Faction [GA | DE/ER] End of the Core Wars

[Taam Moghul]

​

Objective: Objective IV
Equipment: Kta Dom Lya, Lightsaber, Cathar Armored Jacket, Cracken Survival Kit
Tag: Caltin Vanagor Thurion Heavenshield

​

Taam launched after Caltin, racing through the forest towards the harrowing sound. Vaulting up a tree, savage claws dug into the trunk to pull the big Cathar into the canopy overhead, where he moved nimbly from limb to limb above as the hulking Battlemaster ran below. The sound of battle grew louder, and above it a defiant voice, bold and commanding.

The arriving jedi found none other than Thurion, the Golden Lion, standing like a bulwark against a horde of slavering drengir. Master Vanagor engaged immediately. Taam leaped down from a thick branch amid the chaos, driving Kta Dom Lya into one of the creatures, the sword cleaving it in half in a spray of black ichor and writhing, thorned tentacles. Landing in a coiled crouch, the Cathar knight's hand shot out, sending the nearest of the large abominations flying backwards to crash against others.

The situation was dire and the enemy overwhelming. He heard the words of encouragement between Caltin and Thurion, inspired by the toering masters. With a fierce roard, the maned Cathar intinctively engaged the relentless enemy through the Force, anticipating the movements of the erratic creatures, allowing it to guide his weapon as the large sword swung with brutal precision, moving closer to the embattled jedi masters to present a united bastion against the ravaging onslaught.

Each of the three jedi were fighting for something, Taam was fighting for vindication of a defeat that cost him dearly.

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

T Y T H O N​

It would have been easy to accept his fate. To lay down his sword, set aside his duties, embrace the end — this was the easy path. Any Son of Midvinter welcomes a good death on the field of battle, so long as it is a worthy sacrifice. Suicide, assisted or no, was considered the most grievous of insults, to god and clan alike. His royal status would not prevent eternal disgrace to follow anyone bearing his name should he simply allow a foe to execute him, nor would he disobey the pledge he'd made to Grandmaster Noble.

It didn't change the fact that, with Coci still missing, his world was effectively ended. Whatever deed he performed now, great or small, could never be undertaken for his personal enjoyment, for there was none to be had. From this moment forth, Thurion Heavenshield would perpetually be raging against the dying of the light. His light. It was a war he could never win, but he would hold out until nothing of him remained. It was all he could ever do.

And, once all his great strength and perseverence was spent, he would welcome Death as a friend.

"Mind if I join in the fun?"

The outnumbered Knight of Old, his armour bent and his fabrics torn, turned to face the sudden appearance of his oath-brother, and immediately his end-seeking disposition shapeshifted into something resembling the face Caltin would recognise. It thrust Thurion back into the moment, forcing him to take command and seize the metaphorical reins with both hands. He didn't answer him then, but greeted him with a dishevelled nod.

"She hears you, brother. She hears you and she sees you. She is proud you are here. No matter what these Drengir try to do."

If he'd been wavering before, these words uttered by his brother instilled in him such resolve that all notion of an early death was banished from his mind. Though Caltin couldn't possibly know whether his words were true, Thurion chose them to be. He chose to believe the gaze of his beloved was upon him, and he would not let her down. The two of them could never fall when together, and nor would they now.

"You are my brother," he reaffirmed over the noise of battle, face gritted in defiance even as fresh tears caressed his cheeks. "Now, and beyond this life!"

The Lion strode the field anew, no longer merely holding the line but even advancing against the relentless horde, taking his first step forward since making his last stand. It was at this time that none other than Taam Moghul appeared amidst the mayhem — a Cathar bearing a poignant likeness of his house sigil. For a fleeting moment did he believe he was seeing things; that somehow the lion he professed to be had somehow taken form to fight at his side.

In Taam's presence, Thurion could not help but feel like a mere pretender. It seemed to him that to one side fought Caltin, a man by every meaning of the word — and to the other Taam, as physical a representation of his moniker as could be envisioned — whilst the Lion King stood in the middle of the two extremes; a beast in the shape of a man. It was an aspect of him as true as any other, and one he'd gladly embrace when marching to war.

The Force's Justice grabbed his tattered banner and waved it back and forth, the stained sigil of House Heavenshield shimmering against the infinite blackness. "Then let it be slaughter," he declared even as he slew more and more foulness coming his way. "Let it be total war; eternal crusade against the mindless slaves of the Abyss! We are all Heavenshield this day, blade and fang united!"

Caltin Vanagor Taam Moghul Valery Noble Kahlil Noble Antipater ​

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

Right back what is wrong…
Tython
What was once “The Gnarls”

Objective IV — Empire Left Behind
(GA | DE/ER)

"You are my brother," he reaffirmed over the noise of battle, face gritted in defiance even as fresh tears caressed his cheeks. "Now, and beyond this life!"

Wouldn’t have it any other way! They don’t know who we are! We should show them that we are brothers, fathers, sons, husbands, sisters, wives, we are scholars, explorers and warriors! We are the Right hand of the Force, the Left hand of the Light, AND WE ARE THE BOOT THAT IS GOING TO STOMP A MUDHOLE IN THEM! He would have said more, but a small herd of these creatures were bearing down on him. They were smart enough to charge at him at once, snaring an arm, a leg, a waist, the neck. The thing is though, muscle memory began to overtake his body, in his younger days, Caltin specialized in fighting against greater numbers, and while this was not “old hat”, nor easy by any means(the air was choking out of his body), muscle memory. Quickly, almost instinctively the Jedi began to control his breathing, to slow it.

The more he fought it, the more they choked, he began to double over… until…

THAT’S IT! A powerful Force Repulse. When he was brought back from the Ether, Caltin had lost a lot in the way of the Force, but to be honest, it was the best thing that could have happened. He was now, finally, getting back to the mindset he once was in, and accepting of and utilizing the abilities he had. The Jedi Master was a “Guardian” in every sense of the word, so most of his skills were in the “physical forms” of the Force (Push, Pull, Jump, etc), as well as the Lightsaber, but a few others, such as the Repulse, Electric Judgment and Force Crush were his strengths. He was more than adept at other skills, but not a Mastery such as these.

Why is this important?

The Repulse was normally out in all directions, but the big man was able to direct the energy outward only at the Drengir, sending them back in pieces. That was the good news, the bad news is that was only three to four of them. There were plenty more coming.

The Force's Justice grabbed his tattered banner and waved it back and forth, the stained sigil of House Heavenshield shimmering against the infinite blackness. "Then let it be slaughter," he declared even as he slew more and more foulness coming his way. "Let it be total war; eternal crusade against the mindless slaves of the Abyss! We are all Heavenshield this day, blade and fang united!"

Finally, the “Old Caltin” was beginning to return. Pulling the Knuckles out of the off hand gauntlet of his Guardian Armor, he glared outward. FOR TYTHOOOOOOOOON!!!! Charging off into a burst sprint, the creatures not tasting his lightsaber were being punched. If these creatures were going to die fighting, he would facilitate this. Was he suicidal? Not at all. However it had been a long time since he did not have to hold back. This was one of those times.

There was no way the big man could take them all on by himself, but if he could draw some at him, it would make it easier for them to either draw others, or maybe pick off his attackers freely.The creatures fell before him, their numbers dwindling as he fought with unrelenting fury. His punches and lightsaber strikes were relentless, each blow a testament to his skill and determination. The battlefield echoed with the sounds of battle, and he pressed on, unyielding, his resolve unshaken.

Thurion Heavenshield Valery Noble Kahlil Noble Antipater Taam Moghul TAGS
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Dean Walker]

Dean's grin ticked upward the second she smirked over her shoulder at him. "Oh, don't worry," he said, voice low and laced with mischief. "I'll definitely enjoy the view." He followed a step behind, blaster raised and sweeping left and right as they moved deeper into the corridor. Her saber lit the way with that soft white glow, and for a moment, things almost felt… calm. Or maybe that was just her. The way she walked, poised and lethal, saber humming in quiet readiness — yeah, he could watch that for hours.

Unfortunately, the galaxy had other plans.

From around the bend up ahead, there was a sudden shout — then blasterfire erupted, red bolts screaming down the corridor toward them.

Dean reacted on instinct.

"Down!" he barked, even though he knew she didn't need the warning. While Kat hopefully handled the incoming fire, Dean squeezed off a few precise shots — two Imperials dropped, a third ducked out of sight.

"Three more!" he called, voice tight. "Left side, heavy rifles!"

Another shot cracked past them, slamming into the wall and showering sparks across the floor. Dean flinched, then peeked around the corner again, waiting for Kat to deflect the next few shots before he leaned out and let his own bolts fly again.

It was chaotic. Dangerous.

And somehow, with her there beside him, it felt like they'd win anyway.

Katarine Ryiah
​

 

[Jack Sandrow]

OBJECTIVE I
Sub-objective: Immediate aid to the people of Tython, then healing the earth from the scars of war
Location: Tython
Personal Equipment: Currently wearing the Olisthiros combat suit folded away under his clothing | Pistol
Alignment: Unaffiliated, but GA-aligned

---

Jack was up to his elbows in refugees, and he was feeling very out of his element. Trying to organize a supply chain of any kind felt damn near impossible, until a few people saw what he was doing. That was the thing about helping others - it always inspired others to help as well. Jack had soon found himself unburdened of a lot of the necessary hand-offs of foodstuffs & straws, and now with a moment to breathe he had stepped to the side to wolf down a few slabs of meat for a lunch.

He was quickly running out of supplies, though - running a constant stream (at about half hour intervals) of ships from ground to orbit and back again, he estimated he'd be out of supplies by nightfall. Yes it was a good thing that the foodstuff was going where it needed to go, and yes it was a good thing that he could be here to help, but he was just one person. He could make a difference - and he already had! - but he would not be able to heal the world solo.

So now that his supplies were drying up, he took a moment to speak to the leaders in charge. There were a few quartermasters here and there, some doctors, a couple nurses, but so far no incident commander (or equivalent). Fine, he'd have to speak to someone in charge eventually. Sylva Vitae was not a large company by any means, and that was fine with him, but he had made the designs of Sylva Auxilius to be free use on purpose, and that meant he needed to speak to whomever would be in charge of Tython for the next month or twelve, or however long it would take to restore normalcy.

Still, he was glad he was making an immediate difference. The water tanks he had installed had been filled and drained several times over, but he was confident that as people realized the bare essentials would not dry up they would take what they needed and little more. For now, he needed to focus on the next part. Housing and shelter.

Plant Growth wasn't necessarily a rare Force power, he knew. But he had yet to meet anyone who commanded it better than him. And he was truly looking forward to meeting that person, if they existed. Having finished his lunch, he began to call upon the latent plant life in the area nearby the refugee camp, closing his eyes in concentration. Plant Growth in its most known form was a command, the emphasis on the user to make the plants grow and bend to their will. For Jack, it was a request - the discussion between the very much alive plant matter and him to come to mutual agreement, with Jack's energy being the conduit between what was present now and what he desired to come to fruition.

And so he asked, and so the forest answered. It was hurting, still reeling from the destruction and razing of the Empire's work and the battle between the Empire and the Alliance. It would ask him for assistance to regrow, where best to place itself. Jack would ask the forest to provide shelter for those others who were also hurt. And the forest would provide help.

With a loud creaking and cracking, the massive trunks of ancient trees began to move. Jack strained, knees buckling as he hit the dirt. Something was itching in the back of his mind, but he shook it away and continued to press. Branches and vines twisted and knit together, coalescing into rudimentary shelters. Layers upon layers of leaves weaved tightly into a watertight roof, still with enough room to breathe. Jack could distantly hear the commotion of the surprised refugees, but he pressed on.

More and more of the trees drew together into tall but welcoming shelters, the living and breathing world repairing after the carnage of war. It wouldn't be civilization as these people remembered; Jack was not one for durasteel and duracrete. To reconnect these people to the galaxy at large would also take time, as refactored and repaired electronics would disseminate over the planet with enough time. But shelter and food... they could use that in the meantime.

The itching was growing stronger, but Jack was too weak to hear it now. As the last few branches creaked into place, he smiled weakly. Shelter and food. These people would be okay.

And with that, he fainted then and there, faceplanting into the dirt off to the side, hidden from view by a couple extra bushes and shrubs that had sprung up around him.

---

 

[Nulgath Zardai]

​

The air on Tython was quiet in that way it often was after battle—not peace, but aftermath.
Ashen winds carried the scent of churned soil, old blood, and scorched bark. Monoliths cracked and ancient stones lay toppled like forgotten sentinels. Jedi patrols were elsewhere, purging horrors where they lingered, but he had strayed beyond their knowing—drawn not by purpose, but by a whisper of instinct. Nulgath Zardai had no place here. Not anymore. He had come to observe, nothing more.

He stood at the edge of a collapsed meditation terrace, one foot balanced on a broken slab of marble etched with half-eroded mantras. His eyes—clouded with time, but sharp as ever—narrowed on the growth before him. A dense, coiled thicket of vines, black-green and swollen with moisture, had spread over the shattered tiles. They pulsed faintly, like muscles flexing in slow rhythm. There was something wrong about them—not in shape, but in presence. They felt... observed. Intentionally there.

Curious, Nulgath stepped closer. He knelt, robes folding beneath him, and extended a gauntleted hand to brush the tangle. The vine retracted—subtly, like a twitching animal feigning stillness. He raised a brow. "Sentient? No... This is a remnant of something older."

He leaned in, examining a thorned bulge, slick with dark sap. His fingers hovered just over its surface. The Force here was strange—dull, like it had been numbed, and yet something pulsed beneath it. It wasn't until the vine quivered again—sharper this time, faster—that he understood:

This wasn't plant life. It was waiting.

Too late.

With a sudden, violent snap, the bundle exploded outward—barbed tendrils lashing through the air. One of them raked across Nulgath's torso, ripping through layered robes and etching a jagged, burning line across his flesh. The creature hissed in a voice not made for ears—wet, spongy syllables like meat slapping stone. It reared up, blooming from the vine mass in a grotesque caricature of a plant. Dozens of thorned arms, twitching maws ringed with teeth, and eyes—so many eyes—all gazed upon him with a hunger ancient and alien.

But it had made a mistake.

Nulgath rose, not in panic but in sheer offense. With a motion like casting off a cloak, he thrust his hand outward, and a concussive Force wave tore through the clearing. The Drengir's bulk shattered—chunks of living wood and shrieking vine thrown in all directions. Limbs twitched and spasmed across the ruins.

He stood, silent, victorious. Unfeeling. But then... the itch came. The wrongness.

I should not feel pain. That was the covenant I struck, the trade I made when I surrendered what remained of my humanity for power, for permanence. For silence. But there it was—a heat, like rusted nails churning in my core. A blooming fire, not born of the Force nor of alchemy, but raw and living, hungry?

I pulled back my robes and looked down, not out of alarm, No, nothing surprises me anymore—but out of curiosity. The wound across my torso was shallow, almost mocking. A thorned lash had kissed my flesh and drawn forth a thick ichor, dark and pulsing as if it resented exposure to air. It wept not blood but a substance, a saprotic slime the same color as dried roses—red too long dead to be called red anymore. I touched the edge. My hand trembled. That was wrong.

I do not tremble.

From a short distance, Nulgath Zardai straightened like a marionette returned to motion. His frame was still regal, his robes catching no breeze in the still, tainted air of Tython. Around him, the tendrils of the broken Drengir monstrosity lay scattered, twitching faintly like dying nerves.

But something had taken root. He stiffened. Something in his chest curled inward—not pain this time, but a void, like something hollowing him out. A darkness, not familiar, not his own. It gnawed at the bones of his psyche, not as a beast gnaws flesh, but as a worm burrows. He reached to steady himself against a half-toppled Jedi monument nearby, and as his hand met stone, he nearly gasped. Not from exertion.

But from an urge.

" Hey! Nulgath! We heard the echo, is— Oh are you alright?!" The voice came from a Jedi sentinel. One of two that followed Nulgath at all times and before Nulgath could respond the sensation, the urge, he felt subsided and retreated. It left him and thus Nulgath responded still holding his chest. " I am...Fine." His eyes scanning over the rose dried substance coating his hand and robes. " I wish to retire from this place. I have seen...enough." He requested and turned around to greet the man. Janelle, the other sentinel was now adjacent in the distance.

" Right. Lets go then."

[OOC: Exit thread]

 

[Taam Moghul]

​

Objective: Objective IV
Equipment: Kta Dom Lya, Lightsaber, Cathar Armored Jacket, Cracken Survival Kit
Tag: Caltin Vanagor Thurion Heavenshield

​

The Cathar found nothing more inspiring in battle than to stand by the side of those two great Jedi warriors. Thurion's mighty, defiant war cry and Caltin's valiant charge moved Taam to a greater ferocity.

"We are all Heavenshield this day..."

Thurion's statement united them, the Jedi going on the offense. Taam, a battlemaster in the making, moved in the Force, sinking into Battlemind, his combat-tuned Force Sight allowing his great blade to meet barbed vine tentacle and gaping toothed maw with devastating results. Another mighty roar drowned out the howl of the drengir. The arc of the songsteel sword became a cleaving swathe as Taam took a step forward, then another. His Cathar armored coat resisted the lethal thorns.

The snarling Cathar moved up on Caltin's flank, taking advantage of the spliting of the horde by the hulking master's savage charge. There seemed no end to the onslaught of dark creatures, but Taam knew there was an end, and if the three Jedi could hold fast, a wall of death pushing against the writhing mass, they may survive. If not, there would be no shame in death. They were fighting with every once of strength and valor they possessed.

 

[Anguis Dux]

Tag: The Vulptex

"Hmmmm..." Anguis glanced left and right.

Two of them. He'd been outplayed.

Over a hundred calculations for victory or least escape played out across his mind with thousands of variables and assumptions worked in. Yet they all returned the same result: defeat.

Did he ever stand a chance from the start? This was what he got for assuming this would be a quick fight. The weak and vulnerable could still bite back before his venom did its work. He needed to be more careful next time. Stop playing with his food and just crush their skulls under his jackboots.

Of course, being Viper Commander he always had contingencies for scenarios like this. Even if it would take some time for them to come into effect. So better to just drop his weapon and raise his hands in surrender.

A grin tugged at the edge of his scarred mouth.

Then again he was always a stubborn bastard.

He tightened his grip on his vibrosword and made to swing it.

Thousands of volts coursed through his body and everything went numb.

​