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Coruscant had fallen, and once again Darth Solipsis
had radicalized and mobilized his followers. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control with the loss of the Deep Core, the Galactic Empire's rise to power rapidly expanding, and the Alliance found itself struggling to intercept this new threat's incursions. They should have heeded his warnings, secured the border, and focused their efforts on keeping the peace within; now here they were, another enemy threatening their democracy. Feridade scowled as he made his way to the senate chambers, entering into his pod.
All he could hope for at this point, is that his plea for help was heard and that someone would come to their aid. There was little time, and Parthi was certain that the Empire would have also intercepted his message. Given their track record, it would come as no surprise if they came after him to silence his voice. A calculated risk, and one he understood the consequences of fully.
He would have to continue raising his voice and be heard. He would have to ensure that everything the Alliance had built would not crumble at the first signs of adversity, even if the Grandmaster and many of the New Jedi Order had abandoned them. Even if the odds were stacked against them, or if he would be the only one to stand against this threat - even if it meant risking everything or dying a martyr...He would do his best to stand tall in the face of their enemy and hope to inspire a single thought among the people of the Galactic Alliance...
Seeing the snowclouds being stirred up in the distance, his Droids having taken position beside the Republic Forces and Planetary Defense Forces that had been stationed on Arkania. He had arrived to Arkania only a few days prior, the information from the sensor network that hadn't been completely scrubbed yet from the Deep Core just enough warning for the Forces of His to be set down and the Cruiser Force that had accompanied them to hold position above. They had been Ghosting the Star Destroyers that arrived, waiting for the forces of his compatriots to arrive above and stop the Imperials from leaving. This strike of theirs was their folly, a over confident assault after their lightning quick strike on the Deep Core. While the majority of Alliance Forces were still getting settled and gathered, there was a few who had coordinated to scrounge together what they could.
Solan himself was no normal member of the Galactic Alliance Defense Forces, infact he was far from it. He had brought a contingent of his homeworld's own defenders to this battlefield with the intention of paying back some old friends. Those like Natasi Fortan
and Ran Serys
, though he was a bit disappointed when he found out the Former had Retired while the other had left to fight the war in a different manner. That didn't matter to him though, he swung some old connections, people like Vulpesen
and Noah Corek
to make sure his droids and soldiers could operate and protect the Alliance. They had already been nearby in Imperial Confederation space anyways, about to be utilized for the assault on the Sith, so it wasn't as hard as shipping them from Kesh itself.
That all said, the Shipyards had been reactivated and Solan fully intended on bringing some of his old stolen toys out of storage from the deeps reaches of the Unknown Regions. He had kept them there for when he needed them, and if these Imperials thought to return the Galaxy to the state it had been some thirty years ago, he would teach them a good lesson.
Which brings him to the moment before him, looking out over the vast white plains and smiling to himself. His forces would be limited until reinforcements came from Kesh, and that could be weeks from now. This meant he would need to be conservative about how he fought this, considering these forces were likely to be what he had should any other threats appear or show their heads. The worst case scenario being the Sith Order taking advantage of the situation before the Galactic Alliance could recover or before he could get the reinforcements from his home organized and dispatched to the Galactic Alliance's Far Worlds that had been largely cut off thanks to the capture of the Deep Core.
While out of range for the Hyperion Droids at the moment, the Walkers would soon be approaching the maximum effective range for the Missile Droids. While the missiles were mostly designed for lighter armor and infantry, it would disrupt anyone not in those tougher metal coffins. The false sense of security as well once the Walkers are in range. They had made a mistake in bringing such devices, the weapons of terror making for a good show, but now that they had to face weapons that had been tested against the best of the Sith's Monsters and the Brynadul... well this is nothing more than a chance to relax for the Reborn King.
He was careful though, not letting his confidence get the best of him. His Shadow Legionnaires taking the roles of battlefield captains and commanders while the Commander of all Ground Forces stood to his side. Nida Vaal was one of his oldest allies, though she was getting up in the years now. She had been the woman who had fought by his side on Kesh against the Brynadul, on Coruscant against the Sith, and on Mimban against the early form of the Alliance. It had been a long time for the two of them and he couldn't help but give her a dumb smirk that she immediately just shut down with a cold and serious look. She had dealt with him as her King for far too long, and he knew that she would not allow for him to use his antics.
Instead, she would nod him towards the trenches and pits dug to obscure and protect the droids, infantry, and numerous heavy armor that had been brought. The Walkers of course could not hide, but were far shorter than the Imperial AT-ATs, more akin to the old Republic Era ATTEs in height, the armor plating on them to protect them from such absurdly tall creations.
Solan himself would make for the front trenches, checking in on any Arkanian defenders along the way before giving them a smile. It would take him about fifteen minutes to travel the distance, using the force to speed up as the Missiles from the Screechers sounded. Soon the Imperial forces slowly making their way would start to feel the missile barrage impacting on their AT-ATs and the forces scattered around them. Solan did not intend to allow them their moment of fear, and instead the scream of the missiles as they came down and rocked the earth around the AT-ATs would show that they would have no easy conquest today.
Solan himself, having gotten to the forward command post and bunker would move to sit down. He would reach out, his mind touching the minds of his Shadow Legionnaires, the troops having been selected among the more force sensitive population of Kesh. He allowed for that connection to take hold, and for a hivemind like connection to be formed between them, allowing for Solan to filter out the information, and to drain from his allies any hints of fear or worry. Just as the Sith found strength in the fear and suffering of those around them, Solan was no Jedi. He was far from it as his skin paled and his eyes became a bright orange-red.
All warmth left Solan, and he would smile grimly as he spoke to the commanders scattered throughout the trenches.
"Prepare and cut down our enemies, my loyal soldiers." He spoke, his voice heightened as it echoed through the trenches and into the minds of his Legionnaires. The feeling of darkness spreading out from the bunker he sat within and towards the Imperials heading towards the Shield Generator.
Adam stood, or rather, was projected on the observation deck of the Star of Kesh. He was using it as the Flagship for the Cruiser Force that had been dispatched to aid in the protection of the Alliance's words. It was something that the AI could do without worry or second thought, though he did prefer to be in charge of more droids than humans. Keshiri and Humans were far harder for the AI to fully command and understand, especially considering their fear of death, a trait the AI barely comprehended and could only do so to a degree thanks to the clones he used when in their bodies.
The Hellfire Missile Cruisers could allow them to deal a significant blow but would require getting into range of the Star Destroyers, an option that was open to them, but would be difficult.
Especially if they had information on how to best strike the ships that had been manufactured by Keshiri Driveworks. He couldn't go having these Imperials getting ahold of that information if they did have it, a good reason that each ship had specific instructions on how to deal with any attempted boardings.
Of course, he didn't care for that worry at the moment. Instead he would take stock of their limited air component. Just enough fighters to become a bit of a menace, and if the interceptors were used properly, then he didn't need to worry about the enemy implementing anything truly worrying. He had chosen the Pilots with the best records at hand, Arkanian Defense Forces, GADF, and Keshiri Naval Personnel all considered, looked through, and selected on a case by case basis. Those who served together he tried to keep to squadrons with others but there was a few that had to work with individuals they did not normally fight beside.
There was of course a few other squadrons from the planet, and he knew of a small relief force on the way from Dacian Quee-Paddox
, an Alliance Captain who he had been informed had a force in the area. Once his Cruisers linked up with the man's own detachment they could properly lock down the system, but until then...
"Have the Jedi, Ailuros
I believe the name was, head out. Probe the enemy forces, but do not get close enough to be caught up in any combat. We have reinforcements on the way and there is no reason to go within range of them yet. In addition, prepare a squadron to head down to the surface and run counter-engagement of any planetside craft. Dropships and Fighters or Bombers could provide a problematic situation for the troops. Have them unload a few charges as well in a pass over." That would shake up the imperial forces considering how quick the Apollo Interceptors were.
In the meantime he would wait, wait for the Imperials to move and take the first move, or for his reinforcements to arrive, and for the Imperials to be caught in a trap of their own making.
( Others not tagged yet in the Objective - ADM. Reshmar
)
| Objective | Have Pak figure out what the hell is going on- and nurse this hangover
| Tags | Open
Jin fell into step just off Pak's shoulder, hands buried deep in the pockets of the battered jacket he'd been wearing since before breakfast- the one with the collar turned up high enough to fend off the bite that clung to Hirata's air. The scuffed leather gave a soft creak with each stride, a familiar sound against the low thrum of the estate's activity.
The place was never what he'd call quiet, but today… Today, the air was tight. Movement had a purpose to it. Every footfall he heard belonged to someone already halfway to somewhere else.
"Mm," he hummed low in his throat, sidestepping a harried runner with the lazy precision of someone who'd made a career out of not getting in the way of other people's emergencies. "Could be a sale on whatever passes for coffee here." The corner of his mouth curled upward- a lopsided thing, not quite a smile, just enough to see if Pak would bite.
Another cluster passed them: a courier with scrolls clamped under one arm, two armored types locked in a clipped, hushed argument. Jin's gaze followed them before sliding back to his partner. "Or…" he let the word hang for a beat, drawing it out like he was turning something over in his head, "something worth paying us extra for."
The estate smelled faintly of cedar smoke and steel. Beneath it, he caught the sharper scent of fresh lacquer- weapons or armor, he guessed- and an undercurrent of that restless energy you couldn't bottle. People's eyes slid away faster than usual, voices held tight, and the sound of boots on wood had a clipped rhythm to it.
Jin drifted just a little closer to Pak without thinking. Not out of worry, exactly. More the quiet readiness that came from experience, knowing that trouble had a habit of finding them- If they didn't find it first.
Fondor Senate Building
Objective: Defy the Imperials and Uphold the Alliance
Equipment: Sabers (Hidden in the Sleeves) Spear (Being Carried by Eve) Robes
Alexandra's eyes ran over the halls of the Senate Building on Fondor. She had only recently gotten the paperwork finally processed, and officially taken over the duties for Lucas and already she was attending a Senate Meeting that would be interesting on its own. There was of course Eve at her side, the young woman in one of Alexandra's original cloned bodies from so long ago. The AI would be able to keep track of more than she could if she got focused on one thing too directly, as well was was coordinating information with the other Senatorial Aides, especially the aides of Lander Stalwart
and Cressida Tolliver
, who Alexandra had the pleasure of making connections with already.
She had a singular intention today, to show that the Republic still remained certain of its principles and that they would not suffer the humiliation of accepting a call of Surrender so easily. The loss of the Deep Core was significant, but it did not mean that the Alliance had fallen. Not when Corellia, Albregado, Alderaan, Eshan, Fresia, Bilbringi, and so many others still stood. Even now she knew that should the Imperials cut the Alliance off from the farthest worlds through future campaigns, they would do little to hinder the call for justice against their crimes.
Of course, she would need to be careful though.
Her own damaged being would hinder her today. Her right arm still immobile and her voice still hampered by the injury to her soul was going to make any attempt to argue the more heated points harder, which is why she hoped in the more martial worlds of the Alliance would be able to take some of that weight off her shoulders. Corellia and Eshan were especially on her mind, something that made her look in Feridade Parthi
's direction as she took her place in her own pod.
Eve would not be far behind her, settling in and looking around to take stock of who had arrived before leaning forward and whispering to Alexandra.
There was information that Darth Solipsis
wouldn't be the only Imperial Warlord here today it seemed. Infact, an unusual but not unwelcome set of guests would be here soon. Alexandra had for that reason chosen the Pod she was in to be near such guests and ambassadors, individuals who she could study and keep an eye on should she get curious of their motives.
It would seem the name of importance was Selrik Lorcas
, an Imperial Grand Moff. He had an Aide of sorts too, though the name was not recorded in the information that had been sent to Eve.
"Find out more about the two, I want to know everything we can." She would look towards the AI in a Cloned Body, it nodding to her before she would settle back into her seat and wait within her Pod. If they were lucky, then this would be a simple show of unity, a defiance of the Galactic Empire for thinking they had any say over the future of the Core Worlds yet to fall to them.
"Lets hope that those who join us today do not waver in their commitments."
To Ronhar, democracy represented all that was wrong with governance: rule by the masses, rule by the mob, rule by the weak. Unlike Mahporeem, which was ruled only by those deserving of power, the Galactic Alliance insisted upon the this ineffective form of governance, despite all of its inherent faults and flaws. Normally, Ronhar would never be caught dead working for those weaklings.
But these times were anything but normal.
For recently, the resurgent Galactic Empire had achieved the unthinkable: the complete and total conquest of Coruscant and the Galactic Center. It had been a short but brutal campaign, with the Galactic Alliance proving woefully unprepared to resist the ferocious assault of the Empire's finest troops.
Honestly, they had kind of deserved it. But, if there was one thing that Ronhar hated more than democracy, it was most definitely the False Galactic Empire. Ronhar had read through the Imperial Archives on Corrox, learning about the horrors and destruction of OPERATION: CINDER. The Empire had nearly destroyed Mahporeem a thousand years ago, and Ronhar was quite worried they just might come back to finish the job. He refused to let that happen under any cost.
Even if it meant playing nice with the Galactic Alliance...at least for now.
So when the Galactic Alliance called upon the Imperial Confederation for help, Ronhar and the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant answered, ready to assist them in the final destruction of the False Empire once and for all.
As such, Ronhar had been deployed to Ord Lithone in the Inner Rim under the auspices of the Strategic Intelligence Agency. From what he had been told, there existed on the surface of the planet the Baktoid Armor Workshops, currently lying dormant after the conclusion of the Core Wars. As to why they were decomissioned, Ronhar thought the Galactic Alliance rather foolish. After all, everyone knew that peacetime was just preparation for the next inevitable armed conflict. But regardless, the workshops were currently offline, and apparently there was a trove of treasure on the planet just waiting to be extracted.
Ronhar had been tasked with retrieving these treasures and preventing them from falling into the hands of the False Empire. A worthy task for someone of Ronhar's skills and stations. Completion of such an objective would fulfill two goals for Ronhar: preventing the False Empire from becoming any stronger while allowing Mahporeem access to new and exciting technologies. After all, if the Galactic Alliance just thought Ronhar was going to risk his life for free, simply for mutual hatred of their common enemy...they were sorely mistaken.
The MIN Fool's Errand exited hyperspace just outside the planet's orbit. Ronhar and his team of Storm Commandos and Wookiee Troopers boarded the Stork Dropship, ready to deploy to the surface, accompanied by a pair of All Terrain Cargo Transports and a number of speeder bikes. Ronhar was quite excited at the prospect of finding all this new technology...and killing some false Imperials while he was at it!
The Trianii really was a good pilot. The young woman, though, was hesitant to get behind the controls of a fighter again. Her training with the Force was somewhat lacking, but she had some knowledge and would use that to help keep her safe. When an order came through the lines for her to take the lead, she grabbed her gear and headed to the ship that had been made ready for her.
It was in far better condition than the one she had crashed. That hadn't even been her fault, but the other Trianii had teased her until her commander had told her to leave. Under the guise of giving her a mission. So as not to make her banishment feel so rough.
Placing her helmet on her head, she tested the comms and got an all clear from flight control. With a familiar jutter, her ship got moving, and with deft paws, she piloted it out of the hangar.
For now, she would fly out to the edges of their safe space and probe them. They were not yet ready to engage in a space battle, so this was just a test of their sensors. On both sides, most likely.
Behind ahead of their own lights was a little unnerving. Makko had fought on many worlds, but rarely has he found himself in the middle of a full scale battle like this.
His armour had adapted itself to a mottled white. It was adiabatically sealed to ensure he gave off no thermal signature, nor could he be found by life form scanners. If that wasn't enough, he was buried under a hand's depth of snow.
For such a large scale battle, he had to admit that he was bored. Makko could feel the ground shaking which meant that his targets were finally advancing.
He had one singular goal and it was the reason he was buried far ahead of their trenches. Destroy an AT-AT. Despite his training in using the Force to manipulate odds, the chance of having one walk right over him without treading on him was quite low. The danger was going to come from the moment he emerged to the moment he got underneath one of the walkers.
50 light seconds from Arkania
Interdiction Battlegroup Reef Home
“Are they here?” Asked the sensor officer watching the stream of information the Reef Home was receiving from the inner system. “Yes, they are Ensign. See that random interference in the magnetic field around the planet? That is the mass of the Imperial fleet.” The ensign looked at the screen, noticing the fluctuation in the flow of the waves. He turned to his commanding officer, “Yes, sir, I see them there,” replied the Ensign. The Sensor station commander nodded to the young officer, who had replied. “Very good answered the commander. Return to your job. We will be heading in soon.” The Ensing began watching the sensor returns coming in as his commander walked away. The lieutenant walked across the bridge to the command chair and sat down. He looked at the large screen at the fore of the CIC and pressed the communications button.”Inform the Admiral that the Imperials have arrived and we are holding position awaiting his order.” A gruffy Mon Calamari voice came over the channel in reply. “Thank you, lieutenant, I will do so.”
Reshmar sat at his desk, looking over the information GA intelligence had forwarded to him. They had very little to go on other than an imminent attack on the world of Arkania. He had been cooped up too long, he realized. He had grown to enjoy his time on Hast. His office, being with his family. His wife had passed over a decade ago, and his son had retired from politics after they moved from Mon Cala to Hast. His grandson,Joreel, had followed in his footsteps and joined the military, to the chagrin of his son, but join he did. He had served for almost two decades now and moved up through the ranks of the Directorate Defense fleet rapidly, and was now a task force commander himself. The door slid open to his office, and one of his Calamari Knight bodyguards walked in. “Sir, it is time,” said the man in his bulky armor. Reshmar sighed and stood. “Very well, Commander, let's get me into my armor and work our way up to the CIC.”
Reshmar stood on the podium as the engineers attached his power armor to him. He had protested the first time they attempted to adorn him in the bulky thing. It was not the peak of comfort, but since then, he had grown accustomed to it and even considered it a necessity now. He was old now, and getting around was not as easy as it had been twenty years ago. Twenty years ago, that was the last time he had gone into such a large battle. He had been chasing pirates in that time and considered his days of large-scale battle over. He owed someone a favor, and it was called. Now here he was once again, about to take a battlegroup into combat against a much more deadly foe than pirates.
As the last of his power armor was set in place, he looked over at the two guards in Leviathan power armor and nodded. “This was admiral,” said the leader of his guard contingent, motioning for him to go first. Reshmar stepped out into the corridor to meet two other guards, who then turned and began walking towards the turbolift. The five walked down the corridor, thudding past crew who stopped to marvel at the sight of the admiral and the Knights of Calamari stomping down the hall. They reached the turbolift, and the two guards in front of him separated and stood to either side of the lift door. Reshmar nodded to the two as he and the two knights behind him walked into the lift. The CIC was located deep in the belly of Reef Home and was six decks below the officers' quarters. The lift whizzed down and stopped abruptly, opening to a short corridor which would take him into the command center of the vessel. The two knights walked out and took up positions on both sides of the door, allowing Reshmar to egress and walk into the CIC.
“Admiral on the deck,” called out the watch officer as Reshmar walked into the room. “At ease,” replied Reshmar as he walked over to the command chair and relieved the watch Lieutenant. “Lieutenant, report.” Reshmar sat as the officer got out of the command chair and listened while the man described the situation. Reshmar nodded, and when the man finished his report, looked at the forward display. “Tactical, plot everything moving out there. Get me a high probability trajectory on anything larger than an exosuidra. If it is moving, I want to know where it will be when we revert from the microjump,” ordered Reshmar. The officers at the station nodded the began tracking everything around the planet. Five minutes passed as the crew members of the ship prepared for jump. One of the tactical officers turned to speak. “Sir, all mass in the reversion zone has been calculated. I am sending the data to the helm,” said the Mon Calamari officer, immediately returning to his work.
Reshmar looked one last time at the information scrolling down his chair's tactical display. The course had been plotted, and the jump timer was counting down. They had no idea of the makeup or type of vessels outside their mass profile, nor did they know which were friend or foe. Once the Reef Home reverted, that would be the work of the IFF system. He knew where they would be and where he and his ships would be. The world seemed so unimportant to Reshmar; had his age made him dispassionate to the denizens of the galaxy? He just did not see why the world needed him and his interdiction battlegroup to come to its aid. All he knew was he was asked more than ordered to assist, and he would answer the call.
“Sir, jump counter at one minute,” called out he jump officer. Reshmar looked at the man and nodded a reply. “I have the fleet,” spoke the officer and began to count down from forty-five seconds. The counter reached zero, and the man spoke once again. “All elements Jump Jump Jump.” With that, the Interdiction Battlegroup was gone. Space was empty as the vessels slid silently into hyperspace for the short Micro Jump. A minute later, the battlegroup reverted and its systems began scanning and feeding the ship's systems information.
“Successful jump, Admiral, the ship is yours,” said the jump officer, turning to look at the view screen. Reshmar moved his seat into position and looked at the data being fed to him. “Tactical, I want a solution on every target labeled foe. Hold fire until we have a better picture of the situation,” said Reshmar as he planned his opening moves in the battle laid out before him.
He'd only been on Ord Lithone to for a trip with some of the scientists from Lazerian Dynamics, looking into some potential findings that might be of benefit to the Kingdom and Lazerian as a whole. A simple trip, something that he'd been requested to partake in for the mere point of fact being that the place was... not without its dangers. They'd asked for his help in pinpointing any potential traps that might be lying in wait for them, since they hadn't technically gotten permission to be there. Sometimes it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, and he was willing, at times, to bend the rules when it was of benefit to his people. Plus this place was going to waste as it were.
But naturally, where he went, war seemed to eventually come for it. He'd been alerted by friends in the SIA that agents of the Galactic Empire had come to the world seeking... well, they didn't exactly know, but it was doubtful they weren't there for the same reason that he was. Still, he couldn't believe how quickly this insurgency was spreading its roots. First the core, then several other worlds, some of them far too close to where his home was, and now here?
"Fate?"
The droid popped its head up from the hood of his cloak. "Bwoo-dweet, bwoo-beep dwoop-bwee?"
"See if you can get this places defenses back online. We're going to have company and I want it to be as difficult for them here as possible."
"Bwoo-dweet beep!"
The droid hopped up onto his shoulder and Caelan helped him down to the floor. While the droid jacked into the computer systems, Caelan turned to the scientists with him.
"It's probably best if you return to our ship and wait for me there."
They nodded and took what they'd found back the way they'd come, aiming to reach the transport. Caelan would stay behind with Fate and do what he could to keep the enemy from gaining what it was they wanted. If that meant risking his life in hunting down operatives, or facing their Emperor again, then so be it. That was the life he'd chosen when deciding to pursue being a Jedi.
"Better make it quick, Fate. Think we're in for trouble."
Seeing the snowclouds being stirred up in the distance, his Droids having taken position beside the Republic Forces and Planetary Defense Forces that had been stationed on Arkania. He had arrived to Arkania only a few days prior, the information from the sensor network that hadn't been completely scrubbed yet from the Deep Core just enough warning for the Forces of His to be set down and the Cruiser Force that had accompanied them to hold position above. They had been Ghosting the Star Destroyers that arrived, waiting for the forces of his compatriots to arrive above and stop the Imperials from leaving. This strike of theirs was their folly, a over confident assault after their lightning quick strike on the Deep Core. While the majority of Alliance Forces were still getting settled and gathered, there was a few who had coordinated to scrounge together what they could.
Solan himself was no normal member of the Galactic Alliance Defense Forces, infact he was far from it. He had brought a contingent of his homeworld's own defenders to this battlefield with the intention of paying back some old friends. Those like Natasi Fortan
and Ran Serys
, though he was a bit disappointed when he found out the Former had Retired while the other had left to fight the war in a different manner. That didn't matter to him though, he swung some old connections, people like Vulpesen
and Noah Corek
to make sure his droids and soldiers could operate and protect the Alliance. They had already been nearby in Imperial Confederation space anyways, about to be utilized for the assault on the Sith, so it wasn't as hard as shipping them from Kesh itself.
That all said, the Shipyards had been reactivated and Solan fully intended on bringing some of his old stolen toys out of storage from the deeps reaches of the Unknown Regions. He had kept them there for when he needed them, and if these Imperials thought to return the Galaxy to the state it had been some thirty years ago, he would teach them a good lesson.
Which brings him to the moment before him, looking out over the vast white plains and smiling to himself. His forces would be limited until reinforcements came from Kesh, and that could be weeks from now. This meant he would need to be conservative about how he fought this, considering these forces were likely to be what he had should any other threats appear or show their heads. The worst case scenario being the Sith Order taking advantage of the situation before the Galactic Alliance could recover or before he could get the reinforcements from his home organized and dispatched to the Galactic Alliance's Far Worlds that had been largely cut off thanks to the capture of the Deep Core.
While out of range for the Hyperion Droids at the moment, the Walkers would soon be approaching the maximum effective range for the Missile Droids. While the missiles were mostly designed for lighter armor and infantry, it would disrupt anyone not in those tougher metal coffins. The false sense of security as well once the Walkers are in range. They had made a mistake in bringing such devices, the weapons of terror making for a good show, but now that they had to face weapons that had been tested against the best of the Sith's Monsters and the Brynadul... well this is nothing more than a chance to relax for the Reborn King.
He was careful though, not letting his confidence get the best of him. His Shadow Legionnaires taking the roles of battlefield captains and commanders while the Commander of all Ground Forces stood to his side. Nida Vaal was one of his oldest allies, though she was getting up in the years now. She had been the woman who had fought by his side on Kesh against the Brynadul, on Coruscant against the Sith, and on Mimban against the early form of the Alliance. It had been a long time for the two of them and he couldn't help but give her a dumb smirk that she immediately just shut down with a cold and serious look. She had dealt with him as her King for far too long, and he knew that she would not allow for him to use his antics.
Instead, she would nod him towards the trenches and pits dug to obscure and protect the droids, infantry, and numerous heavy armor that had been brought. The Walkers of course could not hide, but were far shorter than the Imperial AT-ATs, more akin to the old Republic Era ATTEs in height, the armor plating on them to protect them from such absurdly tall creations.
Solan himself would make for the front trenches, checking in on any Arkanian defenders along the way before giving them a smile. It would take him about fifteen minutes to travel the distance, using the force to speed up as the Missiles from the Screechers sounded. Soon the Imperial forces slowly making their way would start to feel the missile barrage impacting on their AT-ATs and the forces scattered around them. Solan did not intend to allow them their moment of fear, and instead the scream of the missiles as they came down and rocked the earth around the AT-ATs would show that they would have no easy conquest today.
Solan himself, having gotten to the forward command post and bunker would move to sit down. He would reach out, his mind touching the minds of his Shadow Legionnaires, the troops having been selected among the more force sensitive population of Kesh. He allowed for that connection to take hold, and for a hivemind like connection to be formed between them, allowing for Solan to filter out the information, and to drain from his allies any hints of fear or worry. Just as the Sith found strength in the fear and suffering of those around them, Solan was no Jedi. He was far from it as his skin paled and his eyes became a bright orange-red.
All warmth left Solan, and he would smile grimly as he spoke to the commanders scattered throughout the trenches.
"Prepare and cut down our enemies, my loyal soldiers." He spoke, his voice heightened as it echoed through the trenches and into the minds of his Legionnaires. The feeling of darkness spreading out from the bunker he sat within and towards the Imperials heading towards the Shield Generator.
Adam stood, or rather, was projected on the observation deck of the Star of Kesh. He was using it as the Flagship for the Cruiser Force that had been dispatched to aid in the protection of the Alliance's words. It was something that the AI could do without worry or second thought, though he did prefer to be in charge of more droids than humans. Keshiri and Humans were far harder for the AI to fully command and understand, especially considering their fear of death, a trait the AI barely comprehended and could only do so to a degree thanks to the clones he used when in their bodies.
The Hellfire Missile Cruisers could allow them to deal a significant blow but would require getting into range of the Star Destroyers, an option that was open to them, but would be difficult.
Especially if they had information on how to best strike the ships that had been manufactured by Keshiri Driveworks. He couldn't go having these Imperials getting ahold of that information if they did have it, a good reason that each ship had specific instructions on how to deal with any attempted boardings.
Of course, he didn't care for that worry at the moment. Instead he would take stock of their limited air component. Just enough fighters to become a bit of a menace, and if the interceptors were used properly, then he didn't need to worry about the enemy implementing anything truly worrying. He had chosen the Pilots with the best records at hand, Arkanian Defense Forces, GADF, and Keshiri Naval Personnel all considered, looked through, and selected on a case by case basis. Those who served together he tried to keep to squadrons with others but there was a few that had to work with individuals they did not normally fight beside.
There was of course a few other squadrons from the planet, and he knew of a small relief force on the way from Dacian Quee-Paddox
, an Alliance Captain who he had been informed had a force in the area. Once his Cruisers linked up with the man's own detachment they could properly lock down the system, but until then...
"Have the Jedi, Ailuros
I believe the name was, head out. Probe the enemy forces, but do not get close enough to be caught up in any combat. We have reinforcements on the way and there is no reason to go within range of them yet. In addition, prepare a squadron to head down to the surface and run counter-engagement of any planetside craft. Dropships and Fighters or Bombers could provide a problematic situation for the troops. Have them unload a few charges as well in a pass over." That would shake up the imperial forces considering how quick the Apollo Interceptors were.
In the meantime he would wait, wait for the Imperials to move and take the first move, or for his reinforcements to arrive, and for the Imperials to be caught in a trap of their own making.
( Others not tagged yet in the Objective - ADM. Reshmar
)
He wore the strongest set of his armor for this go around he will need it as he made his way to the trenches with Solan Charr
, recovering the Library was personally his intent but he would need to clear the battlefield abit first before hand so he was here to assist with that, through his walking Battle Meditation to boost the allies on the front as he looked at the armies ahead, he never thought he would be dealing on the side of the GA this time around but he did not care at this moment as he waited in one of the trenches for the time to strike as he was preparing several abilities of his own to use in response the moment the fighting fully started he knew what to do and he will kindly give the imperials a nice welcome to the ice fields for them as several Jedi already made their way out to get to work he waited abit longer before moving on his own.
"It would appear," Selrik said, standing on the bridge of the CNV Restitution, "that we are not the only ones intending to speak with the alliance."
The ships systems had detected the presence of Galactic Empire forces within the system. Though they had not been attacked by said forces - it appeared, after all, the systems was still well in Alliance control - their presence did irk him. He glanced over to Dayna to make sure she had heard what he said, and then looked back to the rising citadel before them.
They'd been given clearance to land after invoking the name of Kaela Verrin
, the Senator that they had previously had the chance to speak with when she had, rather brazenly, chose to approach them at their home. Selrik admired her bravery and forward thinking in doing so. He, likewise, intended to expand their speaking with that of the Alliance, but it would seem he had chosen, well, not the best time for it. When they'd exited hyperspace they'd been immediately alerted to the fact that the Galactic Empire was, at that very moment, invading the world of Arkania. It was enough to make him want to vomit. Fake imperials, beholden to the same Sith lord who disappeared when he stopped getting his way numerous times in the past...
Disgusting.
The corvette landed at the assigned landing pad, and Selrik swept away, knowing Dayna would be close behind, along with his contingent of Sentinels. They would exit the vessel and head directly for the senate hall, where they had intended to meet only with the senators of the Alliance, but it seemed they were going to have their first true interaction with the Galactic Empire. Part of him was itching to take a crack at them, but this wasn't his home, not his world, and he needed to represent the Empress, not his personal ambitions.
"Let's be on our best, regardless of what the other Imperials say. We're here to form an alliance against the Sith, in all their forms. That's our focus."
The halls of Veeshas Tuwan were not unlike Darth Nwul's library on Thule. Quiet and still, but blanketed by a pervasive sense of darkness.
The Arkanians were particular about categorization, at any rate. Clear and concise. No room for anything extraneous or flowery, and it made finding artifacts an easier task. The Jedi had slowly began to pull various Sith texts from the premises after extreme vetting, and Cora was caught between the preservation of knowledge and caution against the Darker arts.
Some things, though, they could stand to purge lest they fall into the wrong hands.
"There we are," she murmured to herself. Stood in one of the temple's many chambers, a small ring rested in her upturned palms. A tandgor gem was fastened to the band of white aurodium, housing the spirit Darth Vacuoa. Eyes closed, she spoke softly.
"There are other colors aside from red, you know," she murmured. "Perhaps if you'd been more creative, things might've turned out differently."
Confined to the ring, the spirit protested in agitation against this uppity Light-bearer who chose to mock him. Vacuoa's influence began to creep into her mind, a blighting dark that sought to rip and tear at her sense of self-worth.
Ah, so that was the game. Break her down to build her back up in his image. Or, to simply leave her broken. It could've been either.
Cora drew in a slow breath, allowing the sharp chill of Arkania's eternal winter to bathe her lungs. Her fingers curled slowly around the ring nestled in the cup of her hands. One last push, and the darkness receded as Vacuoa's dissent died mid-cry.
With the lingering Sith's spirit purged, Cora placed the ring back on its pedestal and wiped her hands.
The sleek dorsal fin of the Imperial Shuttle glinted under Fondor's steel grey skies as it descended onto the landing platform. Before them, his eyes bore witness to the new Galactic Senate Building, built in the aftermath of the Core Wars after the destruction of its predecessor. The vessel's gleaming durasteel skin reflected the banners of the nascent Alliance that hung from the nearby duracrete facades, an unintentional mirroring of two powers about to verbally lock horns beneath the same roof.
With the practiced precision of the Imperial pilot, the ramp lowered as the vessel came to a stop, releasing a hiss of pressurized steam before the first black armored silhouettes emerged. Four Death Troopers, their visors glowing a muted emerald, fanned out in perfect formation. The silence of their step was almost more unnerving than the sound of boots could ever be. Flanking the gap in their ranks was the crimson monolith of a single Royal Guard, the deep red plating polished to a mirror sheen, its expressionless visor fixed forward in a predator's watch.
The Imperial Minister emerged next, draped in layered dark and purple robes, the fabrics of a High Coruscanti. With silken weaves from the Senate Ward, custom cut to drape in flowing precision over his broad shoulders, and a high collar framed for his angular face, he carried a faint smirk that had been worn for generations by those who had never stood in a ration line. Every step had a deliberate sway, a quiet proclamation that he was Chief Minister of the Empire, A Servant of the Sith’ari, and a man entirely comfortable walking into a chamber full of enemies.
At his side descended Grand General Kroeger, a powerful figure with the iron gaze of a true battlefield commander, his measured pace was all discipline and controlled aggression. Kroeger was a die hard believer in the Iron Sun, a veteran of the old wars, and a man few could argue with. The Emperor may have tolerated his blunt tongue, but today, it was a weapon meant to be used. Just behind came Imperial High Commissioner Redak Boyd
, the youngest face among them, a junior diplomat chosen as much for loyalty to Grand Vizier Shannic Wulf
as for his administrative acumen. Last, but certainly not least Runar Ævar
, draped in the utilitarian yet unmistakably expensive garb of the HPI Consortium. His presence was a reminder that the Empire's reach extended beyond fleets and armies, into the very sinews of commerce and industry.
The entourage formed into a column, Death Troopers at point and flanks, the Royal Guard falling into step at Janus's back. The click of durasteel greaves echoed against the marble like flooring as they advanced toward the entrance of the Senate Building. Inside, the air shifted: cooler, drier, scented faintly with the polished stone of a chamber too new to have gathered the stale ghosts of politics past. Towering columns framed the vast foyer, their alabaster white surfaces bearing the sigil of the Galactic Alliance. Alliance security teams in navy-and-white uniforms stood ready, blaster carbines held across their chests.
The lead officer stepped forward, helmet tucked beneath one arm, and inclined his head stiffly.
Janus's gaze flicked once across the chamber, taking in every camera drone, every cluster of curious onlookers. He inclined his head the bare minimum required to be polite, his smirk never faltering.
"Lead on,"
And so the column advanced deeper into the heart of the building, boots and armor whispering their way toward the Rotunda, toward the podium where the will of the Emperor, and the fate of peace or annihilation, would be read aloud and discussed between the two powers.
Cressida was in her pod, reviewing the incoming security briefings and alerts, when Alexandra Feanor
entered her neighboring pod. Alexandra's presence was a comforting one, not least of all because since she had presented her credentials and finalized the paperwork after Cressida, Cressida was no longer the most junior Senator in the convocation. Not that she necessarily needed seniority; as far as she was concerned she was on equal footing with all the other representatives in the body, there to represent the interests of the Renascent Heirate to the Senate, but she knew how hidebound some of these old hands were, and not having the distinction of being the freshman of the bunch could only help.
Cressida also found the woman pleasant and interesting and engaging, and so she set aside her briefing datapad and picked up one of the pastries she had picked up from the mess on the way to the session, then went to the other side of the pod, leaning onto the seat on her knee and leaning on the exterior of the pod with her free hand. Kenat looked uneasily on, unsure if he should grab his Senator by the waist or simply stand by.
"Hey," she mock-whispered across the gap at Alexandra. "Got you a persimmon one, since they were running low." She offered the pastry across the gap with a grin. "Have you seen the -- "
Her voice fell off when the column of Sith lapdogs entered the Senate chamber, her eyes narrowing intently as they advanced into the sanctum of galactic democracy. "What fresh hell could this be?" she asked Alexandra, sitting up straighter. By convention, Senators didn't typically carry weapons into session.
Luckily, Cressida Tolliver didn't set much store by convention. She got off the seat and picked up her briefcase, checking the power pack of the blaster pistol concealed within. She turned to Kenat. "Get security. Right away." Kenat bowed his head quickly and then left the pod in a hurry to follow up on her orders.
Caught within the flurry of snow and raging winds, a lone escape pod descended from an imperial battlecruiser hovering over Arkania. A deathly cold gripped the tiny ship. It plummeted like a meteor toward the snow-covered world, a beacon of ethereal light to those sensitive to the Force's lingering touch. Loosed projectiles missed the pod by a hairsbreadth. Black smoke cut a path behind it through the sky, leading directly to a flat field of packed snow not far from where the battle lines would soon be drawn.
The escape pod carved a long groove through the snow-covered earth by the time it slid to a rolling stop. The door blew off its hinges a split-second later and crashed against the exterior with a resounding thud. A humanoid silhouette sailed out, landing a dozen paces away from the smoking transport. The figure broke into a sprint and hurriedly put space between himself and the pod up until the thing exploded. Shrapnel erupted in every direction, littering the field with half-melted durasteel plates. Smoke rose steadily into the sky, a perfect signal to forces on both sides of the soon-to-be battlefield.
A well timed dive saw Kyric Karis narrowly avoid a thick piece of shrapnel on course with his back. He rolled over in the snow a moment later, breathing heavily in the aftermath of his flight. His time in Imperial captivity hadn't been kind to the Jedi Knight since his capture, but he didn't have time for lamentations.
While unfamiliar with the exact nature of his surroundings, it didn't take Kyric long to put two and two together. Empire Forces on one side usually meant Alliance on the other. This wasn't an uninhabited world the Sepulchre had passed, no. This was the latest theater in the ongoing struggle of the Core Wars.
"Dammit," Kyric grumbled. "Out of the ice-box and into the tundra, huh?" He gripped the 'borrowed' lightsaber in his left hand, lifted from the corpse left guarding his cell back on the Dark Side Elite's flagship. Without a communicator of any kind, he knew his chances of contacting allied forces before the Empire fell upon him anew were next to none. And with the numbing cold gnawing at his battered frame, the escapee couldn't focus on anything other than temperature control for long in fear of frostbite or worse.
Rather than sit and wait, Kyric turned in the direction of Fort Tagge and started hoofin' it. He was badly beaten, exhausted, and horribly underprepared for a warzone, but duty called.
The corridors of the Senate building shimmered in polished durasteel, every reflection sharpened by the cold light. Baron Arsenio Tagge moved through them with the posture of a man accustomed to deference, though the junior minister hustling beside him clearly hadn't learned it.
"You really thought I wouldn't notice?" he said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the din of aides and staffers swarming the hall. "Three weeks. Three weeks of sitting on the fuel requisition for my fleet. You strand a warship, you strand its crew. You strand its crew, you strand my people. You do understand that, don't you?"
The young woman clutched her datapad tighter. "Baron, with respect, the Tepasi ships aren't the Alliance's highest priority. We're stretched thin, and the High Command has to—"
"We are not a remnant," Tagge said, halting his stride long enough to glance at her with a mix of contempt and faint amusement. "The Tepasi Fleet is not some refugee militia patching holes in freighters. They are patriots. Despite our history, House Tagge has been nothing but loyal to the Alliance. No treachery. No backroom deals, no undercutting of the Alliance at every turn. All we ask is for support, for some goddamn tibanna and what do we get? Nothing!"
She tried to recover. "Then what would you have me do, Baron? Divert resources from the border patrols? The Alliance can't just—"
"Oh, I'll do it myself," Tagge interrupted. "I'll reorganize the Tepasi Defense Fleet under the Common Soldier Corps Act, or whatever legal fiction makes the paperwork tidy. If the Ministry of Defense won't support my people, I'll make sure the law forces you to."
They were nearly at his Senate pod now, the sound of its repulsorlift humming to readiness. Tagge slowed, letting the full weight of his disapproval hang in the air. "And next time you want to ambush me in the Senate over Tepasi affairs, send the Minister of Defense. Not his understudy."
He placed one gloved hand on the hatch, pausing just long enough to glance back at her with a faint, sardonic smile. "One last thing. Tell your boss that the next time we kill Solipsis, let's make sure he stays dead."
Movement at the far end of the corridor drew his attention: a procession of Sith lackeys, flanked by Imperial diplomats gleaming in parade-polished uniforms. Tagge's expression cooled.
"Speak of the devil," he murmured, and stepped into the pod, glancing warily at the approaching entourage.
In the heart of the Galactic Alliance, Redak felt the weight of every step. Hostility hung in the air, unseen but heavy, as the Imperial delegation advanced under heavy escort toward the assembly point.
The entourage formed into a column, Death Troopers at point and flanks, the Royal Guard falling into step at Janus’s back. Redak kept his place two strides behind, watching the Chancellor’s measured pace, the unhurried certainty in every step. In Janus he saw the standard to which all Imperial servants should aspire, a man who could walk into the heart of the Alliance and not yield an inch. Redak had heard the whispers, too, of how Janus could dismantle an enemy without ever raising his voice, each word placed like a blade where it would cut deepest.
The click of durasteel greaves echoed like a drumbeat against the marble-like flooring, each step a warning. Alliance sentries tracked their approach from behind dark visors, expressions unreadable but suspicion plain in the stiffness of their posture. Ahead, the Senate Building loomed, its façade gleaming under an artificial sky, light catching on the edges of its high, ceremonial doors.
Inside, the air shifted, cooler, drier, carrying the faint tang of ozone from hidden energy barriers. The scent of polished stone lingered, the place too new to have gathered the stale ghosts of politics past. Towering columns framed the vast foyer, their alabaster-white surfaces broken by the sigil of the Galactic Alliance, a banner of defiance in its own capital. Alliance security teams in navy-and-white uniforms stood ready, blaster carbines held across their chests. Their eyes followed every Imperial step, calculating, measuring, waiting.
With the formation of the Empire and their expansion so rapid and total, whole new divisions and layers of administration had emerged, seemingly overnight. The Grand Vizier’s officers were not without their capabilities, of that he was certain, and Redak knew his appointment, junior that it may be, was calculated and critical. He was new blood, zealous in his execution of duty, loyal to the Emperor and his galactic mandate.
Growing up in the shadow of the New Imperial Order, High Commissioner Boyd had sought to emulate the heroes of old, men and women whose service was spoken of with reverence in the military halls and ministerial offices alike. His first posting in the central government of the Dark Empire, under the fallen hero Ignacious Korvan, had only fuelled his total and unadulterated desire to serve. There had been a certain fire in those early years, a belief that loyalty and discipline alone could reshape the galaxy. In his most recent appointment, he would help represent the special interests of the Administration, acting as a subservient to the Minister and other delegates in attendance, ensuring that the Emperor’s priorities remained firmly anchored in every discussion.
Redak’s world was one of facts, of data, of statistics. But his heart was buoyed by a staunch belief that the Empire would bring about the change the people so hungered for. The weeks since Coruscant’s fall had already shown that, the Core worlds falling into line, the people starved for progress, finally nourished by the Emperor’s undertakings. He could feel the shift, subtle yet undeniable, as the old order yielded to the new.
His uniform, crisp and pressed, reflected his attitude towards the coming days: efficient, clean and without compromise. The silver gleam of its fastenings caught the low light, a quiet declaration of discipline. They had their orders and the Emperor’s vision, the Vizier’s will, would be performed without deviation. They were entering into the heart of the Alliance and the belly of the beast, where every word and gesture might decide the fate of worlds.
Today, I might get to fight alongside my fellow Imperials. I'm pretty nervous about this one. I'm used to getting by on my own - it's sort of my specialty. But today, I have so many allies nearby, and I know they have my back. They probably expect me to have their backs too - and I really hope that turns out to be true. But honestly, I don't know. I usually only just manage to scrape by myself. I just don't wanna let anyone down.
Extra preparations. Maybe that's the answer? I've taken a couple of stims and I have made sure to work with layers. This time, the person under the helmet will be a brunette from Corellia equipped with all the latest gear. I've got jump boots, a whipcord vambrace, a flame-burster, and more computer spikes and security tunnelers than I care to count. Here's to hopin' that it'll be enough.
Ope, looks like we're about to touch down. I better get off this thing. Diary entry self-delete timer set to 45 minutes. Ciao!
Agent Pen-Ar-Lan had moved into the facility already. Things seemed to be going smoothly for Zuv Ralen
- she could only hope that they would go just as well for her. And for starters, it all seemed to be smooth sailing. She had managed to get in disguised as a firefighter and reached a computer console in a sterile and almost claustrophobic - but more importantly empty - office. There, she had made herself at home.
The Firefighter's mask was far from comfortable - but it masked her features well and could likely provide her with a good degree of safety in a pinch. Blocking blaster bolts was, however, completely out of the question. The rest of the apparel was naturally both fire and heat resistant to a certain degree. Importantly, the clothes were baggy enough for her to hide the jump boots, whipcord vambrace and flamethrower. Her blaster pistol hung inside her coat while the rifle was neatly placed inside a toolkit she brought.
For some time, her eyes had idly been scanning the information feed on the computer console whilst downloading a few schematics she had deemed to be interesting. Picking something out without fully knowing what it was for but the briefing before today's operation helped a lot. And Ralen's breakdown into simpler terms helped as well.
Suddenly, however, her eyes snapped to the secondary screen. A Jedi. He looked formidable and was uncomfortably close to her position. The Agent kept her composure but allowed herself to let out a long and nervous breath under the mask. Quickly, she informed the others of the situation: But no call for assistance was made just yet. For all she knew, he was still unaware of her presence and her training made her relatively adept at avoiding mind probes which might otherwise detect hostile intent. But then, the easiest way to ensure that no hostile intent was felt through the force was to not present any.
Her course of action was simple. She stayed exactly where she was. But she would provide the Jedi with two obstacles. First, she flagged the droid as a potential security threat. Unless handled promptly, it was very likely that the 'hostile' entity would be ejected from the system with a bit of a shock. Secondly, she targeted the scientists: Rather than targeting them directly, she took control of a heat regulator in the corridor that the scientists seemed to be moving towards. The door would soon become hot to the touch and fire safety protocols would cause it to seal magnetically and thus become very challenging to open without proper clearance.
In the meanwhile, she started bringing a computer console closer to the shuttlebay closer to overheating. What Agent Pen-Ar-Lan needed was time. And that was exactly what she was trying to make.
The Battle for Arkania had now reached the capital’s doorstep. For this theater of the war it would seem as if these would be the deciding hours for the planet’s fate. The Kel Dor had not afforded himself a proper recovery when he found that he’d awoken on his homeworld. His stubbornness saw him leave the relative safety and care of Dorin to get back to the frontlines.
Now the Jedi was missing an arm, and spared himself no time to adapt to his new dismemberment. No physical therapy, no time to even cope with all that he lost on Coruscant.
In the time leading up to this decisive battle Ko made sure he was here early, and better prepared than he was on Coruscant with his fellow temple guards. Investing his time and energy in the periphery of the capital city and Fort Tagge building up the entrenchments. Since his padawan days Ko had a knack for altering the environment around him, or ‘earth shaping’ as certain force cults may have called it. Utilizing his skills and talents as a Jedi to function more like a psychic excavator in conjunction with teams of Alliance combat engineers create staggering defenses in quick order.
It was exhausting however, tearing up the ground for kilometers to create trenches, fox holes, pillboxes and mine fields. Taking away a good chunk of his reserved energy before the battle even properly began. But Ko was determined to build up their defenses into a death trap for the Invaders and to make every step a struggle. To do everything to sow doubt and concern to test the discipline of the Imperial Invaders.
At the moment the Kel Dor was standing over one of the trenches closest to the suspected Imperial landing zone. In his gloved clawed hand was a small insulated cylinder. A straw poked out from the top of it and into Ko’s antiox mask. Sipping on a hot, strong brew within it. Normally Ko enjoyed the flavor of tea more, but the coffee was a pleasant and warm treat in the frigid tundra.
Looking out over the horizon, he wiped away some of the frost that had built up on his goggles with his forearm before seeing the hazy lumbering march of AT-ATs in the distance. When Ko was a child he remembered how excited and cool he thought the walkers were. He even had a cherished toy of one that he remembered playing with. Now that wonder was lost, and replaced with a sense of dread that the war machine was designed to inspire…
ABOARD THE MV: HEART OF MAR'ZAMBUL, ARKANIA, GALACTIC CORE COLONIES (903ABY)
<"Finally get activity, seen? Seen North?"> <"Seen, an' proceed at your discretion.... How's Rook?"> <"He strange.... He still lead, but he still strange for now."> <"Copy... Keep an eye on 'im. Bloodhound - out!">
'Its Csilla Fever, I know the patterns.' 'Eh?? Spit them out then.'
With a simple, cursory glance to the map, the Senior Darkhan's red eyes told a story of his childhood, of the downward spiral that led to juvenile incarceration as he calmly, though sadly muttered,'In this case, perspective might be needed more, as it all transpired as far back as '63. But, being honest here, it was never discussed. Or rather, specifically Rook's own past was never discussed - jus' another unfortunate Arkanian as far as we all knew.', trailing off as his memories flashed back to the snows of his dead homeworld. Even in it's last years, the frozen tundra carried melancholy in the beauty it cast under the glow of Csilla's moon, an incurable horror that no sentient reform could heal, for all the sinners on it's surface had blighted the world beyond spiritual repair.
'Honestly? I can't even recall a time when he spoke of his childhood.... Not to me, an' for that matter - nor the rumour-mill.'
None could tell if this was a positive change or not, even with their barbaric doctrines considered, as the sudden Rook enigma had them second-guessing themselves. Giving the renegade Chiss good reason to rack his mind, and for any potential signs that the renegade Arkanian's life resembled his own, seeking any and all little tells that mirrored their origins more closely than Dreamer ever gave himself time to consider. Even going on to remind,'There's a chance it might not even matter, though... You know what they do here on Arkania, right? The experiments and such? Be honest, we all do; and by the way, its not so dissimilar to the crimes of my own people back then, though I, personally, was fortunate enough not to be taken by that - particular - sort.', diligent in his approach to the unravelling mystery.
'Whatever the Imperials find, there's a chance it could answer our inquiries. Either way, we can bet on the fact our Archon-Elect is pissed, and he's got nought but blood on his mind.... Our friend needs some help down there.'
'Motion seconded.' 'Motion carried.... Make it happen.'
Though unexpected, the voluntary initiative was appreciated, and all the better for the fact Ghoul Darkhan was the one to step up when required, ever-reliable in high-stress situations of the sort. If the rogue Atrisian was anywhere near as capable of marshalling escaped convicts as his subordinates had suggested, then the Legion's highest-ranked warchief would be no problem for Ghoul at his best, but the Khan would show wisdom in the act of stopping his friend to offer,'Here, afore ye go.... Besides the obvious task ahead, would Ghoul Darkhan like some ordnance, some toys to take with him?', granting access to the flagship's armory and storage bays with a simple dataswipe between wristpads.
'Much obliged for the brush and pigments, Great Khan. Now I can paint a little masterpiece.' 'Don't take too long, though. Jus' pick your shooters an' kit them out, then get yer items marked. Nae karkin' about here.'
'Don't mind the Khan, Ghoul. You're a proper Scar Hound for this one. Take your time.'
AUXILIA II
TUWAN GLACIER, SOUTHERN LURON VALLEY, ARKANIA, GALACTIC CORE COLONIES (903ABY)
'Not the Jedi, not those fething Novanians-' '-Huh?' 'Doesn't matter.' 'Alright.... Sooo.... what's the plan from here, Ulusar?'
Shooting back with a murderous scowl for a moment, the Archon-Elect took more than a few seconds to stifle the screaming of the mind, steadily calming his gaze to it's resting state of morose vacancy, and all in complete silence from start to finish. It was only when Rook finally snapped out that he finally found something akin to focused earnest, and though he was still a long distance from his usual level of effectiveness, it was enough to prompt the rogue Arkanian to reply,'We advance, we build a fortified rallying-point for retreating Imperials, then we support their formations - whenever and wherever the lines start thinning out.', a plan that fortunately met with the Mirialan's empathic approval.
'You hear that, Mastiff?' 'Damn right! Easy plan, Brother. I like easy plan.'
After that, the three commanders of the 1st Mawsworn returned to silence, albeit less awkward than before, and this was enough for Slicer and Savrip Soul to proceed with their orders, more than willing to move forward with their respective battalions at the time. Though as for whether the rogue Arkanian would benefit from some time alone, the matter was still quite debatable in their minds at the time, but against their better judgement, the Archon-Elect would still left to his own devices for his own sake. Not that the Keshigs had much in the way of choice in their predicament, they could only proceed with an otherwise-sound list of objectives to endeavour, assuming Rook Darkhan would not do anything rash whilst he waited for situation-reports, a problem the Keshigs knew they had neither time nor resources to solve.
'Stay here for now, Ulusar. We've got-' '-Dropships inbound.... I wonder who it is, though.... Look back the way, up on Little Mahar, precision beams.'
Darth Solipsis
had radicalized and mobilized his followers. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control with the loss of the Deep Core, the Galactic Empire's rise to power rapidly expanding, and the Alliance found itself struggling to intercept this new threat's incursions. They should have heeded his warnings, secured the border, and focused their efforts on keeping the peace within; now here they were, another enemy threatening their democracy. Feridade scowled as he made his way to the senate chambers, entering into his pod. 
