We were conquers.
New Carannia
Goodbye Blue Sky
There had been no promises entailed, taking a leap of faith, to come back to something loosely outlined as home. A station, an assignment, these words were bitten out-bitter and dissatisfying under breath. It was a place, the world Nirauan, the city itself even in ruin-a receptacle of..just memories. It was an empty placard that held space in her mind, branching out across star systems. Kascalion had robbed her of those fever dreams. Home was as undetermined as the war to the woman. Weathered transports rumbled past overhead, kicking up a storm of dust as the ship banked around the flat top of the roof. Slow to lower the binocs, Sybila breathed deeply-the rancid air was laced in tibanna and fire-watching the streetways as squads fanned out. The radio was a live wire behind her, the small command post a flurry as cords were unrolled-the generator was a noisy thing.
Theirs was a small foothold on the eastern sector, The Hand Of Thrawn still lay in poor shape on the horizon in black smoke. But the city, and here in the small domestic lanes were shaping up. Twelve hours after their initial brigade had hit. A fresh wave of evacuations began, the field hospital was up to their elbows. Medics raced up the onloading ramps with full stretchers, troopers moving in between as further reinforcements descended into New Carannia.
“His royal highness is determined to meet with you later, other matters occupy him at this time. We are to remain with you until otherwise..if that is agreeable..” the Knight salvaged, the click of plate sounded the man trading his weight between feet. Unease wasn’t the appropriate word. Doubt and reason mingled the air, the Lord Command had been privy to some idea why she stood here now, had volunteered. Wary-it was more fitting for a seasoned Myrmidon.
The Angels of Defiance..a bit on the nose for the woman but this was
Lucien Dooku
's legacy..it lingered in the back of her mind and radiated with pride. He had made something of himself and this was the extension of it. The woman hummed, setting aside the tool at the table as she turned her attention back to the men at the post. They were not the stoic Imperial Knights she had expected to be circling around like a pack of wolves. It was easy to shed the stand offish aurora she had coveted like a second skin, all pins and needles to keep the white noise at bay. It was the first olive branch, but they did not visibly relax. They were no different from her, though unburdened by the darkness that wrapped itself around her shoulders-but the common man would mistake them for a soldier in their white blast plate. Part of her had expected Lucien to come brazen, racing down the streets on the off chance they might simply glimpse one another for the first time in a long time. It was childish at the very least, he had this laid at his feet and she would wait patiently. Lucien had built something great but the rug had been yanked from beneath his feet.
Foolish was the thought that burgeoned in hope, the corner of her lips were weighed down present alas. The planet had been ravaged, even if they were here now..Sybila was steeped in the death toll. Though the violence had ended, gore still coated the odd angles of her armor. Bone shards and teeth marks are unmistakable between chipped paint. It had been easier to ignore once upon a time, the numbness would pass. They, the remnants of the 193rd had barely emerged, and still they were short a great many men from the fight. A massacre, it still ate at her now and she mulled on the engagement.
Her ears still rung after they had fought tooth and nail to emerge from the mob, the open air from their vantage was a stark contrast to the suffocating bodies they had fought through. It tempered her..it disturbed her. A quiet exhale escaped her, the silence had stretched far too long. The pale blue holo map before her tracked the movement of different forces, collecting data transmitting it back to the main post. Ban stooped over it, privy to the exchange. A handful of those actually present eyed the map with varying interest.
“Try to imagine some lengthy declaration of surrender, conceding to some paltry requests and aquessing to your own. My intention is to meet with Emperor Fel, I hope that will not deter you and this little escort?” Sybila murmured, eyes tracing the faceless outline of the trooper’s dusty helmet, raising a brow. It was an invisible barrier guarding her in the eyes of the law, it felt like a plan that was held together by a thin web. COMPNOR wouldn’t hardly care, she was still waiting for a cheap pot shot to nail her dead now. Ban Arroyo had already been detailed on what might come of this mission, to many things had been put in to safe guard and now they could only fight for a favorable outcome.
It theory Dooku offered her an ounce of credence, little else. How many of their peers would consider it bias.
She could have walked into the hands of the Imperial Knighthood, the band of fools themselves with arms raised to face humbling. Rurik Fel was not a man one could hope to bargain with, their passing acquaintance proved as much on Bastion. She fucking hated the man if she was honest. Woes of lovers were easier to twist but that was a long dead sentiment with Irveric gone-the meager protection it had offered once upon a time.
“What is your name, soldier?” Sybila added.
“Jae Casaf..” the man answered, and the woman nodded curtly-she could taste the bundle of words unsaid and her eyes raised to urged him to continue...”I can only advise caution in this course of action, perhaps a meeting with the Emperor would be suited in the company of his royal highness..”
“Perhaps, but I can’t afford to wait on this matter Knight Casaf. My presence is an enigma, one I fear many Force-Sensitive presently will look to find. You can bet on that. I’ll either beat Fel to it, or we’ll end up meeting on his terms.” That would prove to be a more terrifying consequence, seized by the elbow and bent and turned until she buckled to another’s will. What else could she expect of the war machine?
She did not look forward to the scab that would be dissected, prayed back from her flesh. Such were the consquences.
It was second nature to unhook the heavy durasteel clip and collect her sabers from her hips. The handles were well worn from the field green wrap on the curve of both hilts, metal stained from the radiating heat. Her eyes dwelled on the set, she had been too piss poor at the construction the droid had to step in to help her assemble the blasted things. The kyber crystals, though..they had been bled red. Harvested and reaped in battle by her own two hands and reflected something fractured in the shadow of her gaze.
It was a symbol and that itself held the power that fed many’s fears, who had stained the blades. How many times has she cut the wrong man down-and how many more had she safe guarded with them too..Sybila passed both between her hands, offering them up across the table to the Knight. Her hand quaked, the length of her arm still coated in dried blood from the field. She waited, only wanting to relinquish them to Casaf’s hands. The Zabrak at her side stilled-knowing his curiosity burned brightly. Sybila could read the room and the moment the weight was secured she waved her gauntlet lazily to turn the men’s attention away.
“Don’t listen to their echo, they are possessive things that are equally petty,” she warned the moment she let go. Even the purest heart could be drawn in on occasion, she hardly wanted to set the stranger up for failure. “-Ban have a transport hailed down. Fel should be at the Hand. I am going. Casaf please be ready.”
“Jespe’s squad will go with you as well, give the bird ten minutes,” Ban answered, the reflective green screen catching her eye. He hadn’t hesitated. He motioned to a runner and she shrugged her pauldrons wordlessly, armor creaking. The woman was weighed down by the day, it had dug it’s claws deep into her joints and torn muscle. She couldn’t find an argument in the decision. It was a show perhaps, to put on a strong face before the former Executioner.
“Someone get me a stim pack while we’re at it too-” the woman half turned from the post, arms ganguly as she smacked her belt-fishing out the gut soaked ninety-nine carton. Sybila was happy to rip open the paper carton, and plug the bent smoke between her lips followed by a light. Tobacco burned, anchoring her to the durasteel underfoot as she drew a grateful drag off the smoke. Multiple boots shuffled behind her as she lumbered off toward the improvised landing pad. Her ribs prodded and clenched tightly like a fist, all she felt was cold-shaking of the underwhelming calm.
Pinching the smoke between two digits, Sybila ran her tongue over her cracked lips savoring the tang of copper and the bite of the wounds. It was far too much to consider, whatever laid ahead and the woman dragged her hand through her tangled hair pacing as the Marshallers flagged in another RDAG. The distant sound of firefight betrayed the violence still surrounding them. She didn’t have to face it alone, Sybila inhaled sharply-quickly, stuffing the end of the smoke back in her mouth to mask herself. That's what the Zabrak had meant, maybe it was a little too late and coming from the wrong man. It’s what Appw’rii had tried to tell her once. Taking a long drag from the smoke, it pained her to hold that breath-to choke on the smoke. Her servo clenching slowly until the metal strained enough to pain freyed nerves. Her chest heaved as she let it go in one breath, the woman hung her head.
When the transport’s ramp hit the building side, nine men loaded up and they launched. Casaf was a polite man and the worst part of her was tempted to push back against it. The RDAG wove through the air control's direction upon launch, rapidly cutting across the besieged city-the pilots exchanges with air command filtering out in to the hull. Sybila remained ever silent as the men acquainted themselves, but their was a division that was drawn down the center between all those crammed in the cabin. Too many people from different backgrounds across the galaxy and personal vendetta that had been bled out here. It was only a temporary arrangement, she prayed. The Hand of Thrawn was still inkled in familiarity, hydraulics hissing as the rear ramp dropped nigh minutes after their take off. The rising steps she had climbed in rebellion a decade ago were familiar but stained by their assailants filth. Silence was held in respect. Minutes trickled down as the woman entered the Fortress flanked by Jespe and Dooku's 'finest'. Engulfed by an era passed, rifles were carefully cradled by her troopers, but she kept her palms open-following the direction of the stationed local forces, determined to put an end to the farce.
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