Dominion CIS | The Red War: Dorvalla

[Captain King]

B R E A K​

Location: Dorvalla – Dorvalla Penal
Time: 2200 Hours
Equipment: DC-17 Blaster Pistols ( Dual ), Armour ( See Image )
Objective: (1) Breach the prison (2) Find a map of the prison (3) Secure the upper landing platform (4) Assassinate the leadership of the LOBOS operation
Tags: | Luna Terrik | Tiria Reinhart | Tien Ulinesque | Subject 73 Red | Tyran Numeck | CT-308 Maverick | Jasmille Kavos | Jie Tarell | Tegan Farron | Subject 82 Snow | Udrid | Eva Winburn |

King, for the first time since his carbonite thaw, found himself standing with others who looked like him. People who wore the armour of the Clone Legions of the Grand Army of the Republic. Even if they didn't hold the same blasters, share the same genetics, they were still a family to him. They might not be able to compare to his Clone Brothers, infact, he doubted they ever would, but they'd serve as a substitute. He doubted he actually wanted a replacement anyway. It'd disrespect their memory, and their legacy. The legacy they had set in stone.

More importantly, it'd break the bond King had formed with them. The bond one formed when they bled with another. The type that could only be broken when it was replaced. And that, that would be sacrilege.

He might've trained with these troops, but that had proved that they were only good at putting in hours and hauling themselves around. There was a difference between battle and training, one that only people who had experienced both could ever get. You tired your body out in training, but battle exhausted it. Battle broke the body, training hardened it so it didn't break.

These men and women and everything inbetween that one could be in this modern era called themselves Dauntless, but they had not proved themselves worthy of the name. In the war, and on Kamino, you earnt your nickname. It defined who you were. It made you more than just a number. It won the war. The clankers were just models, metal and numbers, and what did they have to do to keep up with the Clones? They made their own specialised droids. They gave droids rocket arms, and shields. And still they lost.

You needed more than just weapons and ability to win, you need personality, a brain, a way to think other than pre-established forms of fighting. They might think to swing a sword up and down to block, but what if somebody slashed up or down to attack them? They'd be unable to block it because they wouldn't be able to process it.

It was why his Clones Brethren had won the war. Because they could think. Because they learnt.

He kept his head low and his rangefinder down. His DC-17s gripped tightly in his hands, his finger on the trigger. It was a direct affront to basic blaster safety. But there was no safety in war. No guarantees. He'd rather shoot himself in the foot in the process of shooting the enemy in the head than never shoot the enemy at all.

King trudged on through the dust, which the mission briefing had stated was lommite dust. It was a by product of lommite ore mining, something that Dorvalla had used as it's main source of income. That didn't matter to him, though. It was chalky, and generally unpleasant to walk in. Though it was certainly better than the thick snow he had marched in during his time on Zaadja shortly before the end of the Clone Wars, that didn't stop it from bringing back memories of the sands of Geonosis.

He had to admit, dropping from orbit had been quite entertaining, and very much unlike anything he had done in the Siege Battalion. It was the type of new experience he wanted. But it was also the type of experience very few had had in the Clone Wars. Everything after that had, however, been an experience that was familiar to him.

The thunder above him brought back comforting memories of the War, the roar of artillery fire that rocked the bodies of shinies, the brief, cut-off thud of the shells hitting the ground as the scraping of metal on metal took over, before the thunder roared out again. Mission briefing had stated that lommite dust turned from a chalky powder to a mucky mud when it got wet. Nothing very pleasant to walk through.

King found himself walking at the front of his squad. He cast the occasional glance backwards to make sure none of the men under his unofficial command were falling behind or getting stuck. They shouldn't be, and there would be closer troops to pick them up and help them along than he, but there was no sense getting caught out because two troops got, quite literally, stuck in the mud.

While he didn't hold command of the squad, and certainly didn't hold a rank to be giving them orders, that wouldn't stop him from giving the orders regardless. He'd bark his orders at the Master Sergeants, hell, the Grand Marshal too, if he had to. He'd see this mission through. And he'd see it a victory. He wouldn't let himself survive while his brothers died if he did nothing. He might've been a forced deserter, but that didn't mean he had to do nothing with the chance he had been given.

His visor lifted, keeping constantly aware of the spotlight and where it shone, careful to keep his distance, and to keep to the shadows and out of sight. It brought a silent smirk to his lips underneath his helmet as memories of the good old days came flooding back to him. Slipping past clanker patrols and into enemy camps to save their captured brothers...

He raised his pistols up, lowering his helmet and looking forward as he leant forward, keeping pace with the official command. He muttered a simple sentence, barely a few words, under his breath.

"Just another day in Helll..."

​

 

[Beric Layne]

D O R V A L L A

Tag: Vynter | Effie

The inside of the dropship that carried the team of Knights Obsidian was cold. Apart from the various natural rumblings of turbulence and the low hum of the engines, it was quiet. A single strip running across the ceiling illuminated the shuttle's interior, and some of the Knights sat on the seats lining either wall, while others, including Beric, preferred to hold the grips dangling from the ceiling and stand. And, there was one that chose neither, but to instead walk up to Beric himself.

Vynter. So that was the name he went by now.

Beric and his older brother had never been too close; the duties of the then-heir and the age difference between the two had driven a natural gap between the two progenies of Jormund Layne. Beric had been young when his brother had been exiled, and even now, he had only heard whispered rumors of why. He'd heard of the Tragedy of Valley Court, and the story of how Frostbyte, the ancestral blade of House Layne, had rejected the presumptive heir. Whatever had happened, Beric's older brother had disappeared, and he had suddenly been thrust into the role of the sole heir of House Layne, the new successor to his father as Lord of Frosthall.

But now, his brother stood here before him. He exuded subtle, manic energy, like a storm, barely contained. And although Vynter greeted him with a smile, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and a brotherly challenge, Beric could sense the envy inside him. The yearning for Beric's title, Beric's responsibility. The storm behind the smile.

So much for a pleasant family reunion.

"Brother," he responded curtly. "Good to see you again, too."
​

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[Tiria Reinhart]

Location: Dorvalla – Dorvalla Penal
Callsign: Alpha Actual
Tag: Luna Terrik | The Monster | Captain King
Equipment: Project Xiphos Armor | Modular Tri-Blaster | Micro Light Shield | Bayonet | Cryo Grenades | Fragmentation Grenades | Thermal Detonators | Comlink | Map Drones

Master Sergeant Tiria Reinhart stood at the fore with the Grand Marshal Luna Terrik. The Commando peered into the distance and surveyed the surrounding land heedless of the weather brewing overhead. Shame no one had convinced some of those Witches to meddle. Might begin raining soon. Didn't matter in the end though. Wet or dry, their adversaries would be cut down just as easily.

A subtle shift of her head followed Luna leaning in a little closer. Tiria pulled a small datapad from her side and extended it out toward the Grand Marshal for her to take. "This will point direction and distance until the map is acquired." A gathering of mapping drones would be used to give a rough layout so the troops could stay on the move. It'd serve until they found a more detailed layout to remove any doubling back due to dead ends, and hopefully pinpoint where various security systems were installed.

Luna said everything that needed saying, so Tiria didn't waste time echoing the sentiments. The Master Sergeant did space herself out a bit from the Grand Marshal, however, in case either of them gotten taken out on the approach. No point having both of them drop in one go from a lucky shot or a well-placed mine. Hand signals would direct those nearest to muster forward, but keep low.

Every now and then the signal to stop, and then move followed the sweep of the spotlight. Even if everyone was on their toes and aware of where the light was, now wasn't when you assumed that was the case. Anyone with tunnel vision got the visual cue to wake up; everyone else didn't care.

Spotlight might not sweep at such a leisurely and regularly interval once the sound of Sergei's assault could be heard around the prison. Even subtle distractions helped the Dauntless creep in close to punch their way in. If they were lucky the breach wouldn't be heard by anyone. Tiria didn't rely on luck, however. Getting in close would be enough; they'd just mow down anyone they came across that couldn't help with the mission objectives.

 

[Saint Azidalf Elde'gaud]

Dorvalla - Dorvalla Penal - Outer Walls
| Rience | Cordelia Malkavian |

Some say that praying to a Saint is more effectual than praying to a God, for a Saint knows the pains and troubles that the common man goes through. Others say that there is no need to pray, for Saints walk among them. Then there are the few who have so often been ignored that they lose their belief in the powers of Saints and Gods. Those few that lose faith are the few who often need their faith the most.

Yet Saint Azidalf Elde'gaud had not appeared within the Halls of the Dorvalla Penal building for no reason. Today he had come to answer prayers, to free the unjustly imprisoned and to punish those who held the wrongly detained under lock and key.

He appeared from the ground, stepping out of it as one would from a staircase, the dust, dirt and stone seeming to fold to allow him through. His robes remained still, barely moving, a pale, uncolourful grey. His face was not graced by it's usual amused expression, nor a smile or smirk. Today, the Patron Saint wore nothing but a blank expression of indifference. His head swivelled from left to right, inspecting the area around him.

He was almost immediately aware of the all-too common sounds of blaster fire, explosions and otherwise death that one heard nowadays. He kept his hands by his side as he watched two people attacking the armed tyrants guarding the prison. Perhaps they shared his objective, perhaps not. It mattered very little to Azidalf in the end, for they were two and he was one. That simply meant he didn't have to worry about harming an innocent.

Within a second, his form and figure flashed blinding fast across the field and straight up the wall, slow enough to catch one's eye but only as a blur of colour. As soon as his foot touched the wall, explosions followed, following in his footsteps. He stood on the wall and looked around briefly, as droids and soldiers alike stared at him, unsure of where he had appeared from or who he was. Their silence and stillness was quickly eradicated, as organic and droid alike were lifted from the ground, ten feet in the air. Blood, oil and various other bodily fluids began to drip and dribble down to the ground as their forms lost all healthy figure.

Almost as soon as he had arrived, the guards of the wall were gone, leaving only crumpled bodies that looked as though a million hands had grabbed onto them and pushed inwards. Not a single one was left alive. Turning to face two of the Anti-Air Emplacements, Azidalf raised the palms of his hands to the both of them. From his open palms, a visible wave of Force Energy travelled to and collided with the emplacements. The metal splintering beneath the pure Force Energy, imploding. The weapons, armour and bodies of the droids followed suite, splintering into sharp fragments of metal, mineral, stone and bone. He stretched his hands upwards, the splinters the size of spears mimicking his movements, forming into a conglomerate of various sharp, jagged objects.

He then brought his arms swiftly swiping downwards, his arms open and his palms facing outwards. The spikes, splinters and spears then split off into exact halves, whizzing along the walls, finding flesh and metal to dig themselves deep into, but dancing away from the two unidentified companions he knew to be present with him.

Soon, screams and cries of agony rang out from the organics as they were impaled by the bones and metal of their own comrades, and armaments. He then lowered his arms to his sides, his robes billowing from the swift movements. He clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to look in the general direction of the man out of the two companions. His voice then rang out across the distance, as if he was yelling, yet his voice held none of the strain, stress or exertion experienced when yelling, it was as if he was using a very reasonable voice for being within arms length of them.

"My dear fellows, perhaps we might find it mutually beneficial to combine out efforts? That is, of course, assuming you are presently attacking this horrid establishment, which I have all necessary means to believe you are."

The voice that spoke to them was the voice one might expect to hear from an aged man who was not elderly. It was gravelly and rough from decades of use, yet strong and authoritative, speaking with experience and power. He clasped his hands behind his back, his teal eyes shining brightly against a non-existent light.

"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Saint Azidalf Elde'gaud, Patron Saint of the Sean-Olc. The only Saint to walk the Galaxy in a tangible form, and the oldest Sean-Olc, seconded by Naithair of House Arcturus. I seek the punishment of those who run this vile imprisonment complex, and the freedom and healing of those who were wrongly imprisoned inside of it. Will you assist me, or must I proceed by myself?"

He turned fully to look at them, his nigh seven-foot form tall, yet his robes maintaining the anonymity of his form. His skin seemed especially pale and dull, the wrinkles on his skin quite noticeable, and the length of his silver hair and beard something to marvel at. His tone, demeanour and expression remained unwavering, offering only the certainty of the facts he had given to them, and providing that there was no doubt about him succeeding in his simple, yet noble, mission.

"If it will help in your decision making process, I do believe I can cite a famous quote... Those who do not save the weak, can not call themselves Strong... Or perhaps a simplified version being that saving someone who is in trouble is common sense, would suit you more? Regardless, I believe I get my point across quite clearly."

Saint Azidalf Elde'gaud made no further action, whether it be to speak, move or otherwise. He simply stood, staring the man down, his eyes not trailing for a moment away from his eyes.
​

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Castle

Tagging: Abel Denko

She had been born into a world that had never known peace until the arrival of the Malverns and the CIS. No matter how deep she tried to go into her memories, Fauvel could always name a battle being fought, a fallen being mourned, a sword never buried for another would always rise to pick it back up and head onto another battlefield. For centuries, the Astier’s had breathed and lived and died in war, their past glory largely a prize won by the blood spilled.

It had also been their downfall.

Although, as she had learned, many in the galaxy would have found it outrageous, Fauvel had been introduced to the pains and risks of battle since an early age. By the time she was six she was a page to her father and older siblings, by the time she was fourteen, she marched into battlefields as a squire. Such was the way of her house, there were siblings to replace her if she had not managed to prove herself good enough to survive. And now, some years later, it was time to donne her armor and weapons once more.

“We will soon find out” She returned Abel’s grin, her rose eyes seemed brighter and deeper than they had before, the dark tendrils of the Force surging from within her to envelop her. A lightsaber hilt was clipped to her hip, but what truly caught the eye was the lightsaber pike within her pale hand. Blood Reign, home to famed warriors, specialized in the use of spears, lances and ranged weaponry. Accordingly, the members of the ruling house had developed a double-wielding style that alternated between the spear and sword. As for ranged, four javelin-like weapons rested attached to her back.

The last time she had been involved in any kind of battle with the CIS, she had been on the losing side. However, even if it had meant her disgrace, only a stubborn fool would blind themselves to the good that defeat had done to Illyria. This was her new reality, and while she still had other types of battles to sort through to see her name regain its honor and her province its footing, she would fight today for the Confederacy: that their influence may shape another planet into progress, like it had done for Illyria under the Malverns.

The first volley of blaster fire that reached her died upon contact with the cortosis mesh her spear, and she lost no time in beginning their advance towards the source of the firing. Once they had breached that first line, it would be easier to navigate the chaotic scenario to reach their objective: Dorvalla Mining’s Castle. She made sure to stay within a reasonable distance from Abel, for even though Fauvel prided herself in her skills she would not make the mistake of being overconfident. Proper experience was yet something she lacked.

 

[Udrid]

Tag: Luna Terrik | The Monster | Captain King

Udrid, clad in his issued armor and carrying his suppressed semiautomatic rifle, his pistol and his three combat daggers.he strode calmly through the rainstorm with his fellows. This was it, the time to prove that they were deserving of their assignment. He looked about at his unit, people that even though he didn’t know the most too personally, he’d call friend. Then his gaze returned to the prison ahead of them. It was time to infiltrate.

The spotlights were a familiar obstacle. He had gone on rescue missions before, and spotlights were the standard, mundane form of spotting approaching enemies. He would be able to get past without difficulty, but his unit was his concern. He, true to form, was the member of the team that’s made sure the rest of the team made it. Turning back to help his comrades through sticky situations, or mudholes or were otherwise held back.

The prison grew larger, and he grew more excited, excited to be back in action. Excited to prove his worth. But not an excitement that overtook him, he remained focused on their task, and he would do so until the task was completed or he was dead.

 

[Anakwor Farlorn]

Farlorn's Forlorn

Chapter Seven: Rat Holes
Part One​

Location: South of the Castle
Tags: Fauvel Astier Lyra Vent Yusha Abel Denko The Monster Luna Terrik Shuklaar Kyrdol Caedyn Arenais
Objective: Purge Old Town

Colonel Anakwor Farlorn rubbed the bad scar that stretched from his chest to his shoulder. It throbbed badly when it was damp or arid weather. But none were now present as he marched up the bracken-choked hillside, turned a sickly yellow by years of unrestricted industrial waste that had poisoned the entire ground. He doubted that anything could ever grow again, but that the job of the Confederate geologist was to determine for certain.

An errant breeze flapped the camo-cape tied around his neck and rippled his formal black-officers uniform. Recently, he had decided to forgo his usual golden epaulets and medals, even dulling down his brass buttons to the point they no longer offered any random sparkles of light. More and more often he had to personally take to the front itself and such small things could potentially give away the game during a stealth operation or reveal his importance to an enemy sniper. It was a decision, an officer should appear as his station, but one that had simply had to make do with the changing situations.

Adapt or die, was a fact that he had learned many times before, sometimes painfully.

They had deployed several kilometers away in the more arid lowlands to the south, where Confederate Tacticians had determined with him several hours ago during a briefing would be best suited for an advance on the city. Select bombardment of their transport ships up in orbit had softened and leveled the more difficult areas of the dispersal sites and his flametroopers had cleared any vegetation clumps with their long stove fire projectors.

He had worried that the difficult nature of the hilly terrain would slow down their progress by a measurable margin but his men had once more surprised him with the speedy but steady march, sliding through any obstacles like a flowing river.

A silent and invisible river at that.

Behind them, there were over three thousand and three hundred Rangers in the bracken thick valley and while their commander, with his experienced eyes, could see the occasional random twitch in vegetation, the snap of a stick, and dark silhouettes that appeared only for a half seconds before disappearing in a blink of an eye, to an untrained pair would be utterly unable to guess the composition or if it was even an enemy force.

He reached the top of the slope and saw the objective. At his side was Major Vidar Fennstrum, the ruthless commander of the First Battalion, who wordlessly handed him a pair of Macrobinocs. He hardly needed the scope. The Castle was encircled by massive, towering grey curtain walls that blocked off sections of the city, all with the express purpose of ensuring the population could not step out of line. But thanks, or rather the opposite, the efforts of their foe. had created a massive breach in the Southern Walls, an opening of rubble three hundred meters wide and belching toxic yellow smoke. That was their way in. Already, he could hear reports that other Confederate forces were in motion.

“What’s our play here?” Fennstrum asked, reluctantly adding a moment later a “Sir.”

Farlorn glanced over at him. Fennstrum was always the malcontent, with a barely-hidden hate for his commander for leaving their world to perish, five-hundred million souls, without even a hint of resistance and for using his men as mere tools for his state. Some in the Regiment were then puzzled when Farlorn promoted Fennstrum to his second-in-command after their first battle.

However, there was a saying. Keep your friends close, but your foes even closer. This way Farlorn could

“I have my orders from high command. We are to support the advance of heavier Confederate forces by moving on the Old Town just ahead of us right there.” He pointed towards the burning breach. “Our job is to engage the enemy and purge any elements that go to ground. Here’s hoping that this direct engagement will draw significant forces out of the HQ. At the very least, we’ll be clearing out a potential threat to their flank.”

“If reports that I’m getting are true, then hostile forces currently occupy the walls. Any advance will be surely met with harassing fire.” Fennstrum said as Farlorn took a dozen steps to the right to get a better view of something and he followed close behind.

“Then we will take the walls using the towers. It may be hard-fought but I’m sure that once we’re on the walls, we can sweep aside any opposition that remains. Once that’s done, the way’s open to take the old town below.” The Colonel nearly tripped over some roots and silently cursed himself for his clumsiness.

“We don’t have enough men to both hold the walls and clear the streets.”

“We don’t need to occupy the walls entirely, only control the access points to it. We may not be able to entirely use it to its full advantage but the least we can do is to prevent the enemy from using it.”

“Third Battalion will be more than fit for that duty,” said Fennstrum as he scraped the mud off his boots on an outcrop of rocks.

“Yes, their skill with close-range engagements should excel here. But leave me the flamers, we’ll need them to flush out any elements in the buildings.”

Fennstrum started at this and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “We’re... using the flametroopers? In an environment such as this, thick with civilians, will cause casualties. And due to the poorly built nature of this entire city, who knows if any flames grow out of control.”

“Noted, Major,” Farlorn said off-handedly. “It is an acceptable risk and I have full confidence in Nikos and his men’s affinity with their element.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we can do without the flamers. Grenades and bayonets should be enough to clear them out without causing so much collateral damage.” Fennstrum protested swiftly. “It may take longer but at least we won’t potentially be cooking civvies in their homes.”

The Major, despite his cynical and often nasty nature, cared deeply for the individual life. It was another main reason that Farlorn had elevated the man, to remind him that lives were more than numbers, currency to be spent. But more and more recently, he felt like he was being pushed more to the side. Farlorn had begun a personal campaign to achieve an ambition that he had been apparently holding for quite some time already. A campaign that had seen the best of the Pathfinders suddenly and without-word deployed to a far-distant world in a clandestine mission with the Knights Obsidian of all people. The scouts had remained entirely silent about what had occurred but Fennstrum was able to ply from one of them that they suspected that the Colonel had gained a favor to be cashed in and used later, or at the very least important contacts established for the future.

This suggested that Farlorn was weaving his web of back-room power to ready for a grand occasion, something that he had no idea what really was.

So far, nothing too horrible had happened, but Fennstrum had seen first hand the length people were willing to go for their ambitions, especially one that had seemingly been cultivated for so long. He just hoped that his commander wouldn’t lose himself in whatever he was planning for or it would damn not just Farlorn, but likely the entire regiment.

“Acceptable losses,” Farlorn replied, seeing the way Fennstrum shifted. “Most of Old Town is expendable save for a few districts I’ve marked that will be fairly important for future economic recovery once we establish a loyalist government. Hell, we might even help by clearing away the slums for the contractors to build better housing. We will likely lose far more lives if we go with the former tactic anyway, Confederate and Ranger lives.”

“Sir-”

“Enough, Vidar Fennstrum,” Farlorn used his full name like he scolding a child. “Like it or not, I’ve made my decision. It is the best course of action to take that will guarantee a swift and total victory. Any non-combatant or property loss I assure you was most likely unavoidable given my objectives. Sometimes you have to make hard choices for the greater good.”

Fennstrum decided against speaking again. He had stuck out his neck far enough already and it looked bad for morale if the two commanders were seen bickering on the eve of what would surely be a grueling hard-fought battle.

“Then I will prepare the men for the advance,” Fennstrum said curtly and stalked off.

But before he was out of ear-shot Farlorn turned and said “Major, a good soldier obeys without question. A good officer commands without doubt.”

At this he stopped but he didn’t turn around. The reply “Understood,” came with great reluctance in his voice.

“Sir?” Farlorn said. “Major, I believe that you’re missing a vital part of an officer's vocal conduct.”

“Sir.” Fennstrum venomously spat back before continuing his march down the hill.

 

[Isalor Grathan]

I N F I L T R A T E​

Location: Dorvalla – Castle
Time: 22:30 Hours
Equipment: Darkheart, Incognitus Immortalem
Objective: (1) Infiltrate the Shanty Walls (2) Navigate to Dorvalla Mining Headquarters (3) Infiltrate the Headquarters (4) Arrest the Dorvalla Mining Leadership
Tags: | Caedyn Arenais |

It had been a long while since Isalor had seen a large scale battlefield. A malfunction with his pod possibly caused by the overcrowding of equipment inside of it saw him away from combat on Rodia, sent cascading into the swamps short of his target. Today was his chance to prove himself and gain the Lord Commander's trust.

Lord Lotus had never excelled on the battlefield. So it made sense that the man behind his mask did not either. His time as a Sith had seen him take many roles, that of judge, jury and most commonly, executioner. He was, however, far more proficient at the arts of inquisition and interrogation, preferably by torture.

But none of that was involved in the happenings of the day at hand. Presently, he found himself laying prone atop a rocky cliff overlooking the Mining Colony that he had been tasked with infiltrating. He raised two fingers up to his helmet and slid them between the cool metal of the mask and the woven metal of his cloak. He pressed them against a small button, zooming in on the colony with the HUD.

From what he could see, somebody had missed the very explicit order to not use heavy ordnance, or ordnance of any kind, for that matter. They appeared to be going guns-blazing into a zone occupied by civilians...

The audacity of the Defence Force... he had heard of how they massacred a Knights Obsidian Outpost months ago, even if it was at the orders of a corrupt Fleet Marshal...

His train of thought was soon interrupted as both the Force and his suit's HUD alerted him to an approaching dropship, in particular, one carrying a Force User. It was almost silent in comparison to the thunder of a storm above and the roar of the artillery being sent down upon the civilian encampment.

Yet he heard it all the same, his suit singling it out amongst all the other sounds. He quickly stood up, and engaged the mimetic-suit function of the Incognitus Immortalem as the magnetic grips of his right palm pulled his saber from his belt and into his hand, the blade not yet blazing.

It took him not a moment to recognise that the Force User within the shuttle was a Light-Side User. The foul-scent of the Light-Side radiating from the shuttle in waves, sickening to the Dark-Side that lurked within Isalor, pushed back and suppressed heavily by the balance he held, however temporarily.

Thinking back to the orbital bombardment and flat out assault on the main compound below, he found the idea of having another Force User to work with most appealing. His armour, while resilient and strong, was not ultimately designed for combat of that scale, nor was his saber. While he might be able to sneak around, being invisible did not stop stray fire from hitting you, nor make you intangible.

And so he deactivated the mimetic function of his suit, and raised his left wrist, letting it track the dropship. A moment later, a grappling hook fired from the gauntlet, followed by a line of wire as it magnetically attached to the shuttle, the wire not yet taut.

A second later, Isalor was running along with the shuttle, before kicking off the cliff, using both the Force and the Hydraulics of his armour to propel him higher and farther than would be normal for a human of his size. He swung through the open air, his cloak blowing in the breeze. The wire began retracting, straightening and flexing as it pulled Isalor quickly up onto the dropship's underside, his lightsaber now returning to his belt as the magnetic grips on both his boots and palms engaged, allowing him to crawl onto the side of the ship as a spider might.

Upon reaching the entrance to the personnel section of the shuttle, Isalor raised his right fist, rapping against the hull with his knuckles, literally knocking to be let in.

 

[Caedyn Arenais]

Apparel: Caedyn's Jedi robes
Weapons: Armistice Dual/Staff Lightsaber
​

As they were near the point of descent unto the outpost, a rapping on the shuttles exterior caused Caedyn's gaze to be swiftly drawn away from the cockpit where the two pilots were seated and instead moving towards the source of the noise. Placing his left hand against the durasteel hull, his eyes closed momentarily as he reached out to sense who or whatever could have made such a disturbance, and being most surprised when he found himself sensing that of another person attached to the transports outside while in mid-flight.

"What in the seven hells..." Caedyn muttered under his breath in disbelief, soon moving to reach for the grip of the troop deck's point of entry, pulling the doors back with a hiss as the world's atmosphere breached the shuttle and the Jedi Knight slid the heavy door back; "Get in, quickly!" he called to Isalor Grathan, knowing nothing about the strange arrival aside from his rather extreme manner of making contact.

"Captain Delis, keep us out of range of fire for the time being!" Caedyn soon instructed the main pilot whilst keeping his eyes on the Darksider before him. According to what he had been told by Asaraa, as well as what he'd heard from word of mouth regarding the Confederacy, there were more darksiders present than light. Given the fact that he'd just let one inside of the transport, he was rather banking on the possibility that this man was CIS.

"Nice of you to swing by..." The Jedi Knight said, with his right hand resting upon the hilt that for the time being remained magna-clamped to his belt, there for an easy draw if needed but otherwise refusing to do so unless the newcomer would force his hand; "Now would you mind telling me who you are?".​

 

[Luna Terrik]

B R E A K

Location: Dorvalla – Dorvalla Penal
Time: 2210 Hours
Equipment: Personal XIPHOS armor, BAW-89 Carbine Rifle, Tactical Recon Handgun (2), G-20 Glop Grenade (3), Thermal Detonator (2)
Objective: (1) Breach the prison (2) Find a map of the prison (3) Secure the upper landing platform (4) Assassinate the leadership of the LOBOS operation
Tags: | Tiria Reinhart | Tien Ulinesque | Subject 73 Red | Tyran Numeck | CT-308 Maverick | Jasmille Kavos | Jie Tarell | Tegan Farron | Subject 82 Snow | Udrid | Eva Winburn |

The explosions could be heard before they could be seen.

Part of the operation called for stealth, particularly from her groups of men. Getting into the prison as quietly as possible, as to make it to the top without arousing too much suspicion. They couldn’t get cause moving through the prison, a place where turns could lead to dead ends and traps could be sprung without any warning. The less resistance they encountered on their way to the upper landing platform, the better. Luna had faith that her three squads could do that without much trouble. However…having a little distraction never hurt anything.

Poking the hornets nest, now that was a job better suited to others. Explosions from the other side of the prison gave her the ok to move forward. Sergei and his band of explosive laden mercenaries would do they absolute best to keep the attention of the prison guards, while her Mandalorian friends would make sure that the targets didn’t leave the party too early. No one liked an early dipper, and the Dauntless had a meeting set with these pieces of bantha crap.

Arriving at the wall just as the explosions started going off on the other side, Luna motioned to Icer, Omega’s newest explosives expert, to set the charges. “Blow it.” With a nod, a commando sporting a cartoonishly drawn explosion on their shoulder pad stepped forward, moving to the wall and removing the explosives from his pack. To everyone else, Luna motioned backward, taking a few steps herself. “Backup, I don’t want anyone hurt by shrapnel.” As they moved, Icer finished up setting the charges, a moment later joined his comrades at a safe distance. All it took was a nod from the grand marshal, and the wall in front of the three squads disappeared in a puff of disintegrated concrete and resin.

Luna waited a moment, making sure the hole didn’t compromise the structure’s foundation too badly, and that they hadn’t aroused suspicion just yet. When it was apparent that neither had occurred, the armored commando moved through the hall, emerging on the other side in some sort of lower level hallway. What intel they did have on this place said that most of these lower levels were used as storage rooms, with a central elevator system in the middle. Moving herself to kneel next to the wall, blaster scanning down the hall, it continued to be obvious the little distraction had worked. Opening a channel to all three squads, the next part of the plan was laid in motion. “Omega, Alpha, Tau, split up. Move toward the middle. If you find a place to hack in and find a map of this place, do it, then comm me. Private King, you have command of Tau.” They would do their jobs, she knew that. Taking a few steps from the wall, Luna and the rest of the Omegas moved down one end of the hall, leaving the Alphas and Taus to do the same.

 

[Ruus Kote]

CASTLE: AKALENEDAT ​

Immediate Friendly Forces: 1st Jurkad Verde Tank Battalion "Kad'b Marev" - A Company, 1st Jurkad Verde Mechanized Infantry Battalion "Shereshoy" - A Company.​

Ally Tag(s): The Monster | Caedyn Arenais | Abel Denko | Yusha | Lyra Vent | Fauvel Astier | Anakwor Farlorn | Isalor Grathan​

​

Orbital surveillance revealed that their objective was going to be absolute haran to have to fight through. Armor and mechanized troops through a city was a tough ask. Vuhyr'yalilyr units were in short supply off late. Something that he didn't really care about, even if he was being paid enough that they wouldn't mind him taking an interest in it. He didn't have any talent for special operations in any case. Ideally, they'd have knocked out all the AA guns but some of them were a little too close to civilian populated areas for the anti-sensor missiles to be deployed. That meant they had to go in any knock it out the old fashioned way.​

​

Ordinarily he'd let one of those hot-headed di'kute from the Mirshir-Jurkad rammikade volunteer for the job, but they were all off being big shabla heroes and taking on the prison. That meant it was on him to knock out those guns. To minimize the chances that they were engaged and neutralized by the remaining anti-aircraft defenses, Ruus was taking A company from both the tank and mechanized battalion. That was about twelve HAT-01 Busayr Heavy Assault Transports in total to ferry them all. He'd departed on the job a few hours ago, now they were almost there. He'd left the flight deck for his command tank not too long ago.​

​

Super-heavy tanks were simply not feasible in an environment like this. They'd left behind theirs. Which was fine. At Yurb he'd made do with a Jariler, and he'd come back intact to his aliit. "Ke'gyce 6 to Marev Aurek 6 and Shereshoy Aurek 6, final comms check. Make sure you're ready to go as soon as we hit the ground. I want this to be done quick, clean and easy." Affirmative responses from Aamer Kyrdol and Mirta Kyrr, Kad'b Marev and Shereshoy's commanding officers chorused in through his helmet. He didn't need to remind them to watch for civilians, this wasn't the first job like this they'd done. Turned out, as long as there were sentients in the galaxy, there'd always be two shabuire who thought themselves in the right, and with your average everyday aruetii caught in the middle. It reminded him of the latest civil war that had rocked the Mandalore system in some way and in that moment he came to the uncomfortable realization that the irony wasn't lost on him at all.​

​

That moment, that one moment of pensiveness, was all it took for the galaxy to remind him how quick things could go straight to hara, and how he was not nearly done seeing the worst of it. Ruus had been in transports while being shot at before. He knew exactly what it felt like, even from the inside of his tank. Or rather, especially from the inside of his tank. If he had to guess, heavy turbolasers, quad or maybe even the hex variety, exactly like the guns they were being deployed to knock out. Rather, precisely the guns they'd been sent in to knock out. Turned out, all the CIS IFF flying aircraft in the sky, and the chaakare had picked theirs to fire at.​

​

"Iviin 1-1, we're taking heavy fire. Brace for evasive maneuvers," came the voice of their pilot over the transport's intercom. Another violent vibration demonstrated how well the evasive maneuvers were working out for them without being informed of the same by their pilot. Another from the opposite side of the transport alerted him to the fact that their transport was being penned in by at least two different batteries. No matter how he looked at it, things were pretty much going to haran for them, and the osik'la operation hadn't even started.​

​

"Remember how I said I wanted to see how these tank hold up in a crash?" asked his second in command, Alor'ad Janar Kyrdol. Ruus could remember all too well, and so he laughed despite the situation. "I take it back, let some other chakaar test it out." Unfortunately, Ruus had called that they were now sure to sate that particular curiosity of his personally when the di'kutla words had left Janar's mouth the first time.​

​

Ruus fastened the safety restraints in his seat and made sure they were secure, "Too late for that, you, di'kut, strap your shebs in and make sure you're alive to buy me drinks for being right." He sighed and cut the comms, softly adding to himself, " Haar'chak, I hate being right sometimes." Unfortunately for Ruus, he didn't know just how much he was going to be hating being right until the transport began lurching starboard. That was it, something important had to be hit. He'd have bet his last paycheck on starboard engines and stabilizers if he was a betting man.​

​

"Iviiin 1-1 to all friendly callsigns, we're going down, brace for impact. Repeat, brace for impact!" came the voice of their pilot, only now showing signs of panicking. One of the last few trains of productive thought flitting through his mind reminding him that their tanks were equipped with anticoncussion field generators. He quickly diverted power to their anticoncussion field generators, but didn't have enough time to raise the others and remind them of the same. His last hope as he glanced at the quickly decreasing altitude display was that his men would remember this.​

​

Only moments later, a violent impact shook the tank like nothing else he'd ever experienced, jarring his very bones, before his world went dark.​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPON: xxx
TAG: Meili Feng | Vanir Eris

“You would say that… Even without the armor I am much larger and would still have a hard time finding my footing. Granted I have methods you do not have to make my trip up the side of this cliff much easier.”

A grin pulled at the lips of the Lupine as another voice began to speak. It belonged to Vanir Eris . Gerwald still did not really know what to think about this individual. His use of the force was eclectic, and there was something about him that Gerwald could not put his finger on. Perhaps he rubbed the wolf the wrong way, or perhaps he did not. All he knew was this one was still an unknown to him, as was the other companion.

“Regardless, we have to get up there because we are the part of the attack they won’t see coming.”

It was true. The cliff was its own natural defense, and as such the faith which was put into it as was overestimated. Gerwald counted on the element of surprise for their attack, and he was determined to get it.

Without any further discussion, Gerwald began his climb, after Mei started hers.. The suit of armor did make it harder to climb, but with the aid of the force, the Lupine was able to find footing, or simply create when needed. As someone that could shift into a wolf, Gerwald valued his connection to nature. It made sense for him to master the skills which allowed him to manipulate nature. In this case when there was a need for a place to put his foot, Gerwald simply used the rock which was already there to make more, or with a thought he could cut into the stone as needed.

By the time they reached the top, Gerwald moved with haste toward the shadows. Pressing his back up against the wall to remain out of sight, he peered around the corner to his right to memorize the path each guard took. There would be more to the left, so with a nod of his head, Gerwald indicated to Meili Feng to do the same. He would motion for Vanir to create a distraction once they were all set.

“Quietly. We do not want to alert the others to our presence just yet. Let the other team draw all the attention for now.”

 

[Tiria Reinhart]

Location: Dorvalla – Dorvalla Penal
Callsign: Alpha Actual
Tag: Luna Terrik | The Monster | Captain King
Equipment: Project Xiphos Armor | Modular Tri-Blaster | Micro Light Shield | Bayonet | Cryo Grenades | Fragmentation Grenades | Thermal Detonators | Comlink | Map Drones

Tiria took position while the perimeter breech formed a way into the interior of the prison. A quick gesture motioned for Alpha Squad to pour inside. Words weren't necessary at this point. They were trained for this, and their direction was quite apparent.

Much as she would prefer Alpha take point, the map of the facility would contribute immensely to the mission. Carbine held fast, she slipped inside and surged forward to take the lead of the squad. They would seek out a primary terminal or command center. Given the little information available, however, they were as like to find the objective as they were a map. Even the drones would only help map the layout. Though if they were brought down then perhaps that would indicate where unwelcome visitors were not wanted.

Alpha moved into the facility swiftly and were prepared to take down whatever got in their way. That the facility shook from what was happening outside didn't deter them from their aim. Sometimes the world trembled. Preferably because of Dauntless.

Pauses at corners were brief, and silent command by gesture were sharp to guide Commandos down the hallways.

 

[Meili Feng]

​

Hand over hand, foot over foot, the petite woman swarmed up the side of the cliff like one of the Da Yuan from her home. It was like climbing trees or the houses back home, the tomboy had made a habit of chasing her friends up the sides of the buildings dancing across the rooftops as her mother had yelled after her wringing her hands in frustration. It was the games of childhood, full of innocence and laughter, tussling with friends and ending up at home with all the exposed skin covered in mud, avoiding her mother's exasperated looks as she skipped towards the bath.

That had been fun, that had been playful, this was nothing like that.

Her black bodysuit and black hair left the woman as little but a shadow, sliding like liquid away from the edge of the cliff, just a face floating in the darkness as she peered around the edge of the wall, dark eyes flicking back and forth as her gaze took in the sight of the guards patrolling back and forth along the prison grounds, taking in the lights and their patrol routes before she leaned back nodding at Gerwald.

"I will take those on the left-hand side...if you can take those on the right without making too much noise."

Dark eyes flicked over at the lupine, running up and down his large frame as the barest ghost of a smile danced across her face for the briefest moment before vanishing leaving only that careful mask. Mei gave Gerwald one last appraising look before looking back at Vanir and nodding at the man.

"Give me one minute to get into position."

Dropping low to the ground the half-Zanshi slipped around the corner, slipping into the darkness, darting from cover to cover, from one shadow to the next, looking like a ghost as she worked her way into position. Hands pressed against the ground as she lowered herself as low as possible, the muscles in her legs tensing, coiling like springs as she let her eyes slowly peer around the edge of a push counting the steps of the guard's approaching as she stilled, her chest barely moving as she breathed the guard's eyes sliding over her, taking her as just another shadow as they passed by her position.

Gerwald Lechner | Vanir Eris

 

[Bron Vaashe]

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TAG: Lunara Azure | Srina Talon | Rann Thress | Xobos Yakieer | Leven Jeyd | Cardinal Rachne

Dorvalla.​

​

Bryn Vaashe was searching for something. Some said he was looking for himself, and yet others simply had written him off as crazy. Accidents seemed to follow him around, and while the Echani wished he could say he did not know why, he did. There was a monster which lay dormant inside him, one which he could not control. It seemed the more he tried to fight it, the more he lost. Was there a cure, an escape? Perhpas there was, but maybe the only answer he really would find was death.​

​

Death to many was was the ultimate answer, whether it was for healing, escape, or something totally different, many sought refuge in the permanency of it.​

​

Bryn had tried. The scar on over his eye was an indicator of the trials he had put himself through searching for an end to what haunted him. This mission was no different. Traveling the galaxy looking for whatever campaign he could find that would bring him one step closer to death was his life now. This conflict was not because he was looking to help anyone other than himself, but if his only sin was being selfish then Bryn was certain he was not the worst person in the galaxy.​

​

If only being selfish was his only sin.​

​

A trail of bodies littered his past. Senseless death, unneeded and unwanted. He remembered every kill, every moment, every scream. Bryn closed his eyes for a moment as he reached the destination. He could smell the aroma of the shanty towns which surrounded the place. There were civilians, innocent, who were likely going to die. They were told to limit civilian casualties, but Bryn knew the inevitable would happen. There would be more death to justify the freedom of even more.​

​

"Hopefully they will forgive me," he said to no one in particular.​

​

There was a group forming up, an attack already taking place. The Echani took in two deep breaths and let them out slowly.​

​

Fighting was his life.​

​

Fighting was his way.​

 

[Yusha]

C A S T L E​

Tag: Lyra Vent

It was difficult to make out the words.

This was not due to a lack of effort, mind. The King of Beggars prided himself on being able to hear a literal pin drop amidst the darkness of a room. His senses were sharp, always, so that he might syphon gold from his prey without effort. Yet, though his partner for the mission was within arm's reach, it was difficult to even hear the snark which fell from her lips. The reason being? The battle was in full swing. In truth, this was the first time Yusha had ever set foot on an actual battleground.

In truth, it was almost a touch overwhelming.

He would never say as much out loud, opting to chuckle and shake his head at the woman's response. "One can be a gentleman at any time, Princess." came his answer, alive with just as much snark as before. Steeling himself, he awaited for her to begin her ascent - and promptly began to climb after her. The way up was certainly far more taxing than if they had used a grappline line or jetpacks, but what laid at the top was a complete unknown. Flying in loud or relying on a line to do the work could result in a quick end.

This at least afforded them some degree of control over the situation. And, as Yusha looked up, he was afforded the best view on the battlefield. Chivalry died in one simple glance.

Every so often, he would force his head down as an explosion rang out. Or flinch as blaster fire seemingly ripped by behind them. It was not until they had reached near the apex that he climbed up to join her side, motioning at the glass. "Jackpot." he said, reaching for his belt. An autonomous blade quickly was placed upon the window and blitzed in a circle, wide enough for them to climb through. Awkwardly, but they'd fit. Once inside, Yusha took a moment to case their surroundings. Lavish carpet, the smell of...incense? They had definitely made it inside an executive office of some kind. Fortunately, for the moment, the office space looked abandoned - if one had to guess, the owner was hunkered down with his fellows a bit higher up.

"Lets hit their computers and keep moving."​

 

[Xobos Yakieer]

Location: Dorvalla
Equipment: Illyria Knight Armor, Knight Saberstaff, Miralukan Eye Mask
Mental state: Silent.
Tags: | Lunara Azure | Srina Talon | Rann Thress | @Byrn Vaashe | Leven Jeyd | Cardinal Rachne |

Word of the outer rim systems falling to anarchy spread quickly. Quicker than it had any right to be. Systems, planets, even quadrants descending into madness as crime retook to it’s roots with the coloration dead in it’s right turned what had become a peaceful area for many civilians to live into something much, much worse. A death zone. Where either you fell in line with the various cartels and slave rings or you became a cog in the machine that kept them turning. Xobos felt nothing much sorrow for many of these people, and rage at the men and women who had turn their lives into this. It was unfair, and there was not much that could be done to save them.

What could be done, however, Xobos sought to at least attempt. Getting rid of those that dared be a part of these activities would be a good beginning. She had heard through channels meant for her master that sometimes would be shared that a cleansing of sorts would begin on the planet of Dorvalla. It seemed like a good place as any to start. And besides…

She had an apprentice that needed to earn some combat experience. That was how Xobos got her stripes. Being thrown into the fire again, and again, and again, learning how to survive every single step of the way. Levan would learn the same way..if not seeing as much danger as Xobos did. Adron trusted himself to find a new apprentice easily enough if she had died. Levan would..not be easily replaced in her mind. She wanted to keep her alive, but also wanted her to become stronger. It was a delicate line to walk.

It was why Levan even got knives to begin with.

And now, sitting atop the rooftop overlooking the HQ of these LOBOB, she turned to where the changeling sat a few meters away, no doubt still sulking over the mark that had been placed on her forearm. “These people..are not good people. I know you probably think the same of me.” She said, shrugging as her eyes turned from the girl to where the men laid waste to the civilians households. “but these people are different. They thrive on the poor people of this planet. Sell them into slavery. That is not something..I want anyone else to go through.”

Again, she knew Levan might think the same of her apprenticeship. Slavery. But Xobos knew better. She knew what slavery actually was, and no matter what she put her jester through…it would not be the same. “Come on now. Tonight..we hunt.” Leaping from the top of the shanty household, not so much as sparing a look back at the girl, knowing she would follow, she descended into the darkness. It was a night to hunt, a night to end those that dared put their lives above others.

 

[Lunara Azure]

Tagging: Bryn Vaashe | Srina Talon | Xobos Yakieer | Rann Thress | Leven Jeyd | Cardinal Rachne

​

Lunara could feel the darkness seeping through the light like a stain spreading all around her, like an oil slick spreading across the surface of the water. She could feel it seeping into her bones, leaving a foul taste in her mouth, a shudder travelling down her spine as she breathed. The energy that connected all things always seemed to pick up the emotions of those around it, of the locations you could walk through. You could walk through a garden, a secluded glen and feel the calmness, the peace of the place, you could walk through a nursery and feel the hope and joy of that new life.

Or you could walk through a place like this and feel the darkness and anguish, feel the terror and pain of those poor beings who had been pressed into this life, this half-life. With every step Lunara took into the darkness she could feel it seeping into her, as if she’d never be clean again, no matter how many baths she’d take, no matter how much she tried. She could never get that stain out of her soul. Lunara could feel something inside her fighting against the stain, that sick feeling in the base of her stomach. Every step she took was like pressing through treacle, a force of effort to move forward step by step, one foot infront of the other.

Blue eyes stared forward, that sharp-eyed gaze settling on a those that opposed her, the light letting her sense the forces gathering beyond them, those dark shadows that had gathered to oppose them.

That thought they could stop them here, that thought they could drive the Confederacy back and stop them from drawing LOBOS into the light to face the judgement that they so richly deserved. They thought they could survive this…but there would be no escape for them, not if Lunara had anything to say about it.

The elfin blonde raised one delicate hand, gesturing forward as she focused her will on the energy that surrounded her, binding it to her will. At first there was no effect, and then the buildings on either side of the forces seemed to explode into a whirlwind of glass and brick. Her face didn’t react to the cries of shock and pain as the detritus lashed at the men, the agents of Lobos as she took a half step forward. Instead of letting go of the energy she’d gathered the woman sucked in more of it, drawing more and more of that energy into her before she breathed out, unleashing that energy carrying with it her cold anger, the air around her frozen and cold, frost forming on the ground around her. In the place of that slickness that had stained the force mere moments ago the energy around the woman now carried her anger. Reaching out to her allies, filling them with that anger and letting the dark energy buoy them up; that cold energy reaching out to their opponents, a cold panic dragging at them as Lunara stared coldly down the street past Bryn.

“Run and die, stay and die. It doesn’t matter to me.”

 

[Cardinal Rachne]

Armor: Black & Red Full Body & Cape
Tag: Lunara Azure | Srina Talon | Rann Thress | Xobos Yakieer | Leven Jeyd | Bryn Vaashe

One of the walls had fallen, and LOBOS thugs poured into the shanty town with an aim to take the Castle. This was not a situation that the Cardinal felt warranted her personal attention, but it was an opportunity. Far too much time had passed since there was cause to unleash at such a scale. From what she'd read of recent history the galaxy had plenty of large scale battles, but none since her return. Not in this part of the galaxy, anyway.

Today's enemy was far from one of the most interesting or challenging. They could serve better than a stationary target, however, or that of a 'training' droid. Of course droid intelligence had improved in the past millennium; perhaps they would be mildly challenging.

The worst thing Cardinal had learned since her reawakening? The relative lack of personal combat. It seemed most preferred long-distance and flashy Force abilities. Perhaps not so much had changed, but she had a romanticized vision of her past where the blade held far more power and commanded true respect in its mastery. Now it seemed everyone had a blade -- a saber. Fortunately her heart was not so easily broken to see such things in the hands of the unworthy.

From behind LOBOS' rear guard a figured dressed from head to toe in black and red drew near the battle for control. The sharp hiss of an ignited saber carved its way into existence.

A few of the assailants turned to engage her. A lightsaber-wielding, dark figure was not known to them and so they -- rightly -- assumed she was hostile. Turning was the full extent of what they could manage in her presence. They'd barely caught sight of her in the corner of their eye before their lifeless husks collapsed where they'd stood.

The unannounced figure had seemingly vanished from one place and reappeared further forward, and in that time wounds matching those caused by a saber had appeared on the recently departed now behind Cardinal. Her boots continued to carry her forward without hesitating a moment; she had not even bothered to turn her helmet to confirm the kills. What need was there to confirm a fact? They were all dead, and there were more to kill ahead. Hopefully some that would take longer than a second or two to slay.

With a mere flick of the wrist, Cardinal batted a bolt of energy away using the saber. All together too easy.

She did so again, but this time a strange sort of...burst like effect followed the deflection. Almost as though the bolt of energy 'exploded' from contact. One of those technological developments in warfare the galaxy had managed. Cardinal paused to look down at her hand and forearm that had sustained most of the burning sensation. Curious. Ultimately harmless, but potentially problematic. Her eyes lifted to the one with that particular weapon that sought to repeat their performance.

Her left hand reached down to grab a cylinder at her hip. It was flung at the man where it soon lit into a second, red saber that bisected the offending creature. Their second blaster bolt sailed by without contact as the Cardinal twisted her upper body aside rather than attempt to deflect it again.

With a pull of her left hand, the second blade shot back into her grasp and snapped off. She looked forward to those closer to the Castle. There would have to be the greater warriors at the front line.

 

[Rann Thress]

A S S A U L T​

Tags: Lunara Azure Srina Talon Leven Jeyd Cardinal Rachne Xobos Yakieer Bryn Vaashe​

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Rann stood at a distance from the rest of the group assembled for their assault. He was wrapped in a short tunic with a hood, with tabards going to his knees, all dark gray with gold embroidery dancing around the bottom. A black belt sat on his waist with Amber and Emerald, his two lightsabers, sat opposite each other on the belt. He started to appreciate finer clothing in his new position as Lord. A far cry from the simple black robes he once wore. His clothing provided very little actual protection, but Rann increasingly became of the mind that if armor mattered, he was getting hit too much anyway. He wasn't on a mission to be the best looking fighter on the field...yet. But that day would soon come. One day, he'd drop thousands of credits on designer robes and wear them to battlefields knowing no enemy could hit him. They'd be almost a challenge, as if to say "Try to dirty my robes, I dare you." For now, however, he would settle for this trial run of slightly fancy clothing. Maybe it'd come out the other side no worse for wear, and Rann could increase his war clothing budget.​

​

He couldn't help but have a half smile creep upon his lips. Not too long ago he was down in the dirt, bleeding on Ryloth. Having been almost killed by the first person he engaged in combat. Now, he was planning for the day he envisioned not too long in the future where he'd never get touched by an adversary. An impossible task? Perhaps. But it drove him. He'd win a war, and look good doing it. It was just so different from the man he used to be. The humble man, the good man Rann used to be wore armor, wanted every advantage. Now he was cocky, and getting cockier. He was growing ever more skilled and he knew it. Today was just another day to prove it.​

​

He knew why this was important to him. It really wasn't about the clothing. It was a statement. A challenge. "Come, try to hit me. Not only can't you, you won't scuff my cloak." It was about pride, about the skill, respect and recognition. One day, soon, the Galaxy would know Rann's name. By the Force, they'd fear it before he was done. One day, his father Darth Metus would recognize him not only as his son, but an equal. Maybe even a superior. Master Kyyrk , too. Entering the battle where the fighting was thickest, defeating enemies by the score, and exiting the battle looking like you hadn't even fought, save for the blood, if there was any, was a good, proper way to prove your skill. Win a battle singlehanded, slay the most, conquer the most, and remain in pristine condition that you could have stately dinners afterward? Ideal.​

​

To that end, ever in a state of preparation, Rann didn't spend his time just daydreaming about this future he had planned. He was stretching, getting limber and getting ready. The last thing he wanted was to enter battle and become sore, that'd certainly look bad. It paid to be prepared and Rann knew it. It also served to get his adrenaline and blood pumping as he paced around and hopped in place. His excitement was visible on his face, for sure. The potential loss of life was concerning, of course, but the potential benefits? ​

​

"The galaxy will know me." He said to himself quietly, as others began to arrive, signaling that the time was drawing closer now.​

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Rann only hoped the fighting wouldn't end by the time he got there. Wherever the fighting was thickest, wherever the enemy was most concentrated, wherever it was that survival was highly unlikely was where Rann wanted to be.​

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He had something to prove.​

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