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

[Revna Marr]

Wearing:
Ring || Lightsaber || Armor

Direct Ally Tag: Madrona A’Mia
Others Nearby: Darth Strosius || Tytos Saxon || Romul Saxon
Enemies: The Iron Covenant and Allies


ATTENTION TO TSC AND IC FORCES ON OBJ 1
​

Abregado-rae was descending further and further into hell. Across its battered surface raged firestorms and now blizzards, and in the sky above her head was a rip in the fabric of reality that allowed the Netherworld to merge and unleash untold hordes of long dead Sith spirits.

The imposter Mandalorians had wanted a fight - and they were getting one. They tested and poked the beast that was the Sith Covenant, and now they were receiving their due. But it wasn’t without grim pushback.

Despite their relative lack of numbers and the chaos unfolding around them, the Mandalorians continued to hold their ground and push back where they could. Their refusal to retreat continued to damn the world to further abuse and destruction. They were learning, in truth, that the Sith really didn’t care what happened around them or even to them - in fact, they fed off of the utter depravity that was occurring around them, the pain and suffering of others.

As Revna returned to the site where A’Mia and Darth Strosius were, or had been at last, she mused upon this fact. Neither side was willing to break, and it was costing them much. But such was the way of war - nothing was fair, nothing was just. War was savage, and cruel, and she was playing a part in it - just like everyone else.

Revna felt a surge of battlerage flash through her, and felt the familiar touch of Ignati bolstering her energy and her fighting will. Varin was out there, somewhere, doing Bogan’s work. No doubt, the firestorms and flaming tornadoes that ripped through damaged sections of the city were the result of his power at work - perhaps to counteract the chilling frost that was threatening to consume and overcome the heartsite and anywhere else the plague had rooted itself.

The sight that greeted her at the heartsite was ghastly; there, the efforts of both Sith and Mandalorian forces seemed to be at its strongest; the blizzard was howling, its cold penetrating and seeking to destroy the plague, her Father was engaged in a brutal fight with a beskar clad warrior, and her Soul-Sister…did not resemble the Neti she had come to know.

Her form had shifted into something else that was utterly terrifying.
​

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

A’Mia’s voice boomed over the cacophony to any and all who would or could hear it, a challenge to their enemies, but Revna recognized that unless she had help in bolstering the plague that infected the planet, the Mandalorians and their efforts to kill it off or minimize it would do some serious harm to the Sith’s efforts.

There was only one thing she could think of doing that would help in any meaningful capacity, and it was something that would push her perilously closer to losing another part of herself to that insidious Hunger within.

~I am here, Sister. I will aid you where and how I can. Take whatever energy I give and let us tear these rats apart~ Revna pushed the thought into the link towards A’Mia, before choosing a place that was close by, but not in direct contact with any part of A’Mia new form.

She briefly cast her eyes towards her Father’s form where He battled against their foes, then towards the rent sky where the Nether made its presence known. The ticking cogs were loud in her head, but she knew of a way to silence it for the meantime. She took a deep breath and steeled herself; she needed to have full awareness and control over her own mind. The fear that had plagued her earlier when the Void tried to usurp her control could not creep up this time. Control was something she had drilled into her Apprentice’s skull when it came to his own powers and abilities, and she was not about to show weakness in that area for herself.

Without further delay, Revna felt her eyes roll back in her head as she dropped the barrier that withheld the Void Hunger from surging through her. She had a targeted direction for it now, and it would allow her to maintain her control of it…or so she hoped.

Tendrils of writhing reddish tinged shadows ripped in all directions. Its hunger became her hunger, and she wanted to gorge on the destruction, the life and death that sprung up all around her, to finally feel some relief from the constant strain of holding back the power that sought to consume all things. Those who were dying or near to death - Sith, civilian, and Mandalorian forces alike - turned to dust as the tendrils slipped over and through them, bleeding what remained of their life energy away from them and into her form - feeding her power, making it swell greater and greater.

She targeted the living beskar clad warriors too - any nearby who had boots on the ground, even those that hovered slightly above the surface, would find those shadowy tendrils seeking them out as Revna's Hunger sought to siphon away their life force, beckoning them to embrace the Void. It was like the primeval tug that came from an event horizon around a cosmic black hole - undeniable and all consuming. She tried to avoid targeting Sith Covenant forces, but it was inevitable that there would be casualties. At least their sacrifices would not be in vain - taken to feed energy to the heartsite, and aid A'Mia in her efforts to stabilize the plague and spread its influence further and further across Abregado-rae. ​

​

 

[Vestra Tane]

“VESSSSTRAAAA!!!”
​

Arris leveled her gun and fired all five remaining rounds in succession at the dead Triumvir.

The ghost of Vestra Tane cackled in that ugly, mean-spirited way that she did, as the heavy rounds zipped through her translucent form. Her body rippled with each impact, like a pond disturbed by skipping stones.

"I'm already dead, Windrun! Don't waste your ammo!" She sounded, perhaps, just a little smug.

Save fighting alongside her Master, there was nothing in this wretched, beautiful Galaxy Vestra would've liked to do more than torment the Dark Horse of Ruusan. But unfortunately -

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!"

Gallius Saxon and the front lines of Mandalorians and Gados had reached the center at last, where the grim climax of the day seemed poised to see the Sith swallowed by the ice and snow. "FOR MANDALORE!" and "FOR KESTRI!" the Mandalorians cried, their voices ringing like horn-calls above the din as their blasters and rockets all echoed as one chorus, while the Gados raised a chittering harmony of ancient oaths exlaimed in their native tongue, oaths of vengeance and death for their home.

- The ghost sighed as a flurry of blasterfire zipped through her head. Mundane attacks weren't entirely ineffective against the shell of Nether-stuff that currently housed her consciousness, but small-arms fire like this disrupted her spectral body in only minor ways. Of course, she wasn't likely to land any knockout punches, either.

Already annoyed, the dead Sith turned her full attention to the encroaching threat, yellow eye glimmering with near-total contempt.

Most immediate were the Mandalorian troopers and Gados insurgents - she might not have been in real danger from them, but the good professor Madrona could be hacked down like any other tree. And though at the edge of her perception she felt the power of a stormbringer begging her to seek out its source and get a real fight...

She glanced back at the Hordemother, twisted into the gorgeous, terrifying form of one of the greatest monsters the Galaxy had ever seen.

Ugh.

Mercy had been right, all this time.

Responsibility was awful when the fun was right outside your reach.

Simmering with resentment, the dead Lord flew swiftly towards the approaching soldiers, lashing out with all the petty, petulant violence she could muster. Waves of blue-hot lightning crashed into the Mandalorians and Gados alike, as the Sith Ghost gestured with wide, sweeping motions to send the arcs flying. Damn precision, damn artfulness; in the moment she was aiming for maximum carnage.

Arris Windrun Lily Rhodes Madrona A’Mia Romul Saxon Tytos Saxon Gel Karn​

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: On the ground | Objective: Accept change

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 smile grew more psychotic underneath the helmet at his response.

She knew exactly what she was up against. A prophet filled with zeal, who believed in his people, in those he fought with. A creature like that did not retreat, did not withdraw and most importantly would dismiss any attempts to seed doubt in his mind.

But it had amused Mercy to needle him like that. The amusement kept the fury down and reminded Mercy who she was. It kept her focused, even as Ignati’s Battle Meditation threatened to overwhelm her and take her over. Even for one like Mercy… being faced with someone so arrogant while liquid fury rushed through her psyche made it difficult to keep her balance. Which was ironic, because the Lord of the Covenant was one of the most arrogant creatures in existence. It took one to know one.

“You are not lacking in confidence, Prophet.” Mercy called out, nails diving into her own flesh, to allow the pain to center her. “But zeal and blind faith do not win the day.”

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.

“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!”

The Sith pointed it towards the carnage, as the firestorm began to consume the factories as far as her eyes could see.

Off in the distance, an explosion roared. Mercy’s attention was drawn to it immediately. Even at this distance the ground shook as great dust clouds billowed into the air, clouding the sun and causing the light to break again in magnificent colors.

“Preparation does. And having people who know what the fuck they are doing.” Mercy would never compliment Varin Mortifer or Anet Raine where they could hear it, even if she was proud of their efforts.

Together with Naamino Zuukamano and Calyx Sundrift they seemed to have accomplished what they had set out to do. Tearing through the factories of Abregado-rae and using the resulting firestorm to spread the plague further.

Fire rose up into the sky from the factories, the heat of it blowing forth towards them. From the city center, the blizzard, from the factories the firestorm and from the spaceport heat being increased by Kaelyr 's ritual.

“Beautiful…” Cruelty echoed Lina, as his face was drawn to the viewport by her. He saw the Expanse through his mind and through his eyes. His skin was frost to the touch on one side, but burned on the other. The pain was all-present… but it was that sight that drew actual tears to his eyes.

Mercy felt what her sestra felt. Ironically she felt what a piece of her felt elsewhere for entirely different reasons. Funny how fate could be. Being cooked and frozen all at the same time.

Then Carduul came at her again.

The Lord licked her lips and dashed towards him in return. At the last moment, rather than commit to it, she slammed her heel into the ground. A massive slab of brickstone and duracrete burst from the ground, aimed straight for Carduul's chest. Mercy did not wait to see if she landed the hit.

Mercy had to land something else instead.

“Nwûl j'us zoist.”
Show me your strength.​

When that day came...They would smile together. But that moment was not this day—Not even close.

It was then that Srina dropped like a stone. She didn’t move backward or shift to the side, but the Force simply stopped holding her body and gravity took possession of her trajectory. His charge passed where her chest had been, and the falling woman put her hands together while looking up at him. Her voice lingered in the wind, but her lips never moved.

“Nu dary kia tave.”
I am waiting for you.​

You don’t have to wait for me.

She jumped, nay, leaped upward into the sky. Using all that fury not to destroy her opponent, but to protect that which she loved. Her huge frame wrapped around Srina Talon and protected her from harm as they flew through the air. Her face burying in Srina's hair, squeezing there, feeling every stab that had been made on her.

“What did I say about falling to your death again?” She teased as they made impact with the ground, causing the ground to shudder once more.

The Spaceport was at their back now. A dangerous proposition… if not for all the work that Leontis Antalis and Astra Sadow had done.

While the two Mandalorians had committed themselves to fighting Srina and Mercy, Leontis had been steadily taking the Spaceport apart beneath them while Astra helped hold the wider battle together.

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.

Almost immediately, the wider picture began arriving. One of his squads reported another terminal concourse secure. Civilians were surrendering themselves willingly now, some terrified by the accelerating fungal growth, others by the things emerging from the impossible wound in the sky. Another unit had begun sorting detainees while keeping suspected Mandalorian fighters isolated from ordinary civilians. Resistance remained, but it was increasingly fragmented. The distinction mattered. They were no longer fighting their way into the spaceport. They were occupying it.

Mercy put Srina gently down to her feet and kissed the top of her head.

Her mind reached out to Leontis and Astra without missing a beat. We've got you to thank for not being riddled by gunfire from behind now, I suppose. Mop up the rest. I want that facility targeting our enemies immediately.

The monstrous helmet never stopped tracking Carduul. And yet-

“So I can’t end up half dead, but that bucket head can make you into a pincushion? You know I felt every stab ramming through you, right?”

Permission or not, Mercy was feeling the battle, even if her spine was straight and rigid again. She had almost buckled before the arrival of Vestra Tane . All that pain and suffering, from all the Sith assembled here today… it had almost been too much for her psyche.

Her body might have moved on regardless, but would she have remained the same?

Was she the same even now?

“And I don’t want to hear anything about our children right now.” Mercy added there with a grunt before raising her hands again, to start tearing into their opponents once the lull was over.

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Feydrik Munin]

​

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

Naniti

"Between the cold and the fungus, what, really, will be left of this world?"

Feydrik took the blows, barely managing to hold his own against the flurry of blades produced by the Sith. But an opportunity, a timing came. It was timed well when she spoke, and he reached up and caught- and held one of her lightsaber blades. He was lower than her when he caught it, having been forced to his knees by her onslaught for a moment. But he stood tall, and leaned his head forward when they were locked, feeling her strength press against his.

"You won't know."

Feydrik angled his shoulder low and down to the right, his head down and away ever so slightly..... and activated his jetpack. He went to tackle the woman aided by a jetpack, flying forward and off of his feet.

 

[Fenn Stag]

FENN STAG

Spaceport
Xan Atropus

​

Fenn stood tall, the Sith being alerted to his attack. Fenn watched the war rage around him, and sneered beneath his helmet as he recovered, and racked the Beskad against his chestplate once he took it back into his combat stance. He walked forward again, feigning an overhead strike, then dropped his right knee down and to the side, angled his shoulder up- a feint, a clever one, believable with the weight and speed that he moved in.

And his left arm punched forward, right towards the chest of the Sith.

But not in a closed fist.

His fingers splayed out, reaching, crushgaunt servos whirring amidst the heat of battle. His fingers went to find purchase in the enemy's armor, crushgaunt adorned hands going for blood. In his chest. Towards his enemy.

He was trying to quite literally, rip his heart out.

​

 

[Efret Farr]

Casimir's body spared Efret's the additional damage of the direct concussive blast, but not that of her violent tumble upon being blow in opposite directions.

Her head swam. Her neck ached. She didn't bother to get up, nor to look to Vreegan, but she didn't need to physically look at him to see him—not through Force Sight. The translucent, monochromatic tans of the Force showed her everything around her and some beyond, all at once, painted across the back of her eyelids not as a replication of limited humanoid vision but as a mind-bending panoramic.

It was fortunate that she had gotten as used to this power as possible earlier in life, when she had first gone Blind as a padawan, and that her body hadn't needed to reaccumulate much when she began using it again as a Sith.

Still, it was tasking to process that much visual information at once—especially so when focusing on a small part of the larger omnidirectional picture.

But that was exactly what Efret did.

With her face turned into the soil, she scanned the Mandalorian's rifle through her mind's eye. Force Sight images lacked the detail that real sight could replicate. So as her focus swept over the bumps and ridges of the weapon's frame, trying to identify the switch she was looking for: the safety. If she could throw it on with Telekinesis, just for a moment, she could give Casimir an opening to attack.

She found what she thought was what she sought, then pulled on the Weave, calling it to disable Vreegan's firing mechanism just until he could manually reset it. Regardless of if she was successful or not, the scene of reality that the Force had projected for her slipped temporarily away.

Tags: Casimir Thorne Vreegan Fett
Post number: 3​

 

[Vreegan Fett]

Vreegan watch the heavy slab of duracrete coming in his direction through his HUD, tracking its course through the smoke. He could see the white hair adorning Casimir Thorne head which told him that the man was an Echani, a species capable of adapting to every movement and knowing what he would do before he did.

He would have to be careful from here on out otherwise they would would get the drop on him. Instead of adjusting his flight path like the saber-wielder expected, Vreegan pulled the trigger on his commando rifle. The concussion blast hit the incoming slab head-on, shattering the duracrete into a spray of jagged gravel that rained straight back down toward Casimir, knocking the second piece of floating rock completely off course.

Then he felt a sudden drag on the weapons firing mechanism, which he traced to Efret Farr down below. He didn't want to get bogged down in a game of flip the switch so he simply dropped the rifle, allowing the magnetic harness on his belt to snap the weapon back into place.

He tapped a button on his gauntlet, detaching the two Battle Probe Droids from underneath his cape clamp. Without a verbal command, they went towards the masked woman to keep her occupied and in the danger zone. There was no respite from the two repeating blasters, each round impacting the ground with a considerable thud.

He turned his attention back to Casimir Thorne as the man attempted to get close, forcing him to raise his gauntlet in defense. A single push of the button was more than enough to trigger the flamethrower, sending a thick stream of roaring liquid pouring down through the smoke.

Efret Farr Casimir Thorne
Siv Dragr Kamon Hourn

 

[Naniti]

Won't know? She did know. A world being in danger of ending one of several different ways kind of had a Togruta 'cheat' by looking ahead to figure out if she needed to get the kark off that frakkin' world or not. The fact they were still fighting about it should be a relief. If Feydrik Munin had any idea any of that was possible let alone happened.

Well, Man of Few Words here -- name unknown, clan unknown, couldn't be bothered to show her any respect -- at least had the ability to talk, just not the interest. Fine. Naniti wouldn't waste time asking pointless questions then or talking to herself aloud like a crazy person. And she wasn't telling him her name either! Not that he'd care.

It was a flash of thought as the man sized a blade in his hand with the crushgaunt -- as one did -- which admittedly was jarring even if she had seen it as possibility. Sometimes even knowing something was coming it could still be surprising. And then, in an act of brazen courage and bravado Feydrik ignited his jetpack and slammed his helmet into her midsection.

Naniti had no way of stopping the air-stealing impact that followed. The Force could at least let her remain conscious with what limited oxygen remain in her system, but it didn't let her react that fast to stop Feydrik's launch.

Of course, doubled over his head as she was left her with quite a lot of Mandalorian to deal with. Could cut off both legs, for example, with her remaining saber. A very real possibility some might jump at. A bad move, however. Despite the agony -- which he'd bear -- the man would probably draw a knife to slip between her ribs or something long before he died from shock. Like a game of Chess just because you could take the Queen didn't mean it was wise to do so. Instead, she opted to flick the blade of her other saber to strike Feydrik's jetpack itself. Disabling it would cause a loss of control, and a need to focus on landing without breaking his fool neck.

From there... well, they'd see once they figured out where they landed.

 

[Tytos Saxon]

S T O R M B O R N

TRESPASS​

Allies: He-Who-Walks-Between (RIP) | Gel Karn | MANDALORIANS

​

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

"Right behind you, brother", Gel bellowed as he charged in after him, hammer held aloft and ready to destroy!

Through the thickening gake they strode apace, matched with grim resolve; the Smith lifting high his hammer, the warlock with the ancient fire of kadir'litr in his soul, the unseen eyes of Mandalorian ancestors watching. The sort of Mandalorian kinship that stretched back millennia and across the veil was so utterly devoid in the Sith, a cult of power-hungry, self-serving fell beings. Even now, against a hundred or a thousand, two with the spirit of the Manda were like wildfire through dry timber; no strength of evil could withstand their path.

Destiny encircled this gathering like a wraith, as all -- Mandalorians, Sith, the natives of this world -- encroached upon this planet's fate.

Deeply did the shaman perceive the host of dark powers, beings -- beasts -- laden heavily in the Force, encircling their present location, yet his heart could not swerve from its purposes. The Manda flowed through his veins as electricity through a conduit to bolster the Mandalorian advantage; spirits were fortified, resolve strengthened, and iron hardened to steel. Moreover, the spirits of He-Who-Walks-Between , the vast majority who had not joined him in his fate aboard the Sith dreadnought's bridge, had followed their eternal foe to the planet below, and now fell upon each other, Mandalorian and Sith incorporeal, the Field of Blades manifested in realspace.

Mandalorian bravery was always characterized by getting the best of better foes, foes who were stronger, better armed, more powerful, yet who lacked the courage to sacrifice everything, even their own lives, for a greater cause. The warlocks' greater cause now stood revealed before him. An enlarged being, sylvan, ethereal yet eldritch, a form wrought by unhallowed hands. From its heart radiated a dark web through the fabric of the Force that now stood at the cusp of entombing this world in shadow: Madrona A’Mia .

Tytos's eyes burned like twin stars of white flame as he cast his gaze upon the fell creature. Here, at last, would the darkness be excised. Raising his voice high above the tempest, he began to chant ancient incantations in Mando'a, weaving strands of energy that began to bind the creature rooted before him. Should the web be complete and the song be sung, the monster would be snared in an unbreakable cage of light that would sever its malice, cutting it off from the power of the Force, its dark life bled slowly into the dust.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Siv Dragr //: Kamon Hourn //:
//: Madrona A’Mia //: Lily Rhodes //: Arris Windrun //: Vess Sadragen //: Cruelty // Lina Ovmar //: Darth Strosius //:

The sounds of the battle echoed through the storm. Quinn could feel their movements through the Force, the swirl of emotions, the desire to kill her…

The hate.

There was a desperation from the one behind her. She wondered if they knew each other, if they had some sort of camaraderie that they believed would protect them. From what she understood of their culture, they moved in groups. They hunted, lived, and died as a pack.

Animals.

In reality, they weren't any different from the Echani. That reality was what Quinn hated. There were too many similarities, too many things that could bring the two cultures together. It disgusted her; all Mandalorians were animals. All they did was destroy, consume, and multiply.

Yet, she was stuck. It was the Manda'lor that put the Eshan crown on her head. He was her family. She had friends who wore that ignorant armor.

Life was so frustratingly complex.

The man who flew above her suddenly cut the power to his jetpack and tumbled through the sharp, jagged spears of ice. All in the end coming out of the attack unscathed. Quinn raised a brow, seeing all of this unfold.

And she was called a witch.

The sound of an engine roared through the blizzard; somehow, the lucky man had found a vehicle that was still functional after the orbital bombardments and the blizzard. She was impressed by his ability to come across these things. Perhaps killing him would be a waste, but it was unlikely he'd join her side of all things. Quinn smiled; she kept smiling through everything.

Her body wanted to stop; her quiet fear began to settle with the possibility that she'd be captured, maybe tortured, but at the end of it she would be dead.

More blaster shots, more slug rounds came towards her as the armored vehicle drew closer. She already had a plan, and at the last possible moment before the Mandalorian's plan came to fruition, the Echani was gone.

She stepped forward, time and space cracking open to her will, and like the two before her, she disappeared. Quinn didn't have the strength to go as far as Lily and Arris had gone, but it was enough for her to find a space that would buy her time from the two hunters. If she was lucky, they would regret using the car, blow themselves up, or even shoot each other like blind bats.

But those outcomes seemed unlikely, and they would soon swarm upon her.

She could still hear their weapons and that vehicle in the distance. Quinn collapsed to her knees; she could feel the blood that collected at her core spilling over, pooling.

"What a fine mess I've gotten myself into…" Quinn murmured to herself as she groaned. "Stupid Arris..."

The teleport had taken a toll on her; the blood staining her armor was enough to tell her that even without the surge of pain that rattled her breath. There wasn't much time before she was going to lose consciousness; her vision blurred, and her breath grew shallow. Quinn knew what she needed, but it would take time.

She didn't have that time.

Looking around, she noticed a bit of the streets had begun to sink from under the weight of the Tree Witch's plague. Standing, she understood well enough how the networking had worked to connect to the heart of it all. Quinn figured that's where Arris ended up — the mission was to lead them there to finish this horrible ritual.

Standing, Quinn watched as the flesh-like roots pulsated as it consumed, feeding the heart of the ritual with the life it stole from the citizens and their enemies. It was grotesque, but she could understand why the Arbor woman was so attached to her creations.

Pulling off the crown she wore, she tossed it aside. Her mind now felt more of the itching that clawed at the edge of her consciousness. She had been fighting it, not wanting to give any feedback on what allowed her to breathe into the network — it had happened before.

Humbarine…

Everyone felt her pain, felt the loneliness of a woman who sought to be something more than what she was created to be. She learned that day what her purpose was, why she was created.

Quinn Varanin was a Sith, blessed with the life her parents afforded her through the dark machinations of the dark side. But they didn't define her.

She claimed the mantle she was offered.

She was the Heir to this Empire.

Every decision, every lesson, every terrible thing that had carried her to this moment had taught Quinn the same truth. Necessities now awaited her. Things she could not turn away from simply because they were unpleasant.

This was one of them.

Quinn exhaled as she stepped forward, one foot and then the next, until the pool welcomed her into its depths. Almost immediately, the roots of the plague seemed to stir around her, vibrating with the sudden introduction of something born so completely of the Force.

As she stepped deeper, Quinn lowered the walls of her mind. The network rushed in. She felt everything. Their fear. Their strength. Their pain. The desperate little threads that held them together.

All of it.

It was fragile. Quinn could feel the entire thing trembling along the edge of breaking—or becoming something else entirely. There was no protection within it, nothing shielding the minds tangled together through the plague.

So Quinn gave them one.

A quiet thread slipped from her consciousness, touching one mind and then another. Delicate at first, almost invisible, until it wove itself through the network and pulled those fraying connections tighter. She reinforced the bond carefully, strengthening what already existed rather than forcing something new upon it.

In the same breath, Quinn felt deeper. Past the minds. Past the sickness. Down into the way the plague had buried itself within the living stream of the planet. She could feel its potential now. Understand its movement. Its hunger.

Quinn exhaled slowly.

As much as she wanted to turn that understanding inward — to heal the wounds still screaming beneath her armor — she didn't. The faster the ritual was finished, the faster she could get off this forsaken planet and take a shower.

Priorities.

The plague climbed higher.

It dragged itself along her body, swallowing her shape inch by inch as it slipped into every seam and crevice of her armor. Quinn's stomach churned. Every sensation seemed magnified through the mental network — the wetness, the movement, the horrible awareness that the thing surrounding her was alive in ways she didn't particularly want to think about.

Disgusting.

Still, she exhaled again.

She found her center. Then reached. The Force opened beneath her grasp.

Quinn pulled.

Life answered.

She felt it everywhere: buried beneath ruined soil, lingering within dying roots, trembling inside whatever creatures had survived this long. The remaining pulse of the world bent toward her as she reached through the Force and began to consume.

Gold ribbons bled through the plague. They threaded outward from Quinn, brilliant against the corruption as she drew deeper and deeper from the planet's remaining life. The plague shuddered around her, strengthened by everything she fed into it.

But her body knew what she was doing.

And it hated her for it.

Every wounded piece of her screamed to keep the energy. To take it. To consume. To let that stolen life pour into broken flesh and exhausted muscles instead of wasting it on the abomination crawling across her skin.
The hunger inside her surged at the opportunity.

Quinn clenched her jaw.

No.

She fought every instinct that had kept her alive this long and forced the current away from herself. Every ounce of life she pulled from the dying world was driven somewhere else.

Into the plague. Into the ritual. Into the heart.

Quinn force-fed it everything the planet had left.

And through all of it — through the pain, the hunger, the revolting sensation of the plague swallowing her whole — there remained one painfully simple thought.

Quinn wanted to go home.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Engaging: Tytos Saxon
CC: Madrona A’Mia Lily Rhodes Darth Strosius Revna Marr Vess Sadragen Vestra Tane
Down & Out​

Every shot missed.

Because of course they did. Vestra was dead.

In a fit of frustration, Arris threw her gun in the ghostly woman’s general direction. Whether it even managed to strike through the once Triumvir didn’t matter to her. She didn’t keep her eyes around to look. Instead, she turned her attention back to the Mandalorians behind her.

Of course, the first thing she noticed was Lily’s disappearance.

‘What?’

Where had she--

She teleported into the storm, a few feet above it, boots landing heavily upon its back. With a guttural scream she sought to drive her saber between metal plates, to bring it down out of the sky.

Arris felt her senses pulled in the apprentice’s general direction. She looked up and saw her riding aback Romul’s basilisk droid, attempting to destroy it with her lightsaber.

“It’s made of beskar, woman!” She groaned. A guess, actually, but a likely one.

Perhaps Lily felt her remark through the link.

It was pointless to help her now. Arris would have to trust her apprentice’s instincts. If nothing else, Lily was smart, savvy, and good at assessing a situation.

Bitter cold winds blew through the battlefield - fighting against fire; fighting against everything the Sith were doing. If they didn’t stop the Mandalorians there, then the whole heart site would fail.

The world dimmed around them, as life itself was fed into the ritual site. Would that be enough?

Windrun shot a glance at the Neti, terrifying in form, that even Arris herself was bothered.

Still.

“What are you doing, governor?! Finish this!”

Hatred seethed from the cyborg. Pouring from her like blood gushing from a lethal wound. It bled perfectly into the power Quinn gave her, filling Arris Windrun with the totality of Darkness. Whatever light might’ve lingered in the woman was suppressed completely, and she couldn’t think - let alone approach a situation - with rational thought. Which was always when Arris Windrun was her most dangerous.

Finally, her attention fell upon the arrival of a strange man. He reeked of the Force; more intriguing yet, he reeked of the Dark Side.

That Mandalorian warlock was casting some kind of spell - Sith Magic. That realization dredged up a disgusting sense of pride before it crumbled into disbelief. In her intuition, she recognized it immediately. Maybe it was because she was so tapped into the Dark Side then, or from someone else’s realization fed to her through the telepathic link, but Arris recognized the bitter irony.

Had everything failed their enemy? Was the devastation of Abregado-rae so terrible, so defiant to their arms, that the Kestrans were left with no choice but to embrace Sith power?

Oh, but that did stir Windrun’s rage like nothing else. She wanted to break them at their beskar, but instead they came to her with sorcery. Jedi. Sith. Mandalorian. What was the difference anymore? The whole galaxy had gone off the deep end, and it dragged Arris down, with a noose around her neck. Well... Arris thought... if that was the case, then she'd be the one pushing them down, boot first, until nothing but the abyss embraced them all.

The cyborg summoned a burst of speed, moving well beyond what she’d ever done before. Her cybernetics couldn’t keep up. The casing of her legs broke from the tension of her leap as she lunged into the air. One hand swept up a great wall of duracrete, meant to obscure and distract. Windrun herself was behind it for just a moment, until she came up over the material, with the blinding light of the Nether burning across the horizon behind her.

She punched down with such destructive force that the blowback alone superheated her left arm, turning it to molten slag. She meant to strike the warlock in the face, a blast of energy with the condensed speed and power of a railgun. If it hit his body instead, were that clad in their magnificent iron, then she’d teach him her meaning of beskar’gam.

And if her strike missed altogether? He’d have to move fast, or contend with a massive slab of duracrete flying at him.

 

[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
Quinn Varanin
The Hordemother's Protection Wanes: Calyx Sundrift & Efret Farr

Direct Foe: Tytos Saxon

By necessity the Hordemother's focus narrowed to that which was truly in front of her. Whereas before she had a plague to guide and spread, events had culminated to this one pivotal moment.

While countless personal trials and tribulations occurred across the various theaters of war, A'Mia had eyes only for her plague hearts and those who wished to crush them. Incensed as a mother guarding her brood, the neti's ire was made all too clear soon enough.

Channeling her reserves of energy into the fungal grove, A'Mia remained steadfast as new sources of aid came pouring in from around her. She did not bolster and weave protections alone, nor did she need to exhaust all her resources — squabble though they sometimes did, Sith were strongest when working together.

Wraithspire rose in her other hand, its tips tilting towards the great wound they had torn open. Lina drew from the Nether, pulling its power into her, blackened veins pulsing as she did, smoke-like wings spreading lifting her slightly off the ground.

She felt it swell within her, death and chaos combined into something untameable, letting it build until it was almost too much. Then she let it flow from her, travelling down the already existing threads she held withDarth Strosius and Madrona A’Mia she extended a third thread, watching it settle in her mind's eyes against Cruelty.

~I am here, Sister. I will aid you where and how I can. Take whatever energy I give and let us tear these rats apart~ Revna pushed the thought into the link towards A’Mia, before choosing a place that was close by, but not in direct contact with any part of A’Mia new form.

Provided such boons, A'Mia could hold an open channel to continue strengthening the hearts even as she witnessed her foe's next move. Cold, black eyes widened in that broad ghastly face and sharp teeth gnashed in an ever widening smile.

They thought to catch her in a web? A'Mia nearly started cackling again, so giddy was she with the realization. All her long life she'd been studying the Weave, how every living thing was interconnected within it and had even developed the skill of dancing along its threads or plucking at it like some great lyre to create desired outcomes.

She'd forseen the importance of guiding young Lysander von Ascania on the path to killing his first noble, a fortuitous bond forming between them from that moment on. So too, she’d bargained with powerful entities to hone her own talent with the Sight. A'Mia was also well known for shaping new life through her understanding of the Weave. Once, with the help of her fellow Sith, she cleansed a rampant blight from Brosi. This in turn lead to the birth of Psilofyr and complete terraforming of a previously strip mined, backwater planet.

Countless more examples, even just from the arboreal woman's recent history, demonstrated her commitment to and mastery of such sorcery. So to have something so familiar turned upon her, it was enough to split her ghastly face very nearly in half with a grotesque and gaping smile.

Quinn exhaled slowly.

As much as she wanted to turn that understanding inward — to heal the wounds still screaming beneath her armor — she didn't. The faster the ritual was finished, the faster she could get off this forsaken planet and take a shower.

Priorities.

The plague climbed higher.

It dragged itself along her body, swallowing her shape inch by inch as it slipped into every seam and crevice of her armor. Quinn's stomach churned. Every sensation seemed magnified through the mental network — the wetness, the movement, the horrible awareness that the thing surrounding her was alive in ways she didn't particularly want to think about.

Disgusting.

Still, she exhaled again.

She found her center. Then reached. The Force opened beneath her grasp.

The little Echani's presence and work registered somewhere amongst the great river of energy she stood rooted at the center of, and absently A'Mia ensured Srina's child would be regarded as part of the horde. Not to be infected for she already belonged. Within the great mass, Quinn would soon hear Them speak to her, sing to her — welcoming her. Mycelial tendrils reached and wrapped, twining with her hair, stroking along eyelashes and beneath fingernails, curious about her form which so differed from Theirs.

Their voice could be felt more than heard, like a prickling along the skin just before an electric shock, or the almost painful feel of a battery pressed to a tongue. Their praise clamored:

Life bringer!
They who share
They who give
​

And even though Their meaning was clear, it wasn't really words that were spoken but rather meaning conveyed. Regardless, the little Princess would be safe amongst Them and all would be stronger for it.

All who mattered anyway.

Raising his voice high above the tempest, he began to chant ancient incantations in Mando'a, weaving strands of energy that began to bind the creature rooted before him.

Instantly, almost mockingly, A'Mia began to mimic the man. Several waving tentacles swayed like a conductor before a symphony and the wide, terrible mouth A'Mia's current form displayed gnashed as if chanting along with him. Despite her japing demeanor, the Sith sorceress was weaving her counter-spell in earnest. In fact, the mocking mirroring movements were of somatic importance.

"You think to catch a spider in a web? A little student come to teach the Master, eh?"

Her voice boomed over the raging winds, howling combatants and screams of a dying world. Even as Arris Windrun threw herself at the man, while pieces of A'Mia's own woody flesh were beginning to darken and shrivel from frostbite, while so many of her kin dug their heels in as they sought to deprive these interlopers the chance to save a planet from Mercy 's wrath. All the while, the neti taunted in that terrible, singsong way she had.

"Odojinya is such an advanced technique… Here, let me help you!"

And "help" she did, energetically reaching across the divide to weave that powerful sorcery alongside him. Only she did so backward — turning proverbial stitches reverse, altering the pattern of what was being woven subtly enough not to disrupt the working but changing enough to alter the direction. It had become a battle of wills and if A'Mia should succeed, the spell would seek Tytos as its target.

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

BYOO
The Mark Of The Dark
​

Theme: I'm Noboby
TAGS: OPEN

"Only power is real, and the only real power is the power to destroy. Existence is fleeting. Destruction is 'eternal."
"Yet creation always follows."
​

Arms outstretched and eyes of sulphuric fire tilted towards the turbulent sky staring deeper into the void than anyone dared to go for fear of losing all sense of sanity. The demon in childs skin's mind connected with the worms at her feet. As the blood of the sacrificed flowed and absorbed into the worms. The Ichor Magicks of Dathomir flowed into them.

As the Demon's mind connected with the transforming and growing worms, through them she connected to the greater mind of the hearts and Madrona A’Mia . The Spores of the plague becoming interwoven with the philology of the worms as they became one, becoming something new. The part most missed is that destruction and creation went hand and hand. You could not have one without the other.

The Worms grew to immense size and on her mental command they began to burrow into the ground. They created a tremor in the ground as they tunneled and grew bigger and bigger in size. The vibration could be felt throughout as the worms would grow to a gargantuan size the deeper they dug.

The demon did not move from her outstretched pose, her concentration on the worms and the plague they now carried and spread. They moved through the ground, the spores they were now melded with sloughed off them, into the soil of the ground spreading. Carrying the plague deeper and deeper into the world and spreading it as the ten worms began to spread out in different directions.

That was the worms purpose, their command to take the plague deeper and spread it. The dropships had allowed it to take the surface. The worms would leave the plague as an everlasting mark upon this world. The Mad Tree Witch Madrona A’Mia had created a new lifeform in the plague, the Mandalorian's with their sorcerer Tytos Saxon had tried to destroy it.

The demon had taken lives and souls, to create something new for the Tree witch's plague. Destruction and creation the one true cycle that could never be broken. Even when the Demon's ultimate plan of this reality ending came to be, a new one would be born from the fires of entropy.

This world was now marked and one day its destruction would come, so that something new. Something better could be built from its ashes when Entropy truly returned. The worms spread out and would continue to spread the plague under the ground wherever they went.

What Madrona A’Mia might see but no one else would was three figures. That of the Demon who looked exactly like Tamsin but older, darker, and fearless. Tamsin the child petrified, terrified in constant fear. A third and unknown sith sorceress who looked not like them cautious but at the ready. Yet there was a fourth, still it stood behind them but it not a recognizable form in the truest sense it looked like a planet with a sun coming over its horizon. Then the Demon, the darker of all the figures, spoke.

"Your horde grows, and it spreads."

Was all the Demon said before it and the figures that accompanied it vanished, severing its connection. Then the small frame of Tamsin body collapsed to the ground of the broken city and world as the storms raged all around her.

 

[The Arkanian]

GODKILLER?​

THE ARKANIAN
TAG: Srina Talon Mercy Carduul Akahl
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)

Darkness gathered between her palms, each second, giving him time to recover from her absence. There was no warning other than a sudden distortion of air before another blast of midnight shadow erupted upward. His fractured visor might not let him track her attack as well as he had before, but he would be able to see the dark light emanating from her hands.

But he did see her raise her hands as she plummeted.

The Arkanian snapped up his wrist as he rocketed down after her and a concussion missile shrieked from it. The blast impacted the rocket and both detonated in a thunderclap of light and heat that Haran tore through a heartbeat later. The underlayer of fabric exposed when his shoulder pauldron ripped off caught fire, smoking.

Fuel sprayed out from his torn flamethrower line.

The blizzard howled around them.

The Arkanian's hands moved and suddenly both his disruptor holdout pistol and his Dissuader were in each and he was firing as he tried to close the distance down to her.

He fired shot after shot. The disruptor capable of punching through shields and causing wounds that not even a walking god of the Force should be able to instantly heal, while the large caliber slugs of the Dissuader, full of acid, could either crack bones or melt into armor and dissolve flesh.

The bolts and slugs hurtled through the diminishing distance between them, aimed for her center mass to ventilate her.

CRACK. FZZT.

CRACK CRACK CRACK.

 

[Feydrik Munin]

​

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

Naniti

Disabling it would cause a loss of control, and a need to focus on landing without breaking his fool neck.

He felt the impact, the crunch and impact. He wondered if he broke bone. He doubted it. The Sith were foolhardy individuals. Durable, more than they were villainous. Feydrik grunted when he felt the heat across his lower back.

The blade strike bounced off his plate armor, skirting along the armorweave underlayer he wore. He noticed, however, that he was falling. Falling, not flying. He grunted as he toppled over the edge, spilling over to the side of the building. The jetpack went haywire, slamming him against the side of the building. He had few precious seconds to react, the jetpack flying him wildly. He screamed in rage and pain, bouncing against the side of the building before his crushgaunt adorned hand reached to the building-

And dug in.

Servos whined and he was hanging on to a windowsill by a small margin, the window having been blown out by the battle hours ago. He pulled himself up with great effort, one floor below. He was bounced around the floor for another second by the jetpack, before he reached up and threw it off, letting it clatter to the floor of the offices at his feet.

She was above him, on the roof.

His helmet scanned, a motion blip above him. It wasn't a precise location, but he raised his arm, grunting. Bruised, not broken. Pain riveted up his arm as he pointed his wrist upwards-

And fired a wrist rocket at the floor below where the Sith was last, give or take. In reality he was off about three feet or so, and with the explosive payload, it was not enough to blow her to kingdom come. But maybe... it was enough to blow a hole in the roof underneath where she was still standing.

 

[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

The first survivors were already aboard.

The Ironclad crouched amid the blizzard like an armored refuge, well clear of both the Sith-held spaceport and the madness consuming the heartsite. The enemy withdrawal had opened gaps elsewhere, and Gold was taking full advantage of them, ranging through thinning battle lines to find pockets of civilians without following the Sith toward wherever they were regrouping. Every survivor she delivered passed through the fungal profile before boarding. Clean civilians moved deeper into the corvette while living carriers entered quarantine, processed entirely by an automated crew the infection couldn't claim. Every contaminated survivor pulled from the battlefield was one more denied to the Sith.

Gold's complaints hadn't made her any less effective at the job. The Howler ranged between survivor pockets and the corvette while her sensors contributed contacts of their own to the Covenant battlenet. Every living carrier she found became another marker for the evacuation; every fungal signature without a living host that threatened her charges was met with claws, tractor beams, or several tons of increasingly irritated Basilisk. Fighting remained secondary. She avoided Sith concentrations and let retreating enemies retreat, clearing only what stood between her and the civilians. What had begun with one sample inside Ure'drahr had become a shared map of the infestation, growing more complete with every set of eyes connected to it.

Sahan was following one of those markers when Manda'hlirata interrupted him. The warning cut across his HUD as a new Force phenomenon spread through the storm, crimson tendrils reaching outward toward the living. One sought him, only to find the Golden Dragon's layered defenses between it and its prey. Sahan barely spared it another thought. His attention fixed instead upon the tendrils reaching for his vode, and DRAHR began correlating the Force detector's returns with the battlenet before he finished issuing the command.

<Track their origin. Plot the wind across the affected area.>

He didn't need to enter whatever fresh Sith ritual had erupted ahead. The blizzard was already there. Ure'drahr's MGL indexed Irya'kadir smoke grenades as DRAHR calculated the storm's movement, and Sahan fired across multiple points upwind of the threatened positions. Canisters burst beneath the screaming sky, adding AXC to the snow and ash already being churned through the area. Sealed Mandalorian helmets protected the vode as the storm carried the aerosol onward.

Sahan wasn't finished. Shoulder ports opened and cast Null Dust toward the strongest hostile Force concentrations DRAHR could resolve, letting the same winds carry another obstacle toward the Sith. AXC churned through the blizzard around the threatened vode while Null Dust rode the storm farther toward its source. Then DRAHR found something better. Fungal matches glowed within the same general area as several hostile Force returns, giving Sahan another layer of information to work with even where the blizzard denied him a clean visual lock. His helmet tilted slightly as the correlations appeared across his HUD.

<Fungal Force monsters. An apt description of Sith in general.>

The O'dteyase Saranuhlr snapped into Sahan's hand. Force Breakers indexed through its adaptive feed as DRAHR supplied the best firing solutions it could assemble from Manda'hlirata, conventional sensors, fungal matches, and the Covenant battlenet. Sahan wasn't interested in threading a perfect shot through the storm. He fired around the suspected positions instead, several RB-03 slugs screaming into the whiteout to burst against earth, rubble, or anything else they happened to find. Direct hits weren't the objective. Every useful detonation put another cloud of void-stone dust into the space from which the Force activity seemed to originate.

AXC rode the blizzard. Null Dust drifted through hostile positions. Void-stone burst across the heartsite. Sahan holstered the hand cannon as another marker appeared across his HUD: fungal signature, living host. Gold had found another one, and the Ironclad had received the same information before Sahan could think. Good.

Another marker joined the first before Sahan could move. This one carried no living biosignature. Gold was already moving toward the survivor, the Ironclad waiting beyond the worst of the fighting. Neither needed him. Sahan turned toward the hostile marker as his thrusters began to spool, pale plasma crawling across the Golden Dragon. Somewhere beneath the frozen ruins, something had survived the blizzard, the battle, and everything else Abregado-rae had thrown at it.

Let it try.

TAGS: OPEN
Tytos Saxon Madrona A’Mia Revna Marr​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Weal & Woe
Kor'ethyr Issued Kainate Trooper Armor
Armor Permissions

Ally: Varin Mortifer
Opponents: Braze & Korar Murrak

Chaos reigned outside the broken building and inside wasn't much better. Sound controls in his helmet were on the fritz he soon found, when some kind of icy explosion went off above but was entirely muffled. Then, a high pitched electrical squeal sounded in one ear louder than he was expecting which made his head jerk back.

Right into the struggling kick of his opponent.

As he fought to pull himself free, the Heel Blades mounted along the backs of his boots tore through whatever space they found. Braze brought his free leg around in a succession of sharp axe kicks, angling those blades down toward Naamino below, trying to make remaining tangled with him an increasingly unpleasant prospect.

At first it was just annoying, then one well placed blow dug a sharp blade 'twixt head and shoulder where a slight gap in his armor allowed the blade to stab through. Naamino roared and cranked the leg he held harder. Before he could retaliate further or attempt to utterly ruin his opponent's knee, his vision was obscured and there was an immediate burning sensation at places his armor was too compromised.

Instinct made Naami release his opponent and fury encouraged him to kick him away. The zabrak rolled and hauled himself to a stand, unfastening his increasingly damaged helmet and pulling it free. His blocky, sweat lathered, tattooed head shook and with a scowl, then Naami hurled the ruined helmet at Braze.

"Mean little bastard, aren't you?" Naami barked angrily, bass voice suddenly clear now he wore no helm.

With that, he drew and ignited both sabers in a whir of fuchsia and purple. Despite how enraged he was, the big man demonstrated calculated caution, icy blue eyes darting to where Varin engaged their much bigger opponent. Rather than launch himself back at his sly foe, Naami recognized defense was the wiser course of action. So he struck a highly protective Djem So stance and plotted their possible routes for egress.

Whether or not the day was won had likely already been decided out there amidst the rest of the war. Naami and Varin had largely done what they'd set out to do, so his best course of action now was to survive. To punish his foe if he could, yes, but more importantly he needed to make his way to the rendezvous point their army had chosen as fall back.

 

[Pax Velloran]

Western Landing Galleries

Abregado-Rae Spaceport | Astra Sadow | Open to Tags

The second rupture answered whatever hesitation remained.

All three of them were already moving when the first cloud reached the nearer officer. He turned his face away and raised an arm too late, fine crimson particulate rolling across one shoulder as the haze spread through the berth. His next step caught awkwardly against a section of broken plating and sent him hard into the edge of a cargo barrier. His partner doubled back far enough to get an arm beneath him, and together they lost only a few seconds before continuing toward the Larkspur.

Pax looked back once. The officer had regained his feet, but red dust now marked one side of his uniform where the cloud had struck him. Behind them, another swollen section of growth split along the deck and added itself to the particulate already hanging in the air. Pax had seen enough of that process already. Whatever questions remained about the organism could wait until there was considerably more distance between it and his lungs.

The Larkspur was still where he'd left it.

Pax pulled the remote from beneath his coat as they crossed the last stretch of berth. The shuttle answered immediately, exterior lights coming alive while the boarding ramp lowered toward them. Its continued existence qualified as the most encouraging development he'd encountered in several hours, and he decided not to examine the standard too closely.

The officers reached the ramp only a few steps behind him. The exposed man coughed once as they climbed, short and rough enough that his partner looked toward him without slowing. Pax waited until both were aboard before hitting the hatch control. The ramp had barely started rising when another wet crack sounded somewhere outside.

Nobody suggested waiting to see what followed.

The Larkspur had begun life as a passenger shuttle, and enough of the original compartmentalization remained after Pax's conversion that the rear boarding area could still be isolated from the cockpit and living spaces in the event of a pressure failure. It was not a quarantine system. At the moment, the distinction mattered less than having a door that sealed.

Pax stopped beside the inner hatch and looked toward the officer's shoulder. "Take the jacket off and leave it back here."

The man followed his attention down to the crimson dust worked into the fabric. Whatever objection he'd been preparing disappeared before it reached his mouth. His partner helped him pull the jacket free and fold the contaminated side inward before placing it near the outer hatch.

Another cough followed, deeper this time.

Pax opened the environmental controls beside the partition and isolated the rear compartment from the shuttle's normal circulation. A warning appeared immediately, informing him that the section would remain on its own emergency air supply until the connection was restored. It wasn't a solution, but it would keep the Larkspur from deliberately moving the same air through every compartment aboard.

"We're leaving," Pax said. "You're staying back here until I know what we're dealing with."

The exposed officer glanced toward the cockpit, then nodded. His partner remained beside him.

Pax looked at the second man. "You should be forward."

"I'm staying with him."

There wasn't much point asking whether he understood the risk. He had watched the same cloud Pax had.

"Keep the partition closed."

Pax sealed the hatch behind him and continued forward.

The cockpit was already filling with the familiar sequence of startup indicators by the time he dropped into the pilot's seat. He slid the datapad beneath the console and checked only long enough to confirm that the raw cache from Cresh-Seven remained intact. The identities, departure records and whatever else might be buried inside could wait. For the moment, knowing he'd risked the trip into the berth for something that had actually survived it was enough.

The traffic display was considerably less reassuring.

Departure control had changed while they were away from the shuttle. Several normal outbound corridors had disappeared entirely, civilian traffic had been compressed into increasingly limited routes, and the system now carried repeated warnings against unauthorized launches. The ion cannon remained active somewhere above all of it, turning the obvious solution of climbing away from the port into one Pax was unlikely to survive long enough to regret.

He opened the local terrain map instead.

The western freight annex sat inside several kilometers of warehouses, loading structures, storage towers and industrial facilities before the surrounding ground became more exposed. None of it had been designed as a flight corridor. That also meant most of it offered something the open sky didn't.

Cover.

Pax released the berth clamps and brought the repulsors online. The Larkspur lifted only far enough for the landing gear to clear the deck before he eased it forward between the freight structures, keeping the hull well below the usual departure lanes.

The first loading gantry passed overhead with less clearance than he would have preferred. Beyond it, a narrow service lane opened between two warehouses and curved toward the outer freight district. Pax followed it, keeping the shuttle low enough that the surrounding buildings regularly disappeared above the cockpit windows.

Another impact rolled through the port behind him. Reflected light flashed briefly through the smoke along the starboard side before vanishing behind a row of storage towers. Pax left whatever had caused it to somebody with more immediate responsibility for the battle.

The proximity system began objecting as he passed between a suspended cargo line and the side of a processing building.

He muted the loudest warning.

The Larkspur wasn't particularly fast, armored or difficult to detect. It was an ordinary civilian shuttle whose best defensive characteristic had always been the fact that nobody had much reason to look at it twice. Abregado-rae had reduced the usefulness of that considerably, but keeping several hundred tonnes of industrial structure between the ship and anything trying to establish a firing solution remained preferable to discovering exactly how much attention the ion cannon paid to civilian transponders.

Pax crossed an open loading apron and immediately dropped back between another pair of warehouses. The freight district continued ahead in uneven blocks of storage facilities, refineries and transport infrastructure leading toward the edge of the port. Beyond them the terrain opened, taking most of his cover with it.

There would eventually have to be a climb. The question was how much distance he could put between the Larkspur and the cannon before making it.

A comm indicator illuminated beside the console.

Pax opened the internal channel without taking his attention from the route ahead.

The healthy officer's voice came through first. "He's coughing more."

Pax glanced once toward the closed cockpit door. "Anything else?"

A pause followed while the man apparently checked.

"Not yet."

"Keep the door sealed. Tell me if that changes."

He closed the channel and banked the shuttle around another freight tower.

The answer had been useful mostly for what it hadn't contained. No collapse. No visible growth. No sudden change beyond a cough that might have meant infection or might simply have meant the man had inhaled half a berth's worth of smoke, dust and fungal particulate. Pax wasn't interested in deciding which from the pilot's seat.

Another warehouse slipped past the cockpit. Ahead, the buildings were beginning to thin.

Pax brought the terrain map closer and started looking for somewhere else to hide.

// END RECORD

 

[Helix]

Exit Post​

Whether because of Helix's words or the desperation of the situation, the crawler's treads redoubled their churning.

Damage control crews got to work, and alongside the machine's own self-repairing structure, the roaring Otherplasma plasma breaches slowly decreased in intensity.

Slow as it was, the crawler more than made up for it in sheer power and durability, and incredibly, it began to drag itself from its predicament.

Scarred and wounded, but still operational, the beast righted itself, and plowed through the wreckage surrounding it.

"Get the backup holoshielding online." Snapped Helix. "We're joining that withdrawal order one way or another."

The crawler's hulking silhouette flickered, then split. While its own physical appearance was hazily obscured, several illusory crawlers began to emerge into existence nearby. A number of identical crawlers and false signatures lit up the machine's own instruments, refined as they were.

Relieved by the forces in orbit, the great machine lurched its way off the field, wounded but satisfied.

"We're mobile again and complying with the withdrawal order, command. Not much left here to destroy, over." Helix clicked off the comms.

Before long, the supercrawler linked up with the withdrawing forces, quitting the field with at least some of its dignity retained.

Not a bad showing for one vehicle.

He'd have a thousand off the assembly line by the end of the month.

 

[Anet Raine]

Calyx Sundrift
Robes | Mask | Lightsaber​

Anet and Calyx finally reached the rally point. From their vantage, they could see the factories burning in all their glory. Between the great rift in the sky and the blazing fires, Abregado-rae was cast in a hellish hue. Red, orange, and black from the smoke.

There was still fighting. Because of course there was. The fire that rained down from above seemed to get worse with every passing minute, as the Sith fleet repeatedly bombarded the Mandalorian ships above her. She could see, through the Force, pockets of her Master's flesh reavers, carving a path through the streets, too. Anyone left behind was likely swarmed, and she could only imagine the fires had spread the plague further, creating more festering nests.

She wondered how her Master was doing... A part of Anet wished to head there, join them at the heart site, and achieve glory in a great battle against the Kestrans.

But she thought better of it.

Not because of her Master, though Anet knew she wouldn't have approved, but because she suspected Calyx would do something truly foolish if she left him alone.

The half-pantoran glanced at him, with thoughtful eyes behind her mask, and wondered what kind of expressions he made beneath his helmet. She could feel his despair turn to hatred in the Force. The burning of coals that a future Sith Lord needed... but he was volatile. He blamed the Sith more than he hated the Mandalorians. Hate was hate was hate. It was fuel nonetheless, but if all he did was succumb to the rage and a desire to kill his peers without strategy, what separated him from other rudimentary creatures? Even as an animal, one ought to aspire to be a shrewd animal. Thinking was a great advantage that separated Sith from beasts. She needed Calyx to be more. The Sith Covenant had beasts aplenty; what they needed was more Sith like Anet Raine. Her thought, naturally.

She sighed and sat atop an empty ammunition crate. Artillery roared from the defensive foothold, likely pinning down enemy positions as more Sith forces rolled in from their tactical retreat to high ground.

"We did it, Calyx," she mused quietly. "Now... it's just up to the others."