Invasion Crumbling Castle | NIO Invasion of TSE Held Gravlex Med and Ibanjii (Generis)

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST X
THE_CLAYMORE

1st GALIDRAANI ARMOURED-VOLUNTEER BRIGADE
2nd BATTALION,"THE BLUE-HEARTS"

OBJECTIVE 1: Generis Base | ORCC

ALLIES (NIO/GA): Rurik Fel Djorn Bline Willan Tal Lucien Dooku
Konrad Bolter Jax Sloane Loros Kalaric Nima Appw'rii Kelig Ward Halketh
Jiosha Relawny Rika Hiro Don Belkora Arten Jinn Ravraa Vyshraal Noel Strasza Sol Stazi

ENEMIES (TSE): Eira Dwynwen The Amalgam Darth Daiara Eleena Salwa

CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART ALPHA

Custom Blaster-Pistol | Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore

THREE WAVES OF NEW IMPERIAL FURY - SECOND WAVE II

<"Edmonds to Blue-Heart Alpha! Aye, Milord. They're thinkin' they're slick by hiding their wrecked ordnance behind the bushes, literally brushing their losses under the rug like it won't stink in a few hours-">

Continuing on from their first salvos, the Cataphracts and APCs were reporting what they'd been seeing to the Lord-Major when their signal was interrupted by a holographic message from Lord Lucien's exalted military-commander, leaving no room for Barran to offer any reply. Whether his colleagues considered such breaches in protocol to be rude or not, Lord Erskine cared very little, as similarly-unprompted communications had previously turned the tide of battle in the Blue-Hearts' (and for those in the frontlines looking for a means to counteract the Sith-Imperial vanguard) favour just a few hours beforehand; Sloane's lucky laser-guided warning through comms had done more than aid the units on the ground, but the message itself had kicked the Blue-Hearts into their first actions of the operation.

<"Lord Barran. This is Captain Dante Corvus, First Captain of the Myrmidons. My Lord has dispatched us to assist you in...cleaning up your mess. We'll do our part-">

Barran hadn't known whether the message had trailed off briefly for combat, or if the Myrmidons' greatest scion was pausing for effect, but the Lord-Major knew for a fact where the message was headed, and knew that Dante Corvus would care little for whatever part he'd assumed the Blue-Hearts were playing in the operation; such juggernauts were usually one-track minded, and Lord Erskine knew that such an archetype would have little patience for allied-incompetence of any sort. The Lord-Major had met similar officers in his past, though most were remembered from his years of fighting proxy-wars in the galactic outer-rim, and every last one of them was (in some small part to varying degrees of severity) infamous for exacting bloody justice on those who blundered in their presence.

<"But we expect you to do yours.">
What others expect, Blue-Hearts exceed. You'll find no,"Mess" here, Captain....

'Interesting fellow t'say the least... So they were splitting up then, explains a lot actually; saves us the worry o' doubling back for Lord Lucien for a while, and it would seem the Warlord o' Nirauan's still got playing-pieces up his sleeve, especially with the numbers that Dooku's supposed to have at his disposal. Well, now that's been cleared up, idea time - second and third waves continue on as normal, we drop behind to let Sloane annihilate anything trying t'get the drop on these Myrmidons. They can spurn oor help aw they want, but we can still coordinate a successful action and have some fun at the same time. If we get close enough, fix bayonets just in case; yer Lord-Major's maybe gawnty get some vibrosword action in, but only if yees can get me near enough without detection. Manageable, or....?'

THREE WAVES OF NEW IMPERIAL FURY - SECOND WAVE III

'CATAPHRACT-CREWS - APC-CREWS!!!! ADVANCE!!!!'

Allowing the reloaded-tanks (preloaded to shoot at the first mechanised unit each Cataphract was expected to make hostile contact with) and APCs to push forward in the second-wave's main charge, Lord Erskine would be fortunate that all within the ACV were happy to split off from the second wave, though only so far as they could remain within sight of Kalaric's walkers. This would still prove to be workable, as the Myrmidons were made out in the long-distance optics to the south-by-southeast bearing, made all the easier to track by the extensive bloody trail the First-Captain's men had left in their wake already. Approaching from the north-by-northwest bearing would be easy for ACV One, though the Lord-Major would still insist on leaving the left slide-door open; firstly, to make it easier for Erskine to jump out without making a noisy mess of it, and secondly, to provide another clean arc of fire in the event Sloane's well-protected back was turned to the threat at the time.

<"APC Four to Blue-Heart Alpha! Current unit-total: two enemy personnel-carriers, and all their passengers are confirmed-as-down on our end. Also, we recommend Sloane's speeder-bikes pull back to bolster the third-and-final wave. Sit-reps to follow, Milord!">

<"C-C Six to Blue-Heart Alpha! Current unit-total is one half-fortified F.O.B, and six hostile-smoothbores confirmed-down, Milord. Also agreeing wae APC Four's recommendation, but ah've also got an idea! They're causin' mayhem enough t'keep us in this fight, naebody's denyin' that, but our line can haud-oaf these Sith-Imperial bams beyond a possible mid-way screen. Honestly, Milord; between the second and third waves, we've got plenty room t'soften them up by loadin' up on the volume of oor attacks, an' plenty is puttin' it lightly!">

Moving back from his seat by the opened slide-door, Barran briefly holstered his blaster-pistol and moved to the back of the ACV to run Edmonds' idea by commander Sloane; knowing the comms channels differed, and that Jax would naturally be listening in to the reports of his subordinates, Erskine partly-understood the sort of coordination needed to make such a contingent so effective in combat. The weaponized aspect of the speeder-bike squadron mattered little in comparison, especially when the reported-and-observed intuition of these riders far-outmatched the efficient results of the speeders' many tactical modifications. To top it all off, the adrenaline-junkie nature of Sloane's subordinates made them far more courageous than the average galactic-soldier archetype, making them quite a fearsome raiding force to see in action; but the Lord-Major was in no mood to step on anyone's toes, and especially not those of the man who'd twice turned the tide of battle in one day already.

'Mechanised second-wave units believe your speeder-bike units have done enough for them to handle this next part without training-wheels. So, what do you think about punching a hole through their lines for G-Company and Kalaric's walkers instead? Wide enough for us to implement divide-and-conquer tactics, perhaps? My tone requests only because we know what your men have done for us already, and we wouldn't want you doing anything you feel would be taking too much of the collective-workload.'

Looking to see further down the road, in the hopes he could see the ground between the treeline and the Shadow Dome itself, Sloane would call out,'I'll create a breach!', as the main battlefield opened up in front of them. Little by little, the flaming husks of enemy vehicles and the white smudges of dead Sith-Imperials lying too distant for the speeder-bike commander's eyes to get clean visual on the manner of their death. A blessing for certain, though the confirmation would have helped in identifying the difference in 74-Z and Cataphract kills, and the difference in those of the APCs', the ACV's and Myrmidon infantry's orchestration; but Konrad Bolter's time was rapidly running out, and time to stare off in the distance was a limited luxury of which Jax had very little, so everyone would return to their roles within the ACV and continue their hunt as the third wave approached ever closer to the same treeline's edge they were only just beginning to cross beyond.

THREE WAVES OF NEW IMPERIAL FURY - THIRD WAVE I

ACV One had edged it's way closer to the Shadow Dome, though Dante's squad had briefly made it's way into the burning scrapyard and out of sight, so Barran's rag-tag crew drove in further and ended up picking off many of those Sith-Imperial survivors who took too long to scurry away from their hiding-spots; everyone in the three-wave attack on the Amalgam were fully aware of the NIO's no-POWs policy, so no quarter would be afforded a single survivor of the Myrmidons' seemingly-unassailable assault on the dome's defenders, and all attempts made to surrender to Barran's crew would be met with abrupt executions with equalling apathy. To know that Sloane had no verbal challenges or misgivings (with no discernible moralising-complaints hiding behind his gaze either) about such matters came as a great relief to the makeshift ACV-crew down below, as everyone beneath, flexible though all their personalities were, knew all too well that adherence to the NIO's combat-policies would keep them from falling out of favour with the New-Imperial court.

'Hear that, lads? That sounds like the reason for moving some o' their wrecked smoothbores, they were making roads an' approaches on our positions from the offset. No bad for a Sith-Imperial..... A bit late noo, though.'

The usual thuds and bursts of hostilities between the second wave and the Amalgam's infantry and mechanised units had been persisting in the distance since they crossed over the treeline, but such a predictable auditory-soundscape would never last, especially not against enemies like the Amalgam, as the landscape brought the recognisable (though higher-pitched) distant growl of speeders that could not be attributed to the pitch of the 74-Z model speeders' engines. Enemy bike squads were on the horizon, and by the time the first enemy speeders had been peppered by his LMG, Sloane knew in that moment that he needed to act, and act fast if he wanted to prevail in his plan at the perfect moment. Looking back to the approaching walkers in the third wave, Jax turned his gaze back to those below him, shouting down with urgency,'Send 'em in!', when his own comms began to cut-out on him. Much too slow to respond, the Lord-Major's crew in the ACV's interior only managed to turn around and see Sloane climbing back up with Barran's comm-device by the time they notice he'd called out to them, though they'd hear what he'd needed it for from the speaker on the comm-link's receiver's local channel.

<"Go, go, go!">

THREE WAVES OF NEW IMPERIAL FURY - THIRD WAVE II

'Naaaaw, pal... You've scurried up t'the wrong vehicle this time! None o' that,"Mercy", caper to be found here - should've stayed under yer Sith-speeder, ya silly wee sauseege!'

Using thermal-sights by this point, Leftenant-Surgeon Coyle had assumed control of the periscope-optics as Sergeant Malcom drove along at a smooth, sustained pace that was slow enough to warrant an agreeably-creeping pace for all within: though none in the ACV found the pace quite as agreeable as Commander Sloane, handling the LMG (and his squadron's internal-communications) masterfully as they creeped closer to the Myrmidons' advance from behind the combined smoke and humid jungle-mist. Some sly Sith-Imperial units had tried to mount diversionary raids to slow Captain Dante's advance, not that these measly efforts would ever get very far without being noticed by at least one of Corvus's subordinates; but time was still of the essence, and every little help would be needed to punch through the enemy lines and, with luck, to punch a gaping hole in the Amalgam's seemingly-weakened Shadow Dome.

To Sloane and Sergeant Malcom in particular, the situation seemed to be quickly becoming a warfighting drag-race to the Shadow Dome; their two clear contenders for this destructive grand-prize were seen to be Sloane's squadron of 74-Z Model speeder-bikes bearing from the northwest, and Dante Corvus' Myrmidons shooting and slashing their way from the northeast. Having approached from the north-by-northeast, the mixed-bag of professions within ACV One would have the strange fortune of seeing who'd cross the line first, and were able to ascertain Dooku's First-Captain early lead from the time Corvus landed to the time Sloane's timed-order had been given for his entire squadron to advance ahead of Kalaric and Rhone's third wave. And Leftenant Coyle would race against time in learning how to reload the LMG-turret, and for all his efforts and competence in saving lives medically and surgically, Coyle was slower to learn the simple knack than he ever expected himself to be.

'AH DID IT, LAAAAADS!!!!! WEAPONS-FREE!!!!! Fire when ready, Sloane! Policy time!'

<"Gowrie to Blue-Heart Alpha! Bearing north from the southern-treeline, and I'd tell yees t'keep an eye oot for us but there's an increasingly-darkening giant DOME in the karking way! If yer wondering why we're here, main-assault's advancin' just fine without us, so we decided t'break aff the assault an' see whit's taking you lot s'long!">

<"Barran to Blue-Heart Delta! You rotten slowpokes took your sweet time, did ye no? Watch yer fire an' go nuts, fellas! Blue-Heart Alpha out!">

Just as the field-surgeon had figured out how to properly reload an LMG, just as Kalaric and Rhone's third wave had engaged with the Amalgam's defensive-perimeter, just as Shugg had brought the main bulk of the Lord-Major's battalion from the assault on the ORCC's main defensive-line, the timely voice of the Lord-Major rang out on the comm-link's receiver; but if he wasn't in the ACV, where was the Lord-Major? And what was he trying to achieve on his own? The racing speeders and Myrmidons had gotten Barran into one of those moods again, though his real reason for keeping the ACV's slide-door open were kept strictly to himself (with the hinted,"Maybe", thrown in casually) until the moment he jumped out with his Vibrosword drawn, and the only one within the ACV who had no complaints or fears for Erskine's life was none other than Jax Sloane. It seemed the commander and the Lord-Major were of the same unorthodox mind, as Jax's hidden nodding smirk bared a telling sign that he knew Erskine would be running off on his own from the offset.

<"All adjacent units, commence the attack, may the Imperators will be with you and god save Galidraan over,">

​

​

 

[Commodore Curtis Rheardon]

Location: HMIS Basilisk, Generis
Objectives: Defect and help New Imperials. Wait for the Signal.
Tags: Onrai Seela Leini Tantalus Caarlyle Rausgeber Gallius Orcana






The Basilisk moved towards the assembled defense fleet led by the Sith Onrai at Generis. He would take position diagonally behind one of her Sovereign-class Battlecruisers. There was a Broodica-class Star Destroyer placed on the other side diagonally in front of him.

"Sir, we are in position".

"Very good commander, ready batteries and forward deflectors". "Launch all fighters and raise shields".

"Aye sir".

The Commodore crossed his arms. He gazed in the nothingness of space. He was.....eager, but also frightened. The moment was soon approaching. And he was ready. Ready to complete the plan and goal he had set for years. Planned for years. Prepared for years. It was all going to come to fruition and once it did, he will have completed his goal.

Unbeknownst to the Commander, Curtis had gained the support of the majority of the crew. Even though he had somewhat lied to them about his true purpose to defect, the crew had begun to harbor similar feelings towards their Sith Overlords. They had agreed to follow Curtis in defection, even if it meant their deaths. Obviously part of those feelings they had were nurtured over time by Curtis to make them appeal more to defection. Curtis had placed the ones he could trust on the bridge with him during the battle and sent the ones he didn't down to the lower decks. This sudden change in shift transfers should have been apparent, but many were busy with countless menial tasks and no one really paid any regard to it. The only one that he had to navigate around was the Commander, who was still very loyal to Moff Drybis Lyken . He was sure that the officer knew something was up, but that was it. If he did know about the defection, Moff Lyken would have already been informed and Curtis would likely be dead. He soon looked at all of the bridge staff in one the plan, he nodded very lightly, that one wouldn't see it unless directly focusing upon his face. They all silently acknowledged without any movement. The comms officer was ready to do his part once the Commodore gave him the signal.

As the Basilisk got into its position, the New Imperials arrived.

Rausgeber had come, and with him, a large Imperial sector fleet.

He then saw the ship of Gallius Orcana appear on the scope, he grinned slightly.

As Onrai moved her ship to engage, Commodore Rheardon would keep his ship in formation, but would advance slowly and drifting further from his future enemies. Far enough to not be caught with them if major peril arose nearby, but close enough to enact his betrayal when the time came. He had chosen to be placed on the flank of the formation for a reason. When the Basilisk unleashed its fangs upon its former friends, it would swing around the flank and join up with Orcana and the New Imperials, while its guns battered the Sith forces all the while.

As all of his fighter squadrons exited the ship, Curtis could check off another on his list in his mind. The majority of the fighter pilots were not included in the plot for fear that they would change their minds mid-flight and alert Vantai and the others. Now that they were gone, he had ordered that the one fighter squad he had turned to his side to exit the ship and to join the others. They would then turn upon their comrades when the secret signal was sent to their specific squadron. As soon as they launched, Curtis secretly ordered that all hangar doors be sealed.....completely. The moment was approaching more and more, Curtis could feel it within the stale air of the bridge.

One of the Lieutenants, still loyal to Lyken and not involved in the scheme as well, came up to the Commander, who listened to what the officer had to tell him, then dismissed him. He stood up and soon approached Curtis from behind. He stopped closely behind him and spoke.

"Commodore, Moff Lyken requests that you contact him immediately".

"Hmmm, I'm afraid I cannot". "The battle has already begun and Rausgeber moves against us". "Regardless, our comms are now jammed, so we can't get a message out, even if we wanted to".

The Commander hesitated, not sure of what to do. Curtis could feel the tension within the man, he was completely loyal to Drybis and would always serve his commands. After all, the Commander would not be in his current rank and position without the Moff anyway. The Commander finally gathered his thoughts and once again spoke to Curtis.

"Yes sir, I understand, still, I believe it is imperative that we make contact with Moff Lyken immediately". As Curtis barely acknowledged his statement, the Commander continued, "Perhaps, we should leave the system completely to establish contact, sir". The Commander finished in a more aggressive tone, more arrogance. It was almost like Curtis could hear Drybis barking orders at him again.

NO!!!! He would never take orders from that Telos slime again!!!!! He mind began to boil and pop, stirring with increased anger towards a man who was not even present. The Commodore controlled his rage for the moment and turned abruptly back towards Commander Dranva.

"Depart the system?!". "And leave our allies to face the Imperials alone?". "No, no, I will not leave at the behest of a former cadet!!". His anger was nearly ready to explode until he was able to turn it down just a bit at the last second.

"We will make contact with the Moff, once the battle is won". The Commander became quickly confused and then turned to his own rage and arrogance. As Curtis walked forwards to the very front of the bridge, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his small holopad, which is where Orion would send the signal that they were ready for Rheardon and Basilisk to finally join them.

Curtis knew it was soon time. It was coming, the moment he had both dreaded and looked forward to for a long time. This battle would be one of large proportions and massive consequences should the opposite of his hopes occur. As soon as Orcana sent him the message through their secret transmission, Curtis would with his gathered crew (the ones who would join him in defection) begin to betray his old Sith comrades during the battle. He didn't like the idea, but understood, that the New Imperials probably barely trusted him at all, even with all of the information he had given them. Perhaps if he knew the details of Moff Lyken's secret project, they would have been more accommodating. He then realized, that if he did defect and help the Imperials to victory, he might get few apologies for doubting him if he was lucky.

He focused back up and peered at one of the Ensigns in on the defection scheme. He had the task of preparing to change the trajectory of the gun batteries and turbolasers onto the nearest ship once they had revealed their true allegiance. He soon then turned his head and looked over at the comms officer, standing at the ready, waiting for the signal.

Curtis smiled at a third involved officer who had ran to the bridge to alert the Commodore. He whispered to him that the Installation ay Florrum had been sabotaged. In truth, the installation was sabotaged by Curtis's hired mercenaries. The place had been designed by Moff Lyken himself and was only finished a few months ago, so he took pride that one of his last acts in the Sith Empire was going to hurt his nemesis.

Curtis once again flashed back to reality as Dranva now approached a few feet and stopped and glared at Rheardon.

He then erupted at the Commodore, "NO!!!", "YOU WILL NOT DELAY, YOU MUST CONTACT THE MOFF NOW!!!!". Curtis turned around and glared at him. This Dumb idiot could ruin his plans and then seeing the expression on Dranva's face, it slightly worried him. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner", responded Curtis defiantly.

He laughed, "How dare me?". "HOW DARE YOU!!!!". "DO YOU THINK MOFF LYKEN WAS BLIND TO YOUR SCHEMES, LIKE A LITTLE PUPPY DOG!!!"

"What?", Curtis now began to worry even more. Could his plans fall apart? No! He was so close, he had to press on. He then regained hope that Dranva didn't know to much and continued to listen to the distraught and shouting Commander. The bridge crew began to reach with their hands to grasp their sidearms.

"You fool, you could have done it years ago, before you even served under him". "But you stayed for your continued hatred, to spite him, to try to undermine him". "But did you not realize that Drybis knew of your hatred for him". "Did you not think he wouldn't watch you with his extra eyes and ears". "That is the reason I was even placed under you!".

The Commander took a deep breath and continued as he began to slowly approach Curtis, "He tried to stop your mistake at Sarnus, but you continued on". "And now, with what you've done, you might have put many more at risk, and for what?". "Your hatred of a superior officer". "You couldn't stomach your pride and jealously until the war was won, no, you couldn't". Curtis's face began to show a bit of his worry now, and he could see some his crew waiver in their decision a little.

At that moment he realized he had to do it now, at least the first step. He couldn't risk Dranva revealing his true purpose for defecting, and he didn't know how he even knew.

However, Curtis had been so brash with his comments against Lyken for years that he had drawn suspicion to himself more than he could of otherwise. He if had kept his anger and rage inside always, he might have passed behind Drybis's eye.

Curtis wanted to know what Lyken knew and considering that Dranva felt he had the upper hand, possibly believing the crew were still loyal to him and Empire and hadn't already been turned, which they had been. So he asked Dranva what Lyken knew.

"And what is it, that you think I've done?"

"Huh, we know you transmitted details about his project". "Among other things as well". He stepped closer to Rheardon, "And also, we moved the location, now you'll never find it".

He had gotten real close to the Commodore, maybe a few inches, so Dranva now backed up a foot and stared heartlessly at Curtis.

"I'm sorry sir, but I have no choice and you have forced our hand". He reached to grab his weapon! Curtis now thought to himself, "This was their plan, Lyken didn't know that I was to defect, he only knew that I had given the Imperials information and will use knowledge of that to get rid of me, well played Drybis, but not well enough, this time I win". Or so the Commodore would think.......

A second later, Dranva pulled out his S-5 blaster and drew it upon Rheardon, who was so confident that his defection was still going pan out, that he didn't even flinch, just stood there and stared at the Commander with his arms still crossed.

The Commander made his move and his turned off the safety and aimed at Curtis directly, "In the name of Moff Drybis Lyken and the Sith Empire, I hereby place you under arrest". Oh, Curtis had longed to hear words he could now rebuttal with more than just thoughts. "For Espionage and Treason". Curtis after hearing that last line, thought to himself as time seemed to slow around him, "Oh, is it Treason now, lovely". He showed just a faint smile to the Commander.

As Dranva approached slowly, he began to signal for the security behind him to detain the Commodore. The two troopers moved forward, but were halted when Curtis blurted out the signal. He knew it was premature, but he now had no choice now, he had to secure the bridge, and now was the only chance he had.

"DYNAMO!". The signal.

As soon as Curtis spoke the word, the entire bridge staff emptied their holsters simultaneously and fixed their blasters on Dranva and the two troopers. Seconds later as the troopers prepared to turn to fire, a few members of the betraying bridge crew shot them dead. Before Dranva could even realize what had happened, the entire crew had killed two Sith troopers and had all of their guns fixed on him. Yet, he didn't lower his pistol, still fixed at Curtis's head. Rheardon now smiled at Dranva and chuckled at his former subordinate. One of the bridge cadets sealed off the bridge, preventing any escape.

Dranva now realized how deep Rheardon's poisonous presence had spread. He now knew that Curtis had planned to defect all along. He thought back to all of those conversations between himself and Lyken, where he continued to defend the Commodore from the Moff's criticisms. He had been proved wrong and Lyken proved right. "He is a snake Dranva, and you can never trust a snake", the words of the Moff echoed in his brain. He soon turned himself back to the present and kept his blaster up and strengthened his grip.

"Drop the blaster Commander, its over".

"The whole time, I defended you, I probably saved your pathetic life more than once when the Moff wanted to hang you for your stupid actions". Dranva began to shake his head. "The whole time, huh, and all for some petty rivalry". "I should stuck my hand through your neck instead shaking your hand".

The Commodore had begun step one of his plan, secure the ship and bridge. It would soon be complete as he turned his gaze to the comms officer, giving him a nod. The officer saw the look and knew it was the signal. He immediately jammed all transmissions on the ship and blocked all comms from leaving the ship as well, so now one could inform Vantai and her fleet of their betrayal. Once he had done it, he stood back straight and nodded back towards the Commodore. Curtis now stepped closer a tad to Dranva, who wouldn't drop his blaster. The now traitorous bridge staff had all blasters fixed on the Commander, but didn't open fire, because Rheardon had given them specific instructions to take the Commander alive to gain the information he had on Lyken and his plans. If the Commander wouldn't share the plans of his nemesis, then Curtis would take it via other methods.

Curtis soon smirked again. For at this moment, himself and the crew of the Basilisk had passed the point of no return. They could not turn back and could go back, not anymore.

"Drop the blaster Garth, surrender".

Dranva looked around and knew he was doomed and was also smart enough to understand that if he did surrender he wouldn't hold for ever against interrogation. He had originally thought they wouldn't dare harm after they had served so long, but he now knew they would. They served a new side, one where the leaders claim to better than the Sith, when most of them are just as bad.

Dranva would rather die than betray Drybis, a man who raised him from nothing, taught him everything about naval warfare and combat tactics, and showed him how to be honorable, even to the end. He had become a elder brother to Dranva, one that he could never recant nor betray, for he would die for him if it came to that. Now, perhaps, it had come to that. For the though usually takes someone a while to accept, Dranva was quicker and realized safeguarding Lyken's plans was more important that his life. He still had one request for Curtis before the end, who probably presumed that he would surrender to spare himself. Cleary, Curtis had forgotten the man who was had been his second in command for nearly 3 years. Nevertheless, he wished to speak his request, and so he did.

"Curtis, do me one favor, if your heart isn't stone already". He soon turned his angry glare into one of stalwart honor and content, which resulted in the Commodore being somewhat confused.

For Dranva, this was the end, and only one man could make his end.....................Himself.

"Send my body to wife please, allow her to mourn properly". Curtis grew more confused as time slowed. Then it sped back to reality, like a blur being washed aside.

All of the sudden, seconds after his words, he turned his blaster around and immediately pressed it to his head! Rheardon's eyes widened instantly. Curtis began to reach out to prevent him from.......

BLAST!!!

The bolt entered his skull as Dranva's body immediately collapsed to the floor. The pistol released from the grip of a hand, had tumbled down as well. As Dranva's dead face slammed against the floor, it had seemed in slow motion to Curtis's eyes. He was stunned and shocked. After he thought about it for a second, it was not surprising. He walked towards the body as it lay in the center of the bridge, still seeing the bolt wound sizzling flesh in his former second's head. He shook his head one more time, before ordering it to be taken to the morgue.

"Lock down the ship and prepare for part two of the plan, the true dance is about to begin". He would wait for Orcana to send the message and then they would spring the trap.

 

[Onrai]

Allies: Seela Leini Moff Drybis Lyken Ren-Hua Mant Commodore Curtis Rheardon
Enemies: Caarlyle Rausgeber Tantalus Gallius Orcana Aerarii Tithe Jivim Vaak

Spoiler: Onrai's Fleet

Vanessa's Command Fleet
Class | Name | Length | Shields | Hull
Gorgon-class Star Dreadnought | Gorgon | 10000m | 97 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at Lanius, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Heresiarch | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at Lanius, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Despot | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at Lanius, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Autarch | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at Lanius, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Martinet | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at Lanius, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Sovereign | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at NIV Gorgon, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Harbinger | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at NIV Gorgon, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Guardian | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at NIV Gorgon, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Mandator | 5000m | 100 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at NIV Gorgon, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)
Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruiser | Caudillo | 5000m | 86 | 100 (Firing forward beams and baradium missiles at NIV Gorgon, firing side beams, baradium missiles, and other ordnance at approaching corvettes)

It took only one of the Sith messing with the petard cores to confirm the evident panic that had set in - a panic which for the time being kept the petard fighters out of the game. If their anti-tamper mechanisms were reset and the fighters were launched, Onrai would order the repeat of their tampering - if there was no reset, she figured this left the Petards either functionless as the detonator would have already triggered, or would result in the fighters spontaneously detonating when the cores were placed in them. Regardless, what had worried her the most was temporarily out of play.

As more of the New Imperial fleet assets moved into range, the secondary mass drivers, side-mounted light and and super-heavy beam cannons, and other weapons would open fire, with a focus on the approaching corvettes. The anti-fighter beams of the Sovereign Elites pierced through the area, actively working to spear enemy fighters and bombers with a lance of energy. Still the Gorgon shuddered under the initial torpedo bombardment - it had taken little damage, but the weakening of shields did concern her.

"I think it's time we return the favor. Launch fighters to intercept." The hangar doors opened and a rush of Eightgun assault fighters and Forge-class interceptors were vomited forth from the dreadnought, soon joined by similar fighters from the Sovereign Elites that rapidly formed a frenetic fighter screen against the enemy squadrons and reinforced Seela Leini and her fellow pilots. The Eightguns, less maneuverable as they were, would focus on actively charging the enemy bombers and opening fire with their eight rapid-fire xaser cannons as they let loose their tubes full of seeker cluster missiles - whose munitions soon divided and each independently sought out a hostile target. The Forges followed the Eightguns and helped screen them from the more nimble New Imperial fighters. Having been designed for extreme maneuverability, Forges were able to easily turn within the radius of their compatriots in the tenacious dogfights that soon formed, heavy laser cannons raining fire upon the enemy ships.

The approach of the Petards of Gallius Orcana and his cruiser were not unnoticed by the Sith meditating on board - the Petards had their anti-tampering devices triggered and the drones detonated harmlessly away from the engines of the battlecruisers, but it did make it rather plain what specifically the New Imperials were seeking to do: disable the engines of one or more of the battlecruisers to inhibit their ability to escape the field of battle. Though the redundant hyperdrive systems would allow the Sovereign Elites to survive even a crippling of their reactors, they would still be stranded in-system and forced to wait for repair teams and support to arrive before they could be extricated from the area - a dangerous proposition, as it would mean they could be swarmed by enemy ships. This was the call for the bombers to be launched - Coryphin-class super-heavy bombers began to pour ordnance on Pride of the Emperor, still surprisingly intact after its last sortie. Advanced cluster proton bombs and gravity bombs would impact the ship's hull - hopefully persuading the captain to retreat, though Onrai had doubts he would listen more during this encounter.

Then there it was. A loss of life. On board... Where? A Sith ship? Onrai's eyes opened. "Contact the Commodore. Something feels... off." She said. Communications were attempted with the allied warship - along with a for-the-moment viral packet to be received upon acceptance of the hail. Any support the fleet could provide to her bulwark would be particularly needed.

 

[Jivim Vaak]

The Battlefield
Allies: NIO | GA | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Var Koon | Naier Rambeigh | Gallius Orcana | Tantalus
Enemies: TSE | EE | Onrai | Ren-Hua Mant | Seela Leini
Current Kit: [TIE/OTx Outlander]
OBJ: Escort Kaleesh Shuttles

[THEME]​

With the transmission made, Vaak later heard the barking orders of his Squad Leader who was demanding the shuttles to not straighten out their column formation. While Razor 1 may not be able to adjust the speed of the large transports, she can throw their incompetence out the window. As the shuttles adjust their pathing slightly into a peculiar formation, there was now some guarantee the shuttles wouldn't go down in a single bombing run hopefully. On the other ear, the reply regarding the mission's progress was made by the Captain himself. An order to provide free reign on how the mission goes so long as the mission is a success.

The former soldier turned pilot, tapped over the screen that contained the channels available to him. Setting his additional back to the one that directed specifically to his wing-man, Razor 4.

The squad leader later called out, shifting from commanding the shuttles to her squad. "Razor 4, Razor 2. Get your slashers at the middle. 3 and 5, at the front. I'll take the rear and take care of any bogies with a wise mind to take our flank." And so, the squadron moved over to their respective positions. Vaak slowly easing the throttle down as his speed heightened. He passed the two fighters, an eye focused on the targeting computer. Only to have two red pings pop up on the circular screen. Vaak pitched up and set power over to his weapons as a priority, he'd broadcast it over towards his wingman.

"You got two bogies on your 2, pitch up." The TIE Slasher Razor 4 was piloting tilted upward and focused onto the nearing sith fighters. As the center of the cannon lined up to the pair of opposition, Vaak watched the sheer power that the Slasher carried. With just a small flurry of green bolts, the sith fighters were dusted. A hearty chuckle was given in response before the targeting computer pinged with more targets entering range. The pilot then spoke out to his squad.

"Watch out! We got a squad of enemy fighters straight ahead!" Vaak slammed the throttle forward and sped off to close in on the foe, as did Razor 3. The defense effort was to begin.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

His eyes were brought to a close as his hand rested against the woman's shoulder, and the familiar heat that emanated off her lightsaber sat right at the edge of tolerance near his skin. She was partially right to say that he could not understand how she felt, given the context behind her meaning. The New Imperial Order had undeniably put the Sith Empire on the backfoot, and through their efforts the crumbling Empire would see plenty of their worlds liberated from the tyranny of the Sith. The Third-Imperial Civil War had been waged for several years, and all those involved were keenly aware that the Order had no intention of stopping until a death blow had truly been dealt. The mission had to be finished, no matter the cost it took to reach that point.

But that was also where the Sith was wrong.

Lucien had seen comrade after comrade fall over the course of the war. Men who had become brothers-in-arms were lost in an instant, reduced to nothing but a lifeless fragment of what they once had been. Good men with dreams and ambitions outside of the war, driven to defect from the Sith-Imperials or volunteering for service of their own volition. Her story was uniquely hers in regards to the role she possessed within the tale, but the pain and struggle that she felt was not hers alone.

Worlds were engulfed all across the Braxant Front with each triumphant victory the overwhelmed New Imperials tore away from the Sith. Millions were left homeless, robbed from their home worlds until the radiation could be scrubbed. Thousands more perished as a result of these scorched earth tactics, but the pain being delivered across the region was nearly universal for those being liberated from the Sith.

They were all valid points he could've brought up in response, but Luc chose the route of keeping his mouth shut. She had so much pain circulating through those veins; Luc could feel it as a consequence of the hand resting on her shoulder, his mind reaching through the force to try and understand the feelings she was experiencing more clearly.

He understood why she was filled with rage. Luc had been in similar shoes once upon a time, and he dwelled on the scenario where perhaps he too fell to the corruption that tainted her mind. It infused itself within her essence, threatening to engulf every part of her being until not a single piece of the original woman was left. There were worse fates than death in his opinion, with fully being corrupted by the dark side of the force being among the top three.

But the woman was not so far gone, or else he was certain that he would've felt nothing but bleakness when his flesh met her own. The light may have been severely extinguished, but he was certain that she was not destined to be a ball of rage for the remainder of her life. She needed help, but not the kind that many of his peers within the Jedi Order were willing to provide.

She needed guidance, much like the advice that rolled off his tongue just moments before. Luc pondered on the thought, considering his options on what to do. He wouldn't act hasty, despite his desire to help the woman out. For now he'd continue to drag the situation out, focusing his attention between her and the other woman who also occupied his head space.

"I don't think you get it." Eventually he had to say something, as remaining in his head wouldn't keep the woman docile. "Killing me wouldn't solve your issues. Truth be told, my death would potentially be the catalyst that other factions within the Order could use to convince the Imperator to implement far more...aggressive methods of dealing with the Sith and those who oppose our Empire. Killing me right here would only provide the spark that's necessary to ramp the nuances of our war into a full scale conflict to exterminate the Zambrano's dying Empire." He shrugged, narrowing his eyes at Aradia with the beginnings of a grin returning to his lips.

"You could slaughter a thousand of our men and we'd still push forwards. And even worse-- you still wouldn't be any closer to controlling your emotions, and y'know- preserving your life. A violent death is the only thing that awaits your future, given your actions and the way you currently are. You need temperance-- and I don't mean the shite you'll hear from the Jedi Orders. Stick to what you believe if you wish, but the dark side will ruin you, if you embrace the illusion of increased potential that it offers. The force is a tool, nothing more and nothing less. Potential, and the will to deploy it is all the force is in the end."

His hand slipped off her shoulder, tracing down the length of your arm until it settled on top of her own hand. A bold move considering the circumstances, but he did so without a hint of fear within the sharp gaze meeting her eyes. It wrapped around her hand, guiding the hilt closer to the skin on his neck until the searing heat threatened to do more than make him uncomfortable.

"My master use to tell me that It’s not an easy thing to put a gun to your own head, even if you do wish to die. To do so when you possess the desire to live must take the will of a demon, and nothing less. I am resolved to live and find the normality I crave within the life i've been granted, but neither am I afraid to embrace the other side, if that is the road I eventually have to walk.”


​

 

[Eleena Salwa]

Location: Jungle Surrounding Generis Base - Generis
Call Sign: Mermaid Nine
Allies: TSE ( The Amalgam )
Enemies: NIO ( Halketh Loros Kalaric Dante Corvus Jax Sloane Arten Jinn Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran )

“I’ve made my first pass, I’m coming back around for another-” The transmission to The Amalgam was immediately cut off with a harsh, surging noise. Eleena’s head bounced off of the windscreen when the bolt struck her machine, the world shifting into a vibrant mixture of pastel colors as the swoop careened out of control. Fortunately, her helmet’s consciousness retainer kept her awake, jerking her brain back into activity as the electricity coursed through her swoop’s systems. Damage reports streamed in across her HUD, indicating disabled power conversion systems, damaged sonic dampeners, and depleted shields. However, at the moment, those were among the least of her concerns. The vanes were failing to respond to her inputs, prompting her to activate the emergency restart systems so that she could get her machine back under control. All the while, the ground was quickly growing larger and larger in her view.

Then after what seemed like an eternity, the controls came back to her.

It was far too late for her to avoid the crash completely, but she could minimize the damage and perhaps, land the machine in a manner that would allow her to take off again and limp it to Generis base.

Pushing the brakes with all the strength in her legs, Eleena shifted the vanes to countersteer her swoop out of a course which would have wrapped her around a tree. Instead, she angled her swoop towards a small clearing. taking a deep breath as her machine across the ground, shearing off the bottom wing and creating a distinct rut in the wake of her passage before she slowly came to a stop, roughly 600 meters from the point where Halketh had initially cast his Lightning at her swoop.

Immediately, Eleena climbed off, knowing that she could not afford to waste any time. Already, her sensors were lighting up with approaching signatures a few hundred meters away, indicating that stormtroopers had been dispatched to either confirm the “kill” or finish her off.

She had to work quickly.

Eleena was no technician, nor did she have any tools on her person, but the Loralora had a number of dedicated “restart” systems, designed to kick engines and power online in the event that they were disabled. While Eleena had no idea what had struck her craft, the damage was similar in nature to what could be wrought by an especially powerful EMP, but she could also see scorched Lichtenberg figures on the fairing, indicating that whatever had hit her was more powerful than a simple EMP.

The sensor beeped in her ears.

450 meters.

The engine bay was pulled open, the inner workings visibly crackling with electricity as Eleena contemplated what she needed to do. Moving back to the control interface in front of the saddle, Eleena powered down everything save for the sensors, then came back, giving a deep sigh of relief at seeing the electricity disappear.

The sensor beeped once more.

350 meters.

Plugs were ripped from their sockets, then shoved back in. Buttons were held down to the count of ten to recalibrate overloaded systems. The engines were thankfully intact, but she could only pray that they would start back up again when she was ready to take off.

The sensor beeped again.

250 meters.

The engine bay was slammed shut, locked in place as Eleena worked to tighten the screws by hand. Having small fingers made this easier for her than it would have been otherwise, but it was still an agonizing process that took more time than she would like.

Another beep, 150 meters.

Two more screws.

75 meters.

One more.

50 meters.

The last screw slid into place with a satisfying click, but Eleena wasted no time in jumping back into the saddle before running a very abbreviated pre-flight checklist and pressing the button to power on her machine.

Silence.

She pressed it again and the only sound her ears were met with was a beep from the sensors, telling her that the stormtroopers were less than 25 meters away and closing. The Twi’lek gave a frustrated groan and pressed the button again, then again. All the while, she pulled the disruptor pistol from the holster on her left thigh and activated the energy shield on her suit, knowing that they were all she had to defend herself if the swoop failed to power on...

Spoiler: Loadout

• FAE/V-02 “Loralora” Interceptor Hyperswoop Craft
  • Flex Tube Mass Driver Whistling Birds (2)
    • Brilliant Nano Missiles
    • High-Explosive Nano Missile
  • Pilot Gear
    • FAE/A-03 Repulsor Craft Riding Suit
      • Energy Shield
        • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
      • Undersuit
        • UL-14 “Virtus” Class Underlay
    • X7-B “Checkmate” Holdout Disruptor

 

[Halketh]

W A Y F I N D E R
V U L T U R E
DOOM DIVISION // THE CARLACI CORPS
ENGAGEMENT :// Eleena Salwa
ALLIES | NIO & CO | DECEASED Erskine Barran Loros Kalaric Dante Corvus
Jax Sloane Arten Jinn Willan Tal Nima Appw'rii
FOES | IF IT'S RED, IT'S DEAD | The Amalgam Eleena Salwa
ATTIRE
_

<"All NIO ground forces in the immediate AO, Carlac stands for you. My forces will shield your push. Move together, lest you die alone."> ​

What horror awaited the pale twi'lek on the ground. As her proximity sensors wailed in alert of the impending tide of soldiers closing on her position, a surge of copper taint coiled through the air between the trees- the sharp, unmistakable scent of blood ushered upon the false winds churned up by the turmoil of humanity. But what stalked Eleena was nothing of the sort. A hollow-mockery. Shells. Husks plucked up from battlefields both near and far and orchestrated into coordination by the same puppeteer who had thrown her from her safety. Sickening, disjointed motions propelled the collective of streaming ice on her location, spilling through the trees as a bloodied, mangled avalanche.​

A tide of undead troopers, some still intact, others oozing the slime of congealed, deathly ichor from what should have been grievous wounds to any still-living soldier was revealed as the foliage strangling the undergrowth parted. Rasped, wheezing growls and eager, guttural sounds of alert spoke loudly enough that she had their full attention. That was his plan, after all; knock her from her nest and allow the others to feast. He doubted he would need more than a few of the undead stormtroopers at his disposal to eliminate her from this engagement, thus he dispatched only five or six for the task. The others continued their march forward, ever tireless, ever ravenous, to reach the base. ​

Distantly, some rotting flesh collided with metallic shells, distracting the mechanized sentries and soldiers dispatched by The Amalgam , regardless of how heavy the casualties may have been. That was their purpose after all, wasn't it? Even in death, they would return to the ground only after defending their brothers and sisters once more. Those defensive, screeching lines ripped the rank of undead to shreds, deepening the ever-present hang of sickening, infectious mist that hung heavy over their presence, generously coating the greenery with shades of blackish crimson. The undead were persistent, trampling over the fallen to dogpile those unfortunate- living and machine alike- to get caught in their sights. This took the background of The Vulture's distorted, Force-driven vision and a mere sliver of his concentration.​

The living forces within those he had brought with him were quick to rally right behind the damned, pressing the assault with a rain of slug fire matched in harmonious chorus by the unyielding shower sent by the Blue Hearts, with love. ​

Those he assigned to the task of handling Eleena Salwa rushed towards her position, the fastest, most intact would rather recklessly lunge for her, aiming to overwhelm her with numbers and strength unimpeded by the suffering of wounds. Should even one have been successful in grabbing her before she dispatched it, their collective hivemind would have driven them all into a blood-crazed frenzy, hastening their advance. And from behind them, then, it was the white-cloaked form of Lord Halketh that emerged from the withering foliage last. The eyeless face of his mask was fixed in her direction, though the eerie awareness he possessed regardless swelled about the immediate area. He wasn't what he seemed upon the surface, that much was for certain. ​

Had she the mind to fire upon him first, disregarding those beneath his influence, he was ready. Gauntleted hands flared out by his sides, each clawed digit flashing in tightening flex. He strolled forward languidly, boots dampened against the plush floor of the jungle. Some ten meters or so away, he would halt, hooded head tilting on its side slightly, as he seemed to hone his focus on her. The brunt of his dreadful aura, that threatening, nauseating presence, poured in around him, settling over the narrow clearing to seep its insidious influence into those who dared enter. ​

"Surrender," the prophet uttered with a voice cast out across the expanse between them in such a way she could hear him despite the clamor of their environment, "or become another fiend in the rank and file."​

The offer was clear, despite its cryptic delivery.

Surrender, or die.

 

[Tantalus]

TITAN SQUADRON
TIE/VX VANGUARD
ENGAGING: Seela Leini
INDIRECT: Commodore Curtis Rheardon

​

Titan Leader's heart rate spiked for a few seconds when his Vanguard's laser fire splashed off the Sith interceptor's deflectors. Passive sensor scans indicated anomalous readings which suggested he might have damaged some secondary systems...unless this too was another clever ruse. Howlrunner's predatory instincts nearly overwhelmed him, urging the TIE commander to chase down his prey and finish them off while they were weak.

"Fool me once."

He would not allow this infuriatingly talented pilot to distract him from his objective. Already Dancer Squadron had destroyed half of Dragoon Squadron and several more of his squad mates. Vanguards were powerful machines which could take a greater beating than the average TIE, but interceptors were designed exactly for this kind of engagement. Titan Squadron was still holding their own but they couldn't be everywhere.

So Colonel Tantalus did something he'd mocked the Sith Imperial for doing just moments before. He turned his back on the enemy.

Cutting velocity and executing another tight maneuvering turn Howlrunner circled back on the beleaguered NIO TIE Bruisers. Las fire erupted from his heavy blasters targeting any of the Dancer interceptors in his path. They were closing in on their objective now. He reminded himself that all other concerns were secondary. If they could hold the interceptors off long enough to endure the Harrower cruiser's point defense barrage they might be able to accomplish that mission. How many lives he sacrificed was irrelevant, the only defeat would be if they lost enough firepower and were forced to break off.

 

[Violet Horne]

Allies: If you think I am going to tag all of y'all, ya crazy. Dagon Kaze
Enemies: Marcis Sorr
Objective: Embrace the Light

Hearing something crack in Violet’s chest nearly snapped him back from his wrathful crusade upon the parasite that had taken control of her. Yet, as soon as it began to speak, the padawan’s flurry of emotions dragged him back down into the pit.

"She doesn't want me to hurt you. So I won't. Come, Dagon Kaze, I will make your end short and painless."

“YOU are the one hurting her, demon!” he barked back, his heart pacing and his blood boiling.

...make sure they get back home safe and sound.​

Grumbling something underneath his breath before clenching his teeth and uttering, “Take me instead but release her!!”

Brows lofted up in response to that offer.

"Am I? And here I thought I was keeping her alive against your attacks. As for your offer-" It was in that last moment. The stretch of two heartbeats that NotViolet's nostrils flared up once more. The sensation of blood but this time it was so close to her. Almost enough for a loving caress, before the feeding would begin.

Eyes widened and the creature crouched down to make herself a smaller target.

This was, of course, the wrong action since Marcis had been coming for her knee. The slight shift was the only thing that saved Violet from her knee being completely snapped at its hinge. Instead the crack was softer, faint, a fracture of bone that caused the SeeminglyHuman to howl in pain. But this wasn't the first time that the visual reaction didn't line up with the reaction immediately after. Even as Marcis' fist slammed into the back of her knee, causing her to stumble, DefinitelyNotHuman whirred around her axis. Her arms closing around the Sith Assassin's slight form.

"Gotcha."

Her face loomed close now and if there was any doubts about the lack of humanity in the distance? Up close it was all too real. Emerald eyes, liquid oozing from her skin now as pores opened up to sweat out transpiration of the creature. Her skin sheened with it, the layer of green, as if her skull was being reinforced by something other.

Then she slammed her head towards Marcis' face, aiming for the soft bone, the nose.

 

[Seela Leini]

Location: Around the HMIS Basilisk, Space - Generis System
Call Sign: Dancer Ten
Allies: TSE ( Onrai Commodore Curtis Rheardon )
Enemies: NIO (Tantalus Caarlyle Rausgeber Jivim Vaak Gallius Orcana )

The intimate neural connection she maintained with her craft gently prodded at her awareness as the bandit on her six turned back, presumably after realizing the extent of the casualties her squad mates had been inflicting on the Bruisers and the Vanguardx. The feelings of shame and worthlessness, especially at the lingering thought that their actions had saved her life where she had failed, filled her core. The attention that her Eternal Father had given her had initially been a boon to her confidence. But now, she could not help but to wonder if even he, so perfect, so eternal, so Dark, had been wrong to lend her his gaze.

And yet she-

That potentially heretical line of thought was purged from the Twi'lek's brainwashed mind almost as soon as it was conceived, leaving white hot, irrational anger in its place as the bandit broke off from her. The enemy would pay for such boldfaced arrogance, condemning their hubris in her mind, in spite of the fact that she had pulled roughly the exact same maneuver only moments before. Nevertheless, she would show them the righteous wrath of a servant of His Eclipsing Mission, to usher them into the fate that awaited heretics, barbarians, and those corrupted by the starvation of the Light. Just as the Eternal Father willed it, she would deliver his judgement upon the wicked, where they would find cleansing in death, doomed to repent for their crimes for all eternity.

In seeing the enemy move for her brothers and sisters, the strand-cast’s rage was only further incited. However, having bled off most of her speed in an attempt to force an overshoot, she was helpless to prevent the deaths of one, two, then three of her comrades, eliciting a sharp cry from her lips as they screamed their last over comms, their death shrieks echoing against her ears as the pilot who had been on her tail only moments before rendered them unto celestial dust in mere seconds. All the while, she drove her interceptor through a half-Immelmann, pushing power to engines in spite of the insistent warnings in her ears telling her that they were overheating far beyond safe limits. The heat had bled into the cockpit as well, sweat glistening across her brow as she built her speed back up and moved directly onto the six of the enemy pilot, at roughly the same “altitude” in a pure pursuit.

Then, all four of her cannons spun to life immediately after her nose was lined up with the bandit, delivering a barrage of seven bolts each aimed to strike her target’s fuselage.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Ragnos-class Fighter/Interceptor
  • Cargo and Pilot Gear
    • DS-101 “Venture” Multipurpose Protective Attire
    • “Judicator” Adaptive Battle Rifle

 

[Marcis Sorr]

Objective: Secure the catalyst; eliminate any hostiles.
Equipment: Sorr's Shatterbracers | Close-Fitting Combat Suit
Writing With: Dagon Kaze and Violet Horne

Once more his efforts were met with success, but once more she recovered with inhuman speed. Given the conversation she was having with the Jedi, he could only assume the creature was wearing the woman before him like a glorified flesh puppet. Had she been someone else and he anything but a Sith, that might have provoked some hesitation, but killing a Jedi and some strange Light-demon in one would be fantastic.​

If only it wasn't so decidedly unwilling to die. Hell, at this point he would gladly take a less homicidal attitude.​

"Gotcha." His speed was impressive, but hers even more so - and she was far stronger than he, stronger than she had any right to be. Struggling with vigour as she grabbed onto him and dragged him closer, the strange fluids oozing out of her skin only invigorating his resistance, to no avail.​

Shocked into temporary compliance by her sudden headbutt, he let out a shout of pain that mingled with the sickening crunch of his nose breaking on contact. Pain and dizziness and the disturbing sensation of blood flowing down his oesophagus intermingled in a truly unpleasant cocktail of sensation, but he had been trained to kill by the Sith. He knew better than to wallow in self-pity while others sought his death.​

Slowly, carefully so that she would not notice, he attempted to raise one hand - fully intending to fire off a shot point-blank into her torso.​

 

[Dagon Kaze]

RAKATAN TEMPLE
NEW JEDI ORDER
TO ENGAGE: Marcis Sorr
INSIDE THE FIRE

...make sure they get back home safe and sound.​

Dagon fully prepared, as much as one could prepare, for the mental intrusion leading to potentially ceding control of his body to a monster. No more would those close to him suffer. It was the Jedi's way to take the burden.

Is it?, his father's voice tugged at the corner of his mind. An eternal taint left behind from his own intrusion into the mind of his twin on Ziost. Remember Ruusan, son.

Abruptly, from the darkness of the sphere the Sith assassin materialized. A shadow himself, he struck at the unsuspecting NotViolet. Instinct kicked in and Dagon rushed forward, the Force bestowing him with unnatural speed.

"NO!" he bellowed as he saw the flash of a gadget on the Sith's wrist try to wiggle enough room for a shot at a point-blank range. The padawan dove at NotViolet, a two-hundred and some pounds of a man ripping her from her grip around the Sith and the two Jedi tumbled to a crash into the darkness a dozen or so feet away.

And then the pain flooded his receptors forcing him to groan in pain and reach for the hole in his side. The pain sought to overwhelm his raging emotions but even then he kept his embrace around her. Even with the emerald liquid grotesquely leaking through spores of her skin.

Even if she looked almost nothing like Violet.

He knew she was somewhere inside, trapped.

"VIOLET!"

Dagon suddenly snapped, "TAKE BACK CONTROL!" he called onto the Force to build a bridge into her mind but it stuttered and crumbled just like so many time before. The bullet wound leaking a stream of blood unwilling to let him focus.

"Let...her...go." he muttered through gritted teeth half to himself and half to the demon. Despite the pain his resolve did not waver. "I must--need to bring her home safe."

​

GA | NIO | ALLIES | Ryv | Violet Horne | Kaska Arden | Viers Connory | Viera | Zaavik Perl | Auraya Irath-Ur | Rurik Fel | Kainan | Enlil
TSE | ENEMIES

 

[Kainan]

Y O U N G _ C O N Q U E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LEGATE ACTUAL
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
Armour | Lightsaber
Proximity: Kascalion Giedfield , Paz Koon

As Kainan initially moved to flip over the Sith Lord, his hate-filled gaze was solely focused on him. There was no other rpesent stimuli that could wrench his attention from the Dark Lord. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he sprung forwards, pressing the attack on the Sith whilst he was stuck between both of the Knights. From both ends he was forced to protect himself. With the unstable Sith saber, he faced off against his Kel Dor comrade, and with the hilt of a fallen Knight of the Empire, he fended off the Youthful Knight's assault.

From left to right his resplendent blade flashed, the crash of silver on silver not unfamiliar to the Youth. How many times had he crossed blades with another Imperial Knight in training? But it was here... It was this blade's wielder that sought to free him from existence. To cut gouges deep and leave his lifes blood pouring out onto the stones of this dark side infused temple. A fate that Kainan could not see for himself. Not even for the Sith, for death here, an inconsequential battlefield... Kascalion Giedfield was destined for more.

But Kainan saw his own destiny, the one forced upon him from birth, before the cloak of the Imperial had been wrapped around his shoulders, was greater.

To the Sith, the silver blade was more akin to a shoto on account of his size. But it still yet remained a blade of similar length to Kainan's own. Little advantage, save for the temporary unwieldy feel it'd have as he was forced on the defensive.

Foregoing further lateral attacks, Kainan slashed from top to bottom, carving through skin and muscle of the Sith with his unrelenting attack. In turn, the Sith found some purchase on him. Light cuts, else the cortosis-weave within the plates were like to disable the blade. And Kainan was otherwise glad it didn't, for he was not intent on catching another bone crushing punch to the face. Instead, he was parried and knocked off kilter, sparing the Sith enough time to focus on his Kel Dor compatriot.

And Kainan took that time to reach towards the door that blocked them from the Catalyst; the Crucifixion Engine. His energies in the Force were draining, sapped from his bout with the Dark Lord of the Sith. The door struggled to open, the Force seeping into those microscopic gaps between itself and the wall, and yanking back to slowly creak open. Over his shoulder, he shot a glance to Kascalion Giedfield and Paz Koon fighting, and when he saw the fiery blade leap up to the throat of the Kel Dor, Kainan's lips curled up into a sneer, and he spun around, shooting his hand back to the duo and enforcing his will upon the self-proclaimed deity's hand, he yanked back.

Without so much as a look back at the door he had barely got open, he resumed the assault on the Sith, one handed, he prioritized the first of the wounds he inflicted upon the Sith; his thigh. Kainan with his blade effectively hammered away the Sith's lower body. In his mind's eye, hi9s singulargoal was to take that leg off at the kneecap. Crippled... It'd be easier than ever to put the Sith down.

Allies | NIO | NJO | Nearby | Rurik Fel , Enlil , Dagon Kaze
Enemies | TSE | Kascalion Giedfield

 

[Laertia Io]

A Nuetralizer walked up to an injured Stormtrooper holding a Knife.

It chose a pre-scripted response from its database normally used to Intimidate Mandalorians and used it on this newest victim as it seemed the most fethed up thing the victim could possibly hear before dying.

"Darling..." It said to the trooper, thumbing its knife a bit. "I've gotta get you to the church on time..."

It was about to violently stab him to death when the troopers head exploded from a concussive shot fired by a Nuetralizer behind him.

"Clyyyyydde!" The Nuetralizer whined at his brother. "That was 'my' kill!"

"Sorry!" Clyde the Nuetralizer replied, snapping another Troopers neck as he and the Witches began to concentrate their efforts on gunning down the Jedi Guardians that were the most stubborn at dying.

"We could've been fighting the Bryn'adul side by side but noooooo..." one of the Nuetralizers complained to another Jedi as it paralyzed him with its mounted automatic Paddle Beam weapon before giving him two blasts from a pump action to the chest. Most of the stupid things they said had a purpose, as it was ingrained in their psychological warfare protocols to say the most messed up things they could think of to a potential victim, like a Droid version of Dun Moch.

Of course, that didn't mean other stuff hadn't been put in just because it was stupid.

"I LOVE DUBSTEP!" another cried out as it picked up two katanas and began to dual wield them.

Laertia didn't have time to reflect how twisted her sense of humor actually was as she tried to break the magnifcent defense of Khefiir , feeling his fear grow. It was growing in his mind. The more the Nuetralizers struck down his comrades, the more she battered his defense, it grew.

Would it lead to his anger as his friends died? Would he hate her enough to avenge them? Would it lead to his suffering?

Laertia didn't know. But she couldn't let them win here if she could possibly help it.

Her blade slammed down as vast and as violently as she could trying to twist and rip the weapon from his grasp with each strike.

"Surrender...flee with what Jedi remain to you. If you let it go, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you." (They're going to take you: 90 XP) Laertia said to him as she attacked him trying to get him into a blade lock, the flames on her teal blade trailing with each swing.

Khefiir wasn't her enemy. Not truly. It was his stubborn leaders who sent him to die against the wrong enemy, that was the problem.

But she would absolutely kill him if he didn't surrender. It disgusted her what she had done this day. But she would keep doing it if it means the NIO didn't get whatever horrible weapon was apparently inside this place. The last thing these NIO Bastards needed was a Super Weapon.

"You 'do' realize what happens if the NIO get whatever is in this temple right? They'll use it..." she added as she struck at him, taking advantage of his weakening frame to strike as hard as possible at places it would be difficult to turn aside her blade with ease...

Either he'd see reason or he would die.

 

[Darth Daiara]

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed

Spoiler: The Story

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

The New Imperial Order had surged forth from its nest once more. No longer was it poised to strike back , strictly in defense of it life and those who lived beneath its banner. The game had changed the New Imperials into a vicious tiger that could challenge the galactic superpowers head-to-head, and once more it ventured forth into the territory of the Sith. A salient was desired to allow their forces to continue their onslaught against the tyrants of Dromund Kaas, and so the 173rd were requested to accompany the Imperator's armies once more.

He owed it to the people of Nirauan, if not the New Imperial Order itself. Though he'd never admit to Tavlar that he respected the man for what he'd done, Lucien had showed it through his actions-- most of the time, anyway. Generis would be no different from those others, despite the fact that he currently wasn't at the vanguard of a formation, or dropping down from the skies with his Legion.

The Myrmidons had been deployed onto the world en masse just hours before the invasion of the planet had commenced. His Captains and their respective companies scattered across the planet to tackle tertiary objectives elsewhere, typically the kind which left the rank-and-file dead to a man.

While his Legion were kept occupied with sowing havoc through the Sith's ranks, Lucien would assume a secondary command alongside the Galidraani Commanders at the head of the operation. Officially he should've been leading men towards the facility, but his fellow commanders seemed more than willing to do the hard work on their own.

And as it wasn't his Leigon being thrown at the facility, he chose to remain compliant at the rear lines and monitor the battle through his comms. For once he was alone, given the state that the battle of Dantooine had left his companions. More than half of them had been lost, while the other half were still in recovery. It was a decision that left him open, but Lucien had never encountered a Sith who proved an opportunist on the field of battle. Then again, he'd never been in the rear-lines either.

With a bit of luck and surprise, perhaps even he was in for a fun time.

Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel | @Warposters
​

​

Objective 2: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Aradia was done playing war games.

She was done with front lines and trenches and pleading. She had gone to Bastion a girl-- frightened and untested. She had walked away a little more refined-- A little wiser, a little quicker, a little better at holding her own. The jedi were unrelenting in their assults. She should thank them. In every loss was a lesson. Every break was chance to regrow stronger.

She sat braced inside of the station, no longer that girl with something to fear. There was no longer a master to fail. No longer an empire to serve.

Aradia had severed herself from everything. In that solidarity, she had found strength.

She heard the rhythmic fall of boots through the walls of the dark closet and knew what it meant. Infiltration. This station was a strategic command point. She had spent weeks studying the Imperials' habits. She knew they would utilize the war as a chance to overwhelm other more vulnerable points. The Imperials were always thinking forward. They were always laying down the foundation for their next attack. Aradia didn't delude herself, this wasn't stopping at Gravlex.

Stopping them from controlling this station could define so much.

She opened the maintenance room cupboard, her lean legs sliding out as she crept slowly to her feet. Like a spider. It was unlikely they could hear her from so far away, but she moved with caution regardless, her ears pricked for movement beyond the door.

Silence. Just her heart in her ears, erratic and distracting. She let out a heavy breath and let the door woosh open.

Could one person stop a war? She was prepared to find out.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

It was easy to interpret his apathy, for an extreme lack of carelessness instead. He'd crossed plenty of battlefields by his lonesome before, but from his position near the Galidraani's rear lines there was an eerie sanguine to offset the combat in the distance. He could feel the violence permeating through the air, even from where he stood. It permeated through the air, carried by the winds of the force until it settled somewhere uncomfortably within his psyche. Lucien had forgotten the feeling of being on a battlefield alone, it seemed. He'd always maintained the company of his companions, relying on their presence just as much as they did his.

But Dantooine left his companions in shambles.

And the war effort continued on, leaving his men no time to mourn their fallen properly. His Legion dispersed where they were needed, and this time he was forced to watch them from afar. Reduced to receiving sitreps and delivering the occasional order, Lucien could only feel their struggle from afar. The malaise would eventually draw him back forth to the Brigade's Command Post, once more resuming his duties as the sole Commander on station whilst the Galidraani's were down range with the majority of their men. What few reserves were kept in the backlines were spread thin as it was, and to no surprise the same would ring true for the occupants of the primary headquarters as well.

He entered to a number of raised heads,, quickly waving off their salutes and allowing them to return to their posts. The understaffed HQ had an abundance of work, and a general lack of formalities was the typical way that he ran his own Legion. He lingered for only a few minutes, his attention returning to another incoming sitrep from one of his Legion's captains. It was a casualty report; only a few losses were sustained so far, but each man loss was a brother who couldn't be easily replaced.

Luc sighed audibly as he ascended up the stairs, cutting the link off and pulling the earbud out of his ear. He was heading for the rooftop to get a better view of the frontline, while also keeping close to their HQ in the off-chance that things went sour. He came to a brief halt upon reaching the top floor of the building, tilting his head in the direction of a room at the end of the hall.

He turned off the staircase briefly, but stopped in his tracks as his focus remained locked upon what was beneath that door. He projected his thoughts into the room, loosening the concealment that diminished his presence into the force. It was veritably a shot in the dark, or rather he could've been misinterpreting what he perceived through the force. "Could be nothing." He mused out loud, bringing his foot back onto the staircase and ascending up to the top.

"But it could be something." He continued, crossing through the doors on the rooftop and moving to the guard railing at the edge of the roof. The view provided him with a surprisingly clear picture of the situation at the front. Bodies were stacking up on both sides, but the Galidraanis were a group who were known to get the job done at all costs. He could do nothing but wait and see what the results would be., and if need be, intervene on his own accord.

But for now he'd continue doing the former, given the feeling, or rather the presence that he just moments before. It was an immediate concern for him to deal with, and if his senses were not deceiving him, potentially an opportunity to serve the New Imperial Order in a more direct way as well. With his presence no longer masked, Luc stood out amidst the sea of sentients who lacked any presence at all within the force.

The ball was moved into their court, ceding them the advantage, or so it seemed.



Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


The building was already lost.

It wasn't what Aradia was expecting, but she could sense it now. Countless imperial bodies controlled the sith facility, all inconsequential to her attentions.

Until one wasn't. She paused in the doorway, her head turning towards the signature that sang at the other end of the hall. Ice hit her veins, her throat tightening as she considered her options. She had come to keep this facility out of imperial hands, reclaiming this station alone was fool's job. She hissed in frustration, kicking the door jam.

She had spent weeks trying to outwit the imperials, and here she was, rendered as nothing more than a girl with backpack.

And that's why she brought back up plans. She shoved off the door jam, her pack bouncing against her back as she jogged after the force signature.

She unslung her pack, ignoring the siren of energy walking further away. It called to her-- the jedi taunted her, she could sense it. She did not bite, making further effort to smother out her spite as she pried open a door panel and jammed an electronic bug over the exposed wires. All her efforts to learn Mechu Deru and she could barely influence basic circuitry. That was fine, the driod would do the work for her. The jedi wanted to chill on the roof?

The door hissed, hydraulics releasing as the mechanisms that would open them fried.

He could stay there now.

A tinge of a desperation caught in her gut, her eyes tossing over her shoulder. How long would it take for him to realize she had trapped him? What good could she do in that time? She turned on her heels and ran away from the roof hatch. She skittered down the hall. A door stood open, exposing two white-booted feet resting atop a console.

Aradia slid in, the pin of a gas bomb resting in her hand. "Hello, boys."

The door closed behind her. She looked to the air vents overhead.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

A smirk raised to his lips. A few moments passed before anything of interest had happened. The bait had not been took, and the intruder would instead elect to drawing the Jedi into an environment of their choosing. He expected the individual to come for his head, if the opportunity was given. Most of the Sith he'd encountered were generally of that mindset, but in hindsight it was a generalization that quickly proved to be false. This one was cunning, or at the least they were level-headed enough to not muster to the challenge that the Jedi had put forth.

They had even locked the Jedi onto the roof through means that weren't in his forte to comprehend. Annoying as it was, it would only deter him from getting into the building temporarily. Meanwhile there was chaos being sewn into the HQ beneath his feet. The intruder had released gas into the building, catching the occupants off-guard in many cases. Helmets were off against regulation, a common trait seen among the Stormtroopers at the rear, and with it their immunity to the gas being taken away in an instant.

Lungs filled with fire, just as their eyes began to well up from the burning sensation that blinded them completely. Pandemonium ensued in their wake, something which Lucien found rather interesting as he inserted the earbud in and regretted it immediately. He pressed a finger to his ear, muting their frantic calls in order to respond with one of his own.

<"All personnel inside the building, head out immediately. Regroup outside and rendezvous at the secondary HQ until this...threat has been dealt with.">

He stepped across the guard railing, resting his arms against the cold metal as he paused in his tracks with his eyes focused into the horizon. Something called to him-- someone whose presence was so familiar to him that it could not be avoided even if he wanted to in the first place. He reached out through the force, singling out the woman with a hand extending out towards the horizon, trailing a path through the sky. His hand shut into a fist, and with it a message being sent out through the winds of the force.

"Lyra."

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt 's presence was unexpected. It took every ounce of discipline to not leap from the building and dash off into the direction he felt her presence in. A step forwards, and down the length of the building he went. "You're here...aren't you."

His descent was slowed by the force, and he touched the ground a few moments later without as much as scuffing his pants. A growing collection of Stormtroopers pooled on the outside of the building, waiting for the rest of their comrades to funnel out of the building. Luc walked ahead of the group, stepping past the retreating troopers and heading back into the building on his own. He was only spared from the burning properties of the gas through the application of controlling his breath with the use of the force involved.

He scanned the now deserted floor of the HQ, lowering his arms to his side but still not bothering to unclip the lightsaber hanging off his belt. He idled in the center of the room, leaving himself open once more in that nonchalant manner he carried himself.

Luc scanned the room once more, then sat himself down on a nearby chair with his feet being kicked up onto the console. "I'd thank you for not leaving any bodies, but I really don't get your angle, stranger." He called out to only other occupant of the now abandoned Command Post.

"...But how about we skip the games and chat face-to-face."




Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Aradia dropped from the vent overhead, her lithe form landing without a sound. A rush of wind lashed out around her, dispersing the heavy gas that had collected like smog along the space. She straightened, the sharp features of her young face leveling to hold his gaze.

There was no mistaking her for what she was, the kiss of the darkside rippling off her form.

"Jedi."

Was her expressionless greeting, her mind reeling ahead. The most obvious step would be to just leave-- but then the imperials would retake the station and resume their war efforts unhindered. She didn't want to place herself in an unmovable situration. Up until the evacuation, it hadn't looked good. Her nostrils flared at the reminder of the risk, the girl desperate to maintain the upper hand.

She could handle one jedi, she told herself. Serving as a distraction would just have to do. She took a step to the side, arching towards the walls as she held his gaze.

"This isn't your station."

Like that had ever stopped them before.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Luc smirked at the woman, spinning around in the chair to face the direction of the voice that followed her appearance into the room. He leaned back into his palms, his fingers having laced comfortably on the back of his head. "Well, yeah, you're right about that." Luc shot back, tilting his eyes towards the woman. "...But I guess no is accurate as well~" The words followed through an exaggerated yawn, his lips curling right back into a smirk once it was finished.

Despite revealing herself to Lucien, he made no overtly move to display the hostility that should've existed between existential enemies within the force. Instead his eyes followed the woman's movements lazily, watching her intently as she moved towards the wall, maintaining a safe distance between herself and the Jedi sitting comfortably at the console.

A moment of silence filled the void.

He sucked on his teeth, breaking the tension by letting loose an audible breath of air. He swung his legs down from the console, pushing himself up to his feet. Luc crossed his arms over his chest, taking a brazen step towards the center of the room, his eyes still locked upon the dangerous woman across from him. "It seems as if you've got me cornered-- assuming that's your intent. But i'm a little surprised that your superiors elected to send just you into the heart of the enemy's camp."

He chuckled, pulling his arms apart and giving the woman an exaggerated shrug. "If it was me in your shoes, I would've killed everyone in this room while the Jedi was stuck on the roof and unaware of the situation. Seems very... uncharacteristic of one of your ilk-- but don't get me wrong, i'm not complaining."

Luc's visage dropped into a cold stare for a moment. "Setting aside those corrupted eyes and that pretty face, though-" His hands dropped down to his sides, but still his weapon remained out of reach of his hand. "I'd rather we take this outside-- but the ball's in your court, sweetheart."

Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


"Setting aside those corrupted eyes--"

Aradia's hand twitch towards her face, stopped short and then redirected to tuck a fly away behind her ear. Her eyes weren't that corrupted. Just specks of gold starting to faintly circle a sea of blue.

Right?

Her gaze gaze on her reflection on the screen, her throat bobbing as his approach snapped her attention back to him. She held her ground, the weight of her saber a comfort as she took another arcing step towards the wall. Every step forward he would take would be matched with one of her own, the girl making a slow but obvious movement around the wall.

"Well, that's what makes us different." she started, her tone matter of fact. She could feel the coying tease that dripped off his words, not unlike a cat lazily playing with its mouse. He spoke of being trapped, but for a moment she questioned just which of them was they prey.

Goosebumps riddled her arms.

"Unlike you, I don't kill just because I can." She reached up, yanking the exposed circuitry from a panel she had set up while waiting for his arrival. His senses were correct. This was a trap.

Every door in the building slammed down, tons of steel closing off and locking. The evacuated storm troopers wouldn't be able to come to his aid even if they had orders to. The only way this station was opening was if one of them let it.

"I kill when I have to." Her saber snapped to her hand, the red length hissing to life.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Lucien stepped forwards once more, trailing her own gait with a slow saunter of his own, all the while ensuring his eyes would never leave her sight in case she decided to put her cunning to use. Brazen as he was, it was clear that not a hint of fear lingered beneath his playful gaze. Even as the building entered lockdown, separating the two individuals from the outside world as a whole.

His attention only briefly shifted upon the activation of the trap, his head tilting away for just long enough to view the display as it happened. His lips curled even further, a devilish grin taking its place upon his face as he refocused his eyes back onto Aradia.

Another step curved inwards towards the woman, and he continued on the path that brought him closer to the woman's bubble. He raised a eyebrow by the time the last few words had exited his lips. "Interesting to hear you say that." Luc commented, a thumb being nonchalantly jabbed in the direction of the plasmatic weapon that now hissed to life within her hands. "See I thought that you Sith were pretty uniform in your desire to kill for the sake of pleasure, power and all that other good stuff that comes with your ideology~"

His shoulders jerked upwards with a shrug, falling back down to normal in unison with his hands entering the comfort of his jacket pockets. Again he continued forwards, moving ever so closer to the woman, seemingly unfazed by the sight of the lightsaber she now wielded. His own weapon remained clipped to his belt, lazily swinging with his movements, tapping against his pants.

"Oh don't tell me--" Luc leaned forwards, centering his gaze onto her at a distance which now proved rather dangerous if her desire was to remove his head. "...You're different, huh."

He chuckled, straightening himself out and finishing with a final step that left him rather exposed, given the circumstances. "I'm not like the other Jedi either, y'know. I'm sure we could reach some common ground, especially since you've up and decided to lock yourself in here with me." He winked at her playfully. "You've got a name, or do you want me to just keep callin' you Sith."


Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


The saber was held steady, its intense heat threating to undo his clothing with each step closer he took. She did not lower it. He could impale himself where he stood for all she cared.

Aradia had seen far more frightening things than him.

"You've got a name, or do you want me to just keep callin' you Sith."

She cocked a brow. "Well, that's what I am." She quipped evenly, not taking the bait as he played games with her character. She raised her chin, unaffected by what he thought of her. It wouldn't change anything, anyway.

"You look like all the others to me." She gave the wires another hard yank, electricity shooting out from the panel. It was without a doubt fried. "Ignorant." She took a step to the right, her legs crossing like figure eights. The next panel was already exposed, a spider droid stuck over it.

"Cocky."

Another step, the saber insuring the jedi remain at length at every moment. She knew her weak spots. Her heart pounded in her chest, old lessons still fresh. She'd be keeping her guard up.

"Out for blood. Remind me again, how that makes Jedi so different from my peers."

Keep him talking. Her eyes scanned him over, features softening to contempt. "Maybe that's what I call you then. Sith." Her back hit the other wall, the droid tangling in her orange locks.

"I mean, when the name fits."

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Lyra's words slipped into his mind as clear as if she had whispered the words into his own ear. Even as he and the Sith in front of his eyes engaged in a war of words between their stand-off, he could feel the presence of Lyra as if she was with him in the real. Her aura lingered around him, or so it seemed to him in those few moments their connection was at its peak. She was so close that he could feel the blood rising within his veins, beckoning him to draw his weapon upon his enemy and take to the frontlines to find her once more. To confront her and ask those questions that were now long overdue, and perhaps too late.

He could feel her pain, the unrelenting series of emotions that fueled the corruption which brought her upon this world as a Sith. They surged through him just as rapid as they came, fueling the benevolent rage which lingered beneath the impassive visage being given to the world. Anger fueled him more than anything else; a growing desire to reap vengeance upon the Sith ten times over for what they had done to her-- to her family. Months prior he would have fell to this instinct, and acted upon the emotions that gave him the strength where the force could not. He would not have hesitated to draw his weapon upon Aradia, and do what must be done to keep moving forwards.

Always forwards, towards someone or something that he could save.

But the weight of the world could not be balanced upon his shoulders alone. Dantooine, Korriban and Ziost could attest to that. He would save her-- that would never change. It was a promise that he fully intended to keep, even if he'd retracted it openly during his meeting with Nima Appw'rii . It didn't matter if she was Sith or still the same woman who served the Imperials. She could've abandoned everything and took to a quiet life away from the chaos and he'd still feel the same way regardless. In the end, she was Lyra-- not some Sith, or a woman who faced being too far gone into the corruption of the dark side to see things reasonably with her own eyes.

"I was blind before--ignorant to the truth."

It was unconditional. That is, whatever it was that bound them together. The emotions, or maybe the connection. For a Jedi who sat far too comfortably next to the thin line of the dark, it was a dangerous thing to possess.

But the consequences be damned as far as Luc was concerned.

"I won't let you go."

Luc shut his eyes, exhaling a breath as Aradia finished berating him for his antics. In a sense the woman did have a point, despite the invalidity of a few of her claims. He definitely was a cocky bastard, albeit not as much after the wonderful lesson in hubris that came with engaging multiple Dark Lords in a relatively quick succession. Ignorance was also a claim he couldn't necessarily begin to refute. There had been so much he was unaware of before embracing his Imperial heritage, and seeing first-hand how the galaxy ebbed and flowed internally through the actions -- or inaction -- of its strongest nations.

And bloodthirsty wasn't too far off from the money either. He wasn't ashamed of it-- his own dark passenger that existed alongside the goodness within. The war against the Sith had carved him into a warrior, and one who felt truly alive during the heat of battle. He became a demon within the eyes of the pawns the Sith threw his direction, always the spear who fought at the vanguard of every conflict. Conflict and death no longer were given a second thought, nor did he consider the effects that nonstop war were having on his psyche.

It just was what it was.

Which made her final point all the more intriguing.



He opened his eyes as the accusation came to past, looking past the woman's eyes in an attempt to see through the anger that shielded what was beneath.

"Perhaps you're right."

He offered in response, shrugging at her once more. Luc unclipped his lightsaber from his belt, bending down partially as he rolled the weapon in her direction. He backpedaled away from the woman, coming to a stop right before the back of his legs hit the chair seated at the console. Down he went, seating himself while he weapon remained a far enough distance away to put him at a clear disadvantage this time. As foolish as it was, Luc didn't possess the desire to shed the woman's blood. Something about her eyes had reminded him of the woman whose presence kept his mind partially occupied within the force.

She had not even slaughtered any of his men, even when the opportunity had been present. Truthfully she gave him no reason to kill her, and being a Sith was no longer enough reason for him to consider ending one's life. Not if he wished to save the one person whose fall into the dark could be prevented.

Luc leaned against the chair, blue-grey orbs continuously piercing their way across the room to meet the woman's gaze. He blinked eventually, leaning upwards into the chair, balancing his elbows against his knees. "You can call me what you want, but my friends call me Luc. I think it has a better ring to it than just Sith." Luc broke the tension. "I'll be honest-- I don't really have the muse to play the whole game of "existential enemies, therefore we must fight." There's someone out there that I care about-- and just like you, she's got some pretty eyes that have seen better days. Just like I can see you in front of me right now, I can feel her presence just as vividly. But since I'm stuck in here with you, our reunion will have to wait. So tell me, what will it be? I've got this hunch that you're not too far gone as of yet, and I wouldn't be a man if I didn't follow my gut from time to time."

He pointed to a nearby chair, then traced the tip of his finger towards her lightsaber.

"The choice is yours."
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


"You're not going to convert me," came the dry assertation. "And I'm not letting you out of here." Her chin rose brazenly to the blunt claim. "Not until this world quiets and your men leave these gates."

Even then, shouldn't she take him in? Or wouldn't it be wiser to simply kill him. His death would be one less jedi to populate the fields at the next world. Every dent in the Imperials resources were vital for people like her. She knew what her Master would say; the corruption inside of her itched for her to sink in and-- Zaavik Perl 's smug look flickered to her then, earning a flinch. She shook her head, driving the hunger and his eyes from her mind.

"I don't care what you think." Tendrils of the force wrapped around his saber, whipping it into her palm.

"I am sith." She crossed her arms over herself, burying his saber into her robes in the process. Her lithe form spilled into the seat, her relax posture betrayed by the wild look to her eyes. She kept constant track of the room and the screens, her life balancing on the fickle decision of the jedi to sit down. Behind the anger, there was loss. A loss of self, a loss of others. They had all lost things on the battlefield. She was young. She wasn't letting him get the better of her.

She sat up straighter, adrenaline driving her spine rigid. Keep him talking.

"So, what-- you're dating one of us? Is this a prelude to a dinner, or-- I can't image you'll find a restaurant serving after this." An edge of mocking laughter coated her words, the girl not sitting still.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

His shoulders relaxed even further, the last bit of tension dissolving from his already lax form. He waved a hand in her direction dismissively, that same hand then having the side of his face resting within his palm just a moment later. "I'm not in the business of converting Sith." Or at least that usually was the case, he thought, considering the other woman who came to mind. "...And I already figured that we were stuck in here together."

The keyword being together in that final response. Though he watched as she took his lightsaber as her own, the defenseless Jedi was still not visibly concerned regarding the tactical advantage his enemy now held over him. His confidence rarely waned in the darkest of times, and despite being locked in a building with a Sith, it wasn't as bleak as his encounters with a Sith'ari.

In fact it proved the opposite of bleak, given the circumstances involved. She continued speaking, dishing back to him a handful of attitude in the process. He grinned in return, not phased by the mocking laughter that followed her words. "She's.." He trailed off, dipping his head slightly in thought. He was thinking of the right way to word their relationship, but Luc had never put too much thought into it.

She was an attractive woman-- definitely up his alley, if he were being honest. But she was also someone who he considered a genuine friend. Someone he looked up to, learned from, and wanted nothing more than to see them happy.

His head tilted back towards the woman, still smiling softly. "...Kinda like family, I suppose. I don't think our reunion would've involved dinner, though. I'd be lucky to come out of it without a broken nose-- or worse." He chuckled. "She's a fierce woman, but I wouldn't trade her for anything."

"But what about you, hmm? From one hot-head to another, you're jut seething with anger-- I can feel it." He stretched his arms upwards, letting out a yawn now that he was content with chilling where he was. "..and you still haven't told me your name; a bit rude for a first date, don'tcha think?" Luc finished with a wink, chuckling in a similar fashion as she did earlier, minus the mocking. ​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


"This isn't a date. I'm holding you hostage!" She exploded, a wave of indignation emanating from her form. The saber that had been held almost lackadaisically snapped back to position in front of her, the girl making a show of jabbing it way in a an unspoken point.

"I have complete control of this facility. Your men aren't getting in without damaging its systems, which is the opposite of what you want. I am the only one that can unjam the locks to let you out. You're trapped. You don't even have a weapon, you only have-- hair," she gestured wildly, her expression pulling into an awkward grimace at her final word.

Well. He did!

She leaned forward, still unable to keep still as she switched the elbows she leaned against multiple times. "I'm not angry, I'm--... ... pissed," she grumbled, rolling her eyes slightly as she ate her own words. She pursed her lips, her expression narrowing at the jedi that sat there with far too much confidence given his situration.

Didn't he know how bad he was in for right now? Keep him talking.

She closed the saber and crossed her arms fully, leaning back. "How can you love a sith and then go on to condemn them, it doesn't make sense."

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

A chuckle escaped his lips. There was irony in him being held hostage, given the circumstances of how he met Auteme. "Oh how the tables have turned..." He mumbled to himself quietly, eyeing the edge of the lightsaber with an amused grin. He nodded along as she reassured herself that the situation was under her complete control. "Mhm." He confirmed off-handedly, smiling all the same despite the thought lingering in the back of his head that seeded the opposite.

Control was a loose term, to say the least. She had all the control in the world, if that's what she wanted to believe. Lucien had no intention of being hostile. In fact, he was beginning to feel amused by just how easily the woman seemed to be triggered by his teasing. She settled down after the momentary rise in emotions ended, and the lightsaber pointed at him was finally retracted away.

He tapped at his chin for a moment as he considered a response. "I ask myself that sometimes too." Luc shrugged. He knew it was hypocritical, but his life had never been nothing but nuanced. "I dunno-- maybe i'm the worst Jedi you'll ever meet, but I can't bring myself to hate the person for what their ideology has made them." He pointed at the lightsaber tucked between her crossed arms.

"I've got a family full of loyalists, some of them Sith Lords of the newly-branded Eternal. Maybe they hate me for stickin' to my Jedi ways. Hell, I get the same treatment already from enough of my fellow Jedi and Imperials already."

He sighed, drawing his eyes up to the ceiling with a waning in his smile. "I can't change who I am, and the bond we have is more important than where my allegiances stand. I'll do what I must with what i'm given, for those who I love."

​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed



Aradia's brows pulled in, her squirming dying off as she studied the Jedi that spoke unbashedly about his flaws. Her confusion grew thicker, the girl trying to puzzle out the enigma that sat before her.

"You're right," she finally concluded, bursting out of her seat. "You're not like the others, you admit you don't make sense." She left him, pacing back to the screens to check the systems. Everything was unchanged, the storm troopers beyond still following the jedi's order to let him handle this. How long would that hold until they started to suspect this Luc didn't have everything at hand?

And what would they do then? Her gut coiled tight with stress, worsening the itch she had shoved to the side. She didn't need it right now. Right?

As much as she liked to remind him she had control in this moment, it was tenuous. She almost preferred Jedi to yell at her and try to kill her, because that at least she could see through. His calmness, though?

She tossed him a sideways glance, her expression guarded. "...What do you know that I don't?" She asked slowly, a sense of paranoia creeping through her. She took a step towards him, the heels of her boots making a subtle click on the floor. She shot a final look at the screen, nothing appearing off, before leaving it to approach him with slow, meticulous steps.

"Are you hiding something?" She bounced her saber off the meat of her thigh rhythmically, continuing to consider him.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Through his interactions with Aradia, Lucien had realized that his interactions with the Sith until then had been in a much more limited capacity. Whether it was on the battlefield or during the inception of the New Imperial Order, his vision of the Sith was a far-cry from the individual who now paced back and forth to his front. Once more he shrugged at her response, not even bothering to reply towards the comment about him being different.

Luc knew he was different, whether it was through his heritage or the company he preferred to keep in comparison to his peers. The youngest of the Imperial Warlords possessed the influence that more prominent Imperials had done evil to attain, all the while maintaining most of the principles he had from the start. Well most of them, anyway. Nobody goes into a war as a boy and comes out of it with the same values as before.

So when she questioned him in paranoia, confused by his characteristic sanguine in the presence of a dangerous element, it was merely a reflection of what the boy had became. Luc was a man forged through the fires of war, in possession of a soul that had been tempered through strife and the ideology of Imperial defiance. He'd faced death in the face and survived, resisting the temptation of the dark in spite of the forces that be seemingly guiding him into its direction.

By comparison to his past experiences, his current predicament was metaphorically nothing but a walk in the park. A breather even, from the chaos of warfare going on outside their little bubble.

He shook his head, focusing his gaze upon her eyess with a somber grin curled onto his lips. "Battle plans, Order-of-Battle, classified information.. quite a bit, I'd guess." His response came as lax as the rest. "My full name is Lucien Dooku, Prince and Claimant of the throne of Serenno, Warlord of Nirauan Province, and a Knight of the New Jedi Order." He let out a laugh, picking up on the authority in his tone. "But uhh-- that's a mouthful. Am I hiding somethin' ? Anything? Not particularly. You haven't actually asked me anything in specific. Granted, I'm still liable to say no, but at the least i'm being honest."

Leaning back in his chair once again, Luc checked the monitors off-handedly, scanning his eyes across the screen before resettling them onto Aradia. "It's just me and you, woman. Still haven't told me your name though."​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Aradia stopped short, her pacing hitting a halt as he listed off his title. Mirth caught in her eyes, breaking up the lines of stress that had been forming in the corners of expression.

He got a ever so slight laugh of disbelief, some of the tension leaving her frame. The energy of the room changed, the girl looking at him for another long moment before something in her just... gave way. She slumped back into her chair, her head shaking as she crossed her arms at him again.

"Why are you doing this? You came to this world to take it-- to invade it. I have you trapped, I have your weapon, I could kill you at any moment and yet-- you're trying to have a conversation with me."

Her shoulders fell in ounce of tired frustration. It was very hard to maintain anger when the thing you hated wouldn't bounce it back. The aggression ceased for a moment, an edge of vulnerability creeping into the gaze that locked onto him like tracking beacon.

"Why."

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

"I dunno. You seemed reasonable enough, and I'm not all that keen on committing violence against women if it ain't necessary."

Was the most honest response he could give her off off the top of his head, accompanying it with that characteristic grin once more. He mused on her question for a moment, considering the handful of reasons that compiled into the reasoning behind his actions. Perhaps if things had gone different, the conversation between the two would never have arose in the first place. It was her inaction, rather than what he assumed was her characteristic desire to act, that prompted it all.

Combined with the appearance of Lyra upon the world, and the lessons he'd learned since joining the Jedi Order, and the perfect grounds were produced for the situation at hand to come into play. Not every enemy needed to be met with a blade in hand, and not every Sith were the lost causes that he'd met throughout the war. He had to believe it- if not for his own sake, but for the sake of Lyra. For the sake of his cousin Adron Malvern, and for the sake of his brother back on Serenno.

"My reasoning for coming onto this world has no bearing upon my reason for wanting to have a conversation with you." He continued, leaning forwards in the chair, focusing his eyes upon her own intently. "You have me trapped, and you do possess my weapon. Our interaction could have ended in my attempted death, or something equally as chaotic, given the circumstances. Yet here we sit, standing at the precipice of a regular conversation, devoid of the notion of you being Sith and I being Imperial, Jedi, or whatever fits the bill. Right now i'm just Lucien, and you're just.."

Luc sighed, rubbing at the back of his head nonchalantly. "A woman who still won't tell her name." ​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Aradia's expression contorted at the mention of what he was. Imperial. The word sat like poison in her mind, filled with death and needless destruction. Imperial. It was curse. It was pain.

It was everything she sought to overcome.

Her eyes flashed, turning as cold as the sudden wash of darkside that permeated through the energy in the room. "I hate your kind," she nearly growled, holding up the saber hilt in an accusatory point. So much for the conversation being devoid of who they were. She leaned forward, that tension returning to the box-set of her shoulders.

"You can't put down that title for a conversation. And you can't just pick it up again when it's convenient for you-- I don't. I have people that have asked to be in their family. Me-- a fethin slave, picture that." The personal words fell from her lips, defying her life-long drive for privacy as she spilled a little piece of who she was out for the stranger.

If just to make her point.

"But here I am, trapping myself in with your stupid ass, fighting a war that I don't even believe in, because I am a sith above all else. You can take away my peers, my academies, a family-- lovers," she said a pointed look his way. "But you cannot take my actions out of the past. You either are, or you aren't. So what the feth are you, Prince of my Anus. Really, it sounds like it's time for you to decide."

Her fingers tightened over her forearms, the itch turning into a song that had hit her veins. Because there was no turning off who she was.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

It didn't take much for him to eventually hit a nerve with his words. It seemed as if the mention of Imperial was more than enough to set her off, and Luc didn't dig the issue in with any jest remarks this time around. It wasn't out of fear, as she might've thought, but rather out of a small semblance of respect that the wished to give to his companion for the duration of their lockdown.

She hated Imperials for a reason.

Luc didn't know that reason, but it wasn't surprising to hear that sentiment out loud. There were plenty of individuals whose loyalty to the Sith Empire had never come into question. There were also those who rose from the pits of despair that the Zambrano's crumbling empire had fostered, only to adopt the ways of the Sith at the behest of their "liberators" from oppression.

Many such cases existed on both ends of that spectrum, and neither had experienced the enlightenment that brought the New Imperials to war against the Sith. Lucien couldn't relate with being a slave as she was, but the feeling of despair, of suffering the loss of home and loved ones, were experiences they both shared. Perhaps in another timeline, their roles could've been reversed. Such was the duality of the things, without delving into the intricacies of the force.

He blinked, in any case, dropping his eyes onto the pointed hilt for just long enough to take it into account. Luc's eyes returned to her own, taking in her features without as much of a pause in regard to the aura that permeated off her form. The taint of the dark was heavy, but it was far from the overwhelming presence that Carnifex and Prazutis had embodied. He leaned forth in his chair once more, keeping his eyes locked upon her own.

"I'm just me."

He was defiant until the end, even in the face of certain death. But in the presence of the woman who held him "hostage", empathy and compassion were radiating from his core. A new feeling to him, but one that was certainly present.

"Just some guy with a complicated life, in a complicated galaxy, trying to do right by the ones I love, and maybe find a semblance of normality in the future. I learned the hard way that generalizing yourself into some predefined category will do nothin' for you but hold you down. You speak of loss, but I too have experienced the same pain that's coming off you right now. I've lost my home and my family because of a decision I made to live a life that wasn't predestined by another. My friends were abandoned by me, so I could selfishly go fight back against the Sith. I chose this life-- and just what I am can only be defined as me; Lucien, nothing else."

Luc treaded thin ice with his words. He was direct, but calm in tone. Patience wasn't a virtue he strived for in his life, but an eerie calm had enveloped him as their time together increased.

"You speak of people who wish for you to be part of their family, yet in the same vein I see a woman who's been thrown onto a battlefield with a directive of letting her emotions guide her forwards through the chaos. You're here all alone, minus the exception of myself. You speak of things within the realm of them being absolute truths, with no room for nuance to work with. My life has been nothing but a series of nuanced events, pushing me back and forth, reshaping my principles as the need arise.

You may be a Sith, but do not fool yourself into thinking that it is logical to deal in nothing but absolutes. Be as flexible as the passion within you that ignites your soul into action. Strive to reach the ebb and flow within your psyche, much like the winds of the force itself coalesces all around us. Learn when to channel your rage, and you might find yourself suddenly being open to the little details that may have previously escaped your perception. Emotion-- specifically anger is merely one pillar of strength for you to draw upon, Sith. Strive to attain enough temperance to keep the worst impulses in check, and perhaps you'll figure out just how far one's passion could reach."

He never thought himself much of a teacher, but it seemed right in this moment to impart what wisdom he had onto his advesrary. Luc didn't need to be a Sith to understand the concept of using ones emotions as fuel, for it was his own mixture of passion and anger that allowed him to defy the odds time and time again.

"Your master should've taught you these tenets, if their goal was to craft a student who could one day surpass themselves."

The grin faded away, replaced for once by the cold impassivity that encompassed the rest of his visage.

"...But the essence of control is to remain hidden from view, is it not? To hide the guidance which would lead to yourself being a lethal weapon against both foe and ally alike, it would appear that your betters have done well."
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


A sharp slap rang throughout the air, her fingers tingling painfully against the motion her hand had done on its own. She did not withdraw from the space she had intruded, both jedi and sith leaning in across the distance that now felt small.

Intimate.

Her nostrils flared with each breath, a visible struggle flickering over her features as she kept her body locked down. No more striking appendages. Though he deserved it. She seethed against the fury boiling through her, its heat threatening to take over.

But she wouldn't let it. It was her tool, not the other way around.

"My Master is dead," she uttered, condensing Kaalia's step down into something too simple to do it justice. "Speak poorly of her again, and I will

run

you

through."​

She annunciated, ice to her tone as she let every word drop from her lips like a pebble into a lake.

*hit written with permission from Lucien Dooku

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

The sting of her palm lingered upon his cheek, reddening it to a shade that nearly matched the fiery color of her hair. His words had struck deeper than he wished, although the outcome given was one he'd accept nonetheless. He spoke the truth, regardless of it she wanted to hear it or not. The revelation of her master's fate had struck a cord with him, similar to the experiences the two shared in other departments as well. He didn't fault the woman for striking him, though the action in itself was all the proof he needed to point to his advice as being more truer than she'd like.

An eerie silence enveloped the two for a time. Closer to eachother than ever before, Luc didn't seem phased at all by the hostile demeanor being put on display. Instead the cold visage toned itself down over time, shifting into a somber visage as the silence was ended by his words. "I'm sorry for your loss, if it means anything to you."

He remained in place, letting the woman occupy his bubble for as long as she wished, ensuring his gaze would remain stationary upon her own in spite of the slap that came before. "My master, the Jedi who taught me the ways of the force. He fell to the dark side after abandoning me to my fate. Tempted by the boons offered, and casting his Padawan into a den of wolves. I chased him down for years, but not before the disgraced noble son had to abandon his Jedi code to live. Learn to kill to survive, and call the underworld his home."

Lucien stood up from the chair, only a step necessary for the space between the two of them to become nearly nonexistent. "And when I found him, you know what he offered me in return? Temptation to the dark side, or simply death."

A hand moved slowly towards her shoulder, and he would rest it there if she let him.

"I killed him, or he let me kill him, as a means to an end within his schemes. I murdered my own master with the very same lightsaber that you tucked within your robes. I've felt the temptation, woman. Tasted the same power you strive for through this unrelenting rage you carry. I won't pretend I know the struggle you've gone through, but I understand the pain you're feeling right now."




​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Her head turned in incremental ticks, her attention turning onto the hand that laid across her bony shoulder. She was small. It could be felt through the material that billowed out around her. Thick, ropey scars peaked out around the high collar of her shirt, her neck riddled with the marks of chains that were no longer there. The muscles in her jaw flexed, the danger of the moment screaming through her nerves. And yet, she did not pull away, the girl bracing against the fear her body pumped through her.

'-temperance to keep the worst impulses in check,'

"You don't know how I feel." She told him, speaking with that same slow exactness. "Your side is winning. You have nothing to lose. Nothing precious that will be taken. Here, or at the next place. You can come and conquer and it costs you nothing. You don't know what defeat feels like. You don't know what it's like to watch your world fall into instability. You don't know." She looked up at him then, her expression condensing into pinched lines.

"I have lost everything because of your kind. Because of you-- being here... To prepare for the next hit." She stood up, her saber hissing to life. The heat bore down on them both, threatening to blister the skin at the neck she held it up to. Her eyes turned wild, the red plasma reflecting across the blue orbs. Gold flecks seemed to glow, pulsing with the energy she drew into herself as she bore him down.

"Killing you fixes everything."

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

His eyes were brought to a close as his hand rested against the woman's shoulder, and the familiar heat that emanated off her lightsaber sat right at the edge of tolerance near his skin. She was partially right to say that he could not understand how she felt, given the context behind her meaning. The New Imperial Order had undeniably put the Sith Empire on the backfoot, and through their efforts the crumbling Empire would see plenty of their worlds liberated from the tyranny of the Sith. The Third-Imperial Civil War had been waged for several years, and all those involved were keenly aware that the Order had no intention of stopping until a death blow had truly been dealt. The mission had to be finished, no matter the cost it took to reach that point.

But that was also where the Sith was wrong.

Lucien had seen comrade after comrade fall over the course of the war. Men who had become brothers-in-arms were lost in an instant, reduced to nothing but a lifeless fragment of what they once had been. Good men with dreams and ambitions outside of the war, driven to defect from the Sith-Imperials or volunteering for service of their own volition. Her story was uniquely hers in regards to the role she possessed within the tale, but the pain and struggle that she felt was not hers alone.

Worlds were engulfed all across the Braxant Front with each triumphant victory the overwhelmed New Imperials tore away from the Sith. Millions were left homeless, robbed from their home worlds until the radiation could be scrubbed. Thousands more perished as a result of these scorched earth tactics, but the pain being delivered across the region was nearly universal for those being liberated from the Sith.

They were all valid points he could've brought up in response, but Luc chose the route of keeping his mouth shut. She had so much pain circulating through those veins; Luc could feel it as a consequence of the hand resting on her shoulder, his mind reaching through the force to try and understand the feelings she was experiencing more clearly.

He understood why she was filled with rage. Luc had been in similar shoes once upon a time, and he dwelled on the scenario where perhaps he too fell to the corruption that tainted her mind. It infused itself within her essence, threatening to engulf every part of her being until not a single piece of the original woman was left. There were worse fates than death in his opinion, with fully being corrupted by the dark side of the force being among the top three.

But the woman was not so far gone, or else he was certain that he would've felt nothing but bleakness when his flesh met her own. The light may have been severely extinguished, but he was certain that she was not destined to be a ball of rage for the remainder of her life. She needed help, but not the kind that many of his peers within the Jedi Order were willing to provide.

She needed guidance, much like the advice that rolled off his tongue just moments before. Luc pondered on the thought, considering his options on what to do. He wouldn't act hasty, despite his desire to help the woman out. For now he'd continue to drag the situation out, focusing his attention between her and the other woman who also occupied his head space.

"I don't think you get it." Eventually he had to say something, as remaining in his head wouldn't keep the woman docile. "Killing me wouldn't solve your issues. Truth be told, my death would potentially be the catalyst that other factions within the Order could use to convince the Imperator to implement far more...aggressive methods of dealing with the Sith and those who oppose our Empire. Killing me right here would only provide the spark that's necessary to ramp the nuances of our war into a full scale conflict to exterminate the Zambrano's dying Empire." He shrugged, narrowing his eyes at Aradia with the beginnings of a grin returning to his lips.

"You could slaughter a thousand of our men and we'd still push forwards. And even worse-- you still wouldn't be any closer to controlling your emotions, and y'know- preserving your life. A violent death is the only thing that awaits your future, given your actions and the way you currently are. You need temperance-- and I don't mean the shite you'll hear from the Jedi Orders. Stick to what you believe if you wish, but the dark side will ruin you, if you embrace the illusion of increased potential that it offers. The force is a tool, nothing more and nothing less. Potential, and the will to deploy it is all the force is in the end."

His hand slipped off her shoulder, tracing down the length of your arm until it settled on top of her own hand. A bold move considering the circumstances, but he did so without a hint of fear within the sharp gaze meeting her eyes. It wrapped around her hand, guiding the hilt closer to the skin on his neck until the searing heat threatened to do more than make him uncomfortable.

"My master use to tell me that It’s not an easy thing to put a gun to your own head, even if you do wish to die. To do so when you possess the desire to live must take the will of a demon, and nothing less. I am resolved to live and find the normality I crave within the life i've been granted, but neither am I afraid to embrace the other side, if that is the road I eventually have to walk.”


​

Confliction. That's what he'd feel as he tried to listen in. She was a mass of contradictory emotions. Fear, yet... emptiness. Anger ... softened by edges of vulnerability. She was ruled by an aching desire for validation-- a need to heal what could not be fixed. If she did, maybe that would make her feel whole again. Maybe the pieces of herself that were already corroding away would come back. Her existence was composed of desperate maybes, the darkside giving her the strength to see each of them through. There was hope inside of her suffering.

All she had to do was kill him.

She struggled against the urge, his warning striking a vein of caution. Anyone would say anything to avoid death, still... her hand shook, singeing hairs at the end of the blade. Countless eyes flashed through her mind-- condemning her to the end of their encroaching blades. Phantom attacks flashed across her vision-- blue, green, orange slashes biting for purchase on her body as those eyes... those Jedi eyes. Their lips moved, their accusations combining with the harsh whispers of the force, the cacophony--

Kill him. Monster. Take it. You're not worth it. Do i-

"Enough!" The corruptive the tension exploded. Her arm whipped out, embedding her saber into the neck of the console next to him. The metal crashed to the ground in sparks.

She held out her hand. Tendrils of the force moved to wrap around his throat, tightening quickly.

"I've had enough," she uttered, half crazed. If given the chance, the restricting tendrils would lift him up... and whip him into the wall.

 

[Violet Horne]

Allies: If you think I am going to tag all of y'all, ya crazy. Dagon Kaze
Enemies: Marcis Sorr
Objective: Embrace the Light

he is dying
he stands against the light
no, he stands against you
this is the same thing
save him
he knows too much
then... make him forget.

Violet was about to push Dagon away, before the young Padawan's mind clamped down on hers. There was a sparse connection between them already. A residual effort from Manaan. This was the bridge Dagon inadvertently tapped on. Instead of that faint connection crumbling, something grasped through it, using Dagon's intention to push through.

"Dee!"

The voice whispered soft, pained and terrified. "Don't give up on me. Please." The voice almost sobbed, before starting to retreat... and pulling Dagon with it through that bridge with just the smallest of efforts. Dagon had to come himself, it had to be his own idea, or this wouldn't work. Only once he stepped over the bridge did it happen.

A flare of pain running through both of them.

The screeching howl of a disembodied alien voice. Raging against them both by all accounts. "You can't have her." It growled, but it was already weakening somehow.

"Lock it up, Dee, almost.... there..."

A green hand slammed into Dagon's side, where the hole was bleeding life onto the metal floor. Acidic ooze seeped in, burning the wound shut in crazed pain, alien influence embedding itself even as the Padawan thought he was succeeding.

This is how he'd forget. The victory costly, pained, but successful. It was his fault it had gone so far. Attacking, always angry, instead of protecting. Asking her in the first place. But in the end he had helped Violet lock that presence away. Hadn't he? Yes, that is how it went. It was gone now. This was just Violet staring into his eyes. The flicker of emerald fading away, her hand gently cupping his jaw. "Rest, Dee." Violet whispered, yes that was her voice. "You got me out... I will get us out now."

She climbed back up to her feet, stepping over Dagon's body towards Marcis.

In their minds hours could have passed. Here in the flesh? Mere heartbeats. Her wrist snapped back, an unnatural alien crack righting it. Vee growled there, her eyes resting on the Sith Assassin. The hiss of the emerald plasma fading back into existence again.

"Let's try this again?" The young girl asked with a little smile.

Somehow the lack of green oozing acid dragging off her face didn't make her any less alien right now.

 

[Kaska Arden]

B R E A KㅤI T ㅤT OㅤM EㅤS O F T LY
R A K A T A NㅤT E M P L E
G E N E R I S

Lightsaber | Belmont's Resolve | JSTP Armour | Uproar Blaster

A L L I E SㅤG Aㅤ/ㅤN I O
A Bunch of People

E N E M I ESㅤT S E
Enyo Typhos

The icy numbness that was presently her right hand offset the burning warmth that was her upper left side nicely. Her body a battered and beaten catalogue of her missteps. Assuming she survived the next few minutes, each wound, scratch and bruise would serve as a lesson she would need to reflect on later. Her teacher, a merciless cyborg that delivered harsh, ruthless instruction in absolute relative silence, was stern if not entirely fair. That specialized equipment set putting the strike platform's own loadout to shame in how easily it had overwhelmed her defenses. The real shortcoming was her skill and overconfidence. Not since her days sparring with Michael Sardun had someone trounced her so thoroughly.

It was humbling as it was galling.

It was also why she couldn't resist the opening her last ditched defense had created. Pushing through the searing protests of her ribs, the throbbing of her head and the blank void that was her off hand, Kaska stepped in to close the distance. Her blade crackling a war song as it's own dual phase functionality was engaged, the blade length growing as she brought it up for a vicious diagonal swing, attempting to bisect the cyborg from hip to shoulder.

If it landed, she wasn't aware.

Even as the blade swooped through the air, her cyborg assailant's own attack detonated. The world seemingly turning into a white haze as the telekinetic tables were abruptly turned. She heard rather than felt the armor on her right arm buckle and crack; the frozen plates shattering as if hit by an unseen hammer. Her chest caught by the very same blow less than a fraction of a second later. Feet lifting off of the ground, head snapping back as she ragdolled away in a flailing disarray of limbs, completing a full rotation - and then another - before she impacted the wall. A spray of blood escaping her mouth as her breath was forced from her lungs. A garbled noise choked off in its infancy attempting to escape her lips as she slid down into a jumbled heap.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Kaska slumped forward. Breathing ragged and strained, as if each successive breath was some herculean labor. The world around her narrowing as it continued to white out.

Girl was messed up, yo.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara // Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Intense emotion flowed freely between their connection, flooding his mind with the rising emotions that accompanied the images flashing behind his eyes. She was lost within a sea of confliction as he opened himself up to her thoughts, peering down into her eyes whilst an uncontrollable wave of emotion battered against his mind with each second that passed. Even for someone like himself who'd conquered most of the demons within his past, the amalgamation of her thoughts and feelings thrashed about in his head with the intensity of a wounded Rancor.

It sparked a fire within his own mind through the incandescent rage she exuded, drawing his attention fully away from the blistering heat of her blade and further into the recesses of his defiant psyche. The corruption spreading through her veins threatened to infect him, and he sure it would've done so to a Jedi of lesser caliber than himself.

His own battles against the darkness within his soul had inevitably shaped him into the man he was in the present. No longer was he incapable of facing his demons on his own. He couldn't afford to lose himself again, not after coming so far in his quest to defy what fate had set in stone for him. He promised himself that he'd be defiant until the end, forever holding onto the people who found their way into his heart. Lyra still needed him, and so did Auteme. He made a promise to both those women for different reasons altogether, and Luc planned on fulfilling them both.

Nothing could stop that, not even the raging young woman who exceeded her boiling point at last.

Her passion ignited into action, the rising sparks erupting off the ruptured console to his side drawing him out of his psyche and once more back into the real. He felt the corruption pervading every aspect of her being, sensing the encroaching taint welling up from within before it was directed towards the Jedi's impassive presence. Tendrils of corruption enveloped his form, hoisting the Jedi into the arm as they constricted around his body, twisting upwards until they clenched around his throat.

Another surge of energy burst forwards from the Sith, the tendrils heaving him backwards into the wall behind the now destroyed console. The impact knocked the wind out of him as his body indented into the wall, solidifying him in place. To the Sith it would appear that the Jedi had been delivered a significant blow-- whether to his physical or even his ego. He remained silent once more, his head dipped down and motionless, the visage of his face veiled by the falling dust that surrounding him.

Lucien tilted his head forwards just high enough for the glint within his eye to pierce forwards towards Aradia. Movement followed next, his body shifting within the indentation, his arms being freed first through the strength of his will alone.

"You're not far gone just yet, but I don't believe you fully heeded my words from earlier."

That devilish grin returned to his lips. He pulled his legs free, landing on the ground amidst the debris accompanying him on the way down. His presence within the force expanded in that instant, no longer being suppressed now that the woman had been pushed into action. Pressure exuded from all around him, enveloping the room with the full weight of his own emotions, offsetting the explosive anger that embodied her hatred towards the Jedi. Luc sauntered forwards once more, taking the opportunity to roll his shoulders and crack his neck from side to side.

"...The essence of control is to remain hidden from view."

He continued on, wiping dust and debris from his jacket along the way. Neither the Light or the Dark held a monopoly over his presence. Though impassive in his features, beneath the apathy existed a smoldering fire which fueled the pressure being permeated off his body. An arm extended outwards towards Aradia, the open palm being brought to a close as his lightsaber gravitated from beneath the fabric, accelerating towards his hand as if it were returning to his grip upon instinct.

Luc playfully flipped the weapon in the air, catching it each time in unison with his approaching steps. "It doesn't take a Sith to engage in this philosophy, just as disarming myself doesn't mitigate my ability to control this situation." He wagged his hand at her, displaying the hilt that firmly rested in his grip. Once more his arm moved down towards his waist, and the lightsaber resumed its normal activity of being clipped to his belt. "A lightsaber is nothing more than a tool. But remember the weakness of weapons."

He jerked his arm backwards, thrusting a closing palm in the direction of Aradia. The building shook from its foundation as the wall behind Aradia was consumed by his projection of the force, collapsing inward until nothing but piles of brittle debris remained. Air circulated through the inside of the room for the first time since the lockdown, and to her surprise there would be no stormtroopers attempting to storm the breach. Their orders had been clear enough; stay out of his way, no matter what happened to the building or its occupants.

Lucien came to a halt as the last of the debris rained down onto the floor. Once more he occupied her personal space, gazing at the woman without fear of retribution for the brazen show of force that he just displayed. "They are an extension-- it is you who are the killer and destroyer. You are whole, with or without them." ​

 

[Viers Connory]

//: G E N E R I S //:
//: Allies //: Viera //:
//: Engaging //: Alina Tremiru //: Darth Strosius //:
//: G A M E _ O V E R //:

​

Viers popped up from the kick and launching of the Vampire creature Sith thing. There was a bit of fanfare as she fist-pumped in celebration. Her brief celebration ended quickly as she watched the nimble Sith twist her body with a sense of elegance and grace. Feet kicked off, and the monster was headed back to her. “Uh oh.” Viers gulped softly as she went to defend herself. Blades rose and clashed as Alina moved by. ​

Twisting and adjusting her stance, Viers watched - waiting for the feign to turn into something more. When nothing came in that quick instance, Viers retorted with a shrug. “Not really into the biting thing, but to each their own or something?” Stepping forward, Viers began her charge, the Force guiding her feet. As suddenly as her foot took its second step, she suddenly felt heavy. Muscles strained and ached, feeling the effects of the battle that was masked by the Force. ​

Viers, unaware of what was happening, continued to push forward, feet digging in to prepare another force-fueled leap. This time, taking in the fatigue she felt in her frame, she shortened her jump to use the nearby ruin. Jumping, she brought her knees up and kicked out at an angle to parkour against the vertical wall. Leather scraped against stone as Viers slipped and landed on the side in a crash. Sabers scattered as dust kicked up, spreading where she landed hard. ​

The padawan pushed herself up and reached for the fallen sabers. “Ugh, what in the chaos?” She spat out clumps of dirt and grass (or what she hoped was grass) as she shook her head, trying to shake off the disorientation she was feeling.​

 

[Marcis Sorr]

Objective: Secure the catalyst; eliminate any hostiles.
Equipment: Sorr's Shatterbracers | Close-Fitting Combat Suit
Writing With: Dagon Kaze and Violet Horne

In his hurry to save his possessed companion, the Jedi tore her free from his line of fire, taking the shot for himself. A more clinical point of view would have led to that being considered a partial success, but for the moment Marcis was too busy toppling to his knees, only barely catching himself before he would have plummeted face-first into the cold stone. Given the current state of his nose, that was the last thing he needed.​

Breathing heavily as he struggled to regain his composure, blood dripped down to mark the floor, the vague awareness of his foes' confrontation only barely sinking in. Almost absentmindedly, his fingers began to trace patterns in the fallen blood, the subtle nature of it all belying its true intent.​

"Let's try this again?"​

It had changed, certainly, at least on the surface - he had seen nothing to indicate the creature was not still in charge, however. Even if it was not, the girl was clearly drawing on its power, making the distinction moot. "Compromise and... put that thing down? One on one, body against body?"​

Even as he spoke, he inched backwards, fully expecting her to refuse him - even if it did not, it mattered little. He had seen nothing to indicate that it was a person. No, he would treat it as one would a raving beast - if too strong to face in the open, the wise hunter used a trap.​

Curling a finger and uttering a sharp incantation, the rune that would hopefully be beneath her or at least close erupted with greasy fire.​