Invasion Fade To Black | GE Invasion of GA Held Arkania, Champala, & Ord Lithone

[Thomas Barran]

KHANATE PAGE CLAIM
THIS PAGE IS GRAZING GROUND NOW

TAGS
Friend: Voldran Molf Artam Macek Sharad Dhavale Tiberius Zaarin
Darth Apophion Flannigan Tagge Meliant Wymar Tyro Lok Prowler II
Khronas Lord Creuat Talon Draven Damien Zannen Cato Panaka

Foe: Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra Makko Vyres Corazona von Ascania
Gavin Restur Dangal Olderem Jacen Voidstalker Kyric Ko Vuto
Solan Charr Ailuros Skorvek Bernard Magdalena Bloodscrawl
Alexandra Feanor Zark San Tekka

FADE TO BLACK - PART SEVEN

​

ABOARD THE MV: HEART OF MAR'ZAMBUL,
ARKANIA, GALACTIC CORE COLONIES (903 ABY)

'Resolved.... How are they faring?'
'Welcome back - aaaand not so good. Take a look at this.'
​

One of the opposing commanders, against everyone's expectations, was strategizing (and moving-) like another, very-recent opponent, the strength and destructive preferences bore particular hallmarks akin to those left by the Knight in the Black Mask. Especially in the first forays on the Sepulchre, incorporating squad tactics and using the Force to turn enemy ordnance against their wielders, and just as the singer had before her, so too would the feminine commander; only this time, however, this new commander would bring a flavour of her own to the offensive, apparently seeking smaller, more-difficult snatches on things like safety-pins and pressure latches instead.

'Would it be wise to ready the Rhypalm, you reckon?'
'Ah.... About that - please divert your attention to Plinth-2, Rook's idea, not mine.'
'Huh? What did he-? SWEET MOTHER REBIRTH!!!! How much did the crazy bastard call in, man?!'

'Not that much, Great Khan. Relax.... Nine payloads is quite fine.', the rogue Chiss shot back, though in a tone that denoted stifled mirth, the sort that had (oddly enough) been fortunate enough to instil at least a little confidence in Rook's seemingly-drastic Danger Close action. The Khan took a moment to understand exactly how such a catalystic effect could be volatile, but in realisation of the sheer temperature contrasts clashing in Rook's sudden idea, it would not be long before the Bloodhoud's mirth was also stifled in earnest, even letting out the occasional snort before he made a point of focusing for the task at hand.

'Well, it sure pissed her off. Look at this chit-'
'Worry not.... Problem solver inbound already.'
'Who?'

Silently bringing up the personnel file of the individual in question, the profiling schematic brought up the face of an individual the Khan had not seen in a while, hoping then that he would still have the time to catch up with the one dropping to Arkania's surface, especially with the matter of interdimensional beast-hunting still yet to be discussed between them by then. But mostly, in realisation that the Legion were likely saved from the moment the problem solver's off-ramp hit the ice, the Khan would have more than enough reward to offer with the gratitude she was due.

'Say what you will about the latest conflict.... But we haven't had a dull moment yet, have we?'
'Not yet, but there's always another stretch between campaigns.'
'Aye.... So lets make use o' the next one.'

AUXILIA
VII

​

TUWAN GLACIER, SOUTHERN LURON VALLEY,
ARKANIA, GALACTIC CORE COLONIES (903 ABY)

'IS THAT A SWORD I SEE TH-'
[BOOM]
'Gyah! BASTARD!!!!'
'MASTIFF, NO!!!!'
​

One of the nearest telekinetic detonations had been armed on the front of a Keshig's flak jacket, and without time to react, the large Mantellian (standing just in front of him at the time) would take more than his fair share of the fragmentation across the back panels of his own armour in turn. The unfortunate Keshig, however, and just like a fair few others across the line at the time, would not survive the sudden explosion, dying quick enough that he likely passed before his body hit the ice. Yet fortunately for the Mastiff, his armour plating had caught the worst of the burning-hot projectiles, though some had made it through the blaster-resistant shell, embedding as far as the Keshig-Captain's musculature before simmering to a steaming, bubbling halt.

The trade-off of blaster-fire was beginning to test their intented positions by then, forcing everyone to duck down into the icy trenches around, though this would, in no way, deter the rogue Atrisian's approach to offer first aid and triage-assessment, leaping out from the nearest dugout with medipack in hand without so much as a second thought. Leaping to the aid of the Keshig-Captain amid the crescendo of violence, there would not be any trouble for as long as Rook and Slicer were there to protect them, stabilising the situation whilst Ghoul set to stabilising the medical emergency behind them.

'DON'T WORRY, ITS ONLY SUPERFICIAL!!!! HE'S GONNA BE FINE, LADS!!!!'
'THEN GET HIM BACK TO THE FLAGSHIP!!!! WE NEED HIM FIT FOR CONTRACT!!!!'
'WORKS FOR ME!!!! GOOD LUCK, BROTHER!!!!'
'LIKEWISE, NOW MOVE IT!!!!'

​

It was then the Mirialan's gaze met with that of the rogue Arkanian, a brief moment of shared, near-death terror, that which no living Mawite would ever dare to give a voice, and especially not whilst their subordinates still fought with the same resolve. It was a soul-deep, adrenal realisation akin to that which raw recruits often felt during the throes of their first battles, but in that acceptance of the truth, the reality that they were likely to die that day would compound that dread tenfold. A bitter pill for many a warrior to swallow, but against all expectations of self and brethren alike, the sinking feeling was rapidly followed by bowing, forward-tilting nods in each other's direction.

A silent pact between Trilunars, that which no third-party could tear asunder - ironclad against corporeal and ethereal alike.

I still believe, Mother Rebirth!
I still believe!
​

'By the way, there's fuel in that sensation, and I swear, by Mother Rebirth - it is supremely potent. Use it.'
'Copy that, Ulus-'
'Brother.... You call me Brother now.'

​

Just one more nod was needed to seal this most-subtle of fraternal covenants, and just as soon as their eyes turned back to the unfolding mayhem, Rook and Slicer were jumping to their nearest squads and setting to firefight actions, and without another word said on the matter. All that mattered by then was the fight itself, and to their duties the duo would set with all the due ferocity, like a match to motor oil; but for all the progress they would seem to make, the empowered capabilities of the opposing commander (along with the jetpack reach of her subordinates) would turn this struggle into something of a tidal back-and-forth.

The effect of the difference in strategic priorities would also set the 1st Auxilia at a natural disadvantage, as there would be a Mawsworn need to hold their side of the man-made crevasse, holding off enemies in the hopes their asymmetric methodology was enough to slow the GADF advance. But the katana-wielding commander's objectives naturally ran in counter with those of the Mawsworn legion, and in a bid to reach the Veehas Tuwan, a solid landing-point, a frozen bridgehead action would be needed instead; to see the level of steel-nerve required to make that jump through the mountain of steam, as wild and unhinged though it might have appeared to the layman element, Rook could not help but admire the steeled nerves required to endeavour such a feat.

But the battle-comms, as much as the Archon-Elect wished to dispense with on-air parlay, would call a sudden halt to the troubles between them, and Rook would accept - one last time.

<"The one who responded over an open line, There is no valid excuse for what you suffered. I have slaughtered plenty of slavers and Brynadul for the very things you have suffered. But know that supporting a Empire who seeks to create weapons of mass destruction, that uses thousands in an assault on a civilian structure, that would just as soon use the people of the galaxy for its experiments and tyranny is no better. I understand the wish for Order, Peace and Freedom, for those who have committed great evils to suffer retribution, and I wish to be able to ensure that Justice is dealt in time. But, you have chosen to side with those who will do nothing to actually stop such acts if it means further domination of your common man.">

<"I know not even the first way to approach what I just heard there, Charr. I'm not sure you even know enough about your enemies to understand who you're dealing with here.... But I think, if you see things from my perspective, you might see why it benefits you not to interfere.">​

The rogue Arkanian could feel the opposing commander's eyes staring him down as he paced hither and yon, removing his helmet as if by stress-response to the perceived madness he had just heard, but for those aware of the horrors that often transpired on Arkania's surface, there would be more to read in the stresses of the Mawsworn commander's expressions. It would likely have been too far away to see the scars on the head beneath, especially that which ran across the left-side temple, markings of an incision to remove something there - likely to have been some localised variant of behavioural inhibitor-chip.

Many still believed this Clones Wars Era technology had vanished with the Gulag Plague, but like with most things buried by time, the winds of change always threw off the sandy, dusty obscurities that hid the discoveries of yesteryear. Someone would always find the advancements that once defined the many peoples of the Galaxy, no matter how deep these things were buried at the time, no matter how far-removed from civilisation these finds would be; and for better and worse alike, (and in equalling commonality at that) people always brought their finds back home with them, financially benefitting from the all the wonders and blights they dared to excavate.

<"So let me begin.... This justice, that which you say is dealt in time - my people have waited CENTURIES for this justice. Now imagine yourself as an Arkanian,"Labrat", like me, looking out to see starships bearing icons of Light, descending with justice in their stride, only to find those same ships docking at the estates of the Ones with Wicked Needles.... Watching on from our enclosures, dismayed as they defend the very same people who would turn my compatriots into MONSTERS!!!!">​

The Archon-Elect would need to take a moment to compose himself, as even in his poise, his pause for effect, he could feel his hands trembling, heart thudding in his chest, and to such an extreme that Rook could even feel that violent, aortic pulse beating from within his ears. Not at all helped by the surge of traumatic memories of watching friends die, and in some particular flashbacks, the visions of compatriot youths succumbing to things much worse (and the abominations they became) would bring back furies the rogue Arkanian believed had been stifled and buried with lasting finality. This would not be forgiven, especially not after going to all the effort of recovering from Hell on Arkania, and for as long as the NJO, the GADF and all their allies continued in their march on the temple, Rook Darkhan would resolve to hold them off to the last gasp.

<"Its not a nice feeling, now is it? I know you feel it.... I know you can feel this planet being lost to you, as there was no sensible reason to expand here, like its all slipping away from you? That isn't doubt, Charr. Not by any stretch of the imagination.... You commit evils by protecting the curse the hangs over this place, you undo the feeling of honour in your heart, you sense that this planet should have been freed of it's.... Practices.... This is no coincidence, my young friend. Thus, for these reasons, I refuse any and all offers to withdraw.... STEEL YOUR HEART - FOR ROOK DARKHAN STILL BREATHES.">​

'WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!!'

Audibly stirred by the resolve of his Brother-in-arms, Slicer began a rallying cry with every morsel of abandon he had, making sure that every Keshig on the ground heard him, from one flank to the other. A chant led by new blood, answered by the old with increasing enthusiasm, a rushing, slow-building amplification of their voices, exhibiting the hidden power of the Mawsworn Legion for all to see and hear. Boosting morale in the darkest of circumstances, just as their enemies had against them, but the real fight was only just beginning; and without assistance, (divine or otherwise) only the mettle of the hardiest soldiers remained to hold back the tides, or at least - as far as Rook was aware.

​

'ADVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!'

 

[Koda Fett]

B O U N T Y - F E R I D A D E _ P A R T H I​

Fett stuck to the underworks, where the hum of generators and the stench of coolant masked the sound of his boots. It was a far cry from some backwater Pyke outpost; the place was crawling with security. Patrols overlapped on tight intervals and his HUD lit up with the signature of more bodies than he cared to count. To be expected as the Galactic Alliance and the Empire came together to discuss an uneasy treaty. Their itself felt tense, filled with the weight of half a galaxy trying not to ignite.

His every step was measured. He tracked patrol patterns, compared it to the information secured by Threkkuss, cut across loading bays just as shuttles vented steam, and waited out searchlights with the patience of a predator. Twice, Fett had to peel flat against service plating as groups passed far too close for comfort -- once a trio of stormtroopers were arguing about a stolen ration crate, and once a bored Alliance officer dragging the muzzle of his blaster across the wall like chalk. Each brush drove home how outnumbered he was. Hardly a fight he could shoot his way through, not without bringing the entire building down on his head.

It might have been an Imperial bounty, but Fett didn't count on them stowing their blasters when the shooting began.

The console he needed sat in a recessed alcove off a maintenance causeway, half-hidden behind a transparisteel shield. Getting there meant waiting for two separate patrols to cross each other, then darting into the blind gap they left like slipping between blades. Fett crouched by the terminal, gauntlet blade whispering free to pry the panel loose. His slicer spike slid in with a click, false diagnostics bleeding across the feed while he dug past layers of bureaucratic security. It wasn't elegant, the system fought him with redundancies and Alliance encryption, like a hydra sprouting fresh heads for every one severed, but it was enough. His helmet's systems finally flagged a highlighted entry: Pad Aurek-Two. Senator Feridade Parthi. Eshan.

The bounty hunter yanked the spike free, sealing the panel before the system caught its breath. No alarms yet. He leaned back against the shadowed wall for half a heartbeat, weighing his next move. With the same practiced skulking, he made way for the landing pad.

Feridade Parthi

​

 

[Caelan Valoren]

She didn't immediately accept the Lazerenzyme, but he kept it offered to her. He wanted her to take it because he knew it would help.

"You can," he said in response to her words. "I'm not sure what makes you fear doing so, but I assure you this won't harm you. It's an alternative to bacta that we manufacture on Lazerian IV from native plants. I offer it because I don't want you to hurt."

No was not an acceptable answer in this situation. Not that he would force her to take it, but she certainly would be better off for doing so. Either way, the offer remained, even as he appeared to catch her off guard. Though what she said struck him for him. The lower levels of Coruscant. He knew all too well what that place was like. It was dangerous on the best of days, but there were a lot of good people that lived down there, working to scratch out a living because they didn't have anywhere else to go. Unfortunately, that made them easy prey for criminals and other sleezeballs that saw an easy buck to make.

"When my parents were killed I ended up in the lower levels of Coruscant as a means of hiding from those who sought to kill me as well. I know, from firsthand experience, how horrible that place is. But I also know that Coruscant was controlled by the Dark Empire, which your current Emperor led, for quite some time, and nothing changed down there. I wouldn't count on it changing under him now."

If it did, it would be purely superficial in nature, something meant to be used for propaganda, not to actually better lives.

"I'd like to take you somewhere and show you something before I let you go. You won't be harmed in any way and when we're done you'll be free to go. Would you be willing to travel to Lazerian IV with me? When we're done I'll charter a vessel to return you to Imperial space."

It was a long shot, the idea he had, but if she really cared about the people in the lower levels of Coruscant, and in other places, if that wasn't just some lie that she'd concocted to try and tap into his care for others, then perhaps there was something he could do to open her eyes to the fact that working for the Empire was not a good thing. She might not come around to the Alliance, and that was okay, but perhaps she wouldn't openly work against it and the free people's that did call it home.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Ines Pen-Ar-Lan ​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Information and Tag

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmare, Dream Lord​

"Galactic Basic" | <"Mandalorian"> | ["Úr-kittat"] | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>​

Objective: Find the Veeshas Tuwan, Sith library-temple
Location: Ground, Arkania
Equipment: Armour | Sword || OPBC-01m
Allies: Kaleb Sunwalker | Orran | Talon Draven | Prowler II | Thomas Barran | Khronas | Cesare Demici | Flannigan Tagge | Open
Enemy: Corazona von Ascania | Closed

Voldran waited patiently for the results of the search, both palms pressed against the console. He had no real need to lean there - the man was not weary - yet somehow the stance felt comfortable. His gaze drifted into the darkness, into the half-light, lost in thought. Perhaps he was pondering what the AI might uncover in the database, or perhaps what freedom itself might be like; a life he had never known. There were so many things he might have done, so many things he might still have experienced. Things that had never been within his reach.

At last, a woman’s voice broke through his thoughts; her voice. Voldran flinched, just slightly, and turned towards her. Yet one thing he did not do - something perhaps surprising - was reach for his weapon. Not even instinct drove him to it. Instead, he straightened, pulling his hands away from the terminal so he could face her fully. After the girl’s words, he let out a tired, bitter sigh.

"Why am I not surprised?" he asked, voice heavy with bitterness.

But then, the next words sparked his interest. For a fleeting moment, something shifted upon his face and in his eyes; perhaps it was hope, brought forth by the way she spoke of what she had read. That fragile hope vanished almost at once, replaced by the familiar bitterness. He had dealt with the Jedi too many times in his life, and not once had any of them helped him. Most had only ever sought to destroy him; because they saw him as a monster.

"And with that, are you telling me you know the answer, but since I’m half-demon, you’d rather see me destroyed as well?" he asked, again with bitterness. The weight of experience hung upon his tone; this was not the first time he had posed that question.

And yet, her next words gave him a measure of hope. He knew nothing of the girl, and yet he sensed something familiar, something akin between them. The way she spoke was as he had, from experience. Though he could not know what suffering she had endured, he stood in silence and simply watched her as she drew closer. He remained tense, but his body language was deliberate: clear, open, showing he had no intent to strike. He had not wished her harm on Coruscant; nor did he now.

"I am sorry you had to go through something like that as well," he said sincerely. "You need not fear me. As I told you on Coruscant… I do not wish to hurt you."

True surprise flickered across Voldran’s face when the girl reached out her hand to him, offering help. For a few heartbeats he hesitated, then slowly sank to one knee, extending his own hand towards hers. If she allowed it, he took her hand gently, and in a gesture of gratitude and courtesy, pressed a soft kiss to it. Finally, he looked up, his eyes filled with both thankfulness and hope.

"Thank you for trying… I am Voldran. Voldran Molf." he introduced himself politely, lingering in hesitation for a moment more. "I only worry… I fear I might harm you in the process."

 

[Henna Ashina]

OBJECTIVE I: FIRE AND ICE | VEESHAS TUWAN
i've got solar flares for your dead gods
Corr | Kylass Starhaven | Inosuke Ashina | Jannik Morlandt | Bernard | Lord Creuat | Pak Jaehyun | Jin Taeyang | Zark San Tekka

​

Their shuttle set them down atop a cliff, allowing them a view of their chosen battleground. The others would follow behind her. Sharp winds twisted the cold, a whip to cut into bone. In the distance loomed the entrance to the Sith Temple below. Snow spun wildly around its entrance, concealing nearly everything - but where vision failed, the force did not. The presence of their sword shone like a beacon. Beneath it, darkness grappled wildly for control, its presence familiar despite its corruption. Rhis Fisto.

"Stupid," Henna muttered to herself.

Though she didn't doubt Bernard's efficiency, the fallen Jedi had risen to prominence quickly under Solipsis. He was as dangerous as they came. It would have been better had he brought a strike team with him. Henna began to move, trudging through the ankle-deep banks that were yet unpacked. Her gaze probed the cliff face for a way down... and found another figure rising to descend the slopes above, half frozen. The seer froze, looking to mark him. His attire, though covered in frost, and his presence was that of a Jedi. Asmundr's enduring presence whispered something to her. Another familiar face. It was looking to be a family reunion.

"Master San Tekka!"

Henna hurried toward the elder, taking him by the shoulder. He looked half gone from exposure already. His appearance was a reminder to take her breath in small puffs, tapas providing protection that no gear could in this environment.

"I didn't expect to find you here. Come, we've m-"

The thought was interrupted by a sharp gasp. Every muscle in Henna's body seized, the wind ripped out of her chest. Darkness washed the force in a riptide, Arkania itself crying out in pain, Kylass's position in the field making it feel as though Henna herself was experiencing it. Her reaction would echo through the five minds of their meld, panic and confusion, and an unending hollowness that ripped souls from their bodies across the field mere miles away. It was followed by an eerie feeling encompassing the perversion of life itself, as the seer saw a glimpse of the dead rising from the snow.

"Wha-?" Henna heaved, turning away from Zark, vomit rising in her throat. Every sense screamed a burning truth regarding the ritual. "That's not the Empire."

 

[Zark San Tekka]

VEESHAS TUWAN
ARKANIAN MOUNTAINS
Henna Ashina | Inosuke Ashina | Bernard OPEN

​

"Sun and stars?"

Maybe it was a vision from the Force. Maybe he was delirious from exposure. Like a mirage Master San Tekka gazed upon Henna and beheld someone else. Someone he lost a long time ago. Was he dead? Frozen on some blasted mountainside dreaming of the netherworld in his final moments. A weary hand edged with frostbite reached out for the ghost of his old flame.

"Master San Tekka!"

She emerged from the apparition and his heart broke all over again. This wasn't the Jedi he had lost on Exegol. Zark accepted her embrace anyway, too exhausted to object when she tried to keep him standing on his own feet. She looked very surprised to see him and told the old man as much.

"This is exactly..." every breath was still a labor, "where I am meant...to be."

Master Zark could feel her muscles tense before she dropped him. Driven to his knees not just by fatigue but a haunting scream in his thoughts. Asmundr bellowed in pained outrage leaving the Jedi Master to wonder what dark ritual trapped his spirit here on Arkania of all worlds.

Every sense screamed a burning truth regarding the ritual. "That's not the Empire."

"No. It is some new devilry."

He knew in his heart she was right. In the Alliance's growing desperation to keep a tight grip on the Core someone had resorted to this. Arkania was being slowly transformed into a graveyard before his eyes. Dreams of a future that had before seemed so unfathomable were at last beginning to make sense.

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

OBJECTIVE I: FIRE AND ICE | VEESHAS TUWAN
Henna Ashina | Zark San Tekka | Bernard | Kylass Starhaven | Pak Jaehyun | Jin Taeyang | Jannik Morlandt | Corr

Inosuke stepped off the shuttle alongside Henna. Arkania's frigid gale was largely unavailing against the heft of his snowsuit, yet the cold was insidious. It slithered between the fabrics, chilled the skin with wintry arrogance. Fog grew across the lens of his goggles, icy tendrils growing from the edges. Behind him, more shuttles arrived, carrying dozens of Sworn Jedi and soldiers twofold. Trudging through the snow, the Lightsworn contingent formed up behind the High Lord and his consort, silently eager for battle.

"Master San Tekka!"

Slogging through the deep snow, Inosuke surged awkwardly to likewise aid the lone Jedi. He supported San Tekka opposite Henna, his free hand wiping the blur from his goggles to get a better look. It was brief before a surge of depletion stygian premonition came over the trio. The Force flexed to the High Lord's will, endeavouring to resist the dark channeling. This lapse in focus meant Inosuke couldn't San Tekka vertically after Henna's sudden loss, especially coupled with the wind and unwieldiness of the snowsuit. Clumsily, hands grasped to catch San Tekka, only finding the kneeling Master after he'd already been reacquainted with the snow.

"Wha-?"

"I sense it, too," Inosuke interjected knowingly. Jedi and soldiers would catch up to the trio just as Inosuke heaved the downed master back to his feet.

"No. It is some new devilry."

Unyielding Ashina countenance yielded. Inosuke scowled; he should have known better. Once again, the schism that birthed the Lightsworn was vindicated.

"This must end," he declared, firing cerulean from silver retrieved from his waist. Dozens of Jedi behind him were in wordless agreement, hues of green and blue lighting up behind the blustering, snowy veil. "To arms, Sworn!" he shouted, raising his blade and pointing it to indicate the distant entrance to the library. He started forward, and in his wake, the Lightsworn marched.

 

[Sharad Dhavale]

OBJECTIVE I
2nd Prefsbelt Exile Brigade
Gamma Platoon
Ravager Squadron
Opps: Gavin Restur
Mates: Thomas Barran ​

“I got you! You bastards! I got-!” The bolt cracked against Raiber’s helm and she went limp. Her finger slipped from the trigger and she slumped in the snow. Sharad, who was fixated recycling the battery arrays did not notice the halt in fire. Instead, his now viscera covered gloves nimbly scurried to flick switches and ensure none of the ammunition batteries was compromised. It wasn’t until he looked up, he realised what had happened.

“No, no, no, no!” Sharad wailed, he quickly moved to his gunner and with two sturdy hands snagged Kaylah’s boot and dragged her a little down. Trying to shield her from oncoming fire. The auxiliary felt tears welling in his eyes as he rolled his comrade over into recovery position. First Marr, and now her. His gaze travelled back to the deformed Corporal, and back to his assigned gunner. There was hideous scorch mark on the right lens. Sharad fumbled with his gloves, taking them off and exposing his hands to the frigid cold. “C’mon…” he whispered, reaching for Raiber’s throat and trying to meter a pulse, “Not now, not now, not now!” He repeated over and over, his breathing becoming increasingly frantic. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna…” but she was gone. There was nothing for him to do. Sharad looked at his sister-in-arms, and let out a mournful whine. War wasn’t fair. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Dhavale, Raiber!” A bark came from Sergeant Rickhard. “We charge in thirty.” The remainder of the platoon was now hunched over, priming their weapons. Sharad looked to Raiber and her lifeless body. She deserved to die somewhere nicer than this icy arse hole. Sharad put her arms across her body, and crawled back to the MMG to retrieve his own rifle. The tears stinging in the cold with the downpour from his nose made his mask an icy prison. Sharad ripped it off and panted. This was it. Hunched over, Sharad held his rifle close. He closed his eyes. Remembered Pa’Desh and its arcane Gods. Remembered the parents who had given him away for a better life. Remembered the comrades gone and lost. Trying to steady his breathing, he chanelled those feelings, something into anything.

“Charge!” Sharad’s legs were like springs and he leapt into action. He screamed like he’d never screamed before, hunched as his legs propelled him toward the front. At a number of different junctures on the trenchline, soldiers bearing Blitzkanone’s approached, and fired diagonally down, in an attempt to clear portions of the trenchline before cohorts could arrive.

Upon arriving, sweaty and cherry cheeked, Sharad jumped into the trench. He grunted as his knees took the impact of his landing, before he began firing into Alliance troops. If he was to die today, then he would be certain to avenge his comrades.

 

[Cato Panaka]

Tags: Flannigan Tagge , Voldran Molf , Darth Apophion , Tyro Lok , Khronas , Talon Draven , Damien Zannen , Kaleb Sunwalker

Theme

He withdrew his hand...

Cato understood the pecking order. As an Imperial, that was largely all that mattered. Yet, he couldn't help but to feel the slightest agitation at the Lord Curator's response, thought he would never make it known. Instead, he would recoil his hand, offering a nod of understanding.

"Of course. If he was sent to preserve this domain, then he must have some knowledge..."

His eyes darted toward the struggling Rodian.

"The Jedi are so incredibly scared of preserving the history of the Force..."

He leaned down, his calm, yet unsettling demeanor taking hold as he gazed upon the Jedi.

"What secrets may you have in store for us?"
​

He motioned for the others from his team to bring forth a ]containment vessel. It may have seemed to be a rather unconventional thing to bring to a dig, but Cato tended to prepare for any and all outcomes.​

​

After they safely and securely placed the troublesome Jedi into his constraints, Cato shot a look to Flannigan.​

​

"I suppose we are open to explore new avenues, wouldn't you agree, Lord Curator?"​

​

It was, in truth, a potential poke at his status. But if Panaka didn't at least try... then would any of it be worth it?​

 

[Corr]

Inosuke Ashina - Henna Ashina - Zark San Tekka - Bernard - Kylass Starhaven - Pak Jaehyun - Jin Taeyang - Jannik Morlandt
​

It was all new to him.

Corr's unnamed, desolate rock was a bundle of blazing sands with dying rivers threading between impossibly tall outcrops of stone. Cato Neimoidia felt much the same, from what scant look he was able to muster from the gladiatorial pits and from the viewport on the shuttle out. Atrisia brought him snow, though on Arkania it seemed even colder.

His breath formed in front of him, as if a reminder that he was alive when so many had died on the battlefield ahead of the Lightsworn. He was in a thick coat armed with a club, though the biting cold seemed to vanish after a moment of adjustment. Corr could not claim he felt the Force swell around him, it was a natural state of being - lacking training, refinement, it was as if a nozzle was turned to a point of no return at all times.

It made him defenseless against the drain that lashed out. It hit him, hard, and Corr crumpled into the snow. He felt the cold again, then. He felt weak, weaker than ever before, as if his very body weight was too much to bear. It may have been short-lived, with his innate connection to the Force surging to determine how to defend against it, but it was no less terrifying. He dragged himself up to his feet, scowling.

From what little knowledge he had on the Jedi and the Sith, it was easy to understand this was the work of the Sith. The work of the people the Lightsworn were promised to kill.

 

[Jacen Voidstalker]

JACEN

Skye Mertaal

Something was wrong.

He could feel the familiar presence of Zark San Tekka

He could feel the dark side of the Force.

But the Force moved in an off way around the bounty hunter.

"And you..."

And in this case, in the next second, Skye Mertaal definitely shot first -- unholstering the Ssi-ruu ion paddle beamer to send a thin silver beam at Jacen's in an attempt to paralyze him in place.

Jacen wasn't as slow as he looked. His arms flew out of his sleeves. His lightsaber snapped to life. He knew paddle beamers, but that didn't help.

His orange blade swung across his body. The beam bent but white tendrils still lashed through his body. He felt the numb cold spread.

Jacen threw his lightsaber forwards. Not at her. It stabbed into the snow. Steam hissed and rose and Jacen launched it up into a shield with the Force.

He dove to the side and fired a blaster through the steam. That ice cold sensation spread. He was in trouble.

 

[Khronas]

VEESHAS TUWAN, ARKANIA

Dark Side Elite Armour | Cloak | Sith Sword

Dangal Olderem

Khronas swung his Sith sword at the Jedi, the rune-engraved alchemised metal catching the glowing blue blade of the lightsaber. The two locked eyes for a moment, eternal enemies locked in mortal combat. The Alliance troopers encircled the pair with their weapons drawn and held their fire on the Jedi’s command.

"You ask if I know my destiny," Dangal said evenly, his tone a calm counterweight to the Sith's venom. "I do. My destiny is to stand where others would fall, so the light may endure. And yours, is to be reminded that the future is not for the Dark Side to claim."

Moving almost too fast to perceive, Olderem redirected Khrona’s blade into the snow-covered ground before launching a probing attack.

The Dark Jedi took two steps back as he parried the Jedi’s attacks, then spun to the right to dodge a follow-on strike, his thick black cloak billowing behind him. Dangal was a skilled swordman, arguably more skilled than the Khronas. With his soldiers standing by, the Jedi had the upper hand. Khronas would need to even the battlefield.

Without warning, a darkness engulfed the frozen plateau beneath them where Imperial walkers marched on the Alliance trenches. At first, Khronas assumed it was a Sith ploy, a Force corruption designed to rob the cowardly defenders of their will to fight. Prowler II , one of the most powerful of the Dark Side Elite, had just joined the battle, and such a tactic would have fit his modus operandi.

But the corruption felt different, foreign. While it was driven by darkness and hatred and consumed the living souls that it touched, the Force Drain was attacking the Imperials. Dozens of beings screamed out through the Force as their very life energies were leeched from them. Risking a look down at the battlefield, the Siniteen could sense the threads of time tearing under the strain, as soldiers destined to live long lives or die in later battles were prematurely cut down.

Whatever was happening was a perversion of fate, a slight against the cosmic order.

That it was the doing of the Galactic Alliance was most unexpected.

In his hours of meditation before the battle, Khronas had explored millions of branching futures and possibilities for how the battle would unfold. Never had he predicted such a horror occurring at the hands of the Jedi, the self-proclaimed lords of peace and life.

“Can you feel that?” he taunted as he brushed a thin layer of snowfall from his robes. “The Darkness calls out, it engulfs Arkania, it is destiny manifest. The light that burned so brightly on Coruscant has been extinguished, and this world shall be next. Flee, before your death is added to the tally, and you join the deadly horrors your kin have wrought.”

Khronas fed on the death. While the Imperial troopers marched with the Dark Side Elite under the banner of the Sith’ari, their slaughter still emboldened the Dark Side. He felt the darkness surge through him, strengthening muscles, sharpening reflexes, and abating injuries. The surge would be fleeting, but might be enough to even the fight.

The Dark Jedi leapt forward, sailing past Olderem, and driving his Sith sword toward one of the Alliance soldiers. While he might not be able to take the Jedi head-on, he could sow his own terror high on the mountain, one to rival the slaughter unfolding on the frozen tundra below.

 

[Dangal Olderem]

TAGS: Khronas
Location: VEESHAS TUWAN

The blade came down too fast.

Dangal's saber caught steel an instant late, sparks flaring as the Sith's stroke carved past his guard. The Alliance trooper screamed once before collapsing into the snow, blood steaming in the frozen air. Dangal's chest tightened, a silent weight pressing down like the storm above. His failure echoed through the Force, sharp and bitter, but there was no time to linger. The Sith was already on him.

And then it came—something deeper, colder. A ripple across the battlefield that was not wind but will. The Force bled. Dangal staggered for half a step, breath catching as alien screams rattled through his skull. Dangal staggered beneath the sensation—threads of futures severed before their time, screams that were not here but miles below, across the tundra. He did not know its source, only that it was not the Jedi. Around him, the battlefield raged. AT-ATs hammered the trenches, snowtroopers advanced, blaster fire streaked through the storm.

Yet even in the chaos, he felt them— Henna Ashina struggling against the blinding cold and dark whispers in the Force, Master Zark San Tekka bracing against the perversion of life itself, Inosuke Ashina lifting the fallen, the Lightsworn ( Kylass Starhaven ) marching as a tide of blades and light toward the distant temple. Their presences burned like beacons through the storm, small flames in a tundra of ice and shadow. Then suddenly just as he felt it, it was cut short in an instant. He knew the touch was no Jedi hand, but something darker, vaster Prowler II . Khronas fed on it. Each strike grew heavier, quicker, his blade lashing with ravenous strength.

"You feel it too," Dangal hissed, his saber locking with the Sith's in a storm of sparks. His voice held firm even as his arms strained. "But do not name this the work of the Jedi. Whatever devilry bleeds this field—we will not claim it."
The Sith pressed, and Dangal answered with motion.

A pulse of the Force snapped from his core to his limbs—speed flooding muscle, precision sharpening to a razor's edge. His blade whirled in a flurry of light, an Ataru sweep augmented by a sudden telekinetic shove. Snow exploded outward in a halo as Khronas staggered half a step. Dangal pressed in.
Blue fire slashed in a relentless cascade, every swing a blend of practiced mastery and Force-driven strength. A low strike feinted, then reversed in an upward cut that sent sparks shearing across the pass. His free hand lifted, and the Force answered: stone and snow ripped upward in a telekinetic wave, crashing between Sith and troopers to shield the line.

"One life is already too many," he said, voice cutting as sharp as his blade. "No more."

He surged again, saber carving arcs of blinding light as he danced, each strike punctuated by an abrupt use of force moving in fluent motion. Showcasing his speed. The ridge shook with every impact, the air itself ringing with the clash of conviction against corruption. He surged forward, weaving around the Sith in a deadly dance. Lightning-quick feints alternated with slashing arcs, forcing Khronas to parry with everything he had. Each swing drove him backward across the ridge, sparks hissing as blades met. Dangal ducked a high strike, rolled, and came up behind Khronas with a swift, underhand swing that snapped the Sith's head around to pay attention.

The ridge trembled beneath the duel, the wind whipping snow into blinding sheets, but Dangal's focus was absolute. Every motion was deliberate, every strike an expression of control and precision. The clash of their sabers rang across the pass, steel against steel, conviction against corruption, a storm of light and shadow played out in the frozen air.​

 

[Wymar]

P E N I T E N T
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE
Battle Armor [MODIFIED] | Lightsaber
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION | 1st BN, 327th STRM RGMNT
1st ARMORED ASSAULT | DIVARMOR | 'BLIZZARD FORCE'
GE | Tiberius Zaarin | Meliant
FOCUS | Kyric​

---

---

BORN IN WINTER​

---

---

ARKANIA
902 ABY
GALACTIC ALLIANCE​

The seeping wave of darkened energy sapped the astral lifeblood of both himself and his foe. He could see Kyric vault back and grow sluggish in his brief recovery and all the same, Wymar felt a piercing ache stab into his thoughts as the unseen tethers of his mortal coil to the force were tampered and weakened. He adjusted his grasp of the saber, rolling his shoulders forward to portray an appearance of apathy to this parasitic drain on his senses and stepped forward to follow through with a combination of heavy, violent cuts and swings toward the Jedi.

<"They suffer from their own reign. By submitting themselves to the weak...the decadent...the unworthy."> He said before he reeled back his left arm after the follow through of a blow to muster his power into a forceful slam of the Jedi's form to send him tumbling further down the hill of which the Crestfallen pursued him with a slow, seemingly casual pursuit, his crimson, crossguarded saber held in one hand crackling with darkness and an unfettered fury.

<"You are a broken and battered soul, Kyric. You will be damned to a sacrifice for naught...just as your father was. Lest...you throw down your blade....and submit."> He said, slowly lifting the saber toward the Jedi, the crackling tip of the crimson blade levied toward his throat as the devastating throes of warfare continued to thud and cascade in the argent landscape that enveloped them.