his direction, just in time, to see the enemy make their exit. Interesting. Most would have assumed that the Lord of Hunger had been touched with cowardice, but Srina found the movement to be rather intelligent. There was a strategy in retreat. It meant that he would live to fight another day, even if his Imperials had momentarily abandoned him. If he were still present, when the work completed?

Srina would have no reason not to intervene and end him, not for hatred or revenge. Simply…

Because he was in her way.

As it were, his blood, that Gerwald warned her of, was slithering toward them as if it had some sort of sentience. The sickness revealed itself in how animated it was. Some kind of oil rolled along the ground while black fluid pulsed along, seemingly eager, to try and strangle Psilofyr's first breath. The intent from the way the enemy had spoken was clear. Corruption—Not conquest.

While his second gift to the ritual was notable…The Lord of Hunger was an uninvited guest and his throwaway filth and bodily fluids were unwelcome in this space.

-Take whatever power or energy you need from me and use it how you see fit…I have more than enough for us…-

<<…Thank you…>>

The mental note of gratitude that flowed outward was the only warning before the force rippled out of her being in a combination of focus and white-hot fury. The runes beneath her flared, and flame began to encircle the ritual space, cutting off the intruding substance, while unknowingly burning away the Thanatos strain…Turning it into vapor. The oil hissed and almost seemed to shriek as it slipped around, trying to escape. She frowned. Fire didn't do much to it.

Srina didn't know exactly what the blood was comprised of or what effect it had…Only that its owner was proud of it. Only that it trespassed. That was more than enough for her to seek its eradication even IF Psilofyr could handle it. The rest of them were still mortal. Still made of flesh and bone that could become infected. Her hands held to the earth, and with that action came the kind of cold that stole breath and sound alike. The fire extinguished itself and frost swept outward to give chase…

One of the rings on her finger began to glow, a gift from her husband, and the ice encapsulated the oil. It seemed incredibly resilient, but she compressed every molecule until there was no movement, nowhere to spread, from within a prison of cold. If she couldn't destroy it?

It would be contained.

With the last traces of the black blood stilled, she pressed her palms back to the earth and found the rising roots of their Psilofyr. From there, she began to pour untainted energy into the growing network. Her power braided with what Caedes and Revna brought to bear, and it left the roots with a lattice of gold-veined resilience that seemed eager to spread. Not with decay…But growth.

From that growth, she was beginning to see...She could even see Lunaria Talon and Matteo Guo-Yian not far away. Hurt. Struggling. She reached for them as much as the ritual might allow, but...It took all she had, even with the borrowed strength from Revna. She hadn't heard a distress call from Sophia of House Marr , but she could feel her pain in the vines and foliage that silently observed her and her fallen friend. She could sense the emptiness where Kasir Dorran ought to have been...The amount of information was overwhelming.

Could the Hordemother feel them too?

"We will finish the work…", Srina whispered to the roots, somehow, expecting her voice would carry to @Madrona A'Mia who still lay beneath. She felt as if through this ritual she might be able to take the hand of the once slumbering Neti and pull her to the surface. She had been awoken by Darth Caedes and had no obligation to Srina…But it all felt connected. The same goal, the same purpose. Her voice bled into the ground while she murmured to the Hordemother as if they were old friends… "We must grow…"

As if they had known one another—All their lives. Such was the impact of this ritual.

The power in Psilofyr.

"This soil is yours…This breath is yours..."

There was a sense of pleading that was difficult to explain. The ground seemed to answer with a low, resonant groan, and a vibration traveled up her arms and into her bones. From somewhere beneath her, the rumble of a deeper hunger moved, and phantom imagery returned to her mind. Filaments like fingers…Drawing electrical pictures, changing this world, slowly but surely. "Drink deep of the ruin above you…"

She breathed, eyes closing once more.

"—And rise to meet us."

 

[Horus Rhyne]

Location: Brosi
Ally: Sophia of House Marr

Horus was fading in and out of consciousness. He was against the rock, then he was on a slab of metal, then he was being dragged.

"I am sorry..." He whispered softly into the ashen air. "To burden you so..."

It should be him protecting her, caring for her. For the longest time in her life Sophia had been an item of desire, an object to be sold and bought for noble alliances and ambition conquered. She deserved so much more than that and Horus had told himself he'd give it to her.

This certainly didn't fit into those plans.

He groaned as she came to a pause. In the distance he could hear her talk to someone. Eyes flitted open and Horus tried to grasp for his weapon, but his hand was so weak all of a sudden.

"It's okay..." He assured her. "Pain from you I can accept." A soft tease but it was hard to get it out now.

It was not okay. Sophia was right that it was excruciating as she began to extract the voidstone piece by piece. He grunted, accidentally bit his tongue hard enough to cause it to bleed. A hiss of pain followed.

But slowly... His connection to the Force was being pieced back together.

Until she could fill him whole with her essence.

"G-Gods... I love you too... I love you more..." A little smirk there, knowing how competitive she could get.

 

[Spirit of Korriban]

J E N' A R I
O B J E C T I V E III

T H E
W A L K I N G
D E A D

Augustus Von Strauss | Hasuras Na-Gerra
Tagged By Request: Revna Marr Madrona A’Mia Srina Talon Gerwald Lechner Elmindra Xitaar Kasir Dorran​

<Sir, the horde! It's splitting!> The exasperated voice of a lieutenant shouted.

The spotted Jen'koshū stood unmoving at the fringes of this battlefront, the stink of burning rot drifting in plumes of low hanging smoke on the wind. Its eyeless gaze, housed within the shapeless void of its ghostly face, drank in the battlefield's shifting details. Augustus's disciplined formations fell back before the press of his horde's sheer intimidation, now splitting and retreating. Troopers walked backwards in measured steps, blaster fire chipping away at the erratic tide of approaching corpses. Nearer now, always nearer, coming on fast. The Jen'koshū's will threaded through the horde, directing them, ambivalent to their sacrifices.

Scatter. Silence. Feed!​

No longer did they surge mindlessly, now they moved as one, bleeding into the shadows like creatures from holo-horrors, silencing their yips and moans and slipping between the teeth of crumbling buildings to clog up lanes of retreat and feast from the trooper's flanks. To surround their noisy enemies and press in from all sides. Driving them back against a tall, ruined building. If they wanted out, they'd have to climb.

Climb, vermin. Cling to life!​

Nearer and nearer the undead came. Near enough now to have muddled reflections in the visors of Exo-Troopers and stormtroopers alike. Gnashing teeth and odd, laughing chatter. Some ran on all fours, their heads craned back unnaturally, milky eyes wide and drooling for the feast to come. Still, more vaulted from the rooftops nearby with a rag doll grace, their wet thudding weight slamming ineffectually against the gunships strafing low through the city.

Its fist tightened round the long, black blade at its side. With another thought, the Dreadlord reached deeper into the rotted memories of its clamoring servants.

Remember who you are, it commanded, whispering into the Force.​

Use what Brosi has given you.​

All throughout the horde at once, skeletal fingers clutched at rusted blaster pistols and battered slugthrowers, then lifted them as they had in life. The corpses of spacers and swaggering pilots aimed low, from the hip, while warriors and hunters slowed, bracing their weapons and fixing the enemy in their sights. Beneath the Dreadlord's entrainment, firing lines carved crudely through the horde, bodies lurching to one side or another as needed, and as designed by the watching Jen'koshū. Multi colored and mismatched blaster bolts and metal slugs spat out towards the armored troopers.

Nearer. So close now. Spilling over the shot-down bodies of the horde's twice-dead, surging like angry liquid. Leaping for the Exo-Trooper's outermost defensive perimeter. Leaping for their food...

From above, a few Jen'ari clutching scavenged thermal detonators leapt from the rooftops in clumsy, suicidal arcs, their screams abruptly dissolving as the explosives detonated midair. Those who were able to leapt for the gunships, yelling angrily at the massive machines on their way down. Blossoms of gore and red-brown mist flowered against the low clouds of Brosi, raining meat and bone upon the living and the dead alike. Others, feet slapping against duracrete, cradled their explosives like infants against the chest, charging from alleys and from around corners, each behind defensive mobs of their undead brethren.

He looked back at the fallen gunship, then back at the Dreadlord, and then at the horde that was soon going to be here. He drew in a breath as he shouted at the E-Web crew, "E-Web! Target, between twelve and one o'clock! Tall, back of the horde, lay into that position now!"

The E-Web turned to face the Dreadlord. A staccato howl ripped through the air as emerald fury lanced toward its position. The dead dropped along its curving volley. Stone and rock burst into dust and superheated fragments. Glass shattered. The impact erupted in flame and spent plasma as the turret-fire found the Jen'koshū, heat searing through the fabric of his cloak and throwing it backwards. Belatedly, and as if warding off an unpleasant light, it lifted a gauntleted hand, palm outward, and summoned the Force.

Blurring and tugging, the blaster fire bent. Bolts swerved away, their paths curving like reeds in a strong wind and slamming into the sides of neighboring structures in showers of more brick and fire. The Dreadlord screamed, cloak smoldering, before ducking away and lurching into the hollowed remains of a dark apartment building. It stumbled into safety and kept moving. Behind it, E-Web bolts ripped the home's flimsy walls apart, punching holes through which bright cones of daylight shone against dusty interior decorations.

To the Jen'koshū's surprise, the building shook. All of it. The whole building, tossing the wraith to one side. That had not come from the Imperials. Upright glasses tipped over from countertops and shattered against the floor. It happened again. The ground seemed to swell and writhe, causing the building to groan and shake. Leaning against a wall and trailing smoke from E-Web fire, the Jen'koshū braced itself. A low, base vibration pulsed up through the apartment's cheap tile flooring, subtle at first. It deepened, grew to a rumble—a rumble which rolled across the city like thunder. Brosi seemed to buckle and snap, throwing the dead from their feet to sprawl atop the ground. Large earthquake grooves opened across the cityscape, as if some massive creature tore through it with sharp claws. From these wounds, vines reached out, thickening and questing, curling in a violent growth upward.

Color erupted from the city's grey ruin, spreading from where the crust had been torn open. Carpets of brightly colored flowers spread gradually across streets and climbed the flat walls of skyscrapers. Their petals opened wide, leaking plumes of pollen into the air. The Jen'ari nearest the ruptures shrieked as the vines found them, so near to their feasting, coiling around limbs and torsos and dragging them down. The Dreadlord's connection to the Jen'ari faltered. One by one they were taken, consumed by this new phenomenon—no, not a phenomenon at all. A creature; a vast entity powerful in the Force. And not taken from the Dreadlord by blaster fire or from cryoban alone, but consumed. As they ate, some of the vines mutated and wove themselves into humanoid forms, grotesque effigies of the corpses they had eaten, standing in a grotesque parody of life atop puddles of dripping gore.

The battlefield dissolved into chaos. His horde began to break beneath the grasp of Psilofyr. It could not name this Sithspawned horror, yet somehow the Dreadlord sensed the work of his Master here, the King, spreading unchecked. The Dreadlord gripped to its blade. This… was not the work of the Imperials.

Somewhere in the distance, a ritual reached its zenith...
Psilofyr had been born...

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE 1

Before he could reply with a "Good," Drystan felt the sting of lightning once more, amidst purple arcs of electricity at point-blank range. Pain was something he could tolerate—in fact, he relished it, a sign that he was still alive in this world. But the lightning did more than cause pain; his nerves seized, and he felt his body heat up dangerously. Patches of skin reddened and nearly charred, as from such close range it was hard for the armored plating and anti-electric caging to catch every stray bolt.

Then came that saber again—only this time his blade was gripped in place. Even if he could slide it free from his opponent's grasp, the timing wouldn't be enough to catch the lightsaber's strike a second time.

Instead, he brought his left hand from his blade's edge to meet the strike, the palm catching the tip of it as the suit began to burn away, revealing a black prosthetic hand.

It was plated in cortosis—enough to keep the saber at bay—though the longer he held it, the less ideal the situation became. No, he had to take another risk.

That open palm had a node embedded in the middle, which now began to glow a dangerous red, accompanied by the audible whirring of mechanical components as the prosthetic's plasma beam charged up.

He had no idea what the outcome would be, but it seemed a better prospect than being run through by a lightsaber. Red plasma shot forth from the node in his palm, burning and incinerating the entirety of his outfit's left sleeve as—

BANG!

The pair of them were engulfed in an explosive flash of crimson, leaving a massive epicenter of charred and melted metal where they stood, with thick smoke following soon after.

As the smoke cleared, Drystan was seen downed a fair distance from where the explosion had commenced, still gripping his blade in his right hand despite it all. His outfit was torn to bloody shreds, and his helmet was barely held together by its foundation. The left half of his now-broken helmet was completely gone, revealing a tuft of black hair and his left eye—vertical scar and all.

His HUD still functioned, but only partially, both in terms of its software and its physical state, with half his visor missing.

Using his sword to stand, he let out a strained breath, the explosion having brought his physical health and exhaustion to near-critical levels. It was an unwanted situation; any combat data gathered now would be of questionable quality, but the bout beforehand had proven a good place to harvest data.

It was not the ideal outcome, but it would have to do. He still had that Sith to contend with, should he have survived as well. By Drystan's estimation, given how their duel had progressed, the outcome seemed more than likely.

Darth Strosius

 

[Sieliel Dimegor]

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Brosi, Corporate Sector, Outer Rim Territories;
Thandon Star Cluster;
THE NASCENT IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION!
Tag: Koda Fett

Sieliel Dimegor Bounty.

---

​

OBJECTIVE III.

Everyone has their time.

The ruined buildings ahead of the hunter and his prey closed in like the jaws of some ancient predator ready to swallow and devour all those who pass through it.

Fett's ship was ahead of Sieliel slipping between the leaning monoliths of rotted durasteel and blight-twisted masonry with its profile briefly swallowed by the thick orange-grey murk. She kept her hands tight on the yoke, throwing the TIE/ss into a hard dive after him, the scream of her engines harmonizing with the groan of collapsing architecture all around. The HUD flickered with constant alerts, but she ignored them.

This was it. End the chase here.

End him here.

Escape fate once more.

She fired, green bolts cutting through the haze, chasing the silhouette of the Firespray. The collapsing buildings became obstacles, but also weapons with slabs of concrete and rebar falling so close they rattled her hull. Sieliel breathing increased. Not from fear but from focus. The type that comes when it is life or death.

"Now or never..." she muttered, pushing the throttle past safety margins.

Then the world came apart.

A tower's upper spire snapped free above her, striking another ruin as it fell. Shards of rusted durasteel and crystalline blight rained down. A jagged length, which was thicker than her wings, punched through the smog and clipped her starboard ion engine. The cockpit filled with the blinding flash of ruptured energy conduits, followed by a deafening roar. Systems flared red and Sieliel screamed with them as the TIE/ss lurched, spiralling out of control. G-force slammed her into the restraints as she fought keep control of the yoke, her view spinning between fire, sky, and ground.

Then came the impact.

The crash tore through the skeletal remains of a street, scattering blight-dusted stone and half-buried bones. The forward struts crumpled, locking her in place at a brutal angle. Smoke and sparks cascaded from the shattered consoles. As the ship hung there, tipped over on it's roof, surrounded by the devastation of the city around it, Sieliel coughed and tried to gain hold of her senses. Realising how much she trouble she was in, Sieliel cleared her eyes and tried to avoid breathing in the ozone from her ruined vessel, with a hand reaching out to try the canopy release. It gave nothing. The mechanism groaned uselessly, welded shut by the warped frame.

Her hands trembled once, then steadied. The only sound now was her own breathing… and the distant, growing hum of engines cutting through the smog. Something wet pelted the canopy of the destroyed TIE/ss with a sickening, repeating thrrrm, thrrrm, thrrrm, sound. As she sat there suspended upside down- held only up by the straps she had worn to secure her to the pilot's seat during the dogfighting- Sieliel finally turned her gaze to look through the broken pieces of transparisteel out into the street.

A light fog had claimed the street which made it difficult for her to see, and yet she felt her gaze was transfixed to look down the road itself. In the distance she saw a silhouette walking towards her.

Dread settled in. Terror was no longer a friend, or an ally. Horror became Sieliel's day.

---

 

[Sophia of House Marr]

​

​

Ally Tag: [SO] + Horus Rhyne
Enemy Tag: [TIC] - Not Engaging Yet [OPEN]
Location: Brosi [At some kind of...Refinery?]
Objective: Objective III - BYOO [Subject to change pending opposition]

| Robes | - | Red Lightsaber | - | Cool Whip | - | Enviro-Shield Generator |
___________

Quote of the Moment:
"...Well...You need the villain. If you don't have one...The good guy can just stay home."
___________​

Crimson eyes peeked out from over her arm while she tucked her knees in tighter at the apology Horus gave. "You are not a burden.", Sophia bit out, the words sharp, but there was a tremble beneath her bravado that she tried to hide. It wasn't becoming of a daughter of House Marr, and it certainly wasn't becoming for a Knight of the Order. She refused to let him see how that choked something inside her.

She didn't have time to be sad. Not when he was still breathing.

The ruby red mist curled around her hand while she pressed more of her energy into him. But…It felt odd. As if he were full of holes, she couldn't see, and it was just leaking out faster than she could replace it. "Just…Just rest. Save your strength.", the words were given as if they were an order. As if she were somehow in charge of this situation and knew exactly what to do. Right?

Wrong.

The building they were in smelled of rot and damp earth. Vines already clung to the walls, but suddenly, they seemed to stir. Her peeking eyes followed them while they began to surge, creeping across stone and durasteel, coiling around shattered supports. While she was apprehensive…It didn't seem to be attacking them. Rather, helping? Securing the building? Thick stems sprang from the floorboards and crawled upward with twisting ropes, blooming with strange, vibrant flowers. The petals were all glowy.

Especially when reflecting the small red lights that wobbled in the air.

Sophia huddled protectively around Horus, but she got the feeling that these flowers weren't for beauty or attacking, but for cover. Concealment. It was so overgrown that even if the Imperials did pass by, they wouldn't be able to get through. (Not without a metric karkton of weedkiller and a machete at any rate.) One of the flowers grew near her foot, and she slowly reached down to touch it. (Against her better judgment, magic flowers?) To her surprise…It didn't coil away.

The flower petals leaned forward to bump her finger…almost like a dog or a cat might ask for attention.

"You're not here to hurt us, are you?", the little Sith Witch intoned, not expecting a reply, but there was something different in the air. A sense of…Dark comfort, the notion that they weren't alone. Had someone actually heard her distress call over the comms? Sophia could feel the power in the flora and blinked when a few shiny mushrooms popped up in the corners.

Blocking the shards of the void stone from them.

The bond between herself and Horus flickered again, and it made her heart squeeze oh so painfully. His confession of love made her eyes narrow, and she froze, for about half a breath. "You are such a heretic.", she snapped back, getting uppity, "Blasphemy."

She sounded angry…But she leaned down until her forehead touched his.

"I win. My hand was in your chest, clearly, I love you more."

He was even a jerk when he was dying.

She sighed softly, slowly tilting her head to let her nose brush his…"I do. Not you. Don't argue with me because we both know I'm right and you're wrong.", the fire in her was still present, but it was already abundantly clear that she would be lost without him. It was only the fact that he was still breathing, still talking, that kept her from launching into a blind, panicked rage.

Sophia shifted to rest her head on his shoulder…Her hand still hovering over his chest. Still feeding him her life force regardless of the cost. Just…Watching the flowers.

Convinced that they were watching her back.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Location: Brosi
Objective: BYOO - Rescue some people
Equipment: Vibro-daggers, vibro-sword, blaster pistol, mask
Outfit: Assassin Attire
Tag: Sophia of House Marr | Horus Rhyne

"The infiltrator got away." Eira growled to one of the medic soldiers checking Eira over, "I reported where they were and potentially what they were aiming to achieve." This was the second or third time that Eira had to repeat herself. Everyone was concerned about what she had been doing alone and where her injuries came from.

The medic made some notes and applied some bacta to the injuries on Eira's legs and arms. "Good to know, we'll have some tech experts check what could have been hacked and duplicated, as well as any viruses that might have been installed. Good thing you caught this early on, prevents accidental backdoors getting made."

Eira nodded her head, she had heard this before but it was good to hear it again. It diminished the voice in her head that stated she failed. That she only got this far because of luck and others pulling her out of danger. There was still the voice in her head, trying to rob the successful from her fight. To drown out the voice, the negativity, Eira clicked through the comms channels on her mask. Listening in, Eira was listening out for anything that might be a new mission for Eira to explore.

"This is Sophia Marr of the Order…Extraction requested. One wounded."

A breath.

"Critically wounded. Coordinates transmitted."

Marr. That was a name that Eira knew but she did not know a Sophia that seemed attached to the name. It was interesting, she wondered what this Marr would be like. It seemed that there was a need for help. To extract someone injured. Rising to her feet, Eira dusted herself off. "Well, now I am sorted, seems that I need to head off. Another Sith in trouble."

"Wait, your injuries? They aren't fully healed!" The medic attempted to call out, Eira waved him off not caring. There was a new mission for Eira and she needed to work on that.

---

Time had been lost as Eira rushed around, making sure that she had the surrounding area covered. If there needed to be an extraction then having enemies around would be just be too dangerous.

From what Eira could tell, they were in a building that suddenly sprouted a full jungle and the only path that could be taken to ensure that they got to some rear guard shuttles, where an off world extraction could occur. The flowers and plants seemed to shift and part ways for Eira as she moved forward. As if they knew she was an ally. It was strange and the sentience in the plants were a feature that Eira was unsure she liked or found creepy. Plants should just be plants in her mind. Whether that was Sophia or someone she was with, Eira wasn't sure. Eira just hoped it would be a large man. That would be tough for the woman to shift, at least tough to shift on her own.

Finally reaching the coordinates, Eira looked around. Having her eyes peeled on anything that could be shifting in the shadows. Having a dagger ready in her hand, Eira then spotted the two figures. Close and it was clear in that this was a worse case scenario for the assassin. A large dude needed to be extracted. But this was the mission and Eira was going to complete the mission. She needed a success, a win.

"So, I heard there was a pretty damsel in distress, in need of a hero?" Eira called out. Her mask was no longer on her face and she moved closer to the couple. Falling into a crouch as she looked to Sophia and then to Horus. "So, guessing the handsome fellow on the ground is not Sophia, but definitely our damsel in distress. Seems, you sir, need to fall back and get home."

Looking over to Sophia, "do you think you can help me lift him up? If not, that's fine, we can try using the Force to lift his body and move him. A full extraction team isn't far from here. I'm just faster on my own and you sounded desperate for help." Eira explained. She spoke calmly and with a reassuring tone, this was a tough situation and while she had admitted to break the ice and draw focus away from the dark dire thoughts that could delude the mind.

She could get them both out, she could ensure they lived. This was going to be a success.

 

[Lunaria Talon]

Location: Shoengen, Brosi [En Route to Delta-2]
Objective: Objective II - Seize the Means of Production!
Goals: Subterranean Ore Mines Beneath Processing Plant Delta-2
Tags: Soldane Talon | Matteo Guo-Yian | The Lord of Hunger

_________________________​

Artemis felt her breath catch as the pain in her ribs suddenly dulled. It was replaced by the strange and unnatural flow of Matteo's strength moving into her. It steadied her stance and cleared the dark edges of her vision…But it also frightened her in a way the droids and the undead could not. She knew the cost. She could feel it in the way his presence felt like a glitch, winking in and out, and she could hear it in the ragged grit of his voice. "Matteo…Stop!" ​

​

He was hurting himself for her. ​

​

She didn't get the chance to argue. The chaos moved forward again with the hiss of servos from the murder-bots and the terrible, awful, stench of the Jen'ari. Her back was pressed against Matteo's in no time at all, but somewhere beneath the ground…Something changed. The space beneath their boots rippled, seams cracking wide, as thick green cords of vine erupted upward. The plants moved with impossible speed, tangling around their ankles, waists, and arms. Not constricting exactly…But it wasn't comfortable either. "Matteo…Matteo! Just hang in there.", she shouted, flinching when she lost her grip on her lightsaber. Her saber was everything…​

​

It was the only thing that stood between life and death on Brosi.​

​

The vines yanked them both backward toward the fissure in the earth. Soil crumbled away to reveal a hollow below, dim and dank, where roots thick as tree trunks coiled like serpents. Flowers bloomed in their wake. Bright, glowing, with a faintly sweet smell. The air was cooler and almost cleaner, even though there was a muffled roar from the battle above. More flora surged upward from the opening, sealing them in. Thick mats of ivy and blossoms closed over the gap just as the closest Sceleratii reached where they had been standing. The vines were strange and left nothing but tangled greenery for murder-bots and corpses to claw at.​

​

Artemis felt her heart hammering in her chest, with the light from the flowers cutting across Matteo's features. She could feel the tremor of war above them through the dirt ceiling, but for the moment, the plants held. Well, they sealed the gap. Rather randomly, they unwound from around her and Matteo and dropped them unceremoniously on their backsides. Luna yelped in surprise…​

​

But they were…Safe? Ish?​

​

She blinked owlishly into the darkness of the tunnel but jumped again when the datapad attached to her hip began to chime. Apparently, they'd reached their destination. Delta-2. The source of the unknown signal was nearby, a constant, so much so that she'd forgotten to even look for it. She turned toward Matteo and scooted closer to him. "Are you…okay…?" ​

​

"We can rest here…At least for a little while." ​

​

Her eyes dipped…But she shook her head to regain alertness. They were both hurt, exhausted, and the noises from above were chilling to the bone. Artemis didn't understand the flower-lined tunnel, but she did know they were supposed to be there. She moved closer to Matteo until she was wedged in his side. Frightened but…Less so. "We'll find something for your arm…I don't know if the Jen'ari are contagious. I-I can't remember our lessons, but they're rooted in the Force…Not in science. It's not a normal plague."​

​

She was rationalizing. Bargaining.​

​

The truth was…The little Echani, young and still green, really didn't know. Her arm crossed over his middle as she reached for her saber hilt that had clattered not far away. Once she had it, she felt a bit better. "Just…Breathe. We're okay." ​

​

Were they? Lunaria supposed they'd find out if the murder-bots punched through the roof or if he woke up with the desire to eat her face off…But until then?​

​

"We're okay."​

 

[Elmindra Xitaar]

OBJECTIVE 3
OUTER RIM | STYGIAN CALDERA | DOSTRA SYSTEM | BROSI
[SO] Darth Carnifex | Rowyna Galeway | Fiolette Yvarro | Darth Malum of House Marr
[TIC] Calin Rakel | Squesha | Lord Rasnuhl | Ronhar Tane | Marlon Sularen

The crackle of confirmation from the gunnery pit was as satisfying as the shriek of the cannon itself.
"Direct hits confirmed, Admiral. One Venerator's hull is crippled—another's shields are depleted."

Elmindra's lips twitched in approval. "Then they will come for us."

And come they did.

"All available vessels form up around the Omen."

From the holo-display, the four Venerators surged forward, their escorts in tight formation, prowling toward the Omen's last known position. Frigates and corvettes swept the flanks like carrion birds, fighters boiling out in clouds, a tide of Imperial steel and hatred. The enemy heavy cruisers held their fire, dumping fresh clusters of buzz droids into the Omen's shadow. The Animated Metal Sealant of the hull kept up for the most part with whatever menial damage they could do but the sheer volume of the little droids allowed a few to begin to breach the surface.

Elmindra's voice remained calm and commanding. "Reposition. We will meet them above the field."

The Omen's thrusters roared, the Harrowers shifting with practiced precision, fighters wheeling upward in spirals to cover their ascent. But the enemy was learning. Her jaw tightened as the tactical readout bloomed with new vectors—asteroids, repulsed toward them by the enemy fleet, and unfortunately her larger ships were not known for their maneuverability.

"Repel those asteroids. Do not let them make contact." She snapped.

With quick action, the Omen was able to keep the hurdling space rocks from doing too much damage to her shields, but one of her Harrowers' shields flared white before flickering dangerously low as a tumbling boulder slammed into its prow. A smaller gunship wasn't so fortunate—the asteroid cored through its midsection and split it into flaming fragments.

"Keep climbing."

When the Omen finally crested the asteroid field's crown, two Jen'Quazoi—massive, writhing clouds of nightmare mist—peeled away at her silent summons. They slithered through the void toward the pursuing vessels, their vaporous bodies uncoiling into the fleets' formation.

The horrors began instantly.

On the bridge of a Venerator, lights strobed and dimmed, revealing twisted silhouettes of crew members hanging from the ceiling, eyes gouged and dripping in the dark. Consoles came alive with images of the crew members' own faces melting into bone. In the bowels of another ship, fuel lines ruptured without cause, fire suppression systems activating in empty corridors. Helm readings inverted—starboard became port, forward became aft—encouraging pilots to spin their vessels into each other in blind panic. The Wraiths feasted, their whispers burrowing into the marrow of every living soul they touched.

Elmindra's Harrowers struck the moment the panic peaked. Turbolasers cut through disorganized lines, Sith fighters darting in to shred fleeing bombers. The Omen's own guns—freshly reawakened—opened fire without mercy. Laser fire unloaded onto the already compromised Venerators. Flak erupted in brutal bursts, peppering the enemy's fighter screen with indiscriminate fire.

"Maintain pressure," Elmindra commanded coldly, the deck shuddering beneath another enemy salvo. "Do not relent."

On the far side of the battlefield, the Invictus bled. Maj's shields were almost gone when salvation dropped out of hyperspace—two Harrowers, their hulls gleaming and untouched, spilling wings of heavy fighters, interceptors, and bombers into the fray. Two strike frigates followed, their ion batteries spitting arcs into the droid swarm. Sith reinforcements weaved through the chaos, peeling droids off the Invictus's flanks, pelting the heavy cruisers that had Maj pinned with heavy fire.

Elmindra watched the forward display as the battle raged on. The reserve fleet was already shifting the tide. The Invictus would hold.

In the sudden hush between reports, she reached once more into the Force and once again felt her King, felt the zenith of his ritual.
​

Psilofyr had been born...​

The battle was not yet won. But the ritual's success welled in the Force, potent and unrelenting, and Elmindra Xitaar's fleet still stood.

For now—that was enough.​

Spoiler: FLEET COMP

The Asteroid Field | Captain Rowyna Galeway | Admiral Squesha | Vice Admiral Calin Rakel | Lord Rasnuhl

VESSEL	SHIELDS	HULL
The Omen	90%	97%
Harrower-class Cruiser	35%	80%
Harrower-class Cruiser	70%	90%
Harrower-class Cruiser	85%	90%
	REMAINING	TOTAL
Sion-class Heavy Starfighter [7 squads of 12]	74	84
Ragnos-class Interceptor [7 squads of 12]	70	84
Caldoth-class Bombers [7 squads of 12]	79	84
Baron-Class Gunship "Hammer" [2 sqauds of 8]	16	16

Forward Battlefield | Darth Carnifex | Vice Admiral Calin Rakel | Marlon Sularen

VESSEL	SHIELDS	HULL
Vodal-class Strike Frigate [blackout from EMP]	0%	0%
Vodal-class Strike Frigate	0%	70%
Vodal-class Strike Frigate	50%	100%
Vodal-class Strike Frigate	50%	100%
	REMAINING	TOTAL
Jaw-Class Gunship "Rogue" [2 squads of 8]	9	16

The Invictus | Lord Rasnuhl

VESSEL	SHIELDS	HULL
The Invictus	10%	100%
	REMAINING	TOTAL
Ragnos-class Interceptor [2 squads of 12]	8	24
REINFORCEMENTS	SHIELDS	HULL
Harrower-class Cruiser	100%	100%
Harrower-class Cruiser	100%	100%
Vodal-class Strike Frigate	100%	100%
Vodal-class Strike Frigate	100%	100%
	REMAINING	HULL
Sion-class Heavy Starfighter [7 squads of 12]	84	84
Ragnos-class Interceptor [7 squads of 12]	84	84
Caldoth-class Bombers [7 squads of 12]	84	84

Spoiler: FLEET ACTIONS

The Asteroid Field | Captain Rowyna Galeway | Admiral Squesha | Vice Admiral Calin Rakel | Lord Rasnuhl

• Bombers and Hammers retreat from Squesha's interdictor to support the Omen
• Elmindra's fleet moves up out of the asteroid field
• Harrowers' shields further impacted by heavy fire and asteroids
• The Omen's defenses are enough to rebuff most of Rasnuhl's cruisers' attacks but they're chipping away. The Omen's armaments are back online
• The Omen and Harrowers open fire on nearest enemy vessels
• Fighters, Hammers, Harrowers and Jen'Quazoi attack Rasnuhl's and Rakel's ships

Forward Battlefield | Darth Carnifex | Vice Admiral Calin Rakel | Marlon Sularen

• Rogues and strike frigates peel off from the Oblation as it closes with Sularen's fleet and pursue Rakel's retreating ships instead.

The Invictus | Lord Rasnuhl

• Reinforcements arrive in the form of 2 Harrowers and 2 strike frigates and tons of fighters.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Half aware of the struggles unfolding above, A'Mia remained in reverie with Psilofyr. Her consciousness stretched far beyond the bounds of organism and now encompassed environment. Informed by not only by the Force and the shifting pattern of the Weave, but now through vast a vast mycelial network which grew larger every passing moment.

And in perfect concert with his Empress, as if both had read from the same prophetic script beforehand, he spoke the words with her.
"It begins.""It begins."

"Drink deep of the ruin above you…"

She breathed, eyes closing once more.

"—And rise to meet us."

Where once there was a child's fear and uncertainty within the Seed, purpose and power bloomed. With gifts granted by Caedes, Revna Marr and Srina, as well as safeguarded by Gerwald Lechner — its growth was fed spectacularly by all the death upon Brosi in a ritual carefully crafted by those Sith Lords.

Psilofyr had been born...

…Into something entirely beyond the scope of any one person's power…

A'Mia marveled at it, exalted in that miracle wrought by darkness and the incredible power of nature. The neti would wander those rampantly growing lines of power for some time to come, blissfully losing herself in the entangled process of Psilofyr turning Brosi into a verdant jungle.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

LOCATION: Mega Tower [headed to extraction]
OBJECTIVE: Storm the Tower
GOALS: SABOTAGE!
TAG: Naedira Darcrath | OPEN

Aerik felt the vibration before he saw the flicker of light bleeding through the cracks in the walls. It rolled through the tunnel, deeper than artillery, carrying an edge that made his jaw tighten. When the electric groan followed, he recognized it as trouble, but her quick glance toward him confirmed what he had only suspected. The shield generators were gone.

Her voice was steady when she said extraction was now non-negotiable, but the weight behind it told him she had already made her choice. He knew why. If the district was hit from orbit, there would be no running far enough or fast enough. For a moment, he thought of Gerwald and wondered if he was caught in something just as bad. He tried to push the thought away, but it lingered, heavy and unshakable.

He kept close while she moved to the next panel and dropped to a crouch. Her tone shifted as she ordered they finish and let the sabotage spread on its own. He did not hesitate when she reached for the tool. The slicer was in her hand as soon as she asked without needing the words.

“You are right,” he said quietly. “If we keep working past this point, we will be gambling with time we do not have. His voice stayed low but carried conviction. “If they cannot recover the infrastructure, the Tower will be nothing but dead stone to them.”

Another surge rattled through the floor. The air grew hot and heavy, pressing against his chest. His eyes shifted toward the ceiling, reading the fight above them by sound alone. Whoever was out there was not holding back, and he knew that if the fight came too close, there would be no safe corner left in this place.

Her final instructions were sharp, leaving no room for argument. “Understood,” he replied.

He felt her hand on his arm, the contact grounding him even as the numbers on her tool counted down. Her words of pride settled in his chest like a spark in dry tinder. He gave a short nod, but his focus slid past her to the faint glow outside At first, he thought it was sunlight, but the hue was wrong, shifting and unnatural. The realization came fast. This was no light of day. It was the glow of manipulated atmosphere.

The horizon outside was changing shape, the skyline bending under a false sky. It was terraforming. The manipulation was the kind reshaped not just the land, but life itself. His throat tightened. If it had already started, the battle for Brosi was worse than he imagined. He wondered if his father would make it out in time, or if he was even aware of how fast the ground was being stolen from under them. A flicker in his mother’s gaze told him she was thinking the same thing, though she would not say it. That unsettled him more than the changing sky.

 

[Koda Fett]

Sieliel Dimegor Bounty
​

---

He emerged from the ashen fog with whisps of pale air curling around his armour, treading with an even and unhurried pace along the upturned duracrete road. He carried his blaster carbine with him, the barrel pointing skyward from where it rest against his shoulder pauldron. Footsteps echoed across the quiet, dead streets as he made that slow, inevitable advance on the crashed TIE/ss.

It always changed for some hunters, seeing the quarry up close. Seeing the fear in their eyes, in their frantic struggles in that last, desperate bid for survival. It was only ever a job for Fett, and he always completed the job.

Fett continued to stride up to the TIE. He needed confirmation of the kill and the closer, the clearer.

 

[Lucette]

[YOUR IDOL]

Allies: Lysander von Ascania | Madrona A’Mia
Opponents: Seraphina Pryde
Targeting: Tova Zyl
Acknowledging: Spirit of Korriban and Madrona A’Mia by proxy.
​

Psilofyr had been born...

Oh this changed...

Everything.

Lucy inhaled as she felt the shift in the world. The way the plants called out to her, the way the dark side coiled within her. She felt the familar sensation of her beloved Viers Connory elsewhere on the world. When she closed her eyes, simultaneously shutting the flamethrower off.

It started as a low hum in her chest, thrumming through her bones like a second heartbeat. Then the ground responded. Roots beneath the soil pressed against her boots, urgent and insistent, while every vine and frond in sight seemed to lean toward her. She drew a slow breath, humid, green, alive and the air tasted of sap and rain.

Lucy exhaled, smiling as the pulse in her veins synced with the rhythm of the jungle. "Oh… this is better." Her eyes opened slowly, the soft verdant glow in her eyes.

The flamethrower was tossed like a toy toward the ground. She looked at it as one might look at an old toy fond, but suddenly irrelevant. With a graceful, theatrical flourish, she tossed it aside, letting it thud into the moss.

The jungle answered her words. Roots burst from the earth in spirals, blossoms unfurled in impossible colors, and thorned vines coiled like serpents around Tibbs and the Mirage Mittens. Her pets seemed to feel it too, Ophidia's purple eyes gleamed, Voracitos' fur bristled, and Tibbs' growl deepened to a predator's purr.

Lucy stepped forward, barefoot now, as if the ground itself had pulled her boots away. "We don't need that anymore, do we?" she said, not to herself, not even to her pets, but to Tova.

Her voice carried, warm and lilting, with a Dosuunian accent that turned the words into velvet. Around her boots, vines stirred like snakes waking from a dream.

"You're very disciplined. I like that. But discipline…"

The nearest tree's branches bent toward Tova like supplicants. Blossoms unfurled in bright, hypnotic blooms.

"…is just another word for a cage someone built in your head."

Tibbs padded forward, at the ready. The Mirage Mittens melted into the underbrush, faint glimmers of their eyes watching from impossible angles.

"You could be so much more if you stopped flailing for the Empire's scraps. I could show you. Give you a mission worth following."

Roots surged between them, curling like fingers. One root rose higher, splitting into a delicate lattice of green that almost, almost, resembled a hand reaching out.

Lucy smiled, eyes locking with Tova's.

"All you have to do… is take my hand."

The jungle whispered, leaves shivering as if in anticipation.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 1 Hold the Tower
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Drystan Creed
--------------------------------------------

Lightning arced from His grasp on the blade that had just threatened to take His head off, using the blade itself to shorten the distance between the violet arcs and His target as He attempted to wrench the blade further away from intercepting Him again. Darth Strosius scowled beneath His damaged mask as His lightsaber met resistance instead of simply piercing through the accursed man's hand. The crimson blade of His weapon briefly flickered at the contact but the twist of His wrist to apply more pressure to pushing it into its apparent blockage proved to solve what might have resulted in a more drastic issue.

Given enough time, provided that His opponent didn't or simply couldn't manage to change their current position, He had no doubt that He would break through on one side or the other and get the chance to rip and tear into this interloper without much issue. Patience wasn't a resource that He currently possessed in spades however. This little bout had already dragged on far too long as it was, the tower still had to be secured and the wider Imperial incursion routed before they could gain any footholds.

So, with both of the other man's hands occupied fending Him off, He prepared a killing blow. With how close they were, the Sith Lord's golden eyes were almost visible even through His dark visor as He diverted His focus from unleashing bolts of lightning to pursue another weapon. One which formed between the shadows cast by the light from sabre and arcs alike, the tip of a spear seeming to coalesce quite literally right before His very eyes and which was aimed right at His opponent's head.

Before it could solidify into something deadly however, something exploded.

In a brilliant flash of crimson Darth Strosius felt Himself thrown back, feeling His back impact the metal of one of the building's walls before He heard the wall itself creak in protest and then shear as He was pressed into it by the blast. His eyes had slammed shut to dim the sudden flash but now they remained so in a wince as His head bounced off the wall and briefly made Him feel as though He were spinning. After a few moments they did flutter open again, half-lidded as He winced again from the painful ringing in His ear.

From an outside perspective Darth Strosius had been very still since the explosion, practically embedded within the torn paneling and wiring of one of the corridor's walls. The outermost layer of the front of His robes had been largely singed away, ornate dark fabric having given way to reveal the laced padding of Armorweave and metal plating beneath. His lightsaber had been thrown down the hall, still smoking yet otherwise intact. The same couldn't be same of the hand which had held it however.

The gauntlet adorning the hand which had been wielding His weapon now sported slightly melted tips to its sharp plating, the fingers bent back in a horrific display away from the palm and towards the wrist. His free arm was slightly better, albeit the elbow was limply hanging at an odd angle and impaled through by a spare bit of rebar. His mask was still smoking, dark plating cracked and blackened by the blast. His dark visor was more crack than glass as well, spiderwebs of interlocking damage obscuring any vision.

And yet, after a moment of silence, He shifted.

His mutilated hand stretched out first, fingers snapping back to their original positions with horrific pops and trembling as the grabbed hold of the edge of the wall. The Sith Lord dragged Himself from the indented wall with a grunt, having to pause and heave Himself forward in order to pull His other arm free from the metal. He fell flat on His face, His one arm still limp and unresponsive as the other worked to literally single handedly push Him up to His feet.

Darth Strosius staggered as He rose, having to lean against a wall for support as His legs reluctantly complied and supported His weight. His limp fingers suddenly twitched as He rested against the wall, flexing and clenching into a fist as life returned to their arm. Finally He cracked His neck and stood up straight, rolling His shoulders with a series of pops that drew a hissed breath from His damaged vocalizer in a small burst of static. With one hand back to full function He promptly reached over and fixed His wrist on the previously active hand, which had been bent back as well until now, with another painful crack and a sigh.

Then the cracked visor leveled towards His injured opponent down the way. Golden light illuminated the jagged seams in the glass as one of His hands stretched out and summoned His lightsaber from its resting place on the ground. His thumb pressed against the activation switch as He peered down the hall, the light in His visor intensifying for a moment before diminishing as His other hand reached forward and summoned the hilt of His broken sword from the rubble.

With both blades in hand He turned rather stiffly and began slowly walking away from the other man, a gait which was briefly limping but which straightened out into a more normal stride within a few steps before He vanished through one of the corridor's doors. "Feth this plague ridden world. The Imperials can choke on it themselves."

 

[Squesha]

Objective 3​

"Brace!"

The firepower from the enemy ships hit home. While the asteroids provided some cover many shots hit their mark. Sirens sounded as her ships shields took the beating, sparks flying from consoles.

"Star Destroyer Invictus has lost shields! Taking hull damage!"

Squesha looked at her tactical readouts. All her capital ships shields had taken a beating. Her own flagship was down to 25% shields. This was a battle of attrition, of who could take the most damage first. Squesha was confident her ships could handle the firepower of their enemy. They were bigger and stronger, able to take more punishment and dish it out. In a protracted battle she would persevere. And yet...

"Force storm approaching! Estimated time of impact T minus three minutes!"

Squesha did not have time. The force storm was rapidly approaching, and not even she could withstand its primal wrath. Squesha had no choice. She sighed.

"All hands, retreat. Send one last burst of firepower on their capital ships, then move back to Rakel's fleet. We cannot stay here."

In one last symphony of destruction her ships shot everything at the enemy capital ships. Without looking back her remaining ships turned back, leaving the path of the force storm. This was not the decisive blow she had been hoping for. But at least she had proven that the Confederation were formidable opponents.

"Contact Zonil. Tell him to fall back to us. We can do no more here."

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

• Barragan Class Versatile Attack Carrier- 2000 m
  • 4 squadrons of TIE/ss Supremacy fighter
  • 4 squadrons of TIE/ja Jaeger
  • 1 squadrons of TIE/dv Devastator
  • 1 squadrons of FAE/TIE Series Pixie Ultralight Interceptor
    • Shields 25%
• Imperial 1 Class Star Destroyer x2- 3200 m
  • 6 squadrons of TIE/ss Supremacy fighter
  • 2 squadrons of TIE/ja Jaeger
  • 2 squadrons of HAAT/i Imperial Assault Gunship
    • Star Destroyer one Shields 40%
    • Star Destroyer two Shields down Hull integrity 70%
• Tyrant 4 Class Suppression Cruiser x1 - 1000 m
  • One cruiser DESTROYED
  • Decond Cruiser Shields 80%
• Paralyzer Class Interdictor Cruiser- 650 m
  • 2 squadrons of FAE/TIE Series Pixie Ultralight Interceptor
  • 1 squadrons of HAAT/i Imperial Assault Gunship
• Loki Class Fast Corvette x3- 600 m
  • Shields 50%

Spoiler: Fleet summary

1. Attacked enemy ships and recieved damage.
2. Sent one final burst of fire at Enemy battleships
3. Left position withdrawing from battle.

Ronhar Tane Calin Rakel Darth Carnifex Marlon Sularen Bella Lord Rasnuhl Tamsin Graves Kaila Irons Rowyna Galeway Elmindra Xitaar Darth Malum of House Marr Fiolette Yvarro

​

 

[Sieliel Dimegor]

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Brosi, Corporate Sector, Outer Rim Territories;
Thandon Star Cluster;
THE NASCENT IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION!
Tags: Koda Fett

Sieliel Dimegor Bounty.

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​

OBJECTIVE III.

NOW.
​

As Sieliel hung there in the canopy of the downed TIE/ss she kept her fixated gaze upon the figure emerging the fog. All the sound of the world seemed to be drained away save for the treading of the boots of her hunter as he edged closer to finish the prey. When Koda stopped near the ship, with his faceless mask staring down at her, Sieliel looked back up with the look of a woman who was haunted by the past...

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THEN.
​

STARDATE: 260624, 900 ABY.
TWO YEARS AGO.

​

I have always loved the city at night. It was nice to speak with someone who appreciated the view too.

The walkways of Lianna City were always in motion even at this time of night for the ecumenopolis never slept.

In the ramparts overlooking the Halequarn District, Sieliel Dimegor stood as the last of her house, and someone who had lived in exile for most of her life. Ever since the Jedi "liberated" her homelands from the domain of the Sith Empire she had been left as an example to the other Tionese nobility that the price for collusion at the expense of their people was death and humiliation. All whom she cared about were gone from her life, and yet they had not allowed her to join them.

Sometimes it was on nights like this that it was worth it- to continue living in spite of the knowing that at the end all that is your legacy is set to go with you just for a good view, and likened minds for company.

"House Dimegor served the Sith Empire for a quarter of a century. Your father was loyal to the cause," said Alicia Drey as she watched the city too.

The fumes of the Director's cigarette was nauseating and itched at Sieliel's nose. Turning to look upon her guest Sieliel found herself with a mixture of feelings and questions. Inexplicably a Sith spy had come to reach out with the offer of a job and to end House Dimegor's exile. Better than that they were the new Staff Director of the N.I.S.B and their rise to prominence in the new Kilran Administration had coincided with the end of the Voland Regime in the Empire of the Lost. They were in a place of power and influence that was seemingly under the control of a foreign enemy to the Imperial Occupation within the Tion Cluster and surrounding star sectors which made up the Tion Hegemony with an offer that was hard to refuse or turn up despite the looming question that came with such an advance.

Was it really possible that the Sith were really coming back to reclaim her homelands that were lost during the Ashlan Crusades?

"The Sith no longer rule the Tion Cluster. They pulled out of here well before I was even born?" Sieliel replied as she listened to what the Director had to say.

The idea was alluring to say the least. Under the noses of the new regime, born out of a coup d'état and emergence of a dynasty that was unpopular with the Imperial elite, they were to enter into a conspiracy to either reform or outright destroy this alleged "Empire" in preparation for an invasion launched from the Sith Holy Worlds to reclaim the territories of the former Tenth Sith Empire. As Sieliel stood there pondering over what she should do a memory sprung to mind from tales told by her father told from the old days and how they had planned to see the ancient temples on Korriban itself for the Dimegor had been loyal to the Dark Lords of the Sith during their time and therefore they would be honoured again within their hallowed halls one day.

"We are eternal, and our reach is long. Won't you serve again?" Drey replied as they took another toke of the cigarette and exhaled the fumes into the air.

Sieliel smacked her lips before taking a swig of the bottle in her hand. Perhaps it was the drink talking, or maybe it was the desire to avenge her house which fell in the years after the Sith were defeated. Either way temptation had crept into her heart, and a mind ruined by catastrophic loss wrought by her own kin combined with dreams of making them pay for what they had all done to her made her want to at least listen and hear them out.

Sad eyes turned away from the Director- no, the traitor- to look upon the city again as she listened to what Drey had to say.

"Tell me more then."

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NOW.
​

The indomitable, faceless t-visor of a Mandalorian glared down at Sieliel in the ruins of Shoegen and she too stared back up at him.

No words came to mind as she looked up. The blaster hidden somewhere in the canopy of her downed TIE laid somewhere nearby useless in the face of inevitability for she has been expecting this for a long time ever since Bastion and the court martial on the Cerberus. All the fight was drained from her. If it wasn't going to be an Imperial stabbing her in the back then it would certainly be someone sent by the same person behind the Fifth Wing, and the collapse of the Empire of the Lost, for she knew and had said far too much to be left alive.

A chilling thought dawned upon Sieliel upon the precipice of death.

Perhaps they were the one behind this attack on Brosi and the other Sith Worlds as well.

There was a flash of red next and the certain ringing sound of a blaster being shot. Life turned into nothing, and the black ink canvas of death claimed another soul to be woven into it's tapestry. Coolant and rain pinged the innards of the downed TIE to create a soft pinging sound which bore through after the burst of the navel of a gun. They were the last things Sieliel Dimegor ever heard or saw- a gone girl beneath ashen fog, wreckage and skies bursting with green flashing lights above a world forever ruined by blight, and war.

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[Velcarin]

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Brosi, Corporate Sector, Outer Rim Territories;
Thandon Star Cluster;
THE NASCENT IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION!
Tag: Varin Mortifer

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​

OBJECTIVE II.

Equipment:

• Inquistorious MK1 'Menasor' Armor.
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannister.
• NZ All-Purpose Viral Suppressant Type II.
• Lightsaber.

​

As Velcarin repositioned herself along the edges of the flame, she raised her Lightsaber ahead of her in a two-handed grip while her blue eyes were transfixed upon the man- nigh, the beast- who she had targeted at the start of the battle. She had expected combatants, enemies- perhaps even a foe who would test her strengths and weaknesses- but not this. Again, shocked by her adversary, Velcarin watched as streams of red lightning burst forth to destroy her, and as they did, the Inquisitor rasied her Lightsaber up to intercept them less she were destroyed by Mortifer's hatred.

The land around them was carved up and destroyed in the maelstrom as Mortifer sunk all his hatred into the attack. Velcarin held her crimson light up against the streaks of lightning that tore up the battlefield around them sending chunks of earth and other matter in all directions. Agony claimed the Inquisitor beneath Varin's fury and to her horror she watched as the lightning that danced along her Lightsaber beam began to tear at the gauntlets of her Menasor armor as it began to disintegrate it and bonded plates which served as her sleeves.

Reifflex began to fall and disperse around Velcarin as black specks as her adversaries attack threatened to destroy her. Before she was killed she gathered Force energy into her legs so that she could propel herself up into the air in a flip and timed the jump in sequence with a passing LAAT transport that was evacuating the Imperial forces as the retreat order was given. As bellowing wing threatened to claim Velcarin and throw her off the ship she managed to latch her arm onto a railing while thumbing the ignition button of her Lightsaber.

Blue eyes lost Mortifer in the ashen fog of war as the transport continued to lift upwards. With the help of other survivors on board she managed to climb inside while radio comms blared the sound of an Imperial defeat on Brosi and as she sat down to rest, with the transports ramp closing in front of her, Velcarin was quietly gladdened that she was no longer on that hellscape surrounded by hoards of the undead, terrifying gigantic tyrans, and of course, the man who had been transformed into a beast through their powers in the dark side...

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[Her]

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Brosi, Corporate Sector, Outer Rim Territories;
Thandon Star Cluster;
THE NASCENT IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION!
Tags: Allyson Locke | Xeykard | Hacks

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​

OBJEECTIVE I.

Equipment:

• PhantomSkin Nullsuit.
• Sithspawn Revitalization Projector [SRP-7].
• Ufo.
• Portable Dampening Field [PDF].
• The Cone of Silence.
• DSDT Program.
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannister.
• NZ All-Purpose Viral Suppressant Type II.
• HERA- DSOM/RQ [Direct Central Operating System] A.K.A The Red Queen.
• BN-IV Nerve Agent.
• Lightsaber (curved hilt).

​

THE OREDUKE TOWER.
LEVEL 43.

"I'm not that person anymore... That person died a long time ago."

Transformed by the power of the dark-side we are no longer who we were. Two sides of the same coin.

"So, where do we go from here? Who are you — what do I call you since you know my name?"

They are gone.

"Tell me. Sochi Ru's Padawan, why are you with the Imperials...they're no better than the Sith? What makes you different from me?"

Isn't it so obvious?

"We became the villains."

With a long, elongated, painful sigh caused by a mixture of her numbed, shot shoulder and a past life churned up by the seemingly inexplicable confrontation with an old comrade, Her pushed off the blast door and turned her body around to look up at it. Her good hand fiddled with the ear-plug dangling from her ear, and as she put it in, she could hear the Red Queen once again.

Her did not like what the AI had to say.

RED QUEEN: Ah, so you are listening again? I am afraid the Imperial forces have just signalled a retreat. The battle is lost.

Pinching the rim of her nose, Her smacked her lips while glared at the door ahead furiously. The Confederation had lost Brosi and that also meant the assaults the other Sith worlds had also failed. Revenge was not at hand today. Only the familiar pang of loss which was reminiscent of those dark days during the fall of the Old Republic of which she and the woman on the other side of the door knew all too well.

"Lift these blast doors," Her muttered into the intercom as she commanded the Red Queen to open the barrier ahead between herself and Allyson while her hand fell back to the side.

RED QUEEN: If I do that then it is certain death. Do you realise that?

"Do it."

In spite of the protests of the AI connected to her ear Her lifted her eyes up to the ceiling as she heard the pang of rotors and whir of motors working to retract the blast door upwards as the Red Queen did what it was told. At the same time the other doors in the area were also retracted as the undercover Dark Lord decided to meet her foe head on. She wasn't going to go out as a coward. The idea, in fact, sickened her. Death was not something that she was going to try and run away from unlike others.

If this was the end then she was going to meet it.

Dust and small debris scattered from the ramparts as the blast door lifted to reveal the two women on either side. Her locked her eyes with Allyson as the door finished opening. She was quiet now. Incredulous. Ready for the slaughter.

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