Mission Balmorra: Whole Block Pays

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound Varin Mortifer Darth Grimm Miasmær | Open to all Sith​

The freighter was dropped into Balmorra’s orbit, released from a carrier like a slug of ammunition with only one directive. The hull shuddered as it punched through the atmosphere. Vibrations ran up through Lysander’s boots. The planet’s surface was rising quickly to meet them. Even from afar, he saw the familiar industrial glow, staining the clouds.

Their reason for arriving had been simple enough, as disastrous situations tended to be. A high-value Covenant official was being held. Several other ranking overseers were already executed during an organized rebellion. Of course, Lysander tolerated no precedent. Many witnessed the younger Sith’s composed facade, but few saw the wrath unleashed when things went south.

The cargo bay doors opened. Acolytes already stood in formation, most unaware of what it meant to be used. Lysander stepped into the space, near some of the higher ranking Sith, feeling the weight of his obsidian armor. His helm was already sealed; every time he donned that mask, someone died. Today would be no different.

His voice slithered through the vocoder, stripped of anything resembling humanity. “Biosigns confirm the hostage still breathes.. for now.” A mechanical hiss bled into the air. “These rebels have soaked their hands in Covenant blood. Negotiation is a weakness they’ve forfeited the privilege to witness today.” On the tactical display, red blips marked targets across the factory zone. “Our drop zone is marked. Primary extraction point is compromised. You will secure a viable route once the district is pacified. Extract the asset. Exterminate all resistance. Your survival is irrelevant, only your purpose matters. Should you die, ensure your corpse hinders their path.” The voice lowered. “Leave no building standing, nor any rebel breathing. Desecrate what remains. Consider their ranks.. raw material for your creativity. Sobrik must learn the cost of noncompliance.”

Engines roared as the ship continued descending far too fast. Through the open side panels Lysander could see the city rushing beneath them even clearer now. The ramp began to lower mid‑flight. Some wouldn’t survive the landing.. but that detail did not alter the mission.

Lysander stepped to the edge of the ramp, and hangar lights flipped red; that was the only warning they would receive. The acolytes vanished in a shower of bodies. One struck a smokestack and burst into sparks. Another slammed into machinery and was immediately consumed by gears.

One final glance was cast at the only two men who truly understood him without words: Varin and Acier. The big steppers. A gauntleted hand was raised, thumb and pinky extended in a gesture more fitting for a cantina than a battlefield. But they would understand the meaning. What they wouldn’t see was the dangerous smirk that cut across his mouth.

He let the fall take him as the sign still hung in the air.

 

[Miasmær]

Miasmær sat. Maw's Hunger, her ship, hovered above the city cloaked and unbothered. Three women, dressed in little more than the rags she had found them in within the slave pits of Loovria, chanted quietly under their breath in the ancient tongue of the Sith. Before them their clasped hands bled, blood pooling in intricate patterns on the floor; libations at the alter of Miasmær's attention. As Miasmær meditated the words focused her mind on her purpose: death. Each breath shaped her emotions from a wild frenzy into a cold, calculated, intentional rage whose razor sharp edge could pierce steel. With the force she shaped her supplicants' blood into patterns, shapes, arcane sigils, and sith runes. A simple meditation practice, one meant to focus ones' mind and improve one's dominion over the force.

Slowly her eyes would open, shifting about the room to observe the three women deep in spiritual trance and unaware of their surroundings. Her lips would twitch into a smile for only a second, before she would begin to stand. From one pair of bloodied hands she took her saber, slick in ichor, and stepped to the ramp of her vessel. The ship's maw would open, a black space in the sky from which Miasmær's malevolent gaze judged the city below. Miasmær's arms would spread, her eyes close once more, and slowly she would lean forward; the blood behind her losing all shape and pooling unbothered on the ship's floor.

Soon the slowness of her meditation was met with the rushing of wind as she plummeted down towards the city. Through the air she would fall with arms held wide, before with a deep breath, she would tuck them into her body, open her eyes, and bend the force to cushion her fall. With a crash and burst of kinetic energy she would impact the city streets. Around her were screams, men and women backing away as the impromptu mob of would-be rebels she landed in front of froze in terror. Some raised their weapons, others looked for a means of escape, but none could drag their attention away from Miasmær. In that quiet moment after the crash nothing could have distracted them, except the streak of blood red crackling light Miasmær would activate at her side.

The brave would roar in challenge and charge.

The cowards would scream in horror and flee.

And Miasmær would begin her bloody work.

It was less of a battle and more of a dance between Miasmær and her saber. With each step of the waltz bodies would fall around her, cries of pain and anguish fueling her battle-rage as she pushed further into the crowd. Those who attempted to escape were dragged back choking and spluttering as invisible hands wrapped around their throats and pulled them back into Miasmær's dance. By the time Miasmær had finished, none remained. A crowd of bodies lay about her as if she were a child done playing with dolls. Sobrik knew her now, the city recoiling from her presence as she began to stride down the road. Bringing her wrist to her mouth she would speak, coldly broadcasting her voice over Covenant communications:

"I have landed. Carving a path to the hostage's location."

Acier Moonbound Varin Mortifer Darth Grimm Lysander von Ascania

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

​

Theme: Lunatics and Slaves
Tags: Acier Moonbound | Varin Mortifer | Darth Grimm | Lysander von Ascania | Miasmær

Balmorra, a world always at war with itself, rebelling against those that tried to control it. It was beautiful in a way; she couldn't help but admire the people that lived here. They tore their own world apart just so they could live the way they wanted. The downside is they could never decide what they wanted, then again maybe that was it they just wanted to fight. A microcosm of the Galaxy on a single world.

Still, it was beautiful, Tamsin thought to herself as she lifted her hand bring it up to the earpiece in her helmet and clicking it on. Chatter screamed across the comm in her ear as she shifted through channels between sith, rebels, and local authority. Until a single silent channel opened up.

"Are your teams in place?" Her calm innocent voice said to the other person listening at the end of the comm. Tamsin listened as to clicks came across the comm in confirmation. Tamsin then brought her hand down from her ear as it moved to the wrist computer on her on her armor.

She stared at it a moment. What were they doing here, the covenant were rebels in their own right. Yet here they were acting like an empire, a true sith rebel would kill the asset or let them be killed. If they were weak enough to be caught, then they deserved the consequences. They should have more in common with the rebels than the asset. She hit a button on her wrist pad and then moved to the exit of the craft.

As Lysander von Ascania lead the charge. The tiny figure in armor moved to the edge of the ramp and leapt off in a headfirst dive. She shot down like a bullet as the wind whipped by her, she could sense the opening warning signs of their coming as a wicked little smirk hidden behind her helmet cross her face.

 

[Nilira Vornix]

Tag: Anet Raine (maybe?)

Hostages. Rescue missions. The entire concept amused Nilira ever so slightly. To think that the Sith would enact a rescue mission for one of their own when the Jedi had never done so for Neriah. How little she must have meant to the Jedi. The Acolyte couldn't help the rare smirk that came to her face as she landed, brushing the dust and dirt off her body for a moment with a small lazy sigh escaping her lips. A few stray blaster bolts flew past her as she did so, yet she didn't seem to react to them, as she took in the sight of Balmorra. Trying to feel something for the state of this planet, yet she couldn't feel a single thing except a void.

Her hand flicked up as a blaster bolt came close to her, redirecting it into another direction as her gaze finally focused on the sight of one of the rebels, a young lad perhaps not even older than her, holding a rifle in her direction. The fear oozed off him like some kind of pungent order, causing Nilira to let out another rather empty sigh. Fear. Anger. Pain. All of them were utterly pointless in the end. What was bliss, except for the lack of emotion? She wafted her hand in the boy's direction, as if she was weaving various strands through the air, focused on the lad's heart, as she seemingly tugged on the strands, and that pungent sense of fear just seemed...to fade from the lad, alongside seemingly a small shudder of fear going down Nilira's spine until that also faded.

"...Shame. Your fear wasn't as exquisite as I expected it to be. At least you can feel a moment of bliss before your life comes to an end."

NIlira's hand snapped through the air, as the rebel fell down to the ground, a clean snap of their neck. The Acolyte wasn't a fan of senseless brutality. Yes, it could lead to more fear and anger that she could try to use to fill the growing emptiness inside of her, but the taste always left her wanting for more. It was better to find more..."nutritional" emotions for her to feed from, but that was neither here nor there, as she turned her gaze towards the sky, watching the others landing, as she stood, almost as if waiting.

​

 

[Darth Grimm]

Grimm was Covenant in name only, only because it was convenient to him to be so. As he walked the streets of the factory planet Balmorra, he did so as a surveyor. His strange mechanical eyes whirred and snapped as they switched between light frequencies, scanning the internals and externals of each. Grimm had not been awake during the Clone Wars, but he could see already that these factories were insufficient for his needs... even if what he wanted was to revive his once-powerful tsil-crystal powered droid army. He did not. He was not keen on repeating past mistakes.

The dark robed figure would have stood at 6'4" if he could reach his full height, but he stooped over like a very old man. In his hands he carried a staff that provided his support. Made from black stone and carved with ancient Runes, he sometimes wrapped his thinly-fleshed hands around it and used it to draw himself forward. His cloak hid his features, which were horrific in themselves. To an observer, Grimm seemed very weak, and to another Force Adept, he seemed very weak in the Force.

A pathetic creature, though one who moved with purpose - even if that purpose was wasted here. All he had to show for his work was a bound group of blueprints, most of which were useless to his eidetic memory. Now that his work was complete, he was headed for the spaceport. Even as conspicuous as he was, he seemed to blend in with the crowd. A minor illusion which depended on the observers ignorance of him. It would hide him from anyone scanning across the crowd, but not from someone who recognized him, or had a very strong ability to focus. Otherwise, he was just an old man with a walking staff meandering through the streets.

He paused every few steps, his weakness apparent from the way his body heaved, and occasionally his illusion was broken as his body convulsed in wracking coughs. The crowd kept a wide berth at those times, fearful that he might carry some virulent disease. This was not the case. He was merely decrepit, a body wasted away by a millennia of stasis. Grimm mused over his last memory before locking himself away inside the Oubliette. A young Jedi Knight and his Master had disturbed his tomb, and because of centuries of planning, he had managed to inhabit the body of the Knight. When he faced against the Jedi Master, a miscalculation of her power had led to his defeat, and his new body was drained of it's vitality.

Though this body appeared ancient, physically it was no older than twenty-four. Grimm cackled in dry laughter at the thought, which sent the crowd scurrying away from him again. A hapless Jedi Master had foiled his plans made over thousands of years, and ruined his attempt to revive himself in the Age of the High Republic. Perhaps serendipitously. The High Republic had been an over-competitive period for Jedi and Sith. Much like now... although, Grimm did not have a high opinion of the Sith of today either. Not that he compared them to the Dark Jedi or the early Sith Lords, as he despised them too... but it seemed some weaknesses had not abated.

Of all things, ironically, Grimm despised weakness.

(Open to All)

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Balmorra - Sobrik

Equipment:
Apprentice Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

Heat rolled in first, then light, as the ramp lowered. Sobrik stretched beneath them - smog-choked skylines, factory stacks bleeding fire into the clouds, the whole planet humming like something alive and dying at the same time. Ace stood near the edge but not at it, gaze moving once across the city without lingering.

Lysander's voice filled the bay, stripped of anything human. Orders were clean and absolute. No negotiation. No distinction. Just outcome.

Exterminate.
Desecrate.
Leave nothing.

Ace didn't react outwardly, he simply listened, and beneath the words... under the tone, the intent, the certainty... something didn't sit clean. Not wrong, just off.

His gaze flicked to the tactical display, then past it toward the city itself. They weren't breaking, they were organizing, and a thought surfaced. These weren't the enemies he was supposed to fight. It lingered for half a second. But... they were in his way.

And that was enough. His focus snapped back into place, clean and immediate. The feeling didn't disappear. It just… stopped mattering. Objective first.

Ace glanced at Varin, not for long, then to Lysander He saw there was no hesitation or doubt. Just the mission. He understood that. There was a small tilt of his head, a form of acknowledgement.

Bodies started moving. Some leapt without thinking, others hesitated just long enough for it to matter. And the drop? It wasn't forgiving.

Ace stepped forward as the space cleared, stopping just short of the edge. Wind howled up from below, and for a brief moment, he looked out over the city again. People holding lines. Falling back in patterns. Fighting. He paused for a fraction, then he stepped off.

He didn't fall straight, instead he cut through it. Ace adjusted mid-drop, threading past scaffolding and exhaust vents, angling away from the obvious landing zone. Blasterfire tore into the street below, where he would've been.

Ace landed off-angle on a raised platform, momentum rolling straight through into motion. A bolt came in, he deflected without looking. The second rebel adjusted faster, covered the angle, didn't hesitate.

Ace clocked it instantly. The spacing, the discipline, for a fraction of a second... he saw them clearly. Fighters.

His blade shifted. The exchange lasted less than a second. A redirected shot forced the guard high, his follow-up cut through the rebel before the next action could form.

::Stay on the objective.:: His voice cut across comms. ::Secure the route. Ignore anything not blocking it.::

Ahead, the street narrowed. Resistance was building. Ace adjusted his grip slightly and stepped forward, blade already in motion as the next volley came in. He needed to rendezvous with Lysander and Varin.

Lysander von Ascania | Varin Mortifer | Tamsin Starfall | Miasmær | Nilira Vornix | Darth Grimm​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace


Varin stood with his helm at his side, his burning gaze traveling over the new bloods, remembering each face, because some would not be making it back.

Lysander's orders rang clear in the comms as the ramp opened, smog, smoke and tainted air filled the small room causing some to cough and quickly put on their masks before leaping to their possible final destination.

Varin did not put his helm on yet, his gaze falling on Lysander before he gave a simple handsign and diving out, next was the small but capable Tamsin, diving after him, finally Varin looked towards Acier, giving him a quiet nod.

He knew it had not been easy for Acier, and he had seen the change that had started to overcome him, but he kept it to himself. It was not entirely his business, but he would keep a close eye on the acolyte.

He then watched him dive.

Shortly after Acier had left the shuttle violently shifted knocking a couple other acolytes out of the drop door, their screams lost in the whipping winds around them, Varin looked down then slowly placed his helm over his head.

Another drop, another mission…more conquest.

His visor flared its menacing red as the armor responded to the heat of his body, the outlines of the plates flaring a burning orange as if the metal were heating up, the smoldering cloud rushed from his back as he stepped off, he dove, body straightening as he closed his eyes.

The pyroclastic flow from his body enveloped him like a living cloud, wings outstretched from the smoking figure, unfurling in a menacing silhouette.

His body twisted just before he landed, the force rushing through his body hardening bone strengthening muscle and coursing higher doses of oxygen into his blood. The ground cracked beneath him as the smoke slithered off his body.

A stray blaster bolt just barely missed his armor embedding itself into a pipe holding flammable gasses. An eruption of flames enveloped him in a loud explosion.

“HE'S DOWN HE'S DOWN!”

The rebel began to celebrate his small victory before his voice grew silent.

The flames around Varin started to stir and whirl, like a typhoon draining into the bottom of the ocean. Only the drain was Varin absorbing the flames.

He slowly looked towards the rebels, standing up from his landing the concrete beneath him began to melt before he let out a bellowing roar. Like a hellish storm, flames and heated smoke erupted from his body cradling and burying any rebels near him as a firestorm stirred around him.

He unsheathed his blade and surged into the fray, burning rebels that dared get too close before he cut them down.

The mouthpiece of his helm opened as a massive bolt of lightning shot forth from his jaws into the incoming fray, incinerating those who came in direct contact then burning and blinding those who were near them.

Finally he tapped his comms.

“I have made landfall.”

Lysander von Ascania | Acier Moonbound | Tamsin Starfall | Miasmær | Darth Grimm | Nilira Vornix​