Annihilation End of an Era: AC Annihilation of Korriban

[The Mongrel]

Location: Korriban, Mawite Excavations
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Tegan Starfall | First Sister | Alars Keto
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Darth Petrichor | Mikhail Grayson | Damsy Callat | Hiran Avola | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran | Aemilio Valaar | Laertia Io | Fiolette Fortan

Northwest: The Ashlan Front
​

Atop the jagged crags of the excavation's northwestern slope, the Lugubraa elder Ruulaavon watched over the unfolding battle. Down below, countless dull-witted but savage alien mercenaries slither-charged along the cliffs and ravines of the hill's most rugged side, firing their heavy repeaters indiscriminately at the oncoming crusaders. Ruulaavon had seen it all before, countless times. He - for he used the male pronoun for convenience, although Lugubraa reproduced asexually - was well over one hundred years old, and that set him apart from the crazed mob below, most little over five or six.

He had been just like them, of course, living only to kill and to feed. It was what made the Lugubraa so famously deadly; they were fearless and eternally ravenous, relying on their powerful alien biology to survive deadly wounds and rip apart whatever foe they were set against. Most of them never lived lives beyond that, beyond unthinking hunger and violence, because most of them survived less than a dozen years. Their existences were nasty, brutish, and short. But those who, like Ruulaavon, were fierce enough to survive to the age of fifty, they changed. Their minds suddenly expanded.

This cognitive kick-start enabled these Lugubraa elders to evolve well beyond the primitive thought patterns limiting their younger kin. Ruulaavon had suddenly become able to grasp the concept of tactical warfare, and of the value of long-term thinking. He had become not only a commander, directing his brutish fellows on the battlefield, but also a broker, contacting out the services of his legion to the highest bidder. He had helped to negotiate their current long-term contract, one that bound them to the Brotherhood of the Maw... and promised an endless flow of plunder. And meat.

At Ruulaavon's direction, the lamprey-like mercenaries of the Legion of the Leech held the hill against the oncoming Ashlans. Their slithering bodies easily navigated the rugged terrain... and they took advantage of the fact that they did not need eyes to see (and indeed did not have any). Capable of both echolocation and infrared vision, they deliberately created visual obstacles for the enemy, throwing down smoke grenades and kicking up huge plumes of sand with their weapons. Then they fired into the chaos, perfectly able to pick their targets... while their foes had to fire blind.

The crusaders heavily outnumbered this little detachment of the Legion, a single unit dispatched to watch over the excavation. No one had anticipated a battle of this scale, a truly apocalyptic struggle over this cold, dead world. But their defensive position was good, and their tactics were sound. Every meter the crusaders advanced would be a meter full of flying lead, for the Lugubraa had brought plenty of ammo for their heavy repeaters, belt after belt slung over their slimy shoulders like stacked bandoliers. And when the ammo finally ran out, or if the Ashlans pushed through to reach them...

Well, their fanged, sucker-like maws would be waiting.

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High Above: The Air War
​

Commander Arukovi's Spider Cruisers skittered forward in walker mode, their frontal beam cannons carving long, burning arcs into the sands of Korriban, leaving streaks of fused glass in their wake. Their laser cannons fired in all directions, opening up on the Galidraani rear with impunity, working to mow down artillery crews and their guardians. Their huge MegaCaliber guns charged for several seconds before each shot, shaking the entire vehicle with the force of firing the powerful weapons. Arukovi had brought the fiery wrath of the Maw, becoming the herald of his people's killers.

He ought to feel remorse, but he couldn't anymore.

Just as the destruction and disruption was beginning in earnest, hopefully greatly hindering the famous NIO artillery in their efforts to pound the Mawite defenders, new contacts showed up on Arukovi's screen. Enemy ships were descending from orbit, evidently intending to provide close air support to the Galidraani advance. That could prove even more devastating to the Brotherhood forces than the artillery. The choice was clear in the slave-soldier commander's mind: he had to prevent this aerial attack from annihilating the excavation's protectors. "Transition back to cruiser mode," he ordered.

The Spider Cruisers skittered back, putting distance between themselves and the Galidraani they'd been attacking, and began folding their multi-jointed legs back into their dark metal bodies. Soon enough, the three cruisers rose from the ground once more, streaking away from the site of their first attack and into newly-contested airspace. Arukovi considered the sensor readings. It looked like Fiolette Fortan's incoming attack was a significant one, with no fewer than ten corvettes descending from orbit, all bigger than the Mawite cruisers. Alone, they would stand little chance. They'd need help.

"We must request the aid of the Knyght houses," the broken Chiss commander decided. The Brotherhood had no more escort ships to spare, having allocated only so many forces to defend what had been intended as a minor excavation mission, but perhaps the elite Knyght pilots and their deadly Divine Eagle starfighters could help in this desperate struggle. Arukovi transmitted his position data and the numbers of the enemy, hoping to draw in the glory-hungry pilots. Then he led his three ships on an intercept course with the descending NIO air support group, bracing for ferocious contact.

The Tarantula-class ships were slow-moving but incredibly resilient, their powerful armor capable of taking a tremendous beating. Still, they were outnumbered three to one by the larger corvettes, and Arukovi knew he would likely be giving his life for the Maw that day. He had been well-brainwashed, and the thought of dying for his homeworld's killers only filled him with a sense of pride and purpose. If he died well, he would surely be reborn into the better galaxy that would grow from the ashes sown by the Maw. The Avatars would make it so. "Prepare to fire all weapons," he commanded, fearless.

"War! Death! Rebirth!" His men, as one, echoed the chant.

Perhaps the Avatars were listening, and had agreed to help them seize this glorious chance to bloody the enemy as they died, for at that moment a squadron of Divine Eagles streaked out over the battlefield. They were of House Kasparov, not the ultimate elite of House Daedalon, who were already engaged in the orbital battle far above... but they were still strong in the Force, and cybernetically-linked to their fighters. Their aim was unerring, and their devotion to the Brotherhood complete. They would still be outnumbered, terribly so, but they would reap a bitter tally of lives before they fell.

Three Spider Cruisers and twelve fighters. Could they hold?

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The Hilltop
​

Gowrie approached, drawing near now, a blade in one hand and a bottle in the other. The Mongrel smirked behind his mask as he took in the sight, struck by how different the Lord-Colonel's advance was from Barran's. The old general had been all discipline, calm and meditative as he'd prepared for the duel, almost Jedi-like... though thankfully he'd refrained from preaching the tiresome philosophies of the mage-knights. But Gowrie was much different, more like The Mongrel himself. He was fearless, ferocious, letting his wild nature free in preparation for the contest of martial skill.

As he ascended the slope, it appeared that someone else walked beside him, someone ghostly and insubstantial. The Mongrel pondered that, wondering who this strange spirit might be. He knew that the gates of heaven and hell had been opened, and that countless wraiths had spilled across the border between life and death. He had even set foot in the Netherworld briefly, a place that made his blood run cold, for it had felt somehow separate from the Avatars' holy plan. As such, the presence of this revenant unnerved him. He could not blame his marauders for taking pointless swipes at it.

But he could not let it distract him from the duel.

Warriors parted, and at last The Mongrel and Gowrie were face to face once again. It had been a long, long time since Csilla, a time filled with bloody campaigns for them both... and both men had changed. No longer did the marauder's scarred organic face stare at his Galidraani foe; instead Gowrie faced the leering, skull-like mask bolted to The Mongrel's skull. No more did the marauder spin his blade with organic hands, for his arms were now forged of metal as well, replacements for the ones crushed in his battle with the elite soldiers of the Kainate. He was less human now, but more powerful.

Gowrie took a final pull from the bottle of whiskey, the kind of liquor the marauder remembered well from Csilla, and then tossed it to his foe. The Mongrel caught it in one durasteel hand, and the grinning teeth of his mask slid open to allow him to pour the contents down his throat, draining the remainder. He threw the empty bottle down, letting it embed itself in the dead planet's endless sands, and his mask snapped shut once more with an audible clank. "Long overdue indeed," the barbarian warleader agreed, the blazing red of his ocular implants meeting Gowrie's striking eyes.

The Galidraani officer flourished his blade, a fine officer's sword... a fine trophy. Gowrie acknowledged as much, his own eyes on The Mongrel's heavy broadsword. "It's as we've always known," The Mongrel replied, an edge of amusement - but also respect - in his metallic voice. "At our core, we're not so different. It's why we win: we embrace the ferocity of our blood." He chuckled as Gowrie noted how different he was from Barran, though inwardly he wondered. Would this duel truly be so different from the encounter on Ilum? And would those differences be in his favor, or against him?

"When I've killed you," The Mongrel said, letting none of the doubts he felt creep into the words, "I will remember your bravery and skill. I will give that sword the place of highest honor among my trophies, above even a lightsaber. Your body I will return to Barran, unspoiled by the savagery of my men." He raised his warblade, wielded with the inhuman strength of his cybernetic arms, and saluted Gowrie. This had to end, and to end that very day. No longer could he bear the mercy that Gowrie had shown him on Csilla. No longer could he wonder who was the stronger.

All around them, the Cirihut began to stomp and hum, beating their weapons against their own armor in an eager frenzy.

​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

ALLIES: Kirie , @Zark, @Thalia Senn
ENEMIES: @Carnifex, @First Sister, KV-6000

Ship:https://www.starwarsrp.net/threads/the-tourtured-rebirth.154403/
​

Omen finished off the last of the fighters in a dogfight that was to be remembered. Whoever was piloting those fighters knew what they were doing but somehow Omen always managed to get behind them and shoot them down in the end. His shields had suffered and were just now recharging but for right now the danger had ended. Atleast the GA Capital Ship called the City of Ashes had shot down the rest of the missiles themselves down with flak. It was good to know he wasn't alone out here after all. Well, that was that. Now time to see what else he could help with and as he looked back behind him, he seemed to have found it. As he turned his pride and joy around towards the way the missiles had come from, the Sith Battlecruiser, the Eternal Rule. The Battlecruiser's gray and black paint job almost blended in with the backdrop of the blackness of space, slinking about just like its owners did. It gave him the heebie-jeebies just looking at it. From what the AC and its allied radio said, it was the seat of the now disposed of Sith Emperor himself Darth Carnifex himself. The ship was under heavy fire from the City of Ashes, the two ships locked in a battle of the broadsides. As he leaned into the cockpit window to watch the battle while monitoring his screens, the two ships seemed to get closer and closer together, which was mainly the fault of the City of Ashes which seemed to be barreling towards the other ship at full burn. It was time to see strange thing what was going on because how else would he get a piece of whatever was planned.​

​

He was almost there when he found out the reason for the closeness between the two vessels, the City of Ashes was preparing to board the Sith battlecruiser with whatever they had one had. Boarding Pods shot out of the GA's ship like fireworks on a Life Day night. The only thing he could do at this stage was try to help them. He rushed under the guns of both ships, blasting away at any remaining fighters that dared even try to interfere with the drop and when all of the GA's tquickly magnetically locking his ship's airlock to the hull of the Eternal Rule. Well, it was time to start a job only he was capable of, running into the breach of battle once more.​

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[Isla Draellix-Kobitana]

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Location: Outer perimeter of Korriban system
Faction: Ashlan Crusade
Allies: Caarlyle Rausgeber Zark San Tekka Albrecht F. Herlock Tristan Evore Relynia Sorrene - AC/NIO
Enemies: Tu'teggacha Darth Carnifex - KV-6000 - Marlon Sularen Derix Tirall TSE/MAW

Spoiler

Fleet composition
Noble Crusader Class Battlecruisers
Pillar of Retribution (Flagship) - engaged with fatalis
Divine Purpose - engaged with fatalis
Bane of Darkness (reserve)

Dragoon Class Battle carriers
Fist of Demici - moving to engage eternal rule
Rapture - engaged with fatalis
Holy Choir (reserve)

Templar class star destroyers
6 in primary fleet, 3 in reserve fleet

Bastion class planetary invasion ship
3 in reserve fleet

Nebula-ii class star destroyers
4 in primary fleet, 2 in reserve fleet

Dominion Class escort frigate
16 in primary fleet, 8 in reserve fleet
Principality class corvettes
16 in primary fleet, 8 in reserve fleet
Warden anti-starfighter frigates
6 in primary fleet

Hangar equipped vessels have full complements of following starfighters (50/50 split)
Pegasus interceptors
Phoenix multi-role starfighters

The Phoenix squadrons streaked away from the enemy frigates with their SLAMs on full burn, most of the enemy interceptors struggled to keep up but several squadrons had managed to get in front of them, with SLAMs running, dogfighting was a poor proposition so the pilots attempted to dodge through the incoming fighters. There were too many of them, swarming the area in front of the multi-roles and blocking their escape, a number of Phoenixes found themselves with nowhere to go and their craft were ripped apart, impacting with the smaller more numerous enemy fighters, and those that slowed to improve their agility found themselves jumped on by the more elite pilots of the Divine Eagles. By the time the enemy pulled off the pursuit to prevent themselves getting too close to Ashlan ships, just over half of the wave of Phoenixes were lost.

Isla sat in the relative calm of her battle cruiser bridge watching the holo intently, she would never know the intensity of being a starfighter pilot, but had to deal with a thoroughly different kind of intensity, her fleet would very soon be fully engaged with the enemy and many thousands of lives hung in her hands. “Captain, the Rapture is no longer under fire, I want the rest of her interceptors out as soon as possible.” she mapped out a route pulling the Rapture in a flanking manuever, her turn had put her now level with the oncoming dominions on the right flank “Have her join with the dominions and try to flank these two enemy destroyers” The Rapture was primarily a carrier, but had a heavy broadside that would threaten the smaller oncoming Crucifix class.

The Crucifixes were moving forward toward the Ashlan lines, a cold shiver went down Isla's spine as she remembered the encounter with the pirates and their boarding parties. “Have the marines prepare to repel boarding, and alert the Captain of the Divine Purpose, He is getting awfully close to those two destroyers.” She could clearly see on her holo that the two Crucifix on that flank were rapidly approaching her second battle cruiser and it was beginning to take minor damage through its shields, the tough ship would hold up well to fire, but she doubted how well its crew could deal with a significant boarding attack.

Fleet wide, the two battlecruisers and the templars maintained fire on the Fatalis unwilling to give the huge vessel time to repair its shields, maybe this focus was smart, or maybe the blinkered approach was a sign of a fleet, inexperienced at larger fleet engagements. The fusion accelerators, meteor particle cannons, shield drains and solar ionisation weapons would put pressure on the big ship to disengage or continue taking damage.

The Dominions, now linked up with the Rapture began to target the closest approaching Crucifx. Between the six dominions and the heavy battlecarrier, dozens of heavy and super heavy turbolaser blasts, ion cannons and other weapons raked it shields. The dominions though were not having everything their own way, with the huge Fatalis switching its focus on to them the front three dominions were all taking fire, taxing their shields hard. The Bardiche, second in the squadron seemed to be getting special attention, its shields glowed as the molecular arrays fought to convert oncoming fire into ship power, blowing out multiple emitters across the port side. There was a flash as the shields on that side finally failed. The Bardiche began to take evasive manoeuvres to spread the fire over different arcs, but it was too late, far out in the distance, an autocannon round was streaking toward the vulnerable ship with doom in its future. The round struck the Bardiche not far beneath its bridge, exploding and ripping the heart out of the vessel. The bridge crew were killed instantly and the ship was left crippled. All down the hull, surving escape pods blasted out into the void, moments later a second autocannon shell hit, almost in the same spot, cutting the dieing ship in half and dooming its remaining crew.

Isla clenched her fist as the holo updated the status of her frigates, this was the first loss of the day and would not be the last. She made a prayer to Ashla for the crew and dispatched support craft to hunt for escape pods.

On the other flank of her line, the two Templars had the enemy Samaels bearing down on them along with a large number of starfighters. Ion cannons were already putting the shields under pressure and the technicians of the closest ship were struggling to maintain electrical integrity. The templars were large, tough ships but were a susceptible to mass ion fire as any other ship. Handily, squadrons of Pegasus interceptors streaked across the dorsal hull of the templar to provide CAP support for the vessel, adding to the impressive array of point defence weapons, they engaged the enemy fighter bombers, each Pegasus was equipped with multitrackers and racks of miniature concussion missiles alongside their rapid fire laser cannons, so their entry to the fight was announced by the trails of dozens of missiles targeting the enemy starfighters. Not far behind them was the squadron of Principality corvettes, these small ships stayed close to the Templar to provide extra point defence, and they engaged the Samaels with their turbolaser batteries.

Spoiler: Active Engagements

• Fatalis fleet
  • Pillar of retribution (taking minor fire - shields taking hits - superficial bleedthrough damage - firing on fatalis, ions on support ships)
  • divine purpose (taking fire -shields beginning to weakened, Minor damage - firing on fatalis, lending arc based support to other ships)
  • rapture (taking fire - fore shields recovering - minor damage 74% fighters launched - firing on lead Crucifix)
  • 2 Templars (taking ion damage, lead templar shields weakened - multiple systems suffering outages -both firing on fatalis)
  • 6 dominions (firing on lead crucifix, 1 destroyed, 2 with weakened shields, Minor damage)
  • 6 principalities (engaging Samael frigates)
  • 2 wardens (following battlecruisers)
  • Number of Phoenix lost, fleeing to regroup behind fleet to renew attack
  • Pegasus interceptors engaging fighter bombers near templars

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[Ishani Dinn]

What did she owe him? Their only other interaction before this had been when they fought each other! And yet he expected, no, demanded that she tell him her plans? How was it any of his business what she did once she got off this planet? What was this, some misguided sense of Jedi responsibility? Compassion?

She hated his browbeating approach, however well-meaning Aaran might think he was being. Of course, she was ignoring the fact that they were in a warzone, and that even she agreed the Sith, if not the people then the doctrine and teachings and the entire Force-damned worldview, the “cult of power” as Maliphant described it, were poison. Maybe at some point in the distant past she had thought differently, believing that only a few bad apples gave the whole system a bad name, but she had long since ceased to swallow her own bullchit. She stayed in the obfuscating darkness only because she was too afraid to step out into the scrutinizing light—afraid she would be judged for her foolishness and folly. But in the process she had blinded herself, shutting her eyes against everything that might help her grow out of the shadows. She might have met with Caedyn Arenais once and agreed to be his apprentice, but she had hardly committed to the path.

It was easy to hate Aaran, here and now, with the forces of the Light on her doorstep and murder in their hearts. But Ishani also didn’t want to die here and now, and Aaran was at least offering safe passage away from this nightmare.

Still. She resented accepting his help, and wanted to at least be able to tell herself her own ingenuity and gumption was what really got her off this rock.

“Look, there are things about me you don’t know about,” she said. A bit cliche, but it would work for a start—and Aaran was making a lot of assumptions about her based on very little information. “I’ve already been training with the Jedi in secret. I was planning on leaving at some point, once I had made… certain arrangements. I’m—”

She was originally going to say I’m Caedyn Arenais’ apprentice, but something happened in her brain. Maybe she realized he might not recognize that name, or was afraid he wouldn’t believe her, or wasn’t sure she wanted to associate herself with Caedyn after all. Either way, what came out of her mouth next surprised even her.

“... I’m Dagon Kaze’s apprentice.”

Huh?

Oh.

… Oh.

Well… time to commit.

“Remember when I said some idiot from the NJO tried to seduce me to the Light?” Somehow, she managed to keep a straight face. “Now you know. Except… it sort of worked.” Realizing belatedly how that sounded, she decided she might as well roll with it. “I may be a slut, but at least I’m a Jedi slut.”

Aaran Tafo Creuat Ishida Ashina Bernard of Arca​

 

[Mikhail Grayson]

Lugubraa. Wretched creatures.

Once a tool of the invasive Croke in their dominion over the Croke Reach, now an innumerable horde utilized as auxiliaries for the Brotherhood of the Maw.

Mikhail remembered the day Crakull fell, how could he not? To look upon the faces of evil incarnate seated upon their high thrones and the wretched, vile figure who served as their voice. They fought for food and luxuries the Brotherhood afforded their elders in exchange for blood spilt in the name of their avatars. It was all business to them, they had been catapulted onto the galactic stage and they cared less for what greater cause, what greater doom they inflicted that would inevitably bite them all the same.

It was all just good business.

His saber swung and parried, fighting into the thick of Lugubraa with savage blows delivered to rend any unfortunate wretch of a creature into two. The cerulean blade hummed over the ambient sounds of battle, the ultimate game of King of the Hill was afoot and the MAW was at the top of the mountain led by the fiercest marauder in their ranks, The Mongrel .

Torrents of slug-fire rained down on their position as they advanced with iron will and unrelenting resolve. The Ashlans would not relent and would show no mercy until every last one of the Sith were defeated and shown the benevolence of the Ashla. The MAW’s appearance here was no different, yet his uncle had made it clear where they stood with the Great Enemy, there would be no quarter for the Brotherhood would give none in return.

A flash, sparks of vile illumination from some yet unseen foe and a sonic boom crashing against many of his fellow crusaders. The Jedi was drawn to it, it was his destiny to combat it. He approached as the unknown foe was placing the autoinjector on her belt, she waited for him in the midst of ten dead brothers-in-arms, an unignited lightsaber in her left hand and a luminescent cyan glow in her eyes gave away her true identity. He looked upon the First Sister .

A Sith.

“Those were good men and women. They deserved better, I won’t let their deaths be in vain. Drop your weapon, you won’t get a second chance.”

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

V O I D W A L K E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KORRIBAN
OBJECTIVE 2: BLOODSOAKED VALLEY
ALLIES: DECEASED Aron Gowrie , Fiolette Fortan, Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran , Hiran Avola , Damsy Callat , Mikhail Grayson , Darth Petrichor
ENEMIES: Brotherhood of the Maw, Sith Remnants, The Mongrel , Alars Keto , First Sister , Tegan Starfall , Laertia Io

IMPERIAL MILITARY ASSISTANCE GROUP
IN ASSISTANCE TO | ASHLAN CRUSADE

In the midst of the conversation with Captain Reed, a bright light came to life on the features of the Free State Officer. Orbs widening in surprise, Aemilio's head shifted to the side and instinctively raised his cradled helmet up to his head. Sliding the 'bucket' over his skull, it clicked into place hurriedly. As the world beyond came to life with the action of the helmets systems, he saw the firestorm that had risen ahead of them. Effectively blocking off their path, he shot a look to the surprisingly outspoken Captain. Thankful for his quick thinking in replacing his helmet, on account of it concealing the confusion and uncertainty that abruptly shot through him.

Maybe this wasn't my best idea.

But it went without saying that it'd be safer in a larger company. Especially a fast moving one. His shorter range loadout didn't afford him any ability to fire from a safe distance. The streets of Ravelin were tightly pack, sometimes uncomfortably so. The close quarters range of battle was his forte, almost as natural as his innate sense to recognize danger, or to plot his moves steps ahead.

Swoop bikes could be heard above the din of the rumbling AFV engines, antsy for the chance to carry them off, he was sure. <<Get ready to mount up,>> Aemilio said, patching into his company's channel frequency. There were too many men to all take up position on the AFV's, but they formed into their respective squads in the shadows of the vehicles, awaiting that imminent marching order. It wasn't too long until Reed was on his way back.

"Voidwa- Er, Aemilio... Pleasure. Here's to hoping the armour's worth it, yeah?"

To the veterans of the Order, this was another day. Another battle, another fight. To some, he assumed, it'd be monotonous. The killing, the loss of life, it was as part as their daily life as it was to eat and breathe. Soldiers, fighters, true to the crucible that was the Civil War.

But for him, it was a reckoning. The testament that he would make to prove that he was worthy. That putting faith in his ability was not a waste.

Shaking his head from side to side. The moisture building on the back of his neck disappeared, but the anxiety of command remained. Only lessened as the weight of his performance weighed on him, and took precedence. Comeon, Comeon, Comeon.

 

[Derix Tirall]

P O W E R

Operation: FINAL DAWN​

[/FONT]

Final Dawn Armada Avatar of War [Primary Command Vessel; Superweapon] Vindicator - Ressurection Class Tyrant - Sovereign Class Adjudicator - Sovereign Class 6 Praetorian Class Star Destroyers 8 Supremacy Class Star Destroyers 20 Autarch Class Star Destroyers Many Frigates Many Corvettes Many Cruisers TIE/ad Fighters TIE/ad Interceptors

The High Regent's image flickered once more before he finally responded to the Admiral.

"You may fire when ready"

Ten minutes. Not a long time, yet in the climatic battlespace forming within the system, it was an eternity. "Target the Alliance Dreadnought. I tire of Sularen and his...rivalries"

Quite a simple statement outlining the dramatic array of enemies Sularen had assembled in such a short time. The Grand Overseer fancied himself an arch-enemy of a great many leaders of the galactic community, including the Vice Chancellor, the Corellian Government, the New Imperial Imperator, among many, many others. "Order Sularen to disengage the combined Alliance Fleet and withdraw to the defensive screen. Relay those same orders to Admiral Alden"

The battle was unfolding quickly, and yet both Alden and Sularen had faced little success. That would change soon, By drawing in and combining the full force available to the Brotherhood, the incredible firepower wielded could be utilized with great effect. "Alert him to microjump to the position of the Taskmatser and wait for the enemy to engage him"

"Once they have, leave the Taskmaster with a sizable detachment, microjump once more, this time within our lines"

ATTN: Marlon Sularen | Aldo Garrick | Tu'teggacha | Aerarii Tithe | Fiolette Fortan | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Albrecht F. Herlock | All Other Fleeters

 

[Danika Leventis]

ALLIES: What allies?
ENEMIES: Those that stand in my way
GA GA OO LALA: Dagon Kaze
GEAR:

Spoiler

Lightsabers - yeah, about that....
Phrik blades
Phrik dagger
Dressed to kill
The Ash Hellions led by Samron Gerron (Update: in another tunnel - not with Danika at the moment, but not too far either)

O~~>FIRE MEETS FATE<~~O​

It was sweet.

Oh so noble.

Him seeking to redeem her. She almost pitied him - that he had been unlucky enough to have run into her. Darth Halōsis - the One Who Takes by Force - unrepentant, unyielding, unwavering and enjoying every moment of it. She was not planning on throwing it all away because the boy next door asked to.

Yet she allowed him to summon her sabers.

He was brazen, standing this close to her. How easily she could have her way with him now. But for some reason, she did not strike him down.

Being what she was for so long, almost uncontested, she was curious as to why this Knight was so bent on pulling someone as genocidal as her, from the abyss. She did not miss the plea in his eyes. Her face almost softened, yet the ever present, impish glint in her eyes remained, however dimly.
"And how, my dear, do you plan on doing that? Clearly you know who I am. I'm curious as to how you plan reprogramming me as if I was a droid?" she asked him in a tone that could almost be mistaken as sincere.

Danika was no fool, however.

She knew the Jedi could be just as sly as the Sith. For all the preachings of peace they delivered, they spilled as much blood as their Dark Sided counterparts. A vicious cycle of hypocrisy. Keeping her connection to the Nether as close as she did the Force, she was ready to put distance between herself and her uninvited dance partner.

Yet, deep, very deep down, something had stuck.

Did she really not feel remorse when she and the Lady of Night burnt through numerous worlds?

Did she regret those actions?

Maybe. Just maybe.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: The Fatalis, High Orbit over Korriban
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | KV-6000 | Derix Tirall | Marlon Sularen | Aldo Garrick
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | Isla Draellix-Kobitana | Tristan Evore | Fiolette Fortan | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Aerarii Tithe | Albrecht F. Herlock | Constantine Oliva | Relynia Sorrene | Pietro Demici | Dracken Pryce | Zori Kapshan

In a battle of this scale, a thousand things were always happening at once, far too many for Tu'teggacha - or indeed anyone - to react to them all. The skirmish surrounding Carnifex's command ship intensified, countless do-gooders converging on the ship to take their shot at the hated ex-emperor, but there were no forces available to aid the Eternal Rule even if it had been a priority for the Maw. Fiolette Fortan's battle group dispatched a bombing group to the surface, and nothing was available to intercept. Some medical ship arrived, and as much as the Taskmaster would like to blow it away, he hadn't the time or forces.

All he could do was focus on the few things he could control.

The fact of the matter was that the Ashlans had many allies, and the Maw had only one: time. If Tu'teggacha, Sularen, and Tirall could hold out for ten minutes, then the Avatar of War would be ready to fire, and all the overwhelming numbers of their multitude of foes would not matter in the face of that mighty superlaser blast. But time was a capricious and unreliable friend. Ten minutes could pass in the blink of an eye, or they could stretch out seemingly forever, every second grinding by as the Maw's outnumbered forces dwindled. Holding out was their only hope, but it was a fickle hope, one that could be quickly dashed.

And there were always unanticipated variables to help dash it.

As Tu'teggacha gave his orders, glassy eyes glued to the tactical readouts, the Fatalis suddenly rocked with multiple impacts. Klaxons wailed throughout the titanic dreadnought, and one of the colossal main engines flashed red on the damage readouts. "Status report!" the Ebruchi bellowed, startled and furious. The detonation had come from behind, where no Ashlan craft were present. What had hit them? "We've been struck by some kind of stealth weapon, Taskmaster," one of the bridge officers replied. "Their torpedoes slipped through our shields and detonated gravity charges, crippling one of the engines."

Tu'teggacha's facial tendrils writhed in fury. What kind of weapon was this, that could disrupt shields and cause so much damage to a capital ship without being detected? The Fatalis was already slow to advance or maneuver, and the loss of one of the main engines - he could see the debris surrounding the shattered ring streaming off into space behind them - would make getting to safety even more difficult. "Track them down," he ordered. "Dispatch a Divine Eagle squadron. If our sensors cannot pick them up, let the Knyghts find them with the power of the Force." It was all he could spare against this unexpected threat.

A full squadron of Divine Eagle starfighters swept away from the battle in front of the Fatalis and began hunting the Silencieux, determined to root out the stealth ship before it could strike again. The corvette's advanced Yggrasil cloaking device hid it well, keeping it from being spotted with the naked eye and from being detected by virtually all sensor scans... but calculating the trajectories of the torpedoes gave the Knyghts a place to start. Nor did the cloaking device hide the engine exhaust as the corvette moved, a small but ever-present trail for the elite pilots to track. And so long as a single living being was aboard the ship, well...

All lives could be sensed through the Force. The Knyghts would find them.

That was all the time Tu'teggacha could spare for this small but dangerous problem. He barely heard Sularen's reply, focused as he was on the oncoming Ashlans, though he heard enough to agree with one thing: "Yes, take any shot at Tithe that you can. The loss of their leader will demoralize them." The slippery Vice-Chancellor had been present at many battles against the Maw by then, and always seemed to wriggle out of harm's way by the skin of his teeth. Tu'teggacha wasn't sure if he was very lucky, very clever, or both, but the man was more than just a nuisance - he was a genuine threat, one to be taken seriously.

The Ebruchi had no time to worry any further about the businessman-politician-warrior, though. The Ashlans were at close range now, and the battle had begun in earnest. He got his first bit of good news in far too long when the casualty reports for the enemy fighters came in - many of the bold Phoenixes, by some reports a solid half of them, had been destroyed while attempting to escape the screen of swarm fighters. The Knyght pilots had hunted well, and it was frustrating to be forced to pull some of them away to deal with the stealth ship. But the early lead in fighter supremacy was only growing in the Maw's favor.

Tu'teggacha was not concerned that the Rapture had resumed launching its fighters. They had forced the carrier to stagger its launches, so its fighters could be picked off piecemeal rather than faced all at once. What was concerning was that the enemy battlecruisers were drawing in closer and closer, unwilling to let the Fatalis drop back behind the star destroyers and recharge its shields. The big ship was taking more and more fire, and with a main engine crippled, it couldn't disengage very quickly. The situation had to change, and soon. The destruction of one enemy Dominion-class was good news, but not worth the damage.

"Prepare a boarding action," Tu'teggacha ordered the Crucifix Is. "Target the Divine Purpose. We will distract them from their headlong advance. Batter the ship from within." Aboard the Sanguine Cruor and Severing Blade, which had drawn close to the enemy battlecruiser, the fearsome Kitiakira Warbands formed up and entered their boarding pods. Screened by countless Darkshears, the pods launched into the chaos of battle, streaking toward the Divine Purpose. The enemy capital ship was already under heavy fire from both star destroyers, no doubt weakening its shields and point defense systems. Pods would get through.

And then the Kitiakira would show why they were so greatly feared.

In the meantime, the Crimson Offering kept up its attack on the Pillar of Retribution, trying to drive the battlecruiser back and buy the Fatalis some breathing room. Tu'teggacha was tempted to turn the dreadnought's weapons on the enemy flagship as well, but he couldn't afford to; there was nothing else available to resist the Ashlan battlecarrier and Dominion-class ships sweeping in on the eastern flank, and if he didn't devote the full force of the Fatalis's weapons to holding them back, they would be able to fully encircle the outnumbered Mawites. Yet as he did, the Fatalis struggled to withdraw, unable to hit the Pillar back.

Time, he reminded himself. All we have to do is play for time.

At the western flank, the Samaels and their fighter-bomber escorts clashed with the enemy Templars and frigates... a fight in which they were badly outmatched. Despite the success of the massive ion barrage, heavy point defense and an interceptor screen were rapidly whittling away even the hardy Doomsayers, and these - unlike the Darkshears - were craft that could not easily be spared. Each one lost hurt the Brotherhood and its chances of victory, and before long Tu'teggacha broke off their attack, pulling the remaining Doomsayers back. Their new objective: striking the Divine Purpose from the side, to soften it up for boarding.

Darkshears swarmed in to fill the gap, doing their utmost to hunt down the enemy Pegasus interceptors simply by overwhelming them with sheer numbers. They would at least help to screen the struggling Samaels... though it was too late for the Wretched Fate, which had already taken serious damage. The frigate burst under a powerful barrage from one of the Templars, rupturing into three pieces as its reactor exploded. Nearby, the Hollow Heart wasn't in much better shape... but it had strength enough for one last bold move. Accelerating to maximum speed, it headed for the nearest Templar-class on a collision course.

"War! Death! Rebirth!" The crew chanted as one, ready to die for the Maw.

As the Hollow Heart approached ramming speed, its engines, armaments, and reactor set to explode on impact, the other three Samaels dropped back, retreating toward the Fatalis. They were outmatched, and they knew it. Perhaps they could at least soak up some of the fire coming in toward the flagship. Still, it was clear to Tu'teggacha that the western flank was collapsing, crushed under the weight of superior enemy numbers. No matter how savage, devoted, and skilled his fleet personnel were, they simply could not win against such a vast battlegroup. Before long they would be surrounded on three sides.

"Hold," he whisper-burbled, clenching his knobby hands. "Hold, damn you." Just a little longer. Just until the weapon was ready, and deliverance finally came.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition / Actions

Fatalis, a Fatalis-class Star Dreadnought	Minor Damage, 1 Engine Down, Firing on the Dominion-class frigates
Crimson Offering, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Shields Weakened, Firing on the Pillar of Retribution
Severing Blade, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Firing on the Divine Purpose, launching boarding pods
Sanguine Cruor, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Firing on the Divine Purpose, launching boarding pods
Vile Nativity, a Samael-class Frigate	Firing on a Templar-class, retreating
Ember of Sin, a Samael-class Frigate	Firing on a Templar-class, retreating
Opened Vein, a Samael-class Frigate	Firing on a Templar-class, retreating
Wretched Fate, a Samael-class Frigate	Destroyed
Hollow Heart, a Samael-class Frigate	Major Damage, Ramming a Templar-class

 

[The Battalion]

Wearing: Warrior's Skin


Armed With: Elaine Tear's Lightsaber (Corrupted)

Objective: 2


The creature formerly known as Elaine Tear strode through the remains of the very school Elaine had once set up. Most of her own students were dead by her hand or soon were to be.

Elaine, had she still been fully herself, would have been screaming in despair. The Battalion instead drank in the emotional despair of killing her own students.

She felt regret that she had not taught them more about the Blade as Elaine. Elaine had been more interested in emphasizing the Light Side of The Force in their training. It's healing abilities. It's ability to produce Light, manifest it in the physical plain.

None of which had helped against her Corrupted Lightsaber, which granted her an immense resistance to it. Elaine had developed some self consciousness at the end, after her final encounter with Morris Crownwraithe. She had mourned his death. Mourned his rejection of The Goddess. It had made her question what it was about her that he considered so irredeemably vile. Made her re-examine her approach.

Not that it helped now, clearly.

The Battalion smiled as she slowly carved apart her star pupil, Raytha. She was a mousy looking young teen Elaine had taken in from the streets. She had practically hero-worshipped Elaine, who was now the source of her cruel and prolonged demise as The Battalion expertly cut away the flesh of her own screaming, sobbing former student with a Lightsaber, the fires burning down what had been a peaceful academy.

The Battalion, wearing Elaine's face, stared right at Raytha, unblinking, smiling, even, as she slowly rent her apart, then consumed her life force. Other students had fled to the woods, but they wouldn't get far.

She wasn't sure what she felt as she strode through the burning halls of her former life, all Elaine had built brought down by her corrupted self. She dragged her saber through the framed photos of Elaine and her students. She half considered keeping a few in secret as students but Phyre's orders had been very clear. None were to survive.

She was in no hurry though. Her flesh bubbled and writhed as she drank in the lingering suffering and echoes of heart broken betrayal, the bodies of all her students flayed apart as her white catsuit clad frame strode past them, growing stronger in the darkness by the minute...

Every happy memory of Elaine was destroyed by the time the Battalion was through with that academy...

Present...


The underground networks of Korriban were quite ancient. Constructed by the original, pure blooded Sith, they had networks that crisscrossed the whole of the planet, all made for various reasons, either as a hidden escape route, a path to even more tombs...

...or the last remaining place to conceal the absolute darkest of ancient secrets.

The Battalion had a number of Xiphos's followers and sons with her as they traversed the ancient networks, going ever deeper into the planet, routes to other areas collapsed or deliberately sealed off, with half faded warnings of terrible dangers for those foolish enough to ignore the fact there was a reason they were collapsed or sealed off. The horrific part was that there was often no elaboration as to why. The ancients must have figured, hey, if you've gone this deep, you're probably well versed in what horrors await.

The Battalion led the way, the glow of her blade, a lighter red color than most Sith blades the only source of light.

The Model 1's flanked her, carrying pump action shotguns or light machine guns. The Light Sith stayed behind them, twisting the Light to keep the evil of the tunnel network from their minds.

The plan had been worked out and agreed upon beforehand. The Cult of the Brain Demon knew a portion of these tunnels concealed among the very oldest tombs on Korriban. It had been explored by Darth Phyre during the Gulag Era, when she had first emerged.

Ancient Sith relics abound in these terrible depths. They would make for an excellent fuel source, as well as the spirits in these tunnels.

The tombs here had been constructed just before as well as just after the arrival of the first Dark Jedi Exiles on Korriban. It was staggeringly old, and the power and relics in these tombs hadn't been touched in countless ages. Hell, they were so old, that nearly all of the traps, even the magic related ones, had mostly broken down. Nothing but incalculably ancient spirits and the occasional Hississ to defend these old chambers.

Xiphos knew that there might be but one way to save Korriban from destruction, not because she genuinely cared for it's survival, but merely to frustrate and delay the plans of her enemies a little longer, and to deny them true victory.

The Sun Generator wasn't here. It was off world, soon to be brought in by a very small fleet Xiphos had scrambled together from salvaged warships or freshly bought ones.

It wasn't meant to engage the fleet directly. It would never win in any case, being badly outnumbered and mostly outgunned. Xiphos intended something very specific for when it arrived.

The Sun Generator had been subjected to a powerful and deadly ritual. It was one that would connect to the one they would perform here.

Xiphos had a plan to save Korriban alright.

Xiphos intended to rip a hole into the Netherworld to draw Korriban into it.

If the enemy happened to be near or on the planet well...

...too bad for them.

The Battalion stopped in front of a tomb door. Its owner long faded away in name.

The Battalion, with a pulse of the Dark Side that made her flesh writhe disgustingly on the bone, forced the door open, stepping through.

Fittingly, something as corrupt and evil as Darth Phyre would place a tomb for herself in only the absolute darkest, deepest depths of the Sith World. That was the tomb they were using as a shortcut.

Paradoxically, The Battalion was relieved Xiphos wasn't here...surely she would sense the connection to her beloved Syd. It was why The Battalion requested she be allowed to handle this part of the operation exclusively...the otherwise brutal Witch didn't want to bring Xiphos's world down yet, having been disturbed by the earlier conversation about Syd for reasons she couldn't explain, even to herself.

It was partly out of respect for her, and partly mercy. A small fragment. A violation of the Dark Side's teachings but the Battalion shrugged it off. Nobody was the perfect adherent to the Dark Side's ways. No one. Not even The Amalgam was perfect. If The Amalgam could ignore the feast of suffering at Csilla simply for the sake of aiding her daughters, than the Battalion didn't see a problem in doing something much smaller in scope.

But the plan, ultimately, was all that mattered.

Might savage the landscape a bit, but neither Xiphos or the Battalion cared about the survival of anyone above (With the sole exception of her children). Given the fight she sensed Xiphos experiencing, The Battalion figured Xiphos might get a kick out of witnessing a plan come to fruition on the surface. Xiphos wanted to punish them all. Hell, on some level, The Battalion suspected Xiphos wanted to punish even herself.

The Battalion casually slew a curious, beastly Hississ that slid out of a large crack in one of the tomb walls. A minor thing, really. The Dark Side Dragon looked old...sickly. Perhaps it too sensed a threshold for Korriban.

The Cult of The Brain Demon refused to allow such an important holy world of the Sith to be destroyed without a fight. It was stuff like this that made them refuse to even consider partnering with The New Sith Order...there was nothing new about it. They, like the Maw Brotherhood, were nothing but lazy Iconoclasts, so frustrated and unable to derive any further joy from how the game was played that they were compelled by some mad spite to swipe away the whole of the board to try and forge a new one. The Battalion thought it a bunch of nonsense, this sentiment about rebirth. Rebirth to what? A shiny new reality? They would quickly turn it into the same chithole they perceived this reality as once they got bored. Paradises were inevitably boring if you stayed long enough in one. Or some one like her would rise and make their rebirth for nought.

Their situation was hopeless, much like the Ashlan Crusade, who thought wiping out every Dark Adept would "save" reality. If reality really was doomed, then it was doomed more by ordinary people than Sith. Getting rid of every Dark Sider wouldn't change a thing...it would just strip away the ugly lie that the Bogan was the cause of all The Galaxy's woes. The Battalion wouldn't put it past the Ashlan's to sink into a purity spiral where even the ultimately just and righteous were not safe, simply because they could not always be Just or Righteous. The Battalion had once been an Essonian--it was so easy for their faith in someone to shatter over a single mistake.

She went deeper into the complex, pointing out ancient relics for the Model 1's to sieze, and for Xiphos's Light Sith to safely corrupt. A Wayfinder here, an amulet there, a Sith Sword removed. It would all be twisted to their ends today...all to ironically try and save this corpse of a planet...

But to tear out the root of the Sith, was to tear out the source of its greatness. Korriban was irreplaceable to the cult.

She tensed. The restless spirits were weak but far from defeated. Mummified corpses lining the walls began to come to life hell-bent on avenging themselves on those who had disturbed their slumber. Slaves of Darth Phyre,bound to guard her trinkets for eternity.

The Battalion could have spoken the enchanting pass phrase to make the spirits stand down...but she was bored.

As the corpses came out of their alcoves, both she and everyone else started shooting or slashing, The Battalion taking immense delight in cutting down almost anything with her blades. It was in battle she felt the most alive...

Meanwhile...

Following: Jester Squadron


"I think they're taking the bait!" Jack said as a number of warships began to descend into the atmosphere.

"Wow, we pissed them off." Mark cackled as he spotted them.

"Should we go after the bombers?" Heath the Nuetralizer asked.

"No! Forget 'em! We got nothing to protect down there, let our Clone Allies handle it." Jack said. "Go for the Corvettes. Harrass them but don't get too close. We want them to chase us. Fire on the engines!"

Jack turned on his comms. He gave three snaps of his metallic fingers. A signal for every Nuetralizer on Korriban conducting surface operations to begin.

Fire spray 31's now began to strafe the battlefield indiscriminately, firing on every target below. Impeding Assault Tanks dived deep to avoid the vicious bombing and laser cannons as they spread out in groups of three. The Centipede tanks could inflict great harm, but their best use was in harassment, in making the enemy waste ammo. They erupted directly under the NIO vehicles, flipping them over than immediately diving, not even bothering to try and attack the surrounding troops before diving under the ground as fast as they possibly could to avoid the bombs. Meanwhile, fourteen Coral Skippers, smuggled to Korriban days in advance by Sith Legionnaires who had risked everything to leave Xiphos necessary equipment took off from far away mountain ranges. Thirteen were clustered around the Fourteenth, who had something specially attached to the hull.

While Jester Squadron was joined by other Nuetralizer squadrons in a direct assault on the Corvettes themselves, the Coral Skippers sped ever closer to the Ashlan forces attacking the Academy...

DECEASED Aron Gowrie

The Mongrel

Fiolette Fortan

 

[Laertia Io]

"Losing ourselves? GREAT FETHING JOB!!" Xiphos shouted. "Our duty was to do everything in our power to prevent Mass Genocide! You didn't keep jack chit together!"

He gave a little at her assault and she paused a moment, deciding her next action.

"Everything that has happened since, the horror at Dantooine, the slaughters the NJO committed in the name of the Light, all of that, all of it could have been prevented. I refuse to accept that horrid argument that the Sith and the Bryn'adul are the same evil! Not after what I've seen. What you and the Order did was evil. Beyond evil! AND IF NO ONE ELSE IN THE GALAXY WILL PUNISH YOU FOR WHAT YOU AND YOUR SELFISH AS HELL STUDENTS DID, THAN I WILL! YOUR ORDER DESERVES TO BE FOUGHT! YOUR ORDER DESERVES TO BE OPPOSED TO MY LAST BREATH! AND YOU DESERVE TO DIE!!!

The time for words were over. She launched a wide series of fierce heavy swipes at superhuman speed. She was trying to kill him, at the same time desperately trying to keep her emotions in check and not quite succeeding. The strikes were powerful and wide, and came in unpredictable patterns, fast as water over rocks with no wasted motion, aimed at his weapon or his arms holding the weapon, trying to match power for power as she sought to kill him, bent on inflicting not just vengeance for every one of the Bryn'adul's victims he had allowed to die by focusing on the Sith, but for her own ruined life in fighting for what she believed in...

Coren Starchaser

 

[Melydia Gold]

SIDE: Defender
OBJECTIVE II.: The friend-saving
LOCATION: Tombs, Korriban
WEARING: x | x
CARRYING: x | x | x | x | x
TAG: Dis

T H E _ S W A R M K E E P E R​

"Well, we like talking animal-friends quite a bit," Melydia said with a nod, as if she were personally offended by others not liking the feline. Which wouldn't be false. Melydia would call herself a friend to many creatures, even those who would not necessarily do the same. Though she was also confident that those who would not be her friend truly meant that they would not be her friend yet. After all, why would someone not want to be friends? To her, friendship wasn't a question. It was an inevitability.

Melydia felt a slight sensation of warmth as Dis conveyed their happiness to the insectoid, further putting her at ease with the shadowy one. It was nice to find an ally of sorts in such a time of stress, especially among the sleeping dead. The cat's question, however, she wasn't quite sure how to answer. Thinking ahead was seldom her way of operating, being a creature often involved in doing more than planning. Yet she thought back to their previous encounter with the waker of corpses, remembering the rush of power that had surged through her in a moment, inspiring her to act when the moving dead had sought to end them.

"We think we will simply not give them a choice," she said slowly, testing the words as they exited her mouth. A glimmer of gold shined in her normally amber eyes, just as it did in the eyes of the Shyrack and the Tuk'ata youth beside her. "They will help us. That is not for them to decide."

 

[First Sister]

Location: Outside Mawite Excavations, Tombs - Korriban
Objective: Feed Master
Side: Defenders
Dark: TK ( Darth Carnifex ) │ BoTM ( The Mongrel Tegan Starfall )
Light: AC ( Mikhail Grayson ) │ NIO ( DECEASED Aron Gowrie Aemilio Valaar )
Direct Engagement: Mikhail Grayson

The electromancer’s eyes looked upon the Jedi, assessing his form, from the mundane to the inconspicuous. The color of his skin, hair, and eyes. The stance of his legs. The glint in his blue eyes. The weight of his conviction. The fear, or lack thereof, in his heart. Those things and yet more were examined by her senses, both the physical and the supernatural. She had faced Jedi over Ziost and now she would here, on Korriban. However, she knew that this would be different, especially as the Jedi ostensibly had offered her something unexpected, even after she had already slain so many.

A surrender? Mercy? Compassion? The Qilin couldn’t quite place it. However, it was more than the two Jedi on the Prosperity had given her. Perhaps because of it, she felt obligated to do the same.

“I agree. They were.” The Sister began in Basic, a tongue which felt oddly foreign to her lips, yet seemed to flow naturally from her tongue. As she did, one of the soldiers, his form twitching and charred with burns, yet still clung to life. Unfortunately, the man was beyond saving, but he had nevertheless summoned the strength to pull a locket from his belt, with a picture inside of individuals that the Sister presumed were family, perhaps his wife, girlfriend, or mother, along with two children. The diminutive electromancer let the man embrace the locket in silence, his form slumping after only a moment, as his body expired and his soul departed. Then, once he passed, the cherished object hovered into the Sister’s tiny hand, her eyes sparing a brief glance at the pictures of the loved ones inside, before placing the locket back onto the soldier’s body.

“A shame, someone lied to them and gave them guns.” She continued, her voice now taking on a distinct, feminine growl. “But rest assured, their souls will not go to waste. Once my Master has exhausted their energies, they will be recast and reborn, into a cleansed galaxy.” The electromancer’s eyes went wide then, her expression shifting towards elation, as the prospect momentarily consumed her attention.

“This...dusty rock and others like it,” The Sister spoke, her voice once more harboring a growl, which yet belied the level of hatred she felt for this place, where the Sith Eternal had sought to rewrite her. “Will be all but irrelevant.”

Then, the Sister extended her hand out to Mikhail.

“Your essence is strong, Jedi. Your death would sate his needs for some time. However, there is a place for one such as you in his Eclipsing Mission, should you choose service instead of sacrifice.”

Spoiler: Loadout

• Electromancer’s Chitin
  • Energy Shield
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
  • Alchemical Talisman(s)
    • Jin'Wodasir - Pins of Protection (2)
    • Spirit Anchor
  • Left Gauntlet
    • Repulsor Weapon
  • Right Gauntlet
    • LPD-40 IceJet Miniaturized CryoBan Projector
  • Utility Belt
    • FAE/U-01 "Serenity" Anti-Signal Field System
    • Supernal Infusion
  • Droid
    • IBIS Drone
• Jasmine Lightsaber
  • Magenta Kyber Crystal
• Whimsy Knife

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

4TH POST
THE_TUATH
KORRIBAN
OBJECTIVE 2: BLOODSOAKED VALLEY

Galidraani Forces: Enedina Tal Hiran Avola Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Fiolette Fortan

Allies (NIO): Rurik Fel Aemilio Valaar

Allies (AC/GA/EE/SJC/PO): Lonnie Kai Dagon Kaze Damsy Callat
Ingrid L'lerim Starlin Rand Solan Halcyon
Darth Petrichor Creuat Mikhail Grayson

Enemies (Sith Remnants): Vector Monk Laertia Io Danika Leventis Darth Orcus
First Sister Ana Malixar Caulder Dune
Dis Darth Voracitos Crane Baxa

Enemies (BOTM/NSO): The Mongrel Alars Keto Tegan Starfall

Gowrie's Loadout
Primary: Custom Blaster-Pistol (Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw)
Secondary: Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Rapier (Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding)
Last Ditch/Second-Blade: Shugg's Fairbairn Vibroknife (Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding)
Pocket-Weapon: Barbershop Razor (Right-pocket - right-hand wielding)

Wildcat Battalion
(Mechanized/Artillery/Infantry)
55 XT-62 Cataphract Tanks
20 Scout-AFVs
10 MLVs
5 Predator Launch-Platforms
2 Guardian Tac-Teams
1 Field-Medic Platoon
1 Combat-Engineer/Logistics Squad

GALACTIC MOSHPIT: THE TUATH'S CRUCIBLE VI - SNAGS AND ROADBLOCKS 2

'Not to worry, Aemilio. I'm quite confident in these plucky AFVs of ours, they're basic as basic can get - but the old Scout-AFV model hasn't let us down yet. Machines such as these even survived the Second Battle of Bastion, that occurred months before I passed selection though, so I only know what everyone else knows sadly..... The only ones left o' the auld Blue-Heart Battalion, the only ones living who truly know whit happened in Ravelin that day, are Lord Erskine Barran, and Lord Aron Gowrie.'

Speaking of which.... Imperial Military Assistance Group - they're actually native t'Bastion, are they no?​

Reed's first real taste of combat had been on Generis, an ill-fated deployment that resulted in receiving wounds that would see him sitting out Ziost 2, but with actions brave enough to gain the notice of Lord Barran's friends in the Free-State commissions-department by the time they deployed to Serenno; the rest would be history when Lord Erskine picked him out from a rather self-important pile of 2nd-Leftenants, pairing young Alun off with his newly-promoted second-in-command whilst being fully aware of the potential in,"That Lairy-Looking Ginger Fellow", with nought but a simple gaze into the lad's eyes to see what separated him from his contemporaries at the time. The funniest part about it all to him was the fact that Lord Aron didn't like the thought of being assigned an adjutant, though probably annoyed about the fact in general, as unlike the Stormchaser, the Kellas had not known of Ginge's deeds until the lad got to prove his worth in the war-torn city streets of Carannia.

The Scout-AFVs, however, were a whole different beast to the Commoner-Captain entirely, and especially in terms of prestige and listed deployments with the NIO. The first of their kind could be found as far back as Barran's early short-deployments with Lord Tal's blessing, making it's mark as early as their deployment to Kynachi, and from there, they'd travel the galaxy with the Blue-Hearts and the Fighting First alike from Ziost to Muunilinst. Reed could rely on the Free-State's Scout-AFVs for what he was planning to do next, and with ease, so the Wildcats' only Blue-Heart embraced the situation for what it was, and used his trust in the armoured fighting-vehicles to spur him into action. Stepping into AFV One, Alun cried out,'It's time, Aemilio! Have your men hop aboard the darlings, roof-access from inside an' all sorts!', just before he saw exactly how much assistance Lady Fiolette was bringing down from orbit; laughing as his eyes caught a glimpse of the vehicle's holographic-display, the western air-theatre was flashing like crazy with descending blips, confirming that the exiled matriarch of House Fortan had similarly destructive intentions for Korriban's surface.

<"All Wildcats, this is Reed! I sincerely hope everyone's in position now - as the time to strike is upon us, lads! We push north, and with the weight of Galidraan's armada behind us! DIA SAOR GU-TUATH!!!! DIA SAOR GALIDRAAN!!!">​

With engines roaring to life, the wide set line of Scout-AFVs lurched forward in their low-gear start, but when traction and pace were established, all the outlying vehicles began to veer aggressively towards the center to make their formation more compacted than it was when they'd stopped to cover the hillside ascent of the XT-62s. The Cataphracts themselves began to pummel the positions to the north of the Unit44 contingent downhill from them, then after a short barrage, the Highland Charge was enacted with wild abandon; though they would reach the base of the Mongrel's mountain a minute or so later, Reed was sure it would still prove effective enough to deny the mountain's sallying defenders any momentum, as the uphill struggles would favour the XT-62s by that point. However, whether the Death Gangs or the Rough Riders would attempt to push forward was anyone's guess, especially so when the sky began to spew out Corvettes and TIE fighters from above, and with House Fortan's offering considered, Alun realised the mountain's defenders were probably adopting different tactics in response to the new threat instead.

'Brace yourself, Aemilio! It's about to get very wild indeed! But if you want to get a better view, hop up the gunner's hatch an' keep Private Dewar safe with the LMG behind 'im! Stay on comms - an' my callsign's Wildcat Two by the way.... Good luck up there, lad.'

Whether Captain Reed knew it or not, luck in Valaar's first outing as a top-gunner would be sorely needed, especially if he was to make it beyond the impacting swoop bikes and AFVs, especially with the threat awaiting just beyond the Rough Riders taken into consideration. Luck of another sort would also be needed in their approach to the Mongrel's mountain, but the advancing Tuath and Mawite lines would be peppered with more trickery that both sides would accuse the other of inflicting, completely unaware that their opponents on either side were being pressured just as much as their respective counterpart, with one side being just as unaware of the third-party interference as the other. Despite the new developments in their charge for glory, and with all the new factors considered, Reed held true, gritting his teeth with anticipation as the Fortan ships levelled out at low-altitude to the west.
If Lord Barran is the one who bravely wades through the storms, then it is surely Lady Fortan who subtly wields them.

'Not even all the tombs on Korriban are worth the BONES OF A GALIDRAANI BOMBARDIER!!!!'

GALACTIC MOSHPIT: THE TUATH'S CRUCIBLE VII - THERE YOU ARE!!! (PART 2)

When the raucous cheers announced the fight be underway, Gowrie couldn't help but join in fanfare for a moment, baring his teeth as his knees bent in anticipatory poise, eating up the atmosphere of the setting itself as Lord Aron drunk in everything around him like he was taking in the perfect panoramic view. The goosebumps would show on Gowrie's arms and up the back of his neck, but unlike Erskine, these were precursors to something far more adrenally-focused; made all the more intense when the Lord-Colonel started inhaling and exhaling slowly, but doing so in aggressively deep breaths, becoming obvious to the Mongrel when the breathing began to quicken with the rising tempo of the Tuath's pulsating heart. The most visceral of changes was occurring in the mind of the Kellas, something that may have been considered Mawite in habit under different circumstances, as the change itself was purely putting Gowrie's mind in a state to both prepare his entire being for death, and to accept the deathly fate of a dedicated soldier.

'A kind gesture, Mongrel? Oh, well! I can't deny that I find myself a little flattered by that - I'm just hoping your fight with Lord Erskine has prepared you enough for this, mate.... If the Woads couldn't conqueror us, then you'd better hope your blood flows strong enough to ascend them!'

Veins were popping out on his temple, his neck and forehead as Gowrie dipped his center-of-gravity even lower, standing catlike with rapier bared leading as his erratic breathing resumed even faster and heavier than before. Spittle was also beginning to fly forth in his exhalations, his eyes were beginning to grow bloodshot as every negative memory and overthought was given freedom to run rampant in the forefront of his mind, creating a maelstrom of near-uncontrollable fury that served to keep the adrenaline flowing at full intensity. There was a reason why many saw Gowrie as Barran's antithesis in all things swordsmanship, but it definitely wasn't the contrast in fighting intensity, there was something stylistically pure in the way Lord Aron fought, like technique and repetition served much too little to be considered parts of the fighting niche the Kellas had carved out for himself. It all boiled down to the difference in raw ability, the well from which the fighting Lords of Galidraan III could draw their reputations from, and the difference was often staggering in the sparring-yard at Free-State HQ; while Erskine made good technical use of the limitations of his age, the torch was apparently passed down in the years since Ilum.

On the day Aron proved his natural advantage over Woad-born cunning.

*'SINN'SEARAAAAAAAN!!!! BE'ANNAICH MO IANN!!!'
**'Ancestors! Bless my Blade!'

Roaring off the line, Gowrie would unleash his most hellish warcry yet, echoing his frothy-mouthed ire across the valley around them as he bounded sprinting forth from his starting-pose; taking the fight to his opponent, the Kellas picked up remarkable speed on approach, bringing the hilt back to his right hip in perfect concealment of his intended target area. Whether he was attempting an early finish or using the aggression to force the Mongrel's hand could not be discerned quickly, giving the Mawite champion no choice but to opt for a hard-parrying lateral escape, making use of movements akin to those the Mongrel had implemented against Barran in the Ilum blizzards, escaping to rotate and throw in a sneaky slash for the Tuath's throat in response. 'No bad, Mongrel!', Lord Aron growled as his downward-pushing parry was used to propel the slender blade towards his opponent's right forearm, enjoying the quickness of the Mawite's reactions until the instant the tip of his blade bounced off the Mongrel's forearm with a distinctly metallic clunk.

'Oh, ya cheeky wee-'

'Good! At least these arms won't tire out on me, eh? But now ah'm curious, Mongrel!', Gowrie exclaimed as their swords met in the center for control outside their reach-pockets, both furious and relieved by the revealed new change in circumstances. Flicking out his torture tool, Lord Aron would do something he had never dared before, he would use his barbershop razor; not as a means to intimidate or torture the Mawite champion, and not as a parrying-blade either, but in this state of newfound curiosity that intermingled with the rage so quickly, the Lord-Colonel wanted to use the incredibly sharp razorknife as a secondary attack-blade instead. As he started stepping back slowly, Gowrie ground his back teeth to an audible degree but stopped to remark,'Ah'm actually curious as t'where the durasteel ends an' where the flesh begins!', with eyes darting all over the Mongrel's body from head to toe.

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Direct Enemies: Marlon Sularen
Allies: Aerarii Tithe
​

3rd Sector Fleet - Strike Group 2
Alliance Starhawk Resolve

The Botori had come a long way from his meager beginnings as no more than a pirate. He had been lucky- The war with the Sith Empire and their incredibly destructive war machine meant the Alliance couldn't throw away talent and as a ship commander during the Botori's war with the Galactic Alliance he had proven himself a capable commander fighting alongside the pirate bands that had plagued the star cluster for decades. When the war came to a close, however, he was given a choice: Spend the rest of his life behind an electro cell or serve the Galactic Alliance.

He would have been a fool to not take that offer.

Throughout the war, he had proven himself time and time again with his unorthodox tactics first commanding a small frigate and then his own star destroyer. Now he commanded the Resolve as an Admiral and commander of his own strike group.

A turbolaser blast glanced off his port shields and caused the tomahawk-shaped vessel to shudder. Off in the distance, he could see the bulk of the Ouroboros as it rained down green turbolaser blasts upon the Maw Irregular fleet. It was a true titan, able to stand up to entire fleets on its lonesome, and so it was that even now it brawled with the vanguard of the Maw Irregular with only a pair of Redeemer-class battlecruisers to support it.

But he was getting distracted. He had his own fight to win.

"Fighters incoming!"

"Stars above there's so many..." Indeed it seemed as if the Maw Irregular fleet had disgorged a cloud of black and the fighters that had already begun their attack runs suddenly didn't seem like much of a threat.

He couldn't help himself. As Admiral Giyo stared down the angled faces of the two modified Pelleaon-IIIs and the incoming swarm his ursine lips curled into a black grin, his bared teeth, and predatory features causing it to look more like a snarl than an expression of joy. His fur bristled beneath his uniform and he felt his claws extend as he gripped the arms of his command chair.

And so the true fight began.

3rd Sector Fleet - Strike Group 4
Alliance Nimbus-Class Gunship Kakarot

Captain Morgan Disayakes jerked his command yoke, sending the nimbus end over end sending his co-pilot's long, white hair in a tangled tumble. The Devaronian glared at him but didn't complain as she pulled the trigger and let loose a torrent of blaster bolts into the circular cockpit of the TIE that had been chasing them for the better part of a minute. Their other gunners and crew probably hadn't appreciated the maneuver either. But Disayakes didn't much care.

After the maneuver and kill had been made Jasuna leaned over and gave the Captain a thwack on the shoulder.

"What have I told you about pushing her engines like that. I could almost feel the thrusters groaning." Disayakes shrugged before laughing.

"But did you die? I added another eyeball to the tally didn't I?" He said it like that was enough to make up for the countless times Jasuna and the rest of his crew had gotten him and the Kakarot out of jams that his reckless piloting had gotten them into.

He heard someone vomit into a bag behind him and cast a sympathetic look to his Rodian com officer who looked more green than normal. His large galaxy-filled eyes swam with nausea as he struggled to read something that had just come over text channels. His eyes expanded even farther and he vomited again before shouting.

"Incoming fighters! A LOT of them!"

"That's an understatement..." Captain Disayakes muttered as he had flashbacks of the battle over Muunalinst. They'd barely survived that first opening battle. But he had grown since then, both as a commander and as a pilot and he'd be damned if what was supposed to be the last battle of the war would be HIS last battle too. He pulled down the ship-wide com from its place above the dash panel and thumbed the switch.

"If you weren't already, buckle in crew. We are in for one hell of a flight."

3rd Sector Fleet - Strike Group 1
Alliance Star Defender - Ouroboros

Pryce watched as the tide of darkness flooded the displays that mimicked viewports, jaw agape. The tactical display had begun to lag due to the thousands of tiny clusters of fighters that it was now attempting to render on the holotable. What was it with Sith admirals launching all of their fighters? Did they not understand basic military doctrine? No. They did. Most likely they followed those tactics used by the late Clone Wars-era Confederacy or maybe those of Palpatine's Empire. Overwhelming force in lieu of any actual skill or tactics. But he supposed war wasn't supposed to be beautiful or sensical. It was supposed to be efficient. And a swarm of three thousand fighters was brutally efficient.

"Sir-"

"I can see them," Pryce said, barely restraining his annoyance. The 3rd Sector Fleet had enough fighters to match, easily. But the question was when and how to minimize death and maximize their use. At present less than 5% of their fighters and gunships were active on the field. But the fighters that were coming outnumbered them by several orders of magnitude at least.

"We can take them," he said under his breath.

"Sir, what?"

"The Ouroboros can take them." Why not? They had enough point defense lasers and missiles. Between them and the fighters, the Ouroboros would be the bulwark. It could take on entire fleets on its own, why not a swarm of fighters? His lips pulled into a grim line as his first officer gave the order to launch all Ouroboros fighters and to charge straight for the center of the fighter formation.

 

[KV-6000]

Location: Gunnery Crew Station, Gun Decks - Eternal Rule
Weapons: Octuple Barbette AI-MD “Gnoma” Mass Drivers - Upper Prow
Call Sign: Shen Seven
Personal Equipment: DS-101 “Venture” Multipurpose Protective Attire (X) │ SIF-57s │ Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
Side: Defenders
Dark: TK ( Darth Carnifex ) │ BoTM ( Tu'teggacha Derix Tirall Marlon Sularen Aldo Garrick )
Light: AC ( Isla Draellix-Kobitana Tristan Evore Pietro Demici ) │ NIO (Fiolette Fortan Caarlyle Rausgeber Albrecht F. Herlock ) │ GA ( Zark San Tekka Aerarii Tithe Relynia Sorrene Constantine Oliva Dracken Pryce ) │ SJC ( Sergeant Omen )

While the man inside its cockpit was undoubtedly a skilled pilot, lacking any real stealth systems, the Tortured Rebirth was swiftly picked up by the Eternal Rule as soon as the vessel came into range of the battlecruiser’s powerful sensors, long before an attempt could be made at landing on the hull. As such, once the freighter came into range, multiple gun systems locked on to the approaching craft, foremost being the octuple mass drivers under KV-6000’s control…

​

“Ready to fire, Commander!”

The battle progressed swiftly, with multiple developments transpiring over the course of the time it had taken for the crew of the Shen Seven to load up the octuple mass drivers. Linked directly to the AQUILA, KV-6000 was not only examining the battle embroiling the Eternal Rule, but also that of the Maw Irregular Fleet and the fleet commanded by Taskmaster Tu’teggacha. Assistance could not be spared in either direction, but the enemy seemed to have enough resources to spare to dispatch a battlecarrier and a freighter towards the Eternal Rule, which was already beset by the City of Ashes. In a head-to-head, broadside-intensive battle, the Eternal Rule should have been able to win quite handily. Unfortunately, the Alliance battleship had proven to be more resistant than otherwise expected.

Nevertheless, with the tractor beam arrays now out of reach and with their operational status unconfirmed, KV-6000 shifted her primary focus. She anticipated that given the trajectory of the City of Ashes, she would soon have the opportunity to focus fire on its rear, where the engines were located. At the very least, she might be able to strike a crippling blow to the massive warship, if things played out as she expected.

“Commander, a hostile freighter is approaching. Permission to-”

“Granted! Don’t let that piece of junk bypass our defenses!” KV-0007 barked.

While the freighter’s pilot attempted to fly under the guns, the size of his craft worked against him, as the mass drivers under KV-6000’s control, in addition to the other batteries of laser cannons and flak guns bristling along the hull of the Eternal Rule, were still able to acquire a firing solutions on the Tortured Rebirth. The strand-cast’s enhanced mind drilled out vast quantities of data within nanoseconds, accounting for each of the hundreds of factors which could affect the trajectory of her shots, in addition to ensuring that she had a clear line of sight, ever aware of any risk of blue-on-blue.

Then, she willed the guns to fire.

A brief, split-second of silence heralded a pounding burst of two massive doonium cores, cast forth into the void towards the Tortured Rebirth on the MAC setting, delivered just as the enemy pilot drew a bead on one of the Shadow Droid starfighters. A deep breath left the strand-cast’s lips as she fired the second shot, her eyes widening as she waited for the AQUILA to feed her the data from her target.

Her first kill? An ingrained bloodlust flared to life at the thought. However, for the moment, she could only hope.

Spoiler: Summary of Actions

• All eight AI-MD “Gnoma” Mass Drivers reloaded.
• KV-6000 establishes targeting solutions on the Tortured Rebirth, before the pilot can manage to land.
• Two shots are fired from three of the eight AI-MD “Gnoma” Mass Drivers under her control, all on the MAC Setting, aimed for the Tortured Rebirth
• Reload Sequences Initiated.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Korriban, Mawite Excavations
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Tegan Starfall | First Sister | Alars Keto
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Darth Petrichor | Mikhail Grayson | Damsy Callat | Hiran Avola | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran | Aemilio Valaar | Laertia Io | Fiolette Fortan

Northwest: The Ashlan Front
​

Atop a craggy outcrop, Ruulaavon smiled... or at least did the closest Lugubraa equivalent, stretching his flexible mouth into a near-horizontal line. The Ashlan crusaders charging up the hill were unrelenting, marching fearlessly into the storm of slugs streaming down the slope, sustained by their faith. How unfortunate for them. It was a brave gesture, a gesture of absolute certainty that their cause was righteous... but in the absence of tactics, it didn't change anything. Row after row of them could boldly start the uphill climb, but all that meant was row after row marching into a wall of lead.

If they were so eager to be martyred, Ruulaavon would oblige.

Of course, not all of them were such simple foes. There was a Jedi among their ranks, a brave youth with a blazing blue lightsaber, and his faith and prowess enabled him to lead the way further up the slope... at least until he encountered his equal opposite. Ruulaavon had no idea what was passing between Mikhail and the First Sister, did not even know either of their names, but he was satisfied that they would - for the moment - cancel each other out. That left him to guide the larger battle, free from the interference of Jedi and Sith. He preferred it that way, a contest of martial skill alone, no sorcery.

Directing his senses upward, Ruulaavon beheld the brewing air war, and knew that it would do much to decide this contest. His mercenaries were incredibly deadly against infantry from medium to close range, but they had nothing to effectively counter an aerial attack. Such was a persistent weakness of the Maw forces, who boasted very few surface-to-air weapons. They relied on Brotherhood air support to cancel out that of the enemy, but the Brotherhood's air support looked to be heavily outnumbered. Just like the rest of them. Spider Cruisers were deadly, but the incoming corvettes...

Well, they were bigger and more numerous. That was a problem.

Of course, there was the matter of that strange renegade squadron and their accompanying Firesprays, indiscriminately strafing the battlefield. Their actions didn't bother Ruulaavon in the slightest; his mercenaries were entrenched on the hillside, with the advantage of defensive foxholes, so quick strafing runs did far more to hurt the Ashlans - charging over open ground - than the Mawites. The ships looked to be poised to attack the corvettes as well, so perhaps they'd cause enough chaos for the spider cruisers to survive the encounter... or at least last a little longer in this desperate struggle.

What Ruulaavon couldn't understand was the point of it all. After all, only the galaxy's major factions had the resources to deploy the kind of armies that could actually contend with the forces already deployed here... and the tanks and aircraft attacking at random didn't seem to be affiliated with the Ashlans, NIO, or Mawites. Without the backing of a major power, there simply wouldn't be enough of them to make any real difference to the outcome of the conflict. No matter. If they wanted to pretend to be power players, so be it; the Lugubraa would take advantage of what scant casualties they caused.

-------------------------------------

South: The Galidraani Front
​

Finally, finally, the Wildcats were making their move.

Fre'shaa grinned as she turned her swoop, her long hair - woven with gears and the bones of small animals - billowing around her as she switched direction. The enemy was, of course, making their advance only now that the situation fully favored them. Bursts of fire forced the swoops and Rough Riders alike to scatter and fall back, and TIE fighters streaked overhead, contesting the skies and threatening the Mawite positions below. In theory, that stole the advantage of the hillside from the Brotherhood cavalry, preventing them from mounting a cohesive charge. The gang leader's eyes narrowed.

That just wouldn't do, now would it?

"Prime the charges," Fre'shaa ordered, "and fall back up the hill. They think they're the only ones who can play these games? They're wrong." The Mawite deathgang quickly armed their anti-tank grenades for proximity detonation, creating a forest of them all over the first ridge that the Galidraani AFVs were now advancing toward. Nearby, Fre'shaa could see the similarly-armed Rough Riders doing the same. It wasn't quite as good as a minefield, given the limited time they'd had to set it up and the constant barrage they were operating under, but it was the next best thing. If the advancing AFVs hit one or two...

Well, the grenades would immobilize them at the least.

It cost Free'shaa lives to linger long enough to set up the impromptu minefield as her deathgang retreated. No fewer than five of her swoopers were claimed by the NIO barrage or by enemy air support, their final screams lost in the cacophony of the battle. But as they fell back one tier, gaining the height advantage once again, the gang leader was confident in her decision. She had to be. If all went well, then at least several of the oncoming AFVs would be immobilized by the explosions, allowing the Mawite cavalry an easy downward charge to obliterate the stuck vehicles and blunt the Galidraani advance.

The wreckage would make another tank charge difficult.

But if it didn't go well, if the grenade minefield failed to do its intended work, the cavalry was in trouble. They had given up all the ground they could afford to, for they were now only one ridge and a dozen meters below the excavation. If they could charge down from that position and meet the enemy in the middle, it'd be worth it. But if the enemy came on at full speed, heedless of their defenses, she would have ceded all that ground for nothing, and would be hard pressed right up at the edge of the Mawite center. For now, her gangers pulled out their grenade launchers, peppering the Galidraani tanks.

Hopefully it would all be enough to slow them down.

-------------------------------------

The Hilltop
​

There was little left to say; the two men's blades would speak for them. The Mongrel watched Gowrie, poised like a spitting cat, back arched and wielding his figurative claws. This was the clash of the lion and the hound: equally fierce, equally savage at heart, but so different in their styles of battle. The lion was quick, elegant, nimble; the hound was strong, resilient, unrelenting. The Mongrel could already tell that this would be a far different experience from his duel with Barran. The old man had been more like an eager instructor, praising each skillful pass, than a soldier locked in a battle to the death.

The marauder welcomed the change, and the challenge.

This time it was the Galidraani who began the duel, charging in at The Mongrel with a cry in that strange, lyrical language. The two men met, and their exchange was quick and brutal, almost faster than the eye could follow. The marauder was glad in that moment for the speed and power of his cybernetic limbs, for he could never have matched Gowrie's well-honed dueling skill without their aid. Even then he was hard pressed, forced to use his superior strength and straightforward, brutal style to turn aside his foe's blows and strike back. Even then, Gowrie parried his first attack and scored first blood.

... or would have, had there been any blood in his metal arms.

Gowrie flipped out his razor then, reacting to the durasteel protection by giving himself a second weapon with which to seek flesh. The Mongrel grinned beneath his mask. "Get past my guard, and you'll have your chance to find out," he hissed in reply. "Even Barran never managed that. Break my skin with a blade, and you'll be the first." He looked forward to finding out if Gowrie had the skill to do it, if he could actually deeply wound the mechanized marauder. No one truly had since that Kainate elite trooper on Enenpa, the one who had crushed his arms and led to his current state.

It was time to seize the momentum, to keep Gowrie from forcing him onto the defensive with the power of his dual weapons. As the Galidraani officer stepped back, The Mongrel suddenly surged forward, his sword held in a high guard. He had learned long ago - from Barran, ironically enough - that a low guard better disguised the angle of your attack... but he wanted Gowrite to think he was making a predictable move. Instead he swiftly twisted his blade, curving it to switch from an overhead chop at his foe's shoulder to an underhand swipe aimed at his hip. At the same time, his other arm lashed out...

... in a brutal, jaw-aimed punch with a literal iron fist.

 

[Dis]

Dis, the Shadow(cat)
Shadowcat, explorer and wanderer; Owner of the Cat’s Paw; Member of the Greystone Mercantile​

Side: Defender
Objective II.: Save the friends!
Location: Tombs, Korriban
Equipment: N/A
Writing with: Melydia Gold

~ Thank you! ~ they said enthusiastically.

Dis, also communicated with mortals on a regular basis in the same way as with their peers, made no exception, so this included the convey of emotions to them. The Shadowcat was very happy that all this did not bother Melydia, and they were also very happy that the girl was not bothered that they were a talking cat. The Shadowcat continued to sit peacefully in front of the girl, waiting for her answer. The Shadow was more of a thoughtful creature who loved to design, not really a fan of makeshift plans. One case was an exception.

If they had to save friends. And in their case, all the animals were, and even some of the plants. Or at times they loved to act recklessly when someone's life was in danger, such as when they wanted to save the life of one of Bryn'adûl as well. Dis was the most unpleasant symbiosis of their life, but at times the Shadowcat still meets Reidun and tries to convince her that there are other ways than to exterminate everyone. Finally nodded to her.

~ All right, let's try! ~ they were still enthusiastically

When they set off, they walk at the side of Melydia's feet, it seems as if they are walking like a cat, but in fact they were floating above the ground, as they were immaterial at the moment. When they arrive, Dis, as usual, telepathically tries to contact the entity, rather naively.

~ Hello! Is anyone here? We're looking for the Force Ghost who attacked us before! We want to talk to you! ~ they tried.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

ALLIES: @ Kirie , @Zark, @Thalia Senn
ENEMIES: @Carnifex, @First Sister, @KV-6000
Task: Survive in Zero G​

Before Omen could even think about boarding the battlecruiser after scoring, warnings started to go off left, right, and center that the battlecruiser was targeting him, and within seconds, two rounds were sent downrange towards the "Rebirth", hitting the craft dead on. The first round overloaded his shields as it exploding, shaking the small craft to the rivets while blowing up the craft's shield generators and making the whole craft except for the cockpit which was shut off from the rest of the craft. Smoke from the blow generators started to choke up the whole cabin like a Hutt that had never had a bath in its long lifetime. And this was the good news. The bad news was the second shot literally ripped straight through the engine bank and hyperdrive without detonating, traveling on its way into outer space while leaving the gunboat virtually stranded. it was time to make it look that way. The clone immediately turned off all the lights and life support, breathing using the oxygen in his own suit's personal life support systems. Looks like whoever had shot those rounds would get a kill after all... supposedly anyways...

The Trooper used the some life from his maneuvering thrusters to beach the freighter against the much bigger battlecruiser's skin, pressing against its hull while trying to look like just another piece of space debris that had managed to get itself caught on the large vessel. He even had done the deed in the shadow of the bridge as he tried to hide the ship's presence in any way possible. Whether it worked after the huge skid mark he had made in the Battlecruiser's paint, who knew but for now, his ship was safe. The citizen warrior quickly got up from his seat and opened up the cockpit hatch, calling for P7. "You still with us Bud?" A suction cup whipped past him and hit the wall plus a angry beep asking him what had he done to his home gave an affirmative to that question. "Yes I know, I nerfed it up real bad this time... Yes, it happened exactly like you said and I owe you an oil bath as we agreed... But right now, I need you to leave me behind." A worried whine gave him a little chuckle. "No, I'm not throwing myself into the depth of space for laughs, I actually got a plan." It was time to gather his equipment and get ready, this was going to be a strange day and he needed to be prepared.

Once fully stocked up and ready, Omen went to the ramp and manually cranked it open, gripping the guide rail on the wall to keep his balance without getting sucked into space. "Grapple line please." The droid shot out the tow line against the hull of the battlecruiser with a affirmative whistle. Omen then used the rope as a guideline. The ARC started to plant the thermite around an access hatch that he had found within sight of his broken ship. He quickly extended the vintage DC-17 pistol's zipline attachment to hit near enough to set thermite on the hatch, blowing it and letting him traipse inside. He didn't think the Sith would mind... They always welcomed newcomers with open arms after all. "Alright, now buddy, debeach the ship and float away like you're today's trash. We can always recover you later. I know I will try to come back for you at least..." The little droid made a little salute with its manipulator arm before rolling the ramp back up and used the last of the maneuvering thrusts to decombine with the Battlecruiser and float into the black of night. He wanted to see that ship again but right now, he had a job to do. He also couldn't wait long to do it because if he did before his air ran out and he really didn't think dying was Coruasant's hot new fashion trend.

With a hiss that felt like the punished souls that built the "Rule" were being freed, the thermite activated around the hatch, burning through the steel meant to just take explosive bolts of fire from a capital ship's cannons but not direct charges to its newly delicate skin. The charges quickly broke through and the panel with the hatch attached, trooper got his other pistol out and shot past the open hole, scraping by as techs and suited up soldiers with surprised bloodshot eyes came out of the new cut in the Sith's precious ships skin. He made it inside just in time too as an emergency bulkhead slammed the hole behind him, cutting those who were flowing through the hole in half and leaving those even with suits out there to a cold cold death. But on the plus, at least he had a floor under his feet and artificial gravity holding him down. Now he just had to find some friends before he was stuck her permanently without a way out. Either way, this was going to be a long day of fighting but he would push through because he wanted to live through this event to tell his children about this day, or at least that's what he hoped for.

 

[Bernard of Arca]

Go wash the hand that still betrays thy guilt;
Before the spirit’s gaze what stain can hide?
Abel’s red blood upon the earth is spilt,
And by thy tongue it cannot be denied;
----
Outside the Academy
Cliffside​

Allies: GA, AC, NIO, Ishida Ashina
Enemies: BOTM, TSE, Sith​

"That's a really good idea, I'll see what I can do," he said, already finding his grip on the red stone.

The cliff sloped upward at a continuously steeper angle until, near the underbelly of the overhang, it flipped requiring a free-hanging grip. Crevices and cracks marred the stone wall, providing adequate grips. With only the occasional loose stone or two, Bernard made the climb up to the X-Wing unscathed. The difficult part was climbing into the pilot's seat. He used the forward landing gear as a ladder down onto the X-Wing, which didn't even budge under his weight, bringing some relief. Clambering down its side, and 'lowering' himself into the pilot's seat, he clipped the pilot's belt on to give himself a moment to catch a breath while he ran the diagnostics.

The dusty displays read all systems nominal. Its weapons hadn't degraded at all through the years, though Bernard harbored some thoughts about sand-related damage that wouldn't be shown by the internal diagnostic systems. A glance down the wings showed red-tinted white, but very little sand sticking to it. There wasn't enough time for a thorough check of the cannons though, Ishida was already getting impatient, and he didn't want to keep them from their mission because of a personal detour for much longer either. With a few final taps, he linked the X-Wings control system to his vambrace. Now all the was left was getting back down.

He glanced up, down to the ground. A thought struck him.

Could he...? It had been a while, but his skills weren't all that rusty.

"Hey, Ishida, stand by to lend me a hand with the Force, ok?" He yelled through the storm.

Hopefully, she'd heard that.

He took in a deep breath, setting his mind to the intention he sought to bring about by tapping into the Force and unbuckled the belt holding him in place.

Instantly gravity wrapped itself around him, and started pulling down. Wind rushed over his form, clothes fluttering, and tiny pinpricks struck his face as he sailed through the sandy air. Gradually, an invisible medium seemed to thicken the air, slowing his descent. Air turned to water, turned to honey, turned to molasses, until, with a slow head-over-toe flip, he landed with a quiet thud a few paces from Ishida.

"Phew. That worked," he flashed a wide grin, armour already pouring red sand from various crevices. He brushed off most of the sand, and turned towards the cliffside path, "Let's go, eh?"

The trail down the mountainside wasn't a long one. It curved along the cliff and, as soon as the natural landing platform was out of sight, the academy began to sneak into view. The dark greys of its rooftops, nestled into the orange stone exterior, were hard to miss for above. That was their entry point. On the rooftops, themselves stood a few ventilation and maintenance shafts that were barely guarded and provided excellent access to many of the important facilities. Once inside, they could make their way to their mission goal.