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A sharp noise echoed out as he pulled the trigger, distinct from the usual sound of blaster fire. And fortunately for him, his shot found its mark. Watching the Imperial fall limp to the ground. He spent a quick moment loading another slug round into the cycler rifle, before dragging it back up to its spot. However, before he was able to line a proper shot on the other Imperial, he watched them drag the body of their comrade away, and out of sight.
"That MG nest is down, for the time being!" Calling out to the troops nearby him. "Start rainin' down hard on 'em, while they ain't got any heavy weapon support!" With the suppression of the nest no longer present, blaster fire from his section of the trench ramped up once more. He set down his cycler rifle back against the trench wall, unholstering his pistols. Joining in on the chaos of the battle, letting loose yellow blaster bolts down range towards the Imperials.
It went on for a short period, before...
["Charge!"]
With a cry out, the enemy had began charging their position. It had caused a brief raise of the man's eyebrows. "Light 'em up while they're out in the open! Get ready!" The Alliance forces along the section of the trench rained down heavy blaster fire, including the man himself. However, he knew there was not a chance they were gunning down every Imperial before they managed to reach the trench. So, while continuing to fire with one of his blasters, he elected to holster the other. Turning on his gauntlet's wrist shield, before reaching down to his belt. Unclipping his force pike from his belt, before it's flicked open. Electricity crackled out from the tip of the force pike, as he prepared himself.
He wasn't sure how adept the average GADF trooper was at close quarters and hand-to-hand combat, but they were fortunate that they had the likes of himself for this.
When first Imperial had neared where he was, right as they were about to jump into the trench, he briefly activated his rocket boots. Launching himself upwards to be at eye-level with the trooper, before there was a slash of the force pike diagonally. Cutting straight through the trooper's armor, and into their flesh. To which, the trooper fell down on their back. And before any substantial fire was able to be shot towards him, he landed right back into the trench.
As more of the Imperials poured in, it quickly got bloody, as the Alliance and Imperials duked it out. Knives were drawn, bodies were thrown, and bolts were shot. Some exchanges saw the Alliance win, while other saw the Imperials win. Screaming and yelling was prominent all throughout the section of the trench.
For the man himself, he quickly got to work. A slash with his force pike cut one of the Imperial's weapons in half, before the force pike was stabbed straight through their chest. As soon as he pulled it out, another Imperial started firing bolts towards him. Spending a brief moment focusing on purely blocking with his shield, he saw an opportunity arise. Reeling his arm back, before swiping in front of himself with the shield. Deflecting one of the bolts right back towards the shooter, who dropped where they stood. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Imperials aiming at him with one of their Blitzkanone towards him. With quick thinking, he threw himself into one of the trench's other corridors, getting himself out of sight from the Imperial as they shot their ion weapon. Taking cover behind the trench wall, before rounding the corner after they had missed. Charging towards them, as he tackled them into the trench wall. And, before they had the opportunity to fight back, he shoved the blaster in his head underneath their helmet. Letting off a bolt right under the person's chin, as they immediately went limp. Throwing their body off to the floor.
Taking a moment to look around, he spotted Sharad Dhavale
outright. Bringing his shield in front of hinself, he charged towards the man. Letting the shield block any bolts the man might've shot at him, as he looked the ram straight into him, and knock him over.
Hanging by the hilt of her impaling lightsaber Kylass dangled off the side. “Well…let us not do that, ever again,” she exhaled to herself in relief. She had latched onto the AT-AT and no doubt her first impact and roll would have sent echoes down its interior. Kylass hoped those inside would have dismissed it as artillery echoing. But now was time to find a way in.
Kylass looked across the AT-AT towards the cockpit access tube. Its overlapping plates were thinner than the main body and should provide easier access for her saber. Kylass climbed back onto the top of the AT-AT’s back and slowly began her way. All the while she could feel, whoever was channeling the Dark, begin eating away at her own presence in the Force. It was like wading through a black high tide. She was getting a bad feeling.
As the battle raged on, Prowler stood still as a statue. Hands clasped together rather elegantly, white eyes glossed over and beads of sweat trailing from his crown. Every moment or so the elder would glance to his left or right as if to peer into a scene.
Perhaps he was. For within his stillness, within his perception webbed an entire collection of various consciousnesses. All interwoven and connected into a consensus of preternatural symbiosis. From a single spot Prowlers perception expanded and became innumerable. The flanking of the AT-AT walkers by the Alliances own, the scrambling of troopers taking cover under heavy fire, the dead rising and combating the living, the incoming missile payloads directed for the imperial vehicles, the massive surge of darkside power and draining of enemy and ally alike.
The latter of which brought a clear smile to the Dark Jedi's lips. Peace has cost you your strength and how quickly we fall into hypocrisy. On one hand the elder deeply enjoyed the observation of the Galactic Alliance resorting to darker mentalities. It made his job easier and quicker. He enjoyed the effects such powers had on the land and to life around it. Yet on the other hand, the arkanian could feel the resistance and strain of continually channeling powers of the collectivemind over an area. Not to mention solidifying and expansion of his own presence in the force. A dark armor to shield the minds, bodies and systems of metaphysical forces at play. The mind was willing, but the flesh grew weary. At Prowler's core of being, the parasitic thought form did not struggle with the immense flow of information and mental burden that his came with. It was the closest Prowler could come to returning to his formless state, but the pain and endurance required to sustain a connection was incredibly draining on his host body.
Even now the connection fluxuated, only to be pushed back into equilibrium with a verbal grunt of effort. A temporary halt to the tampering of Imperial technology at play and mitigating the brunt of the force drain that dared come too close. Veins and vessels grew increasingly more pronounce apon the elders brow.
" My lord! We have incoming-" One the of the helmsmen began and was swiftly interrupted. " What!? Mhmm. Yes. I am aware, Sargent. Evasive action!" The raspy sentence was breathed out in a hurry before another co-pilot voiced concern.
" Sir! Our sensors are picking-" He was also cut short by the Dark Jedi. " Yes. I am awar-" He paused briefly. His eyes trailing off as if peering into another reality and then growing wide with realization. Another presence in the force and it was closing in fast. No. It was directly apon him! But the missiles too?
Snapping back into the present, the elder gasped and pivoted to retreat back to the cockpit access tube. His lightsaber already in had and spring to life. A crimson orange glow suddenly erupting from the blade and bathing the dark interior of heavy armor. Spotted from the left side a blue lightsaber began its work.
" Sir! I- uh. BRACE FOR IMPACT!" One of the AT-AT pilots shouted and signaled an alarm. Klaxons sounded in deafening wails. Within the immediate exterior a tremor shook the AT-AT's upper hull. An explosion that quaked and almost made men within lurch. The crimson-orange blade flashed in a flourish and fell into a two handed grip. Hacking down and through the thinner armor plating with heavy strikes. An attempt to maim and killer the jedi attacker here and now! (Kylass Starhaven
)
" EJECT!!" One last shout from one of the AT-AT pilots.
Sharad fired wih surprising precision in the trench. He was deliberate and callous as he sought to avenge his deceased comrades. While in the fore of his mind there stood the battle, his need to survive. What fuelled the imperial was the slideshow of memories he had with his comrades. The long nights playing Sabacc with Corporal Marr, and his endless schemes to avoid paying. The afternoons in the Prefsbelt mountains, enjoying the view with bottles of rum. How Kaylah Raiber continued to help Sharad up whenever he’d tripped on the MMG cable during drills. It was anguish which pulsed through his veins. Anguish and rage.
Rage that they had been snuffed our so viciously. After all the Prefsbelt auxiliaries had been through. From fighting the Sith, the Maw, the Alliance and then the Prefsbelt Calamity. These were more than just comrades. These were family. This was where the anguish took hold. While he had witnessed death before, it nonetheless tore at Sharad’s heart. He had always imagined he would die helping his comrades in some valiant sacrifice. Never that he would be the one to outlive them. He was the welp. The scrawny Pa’Deshi wastrel handed to Carlyle Rausgeber’s regime for a better life.
Upon spotting the man with the shield approach, Sharad’s eyes widened. He knew he would struggle to best the man in single combat. But he felt that thirst for blood, thirst for revenge. It was in this moment, he felt more like he’d belonged in Prefsbelt Command than ever before. Despite decades of indoctrination at this point, Dhavale saw it. He understood it as a tangible concept. Revenge. The need to settle his blood with that of others. To even the score and malevolently strike back against the insolent. And now having discovered such a notion, he craved it like nothing else.
Dropping his rifle, Sharad reached for his entrenching tool. With a slick flip, the spade extended. He then opted for his own charge. While without a shield, he leaned with his shoulder forward and moved to shoulder barge against the fellow warrior. There was no pithy remark. No words. Just a gutteral scream with Sharad attempting to swing the shovel bladed edge around the defenders shield to bludgeon his head. Blood demanded blood and Sharad would deliver.
Makko heard a deep hiss from behind him. The troopers inside the transport were trying to break back out. It wouldn't take them long. It had been made to keep enemy fire out, not stop the complement from escaping.
Radio chatter rose in volume. There was an angry shout from the walker he had targeted before order took hold. Then the comm was cut off as they sensible assumed the AT-AT he has taken was compromised.
He continued firing. He put everything he had access to into targeting the rear leg of the walker in front. Eventually it buckled and the walker went down.
The hardest part was ahead of him. Makko veered the walker he piloted towards the cliffs. He smashed up the controls, leaving the vehicle heading into terrain that would immobilise it.
It felt like a victory. He'd disable two walkers from the enemy's northern flank. Now they knew where he was an he was isolated.
Makko flicked the controls to drop the speeder bikes from the cargo bay. He started to open the hatch above him just as the snow troopers broke free. He flung them back with the Force and leapt up onto the hull of the walker's head. Followed by a string of blaster bolts, he jumped down into the snow and ran towards the nearest bike.
Pak had begrudgingly dragged Jin along with him after the decision was finally made to deploy to Arkania. Despite it having been a couple of years, he felt like he was back in the GADF all over again, off to fight some pointless battle and put his neck out on the line for people who didn't give two karks about him. But then again, what the Empire was capable of was still a very fresh memory in his mind, paired with the fact that there were other soldiers down there that would need their help. Fate certainly had a peculiar and interesting sense of humor, putting Pak and Jin in such a situation.
As their ship arrived on Arkania, Pak took to the controls as Jin began to wander off to the cargo hold. The rush of white fields stained with carbonized scorch marks from turbolasers and explosions dotting the snow, blaster fire racing across the trenches as the space between the Empire and Fort Tagge was rapidly dwindling.
He grumbled as stray anti-air fire tried to blast them out of the sky, Pak gripping the controls as he maneuvered their ship to evade as they began to swoop in low to the ground above scattered Imperial Stormtroopers attempting to advance against slowly retreating GADF forces. He shouted over comms as he tried to keep his focus on them not getting shot out of the sky, "Run it by me again Tae! What exactly did you plan on doing?" Jin mentioned in passing something about dropping off a surprise. Pak was never keen on surprises, especially when he didn't know what that entailed, but knowing Jin, it was likely something he would not be happy about.
He leaned his head to the side as the ship was cruising down towards the Alliance's side of the trenches, the duo having already declared and identified themselves as Lightsworn allies so the Alliance anti-air didn't take them out. Their little BB astromech, R-4T chirped and warbled as they squeaked at him, Pak with a confused look on his face, "What do you mean the cargo hold's open?"
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
There it was. The lingering darkness. The aggression. For all the Jedi had sought to control and hold the wrenching grasp of discipline over their emotions, Kyric cracked. In all the annuls of the truth, Wymar could not claim to act in different strokes were the dynamic opposed. And the same line drawn taught toward himself. He held his arms out, his body open to accept the attack as he channeled into the form of the Vornskr. The very form which he had so rigidly trained himself to use without so steeply burying himself in the darkness.
In its stead, take advantage of Kyric's own inner strife as he lashed out to sever his neck from his body. He brought himself closer to the arc of vengeance, his blade swiftly cracking against the swing with a vertical sweep to catch it mere inches from his face, the crimson and green light cast over the ebon, metallic visage. <"I know...because I have witnessed it through other eyes."> He said before held the clash down toward the snow, a dusting of argent from his foot as he delivered a harsh kick toward the Jedi's abdomen to send him from his footing again as his open hand went to snatch for the wrist holding Kyric's saber.
<"You've allowed him to seize control of you...in a way, you've already submitted."> He remarked- another voice channeling through his form as he spoke to the jedi, slightly tilting his chin up to appraise the knight before him.
<"You have let him pierce your mind...as the others have. Control your delusions, this striking at random..."> He said, his voice softening a tinge in a nigh paternal way. <"Throw down your blade, Karis...">He said, his tone firming once more in one final offer of the olive branch before he would unfurl his fury again, the pair held still as whisps of snow caught in the breeze clung to their embattled forms.
"You will inevitably hurt me, but that is part of the process. The smoke demon suffers pain from every form of the Light Side. But I can endure the pain, I’ve grown used to it." the man said quietly, his voice polite, almost as if offering absolution; assuring her that he would not hold it against her if she caused him harm.
As for her name being beautiful, Voldran made no remark. He felt it would be improper to say such a thing in this situation, and even more so to flirt. So instead, he simply remained silent and observed what the girl would do next. He was still somewhat uncertain, not entirely confident. This all felt too simple. Of course, he knew the process itself would not be easy; it could never be. It might even kill him. But that would soon be revealed.
For now, Voldran stayed on one knee, watching as the girl finally sat down on the ground. When Corazona asked him to do the same, the man followed her example, sitting in the same manner. The request was rather indiscreet, for he had never shown this to anyone throughout his long life. Yet perhaps there was no other way. He gave a slight nod, then exhaled deeply as he stretched out his other hand. Voldran, too, closed his eyes and began to meditate. Even here, he had to remain vigilant, always keeping his demonic half in check.
It took roughly a minute for him to attune himself to the girl, and then Voldran began to show her feelings and fragments of memory. His parents had been like him - Arkanians - though his mother had worn the old-style Mandalorian armour. From little Voldran’s point of view, the scene unfolded: his mother, Dodhorn Harert
, called the boy weak, while his father, Vanath, addressed her as Mand’alore the Ruthless. The woman abandoned the boy to his father’s care. As a child, Voldran had indeed been physically frail, preferring books over combat.
Many of the images he shared were of himself studying in libraries, or being taught by his father. Yet his father also struck him, punishing the boy’s inability to master combat lessons; even so, he still raised him with some measure of care. Voldran’s eyes had been blue in those days. He was an adolescent when his mother returned. Before his very eyes, she slew his father, condemning him for failing to make the boy strong. She took Voldran with her, bringing him into the Unknown Regions. By then, she had already changed; not only a Sith Lord, but a sangnir as well.
She treated the young man with brutal cruelty, tormenting him both mentally and physically. Voldran, however, resisted her constantly, even then. Eventually, the experiments began. She destroyed the mind of a smoke demon, then fused its essence with Voldran’s body and soul through a Sith ritual, convinced still that her son was far too weak. It was then that Voldran’s eyes turned red; the mark of the demon. Its consciousness had been annihilated, yet its animalistic instincts remained.
Thus Voldran was forced to battle not only the galaxy but himself, struggling not to fall into the Dark Side. In time, he managed to escape his mother, wandering the galaxy for nearly a century, seeking a way to rid himself of the curse, but finding none. These had been very archaic times, long before the Old Republic. It was during this wandering that he developed the method by which he could communicate with others without harming them, perfecting the ability to reach into dreams or meditation planes, thanks to his demonic half.
Eventually, fate brought him to clash with his mother once again. The battle was savage — and Voldran lost. She imprisoned him within a crystal prison, hiding it deep in the Netherworld. But something happened, long ages later: the crystal cracked, and Voldran instinctively reached out into the universe; until he stepped into @Darth Ptolemis’ meditation plane. Ironically, that man served the very same faction as Voldran’s mother. The confrontation ended with the crystal shattering further.
The HPI and the Eternal Empire discovered the crystal, and it was Ingrid L'lerim
who released the man. The Eternal Empress granted Voldran everything he needed to adjust to the present age. When he recovered, she allowed him to leave, telling him he would always be welcome should he wish to return. Voldran set out to explore the modern galaxy; but his mother, still alive, sensed her son’s awakening. Dodhorn hunted him down and captured him.
She did not return to the Galactic Empire, for to her the Dark Side Elite would have been far beneath her. Instead, she tortured her son, burning Sith runes into his very soul, with which she could control him. Then she sent him to the Galactic Empire as a “gift” for Darth Solipsis
. Since then, Voldran had been under either her command or the Emperor’s, a prisoner who only longed to regain his freedom. Though Voldran did not intend it, he also conveyed shame to the girl; the shame of having been weak, of failing against his mother twice. Alongside this, she could feel the hunger, the killing urge of his demonic side, which he fought ceaselessly to suppress.
"Now you know me, Lady Corazona… as no one else in the galaxy does. Do you still believe you can help me?" the man asked in a quiet voice.
A glimmer of hope shone in her hazel eyes. With great attention to detail, she observed as he took a small sip from the vial. She pulled the mask down to offer a grateful smile. When seeing her face in full, the firefighter almost looked a little tomboyish with - what would look like - the bare minimum in terms of make-up, freckled cheeks and a clear underbite. "Thank you" she said, her voice small but appreciative.
With that, she accepted the vial and looked at it for a few moments - more curious than anything else. Then, she drank its contents before offering another grateful nod.
Excerpt from Ines Pen-Ar-Lan's Diary said:
[...]
Alright, Agent Pen-Ar-Lan, you're definitely going crazy now. I accepted the vial. I should've known better than to accept a vial from a Jedi. They can do all sorts of things with the Force. For someone who fought the Emperor (AND SURVIVED?!) withstanding the effects of a poison is well within their reach. Yet I jumped at the chance to accept it. I know better - I even knew better at the time. Why was I so desperate to believe him? I hate myself sometimes. I hope the war will keep us busy - busy enough for brass to forgo disciplinary action.
That's crazy in its own right, but then, the deal we made? I still can't quite believe it. In exchange for chatting with him and following him home for a while, I get to go free? He's even more generous than I first thought. I'll go along with his plan for now. Of course I will. As long as the mission and my cover are safe, I wouldn't mind following him home for a talk.
I can't wrap my mind around why he'd go for this deal though - from an intelligence standpoint, having me captured is the superior choice, by far. These Jedi sure are mysterious.
Not that I mind, really. He keeps doing this thing where he looks at me and makes me feel like he wants what's best for me - without any schemes or ulterior motives in mind. It's weird - I kinda get why I'd feel this way when I'm undercover as someone on their side, but why do I get this feeling from him, who should obviously see me as an enemy? He's twisting my arm, sure, but he's being incredibly sweet about it.
He mentioned the potential repercussions of making the wrong choice. Line eyed him carefully, it were as if she was trying to gain some sort of insight by simply looking at him. Then, the Force Wall fell. Her gaze instantly turned to look down the corridor. He had given her a clear escape route. All she had to do was to activate the jump boots and she'd be off. But then, her shoulders fell. Chances were that he would be able to catch her just as easily the second time as the first. Line let out a sigh "Alright, I'll come with you."
Once the decision was made, it seemed like the Agent was complying with him fully. She moved at a calm, steady pace toward the ship. As they walked, she eventually turned her head to look up at him "So, whom do I have the honour of speaking with? My knowledge of the royal houses could use some brushing up."
Fondor - Senate Halls, Alexandra's Pod
Objective - Defiance
Equipment: Sabers (Hidden within her Sleeves) Spear (Held by Eve) Robes
Alexandra would be resting by the time that Dayna Rhyss
had arrived to her pod, stepped away from the place where the halls could easily view her unless their own pods were higher than hers, She needed those moments, to rest and center herself and Dayna would see just that as Alexandra had her eyes closed and was sitting to the side. Eve had ensured some water was brought so that Alexandra could clear out the blood from her mouth that she could still taste the iron tinge of on her tongue. It was alot and she knew Vulpesen
would likely chastise her for already proving him right on how little she could keep up her look of strength given the corruption from the Coruscant Nexus.
Had she been more careful during that battle, she likely wouldn't have such deep corruption running through her, but at the same time she knew every sacrifice must be made if at all possible to ensure a brighter future. That was the reason she had in the first place suggested such a treaty, to even speak of reaching out to the Mandalorians or the Imperial Confederacy regarding such a treaty. It was all offered with hope that this would all give them a chance for peace rather than simply another few decades of suffering and destruction. Another Csilla was all that waited people if they could not find that peace.
Before Alexandra spoke to Dayna Rhyss
though, she would look towards Eve, giving another soft smile to the cloned body that housed her personal AI.
"Please, invite Senators Cressida Tolliver
, Feridade Parthi
, Lander Stalwart
and Arsenio Tagge
to the Pod, if any would wish to discuss this further..." She paused for a moment, glancing down through the force towards the likes of Janus Vipsanius
and Redak Boyd
, unable to see them physically but for any of the four in the Empire's pod that were force sensitive, they would feel the eyes of someone on them.
"And, invite those from the Empire if they wish to actually discuss a future where peace is possible. I will not give up on that notion until they have left our home behind." She would wait for Eve to nod, letting her do so before turning her gaze on Dayna with a smile that was somewhat sad looking given how Alexandra was clearly still having issues speaking from the short bit she just did to Eve.
"Please, have a seat. Miss Rhyss correct? I have been informed of you and the Grand Moff's names thanks to my aide's unique talents of gathering information." She would rest her hands on her lap, the water placed near her as Alexandra made room for any others to arrive in the pod as well. It wouldnt be the most spacious place for a discussion, but a prompt location that the few who came did not have to worry about walking far to get to.
"But yes, my counterparts should be arriving in due time. And as you heard I still intend on giving the Empire a chance to find peace in a manner that is truly good for both our peoples. If your people would be interested in such, I welcome them to my home and to our halls so that such a thing can be discussed." She would give Dayna another smile, drinking from the cup slowly and coughing lightly once more.
Alexandra's voice during this point would seem a bit off, the truth being she was using the force at this point to help her words be spoken. Her actual voice speaking with a quietness to it that needed to be amplified to simply be heard as normal speech. It was something she did not wish to do during the open Senate Session, as there was no wish to give anyone ammunition on saying she was using the force to influence the Senate. It was a an accusation that could cause the Senate issues, and could harm the chances of others like herself representing their people in the future.
| Objective | Help the GA Out - AND RIDE A BIG FUCKING FROG
| Tags | Open
The bay doors peeled open with a hydraulic scream, and the wind rushed in hard and cold, full of ozone and the stink of burning snow. It tore at Jin's coat, whipped his hair into his eyes, and rattled every loose panel in the hold. Ugly hunkered low against the gale, claws scraping the durasteel, three eyes rolling in different directions, its purple tongue lashing the storm as if it could already taste what was waiting below.
They hadn't meant to keep it. The job had been a bounty on Bogano, a swamp predator that they were told "should have been a simple capture"-electro-nets, a winch, a few stun grenades-but Ugly had nearly taken Jin's leg off before they'd hauled it thrashing into the ship. Any sane crew would have sold it off. Jin had spent weeks in the hold instead, prodding and bribing, seeing what kind of language the beast understood. To his delight, it had been enough: a jab behind the leg for forward, two knuckles at the neck ridge for turn, a prod beneath the jaw for bite. Ugly didn't obey so much as tolerate him, and for Jin that was more than enough.
The ship jolted under flak fire, alarms bleating in the cockpit. Somewhere forward, R-4T squealed a panicked stream of binary. Pak's voice followed, sharp over comms: "Why is the cargo bay open?!"
Jin only laughed in response, dragging himself into the saddle. "Y'know," he said, letting the comm pick up every ounce of his amusement, "I've wanted to do this since I was a kid." His grin cut wide, eyes bright. "Guess today's the day."
He dug his heels in.
Ugly launched.
The hold fell away in a single, clean drop. Jin's stomach lifted; the world turned to white blur and black smoke and tracer fire. Wind tore at his coat until it snapped like a flag. He felt the Oggdo twist beneath him-one ton of furious muscle trying to swim the air- and the laugh punched out of him, raw and delighted, straight into an open channel.
"HOLY FUCK-ING - SHITTTTTTTT!" His voice cracked with exhilaration, words tumbling fast between ragged bursts of laughter.
The Oggdo thrashed midair, claws raking at nothing, tongue snapping like a whip. Jin clung low, knees biting into the saddle, reins taut in his fists. He looked like a man possessed- coat flaring around him, hair in his mouth, eyes alight with the rush. He flung one hand up into the air, cheeks flapping in the wind, waving like a cowboy dropping into hell.
The impact arrived like a verdict, the kind you felt in your bones before your mind caught up. The Oggdo slammed into the trench line, and the planet seemed to grunt beneath it. Ice fractured. Snow and dirt geysered outward in a ring that sent white armor tumbling like dice across a table. The shock rattled through Jin's spine; he rose half out of the saddle, then slammed back in with a grin carved into his face. For a heartbeat, the battlefield went still-just the monster's breath fogging the air, just the wind screaming through the gap.
Then the noise returned, all at once.
Jin sat tall in the chaos. His coat snapped like a banner, hair wild across his brow, eyes alight. With one hand, he gave a jaunty wave- yes, I meant to do that- before dropping his weight and digging in.
With a prod beneath the chin, Ugly's maw split wide, tongue whipping out in a flash of purple. It coiled a stormtrooper around the waist and ripped him off his feet, armor crunching against the permafrost before snapping back. Blasterfire followed, but bolts glanced harmlessly off its hide; Ugly shrieked, delighted.
Two knuckles to the left. The beast pivoted, shouldering men and snow alike out of the way. Jin leaned into it, reins taut in quick micro-tugs, laughing again- breathless, raw, the sound bright like sunlight glancing off a blade.
"Before anyone panics and shoots the big ugly frog—heads up!" His voice crackled over the shared comms. "He goes by Ugly. Mostly eats white armor. Won't eat you unless you poke the tongue. I wave, you duck. We're carving a lane. You're welcome."
Hind-leg jab. Go.
Ugly surged forward like a battering ram. Jin rode low, shoulders loose as the tongue flicked again- another trooper yanked, another pocket of the line crumpled. The Alliance soldiers nearest them recovered first, ducking as instructed, the smarter ones already slipping into the gap the beast had carved.
"Alright, Alright, Alright! LET'S GET ROWDY!" he yelled into the wind, not sure if the mic even caught it, the grin still sitting lazy and feral on his face as he pointed one ton of bad attitude at the next knot of white.
The golden giant stood unmoving in the metal-clad cabin, a gleaming statue, sentinel over the rising iron behemoth. The factory was waking, stretching, yawning, its ancient bones of durasteel and plastoid creaking back to life.
The stream of data had become a river, then a torrent. The dams had burst, the moats overflowed. The Devaronian had maintained vigilance over his operative as best he could, but soon found himself burdened under the strain, concentration gnawing at him, like a bare back lashed beneath a raging waterfall.
Doors opening. elsewhere, doors slamming shut. Droids stirring. Commands rewritten. Activated, deactivated, on standby. Turbolifts whirring into motion, descending and rising back again.
Whole mountains of data vanished in an instant, a feed existing, then ceased, murdered somewhere in the belly of the megastructure.
Fire alarms shrieked, emergency protocols surged, blast doors slammed shut attempting to contain the damage.
Camera controls fought a tug-of-war, rival users seizing and contesting admin rights over each other.
Hangar access denied, reinstated. Denied again. But than reinstated.
Through the storm his focus locked to a single line of code, one event, a lone messenger delivering daunting news. The slit of his eyes tightened behind a golden veil: The Archive vault doors had been tampered with.
If all had gone to plan and it must have, or else Vireth would have pulsed a warning, she was still inside the Archive. But now she was no longer alone.
He would not wait for her exfil pulse. It was time to break the silence.
He hadn't overheard the comms check, but Ines Pen-Ar-Lan had clearly identified enemy activity. A Jedi?
Resistance had been expected. But not this.
And the strange cat-and-mouse between her and the figure he now believed to be the enemy Jedi had ceased.
Not a good sign. He'd need the logs to confirm her death. Worse still, a Jedi might prowl these halls.
Yet the greater threat was elsewhere. He had intercepted their signal multiple times now. A squad was moving, encrypted frequencies, none familiar. The unknown was the enemy.
He tracked them to the turbolift use, then their tampering at the Archive gates. These intruders were capable, silent, purposeful.
The Saint relayed clipped updates over their channel as he advanced.
Short bursts, longer beeps: Moving on you. Prepare exfil.Vireth Kelig Ward
Mid-sized enemy forces. Hold exits. Prepare intercept enemy exfil.
No matter who failed inside, his man outside would not. None of them would see sunlight rise over Ord Lithone without one of Kelig's sniper rounds lodging deep inside their skulls.
The giant clad in iron and gold thundered through the corridors, a tactical map UI plastered across his visor. He had to reach Vireth, extract her, and prevent the opposition from escaping with stolen files.
Then, an explosion rattled the tunnels. Seconds later blaster fire blared in the distance. He was close now.
His sprint became a charge, faster, each thud of his armored greaves on the metallic floor a violent blow. He was too heavy to move with the speed he desired, too burdened to guarantee the mission's success. Yet he bore the thread he was commanded to spin, to bind into tapestry, an image of his herald.
His golden visage swung around the corner. The hall was torn open in battle, etched in firelight. Troopers clad in white, bearing the insignia of the Galactic Empire, had pinned down a squad of unidentified assailants. Da'Rzael's scanners frantically swept the scene, searching for the unique code of Vireth's bionic transplants. She was not among the gathered.
That meant he was free to kill them all.
From beneath his cape, his gauntlet swung forward, a strange serpentine coil of lethal red plasma writhing across his forearm.
A murmur. The echo of a murmur. A living whisper. Sith tongue creeping across the skin, like a thousand crawling, prickling critters.
"Dzworokka yun nauthû karn."
The temperature spiked. Da'Rzael knew the fire hazard protocols, studied them previously.
With his free hand, he keyed in a final command of beeps to his allies:
His massive frame barrelled forward, towering above the troopers in white.
Blaster bolts shrieked past him, snapping against his projected forcefield that flared red as it seared them upon contact.
Only a handful of soldiers separated him from the enemy guard and more waiting beyond.
Heat licked the walls until they wept, metal sweating. He could already see the beams that would drop the emergency fire gates upon his unsuspecting prey.
"Nau!"
A hiss of flame emerged, twisting into a whirling stream like a surging deep-sea vortex. It coiled around Da'Rzael, burning men beside him into screaming husks of pyre, then, like a viper recoiling, before flickering forward to engulf Ronhar's forces.
The other man dropping his rifle was not what he was expecting.
Before he was able to course-correct or change how he was charging, the other had slammed into him with his shoulder. While the shield did give some reinforcement that prevented anything from hurting, the man putting his whole body weight on Gavin's arm had caused him to stumble back. Skidding to a halt, as he properly braced his arm against the man.
As Sharad Dhavale
let out a scream of rage and agony, Gavin had only let out low grunts of effort and exertion. But it was that scream, plus the other man's body language, that allowed Gavin to pick up on just how bloodthirsty he was. He was out looking for revenge. He likely had lost someone in the battle, and was looking to avenge his fallen comrade. Maybe it was a rage that was spawned from the battle itself, the desire to win. But regardless of the reasoning, all that mattered was that Gavin knew the other had no intentions of giving up.
The force pike was brought over, being used to block the strike thrown with the entrenching tool. With a sharp grunt of more exertion, Gavin pushed the other away with his shield, looking to create a bit of distance. The tip of the force pike was brought down, as a couple of slashes were thrown towards the other, with a full intent to cleave into the man.
A blood red portal tore itself open in the air and a figure of pale flesh in a black sparkling ritual gown with the image of a Yovshin Swordsman daintily walked out, grasping a sword wreathed in red flames, flesh shuddering.
"Alright..." The Darkness puppeting the Flesh of Ersethy said to the Mawites present who, despite the horrific battle, fell down in worship of the abomination.
"Who summoned us?" she asked, casually Force Choking to death a Jedi Knight who got too close, flesh shuddering disgustingly as she fed off his life force as he died.
"Me! Meeeee!" Waved one Mawite. "Terribly sorry, Lady Ersethy...we, um, seem to have a bit of a problem..."
Ersethy sighed.
"Look, we're not mad, really...but we were about to indulge in Sithflix and Chill. It was our weekend off. Do you know how few weekends we get to simply laze about?" It complained mildly before sighing
"What's the problem?" It asked.
The Mawite pointed to the Deputy slaughtering his comrades in the distance.
Ersethy blinked.
"Oh. Yeah, we can see why you'd be kinda fethed...hold on, we'll take care of it..." it said with a sigh. It looked around the chaos, unconsciously absorbing the death all around it.
"As long as we're here..."
Ersethy uttered a horrific dark side curse that started driving the enemy forces in the closest proximity completely insane, starting to bleed from the eyes
The Deputy turned, beheading a Mawite as she noticed her.
The speed at which the Deputy moved caught Ersethy off guard and it was fending off deadly blows from all angles by the Deputy, shocked by its opponent's speed and viciousness, how utterly unhesitating about employing violence The Deputy was. How utterly void of wrath the Deputy was in the process.
The Deputy's sword hacked away at her defense, and she actually found herself budging, giving ground...
Meanwhile, Ersethy's curse began to spread, hopefully giving the Mawites much needed relief as they fought...
Khronas’ Sith sword impaled the Alliance trooper and pierced his thick weatherised armour. The Dark Jedi quickly tore his blade free, spraying the pure white snow with a shower of blood as the soldier fell to the frozen ground, another death tallied to the Galactic Empire.
Dangal responded quickly, a whirl of lightsaber and telekinetic attacks lashing at Khronas. The Siniteen parried what he could and dodged what he could not, slowly giving ground under the withering barrage of attacks. The clash of energy blade on Sith steel rang out through the mountain range. The Jedi pushed his advantage, the death of the trooper seeming to inspire and embolden him.
“The Dark magic that leaches the souls of Imperial soldiers is not the doing of the Sith,” Khronas sneered in reply. “The Jedi would seem to have taken up with strange bedfellows indeed.”
The loyal forces of the Empire did not cower in the face of their enemies, and every being from the lowest Stormtroopers to the most decorated General understood that dying in the service of the Darth Solipsis
was the highest honour. The Dark Side Elite took a more pragmatic view. Their order was unique and honoured, the will of the Sith’ari made manifest, hand-picked for their aptitude with the Force. While TIE pilots could be flash-trained in mere weeks, Khronas and his brethren had been trained for years at the hands of the Emperor and his more trusted advisers. Their lives were not to be forfeited in vain.
The mountain ridge shuddered under the savage attack from Dangal. Out in the open, the Jedi and his three trooper allies held the upper hand. He could not serve the Emperor in death.
Khronas needed to even the odds.
Reaching out with the Force, he sensed a weakness in the mountain beneath the thick layer of snow, where an underground cavern was close to breaking through the surface. Khronas studied the threads of time as they wove between himself and Jedi. Spotting a break in Dangal’s attacks that intersected with an opportune moment in time, Khronas backflipped high into the air and came down on the mountain with all his might.
The ground gave way beneath him, depositing him into a dusty tunnel.
Khronas could feel the currents of the Dark Side swirling in the tunnel as he brushed the rockfall from his heavy cloak. This was indeed Veeshas Tuwan, the lost library of the Sith. Untold generations of his forebearers had come to this place to study at the altar of legendary Sith holocrons. In their wake, the darkness they worshipped had infiltrated every corner of the temple and its tunnel network.
He snatched a small probot, roughly the size of his fist, from his utility belt and released it. The small droid hovered for a moment on its repulorlifts before darting down the tunnel to begin its exploration of the subterranean Sith library. It would connect other Imperial Reclamation resources, streaming its mapping data to Flannigan Tagge
and Cato Panaka
.
“Embrace the Darkness, Jedi,” he taunted. “Come and stand amid your, bear witness to your fate, and embrace the true power of the Dark Side.”
The Dark Jedi backed up a few paces and brought his sword to a high-ready position, waiting for the first enemy to drop into the tunnel before attacking.
[ Bloody, fethin' hell. ] She cursed, her pulse thundering in her head, fingers twitching as much from the withdrawal as from the recoil. She fired again, the ion beam slicing through the steam like lightning, then pulled a Forcebreaker grenade from her belt and rolled it forward
Jacen hadn't fought for years. He was slower than he needed to be, even as experience guided him. The blaster bolt struck home, but he knew that high pitched sound. It had struck beskar.
He didn't feel the grenade coming. The sound was familiar and he turned his head away. Nothing hurt, even as he felt some loose shrapnel strike his robes.
The lightsaber continued to send clouds of superheated steam upwards. The taste as he breathed in wasn't the stream. He had been gassed in basic training with everyone else.
He swore under his breath. He tried to call on the Force to strengthen himself, to try and stave off the poison. Instead of feeling water stream from every orifice or his consciousness fading, the Force didn't respond to his call.
He was dealing with a professional jedi hunter.
Jacen dropped the blaster. His blade was pulled from the snow but he threw it to his right. He hoped she would fire her weapons after the blade, assuming he would pull it back to himself.
He launched himself backwards, drawing on that faint thread left to the Force. He drew and fired the sonic shotgun. The steam move suddenly as thr wave passed through it. It didn't matter what armour she wore, that was going to hurt.
The sonic wave disturbed the balance of the snow on the mountain. As Jacen turned to flee up the cliffs he would have felt a warning. Instead he could only swear as snow and rocks tumbled down over him.
He felt something strike the side of his face. Warm blood washed down his face following the pain. The weight of snow dragged him down.
It took a bit, but she finally accepted what he offered her. The Lazerenzyme would go to work swiftly, alleviating her pain and repairing any cellular damage that might have been caused by her... untimely collision with his Force barrier. He did actually feel bad about having hurt her. There hadn't been a desire to do so, but he didn't want her escaping and that was the only way he could think of, at the time, to keep her from doing so. Considering she was now willing to trust him enough to remove her face covering, and allow him to see that she was actually a rather attractive young woman, he figured it was working out.
When she indicated she'd come with him, he motioned for her to walk beside him, and they would start in the direction of where Fate was waiting, keeping the flames at bay, so they could make it through to the ship. He was still grateful for having found Fate on that trip with Grandmaster Noble. Even though the droid had tried to kill him, a product of faulty programming, he'd found a solid companion in him.
"Oh, yes, introductions I guess are in order," he said when she asked who he was. "I'm Jedi Knight Caelan Valoren, King of the Kingdom of Devit on Lazerian IV. And yourself?"
Honestly, he didn't expect her to give him her real name. Under the circumstances he wouldn't fault her for it. This situation, looking at it from her perspective, was highly unusual, and he was, technically, her enemy. Giving him her name would probably fly in the face of everything she'd been taught. He resolved to have Fate take a photo of her so he could look through databases later and figure out who she was, just in case. Might be good to know in case he needed to find her again.
Fate stared up at him as they walked passed the droids she'd tried to take control of earlier. If he could make actual expressions, Caelan was sure this one would be consternation.
"Yes, we already discussed that. She'll be coming with us back to Lazerian, so let's get ready to go."
Fate looked at her, back at him, back at her, back at him, and then seemed to shrug before tottering off to the ship to tell the crew to get ready to go. A trio of fighters also sat nearby, waiting with their pilots ready to fly as well.
Runar only gave a brief, acknowledging nod towards Kroeger when the general echoed the very same words the sangnir had spoken before. The others from the Galactic Alliance, however, were far less understanding: each and every one of them chose battle. Since the man had been keeping track of the fights across other planets as well; determined to stay aware of how the war was progressing; this could easily be used as a trump card. The Arkanian battlefront, in particular, was intriguing. A mocking smile curled upon his lips.
"Just one last question… does your people know that you and the Jedi Order are actually allied with the Sith? Because I find it rather fascinating that on the Arkanian front, the dead are fighting in your stead… which, to the best of my knowledge, is a Sith practice. I wonder what the people of the Galactic Alliance, and your allies, would think of such a revelation…" he said, still in the same calm tone as before.
In truth, the man did not really expect an answer to this question; it was meant more as a rhetorical one. He already felt that no meaningful decision would be made here today. The Galactic Alliance refused to take the threat seriously and behaved like clowns. Runar had hoped there would be some sense among them. He was disappointed. There was nothing else for him to do here.
"I believe we are done here. The Alliance was given the opportunity… if you choose not to take it, then remember later on that you had the chance to decide wisely, yet you did not. I hope our paths will cross again someday." he said with a theatrical bow; one that, despite its dramatics, carried no mockery.
The warning has been given; their fate is now their own… These thoughts crossed his mind as he started walking towards the exit. Yet at the doorway he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Should the Senate ever be filled with politicians instead of clowns… then let me know. I would be more than happy to continue the negotiations." he told them.
With these final words, he cast one last look at the representatives before stepping out of the chamber, heading back towards the Imperial ship.
It came suddenly…the burrowing nothingness, but this malevolence held a different tamber in the Force. The dark permeation that thrummed out of the AT-AT Kylass had been busy cutting into the neck of was an oppressive attunement in the Force.
That malevolence sung with the intent to subjugate and influence, and to permeate itself into dominating aria of control. This, nullifying dirge, was trying to strip the very Living Force out of her. Tendrils of intruding affliction in the Force were siphoning away her projection against the malevolence of the wielder of the Dark Lord’s powers in the AT-AT.
Kylass was beginning to feel weak, her grip on her saber loosened, and her vision began to blur. She was being assailed by two kinds of Force imbued pestilences at once. One was trying to suffocate her in malevolence and the other was trying to drain her will to live.
She was starting to feel cold, but not the biting chill of the Arkanian ice caps. A deathly chill, the ceasing end of heat from a beating, blood-pumping, breathing body. Her hands were shaking against the hilt of her saber. She was fading away. Then, she felt a voice echo in the Force ( Solan Charr
)
Kylass eyes grew wide and her lips parted to show her bare clenched teeth. Her face became a grimacing contortion. She looked around and saw a horror she had hoped wasn’t true. Imperials and Alliance alike dropping dead, withering away inside, and being consumed by the pestilence unleashed in a tidal profusion.
“You fool!” she pressed the words through her teeth. “You utter fool, what have you done!”
This pestilence in the Force was not the work of some Dark Sider, Kylass realized in horror and then in abashed disgust. But a Jedi, fallen or no, a Jedi nevertheless - and one commanding the Galactic Alliance, in such a despicable disregard for life itself.
“I don’t know who you are,” Kylass howled into herself and through the Force. “But for this crime you have committed against the Light, and yourself, I will slay you where you stand should I ever find you!”
Kylass's Templar-Class Armor detected her failing flesh and engaged the stim andbacta auto-injectors, surging her body with a cocktail of repairing chemicals. A dive into what was left of her dwindling connection in the Force led her to the kyber crystal shard embedded in the chest plate of her armor.
Like protecting a small ember against a rainstorm, Kylass coiled her mind about the crystal and fanned its small flame into a burning light. Like a battery it refuelled her in the Living Force and slowly her power returned. She would deal with the momentous crimes of this unknown Jedi later. Kylass brought back her recovering attention to the half circle she was cutting into the plating of the cockpit access tube.
But again, her work would be interrupted. This time by the sudden heat and shockwave of an engulfing inferno. The AT-AT lurched violently to the side, nearly capsizing. Kylass was thrown from her perch and by one hand was holding onto her saber as the rest of her hung off the access tube. Then a ruddy orange blade sliced through her unfinished entry, gauging a bursting streak down the access tube. The plating Kylass’ saber was impaling, split open, and freed her saber. She was removed from the AT-AT, and worse yet, she was now plummeting, and fast!
Relying on the Force to speed up her movements, she removed a grappling spike launcher from her utility belt and launched it into the under belly of the AT-AT. The line caught the armor and snapped tight, swinging Kylass into one of the lumbering legs. She ricocheted off the leg, only to swing back at it. This time she reignited her saber and stabbed a holding. Kylass planted her feet on the leg, her one hand holding the saber that stabbed a hold and the other gripping the line from the grappling spike launcher. She whipped her head up and saw that a barrage of artillery fire was hammering not only the Imperials, but everyone. A scorched earth doctrine was being poured onto the battlefield.
“Shameless fools!” Kylass growled. “What kind of victory is one where no one survives!”
Another explosion struck the AT-AT. But this time it ruptured the entire bulk of the AT’s heavy braces, severing the front legs from the rest of the structure. The hulking mass of the AT-AT dived forward into the snow and frozen ground.The blown off legs Kylass was one exploded into shrapnel and debris. Kylass was thrown clean off and there was no time now to grapple anywhere else. Kylass fell. She fell fast. She fell hard.
Solan looked on, watched as the force bent to his will and as the lives of those before him were lost to his will. The flames of the missiles, the concussive waves of the Mass Drivers that slammed into the bodies of the AT-ATs or their inferior lightly armored support vehicles. Solan's face a cold stare as he continued, all warmth from his form continued to leave him and as the dark spirit that inhabited the vessel took fuller form. The final cries and moments of those he siphoned away all burning their way into his thoughts and his eyes closing in return as he experienced them. Wishes for ones family, wishes to not die, all this meant to drive him deeper into the dark side and to draw more power from such strong and volatile emotions.
Those on the fringes of the ability had little to worry about, even as those like Wymar
and Kyric
felt the pull, it was no threat to their lives. Jacen Voidstalker
and Zark San Tekka
would be able to pinpoint where it was coming from, but also that it had been aimed towards the bulk of the imperial forces. It was the AT-ATs that threatened the Planetary Shield Generator, it was them that Solan had to stop if he was to ensure that the Imperials did not find their efforts to succeed today.
But, as much as these Jedi, paragons of light might view him a monster all the same as the Sith he so despised and hated. The Slavers he would gladly slaughter and rip to pieces, to tear their souls from their forms and leave them withered husks. It was a hatred that burned deep within Solan but not only for them.
It was for himself too.
He knew that his soul had been sacrificed long ago, that he had given himself over to an existence that one day would need to be killed. That he would eventually lose himself, that he might do something unforgivable. But, if that happened, that was why Nida Vaal, Vulpesen
, and The Jedi he now served beside were important. He trusted them to end him if he should ever truly cross that line, because he knew where his suffering came from, and while he would damn his soul to the depths of the Netherworld when he truly died, he would be damned if he let himself fall so far as to one day even consider condemning the souls of those he cherished who now rested in the beyond.
These thoughts of self hatred were what hardened his heart though, and while the Sith may think his acts to harm his own, there were few who actually would be caught. Kylass Starhaven
was one of them, her being one he sensed as his will reached out and he stole from those around her their lives. Yet, even as Kylass was caught in it, she would feel words responding in kind, a softness to the words infiltrating her mind.
"I am sorry... but worry not. I ensured our allies were behind me when I began. Only the enemy will feel my desperate and evil actions... I will not claim your soul, and you will not die. I did not know you would be before me, and I will answer to you for my actions when all is done." His voice was tired, showing that his act in no way rejuvinated the man or brought him power, instead the life he drained from those before him was not fed into him at all.
Even as the hunger demanded he devour the lifeforce of all those before him, he instead simply held onto it, drew it in and while some leaked into his own being, the dark spirit instead would raise its other hand. He was shaking, even now his body urged him to do it, to take more and more, to wipe away the very force itself from the ground before him. But he knew now that it was not only the enemy before him, that he would kill an ally if he pushed that far, if he completed this act with such cold heartlessness.
His gaze turned for a moment, towards Gavin Restur
and Ko Vuto
, allies he had ensured were behind him when he had begun. Would he have crossed the line if he went that far, was it time for Nida to eliminate him if he went that far... perhaps Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra
would command the droids to purge him with his connection to them?
Solan froze for a moment, uncertain before speaking a prayer he had not spoken in a life time. Not sicne he had sat over the body of his dear wife who he has not seen since the Netherworld had bled into the universe.
"Oh great beyond... ferry those who do not deserve what has become of them to a peaceful end." He lowered the hand, the one that had been raised and with that the draining of those in the Imperial force would end mostly. A few final soldiers would be drained of their spirit, left to crumple to the ground without so much as a moment to understand what had happened to them. The Droids that Solan so relied on finally given the command to hold fire as he raised his hand, as he looked on past at the wide scale destruction.
'You cannot stop, you know it. If you hesitate, the enemy will renew their approach, will push into the trenches and overwhelm the forces. Even with this destruction.' He heard the voice, but it came from no one. It was his voice, his eyes turning to the side at his much older visage, the form he had held when he had died on Kesh. The last time he had wiped clean an area of the force, had created a place where only the dead could remain and where all color itself had been stolen away. Solan stared at the form, then heard another voice.
'They deserve it, those who are like them and those they serve are why shes dead. Why we could not be with her.' His gaze now going to his left, seeing the visage of the young man who had lost his parents to a sith, who had survived on scraps and had suffered under the fate of those who get stranded in a place like Nar Shadaa. The Gulag Plague's effects on his own family's history, how it had warped them and pushed them down this path.
Solan stood there, listening as the cannons of the Hyperion Artillery Droids continued, slamming into the fronts of the AT-AT's cockpits. As the Missiles rained down from above and culled the Imperials from the battlefield before Solan while he stood there and felt the cold air rush past his still deathly pale form.
Soon though, he made his decision.
With his hand taking up the comm-link, he spoke once more, letting all those on the battlefield hear him.
"I am Solan Charr, I am the one who cast the evil sorcery that was just felt. My droids are the ones who are raining fire upon your lines without heart or hesitation. You will not reach those we stand before, you will not pierce even this first line of defense. If you think to speak on a moral high ground, then you have failed in that effort too. I am no Jedi, and again, I offer Surrender. I have proven my conviction, I have proven that I and my Droids will continue, bombarding your forces with each inch you seek to take from us, and above your forces remain unable to leave or call for help due to the actions of my counterparts. You are separated, your communications are jammed, and I am willing to continue. Please, surrender, withdraw and accept this battle is over, enough evil has been committed today." He waited, let Prowler II
or Tiberius Zaarin
give their answer if they were still capable of such, let them call for more death or to end this with retreat.
Their choice would spare their men from death. Not Solan's.
After all, as most had failed to realize, Solan's forces did not include what they might have expected. Had they been paying attention, they would have noticed his soldiers were Battle Droids and War Droids, shielded from small arms fire with energy shields. The Walkers never had to proceed past the first Trench, outfitted with weaponry designed for longer range fire and to keep out of Solan's way. The Screecher and Hyperion's Artillery fire unfeeling in how it sought to kill as many as possible rather than to deny the enemy their approach. There had been no effort on Solan's part to push beyond their defensive lines, letting the Imperials push their people into a meat grinder of a battle in which they had thought the Jedi would be there to charge forward as in the past.
It was why Kylass Starhaven
's arrival had brough Solan pause, how she had interrupted his goals to strike and to not harm his own living companions. He knew well that the Lightsworn would seek his head in return for casting such and evil out across the frozen valley, knew that their allies would demand answers for why the Galactic Alliance would allow someone so distant from what a Jedi should be to be here in the defense of their people.
It was for that reason, that only now he made the call.
"First and Second Infantry Battalions, Load up the ATTWs, push forward and take prisoner those who surrender. Eliminate those who do not. Ensure that there are none who are left to push forward... ignore the temple, focus upon the enemy not cut off by that bombardment earlier. First Artillery, hold fire and order the First Armored to push forward in order to support the First and Second Infantry." He had no interest in the Mawites near the Temple, it was of no concern to him with their ability to approach the front most remaining forces of the Imperial assault. The ATTWs, loaded up with Legionnaires attached to the Battalion and Eshkrene Battle Droids starting to move forward as well now and trading turbolaser fire with any remaining AT-ATs that had survived the onslaught.
Lastly... they needed to ensure there would be no reinforcements.
"Sunray Squadron... ensure there is no retreat." He did not need to say more. In minutes, those who had been at the Landing Point Aurek, those under the command of St. Thomas Barran
would understand what was ordered. Four Apollo Class Interceptors, ordered into atmospheric combat near first contact with the enemy would scream over the valley. They were quick, outfitted with some of the best tech that Taeli Raaf
and Solan had packed into them so long ago, shooting past the fighting and as they did the back lines of the Imperials and the Landing Camp would be struck.
Seismic Charges, three from each interceptor, would be dropped as they passed over the rear echelon of Tiberius Zaarin
's forces, as they passed over the camp, and the mouth of the valley. Dropped and detonated as the quick successive blasts would wipe clean the ground of the Imperial Landing Point. The Interceptors could still be shot down, still be interrupted, but Solan had ensured that the squad sent his way were his men. That they would give their lives for him and that the Galactic Alliance's Pilots and the Arkanians protecting their home did not give their lives in such a strike. Solan wished to make clear this would end in utter destruction, that he did not offer escape should the enemy refuse his demand for surrender.
And with that done, Solan moved forward, heading towards where he had felt the life force of Kylass Starhaven
come from. He would not allow for his ally to die simply because she had dropped down into his way, all because he was unaware of her plans and intentions. And as a result, it would not be long before Prowler II
would come face to face with Solan as well, as he doubted the presence he felt earlier was dead.
(Fleeting, and Post from Nida Vaal for CT-312
/ Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra
will come at a later time, as not all players for those areas have had the chance to post)
"Get behind me!", Ronhar ordered as he turned to face the opposite side of the hallway.
He took out the Knockout Mine that he had retrieved from the now destroyed turbolift and reactivated it, hurling it toward the Galactic Empire forces firing at his squad from the end of the hallway. The moment the mine hit the floor, it activated, exploding in both a flash of blinding light and a cloud of neuroparalytic gas. Whatever respirators the enemy Stormtroopers were using were clearly insufficient to handle the gas produced by the mine, as they all slumped over unconscious. It was a shame that Ronhar wouldn't be able to kill them outright, as he simply didn't have enough time.
He and his team had been compromised, and badly, at that. He had to extract to the waiting AT-CTs outside so he could put some distance between this factory and himself. Once they were far away enough, a quick call for aerial transport would get them off this galaxy forsaken planet once and for all.
"Follow me, we're leaving now", Ronhar exclaimed as he ordered his men to form up on him. "It's time to get the hell out of here, I want each of you-"
His statement was cut off by the screams of the dying, though none of them were coming from Ronhar or his men. Ronhar and his squad immediately turned around as they tried to locate the sound of the noise. It seemed to be coming from around the corner...
WHOOSH!
The burst of flame came angrily around the corner, instantly incinerating two of Ronhar's Storm Commandos. Their burning corpses fell to the floor, engulfed in flame, as the rest of the survivors sprinted down the hallway. None of them had seen what had caused the fire, and none of them were willing to stick around long enough to find out.
Ronhar pulled out his last remaining Rhydonium Grenade and tossed it down the hallway. It exploded, releasing another cloud of noxious gas that now lingered in the hallway. Hopefully, the toxic Rhydonium fumes would prevent whatever was chasing them from following them out of the factory...assuming it was organic of course.
As the squad rounded the next corner, Ronhar suddenly paused.
"GO! Get out of here! I'll hold it off!", Ronhar yelled at the forces under his command. They didn't need to be told that twice, as all but Garhosl continued their retreat out of the factory.
"Are you out of your mind, sir?!?!", Garhosl said aghast.
"I'll be fine, just get the data out of here! I'll catch up in 10 minutes, don't worry!", Ronhar reassured him, or at least tried to. Though Garhosl didn't seemed particularly convinced, he followed Ronhar's orders, leaving him to face whatever was hunting them.
Ronhar grabbed his Prototype Sonic Pistol in one hand and Burnblade in the other. He would bet his life that a force user was currently after them. This would be a good test of his anti-force arsenal, and of course, the secret weapon that he had brought with him for this very eventuality.
Theoretically, it should work as the Imperial Confederation had advertised it, though Ronhar hadn't had a chance to test it out before hand. Now, it looked like he was going to get that field test whether he wanted to or not...
Sharad Dhavale
outright. Bringing his shield in front of hinself, he charged towards the man. Letting the shield block any bolts the man might've shot at him, as he looked the ram straight into him, and knock him over. 
