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

[Lysander von Ascania]

Location: Near Fort Tagge
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II
Bounty Hunting
​

Having scaled the icy wall, he now found himself tracing a series of frost-coated calves that snaked towards humming machinery; just ahead, the grated entrance marked the threshold into the vent system; it wasn’t the ideal choice, but given his experience, and current build of accessories and abilities, it felt like the appropriate choice.

Grasping the cover, he pulled it free, though a scrape sound echoed in the space around him. Wasting no time, he pressed himself against the ceiling, already feeling the edges of his chest plate bite into his ribs. Lysander barely fit, but a surge of adrenaline flooded his body, sharpening the nerves and muscle alike. Inch by inch, painful as it were, he began to crawl forward. The metal beneath him groaned at worst; a warning that made him freeze before moving at an even slower pace. Sliding one limb at a time, his hips pivoted to avoid any further noise.

His muscles were tense within the cramped space, and after another slow exhale, he closed his eyes beneath the visor. Within his mind, he reached out, allowing his awareness to bloom like a blood-stained flower into the corridors beyond; it shifted through the more calculated and disciplined, jagging along, until finding threads of raw fear. It was like finding a lone ember in a blizzard, yet that of a terrified heart, now guiding him closer.

Continuing to advance, that very emotional resonance grew stronger. There was hope, exhaustion, like following a trail of desperation. Nearby he could sense a group, and so, drawn like a predator toward prey, he moved with intent; that was, until something else began to overcome him.

The walls became suffocating, closing in like jaws, feeling as though he were in a prison, one that offered no room for escape. A bead of sweat carved a trail down his furrowed brow, each drop feeling more like desperation now, as a trembling hand reached for the hatch. Memories of his recent failures burned in his mind, a bitter pulse, causing his heartbeat to stutter. But there was no turning back now, no hesitation allowed.

 

[Feridade Parthi]

| Location | Senate Chamber, Fondor
| Objective | Defiance

The Echani Senator's eyes shifted from speaker to speaker as the discussion continued. As the Imperial delegates continued to speak and retort, it was already adding to the abundantly clear view that Parthi had formed. No matter how much they tried to push the message of peace, it was clear that this was just a demand for submission. Parthi could not speak for the other senators, but he knew full well that capitulation would be the death of the Alliance as they knew it. There was no suing for peace, only complete and utter obedience to their fundamental enemies, and to bend the knee to a Sith Lord? That was something Parthi would not abide.​

​

Parthi rolled his eyes, leaning forward as he rested his hands against the edge of his pod. He spoke out, his words laced with a subtle yet pointed tone, "No matter how many flaws you may try to raise against the Alliance, it still pales in comparison to the alternative that you offer. Worlds razed and destroyed, fanatics running amok, destruction and despair left in your wake, for the purposes of what exactly? The self-serving desires of your mad emperor and his visions of galactic dominance? Surely you jest." He scoffed before pushing off and standing upright.​

​

"Continue to fight the Alliance, crush us at every turn and stride you make. You only show your true colors to the people you seek to rule over and exploit. Show us exactly what your Empire decides to do to those who do not wish to fall in line. If every battle would be nothing more than an exhaustion of your resources, then it will be less to the next world that may suffer a crueler fate."​

​

He smoothed his clothes out before leaving a parting comment, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have my fellow Echani to warn of a Sith madman hellbent on destroying democracy." Parthi wasted little time with any commentary that the Imperial delegation might throw back in his face as he tapped a button for his pod to return to its dock, disembarking as he started to make his way towards the hangars where the diplomatic vessels were. The Echani Defense Force and all other local militia groups would need to be alerted and resources to be diverted for potential retaliation, or to be on standby to go aid the Alliance where it could. Much work would need to be done in such little time, but it was leagues better than fueling the Imperial war machine.​

​

That was of course, if Parthi made it back to Eshan.​

​

Koda Fett

​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Tag: Voldran Molf | Closed
Location: Veeshas Tuwan
​

They sat in silence. Even the muffled echo of artillery fire above them faded into the background.

Was this a foolish endeavor? Perhaps. It might end in death, and then they'd join the rest of the souls marching toward oblivion within the frigid hold of Arkania.

Cora was still. Eyes closed, back straight, her hands gently clasping Voldran's own as she anchored herself in their temporary connection. Both of them had to let their guard down to a degree, and she drew in a sharp breath as the darksider's memories flooded her senses.

Suddenly, she was looking up. Two figures, with the white hair and pupiless eyes of their people - only now did she realized that they were Arkanian - leered down. Voldran's childhood had not been pleasant.

One wrong answer earned a blow to his cheek. When he fumbled a parry, discipline came as a swift strike to the stomach. Slowly, through tutelage and violence, Cora watched as Voldran took shape. The parallels to her own upbringing were depressingly stark.

Unknowingly, she'd let a few of her own memories slip through to him. The strike of her father's cane against her back, the feel of the lacquered wood beneath her palms as she spat blood onto the floor of his study.

Was it a subconscious expression of sympathy, or a sign that her own boundaries had been compromised?

The scenes shifted, melding like a kaleidoscope of color and sensation. The return of his mother gave way to the brutal death of his father. Then, the twisted smoke demon that was fused within. Blue eyes turned red.

Cora's next breath caught in the back of her throat. So that was the familiar, albeit foreboding air she'd sensed around Voldran. He was part creature, one she'd had the displeasure of facing alongside Bernard on Lorta.

She swallowed down, and tried to steady the trembling of her hands.

The brushstrokes continued to paint a years-long picture of endless cruelty, endless torture at the hand of his own mother. Cora couldn't fathom what drove a woman to such savagery against her child; she couldn't fathom how Voldran had survived it, and how he hadn't yet succumbed entirely.

Finally, the runes. On a metaphysical plane, she saw them. Gleaming with molten energy, smoldering with an ichor blacker than night.

"That must have been difficult to share," she murmured. Her voice was tight, strained even. It occurred to her that she'd begun to weep silently for his plight, but she didn't move to brush away the tears. "I will try."

Cora brushed her fingers over the runes, then pulled back with a hiss. It burned, like a jolt of lighting dipped in sun fire.

Unsealing them would be a dangerous business. It required a touch that was both delicate and intense. Precise, yet flexible. Just enough to purge, but not enough to kill.

Could such a thing be managed? By her?

Again, foolish. Her empathy could be a strength as much as it was a weakness, perhaps even moreso. She reached for the runes again, this time slowly. When she felt the stinging, she grounded herself in the Light she carried.

"She is strong," Cora continued. Her fingers traced along the ancient symbols with the steady, unyielding warmth of the Light side of the Force. "But I think…you are stronger, Voldran. For all that you've endured, you haven't let it take away your kindness."

Pain flared through her limbs and into her core, sharp and intense. It left a deep, throbbing ache behind that sank into her bones.

"Those who…intentionally hurt others are weak," she grunted. "You didn't want to hurt me then."

The Dark would always rise to challenge the Light. Something violent lurked on the other side, something that would be harder for him to hold in check as she worked. The ceiling above them shuddered at the force of multiple seismic charges detonating somewhere on the surface. Ceiling tiles and debris clattered to the ground around them, and deeper into the chamber, a case of tomes toppled onto its side.

"It may be….the nature of the demon seared into your soul to harm me, but-"

The edge of a falling tile sliced down the side of her face, leaving a perfectly thin, horizontal wound.

"It is not you."

 

[Skorvek]

Objective: Fire and Ice Battlefield
Mentions: Makko Vyres @Warposters Solan Charr Ailuros ADM. Reshmar Remus Adair Cressida Tolliver , CT-312 Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra Wymar Meliant Tiberius Zaarin Prowler II Gavin Restur Ko Vuto Thomas Barran .

The undead continued their assault as the more he or his horde slayed the more that joined them and kept their mindless charge forth, while the GA and ally and friendly Arkanian forces did their own stratagems the undead had no need or care for hiding in the trenches, or hiding behind people or rubble or wreckage they only cared about reaching and attacking those their summoner demanded of them.

While the undead continued their march, Skorvek himself was on a march of his own, slicing down and killing any imperial that got in his way, as he got blasted back a few times, but the durability of his armor protected him. As he continued, he hoped honestly to find an opponent that would fight him, but none showed as of yet, none but the cannon fodder of the empire who were taken down with ease and added to the horde that he was building, eventually whether through victory or otherwise this Horde will end in the long run by his command but for now they had a use and a purpose they were playing and they were playing it well as he continued his march and hunt moving from trench line to trench line.

 

[SCAR]

SHADOW LEADER
"SCAR"
Shadow Squadron
Artam Macek | Innis Tarring | Vireth | Janus Cassel | Soontir Barvel
Wymar , Meliant , and Prowler II | Solan Charr and @GA Warposters

​

The scream of ion engines tore across the skies of Arkania as SCAR brought Shadow Squadron in low. Below, the battlefield was a churn of fire and metal. Alliance droids grinding against the disciplined ranks of the Imperial Army, their artificial chatter crackling over intercepted comms like locusts in a field. They had come late. Too late for his liking. Major Zaarin had been forced to call for support while the enemy's heretical forces pressed their advantage, even stooping so low as to wield the Dark Side itself according the the radio chatter.

SCAR didn't pretend to understand such things, he was a soldier, not a sorcerer, but if the Alliance was aping the powers of the Dark Side Elite, then the Empire was clearly breaking them where it mattered most.

And that thought drew a grim smile beneath his visor.

"Shadow Squadron," his voice cut sharp through the comms, "arm ion payloads. We're here to remind these clankers who owns this sky."

Green targeting runes danced across his visor as the first droid formations came into range, serried ranks glinting with artificial precision. He could almost taste their overconfidence.

"On my mark."

The squadron dove, contrails bleeding white against the gray heavens.

"Take it away."

Ion charges tumbled free, streaking downward in a rain of blue fire. The ground erupted in crackling blossoms of energy, circuits frying, enough to turn anything without ion protection into smoking heaps of sparking metal.

"Good hits," SCAR growled, banking hard and throttling up. "Circle back. We've got surface guns chewing on the Major's armor. Line them up and tear them out by the roots."

The squadron wheeled like a blade, dropping into formation behind their captain as the battlefield below buckled beneath the Empire's wrath.

The Alliance had enjoyed its advantage. Shadow Squadron was here to end it.

 

[Tiberius Zaarin]

Major Tiberius Zaarin
Fields of Arkania - Advancing on Fort Tagge
Wymar | Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra | Solan Charr | Thomas Barran | @Warposters​

The AT-AT groaned as explosions licked across its durasteel hide, showers of molten slag running down its armored flanks. Warning klaxons screamed in Zaarin's ears, the crew chief rattling off casualty reports from the walker columns, whole squadrons of infantry and armor vaporized under the enemy's pitiless artillery. Yet the AT-AT stood.

And so did Zaarin.

Through the viewport he saw it all: a lone Jedi clawing at his walker's neck like some carrion bird, enemy droid artillery pounding the valley in a soulless barrage, and above, contrails of friendly fighters. Shadow Squadron at last, screaming down and unloading ion charges into the droid ranks. Their explosions rippled through the battlefield, buying the armor line a precious reprieve. The good major saw this as his opportunity to press the initiative in their favor.

The AT-AT lurched violently as it's forward cannons fired, unleashing hell alongside the others as they continued their advance. Zaarin planted his boots wide, standing tall as if the enemy assault were nothing. They had losses, they had an enemy that fought fire with fire, but they held the key to this war.

He keyed into Shadow Squadron's frequency next, voice clipped but resolute.

"Shadow Leader, your strike is felt. Maintain pressure on their artillery emplacements. The Emperor will remember this day."

With that, Zaarin turned back to his crew, eyes blazing with the same fire that had carried him through dozens of campaigns.

"Target their forward batteries. Fire everything. Let the cowards learn what it means to stand against the steel and will of the Empire. Comm Bastion-Actual, let them know we are pressing the advance."

The heavy guns of the AT-AT boomed once more, emerald fury lashing out through smoke and snow, even as the battlefield threatened to collapse into ruin. The AT-AT lurched violently as a mass-driver round slammed against its forward plating, sending crewmen tumbling, sparks cascading across the compartment. Still, the walker did not fall. Zaarin continued to push the advance.

"FORWARD!"

 

[Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra]

ARKANIA OBJECTIVE I​

---

To the witnesses of the ritual in the real world, it would seem like a silent, focused affair. A singular metal monolith becoming one with the network of this battlefield. Unphased, unreactive towards the chaos of Alliance artillery fire and darkside manipulation of Solan Charr , the shambling horde conjured by Skorvek , or the returning walker salvos and strafing runs of the imperials, provided by SCAR and Tiberius Zaarin , among others. In truth, Dynas forced the entirety of his concentration into the last pieces of this ritual, completely abandoning the material world as he delved deeper within his own mind and the underlying spirit of the battlefield.

Within the silicon mind of the Jedi Master, a different world unfolded. Deep within the confines of his crystalline thoughts, channeling into the lattice of machines dotting the snowy tundra of Arkania, he deepened his search and his connection, seeking the tide that was meant to be turned.

Before him lay a neural network of lights moving between a million nodes connected with a million lines each, all bound together in a seamless whole. His Epyon served as a representation of his presence, a projection of himself in this mental world his mind had crafted to better grasp the threads of machinery, its astral form mirroring its armored shell as he soared across those layered connections until he found that which he sought.

It hung in the void like a false moon—an immense sphere of cascading lines of code and algorithms, endlessly forming and dissolving, rewriting itself with every cycle. To Dynas, it was the living nexus of his enemy: the collective consciousness of most if not all their machines, the singular string that tethered the millions within Imperial ranks.

He had to destroy it.

At once his projection spread its hands wide, dragging at the sphere's threads, bending its vastness into compression, shrinking its magnitude until it fit into the palm of his hand. The effort was colossal. Circuits groaned in protest, silicon lattices strained, and even in the material world, his chassis trembled as the stress resonated through every wire and plate. The Alliance communications filled with a strained, ear-splitting hum, a sign of how much force it took simply to contain this phantom mass of information.

The snow beneath his chassis hissed to vapor, the hypermatter reactor within him raging hot enough to warp the frozen trench into a boiling mire. His body rattled, joints screaming, until—

BOOM!

His left shoulder erupted in flame, torn asunder, his arm ripped away in a fiery cascade of wires and sparking circuits. Yet Dynas did not falter. In the mindscape, his astral form clenched its fist.

The sphere buckled, cracked—its millions of threads shrieking like glass splintering under unbearable weight. Then, with an inexorable finality, he crushed it between his hands.

Shards of broken code scattered into nothingness.

"WE. HAVE. ARRIVED."

PHASE 4: Collapse (Total Network Domination)
Neural lattice engagement: UNCHALLENGED CONTROL
Force-channel routing: MAXIMUM SUSTAIN
Shard core resonance: FULL-SPECTRUM OVERRIDE
Combat uplink: TOTAL SYNC — ALLIED NETWORK PERFECT / HOSTILE NETWORK CRITICAL SHUTDOWN IN PROGRESS

Additional Effects (Objective-wide)
Allies:

• Peak system synchronization: near-zero input lag, instant command relay.
• Networked systems operate as if guided by a single unified pilot.
• All mechanical responses execute with maximum possible efficiency.

Enemies:

• Sensors feed entirely false or no data; targeting becomes near blind.
• Power cores enter emergency shutdown to avoid catastrophic overload.
• Automated units execute corrupted or contradictory commands.

DIRECT INTERACTIONS: CT-312 Solan Charr
@WARPOSTERS
​

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Bounty Hunter Name: Skye Mertaal
Bounty Hunter License: Link
Seeking Bounties on: x | x | x @Jacen Voidstalker
Toggle on: Verified

The sonic blast hit her square on the chest, a bone rattling wave that made her teeth clench and her ears ring even through the helm. Skye staggered back a few steps, armor holding, though every nerve screamed with pain. She likely cracked a rib.

Mother f -- A guttural sound tore from her throat, more snarl than cry, as she forced herself to stay upright.

Through the steam she caught the feint, the blade tossed wide. Had she not been aching in pain and with the hell of a pulsing headache, she might have caught it, sending another stream of silver ions towards the direction the saber went. A few seconds too late, her visor tracked the movement of him in the opposite direction as he launched backward, shotgun still smoking.

Then the mountain itself gave way.

The roar of collapsing snow drowned everything, and the Huntress had to scramble as rocks and ice thundered down over the Jedi, swallowing him in white.

Chit, chit, chit!

Skye braced against the shock, half buried to her knees, visor flashing warnings. Her breath rasped through the rebreather, fogging the inside of her helm.

When the rumble settled, she straightened, scanning the avalanche's edge. TThere, off in the distance blood on snow. But where was he?

Her jaw clenched hard.

[ Karkin' hell, ] she muttered, voice sharp through the modulator. Where did the lightsaber go? Did he call it back?

Lips pursed into a thin line, then Skye began to close the distance after she pulled herself out of the snow, pain lancing her chest from the sonice shot from earlier. Sheer intestinal fortitude, an ornery disposition, and grit are what had the Huntress still hold a white knuckle grip onto that paddlebeamer. Jedi or not, buried prey was still prey.

 

[Dangal Olderem]

TAGS: Khronas
LOCATION: VEESHAS TUWAN

The ridge groaned, split, and fell away. Ice and stone cascaded into the abyss where the Sith had vanished, swallowed by the black. Dangal steadied himself on the fractured slope as he deactivated his saber, the blade slowly disappearing staring below. The howling of the storm outside the cavern entrance reached Dangal even as the darkness pressed in around him. From above, he could feel the shattering echoes of artillery and missiles, the faint tremor of AT-ATs toppling, and the oppressive weight of Solan Charr manipulations in the Force. He sensed Kylass Starhaven clinging to life, Jacen Voidstalker retreating with caution, and the Allied forces straining under the barrage. Chaos was absolute. But he couldn't panic it wouldn't help no way.... especially here.

Beneath, he felt it—vast caverns stretching like veins under the mountain. The Dark Side bled from them in waves, thick and oppressive. It was not the chaos of battle but the weight of something old, a hunger etched into stone. Veeshas Tuwan.

Khronas’s voice rose from below, echoing through the chasm, every word drenched in pride. “Come, Jedi… descend into the shadow. Face what you fear.”

Dangal exhaled, long and steady, the cold stinging his lungs. He turned briefly, gaze sweeping the Alliance troopers braced along the ridge. Fear lingered in their eyes, but they held their ground. He gave them only what they needed.

“Hold the line. Do not yield this pass. The Empire will break before you do.”

The order was simple, his tone resolute. Then he stepped forward. Snow crunched as he dropped into the void. The Force caught him, lowering him into a cavern choked with dust and silence. Ancient stone loomed around him, carved with runes. The walls felt alive, whispering, pressing in on his senses. Every breath tasted of iron and decay.

And there—at the chamber’s heart—stood the Siniteen. Blade raised. Patient. Waiting.

Dangal’s eyes narrowed, focus sharpening against the tide of shadows pressing at his mind. “I have seen darkness wear a hundred names,” he said, his voice carrying through the hollow. “It devours all who bow to it. You will find me less willing.”

He lifted his saber in a guard as it ignited, the storm of the Force building around him, steady and controlled. The tomb rumbled faintly, as if recognizing the clash about to be joined.

“This ends here.... under the weight of your own gods’ graves.”

With that, Dangal advanced, his every step precise, blade ready, he shifted his weight forward, saber blurring as he unleashed a chain of relentless strikes. First, a crushing vertical overhead swing aimed for Khronas’ shoulder, forcing the Sith to parry high. Without pause, Dangal spun low into a wide horizontal slash at Khronas’ midsection, sweeping for balance disruption. Sparks flew as the blades collided, but Dangal flowed seamlessly into the next strike.A rising diagonal cut came from his left, sharp and precise, driving Khronas back. Immediately, Dangal reversed into a spinning backhand strike, sweeping at Khronas’ head, then twisted into a forward lunge with full force thrust, pressing the Siniteen back a few steps. The intensity of the attacks was suffocating—no moment to breathe, no space to counter.

​

 

[Talon Draven]

Objective: Locate Sith Artifacts
Location: Ancient Sith Library - Temple, Arkania
Tags: Voldran Molf | Khronas | Tyro Lok | Lord Creuat | Sahar | Meliant | Ibaris Varanin | Prowler II | Wymar | Cesare Demici | Da'Razel | Tayiji | Kaleb Sunwalker

The wind hit hard against Talon as he and Tyro Lok stood there listening to the firepower of the Galactic Empire rain down and the forces of the Jedi engaging them. He sneered under his mask and looked at Tyro and gave a nod with his head towards the direction of the Sith Temple. They were not going to stand around and let anyone else make way to the Library.

"I have no desire to engage in whatever it is they're doing," Talon said and made a gesture to the Jedi forces as he started their walk through the snow towards a part of the temple were jagged rocks of ice were creeping up on the wall's side. "We sent a couple of expedition teams prior to this, so instead of walking through the front," he made a gesture towards a couple of his troopers standing close to the ice rocks, "the Emperor allowed some of my troops to cover the area in case such a thing were to happen where we could not stroll in." His voice was laced with a heavy sense of sarcasm.

"My Lords, nothing has come this way as of yet. They've made progress digging deeper into the wall and rock and came through a couple of rooms you two may find interesting. As of now, no one has entered besides our teams, but I wouldn't count for it to be long before any artillery or Jedi scum come poking around."

Talon nodded his head and made a gesture with his hand for his trooper to stand aside as the two men started their walk in through the hole in the side wall. Many of his troopers and some teams were guarding and digging around the areas they had made progress on. Quickly, an expedition team member ran up.

"Darth Gravis, my Lord! We have made remarkable discoveries here, even if they're just small. We have yet to make any headway into the bigger rooms, but some of our men were able to break a couple of small seals and were able to extract some small valuables, but there is a large door you two may find interesting." As they walked through, the man before them guided them through the smaller rooms and into a larger chamber where a door stood sealed leading into a bigger area. "We have been keeping comms on the battle above and where enemy forces lie. So far none have made it this far down as we currently reside further than the main entrance below and past where the acolytes would study and train. As of now, we do know the Mawsworn will be doing irreparable damage soon, a true legion to avoid, but they are taking the temple with ease as is our other forces that our Great Emperor Darth Solipsis has bestowed upon us. Besides the point, we do know time is valuable but we do need to open this door and those of us without the Dark Side of the Force cannot simple...open it."

Talon looked at Tyro and then towards his main expedition leader. If the two were able to open it, then whatever lay on the other side would potentially be extremely beneficial to them, or it would be empty and nothing of note. A circle marked the ground in red Sith glyphs.

"And you're absolutely sure no one has made it this far in?" Talon questioned the man.

"I am positive my Lord. We've searched every surrounding room around the chamber before us and there has been no marks of tools or anything holes to even lead into the chamber." Talon would take the answer.

He could feel the pulse of the Dark Side emanating from the sealed chamber down. "Shall we?" He questioned Tyro and made his lead expeditionist move from the circle as he stood in the middle and took a deep breath. If it was like other chambers where training and study took place, it would require an extremely immense amount of focus. And if anything was extremely valuable in there that wasn't destroyed and sealed to keep outsiders out, then it would be even harder to open by himself.

 

[Tyro Lok]

Tyro Lok
The Dark Side Elite
Lord Creuat | Sahar | Talon Draven | Meliant | Ibaris Varanin | Prowler II | Wymar | Khronas | Cesare Demici | Da'Razel | Tayiji | Kaleb Sunwalker | Cato Panaka | Damien Zannen

​

The air just outside the temple carried the cold tang of snow and the cloying scent of old dust and rot from within the penetrated stoneface, echoes of centuries buried in ice and stone. Tyro Lok stood silent as Talon spoke, his gaze drawn to the path forward, to the entrance. Even beneath his mask, one could feel the faint tightening of his expression, his focus narrowing on the red glyphs etched into the stone circle at their feet. The expedition team's report was thorough enough, the Reclamation Service was already hard at work, and Talon's orders went without question. Tyro's mind was already elsewhere however, on the weight of their task, on the Executor's command, on the clash of steel and will now resounding in the snowy courtyards above.

The arrival of Bernard had put everything in flux, he wanted to spill blood, but he felt the call to lead elsewhere from the lips of his liege as he was commanded by Lord Creuat . The sudden presence of Damien Zannen only added to the sense of the gathering storm, a tremor rolled through the Force, sharp and bright as a blade striking steel. Ah yes he could feel it, the duel ignited. Lord Creuat had engaged the Jedi, Bernard.

His gaze cut back to Talon. "The Executor's command is clear. Lord Creuat holds the Jedi's attention, our duty lies beyond this door." His voice was measured, heavy with a cold resolve, but edged with a hunger for what lay sealed within. "Yes, we shall," Tyro followed the Sith's lead down into the ancient complex.

"The Dark Side does not yield to walls, to chains, or to time. We take what was promised."

He joined with the circle as they entered the lower levels near the sealed door.

"Focus all your attention on this pitiful doorway,"

It would stand little chance.

 

[Janus Vipsanius]

GALACTIC SENATE BUILDING, FONDOR
Kroeger | Redak Boyd | Runar Ævar | All @Imperial Diplomats
Alexandra Feanor | Feridade Parthi | Pak Jaehyun | Arsenio Tagge | All @Galactic Senate
​

The chamber was ablaze with hostility, venom in every syllable hurled across the floor at the delegation of the Empire. Janus stood at the center of it, tall and composed, his dark robes cut with regal precision. He raised both hands, palms outward, not in surrender but in mocking acknowledgment. A rich, cultured laugh escaped him, disarming in its sincerity, polished in its delivery. He would not answer their questions, he would not acknowledge their taunts. He was here to deliver a message, and that message had been successfully landed clean and clear.


"Outstanding," he declared, his Core World accent carrying the word with a crisp elegance that drew more outrage than calm. He seemed utterly delighted by the fury surrounding him.


The chorus of insults, accusations, and demands was allowed to reach its fever pitch. Only when the air itself felt thick with indignation did Janus reach into his sleeve and withdraw a device no larger than a human hand. A flick of his wrist, and the small droid unfolded, projecting a crackling holofeed into the chamber.


First: Arkania, its skies ablaze as Imperial firepower crashed down upon Alliance droids and loyalists alike, the thunder of war echoing in miniature across the chamber. Then: clear images of the Dark side in use, twisted silhouettes of fallen soldiers risen again under the Dark Side's grip, their hollow eyes and lurching forms haunting... but they were not under the Empire's thrall. Oh no, this horror was entirely within the Alliance's grasp as they manipulated metal and man alike. And finally: Coruscant, the heart of civilization, shown choking under ash and smoke during the last invasion, its boulevards littered with corpses, the wails of innocents a phantom chorus bleeding from the holorecordings of invasion, unknowing to the Alliance of it's transformation into Imperial Center.

Janus turned slowly, savoring the silence that followed the images. His blue eyes glinted with amusement, his posture that of a man delivering a toast rather than a threat.

"Your values," he said smoothly, "are already dead."

The Chief Minister smiled, "You are though quite right, but whether we move by vengeance, ambition, or destiny… is no business of yours. Our motives are our own."

His voice sharpened, a knife concealed beneath velvet.

"You have our Emperor's offer. You have made your refusal. And so, you will have war."

With that, he lowered his hands and gave a subtle, graceful motion to the Imperial delegation. Without another word, the envoys turned and began their departure, robes trailing like banners of shadow. Janus did not look back, he had no need to, he followed Runar Ævar out of the chamber in quiet contemplation. The words, and the images, were now etched into every senator's mind of the war to come.

Just as expected.

 

[Damien Zannen]

OBJECTIVE: Locate Sith Artifacts
LOCATION: Ancient Sith Library - Temple, Arkania
TAGS: Tyro Lok Talon Draven Kaleb Sunwalker Cato Panaka Khronas Cesare Demici Tayiji Meliant Ibaris Varanin Sahar

Stone. Ice. Snow and more rubble. Seemingly endless massage ways to navigate. Remnants of human remains of long past were left sitting against walls like decorations. Comical really. They got lost, just like I am now. The Calian's brow suddenly raised high in astonishment and he gaped at himself subtly. Passing judgement on his own nature. A demi-god that served directly under the divinity himself. The Emperor.

Pride swelled in his lions heart. Levitating himself deeper down a larger passage way, Damien emerged into a newer section and paused reflectively. " And I am fething lost." He said lowly did a 360. Exhaling a dramatic sigh and shaking his head to himself. Then voices emitted down a tunnel and he flashed a devilish smile.

Doubt? Beneath my feet. Graciously he gravitated himself away, toward the source and tilted his head at the sight. Two of his, well...unruly brothers in service, struggling with a door, of all things?

"The Dark Side does not yield to walls, to chains, or to time. We take what was promised."

He joined with the circle as they entered the lower levels near the sealed door.

"Focus all your attention on this pitiful doorway,"

It would stand little chance.

Lingering into the scene, Damien expressed his scrutiny through taught lips and arching brows. A facial expression that caused his mouth to audibly smack before he addressed them, through his perception, of painfully slow efforts. " Uh. Ahem." His feet touched the ground gently and the temple floor was suddenly subjected to a new tyrannical presence. Awe and dread surmounted into one man. One ego.

" No need to greet me. I overstand that you clearly need, my aid. Clearly." He gestured to them both briefly and then gazed apon the big burly gate before them all. Talking with his hands. Then clasping his hands behind his back. For why would he display want as they did? Instead, the Ex-imperial knight straightened his posture and tilted his head down in concentration.

Still his eyes never left the gate. A obstacle of his further ascension. You too will crumble before me. He told himself and projected his telekinetic grip with a nod. A small tremor vibrated over the sealed door. Ice cracking and shifting from previously settled but ancient nooks and crannies. Through it all a vein protruded from the knights temple and the sound of teeth grinding.

Something was shifting.

 

[Thomas Barran]

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

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

FADE TO BLACK - PART EIGHT

​

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

Rook.... If I had known....

'Hey! Enough of that!'
'Alright, Brother! For feth's sake!'
'Don't take it the wrong way - for we both know that this is not what he wants.'
​

With hands held up in resigned surrender, the Khan sighed for a moment, considering at length what must have been staring at the Mongrel, what must have lunged at him when he found Rook in the midst of the prison breakout of 863 ABY. The wounded rage of wronged youth could only explain so much, as it was for Dreamer, considered as the Bloodhound looked to the injured Darkhan sat manning the bridge; but Csilla was an entirely different experience for the discarded youth of Chiss society, and though Arkanian topography very-closely resembled that of Dreamer's homeworld, the difference in affectation was slowly-but-surely becoming apparent as the battle unfolded.

'Great Khan, we have Darkhans inbound.'
'Huh?!'
'Glare, that usually requires elaboration. Also, I would want elaboration.'
'The Mastiff is wounded, but our vet-bill is likely affordable.... Fragmentation wounds, Hound Armour caught the worst of it.'

'Savrip Soul is as tough as they come, Dreamer here can attest to-', the Khan was on the verge of saying, but when his head turned to find the rogue Chiss shaking his head correctively, Barran found himself in a sudden state of earnest curiosity. The one-eyed Woad always understood when lore was afloat, drifting on weightlessness in the air, ever the one for awaiting a chance to snatch such wonders for the mind, to ponder, and to have the seemingly-silly questions answered once and for all. Barran had always appreciated Dreamer's honesty, his intellect even moreso, but when he queried,'Interesting.... In that order of bouts, so to speak - how did the Michael situation pan out, exactly?', it was clear that it was his friend's near-eidetic memory that was considered the most-valuable attribute by far.

'I stepped up first, I got dropped first.... But from what Rook said, I think the Mastiff was next, then it was Rook, oddly enough.'
'He sees far more than we ever think to believe.... We need t'listen to our Brother more often.'
'Damn right, Brother.... Damn right.... Helluva day.'

​

It was then that Thomas was given pause for thought, once more feeling like he was glued to the matter of his brother, thinking on how powerful Michael had become since their duel on Nirauan, just weeks before the fall of Bastion. Seeing for himself the improvements to Michael's techniques, the growth in power, and the quiet confidence the Tattered Regent carried into combat, all were incurred most-acutely on Coruscant, and all were lessons in power. Even the Khan's jaw felt different after the fated second bout, clicking on occasion depending on what Thomas was eating at any given time, but for all it pained him, there was a wealth of paths that had opened to him despite the sound beating he received.

'You can beat him, Brother. I know you can.... Just a moment-'

<"Dreamer to Ghoul! Is our Mastiff in a stable condition yet?">
<"Kark you! It fine - it hurt like Nether, but it fine!">
<"Good, thats what we like to hear.">
<"The kark you think am, wet behind ears?! Give credit, Brother.">
<"Noted.... Ghoul, prep the gurney for conveyor transfer. We'll handle the rest from there.">
<"Copy that.">
​

'Keep fighting, and maybe - just maybe - there might be a chance.'

There was more to this divide than mere skill and power too, as the reasons, their Casus Belli, had become lists long enough to drive more than enough recent historians to lost interest, more personal than either opposing element liked. It was bad enough that both Michael and Thomas alike were often thrown off-kilter by it's intensity, not knowing that these enmities were the key to their ascensions as warriors, along with their countering outcries for ultimate freedom. If ever there was a time to reach out, obtaining the one thing all of history's strongest coveted more than anything, Barran knew that hour was fast-approaching, sprinting towards the brothers as they were to that wild and exhilarating outcome.

'I hope so, Brother.... Though I admit that I cannot yet see it.'
'Has that ever stopped you before?'
'Fair point.'

AUXILIA
VIII

​

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

'Who the feth ARE you people?!'

[THWACK - THWACK]

'NOT TELLING, MAWITE SCUM!!!!'
'SUIT YOURSELF!!!!'
​

The clashes across the Rhypalm crevasse were intensifying to an entirely new extreme by then, but for all that the 1st Mawsworn Auxilia strove to hold their ground in the Heart of the Crucible, there was no denying it was becoming increasingly difficult to regain ground every time they were pushed back by the GADF contingent on the southern frontier. Both Slicer and Rook had praised their Rogues during the gruelling seesaw riot of blaster and slugthrower, finding themselves eternally grateful they trained a contingent sizeable enough to hold the line so well, and often on how difficult it might have been with the rivalling tribal arrays of yesteryear.

Not that it would be easy for the Mawsworn Legion that day.

​

The handpicked operators from Ghoul's brigade were also performing well, and willingly switching between roles, working to hold the ground then adopt runner duties within moments, as the frozen ground had been wreaking havoc on their comm-link channels since they landed. But for all that the Mawsworn had struggled to hold the line, there were quite a few parts of the line that had weakened since the GADF counteroffensive in their sector, not that such circumstances ever stopped the Mawsworn from bringing out the big toys for the occasion.

​

'WAR, DEATH, REBIR-'

[FYOOOoooo-]
[BOOM]
​

Shoulder-mount rocket launchers had always been a feature in Galactic warfare, though the Mawsworn had always taken their devotion seriously to such weapons, and with the Khanate's already-beloved airburst payloads making quite a chaotic burst into the ordnance scene, the enhanced fragmentation effects had certainly kept the numerical advantage at bay in the past. Slicer's utilisation of the new launcher (and to great effect at that) would prove that nothing had changed as far as the Scar Hounds' successors were concerned, though it would not be long before the next issue arose from the icy ground around them, as it seemed that Sith magic was finally in play, but not at all as the Maw had expected.

The undead had arisen, but not in defence of the Galactic Empire - and certainly not in favour of the Mawsworn who watched their Brethren arise to feast on their former compatriots.

​

'DAMNIT!!! THEY'RE CLIMBING UP TO THE TEMPLE!!!!'
'Better there than here, Ulus- Brother.'
'Hahahahaha! NEARLY!!!! You learn quick, Slicer. I like that.'

[THUD]
[HSSSSSSsssssss]
​

With all the madness of bloodshed unfolding around them, neither the Archon-Elect nor his Keshig-Leader had noticed what (nor whom) was landing on the tundra behind them, though they were in the midst of a madness that was understandably loud enough to drown out the sound of multiple landing Doomsayer Fighter-Bombers, coincidentally transporting that much-needed answer to the rogue Arkanian's prayer. Not only that, but the great Ersethy had brought devotees of her own, and whether by magic or charismatic leadership, had clearly taken time to flock a rather-sizeable gathering of Mawsworn Tribal elements since embracing the Khanate as her people.

Each and every pair of fresh legs for the fight were more than willing to follow their Ulusara, fighting for the Sorceress to the bitter end and back if the need arose, and though they rested outside the jurisdiction of the Darkhans' brigades, their presence was still seen as a blessing. Smiling in disregard for Tribal protocols, for whenever push came to shove, it never seemed to matter to the Maw when blaster-trails were flying hither and yon, and certainly not for as along as Rook Darkhan continued to seek revenge against his former oppressors. Turning then to wave in Ersethy's direction, the Archon-Elect was just about to shout approvals and greetings when he felt a sense of relief rising through his bloodstream from the feet upward, even exclaiming,'Sweet Rebirth! What was that-', before the realisation finally dawned on him.

'ULUSARRA!!!! GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT!!!!'

When both lines engaged once more, the difference in efforts differed greatly to the actions that preceded the latest offensive push, but right on cue, the enemy commander leaped into the fray once more. Zeroing in on the Ulusarra specifically, it appeared as though their enemies understood the evolving severity of the situation, and with their commander taking the initiative right to Ersethy's position, it wouldn't take long to test the patience of the ones she had been fighting just moments before. Even going so far as to coach, almost as if,"From Ersethy's Blue-Corner", Rook would find himself bellowing,'YO!!!! DON'T LET 'ER TEST YOU LIKE THAT!!!! SHE FIGHTS WITH PRESSURE AS HER WEAPON!!!!', finally giving voice to the favor he was investing in her prolonged survival.

'FOCUS ON YOUR OPPONENT, WE'LL HANDLE THE REST!!!!'
'LEGS AND ARMS, HANDS AND FEET!!!! SNATCH 'ER MOBILITY!!!! YOU GOT THIS!!!!'
'GOOD LUCK, ULUSARRA!!!!'

With parting words of advice given, the rogue Arkanian turned south again, looking to the undead who were still lumbering toward the Veehas Tuwan at the time, and shuddering at the fact he had just been subjected to leading a two-front battle for the first time in decades. Made all the more daunting by the sudden seismic-bombardment arrivals launched from enemy starfighters above, and though it was just one run of squadron bombings, it had been enough to disrupt entire routs of approach for the Archon-Elect's relief attack on the undead; infuriating though it was for Rook and Slicer alike, and as much as it threatened to break the Tuwan Glacier into a million pieces, there was no turning back by that point of the battle for Arkania.

'Well, ain't that lovely.... So be it - we call on the Will of Mother War.'
'Woah.... We're gonna - finesse that?'
'No choice now, Brother. We do it or we all die here, buried in glacial debris - kark that chit!'

Death would not be needed, for the world around them was cold, but not cold enough; Rebirth would not be needed either, for that power was considered overkill, especially in a fight with the risen dead. Thus the only remaining option (and coincidentally, the only sensible option) was to call on the flames of Mother War, flames of which only the Great Khan ever seemed to trust, though that would come to a swift, resounding end on Arkania; but when Rook and Slicer both called on the flame, the rogue Arkanian was suddenly struck by the profound memory of the day he saw Vengeance first come to life with flames, in a time when the Khan still wielded her as his own.

The moment felt right, perhaps even earned, in a way.

But the struggle toward he Veehas Tuwan temple would quickly bring the Archon-Elect back to his usual, earnest presence of mind, as there was more than shifting terrain to consider, especially with the undead still attacking everything in sight. Their subordinates required salvation, their allies required assistance, and the hour required an excellence of which neither Rook nor Slicer had embraced in years, thus more than mere warlike proficiency was need to prevail. They had to push, and push hard for Mt. Tuwas, and without stopping too long to cleave through every grouping of undead soldiers, though it was clear to see that all expectation was easier stated than accomplished.

'Alright, Brother! Lets begin!'
'LETS FETHING GOOOOOO-'

 

[Koda Fett]

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

The Echani senator made it close to the end of the landing pad, nearing the shuttle positioned neatly on the protruding platform with the bustling cityscape descending far below. The skies were alight with speeders travelling along the skylanes and skyscrapers glittering in the darkness. Ignoring the dreaded war in systems so nearby, hiding their heads in the sand and begging it would not come knocking on their door.

He would not make it there unopposed.

An explosion erupted from the shuttle, sending pieces of hulking metal collapsing in on itself and careening off the edge of the platform, skittering and scraping on the crumbling fall. In the immediate aftermath of the fiery wreckage, a two shots sliced through the air and collapsed the guardsmen defending senator Feridade from their rear.

"Senator," the modulated voice said, with the bounty hunter in a slow saunter towards him. "You're coming with me."

The Spear III, stirred from its hiding place, loomed over them.

Feridade Parthi

​

 

[Vireth]

---

---

Ord Lithone, Inner Rim;
Baktoid Armor Workshop.
Tags: Ronhar Tane | Ines Pen-Ar-Lan | Da'Razel | Kelig Ward

---

FADE TO BLACK.
​

Equipment:

• Auric-Iris Ocular Suite (Model V/UX-19)​

​

OBJECTIVE III.

"Move on you. Prepare exil."

At first I was blind but now I can see.

Burning. Imagine your eyes watering on a summer's day traversing green fields polluted with pollen to see your iris on fire and with that in mind amplified to such a degree that it was unbearable. This was the price of the Auric and the over extended use Vireth had put it the cybernetic augments which had been installed into her eyes as she pursued the mission. She was admissible... Sacrificial to the great cause that was Project Stardust.

Her pain, and life, was insignificant to the cause of the Galactic Emperor and his project. So long as the data taken from these archives made their way back into the programme then the consequences of her actions- the severe, intense burning that felt like her head was on fire- was an acceptable risk. This was what it meant to be devout to him and Vireth personified all those from the Church of the Dark Side in this way. Dying here, in this factory, could be seen as a blessing in many regards if not only to give a form of relent and carthasis to escape the agony of her endeavours.

As the Saint's voice trickled in through the comms Vireth finally turned her gaze away from the terminal and shuddered as a dizzying array of colours and inconceivable phrases ran through her vision in a blurred sycophancy. Humans were not built for this, Vireth would admit. But the tenants of the dark-side do not teach their followers to lament in their ruin but to continue to strive towards perfection. In time these prototypes (of her creation through the Raithal Academy on Kuat) would be improved into something better.

If she could make it out of this place alive.

Staggering to the left, Vireth bumped her shoulder into the nearby wall and hung there while the sickening sounds of battle nearby edged closer. Her left hand clutched at her face and gripped hard in an attempt to will the burning away. But it was of no use. It would take hours for the Auric to recover and Vireth with them. She had seen and taken too much from these archives. Pictures (screenshots) taken through her visual ques as she trawled through the archives taking everything that she could so that the data taken could be disseminated later.

A shaking hand lowered from her brow, with blood tears staining the finger tips, to press onto the intercom and respond to the Saint- to Da'Razel of the Church.

"It is done," Vireth stammered into the microphone. "But I cannot see!"

---

 

[Feridade Parthi]

| Location | Senate Chamber, Fondor
| Objective | Don't get shot

The senator had a datapad in hand as he approached the shuttle to take him back to Eshan, arranging for a meeting. Two of the four guards accompanying him moved ahead to quickly hand off the senator to the shuttle's crew, only to be interrupted by an abrupt explosion. Parthi raised his arm up instinctively as flaming wreckage and twisted metal scattered across the hangar floor, nearby people outside of its destructive radius scattering for cover. A bold statement and move made by an unknown assailant. ​

​

The guards at Parthi's side immediately raised their weapons to put themselves in front of the senator only to be gunned down from behind. The Echani turned to see the bounty hunter approach him. "Koda Fett..." he muttered with annoyance in his voice, recognizing the armor and cadence with which the bounty hunter sported. Parthi certainly had opponents and enemies within the senate, but this? This was no one within the Alliance's doing. There was only one logical conclusion he could reach as to who may be responsible. ​

​

"I take it the Empire sent you after me?" he inquired. He didn't flinch as the bounty hunter approached him, a seasoned veteran who had his share of close encounters with death during his time in the military. ​

​

He wasn't shot dead on the spot, which most likely meant that he was to be brought in alive if it could be helped; no point trying to reach for his own blaster and fight his way out of a situation he would certainly lose if he tried. If he was correct in his assumption of the Fett's employer, then the Empire most likely sought to make an example of him.​

​

His thumb pressed against the datapad in his hand as he sighed, slipping the device into his coat calmly before raising his hands unenthusiastically half up near his head. There was no point trying to bribe the bounty hunter into walking away either, not with how he operated when he took on a contract and was bound to see it through. How bothersome...he thought to himself. ​

​

Koda Fett

​

 

[Kyric]

Weakened and battered to a point of exhaustion, Kyric's attack swept in too slow to finish the fight. Wymar caught the strike and initiated a blade lock that saw the Jedi's lightsaber driven down to the snow. The larger man held every advantage even as the distant Dark Jedi drained them both of their energy. This wasn't a fight anymore. And at the point Wymar's boot collided with the kiffat's stomach and sent the him tumbling back, Kyric suspected it never really was. Not with the odds stacked so heavily in his opponent's favor.

Some deeply buried part of Kyric screamed to climb back to his feet and find a way to win. But the ebb and flow of his very life force to his so-called ally left him little choice.

Ryv had practically begged his son not to walk the same self-destructive path he did; to fight an endless war on a slow march to an early grave.

If Kyric couldn't win this fight, he needed to look elsewhere—to the future—where distant opportunities awaited him. And if he were to one day reach out and take that chance, he needed to survive. Against his better judgement, he deactivated the stolen saber and allowed it to fall uselessly into the snow.

Without the strength imparted onto Kyric by the newly bonded kyber, darkness crawled inward from the edges of his vision. Even the Dark Jedi a mere twelve inches from his face blurred. The kiffar's breathing came in short, ragged gasps. In his final seconds of consciousness, the Jedi forced himself to take one slow, steady breath. With it came clarity. He beckoned the Force closer, not in a frivolous assault on Wymar, but to condense the life-giving energies into a barrier that would keep the dark powers of Solan Charr at bay.

Kyric's head lolled, then fell forward. His eyes fluttered to a close and his body collapsed against Wymar's armored frame.

---

Tags: Wymar

Great write as usual, brother. I'm glad we got the chance to do something on opposite sides for a change.

 

[Prowler II]

LOCATION: Somewhere on the battlefield in the trenches.
OBJECTIVE: ???
TAGS: Kylass Starhaven

Durasteel plating groaned. The muffled war cries and sounds of the battlefield faded. In and out, they came more and more in waves of waking consciousness. Eardrums ringing in high pitch tones. A fires foundation arose ebon smoke pillars toward the frigid skies and a single glossed over pale eye opened slightly to observe the strafing hues of blaster fire cross firing lines above. From this angle the scene was akin to currents or threads of energy and it was difficult to discern whether his host body was failing or just discombobulated from the blast. Then icy gale howled and touched a head wound of the arkanian elder where he lay. Twisting and flowing like water through a section of AT-AT wreckage. His snow white hair, now partially frozen in patches, was tainted with stains of blood. A gash apon his scalp touched by the frozen winter and alchemized into a state of vasoconstriction.

This was the case for Prowlers other wounds as well. A bruised right and cheek bone, now purple from a painfully pulsating hematoma. Every pulse was a signal for pain. He blinked twice with his good eye and his vision became clear. With a subtle shift of his body, the dark jedi suddenly felt a sharp pain and grit his teeth hard.

They grinded back and forth. A sharp inhale of icy thin air was pulled into Prowlers lungs with a gasp that fully awakened grounded him back to the present moment. It was only then that he felt the constricting pressure of his lower body pinned underneath a support beam. " Mmmmmmhmhmhmmhmm" He sat up briefly and felt another sharp twinge of pain and inspected how a two foot rod had impaled the lower chest cavity. It was directly adjacent to his mid rib. A flesh wound.

The pain was rather exquisite. Sensations that threatened to over load his nervous system if it was not for the Cloak of hate that he wore. With a simple mental command the force imbued garment bolstered his endurance. Surging its aid into Prowlers mortal coil and giving him the second wind he would need to break free! A hand extended and was placed apon a the beam and plating burring the elder. The winds died down and the manipulation of Arkania's very elements yielded to the dark ones will. The temperature dropping faster and faster. Expanding metal and weakening its bonds. With a sudden strike of his palm the plating gave way and broke and a surge telekinetic energy flung the metal debris away with a shockwave. Kicking up snow and ash.

The wreckage became obstructed from clear view. Out of which Prowler's broken form limped from his once metal tomb and shambled into the open to crouch down by a dislodged fallen leg of a what remained of his AT-AT for cover. Half his visage was now swollen and frozen with blood. His non-obsured eye adjusting to the light and scanning over the snowfall for his lightsaber. Where is it? Instead he found the broken suffering bodies of Imperial service men and women. They reached, or attempted to, for him in a plea for aid. Gripping the hem of his cloak.

Resting a hand on their bodies he didn't even cast them a glance of recognition and transparent tendrils of energy began siphon what was left of their vitality. Funneling it into the Darkside Elite in an attempt to heal his own wounds.

Judging by their condition. It would they would not last long.

 

[Voldran Molf]

Information and Tag

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmare, Dream Lord​

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

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

If Voldran had been evil, he would likely have taken the opportunity to peer into the girl’s memories; perhaps even her dreams, her desires. But he did not. In fact, he tried to do the very opposite. The man did everything he could to ensure the bond between them was never two-way; for he would never have intruded upon another’s mind without permission. Though he had been raised among Sith, he had still learned etiquette, and he had spent long enough as a mercenary or counsellor among rulers and nobles to know how to be courteous. And yet, despite his restraint, there were still one or two images he glimpsed from the girl’s memory.

On the metaphysical plane, his true nature in the Force could be seen. Once, Voldran had appeared as he was in the material world. But after he became Sithspawn and merged with the demon, that too had changed. His pale skin had turned to onyx black, leaving only his snow-white hair and crimson eyes untouched. The blackness itself was the mark that he was no longer Arkanian, but something else. His features, his build; those remained the same. Only his ashen flesh had transformed into something darker than the blackest night. When the girl spoke, the man opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Well, I have never been that intimate with anyone, nor allowed anyone close enough to know such things…" he tried to brush it off with a joke, though his tone betrayed otherwise.

He released one of her hands, tugging his glove free with his teeth before slipping it from his fingers and palm. Then, if the girl allowed, he gently brushed away the tears from her cheeks. The gesture was tender, yet deliberate, and at the end a faint, wan smile appeared upon his lips.

"You mustn’t be sad, I’m here, I survived. Against everyone’s expectations." he murmured.

As, on the metaphysical plane, the girl touched the runes, Voldran flinched and hissed with pain. It was not her touch that hurt, but the Light Side itself; both because of the demon and because of the rune. When she tried again, he had to clench his teeth once more. The hardest part was not the pain, but restraining the demon who had been waiting for just such a moment of weakness.

"I have seen enough Sith and Darksiders to know I would never sacrifice my soul for the power they offer. But I think the same of the Light Side too, I’m sorry… If I could, I would rid myself of every form of the Force. No one should wield such power." he said bitterly.

He lifted his gaze, eyes shadowed with regret, shaking his head faintly. He was no better than the demon. They were one, fused together. Like a man who was normally composed but sometimes lost his temper, surrendering to instinct. Only, the demon was far more dangerous. Its growing hunger was unceasing.

The building trembled, sparing Voldran from having to answer further. Debris rained from the roof, striking him as well, but leaving only bruises. He noticed the girl’s face had been cut.

If Cora did not pull away, the man reached out again, placing his hand where her wound was. Though the demon denied him the ability to use the Light Side, the Dark Side was still capable of healing. He tried to draw the pain from her through the Force, feeding the demon with it. He had to find alternatives. Then, he sacrificed some of his own lifeforce to mend her wound. A Darksider would normally steal vitality from others to heal themselves. Voldran gave up his own; to help another.

"There… you will need all your strength." he whispered.

In truth, he too would need all of his. What followed, he had not foreseen. He knew it would not be easy, but he had not considered what trap his mother had built into this. As Cora continued, every touch, every attempt to reach his soul on the metaphysical plane brought him greater pain. The demon, like a beast smelling blood, struggled to break free. Voldran could still restrain it; until the moment came…

…when the girl tried to neutralise the rune. But instead of fading, it burned even deeper into Voldran’s soul. He cried out in agony as the rune doubled in strength, chaining him tighter to the will of his mother and the Emperor Darth Solipsis . The pain was so great he reeled, both hands tearing free of Cora’s grip as he collapsed onto his side, curling into a foetal position with a scream.

His fingers clawed at the temple-library floor in his torment. The demon had been waiting for this. The rune fuelled its primal instincts, its hunger, its rage, its desire to consume the girl. Voldran could no longer restrain it. The demon broke loose.

Before her eyes, his body dissolved into a smoky form - the shape of the demon - then hurled itself at her. The dark vapour reached her in an instant, wrapping around her like an embrace.

Moments stretched into eternity - at least it felt so to Voldran - as he battled his own demon. Already, the smoky form began seeping into Cora’s skin through her pores. Then everything froze. The smoke recoiled, drew back, then surged forward again, the struggle for control ongoing.

At last, within the amorphous smoke, Voldran’s terrified face became visible, twisted by pain.

"RUN! GET AWAY!" he screamed, his voice filled with agony, as he fought to reclaim control and force himself away from the girl…


//OOC: I didn't control Cora's character, we agreed that I could write her character continues the ritual, so I had a permission.//