Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Death To The False Emperor (Coup of the Dark Lord, Open to all One Sith)

The distant sound of artillery boomed like thunderclaps. Flashes of illumination followed by earth-shattering explosions. Far below, Warok grimaced, sad that he could not hear the screaming, but soon enough that time would come.

In the Deep I wait. A Gorax in his lair amid a pack of mewling Boar Wolves. When they litter the ground with each other's blood. When they grow weary of the killing. When the air is choked with the gasps of the dying. Then I will come.

Behind the Ewok Sith came a chorus of creaks, as of the wind through a tree's many branches. Creaks and chatters. Warok fingered his bone talismans and gnashed his teeth, biding his time.
 
The Twi'lek listened to the proclamation by her master. A slight grin formed on her lips as he spoke. Confidence, determination, and purpose. He always seemed to have those traits. Not a single doubt or fear in his words. Kaine knew what his purpose was, what this day would accomplish, and what history would tell years in the future. This was something she admired in him. Without a word she turned and followed behind the others, [member="Vilaz Munin"] and [member="Braxus Zambrano"], and of course [member="Darth Vornskr"] himself. Her hands clasped behind her back as she waited for the others to enter the shuttle before her, as was courteous.

Once Kaine had completed his transformation from disrobed to armored his pet would give a nod, a simple smile. He was nothing short of intimidating in such dress. Of course Sera was not without curiosity, why he had requested she join him. The Twi'lek passed the thought back and forth in her mind a few times. What help she could lend to him here, and where exactly they were headed. Patience was something the woman had a great deal of however, so wait quietly she would.
 
The Dark Lords Palace - Front Steps
[member="Grozkalla"] | [member="Thrukk Gulpdar"] | [member="Laguz Vald"]

For a moment the droid simply stood on the first step, not responding to the Sith Lord's request of the reinforcements that were slowly pouring into the Courtyard.

Saeva Incorporated had begun to gather. Even those that had fallen outside of the Palace Grounds had wormed their way towards the step, each armored soldier traipsing through the courtyard and slaughtering their way through the Sith Loyalists that remained there. All told nearly two and a half thousand Saeva Incorporated Mercenaries swarmed the Palace grounds, not assembled in one area but instead dotting all around the Courtyard and taking up position in what areas they deemed the most defensible. The droid that lead them simply stood in place, retrieving the information it sought from it's troops before finally issuing the command.

[Seal off the premises] Rigor announced over the communications band, it's voice ringing out only over Saeva Incorporated's own comm-links.

With that, the droid turned away from the Sith Lord that had earlier addressed it, deciding that tactically there was no reason to continue the conversation or even engage him. Instead Rigor began to stalk off towards the side of the Palace, the massive courtyard stretching out before it as it began to make its way over towards some of the side entrances. It's soldiers did much the same, fanning out over the Palace Grounds and securing entrance after entrance, albeit at a more snail like pace than they had originally struck with.

Those Sith that would seek to exit the Palace would find a neat little surprise.
 
Location: Coruscant - Dark Temple Library


The sound and feel of the temple had changed, whispers became more frequent. Bella looked up from the record she searched for, she wanted to give [member="Lord Mythos"] something that he wanted. Something that would bind him even closer to those on Atrisia. It had become evident to her that no matter what he planned on remaining there as it's ruler.

She looked at the record again, Sith records were so much more complete in regards Imperial items. She had what she needed. She now needed time to retrieve it, but first. She needed to find out what was going on around her.

Bella moved quietly. She never left Atrisia unless she came armed, with her escrima sticks, whip, and light saber. She was a light weight among the heavy weights, her skills lay in her force techniques. Civil war? among sith. not unheard of at all.

The issue, what if you're on the losing side. Bella laughed to herself.

It was not hard to feel the darkness among so many, it fed so many right now. Cobalt blue eyes turned black, the darkness was with her. She strode through the corridors looking for more information.
 
Random Smoldering Ruin™; Coruscant
[member="Grozkalla"] | [member="Thrukk Gulpdar"] | [member="Rigor"]


Something creaked in the groaning pile of bent metal and flames. One of the plates, charred from the atmospheric reentry, was shoved aside with a heaving effort, and from the newly created gap, something… organic poured.

It did so cursing and swearing under its breath, but it did so nonetheless, reassembling itself on the other side. Bit by bit, the amorphous blob of flesh took the shape of something vaguely humanoid, tacking on the trademark parts almost as an afterthought; as if it had remembered to use hands and feet a few seconds late.

Laguz frowned at the vista before xem and wiped a smear of soot from xir cheek.

Xe hadn't landed all that far away, but from the looks of it, most of xir lovely associates were already well on their way inside. Which, all things considered, suited the sniper perfectly well; xe wasn't the sort to carve out a beachhead or scream bloody murder on the frontlines. Xir role was… what was it called again? Ah, support!

"Rigor," xe hailed the impassive droid who had doubtless been the first through the doors. "Where do you need me?"

The plan they had concocted before dropping onto the planet-city was basic at best – though they preferred to use the word 'flexible' – and somehow, the merc doubted it would hold up against a force comprised of Sith and their well-trained lapdogs. Saeva were skilled, well-equipped, and experienced, but the same could be said for many of the men and women serving the man they'd come to kill.

The Dark Lord.

The idea still seemed somewhat absurd to the shifter, but then again, xe wasn't exactly planning on engaging the Emperor one-on-one. That would be [member="Darth Mephirium"]'s job, probably.

It was a good thing that Saeva demanded full payment up front.
 
The Paladin exploded into view of Coruscant, albeit far enough away that they weren't' immediately drawn into the space battle. The rivaling fleets were intimidatingly large, and it became evident once more that a side had to be chosen. The Arue'tii stood, rapping his fingers upon the console as he considered the pros and cons once more of either faction. Finally, he made his decision, and turned to face the Bridge crew, "Send a message to [member="Darth Mephirium"], Tell him that we pledge ourselves to his cause." One of the officers nodded, though the strange glances between a few emphasized that not every member of the crew was willing to defy their Dark Lord. That was acceptable, he wasn't asking them to change their beliefs, only to follow his orders. The Vanguard cruiser began to change direction towards the forces allied with Mephirium.

Abelain walked through the corridors of the ship, passing by assorted crew members who tried their best not to simply stare at him as he walked. It was true that he was a frightening individual, though his personality did not tend to match his physicality in the same standards. Entering the hangar bay, his eyes adjusted to the sight of the several hundred soldiers rushing about to grab their final supplies and board the dropships. The soldiers were spread out as well as they could among as many shuttles as possible to lessen the impact on the strength lest a single ship be blown to pieces. The thought occurred to give a motivational speech of some sort, and while he would have been open to the idea, he did not quite have anything planned of meaning.

For a moment he wondered whether they would listen to his words anyways. The dropships launched as they neared the atmosphere of Coruscant, hurtling through the sky with varying levels of speed. The intense flashes of light that filled the air did not bode well for the shuttles, and it was not long before one was struck and blown into colorful dust. "All dropships, land near the Dark Palace, supplement the forces there with our own."

Time would tell how many survived their run.
 
THE DARK LORD'S PALACE
INTERIOR - OUTSIDE THE DARK LORD'S CHAMBER

[member="Darth Carach"] | [member="The Handmaiden"] | [member="Drana'stair'eno"]

There came no response over the comlink as suiddenly it was overtaken by static. There would be no communication with Carach until the two Sith Lords finally converged outside of the Dark Lord's throne room. Or chamber. Or... Whatever it was the Dark Lord had in there. Supercomputers? Artifacts? Libraries? Hookers? People with god-complexes tended to have hookers around. Adekos wouldn't have been surprised. But since he couldn't see beyond the two heavy, reinforced quadranium blast doors that blocked all entrance to the room where the Dark Lord supposedly hung out, Adekos would consign himself to mere speculation. In addition to Carach, Adekos could see two others milling about. Neither of them, he determined, were of note. They were definitely of dubious loyalty, as he had never seen either of them before.

Was this really all that could be mustered?

"His Lordship also seems to deem it necessary to not have his personal guard available. They'll be slaughtered like dogs if they decided to run outside like psychopaths." Adekos paced restlessly across the floor, still speaking. "I can't get them, or anyone, on comms. Someone's jamming our communications. There'll be no coordination."

Speaking of psychopaths, where were those Vong that professed such love to the Dark Lord? Had the finally, actually left? What trying times must have been upon the One Sith if Darth Adekos actually looked forward to the appearance of Yuuzhan-Vong in any capacity. He eventually came to a stop just before those blast doors and stared up at them for a moment. "I don't suppose knocking would encourage our Dark Lord, in all his infinite wisdom, to vacate his chambers and participate in the battle?"
 

Iroatas

Guest
I
The Dark Temple
En route to the First Floor

The resting form of Malphas came to life slowly. How long had he been asleep?

His fists clenched when he heard the explosions and the sounds of battle rocking his bed and forcing him to wake as he wiped the grogginess away from his eyes. What is happening? Had he said it aloud? He opened his mouth to let out a groan.

His throat was dry.

Dryer than Tatoine.

Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he exhaled a breath, and looking about his private room to see if anyone could possibly see. He slowly raised his hand to his mouth and smelled his breath.

It was hot. In the bad kind of way.

Hotter than both of Tatooine's suns.

Seeing the window on the other side of the room, he slipped out of the bed, and waved it open with the simple summoning of the Force. Once the curtains were brushed away, his assumptions had been confirmed. Coruscant was being attacked? By the Galactic Republic? Weren't they losing? Was this some last atempt at striking the One Sith in a final chance of victory? Blinking away the final remnants of drowsiness, he knew that to be false.

Pressing a hand against the window, he casted the force sense and closed his eyes. He wasn't the best at this kind of stuff, but event he could sense that one could practically drown in the power of the Dark Side. The Dark Side may as well have ben wafting up in the air with how powerful it was.

Guess I should probably see what's happening.

Also across the room, his commlink crackled to life. The voice of two unknown people came out over it. It was [member="Darth Adekos"] and [member="Darth Carach"]. He didn't know either of them, and he knew neither of them would know him.

A shame really, he had done much to fight the Republic on it's fringes in his days as an Apprentice, and when he sought the appreciation of Darth Mierin.

How long ago was that?

Stepping away from the glass, his last glimpses of the outside world were drop pods crashing into the courtyard. Darth Acarus had been there when the Temple was being built, he had helped. Now whoever was attacking was dismantling this place? This unassailable place that was the heart of the core? Shaking his head, he knew it could only be one thing now. A coup.

Stepping away from the window, he brushed a hand down along his body. He had been sleeping for a long time, perhaps too long. He didn't know anything about the Galaxy's current state of affairs! Rolling his shoulders back, he called his black cloak to him off the coat hanger and he slipped his arms into it's sleeves as he stepped towards the door. Stopping right beside it as it automatically opened, his hand reached out to grasp the Hydrastaff that remained rigid there. It had been a long time since it had last seen use, the same could be said for his Vonduun Skerr Draxus Armour.

Both of them gifts from [member="Tsavong Kraal"]. A ferocious warrior, a friend and a business partner. Where was he in all of this? I figure he'd appreciate me still using these.

Stepping through the doorway, he headed for the first floor of the Temple.

"Darth Acarus present in the name of the Dark Lord."

His voice crackled on the commlink as he realized it was being jammed. Dropping the commlink on the floor outside of his chambers, he changed his directions and headed to the Dark Lord's Chambers. That was the last place the loyalists were gathering.

Guess he should've drank something before he left.
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGJVMH1UrOY​

CORUSCANT, STEPS TO DARK LORD'S PALACE

ALLIES: [member="Darth Vornskr"]
ENEMIES: [member="Darth Mephirium"] and his folks

This was it. This was the moment she had been rotting in shadows for. The One Sith had become bloated and consumed by wayward Sith in their self-satisfying careering. Now was the right time to let the beast of empire bleed out and release the toxins that had consumed its very core.

Darth Hauntruss, returned and reborn, stood at the steps to the Dark Lord's Throne complex. Her blood red cloak over her crimson armor stood out from the stone like a spectre of death and war. How many times had she weighed into the seas of oblivion only to re-emerge as a sole lord of power. This rebellion would be the perfect opportunity to purge and to cleanse. The Sith had no use for contemptuous upstarts. Neither did the Empire. If they had the power and strength to overcome her and the other loyalists then by right of power they had her blessing. But, Hauntruss, severely doubted their strength and vigour.

Crossing her arms she watched as her Imperial Inquisition brought out from slumber arranged themselves in red clad Sith Trooper armor and marched in columns behind her. This fanatically loyal force gained infamy by purging the Core of Jedi Enclaves and burning entire worlds during the One SIth's core conquests, now they would burn and purge any they saw as heretics under the eyes of the Dark Lord, whether dead or alive.

Hauntruss rolled her burning golden Sith eyes at her commander, "Captain Draco." Hauntruss hissed in glee, "Should the situation become too unfavorable, prepare the Inquisition Fleet to orbitally obliterate this complex." The Captain shocked by the command but, more fearful of his dark master only nodded and attempted at a calrifcation. "m'Lord?" he whispered. Hauntruss smiled a toothy vile grin, "Should this palace of holy Sith power be tainted by too much sqauubling ramble, I will cleanse it in unending fire and from there we shall rebuild. Regardless of any 'capital' symbolism it holds."

"Yes m'lord" Draco bowed. Hauntruss stepped forward and began to march into the open courtyard. The call to rebellion had been mad and now Hauntruss would await those who would face her.

Through the darkside she hissed a meditative warning to all those of dark alignment, with special attention to her old allies (Vornskr).

'COME YOU HEINOUS HERETICS. COME SO I MAY OFFER YOUR FLESH AND SOULS TO MY OWN ALTAR OF THE DARK LORD!'
 
Dark Lord's Palace
Outside Dark Lord's Chambers

[member="Darth Carach"] [member="Darth Adekos"] [member="The Handmaiden"] [member="Darth Acarus"]

He wishes to entreat the Dark Lord for help.

"The 'Dark Lord' does not help."

Now why would you say that?

"Because, once you live in the shadows, you learn to fear the light."

You do love your words, don't you?

"Just as you love tormenting me, Lussk."

Adjusting the way the white shawl sat about his thin shoulders, Astaire peeled his gaze away from the figure addressing the door. Where there had been two, there was now four - no, five, another was coming towards the Dark Lord's chambers. Casting his dispassionate gaze about those assembled, he tugged at the cloth settled atop a blocky growth over his right shoulder. What an odd assortment of 'defenders' in this attempted coup.

"I get the feeling that this is less a civil war, and more a back-alley mugging."
 
[member="Rigor"] | [member="Grozkalla"] | @Thrukk Gulpdar | [member="Laguz Vald"]

For now the only cloud of smoke Thrukk was working under was from the from the smouldering craters carved out by blaster fire. The bulky Houk had long learned when to move and when to keep his head down. A giant heap of muscle in orange and purple skin, he made something of an enticing target.

The fire team he was with put down some covering fire, giving him an opening. His flechette cannon was fired, the shell detonating in mod air ahead of the group. The cloud of metal shards tore the soldiers to pieces. Freed from enemy fire, Thrukk sauntered after Rigor, keeping his eyes on the windows of the palace.
 

Bethany Haverford

Loyalty Tempered with Survival
Location: Dark Lord's Palace - Courtyard

Ahead of her, Bethany could see Saeva's droids clearing the way by the temple, ignoring the lingering loyalist forces behind them. Her eyes shuttled between encampments as she formulated a strategy. Saeva was at the palace. Three steps between her and them. Graug and clones on her side. Bethany looked for weaknesses, gaps in the almost guerilla-style defenses of the loyalists. The Saeva troops and early Graug attacks had done good work.

Two openings made themselves immediately apparent, but Bethany was cautious enough not to take them at face value. Instead, she utilized her cover to observe the ruins that could conceal opposition and waited. It didn't take long; a shoulder and the side of a face peered out briefly. She smirked.

Her eyes slid to the squad indicators on her HUD. Who was close enough...

"Tango, Aranar. Small encampment of resistance behind the crumbled statue on the corner of the next step. Take care of it. Orar, Ulster, converge on and secure the opening between the statue and the low wall; watch for the men hiding behind it. Graug warriors, your enemies will be routed by your might! On my mark, those of you east of the center of the steps will move again and clear a path to the next level."

She ducked down, hunching over to avoid scattered fire in her direction, then went back to dividing her attention between her HUD and her surroundings.

"Graug and select squads-- move! Remaining squads provide cover fire!" She half-rose, alternating between picking visible targets with care and delivering concentrated fire to keep those enemies under cover from making life difficult. Four squads of men moved forward, wending their way through the rampaging Graug to their own goals. Crouched down, she made her way to the far side of the wall providing her and the nearest squad cover.

"Captain."

"Ma'am."

"I need you ready to move."

"Give the word."

She smiled and rose up to deliver fire and get a real look at what was happening. The push was working. She watched one of Orar Squad go down as they crested the second step and turned on the forces encamped there.

"Captain, remain here," she instructed, then spoke to her forces overall. "All squads east of the steps' center-- advance! Widen that opening!"

"Your squad with me," she said, hitting his arm with the back of her hand before she broke cover and moved west with her own fire and that of her temporary guard as protection.

No retreat this time. The second step was theirs.

"Graug of the west-- advance!" Her words cut off with an exhalation as she hit her back into the next area of cover. The warriors who had jealously watched their compatriots advance without them, slavering at the bit, exploded into motion. She took a moment to track movements of her own men on her HUD. "All squads west-- advance!"

Something rocked the ground nearby and Bethany turned to view the crater and the new bodies around it. Someone had been holding out on them. "Captain, find where that came from."

There was a long pause. "Have him."

"Put him down without any losses to your squad."

A short conversation between the Captain and one of his men resulted in some trading of places as their sniper got in position. Bethany did like sniper rifles. She waited, monitoring and scanning the area visually; the sharp report of the sniper rifle rang out twice.

"He's down." The sniper moved fully back behind cover.

"You should've done it in one," she heard one man mutter.

"He was in partial cover. I'd like to see you make the shot."

"Ma'am?" It was the Captain, quelling his men with a hard stare.

Bethany checked her HUD, then leaned out to visually scan the area as well. "Yes. Move."

Mid-manuever, a voice rang out over the courtyard: echoing, over-dramatic and hostile. Bethany looked up at the Sith looming on the top step but was less interested in her than the ranks of red-clad men behind her.

"All squads and Graug get to cover. Leave no easy openings."

[member="Rigor"], [member="Thrukk Gulpdar"], [member="Laguz Vald"], [member="Aelius Varangian"], [member="Darth Kentarch"], [member="Gulliver Foyle"], [member="Abelain Narv'uk"], [member="Darth Mephirium"], [member="First Daughter"]
 
Inamsi tu'iya tnirma, Ophidia. Dzis dios waria j'us misini.
It tingled down the back of her head, like an electrified mist passing over her mind.

A rumble quaked the stone walls. Dust fell from the ceiling, illuminated momentarily by the mass of candles lining the wall. The flickering flames cast long shadows on the frescos, copies of a room she had claimed for her own in Malif Cove before its destruction. A smooth surface touched her lips as she inhaled the sweet scent of Atrisian tea. The flavour was strong, with a hint of ginger, perfect.

At her feet, two serpents coiled. One reflected the light with its white scales and looked to its master's back with eyes of red fire. The other had adopted the dark purple colour of the pillow. Its head was turned to the door, and its forked tongue lashed out repeatedly in search for a trail. The cup was soon drained in a single, long slurp, and set down on a short table. A low whistle escaped her lips, and the serpents turned their heads to the mistress. She stood, and the serpents knew their places. Swiftly, the Nagajj ducked into her skirts, vanishing from sight. The Tsaisibola threw itself up on her arm before curling around her beskar-clad waist like a belt.

Darth Ophidia traced her hands over her hips until palms rested on the paired hilts at her sides. She inhaled and opened her eyes. The irises of her eyes burned like embers, and as she set a foot forward, the lights of her chambers extinguished. To all sense of light and the Force, she vanished under the cloak of darkness and obscurity. Her footsteps were drowned out in the echoes of the fight above. Her presence was shrunken to an atomic level, and amidst the darkness she was not even the whisper of a shadow.

It was inevitable, the Sith would turn on themselves the moment they saw the chance. 'Peace is a lie', the Sith knew this truth more than anyone. War was the only natural state of the universe; strife was the ultimate truth of all living beings. She had made her creed in this truth: Success or death.
 
Allies: [member="Darth Vornskr"] [member="Seraphina Shel'tah"] [member="Darth Hauntruss"] [member="Soeht"] [member="Vilaz Munin"]

Braxus like his master wore an all black body-glove under his modified armor, significant alterations made to a base armor set of the Blackblade Guard Armor, coupled with a black hooded cloak. Clipped to his hip are his two chosen weapons of destruction (x.x ). He wore on his hands two intimidating, dark gauntlets(x) gifted to him by his master [member="Darth Vornskr"] upon his ascension to his masters champion, his hand. Today an upstart would make his play at Dark Lord and his master knew he couldn't ensure victory on his own, the plan was well laid out in advance.

The upstart would throw his warriors at the hardened defenses of the dark lord, and let them suffer heavy casualties while Kaine and his select team went down to the field. When the time was right Kaine would unleash his vast hordes of graug, vanr warlocks, and soldiers to destroy his enemy swiftly and efficiently. "Another world put to the sword." He said as he looked out at the raging battle over the surface as explosions rippled across the once peaceful surface. War. Blood and death spilled upon Imperial Center while the galaxy held its breath in the outcome of the coming days. The Acolyte walked up to the viewport and started into his own reflection, conflict raging out in his mind as it always did, the internal battle of what some would call madness.

"A killer, that is what you are and what you are born to do. You are a killer, a butcher, a monster." He thought to himself, a brief hesitation as his master began to armor himself for the coming battle. Today his master would once again walk up the steps of the Iron Throne and put on the crown he wore so many years ago. So much had changed recently in his life, not too long ago he had heard the news of Kaine's death on Dromund Kaas. An angry apprentice gave in to his rage and stalked through nameless cities on the countless planets in the galaxy, killing victims who didn't matter in sheer seething rage at his failure to be there, his failure. Maybe he could have given his own vessel over and he wouldn't have died, he thought of a hundred different things that could have gone differently but it all came out the same way.

It wasn't his fault, it was Gabriel's. But now he had personally returned the darkness known as Darth Vornskr to the galaxy, a dark shadow loomed overhead as an iron curtain once raised now fell heavy, none could escape from the Butcher-King. The Netherworld was torture ripping at the sanity of the man's mind where in the torture induced eternity he nearly felt like giving in, giving himself to become apart of the elemental chaos of the Netherrealm. But it brought him a clarity no living, no mortal man could ever hope to grasp. The former Sith-Emperor and current God-King saw things no living Sith-Lord could hope to see. Kaine saw the vast Empire they had worked so hard to build in flames, the holdings they had acquired destroyed and the Sith Order once more snuffed into extinction under the battle drums of the Jedi Order, all because of one man: The Mysterious Dark Lord.

Could it possibly be that Braxus was terrified of the future? No he was afraid of nothing, but he was worried. Until today no one had dared challenge the man much less mention such treasonous thoughts, but now the Dark Lord stood in the very way of evolution and it would be Panatha's Favored Son who would evolve the One Sith into what it truly needed to become in order to destroy its enemies. Braxus swore an oath all those years ago when he was first called to Thule by the newly christened Sith Lord Darth Vornskr, his own blood, and a man who told him that he had potential to become a truly terrifying force in this galaxy, under his guidance. Braxus pulled down his hood to reveal his face, and slowly put on a black helmet(x)(Except you can't see the flesh around his eyes) that he had hidden under his robes, the face of Death that his enemies would see when they died.

Braxus followed his master and his two allies onto the shuttle, returning Seraphina's smile and with a warm nod. He walked up to his master "I have received word, Lord Mythos quickly returned to his Palace on Atrisia before abdicating shortly after. My sources say he was stripped of the force on Lujo, by the Heavenshield Family, he will be of no use to us." Braxus said softly.
 
On his way towards the palace, a familiar booming voice caught him off guard, he spun around to see a bipedal whale walking towards him, "Valentine, old friend! How are you doing this fine afternoon?" Ghorua stuck out his arm to shake, Valentine reached forward, doing his best to wrap his hand around the Whales wrist, shaking firmly, twice. "I'm well." The creatures hand was too big to hold and Valentine always wondered if Ghorua may accidentally break his hand if they shook, so he had always opted to shake his wrist, as was customary on planets such as Kesh.

"I assume we're going to be doing something about this," Ghorua said, and Valentine followed the motion of his hand. "Aye, I figured we could work together in dealing with the Sith Lords holed up in the Palace. I've got a game changer," he mentioned, shaking a thumb at his back. Slung by a harness under his bandoleer, and resting on his back, was a backpack that looked like an armadillo. It was an armored nutrient pack. It could mitigate the Force powers of the Sith and Jedi alike.

Valentine had a hop in his step, as thought there was slight anticipation and glee in what was about to go down. They were fast approaching the Dark Lords Palace, Saeva Incorporated and their droid army was wiping the stormtroopers clean. One of the troopers attempting to reclaim the courtyard had spotted the two bounty hunters. He approached them, taking them for civilians. "Civies, martial law is in effect, please retur-" his sentence was cut short as a blaster bolt spiraling out of control took his head clean, turning the helm into a molten slag. The body dropped.

"Alright, I hope you came prepared," Julian said to Ghorua. The bag he was carrying with him fell from his grasp, he leaned down and pulled out a cycler rifle. The long rifle was deadly but lacked any sort of sophisticated scope. An armada of sidearms and grenades were attached to holsters and his twin bandoleers. He was peering down the iron sight, remained on a knee. "Target sighted. Female, Sith - walking down into the courtyard," he murmured to Ghorua so that he may see who he was watching.

He gently breathed in, and then held it. The iron sight was lined over the womans torso. His finger brushed past the trigger, and he squeezed. The crack of thunder sounded. Smoke oozed out from the barrel. The weapon whipped back with a fierce recoil. He didn't wait to see if his shot had struck. Cycler rifles were good for one shot, reloading took too much precious time. He stood, dropping the weapon. He firmly reached down into his holsters and took out the specialized twin JV-1 blasters, setting them to their maximum threshold. "Take her down," Valentine ordered.




| [member="Ghorua the Fish"] | [member="Darth Hauntruss"] |
 
Moff Joffie was still working up to being mentally prepared for this assault. Sure, when they had planned it, things had been easy. However, actually attacking Coruscant was quite different than talking about it. Yes, he had the assurance of the follow-up fleet - a conglomeration of allies Mephirium had gained over his eighteen threads that he banged out in two days during his escapades that now gathered back on in Ession's space. The feet was a mix of pirate vessels and the Ession Defense Navy. They would serve their purpose if called upon, though Joffie would have liked to avoid that.

It was unwise to put all your eggs in one basket, after all.

When the message from [member="Abelain Narv'uk"] came through, Joffie was the one to receive it.

"You've made the right choice. Adding your IFF tags to our roster - whatever vessels you have at your disposal would be quite useful in staving off the loyalists." Joffie cringed as one of the loyalist hulls fired some form of weapon he didn't recognize. That weapon carved through one of the Star Destroyer's shields with relative ease and crippled the vessel's reactor.

Joffie wasn't sure whether it would return fire or be ripped apart. A moment's waiting confirmed the former. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Joffie issued orders to the fleet.

The Star Destroyers could not stray too far from their current positions - the men below required the occasional orbital bombardment if victory was to be achieved. Instead, the mass of Ties and their accompanying bombers changed course. The soldiers they had been transporting were already on the ground. They needed to keep the fleet safe now.

A number of the fighters remained near the Star Destroyers to deal with any bomber threats that might reveal themselves. The larger group escorted the usurper bombers toward the loyalist fleet. The bombers were to cripple as many of the loyalist vessels as they could while two of the five remaining Star Destroyers maneuvered about to engage.

Joffie cursed as the command deck shook from another payload dropped onto an unlucky loyalist defensive position. At least something was going right.



"Captain, Acolyte, with me. The Colonel has paved the way for us."

Mephirium took a run a loyalist soldier through with the tip of his blade. The weapon carved through the breastplate easily enough and swiped across his midriff. The soldier was dead before he hit the ground. Colonel Haverford and her warriors had pushed forward, taking every inch with a pint of blood. Such sacrifices were necessary if one wanted to bring about change. The dead would be remembered. The Sith Lord took a moment to make sure Bethany was alright before striding up the stairwell. She, of course, was. The woman could hold her own in any fight.

A voice rang out over the clearing. It was shrill and haggish, the words archaic and twisted. Mephirium glanced up toward the front of the dwindling Loyalist defense. [member="Darth Hauntruss"] was issuing out threats and seemingly attempting to rally the defenders.

Then he heard a crack. The hunters were on the prowl.

He could not help but crack a smile of grim satisfaction as he ascended the flight of stairs up toward the main courtyard. The Graug and the 501st were steadily pushing the defenders back, though Mephirium expected this to be the simple part of the battle. Things would become far more complicated once they actually made it to the palace doors.

He paid Hauntress no mind as he marched toward the front, his weapon a blur of movement. He had hired [member="Julian Valentine"] and [member="Ghorua the Fish"] for this particular purpose. There would be a number of prominent Sith Lords rising up to defend their lord. while Mephirium was confident he could make his way through every one of them given the time, he did not have such a luxury. The Dark Lord was going to require all of his strength. Best not to wast it on the would-be-god's underlings.

A Sith apprentice launched herself at him from a parapet. Mephirium reached out with invisible hands and grabbed her mid-air. With a simple motion, her head twisted back ninety degrees. Her warm corpse fell at his feet. All around him, the 501st and their Graug allies fought. They had taken half the courtyard now, and the loyalists were fighting desperately to repel them.

Their efforts were met with general success. Graug fell in droves, and every few moments, one of the 501st's finest fell. Mephirium did not allow it to dishearten him, though he understood the reality of the situation. If they did not act quickly, the assault would reach a stalemate.

Mepihirium positioned himself behind a hastily erected barrier and let his attentions center on a single turret emplacement. He called upon the force, letting it build within him for the time being, a caged animal ready to explode at the slightest of irritations. Then he set it loose. A wall of telekinetic energy carved its way across the battlefield and sent loyalist soldiers flying. It eventually crashed into the turret, ripping the it from its wired foundation like a child discarding a broken toy.

The men pushed forward. The assault continued.

[member="Darth Ophidia"], [member="Darth Hauntruss"], [member="Darth Acarus"] [member="Abelain Narv'uk"] [member="Rigor"], [member="Thrukk Gulpdar"], [member="Laguz Vald"], [member="Bethany Haverford"], [member="Aelius Varangian"], [member="Darth Adekos"], [member="Darth Carach"], [member="Aklanor"], [member="Darth Vornskr"], [member="Catalys Maijora"], [member="Drana'stair'eno"]
 
Ghorua shook Valentine's hand gently. Contrary to popular belief, Ghorua COULD be gentle, when he wanted to be. Ghorua grinned, perfectly cone-shaped teeth gleaming in his mouth. He appreciated Julian's caution, however.

Ghorua looked over his fellow Hunter as the power-pack was mentioned. Now was a perfect time for one of those, considering all of the Force-Sensitives out right now. It would just make it easier for the Fish to bash some heads. Ghorua hadn't bought too much equipment since they had last met. He had bought a few assorted grenades, which had come in handy. In fact, the Fish had shoved one of them into the chest cavity of a long-dead Jedi master... Long story.

As they walked to the temple, Ghorua plodded along behind Valentine, who seemed happy enough. The Herglic had reservations about what they would be doing, despite his old partner's mirth. Capturing a Jedi was easy enough, and common criminals are one thing, but the Sith Masters they would most likely go toe-to-toe with would be a real challenge, even with their equipment.

Ghorua kept his thoughts to himself as the Stormtrooper stopped them, under the pretense of them being civilians. Ghorua almost laughed as he was shot through the head. Ghorua felt his sympathies, of course, but the man should have been more careful.

The Herglic stood tall as a statue behind Julian as he pointed out their target. Finally, something to shoot at. Ghorua slowly reached behind his head, and took the Spinster off of his back, pointing it at the Sith woman. He waited for Julian's signal before shooting. He heard the sharp crack of Julian's slug-thrower, and revved his rotary blaster cannon. He held down the trigger. "Let's get this party started!"

The Spinster immediately began spewing blaster bolt after red blaster bolt in front of the Hunters, all aimed at the woman with practiced accuracy. Ghorua walked out from behind Julian, blaster sending a continuous stream of death towards the Sith. The Herglic bellowed, a terrible, deep sound that reverberated in the chests of all that heard. He wanted to become the main focus for the woman. His armor was much tougher than Valentine's. Ghorua wanted Valentine to have an element of surprise, and he figured that he was also slightly better at close combat than his smaller human counterpart. Ghorua smiled under his helmet, forgetting his worries. He was in his element, on his planet. Nobody would topple the Colossus today.

[member="Julian Valentine"] [member="Darth Hauntruss"]
 
Zaiden walked slowly behind the man whom issued all the orders, snatching attackers out of the air; all the while debunking whom he was: Cyril. His nephew. Utterly unseen and heard, Zaiden continued using the Force to block himself from sight, while simultaneously using it for his senses which had become second nature long ago.

At one point, Zaiden whipped around and gripped a man by the throat, as he tried to stalk upon Cyril. Squeezing it tightly as he enveloped the man into his Cloak, "Do. Not. Attack. My. Family."

Eyes flared dark black for a second, sending utter terror into the man before snapping his neck. Turning around he walked briskly to catch up to his nephew. Slowing a moment, as his senses touched an oddity...

Is that Kaine? Zaiden thought to himself, then instantly drew in upon himself wholly. The only exert of energy was on his Cloak. Otherwise, his utmost stealth was now in place. He was facing a man he had been around several times, including when he was battling the Thronebreaker. One whom had not seen through his Cloak, but it did not mean could not.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]
 
The northern end of the courtyard was choked with loyalists.

Between the probe droids, footage gleaned from the orbiting ships, and reports from the Fisters, Gulliver had a pretty clear picture of what was going on. It was time to start putting the guns to use.

By now, the rooftops were practically bristling with artillery pieces. The nearest ones were loaded with 200mm mortars. The high arc, short range weapons were perfectly suited for engaging masses of troops with indirect fire. On the further buildings were the howitzers. The howitzers had longer range, but flatter trajectories. They still relied on a much steeper arc than a direct fire weapon, but compared to the mortars, they had much greater range.

The tradeoff was size and rate of fire. The 155mm shells were smaller in diameter than the mortar shells, but they weighed nearly twice as much. Loading the weapons took longer, and they required more men to operate. Even in this day and age, there was no real substitute for good old fashioned cannon.

Gulliver grinned as he began inputing the fire command into his wrist mounted datapad.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"FIRE MISSION!"

1st Squad, 2nd Platoon, 4-223 FA sprang to life. They hadn't exactly been lollygagging before, but BS scutwork wasn't what they lived for. They lived to make the big cannon, affectionately named Overnight Male, sing. The suggestive name was par for the course for artillerymen. Their humor was as black as the night that would claim them all if one of them screwed up and the cannon blew up.

"TARGET NUMBER ECHO NOVEMBER TWO TWO ONE! GRID, 45345-99436! 3 ROUNDS, HE! TIME ON TARGET!"

The gun crew called back the fire order. Honestly, it was an outdated tradition in the digital age, but there was something primal about it that appealed to their souls. They were announcing, to themselves and anyone in earshot (in this case the rest of 2nd platoon, each arrayed around their own gun on the massive rooftop) that they were about to kill the crap out of something. All around them, other gun crews were engaged in the same ritual. The guns tracked onto target on their own, guided by the signal from the FO's datapad. All they had to do was load the shells as quick as they could and pull the lanyard.

They readied the guns and waited for the fire command.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Up in orbit, the gunnery sections on the big ships were somewhat more restrained. They viewed things like hollering out the fire order to be archaic and unnecessary, something for the poor saps who didn't have the luxury of computer-aimed weaponry to call upon. They quietly performed their jobs, doing their best to ignore the fact that they themselves would shortly face the incoming fire of the enemy fleet.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The mortar platoons were the first to fire. Though they were the closest to the target, the projectiles were also far and away the slowest. On all the closest buildings around the palace, the muted booms of the stubby little weapons firing could be heard, provided you were close enough.

Further away, the cannon belched flames as the howitzers sent their deadly loads downrange.

High up above, beams of coherent energy lanced down towards the courtyard.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

::Splash.::

That single word, transmitted over the voicecomms to everyone on the friendly net smart enough to listen, would have been a pretty good cue to plug their ears. It was about to get messy.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Gulliver cackled with glee as the first barrage of rounds impacted right on time.

The howitzers, with their more shallow angles of fire, landed furthest away from the palace. That was fine, as there were plenty of enemies to go around. The airburst shells exploded into ugly black clouds about two and a half meters above the ground, sending shrapnel and concussion waves screaming towards the massed enemies below.

The mortars were able to drop shells directly on the steps of the palace, courtesy of their high angles of fire and the extremely precise coordinates amassed by the Fisters earlier. Their shells were running variable timed fuzes, getting a good mix of airbust and impact going. Though lighter than the howitzers, they actually packed a bigger explosive charge, as they didn't need to use as much weight for the casing.

As soon as the last shell exploded, the timing so perfect that the gap would be imperceptible, ten turbolaser bolts from about struck the courtyard with forces nearly unmatched by anything in nature.

The second stonk struck before the ground had stopped shaking from the turbolaser fire. It was much like the first, but with a difference: Willy Pete had come to call. The white phosphorous rounds burst at head height, showing little glowing chunks of white hot metal all over the place. Noxious smoke poured off the burning phosphorous in thick, toxic clouds that seared lung and skin alike. The stuff burned vigorously, and was nearly impossible to extinguish. Gulliver knew from experience that the only treatment was to cut the phosphorous, and any flesh around it, out before it got too deep. His arms and legs were pocked by several shiny scars from doing just that.

And of course, no sooner had the smoke start to spread than the turbolasers struck. This time, they hit a few meters further out, and with a purpose. The WP burning in their immediate path was consumed, but the stuff burning closer to the palace was chucked inside any openings by the concussive force of the blast. Gulliver seriously doubted that the inside of the Dark Lord's palace had too many fire hazards, but WP was relentless, and also produced one of the best smoke screens known to man.

But wait, there's more. The third and final stonk was all HE airburst. Shrapnel once again scoured the northern end of the courtyard, or what was left of it.

All this, in less than four seconds.

"There is no overkill, there is only 'open fire' and 'reloading," the old mercenary muttered to himself, barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

[member="Ghorua the Fish"] | [member="Darth Mephirium"] | [member="Julian Valentine"] | [member="Braxus Zambrano"] | [member="Bethany Haverford"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"] | [member="Thrukk Gulpdar"] | [member="Drana'stair'eno"] | [member="Darth Hauntruss"] | [member="Darth Acarus"] | [member="Darth Adekos"] | [member="Abelain Narv'uk"] | [member="Seraphina Shel'tah"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"]
 
Location: The Palace
Allies: Ally of Darth Mephirium's Forces
Enemies: Darth Vornskr's Forces
Armor: The Details - The Looks


---


How much blood had there been already?


A trail of crimson ran down across black armor from elbow to knuckle as a tower of a man pushed himself up from yet another shattered body. The man beneath was crushed and broken, and in the place where a head might have rested against cracked stone and dirt was a mangled puddle of skull, brain and skin. His likeness would never be seen again by any pair of eyes that belonged to someone living and breathing that very moment in the galaxy. His laugh would never be appreciated again by loved ones, just like his eyes would never flicker their once green color at a pretty passerby ever again. His time was done, and what was good about this man would never again be indulged in. He, like the hundred some odd others who's lives had been taken by the very same man who stood above him, would never make love again, hold someone close, feast to his heart's content or sing some heartfelt verse from a love song. There was nothing left.

"How many more must die?", a deep voice asked from behind a bloodied, metal mask that was beginning to bother the man employing it's uses. His question went unanswered as Sith Loyalists fell back to the Palace, his own hand rising to the guise that covered his youthful visage so that long, powerful fingers could clasp the obstruction and remove it from it's place. "Tink tink!", went the metal mask that skipped across the uprooted and dispalced stone beneath him as he revealed his face. A face that belonged to a young, blonde Jedi who was carefully treading the grey between the light and the dark.

Conviction for another man's cause had filled this man's heart, and his dark robes were a foreboding choice to have made, though he had only made it because he hadn't much appreciated the style of the armor he'd been offered. Although it had been made of the very same material, the armor he more had been fashioned to suit his own tastes, and although he would have preferred a lighter color, he wore black on this sad day in which he'd been forced to take more than a hundred lives before he'd simply lost count. All around him laid the day, and above them scampered their still living allies and enemies, both running for their lives and running to the aid of their own. So many were now dead because of his very own hands. Hands that were blood drenched, aching and tired by now as the bombardment of the palace began in the distance.

He turned and brushed his arms and shoulders off, attempting to shed some of the now staining blood from his armor and clothing, but it was there to stay. He was practically dripping with the plasma of an unknown number of dead men, women and whatever else had challenged him that day, and although he could hardly stand the thought, he knew he was needed elsewhere. He had to push on and get past that moment for his cause. For his friend...

"Mephirium!", Varus barked as he trotted up behind the soon to be Dark Lord of the Sith who was surrounded by his loyal allies. "We should tread lightly... It'd be a shame for you to end up obliterated by rogue artillery before your plans can be seen through to completion.", the black clad warrior whispered as he caught up and matched pace with Darth Mephirium to his right. A man who'd been both friend and ally in the past, though now he was something more. Something that Varus himself didn't know if he should admire just yet, whether or not he realized his purpose and kept his promises. He knew he'd find out soon just what kind of man his old friend was, and when he did he expected to find the results he had desired. He expected to be afforded a better understanding of what all of this was and what good it was going to do the Galaxy around them. This was all for the greater good, after all.

Wasn't it?



[member="Darth Mephirium"] - [member="Aelius Varangian"]
 

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