Invasion Double Tap | TSC Invasion of COV-held Abregado-rae

[Siv Dragr]

G U N S L I N G E R
Abregado-Rae

HELL
​

Allies: Kamon Hourn | Yuri Maji | Vreegan Fett
Targeting: Quinn Varanin | Arris Windrun | Lily Rhodes

Siv watched as two of his slugs hit home -- maybe more -- and flicked open the cylinder of the blaster, fetching more tracyntium rounds from his belt. Deft fingers inserted an inert bullet into each of the twelve chambers, turning the cylinder slightly with each bullet, until every chamber was reloaded. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the chamber slid back into position and locked with a click, ready to be fired once more. Slugs were far more deadly than blasters, especially against Force Users who didn't expect them; that came with the cost of a relatively pitiful ammunition capacity. Every shot counted.

He heard the familiar whine of a jetpack as Hourn alighted on the rooftop, and bright yellow bolts bloomed from up above as they rained down on the Sith. Soon his voice cut through Siv's comms.

Kamon suspected he knew the reason why when he glanced around at the carnage surrounding them. “Vod, don’t fight angry. They want you to fight angry.” Kamon knew a thing or two about that.

Feth them. Siv was beyond anger. He wanted them dead.

The blizzard had begun to pick up in intensity; what had once been a light snow was already becoming a storm. A thin white dusting had begun to cover the ground, and the tops of Siv's shoulder pauldrons, cloak, and the layer was growing ever thicker by the second. The wind was moving, changing. . . Siv's eyes narrowed. Quinn. Somehow two slugs hadn't killed her yet. He raised his pistol and fired again, slamming the trigger without stop, the report of the slugthrower thunderously splitting the air, sending sharp, echoing cracks off the surrounding walls and downed walker.

His eyes widened as all of his slugs stopped mid-air, impossibly suspended ."Shabuir. . .," he muttered again, watching as an overlapping layer of ice began to form around the Sith. He was learning that you really could never count these Sith out of tricks. HUD was going onto thermals, the thickening snow was making it harder to see even at close distances. He flicked open the blasters chamber to reload--

whooomph-BAM.

A round out of nowhere struck Siv straight in the abdomen, center-hit on his breast plate. The concussive force knocked him off his feet and several feet away, falling onto his back in the snow. "Hrngh," he grunted, the air knocked out of his lungs. The Sith had slugs too? Beskar plating had stopped penetration by the round, and inertial ablative dampers had protected his insides from going to jelly, jut a stabbing pain told him there had to be a broken rib around there somewhere. Siv got to his feet, teeth grinding, forcing the pain out of his mind. His blaster. It had fallen out of his hand when he'd been hit, and now lay several feet away. Siv scrambled to grab it and rolled evasively, expecting more shots, but none came. Siv came to his knees and looked upwards, breathing heavily, a sharp twinge searing through his with the crest of every breath.

Thermals gave him one, two. . . three individuals. Another Sith?

"I'm hit, Hourn, but alive," he radioed between gritted teeth. "Let's end this quickly." He began to reload the pistol. Siv had spent the greater part of his life calling Kestri home, its wildest frontiers his backyard. How many times had he been caught in a blizzard while helping Volo heard his orbaks, or on the hunt of a Ji'yr Rekr, or camping in the Da'lepar valley? Whatever this snow was -- Sith magic or something stranger -- it was nostalgic for the old hunter. It reminded him of home.

Dragr mostly considered himself agnostic; he didn't really believe in spirits or the Manda or all that bullchit. But maybe, just maybe. . . he wondered.

Chambers were reloaded. Click. Exhausts burned to life as Siv's jetpack ignited, brilliant twin orange jets streaming out from behind his back. The Mandalorian took to the skies, up above and past Varanin's ice barrier, until he was on the opposite side of them that he'd been previously. The three Sith -- he could only identify them by their thermal signature through this thick of snow -- sandwiched by Kamon and Siv. His armor's targeting systems locked onto their signatures, and Siv fired two weapons simultaneously: Whistling Birds, bright, flashy, shrieking through the snow in erratic patterns towards their targets, and paired with them silent malkite themfar rocket darts hissing from Siv's kneepad.

 

[Astra Sadow]

​

The Head of the Lab focused on keeping people fulfilling their tasks and not on what was happening outside. Everyone needed to see someone unconcerned with those goings on, and it was her responsibility to be that person. Which was precisely how she came to observe a certain Noble traipsing about issuing orders to her personnel.

Her hand shot forward and snatched the wrist of the person Leontis Antalis had convinced a second off-site backup was necessary. "You answer to me, not some military thug. Report back to your work. If I catch you sending a single report to his people in the spaceport I'll make certain Miss Sadow is aware of your role personally."

Time passed, but only because despite her fury the man was engaged in military operations. There'd be a lull and... Once Leontis resumed study of the display with the countless back-and-forth of commands at an end, the blonde woman stalked straight toward the man. Wouldn't even matter if his Guard got in the way, she'd stop or struggle against them and shout regardless, "Our research doesn't leave this facility without the Chairwoman's order. You have no authority over the research personnel." Leontis hadn't asked for it, but she intended to give him a piece of her mind.


Meanwhile, the Mandalorians decided to turn their attention away from the Tyranny and toward the ion cannon on the surface below.

"Brace," the Fire Commander snapped a fraction of a second before the bombardment began. ( Romul Saxon )

Shouts of alarm, panic, and pain filled the air as the world shook, lighting flickered in and out of existence, and soft forms were thrown about the metal interior of the cannon body. It only last seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. No one knew where anyone was. Who was alive. Who was sobbing or dead in a pool of their own blood. Ears rang, and all some could taste was the iron of their own blood or the scent of it in the air.

The exterior of the canon smoldered. Large panels had shed from its framework and lay scattered about the immediate area. Its massive stabilizing arms, however, had kept the vessel upright in spite of the barrage; though one of them looked to have nearly been blown clean through.

With a sharp cough, the Commander's hand slammed down on a console to help drag himself off the floor and to a knee. Blood matted the side of his face, and his hazel eyes looked about the now dimly lit control center. Tendrils of smoke rose from several consoles. Other stations flickered with obvious electrical damage. "Alri--" he stopped to clear his throat so it wasn't as broken as the interior seemed, "alright, damage report, people!"


Astra could feel it. Even as she stood there laughing up at the gaping wound in reality above, she could feel them. These creatures thought the Netherworld was a place of the dead or damned. A separate world for those that passed on. And it could be. But that was far from its truth. Evil the likes of which no mortal mind could comprehend lived there. Deep, deep in the reaches of the abyss where myths and the forgotten whispers of myth resided. There beneath the murk of reason and understanding were They. And now, by Lina Ovmar and Cruelty 's will what was once a mere triviality turned Expanse might soon become the World's End. How could she not laugh?

If they were lucky only what they sought would emerge and lay waste. If the Nightmares were roused... if They stirred, however, Abregado-rae might be merely the Beginning.

That laughter that filled the air came to a sudden death, however, when the rhythmic thump of debris soon turned into a cacophony of massive blasts that raised down from the heavens on the ion cannon. The armored helmet lowered for its four, burning eyes to stare off toward the spaceport where the bulbous and fierce weapon stood.

And in that moment, a Mandalorian choose to shoot the crazed, blood-thirsty demon that stood upon the barrel-less tank.

Pain. Yes, she remembered now. They had been shooting her. The healing of devouring those in the tank had been negated, and even more wounds peppered her form now. Agony. Yes, that was the word. Agony. They sought to destroy her because they did not understand.

The wide, red blade retracted and the hilt-and-guard were stowed along the figure's right leg. She had promised to help them understand.

In the blink of an eye, the figure leaped from the tank and landed in front of the Mandalorian with their rifle drawn. A loud, piercing sound of its discharge could be heard. But not so loud as the sound of a metal gauntlet as it slammed into the beskar cuirass the Mandalorian wore. Hard enough they lifted two feet off the ground and sailed fifteen feet backward.

Pain. Agony. Torment. Horror. Terror. Madness. Madness, yes. Insanity. What did they know of it? What did they understand? Things went wrong. They lost people they cared for. Then they moved on and died. The Cycle of Life and Death. Simple. Effective. Unavoidable, they said. Or was it? And what if it were? What if it was not unavoidable? What if you could endure? Then you could suffer over, and over, and over, and over, and over and over andoverandoverandoverandover again!

She hadn't even noticed she'd moved when the Mandalorian in her grasp thrashed. Ah, yes. Business to conduct. "Give your Alor a message. Tell them how you died." The other armored claw fastened to the front of the Mandalorians' helmet before she tore it off. "Tell your precious Manda too." Darkness came alive. It spread from the Armored Figure and slithered down her arm and into the living creature before it. Their veins became as black as sin and their screams as sweet as saccharine.

The Nether was open. Perhaps this Mandalorian would see her message delivered in death.

The desiccated corpse was summarily dropped to the surface of the planet. The Armored Figure turned and began to race toward the spaceport.


"Chairwoman," the Fire Commander did their best to choke down the irritation in the back of the throat so they spoke clearly on the comm channel, "yes, we're still operational, but I don't know if the hull plating will survive another barrage like that. They appear to possess a weapon that destabilized the shield generator."

Silence reigned for a few seconds. "And, Chairwoman," she was no doubt contemplating the strategic move and needed information, "the... gentleman you're working with," Leontis Antalis , "his personnel have reported that a Mandalorian evacuee fleet stayed low and took off out of our firing range."

Astra only felt scorn for the Mandalorian efforts. "Let them pray to their worthless deities not a single infected is among them. I am retasking you to cripple the enemy fleet. Bring those destroyers down, Commander." ( Romul Saxon ) If anything, Astra hoped very much that the Mandalorians felt supremely confident in their efforts. Every refugee mattered. Every soul a small triumph. A rebuke of the vile horrors the Sith unleashed. How else did you convince the enemy to accept a wolf among the flock? Just one would suffice. After all, Astra was developing a cure for an affliction... she needed customers.

And on the off chance they didn't have a single spore among them? That was fine too. That could be introduced later and blamed on the refugees of Abregado-rae. Truth? Lysander had once asked Astra about Truth. She'd even told him she would never lie to him -- which was itself true. But objective truth was a fickle thing most did not care to possess; which left her ample room to formulate her own that people would gobble up greedily. Someone to blame. Oh, sure, the Sith made the fungus -- it would be said -- but who failed to keep it contained? Not all Sith used Lightning and Storms to get their way.

Of course, the Commander understood the unstated order Astra had given him. But it was a battle for survival at this point. They couldn't surrender simply because the time for sacrifice had come. "Understood, ma'am. And thank you."

All the while, Romul Saxon called down an orbital strike on the very same. There was little Astra's single ion cannon could do split between three and two destroyers with similar compliment of weaponry. It could only take on one of the other, and even with one how many shots it got off and how many ships were crippled was in question. Likely, the cannon would not survive and the entire fleet wouldn't be taken with it. For this bombardment, Helix -- and all those that thought to board -- was on his own.

In the wake of the barrage came wardroids, mangonet-droids ( Kjartan Hammer-Hand ) and even one Iris Beroya had begun or completed efforts to drill or cut into Helix's supercrawler.

Flesh reavers with their acid attack would be little good, and likely only damage Helix's vehicle in the process. Not that the reavers were very accepting of nuanced commands for it to matter overmuch. Instead, their support would come from somewhere else. From a force that had gone relatively unaccosted because it did not spread like wildfire. It did not grow stalks or spit acid. No, those Astra had brought with her might appear quite normal, in fact. Human even. Until they struck.

The Thralls had requisitioned discarded Abregado-rae equipment and vehicles. They were hardly as impressive as the well-organized and forged resources of the Mandalorians, but they were a far cry from sticks and stones. Sensors and radars would detect a small force of vehicles on approach crewed by those granted protection from the fungus through their blood service. Survival had a way of motivating people to accept your generous offer. Especially when it came with the idea one might be Embraced and granted 'immortality' as one of the Lowbloods.

Long-range weapons fire consisting of blasters and rockets sailed announced their arrival. They targeted the droids that harassed the crawler whilst its personnel struggled with a saboteur within its walls.

Glareshades | Clothing | Jacket | Vest | Tie | Gauntlets | Belt | Boots | Broadsaber
Holdout Blaster | CommLink | Dagger | A'Mia Circlet | Alchemical Ingredients​

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Tags: Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin​

Cold metal arms ensnared her, arresting her momentum with a jarring snap that only made everything worse. Arris’s whisper was snatched away by the burning cold as Lily fought the embrace hands scrambling to push her off, to rip free the fingers that held her arm, an angry sob escaping her as her eyes found Quinn again over Arris’ shoulder.

“Let me go.” she choked.

She could still hear them screaming, still hear every life that she’d stolen fading, their last thoughts echoing the same way they did in her nightmares.

“I need you.” She said to Lily, her voice still low.

Beneath the tumultuous rage Lily heard her, her hands going still, her breathing ragged as awareness of everything around them slowly came back into focus. The cold of the gun pressed against the back of her neck, the heat in Arris’s hand clamped tightly on her upper arm.

There was more beyond that, the noise of explosions from the mandalorian forces returning to her as the ground shook from orbital fire rained down, a stark reminder of where they were, of what was at stake.

“I need you…” She said again. “Can you get us out of here - to the heart site?”

Then Lily looked at her, tears blurring her vision before she blinked them away, the rage settling, no longer a deafening roar, but something she could breathe through, something she could use. She finally relaxed in Arris’ arms, avoiding looking at the white haired woman behind her, her gaze falling down, drifting dangerously close to where a dead woman lay…

Lily nodded.

“Her, too. If you’re able.” Arris said of Quinn.

Her eyes snapped up, rage rising again and she studied Arris. Her calm surface was a perfect camouflage for the storm beneath it, whereas everything Lily was feeling was blindingly obvious.

“No.”

She folded space around her and Arris, refusing to give the cyborg an opportunity to ask again, whistling birds streaking through the air where they had been.

 

[Revna Marr]

Wearing:
Ring || Lightsaber || Armor

For one terrifying moment, Revna thought she had lost the war she’d been waging with the Hunger that sought to claim her and everything else in existence. And now that she had destroyed the one and only place of true sanctuary within her mind to more fully give herself over to the Dark Side - it became a contest of wills beyond that which she could imagine. ​

All of you who hear me, you are true Lords. In our darkest hour, you still stand. They wish to break you, but we are their destruction made flesh. Stand, move, fight. Do not go quietly into the night, scream your fury and be Sith. ​

But the daughter of Darth Strosius was no pushover. The former slave turned Sith had fought - and won - many battles in many different forms over the years. Regaining control from the thing that tried to rip her asunder was no different. And with Mercy’s encouragement now filling her mind - she hardened her resolve.

With great effort, Revna cut off the connection between her mind and those she had connected with, blocking the Hunger from using that route as a way to reach them. It wouldn’t have destroyed them, but tried to invade and infect their minds with its insatiable need to devour. It was her burden to bear, and no one else’s.

Hunger burned in her veins - she wanted to feed on all the death and life surrounding her and let it empower her. It would have been so easy. These armored imposter Mandalorians wouldn’t have stood a chance against her. Their armor wouldn’t save them, their jetpacks wouldn’t save them.

No - I am not losing myself this way. I have more to live and fight for. You can wait your turn. You will be released and feed when I say you can ~ Revna internally growled at the Void that seemed too eager to break free of its restraints. She smothered it, wrestled it back down, demanded its submission to her will.

She felt the Hunger give ground, and it quieted its roar and returned to simmering in the background of her being - waiting patiently for the next opportune moment where it could break free.

Clarity slowly returned to her - slower than she wanted while in the midst of a brutal war. She realized she was prone, her body hurt, but nothing was broken. She used the pain she felt as a sort of rejuvenator, and felt power flow through her veins once more.

Reality snapped back into focus, and with it came a flood of noise and sensations. The rats were still firing on her, and now something else registered in her field of vision:

Giant fething spiders.

They had been inside those crates that had fallen all around her just moments prior, and now they had been released, set loose upon her. What was peculiar too was the lack of the Force around them. Like they existed within a void.

“Oh great…” Revna hissed as she pushed herself back up on her feet, taking stock of the evolving situation in front of and all around her.

The situation was decidedly dissolving further into chit, she decided.

Several rifle shots from the Mandalorians (who had lifted themselves up into the air by now) slammed into the duracrete rubble all around her, and reflexive instincts had her blocking a couple with her lightsaber that was still in her hand, redirecting those shots back towards their sources.

Then the horrors on the ground with her released a head splitting screech that made her senses spin, before lurching towards her with the rapid scraping of feet and chittering fangs. Thankfully, her armor and helm gave her some protection against their noises, though it still tugged her off balance for a moment.

She registered one of them fire an ensnaring web towards her, and she decided that being on the ground level was no longer in her favor. With a Force jump, she leapt up and into the hole that had been blown open on the side of a nearby building, narrowly avoiding being ensnared by the web. From her raised perch, she took stock of her situation a little more, trying to decide her next course of action. She surmised that the Force would have no effect on these spiders - judging from the void that surrounded them.

Surely their bodies were not impervious to lightsabers - though she wasn’t too keen on getting that close.

Before the little Sith could decide on her next move, a large swarm of reavers descended upon Mandalorian and giant spiders alike, spraying acid over everything and viciously attacking all that moved within their sights while completely ignoring Revna’s existence. She was incredibly thankful, in that moment, to have her Soul-Sister’s boon. She watched the scene unfold before her for a few moments, the battlelust within her veins still urging her to fight, while her more sensible side told her she should let the reavers take care of them and return to the dropsite to lend her aid there instead.

Before she could make a decision, however, the skies above her head were torn asunder - and Revna lifted her gaze to behold a sight she thought she’d never see in her lifetime:

The rift that had allowed the Netherworld to begin seeping into reality, had been made into a great Wound.

The dread and close proximity of the Nether drowned all beneath it, and Revna felt the very edges of her sanity begin to fray as the near overwhelming sound of ticking cogs and timepieces filled her senses as light shifted and danced into strange and unnatural angles, and impossibly sand began to drift down upon the ravaged, war torn surface, mingling with the red ash like particles that fell and…was that snow?

She couldn’t feel the cold through her armor, so she hadn’t noticed it before now.

Something else was coming - she could feel it in her very bones, and her own Hungry Void within her being seemed to shiver with anticipation.

Mercy - what have you done? Revna heard her own quiet voice slip through her mind as she beheld all that she could see, the utter destruction wrought upon this once peaceful world and the rip in reality above her head. She had a hand to play in all of this, she realized grimly, and she tsk’ed softly - very much like how her Father might have.

Nothing could stop it now, and she didn’t intend to.

She returned her gaze to the fight around her with great difficulty; the reavers were ripping into their foes with vicious aggression; they had forced the imposter Mandalorians who had been shooting at her to take their focus off of her in order to deal with the new threat. She was one foe compared to the mass of winged creatures that had descended upon them with the intent of slaughtering every single one of them.

Beyond, Revna could see her original target slipping away, putting distance between him and her as he made a bid to escape the nightmare that had engulfed Abregado-rae. She made no effort to pursue after him; the effort to try and take away a handful of samples was not that important - not in light of the greater scheme at play.

With a frustrated sigh, she pulled her focus to a singular spider that had nearly reached her position, legs reaching for her in hopes of ensnaring her. The blood red blade that crackled in her hand flashed out in a lethal swipe at those grasping legs as a hidden look of disgust twisted her features.

“Oh kark off you disgusting piece of bantha crap!” She snarled, before she backed further into the darkened ruins of the building she had leapt into before turning around to find an alternative route out of the building, having decided to leave the spiders, and the Mandalorians, to the reavers. She needed to return back to the dropsites, and to her family.

As she went, she re-established the telepathic link with the others, namely her Sister and her Father, now that the Void Hunger had been pulled back for the time being. Almost immediately, the near maddening emotions from the Neti bled through the link and poured into the little Vahla. She let it come, as it only added fuel to her fire.

~I'm returning to your location. Hope you saved some Mando rats for me to skewer~
​

​

Disengaging From Sindel Krymer
Returning to Dropsite and Madrona A’Mia || Darth Strosius
Curtesy Tag: Romul Saxon || Tytos Saxon || + any other Mando at the dropsites/engaging A'Mia and Strosius

​

 

[(†) Kranak Vizsla]

Voices.

Brothers.​

Sisters.

K̵͖̯̪̄͒͂ị̸̛͈̘̓̊n̸͍̤̝̖̓̆͊́.̵͎͇̭͋͂̇
̷̺͇͗́̈́͘͜​

Mantras.

The Manda! The Ancestors!

w̨͍̰ͥ̊̊̇ȇ̵̘̥̼͖̞̽̿̈́ s͆̈è̢͍̑͋ͬ̚e


Y̸̴̯̤ͧ̽̿ͣ̈O̷̡̙ͯ̏͒̍͒͢͝U͇ͬ͌̅͘.​

​

The Eternal March, interrupted.​

A summoning of the slain.​

And He answered.​

A Father.​

A Warrior.

A Legend.​

The Betrayer’s End.​

Ţ̸̳̝͑̏ḣ̵̳̹̻̋̈́͘͝è̶̡̨͉̣̈́ ̵̳́̂͜T̴̨̞̆̀͛͘r̵͈̥̜̩̺͊̐̾̒̂̑ů̵̹̣̏̂̕e̴̥̮̗̅̈́͌͊̈́̚ ̸͖̩̘̉̒͛̾͊͝H̶͔̼̥͊̀e̵̛̳̣̊̔̆͐i̷̱̳͕̙͐̂̈r̶̥̍̎͋͒͘ ̷̧̡̧̫̝͒̑̓t̵̼͕͛͜ő̷͈͖͔͉̇̌̕̚͠ ̵̛͕̠̣̼̦̼̂̈̊͊͑t̵̫͓̲̪͓͊̎͐́̈͛h̵̟̊̈͘ͅe̸̼̟̮͕̠̓̈́͛͆̆ ̵͙̝̩̼̙͉́̽̓͌Ḏ̷̰͙̯͙͐̈́ȁ̸̩̖̬̹̤̐́͌̽͠r̸̫̳̹̒̐̇̒k̸̡̰̜̼͂̐͝s̸̡̗̻͈͓͇̾a̸̝̾̽b̵̞͙̤̯͐ę̸͇̗̰̤̱̽̚͝r̶͚̘̩̾̂͐̑̚.̶̲̻̻̣̒̾̐​

Battle called for His name once more.

And He answered.​

Against an old foe.

It wore many different faces.

Scum, they were. All the same.​

They would die. All the same.

Ä̷͚̻̝́n̴͍͚̐c̸̰͋̐̈e̷̢͆͠ş̴̱̙͘t̷͓̙͒͑́o̶̞̳̾͆͋ŗ̴̹̘̓͑͝s̴̰͉͊.̸̲̀​

T̷̢̛̪͈͕͐̂h̵̦͙̮͑͘̚͜͠ë̵̼͚̰̗́͒̈́̄ ̵̤̒Ẉ̴͍͙̩͌a̷̧̛̫͐̅ȳ̷̡̮̏̚͝ ̴͇̲̄̀͝w̶̘͑̾̕͝ą̷̬̇̏s̸͙͖̍̎̃ ̵͉̟̝̰̏̃̄̆o̵̖̣̠͝ͅp̵͖̦̦̼̃̔͌ḛ̷̦̒͛̆͠n̷̲̼̤̍̉̎.̸̠̣̻͒​

The Quartermaster | Shai Maji | He-Who-Walks-Between | Meliant | Cruelty | Ceria Kesyk​

​

 

[Chomba Womba]

​

Objective: BYOO - Chomba's very bad, absolutely no good, terribly ruined day! NOW IN SPACE!

As Chomba continued to throw a tantrum about the fact that he could very really face instant death at any moment, his foot kicked some part of the ship and the whole ship rebooted back to life. Chomba with tears heavy in his eyes perked up in attitude so much. "POOTER! CHOMBA KNEW IT! CHOMBA KNEW THAT POOTER WOULD NEVER ABANDON CHOMBA!" Chomba wanted to hug Starship tight in gratitude but there was no easy way to do that and he just needed to get out of the system as soon as Chomba could.

Looking back to the navicomputer, it was now saying 5 more minutes until things were ready for him to go ahead. Not too much longer left with the jump, that was good but it was still a long time and Chomba was still in the middle of a very big fleeting war. Even with his small mind, he could tell that things were going to be tough so Chomba had to do what he could do best. Which was be a crazy fool who had absolutely no clue on how to actually fly this ship in the best way possible and he just pushed the ship full speed towards one of the big Sith capital ships.

In his mind, if he was closer to the ship then they would have a harder time trying to hit him. Chomba swore that was the logic he had see in some holovid that had space flying! The S.S. Starship rattled like crazy as the engines were actually working to the max and the Sith's capital ship almost immediately started firing upon the Chomba. "AHHHHHHHHHH! CHOMBA DOES NOT LIKE THIS!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" Chomba screamed at the top of his lungs, still in total control of the ship as he pushed forward. "SUICIDE RUNS ARE BAD! THIS DEFINITELY KILL CHOMBA! WHY SUICIDE RUNNING SO DANGEROUS!?!?!?!?! CHOMBA THOUGHT IT WAS GUARANTEE SAFETY!?" Chomba continued to scream as the tiny little starfighter tried it's best to endure the heavy turret fire from the Sith capital ship.

Cowardice eventually saved Chomba from instant death. His nerves rattled beyond recovery and he could not brave the charge forward any more.

"CHOMBA SAYS SCREW THIS!" Chomba shouted as he swerved the S.S. Starship away from the heavy turret fire, bolts that would have blasted the ship into dust just overshooting the small vessel now. Instead Chomba dove and began to ship again. "CHOMBA NEEDS TO BE SOMEWHAT BRAVE SO CHOMBA WILL SPIN AGAIN TO KEEP SAFE!" The chaotic, wild spinning of the ship made it look like it was unmanned and just trash that was flying through space now. Debris that was not worthy of attention as Chomba sat in the cockpit attempting to endure the g-force that was straining against his fragile little body.

"POOTER, HOW MUCH LONGER LEFT UNTIL WE CAN JUMP?" Chomba shouted out to the navicomputer, still believing that the computer would randomly become sentient and actually respond to him.

There was still over 4 minutes until the ship could jump safely.

 

[Xan Atropus]

X A N . A T R O P U S

| Location | Spaceport, Abregado-Rae​

| Objective | Kill​

​

His boot connected with her chestplate, his full weight being put into the kick as he sent her stumbling backwards before his foot planted back down on the ground firmly. His gaze was focused on her as the mutt tried to recover and draw their weapon on him. The pause in her aim was telling, lingering too long for it to be a matter of carefully aiming. The renegade Sith immediately turned his head to the side to see what was causing it, catching Fenn in the corners of his vision swiftly coming up behind him. Had she not hesitated and given her comrade away, the supercommando would have easily come up behind him with little notice. ​

​

Hesitation is weakness. Weakness got you killed. This was what was driven into him from a young age, an almost feral instinct taking over.​

​

He shifted his body forward and off to the side to avoid the immediate danger of the elbow being thrown into his face while trying to distance himself from the Mandalorian behind him. Xan closed the gap towards Vara, lowering his center of gravity under hers as his hand came up just underneath her chest rig. His foot slipped between hers as his grip tightened and found purchase before using a combination of her own momentum and his strength to throw her over into the incoming Fenn in an attempt to disrupt them both and put them on the same side. ​

​

She's left you to die cur. The voice hissed at him, the renegade watching as Veyla Tass quickly removed herself from the battle, Let me out...​

​

With his companion having fled the scene, he needed to quickly retake control of the situation and the flow of the battle so that he could better handle the two Mandalorians before him on his own.​

​

He still retained control over his own mind and body. ​

​

For now. ​

​

Fenn Stag | Vara Maji

​

 

[Vestra Tane]

Meanwhile, in the Field of Blades...​

...A handful of poor, damned souls suddenly had no one to fight.

In some far-flung region of the Field of Blades, the darkest, vilest Mandalorians in galactic history waged endless war against the Sith. This was their punishment and reward, for indulging in their basest, cruelest desires in life. They would, like the Sith and Dark Jedi who dominated the Field, kill and die and kill again until the end of time itself.

Until they didn't. Something called them from the endless strife of the Field, across the great and endless plains of Chaos and out towards the living world, through a sucking wound in the fabric of realspace. The ghosts of Sith and Dark Jedi stood, for a moment, perplexed by the end of their battle...until they inevitably fell upon each other.

In the endless distance, the spirit of a scholar observed. Her one good eye watched the advance of the dead soldiers, but her mind was elsewhere.

Across the rift.

Abregado-Rae.

Her soldiers, dying.

Her Master, heart-aching, wrapped in monstrous flesh.

Their children - Mercy frowned inwardly at that thought. When did it become that? When did the beast within begin to see Sith as its children?

Her killer, with a new Jedi to fuss over.

“Shh,” her whisper was almost lost to the cold, howling wind.

Arris had no idea why Lily was mad, but she knew what she needed of her.

“I need you.” She said to Lily, her voice still low.

Hm.

She began to wander.

The Field of Blades was home to more than the great kings of the Sith or their Dark Lords, stuck as they were playing out their feuds in perpetuity. The Massassi hordes of Great King Adas fought here, as did the unmourned disciples of Skere Kaan, and the forgotten lords of the Lost Tribe...ghosts so long-dead that the scouring winds of the Field had cleansed them of memory, name, even self.

But the scholar remembered them - years of her mortal life she spent chronicling theirs, their failures and their victories. And as she drifted through the carnage of the Field, she whispered names and deeds and titles, and stirred the dead from the reverie of endless battle. Remember yourselves, and come with me.

Slowly, they congealed, these forgotten Sith, about the scholar. Returned a spark of their former glory, they moored themselves to her, and took up blades in their meandering march. All the while, she gathered more. A marauder who died in the New Sith Wars here, an assassin of the Mecrosa Order there - this again and again, until half a legion flowed behind her like a bloodthirsty river. How long this pilgrimage took was unclear even to her - time, like distance and location, became metaphor in the Netherworld. But at the end of their long march, this host of the forgotten stood before a great gate. Across the way, some very cunning Sith -

The old, the ancient, they were coming back… for one more fight. One more battle. He could hear them, feel them, they had everything they needed except for situational awareness. What to do, where to go…

They didn’t know.

But Cruelty would be pointing the way.

The tear was no longer a tear, it was a vast expanse stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond it a wasteland of red and gold shimmering with heat. The presence of thousands of hungry souls, eager to taste life once more, to feel others die beneath their blades stood at its edge, waiting.

One more battle.

- Had been working to widen the wound in space, and now there was nowhere in the Field it could not be seen on the horizon.

The scholar turned to the horde of ghosts which followed her now. The strongest of these specters - those who had retained some sense of self over the millennia - looked at her expectantly. Perhaps she was supposed to say something rousing.

She wasn't one for speeches, though. No, her Master was always better at that than she was. Oh, she could make do if she needed to - say something about being fangs at the throat of the Galaxy, or how Sith were the wheel upon which weakness breaks.

But she knew her people. She knew what they wanted.

With a blade summoned forth from the raw Force-stuff of the Netherworld, she flicked a quick salute, and whipped up red sand about herself.

"We're going to kill so many people."

The return of Vestra Tane was accompanied by the sort of obnoxious, senseless violence those who knew her in life had no doubt come to expect. Her army of the dead poured out from the nether-wound above Abregado-Rae, and descended upon the battlefield with the sort of zeal seen only in the dead and dying. These ghosts fell upon the Mandalorian army wherever it could be found; from the urban centers where the first spores landed, to the burning industrial district, to the spaceport where the Core-Empress herself crashed against the Mando'ade.

Vestra would not join the slaughter. Not yet. She willed herself instead towards the beating heart of the plague, where the Hordemother worked her wonders, where gales of icy wind worked to beat those wonders into submission...

And where the Triumvir's single, sulfurous eye settled upon a warp in space.

"Arris fucking Windrun."

The dead Triumvir's voice broke through the din of battle and the howl of wind, as her mutilated form appeared in the air. She looked as she did at death; skull fractured, eye boiled out of its socket, chit-eating grin. Lightning settled about her like a mantle, and in her jet-black grasp she lazily twirled a blade made of pure Force.

"Oh, I've missed you."

Varin Mortifer Cruelty Astra Sadow He-Who-Walks-Between Mercy Braze Leontis Antalis Ceria Kesyk The Arkanian Srina Talon Carduul Akahl Feydrik Munin Arris Windrun Chomba Womba Fenn Stag Romul Saxon Revna Marr Lily Rhodes Helix Naamino Zuukamano Varin Mortifer Meliant Calyx Sundrift Iris Beroya Korar Murrak Pax Velloran Siv Dragr Quinn Varanin Tytos Saxon Yuri Maji Anet Raine Xan Atropus Kjartan Hammer-Hand Sindel Krymer Gel Karn Raukai Ironstone Lina Ovmar Careena Fett Darth Strosius Zandra Ruus Naniti Vara Maji Kaelyr Kamon Hourn SL-0182 Darth Carnifex Vess Sadragen Casimir Thorne Sahan Dragr Canm-Bulnu Bi Zavar Kelborn Grace The Quartermaster Tamsin Starfall Efret Farr Madrona A’Mia Vrirrig Awaud Allyson Locke​

 

[Feydrik Munin]

​

Equipment: Crushgaunts, Wristrockets, Disruptor Pistols, Disruptor Rifle, Beskad, Beskar Knives, Jetpack Rocket, Flamethrower, Personal Shield

Naniti

He let the weapon fall as soon as the Sith closed the distance, and felt the blade slice it in half, the tip of it barely coming into contact with his chestplate. He brought his right hand back towards his torso, and pulled his left hand into a guard, right in front of her face. And activated his personal shield right in front of her face, and angled towards the lightsaber already in the fight. The light, sound, and surprise tool must've been disorienting enough. And with that, his right hand, adorned with a crushgaunt and anger, shot forward- going for the free hand that she'd yet to enter into combat.

Feydrik was a warrior like all of his brothers, but before his life as a Mandalorian, he was one of the deadliest professional fighters in the galaxy. He knew interpersonal combat better than he did warfare, truth be told. He knew what to look for, and he knew that a free hand was a deadly hand. He didn't have time to come up with a counter, but he went to seize or block the free handed movement to prevent the worst-case scenario of a second lightsaber.

His helmet shifted slightly.

A large smile was under that helmet of his.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber | Wyrmfang​

The explosions rocked the field as carnage funneled into his body like a master calling in his flock. Flames whirled around the young Knight. But then he sensed something. His head turned behind him, where once he thought Naamino was standing with him, there was no one. A frustrated growl left his throat.

The mission first.

He needed to act quick.

The building rocked hard, causing the tower to tilt and groan from the impact. Varin braced himself through his footing as his hands hoovered to his shoulders, flame building within his palms. He knew he did not plant a bomb in this building, simply because he knew of its tactical advantage with viewing the battlefield and directing the men where they need be.

Mercy’s words reached him as the tower slowly leaned further from the lack of support.

All of you who hear me, you are true Lords. In our darkest hour, you still stand. They wish to break you, but we are their destruction made flesh. Stand, move, fight. Do not go quietly into the night, scream your fury and be Sith.

Varin’s footing slowly slipping towards the edge. This was not where he would fail. The Force surged within his hands, smoke billowing from his back like a massive cloud. The shape of a massive bipedal being slowly developing its shape, the smoke slowly heated further as crimson flakes slowly fell around him like deathly snowfall.

Arise…..Arise!.....

His body strained with the summoning. The smoke becoming corporial, a being made of flame and smoke. Its head slowly looked up to Varin, eyes boring through him. It’s arms shot up taking hold of the slowly collapsing tower. Mortar and duracrete tumbled loosely from it’s outer walls as the massive being held the tower from collapse.

Mercy’s final words in her rallying call reached something deep and primal within him. A deep breath taken into his lungs, taking in the heat and smoke as horns slowly pierced through his helm, cracking its base before it fell off his head. The newly made crown atop his skull shimmered like obsidian with veins of the depths of inferno, a thunderous roar erupted from his throat as the slowly collapsing tower halted. The massive beast’s grip holding and shielding the tower temporarily from frontal assaults. The ground shook once more from what seemed to be artillery fire once again, but it was merely His voice.

An eruption from his body exploded from his back once more. A volcanic explosion that hurled heat and flame into the sky, blackened clouds swirled overhead as Varin concentrated. The might of his very being pushed into the skies. A superheated storm that rained embers and fury rushed a hot wind through the streets impacting the cold of the brewing blizzard.

Superheated and super freezing cold fronts clashed developing an extreme level of barometric pressure at its border. Clouds from both the blizzard and firestorm collided and battered one another like a war in the heavens causing swirling vortexes from the top.

Massive twisters formed among the battlefield sucking up debris and fuel from battle machines and rubbled factory foundations. Embers funneled into the twisters setting them all alight as multiple flaming tornadoes carved through the ground in different directions.

Varin felt a weakness within him as his body had been drained. Dropping to one knee as breath seemed to be harder to take in.

Ignati:

Stirring within chains, the great sun eating god opened its eyes as he felt Varin’s falter. He slowly stood within the mindscape of the Sith Knight who had taken control of him. He had no choice but to lend him his services. The Master needed more strength, and Ignati was his conduit.

The return of Vestra Tane was accompanied by the sort of obnoxious, senseless violence those who knew her in life had no doubt come to expect. Her army of the dead poured out from the nether-wound above Abregado-Rae, and descended upon the battlefield with the sort of zeal seen only in the dead and dying. These ghosts fell upon the Mandalorian army wherever it could be found; from the urban centers where the first spores landed, to the burning industrial district, to the spaceport where the Core-Empress herself crashed against the Mando'ade.

He could feel it in the air. Portal ripping through through the very heavens above where the dead funneled through. The Nether.

A domain that His body nestled itself. Where he laid sleeping in deathlike slumber, waiting to be awoken.

Ignati’s being transferred to the resting corpse laying within the depths of the Nether Hells. A massive being capable of devouring suns stirred from behind, too big to cross over, but not useless. His eye opened to be seen from behind the massive portal that had opened. A massive dying star of an iris that flexed and sharpened into a blade like shape. Light seemed to act farm more differently as if there were a new star born at the very spot.

“You heard her Varin.”​

Varin slowly looked to the portals as he stumbled over himself and slowly pulled himself up.

“Get up!”​

The voice echoed like thunder across the battlefield. Ignati’s vocal chords rumbled as he inhaled. Another massive roar from the massive beast as his clawed hands tore through the fabric of reality gripping ahold of the telepathic link in one hand and parts of the weave in the other like a monstrous puppeteer.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAGE MY SON RISE AND SHOW THEM TRUE FURY!”​

Ignati’s rage and fury traveled through the tendrils of the weave and telepathic link attached to each being. A ferocious fury gifted upon them. The fear of death wiped clean, emotions of fear and anxiety stripped of the mind and replaced with that of a lust for war. The God of Conquest has called upon His people, and gifted them a mighty boon of battle hardiness and ferocity. A command to spill blood and shower chaos among those that were their enemies.

Varin:

He felt the call of war surge through his body, the rage of a demigod surging through his very veins. Varin slowly stood as the crown of horns atop his skull emblazoned with flame, his back erupting with the wings of inferno. His skin hardened and cracked into scales. It was a monstrous form that only those within the Sith Covenant had seen and witnessed its destruction. He stood atop the tower, looking down at the carnage. The very battle now fueling him further. Runes pulsed through his armor causing burn marks within its surface.

Naamino Zuukamano | Korar Murrak | Braze​

 

[Anet Raine]

Calyx Sundrift
CC: Varin Mortifer Mercy Naamino Zuukamano Feydrik Munin Braze Korar Murrak Vestra Tane Madrona A’Mia Lily Rhodes
Robes | Mask | Lightsaber
​

She hadn’t caught whatever it was that Calyx murmured before they headed up to the roof together. When they did, her perspective on the whole battle shifted. Quite literally.

TIEs and Mandalorian fighters danced after each other, and great warships dueled above, their fire - stray and otherwise - rained down upon the world. But her attention was drawn most acutely to the flesh reavers that prowled, tearing into stranded civilians, assaulting Mandalorian positions, and even going after Sith stragglers, separated from their units.

Anet was ready to soak it all in until Varin’s reply came through.

“In position. Let it Raine.”

A slight smirk came to his lips at the tiny pun. His comms channel switched then to the Nagai warrior sitting comfortably from the destruction, detonator ready.

“Ignition.”

Anet’s nose wrinkled beneath her mask. Quite truthfully, hearing Varin quip back with a pun was the most surprising event of her day. It took the joy out of her watching factories go up in flames.

Their sabotage of the refinery network, triggered by orbital fire, unleashed a chain of reactions. Deep below the ground, pipes which arried volatile chemicals erupted from below. Below the Mandalorian position. Below the streets. Calyx and Anet had generally marked every junction, knowing where the destructive blasts would be greatest. The Sith forces... mostly avoided them. After all, where else did these pipes largely congregate if not underneath the factories they fed? Factories that the Mandalorian used as makeshift fortresses.

Flames which ignited the volatile gases and chemicals released by their earlier chain reaction. She smirked at the payoff. It was nice to see the result of one’s own dirty work. Or Anet thought so anyway, despite Calyx’s despair.

She had to cover her eyes just to block out the light of one explosion that erupted near her position. It was too hard to tell if everything had gone off as planned. Too much smoke. Too many sights to distract herself with. Too much twisted euphoria rushing to her head. Anet began to laugh, as if this was all a great, cosmic joke. She laughed so hard, she nearly lost her footing, almost falling forward and off the building into the inferno below.

“W-Whoa!” She stumbled back, laughing harder. Were the circumstances different, one might’ve assumed she had too much to drink.

Anet looked at Calyx after catching her breath. “Listen, Calyx!” She was too delighted. “Listen… Shush yourself, close your eyes… Feel the heat and the rumble… the fear… the exhilaration… Your hatred-” had he known how close she had gotten just then? A breath away from his ear.

She whispered. “Deep down, despite your guilt… You love this. Are you so upset… that you can’t savor it?”

She stepped back.

Whatever rage he harbored. It was a shield. She sensed that. What she needed from him was the willingness to wield it as a sword. They were here to kill. To butcher the world. To drive the Mandalorians off. Abregado-rae, to Anet’s mind, would be a proving ground as much as it was a warning. Those who survived would’ve proven themselves, by some measure or another, worthy of a chance to live, and to make something of it.

The return of Vestra Tane was accompanied by the sort of obnoxious, senseless violence those who knew her in life had no doubt come to expect. Her army of the dead poured out from the nether-wound above Abregado-Rae, and descended upon the battlefield with the sort of zeal seen only in the dead and dying. These ghosts fell upon the Mandalorian army wherever it could be found; from the urban centers where the first spores landed, to the burning industrial district, to the spaceport where the Core-Empress herself crashed against the Mando'ade.

Then, as if proof of her own heart, the great wound in the sky tore across the horizon, until it engulfed all that they saw, and within the great cogs turned, and the violent clashing of souls continued in an endless cacophony. It grew louder, and she saw them. The ghosts of long-dead Sith, stirred from their great battle, descended upon Abregado-rae. Their battlelust was palpable to her.

“IT’S GLORIOUS!” She screamed into the rancid air. Her words and her passion carried across the telepathic link.

Toxic chemicals and smoke were carried by the icy winds that blew across the city, to a backdrop of all-consuming flames and battle.

“OUR WORK IS BEAUTIFUL!”

Ignati’s rage and fury traveled through the tendrils of the weave and telepathic link attached to each being. A ferocious fury gifted upon them. The fear of death wiped clean, emotions of fear and anxiety stripped of the mind and replaced with that of a lust for war.

Massive twisters formed among the battlefield sucking up debris and fuel from battle machines and rubbled factory foundations. Embers funneled into the twisters setting them all alight as multiple flaming tornadoes carved through the ground in different directions.

No. Anet just couldn’t contain it anymore. Her lightsaber was already ignited in her hand, spitting flares of crimson plasma, before she realized. The Sith pointed it towards the carnage, as the firestorm began to consume the factories as far as her eyes could see.

Hell has befallen Abregado-rae.

And she couldn’t have been more satisfied.

 

[He-Who-Walks-Between]

“Strike me down and I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

G̶̰̮̈́h̶̢̏͒͠ọ̵̧̿͒͂s̵̖̭̆̔t̸͈̮͊s̸̪̒̎̕ ̸̻̮͇̀o̵͈̜̍f̷͓̈́̈́ ̵̤͐͜t̴͓͂͌h̶͍̿͐̊e̴̫͑ ̶̡̭̣̽M̷̤̓͂̈́ḁ̵̡́͘n̸̗͉͉̒̇̔d̴̬̖̽a̴͉̻̲͒


Awareness.

Sensation.

Existence.​

A voice in the darkness.

“Get up. Your work’s not finished.”

Get up.

Get up.
​

The dead Triumvir's voice broke through the din of battle and the howl of wind, as her mutilated form appeared in the air. She looked as she did at death; skull fractured, eye boiled out of its socket, chit-eating grin. Lightning settled about her like a mantle, and in her jet-black grasp she lazily twirled a blade made of pure Force.

Eyes that saw. Ears that heard.

So... he had done it.

They had brought back the wrong one.

He had averted the future where they returned the Dark One.

And for a moment in the ether, the dead warlock felt the memory of a smile.​

 

[Efret Farr]

Efret felt it a fraction of the moment before he did.

Many broken souls called out to her from the Netherworld over an impossible distance. The raspy voices carrying over the smoke-choked wind were lost to her, just as the ritual ground's screams and rhythmic drumbeats, but their telepathic counterparts rode the Force's weave into her head, bypassing her ears to implant interpreted sounds directly into her brain mass. Sounds she couldn't make any linguistic meaning of.

Still, she knew enough. She knew this much input hurt.

The forced auditory sensation would have been enough, but it was the emotional invasion too.

Turmoil. Anguish. Despair. Pain beyond pain.

If she listened hard enough, perhaps she could hear the part of Elias that had been taken by that place. She wouldn't be able to identify it by its sound, of course, and likely not even by empathic feeling—whatever memory it was locked in now had surely long eaten away at any shards of him she would recognize.

Regardless, she was ready to let the nonsensical screams and their sorrows pull her under.

A sudden volley of explosions tore the sweet surrender from her mind. That she heard with her own ears, the sound close and loud enough for her auditory nerves to register.

Unlike Casimir, Efret hadn't had time to jump away from the impact sites, nor had she had time to cast a barrier. Soil and shrapnel rained over her from multiple directions, tearing into the fabric of her robes and the underlaying skin alike. Before the dust cleared, she managed to fit on Nergüi's Face to hers. The grey porcelain-like mask was ever so slightly pockmarked a few shards of flying rock, but the Force woven around it had protected it by and large.

She didn't think to call on Force Healing the soothe her superficial, weeping wounds. Not one of her scrapes or gouges caused her any sensation whatsoever—not yet. Instead, her focus was intent on Casimir. She tracked him easily through the upset earth, the dust only barely coming through Force Sight.

She knew in an instant what this development meant. Could mean. It would try to seduce Casimir from her. She would not bear another loss of her heart's vessel to the damned Beyond.

"No!"

The voice trapped in her necklace screamed inhumanly loud to be heard over the commotion. She only signed in her mind's eye and the bound soul was forced to verbalize her intent in Basic, just as A'Mia had designed it to do. Unlike her old vocoder, this enchanted necklace could—and did—modulate its tone and volume according to the confused Sithling's mood. Efret knew it was all working as it should its pedant vibrated harshly against her throat.

But then the glowing red tendrils seeping from the delicate-seeming steel turned on her. They plunged into her neck, phasing through the skin and passing white hot electricity between them. Not enough to mortally wound, or even to maim. Just enough to warn of the Hordemother's displeasure.

Tags: Casimir Thorne Vreegan Fett
Post number: 2​

 

[Tytos Saxon]

S T O R M B O R N

STARRY SKY​

Allies: He-Who-Walks-Between |@Gel Karn | MANDALORIANS

​

ENGAGING: Madrona A’Mia
Associated: Darth Strosius | Revna Marr | Lily Rhodes | Vess Sadragen | Vestra Tane | Varin Mortifer | SITH

"Right, of course, because that makes complete and total sense. Why not?", Gel quipped as he sauntered along after Tytos, determined to keep the man as safe as he could even though he wasn't entirely sure he needed someone like Gel to defend him...

The smith was more important than he thought, although Tytos wryly kept his opinions to himself. There was a new generation to be raised, new Foundlings to be instructed and forged in something imperishable that would continue the line long after Tytos had passed on beyond the tenebrous veil of this plane. Adversity would forge Karn just as it had forged Tytos himself.

And perhaps. . . perhaps what Tytos was sensing within the nascent Smith was not his own imagination.

The ravenous horde was becoming quite overwhelming as the two pushed forward through the benighted wastes to the center of the horde, where their vode fought. The blizzard Tytos had called on whipped around them with wintry frenzy, but it was a shield against the bane that stalked his kin in the dark. They were nigh upon the center of the web. . .

Kade hurled down his beskad and pulled out a detonator from his waist. Then he closed his eyes and gave himself over completely to the pull of the Force. To a sense of oneness. To a loss of self.

"I am awaited."
​

He pushed the detonator.

A sudden explosion that echoed through the fabric of the Force itself seared through Tytos's mind with white fury. "Agh!" The shaman seethed, clenching his eyes and holding his brow. The pain subsided, and Tytos raised his head towards the sky, bloodshot eyes striving against the blinding shroud of snow that wrapped the battlefield in white.

But he saw nothing.

"Vod. . ." he could barely utter, his strength sapped. Tytos fell to a knee. "Ancestors. . ." he mumbled, clenching at the talisman around his neck. He could feel the nether tearing wide open, the thousands of evanescent Sith spirits pouring through, a doom that seemed inexorable for the Mandalorian host.

They were so close. Had their fate not been as foreseen? Had the Manda not come to their aid? Where were they, now that his faith should falter?

D̵͇͗ö n̖̺̖̠̎͒̉o͚͛̿ͧ̽t̛́ y̵̢̰̔̉i͕el̨̓͒ͅḏ͎̓̈ͨ̌͠.̸ͨ͌

A whisper.

D͔o͙̖ͣ̒ nò̢̙̀̔ͫt̨̜̞̉̑͐ ẃ̢̥͝a͒v͗e̹̬̽ͬ͞r̿.̡̨̗̙̿͑

A line.

W̷̜̪̄̉̍̏͛̑͡ē̻͝ a̴͙̟ŗ͕̐̿e̸͊͞ UͯNB̵̠͈̦̤͖̂ͩ̚͟͢R̶̜O̡̗̞͋̓̀̕̕Ķ̛͗̏̈́͊̈́͞E̻̺̘͒N͊͒.̴͈̘̅̾̒̎͘͡

A refrain.

W̍Ȅ́̍ Ë͇́ͣ͜N͠Ḑ̰͚̉̈̍̚U̵̞͎ͤRE̜͖̫ͬ̋͛.


A CHORUS!
​

Tytos's eyes burned pure, blinding white. The whisper in his mind swelled into a line, a refrain, and finally a thunderous chorus that shook his very marrow.

From the darkness of the deep, a light unquenched. A horde of Sith spirits howled, racing towards the Mandalorians. Tytos's talisman shone with the resplendent glare of a dying star, his communion with the ancestors complete, perfected. "We are iron," his voice rang out, cold and indomitable against the howling hosts. "Though earth may crumble and heavens rend, the iron remains unbroken." A column of ghosts, cloven in two by a shear of ice summoned by the warlock. "Not by shadow," crawling spirits flash-frozen, banished to the realm from whence they came, "nor by steel," a tide of wraiths silenced by a blast of energy, "shall the spirit of the Mando'ade remain diminished!"

They crested the battlefield, where before them the Warmaster Romul Saxon fought entangled with Darth Strosius , while behind them Tytos could see the center of the ritual, the arboreal Madrona A’Mia encrusted in fungal growth, surrounded by a whirlwind of Sith spectres and blight.

The warlock raised his hand high above. "Behold, the dawn breaks." A piercing flash of light, a beacon, emanated forth. Tytos's consciousness once more stretched across the battlefield as the sky above screamed in violent contradiction where firestorm collided with freezing blizzard, twisting into roaring twisters of flame.

Calling upon the power from his talisman and his ancestors, Tytos raised his hand towards the churning firmament, tapping into the atmospheric shear; he channeled a wave of absolute frost into the superheated convection. By all laws of nature, the resulting thermal shock would be immediate and absolute; as sub-zero pressure plummeted like an iron hammer, the updrafts should collapse, suffocating the heat in a deafening hiss of steam, ash, and dying embers, leaving only relentless freezing gloom of the blizzard to reign supreme.

"Let this be finished," Tytos declared solemnly, his eyes burning pure and white. He looked towards the Smith. "Come, Karn. Do not be afraid to lay waste to your oppressors." And with that, he led the two's charge towards the heart of the plague.

 

[Vreegan Fett]

Vreegan glanced around for a brief moment, trying to understand why this battlefield had disintegrated into a contest of gimmicks instead of actual ability. Force manipulations, ghost armies, a magical blizzard out of nowhere to contain the plague spreading on the ground, it was a circus. If he had his own vode under his scope acting like this, he would have sniped them himself to save Kad Ha'rangir the embarrassment of meeting them in the Manda.

He didn't dwell on those thoughts as his opponents responded to his rockets, too distracted by whatever mystical nonsense was happening between them to focus on the sky. The saber-wielder Casimir Thorne had completely lowered his weapon, standing frozen in the open while the masked woman Efret Farr screamed in some choked, chaotic panic.

They were completely exposed, standing like blind stock in a slaughterhouse. His finger touched the trigger on his commando rifle, switching to sonic concussion blasts to end them here and now, to bring up just enough dirt to bury their bodies just so no one would have to look at them.

He kept his rifle tight against his shoulder as he adjusted his jetpack, moving further down through the smoke to get a complete read on the situation. His HUD tracked their positions through the haze, painting their vulnerable outlines against the churned earth and the sickening plague beneath their feet.

"A waste of time," Vreegan muttered through his vocoder, his tone filled with venom at having come out of retirement just for this mess. A few concentrated sonic concussion blast tore through the air with a ear piercing noise, driving straight down to pulverize the pair where they stood and collapse the dirt beneath their feet.

Efret Farr Casimir Thorne
Siv Dragr Kamon Hourn

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: On the ground | Objective: Break the Sky

Direct Allies: Srina Talon

Other Allied Forces: Xan Atropus | Veyla Tass | Kaelyr | Leontis Antalis | Astra Sadow | Grace | Pax Velloran

Sith Enemies: Carduul Akahl | The Arkanian​

.

The crash broke the ground around them as their armor smashed into one another. Their duel had become a furious exchange, weapons crashing, bodies shifting and blows answered in kind as each fought for the smallest advantage. Neither had given the other room to breathe.

She did her best to ignore the further intrusions from the network. There was still so much struggle, just as much as there was the start of growing triumph. For every Arris Windrun finding her way and becoming Hatred, there was a Revna Marr struggling against her demons before finally vanquishing them. For every Varin Mortifer , there was an Efret Farr , who was hurting badly.

Mercy shoved it down now. She had to. A battle could not be won when your heart was divided and your mind was elsewhere.

Case in point.

“But one day, you will be vanquished and lost to the cosmos for another eon!”

The weapon rammed into her gut and pushed her back, head tilting up towards the Prophet, breath escaping her with a heavy laugh. "One day. Today, tomorrow, in a year, I will face my death with a smile." She called out in return, but then her eyes flicked up towards the skies. As Carduul watched Arkanian, Mercy watched Srina Talon .

Brows furrowed.

The missed shots caught her attention. That wasn't like her sestra at all.

Her attention returned to Carduul right as the Prophet refocused on her in turn. He blasted a shot from his heavy blaster, she blurred, shifting to the side, moving to smash him at the elbow and try to break it within his armor. It would have been a good move. A clean one. But then... everything turned upside down, metaphorically.

The rift gave the tear sundering into a great wound, and with it the chaos of the Nether flowed, the noise would be heard everywhere, for each foundation laid by those who understood what was coming, what had been asked of them.

The irregular rhythm of a thousand giant cogs ticking in the sky, the smell of decay baked beneath a tireless sun. She could taste the desert in her mouth, lips curling into a smile.

It was here.

It started with the widening of sound and the shattering of light.

Mercy stumbled back.

She looked up to the sky, heedless of Carduul, as the Rift that had become a Wound was forced into an Expanse that broke the sky. It dominated the view from any angle now, her home, the place that she truly belonged. The draw of it was intoxicating, it was beautiful. And then the undead spilled out, ushered by an old friend that Mercy had missed sorely.

The return of Vestra Tane was accompanied by the sort of obnoxious, senseless violence those who knew her in life had no doubt come to expect. Her army of the dead poured out from the nether-wound above Abregado-Rae, and descended upon the battlefield with the sort of zeal seen only in the dead and dying.

She felt Vestra's return in her chest. A burst of joy, wild, animal joy, of someone sorely missed having returned... even if for a little while.

Shadow rolled from her in violent pulses, with some of it screaming right for the Arkanian while other shots went wide—Hammering into earth and sky.

Almost as if her anger had boiled over, past the breaking point.

The shadows burst, exploding, as they became passage ways for parts of Vestra Tane 's host to come on through. They did not linger around either Srina or Mercy. Perhaps even these hungry creatures knew better than to steal their battle. Instead they burst forward... to find their own, towards the Spaceport and the pitched battle that was happening around it with Astra Sadow and Leontis Antalis .

Helping ease the pressure they were facing, making things more even once again.

Mercy finally righted herself up as she felt Varin Mortifer 's presence on the air. The winds had been blowing cold towards them and now the heat was coming back to them.

Ignati’s rage and fury traveled through the tendrils of the weave and telepathic link attached to each being. A ferocious fury gifted upon them. The fear of death wiped clean, emotions of fear and anxiety stripped of the mind and replaced with that of a lust for war. The God of Conquest has called upon His people, and gifted them a mighty boon of battle hardiness and ferocity. A command to spill blood and shower chaos among those that were their enemies.

Mercy by and large didn't need more rage... but she happily accepted it as it surged into her. Her bones broke, her veins burst, her eyes behind the armor bled as her body screamed in agony.

The Lord of the Covenant collapsed to one knee before she huffed in pain.

"I think, Prophet, we just found that my friends are a bit more involved than yours." She smiled a bloody smile as every fiber in her being shook. There was nothing more she wanted to do than use her teeth to break through Carduul's beskar and bite his throat out. To shower in his blood and to feast on his flesh.

That exotic fury animated every part of her, and only her own self-control kept her from moving... just yet.

"You can run, no shame in that. What say you?"

One offer, he wouldn't get anything more from her.

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[The Arkanian]

GODKILLER?​

THE ARKANIAN
TAG: Mercy Carduul Akahl Srina Talon
GEAR:
Mandalorian Armor + Modular Wrist Attachments (Flamethrower, Whipcord, Dart Launcher, Wrist Rocket), Jetpack (with big missile), Stouker concussion rifle + 3 power cells, Holdout Disruptor Pistol (boot), Dissuader Pistol + 2 mags (hip), Crushgaunts, Hifold Sensory Package, Cortosis Dagger (chest), 'Nades, More 'Nades, Even More 'Nades (bandolier), Raw Cortosis Dust in a Lil' Baggie (belt), 2 vials of Trihexalon (belt), aerosol canister of Droid bio-assault spray (belt), Voidstone good luck rock on a necklace.

Unit: Haran's Hounds

Named NPC Companions:
Spike and Dozer (Sukkot Force Hounds)

A blizzard howled around the two figures hovering in the air, flakes of white nearly obscuring them from each other.

Even if he recovered from her jabs rather well

It didn't feel like it. Rib shattered. Lung probably punctured. Blood dripping from his mouth. To say nothing of the frostbite to his foot.

All lasting injuries for this fight.

Her though?

There came a sickening pop when bone pulled out of her lung, and her chest seemed to reinflate while the pressure built.

She just looked momentarily stunned was all.

The Arkanian was still chuckling madly to himself, even as she floated away from him, using more of whatever Force bullshit these Sith conjured out of thin air.

The whipcord tether snapped, but she just floated there.

"They can fly now?"​

Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised.

A barrage of dark energy started hurtling toward him, smashing into his beskar armor, but diminished in lethalty by the void stone around his neck and his own Force Dead nature. Instead of blasting him to bits they just felt like a barrage of punches from a behemoth. Pounding over and over again, battering. Bruising.

It tore off his shoulder pauldron, tearing it clean away and he felt a sharp pain as it dislocated the left shoulder beneath.

Another blast struck him in the face, snapped his head back, and shattered half the t-visor, cracking it open. The shattered plasteel scraped against his face, trapped inside the helmet.

Still another blast struck him in the wrist, tearing off the mounted flamethrower there and ripping the fuel line. It spilled out into open air.

And yet...

Iron endures.

Haran's smile was red beneath his helmet, one white eye staring through the fractured visor as his jetpack hurtled him toward the floating Empress. He spread his arms, the left shrieking in pain, and aimed to tackle her again, wrap both crush gaunts around, and then snap her spine it like it was a fucking twig.

"I'm gonna break you."
​

 

[The Quartermaster]

C H O R U S
​

Hammer-blows rang out, echoing through the hollows of the forge.

It was fashioned not as the great master Forge on Kestri, but after the simpler manner of the Enclave on Roon. Here she labored over hot Mandalorian iron: folding layer upon layer, quenching steel as thick steam hissed from ultra-cold vats below.

Even as it had been in the days of old. And since then it had been so long. Had it?

A slow tread resounded in the darkness beyond consciousness. A soul had crossed into her threshold.

The Quartermaster raised a freshly forged pauldron clasped in between tongs, its rim yet gleaming dully-red from the heat that remained within. She turned it to and fro, inspecting the workmanship in the pale blue light of the cryo-forge.

"At last," she spake into the shadows, "you have come."

​

(†) Kranak Vizsla | He-Who-Walks-Between
​

 

[Sahan Dragr]

Spoiler: Equipment

Ure'drahr — "The Golden Dragon"
Tusurki'aa Ta'hye Beskad
O'dteyase Saranuhlr
M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol
M.I. Model 12 shatter rifle
Rulariyi Mandalorian Sunglasses

Sahan's knee drove into the Reaver's sternum.

Dead bone gave beneath the impact, but that wasn't what held his attention. Pale plasma crawled over the gold of his greave and knee plate as he carried the creature backward, its ghostly glow almost lost against the white fury consuming Abregado-rae. He twisted in the air, kicked free, and let his microthrusters carry him sideways before another set of claws could close around him. His elbow caught the next creature across the skull. Another burst of pale light. Another data point.

The experiment had progressed. What had begun as a luminous plume around his left hand now crawled in broken streams across Ure'drahr. The armor's magnetic systems guided the ionized gas from one containment field to another, concentrating it wherever Sahan needed it most—gauntlet, elbow, knee, boot—while DRAHR continuously corrected a system that had never been designed to work this way. It was inefficient. Temperamental. Occasionally the sheath simply lost coherence and vanished into the storm. Sahan loved it.

The A'srucayr's blizzard had only made the process easier. Ambient temperature had plummeted far enough that DRAHR was already throttling back the Cryoban feed, conserving the finite coolant while maintaining the same nonthermal profile. The electrons carried the energy. The gas itself remained cold enough that frost still clung to the gold around the discharge, and that was precisely what Sahan wanted.

He caught another Reaver by the arm, redirected its momentum past him, and planted a plasma-wreathed palm against the fungal mass covering its back. He didn't wait around to admire his work. A repulsor pulse threw the creature away while Sahan pivoted toward the next threat.

The theory was straightforward. Heat wasn't necessary to make plasma dangerous to biological material. Keep the bulk gas cold while driving the electrons hard, and those electrons could drive the chemistry he wanted: reactive species capable of attacking biological structures through oxidation. Cell walls. Membranes. Lipids. Proteins. Nucleic acids. Sahan wasn't interested in the restrained output appropriate for treating living tissue, either. DRAHR was pushing the discharge as aggressively as its thermal limits allowed, maximizing reactive output while continuously bleeding away excess heat. Given sufficient exposure, fungal tissue should cease to remain viable.

Spores changed the problem only by making access more difficult. Their protective casings existed precisely to isolate what lay within from a hostile environment, but protection was not immunity. If the reactive chemistry could reach the casing, it should begin attacking that barrier. If it penetrated, there was precious little organism underneath to destroy. If damaging the casing provoked germination, Sahan saw no reason that should save it. He wasn't administering a single pulse and walking away. Whatever emerged would remain beneath the same sustained fungicidal assault. That was the theory.

A burst of his thrusters carried him above another charging Reaver. He rotated over it, brought both boots down against its shoulders, and kicked away again before landing several meters beyond. Plasma around his greaves flickered, failed, then reformed as DRAHR compensated. Sahan was already moving again when he noticed that something else had changed while he'd been fighting.

The creatures were hiding. Not all of them; plenty still threw themselves against the Mandalorians with suicidal aggression, but others clawed desperately into loose earth and shattered masonry, disappearing beneath rubble wherever the blizzard couldn't easily follow. Sahan watched one vanish beneath the remains of a collapsed wall and understood immediately. "Clever." His palm turned toward the rubble. "Not clever enough."

A controlled repulsor burst tore loose debris outward, stripping away the creature's makeshift insulation rather than wasting firepower trying to punch through it. The cold could do the rest once it had access. Where frost made exposed growth brittle, impact could fracture it, breaking larger masses apart and opening fresh surfaces to the plasma. Freeze. Fracture. Sterilize. Sahan adjusted accordingly, using repulsors and precisely directed shockwaves to peel away loose cover, then following the storm into whatever it exposed.

There was another application staring him in the face. Plasma already crawled over Ure'drahr's exterior wherever DRAHR could maintain the improvised containment fields. Whatever spores, blood, or other biological contaminants accumulated on the armor were being subjected to the same treatment. Sahan marked the thought for later. Dedicated emitters. Better field geometry. Full exterior coverage. A controlled low-output decontamination cycle alongside the aggressive combat profile. The prototype was crude, but the principle had possibilities far beyond this battlefield.

Then something changed. Not on his HUD; the readings crawling across Sahan's visor offered no new explanation, no sudden anomaly corresponding to what he felt. The battlefield remained every bit as impossible as it had been a heartbeat before. Yet beneath the shriek of the blizzard, the thunder of weapons, and the tortured heavens above Abregado-rae, Sahan became aware of something he had no rational means of perceiving.

The shamans could feel things he couldn't. Sahan had always known that. This was neither sight nor sound, nor anything he could have pointed to on a sensor display. It was simply presence, distant at first and then suddenly everywhere. One became ten, ten became hundreds, and hundreds became more than he could count. Somehow, impossibly, Sahan knew them. Not their names or their faces, but something older and simpler than either. Mando'ade.

The ancestors had come.

Something warm traced a line down Sahan's cheek beneath his helmet, unnoticed. For a moment the exhaustion found him again: the sleepless night in his workshop, the frantic final hours spent bringing Ure'drahr to life, the battle that had followed almost immediately afterward. His body remembered every minute of it. Then the weight seemed to recede—not healed, not erased, simply rendered insignificant beside the presence surrounding him. His muscles were still tired. His eyes still burned. None of it mattered.

Sahan drew a slow breath as his hands closed into fists, pale plasma crawling across gold beneath a skin of stubborn frost. Then the Golden Dragon threw himself back into the fight with a vigor he hadn't possessed even when he'd arrived. Faster now, his microthrusters fired in clipped, precisely timed bursts, turning footwork into something that barely resembled running. Sahan slipped between bodies in flashes of gold and pale plasma, changing direction faster than momentum should have comfortably allowed. A palm struck here, an elbow there; a knee slammed into one target before a burst from his heel sent him hurtling toward another. He never remained where retaliation expected him to be. Rising Dragon had always been built around speed, mobility, and aggression, and now Sahan stopped rationing any of them.

Somewhere between one movement and the next, Abregado-rae disappeared. He was young again at White Scar Outpost, with Kestri's perpetual blizzard howling around him and snow swallowing the world beyond a few dozen meters. Back then there had been no Ure'drahr, no microthrusters to cheat inertia, no plasma crawling across his fists. Just aching muscles, frozen lungs, and the endless repetition of Rising Falcon until every movement became instinct. The storm had punished hesitation. He had learned to move with it rather than against it, to let uncertain footing and ruined visibility become advantages against anyone less accustomed to either.

Years later, Rising Falcon had become Rising Dragon, and Sahan had changed with it. The principles hadn't.

He accelerated.

TAGS: OPEN
Tytos Saxon Madrona A’Mia​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

The Core
Abregado-rae

Direct Tags: Darth Strosius , Lily Rhodes , Revna Marr
The Hordemother's Boon: Darth Strosius, Revna Marr, Lily Rhodes,
Anet Raine , Efret Farr , Casimir Thorne , Srina Talon , Mercy ,
Leontis Antalis , Varin Mortifer , Naamino Zuukamano ,
SL-0182 , Astra Sadow
Naniti , Vess Sadragen
The Hordemother's Protection Wanes: Calyx Sundrift & Efret Farr

Gathering threads of power, spooling, spinning, weaving as she worked. A'Mia pulled energy toward her from every source she could, willing or otherwise. The dead and dying fed her work, so too did the fearful, the righteous fury of bold Sith too. She wove it all in and as Weavers are want to do, a bigger picture soon came clear for her.

The old, the ancient, they were coming back… for one more fight. One more battle. He could hear them, feel them, they had everything they needed except for situational awareness. What to do, where to go…

They didn’t know.

But Cruelty would be pointing the way.

Her massive form tilted back, some of her many arms spreading wide for a moment, welcoming what was to come, gazing up into the sky. It was then that she finally saw him. Not with natural sight, but through the ever growing network.

Lode-stone.
Ferryman.
Gatekeeper.

It was not his burden alone of course, but for a moment their minds were a whisper's breadth apart and A'Mia gazed upon a fragment of Mercy's mirror — so grown into his own power, wounded and tested, but resolute.

The return of Vestra Tane was accompanied by the sort of obnoxious, senseless violence those who knew her in life had no doubt come to expect. Her army of the dead poured out from the nether-wound above Abregado-Rae, and descended upon the battlefield with the sort of zeal seen only in the dead and dying. These ghosts fell upon the Mandalorian army wherever it could be found; from the urban centers where the first spores landed, to the burning industrial district, to the spaceport where the Core-Empress herself crashed against the Mando'ade.

And there they were, the dreadfully departed. Called forth and welcomed back for a time, bid to continue their grizzly work upon the mortal plane.

Dark delight soon resounded from the neti in waves of thrumming laughter which was interspersed through that continuous eldritch hum. A'Mia honed in once more upon her immediate surroundings.

That was… until a familiar presence pulled at her mind, and another.

Ignati’s being transferred to the resting corpse laying within the depths of the Nether Hells. A massive being capable of devouring suns stirred from behind, too big to cross over, but not useless. His eye opened to be seen from behind the massive portal that had opened. A massive dying star of an iris that flexed and sharpened into a blade like shape. Light seemed to act farm more differently as if there were a new star born at the very spot.

“IT’S GLORIOUS!” She screamed into the rancid air. Her words and her passion carried across the telepathic link.

Toxic chemicals and smoke were carried by the icy winds that blew across the city, to a backdrop of all-consuming flames and battle.

“OUR WORK IS BEAUTIFUL!”

In other circumstances A'Mia would take the opportunity to goad Ignati, antagonist that she so enjoyed being to him. But no, he was just catching his stride and the other was more important to chide anyway.

Gloating before one has cinched a victory is unbecoming of a prospective Knight.
Mind yourself, girl.​

Any backlash of emotion her jab might cause was merely siphoned in with all the rest of the power A'Mia was now rapidly accumulating.

Calling upon the power from his talisman and his ancestors, Tytos raised his hand towards the churning firmament, tapping into the atmospheric shear; he channeled a wave of absolute frost into the superheated convection. By all laws of nature, the resulting thermal shock would be immediate and absolute; as sub-zero pressure plummeted like an iron hammer, the updrafts should collapse, suffocating the heat in a deafening hiss of steam, ash, and dying embers, leaving only relentless freezing gloom of the blizzard to reign supreme.

"Let this be finished," Tytos declared solemnly, his eyes burning pure and white. He looked towards the Smith. "Come, Karn. Do not be afraid to lay waste to your oppressors." And with that, he led the two's charge towards the heart of the plague.

Roaring winds, blazing tornadoes and furious sleeting storm clouds clashed neath a rent in the very fabric of space-time whilst soldiers scurried like ants under it all. Still, countless beskar clad warriors rallied — pushing for the victory over an already broken world. She had to hand it to them, they were brave.

A'Mia sneered at the thought while her visage slowly changed. That hulking, blighted tree towering at the heart of everything soon took on a ghastly, taunting form. It made no difference who recognized the homage, it was enough for A'Mia to know, for her to call out a booming challenge whilst so laden with power that she might burst.

"Come now, scurry toward your doom. You cannot kill me in a way that matters."

With that, she poured all her collected power into a twisted form of Plant Surge, feeding the pulsating hearts of the plague which surrounded her. Bolstering them against the cold, lending new life, and causing the slimy, mycelial matter to grow far beyond previous limitations.