Faction Hunting Grounds | Diarchy

[Viari Banu]

Hunting Grounds​

Feeling the force break his fall Viari let out a surprised caw, he had no idea as to it's source but silently thanked Eostre for her protection. Friend-Iandre's updraft was welcomed with an almost playful trill as he rode the warm winds into a stabilised flight. His eyes tracked the devastation left in her wake, metal frames thrown into the dirt their awkward mechanical limbs struggling to correct themselves. Easy prey, but tempted as he was the last attack didn't quite go in his favour.​

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Capitalising on the opening Iandre had created, friend-Diarch descended like lighting. The technique, was, in a sense, comforting. He had seen his father make similiar use of the weapon in hunts, only this was much more powerful and far more explosive. He felt the change in air pressure beneath him. It manifested as push followed by a sudden drop again as displaced air filled back in, he responded in kind first by streching his feathers wider to carry him upwards then back in again to prevent a sudden and uncontrolled descent as it was pulled back towards the earth.​

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The pair worked seemlessly together, one defending the other attacking and back again. He had seen hunters work in sequence, carefully laid out plans or countless drills executed to perfection but this was different. Movements were fluid they adapted to the ebb and flow instead of trying to control it, it came as naturally to them as flying and he wondered if this was a power that all Eostre's blessed possessed or was it some unique bond they shared.​

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Zinayn added his own unique wind to the battle, moving with speed and grace he weaved between machines formations, cutting down his prey in elegant and targetted strikes. His weapon wasn't like the others, it wasn't a lightsaber nor a spear that emuluated lightning but a blade. Cold steel that beyond all reason cut through the machines like butter. Such a weapon would do wonders for his people, but that was a question for later and right now he had a job to do.​

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"I- Yes!" Viari hooted loud and clean, if friend-Iandre was going to lead their hunt he would fall in line. As much as it frustrated him, he had to recognise these machines for the dangers they posed to him and his talons. A broken leg could very well be a death sentance without his father's healing.​

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A quick scan across the plains and he spotted Zinayn, now focused on what looked to him like a metal tree. The surrounding grass moved oddly, not with the sweeping wind but against it moving closer and closer. He recognised the pattern, like a pack of animals closing in on their prey. Focusing his gaze he caught glimpse of the serpentine machines toiling through the soil towards him. Diving low enough to ensure his voice carried, Viari crowed, "Friend-Zinayn. Danger, behind."​

Div created by Makeb​

Iandre Athlea Diarch Rellik Zinayn

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Viari's warning reached Iandre like a tight pluck in the Force, a sharp thread of urgency cutting across the battlefield.

"Friend-Zinayn. Danger, behind."

This time, the danger wasn't something worming under the soil — it was something rolling toward him.

As Iandre swept her awareness across the plains, she felt the vibration, rhythmic and metallic: two autonomous threshers and a multi-limbed irrigation unit shifting direction at once, their systems corrupted enough to behave like predatory animals despite being nothing more than repurposed agricultural rigs.

The threshers rumbled forward with heavy rotary teeth spinning at dangerous speed. At the same time, the irrigation rig — an eight-meter mechanical boom with jointed sprayer arms — swung its limbs in stiff, insect-like arcs as it closed in behind Zinayn. They weren't fast, but their momentum and mass made them lethal hazards.

Iandre reacted immediately.

"Zinayn — up. Now."

Her voice carried like a steady command across the grasslands, and even before he fully registered it, she pressed her hand into the earth.

There was no eruption — just control.

She stiffened the soil beneath Zinayn, flattening uneven ground and giving him a perfectly stable platform. When he pushed off, the Force lifted under his feet, turning his jump into a clean, easy ascent as the threshers roared past the spot he had just vacated.

A heartbeat later, the irrigation boom unit overshot its turn, its long sprayer arms getting tangled in tall grasses as its corrupted logic tried to compensate.

Iandre lifted her eyes to Viari, voice clear and authoritative without losing its warmth.

"Stay above their pivot radius — they can't elevate past fifteen degrees."

To Rellik, she didn't need theatrics—only precision.

She pointed toward the stalled machines, her cloak snapping behind her as the wind shifted around her.

"Three units—two threshers, one irrigation boom. Stabilizers overloaded. Hit the joints while they're locked from the turn."

Her tone sharpened with a confidence born of absolute synergy.

"Your angle's clean. Take them."

She kept her palm low, not to manipulate the soil violently but to ensure the terrain stayed predictable — no dips, no soft patches, nothing that would cause Zinayn to lose footing when he landed or Viari to misread wind flow from ground disturbance.

Around her, the plains thrummed with the movement of machinery and the coordinated rhythm of her allies.
And through it all, Iandre remained the axis — calm, grounded, steady — letting the others strike while she ensured the battlefield itself stayed on their side.

Viari Banu Zinayn Diarch Rellik

 

[Trent]

Viari Banu Iandre Athlea Diarch Rellik Zinayn

The winds drifted listlesly around the quiet plains as Norman laid on the hood of his speeder, lost in thought and smoking a spice stick. The clouds seemed to move in tempo with the wind, drifting in unordered patterns with the breeze, reflecting what seemed like hundreds of shades of brilliant light. That may have just been the spice though. The com link on his hip began beeping wildly and Trent sighed, if he was getting beeped, the babysitting mission was about to be more interesting than he originally believed. He flicked the spice stick away and replaced it with a tobacco cigarello as he leapt into the driver's seat and flew off towards his charge. The compact RPS-6 bounced slightly in his back seat as he went.

He'd been positioned a ways away in case anyone tried to interfer with the Diarch and came from the eastern flank, since they were pulling him aerial drones would now be on that section. The grass beneath flattened as Norman skidded to a stop a few hundred meters from the commotion between the clankers and his fellows, on a small hill. There was a large eagle, a Jedi, the Diarch, another Agent, and a near sea of droids and animals. He giggled. He loved his work.

"Good Lord" he murmured to himself as he snatched the rps from it's resting place in the back seat, sighting in the thresher furthest from his allies and quickly firing, sending a rocket flying into the large machine, shrapnelling some of the other bots but not sending any far enough to hit a friendly. A brilliant explosion overtook the robot as the warhead slammed into it's frame, destroying it's corrupted cpu and most of it's shell. The robot burned brilliantly as it shutdown.

Trent put on his combat suit's helmet and grabbed his heavy blaster rifle from the passenger seat and began moving down the hill towards the Diarch and company, firing occasionally as he did, taking out a droid here and there.

Norman had no love for machines. Not after Rhen Var. They were a rare hatred of his. Generally when he "shut off" beings there was no personal animosity, at least from him to them. His age and years working in the underworld and the wars before that had gave him an appreciation for all life, even if he had to take it.