Rebellion Ekibyō no tengoku: Blackwing Virus | Rebellion of Atrisia

[Darth Empyrean]

Location: Crashing in Xam'Chi
Friends: Srina Talon │ John Locke │ Eira Talon
Enemies: Slaad │ Darth Immortuos │ Xenro

“You will not die. I will not allow it.”​

​

He could feel the pain, that sorrow the bled from his skin in crimson droves. Her command was absolute, and while Maliphant couldn’t deny his Queen that much; he knew it was asking much. There was a quiet groan he offered as he rested his hand on the steel that jutted through his stomach - knowing all too well he had been through worse. Crucifixation on Bastion at the hands of the Sith, hours of whipping by the various slave masters, over three months of torture perpetrated by terrorists searching for the Dark Forge…​

​

But none of them required so much attention to detail - his shield hovering on everyone in the ship at a near constant rate. Never would he allow it to falter, never would he allow them to fall to the cruelty, absolute depravity of the virus…​

​

As his hand pressed on the metal, he tried to break it; let that steel dissolve, but it failed. There was a moment of consideration for it - that he wasn’t able to focus enough to destroy the steel through his stomach, even if she commanded that of him. There was a fear to that… that his power was failing - that he may fail Srina in more than one way.​

​

But it was only a momentary thought. Despite her petite frame, she moved to hoist Maliphant - and did so with relative ease. His vision flashed with red, crimson lightning that forced him to cry out in pure, unadulterated pain; blood spilling out on the floor in droves as he struggled to so much as catch a breath. He felt like he was drowning… blood pooled in his throat, and he threw it up as quick as she got him free of the piercing tomb he was all but consigned to a moment before.​

​

When the ship was ripped open, Maliphant could feel - though not hear - the terrible being that sat on the other side of the gunship. He couldn’t sit here… he couldn’t wait for it to strike anyone on board. Panic overcame him as he tried to struggle upwards - but again, his body would not agree. Instead, his head was rested on Srina’s lap, looking up to his savior - the angel in white, the Dread Queen herself.​

​

She focused, maneuvered the force to break and mend, twist his flesh into a working amalgamation of what it once was. It hurt, but Maliphant would endure - made easier by the beauty that encapsulated him. There was something… intoxicating about her that even the force bond could not offer him; how close she seemed to the only thing that seemed important in that moment. Were there any reason to live now, it was her…​

​

As the wound healed, just enough to allow him movement once more, his hand - bloody as it were, rested on her cheek as he offered a weak, but reaffirming smile. He couldn’t see one, but the Force moved their there connection ever constant - and he could see beyond that visage, of anger and contempt, of power and dread she pushed into her magick.​

​

It was fear. Sadness. The ever careful point of weakness she did so well to hide - but could never hide from him.​

​

“Stop.”, he offered her quietly.​

​

“I can’t die… you gave me an order.”​

​

With that, he pulled her head towards his - and gently rested his pale lips against hers. Though stained with blood, there was a tenderness to them that sent shivers down either of their spines; and for that briefest of moments, their bond seemed eternal, infinite in its span. She would know all of him, all of his hopes and dreams - all of his fears.​

​

She would know him better than he knew himself - and when he released, there was nothing but a tempered happiness in his eyes.​

​

“Trust in me…”, he offered once again, blood still staining his clothes as he turned to lift himself. The pilots would have gained them a few precious seconds, but the amalgamation before them was not something mere pilots could have stopped.​

​

Maliphant, weakened, seemed to sway on his feet for a moment as blood stained his silver hair, and gently rolled down his face as he stared the abomination down before him. It smelled of rot, carried with it a darkness that spoke eons more than what the corpse could have - of who he was, of who he had become, of what he would do…​

​

There were no words he could offer the beast of the Blackwing, only a snarl that showed his intent. None on board would die, Maliphant knew that much - but he would ensure this thing that it would understand as well; and so as the red lightsaber in his hand began to enlighten the room, and the many began to cower backwards from it, he offered only a few words to the others;​

​

“Get them… somewhere safe…”, he struggled as a hand raised to the thing between him and the cut in the ship.​

​

The force broke free from his hand in an astonishing display of prowess. Maliphant was one of the most accomplished force users in the galaxy, going as far to conquer the omnipotent Dark Staff with nothing but his mind; but that prowess came now to bear on the plague of a man like the earth on atlas. Heavy, rolling with the force of an ocean slamming down - and the air around them offered much the same as an explosion of air slammed outwards.​

​

It would have killed any normal force user - were they not infected with the Blackwing virus. Maliphant understood this, he knew that the danger of the situation was only exasperated by this thing being in the ship; so he simply needed him gone. Far from it. Far away.​

​

His steps slowly took him to the broken opening, and for a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder to the Queen that demanded he not die. He had a promise to keep - and Maliphant promised to never lie to his Queen…​

​

He only hoped he would never have to break that promise.​

​

Maliphant took the final steps out of the ship as he looked about for the carnage, of who remained on the streets, of where this… opponent of his had ended up. He had to buy them time - just enough for a dedicated rescue party to extract them and the VIP’s. Or at least, the others.​

​

At least Srina.​

 

[Kaden Farr]

LOCATION: Kaden Farr's Childhood home -- OUTSKIRTS
WITH: Daisy Americus | Duckie Talon
ALLIES: John Locke | Luna Terrik
ENEMIES: N/A -- OPEN

Oh she was going to be mad, and that was an understatement. Kaden knew the minute he used the force to trigger a black out for the blonde Mandalorian that if the virus didn't kill him, she would. The truth was Kaden panicked. His vow to Daisy had been sincere, and he certainly had not used the riduurok to trick Daisy into stopping long enough to knock her out. He knew she was not going to see it that way, and rather than just let her fight Kaden was trying to keep her alive. He had decided a long time ago if either of them would be heading to an early grave it would be him. She was his reason to live, which made her that valuable to protect.​

​

Kaden maneuvered the blonde to the pilot seat and strapped her in. He could not have her chasing after him when she finally came to after all. He set the auto-pilot system on board the ship to return Daisy to Haseria. She would land at his homestead, where she would either be waiting for him when he returned, or so upset that she would go home and her brothers would be waiting for him. Either that or she would have her entire armory ready to point in Kaden's face. Either way it was going to be his third trip to the Netherworld, and the second wife to send him there.​

​

The yellow duck didn't seem to understand what was going on. There seemed to be some concern for the blonde, if ducks could care. Kaden wouldn't put it past the duck, after all, it had come to his aid when Kaden was feeling down. Somehow the duck made him feel better, and at any rate, it would be there for Daisy. That made Kaden feel a little less guilty for what he had done.​

​

"Keep her safe?" Kaden asked as he patted the duck on the head. "My farmstead is nice, you'll like it. Make yourself at home when you get there too!"​

​

He grinned as he gave the rest of the ration bar to the duck. Kaden needed to pay him for the work he was asking after all. Hopefully the duck would make Daisy feel less angry when she came to and realized what Kaden had done.​

​

Walking off the ramp, Kaden watched as it retracted just before the gunship took off and pushed out of atmosphere. Once the ship was out of sight Kaden returned to his own ship and put on his armor, grabbed Apollo and Artemis, and secured his beskad to his back. The virus was making zombies, dark side zombies. This was exactly why Kaden wanted Daisy gone. Thyferra was at the front of his mind with every decision he made. He just could not live without Daisy, and so he risked her anger to keep her alive.​

​

Another call came over the comms. General Terrik was going to be setting up a forward operating base. There would be efforts to save the people before the virus could take hold. At least Kaden's armor would keep him safe from the virus. His filters would keep the pathogen out of the oxygen he breathed in. Kaden called ahead to the General.​

​

<<< "This is Kaden Farr, I'm on my way to help... please forward rendezvous coordinates." >>>​

 

[Vytal Noctura]

C O N T A I N​

​

Equipment: The Blood of Dathomir Armor | Nightmother's Ward | Water of Life Potions

Tag: Shamira Karuto | Scàth Mhaolàin | Taiia Locke | John Locke | BX-72967-RAZOR | Grrwunhoooll Agaburry | Mandragora | Knights Obsidian​

Vytal turned to regard the young woman at her side for a moment. The enveloping green energy had yet to fade from the Nightmother's eyes, which made it difficult to truly know the sort of smile that cross her dark lips in that moment. "It is not something a Sith would teach you. Pay no attention if they utter the words 'Force Storm.'" She hadn't given it a name before. Perhaps Void Storm -- that had a nice ring to it.​

​

Even while her posture remain untouched, Vytal was mindful her 'demonstration' had required a good deal of power. It was a sacrifice to make their advance easier. Once they were within the heart of Jar'Kai and its slumbering power at their command, along with all the Witches and Warlocks at her side, they would contain the threat. It would not be free to run rampant in the countryside and burrow in some far away hole to crawl its way out years or generations later.​

​

Their short advance was soon drawn to a stop, however, when e B-series droid called for them to 'Wait.' The Nightmother stopped with her lips turned downward at the call. Much as people derided this mass produced model, the woman of Dathomir did not think them prone to spurious commands. In fact, this one had not even said two words to her since it and its number arrived. A welcome blessing as conversing during a ritual could have disastrous effects.​

​

A holographic projection of what had been seen was laid out before them to answer the unspoken question -- unless Shamira or Taiia hurried the droid along. Vytal regarded it for a long moment. "It is as I had foreseen," she declared at last. Well, not the Tanks and the Walkers. Their number was also a bit higher than originally expected. Right then, however, her Sisters and Brothers needed confidence in themselves and in Vytal leading them through the nightmare to come.​

​

Naturally the droid didn't care whether she'd foreseen it or not, and offered its own suggestion on the matter. Vytal paused as she regarded the metal construct as though weighing it carefully. "Very well. Request Defoliation, and we will be ready for it."​

​

As BX-72967 sought release of the munitions, the Nightmother's attention turned back to Shamira and Taiia. "Have both of you learned how to shield yourself from environmental hazards? You create a thin 'skin' of the Force or the Nether over your body. Such magick can purify the air or seal you off completely from your surroundings." Long as one didn't forget such a seal was air tight, and neglected other Art to sustain bodily functions in absence of a plentiful supply of oxygen. "For Sisters and Brothers without, there will be a few rebreathers and biohazard suits." They'd understand if a shadow passed over the Nightmother's eyes at mentioning the suits, she hoped. After their time on Xagobah wearing them... Vytal would rather much avoid it again herself.​

​

John's voice cut in for a moment and a lone brow lifted. So that was what she had felt. There was something different about it that had made putting it to words difficult before. Dead Artisians walking. The Risen. The Undead. Or, if you must, 'zombies.' Now that it was named every sensation that crept upon her mind aligned and could be expressed in a manner those around her would understand. The language of spirits could not always be readily translated.​

​

Now a smile pulled at her black lips and the green flames of her eyes grew a shade brighter. "It is a dark day... for our enemies. They came here thinking themselves far from the influence of Nightsisters -- women that know death. Now they will gnash their teeth as the Mandragora put to good use knowledge of death, command of death, and victory over death," she cried. Yes, the Undead would need those tanks if they hoped to survive.​

​

It wouldn't be long before the BX unit would likely relay the disappointing news that Defoliation was not presently an option. That was something of a disappointment as it would have made the Mandragora task of taking Jar'Kai easier. True, the ruins would likely suffer for it, but the ruins alone were not the power here. As to the cultural and historical significance... It would be a waste, but the dead did not admire landmarks.​

​

"So be it." They had not come here to retreat because there was many Undead. It would not matter if they had been many Living either. This planet was not falling into the abyss and letting this festering plague creep further into the galaxy. "Shamira, Taiia, have you the ability to draw and restrain one of the Infected?" They were talented women that could have learned any number of skills since last they spoke. Perhaps they would be instrumental here.​

​

"Our number will focus on defense while summoned spirits and beasts are set upon the enemy. While they seek to overwhelm us in number, we will grind their flesh, their meat, and their bone." Vytal looked back at the other Sisters and Brothers present. "Ready your strength." For as soon as the 'reinforcements' arrived -- lest they take too long and became the rear guard -- and the plan was set they would march, and the enemy would buried as wayward souls by an avalanche.​

Template By: Darth Metus (Guy)​

 

[Damsy Callat]

S A V E​

​

Form: Humanoid | Post: 01 | Tags: Luna Terrik Tiria Reinhart Maeve Archeron Anakwor Farlorn |​

Callsign: Omega Actual | Allegiance: Confederacy of Independent Systems |​

Location: Quarantine Xam'Chi | Equipment: Hydroarmor / electrotrident / dartgun / rifle w. bayonet / medkit / grenades |​

​

Damsy never had fun on a mission, but there was some perverted equivalent in the military. Something about working towards a common goal with men and women you got to know everything about, a bond forged by blasterfire that was stronger than siblings' and different than lovers', managed to raise condemned spirits. It would have them shouting cadence when not restricted by sound discipline, joking during any and all down time, and pulling pranks on each other when appropriate...but also when not. But not this time.​

​

Today, for the foreseeable future, there would be no pre-game wrestle before deployment, no insults tossed about regarding the enemy to ease the troops' tensions. All hands were needed on deck - there could be no accidental injuries before landing - and, what was there to insult?​

​

As soon as the permission was spoken, Damsy left Luna's company. She saw herself back into the shuttle's main compartment where the rest of the Omegas were still assembled. The room's chatter began to taper at the mechanical swish of the blast door.​

​

"Captain on deck!" someone called. It took too long for Damsy to recall the speaker's name: Retarma. In preparation for temporarily taking Omega's command, the sithspawn had spent the first leg of the trip to Atrisia studying holopics and voice samples to learn those names she didn't already know.​

​

Barrezz, a familiar face and more seasoned than him, motioned 'as you were' for her. Damsy took a breath, grateful but feeling more pressure on her than ever. She promised herself she wouldn't make this command thing a regular occurrence if it was still in the cards for her to decide as she announced, "Orders' been served. The priority is safety." She began counting on her blacks-wrapped fingers. "Firstly, ours; secondly, civvys'." Damsy then copied the general previous action of knocking her helmet, tucked to her hip. "When we get off this ship, I want your bonnets glued to your heads, rebreathers on. I know they're annoyin', I know they're loud, so crank your comms up if you have to. Personal quarantine and communication will keep you healthy. As we know more now or ova the next few days as to viral characteristics, I, another officer or a Minister will update our containment procedures. Don't take care o' you, ya can't take care of anyone."​

​

Commandos were nodding. A receptive squad, but she didn't expect less from the best of the best - Luna's personal entourage. But that did little to quell Damsy's nerves. She was one of them even if she was more or less independent in her service, and most know her; thus, it didn't feel right stepping above them even for a relative instant.​

​

"Genny's gonna set up a quarantine in the Xam'Chi marketplace soon as we land," she continued after stumbling over words shortly. From her belt she shakily produced a handheld holoprojector which, at the press of a button, displayed a translucent representation of the city. The projection zoomed to the projected landing zone, where a red-colored shuttle touched down. As soon as it did, red arrows began to mark a winding path into the orientally architectured city. "We'll push up Nanban's Road through the Red Light District towards Xiaolang Palace. We secure parliament."​

​

How, though, was the followup question even she had. The ziggurat towered over the city from its riverbed foundations, surrounded by weathered seacliffs and not much else. And even if they had a plan to physically gain entry, could the defenses be breached? Would the security force let them in, if they were still left? The entire operation was evolving every moment ground drew closer. The Vicelord's daughter now knew as much as Luna did, and she could improvise her part like the rest of them.​

​

Not a moment latter did the lurch of a landing craft shake the Dauntless. The cabin illuminated green for go before the loading doors in front of and behind Damsy flew open automatically, and everyone's helmets went on. The Omegas filed out of the shuttle onto solid ground zero silently, but Barrezz held up to clap Damsy on the pauldron. He was giving a tight-lipped smile behind that plastoid, she was sure, and that gave her step spring as she followed behind.​

​

It felt as if the soil rose to meet her boot, a sick world welcoming its aid. She picked a fresh rifle off an ordinance rack on the inside of the door before leaving the craft and slung it over her back as she approached the migrated squad. She was also to the huddle when she stopped and amended her path. "Omega, standby." Damsy heard the order fall from her own lips, distracted by one of two spidery Scorpion armored walker that had been dropped off behind them by a departed transport. "Hm."​

​

"What's it, Cap?" Berrezz asked from behind her.​

​

"Unexpected props," she answered, partially still musing to herself. "Find out whose these legs are, will ya?"​

​

Improv? Check.​

​

​

 

[Anakwor Farlorn]

​

S A V E
Captain Anakwor Farlorn
Caria First-and-Only "Forlorn" Ranger Regiment
Tags: Luna Terrik Damsy Callat Tiria Reinhart
Location: Xam'Chi, Outskirts of Residential Zone
Objective: Sweep the residential zone and extract civilains.
​

​

Fire. A blooming sea of flame chittering and spreading over a green backdrop, almost like it was alive. Turning the vast green to black. Consuming, growing, stopping at nothing. It bit down snow-white peaks. Turned to ash, the very continents. The seas boiled. Eating the world. The entire world. They were hammering on the windows, screaming and sobbing as they were forced to watch the entire thing. He stood behind them, a statue without emotion watching the world he had damned.​

​

Captain Anakwor Farlorn opened his eyes. He found himself looking into the face. A long intense face with bright green eyes as steady and penetrating as targeting lasers. He looked past that and saw the silver twinkles of the cloud of ships rapidly falling onto the world like a swarm of colonial insects. The Confederacy had heard their pleas for help. He looked out and saw the world below, green and vibrant. It looked so much like the world he had destroyed. And if the reports were to be believed, the people would soon be like the ones he had made hollow shells.​

​

He had little idea of what was going on. His Forlorn Rangers, made of the lost, had been in rapid transit to another front. Another war. Just many on the list to the Independent System's to-do-list. There would always be another one. But their transports had been recalled to this world. A lush world that had recently come into their claim. It was some chit-show that honestly Farlorn didn't care about. He had been on the other side of the sector making war with what few men of Caria was left. Now, another mess.​

​

And now there was another mess for them to sort out. Some sort of infection. Spreading fast. It was bad enough they had pulled his forces from transit. He shuddered to think of what death awaited the Carians in that world. What horrible things they would have to face to see another damn day.​

​

"Sir, the meeting is starting soon." Farlorn looked back from the porthole to his assistant sitting across him, Karsaw. Karsaw was a young boy, barely even sixteen. He had been saved from fires of their homeworld by the Captain himself, and this bond had led him to his status of a sort of regimental mascot and adjutant to their senior officer. "I said, the meeting is starting soon."​

​

"Hmmm, yes, I heard you. The men are ready?" He asked.​

​

"Yes, Major Fennstrum has all four battalions ready for deployment at your orders."​

​

"Give him my thanks, he has been efficient." Farlorn stood up. He was dressed in a black uniform with golden epaulets on his shoulder, straightening it. A Zolan nobleman's vibrosword was tucked neatly into an ornate sheath with a green sash. His officer's BAW-55 Heavy Blaster Pistol was snuggled comfortably in his leather holster. Both his weapons had been with him to hell and back. He noticed a notable stiffness in his right shoulder. It always acted up when he was in ships. It was the dry air that made him remember that old wound.​

​

"Sir? You almost forgot this." Karsaw held out a black peaked officer's cap with a vibrant red brand. The cap badge was a silver insignia of Dauntless. A badge that he wore with pride.​

​

"Thank you, Karsaw, we don't want to keep the Grand Marshall waiting, do we?"​

​

***​

Pandemic. Spread across the surface. No positive ID. Air filters at full blast.​

​

Farlorn knew it was worse than he could ever have imagined. How long had it been since this had all started? Days? Hours? It was all spreading so fast. He had seen plagues before. During his time with the Zolan's, he had seen a rapid wave of bowel-infection cripple nearly every single soldier in the unit. They were forced to pull back from the front and they lost nearly thirty-eight men. One of his friends was among them. His death had not been pretty and it had not been fast. During the time they were withdrawn, enemy forces attacked the line where the Zolan's had once occupied. They rolled over the Auxillary forces there and were only stopped by recovered Zolan reinforcements. All this because a cook left the freezer door open.​

​

Nevertheless, he hated plagues. Crippled an army better than anything in the Galaxy.​

​

Waves of landing ships came fell like steel rain, lighting down through the obese dark clouds, onto the open ground before the city. The heavyweight troop-carriers, the smaller munitions and supply lifters moving in packs, while the rapid fighters guarding the landers swept rapidly through the sky, leaving on white contrails to show that they were ever there.​

​

The landing zone was organized chaos. The air was thick with thick black smoke, the growl of engines, the roar of ship-thrusters as they took off again and the crackle of comms. The heat of the landing zone was great, so much so that the terrible rain was starting to turn to steam. They sizzled as they hit the white-hot thrusters of the ships. Troops and vehicles dispersed into their designated zones. Among them were the Rangers. They were dressed in khaki coats, brown corduroy breeches and webbings, and black puttees around their legs and forearms. At their sides, they held their Vypers rifles mixed in with carbines and specialized equipment. Water dripped from the edges of the steel-bowl helmets. They wore their signature beige water-proof ponchos. Their silver bayonets were all sheathed.​

​

They were the Caria First-and-Only Ranger Regiment. The Forlorn. The Forlorn Rangers.​

​

Captain Farlorn came down the ramp of his command cutter, his staff close behind. The cloak of his adopted regiment swirling about his shoulder. The first thing that hit him was the smell. The steaming rain had created a sort of musty smell. It was pleasant for him as first, reminding him of the springs back on Zolan. It had been a long time since his mind had wandered back there. But it became repellent after the first few breaths. There was an underlying smell of sickness in the whole air. He moved into a tent that had been hastily erected and spread out a map on the table.​

​

Those officers present were Major Fennstrum, Erach, Thorin, and Lindemann. First Lieutenant Markus, commander of the elite marksmen company. Farlorn noticed that one of his officers was missing.​

​

"Hark?" Fennstrum asked. Fennstrum was a gaunt, dangerous man on the wrong side of forty. He was Farlorn's second officer... and he was also the man that hated the Captian's guts the most. He had been one of the men that had tried to save Caria that sad day but Farlorn had dragged him away, making him watch as his homeworld died. He would never forgive the Captain for that. But you know what they say, keep your enemies close. Anyways, Fennstrum was a ruthless and dedicated commander who's mission always came first.​

​

"Last I saw her was with the pathfinders, giving out her own personal orders," Markus said as he lit a cigg and placed it to his cracked lips. He was a rouge and a troublemaker. A menace to those he didn't like or respect. He was the best-damned sniper in the entire regiment with a company of the best shots under his wing. Rumors had been he had been a bounty hunter of some repute before some sordid affairs made him return home in shame.​

​

There was a thump on the outside step, then a rapping at one of the steel supports of the tent's entrance. Farlorn smiled and turned. The thump had been deliberate, a reassuring advance warning from a woman who made no sound if she did not wish to. Hark was a short and stout woman with a sloppy black hair and a weather-beaten face. Her battledress and cloak were drenched in wet mud. "Sorry, sir, I took a pair of scouts and made sure the way to the city is clear. It's clear.​

​

"All right, we're all here," Farlorn announced. "Here's our objective. You all know the deal, unknown infection sweeping the entire damn dead city. The Grand Marshall has given us the job of advancing into the residential area and extracting any civilians. Rules of engagement are free. Anywho pose a hostile threat or refuses to follow instructions are open. Understand? But be careful, fingers off the triggers, I don't want to shoot any uninfected. Apparently according to the reports I just got before we land, infected are not to be approached and may be hostile. Symptoms are jerking movements and attacking anything that moves. If you do encounter one, dispatch it from as far as possible and incinerate its body. Do not let it come close. All infected are to be terminated per orders. Don't look at me like that, we're giving them mercy from what I've heard. Keep your gas hoods on at all times."​

​

He pointed to several notable locations on the map.​

​

"Here's how we'll do it. The battalions will move independently down these streets. Pathfinders will sweep the way forward and mark notable concentrations of hostiles. If they're in singles or duos, eliminate them fast. If they're bigger than that, mark and move on. Don't move more than a klick from the main columns. Marksmen company will spread out over the four battalions and provide support. Establish a perimeter down the roads and sweep the buildings. Platoon strength forces. If you find any uninfected civvies, move them down the road and back to the FOB. I want comms active on all time and upmost discipline, the last thing we need is panic. Panic and disorganization is the biggest killer. We advance tightly in bounds, until we've swept the entire area. After we're done, we'll do a staggered retreat. All angles are to be covered, do not allow them to flank us. Do not be isolated whatever happens. Make us a good account, men, lives depend on us and the Grand Marshall watches."​

​

He turned to Kardulain, his comms-man. "Notify the Marshall and all Dauntless Captains on the ground that we are moving into the objective in half an hour. Use my command code."​

​

The briefing was done, save to organize things that the Majors would be perfectly able to do. Farlorn walked out of the tent and into the drizzle. He stared out. He looked out at the great expanse of Xam'Chi, the new capital of this world. There was a shroud of vapor that hung around the city, showing only broad grey shapes. But through the for came out light, bright colorful lights that betrayed the lively nature. He saw to the south-east a group of finger-like structures that erupted out of the ground. That was their target, the residential area. It was the worst situation to be in. The urban sprawl had gotten out of control in recent years. Illegal constructions and areas not even marked on the map. To not even be able to trust your maps. To not even truly know what you were fighting. To not even be able to know how was friendly or hostile.​

But as was expected, the Forlorn Rangers would lead the way.​

​

Farlorn turned away and began to gather his men.​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

Location: Spaceport
Objective: Find Sister, train!
Tags: Eira Talon | Kas Varad
Allies: Srina Talon | Darth Empyrean
Enemies: N/A Currently

Zombies! This was not something Srina would have called her sister to. The only explanation which made sense was that the message glitched. Gerwald was going to have to ensure Eira did not get bit, or contract the virus in anyway. He could hear Srina's chastisement now if he did. The last thing he wanted was to fail Srina Talon, and yes, he did not want to see harm come to Eira. She was his assignment, but he did care for the Echani. Eira was a pure soul that needed to remain as such. This was not going to help that.​

​

Gerwald jumped between Eira and the girl which was being eaten by the Zombie. He would die before anything happened to the Echani. Then they were joined by a man that wanted them to help. What was he thinking? Could he not tell by looking at the Echani that Eira was the sister to Exarch Talon. If he could roll his eyes, he would have. ​

​

Teeth bit down on the hem of Eira's cloak as he tried to pull her back toward the ship before she could answer the man. Eira had no business fighting zombies or being in harms way. All of this he had to do without shifting. Gerwald could not allow Eira to know he was actually the giant of a man she had kissed back on that planet which had cursed them all. That would be disastrous. He also had to ensure that in trying to pull her back to the ship he did not remove the cloak from her. ​

​

Kas did not need to see a near naked Eira. Even if Echani gave no thought of shame toward nudity, and if Gerwald felt no shame about it, he understood humans. His job was to keep Eira safe, that included keeping her out of compromising situations.​

 

[Kirk Tektus]

Location: Waru Operations Base
Wearing: Officer Uniform
Tagging: Cypher Rage Credius John Locke
​

As Kirk was plotting his deployments and positioning, Minister John Locke appeared on the holoprojector requesting quarantine.
This had to have been the most complicated logistical operation Kirk had to pull for this campaign.

“Commander, good to hear from you. That’s a breath of good news. I’ll need you to retain enough soldiers at your base to protect it and to manage refugees as they arrive.”

"Yes sir I understand sir. We have a surplus of medical supplies necessary to treat as many as you need." With that being said Kirk received the data for the refugee train that were making their way into the mountains. It was quite a bit more than they could possibly chew but it was manageable nonetheless. "We'll have them sorted out as soon as they arrive. You can count on it sir."

“They should be with you in about 40 minutes. I’ll need you to send the rest of your troops towards Jar’Kai, it appears we’re dealing with a major hostile event there and we can’t risk letting it anything from the ruins escape. Have your battle droids move up to support our forces in the area containing the hostile incursion.”

"I'll have a few droid divisions and an artillery battery on the way sir. I'll make the necessary preparations and prepare ourselves to treat the refugees, Commander Tektus out."

Kirk cut the transmission and soon realized he had a lot of work on his plate. He started to dish out orders left and right starting with his T1 tactical droid. "Five One Seven I need you to lead the supporting force outside Jar'Kai. Take the reserve divisions and the mobilized DDTs to the designated LZ and provide support for our strike force. Also I'm going to request you set up a landing pad to create a direct route between us and your post so we can have a safe transport route."

"Roger roger. I will begin preparations for deployment." The droid left the command center leaving Kirk and the rest to take care of the refugees that were about to be on their doorstep.

"How are the quarantine blocks? Are they prepped?" Kirk said to his medical officer.

"They're all ready sir, our teams are on standby for vetting procedures. We have more than enough room to house all the refugees and medical supplies for those who need it."

"Then we don't have to worry too much about that. We might have more refugees coming from other sites. Right now this is the biggest quarantine site on the planet so I need everyone to prepare for the worst and I need all hands on deck for this one guys. Are we aware of the vetting procedures?"

"All refugees go through a designated entrance where they receive a quick checkup for any symptoms of the virus infecting the planet. If they're fine they go into the refugee blocs, designated with a room depending on group size. Anyone deemed infected goes straight to quarantine and we treat them as best we can."

"Right. We have a lot of work ahead of us so everyone to your stations, dismissed."

As Kirk ended the meeting, he was approached by a comms droid, "Sir, we've identified Credius approaching our base of operations."

Credius Nargath? Must've been important. Kirk never met someone so notorious before and this would be his chance to meet one face to face. "Thanks private, back to your post."

Kirk left the command center and saw the shuttles depart for Jar'Kai, all he could hope was that they could complete their objective. Meanwhile Kirk prepared himself for the vicelord appearing at his base. Everyone was busy so there couldn't be a formal welcome party for someone of the same status as Credius Nargath, a sith lord, aristocrat, and businessman. It was a really busy day for Kirk, he met two marshals and bound to meet one of the Confederacy's most powerful men face to face. While all that was going on he was tasked with dispatching droids, keeping refugees feel safe, and delegating his subordinates. Living the mid-officer's dream right now.

 

[Alessandra Creed]

Location: Xam'chi Streets - On the Move
Allies: Confederacy of Independent Systems & Friends
Tag: Mishel Kryze
_______________________________
​

She stopped moving and hid her face for a moment when a shockwave rolled through several city blocks. A CIS transport went down. Dust and debris kicked up, stinging her skin, but there wasn’t much she could do. She was exposed, without armor, and without any clear path back to her ship. Her comm sprang to life and a familiar voice broke through the chatter. Briefly, she heard that a VIP shuttle had gone down—But John Locke seemed more set on getting her a med-evac. “Nothing on the ground is safe, Locke. Not a thing. Have you identified the infection yet? The dead are working together. Not just mindless shamblers…I think it’s—”​

​

Alessandra raised her weapon and fired while her footsteps slowed enough to be steady. She might not have all the training of some of the Dauntless, however, her father had always ensured that she knew her way around firearms. Gunther Creed would never have a child that couldn’t shoot relatively straight, be they a politician, or a dressmaker. Her blaster shots held true, hitting one of the infected rapid-fire, until the creature stumbled to its knees and face-vaulted into the permacrete.​

​

The Minister paused, chest heaving, while she sought to catch her breath.​

​

“I think it’s...the Sickness.”​

​

Hopefully, Locke would know what she referred to. Not "a" Sickness. THE Sickness. It was shaky, her assumption, but it was vital that it be considered. If that was the case? They both knew no one was leaving this quarantine until the virus burned out. If it burned itself out. Chit. It was possible that she was mistaken. She was the Minister of Commerce, money, not Science. Something about it…Something deep in her gut knew exactly what she was seeing. The raven-haired woman had crossed the galaxy to make a name for herself, on her own, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t studied in the best Imperial Institutes the galaxy had to offer. All of the visual symptoms could have belonged to some other virus, plague, or magic trick. All of them. But one thing stuck in her mind. She kept hearing it over and over. From buildings, alleyways, and even in places her eyes couldn’t follow.​

​

An oscillating scream. Back, and fourth.​

​

The dead were fething talking to each other. ​

​

Alessandra got moving again. Briefly, she sensed her sibling again. Mishel. Was she really here? Or was the Force playing tricks on her? It left a particularly foul taste on her tongue. Of all the people she wished would die horrible, painful, and lengthy deaths—Her sister was not one of them. There was a sizeable fortune set aside for her if Alessandra passed. Even if they hadn’t spoken. Mishel was and always would be her sister. Blood.​

​

‘Please don’t be here…You deserve better.’​

​

Keeping her blaster raised, she moved forward, hoping she hadn’t gotten turned around. Her ship should be able to keep the dead out. She thought she heard someone calling her name, but, she didn’t stop right away. Her heart felt like it was about to explode. Alessandra put on a brave face, but more than anything, she did not want to become a walking corpse. She wanted to hold her child. Kiss her husband. She would never do any of these things again if that rotter had infected her.​

​

“ALE!”​

​

Only two people called her that.​

​

“Mish…Mishel!”, she turned, a little unstable, to see her sister. Or—What looked and felt like her sister. Mixed with something else. What had happened to her eye? Why was she here? How? Alessandra would have rushed toward her, but, all she could do was back up. The young mother did not want to be within spitting distance of anyone she cared about. “Stay away from me. Please. If you have a way off this world you need to leave before it’s too late—”​

​

Her words cut off while a throaty cough rolled through her. It hit hard and her chest suddenly felt like it was on fire. Was it all the running? When she finally stopped, she heaved, and spat out the viscous fluid in her mouth. She stared at the ground. Whitish saliva, tainted, with red. Blood.​

​

Panic tightened in her chest.​

​

“Stay back, Mish. I love you…But stay back.” ​

 

[The Monster]

Sergei turned the corner with his rifle, taking point as they moved down an alleyway. The team shifted into a box formation, each man up front covering the opposite end of the alley as they moved as a unit. Sergei kept his rifle steady as they moved at a brisk walk, security now being their top priority as they pushed to the crash site. Sergei stopped as they paused the end of the alleyway. Three seconds later, Sergei and the merc across from him then turned the corner, peeking out and scanning for threats. Sergei saw a few infected, but nothing that really posed a problem for their team, at least if they moved quietly. Sergei raised a fist, snapped twice and motioned across the street. The two other mercs bounded across quickly, taking up position on the other side. Sergei and his man waited for two seconds once they stopped moving, and then peeled off and followed them across. Once Sergei made it, he checked his tacmap, there were still over a couple klicks out. He sent up a silent thanks for how light this armor was compared to his old gear. He'd have to go back and bring that man a gift for what he'd done. Then again....

He was snapped out of this by a slow shuffling noise from around the corner. Sergei raised a single finger to where his lips would be to signal a quiet takedown, and the soldier nodded, and attached a small suppressor to his weapon. He then turned the corner, and pulled the trigger once, and with a nearly silent snap, the weapon cycled a round, and the poor sucker's head exploded, splattering black goo across the street in front of them. They'd been here too long already. Sergei immediately signalled for a line formation, and took the lead as the moved up the street, past the body. They gave it a wide berth as none of them wanted to risk accidental exposure, which was saying something since decon after this would still be total sanitization of the suits, which meant burning them after their occupants were safely outside. Sergei then decided to take a shortcut through an abandoned diner, going through the front door which had been smashed out, more than likely by looters. As they moved through the remains of what was probably a promising fast food joint, Sergei noticed the walls were covered with blood, some of it fresh. He could almost feel one of men behind him shudder, in what he thought was disgust, or fear.

He quickly glanced at his air time remaining on the sealed cannisters, still plenty of time. The room ahead of then was even worse, and Sergei found out why a lot of the blood was fresh. There were a few people in literal pieces on the floor, and what looked like former patrons kneeling over them gorging themselves on whatever flesh remained from the would be looters. Sergei silently signalled his men to take up points of dominance, bringing three out of four guns to face the front, one still pulling rear security. Sergei then went to high ready, taking the furthest to the right as his target, and a second later as the infected turned to see what had just stepped into the room, rapidly pulled the trigger on his silenced rifle. Quick silent snaps would be all that was heard as their weapons cycled, firing round after round into the infected before them, and in a few seconds it was all over. Sergei was the first to move up, taking the cleanest path he could to avoid too much contamination. He finally heard something behind him, which was his rear guard gagging. He turned around and simply raised a fist, signalling him and everyone else to freeze. The man just waved back at Sergei signalling he was fine, and Sergei believed him. Not near as many had seen the horrors of war that Sergei had witnessed growing up. Did he see people openly eat others? No, but he watched warlords torture children to force parents to fight, and then continue anyways. He'd seen what he thought was every act of depravity capable of human beings, and now even aliens. It made him angry that living people were capable of such evil. So he didn't falter as he stepped past their remains, didn't pause to say a prayer for the dead. Because he had to keep fighting for the living. He had to press on.

Sergei reached a window as they worked their way through the building, scanning the outside for what was coming. It was a mess. The undead were filing through the streets, shambling along as if guided by some unseen force. Sergei cursed under his breath as he stopped for a second the think of a plan. They needed a diversion. But if they caused to loud of an explosion it would only serve to draw more there. Sergei looked around for something that he could use, and his settled on the window of a nearby speeder. It'd be a risk but they needed to move.

Sergei opened the door quietly and quickly crouched ran to a speeder parked in front of the office building they were at. He paused as he waited, shouldering his rifle and firing once at the speeder's windshield. The windshield of course shattered from the hard hitting round and an alarm kicked off letting everyone know within 50 meters that someone was trying to steal a vehicle. As the infected turned on it, they quickly started moving towards the car, a few straight up sprinting at and diving into the vehicle with a couple of screeches as the looked for the imaginary Intruders.

Sergei took his chance and signalled everyone to cross as they let the smallish herd of 50ish infected figure out that something else had set off the car. As they got across Sergei posted security as he covered everyone else crossing, and then as the last man began crossing, he seemingly stumbled and fell. And with a loud thud he hit the ground. Sergei cursed as he immediately went to grab him, but the fall hadn't gone unnoticed. The infected immediately turned on them and with a screech they began to run at him. A single curse turned into a steady stream of cussing as Sergei hoisted the man up and carried him across, while the other two operators began shooting into the crowd. Sergei crashed through the doorway with the man who was now starting to struggle. Meanwhile the other two sealed the door behind him. They didn't have anymore time left. Sergei pointed at one of them to hold the man up to help him walk as Sergei figured he was either stunned or broke an ankle by the way he was acting, and he could hear audible coughing coming from him. What Sergei couldn't see was that underneath the his polarized visor, the man was hacking up black sludge and was bleeding the same stuff from his eyes. They continued to push through the building, shooting their way through random infected that managed to slip around the side ways to try and get at them. These things were smart, they didn't try to just stick to the last place they saw someone, they were adapting.

Why can't people just keep things simple and fight a bloody regular war like regular people, Sergei thought to no one in particular. First it was these supposed "Force" wielding, lightsaber using crazies that were powerful as all hell, and now this. Literal zombies with people eating people. They got to the last room in the building and met a solid wall. No time to cut through. Sergei immediately motioned to the stairs and took point, clearing the way ahead of the team as they continued moving. They didn't have time for this. By this time the man that was being carried had gone limp, and had Sergei gotten the vitals monitoring system, he'd known the man had actually died. When they set him down Sergei was standing in the door way as he continued firing into the last remnants of the herd that was now trying to follow them upstairs. After making sure everyone was with him he punched the console sealing the door behind him. He started calming his breathing as he tried to figure his next move. He checked his reading, they had just passed the two klick mark a while back there, so they were making good time, they just couldn't have anything else-

A growl coming from the now undead member of the team broke Sergei's line of thought. And before the man who was checking him could do anything to stop him he leaped onto him. The infected tore at the man trying to grab ahold of him, smashing his helmet into him as he tried to bite down, and before Sergei or the other operative could stop him he finally bashed the other operative's helmet so hard that the face shields cracked, and with a hiss the seal was broken on both suits. Sergei raised his rifle and fired multiple times into the infected man, drawing his attention away from the now doomed fellow operative and the pinned soldier kicked him off of him. This unfortunately only served to drive the infected into charging Sergei, driving into him before he could get a clear shot into the oozing face shield of the undead. Sergei back pedaled under the inhuman strength, and he saw the other body begin to spasm as the infection was already working it's way through him. And then he crashed through the window, raining glass onto the street as the infected sent them both flying into the air. But Sergei reacted quickly when he felt the glass shatter behind him, and didn't panic. His rifle still being held in a one point sling Sergei let go of it as they flew through the air, and grabbed hold of the infected's throat. The only way he could possibly punch through the armor weave on his jacket or break a seal was with his helmet so he held that secure. They would tumble through the air and when they landed, Sergei managed to roll them on impact so he was on top of the infected operative. And then he drew his Big Iron hand cannon, pressed it under the operative's chin and pulled the trigger twice, spraying what was left of the operative's skull across the street and in front of Eira Talon and Kas Varad , thankfully not hitting them. He heard the scuffle upstairs and watched as his remaining friendly chucked the other infected into the street, and when it hit the ground, sprayed seven rounds into it. When it tried to get up again Sergei simply stepped forward, raised his pistol and fired once to finish the job. By now the rest of the herd was rounding the corner and Sergei joined Kas Varad in finishing the rest of them off. By now he was sucking air, and he looked at his breath time left. Not near enough. Sergei looked at the fully armored being before him and spoke simply as he regained his composure.

"Where you headed? I could use another rifle right now,"

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Mishel sensed something was wrong, even the voice in her head, Mežsrožu told her. She's infected, light one. Mishel shook her head and felt the surge of emotions rush through her body. Slowly she approached her sister, not realizing that in the midst of the fight for control the cybernetic eye had retreated. In an instant, her eye returned, "Ale." Her voice cracked and her brow furrowed she could see was her sister taking backward steps. All she could see was her sister's skin turning a ghastly pale. A cybernetic echo, an unnatural sound to Mishel's voice came forward as she spoke again, "you're sick."​

​

"You're sick." She repeated this time the echo was gone and Mishel's eyes watered. She swallowed hard and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Mishel stopped and watched as Alessandra coughed up blood, "you don't have long." What are you doing? Mez questioned as the dark side personality was forced to take a backseat. Bloody martyr. It cursed her as the thoughts swam throughout Mishel's mind there was only one way out of this. She looked down to the ground, to blood slick ground and then up toward the sky that now glowed in ember orange as smoke billowed upward toward the atmosphere.​

​

"And I love you, you, you accepted me without question. You loved me unconditionally when so many did not," Mishel stated her tone hot with grief, it cracked from the tears that fell. "I refuse to lose you now, I refuse to lose you to this. You've worked so hard, so hard to be happy, Ale." Her lips quivered and she got closer, and closer and with each step. Mishel finally realized that with all her potential and all her abilities, this would be the one situation that she could not simply blast or talk her way out of.​

​

It scared the ever-living hell out of her. She felt helpless.​

​

There is ... a way to do what you want, light one.​

​

But you must realize the sacrifice it will require. ​

​

Mishel looked at her hands and then up at Alessandra. "You have to go, when I'm done you have to go, and do not look back - do you understand me? You get the hell out of here and go home." Mishel's face was now contorted with the anguish that burned in her heart. "I love you. I love you. I love you." Mishel took a deep breath and exhaled, and began to sing the prayer she had sung her entire life. A prayer she knew from the singular visit to the Eldorai temple so long ago on Tygara. Mishel was burning into her Forceborn abilities now, overdrawn on the reserve of power she had. ​

​

"Ashira l'adonai ki goah gaah," and Mishel made peace with what was to come next. "Ashira l'adonai ki goah gaah."​

​

The Tygaran applied her hands to Alessandra's shoulder. At that moment black clouds enveloped them both, and Mishel continued to pray and as she did so the virus would leave Alessandra. "Mi khamokha ba'elim Adonai." Her voice went an octave higher than intended and the tears continued to flow. "Mi khamokha ne'dar baqodesh," she sang with tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. "Nah'ita veh'asdekha 'am-zu ga-alta," Mishel pressed onward with her prayer, "nah'ita veh'asdekha 'am-zu ga-alta."​

​

The clouds were gone and Mishel stumbled backwards. Her cybernetic infection from Incursion combined with the Blackwing virus she now possessed began to fight within her body. The cybernetic eye fell and so did the hand, Mishel's knees hit the ground as she choked on the final words of her prayer. "As-h-i-ra," she gasped for breath and pulled every ounce of the Force into her to contain the virus within herself. "Ash-ira," she could scarcely enunciate, and on the third Ashira, it was only mouthed. ​

​

A flash of white erupted from Mishel, and at that moment she was gone. ​

​

Mishel's body had vanished, all that remained were her clothes and her lightsaber. ​

​

Go now, Ale. Go. Don't ever look back, just go. An echo in the Force but an echo nonetheless, Alessandra would now hold immunity to the virus albeit temporary. And Mishel? Mishel was nowhere to be found on Atrisia, for as she had come by the Force so too had she left by the Force. Her eternal torment had come to a quiet end. ​

​

​

​

​

Alessandra Creed​

​

 

[Credius]

Location: Near Jar'kai , transferring location to Waru operations
Attire: Fabulous as always
Extra: Valkan Guards, Adamant class Dropships


Looking at the guard he had just roasted with his force lightning, the Viceroy wondered what in the blazes he had to do now, he hadn't seen something like this before, something so ruthless and fast acting. Maybe there was some predetermined reason why this one was so quick to succumb to whatever was putting the confederacy into such a high alert state. "Wait a moment, you...remove your helmet," Credius walked over to the second guard to leave his dropship, grabbing the man's face by the cheeps for a moment, using his thumb to check the man's lips and gums, there seemed to be some white tint to the man's gums and his eyes were bloodshot. "Damn it, damn it...it can't be this...not this goddamned."

Grabbing the man's tactical blaster pistol from his armor's holster, the Viceroy instantly placed the barrel of the weapon against the forehead of the man whose face he had just checked. Before the man could say or do anything, Credius calmly squeezed the trigger, a loud blitzing noise emanating through the air, while a bolt of energy exited the back of the poor guard's head. "Damn, damn...DAMN!!" Loudly cursing the viceroy threw down the weapon next to the lifeless body of the former valkan guard he had just shot, his eyes darting to the group who had been setting up the tents, while he and his men and the director and his men had been vocally active, he hadn't heard anything anymore from their end and that was when he saw it: the blastershot which ressonated through the air had alerted 'them'.

A gutteral, hair-raising scream suddenly sounded from within one of the tents, followed by one Valkan guard suddenly screaming and crashing through the side of that same tent with a young girl lashing out at his armor, clawing at it wildly and drooling on it like a crazed maniac. Credius could see how she seemed to have a modicum of intelligence, seeing as she managed to clasp her fingers on the edges of that poor guard's helmet, sliding it off pretty quickly. She didn't bite the guard though, just drooling upon him, as she snapped her head to the side as another Valkan guard came rushing out of another tent followed by a few other of these 'infected'.

For now, even though their entire group was in full sight, these infected didn't seem to pay them any mind, but while the girl jumped off of the guard, the man started to convulse, gurgling loudly while coughing and spitting up blood. The viceroy instantly motioned his men to move, as fast and as silently as possible. "There's a high possibility all of us are already infected, I don't know how fast this thing works, but there seem to be some factors... best we can do now is run like hell to the nearest command post, have us all checked...because believe me, you do not want to end up like this."

Motioning the men to start moving, Credius also motioned the Director and his men to start moving, given they had no time before this place would be overrun. Alas, just as they began to move away as a group in the direction of the Waru operations headquarter, the man who was convulsing earlier stood up, looked into their direction and let out a gutteral scream. "Well...fu...run, run like the nether damn it!!"

From out of the tents a group of infected guards and atrisians suddenly burst forth, screaming and yelling incoherently at eachother as they suddenly started running after the men. "Go go go, these F'ing things communicate, shoot the ones without an armor, if any of us start convulsing or acting like them...shoot them!!"

This was getting out of hand fast, too fast and despite not saying it, Credius knew what this was, he sadly knew exactly what this was...and he did not like his odds. "KRONOS contact the minister's location and the Waru operations, tell them we've encountered a large pack of these...infected and are currently on route to the central base of operations."

The floating goldn orb simply buzzed, searching for the networks he needed to transmit the message. "...BZZZ...secure lines forcing, forcing, connected...transferring visual data, confirming message... pack of infected encountered, considered hostile, six confirmed infected within ranks prior to evacuation...two dead confirmed, number of infected percentage among Confederacy personnel present 100%... requesting orbital cleansing..."

"Wait what?" The viceroy did not order KRONOS to do so, but was surprised the ai thought of that as the most logical solution...planetary cleansing, quite the hard odds apparently. Than again...it was a hundred percent infection rate, so he as well was already fighting the infection...

TAG: John Locke | Detro | Kirk Tektus | Marlon Sularen ​

 

[Maple Harte]

The Ritual Site had once been a public monument area before being defiled during Mythos's invasion. The shattered statues of the Forty-Seven Yovshin arranged in piles in a field of black rocks. Maple knew she had entered it once she spotted the small necromancy wards written to repel the undead drawn at key points to create a wide radius to operate in filled with buildings.

Maple had ordered through hand signals to hold position and let her scout. The Knights did so, and Maple silently slinked into what had once been an old shrine to the Water God Ryujin, defiled with blood and body parts, the fountain featuring the azure dragonhead spilling only blood instead of water. Her stomach turned as she aimed her holographic scope at a sphere of purple light where the ritual was being conducted. She spotted him. A Sith Sorcerer, clad in magnificent purple robes, covered in a mask of blank gold, directing the telekinetic mutilation and dismemberment of a still live Yovshin warrior who had helped Laertia Io defend the wall from Mythos. He screamed in pain that cannot be properly described as his armor was rended apart, then his flesh, his blood spilling everywhere as his soul was ripped out as a faint, corrupted red light and added to the glowing sphere. Three Nightsisters surrounded him, along with at least forty Sith Assassins, each wearing matching black, devil-themed robes with horns on the mask, carrying long, scarlet lightsaber canes. Because hey, no reason you couldn't look metal as feth during an attempted Zombie-Apocalypse. Even the Sith weren't above LARP-ing, it seemed.

That, said, it was a really cool LARP the Assassins had chosen. Maple was pissed she hadn't thought of the lawyer-friendly expy costume first.

"You cold blooded bastards." the ex Shadow swore under her breath, both because she didn't have a cool devil themed costume and because she saw them dragging a screaming pregnant woman to the altar to be sacrificed next. She had to move quickly or the woman and her baby were dead. She wasn't even sure how the hell to get her out of this place without infection taking her. She used the primitive dot-dash transmitter to signal the Knights Obsidian to get in position, struggling to hold back the needles of dread as she watched the screaming woman secured by manacles.

She set up coordinated fire. Most of it directed right at the sorcerer, the rest directed at The Nightsisters and Assassins.

Maple steadied her breathing as she aimed at the neck. In fact, she directed all fire at the wizard directly at the front of his neck, betting the mask was partly alchemized.

Maple concentrated, coiling the Force around her rifle, charging its innards with it. She would only have one shot to get this right...

She telekinetically clicked the transmitter for the "execute" signal.

She fired in that same instant, bolt killing all of the Nightsisters helping prepare the ritual, but only catching a few of the Assassins off guard and killing them.

But the multiple bolts, including her own, enhanced one, all impacted on the Sorcerer's throat, and even though that part of the mask had been alchemized also, the sheer kinetic force of multiple impacts at once broke his neck.

The Assassins darted for the shooter positions, a dozen of them going for her position at the shrine. She fired, the energy shrouded bolt tearing through a saber cane hilt, going through a chest. She fired and killed three more behind the second victim, and blasted through anothers guard before she was foced to discard the rifle and draw her own cane.

She stared at the Assassins coldly as they moved up the steps of the shrine, the rest of the Knights battling the remaining Assassins. Her viridian cane lit up in her hand, one shoto shooting out of the bottom shaft, another shooting out of a hidden emitter at the tapered end of the handle.

The Assassins seemed amused. A tall female stepped forward, brandishing her sabercane, long and straight but for the sharply curved handle at one end and the scarlet shoto at the other.

"Your costume is sweet." Maple said curtly.

The Assassin bowed her head. "Thank you! We're normally not quite so ostentatious, but we lost a bet with a Sith Lord of high rank. This was the result. I see you are a fellow cane user. Curious."

"Why so?" Maple asked coldly, muscles tensing for the moment her foe would make her move.

"Your cane's configuration. It was very similar to one we were taught."

"I was Uri Udinia of The Marksmen. Whoever taught you the saber cane was not the equal of my own instructor." Maple stated with a tone of iron.

The Assassin chuckled.

"Oh, I'm gonna have to disagree. See, she's good. I never seen anybody move the way she does. But I guess the only way to know is to test it..."

"Your sweet-ass loot is mine!" the former Jedi snapped. "The loot of the rest of the feths behind you is gonna be vendor trash by tomorrow!"

The Assassin sprang forward with a thrust-slash combo, quick, efficient and vicious, but Maple's drunken, inhumanly fast spin-parries caught both attempts with her own cane and the two slammed, thrust, chopped, poked and crashed their weapons against each other violently for thirty seconds, Maple's drunken flips, spins, and tight tumbles allowing her to evade most of the retaliatory assault from her foe. She was good, Maple admitted to herself. No other cane fighter she had ever met had lasted this long.

The Assassin was good. Maple, however, was magic.

As the Assassin executed a thrust aimed for Maple's throat. Maple evaded simply by falling backward drunkenly and throwing her cane using her ballistakinesis.

The cane slammed through her foe's head and as the other Assassins rushed her Maple ripped her cane out of the dead assassins head with her mind summoning her dead foe's cane out of her hand as the others rushed her...

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

​

Location: Jar'kai
Objective: Gather forces and prepare...
Tags: @CIS - Vytal Noctura BX-72967-RAZOR @others ((Srry lazy tags))

Flailing arms wretched flesh from flesh. At a microscopic level the droplet spray of sanguine bloods, internal fluids and audible waves of horror shaped the scene itself into something out of a beautiful nightmare. Masked by shades of physical manifestations of darkside miasma and decay, The assault against Mythos 's forces was not without risk. The Rancidus Order knew no physical pain, not any longer. That simple sensation had fled in haste with the new arrival of profound visions that accompanied every single person grasped by undeath itself. Euphoric highs and the sensation of invigorating inner power surged through the collective of infected individuals. It was as if the plague itself was of one mind.

It was.

Mental pains inflicted by self were the most prevalent within the fissures of activity.This was Blackwing as they knew it. This was freedom. Sprinting along side his brothers and sisters, Kezeroth the primal leading force of the Order, had already noticed a shift in the air. Stale and subtle, Like the force it flowed like water about his body; Water set in rot and decay. Mythos's forces were more than strong and he knew this well. Mythos was the first man in years to physically commit the Gen'dai into death; Fitting that their reunion would be in death, or would it? The arid dusty landscape shook under the pain of thousands of varied feet making stride. Pumping, heaving and throwing themselves deeper into the forbidden city as one massive group. Atrisia birthed pains as never before. Crusts shifting apart subtly but as a pace too fast to hold stability. Dust sprayed into the air fused with fire, an impact with the dirt that sent infected brethren soaring into the air and torn asunder.

A simple shot from the likes of a Tank or Walker. Devastation broke the ranks for a mere span of time. When one part of the body was under attack, other resources flooded the body to reinforce and forge a defense. The army of the dead was no different; in fact they were far more effective when it came to tactics. Branching out away in tendril arms the mass horde broke off from the main driving force. A divided target was also a harder target. The unified screams broke off into a mess of ultrasonic guttural shrieks and groans. A cities worth of populace disgruntled all at once; Similar to a traffic jam commonly seen on Corcuscant. Anger and rage.

​

Frenzied sounds boomed. Spanning through the air particles between earths and heavens in such force, the pitch alone trailed on dangerous levels of volume. Audible enough to physically cause damage to the ears: Blackwing as a whole expressed pain. Jar'kai was the first of the terrible sounds that rumbled the skies like thunder, Next came Xam'chi, then Nuyen, then Akina and beyond to the furthest reaches of the planet within possible reach. There was no storm above the planet, no rain and no clouds. Just a plain sky and warm sun dawning its light to the horizons. Without sound how could a planet so peaceful erupt into a mess so karking fast? Blackwings screams rang true. Data, information and locations spanned the space of miles teaching each receiving ear or body filled with its vibrations of darkness to do one thing: Adapt.

At a incredible space the undead army that surrounded Kezeroth quickly began to turn their faces to the dirt midst the conflict of being under fire. By this time the brunt of the front lines slammed into the Tanks and Walkers. This birthed a close encountered fire fight aimed as the masses. The emotional toll was enough to simultaneously fuel Kezeroth and also bring him to his knees. A simple truth of being afflicted with salvation. " Im trying to make them see reason. True reason..." His broken fangs clasped together with a groan. Standing by Kezeroths side were the few slaves from only moments ago, only now they could truly see.

" Why do they attack?" - Fine haired woman asked concerned about the forces that drove the battle onward.
" They cannot hear, nor can they seek our face. Our true face. They will fear and reject what they do not understand." - The Gen'dai responded promptly watching events unfold before him. It was only a matter of time before the remaining forces that served Mythos fled or gave into salvation. Kneeling down to her level Kezeroth grinned wide. A sadistic smile in appearance that transcended all known meaning to those not infected. It was acceptance. Acceptance masked with the illusion of gluttony and hunger that could not be sated. " What should I call you dear?"

" My name is R-" The woman with fine hair paused for a moment. Something had taken hold of her mind; A new perspective.
" Call me... Reezo" - She finally answered looking back to her companions: Those she knew in life and now in death. Masked acceptance. Something was wrong with this facade and yet none of them knew it. The grotesque figure standing now to his full height turned his head toward the wall behind them. The last shot rang out and then silence once again settled its hefty presence into Jar'kai.

Mythos was now where to be seen.

All at once the Thousands turned their head. Mimicking the action of their "prophet"; Dead stares struck the wall like a meteor. The focus of the masses on a single object. " Salvage the Walkers and Tanks. We are leaving Jar'kai..now." He stated and with that the sea of the dead divided into two parts at an angle of geometric beauty. Mathematical precision only a droid could love. Testament to how bonded they all were to one another. Half to stay behind to gather the vehicles left over from the attack, but what of the rest?

A single phrase was spoke in broken basic before the vibrations akin to small tremors shook Jar'kai.

They began to dig....​

 

[Luna Terrik]

​

S A V E​

​

Objective: Quarantine Xam'chi
Time: 0845
Equipment: VAARS Rifle, Tactical Recon Handguns (2), Personal Armor, CryoBan Grenade (4), Thermal Detonator (2)
Ally tags:| Tiria Reinhart | Damsy Callat | Tobias Wrynn | Maeve Archeron | Anakwor Farlorn | Jasmille Kavos | Jrurki Liz | Kurenai Yumi | The Monster | Kaden Farr | Alessandra Creed | John Locke |
Enemy tags: | @Xam’chi enemies |
Post: #2

The meeting had seemingly gone to schedule. Everyone on board, at least within the officers meeting, understood the plan and where they would be going. At least that was Luna’s understanding of the situation. There was always her inane ability to read that sort of situation. Came in handy when running briefing ops like this. Damsy seemingly understood, at least, especially once she moved her way from the cabin after the dismissal. Luna had been sure to give the sithling a quick pat on the paldron on the way out. She didn’t let that particular enjoyment of certain soldiers show a lot, but Damsy was a special case. There wasn’t any doubt in Luna’s mind that the captain would find a way to complete her mission, and do it in a way that might make the Grand Marshall tear her hair out.

It was her master sergeants that came up to her last after the briefing, with Q’vares holding a look of concern that Luna wasn’t used to seeing on the long haired woman's face. For as long as the pair had known each other, beginning at the very start of the Zabrak’s training, there was rarely a time that the master sergeant didn’t hold a cold, steeling glint her eye. For something to be noticeably wrong meant that what they faced on the ground absolutely distressed her. “We know nothing of how this thing spreads other than it might be airborn? This sounds like some sort of failure on the intel side more than anything.” Luna couldn’t help the frown that made it’s way across her face, as the sentiment wasn’t lost on her. At no point did she want to be putting her men at risk, in harms way of when they didn’t even know the enemy that they were facing.

“It’s not what I prefer either, Q’vares. But we don’t ask questions. You know that. It wasn’t like any of us wanted to go to Shadow’s Point.” The name, the whole situation, had become taboo within the ranks of the Dauntless, so the surprised looks on the faces of the pair of master sergeants didn’t exactly surprise Luna. Those that were there rarely spoke of what happened, how they had been tricked, and how much of a suicide mission that had been. Soldiers had quit after that mission, vowing to never put on the Dauntless crest again after Luna had led them straight into the maw of the waiting lion, fraying relations between them and the Knights Obsidian that still lingered to this day.

Even in that situation, Luna hadn’t wanted to particularly go. But duty called, and they had been told to step foot in those sacred halls. Perhaps she had a bit more control now, more so than before. Old wounds, dark tales, and strikes to the heart always seemed to have a way to linger more than others, though. Shadow’s point was no exception. It was a day that would linger on many’s mind for much, much longer than the time it took to burst through those doors.

It was time now to focus on the task at hand. At least, Luna was reminded of this when the sound of the shuttle beginning it’s final decent echoed throughout the officers quarters. With one last look to two of her closer friends, there was a curt nod exchanged, then all three exited the room, ready to greet whatever awaited them on the surface with the same cold hostility the Dauntless brought to every engagement.

When the shuttles finally landed on the surface, there was no hesitation from the commandos and troops to pour out of their respective ships. They knew their orders, whether it be to begin to sweep their way through the marketplace or to help begin unloading the medical and quarantine equipment, their jobs were executed with the upmost speed and precision. Luna had only brought a single regiment after all, alongside the ranger division. It meant that everyone got their hands dirty, and everyone would find a way to contribute. Whether that was combat or not, Dauntless would leave their mark on this planet. For the better.

By the time Luna’s boots had hit the surface of the planet, there were already updates galore pouring through her comm unit. The one that she was able to pick out, and was the most concerned about, was the update coming from John Locke . She paused for a moment, listening, a few tens of meters away from the nearest market stall where they had landed. Behind her, heavy crates full of medical equipment were being unloaded, stacked tall and ready to be unpacked and placed into their respective places. As soon as the message was finished, Luna opened a comm channel to all her troops in the area, so that every troop would hear her personal voice. “This is general Terrik. If you didn’t just get that message from the minister, here’s the jist. We have confirmed hostile entities on the planet. Zombies of some sort or another.”

A crate being loudly placed beside her gave the woman pause for a moment, then continued with a more grim tone to her voice. “Priority one is keeping yourself and your brothers safe. Weapons are free. Stay safe. Terrik, out.” Her hand fell from her helmet, shutting off the comm unit, then reached behind her to grab the butt of her blaster and slide it into place underneath her arm. Of course she wanted to be in the marketplace, blasting away at the entities already inside, but setting up the quarantine camp would be a better use of her time. That’s what she told herself, at least. Tiria, Farlorn, and Damsy would get their respective jobs done. It didn’t serve them at all if hers wasn’t either.

Knowing this, her first steps were not toward the marketplace, but away from it, where the beginnings of the camp could already be seen taking place. More transports were still landing, including a group of scorpions that she had requested as scout units for this engagement. The crates were being unloaded as fast as they could, as well as the beginnings of numerous premade, yellow quarantine tents were starting to get placed into the ground. Give it a half hour or so, and the camp would include a dozen, give or take a few, quarantine tents alongside a couple of medical and regular tent areas for those that just needed general care. More time would allow for better equipment and more tents to be set up, but it would be a solid beginning.

It was at this point that more communications began to pile in. Luna had made her way to a central command tent, located near the middle of the quickly expanding base, when the voice of the minister made it’s way through her headset once again. She recognized the worry in his voice, and was quick to respond after he had finished. “Minister, I have one of my best and a squad accompanying him on the way. They’ll extract her back to my position. We’ll have the proper medical areas set up by then.” Whoever this woman as sounded important to the minister. And if she was important to him, then there was no time to waste in finding a way to get her safe.

With many of her other assets deployed to areas that were needed, it was time to pull out one of her last two knights in her back pocket. “Tien,” she started, comming the massive blue skinned master sergeant. “Change of plans. Q’vares will continue to clear the marketplace of hostiles. I need you to meet with..” The Grand Marshall did a quick run of squads in her head, trying to remember who would be in the area. Didn’t take too long, but the pause was noticeable in the moment. “Delta squad at the end of the marketplace facing the city. Minister Alessandra Creed has been reported injured. I’ll be sending you the details to her comm unit so you can track her position.”

Tien’s gruff, booming voice was quick to respond in his typical curt way. “Of course, general. I’ll get it done.” A man of few words, and someone thoroughly after Luna’s own heart. Perhaps in another time, in another place. For now, more comms began to make their way through her headset, indicating that they needed a place to land before entering into the city. Thankfully, Luna could provide that. Her wrist computer was activated, tuning into a much wider frequency to include Kurenai Yumi , The Monster , and Kaden Farr as well as any other CIS asset in the area. “Grand Marshall Terrik speaking. Dauntless has landed outside of the city of Xam’Chi with a regiment of troops, and are beginning to set up quarantine zone just outside of it. The coordinates are grid zone five alpha, golf whiskey, 68290 and 19420.”

There was a pause for a moment as she ran over the coordinates in her head, and, deciding to not repeat herself again, she gave a more simplified version before signing off. “We have set up on the outside of the marketplace facing away from the city. There is a designated landing zone. You will be waved in. If you are arriving on site, check in with me at the central command tent before entering into the city. Terrik, out.” It was good to know that there would be more assets for her to deploy. At this moment in time, she had no idea what the state of many of the areas of the city currently were, and how far the infection had gotten. The financial district and market district were two areas that desperately needed scouting, and ones that she would get to when the time was right.

She had just gotten the map of the city and surrounding area set up on the holotable when a younger trooper entered into the open air tent, giving her a quick salute. Luna reciprocated, awaiting the message that he was clearly here to deliver. “Captain Farlon has sent a comm. The rangers will be heading out by 0915.” There was a nod of thanks given from the grand marshal, then a dismissing salute as he made his way back to the comms tent. A well given message. Quick and convince. Luna would remind herself later to find and compliment that private.

For now though, the situation was beginning to get into hand. The quarantine camp was beginning to be set up. Q’vares was leading the clearing of the marketplace. Assets were on their way to both the government center and the residential districts, with more flying in at any moment. It wasn’t as though the pandemic was completely defeated, but the first true resistance effort was well on it’s way to curbing whatever plagued this world’s bite.

 

[Subject 73 Red]

Objective: Standby mode. Provide aerial reconnaissance to ground troops. Provide air-to-surface support. Have pararescue medics and jumptroopers on standby.
Tags: Not really any right now

Red sat in the copilot seat in a gunship circling over the surface of the planet, along side multiple pararescue medics, jump troopers, and shock troopers, currently standing by. Red looked at the surface. Red didn't really know the full details of the mission, or why hey were there, but Red did know that there was some sort of highly infectious virus, and there was an active quarantine. They had been called in for aerial support, aerial recon, and rapid reinforcements for ground forces. Currently, there was nothing for them to do, but they were still in standby. Since it was a virus, Red had his helmet on, already sealed to his armor. Luckily, his suit was already built to be vacuumed sealed, for traveling through space, so having it was helpful in this quarantine situation.

Red looked at the ground far below them. He currently couldn't see much, as clouds were blocking his view but from what he could see, it wasn't much, as of yet. Of course, there was a virus going on, so it probably didn't look as good as it normally did.

Red typed something into the console, and brought up his commlink. There was someone he could try to reach, his commander, Dauntless General Luna Terrik . Red knew she was down there, and seeing as how their gunship wasn't doing much, he could help them out. "General Terrik, do you copy? This is Agent Red. Do you read me?" Red said over the commlink.

 

[Ben Craig]

Location : Atrisia Airspace
Forces : Pellaeon III-Class Star Destroyer (1), ST-149 (3), The Vernichten, Task Force
Tag : Credius | Marlon Sularen | Subject 73 Red | Leenic Ellsil

The Challenger a Pellaeon III-Class Star Destroyer and Admiral Ben Craig’s flagship jumped out of hyperspace and entered Atrisia space...yet again. This time however, Ben had been promoted to Admiral. He also brought a smaller force than last time. There wasn’t a need to, this wasn’t a full out invasion. The Director, Vicelord Nargath, and several CIS agents were already on Atrisia.

Ben stood on the bridge of the ship, “Let Task Force 66 know to get ready we’re here.” A officer nodded and hurried off to the prep room. Task Force 66 was also new, an elite unit under the Politorate from the Directorate. The task force currently consisted of only three full time members. It was essential that the less that know about the group the better. One of the three members was already on the scene on Atrisia. Ben has been receiving reports that Atrisia had apparently been affected with a very dangerous virus, and apparently Credius and the Directorate wanted to contain it and possibly take it.

Ben and his forces were currently waiting on standby. On the order from the Director, the task force would deploy to Atrisia wearing biohazard suits. Ben himself would stay away from the virus aboard his ship.

“Alert the Director we have arrived and are on standby awaiting further orders.” The communications officer nodded, the message being sent to wherever the director was.

 

[Eira Talon]

Location: Streets of Xam'chi
Objectives: Get answers, find Srina
Tags: Kas Varad Gerwald Lechner The Monster

Spoiler: Condensed quotes so we can follow our own story line easier

A girl. A zombie. Even as he was updated via his helmet about the nature of what they were facing, it never did prepare you for that. The zombie was shot clear in a hail of fusion rifle shots, that didn’t stop until it resembled a pin cushion smoking against the side of a duracrete wall. If anything Kas kept firing the Fusion Rifle for too long to make oversure it was mush.

The fully armored and heavily armed Mandalorian looked to Eira. She wouldn’t have sensed him coming, just a void or perhaps emptiness, maybe nothing at all standing there in the armor. Force Dead as the Varad clan were. “Evacuating the city, gotta move, you in?” Thinking Eira a civilian or one of the CIS corporate personnel in need of aid.

There was growling from behind him, and he turned toward two more infected, one which was lunging at the Mandalorian…. "FRAK IT"

Teeth bit down on the hem of Eira's cloak as he tried to pull her back toward the ship before she could answer the man. Eira had no business fighting zombies or being in harms way. All of this he had to do without shifting. Gerwald could not allow Eira to know he was actually the giant of a man she had kissed back on that planet which had cursed them all. That would be disastrous. He also had to ensure that in trying to pull her back to the ship he did not remove the cloak from her.

Kas did not need to see a near naked Eira. Even if Echani gave no thought of shame toward nudity, and if Gerwald felt no shame about it, he understood humans. His job was to keep Eira safe, that included keeping her out of compromising situations.

They would tumble through the air and when they landed, Sergei managed to roll them on impact so he was on top of the infected operative. And then he drew his Big Iron hand cannon, pressed it under the operative's chin and pulled the trigger twice, spraying what was left of the operative's skull across the street and in front of Eira Talon and Kas Varad , thankfully not hitting them. He heard the scuffle upstairs and watched as his remaining friendly chucked the other infected into the street, and when it hit the ground, sprayed seven rounds into it. When it tried to get up again Sergei simply stepped forward, raised his pistol and fired once to finish the job. By now the rest of the herd was rounding the corner and Sergei joined Kas Varad in finishing the rest of them off. By now he was sucking air, and he looked at his breath time left. Not near enough. Sergei looked at the fully armored being before him and spoke simply as he regained his composure.

"Where you headed? I could use another rifle right now,"

Eira's high pitch screams hit the air-- short and startled, following in rapid recession of each shot that rang throughout the air. The sound of her fright hit her ears a moment later, catching her off guard. A hand snapped over her mouth, both to mask her shame and to ground herself.

The moment was just so unbelievable.

Her thoughts slowed to a crawl as her mind tried to wrap around the chaos that stood before her. She felt as if she had landed back in time, to Eshan on that fateful date. ...Blood and soldiers and ...despair in the air. Her thoughts reeled to their landing on this planet, and she wondered how she hadn't recognized the panic in the faces of the civilians she had passed at the landing pad. Perhaps, she had only seen things as she wanted to; she certainly didn't want to see another planet dissolve into this.

As utterly frightening as it was to find herself staring down the existence of zombies, Eira felt secure in the number of soldiers that had appeared around her. Clan Talon had soldiers as well and they had never failed the family before. The concept of danger was dulled significantly by the presence of experienced fighters. She stepped forward, towards them, only to be yanked back by the insistent tugging of the wolf at her side( Gerwald Lechner .) She flailed for a moment, catching herself.

"Niquis! Stop!" She ordered sharply, not even sparing the growling wolf a glance as he tried to manhandle her backwards. She braced her feet shoulder width apart, her stand becoming unmovable. No matter how hard he tugged.

The men ( The Monster , Kas Varad ) had asked her where she was going. She stepped forward again, holding up her holotracker. "My sister-- I am suppose to be meeting her here." It clicked on, the city's capitol building itself projecting as a red dot on the holographic map. She felt the sudden urge to try and call Srina. And she would, she concluded. In just a moment.

"What is going? Why are people acting this way?"

 

[Shamira Karuto]

.​

​

​

C O N T A I N
​

Equipment: Purple Cloak, Hood, and Boots | Saddle bag full of special berries
Tag: | Scàth Mhaolàin | Taiia Locke | Acantha Malvern | Tireya Syvare | Aisha | Alluria Ivalice | John Locke | Vytal Noctura | Mandragora | Knights Obsidian |
Enemy tag: | Grrwunhoooll Agaburry |

There wasn’t much that this vast galaxy could offer Shamira that wouldn’t surprise her at this point. When she had been rescued from her homeworld, it was easy to see that that planet was basically as devolved as possible when put up next the vast majority of planets in space. They were still using spears with metal tips that had to be constructed over the course of a day for freya’s sake. Many people had these blaster things that could fire bolts of pure light that was somehow destructive! No, Shamira found that each and every day off her homeworld brought something new to learn and study. Rare was it that she saw something that was semi-familiar to her anymore.

Interestingly enough, however, this “zombie” infestation seemed like something that could call back to an odd case in her past that her mother handled, being the local doctor and all. A family brought in an older looking man, one that Shamira distinctly remembered having the smell of death about him. It was rancid, putrid, and by all accounts, marked this older soul as being condemmed to the ground. Yet, he responded to her mother and answered her questions, although it was in a slurred, drawn out voice. There was, in the end, nothing that could be done for him, and on the morning of the second day, he just stopped moving and responding. The family retrieved the body, her mother apologized for not being able to do more, and they left.

That was the end of it. It should have been the end of it. Death was supposed to be an inevitability. But there was something unnatural going on. Shamira never actually saw what the end result was, being told to stay in the house for being too young, but her father returned a night after the family had come to retrieve the corpse, muttering things about, “the dead walking,” and “unending hunger.” She had never had the courage to ask him what he meant by that, nor what happened that night. With her parents gone, she had doubted she’d ever find out.

Now it seemed as though what she missed that night would be meeting her face to face. She would witness the horrors her father did. And with courage, and the sisters of magic beside her, survival could be the end result as well. That was assuming, of course, she didn’t collapse of exhaustion halfway through the fight. All the younger witch could hope for at this point would be that the reserves of magic she had built up over the past few months could last through an actual fight, and that some of the tricks that Shamira had put hours into practicing would be helpful as well.

Whether or not they would could be soon tested, but after the wall of light had been dispelled in a very impressive fashion, the Nightmother had a new task for the much younger pair of witches. One that, at first listen, Shamira was unsure she could do. But she had been attempting things like this in the greenhouse before. Perhaps now was a perfect time to actually attempt it.

The redhead pulled in a deep, long breath, attempting to transport herself back to that dark realm within her mind. Vytal had taught her how to visit the Nether, though doing it outside of the pool room at the castle was still a work in progress. Regardless, her mind did calm, while she could vaguely feel the spirits whispering and moving around her. They whispered of vast powers they could give her, if only she handed over her mind. That wasn’t exactly the idea, but the power they offered could be tapped into a small bit without danger. It was with this power that she did as the Nightmother had requested, covering herself with the slightly shimmering energy of the Nether, practically unseen to the naked eye.

That had made her proud. To be able to complete a task on the fly like that, and even more so when the Nightmothers question of the pair of witches came. “I can try something..” Shamira extended her arms forward, allowing her pointer and pinky fingers to extend outward at an angle. This time tapping into her personal vats of magic within her soul, she made an circle with the outward hand, while the other stayed still behind. The result was a shimmering orange symbol where her hand had traced, and a few meters away a small, circular fire suddenly ignited, large enough for a typical sentient to stand in the middle without burning itself.

“I don’t know how good it is at..restraining something.” She said, allowing her hands to fall, the fire extinguishing with it. “Though it will at least cut off one of these zombies long enough to possibly restrain it.” That hadn’t taken too much out of her. But it was a short lived spell, and it wasn’t as though she had summoned a wall of fire. No, her energy really only permitted one or two of those. At least in her current state. Perhaps it would be unneeded.

Or perhaps Shamira would be leaving this battlefield little more than a walking corpse, such as these zombies. Only time, and fate, would tell.

​

 

[Prennis Keeoli]

​

{ Location: (Approaching) Confederate Xam'Chi quarantine zone}
{ Equipment: Robes + scrubs, meditation amulet, holo matrix,
diagnostic gauntlet / headset, filtration mask, medkit }
{ Status: Remaining calm }
{ Tag: Tsian Denira , Luna Terrik + open }​

~ † ~​

There was one thing Prennis didn't remember.

But her last visit to Atrisia was not it. It had been on First Order business, a thinly-veiled diplomacy mission on which she didn't get to share her strenuous humanitarian research and quickly deteriorated into her earning her umpteenth official citation. She was redeployed to a regional medical facility in Xam'Chi to one, help deal with the influx of sithspawn attack victims, and two, serve some kind of penance. Whatever that was supposed to be - assumedly for her friendship with Marina DeVoe - then-Aes'ona failed to find it, for she sowed the seeds of defection with Cedric... P Placeholder 0128 instead.

She had seen the latter recently, but was left to wonder about the former's welfare. The memory's antagonist, as it were, Carlyle Rausgeber - why, she didn't mind about his one bit.

But, oh, if he could see her now. She stood at the glassed-in helm of the Resplendent Dawn, watching the ever hypnotic lull of hyperspace. Behind her, automation worked smoothly to guide the ship through the not-quite-bacta-colored sea. If she had felt it moral to ask some of the Grayson Imperials along when this plague was not theirs to triage, she hoped she would be a figure of hope on the bridge, bringing stability through care rather than fear. She hoped to be everything that the First Order hadn't been to her and so many others, be they like-minded officers or mistreated charges, both helpless pawns in the galactic game of conquest. Prenn didn't want medics or nurses or doctors to call her own. Their autonomy of choice had to remain their own, as in this case; Prennis promised that scared doctor even still reliving Sullust's internment that, no matter what, she would never force a subordinate's hand in matters of aid's deployment.

:: Mistress Keeoli, :: the integrated droid's, who she had taken to affectionately calling Mountbatten, masculine voice came over the intercom. :: We will be dropping out of hyperspace in a few moments above Atrisia. :: The medical frigate quivered into reality, and Mountbatten shuttered the viewshield in respect of Prenn's aversion to real space. :: Local time is nine o' clock in the morning. Expect warming into the day with a possibility of light afternoon showers. Might I remind miss that reports of a pandemic have been recently broadcast from the surface? ::

Prenn was already halfway to the comms station. "That's precisely why we're here," she simply replied. "Alone."

:: Oh. :: Mountbatten sounded defeated. :: In that case, I don't suppose miss has a...how do organics say...death wish? ::

"Not quite, though the ailment is in some ways similar. Patch me through to someone in charge at the capital, please."

The bridge was quiet for a long moment as Mountbatten's presence retreated into his databanks, trying to chase communication frequencies on the planet below. Soon enough, his voice returned with good news. :: I have found a bout of 'Dauntless Confederate Command' chatter. Will this channel do for miss? ::

Prennis nodded, smiling, though the droid couldn't see her in the traditional sense. She had gotten, not that she recalled any longer, familiar with the more abnormal side to the sense of sight. "Swimmingly," she agreed, putting on her headset. It chirped in her ear once to inform her that it was powering on and again that Mountbatten had connected the onboard comm as per her request. She cleared her throat shortly before speaking into it: "Dauntless Confederate Command, this Nurse Practitioner Prennis Keeoli of the Resplendent Dawn. Humanitarian aid is my offer. Where is it clear to land?" She was going to add something about having worked with the faction in the recent past - something like You may remember me, but less action holoflick-y. The only problem was that she didn't quite know what she meant precisely, but quickly chalked it up to her involvement with their allies, the Silver Jedi Order.

Whatever the truth didn't pertain now. All that did was waiting, listening, and praying for clearance.

 

[Kyyrk]

​

EQUIPMENT: In Signature
LOCATION: Xam'Chi Streets
TAGS: John Locke | Tsian Denira | Prennis Keeoli
​

Voph's shuttle banked through the air as it began to circle Xam'chi from above. Reports had been flooding in during the descent. Voph stood at the edge of the cabin looking out at the city below. Whatever sickness awaited him below, it was reanimating the dead and turning them against the living. Voph's hand gripped the railing above the opening tighter, as his offhand gripped his lightsaber. This couldn't have been the doing of Mythos. Could it? He wouldn't have put it past the man, destroying Atrisia if he could not have it. A typical Sith maneuver. But something told him that this was...more than the Sith. Something else entirely.​

​

Voph turned his head, and nodded. The shuttle drew low over the city. Behind him, a squad of Nephilim performed final checks on their gear before preparing to drop. Rifles and Armor locked and loaded, they all nodded their readiness in return. Voph turned back to survey the city below, pulling a combat rebreather over his face. "Locke. This is Voph. Touching down in what seems to be the financial district. Hostiles present in the streets, but the buildings are swarming. I'm taking a team in." The shuttle paused over the roof of a building, and Voph and his squad disembarked, Voph's violet blade flaring to life. The sounds of safeties disengaging around him, Voph strode to the side of the roof to glance down at the waiting masses below. He was about to issue an order, when another noise caught his attention. He looked up, and felt his heart sink into the core of his being. A sleek white ship was cutting through the atmosphere. One he recognized all too well.​

​

"Dauntless Confederate command, this Nurse Practitioner Prennis Keeoli of the Resplendent Dawn. Humanitarian aid is my offer. Where is it clear to land?" ​

​

Voph felt his skin grow a shade paler as he heard her voice across the com channels. What was she doing here? This was an active battle. No place for someone like her. Especially not with an airborne virus with unparalleled infection rates. Voph turned, and nodded to the senior Nephilim. "Clear this building. I'll meet you below." Voph turned back to gauge the distance below him. "Tsian. I need a favor. Big one..." ​