Public Operation: Nightfall

[Kurineth Cull]

LOCATION: Onderon
EQUIPMENT: Grave Bastion, Shades Refuge
WEAPONS: Souls Reflection, Phase-knife
MOUNT: Gore Wasp
LEADING: Skitterwing Horde
FRIENDLY TAGS: Joseph Torson
ENEMY TAGS: Ayhan Mahsa

Her leap from the Gore Wasp had put her firmly in the thick of fighting. That shadow now fleeting as the Gore Wasp was left to its own whims.

The arrival of the Skitterwings noticed by all as even Kurineth swept her blade through them to attack any nearby. Larger beasts were present, sweeping in to strike before withdrawal to attempt their maneuver again as the ebb and flow of the fight was still left to question.

Whatever the answer was, the dark side being was merely here to enjoy the emotions behind it all.

The spike of fear at the sight of those misshapen insects tearing into the ranks. The wonder of deaths arrival at any moment from a stray shot as each and every being tried to remain. Tried to fight and survive to last just a little longer. To ensure that their existence mattered in some way. The stench of battle and everything that came with it its own sweet nectar to Kurineth as her blade sizzled with each strike.

Souls Reflection was as long as she was tall, offering her reach against those around her. Slicing through one enemy to catch another in the leg as she moved.

The insectoids were little more than fodder for the carnage. An endless churn in the cycle of twisted nature brought about by an outside force. An upended order to the ecosystems wherever they were planted around them as an invasive predator with little more than an instinct to hunt, devour, and produce.

The bodies made for an excellent projectile regardless, tossing the twitching remains of one Skitterwing into a soldier that had lifted a Blaster in her direction with a violence that launched both soldier and remains backward with a sharp crack.

A feeling filtered through the air that caught her attention. A draw on the Force not her own but not for power so much as a concentration.

Words on the air. The sounds of beasts making themselves known. Recognition as the hum of lightsabers cut through the blasters, screams, and burning of flesh. Icy blue eyes scanned around her to find their source as another blade ignited nearby. Her gloved hands tightening around the handle of her own twisted version of a lightsaber as she found the source of those familiar hums of power.

A greedy and devilish smile as her hand swiped the handle of her phase knife from the hip sheath in a reverse grip. Young force users assisting one another amidst combat.

A luxury seldom afforded in the the throws of such violence as she hacked and slashed her way toward them. A thousand yard stare through the chaos fixated on the two padawans as she swung her saber in wide violent arcs with her right hand to clear her path. The smaller blade stayed close in her left hand, stabbing the unlucky few that wandered inside her lightsabers arc.

Drawing close enough now to be heard as she readied herself, a draw upon the dark side as the Skitterwings surrounding the two padawans shrieked, clambering over themselves to flee with the threat of being devoured. Dark tendrils forming from the ground beneath Kurineth's feet that rolled along the ground to push the insects aside. Each giving a vicious lash to hurry their escape before dissipating.

A twisting bramble of shadowy tendrils lunging skyward and swallowing whole a leaping Skitterwing that threatened to endanger her fight. It's form there and gone as the shadowy arm disappeared into the ground, a small circle of clear ground forming around them.

"Stand." The violet lightsaber handle held low to the left as the blade hummed, partly hidden by her form as the tip burned the ground behind her. The phase knife held behind her back as she hunched forward as if to lunge.

"Fight."

Spoiler: Actions

-Kurineth moves to engage Ayhan and Masha and clears Skitterwings away from their fight.
-Gore Wasp mount has buzzed off, moving skyward.
-Skitterwing Horde is uncoordinated and attacking whoever is closest to them. Numbers are beginning to even out as they are taken down by all sides.

 

[Anna Carden]

En Route to Iziz, Onderon
Objective 1: Defend Iziz
Jenn Kryze | Atin Tracinya | Khaostra Devoid
​

Jenn's invitation surprised her; it was like a second chance to redeem herself.

If she survives this battle, of course.

"It'll be a great honor." Her right hand on her heart, she nodded, almost bowing to the Alor. The Huntress then proceeded to one of the dropships, along with Atin and members of the Clan Kryze, buckling herself tight in one of the seats. One Mandalorian that she hadn't seen before came aboard and stood in front of the pair before uttering a prayer that Anna didn't recognize, before marking their shoulder pads and helmet with the colors of Kryze.

The Red Raven received the blessing with a slight nod, then turned to the man to her left. "Well, it's a great color. " The blue sigil on red looked striking enough.

"Atmospheric entry, Alliance fighters are with us now." The pilot announced as they descended towards Iziz. Everyone was silent, concentrated on the battle that awaited them. It was then that the ship suddenly shook violently and the alarm started to blare.

"Kriff. What's happening?" The huntress turned to Atin, before trying to get up.

"Stay buckled." One Kryze warrior to her right stood up first, motioning to Anna to stay in her seat while he moved to the cockpit to assess the situation.

"Engines are on, but the ship is losing control." The pilot forced a turn on his control, to no avail. "We're being pulled towards the wall." He pointed out the current trajectory. The warrior quickly tapped the pilot's shoulder before returning to his seat and shouted to the others. "Maximum throttle to counter as much as possible. Brace for impact!"

Anna, not having any idea of what was going on, had no choice but to hold on as the ship quickly descended, and at the last moment, it managed to alter its trajectory slightly upwards, taking a big chunk of the upper city wall with it before crash landing shortly after, the dropship tumbling several times before coming into a stop as it hit a building.

"Ugh..."

Grunting, she slowly opened her eyes, unsure how she survived that landing.

 

[Aron Thress]

Aron Thress
OBJ1
Location: Royal Courtyard
Engaging: Darth Saevius
Assisting: Jenn Kryze
Additional Tags: Open!

Saevius’ assault was relentless.

The thermal detonator that had likely saved Aron’s life had done little more than enrage the Sith creature, and he was determined to make Aron pay for the transgression.

Furious slash after furious slash battered at Aron’s defenses, never giving a moment to counter, and never allowing for Aron to maneuver. Every sidestep, dash, every positioning was met with continuous fury as Saevius matched every move, only failing to claim Aron’s life by virtue of luck, not through any measure of skill.

Even enraged, Aron was no match for the Sith. And the onslaught was wearing him down.

The fight around them continued to rage, Aron’s commandos and partisans continued to engage the imperial forces, but were on the back foot due to the arrival of an armored component. The situation looked increasingly dire, but Aron couldn’t focus on that. As long as the Sith was standing, people were in danger. The people, unfortunately, would have to figure it out themselves.

The duel between the two continued. A brilliant clash of red and cyan sent purple sparks flying as Saevius pressed down on Aron, the combined heat of their blades close enough to begin to warm Aron’s face as Saevius stared unblinking and unwavering into Aron’s struggling face of exertion. More weight, more pressure, more strength was pressed down against the young Jedi, unaware of all else until…

A crackling, almost fluid stream of blue and cyan energy appeared as if out of nowhere, forcing a break between the two as the source called out, reciting a line of the Jedi Code.

There is no emotion….there is peace. Aron repeated the words in his mind, and exhaled slowly, and nodded towards the Mandalorian who had come to help him, saving his life from certain death.

Anger was his ally, not Aron’s. The Force was his ally. Peace was his purpose, serenity, his goal. Not anger. Not rage.

The red of his Chiss heritage slowly faded away to white, leaving only the red irises. Shining brightly in defiance of this beast as he re-entered his combat stance.

“I know enough of the Darkside. I’ve seen what it’s done to my family. What it’s done to countless families,” he said, staring deep into the uncaring red of his adversary, before continuing, “The darkside is not your ally. Look what you have become. A creature of endless suffering, pain, and hatred. I will not let you harm any one else in your self-destructive path towards your end. You are a cancer, and I…. I am the cure.”

Aron charged again, his blade coming upwards from the ground, slashing upwards at Saevius’s legs.

The thought of trying to save this…man…had crossed Aron’s mind, of course. But he was too dark. Too far Gone. Too far consumed by evil for someone like Aron. Redemption for one such as this would not come from an enemy, only love could save him. And Aron was incapable of that for this Soul. And he could not gamble that there was someone in the galaxy who could redeem Saevius. He had to be stopped. He had to be removed from the galaxy. He had to die. Here. Now.

 

[Kazian Blackwood]

Allies: Ignacious Korvan \\ Corlys Skirata \\ Marlon Sularen \\ Open to Imperials/Sith
Enemies: The Vulptex \\ Open to SIA/Jedi
​

I had barely gathered my bearing on the edge of the room when something hard and fast struck out from the smoke screen, hitting me in the forehead with a blunt crack and knocking me down sideways.

"Aggh shit!" I clutched at my head, feeling the blood start to trickle. Looking up and out through the haze, I could see a figure. Lithe, but not moving. Not one of my guys, and probably not the queen, unless she'd ran out into the middle of the floor. A stupid move if there ever was one. I kept one hand on my blaster pistol, but kept it disciplined. Too soon to tell who I'd be hitting if I fire blind like this.

With a grunt, I pulled myself to one knee, then jumped into a run towards the figure, hoping their visibility was as reduced as mine. I connected with them in a tackle, only to find myself thrown back on the floor, on the other side of where they stood. I'd gone right through.

Damn it, I thought, is my head that bad? I couldn't tell, but I'd taken bad hits in the academy and learned to keep going. I'd been shot in the CompForce a handful of times, and I wasn't dead yet. When I pushed myself up, I realized there should have been someone standing over me, but there wasn't.

"Jedi Mind Tricks!" I exclaimed to the room. As I scrambled up, I made a point to run. A few solid strides and I broke from the cloud of smoke and barrelled into a squad of CompForce soldiers standing outside the throne room. One caught me, though he was shorter man than I, and I nearly tumbled him down. When I righted myself, I grabbed the nearest datapad from the hands of one soldier and looked down upon it as my head spun.

"Reports are lighting up sir," he informed, "several teams rerouting our way, including spec-ops, order of a Colonel Rackham. Whats the situation in there?"

"Several... combatants. Jedi, by the looks of it." I drew in a long, crisp breath of smokeless air, and coughed. I wasn't entirely sure of that. I hadn't seen the telltale glows or hums of lightsabers, but in the ISB we were trained to be more concerned with what the Jedi could do to a man's head over what they could do to a body. Death by lightsaber was quick and clean, but those who manipulated the Force could leave a man's mind on the edge of sanity.

"We have the highest-value targets on the planet still in that room. Retreat the permimeter to this wing of the building, not a soul gets out unless its me or Korvan. Nobody gets in unless its Colonel Rackham's op. We have DTs on point in there. I'm going back in."

"Understood sir," the trooper reached for his wrist-comms, "All CompForce operatives in the palace, tighten formation around Court Wing, Primary target is now Aurek-1, I repeat, primary target is Aurek-1."

It was a strategy brimming with risk. My initial briefing had been to secure the palace at all costs, but it looked as though I had failed. Tightening the perimeter meant we would likely lose outer wings of the palace if insurgents saw the opportunity that was unfolding for them. Truth was, however, that the palace was ephemeral. Even the Queen was ultimately expendable, given that regime change wasn't even an afterthought to the operation. What mattered was the advanced knowledge that the enemy seemed to have of Korvan's arrival. Whether it was foreknowledge before Operation Nightfall itself, or a good eye and good comms simply working in a moment of battle, I couldn't know for sure. What mattered chiefly now was the resecuring of the throne room. I figured the insurgents had little else to go on but to proverbially cut the head from the snake. Otherwise the Empire was imminently dominating their world, with extreme force and prejudice. Few times before had that failed.

I turned from the CompForce squad back to the doors of the throneroom, and charged forward. The mission would be seen to a favourable conclusion... always.

 

[Valut Amanya]

Zark San Tekka
​

"Oh. oh ho HO. Oho hm hheheehhahahahaa! I'm going to KILL YOU."

The floodgates opened; the well of his hatred was infinite. The earth seemed to shake as his presence expanded, flailing and grasping at every creature in sight. Stormtroopers and paladins alike froze in their tracks.

"Droid? Droid. You cretin. You and your ilk put me here. Now suffer."

The hatred intensified into a boiling heat, carrying outwards in every direction. Laced within was not some alien hatred, but something personal, directed -- his hatred was carried by the fact that he wanted his enemy to know it was him.

 

[Silas Westgard]

Location: Onderon
Objective: Evacuate the embassy
Tags: Keilara Kala'myr
Set not long before his disappearance

Surprisingly, the shooting seemed to stop as soon as he managed to get into some cover. There were still civilians running about, but it seemed like his sudden appearance had gained the attention of the killer entirely. For now, he dared not move to allow the civilians to scatter away out of sight. It was the least he could do considering the situation they were all in.

Silence followed for a short while, the once loud atmosphere now only filled with the distant explosions of battle deeper into the city. However, something unexpected soon changed that. Speaking clearly in his head, a woman taunted him to come out and fight her in exchange for no more deaths. Silas could only sigh at her words and ponder quietly on the duel for a few moments. He couldn't tell if it was a trap or a genuine challenge, but if it meant keeping her busy there was only one way to find out.

<"You seem to underestimate us Jedi sharpshooter. We are not like the vulnerable and weaponless civilians you kill for sport. We are warriors of peace, who seek to stop such bloodshed"> he replied at first, a small smirk appearing in the corner of his lips "However, I will accept your challenge on the basis you won't blast my face off as soon as I step out of cover. If you have any pride left, you will uphold your end of the deal.">

Hesitantly, Silas slowly raised himself from behind the concrete barrier and held his lightsaber up in the air to indicate he was upholding his end of the bargain. He was half expected to hear the sound of a loud blaster bolt erupting through the air. Although, sure enough, the woman finally showed herself on the street only a few feet away.

Silas shook his head and glared his icy blue eyes into hers as she approached, calm and collected with the fight ahead "Considering all the death you have caused, why didn't you shoot me like the rest of your victims?" the knight asked with a tilt of his head while placing the saber back in his pocket. If she tried any sudden moves, he'd be ready to pounce on her before she even pulled the trigger.
​

 

[Nekana Quane]

OBJ 3: THE DARKNESS WITHIN

TUNES: Enter the Demon
TAGS: Rann Thress

When she had been in prison, Nekana Quane hadn’t given much thought to how her life might pan out in the unlikely event that she was released. The most likely thing was an attempt at escape, narrow odds in most scenarios, save for the one where it had occurred: the coming together of a risky plan to break everyone out at once and cause a massive riot, and the unexpected arrival of outside intervention.

Outside intervention that had connected her to something new, and returned her to a life she had once left behind, that of the Sith; her departure hadn’t been due to the life itself. Because of these events, she was now here on Dxun, skulking through the tomb of an ancient Sith Lord like other members of the Order she had been inducted into, and the Knights of Ren, with whom she wasn't yet familiar. She’d never been in a place like this before. The tomb was steeped in a kind of darkness that Nekana had hitherto not been acquainted with - the persistent, understated thrum of power from something fixed in place.

Something that wrapped its tendrils around in beckoning invitation... or closed those same fingers tightly, slowly suffocating those in its iron grasp. For the half-Shi'ido woman, it was largely the former with the power pulling her in, but when those that would be deemed rather unwelcome started to enter the equation, she had slipped into an alcove and minimised her presence to a nigh-indiscernible pinprick, merged into the dark weave of the place, and shifted her colours to blend into the structure and shadows of the Mandalorian iron tomb. She worked within to alter more of her half-Zeltron pheromones to a potency well beyond what even a full Zeltron was blessed with, a practice she resumed near as soon as she was free of that prison.

Nekana was biding her time until a suitable candidate passed her by, an individual brave or foolish enough to enter the tomb. Soon enough she was rewarded for her patience; delicately skimming the thoughtscape of one such interloper, she found a hook, a thread on which she could begin to pull. His thoughts dwelt to some degree on his son, whom he had left on the world below at the mercy of others she did not yet know... she pursed her lips, then swallowed a wicked smile. After that, the process was quick, as she selected a look from the vault of her memory, and triggered the change in her appearance: a skintone along the human spectrum, pale pink hair with dark eyebrows that would indicate the hair was likely dyed, blue eyes, and a different face - she had met a woman of this description at an Atrisian food cart - then peeled away from the wall of the alcove.

The now pink-haired woman waited just a touch longer for him to walk past, stepped into the corridor, mustered the feeling of genuine concern, and reached out to reel the guy in with a much milder dose of pheromones than she had in reserve. The delicate whiff of a perfume, perhaps. Along with that, letting that concern bleed mildly into her voice, she spoke.

"Why are you here?"

With a slight admonishing upturn in her tone, implying just one thing: shouldn't you be somewhere else?

 

[Rann Thress]

Rann Thress
OBJ3
Location: Dxun, Tomb of Freedon Nadd
Engag(ed)ing: Nekana Quane

The halls immediately beyond the entrance of the tomb were ominously styled, and equally dark, yet Rann was not deterred. The tomb could not be desecrated. What they wanted here? Rann didn't know, nor did he care. They wanted it, he wanted to keep it from them. It was that simple for him. Whatever secrets the tomb held belonged there. Dxun was...a sacred place. One Rann didn't tread upon lightly.

So he took it upon himself to rid the world of the stench of the Sith who would try to raid the tombs of those interred here. He searched for a presence, any presence, in the Force...and found several. Jedi and Sith had come together as they always had to do battle upon this moon. And Rann couldn't help but sneer at the idea of either side contaminating the moon.

Rann continued, jogging down the tomb, avoiding both Jedi and Sith as he searched for chambers deeper into the Tomb. Deep enough that hadn't yet been plundered, deep enough where truer secrets and knowledge may yet be saved. Deeper, where no presence Jedi or Sith could be felt. As he turned down corridors and move through chambers, Rann was certain he had distanced himself sufficiently from the combats behind, closer to the entrance. He didn't know if anyone had spotted him as he snuck along or outright sprint passed Jedi and Sith, nor did he care. The mission, here, was endlessly more important.

Yet, as he turned down a corridor into a wider chamber, he heard something that immediately made him draw his lightsaber in defense. The voice of a woman. So soothing, comforting. Calming to Rann, causing him to dip his lightsaber slightly. And the smell. It smelt of...seawater. It smelt of...sugared candy in the nighttime air. It...smelt like every happy memory Rann had ever had. It smelt like the mother of his child. It smelt like...home. And Rann lowered his blade, but did not disignite it as the woman approached.

"Why are you here?" she had asked.

Images of Aron...his son...suffering. Dying. Iziz burning. His home, Aron's mother... destroyed and dead. And here Rann was. Tens of thousands of miles away. Onderon burned, and Rann was here.


He shook his head, and raised his lightsaber, yet found it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds more. His body...did not want to, yet he forced it to. He struggled, but he leveled the blade towards the pink-haired woman. He knew this woman was more than she seemed....yet he didn't know. He wanted to believe she was there to help. To comfort him. She just happened to be there, she was an innocent.

A voice in Rann's mind screamed in rage and frustration, snapping him back into the moment, allowing him to gather focus.

"I have no answers for you, witch." he said, his voice spitting malice with his last word, as his face pulled back into a snarl. "Get out you are not welcome." The words were emphasized, as if their meaning was double.

Get out.

Get out of this Tomb.
Get out of this moon.
Get out of this system,
Get out of my head.

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

The three Knights, flanked by Storm Commandos burst into the Apartment Complex.

"This Jedi is powerful..." The Leader of the Ren Knights spoke. "Don't underestimate him. I've never encountered such a powerful teleporter before..."

The Knights perked they could no longer sense him.

"He can hide his presence..." one of the other Knights noted.

"But not those of the one's he is protecting..." The last of them noted with a sneer. "Hurt them and he'll stop hiding..."

"Find them." The leader ordered the Commandos, who immediately proceeded up the emergency staircase cautiously.

"Jedi! You cannot hide forever! We will find you! And you will bow before the Dark Side!" The Leader called out. "Make it easy on yourself and surrender!"

No response.

Meanwhile, The Commandos had started finding fake booby-traps as they advanced upward. Because they had to treat every trap as though it was the real deal, it started to slow them until one of the Knights followed, crushing the fakes with the Dark Side.

Nathan waited with a piece of heavy pipe he had literally ripped out of the walls cutting one end to a sharp point with a scavenged Vibro blade. As The Knight that had gone with the Commandos went ahead of them, Nathan hurled the makeshift spear pipe.

The Knight caught the pipe almost casually with telekinesis, chuckling...just as Nathan's eye twitched and the Shotgun he had sawn off and stuffed into the pipe had it's firing mechanism pulled...

The Knight screamed as his chest caved in from the blast and the shrapnel hitting his body from the exploding pipe, some of it went through the visor of a Storm Commando, killing him instantly as Nathan vanished. The Commandos retaliating by unloading in the area he had been in before advancing again.

Nathan was still running when the floor he was on was literally ripped out from under him by the Force and he tumbled to the ground, activating his lightsaber and instinctively deflecting the two vicious swipes of red blades from the remaining Ren Knights, furiously attacking him with unforgiving power strikes. One tried to Force Choke him, only to cry out in surprise as Nathan conjured a bright flash that caused him to go blind a moment, allowing him to defend against the leader more accurately.

"With every moment you waste fighting us, our troops get closer and closer to finding the insurgents you-"

He was suddenly blocking a powerful blast of green lightning from Nathan's fingertips. Lightning so powerful it almost ripped the blade right out of his hands , and forced him to back off to regain his balance. But before Nathan could capitalize, the other Knight recovered from his blindness and attacked him in a savage fury bashing his saber against Nathan's over and over.

Nathan was once more on the defensive, parrying patiently with Niman, counter attacking when the Cruel Boss told him to, knowing the Commandos were getting ever closer to their quarry.

The Cruel Boss told him to take a step back and he did...breaking a floor board and stumbling away, just as the other end of the board shot up, distracting the Leader who instinctively swung at something close to his face moving fast...and accidentally decapitating his own comrade when the arc of his swing completed.

The Leader stared in shock at his own blunder, just as Nathan managed to right himself.

"That was my brother..." The Leader growled at Nathan, quaking in seething hatred.

Nathan's response actually got Syd to laugh on the other end of their mutual connection, even with it delivered in an ice cold tone.

"You think to make me bow, Discount, yet you can't even watch where you're swinging..."

"I will drown those you dare to protect in your blood!" The Leader swore, charging with blade swinging overhead.

Their blades clashed twice, and the Knight of Ren fell dead as Nathan decapitated him, having switched his style to Djem So at the last second and surprising his attacker.

"Not a Knight or Master of Ren yet born who was worth even one quarter of a Sith Apprentice..." Nathan remarked, stepping over the corpse and teleporting up a floor above him.

One of the Survivors were dead, but they had managed to kill three of the Commandos by exploiting the corners of the apartment and the angles of fire Nathan had told them to use.

Nathan went to work quickly, teleporting behind one, stabbing him from behind, taking his rifle and spraying the hall the other Commandos engaging the survivors were in, forcing them to dive behind cover or into empty room. He knew where they were, and unfairly teleported behind each, hosing them with Blasterfire before they could retaliate, while others trying to regroup were cut down by the remaining survivors.

Nathan ran out after gunning down the last trooper. "We have to leave. How many are left?"

"Eight." one of the Insurgents answered."

"When no one comes out, possibly in the next two minutes of waiting, the troops outside will order an airstrike to level the building." Nathan asserted. "No one out there is gonna try and come get us after three Knights of Ren and a whole squad of Commandos get killed."

"How do you know that?" one of the female insurgents asked.

"It's what I'd do..." Nathan replied.

Nathan went to the window, taking one of the Commando rifles.

"Check the windows. Listen for the whine."

"Whine?" the same rebel asked.

"From the TIE's." he clarified, peaking out the window, ducking as a blaster bolt hit close to the window, making everyone else duck.

"Why don't they call in a strike from orbit?" another asked.

"Because if they have to level a whole city block to kill one group it sends a message they aren't as in control of the situation as they like to project..." Nathan answered grimly. "Guerillas always know an overreaction when they see it. A Starfighter is more efficient for taking out a building this size."

"Jedi! I hear it! Single TIE, fast approaching!" yelled one of the rebels hiding by his own window.

Nathan heard it too. He peaked out. Fast TIE, looked like some variant of the Advanced.

"Rockets. Makes sense. Hey, everyone, how about a magic trick?" Nathan asked the others as the TIE drew closer.

(Cutaway of The Joker holding up a Pencil.)

Nathan breathed in and out deeply, letting the cruel boss enter his body, to attune him to the right moment.

The TIE drew ever closer. Nathan's eye twitched.

The TIE fired two missiles at the building, high yield, and as they sped to the building, Nathan raised his hand and focused.

One of the missiles was teleported so it's course carried it back to the TIE that had just fired it, blowing it to pieces as it's Pilot tried too late to veer away, while the other missile was teleported so it sped to the ground, blasting apart the Stormtroopers holding perimeter around the building.. the blasts rattled the building, and knocked everyone to the ground.

"Okay, now we run..." Nathan hissed as he helped another back up.

The group gathered around Nathan, and they quickly made their way to the bottom of the apartments, slinking around the back. Nathan teleported ahead, gunning down a squad of troopers lying in wait behind some rubble, in anticipation of possible escape, then teleporting back.

Well. Nathan thought to himself. We're alive but back to square one: no way out...

Nathan spotted a comms tower in the distance.

Unless... his thoughts trailed as he pondered his options...

 

[Ibaris Varanin]

DEEP IN THE ONDERONIAN JUNGLES
BYOO: THE TAMING OF THE BEAST
Continuing from HERE

Who is to say who is the villain and who is the hero? Probably the dictionary.
- Joss Whedon​

Once the massive drexl was fully tied down, Ibaris ascended the beast for the second time, knowing that she had to succeed in this attempt, knowing that it was as Darth Bane himself had done. She would not be less than; her only frustrations were that she hadn’t succeeded initially, that the beast’s formidable strength of mind would at all be a challenge to crack, when so little had been for quite some time. But Ibaris Varanin, Lady Consecrai, That Which May Break Worlds… Abandoner… Disappointment… whatever she was to others, she wasn’t one to simply back down from a challenge. Not one to be denied what she knew was within her power to accomplish or grasp.

It had only taken a significant degree of loss, amongst the other personal aspects of that grief and anger which had long since morphed into hatred, to set her upon that burning path. Situating herself upon the Great One’s head, Ibaris pressed one hand against the scaled surface, then the other, and drove the heavy spike of her will and power - interwoven with the magic of Qâzoi Kyantuska - into the drexl’s mind… only now the deepest point of her enraged darkness was the hammer.

She was done with the fist in the velvet glove.

Consecrai impressed upon the Great One a measure of what laid at the other end of her continued non-compliance, and Ataane’s fear spiked in response. The beast struggled the small amount she could in her binds, at the sharp bloom of exemplary pain. The riggers - the Beast Riders - shouted amongst themselves to keep the lines taut, but this fell into the background as little more than dull noise. Ataane could cede control to the woman, or be warped into a consistently painful form and lose her autonomy forever, once the estranged princess’ aims were complete. There were things worse than death, even to a creature such as this one.

After some further minutes of this battle of wills, Ataane capitulated, settling in her bonds. Consecrai slowly lifted her hands from the drexl’s scaly noggin, turning them over to stare at her palms, for a moment savouring the potent feel of this accomplishment and the power it took. Power coursing through her, the tether binding the great beast to her was as the iron of Nadd's tomb. One of the Beast Riders tried to get her attention, and after some seconds, the usually hazel-eyed woman drew in a breath, and slowly released it before turning her head to reply.

Guulah almost didn’t flinch, to his credit, when confronted with the unsettling, striking yellow-orange corruption present in this dark woman’s eyes. Did he see how it twisted her aura, too? Regardless, he managed his fear well. A pity his clock was ticking. A pity he would surely try to kill her if he knew. “Release her,” she told him, “those that want to go join their comrades may do so, those that wish to accompany me on this flight are welcome to.” He gave his assent and descended in a hurry - whether eager or wishing to get away from Consecrai, it could not be said - passing on her directives.

Soon all were sorted, the few that remained arranging themselves along the length of the ponderously large drexl, and they were off to have the Great One sup at the convoys. After such a long struggle, surely Ataane was hungry.

ALL ALONG THE CONVOY LINE
OBJ 2: THE BEAST WARS

​

The great roar of Ataane came first, before her form subsequently and temporarily blocked the source of light in the sky above, plunging the main path of the convoys into momentary darkness as she rumbled through the sky, the whoops, hollers, and curses of her Rider passengers carried away by the trailing current of air. Displacing the air in a way that kicked up gusts as Consecrai had the creature bank around and released her own holler, distinct from the rest for its higher tone, though no less infused with negative emotion.

“Yaaaa!”

As the beast began to follow through on the plan, diving towards the rearmost convoy first, Consecrai stood and unholstered one of her sidearms, loading a magazine devoid of the mercy rounds that typically sat at the top of her loadout, as the Riders with her nocked arrows or drew melee weapons, intent on leaping from the beast at the lowest point of Ataane's dive. The mostly-Echani woman released the safety on the slugthrower in her hands, and waited for Ataane to begin to eat.

Of course, when the Great One began to gather Riders and their smaller reptavian mounts in her great maw, air displacement buffeting the Invaders the Riders had believed were going to be the drexl’s next meal, the nearest one on the drexl with Consecrai nocked another arrow and turned on the dark woman, instantly enraged. At the same time, Consecrai leveled her weapon at the man, no lick of remorse in her face or hesitation in the burning corruption of her eyes as she stared him down, and shot him clear through his scarred mug, tearing through the last expression he would ever wear - surprise - and causing his arrow to veer off course, taking to the sky and off to an unknown landing. Guulah fell away. The other two Riders rushed Consecrai but Ataane banked out of the dive to climb, reset, and have a go at the next convoy. Those remaining Riders on the great beast’s back were flung asunder, screaming in terror as they plummeted to their deaths.

Consecrai only observed this for a scant moment, then glanced at the slugthrower in her grasp, “What a waste of a round,” she barely sighed, re-holstering the firearm and settling back down onto the scaly surface of the beast, giving Ataane a pat and rub that could be construed as affection or affirmation, “that's a good girl.”

Ataane loosed another ponderously loud roar at the apex, and banked into her next descent...

ATTACKING BEAST RIDERS, MOUNTS, and their DEFENDERS
Ataane the Great One has now entered the picture on OBJ 2, and will continually weave in and out of your areas to assault those attempting to stop/hinder the convoys or the Imperials securing them. Please account for this fact in your posts, going forward. Mind your heads! If you wish to try and stop the beast, you will have to call out/confront her Master and attempt to sever the connection between woman and beast (Note: I will come to you), as Ataane is much too large, mobile, displacing, and strong for any single one of you to take on.

Enjoy this set piece!

Your Friendly DE Staffer, Kae <3

DARK EMPIRE: Marlon Sularen • Keilara Kala'myr • Thomas Barran • Arminius Kroeger • Kurineth Cull • Joseph Torson
SNACKS: Silas Westgard • Vulpesen • B1-173 "Omar" • Anakwor Farlorn • Brak'rra 'Red Scar' • Gress D'ran • Ayhan • Mahsa​

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Valut Amanya

Pain struck the Jedi Master like a bow wave causing his skin to blister while duraplast slowly cooked flesh beneath. Smoke curled off Zark's pauldrons in thick wisps. What at first he'd mistaken for some kind of exotic disruptor weapon revealed its true nature. Some part of this creature was alive enough to manipulate the darkside. Through blurring vision he focused on the source of his agony and used ancient pain suppression techniques to block out all other distractions.

Master Zark took one step forward.

Then another.

"Don't...make me...destroy you."

Marching closer only intensified the mechanical monster's machinations. Flesh began to blacken. Smoldering vambraces brought the Jedi's brilliant blue blade of plasma down in a falling avalanche.

 

[Atin Tracinya]

En Route to Iziz, Onderon
Objective 1: Defend Iziz
Allies: Anna Carden | Zark San Tekka
ENGAGED: Khaostra Devoid ​

"Attention all dropships! We have Alliance starfighters inbound, be sure to ping them as friendlies on your radars," Jenn's voice came through Atin's comms, before relaying orders to all her people. The Mandalorians were playing defense today. Honor and glory came second to the lives of those non-combatants in the city below. Honor and glory through deeds, not battle.

"Planning on leaving the Hunter's life behind you then, Carden? Defender of the people now, are we?" Atin asked in some tone that made it hard to tell if he was teasing or asking a genuine question. Before the woman had a chance to answer though, the dropship shuddered, and the pilot's voice came over the comms. No one responded, each instead double checking their gear, or gripping onto whatever purchase they could find as the ship continued to shake.

And then it jolted. A violent, sudden movement that knocked Atin's head back against his seat. "Kriff. What's happening?" Carden said, trying to stand before Atin hurriedly shoved her back into her jumpseat. "Stay buckled," one of the Kyrze warriors advised as they moved to the cockpit. "Are we hit?" Atin asked, grasping his seat and pressing himself into it's back. "Engines are on, but the ship is losing control. We're being pulled towards the wall."
"Maximum throttle to counter as much as possible. Brace for impact!"
"Haar'chak."

The dropship lost altitude, quickly, the unseen force wrenching the vessel with violent intent. Atin grabbed the oh-chit bar next to his head and the bottom of his seat with a white knuckled grip. He made no effort to keep track of how close they were to impact, countdown. Better if the moment just snuck up on h-

The ship struck a wall, crashing through it. Bodies tossed back and forth in their seats the clatter of armor and weapons being thrown out about drowning in the sound of durasteel sheering apart as the ship went into a short tailspin before the ship buried itself in the pavement.

Atin's head rung, white lights playing at the edge of his vision as the man tried to gather his bearings. "Kriff..." the Mandalorian groaned as he undid the buckle around his waist. "Carden? You good?" the man asked looking over at the woman, standing up.

"Everyone sound off," one of the Kryze warriors said through the comms. "Tracinya, green light," Atin reported, shaking his head to clear his vision. Other names and callsigns began to give their all-good signs, and Atin began to check on others after confirming that Anna was ok. One dead, plus the pilot.

"What was that?" Atin asked.
"Force user."
"Great..." Atin muttered before switching his commlink frequency to that of Master San Takka's. "Jetii, our dropship is downed. About...four clicks away from the palace. We'll work our way to you."

 

[Thomas Barran]

4th Post

-A SECOND PRELUDE TO TERROR-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARLORD OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF MOTHER REBIRTH

Tags(Friend): Keilara Kala'myr Kurineth Cull Marlon Sularen Arminius Kroeger Ibaris Varanin Hex

Tags(Foe): Brak'rra 'Red Scar' Anakwor Farlorn Gress D'ran Vulpesen

AT THE PRECIPICE II: DISTANT SHOCKWAVES - PART 4

BYABBA VILLAGE, BADLANDS FRONTIER,
40-KM NORTH OF BATTLFRONT: IZIZ, ONDERON (901 ABY)

-THE WARCHIEF II-

'Bloodhound.... What sort of idiot do you think I am? I know what sort of man you've been.'
​

The Bloodhound didn't seem to like the retort very much, but in the patience he was trying display at the time, seemed not to mind enough to interrupt Kiramar in his reactive amble; electing instead to study his adversary a little longer, as the glaring truth that there was more to learn remained, despite the disappointment in the Warchief's clear disregard for nuance. It was one thing to admit to an inability to understand, but for one who claimed to know his foe, the Onderonian seemed to know little and less of the invader, though the chieftain himself didn't mind in the slightest. Enough had been seen in the gaze of the opposing leader that Kiramar could divine enough of the dread others faced before him, that creeping realisation dawning as their moments passed by in each other's company, seeing for himself that this Bloodhound was something quite different to the warriors he faced in the previous century.

But the Warchief knew this foe all the same, distant though the masked man's ilk had always seemed before that day, but despite seeing the deeper terror his opposition wielded, Kiramar had already resolved to ignore it in the hopes he could use the ignorance to get under his enemy's skin. It wouldn't be easy, this the Onderonian knew almost as soon as the Bloodhound's silence followed the initial outburst, and in light of the invader's patient disdain, the Warchief knew he needed to dig a little deeper if he was to have a hope of instigating their duel a little sooner.

'Look at yourself, invader! I've slaughtered many of your sort over the years, as your sort have slaughtered many of mine already.... I forged my chiefdom from the gutters of towns like Byabba, as there are many like it littered all over Onderon, fighting over those gutters as I learned what evil looks like; and you, Bloodhound, appear worse than all the others I've killed of - your sort.'

Faint, and muffled though it sounded at the time, there was no mistaking the distinct, grating response was doubtlessly that of teeth-kissing - that sharp intake of air through lips and teeth with jaw clenched shut.

The Bloodhound would doubtlessly have something to say after that, though as for what, there was no way of knowing until the invader himself finally drawled,'Weak provocation.... Its not like there's many bordering Wild Space who would ever know what my sort is like, therefore, many from your regions are unlikely to know whether I'm worse than my contemporaries or not.... Weak provocation.... You'd need to dig - deeper!', in that strange, guttural accent he seemingly chose to speak with. But it wasn't the brogue that was getting on Kiramar's nerves, and certainly not with the considered fact his foe was still well-spoken for a man of his sort, as that little aggravation would always threaten to flare up in the wake of such insolence, as this incitement to intensify his mind-games was more than insult enough to the Warchief's intellect.

'But if ye can't, I won't be surprised - as its not like I'd expect anything more from a local bumpkin either.... Now, I'm not sayin' you ever claimed to be smart, but.... I'd hoped you would be smarter than this, as I know personally that I was resurrected for something more.... An' if ye can't bring yourself t'give me that more, I'm sure you know how that would bode for you here.'

'Wait.... Resurrected?', the Onderonian suddenly blurted out in poorly-concealed incredulity, leaning in closer to look into the eye of his enemy with a little more wariness, and with it, a fearful curiosity unlike any Kiramar had ever felt in his life. However, in all the Warchief's time of studying the facial expressions of his enemies, he knew that certain responses would tell of dangers untold, and in the crinkling at the corners of the Bloodhound's last-remaining eye, the masked invader had revealed an expression of which the Warchief never wished to see in his foes. Yet in the smile he saw hiding behind the mask, Kiramar found the rage of his best, prime-fighting years, but with it a reason to show a similar restraint to that of his opponent, a reason to hear out the invader.

'So that was your takeaway from my response? Interesting.... But, aye.... I died as a New-Imperial in '64, stayed dead for almost ten years afore I was resurrected as Mawsworn in '73, been fighting ever since.... But I no longer find that so relevant in this discussion now, especially if you're leaving threats unanswered, an' as far as I see it - thats weak form for a raider.'

Who the kark does he think he is?

Is this - freak - really set on ruining a duel with a brawl instead?
IS THAT WHAT HE WANTS?!?!​

Rising from his seat, the Warchief growled with ultraviolent intent, even grabbing one of the dusty old bottles from the countertop and smashing it against the Golden Skull mask in the attempt to instigate a similar response, an impact of which collided at such a heavy, sidelong angle that the blow sent it careening across the room. But after that brief moment of gazes following the golden skull on it's tumble into a dark corner, those gazes would return to glare at each other, and only then would Kiramar deign to dignify his foe in challenging,'Kark the swords - LET US FIGHT LIKE THE ROGUES WE ARE!!!!', a clear, and loud markation of the fight their invaders were to expect.

The Bloodhound would laugh it off as he shook little glass shards off his coat, but in his lack of concern continued whilst Scar Hounds and dismounted Beastriders alike starting streaming in from both entrances, moving to stand behind their respective commanders whilst the moment of tension continued between them. Quiet though it was, (and despite the clear, uncharacteristically-jovial smile seen across the unmasked face of the invader) something had to give eventually, though neither Kiramar nor his opponent would ever have guessed that their subordinates would be the ones to break the spell first; as just moments later, chairs, tables and barstools began to careen back and forth between both contingents. However, the bar-room was unfortunately much too small for a brawl of this magnitude, and with nowhere else to go but forward, the inevitability of furniture breaking on bones only seemed to further-intensify the mayhem from the offset.

'WINNER TAKES ALL, FREEEEEEEEAK!!!!'

With nothing else left to do but engage, the two groups converged on each other with blunt and sharp melee-weapons at the ready, though the reality of their limited range-of-movement quickly dawned on all the opposing brawlers as both swathes converged on each other, though it wouldn't stop them from trying for a while. As such was the way of the warrior when all need for nuance and cunning had been thrown out the window, crashing through the window-pane of strategy itself as brutes of all sizes used the glass windows of the Cantina in the same frenetic manner, and with their leaders gleefully standing toe-to-toe in a throwback to the old-fashioned, punch-drunk legends of old, any semblance of forethought would only ever amount to stupidities even greater than packing beligerents into enclosed spaces together.

'Come on, Warchief! I've known EWOKS to pack bigger punches than that! GIVE US YER WORST ALREADY!!!!'

Thus the fight would continue, and though there was much and more to flare up and shatter than the mere brawl within the deserted cantina, (the very spot they had stupidly chosen as their makeshift arena) the riot itself would spill out onto the street and into clear view of both active hordes, likely watching over the flareup of disorganised ultraviolence. Though this would likely serve to leave both Magnars and Beastrider Captains mutually unimpressed, consequently giving way to the likelihood that this would be the only thing either side would agree on before the end, and for as long as the greatest of scuffles persisted, no shot, barriage or attack would be advised in assistance. Not that this would stop the opposing leaders from punching, kicking, headbutting and hurling elbows back and forth, not for as long as both hearts were beating, and as long as the Warchief and the Bloodhound continued, nothing would stop the beligerent storm from tearing the town asunder.

Yet just like the tension of the conversation preceding such hoodlums' hostilities, something also had to give in the brawl in turn, and in adherence to the maxim of,"What goes up, must come down.", the hardest hitters in the melee began to revel in the growing need for unreserved savagery. The weak were to be separated from the strong for the final hurdle, and with their renewed need to dig in for their heaviest impacts yet, all that remained was the endeavour of hurling the bone-shattering knockout (or killing-) strikes, resolving to end this riot once and for all. Unfortunately for the dismounted Beastriders, however, many of the hardest punchers among their opposition were cyborgs, attending solely to offer weight and stability for the invading mob until the last, vital moments.

A travesty so extreme that not even the Warchief could do anything about it before it's conclusion, not that Kiramar had noticed whilst in the midst of his own impossible fight at the time, throwing everything behind his last punches of the fight, and to no lasting avail in any, shape or form. This Bloodhound was clearly something more than his one-eyed, human visage implied, and in the understanding he had been dead for years before his eventual resurrection, the futility of the Warchief's efforts soon began to infect the mind like never before. Giving rise to hesitation so obvious that even a half-blind Marauder could see it in the dark, an opening wide enough for the invader to grab his throat, and in the moment he snatched out, both Kiramar and Bloodhound alike knew the fight was over between them.

'You fought well, Kiramar.... Or at least, well enough for a man who was doomed from the start.'

CRUNCH​

'Your Beastriders are Mawsworn now.... Enjoy your retirement.'

 

[Ayhan]

Location: The Badlands, Onderon
Objective 2: Raid Imperial Convoys
Steed: Dalgo
Allies: Brak'rra 'Red Scar' | B1-173 "Omar" | Mahsa | Anakwor Farlorn | @Others
Hostiles: Joseph Torson | @OtherScum
ENGAGED: Kurineth Cull
​

Ayhan cleaved through another one of the massive bugs, before a blaster went off behind him. A quick rotation sent the bolt skyward and the Padawan thrust his hand out, a repulsing wave of the Force slamming the trooper into the side of a vehicle with the crunch of bone of plastoid. The trooper didn't move any longer despite the insect leaping past his corpse. Ayhan barely caught the bug before running it through, and a thud accompanied by the hum of sabers drew the man's attention back around. Whirling around, Ayhan swung his saber, stopping just short of striking his target. "Mahsa." The man acknowledged the Kazelrrian before a deep sense of dread began to take root in his chest.

It did not come from. It did not come from his own heart, which only knew only how to fight for his life, for Mahsa's. This deep fear came from without. It did not take a master of the Force to pinpoint the source.

Ayhan looked in the direction of the Force presence. A black-clad woman, her saber sparking and searing its way through the dirt as a tendril of inky black shot into the sky, wrapping around a leaping insect before dipping back into the ground. It left no trace of the ravenous bug. "Stand," the woman said. "Fight."

Ayhan's lips curled back, sharp canines bared as a low, threatening growl rumbled from his throat. She as challenging them. A challenge Ayhan was eager to meet. A small twirl of his blade as the man took his first step towards the woman, trusting Mahsa would back him up. Just like she always had. He broke into a run, as something dark, massive, swept overhead, blotting out the sky. Ayhan paid no heed as he leapt towards the woman, raising his saber high above his head and bringing it down with bone-shattering strength.

Spoiler

Note: Ayhan's species, the Firronthix, possess enhanced strength.

 

[Aris Noble]

"Seszil!"

A flash of silver cut through the air as a floating sword returned by it's master's side. He wasn't supposed to be here, not on the battlefield at least. He knew that, deep down, this wasn't a place for him to learn or get stronger. This was life or death. But he'd seen it. The monster in the distance as it loomed overhead. He was only supposed to cover the rear, but he saw it coming.

And now it was here. From where he stood with the others at the back, he watched as a truly towering beast scattered the Beastriders with a single flap of it's wings. Even from the distance he was at he could feel the wind buffet his form and send the others around him tumbling. He stood unflinching in the wind, though, his eyes narrowing in focus. Planning. This.. God, it needed to be stopped before it killed the rest of the Beastriders here.

But what could he do? Even watching from a distance he found his hands trembling. He couldn't hurt it or bring it down, no matter how strong he was. Seszil could cut it, sure, but what would a wound less than a papercut truly accomplish? The others were fighting still. Fighting or recovering, but he had just been standing around here, watching.

"What is your plan, young master?"

Seszil spoke beside him, hovering close. They'd been acting a shield for the young Padawan, helping to batter away any lingering threat that might have approached the Beastmasters from behind. Now that they were together though, the once Shard knew Aris was going to do something.

"There's a woman on it." Aris reached out, gently taking the sword in his hands. Smiled, briefly, to the silver blade. "Do you think we can knock them off?"

"If we get close enough, perhaps." Aris tightened his grip as he looked back up towards the beast as it rocketed back to the sky. Heading to the next convoy, most likely, to batter away even more of the riders.

"Then we go."

It was a gamble. The riders had to control their mounts, so perhaps it was the same for this grand creature. He tensed, lowered himself just a bit as he leveled Seszil out. Then jumped. The Force didn't answer his call, not like it answered the call of others at least. He couldn't lift a boulder with his thoughts. He couldn't see the future. He couldn't read minds.

His strength, however, was well beyond what many should be capable of.

Mix that with the sword he carried that could lift itself and he rocketed forward as the beast descended once more. He ignored everything. His friends below, the fear in his heart, the trembling in his hands. Right now he had something he could do to help, so he brought Seszil right for the woman atop the Great One with all the speed and might he had.

He just needed to knock her off.

Ibaris Varanin

 

[Detritus Ren]

Location: Tomb of Freedon Nadd, DXUN, Onderon
Allies: Knights of Ren: Cairan Shannon
Enemies: Jedi: Joran Olan
Objective: 3

Detritus would see nothing but darkness, and the eerie mess that continued to persist throughout the long, dark tunnel that he continued his path. The voice in his head was now merely a whisper, telling him that he would find what he sought at the very heart of the tomb. He couldn’t see anything, but he felt the dark side call out to him, constantly whispering to come closer. The darkness would wrap around him, completely as if its shroud was both comforting, and a warning for those that didn’t heed its call. He could feel the constant tug between both light and dark sides, regardless there was nothing to impede Detritus from stopping him, not the Jedi, Mandalorians, or anyone that dare try to stop the might of the Ren.

He could feel himself descend lower, he couldn’t know how long the tunnel was or what was being guarded. There was a twinge of doubt in Detritus’s mind that nothing was to be found here. There was evidence over the millennia of visitors coming to and forth. The likes of Exar Kun and Darth Bane most likely stole the secrets of Nadd, yet the voice in Detritus’s head had urged him that there was more to be found, that not all of Nadd’s secrets were stolen so swiftly. The assurance of the dark voice that led him on his journey was the conviction that The Master of Ren needed to finish his quest, for he would find the knowledge he sought. No one would deny him.

The path towards the heart of the tomb had felt long, arduous, almost never ending. He wondered if he had wandered into a maze? Perhaps some catacombs? Maybe his own grave? He could go on and on. With each step placed in front of the other would be the growing cold. He could shiver slightly as what once was a chill had spiraled into making the Ren almost freeze. He pressed onwards, knowing that what he sought wasn’t too far now. The voice seemed pleased but was withholding as much from Ren as possible, for it didnt tell Detritus what his prize would be, or what it took to pay for it. It didn’t deter the Ren in the slightest, for he had thought to have gone through enough pain in his lifetime.

After what felt like wandering, would Detritus find a large wall before him. He sensed the work of magicks at play, but looked closer to seen a hole had been formed into the wall. It appeared as if the last visitor had used great strength to move what seemed to be a large rock out of the way. Now what was left seemed to be dust on the stony floor. The next breath Detritus took exhaled with the cold. He could feel the dark side’s power emanate from the very heart of the tomb. Despite the intense pain he felt from the stones thrown by the Mandalorian, would he clutch his saber tightly in his grasp as if preparing for anything, or anyone that he might find inside.

When he stepped into the chamber Detritus would find himself astonished by how small the chamber seemed to be that he almost mistook it for another crypt. At the center of the chamber where the dark side would continue to radiate outwards, he would see a pedestal which what sat upon it seemed to be an ancient book. Out of the shadows appeared two figures clad in white. Faces he had hoped to never see, or hear from again. To the left of him was Emperor Rurik Fel himself, and the other was his deceased best friend, Imperial Knight, and later victim Hans. Detritus stood there momentarily stunned by the appearance of the two apparitions before him. “What are you doing here?!?!” Detritus would say angrily as he pointed his index finger towards the two.

Both apparitions said nothing, Rurik’s gaze a judgmental one towards Detritus, while Hans had seemed impassive. His hands would touch the tome that stood before the pedestal and would ask as if subtly mocking him. “Is this what you hoped to find? Is this all the power you have been promised?” He would ask. Detritus would cautiously step forward. Even with Hans dead by Detritus’s hand, his words had stung deeply into the Master of Ren. After all these years Hans death had cut deep. “SHUT UP! IVE EARNED THIS BY RIGHT!” Detritus would shout back angrily towards the ghost of his past. He slowly moved towards both the ghosts and the tome presented before him. Still something more was at work here.​

 

[IMPERA]

​

O P E R A T I O N_N I G H T F A L L
Objective : Crush the Beast Rider Resistance

FINAL DAWN - DARK EMPIRE
ONDERON, INNER RIM

TK-6975
VH-280 KODIAK ISV | STORMTROOPER ARMOR | ND40 KASE BLASTER REPEATER
8/8 VH-280 KODIAK ISVs | 10/10 Reman IFVs | 22/22 MT-BTRs
557/656 NEO-IMPERIAL BRUTETROOPERS
​

For a while the Battle had initially swung in favor of TK-6975's Company, with nearly half of Ayhan's Cavalry wiped out within seconds while the Armored Transports at the front focused their fire upon the Beast Riders and other Insurgents trying to provide cover fire for Ayhan's Cavalry. Still hidden behind a Kodiak ISV, TK-6975 took some time to observe the ongoing battle at the front of the convoy watching as the attacking force was being decimated by his forces. TK-6975's comms then blared up with the Officers within his Kodiak ISV contacting him regarding a new development. "Major. We're picking up multiple signatures from the Rear." the Officer said. TK-6975 immediately shifted his focus towards the rear of the Convoy watching as a second Cavalry Force charged against the Convoy. Just like before, the MT-BTRs at the Rear immediately turned their turrets to unleash hellfire upon the Cavalry Force while Brutetroopers joined him from their positions behind the Transports, hoping to deliver similar results to the forces at the front.

As TK-6975 continued to observe the battle at the rear, a beam of plasma narrowly missed him as it struck against the side of the Kodiak ISV he currently stood behind. One second was all the Brutetrooper Major had to spot hundreds of new hostiles at the top of the ridge before they unleashed a massive barrage of firepower upon the convoy from their elevated position. Fortunately TK-6975 was able to take cover before he could be struck although many of his soldiers focused on the enemy forces at the front and rear weren't that lucky getting caught by the enemy insurgents at the top of the ridge. Immediately, TK-6975's comms started blaring up once more with the officers within his ISV informing him of yet another development. "Major, we're picking up multiple new signatures all around the convoy!" the Officer said with the sounds of explosions and blaster fire ringing everywhere. TK-6975 had no time to react as immediately a group of enemy infantry appeared all around him pouring through the gaps within the armored vehicles, attacking Brutetroopers left and right.

Reacting quickly, TK-6975 quickly gunned down two enemy infantrymen before shooting a third one in the head, saving the life of another fellow Brutetrooper. All across the convoy, the Brutetroopers had been caught in a brutal melee with these mysterious new forces, which rendered the protection of the Armored Transports relatively useless since they couldn't help their Infantry men at such close range, however this was the least of their concerns. As TK-6975 fought off a few more enemy infantrymen another fellow Brutetrooper pointed at somewhere at the distance and cried out to the Major. "Sir! Look!" he said. At the far distance TK-6975 a large horde of what seemed to be some flying insects began rapidly approaching towards the Convoy, which TK-6975 soon recognized as Mawite War Mounts most likely from the Scar Hounds. Normally his Troops would take cover and let the Scar Hounds do their jobs but with them already engaged in heavy melee combat against enemy forces there was no doubt that many Mawites would be caught in the Scar Hounds incoming attack.

Thus left with no other option, TK-6975 opted to choose the proper path rushing on-top of his ISV and hopping back inside with a few Brutetroopers also trying to take cover upon noticing the approach of the Scar Hounds and their War Mounts but with most of them still in the heat of battle fighting enemy infantry most of them weren't lucky as the full might of the flying horde crashed down onto the Convoy and the surrounding areas. "We're already taking a lot of casualties, sir." the Officer said. From the viewports of the ISV, TK-6975 watched as both friend and foe alive we're torn apart by the Mawite beasts with many Soldiers from both sides soon responding by fighting back against them, causing the situation to devolve into a three-way as Brutetroopers and Enemy Infantrymen fought both each other and the Beasts in an effort to gain the upper hand against the other side.

TK-6975 took out his commlink and opened a channel with the rest of the Armored Vehicles of the Convoys "All ISVs and IFVs move out of formation and engage those Beasts." TK-6975 ordered. The Pilots of TK-6975's ISV along with the Officers, shocked at this new command all looked at the Brutetrooper Major who further explained himself. "Those Beasts are going to compromise the mission. We can't spring the trap if they are just going to tear everything to shreds, so get back to your station and do what you're told." As ordered, the ISVs and IFVs at the center of the Convoy came to life once more moving out of position as they began unleashing heavy barrages of Anti-Personnel and Anti-Air Weapons at both Mawite Beasts and Enemy Infantrymen hoping of once more turning the situation back in their favor.

As the ISVs and IFVs engaged both the Carian First and Mawite Skitterwing Beasts, another large signature appeared on the scopes of TK-6975's ISV with a Corvette swooping down over the battlefield to provide support to the Onderonian Resistance, taking out both Brutetroopers and Mawite War Beasts as it unloaded enemy infantry. "Call in air support to take out that Corvette and have the ISVs and IFVs engage those reinforcements" TK-6975 ordered. The Pilots of his ISV simply nodded with two Kodiak ISVs and three Remen IFVs aiming their guns at the recently arrived Alliance Privateers, unleashing a massive barrage of heavy fire upon the Insurgent Forces atop the hill with their Anti-Personnel Weapons just as a Mixed Squadron of two TIE Scorpions and four TIE Annihilators appeared, the former launching strafing runs against Alliance Infantry with their maser canons and heavy repeaters while the latter began to close down on the Corvette firing Proton Torpedoes and Proton Bombs upon the vessel in an attempt to take it down.

Tags [Friendlies] | Kurineth Cull | Ibaris Varanin
Tags [Hostile] | Anakwor Farlorn | B1-173 "Omar" | Ayhan | Mahsa | Brak'rra 'Red Scar' | Vulpesen | Aris Noble | Veylin Torque ​

 

[Mahsa]

Location: The Badlands, Onderon
Objective 2: Raid Imperial Convoys
Mount: Rupert the Ruping

---

She didn’t flinch when the warm golden glow of his lightsaber came so close to herself, the Kazelrrian opting to release her own blade from the insectoid by turning it off and on. She had known Ayhan for most of her life, despite how pathetically short it’d been so far, and would trust him with it blindly without a second thought.

A nod was given as he called out her name, the faint traces of a smile curling the corners of her lips as she spoke. "I don’t remember the forecast being ‘dusty with a chance of bugs’." She knew the comment would probably earn her a gruff, perhaps even a verbal scolding, but it was her own way to try and shake off some of the tension pressing down on her shoulders from the situation they currently found themselves in.

Whatever relief it might’ve brought was quickly swept away as a larger shadow loomed over the horizon. The massive drexl was a creature she remembered reading about, but this was her first time seeing one of its specimen… and she had a feeling it probably broke all the known records the young Kazelrrian had managed to get a hold on before coming here.

There was little time to worry about the Great One and her rider as they plowed through some of their ranks, the support provided for the Imperials and the convoy telling Mahsa all she needed to know about what side they were on. They were of secondary importance as the Force shifted around them, their presence drawing the attention of another towards them as the swarm was forced to shift and make way for the woman—with the few that chose to linger meeting a quick demise.

"Stand." A steady hum and a purple glow accompanied that single word, the blade scoring the earth with its tip before the woman hunched forward, goading them with another word. "Fight."

Her gaze remained fixed on the woman’s hidden hand even as his rumbling growl filled Mahsa’s ears, left hand reaching for the handle of her shoto while the pink lightsaber was pointed in Kurineth’s direction. She knew Ayhan would not turn the challenge down, and she was proven right when the Firronthix leapt towards their target first.

The Kazelrrian never missed a beat as she rushed after him. Her smaller frame was easy to hide behind the bigger Firronthix, the padawan skirting towards the side in an attempt to flank their opponent as Mahsa sought to discover what lay hidden behind the woman and take advantage should an opening presented itself in their opponent’s stance.

---

Allies: Aris Noble | Ayhan | Brak'rra 'Red Scar' | B1-173 "Omar" | Anakwor Farlorn | @Others
Hostiles: Ibaris Varanin | Joseph Torson | @Others
Engaged: Kurineth Cull ​

 

[Ignacious Korvan]

The Imperial Despot​

Location: The Royal Palace of Iziz - Onderon
Objective: BYOO - Oversee Planetary Operations
Tags: Marlon Sularen | Derix Tirall | Kazian Blackwood | The Vulptex

It all happened so fast.

From the sound of... low grade explosives, to the smoke that billowed into the room - Korvan was almost instantly moved bodily from the window and taken into the protective custody of his bodyguards. It was then that the lights went dark, and the sounds of battle commenced. The gasps of troopers dying from the initial attack and the overwhelming sound of blaster fire filled the chamber. Glass breaking and yelling all formed a cacophony of sounds that deafened the Despot beyond useful perception. Thankfully, his Death Trooper bodyguards were far more useful and capable of dealing with the situation.

At first, the Death Mask troopers had maneuvered the Despot and Queen to the opposite side of the room from the intruders, and placed their armored hulks between their assets and the enemy. Yet once the threat had been assessed and contained, the team of troopers began shifting their formation to the double doors of the chamber and engaged in a fighting retreat. It would seem that the CompForce security detail would finally gather themselves and join the fight, laying down suppressing fire as the last of the entourage exited the throne room. It was then that Korvan and company were rushed down the corridor and into a ‘safe room’ with only one entrance, and one separate exit.

One of the CompForce officers accompanied the Despot and Queen in the safe room, along with the towering hulks of two Death Mask troopers. The remaining security contingent divided themselves between the entrance and exit and sealed the room - cutting it off from any potential intruders who may try to take advantage of stealth to claim either the Queen or the Despot again.

As the shock of what had just happened began to wear off, Ignacious turned to the CompForce agent and fixed him with a glower. His normally cool, impassive, and ‘in command’ demeanor had been replaced with the disheveled appearance of a man who, although exceedingly rare of an occurrence in and of itself, was no longer in total control. “You and your superior were tasked with securing the palace.” Ignacious stated flatly.

The agent, to his credit, stood there stoically as he faced Korvan’s quickly fading shock and quickly materializing rage over the situation. As an underling for Special Agent Kazian Blackwood , his entire purpose there was to ensure CompForce was not embarrassed further. “You have my deepest apologies my lor--”

The small table which dominated the room was quickly and violently flung upside down by the Despot, whose strength may have come as a surprise to those who did not know him well. “I DO NOT WANT YOUR APOLOGIES! THIS SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED!” The fury that Korvan carried himself with was altogether against his character. Normally, his anger was well contained into ice cold derision to be spitefully used in exacting and calculated actions. But on this rarest of occasions, the Despot’s rage let itself vent full-bore onto the agent.

The vitriol of his outburst would appear to cement the shock that had taken hold of the queen, who remained silent as she stood near the corner of the room. Korvan took a deep breath, and would seemingly collect himself before approaching one of the two troopers in the room. “Authorize the deployment of our reserve troops from the fleet. We shall debride this city street by street until Order has been restored.” He glanced at the Queen before he added: “Execute all captured Alliance personnel alongside the insurgents. Issue a proclamation throughout the city that anyone who turns in a member of the resistance will be spared from the reprisals, as well as their family. They will be given supplies as well.”

Then, without saying a word to the Queen, the Despot departed through the exit of the room and made his way to the war room with Marlon Sularen . The Queen would be grabbed by the arm and led along as part of his retinue as they moved out.

Onderon would fall, regardless of the consequences.

 

[Arminius Kroeger]

D R E A D N O U G H T
IRON LEGION
2nd SQUADRON, 34th ARMORED ASSAULT REGIMENT
'FEAR IMPERATOR, DREADNOUGHT!'
DARK EMPIRE - Marlon Sularen
ALLIANCE - Gress D'ran

F I R E S T O R M
​

The violent thud of projectiles slammed against the turret of Kroeger's tank. Several alerts lit up the status indicator silhouette of his vehicle on his control panel following the impact, a metallic hand concealed beneath a thick leather gloved clutched the control panel as he pushed himself back against the leather backing of his seat. He glanced to his left, seeing his gunner knocked unconscious, he flicked the target designate override of his control stick and slewed the turret back toward the approaching Wildcat walkers.

"Driver back!" Nothing came in response. A low growl escaped his metallic maw before he barked the command again, delivering a deliberate burst of armor piercing rounds toward the Wildcat's leg joints before he barked the command again.

"Get the fuck up! Driver back!" He yelled out. His driver was in a similar state. He pulled the red protector over the POWERSLAVE switch on his control panel, clicking it to life to activate the onboard droid brain, his open hand reached back to grasp ahold of the cabled scomp link pulled from hisi metallic skull linked into his frontal lobe. He plugged it into place and with an electric jolt of pain, his lone, organic eye twitching as he's integrated into the control system of the vehicle, able to seamlessly pilot and man the vehicle's weapon systems all at the same time. It was smoother than much of crew operation, but took a great toll on Kroeger's senses.

He crept up and back from the berm, delivering several rounds down range before the Wildcats crept even closer.

"Demon, this is Dreadnought! Fire priority target 'Silver'!" He commanded, ringing up his artillery battery on call to start hammering down a linear target which had been established in the battlespace. Such was the means of artillery, not as a reflex, calling for suppression on targets as they appeared but to shape the battlespace to his liking.

"All Dreadnought elements! Slant reports! Advance to phase line Kyber!" He said, shifting his Cataphracts to draw in closer to this mechanized infantry. From there, they'd have the blanket of nearby air assault assets to cover them from CAS. All the while, the TIE fighters began their third run. Though only at half strength, they still had ordnance on board to hammer the Sphinx even further, another rip of the tank ripper followed by a burst of shieled concussion missiles made purchase on the vehicle's leg joints, the tune of 'Rifle! Rifle' announcing their arrival.

"Evac Tambor! Evac Tambor!" Dagger Leader announced, veering away from the battle as they'd spent their ammo, needing repairs and time for the ordnance replicators onboard to refit.

As the Cataphracts closed the gap with their infantry and dug in with the advanced positions of the Stormtroopers, so then would his plan be put in place.

"Painhammer this is Dreadnought, adjust fire, grid Dorn Grek 4753, 9033. Length, 300, attitude, 1400. Creeping fire, infantry in the open with PCs, delay in effect, how copy?" He said, calling for an active mission set on the back end of the dismounted Alliance infantry with a plan to bound back in alternating movements of Cataphracht platoons and infantry platoons as artillery pounded the ensuing Alliance pursuit, utilizing the superior mobility of their forces hammer away at the Alliance heavy walkers with superior firepower and the freedom of maneuver.