Faction Blood for Blood | SO

[Varin Mortifer]

The rain of gel splashed on Varin, eating away his robes revealing the Wonosan armor beneath, with a few personal modifications.

Lirka’s massive arms wrenched around Varin as his forehead began to bleed, coating half of his face like a mask donned for war. The acrid smell reached his nostrils causing them to flair. Though it wasn’t blood that it smelled like Varin knew that Lirka had sustained a decent wound from the impact of his mace.

He could tell without the evidence of possible blood by how her actions severely changed from before. Her arms began to squeeze around Varin as he yelled in her face and with little notice he was thrown into the air, sent a really decent distance away. All the while the cries and whining of the technical mass of Lirka’s suit screamed.

Varin made impact with the blonde woman and she was a lot more solid than he thought. Knocking them both to the floor, Varin’s momentum rolled him off of her as his flesh sizzled and bubbled from the chemical burns. His body soon began to patch him up bit by bit. The cut on his face and forehead burned away, lost to history.

He growled in frustration as he slammed his fist into the flooring punching a hole straight through. He glared past Arris and straight to Lirka as he flipped open a side compartment of his bracer revealing a small datapad. He tapped the screen revealing measurements and dosages. Tapping his finger on the dosage bar he drug his finger all the way up causing the screen to blare a red indicator. He tore the rest of his shirt off revealing the most prevalent of the modifications in his armor. His spine was aligned with various small round vials filled with liquid. In an instant several needles embedded straight into his spine causing him to yell in pain as his body convulsed and twitched. The liquid in his suit draining completely into his body turning his yell of pain into a roar of bloodlust. The symptom was quick, shutting off all pain inhibitors releasing his bodily limits.

Varin’s head shot back to Lirka as his eyes bled down his face. With another yell he slung his mace over Arris and straight to Lirka with much more velocity than before. Fire raged out of his back, he only had minutes before the drug was burned out of his system.

Lightning arced from his teeth as he let out another yell. His throat became hot and the runes that were branded into his body burned like a furnace. The arcs began to meld into heavier bolts before a massive concentrated burst of dark purple lightning shot forth from his jaws towards Lirka.

Lirka Ka | Arris Windrun​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

As Quinn Varanin had been aware, the Commonwealth answered the call to rescue those fleeing the descent of warlords unto Lord Marr's domain.


DCV Margrave – Secondary Command Deck
Above Riflor, Morningwatch Cycle

The holotable pulsed faint blue as data crawled across its surface, population displacements, fleet readiness reports, a blinking priority dispatch from the Office of Interstellar Diplomacy.

Ivalyn stood with her hands folded behind her back, flanked by Janissary guards, as Vice Admiral Julian Colley finished his assessment. "...and the main hyperlanes in and out of the Alvarian region are under fire. We'll have to divert through Faldos routes or punch a corridor ourselves."

"Punch it," Ivalyn said calmly. "Every minute wasted is another thousand souls dragged toward the pyres of warlords."

The Vice Admiral gave a crisp nod.

Across the deck, the comms officer gestured. "We have Fleet Captain Galeway on holo, Grand Vizier. Standing by."

"Bring her through."

The holopresence flared, and there she stood, iron-jawed and unsentimental as always, her navy uniform worn like a blade at rest: Rowyna Galeway , Hero of Brosi, the reason Task Force Valiant existed.

"Captain Galeway," Ivalyn began, her tone precise, "you will take the DCV Valiant and its relief flotilla to Alvaria immediately. Freighter convoys will begin lifting from designated refugee zones within thirty-six hours. You will ensure safe extraction and transit to processing centers in Cerea, Halm, and Riflor. The Sith Order is aware. Their forces will not impede you, for now."

"Yes, Grand Vizier," Galeway said without hesitation. "I'll keep the lanes clear."

"You'll do more than that," Ivalyn said quietly. "You'll make sure they remember who answered the call."

A brief pause.

"And Captain," Ivalyn added, her gaze narrowing, "if any so-called Sith Warlord, or even Marr's remnants turn their weapons on civilians, on your ships, you are authorized to respond. Fully."

Rowyna nodded once, solemnly. "Understood, ma'am."

The feed dimmed.

Ivalyn turned toward Vice Admiral Colley. "Dispatch the orders. I want Valiant in position as soon as possible."

"As you will, Grand Vizier."

She stood still a moment longer, eyes scanning the map now shifting to show outbound fleet paths, each thread of light a promise to the displaced. Then, almost to herself: "No matter who lit the match, it will be the Commonwealth that carries out the rescue."

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Objective: Kill Helix
Allies: Darth Strosius Revna Marr Varin Mortifer
Enemies: Darth Nefaron Lirka Ka
Yet TBD: Mercy Arris Windrun

That she was here in the first place wasn't as simple as an alliance. She wasn't a member of the wonosan's that bowed to Strosius, she was here because despite all her misgivings, despite his terrible track record of being a rancor in a ceramic store, Lina cared. She engaged Helix because he posed a threat to people she cared about. Because he was a vulture picking at carrion left by someone she had cared about.

Lina's saber slid through the limb all too easily. Nothing was that easy, nothing was that simple, she heard it clatter, shifted her stance to defensive, and then she heard the skittering. Like the sound of a hundred tiny metal spiders running from a disturbed nest. Her eyes flicked towards it, widening.

What the feth is that?

She didn't have time to contemplate it as it lunged in sync with the body she'd severed it from. Instinct took over as both sabers moved in a blur of crimson, one high, one low their hums overlapping in a single violent chord. The leaping limb met the upper blade midair, a flare of red light scattering a cloud of molten fragments as she dashed it aside. The lower saber caught the pincer as it swept in for her legs, metal shrieking against plasma.

The impact jolted through her arm, but she turned the motion to her advantage, twisting with it. Shadows bled from her movements stretching and doubling until her outline fractured before him. For a breath, it was impossible to tell which shape was truly her. She slid sideways through the haze of her own illusions, obsidian eyes fixed on Helix's form.

She stepped back in with measured precision. She needed to understand what she was dealing with, where the weaknesses lay.Her first blade came in low, angling toward the pincer arm; the second followed half a breath later, cutting high toward his shoulder in a mirrored arc. Neither strike carried her full weight, each was a question, a pulse of pressure meant to see how fast he could answer.

The shadows mirrored her again, faint and flickering, their edges bleeding into the light. Every motion left an echo behind her, so it was never clear which was real until the moment a blade met metal.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Prazutis Darth Carnifex Darth Avida Seela Leini Darth Caedes Jorryn Fordyce Eira Dyn Ansisa Quinn Varanin Srina Talon

Kasir heard it first in his teeth, a grinding resonance that set his jaw on edge. The chant wasn’t outside anymore. It had wormed its way in, threading through marrow, rattling the cage of his ribs. Each syllable drove like a nail into his spine, each verse a pulse trying to overwrite his own. His body shuddered beneath it, but he would not yield. His head tilted, not in surrender to the whisper pressed against his ear, but in defiance.. but listening, daring it to speak louder, daring it to try and break him.

And then the hook landed .

The Sangnir’s tether skimmed the edge of the Dark Lord’s consciousness but found no fire, no storm, no fury to gorge upon. Only a vast horizon.. a flat sea without wind, without current, without end. His tendril numbed at the edges, iced over, nerves cauterized as if violently removed. Hunger recoiled, starved, confused. But Kasir’s breath hitched, nostrils flaring. His chin dipped, not in submission but in curiosity. No doubt, he wanted to delve deeper, to plunge into that abyss and see if silence itself could be devoured. Such denial only sharpened the appetite.

The first stroke crashed down and drove his weapon toward the courtyard stones, the weight of it akin to chaining his wrists as though iron had been clamped around them. Muscles bunched and quivered, cords standing out along his forearms as he fought to keep it from buckling.

With a flick of his wrist, a whisper of death grazed the line of his leg, a follow through from the Dark Lord's blade that was evaded. His frame contorted and twisted, barely avoiding the edge, still close enough to leave the skin on his ankle prickling with invisible tendrils of pain. A swift clawed hand shot down, slicing through the air, raking across the courtyard and carving deep trenches into the stone as he fought to maintain his balance. The shriek of the stone echoed in the courtyard, followed by the sound of flesh being torn. Crimson liquid where his claws found purchase. Along his right arm, the old scars that marked his body lit up with the same sickly glow, Godflame's static crept across pallid skin as if the flesh itself remembered each and every wound ever carried.

The final motion descended upon him like a spear, sudden and unavoidable, as if distance itself had collapsed in a blink. He reacted instinctively, snapping his body across the line with all the grace and fury of a seasoned assassin, saberstaff whipping into place, but the impact still pierced through him with searing agony. A shockwave rattled through his frame, bones humming with the raw power emanating around them, threatening to break him. Another breath left in a sharp hiss, torso folding around the blow like a wounded beast.

A storm of shards orbited the air. He dropped low, body coiled, saberstaff snapping in tight arcs to swat aside the worst of it. But the storm was too thick. A sliver of one kissed his cheek, opening a thick red line that burned cold. A jagged rod clipped his shoulder, tearing flesh, sustenance running down his numb arm in rivulets. Another buried shallow in his thigh, the sting sharp, and so every nerve began screaming.

He refused to give ground. His head angled, twin amber flames narrowing to slits as he followed the murderous orbit with the stillness of a nexu waiting to spring. Breath leaked sharp between his teeth, the tang thick on his tongue where he’d bitten through flesh. The storm cut at him, but his gaze never slipped, calculating the rhythm of the spinning blades. Each cut only sharpened him, each drop of blood another vow, daring the storm to show him the smallest weakness.

Then the cage fell.

Like the ribcage of some infernal beast, the crimson arcs folded down around him, sealing him in a cage of violent light; the air around him convulsed, first a furnace blast that singed his skin, then a sudden void that chilled him to the bone, his breath misting as the heat was ripped away, leaving behind the taste of iron. Static crawled over his skin, every hair standing on end as if warning him of the impending danger, and yet his body remained coiled with a quiet tension. His knees bent, blades braced across his frame, the stance of one who knew there was no clean escape from this deadly, perfect trap.

His eyes cut upward, then side to side, mapping the angles and geometry of his prison, searching for any weakness or opportunity for escape. But every path was a punishment, each option leading to a different form of agony or death. Or both. Should he leap, the orbiting steel would slice him to shreds. Should he drive forward, a blade waited to strike. Hold ground, and the cage would close in on him, nerve by nerve, until nothing remained but smoke.

Despite the hopelessness of his situation, Kasir's muscles drew tighter. The trap was flawless, and yet he still dared the jaws to close around him

Another arc descended like a verdict, the walls folding inward at the same moment so that the world itself seemed to fold into a single point of annihilation. His heel slid back across the broken glass, grinding shards into flesh as he fought for footing, his torso twisting violently as he dragged the saberstaff upward into a cross guard that trembled under the pressure.

At the last possible instant he blurred sideways, the Force ripping through his veins in a desperate surge that carried him just beyond the killing arc, barely, but not beyond that cage. It licked across his flank, searing through old scars and splitting them open until raw flesh glowed and the stink of charred skin filled the air.

Kasir staggered upright from the ground, the crunch of glass under his boots drowned out by his own ragged breaths, each one a wheezing reminder of the life currently leaking from his wounds. His shoulder, a twisted mess of shredded meat and ivory bone, screaming with each strained movement. His thigh, a river of red, displayed the gleam of his femur with each step. And his arm, a tattered banner of ruined flesh, hung half-useless, revealing the skeletal structure of bones.

He had always been a grotesque thing, warped by what coursed through his veins, but now he was something worse, something splintered beyond repair. His body became a ruin of blood and bone, yet it was his mind that bore the cruelest wound of them all.

Something clawed at the edges of his sanity until his own thoughts began to tear.

The fracture had long since spread like a disease through his being, hairline cracks etched deep into the foundation of his being. In that flicker of silence, Kasir stood within himself, a pale ghost among the ruins of a house long since consumed by the ravaging flames of darkness.

Lost and aimless, he witnessed the embers of his former self smolder and die.

And as the ash settled, the final descent of the sinner's arc began its slow, inevitable descent.

Something inside him broke in full, not a crack or a splinter but a complete collapse that left nothing standing. The Sangnir’s psyche shattered completely, not into fragments that could be gathered again, but into dust that scattered and left him hollow. In that emptiness, faces rose like wisps of smoke.

Darth Strosius, Revna, Veradun, Soah.

Fewer names than fingers on a single hand. They blurred and slipped away, until he no longer recognized them.

He too saw one final glimpse of the boy from Dromund Kaas, when he was too thin, too quiet, sleeping in the cracks between buildings, in a city that didn’t care if he lived or died.

Gone.

Perhaps it was the Darkseeker training from the Dresuoti that clung to him, some instinct that refused to die even when everything else had been burned away. One last shadow of discipline.

A ghostly pallor softened the mouth.

“I do not know why I fight.”

Digits curled tighter around the slicked grooves of the hilt, tendons standing out beneath ripped flesh. The last ritual of a body that refused to let go.

“I only know I cannot stop.”

When he suddenly moved, it was still violent, a lunge that echoed that of Juuyo. The first crimson blade snapped forward in a wild arc. No mastery, not even memory, but he would drive it forward with the fury of something that’d been cornered. The strike was reckless, overextended, far from the form’s true rhythm.

The final surge of a body refusing surrender.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The cage's afterglow guttered out in slow breaths of red. Steam curled from the vitrified stones, the courtyard pulsing once, twice, before falling still. What remained of the storm was silence, and the rasp of something half-alive trying to remember how to breathe. The Dark Lord moved through the haze like a verdict returning to be spoken aloud. Every step cracked glass beneath His boots; every footfall made the air bow inward, as if gravity itself were genuflecting before His dark majesty. The Godflame still hung in shards about Him, orbiting in slow, obedient comets of crackling crimson light. Prazutis didn't step back from the Sangnir's defiant strike. He absorbed it. The impact rippled through Qâzjiin'vraal, up through His shoulders, and into the ground beneath His feet, turning the courtyard stones to molten glass. Every scream, every plea, every death echoing through Alvaria fed into Him through the armor's veins, until the warplate blazed like a furnace of red sigils. He let the Sangnir see it, how every heartbeat of the dying Tsis'Kaar was a prayer being answered in His flesh.

The giant stopped just a pace from the Sangnir's ruin. "You stand before me." The Shadow Hand said, His voice quiet enough to force the ear to lean closer. "You think you cannot fall? You have never fallen, Kasir Dorran. You have only postponed the moment when the abyss remembers your name." The world answered with a tremor. Shadows folded toward His palm, color bleeding from them until blackness took weight and form. The air went cold, it was the kind of cold that stripped memory from bone's very marrow, and even the Godflame drew back as if unwilling to stand beside what was about to arrive. Lines of runes ignited one by one down His arm, runes that had never known language, only hunger.

Qâztharûn.

It didn't appear. It didn't emerge from the shadow. It arrived. A wound in reality lengthened until it became a blade, its edge the shape of absence. The world recoiled from it. Light bent away. Even reflection failed. From within its silhouette crawled dim silhouettes of faces, hundreds, thousands, mouths stretched in eternal soundless screams. The souls of the devoured whispered in reversed tones, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once. Where it moved, the Force buckled, retreating like water from a collapsing shore. Beyond the estate walls, the Shikkari chorus faltered. They felt the change, the way prey feels the shadow of the predator. Then their chant shifted, deepened, became a hymn of extinction.

"Name to ash. Breath to silence. Debt to flesh."

Each verse struck like a hammer upon the anvil of the dead, and in that rhythm the galaxy itself seemed to pause, waiting. The Mortarch lifted the runeblade in both hands, and for an instant, the courtyard held its breath. Even lightning hesitated. "You wished for truth." He said, the whisper cutting deeper than any roar. "Truth is not mercy. Truth is extinction." He moved once, just once, and then sound vanished. Qâztharûn fell. It wasn't a swing. It was judgement. Reality didn't split at its coming, it surrendered before it. The line of its descent was too clean, too absolute, as though the universe had been edited out of existence in a single frame. The Force screamed, then stopped like a dying animal as its life ended. When the world blinked back in the split second the blade struck, the impact around them was immediate, the courtyard was gone in parts. Black glass spiderwebbed through the foundation. Stone melted. The air itself seemed wounded, shimmering in a scar that refused to heal, and standing at its heart, impossibly, was Kasir Dorran.

He lived, or something that looked like living.

The runeblades strike had carved from his collar to his hip, and what bled was not red, but void black, thick and alive, leaking like ink through glass. The wound burned with runes not his own, Sith glyphs written by agony. The Force around him spasmed and withered, his connection to it gnawed half-through, flickering like a candle drowning in wax. His skin blistered with cold light, his bones quaked beneath the pressure of what had tried to erase him. The blade had not merely cut his flesh; it had reached into him, clawed through the Force that made him whole, and started to feed. The trapped souls within Qâztharûn howled with new hunger, tasting him through the wound, dragging pieces of him into their chorus. For one heartbeat, the Sangnir felt every death the blade had ever caused. He saw burning temples, falling masters, dying worlds, entire civilizations dragged into wholesale annihilation. He felt the extinguished, the countless Jedi and Sith whose final breaths were swallowed by this blade, writhing through him like maggots in a wound that would never close. All the while his mind tore at the seams from its assault, and yet, he remained.

Perhaps by miracle. Perhaps by defiance. Or was it because Darth Prazutis allowed him to. Because the abyss itself was curious. "You should not still stand. But you live, because I have ordained it so. Because you will be my living message to all." The Dark Lord murmured. "Perhaps that is the miracle, the abyss has not yet decided it wants you." The blade's runes guttered low. The Dark Lord turned its hilt, and the earth convulsed. From beneath the molten stone, a black-iron standard erupted skyward, its shaft screaming through molten rock, a Kainate war banner flying its standard on a deep canvas, runes glowing red as fresh blood. Prazutis caught it in one gauntleted hand, raised it high, and with great force, drove it through the Sangnir's chest cavity, nailing him upright against the ruined stone. The hammer fall shattered the glassed ruin beneath them, the ground shaking from the impact. "Tell the Wonosa what happens when they send faith against dominion. When they challenge the might of the Kainate. When you stand before me." The Mortarch said, each word a sentence carved in stone. "Tell Darth Strosius who owns the night. Ask him how much I must take from him before he understands."

The banner flared, crimson fire racing through its veins and up into the sky above Alvaria, a burning mark so vast that even those at a distance could see it. The message was carved across heaven: The Reaper had come. Outside the walls, the Reaping changed. The Shikkari halted mid-stride; blades stilled, throats quieted. Where massacre had reigned, silence now ruled. The purge became a prayer. They had proven the supremacy of their god, and now they awaited his stillness. From the horizon, a new omen rose, dark crystals emerging from the blood-soaked ground, formed from congealed vitae and sorrow. They grew and clawed towards the living, pulsing once, twice, with dim, mournful light. The sky dimmed. The planet's heartbeat slowed.

The Sith Empress's will. The command to end. The Shadow Hand looked to the glow that spread across the world like veins of red glass. He knew that signature, the iron gravity of her presence pressed through the Force. "The Empress calls an end." He said, low as thunder. "And it shall be so." He withdrew the blade. Qâztharûn dissolved into shadow, its edge unmade, its memory left in the air like the taste of blood. The banner remained dark iron driven through flesh, the Sangnir impaled, leaving a monument, a message, and a miracle in equal measure. His body was left trembling there, smoking, still alive in defiance of the impossible. The Shikkari dispersed like mist vanishing into the smoke and silence. The hymn they carried faded into the sundered air, and the courtyard cooled. In time the slaughter gradually slowed to a halt, the shrouded wraiths who rained blood down on the world vanishing, leaving behind haunting reminders carved into the marrow of the world, of what happens when any challenge the might of the Kainate.

The Mortarch turned from the ruin then, the glass beneath Him reflected nothing, only the shadow of a titan walking away, and as He vanished into the crimson haze, deeper into the estate the world, scarred, trembling, consecrated, finally remembered how to breathe. Before long, the Shadow Hand emerged from the darkness to stand right beside his nephew the Eternal Father and they moved without any gesture or word, their connection ran deeper than that, volumes were spoke in a single moment.

Kasir Dorran | Darth Carnifex | Srina Talon | Darth Avida | Seela Leini | Darth Caedes | Jorryn Fordyce | Eira Dyn | Ansisa | Quinn Varanin | Veradun Sharr | Darth Strosius | Soah Ty’Jyn​

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Objective: 2 Fiviune
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Darth Nefaron / Lirka Ka / Revna Marr / Helix / Lina Ovmar / Varin Mortifer / Mercy / Arris Windrun
--------------------------------------------

The din of combat was an all too familiar orchestra for Darth Strosius to embrace, symphonies composed of yelled orders and the clashing of weaponry or the impact of ammunition. While not at all comforting or relaxing in any sense of the words it was most certainly a familiarity that He slipped into just as easily as one would with a favored article of clothing. Lady Ovmar's protest barely reached His ears but it was too late regardless, Helix's further condemnation of his own path faded into the din as his mechanical might joined the Corpse Legionnaires, and the laughter of one of the interlopers soon mixed into the shouts and groans of the combatants around them.

Varin and His daughter naturally didn't hesitate to throw themselves in as well, or rather find themselves already stuck in depending on the circumstance. Yet Nefaron's foul voice somehow managed to cut through the chaos of conflict even before He saw the Corpse Lord suddenly move to strike at Him. He brought both of His blades to bear in order to properly block the quick attack however His lightsaber alone probably would have been sufficient. Mostly He simply wanted to withdraw His sword and ready it for a counter attack yet Nefaron pivoted before He could make any such move.

The Corpse Lord pulled back to face one of the newcomers just as quickly as he had rushed forward to face the masked man, earning a frustrated hiss and a pursuit by Darth Strosius in the process. Before He could take advantage of the shift in His foe's attention though Nefaron was back on Him with a bolt of lightning sent His way that He had to stop in His tracks to intercept. His sword flashed up to catch the lightning and, quite literally, flick it aside but in doing so only His lightsaber was available to hold off the fast attack. And the Corpse Lord had the gall to grin all the while.

"Think? I am better than every single wretch like you." Darth Strosius let out a venomous hiss at the jeering words of His opponent, frustration oozing from His being as Nefaron pulled back from the clash of blades rather than committing to it. He moved to press forward and engage the Corpse Lord in proper battle but a field of debris being pulled out of the floor and flung His way naturally halted Him in His tracks. He took a step and reared back as He prepared to leap up and away from the stream of debris yet His opponent's words gave Him pause.

A failure. A slave.

The masked man took in a breath, forcing His tensed muscles to still in spite of the coiling in them that was about to launch Him up, and the Prophet exhaled it. His wings flared in their all their pale gold glory and right before the first of whirling tiles carved into Him the tendrils surged forward and impaled themselves into the ground at His feet to make a sort of barrier that seemed to catch the debris. Bits of durasteel and ceramic embedded into the tendrils, sinking into the light that comprised them and stopping as though they had met something solid with.

"Finally you said something accurate, for once. But allow me to name you for what you are in kind." Through the gap in His wings He watched as the one interloper that Nefaron had singled out earlier hefted up one of the Corpse Legionnaires and moved to use them to batter the Corpse Lord himself whilst he was distracted. Three targets all lined up in a row. A fanged grin split His hidden features as His wings pulled out of the ground, their tendrils embedded with shrapnel and jagged edges. "A dead man walking." And with a great beat of His wings the debris was sent careening back towards Nefaron and the interloper attacking him, with arcs of violet lightning striking between the durasteel shrapnel as they hurled forward.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Savage, cruel, merciless - a creature that enjoyed killing and feasting on the terror and pain she unleashed. Hatred, like black poison, spread through her veins like wildfire and contorted her face into a snarl.

“Daughter of Fire. At last your presence is revealed to me. Long have our seers pondered the flames seeking lost kin. I sense you now.”
​

A voice in her mind, rich and warm as a hearth and deep as the roots of a mountain.

“The battle rage grips you. You fight well. As I would expect of one of us. We are the wandering flame, destined to burn bright in search of true home. Ask my aid and it shall be yours, for I would not deny a boon to the molten blood which flows in thine veins. Ask it of me, oh daughter of flame, and Hasuras na-Gerra shall answer.”
​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Tags: Lirka Ka Varin Mortifer

Arris watched from the (assumed) safety of their periphery, as the fight descended into grotesque madness and displays of outrageous power. It was unusual to her, then, that she had gone on relatively unscathed - save for the singular lick of an electrowhip. Unusual and disappointing.

That was probably why she did not react promptly when the Whip Wielder threw Fire Boy with what must've been immense strength to clear the distance. Even when her senses alerted her, the cyborg stood still in disbelief, and only managed to brace herself within the last moment before Varin's roughed up form crashed into her chest.

She slid across the ground, losing one of her guns in the process. The scoundrel was much more durable than she looked, however. Subdermal armor and other cybernetic enhancements spared her the crushed rib or torn muscle that might've otherwise awaited her, were she purely organic. No, the sore Talusian caught her momentum and scooped the loose pistol in a roll away, just as the Sith apprentice rushed back into action. Unfortunately, the knock did manage to scramble her auto-targeting for the time being, forcing her to do things the old-fashioned way.

Stumbling back to her feet, Arris witnessed flame and lightning dance about their twisted and deadly forms. This was nothing like her duels with Allyson Locke or Mercy , among the few Sith she fought, but then again... she didn't have to third wheel those fights.

"Sheesh," Arris muttered under her breath, then called Mercy over their shared comlink. <"How serious do you want me to be?">

While awaiting a response, the cyborg aimed down sight and fired an incendiary, armor-piercing round at Lirka - yet unwilling to change her approach. She also remained quite wary of whatever unexpected move her opponent might make next.

Spoiler: Ammo type

ARMOR PIERCING INCENDIARY SHELL: This single large slug is comprised of depleted baradium with a deteurium head and can punch through multiple speeder doors with ease, lighting whatever's on the other side on fire in the process. Very useful in taking out engine blocks of vehicles.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Ansisa //: Srina Talon //:

Quinn listened and watched as the children talked with their mother. They had just lost their father, and now they were being handed over to a stranger.

Their mother was leaving them, and that struck a deep chord in the Princess's chest. A knot wove, choking her heart and lungs as she listened to their tears and the boy being as brave as he could be.

He reminded her of Malum.

Ansisa's attention returned to Quinn. Her words muffled in the girl's mind as she kept her eyes on the two Chiss children. Their lives changed drastically in one day. People who were considered allies now swarmed their home and threatened their lives.

And now their mother was leaving them. The feeling was too familiar as she remembered her own separation from her parents. They told her that it would be for the best. While she was ecstatic to spend more time with Srina, the woman was more than a mother to her, but she didn't want to leave her birth mother.

Why would being separated help?

Quinn's eyes flickered towards Ansisa, her face in almost disbelief.

"Why are you leaving them?" Quinn asked, "Yes, they'll be safe with me, with the Empress — but they're your children…"

She looked to the children, the young girl in tears, having begged their mother to stay. Quinn looked back, almost in disbelief.

"They just lost their father, so you're willing to destroy them more for your selfish revenge?" Shaking her head, she scoffed. "They're your children, they need their mother — but I feel like you're much like my own parents and there's no convincing you otherwise."

It was apparent that the girl had personal feelings, as she stepped past Ansisa and walked to the children. She knelt down to their height and smiled softly.

"I'm Quinn," she offered her hand to Aureus, "You're brave — like your papa." Standing, Quinn offered both her hands to the children. She knew how they felt, knowing that their parents were headed to their deaths. This kind of knowledge was something a child should never realize. The moment they did, their innocence was gone, and the brutality of the galaxy was suddenly real.

"I have someone very wonderful for you two to meet. Your papa was very close to her, and she can make almost any dream come true." She did her best to choke back her own sadness. Quinn had always seen Srina as someone beyond the means of the galaxy. She could make everything feel better and less hopeless. Hopefully, she could do what she did for Quinn, for Malum's children.

"She's my mama, we can share." Quinn nodded, she waited till they reached out and grasped her hands. Already, Quinn could feel the woman descending onto the planet. She was close, and Quinn began to usher the children towards the throne room. She stopped and looked at Ansisa.

"I hope all of this was worth it. Your children will be safe, they'll be raised and cared for." She paused and sighed, "I hope you make the right choice, and I see you soon in the throne room with my mother and your children."

 

[Helix]

Objective II
Equipment: Himself
Tags: Lina Ovmar ​

The worm-arm screeched in a disturbingly-organic way as it was sliced from the air. Its composite nanites scattered, then drifted together to rejoin the main body.

Helix generated a new arm with an air of mildly-aggrieved resignation, appearing none the worse for wear. He was starting to have fun. It had been too long since he'd fought someone who wasn't unnerved or afraid, or at least visibly so. The independently-moving arm had been a dash of theatricality, to see who he was dealing with.

His photoreceptor-clusters flickered as his foe's shape fragmented in a hail of half-real shades. Fortunately, Helix had other ways of finding out which was real without sight.

Scores of fine audioreceptor-pores manifested across his surface. He listened carefully, filtering the sounds of combat all around him, feeling the vibrations in the air. He listened for heartbeats, the sound of feet on the floor, the hum of all-too-real blades. It would take far more than visual deception and misdirection to stymie the War Marshal.

Then she was upon him. His reaction was immediate. The semi-liquid flesh of the pincer-arm split apart into a mass of fine particulate, allowing the blade to pass through itself.

His other arm did the precise opposite. Helix's newly-regenerated limb hardened, then reached up to bat the glowing blade away with the back of his open hand.

Rather than be daunted by his suddenly-surrounded state, Helix went on the offensive. The pincer-arm's surface rippled, reshaping the weapon into a hammer studded with dozens of barbed spines. The colony brought the weapon upward in a sweeping diagonal arc, then brought it down again to clear the space around him. A mighty pair of blows, but relatively easy to avoid for someone as swift as his foe.

He was counting on it. He needed to retake the momentum in this duel, or risk losing it permanently. He fancied he had the advantage in terms of range and brute strength, and needed only to keep an aggressive footing.

 

[Trayze Tesar]

OBJECTIVE I - ALVIRA

---

CURRENT MISSION - Won't Somebody Think Of The Children?
Immediate Goals -
1: Rescue the Innocents
2: Plot Vengeance upon the wicked

BLUFOR - Quinn Varanin || Darth Strosius || Revna Marr et al

OPFOR - Darth Carnifex et. al

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Quinn Varanin || Ansisa & those present

---

There were years where nothing happened, and days when... when so much did. These ancient words echoed with steady footfalls - every bit of wisdom haunting and mocking him as the world his cousin, no his brother, had built burned around him. Everything overwhelmed him, and there was no time to break, no time to grieve, no time to even rage against the thrice-bedamned Darth Carnifex who savaged their own - for above all else was one desire.

Spirit the children to safety. Protect them.

It had been his mantra, the flickering lighthouse in this sea of madness, and what compelled him to do the grim ushering even now. The Empress had commanded thus, he felt it it - and even before the Dread Lady arrived, the Princess was here protecting them. Protecting Malum.

Doing more than him.

Whether he had been completely absent, or a fairweather uncle that helped wrassle Aurus or Cecilia in times before... this, he would remember his promise here and now.

He had arrived when the Princess was speaking to Ansisa about her going into the fight, going away from her children - chastising her as fresh tears from the youngling fell; and he lingered. Biting his tongue, holding the explosion of how could she know what heartbreaks occured when a parent sent their child away? - he cooled his fire, and doused it with eyes more moistened than he had hoped.

"Lady Ansisa, Young Masters Aureus and Cecilia..." the coarse ruralite accent became a pleading plainswept breeze, burgundy eyes meeting each with a familiar smile of perhaps an uncle long overdue - ill placed, but worse would be the taciturn resolve that came with battle. He looked to the Princess, who knew firsthand how stubborn the Kiffar would be when set to a task that involved saving a life, "...Princess. Your Imperial Mother awaits the young masters..." Even the calloused clippiness that came with a sitrep began to fade, and he was so... Tired? No. Worse than tired.

Sorry.

He could never live up to an apology. But he must.

"I am to escort the children and Your Highness to Her Majesty's side." He gave one last look to the two, offering hands to take the children - his family to protect them. "And by their sides I shall remain."

It was as bold of a command as he would give - a declaration in seven words that flew in defiance of the poor children's mother, the Princess, the Empress, the Damned Butcher, the entire karking galaxy. He would do better, do more, for their sakes - and turn the blade on whoever would besmirch his brother's legacy.

Yet even now, his energy was being spent, and in softness he let the women and children move and make their own plays - recognizing how far out of orbit he was of his friend's designs. Yes, he would raise the blade to protect Malum's legacy... even against himself.

There was nothing left for him to do otherwise that wouldn't destroy him.

 

[Revna Marr]

Objective: Fiviune
Gear: Lightsaber, Armor

Direct Tag: Hasuras Na-Gerra

Ally Tags: Darth Strosius // Varin Mortifer // Lina Ovmar
Enemies: Darth Nefaron // Helix // Lirka Ka

Others: Mercy // Arris Windrun ​

The din of battle waged all around her; it was a sound that only added fuel to the fire that burned within her, that sought the destruction of her foes. The red saber in her hand carved through poorly made armor, flesh and bone - filling the air around her with the stench of cooked meat and ruptured organs and the heavy iron tang of freshly spilled blood. The dead and dying were piling up around her - most of them being the Corpse soldiers of Darth Nefaron, though she could see a couple bodies of traitorous Tsis’Kaar agents that had turned against her Lord and Master to side with the Corpse Lord himself.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her own Disciple of Embers taking on his own challengers, and though she felt a twinge of anxiousness when Varin was tossed into the air like some toy, she did nothing to aid him or otherwise step away from her own entanglements. She was not his guardian, nor his mother; she was his Master, and he knew what was expected of him. It was up to him to use the skills she had passed on to him, in conjunction with his own abilities.

Revna noticed that Lina had engaged Helix, a betrayal that still filled Revna’s heart with blackened fury - and of course her Father was crossing blades with the Lord of Terror himself. Other interlopers were still there in the mix of it all too, targeting the monstrosity that was Lirka Ka as well as Nefaron. As much as Revna wanted to fight alongside her Father, she knew she would only get in the way. So she continued to aid him in her own way, by thinning out their enemies. The less her Master had to worry about being stabbed in the back by a Corpse soldier, the better.

Her momentarily lapse of focus allowed a rather twisted and horrid looking servant of Nefaron to charge straight into her, seeking to grapple her and drag her to the ground. She grunted slightly with the impact, and winced as nerve tingling numbness raced down her left leg as she was forced to step more heavily down upon that side, which was still affected by the left over trauma of the spinal cage that Darth Strosius had removed from her back at her rescue. Sensing that she was somewhat off balance, the soldier tried to drag her down, but she was still agile - still just as flexible as she’d always been, thanks to her Vahlan heritage. She managed to contort her body just so, so that she could slam her balled and gauntleted fist directly into the soldier’s throat with a sickening crunch. The Corpse Legionnaire lifted both hands to his crushed windpipe, trying to breathe but to no avail. A wicked grin crossed over her face, before her fist came forward again to connect with the soldier’s face, feeling a wave of satisfaction roll through her at the sound of crunch bone.

She was about to strike again, when she felt a presence intrude against her mind - slipping past her guards, somehow. A voice rich and warm and impossibly deep.

​

“Daughter of Fire. At last your presence is revealed to me. Long have our seers pondered the flames seeking lost kin. I sense you now.”​

Revna froze in place - a dangerous thing to do when in the midst of battle. What the feth?! Echoed her thoughts as she tried to understand who dared to intrude into the space of her mind. The voice didn’t stop there, either; it continued, filling the spaces within her mind - and she could not shake the rather strange flicker of recognition that formed. ​

​

“The battle rage grips you. You fight well. As I would expect of one of us. We are the wandering flame, destined to burn bright in search of true home. Ask my aid and it shall be yours, for I would not deny a boon to the molten blood which flows in thine veins. Ask it of me, oh daughter of flame, and Hasuras na-Gerra shall answer.”​

‘One of us’? Who was that? Who was this?! ‘Daughter of flame’? What in Bogan’s name was this voice going on about?

A sneaky and traitorous Tsis’Kaar tried to take advantage of her momentary stillness to inflict a fatal wound against her, but Revna reacted just a touch faster than she did. Another corpse fell to her feet, a smoking gash nearly bisecting the traitor in half.

Having bought herself just a little more breathing room, Revna turned her attention to the intruding voice of this Hasuras na-Gerra. Her own presence, her aura, coiled around that thread that allowed the intruder to speak to her - letting him know that she was aware of his reach and he now had her attention…for good or ill.

-Bold of you to intrude upon my mind, stranger…- she whispered back, her voice eerily calm and soft in contrast to the violent, killing rage that poured through her veins. -And now you have earned my attention and my curiosity.-

The crimson saber flashed as she was charged once more by her foes, and though she was definitely feeling the ache of her muscles, she channeled that pain into her Dark energy to fuel her strikes. Pain was not a Sith’s failure, but a strength to draw upon and utilize - a tool to use to sharpen one’s self into a lethal weapon.

A sliver of her battle rage slipped away from her, and replacing it was a weighted pain that needled its way into her heart and soul. It caused her to inhale briefly and blink against it, before she reached out to find the source of that pain.

Alvaria…her cousin Malum’s home. Something…something was wrong, something was happening there that poured death and agony and fear into the Force, something that she could feel because of her familial ties to the place. A strange coldness draped itself over the Disciple of Faith; who would be attacking Alvaria?

Her eyes flickered to Nefaron, still engaging with her Father and Master. He had set upon Fiviune in hopes of turning the Tsis’Kaar to his side…surely the attack on Alvaria had to be his doing? Perhaps. He certainly was the mastermind behind it, but someone else was doing the destroying part.

-If you wish to aid me, then go to the planet of Alvaria. My family is under siege. Destroy whoever dares to harm them, give safety to those that ask for it- came her response back after a moment, a growling sound that echoed with her blackened wrath and her heart’s desire for vengeance.

-And...if you are so inclined...pay the planet Anoat a little visit, would you? Destroy anything that resembles a structure. Raze it to the ground. Burn it all. I don't care.-

Revna returned to the fray, intent on killing as many of her enemies as she could before the cowards no doubt inevitably turned tail and ran. Her smoldering eyes flickered towards Darth Nefaron with abject hatred swimming in their fiery depths. She spared a thought for her little brother, Veradun, but she hardened her heart against him. He had chosen his path, and had put his lot in with the Corpse Lord. As far as she was concerned, the young Nagai boy she had saved had died at the hands of Darth Nefaron. All the more reason to target his holdings of power, anything to be a thorn in his side.
​

-…Do this for me, and name your price for I will be in your debt, Hasuras na-Gerra.- she said somewhat reluctantly back to the voice; she knew all too well that nothing came free when dealing with the Sith, or the Dark Side of the Force.

There was always a price to be paid.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

-…Do this for me, and name your price for I will be in your debt, Hasuras na-Gerra.-

"It will be done."

* * *

A L V A R I A

Vahlan warships emerged from hyperspace in a rush above the planet, leaping into action. At the helm of one of the mightiest of these nomadic ships stood Gerra. Full eight feet and more tall stood he, with hair the pallor of living flame and eyes which burned bright as twin suns. He set his attentions upon the mighty destroyer which hung in orbit, the Obsidian Vow.

The Eschaton-class Star Destroyer, Obsidian Vow, moved into Alvaria's orbit at a glacial pace. It's imposing silhouette cut through the cirrocumulus clouds like a knife, contrails dancing around it's angular form as squadrons of Disciple-class Interceptors buzzed in coordinated patterns. Far below the destroyer was the Sanctum of Malum Marr, now a branded foe of the Empire he'd so meticulously schemed to control. Now, all that had crumbled away, revealing the rot at the heart of the Tsis'kaar.

Well did he know of the master of this vessel, though they had yet to meet.

The Warlord of the Vahlan Fleet transmitted a tightbeam signal to the vessel, holograph and voice alike.

"Darth Carnifex, your legend precedes you. I am Hasuras na-Gerra, Lord of Vahl's Wrath from the Firefist. Revna of House Marr is my kin and she has invoked my aid by blood rite. I would not cross batteries with your vessel, though our clash would be one for the songs."

The immense Vahlan paused, eyes narrowing.

"Permit those of her household safe passage to my ships and there need be no blows traded between us."

Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr