Invasion Heirs to the Empire | NIO invasion of TSE held Serenno and Ord Radama

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

OPERATION WINTERVOID
TASKFORCE REGENT FORCE
NIV TREGESSSAR
Allies: Arcturus Tal | Gunnar Madine | Fiolette Fortan | Naier Rambeigh
Enemies: Jaeger Harrsk | Zeradias Mant | Gallius Orcana | Sith Dominance | Thaelius | Melia Siari

​

Rausgeber watched as the Sith began to bombard their own city. Perhaps things on the ground were a success. Although now such ventures were all but jeopardised. It had been the first time Carlyle had come face to face properly with such atrocity and damnation. "Set Admiral Freye, full speed to attack." Carlyle commanded, "We can't all the city to be destroyed. Too much has been sacrificed as is to be able to-" And then the airlock hissed. Carlyle turned back to see Jaeger Harrsk frogmarched through by two squadrons of his Stossjaeger. Excellent. A risible smile came over his features. "Order an attack at his earliest convenience, and target the primary autocannons of their largest vessel." There was a nod from the command deck as the crew moved to embark on his command.

"So, the whore and the traitor, arrive in my domain." Carlyle smarmily drawled, "I don't know what got into you Harrsk, or how deep COMPNOR's tendrils dig into the navy, but what you did today is inexcusable. Jeopardising a mission like this with your... Ego." Carlyle glowered, he gave one of the Stossjaeger a nod. A swift rifle butt was slammed into the back of the mans head, sending him sprawling to the ground, followed by the same soldier, hauling him up by the scruff of his neck. "You're a dirty traitor Harrsk. One who has for too long usurped proper procedure and flirted consequence. You should have left my guest," He gazed at Mant, "To me. Left Mant to me. But instead, you have sought to undermine me. Sabotage my vessel and cause countless deaths as a result. And now you will pay."

"Grand Admiral," Brigadier Buell snapped, "Sir, confirmation from units below, Iron Imperial commandos have breached the lower base of the command bridge!" Carlyle grimaced, and turned to the Stossjaeger, he gave a nod to the squad of troopers, who began to back away from the door. Hauling Jaeger to his feet, and pulling him back, rifles to his back.

"Rifle!" Carlyle barked, one of the Stossjaeger tossed the Grand Admiral his rifle, before the Stossjaeger drew his pistol. Carlyle then leaned over, and pulled Mant's daughter by her arm, to his grip. Pointing the barrel of a WV-864 Maser Rifle into her back, "Do not divert from your posts, stay in position!" Carlyle snapped as Zeradias Mant entered. "Admiral," Carlyle offered with a warm accommodating smile, "I would welcome you aboard, but you already seem to have made yourself a home here." He then chortled, "Like father, like daughter, no?"

"I understand Admiral that you may want your daughter back. I sympathise greatly with that." Carlyle added, eyeing the man and his escorts warily. The Stossjaeger had their weapons primed and aimed at Mant and his escorts. As were they conversely aimed back at them. A stand off. "But as it sits presently Admiral, your daughter impeded on an active military operation, and deserves," He dug the barrel into her back, "To serve the sentence as an armed combatant for that." The Grand Admiral offered, "But you, you also certainly deserve to have that, given you are now arguably in compliance with the current Sith genocide of Serenno. But that's an aside."

Carlyle paused, "I think enough of both of our people here, have died today Mant. There has been a great deal of bloodshed. And you have fought honourably. Well, at least somewhat, this..." He pulled the rifle barrel from his daughters back and waved it over him, "This is rather unsporting." He licked his lips, "But, I dare say Admiral, should you withdraw your forces, you would have my word as both an officer and gentleman that I would merely interrogate your daughter as to strategic information she holds regarding the Sith Imperial armada, and that I would perhaps be willing to... Expedite any holding within a New Imperial camp."

"Now, I can-" And that's when he saw him. That smug, perfidious, wanker. Orcana. Bursting onto his bridge. With some sort of smarmy grin on his face. That bastard. That arrogant prick. After all he had done, he had the gall to just....Carlyle turned a deep shade of red. He pointed the maser rifle squarely at Orcana's chest, and pulled the trigger. The butt of the rifle dug against Rausgeber's hip, and was painful, pushing him back, while his grip on the junior Mant tightened considerably as round after round was fired squarely at Orcana's chest. Satisified, and with half a clip gone, Carlyle stuck the rifle back against the woman's spine.

"Apologies. For that. Quite a uh... Temper I have."

 

[Willan Tal]

L O R D P R O T E C T OR
Major-General Willan Tal
1st Galidraani volunteers armoured infantry division
1st brigade 'fighting first.'
SERENNO
tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Enedina Tal Arcturus Tal RIP Carlyle Rausgeber Konrad Bolter Fiolette Fortan Darth Strosius

The dust and fire grew ever more intense as the Sith bombed indiscriminately, levelling entire blocks and segments of the city into nothing more than maze-like piles of rubble and jutted remains of structures. It was a nightmare for any attacker but a paradise for the defender if they were prepared, but in this madness, it seemed that the bombing hit both sides and the city's civilians. Tal increasingly questioned the validity of it all being part of the Sith commands increasingly harebrained schemes in the war, and it had all the hallmarks of a loose cannon's work. Maybe a wronged Sith lord pulled the trigger? or someone so crazy and insane that they'd kill their own people to cause damage to the Imperials. The streets he walked were empty save for the occasional Sith soldier stray or gaggles of wounded civilians fleeing. Still, all things considered, one supposed that his crippled state, urban bombardment and stray sith soldiers were the least of his problems. What he struggled with the most was the reality that just as it was at Ziost, he'd consigned many of his men to the grave by the constant brutal urban warfare that had dictated much of the campaign so far. However, it had to be said that for all their losses, the Galidraanis made up for it in numbers and the increasing amount of support from the diaspora and homeworld. A core tenet of revolutionary warfare was the belief that one could lose many battles. However, as long as one cause was unwavering and their army still standing, Imperial Galidraan would always live on until the day came when Galidraans sons struggle would bear fruit and Galidraan would be there's once more.

Willan had often asked himself which was more important, his families honour or the Galidraani cause. Both seemed interlinked and symbiotic, for, in his life, one could not survive without the other, and now his destiny seemed chained to the legacy of Galidraan more than ever. Such was the burden wrought upon oneself in times of a nation's peril in history. The precipice of Galidraans future rested on the shoulders of the men and women of the exiled forces, and by their hands, the future would be shaped in their image and in their blood. He stopped momentarily in his tracks, ahead in the confusing dust veiled clouds a vague pair of shapes. Willan moved a step closer cautiously with his blaster pistol in his free hand. Tal lifted his gun and fired a solitary shot through the dust, hitting the soldier, pointing his gun down at the figure and sending him crumbling to the floor.

Enedina.

All semblance of caution broke, and he ran over to her side, frantically checking for her pulse and any slight sign of faint life. In that fleeting moment, his world of war had come crumbling down to the pair of them in a ruined street: Commander and soldier, father and daughter. Holding back all tears and rage, he moved her with his free hand, desperate for some kind of signal. And in that moment of despair, his child moved, albeit in agony as she rolled on her back and coughed blood. Willan exhaled in relief, pulling his commlink out as he kept his eyes trained on the street ahead, watching for any more Sith.


<<"Major General Tal to Commodore Tal, requesting a medevac, we have wounded and many in need of urgent attention over.">>​

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST XI
THE_STORMCHASER

1ST EXILED-GALIDRAANI DIVISION
2ND GALIDRAANI ARMOURED-VOLUNTEER BRIGADE,"BLUE-HEART BRIGADE"

OBJECTIVE 2: The Danger In Starting A Fire

ALLIES (NIO/GA): The Blood-Red Lion Banner of Galidraan - Konrad Bolter Willan Tal Enedina Tal
New Imperial Order - Silas Sunfyre DT-0800 Halketh
Djorn Bline Tavius Muuaji Sinestra Rika Hiro
Galactic Alliance/Other - Vexander Graves Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt Viers Connory

ENEMIES (TSE/CIS): Darth Strosius UX-0626 Kimora Min
Laertia Io Syd Celsius Alina Tremiru The Amalgam

CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART ALPHA

Primary - Custom Blaster-Pistol (Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw)
Secondary - Basket-Hilted Vibro-Claymore (Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding)
Last Ditch/Second-Blade - Fairbairn Vibroknife Fighting-Dagger (Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding)
Pocket-Weapon - Gifted Brass-Knuckles from the Guv'Nah (Both Trouser-Pockets - akimbo wielding)

The Fight For Carannia: Part 21 - The "Fresh" Air I

<"Yoo hooooo...">
That diluted Coruscant accent again.... Karkery expected then.

As soon as the Carrack could catch a whiff of the world above the underground, complaints aplenty were hurled into the crater-filled boulevard around him before the loader was forced to adopt the breathing-mask helm at his feet for the first time in his entire fifteen minutes as an LMG-gunner. The pallid landscape would offer no reprieve of any sort, but the NIO had to fight their way through it to attain victory, and their mission was clear; to stab, club, shoot and detonate every enemy in sight, and to push forward with every last ounce of strength they had left. Whether they were down to less than half of their troop-numbers or fewer, it didn't matter to anyone on the ground; the Commonwealth line was still holding, and once again making to tighten their encircling noose around the inner-city as the Blood-Red Lion banner flew in defiance once more, a sight that brought courage to the newly-anointed, bloodied soldiers as much as it did to the hardened veterans goading their subordinates onwards.

<"You didn't really think I was done with you, did you, Captain Cladhan? I have a proposal. Why don't you just call it a day and feth off? I mean, what are you conquering? A blast pit?">

Even as the Amalgam was speaking over all the NIO's local comm-channels, (having hacked in by her usually obscure means to wreak havoc one last time) all the New-Imperial contingents on the ground, from east to west, would either charge on their equally-weakened foes, or aim their fury at the skies above. The chaos that followed the Brigadier-General's grand speech, and all the damage his colleagues were inflicting with everything they had at their disposal, was nothing short of miraculous; even Lord-Captain Gowrie's comm-link appeared to be doing most of the Commonwealth center's rallying and morale-raising efforts, pushing forward with every friendly vehicle he could get his hands on, and completely unaware he'd soon be taking control for the rest of the invasion of Serenno.

<"Really, all this rebellion from you folks.">
Rebellion? I think we've gone several leagues beyond that now, Amalgam. Don't you?

For the audacity of hurling everything at Bastion, Helgard had been brought to avalanching ruin by the NIO, and from there, the battles for Generis, Ziost and Serenno were all a long series of proofs on a scale that couldn't honestly be attributed to mere rebels. For all who were wise enough to see it, this would be one of the Sith Empire's final wars for survival in the galaxy, and the writing had been on the wall for the Sith-Imperials since they'd lost their first star-systems to the Imperator's iron wrath; all it took was one symbolic (or strategic) victory, one avalanche of destruction on any given planet within Sith-Imperial space, and the Zambranos would be set back by decades in their consequent attempts to retake and recolonize what they had destroyed in losing to their New-Imperial foes, setbacks the Sith Empire could ill-afford at that point in the war's already-extensive timeline.

<"All this effort to conquer us...have you not watched your soldiers bleed enough?">

This last one made Barran laugh a sudden wheezing giggle, replying to no-one in particular,'For one day, aye. It's splattered all over the place in here! Karkin' hell, we are one-hundred percent cleaning this ACV before we even dream o' gettin' back on oor dropships, lads. You've even smeared it oan the ceiling, ya dafties!', in an effective attempt to boost morale and incite laughter all-round, then causing the vehicle to briefly stop as a result. In the Saga's attempt to catch up with Gowrie's aggressive advance northwards, nothing could possibly hinder the collective push into the inner-city districts of Carannia; however, it wouldn't stop the Lord-Commander's rivals from trying, especially not someone as wicked as the Amalgam, though she had numerous rivals in that regard too.

<"Either way, Barran, there's no way you leave here without suffering more at my hands...there's no way your soldiers leave here except with horror in their hearts...">

Stripping Lord Erskine of all his joy, and all the mirth he had when he joined the crewmen in laughing at the state of the Saga's interior, all that wheezing hilarity died in his heart; the mind was being invaded by an external intellect, a spell was being cast on the Lord-Commander at a point that had come all too late for the Sith-Imperial armies on the ground, though a spell that would still end in a sore jaw for Barran nonetheless for what it was about to make him say out of confusion alone. All his insight was being turned against him, like he couldn't focus on any given augmentation or support methods that could help Gowrie in his already-successful rampage against the Sith-Imperial contingents in his path. It wouldn't matter, not with another Laird still in play, but the Brigadier-General was just moments away from being detained by his subordinates for all it was doing to the inner-Stormchaser's ability to coordinate the other Blue-Heart units in the area.

'I recognize this type of mind-intrusion, lads. Yees were taught about Hast on Archais after all, an' that same exact feeling has me urging t'halt the formation- or even to pull us back to- Oh, no!', Lord Erskine began, stopped in his own tracks by the realization that he wasn't acting like his usual, decisive self. What compounded his worries was the fact that everyone within Barran's ACV, regardless of what condition they were in at the time, was neglecting their duties to oversee one that was ultimately more important than catching up with the others; The Brigadier-General had a feeling he knew what was coming next, as it had been his own idea to teach the recruits how to handle such situations decades before they established their base-of-operations on Archais, and he knew it was going to hurt.

'Murdo.... Like we discussed,"One horrible deviation from his usual self, just one-", remember?

With an audible sigh, even over the thudding auditory hell that roared over itself to be heard over the explosive crashing noises around it, the comm-link operator that Barran had been annoying all day with his wild goose-chase antics, could be heard exhaling with begrudging acquiescence before grumbling,'Milord, before I proceed, I apologise wholeheartedly for this'. Grabbing Barran by both sides of his officer's jacket collar, Murdoch paused for a moment, inhaling deep for another long, loud sigh of reluctance in adhering to Brigade-Law; exhaling with head shaking side to side disapprovingly, everyone knew what was coming next, and none relished seeing it being inflicted on their Brigadier-General of all people. As he turned his gaze back to Lord Erskine, Murdoch was still shaking his head when he leaned back with jaw clenched, readying and lining up his lawful (though still brutish to dangerous degrees) subduing-headbutt as he growled,'Obsolete PMC-era doctrine, but we're still trained to enforce it. A good ol' Westcape-kiss, as suggested in training.', through his teeth.

'No worries, Murdo. You're quick t'forget it was my idea for that part of the old doctrine to remain, so get on with-'

Before he had any time to finish or prepare for what was headed his way, the Brigadier-General's chin was hit with enough force by his crewman's forehead that he was knocked out instantly, blacking out to the dying city around him as Murdoch took control of the situation in his absence. With little more than blunt-force trauma, the Lord-Commander of the Galidraani Free State's Blue-Heart Brigade was sent to the land of nod with the painful white flash of harsh military doctrine, rendered unconscious by a thrice-debated alternative to pistol-whipping and shunting with the stocks of their rifles.

The Fight For Carannia: Part 22 - The "Fresh" Air II

<"Copy that, Murdoch! Good work, though I doubt our Lord-Commander or our Lord-Protector will appreciate this old doctrine after today. Regardless, I'd like to state for the record that you've obviously acquitted yourself well here; an' since you were first assigned to the Saga, not kidding.... Actions like yours often reek of promotion-potential, take it from one who knows what that smells and feels like. An' cheers for sendin' o'er the map-holographic data, by the way. This helps me act like Barran in Barran's absence, an' in ways you'll come to understand with on-the-ground experience, an' the proper training! But for now, just remember to keep rallying our stragglers for the last stretch, Murdo! Keep throwing them northwards with rage, an' pride in their hearts! You know what needs to be done, Corporal! Blue-Heart Bravo out!">

Having stuck to rule of Brigade-Law, (though the reluctance was kindly looked on in the majority's hindsight) Corporal Murdoch was in no danger of being taken off the career track, and certainly not with the likes of Lord Erskine and Lord Aron in charge of the Blue-Hearts, but there was still a cloying sense that he'd gone a little too far, though only for as long as Barran remained unconscious in his seat by the comm-link unit. When he returned to the land of the living, to a collective outcry of relief and ragged curses under their breaths that still mirrored the same relieved sentiments, Lord Erskine would quickly notice that he was cuffed to the map-holographics desk by both his wrists and his ankles and exclaim,'Point made, lads! Now uncuff mah feet before yees get the same heidbutt ah got! We need to turn back, before it's too late!'

'Shut it, Walkabout! An' in case ye haven't noticed yet, we're winning by a landslide on the ground again! Naebody's turning back naewhere the-day! We go forward, Milord. "Only forward!", as our revered Imperator says. That Amalgam's gotten inside yer dome, an' it seems that no even a Westcape kiss t'the jaw can fix it! An' if that's so, you're no gettin' nae access t'the comm-link unit until we find something that does fix it. You've gone aff yer rocker, so that table's gawnty function as yer strait-jacket for the rest of the op! Am I making myself perfectly clear, Milord? Shut it, or the next heid-butt goes behind yer ear!'

<"Archer to Saga Actual! That's fethed, like beyond fethed! But here, you can pass the word to the Tuath Captain instead.... TIE presence severely depleted, most are either crashing in suicide attacks, or they're being shredded up by our bout of return-fire there. Last of the homing-missile reserves are spent, we're pushing forward with everyone else we find along the way!">

'Recorded - and sent direct to Gowrie's datapad, QM One! Throw everything you have left at these freaks, an' lets be done with this cursed city before the darkness really sets in! Saga Actual out!'

With no other choice, Barran silently turned his gaze to the top-down view of the Commonwealth static-line, and found himself surprised at how well the ground forces were faring across the board. Hell's Hammers giving surprisingly-aggressive trouble to the seemingly-disarrayed Sith-Imperials in the west, the Fighting First doing all they could to press forward with depleted forces of their own, but still somehow prevailing against all odds; and Blue-Heart Brigade, where all the wildest fighting was breaking out in the Sith-Imperial center, made all the more intense with the inner-city's defenders fixating on pushing back the New Order's advance there. With all the numbers and firepower that was being thrown at the ground-assault in general, the Lord-Commander couldn't help but stare in wide-eyed awe at the true power of a Gowrie-led counterattack, watching their opponents' 2/1 numerical advantage being negated by nought but stalwart fanaticism and murderous rage.

'How'd he- wait a minute.... Murdo, MURDO!!! You need t'see this with your own eyes t'believe it, look! LOOK, MAN!!!'

Two TIE-fighters with no ammunition left in their reserves, though still aggressive in their actions and intentions, crashed into the cratered grounds around them in a vainglorious attempt to ram into the the topside of the Brigadier-General's moving ACV, though the loader's timely warning from the LMG nest would ensure their survival as the push onwards continued. The thuds that shook the Saga's suspension from below were felt with a bracing discomfort, though the TIE pairing had perished without so much as scoring a shrapnel or debris-hit on Lord Erskine's new pride and joy, saved by the crumbling telegraph tower that skewed the last stages of the pilots' suicidal descents towards his roving relic's already-damaged topside. Despite the increasing risks, the ACV kept moving forward, just as their Imperator would wish to see in such moments, and Murdoch's eyes would never leave the map-holographics display throughout this explosive last encounter with the threat in the skies.

Not even so much as stirring when the TIEs crashed around them, it was obvious to those bearing witness that Murdoch was going through something of a breakthrough of his own, sitting deathly silent as the red and purple enemy-blips began to vanish more quickly than before; according to the displayed icons of both friendly and opposing callsigns, Gowrie had somehow pushed hard enough in his advance that a mass Sith-Imperial rout had begun to take place, and to Barran's further amazement, the Laird of the Tuaths wasn't resting on his laurels. The only avenue of escape had been taken by the fleeing Sith-Imperials, just as all in pursuit had expected, but there would be no need to surround them by then; the New Order's enemies were all moving much too slowly on foot to outrun the mechanised menaces biting at their heels, so a vast majority of the Sith-Imperial losses were fatal shots in their backs from fewer than fifty-metres behind them.

'So, as ye were saying.... Whit? You know indecisiveness will never fully negate the Blue-Hearts' chain o' command, or their adaptability for that matter. Did your Amalgam-episode make you somehow forget this glaring detail? Discipline, motivation, cunning.... And an unbreakable fighting-spirit, as reminded by a Commoner Corporal to the very man who taught us this winning-formula in the first place! Whit Woad relies on gadgets, or parlour-tricks? Whit Tuath needs the karking Force when all we need is already here, howling like the archetypal Wolf from within? Saor gu Woad-Macushla, Milord! Time t'snap into action again, like you're supposed to!'

By the time the late-arriving APCs, Cataphracts and ATs had caught up with the quicker-moving infantry and mechanised units, the red mist had fully descended over their blood-lusting colleagues, but it didn't stop the smoothbores, repulsor cannons or LMGs from joining in to greatly intensify the slaughter in the fleeing center of the Sith-Imperial line. The devastation the mechanised ordnance inflicted would be a grisly affair, turning the last Sith-Imperials' fleeing remnants in the center into mush, or scattering them to the winds as pink mist as the red mist descended over the new arrivals among their killers also. What happened next was unexpected, even for lucid-Erskine's standards; the destruction in the center began to shake the Sith-Imperials in the east and west like a domino effect, giving up good positions to the collective New-Imperial advance out of fear of losing what they had left; the most obvious sign of this could be seen in the east, as the Fighting First were pushing forward with a renewed ferocity that was beginning to make Gowrie's efforts look like child's play.

'If you think our work was gnarly o'er here, you really don't want to know what's going on o'er there.'

Something in particular had set them off, and all the fathers in the Commonwealth line's center and western segments knew there was only one thing that could make the Lord-Protector turn nuclear with his legendary Fighting First in such a way, and the look on Erskine's face (before his head hit the table in dismay) told Murdo and the wounded Tuath all they needed to know of what may have happened on the east flank. A moment of silence cast itself over the Saga's crew, giving way for the ambience of death and destruction outside as heads hung low for a silent prayer for Lord Willan's, and consequently Lady Enedina's salvation from their darkest crucibles yet.
​

​

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: Estate of House Terassi
Objective IV.: Save the House Terassi
Equipment: The Soulsabers (hidden) | Kaldrweave Elegant dress | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: Hans Rennagen

[ Never meant to belong... ] ​

Never show weakness!

One of the first sentences she heard from her parents; one of the first she remembers. The sentence that burned into her mind forever, the sentence that largely defined her life. For a woman, it was infinite trust to show someone her weakness. There weren't many people like that. In addition to her family, a single hand would have been enough to count. She didn't show any weakness now, though it hurt, it hurt a lot.

If they see a weakness in you, you are dead!

In the same way, ever since the damn minute; she wanted to cry, shout, curse someone. Ingrid could not afford this luxury. Especially not in front of the NIO people. She did it once, when Adrian died, but it was an infinitely extreme situation at the time. The red-haired woman was now trying to suppress her pain not only instinctively but also with will. So slowly all this disappeared from the Force, the confusion in her aura disappeared, from this she felt the same pain, but others no longer.

They are circling over you like vultures, waiting to strike you as soon as they see weakness!

One click, then another. The man said nothing more. It wasn’t the first time she had handcuffs on her, but it was the first time she could break free with a thought. A thought and handcuffs fall from her hands. No, not because of the Force; only the woman was no longer a human and the immaterial state was natural to her.

Always act the way you want them to see you! What is expected of you!

And she was the Empress, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Fleet of the Eternal Empire. A model for the citizens of the Eternal Empire; because of her character and pattern of behavior, she is ideal for the whole empire. The strong, determined, emotionless woman. That's what Kainan Wolfe said about her; Hanna and others consider her the best and deadliest assassin of the Unknown Empire along with Scherezade deWinter . She could not show weakness, even if she walks to death.

Never show weakness!

With her telepathy, she reached out to her son, making sure she was okay. The next moment, the Empress felt someone hugging her waist while walking. She didn't know which knight had done this, but when she looked there it was Adrian. It all felt like she had been hit hard in the stomach. Adrian was like reality now, hallucinations hadn't been like that before. Absolutely not. Would anyone have had fun with her?

If they see a weakness in you, you are dead!

No, she won't cry. Every move, until the last one, was like him. She could feel the Sith Lord’s scent, the warmth of his body as it scorched her through the dress as the man touched him. Ingrid's surprised look he smirked and his voice was slightly amused as he spoke:

"Doing our best to catch you off guard, are we?"

She was unable to answer, just looked at her husband for a few moments, shook her head, waiting for him to disappear again, but he didn’t. The hallucination didn’t go away, he stayed there, torturing her further for the time being, because here she couldn’t show any sign that he could see him or anything like that. She had to stay strong while…

She didn’t want this war. She never wants this war…


OOC: Last post.
And Adrian is not real ofc, just a hallucination, and with AMCO 's permission, the hallucination became permanent. The nervous breakdown is not pleasant.

 

[Rurik Fel]

M A N _ O F _ I R O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LORD EXECUTOR
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber

BEYOND THE REALMS OF DEATH
​

The ouroboros that sourced from Vaapad had come to lash back at him, fueled only by the darkness within himself before the serpent broke the cycle and latched to its throat. Hungry, yearning to implant his venom. The attempts to sate the compulsive yearning for revenge wrought to the forefront of his mind again. He sought to press forward once more. The leadership of the House of Dooku was not far...he would end them. The Black Knight and her host had proven to wield distorted, unnatural powers. Perhaps, if he was a more selfish man he'd sick his knights unto her so he might get the get the glory of the final kill.

He relented, he'd witnessed the brutality she was capable of first hand. The darkness lied in intent and she was buried deep in it. But she managed to play a sickening game. To distort and deceive The Force. It was...horrid to witness and it unraveled the doctrines and stratagems which Rurik had embedded in place to combat the Sith. To lash their own reliance on the Darkness against them, wither them down and break any notion of initiative or advantage as he sought to disrupt, throw them from their place of command and with violence of action.

End them.

Now, he stood, finding himself swelling with the Darkness that he sought to parasitically utilize against Laertia Io and in its stead, he found himself all but infected by this 'virus' and she'd led him immediately siphoned him down into the corridors of darkness herself and sought to spring this trap.

A flare of light. Whether Rurik Fel was a vessel of light or darkness...ambigious. He sought the existential death of the darkness...but there was no price too costly to pay toward this aim. Thus, it made the means to his intent murky within the bounds of common morality. The toll Rurik had compounded was a debt he'd never pay forward. The only question was who would be the judge, the Ashla and Bogan...or what awaited him in this mortal plane.

With the darkness within swelling from the Form of the Vornskr, the flare of light conjured by Laertia could make purchase into Rurik's form. Pain struck him. It was a violent envelopment, comparable to Kascalion Giedfield 's own fatalistic fury brought by his hands. It latched unto it and attacked his form wrought in the darkness of the Twilight, burrowing into his very soul beneath, his organic hand rose to disway the blinding light before he set his hand on the wall of the corridor. He sought the weakest point within the surrounding structure around him...only to uncover the very history it told.

History...he lived.

My hands are bloodied.

As his mortal body writhed in its fight against an internalized darkness and light, he was all but removed from the struggle, removed from time as he stood idly in now what seemed to be pristine halls.

A man he did not recognize clutching a bundle. Within, an infant boy, budding locks revealing a silver streak through the brown hair.

The memory faded once more, only to advance decades further. Two men stood before the other. One donned in noble regalia, the other in crimson plate.

"And what of the boy, Fel?"

"Rurik?" He'd been a ward of House Dooku to this point, his truest origins kept a secret to all within the halls of Carannia.

"He bares their mark, if the Sith find him...they will want him dead."

"Then they can have him, I will not risk my kingdom over a bastard boy."

"Surely he could be concealed, no?"

"They know he lives...if we hide him and they discover this? The reign of this family comes to an end. I will not take that risk. As soon as the Sith arrive in Carannia, find Fel and hand him over."

"Yes, Count." The moment of betrayal. The memory faded only to advance once more.

Not but decades prior, he walked down this very hall. The corridor lights dimmed, the Palace of Dooku otherwise pristine. At his flank, the very same man opposite of Dooku, still in his crimson. Rurik was at his side, his young, bewildered eyes wrought with fear, weariness.

"Will I ever be able to come back?" He asked, a boy at the eve of adulthood by now.

"No- not while the Sith rule this world." The doors opened to reveal the hangar bay, a lone freighter awaited him. The company marks were...ambiguous. A ride off world.

"You're headed to Coruscant...you'll be trained by the Jedi there...there is no other path open to you. I am sorry, Rurik. Sorry that I could not protect you...I thought they would do right by their kin...I was wrong. In the Core, you will go by the name you go by now, Rurik Wymar. More than likely...you will never see us again, do you understand?"

"Yes..." There was no other words for him. The man offered Rurik an embrace before soon enough, he was alone as he'd ever felt. A single soul isolated in a vast galaxy...and endless universe. He tread forward, the boarding ramp of the freight opened with a metallic, hydraulic hiss. Rurik took a single step unto the metal before turning toward the man.

Alistair Malvern-Dooku.

"Thank you." The last words he'd said to one of the two men who'd given Rurik a second chance. Salvation from a damned orgin.

He turned and he faced the other. A man stood in a brown cloak, a hood shrouded his gaze before he slowly let it down to reveal himself.

"Rurik, I am Vyrin Karis. I am here to take to you to Coruscant, come aboard. We have a great deal to speak of."

The ramp closed and that was the last he'd seen of Serenno. Home? In a warped way, it was. It offered the venue to his earliest, dogged days of his life. It gave him his family which was very surely and swiftly ripped away. Something he'd never well and truly recovered from. Within the Jedi of the Galactic Alliance, he'd felt only a feint in the cure of his isolation. Vyrin was an older brother, a mentor to him just as the other Jedi were comrades and peers.

But there was no renewed purpose...until the New Imperial Order. A man who'd walked his path alone soon had all but a brood in argent his own to raise up, to impart the lessons taught and unlearned of his youth and perilous upbringing. To make the perfect warriors, who would fight for a just Galaxy.

And in that moment he remembered what awaited him in the present, what he forsook in miring his thoughts in the past. He'd awoken, his armor endured but his form was still under the dire torture of the flare.

But within this skin, he was the Man of Iron. He was not the scared boy, the burned man. He was unbreakable. With his grip inlaid in the already faltering structure her sought to shatter the corridor around him, burying the space behind him under marble and metal as he surged ahead once more down the corridor, to escape the Black Knight's wrath further...and to seal the past away forever.

To find solace in his vengeance.

I feel nothing more.

He heaved and clawed for each and every heavy breath he took into his lunges, his grasp of the Force all but expended in this costly moments. Both in the compulsive need to dampen the pain but to will his escape. He continued down the hall, a once uninterupted, indomitable and foreboding march came staggered, injured. The lifeblood seeped from the Iron Skin, wrought by each knick and cut that managed to make purchase in his tortured flesh and seeped from around the cauterized flesh. He clutched the disengaged argent blade close to his heart as he advanced.

The entrance way to the hangar bay was close. He continued this dogged advance.

The door refused to open at his approach, he set a hand aimlessly on the panel before slamming his gauntleted fist against it. He then concentrated on the mechanics within before ripping the door out and open, each moving half splayed open to reveal the fruits awaiting him.

A noble shuttle sat, going through the meticulous process of preparing for take off. Around it, the knights of Serenno stood to protect the vessel and at the approach of the wayward son, the Bastard of Fel, their crimson blades came alight, half a dozen of them charging the Lord Executor.

His eyes narrowed. He struggled for each step, for life. But he walked the path of defiance...and they would see his reckoning.

He lifted his grip of flesh into the air, willing one of the knights toward him in a vicious pull before he thrust the argent blade through his abdomen, kicking him down with a strained heave of breath. The next then met blades, argent and crimson. They partook in a dervish of the swords before Rurik was able to snake his way into the advantage and swipe the silver blade across his neck.

There was not a moment's reprieve before a crimson blade dug into his right shoulder, drawing a groan of pain through gritted teeth from Fel who snapped in its direction, swiping the argent sword once, twice and head tumbled unto the metal flooring beneath with a low thud.

The next came as three. He rose to meet another blade with his, only to find the cybernetic limb once in place, gone in an instant, he went low to take up the blade in his sole remaining hand, not skipping a pace.

He saw the ion engines burn to life ahead of him and he offered another cry of angered defiance as another crimson blade lashed against his abdomen. He buried his iron shoulder into another to send him into the floor beneath, impaling him on the argent blade as the blood red saber of another knight bared into the back of his cuirass.

Each passing moment sustained purely from the adrenaline within, the will to endure.

He saw the shuttle lift from the hangar bay's surface, the landing gear pulling into the chassis of the vessel.

"No!" Rurik shouted, the vitriolic anger visible in his tone. The darkness. The flare punished his willingness to indulge it with another shock of pain surging through his tortured form in the afterwind of its effects. The terentaek composite cloak trembled from his form.

Another knight lunged toward him, he managed to lop off the arm clutching the weapon as he slowly continued his approach toward the ship, letting his saber fall to the ground with a clatter as the argent ignition faded he willed his arm out to capture the shuttle in his grip. He managed it for a moment before another crimson blade plunged into his back. He offered up a grunt of searing pain once more as he collapsed unto his knees, the last sight seeing the parasite, the rat and those who'd scurried with him leaving Serenno as Rurik did years before. A cruel and ironic twist of fates that choked the last will to grasp ahold of consciousness from Rurik.

His vision went into that foreboding and uncertain vantablack.

ALLIES | NIO | Lucien Dooku | Hans Rennagen | Kainan | Dorian Sicarrio | Dorin Nalju | Lilith Dooku | Adron Malvern | Tiadu
ENEMIES | TSE | Grand Moff Decimus | Laertia Io |OPEN TO DISTRIBUTE TURBO

​

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

T H E _ W O L F
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
104th MARINE BATTALION 'WOLFPACK'
Jedi Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Blade of Ruusan
Loske Treicolt | CLOSED

SWEET BURNING MELANCHOLIA
​

He knew the pieces fit. He only had to place them back together. In this pain, the fear, the tortured memory. There was that growing bond coming resurgent once more. Each passing moment in this enduring struggle, he was able to peel more and more of that darkness back. Shursia raged and gnawed at defiance, making due on the allegory it subjected Treicolt too but moments prior. Its inevitable end was evident now and just like the lone wolf pressed into its corner, it continued to gnaw and lash in a rage at the coming of the dusk.

He had to be the light that shone it all away. He couldn't. Alone, there was no manifesting what was required to seal the coup de grace. As Shursia continued to rip and lash its sinewy black talons into Maynard's flesh, it was clear that the parasite's death would not come to its own fruition without sealing the same fate as its host, manifesting that suicidal bond. The only certainty anymore...death.

You know what you have to do, Maynard. In spite of its idle state, it willed its sentiment to Maynard.

The path was clear, the answer in the vision wrought forth by Loske grasping the tether that linked them to one another, that ever present ethereal bond. Snapped and broken on Ziost, they'd cast the line for one another again. He could feel that presence growing stronger. Not as strong as it was before. When she'd offer that smile, laughter, sweet blue eyes. Any time he'd looked at her, all the weight of the Galaxy, the crushing obligation, the darkness of a perilous past. None of it mattered with her. He needed her back.

At the precipice of acting on that aim, so too did he risk ripping away what meaning he had left in life. Trudging this muddied path with bloodied hands only to collapse fruitless at the end.

But she reaffirmed Ruusan's sentiment.

Don’t let go. Trust me.

He couldn't will anything back to her.

They'd talk again on the other side.

He reached his left hand, flesh and bone to grasp ahold of the side of her neck, his temple pressed to hers by the domineering grasp of Shursia. In his right hand, he lifted the blade...he made the change. Pressing the mouth of the saber against her heart, he wrought Ruusan to life again, the cobalt levied toward the place most vital.

He placed their fate in that trust, the shared sentiment of that ever familiar, loving voice and the will of Ashla itself. In that decision, sealed he screwed his eyes shut, the pain continuing to bite against vulnerable flesh as Shursia wrought its waning moments of defiant fury unto his flesh and in that moment of vindication, he sought her lips with his. Whether his decision proved vindicate and he managed to burn away and cauterize that parasitic bond...or if they'd both meet their end here...now. He was content in any case.

He just wanted that closeness, that warmth, that familiar touch a last time.

 

[Zeradias Mant]

​

Allies: TSE
Opponents: Jaeger Harrsk | RIP Carlyle Rausgeber | Gallius Orcana

I T ' S _ N O _ G O O D

As his forces positioned themselves, the tension in the air was enough to sink a ship. Zeradias recognized the smug face of his daughters captor, held by two of Rausgeber's goons.

"Admiral, I would welcome you aboard, but you already seem to have made yourself a home here. Like father, like daughter, no?", Rausgeber jeered, rifle to Ren-Hua's back. Zeradias was of course concerned for Ren-Hua's welfare, but his stern, unmoving expression contrasted greatly with that of his daughters. Her face was contorted with feelings of anguish, contempt, fear. She was fierce, but she was scared. So was he.

As Rausgeber continued to speak, his tone of voice gave some insight as to his mental state. Despite his commanding demeanor, he was obviously strained, likely from all the challenges to his authority. When you reach a position such as his, you expect your vision to be carried out without question. Insubordination had no place in the command structure. Yet, here it festered. His descent into madness came even closer to the forefront as his drivel drifted into the sincere belief that Ren-Hua and himself had somehow come to be complicit in the atrocities of the Sith.

"I think enough of both of our people here, have died today Mant. There has been a great deal of bloodshed.", Rausgeber continued. Zeradias did a double take in reaction, looking to the droids beside him, before returning his gaze to the New Imperial admiral with a raised eyebrow.

Then came the offer. Withdraw now and Ren-Hua would be granted some favor in her detention. Not really tempting, given the video proof he had of torture taking place on his ship. Before he finished speaking, another party entered with some swagger. The second Rasugeber saw, veins on his head began to bulge and his face reddened. A burst of fire from his rifle toward the man seemed to relieve some of the attention, but it was a surprise all the same.

As he regained his composure and refocused on the elder Mant, another squad of super battle droids arrived in the bridge. Zeradias wanted to smirk, but he was conscious to not do anything which might further tip Rausgeber in to total irrationality.

"Leave the spinning to the politicians, Admiral, you're no good at it.", he remarked. "I'm sure you'd understand that if your little outburst undermines confidence in your ability, or willingness, to uphold your word on a matter which has greatly inconvenienced you."

Zeradias was a pragmatic man. Contingencies were a natural part of his modus operandi; though he committed fully to his tasks, he always had an out. Every path was a crossroad. Through his earpiece, the warbled voice of the super tactical droid spoke.

"Astromech droid has arrived aboard enemy vessel. Currently seeking mainframe access."

Whatever complications they experienced before, he wouldn't be surprised if they experienced them again. Armament malfunctions, depreciating shield power, the works, only not on the port side. This time, the bridge. He expected that it would be traced back to him, but all he needed was for Rausgeber to believe that COMPNOR was responsible for a few minutes. If everything went smoothly, things would sort themselves out.

Zeradias' attention went from his audio feed back to the dire situation before him.

"Remand Ren-Hua into my custody. My forces will disengage forthwith, and upon our safe return to my ship, we will withdraw immediately to allow the New Imperial Order to resume its campaign against the Sith, and you to sort out your own house...", he said as he visibly glanced over Rausgeber's shoulder toward the bloodied man from the videos and once more in the direction of the man he had fired at. "...without interference."

"I am not confident my daughter has any information of significance regarding the Sith Empire.", he continued. He saw Ren-Huas face darken, and it gutted him. Their relationship was never a perfect one, but it hurt to think that she believed he thought so little of her. Holding up a small electronic device, he added the kicker. "I would be willing however, to share what information the Iron Imperial Security Bureau has compiled, which I suspect would be of far greater value."

"I do hope you'll find this arrangement agreeable, Admiral. Otherwise...", he said, visibly peering over Rausgeber's shoulder once more.

"You got a better offer, COMPNOR?"

 

[Gallius Orcana]

ALLIES | NIO | GA | NJO | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Fiolette Fortan | Jaeger Harrsk | Naier Rambeigh |Gunnar Madine | Arcturus Tal |
ENEMIES | TSE | EE | CIS | Zeradias Mant


NIV PRIDE OF THE EMPEROR

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
FIFTH FLEET

"DIEU QUE LA GUERRE EST JOLIE"
​

Gallius flew backwards, and crashed onto a command desk. Instantly, two TodHusars replied and opened fire with their scatterguns. The Commodore interrupted the start of firefight with a wave of the hand. His back rested on the desk, his layered durasteel and plastoid chestplate grieviously damages, and his breath was almost frantic. He knew he was on the verge of being knocked out, but he managed to smile painfully while taking his own scattergun pistol out of his holster.

"And there I thought you would... thank me, for rescuing your ship and your butt. Maybe I underestimated the ability of a... Presfbelt man to be such a dickhead. I am the one jested in that story, isn't it funny ? I've always mocked my opponents, but this is... ironic." Gallius knew he could not keep his gloating demeanor for long, and was determined to understand what all of this nonsense he was taking part in meant.

He had threw himself galdly into politics in order to serve his patron, but he didn't understand anything of what was going on. He had understood the red-haired woman was the daughter of the Iron Empire warlord, but he didn't understood why everyone was obsessed with her. It was obviously not a carnal objective, as neither Carlyle and Jaeger seemed to ever mention this aspect of their life existed. No. It was a political matter of some sorts. He had to know.

"Tell me, Harrsk... What is all that nonsense meaning ? Does anyone could care to explain to me why everyone seem to be interested in that beauty ? I... I didn't knew you or Carlyle were running after youngsters...Or is it something less obvious, maybe ? Maybe... Maybe you have an agenda on this Jaeger. Tell me..." The sentences were hesitating, the tone was low, the armed hand resolutely pointed to Rasugeber's head. Gallius was not in a weak position. He had seven hundred men aboard the Tregessar, forty with him on that bridge. Should anyone try to end the Commodore's life, the TodHusars would slaughter the fools. The repeating machine guns they held would ensure it.

Gallius was at a turning point. His allegiance to the Imperial Navy, and to Rausgeber in particular, was shaken to say the least. Jaeger had what he wanted, so the mutual partnership with COMPNOR was more or less over. He would of course retain links with them, but his true allegiance was now to the House Haskler of Anaxes. The gradual, imperciptible change from the imperial Fifth Fleet to the anaxsi Azure Hammer Command was not unnoticed among the imperial ranks, but could be a surprise for many. But if the Commodore was to retain his command, he had to keep cordial terms with some part of the Imperial Navy. Rambeigh liked him a bit, but except that, he could count on no one.

FROM THE STEEL FIST COMETH STRENGTH​

Maybe it was time to retire, then. The political games had been desastrous for him : after leaving the frontier patrols, he had been enslaved by COMPNOR before pledging loyalty to the Hasklers. In fact, Gallius realised how shattered the Empire was. The feudal structure was on the verge of collapsing. It was time to retire, that certainty was becoming more and more certain. He had enraged Rausgeber, he did not trust Jaeger much. He could join the Iron Empire, but the very idea was both ridiculous and despised.

Gallius had to stick to his ideals. He had pledged himself to the Empire, he had vowed to destroy the Sith. No better opportunity was given than staying in the New Imperial Order. He swallowed the scathing answer he was going to give to Carlyle about degrading him, and instead painfully got up. One hand after the other, he climbed helped by the desk, and sat on it. His gun went from Rausgeber's head to Jaeger's, before stopping on Zeradias's chest.

"If I have betrayed you, Admiral, I'll gladly swallow my scattergun and I'll make it explode inside my stomach. I refuse to live if my honour is irrediemably stained. But before we get to that pleasant part, what do we do of that old warlord ? I'd like to stuff his skeleton with verpine-made slugs, for all the Imperials and Anaxsi he killed today." Gallius stared at Zeradias with contempt and bloodlust. "Tell me, old man. What should deter me from slashing you into pieces ?"

 

[Silas Sunfyre]

B A S T A R D
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BATTLE GROUP 'HYDRA'
173rd LEGION | FOURTH COMPANY | TAKA GROUP
SERENNO
Armour | Rifle | Pistol | Sohei | Hammer | Grenades
Company Strength: BOOMED

​

The deafening sounds of screams filling his comm frequencies were all that he heard at first.

The thrust of his jetpack threw him through the long streets of inner Carannia. Already war torn by the shelling performed by the advancing Galidraani armoured units, the ground before him was practically wrenched apart by the bombs that fell from the sky. As if ushered by some ancient herald, Silas no longer felt like the dragon of old; the Tirra'taka. He felt as if he was the prey, as he flew through an explosion of fire and rock. The only thing on his mind was to escape the hellish war ground.

The first bomb had struck when he had met up with a refueling team established by DECEASED Erskine Barran . The names of the crew hadn't mattered at the time... They mattered even less when the first bomb had struck that rooftop and vaporized them in an instant.

The grayish armour of the Tenebrae Pattern was blackened at this point. Whether it had been the blood that coated it from earlier ambushes darkening and flash burning against the metal, or if it were scorch marks from superheated shrapnel that found purchase on him, his outwardly appearance was tarnished. But still, his mind was in worse state.

It was more than the deaths of the city crashing upon his mind, but rather the bond established between him and his Taka Group. The established meld via the Force gave them a connection that was beyond the limits of comms. They could see what those closest to them could see in the most extreme cases. Those closest to him, both in proximity and care saw the best results. Kilran, an NCO Commander, his direct second. He had been the most excited for a new 'Jedi' Commander. The difference between a Force Sensitive and a Jedi lost on him, but Silas at the time of their meeting couldn't say that he wasn't flattered.

Kilran was gone.

Ziost, he had survived. And in Silas' mind, he should've survived anything. Where so many had died, surely those that had lived were meant to? For something. Some kind of destiny?

The crimson and emboldened 'X' over his IFF signal suggested otherwise.

What was the point of living through that?

Just to die in some indiscriminate torrential fire.

Above the fires he rose, their force in Space had descended upon the city in swarms of fighters to clear the air for the survivors. Once more, they suffer great losses. Silas thought, his helmet tracking across the horizon of ruins. Where skyscrapers had stood high, there remained the numbers of the Galidraani Exiles. Bastion, Ziost. Where did it end for them? A seemingly endless march for their home, he spun in the air, rotating around to find the Royal Palace.

Overlooking the city, still it stood... High above them all, untouched by the calamitous rains that had fallen upon those lower. Lower. Less than... It's all the same, isn't it? Where the city below had been beautiful, and functioning. In its wake was simply Purgatory. Blackness and fire remained, and Silas could only blame those above.

"They let it happen... Again."

The ashy helmet came off of his head, dissimilar to other troopers, it was not adorned with the identifications of the fallen.

"I'll kill them all."

 

[DT-0800]

​

Location: Beneath the ruined Building
Objective: 2
Allies: DECEASED Erskine Barran
Enemies: Syd Celsius



Even as bombs and red lightning crackled into the sky. The fight against the powerful being known as Syd. Even in his Endoskeletal form. She seemed to be clever in staving off such a powerful neurotoxin. While the first use of the weapon. Something told the DT unit that he would have to put more punishment into her for it to take into effect. Even as he fell onto the chasm with a sickening thud on which he landed. The metal destroyer wold not go down easily though. As hellfire rained all around him. He ha a mission to complete. To terminate Syd or die trying. Thus was his programming and therefore his purpose Even watching as the woman gained in flight to try and run and get away

He tried getting up, even as the Chasis was slightly cracked from the fall, it's vision still kept on. As she tried to cut into him with an orange blade. She didn't pierce through him. Not even penetrating through the inside of his armor.. Only causing sparks. And when that didn't work. She managed to damage the teleporter systems. Even if he wanted to get the drop on her. The likely hood of the power shutting down for the unit was extremely high. Something that he did not wish to risk.

Even when he retaliated with a palm laser blast. She was still wrought with fury. Using the Force to slam him around. For a moment he let that happen. Only to be met with one of the photoreceptors being smashed. He didn't falter. His HUD activated showing all types of damage into his systems. Not even showing a complete vision of his surroundings only seen by half.

Systems Severely damaged.... Vision reduced by 50%

Relying on back up vision.....

Power critical by 40%


When she stopped using him as if some type of pinball going through a machine. She seemed confidant and poised to strike with an Ion disrupter. DT quickly retaliated. Jets upon his feet activating, quality of previous Dark Trooper design that was kept. Flying at high speeds toward her. He spoke while firing his palm lasers, and a cluster of rockets in the already structurally weakened building. It was due or die for the Cybernetic Organism. "You are Terminated." He said as he slammed into her, pushing through several walls, and even more support beams. Causing more of the building to collapse on top of them, buried in the underground amidst all this rubble. Be it if he would survive, he didn't know, but if he would take her with him then the mission would be successful.

 

[DT-0800]

Ignore

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // PRINCE OF SERENNO
OBJECTIVE I // HERES TO THE PAST
[ARMOR] | [LEGION]

---

---

His reunion with Lilith had been the highlight of his week, but such sweet moments could only come with the bitter aftertaste that followed at the end. Fire erupted across the skyline as the city he'd come to liberate began to fall under the familiar destructive spell that plenty of other worlds had seen. The spitefulness of their enemies knew no bounds, and the city of Carannia would suffer a fate that fell more in line with the true nature of their enemy. Lucien gritted his teeth, his eyes trailing away from the scene of destruction outside. He shook the negative thoughts dry from his mind, refocusing his breathing and his attention inwards for a spell. The Order had come to liberate Serenno, but nowhere in the terms had there been a certainty that the planet would remained unharmed.

It pained him to not just see that possibility come alive, but to feel it reverberating through his bones as the bombardment ceased the lives of dozens, if not hundreds in its wake. Rage boiled within him with each passing second, unable to tune out the chorus of ship-grade weapons pounding the city from above. Many good men would be lost to the cowardly actions of their enemies, but many more were to follow if the Order could not liberate Serenno before the day was over. And for this reason alone he pushed forwards in his path once more. Moving past the doubts that lingered in his mind, Lucien could not afford to hesitate, and especially not with their goal being so close.

He snapped his head in Lilith's direction, reaching out for the woman's hand and holding it tightly within his own. Lucien activated his jetpack as he walked towards the window, only to stop in his tracks as the thrusters struggled to activate. Another failed attempt later and the entire system had failed, leaving the Dooku siblings without an easy way down. He deactivated the clamps on the rear of his chestplate, dropping it to the ground before heading for the door instead.

"We're getting out of here, one way or another."

A smile crept onto his face, offsetting the concern the lingering concern with the appearance of newfound resolve. The task would prove alot easier said than done, but there was only one way for the two to proceed. He'd never given up before, and the last thing he'd do is choose that moment to start.

"Forwards."

A hand snapped towards the door, clenching into a fist at the same time that the thick wooden door imploding in on itself, splintering apart as it exploded off the hinges. A pair of royal guards were caught in the crossfire of the debris, opening the way for Lucien to charge through the doorframe with his sister in hand. He took off down the hall, letting the reawakening memories of his past come back to guide him where he needed to go. He sprinted as fast as he could, only coming to a stop to make sure that Lilith was keeping up with him.

Their escape came to an abrupt halt with the appearance of more of his grandfather's guards appearing to block their way. He paused, feeling the presence of another who proved familiar to him within the halls of the Dooku Palace. The presence was familiar enough to catch his attention, and powerful enough to force him to reconsider butchering his way through his enemies. He could only standby and watch as the Captain of the Guard -- and their brother -- stepped forwards to meet the two fleeing siblings.

"..Augustus?" Lucien spoke up, squeezing Lilith's hand as he stepped backwards in line with her. For some time he'd predicted that the two brothers would have to face eachother eventually-- for Serenno. But Lilith's presence had changed things entirely. So did his experiences prior to reaching the planet, where no longer did he look forwards to the liberation with the same zeal that carried him into war upon other worlds. There was no honor in fighting his brother, but one could only delay the inevitable for so long.

An encarmine blade shimmered into existence, accompanying the cold set eyes that beckoned him to come forth into battle.

Lucien desired to end the years-long schism that split the House of Serenno asunder. Their grandfather would have to contend with Rurik once his throne had been ripped from his for good, but much blood would be spilled before the fanatic guards of the palace were brought to heel. The defeat of their leader -- a Prince of Serenno himself -- would expedite that process sooner, but the presence to his rear brought temperance to the growing fire building up within.

Lucien reached to his waist, only to snap that same hand towards the growing number of guards who blocked their way out. A pair of metallic spheres danced across the floor, and Lucien tugged at Lilith once more as he bolted in the opposite direction. A pair of explosions trailed behind them, leaving a partially collapsed hallway for their brother to attend to. Lucien raised his wrist up to his mouth, opening up a channel to the astromech that lingered above in his flagship. A surprised tune came from the droid on the other end, who instinctively fired up the starfighter that he was attached to.

"Hone in on my location, R4, I need you on the rooftop of my location now." The droid shot back with a quick response, only to find the link had been ceased almost as quickly as it'd been open. The debris from the explosions would not halt their pursuers for long, but enough of a head start had been achieved that he was confident they could reach their destination without incident. Once more the siblings trailed through the halls of the Palace, only this time the two were purposefully going higher, ascending ever further until they'd reached the set of doors that led to the rooftop itself.

Lucien bashed the doors open with his pauldron as he reached the final steps, just in time to find his astromech guiding his Eta-2's landing gears onto the rooftop. The canopy shot open, and Lucien made haste to escort Lilith to the starfighter, hurrying the woman inside before she could pick up on his motives.

He tapped at the canopy, delivering a soft smile of approval towards the droid. "Get her back to the Myrmidon." Lucien stepped backwards, watching as the cockpit sealed shut with Lilith inside, and the Eta-2 lifted back into the sky. His brother's retinue flooded onto the rooftop, circling the exiled Prince as he watched his starfighter take off towards the atmosphere. Despite being a one-seater, it was possible that Lucien could've squeezed inside for the short journey that it was into the planet's orbit.

Safety could've been so easily achieved, but the mission was far from finished, despite the detour that came about as a result of his sister's appearance. The destruction wrought upon Carannia was at its clearest in front of his eyes from his vantage point on top of the roof. His resolve welled to the surface, expelled as a result of that burning desire to confront an aspect of his destiny that had long been determined to happen. He'd fought so hard and for so long to rewrite what should've been, but in the end there were parts of the fates that even the willpower of defiance could not change.

He pivoted on his feet, shifting his eyes and attention away from the burning city, and back towards the brother who stood readily with a crimson weapon in hand. Lucien unclipped the charcoal-colored weapon at his hip, sliding his finger across the activation switch and igniting an aqua-colored blade from the hilt.

His brother stepped forwards, the terrifying presence of the corrupted Prince weighing down upon Lucien with each step the man took. He readied himself, channeling every ounce of rage that lingered within,, but tempering it just well enough to to channel his emotions without fail. The second eldest of the Dooku brothers was powerful in the dark, and Lucien knew that he'd stand no chance if he didn't resort to using Vaapad, a form that he'd put off from using after his failure on Korriban. But failure wasn't an option, for all those whose lives had been lost to achieve where they'd ended up so far.

At the gates of Serenno, defiant against the Sith and their puppets until the end.

"This ends today, little brother." Augustus peered down at the Jedi, bringing his slow march to a halt.

Lucien gave his brother a nod, tightening both of his hands around the hilt of his lightsaber.

"You're right. It ends now"

Lilith Dooku | Rurik Fel


// END ​

​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE
OUTER RIM | SERENNO | CARANNIA
WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE
OR LIVE IN DIVIDED CEASELESS REVOLT AGAINST IT
WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE
U N M A D E

​

In their ethereal embrace, Loske could feel Maynard’s shifting, his consciousness rolling. The war of self as he reached the necessary conclusion, and as he did, she steeled herself within his spectral hold. As if to reaffirm that notion of trust once more, through whatever means of touch as they had so many times in the past. To eliminate the spaces in between their doubt –– she couldn’t doubt what was necessary. It would kill her, and now him too. Their fate had no room for uncertainty. Trust me she told herself this time.

Maynard grasped at her thorns, all of them, piercing and bloodying his hands on their sharpness just to get closer and closer to the rose’s sweetness. She could feel his reciprocating pressure against the shell she was trapped within, despite feeling unattached as a whole.

The parts of Loske that were tenuously connected let herself be guided toward him, folding into trust. Guided toward the fatal detonation that filled the inches between them with brilliant cobalt before it pierced through and disappeared through her chest. The thin layers of skin, bone and muscle were not enough to stop the blade and her body swallowed it.

His lips trapped her pained, hitched gasp that slipped out and filled the caverns of their intimacy. In her final temporal moment, she leaned in closer and deeper, reciprocating through tears to the kiss that tasted like tragedy and peace.

Instantly, Shursia’s grip on him wilted. Sharp tendrils snapped and recoiled away as light permeated out from Ashla’s weaponized nexus. Black sinews skittered madly all around her, seeking a space to retreat and rebuild –– but found nothing. No solace for the darkness. The Jedi was being burned by the searing righteousness of Ashla from the inside out.

She felt the nexus’ breath of life, calming, fresh and powerful while immensely painful. Thousands of thousands of explosions rippled through her poisoned cells, bursting and shattering in sequential eruptions.

Cells of herself became molecules –– countless, complex, varied. Impressive, expansive, and infinitesimal. She was a breath. A mist. Lost in the typhonic winds of light. A tiny spread of fields and interactions in a vacuum as perfect as constellation painted space. A vibration of nothingness that worked slowly to rebuild itself in the expanses of the gleam of Ashla.

Benevolence purveyed from the source that struck through her heart, channelling itself into the networks that continued to sustain the sycophant. Her hollow self was resurrected and refilled by the perfervid light. The counterpart that didn’t belong was repelled and enraged, furious they had been split apart through the shattering touch earlier, and now facing the shadow’s constant enemy of the flame. To take advantage, Ruusan and Maynard’s unwavering love and trust reinforced Loske’s spectral self to move across the plane to end the intrusion’s existence. Her actions guided entirely by the serenity of the nexus while shadows sought to collide with the light, but the evil was outmatched. It negotiated in hate-filled desperation; reminding her of their potential. All they could be together without the ties of the past. How long could they sustain one another? Forever, it said, forever together in its dying whisper. False promises that were drowned out by the genuine repetition of fondness exchanged between herself and the man who'd risked it all, traipsed through the stars, selflessly actualized his greatest fear. There was no voice louder. No promise more real. No choice more obvious. Nothing worth clinging to or fighting for more than the I love you's of Treicolt. Everything the creature and the mental trauma had turned him into was becoming undone, being unmade and restored back to the reality of them.

In the stretching, timeless moments of conflict, Loske knew only pain. White-hot pain. The cleansing of her contamination was unthinkably excruciating.

Brilliant luminescence that was only outshone by their love illuminated the corridor of the hellscape they found their final battle in. Her mortal husk gleamed. Wisps of light poured from her orifices; her eyes aglow with white fire, her mouth spilling out a tortured scream amplified by a swelling radiance. The bogan’s shadows were cast away from the Jedi, the external coating and evil within incinerated. In the final moments of consciousness, it was all she could do to turn that pained howl into a hoarse whisper of gratitude and I love you. Shaking, weak hands grazing over the hilt of the blade and his grip. The entirety of the weapon's glow consumed by the vessel of the Jedi.

Eventually, eternity concluded. Loske’s stripped and wilted form, residually incandescent, collapsed in exhaustion. Breathless and freed.

All around them ash shifted down, coating everything with a few millimetres of grey.

ALLIES | Maynard Treicolt | BLADE OF RUUSAN
ENEMIES | DARKSIDE | HK7 | SHURSIA

 

[Xeykard]

Jerec Asyr Aaran Tafo Beric Layne
​

"That won't be enough," he snarled to the Ithorian. Still, the lightsaber gave him a moment's pause. There was something about the blade-

Yet more overpowering were the waves of hate rolling out of the city. Distant blasts told of the bombardment -- he hadn't been told of a plan to turn the city to rubble, but given the New Imperials's track record, he doubted it was their doing. It didn't matter. Hate, pain, and fear were all for the taking.

The Barabel breathed deep. A Jedi might do the same to calm themselves, but for him it was more like taking in an intoxicating aroma. All those raw emotions spewed in dying breaths, the fires of war... those who saw the Sith as anything else were fools.

"I gain everything. Every enemy struck down is a favor to the Empire. Every martyr is a body to strengthen its foundations, or a weakling cast out in search of further strength."

Two more favors were to be done today.

Xeykard threw his hand up again, this time intent on pushing his two opponents back to the far wall. The darkness shrouding this place granted him further strength. The push switched back to a pull as he attempted to yank them back into his waiting blade. It rose and fell with brutal precision, each swing an attempt to kill, each slash bearing his full weight. Djem So, his strength, his hate would bring him victory.

 

[Djorn Bline]

V E N O M _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CARRANIA | SERENNO
GHOST VIPERS
ARMOR | PRIMARY | SECONDARY | MELEE | GRENADE

DREAMS AND WISHES
​

Nearly fifteen years ago...

A younger Djorn, under the name of Green Snake, trekked through the jungle of Onderon’s moon, Dxun, entrusted with a major operation that he had to carry out alone against overwhelming odds. A rebel conspiracy Imperial intelligence had uncovered, tracing it down to the root of it. A weapon with great power was under development along with other operations conducted, all dissident in nature.

He had faced several individuals with unique and awe talents, although he proved superior. A dying Miraluka laid in the dense flora, leaving a trail of blood for Djorn to follow. A man trained in the ways of the Force, exceptionally trained which led to a battle of wits between the two combatants. Ultimately victory was rewarded to Djorn.

“You’re pretty good...I expected less from an Imperial, I suppose that’s my fatal error.”

Snake stood tall, looking down at the Mirakula in silence with a pistol aimed at his head. Yet to pull the trigger as he allowed the man to utter his last words.

“Before you kill me there is something to tell you. I can see visions in the future and I have taken a glance of yours in our little feud.”

“If you continue this operation, this path, you will know only pain and loss. You will never find peace, only war and sorrow. You can still deviate from this operation and find a fulfilling life away from all the bloodshed you will face.”

Bline didn’t buy into this. It was a trick to steer him from his assignment. This man didn’t know him nor his past. His future was his to control; his destiny was his to shape. No one else’s. They meant nothing to him, just a trick.

And if his words were true, then he’d challenge it.

“I’ll take my chances,” his blaster still still trained at the Mirakula.

“Ah...so be it, but I did warn you.”

The familiar sound of a blaster rung, steam rising from the fatal wound as well as the muzzle of the pistol.

“Rebel scum,” with a smirk of victory etched on his lips.

Ash and blood covered his figure, alone as his men were killed from the ongoing red lighting or from the raining of bombs. Screams were heard from every corner of the city. A dying city.

But Djorn? He didn’t cry or screamed. This happened similarly on Ziost where he did mourn for the lives of his men. The dead knew the end of war, but the survivors carried on their fight. That’s what he was taught; there was only the defeated and the survivors. As a survivor he would only know a life of conflict, of strife with no end.

His head looked the dark, ominous skies with vibrant red making it alive. In the street he was in there was no signs of life except his own. A small moment of peace to himself. The pain and loss he felt fueled his raw emotions of anger.

I’ll have my name scorched into the sky from all the blood and fire.

And I’ll reclaim our future from this insane Galaxy...no matter the cost.

ALLIES | NIO | GA | Silas Sunfyre | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal | Enedina Tal | Konrad Bolter | Halketh
ENEMIES | TSE | Darth Strosius | UX-0626 | Laertia Io | Kimora Min

 

[Laertia Io]

Not-Yet-Xiphos felt her heart sing as her blue ball of twisted Light Side energy enveloped the body of Rurik Fel , making him erupt in pain. He writhed, desperate to be free of the mixture of Light and Darkness torturing him.

"So you chip AND your Soul is nought but Paper!" she said scathingly.

She sneered under her helmet as his will broke and fled down the passage she had partly collapsed, collapsing more behind him rather than continue to face her in an attempt to crush her from above. It failed of course...Not-Yet-Xiphos had seen nothing to impress her so far. The falling rubble and metal suspended itself over her, then flinging itself into more of his knights that tried to stop her. The armor she wore required twice as much mental strain to use most powers, but Not-Yet-Xiphos was so quaking with the new power she was embracing by twisting the Light Side to her own ends that she only winced a little as she flung the debris at her approaching foes.

"So he is a Coward after all..." Not-Yet-Xiphos scoffed, unconsciously channeling her inner Terrance Stamp.

"Hey, Laertia!"

Not-Yet-Xiphos turned, spotted a familiar, muscular witch in a White Catsuit, with dark hair. Middle aged but quite gorgeous to behold.

She scowled under her helm. It was The Battalion. The same Witch who had amplified her teleporting ability at New Adasta.

"You never called." she teased, striding forward, casually murdering an Imperial Knight that tried to behead her from behind, by running him through with a red blade to his stomach without even looking.

"You're not my type." Not-Yet-Xiphos replied smoothly. "And even if you were, I'm in a commited relationship already."

The Battalion smirked wickedly. "Could've fooled me, Beautiful."

"I'm sure the Pasta you would have made would have been wonderful. If I might ask, whose flesh would you have torn up to make the noodles?" Not-Yet-Xiphos asked in a mildly scathing tone as she casually teleported a vibrosword so it fell down point first into the skull of a charging knight.

The Battalion scoffed.

"Well, obviously I would have used the flesh of teenagers..." she purred as if she was simply sharing the secrets to making the perfect meal, slinking towards her. "Onions and olives washed in the tears of infants...eyes from the Blind for the meatballs...soft candles made from the fat of Pregnant Woman right as they are giving birth...oh, it would have been romantic as Hell. " she said, shivering in lust as she approached, watching Not-Yet-Xiphos break the neck of a Stormtrooper that came at her with an electro-hammer.

"But like we both know..." The Battalion purred as she stood a few inches from Not-Yet-Xiphos. "You never called..."

"I'm not sure if you're being sarcastic or if that was your actual romance pitch. I can never tell with you Brain Demon freaks."

"Can't it be both?"

"Ummm...no. If its sarcasm, it defeats the purpose of it genuinely being a romance pitch."

"Oh, you and your silly 'logic'!" The Battalion scoffed good-naturedly as she roasted alive a distant Imperial Knight with Lightning. "So! Trying to kill Rurik Fel?"

"This Iron Man is nothing of the sort..." Not-Yet-Xiphos said contemptuously . "I've discovered his weakness..." (I win! I always win! : 90 XP)

"Oooo...do tell..." The Battalion purred.

"He is tied to the very power he seeks to overthrow." Not-Yet-Xiphos explained. "I nearly destroyed him with it...even the very greatest of Imperial Knights flees before me like a scattering pack of roaches. It seems I can chip AND break Iron."

"I can do you one better..." The Battalion said, holding up a datapad.

"I can broadcast his failure for all to see. One of the girls got into the security feeds, and saw how thoroughly you thrashed him. We can use this."

"That's the first thing you've said that didn't make me want to punch you in the face."

The Battalion shivered in open lust.

"Hit hard if you decide to. It gets my engine going..." she flirted.

Thankful that her black helm hid the pure, undiluted 'WTF' crossing her features, Laertia observed the feed, of Fel fleeing her.

She got out the comlink while Fel fought hopelessly to catch up to the leadership.

"The Fool. He's handed me a greater victory than he ever would've if he had simply fought me to the death. He might have been at least able to achieve some small martyrdom at my hands. But now he is struck down by the Guardians of the Royalty. The 'Man of Iron' shattered at no less than the Might of the Crown itself. His failure is now complete..."

Not-Yet-Xiphos looked at The Battalion.

"Broadcast this to every Sith Channel...watching the Man of Iron flee before me is bound to be a morale boost. Show the footage of him being stabbed as well by the Royal Family's guards. That will go good with the other video."

"And Fel?"

"Dispatch escort fighters to make sure the royal family gets behind friendly lines. As for Fel, I'm going go and make sure the fether is dead...cut the feed for that part.

Not-Yet-Xiphos turned, and, quaking with power that made her strain heavily, lifted the debris through the passage. She could feel Rurik weak and injured. The saber had gone cleanly through his back...he might not have long to live regardless.

But it was important to Not-Yet-Xiphos to end The Man of Iron.

She crossed into the Hangar, spotted Rurik.

"Rise, 'Man of Iron'. I'm not finished sculpting you..." she growled.

Meanwhile...

Syd had thought she had the drop on DT-0800 , but he popped the rockets out, tackling her with jets.

Syd barely whispered out a spell that enveloped her in dark blue flames greatly reducing the kinetic impact of being slammed through multiple walls and support beams, though it still hurt like hell and left her badly bruised everywhere as more of the underground structure started to fall down on them, some of it clipping her. She screamed in agony as some of his palm lasers hit her side, shearing off a piece.

That does it. Syd thought.

Syd snarled, gripping DT as they flew through the air, and her own command of Force flight completely over powered his jets as she slammed and grinded him across a thick wall as they flew through the underground system, screaming as his palm lasers took off two fingers. But she ground him into every long running surface, forcing his head into the grind and completely sheering off his remaining eye, the grinding against surfaces sending pieces of shrapnel at high speed into already compromised chassis innards, damaging severely whateverwas inside them further, pieces smashing themselves brutally and embedding into his power source, as well as ruining the firing ports for his rockets in case he had any more.

A palm laser glanced across her jaw, nearly ripping it off on one side. She flew faster, making the grind across surfaces for DT even worse, destroying both palm lasers at last, as well as damaging his booster rockets, a foot falling off. She let go of him, letting him crash into the distance. It didn't matter if she had actually, permanently destroyed him...he was in no condition to go hunting for her now. Not after the damage she had just done. Her jaw was still healing, and she felt the whole structure in this area would give soon. But the Force was with her...she could see cracks of light above her leading to the surface.

She flew upward, phasing through the barriers to escape at the same time, leaving DT to be potentially buried alive by collapsing structures. She was greatly insulted a Droid had managed to last even that long against her. Defeating it utterly had been as much a matter of professorial pride as necessity.

She escaped to the surface, emerging into a collapsed street...with advancing NIO units.

Syd sighed. "Out of the Frying Pan..." she muttered, flesh shuddering as she conjured a great twister of flame, sent it screaming down a street to an advancing set of tanks. The flames got in via the barrels, detonating the power sources and killing those inside...

Syd continued to move the destructive Fire Tornado through the advancing enemy, causing panic in the ranks as multiple mech units broke off to evade the Tornado, disrupting their advance...

Meanwhile...

Before the arrival of DECEASED Erskine Barran 's forces at the city center...

The Amalgam had sent out the telepathic orders to her Witches on the new frontlines.

When they arrive, they'll be pissed. They'll use every gun, every soldier they have. Even their blasters and tanks will be rabidly pissed. She warned her lessers as they painted incantations, foul ones that quickly vanished on the armors of the defenders. We'll outnumber them, but that will vanish quickly when the killing starts.

The witches worked quickly and efficiently, instructions being given to others to spread the witch blood incantations on flesh and even the streets.

The Amalgam, busily arranging the ritual around Barrans bottle pieces, witches whispering ever more hidious curses to try and give Barran a contagious magical disease of Nausea that would slowly become airborn and spread if it worked to everyone around him, also had a side ritual involving an NIO Stormtrooper helmet, an Imperial Knights eyeballs, and goat hair (Don't ask what its for.) and the feed of Laertia's duel with Rurik. All of it. Especially as he failed and turned tail.

She smiled as she listened to him try and dismiss her.

"Oh, Captain Cladhan, whatever am I going to do with you. Y'know, you remind me of a soccer hooligan I once met. Could kick the ball real good from afar, but he somehow always started to waffle as he reached the Goalie..." she remarked mockingly as she felt the Indecision Hex take effect. They would notice something was wrong and detain him. Likely in the same room. Hopefully the nausea disease hex would soon take effect.

"I think I should show your warriors something about the precious Lord Executor..." she mocked, feeling the indecision hex play havoc with his brain.

As predicted, when the killing began again, both Sith Soldiers and witches were forced to retreat gradually, losing more and more as they did.

But the magic took effect.

As the dead defenders fell to the vicious First Wave attack, their bodies started to release magical acidic mist from breaking the juices in their body down, able to gradually eat and corrode even the toughest metal and shields.

As the defenders were killed during said First Wave, many bodies released this mist, others triggered illusions that suddenly ten or twenty reinforcements per dead had suddenly shown up from nowhere, making attackers waste time and ammo as the magical acid from the defenders bodies began to adhere to the mech units and even the individuals who killed them, melting through seals then flesh, metal and electronics starting to rapidly corrode and break down as the mist traveled towards whatever created it.

But the real kicker was when the Amalgam used the hacking hex.

Magical energies went through the severed eyeballs and the trooper helmet, serving as totems for the eyes of every attacking Imperial Knight and members of the NIO Army.

The security feed from the duel would try and force itself into the minds eye of every NIO warrior and Knight in the field attacking both the palace and city.

It showed Rurik Fel trying and failing to kill Laertia, being set ablaze by her strange Force Flare power, and openly fleeing from her, only to be cut down not even by her but by simple royal bodyguards.

This of course had a devastating effect on Morale, particularly the knights. Across the field of battle, a frighteningly high number began to rapidly lose the will to fight at the images forced into them, starting to be cut down at precisely the wrong moment to lose morale, what with all the magical acid trying to adhere to NIO tanks and often succeeded, though many soldiers and mechs managed to evade the acids. It was still awful to hear the screams.

"That is your Man of Iron. HA!" The Amalgam sneered on open comms as NIO warriors started to die in very heavy numbers once more, and to make it worse, Syd's giant fire tornado loomed in the distance...

Willan Tal

Konrad Bolter

 

[Taeli Raaf]

From its perch, the raven had observed. It had seen the warrior confront the hybrid, watched as the confrontation took place, the light focused from the blade had bolstered the pair, had burned away that which had held the woman. It had watched as the warrior took the woman away, to rest, to recover, leaving the ash and what had been on the Serenno ground. A soft cry from the beak and feathered wings took flight, soaring down from its perch once the warrior was gone.

A shrug of the shoulders of the bird became the rolling of the shoulders of the Lady of Secrets, pinions becoming the trailing edge of her robes and cloak. Armored boots trod upon the ground that was covered in the ash of the creature, half of the creature, that had called itself Loske Treicolt while the other was taken away to safety. Maynard Treicolt had been able to play the avenging prince to rescue the damsel after all, but she didn't mind. The test had been a success in more ways than one.

Loske would have much to reflect upon, to figure out, to think about. Her experience was a unique way to face one of the Trials, one that so many of these new Jedi didn't grasp the real lesson from. Perhaps, in time, Loske would see it too. The younger woman had potential, just like her friend Allyson did. She would need to find her inner strength, form herself into that something new Taeli had wanted her to become, for the times ahead.

A gesture and the ash rose to her command, swirling into a conjured bottle.

She still didn't believe that Maynard could truly ever be a Jedi, but perhaps she would be proven wrong. There was still some time to determine whether he would be someone who could be brought along to undermine the coming storm. More testing was needed, and... her gaze shifted to the collected ash, she had just the idea for it. They should have scattered them on the winds, summoned the wind to blow away the remains... now though...

A smile tugged at the corner of the Sith Lady's lips as the bottle vanished in a whirl of black and purple smoke. Yes, she would be watching with great interest. A few more strides, a touch of the Force to the Amulet of Transformation she wore, and the raven took flight again.