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Taking the steel behemoth's attention was only half the job done, the other -- far more complicated. And burning hot. A stream of fire engulfed the general, the HUD blinking red warnings of the energy shield's imminent depletion was nearly obscured from the tempest of fire overwhelming his visor. A painful hiss escaped his lips as the armorweave reinforcing his joints peeled off like an ablative shield and the smell of charred flesh filled his nostrils from within his armor. One of his repulsorboots, seared to destruction, gave in and forced the Amaxine to bring his knee up for balance before shooting himself further up to safety from the blaze.
Saul flung the anti-tank rifle behind his bank and cocked the cryoban gun before firing a stream of the carbon freezing substance at the inferno, devouring the torrent of flames. The trigger remained pressed in a bid for the cryoban to reach the titan; freeze it for good or at least disable some of its firepower or other functionalities.
:: Dagger--kh--kh-- ..you copy?! :: the warrior barked through the comms, voice clearly strained as he sought the only squadron he knew could finish the job.
Operation: Black Ice
The Empire
The Hallowed Scar, Ilum
Primary Objective: Survive Ambush, Return to Convoy & Provide Armored Support to Imperial Elements Friendlies: The Empire | Michael Barran
| Orik Dakari
| Bex Tarring
| Open For More Hostiles: Galactic Alliance | Kelly T. Perris | Open For More Directly Engaging: Open Gear:In Bio
Elements of the 181st Armored Division, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Company, 3rd Platoon
XT-62 MBTb ‘331’ | Charlie 3-1 | [Command Tank]
XT-62 MBTb ‘332’ | Charlie 3-2 | Forward Recon
XT-62 MBTb ‘333’ | Charlie 3-3 |
XT-62 MBTb ‘334’ | Charlie 3-4 | Forward Recon | [Crew Alive & Conscious; Radio Station Moderately Rendered Unoperational | RWS Rendered Unoperational | Jammed Turret Ring Unstuck, Fixed Through Field Repairs | Right Track Destroyed, Immobilized]
The commander’s hatch, and the loader’s hatch positioned to the left of the former, creaked open; the two young men, clad in the standard issue combat assault tank armor emerged to the outside world from their world inside the confines of their armored vehicle; the thrum of their friendly artillery crashing down on the Alliance positions in the distance was ever present as the men got to work on attempting field repairs on the damaged components of their vehicles. As the brawny loader of their crew went about checking what could be salvaged from the remote weapon system, the tank commander’s gaze shifted to the sky from the damaged module of the tank; his mouth agape at the sight of debris falling from the skies, the young man’s utterance in sheer astonishment, mixed with a level of perturbation was apparent in his tone. <”By the throne…”> his words had his loader look to the skies from the damaged weapon system. <”Dear god…”> Stege shared the man’s sentiment at a massive, damaged vessel burned through the planet’s atmosphere; it’s course unchangeable, destined to crash on the frozen and snowy terrain of Ilum.
All of a sudden they were thankful they did not serve as navy men aboard those ships. Compared to that sight, the armored confines of their tank now felt much safer, despite it feeling like a steel coffin more than anything while they were under fire, caught in the ambush.
As friendly infantry drew near to help out ‘334’s crew with field repairs to get the track fixed with all due haste, the young tank commander’s gaze shifted from the skies above to the source of a pair of footsteps on the cold, icy terrain as someone drew nearer.
Although the Sergeant wore a suit of armor indistinguishable from the other troopers around their armored vehicles, the red armbands his peer adorned told him everything he needed to know; a member of the Imperial Military Police.
As shook his head at the sight in the skies before shifting his attention back on the damaged RWS to salvage it, the young tank commander raised his right hand sharply with the tip of his right forefinger touching the rim above his helmet visor, palm facing down and fingers and thumbs extended and joined; extending his gratitude to the Sergeant with a crisp salute as he identified himself out of courtesy, even though the man’s helmet visor identified him for the MP Sergeant to see. <”Kenth Horne, 181st Armored, 2nd battalion, 3rd company, 3rd platoon.”> the young crewman brought the saluting hand down sharply afterwards. Casually grasping the rim of the cupola, the man continued. <”We’re in debt to you and your men, Sergeant. Beer's on us once we get out of this frozen rock in one piece,”> a smile emerged underneath the armored, expressionless features of his helmet. Although the Sergeant would not be able to see his smile, the intonation of his voice would surely give that away as he extended his gratitude to him and the men that saved their skin.
They had saved them from a fate utterly undesirable for any crew of an armored vehicle; cut off, bereft of any support and surrounded by enemy infantry.
At the MP Sergeant’s words in reference to debris beyond number falling from the skies as he gave an upwards nod of his head, the young man’s smile was swept away with the picking up wind. <”I agree, Sergeant,”> the man gave a brief nod of his head at Orik before looking over his right shoulder, at Stege. <”Is it repairable in the field?”> the TC asked his loader.
He shook his head as he pulled himself away from the damaged remote weapon system; his gaze met the young TC’s black, featureless visor. <”Negative! It’s busted thoroughly. Karkers opened up on it with a repeater. Gonna need a motor pool and an hour to fix the damaged components,”>
Kenth angrily muttered a curse under his breath at the GADF troops. <”We don’t got an hour. Let’s hope we can find a replacement on Reverence once we get to the F.O.B,”> the TC then turned his armored visage at the group of men gathered around the right track of ‘334’, carrying out repairs and changing the damaged track links with fresh ones. <”How’s it looking over there! When can we roll out?”> he shouted over the picking up winds for the men, his comrades of ‘334’ in particular, to hear him better.
An armored visage identical to that of Kenth’s, belonging to a young man knelt by the right track’s idler wheel, looked up from the damaged module and at the man. <”We’re good to go in five minutes!”> Ryker, tank commander of the tank numbered ‘334’, answered his question. <”We don’t got that long!”> he shouted as he raised a knife hand towards the cold, icy blue skies above them, pointing at the debris falling all over the warzone.
Not to mention the artillery continued its shelling; the fire mission was designated as ‘danger close’ over the Imperial battle net. Any fire mission or close air support marked within six hundred meters of a friendly unit was deemed as such. <”You got two! We can’t risk staying stationary here any longer than that,”> the man shouted, continuing. The TC’s words earned him a scowl from his peer in response; the man held his arms spread in a gesticulation as he spoke. <”The kark you expect from me, man? We’re not magicians!”>
<”I know you’re not! We got technicians for that,”> the man shouted back without skipping a beat in response to his friend; Kenth’s muffled chuckle was swept away in the wind, reaching not the ears of his peer standing crouched by the idler wheel with tools in his hands.
Standing watch as their comrades went about repairing the damaged, torn track with the help of the technicians from the 908th, they would depart from their current position and head towards F.O.B Reverence with all due haste; The initial shock and the damage of the Alliance’s ambush weathered, the surviving and combat effective elements of the initial convoy intended to relieve the friendly, Imperial forces stationed in the mines were sent Reverence in preparation for a counter attack.
Upon reaching their rendezvous point at the F.O.B, the men of the 3rd platoon of the 181st Armored would take a moment to refit and re-arm their armored vehicle, and refreshen, getting a quick rest in while they ate a small portion of their rations before eventually rolling out again; this time, they would be taking the fight to the enemy.
Elements of the 181st Armored Division, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Company, 3rd Platoon
XT-62 MBTb ‘331’ | Charlie 3-1 | [Command Tank]
XT-62 MBTb ‘332’ | Charlie 3-2 | [Lead Tank]
XT-62 MBTb ‘333’ | Charlie 3-3 |
XT-62 MBTb ‘334’ | Charlie 3-4 |
Elements of the 181st Armored Division, 2nd Battalion, 5th Company, 4th Platoon
XV-60a APC '541'
XV-60a APC '542'
XV-60a APC '543'
XV-60a APC '544'
<”Kale, halt, halt!”> wordlessly complying with Kenth’s order over the intercom, the driver brought the tank to a halt as the 3rd armored platoon and the accompanying mechanized infantry assigned to them for support stopped two klicks short of the mine entrance; peering out of the three-sixty degrees panoramic sights on the roof of their tank’s turret, he could barely see the remnants of the Imperial defensive line, utterly crumbled under the debris of a massive ship, as wrecks both small and large continued to plunge into the icy terrain stretching before them; the turret of their tank whined mechanically as the young tank gunner, Hall, swept the main armament from one sector to the other, scanning for priority targets, trying to make good on their armored division’s motto: See first, shoot first.
Waiting for the planned artillery barrage before closing the distance, the men waited in silence, rather impatiently at that, as the perturbation regarding what fate had in store for them settled into their hearts and minds with each passing moment. When the artillery strike to smoke out their foes from their positions on the last of their landing zones, and after receiving additional armored support from other surrounding friendly units, the armored surge forward would begin, with the men of the 3rd platoon at the vanguard of the spearhead.
Minutes felt like hours as they continued to retreat down the tunnels, the sound of blaster fire easing the longer they went "We can't keep running forever, soon we'll need to rest. The next open area may be a good time to do that" he suggested, his breathing quickened but steady from his exceptional fitness. Then, not a second later Kara fell to the floor on her hands and knees, forcing Silas to skid to a halt and rush back to her.
"You can work on that once you survive this mess" he grunted to her as he knelt and threw her around over his shoulder, quickly pulling her back up. Silas didn't continue at first, but instead let Kara have a rest as they looked at their surroundings. There were a few rock formations the two of them could hide behind, perfect for an ambush if done correctly "My thoughts? I say we set up here and ambush them as they go past. I doubt they'll be many who have followed those two, so it will be even ground in these tunnels"
After the calming silence came the familiar shout of Lily, who seemed quite pissed that a kid was escaping her grasp. Silas looked down the corridor with a mixture of emotions Silas desperately wanted to run back to the woman and prove her wrong, but that would in turn give in to his anger and leave Kara alone in the dark. Silas looked to the floor and tried to control his emotions, unable to look his partner in the eye as she tried to knock him back to reality
"Don't worry about me" he finally replied coldly, his eyes finally meeting hers. On his shoulder, he could feel Kara's hand shake reflectively from the situation. Was she afraid? or was there more to this that he didn't know about? Even so, Silas didn't have any time to question it before the ground shook beneath their feet.
Within moments they were thrown back into hell, their legs kicking away into the darkness of the tunnel. Rocks fell all around them, some almost hitting Silas on the head as he struggled to dodge and weave from everything being dropped on him. Silas's mind was racing, one half figuring out how to survive while the other was keeping himself calm in this situation.
"Kara! are you alright?!" Silas shouted back to the woman who stumbled. The teen seemed to slow down to try and help her catch up, but before she could reach him a strong force push sent him flying into an open area. Rolling across the hard floor his body came to a stop, cut and dusty from the objects that had clipped him "Ughhh... K-kara? KARA!" he opened his eyes wide and scrambled to his feet, stumbling over to the pile of rocks that had completely covered the entrance into the open area "No no..."
Nervous hands pulled away at the rocks that had consumed the tunnel when he knelt, frantically trying to help his fellow padawan get free from the heavy rocks that crushed her "Kara?! do you hear me? please, just reply damn it!"
Oh boy. That doesn't sound good. <This is Dagger-6. Go ahead.> Del responded immediately as her Vanguard made a wide berth over the battlefield to avoid some artillery.
It was chaotic all over. Shit falling from the sky, weird monsters coming to life, bogeys dump-running on Imperial Armoured Columns. The Vanguards had been flying hot through it all.
The ice-world was living up to that ominous streak of frozen worlds Dagger Flight had fought on. Who would have guessed it? Bloody Kovacs
was gonna get an earful after this whole debacle. Shoreleave. She'll make bloody sure the hotshot gets an elongated shoreleave with a wrench against his head.
Modulated and under the helmet it was robotic and clinical. The only reason Sion wasn't concerned was the GA signets, but when they unclapsed their helmet and it hissed open? Sion took an involuntarily step backwards anyway. At the same time he raised his lightsaber higher to let the light illuminate the combatant's face.
The moment was missed however.
Because the saber's light revealed something disturbing. His eyes left the soldier and stared at the corpses.
"Oh... oh no, so many..." Dead. Broken and limb bodies that would never breathe again. "Too many..." Sion muttered, his remaining hand clenching and unclenching, as if willing his Force Healing to work on them as well.
"..Again."
"...again?" That took Sion's attention right back and into Cordé's face. "Hey, it's you... again." Shocked as he blinked at her, temporarily forgetting where they were, what they were surrounded by and his original mission. "We do keep finding each other in the weirdest places, don't we?" Slightly bemused there before shaking his head.
"I learned my lesson from last time. Do you want me to heal you?" Rather than just going for it immediately.
Sion was doing his best to ignore the other disturbing thing. The cavern was shuddering and shaking, the crash of the star destroyer still reverberating against the stone.
Hopefully it wouldn't bring the house down on them all.
It was a simple response, his form already moving back into the absolute defence of Soresu in response to Mira's furious onslaught. Her attachment to a simple blade was what brought her to this state, her abandoning her helmet due to her lack of control is what caused her face to be scarred. Her willingness to remain silent and accept her orders mindlessly and without acting on her own conscience is what brought this world burning down around her.
Tyranny thrives in silence. When people do not speak out against it. Aaran liked talking, he liked cutting down his enemies. Many could consider the mocking of one's enemies to be rather distasteful behaviour for a Jedi. But the blinded man always felt it needed to disperse any and all illusions about oneself and one's enemies.
He had no issue describing himself as a homeless wanderer who claimed to listen to a voice in his head. Just as happy to talk down a dozen men trying to kill him as he was to cut them down in a blink of an eye if he thought the voice in his head was alright with it.
Compared to the average citizen of the Alliance, he was a dangerously insane lunatic. An extremely well-intentioned one who'd give the clothes off his back to a stranger if the situation called for it. But still crazy.
But such self-awareness allowed him to cut to the heart of the matter. And right now Mira was a confused child. It was by design that the humanoid mind lashed out violently when confronted with something that did not fit its world view. And Mira's angry outburst was one mirrored by her superiors, desperate to control a situation that simply refused to conform to their desires. Because no matter how powerful a nation is, the Galaxy is simply too big for any one power to grasp.
Even now distantly, he could feel the echoing rage of the planet's guardian awakening. Ancient, Primal, Powerful. Again and again the greater powers of the universe still cannot grasp that there are things in this universe far larger than even them. Aaran could only hope that the great age and wisdom of the Bendu would allow its indignation to be tempered with fury.
Under the twin bladed assault, his free hand moved to grasp at the scabbard of his sword, using it to block the tanto, his sword proper used to deflect the wakizashi. But it was not a defence he could keep up. He could feel the material of his sword's sheat beginning to give way under her assault.
So it was time to end this little temper tantrum.
"Your rage gives you speed." He commented, nodding once reorienting the opening of his scabbard, in response to a lunge from Mira. Moving to trap her blade inside it as he twisted, hoping to force her to drop the dagger.
"But it makes you...." He said, suddenly stepping inside her guard. Body exploding into motion as he slammed downwards with a fearsome headbutt, butting his vastly superior physical strength and weight behind the blow.
"Predictable!"
And with the hopefully collision of his forehead into Mira’s nose, he would reach out with the Force, grasping onto the tether that connected Master and Student, now so easy to see due to Mira’s unfocused rage. Connecting with the mind of her master for but a moment.
Objective 1
Allies: The Alliance
Enemies: NIO; Sars Sarad
Equipment: Armor, lightsaber, sad feelings
Her opponent moved with a blinding, practiced speed. Nida's saber swung low to catch the recognizable bright glow of white plasma with her own, fending off the blade from severing her arm. What she did not account for was the phase knife tearing across her midsection at the same time, ripping through the plate of armor.
She managed to stumble back, hunched from the impact while her free hand searched for a wound at her abdomen. The impossibly sharp knife had sliced cleanly through the protection of both weave and plast, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Fortunately, the armor had done its job and protected Nida from a more grievous injury.
A deafening crash thundered throughout the cave as a falling starship made impact with Ilum's surface, no doubt causing an incredible amount of destruction to the network of sacred caves, not to mention the loss of life. Nida had no idea whether it was an Alliance or Imperial vessel, and she suspected that Sarad did not know either. That was secondary in her mind, so focused was she on her own duel.
Instinctively, the Force began to course around her body, wrapping the Zeltron in a protective sheath. It was a response to both her injury and the devastating blow that rocked their arena, heralding another moment of shuddering instability and chunks of debris falling from the cavern ceiling. Drawing in more of the esoteric power with every breath, she expanded the shielding with a focused, practiced control of the Force—if there was one thing the Perls had been known for bedsides their, ahem, assets and penchant for trouble, it was their manipulation of the defensive techniques passed on from their mother.
"So, I am to become a prisoner."
It was not a question, but a statement. It was less offensive than death; at least she'd survived prison before. Would she be treated as a POW or sent to the imperial gulag, she wondered? Perhaps a little of both?
Pressure was building rapidly inside her own protective bubble, and another shield wound around her body, skin-tight, just enough to separate her from any resulting fallout. She could handle being a POW as a Jedi, but as the biological spawn of Darth Carnifex? The New Imperials despised her sperm donor as much as she did, yet perhaps they would seek retaliation against her.
That though triggered the pressure to explode violently outwards in all directions.
A wide wild smirk formed seeing the torrent of fire completely engulfing the Imperial, tearing away at his shields and armourweave, forcing the general to get out of range, but also further away. Then, the annoying Imperial decided to fight chemical ice with flamethrower fire. A loud hissss filled their surroundings as white-hot gas expanded upon the impact of hot and cold.
Kragr was almost impressed by the Cryoban gun as it managed to actually beat the Titan's flame and make it worse, the cryoban ice broke through and snuffed out the ignition-head in the vambrace on the Titan's wrist, forcing Kragr to shut off the use of the flame or rick an internal explosion. For a fraction of a second, Kragr was tempted to go after the AT-AT, but the Imperial above him seemed to have a much higher status than a simple AT-AT was worth. Changing into a readied position while the General commed for someone, Kragr rose his other arm using the HUD to lock on to the heat signature of the Imperial's repulsorboots.
Like everything else on the Titan, even the wrist rockets were bigger than what a normal vambrace could hold. "Got you!" said the Mandalorian inside his Titan, having locked on to the general and fired a normal-sized rocket launcher missile, locked on the general's repulsorboots.
However, right as he fired the locked-on missile, the ship that crashed into the ground caused a rather large-scale shockwave in the ground and even though Kragr was safe inside of his Titan, he could still feel the shockwave. And just to make everything even more complicated a voice cut through the silence, an ancient rumble filled with great power.
Having absolutely no idea what kind of monstrosity the rumbling clouds were, he kept getting reminded why he really did not like the Force.
His bleary-eyed vision returned to him, a faint spell of blackness had overcome Corin and all the Padawan had to show for it was a split that leaked crimson torn across his forehead. Just above the left eye, no less than a fraction that may near have blinded him if struck true. His mind flashed recent memories, flooded them back to him in a series of tidal waves, while the sight of Jand thrown off and into the void for all Corin had seen with Iris presumably crushed beneath the immense weight of crumbled stone. If either of them were still alive, the Jedi learner had no idea; an ache in his heart arrived with the familiar echoes of those familiar words - pounded back and forth in his mind, from back to front. Similarly to his frantic heartbeat and winded self. Even faced with fresh air, Corin felt as if his throat had closed, all with the stings and aches of countless cuts and bruises that littered his frame.
He clambered onto his hands and knees with an intensive amount of effort, Corin needed to find his feet once more. In the immediate area, the Padawan could hear the Imperial, especially as the distance between them closed - what little air Corin had been able to inhale in had found itself forced out once a booted foot crashed into his stomach. He crumpled onto his side, into the snow, to then receive another hardy kick so shortly after. For a moment, Corin remained there with laboured breaths, beaten.
Even the bite of the cold had not compared, the taste of iron in his mouth.
Fuelled by stubborn will and adrenaline, Corin threw himself into the fray once more. His arms, like a vice, ensnared the knees of the stormtrooper as he first rose to a seated stance, then to his knees and feet all in one swift continuous motion. The Imperial fell and Corin climbed over the armour to spit a wad of his own blood into the man's eyes, and snatch onto his sweat-matted hair in a bid to raise the head up and slam it back down into the rock underneath them.
No words. Not for any of it. Just grunts, groans, and growls.
Sahar relished his suffering, and it'd been all she desired on this god-forsaken Jedi hellhole of a planet, to see the arrogant fool and protector of the 'weak' be turned into a bloodied wreck and experience what many of his Jedi brethren had and would come to understand, pure unadulterated fear and terror, the knowledge that Sahar and the warriors of Fel were above the weak-minded Jedi ways and beyond the whims of the impotent Sith Order.
"And to think, the war was all that stopped us from killing each other."
She shrugged absentmindedly, almost dismissive of the thought at hand. The sight of Dagons face studded and shredded with debris and rock made her smile, shining a bloodied grin as she steeled herself to attack once more as she traded several blows and strikes with Dagon as the two whirled and spun around the battlefield. After this was done, she'd make sure to take not only his head but his saber as well, as a memento to burying the past and all its mistakes.
She ignored his words, thinking it to be only a ruse, before feeling the looming mass above them approach the ground at lightning-fast speed; before she could turn to answer him, she was tackled to the floor as the ground beside them churned up dust and snow and sent bodies flying. Sahar panicked and looked up to see Dagon on top of her, confusion turning to rage as she threw a fist at his face repeatedly and moved to shove him off as she tried to get away from him.
She brought herself to, calling for her sabers via the force as they flew to both outstretched hands. Sahar looked all around them; the only thing that remained was the wreckage of craft fallen from the battle above, charred and bloodied corpses and throngs of men fighting and dying amid the wasteland. Before she could collect herself, a blue lightsaber came whizzing past, barely missing her neck by a few inches as she quickly ducked and looked to see where it had come from. Just ahead of her and Dagon, were a trio of Jedi stood atop a ridge, likely knights of some description from some unremarkable minor order looking to score a trophy in the form of Sahar's head.
Sahar smirked to herself, igniting her silver saber and inviting with a free hand for the three to come at her, and so they did in a fury. To her left was a Zabrak Jedi; to her right, a human Jedi; in her centre was a Wookiee Jedi whose roar reverberated through her bones and soul. She knew who to go for, catching the Zabraks swing with her own as she booted the human back into the Wookiee; as she followed up with a strike to the Zabraks leg, cutting a deep cauterised gap in the thigh before following with an elbow to the adam's apple, causing the Zabrak to drop and clutch their throat as they choked.
Sahar struck fast and hard, wasting no time; the Zabrak tried to get his saber up in time but failed as the Kandarans saber slipped past his guard and cut through his shoulder blade like butter. Then, with a sickening thud and burning sound, Sahar drove the lightsaber deeper down, almost entirely taking the shoulder and arm off, her gloved hand pressing down on the Zabraks chest as she forced both her saber and him into the ground before grabbing him quickly and throwing the dying man into the other two incoming Jedi. She used that precious time to readjust her stance, eyeing the two as they moved to take her out. First, the human ran in, swinging at the Imperial knight to allow for the Wookiee to use an opening to skewer Sahar whole.
Sahar whirled, just managing to pull her weapon into a parry as the Wookiee rushed in and aimed at her neck with his giant lightsaber. The block saved her life but numbed her arm. She back peddled as the Wookiee savagely rained down blows on her while the other human occasionally joined in with strikes and feints of his own. Shaking her head in anger, Sahar twisted her body and ducked to stab just under the human jedi's attack. The man had misjudged his thrust by a league, and the blue lightsaber point passed the Kandaran, not even coming close to hurting her. Sahar's lightsaber, on the other hand, found a target in the man's stomach as she buried it deep in, the lightsaber bursting out of the man's back before he could scream in agony in realisation. And just as quickly as she had buried her lightsaber deep in the man, did she soon twist it out and jump past him, putting both hands around the man's neck and twisting it as his scream abruptly was cut off. That left the Wookiee alive of the three, and she ran after the beast, whose roar of battle matched the cries of the Kandaran as she moved on the offensive. Overcame by the pure joy of the battlefield, Sahar savagely rained down blows as she struck and hacked and slashed like a butcher at the abattoir, rage fueling each strike as some began to find purchase. The smell of burned fur and Wookiee cries were snuffed out by the battle trance she was in, barely seeming to register the Wookiee's state as she smashed her saber repeatedly into the hulking beast's back and body as it slowly crumpled to the floor.
"GAHHHH!"
She screamed at the top of her lungs, an almost primal guttural shriek overtook her as she expanded all of her rage into the now lifeless Wookiees corpse, seemingly forgetting everything around her, even Dagon himself who she'd withdrew from only minutes earlier.
Objective 1
Allies: The Empire
Enemies: GA; Nida Perl
Equipment: Armor; Duster; Lightsaber; Old Sin In a moment that came and went in the span of a breath the two opponents seemed to have changed places. Now Sarad had his back to the wreckage whereas Nida Perl
had access to more of the cave. If Sarad hadn't been put on his back foot by the sudden violent rocking of the cave after the crash somewhere outside he might have considered his attack with the utmost aggression.
As it happened the deafening crash that thundered through the cave and shook it violently made Sarad stumble though, he almost fell as he moved backwards until regaining his footing. Turning his head upwards his eyes narrows, the battle waging beyond this cave must have been immense. Debris, rocks falling from the cavern ceiling barely missed him and he would actually raise his left arm, the Phase-Knife still held inverted in his hand to shield himself from smaller stones that may have come loose.
There was dust too or was it frost, particles of snow and condensation knocked loose from the cavern by the crash outside that seemed to fill the air with an almost unnatural haze. Another distraction that almost concealed the shift in the force from him but Sarad was focused on his opponent. When the Zeltron sheathed herself defensively he started forward but the pressure that built around Nida Perl
was almost palpable and made him hesitate.
Bringing his arms up Sarad would crossed Old Sin and his lightsaber ahead of him. At the same time he'd have manipulated the force so that he could create an obstruction, a wall, a Force Barrier in front of him. It started to come together but there the detonation occurred. A Violent outwards explosion that had been centered on Nida, it struck the 'Barrier' that Sarad had been creating and began to chip away at it like a sandstorm might wear down a stone over time only this was much more evident, happening much more quickly.
The Kinetic Force would push Sarad backwards, his feet sliding over smooth surface of the cave beneath him while he dipped his head to use his arms as shields.
When it was over, that sudden violent burst having worn away his barrier completely and lashed itself across him in turn; Sarad bore fresh cuts, small nicks across his features and hands, even a few on his Duster and scrapes over the armor beneath. If he'd been weaker or not so fresh into the battle, spent a little bit more than Sarad knew the damage would have been much more significant but with no time to waste he attacked again...
"If that is what the force wills---"
...he began to say as he launched himself at her. Ahead of him his lightsaber wove itself into a practiced but wild pattern, flourishing itself until he could make contact with her own saber again. Another Saber lock but this time Sarad didn't want to use it press her backwards, he wanted to coem closer to her until they were in an almost intimate space.... "---then who are you to deny it?"
...he didn't know her lineage, didn't know who her parents were; he only knew that she was the one right now. The Phase-Knife, Old Sin would work quickly if Sarad could make distance on Nida. It would slash upwards for the outside of her right elbow, where a gap in most pieces of armor would appear then come back downwards in a harsh stabbing motion aimed for smaller gap that should exist between her shoulder and torso, often to accommodate the movement of the arm and body where it sought to sink deeply into her shoulders upper portion. All this to debilitate her on the right side.
The fighting was beyond hectic. Clearing the trench had been child's play compared to what came after. Blooms of orange flame lit up the vicinity, accompanied by the flashing red and green of laserfire. These Imperial agents weren't packing standard weaponry. He could tell that much as soon as he tried to deflect an oncoming laser blast. It detonated before him, sending him crashing into the ice. After that he spent the majority of his energy evading shots and sending back his own with his blaster pistol.
"Aleks!" He screamed out to his former Padwan, now partner, pain spreading in his side as something, be it debris or a shot from the enemy's weapons skimmed a less armored area. He held his focus, and wrenched the falling barrel of a turbolaser off course so that it did not crush one of his fireteams. "Aleks there's another one of us out here, get them to us now!"
Somehow he heard his Master through the roaring chaos of the battle. He didn't want to leave the soldiers fighting at his side. He didn't want to leave Cale to fend for himself. But whoever this was - this Jedi all alone - he didn't stand a chance as a lone sword in the darkness. In the thickest onset of corruption it was the Jedi's place to take that burden upon themselves. To carry all that darkness as if they might purge it from the galaxy, and free it of it's vice.
So he powered onward.
Things only got harder when the sky began to fall. Chunks of starship debris fell through the atmosphere, burning up in their ever-increasing velocity. Aleksandr did everything in his power to dodge the deadly scrap, all around him it continued to rain. He could sense him now, the Jedi.
Kai Bamarri
was present in the Force. Aleks could sense his urgency, and his fear. Then he spotted him, fighting for his life amidst the glimmering kyber crystals of Ilum. There was someone in pursuit of him. Aleks rushed to close the space between them.
Sylus (Γ059)
clutched a carbine as he charged, the Jedi was deflecting his bolts as Aleks arrived. He cleared his mind - as well as he could considering the mounting danger - then flung a blast of telekinetic energy at the Imperial. He intended to push the man back to buy time for the Jedi, even just a few seconds. Then he turned to the young man he'd come to save.
"You do know standing out in the open like that is a good way to get shot, right?" Aleks japed as he batted away a laser blast. "Now unless you want to face that health hazard alone I suggest you come with me." He offered, pointing to the Imperial that had been charging him mere moments ago.
<I'm glad to hear it,> he said in response while he softly squeezed her shoulder. Without her, he probably wouldn't have gotten through the fight without getting beaten up beyond recognition again, even if he ended up winning. So he very much appreciated her coming along.
It was also a good excuse to just spend more time with her in general.
<You know, I should have thought about that,> Kyell smirked and made his way over to the door, where he grabbed his lightsaber, ignited it, and pushed it through the metal. Luckily this place was made using regular old durasteel, so he went through it without any real problems, and began carving a hole big enough for him to crawl through. <I'm just going to take her stuff, and then we'll be out of here. I'd rather not stick around too long, just in case she got off a signal to her allies as well.>
The blind rage, so rarely felt by Aoki, lead her to her downfall. In only a couple well placed moves, the Jedi counterattacked, caught her weapons, and whammed his skull into her nose. Blood gushed from her nostrils as she fell flat to the ground, knocked out instantly. The shards imbedded in her face had only worsened the damage, though perhaps some managed to pierce his skull from that last contact. Once the woman fell to the ground, Aaran Tafo would be looking down at the unconscious, bleeding face of a young squire. Blood freely fell from the right side of her face, glass glistening in the light reflected by the snow. Her broken nose, and mouth below, were stained in crimson as well. From her shut eyes, tears still streaked down her face.
She was unconscious, the victory her advisory's.
"Papa! Papa, wait!"
The little girl ran up to the garbed man. Her father. The sunlight shone into the Atrisian cottage, bathing her father's figure in eclipsed shadow. The child looked up to him, and he looked down to her.
"Papa?" The girl asked in concern, "Why do you still fight criminals? Even though you are no longer Jedi?"
The man chuckled. To the girl's surprise, he bent down to her with a warm smile, "Even if the Jedi, and the republics of the galaxy, are flawed, I believe that a way exists out. I am searching for a way to bring peace, justice, and order to this galaxy of chaos."
The girl nodded. His smile faded a little and he spoke, "Mira?"
Mira looked up in attention, "Yes, papa?"
"This is a mission I doubt I in myself can complete. Daughter, I do not wish to push you in any which direction. I want you to forge your own path, but if I die, will you try and find that way as well? In the way you see fit?"
The child nodded, shy yet determined, "Yes, papa. I want to help people like you do."
To her surprise, he reached out and ruffled her hair. She grimaced as she felt the hair her aunt painstakingly made pretty for her fall out of place and tangle. For all her annoyance, however, she could forgive her father when she heard him laugh softly.
There was a sort of comfort for a Nagai, Jand supposed, dying in combat.
It might not have been what he wanted, or how he expected to die, but at least--
Jand felt a sharp sting against his cheek.
"Eh..."
And as the young Padawan opened his eyes, he realized the darkness wasn't death. It was the cavern below him, a void of black, which seemed to reach upward for his suspended form. With a blink of gray eyes, the Nagai began to realize his situation, even as he glanced up - but found his neck hindered by the Jedi cloak he wore, or more specifically the hood. A craned and tilted head, a quick spy of where the fabric was:
The hood had caught on the railing of the bent mining walkway.
In fact, the feeling of weightlessness was more that he was suspended, held in place by metal that had ripped through the brown cloak. And the cold was the harsh wind that now blew through the cavern, likely from the damage caused by the fallen vessel on the surface. And the stinging... that was ice, as another gust was sent Jand's way, to slice and stick on his skin, before he put up an arm protectively. His side hurt, from the rocket explosion - the first one - and blood stained his tunic.
* Riiiiiip... *
Jand's eyes widened as he realized the shifted weight had caused the cloak hood to tear more. He understood his predicament, of course, and now had to find a way out of it. The simplest way was to grab onto the metal railing that protruded over the cavern. So, with careful and slow movement of his arm, Jand inched upward, upward, upward, until he felt the metal with his fingertips above his head.
He grabbed it.
He didn't drop, he didn't fall, the walkway didn't move.
Jand's other hand ached, to which he glanced down, and noted his tensed fist around the handle of his longsword. Fortunate, it would have been dishonorable to have lost his family blade, especially to a mining cavern. With a press of the button on the hilt, the metallic blade retracted in segments, until it was just the portion in the palm. With slow movements - again - the Nagai reached to his belt and clipped it into the space for it, before he raised his arm and reached up again...
Both hands now grasped the railing.
The hood came loose, as the slack was taken, and Jand was more free to move without the taunt pulling of the cloak on his upper body. With Jand's lean frame, he soon began to work his way up the railing, hand over hand, until he reached a point that he could hook a boot and leverage himself up. The pain in his side was bearable, but prolonged weight on it would increasingly become more intense. He tried to avoid as much bouncing as possible, but:
* Creak. *
The outermost walkway section began to dip.
Jand was tight-lipped.
* Groooooooan... *
The walkway was going to give. Jand pulled himself up, as he planted his foot on the railing and began to scamper up the metal latticework. He felt a sudden dip again, even as he continued to use every ounce of his speed and agility. Halfway up, the railing buckled, to which the Nagai gritted his teeth and jumped with all the strength he could muster; and in his sheer desperation, even the Force which had been so difficult to call upon, flooded his body and propelled him!
* Grooooooan-snap! *
Out from under Jand, the railing and bent portion of walkway fell.
He reached out with an arm, dark eyes determined.
His hand open...
And then cool, hard metal pressed against his palm and fingers. Jand hung there, as he looked down into the abyss of darkness, as the walkway clattered and bounced on unseen rocks through its descent. The Nagai reached up with his other hand and grasped with both, then pulled up and over the edge, onto the - relative - safety of the walkway that remained intact after the starship impact. He lay there, on his back, for a moment as he looked up at the sky overhead through the cavern opening.
There was the sound of combat.
Grunts, thuds, growls.
Jand looked over from where he lay, to see Corin and the Imperial in close-quarters. But he couldn't see Iris, not immediately. The tunnel looked to have collapsed, the cave now scattered with rocks and ice, and Jand wondered if... no, he had to get back into the fight, Corin was in immediate danger.
Iris may very well have escaped.
So, the danger to Corin was the priority.
With a grunt, Jand got to his feet, then pulled out his longsword, before he extended the blade with a press.
Jand started to jog toward the pair fighting, as he caught his breath, weapon held tight in hand...
JUGGERNAUT SERIES CARGO TANK, 'Richter" UNTERNEHMEN KYBER STURM; Evacuation Protocol
53rd Sturmpioneer Brigade Justice Lesan
"Keep at it!" Rickard snapped, "Blow these bastards outta the sky!" He and the rest of the squad were now crouched on the roof, gone prone to avoid lower flying fighter blasts. Their rifles struggling to keep up with the trajectory of the fighters. Sharad meanwhile was putting his feet to the peddles of the gun nest, spinning his position around, trying to track the heavier fighters. The bolt of the MG-69 flinging back and forth, clattering as it did so. Each burst of fire sending the butt of the heavy machine gun into the young soldiers shoulder. Heat radiated from the weapon as Sharad squinted. The entire missions success was weighed on his shoulders now. These fighters, little more than buzzards searching for prey would not slip past him.
Below, the escorting tanks and speeders scattered themselves, attempting to return fire. Even riders on speeder bikes were unholstering their sidearms and opening up on the sortie of fighters. Their success was middling, as several of the larger vehicles, APC's really, were forced out of formation, or outright detonated. Sending the juggernaut rattling with the concussive force of their detonations. Sharad even shuddered in his chilled seat, keeping on the attack, and spinning the nest around as they moved to turn for another attack. He disconnected the MG-69 from cycling it from its primary heating coil, to the secondary one as to cool the piping hot barrel. That is when he saw something. Some object appear out of his periphery. He spun the gun around, and heard the sudden buzz of something. When fully spun, he saw him. In all his inglorious glory. Sharad's eyes grew wide, and he could only scream one word, "JEDI!"
The rest of the squad caught up in the action swivelled around and starred at the warrior for a moment, while Sharad tried to get out. Rickard stepped forward, and levelled his weapon. He like the rest of the squad were kitted out in the standard rifle of a Prefsbelt Auxiliary. The Volkswaffe Model 864 Assault Maser. Or VW-864. "Right, we trained for this! Fan out, fire!" Sharad meanwhile managed to pick himself up from off of the seat, but tripped as the juggernaut jolted up once more. "Major!" Rickard snapped, as he fired a burst of maser bolts at the Jedi, "We're gonna need more men up here! Code Green! Jedi aboard!"
The rest of the squad deliberately fanned out, with only Rishi continuing to fire at the fighters. The other three, and Sergeant Rickard took positions, spacing themselves out. The squad was attired in similar uniforms, but with some differences. Two had coats, buttoned up tightly and with field caps on their heads. Two of the others, Sharad included, wore the Prefsbelt pot-helmet. Although their uniforms were configured differently. Sharad and one of the others had a heavy winter coat, and an undersuit, sort of a balaclava. While their third was dressed in simple winter fatigues, with just a deep grey parka.
Still, the unit knew what they were doing in ensuring that at least two of their blasters were firing at once. Masers were capable against lightsabers, but not perfect. And who knew what this Jedi could do. Especially since the madman had jumped aboard a tank bristling with troops aboard, "Cover Sharad!" Rickard snapped. "You can't get out of this Jedi! Lay down your arms!" Rickard snapped, "Don't make us destroy you!"
Iris sat huddled underneath rubble, rock, machinery. Snow. It had all come crashing down in an instant. Corin had been spared. Jand- No, Jand was fine. The others- She couldn't see the others, not from here. But Jand and Corin, they were fine. She let out a slow breath as she kept focused around her. Calm and centered. That's what she needed to be. The metal she held aloft creaked as her brow twitched.
Stay calm. Stay focused. Find a way out. Don't get crushed.
Like their enemies many of the Mandalorians turned the tables and chairs into makeshift barricades while their comrades gave them suppressing fire. However, the flashbangs were thrown and blinded several of the shooters and they were either killed or wounded. In retaliation the commander and another warrior flew up from cover and together each fired a missile from their jetpacks.
The projectiles rocketed toward the center of the Helion/Imperial barricade and a small explosion erupted. The resulting blast and flying shrapnel would lessen the defenders' numbers.
As that happened the remaining Mandalorians charged or flew around like angry mynocks against their foes. Soon the fight lost all strategic formation as it turned into chaotic shootout and savage melee between the two sides throughout the mess hall. In the midst of this Minerva who had reloaded a fresh clip spotted a towering merc aiming for her. Instead of turning her back to fly up the warrior rolled out of his shots to the left flank before firing a three round burst toward him, center mass.
Quickly she ascended into the air while still facing Jas. Like a defiant insect she flew back and forth in a semicircle. During the flight Minerva fired four blaster bolts at her new opponent's direction.
BORN OF BRIGHT STARSI: SURVIVING FORMER ALLIES - PART 4
FOB: Reverence, Western Kyber Mountains, The Hallowed Scar, Ilum (Spring of 877 ABY)
~=I'm coming for you next Imperial.=~
An Explosion of metal had been felt in the moments preceding the telepathic threat of the Jedi, and though the Druid could still sense the pulse and life-energy of the young Hybrid who was fighting him before, it seemed Mira would be safe for as long as she remained in a non-combative posture, but that would depend purely on how much of a distraction could be provided on Michael's end. Much easier than anticipated though, especially in hearing the venomous tone of Tafo's reply, sounding far more invested than any Jedi ought to have sounded under the circumstances, just so happening to be the sort of bloodlust Barran was banking on enticing further.
If a Jedi of the NJO could display such emotionality, such eagerness for converts and defectors alike, then Lord Michael would have no qualms with playing on and amplifying that detrimental urge for violence that went with it; and with the petty mindgames and condemnations factored into the Wanderer's decision, Barran would have no trouble casting chivalry aside for the sake of feeding the wild, vicious hand of retribution instead. If a Jedi could indulge in cruelty, then the Goidel wouldn't be averse to fighting dirty in response, and whenever it came down to fighting dirty in the Galaxy's wars, Woads like Lord Michael had achieved more than enough in the wildest close-quarters engagements this way. The only thing left to ascertain beyond that point was the means of eradicating his enemy's sunny disposition once and for all, and the self-assurance Lord Michael had in being on the cusp of finding such a means, all that remained was the process of enticing the Jedi eastward all the quicker.
~=Who, me? Oh.... Interesting. Certainly ill-advised, but you won't hear me refusing anyway.=~
Almost giddy with excitement, like that which was often attributed to a childlike sense of wonder, that which was often seen in the eyes of pioneers, adventurers, heroes and thrill-seekers alike, the Woad knew well the benefits of channelling such energies in heart, mind and soul; and without any need to note the added potency it would lend to his state of fighting flow, Barran understood the adrenal qualities in this excitement also, safe in the knowledge that his stamina, pain-threshold and agility would be amplified threefold for as long as was necessary. There was much and more in terms of power and energy the Druid could draw from, but ever as poetic as his father, (and especially so in approach to combat and philosophy) Lord Michael would remain every part as choosy on Ilum as he was on every deployment before, one hereditary habit in particular that was destined to die hard with every Barran of the Wanderer's ilk.
~=See you soon, Jedi.... We'll make our formal introductions when you get here.=~
Leaving the Jedi to his approach, Lord Michael chuckled to himself as he reached into his coat-pocket, pulling out a small canister before taking his coat, under-jacket, armour, gloves and shirt off; cold though Ilum was, it was no secret that the Barrans were masters of the snows, easily embracing the biting, icy temperatures as he opened the canister and dipped his index and middle fingers in to reveal the Woad-Blue war-paint within. The Wanderer could have just as easily chosen other means to tap into the traditions of his people, but in the understanding that he would be fighting in front of a Goidelic audience, Lord Michael knew that tapping into the oldest facets of his ancestry would be the most effective means of tapping into the powers that resonated within.
When the paint glowed, so did the Druidic tattoos on the palms of the Woad's hands, and when the tattoos glowed, so did the blue in his irises. Making it all the more special a moment for Lord Michael was the fact that indulging this contrasting element to his power had been detrimental in the past, but in his time training since those uncertain days, the perfect balance had been found between the Force and the Gods of his ancestors; with time and the tutorship of King Lucien, along with a slew of pains and hospitalisations Barran experienced throughout, the true center-ground between worlds was eventually established.
'Everything alright up here, Mil-'
And this time, the Druid was quite happy to lean heavily into the tribalistic facets of his own soul, as without any lasting consequences to hold him back, the effect would be far more potent with nothing to impede the ancestral connection between mind and spirit.
'Wh- ooooh! Good thing you brought the Druid-Mask with ye this time, Milord! Efter aw, ye canni have one without the other - I just hope thats the real stuff you're puttin' on there.... I'll go grab yer mask the noo.'
The Woad war-paint was a strange but effective substance to utilise in war, bringing the world of the ceremonial, the ritualistic into the realms of conflict and strife, but in the most creative ways imaginable. It's base materials (for no regular blue paint would do in such settings) were a mesh of naturally-ground dyes and the likes, but one of the most-prevalent binding elements was a strong psychedelic that brought out the powers Lord Michael would call upon that day. But as far as his sense of self was concerned, the ego, his self-control, and sense of conscious perception was likely to diminish for as long as the war-paint stayed on his skin; but in the haze, all the Highlanders knew that whatever remained would be formidable, perhaps even a wonder to behold.
<"Bramber One, this is McBain - callsign,"Cairn Two"! Halting in open-formation on both flanks of the spearhead for now, but expect no further movements until the other tanks join the formation though.... Coordination's the key here, Milord. We can cause some proper mayhem if we get this right.">
As the Woad chuckled to himself, he couldn't help but feel a tad envious of his conventional subordinates, getting to embrace any large-scale tank battle of it's sort was rarity enough on it's own, making the potential in this engagement seem all the more anomalous in the Galaxy's latest battlefronts. Missing such wonders was sure to irritate him later, but Barran had no time to dwell on such matters, not when the freshly-painted ethno-patterns were already beginning to glow on his descent to the west gate, an early warning that the deliriant effects were just beginning to take hold. Then as Lord MIchael reached the gatehouse, he would find McKidd waiting with his mask in hand, at the ready to hand it over with ceremonious, delicate respect for both mask and Druid alike.
'We either win big, or fail monumentally - there never was any in-between.... Cha Bhi Sinn Uile, brothers!'
Hacks' mind had retreated into a vast ocean of data. Her body lay broken and destroyed, but she was not yet defeated. Her eyes remained closed but her AJ^6 unit whirred with activity, microlights flashed along the implants around her temples. She could feel her connection to the local networks like they were an extension of her own body, able to move and manipulate them with nothing but thought.
As she hurriedly locked down her computing station, her mind began to scour the vicinity and felt something familiar. A cybernetic implant. The program that enabled the prothesis was different from her own but she recognised its similarities. Built to respond like organic limbs, they were not ordinarily controlled by computing inputs - but cybersurgeons needed to diagnose implants when they became faulty, a backdoor for Hacks to exploit.
With nothing but thought Hacks' mind probed the cybernetic arm of Kyell's, forming a diagnosis request and false certificate to bypass whatever rudimentary security the arm may posses. Unknown how the prothesis may respond, she queued a request for the arm to curl into a fist and strike backwards, towards Kyells face.
Kragr Krayt
Wolfram Triko
