Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The stench of the refuse sector thickened the deeper they moved. Brandyn slowed at a run of conduit pipes, his instincts whispering that something unseen already stalked them. He had been hunted before, on Naboo, Denon, and nameless battlefields besides...and experience taught him that somewhere, right now, a predator had already marked their trail. The certainty pressed cold against his ribs, though no sound betrayed pursuit. Not yet.

He drew in a shallow breath, gaze settling on a thick hydraulics line. With a single controlled cut of his saber, its green glow hidden beneath the fold of his cloak, he opened it. Bitter-smelling fluid hissed out in spurts, spattering across his gloves. He smeared the oily substance along his sleeves and throat, ignoring the tingle against his skin.

"It won’t be pleasant," he muttered, offering a streak of the acrid liquid toward Casaana. "But it may help any hounds lose our scent."

He waved her forward, hoping she took the time to cover her scent, and pressed into the labyrinth. Metal groaned overhead. Conduits dripped steadily. Corridors forked into blind choices. Every junction felt like a gamble.

The Force tugged at him. It could so easily give clarity, the promise of knowing which path would lead toward the shield control room. Yet he kept that door shut. To reach for it here would be to blaze like a beacon.

So instead, he trusted instinct. And walked forward with the gnawing knowledge that they were not alone. Whatever it was that hunted them, would so force them out of the shadows.

"We need to make this quick...we don't have much time," he said, tugging at the young Jedi's sleeve, urging her towards a path that might...hopefully...take them to their destination, "if you don't believe in good luck...now might be a good time to start."

| MISSION: Deactivate Shields |
| TAG: Casaana Drystan Creed |
| EQUIPMENT: Green-bladed saber (concealed), satchel of sticky bombs, data-spike |

​

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit | Wedding Ring
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

Valery could feel his energy behind her, the nerves tempered with determination. That balance was what she needed from him now. "Remember," she called back as the ramp dropped fully, her saber humming in her grip. "This station is enormous. Every corridor, every chamber, will fight to keep us from reaching its heart. Stay close, and be ready. There will be no shortage of resistance."

Blaster fire lit the hangar the moment her boots struck the deck. Stormtroopers spilled from cover, rifles already raised, bolts cutting bright streaks across the bay. Valery drew in the Force with a single breath and thrust out her free hand. The power surged outward, a telekinetic wave that sent crates, debris, and troopers scattering in a single violent crash. The shockwave tore a gap through the enemy's line, clearing the space ahead.

"Move with me!" she shouted over the clash of fire and the screech of alarms. Her blade swept into the first squad that rushed to close the gap, each strike fluid and unrelenting. She pressed forward, trusting Fa-Olan to follow and to hold steady at her side.

The Death Star would not make their task easy, but the Path had come to fight.

Fa-Olan Warren Dark Forces
Open to opposition!​

 

[Lilianna L'lerim]

Information

Crown Princess of Aaven, Priestess of Ashla​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Survive
Location: Aboard the Death Star III
Equipment: Noble Attire | Ashlan Rosary || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m

Tags
Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Tancred L'lerim (as Yorunarr) | Kael Varnok | Open​

There were not too many patients in the infirmary yet, for the massive space station had only just emerged from hyperspace, and it was almost impossible for the wounded from the battle to have already arrived. I had no sense of how vast this place might be, for I had not seen it myself; all I knew was that when Cesare Demici had brought me here, we had walked for quite some time before reaching his quarters. I supposed that, in that moment, only Ashla could have known the answer to my question.

For a brief instant, I smiled inwardly; of course I knew that my musing was foolish, for everyone out there, or even here upon this station, knew how enormous it must be – everyone but me. I was not the strongest in the Force, yet even so, I could sense the gathering, clustering dark energies from one direction. Could that be the very heart of the station? I found it possible. And amidst it, I also felt a familiar aura, a very strong Lightside aura, that of my distant aunt.

Beyond that, I felt another presence, one I had not before; a new arrival, a very dark aura. For a heartbeat, a shiver ran through me. I wanted nothing more than to hide somewhere no one could ever find me. I could not protect myself from them, and I doubted that the Stormtroopers could have shielded anyone from those who dwelt upon this vessel. Perhaps only at Cesare’s side would I have felt truly safe and even then, only because I knew that he needed me, and thus would not let harm befall me.

Or so I hoped; perhaps I was simply far too naïve. Yet, returning to the present, I tended to the patients who were here. I looked over their charts, their medical notes, and other such records, when I noticed the Stormtroopers shifting uneasily, and then I heard a sound. The fright struck me so suddenly that I let out a quiet cry, then instinctively ducked behind one of the beds for cover. Only after that did I manage to comprehend.

Had my prayer been heard? With surprise and confusion, I peeked up and then rose from my hiding place. That someone had come to save me was perhaps not so astonishing, but what startled me more was that the stranger chose to remain, to aid with the wounded, for every life mattered. I smiled at him, gently, gratefully. Though the soldiers fresh from battle had not yet arrived, there were still bleeding wounds, accidents, and countless other mishaps that demanded tending.

"Thank you for helping, but you ought to leave while you still have the chance," I whispered softly, a thread of fear in my voice. "I am Lady Lilianna L'lerim, from what remnants of the Ashlan Crusade." I told him.

I felt it important to add where I was from, for our family had scattered far. My sister had been a minister in the Galactic Empire, my aunt was the Avatar of Ashla, her mother the Empress of the Eternal Empire and through the HPI, we were known even further still.

"Soon, it will not be only this station, but the entire system that shall turn into a great bloodbath…" I said with despair trembling in my voice, before it finally faltered.

 

[Casi Braste]

Writing with Mykel Dawson (soon)

She awoke in a cold sweat. Whatever she had been dreaming about quickly faded from her mind. The lingering pain of her torture remained. She pulled back the covers to see the mark of electrocution still upon her ribcage, a reminder that her softness would not be tolerated by the Empire. They had learned she had allowed Jedi to live on a previous mission, and rectified her mistake ruthlessly. They had made it clear, the next failure would be her death. They had chosen a warrior of the Jedi to serve the Emperor, not a weak little girl who still believed in such things as empathy, or peace.

Casi sat up on the edge of her bed. She had thought the assignment to Had Abaddon had been further punishment at first, and she marveled still at her quarters. They were the biggest she'd had yet, much more so than aboard the Sepulchre. The Death Star had room to accommodate the Emperor's Elite, or really, the entire Empire. The station was gargantuan, and in the week she had been aboard she'd toured only a fraction of the sector she lived in. When she had seen it from the viewport of the Sepulchre, she had been in a dreadful awe. If the Empire had created such a weapon, than there was no doubt in her mind that they were in control. She was one of them now, for certain, as there was no hope in challenging the mighty superweapon.

She arose to make her morning coffee, dashed with more than a shot of fine whiskey. The Empire provided all that she could ever want materially. another aspect of their control over the former Jedi Knight. All the things she had never had in the temple growing up were at her finger tips... but that which she had lost from her previous life felt as though it was slipping away every day. She struggled to remember the calm and commanding stoicism of Master Tera's voice, or of Rusen's laugh, and the way he'd touch her arm when it was just the two of them in the archives.

As she downed her coffee, she dressed herself in her uniform, then entered her personal meditation chamber. She had found herself nearly unable to clear her head as of late, and she knew that's what the Empire wanted. But she also knew if she gave into their hate, that it would only turn her against them. She had seen the looks the other Elites gave her when they sensed her weakness, like hungry dogs. She knew that Lord Creuat needed only the slightest reason to cut her down and start anew, corrupting another warrior to serve the Emperor. She wouldn't allow herself to fall like that. She couldn't.

She meditated, or attempted to, for close to an hour before her strained solace was loudly interrupted by the klaxons of the station. The meditation pod opened of its own volition, a signal that she was needed elsewhere. She moved to the table where two lightsabers sat. Her hand hovered over the both of them, uncertain of which to choose. The first was an ornate Jedi design, with a long curved hilt wrapped in soft, black leather, the Kyber within emanating a blue feeling of sadness. The second was a plain, utilitarian Imperial saber, the Kyber within emanating a red rage. She wrapped her fingers around the Jedi saber, feeling the weight of the memories she'd had with it, then clipping it to her belt and making for the door.

Outside in the hallway, a Purge Trooper passed her door, and she flagged him down.

"You, soldier! What's going on?!" she demanded an answer,

"Ma'am," the black-clad elite stormtrooper saluted her, "we're under attack. Jedi have boarded the station. The Emperor has called all hands to battle stations."

 

[Eina L'lerim-Vandiir]

Information

The Light of Ashla, Champion and Avatar of Ashla ​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Stop the ritual
Location: Death Star III
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (weapons) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m

Writing With
Darth Vinaze | Closed
Tags
Heinrich Faust | Darth Solipsis | Ibaris Varanin | Deonis Laythar | Kann | Cesare Demici | Aphon | Open​

Wars were never simple, nor were they ever merely black and white not even within the Netherworld. Eina had learnt this very early, even when she was still but a freshly-formed Force Entity, just beginning to grasp the matters of "life", or rather of existence itself. For the woman had, in truth, never lived; she had only ever existed. First, she sought herself, and later, when she worked as something of a "mercenary" within the Netherworld, she came to understand what it meant to protect the weak, to heal them, and in time, she learnt to fight as well.

When her mother created the Valkyrja so that Eina might not be alone, the woman was finally given a greater purpose. She became like a mother, an elder, who taught and nurtured her people. She imparted to them all that she herself had learnt. Centuries passed within the Netherworld, and her people flourished. They themselves created more Valkyrja, and brought forth the Children of Ashla. Since that first battle against Tython – when her husband had fallen, and Eina herself had also "died", or rather passed into another state of existence; much had happened still.

Ashla granted them a new "life", as her avatars and champions: Shield of Ashla and Light of Ashla. Since then, the two had watched over the Valkyrja and the Children of Ashla. They supported and protected them, they guided them. Elsewhere, such figures might have been called rulers, but they never saw themselves as such. They sought only to offer guidance. Or rather, it was mostly Eina, for Geiseric devoted himself to the children, to his peaceful years of retirement, something the woman never begrudged him for.

From these memories Eina drew strength, and she smiled faintly as she received Hei's reply. For safety's sake, she sent him one more message.

~ So many prayers could not be ignored, thus I came, as always. May Ashla guide your path and your deeds as well, Hei! ~ she spoke telepathically to Heinrich Faust .

The thoughts within her mind, the exchange of messages with her adopted brother; all of it settled into her heart. Then she opened her eyes, turning her gaze towards the place where she felt the greatest darkness, towards the centre, the heart of the vessel, where the ritual had begun. Already she could feel it, could see it within the Force, the energies swirling, the darkness swelling ever greater. As she looked that way, beyond where walls no longer showed in the Force, she discerned the aura she had sensed before; the eldritch presence.

Thus it seemed to her that on this day she was meant to return two souls to where they belonged: one was Darth Solipsis , the other Darth Vinaze . She did not hesitate. This time, she sent her telepathic message directly to the eldritch lord, to draw his attention; and, with fortune, to break his ritual.

~ Darth Vinaze, it seems we met again. Cease this ritual, and I shall return you peacefully to where you belong... the Netherworld. It is time you ended the spread of corruption within the realm of the living, and come with me! ~ she called upon the man.

 

[Kann]

The Emperor's orders had reached his ears, and Kann obeyed. He droned through the hallways of this technological abomination, his thoughts consumed by the one who had bested him not long past, that Jedi ( Rakaan Horne ) in whom he sensed not only an ember of the dark side, but a FURNACE ready to be lit ablaze into an unrelenting inferno.

He felt it deep in his bones: the bitter, gnawing need to vanquish that Jedi, to reverse the shame of his recent, humiliating defeat. A nudge from his alchemized mask across his face snapped him from his fevered reverie. Another presence approached, slithering through a maintenance shaft below, several feet ahead; a warm presence, strongly embraced by the Light. And yet...
​

...merely a candle suffocating in this dark.​

Heinrich Faust ​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Information

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmare, Dream Lord​

"Galactic Basic" | <"Mandalorian"> | ["Úr-kittat"] | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>​

Objective: Perform the ritual.
Location: Death Star III
Equipment: Armour | Sword || OPBC-01m

Allies
Darth Solipsis | Darth Vinaze | Ibaris Varanin | Deonis Laythar | Kann | Cesare Demici | Aphon | Da'Razel | Open
Enemies
Corazona von Ascania | Open for a story, not for duel​

Voldran focused and chanted, hearing the conversations of those present in the chamber, yet he had no chance to respond to them. His task was not to protect those performing the ritual, but to assist in it. Although he considered himself more of a paladin, someone who primarily focused on swordsmanship and only used the Force when it was necessary; in his current situation there were other circumstances at play.

When needed, he had the knowledge to be more like a sorcerer, for he had learned such things from both his father and his mother. Not to mention that his mother could lend strength to the Emperor’s ritual through the runes etched into his very soul. Thus, in this moment, the man served as a kind of conduit. And Voldran despised being used this way, treated as nothing more than a tool. He valued himself far higher than that, and this was why he longed to be free.

In the midst of the chanting and the spellcasting, however, there was a small advantage: the accumulated Force energies could be harnessed. Through the Force, Voldran was able to sense the distant presences and the auras emerging there. One of them he wished he had not felt, and yet it was familiar; partly akin to the one who had once saved him. But that one had been neutral, while this was a walking Vergence in the Force. The very presence of the individual, even from such an accursed distance, caused Voldran pain.

Then he felt another presence; one he knew, and knew well. Corazona von Ascania . The girl was likely still somewhat wounded, and within her might have remained a fragment of the smoke demon bound to Voldran. In such a place, this could be terribly dangerous for her. The man worried for the girl; no, he had no romantic feelings or desires, only the care of a friend. A friend who already knew more about him than anyone else in the galaxy.

~ What are you doing here, My Lady? You have not yet healed fully! Why must you be so stubborn, forever seeking danger? And now I cannot even go to you, cannot even try to protect you or take you away from this cursed space station! ~ he sent to her telepathically, his voice laced with worry and a trace of frustration.

Telepathic communication had its advantages: it could be carried out easily even amidst chanting and ritual. And he never once ceased in his chanting. The enemy had not yet arrived… Voldran hoped they would soon, though with the scale of the Death Star III, it could still take a long while. Until then, he did what he was compelled to do, clinging to the hope within himself that someone would stop them before it was too late…

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael glanced at her when she spoke her name, his scarred brow furrowing slightly. L'lerim. That explained the strength he'd felt in her prayer — bloodlines bound to the Light had a way of carrying further than most believed.

He stayed crouched by the wounded trooper for a moment longer, pressing his palm over the man's side to slow the bleeding, before looking back up at her. Her whisper carried fear, but also the weight of truth. A bloodbath was coming. He had lived in the middle of too many not to know the signs.

Slowly, Kael rose. His cloak slid off his shoulders with a rasp of fabric, pooling at his boots. Beneath it there was no tunic, only scarred flesh marked with faded burns, long-healed blade strikes, and inked patterns that traced across his chest and arms. Tattoos of remembrance, some Jedi, some older, some harder to place. A living map of battles survived and wars endured.

He exhaled, the faint scent of ale still lingering when he spoke. "I've walked through more bloodbaths than I care to count, Lady L'lerim. I don't frighten easy."

His eyes — tired, but steady — met hers.

"You prayed for light in this place. I heard it. So whether you meant to or not, you called me here. I won't leave you to walk through this alone."

For the first time, his hand hovered near one of the sabers at his hip, not drawing it, but resting there like an oath.


"I'll get you out. One step at a time. You tend the wounded — I'll see to the rest. But when the killing starts in earnest…" His jaw tightened, the flicker of something old and weary crossing his face. "Stay behind me. I've been through hell enough times to know my way around it."

Lilianna L'lerim

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

DEATH STAR III
JUSTICE OF THE FORCE​

The walls of the labyranthine corridors groaned and rumbled like some tortured beast, until they finally bent and came crashing down as the groaning turned to a deafening roar of steely destruction. Claxons blared as automatic fire suppression systems activated where they remained intact, filling the ruined hallways with a grey fog.

Footsteps pounded against the steel floor, growing in volume with each passing second. Out of the fog strode a lone figure clad in weathered robes threaded with silver, worn over worn and battered combat armour. From beneath his hood, the figure halted and took stock of the foes barring passage.

He took a long and deep breath.

"Woe unto thee, Slaves of the Eternal Dark," his voice boomed. "You know not the fury of the righteous, nor the vengeance of the fallen. The Justice of the Force is upon thee, and he does not come alone."

Behind him, from within the fog, scores of lightsabers bathed the smoke in blues, greens, yellows and more. A strike team of Jedi, led by the Lion himself. No knightly warplate nor kingly regalia adorned his person, for here stood the Grandmaster of the Silver Age reborn. The very ground he trod became wreathed in gold, chasing shadows and foul corruption from his vicinity. His very presence dispelled fear and inspired greatness in those that followed.

"Fell deeds awake," he addressed his cohort as he assumed the stance of Form V. "Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn!"

Vanguard's golden blade penetrated the darkness, humming with a zeal that matched its bearer.

"FORTH, PATHWALKERS!"

They charged the defenders, borne on winds of the Force as they crossed the distance at blinding speed. The Lion leapt into the air and threw himself into the fray, imbued with a fire that would not be quenched. Where he landed, the floor buckled into a steel crater as a powerful wave of telekinetic energy was unleashed at the defenders. He then raised Vanguard and began the dance of death in earnest.

Directly interacting with: Da'Razel Deonis Laythar
Indirectly interacting with: Dark Forces Vireth Darth Vinaze ​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

Spoiler: TL;DR

-Ace evades backhand.
-Ace is hit with Ravoch's Force push.
-Junk golem enters and attacks.
-Ace dispatches junk golem.
-Ace tears off wall panels and hurls them at Ravoch.
-Capitalizes and follows-up with a lightsaber attack.

Ace noticed his velocity slow, it was subtle, but it was there. The best thing he could compare it to was the wind resistance he felt when he skydived on Denon.

When he finally landed, his strike had been evaded. Then, the man's armored arm whipped out in a backhand, but the rebel's instincts flared sharp. He twisted at the last instant, the gauntlet grazing past his jaw in a rush of air and metal. For moment, he thought he'd slipped it.

Then a shockwave of Force slammed into his chest, hurling him back across the junction. He hit the deck hard, but pushed up quick. Ace's eyes locked on the towering figure at the center of the junction. The insult burned almost worse than what had just happened. Padawan. Like he was some leashed novice.

But Ravoch wasn't wrong. The man had peeled him open in an instant, reading anger and regret like an open book. He grit his teeth, tightening his grip until his knuckles whitened on the hilt. Then he felt the floor shake.

Behind him, Dark Forces stirred. The corpses he'd left in his wake had not stayed down. Hate and anguish clung to them like tar, warping metal and shattered consoles into a grotesque shell. The thing that followed was no soldier anymore... just a corpse-laden abomination, sparks spitting from jagged limbs as it lurched down the corridor toward him.

Ace spun, lightsaber flashing. One stroke cleaved the thing's limb away, another split its cage of wreckage. It shrieked without lungs as it crumbled back to sparking debris. But the wrongness lingered, the stain pressing harder, feeding the ritual. Every kill here echoed back like a curse.

He turned again to Ravoch, chest heaving. The Sith Lord had taken a comm call in the middle of it all, composed, patient, as if Ace wasn't worth his full attention. It only fueled his frustration more.

Ace raised his blade, steadying his breath. The blue glow painted his freckled face, jaw tight, eyes locked. "I'm not a karkin' Padawan."

He slid back into stance, blood stirring hot. If Ravoch wanted to see what regret and anger looked like in motion, Ace was about to show him. He threw his off-hand forward, curling his fingers. The corridor shook as he ripped metal panels from the walls, sparks bursting in showers as wiring snapped loose.

The Force surged through him, and the panels whipped around in a violent orbit before they were hurled forward. They screamed through the air, momentum spiraling them into a single crashing wave meant to smash Ravoch off his feet.

Whether the attack was successful or not, Ace still capitalized, pressing forward, closing the gap and swung his lightsaber in a horizontal slash toward Ravoch's mid-section.

Kyrothian Ravoch​

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Aboard The Gluttoneria
OBJECTIVE: Interrupt the Ritual
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Darth Caedes | Darth Ayra | Revna Marr | Deonis Laythar | Darth Vinaze | Da'Razel | Dark Forces | Onrai | Darth Solipsis | @open

So many things were bothering him as he awaited the work of his AI; there was the increasing sound of boots thrudding the pristine floors of the passageway he had been waiting in, it would not take long for his image to come into view for whomever was apparently alerted to this location by his AI's intricate slicing, filtering of data and actively pursuing the ship's complicated databanks in order to find not just any map, but a fully-formed and functional lay out of the superweapon. Than there was the fact he had been right, the child whose youth and strength he had drained was nowhere nearly enough to even but remotely satiate him. His hunger drew him to the superweapon as it would be a flame's flicker drawing in a moth with a promise of food and warmth. Lastly, there was this gnawing feeling at the back of his mind, as if someone he knew was close by...no, not someone he knew...just similar, as if their paths had crossed before or they had come close, but had never interacted directly. There was a subtle difference, but what he sensed through the inevitable chaos... was someone akin to Her .

"A clone...a student...or perhaps...a master," For a moment his eyes flickered, before finally, he could see the images of the men, the soldiers whose boots he could've heard for miles appear in the distance. Waving his hand, utilizing the tightness of the space, the Lord of Hunger motioned his Sceleratii to deal with this minor inconvenience, their frames moving swiftly, like the predators they were towards the unexpecting soldiers, troopers finding themselves at the mercy of machines built specifically to hunt down jedi and sith alike, in their eyes...these soldiers were but sport, their guns doing the work, their limbs crushing opposition without warning and with ruthless efficiency. Bones shattered when men were tossed around like ragdolls, flesh rendered to paste when the droids stepped on them when they screamed in agony. Then silence... as a whole platoon of soldiers had been reduced to the scent of rust and iron, lifeless husks mangled by technology strengthened by sith alchemy and meticulous design.

//EXTRACTING LAYOUT
//PROCESS INITIATED
///SUBROUTINES ACTIVATED

"Good...I do not care about this station, this weapon or even this damn empire...all I want is that ritual," The monster could feel the lingering presence of the darkside, the growing strength and the refinement of it. It had started to permeate the entire station, it fueled him, strengthened him as he passively took it within himself, but just the scraps was not enough...he would take all of it, or he'd take the very lives of those who it was meant for. He hungered and when he hungered, it mean he brought death...
​

"Hiding within the permeation of the force...smart, but also foolish of you to think you can come close to me and not be noticed when I am famished," It was a mental message, meant for Darth Ayra , the presence gnawing in the back of his head. "By the time I get what I needed... you will learn to only come bearing gifts to appease me, rather than skulking around in the hopes of finding a way to take me down."

For a moment he was distracted, when chunks of metal, armor and wire began to rose from the ruined passageway where his Sceleratii had cleaned up a platoon of unfortunate troopers. Dismissing this newly formed threat as his problem, with but another wave of his hand, the Lord of Hunger motioned his Sceleratii to do their job: protect their master for as long as he deemed it necessary to be protected...or at least to deal with those who he saw as beneath him.

"Do tell...master or student?"

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Armor

• Taralraiskaz Sith Warplate
• Tsis'tzîkal ûl Xortâs - Visage of Darth Sortis (Unadorned)

Weapons

• Kotsnwûl, To Break Peace
• Tosochkashai, the Dark Seether (Unsummoned)

Companions

• Imperial Crownguard
• Blackblade Guards
• Graug Legionnaires
• Moridinae Golems
• Qabr'azm

It did not take very long for Typhojem to produce results, the various viewscreens strewn about the station lighting up as schematics and geointerfacing data scrolled across each. Very quickly, a more complete idea of the station and how it was internally arranged began to form. When all that data had been mined and collated by Typhojem, the Eternal Father placed His hand back upon the scomp port and accepted the transfer into the arcane circuitry of His armor.

One of the Blackblades that had trailed after the Eternal Father knelt behind Him, her body half-amalgamated with cybernetic machinery. A radial dish extended from a shoulder-mount, connected to a larger device integrated into the flesh and bone of her back and spine respectively. Placing His hand on her head, He transmitted the data stolen from the Death Star's systems into the Guard's cybernetics. The map and all the contents of whatever schematics that Typhojem stole were thus imprinted and disseminated along encrypted Kainite channels, codified into a syntax language that only existed within Kainite intelligence circles.

Releasing the Guard's head, Carnifex turned back to the console.

"Summon visual feeds of all incursion points."

A C K N O W L E D G E D

There was a pause, like Typhojem was thinking. Several of the viewscreens glitched and distorted, only to snap back into operation a half-a-beat later.

S Y S T E M A T T E M P T S R E J E C T I O N

E F F O R T S M I N I M A L

D E S I G N S I N D I C A T E S T A N D A R D C Y B E R D E F E N S E

T H E L E F T H A N D E D G O D I S B E Y O N D S T A N D A R D

R E S I S T A N C E F U T I L E

There was no doubt about that, Typhojem had been designed for the management of an entire empire, and had spent decades running an interstellar panopticon and economic algorithm. It's processing power was far and above the limitations of any other existing artificial intelligence. Managing an empire and predicatively calculating the infractions of every citizen therein had honed Typhojem into an entity of it's own, a Dark Lord of binary coding and programmed malice.

One by one, scenes of battle began to appear on every viewscreen. Jedi, Sith, and whatever lay in-between ensnared by struggle. Darth Carnifex watched each one in quiet contemplation, switching from one scene to the next as He absorbed every detail. So many had come to destroy this superweapon for their own reasons, and perhaps many of them did align with one another. The Dark Lord of the Kainate cared little for it, in truth. The ability to destroy a planet was insignificant next to the power of the Force, and He found such a vulgar machine crude at the very least.

Nonetheless, in the chaos of all that transpired, there was opportunity.

"Adjust visuals. Engineering and maintenance."

The viewscreens shifted through various scenes, mostly engineering bays deeper in the station. Wherever there was a security feed, Typhojem accessed and displayed it. Maintenance halls that traversed the various critical systems swam before His eyes, along with the workers, soldiers, engineers, and even Sith stationed at every junction.

"Power distribution."

Similar scenes emerged, visions of reactor control booths and redundancy stations.

"Detention."

Halls lined with cells, any prisoners therein maligned by the oppressive cruelty of their captors.

"Command."

The overbridge and ancillary stations appeared on the screen, the security feed swiveling to capture a wide panoramic view of the entire location. What didn't have any accessible security feeds were the deeper sanctums, the lair of the Church and their faithless Emperor. Darth Carnifex let such things be, there was little He could do to remedy that blind spot from a simple security station.

"Test their boundaries, Typhojem."

G L A D L Y L O R D C A R N I F E X

A thousand different commands were sent out all at once. An order was dispatched through the station's systems for every blast door to snap shut and lock, sealing corridors regardless of what side was affected. Another order tripped the life-support matrix, an order to quarantine entire decks and siphon away breathable oxygen. A command for coolant reservoirs to dump in sequence. Reroute main power away from tactical consoles. Loop and scramble security feeds, playing phantom recordings amalgamated from past feeds. Widespread evacuation broadcasts, followed by urgent override commands. Altitude controls disoriented to affect gravity and climate of entire levels.

Laced through it all was an endless droning of thousands and thousands of trivial and fabricated alerts, flooding every monitoring array so as to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible. Not much effort was put into ensuring each and every command given was carried through, Typhojem didn't much care if they stopped each and every one of his efforts. The idea was to wrap them up in responding to his effort intrusion at every point, to keep all of their efforts focused on trying to lock him out, trying to quarantine his protocols, and work them up into such a frenzy of action that they'd have little room for anything else.

Darth Carnifex emerged from the security station, content with letting Typhojem do as he pleased. His eyes fell upon the struggle occurring right outside, as a squadron of Graug phalanxes planted a wall of deployable shields across the width of the corridor. Beyond it were an amalgamation of horrors, flesh and metal bound together through malignant energies of hate and fear. They'd sprung forth from the bodies of those the Dark Lord had killed to reach this point, that much was evidence from a glance.

Levying large belt-fed slugthrowers on the precipice of each shield, the Graug opened fire with volleys of explosive slug-rounds; each one the size of the ordnance typically used in grenade launchers. Wherever they hit, they punctured in deep before exploding with tremendous force. The steady drumbeat of their repeated fire filled the air, as did the smoke and flame from each explosion. Soon enough, the far corridor was destroyed to such a degree that it made it nigh untraversable. Raging fires danced openly amidst the destruction, bathing everything in a haunting orange glow.

Deonis Laythar | Dark Forces | Kahlil Noble
Phaelissia | Lirka Ka | Helix ​

 

[Eira Dyn]

Equipment: Lethal Pursuers, vibro-sword, blaster pistol, mask
Outfit: Assassin Attire
Tag: Quinn Varanin | CT-312 | Riven | Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra

It was the first time that Eira was trying out a new outfit. Something that was less feral in appearance. It was something that wouldn't invoke the horror that was something Eira enjoyed to inflict but the new armour would still hold a presence that was intimating and powerful. It was a prototype and not fully fleshed out in design. There were select items of armour material and technology that Eira wanted to work out to ensure that she could be a brilliant assassin in the armour, even having variations of it to suit certain missions. For now, she was just keen to try out the look and see what her Master would say of it and what CT-312 would say since it was a different look to the one that she had worn on the bounty hunting job. It was an obvious attempt to show that the feral assassin was growing. Shifting away from being as feral as she had built a reputation for.

That wouldn't be something that could work well in the future, especially the future that Quinn desired.

<: We will be boarding with the Hapan Queen's group. Keep your eyes and ears open. I'll meet with you soon. :>

Eira felt the words of her Master ringing in her mind, warning her of trusting those she was surrounded by too much. Eira knew that much already, even CT-312, someone she had been getting to know well, trust was limited. But given the mission, the soldier was given a lot more trust from Eira than those that were part of the Hapan Queen's group. The assassin was also keen to just get on with the mission since the notion that the Galactic Empire could be the ones that delivered a crippling blow to the Galactic Alliance, after the Sith Order had been in open conflict for so many years. It would be a demonstration of failure within the Order, something that this upstart empire might attempt to weaponize against those that Eira cared about.

She refused to allow that to happen. The Sith Order had to be the ones that brought down the Galactic Alliance, the High Republic and the remnant Jedi out there. Allowing anyone else that success was a failure in her mind.

“Good to see a familiar face.” Giving a short nod towards Eira. “Doing well, I see.”

Looking up to see 312, behind her mask, Eira gave a grin. "Good to see you too. Guessing the armour only comes in one colour?" Gesturing to the soldier continuing the trend of being in full camouflage armour when the environment surrounding the soldier was going to ensure she stood out like a sore thumb. In fact, it was the first time she ever saw CT-312 that began this thought. The soldier had worn this armour to a dance event, standing out and making Eira wonder if some other kind of mission was going to be happening. However, she had never learned if that had been the case since she left the party not long after putting a Sith Lord in their placement for crossing a line.

"Good to see you as well, seems we shall be working together today." Eira looked over to Riven. It was Quinn's training that forced Eira to be pleasant and offering a polite comment. Small talk was never something that Eira enjoyed. It was distracting and on a mission of this importance, distractions were the last thing that any of them needed.

Breathing in deeply, Eira rose to her feet as she prepared herself for the mission ahead, hoping that with her new daggers. Eira could finally demonstrate her abilities as an assassin but also as a Sith. Show that she was not a simple acolyte, a weakling in comparison to the other Sith. That there was the potential deserved for Quinn's apprentice, for someone learning from Carnifex. For someone seeking to rule one day.

That she could be death incarnate.

 

[Lirka Ka]

ALLIES - TSO and Affiliates - Helix Phaelissia Darth Nefaron Darth Carnifex
ENEMIES - GE and Affiliates - Dark Forces Da'Razel

What followed in her wake was pure pandemonium. Lirka was savage at her best moments, a fury barely contained in metal plates. But with this concoction of stimulants now flowing through her? She was nothing short of animalistic. Decorum fell to the wayside as pure murderous impulse took over - the Once-Sephi may have been a force dead freak, blind the Dark Side that rippled with the great display of death around them. She did not need it. The grandiosity of this moment was enough, and she hungered to see the weak crushed in her iron grip.

It had certainly made for a fortunate boarding spot then. The gunnery crew would make for fine meat to batter. Indeed, Helix had been wise to consider himself the Imperator's babysitter. She took her own command rather literally, and in that brief moment where she had allowed herself to bellow forth her orders was all that the Once-Sephi had allowed herself before rushing headlong into the Imperial's defenses. Lirka Ka did not fear a meager cannon emplacement, quite the contrary - she'd much rather smash the thing apart with her bare hands.

Chemical courage was quite real - especially in a beast that danced between fearless and cowardly at a coin flip. She damn near bounded on all fours at the enemy, the only thing holding her back was the massive machete in her hand that lusted to taste the feeling of blood and bone once more. In animalistic rage, she bounded regardless, while Phaelissia may have killed in ice and flame. Lirka was decidedly more...simple.

Hers was a savagery now unbound, blaster fire twanged against her Powersuit as the Imperator made contact with blade and claw. Limbs flew, bones cracked. She seemed to fight with her fists even more than she did her weapon, rending, tearing, smashing. Letting loose hacking swings into fleeing foes - they offered her little challenge, but they offered her a pleasure almost boundless. She maimed more than she killed, left broken and quivering bodies in her wake so more could spread the tale of Ka. Could taste the misery that had allowed her to witness her Primordial Lord so long ago.

Those were the lucky ones at least.

The unlucky ones met brutal ends, like the poor sod the Once-Sephi had leapt upon. Crushed beneath her bulk before feeling the thunderous slam of her blank-faced helm smashing into the crewman's face, again, and again, and again. Uncaring that the man had died well before the sixth blow landed. No better than a beast, she was.

Were any of them? All bound to the chain. Links in the great expanse tugged closer and closer to oblivion with each passing day by the Darkness beyond Darkness. Why shouldn't she indulge? Why shouldn't she let every base impulse command her warrior-form?

Rising from her broken foe, face caked in gore. The monster beckoned.

"HELIX!"

There was an uncharacteristic....wetness...to her words. As if whatever truly laid beneath her monstrous form struggled to maintain itself against the chemical barrage she had subjected herself to. She was all but utterly untethered now, she hungered. To feast, to taste, to gorge herself upon the strong and take into herself their strength. Indeed, perhaps in grim parody did she match the distant Butcher-King who she once-called-Master.

"Find me their champions. Chart us the path, worthy soul. Bring to me so I may feel the meat of the curs in my teeth. I hunger for strength."

They did say war brought out the worst in people.

Soon she heard the rumbling, the rising golems meant to delay the invaders. She laughed, she cackled. A true humor behind it, just as uncharacteristic as anything else this day. A horrible noise, garbled between her helmet's own distortion and the wet gore still coating her face.

"Look at them! They bring trash to face us!? Fine! Then Lirka Ka shall break trash this day!"

She may have hungered for the worthy, but she'd make just as much do smashing golems in the meantime while Helix could chart them a path. Fists would swing, and blade would hack. And Lirka's rage would only grow stronger and stronger - for reanimated things satisfied her sadism none. Broken bodies would be broken once more, and the reanimated debris would too be shattered again, and again, and again. She saw red now, and any foe was good enough to crush. Even those who did not feel suffering.

 

[Sars Sarad]

Indirect Opposition: Dark Forces​

---

More fell.

Stormtroopers. Officers. Technicians.

Deactivatiing his weapon had proven to be a fallacy. Blasterfire erupted again shortly after he'd separated from Hasuras Na-Gerra and the others. He'd only made it down the length of a single corridor before attackers were on him again.

The Troopers were not a difficult obstacle for him to overcome. His lightsaber cut a swath through them, the heat from its blade distorting the atmosphere even as it cauterized the wounds of the dead. White plastoid, scorched and burned black was left in his wake as he proceeded ahead.

A Door hissed wide ahead of him, a man wearing the uniform of an Officer the first one to rush through armed with a blaster pistol.

An instant later and a stroke of the lightsaber had sent him lifeless to the floor of the corridor, his legs stretching out through the entry he'd been moving through.

Tilting his head Sarad examined the man then leaned down, reaching with his left hand until he found a datapad on the deceased after rolling him onto his back.

The Datapad was straightforward. Nothing strategically important. He could use it to access schematics though.

There was a sound behind him.

Turning his head Sarad saw it, an amalgamation of flesh and steel. A Junk Golem composed of the corpses of the dead and a bit of everything else.

Ochre filled his eyes slowly, charging in his gaze.

As a fist of electrified metal swung for him Sarad extended his hand, a wave of concussion force exploding from his palm that threw the Golem backwards into a corridor wall crushing it against the durasteel siding.

The Golem was already rising slowly back to its feet by the time Sarad had stood straight. Another electrified fist swung, Sarad leaned backwards and felt the crackling arcs of electricity as they brushed inches ahead of his face. His lightsaber snapped high into a diagonal arc that crackled as it made contact, plasma energy ripping through a combination of steel and flesh as the Golem's arm came off above the elbow and landed, smoking at his feet. The Golem did not falter. Sarad sprawled backwards and turned, a blur.

He moved, a whirlwind leaving the Golem behind.

The Datapad he'd been scanning lay on the floor, its screen providing rough directions for 'Fire Control.'

 

[Dark Forces]

NPC Opposition For:
Connel Vanagor | Darth Carnifex | Sars Sarad
​

Spoiler: tl;dr Action Summary

• Local terminals within the Death Star can be compromised, but redundant systems burn out their network connections to quarantine their signals before they can spread AI corruption beyond the local area.
• The technobeast ritual has an unexpected side effect - the very duct Connel is crawling in tries to crush him!

--------------------------
​

Technobeasts rose, technobeasts fell. The stain of the Dark Side grew stronger.

The numbers of intruders, too, only grew. How many incarnates of light and darkness now stalked its halls?

They ripped secrets from its mechanical brain, worked their wizardry to strip away the mystery of its labyrinthine design... but beyond this, there was only so much they could do with its systems. There had certainly been intelligences built - intelligences like Darth Carnifex 's Typhojem - that could calculate an empire's worth of data... but to overwhelm an entire mechanical moon's defenses was something quite different. The Death Star's systems were as stark and brutal in their response to the incursion as the weapon itself was meant to be.

When countless commands began to flood out from the security station...

... the automated countermeasures simply burned out every network connection from that station.

That was the beauty of a machine so intricate, so massive, so decentralized. There were more than a million crew, and that was before counting the military garrison. There were multiple control stations for every system and subsystem, so that if one or two or five were compromised, they could simply be burned out of the network by the remainder. There were entire Outer Rim planets with fewer inhabitants. The Death Star could no more be hijacked or scuttled by a handful of saber-wielding infiltrators than the Kainate's own mobile capital of Malsheem could.

Is it ambitious, to attempt to empty the ocean with a teacup?

Most would find other words to describe such an endeavor. Doomed. Mad. Foolhardy.

But the darkness welcomed the mad. Come, it whispered. Try. Feed me violence. Feed me death.

It did not care from whence the blood flowed, from whence the souls were ripped, only that the darkness grew.

--------------------------
​

Connel Vanagor was drawing the attention of that darkness as he crawled through the ducts.

The pervasive gloom, the closeness of the walls, the sterile smell, all combined to bear down oppressively upon the Jedi. Why was it his particular light that the darkness singled out? Perhaps it was because he crawled alone in shadow. Perhaps it thought him to be easy prey. Whatever the case, it seized its moment. As Connel crawled, invisible hands began to press against the durasteel duct in front of and behind him. They squeezed, warping metal with a horrible screech, pressing in toward the Jedi in an effort to squash him mid-crawl.

He could sense the malevolence in the energy. It was the same kind of lingering stain that had given rise to the technobeasts, the stain of fear and pain and violent death, now seeking an outlet like electricity that must burst from a twitching shock victim's body. Metal bolts pinged out of their sockets and flew at the Jedi, propelled at dangerous speeds, even as the entire ductwork began to crumple. There was no true intelligence guiding it, only a mindless malignity that new nothing but hate for those who still clung to life in this shadowed place.

The echoes of those who had died here envied Connel, envied that he still walked among the living.

They could think of no way to sate their enviousness but to rip his life from him.

Could the Jedi find enough light to survive in this dark place?

 

[Rakaan Horne]

Rushing rampant throughout the Death Star, Rakaan had lost all sense of his surroundings. It turned into a durasteel labyrinth of winding corridors. He became little more than an ever-advancing robed blur, carrying the blue blade of his lightsaber into swaths of storm troopers. Kann pushed Rakaan into feeding the flames, the Force around him catching alight as the kindling began to fuel his furnace. Each passing moment without being of vital use, the flame was fanned, growing and threatening to come over him.

Not all those that wander are lost, as the saying goes, and yet Rakaan was being consumed by himself.

He rushed along the path his instincts guided him along, entering a wide and open room after leaving behind the clattering sound of plastoid. There was something different, something darker in the air.

Prowler II

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Location: Otrera, Riflor, Outer Maw Cluster
Objective: Reinforcement | Reclamation

The Tomyris Palace's Ballroom was a vault of mosaics, light glinted across obsidian stonework and crimson glass, each flicker like the glint of an unsheathed blade. The hall thrummed with elegance, not extravagance, a distinctly Dosuunian breed of control. Lutes and lirae played from a platform carved into an Otreran stag's mouth, flanked by warriors frozen in bronze.

At the center of it all stood the Grand Vizier herself, Ivalyn Yvarro. She was cast in dusk and frost, she wore her sable black gown with grace, and the ease of command. She wore a shawl the whisper-thin wool and silk blend, shot through with silver threading that caught the light like frost. It draped over her shoulder and arms, fastened with a Commonwealth star clasp at her collarbone. The subtle woven pattern, hexagonal lattice fading into stylized wings to represent both protection and ascendance.

It was Ivalyn's mask that turned head, known as the Concord's Gaze, a crescent of translucent Halmian crystal lace worn as she formally entered the gala. It covered from temple to cheek on the right side of her face, the side shown to political adversaries. The face she'd turned toward the Sith officers during the transition ceremony hours earlier.

The half-smile beneath the mask had been all diplomacy. It had also been a warning.

Now, with the crystal mask tucked against her palm, Ivalyn drifted through the hall with the poise of someone both guest and architect. A handful of Divan members moved in orbit, the Minister of Cultural and Religious Affairs for one, the other the Minister of Governance, and a general or two, perhaps an admiral or two, and at least one or two vice marshals from the starfighter corps. Along with several cabinet members and each one had a role to play.

Tonight, hers was assurance.

A ripple of color passed over the room, a toast called by the local Otreran Matron, whose speech wove legends of sky-bearers and shieldmaidens into a cautious welcome. Ivalyn answered it with Dosuunian grace, raising her glass, a delicious wine from Halm itself, and offered words in both Basic and Eastern Dosuunai. "To new chapters, written not with conquest but concord. May the legacy of the stars outlive all empires."

Applause, cameras, a new holonet headline.

The Grand Vizier let the moment settle.

As Ivalyn descended the dais, a Sith attaché approached. The same one from earlier, his dress greys were immaculate. "You wear the Commonwealth, well, Grand Vizier," he said, tone unreadable.

Ivalyn tilted her head, smile poised just behind the veiled shimmer. "We do not wear it, Major. We are it."

She moved past him, the hem of her gown trailing like a shadow. Somewhere behind her, the orchestra resumed. A new movement. Subtle. Assertive. The Dominion had not come with fire. But it had come.

The music lulled into softer notes, stringed and distant, as the evening drifted into its more subdued rhythm. Courtiers, commanders, and cultural delegates mingled beneath the arched causeways of the old Otreran palace, where carved icons of horsewomen and winged shields still guarded the doors.

Ivalyn Yvarro stood with a quiet confidence, one hand at her hip, the other holding her mask delicately like a ceremonial blade at rest.

A silver-clad woman approached — tall, war-braided, bearing the crimson torque of a High Calvary Captain of the Riflori Riders' Assembly, her attire a masterful blend of local tradition and military discipline. With her came a younger man in draped indigo, more scholarly, flanked by aides carrying styluses and dataglasses, likely a Civic Steward of the Temenos Valley.

They bowed, subtly, not too deep.

"Grand Vizier," Zarinaea the cavalry captain, as Ivalyn recalled from the announcer earlier. The woman greeted her and went on, her voice low and careful, "it is rare that one steps into Otrera with such... deliberate quiet."

"Quiet," Ivalyn returned, "is the first language of endurance." She inclined her head, gaze steady. "Otrera endures. As shall we."

That earned the faintest smile.

The steward, Rhemaxos, interjected, formal but curious.

"Your presence here tonight, is it ceremonial, or strategic?"

Ivalyn turned her mask in her hand once, slowly, letting the crystal lace catch the overhead light.

"I find the best ceremonies are always both."

There was a pause, not tension, but calculation.

Then she offered them her arm, lightly, respectfully.

"Walk with me."

They did.

And so the three moved through the halls where Otreran myths met Commonwealth precision. Past hearths where shieldmaidens once oathed their spears. Past galleries restored with Commonwealth credits, their plaques newly dual-scripted in Basic and Otreran script.

She spoke of infrastructure, cultural grants, and shared archives. She spoke not of conquest, but of inheritance, that the Commonwealth did not overwrite the past, it curated the future.

Later, they would drink a ceremonial mead of river berries and sea-salt. And Ivalyn would not raise it as a ruler, but as an archivist, of power, of peace, of the moments between.

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Objective: Takodana – Sacred Claim

Location: Nymeve Lake

Ship: Here

Equipment: Ceremonial Special Forces TIE Pilot armor, Modified SE-44C blaster pistols(x2 thigh holsters), Lightsaber

The airshow portion of the mission was going well. The precision flying had drawn quite a large gathering of onlookers of all stripes. Sith, Jedi, and various underworld elements gathered outside the castle to watch the three craft perform the aerial ballet. A sudden ping lit up Kurayami's HUD, [[::R6, run IFF scans of all known craft in the area. Check records of all inbound craft before and during our performance, cross reference, and report findings.::]] A quick trill and low 'bwoo' sound was all the Corellian needed to know. [[::Jester Actual to Two and Three, continue display flight, I'm going ghost.::]] He pulled vertical as the Vanish 2 sensor mask kicked in, hiding the craft from sensors completely. The crowd below was cheering as the fighter disappeared into the skies above. In their eyes, this was all planned and part of the show.

[[::R6, how bad is it, are we looking at a flight or more of inbound ships? What types and what are the origins?::]] Rapid beeps and whistles with interspersed click fed a stream of data to the HUD, not any of which did the Drunken Savant wish to see. [[::Roger that R6. Open comms to incoming Sith fighters.::]] A quick click and chirp and the channel crackled to life. [[::Approaching Sith fighters, this is Jester Actual representing the Imperial Commonwealth of Dosuun. Advise you to change course as to avoid crossing into restricted airspace. If you do not change course the action will be seen as hostile and we will take appropriate actions.::]] There was a pause as the Sith fighters continued on the current course.

[[::Sol Actual to Jester Actual. This is our planet, and our people. Your display ends now. You will land by choice, or you will be forced to do so by the governing body of Takodana. We will not negotiate and this in your only warning. You were given your chance for a demonstrastion flyover. That has ended and your reinforcements are being processed into our ranks. Leave.::]]

The channel was cut and the four Sith craft accelerated to attack speed. [[::Jester Actual to Two and Three. Four hostiles inbound. Unknown ship type, power up weapons and shields, try to split the formation.::]] As the Sith closed Two and Three began turning opposite each other, causing the Sith to split into flights of two and pursue the TIE/wi interceptors. Giving his wingmen a few moments headway, Kurayami dropped in behind Two and dropped the sensor mask, focusing all weapons forward, lacking the turrets on to the fighter directl in front of him and opened up with a full barrage from all 14 kyber enhaned weapons, leaing only the trace of fear where once had been a fighter engaing his wingman. In turn the second of the pair behind Three broke off to engage Kurayami one-on-one. The Corellian grinned darkly as he felt the pilot's fear grow after what he had just seen happen to the other member of his flight.

It wasn't long before the Corellian was waiting for the firing solution to finish, R6 trilled confirmation as the turrets loced onto the craft, tracking it with predatory intent. The Sith pilot was clearly inexperienced, trying to evade shots that weren't even taken, trying to break the lock using every trick he knew. So Kurayami opened a channel. [[::Leave, and I will let you live. Stay and suffer the fate of the rest of your squadron.::]] Without waiting for a reply he cut the channel, chuckling to himself as the pilot quickly turned and headed back from the direction of ingress. As he turned back to re-enter the fight he could tell there was only one left, the squadron leader. 3v1 was good odds, but never count the enemy out by any means. Time would tell how this played out, but Kurayami wasn't about to underestimate the Sith pilot. Meanwhile, those gathered outside Takodana Castle were cheering, thinking this was all a preplanned portion of the show.

The seconds ticked by as the four fighters twisted and turned over the lake, the staccato sounds of laser fire, smell of ozone and steam rising from the water as missed shots impacted the surface of the lake, neither side able to gain a decisive edge. Suddenly the fire from Sol Leader ceased, and the ship broke off. An urgent ping sounded in Kurayami's helm and flashed on his HUD. [[::This is Commander TX-5902, the Sith Governor has asked you to land. Effective immediately. He wishes to speak with you about the incident.::]] Kurayami cut the channel and flew to the landing pad that was indicated. Exiting the craft he was greeted almost immediately by the governor and their security retinue. A deep breath to center himself was all he got before being addressed. "Captain Bloodborn, I presume? Please explain to me why you just killed three of the Sith Order's trainee pilots during an exercise."

"Gladly Governor, the squadron leader was asked to divert from their flight path, as the airspace we occupied was restricted during the transfer of personnel and supplies, we were here in a peaceful capacity, as a morale boost for our citizens and troops while everything was being finalized. When the leader was contacted and asked, he responded with a threatening posture and accelerated to attack speed, initiating the furball which unfortunately claimed the lives of two of your pilots. The third I allowed to leave the engagement zone upon seeing he was shaken. Everything Jester Squadron has done here is within our rights as a vassal state of the Sith Empire and violates no agreements, nor does it overstep any bounds."

"I see, Captain, make sure you do not, and submit your incident report as well as all other details about your craft to my office as soon as possible."

"You will have the incident report, however the details of my craft are classified and eyes only. I cannot provide them." The searing gaze of the governor said all that needed to be as the turned on their heel, away from this man who seemed to be no more than a cocky pilot in ceremonial armor.

Domar | Bella | Davorin Orsava | Emilia Locke | Merryn Sellek |@Ivalyn Yvarro

 

[Domar]

MAJ Domar, Avril Leader
Gaya - Avril Squadron
Halm


The skies above Sobekneferu were clear and warm in the sun's embrace. It was a day of glory and expansion for the Commonwealth. Halm, a world of great architecture and impeccable defensive capabilities, was left largely unnoticed by the Sith. A world the Commonwealth has not forgotten.

Avril Squadron soared through the skies on patrol, watching over the citizens below. This was a show of Commonwealth strength and supremacy. The First Order left their mark on this planet, The Commonwealth would lead the world into the future it was meant for.

"This is Avril Leader," Domar said through the squadrons comm channel. "You know the mission. Keep things clean. They're watching us from above and below. We're here to make a statement. Let's show this world why we are the Wardens of the Reaches!" Domar's voice was strong and encouraging, filling his squadron with a sense of pride. They were on approach to the Meritamen Temple on the south side of the city as it was their rally point.

Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn​