Gods of Iron (GA dominion of Yag'dhul)

[Placeholder 0139]

Three archaic vessels appeared on the edge of the system. None of these had been called upon -- they were the impure. Had they come to watch their gods at work? Perhaps. The Bulwarks all came to such a consensus. They were arrogant brutes, but they had their uses. The Monitor could tolerate their various nuisances for a time; particularly for situations such as this. The Bulwarks, more than any other sect of his people, understood war.

Something they had brought to Yag'dhul rather quickly. The Monitor was not proud of the violent -- he was proud of the efficiency. Seventy percent of the Givin living on Yag'dhul now lay in stasis aboard the bulbous harvest ships. Six percent had died. That percentage made up the majority of the Givin military force, granted a few holdouts remained. They would be dealt with soon enough.

"Three impure ships have come in on the edge of the system, High Monitor."

The Monitor raised himself up on his six metallic legs to gain a better view of the vessels. He recognized the make of one -- the Tyrene. This was a Galactic Alliance group then. Easily dealt with.

"Hail them. I care not if they answer, for they will hear whether they wish to or not," he paused, "Status on the forward airbase?"

A flash of light flooded the command deck as one of the Architect Dreadnoughts unleashed a massive beam of energy. It arced downward, crashing into the Givin defense installation seconds later. The entire airbase was reduced to naught but ash. The possibility of anyone surviving such an attack were slim.

"Annihilated. One hundred percent casualty rating among Givin forces stationed at the airbase."

"Excellent. Patch me through."

A moment later, and the connection opened. The Monitor's alien visage would show up on the viewscreens of all impure (Galactic Alliance) vessels in the area. His voice was a deep baritone that transmitted in all directions -- even Yag'dhul itself.

"Galactic Alliance. I am the Monitor, High Architect of my people. The Givin have gone back on a deal we have made. This is not your concern. I know why you are here. Hold your ships for a time, and we shall leave: this world will be yours. Refuse to comply, and your fleet will be annihilated."

The message cut short. The Monitor was moving to rest in his chair when another signal came through. One from Yag'dhul, transmitted to the Alliance as well.

The Givin.

"Help -- metal creatures -- command structure lost, need assi-...killing us -- please?!"

"Jam that signal."

"Yes, Monitor."

Spoiler

Objectives

Spoiler

A: Space stuff. Defend the minuet Alliance presence above Yag'dhul via starfighters or destroyer guns. Make sure escape is possible.

B: Ground stuff. Three choices here: either focus on saving civilians, the government's leadership, or recover the treasure trove of Omega Protectorate technology before the Architects do. NPC help is limited. The more forces are split between possible objectives, the higher the likelihood of total failure.

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Location: Lambda Class Shuttle

Allies: [member="Kix Tal'Verda"], [member="Ylvaris Desman"]

Post: 2/20

"They're here. That's their fleet."

Rook could not help but gasp. He knew the Architects were a vast force -- one few other powers in the galaxy could hope to match. The Galactic Alliance surely could not; not in its current state. Given some time, perhaps, but with a fleet this size? The wise thing would have been to run. Unfortunately, Rook was not a very wise man, and he had a vendetta. He tapped his fingers idly on his helmet, and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to make a decision.

"Khelgast, after this we'll figure out everything that's happened. We've finally tracked them down; we have to do what we can to stop them." He wheeled around in his chair to look at his comrades. A lost brother, and a forgotten warrior. He could work with this. For Sara, for his mother, he would have to try.

"Tyrene this is Commander Rook. My team is going for the capital. Make your decision. We've made ours."

This wasn't going to end well. Things never did when dealing with these mechanical devils. If the Alliance force could manage to get boots on the ground, all the better. At it was, a team of three Dreadguard soldiers could do more good than the entire Galactic Alliance fleet right now. He exchanged looks with his brothers -- the galaxy's greatest warriors. They'd found their quarry. Now it was time to hunt.

Kicking the sub-light engines alive, Rook angled the Lambda toward the planet below -- one of the space elevators in the capital city to be specific. They would save as many souls as they could, and if his plan worked, they might manage to have a conversation with the Monitor face to face.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective: Space
Post 1/20

Yag’Dhul.

How often had Coren come here in the past? Back when he was a smuggler, back when he was on the run from the Jedi and the Sith, before he was even aware of the 174th Warbird Wing, before the Fringe, before everything that he knew now. He would fly through this world, this system and use it as a base. Givin were a bit odd, but it was a good place to hide. And now? He was here because they needed him. Well, [member="Rook"] was really to blame here. When the other Commander within the Alliance contacted him, Coren saddled up very quickly, bringing the best of his toys, the ShortFin, and meeting the Tyrene en route to the Givin homeworld.

This was one of the planets that the Chief of State agreed would be run by [member="Aeron Kreelan"] and her Pyre. Coren’s Prex was a BAMF and he was expecting her to show up here, but until then? The quick response team, with the Tiburons aboard, would be showing up. He was taking control of his own destiny here. He was going to do what he felt was right, where the Force, in its great muckiness, brought him to do.

Ships were needed. Coren was out in the fray already, the stealth systems aboard the ShortFin moving to keep him away from the control. “Tyrene, hold position, see what damage you can do. We need people on the surface to help stem the tide.” This was being said from a hyperwave channel that Coren was risking, if het Architects found him… Who knew what would happen.

“Rook, Starchaser. I’ll try to keep these guys occupied and off your ship.” With that, weapon systems went hot, and the missile bays opened up, exposing the ship on sensors as two, then four, cluster missiles were launched towards the Architects that were firing on the Alliance craft. “Come on and chase me.” He muttered to himself.

Only now, after the first salvo of missiles, did Starchaser realize just how massive the enemy's force was.

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Location: Givin Domain - Yag’Dhul System[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6667px]Objective: Figure out what’s going on[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6667px]Allies: [member="Deagan Hunt"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6667px][1/20][/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]You know sometimes I wonder how I get myself into these kind of situations. I work as a guide of sorts around these parts: apparently a guy who has a solid knack with finding the best and shortest paths through dangerous parts of the Galaxy are very… appreciated - so what I do is pretty simple, most of the time it’s just guiding tourists from one highlight to another, it pays reasonably well and it can be pretty fun sometimes.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]But then there are the times that I find myself in the need of… well… [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]more[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]. I know, I know, some people really look down on the whole ‘smuggling’-routine, but you can’t deny that it pays [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]really[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] well and sometimes that’s just what ya need.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Today started pretty simple. Deagan and me have worked together in the past, solid man, has a bright mind and more importantly has gotten us out of fisty-cuff problems before… probably that zeltron blood running through his veins. Anyway, I ain’t eager on going back to my Mandalorian Crusader-days, used to be… nah, not worth getting into that. Point was? Deagan keeps me out of that sort of trouble, makes sure I don’t have to start caving people’s faces in.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]And that’s some teamwork if ya ask me.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]We were sitting on a couple of durasteel boxes - loaded with the wares - and waiting for our clients to arrive. In the distance something rumbled… and that’s about the same time my knee began to itch real hard (old battle wound, suffice it to say that whenever that damn knee started to itch, that something was gonna go wrong real fast)[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“You hear that?” I asked anyway. Maybe [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]I[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] was wrong this time, maybe this was my first lucky day.[/SIZE]

 

[Malok]

Jaren Solain was no hero.

The Alliance had heroes. The Jedi had heroes. Hell, even the Republic had heroes. But the Vulture? He was far from fitting the bill. He was the sort of man that was concerned about getting in, grabbing what he could, and getting the kark out. But...There was something about the screams that moved him. Something about the sheer terror and utter confusion that motivated him beyond simple salvaging. What began as a simple "let's try to haggle with the bone people" day changed. Rapidly.

In the distance, a facility was vaporized. Elsewhere, metal monstrosities made for the capital. Needless to say, the native population was in panic. Jaren was in the thick of it; long since separated from his partner in crime due to the stampeding masses. They were running, obviously, from the creatures that were hellbent on their destruction. And Jaren? Well, he was herding them along as best he could. Whenever someone tripped, he tried to scramble them to their feet. He pointed the way forward, hoping to urge the panicked around him closer to the elevators.

He was no hero. Every fiber in his being was telling him to save his own ass. But the feeling driving him forward was yelling louder than his instincts. He was just a farmer who was in over his head, but thankfully enough...help was on the way.

[member="Rook"]

[1/20]

 

[Kix Tal'Verda]

Objective: Get Groundside

Location: Lambda Class Shuttle

Allies: Ylvaris Desman [member="Rook"]

Post: 1/20


It seemed three were going to take on an army.

Kix couldn't help but sigh as he put his helmet back on. The UI, upgraded to modern specifications from his time within the CIS and Mandalorian Clans flared to life. As they traveled, if allowed, he'd have linked his HUD to Rook's and Kelghast's. It'd give the three an exceptionally secure channel, readouts on one another's vitals and allow one to track the other on their radars. He even installed a disconnect for himself should the need be (after all, he just met both of these arutiise). Kix wasn't bothering with the scans of his new comrades though. With clicks of his teeth and precise motions of eyes and lids, he passed through pictures saved in the data banks of the helm.

You always gathered your strength before a fight. Kix did so like many Mandalorians: "Ni su'cuyi gar kyr'adc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Galaar, Check, Comic..." A long list of names would follow suit. The Clone remembered them all, every clansman that fell in war or passed to Manda. The mere utterance of their names was enough to make his heart pump like he were ten years older, his eyes flare with life and vigor, Kix carried the spirits of those who fell in him. Clad in Galaar's Katarn, he stood once finished with his 'prayer' (which could be heard on his private channel if one cared to click into), and strode into the cockpit.

"Status report, Rook?" He posed with a slight hint of authoritarian condescension. It was obvious he considered himself Rook's superior, it was only natural... Kix was Mandalorian, Rook was not, Kix was nine years Rook's Veteran, and most of all Kix believed whole heartedly he was the 'purer' warrior. Though Vong-Shaped he had no where near the same modification as either Mark Two. To him that was a source of deep pride.

"And shove over. I'm flying this bird."

 

[Qyren Leret]

Location: Capital City - Yag'Dhul

Allies: None yet, but soon... Maybe [member="Jaren Solain"] ?

Post: 1/20


Qyren clenched her hands into fists and kept running, well aware that the white clothing she had chosen would not make her inconspicuous in what was essentially a war zone. Her trip had been meant as a simple informant meeting and subsequent item retrieval. Simple enough, safe for a year-old padawan to handle on her own, and somewhat important to a future Rangers mission, so that it wasn't just a fun jaunt into the unknown.

Now she was looking for exits, fleeing from the same menace everyone was; no locals noticed one more running body, let alone her profession or status as a stranger. The enemy might notice if she made it into an area already cleared of civilians, or if she needed to defend herself with her Force talents, but it seemed like this attack was still building; she heard distant blaster fire that implied resistance was being put up somewhere, though Qyren didn't know where or for how long.

The spaceport with her vessel had been the first thing annihilated; whoever was attacking the planet clearly knew how to do it efficiently. It spoke of practice and little wiggle room for even a padawan to escape.

Around her, chaos reigned as people scattered toward the remaining space elevators or to parts unknown, screaming in incoherent panic, their common sense lost to instinct. Qyren was only barely managing to keep herself together in the unexpected combat scenario, something she attributed to Nantaris's training.

But he isn't here.

Qyren ducked into a building and pressed herself against a wall, out of sight of the bubble of chaos, panic and danger pressing at her back. She swallowed hard against her personal doubts. No. He was not here. She was on her own. However, she had a responsibility to protect people if she could, and how often had Nantaris and Scindia told her she had progressed quickly through her training?

Qyren's hand dipped down to the hilt of her lightsaber. She stood with the cool metal against her palm, focusing herself and letting her doubts and fear slip away as much as possible, then pulled it from its clip and pushed off the wall, cautiously dipping back into the street. Getting people out of the city might be enough to prevent the wholesale slaughter Qyren felt herself walking into. There were also the space elevators, but she had no idea if those would contain allies or enemies. Qyren's mind calculated quickly. There was no guarantee that the attackers wouldn't simply glass the continent once they were done with the local population. She would see where the elevators led; at the least, she could be there if she needed to steer people away from them.

As she turned a corner, Qyren found herself on the edge of a small swarm of people all moving the same way as her intended route. She managed to avoid being knocked over and blended into the crowd, coming up alongside a man who was half-pulling a teenager with wide eyes back to his feet. Qyren helped to prevent the crowd from stampeding over them, and offered the man a quick flash of a smile.

 

[Matsu Ike]

Objective: D
Post: 1/20
Location: Space

Matsu had remained on the Harlequin while the others with her were moving, they had been working on scouting and mapping in sections of the galaxy with the collection division as she stood with Saeko off to the side of the bridge. "And you are certain?" The Liran standing there with her raised an eyebrow in amusement at her well at the sound in her voice but just tapped the map on the datapad. "Alright alright, we'll have them check it out. Whatever the Alliance is doing could likely benefit from barrier squads. Or have healers who can help them." She had some ideas and showing the products they were wanting to sell to the new jedi order well synthetic healing crystals of fire able to preserve and stop someone from bleeding out in a room... did have value. "We'll have the teams scan and work on the ground."

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Location: entering the atmosphere

Allies: [member="Kix Tal'Verda"], [member="Ylvaris Desman"], [member="Coren Starchaser"]

Objective: Not die

"Shut up." Rook snapped as he pulled the Lambda into a nose dive. This was not a very flexible vessel -- it was designed to transport dignitaries, not bypass a blockade. The last thing he needed right now was the Mandalorian trying to assert his dominance. Rook was the Commander. He had the rank. He'd done all the recent fighting. Kix could shove it. The entire ship rocked as something fast and heavy crashed into the hull. Coincidentally, the shields went with it.

"Shields down, we're breaking atmo. I don't think this bird is going to survive drop," he frowned, "Might need to make a jump. How well does that Katarn kit glide?" It wasn't challenge, it was pure question. Warning lights were flashing along the shuttles dashboard. One of the two primary engines had failed. They had managed to break through the atmosphere without burning up, but the view below almost made Rook wish he hadn't.

Half the capital city lay in ruins. The city was a massive funeral pyre. The tallest buildings had been ripped apart by heavy ordnance, and the smaller ones were alight with with some form of chemical fires. This wasn't a war, it was genocide.

"Coren." First names now. Things were serious. "See if you can't patch a message through to the rest of the Alliance. The Architects -- they're tearing the planet's crust apart. We need to evacuate as many people as we can."

Then comms went down. The Lambda was flying to close to the city now, and had entered the vicinity of the jamming field the droids had erected around it. The bird itself was angled toward a crumbling skyscraper near the end of the city. Hitting that was almost certain death.

"We're jumping. Grab a chute, lock up your armor."

Rook pushed up his feet, and opened the gangplank. He turned to his comrades -- a wayward Mandalorian, and a lost brother. Hopefully they would all make it to the ground in one piece. There were six emergency chutes on the ship; not so much the traditional parachutes as they were emergency jump packs. A single pull would ignite their back jets, though they only carried enough fuel for a single use. One had to time it perfectly.

"Take one, and go."

 

[Placeholder 0139]

Location: The Ge'hutuun
Allies: Architect Fleet
Enemies: Alliance Forces
Objective: Secure Yag'dhul

"Small ships showing up on scanners. Energy flare. Missile salvo hit Dreadnought, Three-hundred-thirty-six. Two casualties. Shields temporarily failed. Ship is still capable of combat."

The Monitor made a low humming noise. The Alliance had shown its teeth, now it was his turn. The cyborg raised up high on its six appendages, and began to pace around the command deck.

"How many Dreadnoughts are available?"

"Fourty-Eight are in system. Ten are deploying servitors on the world below. Three are guarding the harvest ships. The remaining thirty-five are awaiting orders."

"Our number on the ground?"

"Approximately twenty thousand servitors have been deployed on the ground. Shattered Prism and Black Helix are heading the ground assault. Casualty rating is steady at two percent."

"And the jamming?"

"Thorough. Communication out of system is impossible, and the city below is a dark zone for the primitives."

"Good. Disable the Alliance ships. They have force sensitives aboard. I want them alive."

"And the stealth ships that just attacked?"

"Order Dreadnought Three-Hundred-Thirty-Six to retaliate. Eliminate the snub fighters. Destroy the engines of the larger vessels."

"I will relay the order."

That was a start. Killing these people would be far too easy. A single Dreadnought could easily control an entire system. A small fleet like this stood no chance against one. Against almost fifty Dreadnoughts? It was no contest.

Still, it was always amusing to watch primitives struggle.

The singal Dreadnought that had been fired upon by [member="Coren Starchaser"] would turn about to face its attackers. The sudden communication burst was enough to pin down the commander's general location. The massive vessel locked its cannons on the Shortfin.

The Architects were not skilled in the art of naval warfare. Their general policy was to reach victory with superior technology, overwhelming firepower, and greater numbers. This mindset was personified in the sea of high powered fire from the dozens of miniature turbolasers lining the Dreadnoughts broadside. The salvo was enough to give a Star Destroyer a bit of a challenge, and it was all intended for Coren and those flying with him.

Meanwhile, the servitors on the ground transitioned from one mission to another. Their goal had been to transport as many Givin aboard the space elevators as possible. Now, small teams were being deployed for eradication protocols.

The Servitors were armed with high powered blaster cannon, but had little in way of armor. In truth, servitors were little more than the corpses of organics from various species revived via the horrors of technology. They were smart enough to fulfill basic requests. Currently, their mission was to slaughter anyone carrying weapons -- or anything similar to them.

Two dozen of the monstrosities made their way through the streets, cutting down any Givin that did not surrender to them in a storm of blaster fire. They were quickly approaching the positions of [member="Qyren Leret"] and [member="Jaren Solain"]. If the two were found, they would be told to surrender. If such was refused, then the Servitors would do to them what they had done to the Givin.

As the servitors wandered, they would grow closer to all those unfortunate souls stuck in the capital city, such as [member="Samael Rekali"]. The policy was the same. Demand surrender, and if that failed, extermination.

 

[Eldaah Aderyn]

Location - Capital city
Objective - Quietly observe
Allies - None currently
Enemies - None currently

It was always interesting watching a world burn, she thought. She was simply sitting quietly in a cafe, watching the native Givin run in panic. Whoever these Architects were seemed to be a big problem for the natives, not that she cared. She was here to just watch and observe, only to interact if absolutely necessary.

Gesturing with her hand, three small probe droids whizzed off to give her a better view of the action. If any of those droids rounding up the natives came near her, well that should be interesting.

'Let the fun begin apparently,' she thought, leaning back in her chair and watching the feeds from her droids.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective: Space
2/20

The ShortFin was going through a roll as Coren was dodging the incoming attacks. He was closing the pod bays after launching missiles to the Architects and noticed the one ship giving him attention. Coren was a pilot, and a navigator. That meant he had to do what he did best, and that was fly. Pushing the throttle to full, heading in the direction of the dreadnought. White knuckles gripped the control yolk as he opened up with the triple blasters at the dreadnought.

“Roger that, Rook. Keep yourselves alive!” He would get down to the ground if he felt things were getting that dire, but for now? He’d do his pilot thing.

The maneuvering jets on the ShortFin were keeping her from taking the majority of the hits, still, laser blasts were splashing on her bow and Coren was doing his best to shake them off. As he got closer, he slammed the attitude thrusters and flipped the ShortFin over on its lateral axis. The ship’s VI, Lexi, was working to even out the shields and Coren, through his Liberation mod was trying to counter act it.

“Coren, we need to watch our flank, the enemy is behind us, now.” The robotic voice spoke sarcastically.

“Just keep them at the bow.” He shook his head and hit the SLAM engines forward. This next piece of flying was going to be a little tricky.

Reaching to the Force, Coren was pulling from his own personal reserve here. He cleared his mind, and focused. There was a point behind the dreadnought, away from the fighting, away from the laser blasts. And that was where he wanted to be. Lexi put the ship into a roll to avoid laser fight and then the next thing that was observed was the ship passing through nothing and vanishing.

But that didn’t last long. Two klicks behind the dreadnought, Coren and the ShortFin reappeared, almost before they had left. “Tyrene, Harlequin. Can either of you transmit this frakking situation to the Alliance? To the Pyre? Get frakking Prex [member="Aeron Kreelan"] on the line, or Ven. We need help out here or this whole world is going to be lost.”

He turned the transmitting comm off and looked at the ship ahead of him. "See? They're ahead of us."

"My system is made to predict piloting, not space wizardry nonsense."

Right, battle.

[member="Rook"]
[member="Matsu Ike"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Objective: Do you wanna raid a buuuunnnnkkkeeerrr?
Allies: GA Folks?
Location: Space/Atmosphere
Post: 1/20

Ijaat was on board the Tyrene at the moment.. Or more accurately, he was on his way to be off the Tyrene and headed planetside. He was utterly wasted in space waiting to be blown up. But as he heard the comms from Coren come in, he sighed. There was strategy to consider, no matter how the little voice in his head urged him to the surface. Turning back to the bridge, his armored feed trod on the hallways surface with heavy thuds, the smooth surface of his pristine armor gleaming with a burnished glow as he stepped to the deck. With an easy shrug, he tapped a hand to the controls, and stopped short, hesitating.

The niggling voice urging him to murder and ruin had suddenly stopped as he prepared himself to utilize the tangled mesh of thought and presence in the back of his mind that was Geoffery. Was his AI responsible for his psychosis? Was Geoff fragmenting from some flaw in his programming or such? An error in the rather unorthodox method of creation Ijaat had employed in him? Worse yet, with their beings effectively permanently linked, would such madness spread to his mind, liked a computer virus across a network? Was that even really possible? AI's blurred the line between man and machine, and Geoff pretty much played jump rope with said line really.

Regardless, he dropped his hand to the console, opening up the links between his biot and mind and the console, and feeling Geoff's presence surge into the ships helm. Swiftly the synthetic awareness began hailing along private and encoded frequencies to the Galactic Alliance. It was hit with a common cycling encryption, not enough to prevent active slicing to decode, but enough that it would sound more like the comms had began malfunctioning than any coherent message. The contents were simple, really. Coordinates to where they were, with a brief distress beacon to the Pyre and GA requesting aid. With an after-thought, he looped it to the Silver Sanctum... Anyone he could think of really that might be in range to help.

And when it was done, there was silence in his mind.... The presence of Geoff was simply gone, as was the murderous voice. Questioning it little, he sent an acknowledgement to Coren over his helmet comms, and proceeded back the way he had came, holding his rifle at a low ready, trying to ignore the almost foreign reflection of his armored silhouette in the bulkheads he passed. Thinking twice, he opened to a general Tiburo frequency, shaking his head slightly.

"There was, at one time, a Kyr'stad, a Death Watch bunker, on this planet. I have rough coordinates. If we can get to it, there might be weapons stores we can use to some effect. It was primarily an arms storage facility from what my data reads. Coordinates are out to you now, i'll be heading there to open it up, and then out to hit those elevators"

 

[Aston Jacobs]

Location: Capital City - Yag'Dhul
Allies:Galactic Alliance-Hope-[member="Qyren Leret"] [member="Jaren Solain"]

"We are gonna die, just like the rest of them. DO YOU HEAR ME! We are gonna die!"

Aston took a deep breath as he glanced over to the individual who was yelling. The Jedi Padawan's lightsaber disengaged the blue blade disappearing into his hilt. "Hey!" Aston said in a fierce voice but just above a whisper. He knew they only had about a minute to rest before they had to move. Aston grabbed a hold the front of his shirt and shook him lightly. "Relax! All you will do is get everyone killed." The Padawan said as he let go of him, that's when someone else piped in from beside them speaking in a whispher as well.

"But it's true, we are going to die."

Aston glanced from them both and shook his head. "No, you are going to live." Aston had led a large group with a shortcut through an office building. But now he knew it was time to move as he heard fire come and it sounded incredibly close.

"Let's go." Aston said as he led the front of the group staying low, his lightsaber at the ready, in his hand for use. They reached the exit and Aston could see those that were looking to finish what people were left. "That way, you don't stop, you keep running. No matter what. Go!" Aston said as the group moved across the way, he stood in the middle of them as they crossed and it wasn't long until they were spotted. An array of fire came his way as the Padawan ignited his blade, twirling it around furiously as he deflected the onslaught of bolts; he retreated as much as he could while continually defending himself. The group he was leading now far ahead, they weren't sure they would survive. But Aston had hope in him, that wouldn't ever change. The force was with him.

 

[Kix Tal'Verda]

Song for the occasion: Solid Ground

Objective: Reach the Surface

Allies: [member="Rook"]

Location: The Shuttle


Kix snarled as Rook ordered him to shut up. Whatever was going to be said next was silenced by the shake of the shuttle and the clamour of battle that soon filled the small craft. Lord Cabur, the Strill, gave a soft whine and with strange intelligence made its way to the landing ramp. The Clone took his animal's behavior as a cue before the Mark Two even said anything. As the Tech Specialist, he cued up their HUDs and transferred all the data he had extracted to Rook. It was a precaution... Just in case he didn't make the jump.

Silently he wandered to the door and opened it in preparation for the others as the order to bail was given. Kix had little need for the emergency chutes, after all, his own pack that was forged into the Katarn he was clad in would work fine. Lord Cabur was the first to dive on a simple hand gesture. The six-legged weasel scampered out the door with a wild screech. It hit the air and in seconds its limbs extended, loose flaps underneath caught the air like fabric and slowed it down as it drifted quickly towards the nearest place to land. A blue-visor followed Cabur's motion, the Strill's instinct would lead them to the safest landing point with the wind on their side.

Once the large, wrinkled war-weasel picked its direction Kix made his plunge. Greeted first by a cold that even washed through his environmental systems, next by rattles that would break the bones of lesser men, and then by the sight of the Corpse-City ablaze that would break the minds of lesser men. Kix folded his arms to his sides and forced himself downwards. He picked up speed and several seconds later he activated the first thrust of his ion powered jumper. Its quick ability to recharge and strong jets gave him a superior guidance over his motion with brief flickers of the engine enough to turn, tilt, or slow him. His path was right on the Strill's tail (literally). The two, man and beast, dodged debris as they got closer and closer to the hard ground.

Unlike the Mark Twos whose armor could be locked to withstand greater amounts of damage; Kix had to time this absolutely perfectly. The slightest second would cause the gravest of error and a clone shaped splat across the broken stone of the city below. Kix closed his eyes for a brief second and when they were reopened time seemed to slow. Adrenaline pumped through his chest, sending fire through the what felt like a body of ice. His mind focused, made ready by hours of training and real-world exercise. Kix was a Clone Warrior. Perfection was what he was made for. Seconds before he reached the ground, he threw all of his weight in one direction and with the help of his jetpack he found himself falling feet first. Half a second later he closed his eyes and gave a scream into the comms that was laced with insurmountable fear. He felt it, he expressed it, but he would not be ruled by it. Resolve stilled, war-cry ending, and strill screaming beside him he pumped all of the power he could into his jumper. His HUD went dim from the sheer power pressed in, his comms silenced, and he could feel the rubber under suit press tight to his skin as inertia squeezed him close in this death plunge. Then there was darkness as the G's pulled knocked him clean out.

Several seconds later, Kix would wake up to his Strill screaming at him on the ground. The clone clamoured to his feet, rough landings were always fun. He was just glad to live another day as he clutched his rifle to his chest and dropped a flare to indicate his companions to land.

(2/20)

 

[Deagan Hunt]

Location: Givin Domain - Yag’Dhul System
Objective: Figure out what’s going on
Allies: [member="Samael Rekali"]
[1/20]

The back of a coral hand would sweep across a crimson brow, wiping off the beads of sweat that formed there in the hustle. Cobalt blue eyes would peer with notable curiosity, a thick bushy brow arching at the peppered haired Rekali. A job was a job, that was a job, and this here job was slated to make the Zeltron a notable amount of credits for a blue milk run.

"What's that?" he asked, grabbing a rag to wipe at his hands. With a lackadaisical air and a cocky attitude to match, the scoundrel wore a winning smile as much as a cad like he could. Granted, being an empath certainly bode no goodwill when a planet full of folk were determined to flare into panic.

His easygoing smile would wane, an in its place formed a scowl on apprehension. "Looks like we got us some all fired up folk." he told Rekali, swearing under his breath. He gave a glance over at the older man.

"You sleep with Marak's wife again?" there came the sass, an attempt at quelling the situation with humor. It usually failed.

 

[Qyren Leret]

Location: Captial City - Fleeing
Allies: Not those metal things. [member="Aston Jacobs"]
Objective: Defend and survive
Post: 2/20

Qyren steadied a woman as she tottered amidst the throng and glanced around, aware that the sounds of combat filled the city, but none was close enough to be a real concern, none close enough to fuel the terror surging around her. It felt wrong.

With sharp eyes sweeping her surroundings, Qyren's steps slowed, allowing others to pass her by. She stumbled slightly as people shoved by her and so began gradually easing her way back to the edge of the crowd. Everyone was moving as one slightly disjointed body in the general direction of the space elevators. Sharp screams one street over reached her ears, and Qyren fell back further, eyes scanning possible avenues that would allow the creatures into their area. Her apprehension swelled, and then she heard the distinct sound of lightsaber combat from behind her. Even as she turned to look, a metallic voice echoed from the side street ahead.

"Voluntarily submit or be destroyed."

Qyren's head whipped back around. The screams from the panicked civilians were no longer distant; as the Twi'lek ran forward, forcing herself to put aside her own emotions and focus, she watched several people throw themselves prostrate, while others turned to run. She looped the corner blindly, blue blade flaring and deflecting the shots she had known were coming and preventing the vast majority from passing her. She didn't turn to watch the others run; the monsters seemed unimpressed and unsurprised by her sudden appearance and protection, and Qyren found herself deflecting more fire. After taking a moment to get a sense of their rhythm, Qyren began moving forward, blade moving smoothly through the patterns of Ataru, adjusting as her enemy adjusted. The deflected shots caused little damage to the robotic exoskeletons, but there were more dings every second. When she was within saber range, one stopped firing to lift an arm to strike out at her physically; it was the break she had been waiting for. Spinning away from the second monstrosity, her blade cut sharply up through its chassis, cutting a diagonal swath through the body. Her blade jerked back around for another deflection of incoming fire and followed it with two sharp, swift cuts: the first removing the other robot's hands from mid-forearm down and the second neatly decapitating it.

Qyren looked past the falling bodies to their suddenly attentive allies. In a split second, she acknowledged the three robots now converging on her and a handful of others herding a group of captive Givin in the same direction she had originally been going. As her muscles moved back into a dance of deflection, her mind registered not only what she needed to do in the close-combat situation, but also that she had been helping protect Givin who were running to their death. The space elevators didn't lead to salvation; only to the ships designed to harvest them. The question became which group to follow: the one she had originally intended to aid or the captives she had just seen.

The captives will be long gone by the time I can cut these down. Her eyes darted to and fro between them as she gave some ground to lure the invaders into the side street, cutting off as many avenues for new enemies to take shots at her as possible. Destroy engaged combatants; then, try to prevent anyone else from this street from going to the elevators.

The plan clicked into place. With a clever application of Force and acrobatics, Qyren darted forward, small pushes of her feet against the ground giving her increased speed, and she ducked under one robot's arms, cleaving through his legs as she passed. She turned on a dime and deflected a shot that was too close for comfort before neatly bisecting him and removing his ability to use his weapon. A bolt grazed her arm, and she brought the lightsaber back up into the steady movements of Ataru, breathing steadily and taking her time with the other enemies she had engaged. There was no need to overexert herself now; there would be a great deal of fighting to deal with later.

Never let the enemy cloud your judgement or your awareness. Never let them drive you.

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Location: Givin Domain - Yag’Dhul System[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6667px]Objective: Figure out what’s going on[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6667px]Allies: [member="Deagan Hunt"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6667px][2/20][/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]A big snort followed.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“I still maintain my old story, lad.” he’d scratch his chin wearily, trying to pierce the wall of the warehouse with his gaze, but failing miserably at that. “I slipped.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]And she was friendly enough to… catch him mid-flight, yes, [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]but it was pretty clear what they were doing right now - trying to make mock of a situation that was starting to itch, itch harder than his old, faulty knee and it didn’t feel good. Samael could say a lot of things, yet he couldn’t recall the last time that his knee was mistaken about something.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]His hand unconsciously went to the holster of his gun, giving the grip a rub for luck.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]They had brought the merchandise here as promised. Five minutes waiting and that was about five minutes too much: say what you want about Marak, but the guy never came too late to his appointments, really stringy type when it came to punctuality. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Samael furrowed his brows in thought, before sighing.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“Job’s a bust, Dee. Load it up, I will go around back, see we don’t get any company.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]If there was one lesson he had learned from years in this gig it was to know when to stay the course and when to bail on a job.[/SIZE]

 

[Eldaah Aderyn]

Location - Capital City
Objective - Watching the show
Allies - None
Enemies - None

"Surrender or be exterminated," a droid yelled as it and several others barged into the cafe. Stretching, she got out of her chair and started to walk towards the droids. The feed from her probe droids was showing a small group of being being led out of danger by she assumed were members of this new Jedi Order. Well, she felt it was time to examine these people up close.

"Stop, you will submit or die," the same droid said, leveling some sort of blaster at her.

"You're in my way," she said, her voice sounding cybernetic from behind her visor. "I don't care about the beings here, but I have other things to do with my day."

"Last chance!"

Sighing internally, she didn't even give the droid a response before her lightsaber was ignited and burning through the head of the offending droid. Pulling the red beam out, she casually deflected the attacks from the droids back at them, throwing two back out of the cafe's window with the Force. It was over in moments, and she was leaving broken droid bits behind her, the red beam disappearing.

Needing to get higher, she observed the area above her and smiled behind her mask. Using the Force, she jumped from handhold to handhold until she was standing on the roofs of the nearby buildings and she started walking towards where one of her droids was hovering over a woman using Ataru ([member="Qyren Leret"]) to dismantle droids pursuing her, a few Givin, and another young Jedi ([member="Aston Jacobs"]). Crouching on a rooftop that overlooked them and their path out of the danger, she would wait and watch what they would do before coming down to meet and greet.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Space via planetside
Objective: B
Allies: GA
Post Count: [1/20]

If there was one thing Canal has never done in his military career was the fact of being sent on a full-scale invasion with the enemy outnumbering him and his allies. During his service to the Protectorate and the Confederacy they would send in a reasonable amount of troops, due to the intel of reconnaissance, to match or outnumber the troops of their opponent. Then again, he had to acknowledge the fact that those two government were in their prime, and the Alliance was a new galactic power still not reaching that state. They had little research facilities which produced little of technology and that can be said for their navy and military. The clone knew that the heads of the Galactic Alliance didn't purposely sent this unit against this force, and if they did they knew, with the aid of common sense, that this was a suicide mission.

But it didn't matter that this was suicide or not, nor was the time to have officers meet and devise a strategy. They needed to act right now and choose the only two options available to them. They could either retreat with no bravery in their hearts, or they could fight with valor in their spirits. If someone knew Canal really well, other than his scattered brethren, then they would know that this soldier would still give a fight despite the odds against him There had to be a fight, there always was a fight. It was in his blood after all.

Giving a glare and a snarl to the force they were up against the Fett Clone put his helmet on his head and turned around, facing his back to the dozens of vessels. By estimating the given ships the scanners picked up they were outnumbered by 2:1, but he believed that they had a chance. The cowards of the Architect would surely use every cannon without hesitation, and they would keep on firing until every soul was perished. They were droids and no should be surprised of their nature. One of the three vessels he was on rocked and shook. After losing balance and running into the walls Canal finally arrived at the hangar where dropships were waiting to be loaded up at the deck. His DC-17m was in his hands, and two DC-17 pistols were in their respective holsters. As soon as the dropship was full the pilot then ascended from the durasteel floor and flew out into the void of space. "Remember, men: no retreat, no surrender. We give them every shot that we got," the soldier said to the troopers in his dropship and other nearby dropships via commlink. He couldn't do anything right now, but hope. Hope that they wouldn't blown out of space.