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

[Careena Fett]

C a r e e n a .F e t t

| Location | Space, Abregado-Rae​

​

Careena's rockets made contact as the Whispering Matron began to shudder in response as the following shockwaves chased after her and Dha'Prudii. Her vision caught a glimpse of Raukai who had just killed one of her own as he was sent spiraling off in the void. She bit her lower lip as she watched her clansmen drift off, lifeless in the void - a life that she would be sure to not go in vain.​

​

Every sacrifice she made, her own clan made in faith. They put their trust in her to lead them to glorious battle and an equally glorious end. That did not mean she was callous to the loss; an unseen wound inflicted upon her, and one that she would not suffer unpunished.​

​

Dha'prudii swung around to fly towards the new threat as Careena leaned back slightly, her legs tightening around her mount to keep her from flying off. She eyed the axe as it was thrown at her through the void, her helmet sensors tracking its speed and trajectory as it came flying for her head. It was far too large and cumbersome for her to try and use against the incoming Mandalorian, so she was quick to avoid it. As it was just about to make contact she leaned back, letting it fly past her visor.​

​

The fibercord attached to it was barely visible, but noticed nonetheless as she quickly grabbed at it and strung it around the horn of her saddle as she leaned to the side, shifting Dha'Prudii to follow in an attempt to wrench Raukai from his own mount.​

​

Zavar Kelborn | Raukai Deshra​

​

 

[Cruelty]

MERCY'S TYRANT SQUADRON
IN ORBIT // ABREGADO-RAE

Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Yuri Maji | Romul Saxon

Ceria Kesyk | Lina Ovmar

The connection was awe-inspiring.

To see everything and nothing at the same time. He had spent most of his relatively short life with his eyes closed, pretending the walls around him didn’t exist, because his mind could expand itself and see the world around it with such ease.

It still repulsed him, the walls, even on a ship like the Tyranny that was so colossal it dominated any sky it found itself in. Few people wondered what it was like to be grotesquely large in a world made for average-sized sentients. And being so large, he wondered if the Tyranny was repulsed by itself, if it had the capability to feel revulsion.

But without having had his false eyes open, he would not have seen the sociopathic genius of Kesyk at work, the bravery of the crew, the dogmatic worship of the Graspborn. And everything beyond it would have been meaningless.

When a ship under Ceria’s command died, Cruelty felt it like a sharp wound across his mind. It made him feel more alive. The pain, the knowledge that while they died, they didn’t die alone, because he was with them.

He served as the web for Ceria, just as Lily Rhodes had been the branches for so many Sith on the surface.

Another day yes, another day it would take her and break her for all she had stolen from it, but it wasn’t today. Something snapped, a last surge of power rippling through her before her two halves slammed together and she staggered into Cruelty, her knees giving way as it rippled away from her to A’Mia and Strosius, granting Cruelty the last push he needed to the meditation to hold.

Cruelty’s arms caught Lina before his eyes could even open.

They were still bloody from the Graspborn cultist Lina had sacrificed, his corpse laid to rest beside them. Yet Cruelty was so careful with the Sith Lord.

One large hand, awkwardly, brushing some of her hair away.

"I see you, Aunt." Cruelty murmured, soft and gentle. "You have taken up much." It was an act of cruelty, to allow her to push to such lengths. He knew that, instinctively, but he did not make a single move to prevent her from sacrificing herself.

Because that is what the Sith Covenant had needed.

Cruelty looked towards Ceria.

"But look, she is crazy, psychotic… and still... she is making it work, with our help." The Lord of the Sith whispered further, suppressing the urge to make his shoulders shrink, as scores more died under her command.

Somehow… She was making it work.

Cruelty saw every move she made and the Lord didn’t understand. Because he had not been educated in the matter of fleeting, but it was brilliant. The way she sacrificed pieces, positioning, to gain a strategic edge.

Beautiful, yes, and Cruelty nodded.

"A true Lord…" He added there, echoing his creator’s thought, without thinking about it too deeply.

"She will beat them." Then a wry smile while gently petting her hair. "And if she won’t, you won’t be awake for our death, so either way… you will be okay, Lina, death does not count if you are asleep for it. There is no suffering, no pain."

"You will wake up to our victory or you will sleep for our defeat."

 

[Astra Sadow]

​

Astra snorted as she gazed into Leontis Antalis eyes with a wide grin peeling her lips apart. She surged back a step and came to a sudden stop. Enough for the man to not feel pinned against the wall. No one liked being held hostage. Hunger, however, override the more... genteel etiquette. The first she'd drained dry. The second drained to exhaustion, but not death. Leontis... she had half a mind to make him the third, but just enough control returned to not embarrass the man that far before his own guard.

"Everything's significant. The question is whether or not it is useful, and we can explore that later," Astra replied with a sharper tone than usual. A more commanding tone. One used to being obeyed. Leontis should know it well. He was, himself, a noble.

Szehil appeared by Astra's side with downcast gaze as she lifted a full-body suit made of leather up. A backup designed to allow easy donning and most of the same protections. Not the most comfortable, and certainly not as fashionable, but a nice corset and some good boots still made for an impression. Marvels of modern technology how quickly you could slip into an outfit.

A deep thoom and the rattle of the walls about them signaled the end of the ion cannon. A sharp tongue click followed at the loss of something so expensive; not to mention the capable people she'd staffed it with. Damned Mandalorians. An Affect Action Report would be necessary to identify how they'd managed to bring it down so quickly.

"General," Astra smiled, no obvious wounds remain on her face now, "would you care to join me?" She stepped out of the back room, her hands over shoulders shoving her hair back behind her head and untangling its knots in the process.

Someone watching the screens in the main room called out activity by the hostile fleet over head ( Vara Maji ). Astra strode over to where they were standing, confident the researchers had everything in order internally.

A soft hum rose up within. "Realigning to strike." Astra straightened up and looked to the Head of the Lab. "Call all field personnel back inside. Leave the quarantine pods mechanically sealed. We'll double-up on shields," additional generators that might give the Mandalorian destabilization blast a run for its money, "in our location."

"General," she looked to Leontis Antalis next, "I recommend pulling your personnel back, or establishing shelters. I'm certain a few other shield generators are still out there in the spaceport. They can shelter in place there." They didn't need to emit a port-size field, just a room-sized one would do. Probably better to defend against the barrage about to fall on top of their heads. "If they can, protecting the Tower control systems would be ideal." That much less to clean up later -- plenty enough as there was.

"And, General, I'd like the Abregado-rae VIPs being held to have a front row seat to the show." Mercy might intend to parade them about and execute them after gloating, and some would be; but Astra wanted one or two at the highest level they'd secured to bear witness. It'd be a lot more convincing if the horrors of war came from a native than from the forked-tongue of a Sith or a Corpo.

The spaceport map showed where Leontis' people had secured civilians inside. There was no chance they could get shields deployed everywhere fast enough to spare them the onslaught. Leontis' own personnel would have a time of it seeking shelter as things were, and the mobile lab complex... Well, everyone would be wearing respirators soon enough to avoid A'Mia's Special.

Real shame to lose so many good test subjects. They'd simply have to pluck them up from elsewhere on the planet and bring them here to verify whether the treatment worked until it did work. It was a big planet, as the Mandalorians had already sought to make advantage of with their evacuees. Just meant there were that many more specimens to acquire and introduce to some delightful spores.

"Mis--" Szehil caught herself and bowed her head slightly, "the Empress?"

Oh, yes, Mercy and Srina Talon were still outside. Somehow Astra doubted they were listening to the radio for frequent updates. "Of course, send word. Tell them... to prepare." Doubtful they'd want to hear 'take cover.' That went for Kaelyr , Grace , Xan Atropus , and Veyla Tass as well all busily defending this little patch of dirt and 'crete. They'd better grab on, or make a wish upon an Eldritch God the Tyranny and its crew did something particularly festive.

Meanwhile, Astra toggled the transmit button after dialing in a frequency, "Corvinus One, Queen, prepare to engage the enemy. I want whatever putrid blood fires on my position to be scattered across the nine winds." The Mandalorians may get the first punch -- if the Sith fleet couldn't stop them -- but Astra would make sure their hearty laughs weren't drawn out so long as to be comedically awkward.

"Szehil, dear," Astra smiled and caressed the woman's jaw, "I'll need another drink soon." The responsibilities of the powerful never ended. Such thirsty work.

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

 

[Tytos Saxon]

S T O R M B O R N

CORUSCATE​

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

​

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

"Kadir'litr is a tool for accessing the arcane. Through this discipline, the secrets of the Force are revealed to those who seek them."
- Excerpt from the Introduction

Agony, bitter and absolute, engulfed the warlock's body as the Sith who'd just felled Gel Karn seized him with a crushing grip of dark power. For a brief, harrowing space, Tytos's wards held, the ancient incantations cast whispering confidence in his heart that he may yet weather the tide. Alas, the crushing pressure would not be abated. "Aghhhh!" Tytos cried out, teeth clenched against the fury pressing down on him, feeling his armor, his skin, his flesh, his bone strain to the point of total collapse.

Then, a single solemn chord sung from the talisman around his neck, and a renewed strength entered his soul. The tether to his lineage snapped back into place. A blinding white light erupted behind his eyelids and poured outwards, illuminating his eyes with radiant, unyielding fire of the Manda. Sacred verses echoed within his mind as the Living Force bent to his call, strengthening his spirit against the dark. His will hardened into forged beskar, bolstered a thousand-fold by the elders who now walked through him. He stood not as one warrior, but as the vessel of his entire bloodline stretching back eons; and through their vision, perceived the fate to come.

He drove the kick toward the woman with every fraction of his momentum carrying away from Tytos.

A moment later, the presaged had come to pass. He need not resist the assassin further.

The incantation neared its grand culmination. The eldritch witch had wrought her craft with terrifying precision, unweaving what Tytos had woven, shrieking where song had been sung. A child birthed of warring parents was truly a tragic thing, for it did not know to whom it should obey, unbound to one single master. Yet amidst the chaotic chorus, Tytos perceived the final strands being stitched, the last measure before the verses ended falling into place.

He could no longer bind this horror nor undo what he had set into motion. There remained only one course.

In a powerful, resonant tenor, Tytos raised his voice high above the tempest, delivering the final words of the spell, in ancient Mando'a, to direct the malevolent force away from the Mandalorian warlock and the witch alike.

Downward, the life-rending power descended, striking into the mycelial heart of the plague itself, the pulsing mass of corruption beneath the earth. A dark blight visited upon a sickness, an eldritch rhyme binding shadow to shadow. Tytos did not know what effect it could have.

All he knew was that he would entomb the Sith with their fell creation.

With the strength of his ancestors guiding his hands, Tytos summoned the full breadth of his power. The fierce maelstrom erupted, roaring across the field and blotting out the witch from view behind a wall of howling wind and driving ice. Earth shattered into cavernous abysses to swallow whole lines of Sith legionnaires into the churning dark. Yet even as the tempest raged, Tytos extended his iron aura over all the vode of Abregado-Rae; sheltering all allies, Gados and Mandalorian alike, from the Sith's own machinations.

So fierce did the winds howl, so deafening the gale that Tytos could hardly hear the screams of Sith souls consigned to damnation. The Sith had brought a nightmare to Abregado-Rae, but Tytos would bury them within it.

The tempest was theirs.

 

[Tomaj Eldar]

Tomaj Eldar sat cross-legged on a mountain top on Kestri. Wind and snow whipped at his mane as he meditated. He could see Abregado-Rae in his mind. He saw his brothers fighting. All except for the couple of areas obscured from the Force. But his main focus was on Tytos Saxon , his fellow Shaman.

Part of Tomaj wanted to be there fighting with them. He resisted. His place was here. And something deep within him, some part of a past he did not remember, told him that even greater destruction than even the Sith could imagine would be wrought upon the innocent world if he were to join in. And so he held back. As always.

Instead, he reached out to Tytos to bolster him. He could feel the man reaching back through his ancestors—shaman, warrior, and smith alike. Tomaj fed him the connection to the spirits of the Mandokarla as well. The orange and green Manda crystals in his hands glowed even brighter.

This was all he could do for his brother. It would be enough.

 

[Braze]

Tags: Kjartan Hammer-Hand · Careena Fett · Zavar Kelborn · Vrirrig Awaud · He-Who-Walks-Between · Tytos Saxon · Gel Karn · Feydrik Munin · Romul Saxon
Battle Buddy: Korar Murrak
Foes: Varin Mortifer · Naamino Zuukamano

FIELD ARSENAL ☰ ACCESS EQUIPMENT RECORD

ACTIVE LOADOUT
☑ Equipped / At Hand • ▣ Stored • ■ Used / Destroyed​

---

01 // ⚙ DROIDS

#01-A // COMPANIONS	STATUS
G.I.Z.M.O.
G.I.D.G.I.T.

#01-B // BATTLE DROIDS	STATUS
B.L.A.S.T.A. MF-B • MF-BO • MF-F • MF-FB​
C.A.T.C.H. BG-MkI • CES-G • GLMMkI​
S.P.A.R.K.

02 // ⚔ LIGHTSABERS & MELEE

#02-A // LIGHTSABERS	STATUS	#02-B // CRYSTALS	STATUS
Calypso — Hand-and-a-Half / Board Saber		Amplification
Corsage — Dueling Foil / Blaster		Frostheart
Mysterious Lightsaber		Mindshatter
Requiem — Light Foil		Phantom Ghostfire
Nightshade — Kunai Shoto	☑	Serenity's Touch
Echos of Eternity		Tiger's Fang
Resurgence — Two-Handed Crossguard		Tyrian Crystal
Saber-Claws Gauntlet — Right Arm	☑	Entropite	☑
Sentry — Parrying Dagger		Mestare
Twilight — Polearm		Obscura Crystal
Whirlwind — Chain Kama		Starfall Crystal
Hot 'n' Heavy Compensator
Troublemaker's Trickblade
Retribution — Lightsaber Lightwhip
The Voice of the Wind — Krysteel Ninjato
The Night Saber
Training Lightsaber	☑

#02-C // MELEE / UTILITY	STATUS
Vulptex Fang Utility Survival Knife	☑

03 // ⬢ ARMOR & COMBAT SYSTEMS

#03-A // ITEM	STATUS
Phoenix Fire Armor V2.0	☑
Anti-Toxin Face Mask
Utility Belt	☑
Feilong Repulsor ×2	☑
Vixen's Vambrace ×1 — Left Arm	☑
Phantom Mist Projectors	☑
Saberbreaker Gauntlets ×2	☑
Saberbreaker Shin Guards / Heel Blades ×2	☑
Space Wizard Pattern Boots ×2	☑
Protective Cloak ×1	☑
Protective Poncho
Braze's Dueling Cape
Too Hot to Handle — Desert PPE

#03-B // INTEGRATED VAMBRACE TOOLS​

Flame Projector	☑
Plasma Cutter / Breaching Tool	☑
Grappling Line	☑

04 // ◇ ACCESSORIES & JEWELRY

#04 // ITEM	STATUS
BCA Solid State Hologram Tool Band
Eshan Charms ×3
Iroai Amulate
Lightveil Circlet ×1	☑
Nite Night Nails	☑
Sunfire Signet / Compass Ring ×1	☑
Carved Kyberite Pendant
Echani Silver Whistle
Seer Stone
Jedi Crusader Pendant ×1	☑
Obscura Oculi — Cloak Charm ×1	☑

05 // ⌖ RANGED WEAPONS & ORDNANCE

#05-A // ATTACHMENTS Quiver Trigger • I.S.P.Y. Scope • H.A.R.M. Shroud​

#05-B // WEAPON	STATUS
Chill Out Rifle ×1	☑
Phantom — Marksman Lightsaber Rifle
Chiru Tranquilizer Rifle
Czerka Ranged Ion Blaster — C.R.I.B.
G.O.O. Gun

#05-C // THROWABLES & ORDNANCE​

DEVICE	LOAD	USED	LEFT	STATUS
TG-02 Trihexalon Grenade	3	1	2	☑
Thermal Detonators	5	0	5	☑
C-22 Fragmentation Grenades	5	0	5	☑
G-20 Glop Grenades	5	0	5	☑
WW-41 CryoBan Grenades	5	1	4	☑
Concussion-EMP-Sonic Grenade	3	1	2	☑
Glimmergas Grenade	3	0	3	☑
Blackout Grenade	3	0	3	☑
E.G.G.S.	—	0	—
Dye Egg	—	0	—
Explosive Egg	—	0	—
Psych Egg	—	0	—
Sabotage Egg	—	0	—
Smoke Egg	—	0	—
BA-K177 Kamino Saberdart	—	0	—
Telescopic Stun Grenade Staff	—	0	—
Serenity Flashbang Incense	—	0	—

06 // ✚ MEDICAL, CHEMICAL & CONSUMABLES

ITEM	LOAD	USED	LEFT	STATUS
Aspha Serum	5	0	5	☑
Bota M9-A2 Berries	3	0	3	☑
Trauma Spray	3	0	3	☑
TSS-FAK First Aid Kit	1	0	1	☑
Thermite	5 lbs	5 lbs	0 lbs	☑
Essence of Zeltros DUST Compact	—	0	—
FSP Besh — Advanced Force Suppression Drug	—	0	—
Reanimation Serum Aurek	2	0	2	☑
S.I.N. Devaronian Blood Poison Nail Polish	—	0	—
TS-N Healing Serum	—	0	—
Trauma Care Package	—	0	—
Trauma Kit	—	0	—

07 // ✦ VEHICLES & STARCRAFT

#07-A // STARCRAFT	#07-B // VEHICLE / SYSTEM
Mud Duck — Payday-Class Light Frigate • Werlaara Stealth Suite	Deluxe W.A.R. T.O.R.T.L.E. • Werlaara Stealth Suite
Ashwing — Starfighter Interceptor • Werlaara Stealth Suite
Phantomray Stealth Assault Interceptor • Werlaara Stealth Suite

08 // ▣ MISCELLANEOUS & ARCHIVE

#08 // ITEM	STATUS
RIP-Cell — Power Cell	☑
Survival Kit
Vixen's Vault
A Study in Opposition: The Devouring, Feed Not the Mirror
The Study of the Blade
The Silent Bloom: A Guide to the Secret Language of Flowers
Lock 'n' Shock™ ×4	☑

---

PREPARED IS A RELATIVE TERM.​

Spoiler: Quotes, Receipts, and Supporting Evidence

Relevant quotations and links supporting the actions described below.

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.

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.

Faint drifting particles of red slowly fell from the skies above. Almost like snow or ash fall.

Kamon noticed something. As the smoke and flames began to dissipate, the growth... spread.

One of the Mandalorian escorts muttered under their breath as their helmet lights briefly illuminated the thousands of spores floating about the air, as numerous as the smoke and ash filling the sky from the main drop site."Make sure your seals are tight. Sindel, remember that we're here to figure out what we're dealing with."

"Clearly it gestates quicker under heat given how rapidly it's been spreading under the Sith's forced conditions. Why else would they bring a plague to their primary drop site and be simultaneously trying to burn every bit of organic matter around?"

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.

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.

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

Armor peeling off his bulky body and burning through the torso of his body glove.

Varin's armor ruined and destroyed.

Smoke wisped off his body as he took deep breaths, a slight growl tearing through his vocal chords.

Braze watched as Varin Mortifer abandoned Korar Murrak , an opponent much closer to the Sith's own size, to pursue Braze's diminutive frame as though his small form were the greater threat. His wounded leg threatened to fold beneath him as he shifted his weight, one hand snapping up toward the oncoming current. Pressed back against chunks of debris, Braze had already gathered himself around Tutaminis as Varin's stolen energy surged toward him. He had expected the Sith's fury to boil over into something exactly like this and prepared his battered form to receive it rather than be caught unguarded. Rather than meet Varin's power with brute force or hurl the gathered energy back as lightning, Braze attempted to catch the worst of the discharge and draw it inward, bleeding what he could into his own reserves while bracing to endure whatever his defense failed to turn aside. If Varin insisted upon feeding him power, Braze would see it put to good use.

As the wash of violent red light thinned, Kovita's armored bulk came into place before Braze. Three pistol reports cracked through the factory as Korar Murrak fired toward Varin's exposed back, the larger warrior still closing the distance with Earthshaker ready. Braze seized the heartbeat they had given him.

"Only a check~?" Braze called through the helm. "Then why are you quivering~?"

Even with a supposed sun-eating god dwelling inside 'Varin the Vain', feeding him a seemingly endless wellspring of power, he had still needed to steal some from Braze's actions. The thought alone drew a coy smirk of amusement to the young Echani's lips, hidden beneath the helm. Was anything beneath all that bluster and smoke truly Varin's…? Were those rippling abs borrowed too? Braze knew all too well how often the Sith concealed hideous forms beneath carefully sculpted veneers, portraying some vaunted farce as though their idealized fantasy were the reality they so desperately wished to inhabit.

Such was the bare truth of most Sith Braze encountered: so desperate for some form of status and validation that they bought into their own deluded fantasies of power, using them to mask their fragile egos.

All that heat and fire did little to cleanse the atmosphere. Burning hosts and aerosol grenades had fed the contamination, while explosions and the very wind carried the red particulate farther. The Sith had deliberately distributed their plague from multiple drop sites, spreading it across the battlefield.

Now, both of Braze's opponents stood with their protection compromised. Naamino Zuukamano had removed his damaged helmet, while the armor and body glove worn by Varin Mortifer had been breached. Neither seemed to possess the sealed protection with which they had entered the factory. Whatever precautions they had possessed against the spores no longer appeared intact, leaving both plausibly exposed and compromised.

Perhaps they had been so consumed by their own fury that they had forgotten what hung within every breath… Their plague did not distinguish friend from foe… Poetic justice, Braze supposed. Braze had entered this battle prepared to try to kill any and all Sith that crossed his path; he would not squander the opening their own recklessness had created, nor offer the vile Sith before him any mercy.
Whatever portion of Varin's power Braze had managed to catch through Tutaminis was fed into the attempt that followed.

Braze reached through the Living Force, seeking whatever colonies of spores might already have found purchase within his opponents. If the airborne plague had taken root, he attempted to apply the same principles of Plant Surge to the fungal life within Varin and Naamino. Mushrooms were no plants, certainly, but the distinction mattered less to the Force than the living organisms answering beneath his touch.

He encouraged those spores to

݁

˖❦G~R~O~W~❧˖.

​

​

Should any spores answer his touch, Braze urged their mycelial threads outward, attempting to coax fruiting bodies toward premature bloom and press whatever growth existed to swell and propagate. He sought to guide those hungry filaments toward the viable flesh surrounding them, encouraging the fungus to root deeper and consume the hosts who had carried it into battle.


Let them feel the suffering they had sought to wreak upon the denizens of this world. Let the life they treated as disposable reach hungrily back for them. It was about time they reaped what they had sown.

When Kovita stopped before Braze, the small Echani caught hold of her armor and attempted to haul himself onto her back through the strength of his upper body and core. Only once more than six metres of separation had opened between them and Varin did Braze draw what appeared to be a fist-sized chunk of broken duracrete.

Beneath its shell of dust and debris rested an armed TG-02 Trihexalon Grenade. Its chemical impact fuse had been given the required second to arm; a direct impact, rapid deceleration, or an attempt to stop and redirect it through the Force could trigger its payload.

"Hey, smoke-spitter…catch."

Still weakened, Braze attempted to steady himself atop Kovita before hurling the debris-disguised grenade toward the opening Varin Mortifer had left.

His gaze shifted briefly across what remained of the factory: scorched machinery, broken structures, spreading contamination, and all the needless destruction left in their wake. At least, Braze supposed, the damage had primarily only been done to one factory district.

He was grateful to his battle brother, Korar Murrak , who aided his hasty retreat while the injury Naamino Zuukamano had inflicted left one leg unable to bear his weight.

Spoiler: Legends References / Precedent

Plant Surge / Consitor Sato
Legends describes the technique as channeling life energy into plant life to increase its rate of growth and affect the manner in which it grows. It was used offensively by Kar Vastor to rapidly direct vines around Mace Windu, and by the Dark Woman to restrain Darth Vader.

Plant — Legends
Legends terminology is broad enough to explicitly include the grenade fungi of Yavin 4 among examples of plants used as weapons.

Grenade Fungi — Legends
Explicitly classified as fungus; the organism develops through subterranean growth into mature bodies that rupture and scatter thousands of spores.

Yoghurt Plant — Legends
Despite being called a plant in-universe, it is explicitly classified as a fungus, providing another example of Star Wars using "plant" terminology for fungal life.

 

[Ceria Kesyk]

MERCY'S TYRANT SQUADRON
IN ORBIT // ABREGADO-RAE
Cruelty | Lina Ovmar | Romul Saxon | Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Yuri Maji​

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

Lead ship: Tyranny

Main body:

• Tenacious-class Heavy Star Destroyers​
• Grand Victory-class Star Destroyers​
• Silencer-class Siege Destroyers​
• Ardent-class Fast Frigates​
• Tu'kata-class Sith Raiders​
• Thrantin-class Corvettes​
• Various smaller support ships​

“Is our surprise ready?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Fire the tractor beams.”

Point-defense lasers intercepted ordnance and war droids alike, while the Tyranny’s tractor beam projectors locked onto the Mandalore’s Lament. It was impossible to slow the mighty warship entirely, but that wasn’t the plan.

As the Kestran star destroyer closed in, engineers aboard the Tyranny ran that single engine in a stress test sequence, firing a full burn of the massive engine with enough heat to begin melting the sacrificial warship. By the time it reached its final destination, all that impacted the Tyranny was broken-up slag.

“Status.”

“Partial damage. Engine six is still operational.”

Below the Tyranny, the Mandalorian ships had flanked the Siege Destroyer, with much of Tyrant Squadron committed to breaking apart the enemy formations. With many of the Tyranny’s ventral guns committed to bombarding Romul’s fleet, they only met pockets of resistance - a few turbolasers and ion cannons, and a Sathog bomber squadron that had just deployed from the hangar.

Although the Silencer-class was well-defended, it couldn’t withstand such an assault for too long. It had fired a partial volley towards Romul’s flagship before being overwhelmed by enemy fire. The destroyer broke up below the Tyranny, collapsing into high atmosphere by the time a Grand Victory had arrived to intercept, unleashing the full might of its guns from behind them.

That destruction, however, was not where Kesyk had applied her attention.

Her focus was so absolute, so paramount, that the Sith warships fought harder than ever before; a second wind in its truest form. For every Sith vessel crippled, another squeezed into the most vulnerable gaps within enemy lines. If Kesyk saw it, the fleet responded, and her eye was the God’s Eye.

Tyrant Squadron was well-positioned to exploit Hammer-Hand’s battlegroups with disastrous effect should he again split his attention away from them and fix upon the Tyranny.

So, the great dreadnought had turned its weapons on the orbital fleet. Unleashing enough firepower to chew all of them apart. She wouldn’t abide contestation in orbit anymore.

Cruelty saw every move she made and the Lord didn’t understand. Because he had not been educated in the matter of fleeting, but it was brilliant. The way she sacrificed pieces, positioning, to gain a strategic edge.

Cruelty of all people might’ve finally seen the end result; why she had set the board the way that she did.

She would leave her enemy a choice. Dedicate everything - throw all they had at Tyrant Squadron and the Tyranny for the chance of a costly victory… or leave Romul’s ships and the ground forces on their own, giving the Mythic Fleet a chance to regroup and fight another day.

A last stand. Or a fighting chance.

But the lesson imparted was simple: Commit as I do. Sacrifice I do, and then you will be a worthy opponent.

Whoever had commanded that Star Destroyer that threw itself at the Tyranny had likely achieved praxis, in the end. ‘A beautiful outcome,’ she mused.

Of course - they could always surprise her. But with how effectively Tyrant Squadron fought under Cruelty’s Battle Meditation and her orchestration, Kesyk was all too confident that she dealt the hands at this table. It was the last call, and final bets were made.

Spoiler: Action Summary

• Tyranny tractor beamed and did a full burn of the targeted engine to reduce the enemy ship before its final impact. The engine suffered partial damage.
• The siege destroyer got off a partial shot before it was destroyed. A Grand Victory flanked the rear of the ships that killed it.
• Tyrant Squadron has established itself to brutally punish the Mandalorian fleet, should they turn their full attention back on the Tyranny as it turned its attention on annihilating the orbital ships and trapping the Mandalorians below.

 

[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​

.

Mercy had come to this world so certain she knew everything. But now, she stood here, amidst ruin and wreckage. With only her sestra at her side, she realized, finally, how much she had assumed. These assumptions had governed her existence from the moment she was old enough to run away from the Sith Academy. All the way to now, visiting death upon the foolish citizens of this world. She had been so confident, so full of faith that the Covenant was filled with those that were weak and that they needed to be culled.

She had practically flaunted her certainty in front of Arris Windrun . But her best friend had been absent, if not in flesh, then at least in heart.

As a result, so many died. An avalanche so vast that there had never been time to stop and take stock of it.

A Lord of the Sith died and Mercy had no idea. Only Srina Talon had felt his passing, and through her, Mercy had learned of it at all.

Others disappeared before she could place them, little bursts of black stars, burning out beneath a tide of violence that would never stop. Sith, she had never met… @Canm-Bulnu Bi .Gone.

How many more? All of them. Because Mercy had decided at the start that their passing was a worthwhile price if it meant the Sith would be made stronger by it.

Battlefields rarely had these lulls, where everything was silent, and you could just… think and be left with the ghosts you had just made.

Mercy was not used to it, but it was exactly what the shield of frost around them allowed for. A moment of introspection. A moment where Mercy was forced to confront what she was doing and to whom. There was no great Expanse visible through the frost, nothing that allowed her to luxuriate in the brilliance of the Field of Blades. Even the connection to the rest of the Sith had dimmed, then flickered out of existence for Mercy entirely. Only briefly did she feel Lily Rhodes ' last moment of pure spite and hatred, before she lost consciousness. It had been glorious.

The others might still be able to sense it, but Mercy had never been as able with the esoteric arts. She had needed Lily’s mind to home in on that greater web.

Now, without the Expanse or a grand web of minds, the only things left were the storm in her mind and Srina’s breathing. Her sestra swallowed the blood after some hesitation, seeing the wisdom in it regardless.

Once it was done, Mercy would grab her by the back of her neck and pull her in.

Until their foreheads touched.

“You were right.” Mercy murmured, quiet and firm. “They are Sith, sestra, all of them. Our children stand, fight… they push back against this tide and no matter what happens today, they are Lords.”

Her mind, an eternal storm, roiled against this, as she breathed Srina in.

“But I was right too… They needed a crucible. Something to forge them together. Abregado-rae will forever be carved in their minds and it will connect them from here to the end of time.”

Mercy kissed Srina’s cheek before letting go, gently tugging the Empress of the Order behind her.

The frost was being damaged. Even with the firestorms coming from the factories and Kaelyr’s flames from the Spaceport, Srina’s magic held strong. It didn’t surprise her. Her sister was strong, always had been.

But it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing ever did.

The ice had trapped something in it, a glittery substance the Mandalorian had been too eager to throw in their direction. She didn’t know what it was, but that wasn’t required. If an enemy wanted you to have something… the wisest course of action was to make sure it landed in the other direction.

A blast rocked through the frost. It caused it to crumble even more. Srina could probably fortify it. @Astra Sadow’s people were buzzing in their ears about orbital bombardments and the need to take cover. The Spaceport, conquered by them, would not be able to protect them outside its reach. Mercy didn’t even know if it would be able to protect Leontis Antalis and his people.

Maybe fortifying the ice was the wisest course of action when faced with orbital bombardment.

But Mercy had never let a challenge stand while she ran or hid.

Srina was hearing the same thing from Astra, maybe the Empress of the Order could do something about it.

Mercy would handle this.

She gathered her strength and with her sestra behind her, Mercy slammed her hands together. From out of that came a great shockwave of compressed air and kinetic strength. The frost would explode outward, with everything that had been trapped inside, including the trihexalon.

Instead of it being caught by the two Sith, it would be launched outward, in the direction of the two Mandalorians trying to force their way inside. The frost became shrapnel under Mercy’s force, hurtling toward whatever might be caught in its wake.

The frost glittered in the air, reflected by the fires in the distance and the great Expanse above.

Mercy found that she was laughing, but the laughter of one was a great tragedy. Laughter shared was the beginning of joy.

“Laugh with me, sestra. Great tragedy was forced on us… but there can be no joy without sorrow. We need both… just as our children need both of us.”

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Arris Windrun]

Tytos Saxon | Romul Saxon | Lily Rhodes | Madrona A’Mia | Darth Strosius | Quinn Varanin | Revna Marr
Down & Out​

It wouldn't be that easy.

Though her opponent called upon forces that Arris herself could not begin to fathom, he would begin to understand where the Sith Lord's strength truly came from. She never knew when to give up.

She poured more of her Hatred into the crushing attack. More of her own life. Each palpable wave tore metal from her chassis, ripped synthflesh and hair from her face. She began to cough up blood and coolant, while projecting everything onto him. Her anger, her fear, her misery, her self-loathing. Every trauma. Every agonizing moment of her life, from Talus to the Smuggler's Moon, from Tapani to the Core, from Humbarine to Abregado-rae.

Her mind cracked. All rational thought abandoned. An animal replaced the woman. She hadn't even noticed Lily crashing into her Hatred, or that she had been knocked out of the fight. And if Arris had noticed? It was hard to say if she'd see her apprentice as anything less than more prey.

So terrible - so uncontainable - the cyborg unleashed an involuntary scream as she writhed against him in the Force. The shockwave would push back the storm around her. Maybe that wouldn't stop all of it, but did it matter? The Warlock would face it, too; he would face all of her. No one around her would be spared.

All around A’Mia, chrysalises of protective woody flesh were growing rapidly about the fungal masses. Her initial support of the plague had helped it grow and as A’Mia completed her working, protective insulating cocoons covered the exposed plague sites to save them from below freezing temperatures.

Those fleshy masses now thrummed with new life and even began to beat like hearts beneath their protective walls. Relief washed over the neti as she was able to release focus on that particular thread. The plague was self sufficient now, she’d given them as much power and agency as she was able.

Hell... she couldn't even notice that A'Mia did the job.

 

[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 battlefield changed around him too quickly.

Manda'hlirata screamed as Force phenomena surged across the heartsite, overlapping until DRAHR could scarcely distinguish one source from another. Tytos still burned through the interference like a beacon, and Sahan twisted toward the Shaman just as the earth beneath the plague ruptured. Then the blizzard became something else entirely. Wind and ice swallowed the battlefield in a shrieking white maelstrom, snow driven so violently that the world beyond his visor nearly ceased to exist.

Yet the storm did not seem to hate him. Ure'drahr braced automatically against winds that never struck with the violence DRAHR predicted, snow curling around the Golden Dragon as the tempest seemed to afford the Mandalorian passage where others might have been battered aside. Sahan didn't need the Force to understand what Tytos had just handed him. One hell of a storm.

His attention shifted toward the heartsite. Portions of the plague remained enclosed beneath dense, woody growths, great organic shells protecting what lay within while the newly sundered earth exposed other sections of the fungal network below. Cold alone was not going to solve that problem, but the cold had never been the important part.

The plasma experiment had begun as improvisation, a way to sterilize contaminated armor by forcing systems never intended to operate together into a working solution. Sahan had refined it throughout the battle, testing the balance between cryogenic material, ionization, magnetic containment and repulsor control until what had started as theory had become something usable. That experiment was over now. He wanted to know what Ure'drahr could actually survive.

"DRAHR. Full-output test. Every compatible system."

The AI answered with a clarification across the HUD. MAXIMUM RATED OUTPUT?

Sahan smiled beneath the helmet. "No. Maximum output."

Warning runes immediately populated his visor as the Golden Dragon rose into the maelstrom. Cold plasma flooded across Ure'drahr's outer surface, no longer confined to a vambrace or projected forward as a controlled plume. The pale discharge spread through the armor's magnetic envelope, crawling between golden scales and red-orange plates until the entire suit shimmered beneath a ghostly blue-white corona. Sahan fed it more, and thin filaments began snapping away from the armor into the storm. One forked through a cluster of ice crystals before vanishing. Another leapt farther, branching through blowing snow in a pale imitation of lightning before dissolving back into the white. More followed, momentary streamers crawling through the charged air around him.

"There we go."

Sahan banked hard and opened the thrusters. Rather than fight Tytos's storm, he flew with it, carving a broad circle around the plague heart while microthrusters and repulsors pushed at the already-moving atmosphere. He came around again, faster and tighter, then again, forcing more momentum into the surrounding snow and ice with every pass. The greater blizzard already possessed all the violence he could have asked for. Sahan only needed to steal a piece of it.

Snow, ice, loose earth, fungal debris and shattered material began following his repeated passes until a localized vortex took shape within the greater maelstrom. Each circuit tightened its rotation, and each circuit left more ionized air behind him, giving the pale plasma streamers farther and farther to travel. Soon the discharges were no longer merely snapping away from Ure'drahr. They forked through the vortex itself, flickering between charged pockets in the storm and racing through the whirling ice in an expanding lattice of blue-white light. Gold flashed somewhere inside the rotating wall, vanished behind the snow, then appeared again as Sahan completed another orbit.

DRAHR warned him as the armor pushed beyond its intended continuous load. POWER THROUGHPUT: 108%. RECOMMENDED CONTINUOUS LOAD EXCEEDED. Sahan ignored it. "Deploy Mirshko'senaar. Full spread."

Whistling Birds burst from Ure'drahr and disappeared into the vortex, sonic and concussive payloads streaking toward the dense growths around the plague. Their detonations hammered the organic shells with pressure and vibration, seeking to fracture and split anything that could be reached beneath the storm. The suit's grenade systems followed a heartbeat later, gravitic compression and further concussion effects twisting and battering the target zone without introducing the heat Sahan had spent the battle deliberately avoiding.

"Follow with cryo payloads. Everything."

Htagir'senaar screamed from their housings as Ure'drahr vented Cryoban and carbonite into the rotating storm. Sahan wasn't trying to freeze the plague into submission. He wanted the cryogenic material driven into whatever openings the barrage created, every fracture in the woody shells, every fissure torn through the earth, every path through which the plasma could follow. Around him the pale streamers multiplied, flashing farther through the storm as DRAHR reported POWER THROUGHPUT: 119% and falling cryogenic reserves.

"Ion payloads."

Vheh'senaar joined the swarm, their discharges flashing throughout the rotating column and seeding still more charged pockets through the maelstrom. The cold-plasma streamers seized upon them almost immediately. Pale forks raced farther from Sahan than before, branching through swirling snow and ice until the heartsite seemed trapped inside an enormous electrical web. It looked like lightning without the fire, bloodless veins of cold light flickering through Tytos's whiteout while the Golden Dragon continued circling somewhere within it.

DRAHR's warnings grew increasingly insistent as throughput climbed past one hundred twenty percent and ammunition reserves began disappearing. When the AI attempted to engage automatic throttling, Sahan denied it. When DRAHR engaged the limiters anyway, he keyed in his authorization and overrode them. Everything became brighter.

Sahan could feel Ure'drahr fighting him now. The hum of the armor had deepened into a vibration against his bones while warning symbols crowded the edges of his vision. The Dragonheart strained beneath demands not intended for sensible people not to make all at once. Fortunately, Sahan had never built the armor around sensible people.

This was why he had brought the Mk IV to Abregado-Rae. Not simulations, not workshop diagnostics, not theoretical maximums calculated somewhere safe. A field test.

"Shockwave. Maximum output. Drive it down."

Ure'drahr discharged, the concussive pulse thundering into the vortex and forcing the rotating mass of charged snow, ice, cryogenic material, shattered debris and reactive plasma toward the broken heartsite. Whatever breaches Tytos had torn through the earth became avenues for the storm to follow, the pressure wave driving the violent mixture downward wherever it could find purchase.

Sahan broke from his orbit and climbed above the localized vortex for the first time since beginning the maneuver. His visor looked down upon a spiraling column of ice and snow threaded through with branching pale light. Ordnance still flashed within it, brief bursts swallowed almost immediately by the storm, while somewhere beneath the violence lay the plague that had consumed Abregado-Rae.

DRAHR recommended terminating the test as throughput reached one hundred thirty-four percent. Sahan's answer was immediate. "Not yet. Route remaining discretionary power to the plasma system."

The AI began another warning, but Sahan cut it off. "I know."

Thrusters hurled the Golden Dragon back toward the vortex. The cold-plasma corona around Ure'drahr intensified until the gold beneath it was nearly lost in pale light, and streamers erupted outward to catch the ionized trails already suspended through the storm. Their reach grew with every meter of his descent, countless transient discharges cascading through the artificially charged maelstrom as he plunged toward its center.

"Dragonheart. Redline."

POWER THROUGHPUT: 142%.

Every remaining compatible system fired. The last cryogenic payloads vanished into the storm. Remaining sonic and concussive munitions hammered into the target zone while ion ordnance burst through the rotating column, adding fresh points for the pale discharges to leap between. Repulsors drove the vortex inward as cold plasma poured from Ure'drahr without restraint, and for one brilliant moment the heartsite disappeared beneath snow, ice, pressure, gravity, ionization and branching blue-white light.

Then the suit began running dry. DRAHR listed depleted Whistling Bird racks, critical cryogenic reserves and a shockwave system forced into recharge while the throughput figure continued climbing. 146%.

Sahan blinked at the number. "Oh."

The armor shuddered hard enough for him to feel it through the undersuit. DRAHR immediately recommended power reduction, but Sahan had only one question left. "Maximum sustained output achieved?"

There was the briefest pause before the answer appeared. AFFIRMATIVE.

"Then cut it."

Power vanished from the plasma system. The pale corona collapsed inward against Ure'drahr, great branching streamers diminishing to thin snapping filaments and then little more than static crawling across the armor's plates. Without Sahan continually feeding energy and momentum into it, the localized vortex began surrendering itself back to the greater blizzard from which it had been stolen.

The Golden Dragon emerged from the fading pale light trailing snow and vapor. His thrusters sputtered once, dropping him several meters before they caught again, and he hit the frozen ground hard enough to drive one knee into the snow. For several seconds he remained there, listening to the storm while warnings continued scrolling across his visor. Whether the plague endured beneath its defenses, whether Tytos had struck deeply enough to cripple its heart, and how much of Sahan's own barrage had reached the fungal network below were questions the battlefield would answer.

For now, DRAHR supplied the only result Sahan had actually set out to obtain: FULL-POWER FIELD TEST COMPLETE. Sahan slowly rose, residual pale arcs snapping weakly between one gauntlet and the surrounding snow as he looked over the damage report, then down at the armor that was still somehow functioning.

"Huh. Didn't explode."

DRAHR's assessment appeared almost immediately. MARGINALLY.

Sahan laughed. "Log it as a pass."

A channel opened in his helmet before he could enjoy the result for long. Gold's familiar voice came across the comm, nearly buried beneath the howl of the storm. ://: We've got everyone we could reach. There's no one else left that we can get out in time. :\: Sahan's expression sobered as he looked back through the whiteout toward the ruined city. That was all they could do. Everyone they could save had been given their chance to leave.

He opened the channel to the Ironclad and Gold together. "<Ironclad, you've got your evacuees. Get clear of the system. Gold, come to me. We're done here.>" The transmission ended, and Sahan remained standing in the snow beneath the fading ghosts of pale plasma, waiting for his Basilisk as the blizzard continued to rage around him.

TAGS: OPEN
Tytos Saxon Madrona A’Mia Revna Marr Arris Windrun Darth Strosius Romul Saxon
And anyone else close by​

 

[Pax Velloran]

Upper Atmosphere | Abregado-rae

Outbound Civilian Traffic | Astra Sadow | Open to Tags

The Larkspur climbed.

The ridge dropped beneath its tail almost immediately, followed by the abandoned extraction works and the broad western plain that had hidden most of the shuttle's escape from the spaceport. Pax kept the engines near full power and watched the altitude climb beside the tactical display. The cover he had spent the last several minutes preserving was gone now. If the ion cannon was going to find him, there was very little left to prevent it.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

No targeting warning appeared.

Pax kept the shuttle climbing but shifted part of the sensor array back toward the spaceport. More of the industrial district resolved as altitude improved, followed by the taller port structures and the sprawling confusion of contacts above them. The cannon should have been easy to find. Even sitting idle, something that large carried enough power and thermal output to distinguish itself from almost everything around it.

There was nothing where the signature had been.

Pax enlarged the return. The image took several seconds to resolve through smoke and interference, but what eventually appeared bore very little resemblance to the weapon he'd been avoiding. Most of the emplacement had disappeared into an irregular field of debris surrounding a darkened center. Residual ionization still distorted part of the reading, and the surrounding structures showed enough damage that one of the concussions he'd felt inside the port suddenly acquired a considerably more likely source.

The cannon hadn't failed to target him. The cannon was gone. Pax stared at the display for another second before reducing it again. "That would have been useful ten minutes ago." There was nobody in the cockpit to appreciate the observation. He continued climbing.

The absence of the cannon solved one problem and exposed several others. As the Larkspur rose through the smoke, the tactical picture expanded until the battle overhead became less a collection of intermittent contacts and more the crowded mess Pax remembered from his approach. Warships occupied broad sections of the upper atmosphere and near orbit. Fighters moved between them in clusters too fast for the civilian display to track cleanly, while damaged ships and debris added themselves to routes already complicated by transports moving in both directions.

He left the civilian transponder active and adjusted the climb away from the largest military concentrations. The Larkspur broke through the upper cloud layer at an angle, sunlight briefly flooding the cockpit before the automatic light filters compensated. Abregado-rae curved away beneath him in smoke-stained bands of brown and grey, with fires still visible through gaps in the cloud cover and flashes from the fighting reflecting against the upper atmosphere.

A warning burst crossed the emergency frequencies behind him. Pax glanced toward the receiver. The transmission repeated with different coordinates, followed by the unmistakable designation for danger-close fire around the spaceport. Several military bands became considerably more active immediately afterward. He looked once toward the planet below.

The Larkspur continued upward.

Civilian traffic became easier to distinguish once he cleared the atmosphere. Most of it was scattered and badly organized, ships departing wherever an opening presented itself rather than following anything that could still be described as normal traffic control. Farther around the planet, however, several dozen civilian transponders were moving toward the same broad corridor. Military contacts held closer to the main engagement while smaller combat vessels moved along the edges of the evacuation traffic, keeping a route open toward the far side of Abregado-rae.

Pax altered course to join it without moving directly into the formation. The internal comm illuminated before he reached them.

He opened the channel. "What changed?"

"He's worse." The second officer sounded tired now. "Fever's up. He's having trouble staying awake."

Pax looked at the aft environmental display. The compartment remained sealed and its independent circulation was still functioning.

"Respirator still on?"

"Yeah."

"Keep it there."

Pax switched frequencies before the officer could ask the next question. The civilian emergency band was crowded enough that his first transmission disappeared beneath two distress calls and an automated evacuation notice. He waited for an opening and tried again, identifying the shuttle as civilian and keeping the explanation short: two passengers aboard, one with confirmed exposure to airborne particulate from the spaceport, symptomatic, presently isolated from the cockpit and main circulation.

The response took longer than he liked.

When it came, the voice belonged to an evacuation coordinator somewhere beyond the immediate fighting. Pax was instructed not to approach the main civilian concentration and given a holding vector along its trailing edge instead. A medical element equipped for contaminated casualties would meet them once they reached the far side of the planet.

Pax entered the coordinates.

The officer was still waiting on the internal channel. "Someone answer?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"They don't want us near everyone else."

A tired sound came through the comm that might have been a laugh. "Can't imagine why."

Pax let that pass. "We're meeting them around the far side. Keep him awake until then."

He closed the channel and settled the Larkspur onto the new course.

The shuttle joined the evacuation route from a distance, close enough that its civilian transponder remained part of the larger movement without putting the isolated compartment anywhere near another vessel. Abregado-rae slowly rolled beneath the cockpit as they moved away from the principal engagement. The planet blocked more of the battle with every minute until the constant sensor warnings began to thin and the flashes beyond the horizon became easier to ignore. Nobody fired on them. Pax remained suspicious of that for considerably longer than was probably necessary.

The medical cutter found them forty-three minutes later.

It approached from the evacuation group with none of the uncertainty that characterized most of the civilian traffic, matched the Larkspur's course and held alongside while the two ships exchanged docking instructions. Pax transmitted everything he knew about the exposure, which amounted to where it had happened, what the particulate looked like and how quickly the first symptoms had appeared. It wasn't much. Apparently it was enough to convince the cutter's crew not to open anything without sealed equipment.

That suited him.

Pax never opened the partition between the cockpit and the rear compartment. The medical cutter connected directly to the outer boarding hatch instead, allowing its sealed team to receive the officers without passing through the rest of the shuttle. He watched the aft indicators from the cockpit as the hatch cycled, opened and eventually reported closed again.

The internal comm came alive one final time before they separated.

The healthier officer's voice reached him through the channel. "We're across."

Pax checked the hatch status. "They have him?"

"Yeah."

A brief pause followed.

"Thanks."

Pax looked at the medical cutter holding steady beside the Larkspur. "Try not to bring him back."

The officer gave a faint laugh before the connection ended.

Once the cutter withdrew, Pax vented the rear compartment to vacuum and left the partition sealed. Whatever remained inside could stay there until somebody considerably better equipped had the opportunity to clean it properly. The environmental system complained about the arrangement. Pax dismissed the warning and set a maintenance lockout instead.

For the first time since leaving the surface, nothing aboard required his immediate attention.

He sat back.

Abregado-rae occupied almost half the forward view now, turning slowly beneath the shuttle while the battle continued somewhere beyond its horizon. From this distance the planet looked quieter than it had any right to. The smoke disappeared into weather systems. Individual fires became points of light. The spaceport was no longer visible at all.

Pax reached beneath the console and retrieved the datapad.

The Cresh-Seven archive opened exactly where he'd left it.

He didn't need to work through everything again. The files had already survived one copy check, and the important pieces were familiar enough now: five people removed from the public record, an administrative transaction authorized deeply enough inside the Port Authority to leave only a token behind, and several tonnes aboard the Far Wanderer that still had no satisfactory explanation.

Elira Vosken's name remained near the top of the passenger file.

Pax opened her record, looked at it for several seconds and then closed it again. There would be time for the Aurelian Electrum Combine, Varlo Industrial Transit and whoever had possessed that Port Authority credential after he was somewhere that wasn't actively being fought over. He created another encrypted copy of the Cresh-Seven archive and moved it into the Larkspur's isolated storage.

That was enough for one day.

Pax brought the navigation system back onto the main display and entered a course away from Abregado-rae. The Far Wanderer had a substantial head start by now, but unlike the first time he'd watched its departure record, he finally had something useful. He had people to find.

The Larkspur turned away from the planet and began accelerating toward open space.

// END RECORD

 

[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Quinn Varanin
--------------------------------------------

The question caused Him to seethe, what little energy and vitality still thrummed within Him burning in a renewed anger. "You! What do you think I'm on about?!" With His remaining hand Darth Strosius gestured to the torn sky and behind Himself at where the battle raged on around them in an erratic sweeping motion. One that caused Him to stumble forwards slightly before He caught Himself. "The fething sky has a hole in it, there's a blizzard, the dead and the living fighting together, and you of all people just have to be here! Have I not dealt with enough today!?!"

An actual hiss escaped Him when she reached out, though He was in no state to do anything in avoidance other than recoil slightly, yet getting a proper look at Quinn's current state gave Him a brief moment of pause. She didn't look all that much better than He did, more intact to be sure and perhaps a bit steadier on her feet but just as exhausted and worn. Had she been here fighting? Impossible, Darth Strosius had never known someone like her to actually do any work on the battlefield even if they did wind up on one.

Yet she was injured enough that He could smell her blood through His mask even before she had the gall to smear some across it. Darth Strosius muttered a curse and stepped back but it was reflexive moreso than intentional, mostly out of surprise. Not out of the action itself but rather the thirst that it stirred within Him. He needed anima of course, any amount of blood in His condition was akin to an oasis on Tatooine, but Quinn's blood was decidedly more...potent than expected.

On the rare occasions that He had imbibed from a Force Sensitive individual He had made them sparingly few not only out of sheer simplicity but also necessity. Frankly the anima content in a regular being simply couldn't compare to that found within even a weak Force Sensitive. Darth Strosius simply considered it another facet of the Sangnir curse, to force an already awful compulsion to an addictive degree beyond just the eternal thirst itself. Another cruelty that He had to live with yet one that He could at least somewhat control by purposefully abstaining from drinking from Force Sensitives.

Quinn's blood however seemed to radiate anima like nothing He'd ever experienced before. While at first He'd chalked it up to Him simply being in dire need of replenishment, the blood smeared across His mask served to prove Him quite wrong in that assessment. There was something decidedly different about her blood and if He were in a better state of mind then perhaps He'd begin hazarding guesses or even better spouting questions as to what that difference could possibly be.

Instead Darth Strosius could only scowl and sneer as His fangs ground against one another as she idly insulted Him. "This coming from a gaudy brat like you?" It was a remark that lacked any real heat in spite of His earlier venom, one barely uttered at all as He twitched and clutched His injured arm closer to His chest. Pressing hard enough that the the remains of His gauntlet were digging into His chest plate with a grating whine of metal against metal. Though He hardly seemed to notice it, His hidden gaze affixed to the blood dripping off of Quinn.

His masked head cocked to the side at an unnatural angle that couldn't have been comfortable at all as she began to expose her neck of all things, her words fading into a distant buzzing in the back of His mind as the subtle golden glow of His eyes began to grow visible even through the dark visor that covered them. She stepped forwards and it took everything He had left not to slam His fangs against the front of His mask in response. He hadn't a clue what Quinn could possibly be intending but surely she had to know it was a death sentence in this instance.

There was little stopping Him from tearing her throat out with His fangs and every primal part of His being was begging Him to do so, but He resisted. Darth Strosius was no beast. He was a Sith Lord, He was not controlled by any such base urges, He had not fallen victim to His thirst in decades and He'd long since refused to allow Himself to do so. He was better than this. He wanted Quinn dead of course, but she was supposed to die the way that all enemies of a Sith Lord did. Not torn apart by some creature that couldn't control Himself but cut down by His lightsaber or sword.

Darth Strosius was hyperventilating, His whole form shaking with restraint, pain, shame, and thirst. This wasn't right. Nothing about this accursed world was right. He was supposed to be better than this, better than running from a battle and succumbing to His own horrid thirst for anima, better than only being able to bear witness to great powers of the Force rather than perform them Himself. Yet two of Quinn's words finally shattered His last reserves of restraint so easily.

Alisteri Haxim. Alisteri Haxim. He was supposed to be better than Alisteri Haxim. Alisteri had let his friends die around him in a war that he had no chance of affecting. Alisteri had given up his mortality all for the love of a woman who had never even loved him back and was more than content to let him believe she was dead until it had become convenient for him to believe otherwise. Alisteri had served a dead Sith master that had abandoned him and yet kept enough eyes watching him to ensure that he lived just long enough to serve her again when it came time for the Sith Order to reform from its loss as the Sith Empire.

Alisteri Haxim was weak, Darth Strosius was supposed to be better. Alisteri had lost but He was supposed to win. He was supposed to be free. Yet as His remaining hand tore the mask from His face, a sinking feeling in his stomach proved just how wrong he was. His fangs had latched onto the offered neck before the helmet had even hit the ground, cast aside so carelessly and thoughtlessly in favor of sating a thirst that he'd battled for over forty years now. Sating it with a source of anima that he hadn't even known could be possible until now.

And in that moment he couldn't help but hate Quinn all the more for it.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

The scale upon his flesh absorbed a good portion of the blows from the slugs, cracking the surface and drawing blood. Pain still rocked through Varin’s body, but it fed more into him. His body only lurching with the impacts causing him to step forward. Though his armor was gone, his second coat of scales had done their job as backup.

“Checkmate implies death. We still breathe.”

Varin felt the influence Braze attempted to call upon the spores within his body, but A’mia’s boon had shielded him from that effect. There were no spores within him to call upon. He did not wear it in any obvious location, merely having tied it within his hair. It still had done its job in expelling what contamination he would have had.

Varin noticed how Braze attempted to throw yet another stone at him,he was no fool, he knew that any second tactic Braze would use implied some cowardice trick. His gaze pinning to the object as it left his grasp. His will reached the explosive, holding it aloft just as it left his fingers. Causing it to detonate early within the confines of its user.

Such an explosive used with such haste, putting the user and his mount in danger.

Varin watched, still standing as the small Jedi retreated from battle due to his injuries, the explosion still ringing his ears. The Force had held him together, empowered him and nurtured him to something greater. The sounds of people still leaving the building was not lost on the Sith Knight as he looked over at Naamino.

“Let’s get out of here brother.”

Holding his arm over his gut he limped over to his battle brother, gently pulling him up onto his shoulders. Burning pieces of the building still fell from the ceiling and the walls, threatening total collapse. He still had some force reserves within his body, allowing it to once again surge through him as he started to run through the pain throughout his body. His knees threatening to buckle, his back threatening to give. He shoved the discomfort aside, burying it deep within him. Pain meant he was still alive, pain meant he had much more to give. And give he would. His arm came up bracing Naamino’s back as he bulrushes through the building. The ceiling first raining down along with screaming bodies, then finally the walls as another small explosion erupted from the ruined foundation.

Varin did not stop, he kept moving, trampling over anything that tried to get in his way. He did not know the extent of Naamino’s wounds, but he would not risk stopping and trying to find out while they were in the danger zone.

More explosives rocked around them as buildings succumbed to detonations and fire tornadoes carving up the field. His breathing grew deeper as his ribs begged for mercy while he ran, a cough escaped his chest spitting up blood as he carved his own path.

“Varin…to evac…”

His voice struggled as he continued, what was left of his bracer sending his message to the pick up site.

“Prepare for my arrival. We have a man down.”

“Right away, Sir.”

The response came immediately, and Varin made one last push, bursting his speed through the burning streets like a meteor hell bent on seeking a new target.

The evac site was just in view as he neared the ship. The ramp slowly opening as Varin slowed down gradually. His speed diminishing as he walked up the ramp of the ship. His breathing labored and wheezing.

“Take care of him…”

Varin’s hands slowly passed off Naamino to a medical personnel before he fell to the floor of the ship, vision fading.

Rest, Varin. You have earned it. Rest and regain your strength.

His breathing slowed as he watched boots gather around him, the last thing he would feel before losing consciousness would be the hoisting of his body.

EXIT POST

Naamino Zuukamano | Korar Murrak | Braze​

 

[Raukai Deshra]

Raukai slammed his armored hand against the saddle frame, locking his armor to the mount for the moment. The fiber cord went slack in an instant as Careena Fett pulled against the line to bring them closer to each other. He kicked the stabilizers into high gear to account for her sudden movement though he didn't allow her a moment to recover.

He kicked the to drive plate with his lead foot to send his snarling beast of a war droid into a full charge. If she wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat then he would not deny her. The droid moved quickly through the void of space, as it's heavy cannons activated with a flip of the switch. Plasma fire erupted at range to hammer her shielding and leave her vulnerable to his counter-attack.

As they closed the distance, Raukai pulled back on the cord with his free hand, dragging her closer for a collision. It didn't matter to him if she managed to brace for the pull or not. He raised his right wrist, aligned his gauntlet, and pressed the trigger on his wrist laser, unleashing a continuous stream of fire aimed directly at her chestplate.
​

 

[Feydrik Munin]

​

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

Naniti

With a rage-filled yell, she shoved both hands toward Feydrik to send the air, the dust, the rubble forth. Doors barely on their hinges slammed against frames as the vacuum created in its wake sucked everything out of the rooms it pass. Even cracked or broken windows shattered in its wake.

Feydrik only had time to cover his head with his arms, and he felt the first impact of stone, glass, and whatever lay around the building he was in- be violently thrown at him. He tumbled back after holding steady, tumbling back against a wall. He grunted in pain, tumbling. He lay still for a moment, before his HUD flickered again, gaining new perspective of his surroundings.

Ceiling. Colors.

Contusions. Cracked ribs. More bruises than he would want to count when this was all over. He knew that much, as soon as he woke up. But he was a fighter, before he was a Mandalorian, before he was an Alor, before he was a Ori'Ramikade. Before any of that-

He was a fighter. A champion fighter, at that.

"My Gods are war. My Gods are battle."

He pushed his hands to the floor, getting up. Debris and dust rattled off of him. To her, it must've appeared that he cheated death itself. In reality, he just was on combat stims and adrenaline. So, he had to move fast. He closed the distance. He moved quick. He didn't draw his beskad. He didn't draw his knife.

He leapt into the air when he closed that distance, just shy of her lightsaber range. He closed the distance first, and pulled his right fist back- and unleashed a lightning fast punch. And with the nearly 2900 pounds of force he generated with his punches.... he wanted to hurt her. The crushgaunts would help, but they were little more than metal gauntlets. They were designed for crushing and bending, and it was not a good place to be close to him, but they did not enhance a user's strength or give them the ability to punch harder, for instance. But Feydrik? Feydrik had that all on his own. His body, long before he picked up a rifle, was tempered for combat. For sport, for power, speed, agility, endurance, stamina. He trained day in and day out. In fact, the Supercommando training was often not as brutal as the training he received to be the fighter he was.

He wanted to show her.

"You shall meet them!"

 

[Korar Murrak]

Vod: Braze
Enemies Varin Mortifer Naamino Zuukamano

Korar watched as Kovita took Braze out of the factory, good girl, have to give you some treats after this Korar thought as he stood there for a moment. He didn't chase after the fleeing sith, didn't fire on them, just watched for a few seconds.

What mattered was that his vod and Kovita were out and safe. He holstered his pistol, put his hammer on his back and started to leave. His head was killing him after the fall, rubble landing on him, and being thrown back by the earlier explosion, but for the most part he was fine. As he walked out he put out what fire was still on him.

Once out he whistled loudly for Kovita, climbing onto her back behind braze. "Korar Murrak to pick up. Bring a ship big enough for Kovita, as well as a medic or two." he radioed from his helmet.

He looked back toward the factory and thought to himself not half bad, could've gone worse

Exit

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Darth Strosius //:

For the briefest moment, Quinn forgot to breathe.

The mask struck the ground somewhere beside them with a dull scrape of metal against the ice, but the sound didn't register. Her attention had already caught on the face beneath it. His face, features unchanged from when she knew him as only…

Alisteri.

Not Darth Strosius. Not the masked Sith Lord whose broadcasts she mocked, not the infuriating zealot, or the man who had some supernatural ability to be exactly what drove her insane.

He was just Alisteri.

Though he was worn down in ways that neither of them had been when they were students. His face carried years Quinn hadn't been there to witness, carved into features she still recognized immediately.

For one strange heartbeat, the battlefield disappeared, and she remembered the Bastion Academy.

Hallways, lectures, assemblies. His perpetually irritated expression whenever she opened her mouth. The way she had learned exactly which words would make his eye twitch. She remembered her youthful cruelty, when hate had been something almost fun. When Alisteri had simply been someone she couldn't stand.

When things between them had been easier.

Something painfully soft moved beneath her ribs, then his mouth found her throat.

Quinn gasped.

There was no grace to it.

His fangs punched through scarred flesh with enough force to make her entire body tense. Her fingers snapped around his shoulder instinctively, nails digging against whatever ruined armor remained there. White-hot pain shot from her neck down through her chest as her other hand lifted halfway. On a baser level, she wanted to protect herself; the Force gathered in the palm of her hand.

For half a second, she almost threw him away from her.

Instead, her hand trembled.

Then, slowly fell.

"Fuck—"

The word escaped through clenched teeth. She had been bitten before. Alina had done this.

That realization made something twist unpleasantly inside of her.

Alina had always been different.

Even when hunger had sharpened her, there had been an intimacy to the act. Quinn remembered fingers against her skin. Breath at her throat. The strange anticipation before fangs broke flesh. Pain followed by warmth, closeness, the quiet awareness that she had chosen to give something of herself to someone she—

Quinn shut the thought down before the name could drag anything else out of its grave.

Alisteri wasn't Alina.

His feeding felt like violence.

Desperate. Ugly. Almost frantic. She could feel every pull.

Each one sent a strange hollowing sensation through her, deeper than blood loss. Her essence followed, something luminous and unnatural drawn from somewhere under flesh and bone. The sensation made her knees threaten to buckle as her stomach tightened. Heat crawled beneath her skin while the cold around them suddenly seemed sharper against her exposed throat.

Quinn's fingers tightened against him.

Not pushing, holding.

That realization disturbed her almost as much as the bite itself.
Quinn hated him, oh how she hated him.

She hated his voice. His sermons. His stupid broadcasts. His endless ability to worm himself into places where she didn't want him. She hated his smugness when he thought himself clever after insulting her, his stubbornness to walk against the norm, his ridiculous little cult, his insistence on calling her a puppet as though he had ANY right to touch that particular wound.

She hated how easily he could make her angry.

Purely angry.

A feat so few people left could do. Most people inspired calculation. Suspicion. Desire. Fear. Obligation.

Alisteri could still make her want to strangle him over something as insignificant as the tone of his voice.

And somehow—

Somewhere along the years—

That had become precious.

Quinn closed her eyes and let her head rest lightly against the side of his. The gesture was so small, so out of place for what he was doing to her. She could pretend it wasn't tenderness.

For a few heartbeats, her touch changed entirely. The tension left her fingers. Her nails stopped biting into ruined armor, her palm flattened against him with a gentleness that had no place between them. Her thumb moved in a slow, absent stroke, almost reassuring.

There was no mockery in it.

Just warmth.

Quinn realized what she was doing instantly. Her hand stilled and her eyes opened. Something close to embarrassment flashed across her expression. It curdled into irritation as though he had somehow been responsible for catching her in a moment she hadn't meant to have.
Her fingers curled again, but not enough to hurt him. Just enough to make the touch unmistakably less tender.

Idiot.

Whether she meant him or herself, Quinn wasn't entirely certain.

"You always were dramatic," she whispered, lacking the venom she often had.

Quinn noticed. She hated that too.

Her breathing became shallower as he continued to feed. Exhaustion was already embedded deep in her bones from everything that had happened here. Her body protested this new demand immediately, heartbeat thundering beneath his mouth, each pulse offering him more.

She could feel herself becoming lighter.

Vulnerable.

Quinn hated feeling this way more than anything. Yet she didn't stop him. Because beneath all the spite, beneath decades of insults and genuine resentment, there remained something she would never willingly give a name.

He represented her past, a moment of her life where nothing truly mattered.

And perhaps that's why she offered herself, why she didn't push him away. He needed her and, in a sense, she needed him as well. Her mind wandered briefly, remembering the sound of Arris' voice telling the blonde girl that she needed her.

She was good at giving everything she was, everything she had. Just to feel, in this moment, as if she belonged, she was wanted.

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tentative at first. This time she was painfully aware of the gentleness threatening to creep back into them, and she fought it as though it were another enemy.

She rested them against the back of his head anyway.

Quinn despised herself for it.

Her thumb moved once, barely. A soothing gesture she caught as soon as it happened. She stopped. Her fingers tightened.

There.

That was better.

"You're going to be absolutely insufferable after this," she murmured, her voice growing thinner despite her attempt to keep it sharp.

A faint smile touched her lips. It hurt. But everything hurt.

The battlefield continued screaming around them, time passing incredibly slowly. But Quinn found herself strangely aware of only the small things.
His weight against her, the ache in her neck and the blood slipping warm beneath her collar. She grimaced when another warm trail followed the first, disappearing beneath the fabric of her armorweave.

"All these years, and you're still a messy eater…" she huffed.

A little laugh slipped from her before she could stop it.

Soft. Breathless.

Almost fond.

Then the world shifted.

Her vision had begun to darken at the edges, the battlefield narrowing around them until everything beyond Alisteri seemed strangely distant. Her body followed. Sensations dulled, first in her fingertips, then her legs, as though she were slowly becoming disconnected from herself.
Her knees dipped, but she caught herself against him.

The movement broke whatever fragile control she had been pretending to maintain. Her grip spasmed against his armor, fingers now clutching hard enough to hurt, and her head tried to pull away as a strangled sound escaped her throat.

"Ali—"

His name came out wrong. Too thin… too close to a plea.
Quinn hated that too.

Her jaw tightened as though she could somehow take the sound back.
Quinn forced her eyes open and found the battlefield swimming around them. Snow. Blood. Smoke. His bare face.

His mask, his entire identity lying somewhere below them, abandoned and useless.

Her pulse stumbled again beneath his mouth. This time, she felt the danger clearly. Not abstractly. Not as some distant consequence she could dismiss with her arrogance. It stopped being something she could simply endure because Quinn Varanin had decided that she would.

Her heart was slowing.

Her legs were failing.

If he didn't stop, she would not be conscious long enough to make him. For the first time since offering him her throat, something cold that wasn't the blizzard slipped through her. Once more, her fingers tightened.

"Easy," she whispered.

The word came out softer than she intended. Not because she was afraid, but because some treacherous part of her enjoyed being needed by him.
Quinn wanted to believe that beneath the hunger, the blood and everything they had done to each other, he still needed… wanted her alive.

"Don't make me regret this."

The familiar edge returned, weak, but unmistakable.

"I allowed you a taste, Ali…"

The Echani's mouth curved faintly against the pain.

"Not all of me."

 

[Yuri Maji]

ABREGADO-RAE | ORBIT
ALLIES: COV | Iris Beroya | Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Romul Saxon | Vara Maji
ENEMIES: TSC | Ceria Kesyk
ENGAGING: Ceria Kesyk
GEAR: In bio

Spoiler: Fleet complement

• Capital ships:
  • 3x Ha’rangir-class Star Destroyers
    • Haran’s Call (73 | 23)
    • Mandalore’s Lament (10 | 0)
    • Silence (82 | 19)
  • 6x Brok’ur-class Assault Cruisers
    • Hurricane (0 | 0)
    • Glassmaker (72 | 21)
    • White Rose (81 | 36)
    • Snow’s Kiss (0 | 0)
    • Merciless (0 | 0)
    • Storm’s Beauty (69 | 11)
  • 1x Dalab-class Strike Carriers
  • 4x Aranar-class Escort Frigates
• Support craft:
  • Jai’galaar Starfighters
  • ’Howler’ Basilisk War Droids
  • Keldab-class Dropships
  • ’Mangonel’ Basilisk War Droids
• Ground vehicles:
  • ’Sentinel’ Light Walker
  • ’Chimera’ Medium Assault Walker

THEME​

What remained of the Hound’s fleet fought on despite their battered state. The sacrifice of the Lament had a less than desirable outcome in spite of its sheer explosive mass, though the remaining ships still had a good effect on target.

Yuri watched with a shadow of a smile as the siege destroyer tore apart and blew to pieces, he was going to keep that one over Romul’s head for a good few months. ”Engine kill.” Came the gunnery officer’s report. At this rate it was an unnecessary call with the state of things, but it helped for the after action reports. The wrecks of dozens of ships drifted around, tons of debris rained down to the ground far below.

A graveyard filled with dozens of ships and thousands of lives. Their enemy wouldn’t shed a tear for their fallen soldiers, wouldn’t sing a song of their bravery and sacrifice. They weren’t people to the Sith.

”Contact rear!”

Yuri’s gaze snapped to captain Haggan, quickly shifting back to the helmsman. An order wasn’t needed, he already adjusted the course of the Haran’s Call to bring a full broadside to bear on the enemy Star Destroyer. Her guns hurt, punching holes and melting the metal along the hull of the Hound’s ship.

But she still remained outgunned. The blackened Mandalorian vessel let loose with dozens of high velocity shells and turbolaser bolts, supplemented with ion rounds to ensure their enemy had little chance of survival. Another shudder rocked the ship, a few on the bridge lost their balance alongside their Alor. Clutching a new gash against his forehead, Yuri looked to his officers as they reclaimed their stations. ”Status report?” He snarled.

”Sir, the enemy destroyer knocked out a stabilizer. We’re listing.” Came the report through gritted teeth. Yuri’s mechanical fist smacked into the side of a terminal. Their integrity was dangerously battered, their primary defense burnt and their shields all but knocked out. The rest of the remaining ships were in an equally bad state.

He had a choice to make.

”Maji, call coming from the surface. Request airstrike on the spaceport and surrounding areas.” Haggan spoke up. Yuri’s nerves were getting the better of him, his last cigarette had been smoked an hour ago already. He looked at his crew and the tactical feed for a brief moment before giving a nod. ”Reset our hypermatters and mass drivers. Get the Basilisks planetside to engage as well. Let’s rain hell an’ get outta here.” He spoke, wiping another swath of blood from his head and eye.

:: All troops, be advised. Airstrike incoming on dispatched coordinates. Stay clear. ::

TAGS: The Arkanian | Carduul Akahl | Arris Windrun | Mercy | Tytos Saxon | Darth Strosius | Astra Sadow | Vara Maji | Fenn Stag | Srina Talon | Leontis Antalis | Madrona A’Mia | Whoever else, just duck in cover

The warning was sent out to the forces on the ground and time was given for them to get clear of the provided coordinates before all hell came down. What little civilians and friendly forces remained would be advised to get to safety. Through the blizzards, storms and chaos of the battle, dozens of shells rained down to tear parts of the city to shreds.

Basilisks and fighters still planetside reorganized and began with a devastating run of turbolasers, heavy cannons and proton torpedoes. The spaceport, the Sith’s dropsites and any Sith caught in their crosshairs were lit up with a ferocious barrage from the sky and beyond.

Several Howlers and Mangonels engaged their drills to tear trenches into the ground and rip up entire buildings. Between the airstrike and orbital bombardment, the Hound’s forces sought to remove their enemy from the surface of the planet.

Yuri could only watch from the tactical feed as the attack finished up. ”Recall our ships. Order the fighters planetside to link up with the Hammer-hand. Our job here is done.” Yuri’s voice was tired, disappointed. He wanted to stay, to keep fighting the behemoth that overshadowed his ships. But they were risking their necks by staying around.

What few ships still survived in his fleet regrouped and stowed their weapons before moving to the far side of the planet, the only safe part for them to jump.

:: Saxon, Hammer-hand, this is Maji. Our ships are coming apart, we are fallin’ back to the fleet. We… Maji out. ::

Yuri turned from the comms terminal with a sour frown. He was abandoning the rest of the fleet to fight on without his help. One look at the state of his bridge, however, reminded him that there was little else to do.

Haggan’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. A battered smile adorned the captain’s wounded features, but in his hand rested a packet that immediately lightened Yuri’s features. The two struck up their smokes with a deep breath as the remainder of their fleet limped to safety.

”We could’ve done more.” Yuri muttered.

”Their fleet is in tatters. Their prized ship is torn up. Recovery is going to take months at least. We did enough.” Haggan replied with a smoky sigh.

Yuri scoffed, tucking a dangling cable back into a wall.

”Fair enough. Let's go home.”

/Exit thread

Spoiler: summary

• Orbital strike initiated on key areas on the surface
• Yuri’s ships retreat to safety.
• Remaining fighters planetside are redistributed to Kjartan Hammer-Hand

 

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS
Outfit/Armor

Leontis did not like the way Astra looked at him. That was precisely why he couldn't look away. A moment ago, she had been near death. Weak enough to be carried. Broken enough to require blood and hands and patience. Now she stood. Whole enough. Golden eyes clear again. Voice steady. Bearing restored. It unsettled him. More than that, it fascinated him.

When Astra suggested that they revisit the question of his "hunger" later, Leontis did not answer immediately. Under ordinary circumstances he might have dismissed the phrasing, redirected the conversation, made some dry remark meant to reestablish the social distance between them. Instead, he inclined his head. Slightly. Respectfully. Almost deferentially. "Later, then." He did not entirely like how easily the words came.

Astra moved into the larger chamber as the death of the ion cannon announced itself through the walls. The impact was immense. The floor shuddered beneath Leontis' boots, equipment rattled, and lights flickered as the last breath of the emplacement rolled through the port. Then came the warning. The Mandalorian fleet was realigning. A final strike.

Astra's orders followed quickly, and Leontis listened. Actually listened. When she recommended sheltering his forces, there was none of the usual instinct to qualify her instruction or make it his own before passing it down. "Of course." He keyed the command net. "All Chandrilan elements, cease expansion immediately." His voice sharpened. "Consolidation posture. Find hardened cover and hold what we already possess." The orders spread quickly.

"Violet One, priority is survival of the defense-control network. Isolate critical systems. Shield what you can. Put anything nonessential into standby and preserve command access."

A reply came almost at once. "Understood."

"Incoming Covenant transports are friendly. Verify their IFF and open protected approach corridors. Nothing automated fires on them without direct command authorization."

Another acknowledgment.

"Once they're down, fold their security personnel into the terminal defense. Use the fresh bodies to relieve exhausted squads and reinforce prisoner containment."

That much was overdue. His people had done enough marching. Enough shooting. Now they needed to hold.

"Violet Two."

Static. Then a tired voice. "Here."

"The cannon is gone."

A pause. "Yes, sir."

"Then so is your assignment. Account for survivors and withdraw to the terminal. Do not remain in that crater attempting to salvage anything heroic."

Another pause. "Acknowledged."

"Good."

He changed channels. "All terminal elements: prisoners and civilians go into hardened sections wherever capacity allows. Maintain quarantine separation. Keep infected away from general detention. Keep military prisoners separate from everyone." The spaceport map shifted beneath his hands. "The incoming strike is not an excuse to abandon control. It is merely an instruction to control things from behind thicker walls." That earned no laughter. Everyone was too tired. Leontis understood.

Astra made another request. The VIPs. Leontis looked toward her. There was something almost theatrical in what she wanted. Important natives. Front row seats. Let them see the Mandalorians shelling the port their supposed defenders had failed to hold. He understood that immediately. More importantly, he understood why she wanted it.

"I'll arrange it." No argument. No question. Again, that strange ease of obedience bothered him.

He turned back to the comm. "Detention Command, identify the highest-ranking Abregado-rae political and commercial captives still in our custody."

A short exchange followed. Names. Titles. Enough. "Select three." He glanced toward Astra. "Move them to a hardened observation section with a view of the exterior approaches. Keep them restrained and alive." A beat. "And make certain they understand whose guns are about to fire."

He could already imagine the conversations afterward. The Sith had invaded. The Mandalorians had defended them. And now the Mandalorians were about to bombard the place where their own civilians remained.

Truth did not need to be complete to be useful. Astra would appreciate that. Another message came through. Corvinus transports descending. Leontis watched their icons move toward the port while Violet One opened lanes through surviving defensive systems. "Let them in." The order was almost unnecessary now. His people knew what to do.

That, more than anything else, told Leontis how far the operation had progressed. At the start, every corridor had required direction. Every advance had needed coordination. Every prisoner needed sorting. Now the terminal functioned under his authority almost automatically. The spaceport was not merely occupied. It was being administered.

Mercy's voice reached him next, less intrusive than before, but still strange enough that his hand briefly brushed the amulet beneath his armor. She thanked them. More or less. Mop up the rest. Use the facility against their enemies.

Leontis exhaled slowly. "She does have a charming way with gratitude." Astra was close enough to hear. Leontis glanced toward her. Then stopped.

The fear was still there. Small. Controlled. He would have denied it if anyone asked. But Astra had pinned him to a wall while half-dead and looked at him as if deciding whether he qualified as a meal. That left an impression. Yet the fascination outweighed it.

"What exactly are you?" The question escaped before Leontis could decide whether he intended to ask it. He frowned slightly. That was more direct than he preferred. "Forgive me." Another small inclination of his head. Again, more deferential than usual. "I've spent most of my life around Sith who were very eager to explain what they were."

His gaze lingered on her. There was of course documented data that described what he had witnessed, but the full story was a bit less defined as far as Leontis was concerned. "You seem considerably more interesting when you don't."

The first warning from the orbital strike sounded. That interrupted the moment. Leontis turned toward the tactical display. Mandalorian aircraft were already beginning attack runs. Heavy ordnance followed. "Incoming." The word moved through every Chandrilan channel. "Brace."

The first impacts struck the wider spaceport. The sound was enormous. Not battle. Not anymore. Punishment. Structures shook. Windows shattered in distant sections. Automated defenses tracked fighters and returned fire wherever surviving systems found targets. The newly arrived Covenant personnel moved into sheltered positions.

Chandrilan troopers dragged civilians farther from exposed concourses. Prisoners were secured behind mechanical barriers. Somewhere, three Abregado-rae dignitaries were being given exactly the view Astra had requested.

Leontis watched the tactical display distort with interference. One section went dark. Then returned. Another disappeared completely. He did not flinch.

"Violet One?"

"Still here."

"Defense network?"

"Degraded. Operational." Leontis smiled faintly. "Excellent."

Another impact. "Main platoon?" Reports arrived one after another. Holding. Holding. Holding. Casualties, but holding. The Mandalorians could tear pieces out of the building. They could crater landing fields. They could scorch the walls. But they were firing on a spaceport already under Covenant control. That distinction mattered.

Leontis looked toward Astra again. "You were right." The admission came easier than it should have. "Shelter was preferable." A dry smile. "I intend to record that as a rare event."

Another series of impacts rolled across the port. Leontis remained beside her. Not at the barricades. Not pretending he was suddenly a warrior. Where he belonged. At command.

Around them, House Antalis endured. The terminal remained theirs. The hangars remained theirs. The automated defenses answered to them. The prisoners remained in their hands. And fresh Covenant forces were landing through corridors Leontis' people controlled.

He opened the platoon channel one final time. "All Chandrilan forces." The voices quieted. "You have your positions." Another bombardment struck somewhere beyond the terminal. "You have your prisoners." A pause. "You have the port." He glanced toward the surviving tactical map. "Do not chase anyone." His voice became calm. "Do not prove anything."

Astra stood nearby. That strange mixture of fear and fascination returned. Leontis allowed himself to feel it this time. "Simply hold." The channel closed.

Outside, Abregado-rae continued burning. Inside, House Antalis remained. For Leontis, that was enough.

Grace | Xan Atropus | Veyla Tass | Srina Talon | Kaelyr | The Arkanian | Carduul Akahl | Mercy | Astra Sadow

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[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Quinn Varanin
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He rarely fed from the living, and when he did they typically didn't remain living for very long.

From what he knew of them most Sangnir enjoyed cultivating a little "herd" of victims, living walking bloodbags that they could siphon from at any given moment. Gathering their prized sources of anima and hoarding them so that they could drink from them again and again like some fine wine that never emptied.

Darth Strosius, Alisteri Haxim, was not most Sangnir.

He drank from his enemies and made certain that the few Sangnir within his ranks did the same to the best of his ability, feeding on the pirates and scum of the galaxy that they so often hunted down. The price of their sins was to be satisfying and continuing the existence of the Wonosan Sangnir, their Prophet chief among them.

He made a very clear distinction between food and friend, between sibling and meal, between loved ones and anima sources. He had always made that distinction clear and enforced out of fear of what would happen if he didn't. Of what could occur if one of his Sangnir developed a taste for their neighbor's blood and all the consequences that might entail. Perhaps most importantly, he maintained that distinction so that he would never have to fear for himself succumbing in that manner.

Which was all to say that when his fangs sank into Quinn's neck and her blood flowed into his waiting maw, the unmasked Sangnir didn't even know how to be "gentle" in his feeding even if he had wanted to or was able to. He drank greedily and without any thought spared for her safety in spite of her being generous enough to offer herself in this manner, a gesture that had stunned him but which he now took for granted with every gulp that he imbibed.

And with each drink her unusual blood, rife with anima, stirred within him a renewed hunger beyond just the eternal thirst. In spite of his best efforts, Darth Strosius had never quite managed to achieve a level of Force Sensitivity that put him anywhere close to most other Sith Lords of the Covenant and Order. A gap of which the true extent wasn't something that he had even been fully aware of until today, or at least one that he had been in disbelief of until today.

Yet he had tried to bridge that gap all the same even without knowing how wide it was. Oh how he'd tried. But Alisteri Haxim wasn't born a prodigy of the Force. He didn't hail from some ancient lineage of strength and power nor was he a once-in-a-generation blessed Force Sensitive. He was simply some Outer Rim slavestock that had managed to slip his bonds and luck out with enough attunement to the Force to make him worth being seen amidst the countless people within the ranks of the Sith.

That lack of prominence and prestige was something that he had prided himself on for a long time, but it was something which had caught up with him again and again. Alisteri Haxim had never been enough. Darth Strosius still continued to not be enough, as today had proven. However with Quinn's blood filling his drained body, he finally felt an inkling of what it was to be truly blessed with the Force. A glimpse that he'd only seen once before, right before his body had given out and torn itself apart trying to manage a stolen power.

It was an intoxicating sensation.

The unmasked man barely even noticed the mangled stump of metal and cloth was starting to reform and regenerate into a new limb, pale skin growing and then spreading into an umbral layer as forearm grew from elbow. He certainly didn't notice the almost fond gestures that Quinn made, a tenderness to them that he would have never thought her capable of and most assuredly never expected to receive. All that he could focus on was continuing to drink his fill and then some, reveling in the strength that warmed his cold skin and invigorated his pallor complexion.

The only real reaction her touch gained from him was a hiss when her hand moved into his hair, albeit a muffled one that he hardly made any move to act upon in spite of how much of a warning it was meant to be. He didn't even care that blood was seeping out from around his mouth, wasteful as it was. His newly regrown fingers flexed as he heard her speak his name, or at least try to, but her voice was little more than a distant buzz as easily dismissed as the wind's howl.

Quinn's grip grew desperate yet weaker with each heartbeat, her pulse simply serving to deliver more anima into his greedy maw. He didn't even bother to reach out to steady her or hold her in place when she began to grow faint, content to hold her aloft with just his jaws if need be. Her words brushed against the edges of his hearing in spite of how close they were, caring little for whatever it was she had to say but listening just enough to know that she was still coherent. Which meant that she had more to give. More for him to drink.

Then His golden gaze caught something in its periphery, and all at once the drinking stopped. It was his regrown hand, and if she saw it then it would have been the only part of him to have changed since they were in the academy together. For his hand, in fact most of his forearm really, wasn't comprised of pale flesh as one might expect. Instead it was an umbral shade, the texture unusual as if one layer of skin had been peeled back and the one beneath it sealed in its place.

His fingers were more akin to dull claws, lacking any nails at all and mostly just serving to cover the bones that comprised his hand. His golden gaze quivered at the sight of his hand and he inhaled, choking at the blood that came with the motion and out of sheer reflex he pulled his fangs from her throat. He coughed and clutched his newly regrown hand against his chest, his still-armored one quickly moving to cover it and hide it from view as best as it could while he stumbled back and caught his breath.

A process which took a few more moments than it should have, his golden gaze locked onto the blood trailing down Quinn's body while his tongue subconsciously licked the remnants of his meal from his fangs. He gulped and in spite of himself savored one last taste of the rich anima before shame spoiled it. "What-" He cleared his throat, his voice trailed by a choir that echoed each word. "What are you? Why did you do that!?"