Invasion No Quarter | NIO Invasion of TSE held Dantooine

[Tavius Muuaji]

WEATHER THE STORM
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
STORM COMMANDOS
SPEARHEAD ASSAULT
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Various Grenades

GUNZ_COME_OUT
​

He felt the stings as Arno's not so deft hands scraped at the exposed flesh of his shoulder with the pincers. Grinding his teeth down as his digits scraped and dragged at the wall, anything to latch on to as the bullets were pulled out. Exposing a new wound on his breastplate, as he ended the conversation with the General, he shook his head.

The news was likely grim, and through his visor, that was the look he gave Sinestra .

"We draw that thing out of the way. The Spearhead ain't coming to help us." Even as he spoke, the exposed wound gradually closed once the bullets were pulled out. He began tugging and tying the straps of his torso equipment and pauldron back into place -- in the same time as he heard the glass shatter in the other room.

There were other mortars in the area.

They fired on their position, and as Arno heard their whine as they came down on their entire block, so did they rain on Aurelion Nova and Ulrich . Detonating in the streets, the corner, even in the same building that the two Storm Commandos hunkered down in. Before he could even get back into place beneath something, anything, rocks flew into the room, pinning against Arno, and Tavius lurched forwards for the door, slamming it shut as the seemingly sentient rocks flew in to wrap around their limbs.

"What the kark?" He pushed at one, but it didn't move. In that moment, he knew it was the Force. "It's a Sith." Or another Force user. Tavius didn't know, or care. As soon as they had manipulated those wrongs onto the New Imperials they made themselves hostile.

"You feel that? The buildings shifting!" The mortar sheels had for the most part missed where they lingered in the building, but the explosions had crashed into the sides of the building, shaking it to its foundation. Already, their side of the building was slanting downwards, spilling the two Commandos out of the room and into the back alleys they had been in mere minutes ago.

Rolling across the floor, he reached out, this time to grab Arno with one hand, and his rifle with the other.

But a heavy stone struck him in the chest, throwing him backwards, likely on account of the Dragon's streetlight turned into improvised bat, swinging through the second floor of the building and sending dust, permacrete, and plaster across the duo.

"Ayo! We're over here, chit stain!" He cried out, waving his arms above his head at the flying monstrosity. "You got a cryo nade?" He'd voice to Arno before shuffling backwards out of the rubble and down the alley.
ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Sturit Goan | Daros Karmann
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | Aurelion Nova | Ulrich

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Equipment: Armour, Shotgun, Gas Grenades filled with Berserk, Sidearm 1, Sidearm 2, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Writing With: Loske Treicolt , Maynard Treicolt , Darth Daiara

"You're leaving?" For all the coldness of Enyo's tone, Caoimhe could not help notice a strong note of...disappointment.
The younger Siobhan clone was slouched on a chair. "Don't worry, I'll still call. Suggest fruity names for your toys because the ones you come up with suck."
"I can't follow your path, sister," Chiyoko said firmly. "I closed my eyes to the...means you employed to secure our freedom. We were at war. But I won't be part of a machine of injustice. We all know where the blood money comes from."
"So you want to do what? Run off to the Jedi? Think they're just? You're deluding yourself, sister," Alexia challenged. She had quite deliberately positioned herself next to Enyo. Her arms were crossed.
"And you're obsessed with crime and violence. We can hardly oppose Archangel for taking our freedom away, when we do the same. I haven't forgotten what our cause was for."

"The cause was to free us, not sacrificing ourselves for weaklings who can't do the job themselves. You think gallivanting around the galaxy, taking out small fry will change the world?" Alexia scoffed.
"You should be happy, sis. Means you have fewer rivals to challenge your place in the sun," Caoimhe said sardonically.
Alexia glared at her. "Jealous? I've done my duty. Least I still remember what that means."

"We're family," Thuella opined empathically. "Look, I didn't like every bargain we had to make to get this far, but fact is, we're strongest together. We can't let this divide ourselves. Enyo sacrificed much to get us this far."

"How many sacrifices are justified?" Chiyoko asked rhetorically.
"As many as are necessary," Alexia said flatly.
"There's so much we can accomplish together with Archangel's resources. There's no limit to what we can do. We can develop tech that makes things better for everyone," Thuella insisted. All the bickering made the Dahomian clone uncomfortable.

Chiyoko's brown eyes swept towards her. "And where does the money come from? We freed ourselves from slavery, and now we're slavers ourselves."
"We're phasing out the worst employees," Thuella pointed out.
"You can't tell me that all those people we process are 'deserving'."
"Stop being so entitled," Alexia snapped. "Show some gratitude."

"Enough, both of you!" Enyo's voice was like a thunderclap. It was the first time any of the clones had seen her raise her voice. "This is what you want?"
"Yes," Caoimhe confirmed, sighing. "Look, sis, I appreciate what you did. I'm not gonna my hand against you - or anyone here. But I need a change of scenery. Find myself and all that. I woke up in the body of an adult with your face. I was an automaton until the day we...I almost killed you. I just wanna be free."

"It is my choice, too. I will not...," Chiyoko paused, taking a breath, "stand in your way, but I have my own calling. There are many people in the galaxy who are in chains like we were. I wish to be fight for them and hunt down those who leech off them. It may be futile, but it will be my cause."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. For a moment one could have heard a pin drop. "Then you may go," Enyo spoke.
"You're serious?" Chiyoko exclaimed.
Enyo actually looked offended. "Yes," she stated icily. "For what kind of tyrant do you take me? I won't chain my siblings. Don't interfere in our affairs."
"Enyo...can we talk..." Alexia began, but Enyo cut her off.
"Decision's been made. Take an HRD with you each. You'll get your pick of templates."
"To spy on us, you mean," Chiyoko stated.
"A protector."
"To watch our every move. And keep you informed of any...deals I may interfere with?"
"Doubt you'd last long on your crusade anyway," Alexia muttered.
"Gotta pass on that, Eny," Caoimhe spoke up before the two could bicker again. "Not keen on droids. They have this habit of sticking needles into me."

There was a brief expression of annoyance on Enyo's normally stoic features. "Then you go together. You stick together. You keep each other safe. Understood?" There was an air of finality to her tone, which brooked no contradiction.

"Acceptable," Chiyoko said after a moment.
Caoimhe shrugged. "Fine with me. Just don't mess with my music collection. And I'm not playing white knight pro bono."
"It's settled then. You'll get a ship and enough money to get started. And regardless of what you think, I'll still protect you. I'd tell you not do anything dumb, or throw yourself in the fire for nonsensical causes, but you clearly need to make your own experiences. See the truth for yourself. We're all in a machine. Raging against it doesn't change the rules the universe works by." For a moment her gaze focused on Chiyoko before she turned to Caoimhe. "Honour, glory, grand causes - they're lies. None of them matter."

In the present, her power hurled the Jedi through the rubble-torn outer wall of the broken temple, turning her into a human-shaped wrecking ball. Enyo followed in her wake. She could sense the Jedi was still close - and evidently in pain. The Terminatrix did not bother reactivate her cloaking device. A haze of smoke rose into the sky. Enyo's danger senses flared. Then suddenly, bricks and debris! First it was only a few that came shooting through the air. The first brick was simply hurled aside by her telekinetic power. Another soared past her, hitting the ground as she ran with near blinding speed.

The third brick hit her helmet hard. Enyo could not feel pain. But this did not translate into invulnerability. Where an organic would get a stab of pain to tell them that their body was damaged, Enyo got data that amounted to an error report. However, even with the padding, her skull was vulnerable, for it housed her brain case. This was the most sensitive portion of her body, for the brain was the only part of her body that was organic.

The attack stunned her slightly. Her vision flickered briefly and the last brick hit her in the chest. That was a less vulnerable portion of her body, and so she largely tanked it. However, then the deluge of brick and debris descended upon her. The Terminatrix ran. She moved like a blur as she tried to dodge - or simply power through the avalanche. Bricks slammed into her and, she kept running - implacably. But it was not enough. Debris rained down upon her, slamming into her in countless places. She stumbled and fell. As rubble covered her, she wrapped a protective cocoon of the Force around her skull. The onslaught would have been enough to crush the typical organic being.

For a while there was silence. Her HUD had been overwhelmed and needed to reboot. For a while, her vision was gone. For a moment, she recalled being entombed in the ruins of Korriban City. But there was no turbolaser fire raining down upon her this time. Then she started patiently pushing her way out with mechanical strength and the Force. Pieces of rubble flew everywhere as she pushed herself out of the tomb of rock. One of her eyes would not stop flickering - it was, to all intents and purposes, useless. Her left hand clenched and unclenched, as she sought to regain control over her motor functions.

Her skin was torn and ripped in several places, exposing metal. One of her legs had been busted by debris. She looked around, finding her lightsabre and taking ahold of it. When she arose, she walked with an evident limp, favouring one leg over the other. It was no longer her agile, fluid stride.

One eye still worked, and she could see the Jedi, and so she moved towards her. Her left arm was more difficult to move, but she raised it with some effort and drew her sidearm - the Uproar Blaster, a sonic gun. Her one fully functional eye focused on the Jedi. Better, she thought to herself. Given the damage she had sustained, her aim was not perfect, but two narrow concussive blasts of sonic energy emitted from the weapon. Drawing upon the tangled web of power that was the Force, she threw a telekinetic punch at the Jedi's head.

 

[Sakadi Marathi Sinvala]

All six rocks thrown by her found their mark. She attentively watched how the Empress remained relatively unscathed, until she took a blow to her head. That was the one thing that broke her concentration. The one attack that received a response from the daunting Sith. The head it is then.

The grip on her two sabers tightened once she saw Auteme receive a devastating blow. The Empress was glaring at her, but Sakadi refused to meet her gaze. She dismissed the giant entirely, her eyes instead fixed on the muscular leg that kept the Jedi of her sister order pinned to the wall. She felt pity for the girl. She came here with honorable intentions, but instead suffered by the hands of the Empress. Or feet, in this particular case.

"There is no us." She replied coldly, reaching out through the Force as effortlessly as one would open their mouth. "Only you." Despite her mixed feelings of pity and concern, the Jedi's outward appearance remained calm and collected. "You chose that path. There is no way back now." It applied to both of them. The Empress, who once more chose to embrace her inner darkness. And the Sephi, who chose to oppose her in spite of the consequences.

With no desire to share any other thoughts, Sakadi descended from the hovertank like a leaf falling off a tree in autumn. She did not attempt to jump at the Sith with both blades drawn, nor blitz her with an aggressive flurry of lightsaber strikes. No, caution was appropriate here, although she was quite aware of the limited timeframe she had.

Her pace quickened as the Master began to cross the distance between them, remaining light and graceful in her steps until the last few meters. Despite being the one closing in, she adamantly held on to the defensive until the last moment. The hovertank was her cover from any stray blaster bolts, slugs or other projectiles that could take her by surprise, meaning that she could focus on that which was directly ahead of her.

When she nearly came within reach, Sakadi summoned the Force once more to quicken her movement. She had a clear objective here; unbalance the Sith to free her fellow Jedi. Thus, she used her sudden burst of speed to launch a rapid series of thrusts and lunges at the Empress's legs with her white blade. She held her shoto ready to parry and riposte, although that wasn't her main concern. Whether the counterattack and overwhelming kinetic blows came or not, she had to get the giant to move.

Garang | Auteme | Joycelyn Zambrano | Sor-Jan Xantha​

​

 

[Gnox the Insatiable]

LOCATION: Outer Garang
OBJECTIVE: Mandalorian
GEAR: The Butcher
ALLIES: TSE
ENEMIES: NIO, Rynn Vizsla

The smell of the burning carcasses assaulted his nose in an instant. Even from the distance he was, the smell of rot being burned wafted through the air for his sensitive nose to smell. So the stragglers had been cleaned up? What group had the poor savages come across that could dispatch them in such a way that would leave them these smoldering corpses that he could smell from this far? He tore across ground, tar, and corpse, his massive form a blur down the empty streets his Horde had already cleared.

Only to find the sight of a Mandalorian dropping from the heavens to dispatch the last of them. A deep chuckle escaped the figure as he pushed himself from the animalistic posture he'd adopted for his run to his hulking form. His red eye's stared down at the armored figure before him. It made sense it'd be a Mando who could so efficiently slaughter the Horde. They were no match for the skill such beings had.

The wicked three headed flail formed in his grasp from dark smoke. "Su cuy'gar, Mandalorian. You live up to your people's fame. But I cannot allow you to get in the way of the Horde whilst the enemy walks this world." He brandished the melee weapon, flashing a wide, toothy grin. "Do not hold it against me."

 

[Meko Sorrin]

FIRETEAM ARSENAL
4/4
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
DANTOOINE
ALLIES | NIO | NJO | OPEN
ENEMIES | Ursula Vizla | TSE
ARMOR | RIFLE
YOU_IN_TROUBLE

​

The beast had come down.

The target of the anti-aircraft fire had started to decrease in altitude. Sorrin's watchful eyes followed it down as it fell. Another second passed before he heard the ridiculously loud roar. The audio dampeners inside of his helmet helped, but it was startling nonetheless.

His fellow squadmate and spotter, Marr, spoke through the comm system.

<"Squad Leader, I'm viewing some fire coming from the collection of buildings 20 kilometers northeast of your position. Source of the flame unknown. Stay alert.">

<"Thank you, Arsenal 2. Going to investigate. Keep me posted of any further developments."> Sorrin said back. As the voice went silent, the Storm Commando pushed up on his helmet, releasing the pressure seals and holding it just above nose level. He took a deep breath in. Dirt, dust, and a faint smell of smoke. There was a fire nearby. And where there were buildings, there were civilians. Civilians were labeled by HIGHCOM as a priority, and they were to be issued to safety at the earliest convenience. Sorrin let his helmet fall back over his face and let the pressure seals lock again. A deep breath let the excess air out of the respirator. He turned to Rimora, who checking over his gear. He looked up and gave Sorrin a nod. The Corporal looked over his gear once more and, along with his squadmate, took off towards the scene.

When they got there, a hefty cloud of smoke spread over the area. Visuals were fogged quickly, and they had a mission. A few hard taps of his helmet activated thermal vision, gaining sight of multiple individuals through the cloud. Rimora's voice crackled through the comms. <"How do we tell who's friendly and who's not?"> Sorrin looked towards the red signatures of people. Some were stationary, huddled together in a collective group. Others were scattered, running off in different directions to find their way out of the smoke cloud. If they didn't have a set direction to go in, or they were stationary and had a reading, those were the civilians.

<"Look for the clumps of heat together or the stray signatures running every which way. Those are the civvies. Stay close to me and keep moving."> Meko replied.

The first group was a small group of signatures close to the ground, most likely a family huddling for safety. They stepped quickly but stayed alert. Who knows who could be creeping through the fog. When they arrived at the position of the family, Sorirn held his hand out. He yelled out through the smoke, "Friendly! If you can hear my voice walk to me slowly! It will be ok!" He felt a hand grab his, small and light. A child. He pulled them close to see that child look no more than 10 years old. The bastards. The rest of the group came closer, another child and a taller male figure, most likely the parental guardian. He pulled them close and spoke up to make sure he was heard. He needed to lead them to safety.

"Listen! If you go out of the smoke and take a right, then continue to go straight, you will run into a refugee camp. There you will be treated and taken care of. Ok?" The male figure nodded, swooped up the kids, and ran without a second look. As they ran, he turned to Rimora who was staring off into the other direction. He spoke up quickly. <"Squad Leader! Contact!"> Sorrin spun to see a figure, tighter build, with a hell of a bright signature. It was like heat was radiating off of them. Another figured appeared in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to look as the other figure fell to the ground, dead.

Rimora spoke up once more. <"You think it's friendly?">

He took a second. <"No. Back up out of the smoke, I think they see us,"> Sorrin responded.

As they backpedaled, he spoke through his comms to get a hold of Marr, who he needed quickly.

<"Arsenal 2! We have a potential hostile through the smoke. You know the ROE. If it ain't one of us or a civvie make sure it doesn't walk again.">

 

[Lark]

​

Location: Crystal Caves
Writing With: My new best friend Enlil

The wave of malicious manifestations surged towards Enlil like a beast chasing down its prey, though the Lost King was far more dangerous than any natural predator seeking a nightly meal. The inferno subsided with a wave of the man's hands, instead of seeking to purify Lark in holy flames the King instead opted for the same tactic the youthful acolyte took. A thin barrier of fire was raised, and radiant flame met incomprehensible dark energies that spawned such wondrous, malformed debris. Little blue crystals transformed by the mixing forces of light and dark, when absolute effulgence met with a shade blacker than the deepest of oceans met, truly beautiful things were made.

Once the two opposing energies dispersed, there was a brief moment of silence that took hold of the cavern. The distant rumblings of war grew silent, the howls from other conflicts within the cavern went ignored. Lark had almost forgot that there was a much larger battle going on elsewhere, and that the results of this battle might mean almost nothing when compared to everything else occurring on Dantooine. Enlil stared at him with a gaze as cold as the most arctic tundra, which of course was met with a smile as soothing as a quaint little garden planted outside a homely cabin.

When Enlil drew his sword, Lark could feel the galaxy scream out in pain. Odd that the man considered the Sith to be an absolute affront to nature, when he possessed a weapon of such barbarous depravity. Perhaps that was the price one paid as a King. One must be willing to do anything in order to keep their people safe, even if an action went against their entire way of thinking. If such an evil were used to stop something, or someone, even more atrocious, than surely this would be the benevolent path to take? Indeed, Lark could sense Enlil's shame as he drew that calamitous sword. As though by not yet slaying Lark, he had failed to complete his duty.

Lark was flattered that Enlil was willing to resort to such an extreme measure to stop him.

He raised his own blade into a defensive position, for all the good that might do. Already he had misinterpreted one of the King's weapons, and this one was even more unknown than the last. For all he knew, Enlil might swing the sword directly in front of him, and reality would shatter as Lark was dragged into some unfathomable void outside of existence.

Though Dantooine wailed in absolute horror, Lark barely gave a hint of despair. He was curious about what gave the blade such a terrorizing aura, but he wouldn't betray his interest in any way.

"No need to apologize," Lark said gently. Honestly. "I'd have done the exact same thing if I were in your shoes, I think."

A gentle drip of cavern water wept into a larger pool. Once again, Lark took a moment to appreciate the majesty of it all. The grotto they fought in had been torn asunder, but a bit of magic still lingered, refusing to be snuffed out by the conflict of mortal men.

And yet, there was something missing...

"You know what I miss most about the surface," Lark said with a chuckle as sweet as a dandelion. "Down here... you can't hear the birds singing. Oh, how I love their songs..."

Meaningless conjecture.

But heartfelt nonetheless.

 

[Enlil]

A_R_B_I_T_E_R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

NEW JEDI ORDER

JEDI IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM

​

Twenty thousand years ago, a man committed an atrocity.

Enlil stared down the length of the wicked, warped edge with scorn. His memories of Jek Bal were vivid, as though he had seen him only some months past. The graying Smith had served his father, and in his time as the royal Blacksmith, he was renown for wonders unlike anything else in all the world. Jek was a proud man, fiercely so. He believed that his art transcended human talent and belonged among the Halls of the Divine.

His transgression infuriated Enlil's father. The very act of touching the pillars that upheld existence was decreed taboo. It had been locked away for generations, and lost to memory until the day Jek uncovered the secret.

To manifest such power in tangible form was unthinkable. Among all the treasures in his vault, Dînum was the most utterly paradoxical. Its name meant Judgment, but it was anything but a Just weapon.

His grip tightened on the hilt. Unlike those on this world who had never experienced the harsh, unforgiving breath of the blade as it yawned from deepest torpor, the King knew the weapon all too well. It grated at his very soul.

"No," the King murmured. "The punishment I have decided on for you is beyond unforgivable. Two evils only create more evil."

He exhaled sharply, the supreme weight of Dînum's existence bearing down on him, mind, body, soul. Enlil took no pleasure in any of this. The blade appeared to swallow all the light of the world unto itself while giving off a resplendent light as he stepped forward.

When Lark spoke, the King paused for only a moment. He remembered birds, and the beauty of his own world: a world lost because he lacked the conviction to protect it.

He could not promise Lark birdsong in the next life. He could not promise the Sith anything at all. That was his greatest failure as a King. For all his majesty, he could not protect anything.

"I am Enlil," he said, "the King of nothing."

He closed the distance between them in the next instant, blade ripping through air toward the Sith. "And you will join my subjects in oblivion."

Lark

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

T H E _ W O L F
THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM
Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Lightsaber

RUINS OF THE DEAD​

In this precarious encounter, the fate of the four of them was...nebulous, uncertain. That only played credence to the host of doubt which weighed over all of them, manifest in some form or another. But more than anyone, it was in her. The Sith before him, in spite of the fires she conjured, Maynard remained resolute, his determined gaze resting squarely on the Acolyte through the wall of fire, as if all but goading her to do anything. Anything to press harm unto either of them, but squarely on Loske. He'd be beaten and bloodied a thousand times over but he'd stop getting up. But he'd leave nothing to chance with her.

But in her vitriolic, fearful sentiment he could only evoke the few encounters in which he'd lashed out in similar fashion. Scared of nothing more than the person across from them knowing they were afraid at all, scared of what that vulnerability might open to him to anyone else. He saw some of himself- no, some of what he was in her. How quickly she was outwardly aggressive in protecting what hers. Clamoring in existential desperation to what little familiarity there was left at all.

Loske snapped back at Aradia, rightfully so, the acolyte held the mortality of these two lovers within her fiery grasp of The Force.

He was just about to speak when the flourish of Force power grasped its tight embrace around Loske from her enigmatic clone counterpart in Enyo. Before he could bear to register the event or interdict in some form, she was lifted up and thrown out of view, her saber hilt clattering the broken ground beneath. His eyes widened in a moment of shock before narrowing in bitter hatred, defiance of yet another perfect alignment of circumstances to which, he could not save her, he could not help her.

He willed that golden blade his other hand with an ethereal grasp and pull through the force, bringing it into his other hand before his gaze snapped back toward the thread immediately ahead of him, Aradia.

All but a neophyte desperately defending 'home'. Just as he did, ages ago.

His usual motus operandi neccessitated that he lash for the throat when opposing these demonic sycoophants, these scions of the vantablack darkness, the Sith.

But she was far too volatile and seemingly far too overtly vulnerable to the rhetoric they'd force fed her. He couldn't in good conscious cut her down, cut down a spirit harnessing the darkness while cornered and afraid, that semblance of normality crumbling around here. There were far too many aligning variables.

Had Enyo not decried the Sith outright, every fiber of his being would've pulled him in the direction of Loske...but there was a threat far more pressing in front of him.

"Hey- you don't have to do any of this, you have a choice..." Maynard suggested, the cobalt blade of his saber dousing from the light and into the hilt of his saber as his bruised and bloodied face, still fresh with lacerations from his time in New Imperial custody. He'd seemed to have forgiven them, perhaps he could stretch that streak and forgive her as well.

If she stood down.

"I know- I know how this all feels. This is home, this is all you know...and people are here to take it from you...I was there once...when the Sith took mine. Just- stand down." Maynard says, ever willing to ignite both of the sabers in his hands in defiance to the fiery acolyte.

ALLIES
Loske Treicolt

ENEMIES
Darth Daiara | Enyo Typhos​

 

[Vostok Grauv]

OBJECTIVE I

GARANG CITY

COMPNOR

TASK FORCE AXIS

POST #4
​

OPERATIVE STATUS: Moderate Internal Hemorrhaging, Reduced Hearing Capability, Hairline Spinal Fracture, Minor Brain Bleeding.
THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL CONDITION; INTERNAL COMBAT STIM INJECTION ADMINISTERED.
OBJECTIVE: Light Fireworks

"We need to get inside there Agent Grauv, and we need to do it soon if we want to get the explosives set up, lead the way and find a point we can get in."​

Music

Thick saliva felt like gelatin rolling over Vostok's tongue, his throat was dry and blood caked over his teeth. This was the taste of war, caustic and acidic to the senses but addictive like no other drug. Dialted pupils honed in on the moment, taking in all carnage and embracing it. "Let's move." Stoic until the very end, Vostok did not waver nor tremble before the odds against him; fierce was the commitment expected of New Imperial Order operators, loyalty unshaken even before the presence of so-called gods and monsters. They too would feel the sting of death - they too would break under the pressure of every man and woman crushing their bones.

The COMPNOR agent coughed up more dark bile into his helmet, pressing forward through thick clouds of dust while trying to retain some modicum of cover; just ahead was an advancing pair of Sith-Imperial soldiers, seemingly disoriented and spooked. Turning to his comrade, Vostok looked at Rika Hiro and gestured a command to split off and take down the two targets.

He cautiously inched forward, unsheathing his KVX-VBS-01A as his hungry gaze fell upon the neck of his prey. With one final look over his shoulder, Vostok nodded softly towards his HRD companion, launching himself out of cover and charging forward, his body overworked and attempting to compensate for the multitude of internal injuries. As his boots slammed into the ground with thunderous resolve, the operative smirked beneath his helmet, amused by the thought of higher beings using fodder to fight their battles.

Cowards in dresses, family issues, who decided them an appropriate power over the stars?

Lunacy.

Jaeger Harrsk | Tulan Kor | Rika Hiro

 

[Rurik Fel]

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

SHIFTS HIS GAZE
​

It was alarming, the grace and ease of movement which Kaine commanded over his monstrous form. Though Rurik was never intent on his assault being the coup de grace, not by any means, the rapid ease by which Carnifex meticulously drew and quartered each element of his attack drew Rurik back into his deeper subconscious. A gentle pull to unite mind and body once more.

"I know of Ronin...the last Imperator to lay claim to the Empire in the name Fel...and I know you killed him. He means nothing to me." This burgeoning existential rivalry between the forefront marauders of the Sith and keepers of order deemed Fel had stood long before Ronin ever reigned, he was just the last to be skewered as a result of his kin's short comings.

For generations, the Fel had been the prey, that had been the weaker, they had been the broken.

No longer.

"And if you think I shall fall on your blade as easily, you would once more...be overtaken by your hubris, your self proception of godhood." Rurik states, easing into his own defensive position, only to find the back of Sunstrider to his. The heirs of two dynasties bloodied with Carnifex's hands clasped in one decisive aim. To make one decisive end to the Sith and their crumbling castle. In that moment, there was no doubt the same resolve Rurik had equipped himself with would bleed in spades to his newfound Jedi ally.

"That is why you dug your fingers into the false virtues and bloated sensibilities of the silver and purple, to bring them here to slay your enemies for you." His eyes narrowed as he grasped tightly at the hilt of his saber in his cybernetic right hand, clashed against the dark blade Derriphan.

"Because you're afraid. Because you see the end. The end of your gilded reign, the end of your depraved tyranny." Rurik suggests before he reaches out with his left hand, splaying his fingers out before closing them in slightly like a claw.

"I am the end."​

From his hand he wills a chained blast of electric blue force lightning from his fingertips, trained on the breastplate of Carnifex's armor, enticing the burst of electric energy to roll and paralyze the immense suit of armor clasped to the Epicanthix form before him. All the while, his saber arm opened, splayed out in grip of the blade as he channeled the way of the Vornskr, enticing Carnifex to break from those chains and funnel the darkness down unto Rurik who might be able to warp it into a self consuming ouroboros.

THE UNTHINKABLE
Darth Carnifex | Thurion Heavenshield

THE WILLING
Oceiros Sunstrider
​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Jin Kyrel | Hans Rennagen
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | Arctus Silmar | Darth Vulcanus

 

[Tyrell Paxxus]

G R A N D _ V I Z I I E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
TASK FORCE 'AXIS'
PATRIARCH-ACTUAL

[ OUR TIME HAS COME TO DISMANTLE THE DARK ]
​

<"Patriarch, Snake, Hellion. On me. Time to go.">​

Tyrell gave the Imperator a wordless nod of confirmation.

<"Hold this spot,"> he ordered over his shoulder. <"You're in Vizek's hands now.">

Grand Vizier followed the Imperator's charge. He lagged to the back of their collective charge, the hindrance of age showing in full display. Against the throbbing stabs in his leg and hip, he endured, charging forward towards the breach behind his comrades in Axis. Shots rained from every perceivable direction, the crossfire miraculously not shredding their charge to pieces.

Tyrell snapped to a target. His sights heralding the end of droid and legionnaire alike. He dropped off the ramparts with the others, hitting the ground into a roll. The pain was unimaginable. Every tendon and fiber in his leg protested, but Tyrell pushed on.

The sharp crack of a shot echoed through the garrison. Something hot punched Tyrell in the chest, causing him to drop into a slide from impact and sudden reflex. He witnessed Harrsk and Tavlar look back in mid-charge. <"I'm fine, go!"> His imploration came from behind a solid object between himself and the unseen assailant. A black blemish singed into the torso plat of his armor, but there was little pain. He was still alive.

He peeked quickly over the object for another crack to send him ducking back down. Snipers in the comms tower. Of course. He raised his blaster above cover and blindly fired towards their direction for impromptu suppression for the Imperator and Commisonnner.

<"Patriarch-Actual to Patriarch-3, taking fire from the communications tower.">

There was a pause before the Nautolan's voice came back. <"Copy, sir. I see the contact.">

<"I don't want to,"> Tyrell responded as he pulled the pin from a smoke grenade.

It took a moment for Patriarch-3 to understand what he meant, but he would.

<"Understood.">

Tyrell didn't stick around to see what came next. He tossed the smoke in his path. He only needed to make it to the null field. So close, yet so far. He heard Patriarch-3's rockets fire in the distance, and took it as hi queue to bolt. Erupting into a sprint, he heard two more cracks resonate, but felt nothing before hearing a subsequent detonation.

When he regrouped with Axis moments later, he didn't take even a split moment to process at what, who, or why they were firing. He simply followed suit, aiming towards the vague, overwhelming darkness, and let loose.

​

TASK FORCE AXIS
Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Djorn Bline | Lucien Dooku

THE DARKNESS
Darth Prazutis

THE OBSIDIAN
Gerwald Lechner | Redd | Aiden Wolf | Lavria Xedrim

NIO
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Tulan Kor | Daros Karmann | Sturit Goan | Sinestra | Tavius Muuaji

HOSTILE DESIGNATION
Luna Terrik | Gnox the Insatiable | Aurelion Nova ​

 

[Darth Daiara]

Tags | Loske Treicolt | Enyo Typhos | Maynard Treicolt

Spoiler: The Story

Aradia was ready this time. The temple vibrated underfoot as the turmoil spilled out across the courtyard. Weapons fired. Men screamed. She stood unmoving in the eve of a narrow entrance, watching as blood spilt indiscriminately across the grounds. Whispers of lost souls brushed up against her mind, a chill creeping over her skin as she felt them dissipate into the Netherworld. Their life force lingered on the tip of her tongue and yanked at her attention.

She jolted a step back, her chest heaving as she tried to temper herself against the lure. It would not control her. She would control it. She took in a shaky breath, holding tight to the apprehension in her gut as she tried to find her center.

Remember that fear, Aradia, it will keep you alive.

"Master," she breathed out, a final thought spared for the woman. She braced herself and tentatively sunk in.

Her eyes flickered closed, the darkside rushing through her in a fiery embrace. The whispers grew sharper. Strength flooded her limbs, her body jittering against the rush that left her electrified.

Her borrowed saber snapped into her palm, the naive girl that had tried and failed to defend Bastion Academy was gone. Dead. Her eyes opened, the blue hue twisted and swirling.

Snap hiss.

The blade jumped to life, sparks flying as it crossed paths with the intruder that pushed for entry. This time, she would hold her ground.

Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt Enyo Typhos

T H E _ W O L F
THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM
Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Lightsaber

THERE IS NO PAIN

The searing shock, the bruised and battered flesh. Nothing was ever a more culmination of this horrid bout of pathetic suffering than this. Forced to the shattered, broken stone ground of Tol-Kachorn, left to the fate of the New Imperial General who was instilled with the rage of the absurdity of this conflict, the fabricated yet mutual betrayal that the Alliance and Imperial state had inflicted on the other.

It wasn't a war Maynard held any comfort in marching dutifully in the fray toward either. On Harnaidan, he fought and bled alongside them, knew their names, their stories, their suffering. They were never all too different from him. Wayward sons and daughters looking for purpose, looking to do what's right by their people. Hardly ever refering to the Starbird or the Iron Sun but to their families, friends, the soldier to the right and left of them. Any Alliance marine regaled the same. The only thing that was different was the names, the home worlds, the places they've been. But beneath that white, patterned duraplast they were all but a shade or so apart. When they'd operated together, the chemistry was seamless. Wolf pack and 501st, Storm Commandos and ARC Troopers. They all their duty, their mutual, driven goal in mind to snuff out the darkness forever and make sure no one else ever had to suffer.

To turn those blasters on the other...it felt wrong, disjointed. For Maynard cut and gun down the very men and women who looked to him with respect, looked to his kin with admiration. It wrought a pit in his stomach, a pit which culminated into a dark chasm when he returned to Bastion, to see the Imperial state for himself. It was anything other than what this Sith propaganda had painted it out to be. Certainly, there was the feeling of order, of being watched. But people walked, laughed, joked, traded cigara. They were just...people. The same as those on Coruscant, Concord Dawn...or Dantooine.

Lyra couldn't have regarded him as anything less than filth when she'd taken him prisoner, perhaps only sparing his life, sparing him the retribution of daring to bring harm to her troopers perhaps only because of his familial ties to Waylon, a man who'd acted advisory to Lyra more times than once. Or the comradery she had with his better half in Loske. But none of it was his own hand, his own will. All the makings of someone who cared far more about him than he seemed to about his men. The last thing he saw was the t-visor of a wolf pack trooper immediately across from him, slumped dead, then the searing pain of the stun as Lyra's words muddied into nothingness and his consciousness faded.

The next, all he could feel was Loske's embrace, perhaps the only reassurance that he was still alive. Whatever happened between, within the custody of Voi'kryt...nothingness. All that remained, the split chin and bruised, beaten flesh.

Afterwards, there was little respite. No voyage back to the Core to lick his wounds, no quarter drawn for him.

Dantooine.

This reignition of the pulsing light that emitted and united the three. Maynard, Ryv and Loske should've been a more joyous occasion, Ryv's return to the field. As the Sword of the Jedi, a leader. Maynard should have been right beside him, as they always were for the other. Where ever it was Ryv pulling Maynard from the worn brush of Concord Dawn or Maynard cradling Ryv's dying body on Borosk. It was the ever constant and now, a union disjointed, broken.

But today, hope burned bright, Ryv took the reins of leadership and command. Maynard would follow.

His cobalt blade fired to life once more, the Jedi's weapon ready to make and bring death unto these Sith. The real enemy, the truest foe he'd ever faced. There was no contrived narrative, no devilish pact that could reverse that simple fact. The Sith were the enemy, they were the nigh truest embodiment of darkness and evil.

Through the murky grey and foggy shadow that loomed over him, Maynard would wield the light resurgent.

Steadfast at Loske's side he took up position so that she might retain her focus on the bubble fixated around her.

And through the intangible meld the three had molded through the fires, these trials of the flesh and courage. He spoke.

Together...to the end.

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Ryv | Loske Treicolt | Enlil | Cotan Sar'andor | Jin Kyrel | Shaka Sunstar | Zaavik Dagoth | Hans Rennagen
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Darth Daiara | Enyo Typhos | Arctus Silmar | Darth Vulcanus

Equipment: Armour, Shotgun, Gas Grenades filled with Berserk, Sidearm 1, Sidearm 2, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Writing With: Loske Treicolt , Maynard Treicolt , Darth Daiara . Targeting Loske in this post.

"No quarter, remember Kyber Dark!"
"Bring that shield down!"
"Death to the traitors! The Empire protects!"

A cacophony of shouts and commands filled the air, amidst the thunder of explosions and the whine of high-intensity blaster fire peppering defenders and invaders alike. Lightsabres sprang to life with snap-hisses. The gate to the temple shook under the pressure. Enyo remained silent as she made her way towards the enclave's entrance. The enemy was at the gates, indeed. The Terminatrix felt something close to exhilaration as she watched the flames of battle spread. Combat made her feel alive.

Weapons erupted, organic beings screamed and died. Their blood would soak the fields of Dantooine. Or they would make it out alive, and perhaps receive a medal for their troubles. Only to then be thrown into the next war zone. For 'freedom', imperialism, Jedism, 'Sith Eternalism', money, simple survival or whatever. Enyo had no qualms about profiting from their delusions. She was under no illusion of being any better.

When all was said and done, she was a war dog. She earned her credits off the backs of millions of deaths - innocent and wicked alike. The more bloodshed, the more oppression, the more tyranny - the better. But at least she could look herself in the mirror and admit it instead of going through a convoluted process of ideological rationalisation - of self-deceit - in order to justify her deeds to herself and vilify her foes. In the end, everything died. Even so-called 'gods' fell.

Speaking of the aforementioned barrier, the Force directed her to it. A shimmering force field had shielded the first ranks of the Jedi, absorbing a myriad of shots that were being directed their way. Of course, no shield was all-encompassing or impenetrable, but it was potent. The Force pulled her towards the focal point.

Heading up to the wall, she was shrouded by her armour's Taozin amulet, and said suit's manifold stealth systems. As weapons' fire hammered the Force barrier, she picked up a discarded sniper rifle. The Verpine shatter rifle had apparently once belonged to a Sith trooper who no longer needed it due to having come down with a chronical case of death. C'est la guerre.

Taking cover, she crouched to provide a smaller target. Looking through the rifle's electronic sights, she spied one of the two Jedi she had identified as the point people of the defensive barrier. The organic was female. Enyo aimed for centre of mass. Two projectiles, silenced and accelerated at very high velocity, left the rifle. The Verpine magnetic coils allowed the rifle to deliver a ton of kinetic energy. Nonetheless, Enyo had no expectation that it would kill the Jedi. One could consider it a test, so to speak. Once she had fired her shots, she would discard the rifle and get back down.

THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
MOTHER'S DAUGHTER

Shot after superheated shot struck harmlessly against the barrier she and Ryv had erected, dissipating against the milky pastels in an eruption of technicolour. When the deemed King initiated his attack, she flinched involuntarily at the shrillness of the sound that managed to triumph above the din of the battle.

An inferno in the shape of a girthy serpent launched overhead, incinerating any unfortunate enough to find themselves in its path. Flames exploded against the stone, consuming organic shapes in its wake and melting them beyond recognition. Between the brilliance of the attack and Maynard’s voice sounding out in her and Ryv’s head, she closed her eyes.



She was still incomprehensibly vexed over the instance at Yinchorr where he’d been simultaneously taken, and her consciousness had been hijacked by a Force ghost. He hadn’t said anything about it, but that togetherness hadn’t been actualized yet again. She hadn’t been able to find him in his captivity and part of her overthinking nature wondered if he blamed her for any of that. Or if he just accepted things as they were. The latter was more likely, given his readiness to remain at her side, but considering the former caused her to falter. That could have been falling back to responsibility and foundational care, an agnostic reaction that required no necessity in overcoming any discomfort between them. Nevertheless, she pushed a feeling of tender affirmation out between their shared link. It was always together, but..

>No end today.< She reminded them both, a bet they put the big blind in for every time they hit the field –– her telepathic sentiment cut short by a surprisingly accurate shot that threatened to penetrate her shield with the split focus.

The first metal alloy projectile shook her control, the second felt like an anvil to the chest.

Loske was blown backward, pummelled into the ground by the kinetic concentration. Her suit managed to absorb the lion’s share of the attack, but the space between her ribs still ached from the collision and she reached up to touch it in daft confirmation. No blood, just charred fabric and a bruise already forming beneath the top-level burn. Opaque circles blossomed in her vision and she forced a cough out, making sure her respiratory system still operated. The wind was knocked entirely out. Smoke rose from the hole in her suit while the nanotechnology worked to repair and seal itself, concealing the scorched flesh beneath.

Hhhnnggkk, she groaned, blinking at the ground to force her vision back to normal and breathe naturally once more. It didn’t take long to scramble back to her feet, hand now hovering above her hilt and drawing in hoarse, rasped breaths and gesturing that she was fine, just winded. It was mostly patting at the invisible space in front of her to resolve any spike of alarm from her companion.

For an instant, a look of uncertainty crossed over her and she flashed an unsettled glance in Maynard’s direction. The precariousness’ origin was in herself, there was something complicated happening underneath it all. Beneath the surface, she could feel an intensity burgeoning that tingled at her fingertips.

Clenching and unclenching her fists to dissuade anything unnatural, her blade snapped to life, almost in synch with the request for aid.



Enlil was quick to oblige, reconstructing a glossy bubble around those that Loske and Maynard were charged with leading forward. With a single, final nod of affirmation, she inhaled sharply and lunged forward, tilting and breaking into a jog –– swiftly picking up momentum with each step.

Running behind the cover of the shield, Loske seized the opportunity to assess the enemy at the gate and beyond to try pinpointing who’d shot her. The skyline was dimmed by the smoke’s haze, obscuring the visibility of anyone ( Enyo Typhos ) seeking to put effort into concealing themselves. She might have been taking it too personally –– those two shots could have been fortunate.

There was something humorous about Jedi charging on-foot and hurtling speeders at their enemies rather than hijacking them for themselves, but something to laugh about later.

Hitting the temple gates was like a powerful wave on the shore break. The charred stones gave way under her footfalls, stumbling, Loske managed to turn it into a dodge –– undercutting an outstretched blade that had probably been meant for her neck. Riposting, she swung at the attacker’s hip, shoving her foot into the junction at the top of their foot and shin. Her left hand came around with another tell-tale telekinetic blast, rolling the now wounded legionnaire backward and into the gathering of Sith so keen on defending the entrance.

Thudding to a stop, the red-armoured Sith devotee landed at the feet of Darth Daiara , clutching the puncture in their armour and moaning. Loske hadn't watched where they'd landed –– her focus was intently on the yawning mouth of the Enclave itself and penetrating its defences before ushering the other Jedi in.

THE NEW JEDI ORDER

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Ryv | Enlil | Maynard Treicolt | Cotan Sar'andor | Shaka Sunstar Zaavik Dagoth | Jin Kyrel | Hans Rennagen
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Enyo Typhos | Darth Daiara

Playing paddy cake with: Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt Enyo Typhos


--Ripples of impact echoed across a shield over the enclave's door, bodies of Jedi and Sith alike colliding into the sudden defense Aradia put up over the threshold.

She stood in the center of it, stepping over the prone form Loske Treicolt had sent flying at her feet. The gates crumbled to dust across the yard, the fight slowly coiling inward as Jedi pushed and Sith retreated to meet them in turn. Aradia ignored the flow of battle, the shield indiscriminately blocking entry for all. It was a fools task, there were other doors. The acolyte stood her ground regardless, hands outstretched at her side as she strived to hold it firm.

"You are not welcome here!" Came the childish exclamation, as if such reason and logic would stop the whole invasion in its tracks. And why wouldn't it? Didn't the galaxy operate on a set of rules? She said no! If only that had worked for her on Bastion. Maybe then all her peers wouldn't be dead.

Her grief contorted into a growl of fury, the shield rippling with a wave of reinforced energy. Dark strains swirled through the once clear blockade. Her attempt to disband the attackers resulted in nothing more than a slow down. The Acolyte raised her chin to Loske Treicolt as the Knight was left to realize just what stood in her company's way.

Or rather, who.

A man fought besides the blonde, Maynard Treicolt defending the woman from the Sith that found themselves beyond the barrier as well. For all of Aradia's grand intention, it barely changed the scene. They were relentless. Desperation undid her, her nostrils flaring at the strain.

She screamed, a telekinetic blast buffering outwards as her shield shattered.

She flew forward with it, a lithe jump sending her headlong into the fray. As the pulse washed towards Loske Treicolt , Aradia brought her saber arching down for the woman's head.

T H E _ W O L F
THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM
Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Lightsaber

COME ON DOWN

Not for us...​

He replied in kind back to Loske, clasping ahold of his confidence growing resurgent once more.

It was a shade or two removed from the ideal circumstances, his gaze of mortal flesh clasped beneath the visage of the Wolfpack but there was no regaling these circumstances. He barely felt at his devices again, ripped from the greater build up and conflict to this struggle, absent from the meticulous planning that took place in length prior to Ryv and Rurik Fel informing the combined strike team of their ambitions here, Dantooine.

Then that confidence faltered as soon as Loske was driven back, Maynard spared a brunt of the blow but even still, he was immediately to her side in a mind drawn in a schism between his aim to make war on the enemy and his aim to protect her. As it universally seemed to, Loske took center stage in his concern.

Then drew the orders of Ryv once more, for the pair of them to push through the breach. After pulling her from the shattered ground beneath he was quick to follow through with the command, his cobalt blade igniting to life with its characteristic crack and static as they set themselves toward the fray.

A swipe of the blue blade severed one of the Acolytes right in two before him, the welcome return from a short tenure in shackles to the field of battle again.

Then came the hopeless scream of defiance and vitriol from the fire headed Acolyte, Darth Daiara . With her crimson blade angled down to plant itself into the brain pan of Maynard's other half, he swung himself toward her in protection of Loske, the brazen blue blade rising to meet hers perpendicular to the downwards strike.

His gaze shifted down toward Aradia in a focused silence before he grasped the hilt in both hands, moving to plant his foot in her abdomen with a swift kick as he put his weight into the grip of his weapon to force a break of the clash of sabers. All the while he felt that creeping familiarity of the battlefield envelop his subconscious, the comfort in his own skin easing over him with each passing moment, returning from the time he'd spent in isolation, a prisoner of the New Order. And it showed in errant bruises, worn lacerations and a weary gaze. Even still, his fire would not be so easily doused.

​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Ryv | Loske Treicolt | Enlil | Cotan Sar'andor | Jin Kyrel | Shaka Sunstar | Zaavik Dagoth | Hans Rennagen
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Darth Daiara | Enyo Typhos

A blade intercepted, catching Aradia's moments before it laid into Loske Treicolt 's skull. The impact rattled up her arms, her downward momentum met by a foot to her gut.

The Acolyte's eyes widen in momentary shock, heat flashing across the healed wound.

A flash of white at Bastion.

Exquisite pain ripping through her core...

The wall at her back...

Dangling...

Trapped...

Choking on her own blood.

As the heartless jedi approached.​

She landed on her feet, sliding backwards with a panic gasp. Her chest heaved as she met Maynard Treicolt 's stare, the unhardened acolyte fighting against her own instinct to run. Weary met wary as she appraised him. He was years above her, the line of his face and the marks on his skin bespeaking of experience that she could only hope to live long enough to gain. The way he looked at her sent a chill across her spine. He was frightening in his conviction. They all were.

She disengaged a step, her nostrils flaring as she raised her saber in a clear defensive stance. There was no doubt in her mind that she was outmatched, in this moment and in her goals. It changed nothing.

"If you take another step, I'll kill you where you stand." She tried to sound like her Master in that moment. So decisive. So strong. "This Temple is not your home. You will not harm the people inside." Came the chant from the acolyte's mouth.

She depended her stance, the dark side brushing against her mind, begging her to sink in.

She flinched back, mentally drawing a line in the sand between them. A wall of flame erupted in its wake, forming yet another blockade. It crackled and flexed erratically, threatening to consume them both on whim.

"Don't make me do it." Her chin raised in clear defiance, outmatched and disillusioned-- she'd cast her fate to the cards.

"I will."

THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
WHEN GOD COMES BACK

​

Loske’s senses flared too soon and too late. The streams of time lost somewhere in the lattices of existence between herself and her ghost mother who refused to let go. The Force, which usually flowed so freely through her, felt as though two separate currents were competing for speed. One was a stream she was used to, the other like a foreign undertow. As such, her reaction to the vermillion blade coming down on her was nonexistent until Maynard intercepted. His back was to her now, focusing down the enemy that dared try to strike her down. Thunder clapped, rolling through her chest and stomach in the shape of uncertainty.

How long could she keep this charade up that she was fine, if she kept making mistakes like that –– Mistakes that could end her up on death’s doorstep again. Too much familiarity was struck there, a parallel drawn to the feeblest of moments on Muunilinst. A feeling that had drained them both, a feeling that...she’d been tasked with inflicting on others for the sake of reclaiming what had been theirs.

The Jedi’s flag Shaka Sunstar brought to the gates of the temple fluttered wildly in her peripherals. The cloth proudly flying in a struggle to defy the smoke and zephyr to bolster the charge of reclamation. An observation interrupted by the necessity to defend. Her blade snapped downward, her two streamlines of consciousness somehow operating in tandem to encourage a reaction against the sudden soldier of the Darkside. Loske’s angle was perfect, and if the shot had been anything typical, it would have been easily deflected.

In her moment of supposed triumph, she assessed the approaching terminatrix with eyes that were seeing clearer than ever before. The darkside was rolling from the attacker, but something about it was incomplete. “You’re not a Sith..Why are you –– AH!”

As fate would have it, that victory was too soon claimed. The inorganic woman’s weapon wasn’t something the Knight had encountered before and it breezed through her Kyber-based sword, just above her knee, and she staggered backward.



Despite the pain of the impact she’d just suffered, Loske guffawed at the girl behind the flames, her eyes narrowing in response to the threat, speaking hotly through grit teeth.

“You mean harming Sith inside a Sith temple?” She’d been tasked to do just that. Not only by the charge to capture the shrine, but for the sake of all the loss and hurt The Sith had put her husband through. It made these encounters more personal. Her verbal riposte was cut short by the sensory overload that numbed her knee, clenching into something tight and paralyzed.

She gasped out a confused “Wha --” as her body reacted to the sensory loss and she dropped to her knee. To catch herself, she slammed her free hand down against the stone.

Without warning, the monolith’s foundation reacted to her touch –– and she could do nothing to stop it. The stones eagerly responded to the power she’d been imbued with. Her ghost mother’s influence triumphed in the struggle for dominance, and Loske was thrown into a timeline that shivered around them, visible to everyone in the vicinity. The vision burned at her eyes, forcing white to drown out the blue and she choked out a surprised gasp.

A vision of the past with the ability to invite those in the immediate vicinity to the view and experience it was not Loske’s usual powerset. Typically, she had to touch someone to share history with them. Concealing her changes since Yinchorr were sincerely unlikely now, and Loske felt a tidal wave of personal panic amidst the tension of the conflict. Apparently, part of the Jedi Master’s transfer had levelled that ability up to the point where translucent silhouettes of the past layered over their corporeal realm, glowing behind the temple’s walls beyond the ashen gates. Like ghosts walking in their realm. Shadowy outlines either pierced through pearlescent shapes or hovered above them imposingly while the milky white shape took to knees, slowly turning shades of grey.

It was as immersive as it was fast, not giving her enough time to even question what was happening before the historic overlay with the present.

The shapes were from years past of strike teams desecrating the Jedi temple and those within it. It was overtly apparent which of the shapes were Sith, stealing and slaughtering, and who were Jedi. Sith hurting Jedi. Sith entering a temple that was not their home. Sith hurting the people inside.

They could all see it if they chose to truly see.

She could still feel the heat from the very-real flames in the waking world and hear the sound of the approaching sabre. Fear of self shook behind her ribcage, and she ground her teeth. Forcing herself back to the present, she clenched her fists, trying to uncurl from the touch of the rock: “You mean like...your people did?”

Shaking, Loske’s hand managed to retract enough to only make the pebbles collected on the stone quiver. She still couldn’t feel the space above her knee. The silhouettes, never more than faint outlines and undulations, slowly began to fade.

THE NEW JEDI ORDER​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Ryv | Enlil | Maynard Treicolt | Cotan Sar'andor | Shaka Sunstar | Zaavik Dagoth | Jin Kyrel | Hans Rennagen
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Enyo Typhos | Darth Daiara

T H E _ W O L F
THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM
Jumpsuit | Concord Brawn | Lightsaber

RUINS OF THE DEAD​

In this precarious encounter, the fate of the four of them was...nebulous, uncertain. That only played credence to the host of doubt which weighed over all of them, manifest in some form or another. But more than anyone, it was in her. The Sith before him, in spite of the fires she conjured, Maynard remained resolute, his determined gaze resting squarely on the Acolyte through the wall of fire, as if all but goading her to do anything. Anything to press harm unto either of them, but squarely on Loske. He'd be beaten and bloodied a thousand times over but he'd stop getting up. But he'd leave nothing to chance with her.

But in her vitriolic, fearful sentiment he could only evoke the few encounters in which he'd lashed out in similar fashion. Scared of nothing more than the person across from them knowing they were afraid at all, scared of what that vulnerability might open to him to anyone else. He saw some of himself- no, some of what he was in her. How quickly she was outwardly aggressive in protecting what hers. Clamoring in existential desperation to what little familiarity there was left at all.

Loske snapped back at Aradia, rightfully so, the acolyte held the mortality of these two lovers within her fiery grasp of The Force.

He was just about to speak when the flourish of Force power grasped its tight embrace around Loske from her enigmatic clone counterpart in Enyo. Before he could bear to register the event or interdict in some form, she was lifted up and thrown out of view, her saber hilt clattering the broken ground beneath. His eyes widened in a moment of shock before narrowing in bitter hatred, defiance of yet another perfect alignment of circumstances to which, he could not save her, he could not help her.

He willed that golden blade his other hand with an ethereal grasp and pull through the force, bringing it into his other hand before his gaze snapped back toward the thread immediately ahead of him, Aradia.

All but a neophyte desperately defending 'home'. Just as he did, ages ago.

His usual motus operandi neccessitated that he lash for the throat when opposing these demonic sycoophants, these scions of the vantablack darkness, the Sith.

But she was far too volatile and seemingly far too overtly vulnerable to the rhetoric they'd force fed her. He couldn't in good conscious cut her down, cut down a spirit harnessing the darkness while cornered and afraid, that semblance of normality crumbling around here. There were far too many aligning variables.

Had Enyo not decried the Sith outright, every fiber of his being would've pulled him in the direction of Loske...but there was a threat far more pressing in front of him.

"Hey- you don't have to do any of this, you have a choice..." Maynard suggested, the cobalt blade of his saber dousing from the light and into the hilt of his saber as his bruised and bloodied face, still fresh with lacerations from his time in New Imperial custody. He'd seemed to have forgiven them, perhaps he could stretch that streak and forgive her as well.

If she stood down.

"I know- I know how this all feels. This is home, this is all you know...and people are here to take it from you...I was there once...when the Sith took mine. Just- stand down." Maynard says, ever willing to ignite both of the sabers in his hands in defiance to the fiery acolyte.

ALLIES
Loske Treicolt

ENEMIES
Darth Daiara | Enyo Typhos​

“You mean like...your people did?” ​

"Well maybe if you didn't murder their children!" She snapped back at Loske Treicolt , the woman yanked away before Aradia could get the satisfaction of her quip.

What came first, the chicken, or the egg?

The jedi, or the sith?

Aradai had had the potential to be anything in life, but it was systematic murders of all her peers that had shattered her world into misery and sent her down this path. They were children. They were just trying to survive, no more so than any other downtrodden waif out there squeezing the galaxy for what spare scraps they could get.

It just so happened these waifs could use the force.

And look where that got them. Dead, all around her-- thrown at Aradia's feet by Loske's own hand. There was only one monster in her book. There was only one entity responsible for all the pain in her world, and they stood before her. She couldn't put this all to words, still just young enough to not know her own mind... Yet old enough to murdered for nothing more than who she was.

"I know- I know how this all feels. This is home, this is all you know...and people are here to take it from you...I was there once...when the Sith took mine. Just- stand down." Maynard says,

"You really don't think this is wrong," she uttered incredulously, her perception of humanity growing taunt and strained. Everything balanced on the tip of a needle, the acolyte finally able to ask the question that haunted her through the nights.

"Why?" The fire crackled, it's unearthly flames bending the air around it and contorting the image of the man on the other side. Through the inferno, he looked devilish. Unnatural. Like all the slave masters of her past, trying to bend her to their will. She took a step forward, not relenting.

"What did I ever do to you? And my school? They were children, we weren't in those stupid battles. We didn't take anything from you. When does this end?" Came the half crazed question, every battle- every death- every dip into the darkside weighing heavily on her psyche.

She needed it to stop.

Her expression contorted, her control dissolving in her desperation. Etherial forms flickered in and out of sight-- hazey figures in white armor, anchored in place by the girl that had been forced to consume their essence to survive.

And they did not sit peacefully.

The flames grew hotter, her saber clattering to the ground as she gripped at her head.

Use me, demanded the power, its pull on her chest taking her breath away.

And the Lost-- their anger- the v o i c e s -- "I said stop!" The flames flared, pressing him back in her moment of utter vulnerably. The blistering heat danced away, calming to grant him sight of Aradia once more. The figures were gone, the veil between worlds restored. She stood resolute, her saber extended across the flames.

"Here's your precious choice for you jedi. End it now. Walk away. Leave us be." Her voice cracked in the barest plea. It was all over in a second, her pain twisting into bitter defiance.

"Or I will become a face you will never forget."

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Spoiler

Wreath of the Sovereign, Lightsabre Pike, Armour + SI-PES

Auteme Sakadi Marathi Sinvala

“It’s treason then.”

Joycelyn looked over Sakadi’s shoulder toward the silver shaft barring the way into the Orphanage. Her face curled in a grimace of disdain as the Silver Jedi approached. Under Vornskr’s will, the shaft shifted gently as it un-wedged itself from the wall. Blood was already creating a red streak down the Empress’ face, matting her black hair against her suddenly more ashen skin, and accenting the golden wreath in her locks with ruby droplets.

The shaft turned quietly in the air as she rotated her right hand, until pointing approximately at Sakadi’s back.

She pushed on Auteme with her leg one more time to squeeze a little more pain out of the young Jedi as she moved her leg out of the way of Sakadi’s attack. As the force empowered the Sephi, so did Vornskr let the Force empower her. The pain, the death, the chaos of the battlefield, she took it all in and channelled it for her own gain.

Vornskr did not attempt to keep Sakadi from Auteme, but readily moved her leg out of the way, swinging back into a solid position as she slashed down against Sakadi’s sabre with her bloodshine blade in her left hand, seemingly seeking to sunder her fingers and weapon. Her right hand made a subtle, sweeping gesture.

“The Sith will tolerate none of this insolence.”

The silvery, songsteel shaft darted their way like a javelin. It skimmed just over the top of the hovertank, sending a shower of sparks, and cut through the air with a sinister aria. Even though its ends were not sharpened to perfect points, it carried enough heft and velocity to be an effective implement for injury, should it strike true. The weapon initially seemed to be aimed at Sakadi, but with a casual dip it made it clear, Auteme was its intended target.

 

[Runi Verin]

LOCATION: CAVERNS BENEATH THE SITH ENCLAVE
OBJECTIVE: STEAL SOME DUDE’S OSIK SURVIVE
GEAR: Vornskr Mk8 Scattergun, Tal Oya’karir, Muun'bajir, Terentatek Duster, Asheran Armorweave, Taak’tabi, Nwûl
ALLIES: Amea Virou
ENEMIES: AMCO | TSE
PROBABLY FRIENDLY: NIO | GA | ETC

This wasn't an entirely unexpected reaction, albeit one ahead of schedule. Based on her past dealings with the Sith Empire, she had assumed Vandiir would have reneged on the deal the moment he was free and clear, so his decision to throw down here and now was a little surprising. She had assumed the Sith Lord was smarter than that.

As a result, she was already backing up the moment his hands began to raise, her scarred and tattooed features scrunching up as she bared her teeth, a sudden burst of agility from the Force lending her more coordination and grace than her battered and bruised body contained. Moving back to stand beside Amea once more, a tired attempt at banter echoing through the cavern as the shadows began to swell. "I guess we're movin' straight on to the aggressive part of the negotiations."

Her eyes began to blink rapidly as she spoke, pushing her vision to shift into the infrared spectrum in order to handle the encroaching darkness. The cavern becoming awash with cold blues, warm purples and hot yellows and reds. The undead spirits registered as an alarming black as they feasted on the warmth and energy of their surroundings, leaving her with two possible moving targets. The finer details were lost in the transition, but her force bond was clear enough to pick out Amea.

That left...

Her arm whipped out out with a flash of silver towards the second figure. Her knife wasn't exactly balanced for an accurate throw over long distances, but that hardly mattered in the cramped quarters of the cavern - besides she was more aiming to simply wound than inflict a mortal wound. A blood trail would certainly put a kink in the pretty boy's plan to play hide and seek.

Not content there, the Warden was already moving to back up her companion, using their bond to relay a vague sense of their surroundings as she half-dashed, half sauntered to engage one of the shades. Lashing out with a wicked right cross with that alchemized knuckleduster, the force enhanced blow scattering the specter's essence to the proverbial four corners even as it disrupted the energy within the cybernetic arm that delivered it.

"Maybe try shootin' him again," She called as she danced back once more to avoid becoming lost in the shadowy darkness, her arm hanging low as the motor struggled to restart. Clearly punching them, while effective, wasn't going to do the trick long term. Especially not against fou--- three of them. Whatever Amea was planning to do, hopefully it was more thought out than her own ideas, and hopefully it would be sooner rather than later. Those shadows were quickly taking up what little space they had left in the cavern. "Just be real karkin' polite about it this time."

 

[Mishel Kryze]

The sound of the graug were clear and the gigantic creature in front of her grew with strength as the Force Bubble weakened. Kriff it. Mishel dropped the bubble and pulled the crystals toward her. Force Light charged the crystals began to glow the rhythm and the rhymes stopped the chant she had begun before her fight with the creature grew louder and louder. "Ashira l'Adonai ki gaoh gaah, Ashira l'Adonai ki gaoh gaah. Mi khamokha ba'elim Adonai. Mi khamokha ne'dar baqodesh nah'ita veh'asdekha 'am-zu ga-alta nah'ita veh'asdekha 'am-zu ga-alta. Ashira, Ashira, Ashira." Gone by then were the sounds from her portable music player, all that could be heard was her prayer, her song that echoed throughout the caverns.​

​

Force Light filled the cavern around Mishel as she continued to chant the Eldorai prayer, a prayer she learned as a little girl living on Tygara with her mother. A chant, a song, the prayer that had kept Mishel going through every battle she had been in. "Ashira." Sang Mishel at last as she brought her hands apart momentarily, "l'Adonai ki goah gaah, Ashira l'Adonai ki goah gaah." Her song continued and the prayer went on until Mishel brought her hands together. "Ashira."​

​

The color in her eyes had completely faded, her vision gone from her as she pushed Force Light. Crystals vibed with the light and others closer to Mishel were now imbued with the light. Mishel closed her eyes and focused on herself, she focused on the light and the Force. She pulled from her forceborn pool and sent a tremendous amount of light throughout the caverns and upward that Force Light cracked through parts of the ceiling. "To all those who fight for this moment, to all those who feel with the light, for the Jedi and the Servants of the Light."​

​

"Hear my prayer, feel this moment, feel the light as it passes through this all of us."​

​

"In the days leading up to this fight you have all known who and what you fight for."​

​

"The people of Dantooine deserve so much more, the people in the Galaxy deserve the right to choose for themselves. Choose their own destiny, to choose how they will live and not be brought under the tyranny of the Sith. Not to be used as tools, not to be used as weapons, or to be made to bleed for the Sith. It is up to us the Jedi and the Servants of the Light, to hold out hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, hope for peace, for unity, and for the good of all. "​

​

Her words came to a close and the immense Light from Mishel intensified breaking parts of the cavern ceiling and those who could see it. Would see a kaleidoscope of colors emerge. All those within the caverns would feel the light grow within the Force. ​

​

​

INTERACTING WITH: Darth Vulcanus
NIO | JEDI | ALLIES: N A N I?! [ Ryv | Shaka Sunstar | Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt | Runi Verin | Amea Virou | @Any and all Jedi who want a BOOST of HOPE ]
TSE | ELDER COUNCIL | OPPONENTS: Ruek Tast | Iasha Rha | Alina Tremiru

 

[Gedeon Rath]

Operation Harvest Dark
Codename: Hannibal
Objective: Identify Hostiles. Engage with extreme prejudice.
Allies: Rexus Wenck | Dergan Twigg (x)
Gedeon's Gear: Evasive-226-R Field Disruptor | E-11D Blaster Carbine | Thermal Detonators (x2) | Damascus Patterned Combat Dagger (Phrik/Durasteel)
-
DARK ALL DAY

The barbarous duo charged forward as a hail of blaster fire erupted around them all - that was the signal. In their wake Hannibal and his men surged forward. If Romulus and Remus were a weapon slug, Hannibal and his men were akin to the concussive wave washing over and through the enemy. The death troopers did their fair share of work, eliminating targets with an efficiency that even impressed the grizzled commando - though Hannibal contributed just as enthusiastically. In short order the barricade had been decimated, those remaining throwing down their weapons. It took enormous self control not to simply execute them on the spot but the ROE were clear - no weapons, no threat, technically no longer valid targets.

Some of the commandos took up perimeter watch, a few others collecting the discarded weapons and huddling the survivors of the assault together in a small group. "Move them over there, near that E-Web." Or at least what remained of it. It had been partially disabled however the massive power pack hadn't been damaged. Audibly Rath began to whistle a tune, the happy tune strange given the circumstances.

"You gonna wait on command to tell you to take a shit too boys?" he sneered behind the visor of his helmet. "How about a smoke break? Smokes anyone?" he reached into his vest, eyeballing the survivors. "I thought not." Motioning for his men to back up he flicked a small plasma lighter open, the flame fluttering to life as the flow picked up. "Tsk Tsk." he shook his head at the now collected prisoners. "Weren't you told? You're not supposed to smoke near power packs, horribly dangerous." A simple flick of his wrist sent the torch sailing expertly towards the exposed E-Web power pack. "No quarter." he said audibly as he waited for the inevitable explosion.

 

[Adron Malvern]

ENCLAVE​

Tags: Xobos Yakieer | Freyu Molidias | Shaka Sunstar | Kalika Vaar ​

His piercing attack had been intended to at least reflect a bit of damage and while it had not ultimately failed, it spoke to his opponents skill. He appreciated that this Jedi was more than the simple monk. His martial might was not something to be underestimated. When the Jedi bore low, the Sith Lord's eyes darted down, following his movements carefully. As the man charged forward Malphas retreated back, however there was not enough time to stop the collision.

While the Jedi flew forward, Adron reached out to take hold of his wrist, ensuring the man's lightsaber did not wildly stab him in a blaze of the mess that was this tackle. They fell back, with Adron's back slamming into the steps, his armor screeching from the stone that slid over the Phrik plates. He kept his eyes locked on his opponent, but otherwise kept his grip on the man's wrist. The moment after they slammed into the ground, Malphas lashed out. His lightsaber had fallen from his hand, dropping a few steps down from where he laid, het His free hand came forward in a harsh fist for the Jedi, just below the hinge of the jaw, an attempt to shock and disorient the Jedi.

While Malphas preferred his blade to such combat, he was far from unprepared.

Years in service to the Galactic Emperor as a trained Royal Guard. Still, even those paled in comparison to the extremely intimate combat training that the Sith Lord shared with Srina Talon . However, this was different. It had no grace, no beauty. It was carnage and the Sith Lord relished the sweet release.

Following the blow to the Jedi, Malphas took hold of his wrist with both hands, rapidly driving his lightsaber back to the man, attempting to decapitate him with his own blade.

There was more than one way to kill a Jedi.
​

​

 

[Auteme]

Joycelyn Zambrano Sakadi Marathi Sinvala ​

Auteme cried out as the Empress's foot pressed further into her stomach. When she was finally released she drew a full breath, only to fall to the ground, hard. The Sephi Jedi rushed forward to protect Auteme, and though the Empress withdrew for a moment she knew she needed to get away. Wheezing, she got on her hands and knees and began to crawl away.

The Force always had other things in store. It nudged her; she glanced to the Empress as the woman made a gesture with her hand. No direct attack, until she had her attention pulled to the songsteel rod flying through the air towards her. The Force's warnings turned to screams. She took a shaky breath. Just before the impact Auteme let her arms and legs slack; her body hit the pavement, the shaft slammed into the wall behind her after passing over her head.

As she lay there, coughing and wheezing, she stared up at the other two as they continued to fight. Pathetic. She didn't think she could do any more here. Most Jedi pushed their limits in every engagement, but Auteme's skills lay far from the battlefield. There she was, in the presence of the Sith Empress, watching a fight unfold.

She struggled back onto her knees, then got one foot flat on the ground.

Maybe she couldn't fight, but she was alive. And she had a promise to keep.

 

[AMCO]

Location: Caverns beneath the Sith Enclave proper.
Objective: Improvised Field Trial Besh-1; harry New Imperial forces. Survive.
Equipment: Polyweave Suit, G1 UltraDeluxe, Shield Talisman, Soulstones, Empyrean Gland, [2] Jin'Pins
Writing With: Amea Virou & Runi Verin

In a matter of moments, light had been drowned out replaced with darkness and fear - in theory, anyway. In practice, the latter would probably have a hard time influencing hostile Force Users overmuch, doubly so since he wasn't exactly in top shape. Then again, neither were they. Amea, suddenly the reasonable one, turned to flee, but the Mandalorian seemed less willing. A shame, but that could be corrected...

... his mind quite quickly changed gears when a dagger came out of nowhere, mono-molecular edge slicing through his nanotechnological attire with ease and embedding itself in his lower torso. Exhaling with a shudder, he felt something supernatural about it, promptly ripping it out and throwing it away as if it were a bomb of some kind. Little did it was a tracking mechanism, not another form of offence.

Stumbling backwards, the inky miasma filling the chamber seemed to fluctuate slightly, held together only barely. It certainly didn't help that the damn Mandalorian had weapons capable of destroying spirits - damn it all, weren't they supposed to be Force-fearing troglodytes?

"You karking schutta!" Moving backwards more steadily now, he reached around for something, anything... aha. Grasping one of the naturally occurring crystals poking forth from the wall with his will, he ripped it out, pouring as much power as he could spare into it, darkness now truly fraying...

... as one last distraction, he simply flung the damn thing in their general direction, aiming for a rather volatile explosion.

Could it unmake the remaining Shrouds, being made primarily of Force energies? Absolutely. Did he care? Not at all.

Screw the cannon fodder and screw the battle as a whole, he was getting the hell out of here.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Equipment​

Armor Taralraiskaz Battle Plate Helm of Malignant Anima Fist of Moridin the Great Weapons Derriphan the Devourer Other Empyrean Gland

"There are no gods, little Fel."​

​

The clang and clatter of saber on sword rung out between their traded words, the electric hum of plasma slapping against alchemy-tempered metal. Carnifex remained on the defensive for a few moments longer, parrying one of Rurik's attacks before switching over into the offensive. Carnifex's aggressive style blended well with the weapon that he carried, a massive runeblade that could be comfortably wielded in either one hand or two. ​

​

For now, Carnifex deigned to wield his weapon with his dominant right hand. His left remained in a defensive position at his side, waiting for the moment which it could be utilized against the Imperial Knight.​

​

"There are only men and their perception of godhood." Another strike, "Predators and prey." And another, "The living and the dead."​

​

He watched as Fel and Sunstrider backed up to one another, bracing their backs as they fended off both the once-Emperor and the Lion King simultaneously. Carnifex halted his attack for the moment, stalking towards his quarry as the battle raged all around them. Then he struck, his blade clashing against the Imperial Knight's in a flurry of sparks and roaring heat.​

​

"And you are mistaken, scion of the Fel." The once-Emperor's voice cut through the noise, his helmeted face illuminated by the sparks rising off from their clashing weapons. "The fear you sense is not mine, it is your own!" ​

​

Blue lightning lashed out from the Imperial Knight's other hand, arcing in the air towards the once-Emperor's armor. Constructed through the ancient art of Sith Alchemy, the armor's molecular structure had been tempered and magnetically polarized through the Dark Side of the Force to act as a high-temperature superconductor. The unnatural lightning was naturally drawn towards Carnifex's breastplate regardless of whether or not the Imperial Knight wanted it to, and as the bolts of lightning struck the metal they were absorbed by the metal and stored like an electric capacitor.​

​

Carnifex broke the saberlock which held their weapons in a stalemate, taking a step back as his armor crackled with stolen energy. Now he reached out with his left hand, the one gloved with the Fist of Moridin the Great, and channeled that collected energy through it to harness it for himself. Seeming to conjure from the very earth itself, strands of crackling green energy burst forth from pools of darkness up and around the Imperial Knight. The strands would attempt to ensnare and entrap the Man with the Iron Mask, binding him in place while simultaneously sapping away his strength and his connection to the Force.​

​

"You misunderstand much, also-ran. The death of an Empire means nothing to me, if it burns then it will burn. My power reaches beyond."​

​

Thurion Heavenshield | Oceiros Sunstrider | Rurik Fel ​