Campaign Devil You Know: Campaign to SJC Held Myrkr (Myrkr, Velmor, Orleon, Azure, Katarr)

[Palm-Imer]

Location: Den Velmor.
Objective: Evacuate civilians, keep friends alive.
Allies: Mathieu Brion ~ Inara Basai ~ SJC
Enemies: Joycelyn Zambrano ~ TSE
Loadout:

Spoiler

Weapons: The Wraith Blades, 2x TDW L-7 Heavy Pistol, 3x Proton Grenades, 3x Bacta Grenades, Crushgaunts.
Armor: Hexarium Bodyglove Mark II.

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With every second she spent engaged in battle with the Sith Lady, the scorching tide of ire within her seemed to coil and grow - wishing to bloom into something big and strong enough to rip through the geminaie's well kept defenses and finally overcome that balance it had taken years to find, in a matter of minutes. She had already been titled towards the darkside, and perhaps this could be the final push. This could be the final piece to fall into place and create a catastrophe.

Blinding pain erupted as Zaudraka's pommel connected squarely against her face, purple blood soon following - coming down her nostrils and a bright violet spot beginning to grow on the corner of her left eye. However she bit through the pain, her mind consumed by one objective and one objective only: having the blade of her lightsaber reach Joycelyn's scorched hand. If she accomplished her goal, Palm would do her best to keep that saber in place for as long as possible. Come pain or blood.

However, her effort would not be as long lived as she would have wished. A sharp and searing hotness slashed through her chest. The fabric from the bodysuit, resistant to such kinds of damage, put a respectable fight against Zaudraka's blade. But not enough. The edge of the sith sword bit into her skin, tearing it apart, and its fire would soon follow - deepening the wound. A cry of pain came out of the geminaie before it was stubbornly silenced, refusing to give the Sith that pleasure.

She was too angry and filled with too much intent to care about the pain or the added weakness that the wound now represented. Palm would press on - until one of them couldn't press on anymore.

Her vision of this fight would never come to happen. Just as her saber was being raised to come down on Joycelyn with a slash, a blast of telekinetic force between them sent the Ambassador flying several meters back. Being so suddenly pulled away from the fight seemed to add fuel to the dark flame that threatened to emerge from within her. She did not care to look at the ground as the last, loudest crack was heard splitting the earth into two and opening a gorge exactly where she had been standing a moment ago.

Her eyes were locked on Joycelyn's own, once more shining in that terrifying green, a snarl on her features and a heaving chest.

Palm's golden gaze only returned as Mathieu reached her, and being in the light-sided, familiar presence of her friend once again seemed to pull her out of the dark chaos in which her thoughts had buried themselves. She forced herself to look away from the Sith and focus on her friend, and soon enough her gaze also glided towards Inara - lastly she took in her surroundings, Velmor laid destroyed around them.

As the rush of battle and wrath began to dwindle - the intense pain of the wounds sustained began to set in. Palm could only nod as Mathieu approached her, accepting his help and willing herself to stand up and move as fast as possible. It was impossibly harder now that near agony raked through her muscles and wounds. She drew on the force, slowly beginning to heal herself or at least to take the edge out of the pain. As she looked at Matt and Inara, beginning their retreat, the thought that at least they were all walking away alive was comforting.

A comfort cut short because the dagger of darkness was still firmly lodged within her, even if hidden - her enemy also shared their same fate. And that was a failure this veiled darkness would not allow her to forget.

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Joycelyn’s stuff: Lightsabre pike, Zaudraka, Jin’wodasir x3, Imperator’s Raiment, SIF-7 Minos, Dwomotchwûq, Sonic Grenades x 2
Armies: The Cathedra, Varanin Legion.
Sithspawn: Horde Mother, Sith Wasps, Spark Bug, Maelridae.
Palm-Imer Inara Basai Mathieu Brion

Palm’s blood sizzled on Zaudraka’s edge as it drew across her chest. In retaliation, the woman slipped one of her lightsabre blades into the reach of Joycelyn’s already injured right hand. Pain shot through it as the tonfa’s blade finally cut through the softer elements of the glove and removed two of Joycelyn’s fingers before the Sith Lord could move her hand. She flung Zaudraka out, but quickly whipped it back in.

Joycelyn roared in pain, fuelling the red hot rage that pricked her mind.

It would seem, if left unchecked, the two of them would rip each other apart before surrender. Such was the nature of those who emboldened themselves with the dark side of the Force. And as Palm was about to unleash her next cuts, so was Joycelyn about to bring her blade down from above in a vicious slash. Their contest of strength shook the ground around them, contributing in the rapid deterioration of the landscape surrounding them.

But before they could come to blows, before blood could be spilled and flesh rent, Mathieu blasted them apart just as the ground tore beneath their feet. Joycelyn was thrown back into the burnt remains of a speeder. Her bulk dented the vehicle, and the blunt force nearly knocked the air out of her.

THUM-thump, THUM-thump, THUM-thump.

The walkers were near, their heavy blasters screeched and the tops of their boxy, grey heads peered over the tops of buildings. Screams and explosions, orders shouted by soldiers in black armour, each with one white pauldron marked with a flaming sword: Varanin Legion.

Joycelyn stood up, using Zaudraka as leverage. Her burning eyes locked with Palm’s, vibrant green meeting ember-like orange. She reached up with her wounded hand and wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. The Princess looked pleased, looked knowing. When Mathieu stood next to Palm, her lips parted in something between a sneer and a grin as she turned and shouted at the nearing walkers.

“Blast them!”

As she turned back to her opponent, seemingly ready to continue the fight, the legionnaires overtook her. One of them reached up and put a hand on her shoulder, speaking softly. Another was readying a med pack and started frantically gathering the two severed fingers, readying them for grafting and reattachment.

“Princess, the city is won. The planet is falling under your control.” “But the Jedi still live.”

She watched as Inara's call for evacuation gave fruit, sweeping down under fire to pluck the defenders of Velmor from the battlefield and carry them to safety. Joycelyn still watched, anger still seething in her veins. If she could pull them from the sky, she would. But as the raw power of the rage subsided, the weariness and pushback of her rage and the previous use of lignan came to haunt her. Her eyes blurred. First now could she feel how much blood she had lost, how much pain she was in.