Public Emergence: Skirmish on Batuu

[The Messenger]

​

Fire, brimstone, sulfur and ash. These images filled the eyes of the dark prophet as his sickly hands hovered over a holoimage of Batuu. His long fingers dangled over the planet sporting nails the size of talons capable of rending flesh from bone. The Voice of the Maw stared into the transparent globe as it zoomed in on the Black Spire Outpost, "There."

Night fell, the cool air was quiet, not a sound as many fell into their nightly rituals while others roamed the dimly illuminated streets. This was a place of trading and rest for many, a popular crossroads into the Unknown Regions and the last stop before entering the Eternal Empire. Woe to the ignorant, those about to be conquered.

Slipping out of nowhere came a massive object cloaked in celestial shadow, obscured in utter darkness the massive ship descended into the atmosphere. Rust and debris crackled and popped as metal scrap littered the sky above from the scavenged vessel as it nearly peaked through the clouds above. Parting like a white curtain, the commanding form of a Imperial Star Destroyer. Outfitted with what seemed to be massive amounts of durasteel plating in the form of a battering ram mounted to it's bow, this beast of war served as a vanguard for what was to come one day to every corner of the galaxy.

Metal rain fell forth from the sky, soon to be drowned out by fire. Small support craft soared over the skies from out behind the behemoth as transport vessels unloaded rapidly from the underbelly of the laboring beast. There was no warning, no hyperspace trail to track or alert caution to the unsuspecting populace. They made ready for war and now came to inspire fear.

Beginning their ground assault, the Chosen of the Maw came forth with their warband to unleash hell upon the Black Spire Outpost, there would be no mercy as they relished in the screams of those they conquered as they attempted to goad the Eternal Imperials into action instead of just burning the outpost down. Today they would test the mettle of the mighty Eternal Empire, today they would sate their thirst for Imperial blood.

Marlon Sularen | Ingrid L'lerim | Kyrel Ren |Koleric |Vexari Kahl | Maestus | Zachariel Steelblood | Exopritl |Tristan Evore | The Mongrel |Mellifluous Magenta | Eleena Salwa | TK-818 | Any late entries..

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​

 

[The Mongrel]

The ramshackle transport, its scrap-plated sides glowing with the heat of reentry, dove toward the surface of Batuu like a falling star. Anyone who wished upon this particular star, however, would be bitterly disappointed - unless they wished for a messy, drawn-out death. Packed within the hold, their sweaty, gore-caked bodies pressed tight against the walls and each other, were some forty vicious marauders. They carried in their hands the instruments of bloodshed, jagged blades and brutal scatterguns, and vile chants were on their lips.

The outside of the shuttle had been covered in trophies from the previous raid: gleaming skulls, severed hands, and the flayed pelts of two dozen sentients. These horrific souvenirs charred to ash as the craft streaked through the atmosphere, becoming a burnt offering to the dark gods. They would be replaced with fresh kills from the planet below. The shuttle would also be patched up and modified with components ripped from the speeders, buildings, and starships of Black Spire Outpost. It was how the Brotherhood thrived; they did not build, they took.

Among the mass of reeking, howling warriors stood The Mongrel, his scarred hands curled around the stock of his bowcaster. This was his first raid since he'd been taken, since he'd been tortured into becoming one of the very marauders that had destroyed his whole world, and his wounds were still raw and smarting. He should have been afraid; he had never been in a battle before, never fought and killed another living being. But he thought only of how his first blood would elevate him. He would no longer be the lowest of them when he took a skull.

He had been a good man once. Decent. Kind. But then the Maw had ripped away his eyelids and made him see.

The shuttle hummed and rattled as air resistance pushed against it, stripping off poorly-maintained flaps and armor plates. Inside, the marauders chanted even louder, screaming their throats raw to drown the noise out. Anticipation grew and grew, each man and woman slavering for blood. They could rise only through slaughter, each kill proving their strength and earning them more plunder. But it was a matter of safety also. The Brotherhood was harsh, and all marauders bullied the weakest among their own. They had to rise, or they would be kicked back down.

If they rose, they would get to be the ones doing the kicking instead.

Finally, the engines cut out, and the humming of the repulsorlifts replaced them. The shuttle's landing was neither gentle nor elegant, a series of rumbles, bumps, and shakes that threw its passengers against each other. Somewhere in the hold, a marauder screamed as he was cast down at a bad angle, snapping his leg against the rusted bulkhead. One of the others answered by stomping on his neck, ending his misery and his weakness with a second sharp crack. Then the loading ramp lowered, and the teeming mass of blood-crazed locusts spilled out.

Batuu was a rugged world, riven by jagged ridges and the petrified hulks of ancient trees. The cool air night air of the temperate rainforest around Black Spire Outpost did nothing to chill the hot blood of the onrushing horde. The Mongrel struggled forward, pushing himself to the front of the pack, his bowcaster at the ready. He wanted, he needed, to be among the first to make a kill. It was that or remain a slave forever, a victim of the casual brutality doled out to the lowest ranks of the marauders. He had to prove worthy of the Voice's blessing, or he would be made to beg for death.

The outlaw port of Black Spire Outpost, quietly slumbering, reminded him for a moment of home - a home now in ashes, lost to him forever. And here he was, about to help inflict that same fate. But what choice did he have? He was broken, a tool of the Maw. The people of Batuu would learn the same dark lessons he had, or they would die. For their sake, he hoped that most of them would meet with the latter fate. With a high, trilling war cry, the mob opened fire at the walls of the outpost, determined to rip away that hard shell and feast on the soft insides.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Borders were never a thing that Aaran Tafo cared for. He was at his heart, a wanderer. The only reason he associated with the Galactic Alliance was out of personal loyalty to his friends. And that the core ideals of the Alliance where ones he could work with. His ultimate loyalty was with his own ideals. And so long as the New Jedi Order and Galatac Alliance held a compatible Paradigm to his own. He would be there for them.

But that did not mean he would ignore those outside his home's reach. He still wandered, he still acted the Knight Errant. Helping those he could, trusting in the Force to guide him where he was needed to be. So even if this world was on the border of the Eternal Empire. A horrific regime that he had dealings with in the past. He still remained, still sought those who required help. Simply because it was the right thing to do. Even if it did put him at considerable risk.

And it seemed that his decision to come here was the correct one. For it was not long after his arrival that the maruaders arrived. No demands, no threats, no boasts. Simply a descent of wrathful raiders looking to dispoil the planet below. In a way it was refreshing. These people were utterly honest with what they were. They came to take what they pleased from who they saw as weak and were looking to pick a fight.

At least that is what he managed to gather from the small pile of unconscious raiders at his feet. Not a single one dead, broken bones, concussions, severe bruising yes. But no deaths. None of these people had died by his hands. A greater display of martial prowess was to defeat one's opponent without killing them after all.

So there Aaran waited. Kneeling in a meditive position in an empty street. Behind him he could sense the fear of the people who he had managed to usher to safety. Content that they were relatively safe in the shelter behind him.

For now, all he would do is wait. He knew they would come. Whatever champions may exist among them. Whatever band of lunatics might decide to stumble upon the Knight Errant and those who were under his protection. And Aaran would be ready and waiting for them.

 

[TK-818]

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There was no savage drum, no inviting war chant cried out as their vessel skirted across the night sky of Batuu. The occupants sat across from one another, patient, quiet and coldly awaiting the chance to strike down the weak in a tidal wave of blood. The darkness casted a deep shroud over the armored warriors, the black coat over their metal made it difficult to tell one from another. Sparks flew as one pressed one of his blades against another, sharpening it in anticipation for what was to come. The vessel dropped sharply, everyone on board gripped tight and readied for landfall as the transport dipped down toward the streets below. Branching off from the transport in front of it that touched down violently on its own, unloading its slew of bloodthirsty warriors, the vessel continued on as civilians panicked and ran for cover.

The vessel slowed only ever so slightly as it lined itself up with the streetside and passersby glaring up in horror. Fire, debris and superheated rock rained down as another of the Brotherhood's attackcraft opened fire on the outer wall protecting the denizens of the outpost from harm. The shock of the sudden assault briefly overwhelmed many of them as their attention drifted to cover and safety. It was disfortunate that many had lost visual contact with the shuttle on approach, the shuttle that now plummeted into the street below.

Tearing up earth and stone, skirting its underbelly against the dry street as it dug deep, the shuttle purposely hit every individual it could in a bloodthirsty display of sheer violence. The wings of the transport tore off, breaking apart the nearest building it latched onto. Crumbling rock and drifting smoke followed in the wake of the kamikaze shuttle as it came to a halt in the middle of the marketplace. Steam rolled off the damaged vessel as wires sparked and systems inside powered down. Those who would fight against these marauders gathered, grabbing weapons in self defense. They surrounded the crash site and waited as the vessel lowered it's loading ramp.

​

Stepping out from the behind the veil of shadows, emerging from the depths of the crashed shuttle came forth a band of dark warriors clad in onyx armor. Immediately one of the closest civilians rose from his feet, his hands snapped to his own throat as he felt the life being choked from him and his body snatched away as it drifted toward the newly arrived warriors. With a savage hit, the male bystander went down from the vibro-halberd of Sinh. One of the many. One of the Knights of Ren.

Kyrel Ren​

 

[Eleena Salwa]

Location: En Route to Batuu, Disruptor Class Corvette
Swoop: FAE/V-03 “Yuxa” Attack Swoop Craft
Tags: @Open TK-818 The Mongrel Aaran Tafo

The howl of alarms yanked Eleena Salwa from the peace of her slumber, pulling her awake as she moved to kindle her muscles into activity before throwing herself out of the bunk in the process and pulling out her datapad from a nearby drawer. In scanning across the first part of the message, she immediately knew to suit up and prepare for combat.

And so, she did exactly that.

The Twi’lek was fast, yet disciplined and methodical as she put on her riding suit, a routine that had been trained into her muscle memory via repetition and false alarm drills. However, this was the real thing now, a surprise assault on the Black Spire Outpost in the Batuu system, and according to initial reports, it was being carried out by the mysterious Brotherhood of the Maw.

Intelligence was still scant on the Brotherhood, but their influence was undoubtedly growing within the uncivilized and wild corners of the galaxy. Already, fresh waves of refugees had been streaming into the newly-rebuilt H.O.P.E. sphere, hoping for sanctuary from the festering darkness sweeping across the Unknown Regions. They spoke of violent raids carried out on various remote settlements, perpetuated by clans of feral cultists and bloodthirsty marauders, inflicting atrocities of all manner on isolated civilian populations, far from the jurisdictions of the major galactic powers.

She would be among the first of the Agents of Chaos to meet them in battle.

To say that Eleena was nervous was an understatement. However, as a combat swoop ace, she was braver than most, simply by virtue of flying such fast and dangerous machines over violent battlefields, strafing the enemies of Discordia’s divine mission from the heavens in order to bring about peaceful chaos to the galaxy. The Dark Lady was not a Goddess of mercy, but she was also not a being of wanton slaughter or murder for the sake of murder. Even the most radical and purportedly ruthless sects of the Discordian faith did not compare to the degree of bloodshed and casual destruction wrought by the Brotherhood. They worshipped a heretical creed, purportedly known as the Scripture of the Hidden Maw. As such, the Brotherhood stood as natural enemies to the Agents of Chaos and their mission of peaceful chaos.

Although she was fearful, Eleena was prepared to fight them.

Arriving within the hangar bay just in time for the briefing, Eleena listened in dutiful silence as her commanding officer, Traimri Bruz, hissed his commands, informing the men and women of Mermaid squadron that they were fighting an enemy that was far more dangerous than mere pirates and gangsters. The sounds of their reactions were drowned out by the activity of the technicians in the hangar bay, who were busy readying their swoops. However, Eleena could feel the apprehension in the air, a lingering sensation of dread at the fact that many of them, including herself, may not make it out Batuu alive.

Nevertheless, Black Spire Outpost had called for aid, and the Agents of Chaos would respond.

Climbing onto her swoop, Eleena sealed her helmet over her head as she waited for launch. Moments later, the corvette translated out of hyperspace in the Batuu system, the vessel casting a wide berth around the planet in order to avoid the jaws of the Brotherhood’s fleet, before deploying the first of the swoops waiting within its hangar...

Spoiler: Gear and Equipment

• Armor
  • FAE/A-03 Repulsor Craft Riding Suit
    • Energy Shield
      • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
    • Undersuit
      • UL-14 “Virtus” Class Underlay
• Small Arms
  • HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannon
• Melee
  • Whimsy Knife (2)

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Equipment: The Soulsabers | Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Tag:: Zachariel Steelblood

Ingrid arrived at Batuu shortly before the attack because the Empress wanted to start negotiations with Vexari Kahl, the Smuggler Queen. However, this was prevented by unknown attackers. She didn’t interfere in the fight from the start, considering didn’t really bring soldiers with her. Even that was a bit of an exaggeration, as two Shadow Company reserves came only with her, not even regular soldiers or bodyguards. That wasn’t entirely true, because even two Shadow Knights accompanied her, invisibly. But they only intervene if the woman commands them. Until then, they will be invisible and silent observers.

Although this place did not yet belong to the territory of the Eternal Empire, it was among the short-term plans to do so. That’s why she was here, and that’s exactly why needed to help protect the place. Ingrid wasn't bothered if she had to fight, but her bodyguard commanders and the STRATCOM wouldn't be happy if she intervened in the fight. She knew them well. Not because her combat skills were not recognized, it was well known; but because she was still the Commander-in-chief of the army and fleet, and Empress of the Eternal Empire.

Being not prepared for attack and fighting, just for a meeting, didn’t really bring much of a weapon with her. Only the Soulsabers which were more symbolic than not to be unarmed. If she could she has never used a lightsaber, especially the lightsaber made from the soulshard of AMCO , mostly didn’t want to use it, didn't feel right. But at the moment, she seemed to have no choice. Instructed her two soldiers to protect the dropship with which they arrived.

And the Empress went to the part that was besieged the most, never ran away from a fight and always took her share of it. In the first line; it was no different today. For now, stayed inside the building, not going out to the outside. It turned in her head for a moment that she was going to act like an assassin, that is, would blend into the shadows and become invisible, but now hadn’t done it all.

Stopped a few meters from the inside of the main entrance, in her usual military base position. A small straddle, her hands clasped behind her back, holding stiff, watching the entrance. When the enemy arrives, she will wait for them…

 

[Vexari Kahl]

Location: Black Spire Outpost
Post: 1

​

To think Batuu was lightly defended would be a mistake. Nearly everyone who lived here carried a blaster, given it was out on the frontier of known space. And the Smuggler Queen had made it a priority to prepare her domain for potential hostile entanglements should pirates or her rivals attempt to attack and conquer her holdings. Still, the Maw attack was unexpected. The first wave had caught many off guard, but Vexari would not let this filth hurt HER people without consequence.

Vexari herself led the defense, reinforced by a ragtag horde of smugglers and spacers, as well as Batuu's mercenary garrison of former Imperial Stormtroopers who formed a hardened, veteran core amongst her ground forces. A defensive bastion of ramshackle barricades and sandbags had formed around Oga's Cantina, Vexari's usual haunt on Batuu, where those too old or young to fight were being evacuated to. "Hold the barricades, men! These bloodthirsty mongrels won't break Batuu yet!", she loudly shouted from atop one of the barricades, skillfully cutting down several attacking Maw pirates with her pair of disruptor pistols.

Meanwhile, the mercenary Stormtrooper garrison at Docking Bay 9 launched a counter offensive against concentrations of Maw pirates attacking the district, reinforced by slightly rusted but no less deadly AT-ST Walkers.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

​

The Brotherhood of the Maw descended onto Batuu with vengeance, coming to slaughter and kill their foe. Amongst this horde came the Warlords, the greatest warriors and leaders of the Brotherhood. Amongst said Warlords came Zachariel, eager for the slaughter to come, but hoping to find a worthy foe to kill. Due to that eagerness, his warband and he were the first out, though they didn't descend onto Batuu in a shuttle. No. Theirs was a far faster, but deadlier way.

They leapt from the Star Destroyer, falling to the ground on jetpacks roaring hatred. When they landed, they had crashed into the civilians, slaughtering them in great numbers. Then they had risen once again, coming down in another place. Their ultimate destination was clear, the military base where true warriors would hopefully be found. The warband had come down on a pack of fleeing civilians, Zachariel himself had crushed a pair beneath himself. Then he had proceeded to slaughter the rest, all in clear view of the defenders.

Laughing at the carnage, Zachariel took a half living person and threw them over the wall, into the courtyard behind. Said person would die soon enough, but it was a clear message. 'You will die, just like they did.' Pointing towards the wall with his sword, Zachariel roared up, with his warband following close behind. Fire began to shoot at them, and numerous of the warband died, but many more still made it. Half landed on the wall, setting to the task of slaughtering the defenders. The other half landed in the courtyard with Zachariel.

They rushed into battle, engaging the soldiers in the courtyard, who began to fight for their lives. Zachariel himself simply cut his way through a handful of lesser warriors as he made his way to the main tower/building. His warband could handle a few soldiers, and if they couldn't, then they would die and prove they were worthless. Zachariel himself cared little, a slaughter would happen, and his power would grow. Marching through, he came across a closed door, outside of which stood two soldiers, obviously guarding it. They were veterans, but even they balked at the size of Zachariel, the armor he wore, and the trophies that adorned his armor.

Said trophies were the still screaming heads of prior kills, flayed flesh, and various other bits and pieces of the dead. Despite all this, they were veterans, and they responded as such. Lifting their weapons, they opened fire with precision. It did them no good, as most of the shots were simply absorbed, or did negligible damage. In response, Zachariel raised a heavy slug thrower pistol. Firing once, the shot ripped the trooper on the right apart. The other trooper stumbled from the concussive force, and couldn't react before Zachariel was before him.

Smiling darkly at the trooper, Zachariel spoke, violence filling his voice.
"You'll be helping me through this door, little trooper." He then proceeded to smash the trooper into the door several times. The violence ended as he was finally pushed through, nothing more than a broken and dead mass. Laughing, Zachariel pushed his way through the hole, the door screeching as it was bent even further, allowing his massive bulk to pass through. Taking the time to gaze about, Zachariel saw Ingrid not ten paces away. Grinning behind his helmet, Zachariel spoke, his voice friendly, an old friend greeting another, but one promising violence and pain beyond measure. "Why hello Ingrid, it has been some time, hasn't it."

Ingrid L'lerim

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Black Spire Outpost
Allies: The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood TK-818
Enemies: (Open for Engagement) Aaran Tafo Vexari Kahl Eleena Salwa

​

At long last, the moment had arrived, for it been some time since Kyrel Ren the master of the Knights of Ren, reappeared openly out in the galaxy. For this time he had returned as part of a new force out in the galaxy. A force that emerged as a collective of pagan barbarian tribes among the Unknown Regions. Amongst them was the reborn Knights of Ren who were not unlike previous incarnations. Now it was the marauders that had fed the fear and myth of the Unknown Regions. Kyrel now leading the group, although far from alive, but not quite dead. He was something else, something that was in between both life and death alike. An unholy abomination of the dark side, a wound in the force that sought destruction, even the maddening desire to consume his foes.

Now he returned, covered in black robes, few pieces of his old armor from when he died, as well as his most trusted saber Vader's Bane at his side. His scarred face covered by the helmet he wore as an enforcer to the First Order. It was the dead of night, and Kyrel arrived with the Knights, able to easily blend in when on the outskirts of Black Spire Outpost. While still feeling the desire to feed, and consume. Kyrel here was to destroy everything in his path, to plunder and raid, to bring sacrifices to the Avatar of War, and to be favored by the new dark gods that he now worshipped. Emerging from the landing ramp inside the dark streets of the outpost. They were not noticed, and Kyrel grinned.

With the Knights following close behind him, his aura held something truly monstrous, for he started to project it outwards, to anyone that dared to resist of his new monstrous form. How he was nothing but pure dark side energy oozing from his body. That even without the armor, he was more of a capable threat on his own. Slipping quietly through the streets. He activated his blade and started to destroy the marketplace. People already out and about. When seeing Kyrel. The Master of Ren pulled his helmet off, unleashing a long tongue out of his mouth, acting as if a whip. The blood that was coated acted as if some sort of corrosive substance. When latching onto a civilian, the being screamed for help quickly started to melt, being absorbed into Kyrel. For this was how the man gained his substance. Even as he emerged to raid, and slaughter all those in his path.

Looking to his knights as he swallowed the fleshy remains of his victim. Looking to his Knights, even as those around him screamed in horror, as the fires began to be set. The raiders moving in to take riches, and kill those that dare oppose them or not. Pulling his helmet back in place. With one wave of his saber forward, he spoke. "Knights, you are released! Go and feed the shadow for our gods!" He said, curious of anyone who would face him, stepping forth as he cut down anyone in his way, be it man, woman, or child.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Location: Black Spire Outpost.
Allies: Anyone who is not a Psychopath.
Enemies: Engaing either TK-818 or Kyrel Ren

Normally he'd wait. Normally he'd remain still and let the opposition come to him. But that changed once he felt a presence step foot on this planet. A presence he had honestly hoped would have died during his tenue as a hermit. But it seems that his old tormentor was still around and kicking. Each time Aaran had clashed with Kyrel Ren, he had barely escaped with his life. Barely able to stand against the quite honestly terrifying figure of Unholy power.

But that was then. This is now.

It was amusing in a way. The Master of Ren was the first true Darksider he met that actually lived up to the horrifying reputation that the adherants to Bogan lived up to. Rentlessly, hateful, intent on devouring everything before him. And here Aaran was again, on the same world as him once more. Let it never be said that the Force did not have a sense of irony. Maybe it would be today he died at the hands of the undead monster. Or maybe Aaran would finally slay the creature. Perhaps they would both live to clash another day. Only the Force would know.

At the Master of Ren's command. The maruaders charged. Eager to swarm and desvour the defenseless men, women and children that would be caught in the crossfire. Or at least they would be. If not or a figure emerging from the crowd, a figure Kyrel may or may not recall. Not often was it that prey escaped him after all.

Seeing that one of the people present here was not in fact fleeing like the rest. It was only natural that one of the raiders would be drawn to him. He was the perfect target, walking at such a casual pace in the direction of both Sinh and Kyrel both. Clearly seen by both. Both wth mundane senses and through the Force. His presence blazing amongst the miasma of fear around him like a star. An oasis of calm in the eye of the storm.

Naturally, the unfortunate raider took a swing with their Vibro-Ax. And without batting an eyelash, Aaran's own bare hand lashed out as well. Fist rocketing out with the force of a sledgehammer. Not aimed at the raider himself. But instead his weapon. An act that would be crippling to the Wanderer at best. At least under normal circumstances.

With fist met blade. Instead of an eruption of blood and shattered bone. There was the shattering of metal. As Aaran's fist simply shattered the blade as if it was made of thin glass. The force of his blow continuing on to strike the surprised marauder clean in the jaw. The strength behind his blow superhumanly strong. With a single strike, the beast was knocked unconscious. The Knight Errant never even breaking his stride as he continued towards the Knights of Ren.

"Like a bad credit chit. You leep turning up." He called out, his tone tinted with the slightest bit of dry wit to acknowledge that the same descriptor applied to himself. His pace did not slow, he kept advancing. Zero fear or hesitation on his face. Even in the depths of his soul both of the Followers of Ren could sense no wariness or tension from a potential fight. All the more surprising to Kyrel, even before Aaran had always hidden his fear behind sarcasm or false bravado. But not right now. You both get one chance. Leave, or turn yourselves into the planetary authority."

It was probably a better offer than the pair deserved. Inwardly Aaran knew they would never accept it. Much as he did believe in a being's power to change their ways. Some people were so set into their paths, so absorbed into their own paradigms that they could not concieve straying from them.

So instead he simply stood there and waited, if either of them wished to go forward. They would have to go through him.

 

[Cartri Keswoll]

(Void, wrong character)

 

[Calruss Shiman]

Location: Black Spire Outpost.
Allies: Ingrid L'lerim Vexari Kahl
Enemies: Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood

Only the whistling wind nipped at his face as Calruss stared in reflection from the balcony, his glare looking into the dark abyss of the night. It had been a long day at the Black Spire outpost where he was given the opportunity to stay a few days outside of the empires borders, a small reward for the success of his final test that exceeded anyone's expectations. Unfortunately, no assignments were planned in the first week of him becoming a warden, leaving him with nothing other than visiting other planets out of pleasure. Bakku was a jungle planet that offered great views and luxury, something of which the empire were sure to be itching to get their hands on in the near future. Yet, other prospects were currently way above the list for them to even consider it just yet.

Then, without warning the clear sound of a siren wailed throughout the outpost. They gave warning to everyone that danger was approaching, and sure enough it showed itself in all its glory. Dropships of various sizes sailed by above him, clad in slain skulls of their enemies almost as if they were trying to strike fear into their targets hearts before even setting foot on the ground. As one began to drop below him the boy kept the same stern face, unfazed by the huge change in direction from the pervious calm setting. The shuttle slammed open, revealing the corrupted warriors that began to reap chaos on the street below. They unmercifully cut down anyone in their way, not even the children seemed to be safe from their destruction. Calruss could only let out an audible sigh from the whole situation, all he wanted was some kind of freedom and rest by himself. But instead, some uncivilised outcasts had decided to ruin that.

From below, two of the lowlifes had spotted him staring down from below and decided to break into the settlement he was staying in. They both eagerly rushed up to the second floor and burst in without curtesy, a mistake they would soon regret. As soon as both rushed through, the door suddenly slammed shut behind them, plunging the room into darkness. Within seconds, a lightsaber activated behind them and chopped them down where they stood, forcing their lifeless bodies to fall to the floor with a thump. Calruss slowly deactivated the weapon and placed it in his pocket, his eyes soon looking down to them expressionless. Whoever these people were, they clearly lived a savage life.

None of the civilians were under his protection, so he need not care about their safety other than himself and potential allies that were present in the outpost. If that was the case, he was most likely going to find them at the main control centre, a place most likely swarming with those things. He carefully walked out the front door and began to run with pace to the destination, avoiding any fleeing civilans and cutting down any warriors that dared to stop him from getting to his destination.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Streets
Allies: TK-818 , Kyrel Ren
Enemies: Aaran Tafo , Vexari Kahl, Calruss Shiman

As the marauders dashed forward, blades out and guns ready, the crowd around The Mongrel grew and grew. Other shuttles were touching down and disgorging their own bloodthirsty cargoes, swelling the ranks of the Brotherhood as they swarmed the area. The settlement's outer wall drew closer, and though it seemed to rise up as they closed in, it soon seemed small compared to the dark army rushing toward it. And then the Ren dropship swooped down, cannons blazing... and the wall exploded in a hail of shattered duracrete.

The Mongrel rain through the rain of debris without slowing. Heat and slivers of debris stung his skin, aggravating the burns and scars he'd received at the hands of Brotherhood torturers, but he was too caught up in the thrill of the moment to take any notice. His blood was hot, his instincts razor-sharp, his trigger finger itching to pull. This was his chance to change the brutal roll of the dice he'd been granted, to rise above the others howling all around him. He was going to take a head. No, he was going to take many heads. He had no choice.

The Ren had been the first into the settlement, and the path of their shuttle had already left a trail of bodies... to say nothing of their ensuing rampage through the streets. But there were plenty of civilians left in the alleys and thoroughfares, trying desperately to reach the safety of the barricades around Oga's Cantina. They would be an appetizer to the gory feast that was to come, a slaughter that would attract the Eternal Empire's mightiest defenders. The strength of the Maw would be tested against a worthy foe, and the plunder would be glorious.

The marauders fell upon the stragglers, and The Mongrel found himself at the forefront of the massacre. The dark night was rent asunder by a dizzying array of blaster bolts, flickering lights, and fires beginning to burn the outlying buildings, turning the fleeing civilians into a kaleidoscope of dancing shadows. But the man inside The Mongrel could see the little things: a wedding ring, a stuffed animal, people holding hands as they fled. It reminded him that he had been one of them not so long ago, on the receiving end of such a raid. The thought was agonizing.

Screaming in maddened pain, raging against the galaxy, he opened fire indiscriminately into the panicked mob.

Shafts of green light joined the vortex of shifting color as his bowcaster bolts began hitting home, the powerful energy quarrels lifting people from their feet as they struck. One, two, three, four, The Mongrel dropped members of the crowd, erasing the people he would once have identified with from existence - and sparing them the unimaginable pain of capture. It was better this way. They would sleep forever, safe from further harm, and at the same time he would save himself. Bending over the corpses he'd created, the marauder drew his knife.

Skulls might make the flashiest statement, but ears were far more portable. He'd be able to gather many more.

When he straightened up, four dripping trophies stuffed into his bag, The Mongrel saw that the marauders were slowing. They were starting to hit real resistance, and it wasn't just ordinary Batuuans. The local smugglers and pirates traveled armed, and could hold their own in a fight, but they couldn't hold back such a depraved tide of evil. This was more than that; just as the Voice had predicted, agents of the Eternal Empire were here. It was time to see just how "eternal" they truly were, for the Maw intended to tear down every tower and break every throne.

As the marauders advanced toward the center of the outpost, The Mongrel saw a flash of blazing light out of the corner of his eye. There was a young man, no more than a teenager, moving through the crowd. He was clearly headed for the main control center, and he was letting no one get in his way. Before The Mongrel's very eyes he ignited a laser-sword, cutting down several warriors with ease. The Mongrel should have felt fear, or perhaps pity for someone forced to fight at such a young age. But all he could think of was what a trophy that laser-sword would make.

"Die, crimson-blade!" The Mongrel screamed, taking aim at Calruss Shiman and firing off a volley of bowcaster bolts at him.

 

[Calruss Shiman]

Location: Black Spire Outpost.
Allies: Ingrid L'lerim Vexari Kahl
Enemies: Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood

Everything you could think of scattered the pillaged streets, bodies of their victims lay motionless on the floor as they continued their rampage towards the centre of the outpost. He kept true to his plan by easily cutting down any stragglers that were stupid enough to approach, leaving a splatter of blood spread across his face as a memento from their insolence. Such a bloodshed was unprecedented, it was almost as if they thrived for death and war. Although, their ideals did not phase the young warden by the very least nor did it strike fear into his heart like the rest of the people running for their lives. Some people did pluck up the courage to fight back, but they would soon be cut down by the corrupted horde.

Making good progress, he ran right down a side alley where some civilians were cowering behind bins, knowing full well that their world was falling around them. Calruss took no notice and drove forward, unexpectedly running into a group of warriors that were chasing down masses of civilians. The first one never saw him coming as he looked down to see a red saber go through his chest, leaving him to fall in a heap on the floor while the others began to slowly turn around. Calruss ran at them with frightening speed and cut off the end of their barrels before they could even pull the trigger, leaving them defenceless when he sent a strike through both of their chests with precision. Although, a lonely warrior ahead was still very much active and firing a wave of blaster fire his way. Out of quick thinking he used the force to raise one of his slain foes and use him as a shield to absorb his attempts before unexpectedly flinging him at the surprised attacker who took the full force of the blow.

Calruss thought that was all, until a loud scream of fury bellowed in front of him. Stood before the teen was a mess of a man, an individual whose face was burned beyond repair was wielding a bowcaster that even he knew was bad news. Without hesitation he fired a volley of bolts that came at him with alarming speed, forcing him to act quick and do his best to avoid them at all costs. He did well to escape the first few, but eventually was forced to use his saber to block one which was unavoidable. His saber managed to deflect the bolt away, but the force of the shot sent him flying to the hard floor on his back. With a grunt he had enough where with all to roll away from one before scrambling to roll away from another, leaving a hole in the concrete floor beside him as he got on one knee.

"Heretic..." snarled the teen who watched the warrior with a cold stare, unafraid by the first challenge he had received so far. It was clear he had some kind of power and was more experienced in battle compared to his minions, he needed to be cautious with this one. Finally getting to his feet he suddenly ran to the right, using market stools and other objects as cover while he drew closer to his foe. Towards the end stacks of newspapers were piled next to a step, providing him an idea of how to get closer. Calruss shot his left hand downwards and shot the paper into the air with the force, creating a paper storm of sorts that made all the different papers fly around him and disrupt his line of sight. Realising his chance to strike, he ran right at the heretic and took a swing at his bowcaster, looking to make it unusable by the time he was finished with it.

 

[TK-818]

Location: Marketplace
Allies: Kyrel Ren | Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: Aaran Tafo | Everyone Else


The broken body of the innocent laid before him, his knee rose as he lifted his foot over the poor man cut down but still breathing despite the blow from Sinh's weapon. With immense force his armored boot came crashing down onto the man's skull, crushing it with a loud crunch. His vibro-halberd spun within his hands as he twirled it and slammed it down with a ear ringing thud. The visor of the dark warrior drifted away as his gaze moved alongside his brothers' to their new master as he stepped forth.

Beating their fists against their chests nearly in unison, the Knights of Ren announced the arrival of Kyrel Ren before following his steps into battle. Sinh and the others followed the lead of the Master of Ren as he led the charge into the marketplace, striking down anyone within their path. The Dark Side was strong within them, Sinh could feel it empower him with each innocent slain by his weapon and he could almost visually see the unholy aura emanating from their leader as he fed upon the unlucky, the weak, the soon devoured. With a wave of his saber forward, the Master of Ren released the band of dark warriors like an unholy flood upon the marketplace.

The Knights of Ren spread out, searching among themselves for the mightiest challengers to give upon them a 'good death'. They would move to where they were needed most, answering to none but the commands of their master, Kyrel Ren. Sinh spun into action striking at the nearest foe he could find, using the force he pulled on the top of a canopy to envelop a pair of fleeing individuals. Caught like a fly in a spider's web, they were helplessly trapped as the Knight of Ren pressed his hand outward, sending the canopy and it's occupants soaring into the nearest building with deadly force.

Sinh froze momentarily, his visor drifting to his righthand side as he turned to face the newfound challenger as he announced himself defiantly. The Knight of Ren briefly moved his gaze between the challenger and his master as the three of them were caught in the midst of each other's gaze. He spun his mandalorian made beskar alloy vibro-halberd with his hands and position himself into a fierce stance, ready for battle at his master's command. It only took but a word and he would engage, unless of course his master took the challenge himself.

Flames flickered within the reflection cast upon his visor, the sounds of screams and blasterfire filled the background as he silently but intently focused on the enemy before him. The sound of AT-STs approaching soon reached his ears, such would troublesome if they were not dealt with soon.

​

 

[Blackout]

| LOCATION: En Route to Batuu, Disruptor Class Corvette |
| EQUIPMENT: Energy Shield ; K-16 Bryar Pistol |
| ALLIES: The AGENTS OF CHAOS [ Eleena Salwa ] |
| ENEMIES [OPEN] : The BROTHERHOOD OF MAW [ TK-818 | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | More ] |

​

Skirmishes. Battles. Really, things that Blackout considers himself much too skilled to indulge in. He's an assassin, a hitman, not a soldier to do the jobs of one of the hundreds of appalling governments and factions that think their stain on the galaxy is any more noteworthy than the last. The droid much prefers to work on his lonesome - no rules, no second opinions, nobody to slow him down. No strings attached. So it's an awful shame that money makes the world go round, because Blackout can think of no better punishment than being paid to be stuck with organics.

He stands perfectly still, arms crossed over his chest, sending the twi'lek a stare as sharp as daggers. The synthflesh on his lower face allows him to curl his pseudo-lips into a snarl, optics narrowed in unfiltered disgust. The droid is surrounded by an entire squadron. He'd been present during the briefing for an amount of minutes he could count on his fingers. Uninteresting. It's amusing to him, the protagonism so heavily present. Blackout's golden optics gaze at the woman. He can sense the fear and uneasiness - oh, it reminds him of his first hired kill.

On a twi'lek, no less. Hah. How fitting.

The droid leans back against the cold, soothing metal of the hanger bay's walls. The touch of smooth manufactured steel puts his mind at ease, it distracts him from the organic scum that he's been hired to ally with. He knows nothing of Batuu or the Black Spire Outpost, nothing of The Brotherhood of Maw. He doesn't even know much of The Agents of Chaos, the ones that had asked for his help. He's heard of The Eternal Empire, of Empress Ingrid. But they all had one collective thing in common.

He didn't care about them.

To Blackout, the only things he cares about are the kills he's been enlisted in securing. He watches as the twi'lek whose name he hadn't even bothered to remember readies herself, and he inches closer, the thud of his footsteps muted by the squadron scrambling to their swoops. She stands out among them. He chuckles to himself.

Long, tendril-like fingers trail up her back. Blackout's slit curves into a smirk, his face cold, yet there's an underlying sadism glistening in his eyes. He crouches down, as if to further shower how obscenely tall he was compared to her, until his face lays inches away from hers. "Break a leg, sweetheart." His voice is laced in venom, barely even whisper as it lingers in her ear, before the droid turns to walk away.

Normally he'd wait until the corvette was in landing distance to the outpost. Blackout had used ships fine before, but hunting on foot gives him a rush vehicles simply couldn't. As he stares at the twi'lek, however, he ponders. The droid waits patiently, his eyes walking along the last swoop in line.

This could be fun.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Streets
Allies: TK-818 , Kyrel Ren
Enemies: Calruss Shiman, Vexari Kahl

From the instant that The Mongrel's finger touched the trigger, everything began to happen with dizzying speed. There was a moment's panic as the teenage saber-wielder twisted away from the first three shots of the volley, moving as no human should be able to, dodging past the quarrels as they slammed into the walls of they alleyway. Then a moment's triumph as the fourth slammed into the kid's weapon, blowing him from his feet. But that triumph was stolen as he rolled over his shoulder, ending up in a fighting crouch instead of sprawled on the ground.

Their eyes met, and The Mongrel saw a terrible coldness in the kid's, an unyielding ice to match his own crazed fire... or perhaps even to exceed it. Through the haze of blood and pain and madness, The Mongrel began to consider that he might have bitten off more than he could chew. The four ears rolling around in his satchel had come from men and women who had fled before him rather than fight back. But this youth, only a little over half the marauder's age, wasn't just fighting back against the Brotherhood... he was winning.

"Heretic..." The Mongrel blinked at the epithet, then threw back his head and laughed. It was a crazed, heaving cackle that shook his shoulders and rattled his ribs. To the Brotherhood of the Maw, it was the kid and all who stood with him who were heretics, fools who refused to admit the cruel truth of the galaxy: that might makes right, and that the Maw is mightiest of all. The Mongrel wondered what strange mystical tradition this particular saber-jockey favored - Jedi? Sith? There was no way to know, and he found he did not care.

No matter what the youth believed, the crimson blade would soon be pried from his hands.

The boy charged, and the Mongrel opened fire again, his bowcaster quarrels blowing apart market stalls and vaporizing the contents of food carts as his foe took cover behind them. But the kid was fast, frustratingly so, and despite the destruction being wreaked up and down the alley not a single shot touched him. He was about to run out of cover, though. The Mongrel grinned, running a split tongue over his cracked teeth. "Got you now," he hissed, aiming at the newsstands at the end of the alleyway. There was no room to maneuver past.

But then something happened that The Mongrel had not anticipated. The flimsiplast newspapers exploded out of the stand, forming a swirling cloud, obscuring the end of the street. The marauder hissed in frustration; he should have known that the crimson-blade had magic, the same kind of magic that the Ren wielded. The Mongrel knew in that moment that he was badly outmatched, both in weaponry and supernatural ability. Only cunning and brutality would allow him to prevail. So he fired one-handed into the drifting papers, not even trying to shoot straight.

As the youth rushed forward, the bowcaster's discharges acted as a beacon, luring him in through the concealing paper. The kid's laser-sword cut clearly through the bowcaster, dropping the weapon's mangled front half to the street... but The Mongrel had predicted this. In his left hand he had drawn a rusted, jagged knife, as long as his forearm and as sharp as shattered glass. As the laser-sword came down on the gun in his outstretched right hand, the marauder stepped in close, trying to drive the blade deep into the kid's unprotected side while his weapon was out of the way.

"DIIIIEEEEEE," he howled, spittle flying from cracked lips.

The Mongrel let go of the knife handle, hoping that the blade was stuck fast in the young warrior's flesh, and jumped back. Whether his strike had been true or not, he needed to put some distance between himself and that deadly laser-sword. A loud noise drew his attention up the street, and he saw that Vexari Kahl's mercenary AT-STs were stalking through the outpost, forming a hard wedge to drive through the Brotherhood mob. Those walkers would have to be dealt with before they could blunt the assault... but until the crimson-blade was his, he had more immediate concerns.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Black Spire Outpost, Batuu
Equipment: The Soulsabers | Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Tag:: Zachariel Steelblood

Just waited, she didn’t have to do this for so long because the enemy quickly got through the defence, at least based on the sounds. Finally, the door to the main building surrendered. Some dust and other debris flew into the interior, which Ingrid swept aside with a single gesture - telekinetic - so they wouldn't hit her. At first she only saw the huge shadow as it entered the broken door. That was enough for the woman to recognize her opponent. Zachariel Steelblood was quite a striking phenomenon in all circumstances.

It was so interesting, knew there were other AoC members on Batuu, but they were all on their side. Would the man have betrayed them? They had previously fought on one side when the Mandalorian Union attacked them under the leadership of R Reyn Australis . Nodded her head very slightly after the man's words, her gaze left expressionless, though didn't like the address.

"My address is still “my Lord”, we are not in such a close relationship to you call me on my first name."

Said in her usual cold, military voice. It was pretty much her second husband Adrian alone from whom accepted it, in front of others, or publicly called her such because the man wasn’t so interested in diplomacy, and of course because she loved him. Might even accept it from Tubrok, but she and her other husband always call each other according to etiquette.

Hadn't reached for her weapons yet.

"What prompted you to turn against your allies and your own faction, Mr. Steelblood?"

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Ingrid L'lerim
​

The slaughter outside had been short for Zachariel, but it envigored him for more. And the sounds of battle outside certainly added to the effect, calling for him to slaughter more. Suppressing those urges, Zachariel focused on Ingrid, a truly worthy target. A skull worth holding onto, and blood that needed to be spilt. Tilting his head as Ingrid spoke, a grin crossed his face. Ooo she didn't like being called Ingrid, it was all titles for her. She was so cold about it too, but Zachariel saw and felt underneath the facade, she didn't like anyone but those truly close to call her Ingrid. Mock bowing to her, his voice laced with sarcasm, Zachariel responded.

"Of course Ingrid, my sincerest apologies. I did not mean to impose and say we were friends, no Ingrid, we are enemies. Soon it won't matter what I call you though, as you'll be dead, Ingrid."

His mockery was so evident a child would be able to see it, not that Zachariel cared. Titles such as that mattered little to him, unless they were proven to him. Falling silent with amusement as Ingrid continued, Zachariel couldn't stop the deep laugh that came after hearing that sentence. Throwing his head back, Zachariel roared with laughter. And then... he suddenly stopped. Head falling down, eyes fixedly staring deep into her soul, Zachariel sneered at her.
"I joined the Agents of Chaos to sow chaos, to watch the galaxy burn. I learned soon enough that they are weak, the only chaos they sow is that of peace, and weakness. So I became a mercenary, fought my way across the galaxy, helped and hindered those I wished too." Pointing at her, Zachariel chuckled. "You amongst them, though that was more because Mandalorians are some of the few out there who truly provide any challenge to me."

Dropping his hand, Zachariel continued.
"You see dear, I left the Agents a long time ago. I turned on them and the rest for their weakness. The Brotherhood on the other hand, our ideals align, and we shall watch the galaxy burn at our hands." Motioning wide with his arms, one hand still holding his sword, Zachariel laughed again. "Congratulations Ingrid! This world of yours is one of the first to burn at our hands! Unfortunately for you, you won't be witness to the many more planets that shall follow. You will die by my hands, hardly the first or the last, but at the very least worthy." Pointing at the still half living heads on his shoulder pauldrons, heads screaming in agony, he continued. "I'll be sure to add your head to my collection though."

With a flourish, Zachariel brought his sword up before his face, saluting her with a dark grin.
"Die well Lady Ingrid L'lerim-Vandiir, and do make sure your screams are loud enough for others to hear."

As soon as the last letter fell from his mouth, Zachariel shot forward at speed, boosting himself further with a burst from the Force. His sword flashed as he swung it several times, slicing with all the skill of a true bladesman, and the fury of a berserk warlord. It sang through the air, even as Zachariel laughed his dark laugh, eager for more bloodshed.

 

[Maestus]

Amidst the fleet of ships clogging both land and heavens, yet another was bearing down on Batuu. Nothing remarkable. Neither brand new, nor junker. No heads or other trophies adorned the ship. No, this was just a simple slaver ship.

The ship landed, but not near the other vessels. No, this ship veered off, opposite the side of the outpost everyone had descended on. It touched down. Not too rough, not too easy. Just right. Engines whirred to silence. After a moment or two, the loading ramp lowered. Out came a distressing sight.

5 at a time the marauders descended the ship. Walking 1 in front, and 2 rows of 2 behind. Clad in negligible armor. Really, it consisted of a black helmet and gauntlets. In their left hands, they carried vibro-pikes. Weapons that were stained with dried blood. The marauders marched in sync, 5 at a time.

8 groups in total made their way down the ramp. The stomping of their boots echoed more on this side of the outpost. The bulk of the fighting taking place across the outpost from their position made for something resembling quieter here. The marauders moved one unit to one side, next unit to the other side. Until finally, 40 bloodthirsty heathens waited in silence and at attention.

After the marauders were in place, another solitary pair of boots came down the ramp. Nothing special or out of the ordinary. Black boots. Smudged and scuffed from battles and training.

As the figure strode confidently down the ramp, she came into full view. Maestus had arrived. She wore no armor, no helmet. Clothing was equally simple. Black robes that flowed as she took each step. On her belt hung the hilt of a lightsaber. She was a Lethan Twi'Lek. Blazing red skin covered in black Sith tattoos.

She took her place before her troops, facing the outpost. She had no need to look at them. They were of the Maw. They knew only pain, and the rush of battle. They reveled in their brutality, and gave no quarter. Utterly merciless. In their minds, they had one singular task. Obey their master, Maestus. And, as it so happened, she was she was inclined to indulge their barbaric desires.

You have your orders. You shall take no prisoners. Mercy will not be accepted.

As soon as the last word left her mouth, Maestus' small horde let out a deafening and terrifying war cry. Vibro-pikes were thrust into the air. Boots stomped against the ground. Maestus raised her right arm up. The crowd stilled and quieted, but were anything but relaxed. They were poised, coiled and ready for war. The poor fools of Black Spire wouldn't know what had descended upon them en masse.

Maestus held her arm up for about 10 seconds. Long enough to hear the grunts and growls bubble up from her fighters. With a snap, the arm fell back to her side. 7 of the units took off, 1 unit stayed behind to guard the ship.

The 7 advancing units began to fan out as they approached the outpost. Each unti took down a different street. Darted into and through alleys. Their movements were deliberate, methodical and aggressive. The groups came upon civilians at different times, different places. Each time, it was as if reading from a script. The civilians would try to hide. Grovel, plea and beg. Each time, the cries for help and mercy fell on deaf ears. Quick and powerful thrusts with the vibro-pikes ended any hope of mercy. One unit took a moment to watch their prey as it died. They saw the hope and life become extinguished right before them. The group gave out a yell of rage and blood that hungered for blood.

Maestus moved towards the outpost, positioning herself in the center of the 7 units raising hell already. She marched in, her eyes fixed on the central walls, and the courtyard they guarded. That is where true glory awaited. A true challenge for her. The peons in the streets posed her no threat thus far.

Ahhh, spoke too soon. From behind a door, peeking around the door frame, came a barrage of blaster shots, heading for her general direction. The shooter was nervous and afraid, their aim was terrible. AS teh blaster fire raced towards her, she lifted her left hand and her saber was in it a second later, and ignited. What few blaster bolts posed any danger to her were deflected back at the shooter. Lucky for them, they had disappeared into the recess of the door and its frame, safe from the returning bolts.

Maestus advanced. Body coiled, shoulders tense, ready for action. She held her saber before her, just in case. As she stepped in front of the doorway, a very shaky blue skinned, male Twi'Lek, wearing light armor and helm, shook violently in fear. The blaster he held bobbed in his shaky hands. But his eyes, they were steady.

Maestus was intrigued. This pathetic creature thought to attack her, a Sith. One of the chosen of the Maw. A warlord of the Brotherhood. Yes, this Twi'Lek has courage, and knew better than to beg for his life. Little good that would do him. Yes, she was very intrigued by this creature.

She deactivated her saber, lowering her arm. FIery red eyes narrowed as she inspected him. Young, well formed. Strong, both body and mind. She would spare his life. She approached the male, stepping into any semblance of personal spacfe he thought he had. His bodily shaking intensified. He was right to be afraid. Nose to nose, she bore her eyes into his soul.

You are now mine. You will fight, or you will die. You may fight -and- die, it matter little. Follow me.

Her words concluded, she turned her back and looked for new prey to stalk. She hesitated a second, then suddenly her head snapped to the right. Her saber was instantly activated and brought above her head to fend off the downward strike of a virbo-sword.

The wielder was a man, species unknown, clad in dark armor. Dinged and dented from previous engagements. Maestus deflected a few more strikes. Her opponent was skilled, she gave him that. Pity she would not be able to ascertain his stamina, thank to blaster fire ripping into him. Bleeding from several wounds, he collpsed to the ground. He would die eventually. No sense wasting the energy to finish him off. Besides, he could lay there and consider what the fate of the outpost and its denizens would be.

Maestus shifted her gaze back to the male Lethan Twi'Lek. She looked away, just as quick and stepped off, in search of a new quarry.