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

[Mercy]

First came the dropships; they carried the plague. Then came the Sith Covenant; they carried fire and blood. The Sith came with overwhelming force, intent on stamping out this budding renegade threat before it could coalesce into something worse.

As great warfleets battled overhead, a pitched campaign began on the ground, starting in the population centers, around the dropship sites, but soon expanding outward. The Sith had not come here to capture an industrial world to add it to their mafia-like Empire. They had enough industry of their own so many times over after conquering the Core.

Instead, this was a warning to everyone. If you made common cause with the enemies of the Sith, you'd be exterminated completely, until only ghosts and ashes remained.

And they fought exactly in that spirit. As Mandalorians clashed against the Sith in the cities, on the streets, among the industrial works and around the important spaceport, the Sith offered no quarter.

No prisoners of war would be taken.

It did not matter who would win the day. Abregado-rae would either be turned into a dead testament, or it would carry the scars forward for the rest of its days.

The drop sites are the beating hearts of the plague.

Keep the pyres burning.

Protect the drop ships, ritual machinery, and Sith responsible for tending the spreading flesh. Bring further prisoners and fresh biological material to the sites so that the plague can continue growing across Abregado-Rae.

The Mandalorians and their allies will undoubtedly attempt to destroy the sites, rescue those awaiting the flames, or contain the plague before it can reach further population centers.

Do not allow them.

The plague is alive, experimental, and not entirely under Covenant control. Those who remain near the drop sites for too long may find themselves attacked, infected, or incorporated into the spreading biomass.

The flesh does not necessarily recognize the difference between friend and enemy.

Prove that you are worth more alive.

The spaceport has become the greatest hope for anyone attempting to escape Abregado-rae.

Ships are preparing to leave the planet while civilians, officials, and those with enough credits fight for passage aboard them. The Iron Covenant may attempt to organize an evacuation or use the facility to bring reinforcements onto the surface.

Put a stop to it.

Seize the landing bays, departure halls, control towers, and traffic systems. Prevent vessels from escaping and ensure that Mandalorian reinforcements cannot land without paying for every meter of ground.

Reports indicate that valuable members of Abregado-rae’s political and commercial leadership may be among those seeking passage off-world.

Find them.

Deliver anyone useful to the Covenant.

Those who cannot be useful can remain behind and die with their people.

Abregado-rae built its reputation upon its factories.

They gave the planet its wealth, its purpose and the confidence to believe it could stand beside the Mandalorians without consequence.

Take that confidence away.

Destroy the planet's industrial heart.

Bring down the electrum foundries, processing plants and manufacturing complexes that dominate its cities. Turn the machinery against itself and allow the resulting dust, ash and chemical debris to rise into the atmosphere.

The plague will use it.

Every explosion will carry fragments of the red flesh further across the world. Every collapsing factory will create new ruins in which the parasites can nest and multiply.

Some facilities may contain workers, defenders, or civilians seeking shelter. Others may become fortresses for the Iron Covenant or battlegrounds between rival forces.

Their contents do not matter.

Only their destruction does.

​

Find another adventure amidst the plague and horrors!

.

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: In the sky | Objective: Make an entrance
Direct Tags: Srina Talon | Grace
Other allied forces: Xan Atropus | Veyla Tass | Kaelyr | Leontis Antalis | Astra Sadow​

.

The first waves had already landed on Abregado-rae, and by every report filtering back through encrypted channels, the fighting was vicious. It was bloody, by all accounts, but that was exactly what they wanted.

Today everything would change.

Mercy, Lord of the Covenant, had pointed the way for the Sith Covenant. A line had been drawn when Abregado-rae welcomed renegade Mandalorians, and Mercy intended to discover who among the Covenant actually possessed the stomach to cross it with her.

A searing question was posed to those who called themselves followers of their Covenant.

Can you handle what it means to be a Sith?​

Not when it was luxurious, not when it was sexy. Not when everyone was drinking, rutting, and congratulating themselves on how wonderfully wicked they were. Being Sith on this day meant turning a prosperous world of industry into a waking nightmare. Win or lose, some would break. Mercy knew this, she was frankly counting on it, because there could be no more half-measures. Those that remained after today would be truly committed.

The rest was chaff that could be discarded for the waste it was.

Even this high above the surface she could sense the electricity of it all. Fear spreading through millions of people below. Rage, violence, and the sudden extinguishing of lives one after the other. She could almost smell the blood. Hungry, for that brutal taste of chaos.

“Do you feel it, sestra?” Mercy called out over her shoulder against the buffeting of the wind and took in the silhouette of the pale figure standing beside her. The assault ship was carving its way through the atmosphere with a vengeance, swift, while bringing them directly over their target. “I am so fucking excited… this is going to be great.”

The titan turned with a grin as she kicked open the door fully now, winking at Grace, who had hitched a ride with them.

Then Mercy met Srina’s eyes.

“Remember when you asked me how we were going to land?” The grin turned a few more inches crazy while she watched familiar yellow-gold eyes flick briefly toward the open hatch, then back to her. Perhaps it was something in her expression that gave up the ghost, or the way the wind tore through the assault ship hard enough to whip Srina’s long white hair into disarray. It didn’t matter. Mercy was incredibly smug when realization dawned on her battle-sister, but it was already too late.

“No. Absolutely not.”

That chit-eating grin widened even as she watched Srina start to glare.”No...Means yes?”

“No. I refuse—”

Before Srina could finish her sentence, Mercy grabbed her sestra by the waist and yanked her out into the open air with her. Right into open space, where there was only air and atmosphere, and the distant firing of cannons and the explosions of artillery.

And all the Sith Lord did was cackle in joy.

The sound was partially torn apart by the wind, but the arm around her battle-sister never loosened. If anything, her hold tightened while Mercy twisted in the air, deliberately turning her own body toward the worst of the debris that whipped past them.

Then...She summoned the Warform from deep within. Flesh hardened and muscle condensed. Mercy grew heavier by the second as the transformation crawled across her body and reinforced tissue forced itself into being. The process was unusually violent, brutal, but given enough time she could draw it forward without tearing herself apart. Today was a good day, and the fall gave her several thousand meters to work with.

A breath later, her vision was first obscured and then re-emerged as hardened material finally wrapped around her head like an organic helmet.

Vision flickered awake again, as she saw through a thousand sensitive nodes embedded internally. It was too much and yet not enough, especially with the added presence of the Blackwall Empress tucked securely against her. The air sharpened, the images cleared as instinct took over. Mercy almost missed the pivotal moment, but an itch between her shoulder blades reminded her. Her grin returned...”Hold on, sestra.”

Not that Mercy had given her much choice.

One arm drew Srina Talon nearer while the ground rushed upward, cleanly catching her beneath the knees. She folded the Echani against the armored bulk of the Warform and her body shifted to place layers of reinforced flesh between her battle-sister and several thousand meters worth of very enthusiastic stupidity.

Only then did the Sith seize the Force to neutralize their momentum, and their descent slowed violently. Instead of letting the energy dissipate, Mercy transferred it downward and threw a punch that would smash into the road that connected to the spaceport ahead. The result was immediate and explosive, as ferrocrete ruptured beneath sheer kinetic force.

It collided outward, buckling the roadway, and smashed through the first line of fortifications. Stone and dirt erupted around them, the shockwave rolling outward while Mercy remained hunched at the epicenter. The Warform curled instinctively around the pale woman that she held against her chest, and for several seconds, there was nothing but dust.

Mercy rose up from the Mercy-made crater, enormous, and glanced down at the Sith Empress that had twined two pale arms around her neck out of necessity. She had just punched a devastating hole in Abregado-rae, but it was with almost absurd care that she set her battle-sister back on her feet. The titan brushed a piece of invisible debris from the woman’s shoulder, sensing her irritation. Her grin never faltered, even in the Warform.

“Sorry, darling, I couldn’t help myself. You know how much I love to make a proper entrance.”

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

The Core
Abregado-rae
Epigraph​

A certain level of uneasy disquiet always seemed to proceed battle that one knew was approaching, and sometime thereafter would come the resolution that fear or worry did nothing to dispel what would soon transpire. It was within a brief pause of preparations for the coming conflict that A'Mia Madrona took for herself the barest moment of respite to share a tender moment with Darth Strosius in her private quarters.

"I will be rooted in place once the pyres are lit, my mind traveling along those lines of fire and spreading across the world with each new host claimed by the plague… You are to be my armor. Promise me you'll do so safely, ahweaul?"

She bent, her form twice again as tall as her companion and more arboreal than usual. A'Mia brought her furrowed brow to the smooth visage of his mask. There was worry for her grove, her people, warring with resolution about what must be done. Enemies of the Sith would be made to answer for their transgressions, but Mercy had called for total domination — no quarter given. Though A'Mia was of one mind as the Core Empress, the totality of their plan was weighty all the same.

Still, she was resolute and would do what she must, not only to bolster the biological terror soon to be unleashed upon Abregado, but to shield her loyal allies.

Prelude

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

​

The staging grounds where dropships had carved cruelly into earth were rife with activity and vast swaths of captives were pushed forward into place. Meanwhile, A’Mia moved ponderously between them to take up her position centered somewhere between the masses that would soon be blazing. Already, her attention was elsewhere — communicating with those who already wore the mark of her boon: a circlet about the wrist or bicep or forelock. The circlet of still living neti wood had been placed by A’Mia on all who sought protection from the coming plague.

Remain resolute in your work here today.
We are here not just to claim land,
but to strike fear into those who resist our progress.
To teach them the futility of standing in our way.

”Weave, little one, find my mark upon those across the land and in the sky. Reach out to them and weave them more tightly into our working.”

A’Mia’s voice was multilayered and creaked like an old tree in the wind as she addressed Lily. Her enlarged form utterly unrecognizable from the typical guise she wore, save for the intense blue-green eyes. Her ordinarily red-brown skin had notably more red present, and little bloody mushroom caps seemed to bloom from several places along her form where the neti had embodied symbiosis with the horror she was about to help unleash upon the land.

Bloody Bonnet
​

Such a quaint name for such a ravenous parasite. A’Mia had discovered the organism on Brosi sometime during regrowth and had been fascinated by the creatures since. Today, the swarming parasitic fungus was going to be given a boost far outside of natural conditions. Not only that, but Sith Covenant forces were going to ensure the infection was well fed so that it could spread rapidly.

WIth lumbering strides, A’Mia moved until she was equidistant between the various drop pods. With one last sweeping look to her companion, she began to hum ponderously as her feet soon turned to roots. A trance-like state soon took her over, and soon the burning would begin.

Present​

Screams tore through the sickly wind, smoke and ash already drifting high in pyrocumulonimbus clouds as Mercy’s wrath unfolded. Already, the stirring plague had gained its foothold. Helped along by seeded captives and made rampant through chemical bolstering. Among the controlled chaos, A’Mia stood tall and swayed with war torn winds as if she was conjuring more gusts to stoke the pyres and spread spores far and wide.

A’Mia was counting on some of their forces to use the serum via injection or aerosol grenade in places farther from the epicenter so that newly infected would soon become rampant as well. All the while, she remained rooted firmly in place as her presence in the Force stretched far and wide. Connected metaphysically to the mycelial organism as she bolstered it, spurring it onward, and offered her protection to those she did not wish to see infested.

 

[Raukai Ironstone]

Raukai watched from the bridge of the The Whispering Matron as the battle for Abregado-rae unfolded around him. Turbolaser fire streaked toward them from the Iron Covenant fleet as Starfighters raced past the viewport before breaking away into scattered dogfights.

The sight of such carnage pulled him back to Mandalore. The memories came without warning as he saw Sith warships descending over the planet, their guns tearing through its defenses while the clans fought and died below. The campaign had broken his people within days. It had also set him on the path that led to this fate, remembered as one of the corrupted, bound to live and die by the Butcher King's mercy.

There were worse fates. The Iron Covenant had been defeated over Humbarine without much effort and Raukai saw no reason for Abregado-rae to end any differently. He would drive them from the planet and destroy anything they might reclaim if the assault failed.

He glanced at the terminal beside his command chair. More warships were dropping out of hyperspace with each passing moment. Dark Lords from both the Sith Covenant and the Sith Order had come to claim victory over the Mandalorians. Raukai would not leave all the glory to them. His warband wanted blood, and they would not be satisfied until their armor carried the remains of their enemies.

Once, he might have thought such destruction beneath him. He was no longer the man he had been, nor was he bound by the culture and ideals that had failed his people. Raukai rose from his chair and walked toward the bridge viewport. The enemy had lost the advantage, but he did not believe they had been taken completely by surprise.

Careena Fett Zavar Kelborn
​

 

[Vreegan Fett]

Abregado-rae was in turmoil, a world suffocating under the cowardly tactics of an enemy that had lost the ability to fight them head on. High above the clouds he hovered steadily, his jetpack thrusters barely making a noise that was not covered up by the Starships screaming overhead. The air up here was refreshing compared to the foul odor down below, a scent of dark science that made his stomach churn.

His eyes scanned the inside of his helmet, as his heads up display informed him of movement down below. Thermal readings and low frequency scans seem to cut through the thick cloud cover, gradually creating a map he could use of the Drop Zone. He transmitted his information to the rest of the Mandalorian squads nearby.

If they were going to take the Drop Zone they would need to be well informed. He could see that the Sith were not forming tactical units or setting up fortified defenses, instead they will concentrated solely on managing the enormous pulsating masses of experimental biomatter that they managed to scrounge up from who knows where.

The most simple solution would have been to the bombard the planet into the ground, but that idea was rejected for the moment until they were sure the Sith would not be able to escape the destruction that was to follow. He was slowing down that was for certain, but to pay back the Sith was worth any price to see them crawling in the dirt like they belonged.

Efret Farr Casimir Thorne

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Objective III: Destroy the Factories
Tag: Anet Raine | Feydrik Munin
Equipment: Lightsaber, Specter Vibroknife, Amulet of Many, Gravetail vibroblade, Glitter bombs

Flame spat from the tops of the cracking towers, jets of burning gas flaring red and green where coolant and catalyst met and burned together. Somewhere in the tangle of pipelines and walkways, an alarm kept sounding. It had been sounding for hours, and still nobody came.

The evacuation had begun long before, back when there was still something left to save. By the time anyone had grasped the extent of the sabotage, it was already past mending. Now, from a mile out, the heat still reached your face. Anyone looking at it understood that whatever had started here would not stop until its black smoke blotted out the sun.

That was their work, though Calyx Sundrift's anxiety left no room for anything resembling pride.

Destroying the plant would trigger a chain reaction that would take out the whole intricate network of pipelines in the region. It was the sort of toxic disaster that, combined with the other industrial targets, would take decades to mend.

His gaze stayed fixed on the room's main display, where the last readouts died floor by floor. It would be a terrible disaster. And yet whenever he touched the dark side, a restlessness crept up the back of his neck. Like a loud noise breaking an otherwise eerily still dark, the kind that makes you wonder if you were ever truly alone.

It planted seeds of doubt. As if this wasn't it. As if something larger, far more terrible, was still coming.

He idly wondered if his shiftmates had made it out. Anet had insisted they run this one properly. Infiltrate and do the groundwork themselves, as their stations demanded. It had meant a borrowed name, a month of shifts, and a big betrayal. Of course, she'd warned him explicitly not to get attached. And true to character, he'd falsely claimed that he wouldn't.

Because this wasn't like hitting the refinery on Sevarcos II. These were just laboring, innocent people. He'd seen pictures of Karrs daughter. Bantered hours and hours with Walon. Had stressed out with Roda when the valves hadn't closed.

And each day, it had gotten harder and harder to feign indifference to himself, when every thought had led straight back to a stab of guilt.

We're destroying their lives. And for what?

Power? Control?

He couldn't finish the thought before the screens went black. Calyx rose from the smoking security droid's remains on which he'd sat and sniffed indignantly. Even here, in the control room, he couldn't shake the smell of ozone and tar that had begun filling the plant.

"Alright-" He sought out the slender frame of his fellow infiltrator, Anet. "While I'm all for explosive endings, especially my own handiwork, I really don't want to be around when this thing goes up." Neither did he want to be there when the Mandalorians came looking for them. "Shall we go?"

 

[Canm-Bulnu Bi]

The bitter sting of the defeat was still fresh in his mind, as losing to a Mandalorian for the first time in his life had wounded his pride. So much so that he demanded retribution no matter the cost even to his own life. He had been forced to strap a crude peg leg to his hip, as a temporary substitute for his missing limb as he walked towards the entrance of the factory unevenly, the wooden Leg leaving small circles in the dirt beneath him.

He did not care that the trail led to him only that he would find a Mandalorian no matter where they hid and cut them down though he knew it would not be the same one that had defeated him on Humbarine. Around him the air was growing thick with pestilence as his brethren were unleashing a sickening plague upon the world.

A vile concoction meant to choke the life out of the planet and make it easier to conquer, though even they had no control of it which was why he was forced to breathe through an oxygen mask. He had his doubts about the grand strategy as their enemy were a mobile fleet if the reports were to be believed.

But he did not complain as he paused near the entrance to adjust his leg once more. The mission was simple to close this Factory permanently in order to give the Sith an advantage they could use to spread the cloud even further across the planet until nothing remained but a breeding ground. He called his lightsaber to his hand with a simple application of the force, it's red blade shining across the the surface of the floor beneath him.
​

 

[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

Run. Jump. Roll.

Siv angled his body so a roll starting at the shoulder, over his head absorbed most of the blow. A jetpack would make for a smoother landing, but speed was the priority, and Siv could confidently clear a drop of only a couple of meters. Over him, the winged monstrosity shrieked as its prey just very narrowing escraped grasping talons. "Ugly fether," Siv grunted as he spun onto his back and, lying down on the asphalt, pointed his blaster pistol straight at the thing's chest. The heavy blaster pistol's bolts ate into the monster's chest, chipping away at it. Large portions disintegrated until finally a disorganized, pulsing mass of carbon-scorched flesh was left. Siv got up to his feet, only bracing himself as overhead an explosion bloomed in a massive fireball.

"Hourn, what's your location?" Siv grunted into his comms as he straightened up, his left vambrace raised and his blaster pistol clenched in his left. The Sith's attack on Abregado-Rae hadn't been a surprise; their need for theatrics had well telegraphed their assault, and Siv was part of those on-world to defend the planet with the Iron Covenant, who had prepared their forces. However, even he hadn't expected these biological monstrousities. Some sort of parasite that emerged from a victim host to consume. What made things worse was that the parasites were resistant to heat, though advanced Mandalorian blaster technology still killed, albeit more slowly. "These damned things get harder and harder to kill. You got any ideas? Over." He checked the series of grenades hooked to his belt. It might be time to throw out the big bombs.

Abregado-Rae burned. Only a week ago, the city and countryside had been engaged in celebrations, and laughter had rang from the streets beautified by flowers, banners, and lights. Now everything was fire and ash again. Siv's blaster grip tightened. Everything was a cycle. The Sith only knew how to burn and destroy. Siv wouldn't let them recommit their atrocities on Mandalore and elsewhere here today while he still breathed.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

Abregado-Rae was the next target within the crosshairs of The Sith Covenant. A vile plague had been sent upon the surface. A living sickness that devoured living tissue regardless of alignment. Pyres were set ablaze with the living as kindling to signify the beginning of the end.

On the horizon, screams of agony and terror echoed to the emotionless sky. An eerie green glow radiated from the area from which the plague seemed to have originated from. This was a conquest unlike anything Varin had witnessed in such a scale. Targeted, yet chaotic. Something did not sit right within the pit of Varin’s guts about it. The sight of people overtaken by a bio-weapon that killed without morale.

It was filthy.

Varin had landed with his squad within the industrial sector of the area. Faint drifting particles of red slowly fell from the skies above. Almost like snow or ash fall. The Electrum factories around them were the targets, and as Varin turned to face those who served under him he caught the sight of a very familiar face. He knew Naamino would be coming to assist him, but still seeing him somehow brought surprise to his face. Varin’s helm tipped forward in a nod towards the black armored man before him.

Two menacing battle brothers, fighting on yet another planet consumed by sickness.

Thoughts of his first battle on Brosi surfaced as he walked towards the Zabrak.

“The factories must fall. That is our priority. Any who stand in the way are but small obstacles.”

His hand gently rested on Naamino’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you again brother.”

The armored gauntlet from Varin rested for but a moment longer before he stepped past the Zabrak to face his company. Throughout the industrial sector his men had disguised themselves as the common folk, planting bombs in various buildings to bring forth destruction. The plague seemed to struggle its way towards their location, and the destruction they were to cause, was to spread the corruption further. Varin slowly walked to the entrance of one such factory. The doors sealed shut in hopes to keep the intruders out.

The crimson visor upon Varin’s helm opened up. His eye now glowing with a piercing light, shot forth towards the door. The metal started to melt, and the screams from within began to sound off from terror.

Naamino Zuukamano​

 

[Feydrik Munin]

​

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


Their cries did not go unnoticed. Their pleads for mercy, for salvation, did not either. The Mandalorians answered.


Clan Munin's ships arrived in the atmosphere, crushing some foes as they appeared in the sky. They were like a horde of iron locusts, a message in their arrival as much as their presence and what they were unleashing. Feydrik was the first to disembark on his war droid nigh-immediately, war-droids, gunships, and troops dismounting from moon-pools and drop stations. Their war droids and ships played a mighty noise over speakers, a deafening roar, a single note played among their entire force over the battlefield.

The sounds shook the earth beneath them and blew out windows, and many cowered, covering their ears as Feydrik and the Mandalorians descended unto the battlefield. Intelligence and battle metrics demanded that the Electrum factories be defended, not only as a powerful logistical resource, but moreso that it would be devastating for the planet if the Sith managed to use them to push their plague further. Clan Munin and others were tasked immediately to defend them. Feydrik did not hesitate for a moment. He had no reason to.

Clan Munin stood firm, stood tall. They were strong. They were united. They were the most savage, the most bloodthirsty- and currently, the Clan with the most trained, coherent, and readily available Supercommandos. Feydrik did not bring just warriors, his ranks that fell to the planet in mighty ships, with war droids, and by drop pods, were the best of the best. Feydrik rose to a stand as his war droid lowered to the ground, hovering mightily before he dismounted. One of his troopers passed him his rifle as he dismounted, and the gathered Supercommandos, a battalion strong with the initial landing force, fanned out and took positions in the factories.

His troops were not armed like the Jetiise troops, they were more viciously armed. Some carried slugthrowers, most carried disruptor rifles, pistols. Machine guns of slugthrower and disruptor varieties would be set up, and Feydrik instructed his leaders as they landed to create an inter-connecting web of coordinated fires, set up targeting parameters, and coordinate with the war droids and ships above to, if need be, aerially bombard the enemy. Reinforcements were coming in later with specialized weaponry, to combat the reports of plague, and what other monstrosities the Sith would undoubtedly have in store. Above them, the fleet and ships the Mandalorians came with would rain fire down on the Sith attackers hell-bent on destroying factories.

Feydrik stood at the top of one of the factories, surveying his battlespace. He turned to one of his Company leaders. "Cerar Company. Install troops in defensive positions. Don't push out, our objective is to secure this-" He pointed down at his feet with his free hand not holding the rifle to emphasize his point. Already, an exchange of gunfire let Feydrik know the Sith were aware of their presence. "This is our fortress. Our objective, birthright to hold this ground." He turned his head towards the sky, then back down to his Captains, Lietuenants and Officers around. All in all, they had roughly a battalion's worth of men landing, or already around the factories. And they were digging in, preparing defensive positions, and steeling themselves.

"Go forth." He said simply, and they put words to task, and task to purpose, and hopefully soon, belt to ass of the enemy. He turned his head as he received reports of enemy sabotage being discovered, and that they could not access one of the buildings. That, and the disturbing notion that the Sith were hiding amongst the workers, disguised as the common folks and civilians.

Cowards. They were cowardly and cruel with their tactics. Befitting of Sithspawn to not want a direct battle. Perhaps they feared it.

He radioed one of the other Mandalorians, a trusted veteran, a capable warrior, Korar Murrak and his accompaniment.

"I'm sending you coordinates to a factory we can't enter and that's been locked down. Find a way in with your team, and secure that building."

 

[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Madrona A’Mia / Open!
--------------------------------------------

There was nothing quite like the eve of a battle. As much as He hated to admit it Darth Strosius genuinely reveled in it, it was simply where He was meant to be in a sense. Even now when He wasn't checking over logistics or rousing His forces like He typically would before an engagement, as His assets were by and large deployed elsewhere and unfortunately unavailable for this day, there was still an undeniable thrill to Him in those last preparations as the time for first contact ticked ever closer.

Getting to share a precious few quiet moments with A'Mia was something new in that regard, a spot of unfamiliarity and comfort amidst an otherwise concerningly familiar state of affairs given the circumstances. He hummed at her request, frowning that she was asking Him of all people to remain safe even whilst she would be otherwise occupied and unable to fight personally as she normally would. Although it did raise the idle question in the back of His mind of which of them were actually the more...fragile. He didn't intend to find out anytime soon.

"I promise." The masked man's words were soft, the assurance both spoken and unspoken as His gloved hand reached up to brush a thumb along her cheek. Of course He'd be more than willing to throw some part of Himself in front of whatever it was that would seek to harm the Neti, His life was the only irreplaceable piece left after all. Yet for her sake and in keeping with His promise, He'd do His best to ensure that it didn't get to that point.

-

The wooden bracelet was concealed and protected easily enough among His heavy robes and armor yet Darth Strosius could sense its presence on His arm regardless of its visibility, whether that was intentional or not He wasn't certain. Though He was relieved to feel it nonetheless as He idly paced around the drop pods and His rooted companion, the infested sky reflected in His dark visor as He stopped to watch the wind carry the spores and their unsightly products across the battlefield.

Technically He should have been immune to such infections and infestations, even normal Sangnir were protected from them and He was far beyond normal even for a Highblood. Yet the capabilities of the Bloody Bonnet made Him somewhat concerned for His apparent immunity regardless, making the wooden circlet a welcome presence on His person. His hidden gaze swept across the blazing fires as His trail carried Him back to His beloved Neti's side with a click of His tongue.

The screams and sounds of combat weren't close enough yet for Him to draw His weaponry yet Darth Strosius held His lightsaber all the same just in case. A'Mia herself shouldn't have been under any threat from the parasites however He wasn't as confident in their instincts as she was. He doubted that the Mandalorians would simply sit back and let their forces be unraveled by the plague for too long either of course, and thus He stood vigilant. Watching and waiting for when He would have to fend off whatever it was that came their way.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Quinn Varanin
Soon: Siv Dragr | Kamon Hourn
Mention: Lily Rhodes | Vess Sadragen
Down & Out
​

BEFORE THE DROP
THE HANGAR​

Arris leaned against stacked crates in the hangar, watching as soldiers and crew loaded the dropships. Weapons, explosives, munitions - everything you needed to carry out a siege… or a massacre. But that wasn’t what drew the cyborg’s attention. It was the esoteric machinery, and the sorcerers who joined them.

She scowled at the sight. If there was anything Arris didn’t much like, it was magic. Pretty ironic for a Sith Lord, but it was the side of the Force, the side of the Sith she had little experience of, and avoided whenever possible.

Her attention only snapped when she caught two familiar faces in the corner of her eye. Vess and Lily, chatting before the storm. Arris pressed off the wall, waving their way as she walked over.

Neither knew what was coming. Hell, none of them did.

“Pack everything you need?” She interjected. “Because there’s not gonna be any ‘but Arris! I left my super-Mandalorian-killing-deathsaber back on the ship!’ when we get down there.”

In a more serious tone, “But really, double-check your gear. Make sure everything works. Make sure everything is what you need.”

She drew a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow, steady drag. Her exhale was more like a sigh with some fog rolling out. A big invasion like this always had her tense. At least it wasn’t going to be as nasty as Coruscant, she told herself… Abregado-rae was a far cry from the ecumenopolis. Landing and taking their targets should’ve been easy.

But this was Mercy’s plan. And although the Empress explained things, Arris couldn’t have anticipated the reality of what they were about to see.

Still, she pushed through it with an easy grin. Ever cool and confident.

“We’re splitting up on the drop. I’ll be heading down with someone else. You two can drop together, but I expect you’ll have to split off at some point. We need those landing sites defended.”

With that said, the cyborg turned and walked towards her ship, but then stopped to say one more thing.

“Oh, and make sure you get that protection from the Governor.” She meant A’Mia Madrona, not that Arris would ever call the seeress by that name.

AFTER THE DROP​

Bodies. Burning bodies.

Arris just stared. Watched as they continued to smolder in the raging fire, echoes of their earlier screams carried by the eerie fog that spread throughout the city. Her metal hands gripped her revolvers tightly, itching to draw them from their holsters.

So this was Mercy’s plan in action? “Damn it!” Arris muttered under her breath. She should’ve known better.

There was a briefing: Mercy, Arris, that Neti and some other ‘experts’ were in the room. She could’ve stayed and listened, known more, but instead, Arris dismissed herself. Claimed she had other things to tend to. It was half-a-lie, because part of her was just disinterested. She could’ve stayed… known more… given Lily and Vess a better warning of what was about to happen. Quinn, too.

This was Windrun’s failing. No mistake about it. Or, so she believed, anyway.

She looked to Quinn, with anger and fear in her lifeless, grey eyes.

“I need it.”

Her hands fell idle at her side - she walked over to Quinn, placing one on her forearm. The metal touch was hotter than usual, almost on the verge of burning from how hot her implants ran. Her fingers squeezed, gently, but not quite, with unmistakable need.

“Please…” Her voice would have shaken if such a thing were possible.

Without the Echani’s power, she feared madness and hatred would consume her thoughts. Being responsible for death wasn’t the problem anymore. It was that she told herself it was acceptable. At the end of her revolvers, it was. Hell, make it a thousand turbolasers; it didn’t matter.

But this?! Her eyes flicked back to the pyre. It was insane. You had to be twisted to engage with it, and doing so meant that you were willing to exist and act outside the framework of what made you a person. You had to become evil. Evil of a sort that belonged in religious texts and horror stories, not the kind of evil she had been, the kind that made sense at a tribunal discussing war crimes. Of course, Arris failed to recognize that her distinction itself was just another delusion.

But with Quinn, she believed she could get through it.

She waited for an answer, as the fighting carried out all across the city. It was only a matter of time until the fighting found its way to their drop site. Arris was convinced of that. Which is why she needed the Queen's gift.

She had to get through it.

 

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS
Outfit/Armor

Leontis had never been under the illusion that commanding soldiers meant he needed to be the first man through the door. That was what soldiers were for. The armored transport rolled forward behind the advancing platoon, its repulsors carrying it smoothly over streets that were becoming progressively less orderly the closer they drew to the spaceport. Leontis stood partially exposed through the command position, one gloved hand resting against the rim as he surveyed the distant terminal complex. His black uniform was immaculate despite the circumstances, violet detailing tracing sharp lines across his chest and shoulders. A dark cape shifted behind him whenever the wind caught it.

Four House Antalis Guardsmen surrounded him within the vehicle. They were conspicuous even beside the regular troops: black and deep purple robes over ornate armor, gold ornamentation catching what little light escaped the smoke hanging over the city. Their rifles remained ready. They were not here to seize the spaceport. They were here to make certain the man ordering its seizure survived.

Ahead of them marched the actual instrument of House Antalis' will. Black-armored troopers advanced in disciplined sections, purple markings and glowing visors making them unmistakable through the haze. Leontis had divided the platoon before they ever began moving. One element would push toward the departure halls and landing bays. Another would make traffic control its priority. A third would secure the approaches and ensure that anyone attempting to reinforce the spaceport discovered that arriving was considerably easier than leaving again.

Leontis glanced toward the tactical display mounted beside him. Ships were still moving. That irritated him. "Priority remains traffic control," Leontis ordered over the platoon's channel. "I want the tower intact and its personnel alive until we have control of their systems. Once we do, ground everything."

A brief pause. "Everything." The distinction mattered. Destroying the spaceport would have been considerably easier. Artillery and airstrikes could accomplish that without requiring Leontis to leave the comfort of a command vehicle. But ruins could not identify departing ships. Ruins could not redirect incoming traffic. And ruins certainly could not tell him which wealthy merchant, bureaucrat, industrialist or politician was presently attempting to purchase a seat aboard the next transport away from Abregado-rae.

The Covenant wanted useful prisoners. Leontis understood useful people. He understood them considerably better than he understood warfare. His gaze shifted toward the growing congestion ahead. Even from here he could see civilians moving toward the spaceport, some carrying luggage, others whatever possessions they had managed to grab. Speeders clogged the approaches. Security personnel were attempting to maintain some semblance of order while desperate people pressed toward what they believed was their escape.

Leontis' lips tightened. He had no particular desire to massacre them. Not because some sudden attack of conscience had overtaken him. Dead civilians simply accomplished very little. Panicked civilians, however, could turn a straightforward military operation into chaos remarkably quickly.

"Keep the main civilian approaches contained," he continued. "Do not waste ammunition firing into crowds unless they become a threat. Push them away from the landing areas and keep them out of our advance."

One of the Guardsmen beside him shifted slightly. Leontis noticed. "What?"

"Nothing, my lord."

"Good." His attention returned to the terminal. There was something almost fascinating about watching privilege collide with catastrophe. Credits, titles and influence meant quite a lot right up until there were fewer seats aboard a starship than people desperate to occupy them. Leontis knew that world intimately. Which was precisely why he had another order.

"Begin recording identities as soon as we enter the terminal. Cross-reference anyone detained against local government, corporate and financial databases. Executives. Port administrators. Government officials. Major shareholders. Anyone with access to accounts, infrastructure or political influence gets separated from the general population." A faint smile touched his lips. "And if someone loudly insists that we have no idea who they are, take them first. People with absolutely no importance rarely feel the need to announce otherwise." That earned the faintest hint of amusement from one of his Guardsmen.

The vehicle slowed. Ahead, the first elements of the platoon were nearing the outer perimeter. Leontis could see barricades now. Security checkpoints. Abandoned speeders. Beyond them rose the control towers and immense hangars of the spaceport. Somewhere beyond those walls engines were undoubtedly warming, pilots were calculating departure vectors and frightened passengers were convincing themselves they had escaped. They hadn't.

Leontis reached for the comlink again. "Platoon, this is Lord Antalis." His voice remained remarkably calm. "Do not get distracted chasing frightened civilians through terminals. We have four things that matter: the tower, the departure halls, the landing bays and the traffic network. Take those and the rest belongs to us."

His eyes lifted toward the sky as another vessel climbed from somewhere within the sprawling complex. Perhaps the last fortunate one. "Once traffic control is ours, transmit an immediate grounding order. Any vessel attempting departure afterward gets one warning." Leontis settled back slightly, surrounded by the imposing figures of his household guard. "After that, shoot it down."

The transport continued toward the fighting while Leontis remained exactly where he believed a commander belonged. Close enough to control the battle. Far enough away that someone else was being shot at first.

​

​

 

[Zandra Ruus]

Location: Low Atmosphere, Abregado-Rae
Tag: SL-0182
Gear: Beskar'gam (gadgets in Bio), Beskads and combat knife, Deflector Shield, Razorline Projector, Amulet of Solitude, Rugrut Sniper Rifle
NZ-BG.400 Blaster Pistol, Anti-Personel Mines

,

Lifeform scanners inside The Mythos Fleet had lit up just an hour ago, the Sith had brought something to Abregado-Rae, something that was spreading fast. Watching it from a scanner screen was like watching a fire spread from above, whatever it was, they were in danger. The choice was clear, send in a team to handle the spreading cancer. Zandra was among the first volunteers, she had a debt to settle with The Sith.

Intel reported that the biomass was growing in a large city center. Zandra and a team of Clan Munin's finest would strike deep inside of the mass. If they could kill it's roots, then they had a chance of stopping the spread, that was the theory anyway.

Their plan wasn't just to send in commandos, no there was more planned. A whole armored division was laying in orbit, waiting for the signal to strike wherever the strange growth was weakest. Their mission was to find where best to strike, and call for support once the main force was ready. Hopefully, prayerfully, the mission would go as smoothly as command had in mind. She didn't doubt though, Their Alor was wise, he had seen many battles, and he would see them through this one as well.

Zandra checked over her beskads and firearms, all were ready for another battle. She just had to focus, and stay in contact with her Vod. Apart they were strong hunters, together they were a weapon greater than anything the Sith had.

As their dropship headed back into orbit, Zandra looked to her brothers in arms. Their order were to scout out the enemy's deployment, no heroics. That would be the hardest part for Zandra. She would need to curb her zeal, and watch the backs of her squad. "We'll split into two teams of three. Team Two will head to the east, and we'll head west. Keep in contact. If anything happens, send me a ping. I'll come running."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Punching through atmosphere, on final approach."

The sleek hawk-like silhouette of the Crestfallen dipped down, space gradually giving way to the frigid upper atmosphere of Abregado-rae. Dozens of other ships trailed after it, a parade of brutalist geometric designs that favored function over form. Many of them bore meticulously carved runic symbols across their blackened hulls, carefully arranged over many hours of ritual devotion.

Deep within the lead vessel, the Dark Lord of the Sith was suspended amidst a mass of writhing flesh and sharpened bone. He wanted to scream, He wanted to cry out, but He held His voice. The pain which surged through Him now was nothing compared to the agony of total oblivion, that which He knew awaited Him beyond the veil of death. This pain, this racking agony, grounded Him, reminded Him that He was real. This was the world of flesh and bone, not the world of spirit and consciousness. He swallowed whole this terrible suffering, greedily devouring every sensation in it's excess.

Eyes snapped open, molten pupils dilated with a sight beyond that of mortal men. The Embrace relented, tendrils unraveling as the bonds which held Him fast grew slack and disappeared altogether. He sunk to the floor, coming to rest on His knees upon a circular metal dais. He'd been shorn of modesty, His olive skin kissed with dewdrops of sweat at every conceivable angle. He rightfully smelled, stinking of exertion and pain, but never of fear.

Dripping from the shadows came the spindly forms of five priestesses, their emaciated bodies clad in shimmering samite, eyes and mouths sown shut with golden thread. Their long, wiry fingers they submerged in clay pots of threnic unction, proceeding to then meticulously smear it across His bare skin. The oil was viscous, partially opaque, and the color of mourning dusk; neither black nor gray, but something in-between. Flecks of silver and gold, swirling whispers of alchemical memory, caught the sterile light from the recessed luminpanels in the vaulted ceiling above.

They began all at once, pressing their long fingers into the contours of His physical form. Though they could not see, though they could not speak, they moved with calculated precision. The oil clung to His skin like a shadow, sanctifying Him with the power of sacred ritual. One of the priestesses anointed His chest, each pectoral like a slab of sculpted dusk. Her hands followed the contours of the engraved Sith runes that crossed His sternum, feeling the power humming just beneath the skin like an active reactor.

It was the most devoted of them all that was granted the privilege of anointing His head, her fingers working slowly to apply the unction to His brow; bright red Sith seal like a crowning jewel set squarely in His forehead. From her bowl, she poured the remaining unction down upon His scalp, letting it sluice through His long dark hair in thick rivulets. The oil coated His head, dripped along the sides of His face, trailed down His throat, and vanished between the valleys of His scarred and tattooed chest.

They circled Him, hands pressed to His body as the final rites were prepared. The oil was no longer just coating Him, it was sinking into Him; quickening like a second skin. It clung to His musculature like a lover's embrace, outlining every ridge, every scar, every brand. The scent of the unction thickened now, ripened by warmth and time, hanging in the chamber like a fugue. The priestesses bowed their heads and slipped back into the shadows, their task complete.

It did not take long for them to be replaced, as new figures slid out from the darkness. Faded ash-gray robes cloaked their bodies, their faces obscured by masks of bone and ivory. In their near-skeletal hands they held new censure basins, filled with flecks of crushed bone and powdered ash. As one they surrounded Him, and gingerly lifted and then tipped the contents of their basins over His head. The powdered mixture fell like atomic snow, drifting through the warm incense haze to kiss His oiled skin with a dry whisper, clinging to the unction, forming an uneven crust.

Where the oil was thickest, the dust stuck in broad strokes. Where thinner, it painted Him in streaks of mottled death. Where bone met rune, it sank into the engraved flesh, filling the grooves like mortar in a tombstone's etchings. They set aside their basins and began to dust away the excess with careful gestures, starting at His chest and then moving to the extremities. No word was said, nothing needed to be. All was achieved in reverent silence, the only sound made was the rustling of fabric and the soft step of those who acted in worship.

Then they too departed, and then the final stage began.

With a tremor like the slow grind of a tectonic plate, the circular platform He stood upon sank a meter into the floor, locking into place with a resonant clang of magnetic anchors. From the circumference, apertures in the walls, floor, and ceiling slid open, revealing nested claws, braces, and armatures of alchemized machinery. Glowing red conduits pulsed like veins, illuminating the girding mechanism with sacrificial light.

Black spider-like constructs woven with alchemical threads and ceremonial programming reached out for His flesh, each limb bore carefully folded textiles. Not of silk, nor mere synthweave, but of death-spun cloth. The inner cassock came first, hemmed in blood-glyphs and lined with fine threads of Shikkari death-weave. It tightly clung to His body, slicking over the still-glimmering unction and sealing the oil and bone dust beneath it's embrace.

Next came the crimson inner drape, torn at the hem by design, it's fabric threaded with ritual ash and fragments of battlefield banners. This cloth bore no symbols, for it was a symbol in of itself. It wrapped around His waist and chest, then across one shoulder in the style of a funerary shroud. Final was the girding cincture, a thick belt of terentatek leather and dark metallic buckles. Each metal piece was etched in the sharp, angular language of the ancient Sith. The cincture locked the vestments in place, each rune hissing as it aligned, reacting with His natural heat and the unction sealed beneath the cassock.

Now came the true armor.

With a hiss of steam and a sibilant chant of servo-runes, the first component descended from above, a massive backplate, shaped like a flayed spinal column forged from Zîrkaris and blood-forged aurodium. It hovered for a heartbeat, suspended by magnetic manipulation, then slammed onto His back, each vertebral ridge aligning perfectly with His own. Runic anchors bit into the skin, merging not merely to bone, but soul.

From the walls, gauntlet-bearing limbs extended, each joint inscribed with Sith incantations and powered by archaic Rakatan gravity cores. They moved with ritualistic slowness, offering up the next pieces in deliberate order. Sabatons clamped around His feet, sealing with a pulse of red light; greaves, reinforced with Terentatek hide and Shikkari death-weave, curled around His legs, binding tightly with alchemical sinew; gauntlets and vambraces surged over His hands and forearms, fusing with wrist and tendon; and finally, twin pauldrons locked onto His shoulders with immense concussive force.

From beneath, articulated arms rose bearing the cuirass, wrought from blackened Zîrkaris and veined with silver script. The moment it approached, the threnic unction still coating His flesh boiled, reacting to the armor's proximity. It latched with a shudder, expelling a wave of compressed Force pressure through the chamber. Runes along the seams ignited, sealed the armor tightly to His flesh. Only ritual could remove it now, nothing else would suffice.

From above came His cloak, a long, heavy mantle of black sable spooled from darkness itself. Interlocking along every square inch of it's exterior surface were diamond-shaped scales of Mandalorian Beskar, each one a trophy wrought from a clan or family He'd murdered. There were thousands of them, each stamped with the symbol of their clan. No two were exactly like. They shimmered like dragon scales as the cloak descended from the ceiling, carried on twin claws like those of a carrion bird. It draped over His back, clasping at the pauldrons with magnetic certainty, it's serrated edge just barely brushing the floor.

The sunken dais now rose again, returning Him to where He'd started. With one deliberate step He descended the dais, now fully clad in the regalia of war. Awaiting Him beyond was a smaller chamber, His lightsaber seated upon a silken pillow. He called it to His hand with a faint gesture, the weapon flying forward and slipping into His palm. Fingers coiled around the leather-bound hilt, snapping the weapon to His waist with a magnetic thunk.

Beyond, the convoy of vessels neared their destination. Fire from the city below blossomed all around them, raking shields with harrowing fire from dozens of fortified emplacements. The larger transports were able to withstand the concentration of ground fire, though the smaller transports were often overwhelmed and destroyed if caught. Larger and blockier vessels followed after them, taking care to let the transports pave the way. Nimble autofighters spun between the larger ships, often extending their articulated solar panels to cling to their hulls and ride them down through the atmosphere.

Once they broke through the cloud cover, the autofighters disengaged from their escorts and began to swarm and harry the enemy positions. Their dexterous wings allowed them to scale the urban landscape, crawling up, over, and around buildings to reach their target. Virtually impervious to most small arms fire, they tore into their prey like voracious nexu. They even swarmed around enemy fighters, attempting to force them to ground by latching onto them and firing point-blank into the cockpit.

It was the Crestfallen that made landfall first, powerful cannons clearing the zone of hostiles before setting down. The moment the ramp hit the ground, the Dark Lord burst forth from the shadows, blade lit and snarling. He wasted no time, made no effort at pageantry or indulgent displays. This was Carnifex the Butcher King, the Tyrant had been set aside for the time being. He was a maelstrom of blade and steel, a living avatar of war that moved faster than any living thing ought to have. He seemed to anticipate their movements, their firing patterns, everything they threw against Him withered on the vine.

At His back came forth the cacophony. The Vindicans and Skarnaths made to ground, billowing forth a tide of heavily armor Graug that charged after their Kha-Stymphalian into the thickest of battles. To ravage and destroy, the Dark Lord had sought to wield His most barbarous instrument. The Dark Legion, the Grau'ait Haubo, to exercise their greatest gift. They were not an army charged to claim and to hold, but a ravenous swarm to despoil and devour. They would leave nothing, and spare no one, all for the glory and honor of their Lord.

Soon enough that tide outpaced the Dark Lord, and He slipped back behind their advancing ranks. He watched the fire of their hunger spread forth indiscriminately, carrying not who was swept up and devoured. All around Him, the blood-red fungal spores dreamily drifted down through air equally as choked with ash and soot. Soon it would take root amongst the flame, and germinate into monstrous and terrifying beauty.

"Keep apace, Locke," spoke the Dark Lord, the sudden intrusion of His voice a violation of butchery's melody. "I would hate to lose sight of you, it bodes ill to traverse such hell alone."

Allyson Locke ​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Arris Windrun //: Siv Dragr //:
//: Lily Rhodes //: Vess Sadragen //:
//:attire //:

Before the drop:

Quinn remained quiet; she had heard the chatter about the ritual and what was going to be done. As much as she knew this was a part of the Sith as a whole, they often were more than what she bargained for. Sith magic often needed the worst ingredients: blood and sacrifice — all of it from the innocents. People were slaughtered for things the Order needed, and no one batted an eye.

Sighing softly, she remembered Brosi and other battles. They were necessary for their victories; still, Quinn didn't like knowing that lives were lost for something that felt temporary. A hand rested against her face as she inhaled deeply; she would get through this, and she would try to understand this. One day she would be the empress, and to conduct something so horrific would be her duty.

Quinn stood from her seat as she glanced towards the equipment once more. Bits of it she recognized from her lessons; others seemed rather new. Pausing, she decided she wouldn't participate in the ritual; she wouldn't help conduct it. Instead, she would defend the grounds. She spoke quietly to some of the priests, and they nodded. There was an understanding, but most took it as the young heir was just squeamish.

Another note against her, but she would rectify it later.

A hood drew up over her blonde hair as she headed towards where Arris was gathering her equipment. Today they would work together; there was a flutter in the Echani's chest as she drew closer, seeing the Warlord speak to some of her subordinates. Quinn remained in the shadows, just watching carefully as the cyborg conducted herself. It was hard to imagine Arris as anything except the mechanical being she was.

A part of Quinn wondered what Arris was like when she was more human than machine.

She was fascinating.

Current Time:

The sound of her spear tearing through the chests of the Covenant Mandalorians echoed through her mind. Each kill brought a satisfaction that she didn't know she needed. As she drove the weapon through them, she would twist the length of the silver spear till she ripped it back through them and kicked off their lifeless corpse to be burned for the ritual.

There was a need, a desire to watch their visors dim, and if she was lucky enough, she would be able to knock or pull off their helmets. To see the fear that bled from them when they felt exposed made her feel justified. She remembered the man's armor that broke into her home and held a gun to her face. His helmet and armor were seen on every Mandalorian she saw.

She hoped to see him on the battlefield. Each one of them would hopefully draw him closer. Quinn wanted her revenge; she wanted to prove to him that she wasn't a girl he could threaten so easily.

Looking towards her left, she twisted and stepped towards the Mandalorian who threatened to break through the defenses. With ease, the spear became a javelin as she launched it till it pinned the Mandalorian to the ground as it cut through him. She walked over and pressed her plated boot to his chest. She twisted the spear, hearing the groaning of the dying man.

Quinn didn't say anything, but bright gold ribbons surrounded the man, illuminating his body. He groaned and choked on the air from his rebreather. The gold light lingered for a moment till it was fully absorbed by the palm of her hand. His body slumped from the weight of him till she pulled him off the spear. She hated one of them ever…

Before Quinn could continue, she heard Arris. She could feel the woman's desperate need for what resided inside of her. Quinn didn't move, didn't acknowledge it till Arris placed her hand on her arm. She felt the heat, mistaking it for something human, but it was enough for Quinn, and she turned to face the cyborg.

Arris was different in this moment. She wasn't feigning for the drug; no, she needed it for another reason. Her eye flickered towards the pyre, and she understood. Like Quinn, Arris wasn't a fan of what was happening. Quietly, Quinn removed the gloves of her armor so that her hands were exposed. They were cool, as she channeled the quiet chill from the Force.

She turned just enough that when her fingertips traced the sharp edge of Arris' jaw, Quinn could draw the cyborg's attention away from the horrors unfolding around them. Her touch lingered there, possessive in its gentleness, before both hands cradled the Triumvir's face. For those few precious seconds, Quinn held her as though nothing beyond the space between them deserved Arris' attention.

Quinn could sense every tangled emotion beneath the surface. The frustration of what Arris was being forced to do. The strain of holding herself together. And beneath all of it, that desperate, gnawing need for her.

Quinn knew it was not exactly her that Arris needed. It was what she could give her.

She told herself that was enough.

Her thumbs brushed slowly across Arris' cheeks, one drifting dangerously close to her lips before Quinn leaned forward and drew her nearer. Their foreheads nearly touched. Arris' breath warmed her mouth, and Quinn found herself unwilling to surrender even that sliver of distance between them.

"I understand," she murmured, the words quiet and intimate despite the violence surrounding them. "I don't like it either… but we must do what we must…"

Survival. This was survival.

At least, that was what Quinn wanted to call it.

"You can have it…" Her voice dropped softer still, hazel-green eyes refusing to release Arris'. Her fingers tightened subtly along the woman's jaw. "I'm here, Arris…"

The promise lingered between them.

Quinn did not pull away when the dark smoke began bleeding slowly from her throat. Instead, she remained unbearably close, watching the miasma curl between their parted lips before Arris drew it into herself with every breath.

Something hungry stirred in Quinn at the sight.

Arris taking something that belonged to her.

Arris needing something only Quinn could provide.

"Let us fight together."

Quinn closed the last sliver of distance before Arris could answer. The kiss was deep and desperate, their mouths meeting with enough Force to expose everything Quinn had otherwise kept carefully restrained. One hand disappeared into Arris' dark hair. Simultaneously, the other slipped around the back of her neck, keeping the cyborg exactly where Quinn wanted her as the influence poured freely between them.

There was no hesitation now.

No careful rationing.

No thought of moderation.

Quinn let the miasma flow into Arris without restraint, giving the woman everything she reached for. Darkness threaded through their shared breath as Quinn kissed her harder, her fingers tightening in Arris' hair whenever the woman drew more from her.

Arris wanted the power. She had proven she could withstand it.

So Quinn gave it to her.

Again.

And again.

Everything Arris demanded, Quinn surrendered willingly.

All of it.

Her hunger twisted strangely beneath her ribs. It was no longer only the satisfaction of feeling her power pouring into another person. It was Arris herself. The feel of the woman beneath her hands. The knowledge that, in this moment, the powerful Triumvir needed her. That whatever waited beyond their embrace could not give Arris what Quinn could.

Quinn wanted to keep her there.

Her arms wound around the cyborg's neck, drawing her closer as her fingers tangled deeper into the disordered strands of dark hair. There was something almost claiming in the way Quinn held her now, refusing to allow even an inch of separation. At the same time, the miasma continued flowing between them.

The battlefield disappeared.

The Mandalorians disappeared.

For those stolen seconds, there was only Arris beneath her hands and Quinn's darkness filling every breath she took.

Mine.

The thought came instinctively enough that Quinn almost despised herself for it.

Almost.

When Arris finally had her fill, Quinn broke the kiss only far enough to breathe. She did not release her. If anything, her fingers tightened.

Their faces remained close, noses nearly brushing, Quinn's breath warm against Arris' lips as she watched the woman recover. Her gaze briefly dropped to Arris' mouth before finding her eyes again, and something hungry remained there even after the miasma had stopped flowing.

Quinn leaned in once more. Not because Arris needed anything this time.

She pressed another kiss against the corner of Arris' mouth, slower than the first and entirely unnecessary, lingering before drawing back just enough to speak against her skin.

"I will give you all of me if you need it."

Her fingers remained buried in Arris' hair.

The admission should have frightened her.

Perhaps it did.

Power was something Quinn understood how to surrender because power could always be taken back. This was different. This was trust. Vulnerability. The dangerous satisfaction of being needed by someone who so rarely needed anyone.

And somewhere beneath all of it lurked the selfish desire to make certain that when Arris reached for this feeling again, she remembered exactly whose hands had given it to her.

Quinn finally forced herself to loosen her hold.

Her fingertips dragged slowly from Arris' hair, down the side of her neck, lingering beneath her jaw before reluctantly falling away.

Only then did Quinn step backward.

The hunger disappeared behind practiced composure almost immediately, the Queen replacing whatever woman Arris had briefly been allowed to see.

Quinn reached for the spear she had left embedded in the dead Mandalorian and tore it free with a sharp pull.

Her gaze found Arris once more.

There was still a battle to finish. And now they would finish it together.

"I'm looking for one; he entered my bedroom and threatened my life… threatened Eshan, I want to kill him. I want you to help me kill him."

 

[Revna Marr]

​

Hyperspace, Pre-Conflict


Revna inhaled a deep breath as she sat at the controls of her ship, ember eyes flickering over various sensors and readouts. Beyond the viewport in front of her, there was a swirling mass of colors and light that indicated she was in hyperspace travel. That wasn’t all that uncommon for her - she had to travel quite a bit these days for one thing or another.

But this was for something a little different - though no less expected for a Sith, such as she.

She was on her way to war.

After she had accepted Mercy’s terms about perhaps taking up space within Sith Covenant territory, Revna had decided that this upcoming conflict against a fringe Mandalorian group known as the Iron Covenant, would perhaps be a good way for Revna to prove to her friend that she was willing to step up and fight alongside the others within the Sith Covenant - and make her name and presence known.

And, of course, the little Darth could never say no to aiding family. Her Soul-Sister, A’Mia, was going to be there, pushing the war front in a way that best suited her. Revna, of course, had decided pretty quickly that she would assist her dear Neti in any way possible.

An alarm chimed through her ship, and a heartbeat later the vessel dropped out of hyperspace and just beyond the gravitational orbit of a planet whose fate had already been sealed long before this moment in time. Through her viewport, she could see the blue and greenish-brown planet beyond and idle mused just how beautiful it looked out here.

Too bad it would soon turn into a wasteland.

Darth X’aviera guided the craft onward towards a set of coordinates, and inhaled another deep breath to steady herself, to settle her rising anticipation and eagerness. She wanted her mind clear and focused for what was to come, what would be asked of her. But she had to admit, nothing quite stirred her blood like the promise of open warfare.


​

Direct Tag: Lily Rhodes
Others: Madrona A’Mia // Darth Strosius // OPEN
Gear/Weapons: Armor // Lightsaber // Ring​

Darth X’aviera arrived at the site of the dropsites in her battle attire, drawn forward by the tug of familiarity and purpose. Numerous captives had already been brought forth to the dropsites, their purpose already likely settled upon.

Upon her arrival, she noticed numerous others who had already gathered there. Some were not familiar and others were.

Remain resolute in your work here today.

We are here not just to claim land,

but to strike fear into those who resist our progress.

To teach them the futility of standing in our way. ​

A’Mia’s voice threaded through Revna’s mind, a call to arms, a breath of oxygen to a starving fire. Encircled around the upper portion of Revna’s forearm and hidden underneath her battle robes, was a circlet of living wood and flowers, the ‘Hoardmother’s Boon’, as it has been called.

It would protect her from the plague that was to be unleashed upon Abregado-rae. At least, that was what she had been told.

A’Mia was nearby, speaking to an individual whose familiarity tugged at the edges of Revna’s memory. She was watching that woman for perhaps a touch too long, trying to figure out where and how she knew her.

Somewhere else nearby too, she could feel the distinct presence of her Father. That was a bit more surprising to her, if she was honest.

What was He doing here, in a conflict spearheaded by the Sith Covenant? Was He here to support A’Mia? Likely, but was that the only reason, or was there something else going on that Revna was not aware of? Maybe Darth Strosius had finally shifted His focus to another Sith element that would actually encourage Him to be who and what He was.

She set those musings aside for the time being, however. She needed to have her full focus on what was to happen next, and the battle that was surely to come.

What did happened next was nothing short of nightmarish - a display of Sith cruelty at its finest. The prisoners that had been gathered at the dropsites, were turned into living pyres. The horrific screams of the dying filled the space around the dropsites and rose up into the atmosphere, as did the smoke and ash those pyres produced.

It pierced the unseen veil into the Force, and the Dark Side swelled in power and intensity in response. A myriad of volatile emotions could be felt: fear, agony, suffering, anger, despair, hatred…it was all there for the taking.

It was a double-edged sword for someone like Revna. On one hand, she was a Sith, and she had committed her own acts of evil throughout her lifetime. But on the other hand, the sight of all these people dying and turning to ash to get a point across made Revna somewhat…unsettled. Their screams and pleas had long since faded in the real world, but those cries still lingered within Revna’s mind, and likely would for a long time yet.

She would rather have seen them put to better use, other than as fodder for hungry flames. Alas, this had not been her judgment call to make, and she was here to protect this site, and her Soul-Sister. And now her own family members who were here too, it would seem.

Revna lifted her burning eyes to the smoke and ash filled sky that was now beginning to glow a strange shade of green, noting the falling red “snow” that was beginning to drift on the wind, spreading the plague beyond the dropsites.

The enemy was coming, and some were already here.

Let them come, Revna thought quietly to herself. And let them break themselves on our blades. ​

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Tags: Vess Sadragen Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin Revna Marr Madrona A’Mia Darth Strosius​

Before the Drop​

The hangar was a flurry of activity, pilots and engineers raced, running last minute checks fuelling fighter and transport alike. There was a nervous edge to them that Lily put down to the simple fact that they were heading into a fight. This would be the first time Lily was fighting for the Covenant, or rather for Arris, without it being easily dismissible as just another payday.

Her hand found Vess’s, fingers interlocking with hers as she tore her attention away from the chaos and twisting feeling in her stomach and instead focus on her face, the curve of her lips, the flecks of green in her hazel eyes, the way her hair curled slightly to frame it.

“Would now be a really shitty time to tell you that I love you?” she asked softly, thumb brushing across Vess’s knuckles.

Unmistakable steps made her draw in a deep breath exhaled in a heavy sigh. Literally the worst timing…

“Yes mum” she replied “we packed our rain coats and our favourite snacks too.” She rolled her eyes before tipping her head back against the bulkhead and closing her eyes. She didn’t like how on edge Arris was, it made the knot in her stomach worse. And to make matters worse, the Governor, as Arris less than fondly called her, had already sought Lily out, the woven circlet settled on her arm and set her expectations for Lily’s contributions.

Now, more than ever, she regretted losing control on Humbarine.

Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on Vess’s hand, swallowing her nerves.

After the Drop​

Lily had to fight to keep the contents of her stomach where it was, the smell of burning flesh stuck in her nose, the screams echoing in her mind long after the sound had stopped. The bodies, no, the people had writhed and screamed as the fire took them, twisting them with the infection. She’d closed her eyes, tried to block them out to close the barriers to her mind so she wouldn’t have to hear it, to feel it.

She couldn’t keep them out, couldn’t quiet the noise.

The twisted arboreal form of A’Mia Madrona had been rather insistent in Lily’s place in all of this. Her smile had been too wide, beneath glittering ocean eyes that were both malicious and all too excited to be partaking in such a massacre. She wanted her web, the intricacy of her telepathic connection to bring the sith together. All those who wore the circlets.

Lily could have said no, she could have walked away, Arris wouldn’t have faulted her for it and yet she didn’t…

Humbarine had been an accidental and instinctively thing she hadn’t been able to replicate to the same degree. If this was her strength, if this was where she would find the foothold she needed to outgrow every boot that had ever been pressed against her neck, then she had to try…right?

”Weave, little one, find my mark upon those across the land and in the sky. Reach out to them and weave them more tightly into our working.”

So Lily weaved, the telepathic web finding those who were familiar first, those she had touched on Humabarine before she chased others, any who bore the protection were pulled into an intricately woven web where thought and power travelled and at its centre?

Her amber blade flashed, casting blaster bolts back towards the press of Mandalorian forces trying to reach the pyres and the now rooted form of the Governor, red stained ash fell like snow, giving the drop site an eerie atmosphere, as if the stack of burning bodies was not enough.

There was one she had been careful to keep out of the web. Vess shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t have to see any of this and she was absolutely not going to force her to be a part of it. There was a breath in the assault as the Mandalorians fell back to regroup and Lily looked for her.

 

[Xan Atropus]

X A N . A T R O P U S

| Location | Spaceport, Abregado-Rae​

| Objective | Scour the Hostages​

They came like a burning tide of wrath and flame, waves of ruin and vengeance visited upon those who dared to strike at the Sith Covenant. Among the masses that fell upon the unfortunate planet was the masked Echani garbed in crimson, anguish and hatred coursing fresh through his veins after recovering from the battle of Coruscant, his body now revitalized and callous to the phantom pains that plagued him.​

​

Despite being a renegade Sith whose own ambitions and visions did not always see eye to eye with that of the Sith Covenant, he still used the opportunity to seek out those who would perhaps sympathize with his cause. His task was to secure the spaceport and return with anyone who could be of use or value to the Sith, but in reality, he was simply there to bolster his own numbers and seek out individuals to bolster his own number of marauders. ​

​

The Mandalorians and their warriors were ideal candidates for their vicious natures and battle expertise, but they were stubborn to a fault in their ways, and driven by a hatred for Sith that rivaled his own anger - an admirable if not infuriating trait of theirs. The Iron Covenant's numbers were not as large as he had initially anticipated. Pockets of resistance were still being met even a day after their initial planetfall, though nothing that proved to be a difficulty to the Sith Covenant. It was almost disappointing.​

​

His crimson blade streaked through the air in a vicious downward stroke, cleaving an unfortunate clansmen from the gap between their neck and shoulder, only to be stopped by their beskar breastplate, the stench of burning flesh and cries of pain filling the air. Upon feeling resistance, Xan shifted the direction of his saber, the blade carving through unarmored flesh and bone until their arm was sheared off. The Mandalorian fell to their knees, hacking and coughing between the flashes of intense pain and blood splattering the inside of their helmet.​

​

Xan cocked his hooded head to the side as he sized the warrior up and down, his vocoded voice warbling through, ​

​

"Yield, and you may yet live to see the next battle."​

​

The Mandalorian reached up with their other arm attempting to throw out a punch, still trying to fight back despite the pain. Their fist only managed to move a few inches before being grabbed by Xan's own, clenching tightly as they were easily overpowered. Xan's saber was raised, the tip of the blade aimed at their throat, poised to strike like a viper, its fiendish glow flickering off the warrior's visor as they sputtered weakly.​

​

"I'd rather die than yield Sith scum."​

​

"So be it..."​

​

The saber moved forward slowly, the tip burning through the wrap around their neck before piercing their throat. It was a quick death once the blade had reached their spine. The Mandalorian fell silent and motionless as Xan deactivated their saber, letting the body collapse under the weight of their own armor. How irritating. ​

​

Perhaps the next batch of hostages would prove to be more cooperative.​

​

Veyla Tass
Fenn Stag | Vara Maji

​

 

[Astra Sadow]

​

In Orbit

A sigh escaped her lips. The rich, dark contents of her glass lethargically clawed at the transparent vessel in which it found itself as Astra Sadow slowly, and precisely rolled her wrist. Dressed in her red leather jacket, she was prepared for the conflict ahead long before all others aboard ship had scrambled to finish their last-second checks. No doubt her own were busy rechecking everything expected to be in place was so they would go the moment the order was given. What else was there to do but check, recheck, and check again to relieve the anxiety of impatience?

Drink a glass of wine and look out the viewport, of course. Which was precisely what Astra had chosen to do as all the bodies ran about.

Mercy wanted this to be a crucible for the Sith. A test to ensure all those in her orbit could stand the intensity with which she burned. Astra had no qualms with such a plan. No complaints. Not even a private rebuke. No, Astra simply didn't feel any of it applied to her, personally -- and by extension any that belonged to her. Brutality, carnage, annihilation... even genocide didn't perturb their local Merchant of Death. By all means, destroy and raze to their heart's content. Fill their black hearts with hatred and zeal for calamity. Everyone had to find something to do with their life, who was she to tell them different?

"Ma'am, the Children await your command."

A soft, throaty hum acknowledged the statement, but didn't draw her eyes from the planet out the viewport. Yes, she'd even brought her own darlings to the party. Why not? They needed the exercise and this would be a feast for them to gorge themselves upon. Nothing was better than first hand experience. Astra would, of course, leave attempting to corral the Children to their Lords. They could get out of hand when tempted with the opportunity to run free. To be so young.

"Are the packages ready?" Astra asked at last.

The kneeling form didn't raise their head as they responded promptly and with clarity of voice, "They are, Ma'am."

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips at the news. Of course they were. Better yet, the hastily assembled third package at that. The Sith had been a made show of a last-second strategy change with drastic ramifications. Still, better they plan it this time rather than make a mess of it like Humbarine where things had certainly gotten out of hand. Disaster upon disaster for Abregado-rae. Why not? Shame another industrial center had to burn, but at least this one hadn't any of her resources in play -- resources that'd wasted their time given the events on Humbarine.

"Then let us begin."

Abregado-rae

The First Package was actually a series of small deliveries. Drop pods packed with eager bodies ready to drive the natives to destruction or escape. Madrona A’Mia 's horrific Special that her circlet was made to ward against would be a problem, but not one the Children couldn't handle. The Sith liked to think themselves great Kings or Queens of Pain. But, really, how many of them truly knew pain? Some, but not all. Those she'd brought to play knew pain. How to give it. How to take it. How to dispense with it to see something done. They'd manage. The alchemical array on them wouldn't hurt either.

Meanwhile, the Second Package was meant to clean the way. To draw fire. A massive, metallic seed that dropped straight out of orbit toward the planet below. Much like their cherish Empress and her noble companion. And like Mercy , it too fired massive rockets at the last in time to make none too quiet a landing off to one side of the spaceport. Its flared bottom showed the scorch marks of any number of blasters it'd weathered on the way down. Security might even advance on it now that it was down thinking an army would pour out of it... Only, no army would come. The exterior would begin to shift and to snap and to grind in small sections to take on a new form, but that would take time. Time enough for the power source within to begin spinning up the targeting arrays and classify potential targets of interest.

Lastly, the Third Package. The most important, and one that arrived in the wake of all the effort directed toward the gargantuan Second. Moderately sized pods swept in toward the spaceport and setup a small village. Situated at a distance from the tower and its defenses, the rectangular buildings deposited a small army of lightly armored bodies that set to work interconnecting the structures with the portable generator. No need for them to run on internal power sooner than was necessary. A little redundancy would ensure their mission was a resounding success. One that the locals should be less inclined to deter with local company logos and paperwork on hand to claim Abregado-rae origin. More importantly was their assignment if anyone came around to ask -- hopefully not too soon, of course, or it might draw questions.

Astra strode down the steps of one of the structures and over toward a hoverbike that'd been prepared for her. "Very good, Commander. See to it everyone follows strict isolation protocols lest they end up one of the test subjects."

"Hoh! You will not be disappointed."

A smile graced her lips as she straddled the bike. Well, of course she wouldn't. If they failed then they'd all be quarantined on this planet until they died of starvation. Terrible way to go, that.

Helmet on, the hoverbike shot away with a high pitch screech. The convoy of Leontis Antalis was approaching the spaceport's outer perimeter. She wanted to saddle up next to the good man and see what he had in store. Hopefully his escort wouldn't mind the blacked out visor of her helmet, and the fluttering red of her jacket in the wind.

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