Invasion Death's Sting: SJC Invasion of BotM held Lao-Mon

[Silver Spirit]

Silver Jedi Concord invasion of Brotherhood of the Maw held Lao-Mon



Lao-mon, a distant world in the Unknown Regions, has been occupied by the Brotherhood of the Maw. They are plundering the planet for resources with the help of slaves.

The native Shi’ido have used their shapeshifting abilities to hide from the invaders, but their time is running out. A guerilla army of Shi’ido rebels has formed to combat the Maw, but they don’t stand a chance without outside assistance.

The Silver Jedi Concord, Galactic Alliance, and New Imperial Order have arrived to liberate Lao-mon from the Sith. However, the three factions differ in their approaches to war, and there is conflict on how to proceed. The Jedi prioritize life, while the Imperials prioritize victory at all costs.

And thus the Second Great Hyperspace War begins...

Objective 1​

The Goshen War Camp is an ugly scar upon the remains of the planet’s capital whose crushed and broken spirit dwindles under Maw rule. Dissonance has created an opportunity for rebellion among the captured. Free slaves, rescue captives, and descend into the dungeons of the Central Keep to duel with the leaders of the Maw.

Objective 2​

The Lao-mon Planetary Defense Force is launching an assault on Goshen to retake the planetary capital. Join the rebels in the jungle as they destroy Maw infrastructure, cut off communications, and kill any cultists they can find.

Objective 3​

Take the battle to the stars as naval forces fight for naval supremacy against the Maw forces in Lao-mon's airspace. Ensure the orbiting station, the Monastery of Slaughter, is destroyed using squadrons of smaller fighters to nullify the station's defence before taking the striking blow.

​

Spoiler: Tags

SJC​	GA​	NIO​	BotM	Other​
Kiara Ayres	Bernard of Arca	Rurik Fel	Darth Solipsis	Yula Perl
Jacen Nimdok	Basta'gasho'nuruodo	Aemilio Valaar	Halketh	Elpsis Kerrigan-Alcori
Sakadi Marathi Sinvala	The Dark Inquisitor	Caarlyle Rausgeber	Zachariel Steelblood	Sars Sarad
Caltin Vanagor	Constantine Oliva	Konrad Harrsk	Marlon Sularen	Eyna
Amelia Venthyra	Mrurh'en'lase | Hel	Zoraya Ives-Ayres	Darth Tennacus	Arden Durane
Kadan Scipora	Garven Piarcos	Captain Albrecht Herlock	Darth Tanniec
Thurion Heavenshield	Okkeus Dainlei	Izoshi	Darth Maestus
Jorah zos Darnus	Xian Cade	Keilara Kala'myr	Tegan Starfall
Brooke Waters	Damsy Callat	Auria Blackmoore	The Mongrel
Sergeant Omen	Qellene Tyliame	Kino Hype	Darth Howl
Starlin Rand	Aaran Tafo	Lyra Vent	Glossa
Artemis Lu	Kathryn Foster	Michael Barran	Dakrul
	Ripley Kühn		Kyrel Ren
	Sssar Taszzn		Darth Senthral
	Dagon Kaze		Khaostra Devoid
			Tarok Vassket

​

Big thanks and credit to Yula Perl for objectives banner art.​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Tags: Open

At last, the galaxy was wakening to the terrors of the Maw.

The Mongrel chuckled darkly as he considered all that the Brotherhood had accomplished before the governments of known space had even begun to stir against them. They had crushed the Croke, exterminated the Gundanbard, broken the Tianese, raided and enslaved the fringers of Batuu and Jakku, and all of it had passed almost without notice; with many of the great powers at war with the Sith Empire and the Bryn'adul, who had even longer tallies of genocide, few had bothered to look beyond the veil of the Unknown Regions and behold the glorious horrors happening there.

But then had come Csilla, and the wider galaxy had taken notice of the Brotherhood; how could they not when an entire world was blown apart at the marauders' hands? That had been the beginning, the start of the Core's efforts to fight back. Now came the middle. With the various Sith regimes broken and the Bryn'adul suffering internal chaos, the full attention of several of the great powers had become focused on the Maw. That was what brought the Silver Jedi, heretofore uninvolved in Brotherhood affairs, to Lao-mon. They saw one last wicked regime for them to cleanse.

They might find doing so harder than they'd thought.

Goshen War Camp was symbolic of everything the Brotherhood stood for. An ugly, utilitarian fortress squatting on the bones of a broken city, it represented the march of brutal, industrial progress over the ashes of the past. Many times had Shi'ido rebels attacked its barricades of stone and durasteel. Many times had they been thrown back. But this attack was special. The rebel army, gathering in secret over the course of years now, had support from the Silver Jedi. Aided by these Jedi, the insurgents had come together for one last great push, a strike intended to expel the Maw from their homeworld at long last.

The Mongrel wondered if they appreciated the risk they were taken. The Jedi force was operating far from its home territories, in space long occupied by the Brotherhood, and the rebels had gambled everything on their support. If they lost here, if they were crushed before the walls of Goshen, they would have lost that gamble. Their insurgent army would be broken, most of their number captured or killed. It would be years before they could muster the strength to ever try again... and the Dark Voice would not let that happen in any case. The edict had already been proclaimed.

The Shi'ido were to be utterly exterminated.

But first, before the jungles could be carpet-bombed sector by sector with The Wretchedness until no changeling was left alive, the attack here had to be defeated. The Mongrel surveyed the assembled forces, multiple marauder tribes standing side by side, with alien auxiliaries and the rigid Neo-Imperial troops of the Final Dawn at their flanks. The enemy was attacking them in their place of the strength, one of the Maw's dark centers, one of the worlds they had controlled for the longest. Their struggle was going to be an uphill one - literally, because Goshen lay atop a hill.

Let these "Silver Jedi" and their allies send what forces they would against the War Camp's walls; many horrors awaited them within, from warbeasts and death machines to legion upon legion of slave-soldiers. The Mongrel's own Scar Hounds stood ready to serve, their scavenged and looted equipment as heavily modified as their own cybernetic bodies, eager for blood and glory. With fierce Tarar Warbands manning the walls, ready to unleash a deadly plasma barrage alongside the E-WEB repeater and missile defenses, they would wreak a grim toll upon the enemy.

But it seemed that The Mongrel would not oversee it personally. "Warlord!" shouted one of his trusted warriors, running up to where he stood on the battlements, "a Jedi strike force has infiltrated the keep dungeons!" The Scar Hound chieftain frowned at the news, his lips drawing back from stained teeth behind his durasteel mask. "Hold the walls," he ordered, drawing forth his new dread blade. "I will deal with these womp rats scuttling in the dark." It had been too long since he'd battled a Jedi. Perhaps this would be the time when he took a lightsaber trophy at last.

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Tags: Sakadi Marathi Sinvala

Goshen Keep was an imposing edifice of jet black stone, a monolith erected by the Brotherhood in honor of their conquest. Unlike its slapdash, ramshackle surroundings, built out of scavenged metal and toppled buildings, it stood tall and proud, as if it had been dropped whole from orbit to pierce the dead city below - which, in fact, it had. This was the citadel of the Heathen Priests, a holy place both literally and figuratively above the squalid marauder camps that surrounded it. But the truth was that, as tall as it appeared, it was very much like one of Rentor's icebergs.

Most of it was hidden beneath the surface.

The Mongrel walked alone through the heavy doors of the keep, letting the sounds of imminent battle that were sweeping across the camp hype him up for the fight to come. His dread blade glowed a sinister dark red, partly illuminating the dark stone corridors. Powered by half of a broken kyber crystal, its energy field was not so mighty as that of a lightsaber... but it could certainly stand up to one in a duel. That was what mattered, after all, not the ability to melt through stone and steel. With the weapon held tightly in one cybernetic hand, the warlord stalked forward, seeking his prey.

It was no surprise that the Jedi would seek to strike at the keep. Within its depths were level upon level of dungeons, the place where Shi'ido captives were broken to serve the Maw. No doubt they wished to see these wretched prisoners, men and women who had been rightfully conquered and were now being given new purpose, set free; it was exactly the kind of thing the devotees of the stagnant old order would pat themselves on the back for, interrupting the evolution of these slaves from weak to strong, meaningless to purposeful. But perhaps the Jedi would meet another fate.

Perhaps they would soon occupy some of the cells.

Of course, there weren't just dungeons down here; there were also the chemical weapons labs where the Wretchedness had been developed, and the storage rooms where a great supply of it was still housed. No doubt the Jedi would wish to see such powerful weapons destroyed before they could be unleashed on the Shi'ido. If they dared, however, they would soon find that other chemical weapons were housed here as well, horrors that were deadly to more species than just the changelings. And all that was assuming they could get past the champions of the Maw.

The Mongrel had no intention of letting them.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Tags: Konrad Harrsk , Auria Blackmoore, Keilara Kala'myr

"Accursed interference!" Tu'teggacha howled, a sound somewhere between a wet mop being dragged over a duracrete floor and a felinx having its tail yanked. "Will I never be given a moment's peace to pursue my work?!" His burst of rage subsided as quickly as it had come on, the Ebruchi swiftly regaining his composure despite the simmering anger beneath his rubbery surface. He had to. The marauder who'd brought him the news of the Jedi attack was rolling on the stone floor of the dungeon chamber, weeping and moaning as he relieved the worst moments of his life over and over in an unbroken cycle.

With a slurp-like sigh, Tu'teggacha withdrew his mental influence from the messenger. He hadn't meant to lash out with his dark telepathy, putting the man through the Torture by Chagrin technique he used to break slaves, but that was the Dark Side for you; let your emotions get the better of you, and it would break its leash. It was an unfortunate breach of self-discipline for the being in charge of disciplining others... but perhaps it was understandable given the circumstances. The Taskmaster had finally been allowed a few moments to practice his craft, getting away from logistical work and the rigor of fleet command...

... and the accursed Jedi had chosen that precise moment to attack Lao-mon.

Tu'teggacha dismissed the marauder with a flick of his knobby hand, and the shaken man stumbled over himself as he fled the torture chamber. The Taskmaster could sense the enemy approaching now, a true invasion force, determined to end the Mawite occupation of this jungle backwater by land and by sky. They really ought to have glassed the place from orbit when they'd arrived; that would have ended the rebel problem before it had ever begun. Of course, it would also have destroyed the arable land and warbeast habitats that had been so useful to the Brotherhood, but it was still a tantalizing thought at the moment.

The Wretchedness would more efficiently solve the Shi'ido problem anyway.

Stretching out with his senses, the Taskmaster took stock of the incoming foe... and found that some of them were far closer than they ought to have been. The keep had been infiltrated! Worse, the Ebruchi could sense that some of those descending into the dungeons weren't there to free the prisoners; they were there for him personally. He could feel their hostile intent. He supposed he ought to be flattered that he was well enough known that the enemy would target him for assassination, but he was no glory-hungry marauder. He just wanted to be left to perform his horrific torture and mind-breaking in peace.

The captive on his table groaned, reminding the Taskmaster of his unfinished work. He turned back to the bloody wreck of the man with a sigh; he had just been getting to the good part, flaying the man's skin from his rib cage in two massive strips, like leathery wings of flesh and sinew. Of course, he would be stitched back up afterward; he was there to be turned into something useful, not merely tortured to death. It was all to build a memory of the pain and fear the captive was feeling, a memory that Tu'teggacha would force him to relieve day in, day out, until his mind shattered under the strain. Then the broken pieces could be reshaped.

"Unfortunately," the Ebruchi burbled, his tentacles slithering over the face of the half-conscious wretch, "there has been an interruption. I will return when it's been dealt with. Do stay just as you are. Thrash too much, and you'll pull out the flesh hooks. Your skin flaps will flop about, and you will bleed to death. That would be a terrible waste." Perhaps the delay would help in breaking this one. The true secret of torture wasn't intense pain, which anyone could last through for a while; it was patience. It was making a prisoner sit and wait, full of the knowledge that the pain was going to go on every day, now and forever.

The secret was creating a sense of helpless, hopeless, perpetual terror.

For now, Tu'teggacha paid the man no more heed. He had his own skin to consider! He did not know the exact nature of those who sought to do him harm, only that they were coming for him. Best to reach safety as soon as possible, given that it might be a whole horde of angry Jedi descending on his sanctum. He kept a panic room at the very bottom of the dungeons, guarded by the deadly Pontifical Palatini... and a door of cortosis-infused durasteel that was nearly three meters thick. Hobbling out of the torture chamber, the Ebruchi moved as swiftly as his knobby form would allow, trying to stay one step ahead of his oncoming hunters.

As he scramble-ran through the halls, his thoughts turned to a different prisoner, the one called Ziare. The Mongrel had brought her to him after the battle on Carlac, promising that she would make an excellent slave-soldier… if only he could break her strong will. The Taskmaster had begun that process (he always worked on several captives at once, sometimes many more than that), but the NIO infiltrator’s breaking was far from complete. He had seen inside her head, and he knew that she would take this opportunity to attempt to escape. He would hate to lose that one when they were making such progress. Self-preservation first, but…

He resolved to prevent as many escapes as he could while securing his own. ”Lock down the dungeons!” he ordered over his comlink as he ran. ”Permit no slave to escape!”

Location: Lao-mon, Monastery of Slaughter
Tags: Open

The cold halls of the monastery echoed with the tromp of booted feet.

At the head of the column of Knyghts marched Telemachus of Daedalon, his flight helmet held under one beefy arm. Though these elite warriors of the Maw were silent, excitement thrummed among their ranks, for all were hungry for battle. Bloodshed and glory were their bread and butter, and for the first time, an opportunity for ample helpings of both had arrived right at their doorstep. The Silver Jedi had come, full of righteous indignation at the Brotherhood's wickedness. Their fleets were turning their fury upon the orbital monastery, determined to destroy this symbol of Mawite violence, oppression, and dark zeal.

Good. A worthy challenge for House Daedalon at last.

No matter how they thrashed and flailed on the surface, the Silver Jedi and their allies could not fully liberate Lao-mon without seizing or destroying the Monastery of Slaughter. Part garrison, part training ground, and part defense station, it had no weapons…. but it did have hangar space for some fifty squadrons of Force-sensitive, cyber-enhanced pilots, some 600 craft in all. Even without the fleet support that was already on its way, that was a formidable force. If the surface was lost, the wrath of all those craft and more would be turned upon it, and Lao-mon would burn. Shi’ido salvation depended on the monastery’s fall.

The Knyghts filed to the monastery's launch bays, readying their deadly Divine Eagle heavy fighters for takeoff. The craft themselves were potent, elite fighters, but it was the pilots who made them such a great threat. Knyghts were cybernetically and biologically enhanced, their bodies rebuilt to be stronger and faster than any ordinary human. Their augmentations allowed them to interface directly with their fighters, reacting and maneuvering at the speed of thought to the data their sensors transmitted. Add to that the fact that every Knyght was force-sensitive, capable of seeing incoming attacks and opportunities before they happened.

Few pilots could match such gifts, especially on the Knyghts' home turf.

Of course, the monastery and its complement of Divine Eagles weren't the only forces that would defend Lao-mon from the Jedi incursion. A Mawite fleet was en route, star destroyers and frigates ready to bolster the fearsome space station. Telemachus wasn't sure exactly what the Silver Jedi would deploy against them, but he was confident in the ability of the Brotherhood to send them running back coreward with their tails between their legs… after he claimed a grim tally from among their ranks, of course. "Prepare to launch," he ordered his fighter wing, jacking into his fighter's systems with his integrated circuits. "War! Death! Rebirth!"

His fellow pilots echoed his chant. Time to spill some blood.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: Try to escape from captivity
Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Equipment: N/A || OPBC-01m
Allies: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

[ Dream of home ] ​

~ Zi! Zi… Zi, you have to wake up! ZIARE! ~ I heard the voice of my former commander and friend.

One thing was wrong with that, Randall was dead for at least five years by now. In any case, my eyes immediately opened and I tried to sit up. It failed because of the pain. My right wrist and forearm were bandaged, my throat was still in pain, and my side was aching and covered with huge bruises, still playing in black due to my injuries. The next moment, a list of my injuries was projected onto my retina. The AI didn't say anything new, there was minor internal bleeding, but the bleeding has stopped by now. There is no life-threatening condition. I had a question…

~ Why didn't you work on Carlac?! ~ I asked in thought, angrily from AI.

There was no explanation for it, so I asked for more information on where I was, how much time had passed. Lao-Mon; Unknown Region. This was already the Maw's space. Maw… slowly began to remember what happened. I fought The Mongrel , I thought he was going to kill me. Why was I still alive? I may not have remembered it, but the AI was able to look back on what I had seen and heard, even though I didn’t was in that condition to understand them then:

"Persistent, aren't you?" The Mongrel grunted. "You'd make a good slave-soldier."

"But you have spirit. You will become a slave-soldier, and you will serve my tribe in their place."

I was a prisoner or a slave. This was also confirmed by the prisoner's clothes. A pair of shorts and a sleeveless top. I felt naked. I always wear a closed dress, one that also covers my neck. My whole body was full of wounds, traces of cuts, scars, bruises, burns. Which revealed that I had been tortured every day for years. No, I will not go through this again. I'd rather die!

I managed to sit up, I was in a cell, I try to escape first, if it fails, suicide is still possible afterwards. I tried to stand up; due to the movement I got nausea. It might be harder than I thought. My side throbbed, my throat burned as I tried to swallow. I was hungry and thirsty. I managed to stand on my feet, the metal ground was cold, and I didn’t have any shoes either. Opposite the cell there was a wall, not another cell.

Feth! I have to get out of here somehow! I have to go home!

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Objective I: Bring the Light
In the dungeons below the Central Keep, Goshen War Camp...

Nimdok hung suspended in a blue containment field, his body weighted down by magnetic cuffs. He wasn’t sure how long he had been imprisoned, having no way of telling the time, but he held out faith that everything was still running on schedule.

The Brotherhood thought they’d hit a stroke of luck. Ten Shi’ido had just been successfully captured in the wilderness outside Goshen—a great boon for the Taskmasters, who intended to remake them into Fleshtakers. What they didn’t know was that the Shi’ido had allowed themselves to be taken as part of a broader scheme to undermine the Mawites.

Nimdok, the only Jedi on a team otherwise made up of select Cytherai, knew that they would have to be freed soon after their capture. The Taskmasters would become suspicious the longer they resisted being broken under their torture methods, and there was always a chance they might lose someone, no matter how skilled the Cytherai were at defending their minds. Nimdok had survived a breaking some years ago. It had taken a host of healers and the more or less complete reconstruction of his personality to restore him to some sense of normalcy. He had come out of the experience a different man than he had been before it.

The sudden muffled sound of gunfire elsewhere in the cell block told him that the jailbreak had begun. Soon the staccato shots were joined by other noises—scraping metal, groaning hinges, thuds and thumps, screams and shouts. With his concentration disrupted by the containment field, Nimdok couldn’t sense any deaths or pain from those involved. Perhaps this was a small mercy.

At last, the door to his cell opened and in walked Astarte Wynne, a female Shi’ido whose dainty, fairylike chosen form was completely at odds with the severed human head dangling from her hand like a trophy. She waved her free hand, and the power on his containment field was shorted out. Nimdok slumped, the magnetic cuffs around his wrists dragging him down.

Behind Astarte, other familiar figures emerged, roughly half the team having already been freed. Their progress thus far had been slow, but thorough; each prisoner was completely freed and ready to join the fight against the guards before they moved on to the next cell. Up until now, they had encountered no one who was too injured to fight or already broken, but that might soon change.

Pygar Hoole rushed forward, putting aside a blaster carbine in order to release Nimdok from the cuffs. Already an established rebel spy, Pygar was the one who had initiated the jailbreak. The Changeling was still disguised as a Mawite marauder, complete with crude piercings in his nose and ears. “Here,” he said, holding out Nimdok’s lightsaber and a polyweave suit. Both had been retrieved from a hidden cache previously planted by Pygar elsewhere in the camp, just for this very mission. The gear was minimalist, to say the least, but it offered some extra protection, and at least none of them was left completely unarmed. Nimdok took the items and suited up.

The alarm had been raised by the time he stepped foot outside his cell. The various teams running around in the labyrinthine dungeons would soon be in the thick of fierce close-quarters combat...

Enemies: The Mongrel Tu'teggacha
Allies: Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore Keilara Kala'myr​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

LAO-MON , UNKNOWN REGIONS
Within the Goshen Keep Dungeons

The Grand Overseer of the Final Dawn , flanked by his trusted Aide Colonel Rackham and a contingent of Crimson Guards marched through the dark hallways of the Goshen Keep Dungeons. Recently the Grand Overseer had been preparing a series of Projects to further expand the Final Dawn's Operations starting with Project Warmonger , his initiative to expand the Final Dawn's Military. Now he was here at Lao-Mon , the site of one of the Maw's most brutal conquests within the halls of the Goshen Keep's Dungeons assembling a considerable amount of Shi'ido Fleshtakers which had been "Broken" by the Great Taskmaster Tu'teggacha and repurposed to serve the Maw.

While most Fleshtakers had been utilized to combat the growing Resistance being utilized as a means of infiltrating the Shi'ido Resistance , the Grand Overseer had different plans for them and had begun slowly hoarding as much Fleshtakers as possible as part of one of his next projects this time to be conducted against the Alliance. Already the Grand Overseer had acquired a few dozen Fleshtakers and he had recently arrived at Lao-Mon to personally oversee the transfer of the Last Batch of Fleshtakers to the Final Dawn in preparation for his next Project. What the Grand Overseer was unaware of however , was that he was marching right into the middle of an attack only realizing it when it was too late. Now the Jedi , Alliance and New Imperials had arrived and the Grand Overseer knew that not only he was standing within perhaps one of the most important sites on Lao-Mon but he himself was a High-Value Target and that the Alliance would certainly come after him.

Soon enough , the Grand Overseer came across a massive cell with approximately two dozen chained Shi'ido in natural form held inside. After counting the amount of Shi'ido held inside the Grand Overseer then turned to address Rackham. "Are you sure that's all of them." Sularen asked. "Yes , all 24 of our last batch of Fleshtakers are right here." Rackham responded. Sularen looked back to the imprisoned Fleshtakers who in addition to being in chains had Shock Collors around their necks. "Good. Have the 439th Secured the perimeter around Goshen War Camp?" Sularen asked to Rackham once more. "Yep, our path towards the exit of the Goshan War Camp is secure. So should we move the Fleshtakers now?" Rackham asked to the Grand Overseer. "No , it's too risky. Keep them down here." Rackham's eyes widened as the Colonel tried to understand what the Grand Overseer meant. "Sir?"

"If the Alliance and their allies want to save the Shi'ido so badly , i don't intend to try to flee like a coward with what we have. I intend to give them a fight they will never forget. Plus if we capture some of their operatives it could benefit us greatly." Sularen then turned to watch a bunch of Crimson Stormtroopers installing a Pair of Security Turrets near the entrance leading towards the Large Cell holding Sularen's Captives. The Grand Overseer was ready this time unlike previous direct confrontations at Kril'Dor and Sharb. Plus the Capture of potential Alliance Operatives headed his way would mean that the Grand Overseer would be able to acquire additional intel which would be beneficial for his Plans. Then , suddenly the alarms of the Goshen Keep started to rang indicating that the Keep had been compromised. Sularen smiled before looking to his Aide. "Looks like they are here sooner then expected. Perhaps they managed to infiltrate the Keep before we got here. But that doesn't matter , today the Hunter becomes the Prey"

Tags | Sssar Taszzn | Garven Piarcos
​

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Obj 1

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Primary - Long Handle)

"ELOHAI" (Secondary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Silver Spirit Kyrel Ren

As the transports were loaded and lifting off, Caltin stood quietly in the corner of the briefing room of the lead ship. He was not meditating, he was not deep in thought, the big guy was taking it all in. The mood in the room was full of rage, full of a desire for vengeance, but there was a pensive feeling of fear. Those in the room truly wanted for the Brotherhood of the Maw to answer for their crimes, most recently against the people of Csilla, but there was a fear of what could happen to them. These feelings were nothing new, nor were they unexpected, but really, there is a need for those who are going there to be on the same mental page and in the same mental state.

The massive Jedi Master wanted to address this, after all, if those with doubts were covering him, would they be successful, or would he have to babysit? The thing is, though he was still Jedi, a member of the Council, in fact, this was not the Republic. No matter how much remained the same, things were still different. This was a galaxy that was not as cut and dry as the time he came from…

I really need to get past that…

He’s going to get that chance. A new Specialist in the Rangers walked up to him, the kid was nervous, and judging by his fidgety nature and breathing pattern, this was the first combat he would see. Hopefully, it would not be the last day he would see, at least involuntarily, if he wanted to leave his combat role that was should be his call.

“Excuse me, General, sir.” He asked pensively.

The big guy just pulled off his hood and looked up with a bit of a smirk.

We don’t really answer to those roles anymore, but it’s nice to see you are a student of history. What can I do for you?

“Well, Gene… Sorry… Master Jedi… I’m sorry sir, I mean no disrespect, but I would be more comfortable calling you ‘General’ or ‘Sir’. I’m Corporal Rheame Tillon, I wanted to ask you a question, sir.” Still concerned, he tried not to cower.

By all means, then, Corporal Tillon, feel free and call me “General”, or “Sir”, just don’t call me “late for dinner”. Patting his abs, he noticed that no one really got his lame joke and shrugged. Anyway, ask away.

“Sir, how do you do it? I mean, we’re about to face the Sith, that’s bad enough, but these guys… destroyed a planet. A planet. I’m so angry right now, and so scared at the same time.” He did not seem to be the only one either as multiple Rangers who had heard this seemed more and more interested in what the big guy had to say. “How are we going to go down to a planet and conquer them? Sure, even if we beat the Sith out of there, won’t the people be trading one occupation for another?”

A fair point indeed.

I’m not going down there to conquer anyone. I’m not even going down there for the people of Lao-Mon. I’m going down there for the people of Csilla. If the people of Lao-mon wish to go back to the Brotherhood of Maw after we liberate them, that is their choice. I just want it to be their choice, one that is not influenced by outside influences.

The days of the Shi’do not being able to live their own lives… ends today.

If they want to fly the flag of the New Imperial Order, of the Galactic Alliance, of the Silver Concord, or the Brotherhood of the Maw, this is their decision, and should be their decision. They deserve that respect, I know what I want, I’m sure I can assume what each of you wants, but it is not our choice to make, it is our job to allow them to make it. If I am alive to see it, that is great, if not, I know that the Force claiming me will have meaning.

It is my choice to give them theirs.

That is why I am going down there with you, why we are going to stop the acts of the Brotherhood of the Maw. I am going to remind them, the people of the planet Lao-mon and the galaxy as a whole that what happened to the planet Csilla cannot stand and cannot be repeated. Yes, each of you has signed up for this, and you might say that you have a duty, but this is a choice you must make. If you do not wish to go with me, with the rest of us, do not fear any reprisal or shortcomings. You stay here, you be safe in a support role. I will speak on your behalf to anyone who wishes you bear a consequence.

This is a dark time for the galaxy… but the Chiss have a saying…

“Ch'at darker ch'at ch'ittocasi, ch'at brighter ch'at tohn.” This loosely translates to “The darker the darkness, the brighter the light.” It is an off-shoot of a woman I knew… she was a Princess… a Jedi… and became a General. She used to say how “Hope is like the sun, if you only believe in it when you can see it, you will never make it through the night.”

The last anecdote was a fond memory, clearly.

As for the rest of you. He smiled. [Royalblue]We’re gonna kick their ass.

That brought some excitement, even several “yeah…”’s.

Rock their world…

More “Yeah!”’s

Unlike them, though, if we are ferocious in battle, we are magnanimous in victory. If someone surrenders to you, then we will accept their surrender and ensure that they go home to their family one day. That is what we will do. The people of Lao-mon will be reminded that there is a better way.

That begins today...

Lao-mon is steeped in history. It is the site of the Garden of Elroth, and the home of the Shi’do.

Tread lightly there. You will see things that few sentients could pay to see and though they are a private society, for the most part, you will have to go a long way to find a more decent, generous, and upright people than the Shi’do. You will be embarrassed by their hospitality even if they have nothing for themselves. We will treat them as refugees for they are on their own planet.

This forced occupation… ends today...

Their children may be rich, they may be poor, it does not matter, in years to come they will know that the light of liberation in their lives was brought by you. If there are casualties of war then remember that when they woke up and got dressed in the morning they did not plan to die this day. Allow them dignity in death, in becoming one with the Force. Know that if you are in my area, that it is my foremost intention to bring every single one of you out alive. However, there may be people among us who will not see the end of this campaign. We will put them in their sleeping bags and bring them home. There will be no time for sorrow, there will be a time for that as no one will be left behind and everyone will be remembered.
Those who wish to stop us should be in no doubt that we are their future and that we are bringing about a rightful ending.

The days of darkness… they end today.

Make no mistake, this is not simply another Sith Empire, for those of you not aware, they put an end to the Empire as we know it. There are many Lords and Dark Knights who have stains on their souls and they are stoking the fires of Mustafar for their cause. Even the Bryn’adul have a code of honor to them, as twisted as it may be, this Brotherhood has no such code, not even their “Sith Code” matters. We will show them the light, open the door for them, but they will have to go through it. Those that do will be given quarter, hope for many but expect none. We will do what we must and if that means taking their lives, then so be it, and as they die they will know their deeds have brought them to this place.

Show them no pity.

Realizing what he just told them, and how young and inexperienced many of them look, Caltin clarified.

It is a big step to take another life. It is not to be done lightly. I know of sentients who have taken life needlessly in other conflicts. I can assure you they live with the darkness upon them as the Force is unbalanced when a life is taken, regardless of the need or not. Not to sound repetitive but we will not engage those who do not fight. The ones who wish to fight, well, we will aim to please.

That brought more positivity from those gathered around him now.

Now, our business now is down there. Believe in yourselves... believe in each other. In fact, you know what? BRING IT IN! ALL OF YOU!

Waving his hands, Caltin threw professionalism to the wind and made his voice heard.

Friends, allies, and colleagues. I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of anyone! A day may come when the courage of the light fails when we forsake our friends and break all bonds, but it is not this day! An hour of darkness and shattered shields when the age of humanity comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! This day we stand! This day we hold! By all that you hold dear in this galaxy, I bid you, stand, Sentient-kind!

Sentient-kind'. That word should have a new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today is the day of an anniversary of a different kind, the destruction of a planet-killing weapon over eight hundred fifty years ago. and you will once again just like those Rebels come together and fight to stop a destructive force and free the galaxy. Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, today will have a new meaning one where the galaxy declared in one voice: 'We will not sit quietly! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive!

I'm not going to lie. The galaxy as we knew it? As we knew it before Csilla's destruction is gone, it's over. We are crossing into a divide that we will never come back from, but this cannot be a source of panic or defeat. It's a dark time right now, there is no doubt of this, but it is always darkest before the dawn and you must remember this. From this dark time, we all can build something, build back a galaxy that we can all be vested in. We don't all share the same ideologies, and you know what? WE DON'T FRAKKING HAVE TO! We can transcend them! We can still be a part of something greater, and I firmly believe that is why each of you is here. I believe it too. I believe that we succeed together or we will fail alone.

We're not gonna fall, are we? OORAH?!

That seemed to inspire many... and out of character, Caltin pulled Eloha into his hand, ignited the blade, and held it into the air.

Let's... kick... them... down... the hole they came from!

The transport was on final approach and finally touched the ground well outside the war camp. They would be the alternative approach to the objective, something that was Caltin's specialty. It's funny how quickly the mood changed.

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Sars Sarad]

Objective 1
Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Equipment: Lightsaber; Old Sin; Dueling Armor
Allies: None.
Opponent(s): Kadan Scipora

Lao-Mon was covered in Rainforest. The Jungle was hot. Humidity hung in the air.

Dropships descending planetside roared as they broke through the atmosphere. It would not be long until the Goshen War Camp was engulfed in chaos. Half a dozen Marauder Clans would do battle with the enemy, cutting their teeth so to speak on the forces of the Silver Jedi, Galactic Alliance and New Imperial Order.

He'd been a Marauder once, a Raider long ago until fate intervened. There was something to be said for the altruistic lifestyle that his saviors had adopted, teaching him the ways of their force in their own particular fashion.

Now he was here. On Lao-Mon. Amidst the ruins of what remains of the city of Goshen.

He looked like a Marauder still, wearing an overcoat that concealed the mesh of armor he wore beneath but watching from the sidelines as Acolytes of the Maw rushed to battle amidst the sounds of blaster fire and explosions didn't phase him. He didn't care if the Brotherhood of the Maw was ripped out of Lao-Mon or not. He'd come because in combat one has the opportunity to evolve, to grow. If he killed Mawites or Jedi it didn't matter to him.

A Marauder, howling for the blood of the enemy raced past him. Slaves cowered, fearing death or worse at the hands of their masters if they attempted to assist those who would be their saviors.

Sarad had climbed onto a mesh walkway built around ruined infrastructure and running the length of several encampment walls. He looked out over the battlefield, the Jedi and Imperial forces against the Tarar Warbands. Wrapping his fingers tightly around the hilt resting in the palm of his right hand Sarad scanned, looking closely as an alarm rose....Jedi had infiltrated the War Camp. Now all he needed was to find one.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1
Allies: BOTM, Bendak Crail Jaedec Ren
Enemies: SJO, Caltin Vanagor

The Silver Jedi we’re old enemies to Kyrel, he spent many times fighting against perhaps what he viewed as the weakest of Jedi sects. The Alliance were more formidable enemies, and what did the Silver Jedi offer? Those that seemed weak willed and had only fought enemies that were easy to overcome. Kyrel Ren had the advantage by knowing his enemy, such as when he sacked the library world of Ossus so many decades ago. Now he found himself as one of the Maw’s most aggressive and most deadly leaders of the Maw. Kyrel however as not alone in causing havoc.

Bendak one of his oldest Disciples within the Ren stood next to him. Clad in the dark trappings of the Ren the helmet he wore almost reminiscent of Kylo Ren as well as his dark robes. His red saber clung tightly to his hand ready to be unleashed. Jaedec the mysterious hulking brute held his Mandalorian vibroaxe to his shoulder. Both members waiting to be released against his enemies eager to destroy the Jedi.

He could even smell the scent the Light gave off through the Force. His blade ignited illuminating the ground. The Maw as well as his Knights were bred for War. To even think the Silver Jedi were ready to face the harbinger of death, the destroyers of worlds, it had all seem mistaken. With the Jedi slowly approaching he gritted his teeth, clenched his fists the grip on his saber almost breaking his hilt from the undead strength.

The same mantra echoed by his maker continued to roar through his very being. “Consume! Devour! Destroy!” To add insult to injury the undead forces at his command gave a growl that echoed the hunger they held. The masses of torn flesh and black bile that spewed from the maw as they slowly limped along. Kyrel was not one for waiting, he was eager to teach these weak willed Jedi a thing or two about war. Just as he did once in life he would do the same in death.

With his own growl he spoke. “Knights you are released! Kill all your path, bring me lightsabers and heads and I will reward you well. Show them the meaning of the Maw’s wrath.” He said Bendak and Jaedec moved seeking out targets while Kyrel moved forth seeking the target of his own. His undead nightmares following close behind.

 

[Starlin Rand]

Objective II: Tip of the Spear
In the jungle outside the Goshen War Camp...

Starlin crouched in the undergrowth. All around him were Shi’ido disguised as plants and animals, along with actual beasts that had been tamed and trained by the Shamans. He couldn’t sense them in the Force even though they were right beside him—and that meant the Mawites couldn’t sense them either.

There were rumors spreading through the ranks of the Silver Jedi that the New Imperials didn't care about the planet. That they would let the Shi'ido die if it meant they won the day. Starlin was willing to bet the rumors were at least partially true. It certainly fit with the NIO's MO. Victory at all costs. The only lives that mattered to them were Imperial ones.

He was concerned that the New Jedi Order and GA, longstanding allies of the NIO, would conveniently forget that they were Jedi when it looked like actually fighting the Mawites rather than glassing the planet from orbit would prove more difficult than they expected. Well, Starlin had to ask—what the feth were they fighting for, if not for life and freedom for everyone?

His comm crackled to life. [“Andesites have been deployed…”]

Dipping his head back, Starlin wondered if he would be able to see the bombers flying overhead. Their goal was to take out the mounted guns atop the walls at the southern entrance to the camp, allowing the rebels on that side to pierce the perimeter with their tanks and warbeasts. For now, they watched and waited for the signal to proceed…

“You are Padawan Starlin Rand, yes?”

Blinking, Starlin turned toward the sound of the thickly accented voice. His gaze fell upon what looked like a large green fern. “Uh, yeah,” he answered in a whisper. He didn’t know they were allowed to talk while they were supposed to be hiding.

“Finally we meet!” the fern said. “I am Tammuz Hoole, Jedi Master.”

“Oh—you’re the rebel general, right?” Starlin swatted an insect away from his face. “And you’re like, Nimdok’s adopted dad or whatever.”

“I never invoked ish’ken for him. I could not call such a man my son.”

“Huh. Did Nimdok do something wrong?” Bit of a trick question, given who they were talking about, but Starlin was curious, and conversation would help to pass the time.

“He broke my daughter’s heart.”

Starlin suppressed a laugh. “Damn that pointy-eared heartbreaking hobgoblin.” It was strange to find humor at a time like this, but he supposed he would need it if he was going to, heh, Light the place up.

The fern, which had no visible mouth, changed the subject. “He has told me a great deal about you.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“That you were a good boy, and a marvelous Jedi whose potential only needed to be placed in the right hands… but I see a man, not a boy. Have you been knighted yet?”

Starlin thought he detected something strange in Tammuz’s tone of voice, but it was so brief he couldn’t get a reading on it. Between the impending battle, possibility of painful death, imprisonment, or torture, and the fact that he was chatting with a fern, he had bigger things to worry about. “No. I, uh… have been out of touch with my master. They never knighted me.” He could be referring to either Syd Celsius or Cedric Grayson. Both had become distant, consumed with their own personal crusades and issues.

“If you survive this, I think you should be knighted, Starlin Rand,” Tammuz said. “You are ready. I can sense it in you.”

There was a rumbling in the distance, along with other new noises coming from the camp. [“Bombs away!”] Starlin’s comm declared.

The fern began to grow larger and contort, morphing into a humanoid shape. A gray-skinned, wizened alien soon stood in its place. All around Starlin, other plants and animals began to change, becoming humanoid, or at least bipedal, as the rebel army came out of hiding.

Tammuz activated a white-bladed lightsaber and pointed it in the direction of the camp. He spoke briefly in Shi’idese, none of which Starlin understood, except one mention towards the end of to’pol, which he knew was their word for the Force. So “may the Force be with you” was probably an apt summarization of the short pre-battle speech.

There arose a war cry that was more animalistic than anything a human throat could produce, and the Shi’ido rebels charged forward. A stealth field generator was deactivated, revealing a massive galidran tank. The front blades started spinning, cutting through the undergrowth as it lumbered toward the camp’s southern entrance. Starlin gave it a wide berth, joining the other runners as he activated his lightsaber and shoto, blue and orange light casting strange shadows among the trees...

Tags: Damsy Callat Ripley Kühn + Open​

 

[Halketh]

L I F E E A T E R
S A I N T E D
Dark Lord of the Sith
vestment | creation

RCB "PROPHET"
​

The doldrums of space had never held the appealing mysticism to him. What was the expansive void to one who gazed upon it eternally? No passing star held his attention, no molded rock gathered his excitement and no marauding ship could usher him to a window to view. He cared little for it all, this traveling and warmongering. And yet, when the siege upon his world had ended and the New Imperials repelled, new invaders wrought disturbance to another world cradled protectively within his omniscient grasp. Within the belly of his thundering titan, he had ushered his forces, new and old alike, rallying the soldiers most loyal to his undying cause to venture forth and destroy the Jedi who arose from their council chambers and hearings to mete their starving blades upon the Brotherhood's hellish conquest. To his consideration, the Silver Jedi had been cast aside, disregarded as little more than posturing children with ire fixed upon the Bryna'dul and their hands tied with the policy that restricted them from serving the original cause of their cult. It was fitting then, at last, that he should be wrong about them.

In the warship's heart lay a chamber choked in darkness and strangled into silence by the Presence of the man nestled in its center. The faint thrum of power resounded through the cold steel floor, resonating up through the walls and echoing back down upon the Dark Lord in his stillness, cycling through the control of energy he expelled with each strained rise and fall of his chest. The battle with Rurik Fel on the planet he called home had been taxing upon him, though not in an unexpected manner. No, The Iron Imperator had been every bit as enduring as The Mercurial Saint had anticipated, and what ensued had been nothing short of a battle of wills for the ages. He had suffered wounds at the hands of the Knight, though each had been returned in kind until the final call had been made for New Imperial retreat with the Force Storm growing too dangerous to risk leaving them stranded any further. In his meditation chambers, Caelitus mulled these things over, tremoring hands occupied by the gentle suspension of the Oracle Stone between them, focused solely on the deepening of his prophetic gifts by the relic's bolstering might.

Far from the sealed doors of the chamber, scores of his legion stood in eager silence, arranged into statuesque formations awaiting the drop of their transports to unleash them upon the invading Jedi who dared intrude upon Lao-Mon. Their task would see them in their element, swarming through the jungle to overwhelm the Jedi who dared assist the rebellious Lao-Mon defense forces and washing the foliage beneath an indiscriminate tide of blood. Just as Carlac had plunged into the maddening throe of the Dark Lord's orchestrated nightmare, so too would the jungles. Amongst The Perished in their replenished number, stood a vast number of former New Imperials, those brave men and women who had been slaughtered in the snow upon misguided orders and plucked from Death's grasp to be thrust back into the twisted shell of what they had once been- now without the will to fight the Darkness. Now, they served.

They would all serve.

Expanding his influence from beyond his mortal coil, the Dark Lord sensed their hunger, their desire, the vision they all shared for the bloodshed to come. It brought a hollow smile to his scarred face, one which lingered with his reach deeper to brush incorporeal fingers along the edges of Dakrul's soldiers who stood amongst his own. An unholy union of armies raised by creatures of the Dark and driven to blood frenzy by one singular motive.

It would be glorious.

A tentative knock upon the mighty doors of his solitude drew his focus from beyond him and he tilted his head upward, unmasked, eyeless visage focused on the distant glow of the runes before him. "You may enter," he stated, folding his hands to his crossed legs and allowing the Oracle Stone to flutter down gently to rest upon them.

"We are approaching the planet from the dark side, My Lord, our stealth has yet still been unbroken. What is it you wish to do?" The familiar voice of the zabarak woman he had come to trust as his aide echoed in the chamber, bringing a smile to his face.

"Stay the course, we shall pay the fleet on the opposite no mind. I will not have my forces be exposed by negligence on deck nor pompous circumstance." He animated, gathering the tail of his cloak with the rise to his feet, "Ensure our arrival remains undetected and dispatch our transports immediately. Once I am removed from the vessel, provide support to our allies, I leave command of the ship to your judgment after, Amarth. What becomes of it shall be your will."

"Yes sir, right away." She accepted the task and weight he placed upon her shoulders with grace, excusing herself immediately.

The miraluka palmed his repaired helmet and thrust it upon its throne, securing it into place as he departed his thoughts, shedding woes and worries with the crossing of the threshold.​

C A R R I O N
The Perished | 5000/5000
​

At the helm of the formation stood The Divine, adorned in ivoried hues and shrouded by the smothering blanket of the nauseating pestilence that had long since made him its home. The Prophet had pulled into orbit, undiscovered by sanctimonious foes with its approach, masked by the shadow of the world strewn abroad into space. The maw of the beast yawned slowly, baring its teeth in the transport ships tucked snugly in order; made ready for the descent onto the battlefield below. With coordinates set, Caelitus stood in silence as absolute as the unity of his forces, anchoring his position with the tight grasp of the stabilizer bar above. Against his hip, his accursed blade stirred in restlessness personified, eager to feed upon the addictive suffering of the Jedi it had long been kept from.

He could feel it, the cry of the twisted crystal at its heart, each pulsing hum of sinister vein blistered into its surface echoed with a desire to scream with its forced agony.

<"Prepare to drop, ten seconds."> the voice of the pilot nestled far ahead in the cockpit echoed over the intercom, earning a silent nod from the Dark Lord in acknowledgment.

Ten seconds to muster the collectedness that set him apart from his peers.

Nine seconds to rally his soldiers beneath their singular focus.

Eight seconds to anticipate the strobing lines of fire to be faced.

Seven seconds to determine if the fate he had glimpsed from his ritual chamber was correct.

Six seconds to resign himself to sparing none he crossed.

Five seconds to reap the harvest of the planet.

Four seconds to sink his teeth into the dwindling hope of the Light-faring he would encounter.

Three seconds to expand his terror.

Two seconds to unleash his madness.

One second to crush the hands of those who had tried to mold him before.

Gravity shifted, The Prophet groaning overhead as it released its anchor on the lesser ships, allowing them freedom of motion. In thundering sequence locks released and the damned took flight, descending upon the world awaiting their intervention below.​

​

ALLIES | Dakrul
FOES | Konrad Harrsk & Auria Blackmoore [Soon!] Starlin Rand [Incoming!]

 

[Darth Howl]

GOSH'EN DUNGEONS
Yula Perl
​

Dolorous melodies echoed throughout the Central Keep's lowest depths. Seated behind a baroque looking instrument, the Sith acolyte's fingers flowed over each key with practiced ease. His master and patron Ahrris was on yet another hunt so as was often the case Gnost had been left to his own macabre devices. Sometimes the savage defel was amused by his projects but mostly they shared other...interests.

This place was a gift from their Maw benefactors. Part alchemy lab and part conservatory Zym labored in the dungeons below Lao-mon pursuing artistic genius. His avant-garde style required a steady supply of expendable living subjects and where better to acquire such material than a heathen prison? One writhed in agony behind him even now, strapped down and kept alive with the darkside. Each scream mingled with the Sith's performance in ways only he could find harmonious.

"It won't be long now..." Zym's voice was so calm, "How wonderful."

For days he'd labored to prepare an installation worthy of consideration by the finest Jedi scholars. Baran Do gifts forewarned him of their impending arrival. Gnost did not bother mentioning this to anyone. Instead the Sith acolyte prepared to receive visitors and gain valuable critique of his artistic oeuvre from a source he could not otherwise hope to access. He continued to play, manipulating the sound waves so they might carry only to the destined ears.

​

 

[Amelia Venthyra]

Objective 1
Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Equipment: 1 Lightsaber (Purple - Regular), 1 Shoto (Purple), Jedi Robes
Tags: The Mongrel

In truth, Amelia rarely ever participated in large-scale combat such as this endeavor. She much preferred smaller battles where Amelia can end it as swiftly as possible, and preferably using the Form Zero if she can help it. However, this case was a bit unique as it was essentially all hands on deck. This battle meant everything to the Shi’ido, and as a Jedi and as a fellow living creature. Amelia will fight to ensure their survival and break the chains that bound them for so long.

Amelia took charge of a smaller unit from the rebels while a strike team infiltrated the Keep. As her job was to draw the ire of the main forces and try to overcome them so that the strike team can go about freeing the captives and dealing with the leaders with little resistance. However, from what the Shi’ido informed her, a direct assault would have been suicide, and so Amelia came up with an idea. While it was imperative to provide support to the main rebel army as the other teams advanced to the camp.

”The launchers are ready upon your command, ma- I mean Silverblade.” They were at some distance away from the camp’s walls, using the vegetation as cover while Amelia held macrobinoculars to her eyes as she observed the rather fearsome defense. The hill was going to be treacherous, and the vicinity was cleared off so sneaking up on it was out of the question. She partially lowered the binoculars as she looked over her shoulders to one of the Shi’ido.

”Make sure to take your time to aim. It’s a long distance even for a launcher, but we still want them to think that they’re being attacked from the east side.” The Shi’ido nods their head before heading back to the small squad to adjust their aim with the given distance. Another, more timid compared to the others with a small frame, looked stiff as a board. He was in charge of finding the frequency the marauders were using, hack into it, and scramble the communications. However given the distance they simply weren’t close enough to hack into the source of communications, but the Shi’ido managed to acquire the frequency. It was just a matter of getting close enough.

”Stay focused.” Amelia simply says to him before he stumbles over his words.

”H-how can y-you be focused in a t-time like this?” The Shi’ido questioned her, and after a second had gone by she answered as she peered through the macrobinoculars once more.

”Faith. I trust that the other teams can pull through, and I trust each of you. We are going to give our friends an extra edge, because as long as the main force can bust open those gates we’ll take the camp.” There was a moment of understanding upon the squad before one from behind spoke up.

”But… does that mean you’re going in there? Don’t get us wrong, we’ll gladly follow you however we can, but not all of us are battle-hardened warriors such as yourself. Not to mention some of these people can get into your head and-”

”This is nothing new from what I usually do. It is a bit bigger than what I tend to deal with, but whether they are the dead walking or mutated abominations. If we can get some of their attention, we can divide and conquer them. I don’t expect any of you to keep up, but I’ll open a path for you to take all the same. The big thing we need to take care of is their heavy artillery. Maybe…” Amelia was beginning to have an idea come up in her mind.

After she saw some of the dropships in the distance, and the increase of activity of their communications. Amelia motioned to them with two fingers held up as she put away the binoculars. With audible sounds, three launchers shot three spherical shapes high in the air as they arced to land on the ramparts of the camp. Each sphere produced a decent sized smoke cloud, and if all of them managed to land then the majority of the east wall would be covered in smoke.

Whether it’s successful or not as Amelia doesn’t wait to see the results, she sprints up along the east side of the hill. Occasionally she would sidestep in case someone could see through the smoke. The squad loads up a different kind of grenades before launching them at the wall. The second wave of these launched grenades made a near deafening and dazzling bang to further blind the enemy forces. Amelia certainly hoped that this would be enough to draw some attention, but in case that didn’t deter them then the next phase might.

As she reaches the crest of the hill and close to the east wall. Amelia makes a powerful leap with the force aiding her to jump up to the ramparts itself. Along the way, she ignites her lightsaber as she will slash upward in one swift motion to slice through the barrel of an E-Web before landing on the wall. Her purple blade wary of anyone that tries to shoot at her, but her first priority as she touched down was to deal with the operator of the damaged E-Web by running him through with her saber. Then she’ll proceed to telekinetically throw the body hard at another hostile operator. Smoke had begun to clear up as she proceeded to shut off her lightsaber and close in on the second marauder. He tried to whip out a pistol as his dead comrade was partially laying on his legs and fired a couple of shots at Amelia.

However both bolts whistled past her red hair as she tumble rolled forward and decapitates the marauder in one graceful motion with a reignited blade. It was only then that Amelia realized just how fearsome the inside of the camp truly was...

 

[Gir Quee]

Objective III
Location: The Emerald Undertow, near the Lao-Mon System
Allies: @Reshmar | SJC | NIO | GA
Enemies: Halketh ? | Tu'teggacha

Deep within the Undertow, thousands of sailors and droids prepared the behemoth for battle - synthetic soldier marines secured decks even as pilots and gunners clambered into their battle stations. In the Space Operations Center, Admiral Quee and his entourage watched flickering holos of the concord's forces preparing themselves for battle. The blonde man watched as another handful of Sh'neru starfighters shimmered before assuming the unassuming forms of battered light freighters and sleek passenger shuttles. Barely had they obtained their disguises before they zipped into hyperspace and headed towards Lao-Mon. He frowned and crossed his arms. Is this really our best idea? The man had become increasingly skeptical of the entire venture the more he learned about it. Starting a new war while we're dealing with the Bryn'adul menace is probably not great to begin with, but working with the Imperials...again...It's only a matter of time before they try to stab us in the back...He could already imagine the daggered bows of star destroyers suddenly turning their guns on the rear of his fleet. Caught between the crossfire of the Imperials and these darkside marauders, could the Silver Jedi Concord fleet really survive? He knew the answer yet didn't wish to dwell on it. He shook his head vigorously, as if doing so would banish the grizzly premonitions from his head. Nothing I can do about that right now...at least not yet...

"Second thoughts?" queried Ariela, almost silently gliding up to him.

"More like fifth and sixth," grumbled the Directorate officer, sparing a brief glance at her, "but I don't make the grand strategy choices."

"Only the tactical choices, right?" grimaced Dav, lightly slapping the admiral's back, "this is why I stayed out of the military. Too easy to get roped into the wrong thing, but you can't do anything about it if you're going to be a 'good' soldier and put your life on the line in the process."

"And yet here you are," ruefully smiled the admiral, "putting your life on the line with mine, all to collect a hundred credit bet?"

The grizzled smuggler smiled and nodded, "I provided you the best intel about the local shipping I could find, but I still think that your ruse is only going to last five to ten minutes. Still, as a gambling man, I'm willing to bet that you won't let this ship be destroyed in the process."

"That's reassuring," muttered the admiral, "but I'm hoping that we'll at least get enough Sh'nerus in there before we jump to figure out basic enemy force composition and location."

"And if you don't find them? Or they're hiding themselves?"

"Well, that makes our job easy then. Straight to support the landings at the Goshen War Camp...if we overrun the planet before the enemy fleets respond in force, we can simply dig in and hold out until we can siphon in more forces. I'd bet we might even be able to persuade the CIS or Ashlan Crusade to contribute forces to that cause if we're successful here today..."

Even as the men deliberated the choices made thus far, the first of the Sh'neru starfighters arrived in system to start searching for the enemy's forces.

Summary of actions

Spoiler

-three squadrons of Sh'nerus disguised as civilian ships jump into orbit around Lao-Mon to start looking for enemy fighters
-Task Force Emerald Undertow waits outside system awaiting scouting reports

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Location: Goshen War Camp Surface
Equipment: Zersium Rifle, 2 Lightsabers
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Nearby Allies: Darth Senthral
Mentions: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel



​

Subjugation was a necessary evil; the Galaxy would not be where it were if not for it. It had been incorporated from one rim to the next, under guises who claimed to revel in the promise of freedom. The weak are destined to fall under the strong. His Master had taught him to remember that upon the initiation of his Apprenticeship; and he, too, taught it to his Apprentice in turn; for it was the way of the Sith. For millennia their ideologies had not changed. Even when on the precipice of extinction, reduced to the likeness of the Rule of Two so very long ago, their methods lived ever on. The Dark Side forever demanded it.

Tennacus was not one for meaningless torment; there was always method to his actions. But slaves who saw themselves free of their shackles on the cusp of some faint revolution deserved to be reminded of their ever watchful masters. Maybe they, amongst their kin in broken chains, would despair in the sight of true darkness, and learn to fall into obedience without a word ever being raised. That the Dark Side, in itself, would serve as an unspoken reminder of what would come from believing in false hope.

The Sith Lord had been maintaining the subjugation of those false-hoped slaves for over an hour. Their rebellion came swift and sudden, and Tennacus, like many others, had been summoned to deal with the matter appropriately. Darth Senthral , Tennacus' Apprentice, had been assigned further ahead to deal with the cry for freedom, but the two had remained in frequent contact despite their distance. Amidst the bursts of vistas tearing their way through the skies, brought on by the calamities of aerial warfare, the Sith had sought to bring the broken band of slaves back under control. First he came with a malice that sought to quell the strongest of hearts, tearing through the cracked hordes with swift strokes of a crimson lightsaber sweeping one life after the next. But for the Sith, death was never absolute in its meaning, and Darth Tennacus saw to reminding those still embedded of hope just how unnatural the Dark Side burrowed into the depths of its power.

Where death once laid amidst the battered waves of slaves, life rekindled in the likes of fallen warriors once full of hope. Slaves, in their defeat, mangled and twisted by the malice of the Dark Side, rose up in animation with life that was not theirs. Even in death their subjugation knew no bounds, announcing a small mass of the dead as servants to the Sith Lord, taking up arms yet again to bring their kin to heel who once breathed with life. Few tried to dispatch their deceased brothers and sisters, but it was pointless. The dead would only rise yet again, and bring further progression into their undead ranks. In the end, Darth Tennacus declared a horde of twenty-one undead slaves to watch over the remaining twelve, all-while he stood on the cliff overlooking the battle commencing further on. Armed with his Zersium rifle, he only served as a warden from above whilst his animated hosts maintained assurance of captivity below. His attention needed to be maintained elsewhere - across the blood-filled plains of the camp, where he felt a disturbance in the Force far ahead. Unlike that associated with the darkness, this was something different. Powerful, in its own way, walking with a servant of the Light. Jedi, maybe? Tennacus was not certain, but he waited to see if it would announce itself before his undead kingdom.

 

[Tren Chaar]

C R U C I B L E

LAO-MON ORBIT
B-WING HEAVY STARFIGHTER​

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Revenant Squadron One Flight [Assault] Leader: CDR Tren Chaar Four Two Flight [Strike] Seven: FO Leon Gallo Three Flight [Intercept] Ten: FO Qellene Tyliame Silver Jedi Concord Commander Ewan "Raider" Isaacs Brotherhood of the Sith Tu'teggacha Open

The long lines of elongated stars collapsed as Revenant Squadron decanted from hyperpsace above Lao-mon. Or at least, most of them did - three pilots mistimed their jumped and dropped back into real space more than fifty kilometres away from their target drop point. Chaar sighed loudly over the open comms as the pilots reported their position and wheeled around to rejoin Revenant Squadron. An alert flashed across the commander’s screen - Revenant Four, a bomber with One Flight - had suffered a mechanical failure while jumping from the rally point. While engineers were carrying out emergency repairs, the implication was that they were already one starfighter down.

What a nightmare.

Chaar reached forward and placed his hand on a Viscount Squadron patched affixed to the cockpit strut of his B-Wing. The elite unit had arrived as Csilla fresh from the Stygian Campaign against the Sith and ready to make a name for themselves on the new front. But the Brotherhood had other ideas. By days end, Chaar was the only pilot among the twelve to survive the deadly battle among the ruins of the planet. Brotherhood fighters had cut the B-Wings to shreds with ferocious abandon. The scars of the battle, physical and emotional, were still raw for the Umbaran pilot.

“All wings, report in.”

A stream of unfamiliar voices provided status reports. In the days after Csilla, Starfighter Command had quickly cobbled together Revenant Squadron from pilots orphaned by the destruction of their squadrons, supplemented with rookies straight out of flight school. While the name Revenant had been chosen to symbolise their resurrection and reformation, Chaar still associated the name with one thing - death.

How the squadron was expected to survive a pitched battle flying alongside strangers was anyone's guess. Such was their haste to stand up the squadron that Starfighter Command had gathered together a random assortment of starfighters, unable to field a full squadron of twelve matching space frames.

It was folly.

Their target came into view above Lao-mon. Alliance Intelligence - if they could be trusted - estimated that the massive battle station carried upward of 600 enemy starfighters. Untold glory would await the pilots who disabled or destroyed the behemoth. If Chaar was able to prove himself, Starfighter Command might see fit to assign him to a real squadron far away from the washouts and rejects of Revenant.

“Three Flight, get eyes on target,” he explained gruffly to the four interceptors flying fleshly painted Revenant roundels. The fast-movers would be able to get out in front of the main Alliance fleet and paint targets for the heavy bombers of One Flight. “Two Flight, escort formation.” The ion cannons and warheads launchers they were bringing to bear would only be effective if Revenant’s four strike fighters could keep the enemy off them.

“Keep it tight, no heroics,” he explained grimly to the squadron. Getting through the battle in one piece would be victory enough for the second rate pilots, and even that was likely little more than false hope.

 

[Bendak Crail]

Objective: 1
Location: War Camp
Enemies: SJC Caltin Vanagor /Open
Equipment: Ren Armor, Lightsaber
Allies: BOTM, Jaedec Ren Kyrel Ren

Wherever the Knights of Ren were chaos was bound to erupt. Today the Knights found themselves in a strange position. One they had not encountered in sometime, now they would be facing down the Jedi in force. For Bendak it reminded him of when the Outer Rim sieged Mustafar causing what has been the worst day of his life. One could say the Knight of Ren was eager for some payback. The trouble was no one knew where the Jedi would strike, of course not until this day. He had been one of two dispatched with Kyrel to oversee that this latest conquest of the Maw would not fall. If it all would fall then there would only be death lying for this world just like Csilla.

Even in anticipation being stuck with Jaedec wasn't any better. The lumbering Gen'Dai Ren was not very bright, but often found himself at odds against Bendak. Hell, most of the Knights of Ren were at odds with each other, that was how Kyrel made it since it's collapse during servitude under the First Order. The rivalry often had limits, they were forbidden from killing one another, and if it did happen Kyrel spoke about how if such cases it was best he did not find out. In the end all the Ren were united by a simple code, following the Master of the Knights, the strongest and best of the Ren, and to serve the Shadow. To serve the dark side, and that was what led them here to the Maw. It is why they were here to defend this world. To serve the Shadow is to serve the embodiment of the Chaos.

When the moment finally occurred a subtle smirk came from beneath the mask. "By Shadow's Will Kyrel." He said with such confidence bordering on the hint of arrogance. Perhaps even too eager to engage the Jedi. Once Kyrel released both his Knights of Ren, Bendak took off in a speed towards the outer edges of the war camp. The hulking brute known as Jaedec coming behind. With Bendak quickly activating his blade in earnest. "Hey ya big oaf! Let's see how much Jedi we kill, best yet we make a fun game! I bet that I can gather more to please Master Kyrel then you!"

Eager to give the first ones to land a real warm welcome. Bendak's sly smirk gave into the one of a murdering madman, as in his haste he even cut down a few of the natives. Not even caring for the cries nor the pleas. The way the Ren saw it, as be it for the Maw or themselves to simply burn down everything around them was a sacred rite. That was the way of the Ren, unlike the Sith they sought to destroy by feeding the dark side.

After cutting through natives and whatever came next, the race between the two Ren had come to a grinding halt. They lied waiting, Bendak a fearless warrior just like Kyrel. If he were to die in the coming assault, he would have died knowing that he halted the Jedi. When they did happen, Bendak went with a battle cry jumping from the shadows, his blade impaling a few soldiers that served the Jedi before moving on, Jaedec not far behind. This was only the beginning of his fun.

 

[Romund Sro]

Location: Outskirts of Goshan Capital City
Tags: Open

​

To Romund today wasn't really what he could consider a good day. He knew his current limitations and that he wasn't the greatest of military assets right now. His move into the Maw and their control space wasn't particularly easy. Recently garnering rights to Najra-Va, a dead planetoid of sorts not to far from the fringe planet of Lao-Mon. So with his mobile base of operations that he flew in on, small private clone army and droid work force rather busy fortifying his claims he was unfortunately alone in his representation of his fledgling fiefdom. A shame really, he looked forwards to utilizing the 909th Regiment and showing the off to his new Maw allies.

Currently in the battered remains of the capital city Romund had a job to do. Deal with any pesky insurgents and those who aid them they he may come across as part of an outer defense for the Goshen War Camp. Possibly retreat back towards it if things get a little too dicey. However, Romund like any true practitioner of The Darkside had his own alternate goals he would invest some into.

He understood the dire situation that the local Shi'ido were in right now. Facing the grim wrath of the Brotherhood was not something he envied one bit. From Romunds understanding there was a focus from none other than the Dark Voice himself seemingly to purge the locals. This directive greatly conflicted with Romund's own personal goals. The Shi'ido were already known for their secrecy and shyness. Greatly influencing their withdrawal from the rest of the galaxy. Meaning there wasn't a whole lot known about them outside of Lao-Mon.

Romund was not what one would call a virtuous man. But he held his own principles in high regard. He desired information and records of the Shi'ido. Be it data, stories, cultural relics, even DNA. If The Maw planned to turn the Shi-ido into an endangered species maintaining some of what once ways could prove valuable. Given his own cloning endeavors, DNA of the local's natural gifts is not something he should pass up on.

At the moment Romund, stood in the outer streets of Goshen. His gold tinted titanium armor glistening in the light as he approached a large ruined building. It battered museum, it wouldn't be easy he feared. But this was probably one of the best places to start his search. However, given the Maw's rule over the planet he had the feeling most records would be destroyed. Either through direct action or indirect neglect. Romund also had to be ready to drop any tomb raiding at the signs of trouble, and possibly rendezvous back to the War Camp.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Objective: 1 or 2
Location: West of War Camp
Enemies: Maw, Open
Equipment: Ren Armor, Lightsaber
Allies: SJC, NIO, Lyra Vent, Zoraya Ives-Ayres , The Dark Inquisitor , Caltin Vanagor

​

The Rebirth had just come out of lightspeed with the rest of the fleet, the clone cursing his luck as the view of the supposed Monastery of Slaughter appeared in his viewport, the probable home of his imagined archenemy Tu'teggacha the breaker of minds. He still had a grudge to settle with that alien for making his ship into a Putting his tentacled face on a pike would be his greatest achievement and while not a glory seeker, it still would be nice to get the recognition that came with taking down one of the Maw's big bad Sith. Plus using a Squid's head as decoration But rather than going to face the massive structure, the ship quickly zoomed towards the surface of the planet, trying to avoid the space combat that was sure to come. He had another task today. Glancing towards Padawan The Dark Inquisitor who was sat in the gunboat's copilot seat, staring out into the space behind them as they descended into the planet's atmosphere, he only had to wonder how she had convinced him to take her here. "Why did I listen to you... Why did I cave..."

It is not that he didn't like the company, he did. Having a near super humanoid at his side was a definite plus but she had never seen in combat before and that can be a death sentence. Plus the thing people saw in war with these Sith caused them to need a lot of therapy... Hell, he was still dealing with stuff leftover from the Clone Wars. The trooper could only justify the decision in his head with She is a Jedi, she is going to see the horrors of war eventually. We are just giving her an early start. He steeled himself for the lecture that he was going to have to give her as the landing gear came out and the "Tortured Rebirth" sat down a good way to the West of the Goshen War Camp where the supposed prisoners that the Silver Order thought were on the planet were housed and tortured. He could already imagine their screams as they bounced around in his head. He turned into his chair to face the young Padawan. "Are you sure you want to do this? War... War isn't a nice place to be. What you have to do to get out of it alive can go against your moral code. And killing... Killing isn't for the faint of heart..." The old soldier rubbed his temples, trying to get rid of his headache before gazing at the girl's yellow eyes, trying to search her feelings with whatever little control of the force he possessed. "If you reconsider now, we can jet away and get you back to Corasant before your Masters notice you missing. But if you really want to go through with this..." He quickly sighed before suggesting his favored plan of action. "We move into where the camp should be and try to see how many prisoners that we can load up on this ship before escaping. We preferably do not get bogged down in waves of enemies and use stealth wherever we can." His look as he explained his suggestions was more of that of a concerned father than a friend that she had barely just met. The troopers heart rate lept a little bit faster, knowing that she could suffer a slow and painful death at the hands of these people. It was something he would not allow but if he wasn't alive to protect and help her. "I... I'm sorry if you feel if I'm dictating orders to you... I just don't want to carry you back to the temple in a pine box or change the way you think of me because of the terrible things I have to do to survive... I really care for you as a friend Kinhaes and I don't want you to become another causality... Another funeral pyre to burn... You still have a long life ahead of you and something tells me that this is going to be a bad one..." He quietly put a hand on the Padawan's shoulder. "But whatever you decide, just know that I will stand behind you, 100%" A small smile graced his face as he said his final sentence before she chose her path. "And if you chose to fight, the force will be with us. That I atleast know for sure."

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
NIV ANTARES DRACO
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Allies | NIO | SJC | GA | Kiara Ayres
Enemies | BOTM | NSO | Darth Solipsis

RED STAR
​

The reign of chaos had begun. The Galaxy was in flames once more and in contrast to the onset of the Third Imperial Civil War, when Rurik was but a ronin, a roaming warrior in pursuit of ghosts...he was now Imperator. A nation relied on his will to execute the convictions of the New Imperial Order and now...on this day, the better part of a Galaxy relied on him and many others to stem the tide of what was before them.

It always seemed Rurik had wounds to heal. Carlac was hardly a waning memory in his flesh when the dawning of the hour of vengeance began. As Rurik had in the pale fields of Carlac, he would too lead the Iron Sun unto Lao Mon- the farthest the New Imperial Armed Forces had ever staked an armed expedition into the Galaxy. As much as quelling seeds of suspected sedition and slaying the last of the Sith Imperial remnants demanded the New Imperial armed forces, so too did the Maw and its threat against any forlorn hope of Order within a smoldering Galaxy.

The NIV 'Ferrata' was still well under construction at the coming of this operation and thus Rurik elected to prize flexibility and strategic feasibility in embarking aboard the NIV Antares Draco, the flagship under his command since the days of his promotion to Knight Commander within the Force Corps. As much as another Imperial dreadnought might sway the tides of battle here, sustaining its use so far from its home port of Bastion would've been a monumentous undertaking as is.

Though naval logistics, was hardly a matter of Rurik's concern in the nearest future. He'd led them to war before, the Empire. The defense of Bastion, the jungles of Generis and the city streets of Carannia, Rurik was no novice commander and in regards to the greatest of the Imperial ranks, he certainly had carved his name as a man of upmost lethality.

But the New Order did not go once into the breach alone, it rarely had. Today, the forces of Order were joined by the forces of Light in the Silver jedi and Galactic Alliance. Tenuous allies in a long founded struggle. On this day, he would be joined by a contingent of these allies. At his side would be the very Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi, the Silver Jedi being an Order of which Rurik had held a distrust in since Mirial, when he then vowed his blade as a Jedi himself, to the ailing Galactic Alliance. But those days of misguided hopefulness were long past him, recast in fire and iron as Knight of the Order.

His time of meditation and bathing within his concoction of bacta and other healing roots was past and thus began the heavy ticking of the clock to war. He stepped aboard the Command Bridge of the Draco, the command staff merely nodding or giving a brief salute to his entrance, forsaking greater ceremonialism in favor of completing the vital pre-exit processes. Within his suit of Iron, rebuilt for the seventh time over following Carlac, Rurik stood before the viewport of the Draco, taking in the cobalt blue starstream of hyperspace before he heard the metallic blast door slide open behind him, he glanced over his shoulder before facing forward once more.

"If nothing more...this offensive if a prime opportunity...to do as they did and cut the head from the snake. This show of force will undeniably demand the presence of their Dark Lord...and when he arrives, we will render justice unto him. The true master of this cacophony of chaos...Solipsis. By our hand, he will die." Rurik says, turning to face the Grandmaster, his pale cold eyes piercing toward her beneath his iron mask.

"Within the next few minutes, Imperator." The Kel Dor Admiral, Var Koon relayed to the Imperator to which Rurik glanced back with a single nod.

"It's time then. Prepare all boarding parties. As soon as their command ship is identified, maneuver all fighter wings to screen for our assault." Rurik commanded before he motioned for the Grandmaster to follow him as he made his way from the bridge.

"And you are prepared to do what must be done, yes?" He asked her, his gaze shifting in her direction once more as they entered the lift down to the hangar bays.

He knew not what the Jedi confined themselves to in this decade of blood. But he needed to know that their Silver allies would do what need be done.

"Your Rangers will operate in tandem with my Stormtroopers...and with it, their lungs of command will be choked of life and victory will be within our sights. No mercy need be spared for this enemy, for they would spare nothing to you and yours. They would render to Silver space that they did unto Csilla if it was in their power. After today...it won't be." He said, boarding their gunship, offering his hand to her.