Invasion No Quarter | NIO Invasion of TSE held Dantooine

[Lark]

​

Location: Crystal Caves
Writing With: Enlil

The two blades met, and thunder shook the cave. Tiny pieces of broken crystal fell like rain, harmlessly bouncing on the cave floor. For little more than a moment, Lark stumbled under the weight of the King's strike. But with a quick pivot he regained his composure, and the two were at a standstill. Despite his lithe frame, he was deceptively strong and his training with the blade allowed him an advantage against even the most trained of swordsmen. Despite the man's betrayal, Lark thanked Krest for that, if for naught else.

And yet Lark still sensed that something was horribly wrong.

A small chip of metal from Lark's enchanted blade hit the ground, and he immediately bent backwards and let the King's calamitous weapon nearly flay his forehead as it shattered the weapon that his old master had gifted him, during his very first training session with the Sith. The snow-colored weapon born and bathed in blood had been his constant companion, and now it lay in two broken pieces.

But there was no time to mourn. He quickly drew his dagger from his arced position, it might be of little use against a weapon with such devastating powers, but it was the only physical weapon he had left. He knew not how the King's blade broke his own, such a mystery could be dealt with once Enlil lay dead.

His sword was gone, but Lark was at his most dangerous when pressed into a corner. Reaching out with the Force, he grabbed the two halves of his splintered sword. One was all blade, the other the hilt with a jagged piece of sharp metal extending from the handle. Enlil's momentum carried him past Lark, and though the icy blade was broken it was still dangerous.

The two pieces of enchanted metal would curve and soar towards each side of Enlil, each seeking to impale themselves in his royal flesh.

Now, I'm all that's left, a young voice said in his head.

 

[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​

Tags | Loske Treicolt | Enyo Typhos | Maynard Treicolt

“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."

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

RUINS OF THE DEAD​

She impeded on him with moral dilemma, taking the offer of choice and turning it back and down on him. This war made sense, the interdicting of slaves on the Pabol Hutta, the Muun worlds turned to glass, the heart of his homeland rendered asunder. Now she dared to look down on him for the choices he'd made, the path he walked to get to this moment.

This was no glorious culmination or dark depth to Maynard's journey, this was merely another battle, another pillar of Sith control wrenched from its gilded foundation and brought to shatter against the earth beneath. Unlike most any of the others, she had a human face. The rest being outright distorted, depraved beasts be it in the false beauty of Darth Alekto or the outright insidiousness of her other half in Prazutis, Aradia had clearly not undergone that full indoctrination.

Or...whatever happened to the Sith in their training and development. He well and truly didn't know.



"Because- if we don't do something, no one will have the choice. No one will have the choice to...follow their own path." Maynard suggests, the idle hilts of his saber and Loske's grasped firmly in each hand as he raises one to ease her down once more, but she was fighting a battle unseen, a psychic war with invisible scars between her consciousness and inner demons.

"You didn't have the choice...either they took you- or something pushed you down this path. Darkness. I know- I've been here before, weak, afraid...where I live, my home under threat...with no other choice than to let myself be unchained, let the darkness take control. I know exactly how you feel but...just- there's nothing for you here, nothing for you with the Sith. They don't care about you or else...you think they would've let you stay?" Maynard proposes with a pleading gaze, ever rarely showing mercy in the face of a Sith if only because...it didn't seem to be a Sith he was opposing at all.

Though he clasped the golden saber to his belt once more, he let the cobalt blade crack to ignition, prepared for her retribution to his sentiment should it arrive, though mainly guarding himself in the force as he strained himself to grasp ahold of that tether again, the forlorn of his imprisonment shackling him in the prison of his own mind all the same, abandoning The Force in that brief period.

"You have a choice now- its all your hands to make it." Maynard says, standing all but defensively.

ALLIES
Loske Treicolt

ENEMIES
Darth Daiara | Enyo Typhos​

She stared at across the flames, a look of tired incredulity leveled at the jedi. He made assumptions about her that were wrong. Up until this moment she would have been of mind to put it to him straight, but something in her snapped in that moment. She could only be disheartened.

It would be a lie to say she hadn't hoped that she could simply talk sense into them. There was no sense to be found, only the grime ultimatum they had laid out before each other.

Move.

Or be moved.

If he just hadn't discounted her free will, she might have actually done it. She dug in her heels, hardening at his suggestion that his dip into the darkside had been unavoidable. But hers?

Just stand down and let them die, or die with them?

There was no choice in that. He was a hypocrite.

She griped her hilt a little tighter, the blade bobbing as she scowled. "I am exactly as I am because your Imperials. Killed. Everyone." The words caught sporadically in her throat, her voice nearly lost to the dim of the battle. "You are responsible. Every person you strike down gives me cause to stand firm. Every Academy you attempt to purge births others, just like me.

"Look me in the eyes." The demand rung through her tone like a bell. The blue orbs gleamed with defiant anger, pain gleaming through the firelight between them.

"I am your fault. My pain is your fault. I am a consequence of your actions. Your hate. They have done nothing but help me survive.

Don't do me the insult of acting like the good guy. You are not good. You are the men that came to destroy your world and I curse you to never forget it. You have come to kill and I

will not

let you."​

The flames exploded in an inferno capable of engulfing them both. From the orange arms flew the girl, unmarred by the heat as she tried to impale him through the chest.

 

[Ursula Vizla]

L O C A T I O N | Garaug.
O B J E C T I V E | Making a living.
T A G S | Meko Sorrin
I M P L A N T S | Eye, legs, arm.
G E A R | Armor, rifle, pistols.
​

A tear almost broke through her eye when she saw a family of people running outside a building, fleeing the field to find some shelter. If she had a heart Ursula would have changed her mind, but she didn’t have one, at least not metaphorically, literally she had a heart, but the Mandalorian had no problem cutting the father’s throat with her vibroknuckler as she passed them by and rejoiced as all of them started to scream, desperate and helpless, trying to get the soldiers attention back on them. The female, shrouded by her armor, playing contortion, Ursula somersault slowly at least three times backward and left the area back to the safety of a wall. While the two lean lips on her head began to silently perform a countdown, from thirty to one, when the time in her mouth reached twenty, Ursula grabbed one of the thermal detonators on her belt and slide it towards a group of three soldiers not far from her, when it reached five the detonator exploded in a loud and horrible explosion, but when the timer reached zero, she muttered in the corner. ​

“Time to play.”, the troops that came with her started to open fire, avidly advancing in the streets and firing at the same time. They seemed to care little if they were civilians or soldiers, they just shot, unleashing volleys of blaster fire on those in front of them, as for the Mandalorian, she started to slide the field, trying to get their rear, if there was such a thing, or at least in a situation in which she could deal with them directly. Ursula drew her rifle, hitting her thumb over the switch, changing the modularity of her gun to the maser setting, when Ursula got in the back of that group, she turned off the cloaking device and sank her finger over the trigger, allowing the maser inferno to begin, the only problem was that she could see little, very little. Thermal sensors were activated and allowed her to check her environment and see all of those moving around, but telling them apart was something else entirely, and not once nor twice she shot down two of the troops that came with her. ​

And the only they knew it was her if they cared about such things, was the burned smoking holes made on their armors, courtesy of her gun. The cyberlegs on her body moved violently, chunking a piece of the ground to hold her in place, didn’t matter her armor had a lot of tolerance to most ordinary weaponry in the galaxy, every time she was hit it felt like being hit by a rancor’s fist, up to the point that one of her legs clenched her metallic claws over one of the troopers’ faces, crushing its visor by simply applying enough strength to it and breaking its neck shortly afterward, shivering on the snapping sound of bones shattering. Still clenched to his head, Ursula dragged his body and kept it high in the air, using it as a shield against incoming bolts, placing her rifle back in its side holster, the Mandalorian had no balance in her body to use King Arthur while standing on one leg, so she took one of her spectrum pistols from the magnetic holder on her back.​

“COME AND GET ME, IMPERIAL RATS!”, her voice roared, hurling her entire body to the side to gain both speed and strength to toss s the dead trooper she found herself using as a flesh shield towards some of the troops. Immediately making a run in their direction raising the spectrum pistol and her cyber-arm, stumping her thumb, and hammering it to fire the slugthrower pistol inside her mechanical arm in the direction of her enemy. ​

 

[Rurik Fel]

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

I AM THE MOUNTAIN
​

The tide of initiative ripped and swayed against the Lord Executor in the boundless fury of Kaine Zambrano. He encroached in devastating force, without reproach, no quarter.

Yet, with each pass of the ebon fury in his Runeblade, with every step an invasive drive, an insidious lust to dash Fel bloody and make of him an example once more to that disgraced lineage.

There was no fear, fear was the mind killer and Rurik was unbroken in his resolve.

As he always had-

He would endure.

Kaine's kin in Braxus Zambrano, Darth Prazutis could not strike him down.

The renegade claimant of Sith'ari, Kascalion Giedfield could not strike him down.

He would endure.​

"Fear of what? Death? Sacrifice is the final vindication. I am not so fixated on the materium as you are, Zambrano. I am not afraid of you, I am not afraid of the end...my only worry is the punishment you can inflict on the Galaxy...and that is why I have you here. Every moment you waste in defiance of me, is another moment the New Order rips away at your depraved realm." Rurik says, the argent white of his blade clashing against the vantablack fury of Carnifex's as he stares down the once Emperor with narrow eyes.

"But I know the end frightens you...because in the realm beyond, justice knows every man's number, retribution always comes to those who have made themselves deserving of it...and you know that the lifeless void, the merciless nether will not be so kind to you, Carnifex. For you are a man of great sin and boundless evil. And you will have nothing. You are nothing. And you seek to prolong their march of self indulgence and rampant tyranny here as long as you can possibly manage, for you fear that inevitability, that certain truth" The Lord Executor claims.

"Death."​

This imbued valor of the scion of Order, the Lord Executor and his newfound wayward ally in Sunstrider had strung an invisible, an indomitable bound. They were...all but the writing flesh and blood in opposition to the now seemingly falsely claimed paragon of light and newly fallen lord of darkness.

Even behind that metal face, that iron skin, each push and pull of exertion, of struggle took its toll unto Fel. But even as the battle drew on, his light would not be snuffed out so easily, even as once more, his attack, his attempt to seize and press the advantage fell into the hands of the insidious creature and he reaped the whirlwind immediately after. The lashing tendrils of the congealed green dark energy lashed and grasped at his iron skin, the searing marks bearing into the metal as he sought the bounds of his ability, the extent by which this mortal shell could endure, found the wall and burst through it.

Those short moments of agony saw those dark, ethereal fingers grasp of ahold of his tether to The Force, grasp and twist, vampirically draining the power the way of the Epicanthix until he broke free from its hold.

He would endure.​

His connection remained and in line with Oceiros' maneuver, the Jedi lashed up in defiance of the Dark Lord in a burgeoning attempt to relinquish all focus from Kaine as Rurik turned, his argent blade still drawn and looked toward the Lying King. He would lash out in defiance toward the Jedi, an upwards cut of his blade toward the monarch's chin.

"You stand at his side- to protect your home. Know Thurion, if your horrid aim succeeds and their Empire endures, Midvinter will be next. For they believe Peace is a Lie, whatever vow they swore to you, they will break. The Mandalorians will tell you this, if you truly wish to protect your people...you will not make the same mistake as they did, by placing trust in these depraved monsters." Rurik suggests, reeling back before lunging toward the Lion King.

"We can defeat them all together, your grace. The Sith, the Bryn'adul...my people will always stand against this darkness, this evil. Yet you stand to smite us, you do not know our struggle, the bell was never tolled to call upon us to fight the Bryn'adul. I forgive you, Thurion...you just have to look to yourself...and do what must be done." Rurik says, a plead through the blistering pain sheathed beneath his iron clad placidity.

THE UNTHINKABLE
Carnifex | Thurion Heavenshield

THE WILLING
Oceiros Sunstrider
​

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

 

[Enlil]

A_R_B_I_T_E_R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

NEW JEDI ORDER

JEDI IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM

​

The King barreled through, as expected. Lark proved proficient in melee, or he'd realized that the path of least resistance would save him from collapsing under the bull rush. At the cracking sound overhead, Enlil tore his weapon downward.

Dînum drew a diagonal line, seeking to rend the Sith's torso wide open.

Heavy steps carried him past Lark. His momentum drew forward, and Enlil used the force of his stroke to follow through a full turn. Tidings of danger blared in his ears, but the King had summarily ignored them. He recognized in the next few seconds that had been a mistake.

Twin spears of ice raced at him. He had only enough time to dismiss the fragment that pinsered toward his left with a deft stroke, neutering its motion. The shard piled up with the refuse.

A sick, squishing crunch reverberated through the room.

The broken blade came to rest, the sword shattered, trapped in stone. Enlil glanced at the hilt protruding from his shoulder with contempt, rather than disbelief or horror. All the while, the wound wept.

"Enough."

He tried to move his arm, but the pain that lanced through his musculature stopped him. Enlil exhaled sharply, eyes on Lark now. On the Sith who dared defy him, the rebellious child who dared to strike out.

With a ripple in the Force, Lark's weapon shivered, jilted, then dropped to the floor. Crimson life spewed forth from the wound, and Enlil's right arm hung limp.

Yet, the gilded fingers twitched. It was slight, but enough. Heat converged on the wound, and superhot flames knit the flesh together. A severe ruby gaze loomed over Lark now as the King's agony bled out into the world. Twisting into rage now, his reticence died.

His patience was at its end.

Lark

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

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

Location: Enclave, Dantooine
Objective: Chase and find AMCO to get him off the planet. Survive Adrian’s death.
Equipment: Brynja coat | Hersir Imperial Uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Striith vibrosword | G1 OmniLink || Shield talisman | Taozin amulet | Empyrean gland
Writing with: -

She hardly realized that in the meantime, the other woman had arrived so far from her and rescued her partner. She saw them, she even recognized Runi Verin, but at the moment she didn't care. Even better than that was the feeling she “felt” at Voss when she felt nothing but infinite emptiness. Nothing hurt then, not even that she thought he was dead. But now, but now it really was. And he left nothing but emptiness and pain that she could not suppress. The death of the first love of her life was nothing compared to that.

As she cried, she rocked the man without stopping, talking, whispering to him, begging him to come back to find his way back. The physical injuries on her body were healed, but her regeneration was incapable of healing the mental wounds. She said, she promised to try not to be so stubborn she would not follow Tacitus' way so much, she’ll try to not to be so loyal. To take everything that AMCO told her and she’ll do what she promised to him. She was already on the right track, she was getting better and better.

Adrian had a much greater influence on her than she thought, but she didn't bother. She loves the man, she didn’t want to talk about him in the past because she believed her husband could come back to find a way for the Sith Lord to be with her again. It couldn't end like this, it couldn't end with this. A little over four years is not enough! She wanted the centuries that would have been given to them. With Adrian and Tubrok. Ingrid reached into the Force, she had previously felt someone on the planet when she arrived who already needed to know about it…

~ Telis… he is dead… he is dead… Adrian… it hurts, hurts so much… ~ in addition to her infinitely weak and upset "voice," her pain was also felt in the message she sent to Telis Taharin-Zambrano .

Meanwhile, she watched her husband's body, it was as if he was just sleeping peacefully. The pain broke out again with a Force-scream. The cave trembled again, the crystals nearby exploded into a million pieces and the top of the cave also cracked. The scream was so long and strong, with all of her pain, that the whole place shook again and again, until finally a significant part of the cave collapsed. Not just the part where the woman was, but much further away.

Ingrid was separated for moments from the cave collapsing and burying her with Adrian's body. She reached into the Force and teleported again. They both arrived shortly after next to her own ship. She still hugged and guarded Adrian’s body. Now she only noticed that she had completely embraced him with her half-immaterial shadowy “tentacles”, but she was unable to let him go. They belonged to each other, that woman had no right to deprive them of their common future. She had no right to it!

The Eternal Empress sobbed loudly again.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

THE NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
S I M M M E R

​

"I have r-reasons,"

​

Reasons wasn’t a very helpful answer, and in that instant Loske tightened her fingers, the gathering of tendrils starting to grow and stretch, spitting sparks of heat that traversed from her touch to the woman who refused to respond helpfully.

“Reasons by choice, or programming?” Loske countered defensively, her throat still stinging from the earlier asphyxiation. Reasons could have meant an issue of command, or, it meant the machine mistress had the power of to think, understand, and form judgments by a process of logic. Which would mean she had motivation, which probably meant she had free will.

She was answered further by the woman’s strength. Her ribs stretched agonizingly with the yank, and a thunderclap of pain rolled through her body while an alarm shrieked out to all her reflexes to warn of the attack's incoming continuum.

Typically, she’d wrench her own sabre in front of her to deflect the incoming strike, but alas, she was unarmed and at a serious disadvantage. Additional alas, somewhere on the battlefield, her brother’s necessity had demanded a ghost appearance. While it wasn’t directly affecting Loske’s psyche, there was an internal revolt. At that proximity, Loske’s powers beneath the skin ignited like a solar flare; vying for release.

Idiotically, she reacted to catch the sabre and was...entirely surprised by it’s response to her touch. Her hand seemed to consume it.

​

“Wh –– “ The violet sword seared against her palm, it’s incredible superheated energy ripping through the flesh and finding a stop at her palm. Loske’s fear spiked, shocked, horrified and impressed all at once. She’d done something like this once before, by accident, on Yinchorr. It had ended in involuntary manslaughter. In the instant of memory, she became afraid and the glow she’d contained to her hand spread and started to consume up her arms, chest face. Violet intermingled with a smouldering white, and the golden static of the electric judgement she’d been forming.

Frightened, she twisted outward, jerking away from the collision course to Enyo herself, and let go. The movement released her hand, ending the tutaminis, the sabre re-extending and managing to clip her oblique as she pulled away. This placed her at Enyo’s side, rather than right in front of her again –– but proximity wasn’t something she could sacrifice. Despite the not-having-a-lightsabre disadvantage, close-quarters gave her more options for being able to retaliate. But at this point, at this proximity, all the energy collected from the sabre and effort of electric judgement, bubbled, and finally reached a boiling point, racing through her and searching for an exodus. It found one at the same entry and exit point of all her actions so far and burst out in an impactful torrent that scorched through her limbs.

Electricity and regurgitated kyber energy belched outward in a supersonic boom, decisively between herself and Enyo, drawing a division. With such force behind the torrent, Loske was forced to tumble backward undefensively in a state of paralyzed astonishment.

Rolling over to her knees from her back, her hand travelled to the seared space on her torso to press against the scorched flesh. Determined to make sure this saw a conclusion, she staggered back to rise, the tendrils that had collected earlier were not entirely doused, still riling up and down her arms, though the conflicting purple and white glow had dimmed. She swallowed hard, refocusing on the immediate external threat and less so the one within. One thing at a time...one...robot with reasons at a time.

“Stand down on your own will,” she repeated above the crackle of lightning, forcing solidity to her command. “Or I’ll keep you down with mine.”

The invitation to stand down had been extended, and now all Loske could feel was her own pain, fear, and a little bit of excitement, which amplified the intensity of the tendrils that jumped from her arms in a torrent of golden tendrils to the woman.

THE NEW JEDI ORDER​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | Ryv | Maynard Treicolt | Enlil | Jin Kyrel | Hans Rennagen | Shaka Sunstar | Cotan Sar'andor

ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | ENGAGING: Enyo Typhos | Darth Daiara

 

[Sakadi Marathi Sinvala]

With her unarmed ally out of harm's way, the Jedi Master could finally focus her efforts on holding back the Sith. She needed to buy time, create and opening for both of them to escape from Dantooine's messy war. That was her goal, one she would fully dedicate herself to.

Sakadi evaded the deadly red blade with a subtle bend of the waist. Her footwork was brilliant, pace swift and bladework elegant. She was never off balance, and seemingly unhampered by the clash of Light and Dark that made the air around them feel heavy. She was not the greater warrior here, but she was used to those odds. Many times before, against Darth Malevolum, Lirka Ka, the nightsisters and the witch Akelia, had she been outmatched or put at a disadvantage. And yet here she stood, having survived of each of those reckless battles. Surely she could survive one more.

Just on cue to prove her wrong, the songsteel shaft came to life again, jumping back in the hand of its mistress. From the short exchange between the two opposing Force wielders, the Sephi had already discerned that a blow from that shaft would shatter her wrists if she tried to block it.

Thus, she quickly settled on an appropriate response. Transferring the invigorating energy from the Living Force to her legs, Sakadi leapt up, temporarily facing the giant at eye-level. Lilac clashed sickly yellow for a moment, one's features stoic, the others contorted in a grin. A grin she hoped to wipe off the dark titan's face with her blade.

Her blade travelled in a horizontal arc aimed at the Empress's neck, leaving a silvery-white afterglow as it moved at blinding speed. Simultaneously she would thrust her purple shoto forward, hoping to pierce her shoulder and possibly take her opponent's arm out of commission. In truth, she didn't expect any of her attacks to land. It was an aggressive response meant to cover for her jump, for she couldn't evade any blows in mid-air. But with the withering blast of Force Light coming to aid her, the Jedi Master believed the chances of that happening to be low.

Garang | Joycelyn Zambrano | Auteme​

​

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

​

Location: The Enclave
Objective: Survive?
Gear: Starlin Rand's lightsaber | Mt. Muspelheim Shoto | Upgraded Fenelar Armor
Writing With: Cotan Sar'andor

As expected, the glass shards were ineffective. Cotan irritably brushed them off as one would swat away an annoying fly. Then, he did something Starlin hadn’t been taught how to do, let alone deal with. Caught off guard, the Padawan tried to parry the thrusting blow, botched it, then gasped in horror as the tip of Cotan’s blade headed for his arm…

...before it made contact not with the softer armorweave and gel at his elbow joint, but the hard phrik plating of his armor. He felt no pain, only slight heat as he jerked away from Cotan, still a bit startled. “What the hell was that? You weren’t trying to cut my arm off—only graze it?”

He’d have to ask Syd Celsius about that move when this was all over—he was sure there was an official name for the technique. It seemed difficult to do, given how quickly a lightsaber blade could burn through flesh and durasteel alike. You had to have finesse and skill to pull off a deliberately slight puncture wound, right?

While Cotan had already retreated out of reach by the time Starlin recovered from the attack, the Padawan eagerly went back on the offensive. He had noticed Cotan’s distaste for the shoto, so he put it to use now more than ever, trying to burn lava-splatter holes in the master’s clothes with every slash and stab. Starlin knew he was greatly outmatched, but he had very quickly developed a personal dislike for Cotan that pushed him to keep fighting. After all, Cotan was the one who had picked a fight with him by demanding he give up the artifacts.

Indeed, this duel had ceased to be about the politics and personal opinions of each party, which Starlin hadn’t been too keen on to begin with. The Padawan’s only goal now was to be able to walk away with his spoils.

To that end, he aligned himself with his lightsaber, channeling the Force into the crystal he had purified on Zeffo by his own hand. The blade burned hotter, infused with energy that bloomed out similarly to a telekinetic push when next his blade met Cotan’s.

​

Location: Enclave
Allies: NIO | NJO | GA
Frenemies: SJC | Starlin Rand
Enemies: TSE | CIS

Phrik armour. Just like Cotan had in a few spots. Well, I can't fault him for that.

Of course, the way the Padawan went on a total offensive immediately afterwards was mildly alarming. His blade flashed back and forth in a defensive wall, turning away every strike that got too close; at the same time, he kept circling around the Padawan, sometimes advancing, sometimes retreating to void a strike, his footwork as fluid as a dancer. He could hear his clothing begin to sputter and sizzle in spots, though, as the unbound energy from Starlin's shoto spattered into him, one even landing on his arm. He grit his teeth at that, but kept up his defense; it was no worse than welding spatter so far, and definitely didn't compare to what he'd suffered on Coruscant against Darth Carnifex and Darth Prazutis.

The exchange continued for a few moments, Cotan carefully watching as holes were burned through his clothes just like when he'd fought Kascalion Giedfield on Kashyyyk, waiting for an opening. When he felt the energies of the Force starting to swirl around the Padawan more than before, he saw his chance. Sorry, kid, but this is going to hurt if it works.

He turned aside a strike from Starlin's shoto, stepping back as lava and plasma spewed off into the distance; almost immediately, the longer blade came in. Cotan shifted slightly, drawing his legs together and bending to void the strike by a fraction of an inch; as he did so, he moved like he would parry the blade.

Only to quickly thumb the dual-phase switch of his weapon, the blade immediately diminishing to shoto length itself, slightly above the plane of Starlin's own weapon.

Starlin's force-imbued lightsaber swung past, burning away a section of Cotan's shirt, before the elder Jedi whipped his now-shorter blade down toward's Starlin's wrist before the Padawan could begin to recover from his strike.

 

[Freyu Molidias]

Adron Malvern | Xobos Yakieer | Kalika Vaar | Shaka Sunstar

A wave of mud and soil exploded from the impact of Freyu’s missed slash and the beast gnashed her teeth at an escaping foot. As expected the Jedi leapt with deft execution of the Force, dodging what would have surely been a punishing blow. Watching the little black viper explode toward the white fox in an attack Freyu wrenched her buried claws from the muck. Hand stained with a concoction of mud, blood, and speeder fuel she flicked her wrist as she straightened her posture, rolling her shoulders as she gave a huff. She dripped confidence in a disgusting measure, merely treading a circle to observe Xobos and the hybrid have a clash of blades as if watching a sporting event--a boring one at that. Eyes wondered for a moment to glance at the King and his "entertainment" before she gave a quick snort.

"When you're done toying with it we do have affairs elsewhere." The voice was jarringly soft, its low tone not meant for a creature of her presence. At their core the words were nothing but a tease meant for the Jedi, a provocation that Freyu pushed further, "Unless you want to take it with us, then you're in charge of finding a leash." A few meters behind Kalika the beast crouched down to all fours, the ash-blotched fur bristling as she began to draw together her reservoir of "magic."

Most worrisome are those who wield the esoteric in any measure. You will learn to dispel their effects, either for the sake of capture or whatever your ward deems an appropriate reason. -Vierweld the Sane

If left to her own devices Freyu would have soon released a howl of deafening tone, the artificial chill which accompanied it blistering the very soul.

 

[Vostok Grauv]

OBJECTIVE I

GARANG CITY

COMPNOR

TASK FORCE AXIS

POST #5
​

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

Music

Blasterfire barked and echoed throughout the land; an argument between powers vying for the defeat of the other, another planet subjugated to the warring paths of tyrants and heroes alike, all equally to blame for the decimation of homes and cultures spanning across centuries and countless realms of civilization. Vostok was no one special, simply another canvas painted with the colors of the New Imperial Order's will and ire.

As the COMPNOR operative thrust his blade into the uncoordinated soldier, he could feel the man inhale sharply before suddenly going silent. His eyes were wide with fear, his face contorted with a mixture of emotion as a hand latched onto Vostok's shoulder. "T-This... was... my.... h-home." Pausing for a brief moment, the agent breathed in the man's words and stared into his eyes; he was not an individual to value sentimentality, instead opting for the rigid and uniform lifestyle as a hand of governmental affairs. His mind manufactured, his flesh trained to become a tool.

Pushing the blade in farther, Vostok lifted upward, his target no longer grounded. Tears streamed down their face and dripped down onto the operative's helmet as they made eye contact for a final time; the insurgent was slammed into the ground, his head smashing against concrete and his limbs going limp. There was nothing any of them could do to dissuade Vostok, no amount of emotion would change his mind or hinder him from his mission.

Looking upon Rika Hiro , he gave a subtle nod. "Easier than I thought. The entrance we're looking for is just ahead, roughly one klick. Give me some cover and I'll planet the charges, my feet are killing me." Careless was he, cold and unflinching to damnation.

Without a soul, without a care.

Glory to the New Imperial Order.

Jaeger Harrsk | Rika Hiro | Tulan Kor

 

[Laertia Io]

She'd been right. His blade had been failing. Ryv had a bond with it. She could feel little wisps of them interacting but couldn't make out anything distinct, other than him putting away his weapon and trading it for those scavenged from the battlefield. Her Lightsaber never talked to her. It loved her too much to waste energy with words in her skull, when that energy was better spent re-enacting the last fifteen minutes of incredibly violent samurai films.

Then he started to really fight.

Laertia felt a bit of the Juyo creeping into her mindset as he met her with controlled fury. She started to let herself enjoy the battle as he used saber after saber to stave off The Black Knight another few seconds.

"So, you finally found your killer instinct..." Laertia remarked in a clinical manner, though internally she was overjoyed Ryv wasn't dead. This was fun! Part of this was the Juyo training. She later learned The Amalgam had killed the one who taught it to her out of jealousy.

Laertia chuckled, as each threw their might at the other in earnest.

(Lightsaber Duel Theme Plays)

Laertia began to throw more of herself into the fight, her inverted green blade destroying every scavenged one inevitably, letting a controlled flow of emotion into battle to meet his fury, snorting a bit as he proclaimed himself a barrier, rolling her eyes as they fought.

"The only thing you are a barrier to is common sense..." She replied. "You'll be killing your loved ones, potentially mine, and a lot of others, you selfish motherfether. All because you can't understand the value of patience. All because you prefer the tactical suicide of a two front battle to even a momentary lull in your personal feud with The Sith. I would have happily helped kill them too once the Bryn'adul were out of the way. I'm fighting for my family too, Ryv. Fighting not to see all they know eventually consumed by a worm erupting under their feet. But as long as you get to kill your Sith Lords, right? As long as you and the rest of the idiots in the NJO get to kill your Sith, and feel like a hero, even as the Draelvasir blot out your worlds, you don't care if you lose eventually, as long as you fought the good fight. Feth all the people who will die on the border worlds if they're in enemy territory, right?! Just feth 'em, you gotta have your two front war, when you barely have the resources to fight even one on your own! Feth the whole galaxy! Feth 'em, AS LONG AS THE JEDI DON'T HAVE TO SULLY THEIR HANDS!" Laertia snapped at the arrogant man in condemnation over the roar of death around them.

She watched as he ducked a swing snapped forward with two siezed blades, purple blade flashing for her face, blue blade behind him. Faster than she expected.

It was a deadly move, among the most difficult to evade or defend against. If she did not act soon he really 'would' rip her apart as he passed by. But at least he was finally taking this seriously. If only he took The Bryn'adul as seriously there would be no need to kill one another

But she knew this trick...

As Ryv was seconds from blazing past her, another memory came to mind and she acted just as he was about to pass her by...

007-teen year old Laertia Io swung with a focused look of determination at Ursula Sandraven's chest, the white Catsuit clad Jedi fighting with two white training blades and defending in her preferred mix of Soresu and Ataru, and three times now, Laertia had been struck from below by a fast slash from two different directions by her mentor, ripping past her defenses before she could react. Laertia was on round four, but the stinging welts on her ribcage were affecting her focus and judgement. It wasn't long before Ursula succeeded in that forward slash from below, the blades stinging Laertia before she could react. Ursula shut off the blades as Laertia hit the grass. They were fighting on the grasslands of Alderaan.

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to teleport your way out of the problem..." Ursula remarked clinically as she circled her exhausted student, the Monster hiding inside of her making Ursula give a faint smile, the Beast inside her flesh adoring Laertia for trying so hard.

"Too eazee, Ursy..." Laertia panted, her mind trying to work through the problem.

"You cannot retreat fast enough from the slashes, which come at two different directions, nor are you going to be able to dodge to the sides without sustaining a major hit..." Ursula surmised in that school teacher voice, rising up, pacing around the exhausted student.

"It would seem you are in quite the conundrum, Padawan..."

Laertia was instantly at attention, Dark Gray Eyes glittering as she observed Ursula, ignoring her own exhaustion, wanting to absorb the Wisdom her teacher had to offer.

"I'vve triedz tuh stoppz yooz sevurull diffrunt wayyz. Wut ammz I doingz wronngz?" Laertia asked, eager to make Ursula proud of her by comprehending the lesson as quickly and as fully as possible.

"The best way to learn is by doing. Especially fast and agile opponents like me will often try and attack in as many ways as possible. Slash attacks like these are often the deadliest type. If this had been a real duel, you would be quite dead, Padawan. This technique is similar to that which I had you study over the Winter off planet...The Assured Strike. The only real difference is that much more speed and power is involved.

"But I'mmz notz faast enuff tuh doddge ittz..."

Ursula smiled. Laertia instantly lit up, giving a wider one back. Ursula smiling made her smile.

"You've much to learn of the ways of the Living Force, Laertia Io..." Ursula replied confidently, tossing Laertia one of her blades.

Laertia activated both, not really used to using two blades, and launched herself at her mentor using the same sort of attack Ryv would use in the future, trying to get Ursula in the chest and and abdomen in a simultaneous slice while blazing past her position with as much speed and power as possible.

Ursula didn't stay still. She neither retreated nor dodged to the side. She instead lurched forward, twisting, manipulating her remaining blade around her body, launching into a spinning deflection move as she executed an elegant almost floating cartwheel that carried her right above an astonished Laertia, who tried to compensate, by trying to spin around at the last moment herself and altering the angle at the last moment to try and decapitate an upside down Ursula sailing and smiling over mid air above her, only for her mentor to alter the blade so it jutted out as she flipped and spun over her, forcing Laertia to roll to avoid being struck in the head.

Ursula landed with cat-like grace, the Monster inside of her silently laughing as it made a sport of the lesson with its daughter. It must be noted that whatever The Monster thought, if Ursula the False Persona had ever become fully aware of The Monster at this point, she would have taken her own life to protect Laertia.

But neither one of them heard The Monster's laugh of delight. Neither knew how doomed Ursula was at The Monster's hands.

Laertia tried the attack again. This time just as she reached her Mentor/Parent Figure, Ursula lunged...

...breaking into a rough baseball slide to her left, sliding right past and behind Laertia, using her telekinesis on her Lightsaber to help drag her on the ground faster out of Laertia's attempt to twist her body around and strike Ursula during the slide.

"As you can see, Padawan, there is always a way...you just have to find it. When retreat is not an option, and evading unsavory, the only way out is through...but its not always a pretty way out" Ursula explained, dusting herself off. Laertia watched attentively. Dutifully. She wanted to get another smile out of Ursula. She wanted to be able to survive such attacks just to make Ursula proud.

A smiling Laertia tossed the stern looking "Jedi" back her training saber.

"Tryyz meez!" Laertia giggled.

"As you wish..."

Ursula rushed her, but Laertia didn't do what Ursula expected.

Instead of trying the exact replica of the first two strategies, as the two blades of her mentor came forward. Laertia did something unique.

As the blades came forward, Laertia simply fell backward, using telekinesis on her Lightsaber while gripping it to drag her on the ground quickly behind and to the left of Ursula. It was a rough tactic, got her a few more scratches, but it cleared her of the blades, albeit barely.

Best of all for Laertia it allowed her to catch a grin spreading across Ursula's face as she passed by the position she had been in, blades hitting nothing. She didn't realize it was The Monster's grin on Ursula's face, not Ursula's.

As Laertia teleported to her feet, she saw Ursula had resumed that mask of stoicism. Laertia was covered in grass but she had caught the grin and went positively giddy at what Ursula said next:

"Well done, Padawan..."

Laertia's dark gray eyes, witness to many horrors in the alleys of Nar Shaddaa, glimmered with happiness...


Present...

Laertia employed that same trick from all those years ago, as he lunged to cut her in half from two different directions, she lunged forward and gripped her saber, the telekinetic effects on it making it rip her forward and past him too his right, grinding her body against the ground at high speed during the slide, just barely evading both blades, which sang centimeters from from hitting her in the face, though one tip grazed the mechanical arm as she did the baseball slide.

She thought of her family. Moya, her Sisters, even Themis...

...and Syd.

She had to live. Live for all of them.

She didn't hate Ryv. Thought him a fool, yes, but she didn't hate him.

But to come home to her family, to Syd...she'd not spare him. He was in the way of properly protecting them in the long run. He'd get his own family killed with his war on two fronts bullchit.

In an extremely fethed up and twisted way...she was trying to save Ryv's family also, whoever they were.

Laertia teleported to her feet far behind him, waiting. It was then she noted that he had managed to hit her--their was a gash from the tip of one of his blades on the armor covering her cybernetic limb, which ran down to the elbow. The servos in her armor had strained to the max to keep up with his speed, but it had not been quite enough.

Laertia laughed. "Seems you're not just a parlor fencer after all!" She complimented. "Its been a long time since anyone got close to killing me with 'that' move...my turn!"

Laertia held out her blade, stretching out a great telekinetic field...

(Sinister Imperial March Theme Plays)

Objects began floating in the area between her, Ryv, and somewhat beyond them, dead bodies, equipment, anything on the ground.

Laertia pointed her blade at one of the telekinetically suspended objects, a partial wing from a crashed fighter, and sent it moving at high speed, taxing herself greatly due to the effects of her armor. It granted great speed, and regulated her migraines and killed pain, but as a side effect took three times more effort than normal to use most Force Powers save for Sense, which is why she had employed them so far only when necessary against Ryv.

This was different. Even in their application and basic approach to the Force they were inversions of each other. Ryv used his Spirit to empower his body for war. Laertia could not, so far, but Laertia's spirit was not constrained to the body.

She pointed at another floating object in the telekinetic suspension field she had raised, flinging it at his legs, one at his head, some came slow, some came fast, from above and behind, at his legs and head.

The goal wasn't to kill. Laertia knew he would likely evade most or all of them and she couldn't keep this up long mentally and he likely knew she couldn't. The goal was to exhaust, tire him out, making him resort to the Force in retaliation, which would hopefully exhaust him more. It would exhaust her too but he had been using the Force and his acrobatics wantonly in comparison to her measured, careful offense that didn't try to expend more energy than it had to.

Until now.

More objects hurled themselves at Ryv. Pieces of armor, dead bodies, some from his own side...

 

[Starlin Rand]

​

Location: The Enclave
Objective: Pain! Paaaain!
Gear: Starlin Rand's lightsaber | Mt. Muspelheim Shoto | Upgraded Fenelar Armor
Writing With: Cotan Sar'andor

Starlin felt the loss before he saw the stump where his hand had been. The white hot blade ignored his armor and sliced cleanly through the connective tissues of his wrist, searing flesh and singeing bone. An acrid stench filled the air, cutting through the smoke from the fires of battle, rankling his nostrils. It was the smell of his own flesh burning.

His mouth opened to make a sound, but it was choked by the pain that shot up his arm. There was no heat to it; it felt more like his limb had been dunked into a bucket of ice water. The phantom of his hand remained, but the sensation was numb, distant, muted. The shock was far more real, harsh, screaming at him.

Dropping his shoto, he clutched at his wrist and collapsed, falling to his knees.

My hand. My hand is gone. He cut off my hand...

“Well…” he gasped, lightheaded from the pain. “I did say I wanted to be just like my heroes… just like Luke Skywalker…”

Starlin looked up at Cotan, his vision blurry. The fight was over. He had lost. Kyle Katarn was going to confiscate the artifacts. He had failed. Worse than failed—he’d be walking away with less than he’d arrived with. Bitterness, frustration, and anger built up in Starlin as this reality was driven agonizingly home. He didn't pass out or faint from the pain. That would've been a mercy. No, he was wide awake, fully aware of the depth and scope of his catastrophic defeat.

It sucked.

Defiant to the end, he found it in himself to make one last stupid quip, practically hissing the words through grit teeth.

“Please don’t tell me you’re my dad.”

 

[Jin Kyrel]

Location: Command Center, Dantooine Temple
Allies: NIO, Hans Rennagen
Enemies: TSE Arctus Silmar
Equipment: Silver Crossguard Lightsaber, Imperial Knight Battle Armor

Empowered by the strength of the dark side. Even feeding on the chaos, the fury, and the death all around them. He was unrecognizable as he kept up his attacks. His skills in saber combat were awkward, primitive in his first duel. Like his father before him he relied on the dark side, the rage it filled him with to guide his actions. The Sith Lord before them seemed unimpressed with either of the actions of what the young Kyrel was attempting, or even the shield attack made from Hans. Nevertheless, Jin kept up his attack, even as the Sith blocked them, even so calmly tried to reason with them. Claiming to have the moral high ground, and like a disappointed parent to his misbehaving children only proceeded to scold them as the duel went on.

Following Hans entering into the fight, the Sith Lord only seemed to have grown more disappointed with the two as he vanished as if he was made out of nothing. Causing the duel to momentarily stop. At that moment Jin with his deep connection to the dark side at this very moment. Felt the death of a Sith Lord AMCO through the Force, looking around below watching as the monstrous automatons being used start to collapse. All of it only caused Jin to appear with a savage smirk, as it only pleased him all the same for a Lord of the Sith to fall here today. Something of which Jin only sought to multiply the body count with his efforts, even as he felt more of the sickness within continue to erode at his defenses.

When the moment subsided, all the three could hear was a deafening Force Scream by Ingrid L'lerim that sounded across the battlefield, and at such a scream Jin laughed, his laughter mixing with the chorus of the scream that it sounded as if music to the Knight's ears. Nothing was more delicious than this moment, further sweetened when their foe began to speak. The once disappointed parent had now grown angry, and in his eyes, it appeared as if playtime was over. Jin could only raise the silver blade as if positioning into an offensive stance as the Sith spoke having the audacity to speak about how the Force can be utilized. "Spare me your pitiful thoughts on your feigned righteousness Sith. I know you all would doom the galaxy to a living hell time and time again!"

Jin's face only carried that of rage and death, as he saw the Sith become adorned with bright light, some type of sorcery to enhance his own skills. Perhaps to end both himself and Hans. It did not matter, for all Jin desired now was to kill. Readying himself into an attack stance. The Sith stalking forward, his eyes meeting his own, his blazing orbs gazing into the Sith's eyes as he started to rush forward to meet him. This time approaching him as if not some savage brute, but eager to engage regardless. With one strike his enemy proceeded to attack, yet Jin did not move to block with his blade, trying to move as quickly as possible avoiding the strike entirely.

While successful in avoiding the strike, he was too late to realize the Sith's own sword made that moment to go for his thigh. Cleaving into the armor, flesh, and bone with ease. At that moment, Jin felt the blade go through him, his eyes raising up wide as he was only inches away from his enemy. Staring into his eyes, as the leg that was cut, his left leg was severed entirely as he felt a thud to the ground, and while he thought that he could still feel a leg. Nothing was there but gushing blood came out, coughing up more blood, as he felt more of the dark wall start to crumble. He was determined not to go down alone. Bringing up his crossguard blade in that instant to unleash a powerful strike, impaling the Sith through the armor, as snarling Jin yelled out amidst his strike. "Take my limbs, take my body, take my life! The Iron Sun will eclipse the darkness!!” He cried as he shoved his blade through the Sith's chest, more blood pouring out of his mouth, as he tried in a desperate attempt to combat both the disease and to balance his weight on one leg. Utterly falling to the ground in the process.

 

[Jin Kyrel]

(Redacted)​

 

[Syd Celsius]

Syd had savagely fought off more attackers with her orange blades. She screamed in agony as she felt Starlin Rand lose his hand to Cotan Sar'andor .

She really had failed him. She had led him, he had trusted her and now he was maimed and it was all her fault.

Intense, lethal anger built up. Both at herself, for not doing enough to prepare him, which led to him getting maimed, but also anger at Cotan. Desperate, she fought the whispers of the dead Darth Phyre as she cut down another NIO commando, then began savaging her way to Starlin, unable to bear the thought he might die.

Cotan was the one who should have exercised the right of denial. He had hurt the closest she'd ever get to a Son. Code or Not, she'd get a limb from him in turn.

Starlin's Master erupted from the crowd, blades dismembering screaming warriors, setting them on fire due to the altered crystals inside. The selfishness of The NJO disgusted her. If they didn't have such a need to fight a weakened Sith while the Bryn'adul slaughtered all equally, no one would be in this position.

She had known they were wrong before. She hadn't wanted them to be, but they were. And now Starlin might die because he had trusted and believed her side of it.

She had never felt so horrible about herself as she pointed her blades at Cotan, flesh rippling unnaturally and disgustingly as she channeled the Force through her, heart twisting in pain as she saw Starlin's severed limb. It was all she could do to restrain her fury, keep it from driving her back into the mindset of Darth Phyre. She forced herself to get control, to keep the shreds of that dead maniac inside of her just that...dead.

She pointed her blade at Cotan, flesh stabilizing. Tears of mixed guilt and fury ran down a face that rippled unnaturally across the skull occasionally.

"Starlin..." she said. "Get to safety. However you can. He's mine..."

 

[Meko Sorrin]

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

​

The screams brought him back in.

Sorrin turned his body towards the wretched sound of yelling to see the father of the family who was rushing to safety on the ground desperately grabbing at his throat as the blood slowly leaked from it. The children would not stop screaming, they didn't know what to do. He stood in shock, it was all so quick he didn't understand. A stormtrooper who stood next to him was grabbed by the platting of his armor as the Storm Commando pointed towards the children. <"Grab those children and take them to the refugee camp, quickly. Go!"> He said in a shaky voice. The once built of confidence from before had instantly washed away by a stream of negative emotions. Rimora took it better than he did, however, watching the assailant jump behind cover and into safety. He was still staring at the father's lifeless body when another explosion was heard behind them. Another attack. Corpses of stormtroopers skidded across the rugged dirt, scorched and scarred to all hell. Return fire was called, firing at whoever was labeled the target. They could hold their own it seemed, cause they wouldn't go down without a fight.

Sorrin gripped his rifle with a steady grip. Thermal imaging highlighted his target plain as day. But they moved so rapidly he couldn't get a clean shot. The stormtroopers tasked to fight the assailant did not last long. The dropped ike flies, unable to stand up to the enemy. Rimora looked to Sorrin for answers, answers the Corporal did not have. He just started to backpedal away from the danger zone, frightened at caused this much destruction. But through fear, the gears turned to formulate a plan.

As the two commandos backpedaled they hit the wall to a building that was close by to the danger zone. It was perfect for setting up a small firing line to engage the enemy. Not thinking twice, Sorrin breached through one of the windows. The house was bare, holding no survivors or Sith troopers. All the better. Sorrin took a second to radio for Marr, the spotter, to get a location of the target. Rimora took his rifle and positioned it on the windowsill, creating a small perch for stability.

<"Arsenal 2, do you read?">

<"I read, Arsenal 1. What is your command?"> Marr responded, in quick time too.

<"I need you to pinpoint a target and call out the bearing, we'll set the shot up so Arsenal 3 doesn't have to.">

<"Affirm, Arsenal 1.">

<"The target is doing a lot of damage out there. Look at the marked danger zone and you'll see 'em.">

<"Target spotted, Arsenal 1. Getting bearing now."> There was a slight pause before Marr spoke again. <"Target is located bearing 22 degrees northeast. Good luck."> Rimora adjusted his rifle barrel towards the given bearing and held ready. Sorrin took his own rifle and set up on the adjacent window. He made sure his rifle aimed pointed a little more north so a firing line was established. If the target passed through either of those two lines, they would be shot at without hesitation. It was the best way to trap a moving target, kept them from moving all over the damn place.

Set.

 

[Starlin Rand]

​

Location: The Enclave
Objective: Awkwardly attempt to diffuse situation
Gear: Starlin Rand's lightsaber | Mt. Muspelheim Shoto | Upgraded Fenelar Armor
Writing With: Cotan Sar'andor | Syd Celsius

Starlin’s head whipped around. His blue eyes were wide behind the curtain of his sweat-soaked hair as he watched Syd cut her way to him. She was a figure wreathed in flames, her blades flashing, false flesh rippling like a mirage in the heat. Only when she got up close did he see that she was crying, even as he felt the fire of her fury, the ashes of her guilt, the cinders of her sorrow.

It was like seeing your father weep, or your mother suffer. He wanted to turn away from it, but he knew that he couldn’t… couldn’t let this go on.

"Starlin…”

His voice trembled. “No, Syd…”

“Get to safety. However you can. He's mine..."

Cotan started to move between Starlin and Syd in a misguided attempt at “protecting” the Padawan, probably not realizing that she was his master. Cradling his severed arm against his chest, Starlin used his one hand for balance as he hauled himself to his feet.

“Please. No more.”

Hot tears had cleared streams in the dirt that smeared his cheeks. She had warned him, right when he first took the artifacts. She had given him the choice, the freedom. He should have to live with the consequences of his decisions.

He wasn’t selfish enough to want this to continue. Certainly not for a bag full of random loot, most of which was likely just junk anyway. But even if it had contained a holocron made by Yoda himself, he wouldn’t be able to run away with it while Syd fought in his stead.

“Stop it,” he sobbed. Writhing his way out of the straps of his backpack, he flung it angrily, carelessly at Cotan, hitting him squarely in the chest. “Take the fething artifacts. Just stop.”

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he called his weapons to him. His hand was still clutching his lightsaber in a death grip. He reattached the weapons to his belt, prying the fingers off the hilt. Gruesome and fethed up as it was to be holding his own severed hand, he had hope that it could be reattached, provided he sought medical attention as soon as possible.

“Syd,” he said, a tear-streaked, snotty, filthy, maimed mess. “Let’s go home.”

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Allies: NIO | NJO | Jin Kyrel
Enemies: TSE | SJO | CIS | Arctus Silmar
Equipment: Lightsaber, Shield, Imperial Knight Armour
Standin' on broken dreams, Never losin' sight ​

Hans thrust the blade deep into the enemy but as the blade passed through, it was only a dark mist that dissipated. The Shaper reappeared further away, no worse for wear, grabbing his spear. As Hans stood in disbelief, all three men felt the darkness recede from around them. He'd felt this on Bastion, although much, much stronger. The death of a powerful Sith Lord had just come to pass somewhere in this temple. Yet, he could only feel the slight relief in the force for a moment, before the force around them was rocked by a piercing scream of anguish that turned the face of their enemy sour.

"Enough. I have offered leniency and restraint, a chance for both of you to return to your homes, to cease your folly. To perhaps realize you threaten the galaxy at large with your sycophantic efforts."

"Spare me your pitiful thoughts on your feigned righteousness Sith. I know you all would doom the galaxy to a living hell time and time again!"

The Sith's blade began to crackle with electricity. He pointed it at Hans, and the Sith Lightning came arcing out at him. As he raised his blade and the lightning made contact, sparks began to fly. The blade of his saber grew brighter and hotter, and it's hilt became warm to the touch trying to keep the lightning for surging through his body. He could barely see his foe through the array of lights dancing wildly in front of him.

"Hasn't the galaxy... suffered... enough under the Sith?! Leave this place, leave these people!" Hans struggled against the barrage of energy, pushing back with all of his might. But as the lightning subsided and he could see the Shaper once more, he was already too late. The monster's blade cleaved through Jin's leg, rending everything in its path. Hans lowered his lightsaber in shock, his throat tightening and vision zooming in with the realization of what had just occurred.

"NOOOO!"
​

It was all he could conjure, a cry of distress. Jin screamed passionate words in the Sith Lord's face as he drove his blade towards him. After his strike, he fell to the ground. Hans clipped his lightsaber to his belt and ran to Jin's side, sparing no thought for the Sith. Blood surrounded them, thick and unnaturally dark from the poison. Hans knelt by his fallen comrade, the grey metal of his greaves staining burgundy. Hans' adrenaline pounded and his heart beat against his chest rapidly.

"Jin?! Jin can you hear me?!" Hans shook the knight. "Hang on, I'll call someone," though he didn't know who. When the Knight-Errants had split from their master, he had been engaged with another Sith Lord. Hans didn't even if know if Fel yet lived. With the chaotic bloodbath of the temple, he wasn't sure how many knights were remaining.

In a last-ditch effort, he frantically pushed buttons on his commlink as he yelled into it. "Is anyone near the command center?! We need backup and a medic! I repeat, man down!"

Whether someone would hear him or not remained to be seen, but something need to be done. Hans rose, clutching the hilt of his lightsaber, turning to see what had become of the Shaper...

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
TASK FORCE 'AXIS'
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Void | Grenades

YOU'RE ALL JUST BRICKS IN THE WALL
​

The precipice. The closest he'd ever gazed to that full vindication, make due on his punishment of 'the gods'. Darth Prazutis . The most recent and if the Imperator's will be done...the very last to take up the reins as Dark Lord of the Sith, the ultimate bringer of evil, butcherer of order and bringer of depravity to this sickened mortal realm.

Down the sights of his rifle, he looked in the direction, fired a burst of the golden particle beam projectiles with a rip and crack of the mechanics and electronics of the weapon.

Then another...

and another...

and another...
​

Each volley of his mortal implement trembled hopelessly from the barrel in the direction of the Lord of Lies. Purchase or not, it didn't matter, it wasn't but a gnat's touch to the Epicanthix. This futile struggle. It gave him that same embrace of cold helplessness, the very same feeling he felt on Kintan.

He remembered.​

" The time has come Tavlar. Target the arena and open fire... "​

That feeling of the void of control, of authority over his own being and his ability to impose his supposedly indomitable will...on nothing. He remembered then...those days in the One Sith, in the Sith Empire...where he felt so weak and powerless around them, that cold, foreboding feeling of their presence gnawing at his subconsciousness.

Each shot that rattled from the rifle, cornering him down and withering him down on the fixation he had for vindication, for justice and rightness in the Galaxy which he saw painted in shades of moral disgust, he wanted to make right. On all of it. Not only the ghosts of his past but for the sanctity of the future, even if it cost him everything. He would expend every fiber of his being in this crusade, uncaring of what the cost tolled of him.

He remembered.​

”I can’t fix you, I don't know how but I know one thing Irveric, I know what they’ve done to you and I am sorry. I can't take this pain from you, nor say it will get better..This is a broken wheel. I know the Sith are horrendous, I know this is necessary. You need help though and I am not talking as a Colonel now. You need help, you’re going down a path of martyrdom and willingly and I can’t condone that..I can’t condone the sacrifices of men’s families. This mindstate you’re in is maniac, if you want to lead this successfully..”

That rifle clattered to the ground, he forsook the weapon in favor for a grasp at the plate carrier mounted over his armor again. In the heavy metal grip of his cybernetic, he grasped ahold of a 'Void' grenade. There were very few of these, hand plucked on an operational basis by only the most vital of New Imperial operators. Here, now...

He was the desperate measure.​

“Many of us simply seek to not allow any other worlds to be forced to suffer the way yours and many others have under the Sith. We do not seek power, yet I can’t force that belief upon you. You’ll think what you want General. Yet before pointing the blame at others be sure to look inwards and see if you’ve truly done all you can.”

And he hadn't, he still had everything to lay down for this decisive aim, this forthright crusade to kill and bury this insidious darkness. Turning to Axis, he forced these memories back into the dark recesses, for they were just that- memories. Bricks in the wall, fragments of a tortured mind and soul.

He looked into the eyes of each of them before speaking up. Uttering in defiance.

<"I'm ending it...">​

Then he began to move, expending every fiber of his being in that sole aim.

TASK FORCE AXIS
Tyrell Paxxus | Jaeger Harrsk | Djorn Bline | Lucien Dooku

THE DARK LORD
::ENGAGING::
Darth Prazutis

THE UNWILLING
Gerwald Lechner | Redd | Aiden Wolf | Lavria Xedrim​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Lyra Voi'kryt | Tulan Kor | Daros Karmann | Sturit Goan | Arno Lettow | Tavius Muuaji
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Luna Terrik | Gnox the Insatiable | Aurelion Nova