Invasion Break of Dawn || CIS Invasion of BOTM held Rhand

[Ignatius Rausgeber]

RHAND
PORT SORROW
SPACEPORT, PERIMETER OF DOCKING BAY T-37
OBJECTIVE: E S C A P E
Пыль глотаю
Srina Talon | Taiia Locke | Darth Empyrean | Ket Cros

Ignatius winced as the transport detonated overhead. Covering his mangled face from any cascading debris. He knew that perhaps his hubris, his want to unleash pithy retorts may one day come back to bite him. But not this viscerally. Ignatius looked around, and hobbled toward the retro pistol. Braygar's. If he was to perish this day, he may as well go out with the trophy of his bloodlust. The rusted, ramshackle firearm his former slave-master had used to beat not just Ignatius, but many others into submission and doom. He got on his knees, and clutched it close, when Srina addressed him. “Ignatius—There is a ship right there. Ready and waiting and with a droid pilot that will obey your commands. Take it, if you want to live. Stay if you want to die. The choice is yours.”

Ignatius' heart skipped a beat. Was this-this salvation? The Auxiliary licked his blood smacked lips. His eyes widened, a short, courteous nod. Before that rage once again over took him. "You saved one!" Ignatius barked, raising a finger, as he dragged his bloodied foot behind him. "One of thousands!" Ignatius added, shrilly yelling. He began hastily retreating toward the transport, "But this, this token act changes nothing!" He approached the transport and wagged a righteous finger, "But thank you!" He clumsily searched the vicinity of the transport, feeling it for some kind of entry. And then, eureka. The airlock. A ramp extended, and Ignatius huddled into the cramped transport, and looked around it. He felt the entire ship shuddering, "Orbit!" Ignatius snapped, "Now!" he paused, "Move it, move it!" He commanded. The second time, it echoed. Resonating. Rausgeber was to try for a third, when the vessel took off.

The vessel primed its engines, and lifted off into the low atmosphere. As Ignatius struggled aboard, he looked out the viewports, watching as an increasingly volatile volley of debris violently descended. He could only now just make out the slave pen and the atrocity wrought there by wry space debris. By the Force.... Ignatius shuddered, and fell backwards, against the hull. He could feel the vessel pressing on, and winced. He's survived. He had survived. At least for now. And now he just felt empty. How worthy was he of this fate? There were many others, surely not of his stripe or colours who deserved to survive and they hadn't. But at the same time, as he left the void cast by Darth Mori, he felt a distinguished sense of, hope. Perhaps, just maybe. This was all he needed to do to escape the perfidious Maw.

As Ignatius heaped himself onto his feet, he began to search for means of medical help. The vessel steadied itself, he could feel it moving. They had arrived in low orbit. But first and foremost, sustenance. Rausgeber cleaved his way to what was eminently the crew quarters. Devoid of persons, but filled with goodies. Limping slowly, he headed to the first aid station, thrusting it open, and examining the contents. Disinfectant, check. Bacta, check. Bandage, check. Tweezers, check. With those supplies in tow, Ignatius sat at the crew table, and hoisted his mangled foot atop it. It was festering, the leather of his spacers boot. The heat of the blast had seared the boots leather make up and then fused it into skin. This would not be the easy operation he had wanted.

Ignatius began the slow and tenuous process of beginning to peel the melted boot leather from his foot. It was a painstaking process, agonizingly so, with the man wincing, howling and growling at every inch taken. But he knew it must be done. Mobility restored to his aggrieved appendage. Having recovered most of the boot from ground zero, he poured in a third of the disinfectant. Cursing up a storm as he did so. Tears welling in his eyes. Immediately it began to scourge and combat his innards, as it was introduced to tender, boiling flesh. And finally, with some relief, the bacta. Massaged over the wound, and his entire foot. Most of it with the skin missing, and bone now exposed. And then bandages. Wrapped and taut. It was better than nothing.

Heaping himself onto his feet, Ignatius precociously searched the contents of the crew lockers. There wasn't much, but a few rations. Better than nothing, and even the swill the Maw fed to their Auxiliary. Rausgeber looted a few packs, into a knapsack hung from his shoulder. Food in tow, Ignatius proceeded to the bow of the vessel, attempting to find the command deck. As Talon had said, there was a droid there. "Hallo Master," The pilot swivelled around in its seat, "How may I serve-" Ignatius cut its reign of captaincy short and blasted it right between the optical receptors. The droid's existence sputtered to an end, in low orbit over Rhand. Ignatius for the time being hobbled forward, and approached the droid, heaving it off. Now was not the time for any ambiguity. This was his ship. And who knew what failsafes it had on board with Talon calling it in. While he certainly felt some warmth for the woman, he still could not, and would not shake the feeling that this was some elaborate trap.

The droid clattered to the deck plating with a clang, as Ignatius set the controls for a slow cruise, within stealth parameters, away from the ongoing battle. He would not yet engage the hyperdrive, but instead, got beneath the panelling, crudely opening it. Searching for any slave driver circuitry, any tracking hardware stowed aboard. After five minutes of scurrying, he settled back, in the captains seat, and breathed a sigh of relief. He would not depart yet. Not until the battle now fought was finished. Who knew what secondary campaigns were being waged a sector over. What interdiction he may encounter. Still, for now, all there was was time to rest. Easing into the captains seat as the vessel slowly drifted from Rhand, Ignatius did the first thing he'd say he'd do if he escaped.

Eat.

 

[John Locke]

Wearing: Would you believe, a suit?​

_________________________________________________

THE FORTRESSA​

Tagging: Daegon Corvinus | Spencer Varanin | Ozma Olumivius | Anashla Deshal
_________________________________________________

There was something about controlling another man’s ship that was like wearing his suit, his clothes. It did the job, got you from A to B while bringing guns to bear on target but...it felt subtly wrong. That feeling when someone walked over your grave, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Each ship had its idiosyncrasies, its own character that came to life with a mixture of the ships design, building and the crew that worked it. John had almost caught himself calling for the long-range weapons and array of options that were available on the Halcyon to engage the target at a distance before he realised where he was. Instead, he was forced to watch as his wave of fighters threw themselves forward, lost in the maelstrom of energy bolts and missiles as his opponent answered in kind. The fighters swept forward trying to clear the way for the bombers so that those that remained unengaged could start their attack runs.

Yet, the attacks were all the way over there in the hands of the autonomous brains of the fighters and bombers and out of his control. It was a feeling of helplessness, he’d unleashed his attach, rolled the dice, and now all that was left was to sit back and wait in a chair that wasn’t his.

Perhaps that was the problem, this ship, the entire Confederacy, felt like another man’s clothes. The ghost of Isley Verd was still present, John only had to close his eyes to see the man standing on the bridge or in his office, booming voice filling the room as he laughed at some joke or lectured some hapless ensign over some error they’d made. The man had the ability to fill the room with his presence, with his charisma and it somehow seemed different without him there.

Another man’s clothes.

Still, there were worse places to be than onboard the Flagship as it moved ponderously through space, like a majestic ship cutting through the waves, taking up a flanking position by the new CIS Taskforce as the repositioned to face the battlespace around them. John could see the ship he’d targetted wrecking the surface of the planet, cannon after cannon spitting out death to add to the inferno washing over the surface of the planet. The Confederacy had sent its troops down to the surface to engage the Maww, the cream of their knights but the Maw had decided to burn it all. To kill innocent, enemy and ally in a pyre that only served to highlight their own darkness. How anyone could justify this, how the great nations hadn’t risen up to wipe this stain off the face of the galaxy was beyond John.

He could see it in the eyes of those surrounding him, those who had friends and loved ones who had been deployed to the surface. It was a fear he knew all to well, one that still woke him in a cold sweat at night. It was a feeling you could never escape from.

“They’re starting to look desperate aren’t they?”

John’s quiet voice echoed around hte bridge, conversations stilling as the crew strained to listen to the Exarch’s voice.

“They’re so terrified of us that they’d rather burn their own planet, their own people than risk facing us. But, they’ve underestimated us again. They thought they’d trap us here, wipe us out but who's running scared now? They thought they could kill our men on the ground, but our pilots are already on the scene pulling them out. They thought they’d be able to slink back into the dark hole they came from but we’ll chase them down. There are planets out there lost to despair, to the depredations of slavery and beings who care not for anyone other than themselves. Planets calling out for someone to aid them, and we will answer. We always answer. They can chant all they want, they can tell whatever stories they want to one another but that voice in the dark will whisper to them in their sleep, in their nightmares.

The Confederacy is coming.

So let’s give them something to be scared of.”

The dark-haired man settled back in his chair, one hand pointing at the screen.

“Tactical, engage the Maw Fleet with everything we have, match targets with the Taskforce. Comms...you better get those flags to the other side of the ship. I want whoever’s in command there to know we’re here and we’re ready. That we’re not beaten.”

From the quiet of slumber, from the ashes that swirled on the planet below the Confederacy rose like a phoenix.

Spoiler: Actions Taken

Actions Taken:

Fighters engaging those sent out by Ozma.
Bombers making attack runs
Fortressa connects with Anashla's forces.

​

 

[Darth Senthral]

​

Darth Senthral
Occupation: Sith Apprentice
Objective: Dock at the Praedo Mundos, Ship of Maestus
Location: Flying the Wandering Pilgrim for evacuation
Weaponry: Double Bladed Crimson Lightsaber, the Dark Side, and trusty DL-22 Blaster Pistol

​

From the cockpit, Senthral had listened to a conversation with the enemy. Yet, was it truly that simple? The philosophies thrown, received, denied, and disproved were all evidence to the contrary. The Sith? The Jedi? Bad and Good. It was never that simple, and truth be told? It never would be. His Master often made that ever so clear, he had a far better way with words than himself. There were things a one Jhira Mereel had said that set his heart alight. He wanted to storm in there and take her head from her neck with a swift strike, and yet he did not. Because want? It was nothing compared to need. He now sat in direct opposition to any Jedi that believed Sith functioned on whims. By seeing the fault in his own.

The greatest truths found themselves most apparent, typically when one saw their own faults. Not the deep and rooted faults, such as a lust to avenge a fallen comrade, but those surface value. Whims as some called them, small desires to find yourself upon actions that would never serve you well. It was never revenge that really sent someone spiraling down, never that greater feeling of greed for it that ate at the soul. No, it was those little things, those... Impulses. Impulse would sooner compel you to kill yourself than make you Lord and Liege of anything at all. It was not those with great cause, whether negatively perceived or not, but those impulsive fools that often met the bitterest of ends.

Once more he found himself pulled from his encasement of thoughts, back on the Wandering Pilgrim. Once more a pilot in a cockpit. Yet still a Sith of the Maw. One thing he could not escape irking him. Darth Tennacus and himself had worked on themselves, by themselves, so very often. Freely they did so, they were not bound by the Maw to service, but always heeded the call for a worthy cause. This Prisoner of those had directly said she was hired as a pilot, to him there was less freedom in that. 'You were sold along with your services. Just as much slave as those you sought to save.' He could not escape the thought, and would have to teach the lesson if he ever got the chance.

So many lived in Freedom's Lands for fleeting moments, and yet thought themselves worthy to free others. Focus on finding what it truly is to be free first. Selflessness would doom them all, for sometimes, to be selfish was to learn. To gain knowledge FOR yourself.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Resurrection-Class Battlecruiser "Prophet" | Qabbrat


S I T H ' A R I​

His eyes opened, he was awoken again to the physical constraints of the chamber around him and the oppressive atmopshere he had carved out for himself. The Dark Lord of the Sith floated upon a red wave that melted away his flesh and his spirit. It simultaneously invigorated him with strength yet inflicted great pain upon his psyche as he drawed upon the negative energies of the battle around him and within him. To dwell upon ancient memories, to feed upon the hatred that an enemy bore for you, to dwell upon the faith that the adepts of the Dark Side saturated him in. All that power, a connection unto the Dark Side of the Force that could be felt across the system as could the saturated planet of Rhand and it's many energies.

The Confederacy had made a fool of themselves coming here, the Dark Voice had not even lift a finger to aid, nor send more than a select handful of New Sith to deal with the self-righteous crusaders who so willingly crossed the great sea of space to enter the Nihil Retreat for folly. They had chosen a world barren and stripped dry, it's slave port it's only remaining place of importance other than the Great Bone Temple of the Sorcerers of Rhand. They had been made by the very visions of the Rhandites, the Darksight they carried allowing the Brotherhood the opportunity to do what it had done here this day.

They laid a trap.Dangling slaves like toys before the eyes of a force with no rhyme or reasoning for their presence other than to avenge the toy empires broken at the hands of the marauding horde of the MAW. He could feel the presence of Darth Empyrean before leaving the surface with his psychic projection, the Sith Lord whom he had offered a place within the glory of the New Sith Order now dominating over the eradicated order of the Empire and the Eternal. He had been rebuked that day in offering the powerful Lord a place in the New Era, he faced down the likes of Maliphant and the mighty Other Space Kaiden in the infernos of Felucia. He felt pity, he had chosen to stay the course, to follow the coward Worm into hiding who had so easily fled the Dark Lord on Mustafar.

If only the wretched creature could see him now and all he had accomplished, the fulfillment of prophecy, the culling and rebirth of the Sith.

His faithful Brotherhood had led the Confederates into a trap, one easily fell for yet the loss of the Holy City had never been predicted. A loss at the hands of one Laertia Io , a foe he had felt in the psychic battles of Korriban, one he among others knew to be among the Confederacy's ranks yet.. she faced them as well. He could feel the backlash ripple into his chamber as the Confederates became the monsters they so swore to face down, the beauty of the MAW's efforts wasn't in saving the planet they cared so little about. No. It was the act of denying the Confederates the ability to save the innocent, to show them the monsters within, to fan the flames of war and reveal their inner monsters. They came for war, no matter how well they dressed it up or how valiant they wanted to look. Ambush, fighting surrounded by the MAW in the stars above while their forces had been rained on by laser fire. No matter how it was spun, things were not looking good for any side.

He closed his eyes for but a moment, he felt the subtle tuggings of the empyrean upon his brow. His fateful servant Dakrul , he would find refuge with the one known as Alars Keto who had been guided by the Dark Lord's unholy guidance, an invisible hand leading the way. They had to escape and quickly before it would all be over. His attention diverted, called by the powerful wave of energy crashing forth upon the metaphysical plane, withering away at his senses from presence of Darth Mori. A vile smile spread across his face, his lips parted and spread from ear to ear with dark grimace. The red fog that gleaned it all shifted and turned, images warped over and over across the battlefield as the Confederacy and their overwhelming navy pushed back. Wielding the naval assets of their entire nation, bearing the weight of the Southern Systems against them with bloodlust in their eyes and denial in their hearts.

His smile faded slightly into a grin as his eyes closed, basking in the chaos and the madness that followed in it's wake as death reaped it's toll. The Dark Lord's eyes snapped open only with the emergence of a single uttering.

"Dark Voice,"

It had been ages since he had heard the voice, the thoughts of a wretched slave cast aside and brought under the lash. The very same slave-soldier touched upon by his own hand, an example of true faith and zealotry to the Brotherhood. He had heard the whispers, he knew the name uttered in the halls of the Heathen Priests.

" The Mongrel "

"great prophet of the Avatars..."

By all rights it should be the end for him, he could feel the calling of the Warlord from a vessel making leave from Rhand with soldiers of the Confederacy. His fate uncertain, yet his voice still came in drowning out the others.

"Deliver me from this honorless death."

The Dark Lord snarled, even he knew the wretched creature had earned many times over his life and position, without him Mar'Zambul would tear itself apart with infighting. There would be no great general such as on Csilla, on Ilum, on Korriban... to lead the great MAW hordes in such a way as he had.

"So be it."

Darth Solipsis poured the radiate energies from his immersive connection to the Dark Side, the wellspring directed entirely on this one task this one ability. The Dark Lord risked much, it was something he had only studied in his works from the holocron found by himself and Beltran Rarr long ago now on Pillio.If he failed to control the powers that be it could be the end for the Mongrel, and end for the Sith'ari. He poured his ambitions, his memories, his hatred for everything the galaxy had become. The looking glass shattered that had directed his life course here, the flow of actions that led to the pain and malice brought forth upon the galaxy at his hand. He saw images fly by him, using the deep connection he wove intermittent layers of dark energies swirling invisibly around the freighter as it soared.He pressed his will upon the fabric of reality, shattering the veil of illusion that held the physical plane in balance from the metaphysical. The strain trickled sweat down his brow, his veins pressing firmly against his skin with his teeth gritting and grinding loudly. A great plum of blue and black smoke would appear, it would open into a great gaping maw with untold force pulling upon the vessel's structure, threatening to tear it apart and render it asunder. There would be no relenting, no stopping the great birth wound inflicted upon the atmosphere over Rhand. The Mongrel would be tugged upon as well as Gerwald Lechner and the very ship they sailed upon to escape doom. Darkness had been unleashed, power unfurled in the form of this whirlwind just a little larger than the vessel itself.

In this way, he had created a storm.

​

 

[Jhira Mereel]

Survive

LOCATION: The Wandering Pilgrim, enroute to the Paraedo Mundus:
Objective: Survive.
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out
Engaged:: [ Darth Tennacus ] [ Darth Senthral ]

Exhausted anger flickered, but Jhira could no more force her attention from her captor than fly.

How could he be so clam, so untouched? That vile calm was worse than gleeful mockery, cruel torment or passionate hate. Yet not a single threat flowed from him. No Force Choke, no Force Lightening, no unimaginable pain. The Darth Lord listened in unnerving, intense silence as she asked her questions and answered his.

The endless rage coiled within, waiting.

His grey eyes flickered to the poor wolf, considering it.

War sometimes require sacrifice.

Jhira had always expected to be scarified in battle; One should die as one has lived. One of the Canons of Honor. But this … to die in a cage? Furious rejection shivered through her.

“I see.” Was the slow, considering response when he chose to explain to why the Temple had been targeted. “Confusion to the enemy is useful as a strategic axiom.” If it worked; she rather feared that it had clarified matters rather than confused them, this time.

Angling her head up at him, she offered, “I understood the motive of our team to be much simpler. But I know nothing of what those who planned this intended. I’m a warrior; a soldier. Not a politician.”

The false calm she projected blurred into combat readiness, when he moved; she danced backwards in an agony of wounded flesh, expecting battle or pain. But he only summoned the wolf to him, fisting his melancholy, indifferent hand into the Loth-wolf’s fur.

No, she did not want to know how they had come across the wolf.

Jhira shook her head, trying to stop his tale before it began. No, she did not desire to see, clear as day, the desperate, despairing mother and grieving young pup. The imagery he evoked, so beautiful and cruel, undermined her semblance of calm with a brittle fear. She could not help but see her own son, so bereft.

She was never going home.

A soft sound of pain escaped, though she’d suffered all of the physical abuse of combat without more than a gasp of pain. Biting her lip till it bled, fresh and sharp, The Captain locked away all thoughts of family and home. Lifting her chin, The Captain studied her opponent. He’d drawn first blood. It didn’t mean he’d won the war.

Smooth, calm voice like cool water, a hint of amusement glinting over hidden depths. “You raised him to be Jedi? You think trauma will make him resistant to torture.” Deliberately, she left it unspecified if she meant wolf, or apprentice. “The Jedi fear attachments; they are made weak by them. I had not realized the Sith carry the same beliefs.” It was easier to be brave, farther away from him. Out of his reach; her voice remained cool as glass.

A casual shrug followed. “The Rule of Two cannot fully come to pass, anymore, can it? Half or more of those who claim the Force are some version or other of Sith; the Coda is known.” A causal lean against the hull of the ship would have soothed her; but it was the implacable steel of her cage that her armor rested against. An eldritch, haunting disorientation swept over her; how was she, of all people, having a conversation about the Rule of Two a second time?

“Passion, Strength, Power, Victory … the Force.” Which either made the man before her a very bad Sith, utterly lacking passion or a very well concealed one. She feared that he, too, hid behind his armor. “Or are you something else, entirely?” It was a true inquiry; The Captain had a whole database of obscure Force Traditions.

“You saved me.” she conceded his power, and noted he avoided the concept of autonomy. For now, anyway. Who was he?

“All I desired in that moment was to make you remember my death; I’ve no understanding why you chose my life instead.” Her eyes burned with the need to know, but her helm helped conceal the intensity of that worry. Of all those there, she was, quite literally, no one at all. Just another Mandalorian warrior. Why her? Why save her at all?

His final comment stunned her into stillness, then a faint, astonished laughter escaped. “Righteous Warriors? I do not believe anyone has ever accused a Mandalorian of being that before.”

And then she understood; it locked her in place. “You think I’m with the Knights Obsidian. With the CIS.“ consideration followed; careful calculation. Force an early death, or arrive at a MAW stronghold?

Life-death-duty. All The Captain had left was to protect those left behind; the secret well of her strength.

“I don’t happen to beleive in destiny. Every Mandalorian is responsible for his or her own actions and choices.” Pushing off of the wall, she advanced slowly, until she was center place in her cage. Reconciled, grieving, she was ready to meet her death, for all she’d cherished these stolen moments - each breath after the Temple’s destruction was one breathed from the grave. A terrible thing, to be so very grateful to someone feared so.

“I’m a Mandalorian Warrior; the third side of the blade.” A few steps closer.

“I don’t have a stake in this war, save for my private hatred of those who destroy worlds.“ her hands reached up to curl around the bars of her prison.

“It isn’t principle. It isn’t reason. I don’t pretend it is.” an oddly courteous nod, to her executioner.

“It is Vengeance.” Patiently she awaited her death; not being CIS she could have neither useful information nor be used to blackmail or sway that regime.​

​

​

 

[Kyyrk]

Location: The Allegiance
Allies: Diocletian Kahmen’’a || Vyse de Valorous || Zlova Rue
Opposition: Laertia Io
Equipment: Armor, Lightsaber, Sidearm, Horace

Kyyrk maneuvered the ship through the roaring inferno of space combat with a surprising ease. He'd been training on this a lot more than many would think. He desired more self sufficiency in this new age, and thus needed to know how to pilot his own vessels. But in truth, he'd been training to fly this craft since its inception. He only wished his chosen pilot had survived long enough to fulfill her function. The occasional shot was taken to obliterate a Maw fighter, but Kyyrk did not stray from his goal. "I see her ship. Dead ahead. It's in full retreat. Hang on, this is going to kick."

With that, Kyyrk reached up with his off hand to tighten the restraints holding him into the seat, then flipped a series of switches to completely disengage the weapon systems. All that extra power was diverted into the engines. The Allegiance was built for maneuverability first and foremost. It was a boarding vessel. Or at least, her sister craft were. The head engineer on the project had responded only with lofted brow when Kyyrk had offered the sole specification he had for the vessel. Make it fast. And fast it was. This much was readily obvious to her passengers as the afterburners fired with a terrible roar, and they were pressed hard against their seats. The ship only barely classed as a Small Craft by War College standards, and yet it was one of the fastest vessels in the entire galaxy. Sub light, anyways.

Kyyrk gritted his teeth against the increase in G-forces, the ship in his viewport growing ever closer. They may catch it yet, but it was on the edge of the engagement. A few minutes more, and it may very well be able to flee. Today had been a disaster, but Kyyrk would be damned if he would let one more Maw sympathizer escape to wreak terror and havoc on another world. Thanks to the Battle Meditation surrounding them, Kyyrk was hyper-aware of every ship, every piece of debris, every obstacle between him and his quarry. And even now, he could sense the woman aboard that he had been instructed to kill. But then something happened he did not expect.

The ship was beginning to slow. Weapons were powering down. They were...surrendering? To a single starfighter. This had to be a trap. It had to be. Kyyrk could not trust any other explanation. Especially from a Sith with the renown that Laertia carried. He backed off on the throttle a touch, trying to decide if his goal was ultimately worth it. But he did not hesitate for long. He brought the ship on a direct course to the largest hanger bay, and slowed to docking speeds. "I don't like this. At all. Vyse, stay close to Zlova. Zlova, my armor is rated for EVA, so if this ends up being a trap, you get the two of you to safety. I'll be fine." He glanced down at his beeping console to see...docking clearance. Clearly, he was expected. He brought the ship to a quick descent, and set it down amidst the damage. The ship had taken a beating. A hand reached up to unfasten the restraints, and he stood. As he called his helmet back to him, he paused, looking out across the hangar. A figure stood waiting on the other end of the hanger. Laertia. At least he wouldn't have to look far for his quarry.

A few moments later, he walked down the boarding ramp of the Allegiance, helmet secured to his armor and sealed against all external conditions. He strode slowly, and with purpose. And as he walked through the rubble, his right hand extended and summoned his lightsaber to it. As he drew near to Laertia, the pure white blade ignited, humming with energy and shining with the Light of the Force. "Laertia Io, I presume. I've heard much about you." His helmet offered a rough electronic tinge to his voice as the modulator transmitted his voice to outside the suit. "I have orders to kill you. Looks like the last person to try wasn't able to finish the job."

 

[Darth Tennacus]

Objective: Operation Cinder
Engaging: Jhira Mereel
​

Even beneath his mask, Tennacus held back a smile. She was playing her hand well: collective, unafraid, mindful, observant, daring. All the mannerisms he was searching for. There was something she was reserving. His eyes narrowed in focus, but he couldn't pick up on what it was. He knew eventually that he would get there. "And Lord Bane was once a Cortosis miner; and then he created a legacy that would oversee a millennia. The Rule of Two may no longer hold its position as it once did, but every generation that rises under a Master's teaching allows us to serve in its meaning." Darth Senthral and himself were prime examples, as well as every other Master who held an Apprentice. The Maw maintained that only one Master could harbour one Apprentice, and that stood with good reason. A single Apprentice could overcome their Master, and then the cycle would go on, always having a powerful individual to bring another to rise. It ensured that only power ever seated itself amongst their ranks. "Like I told you before, there can be no room for weakness."

He couldn't help but feel as if she was baiting him with her remarks. His demeanour had not changed, in any case, but he enjoyed listening to what she had to say. He'd not had much dealings with Mandalorians, but he had heard a great many things about them. Renowned warriors and skilled hunters; dedicated to their beliefs, much like the Sith were to their own. He wondered if she would ever remove her helmet, but he wasn't determined to see that she would do it. Looks could be deceiving; a person's face would never always reveal what they truly are.

He sat forward when she said it: Vengeance. In that moment, he tried to reach deeper into her mind. Surface what she lived for, and what she would die for. She was beyond serving only for credits. "You're more than a gun for hire; I feel the conflict in you. You hate the war - the people who serve in it. It scares you - makes you afraid to lose something you could protect. But no durasteel or beskar will ever stop what's coming. No blaster or beskad will help you save those you care about. If you want to protect those you love, then you must reach towards power. The Jedi can not give you that. The CIS can not give you that. They are either diluted or held back, never expanding; either staying still, or further polluting themselves in a belief that they can coexist. But I can give you power. The Maw can give you power. You could prevent the ones you love - if you so possess them - from ever being touched. You could revel in our offerings, and achieve a greatness that could make you beyond anything you could ever dream. It is better to be the monster people are afraid of, rather than the person who fears the beast lurking in the dark."

He sat back in his chair, lightly parting his arms. "I'm offering you the chance to join us. What have you got to lose, save for your ignorance?"

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Mercy
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: BYOO, try to survive (Maw side)
Location: Rescue ship
Equipment: N/A || OPBC-01m
Tag: N/A

[ Cry ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

After her words, she tried to attack, but she failed. It was as if some kind of energy shield had protected me from her attack. I looked up; she still had golden eyes, her face beautiful; the past things not broken her they have no effect on her. I should have been her if I was born as a Force User. She could have been what my parents wanted. But I, I was me. Even as a simple person, I was able to do bigger deeds. She started angrily hitting the shield protecting me, but it wasn't used. We were still my mind, I was the original.

It was then that I noticed that where I was kneeling in the ashes, green grass and flowers reappeared. The castle! I never went to the castle. I was always afraid of it, there were strange sounds and feelings around it. Would I have locked Mercy in there? I thought it was very conceivable. She won't be able to hurt me, she won't. I never wanted to be like my parents, my family. They tried to educate me like that, I always resisted. It was Mercy who I refused; I refused to change, because I would never be her.

Yes, I was afraid of her; but it was this that gave me strength. It gave me the strength to be better, to never make those mistakes, not to start on that path. Defiance, one of the foundations of the NIO. Defiance against the Sith, and their followers. This was me, I followed my own principles, I belonged to the NIO, even when I was alone. As long as there are Sith, there is someone to fight against. I looked up at Mercy's angry cry. I think I know how to prevent her from winning against me, but I didn’t know the method yet.

"Why can't I destroy you?! Why can't I eradicate this weakness?!"

"For what you said; we are the same. The same person." I answered.

"All right, but I can lock you here for eternity!"

"Just as I am able to lock you too."

I was afraid of this encounter because we were both me, I knew myself and I was afraid of that side of me. I swallowed hard, I had no choice. Either she or I. I think the last battle that decided everything started with this…

 

[Dreidi Xeraic]

Location: On the planet
Allies: CIS
Enemies: Maw and slaver scum
Tags: N/A
Objective: Survive!
Equipment: Armourweave
​

The pain was unbearable. It was overwhelming her and part of her wanted to die just so the pain would end. Just surrender to the pain and the thoughts of failure and depression clawing their way into her mind as she crawled. Things were hopeless, what ship would be left around and how would she get to them in time to prove that she was still alive and needed help. It would make more sense to just surrender to these feelings and allow herself to give up. However, even though all these thoughts filled her mind, her body continued to crawl, it continued to move and push her forward. It was fighting her mind, she could feel deep inside her that she couldn't give up, Kristyl wasn't safe yet and Dreidi couldn't stop till she was. That was all she could think about, block out the pain and find a way out.

She crawled for a bit and found a ship, it looked like it was getting ready to depart. She tried to shout but her voice was dead in her throat, she couldn't say anything but just groan in pain as she crawled. Frustration poured over her as she realised that she couldn't tell them that she was still alive, still fighting and just needed help. Everyone in the CIS was going to leave her, they were going to think she died. Tears poured down her face as she kept crawling forward then spotted her father, his ghostly frame stood there watching. He had said that he couldn't do that type of thing but where he was, was he here to keep her safe? Just be with her in the end so she wasn't alone?

"Keep moving Dreidi. Don't give up now, there is so much more you have to give to the galaxy my dear Dreidi. I am always watching over you, remember that." Her father spoke and Dreidi could feel fresh tears pouring down her face as she kept crawling to her father. To just touch him would be everything for her. However, before she could reach him, Dreidi watched his ghost vanish instantly replaced with an armoured CIS soldier. They found Dreidi, still crawling and shouted something to the ship that Dreidi couldn't hear as they lifted her up into their arms and rushed over to the ship. Her thoughts lingered on her father, was it real? Was that her father or was it just a hallucination?

The soldier carried her onto the ship and settled her down somewhere safe before the pilot called out that they were taking off. Dreidi made it, she was safe. At least, she hoped she was, it would be a disaster to get this far and then shot out of the sky and die. No, she had to live on the hopes that she would survive this now. People were standing over her, fretting over her injuries, someone mentioned that if she didn't get in a bacta tank soon then she might not live. It was all fuzzy for the young Padawan, all she could think about was how badly she needed to rest her eyes but someone kept shouting for her to stay awake. In the end, the tiredness overwhelmed her and Dreidi closed her eyes. Her body would survive long enough to be healed but how this mentally affected the Padawan, no one was willing to predict.​

(OOC: Final post for invasion. Had a great time all!)​

 

[Halketh]

L I T T L E - D A R K - A G E
S A I N T E D
Dark Lord of the Sith
Aboard "THE PROPHET"
prox. Dimitri Voltura & Darth Solipsis
others on board Kyrel Ren & Oleander Webb

​

The destruction was unparalleled.

From his seat, crowned in oblivion and drenched in the madness wrought forth in his nihilism, he basked in it. Through the Darkness he grasped the woe, latching onto the weal dealt upon the world by his allies and the enactment of his divine will. It was all the same to him, another planet laid to waste, another people left broken, and another endeavor woven to his advantage by his hands alone. Fate was beneath him, it drove him no longer, now when he had the means to shape it for not only himself but for the others around him. The destruction continued, unimpeded, uninterrupted by their opposition. So it would be, then.

"He just entered the confines of the ship. Allow me the courtesy of expelling him on your behalf?"

He paid little mind to the words of The Dragon, finding them ultimately inconsequential until the question drew his acknowledgment and pulled him from his silent bask. His head twisted, baring the extent of the warm smile etched across his features for his vampiric friend to witness. "Would that you could be so kind." He answered, turning his features back toward the blood-smeared pane after. "We prepare to disengage and return to our land, I would rather it be without a pest stowing away on my vessel." The Divine bathed in the destruction for moments longer, saying nothing more, he was left alone in the room.

Beyond him, the destructive beam splintered a path through Port Sorrow, shattering the earth to carve a mark that would become a jagged scar in the distant future once the land healed. A new canyon, a river bed, nature had its way of retaking what belonged to it when left unattended. The remnants of Port Sorrow were no more, merely crater and smoldering waste whispered tell of structure lying there previously. The divine judgment fizzled out in the face of eventuality, leaving the sundered planet to scream its agony. Their task was done, their mission completed, and the prophecy fulfilled.

"Return the engines to full power, and channel the energy the shields are due, we withdraw now." The Admiral spoke steadily, tension relieved by inaction from their foes. No longer did they worry about the safety of the craft, it was an unnecessary stressor. The superlaser had sung its song, The Prophet had dealt its world-ending blow, and now, it was time to leave.

The mighty battlecruiser roared to life, engines finally returned to full strength at last, and the warping distortion of molecular shields regenerating their strength warbled across the exterior of the ship, deflecting what little assault still plagued them. With a groan into the void, it began to turn away from the world with its new arrivals tucked safely within its maw. Escorted by the ship dispatched for the task by Zachariel Steelblood , The Prophet moved to withdraw from the field of play.

Down the lengthy corridors, its Master ventured, walking in somewhat of a daze, almost entranced by the intoxicating havoc he and his allies had dealt with one another, hand in hand, it had all been so beautifully orchestrated. It was a devastating blow with untold loss serving as the price and despite their losses, The Maw had done precisely what it wished to. A familiar Presence had long since attracted his gaze and as he ventured closer toward it, the sickening spread of black wings pulled at his gut more intensely. Hands rested on the exterior of the sealed, rune-guarded doors, and a proper channel of his personal energy into the sigils saw them overturn and split apart, allowing access.

Into the meditation chamber he ventured, the doors returning to seal behind him. He paused central in the room, Sight blazing with the dark machinations of the Dark Voice. "One last blow to polish their torment, hm?" He offered, finding the thought rather amusing at its core. He strolled closer, rising over the twin steps separating the platform from the rest of the chamber, and soon situated himself beside Darth Solipsis . "What few of our allies remain on the world will be the blood price for this trap, as much we anticipated," The list of Mawites the Dark Lord considered the other in the room would reach out to aid was rather small, all things considered, though what few existed on that list were well worth the investment, "yet what we lose, we gain tenfold. The Sith Lord I spoke of has joined us; the Lord of Conquest. He goes now to kill a former ally who dared venture here."

Caelitus folded his hands in his lap, finding himself busied with the bound gashes splitting the scarred palm of his left. He unwound the cloth shakily, exposing the swollen cuts and the lingering porcelain still bedded deep. The fingers of the opposite hand plucked these pieces free, discarding them before he flattened his wounded fingers out. The uninjured palm pressed sharply against these, stretching and stressing the damage beyond the point its clot could endure, splitting each deep cut open once more. The blood flowed, rushing to the edges of his hand immediately, though before it could find a trail down his sleeve, he overturned it. His fingers rolled tightly into a fist and he squeezed, bleeding onto the sigils carved beneath both of the sorcerers.

It was a primer, the dangling of price to whet the appetite of the Darkness.

After offering as much, his hands sharpened to knives and crossed before his chin. The malice he wore as drape was summoned to action and took shape, coiling more tightly around him until it punctured his being seamlessly. A mockery, a hollow-shade of the Dark Lord himself was ejected from his stoic posture, bathed in smoky, crimson tide that fed upon itself in an endless cycle so long as his focus remained unwavering. Glowing wisps focused briefly on Solipsis before the phantom rushed through the protective walls of the chamber, phasing to venture beyond the vessel entirely.

The grim extension of Darth Caelitus warped through the destructive field, cast through the heavens in silent search.

The Prophet slowly withdrew further, leaving the shattered world to its fate behind them all.

Spoiler: Actions

- The Prophet is retreating from battle, its mission accomplished.
- Final post for the thread, thank you to all who participated!

​

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud, Leader of the Dawn of Hope
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Outside to Port Sorrow, Rhand
Objective I.: Survive.
Equipment: Kiss of the Red Witch | 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | The Soulsabers | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m
Writing With: N/A
Tag: Zachariel Steelblood

[ Primo Victoria ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Ingrid was still standing on the hill, watching the destruction of the city. In normal military position, small straddle, rigid back, hands clasped behind her back. Through the Force, she felt more and more people fleeing the planet. Among them, those who would supposedly do anything for their own people, are now fleeing from the Maw’s trap like a rat. She looked at the sky, at the approaching huge space station, and its orbit had changed, according to the data. The red-haired woman did not move.

"First in, last out!"​

Ingrid was that kind; she fought behind enemy lines throughout her life and many times she left the battlefield for the last time. Now that she was a ruler, she had to take care of her men. She did not leave until there was just one Eternal Imperial soldier in the city or on the planet. Her people, her responsibility. The Empress will not let them die away from their home, in an alien world; not until she can do something about it. That was the red-haired woman's job. Though she didn't have to do this as the commander-in-chief, but the woman never changed in that.

She didn't get an answer, but she didn't really expect to receive it from Zachariel. That was the endgame. The CIS was very spoiled the attack, and the woman also felt in the Force something change that had happened recently. However, now she did not have time to look after it. Meanwhile, the data she received from MANIAC appeared on her retina. The last troops have also reached the evacuation point, and within minutes no team will remain on the planet from the Eternal Empire.

The woman only acknowledged in thought via MANIAC, sending this and then sending a message to Cal to get their ships, their fleet ready for the journey home. As soon as the last dropship arrives and lands aboard, be ready to enter the hyperspace. Confirmation of the order arrived within a moment. And the Empress continued to watch the endgame. It wasn't time to leave yet.

 

[Laertia Io]

Xiphos stood passively as the ship landed and Kyyrk and company stepped out.

Xiphos didn't even blink when he said he was here to kill her.

"Get in line..." she said emptily in barely a whisper, her throat too injured to go above that, not a shred of humor to her words. Clearly unarmed, she took a seat on a large piece of debris in the heavily damaged hangar. The Model 1 Nuetralizers made no moves toward the guests, continuing to put out the fires. That empty, shell shocked look remained on her face. She hacked a loudspeaker with her mind, made it sound like her voice

"I didn't take any pleasure in it, just so you know..." she said through it, not really staring at him, staring off into space. "No one sane takes joy in killing so many innocent people. The World Ship's Path Engine was minutes from building up enough power to jump. No way the CIS would have gotten every one off in time. Plus the whole thing was a trap anyway. I also confess to a really brutal operation at the edge of Bryn'adul Space where I had some of them captured for slavery to try and determine the fastest way to break them physically and psychologically and inflict as massive an amount of casualties as I could against them, because I do not consider Bryn'adul as people who deserve to be treated with any compassion. That's about the worst I've done the past few months beyond this. Despicable, yes, but they deserve to suffer. They act like animals, so I treated them worse than animals. I have no remorse for what I did at Barab 1. But I am sorry about today, as little as that apology will mean to any of you..." she said to Kyyrk .

"We might never have found such a military asset of the Maw in such a vulnerable position ever again. If they had escaped, they would have continued being able to coordinate hundreds of operations and fix capital ship sized vessels. And all those slaves would still be slaves in the worst conditions imaginable. I couldn't let it escape...no matter who was aboard..." she finished. "So yeah...I'm kind of a monster..."

It was clear the woman just wasn't capable of fighting at the moment. Even if she wanted to. The trauma of the past few months had finally come down all at once and she at last had no energy left to even raise a fist. Just sit and stare off into nothing.

"I surrender The Leviathan of Sev Tok to you..." she said to the new arrivals through the damaged speaker. "No one on this ship will impede you taking custody of it..."

Zlova Rue

Vyse de Valorous

Diocletian Kahmen’’a

 

[Oleander Webb]

ALLIES: CIS +
ENEMIES: BOTM | Halketh +
FOCUS: Dimitri Voltura
INVENTORY: x | x | x

<What seek you on this ship, Knight Webb?>

He paused, forehead crinkling as he placed the voice intruding in his head. There was a familiarity in it, yes, though limited. A passing acquaintance rather than one he'd actually conversed with before. Still, he'd been called the Lord Commander's shadow on more than one occasion and had indeed taken on such a role at least informally. With it, it had become his job to at least know of others within the Knights Obsidian, especially those of rank.

<Lord Vultura, was it? I don't believe we've been formally acquainted. It would seem the fates have deemed it necessary I bear witness this day.> On his own, Oleander wasn't one for cryptic speaking and grand phrasing. But with fates involved and judging from the vernacular of the other in his head, it seemed quite fitting to dip back into the old ways.

He took the mental connection as a beacon, a trail to lead him down an unfamiliar path. The Waking Nightmare carried silence with him like it clung to his cloak. Silence, stillness, death. They were one and the same.

<And what of you?> he carried on as he rounded corners, a hand perpetually near the hilt of his weapon though very seldom did he feel the need to draw it. There was an inkling of discomfort, barely there but nevertheless unavoidable as he neared where he sensed the Obsidian Lord would be. Something wasn't quite right, he knew that already, expected some sort of discomfort that came with his role. But this clung to him, nagged at the senses like an overarching threat in one's dream. Only this time, Oleander was fairly certain he was awake. <I would've expected someone of your rank would be quite occupied this day. Or perhaps you've been called as a witness, too.>

And then he turned that last corner, taking in the other with his usual cool gaze, eyes unmistakably shifting to the weapon Vultura had in hand and back to the face. "Or perhaps you are the event one must bear witness to."

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Near: Srina Talon // Darth Metus // Taiia Locke
Location: Bridge of the Sentinel

Maliphant's ability to teleport was nigh unmatched in the galaxy - it had become one of his most common modes of transportation; be it to intimidate, set a standard for the discussions he was to have with someone, or a means to move around a battlefield. With the assistance of his staff, he was practically unmatched in that ability - but it still had its hiccups. While it may have made more sense to bring both Srina and him to the Fortressa, the pattern of her thoughts were interrupting his ability to focus on a single spot in space and time; so instead he simply let his power flow to the easiest location.

He would've fought harder were it not for the impending turbolaser explosions about to overcome them, leave alone the rest of the problems Rhand was suddenly facing. The teleportation was quick and nigh instant - appearing on the bridge of the Sentinel in a puff of pure dark side energy in the form of smoke. His features seemed to surge with corruption before it faded, leaving the two standing aboard the bridge with little more than a small cloud falling around their feet.

As Srina spoke, Maliphant let the Force rip away what dirt and sweat had formed around his exposed skin - leaving him looking rather untouched compared to many of the others. Only when he was done did Maliphant speak;

"I don't think its worth asking 'if' they've done it.", he said, noting the dark side energies that were quickly overcoming what remained of the port.

"I think its more practical to ask what we do now."

His tone was cold, and focused - little sway to the monotony of his posture. Whether he was upset by the happenings on the planet or not were unknown, none of it was betrayed on his face or voice; but his focus seemed to be out of the viewports towards the opposing fleets regardless.

 

[Dimitri Voltura]

ALLIES: Halketh | Darth Solipsis | BOTM | NSO
ENEMIES: CIS and Co.
ENGAGING: Oleander Webb
GEAR: In Bio.

Oo~BURIED~oO​

It was unfortunate.

The Knight recognising him, calling him by his formal Obsidian title...made things harder. To look someone that trusted you in the eye from the opposite side of the battlefield was like looking a beloved pet in the eye just before euthanising it. It just didn't sit well with your heartstrings.
<You would rather forsake kin again, like you did six years ago, so you could try and prop up another failing empire because you feel sorry for them?>
The Snake's candor on this day was unsettling. He was never candid. No, that was wrong. He was always candid, in a jabbing sort of way - always striking the truth with venom dripping from his fangs.
<The time for forsaking kin has passed, Anguis.> the Dragon answered his former master that now plagued his waking moments in his mind.
<Has it? What of the one still tethered to you? Would you forsake kin for her?>
<I fail to see the point here.>
Darth Anguis chuckled in his head.
<Evade it all you want, Hydrus. She'll try and come between you and yours.>
With that last bit of candor, the Snake departed for the time being.

<And what of you?>
<I would've expected someone of your rank would be quite occupied this day. Or perhaps you've been called as a witness, too.>

The Knight's words drifted toward his mind once more. He was close - the Sith Lord could sense it better than a voxyn ever could. And sure enough, before the Dragon could answer, Death rounded the corner.

"Or perhaps you are the event one must bear witness to."

Dimitri sighed. For one that also bore the mark of civilisations past, the Knight still seemed so naive. That he was a predator, there was no doubt of. But this Knight's confusion would be the first of many about the former Obsidian Lord's new stance.

Reluctantly, Dimitri ignited the crimson blade in his curved hilt.
"Death is but another road. One we all must take, Knight Webb." he said as he started to move forward. "Why, in Force name, would you come here alone to the Darkest of ships where the conglomerate of Dark Energies now reside? Did Gerwald Lechner send you here? If so, his misstep was greater than he ever anticipated."

And with that, the Dragon struck.

With both Force-induced and vampiric speed, Dimitri moved in a blur, hardly visible. Aside from the blurred speed, Dimitri lashed out with heated breath with his mind - there where he had earned his title from. That which had broken through the very friend's vast mental defences he was now protecting. The Hydra struck in different places all over its opponent's mind, seeking weaknesses to exploit. All the while, it was barraging Oleander's mind with "what if's" or "why's" In scenarios it was sifting through in its hunt for weakness. Which ones would stick?

Simultaneously, the crimson blade shot forward like a viper, aiming straight for the Knight's throat.

"You should not have come here." Dimitri said to the Knight, as sabers slashed in crimson sparks.

 

[Zlova Rue]

Zlova looked over at the man as they wrapped up their earlier conversation. "If there's one lesson to learn it's this, Vyse: you are who you choose to be. And yes that's a oversimplification that ignores whatever psychological trauma you endure in life. Point remains, if you start blowing up planets that's because you chose to be that kind of person. Maybe you made that choice years before the act, but there was a moment when you started down the path. Life is full of opportunities -- what you do with them is all that matters."

A surprisingly wholesome conversation with someone exploring the 'Dark' Side of the Force. Admittedly, the Twi'lek didn't get a chance to teach many people. More's the pity. Zlova spent a great deal of time collecting and studying teachings of those that walked closer to the 'Gray' or 'Neutral' path, and everything she learned suggested the galaxy would be a better place if more people practiced such philosophy.

Do, but do not blindly.​

Soon enough they set to work and Kyyrk decided to fly straight through the mess. Zlova actually quite liked it -- the way all the ships flew by and the lasers and ordinance whizzed all around with even a fraction of a second' hesitation spelling certain doom! What wasn't to like? Aside from how impersonal it was, but it was still exhilarating. So much so the red woman forced a laugh under the increased g-forces; an arduous task given one's lungs weren't appreciative of the 'kick.'

As they neared, the man put the two of them together once more and made a claim to self-sufficiency once more. At this rate Zlova might as well make the man an apprentice they were sticking together so much. With a smirk, the Twi'lek looked over at Vyse. "Force Bubble. Force Air. Force Magic. Just Sith things." Let other Lords and Ladies take the Force ultra seriously. Zlova found life too short -- usually because she stuck her neck out waiting for someone to strike -- so why not make light of it all?

When they touched down and their quarry was standing there waiting for them, the Twi'lek's golden eyes narrowed. What in Exar Kun's name was the woman doing? Did she want to challenge Kyyrk to a duel? Oh, yes, it would be Kyyrk. Just like on the planet it would be Carnifex. In fact, Darth Siron walked into a fight her would-be-opponents would probably kill some Apprentice they knew before giving her a thought. Some days she wondered if she'd mastered concealment too well.

Zlova descended from Kyyrk's ship with one of her curved-grip sabers drawn, but not yet ignited. Kyyrk announced the intent to kill the woman, and Laertia Io said...

Well, what she said was wrong. Zlova knew a few very sane people that took 'joy' in killing innocent people. They were very specific circumstances often involving an experiment or making a very crucial diplomatic point, but they were satisfied all the same -- no cackling either. Though the woman was right in general; most people engaging in mass slaughter were a bit touched. Why even Zlova herself didn't like killing scores of innocent people. Oh, she'd done it, because when you were a young Sith warrior you did what you were told or you died. Simple training regimen.

Then Laertia went on about the Bryn'adul, and at this point the tattooed brow of the Twi'lek pinched upward as her head rolled a bit to one side. What was with the sudden confessional? Like, who cared? They were Bryn'adul. You might as well wax philosophical about killing Sandpeople, and who liked Sandpeople?

Her eyes shifted to Kyyrk and then back to Laertia Io. "Why are you apologizing?" There was a brief moment for everyone to mentally acknowledge that yes, Zlova had just said that. "You just said you did it because it was necessary. That the ends justified the means. So why are you sorry for what you did? You may still be held to account for such death and destruction -- everyone loves their pound of flesh -- but what does that have to do with how you feel about it?" This sentiment probably wasn't in the Young Knight Handbook to being a Good Confederate Citizen. No, no, this was a Darth Siron philosophy. Apologies for when you regretted what you did, or for assauging someone's wounded ego because it was necessary to get something. So, far as Zlova was concerned if the ship needed to die then it needed to die. End of discussion. As for consequences well that was a different conversation.

Engaged: Kyyrk | Vyse de Valorous | Laertia Io

 

[Daegon Corvinus]

LOCATION: The Fortressa
WEARING: Standard Armor
WEAPON: Lightsaber
ALLIES: Srina Talon | Darth Empyrean | Kiff Brayde | John Locke | Verin Oldo
ENEMIES: Tu'teggacha | Dakrul | Alars Keto | Talon Kyber

There was little time to do anything. Ships were descending, attacking, appearing, all the while the operation on the planet was going just as disastrous. In the moment there was only one thing Daegon could do.

He laughed.

The corridors of The Fortressa were filled with his laughter all the way back to his quarters where he would link into the Battle Meditation which they hoped would compensate for the downed comms. Deagon could hear the voice of his dear Seraphina Corvinus in his head. She was always reminding him to breathe when the stress was more than he could bear, and to laugh in the face of his mountains. This was by far the largest mountain he had faced yet, and where it made no sense otherwise, Daegon laughed.

The Vicelord’s quarters were still a touch quaint. Daegon had not had time to bring them up to his liking, other than removing the Mandalorian decor which had filled them before. His gothic style would have to wait. For now it would simply be the quiet place he needed in order to concentrate. The floor was as cold as the ambiance of the room. It would help him to focus.

Daegon closed his eyes, and the demon’s mind began to touch upon the force. His breathing steadied and slowed as he located the minds of the other two he would link together, Lunara Azure and @Spencer . One would coordinate the ground, and the other would coordinate the fleet. The Vicelord would add his strength to link them all together.

“A cord of three strands is not easily broken,” he muttered under his breath as he found the two he had been searching for.

His mind synched with theirs.

It was risky, the use of this skill. There were dangers to avoid, such as relying so heavily on the skill to the point it made the actors of the battle puppets as opposed to free agents. Whether it was the crew of the Storm King, or the fleets of @Vem, to Srina Talon and her lover Darth Empyrean , they could not press so hard that the battle would be lost to them.

He could not worry. Daegon’s task was simple. He was the bridge. The demon refused to be the weak link. His breathing slowed even more before he slipped fully into a meditative state. Here he would remain until the battle was over.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

​

LOCATION: Beam Me Up Scotty...
WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Strømafbryder
ALLIES: CIS | Lunara Azure | Kristyl Arenais | Dreidi Xeraic | Rann Thress
ENEMIES: The Mongrel | Darth Solipsis
PET: xxx

Gerwald had little time to settle his feet in place, but the electromagnetic clamps on his boots would help him to lock in place. They were designed for exactly this type of scenario. What Gerwald should have expected was the attempt the Mongrel would make at getting into his mind. Was Gerwald more like the Maw than it seemed? No. The man made one error in his words. It had not been the Confederacy which had murdered the slaves. It was not the Confederacy which was destroying Rhand. Had innocents died, yes, but the Maw would have killed them in their rituals eventually. Any slave they could not free was doomed to die.

It was simply an acceptable loss toward a greater goal. The fact did not mean Gerwald liked it, even if it did mean he had to stomach it.

The ship continued its climb, heading to the place Lunara must have chosen. Gerwald was getting nervous about how close it was getting to the heat. His armor was not rated for extremes of any kind. The Mongrel was not the only one in danger of dying if the ship did not change course. This battle was no longer about killing his opponent. Yes, Gerwald wanted to, desperately, but he also wished to live. There were promises he had made which demanded that he find a way to serve his duty, and live to continue to do the same.

Three shots were fired. Raising his gauntlet, lifted a force barrier just in time to deflect the bullets. He watched as they collided with the sphere of force energy and fell on the ship’s hull. There would be no time to gloat over the ways in which the Mongrel tried to fight. Gerwald would not be killed from a distance, and not with a bunch of party tricks. If The Mongrel wanted him dead, he would need to get up close and personal. It was a shame their battle seemed to come with more interference. This time in the form of a storm.

Gerwald had little experience with such things. He had seen Darth Metus raise massive force storms before. He could feel it pulling on the ship, on himself. Gerwald was uncertain of what to do. How could he fight a storm and deal with The Mongrel?

He reached out to touch the mind of Lunara Azure as a single tear slipped from his eye. They had been many places, and faced many things together, but this was one thing they had never faced.

The prospect of losing one or the other.

She was his friend, someone whom he had confided in a great many things. Of all the people he was close to there was one thing she knew that no one alive could claim any knowledge to. They had bonded because of their similar grief, both sharing the pain of losing one they had loved. Would this be the same? Would loss, would death, feel the same as losing her husband had or would it strike less?

< “I do not know if I can stop the storm that is pulling on this ship, but I will try to redirect it. If I fail…>

For a moment Gerwald went quiet. He was about to ask something he had no right to ask.

< “...If I fail… find the ring. Keep my promise. Keep all the promises I have made.” >

It was debatable if the Confederacy needed Gerwald Lechner, but they certainly needed Lunara Azure.

< “I… will miss ruining your outfits…” >

As his mind left hers, Gerwald pulled every bit of energy he had remaining. The storm was volatile, but it still required a mastery of wind. As with other skills which seemed to be tied to nature, it was one which Gerwald excelled. As though he were a Shaper of Kro Var himself, the wolf beckoned to the wind. Pulling on the air around him, the lupine began the familiar dance which would see it whip about his form. It was not enough just yet to push the force storm away, but perhaps it was enough to send The Mongrel though.

Gerwald raised his hands as he visualized the wind doing as he commanded. Unless he was interrupted his own storm would grow in intensity, and the wind would beat against the vortex which formed above the ship. It was enough to cause the ship to stand completely still, as though it hovered in the air unable to move.

The wolf had to dig deeper.

He had push harder.

Closing his eyes, the Lord Commander screamed as he pulled against the air currents in his attempt to push the storm away. It would take everything he had, and then some.

The lives of those on board, the slaves Lunara had rescued, depended on it.

He just had to make away for them to escape.
​

 

[Vyse de Valorous]

Engaged: Kyyrk Zlova Rue Laertia Io

Vyse looked up from his duties as his crimson friend spoke. And again, she had some great points he had never really taken the time to consider. I mean yes it did ignore his boat load of trauma BUT the point remained excellent.

There is a certain point where you start thinking "you know what, blowing up a planet is the perfect fix for this problem." AND that is normally the point where you either review your life or stumble down the stairs into the dark basement of morality. You can chose to fall down if you wish, or you can chose to not blow up the world of innocent and not stumble down into the depths of mortality.

Cracking a smile at her touching advise. "That's actually a great to look at it. I'll make sure to remember that whenever I feel the urge to blow up a planet." He smirked a bit joking. Trying to emulate her more relaxed attitude instead of his, that could be considered having a light saber shoved somewhere uncomfortable.

The chat really having an impact on his moral course he had to returning to his charting the ships actual course. The battle meditation keeping him calm and aiding in keeping their ships course out of the way of allies or known foes locations. Constantly giving minor adjustments still a little nervous about messing it up, having barely any experience with ships. This being one of his few times on them.

He was so lost in following his orders he didn't quite realize that Kyyrk, as the one who was flying the ship, could see. And thus could see 99% of the things he needed to avoid.

Vyse himself was likely enjoyable to watch as he got tense and nervous every tight turn or maneuver, the ship going as quick as it could across the battle field could towards their target. Vyse griping the seat tighter and tighter as the ship avoided blaster after, missiles, chasing off the odd fighter all while under intense g-force till he was so nervous he worried he damaged the arm rest.

Wondering how someone could laugh at such a situation as Zlova did, Vyse himself glued to his chair. Vyse sighing in intense relief as the arrived near the damaged hulk and finally stopped the intense maneuvers. Vyse upon hearing his new orders was glad, getting told to stick with his new friend some more causing a smile on his face at this point vastly enjoying her company. Cutting her a glace as he got up from her seat.

"Force Bubble. Force Air. Force Magic. Just Sith things."

And Vyse nearly fell over laughing. How could he not? To go so tense like he just heard he was sent to hunt a Krayt dragon to the most silly thing he might have ever heard was too much. "S-stop your going to kill me."

He said still laughing a bit as he recovered himself, having nearly already died today.

"Hehe.. Alright. I am good now, let's go kill some people! . . . Or restore the peace or however other people would say it." He said making a bit of a joke but in truth they really were just going to assassinate an enemy target of interest to his understanding.

Rushing to grab his helmet and resealing it they went to the ramp. Assuming it was a trap. How could it not be? What were they just going to let them walk in and hand them the keys? Vyse calmed himself and focused for the battle ahead. He didn't know what awaited them but he was ready. His lightsaber's crimson beam ignited as it lowered and they carefully and slowly made walked down the ramp.

Only . . . There was no defense.

Vyse seeing a women on her knees in front of them, tears running down her face as she literally just surrendered the ship looking beaten down and drained. Vyse looking around in a bit of disbelief as he heard her literally order her forces to stand down over the loud speakers even. It would have felt like a prank if not for the women's surrender speech, clearly filled with regret.

It somewhat making sense to Vyse, who was not really able to grasp the sheer enormity of how many slaves she had just killed, himself being on the ground during the event. Out of context it made a bit of sense to wipe out such a threat at the cost of a few lost slaves.

. . Then she admitted to torturing some people called Bryn'adul. Vyse having spent much of his life on a ball of sand didn't quite grasp how bad they were. Forced to take the flip from regret to torture to mean she was not quite sane. And considering she just gave up without a fight there was some points to that.

Glancing around at the powerful war ship, he semi wishing he had been the one to capture her and claim it for himself. He turned towards his ally as Zlova spoke.

"Why are you apologizing?"

It took a moment for Vyse to process what she just said, his eyes going wide as he was thankful for his helmet helmet to hide his reaction as he looked around aghast, watching the guards to make sure weren't going to start shooting them as she spoke. As this was clearly going to be a bit.. constructive.

After hearing the red Twi'leks words of wisdom, he expected to be shot at. But as that didn't come for the moment, he sighed and reflected on her latest words of wisdom.

And to the young Squire, it made a fair deal of sense after considering it.

What was the point of being ridden with sorrow at what was needed? It had to be done and.. to Vyse that made was logical. He had not enjoyed things he had to do working for the Hutts when he was little. But as the Sith tomes drill in, a successful Sith must be ruthless and pragmatic. And you couldn't really do that if you became depressed with every harsh action you had to take. At least in theory it seemed perfectly logical.

Vyse would make sure to remember his ally and growing friend's advise in his hopefully long career. But now had to focus as he honestly expected to be shot at anytime now.

 

[Kyyrk]

Location: Confronting Laeritia Io
Allies: Diocletian Kahmen’’a || Vyse de Valorous || Zlova Rue
Opposition: Laertia Io
Equipment: Armor, Lightsaber, Sidearm, Horace

Kyyrk's grip tightened on his saber as she walked forward and took a seat on the debris. The Sith's attempt at humor fell flat, particularly as there was no line to be seen. He heard the faint whisper of her voice, yet was not surprised when she spoke through the PA speakers. Kyyrk lifted his head to look towards the ceiling as the sound poured forth. Those that knew him well enough to read his body language would be able to tell the man was rather impressed with Laertia's party trick. He pulled a small device from his belt, and pressed a single button on it. As he did so, his gaze fell back to Laertia, though it was clear his attention had always been with her.

No one sane takes joy in killing so many innocent people.

No one sane should ever have to.

Kyyrk listened quietly as Laertia spoke. The fury within him slowly building. Slowly building as she admitted to murdering thousands. The Maw hadn't destroyed the worldship or the Skyhook. Laertia had. The blood of thousands was on her hands. And suddenly, Kyyrk understood his orders perfectly. She was a liability. A liability he was now tasked to correct. She admitted to butchering Bryn'adul, as if that was somehow supposed to make things better. But it just continued to paint her as the despicable Sith that she was. Jedi. Civilians. Women, children. Bryn'adul. There was no end. And she justified it by saying that they would never have another shot like that at the world ship. THAT was her justification.

An easily replaceable military target was worth the life of thousands.

Suddenly, it dawned on Kyyrk that he was the only Jedi aboard this ship. Even the two Confederates standing behind him were Thorn Discipline. He heard Zlova decry Laertia's actions. Asking her why she was apologizing. Demanding to know why the Sith felt sorry for what she did. It was a ploy. It had to be. She certainly looked to be in no shape to fight. She was trying to lull them into a false sense of security so that she could kill them.

But the more Kyyrk stared at the woman, the more he realized the truth.

She was done fighting. When Kyyrk spoke again, it was hushed. Just barely louder than Xiphos's first statement. "What gives you the right?"

Kyyrk didn't move. He continued to stare at the horrific creature before him. The one that had caused such damage to the Force. His lightsaber hung by his side, ready for action at a moments notice, and yet hanging listless at his side. He spoke again, louder this time. "I wouldn't expect a Sith to understand. Nor would I expect a Sith to apologize. The least you could have done was pretended that you were sincere." Kyyrk turned to look at the neutralizers trying to douse the flames. "The only thing that you're sorry for is getting caught." Kyyrk's attention turned back to the woman.

"Military assets will be rebuilt. Damage will be repaired. Soldiers will be trained." Kyyrk's head canted to the side slightly. "You can either win a war by destroying their heart, or by destroying their soul. You have done neither." These words were spoken not as a man waxing poetic about the horrors of war. No, his tone suggested something darker. This was a man who had lived through such times. Over, and over, and over. "But that doesn't matter, now, does it? Even the most mighty of Sith would know that you only ever win wars by breaking their backs." Kyyrk's head returned to the upright position. Slowly, he began to walk forward. "How many bodies are you willing to leave in your wake, Xiphos? Your actions today have made it clear that no price is too great to pay. No bridge extends too far. So long as you have achieved victory, that is all that matters. Is it not?"

Kyyrk paused just outside of arm's reach of the woman. "Who cares how many men, women, and children lie dead at your feet. You certainly don't. But there's one thing I still don't get." Kyyrk's titanic frame knelt down to place Kyyrk's faceless visor in front of Laertia's line of sight. Beneath his helmet, it could be felt that he was staring her in the eye. "Who the hell gave you the right to play god? To tell those people that their lives were better served destroying a station that will be rebuilt within the month. Who the hell gave you the right to decide they were better off dead than enslaved? Who the hell gave you the right to strip away the one last thing those people had?" Now, with his proximity to Laertia, his voice had grown softer. Kyyrk's voice was laced with anger, that much was obvious. But he did not once raise his voice except to be heard.

"One day, perhaps the galaxy will have broken you enough to heed my words. But I am no fool. I know nothing I say will ever convince you of the horrors you have committed here. You Sith always were too simple minded to think about anything but yourselves." Kyyrk stood back to his full height. "Look at me." His voice was soft, yet his tone was commanding. Laertia expressed a desire to surrender. If she was sincere in this effort, she would obey his commands. Kyyrk moved his lightsaber, letting it sit mere millimeters from the woman's neck. So close was it that a stray neck hair may have ignited under the heat from the blade. "You are now a prisoner of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. You are alive only because I am disobeying a direct order to kill you. An order that I will be all too happy to comply with, should you make it necessary. Killing you here would be a mercy. To let you fade into obscurity with all the other self proclaimed heroes. To let you get away with what you've done."

Kyyrk was silent for a moment. "You will be taken back to Naboo, where you will stand trial for all your crimes against the people of this galaxy. You will repent for what you have done, and you will follow every directive given to you till your penance has been paid. Any breach of this, or any attempt to escape, and I will personally hunt you down and destroy you. I know your face. I know your name. I know your scent. There is nowhere you can run. Nowhere you can hide. So enjoy this gift of life I have given you. And pray you do not make me regret giving it to you."

Kyyrk stood in silence for a moment longer. He wanted the woman to have ample time to digest his words. To understand what he was commanding of her. "If you understand me, command your ship to travel to Naboo. There you will answer to the military tribunal. You, and all loyal to you, will be taken as prisoners of war. If you take umbrage with this, lift your chin but an inch higher, so that I may cleanly cleave your head from your neck. The choice is yours, dark one. Will you atone for what you have done? Or will you join your victims in senseless slaughter, doomed to death for all eternity?"