Invasion No Quarter | NIO Invasion of TSE held Dantooine

[Djorn Bline]

D I A M O N D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501ST STORMTROOPER LEGION
71ST GHOST VIPERS | PYTHON COMPANY
TASK FORCE 'AXIS'
ARMOR | RIFLE | PISTOL | MELEE | GRENADES

D I S S I D E N T​

Snake’s Cobra Squad and the other squads under Python Company serpentined the city’s streets and alleys, relying on their mobility and avoiding any notions of engaging firefights with the enemy unless they needed to. They were deep behind the frontlines of the enemy and they could not spare time, men, or ammo in skirmishes with S-IMP legionnaires in Garang’s streets. Lyra and her Red Riders could afford the luxury of combat medical teams and temporary moments of relief on the front lines. Irveric, Djorn, Jaeger, Tyrell, and the others in ‘Axis’ did not have that luxury. The only thing that they could do was march forward and fight tooth and nail against the machinations of the Sith, burdening the insufferable odds that faced them.

We move forward, and only forward.
​

They would not look behind their shoulders at all. The ideas of retreat were not an option for Task Force ‘Axis’. Victory or death. That’s all that was available to them.

From their trek, Djorn and Cobra Squad were nearing the building they set out to claim as theirs for an overwatch position and rain down their fury against any Legionnaires harassing the advancement of ‘Axis’ towards Point Aurek. The minor stealth features from the reflec and baffleweave on their armor got them this far in their advancement, being able to slip under the detection of sensors and jam them. Unfortunately, just like war, that did not come with a guarantee as suddenly when entering the perimeter of a minor plaza center with some buildings in adjacent towering over...

<“CONTACT!”>​

And the explosive of a rocket launcher was fired at the vicinity of Djorn and his squad, all of them sprinting to avoid the blast radius of the explosive rocket. Its impact on the ground caused a small mixture debris of earth and duracrete to fly out, with some cries of those unfortunate caught near the radius; and as expected streaks of blaster fire greeted them by hostiles.

<“Cobra Squad! Find cover, dammit!”> he barked in the comms shared between the soldiers of his personal squad of Vipers. Those that weren’t broken and still had fire in them would hurry to find an object adequate enough to provide some protection. Four casualties on his belt; two dead, and two injured with one out of the two still intact with their limbs. The sergeant of Cobra, Djorn’s second in command of this squad, was brazen enough to drag his wounded comrade by the arm to the safety of cover.

<“Sergeant! Get your ass over here! There’s no time for that!”>

<“Sir! I can’t jus-“>

<“DO AS I SAY!”>
​

With some hesitation in the Viper, he did as he was instructed to and dove where Djorn was; taking cover behind a wall of duracrete that served as the border for flora within its interior.

<“Listen to me,”> and grasped the sergeant firmly by the shoulder with one hand, <“we don’t have the time or space to attend our wounded! We have to move forward! Otherwise, this whole operation goes in vain, you understand?”>

<“Yes, sir,”> with shock in the soldier’s voice, shaky with the adrenaline now pumping in his veins. Djorn knee quite well were the sergeant was coming from; he was once like that before. Always looking out for his comrades and mates. Many years ago Djorn was in a similar position as the sergeant, opting to save the life of a squad-mate and disobey orders from his officer. The consequences of his actions? More casualties and Bline nearing death as well as risking the success of a mission. A lesson he wouldn’t forget along with many others in his profession.

<Colonel! Should we order air support?! These guys aren’t giving us much room to work with!”>

<“Negative, corporal. I’m not risking that with potential civilian targets in our area.”>

They were taking heavy fire from Legionnaires inside the buildings and Djorn’s sensors detected hostile targets approaching their position. They needed to move out of this firefight, there was nothing here to prove as much as their pride demanded to stand down and fight.

<“Cobra Squad, we are disengaging from this fight. Ready your ‘null’ grenades, and follow my lead.”> Every available soldier in the squad did as ordered, hands carrying a grenade that was ready to be activated at the order. <“Throw ‘em!”>

The devices were thrown between them and the S-IMPS, a veil of smoke acting as a pseudo-border. Any blaster fire directed at them would be completely stonewalled due to the anti-blaster aerosol within the compound. <“Now move!”>

In a frenzy sprint, Djorn and the rest of his squad moved out to the right of the plaza. An egress available for them to take that would lead them to a street adjacent to it. From there they would find themselves being approached by a group of six men, all in their twenties, and wearing armor lesser from standard design S-IMP legionnaires used with weapons aimed at them. Civilians trained to be militia for the Sith. More expendable pawns of the Dark Creed. Was this the charity of the Sith to its people? Conscripting men and women to fight for demented damnations that plagued and wrought genocide to others? It was sickening to know and understand the indoctrination programmed into the minds such as these by the Sith. Make them believe the many atrocities the Sith committed were justified.

Engage or try to subvert them from the path they were facing.?

<“I’ll say this one time: drop the weapons and leave. Go back home and stay there. You don’t understand what you’re doing.”>

No shots taken yet, Cobra Squad and the militias still out in the open with their weapons trained on their targets.

“You’re all traitors! You want to burn our homes! You’ll take away our families!”

Lies and deceit flew from the tongue of one of the militiamen. Their minds corrupted by twisted propaganda from their Dark Overlords.

<“Our war is with the Sith, not with you or your families. We’re not what they told you to believe. Now, final warning. Do as I say and you won’t be harmed.”>

Don’t make me do it.​

A few seconds passed, no one making a move until.

“You lie!”

Dammit.
​

Shots were fired from the Cobras before the militiamen could have the chance of pressing the trigger of their blasters. They forced Djorn’s hand...this was war after all. He was fortunate enough to not suffer other consequences with being diplomatic to those he and his men killed. A somber silence filled the air around them after the shots. What other vile products did the Sith have else in store? Armed adolescents?

<“Let’s move,”> again on the march, finally arriving to the building Djorn set out to stage their overwatch. Just in time for Irveric to reach out all callsigns on the comms.

<"All Axis callsigns, Enigma is moving to take up position at Point Aurek, E-T-A three minutes.">
<"Snake, transmitting location get me overwatch baring down sector dorn-four, just off Point Aurek. I'll mark targets and have your men put the shots down range.">
<"We need our regroup quick, the sooner this garrison is ours, the faster this battle ends.">

<“Acknowledged, Enigma-Actual. Setting up overwatch right now. All scopes will be looking down on sector dorn-four shortly, over.”>

Some good news for Irveric and the others in his unit.

<“Let’s set up shop, men. Enigma will provide us targets. Sergeant, check in with the other platoons of the company. What’s their status and have the nearest squads reinforcing our position.”>

<“Yes, sir!”>

Djorn’s boot then kicked the door of the designated building, keeping down on the sights of his rifle as he cautiously moved and checked his corners. Needed to clear the building of every room it had. Needless to say, Snake and his Vipers found it vacated; they made their way to the rooftop of the building, snipers positioning themselves with their attention focusing on the coordinates Irveric provided to Djorn.

<“Enigma-Actual, we are in position. We’ve got you covered, Boss.”>

A small victory, but it wasn’t enough to turn the tides in their favor. There was still more to push and shove for the garrison.



ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Tyrell Paxxus | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Hunter Blackburn | Ravraa Vyshraal | Rika Hiro | Tulan Kor | Vostok Grauv
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | Darth Prazutis | Taiia Locke | Luna Terrik | Aurelion Nova | Ulrich | Gerwald Lechner | OPEN

 

[Enlil]

A_R_B_I_T_E_R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

NEW JEDI ORDER

JEDI IMPERIAL STRIKE TEAM

As jet engines screamed overhead, Interceptors careened in toward the bombers that strafed their way around the temple. The Imperials had established a No Fly Zone over the city- a protocol no doubt derived to ensure that nuclear strikes against a Civilian Population never happened in a campaign against them again. Because of this, Anti-Aircraft emplacements were strategically set up along the outskirts of the battlefield to prevent such incursions. With their superior speed and the ability to hinder or otherwise harass the bombers, they were able to inhibit or otherwise disrupt disastrous complications to the Ground Forces. The Temple itself rocked, perhaps, and other buildings were dealt structural damage, but the bombers were quickly shepherded away, toward where the Artillery could clean the up.

Enlil watched the chaos streak overhead thoughtfully. Tavlar and his men had seen to it that such dangers above the ground were dealt with in short order. His gaze flickered toward the Jedi as Ryv called back toward him. They formed a wall of flesh and blood, warding away vicious, powerful bursts of plasma that might otherwise have bored into him and melted away his insides.

It was a harsh reality, this new kind of war. In the old world, arrows were not instantly lethal. There were magickers like him, who fought with mystical power, but those without such abilities could not conjure fire. The elements were the realms of the gods, and those blessed by them.

In this new age, men had killed the gods. They had destroyed all things sacred and seized power for themselves. Blasters, bombs… fire was only limited by how many credits one could expand. It was only a small wonder peace had become no more than a fragile ideal.

Where any man could rival a god, all men wanted to be gods.

In their bickering, humanity lost sight of order. War became not a tool for freedom, but for control. He watched as unarmed and unarmored men took up Sith Imperial arms and threw themselves into combat, willed forward by the machinations of the Sith. Willing? Perhaps.

A man's will is a fickle thing. When too long exposed to an unfair life, a man loses sight of what freedom truly is. Often, it seemed, they became complacent. Their only alternative a certain death, life became the sole thing they had to cling to.

The King felt the pangs of sadness bite him deeply. These wayward children had become thrall to their keepers, and now would trade their lives for any kind of certainty. With no hope behind them, and no hope ahead, he had but one solace left to offer them.

"Mercy," he whispered, pushing the sadness from his voice and blinking the tears from his eyes. "Dear children, you have my deepest sympathy. For your suffering, I will grant you the one thing your captors never will. I grant you mercy."

No more would they have to suffer. As the world around him twisted into ash, consumed by hellfire the King raised his hand. The Jedi ahead of him risked life and limb, and Imperial Knights fortified the rear guard. He could offer his allies no less than they deserved- the blood and sweat of a leader willing to strive at their side.

"Come, flame," he commanded. "Eternal manifestation of Aslu's wrath, O hammer of Justice that slams nails into the coffin of the wicked-"

His voice drowned behind a tiny, bright ball of energy as it coalesced at his fingertip. The sound it made would have shattered the vocal cords of a banshee. The Knights on either him clapped their hands over their ears. Heat from all around him seeped toward him, trapped inside of a vacuum, and writhed like a serpent as it shifted forms. Over his head now loomed a fireball, easily three times his size.

Enlil whipped his arm forward, and the flames tore forward, gliding over the amassed Jedi and sailing through the unfortunate enemy as it tore toward the Temple Walls. Screams of horror and unparalleled agony ripped from the bodies of men, Imperial, Civilian, Sith, immolated from sheer proximity, burned to death in an instant. Their fate was but a byproduct.

The inferno raced toward the Temple Wall, poised to blast it open with the force of a small block fo C-4- easily enough to tear it open for a platoon to press through, but not compromise the building's overall structural integrity.

Enlil dropped to a knee, heaving. The intensity of the heat was enough to draw out a heavy amount of moisture from his body and leave him dry. Nevermind the two Knights next to him, still dazed, peeling off their helmets to gulp in cool air. "I thank you," the King told his allies.

"There is no need, my lord," the senior Knight replied. "Discipline is my blade. Duty, my shield."

Those words brought a smirk to the King's face.

Bereft of heat now, his body became violently aware of something far colder. As Enlil knelt catching his breath he felt something deep within the recesses of the Temple stirring. A chill rippled through him, down to the bone. There were enemies ahead far more powerful than mere footsoldiers. Dangers far greater than any fire.

He pushed himself up, and held out a hand. "Are you with me?" he asked. The man smiled, sucking in one last breath of battlefield air before donning his helmet once more.

"Until the life leaves my body," the Imperial Knight vowed. He turned to help his brother in arms, and when they were upright, they joined the King in assessing the damage.

He raised his voice to address the Jedi. "We bleed together!" His voice bellowed, carrying the authority of his station. "And should we die, know that we die together! Forward Jedi, Knights- restore Order!"

Somewhere in the Temple, an enemy lurked. He could feel the presence, augmented by the darkness that fostered within. Balance had been shattered, and chaos awaited. The only path left to them was a fight to the death.

"Steel yourselves," he said quietly.

The Knights only ignited their Lightsabers once more in response.

Enemies: Lark
Allies: Loske Treicolt | Cotan Sar'andor | Zaavik Perl | Creuat | Shaka Sunstar | Jin Kyrel | Hans Rennagen | NIO | Jedi​

 

[Syd Celsius]

Wearing: 90 Suit

Armed with: Wind and Fire Wheels

14 hours prior...


Aboard the Scorched Earth...


Syd quietly meditated aboard her vessel, parked in the middle of a clearing on Kashyyyk, trying to find peace and guidance from the Force. She did it more than Laertia did, who Syd was slowly realizing thought it all but pointless to search the Force, and did it only out of pure habit and Jedi Tenents.

Laertia had been withdrawn in the past few days as more and more Jedi turned against them. They had both expected it. Syd had always prepared for the possibility...she was considered unnatural. They were absolutely correct on that. But she had genuinely tried to be useful.

So had Laertia in her own way. But in hindsight, she had been faltering.

Laertia just stuck out like a sore thumb. No matter what she wore, her stance, her body language, was that of a killer. She didn't look at people the way normal Jedi did. She didn't look at other Jedi the way normal Jedi did.

There was a wall. A thick one, made of Laertia's pain. That wall even interfered with their bond sometimes. There were so many demons in Io's mind even Syd was stymied at the prospect of trying to understand them all. Not that she was one to talk.

The flesh all over her whole, blue and gold catsuit covered body rippled disgustingly as she felt the one she was bonded to approach her ship from afar.

Syd floated off the deck plating of her quarters, rotating in mid air to face the person that teleported into her ship as she mentally beckoned her.

She saw Laertia Io, in her spiky biker leathers.

Syd instantly floated over to the nervous, depressed Jedi, stroking her face with a gloved hand of skintight gold chromium.

"How did your family take it?"

"I ordered my family to publicly denounce me to save themselves. If I go down, there's no reason they should be dragged down with me. Moya refused, of course."

Laertia swooned as a migraine hit, the pain from the tombstone skinned Jedi making Syd wince as well as she caught the off balance woman, removing her jacket and revealing the pitch black tank top underneath. Laertia shuddered from the pain, eased only by the warmth in Syd's spirit.

"You didn't bring that black blade of yours..."

"It...eases the pain...but dampens my gifts." Laertia explained, shaking from the horrible pain. "Without it, or something like it, I need to use brain regulators in my armor. I don't like being dampened."

Syd grew curious. "If its not prying...how did you come by the crystal in it?"

"Uhg, I don't wanna talk about weapons, Syd. My head hurts..." Laertia replied, using her migraine as an excuse to change the subject as she stayed in Syd's arms, eyes shut from the intense, horrible pain that haunted her for years now.

Syd knew Laertia was using the migraine to deflect the question. She chose not to pry further.

She knew there were things she would never learn about Laertia, like her real name, or where she came from. She hadn't even known about Laertia's parents until Laertia had mentioned it in front of the Jedi.

(Cutaway of J. Jonah Jameson laughing uncontrollably)

All that mattered was her staying in her arms.

The migraine stopped as suddenly as it started. Laertia sat down near the desk Syd examined small artifacts at.

"They aren't listening. Almost all of the Jedi would rather fight the Sith and Bryn'adul at the same time, even if it gets everyone around 'em killed." Laertia said. "And a lot of the civilian government is starting to cave to the pressure. Its looking inevitable now...they're leaving. That makes those like us the odd ones out."

"Its madness. There's principles and then there is spite. This is the latter. The Bryn'adul are gonna do so much damage to everyone that they'll likely have no choice except to team up in the end. I still haven't heard any actual resettlement plans for the refugees." Syd grumbled. "Like the Jedi haven't done stuff that was questionable in their feud. Or did they conveniently forget a little visit they took to Korriban?"

"Or that time they destroyed all life on Yavin 4's surface?" Laertia muttered back.

"Or how their fethed up no-love policies in The Clone Wars directly played into and exacerbated Anakin Skywalker's downfall?" Syd added.

"We could point out every hypocrisy, and they still wouldn't listen..." Laertia said quietly. "They wanna fall on their sword? Fine. I won't fall on it with them, any more than I'd jump off a cliff if the Code said it would purify me..."

"You know what that means, Laertia..."

"It means we join the Triumvirate and fight even if we're the only two Jedi that join. I have connections in the CIS. The Sith Eternal likely won't care if they decide they really want us dead, but me being related to a Knights Obsidian Weapons Developer's as well as a member of their house has gotta give me SOME kind of diplomatic cover." Laertia postulated.

"Only one way to find out..." Syd thought, hands going to Laertia's shoulders...

Laertia clasped a gloved hand, seeing her face reflected in it.

"You can still save yourself. Tell them you found me going down a dark path you couldn't follow anymore. Get your padawan Starlin Rand out before its too late--"

"He's made up his mind. So have I. I'm in this with you..." Syd replied firmly, clutching Laertia's shoulders a little tighter...

Laertia rose up, turning to face her. Syd's beauty did funny things to Laertia's brain. Things she didn't know the damaged brain wanted.

"I could be dooming us, Syd. I could be dooming your student. By standing up for what I know is the right thing I have virtually wiped out any cred I had here. Its like when I lived on Nar Shaddaa. Except its worse, because here everything is so bright and pure but unlike Nar Shaddaa, where nobody in the streets hid what they thought of you, here everybody hides their contempt, and tells me I'm simply misguided, but what they actually think is that they'd strip me of my gifts if they could...or just my tongue. Some have out right said I'm on the path to evil. Sometimes I wonder if I 'am' evil."

"There is evil in every single one of us..." Syd said. "But they're so afraid of the Evil they are familiar with and know how to fight that they would ignore the wound in the Force the Bryn'adul create with each slaughtered world. They would rather go down fighting that evil than live knowing they survived only because they faced the shadow within themselves by momentarily joining hands with their antithesis. They will never be rid of the threat of the Sith. Never. There will always be a Sith Empire they'll destroy and they'll always miss a survivor or piss someone else off enough to become one and start the whole damn ball rolling all over again. Its just the way it is." Syd said.

"You can still save yourself, if you leave me to my fate." Laertia offered, hiding her hope Syd might take it.

Syd didn't.

"No." Syd replied, kissing her.


Present...

"Padawan..." Syd called out to Starlin as she caught him with that glint in his eye, about to filch valuable stuff.

"Ordinarily I would be sympathetic to your desire for sweet loot. I've robbed many a temple myself. But...there are a massive ton of enemies storming the temple..." Syd spoke sternly. "So...no low level war crimes on an active battlefield, pretty please? What would your mother think?"
She hated to pull it on him but if he had been caught, the Sith would have grounds to shoot him, and there would likely be nothing Syd could do about it.

The temple rocked with detonations outside, the ghastly powers unleashed by Darth Carnifex (Also the choice of pistol for stopping charging Krogan!) and what Thurion Heavenshield brought to the battle (Wait...he needs something to win besides that AWESOME LAST NAME???!!!) starting to inflict heavy damage. While its not known if either of these two have a level cap, its almost a given they were going to start getting Glory Kills soon with the way things were going.

Which meant Syd had to get to work.

She had been watching out for Starlin ever since she had come to this Dark Side ruled world, her flesh rippling, her protective suit taking the worst of the effects of Dark Side Presence in the temple.

The fragments of Dead Darth Phyre hissed a little and she clamped down on them in her skull. She refused to indulge the dead bits of that Sith even a little, as the consequences of her becoming Phyre again would be disastrous for her, Starlin, and Laertia.

But there was only one way she really had to truly slow the NIO onslaught.

"Starlin..." she spoke, turning deadly serious as she felt Laertia Io enter the battlefield, crippling Jedi and eviscerating NIO personnel such as soldiers and knights, seemingly intent on fighting her way to the likes of Ryv and Shaka Sunstar, ruthlessly butchering NIO. She winced as she felt four Jedi engage Laertia, fighting her in tandem only for her vicious Form One to quickly decimate both their offense and defense in a swift and efficient one handed strategem that ripped weapons out of hands, or just sliced the limbs off, not killing them directly, but leaving them for dead. The Imperial Knights Laertia ran into were mercilessly decapitated or had their chests caved in by a single, devastating punch from her organic hand that visibly caused their chest cavity to crater like in those old holocartoons, catching shots from various blasters, though due to the Unique properties, it did not seem able to reflect shots, only absorb them.

"Its gonna be bad. Prepare yourself..." She warned floating ahead and fast to meet the enemy at the gates. Her own pyrokinetic ability barely holding back the flames Enlil sent from reaching any further.

He was right about one thing though.

There was someone pretty terrible waiting for them.

She floated out of the hole blasted in, watching imperial knights charge.

"Gods forgive me, I'm a murderer..." Syd whispered in shame.

Then she conjured massive tornadoes of flame, flesh shuddering horrifically everywhere as she sent them towards the NIO, engaging a Jedi that got too close, disarming then force pushing him into rubble, while the NIO started to burn, Laertia cutting ever closer to Enlil and Ryv's ranks...

 

[Redd]

​

LOCATION: Garang City​

GEAR:Beskar’gam | KO Lightsaber​

ALLIES: Gerwald Lechner | Lavria Xedrim | Darth Prazutis​

ENEMIES: NIO​

​

Redd had arrived with her brother and a woman that she didn’t know. Why was she there? Well, her brother had called upon her and here she was in Garang City standing beside her brother, as her ever watchful gaze glanced from Gerwald towards a man that she had never met before. A man also known as the mountain and she felt the hatred for the Mountain that seemed to seethe from her brother in waves. Hatred that didn’t phase the red wolf as she shifted to clutch her buy’ce within the grasp of her left hand. Her right hand itched to lightly touch her lower stomach, but instead, she rested it upon the hilt of a lightsaber that was unlit and hanging off of her belt. Slowly, she rocked back onto her heels as she felt another wave, a wave that was different to that of hatred but whispered of darkness.​

​

If she had been a wolf, her ears would have perked up and felt a thrill of excitement, for blood, death and darkness had been all that she had known for many years of her life. It whispered to the wolf of a promise, a promise of death and she closed her eyes for a moment as she let the feeling wash over her. For she had never felt at rest, never felt a simbiosis of human and wolf. Rather, she had only felt the wolf and its gnawing hunger to kill, to rip and to shred. To bring death upon those who dared to defy and to enjoy the song of darkness that had kept her alive for many years. The human had had to give away to the wolf that was a savage, a beast. It snarled and bared its fangs. The wolf was born through blood and no matter how much of a calm haven that she would build for herself, she would always feel the pull of the siren song. The siren song that whispered to her in her dream of an animal that would thirst for blood to be spilled.​

​

Gerwald’s hatred only added to the looming darkness. Called to her still and it was the darkness of her wolf nature that she would rely upon today. For the wolf would see to the safety of her unborn cubs that she carried within and to satiate the bloodlust that she longed to quench. A bloodlust that wouldn’t be quenched for long and a soft growl rumbled from the female as she resisted the urge to jump into the fray below. To sink her teeth into bared flesh and enjoy the screams of her victims. Instead the red haired woman had to remain by the side of her brother, for she was here for a reason. Security, as he had told her. Was it security from the Mountain, the man that seemed to radiate a darkness that sang to her? Or was it from the NIO forces below? Either way. She wanted to kill and that intention sat in the forefront of her mind.​

​

The red wolf listened to the words that Gerwald spoke and the only indication that she gave to her brother that she had heard him, was a slight nod. She rarely trusted anyone and it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it just wasn’t her nature to trust. Redd has been alone for many years and although she had once sought a pack of her own, she no longer did. Gerwald was her brother and her twin cubs would be the start to a new generation, a generation that the red wolf hadn’t told Gerwald about just yet. Whether he knew or not would have to be a discussion for another day, as she opened her golden gaze and glanced towards the other lupine who held terror within his own. ”Brother,” She started, before her gaze shifted to the other woman that had accompanied them and then to those that were nearby. Baring that in mind, she connected to him through a telepathic link instead.​

​

’Brother, I smell your fear and hatred. Aren’t we here to defend against NIO? Why are you stopping Prazutis?’ Redd questioned the man. She didn’t know Prazutis, but she did know Gerwald and for him to feel fear, was strange. A tiny part of her questioned the fear. Why fear the darkness when one could embrace the strength that one could pull from it?​

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

V i n d i c a t e_A c t u a l

307th Stormtrooper Legion // Darth Sybila
Task //: Spearhead

Tenebrae Armor / Hand Of God / BR-212-'Jackal' ACR / BH 'Durin' Charric Blaster Pistol / Light Saber (s) / Void Grenade

​

//: Location Redacted...
//: Time 00:00....
//: Protocol Blackout.....

The woman wished this had been the battle worth fighting, that the fields of Dantooine had been sooner priority then the likes of the walls of Yinchorr. The Sith. Lyra didn’t want to even consider tit efficiency, the mop up on Yinchorr had been a pointless investment that had been paid by the lives of the 201st. Through the flourish of sabers and orders she had seen beyond the battle the wolves and hunters alike had found themselves locked in. She had teetered along the line, the throes of her rage beating at her chest as she bought time. The Force pushed her and Lyra for once simply listened. The battle was pointless and she could almost visibly envision the two scenarios- as if she had loomed over the edges of the dark tunnel drawn down into it and consumed by the very void. A smoking blaster at her hip or would it have been the shameful retreat that would marr her like the scars she carried.

Were you going to actually let yourself lose? ​

It was a well-timed drop by the likes of the Mando’ade that had put an end to much of the resistance of the Jedi’s defense. The armored bodies of Clan Prahl that had shattered those likelihoods when they had come blazing up the ramparts. What words she had traded with the man-the boy, only fueled the decision. He was young and it showed, but the narcissistic voice that lurked in the back of her mind laughed at him. This was her Commander’s kin, she reminded herself-but how had they ended up two very different sides of the war? They could not see, she could not resist, and the fruitless endeavors of some lockjaw war would persist..? It wasn’t a coherent thought but just a gut feeling, was this what they called conscious? There was something else that still rested on the tip of her tongue-when she gave the order for non lethal engagement.

“Mercy, Sybila truly? Next you’ll take one home to keep as a pet, honestly.” ​

Lyra had crossed blades with Maynard Treicolt and she knew when she was outmatched, and she had accepted it. When the tide of the battle had begun to drastically change, the snap in the Force had called to her like a beacon through the throes of violence as the caged the man. Maybe she had acted on goodwill, or was it some sliver of cunning. What did he even mean to the Galactic Alliance? Why had he chosen this course? These were questions bred by the doubt instilled by the Fel, ones she should have never allowed to see the light of day-or at the very least found a solution before her boots had hit the ground that day.

“Curious.” ​

The woman had dwelled on it far too long if it was for better or worse, after the hours turned into days and she had Treicolt in custody. Lyra had entered the endless cycle of self doubt, questioning her service for a second time as if it was a tangible thing she would truly walk away from. Sedation was the easiest countermeasure to the Force, any other means began to become too costly. Maybe she was in disbelief that they had managed to secure the target, or that in the end that it just..didn’t matter. She didn’t report the capture to High Command.

“Did he not cut down your men without hesitation? Tsk tsk, you don’t truly care for your soldiers-I’m not judging you of course, they’re good little pawns and that’s all they’re suppose to be-” ​

No one knew, there were no records when she called for black out procedures. Somewhere in what little neutral space still remained that bordered the Alliance, some irrelevant setting to the Galaxy as a whole she set the beacon and waited. No one knew about the voice that whispered in her ear as she looked down at the Jedi in chains on the floor of the transport, it’s glee. The restrictive measures weren’t working, not the heavy chains that dogged the man down. She was in a standoff with three voices and herself, trying to cut herself off and walk the line. He was still drugged, there was no reasoning with him or rationalizing all that had befallen them. There were no witnesses when she had dragged Maynard down the ramp of the ship toward the only other Jedi she had any form of connection to in the god forsaken stars. The security force fanned out across the industrial yard behind her like phantoms, trained on the lone woman.

“We both know she doesn’t have to be your enemy.” ​

Avernus was right, he had a tendency to be she had thought, and he triumphed over the voice of reason. The boy-general had put too many of her soldiers to the sword, maybe it was mental psychosis, but it made her hands shake. No blow would be unanswered as she dumped the Jedi at the feet of the woman she only bothered to remember as Friendly Blue; all to eager wash her hands of him. It was one quick pull of the trigger as she stared at the woman in the eyes and Lyra shot Treicolt through the leg clean. His pain was irrelevant. Her jaw trembled, smoking gun in hand-had she imagined it all wrong? A cold sweat broke out across her neck, she wasn’t following something right. A single bolt, and that’s all the violence she allowed herself though everything screamed for just a little more. It would never satisfy her. Lyra knew she was betraying her men as much as herself because of it, he should be put to the wall-For the greater good alas.

So you will remain the coward, the compromiser-weak.

"You think your eyes are open? How naïve of you Sybila."​

“I will leave you with this. Don’t fight the wrong battles again General, there is a much larger picture. You cost the lives of your men, my men, and much more. You had all the cards but it was my hand that was forced on Yinchorr. Your survival was irrelevant, do you understand? Don’t make that mistake again,” Lyra had warned, it was dangerous to offer him the familiarity of Waylon. Attachments that would only be abused, this was a lesson she knew far too well and she hissed the final words behind her clenched teeth. It was pointless, she was both the victor and loser of two very different fights. “-the Sith certainly would prey upon such.”

"Ironic."​

//: Location Garang City...
//: Time Hour Zero....
//: Protocol Civic Duty.....
//: Riders In The Sky

Delivery and the break through atmosphere were a blur as the army flew in under fire. The trooper transport rocked when they touched ground on the trodden fields. The landscape could have been ideal before the shadow of the war came. The cabin light flickered dark as the heavy machinery dropped from the squadrons. A sliver of light cut the cabin in half as the rear ramp split open, it crossed the woman’s visor and the HUD flashed with cerulean lines. Aurbesh raced across the screen as they registered the platoons and life lines of hundreds of troopers. The map began to populate, a sea of red on the border of the city. Intelligence had warned them about local militia, the civilian that would be caught in the crossfire-was this a rescue or a siege?

A green light clicked on as a series of alarms which began to wail throughout the cabin. Lyra didn’t want that blood on her hands as she rolled her shoulder, armor and plate clinking together. She ran her tongue across the back of her teeth, wishing for the burnt taste of a cheap smoke. Something to cull the edge, her mind swarmed by the A.I and incoming relay as they reported landfall.

Craning her head, Lyra turned to face the Company.

<<”Cut down any S-IMP, local guerrilla fighters and militia are to be subdued if possible. Civie casualties will not be tolerated, evacuate and relocate-you all heard Command,”>> the woman spoke to the black clad phantoms, she paced like a lothal cat before them; reinforcing the overarching goal. Gladius Company had once been the Spearhead, and now Genesis stood in their wake but she knew what had been blacked out on their files. <<”-they’ll throw anything at us, we’ve faced sabotaged roads and kill blocks. Call out your sights, watch your step and watch the rooftops.”>>

<”Reminds me of Folende, the fields..whats left of them.”> Appw’rii spoke, her tone unsettled.

Lyra turned her head, catching the visor of Captain Appw’rii, the woman offering up one hand stretched toward her. That was the last thing she wanted to recall, she had been kriffing blown up for nothing. She swallowed thickly, recalling the desperate escape-it was time and ice filled her veins. A single exchange was the black cut stone Lyra took a moment to pry from her own wrists, her hand shook as she dropped the void stone in the soldier's awaiting hand. It wouldn’t stem the bleeding-the psychosis that hung over her mind, she could only taper the effects. It would take minutes before the veil of confusion that smothered her senses and the Force dissipated, a burning sensation resting between both eyes.

“Sybila..” ​

Lyra’s eyes screwed shut and she held the breath and in one fell swoop pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She wanted to pretend it wasn’t necessary..that she knew what she was doing. Some Commander she berated herself..what had she been reduced to? They were here to pry back the rusty collar and chains that weighed down the sector. Brick by brick she conceded. Hundreds of hands and the heavy click of power cells followed as the accompanying infantrymen primed for the storm. Heavy struts creaked as the armor of the division was unleashed from the carriers as the combined Legion of the 307th finished unloading amidst the outskirts of Garrang.

<<”All Spearhead forces relay, status?”>>

The veterans of the 307th understood the best what it had been like to live under this heel. She tried not to linger on the thoughts of home, this had been Irveric’s and a cold weight of remorse settled in her chest. She couldn’t promise him this. Unseen eyes passed over the rangers of the 1st Company as she caught the heavy rifle tossed to her by the Lieutenant. She nodded to the Zabrak-She would have preferred to jump rather than run up the hill under fire. Rider or not, it was the shittiest work. The hydraulics hissed as the ramp hit the dirt, echoes of battle whined over the audio receptors. Across the sloping fields the city horizon was polluted by smoke, small ordinances harried the army’s arrival and the tremors shook the ground.

<<”Feral-Actual do you read? Get your armor lined up on the main roads, we will be moving in behind you under the shields of the ASG’s,”>> Lyra’s hand passed over the switch on her vambrace, changing lines, they were on a tight schedule now and the woman referenced the predicted drop for the Axis Task. She didn’t know the Tanker well, only the faint memories of Muunlinist spoke in his favor. Yinchorr had torn apart the core of the armored division and Bronco was put on the back of rotation to rebuild, it was all greenhornes-and underestimation was kinder.

The machines were stirring a cloud of dust and it filled the cabin, the hum of repulsors surrounded the lines of infantry as they poured off the transport ships. They were a tidal wave of silver steel that stood out on the horizon of the agrarian fields. The comm lines were a series of static and orders filing down from Command, she wanted to say she was surprised but refusing to evacuate the city..it smelled like desperation and a scapegoat. The reports coming in from Confederacy ships to Jedi of all things..when had the Galaxy lost it’s head? They were staring down a thousand barrels and the eyes were all set on them.

Good. ​

She had told Treicolt not to fight the wrong battle, but this..they would be wading through blood if they succeeded and Lyra shook her helm at the thought. Were they trully the only ones fighting for sanity-

"You're not fooling anyone." ​

A weight rested firmly on her shoulders and she desperately pushed forward down the ramp to escape the what if’s if they faced a retreat. The forward teams were dragging off duracrete slabs for cover, the heavy barriers lined the ditches as observation set to work, modified targets were reloading across the HUD’s map.

<<”Observation try to make contact with the callsign Lucky.”>>

It was a stretch, she hadn’t seen the likes of the mysterious signal since long before Durbillion. A heavy exhale escaped her as the ventilators kicked in on the system, cold air washed over her as she slung the rifle over her chest. the gun snapping against the tenebrae as Lyra set a hard pace between the rows of armor. Blast plate and blasters emerged from the haze as the lines of infantry white plate cut a stark image against the terrain.

<<”Negative read ma’am, we’ll try again.”>>

The ASG’s that accompanied the armor groaned and loomed precariously above the wave of armor, an ugly roar and revving slowly amped as the shield generators sparked to life. The barrier rippled from the generator, setting a thick barrier. It almost offered a calming effect. The palpable hum of the generator at work, almost acting as a pulsing drum beat to march troops behind.

<"Not picking up any IEDs on the road, can't speak for the fields">

The earth was gouged at the edges of the barrier by a series of pop shots fired from the city limits as the platoon advanced down the roadway. They whistled and screamed through the air toward them. The amble of the tall ASG slow but they weren’t facing the brunt of the heat because of it..yet. The A.I read half a klick out and her heart was already hammering. Equipment had been abandoned in the middle of the fields as they passed outlying structures. Homes..

<<”Vindicate-Actual be advised the main roadway appears to be blockaded. We are spotting movement in a series of buildings along the city limit, hostile intent.>>

The observation blared over the comms and the A.I adjusted, wires and heavy steel piled the roadways. A last ditch effort to keep them out, it wasn’t the work of the Garrison-

<”Evil Eyes keep your sights up, contact ahead!”>

The next artillery burst made contact with the shield, sparks flew from the barrier and ricocheted the burst back, the percussion was muted but Lyra could feel the power through her boots. Dirt and concrete cascaded over the barrier. The shields creaked under pressure as a red arc tore through the skies toward the line, Lyra watched the angry swarth arc down toward them. The A.I blared a series of warnings highling the incoming shot and Lyra tossed her hand out, waving the platoon down-men scattered as the shot broke through-

The only downfall was the right ordinance, and the arc bursted to the left of the column and her breath stuttered. Chunks of dirt pelted her and the platoon and she ripped her hand down her shoulder to brush off the chunks-knees threatening to buckle as she stumbled past the explosion.

<”Keep moving!> she snarled, boots scrambling over the black roadway. Lyra tempered the budding wrath that coiled in her chest.

Keep it tight, do not break formation. ​

The tell tale burn of plasma filled the air and she caught the scent over the filters, ulder breaking out into a full run. One fist raised as she pulled the platoon in tight with the silent order, their foot fall lost in the wake of carnage. The heat washed over their bodies as they shadowed the lead cataphract, the repulsors near deafening over the audio.

<<”Hellion-Actual this is the Spearhead rolling in. We have civilian and militia confirmed present, over.”>>

She wove through the armor and support vehicles, the A.I fizzled and the line went dead. Lyra felt the tell tale rush of adrenaline begin to course through her. Her sights roved over the tanks as the platoon pushed up the roadway into the city a block in. The fields had gave way to standing buildings and the ASG’s lagged behind as they rolled in to the intersection.

<”Goldie take the Bird Dogs and pin point where they’re firing ordinances-”> Lyra forced out behind clenched teeth, her servo landing on her rifle. The Platoon split off, veering toward alleyway through ruble. She brought the butt of the blaster to her shoulder. Red streaks passed from broken windows of the urban building ahead, and she reluctantly lifted her rifle; sights aimed. The familiar boyish voice of Dooku grated her ears, heaving for breath she fired a single shot in to the gaps of the broken windows. The radar was set in a flurry as erratic signals began to read and a dark pit formed in her chest..something was coming and her visor snapped toward the road blocks. Feral-Actual would have to take care of it.

<<"I hear you Lucien-this isn't the thick of it yet. Clear the top side would you?">>

---

​

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Irveric Tavlar Djorn Bline Vostok Grauv Tavius Muuaji Dhuzgnar Szilvos Kelborn Rika Hiro Tyrell Paxxus Meko Sorrin Tulan Kor Daros Karmann Sturit Goan DT-2319 Gedeon Rath Rexus Wenck Lucien Dooku Jorus Fel Sinestra Jaeger Harrsk Maynard Treicolt Loske Treicolt
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | Darth Prazutis OPEN

 

[Zaavik Perl]

S H A D O W
GALACTIC ALLIANCE
NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM
Post #2

READY TO DIE
​

“Grab a bike! We’ll send them back to the Sarlacc Pit they crawled out of!”​

Didn't have to tell him twice. Zaavik sprinted towards one of the pilotless overturned speeder bikes and hoisted it upright. He threw one leg over and gripped the throttle. With a sudden twist of his hand, the repulsor engine screamed and he was off. Pulling the yoke left and right, he weaved through his fellow Jedi as he sought to cut off the assailing speeder cavalry.

A drift along the edge of the crater positioned him behind a legionnaire. Squeezing the trigger, the nose-mounted blasters roared. The chassis of the ahead speeder buckled and cracked beneath the force of the bolts. The legionnaire was sent flying as the speeder toppled and crumpled beneath. Crashing against the dirt, it tumbled erratically before ricocheting off another downed speeder and being sent over the crater wall.

He torqued the throttle forward again, picking up speed and passing the flaming remains of the slain speeder. Circling around, Zaavik attempted to single out more of the cavalry, only to find himself tailed by a pair. They trailed him through the web of Jedi and around the wall of the crater like starving wolves. His arms strained against the yoke as he leaned just clear of one blaster shot after another.

Zaavik's lightsaber hissed to life. Batting away the shots from behind, he maneuvered to lose them. He weaved, drifted, and rode the wall of the crater, but none of it was enough to break the dogged pursuit of the legionnaires behind him. Their path was glued to his with an insoluble adhesive.

"Form up on Loske! On my order, raise your shields! I will not allow us to fall so close to our target!"​

Shit. Unfortunate timing. Zaavik stuck his lightsaber into the ground. Dirty was blackened by the hot plasma and kicked up into a trailing cloud as he soared around the perimeter of the Jedi formation. He pulled the yoke back, skidding hard to the right and cutting through the Jedi formation again. The cavalry continued its pursuit through the gritty black screen that trailed behind.

The Padawan looked over his shoulder, peering through the black dust for his pursuers. The speeder wobbled left and right, spreading the screen of dust further. He turned back just in time to see two preoccupied knights in his path. Not good. "MOVE!" He shouted, prompting both of them to snap their heads in his direction like a deer in headlights before diving in either direction.

Zaavik leaped backward off of the speeder, creating momentum through the force. His speeder ramped up the side of the crater and flew off into unknown horizons. Both sides of his saber ignited as he twirled in mid-flight. The deadly plasma windmill met the oncoming pursuers with sundering impunity. Flesh, plastoid, and durasteel shredded into several pieces before tumbling wildly against the dirt.

The Padawan crashed into the ground as well. Wildly rolling with painful momentum as his braced body bounced against the dusty sediment. Zaavik finally rolled to a stop after an uncounted handful of painful topples and scrapes. Hand flat on the ground, he pushed himself up to a knee as the dust began to clear.

"Hope everyone is ready! Shields up!"​

Oh, right. He continued to his feet and began a hustle towards the proper place in the formation. Pain shot through his leg as he suddenly realized an injury. A rushed limp brought him to form up alongside Loske and the rest of the participating Jedi. Holding his hands up, he lent his command of the force to the mutual effort of those around him to raise the shield.

Ryv | Enlil | Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt | Shaka Sunstar | Kalika Vaar | Cotan Sar'andor | Jin Kyrel | Hans Rennagen ​

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

OBJECTIVE I: HELPING FOLKS, SAVING PEOPLE

a c h i l l e s c o m e d o w n

JUST SOME CONCERNED CITIZENS
​

Dorn-2 wasn’t in operation during this mission, officially, each and every member was on leave for one reason or another. The Voph sisters, Haupont and Mellfols, fabricated a well placed call to court over some old property back on their homeworld of Axxilla, old family inheritance came cycling around again and needed their attention. Dormyle put forward a request to oversee a sale on his butchery back on Dubrillion to further his focus on the Imperial Military being his primary focus in his life. Thavimar? Of course, why would he have ever bothered actually giving a proper reason. Slipped out of the barracks when no-one was paying attention. AWOL was just a word at the end of the day, afterall. Jeresan was the only one of the few that was willing to report directly to the new officer that had taken over Dorn-2 in Ravraa’s absence and tell them exactly what his intentions were. By all rights, he should have been locked away for insubordination, or perhaps even desertion, but instead, the grey-clad officer simply drew a stylus over his datapad, smiled, and nodded at the young man. There would be nothing to worry about.

Dorn-2 hadn’t been deployed to Dantooine.

A group of friends had bought a one way ticket to a warzone instead.

ARC blasters formed a common bond between the members, regardless of their prior specialization. The armant of the late Fel Empire was cheap and plentiful, even to the point of official assignment to squadrons of choice stormtroopers. This batch of rifles, however, never made it to the end of their line. No serial numbers, no identifying markers, just sheet-fab deathdealers. Save Ravraa. Still he carried with him the same Judicator that he had used to cast judgement upon Lord Noxwalda on Bastion, still he carried that mark of shame, that symbol of pride. Recently formed was never letting that blaster too far out of his sight, as if the man that originally held it, that originally fired it, who used it to cast unbridaled hate into those of flesh and hope would manifest into the Togruta again. He didn’t sleep well. He still smelt the searing flesh of the Sith Lord. He still saw the betrayal in the man’s eyes. The weapon began as a tool of war, now a reminder.

We were all people. At the end of the day. Full of fear and mistakes.

The fellowship skirted along the outskirts of proper conflict. They were dropped into the fields and grasslands of Dantooine, the siege on the barracks raging just within eyeshot. Legions of the finest the New Imperial Order had to offer, warring just in the eyeshot of Ravraa. His boots, homespun and brown, crashed between the tall grasses. For the first time in a deployment, there was no helmet clad on his head. Instead, it was the air breezing through the fields that crashed against his skin and shook him. There was no immediate threat. Simply the takes of air into his lungs of full, fresh, unfiltered air that threatened to floor him. They had made fair progress from their original landing site, moving in a traditional arrow formation for the first couple hundred feet. Ducked, heads low, attempting to keep out of sight of anyone that would dare take the look over in their way. Though, after about five minutes of that show, it became apparent that no one was going to see them from this distance. There was simply too grand of entertainment in the slaughter and full sail desecration that the siege of the Sith bunker could prove to be.

“What’s the plan. Rav?” Asked Haupont, her voice cracking through the quiet like a whip.

“Honestly? Haven’t a clue. Not a one.” Ravraa responded, his blaster falling to his side in a limp hanging grip. Fingers brushing over the wild wheat that they passed by.

“Brought us all out here to just look at the flowers then?” Thavimar asked.

“Maybe. Can’t say I didn’t.”

Jeresan, standing further in the back, despite all of his cells screaming to be as close to Ravraa as he could manage, simply listened. His eyes watching, eyebrows twitching with every move that the Togruta made. Ravraa swung around, walking backwards to keep his old track as he addressed Thavimar’s question. The maroon shades of his skin glimmering under the sunlight like autumnal flowers in bloom. The patchmark of white across the center of his face shifting and melding as he spoke. That bright pink tongue dancing between his teeth. His voice was far from traditionally pretty. It wasn’t something that ever should have been inside of a choir, as much as Ravraa insisted that it was. It was harsh, rough, and grating. A noisemaker made of a tin can and gravel.

“Thought you said you had a plan on the ship.” Dormyle now, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

“Does it matter?” Asked Jeresan.

“Course it does, loverboy.” Came the retort, Ravraa chuckling at the statement. Was that blush coming to his cheeks?

“Yea, figured it do. Want to help folks here, Sith done gone and turned it sideways for them. How folks end up a-runnin’, how folks end up like us. Can’t say I’d like that for most.” Ravraa said.

“Saying the Corps wasn’t what you wanted?” Haupont again.

“Saying there’s more all of us could’ve done, but we don’t pick our lives. Just kinda… happen.”

“Just happens? That’s your grand philosophy?”

Never did anyone sound mad, or prying. Their voices weren’t laced with the venom or anger. Simple curiosity, simple concern. Nothing more and nothing less. As if they honestly wanted to know what it was that had dragged Ravraa this far along. Why he went out of office, away from his duties. Why had he brought them together outside a military designation.

Old times sake? Ravraa wasn’t much sure themselves. With the dying of conversation, they walked.

~~~

They went along for some time, in the silence. It was broken occasionally, by a quip here or there. Most of them from Dormyle and Thavimar, occasionally from one of the Voph sisters, but most of them from Dormyle as he attempted to fill the void. He hated silence, he hated the quiet.

They avoided heading in any one direction for too long. They were destinationless, aimless, and none of them complained. Instead, the quiet began to show more and more cracks. Jokes tossed back and forth, stories and catch up were played as they broke past eyesight of major buildings and battle scenes. Just walking, they would have no purpose in the thick of it anyways. Besides, none of them dared to interrupt the returning normalcy as they went along their walk.

“So this Trando, recruit yea, thinking he’s tough for getting into the Corps comes up to me during lunch. Saying this and that. Something about the Scoremaster-maker-whatever, tall bastard too. Scary. Full set of teeth, sick, sick looking scales-”

“Come on, Thav, go on!”

“I’m goin’! Well he comes walking up on me. Apparently I stepped on his tail. It was flipping about something fierce. Mad, mad, mad, he was. Raging, fuming. Well just when he starts reeling back as if he’s going to do something. This wookie reaches over and grabs his hand, snarls something, and decks him in the jaw! Sent him tumbling over the table before being pulled back by some guys from Infantry.”

“Thought this story was about you doing something interesting.” Jeresan said.

“I did. Kept calm with an angry lizard in my face. Think that’s pretty interesting.”

Then, they saw it. It was unassuming. A shack of aged wood slapped on the edge of a farm land, untouched by the conflict. A barn, as it were. Nothing in the grander scheme of things. Nothing that should be mentioned.

The Crimson Banner hanging from the roof and the military styled APC parked outside begged otherwise.

Booming voices sounded from within.

Without second concern, Ravraa threw his hand up. The ghost of his armor echoing the movement. Silence. Fall in. Let’s investigate. Full command given with a twitch or two of his fingers.

It was a high building constructed out of red wood, slapped together from various repairs of years and years of use. Two barrels of a silver metal sat near the wide swinging doors framing the front of the barn. Several support beams of rough hewn boards stood tall in the air, holdin the corrugated metal awning, seemingly made from scraps that were laying about during the early days of the settlement. There were footprints, boots and shoes, leading through the dirt into the building. The barn stretched far back, far more than enough to host a healthy amount of cattle or some interstellar equivalent. Whatever the norm on this world was, Ravraa couldn’t know.

Dorn-2 kept close, but as they approached the doors of the barn, which had been left cracked open, the voice began to grow clearer and clearer. The correct, crisp consonants of Sith-Imperial Basic. As out of place on the world as a Togruta. Warm light spilled through the crack of the door as Ravraa waved his hand down to the rest of his squad, lowering his own blaster rifle as he approached it. He brought his eyes to the slit, just enough to maybe pop his head through. Inside was all pop and debonair charm.

There were several families of people gathered, clad in the clothes of farmers and their hands, city-folk both opulent and pauper, retired fatigues of planetary defense forces, and all sorts of scraps in between. The attire of a true cosmopolitan force. He saw rows and rows of heads, the back of them. A majority human. They sat around middle age for the lot, with corn blonde and bark brown scattered throughout, with hints of true black scattered here or there. Skin either pale as the day they were born and backs hunched from administrative paper work, or tall and tanned, from years of hard labor out on the field. Dantooine’s finest. All they could muster.

There were bits of non-humans. He could see horns poking out of bald scalps occasionally, and sometimes even something as off as scales or chitin of more exotic species. Though, if he had to make an overall assumption, humans. Humans, and enough of them youth to draw question.

A hand broke across his sight, grabbing him by the collar and hefting him inside of the building, earning protest from the rest of the squad. All save Haupont, who’s quick shot dagger stare sent most of them into standstill once the clear tone of a modulated voice garbled it’s warning at Moff Vyshraal.

<”You’re late. Get up there. Learn why you should fight for your home.”>

With a shove, Ravraa was stumbling backwards from the black armor and red t-slit visor of a Sith-Imperial Legionarie, before his back slammed against the wall of people. Grumbling, the man who took the brunt of the hit stepped aside, leaving the smaller alien to crash to the floor. He could make out, through the haze and pain, Dorn-2 making their way past the guard. Though, with much less fanfare. A hand brought him from his seat, grabbing him first by the wrist and then slipping into his palm, fingers spiderwalking from his grasp as his sight came back to him. He had harder landings before, he had softer. Something made those seem impossible when he caught himself an inch from Jeresan. The distance felt impossible.

Maybe it all was.

He turned, the crowd was standing almost in religious silence. Old lamps of oil hung from posts. All of the stalls were emptied from their previous occupants, the only proof they had been there before were the hoof marks of their leaving. For their effort, someone had attempted to sweep the straw and animal droppings from the flooring. Attempted. Through the smell of country living, through the breathing and whispers of the crowd, through the new pain that formed on his lower back, Ravraa was able to make out a voice. At the end of the crowd, on a poorly constructed podium, was a Sith-Imperial officer flanked by a set of Legionaries.

“I ask you: Do you want total war? Do you want a war that will assure your homeland is yours? Free of foreign invaders? Of course we do, of course we do. You are Sith-Imperials. Of course you do. You, young man!” His finger jotted out to a random soul in the crowd. “Fresh from academy, I bet! You have so much to give this world, would you sit there and see it torn away from you at the hands of these invaders! Pillagers! Barbarians!”

Ravraa began to walk forward, hands coming up, gently parting the crowd as he went.

“I ask you, grandfather! Sore and tired from a lifetime of work, do you want to see you, or your children, or your children’s children put into one of their camps! Put to the mines, destined to do nothing but bend to the whim of their state!”

Midway, the sea was parting. He was close to the front of the crowd now.

“Rise up! Rise up against these New Imperials who lay claim to your world! Take your rifles, take your pitchfork, take your humble implements and let the will of the Empress be done! Break loose the hounds of patriotism!”

He had passed his rifle back now, into the hands of Jeresan. The question of why was never answered as he finally made his way to the front.

No sane man or woman desires this sort of power and command.
...then the One Sith came with a warband, forced conscription unto any fighting age man in my town…

“I ask of you there! Alien! What, when they-” Finger, dead center on Ravraa.

“I ain’t no alien.” Ravraa stated, voice as firm as tempered steel.

The speech was disrupted. Whatever the officer had intended to say fell at the wayside as Ravraa parted over the front of the crowd and very calmly put his hands on the edge of the soapbox and lifted himself atop. When he brought himself to stand, he was face to face with a blaster pistol held aloft by that same officer. The two legionaries, also, had trained their blasters on him.

“You approach me?” The officer said. His cap did it’s best to hold back his locks of fire, but it seemed as if he had been on the warpath long enough to have not been able to afford a trim. The freckles that dotted across his face made him seem much younger than the deep jowls implied. The officer took a step back, giving himself breathing room.

“Just an alien, ain’t I? No worry for no one. Nah, none of that. I’m one of those fretful insurgents you’ve been scaring these kind people with. Those demons that are what… gonna take that feller’s degree or whatever nonsense you were spilling?” He was circling the officer now, starting on his left foot. Pacing him like a fencer.

“On your knees, hands behind your head, traitor.” The word spat as harsh as any blaster bolt.

“Er, what then? You arrest me? We go a-walkin’ off somewhere? None of that. ‘Sides, what’s the worst you can do to me. Shoot me?”

“I’ve shot more for less.”

“You pull that trigger who wins, you or them?”

A step back from the officer. A second hand coming up to hold the bottom of the handblaster.

“What?”

“You win, or those damned Sith masters of yours? Where are they, man? Left seems, probably all broken up about the… what do they call that mumbo-jumbo? The Force? Ain’t there a temple on this world? They’re playing museum keeper and you standing here trying to what?”

“Defend the Empire.”

“From what.”

“Scum like you!”

“People like me. There’s always more of me, buddy. Trust me. Some in this room. Ya gonna shoot us all now? We all traitors? Few bad jogan fruits spoils the bag, huh?”

“Last warning.”

“Shoot me. What then? Gonna drum these folks into a rage over my corpse? Look at them!”

His eyes danced, for a moment, to the crowd, before back to Ravraa. He could have rushed him, wrestled the blaster from his hand. He could have just nudged his head, and Dorn-2 would have enough blaster bolts up here to make a light show.

“Shoot me. You’re only killing yoursel-”

Enter pain. A fist, cold and clear, as sure as the night coming after the sun. Slamming into his jaw and sprawling the Togruta out to the floor. Sending his body bouncing onto the wooded frame of the riser. Blood. It had been some time since he tasted it.

Ravraa brought himself to stand.

“Afraid? Scared? You’re just a man, just me.”

Again, a hammer of flesh. Cracking against bone, against skin. Ravraa went to the floor again.

“Don’t you dare speak to me as an equal! You turned your back on the Galaxy when you joined those Rogue Imperials.”

He sat for a second, letting the comfort of the hardwood floor settle his bones.

“Betrayed nothing… signed no oath. I just want to help folks, ‘tis all.” Hands to the floor, he rose once more.

He could have swung back. But why should he?

“Everytime you hit me, they laugh. You’re nothing but a pawn, nothing but slaves. Ain’t no.. good in hurtin’ those that don’t choose. I’m giving you the choice. Take it.”

This one came faster, harder. Center mass, knuckles kissing nose. Twisting cartilage and breaking bone like a twig. Ravraa couldn’t offer a retort, the only thing he could manage was a grunt as the boot came. Pristine leather fabricated by the finest tailors in the Sith Empire, now being used as a bludgeon. It slammed down, again, and again. Into his back, into his ribs, sending his limbs twisting at odd angles.

Dorn-2 knew he’d call out if he wanted them.

Again, and again, it came. He heard snaps, cracks, and pops at places they shouldn’t. Weaker, less direction and aim. Yelling, blind rage and confusion. Pointless suffering.

Through all of it? Ravraa kept smiling through bloodied teeth.

Weaker and weaker the blows came, until they devolved into petulant strikes from a child. Soon later, sobs, wracking from deep inside of the chest of the red-haired, world weary officer of the Sith Imperial Army.

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Operation Harvest Dark
Codename: Rommulus and Remus FT. Hannibal
Objective: Find someone to merc.
Allies: Gedeon Rath | Dergan Twigg (x) | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Irveric Tavlar | Djorn Bline | Tavius Muuaji | Vostok Grauv | Tyrell Paxxus | Meko Sorrin | Lucien Dooku | Jorus Fel
Enemies: Darth Prazutis | Any Sith Scum
Rexus Gear: DARKSABRE MK IX [x] | G-6E Blaster Pistol [x] | G-12A Blaster Rifle [x] | Blackwing Electric Sword [x] | Lightsaber
Twigg Gear: DARKSABRE MK IX [x] | G-6E Blaster Pistol [x] | G-12A Blaster Rifle [x] | Blackwing Electric Sword [x]
NEW ORDER

Rexus assessed Rath with a cool gaze. Man with a similar taste in humour. "We'll hump the miles and take point. See if we can catch up on what the ole 307th's been tackling up ahead." Rexus turned to Twigg, "On me, lets roll." Clutching his rifle close, Rexus tuned his commlink into the signal. The Spearhead, it sounded like they were getting a little bogged down. Perfect. Who didn't like a little bit of rough and tumble? Especially in the dust and the rebar of a city. Was perfect for a man like Rex.

But then the news came in. Militiamen? Civilians even? What were these? Some pumped up hunters with guns? The smile dropped from Rexus' face. No. Now it seemed like this would be a damn different op. Not enough blood and guts for Rexus' liking. Nope. Not at all. "Hear that?" Rexus barked as they moved through the column of approaching vehicles, "Damn Sith ain't even sending their best. Just farmers with guns?" He growled, before looking down at his rifle. He'd never even checked if the damned thing even had a stun. And.... No. "Blast it." Looks like this'd be a job for his armour. Just remember not to squeeze too tight, but a cuff round the head never hurt anyone too bad. Right?

As they closed in, the smell of scorched carbon and the sound of fighting came closer. Rexus held out a clenched fist, and ordered the small unit to halt. "Alright boys. We'll catch our bearings." Rexus barked, before sighing. His gaze met Gedeon's. "Your boys and their rifles have a stun setting?" Rexus inquired, before grimacing. "Because ours don't." Rexus glowered. Stupid bloody First Order. But that was neither here nor there, and far from what was necessary now. "In any case, I'll give command a toot on the horn, see what they give us."

"Vindicate Actual," Rexus drawled over comms, "This is Rommulus, Remus and Hannibal. We're all Spec Ops, rerouted to help you bastards out." Rexus informed the senior military commander. "Currently, we're sitting maybe...." He paused and gazed at his rangefinder. "Maybe about two hundred, three hundred meters from the frontline. Was hoping you could ID us a place me and my friends can stack some bodies. Over."

 

[Tavius Muuaji]

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

I M P A T I E N T L Y
W A I T I N G
​

Blinking awake, all he could hear was ringing as he subconsciously patted at his torso and legs, slowly trying to shift onto his side, and then his back.

There wasn't much to remember.

The war had resumed, right where the Order had left off.

Him and Sinestra were assigned to the spearhead under the Major General, Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt along with other units and COMPNOR Operatives.

They had hit the ground ahead of the Red Riders as was their duty as Storm Commandos, assorted vehicles of all kinds accompanying the Special Forces COMPNOR Unit, but the defenders hit back something fierce. He remembered thinking that, it may have been the Imperator's home once, but judging from the homecoming welcome they were being given, Irveric Tavlar was locked out.

Luckily, the New Imperials were used to such treatment.

The explosion that had sent him sprawling on the ground flashed through his mind again, his vision slowly coming back when he felt rough hands dragging him from his place behind a partially destroyed weapons emplacement and behind the encompassing shield of one of the marching walkers. A familiar sensation, he glanced over his shoulder as he scrambled back to his feet.

"Definitely ain't Shili," he jokes as he checks his rifle, still strung up across his shoulder and torso, and he brought it around to the ready. Once, he had been in the One Sith's military. Time and time again, he had seen recruits just like him lose that split second of time bringing their rifle around before their bodies dropped lifeless. "We'll break off into a side street when the Walker hits the intersection." The quicker they got further behind enemy lines, the better.

Heavy fire crashed into the shield. Repeating blasters that fired upon it hardly affecting the monstrous vehicle before the abrupt sound of whistling could be heard. "Go, go, go!" He didn't wait to see what happened, the sixth sense that urged him practically screamed at him. Mortars struck across the top of the shield walker they had been using for cover, shield generator exploding as secondary explosions rocked through the hull of the vessel, screams of pain and surprise instantly cut off before they were consumed by flames and death.

By then, they were already in the alley and cutting through buildings. Tavius' rifle was set to stun. Regardless of soldiers, they were fighting Sith as well. The paralyzing ring that flew out would immobilize both Sith and soldier alike, and for Tavius... That worked just fine.

He may have been a hardened soldier, but wanton murder and slaughter? Wasn't his thing.

"Take point."


ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Irveric Tavlar | Djorn Bline | Vostok Grauv | Dhuzgnar | Szilvos Kelborn | Rika Hiro | Tyrell Paxxus | Meko Sorrin | Tulan Kor | Daros Karmann | Sturit Goan | DT-2319 | Gedeon Rath | Rexus Wenck | Lucien Dooku | Jorus Fel | Jaeger Harrsk |
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | OPEN TO INTERACTION | Joycelyn Zambrano | Darth Prazutis | Gnox the Insatiable | Frank Sterling | Luna Terrik | Darth Strosius | Taiia Locke | Aiden Wolf | Aurelion Nova | Ursula Vizla

 

[Jin Kyrel]

Location: Within the Dantooine Temple
Allies: Rurik Fel Hans Rennagen Oceiros Sunstrider Ryv Loske Treicolt Shaka Sunstar Kalika Vaar Cotan Sar'andor Enlil Maynard Treicolt
Enemies: Arctus Silmar (Engaging) Other Space Kaiden Iasha Rha
Equipment: Silver Crossguard Saber, Imperial Knight Battle Armor


Jin, broke away from the Jedi strike team, joining with the ranks of his fellow Knights, Master Fel, and the 501st Legion. Perhaps no worthy to enter into such a serene and corrupted place as they were. Although despite blasting their way in. Young Kyrel could feel the dread, the anger, the fear. It manifested into a chill that gripped his senses and all the more. Unlike his brother Knight Hans. He didn't feel fear, strangely enough, the darkness was calling to him. As if a madman's lullaby was whispering into his very ears. What scared him the most was that Jin wanted to head the call of the darkness. Even wondering what he should find the deeper he should go into the abyss. Despite his training, his encounters so far with the Sith. He had his own agenda for joining the battle. That was to see the Sith die for what they have done to his father. The Master of Ren. He did his best to hide his intentions from his fellow Knights, even Master Fel. Although Jin had suspected that even he had his suspicions. But assumed like the Knights were an instrument to establishing order. Kyrel's own hate for the Sith would be utilized as a sword used upon the Sith.

Entering the temple was easy, with the 501st carving an entrance for them. Jin walked with them. Master Fel in front while Han's and Jin walked side by side. The Jedi had a plan, so had the Knights. One thing was clear as every mission. They would either succeed or die a failure or success. It didn't matter when it came to the duty as Imperial Knights. What he still didn't understand in his short time to ponder everything. Was why the Jedi and Sith worked together against the Imperials? It was odd, as not even he under the direst of circumstances would know even from history that working with the Sith was a mistake. The first chance they would get, they would betray and try to kill all the enemies they had. It was the nature of the Sith. But for now, the young Knight was thankful that some Jedi saw such things as a farce that if the Knights prevailed along with their Jedi cousins then perhaps the alliances would fall apart.

However, he's thinking of the overall political situation was cut short when the Sith emerged not long after entering. Han's fear was palpable through the Force. Something of which Jin wanted to scoff at, yet said nothing after all he was a nobleman who hadn't gone through the same experiences as him. No matter together they would take on anything that came at them. The Sith emerging in the form of cyborgs. Mechanical abominations that further tainted the former sanctum of the Jedi. Jin did not meet such things with the stoicism expected of a Knight, but one that hungered for battle, one that desired the death of his enemies. A trait of Kyrel Ren that was passed down to his son, even if Jin wasn't entirely aware of it. With his crossguard blade activated he fought in a Djem So stance. Cutting a path through his enemy. The dark side slowly manifesting within the young boy, although trying in a valiant effort to contain such demons. All the while Hans was calling for medics to appear. There would be none. No help for the dying that laid on the ground, choking on their own blood. Some crying out for their own mothers as if they were not Stormtroopers at that moment but people. Cries of pain cut short by the brutality of the Sith. All it did was fuel Jin's own darkness and so in the heat of battle, he answered darkness with darkness. For as he was taught it was a tool. But knew well not to fully give in to it.

​

In the midst of cutting down the horde of enemies that approached. His commlink spoke up, Commander Karis notified him of a target that Jin could only smirk at. Looking around, he waited for the opportunity to reveal itself. Before finally the opening was given on a being encircled by flame. A conjurer of sorts. Perhaps the Sith responsible for the onslaught so far. His eyes narrowed on Arctus, as he spoke silently. While the Magicks of Dathomir had little use outside of his homeworld. Jin did speak of a protective charm that would at least give him the strength to tackle the enemy head-on. He spoke back sounding enthusiastic. "Thanks for the target, Commander Karis. If we survive this remind me to buy you Jedi some drinks at the nearest cantina." He said expressing his gratitude, all the while the Sith's voice became more apparent now that he had been revealed. Raising his blade he looked to Hans. "Hans, with me. We got a Sith to kill." The slight twinges of anger were evident in his tone. As he started to run, cutting through several of the mechanical abominations, using the momentum of his sprint to leap into the circle of flames to be had. Letting out a battle cry, letting some of the dark side taking hold, letting some of his Father's blood take hold of the Knight, his first strikes were filled with power in an attempt to make the monster lose concentration. Aiming for his head, and his chest if anything to gain more of his attention away from his fellow knights "I think you will find us full of surprises Sith." He said the venom clear as day, as at that moment the young Kyrel did not hold fear but blazing fury aimed directly at his new target.

 

[Starlin Rand]

​

Location: The Enclave archives
Objective: Fight alongside the Sith like a chump/Pilfer artifacts on the side
Gear: Starlin Rand's lightsaber | Mt. Muspelheim Shoto | Upgraded Fenelar Armor
Writing With: Cotan Sar'andor Syd Celsius

As usual, Syd seemed to appear out of nowhere. She found Starlin standing in one of the archive aisles, his arms full of datacrons and holocrons and a datachip clutched between his teeth. He looked at her like a deer in headlights when she first spoke, mumbled something around the chip, then stooped to dump his prize into the open bag at his feet. Once his arms were empty, he spat out the chip.

“Aw c’mon Syd. It’s for a good cause! You know the Sith are just gonna hoard this stuff, same with the Jedi. Nimdok will actually study it. And write about it, and whatever else archaeologists do with old chit. Maybe the professor and his little girl can use the sale from these to buy an actual house that they can live in!” As opposed to squatting in the ancient, hideous, beat-up exploration vessel they had apparently stumbled across and managed to get up and running recently. Thing was a flying deathtrap, if you ask me.

But she was right. This was about as far as he could go before he got caught by the Sith and shot on sight. Zipping up the bag, he slung it over his shoulder, secured it to his armor, and then grabbed his lightsabers. Blue and orange light reflected off the shiny wall panels which had once been filled with archival material. Most of it had already been stripped away beforehand by the likes of AMCO and his ilk (oy, any you Sith reading this consider it part of the preservation efforts, right lads? Right!) so it wasn’t like he was making off with the Holy Grail. Or maybe he was—he had simply grabbed whatever he could find until his backpack was full, not really paying attention to what it was. Besides, he wouldn’t necessarily know the difference between a long-lost Sith Holocron™ and a random datacron about Dantooine agriculture anyway. (I Understood That Reference: 75 XP… okay, maybe the experience points gimmick doesn’t work quite as well when I do it.)

He followed Syd’s lead out into the fray… and immediately felt the change. This was not like Nar Kreeta. Actually, no, it was just like Nar Kreeta in a lot of ways. Bodies and rubble everywhere. Blood and charred remains. The sounds of battle, the smell of death and sweat and fear mixing with the smoky air beneath a smoldering red sky. What Nar Kreeta didn’t have was so many Force Users from both sides of the aisle concentrated in one place, creating almost a paradox centered around the Enclave. Starlin could feel it supercharging the atmosphere, thick and overwhelming, sweeter than honey and bitter as gall—wait. Holy chit, was that Thurion Heavenshield fighting alongside Darth Carnifex ? Dude, fething awesome!

Oh yeah, wasn’t he supposed to be fighting? Starlin blinked, shook his head, then charged into battle. He ran along the ground just below Syd’s flying form, avoiding the pillars of fire she conjured to sweep away the NIO forces, and in seemingly no time at all he found his lightsabers clashing with that of a Jedi.

It was a girl not much older than him, dark hair pulled back into braids, dirt mixed with sweat smeared across her face. She wore no armor, only simple Jedi robes, and was slightly pudgy. He wondered at this fact until he felt the Force surge around him, blasting him back. A Jedi Consular who relied on the Force could afford to be a little chunky and run into battle without armor.

He caught himself in midair, reversed his course, and shot down towards her, blades pointed straight at her like an arrow. She cried out and darted out of the way just in time, but wasn’t fast enough for his follow up blow even though he had to scramble to get his proper footing back first. He burned a hole in her leg and sliced through her right elbow.

Her arm fell to the ground, the fingers of her hand still clenched around her saber. Starlin stared at the severed appendage, then his gaze darted to the girl’s face. Was there a chance that he knew her, in some small way? Had he ever sat in a classroom on Kashyyyk with this girl, learning the same lesson from the same teacher? Had they eaten at the same table, rode in the same shuttle, slept in the same dormitory block?

They locked eyes, and he felt her pain and the sensation of her body going into shock before he tore himself away. Someone else was already coming at him. Another Jedi. It was a little bit easier to cut the next one down. Easier still with the third, and the forth, and the fifth…

On and on he marched, fighting anyone who got in his way, following the same route toward the strange group of Jedi and NIO forces.

He had no idea who any of them were, but if they raised their sword against him, he would fight back.

 

[Runi Verin]

LOCATION: SAFE HOUSE NEAR THE SITH ENCLAVE
OBJECTIVE: STEAL SOME DUDE’S OSIK
GEAR: Vornskr Mk8 Scattergun, Tal Oya’karir, Muun'bajir, Terentatek Duster, Asheran Armorweave, Taak’tabi, Nwûl
ALLIES: Amea Virou
ENEMIES: AMCO | TSE
FOLKS MESSING UP A PERFECTLY GOOD HEIST: NIO | GA | ETC
NOTES: SHOULD HAVE PACKED PROTON PACKS

The wind was heavy with a scattering of embers by the time the pair had made their way to the enclave, carrying with it the muffled yells and screams of combat and the ionized smell of blasterfire. Several times on their journey they were forced to duck aside as a heavy column of troops rushed headlong to meet their fate. Red squaring off against white, white squaring off against red. It was a strange feeling to find herself rooting for one imperial dog over the other. Neither side were worth dying for, however, and both were treated with the same cautious sense of avoidance.

KDY might have maintained a healthy business relationship with NIO, but Runi Verin was nothing more than a private citizen. She doubted they would treat her presence kindly. As for the Sith, well…

Her blood would likely be sooner spilled by the minions of her Grandfather than save her.

She let out a soft whistle to catch Amea’s attention as they hit upon one of the entrance breaches the New Imperials had inflicted upon on the former hallowed Temple, the scattergun held high and at the ready as she pressed herself against the ravaged remains of the duracrete façade. A tentative glance around the corner was enough to spot the scattered remains of the troops that had been unfortunate enough to lead the initial charge. Without another word she gestured to her companion, slipping quietly through the haze and smoke like the proverbial thief in the night they had intended to be.

A figure of red loomed out of the smog ahead of her, its armored form hunched over the body of a fallen trooper - too burnt and and bloodstained to tell from which side they had hailed from - in seemingly quiet repose. A state that became quickly permanent as the Warden closed the distance, her curved knife sliding seamlessly between the joints in the neck collar. A faint reverberation in the force off to the side told her Amea was quietly doing likewise with a second opponent.

Two guards, left behind to watch the entrance? Seemed… Suspiciously light. Say what you will about the imperials of either of the warring side, but rarely were they sloppy or tight fisted when it came to throwing bodies at a problem. She clicked her tongue agitatedly, every fiber in her being telling her she was walking into a trap here, but they were simply too close to turn around.

It wasn’t greed that willed her on at this point, but a matter of pride.

“Keep close, looks like that bad feeling of yours is about to come true,” the Kiffar whispered softly as she ducked low, dropping gently into the hole that led to one of the inner passageways. Finding nothing but bodies steeped in a heavy gloom, seemingly suffocated by the foreboding sense of dread and anger that permeated the very walls of the Sith Temple. Or perhaps she was simply sensing the dark, twisted yet oddly familial presence of her aforementioned grandsire. It wasn’t his hand that dropped these bodies, however. Something else was at play here, something…

A shadow flickered in the corner of her vision, bending and fading in a pattern that belied what limited light filtered down this far. A ghostly face shimmering in a silent scream before vanishing back into the wall.

Right, something like that would certainly fit the bill.

Having spent what felt like a lifetime running from one form of undead, spectral or otherwise, it wasn’t too surprising that a blackened litany of choice expletives escaped the spacer. Only the presence of the alchemized item in her left ear keeping fear from spiking, leaving instead nothing but the anger it would have eventually stoked.

“Shades,” She spat venomously, recognizing it instantly from the work of her former tutor in the art of Sith alchemy. Souls yanked from the nether and bound to an endless purgatory. “Necromancy. Where there’s one, there’s always...”

As if on cue, another face loomed from the gloom tauntingly before disappearing as quickly as it appeared, peeling away what little warmth remained in the corridor in a split-second. Another face, then another. Three. Five. Nine. The lights at the far end began to flicker and dim, swallowed whole by the draining presence of the creatures as they began to congregate, no doubt drawn by the trooper's blood she had spilled scant minutes ago...

She was immune to fear, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t without common sense.

The Warden gave a rough shove to her companions shoulder, pushing her ahead of her as she began to bolt as fast as her legs could carry her. “Karkin’ run!”

 

[Auteme]

Joycelyn Zambrano Sakadi Marathi Sinvala Sor-Jan Xantha Kenth Ordo ​

Auteme didn't like lying to people, but it was far better than being shot at.

"So you're a Silver?" The militiaman squinted at her, as if that'd somehow reveal something more. It wasn't as if the Silvers were all uniformed. Then again, if they were, she was wearing the wrong uniform.

"Yes. I need to get through." Half-truths were alright. She was still having a bit of trouble keeping a straight face but the squad of Sith-Imperial Citizen's Army recruits seemed not to notice. A few kept an eye on her -- their weapons pointed to the ground, thankfully -- but their 'leaders' huddled up for a quick conference.

"This could be a trick." "Yeah, she seems pretty sus." "Seconded, blue sus." "Don't Jedi wear robes and stuff?" "Good point, she doesn't look like she has one a them schmancy laser swords." (They were doing a terrible job keeping quiet.) "But what are we gonna do, shoot her?" "Well, yeah, what else would we do?" "I dunno. It can't be that bad if we let her go. She seems nice." "Dude, we're literally here to kill people. The New Jedi are like, terrorists and shit, so we gotta kill them, too, before they steal our kids."

"Ahem," she began, channeling Aerarii Tithe 's deceptive cadence, "If I intended to attack you, don't you think I would've, ah, done it already?"

Their discussion went on hold and they all turned to her, collectively squinting. None of them spoke up just yet, so she continued.

"I mean, if a Jedi is, say, half as powerful as a Sith, that's still more than enough to wipe you out, right? Or, I could've mind tricked you into shooting each other. After all, I'm a Jedi, I can do that kind of thing, even if I'm only half as powerful as a Sith."

She was amazed that they were believing her. "But I'm a good Jedi, the helpful kind, right? I wouldn't hurt you. You're all fighting well and valiantly," she said, knowing full well that they hadn't encountered any New Imperial forces yet, being so deep in the city. "I'm just heading to an orphanage. The Imperial Dawn Domicile. If you could just direct me to it, then you can get back to fighting. Alright?"

The guy who'd spoken last in their discussion gawked and pointed at her, but the rest seemed convinced enough.

"The Dawn Domicile's that way," the militiaman said, pointing down the road to his right. "Take a left when you see the Kalidan Fried Ewok, then walk until you hit it. Definitely can't miss it, it's brand-spankin' new."

"I heard the Empress herself is guarding it." "She opened it, didn't she?" "Yeah, dude, I saw her. Nutty, bro."

Auteme nodded. "Thank you."

There was no time wasted in taking those directions and abandoning the soldiers to their discussions. If she waited any longer she feared they might decide to shoot her anyways. After all, all Jedi were the same, and if some were against the Sith they had to all be bad. Just go ahead, shoot them up, chop them to bits. Not like there were people who were trying to save them.

She wondered if she even had the ability to mind trick them all.

Left at the KFE, down the road until...

She saw the Empress first. A woman tall and imposing enough to swat Auteme like a fly; only, Auteme did not have a fly's nimbleness. Not too far away was an almost ethereal Sephi -- even at a short distance she could tell the woman was a Jedi and far from inexperienced. Auteme was beginning to believe that the Force allowed Jedi Masters to stay supernaturally attractive no matter their age. The Sephi was straight from a dream, potentially of the moist variety.

Even so it struck a chord in her heart to see them cooperating. Perhaps this was the ideal; the future, where people of such different cultures were able to come together to protect others. Perhaps it was the end, that the Jedi were failing in their duties to the galaxy by cooperating with an often cruel and merciless regime. She didn't know.

She didn't get too much time to think about it, either -- one of the militia, a man in a hoverchair with a missile launcher, noticed her a block away. He growled something in old-man speak and aimed his weapon...

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

​

Location: Dantooine Enclave
Allies: Ryv Shaka Sunstar Loske Treicolt Zaavik Perl Enlil | NIO | NJO
Frenemies: SJC/Sith-aiding Jedi
Enemies: TSE | CIS
Direct Opposition: Starlin Rand Pom Stych Tivé

Cotan led to the forefront of the shield wall as it was called for; while he wasn't the greatest with the Force, throwing up powerful barriers was one of the few skills he did have that didn't involve swinging his lightsaber around. The fires conjured by Enlil ripped forwards to the gates, though shortly after forcing the breach they were turned aside, reharnessed, and sent against the New Imperial forces storming the enclave. Not for the first time, Cotan had to wonder at everybody's strange fascination with fire.

Or, as he glanced out further over the battlefield, their fascination with dragging kids into a warzone. The Padawan—he had to be, he was too young for anything else—was currently on the warpath, cutting towards the group Cotan was with. "Oh, don't bring your apprentices into this," he muttered to nobody in particular. "I'll be back with you in a minute!" he called over to Ryv, sheathing his sword and running out towards the kid he saw, avoiding the gouts of flame that were ripping across the battlefield.

He approached as the young man sent another hand flying from one, slightly-more-unlucky Padawan that tried to get in the way, holding—but not activating—one of his lightsabers. "Kid, I think you really need to reconsider what you're doing here," he said sternly, holding up his free hand. "This is absolutely not the place for somebody your age, and you really ought to—" He stopped in his tracks, sensing just what all had been shoved within the bag that the young man had on his back.

Cotan sighed.

"You weren't just in the archives in there, were you? Alright, time to defer to the closest thing to an archivist here. Hand over the pilfered goods, for your own safety, and because I'd feel really bad if I had to take them from you."

 

[DT-2319]

​

Location: Garang City Outskirts
Allies: NIO | NJO | GA | DT-7343 'Jabber'
Enemies: TSE | SJC | CIS
Direct Opposition: None

The life of a Death Trooper was a strange thing; for Nineteen, being able to say he'd had his first placement in the literal middle of a warzone since first becoming a Death Trooper years ago had to be one of the strangest. Stranger still, of course, was the comparison to normal troops—they were normally in the middle of a warzone. And, of course, there was the fact that he was to avoid harming civilians whenever possible, even though numerous of them had been armed themselves and organized into some sort of citizen's militia. That meant, at best, he was relying on stun bolts.

Utter madness.

Thankfully the orders were as comfortingly vague as ever. "Secure a recently uncovered military asset within the southwestern quadrant of the city. Deliver this package to them and escort them out if necessary." No more information than that. The most he'd been given in response to his questions was "You'll know it when you see it." It was about as vague as something like "destabilize the region's defenses" or "extinguish this rebellion." It left room for him to figure out his own methods, and he knew that they wouldn't keep specifics from him if it wasn't necessary in the case of his own capture.

Not that that was likely, of course; the new armour he'd been given by the New Imperials was as stealth-oriented as what he had under the old Galactic Empire. And with collapsed buildings, smoke filtering through the air, and general chaos with the fighting, there were a lot of places to hide when groups were coming. Just like he was now; up in the second floor of a squat building, back away from a blown-out window. The sensors in his helmet had indicated that a fireteam of militia members was coming up the road below, and he didn't want to get caught out in the open by them.

"Just a little further..."

The first one came into view; he tracked them for a moment, before they nearly went past his small field of fire, and the next two came into view behind them. With practiced, inhumanly-precise movements he rapidly sent out a trio of stun bolts, each landing square and dropping the civilians in the street. He moved up in the blink of an eye, training his scope on the remaining member of the fireteam, only to take his finger off the trigger once he recognized just who was down below.

"Dee-Tee Seven-three-four-three, stand down!"

 

[Darth Daiara]

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

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

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 Perl | Hans Rennagen
ENEMIES | TSE | ELDER COMPACT | Darth Daiara | Enyo Typhos | Arctus Silmar | Other Space Kaiden

 

[Kiff Brayde]

S T O R M B R E A K E R​

Objective: Try not to die, in Brayde style
Allies: Verin Oldo | Kyyrk | Taeli Raaf | Thaelius
Enemies: Robogeber | Var Koon | Naier Rambeigh | Hiram Voss | Josiah Navollius

The task force from the Bassadro Sector Armada had been in space for nearly a week -- training and preparing to bring the fight to those Bryn'adul bastards, learning tactics and lessons from the Sith veterans who'd fought against the mindless monsters. Kiff hadn't been the most enthusiastic when he'd learned that the Confederacy had struck a deal of peace with the Sith Empire. He had fought against them over many different engagements, most notably Pantora as an ally for the Outer Planets Alliance.

But for now? He did what he was told, even if he didn't necessarily agree with it. Wasn't like he had much of a choice, anyway. And besides, the Sith made some pretty hard liquor.

Although they were here supposed to be training, for now, they were on what could be approximated to a sort of shore leave. That being the case, no one out of the Storm King's organic crew really wanted to descend onto the Sith world below them, lest they become some mutated monster or be otherwise infected by the dreary atmosphere that Sith Imperials tended to exuberate. And so what had a crew of tired and party-seeking officers done? Turn the bridge of the Confederacy's finest star dreadnought into a party.

They were past counting how many drinks they had gone through, and it was safe to say that everyone was thoroughly inebriated. Jokes were traded and friendly insults sallied across comm stations and gunnery pits, and Kiff sat aboard the for-now deactivated holotable, enjoying the revelry with his own favorite concoction in hand, the famous Pamarthen Port-in-a-Storm, a high octane wine with enough static electricity that it looked like lightning was shooting through the strong brew. He was on his second bottle, and needless to say, not the perfect picture of a Confederacy officer.

"You know. . ." a voice said beside him. Kiff turned to see that it was the new bridge officer, Ibri Bragga, a young woman who'd joined the bridge as soon as the Storm King had gotten off the dry docks. Bragga in many ways was the foil to Kiff's unorthodox and risk-seeking mannerisms, often the voice of levity on the ship. That hadn't stopped her from participating in the 'fun'. "If the Grand Marshal knew you were doing this, she just might get angry enough to stop reading children's stories and actually get you court-martialed."

Kiff chuckled before taking another deep draft of his drink. "Heh," he grunted ruefully. "I can't count the number of times I've been threatened by that." He gave another sigh. "My theory is that I cover for HIGHCOM's arse enough that they let it slide. You got one of your own?"

"Me?" Bragga mock-innocently asked, giving a light laugh. She raised an eyebrow before taking a much modest sip of her own drink, keeping her startling-bright eyes on Kiff. "I think you're lucky, Brayde."

They were interrupted by a yell from the pool over where the comms officers were sitting in a ring, playing Sabacc. From the looks of it, Kiff's oldest friend in Naval Command, Orril Verryk, had just won the pot. Cheers and jeers intermingled as he stood up in celebration, collecting the chips. "Ay, High Marshal," he called, and the rest of the comm officers looked over towards him. "You wanna try that luck Bragga was speaking about? I could use some more credits." His teasing remark was met with a roar of laughter by the whole bridge.

"Verryk, if I'm going to play with you," Kiff said slowly, a smile creeping across his face. "You're going to need that luck more than me." A louder roar of laughter and both Verryk and Kiff joined in. Even Bragga chuckled.

His drink sloshed around in his hand, and a little of the brew spilled out, instantly staining his officer's uniform. "Feth," he muttered to himself. Octane-heavy alcohol was a pain to get out of clothing, and even if he wasn't the one to physically do it, that meant at least a day of waiting for the fabricator. And he'd only packed a single uniform for this 'short excursion'. "Looks like I have some laundry to do," Kiff said with a mock bow towards his crew. "A toast," he proposed, straightening, "to our sanitation droids!"

Hearty cries of hear, hear, echoed in reply as Kiff took his leave, walking over to the turbolifts and taking it down to the officer's floor. From there he was able to quickly access his own private quarters. They were slightly roomier than the quarters of the rest of the Storm King's crews, but they were, by all means, a modest setting. Kiff preferred it that way. The blast door swooshed open to admit him in and he stumbled into the room, messy and unkempt. His bunk wasn't made and a datapad was left strewn across his desk, notes and datacrons scattered about.

He drunkenly tore off his stained uniform, leaving only his white undershirt underneath, throwing it into the laundry chute from which it would be processed and delivered as soon it was cleaned. He clumsily stripped and stepped into the turboshower in his own private refresher, the only real amenity that came with being a High Marshal. He was out, smelling much better, in a minute, and he put on a fresh white undershirt and grey trousers, shoving the datacrons on his cluttered desk aside from as he pulled up a hoverchair. There was a desk with an assortment of pills, and he picked out a couple of round green ones -- Sobriex -- and popped them into his mouth. They were supposed to be able to clear the head and prevent a hangover from drinking too much, and Kiff kept them on hand for whenever he was drinking on the job; which wasn't that rare.

The hours whittled by as he reviewed the maneuvers and training that the fleet had undergone, highlighting the parts where they still needed to cover more ground on as well as where they had excelled in order to make the proper commendations. Next to him sat a steaming mug of caf. He wasn't sure how that had gotten there, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He was about to take a large sip from it when a klaxon blared, startling him. The alarm continued before cutting off, and a robotic voice playing over the ship's communication systems. "High Marshal to Bridge, High Marshal to Bridge," the droid's voice repeated. Kiff was still in his undershirt, so he hurriedly grabbed the only thing he had on hand, an old flight jacket, and hurriedly made his way back to the turbo lift and the bridge.

He stormed into the bridge, his hot cup of caf still in hand, and was surprised to see that the entire party had been cleaned up; it was as if it had never existed. Bragga was standing full alert by the now activated holotable, and she raised an eyebrow in astonishment when she saw Kiff half-dressed. "High Marshal?" she said, her eyes on his chest.

"Eyes up here," Kiff said, completely sober and humorless as he took a sip of his calf. Bragga raised her eyes and an eyebrow to follow them. "Laundry takes a while," Kiff replied to her unasked question, shrugging as he zipping up the flight jacket and making his way over to the comms table. "What's the situation?"

"New Imperial fleet has entered Dantooine space," Bragga replied grimly. "The Lord Marshal of the Knights Obsidian has assumed control of all naval elements and is ordering a jump to Dantooine in order to assist our 'new friends."

Kiff's brow furrowed as he looked at the map of the quadrant that was being projected between him and Bragga. He'd worried that they'd get into this sort of entanglement. This wasn't what the alliance was for. But then again, he had no more love for the New Imperials than he did the Sith Imperials, especially with all the propaganda they'd been floating on the holonet. Every kriffing time a New Imperial recruiting advertisement began to play instead of the holovid, he'd had the firewall reset. Perhaps he could pay back those bucket-helmets in kind.

"Get what information you can on their fleet-comp," Kiff shrugged, "and set the task force's coordinates for a Dantooine jump. Inform Commander Oldo that he can join in on the fun, and uh, take the Tyraxes and Felwinter along with him. Their crews and captains are fresh out of the academy, they probably could use this sort of action," he added as almost an afterthought. "Tell me when we get there," he finished lazily as he settled bleary-eyed into his captain's chair, cradling his cup of caf as the Confederacy fleet jumped into hyperspace.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

Task Force Cerulean Seal
Flagship

• CNS Storm King [100% Shields, 100% Structure] ​

531st Carrier Line

• x1 Lucrehulk III-class Supercarrier
  • CNS Arkham Nights [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• x2 Argente-class Assault Cruisers
  • CNS Awakened [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Carrion Pillar [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• x4 Murkhana-class Escort Frigates
  • CNS Silver Wings [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Destined Call [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Cryptologyst [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Tanaab [100% Shields, 100% Structure]

532nd Carrier Line

• x1 Lucrehulk III-class Supercarrier
  • CNS Golden Requiem [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• x2 Argente-class Assault Cruisers
  • CNS Dark Rapture [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS High Covenant [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• x4 Murkhana-class Escort Frigates
  • CNS Samovar [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Elder Call [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Traitor’s Plea [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Corvassa [100% Shields, 100% Structure]

571st Atmospheric Superiority Line

• x1 Grievous-class Star Destroyer
  • CNS Dawn Warden [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• x4 Terrus-class Flak Corvettes
  • CNS Strikefast [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Noctus [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Xalinga [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Koyerti [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• x6 Miraj-class Heavy Assault Dropships
  • CNS Cleaver [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Amenable [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Gleaning [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Exarch's Kiss [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Lady Talon [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
  • CNS Morrow [100% Shields, 100% Structure]
• Squadrons of Variable Geometry Self-Propelled Battle Droids, Mk III
• Squadrons of Colla-class Droid Tri-Fighters
• Squadrons of RMS-BC11 Starhammer-class Superheavy Bombers

Spoiler: Fleet Actions

• The fleet has begun the jump to Dantooine.

​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

THE_PRODIGAL_SON
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
173rd. STORMTROOPER LEGION | THREE COMPANIES [ 585/600 ]
SPEARHEAD
KAL'ORITSOR | JEDI ARMOR

DESCENDING ANGELS

<<"I hear you Lucien-this isn't the thick of it yet. Clear the top side would you?">>

A smile crept to his lips as Lyra reached out to him, the familiar sound of her voice being a welcomed addition to the chaos of the battlefield. For a moment he was tempted to ask her about the kids, but the singed wound on the side of his face was a subtle reminder that the two were not capable of such frivolous topics, no matter the importance it held to them both. Their bond had been forged through their mutual trials and tribulations, further tempered by their shared experiences accrued over the course of the war. He'd thrown aside all reason to make sure she'd come home safe, and if it came down to it again, Luc wouldn't flinch before he acted upon what he felt was right.

Their bonds had born forged through witnessing the deaths of their comrades, and leading them further into the breach with each passing theater. The corruption inside the Order had been expunged with the advent of Kyber Dark, but not without letting the poison which was the dark influence the mind of a person he held dear to him. He sensed the taint of the dark long before the two had become friends. Avernus, the now dead Lord of the Sith, was close to Lyra before Bastion sowed the early deaths of the Sith Lord and his ilk. Even as she slayed the man himself, the lingering darkness that had been imbued within her soul was prevalent in her visage. Yet unlike those who openly embraced their legacy, Lyra found herself protected from the horrors that fell upon the rest. Tavlar held the Legion Commander dear, and Lucien would've tore the Leigons of the Empire asunder had their weapons trained upon his closest friend witihn the Order.

She struggled deep within her soul with the duality that came from her attachments to the dark. Luc understood the struggle very well, even if the two had never openly spoke on the subject in length. The blissful ignorance he assumed on her situation had maintained the status quo, but as a result it became evident that the paths they walked were beginning to diverge. It had come to him subtly since Bastion. Since Kyber Dark had reared its face to the surprise of their former allies. Kyber Dark had changed everything for the Order, and a result he too was faced with a similar dilemma as before. The exiled Prince's journey had kept him upon the shores of their Empire for longer than he'd expected his quest to last. He'd seen his goals evolve from the reconquest of his homeworld to ambitions that proved far more greater than the emotional ties he held to a world now remembered in the past.

The reclamation of Serenno could be achieved in time. Luc just didn't want to lose his friend in the process, if that's what it truly took to return home. The war had been long fought, yet still the total victory they strived for had not been achieved. The violence that came had changed everyone involved; it had had nurtured him into who he became, numbed him to the pain that followed, and matured him into the man who he now was. No longer was he the wanderer, the kid without a plac to call his own. But all the same, he still remained who he was at the core. Where change had shifted his thoughts, and changed his perception to how the galaxy had operated, it was his childish desire to protect others that still kept him the same trash that arrived at their gates those few years past.

For the sake of those he held dear, Luc had relentlessly hounded the threats to their well-being. His faith in the Jedi had long been skewed by their inaction, their foolishness in the face of the fog that muddled their every directive. Their inaction led them to allow the enemy the New Imperials now fought to fester upon the worlds they corrupted. Worlds that contained good people, who faced nothing more than an indentured existence to the corrupted magocracy that poised itself as their betters. No longer could he hold his blade when the galaxy seemingly descended upon them, to prevent their efforts to exterminate an evil that truly rivaled the Bryn'adul. But to prrotect the ones he loved the most, there was nothing he wouldn't do to prevent their sorrow from reaching the foreground of their thoughts.

He'd betray the galaxy if that's what it took.

The river would await him in the future.

-

<"Commander.">

A chuckle left the parting between his lips, his thoughts reeling back in as his commlink chimed in with the rough voice of his second.

<"I think I realized somethin' just now."> A volley of bolts pounded into the duracrete wall that shielded him from view, the dust settling in the air now masking his silhouette even more.

The voice commented back once again, a sudden cessation of the formalities accompanying the Mandalorian's tone. <"In the middle of a warzone-- you've up and had another epiphany?"> He asked, sighing audibly enough for it to pick up on his feed. <"What's got you muddled in the head this time.">

A pause followed- Lucien's grip upon Kal'oritsor tightening as he held the blade close to his chest. Eyelids shut closed, the well of potential that resided in him being channeled into the blade, feeding it with the force. The blade emanated its aura in return for the investment, empowering him for the task that needed to be done.

<"I'm starting to think like him- to understand why he's stayed on his course, despite everything that's happened.">

<"Who the hell are you going on about, Lucien?">

<"You know who-- Like him. like Tavlar.">

Swiveling away from the safety of the duracrete wall, Lucien presented himself to the firing line that marked the emplacement ahead of the pinned down New Imperials. A resounding volley of bolts greeted the Jedi, pelting his location from the front and all across the peripheral of their defenses. The defending Sith lit into the brazen figure with all the desire to kill that had driven them to bring nuclear fire upon the worlds of the Braxant Run before. Dust filled the air, shrouding the figure with each passing shot, until the only visible aspect that remained was the glint of bolts that collided with the figure in the center.

Death should've awaited the foolish Jedi the moment he presented hi mself openly to the weapons. Their weapons shifted away from their enemy now presumed dead, turning against the surge of New Imperials who hounded their barricades and positions despite the ordinance and emplacements being used to halt them in their tracks. The lingering dust began to settle, and from the exposed veil of particulates came a familiar sound to both Stormtrooper and Sith-Imperial alike. A plasmatic blade erupted to life before the eyes of friend and foe alike, wielded at Lucien's side as he carried Kal'oritsor within his opposite grip. Blackened spots dotted his armor, charred remnants of bolts that the Jedi had seemingly not bothered to deflect, where his blade had not been there to intercept.

<"First company.">

Lucien stepped forwards, juking his torso fluidly to the left to avoid the shot of an opportunistic Sith trooper. <"You heard the woman's orders, right?"

<"Affirmative.">

The open-comms policy he shared with his officers had kept them cohesive, always ready to act.

<"Then we all know what we must do.">

<"Kill.">

<"Not for glory-- and not just to win this war. We are the Elite of the Order. Two hundred strong, with countless enemies to stand in our way. If the galaxy tells us we're far too outnumbered to make a difference, then tell 'em that we are not in the business of allowing the Sith to exist unhinged. Take what is given to us in this moment, and show everyone watching that it was more than enough for us to thrive.">

<"Kill.">

From above their lines the sight of his company had come into full view for both attackers and defenders alike. Their sympathy for the hated enemy and the cowards who defended their claims to the galaxy had long since waned, unlike the nuclear fallout that sheathed the worlds of the Braxant Run. Soaring at speeds that seemed suicidal to most, the veterans of the 173rd. would deftly maneuver themselves mid-air, diving upon the rooftops of the defending Sith with Blasters and Vibroswords alike. Nothing short of death awaited the occupants of the various rooftops and buildings that lined each side of the street. Entire sections of buildings met high-speed ordinance, courtesy of the Mandalorians in his retinue, only to find their positions flooded by hardened warriors who excelled in those close-quarters conditions.

The jetpack mounted to the rear of his armor roared to life once more, thrusters shifting to the left as he guided away from another volley of sustained fire that was aimed to take down the Jedi for good. Luc skidded his boots against the ground, digging his heels to catch his weight as he careened into a wall on the opposite end of the street. His thrusters recentered themselves behind him, the force coming to his aid once more as he propelled upwards, letting his jetpack carry him even higher along with his momentum.

A brief peace appeared amidst the chaos below. Perched high enough into the sky to scan his eyes across the full length of the city, his gaze centered upon the signs of combat deep within the interior of the city itself. Task Force Axis had been isolated from the majority of the Order's forces, and their spearhead had yet to achieve the salient needed to reinforce them with the needed firepower to crack open the Garrison itself. He found himself in a position to assist them; he was capable of fighting his way through the defenders, and even more-so with his Myrmidons clawing through the enemy to his rear. But even if he brought his company down upon the Task Force's assailants, none of that would matter if their reinforcements -- Lyra and the rest of the breakthrough -- were stuck wasting time.. Luc spat towards the ground, shifting his eyes away from the far-flung combat and refocusing them onto the battle undergoing beneath him. The first casualty reports were beginning to come in.

He clenched his grip upon the weapons he held in either hand, allowing one more opportunity to peer across towards the direction of Axis before descending upon the enemy alongside his men.

"Don't die, old man."

ALLIES | NIO | NJO | SOM | Jaeger Harrsk | Djorn Bline | Tyrell Paxxus | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Hunter Blackburn | Irveric Tavlar
ENEMIES | TSE | THE ELDER COMPACT | OPEN​

Spoiler: Tags

Irveric Tavlar Djorn Bline Vostok Grauv @Tavius Muuagi Ravraa Vyshraal Dhuzgnar Szilvos Kelborn Rika Hiro Tyrell Paxxus Meko Sorrin Tulan Kor Daros Karmann Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Sturit Goan DT-2319 Gedeon Rath Rexus Wenck Lucien Dooku Jorus Fel Sinestra Jaeger Harrsk

​

 

[Robogeber]

Operation: H O M E C O M I N G
Taskforce M O T H E R L A N D
Authorisation: Admiral Regent
Location: Dantooine Orbit, NIV Tregessar
Allies: Var Koon | Okkeus Dainlei | Naier Rambeigh | Josiah Navollius
Enemies: Thaelius | Taeli Raaf | Kyyrk | Kiff Brayde | Verin Oldo

Carlyle watched the tactical display as Sith imperial vessels entered the fray. “Grand Admiral fresh contacts sir from two Sith battlegroups.” The sensor team reported but moments later. Carlyle raised an eyebrow on his obsidian screen at the sector of technicians in the crew pit, “One appears to be centred around a dreadnought, sir.” Well that was interesting. Although unsurprising. The Sith were a force to be reckoned with, but to his knowledge the deployment of their legendary Super Star Destroyers were limited in the field. Nonetheless, it was of some comfort to have been able to identify Thaelius Ordo on the field of battle. The Sith whelp seemed to be back at it again. What was it now for the Chiss? Fifth? No. Sixth times the charm? In any case, Ordo did not concern him, it was the larger Sith fleet which did.

“Keep formation,” Carlyle drawled, “Send the message to the other chief commanders, we’ll keep a tight formation, and embark on approach to that fleet,” His dewback leather gloved hand gestured to the table, “Have Moff Navollius begin long range bombardment with his Trialleur’s, soften the targets. Rest of us will move at the same speed.” Carlyle then pondered his next move, “Have the hangar crews prime the Petards, I want seismic cores loaded in, and prepare a scan of that big one,” A slender mechanical finger zeroed in on that particular target, “I dare say between us, we have enough to cripple, if not outright destroy this….” He tapped the vessel and an IFF tag appeared above it, “Elidibus?” He pondered, “Who names these things?” Rausgeber rhetorically pondered.

“Grand Admiral,” Commodore Gowe barked, “Baron Hume reports that one of the Sith fleets has dispatched its fighters. Appears to have come from Ordo’s fleet.” Carlyle would have snorted if he had a nose, but couldn’t. Still. This was of little consequence in the scheme of things. The numbers were clearly against him, the odds were not insurmountable. Ordo was a fool, and whomever commanded the dreadnought may not have the advantages he had.

“Keep our fighters close, and screening the fleet.” Rausgeber commanded, “Baron Hume, and all other squadrons are to keep defensive positions. They will have to come to us to have a taste of our fighters..” He then licked his imaginary lips, “Meanwhile,” Carlyle’s head turned on a swivel to the engineering techs, “I want the KreigsGeist activated and transmitting.” The Grand Admiral commanded, “And I want to see us begin jamming inter-vessel comms.” The automaton added, “See if we can sow a little chaos amongst their ranks. Test their mettle."

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

NIV Tregessar (x)
Prefsbelt-Class Super Star Destroyer
14x TIE/OT Squadrons [x] | 4x Petard Squadrons [x]

NIV Conquest
New Imperial-I Class Star Destroyer [x]
4x TIE/VX Squadrons [x]

NIV Nirauan’s Reach
Tyranus-Class Star Destroyer [x]
6x TIE/OT Squadrons | 4x TIE/HB Squadrons [x]

NIV Chaser
Stalwart-Class Carrier
7x TIE/OT Squadrons | 2x TIE/HB Squadrons | 1x Petard Squadrons

NIV Brute
Cuirassier-Class Cruiser [x]
3x TIE/HF Squadrons [x]

NIV Endurance
Cuirassier-Class Cruiser
3x TIE/HF Squadrons

NIV Initiative
Cuirassier-Class Cruiser
2x TIE/HB Squadrons | 1x TIE/VX Squadron

NIV Allecto
Escolta-Class Frigate [x]
3x TIE/NX Squadrons [x]

NIV Salvation
Escolta-Class Frigate
3x Petard Squadrons

NIV Muunillist’s Wrath
Escolta-Class Frigate
3x TIE/OT Squadrons

NIV Chasseur
Cacadore-Class Corvette [x]

NIV Pursuit
Cacadore-Class Corvette

NIV Lightening
Cacadore-Class Corvette

NIV Adventure
Cacadore-Class Corvette