Invasion Kill Them All and let God Sort them Out: AC Invasion of TSE held Ziost, Mirial, Ruuria

[Cedric Grayson]

Task: Coordinate the invasion / Get EE out of this fight
Location: Outside City Gates, FOB guarded by heavy armor
Allies: Sephi Karneh , Kolson Vrask , Dagon Kaze , Mrurh'en'lase | Hel , Zark San Tekka, Strasza, Julian Qar, all non-Sith in New Adasta
Enemies: Sithies, Ingrid L'lerim (?)


"I can assure you that my people would never harm the innocent," was Cedric's immediate retort, though he halted to listen to the rest of what Ingrid had to say. There had been a private worry that she might refuse his request, either on grounds of loyalty to the Sith, or as a result of their trickery. Deception was the Bogan's greatest tool, and he wouldn't have put it past the force on Ziost to trick the EE's forces into thinking the Ashlans were here for the purpose of extermination rather than liberation.

Fortunately enough, the Eternal Empress seemed amicable enough. "This is all acceptable. I have two Essonian divisions on the eastern side of the city near several of these sanctuaries. I'll order their advance halted for the time being, and a route opened for your people to move through freely. I will ensure that our spare transports are waiting for your people nearby." The delay could prove to be problematic, but likely not disastrous. At the very least, it would be far less bloody than trying to push through the back alleys.

"I agree with your condition, though I'll be training my armor on that position. They'll remain back, but if the Sith hear of me moving to an open position, I wouldn't put it past them to try at an assassination attempt, whether you're present or not." With that, he would cut the comms. He snapped a quick order for a speeder bike, and halted to listen to Pietro Demici 's speech.

The Bishop was as uplifting as ever, and Cedric couldn't help but smile beneath the stoic façade of his mask. With men like Peitro around, he was confident that the Crusade would continue even if he was struck down in the thick of it. He would turn to Geiseric , a knight he knew little of, other than for his reputation of great prowess and equally strong faith, momentarily considering asking for the knight's presence, but then thinking better of it. He and Pietro would be needed to head the assault while Cedric was away playing politics.

Two Kobok youths would ride up on a speeder bike, dismounting and presenting the vehicle to the Essonian. Cedric offered a thankful nod as he mounted up, the bike roaring as it tore off toward the open tundra that Ingrid L'lerim had marked.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
IMPERIAL MILITARY ASSISTANCE GROUP
EMBEDDED WITH | 1st BATTALION 506th INFANTRY REGIMENT
JUDGEMENT DAY
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Defiant Pattern APCU (Ashla Armed Forces) | SRK-65 Service Rifle | DSP-61x Hybrid Pistol | Cradle | Grenades

DECONSTRUCTION
ZIOST '65​

A shock to the system, but nothing he hadn't felt before. He swiped his hands over his form. Minor shrapnel penetrations, most of which dug into the blast armor on his chest and shoulders. He was fine. Whatever wounds he incurred, flesh wounds, they'd worry about it later. He cradled the rifle into his arms again, glancing back in the direction of Sephi. Her words fell on ringing ears for a split moment, but he nodded once. A reassurance that he was good to go.

He echoed that unspoken sentiment with words and actions.

<"Get to cover! Return fire! Move!"> He barked through the unit comms, the Ashlan troopers were well under way of executing his command if only because it was the only true response they could levy in these dogged moments. He scrambled for the same emplacement Nova took cover in, shifting his gaze to hers for a moment before he immediately snapped to focus

<"Nova! Get that mag up! Start hitting 'em until you stop seeing muzzle flash! Fire!"> Grunge commanded to the Commando to the left of him before turning back, levying a flat hand toward one of the non commissioned officers returning fire, huddled down with three of his troopers.

<"Get Echo up and moving! You have an open alley way, flank 'em and lay down the heat! Move!"> Grunge commanded, ending his statement with a word of command, a signature behavior to those who'd been through New Imperial military training. Twitching his shoulder with the impact of a particle beam, he looked the way of another section, hugging the side of the street in similar manner.

<"Gamma! They're moving, you cover 'em!"> Vrask commanded. After viewing the NCO voice off a command to a group of his troopers, three made their way up behind a burnt out speeder, setting up a heavy repeater over the top of the hood before ripping a punishing volley of the particle beams in the direction of the approaching Sith.

Next to her, he aimed down the sights of his carbine, delivering carefully placed two round bursts in the direction of the Sith troopers, insurgents, citizen militia, whatever it was, he didn't care.

He waited for the flanking maneuver to come to fruition and then- they'd take the initiative once more.

<"We're the difference, remember that."> He repeated the mantra to Nova.

They'd make it out.

ALLIES | AC | NIO | Sephi Karneh | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Julian Qar | Dagon Kaze
ENEMIES | TSE | OPEN FOR SMOKE | N Nyxeris | Laertia Io

 

[Sephi Karneh]

N O V A
IMPERIAL MILITARY ASSISTANCE GROUP;
ASSIGNED TO | 1st BATTALION 506th INFANTRY REGIMENT, ASHLAN CRUSADE
NEW IMPERIAL "DOGS"
ARMOR PRIMARY MAGCANNON GRENADES MELEE

P S Y C H E
NEW ADASTA
JUDGMENT DAY
​

<"Nova! Get that mag up! Start hitting 'em until you stop seeing muzzle flash! Fire!">

She didn't have to be told twice. The pinch of the noose was tightening around their necks and she had the means to cut the cord. Shifting her weight back to her lagging heel, the commando swung her ion disruptor to rest with its weight upon the sling, laying it low against her stomach and between her legs. With hands freed, she reached over her shoulder and hefted the massive rail of her magcannon to bear, pivoting it about forward. With a grunt, she planted it, kicking the legs of the tripod attachment to engage, spiking them into the broken earth, and aligning the wide-split barrel into a gunnery fortification constructed on the upper echelon of their position. She accomplished as much in a matter of seconds, ignoring the streams of hissing plasma and punching shrapnel that squealed by her, focused solely on the task at hand.

Sweat rolled from her temple, cutting a path through the warpaint smeared down her cheeks with her efforts.

<"Fifteen seconds."> She stated confidently toward Grunge, though her gaze did not leave her weapon. The orders rocketed over their comlink, dispatched upon their allies to send them scurrying off for the engagement, fanning out for a flanking maneuver that would prove risky for a number of reasons. Perhaps the most worrisome to the combat engineer was the fact her weapon did not discriminate toward those on the business end. The pressure would fall upon her then, to operate and fire it with hair-splitting precision, lest she wished to annihilate the men and women she had been handed the partial responsibility of.

With both hands, Nova clutched the rack and pulled it toward her chest, mounting position behind the brunt of the stock to better anchor herself when the cannon surged to life and turned hot. <"Five seconds."> That was a warning, rather than an update. Two fingers poised over the trigger as the weapon breathed its first breath of the acrid, ruined air. Along both rails power surged, charging up the internal heat regulators. <"Firing one!">
​

<"We're the difference, remember that.">

The mirialan compressed the trigger, holding it down in its lock as the weapon roared violently, sputtering forth a barrage of miasmic decimation toward the hostile forces attempting to do the very same to her and Kolson. Each kinetic flechette whistled through the air, launched forth with such power it stirred the dust around the cover she had tucked it behind, sending it rippling outward with a shockwave of scattering debris upon its face. A barrage of unmerciful malice erupted from the commando's position with a deafening thunder crack. She waited to assess the success of the first wave, wiping the dust from her visor and leaning to peer down the fixed sight on the forward rail, squinting through the disturbed debris.

The buildings their foes had wedged themselves between groaned, shivering off bricks and melted steel alike, dropping them carelessly to the street. The dust swirled, shifting as motion churned it up. A knuckle tapped against her tacpad, switching her sight to infrared, exposing the white remnants of the enemy soldiers splattered all over their previous area. Limbs ripped from bodies. Unrecognizable, now. The pools of blood meshed with the dust and debris, growing as melting snow in her sight. Yet beyond the ruin, more bodies stirred. What souls survived the first bombardment had scurried backward, aiming to retreat. With her allies flanking around from the side, she would not afford them the chance.

She had a duty to fulfill and a mission to accomplish. Not only that, but lives were at stake. Sephi turned her head, looking briefly to the man entrenched beside her as his carbine sang its warsong, painting him in the strobing light of muzzle flash. Her thoughts revisited what he had said before they had been called to stations and made ready for the drop onto the world. His words steeled her nerves and sharpened her will, quashing the inevitable guilt that crept up her spine with the visceral scenes she was capable of creating. Her desire to protect her comrades, to protect him silenced what remorse she felt for the time being.

The engineer swung her arms low, hoisting the barrel on its mounted legs, adjusting the angle of her next barrage to take the structures in her way into account.

<"Firing two!"> She shouted over the ringing in her dampened ears, and once more, she drew the trigger to lock- pounding the pavement with another thunderous crash.
​

Chew it up, spit it out.
​

ALLIES | NIO | AC | Kolson Vrask Zark San Tekka DECEASED Erskine Barran Ishida Ashina
ENEMIES | TSE | N Nyxeris Laertia Io | OPEN FOR DIRECT ENGAGEMENT

 

[Loske Treicolt]

G H O S T
ZIOST | NEW ADASTA OUTSKIRTS | PRISON
LIGHTSABER | MODIFIED JSTP | LEATHER JACKET SANS EMBLEM
BETWEEN TWO POINTS

​

Loske lifted her booted heel and launched the thrusters into gear –– giving the bike little time to warm up. The terrain around them, miserable as it was, blurred into streaks of grey. The only constant was the structure on the horizon and the dim sky above with stars wheeling by. Like a flash, the outer world melted and the sensation of being on a speeder blossomed a sense of nostalgia. This had been her life for a while, racing. Before the Jedi. And while this was for a gim purpose, she revelled in the fragment of fun it offered.

And you still trust her? Regardless...we got one shot at a clean grab here.

The question sat in her mind, unanswered for tens of meters.

Allyson and Loske’s relationship was nothing short of complicated. She’d met her for advice on balancing being a Jedi and a pilot, then the next time Loske saw her she almost beat her for hurting Kaili. From there, the friendship was a bit more natural. Until Allyson perceivably turned on them on Borosk, took Ryv’s arm and broke his heart. Loske had almost killed Allyson before arresting her. Trusting after that was difficult, and became all the more tenuous after she’d learned Eldaah on Felucia had sent a transmission exclusively to the Corellian, which seemed to put her in more cahoots with The Sith on some level or another.

I trust that she sees us as her family, after everything. She wouldn’t set us up. Loske finally murmured, dropping the pressure of her squeeze on the throttle. Slowing in speed, she swung the bike around parallel to the outer wall of the prison and killed the engine.

The design of the prison was spartan and gloomy. Uninviting and uninspiring. It felt like a beckoning dread, and she glanced in Maynard’s direction with an unimpressed expression. Stretching out, Loske poked and prodded within The Force, seeking a return on her query for allies and foes, and how they might be spread out. Surely they couldn’t be the only ones interested in the prison...Credric’s people were likely infiltrating as well. Or others from The Alliance. They’d been forced to retreat last time, and with a retreat of that magnitude, survivors might have been left behind. But they had one chance. One grab. They couldn’t get distracted with selflessness.

What returned was less than optimistic. There were Sith within, and a heavy measure of despair and agony. As far as the Force went, there was little tipping in favour of the light.

“I don’t think we have any allies here that aren’t behind cell doors.”

With Maynard’s Mandalorian outfitting, his armour was equipped with more useful do-dads than her own. In this case, a grappling hook. Or a jetpack. Looping an arm over his shoulder to brace for ascension, she looked up at the stretching side of the jail.

Their plan had been relatively simple. Infiltrate from the top and work

their way down. Supposedly the more high-risk prisoners would be at a level that made it more difficult to escape, with more obstacles in the way, so starting at the top seemed like a moderately convenient place. Likely also the location for a control centre if not the lead they were looking for.

Suddenly she stepped back.

A pointedly venomous and familiar sensation prickled against her discovery, and the former Jedi visibly winced, retracting her senses immediately and folding them away. Concentrating on making herself leave less of a traceable impact within The Force. She became a mist, present, but less solid. Difficult to capture or pinpoint as an origin. With no helmet over her face, Loske’s reactive contortions were plain to read.

“She's---Eldaah’s here.” The acknowledgement set her jaw on edge. While the precise location of the First Daughter was hazy, the general suggestion was downward. “The lower levels.”

That might change the trajectory of their intentions.

Poking her tongue at the back of her teeth, she exhaled sharply through her nose. Thunder rolled through her mouth for all the words she wanted to say, but the storm remained tempered. Clouds of revenge plumed in the peripheries of her mind scape and she tensed, before shaking it off. Loske needed a level head if she was going to take Eldaah's.

Not many people were keen to break into a prison, and with the Treicolts sticking to less obvious entry points, they wouldn’t have to bother with the turrets.

Getting in was less of a problem than getting out. And once in, the layout remained far more mysterious than the outer schematics. Caution wasn't a typical approach for either of them, but in order to maintain some sort of element of surprise...they had to at least try.

​

And just two of them made it easier to press against walls, keep sights on potential sensors, etcetera. Plus, no longer landing on the roof cut out a significant amount of travel time that let them be more subtle with overriding control panels for blaster doors.

At an intersection with a cross-passageway, Loske paused as she heard oncoming footsteps from around the corner to the left. She stopped, holding up a hand to warn Maynard. Then, she cocked that hand back to throw a blow, breath-expelling, pain-inducing blow if the guard should look their way. She'd resolved to depend less on Force techniques, lest she give away more of their position.

But they didn’t, and they continued on their original path. Their mind clearly on other matters.

---

---

ALLIES | THE ASHLAN CRUSADE | NIO | NJO | Maynard Treicolt
ENEMIES | TSE | Eldaah Aderyn

 

[Ishida Ashina]

OBSCURING GLARE
ZIOST | NEW ADASTA | THE NEW JEDI ORDER
THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF LIGHT;
THE GLOW THAT ILLUMINES
AND THE GLARE THAT OBSCURES
I DONT BELIEVE IN CONSEQUENCE, I MAKE THE RULES UP IN MY HEAD

​

Ishida didn’t sob or wail. Her grief was horribly discreet, but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from the unstitched wound around her ribs. Her all-white sashes were reddening as more and more blood leaked from her shattered side.

Aaran’s outreach met nothing. With her connection to The Force severed, Ishida couldn’t even feel him attempting to reassure her, she was too consumed by her own realization of mortality.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!

Ziost’s darkness looked upon the little Jedi and laughed, rich and hateful. Holding her hope by the throat, it sneered But this is how it is.

The shame was a more potent, more all-consuming feeling than the physical pain.

Full of misery, her soul was brave and dark, and her eyes –– they were murderous. Fixated on the silhouettes that had robbed her of her greatest pride. Her most devout blessing. Without The Force, she was broken down into nothing. Pathetic.

Mortal.

Troopers at the other end of the hall –– where she'd been –– moved in vague shapes, undulating and unclear. Silhouettes planning their next attack. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to regulate her breathing.

The blood from her punctured rib had made its way to her mouth, pooled, and slipped back down her throat, seeking to travel back to her heart for redistribution. She was forced to swallow, but she gagged on the thick, metal taste. Through the uncomfortable coughing, Ishida managed to whisper a fatal promise. “I’ll kill her.”

Ashla’s grace might have been siphoned from her, but her insatiable need for victory and destruction remained. Her case for revenge continued to build.

When Aaran arrived by her side, she was working to push herself up to her knees. Her teeth were clenched so tightly they felt as though they might shatter. With hands pressed against her torn flesh, she swallowed down another sip of copper and pointed in the direction of the SICA troops.

It was a soundless warning, only communicated by the pallid fear that sprawled across her face. Her grey eyes were wider than they’d ever been, and she watched the oncoming grenade travelling in their direction.

Reflexively, she snapped a hand up to create a telekinetic barrier to shield them both from the detonation.

Nothing.

Now...now her grief made a wet whimpering sound and a trill of panic spiked through her mortal frame. Helplessness gripped her, wrapped her up and consumed the girl's focus –– wrestling for victory against her blind ambition to seek revenge.

And it was as blinding as the brilliance that erupted from the canister hurled at them.

In an unthinkingly reflexive, undirected attempt, Ishida moved the hand she'd used to point to her waist belt. Removing her shoto from it's holster, she heaved it without seeing into the direction she'd marked the silhouettes in just before that schutta had tossed the sight-taking bomb. Her body stretched, and agony travelled through her torso angrily; scolding her audacity to move with such inhibition. She wailed in shock, biting through the searing torment of her side.

It was a worthless gesture, but above the pain, she grinned through blood-stained teeth.

ALLIES | ASHLAN CRUSADE | NJO | NIO| Aaran Tafo
ENEMIES | TSE | Eva Betrik

 

[SF-3335]

Location: New Adasta, Ziost
Allies: TSE ( Eva Betrik The Battalion ) │ EE ( Ingrid L'lerim D Darth Malus N Nyxeris ) │ CIS ( Laertia Io )
Enemies: AC ( Cedric Grayson Geiseric ) │ NIO ( DECEASED Erskine Barran Amadeus Blackwood Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh )
Tempest Squadron: FAE/V-07 “Atroxa” Attack Speeder Bike (10)
Unit Support: “Assagai” Sith Eternal Light AT-PW (20) │ Lanvorak-type Heavy Repulsortank (5) │ All-Terrain Heavy Artillery (AT-HA) (5) │ “Emeici” Sith-Imperial Shock Speeder Bike (100)

In their wake, the lightning fast attack bikes of Tempest Squadron left a path of destruction through the Ashlan Crusade forces along the eastern approach, their rotary cannons barking salvos of white-hot plasma in multiple coordinated hit-and-fade attacks, keenly aware of the fact that their machines could not hold up to enemy fire for even a few moments. All the while, SF-3335 followed the lead of the more veteran pilots around her, specifically mimicking the actions of her partner, NX-0781, taking in how the Togruta strand-cast maneuvered her bike around the ruined streets. She watched with keen eyes as the more experienced pilot dragged one of her feet along the ground in executing especially slow or tight maneuvers, leveraging it for better control in coming out of the turn.

The Morellian immediately saw the value of the technique as she watched her partner pull a tight turn around a junction, before quickly lining up the nose of her bike as she came out of the turn on a squad of Ashlan soldiers, much faster than what she would have been able to do otherwise. While her partner took the soldiers on the left side of the street, SF-3335 angled for those on the right. Her partner struck down five of the Crusaders before the Morellian had even lined up her initial shot. Nevertheless, her own bike’s rotary cannons spit fire in turn only moments after, casting forth a barrage of magenta fire which streaked towards the remaining six Crusaders, burning holes in bodies while vaporizing parts of armor and flesh. Unfortunately, two of the remaining Crusaders managed to throw themselves into an alley, thereby evading the Morellian strand-cast’s barrage. An innate bloodlust threatened to compel her to pursue them, but discipline overtook aggression and she shifted up a gear, thereby accelerating her machine past the horrifically-charred bodies of the four kills she had managed to get.

Before long, the two pilots came up on the back of another Crusader squad. This time, SF-3335 had her fangs out, intent upon scoring more kills, her green eyes seeing crimson as she slowed her machine down to attack speed.

“335, bail now!” The Togruta’s voice cut in like a vibroblade. However, the inexperienced Morellian already felt committed to her attack, guns blazing hot as she fired into the Crusader squad, immediately felling two as the rest either moved to return fire or jumped behind cover. Eyes widening in alarm, SF-3335 gunned the engines, before firing a pair of gas canisters from her bike’s dorsal projectile launchers, each loaded with blaster-dissipating gas. The pink cocktail immediately spewed out the canisters, clouding the area with the anti-energy weapon substance, effectively choking the energy frequencies utilized in the enemy’s blasters and neutralizing them to a relatively harmless state. Disappearing into the diffused smoke, the Morellian gave a deep breath of relief, but her features tensed as she realized just how close she had come to being shot down.

“We need to be more careful, 335!” NX-0781 said, her voice raised in displeasure over the comms. “They’re on high alert for us, which means we might have to bail out of attack runs!” She continued. “We won’t achieve anything here if you do something that reckless again, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant. It won’t happen again.” The strand-cast’s voice was tense, but seemingly filled with regret. She knew her mistake and had seen with her own senses just how close she had come to death in that moment. However, the thrill from placing herself in such extreme danger was almost intoxicating. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t training, that these were real soldiers she was facing rather than droids, each of who were set on killing her at all practical cost. Their blaster bolts wouldn’t sting, instead they would simply blow holes through her body, leaving her naught but a pile of ashes.

Before long, SF-3335 regrouped with her partner and linked up with her squadron along the edge of the city. There, they had a good view of the approaching line of tanks in the distant tundra, many of which were casting shells into the sky, seemingly aimed for a marked medical vessel which was already crashing into the city.

In witnessing the Galidraani armored might arrayed before her eyes, the Morellian pilot could only draw a deep breath as the commander of Tempest Squadron, Lieutenant FX-0012, began to speak over comms, initiating the first maneuver of what was sure to be a long and bloody engagement with the New Imperial tank formations.

“They’re distracted shooting medics.” He began, his tone laced with a mild degree of annoyance. “Fire nagnol gas along the edges and if you can, into their armor formations.” The Lieutenant barked. “Make sure to stay at range and don’t engage unless absolutely necessary.” He directed.

“Make them blind.”

The roar of engines sounded out after the affirmative responses of the pilots, with the attack bikes of Tempest Squadron accelerating into the tundra and fanning out along the far edges of the armored formations, while using whatever cover could be found in the terrain. Nagnol gas was fired to cover their advance, being dispersed along the edges of the armored formations, until the supply ran completely dry. It would be enough to reinforce the Model 1 Nuetralizers already in the area by blinding the Galidraani armor formations, making them more vulnerable to the array of traps and ambush points, including IEDs and sniper perches set by the crafty, dubstep-loving battle droids.

All the while, emerging from the city itself, Emeici Speeder Bike squadrons moved to penetrate the flanks of the gas-choked Galidraani armor formations, intending to harass the Galidraanis as they made their advance towards the craggy face of New Adasta.

Spoiler: Loadout

• FAE/V-07 “Atroxa” Attack Speeder Bike
  • Modular Gun Hardpoint (4)
    • FAE/W-05 “Kopa Khan” Rotary Particle Beam Cannon
    • FAE/W-05 “Kopa Khan” Rotary Particle Beam Cannon
    • FAE/W-05 “Kopa Khan” Rotary Particle Beam Cannon
    • FAE/W-05 “Kopa Khan” Rotary Particle Beam Cannon
  • Modular Launcher Hardpoint (2)
    • Izumo Man-Portable Energy Torpedo Launcher
    • Izumo Man-Portable Energy Torpedo Launcher
  • Universal Chemical Projectile Launcher (2)
    • Pink Vapor
    • Nagnol Gas
  • Pilot Gear
    • DS-101 “Venture” Multipurpose Protective Attire
      • Energy Shield
        • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
    • X8 “Gambit” Elite Disruptor Pistol

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

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

Objective: Protect the civilians and hospitals
Location: Farther from the battle, EE’s camp
Equipment: 2x Striith vibrosword | The Soulsabers | Brynja coat and hat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: Cedric Grayson || Tags: Arctus Silmar | Geiseric | Pietro Demici

[ O Fortuna ] ​

It went too easy; the woman was basically paranoid, and she had learned lately that nothing was going too easily. If so, it's a trap. She wanted to believe Grayson when he said they would never hurt civilians, but the experience she gained in the war didn’t allow her to give the man unconditional confidence. Ingrid struggled with distrust in her whole life. Eventually, however, she accepted the offer, in defence of her own people and civilians and nodded at what Cedric had said.

<"This is L’lerim to all troops! You have 10-15 standard minutes to gather all the civilians who are still in hospitals or shelters and begin your withdrawal from the city. The Ashlan Crusade will help take civilians to safety. The route is given to the commanders at these moments."> she told her own people in High Nelvaanian language.

"This is L’lerim to the Sith High Command! The Eternal Empire will take out the last civilians and wounded trapped in the city through the following coordinates. The Ashlan Crusade ensured our free retreat, I ask the same from the forces of the Sith Empire to stop the acts of war for the next nearly half an hour at the coordinates transmitted for the sake of the civilian population."

She nodded to the officer, who sent the designated route to all three parties. For EE units inside the city, Ashlan Crusade and Sith Empire. She then turned back to Cedric, who could hear her orders anyway. Ingrid said nothing about the meeting.

"I will not give the information to anyone that I will meet you there, Lord Grayson! In return my life is also in your hands because NIO and GA would probably do the same to me as TSE would do to you."

Especially after the Sith Empire restarted the wars because of her to free her. Because the new Sith emperor had plans with the woman. And the NIO could know how weak she was, and she had just survived what the Admiral Regent had done to her. However, because of her rescue, GA’s plan failed and the woman was not exiled to perpetual exile and she remained Empress. She still did not like to be a ruler. With that, she headed out to the bike and also put on her military cap. The two Wolfsguards in the building would have turned after her, but the woman raised her hand, she didn't need bodyguards.

The trip did not take long with the vehicle, they arrived in the tundra at the same time, a cold area roughly exactly at the same time. It had enough home terrain for her. She stopped the vehicle and adjusted the hat as she got off the bike. She wore a simple military coat without coats of arms and insignia, with an armband on her left arm with the symbol of the Eternal Empire, just as she had a coat of arms on her cap, but nothing more. Cedric could have already seen in Denon that the woman never boasts of her rank and honours. Her radiance, however, was definite, radiating strength and nobility. She was elegant and grace with her ethereal physique*. What might have been immediately striking, and what might not have been striking on Denon, but the woman was not a Dark Side Force User, was perfectly neutral.

She did not hide her presence, so she had to take off her necklace, which functioned as a Taozin amulet, now it was in her pocket. She stepped closer and nodded respectfully to the man, then extended her hand.

"Lord Grayson! Thank you for coming, I must confess to you, you're far a positive disappointment in this war. I haven’t met too many leaders, warlords, or politicians who are rational, care about others over their own revenge, and willing to really listen to others. Thank you, Lord Grayson!" she said in her usual cold and military voice.


*Her ethereal physique means she is 184,5 cm tall (6’1) and 65kg (143lb).

 

[Ulrich]

Objective : 1 Judgement Day

Equipment : Plattenpanzer , Kriegertod

Opponent : Mrurh'en'lase | Hel

And in one decisive moment I kill my first Jedi. It is something of a rite of passage for a Sith, but I take no pleasure in the act. Truth be told I care nothing for this particular conflict for its own sake. Both the Jedi and the Sith were perfectly capable of perpetrating the atrocities that fed the never ending cycle of hatred. What the Jedi wish to achieve is futile after all. Both sides have their actions manipulated by greater forces who simply play out their grand designs through their avatars. The Ashlan crusade are in a manner much more honest and pragmatic than most other Jedi. They acknowledge that Ashla does indeed have a will of its own. This is far closer to the truth than many of the more 'reserved' Jedi would like to admit. The force or as some might say forces are not some impersonal effect such as gravity.

As a necromancer I am allowed certain insights. Light side spirits when faced with death go forth to join the great collective placing them beyond my reach. The darkside is far less covetous when it comes to its devotees. Oh hell exists, and for whatever reason some are pulled down into its bowels beyond the reach of all bar the most powerful of magical savants. But the majority either flow into the netherworld or linger on that strange ethereal plane between life and dead. I have heard that under certain circumstances Ashla will allow some degree of autonomy to the souls of those who were particularly favored servants but even then this process is murky.

So it is that the Jedi are beyond my reach. Not that I would coerce them anyway. Willing spirits tend to be a magnitude of degrees easier to command and I save the eternal servitude for those whose ideology I truly despise. As the last of the houses casualties shuffle off the mortal coil I realize that there is a discrepancy between the number of dead and the individuals that I sensed. Some have escaped. The spirits are already riled enough that I don't even need to ask the location. Their hissing susurrus shows me the location of those who allied with their murderers.

"Down the streeeet, two femalesssss......REND! TEAR!"

I don't need telling twice. With a leap I begin to bound through the ruins after the pair of escapees. Debris and walls are knocked down as my sheer bulk acts as a battering ram, crushing all in the way. And now I spot them. One is maimed, a younger girl. I would love to say too young for the horrors of war but I had been on battlefields but I experienced my first battlefield well before I could be considered an adult. The world was a cruel place and those who had allowed her to come to a charnelhouse such as this were cruel people. The other was taller and more solid looking. Purple skin and of a species that I was not familiar with.

What could be seen of her emphasized her muscular physique and statuesque figure. A veritable amazon ripped from the pages of yore and placed on the battlefield. Her presence befitted the situation far more than her companion. Opening my mouth I issue a challenge to the muscular Jedi woman.

'You came her to purge Sith. Now that you have found one it will do you no good to flee off into the night. Place your wonded sister out of the way ,stand and face me so that I may demonstrate my prowess to the watching lords."

Her move.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Ishida Ashina Eva Betrik​

Reaching Ishida's side, he took a crouched position next to the Padawan, one hand holding his saber up in a defensive position. The other reaching into his robe and pulling out a stimpack. He was hardly going to enter a war zone without medical supplies after all. Especially if he was to be travelling with someone else.

"This will sting." He informed her. Jabbing the needle near the entry wound, dispensing the lifesaving bacta and painkillers directly into her system. Staunching the flow of blood an repairing some amount of the damage tissue. At the very least Ishida was unlikely to die of infection or blood loss. But the Padawan's recklessness might do it for her.

As the flashbang went off. His head was rocked to the side. His ears ringing from the thunderous crack of noise. Thankfully however, his sight was undisturbed. One of the advantages of not having mundane vision made something like a flashbang a minor nuisance at worst. But it did make communication with Ishida problematic. With the Voidstone running through her system telepathy was out of the question. With the aftereffects of the flash grenade making speech equally difficult.

So instead, he simply gently tugged on her shoulder, urging her to duck behind some cover, hoping that in her blinded state she'd respond to his guidance above flailing about on her own. All while he deactivated his saber, tucking it back into his belt. His hand then moving to press against the floor.

"I've had enough of this." He muttered, his tone decisive. If Ishida's hearing and sight had returned. She'd certainly notice the change that had come over his features. Gone was the playful tone in his voice, or the slight curve of his lips that indicated his usual good cheer. Gone was the lightly teasing tone in his voice. It was all replaced by a deadly calm. The face of a man who had seen too much war at too young an age.

Someone who was tired of seeing the younger generation suffer for the negligence of those who came before.

Cedric Greyson should have finished his war years ago. But instead, he allowed it to continue. To drag other countless innocents into pointless conflict with a dying empire.

With a surge of will, dust exploded in front of him. A burst of tightly controlled telekinesis throwing up cover and obscuring the line of sight. Now, in a logical mind. One would assume that the Jedi was throwing up this cover to watch over Ishida's retreat. And partly it was, his hand on her shoulder urging her to leave.

The second part was to cover his own attack. Dashing forward into the could at his usual blinding speed. Intent on forcing the troopers to deal with him as opposed to the more vulnerable Padawan.

Emerging from the dust cover a mere foot in front of Lebedev. His foot lashed out, looking to catch the soldier on the arm with a devastating roundhouse kick. Enough force behind it to either dislocate or break the bone. A clean break to his forearm. Painful certainly, but it was an injury he'd survive. And more importantly, it would take him out of the fight.

But he was yet not done. Evalina still had to be dealt with.

Continuing with his impossible celerity. Aaran whirling around, hand lashing out in an attempt to grasp the front of the barrel of her rifle, that same impossible strength used against her comrades now leveraged against her, looking to point the end of the rifle away from any of the combatants. Wary of its payload impacting anything and spreading the deadly Force sapping cloud.

"Enough!" He would growl, facing coming within inches of Evalina's own. Lips drawn into a thin line of a frown. "This is a pointless conflict." He would state, attempting to wrench the rifle from her grasp and throw it over the edge.

"None of us need to fight. I ask you to stand down." If nothing else, he had to try. Try to open a dialogue in the slim hopes that she could be reasoned with.

 

[Dagon Kaze]

OBJECTIVE ONE | JUDGEMENT DAY | ASHLA WILLS IT
A WATCHFUL PROTECTOR

I, JEDI

Discerning the rage building up in her eyes, Dagon took a long, deep breath to steady himself for what was to come. The sorcery she had unleashed was a pure manifestation of the Dark Side, something only those highly capable could conjure; the unholiness permeating the air of Ziost further reinforced her strength while it chipped away at his connection to the Light. Beneath the layers of composure and discipline, a dormant evil - that of his father's presence - began to stir; feeding on the raw emotions of regret and doubt that Dagon struggled to contain.

All the choices he had made, all the decisions he had taken - they all carried a cost, a cost that always seemed to outweigh the benefit. Falling to the Dark Side over Ziost, nearly getting his friends killed on Generis, Ayana's tragic death on Ossus, and recently, what plagued his mind since Krayiss, was his secret regret over the ill-timed feelings of Viers. The latter had been the culmination that cast a thick shadow of doubt over his future choices.

Once, a determined boy of great reassurance, now - a man torn asunder within by the ghosts of his past. Ghosts he had so far eluded.

Until now.

The strength of will slowly, but surely eroded as self-doubt ran amok his mind like a scourge.

Warily, Dagon's stance shifted into the familiar stance of Niman as the lady approached him with her heavy staff pointing towards him. Breathing in, he stepped forward to engage.

"Stand down, Lady. I can help you fight the corruption of the dark side - there's always a way." Dagon said, despite the seemingly futile attempt he still held hope - hope she would fight back the darkness and see the light, hope that he would finally make the right choice.

Or die trying.

Both his hands grabbed the hilt as he would attempt to disarm her with a powerful stroke at the staff itself.

ALLIES | Ashlan Crusade
ENEMIES | The Sith Empire | N Nyxeris

 

[Eva Betrik]

​

Location: Ziost, New Adasta
Allies: TSE
Foes: AC | GA | NIO | Ishida Ashina | Aaran Tafo

The flashbang went off, and the little SICA squad scrambled back up the walkway, toward the apartment building they'd come from. Sergeant Derenkov groaned as Karalensky jogged along, every step jarring his impaled thigh. Eva and Lebedev kept pace with the big man in fits and spurts, taking turns to cover their backs while the other ran ahead. They had no illusions about their chances if the male Jedi caught up with them, certain that only his concern for his comrade was keeping them alive and giving them any chance to escape. Eva felt a momentary surge of anger at command for deploying squads like hers against Jedi, throwing them into situations where they stood little chance.

At least she'd tagged the pale-haired woman, maybe killed her. It might bring her dead squadmates some peace.

Had she known the truth - that Ishida had lived, that the pain and self-alienation she was feeling after the Force Breaker's impact had filled her with a mighty rage and lust for revenge - she would have been far more terrified. She did not see the shoto fly onto the bridge, plinking off a stone pillar near where they'd lifted the sergeant like a sack of muja fruit and begun their retreat. If she had, she would have known that it was not so much a weapon strike as an oath of bloody retribution, one that would make the zealots of the Crusade proud. Instead, Eva was thinking only that the SICA troopers had better lose the other Jedi, the one who was still strong enough to crush them with ease.

As if in answer to that thought, a wall of dust exploded up from beneath the walkway, blocking all vision of what might be coming at them. Lebedev was the one lagging behind to cover their backs at that moment, and he opened fire into the drifting grit, trying desperately to force back any potential attack. But when the Jedi exploded out of the debris cloud, moving like a humanoid missile, it became obvious that holding him at bay was a hopeless endeavor. Lebedev's bursts of blasterfire had all the effectiveness of hurling darts at a passing starship, never even coming close to tagging his target - and certain to be ineffective even if they had, given the man's way with his lightsaber.

Within seconds of emerging from his improvised cover, the Jedi had reached Lebedev. To Eva's surprise, he didn't just cut him down with that gleaming golden blade. Instead he lashed out with a high kick... and half of Lebedev's forearm bent backwards under the impact of his boot, the shattered bone breaking through the skin in a compound fracture. The trooper screamed, and Eva gaped at the sight. The strength required to do something like that with a single kick... it was beyond what she could wrap her head around. Lebedev dropped to the ground, choked sobs emerging from his helmet speakers as he cradled his shattered arm. He was out of the fight for sure.

Lebedev was down. The Sergeant was down. Karalensky had his hands full. It was all up to her now.

Eva raised her rifle to her shoulder, planting her feet in the shooting stance her SICA instructors had drilled into her, and sighted down the barrel... only to find herself staring right into the Jedi's face. He moved so fething fast. How was anyone supposed to be able to fight that? Again he left his lightsaber shimmering at his side, instead reaching out to grasp her rifle just behind the muzzle. The weapon barked once as she frantically pulled the trigger, but the Jedi had already pushed the barrel upward, and the Force Breaker round sped harmlessly off to shatter against the wall of an apartment five stories up. Then, with terrifying ease, he tore the rifle from her hands.

Both of her hands, holding firmly to the grips. And he did it one-handed. She was so karking dead.

The Jedi casually tossed the rifle over the edge of the walkway; Eva heard the clatter of it striking the roadway below. "Enough!" he told her, voice commanding, so close in front of her that his nose nearly brushed her helmet. She had the wild idea to headbutt him, to smash that handsome nose back into his skull with her ceramite faceplate, but she was pretty sure it would be the last satisfaction she ever got if she tried. "This is a pointless conflict. None of us need to fight. I ask you to stand down." Eva's mind whirled. What was his game here? Did he think they knew enough to be worth bringing in for interrogation? They didn't, of course. SICA squads never got told jack chit.

She had no intention of ending her days in a cell, poked and prodded by Ashlan fanatics as they demanded information she didn't have - or maybe burned at the stake, she didn't fething know what they did with their prisoners. But that golden blade was close to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of it through her armor's leg joints, and she didn't want to end the day as a quintuple amputee either (number five being her head). So she was pathetically grateful when she didn't even have to decide what happened next. On the Jedi's left side, opposite from his lightsaber arm, Karalensky stepped out from behind a pillar, his sidearm clutched in his off-hand... and pointed at Aaran's head.

He was doing a remarkable job of keeping his arm steady while balancing the sergeant on his other shoulder.

"How about you stand down, Jedi," the big man said. Just shoot him before he kills you! Eva mentally screamed, but Karalensky was clearly worried - and not without cause, given how fast his foe was - that the Jedi would cut through Eva on his way to intercept the blaster bolt, killing or maiming her even if he was shot. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to drop the laser-sword and take ten steps back. Then Eva here is going to go back for our friend Lebedev. Then you're going to let us leave." "It's a good offer," Eva quickly put in, hands raised at her sides, sweating hard inside her helmet. "We both get to take care of our wounded, and nobody dies."

In her heart, though, she knew that the Jedi could decide however he wanted. Even with a gun to his head, he'd beat them every time.

 

[Elle Mors]

BOLT IN THE BLUE​

She didn't pretend to know what the future entailed, to fall into that trap would have cultivated a pride that so many had fallen victim to. Just as she'd said to him, she wasn't anyone special despite what he insisted, and neither was he. Importance was attributed by others or by themselves, the force only showed the way to what was right - it didn't control anyone, she knew that much. She'd heard Jedi that had said they'd been victims to fate just as often as she'd heard Sith lambast them for being pawns of some greater plan, some vengeful force, but this was the one truth that Elle was happy to be privy to - she could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. Blame went to the force when things didn't go their way, when they made a mistake they didn't want to take ownership of, or when they were bested.

That's what she heard when he spoke, that he wouldn't accept this as anything more than the intervening hand of fate - to lessen the impact of her having left behind the Sith for a path of light and to try to rip away her agency from her. Destiny, a lie created to trick people to believing they had no choice of their own, that all things were inevitable. Her eyes closed as the Sith lord stepped towards her, relaxing her shoulders while her breathing slowed. The wind blew but time slowed, her physical vision gone behind lidded eyes but still she could see through the illumination of the force. The shadow was all-encompassing when he disappeared, but they disappeared as the force surrounded her, making her its beacon. She turned, saber rising, as the Epicanthix apparated at her back, her body already in motion like a marionette with its strings pulled tight - green against red their sabers clashed.

"We all choose, Darth Carnifex ." Elle said, leaning forwards as she faced him down. Her knees bent, ankles tensed, and it might've seemed as if she was struggling - she was anything but. Strength coursed through her body, tangible rays of light tracing her musculature as she pushed against him with everything she had - everything the force could give her. "And I will never give that up." She said as all of that light coalesced from around her and found itself wrapped in her blade, its light blinding, repelling the darkness like a fire in the dark. "Just like she would never give me up." Elle added, fire in her eyes, with an added resolve of his own making - whether it be by accident or with purpose. Dead to emotion, he probably didn't see it in her, something besides just the light that was blinding, a power fueled by a bond he'd tried to tamper with but only succeeded in strengthening. A bond that was leading her right into the state she'd very nearly stepped into onboard the Mercy over Csilla.

Light shone at the corners of her eyes like little flames, a hint of what was to come.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

V
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
BLUE-HEART BRIGADE

KILL THEM ALL AND LET GOD SORT THEM OUT

OBJECTIVE 1: JUDGEMENT DAY
ZIOST, 865 ABY

Commonwealth Forces: Amadeus Blackwood

Allies (NIO): Strasza Julian Qar Kolson Vrask

Allies (AC/GA/FO/SJC/): Cedric Grayson Sephi Karneh Zark San Tekka Dagon Kaze

Enemies (TSE/CIS/EE): Ingrid L'lerim N Nyxeris Laertia Io D Darth Malus SF-3335 The Battalion

Lord Erskine's Loadout (Wielded by Lance-Corporal Yorunarr)
Primary: Custom Blaster-Pistol (Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw)
Secondary: Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore (Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding)
Last Ditch/Second-Blade: Myles' Fairbairn Vibroknife (Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding)
Pocket-Weapons: Berach's Brass Knuckles (Both Trouser-Pockets - akimbo wielding)

Blue-Heart Brigade (Mechanized-Infantry)
220 Cataphract Tanks
32 AFVs
6 ACVs
1 Battalion of Riflemen
1 Company of Combat-Engineers
1 Company of Elite Combat-Medics

The Hell of New Adasta: Part 5 - KEEP THAT CARBONITE HANDY

01:59:46 Elapsed​

Taking a well-earned break for tea and cigarettes, the Blue-Hearts would marvel at the destruction they'd unleashed in fewer than twelve minutes, breaking up the nearest 2-3 kilometers of ruined landscape to get a better view of the foes beyond, and with plenty of ammunition to spare for the job. Not that it mattered, as the entire snaking supply-line was well defended from the landing-zone to the medical-compound and beyond, though the supply line would veer off in two wide-arcing paths towards the other NIO contingents' FOBs and retaken outposts from there, leaving a wide corridor for the 2nd Brigade to pepper the path ahead with shells of every variety they had access to. By the time they had finished, the Free-State Commonwealth's tanks had gotten more than just a view of the opposition beyond, the previously obstructing landscape was also blocking much of the auditory output from the other side, giving them no real clue what awaited them until the nearest ruins beyond had been reduced to low-lying rubble.

'Barran to Cataphract One! Before I begin, I'll admit that I still can't get over that shot; never seen anything like it in my life, man.... In any case, I think we'll need t'send for a resupply. We've got quite a lot of ammunition left, but even I know enough was expended, and just on the near-misses alone, that we'll be dry o' shells by the halfway point o' this op. Sometimes ye just know, Proost. '

<"Milord, I was the commander of Goliath Four-Two. The only one of the surviving tank crews that wasn't downgraded to HQ guard-duty after Ilum, so I know exactly what Carbonite-cooling and sustained fire in the snow can do to ammunition reserves. Ilum was so cold that it was so easy to expend ammunition on the Athysian screamers, so easy to just empty entire reserves on their bombers and such, you know? In any case, I'll put out the request for a tank-ammunition drop. You can leave that one with me, and I'll let you know when the crates have arrived before you know it. Cataphract One out!">

Good man, Proost. You will never know how much Coyle protested that decision, but your actions speak volumes on that matter.​

Set for the next while, Barran was looking at the quick-moving blips beyond their range of devastation, surmising them to be speeder bikes of some sort of design, as the opposition's movements were very much similar to those seen from Nixie on Generis, and much akin to the movements of the Mongrel's swoop-bike contingent on Ilum. But as the Brigadier-General was divining an attack-plan, the highly-mobile enemies beyond played their next hand, perceived by Lord Erskine to be just their first; deploying Nagnol gas, Erskine smirked with a chuckle seeing for himself that his opponent appreciated Galactic war-history as much as he did. Whether this learned soul would bring further challenges to the fore would be up to the Stormchaser's opponent as the battle progressed, and Erskine was hoping for more from one whom he perceived was a fellow tactical chess-player, clasping the bases of his fingers as the hindrance to visibility and electronic devices billowed out in a general southward direction.

'Settle down, Yorunarr. Nagnol carries a particularly lightweight punch as far as airborne gas innovations go, an' the smoky residues only go after our devices an' such, so we'll just have to play around the issue an' see what our enemies come up with next.... Might want t'get yer thinking cap on the-day, Corporal. Your blades have just been rendered vulnerable, an' the same goes for the blaster-pistol.'

The Hell of New Adasta: Part 6 - LEFTENANT? NO, SIR! CAPTAIN BRAND!!

02:05:37 Elapsed​

Laughing it off as the others fretted, Phillip Brand was confident the gas was harmless, though not by the same means as Erskine Barran; and as the divined conclusion was met by the simple rationalisation the Rooster had on the matter, (that being the simple fact that God had not warned him of such dangers beforehand, and that Heaven would have filled his heart with a breathless dread) all the Commonwealth troops around him were left either worried or holding their holy Captain to his word, clearly seeking assurances whilst making plans to get their gasmasks and hazmat suits readied for the impending gas-cloud envelopment. Shouting at those who opened the BIOHAZARD EMERGENCY compartments in their vehicles, Brand would holler,'YOU WORRY OVER NOTHING!!!! LORD BARRAN WOULD BE WRECKING OUR EARDRUMS ABOUT THE GAS IF IT WERE LETHAL!!! SETTLE YOURSELVES!!!', whilst trying his hardest not to laugh at those who were still on the fence about the issue, tickled by their visible indecision as they almost stepped to-and-fro in a fickle waltz with the air around them.

'We need more to go on than that, sir. We know you're an honest commoner like most of us, so we trust you, but like I said, we really need more to go on than silence from God and the Lord-Commander. What can you tell us that the others don't know? That's all we need to know you've not completely lost it, sir. That's all, I swear!'

Shrieking with laughter, the Rooster just walked off in response, simmering down just enough to loudly retort,'Then please, oblige me your eyes for just a moment! There is something I think you should see, Dougan!', as he went. Not caring what anyone thought of his eccentricity in that moment, the warrior-chaplain walked towards the misty edges of the Nagnol cloud with faithful abandon, looking up into the skies as he walked, and in that serene moment, everyone realized the error of their doubts. Happy that he was right for a change, the Blue-Hearts nearby would laugh as they watched the Rooster immersing himself in the gas with his finger pointing to the birds in the sky, watching on as they awaited his loud, folksy wisdom on the matter. The sight would be beautiful to see if the Commonwealth troops hadn't known the giant gas-cloud for the disruptive purpose it was unleashed for, but Brand's subordinates couldn't help but appreciate it for the beauty it exhibited, so they continued to chuckle away with each other as the Captain continued making his point, though he was still silent about how sure he was that this snag in Erskine's plan would force a relaxed defensive-posture on the infantry and the AFVs alike.

'If this gas-cloud were so extraordinarily dangerous for us, why is it that the local BIRD-BOIZ feel safe enough to fly around in it? God sends us signs after all, and you heathens dare to question it? Man the walls, lads!'​

 

[Ishida Ashina]

OBSCURING GLARE
ZIOST | NEW ADASTA | THE NEW JEDI ORDER
THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF LIGHT;
THE GLOW THAT ILLUMINES
AND THE GLARE THAT OBSCURES

THE PARADOX OF OUR MINDS

​

Barking in protest to the sting that travelled through her body, administered by Knight Tafo, Ishida clenched her fists as if she might physically reign in the hurt, and trap it in her grip so it wouldn’t continue to spread. Cold trembles rolled through her body while the bacta intermixed with the Voidstone in her bloodstream.

It was ironic, to be blinded by light. All she could see was white, and the vague outline of Aaran’s body next to hers. He seemed hunched, and given she couldn’t stand readily, she mirrored the shape.

All the sensational loss of The Force, hearing, sight was making Ishida sick. Nausea was starting to form at the base of her throat, prickling her cheeks and she swallowed to force it back down to her stomach with a groan.

Aaran’s silhouette left her, closing the distance like a heroic shadow slinking toward the enemy –– ready to exact revenge and ––

"Enough!"
"This is a pointless conflict."
"None of us need to fight. I ask you to stand down."

Utterly dumbfounded, Ishida blinked in disbelief. Her hearing was faulty –– it must be! –– overwhelmed with ringing, and blood pumping through her ears. She must not have heard Aaran right. He couldn’t be saying this, showing mercy to the evildoers. He was too distant for her to validate whether or not what she was hearing was true, but even at the decibel of a whisper the negotiation stung.

Sluggish and limp, she pushed herself to stand. It was a hurtful affair, her muscles feeling enervated and in conflict with the stims that worked to repair her from the outside in. She pushed forward, fuelled by burning fury that only looked and sounded like a trooper in dark armour.

Her direction was clear, and she moved as quickly as she could; stopping only to collect up the waste of a throw that had been her shoto. There was no blood on it, which meant she’d failed.

Again.

Something in her gut shifted, and she released a low growl in protest. That something was soft, feathery turning, sharp with malignity that cut through any sensation that wasn’t related to the confoundment she felt toward The Knight. Surely this was an illusion, a symptom of the intermingling toxins inside her.

She stalked in the direction she’d seen Aaran’s shape vanish toward, blinking heavily the whole time and glaring when her lids weren’t shut. As if pure, fervent focus would restore her vision entirely.

Her ears pricked again when she heard further conversation, sounding more and more like negotiation. She almost lost her balance, and slammed the heel of her hand against the wall for stability. She breathed in the scent of her own blood, the aroma reminding her of the damage done. How personal this was.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to drop the laser-sword and take ten steps back. Then Eva here is going to go back for our friend Lebedev. Then you're going to let us leave."
"It's a good offer," "We both get to take care of our wounded, and nobody dies."

She could see them now, standing just paces apart, everyone poised and tense. The skin over her wound was starting to calcify, and the bleeding had slowed and was starting to congeal and scab around the edges. Her ribs through, they were still broken and bruised and threateningly scraping against the soft tissue of her lungs. Any sudden movements, and she’d surely pierce through their airy cambers.

If Aaran didn’t have the guts to represent the light and smite the darkness, she’d do it herself.

Right now, she wished she had something like a pistol or a blaster, so she might close the distance and put a crack through the helmet and pierce the skull beneath it.

Tightening her grip on the shoto’s hilt, the furious atrisian narrowed her eyes in their direction. She had to get strong enough to run at them, to close the distance and drive her blades through their blackened hearts. There were too many meters between them now, and without her superhuman speed, it would be a feeble attempt.

“Don’t you dare let them leave.” she warned, her voice tight and thin, barely above a hiss.

The cutting edge of her tone was as sharp as the steel of her Katana, and she continued through a bloody-toothed sneer. “The blood of those they kill will be on your hands. They’re soldiers of darkness.”

Which, by extension would make him an ally of evil. She'd kill him too.

ALLIES | ASHLAN CRUSADE | NJO | NIO| Aaran Tafo
ENEMIES | TSE | Eva Betrik

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Ishida Ashina Eva Betrik​

In a way, the blaster pointed at his head and counter demand was a reassurance. If nothing else, it opened a dialogue. It showed that on some level they were willing to transcend tribalism. They stopped seeing their opponents as a faceless enemy to destroy. But instead recognising them as another person that could negotiated with.

Evalina would see the icy look of focus fade, the previous serenity returning. And if she cared to study his features closely, she'd see hints of relief threatening to appear on his lips. With a press of a button, his saber was deactivated and placed back on his belt. But he did not move, seemingly content to remain where he was for now.

"I'll reiterate that we don’t need to fight." He said, his voice softening. A more soothing and gentle tone entering his voice. Very slowly reaching out to each of them in turn with the Force. Nothing poverty in any way. But just enough for them to come to the conclusion on their own that he genuinely had no wish to see anyone here come to harm. A simple application of supernaturally enhanced empathy to keep them calm.

"I think if you pull that trigger. More people will get hurt. And none of us really want that." He said, directing his attention to Karalensky. Slowly and carefully reaching out with the Force. Not performing a true mind trick. But simply stoking some of his emotions. His weariness towards the constant thankless battles and loss. His concern for his comrades. Any genuine spark of decency and compassion that the Sith would have tried to grind out of him.

Raising his other hand, he began to gently pull out another stimpack from his robes and offered it out to the burly man. Silently urging him to trade in the instrument of death for a tool of healing. "This should have a few applications in it. I apologise for breaking your friend's arm. But I did need him to stop shooting."

Hopefully it would be enough for hostilities to cease, if only for a moment.

It was then Ishida finally reappeared, looking quite worse for wear. The wound was beginning to heal slightly. But stimpacks could only do so much. She'd need a dip in the bacta tank for a few hours. Possibly even more invasive treatment in order to flush the voidstone out of her system. Her confrontational attitude was hardly what was needed right now. "Padawan." He said, his tone switching to that of the exhasperated teacher. "I would advise you to calm down. You risk reoppening your wounds."

“The blood of those they kill will be on your hands. They’re soldiers of darkness.”

"Soldiers of .... what? Do you even hear the words coming from your mouth?" He asked, tone now filled with disbelief at the words escaping from the pale haired waif. Did she honestly believe that? "These are conscripts Padawan. They were not given much choice." A slight exhalation came from his nose. The greatest display of frustration either party present was likely to have seen the Jedi display.

"Killing does nothing. They will be replaced, and the cycle continues. I'll instead be responsible for everyone their replacements kill. Our enemies are their masters. Not them. You'd do well to remember that." He paused, turning back to Evalina. "Apologies, I did not mean to speak as if you were not here." He said, taking a step back from the Corporal to finally give her some space.

He let out another sigh. "Mercy, however. That opens doors. It breaks cycles and can allow something new to come forth." He offered out a hand to the Conscript woman. "She is correct in that I cannot simply let you go. But that does not mean we can’t come to something that helps you in some way."

"So why don’t we start over with names. My name is Aaran."

 

[Eva Betrik]

​

Location: Ziost, New Adasta
Allies: TSE
Foes: AC | GA | NIO | Ishida Ashina | Aaran Tafo

The time between the squad's offer and the Jedi's response could be measured in seconds at most, barely a pause worth noting from an outside perspective, but to Eva it seemed like an eternity. It felt too hot and claustrophobic to breathe inside her helmet, as if the ceramite was slowly being crushed in around her head. She was acutely aware that her enemy had a weapon in hand and she did not, and the temptation to go for her sidearm was intense. Maybe if she threw herself backward while drawing on him, she'd be able to squeeze off a shot, enough to give Karalensky an opening to take him down. But in her heart she new it'd never work. She'd seen how fast he was.

If she tried anything, he could cut her apart with the ease and skill of a Coruscani chef dicing vegetables.

It came as an utter surprise, and an even more all-encompassing relief, when the man deactivated his lightsaber. One moment the glowing blade was there, and the next it was gone, its disappearance marked by a little electronic ssssshlip. Eva released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her shoulders sagging in relief. Karalensky, to his credit, did not lower his gun an inch. She owed him big, and swore she would buy him the first round at every cantina for the rest of their lives if they somehow survived this. For his part, the Jedi looked even calmer than before, his battle focus draining out of his face to be replaced with a near-infectious serenity.

He really was rather handsome, for a blindfolded hyper-religious whackjob with invisible murder powers.

"I'll reiterate that we don’t need to fight," the Jedi said, and for some reason Eva found herself believing him. What kind of soldier was he? What kind of Jedi? He was the third one Eva had encountered, and so far the only one who'd suddenly gone from battle mode straight to... what, pacifism? A voice prickled in the back of the young corporal's mind, a warning from her SICA instructors: Jedi could twist minds, making you believe whatever brought them an advantage. But that little voice couldn't quite penetrate the rest of her brain, soothed by his words and demeanor. It just screamed and banged on the walls, trying to tell her that this was all a trick.

"I still need you to step back," Karalensky said stubbornly, but it was with less conviction than before, a less commanding tone. The Jedi turned to him and spoke again. "I think if you pull that trigger, more people will get hurt. And none of us really want that." And those words seemed reasonable. It wasn't like the suggestion was a stretch; they all already knew, deep down, that fighting this man at all - let alone at point-blank - would end very, very badly for them. None of the troopers wanted to die, and they would each like to believe - impossible as it seemed - that the Jedi didn't want to kill them. Because if he did, well, they were surely dead.

The Jedi slowly reached into his robes, and everyone tensed again. Karalensky's finger came off the trigger guard, a hair's breadth from opening fire... and then stopped. The man was holding a medpack. "This should have a few applications in it. I apologise for breaking your friend's arm. But I did need him to stop shooting." Eva couldn't help herself; she laughed, a short bark of bewildered mirth at the absurdity of it all. Here they were in the middle of a battlefield between two sides that hated each other, that framed their conflict as an existential light versus dark or order versus chaos, and he was apologizing to the hit squad that had lain in wait to shoot him.

What he'd done to them was nothing compared to what they'd tried to do to him, but here he was apologizing.

Karalensky, meanwhile, was realizing that he'd been placed in something of a dilemma. They badly needed the medpack to stabilize both Derenkov and Lebedev, but there was a problem. He had the sergeant in one arm, and couldn't put him down without hurting him and preventing the whole squad from moving. His other hand held his gun, their only leverage - flimsy though it was - against the Jedi. And the man was cleverly offering Karalensky the medpack, rather than Eva, who had two free hands. The big trooper knew he shouldn't trust the Jedi, shouldn't let himself be manipulated... but then Lebedev wailed again, even louder. Feth it.

He slowly holstered his sidearm and reached out for the medpack, expecting to die at any second.

As if in answer, the pale-haired Jedi woman suddenly reappeared, looking much the worse for wear... though not quite as much so as Eva would've liked. Her companion had done a good job of patching her up, mending the ragged hole the bullet had torn in her chest, though she still moved gingerly around the wound. Terrifying rage was written into her every feature, and her voice was like a frozen dagger. Her teacher, by contrast, seemed... mildly irritated? There was some philosophical debate going on between them, some contest of wills and morals over how their esoteric order should behave on the battlefield. Eva was suddenly glad her training had been simple.

Every Jedi she'd met so far had handled violence differently, and she wasn't sure what to believe about them anymore.

The pair of Force-knights debated the ethics of letting the SICA squad live as the four terrified soldiers looked on... though the man had the decency to apologize for it, at least. It became a little awkward when he assumed they were conscripts. Eva had volunteered for the SICA, brought to its ranks by a swell of patriotism when she'd seen all the changes Sith efficiency and centralization had wrought on her adopted homeworld of Soullex - and by a desire to take up the mantle of her brother Quinn, who'd been killed in action on Dantooine doing the same kind of work she was doing now. But if believing they'd been forced to be here meant the Jedi would spare them...

Well, she wasn't too inclined to correct him. She'd learned to have her doubts about the Empire since then anyway.

The debate paused for a moment as the male Jedi turned back to them... and then came the catch. "She is correct in that I cannot simply let you go. But that does not mean we can’t come to something that helps you in some way." Of course. This had all been to slowly disarm them, to talk them down into surrendering and becoming prisoners of the Ashlan fanatics. Visions of heated brands and barbed whips, wielded among burning incense and "holy" chants, vividly filled Eva's imaginative mind. If that was the fate awaiting her, she wasn't going to be taken alive. She had a grenade on her belt. Maybe if she blew herself up in the Jedi's face, the others could escape...

He was still talking. "So why don’t we start over with names. My name is Aaran."

Eva took a deep, steadying breath. The sergeant was down and out, so making decisions for the squad fell to her now. "Well, Aaran," she began, keeping her voice calm and level just as the Jedi had (or at least trying, it was hard with death looming over her), "I appreciate the... decency you've shown us." She hesitated. How much should she tell him? Her SICA instructors had drilled into her that she should offer only her rank and serial number if captured, and this was pretty close to that. "I am Corporal Betrik..." Her determination melted before his serenity, and the knowledge that he was their only shield against his enraged and violent companion. "Eva. I'm Eva."

She took another deep breath. "I would like to not end the day a corpse or a prisoner of war, if that's an option."

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Hel's Lightclub | Robes
Objective: Engage the Sith | Judgment Time
Targets: Ulrich
Enemies: TSE | TSE Allies
Allies: Ashlan Crusade | Ashlan Crusade Allies

​

When the beast reared its visage from the rubble of the building that had collapsed from its short rampage, the hybrid could not help but feel a twinge of intimidation. It was monolithic and almost mythic in its appearance, sparking forth memories of legends from yore that Mrurh'en'lase had read during the long nights in the temple. As it was in so many tales, the beast was armored in brilliant metals, and its scales were as dark as night yet with a nearly invisible sheen resembling frozen fire like it had been carved from a black stone at the base of a volcano. Betwixt its mighty claws, it held a great weapon - a terror mace that could spark fear in the hearts of mortal men - and it radiated a sense of superiority that even a Sith Lord would balk at. A sense of superiority that broke through Mrurh'en'lase's wall that she had built around her Zeltron abilities. Was it a Sith Lord? Or was it a Master? It looked like one, felt like one.

How could such a thing ever taste defeat? Had it ever tasted defeat? It worried her, which made the sweat that was running down on her face that much colder and dense. She was grateful that her companion could not see it staring at them, eyes red like rubies dripping and stained with blood. However, despite this worry, she rose to her feet with wobbly knees, placing a gloved hand on the shoulder of her companion. With her own bloody gems for eyes, she stared at the beast, chest heaving with burning air in her lungs as the soot of debris and burning wreckage was inhaled and exhaled. She would have to fight it, and she would fight it. As a Jedi. As a warrior of the Light. Without fear.

And then it spoke with a voice as infernal as the devil itself yet as regal as a sovereign king in his wizened years.

"You came here to purge Sith. Now that you have found one it will do you no good to flee off into the night. Place your wonded sister out of the way, stand and face me so that I may demonstrate my prowess to the watching lords."

Blood ran cold as the words hit her ears, panic seeping into her very pores as the sweat froze from the sudden fear. It was a thing from the legends. A dragon come to life straight from the pages of the mythos. Mrurh'en'lase's moment of confidence vanished and she back-stepped from the wreckage to the confusion of her wounded ally, whose wound continued to pour blood. It was also clear for the brief moment the hybrid looked to her as she stepped back that she was also even more injured from the clumsy panicked leap. Her ankles were bent awkwardly, and her calves were swollen against her cloth pants. Exhaustion from the repeated traumatic impacts of a shuttle crash, attack, collapsing building, and jump to safety seemed to make her unaware of the pain and if she did not receive necessary treatment, she would pass out from her wounds and likely die.

That could not happen.

The hybrid inhaled sharply and turned her backsteps into a rush to her wounded ally, kneeling down and whispering: "Give me your Lightsaber. I don't have mine and I need to fight for you to live. Okay?"

The injured girl could barely speak, merely muttering single words that had almost no cohesion, but she at least seemed to understand. With weak fingers, she began to tap against the hilt of her Lightsaber, which the hybrid took as an indication to take it, and she did. It was much smaller than her Lightclub, and much more elegantly designed, but it would hopefully do. Gripping it tightly, the hybrid rose to her feet and ignited the blade - a verdant green to silently accept the beast's challenge.

Twirling it with a flourish that cut through an edge of the old shuttle, Mrurh'en'last jumped over the wreckage - eyes locked onto her new target - and rushed forward with a yell, leaping side to side to perhaps confuse the beast or dodge its attacks. If she was successful in reaching it, she would slash horizontally at its stomach with the violence of Djem So, although she was uncertain that the strike would carve through both armor, scale, and flesh.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
IMPERIAL MILITARY ASSISTANCE GROUP
EMBEDDED WITH | 1st BATTALION 506th INFANTRY REGIMENT
JUDGEMENT DAY
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Defiant Pattern APCU (Ashla Armed Forces) | SRK-65 Service Rifle | DSP-61x Hybrid Pistol | Cradle | Grenades

WIRES
ZIOST '65​

There was something about looking dead into the impact of heavy weaponry, seeing flesh and bone disintegrate into pink mist, jagged gore. If the Sith wanted to identify those at the opposite end of the magcannon, they'd have to squeegee them into bags to be shipped off elsewhere. There was nothing left here. Each two tap from the service rifle in Grunge sent another down, but it paled in comparison to each magcannon round ringing out through the funnel of death they'd construed from that alley way.

Soon enough, he saw the gold and crimson of friendly particle beams baring down into the flanks of the Sith infantry assaulting them.

That meant it was time to seize the initiative.

But nothing came so easily.

A rupture of blaster fire took their position from a nearby building. Citizen militia waited in silence there, waiting for the troopers to be dispersed, overpowered, whatever the plan was to swoop on them and begin their ambush.

Immediately, Grunge set out on solving this issue.

He set an arm on her shoulder.

<"I'm taking first section and clearing that karking building! Once its clear, we'll regroup up here and keep pushing! Hey! Keep punishing 'em!"> He said to the Mirialan before patting her shoulder once more to signal he was on the move.

He stepped back from their cover, motioning an arm into the air, clenching his fist and pulling down to signal his squad to group up on him.

<"On me! We're moving up!"> Grunge harkened back.

It seemed like suicide, within the carnage and bloodshed of battle, to run toward the gunfire. That was what set them all, the soldiers, apart from every other living soul in the Galaxy. When there was danger, death, trouble- they ran toward it. That was always the maverick spirit of Vrask, he was afterall- a man with very little to lose. The Sith took a great deal away from him, the Bryn'adul took away the rest. The New Imperial Order gave him purpose and he would pay it forward until his last breath. Whatever horrid lengths he'd have to go through, he'd do what need be done.

For the mission. For his comrades.

To this point- nothing else really mattered. All that was left of his blood in the lowly and insignificant house of Vrask were gunned down behind the family homestead on Lothal by ORDIS agents years ago.

Had he not been a commando, had he not been one of the best, it wouldn't have mattered.

Several troopers were left with Nova at her position, to hold down the main beaten zone over the enemy as Grunge took his section to clear the building adjacent to their block, seemingly ripe with hostiles. He posted up at the corner wall of the nearest building before glancing back to the Mirialan.

He needed her to cover his movement, or signal another to before he crossed the corridor in order to reach the building.

He could've sent down the command himself, but trusted her in execution above all else.

As soon as he could, he led his section in a dogged charge across the street and soon enough they were stacked up on the main entrance way.

He motioned one of the troopers to the front, to plant a charge on the door before immediately pulling back to arm it for detonation.

Blaster bolts thudded their armor and landed all around them.

If Kolson did anything- it was exist in contempt of danger. He faced the door as soon as it was blown open in a jagged flurry of metal before he turning to take point, his entire silhouette in the doorway. His body, his armor. That was the cover for those behind him.

He spotted movement and fired. Instinct wouldn't let him do anything else.


ALLIES | AC | NIO | Sephi Karneh | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Julian Qar | Dagon Kaze
ENEMIES | TSE | OPEN FOR SMOKE | N Nyxeris | Laertia Io

 

[Djorn Bline]

V E N O M _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ZIOST | NEW ADASTA
OPERATION CITADEL
ARMOR | PRIMARY | SECONDARY | MELEE | GRENADES

SCARS​

Back to this hellhole.

Literally it wasn’t, but it might as well be one. Too many scars imprinted on him from the recent operations carried on Ziost, physical and emotional ones. His left arm disintegrated and severed from his body, replaced with a bionic imitation of an arm with phantom pains as if his actual arm was still attached to him. Those scars, however, didn’t compare to someone he lost and failed to protect.

Loske.

He blamed himself for whatever evil entity grabbed hold of her and used her as a vessel to carry out whatever foul plots it acted on. He was too confident in his position which allowed Taeli Raaf through her apprentice to activate the parasite and strip Loske from her former self. The cruelty she hosted scarred his face and crippled his left eye from sight when they last met in the jungles of Generis.

Not only was he inflicted trauma from that, but the soldiers that died and suffered from orbital bombardment from the Sith imprinted trauma into his mind.

So much he had lost here in one of the Sith’s ancient worlds that were precious to them. Ziost and the other Sith worlds were worth destroying with remorse as if all that pain would erase in committing such horrors. A day of reckoning that would come, but not today.

He was responsible in accomplishing in his assignment that detailed in rescuing strategic officers that were left behind as prisoners of war under the Sith’s captivity. Officers belonging to the New Imperials and Galactic Alliance. Noble of him to rescue Alliance assets, but his intent wouldn’t be delivering back to Coruscant. There was much use for them in the New Imperial Order that it would be a waste to have them returned to the Alliance. Indeed the New Imperials and the Alliance were mutually coexisted as allies, but that didn’t mean others of different goals and ambitions would act subtly into shady plots that could undermine such coalition.

In the ashen snow Snake blended in well with his armor, veiling him from sensors and other devices that would detect him. Limited information there was on the prison, only use there was for him was the layout of its exterior design. He had no contact from the inside to help him guide him. A nigh possible assignment for him to do without making any mistakes; and with the assault of the Ashlan Crusade underway security would be harsh and reinforced.

And yet here he was, betting against those extreme odds.

Find an entry point and exploit it to infiltrate. Anything that wouldn’t expose himself and have the guards hound him.

ALLIES | NIO | GA | ASHLAN CRUSADE | Loske Treicolt | Maynard Treicolt
ENEMIES | TSE | Eldaah Aderyn

 

[Lilanna Kelamvor]

.​

O B J E C T I V E: PROTECT THE FACILITY​

Tags: Amadeus Blackwood​

Equipment: Lilanna's Lightsaber, Lilanna's Armor, BG-400 Blaster Pistol.​

​

As she left the command center, she began her long walk to the inner center of the facility, her mind still fuming from the assignment she was currently deployed on. The anger she felt flowed outwards, as a chilling aura would emanate from her, ensuring none would dare come across her. For several long minutes, she continued forward, her own mind at odds of reigning in the anger she felt, and letting it simmer. The only reason she avoided lashing out was to keep her Sith torturers from knowing that they had gotten to her. Regardless of her past, she didn't wish to hold onto this anger. Yet, at time she felt it was the only time she had power. To lose it, she would be nothing, again. It was a frustrating see-saw effect, one that she had been unable to find an answer for.​

​

Then she felt it, a flicker in the force. It wasn't seeking her ill, nor aid, but it was merely there. She felt herself falter, her anger leaving her, her mind a tad clearer. Why, she didn't know, but this presence felt....nice. She paused in her stride, pondering what the presence could be, and why it​

​

She had felt this presence before, but where did she-​

​

The klaxons of the facility alerted her to a change in the situation, as calls for security were being directed towards one of the several hanger bays.​

​

Scowling, she left the thoughts to the side, grabbing for her saber as she raced to head off these unknown invaders.​

​

It was too bad they hadn't gotten further into the station, she might have just been willing to let them go.​