Faction Death to Traitors | A Operation Cinder Story

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Ersethy Maestus Shannic Wulf The Contingency

BLOODHOUND - PART FIVE​

CADEMIMU V,
HOME TO BETRAYERS (902 ABY)

-This tower, I think, is complete.-
-But the meditation needs - ah - just a bit more.-

-The Dark Three will show me the path I should be treading.-
​

After taking a moment to catch his breath, (having exerted himself twice over without resting) the Khan finally sat with legs crossed once more, completely unaware this would be the last time that night, and coincidentally - the last time he would ever meditate on the surface of Cademimu V.

​

The one-eyed Woad had decided to take in the sight of the distant rhypalm flames for another moment of serene, unspoken calm, looking past the wispy emanations of it's lethal, billowing bi-product to note it's rather-obscure elemental properties, fully believing it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The symbolic significance of this display wasn't lost on the Bloodhound either, being born to a life his culture steeped in poetry, philosophy and superstition alike, so the one-eyed Woad always viewed matters of mysticism and whimsy with an air of mirthful affection, and especially so in the small few moments he spent watching fire that feared no rain.

​

The rain was still pouring torrentially, and still, the flames continued to dance, casting their lively shadows around in ripples of deathly delight, an undimmed glow; seemingly detonated into a life of it's own, as if it was born with the sole purpose of intensifying the night's intense shroud, that lightless, ever-recurring void. For all the stormy, elemental power that poured with weathery derision on the rhypalm below, the flames still hissed and crackled with a cackling derision of their own, burning with an impunity, an infallibility that dared the clouds to give it their all, and the storm was falling short of the rhypalm's hopeful estimation.

-I may not be the greatest in the art of divination.... All my visions are simple, blnnt.-
-But I know a good omen when I see one, an' that - is no exception.-
​

Only then did Bloodhound Khan close his eyelids, closed for the eye that remained, and closed over the ruby that rested where the other once resided, thus letting the inward search resume in a complete visual blackout. Sinking deeper into the dark within, immersing into a realm not too dissimilar from the deepest depths of the Netherworld, near-adjacent in the Khan's perception, though the Khan himself could access realms the living would never know. The way was open on Durace before, but since his return, something had awakened in Barran's soul - as if some key between dimensiosn had been found.

As if the Shriven One had possessed this key all along, the Khan he became was reaching for it - reaching for his means of opening the path to enlightenment.

An uncanny state of affairs for an uncanny presence on Cademimu V, uncanny like every known return of the Dark Voice, a scream from the void that could only be explained by ancient scriptures. It was little wonder why the observers had fallen silent in the tower-block above, as they were of a collective mind to embody the same good omens, becoming fire that feared no rain for the sake of another resurrected power. To revere another legend the Galaxy wanted dead above all others, gradually uncovering the solutions to all their problems, the answers to all their questions; and there he was, sitting out in the open, unravelling the next threads of fate with the rain meekly beating down from above.

Every heartbeat, every Midichlorian emanation, and even every inanimate sound had been filtered out in the pursuit of the one revelation Barran was seeking the most, and with the darkness of the mind rolled back in pursuit of that one revelation, Thomas knew he had delved farther than ever before. The path was here, the right state of mindlessness had been attained, (to where the Khan could reach again at any time) but the one-eyed Woad was nothing, if not persistent; fortunately for the Khan, however, his answer appeared more quickly than he expected, and the answer roared in absolute clarity.

The wraith you carry is a wealth of information.
The wraith you carry hides much from his carrier.

The wraith you carry can be tamed.
​

The word,"Tamed", alone felt talismanic, even before the visions flooded his mind, insights, traumas and core-memories from times far-removed from the present, current timeline, experiences far-removed from the realms of the living and the dead. These were the far-distant past, intertwining with the hands (and their consequent actions) of the near-future, intertwining the burning hot threads to forge the tapestry of a new era, woven from all the lessons imparted by an ancient predecessor. Visions of blowdarts striking the hidden flesh of hellish apparitions, of an obscure blue flower, and the white-eyed forest dwellers who used it as a tranquilizing agent against them, only to have it swept away to visions of modern, warlike applications before Barran could take it all in properly.

Thomas would go on to see it's use as a powerful, psychotropic catalyst for shamanism, watered down for use as a detoxing agent, and all from a flower in the reeds. It was all too much to take in at once, and certainly warranted grander perspective, but it wasn't until the last vision that the Bloodhound would snap himself back into a decent state of consciousness, as it was that which shocked the Khan the most. He was seemingly cursed to see a vision of the substance in a complete extreme, in it's most-destructive form, utterly dumbfounded by the planetary scale on which it was applied, a chemical-weapon like no other.

Designed to eradicate life in all it's forms, right down to the last blade of grass.

Snapping back out to the sound, the sensation and the cold of the rain, to the shadows of the city around him, the distant omen still burning freely as the sporadic din of war cut through the Khan's hard-fought serenity, the one-eyed Woad could not help but gaze at the good omen once more. having been faced with visions of a supremely-dangerous magnitude, he understood that consideration was needed on the ways this ill-omened substance could be applied. How such a planetary-scale killer could be utilised for the sake of the flora and fauna, that natural state to which worlds return when civilisations perish, the Khan did not know, but then something happened.

'Its been a while.'

Almost as if the answers were being revealed to Barran then, as they were within, and just like the answers materialised just moments before, the conscious confirmation also seemed to materialise from nowhere. Turning to find a very particular face standing at the threshold of the courtyard, a steadfast ally with the same, forward-thinking hobby, fate was decreeing the right path had become clearer than ever. The answer had been obvious all along, and when the Bloodhound finally exclaimed,'Sister Maestus! Avatars be praised!', the joy would be impossible to contain, an elation of fellowship that carried all the way across the decades.

'And yes, it has been a while. An' things have been - uh - happening, since.... Might be a good thing to get back into our old habits, t'be fair.'

​

Politely rising from his seated position, the Khan bowed his head with a slight leftward tilt, giving Maestus as much thanks as he was devoting to the great signifance of the encounter, in and of itself. Distinct enough that Thomas even felt safety for the first time in a while, a safety he felt would extend to the family he was raising at the time, even sighing with clear relief as he pulled off his mask to conclude,'Its good t'see ye again, Sister Maestus.... Come, you need not worry about protocols around me.', beckoning his welcome as the rain finally landed on his face.

 

[Ellayina L'lerim]

Information

Objective: Purge the Traitor
Location: Cademimu V
Equipment: White uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m
Tags: The Messenger | Shannic Wulf | Domaric Mordane | Aldo Garrick | Remus Adair | Open

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

Ella had not yet received any response from the other ship as to what to do, so she continued to wait and turned her attention to the rest of the fleet. Or rather, the data that was coming in from the planet. Her troops had not yet landed on the planet when one of the former Dark Imperial ships opened fire on the planet's surface to incinerate it. In truth, the blonde-haired woman was unperturbed. The traitors had to die, as did the people of the Galactic Alliance, and the planet now belonged to them. So, in fact, this attack was a double victory. On the one hand, the traitors and even some of the GA people were destroyed.

It was precisely because of this attack that her people's drop ships were diverted to land in a region where there had been no air attack. There the black ops team can operate perfectly well without fear of friendly fire. She was like most of her family in this; Ella didn't like to waste her resources; she wanted to make the best use of them. For the long term. If they had just been simple clones, maybe droids or disposable things like tribes in the Maw's day, that would have been a different matter. But her people were highly trained agents, not easily replaced.

And for that reason alone, she was planning for the long term. The last years of her studies and everything, the patience, the waiting. If she had wanted everything at once, she would have been an amateur like Sularen, who was only interested in his own power and always stood where the power was; a man who knew no loyalty and was loyal only to himself. Such men will be the ones to fall the hardest in the end. But she was loyal to principles, to ideology; and they have not changed. While Ella still didn't like Force users, she acknowledged that they were useful assets, and she followed Solipsis not because she was a Sith, but because of principles and ideology.

While the former ISB director was waiting, she watched the incoming data, which appeared thanks to HPI's solid state hologram, and followed the events. She kept the communication channel open to her The Messenger ship, of course, and even made an outgoing call to Shannic Wulf 's ship to greet her mentor "in person", so to speak. It was the least she could do, as she had learned a lot from the previous - and hopefully next - Grand Vizier after the fall of the Dark Empire, while she was enjoying the hospitality of the Terraris.

And that's when the first reports came in from the teams on their way to the planet that they had found a suitable place to land and that they would land there and then begin Operation: Cinder. She just sent them a short message to approve the change of location and that although the location had changed, the team would stick to the original plans. She also used reconnaissance drones with the team to monitor what was happening with the team and how they were progressing.

Meanwhile, she continued to wait for an answer to the question she had asked her superiors.

 

[Tyro Lok]

​

The fallen troopers lay twitching in silence, the last vestiges of life gasping from crushed lungs as the dark warrior squeezed. Tyro Lok advanced through the soot-stained plaza with a predator's gait, his saber held loosely at his side with the red blade sizzling in ash-laden air. More fire erupted from the broken barricades outside the Tribunal gates. The traitors, desperate and disorganized, loosed volleys into the smoke as if fear alone could ward off the inevitable.

Lok did not sprint. He walked.

For he was not alone.

Sahar and Lord Creuat were near.

With each step, the shadows around him seemed to deepen. Shattered statues of Imperial heroes lined the plaza, their faces eroded by physical damage and time, staring blankly as if mourning what their world had become. Tyro whipped his saber forth, deflecting a blaster bolt toward one of the traitors, striking him in the chest. He hissed under his mask, pausing only briefly before one of the broken edifices, a defaced bronze of the Emperor himself. This one had been tore down not by war, but by precision... by command.

"Such false reverance." Tyro muttered, his voice modulating low through the mask, "You all worshipped power when it suited you, now you shall fear it again."

Tyro raised his hand toward the blast doors where the loyalist squad had taken cover. With a twist of his fingers, he gripped the central beam locking them shut.

Screeeeech.

Metal howled as it bent against unseen pressure. Sparks burst from control panels. The locking bolts were torn free, and the blast doors began to shudder.

"The Emperor's Will shall be made manifest."

Tyro surged forward.

"There is no escape. There is no mercy."

 

[Sid Berik]

​

// BEGIN IMPERIAL DATAFEED //
TRANSMISSION ID: CPL-BER.LOG.1975-06-14
UNIT DESIGNATION: Corporal Berik
MISSION STATUS: ACTIVE
COMMS STATUS: ENCRYPTED – LEVEL 3 CLEARANCE
LAST CHECK-IN: 26 Minutes
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: SECURE ASSETS
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: Eliminate potential threats.

LOG ENTRY BEGINS: BEGIN OPERATION CINDER

// END TRANSMISSION //

​

The door was quietly opened. His night vision cast the room in an eerie blue glow. It was dark. They were after some of the most valuable assets to the reforming Empire and the most damaging to lose:

Data and intelligence.

His squad, a team of like-minded Commandos was tasked with something innocuous in it's formation but quite damaging if fallen into the wrong hands: the pay and benefit information of the local paramilitary and their families, along with their assets. To the right person and in the right hands, millions upon millions of credits were about to go back to the true Empire, and then additionally-

The Empire would have a list. Names. Addresses. Families. Everything needed to effect a true purge, if need be. Dissenters could not hide, could not run. They would know all that they needed. His boots clinked along the building's floor, an office building, lightly defended. Power outages were common after the bombardment, and the pitter of the sprinkler systems trickled against his armor. Sid raised his weapon up, signaling his team, four men including him, to fan out on the office floor. They had roughly four floors to go to get to the server base, and they had to move quickly. If the Empire figured it was valuable, then so would the traitors and dissenters.

He had no doubt in his mind that they'd try to stop his team. So Sid had to move quickly, quietly, and if need be- lethally. He pressed on in the dark building, breathing steadily against his helmet. On a faint hum of the electronics of his suit, and his compatriots emanated from them. They were deathly silent, eerily. His boots squaked on wet floor and wet carpet, and the sound of the sprinklers drowned out much more than they allowed people to hear. He passed several office workers, cowering in fear, covering their ears. It was too dark for them to see Sid and his team in the windowless floor with the power out. So they let them pass.

If they were traitors, they'd be dealt with later.

For the moment, Sid was focused on his mission.

For the Empire.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

CADEMIMU V - GRAND CATHEDRAL OF THE DARK SIDE

The boy grit his teeth from where he stood behind the blackguard.

"Witless ape, I can sense the fear in your heart chambers. Kill me if you can manage it."

"So be it," he spat.

As the stormtroopers rounded the corner and opened fire, they lit up the darkened hallway with flashes of superhead plasma streaking in spears of red.

Tydeus reached out in the Force, wrapping his will around the marauder as one might wrap a fist, and sought to lurch Meliant into the air and use him as a shield against the deluge of blaster bolts that kicked up chips of molten stone and smote smoking scorch marks into the walls and floor around Tydeus.

He walked backward as he did so, toward the archives.

 

[Meliant]

Cademimu V - Grand Cathedral of the Dark Side​

Objective: Mandatory Tithing
Progress:

The door to the archives was locked now. It would need to be cut open, but that would take time and space which the stormtroopers will ill-disposed to give. More importantly, Meliant remained stubbornly where he was on the ground. It was a contest of will, and whereas a vibrosword had no strong feelings on being yanked this way and that, Meliant had plenty. Mostly, these were a gradient of hatred, rage, and contempt.​

​

"Pathetic."​

​

Perhaps his injury was not as critical as his dramatics indicated. Indeed, it seemed what he really wanted was for the interloper to come within range of something else.​

​

The glow intensified, and then a flurry of grasping, crimson tendrils exploded out of Meliant's back. Hungrily, they lashed the air in search of Tydeus, and whomever they grazed would become enervated: first of power, then of strength, and finally of life, until all that remained was a desiccated husk.​

​

The power of the Dark Side was the power to take whatever was needed, whatever was desired, through overwhelming force. And there was no Dark Side art more elemental than the power to siphon out a person's life-force and make it your own.​

​

That was why Meliant favored it.​

Tydeus of Tion​

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

CADEMIMU V - GRAND CATHEDRAL OF THE DARK SIDE

Tydeus cursed as the ploy became apparent. The maleficent warrior's wound seemed not so mortal after all as he seemed to easily shrug off the telekinetic pull before causing an explosion of spectral tendrils that reeked of pure manifestations of the Dark Side. These, at least, he recognized at once from his study of the Iron Tyrant's abilities.

One brushed against his chest and immediately Tydeus felt the chill of warmth and energy leeching from his body. Desperate, he leaped backward in a somersault through the air, his lightsaber whipping out, deflecting a half-dozen blaster bolts from the oncoming stormtrooper squad in rapid succession as he sought to put distance between himself and those snaking tendrils. He landed on his feet, poised, chest aching - face stinging from the burns from earlier, and bat back another slew of blaster bolts, constantly seeking to position Meliant 's kneeling form between him and the stormtroopers before he darted behind a pillar for cover. His mind raced, recalling what he'd heard in reports.

Unshackled, the spirit of the Dark Lord extended out His power as He left His body, seizing the nearest life streams with insidious dark tendrils.

If these stygian limbs were half as powerful, then they might drain the Force itself from Tydeus. Dangerous, given what dwelled within him. His thoughts darted back. Wait. That sensation he felt earlier. As if the masked warrior was getting stronger the longer they fought. Could he have been...

The boy's lips thinned into a firm line.

Pinned down in a hallway, with no exit at the other end, and a foe he did not know how to defeat, he needed to change the dynamics. Now.

Taking his lightsaber in both hands, he plunged it into the pillar he hid behind and it sank deep into the dark stone, heating up the stone swiftly as it began to melt it to slag. Then, with his mind, he reached for the pillar itself at the fracture point and began to push, pouring his energy into the effort.

 

[Talin Treicolt]

Incoming: Obj I | tags: Tansu Treicolt Remus Adair | your uber is nearby!: Kyric

"Is...this...it?" she asked, voice gone small. Her hands clenched tighter. "This what you saw, Lin?"

”Commence fire.”

Before Talin could confirm her vision, the dazzling display of destruction danced before their eyes. It was… beautiful. The rainbow that danced before them so wholly countered the sense of wrong that screamed out through the force. The young Jedi had never seen anything like it in person. Jedda was different, just a hit and run, and the history books didn’t prepare you for it.

“Holy chit. Holy chit.” Talin grabbed the panic bar as the impact from the bombardment hit their ship, causing the old girl to rock and creep. “They’re glassin’ it.”

The verbal processing ended there. Talin flew up out of her pilots seat, a mad fury of action. Coordinates were entered into the drive. Talin’s brow furrowed as she hoped she’d gotten the math right. Sure would suck to end up a sticky splotch of the planets surface.

“What’r’ya doin’? We can’t leave!” Su protested.

“No,” Talin agreed, exasperated. “But we sure can get down there and save as many people as we can. And we ain’t got time or firepower to fight no damn dreadnoughts.”

sense of a goose…

Tansu’s thought was so strong her twin could hear it - but there were no further rebuttals. They didn’t have many options to get through whoever’s navy this was.

“Hold on tight- yer about to have to stick a helluva landin’.”

She pulled the jump lever, and the ship leapt into the atmosphere.

 

[Maestus]

Cademimu V
Courtyard
St. Thomas Barran


Rain, lightning, debris on the winds and the occasional blaster bolt from soul's unfortunate enough to take pot shots her way quickly melded into a swelling symphony of chaos; Explosions of rhypalm all around the city center enhanced the night's ambience at such dramatically perfect moments, history's greatest composers would fall to the knees and weep at the perfection and magic they were witnessing. Maestus found herself transfixed as well. As she gazed upon the one-eyed Woad perform his ritualistic ballet of death...Her skin pelted with the wind's artillery, yet she didn't seem phased as the rain washed it away...It was the crescendo of rhypalm explosions that fed and fanned the ever-smoldering flames within what remained of her soul. Her breath quickened as her pulse raced and heart pounded. Put her in proximity to extreme heat and she ascended to a new level of being alive. 10 feet tall and bullet proof...No, in these moments, she's immortal.

Thankfully, Barran completed his own machinations and had taken notice of Maestus' presence. It was his joyful exclamation that broke through her concentration, albeit her return to reality took noticeably longer than it should. Grateful for the wakeup call, her attention focused on reality once more.

Regardless to what degree the absolute exuberance with which Barran received Maestus may or may not have shocked and frightened her, her outward demeanor betrayed naught. Time had a way of teaching harsh lessons, and when you're as stubborn as she is, it seemed to take extreme circumstances and pain before she learned said harsh lessons. One of the most difficult was to not wear her emotions so clear for all to see. Darth Solipsis had taught her that lesson well. A lifetime has been spent reigning in her tells and quirks, and is how she stands across from Barran now. Flame-rimmed eyes took Barran in fully, now that they were both addressing each other. Her Lekku, now well past her waist in length, curled lazily around her waist and hips. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, collecting the scents being whipped around them. Committing it all to memory. Then she opened her eyes.

And damned if she didn't try to fight it back, something of a smile made its way to one side of her lips. She'll kill before admitting it but she was pleased to see Barran's reaction to her so...Warm. When was the last time she'd received such a warm reception? No memory surfaced, which made this very memorable for her. When he bowed his head upon standing, she returned it. She may not know his intentions and motivations yet, but she knew she would in good time. Tonight, Thommy wasn't the only who viewed this moment as auspicious. Much and more remained in flux. Still so much to do.

She smirked.

Remind me, Barran. When has protocol ever been something I ascribe much import to?

As he brought up their "old habits", her smirk morphed into a brow arched in curiosity. With thoughts and ideas percolating, she breeched the courtyard's threshold and strode towards the Khan.

You have my attention. Which habits might you be referring to?​

 

[Meliant]

Cademimu V - Grand Cathedral of the Dark Side​

Objective: Mandatory Tithing
Progress:

The interloper gave up and fled from Meliant, still making vain attempts to use him as cover anyway. Eventually the stormtroopers drove him behind some ostentatious pillar and began peppering it with blaster shots. The tendrils could only chase him so far, and returned to their host before fading from sight.​

​

Only a few morsels. Better than nothing. Meliant stood uneasily, like a puppet being hosted back up by its strings. What a miserable farce this was turning out to be. If he could not rid himself of this stray fool, what value did he hold to Darth Solipsis? None! Less than none, he would be a liability. And then…​

​

He turned to find the base of the pillar his quarry was cowering behind burning molten hot at the base. A lightsaber. He was going to bring it down. Perhaps not cowering after all. Meliant had a guess of what would follow. His lightsabers returned to his waiting hands and reignited.​

​

The pillar fell with a deafening crash that shook the hallway. Meliant jumped, arcing high through the air just moments before Tydeus flung the pillar down the hallway. His stormtroopers were crushed in its wake. There was no point in checking on them - if any lived they would be disinclined to pursue.​

​

Not so for Meliant. He landed directly in front of the Jedi and picked up where he had left off in the archives: attack, attack, attack. Now he focused on light cuts and short jabs to the shoulders and thighs. Shiim. disable first, kill later.​

Tydeus of Tion​

 

[Remus Adair]

INV Vexation
Rampart-Class Dreadnaught (x)
Atmosphere of Cademimu V
Tansu Treicolt | Talin Treicolt

Remus opened the cap to his flask and began to errantly stir his caf. He watched intently the now luke warm, brown liquid wash around the side of the flask. It was something small and containable he could focus on rather than the maelstrom of flame and annihilation he had thrust upon the denizens below. Even now some several minutes after the bombardment had commenced, the crew of the Vexation was fixated on the carnage they had manifested. Glued to their terminals. Of course some junior technicians and crew were passing along reports but a deathly silence had come over the bridge. One which made Adair’s attempts to ignore the ongoing atrocity all the more difficult. That was until a voice rang out, “Admiral!”

Remus almost dropped the flask when he looked up. He was turned away from the viewport and the hypnotising detonations of rhypalm to face the source of the voice. Sensor Officer, Junior Midshapman Lew Gloris, “Ship entering at section 438. Its transponder doesn’t match anything we have on file.”

Remus’ intrigue was piqued as he approached the sensor quadrant of the Portside crew pit. “What model of vessel is it?” He inquired, approaching with heavy steps. He knew that some of the Mawites and their spawn travelled in rather non-imperial craft. Perhaps this was some late comer to the slaughter-fest being hosted below.

“It’s a freighter sir. Barloz-class with plenty of modifications.” Gloris diligently reported. ”It is registered under the name ‘Corn Breaker’.” Remus seemed vexed and watched as the vessel came up on screen. It Was a cargo freighter and scrapper. Even if under the cover of perfidy it was not the type of vessel a Sith or agent of the Maw would use. Remus’ gaze narrowed and he sighed. "I believe it may be carrying reinforcements. Scans indicate limited life-"

“You imbecile, how is that one of ours!” Adair snapped tossing the flask at the floor. His vicious gaze was wrought upon a stunned Gloris, "'Corn Breaker'? 'Corn Breaker'?! What sort of fething name is that?" Remus growled, “That froppish Vizier and the baby snatcher, they’ve let these intruders through the bloody perimeter!” Remus hurriedly stormed back to the centre of the bridge, “Jansen!” He barked to the Flight Commander, the officer in charge of marshalling bombers and TIE’s from the Vexations expansive hanger, “Jansen, you feckless ingrate, get me a squadron to intercept.”

Sub commander Clagge Jansen looked rather aggrieved by the attack, but scrambled. He looked through the logs, “All squadrons are deployed sir. Closest one is three clicks out. Drake squadron. ” Jansen’s voice was close to a whine, “But they are helping deliver fire support in sect-“

“Well? Get in contact with them!” Adair barked with venom. He was allowing his own passion and loathing to poison each syllable, “Ashar would you-“ he glowered and seethed as he looked to the catatonic lieutenant. Still shell shocked, “Have to do everything my Fucking self…” Remus muttered as he stormed toward the comm centre, he grabbed Ashar by the shoulder, “Out!” He commanded. The numb Lieutenant nodded and complied while Remus assumed control of the senior comms terminal. He put on Ashar’s headset with a huff and began to tune it and flick through the console till he found the channel he wanted.

<Drake one, Drake one. This is Rear Admiral Adair priority one order to be dispatched. over.>

<Rear Admiral, this is Drake Lead. Waiting for order confirmation. Over.>

<Drake one, Baldoz Class Freighter ‘Corn Breaker’ has broken through containment perimeter. Approach vector in sector 438. Proceed to intercept and destroy with extreme prejudice. Over.>

<Drake lead confirms. Over.>

<Today is not the day to fail me Captain. Adair out.>​

Drake squadron, a squad of twelve TIE fighters now broke off from their fire support escort and began to race up wards toward the errant Jedi and their poorly planned journey to the devastated world.

​

Remus put down the headset and gestured to Rue, “You, assume station here.” He snapped, gesturing to the vacated seat. “And you,” he glared at Ashar. His stare was filled with venom, but also a level of compassion. The young officer had done his best to avoid friendly casualties. And admirable cause for most, but mercy was a virtue not to be afforded when serving the Sith. Adair knew he could not display that sympathy now. Not after that outburst, “You are relieved. Get your sorry arse to the medbay. You do not deserve your place here.” Ashar nodded and complied, leaving like a wounded animal.

Adair slowly strode up to the centre of the command deck, “And as for the rest of you, get your heads back in check.” He was not shouting. His voice was just a grumbling baritone. “I will not tolerate this voyeurism any further. This is a war zone and we are warriors.” He let that statement settle over the command deck.

“And for the love of all that is holy, someone get me another caf!”

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Ersethy Maestus Shannic Wulf The Contingency

BLOODHOUND - PART SIX​

CADEMIMU V,
HOME TO BETRAYERS (902 ABY)

'The best kind, of course.... The time comes, once again, to enhance the Mawsworn Menagerie.'
​

Just saying it felt therapeutic, like a healing hand had just brushed against the soul, going far beyond the influence of the Dark Three, and deep into the realms of Intuition once more. There was no comprehensive manual (or sage insight-) into the effects of these residual combat instincts yet, as it seemed that not even willingness could be trusted as a marker for coherence in such a state, but even Thomas knew there was merit to this leaning; as even in this state, this hampering of perception, he clearly undeerstood it's potential for implementation on a wider scale. The key was the flower, and against the inclination to utilise it on a planetary scale, as a tool to eradicate all life, the Khan's mind would gradually begin to err in favour of restricting it's usage to one purpose in particular.

The pacification, the tranquilization of monsters, that which cannot be tranquilized by any known means. Or at least, none that were known to the Galaxy in the 10th Century ABY.

'An' as for protocol, I can see why you an' I care so little for that. Decorum will always wither in sight of those who make history.... In sight of fire that fears no rain.'

'AS FOR YOU LOT, UP THERE ON THE ROOFTOPS - I WANT YOU TO COME DOWN!!!!', the Khan roared to the surrounding skyrises, dropping gaze to eye-level once more to point fingers toward the eye-sockets, signifying his need for two-eyed perspective. For small tells on which the one-eyed Woad had been missing out since the Battle of Tython, having sacrificed it for increased ferocity in combat, but when he continued,'I WANT TO SEE YOUR FACES!!!!', his demeanour changed back to something more loose-shouldered and whimsical.

'I recruit from the strangest places sometimes, but they all become zealots eventually.... Believers all, an' warriors would follow you jus' the same, the same way too - merit is a wonderful power in the right hands.'

 

[Kyric]

The fires of whatever horrific weapon the attackers deployed slagged the street in seconds.

Kyric couldn't be sure if the wet drip of something running off the victims' bodies was the jelly-like napalm or their flesh melting away. The sight was so horrific, the boy swallowed rising bile and reached forward. He summoned the ethereal energies of the vast empyrean like a great fist over each of their heads. Tears he hadn't felt form streamed down his cheeks, drawn out by the horrified screams that pierced the frantic battle and the weight of Kyric's duty. He took a single deep breath and squeezed.

The victims fell silent as their heads popped in unison.

"I'm sorry," Kyric muttered weakly. "I should've seen this comin'. I should've known better." He wiped away the tears on his bandage-wrapped arm and turned back to the only two bar-goers he saved.

"What's happening?" the one with the twisted ankle asked. Her breathing came in short, gasping breaths. Fear oozed off her as it did so many others, collecting into a growing source of strength for the agents of Darth Solipsis.

"Looks like yer city is under attack," Kyric answered somberly. "C'mon," he reached down for the injured woman.

Surprisingly, she pushed Kyric back and looked at the other surviving bar rat. "We have to get home, Jorta! Our son is all alone!"

Kyric's face screwed up at that. "You left yer fethin' kid at home to go drinkin? Are you outta yer damned minds?" He looked rapidly between them for a few short seconds until his attention settled on 'Jorta'. "Get her ass up. I'll clear a path and we'll go get yer little one."

"No." Jorta shook his head. "I'll do what I can to get us to a shelter or evac site. Please, sir, go save our son."

Another impossible situation thrust at Kyric's feet. He watched the fires burn all around him. He heard the screams as far too many died far too quickly. No amount of childlike hope would stop this tragedy from playing out, so the kiffar steeled himself and nodded to the two parents.

"Find a ship and get outta Dodge. I'll meet you on Naboo. The High Republic'll keep you safe." Kyric turned at that and dashed off. He blanketed himself with invisible power and propelled himself forward at eye-blurring speeds. The battle played out all around him, but the Jedi couldn't stop. He pushed himself harder. Blood streamed from his remaining eye as the pressure built within his brain, threatening a synaptic-rebound Kyric knew would floor him if it came to pass.

Danger flared ahead of Kyric in the form of deep fractures in his vision. They rounded a corner inches ahead of him, the briefest of warnings before the kiffar found himself face to face with a squadron of bedraggled infantrymen.

Rickhard looked to his soldiers, "Alright lads, weapons up." The MG-69 was still prepped, "But... We'll see if it's one of ours." The senior soldier cupped his hands around his mouth, "Oi!" The sergeant barked, "What is, your operating number?!"

"Er-" Kyric's hand fell to the hilt of a sheathed blade—a literal katana for feth's sake, not the traditional Jedi lightsaber. A standard-issue Imperial prison jumpsuit covered his torso to his elbows and ran down to just below his knees, but the rest of his limbs and his feet were covered in ragged bandages like a mummy. He raised his free hand, fingers splayed out in the universal signal to 'stop.'

"I'm not Imperial," Kyric said quickly. "But I don't have much time. There's a child in danger and I promised to save them. I'm beggin' ye; please let me pass."

Unfortunately, Kyric was a known quantity to Solipsis' loyalists. The bounty placed on the kiffar's head almost two years back made sure of that.

---

Tags: Sharad Dhavale
Kinfolk: Talin Treicolt | Tansu Treicolt
Force Bonds: Bernard | Capris Halcyon | Lord Creuat

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Whatever the ship had been originally made for, its scope didn't extend to this. The girls had their suspicions, but their credit roll only extended so far and uhhh yep — the durability of the ship was confirmed the moment Tansu felt the vibration in her molars before the console lights caught up—half of them flickering awake, the other half sluggish in their troubleshoot. She leaned back in the co-pilot's chair, boots braced against the console, one hand on the seatbelt that didn't fully latch.

"Ho-leeeeee chit." Half shock of the glassing situation, half at the realization that she and her sister weren't quite as in tandem as she was used to.

Below, the planet shimmered like glass in the upper stratosphere—sections glowed angry red where orbital turbolasers had done their work. The edges of clouds turned to vapor, wind currents curling unnaturally as heat escaped the crust.


"If this weren't such an ugly thing, it'd be kinda pretty." Tan mumbled, transitioning all thought (and honestly slight hurt that she was not 1:1 with Talin) and immersed in the righting of the ship and sticking the landing. They were hot, goin' real fast, and needed to get to a speed that could balance their insane trajectory and the need to settle down course. It was like Jedha all over again but worse. Worse because: Glassing and worse yet because: TIE fighters.

But also, TIE fighters. TWIN ION ENGINE FIGHTERS. T-I-E-F-I-G-H-T-E-R-S. She let a trill of excitement glimmer through their shared bond. They'd flown through storms, turbulence abundant, but TIEs? This was a glorious first.

The only downside was the priority was getting people off the planet, not winning dogfights. Still! TIEs! How cool!

In the back of her mind, she recanted the shared memories she and Talin had of their parents passing off information about their glory days. What was it about TIEs? Helluva problem in the stars, not so great in atmosphere.

"Ughh, we're gonna need some shiEeeelds." The ship screamed in protest as she rerouted cooling from the aft to spike the forward thrusters. "Which means less for every stinkin' other thing." All her thoughts were out loud — and when the thrusters adjusted, she banked hard toward the smoke-thick edge of the atmosphere—where visibility dropped and sensor echoes multiplied.

"Get those weapons ready, you get the TIEs down and I'll get this ship down."

As soon as the words left her lips she blanched, staring straight ahead at nothing for half a second. Maybe she was part of the problem. Her hesitance to kill put her in the drivers seat and Talin always on weapons. It had always seemed so natural, and.. no. No time for that now.

Hurtling through atmosphere, the heat distortion ahead bent around the collapsed upper atmosphere, twisting light and radar alike.

"Hopefully we just look like a hunkajunk not worth firing on."

____________________________________________________________
IN SHIP: Talin Treicolt
OUT SHIP: Remus Adair
SHIP INCOMING: Kyric
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

CADEMIMU V - GRAND CATHEDRAL OF THE DARK SIDE
​

How many stormtroopers died beneath the rubble of the pillar, Tydeus could not say. It swept them aside and buried them, heedless of their lifespans as an avalanche. And just as destructive.

The grinding of stone from the pushed pillar had only just started when a figure came hurtling over the top of the collapsing pillar - wielding twin blades once more, pouncing upon Tydeus' split-focus to punch through his defenses with a thrust that scored a furrow across his upper arm and melted duraplast to slag, cooking the flesh beneath.

Tydeus lurched backwards, releasing all focus from the collapsed pillar to focus all of his attention on the sudden frontal assault from the masked archivist. It was barely enough. White blade met crimson, but distractions told their tale in the form of another hit slipping past his guard to char the outside of his thigh, quickly eating through the duraplast there and scoring a hit that ate into skin and muscle. Tydeus let out a gasping cry of pain and knew at once that retreat was no longer an option.

He turned aside yet another blow with his lightsaber in a desperate parry, the hum too close, the stench of ozone reeking in his nostrils. The tips of those crimson blades promised death.

But this could not be his end. His destiny.

Cut down by a no-one so far from his goal.

I refuse.

Jaw muscles writhed as he grit his teeth and pushed into the archivist's guard - the very thing he should not have done just a moment earlier. Now that he knew to look for it, he could feel the Force ebbing from him, a constant drain.

"You want my pain?"

I understand now.

Beating aside the first blade, and letting the other take him on the upper pauldron where the armor was thickest so that it seared along and missed carving his shoulder off by mere centimeters, Tydeus lurched inside the warrior's guard such that they were practically hugging, so close did they stand.

"Take it all," Tydeus roared, deactivating his lightsaber and letting it fall as he rammed both of his hands inside the hole in the being's chest and pulled with inhuman strength born of the Force.

To rip.

This man.​

In two.​

Meliant

 

[Ersethy]

Ersethy and her Worshipper remained busily wiping whole streets clean of life. The Darkness controlling her flesh arranged bodies in a pentagram, intending something terrible.

The nervous Worshipper, terrified of the slaughter around him, did everything the animated flesh commanded.

"It gets easier, I assure you..." Ersethy claimed, "Do, Worshipper...what was your occupation on this world?"

The young man looked around at the burning streets, watching squads of Sith Soldiers march through the streets, massacring any who dared to oppose them, as well as those who didn't...

"Does it matter?" He asked dryly, though he was still terrified.

The flesh, well known in its first life for its extreme patience with its own followers, simply folded its arms.

"Humor us." Ersethy replied back just as dryly.

"I used to be a city engineer..." he replied. "When The Empire left, I just started stockpiling stuff away in the sewers. I knew the empire would return..."

"What sort of stuff did you stockpile away?" Ersethy asked.

The Worshipper rubbed his chin.

"Mainly rations at first, but during the chaos of the downfall, I started getting ambitious. Took canisters full of glowing blue stuff from a lab."

"Indeed? Do you know what they are?" Ersethy wondered, clearly intrigued.

The Worshipper shook his head. "Not a clue. Just that they looked important. Was actually planning to sell them until the imps showed.

Now it was Ersethy's turn to rub her chin.

"You will lead me to them. The Dark Three tell me this is important..."

"What about your, um, mural?" The Worshipper asked nervously.

The First Force Spawn shrugged...

"It was done three minutes ago... stacking bodies simply overpowers the effect I wish to create..."

The Worshipper shrugged and gestured for it to follow him as they both left the street.

Ersethy snapped her fingers and all the bodies arranged in pentagram shapes disintegrated to ash.

But as a consequence, everyone in that avenue who wasn't aligned with the Sith, old or young, got fused to the ground, sometimes halfway. Ersethy's flesh shuddered as it absorbed the rush of suffering...

Five minutes later.

Even as she walked to her destination, Ersethy continued to kill people, crushing their bodies with the Dark Side, indiscriminate in her choice of victim.

The sewer access entrance was large, and next to a large drainage outflow.

The Flesh ignored the stink inside as her Worshipper led her across a catwalk.

"Could you have not picked a more...clean place to hide your contraband?" Ersethy critiqued mildly.

"I was stealing from the Sith." he replied. "Gotta hide the stuff in places they wouldn't check until they had no choice."

Ersethy shrugged at this, and followed him until he led her into a room full of power conduits and began removing an access panel, revealing a hidden chamber full of rations, weapons, drugs, and the glowing blue cannisters.

A copy of The Amalgam 's personality that it had absorbed upon being accidentally revived immediately identified the cannisters as a biological weapon with its seals miraculously intact.

Ersethy smiled.

"Worshipper..." The darkness puppeting the flesh said with her lips and voice. "You just found stored examples of the Blue Shadow Virus..."

Ersethy whipped out her comlink to contact St. Thomas Barran

"Great Khan, one of my worshippers has discovered a bioweapon. I have an interesting proposal for it..."

 

[Sharad Dhavale]

VALAR MARKET SQUARE
1st Prefsbelt Exile Brigade
Kyric | Tansu Treicolt | Talin Treicolt

Rickhard kept his rifle up and looked around. As if a little unsure, “I uh… we….” This was quite the curious case of events, “We got orders, as you can see. To well…. Punish the civilian population.” He gestured to the red hot engines of the Vexation. And of course the clouds of rainbow carnage which followed the vessels. But there was an unease. As if he did not believe it all himself. “As you are likely a-uh-aware.” Rickhard anxiously concluded. But did keep his rifle trained on Kyric.

“Shoot ‘im sarge!” Dannon barked, “C’mon, we can take the small lil bugger!” he clutched his rifle close and began to advance. ”Ain’t that right? I could shootcha bloody ‘ead off! At this range, we can't miss!” He racked his bolt and got into firing stance.

“Are you crazy?!” Private Mose snapped, “Didn’t you hear me?! This guy went like one hundred meters in three seconds! He’s a Jedi for sure! He’s got moves and crap!”

“I got a sightline on target Sarge,” Lance Corporal Nel Pailley cackled from behind the Masermaschinengewher. “Give me the word. One burst and I cut the Jedi where he stands.” She looked primed to squeeze the trigger and closed one eye to aim.

Another voice staunched and approached rifle ready. “Hahaha, look, the lil prick doesn’t even have a light saber!” Private Vray Smythe cackled, he pointed at the katana, “He’s dead against our Masers! We’d microwave his twinky lil noggin!” Sharad amongst others shot Smythe a confused look, “Oh come off it, like you wouldn’t wanna crack. He’s got the… y’know the face and the smooth bod-“

“Can it Vray!” Mose snapped. Dhavale watched all of this crouched from behind cover. His gaze travelled to the sergeant, then the one eyed warrior. Whoever he was, no matter what he was armed with, he was a risk. Sharad lowered his rifle and approached Private Mose.

“Kris,” Sharad whispered, “Give me the scanner.” Kris looked dumbfounded. “The scanner, come on.”

“What are you going to do Sharad?” Kris retirved the scanner from his shoulder pouch. But did not relinquish it. He held the tablet, but maintained a firm grip on it.

“I am finding us an out.” With firm hands, Dhavale snatched the scanner from Kris’ hands and walked past Rickhard. The Sergeant was in the midst of beginning to bark something when Sharad turned to him, “Easy Sarge, I got this.” Rickhard glared but knew his compatriot. Something was afoot.

“Waddya doin’ Sharad?” Dannon called out after him, “Get back ‘ere you softie! We gotta blast him!”

“Fuck off Jay!” Dhavale fired back with short venom. Sharad stride forward, hands outstretched with his scanner in the right. “Alright Jedi, assuming you are a uh… a Jedi.” Sharad conceded, “I am just going to come close, I am…” he looked down and physically sighed. He still had his pistol in his holster. The Private looked up, “I am about to be unarmed…” he reached and collected the small arm and tossed it onto the rubble, “Now….” Another few steps forward.

“My comrades, myself, I can say we don’t really care for your mission.” Sharad pointedly informed the Jedi, “I mean, look around. One kid isn't gonna balance the ledger.” He gestured to the ruins they were in, “We are why this has happened.” Sharad conceded, “But I don’t think either of us are in a position to want to do this.” He reached forward scanner in hand, “Use this. Take it. Find the kid. But,” he turned back, “I’d stay outta these fellas way.”

“They will kill you.”

 

[Da'Razel]

"Praise upon thy flames that fester His power. Praise upon thy shadows that grow in His presence. Let us drown the light. Let us deliver the darkness. Praise to the one true Empire. Praise to the one true Emperor."

Da'Razel rose from his one-kneed stance of prayer.

The deep red hue of his mantle pooled at his feet, his outstretched palms pressed together in devout worship. Behind the vertical slit in the visor of his iron mask, bright red eyes glowed with devout purpose.

This moment, this future unfolding before them was, without doubt, to be one of those rare moments of utter distilled destiny.

It was prophecy full ended. And by the Emperors will blessed be His name Da'Razel would take part in it. He would play his ever so minuscule role in it.

For he was an acolyte of the darkness. And here, miles above the surface of Cademimu V, aboard one of the many Loyalist vessels darkening the sky, his sacred task was prayer.

Yet with that task came a great many blessings the opportunity to witness, to absorb, to bask in the radiance of a faith forged in blood, fire, death, and destruction. A faith unfiltered. Delivered raw. Directed. A faith of unrelenting power.

Given life by the will of the Emperor. By His manifestation.

Glory be to the brave and noble souls who carried out His directive.

Da'Razel did not know their names. He did not know their reasons. But he prayed for their safety, for their success, and for their souls. He wished for each of them to feel the warmth of His glory, that each of them, these holy warriors, might bask in the cinders of the Great Plan, of their shared destiny manifest.

And oh, how Da'Razel longed to one day stand planetside among these noble deities from the mightiest darksiders to the lowliest troopers. He harbored the woeful yearning to strike down the enemy in their company, to deliver onto them the wrath of their Dark Lord.

But today would not be that day.

And Da'Razel , ever the willing servant, did not pray for such a gift to be granted ahead of its time. No, he was not so arrogant as to beg his gods for such a lowly favor.

He was an entitled boy. He knew it. He embraced it. How could he not? Such natural talent. Such raw genetic superiority. Even in stillness, in the deepest meditation of prayer, he could feel the power surge through his veins the fire that his Devaronian heart pumped through his very flesh.

Yes, he was pampered. Yes, he was privileged, an acolyte of status, adopted by a master, from a family near the bosom of power. Even his nickname, whispered among his brethren, carried strength:

The Saint. Saint Peterius.

Pride was a contemptuous ally. So was arrogance. So was wrath.

And he gladly embodied them all.

Pride in his talent, his lineage, his mentors, his very association.

Arrogance, for he was elevated above these lesser beings, he was the cleansing pyre, whilst they were brittle chaff, ashes scattered to the winds.

But most of all: wrath.

Wrath for the traitors. The vermin who turned their backs on the dripping void-light of the Emperor. Who abandoned Him when He needed their worship. Who lost faith simply because they could no longer see His vision with their mortal eyes.

These feeble creatures.

Weak. Wretched. Pathetic.

His thoughts flared. No, erupted. What had once been a tamed simmer became a roaring inferno. Focus became frenzy. Stillness became storm.

A scream tore through the chamber.

It was a small prayer room, etched into the gangways of the large vessel, one of many sacred places aboard the warship devoted to the Church. A modest pulpit, a sparsely adorned altar

The robed man beside him recoiled, clutching a blistering limb as he scrambled away, shielding the blood-red sores bubbling on his forearm.

It reeked of burning flesh.

Thick, heavy drops of melting iron plopped to the floor like water from a leaking pipe.

Da'Razel opened his eyes.

The Saint lowered his hands.

Ragged cloth sparked with bursts of flame. Paper shriveled into char. Metal fixtures glistened as if about to burst into tears, everything was warping under the heat.

The fellow men around him panicked and scattered, fleeing the blaze.

The very air in the corridor boiled.

"All praise the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord's will has arrived.

The flames of war shall burn brightly.

Praise to the Emperor."

And then Da'Razel returned to his kneeling posture. His eyes closed. His hands folded in perfect stillness.

And under his breath, he murmured:

"Jen'ari zûtas. Tave Qyâsik is tyûk."

 

[Maestus]

Cademimu V
Courtyard
St. Thomas Barran

I didn't know such noble work had ended. Or are you hunting something specific to add to the Menagerie?

To the west of their courtyard, the night sky erupted in a dizzying prismatic rainbow as a fresh run of bombers punished the planet for its lack of faith. Maestus eyes were drawn to it, mesmerized by the colors as they rose to the heavens sharply, before sinking down to latch onto the surface. The flames licked, kissed and hissed in defiance at the rain which despite its best attempts, was simply not enough to bring a hint of relief. Cademimu V would smolder for a very long time as a galactic lesson.

Yellow eyes return to the Khan as he addresses his Zealots above. They were fanatics, in every sense of the word. She knew because she had trained them. Trained with them. Observed and fought beside them for what seems a lifetime now. Their devotion to Barran was unquestionable. Their loyalty to the Dark Three, equally as committed. Maestus had her own opinion on where the ultimate loyalty of the Mawsworn lie, but she saw no reason yet to put that card on the table just yet.

She chuckled dryly when he brought up merit, and then further again when he claimed she, too, could have such a devoted following. It was understandable, the impression others would draw about her. She loathed things done for appearance sake. Things like amassing followers with loyalties to status and credits with no true intelligence, drive or honor. Latching onto the coattails of those with more name recognition has become something of the galactic SOP for all, Jedi, Sith and regular Joe alike. Barran spoke of merit. An alien concept to most of the galaxy.

Merit. There's a foreign concept that's been on its way out of fashion for a while now. This menagerie expansion you propose...I'm adding a secondary goal that aligns with the only 3 words I've ever found any merit in. War, Death, Rebirth. We have the war, clearly. Death is occurring as we seek. Rebirth will be those of merit. Were the galaxy ordered on merit and not credits, how truly different it will be...

She strode further towards Barran, more centered in the courtyard. She looked upon his monuments of death. An offering very few would understand. But she did.

She turned to face him once more with a wicked smirk on her lips and one brow quirked up in a silent "You ready or what" kinda way.​

 

[Meliant]

Cademimu V - Grand Cathedral of the Dark Side​

Objective: Mandatory Tithing
Progress: W A S T E D

Everything was going rather well, until the interloper abandoned his blade and grappled Meliant - hands seizing the fringes of the hole in his chest. He was confused, and then when the interloper began to pull, that gave way to panic.​

​

Now Meliant had "died" a hundred ignominious "deaths", but that didn't mean it was a welcome or pleasant experience. "Wait, wait - wait!"​

​

The red tendrils emerged once again, scouring Tydeus and gorging on whatever remained of that precious wellspring of power and life he held. It was the last act of a cornered animal - desperate rather than decisive. It could not do anything to mend Meliant's precious shell.​

​

Duraplast and armorweave were torn cleanly in two, down to the waist. His helmet, made of firmer stuff, ended up on the right end of the tear. A tower of ink-black smoke shot out of the armor with a shrieking hiss, vanishing into the ceiling.​

​

After a few seconds of this, the torrent stopped and the tendrils vanished again. All that remained was a vacant and ruined set of armor.​

​

Thus passes the glory. Overhead, a dark and lonely cloud seethed with anger and drifted quickly away - towards the archives.​

Tydeus of Tion​