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

[Michael Barran]

POST 1
OBJECTIVE 2: TIP OF THE SPEAR
WRATH_OF_THE_WOADS

ALLIES (NIO):
ALLIES (SJC/GA/AC/OTHER): Starlin Rand

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/TFD): Khaostra Devoid Romund Sro The Mongrel

MICHAEL'S FORCES
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
ARGYLL COY. - INFANTRY
LARGS COY. - INFANTRY
FARRIN COY. - ENGINEERS
ISLAY COY. - ANTI-TANK

BLUE-HEART BRIGADE
196 XT-62,"CATAPHRACT" TANKS (-24)
32 SCOUT-AFV'S
9 MLV'S (NAKAIOMA) (-1)
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: BLASTER-PISTOL
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PROLOGUE

MEDICAL-COMPLEX SOUTH, FORT IMPERATOR,
RAVELIN, BASTION (867 ABY)

SIX DAYS BEFORE LAO-MON DEPLOYMENT...

'Any residual effects from the encounter? Even if it's just small after-effects or the like, everything on paper is-'
Is this process perpetually-set until someone loses their mind first? If so, he's winning so far!

'-Relevant, yes. And none that spring up in day-to-day life anyway, so that's a hard,"No", as far as I see it.', Michael retorted his psychiatric-evaluator, drawling with eyes rolling disdainfully, clearly wishing to get back to the sparring-yard with Yorunarr before they were ordered to take their gear to the military transport-ships at the new Ravelin Spaceport. Sparking up a cigarette, the psychiatrist lit another for Michael and left in the ash-tray for him, smoking away as he silently prompted Barran to elaborate; a kindly gesture that the Wanderer was suspicious of accepting, especially at such an important part of the days-long medical examination of both the Woad and the Novanian, but the Lord-Captain would regardless accept the offering but with eyes firmly fixed on the one he silently dubbed,"The Inquisitor", when Dr. Kane first introduced himself. When the psychiatrist dropped his gaze first, the Wanderer clenched his teeth for a moment before continuing,'Aye.... It's not easy dealing with killers - is it, Doctor Kane? And to elaborate, saying as you want it so badly, my athletic baseline's grown stronger since; and quite noticeably too, makes me less reliant on the stronger aspects of my all-round combat capabilities.', remaining stone-faced throughout.

'Yes, though your Force-Abilities remain a mystery to us. Something that others appear to have gone to great lengths to make sure such matters stay that way, intriguing. Alright, one more question, and I swear that's it for us today; and the question is, quite simply, this.... Have you ever, at any point in your experience, lost control over your actions and/or your perception of self?'

'Not even once, Dr. Kane. Helps to have a shaman close by though, so I wouldn't know for sure.', the Woad-born aristocrat responded almost too coldly, with eyes almost burning into the top of the psychiatrist's balding skull throughout. However, when Michael was done speaking, the psychiatrist looked up again, discovering enough bravery in himself that it made the Lord-Captain smirk with pleasant surprise, flicking his ash into the glass mug between them without breaking eye-contact in the process. Taking this as his cue to wrap the process up, Michael chose to do so as brazenly as possible, still calmly drawling,'Even if I had lost control, there's nowhere near enough men here who could stop me if such an event transpired.', with the same air of supreme infallibility that was known to break the spirits of his braver opponents in combat. The Wanderer wanted there to be no mistaking as to how lucid he was throughout the killing-process, no mistaking as to how coherent the mind was that chose to kill for the New Order, deciding to hit his macabre point where it hurt, ending the psychiatric-evaluation once and for all.

'Putting it simply for you, Dr Kane.... I am quite impervious to internment at this point in time, and on every - conceivable - level.'

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 1​

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (867 ABY)

EIGHTH DAY SINCE LANDING....

<"Baird to Cairn One! We have incoming tangoes, but it appears they're approaching where we can see them.... Could it be that the Mawsworn commander actually wants to parley?">

'If they're armed, they'll want us to surrender, and with a flanking-strategy in mind if we refuse. If not, then as ye say, maybe they really are here to parley after all.... No excuse t'drop oor guard either way biht. Stay frosty out there, Guardian One. Cairn One out!'

Exchanging fire and hostilities of all sorts with the Mawsworn in the jungle for days on end, the main fight for Goshen's outlying jungle would play out between the most keen boots on the ground at the time, with soldiers representing Khaostra Devoid in their defensive actions against the surrounding Free-State troops serving with Michael Barran, a battle of which that had been testing the lines of both contingents for a good week before any support arrived in orbit for either. Drowning faces and shooting others for much longer than anyone would care to endure, Lao-Mon would be littered with carcasses, craters, ammo-boxes and the splintered remnants of trees wherever the conflict had sprung up, just as illusive as the lush green backdrop itself. Putting out his fifth boredom-cigarette of the day, the Lord-Captain would turn to Yorunarr and mutter,'You can lead them here, I'll pour them drinks an' such when they arrive. Cozy though it might be, it's none too bad for the sort of fight we've been having. Any change from a bivvy or a hard floor is a welcome change, is it not?', closing with a question and searching glare, looking for signs of fatigue or rage that were always detrimental to the more-delicate aspects of negotiation.

'Naturally, though I reckon those seats might resemble the lack of comfort they'd expect from their own. You can leave this to me though, probably for the best that someone not-Galidraani meets them first, hm? The accent would probably put them on edge all over again - best they hear a voice that can make endearing noises when tensions are at their peak.... See you in five, maybe ten minutes tops.'

Be safe out there, brother.
Always.... Now focus! We need you concise, and not erratic today.​

Yorunarr had never been so right, but Michael couldn't help but indulge the advantages Melarria had bestowed to him, even if only a little bit; the Novanian had not led the Woad astray before, and with every opportunity to do so, the last surviving son of Yan'Sharlim had proven himself every single time. So, In consideration of this fact, the last surviving son of Lord Erskine Barran would take his bodyguard's advice for the most part; sitting politely on his side of the room, the Wanderer would adopt a relaxed posture as he waited on the Maw's talented commander, finding himself quite eager to meet such a mind in person as he pondered on the kind of individual he'd meet, and much more eager than he would ever care to admit. Turning to his second-in-command when he'd broken out of his anticipatory focus, Michael would pass the ever-indomitable Randall his pistol and mutter,'Two to the dome if they capture me, you know how the new doctrine goes.', knowing the Halketh-Captivity doctrine well by that point, and taking well to it knowing what he was capable of becoming under such dark-hearted guidance.

'Aye, but you're no gettin' captured the-day or any other day for that matter. Cav or Kyber sabre, yer a karkin' menace when ye find yer momentum. Nae dome-shots for you the-day, Milord.'

'Besides, why a pistol? Get yersel SUH-NIPED if ye want a closed-casket, mate. Go out in style!', McBain continued, sniggering as his hands and faced poorly imitated the process, with explosion noise added for good measure. Some laughs would be shared between them as a result, releasing tensions that were plaguing their thoughts just moments before, though not half as bad as Halketh's voices just a few weeks before; still casting small echoes from before, the voices from that night would (as if their words were bellowed out from a far distance away every time), reverberate as residues to the Highlanders' post-Carlac flashbacks. As the comfortable silence gave way for his chance to hit the point home, Randall would would turn back towards Michael and prepositioned,'Trust me, Milord. It's much more considerate that way....', to make it snappy with the enemy commander still making their approach in the distance. With Barran's undivided attention, McBain used this time to frame his closing remark in a way that might appeal to the Lord-Captain, but knew what to say before long, concluding,'Blaster pistol leaves a mess ah have t'clean up, but wi' a high-powered sniper-rile? Heh! There'd be no head t'clean up, proper job done!'

'If ye keep chattin' like that, ah might need t'put two in your dome instead! Take it from me, the tropics an' McBain really don't mix very well.'​

 

[Lyra Vent]

R A V E N
COMPNOR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
GOSHEN | LAO MON
ALLIES: Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Thurion Heavenshield | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Noel Strasza | Sakadi Marathi Sinvala | NIO | SJC | GA
ENEMIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER | Whoever stands in the way of programming
ENGAGING: Open
GEAR: Armour | Shield and Grappling Hook hidden in vambrace | Side-arm 1 | Side-arm 2 | Rotary cannon | Phrik cybernetics | Standard Grenade loadout | Vibroknife | 4x Shiva Knives

EYE OF THE TIGER
​

The past weeks have been a blur.

Carlac had quite literally burnt. The Iron Fist had given its answer to the assassination of Irveric Tavlar . And it will keep giving its answer to the forces of chaos - the Imperial nation was all but crippled and it was out for blood.

For the Raven and her ISB counterpart, however, today was not a day for forceful battle like it was on Carlac. The directive that was given to the two COMPNOR agents, required speed and stealth. So Lyra opted for the bodyglove only that bonded comfortably with her cybernetics. Lightly armoured did not mean that Lyra was not armed to the teeth, however.

It was war, after all.

She and Zoraya took a bit of a detour to remain out of direct sight from the concentration of the battle surrounding the War Camp. Detour didn't mean that they couldn't see the fugly bugs that were zipping about, harassing the jedi and soldiers, however.

"The Maw are literal pests."

Lyra snorted as she looked up at the fortified wall.
"Then let's do everyone a service and exterminate them." she said.
When her brain finally comprehended what her eyes were seeing, a frown crept across Lyra's brow. She had seen some horrible things on her infiltrations, but the camp they were looking at now was like a giant, pus-filled ulcer on a once beautiful planet. Zoraya was right - they were literal pests. So when she rallied Lyra, the Raven did not let herself be invited twice and followed right on the heels of her colleague.

The neural interface needed little prompting to release the grappling hook from her vambrace as she directed her arm upwards. With a zwing it pulled her upwards as she drew her Sunshot from her hip in case some bug brains diverted their attention form the space wizards that were running around like glorified distractions.

Feet touching down on the wall, the cyborg was already firing accelerator rounds at some Scitterwings that have strayed too close to their proximity. she didn't feel like swatting away flies with the hand if she could just shoot at them from a distance.

She really didn't like bugs.

After dealing with the flying spiders, Lyra started moving to find an ideal place of descent. They had to move fast. There was a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do so - especially if you reckon in the cultists that were running around inside that would try to stop them if they were spotted.
"We need to move!" she told Zoraya over the din of battle. She didn't even bother to duck as a blaster bolt whizzed past her face. Another glanced off her bicep with a ting as both the sichouweave-armour and the phrik-reinforced cybernetics did their jobs. "Let's start with those towers." she said, motioning to the Processor Plants that were still belching smoke, as she started moving forward to descend into the mess below.

They really had their work cut out for them.

 

[Artemis Lu]

Objective: Stick with Damsy Callat
Location: Outside Goshen War Camp
Allies: Starlin Rand , Ripley Kühn​

On the way to war, Artemis had typed out a frantic message on her datapad:

Master Yi Fang, I am on a transport to Lao-Mon as I write this. We are going into a war zone, so I wanted to send word, just in case… well, you know. Whether I return or not, I will do my best to make you proud. Was that too dramatic? Either way, I meant it.

And then a second message, for the monks at the temple:

I’ve sent a message to Master Yi… please help him read it. Tell him to tap the message icon on his datapad, the one I gave him before I left. It’s really easy… And if I don’t make it back, please update the BTS fan group that I manage on SpaceBook.

***
Everything was new.

Artemis had only just left her Master’s side, had only just arrived at the Silver Rest, and had only just met Damsy Callat. The two of them had barely scratched the surface of small talk and temple touring when the call came. Her brand new acquaintance was now her closest ally here in the thick jungle of Lao-Mon. Her dark eyes focused on Damsy’s back.

She’d seen the Silver Rest temple grounds, but now she couldn’t remember anything. They’d walked through the gardens, but had she even really seen it? And the training grounds? Artemis remembered going that way, but she couldn’t picture it in her head now. Her flurry of irrelevant thoughts continued, even as she unsheathed her force-imbued blade to aid in her trudge through the dense foliage. She jolted when a leafy vine caressed the back of her neck.

And she jumped again when Damsy’s voice entered her mind.

<Good! Fine -- better than that,> she replied. Artemis cringed, even her telepathic voice sounded frightened and fake. <I’m okay.> She tried again, which was closer to the truth.

Focus.

Get in, break out slaves, get them evacuated. Yes, that seemed rather simple, didn’t it? Artemis repeated this like a mantra. And did her best to simply trust in the force, and her more experienced padawan; she’d follow Damsy’s lead.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Objective I: Bring the Light
Tags: The Mongrel Sakadi Marathi Sinvala Keilara Kala'myr Tu'teggacha
Location: In the dungeons below the Central Keep, Goshen War Camp...

Having once been the servant of a Sith Lord, Pygar Hoole was the obvious choice for a rebel spy. He knew how the Sith thought, how they acted, and how they operated—even if the late Sith Empire had been admittedly far more civilized than the Mawites. Using the identity of a dead recruit, he ate, drank, slept, and trained with the other marauders. But beneath the mask of their bloodthirsty brother-in-arms, he despised them and plotted their demise.

Their plan for the destruction of the war camp was slow to form, requiring a great deal of reconnaissance first, but today the wheel of justice had been set in motion.

A scream echoed through the dungeons. One of the Shi’ido, a male called Mithras, quickened his pace, only to be stopped by Nimdok. <Don’t,> he warned telepathically. <You rush in, you’ll get yourself killed.>

Mithras bared his teeth. <But it’s Shala!>

Shala was his wife. She was not a member of the team, but she had gone missing some time ago. Evidently she had been captured—unless this was a trick meant to lure and entrap them.

Another scream pierced the air. Mithras waited a few seconds longer, then hefted the blaster he had stolen from a dead marauder, faced down the cell door from whence he had heard the cries of pain, and blasted the lock.

The door slid open. Two Taskmasters barely had time to react before Mithras blasted them. Their bodies hadn’t hit the floor before Mithras turned to free Shala—and found that she was not in chains.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, the two simply stood and stared at each other. Her face was like a skull, green eyes wide and cheeks hollow from malnourishment. At the smell of charred flesh, Mithras’ gaze was drawn to the ragged scars on her back. Shala had been born a member of the Mician clan, and retained their mothlike appearance. But the cultists had burned off her soft wings and then continued to sear the wounds, not allowing them to heal or grow back lest she try to fly over the camp’s walls to freedom.

“Shala,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve come for you.”

Her lips pulled back and she bared her teeth at him, growling like a rabid animal.

Mithras instinctively took a step back, disturbed by her reaction. All that kept him from taking cover in that moment was the knowledge that there was hope. He could not comprehend what had happened to her in this place—the suffering and injustices done to those the Maw conquered and enslaved were unimaginable. All the horrors he had once thought confined to nightmares yawned like an abyss between them. But all Mithras wanted was to help her. He had no idea where to start, no path to follow across the chasm, but if he could just get her out of here alive…

Shala lunged at him. Mithras narrowly evaded her first strike. Behind him, his compatriots bombarded him with telepathic pleas, begging him to leave her. They didn’t have time for this, and they all thought she was too far gone. But with a wave of Mithras’ hand, he shut the door on them.

Nimdok slammed his fist against the door and cursed under his breath. Shaking his head, he turned to the others. <We have to keep going. No more… distractions.>

No sooner had he finished the thought, guards opened fire on them from the other end of the hall. The Shi’ido exchanged fire while Nimdok deflected the bolts with his lightsaber, red and green lighting up the corridor. A thrown knife impaled Pygar's thigh. The Changeling’s mouth opened in a silent cry of pain as he crumpled to the floor. His hair bleached white and his eyes faded back to their true milky color, the masquerade broken.

The hallway was soon littered with bodies, some scorched by blaster fire, others with their necks telekinetically broken. Astarte was the first to step over them, ripping open the next cell door with the Force and dealing with the Taskmasters within. Nimdok remained behind, tending to Pygar.

“You should leave me,” the Changeling mumbled. He grimaced, stifling a scream as Nimdok pulled the knife from his leg and took the time to bandage the wound. “I did my part already. I’m only going to slow you down.”

“Didn’t I already advise patience and caution?” Nimdok replied. He picked Pygar up with relative ease, slinging him over his shoulder. “Besides, I’m not that good of a fighter. Might as well find a use as the pack mule...”

 

[Starlin Rand]

Objective II: Tip of the Spear
Tags: Damsy Callat Ripley Kühn Artemis Lu Amelia Venthyra The Mongrel
In the jungle outside the Goshen War Camp...

The scene just outside the south entrance quickly became a theater of the absurd. Caught in the thick of the fighting, Starlin observed many things that defied belief, or struck him as just plain bizarre.

In the skies overhead, the strange Shi’ido bombers darted like the fastest and nimblest of birds, evading as much fire as they took from the big guns below. Flying a little lower, Starlin saw moth people—members of the Mician clan flew over the massive walls, swooping and diving with spears, vibroblades, clubs, and other weapons on the gunners or the marauders inside the camp.

Meanwhile, the Mawites had unleashed a horde of Skitterwings upon the rebels. To this the rebel Shamans responded with throngs of andesites and urartu.

An andesite is best described as a cross between a lizard, a scorpion, and a dragonfly; its multiple mouths were full of jagged teeth that dug into the Skitterwings, and its barbed stinger tore into the flesh of any creature the Shamans commanded it to attack.

An urartu, on the other hand, is a flesh-eating blob of slime with all the sentience of bacteria. A single urartu could absorb a Gore Wasp (and its rider...) in mid-swoop, digesting them rapidly, and only growing larger as it fed. The things mindlessly proceeded forward, seeping into cracks in the walls of the camp at the urging of the Shamans to terrorize the Mawites within.

Then there were the beelzeborks—slobbering, yipping, barking, whining monstrosities that came running up the hill like a kennel’s worth of well-trained hunting hounds, or perhaps a police force’s entire stock of K9 units. They enthusiastically barreled into the marauder ranks, chomping down on the limbs of screaming Mawites with enough force to shatter bone. Starlin watched as a desperate Marauder Aspirant bit the ear of a beelzebork that was gripping his leg in its jaws. The animal let out a pained whine, and a second or so later a Shaman had run up, yelled in perfectly clear Basic, “Stop biting my dog, motherfether!” and then punched the Aspirant in the nose with a sickening crunch of cartilage.

Starlin was beginning to understand why Lao-mon wasn’t a more popular spot for tourism.

With all the chaos outside the wall, the Shi’ido tank had carved a path to the southern entrance, only to find it blocked by a pile of corpses. Starlin stepped forward, on the verge of offering to use the Force to help move them, only for the tank to suddenly jerk forward. Its front blades whirred, scattering an ungodly amount of blood and guts as it sliced a path through the dead, then began “knocking” on the southern door like a house guest from hell.

Covered in flecks of blood even though he was standing several meters away from the tank, a rather stunned Starlin wiped his face on the back of his hand and blinked to clear his good eye. That was when he spotted Damsy Callat and Artemis Lu hanging back, looking like they didn’t know where they were or how they got there, let alone what to do.

There was another tank emerging from the jungle behind them, scattering a shower of splintered wood and shredded leaves in its wake.

“Hey!” Starlin called to them. “Move! Tank! Behind you!”

Were they shell-shocked? Possibly. Bad timing if they were. If the two didn't move fast, Starlin might have to do something drastic, like pick them up with the Force and set them down somewhere where they were less likely to wind up as fuzz, guts, and eyeballs.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Objective 1
Allies: Maw.
Gear: Armour, lightsabre, Shotgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Inosuke Ashina

Unsurprisingly, the dungeon was even less clean than the rest of the base, which was saying something. The stench of death, decay and suffering was palpable. There was plenty of dried as well as fresh blood. Surreptitiously, Enyo made her way down dark corridors, occasionally passing dead bodies.

Here and there one could hear screams. Evidently torturers were still applying their craft somewhere. Unlike the 'enhanced interrogators' in the 'civilised' galaxy, they were probably honest about the fact that they tortured people out of sadistic enjoyment and to turn them into hollow shells, rather than spout nonsense about how there was a 'ticking clock' and one had to bend the rules to save innocents.

Noise could be heard coming closer. Her eyes flashed, adjusting to the darkness. Picking up the pace, she raised her gun. And suddenly found herself facing two emaciated, bleeding figures dressed in blood-stained rags. The Shi'ido flinched, protectively placing herself in front of what Enyo assumed was a little boy. Presumably the long period of torture and starvation had taken such a toll on them they could not shift.

The Terminatrix brought a finger to her lips. Well, her helmet, since it obfuscated her features. "Shh. I am with the NIO. I won't hurt you," she said, modulating her voice. Conveniently, her armour did not display any Maw symbols. Assuming they had any. The nondescript, black armour did not feature insignia in general.
"Are you here to get us out? Please. The people here...they're monsters," the woman pleaded.
"I know. You must be strong. We have medics en route. They'll help you. Did you see a Jedi?"

"Hal..." The Cyborg heard the marauder's footsteps and had spun around just as he brandished his sword upon seeing the fugitives. He was inadvertently interfering, so she squeezed the trigger. The escaped captive winced in shock, taking cover with the little boy, as the shot rang out. When she dared to open her eyes, the Shi'ido saw that the shot had not been meant for them. It had blown a good chunk of the Mawist minion's face off, splattering blood and brain matter over the wall.

Enyo continued speaking as if nothing had happened. "I'm supposed to link up to them so we can free all your people and kill the bastards who did this."
The woman was obviously unhappy since it seemed clear there would be no escort right away. Nonetheless, she nodded meekly. "Y-yes...down there," she pointed into the direction of the corridor. "H-he's been opening the cells."
"Good. I'll aid him. Go that way," she indicated a route for the fugitive to follow. "Follow the corridor, turn right. Quickly." The woman quickly scampered away with the kid in tow, and any softness vanished from Enyo's features.

And so she walked on. Judging from the corpses of Mawist minions - not to mention the open cell door - the direction was correct. Her Force senses prickled as she got closer to the Forceful presence. The light radiated from it. Her steps, while obviously not silent, were quiet. The stealthy features of her suit helped too when it came to obfuscating her approach to a degree.

And then she found him as she took a turn into another passageway. Without a word, she brought up her shotgun - a Reaper Plasma Shotgun, to be precise - with lightning-fast reflexes and squeezed the trigger. A single cartridge was filled with a dozen burning shards that could travel at a ridiculous speed. Ideal for piercing armour. And messing up sabre-wielders. Boom.

 

[The Dark Inquisitor]

Objective 2 - Tip of the Spear
Foes - Glossa
Allies - Sergeant Omen
So it begins

---

It was the post eve of the battle. Her first Battle. The first War she was going to be sticking her foot right in. Nerves were always a thing she struggled with when it came to conflict, but she knew she had to try and defeat that fear, that doubt. She was a Jedi, and she'd be damned if she didn't help those that needed it.

Hearing Sergeant Omen muttering to himself before giving her the option to leave this place and get back to coruscant, Kinhaes gave the solider a grim look. Not one an enemy would receive, but a serious one she rarely put on. "I'm going down there. I have to try to help those innocents," Kinhaes said, determination of youth in her tone as she checked her belt. She was wearing a suit of special Light Jedi armor. Mostly an experimental design from a long forgotten age, but it was comfortable enough. Its silvery surface mixed with the pale cloth gave her a Knight's appearance already. "I didn't get this ready for nothing after all," She chimed, feeling the two sabers at her side.

It was obvious that he had seen battle before. He was already dealing out a battle plan as they flew closer to their objective. Thinking hard about their tactics, Kinhaes voiced a concern. "If we get seen arriving though, we'd be overrun if they breach any blockades between us and them. The best bet we have is to sneak our way in and try to take down some guards or lesser targets. That way, there's less between the civies and the ship." Kinhaes was starting to sound like the other Jedi who'd already seen this all before.

"You're not in trouble," Kinhaes said, hearing him apologies for giving her what felt like an order, "I'll just have to get you back when we finish this." The emotion coming from the Clone was evident. She could feel it like a ripple from a clam pond. His emotions sending small waves to her mind. "Hey. I'm not going to die. You're not going to die. We're going to be fine," Kinhaes said, looking out at the half torn landscape and buildings before their path, "Got some fight in me after all."

"Set it down where there's cover. We can fight up from there," Kinhaes said, pointing to a section that was being shielded from the hundreds of blaster, flak and many other forms of violence. She instantly stood up and made her way to the exit, preparing to open it and check if the coast was clear. If it was, she'd wait for Omen. If not, then she'd have a good chance to show him how far she's gotten since falling into a puddle chasing after him.

 

[Zoraya Ives-Ayres]

AD ASTRA
COMPNOR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Objective: Destroy the Slave Quarters
Allies: NIO | SJC | GA | In proximity Lyra Vent | Thurion Heavenshield | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Noel Strasza | Sakadi Marathi Sinvala
Enemies: BotM | Open
Equipment: E-11 Blaster Rifle with Grappling Hook attachment, SE-14r Light Repeating Blaster, Vibroknife, Thermal Detonators x 4, KXA ABDG-01x 'Null' Grenade, Wrist-mounted Personal Energy Shield, Commlink

Vengeance is a monster of appetite, forever bloodthirsty and never filled.
​

From above, there was a good view of the battle that had begun to rage on the outside while the shadows of those who had crept inside disappeared among the structures. Where they stood, they were vulnerable to attacks from the skies and the ground so it was vital that they return to the ground so they could benefit from the cover it provided.

When Lyra said they needed to move, she didn't need to be told twice. The blasterfire in their direction warned her as much as she needed. Once their target had been decided, she nodded to show understanding and continued to fire at the mounted creature in the air while she took the opportunity to secure her grappling hook to the wall and begin her descent.

After a quick rappel down the other side of the wall, her feet were safely back on the ground so she holstered one of her weapons to free her other hand for use as the next part of their mission came would soon come into play.

Once it was confirmed that her ally was in attendance, she ran towards the industrial towers, attempting to remain out of sight as much as possible by sticking close to any buildings to use as cover where possible.

So far, they hadn't crossed paths with any Jedi, their supposed allies. It was no matter because the Imperials had a goal and no Jedi would prevent them from reaching it. Where the Jedi basked in weakness, the Empire revelled in strength. It was the Concord's weakness that would be their downfall while the Empire remained and today would be a test of their strength.

Upon reaching the nearest tower, she pulled out the first charge and ceremoniously placed it on the building. "The Brotherhood of the Maw picked a fight with the wrong people." She declared before pulling out a second charge.

Inside, she heard the shaken tones of scared voices. No doubt slaves who had unfortunate timing. She did not hesitate to strategically place a second charge. They were not here to perform a rescue mission. They were not Jedi. Anyone who was a slave of the Maw was as good as dead the moment they allowed themselves to be captured.

 

[ADM. Reshmar]

Objective III
3rd Fleet 38th Attack Squadron
Reef Home
Allies: Gir Quee Liram Angellus
Enemies: Marlon Sularen

The command center of Reef home was silent, not a soul but Reshmar was in the room. He had sent the crew to rest and prepare for what was ahead. This was not a new thing, this alone time before the last jump into a system. Reshmar knew that around the rest of the vessel crews were preparing the same as the command staff. The gunnery crews finalized their last-minute checks and aligning their weapons tracking systems. The flight crews were readying the attack craft across the entire formation. Engineering crews were working on their final checks as well, engines and reactors at peak efficiency, power systems fully operational. The entire squadron was a frantic buzz of activity yet here on the command deck of Reef Home Reshmar sat silently considering the battle to come.

His last battle had been a disaster for his group. The small group of ships had been thrown together so quickly and the command ship had been a new class that had been untested in battle. It ended up costing Reshmar the entire group and thousands of people. He did not know if it was on him, he played the battle back hundreds of times in his mind, sure he and his commanders had made the right choices. in the end he had been forced to leave the ship before its commander made a suicide run on the alien moon.

This was not his first loss, nor would it be his last. He had taken a group too light for the situation with a green crew into a battle that cost them dearly in man and material. He would not make that mistake again, looking back he knew that was why it happened. He knew the commanders and crews under him made the right choices against impossible odds and paid the price to save civilians, to save the rest of the fleet, to save him. Reshmar sat with his eyes closed thinking about the battle once more. His mind was awash with what was done or what could have been done. His thoughts were interrupted when the door to the room opens and the command staff began shuffling back into the command center.

"Admiral, Command staff returning to duty sir, what are your orders." came the failure voice of the Reef Home's captain. Reshmar opened his eyes as watched the men and women come in and take their stations. He turned to Captain Juuprin and nodded before speaking.

"Captain, have the crew do their final system checks. once we are prepared we will begin," said Reshmar. The Mon Calamari captain nodded in return then turned and carried out the order. Reshmar looked at the forward viewport at the massive vessel sitting out and to the port of Reef Home. He knew Gir would be there doing the same thing he had just done. Whatever the man did to prepare for war. The two had seen too much of it in their lives, much of it together. a voice from his left spoke calling for his attention

"Admiral, The group is prepared for launch sir," said the CAG from his command station. Reshmar nodded and spoke, Launch the CAP CAG. Once they are in place we will send in the eyes," said Reshmar as he watched the man salute then send out the command to the air wings. A moment later the combat air patrol launched taking up their positions throughout the formation. They would remain information with the fleet until it jumped into the system. guarding the larger vessels against any surprise attack craft which might find them out on the edge of the system.

"screen is up and firm sir," said the CAG. Reshmar looked out again at the pinpricks that were the sector's stars, one showing brighter than the rest. He knew the battle was about to begin and this time he was much more prepared for the fight. "send the command captain," said Reshmar to the mon calamari man standing beside him. The man nodded and gave the order. A moment later two small vessels move out in front of the formation and jumped into the system.

The two small MIG craft burst out of hyperspace on the edge of the system and immediately began to scan the system and map the space around the world of Lao-Mon. Its sensors scanning for contacts, labeling each, and identifying them. As they worked, they sped across space on the engagement zone's outside flanks, constantly rescanning for new contacts. Once identified each got a tag that listed any information known on the contact and labeling it friend or foe. Once The Silver Fleet jumped in they would receive a burst transmission from the two vessels relaying that information saving precious time allowing the fleet to immediately target and fire upon reversion from hyperspace.

Aboard the Reef Home Reshmar again sat quiet drowning out the cacophony around him. Soon he would be in battle once again, soon he and his crews would seek out the enemy and grab them by the throat least they do the same. He knew people would die today, it was just the price paid for freedom and security. Sometimes though, the price was too high.

Actions
38th attack squadron preparing for battle.
Defensive CAP launched and moved into the formation with the squadron.
Two intel ships entered the system and began scanning and labeling contacts.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

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


​

Trumpets sounded through the skies. Messengers of war let loose their weapons of destruction, tearing apart the clouds in heaving waves of chaos. Mere mortals might despair and bleed uncontrollably at such bombardments wreaking havoc above their heads. The likes of mechanical warfare certainly brought dismay to those further on still fleeing in the hope of survival. If waves of artillery did not reduce them to the kin smothered in blood and ashes around them, then they just might make their escape. Tennacus was not about to hunt them down out of mere sport, but those within range he did indeed fire upon, loosening the crimson blasts from his hulking rifle, separating accomplices who longed to escape together. Cold-hearted? Most definitely. Unreasonable? Certainly not. They would only rally together, anyway, and bring themselves further disappointment when the Brotherhood's warriors loosened their malice upon their hopeful selves. If anything, Darth Tennacus was doing them a favour.

Still, his mind was elsewhere, even when his blasts hurled so accurately towards fleeing Shi'ido. The Force was bothersome, but not in a way which made him discomforted. Like a transmission that never ceased, but remained anonymous in its source. Something was out there, upsetting the balance. Something he could not, for the moment, see, but felt as a constant ringing in his ears. He even held his breath amidst his focus, for the empathised rasps beneath his metallic respirator felt like a distraction whenever he heard it. It was enough that the sound of the sky being torn apart was undying in its calamity, not to mention the despairing cries moving through the camp. His gaze averted towards the undead horde amassed to serve as guards over their enslaved kin. Although not completely mindless, he could not entrust them enough to search the camp for themselves. Having already seen one ship descend awkwardly beyond the trees, it was a gamble to his resources to send them out there, only to be annihilated by the likes of a crashing vessel. No, Tennacus would not waste his efforts. In fact, he would not have to move an inch from where he stood.

He could entrust them to remain idle for the moment, given they had been successfully doing that anyway. One captive did attempt to escape, so now there were only eleven to watch over. Tennacus would watch over them, too, but he would also delve himself deep into the Force, closing his eyes until they could reopen to the sight of the camp much further ahead. Such sight came at the conjuration of a wraith-like shadow, summoned by the will of the Dark Side to allow the Sith to perceive the ongoing conflicts within. His shape dwelt beyond sight, wisping over the dead, crowding itself behind any inanimate objects bulky enough to obscure his temporal host. The Force was stronger here - concentrated in a way he hadn't felt for so long. Reaching out to the Force, the Sith used it to serve as a guide to this source of concentrated energy. It did not take long for his eyes to fall upon the wandering female, watching her progress in her march ever onward. Jedi, he thought. The Force implied just as much. The shadow watched her from afar, taking no action to risk awareness. Tennacus would not attempt to attack another Force-user under the dilution of a Force Shadow; he used it mostly to observe, analyse and determine. But his watch was ever cautious, focused on just how much she had offered herself to the Light. There was something else in there with her, but he would have to get closer to determine what it was. Thankfully, he needed not to do that. The shadow dissipated from beyond the rock, drifting in the winds of warfare. The Sith Lord reopened his eyes from the cliff, and waited patiently as the Jedi made her way towards him.

His horde, feral-like in their stances, moved their gazes to look at her when she first came into their line of sight. Their appearances exuded intimidation, through the likes of curled teeth and puffed chests with unbent joints to elevate their heights. Where they had once killed those who tried to approach them, the undead horde divided into two groups via an unversed command, taking along with them the captives who bore many a weapon to their bodies, threatening to loosen upon them at a single command. Darth Tennacus stood atop the jagged cliff, his grey coat flailing in the winds of several aerial bodies sweeping over them in combat. The Zersium rifle held itself firmly against his chest, and his eyes narrowed to analyse her further.

Beneath that mask he had a voice, produced monotonously from a tongue that was surely his. Tennacus often spoke through disembodied hosts, like the shadow which once stalked her, in order to confuse his enemy. Today, he changed that.

". . . I remember a Jedi once told me their order stands to keep the peace. To dispel terror, warfare, enslavement and corruption wherever it rises. But then he told me of hypocrisy in their ideologies, for it exists openly within their sanctuaries and halls. Abandon emotion, sever companionships - answer only to the Light which, when you stare right into it, is ever blinding. Is that why you came here, today: to keep the peace? If that is your belief, then you should have slaughtered everyone around you before you even got here."

​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Allies: Halketh | Darth Tennacus | Bendak Crail | Romund Sro | Marlon Sularen | Glossa
Foes: Starlin Rand | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Liram Angellus | Noel Strasza | Thurion Heavenshield | Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Damsy Callat | Mrurh'en'lase | Hel | Michael Barran | Lyra Vent | Artemis Lu

Hetzen drew in a sharp breath as her Gore Wasp ascended, giving her a commanding view of the battlefield. For the first time, she understood the true size and power of the forces arrayed against the Brotherhood. When he had chosen her to be his right hand, picking her out among all of his scarred and augmented veterans, The Mongrel had warned her that it would always be so; only a few had heeded the Maw's holy gospel, and they stood alone against an entire galaxy dedicated to preserving stagnant traditions and corrupt power structures. But to see those odds laid out before her...

At last, she understood the burden of their holy cause.

All around her, the skies remained deeply unfriendly. Hetzen was forced to revise her opinion of the Shi'ido bombers. Although they looked fragile, they were apparently nimble enough to regularly evade the Brotherhood's heavy screen of guided missiles, a feat that none of the Mawites' own fighters could have achieved. It was astounding to watch, and would have been beautiful if it weren't so dangerous... and frustrating. Clearly the Brotherhood was going to have to scramble their own fighters to counter this attack, fighters that would no longer be available for the battle in orbit. A setback.

Then there were the winged Micians. Hetzen had been briefed on them: a Shi'ido subspecies with insect-like characteristics. They were nomads, distrusted by the other changeling clans due to their reputation as tricksters and thieves... but apparently necessity had convinced their distant kin to put aside that reputation, as the Micians had shown up in force. They used their mothlike wings to fly over the walls, attacking the defenders from above, adding to the havoc of the hellstrike cannons. Once, the Micians had been targeted for slave-soldier conversion, thanks to their weak wills.

Now they would be exterminated on sight instead.

Hetzen put out the call, transmitting up to orbit to request air support, but it would be some time before the Divine Eagles could arrive to relieve the camp. Until then, the Gore Wasp riders flew among the Micians, firing their heavy repeaters into the ranks of the flyers with impunity. But it was a different form of air support that caught the Scar Hound subchief's eye: the arrival of Marlon Sularen 's bombing run. The sight of forty StarFortress bombers flying over the edge of the jungle, unleashing their bombs on the charging rebels, was truly magnificent... especially given their payloads.

The Wretchedness rained down on the attackers from above.

Surely the bioweapon would wreak havoc on the incoming Shi'ido army... but for now, Hetzen's eye was drawn to the battle of the beasts being unleashed just outside the southern wall. She was not particularly worried about the Andesites; they were smaller than the Skitterwings, and they were solitary creatures, unused to fighting together. Skitterwings, by contrast, were natural swarm fighters, hunting that way in the wild. The Urartu were more of a problem; the Maw had never successfully tamed the strange blob-creatures, but the Shi'ido beastmasters didn't seem to be having trouble.

A Gore Wasp rider foolishly descended to ground level and was engulfed by one of the blobs. Hetzen cursed his idiocy; they were high in the air, armed with heavy repeaters to decimate their foes at range, and would surrender every advantage by descending to earth. Perhaps he had been overcome by a hunger for glory. There were also a few marauders out of position, those torn apart by the hungry Beelzeborks. Why had they left the safety of Goshen's walls, the position from which they could fire down at the oncoming attackers with impunity? Fools. Again, perhaps overeager to earn glory.

There would be no more marauders outside the walls for Urartu and Beelzeborks to tear into, as the Maw was not so foolish as to fail to use its own defenses. Still, Hetzen was forced to admit that the Skitterwing attack had been much less effective than she'd hoped. Perhaps the Shi'ido beastmasters had been too accustomed to the native creatures, able to find some way to avoid the deadly effects of their neurotoxic bite. Similarly, the tank had somehow pushed through the withering fusillade of plasma fire unleashed from the walls, apparently without significant damage. It must be strong indeed.

Hetzen pushed down panic. She must not fail her master.

Perhaps she needed to unleash a beast that the beastmasters could not possibly predict. It was time to loose the Chrysalide Branchlurkers. "Open the chrysalide cages!" Hetzen shouted, and pens built into the walls of Goshen War Camp were unbarred. Out of the walls emerged the alchemically-altered Ts'Kiza. Ordinary Branchlurkers were ravenous eating machines, deadly apex predators... but these Sithspawn were even worse. Ravenous and uncontrollable, they fell upon everything that wasn't one of them, their insect jaws dripping deadly acid as they tore into the rebel ranks with fang and claw.

They would have to deal with the tank as well, of course. Somehow weathering the heavy anti-vehicle fire, it was already knocking at the south gate, trying to break in. If it did, much of the advantage of the walls would be lost. Fortunately, the gatehouse was a chokepoint - one with murder holes in the stonework above it. Tarar Warbands fired down on the tank, concentrating their plasma fire on the top of the vehicle, pouring white-hot death into it at relatively close range. Other marauders pushed down huge chunks of stonework, blown free from the walls by the bombers, down onto the tank.

Both plasma and ten-ton rocks fell on it from on high.

Between that and The Wretchedness that was streaming out from Sularen's bomber attack, Hetzen was going to have to hope that the south wall could hold for a little longer... because she had so many other fields of battle to attend to. Blasterfire tore past her, several shots scattering against her Gore Wasp's chitinous armor, drawing her attention to a pair of enemy infiltrators - Zoraya Ives-Ayres and Lyra Vent. They'd managed to scale the walls, and were already heading for the industrial processor spires within the War Camp. They were planting charges around the vital machines.

Apparently they weren't worried about slave casualties.

They had to be stopped... but so did the Jedi who'd led the charge up the east wall. Too many foes, too few Mawites. She would just have to counter as many as she could at once. "You two, stop them!" she ordered, and two Gore Wasp riders streaked in to attack Zoraya and Lyra, howling as they opened fire with their heavy repeaters. Their goal: to drive the attackers away from their explosives before they could blow the processor. Meanwhile, Hetzen herself guided her Gore Wasp down to land along the wall... right in front of Amelia Venthyra , who had just managed to fight off the Skitterwing swarm.

"Time to die, Jedi," she hissed, drawing her dread blade.

She was tall, armored and tattooed and augmented, covered in armor made of studded leatheris and insect chitin. Her long dirty-blonde hair flowed out behind her in the wind of passing bombers. Her organic eye, a bright blue mismatched with the red glow of her cybernetic one, narrowed as she regarded the attacking "hero". Her Gore Wasp buzzed forward in short flaps of its wings, its 2-foot stinger raised, ready to punch through armor, flesh, and bone. "If you didn't like the little bugs," Hetzen hissed, laughing cruelly as she advanced toward the lone Jedi, "you should meet this one."

 

[Darth Senthral]

​

"I dawn the Crown of Darkness. Rising sense of futility and doom."

Song ends... For the Knight called Darth Senthral



Occupation: BotM Sith Apprentice to Darth Tennacus
Objective: Bring down the Shi'ido Rebellion. Stop the NIO and Silver Jedi from their meddling.
Weaponry: Double Bladed Crimson Lightsaber. The Dark Side. Modified DL-22 Blaster Pistol.
Location: Outside at Goshen War Camp
Engaging: None. Open for it. Unless fear holds you back? ​

Weakness flowed in the Shi'ido who fell before him. Those freeing captives fell slower than those freed, but when 'saber met flesh they fell all the same. Many tried to transform before his eyes, he had no time to allow it. Nor patience. They were naive, their dreams amounted to nothing when killed so quickly. Darth Senthral had learned well to imagine himself in the shoes of those he killed, and though they hardly had shoes to occupy he still tried.

If he were Shi'ido he would stay subjugated. Stay enslaved. Stir in the anger that brought to him, and let the hatred seathe for his captors in his very soul. Then he would break his chains without need of outside help. The Dark Side would free him, it would free them, and yet they were so blind to it. So blind that they now dropped fast and hard before himself.

Alas he was no Shi'ido. Nor would he ever be. Though he was from a species who did not have such abilities as shapeshifting, he was still today's victor among their dead. Humans were not special. The Dark Side was. So in turn Sith were. The Shi'ido did not see this, and now with the Jedi interference? They probably never would. A species of great potential, and yet they would perish weak.

All because of the accursed Jedi. Whom needed break their own chains, and yet thought they were free? Pathetic. They were held back, but their binding was unseen to most if not all. Except Sith. The Jedi were chained by ideals. They were heroes? The Galaxies Protectors? Yet those they saved bathed in the weakness that comes with needing saving. How blightful, utterly and disgustingly blightful. It fueled a bitter rage, and the madness of it brought frustration untold. Lastly an unbound sorrow for the doomed Shi'ido. All so quickly did they become fuel for the Dark Side. Chaos ensued.

​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Objective 2 - Tip of the Spear
Foes - Glossa, The Mongrel
Allies - The Dark Inquisitor , Starlin Rand

Omen cocked a half-smile as he heard her speak about saving civilians and fighting the Sith that tortured the galaxy with their presence. She was a true Jedi alright, not like the book burners of the AC who burned everything they saw everything as tainted as bad and killed former Sith Empire civilians for sport. Just the thought of the massive tumor of hypocrisy there was making his head hurt. He perked up though when she suggested sneaking around. "Probably the best way. Find some part of that wall we saw coming in and seeing if we can sneak through an unguarded hole in it." It was going to be a precarious and very difficult task, finding some unguarded part of the wall to sneak through but with the fire in that Padawan had shown to him, he relaxed some, knowing he had a good ally at his side. He gave a light chuckle when she said "Got some fight in me after all." "Sorry, I must have had caring friend mode engaged, got a change that to bloodthirsty warrior before we leave. I've just seen a lot of action as well as 2 years of straight war. It wasn't pleasant and I know too many ways to die." He laughed as a funny thought came into his brain. "I'm sure you will find a droid body to transplant my brain into sometime soon if I do die here. It is what friends are for." Hopefully, they didn't need that body anytime soon but it was going to get hot and hairy quickly. Better to have a backup plan than no plan at all.

The old soldier nodded at the Padawan's instructions, seeing them as a sound plan. When they were nearly ready to touch down and the Padawan had made her way to the exit ramp, the clone was just about to land when he saw 40 enemy dots appear on the ship's radar. Bombers... That is not good... And knowing the Sith and their like to torture oppressed people like the Natives... Chemical weapons! Omen suddenly cut all forms of stealth away and pushed the engines to their limit blasting towards the cites walls. He grabbed the intercom and shouted into the mic to tell the Paddie what was going on. "We got bombers with possible chemical payloads coming in on the rebels. If we don't stop them now, this whole battle might be lost. So lesson one of Omen's school of war for today is "No plan lasts past the first contact." We are going to pass over the West Wall and drop you and the turrets I've got stored off in a hot drop before I zoom off to destroy them. I'll meet you on the ground later but for right now, stand by at the ramp to jump!" They had no time to argue or debate. The bombers were closing on their targets and he could not let them drop their deadly payloads whatever they were. The Rebirth quickly swept over the West wall from nowhere, firing its autocannons at the wall's guard defenders as Omen started dropping the 40 L4 Vele-series Orbit Deployable Autoturrets from his 10 open cargo pods into the area. He had meant to use them to reinforce the landing area but as he said, plans change and the Jedi needed all the help she could get. "Jump now! And may the force be with you!" The Clone pilot didn't have time to check if she had left the gunship, he was plowing ahead towards the bombers, his thumb never leaving the trigger as he struck one after another down in the final seconds before they dropped their lethal payloads. It wasn't going to be enough. Some were going to get through to drop their rain of munitions on the rebels. It was going to take a miracle to stop them all now. Or maybe... The Rebirth looked like it was going to crash right into the enemy formation before it drifted midair over the enemy front lines and very bossy Maw female general as she said her little speech to the Jedi Knight known as Amelia Venthyra that Omen would have just shot the woman point blank during. These Sith put too much in their monologues and too little in their fighting skills.

The gunboat rested between the ground and the rebel's and the bomber's payload, making itself an umbrella for the Shi'ido below. The Trooper prayed to the spirits of his brothers that the Sith craft were not carrying actual bombs and if they really were, that his death would be swift and painless. It was then when he heard the rain of acid hit his ship's hull. "How... I was actually right for once!" That was a first... But as much as he wanted to celebrate his victory, his instincts were telling him that a number of rocket launchers were on that Wall and that he did not want to be the cause of his ship crashing for a third time so he quickly pulled his thrust to pull burn and headed into the clouds, popping chaff and countermeasures for the rockets he knew were going to be on his backside as he fled into the sky.

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

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

​

The march was unbearably hot and humid. Old bile and the putrid stuff of dying fear coated the gory scrapyard that ended with the horrific construct that was a war camp. Built atop the ruins of the old capital of the Shi'ido, it was a mangled, sharp horror to see up close. Rounds upon rounds of blaster fire and explosives launched into the fields around the camp, terraforming this once lush world into a cratered moon of demise. The Hybrid herself was only protected from sight and harm by the downed shuttles and fighters, but she knew that protection would end soon. Behind what remained of a bomber, its pilot a charred ruin in the cockpit, the Hybrid spied the walls of the camp.

It appeared that much of the fighting was being done on eastern and southern sides, a massive army of native rebels and a host of smoke-hidden Jedi charging. As for her side, the northern, it appeared to be none less chaotic, although far more dispersed in numbers. Fresh corpses of rebels, Concord soldiers, and Jedi of both invading Orders were made by the moment, their lives snuffed out in the stretched apart charges and marches. All wasted to breach the walls of Brotherhood's disrespect. Disrespect. A common trope that always surprised the Hybrid with how much it changed in each story. Worsened.

A round of burning plasma burst far too close for comfort, and the Hybrid yelped in surprise, leaping to her feet into the open. It was only then did she realize that whoever had been on the receiving end of that burst was nothing more than incinerated bones now. But, she had no time to mourn the would-be ally in her approach to the camp. Almost immediately, barrages of crimson blaster fire from the Brotherhood's weapon emplacements erupted on her position, scarring the land even more with deep trenches and forcing the young Jedi to sprint forward towards the wall, further up the lines of shrapnel and body parts. Substances of corpses and destroyed earth coated her boots and more than one wet sinkhole further tarnished her robes up to her shins.

Despite the muck, endurance was her closest friend all her life and with her energy back following the crash, the Hybrid made short work of the panicked run and made it to the wall, flattening herself against it under a jagged overhang to hide from the hail of death. She then quickly took note of the few others who managed to do so as well - some may have even been there for some time, unable to climb due to the lack of siege or climbing equipment, or simply unable to dodge the blaster fire.

But she had to and she would. She would make it inside and fight the Brotherhood back. A Padawan still she may have been, but she knew that she could prove herself worthy and be seen as a true asset to the Jedi. All it would take was patience, of restraining herself just enough so as to get an edge in battle without falling to the chaos of it. Steeling her mind to the emotions of this war was difficult already, and her success in keeping that wall up thus far was proof enough that she could last. Allyson Locke 's teaching had taught her that well enough.

And so, she climbed, leaping out from under the jagged overhang and igniting her lightsaber. With the blue blade scraping against the metallic carapace of the camp, the Hybrid jumped upward and latched onto a hole in the wall with her cursed arm - roughly halfway up the climb. The metal sank into the fissures of her fingers, heated up by the dark sorcery that streamed through her muscle and bones. The pain was made only bearable by the containment armor covering the arm. Without it, the Hybrid was sure to fall and scream in agony.

A stream of blaster fire rained down onto her position once again and the Hybrid was pushed to drag herself up further into the air. Gripping the metal edge of the hole, the Hybrid flexed her arm and pulled herself up, using the Force to enhance her ascent into a grand upward leap. Hot air pressed down on her face pulling her blue lips into a fanged gnarled grimace. Embers of shuttlecraft stung her eyes while ash stained her skin grey. And although many of the rounds were deflected with the improved blade work she had learned from her master, several grazed her body still. New scars were gained, but the Hybrid cared not for them or the pain they left. Instead, she immediately went on the offensive against the defenders of the wall - pale psychopaths lashing out with a berserker's rage. Putting her new skills with the blade to work, Mrurh'en'lase parried the simple weaponry of the Brotherhood's grunts and slashed through flesh and bone, yelling with each fatal strike. Downward parries, adept feints, and non-wasteful strokes of the blade brought her quite the fearsome image on the Northern wall. It was uncertain, however, what this would do - if anything - for those still hiding at the base of the wall or charging across the gory scrapyard.

Only when a particularly large member of these defenders tackled her off the wall into the camp itself did her onslaught stop, leaving almost nine dead in total. Mrurh'en'lase gave a grim smile at the turn of events but maintained her dominance all the same. Tossing her blade into her cursed arm, the Hybrid wrapped her right arm around the man's back and hooked her right leg around his. With a surge of motion and swinging her cursed arm in a clockwise motion through the air, the Hybrid flipped herself and the man over mid-fall, de-igniting her blade and shoving her right forearm against his throat. As they impacted the ground, the force drove her forearm down onto his larynx, crushing it and killing him almost instantly. Rising to her feet, the Hybrid re-ignited her blade again to barely deflect the blaster fire of more grunts who happened upon her. One crimson bolt was sent careening into a man's chest while another was sent off into a nearby tent. Mrurh'en'lase was quick to utilize her Telekinesis to grip the man and throw him into a nearby pile of rations stolen from the natives.

The Hybrid moved again, engaging who she could through the camps, her blood boiling so hot that it began to burble over the edge of the pot. Yet, she refrained from taking off the lid, even as the desire to do so grew and grew. Temperance of that which lay within her was the greatest of the lessons she was learning from Master Locke. Utilizing it in a controlled manner. Taming it like a pet.

And so, she fought - relishing in the feelings of enacting justice for this world, but not succumbing to its pleasurable blur on the mind. Parries, feints, wild slashes, and controlled steps brought her further and further into the camp, but not uninjured. Some managed to nick her flesh, crimson blood running from her right arm and her cheeks. Protected by the armor, her left remained unwounded by a blade, the pain that came from it bad enough already. And still, she remained focused despite the pain. Taking note of fellow Jedi and soldiers making their way through this horrendous construct, their missions their own. She thought about joining one of them, helping them free those trapped under the foot of the Brotherhood, but this would not come to pass. Instead, she was stopped by the sight and words of a man surrounded by a horde of monstrosities.

Mrurh'en'lase's breath froze in her throat as her eyes locked onto his and then onto the aura he exuded. It was palpable, almost visibly physical in its swirling torture around him. The Dark Side was strong within him and assaulted her with emotions akin to that of a devil, so much so that the steeled mind she had placed up for this day now threatened to buckle under the pressure. The very evil that Mrurh'en'lase herself felt inside her heart was a terrible thing, indeed, but she knew - or rather hoped - that it was nowhere near what she saw from this monster. It made her stomach churn with sick, the stench of rot and death thick in the air she breathed.

Standing atop a cliff of jagged metal and broken souls, the man - could it even be said to be a man? - held a rifle close to his heart, a horde of beasts diverging off into two groups with captives she could not save in time. Not without engaging the man and those things, whose horrific appearance likened to that of Ulrich 's own horde back on Ziost, assailing her as her arm was cursed by dragon's flame. That...only made the boiling blood in her body that much more furious.

"I remember a Jedi once told me their order stands to keep the peace. To dispel terror, warfare, enslavement, and corruption wherever it rises. But then he told me of hypocrisy in their ideologies, for it exists openly within their sanctuaries and halls. Abandon emotion, sever companionships - answer only to the Light which, when you stare right into it, is ever blinding. Is that why you came here, today: to keep the peace? If that is your belief, then you should have slaughtered everyone around you before you even got here."

His words were poison, an ailment of the senses slithering like a viscous strand of plague. Whatever this thing was, it was dangerous, preaching of the Jedi's failings like every other foe they have faced. But, unlike the others she had encountered or heard of saying these things, he posed a question: why was she here? He partially made his assumptions in what her answer would be, but the question remained. Why was she here?

It was a good question and one that she was never asked before by an opponent. Maybe it was the infectiousness of his poisoned dark and the pressure it had on her steeled mind, or maybe it was just the truth that belched forth without her say-so. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the combat and the sensations of justice she felt with each irredeemable life she put down and sent to the judgment of the Force. Maybe it was her own evil - the Shroud - who had yet to make an appearance shockingly enough. Either way, the answer to the question was simple, evident by her onslaught against the Brotherhood and the satisfaction she had in their brutalization.

"I did come here for peace, but not as you or my comrades might see it." she said with a snarling grin, taking the opening stance of Djem So with a vicious flourish through the air. If the man was as attentive as he appeared, he would certainly sense the burgeoning of the Dark infesting Mrurh'en'lase's own soul, locked behind her caged wrath. "I came here for the peace that will bloom after we end you bastards. I came here to give justice to the Shi'ido and to rid this place of your filth. To gain retribution for the souls you have corrupted with your evil and put them to rest. For those that lay dead and dying outside the walls. I don't know who you are, and frankly, I don't care. You will fall this day and the Dark Side will be exorcised from this world."

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Lao-mon, Monastery of Slaughter and surrounding quadrant
Tags: Gir Quee | Tren Chaar | ADM. Reshmar

The first sign of enemy activity in the system was the sudden arrival of a number of civilian ships - or so they appeared. It was a tactic that would have worked well against a more civilized foe... but there was no civilian traffic to and from Lao-mon, for only a truly mad freighter captain or shuttle pilot would try to approach a Brotherhood-occupied world. The Mawite fighter pilots had no idea that the craft were actually disguised Shi'ido fighters, but they attacked them on sight anyway. The Brotherhood were pirates at heart, and had no qualms whatsoever about blowing away civilians that strayed across their path.

Still, the Sh'neru fighters were able to locate the enemy, even as that enemy - two Thornwave squadrons, to be precise - closed in around them with weapons blazing. The information they relayed back revealed the position of the orbital Monastery of Slaughter, and of the cloud of starfighters deploying around it. Hopefully that would be worth the danger - indeed, the likely destruction - of the stealthy scouts. But quick action might save them, for other fighter squadrons were jumping in behind them. Revenant Squadron and the 38th were taking up positions, preparing to scout the area and clear the way for the Silver Fleet.

The Mawite craft fell back, breaking off their quick attack on the apparent civilian craft and withdrawing to the quadrant surrounding the Monastery of Slaughter. The two packs of fighters eyed one another across the void like squabbling dogs momentarily separated by their owners, awaiting the moment when they were unleashed once again. At the head of the lead Divine Eagle squadron, Telemachus of Daedalon watched carefully. He reached out to the Living Force, sensing the current of the battle... and finding it stilled for the moment. It was a time of sensors, positioning, and preparation. It was the calm before the storm.

Of course, there was little for the Brotherhood to do; they were on the defensive, and their preparations were already made. They had drilled to defend the monastery a thousand times, and they were honored to be defending against the first assault that had ever been mounted against a Knyght fortress. The trouble now was in holding back the eager marauders from attacking too early, seeking glory in surely-suicidal strikes against the assembling enemy force. That was the problem in believing that death in battle led to rebirth into paradise; the zealous warriors were so unafraid to die that they could ignore good tactical sense.

Telemachus barked orders to keep them all in line, threatening and commanding and influencing through the Force as needed to hold them in position. The little attack on the first scouts had whetted the Mawite appetite for blood, and it was all he could do to get them to delay a few minutes, until the rest of the enemy fleet arrived and the battle began in earnest. Then they would have their chance to earn real glory. The Brotherhood would be outnumbered, Telemachus had no doubt, but he was confident in his pilots' skill and brutality. The Monastery would not fall so long as a single Knyght drew breath; so he vowed.

And so long as the Monastery stood, Lao-mon would be held in bondage.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

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


​

She was here, but still he could feel it. That vibration in the Force, screaming out to him, yearning to be made aware of. She might have seen the struggle in his eyes: the way his lid twitched in the midst of an internal struggle. He was fighting to acknowledge something, but experience made him fall into disbelief. The Light side surrounded her - she spoke like Tennacus expected a Jedi would. But darkness shadowed her. Like a distant observer, much like he was, prowling in the dark. Spectating from afar, but still entangled to the Light. What is this? Tennacus thought, and he thought deeply. He'd been trying to suss her out ever since his shadow conjured itself to watch her progress. Her skills as a combatant, her effectiveness with the Force - her ability to know right and wrong when killing her enemies. She had the same repetitive tones as a Jedi; but she fought through that camp like a Sith.

How?

Despite the internal struggle the Sith Lord held within himself, his outgoing demeanour had not changed in the slightest. His expression - what of it could be seen beyond the respirator - held about it melancholy. His silver gaze moved from her to his rifle, gripped within two hands. He looked to his horde only briefly, watching her in suspicion of attack. He reached out to the Force, ordering them to retreat further away. Their grasps on the captives remained ever certain, and they would maintain their threatening postures with a promise of annihilation if Darth Tennacus called for it. Thankfully, for the moment, his care was not directed towards them, much less the weapon held within his hands.

This was no fight for such basic methods.

The weapon dropped from his grip almost carelessly, bouncing and hopping down the cliff as the Sith stepped forward and skidded down the steep rocks behind it, landing upright on levelled ground. A gloved hand slipped into the interior pocket of his coat, withdrawing the hilt of a black, metallic lightsaber which fell idle alongside his leg. The act alone should have suggested what was coming, but not before Tennacus had his say.

"But you haven't," Tennacus answered so simply. His hand waved towards the Shi'ido. "There are the ones you seek the provide freedom. You could have killed my horde quite simply and retreated with them to secure their lives. Yet, here you are, composing yourself to fight me over saving them. Over keeping the peace - assisting in their revolution. You value killing over freeing. All the mannerisms a Jedi should not reach for."

Tennacus was not discrete in what he was trying to do. Somehow - somewhere - there was an entanglement within her, reaching out into the dark. Tennacus could sense it, and through telepathy, he tried to call out to it. Like dangling prey over the nest of a Sarlaac, waiting for one of those limbs to slither out and take it. "No, you are no Jedi - not yet. Something inside you is eating you. Something longing - yearning. I want to see what it is."

There was no announcement to the sounding of a blast. One of his horde set loose its weapon, slaying one of the captives within its hold. The twisted, abnormally-arranged physique dropped lifelessly after a single shot. And when that shot commenced, the undead beast turned the rifle on itself, and returned itself among the dead. But where that one fell, another rose. Twitching, albeit minimally, until at last its shape emerged upright, bearing a blaster cavity within its torso, fresh and luminous from recent firing. All the while his eyes never left her, analysing her response to his actions. What emotions would she bring? He wondered. Anger, perhaps? He hoped so; that would only be another step into the eternal dark.

"There are morals you can't abide by when it comes to the Force. You either give into your emotions, or continue to be eaten away until there is nothing left but a vessel of melancholy." His sentence concluded with the burning vista of a crimson blade ascending from the black hilt within his hold. "Nothing about you represents the ideologies of the Jedi Order, save for your hatred towards us as a whole. Perhaps you should set loose that hatred. Maybe then you might kill me, and focus on the task given to you."

 

[Khaostra Devoid]

Post: 1
Objective: Welcome to the Jungle
Equipment: Red Midnight Duster | Red Sith Armor | Sith Mask | Grav Boots | CrushGaunts | x2 White lightsabers | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | Variety of Explosives | RSKF-44 heavy blaster | X-21 shock glove (Stored in her coat pocket)
Allies: Halketh | The Mongrel | Darth Tennacus | Bendak Crail | Romund Sro | Marlon Sularen | Glossa
Enemies: Michael Barran | Starlin Rand | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | @[Liram Angellus | Noel Strasza | Thurion Heavenshield | Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Damsy Callat | Mrurh'en'lase | Hel | Lyra Vent | Artemis Lu
Special Tags: Michael Barran

Forces:
150- Raider walkers
25 - Spider Cruisers
30 - Firefang wardogs
1 coy. - Kitiakira Warband
1 coy. - Scav Kings
1 coy. - War Shamans
12 - Sorcerers of Rhand
24 - Flesh Stalkers
12 - Drengir

---

Eight days had passed and neither side seemed to give an inch in this dense jungle. The center between both lines that had been drawn was nearly depleted of trees and foliage leaving a no mans land of desolation between them that only the bravest or stupidest dared to cross. A temporary cease had been called between the lines only moments ago, as Khaos stared out across the line towards the enemy. She fiddled with the thumb finger on her right glove nervously as her orange eyes pensively stared at the enemy across the way mostly hidden by the jungle on their side of things.


One of the war shamans came up to up to Khaos. “The Call to Cease has been raised with the call to Parley.” Khaos nodded to the war shaman but didn’t pull her sights from where the enemy camp was ahead. Khaos couldn’t help but think this moment of soldier’s honor being tested in a cease and parley would be the time her grandfather would tell the men to strike. Khaos was of the Rebel Sith’s bloodline after all there was no honor in war and there was no such thing as surrender. At least that was her grandfather’s way. Her mother never would have called the cease and parley and probably would have just charged the enemy lines head on damn the losses.


Khaos and a couple Kitiakira Warriors began to step out into the no man’s land and make there way across. The Warrior’s acted like Khaos’s guards and shield as they traversed there way to the meeting area. The Shaman stood at Khaos’s side and relayed some information to her about fleshstalkers and their positions with the enemy lines. Yet when they met up with the Arkanian the talking went completely silent. A voice in Khaos’s head spoke to her loudly protesting. “We are hungery, we want meat!” It caused Khaos to grimace slightly, but she said nothing. The voice kept begging though for food ever since Felucia she had been connected to the Drengir hive mind. Yet on some worlds it was more silent than others but here in this dense jungle the hive mind was loud and agonizing.


Not only with the Hive mind pestering her she also hadn’t slept in days, and it was showing on her face if one could see it beneath her helmet. She had large black circles under her burning orange eyes and she was pale as a ghost. Yet she pushed forward pushing the hive mind to the back of her mind and pushing through her tiredness. They made there way to the parley meeting area, and as they did Khaos slowly and carefully removed the helmet from her head. Her reddish blonde locks rolling out down just beneath her shoulder blades.


Her burning orange eyes looked at Michael and his bodyguards and others he had in his entourage. Her eyes burned like sulfur orbs just giving her the littlest of eerie edges. It was an outward sign of the corruption she was born with. Her family was permanently mutated the sins and dark scars of their own and ancestry permanently branded on their aura and souls. No amount of purifying light could ever absolve them tyranny and destruction her kind had brought on the universe. She could have cosmetically covered her eyes but she kind of liked the fear it instilled in people, even if the downside was that everyone could tell she was corrupted by the force.


She didn’t say a word at first just looking over Michael and his men. Though he rlook might be intimidated it was now where near the evil stare her mother could give, look right through people like they were nothing. Khaos also consciously suppressed her thoughts, in that moment just in case there was a mind reader about. “I’m General Devoid.” Though she wasn’t sure if that was her actual rank, she like the sound of it so used. Plus, her Cousin Realm was General she shouldn’t be the only one in the family. She then reached out a hand in greeting.

 

[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 (Searching)

The Walkway was left behind. Sarad took to the skies, manipulating the force to leap from his position and onto the ground below.

Blaster fire was indicative of Silver Jedi Troops engaging the forces of the Maw. The Jedi who'd infiltrated the Citadel were already causing chaos even as those among them who hadn't descended into the corridors below engaged the enemy above ground. As Sarad stalked forward he opened his senses to the forces allowing him to feel the ebb and flow of combat all around him.

It was marvelous though his expression remained stoic, cold really.

The way he moved across the battlefield towards the Citadel it was like fate intervened to keep him hidden. Another manipulation of the force. Not one Sarad was especially apt at but it did the trick. Against the minds of the uninitiated Force Stealth was a powerful tool, he moved around those rushing him as though he never even existed at all. At least until he fell upon someone who could perceive the force.

The Jedi had perceived him and Sarad, in turn had sensed his presence through the force. The Lightsaber in his right hand ignited in a flash of phosphorescent light that radiated an unnatural heat. When Sarad and the Jedi clashed it was a flurry of blows, parries, flourishes and so forth in what was a brief back and forth exchange. It ended when Sarad landed a solid blow across the Jedi's torso, dropping him backwards before moving on.

As Sarad moved the Jedi, not yet dead reached for him with a hand almost as though he was searching for some kind of recognition. Sarad paused, he looked down at the man almost as though he were drawn to the beseeching look of the man he'd struck down until he heard the confused question..."You....yo---you're....not Maw." Sarad shook his head....

"No."

...and then Jedi, mouth still open slight rasped out one final question..."W--wh---yy?"...but Sarad did not have the answer he was looking for. Instead he only had an answer that would see more questions accompanying them...

"Fate."

....the Jedi died hearing that. Sarad, already walking away from him didn't look back. The Lightsaber deactivated as he walked away, leaving the corpse behind him without a second though. He could feel them, the force revealed them to him. Other Jedi and those they fought. As he moved into the corridors of the Citadel he'd begin his search in earnest...

 

[Sssar Taszzn]

Objective 1
Tag: Marlon Sularen
Personal Objectives: Obtain evidence of Maw subversion within Galactic Alliance space. Secure a Maw official or other witness.
Locations: H-2 Executive Shuttle (Sssar), Goshen War Camp (Strike Team)
H-2 Protective Detail: 10 MB-6 Micro-Defender Droids
Abiding Precept Constabulary

Spoiler

Inspector 'Aurek ' [Active]
Constable 'Besh' [Active]
Constable 'Cresh' [Active]
Constable 'Dorn' [Active]

---

In the wilderness, far from the battlefields of the invasion, a H-2 Executive Shuttle was perched on a small hill. Around the landing gear and base of the luxury shuttle marched diminutive MB-6 droids. Ever alert for the approach of friend or foe. Within the shuttle was a single occupant, Senator Sssar Taszzn who was coiled tightly as he watched a projected map with four red dots racing across a changing holographic landscape "Commissioner, we have Goshen in sight." reported the stern voice of Inspector Aurek "Undersssstood Aurek." Sssar replied with baited breath. He was nervous for his compatriots. They were deep into Maw territory in their search for information on the ever elusive cult activity within the Galactic Alliance.

The speedervan began to slow as it reached the perimeter of Goshen War Camp. The strange edifices were completely foreign to the Core born Humans who made up the strike team "Savages." Constable Dorn muttered "Did you expect anything different?" Inspector Aurek asked rhetorically as he parked the speedervan behind some dejected mining debris. For a moment the team peered out of their small windows and looked for signs of guard activity or friendly forces. Seeing none nearby for the moment the constables slid the doors open and hopped out. The doors closed slowly behind them and latched audibly. The Inspector put a finger to the minimalist ear & microphone combination resting on his left ear "Beginning mission Commissioner."

As the four man team approached with blaster pistols drawn they took a careful look before every large movement across empty space, pushing up behind equipment and silos as they did so. Soon enough the team spotted an access door and made their way to it without opposition, it seemed that the security forces were currently occupied elsewhere for now "Cresh, lock." Inspector Aurek motioned towards the door as the team took up positions with their backs to the doorway as Constable Cresh pulled a small scanner like object from his coat pocket. A green light shifted up and down the length of the door "A moment." Constable Cresh whispered as the device worked its magic. The access door hissed open and the team slipped inside.

Inside the team found some form of storage room. Mostly equipment and trash. Searching about the room Constable Besh motioned towards a hatch "Over here!" the Aurek, Cresh, and Dorn filled in behind Besh as the latter began to descend the ladder. Meanwhile Sssar watched with concern as the holographic projector stopped showing terrain features and what was visible to him were the textual descriptions of positions "Aurek I no longer have you on map. Ssstatusss?" Sssar asked with audible concern "We're alright Commissioner. Going deeper."

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Defend the Warcamp
Allies: The Mongrel | Glossa | Halketh | Bendak Crail | BotM and Allies
Enemies: Thurion Heavenshield |@Starlin Rand | Sergeant Omen | The Dark Inquisitor | Amelia Venthyra | SJC and Allies
Engaging: Open?
Links: Sword | Axe
Post 1​

War, Death, Rebirth. Both the war cry and creed of the brotherhood, that which they lived by and others die for, and their gift to the galaxy. A gift readily accepted, knowingly or not, and becoming more prevalent with every battle, every death. So many now fought by this creed, this code of the Brotherhood. From the Brotherhood itself, to the fools who thought to oppose them, they were all more pawns to the final goals of the Brotherhood. And they didn't even know it, because they unknowingly accepted their fate, even as that same fate was forced onto those they fought, or willingly accepted. All played their parts, all advanced the goals of the Brotherhood. Advancing the change and rebirth of the galaxy. Of course they would disavow such ideas, but Zachariel knew the truth, the one they would seek to hide or avoid. Standing atop a tower near the center of Goshen Warcamp, Zachariel saw that truth played out, both in the Brotherhood itself and the Jedi and Sith who opposed them, and it all made him grin madly beneath his helmet.

Across the galaxy that truth played out, war raged across any number of witting and unwitting souls. They all sought victory over their foes, many peace fro all. But all their war brought was death, on scales unseen before now, unseen before the Brotherhood. That death would bring rebirth and make all across the galaxy stronger, and in the end, only the strong would rule and the weak would perish. Gazing out as Goshen Warcamp came under attack, Zachariel laughed as they came. The so called strong and righteous would perish over time, leaving those who didn't rely upon such weaknesses. Leaving behind those who would be molded into something better, without false heroes and weak powers. The 'good' and 'civilizes' would wage war against them, they would die in the attempts, and then the galaxy would be purged of their weakness. With their death, the rebirth of the galaxy would come, reborn upon their ashes.

And at the head of it all would be the Brotherhood and its warlords, at the forefront would be Zachariel, or so he planned. Of course there would be others leading as well, but he'd have a prominent seat at the table, he would ensure it. Gaze sweeping across the battlefield, Zachariel laughed once more, taking in all the chaos, all the destruction, and all the bloodshed. It was glorious, and it simply proved his thoughts on a visceral and physical scale. What made it all the better was seeing some of the fools attacking, watching their disregard for the slaves or their overt concern for them. Those with disregard had strength to them, but the ones who sought to free the slaves? Weak fools, all of them. Weakness that needed to be excised for the galaxy to be reborn.

Turning towards the slave camps and general South of the Warcamp, Zachariel took a step off the tower and plummeted down. Not bothering with the Force, Zachariel instead simply crunched into the ground, leaving a small crater that he rose out of with some ease. His sudden appearance shocked the marauders who happened to be nearby, before suddenly remembering the battle and rushing back into combat. As for Zachariel, the warlord instead marched towards the general location where he'd seen some targets. Weapons still holstered, Zachariel marched towards the slave section with confidence and unbridled arrogance, hoping and waiting to come across someone to face and cut down. All for the glory of the Brotherhood and himself, all to let the galaxy burn and be remade.