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

[Keilara Kala'myr]

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

Objective: Try to escape from captivity
Location: Goshen Keep Dungeons, Lao-mon
Equipment: 3x dogtag || OPBC-01m
Writing with: Zachariel Steelblood 's hunters
Allies: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Jacen Nimdok
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

[ Dream of home ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

I didn’t even know where my guards were until the moment I heard the silent's voice again. I opened my eyes, I could only see vaguely from the crying, the pain and the weakness. It all hurt, the slightest movement, crying, breathing, that’s when I tried to talk or scream. I just wanted to go home; I just wanted to go home! I do not want to be here! I didn’t feel strong, a soldier, an agent.

I was just a young girl, my entire life still ahead of me. I mean, it would have gone ahead, because the Mongrel took it from me, my family took it from me. Always, everyone just hurts me. Why?! I do not know; the man's words sounded almost kind, caring, and reassuring. I shook my head at his words; that is, I just wanted to, I didn’t have the strength to raise my head. No, I wasn't destined to join them. I'm not going to be an insane, crazy marauder. No never! I wanted to scream...

"This is not my fate, I am shaping my fate, and I do not want that!" I whispered weakly but with defiance.

My destiny is my own; yes I fight the Sith and those like the Maw. My job is to enforce the will of the iron to fight for the killed Imperator, and to serve the new one, Rurik Fel and his will. The world began to darken again; now I was not afraid, as at Carlac, to be killed, but to they will heal me, that I could not die. I had to stay awake. Hope is still alive, they will get here, they will save me, and they will find me.

"You, the Maw, are the corruption that needs to be erased from the Galaxy. The will of the iron will prevail!" my voice was even weaker than before.

I tried to crawl away again, but my muscles disobeyed, the adrenaline didn't help anymore either, I just lay there crying and couldn't move…

"I will never serve Maw, never, I will never…" I whispered and whimpered barely audibly.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Tags: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Ishida Ashina

Tu'teggacha had come back to his senses, had marshaled his mental discipline to break through the haze of memory... but still he could not rise. It was as if his mind, freed at last from the demons of the past - some of which were not even his own - was still somehow cut off from his limbs, as though his nerves had been severed and his commands could not reach his muscles. The Taskmaster was a rubbery being at the best of times, but the wracking mental torture of the hallucinogen had left him extra rubbery. He was slumped in a jumble of limbs and tentacles against the cold stone of the wall, a discarded child's toy.

Until Auria called the wind. Until the dark, dank corridor was cleared at last.

Coughing out gas from his ringlike mouth, his tendrils writhing in agitation as they began to respond to his mental state once more, the Ebruchi managed to flip over. It was not his most shining moment, nor his most dignified. He crawled on all fours, dragging himself by the ends of his long, knobby fingers, scraping his knees against the rough stone through his robe. Slowly, awkwardly, with jerky and ungainly movements, the Taskmaster made his way back up the hall he'd rushed down only minutes earlier. He had to get away, for he could see that his Palatini had been no match for two intruders, let alone three.

Crawling into a side chamber, a storage room for The Wretchedness lined nearly wall to wall with luminescent green barrels of the stuff, Tu'teggacha cycled the door shut behind him. That was scant protection against mages and knights with laser swords, but perhaps he could at least slow them down... or even escape detection amid all the chaos. He dragged himself across the room, past the silent rows of biological weapon containers, to the one place other than his panic room he might truly be able to hide. With trembling fingers, still nearly nerveless after his ordeal, he cycled the locks and undid the bolts.

Mighty Tu'teggacha, Taskmaster of the Brotherhood, torturer of untold thousands and nightmare to thousands more, crawled inside the ventilation duct and hid. He was small, and his rubbery flesh was pliable, allowing him to squeeze himself octopus-like into a little hole where the humans could not possibly follow. As the battle raged outside, he lurked there in squalor, trying desperately to forget the memories that had been thrust to the forefront of his mind by the gas attack. He was powerful now! He did not need to fear lesser beings. He had gained status, and protection, and the gifts of dark magic.

But as he lay there, squeezed in on himself like a collapsible air mattress shoved back into its bag, he found that he could not banish the thought of those terrible days on his clan cruiser. Only he found that the memory had changed a little, changed in a way that he could not seem to turn back in that moment. When he stared up at the clan members who loomed over him, beating and taunting and cursing, they no longer had Ebruchi faces. They no longer looked anything like him as they called him accursed one and witch child and worthless wretch. Their blows came not from knobby green hands like his own.

In the remade memory, his tormentors wore the faces of Konrad, Auria, and Ishida.

 

[Sakadi Marathi Sinvala]

Location: Dungeons of the Central Keep
Objective 1: The Goshen War Camp.
Opposing: The Mongrel

Sakadi's lightsaber was constantly there. Coming for him without pause or interruption, looking to slip past his defences. She had tried talking him down. She really did. Now, Sakadi Sinvala sought to bring an end to this conflict.

Metal met plasma in violent eruptions of sparks as the Mongrel was forced on the defensive. He parried her weapon with skill, that she had to recognise. But he could not match her speed, and the extreme reflexes granted to her by the Force.

Her blade struck true on the second hit, leaving an angry red scorch where her blade had penetrated the now heated durasteel. She sought to strike again with her blade, but the Mongrel brought his guard back up in time. Sakadi adapted her assault in response.

Chains began to rattle and torture devices began to shake as Sakadi brought about her will through the Force. If he could muster the focus and speed to keep his guard up after her blade struck true, she would simply break his focus first.

The Mongrel reached for his detonite. In that same instance, the largest torture devices lined up against the wall toppled. The rattling chains came for him with crushing force, and tables began to shift to favour the Jedi's movement.

Her opponent disengaged before she could use her newfound advantages. She leapt back too, not wanting to get caught in the blast radius - however large.

When the dust settled, the only source of light that remained was her ignited blade. It didn't take a Jedi to tell that her one and only exit had been blocked. Leaving was not impossible, but it would take time. Lots of time. By then, her opponent would be long gone.

She had well and truly messed up. Been far too lenient. She could only hope that her allies hadn't made the same mistake in underestimating the Maw.​

 

[Michael Barran]

POST 13
OBJECTIVE 2: TIP OF THE SPEAR
WRATH_OF_THE_WOADS

ALLIES (NIO): Noel Strasza

ALLIES (SJC/GA/AC/OTHER): Starlin Rand Sergeant Omen Damsy Callat
Artemis Lu The Dark Inquisitor

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/TFD): Khaostra Devoid Romund Sro The Mongrel Dakrul
Halketh Marlon Sularen Zachariel Steelblood Eldervine Glossa

MICHAEL'S FORCES

THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
ARGYLL COY. - INFANTRY
LARGS COY. - INFANTRY
FARRIN COY. - ENGINEERS
ISLAY COY. - ANTI-TANK

BLUE-HEART BRIGADE
172 XT-62,"CATAPHRACT" TANKS (-24)
28 SCOUT-AFV'S (-4)
9 MLV'S (NAKAIOMA)
5 PREDATOR LAUNCH-PLATFORMS (NAKAIOMA)
1 COY. OF GUARDSMEN
1 COY. OF MEDICS
1 COY. OF QUARTERMASTERS

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
SECONDARY WEAPON: FRAGARACH BLASTER-PISTOL
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 24

​

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (867 ABY)
HOUR TWO OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

'Look, Mullen! We appreciate the fact ye wanty keep scrappin' but it's just senseless treatin' warriors like yersel as common fodder! We represent supreme order, Corporal. Understand? Oor sacrifices actually mean suhin' at the end o' the day, an' ah'm no wastin' NCO-material.... No the day, an' nor is the Lord-Captain!'

Holding their makeshift outpost, in a ruined temple from centuries long passed, but still utilising HASCO fortifications covering the cracks and the exposed inner architecture for a stronger perimeter to use as cover, the Wanderer's affectionately-named,"OP THRAST", was as ready for combat as she was ever likely to be under such circumstances. Even with everything still falling to fiery disarray in the distant tree-line beyond, a small part of the aforementioned disarray had been brought back to their (realistically just a ramshackle FOB at best) outpost in particular, making the indistinct feel ever closer to the broken walls of their shelter from the madness beyond. Lance-Corporal Mullen from Farrin Company was struggling against the Blue-Heart medic's attempts to treat the burns on his face and hands, screaming adamantly that he would've preferred to fight and die with the other engineers, as all of whom were still giving their best in the attempt to ensnare any Scav Kings or marauders who ventured east to assail them; everyone's heart was sinking for him, as that kind of resolve to fight and die properly rested within the hearts of everyone within earshot of his protests, and none quite so much as the Lord-Captain and his (also wounded by burns, though to lesser-extremes) 1st-Leftenant.

'Please, sir. It's all I want now.... Just let me die with a rifle in my hands, or put me out o' my misery. Just don't send me back to the aid-station! Please! I'm begging-'

'Mullen! Yer no stayin' in this nick, nae danger!', Lord Michael growled to start, quite impatient with the incessant back-and-forth squabbling between subordinates, but relenting enough to put a reassuring hand on Mullen's shoulder as his murderous stare softened into something more curt and encouraging for soldiers to look upon. Making sure not to pause for too long, Barran then knelt down by the recently-promoted sapper and made a choice he'd never endeavoured to make before, and in the absence of a large army in the center of the Commonwealth static-line, the Wanderer soon decided he would act alone in the absent contingent's place. Then, with another change in facial expression, the Lord-Captain sighed audibly before resuming,'Yer no gawn back t'the aid-station anyways, naebody is. Ah'm orderin' oor center t'pull back to the LZ, an' that means everybody. The left an' right flanks can fight on t'the end if need be, but you've done enough to earn treatment someplace safer.', nodding with a kindness he wasn't often known for extending to others.

'Wait a min- naaaaw, mate! YER NO STAYIN' HERE YERSEL, NO EVEN MAYBE!!!! GET UM TELT, SIR!!!!'

'Mullen, dinnae be glaikit noo! Ay'body here knows whit the Lord-Captain is capable of achieving on his own!', McBain snapped back, stifling rage of his own, but making a contrastingly-poor attempt in the process. The Brotherhood's 1st-Leftenant knew his Lord-Captain couldn't be cowed by mere reprimands, chiding or guilt-trips, and to solidify Randall's resolve, he realised that something had changed in Lord Michael's demeanour, something was telling the Wanderer's second-in-command that (for the first time in Barran's life) their commander was confident enough to believe he could survive Devoid's onslaught. McBain would've continued in pressing home his refusal, but Barran was removing his officer-coat and shirt without any prompting or request from the others for him to do so, though remaining decent enough to keep everything on from the waist down; and like-father-like-son, the Stormchaser's second son would exhibit his own wide array of battle-scars, though the Wanderer's appeared to be exclusively from stitched duelling-cuts and skin-grafted burns from blaster trails.

'Did I mumble or mutter that? Call back both Argyll an' Farrin Company now! An' get them back ti the LZ! That's an order!'

'FOR AS LONG AS A BARRAN STANDS TO DEFEND IT, THE MAW WILL NOT BREACH THESE CRUMBLING WALLS!!!! OP THRAST WILL REMAIN, AS YOUR LORD-CAPTAIN WILL REMAIN TO FEND OFF HELL ITSELF!!!!'

'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!!'

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 25

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (867 ABY)
HOUR THREE OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

A hailstorm of fire opened up on the ground from the smoke-filled skies above, dropping down on Mawsworn and Imperial alike, igniting fires elsewhere in the Goshen rainforest as the older fires grew more intense by the minute; this storm would change the tone of the battle from that point onwards, to the point where even the most-embattled part of the Free-State lines would notice, making use of the madness to push on westward regardless of their enemies' collective state of confusion. Yet despite all of this, through all the chaos raining down and flaming up around them, Arman Proost's right flank would hold their lines and complete their downhill charge for glory against the Scar Hounds' Firefangs who'd attempted to catch them on their ascent to the top of the wide, deeply-forested ground ahead of them. The results of their mechanical downhill pushes in a collective charge were staggering, and in places, quite gruesome to behold from their viewports within their vehicles, realizing soon after that they had, in their good fortune, found themselves unwittingly avoiding some of the worst of the hailstorm's impacts in the process.

<"Maddox to Cataphract One! Check straight ahead, there's a humanoid figure kneeling among the smoke. Is there a chance it could be-">
​

'It's Yorunarr! I can almost taste the Novanian witchcraft in the air, Sergeant. Cataphract One out!'

Responding to the comm-link chatter, the Archaisian tank-commander knew he was right in his assessment, having travelled far enough west to stray into the estimated location of Operation: MELARRIA in their widening search for other opposition to crush; and though there was no discernible sign or trace of the Scopes or Guardians in the area, a quick check-over on his top-down display had Arman feeling all but certain that the MELARRAN operatives had strayed into the valley it's accompanying operation was being enacted in. Proost would be confident enough it was ahan-Yan'Sharlim that he would yell out an insult to be sure, roaring,'ARE YOU QUITE FINISHED WITH YOUR WITCH-DOCTOR ACT, NOVANIAN?!?!', at the top of his lungs to make sure the Shaman wasn't in another of his psychedelic stupors at a particularly volatile segment of the battle. The Archaisian would have continued joking at the Novanian's expense, in true stereotypical fashion, as Arman had grown to do endearingly since befriending Yorunarr, but the Shaman was still silent and unresponsive for a few tense moments after the Commonwealth-Captain's attempt to get an answer.

'SPEAK UP THEN, YORUNARR!!!! YOU KNOW WE HAVEN'T GOT TIME FOR THIS CHIT, BRUU!!!'

'IS THAT - CONCERN I HEAR IN YOUR VOICE, ARCHAISIAN?!?!', the kneeling figure bellowed back in a broadly lilting Novanian accent, mirthfully confirming it when all eyes on the shadowy form beyond saw him pulling something off his face to rest it atop of his head with Yorunarr's usual rich-toned chuckle. Approaching the Archaisian's XT-62 at a light jogging pace, the obscuring effect of the smoke would eventually give way to discernibly Novanian features, and soon after, the ornate details on Yorunarr's mask as it rested atop his head comfortably as he moved closer, slowly but steadily; the reason being that the Shaman's head and eyes were searing with a horrid migraine, one that had resulted in a nosebleed that also became more visible as Yorunarr waved a comically-casual greeting among the smoke, flames and ashen husks of the Goshen rainforest. However, the Archaisian would see his friend drop to his knees after a distant, though loudly-resonating monster's roar echoed off the hilly faces of the valley's untamed terrain around them, crying out in agony as the monster in the distance began to take audible, thundering paces southward in strides that evaded every attempt to track or comprehend it's movements.

'ARMAN!!!! THE MONSTER'S GOING FOR THE MAWSWORN RITUAL!!!! HE'S RUNNING TOWARDS THE VOLCANIC FIRE!!!!'

'THE DRENGIR TELEPATH FINALLY SNAPPED!!!! HE WANTS TO DIE!!!!'

 

[Kadan Scipora]

.​

​

O B J E C T I V E 1​

​

Tags: Sars Sarad​

Equipment: 1x lightsaber, Kadan's Armor, 2x OS-101 Retractable Vibro-Sword, OS-PBC-770-FFE, OS-104 "Reaper" Variable Strength Blaster Pistol, The Afterthought.​

​

Now he had a name to go with the figure. Sars, huh? Interesting. Being questioned as to who his master was, Kadan felt obligated to state it. "I'm Grand Padawan of the Order, Padwan of the Grand Master herself." It was probably stupid to announce such things, but his pride wouldn't be tarnished. Half jedi arrogance, the other Mandalorian pride.​

​

Having gained a small bit of distance between his foe, Kadan had thought himself clever by planning ahead. Alas, it wasn't to be. His eyes widened behind his beskar helm, as his foe had read through his movements, throwing aside his intended weapon and leaping to engage him at close quaters. He struck back, purple on red, their blades burning just short of the hilt as back and forth they battered against one another. He hadnt battled such foes before, the only other one being Darth Levos, and then Kadan had been laid low by the man. Now, even with his experience, he felt his usual tactics falter. Kadan's feet moved backwards, trying to remain on balance, his focus remaining in the battle as his foe laid into him. He had planned to get distance, make his foe overextend himself, then try to work him from the outside with Ataru manuevers. He tried to catch the blade at a 'T' lock, and wanted to try and shift himself, angling to bash the man in the side of the head with his hilt as he maneuvered past him. Again, however, it wouldn't play out like that.​

​

His danger sense flaired, the padawan startled as he caught the motion of the blade once more coming at him, and reflexively attempted to deflect it away with the back of his philik gauntlet. He came up short. He caught most of the blade on the gauntlet, but it's til had punctured through the wrist armor, slicing into his lower wrist, and flooding his mind with a wracking pain as the blade sliced through muscle and burned deep into his skin.​

​

Ow.​

​

With a new surge adrenaline, he recoiled his hand, right leg sweeping forward in an attempt to kick the attackers legs out from under him, and again leap away off his left leg. He needed to change something quick, or this fight would be over swiftly.​

​

​

 

[Sars Sarad]

Objective 1
Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp; the Citadel
Equipment: Lightsaber; Old Sin; Dueling Armor
Allies: The Maw, nominally
Opponent(s): Kadan Scipora

---

If there was some recognition that flashed in the eyes of Sarad when Kadan Scipora identified his master it would have to wait until after the blazing display of skill between both combatants. Lightsabers clashed, their contact creating sparks and the sizzling sound of energy pressed against one another as the blades jockeyed for superiority. In the distance there remained the faint sound of combat, echoing through the corridors of the Citadel. Small beads of sweat had begun to form on Sarad's brow from the heat of his own lightsaber which pulsated thanks to the crystal imbued within its power source.

There was momentary satisfaction when Old Sin touched flesh, rending the tissue and muscle of Scipora's limb but then the Jedi attempted a low maneuver and Sarad, reading the downwards maneuver as either a sweep of the leg or swing of the blade at height would leap backwards. He flipped away, his legs carrying themselves up and over as he avoided the leg sweep that Scipora attempted to catch him with only to land several meters away from his opponent in a crouch, right arm extended wide to his side with the lightsaber still crackling while the left remained tucked close to his left hip, Old Sin inverted in his grip...

"The Grand Masters Padawan."

...he seemed impressed by the revelation while rising to his full height...

"I know of her. Perhaps when we finish here I will send you back to Grand Master Ayres with the message that she is next."

...the message was foreboding, the voice Sarad spoke in ominous. In the time it took him to speak Sarad was advancing, quickly on Scipora again secure in the knowledge that if he'd struck cleanly with Old Sin and damaged Scipora's wrist sufficiently the Jedi would not be able to use his hand for much more. An advantage Sarad intended to press.

As he came within range Sarad flourished with his lightsaber, using the curved hilt of his weapon to assist him in making quick arcs of the blade before snapping it to make contact with Scipora's own lightsaber on the inside. It was to be a parry that took the Jedi's lightsaber wide enabling Sarad to follow by snapping his right leg high and torquing his hips into the movement so that he could plant his heel into Scipora's stomach. When he kicked Sarad manipulated the force as well, saturating himself with it so that he could Enhance himself, making his blow more pungent and having the potential to hit like a sledgehammer and hurl Kadan backwards....

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

GOSHEN WAR CAMP
SLAVE QUARTERS
Tags: Ves Fett

Watching the building crumble into ruins, the threat of assassination was effectively eliminated. Yet the feral Mando remained, as evidenced by her vicious tongue spewing further lies and words of violence his way. With child still on his arm, he signalled the others to make their way across the street now that the coast was clear.

"Aruetii," he called out to her from where he stood. "I offered you the chance to stand aside and let us pass. You chose not to, and have since attempted to kill us more than once. If you came here looking for easy prey I am sorry to disappoint. Never again shall these children be harmed or held captive."

As the group rushed to safety behind him, Thurion stopped the teenage boy bringing up the rear. "Take her," he handed him the small girl who so bravely had faced the assassin same as he. Before parting he gave her a kiss on the forehead and caress of the cheek, then removed the lightsaber hilt from his belt. "And take this. Once you reach the wall, use it to carve an opening wide enough for you to escape through."

The teen's eyes went wide upon being handed the fabled weapon of the Jedi, taking a moment to appreciate its size and weight in the palm of his hand. "W-what about you? Aren't you coming with us?" Thurion offered a kind smile and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You'll be fine, son. You're strong, brave, intelligent, and these little ones look up to you. Get yourselves to safety and wait for my return. I will find you."

His soft expression turned to stone as he turned away from the teenage boy and the girl clutching her new guardian's ragged tunic.

"Go. I have unfinished business."

Once they were out of harm's way and off to make their escape from this hell hole, Thurion would step towards the would-be hunter with nothing more than a pair of fists, knuckles cracking with anticipation. Though diminished by the shrapnel lodged in his shoulder, he would meet this crazed woman using the old ways.

"I hereby challenge you to tveikamp. Just you and me. No weapons, no Force. Nothing but two warriors facing each other with only the Gods to bear witness."

Once stood before her, he took a bow with fist pressed to open palm. Next he assumed combat stance.

"May the Force be with you."

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Hel's Lightclub | Robes
Objective: Engage the Brotherhood
Targets: Darth Tennacus
Enemies: BotM | BotM Allies
Allies: SJC | SJC Allies

​

No amount of self-punishment or beating could alleviate the chaos that writhed within the mind of the Hybrid, who raged across the field in her blind attempt to rid herself of the evil that had taken over her body. The great terror of a parricidal freak that had come to fruition at last in the presence of the Brotherhood. The desecrators of Chiss. It was a singular hatred that fulfilled the desires of avenging the loss of her people and every soul that these Sith had taken to the grave in their dark conquest. A sinning bright purpose, built from skewed justice and an overeagerness to impose freedom upon the Galaxy's worlds. Concept given form in the walls of her mind, overriding the effects of the Halo, the man from Krayiss, and any other influences that came to be in her time among the living.

What were they even, she wondered in her frenzy. Were they even there? Or were they facades by the darkness to weaken her resolve in a false sense of security? Did they exist? Did they help? These were questions she had not the answers for, driving her frustrations and desperation further and further into the impact of each hit upon her temple and scalp. Such desperation to regain control, her awareness of her original goal lost from the fear of falling so easily to the want of destroying the Brotherhood for what they had done to Csilla. To her people. A want that left her flesh bruised to a black purple from her strikes. Her palm stained with crimson blood as her nails dug into the palm of her fist, the ichor running down her wrist in rivers. Her cursed ligament screaming in furious agony as it channeled forth a power she did not recall learning yet was acted upon all the same with the thrashing remnants of the Shroud's control. Remnants that were cast aside by her encroaching foe, to whom she remained ignorant in her pain, the voices of both him and her darkness boiling the cortex of her brain to an oily soup.

Then, in a flash of a moment, there came a sharp sensation and the feeling of lightness. Airiness. The pain of strikes ceased alongside it, and a thud resounded in her ringing ears like a distant stone dropping into a lake. Screams turned to silence in the haze, the pain of her cursed arm dissipating as it was replaced by the aromas of scorched flesh and bone. The Hybrid opened her eyes, at last, and stared at the dirt against her face. She had been knocked down, placed at the mercy of her foe, and she hadn't even registered it until that feeling hit her. An echo of a voice came to her then, whispering in the base of her skull: "One of us. You. . . are one of us. Let what isn't of us. . . be purged."

Purged.

The Hybrid turned her head, grazing her cheeks against the stones and earth, and set her blurred gaze to the sight that awaited her. Towards the source of that sharp sensation. Upon the ground next to her face, fist pointing towards the hill from which the man had come down from, rested her arm. Removed from her body at the shoulder, it was gone and useless. At first, there was nothing that she felt. No anger, no fear, no surprise, no sorrow, no pain. Nothing. Emotions subdued by physical shock and the rise of a phantom limb, Mrurh'en'lase only stared for what felt like days, her vision focusing like a scope onto the cinders of bone within the smoked muscle. A laugh was the first sound that came out of her mouth when the shock began to subside. It was humorous to her. Not only had she suffered an arm cursed by dragon's fire, she now had lost an entire arm to the Sith. Her only good arm that could survive the day without pain.

Mrurh'en'lase rolled onto her back amidst her chortling, her vision darkening as the distress of the lost limb began to set in and overload her body. With tearful eyes wide and glaring at the fumed sky above, the Hybrid laughed continuously and made no moves to defend herself anymore. Practically welcoming her foe to finish the job and be done with her. To the Hybrid, it appeared that Viers Connory would be her only success in life before the end. A shameful end, all in all.

 

[Darth Senthral]

​

Darth Senthral
Location: Lao-Mon, overseeing the battle between Sith Master and unknown Jedi
Objective: Learn from a bloody fued, and don't allow it to end in mutual death
Weaponry: Double-Bladed Crimson Lightsaber, DL-22 Blaster Pistol, and the Dark Side of the Force
Tags: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel Darth Tennacus ​

Often had Senthral's Master held lessons, on missions big and small. This one was one that he had perhaps no knowledge he was holding. A battle of differed minds, and both with the power to back their own ideals. It was a flurry to Senthral, and yet as he watched he knew it was so much more to the two opposers. Every action, and every reactions had thought behind it. Even more so? They had consequences. It was a lesson he was glad to have found himself pit into. Yet as it came to a close, it seemed it was his turn for a lesson taught.

The enemy was defeated it would seem, but then so was his Master. It was a simple problem really, they were both beat, and it was time for what was often called a tactical retreat. Watching the battle he learned it was more than some simple duel of one or the other's death. It was Tennacus' intent to pull this Jedi over to their own side. There was something in them, something perhaps darker than Senthral's own inner beasts. For it was self-thinking, or so as much he had gathered from listening and learning. He had grown tired of slaying those weaker, slaves and rebels, and so he searched for something great to be a part of. In his own way he had found it, though great was an understatement. That which he saw was better defined as unrefined, and yet grandeur.

Out from the shadows came Darth Senthral, where once he was hidden, he was now not so. This lesson which he had seen unfurl, would not be his Master's last. Like a streak of shadow he came nearer the two, and out from the streak came blue waves aimed towards Darth Tennacus. His trusty DL-22 set to stun, and five shots loaded into the still standing Sith Lord. They did the trick, and to a little surprise, weakened or not his Master was no slouch. That was actually the reason he had shot off the amount. To be sure. As he came upon the two, now both fallen, he stopped and stared. First to the Jedi.

"You are no meager foe. You are worthy of note. Take heed, your face is now one with my own mind. Struggle, endure, contend, and with that alone you will face my Master another day. Live longer than that and maybe you will face myself. I fear the day, but I will use that fear against you if needed." Then to the Sith. "Come Lord Tennacus, you will live to fight another day, that is the knowledge I will impart upon you. For the much you have given me. For the much you still have to give."

With that Senthral picked up Tennacus carefully, and rushed off once more to the shadows. Leaving behind the Jedi, for it was not his fight to finish. All the way back to the Wandering Pilgrim, to get the Sith Lord he heaved along to life support. Or whatever it is that was needed, 77-B would surely know. <<77-B I'm converging on your location, power up the Wandering Pilgrim if it isn't already on. Lay the hatch for swift entry, and get life support going. Tennacus is not without injury this day, and we will see that he is without death added unto it."

 

[Kiara Ayres]

Objective: 3 (ish)
Location: Maw ship thing
Allies: SJC | GA | NIO | Rurik Fel | Bernard of Arca
Enemies: BotM | Darth Solipsis​

The Force waned as it heeded the command of its users who moulded the tool in reflection of their own purposes. For every offence, the Force allowed for an equal defence but their enemy was outnumbered, lest he used his lackeys in his stead. But it wouldn't matter.

The Force was with them.

Her gaze lifted skywards towards the falling object as it plummeted towards her. She reacted quickly, diving into a roll, out of the way - barely. She jumped back to her feet and scanned across the room to check the other Jedi hadn't been targeted. As the weakest among them, the others ought to shoulder some responsibility for him but she knew no such responsibility would be on the Imperator's head. With his one-track mindset, there was nothing and no one but himself and Solipsis.

With determination in her step, she marched towards their enemy, cutting across to block direct line of sight towards the other Jedi. One day, he might be called upon to lay down his life for the good of the galaxy but today wasn't that day.

As the vicious attack on the Imperator demanded the Sith's attention, she threw her lightsaber towards him while his attention was split, holding a hand out to guide the weapon back to her once it hit its mark.

 

[Michael Barran]

POST 14
OBJECTIVE 2: TIP OF THE SPEAR
WRATH_OF_THE_WOADS

ALLIES (NIO): Noel Strasza

ALLIES (SJC/GA/AC/OTHER): Starlin Rand Sergeant Omen Damsy Callat
Artemis Lu The Dark Inquisitor

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/TFD): Khaostra Devoid Romund Sro The Mongrel Dakrul
Halketh Marlon Sularen Zachariel Steelblood Eldervine Glossa

MICHAEL'S FORCES

THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
ARGYLL COY. - INFANTRY
LARGS COY. - INFANTRY
FARRIN COY. - ENGINEERS
ISLAY COY. - ANTI-TANK

BLUE-HEART BRIGADE
172 XT-62,"CATAPHRACT" TANKS
28 SCOUT-AFV'S
9 MLV'S (NAKAIOMA)
5 PREDATOR LAUNCH-PLATFORMS (NAKAIOMA)
1 COY. OF GUARDSMEN
1 COY. OF MEDICS
1 COY. OF QUARTERMASTERS

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
SECONDARY WEAPON: FRAGARACH BLASTER-PISTOL
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 26

​

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (867 ABY)
HOUR FOUR OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

<"Proost to Guardian Nine! We're covering your retreat from here on in, so use this lifeline wisely! If any marauders, Scav Kings or Scar Hounds engage, fire and manoeuvre! You got that?">​

'Copy that, sir! You gave us lot a safe way out of that cage o' spores, so the least we can do is grant your request. Guardian Nine out!'

It was a dire situation for all to be in, even if the fiery hailstorm had subsided in the process, as both engaged battle-lines would be pushing away in a north-westerly direction to get away from the blast, with warnings aplenty patched through to the left flank and Lord Michael respectively. Although this meant the previously forward-pushing tanks were forced to fight in reverse to avoid the desperate advance of the opposition also, this backpedalling fight for survival would be made all the easier for Blue-Heart Brigade's right flank when they eventually managed to link up with the unblemished ordnance holding their fall-back line, unleashing a staggered barrage of shells, blaster-trails, rocket- propelled grenades and bellowed obscenities in at least three different native-languages. In this riot of small-arms and heavy ordnance, with the resulting impacting lighting up the skies around them, Scope Platoon's remnants would ready their ACV for one last stretch of burning jungle; however, when McKidd's subordinates were loading up their wounded-survivors and sending them back to meet Captain Archer with the other quartermasters at the Imperial LZ, their platoon commander would opt to stay behind with the Guardians instead of returning with the others.

'Aw'right then, McKidd. If yer stickin' it wae the brigade's best shots, ye better keep up - an' ye better pick a scoped SA-35 up an'aw! If Dia sees fit that ye die wae rifle in hand, best ye kick that proverbial bucket wae a properly-shouldered classic in yer grip.... Understand, br'er?'

'Ne'er a truer word spoken, mate.', the Scopes' acting platoon-leader replied, to which endearing chuckles and a backhand fist-bump was exchanged before McKidd briefly ran off to grab one from the nearest supply-cache, just a few paces away from the nearest tank in the treeline. Returning with a fully-loaded, scoped SA-35, and with the appropriate ammunition-clips to maintain his own offensive-capabilities throughout, there was an obvious confidence to the spring in the QM-Sergeant's step as he approached Maitland's position, kneeling down next to his Woad-born comrade with a pearly-white smile breaking the camouflage of the tri-color green paints on his face in the process. Whatever rushes were coursing through the Scope's body already in that moment, in all their unlikely timing, were beginning to set Maitland's hairs standing on end; their collective second-wind had finally kicked in, and Maitland couldn't help but sigh with gladness that men like Sergeant McKidd were with him in their wildest crucible yet, nodding with appreciation as he called for the Guardians' snipers to move.

'Franken! You take point, McKidd & I will cover oor six. Let's move!'

Taking a moment to allow himself one last glance at the burning horizon, the young Guard-Sergeant scanned from left to right, then looked to the skyline to see ascending cruisers escaping the lava-covered valley that served as that day's No-Man's-Land; marked with Mawsworn insignia, Maitland quickly surmised them to be ships carrying Devoid's retinue in an attempt to escape to the relative safety of the planet's outer orbit, but something else happened as Maitland reluctantly turned to fulfil his first foray of what was expected to become a far-reaching, physically taxing fire-and-manoeuvre action. Another ear-splitting, echoing roar from the Drengir would stop almost everyone in their tracks for a moment, bringing a silence upon the entire northern mechanised war-theatre, and it was the silence itself that instinctively forced the young Woad to pivot right, towards the sound as the entire battlefield rendered itself powerless in the wake of the tormented telepath's final screams.

'NO MORE PAIN!!!! NO MORE HATRED!!!! GIVE - ME - PEEEEEEEACE!!!!'

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - FINALE

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (867 ABY)
HOUR FOUR OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

'Baird to Cairn One! We're approaching OP Thrast from the new southwestern treeline. Still alive in there, Milord?'

<"Barran to Guardian One! Settle doun - ah'm still scrapin' masel aff the wa' behind me, Baird! Stand by.">​

Whether anything within the closer blast-radius survived the blast would be a matter of debate, but as for both Devoid's cruisers and Barran's outpost, both would be most-fortunate in their positioning to deal with the,"Mere", weight of the fallout material thrown out by such force that it would very nearly tear everything asunder for both. OP Thrast would have the temple-roof blown off it's supporting columns, and one of Devoid's cruisers had perished on their ascent to high-orbit, with others sustaining damage to their thrusters before the last of the blast's hurled organic matter had it's way with the two commanders, marking a resounding official end to the Battle of the Eight Day. Fortunately for Michael, both the south and north flanks would escape the worst of the fallout by almost half a mile on each side, with both flanks seeing Mawsworn and Imperial contingents pulling back from their hostilities, a small blessing that all involved were willing to accept while the chance to live and fight another day was still there for them.

'Baird to Cairn One! Whilst we're still a mile out, an' whilst yer still,"Scrapin' yersel aff the wa' behind ye", ah might as well drapp ye a wee Sit-Rep, eh? South-flank couldn't get in range for an attack on time, Devoid's right flank embedded itself too far away. So I'll extend my sincere apologies for that, Milord. Nae action fae me this time around, and ti top it aw aff, ah've ordered everybody t'pull back. The Chaplain feels ah might've made the most-reasonable decision out of everybody the-day, an' ah'm no sure how ah'm supposed t'feel aboot that. Either way, oor LZ's gawnty be lookin' a bit bare by the time we make it back, so we're tryin' t'move as quick as we can.'

<"Wow.... Muh Forearm just bent back on itsel, Bairdy! Ha! Ahahahaha-AAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!">​

Besides a snapped Ulna and Radius, the Lord-Captain would find that his shoulder was dislocated also, culminating in agony that would throb in waves from the fingertips to the back of his neck on the right-hand side; and from what Baird could hear, it was quite obvious that the commander would need a painkiller stim in the moments after the last coded challenge-response procedure of the battle had been enacted. By the time they reached the temple, the crewmen of Cataphract Five could see the spilled and splintered contents of the HASCO fortifications, and the shifted rocky remnants of the ruins that provided the temple-outpost's only line of defence against the explosive fallout, shuddering in the realisation that all the loose-lying features they recognised from before had been thrown (and with frighteningly violent force) against the outer walls of the temple in the blast. Much of it was burning, but the high tower that focused as it's key defining feature still remained, and though they saw that none of the cracked and crumbling roof domes remained, a discernibly large part of the temple's form was still standing defiantly after the blast.

<"By God, I certainly hope yees have a medi-pack onboard! Ah can see yees fae here! Be oot the noo!">​

Some of the fires by the eastern exits would be snuffed out in an instant, and from that smoky haze the Wanderer would stumble out, trying his best to block out the pain as the XT-62 drew closer to the burning outpost. Then, after a productive lack of trips or further stumbling on his arm-cradled approach to the cramped tank that served as armoured-transport to the NIO's landing-zone, Lord Michael would find himself losing consciousness a few metres away from the opened slide-door; slamming his head onto the rounded side of the Cataphract's bottom step-ladder; though fortunately just milliseconds after the pain-induced blackout, so Lord-Captain Barran wouldn't know or feel anything until he woke up on Bastion days later. Not that it mattered to Guard-Captain Baird, as he would have to clean the blood, put the shoulder back in place and set a temporary splint-cast for his unresponsive acting Lord-Commander in their slow-moving return to the LZ, a low-point in Michael's life that none around him would forget for as long as they lived.

'Say what you will about the man, but ah 'hink we can all agree that Lord Erskine's willpower courses through his second son's veins in moments like this.... You're a good man, Michael. But it's safe t'say yer clearly no brigade-material - far from it, man.'

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

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

Objective: Try to escape from captivity
Location: Goshen Keep Dungeons, Lao-mon
Equipment: 3x dogtag || OPBC-01m
Writing with: Zachariel Steelblood 's hunters
Allies: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Jacen Nimdok
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

[ Dream of home ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Again I felt what I felt on Carlac, all my limbs were lead weight, I was sleepy, everything hurt. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake and my thinking was slowing down as well. I tried to move to feel another sharp pain that would help me stay awake, but I couldn’t move. I was so tired to get start panicking. In addition to the metallic taste of the blood, I could already feel the salty taste of my tears.

The ground on which I lay was comfortable at this moment, I felt I would be able to sleep on it until the end of time. No! I want to go home, I want to go home. Why didn't he kill me on Carlac? Why did I struggle so much? No, I don’t want this, I want to hug my Loong-cat at home and sleep. Someone, help, please! Please, I just want to go home, I just want to go home!

The noise of battle became more and more quiet, farther and farther away; everything was duller and darker. No! Come on Ziare, fight; I have to stay awake, I have to stay awake. I have to fight! They can't take me back to the cell. I tried to speak, but my lips didn't move anymore. It was getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open. The soil also became more and hazier as I saw it. I wanted to scream, shout that I don’t accept this, I don’t want this!

But I was only able to do that in my mind, and even there I could only fight quieter and weaker, weakly. I got tired, I started to get cold despite the heat outside. The pain was muffled, so were the sounds, tastes, noises. The world was infinitely vague. I have to stay awake; I tried to move once more…

And everything went black…

[ Last post, thank you for the game! ]​

 

[Darth Maleva]

Allies: Darkness
Enemies: Light | Elpsis Kerrigan
「is it really a surprise if i'm playing with your mind」

In the few seconds of solace, the woman caught her breath. The sting of the energy on her raw and angry wounds was a point of grounding. Breathe. The pain is your tool, not your master. The anger is your weapon, not your destruction. As she worked, her eyes fluttered to assess the field. Total war had claimed the area. She saw only one red armored foot, its tint matching her own suit, sticking out from the rubble. Her teeth ground in frustration, but her gaze kept moving, before sweeping back in a double-take.

There was hardly enough time to brace herself before the barrage of metal and heat came. She had only seen one, and when it hit, her makeshift shielding had stopped the worst of it, but it did not absorb enough of the force. Crimson melted away, leaving a sharp shard of orange iron planted firmly in her chest. The anzat let out a blood-curdling scream. She knew it hurt, but only from reaction alone- she was strangely calm, almost elsewhere. At least I can scream, the distant inner-monologue remarked. A non-anzati would be dead.

More of the hellfire came, and for every two the energy and beaten armor managed to stop, another found its mark. Each brought another wave of pain that was hers to subdue, but they also brought her closer back to reality with every blow. The agony quickly became overwhelming. Maleva fell to her knees, doubled over as the wounds ached, and through blurry vision, saw the crimson around her beginning to fade.

"No, no, no."

The words were a desperate and weakened plea, and that realization gave the woman at least a spark of fury. The crimson flared, and with a flick of a wrist, the energy sprawled and crawled across the ground towards the approaching foe, long and snaking. The sith knew just by feel they were weaker than they ought to be, yet it was all she could muster.​

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Darth Maleva
Gear: Equipment: Armour, Hold-out Bolter, Boltgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.

Struck by the barrage of burning metal, the Sith Lady fell. A blood-curdling scream pierced the smoke and the darkness. Elpsis' bruised lips smiled ever so slightly. But the Sith's fury fashioned a hell of her own. The pyromancer had little time catch her breath ere snake-like, scarlet tendrils had crossed the distance. Seeing the onslaught of crimson energy through the Force, she braced herself. Her pyromantic displays had cost energy. She raised a defence, bringing up her blade, but the writhing tendrils rose up and lashed at her.

With her Force aura surging through it, Inferno clove through a tendril. But searing pain surged through her side. Then another tendril struck, and another. Conventional armour and a bodyglove could only do so much against dark sorcery. Pain came from her leg and she staggered, falling. Her leg was burning. Smoke coiled from her armour and skin had been peeled off her leg, leaving raw flesh. Dark veins manifested where she had been struck.

Elpsis writhed in pain. Fury surged through her. It gave her focus. When the next tendril came, she scrambled and grabbed it with her cybernetic arm. Smoke came from her arm and the tendril slashed at her. Contact melted a metal finger. But her arm glowed red-hot and her grip would not yield. As she crushed the tendril's physical manifestation, she pulled the energy into herself.

She grit her teeth, breathing in. Her white eyes flared, as she looked upon her foe. And the incandesent flame inside her became a weapon once more, as she fashioned a thermic lance and sent the beam of blazing heat soaring towards the Sith.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Tartarus-Class Battlecruiser, Throne Room


P O W E R​

The crimson bolts bounced forth and grounded into the Iron Skin of the Imperator, the electric flow of dark energy unfurled surged throughout his body and yet the Iron Imperator endured. His movements in perfect sync with the way of the Vornskr, the Dark Lord's precise control and use of Makashi being his only respite from the savagery of Vaapad. The two would meet saber to saber, the ardent blade of order clashing against the crimson fury of the Sith'ari. Another volley of raw power unleashed, trickling bolts of hatred let loose from his fingertips met the white hot plasma of the Imperial Champion. Twisting and turning, the stray bolts redirected as the skillful master of the New Imperial nation cut the attack forward and strove to distance the two apart, the Dark Lord snarled and recoiled lest he be undone by his own foul power despite the weight arrayed against Rurik Fel with his crimson hate made manifest.

The Elder broke from his assault, spinning freely while backpedaling to give his opponent the space desired whilst taking the briefest of moments to assess the battleground, the duel at hand. His concentration was immediately drawn back to Fel, the Iron Imperator commanding his attention as one of the fallen chandeliers cast down by his own hand lifted by the very will of his opponent. An invisible hand guided it with immense force and intensity unseen. An soft audible hiss echoed out from under his lips as the Dark Lord of the Sith immediately used his augmented limbs to carry his body away just in time for the ardent blade of his enemy to reach out with an emergent Fel in close proximity at the counter attack once more.

The swing of his enemy carried out, striking with precision and focus. The Sith Lord had little time to reach, his preternatural senses already sending signals to different areas of his body to move instinctively. It felt like slow motion as his face leaned back, his body carrying him off. The white hot blade carved through his cloak's black high collar, separating the long corner from the long cloak as the very tip of the enemy's blade touched upon the face of the swift moving Sith'ari. The pain came as the blade barely touched upon his flesh carving away as it rose from his cheek to above his eye, narrowly missing his vital visual organ. Feet danced against the ground as reality began to move again out of the freeze frame, his scorched nerves lit up like a christmas tree. The pain only fueling him to push that much harder.

"My dear boy. That is precisely the point."

He felt it coming, he heard it's echoes in the Force reverberating before striking true, the subtle shifts revealing itself akin to sonar as it ripple outward into the metaphysical. The Dark Lord roared, his hand extending outright into the empyrean with his will focused solely on the source of the ripples, the lightsaber that spung true aiming to take him there and render him asunder. He was a conduit of the Dark Side, a living manifestation of malignant will made flesh. His power was absolute, he had touched upon the ability to alter creation.

..and he'd do it again.

He could feel the ethereal hand of the Silver Grandmaster upon the blade, his actions would have attempted to freeze the weapon unnaturally in place. If so he'd dance around the issue no longer. Letting loose the all consuming hatred trapped within, the Dark Lord released a sudden wave of repulsed energy with contempt clearly etched in his voice as he spoke in the aftereffects of the rippling wave of telekinetic power.

"Enough!"

The Sith'ari's saber hissed back into it's hilt as it recoiled at his command, his hands rose with open grasps into the empyrean with all his will focused upon lifting those around him into his vile snare. It mattered not who was trapped by this telekinetic grip, this rising tide of anger that began to tighten around the physcial shells of those ensnared. The durasteel walls groaned, the fallen fixtures distorting as the armor of the Sith Sovereign Protectors peeled inward.Everything around him began to concave, the iron will of the Dark Lord pressed down upon the metaphysical and realscape as he ignited the chamber in a vice grip with the intent to Force Crush his opponents into oblivion.

Rurik Fel | Kiara Ayres | Bernard of Arca​

 

[Darth Maleva]

Allies: Darkness
Enemies: Light | Elpsis Kerrigan
「is it really a surprise if i'm playing with your mind」

Still sprawled on her knees, the witch's struggle played out before the sorceress. She observed only a moment before her thoughts turned to survival. It became clear just how much Maleva's strength had wained when she stumbled attempting to rise, slipping into her previous prone position. The need to feed swept over her. Yes, soup, healing. Proboscises slithered forth eagerly at the thought. It had been far too long prior to the battle, and the situation made the ancient lord almost desperate. Her eyes swept rapidly side to side as her mind probed for any consciousness. The closest she found was near thirty yards away- too far, when she couldn't even rise.

The search had cost her a precious warning. The heat kissed the raven strands that hung around her chest as the lance shattered in a thousand sparks on impact. With the force of a missile finding home, it sent her flying backward, tumbling through the wreckage. The already ruined armor on her sternum gave way completely, transforming into a molten goo above her sternum. The heat had swept upwards, grazing her neck and chin. Only a quiet moan escaped Maleva as her body finally landed, limp against the dusty world beneath.

The tempest clouded reality once more, its flashes of pain blotting it out completely at times. Yet, one thought remained ever-present: soup. Her mind demanded energy, her body renewed vigor. Comprehension dawned slowly- but it came. There was a far more powerful wellspring than that of soup, and within her reach. A difficult breath filled her lungs. Pain, anger, death; the torment of weaker beings began to fuel her. Their emotions cried out, anguished and resisting, longing to simply be... but Maleva pushed back, twisting and bending every bit that touched her.

She rose from the rubble, the broken stone decorating the landscape. Negativity welled in a pulsing aura around the sith lord. Her arms rose and snapped back, the crack sending an invisible whip towards its targets. As the hatred touched the dead, their eyes would open once more, and they would swarm towards the witch.​

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Gear: Equipment: Armour, Hold-out Bolter, Boltgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Darth Maleva

And so the dead rose. Many of them would be cut down by her comrades. But several managed to swarm her.

To Elpsis life was a cycle, visualised by the chain of birth, life, death and rebirth. A soul passed through various stages of existence. Each being should cherish what time they had and strive to do good, as far as one could in such a wretched world. But when their time came, they should accept it and embark on their next stage in their Lifeweb. For though their body died, their inner flame would not be snuffed out.

All this meant was that death was a natural part of life. To cling to existence and take another as a vessel was a grave sin. Even more so if one raised the dead as slaves, staining their souls. In short, seeing the Sith bind the dead to her made her angry. A feeling of rage rose insde her as she tried to stand - and wished she had not, for pain shot through her leg. She leaned heavily on her uninjured one.

With effort, she raised her bolter. It had chambered explosive bolts. A poor choice if the undead managed to get close, but she did not have the time to switch ammunition. Ravenous ghouls charged towards her, animated by unnatural sorcery. Some were Mawists, but others would be SJC or even Firemane soldiers.

She would give them absolution. So she squeezed the trigger. The sharp crack of the gun firing was matched only by the percussive crump of the explosion a second later. The weapon barked. One, two, three bolts rippled through the air. Zombies fell to the ground or were blown apart, shredded by the explosion. But the remainder kept coming, charging over the broken bodies of their brethren.

Elpsis squeezed off a last round, then slammed her gun into a zombie's skull. Anger coursed through her veins. The gun was ripped from her grasp and then they were clawing, biting and beating on her. With no time to draw or get some distance, she let loose a fireball at close distance and smote an attacker with her cybernetic fist.

A zombie's teeth gnawed at her gauntlet, trying to find purchase on her armour. Amidst the ghastly wails she staggered when a heavy, still burning beast bullrushed her and slammed her into the ground. Then her helmet was roughly pulled off, and the creature sunk its teeth into her ear, tearing it off. Blood dripped from the wound. She managed to squeeze a shot off from her hold-out bolter. But the buckshot missed the zombie's head and ripped through its shoulder. A beast slammed her head into the ground and wrapped its fingers around her throat.

She gasped, her vision turning black as she vanished beneath the pile of undead. She tried to reach for her sabre, and failed. Her robotic hand gripped the zombie's arm hard, trying to break it. The splintering of bones could be heard. And wild fire surged across her arm onto her attackers. The smell of charred flesh wafted into the air. Her red hair was aflame and the cracks in her face glowed brightly as she arose, stepping through the flames. Inferno hummed and cut down undead. The last of them fell.

 

[Kiara Ayres]

Objective: 3 (ish)
Location: Maw ship thing
Allies: SJC | GA | NIO | Rurik Fel | Bernard of Arca
Enemies: BotM | Darth Solipsis​

Some Jedi taught the idealistic notion that the Light side was stronger than the Dark but until they could come face-to-face with an equally strong opposing user then they could never know how wrong they were. When both sides met, it was akin to a clash of waves as both fought for the supremacy it could never have, but the Darkness could never drown the Light, even if it threatened to.

Kiara's hand remained outstretched towards her airborne weapon as she fought for control of the weapon by violently ripping it from her opponent's grasp. Her actions fell short, however, as no sooner than the stasis dissipated had the Sith initiated an attack of his own. The blade extinguished and the hilt clattered to the ground.

As the tendrils of the Dark side snaked around them, ensnaring them in a Death grip, she didn't panic or thrash, even if her face contorted slightly from the mounting discomfort as the pressure built around their physical beings.

The Grandmaster was as skilled in detachment as many other Jedi had been trained to be and now the efficacy of her ability would be put to the test until even the groan of straining metal couldn't penetrate her mind. She closed her eyes and a calming silence befell her as she slipped into a trance to free herself from the viperous grasp of Solipsis.

With all distractions distant, she turned her focus onto the Force around her that threatened to destroy her and her allies, but not the pressure it was subjecting them to. Leaning into anger was weak, easy, but remaining in peace would allow her strength that would equal any power of his. It wasn't easy otherwise Sith would do it.

The Jedi slipped from his grasp and dropped onto the ground on one knee. She reacted with haste, pulling her fallen lightsaber hilt into her hand with the Force as she sprinted towards the Sith with unnatural speed. With her blade she focused on the most immediate threat of the melee weapon in his grasp.

Hoping that he was still somewhat distracted, she slashed towards his mid-section once close enough and then with one foot planted on the ground she used the other to send a powerful kick towards his abdomen, regardless of whether her last hit had connected or not, while her other hand sought for control of the weapon in his grip, aided by a threatening slice towards towards his wrist.

 

[Darth Maleva]

Allies: Darkness
Enemies: Light | Elpsis Kerrigan
「is it really a surprise if i'm playing with your mind」

As the rabid, twisted beings ravaged the team, Maleva stole forward. The undead were puppets, in their essence, but she saw no need to micromanage when the darkness's insatiable appetite for destruction set them to a single, useful purpose. Every step granted the sith some measure of pain, but its presence only just registered before it became lost in the vortex of torment that encased her. The movement as she began across the field could only be described as a deadly dance, each step long and sliding, arms and body twisting in deliberate and graceful gestures. By the time she felt the last of the servants fall, the storm had begun brewing.

Lightning crackled in the air around Maleva, the atmosphere shimmering with electricity and malevolent energy that would slow and hurt. Frustration grew as she realized it wasn't fast enough. The power was there, but the flow was not. If not increased, her enemies could overwhelm her by herself. A sharp inhale prepared her all it could- then came the volatile follow-up. The scream broke through the sputters of the spell. Raising her arms and heads upwards to the smoky sky, Maleva cried out, releasing the energy that had collected. It threatened to tear through her. She felt its presence in every bit of her insides, hungry for death. The scream grew louder as she pushed it outwards, through her palms, into the trap. Full bolts manifested as it grew and grew, its circumference expanding with each moment until eventually, the cry died out.

When she fell silent, Maleva looked forward, to the witch. A smirk crept across her face as she drew the saber she had tucked away earlier. The crimson blade came to life as her wrist snapped outwards. A beckoning eyebrow raised towards her opponent. A challenge to come closer.​

 

[Cromwell]

OBJECTIVE II | TIP OF THE SPEAR
SPECTRE OF THE EMPIRE

Avenger was a perfect planner. A methodical man of exemplary skills in preparation and precision, who accounted for all variables given enough time to prepare. But even he had slip up, mistakes that often were impossible to rectify after the fact. The plan was straightforward, it just lacked the precise timing. A split-second. The charge imploded opening a gaping hole in the wall, his grappling hook fired away into a distant ledge and his crushgaunt simultaneously reached for Revenant's forearm only to grasp at air.

Eyes widened in surprise, a moment's lapse of crucial timing, and before he could do anything the rope snapped taut pulling him with the strength of a tractor beam away from the gruesome sight left in the other Spectre's wake.

No...

Stupor turned into rage seething through his grounded teeth when the second grappling hook to catch her missed, returning to his vambrace painted in the blood of marauders. Gore and guts, cadavers split into pieces, last drawn breaths filled the room Avenger had left behind. A room that looked all so similiar to the state of Coruscant after its sacking by the Sith decades ago.

The boiling fury stirred through his gut, hands trembled and itched to call in an ion strike on the whole building leaving Revenant behind as merely a broken machine. He had to channel all his willpower to stop his emotions from doing so, leaving him crouching on an adjacent building beset with ruminations and doubt over his own service.

ALLIES | NIO | GA | SJC | Noel Strasza
ENEMIES | MAW |