Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Invasion Duracrete Jungle | BOTM Invasion of GA Held Metellos




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Objective: Fight
Equipment: Weapons
Tags: Westenra Mina Westenra Mina | Closed
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It was a shame she didn't hear him, as the utter contempt and disregard for her was astounding. Zachariel didn't view her as a threat, it showed in his words and his actions. She was nothing and nobody, regardless of how many Mawites she had butchered. To him, it didn't matter, she hadn't ever faced him, and never would again after this day.

Pushing back against her, Zachariel quickly won that struggle, before striking out once more. She may have been deadly, but that didn't matter to the warlord. Others may have feared her, but he had faced down gods, stood before the Avatars and been given power. The confidence and experience she saw in his axe swing was well earned. Zachariel had fought for well over a millennia, faced down countless foes and emerged victorious more times than not.

He was confident that this would be just one more such occassion. However, as his axe closed, a hint of surprise took him. She didn't even try to block it, meaning she was supremely confident in her healing abilities. His axe dug into her, just as she stopped herself and moved. As she attacked, Zachariel quickly yanked his axe free of her body, twisting to do it with as much damage as possible. But the blade wouldn't be quick enough to block her, even as he stepped back from her sudden strike.

Jerking his head back and to the side, he couldn't fully avoid her strike. Her blade cut a gash through the side of his helmet, going from the bottom up and to the left. However, the gash only truly deepened to the top, just as it was leaving, ending up cutting off one of the horns of Zachariel's helmet. Were it anyone else, the blade would have also cut just barely against their skin, for Zachariel, he didn't even flinch at the bare cut under the gash.

Instead, Zachariel snarled as his fist struck out to try and punch her. The warlord was annoyed now, especially with the damage to his armor. So he struck with all the might he had, adding the Force into his strike to further empower it. His eyes glowed a dark crimson as he snarled low, glaring at Westenra.

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Gear: Lightsaber, Armor.
Location: Metallos
Tags: Briana Sal-Soren Briana Sal-Soren | Aiden Porte Aiden Porte | Darth Wallgof Darth Wallgof


"Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering Sith; to the last I grapple with thee, from hell's heart I stab at thee..."


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Pain

Fear


Hoplessness


Luric could feel all of this and more, his connection to the Living Force strong indeed. Yet, he would draw his strength from it. He was a Jedi Knight, and he had sworn an oath to the very galaxy itself that he would protect all life, even if it meant sacrificing his own in the process. This day, however, would not be that day. As the Mad Sith strode forward, addressing Briana by name, Luric quirked an eyebrow. When he mentioned her brother Brandyn, Luric's brow furrowed. That this Sith knew of his family troubled him greatly, especially as he could feel the emotions pouring off of Briana, of her own shock and surprise.

As Briana and this demented Sith conversed, Luric took a moment to look down at Aiden, who was crouched down by their fallen Jedi comrade. Luric did not recognize the fallen Jedi, no, but it mattered little. This was a desecration of life. That one could take something so beautiful and full of wonder, and mangle it, and break it down into nothing more than a message...it saddened Luric. And it did something else...

It lit the fires of righteous fury within his heart.

Luric would concentrate upon the Force, allow it to engulf him in it's glow, spread to every cell in his body. In return, Luric would tap into it's vast and powerful influence. He cared not to simply defend, no. This was war. War was brutal, war was unfair, and it was hell come to their doorstep. This day, Luric would strike preemptively at this Sith Madman. As he was engaged in taunts with his cousin Briana, Luric tapped into that very life energy of the Force, and used it to send out a massive and very targeted burst of Force energy at the Sith's eyes, the intent to cause an overload of the optic nerves, and at least for the time being, render him temporarily blind.

Luric was silent, quiet, and focused with absolute precision. He had no doubts that this was merely the beginning of their conflict with this Sith, for he was absolutely radiating the tainted evil of the Darkside. Luric only hoped that the trio could overcome such power and utter lunacy. So long as they remained faithful to the Light, he had no doubt that they could.

 
KILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILL---


Lynda didn't smile. Didn't waste energy on moving her facial muscles as the sword cut off one of the horns on the armor Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood .


KILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLDESTROYDESTROYDESTROYKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILL---

She saw the Heavy punch coming...

Tactical Databases ran through her options in billionths of a second. She may have been in the grips of an extended psychotic episode but even in her fugue state she knew trying to catch that punch would have been a suicide note, not a tactic. But she would not be able to fully evade it, so she relied on the Repulsor tech and her reflexes to mitigate the damage.

She caught the edge of the punch as she pulled back, which shattered her jaw collapsed the lower side of her face, but it was here that the treachery of her combat database revealed itself.

See, she had taken the blow--but twisted her body to absorb the momentum, manipulating her armor Repulsors so his blow would take her where she wanted to go, her flying body transitioning to an elegant somersault--

--to his other side, her alchemy destroying Katana outstretched in a vicious downward slice aimed right at a lateral point for the cracked edges of his blade, her body now in a position where it would be difficult (albeit not too difficult) position to try and swat her and her weapon away from his

However because his blow had connected, it had scrambled her targeting database so her sword aim was off slightly by a few millimeters, so the sword, should it successfully connect, would only hit the tip of the cracked axe, edge, not enough to destroy the blade as she was hoping due to her skewed targeting, but hopefully it would damage and compromise his Weapon in some way...
 
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Location: HellWell
Allies: Maw
Enemies: Phalsi Drynchen Phalsi Drynchen Dominik Borra Dominik Borra


Caraxes could feel many different presences swirling through the dark. Light and dark clashed everywhere, and still his ancient senses were driving him wild. The Kyber crystals embedded into his chest would slowly blink the shining crimson, and as he turned his leather head through the dark corners he could feel in his dark bones someone or something was there. His fingers clenched tightly to the hilt of his saber, and he ventured only deeper into the dark. The offer he had called out had seemingly gone unanswered.

The chants were still heard even as he went away from the ritual center. He could feel that the more his sister priest would encourage the gathering mass of Mawites the more his power would grow. The conflict added between the dark and light erupting all around him only further fueled his power in the dark side. His head would shift left to right, as he could smell the scent of his enemies, and could hear them, yet he couldn’t sense them. For all he knew they simply were good at hiding themselves in the Force where not even the priest could sense them.

Soon his suspicions were finally confirmed when he saw what seemed to be a heretic soldier appear. His eyebrow was raised at the question posed by the soldier, reaching out he could feel the tension rising. An unsettling smirk appeared on the priest’s lips as he spoke. “The Hidden Maw shows the comforts through the darkest secrets. For Heretics such as you there are only few words. Death, destruction, and damnation.” Religious fervor evident in his tone as the towering priest in his death robes slowly started to approach.

“Although I wonder if you dare embrace the way of the Maw… I offer this final chance get on your knees and pray for the Avatars dark mercy, and I might be kind.” He said the unsettling smile spreading even wider to show an ugly grin that was dripping with black blood. His saber raised as if ready to strike the soldier, the priest unaware that he was stumbling into an ambush.
 


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GENERAL RIDOR
222ND NOVA CORPS | 512TH LEGION | 312 ATTACK BATALLION
METELLOS | FACTORY DISTRICT | INDUSTRIAL HEARTLAND

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After years on the battlefield, the cacophony of machines and warfare was little more than white noise. With the Brotherhood, there was always expected chaos. Rage. Wanton destruction.

What was unexpected was the incoming sound of a request to interface.

"Why are they here? The Alliance had them on the run last I heard,"

Gabriel's question came well-timed with Bug looking up again, from his position, perplexed. The way his face pulled, knotted and unfamiliar, made Osarla respond. "General, they're asking for a connection."

Each of their expressions communicated how unorthodox and how out of character the request for dialogue was. They'd experienced this with The Empire..but the savages of The Brotherhood? "Bug, you get a location?"

"Not just yet. It's heavily encrypted."

"Run what diagnostics you can." Osarla commanded, "And open it up to our SIA interference." And sheathed herself to a place where she might be able to hear, and be heard, equally. Bug acquiesced and opened a channel to Captain Typhon — requesting access to decryption software that was usually only SIA-Starbird authorized.

The giant Togruta found herself on the other side of the wall she'd been protecting, no longer deflecting blaster fire, but with her shoulders, to the wall Gabriel had been behind. "Keep an eye out for us. This could be a distraction." She instructed the youth. "This is unorthodox, and unlike anything we've experienced from The Maw so far." Behind him, a red-painted helmet nodded. Just in case.

After receiving a thumbs up from her go-to-technician, then, and only then, did General Ridor accept the incoming request.

"This is General Ridor of The Galactic Alliance. Speak your purpose plainly. What is it you'd like to say and who am I speaking with?"




ALLIES | GA | NJO | Gabriel Pryce Gabriel Pryce | HIGH COMMAND UPDATE RELAYED TO Auteme | IVI | Dracken Pryce | COMMUNICATIONS REQUEST TO Kenth Typho Kenth Typho
FOES | THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis


 
Living In Color
Codex Judge

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Aveline was being separated.

The realization came far too late for Iris to react to. Subtly pulling apart the group. The Meld made it comfortable, trusting one another to stay safe. Her attention, their attention, split amongst numerous foes to keep their footing. Keep pushing forward. To keep staying alive. Too focused on fixing the obvious splotches on the canvas she failed to see the whole painting.

Her blade arced up, knocking with it another Sith's blade just as another of the Commandos took advantage and blasted them down.

<Don't let him in! We're coming.>

Gone was the initial plan. Somewhat. Fighting their way to the Sith tormenting the minds of so many was still what they were going to end up doing, but it wasn't the objective. Branch out, bring the Padawan back into formation. Do not let her fight alone. As one they pushed forward against the incoming Sith. No one was going to face the Darkness alone if Iris could stop it.

As trained as they were, though, they were still outnumbered. She could feel them die. Every one of them. Bit by bit the small group of Commandos that had crashed with them, the ones her mind had melded with to protect from the shadows. She felt it, every cut. Every blast of lightning. It grated against her senses. Dulled her mind for just a moment. Half steps. Half strikes. Her gaze unfocused every time she felt that pain of death. And the void that came with it.

Her own pain brought back her focus though. A lightsaber cutting across her cheek as her body moved on it's own to dodge. The Force wouldn't let her die so easily. She spared the others that torment. Blocked the deaths from their minds. She could shoulder that on her own.

<Press forward!> Another color faded as another blade cut through their chest. Into another of the acolytes, no less? Killing their own just to kill them? She gritted her teeth before she reached out. Further into the colors. Not theirs allies, but the Acolytes. The Sith.

And she wrenched on them with all her might. Pull their strength right from their bodies.

Aveline Cuiléin Aveline Cuiléin | Rannan Kol Rannan Kol
 
ɴᴀɢᴀɪ ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ

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DEPTHS OF HELL
Equipment

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The tunnel system was dark, though once his eyes adjusted, it allowed for Jand to walk without the need for a light source.

Throughout the duracrete passages were debris and cracked walls, ceilings, floors. There seemed to be a steady decline, which meant any run-off moved further into the underground pathways. As he walked, the Padawan remained alert for further indications of Sith movement or killings, though Jand had doubts about how many might be in the dark tunnels. Caution when pursuing an unknown foe - or foes - seemed warranted, so the Nagai continued to make his way in a direction that he noted led him back toward the death pit. And Jand's footfalls were near-silent, his susurra-weave boots absorbed the noise he might otherwise make, even as he stepped on crumbled duracrete rocks and in pools of rancid liquid.

Still, there was an unsettling sensation in the darkness; and that feeling of underlying shadow, menace, did not lessen.

If anything it grew.

After what felt like a lifetime in the shadowy tunnels, Jand was almost doubtful he was on the right track, and was close to turning back. Yet, the distant sound of crying caused him to pause, as he craned his neck and listened with his pointed ears. There was definitely a hushed voice that echoed through the most recent passage, and with quickened footsteps, Jand rounded another corner--

* Sniff *

--and leveled his gaze at a small humanoid child that sobbed. She was beside two bodies, evidently dead with seemingly fresh wounds that leaked the final ichor to the ground, and the splatter of which stained the alcove walls around the girl. Whether due to his silence or lack of light, if not both, she was unaware of his quiet approach. Whatever had happened, it seemed the small child had been spared, if one could say that. But, more importantly, was the blinking object in her hands.

A thermal detonator.

Jand's eye twitched, as he slowly applied pressure to the activator on his lightsaber with a finger, but he hesitated...

"Hello," Jand said in a soft voice, so as to avoid startling the child. It was time to try and connect with another sentient. "Are you hurt?"

"Ah!" The small girl gasped, as she scuttled back against the alcove wall. Her boots slipped in the blood of her parents, as she blinked. "I... who... t-the visions, they're in my brain!"

"Are you hurt? I am a Jedi..." With calm, Jand eyed the thermal detonator, then looked back to the child. "I am here to help."

"S-she said to hold this tight," The little girl began to sob, as she stood and wobbled on unsteady legs. "She said to t-tell them to turn away and give t-this to you..."

She held out the explosive.

Jand considered options in a heartbeat; first option, activate the lightsaber, remove the girl's hand, retain the pressure on the kill switch trigger to give time to gather it and disarm. Second option, not do that, and try to talk to the little girl like a Jedi would...

"I understand," Jand said as he altered his voice, exuding a calm and peaceful tone through his vocal cords. A Nagai attribute. "I can accept your gift... I will not leave you with it. But before we do that, can you do something for me? What is your name?"

"C-Ch'eori..."

"Ch'eori, do you see the blinking light? We need to stop that," Jand soothed, as he offered a faint smile. His voice, the hypnotic aspect of it, increased by the word. "If you pull your finger back with the button... we can exchange gifts... does that sound good?"

The child nodded slowly, eyes half-closed; then, Ch'eori glanced down and slid her finger back, as the blinking light stopped.

"Good." Jand stepped forward and grasped the thermal detonator, as he pulled it from her tiny hands. "Here is your gift, take it and go back to the surface, seek out the Alliance soldiers for help."

Jand slipped the explosive into his pouch, and pulled out a glow-rod, which he gave to the little girl.

"O-okay..." The child said, still in a stupor. "I... I am going to hunt her one day."

"Who?" Jand asked, curious.

"The lady with the glowing eyes," Ch'eori said as she held the light. "S-she killed my... my momma and pappa. She is a monster."

Jand nodded. He frowned, as he placed a hand on the girl's back and nudged her the way he had come. It seemed that whoever was responsible for killing the other humanoids had also been responsible for arming a child with an explosive, with the intent of using on anyone in pursuit. That spoke volumes as to the evil nature of the lady with the glowing eyes, and it was all Jand could do not to growl in frustration at such an act of weaponizing an innocent.

A child, no less.

"Go now," Jand said, as he watched the girl begin to run. "I will handle the monster."

Once the glow-rod light faded, the Nagai turned and clenched his lightsaber hilt so tight his fingertips threatened to draw blood from his palm.

"I'm coming for you."

Jand began to sprint down the tunnel on quiet footfalls, his mind focused on the shadowy presence, his path decided...

 
2ND POST
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AN AGE OF STRIFE STORY

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THE_BLOODHOUND
TRIBAL-WARLORD OF THE SCAR HOUNDS

WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
GRANDMASTER OF THE TRI-LUNAR CLIQUE
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BELLIGERENTS
(BOTM
Vs. GA)

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Tags: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha

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SHRIVEN NO MORE: FIVE FALCHIONS, FIVE HUNTERS - PART 2
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MIRKHEART VALLEY, CAIRN DISTRICT,
NORTH OF THE BLACKSITE, EXEGOL (EARLY-WINTER OF 877 ABY)


<"Ghoul to Dreamer! We have ourselves a signal for the Matriarch, roughly on a southwest bearing from your exact position.">
<"Good, we're on the right track then.... But still, there is no discernible reason to give in to complacency now. Stay focused, and no exceptions. Dreamer out!">

The Five Falchions were on the move at the time, slitting the throats and stabbing at the hearts of every sentry and potential-witness along the way, along with all the Undying brothers who stepped forth from the fog to aid them on Panatha, with every last killer moving silently through the dry, desolate valley towards the enemy compound in the south. Bare though it mostly was, none were particularly perturbed by it, as the rescue squad were happy to deal with with the small pockets of cover they had at their disposal at the time, and the foggy cover of night was also reason enough to continue without concern, giving the Scar Hounds all the more reason to believe in the potency of their stealthy approach - and especially so when pitted against an entire Mawsworn tribe for the Darkhan's boldest strategic action so far.

'Brother, we got word back from the Undying. They've left our message as ordered.', Nail barked out in his mechanically deep voice behind Dreamer, pacing out in heavy cybernetic steps to stand next to his Chiss-born friend. They both had some leeway with their time, understanding that with all the relevant players working their way southward, there was to be more to their visit to Exegol than the main reason that spurred them onwards, time enough to make their statements of intent to the Taskmaster, and such that would be grand enough in scale that it would be impossible for their inter-tribal rivals to miss. Turning to the Chiss, the Human-born cyborg chuckled a little before growling,'Until light breaks - they won't even know it's there.', proudly through his digitized larynx before giving in to the mirth a little more, to which Dreamer himself chuckled in response.

'Good.... Alright, lets move. We've got a ping for our Matriarch now, likely trackable as she moves as well. Quickness is the name of the game this time, so keep up if you-'

~=Our hunger is sated still, we need not the souls at this time.=~
~=And yet - we still accept your sacrifices.=~

~=Make not a habit of this, but rewards await you still.=~

Though some sign or response of other sorts had been expected by the Chiss, the chills regardless ran up his spine like a lightning shock to the system, running all across the hair-follicles from the crown of his skull to the knuckles of his fingers. Dreamer knew what to expect with Thomas from the moment the Woad first snatched at his throat, and perhaps even as far back as the aftermath of the shared prophetic vision of the Warlord's resurrection, but this was all new to Nail, as neither of the human Darkhans had been there for the blue-skinned strategist's multiple brushes with the eternal. The cyborg had been too late for the shared prophetic dream of Durace, the Tri-Lunar Alignment on Rhigar, and the entity by the Akar Kesh tower on Tython, all he had experienced of these encounters was second-hand retellings of what could be remembered of these wonders.

This made the reactions between Nail and Dreamer contrast in more than just their difference in emotional reactions to the clear voices in their heads, and especially so in consideration of the differing levels of experience with the gods and their many strange workings, but in all the differences between both Darkhans in their reactions, the same sense of fearful reverence would be understood and encouraged within as the magnitude of their endeavour gradually began to dawn on them. It was more than just a Shadow War, despite the fact the war's very nature named it the Secret War, and in this realisation, the Darkhans would understand that this was in fact a war for sovereign supremacy over the Maw in it's entirety. A war that decided a lasting ruler, one that would be chosen to endure for as long as their fates could permit, giving rise to either a new Dark Lord or a Crowned Marauder by the time the smoke cleared on the struggle.

But despite it all, regardless of whether Exegol's banner was red or gold in the end, the power of the Dark Three would thrive there - as they always had before,

~=To find your Matriarch - her pursuers must be found first.=~
~=Southward you must go, more ground you must cover to succeed!=~

'Alright then.... Let us begin.'
 
Handsome blindfolded hyper-religious whackjob
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Allies: Jasper Kai'el Jasper Kai'el Ichika Masudo Ichika Masudo
Opposition: Nal'Khem Szat Nal'Khem Szat
Equipment: Azoth Talisman of Iron Fists

He didn't say anything as the pair had their banter, allowing the two to bounce off each other, to remind each other of their company. To focus on something else beyond their oppressive surroundings. Remembering that the Dark only obfuscates, it could change nothing that existed. It could lie, mislead and trick one into thinking what was true, but in the end it was all false.

"Three little lambs... approaching the slaughter..."

The two Padawans would hear the faintest huff of annoyance escape his nose as the Mawite revealed themself. Both Padawans knew from experience about what Aaran generally thought of the various Dark Acolytes who put on airs, attempting to be overly dramatic. It was plain to see that anyone who thought the Jedi could get preachy and long-winded about morality clearly never had to listen to a Sith lecture about why they were morally righteous for kicking small animals and eating younglings.

If his eyes were still in his sockets, they would visibly be rolling.

But whoever this person was, Aaran could feel the webs of Sorcery surrounding them. No doubt they were part of the network of foul arcana that were permeating the area. All part of horrific grand working to do something suitably awful to this world. Raise a horde of undead, or drown the world in ghosts. Perhaps some kind of banquet of souls for the Sith to empower themselves.

Who honestly knew really? It was always the same thing, the same pointless atrocities. All of them acting so high and mighty because they could engineer death on a massive scale. Any idiot could kill. It took a stronger person to make something that lasted.

"is death."

Crap, they were talking this whole time weren't they? After the first few speeches one tends to tune it out, It wasn't so much that he disregarded this fellow as a threat, far from it. They were probably a horrifically powerful Sorcerer of some kind. But to Aaran, the only danger was of the physical kind. He somehow doubted that this one would be a rather stimulating debate partner.

Hopefully the banter would be good. He was reasonably confident enough in his ability to annoy him enough that the Priest would focus on him over the Padawans.

A plan quickly formed in his mind. Disable the priest, use them as a sympathetic connection to the greater ritual and pour as much cleansing energy into them as possible. It likely wouldnt STOP whatever they were doing, but it would likely slow it down enough for the GADF to deal with the Maw up above.

"Hmmm. Think I'll take option number three." He mused, his own saber snapping to life, the soft golden hue contrasting the harsh purple. His voice dropping low to the younger pair behind him. "I'll keep him busy. You two take what pot shots you can. Precision over speed."

The two probably had not fought together before after all, so it would be best if they didnt simply throw themselves into the melee and get caught up on each other.

Which was exactly what Aaran was doing right now. With a single step, he crossed the intervening distance in a blur of movement, golden sword flashing in a brilliant arc, aiming to slice into the priest's chest.
 

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Location: Metellos, Factory District, Industrial Heartland

Writing with: Osarla Ridor Osarla Ridor Gabriel Pryce Gabriel Pryce

Equipment in bio.


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eltequi
At the center of the cellar, above the holo-table, myriads of bright-blue pixels accumulated to form the three-dimensional image of a tall Togruta commander. The buzzing digital reproduction of her likeness appeared stern, calm and collected, yet what immediately piqued the fascination of the statuesque Sith on the other side of the line was what she wore; the garb of the Jedi. An audible, raspy inhalation betrays his surprise. In the Force, the outcome of this assault just got drowned beneath waves of grey uncertainty.
"This is General Ridor of The Galactic Alliance. Speak your purpose plainly. What is it you'd like to say and who am I speaking with?"

Right as she begins to speak, with a subtle sideways nod Ptolemis orders one of his chosen Zealots standing around the table to set out on his assigned mission right away, keeping up strictly with the set timing of the Blasphemer's mysterious plans. Without a word, the hooded Sith Zealot disappears into the shadows and up toward the surface. But apart from this almost unrecognizable movement of his head, Ptolemis listens to her without interruptions until it is his time to speak.

And as the moment arrives, he takes a step closer to the holo-table, and presses a button; an easily rectifiable, but all the more fast-proliferating virus is launched through their connection, wirelessly infecting all comm devices in the opposing commander's vicinity. The hideously deep timbre of the Blasphemer's voice is suddenly heard not only from the commander's own device, but also from the datapads of both living and fallen soldiers, barely-functioning and broken holo-tables nearby and any other devices with an embedded speaker. The distorted, simultaneous voices culminate in a chilling choir of the damned.

– I greet you, General Ridor. – Although he does not express it, he admires the commander already for even accepting the call. Inviting the devil willingly takes guts, and even a Sith Lord must recognize the strength in that. The transmitted image of the Dark Lord is deliberately grainy, low-quality and ominous, alternating in pitch and consistency in jarring intervals to further raise the difficulty of locating its origin. But he knows it's only a matter of when, not if. The Jedi may be on the wrong side of galactic history, but they are no fools. – I am Darth Ptolemis, and today… I have come for your world. – The volume of the transmission spikes, then returns to normal. – I want you to tell your men that what happens next will be harrowing and inevitable. Your city burns, yet the flames have only just risen. – His voice stoic, monotonous. Mechanical. – Run… General Ridor. Run and spread the news of this planet's death.

By the time the threats of the Sith conclude, the chain reaction set in motion minutes prior by the Shadow Hand reaches its first peak. At the helm of a Mawite War Skiff, the previously sent-out Zealot appears on the horizon some clicks away from the commander, followed by a couple other Skiffs of the same making. Still separated by the forward defenses surrounding the district, the Commander and her army are safe… for now.

Bobbing and weaving between the many bridges, winding pipes and towering architecture of Metellos' factory district, the crude leviathans barrel straight toward the entrenched defenses. Lowering the vehicles' maneuverability and making them perform wide sluggish arcs between the obstacles are the welded cages chained to the bottom of the high-speed, floating war machines, tightly packed with mindless Moon Children frothing at the mouth for a chance to devour.

In a few moments, the Skiffs will fire their weapons and the dangling cages shall open, setting free these brutes before the gates and entrenched positions of the defending troops. Some of the Moon Children will land on walkways and balconies – many more will splatter and plummet to the depths of the toxic slums deep below. But what they will fulfill is their function; shock troops to herald the terror that has come to tear this city down.

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Outfit: Factory Link
Appearance: Link
Weapons:
Double-Bladed Lightsaber
Tag: Aldric Laurent | Darth Nemris Darth Nemris

After their first exchange of verbal jabs, Valery focused purely on the fight and no longer even considered continuing the taunting and attempts to frustrate her opponent. She had nothing to say to someone like him, nor did she believe he was able to be redeemed with what she felt from him at the moment. So only one option truly remained — she was going to bring him down and purge his darkness.

With a powerful jump, she opened up their clash and positioned him between her and Aldric. It made it more difficult to support him, but she trusted his skills and preferred for him to be able to target their enemy. Using his special glasses in combination with her clearing some of the dust, he opened fire again and forced the Sith to shift some of his focus to cover his rear, which he did by summoning up some debris to form a temporary barrier.

Pieces of rock and rubble exploded on contact, covering the two Force users in more dust, but it would never be enough to stop this battle between light and dark. Valery immediately engaged again, drawing his crimson blades into a lock, but that's when he decided to open his mouth again, and the words that left his lips this time sparked an intense flame in Valery's eyes. "Aldric!" she called out, her voice echoing over comms to warn him. But she knew he'd be alright — she needed to let go of her fear of loss, even though it had hurt her more than anything else ever had,

"It's in your interest not to underestimate him," she said through gritted teeth before the intensity of her attacks began to increase. She was hoping that Aldric was quick to evade and recover, so they could coordinate their next attack. Before coming here, they had discussed plenty of strategies, so until he was ready to try them with her, she'd barrage the Sith with powerful attacks. But to finish her series of strikes, Valery finally called on the Force as well and aimed to shove him back, directly towards some debris with sharp metal pipes sticking out.

Whether it succeeded or not, she followed up immediately to keep up the pressure.



 
How much will you endure?

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Location: Metellos
Attani Implant:
Link!
Tag: Hollis Orenn Hollis Orenn Miri Nimdok Miri Nimdok

A violet blade ignited and both Jedi glared in her direction when she finally revealed herself to them both. Nyaeli quickly tapped the activation button of her own weapon in response, igniting the crimson blade she intended to use against them. But perhaps surprisingly, the Jedi were the first to engage. A swarm of bullets was fired her way from two pistols wielded by Miri, but the Aruzan didn't make a single move.

The reason became apparent rather quickly, as her form flickered and the projection she had created of herself faded out of existence. Her presence in the Force suddenly relocated again, now that Nyaeli was no longer projecting it elsewhere, and appeared on their flank. Without wasting any time, she closed the distance and looked between her targets. Miri, who had been quick to open fire, seemed least hesitant, so she settled on Hollis as her primary target for mental torture.

Through her attani implant, Nyaeli reached out to Hollis' mind, attempting to force her way through the woman's mental barriers, so she could begin the painful process of shattering her mind and forcing the most painful memories to resurface. But while she allowed that sinister grasp of the mind to extend, she also pressured Miri with a quick series of lightsaber strikes, hoping to keep her from opening fire again while she attempted to cripple Hollis with different methods.

She was outnumbered once again, so she had to be clever.



 
Guardian Angel | Light of Ashla
Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
The Light of Ashla

Champion and Avatar of Ashla || Empress Regent of the Eternal Empire
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Objective: Try to found information about her mother and help the souls.
Location: HellWell, Metallos
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (swords) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || Current appearance
Writing With: Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Closed
Allies: Open
Enemies: Open
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[ Valkyrjan ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

  • Eina teleports behind Khamul after his attack.
  • Eina attacks the man.
Eina #1
Khamul #1
Eina #2
Khamul #2

"I'm not a Crusader, only my husband is, I'm just a Valkyrja... so now I'm also an Avatar of Ashla." she told him.

She still thought of herself as a Valkyrja, Eina had a feeling that would never change and that she would always be a Valkyrja in her heart and soul. After all, she was the First, the first of that species. Her original people were still as important to her as before. Nothing changed that, and nothing could. There were things that didn't change even if someone died. This was the case with the woman. Although Eina thought that he might believe her to be a Crusader because she was fighting on the side of the Ashlan Crusade, that was far from the truth. Many thought she was a Jedi. It wasn't, though.

She sighed as he activated his lightsaber. Her spear was on her back, folded, and the two swords in X shape in their scabbards, but she hadn't reached for the weapon yet. If the woman did not always understand the meaning of the words, the emotions were crystal clear. She felt the hatred he felt for her. Eina already knew from here that she wouldn't be able to convince the man, and they wouldn't be able to avoid the fight. Khamul was worse than Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood .

"It was the will of the Force and Ashla. In Realspace and the Netherworld there are forces and powers over which you cannot control. The Force is like that." she said, her voice was now like a teacher teaching the younger one something.

After the man's next words, she tilted her head slightly to the side.

"I don't think that's our decision, not yours or mine." however, she could no longer continue because of the man's attack.

She would have liked to say that she won't let the Mand’alor kill her as the man did on Tython, where she had protected the soul of her beloved crusader, her husband's soul, so that it could reach Ashla. There was no such thing here. Not today. She watched the attack that started in her direction, she could defend herself against it in several ways. Perhaps the easiest was teleportation. So she did, reaching into the Force and teleporting behind the Mand'alor when the mini rockets were already nearby.

Thus, during these actions, she also had time to take her two swords in her hands. Most people would have attacked the man in the back, but Eina was fairer than that. However, teleportation was necessary because she did not want to reveal that her armour had a built-in body shield.

"I'm here behind you." she warned him.

The woman only started flying towards him when Khamul turned around, and she slashed at his neck with the fiery blade so that the blade of her sword was already glowing red and trailing a plume of fire.

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Y’sanne Stradd
Heathen Priestess, Reverend Mother, Priestess of the Dark Three, High Priestess of the Scar Hounds Tribe
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Objective: To carry out the will of the Avatars.
Location: HellWell, Metallos
Equipment: Sacrifical Dagger | Sacrifical Dagger | Staff | Crown | Amulet of Many
Units: 2x Pontifical Palatini (members, not units) | Large group of Ri Wodasir | The Martyrs
Writing with: Dreidi Xeraic Dreidi Xeraic
Allies: Open
Enemies: Open
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[ Let There Be Night ]
<"ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

  • Y'sanne and her group's ritual break.
  • She speaks to the girl.
Ysanne #1
Dreidi #1
Y'sanne #2
Dreidi #2

The ritual itself was performed by a dozen or more people. True, the Heathen Priests were few and far between, but the number of Sith was high. After all, even the last Darksider Force user reverently called themselves a Sith. At least most of them. Y'sanne was not one of them, never. She didn't consider herself a Sith for a minute. The woman was more than that, she was chosen by her gods to carry out this task. And this power can only be taken back by the Dark Three. The woman wasn't some low-order little Sith, of which there are thousands in the galaxy, or more. No, she was a Heathen Priest.

Because of the large numbers, the young girl arrived at the group that included Y'sanne. During the telekinetic attack, the priestess raised her hand and exerted an opposite force to the one caused by the girl. The rest of her team flew back or were forced to step back. In any case, the Dreidi's attack proved to be more than enough to break Y'sanne and her group's spell. The demon-like woman turned her head towards the girl with a bored look.

One eye of the priestess was gold, the other blue, guarding and telling the story of who she had once been before the Maw tortured, mutilated, and transformed her. The blue eyes were the last remnants of the young woman who was once Ashla's priestess and a Jedi Knight. After Dreidi's words, the woman's lips curled in disgust. Orange light flashed on her black horns as she also opened her wings, which were not made of feathers, a little. The woman's entire appearance was demonic.

And in the end, the woman chuckled at the girl's words.

"It's always so cute to see that the most bloodthirsty Force users in the galaxy are the Jedi. You threatened me with your first words. How does the saying go? Only the Sith speak in absolutes? Force you? Come on child, you want to attack, the Jedi want to attack, you want to shed blood. I remember when the Jedi massacred the weaponless Sith slaves in the academy. How civilised! I didn't care about them, and neither did the living. Do you have any idea what the ritual is about, or are you only interested in revenge, rampage or a murder? There's no need to answer, you'd only be telling lies anyway, child." she said, her voice taunting and provocative as she spoke. " And, oh, I don't help the Sith. I despise and hate them at least as much as your kind. No, they serve my interest and the Heathen Priesthood's interest at this time, the will of the Dark Three."

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Lady Talissa Hylarin Osborn L'lerim
Jedi Padawan, Political Student, Crown Princess of Hylarin, Princess of the Eternal Empire and Terraris
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Objective: Try to figure out what happening here.
Location: HellWell, Metallos
Equipment: Lightsaber | Sverð Sálarinnar | Amulet of Many || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m
Tag(s): Darth Saevius Darth Saevius
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[ Double Trouble ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

  • Talissa tries to figure out what the man is.
  • She answers to Saevius
Talissa #1
Darth Saevius #1
Talissa #2
Darth Saevius #2

Talissa was still on the ground watching the fighting unfold. She felt her aunt start to fight as well. The woman was very hard to ignore, as she radiated the Light Side much more strongly than anyone else. She knew that Eina was now an incarnation of the Light Side thanks to Ashla, and a Light Side vergence on top of that. Others might have called her a living Nexus, but the young girl knew that the woman preferred vergence and did not consider herself a Nexus.

She shook her head as her thoughts wandered, which could be very dangerous in a place like this. And at this moment in particular. Because she wasn't paying attention, she only heard the shuttle arrive and land behind her when it was already on the ground. The young girl turned around in surprise, but did not reach for her weapon. Like Valkyrja and Children of Ashla in general, Talissa has learned to intervene in Realspace battles as little as possible, and instead try to convince others with words.

When she saw the droid or cyborg exiting the shuttle, for a few moments she didn't even know what she was seeing. It took her a while to realise what she was seeing, because it wasn't the easiest. The runes on the droid's body didn't make the young girl's situation any easier either. She felt the man was quite an anomaly. The man was still a cyborg, although at first she would have said that it was a droid body possessed by a soul. But fortunately, moment by moment, she saw better what the man was. When he finally spoke, the voice came from everywhere. This made her feel uncomfortable.

"I'm not lost, I'm watching the war." she told him.

After the following words, the cold shook the girl. One thing was certain, she didn't want to go with the man. She knew the Bogan servants very well to try to deceive Ashla's followers. She still wasn't entirely sure who or what he was. There were two options, and that was what he wanted to ask. However, just to be safe, she took a few steps back and shook her head. The question became more of a hint:

"I know the way and I don't need Bogan or an Omni drone to guide me. Rather, you are the one who needs help to find your way back into Ashla's light and into the good graces of the goddess.!" she told him.

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Allies: Iris Arani Iris Arani
Enemies: Rannan Kol Rannan Kol
Equipment:
Lightsaber, Jedi jumpsuit, cosaint bracers, meditation amulet

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Aveline continued her retreat back to her team. Whatever Acolytes were near refrained from pursuit. It seemed strange to her, and she wasn't sure why. Perhaps she had struck some fear into them.

The Acolytes weren't idle, however. Ignoring Aveline, they threw all their strength against Iris and the commandos. Well, if they won't come to me, I'll come to them. It suited her. She was headed that way anyway... With a leap aided by the Force, Aveline fell on some of the Acolytes from behind, driving her blade into a defenceless back, recuing a commando in the process.

They could try to give her as a wide a birth as they wanted! She was here now, she was - Aveline froze. The attack came, but not from the Acolytes. Nothing so tangible. She had thrown up her mental defences back when the Sith fist occupied the minds of their allies, but he was strong. Cold and overpowering, he forced cracks in her mental walls.

Aveline stepped back from the Acolytes. She managed to hold onto her lightsaber, but the blade went out and the Padawan fell to her knees. She never considered doing what the voice asked. It was unthinkable. The voice didn't like that... She screamed, palms on either side of her head as if she could physically pull the thing out but to no avail. Her agony was laid bare to all in the valley.

"̸̛͈̃̑Ǧ̷̤͑̈́̄Ể̸͍̣͊̕T̷͔͖͚̈́̌̎͂.̴̥̯͒̎.̷̨̺̹̔͜.̴͈̓̽ ̶̛̫͚͐̀̏Ǒ̴͙̬͕̂͝Ų̶̤̭̲͇̋̈́̆͋͝T̴̥̪̀ͅ.̷̜͕̜̟̇͆.̸̹̭̭̮͇̎.̵̨͖͗ ̴͓́͆͠G̶̥̻̽͜Ē̵̩̼̼͖̃͗T̵̰͔͐͆ ̴̢̺̼̥͋͋O̶̢̫͔̓̔͆̔̍U̷̢͚͖͍̰̿̋͒̈́̚T̶̨̢̛̩̻͓͛͆̽ ̷̙͍͂̆̎͊͠G̷̞̐͐E̷͇͂̔̓̾T̵͔̘̪̯̍́̑̊ ̸̖̯̹̗̙̕͠͝O̵̡̰̗̗͛̿͊̎̑ͅȖ̵̡̟̼̥̄̀̕T̵̡͙̝̹͊̒̚͠ͅ ̴̭͔̱̽͋̽͊G̴̣̦͚̲̎Ê̶͇̏̌͒T̵̢͙̼͖͆̿͘ ̸̠̙͔̻͑O̵͕̺͓͋̔͝Ű̸̯̭͉̟͂Ṯ̵̰̍̔͠ͅ"̷̦̟̩̼̇

She tried to focus on the medallion, use it as a focal point to ground herself, bond with the Force, find peace and drive him out. Find peace. Peace. Peacepeacepeace. The strain on her mind kept the peace she so desired at bay. That method would not work. Changing course, she tried to picture nothing but one image. She focused all her efforts on forming the mental image of an ocean of sand. The Sith might've made his way past her initial defences, but within her mind she would seek to strand him, leave nothing to grasp and pull at but a barren landscape.

From the depths of her darkness she felt Iris. The Knight was fighting with her. She was close by, not just physically but through the Force as well. She was lending her own strength to her. Through their shared connection, together... Together they could hold him off.

The pain was abating, pulled towards the surface though not quite leaving. Not yet. Almost.

"Iris... Help me"

They were close. She could feel it. Aveline held up her hand, reaching out towards Iris. We got this, Iris had said up on the transport. I'll keep you safe she had said later. Aveline trusted her. Trusted in the Force. What would be would be

 
“Don’t you know who my relatives are?”
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OBJECTIVE 2

Allies: Final Dawn, Brotherhood of the Maw

Enemies: Galactic alliance, Syndulla Command

Writing with: Kaine Hamilton Akûz the Ravager

CAPITAL SHIPS

x8 heavy cruisers

STRIKECRAFT

x24 starfighter/interceptor squadrons | x8 bomber squadrons | x8 troopship squadrons





Three of Kaine Hamilton’s biggest ships visibly shuddered from the impact of the hypervelocity canons. Their shields flared up, and the tungsten rounds shattered against their heavy shields. One such round was a little off-course and merely glanced off the side of FDS Firelord and caromed into one of Brodan’s cruisers, FDS Thunderflare. Being a much smaller ship than the behemoths in Kaine Hamilton ‘s heavy battle line, Brodan’s display showed Thunderflare at 52% remaining shields from the impact.

Enraged, Brodan turned to his new acting executive officer, “What the hell just hit my ship!?”

“Hypervelocity canon sir. From the watchtowers.” The woman called back over her shoulder, frantically trying to accomplish two roles at once, as no one had come to take over her old position yet.

“No. I mean, what did they hit us with?! What was the ordnance?” Brodan huffed irritably.

“Tungsten slugs sir. At sub-luminal speeds.” She replied crisply, with well practice professionalism.

Tungsten slugs? Brodan’s head tilted slightly at those words as an old memory flashed through his mind in an old briefing from his time in the Elysium Navy. We had a counter for those that we never got to use…

Grand Shepherd Burtch stood before the whole class at the academy on dagobah. The Chiss had been teaching for over a year and had much to offer the Elysium cadets still. He called up a holo of a rather generic looking accelerator canon and spoke to the class with his lilting Chiss accent, “in galactic naval history, we haven’t really seen a lot of genuine advances in terms of technology in the past ten thousand years. But what we do see is rotating trends. Much like a game of ‘rock, flimsi, scissors’, the struggle has been to guess what military strategic doctrines will dominate against one’s opponents at the time. If you choose correctly, you win. If you choose poorly, you lose. In some cases, better intel will beat overwhelming force. In others, dominance through sheer numbers will beat an opponent with poor logistical infrastructure. History shows us time and again that there is no one way to dominate in all forms of warfare, and a decision must be made by the sovereigns in charge to choose an appropriate doctrine. It is up to us as naval officers to make those doctrines work in our favour, no matter the opposition.

“In the case of current modern warfare, we are seeing a strong trend where flexible damage types are being used to counter various barrier defences. This has been done before in galactic history, and it has its advantages and drawbacks. One common weapon we see being used today is ancient hypervelocity solid projectile artillery. These weapons offer advantages and disadvantages on the battlefield of space combat. Tell me, what are the advantages? Yes, you.”


One student who had raised her hand spoke up loudly so everyone could hear, “they can fire a wide range of different damage types to overcome, or counter many defensive armors and shields?”

“That is correct” Grand Shepherd Burtch responded, pleased, “and what is a major drawback? Anyone?” He looked around the room.

One student eventually spoke up before Brodan could even think of an answer, which frustrated him greatly, “Sir, because they fire unguided, solid projectiles, which can be easily redirected by means such as repulsorlifts and tractor beams!” The young man beamed. Brodan sneered at him.

“That is absolutely correct. Very good! And what’s worse is that even most non-combat vessels are equipped with those countermeasures. That is why most ships In most eras of history tend to prefer turbolasers, lasers, and missiles. Energy weapons and guided ordnance are very difficult to redirect through conventional means… but everything has a counter. Following the trends is essential to a strategic victory, and sometimes by studying history, we can reveal simple countermeasures that don’t require an engineering overhaul of the assets we command…”

Suddenly, orders from Kaine Hamilton came over Brodan’s console and his mind began to fit all the pieces together. Hamilton wanted Scouge Squadron and Wraith Squadron to hide inside the debris field while Akûz the Ravager mobilized against the GA forces to create an opening for the Final Dawn fleet. Brodan felt his chest tighten as he knew that tactic it would have many drawbacks. The debris might be able to throw off targeting for a time at this range, but hypervelocity tungsten rounds were designed for punching through armor. The debris in the field was little more than fatigued and spent armor from ships that had already fallen in battle. Plus, there was no guarantee that all the traps had been spent yet.

He began to spew orders, “Let’s do what the Admiral says, but he didn’t give us specifics on how we accomplish them, so we need to improvise in order to survive this. Flight control, launch all fighters and get them out of their hangar bays. Have four TIE/fd advanced squadrons sweep ahead and screen for traps that might still be hiding in the debris field. The rest of the fighter squadrons will keep close to their respective carriers for now.

“Split the cruisers into two groups and move them into escort positions behind and beside the Wraith Squadron formation on port and starboard respectively. The starboard cruiser group will then focus their tractor beams on heading three-four-five by zero. The port group will focus their tractor beams on heading zero-three-zero by zero, and we’ll follow them into the debris field.”


“Sir? There’s nothing for the tractor beams to lock on to on those headings? No target!”

This time, Brodan felt a sly grin blossom his young face, “There will be. Specifically in the form of tungsten slugs”

Realization dawned on the female officer’s face and she frantically got to work relaying his orders.

  • Brodan orders his ships to launch all fighters.
  • He sends 4 TIE/fd advanced squadrons ahead to screen for traps in the debris field.
  • He orders his ships to divide up into two groups and flank Wraith squadron as they follow them into the debris field.
  • Brodan’s ships start using tractor beam sweeps to throw off the accuracy of the hypervelocity guns on the watchtowers.
  • Edit: oh and FDS Thunderflare took a hard hit from a tungsten ricochet.
 
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Objective 1
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw;
Enemies: GA; Iris Arani Iris Arani Aveline Cuiléin Aveline Cuiléin
Equipment: The Dark Sacraments, Apostles Vestments, Ring

It was an admirable fight. Aveline Cuiléin Aveline Cuiléin would successfully resist his mental persuasion. Indeed, she even proved resistant to the pain he inflicted on her. Despite being a Padawan the Dark Apostle could respect her resilience, he would penetrate into her mind but the barren mental landscape that awaited offered him little to seize in return. He would withdraw but prior to his withdrawal there was one last thing, one final gift he would impart on her.

The Sentient Mind was an unknown to many. The Brain was a vault of thoughts, memories, desires, ideations, etc. It also controlled basic functions. To the uninitiated the mind was as much a mystery to them as the uncharted regions of Space.

As Kol let himself recede from Aveline's psyche he touched upon that basic thing that few ever thought to protect. He did not seek her secrets nor would he attempt to bend her will to his own. These things would have been time consuming and in a moment when he did not have time to waste. Letting his influence brush the most rudiment of her bodily functions she would hear the resounding remark inside of her mind…

"To grasp at straw such as you do is akin to being unable to use your lungs."

…and there it was. It's a paradox really. A conscious person knows how to breath, their lungs work instinctively whereas an unconscious individual merely does so without thought. No one thinks about these things.

It was such small idea, a minor alteration left to touch Aveline's mind with. To be unable to breath because you no longer knew how, to have ones lungs not respond on instinct. Imagine the horror.

Once that was done Kol had no reservations about leaving Aveline, shifting his attention over towards Iris Arani Iris Arani who was making headway on her own.

Many of the Acolytes began to move more sluggishly, languidly as Iris wrenched the vitality from their limbs making it easier for both the Jedi Knight and the Commandos to cut them down though they were still outnumbered. It seemed in a war of attrition that the advantage would favor the Darksiders. Iris was one Jedi, the Acolytes that were unaffected by her targeted the Commandos to thin their ranks further.

Those that were drained would sacrifice themselves to the Void. They'd attempt to assault the Jedi on mass though in fairness considering her own skill and their weakened state she would likely be able to cut them down without to much trouble.

As for Kol, well contrary to what one might believe he was only to thrilled to have more of the Acolytes cut down. There would always be others to replace them. He looked at Iris, raising his hands and extending them to either side of his person as though in offering while saying…

"Can you save your friend?"

…a tilt of the head….

"Do you even want to?"
 

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Location: Near the HellWell
Objective: Stop the ritual
Tag: Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren

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Silas and the rest of the Jedi turned to see the hulking figure towering over them. All of them instantly felt chills from Kyrel's presence, as well as the thoughts of what he had done to the previous Jedi. Silas did well to keep himself composed and narrowed his eyes, taking deep and steady breaths in the face of such evil. The padawan could sense fear amongst the group himself, a harrowing emotion that was only reserved for the worst of the worst.

"Kyrel..." Silas muttered openly before anyone else with a grunt, his head slowly shaking "I had a feeling we'd meet again after I had escaped your ship. It was truly a shame I couldn't stay longer" the teen said with some fabricated confidence. He couldn't act afraid in front of Kyrel, or else he was sure to pick away at his mentality right there and then. Slowly, the team around him began to spread out so they all could at least have some space. If they were going to stand a chance they all needed to be at their best.

The thought of using mind meld was tempting, but everyone around him seemed quite nervous. He couldn't risk affecting another Jedi, especially in a situation like this. Looking at the knight, he seemed quite nervous himself. Even so, he fought through the doubts to think of some kind of plan.


<<"Don't let him get close, attack and go!>> he said before the knight suddenly raised his hand along with the others to try and send a powerful force push into the chest of the man, looking to send him crashing back first through the wall.
 
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THE DAUGHTER OF DUTY
METELLOS | MORIDEBO DISTRICT | HELLWELL
LEADER OF THE COMPANIONS | BEARER OF THE RING OF JUDGEMENT

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"No.”

Gratification thrilled within when The Sith refused her surrender. Ishida had anticipated such an outcome, and her prediction had been rewarded with truth. The Ring had judged soundly. This creature was too vile to remain alive. The Light’s duty was to cast out the shadow.

Bernard’s presence drew nearer, and she heard the tell-tale hiss of his blade joining hers. Already, she felt reinforced and more sure of their approach. White and blue against red.

Aglow in scarlet, the woman’s yellowish eyes seemed to spark when she spoke. The angle of her blade was an invitation to engage — there was nothing passive about it — poised and protecting her primary strike zone.

While the woman threatened death, Ishida’s eyes never left the corrupted gaze. There was confidence in the truth behind those golden eyes, a promise in her speech. One that couldn't be kept. Not here, not for her, and more importantly, not for Bernard.

Resolve hardened Ishida’s glare. She paced, only a few steps, to put herself at an angle that was less full-frontal to the Sith and her levelled blade. And to add more dimension to the way her and Bernard lined up as attackers to The Voice.

So far, everything seemed slow. Careful. Cautious. Like a deep inhale drawn slowly, and held. The exhale, the release, never came.

How did that translate to reflexes?

Undeterred by the harrowing provocation, Ishida smiled thinly and she launched, in a flash, at the Darth. With a practiced motion, almost unseen, a quartet of silver stars, Ashina-steel, cut through the distance between the Knight and the Lord. Sharp and annoying, the stars were little more than a distraction for the incoming strike from her sabre that cut upward at The Voice the trajectory from hip to shoulder.



ALLIES | GA | NJO | THE COMPANIONS | Bernard of Arca Bernard of Arca
FOES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | THE NEW SITH ORDER | KNIGHTS OF REN | Darth Mori


 
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