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Invasion Rage Awakened (TSE Invasion of NIO Held Bastion & PL-40112-CE-021105)

T Y R A N N Y
Character

We ignored the signs.

As the juggernaut of the Sith Empire's war machine turned its full attention towards the last true bastion of the jedi order, we ignored what birthed under our very noses. When the Mandalorian Empire had outlived its usefulness on the galactic stage, and the sith finally repaid them for grudges decades in the past with ruination and genocide, we ignored the signs. It was our failure in believing that our supremacy was so absolute that we blinded ourselves to seeing how the ties of Sith-Imperialism - the bedrock of our very nation was fraying. The Dominion, Free Worlds Coalition, Galactic Alliance, Commenor Systems Alliance, Mandalorian Empire. The wrath of the sith reduced them all to nothing but historical accountings and sorrowful memories. Our accomplishments were so great that we blinded ourselves to seeing that in the divisions that formed within the beating heart of our empire where we were once a single unifying fist, we were merely five fingers. Until the hearts and minds of dissident opinions could take no more and loyalists became traitor, brother turned on brother as the whole of the empire was set aflame on the searing embers of civil war.

Sith Imperialism failed.

We turned a blind eye to the threat, reducing it to nothing but a trifling concern to be stepped on even as the New Imperial Order grew from an insurrection into a juggernaut of their very own. A nation driven by vengeance stemmed in those who could take no more. For our weakness they came again, again, and again. Each time we stood to stem the tide and each time they shattered our walls and fought until the imperial banner flew over more and more worlds. Evolve or die. It was such a blatant refusal to recognize that what worked for so long no longer did, Sith Imperialism had unraveled and in our shame we refused to see it. Until they had come to our very doorstep, the place where it all began so long ago and where we had went from a single world, to an empire - Bastion. Until the strategic genius of Sovereign Imperator Irveric Tavlar had purged the sith and cast them aside, until the legions cheered as cloth of imperial grey draped off the highest peaks of Fortress Carnifex did we realize. In our refusal to evolve we stood on a cliffs edge as our empire shrunk with the emergence of the Bryn'adul and their tide had brought ruin to the eastern borders. It was when all sith spoke in one single unified voice did we finally see.

No more.

Such calls for change had forced us into a metamorphosis from what was into what could be. The burned ashes of our former ideology became the soil upon which something new was born. Sith Eternalism. For the first time in a long time the empire had stood as one underneath the new tenets. We were put to the test as the farm boy led the might of the order in a daring strike against his homeworld of Dantooine. They had come in a great tide to sweep us away but this time? This time was different. When the smoke had finally cleared their legions had been cast back from whence they came, fields littered with bodies and shattered vehicles as the empire stood triumphant alongside its newfound allies in the Confederacy. But no longer would we fall to the mistakes of the past, no longer would we underscore the threat these traitors possess. The top echelon of the sith had come together and agreed that they would break free from the binding shackels of the past, that something had to be done about this threat. The answer came from the very top in just two words that would shape everything to come. Gos Karza - Total War. War without end. Whatever it takes. So long as one world flew the banner of the New Imperial Order their task was not done. Alongside their allies they would together rip their greatest achievement away - Bastion. They would drive a spear right through the walls of iron erected along the front lines and drown their lands in war.

It was as the sun began to set that early warning alarms from sensor buoys and relay stations began to sound from the very borders of the system. Ships exiting hyperspace. The sheer volume of incoming signatures was so great that terminals froze, systems crashed unable to capture the sheer volume of the incoming wave as the might of the Sith armada. Defense stations and other prepared barriers began to fire as the waves came in reducing many ships to rubble before they had gotten close, plumes of fire erupted from their hulks as internals detonated and many died. But for all their might the tide was relentless. It just kept coming. Early waves had set the stage for larger and larger ships, carriers as the fighting broke out over the world. It was their sacrifices that allowed the fleets of the sith to sunder holes in the protective sheathe over Bastion and descend upon Ravelin. No matter the cost. The world would fall. We would return to the site of our greatest failure and rectify the mistakes of the past.

Whatever it takes.


  • Objective I: Total War
    • We come. In the aftermath of victory in holding back the New Imperial onslaught, the war machine of the Sith Empire under the leadership of the Dark Lord strikes deep into the traitors territory, seeking to reclaim a world that once stood as their capital. To achieve total control we must control Ravelin. Charge into battle alongside the legions make your way towards Fortress Imperator, seat of New Imperial authority.
  • Objective II: Danger Below
    • Beneath the city of Bastion lies the remnants of a massive complex of subterranean citadels and warrens. The original architect of these tunnels has mobilized Sith units into the depths, reclaiming the abandoned network and using it as a front for his own entrance into the city of Bastion. The tunnels must remain open, and while Telis rallies a call for all to join him in his bloody “Campaign of Vengeance,” the true plot forms within the depths: the staging grounds for which our hordes shall be unleashed.
  • Objective III: Space Superiority
    • Bastion is one of the most well defended worlds on the front lines of the war. In order for our victory to be assured, space superiority is absolutely paramount in assuring the safe flow of our forces to the surface, adequate air support for the ground assault and the flow of war material to continue the siege. There are no allies here. Destroy all enemy ships, space stations, and defense platforms.


 
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Broken Heart and Soul
Writer
Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group
Location: Ravelin, Bastion
Objective: To find everything that was once Adrian’s property and rescue them if they still exist. (Sabotage the NIO)
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | G1 OmniLink | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Tag: Runi Verin Runi Verin
Bastion; even though Ingrid almost died here once, she loved this place. Just because it was here that the Force-bond formed between her and Adrian Vandiir Adrian Vandiir . More than two years had passed since then, yet could still see her husband's gaze in front of her as he looked at her, as Adrian worried about her. What the man felt then was both frightening and impressive to the woman what the Sith Lord would not have done for her. Everything still hurt the same and missed him just as much as did the first day.

Bastion, NIO; she could not have been officially here either, as still no one had openly broken the contract and said the Eternal Empire could not have helped TSE in such an open attack. So had to figure out some kind of cover story and couldn't bring much reinforcement. Or she can shape-shifting. On the other hand, can finally someday do what it really was her job. The original before became noble. Could finally be an agent and sabotage the NIO, the buildings, the palace to make it easier for their allies to get into the building.

Didn't even know how long she'd been waiting for something like this when could really do what she loves. Before setting off, squeeze the necklace around her neck. Thanks to the amulet, the pain was more bearable, it was as if the Force-bond still existed, it filled the void. The way she thought about what was here before felt the concern, her husband's scent, and it was as if Adrian had hugged her.

"Everything will be fine with me, handsome! I promise!" whispered softly.

Knew she wouldn't get an answer, the soulshard wasn't fit like this, just got emotions. But it was also more than nothing. Hide the necklace under her armour, put on her helmet, and then pulled the hood over her head. Arrived earlier, two days ago, before chaos reigned everywhere. At home Kessia Miran Kessia Miran replaces her; after all, she couldn't be here.

However, as soon as the TSE fleet and ground forces arrived, she too set off, invisible. That's the job of a good agent, an operative. She was not an Empress today; today was who she used to be. It is for this reason that she also changed her own shape/form and Force pattern, so that if she falls, she could not be known, either to the eyes or to the Force.


 

Luna Terrik

The Fallen Angel
Writer




B R E A K




Location: Bastion, Ravelin.
Time: 1200 Hours
Equipment: Personal XIPHOS armor, BAW-89 Carbine Rifle, Tactical Recon Handgun (2), G-20 Glop Grenade (3), Thermal Detonator (2)
Objective: Breach the tower.
Deployment: Omega Squad, CO, Dauntless/Confederate on field command
Tags: | UX-0626 UX-0626 | Iasha Rha Iasha Rha | Alina Tremiru Alina Tremiru | Dimitri Voltura Dimitri Voltura | Kesran Opadal Kesran Opadal | @Confederate assets on the ground |

Oh, it felt good to be back on the offensive for once. Too many times in the past few months had they had to play defense against the oncoming slaughter of those that stood against them. Terrorists and imperials, wave after wave, and being force to stand their ground, not giving up an inch. At least until it was no longer possible to do so, then taking one step back, then another. This was not how she wanted to fight, this was not how she wanted to have her men and women lose their lives.

Yuub.

Rishi.

Rodia.

Dantooine.

Nothing but defense over and over again. But it was different today. Today, they would be on the front foot. They would be the ones to change the game suddenly, to throw the opponent off. It felt good to be doing it again, and even as a final wave of headaches wrecked her mind, she knew her body wasn’t going to be giving out on her today. Once the adrenaline and the heat of battle lit up her body and armor, the least of her worries would be the persisting pain behind her left eye.

A sharp pain in her thigh elected a groan from the Marshall, looking down to where Bones was shoving a stim deeply into her blood stream. It’d counteract the pain rocking her mind, holding it off for the battle to come. Even though he knew this, Luna could tell the medic was bothering, looking up her with a grim expression. “I can’t keep upping the dose, Luna. Eventually you’ll need to see someone about this.” Luna matched his grim expression with one of her own, turning away to shake her head lightly. She might. But not now, there were too many battles to fight, too much turmoil in the galaxy for her to step back.

“One day, Bones. One day. Just keep standing until then.” Her head turned back, flashing the medic a small smile before jumping off the examination table and headed toward the entrance of the tent, flinging it open and stepping out into the crisp air. The stim was working faster now, and the headache was practically gone already. Good, she needed it to be. There were men to be gathered, and a job to be done.

Bones emerged from the tent soon after her, and together they started toward where a duo of Krell Class Transports had been landed, surrounded by a sextuplet of Droid Starfighters. “Oh, we get starfighter cover today. Fascinating.” The man to her left remarked, prompting a little smile from Luna. He wasn’t wrong. Most of the time they flew into situations like this it was by the seat of their pants, hoping they’d make it inside. Today was different, at least they hoped so.

The rest of the three squads of dauntless milled around the shuttles, mixing alongside what looked to be a few sith legionaries. Good, it made sense they would try and keep an eye on them this way. Luna was just happy to have some more guns on their side going into this place. Not only that, but what looked to be a couple of force users had been tagged along as well. The Marshal didn’t recognize any of them, but gave a nod toward the one sporting what looked to be a Knight’s Obsidan insignia. Appartently they thought it appropriate enough to send one of the more..experienced knights with them. You wouldn’t find Luna complaining about such things.

As she moved toward the group, they would begin to gravitate toward the marshal, ready to hear the final words before they started toward their objective of the day. This would typically be the final time luna would go over the mission, a final briefing. No, there was no time for that today, and the three dauntless squads and their comrades knew exactly what the stakes were. “Tau, Echo, Omega,” She started, emerald eyes falling to where a number of younger force users and the knight stood, “Guests. What we are going to do today is not going to be easy. We are going to be hitting one of the most guarded targets the enemy has. They will not lay down for us to get there.”

She paused, pulling her helmet from underneath her arm and secured it upon her head. The faceless armor then looked back toward the group, and an emphatic pop of her energy cell being popped into the carbine echoed out. “Stick together. Trust those around you. Know that no matter what happens today, you fight alongside those that would their lives out for you, just as you would from them. And remember, we are the first in,” a pause, then a finishing of the saying from the rest of the commandos that surrounded her.

“And the last out.”

The squads began to move at that point, heading toward one of the two transports as they had been assigned. Luna would soon be joining them, but her focus had then come toward where the acolytes and the knight stood. She regarded them for a second, looking from each to the next, halting for one second to regard them. “I don’t know who you all are. Nor do I know what you have faced during your time in this galaxy. But I want you to make sure you are at peace..that you may not make it out today. But,” the robotic tone of the voice that came through the helmet’s speakers paused for a moment, long enough that the words would sink in before Luna continued.

“Know that me and my men will treat you as our own. Together. Brothers and sisters. Stick with us, follow my orders, and we’ll finish today on a high note. And, finally,” The gaze of the marshall’s helmeted gaze fell on the oldest, the bearded knight. He was a knight, a kind she had fought beside…and against many a time. She knew exactly what she would be getting with him. “Protect your own, that may not be able to protect themselves. That goes for all of you.”

Luna flashed the group a quick salute, then turned on her heel to head into her dropship. Their fate was in the hands of their own, now. She could not guarantee they would make it out today, nor could she say that for any of her own people, or even herself. But the nether be damned if they didn’t fight alongside their brothers like they fought against fate itself. Moving toward her seat, she flashed a nod toward the sat positions of a couple of her closer commandos. It looked as though the Legionaries, Omegas, the force users and some of the Tau would on this transport, with the rest being on the other. They would be taking off soon, heading into the fire together.

And oh, how good it felt.


 
active measures
Character



H E L L I O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJECTIVE II: DANGER BELOW
T H E _ P O T

Prelude.

And so they came. Demons en masse.

"Looks like your flight will be delayed, Lady Hejaran." the cigarette materialized in his hand as he watched over Ravelin through the large plate glass windows.

And so they came. Like a tide of darkness washing over the Imperial's capital.

"So roll up your damn fancy sleeves..." the commissioner puffed out a cloud of smoke.

And so they came. Like a shadow suffocating the light leaving behind only death and chaos.

Jaeger reached for the desk drawer and pulled out a gun.

And so they came like lions.

"...we've got Sith to kill." he offered her the gun. A smirk forming on his scarred face.

And so they will return like sheep.

Now...
COMPNOR HQ, Ravelin
Bastion

"Get on it, move damn it!!" Jaeger bellowed at the Tapani noble as the building around them began falling apart from the roof down. "To the lower levels! Keep your head down!"

Blaster fire flashed all around them, the shelling ripping apart whole sections of the structure and raining plaster, tiles, and durasteel over their heads. A whole fireteam of stormtroopers got squashed under the weight of a massive duracrete plate, barely missing the duo of Jaeger Harrsk and Elicia Hejaran.

They were on the backfoot. He could not believe it.

Not here, not on Bastion. Not in the heart of the Empire.

Not at home.

Alas.

"Seal it! Seal the damn door! Quick!" he barked.

Their near-fatal escape from COMPNOR HQ had led them to the underground levels of the headquarters in a room that looked, at a first glance, nothing more than a maintenance chamber. It was much more. A contingency room. In case of...

Panting, and for the first time in more than a decade, Jaeger Harrsk felt his feet give in. He crashed on the ground, leaned his head and back on the wall, and lit a cigarette. A thousand and one thoughts crossed his mind but after the first puff of smoke, only one remained.

He had failed but refused to admit it out loud.

He'd believed he would be able to lead the efforts in pushing back the Sith without help. Not out of quest for glory, promotion, nor medals but of spite against Lucien Dooku Lucien Dooku - his direct rival standing in the way of forming an Empire in Harrsk's image, in COMPNOR's image.

But not yet, no. There had to be a way without Dooku and without the fethin' Fel knight. COMPNOR could still turn the tide.

He could still turn the tide.

<"Sentinel, this is Hellion. Status on the Imperator?">

<"Hellion, this is Sentinel. Status unknown.">

<"Still?">

<"Still.">

<"Where the hell is he, damn it?!">

<"We've got no information, Sir.">

"FETH!" Harrsk slammed the comlink on the ground and resigned back on the wall. He glanced at Elicia, he had completely forgotten about her. "feth..." he muttered under his breath, then gazed at the comlink in his hand.

It felt like eternity had passed before Jaeger Harrsk surrendered.

<"Sentinel, this is Hellion. Send a coded, direct transmission to Lucien Dooku and Rurik Fel.">

<"Copy, Hellion. What's the transmission code?">

TARKIN HAS FALLEN.


NIO | ALLIES | Elicia Hejaran | Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus | Rurik Fel Rurik Fel | Lucien Dooku Lucien Dooku
TSE | ENEMIES | soon.png
 

D E A D M A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CARLAC
PRELUDE...

「 F U N E R A L O P O L I S 」
Frigid Carlaci winds nipped at Tyrell's exposed flesh. Eyelids heavy enough for a lifetime of sleep fluttered open to the glacial sensation. Air flooded his withered lungs with a desperate gasp, death phlegm rattling along with the groaning of stiffened ribs expanding. He was dangling from an unseen apparatus attached behind him. Tyrell looked down, he couldn't feel his legs.

He didn't have any.

A laborious wheeze emanated between chapped lips where a surprised lamentation should have been. He wriggled and thrashed fruitlessly, helplessly restrained suspended above the snow. A reddish black stump replaced his elbow, a sharp stick of ivory bone erecting from the center. Eyes shot towards his other side, his arm intact, but his hand a mangled mess of sinew and bone, only index and middle extremities still recognizable.

"I- I'm still alive?"

"In a manner of speaking, Grand Vizier," a voice spoke up somewhere ahead of him over the howling winds that roared in his ears.

A figure shrouded in heavy linens strode across the snow toward Tyrell. The thick layer of sleet crunched beneath their every step. His proximity was hard to gauge, close but far away. Tyrell brought a hand up to his eye, feeling only a mush of flesh and ocular remains, unable to see his hand caressing over it. Instinctually he felt the other, reaffirming that at least one of them was functional.

The blindfolded visage of Lord Halketh Lord Halketh became visible from the off-white obscurity of snowflaked haze. Sudden gale threw the hood from his head, exposing the wry half-smirk that the Warlord of Carlac offered toward the Grand Vizier, or what was left of him.

"What did you do to me?"

"I restored you. Plucked you from the rubble on Garang and brought you back. Are you not pleased?"

"On whose author-?"

"My own, Grand Vizier."

Tyrell's head hung down, staring at what was left of his body and the snow beneath. Every breath a sickening symphony of fluid and muscular protest. "I'm repulsive," he lamented quietly. His hand gripped into a macabre mockery of a fist, congealed blood clots breaking and sending blackish ichor spewing onto the white beneath. Tyrell raised his head to Halketh with a stern scowl. "Put me out of this misery. I chose to rot, you will let me. This is an order."

The Miralukan Warlord clicked his tongue facetiously. "I'm afraid I cannot. A rage has awakened, Vizier Paxxus. The Imperator isolates himself in shame after our defeat on Dantooine. The Iron Sun may soon eclipse over Bastion. We need you."

"We lost?"

"Decisively."

"So I died for nothing."

"All the more reason to take this second chance, no?"

"And Irveric has resigned himself to hiding in his shame?"

"He did not take the failure to reclaim his home well. No man would."

"I failed him," Tyrell stated plainly, the despair in his voice growing more and more atonal and apathetic with every utterance. His heart longed to feel a great shame. As a leader, as a father, but the emotion was distant, distorted, all he felt was cold.

"We cannot win them all. Nothing worth doing is ever easy, and our mission will not be without its hiccups. You can reconcile this with the chance I've given you. You need only to accept the hand I've dealt you."

The Grand Vizier nodded reluctantly. "Fine."





FORTRESS IMPERATOR // BASTION
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
GRAND VIZIER
ACKNOWLEDGING: Willan Tal Willan Tal & Var Koon Var Koon

「 H I G H _ C O M M A N D 」
An unceremonious return from death had the general reaction you would expect. Shock, doubt, fear, confusion, but Tyrell didn't have time to get his story straight with everyone. Word of his status would not leave the echelons of COMPNOR and High-Command, and it certainly would not make it to the Imperator. With Imperator and Executor indisposed, Tyrell's word was the final authority.

From the tallest apex of Fortress Imperator, Tyrell gazed down at Ravelin and the advancing Sith forces below. From the very hour that the New Order had taken Bastion, Tyrell knew this day was a but a repugnant sun on the waiting horizon. There had never been a more significant spit in the face of the Sith's Monolithic Empire than the reclamation of Bastion. He knew they would be back, even if it was the last thing they ever did. It was a slight that the Sith sought to correct.

They would die trying.

"Get me the Grand Admiral," Tyrell ordered. The comms would come to life with a sudden static before an open channel played in brief silence. "Admiral Koon, this is Paxxus," he declared. His voice was unmistakable, but now with a dark undertone of hollow indifference. "You are to be indiscriminate. No vessels enter or leave Bastion or the System. Red or Gray, we have no time for cold feet."

The channel closed.

"Get me General Tal," he ordered again. "General Tal, this is Grand Vizier Paxxus. All ground Sith-Imperial Forces are now Hostile Designation: Dark. You see a white flag, you burn it. Shoot first, prioritize field physicians, dead check every corpse. They will know no reprieve, no prisons, only death."

The channel closed.

"Grand Vizier, the Sith-Imperial prisoners have been equipped, just as you asked," a Female Chiss General informed from behind him.

"Good, March them to Point Epsilon."

"Yes, Vizier."

A dozen battalions of Sith-Imperial POWs, dressed in gutted New-Imperial Storm armor and given mock-blasters were marched in different directions across Ravelin. They were told their freedom waited at their destinations. Instead, drawn Sith-Imperial fire would be what greeted them. Anti-personnel turbolasers and airstrikes cut them down in place of actual New-Imperial defenses.

It left a sick feeling in the guts of every officer in the command center with Tyrell. The Grand Vizier took a drag from his cigarette. For him, it evoked nothing.

He only felt cold.


TARKIN HAS FALLEN.

"Shit," Tyrell cursed as smoke escaped from between his teeth. "I want artillery and orbital fire on coordinate: Tarkin. Level it."

"Sir?"

Tyrell's head turned slowly to look over his shoulder. Neck bones crunched and groaned with every inch of oscillation.

"The COMPNOR HQ? Our men-?"

"Do it," he hissed.

"Y-Yes sir."


NIO | ALLIES | Jaeger Harrsk Jaeger Harrsk | Willan Tal Willan Tal | Var Koon Var Koon
TSE | ENEMIES | Luna Terrik Luna Terrik
 
Lion's Pride
Character




Zakaria Black
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
B A S T I O N


SEVERAL MONTHS PRIOR...

Zakaria wheezed as he was propped against a wall, his armor battered and worn from the battle as he used his rifle as support to hold himself up, his free hand pressed against his upper chest as blood began to pour from a wound he had sustained from fighting a Sith who had gone on a bloodthirsty rampage, slaughtering combatants and civilians with impunity. The man having served under the Sith Empire and been privy to all the atrocities committed, having been forced to turn a blind eye as a soldier, could not stand by idly and watch after he had become a commander of the New Imperial Order to atone for his past sins. His body just moved on its own, without thinking as he tackled the Sith to the ground who was ready to cut down a child. Even as he wrestled the Sith, he knew that if he was able to save even a few innocent lives from the further atrocities of the Sith, then his life in exchange would have been worth it.
Now as Zakaria felt the warmth of his body start to slowly pump out of him, and his vision began to blur, the image of a child and their parents reuniting, the parents turning to look at Zakaria as the father began to run over. He raised his bloodied hand up to his helmet as he lifted it up, his body sliding down against the wall as he sat on the ground, coughing up blood as the comms in his helmet crackled to life, << The day is won! We are victorious - The Sith are retreating! >> A faint smile formed on the Galidraanian's lips as he breathed out a sigh of relief before his eyes began to close and his vision blacked out.
Zakaria would soon find himself awake on a table, his senses groggy as he let out a pained cough and groan. His armor had been removed as he felt a lance of pain across his chest trying to sit up. A woman off to the side turned to him as he woke up, speaking softly, " Please...Try not to move too much, your injuries are still very much not healed yet. " Zakaria looked down to see that the injury he had sustained to his upper left chest was stitched and dressed as he spoke with a hoarse voice, " Where am I? " The woman turned to another figure who entered the room, a man accompanied by a small child, who clung to his leg from behind, the memory of the family he had reunited just before he blacked out flashing into his mind, as the man spoke, " You are in our residence on Bastion...Luckily for you, it was nearby, and that I am a surgeon. If it had been any longer you would have bled out... Thank you...For saving my daughter... "
Zakaria looked down at the young girl and offered a warm and reassuring smile, the smile being reciprocated by the young girl as she raised her arms up in excitement. Zakaria mustered what strength he had in his body to reach down and pat the young girl's head, a symbol to the family that he would be steadfast and protect them - On this, he swore as a soldier of the New Imperial Order and his honor. The family and Zakaria would soon share a celebratory meal as he took the time to appreciate that he was on the right path for setting things right.

PRESENT DAY...

Zakaria polished his newly refurbished helmet as he sat in the barracks of Castle Gladius after having requested he be permitted to stay on Bastion and help oversee the reconstruction of what was lost and to reassure the people of Bastion that they would protect them from the Sith Empire. There was a shadow that lurked in the back of Zakaria's head that the Sith would someday make their return to reclaim their former capital, but thus far, things had been peaceful. The people of Bastion were being well cared for and integrated into the New Imperial Order as was evidenced by their gratefulness to be aided by the New Imperials.​
Zakaria would tuck his helmet underneath his arm as he made his way out onto the base that was established in the former Blackblade Castle, now renamed as Castle Gladius for Gladius Company's success in taking it during their invasion of Bastion, soldiers offering him salutes as he gave a nod and let them continue on with their day. He had some time to spare in the day to visit his godchild Ava, the young girl he had saved months prior, stepping onto a transport with a few other soldiers on their way to the residential districts to run their routine patrols.​
Zakaria held onto the rails above with one hand as he looked down at Ravelin, former towers of rubble being slowly rebuilt to magnificence once more. The transport would set down as Zakaria hopped onto the streets of Ravelin, being greeted by the youth as he offered hearty laughs and smiles while making his way to the residence of the man who saved his life. He stood at the door, tapping the bell as he heard hurried footsteps on the other end followed shortly by the door sliding away to reveal a starry-eyed Ava staring up at him with a grin and outstretched arms, " Uncle Black! " Zakaria offered a warm smile as he knelt down and set his helmet down next to him before rubbing his hands against the girl's cheeks, " Ava! It is good to see you. "​
A woman would soon appear in the hall behind Ava as Zakaria lifted the young girl up as he stood in one arm, offering her a nod, " Alana. " The woman smiled and gestured, " Zakaria. I just finished preparing lunch. " Zakaria walked into the residence with Ava in his arm as he soon set her down when he stepped into the kitchen and watched her scurry off to grab plates off the counter and help set the table, Zakaria taking a seat as he spoke, " How is Liam? " The woman would finish the table as steam radiated from the warm meal she cooked, " Busy at the hospital as usual, but he is quite grateful to the New Imperial Order as you might expect. He doesn't mind putting in the extra hours to make sure all the injured soldiers make a full recovery. "​
The woman set a glass down at the table as she filled it with water. Zakaria smiled and offered his thanks as he raised the glass and took a sip before setting it back down on the table, his gloved fingers still around it. He was about to speak up before he noticed something off. He glanced down at the glass that was firmly resting on the table, feeling a subtle thumping as ripples began to form in the water. It would only be a split second before he recognized the pattern of it. He'd turn to Ava as he shouted at Alane to get down, grabbing the young girl as he threw himself on top of her and got down on the ground.​
An explosion would rip through the residence as the structure was hit by a mortar, rubble falling from the ceiling as a scream was heard. As the dust settled Zakaria would grunt as he shifted his body, a piece of rubble sliding off his armor as he looked down at the young girl beneath him, "Ava, stay down. Alane! " Zakaria would get up as Ava started to bawl. Zakaria put his helmet on as he scanned the dusty and ruined home, a faint life signature appearing in his HUD as he made his way over to a pile of rubble, lifting chunks of rubble off to the side as he soon found the mangled form of the woman partially buried underneath, bloodied and stuck as weak breaths could barely be heard, " Please... Take Ava and run... " Zakaria looked down as he attempted to excavate more rubble and debris, only for the pile to shift, threatening to collapse the entirety of what was left standing down on them as the woman cried out quietly so that her daughter would not have to hear her dying cries, whispering once more, " Please... Keep her safe, and tell Liam... to raise her well. " Tears streamed down the woman's bloodied and dusted face as her life signature soon flatlined.​
Zakaria growled as he slammed his fist into the ground before turning as he heard more explosions rocking the nearby areas as he got up, his helmet's lights flooding the area as he made his way back to Ava and scooped her up, " Ava, keep your eyes closed, I'm getting you out of here. You need to be strong. For your mother and father. " The wailing child would hush up as she wiped her own tears away and buried herself into Zakria's shoulder as he held her up in one arm. He'd exit the destroyed residence to a scene of carnage as bodies of men, women, and children strewn about the once sunny streets of Ravelin, the area choked with black smoke and flame as Zakaria turned to see familiar designs of Sith Imperial Star Destroyers up in orbit as hostile craft descended upon Ravelin. Zakaria would activate his comms as he spoke into it, " This is General Black. We are under attack by the Sith. I repeat - We. Are. Under. Attack. I want the Forty-Ninth to the residential sector immediately! Evacuate the civilians and get them to safety. "​
Blaster bolts would whizz past Zakaria as he reached down to his holster and grabbed his sidearm, turning back his arm to keep the girl in his arms covered as he fired shots at scouts that were probing their way through already. Several charric bolts struck a Sith Imperial trooper in the chest with a final one snapping the soldier's head back as Zakaria started to move. Friendly troops would appear, converging on their general's position as they were pulled from their patrol routes to start establishing defensive positions for civilians to start falling back to.​
[ Theme ]


 
Amor Fati
Character
PRELUDE
Before the Second Bastionfall....




「A PATTERN HERE I NEED TO SEE」

A Sith turned from the dark is a life saved and an enemy defeated. Jedi by circumstance, altruist by choice, Zaavik felt it was his duty to preserve life. No matter how vain or risky the effort, he would do what he believed he must. Should it be the death of him, at least he died on his feet with good in his heart and soul. The prospect did not frighten him as much as it once had.

How could nothingness possibly be worse than this?

The Shadow skulked across the hangar, making a beeline towards a fighter vessel. The ladder to the cockpit clanked under his footfalls, ascending closer with every step. A voice called out from behind him, resonating off the walls of the empty hangar and into his ears, causing him to freeze.

"Zaavik!?" The voice of Ryv was unmistakable. "You missed the brief, I- What are you doing?"

Zaavik sighed. Busted. "Leaving," he replied plainly, taking another step on the ladder.

"Cold feet, huh? Cmon, let's talk about this, no need to go deserting us."

"No, it's not that. I uh-" Zaavik dropped off the ladder, boots smacking into the durasteel flooring beneath. A turn was made to face Ryv, a few steps forward made to meet him. "There's something I gotta do. I don't really know how, or why, but I can feel it. The Force is pulling me somewhere, the call is-" He paused, looking down to the floor with an odd camber to his lips before looking back up to his fellow Jedi. "It's really loud, Ryv. I can't ignore it."

The Sword of the Jedi made a face, placing a hand on his hip with an inquistive raise of his brow. "Something, huh?" His tone was laden with more curiosity than doubt. "What's this something, then?"

"Saving a life."

No deception emanated from Zaavik to Ryv's empathic sense. The Kiffar let out a breath and smirked slightly. "Fine, I'll cover for you. Just don't get in over your head, okay?"

"When do I ever?"

Ryv blinked in silence, a blank stare regarding the Zeltron with disbelief.

Zaavik smirked, chuckling at his own joke. "I'll be fine," he insisted, hastily climbing back up the ladder and climbing into the cockpit. Certainty in his statement was a facade, for the Knight truly didn't know what to expect. A certain dread was hidden behind the pull the Force assaulted him with. It was better not to dwell on those feelings, anyhow. "Thanks," he offered as he slid the pilot's helmet over his head and looked down to Ryv.

The Kiffar nodded in silence, arms moving to cross over his chest. Engined blared as the vessel started up. Artificial winds danced wildly in all directions as the fighter slowly raised from the floor before tearing forward through the atmospheric shield of the hanger. Zaavik disappeared as a spec against the endless void of space.



FEL REDOUBT // BASTION
SECOND BASTIONFALL

Aradia Aradia



「AS THE DEAD SIGH」
"No entry, Jedi." A Togrutan Imperial Knight rebuked Zaavik's request with clear contempt. This entrance to the Redoubt was guarded only by the Knight and an accompanying Stormtrooper. Other forces were scrambling to prep defenses and take positions, leaving the actual present security rather lacking.

"Listen, man, I'm on your side, I'm just trying to-"

"We said no entry," the Stormtrooper helmet vocoder distorted voice doubled down with his Imperial Knight comrade.

"You forget, we are only allies against the Sith. You are not entitled to our facilities, we are not friends."

Zaavik threw his hands up halfway and sighed with feigned defeat. "Yeah, whatever," he replied with a facade of concession. He took a step backward, turned his back half to them, and pulled out his commlink, pretending to make a call. Both guards eased up, thinking the Shadow had given up. Cybernetic hand brought the comm up to his lips as his other hand made a sneaky wave at his side, index and little finger flicking up and down.

"You will let me into the redoubt," he spoke firmly.

The Stormtrooper's posture went slack. "I will let him into the Redoubt."

"What?"

The guard turned and tapped at the door control, punching in a code that caused the massive door panels to begin to slide open with a loud groaning.

"'The hell are you doing?"

Zaavik crept up alongside the Trooper and quickly reached forward to switch his blaster to stun. "Blast him," he commanded calmly.

A hiss of white plasma erupted from the Imperial Knight's saber hilt as the realization took over. The first shot was parried, the magnetic containment field of the saber sending it flying wildly into the air. The second shot found purchase, slipping past the saber and slamming into the Knight's gut, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious. The effectiveness of New Imperial Troopers proving once again capable of overcoming the lightsaber.

Zaavik scoffed smugly. "Veina," Bitch, he quipped as he looked down at the Togruta. The Jedi offered a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, the metal of his prosthetic clattering against plastoid shoulder pauldrons. "Good job. Take a nap, huh? You've earned it."

"You got it, boss!" The Stormtroopers knees gave as he folded to the floor. Armor clacked and clamored against itself, followed by the hollow thud of helmet onto concrete. Snoring echoed inside the hollow shell, vocoding outward as a digitized static. A long step over the two unconscious guards heralded his waltz through the foyer of the Redoubt.

Corellian Coin rolled around between his fingers. Ethereal screams, wails, and other horrible sounds of the past echoed through the halls, courtesy of the coin's imprint. It was nothing short of gutwrenching, but he had no choice other than to endure. The echoes and visions carved a clairvoyant path toward his intent, a macabre road for his likely vain quest.

Staircase, corridor, left turn, corridor, right turn, stairs again. The former Sith Academy had looked big, but on the inside, the scale was even more impressive. Remnants of Sith iconography still lingered, the efforts to chip them away in favor of the Imperial Codex still ongoing. It was no wonder it had taken so long, he'd felt as if he'd walked miles already.

Every new scream he heard, every new cry, every new spatter of blood he saw evoked a unique grimace all their own. He'd heard about it, but the first-hand recollections were a lot worse than he thought. Zaavik was still in a coma when this all went down. He wouldn't have ever imagined the ordeal to be this horrific. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel wrong.

Another corridor, this time the coin granted him the sound of laughter. A familiar voice that reverberated from father ahead, echoing in a repetitive rhythm further and further down the hallway. Pace increased, pointed boots slogging against the tiles with their own impactful reiteration off the hard interior walls.

Disfigured digits lightly caressed a durasteel door. Eyelids closed, opposite hand clenching the coin as he focused internally. In the back of his mind's eye, red-hued locks danced against momentum through the threshold. The coin was practically humming, a subtle vibration buzzing in the center of his palm.

This was it.

Fingers slid down to the door control. A pulse through the force willed the mechanisms to clear, forcing the door to hiss open and click at the apex of it coming ajar. Slowly he walked forward, what was once a significant space had been reduced to a linen closet. Towels, vestments, rags, curtains, and the like. It could have been much worse, they had to store the dismantled Sith Iconography somewhere, or at least, whatever they couldn't burn.

Situating himself in the center of the room, Zaavik turned to face the door and dropped slowly to his knees. He sat on his feet and placed the coin in front of him. Both fists retreated to his knees as his eyes closed. A deep breath would slip him into a light meditative trance.

She would be here, he was certain.

 
Darth Sybila
Writer

//: Location Imperial Palace, Bastion..
//: Time 00:00....
//: Protocol #3..

The distant echo of artillery fire reverberated off the long line of apartment windows, the hollow drum of guns kissed each glass pane before silence followed. It had become routine, somewhere in the mud and pittish hell of the frontline Lyra had learned to tune out the gun salute. The boys however had not, and her eyes trailed from Corvallis toward the far wall. His small eyes grew to the size of saucers and she hummed loudly, paying it little mind. Sunlight poured in, reflecting off the metallic highrise of the city as she offered the windows a second glance.

“What was that Corvallis? Was that the soldiers?” she whispered as the toddler looked back to her. The faintest sensation of ice crept over her and her mind brushed the child’s. A reassurance as she reached out, rolling gently on to her side to reach out and pass the toddler another stuffed animal. She didn’t want to imagine either boy tangled up in the throes of the battle field.

Guilt still ate at her, if it was not one thing it was the other..but.she had not given them enough of her time. She didn’t trust herself alone, not again..not with them and the Nova Commando burned in the back of her mind. His presence was an affront and she was frankly too well aware of every movement he made. The disturbance like a ripple in a pond, present by her orders alone. Lyra chewed on her cheek as Kriegan found his way over to her side, recklessly wandering around the couch only to throw himself down beside her. Lyra raised a hand to comb through the dark mop of hair as he settled down, a block traded between his chubby hands-mulling over the toy.

If it wasn’t the stimulates, it was a drugged meditative state, or the shackles of voidstone presented to provide her with a moment of peace. Not today..it had been sometime since she had felt secure enough to forgo the measures. Where she began and Sybila ended-

Lyra couldn’t fathom a scenario where her hand was raised against them violently, and she dropped her hand as she rubbed circles into the toddlers' back. Force she would bleed herself dry- but she wouldn’t let them see her decent in an episode. No one knew, not even Irveric.

A shaky breath escaped her as Kriegan passed her the block. Carefully she accepted it to set it aside and traded him the carved Akul, her brows raised dramatically in silence as he gleefully took it. Her face fell the moment the toddler looked away, sobering as she sunk back into the floor.

His brother was eager to toss aside the array of stuff animals provided, squealing loudly and continuing his exploration of the living room floor. Sprawled out across the carpet, Lyra lounged beside them. Even in the wake of harrowing thought, a gentle smile graced her lips. They were growing too fast, and the woman marveled at it.

A ring sounded from the depths of office and she craned her head, ripped from her reverie in a single moment. There were a handful of protocols that came to mind, she was too well trained to err the side of caution. It was a rare day she arranged to spend on personal matters because of it, brows furrowed together as a second shrill alarm joined the alert.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared down the spartan halls, her attention manifested on the steel door. Her smile slowly slipping from her visage as a third alarm joined the symphony, emergency beacons. Kriegan spoke in broken gibberish beside her and Lyra forced herself to inhale deeply. She dragged her hands beneath her and pushed herself in an instant, a pain erupted behind her eyes like needles as she was engulfed by the throes of the reaches of powers beyond her control.


“Ma’am-”

Force knew something darker swept over their heads. A second round of artillery echoed over the city heights, bolstered by the mute screech of tie fighters over the heights of the palace. The quarters main doors hissed open and Lyra’s head whipped toward the entrance, her servo flexed. A squad of black clad troopers filed in and her knees creaked as Lyra rose to her feet, the steady thrum of her heart now beat violently against her chest.

The boys curiously rose to their feet and she stooped down to grab them each carefully, the arms-to keep them still. Her head swiveled from the grand windows to the commando,
waiting. The soldier’s gauntlet was pressed to his helmet, the faint buzz of comm links filled the air. She already knew, there was a cruiser entering-the man’s dark visor meeting her gaze pulling her from the series of mental flickers, the vision..

“It’s the Sith Empire, a fleet’s just dropped over the planet-they’re engaging in a full planetary assault.”

Lyra’s eyes swept down to the twins, Kriegan pulled against her hand and she knew he was about to fuss by the pinch at his lip. Her chest heaved for breath, every soldier was surely in transit to their post but she was here. There was no time to evacuate-

“Where is the Imperator?” Lyra asked, her voice strained as she enveloped both boys. The woman hoisted the children up and picked her way through the mess, distancing herself from the windows as heavy fire shook the foundation of the building. Her mind fled seven different ways, they had to go on the defense-


“We have no location on him. Ma’am we need to move you to a secure location-”

How could he do this? Why of all times. She pitied herself, a loathing old as old time wrapped itself around her. Lyra knew she was staring down the face of a barrel, without the fleet present, Dooku, the 501st gone, and a portion of the 307th stationed over Bescane. Who did they have? The city would have to hold out, tooth and nail. Her station was alone.

“No,” Lyra whispered, she couldn’t look at the soldier. “Enact protocol three.”

She was stricken, eyes flooding as she stepped forward with a mechanical precision-forcing the boys into the arms of the troopers. Her fingers trailed down their arms to their hands, everything screamed at her not to let go but she did. She knew damn well it all was too good to be true and Lyra cursed and raged silently, inhaling a sharp breath-clinging to anything to keep her composure.

Armored arms carefully maneuvered the children as another pair of troopers searched the apartment, retrieving the emergency cases. They were too precise, soldiers trying to care for children. She wished she could laugh. It didn’t matter how many times she showed them, they held too tightly, did not consider they were scared. No, they had gone over this before.

Another explosion rocked the city somewhere, a dark shadow growing over the windows from smoke.


“What was that-”

“Sappers, garrison is already preparing to dig in.”

“Good,” she uttered.

Heavy canvas ripped as the boys were carefully strapped against plate and covered by a shroud of armor. Kriegan was the first to scream and she gritted her teeth, hands balled at her sides as her feet dragged back. Her vision tunneled, the boys cried and she turned her back for a second time on them. What if she didn’t come home?

They had picked a fight with the endless demon, and she had tied herself to it’s martyr. She fucking despised them all. Lyra tucked away the seed of rage, pocketing like some treat she’d unfurl-if she even came face to face with one, with any single Legionnaire, with any single dog-
A piercing pain shot through her chest and she ran her hand down her face, tracing down the river of scars mapping her way down to her throat..The sound of the troopers' armor drowned out the sounds of the twins' distress as they marched out the apartment and she refused to cry. Lyra walked her way down the hall, her body shook and her lungs begged for air. Her servo brushed the panel and the doors of her office opened.

The lights hummed as they flickered on and she crossed the space, slapping her hand down on the holo map as a cerulean light bathed her and the office. The local city populated slowly as units registered in red, the air space was rife and Lyra circled the table as she filed through the series of messages. Captain Appw’rii’s stood out and she checked the simple message first.

//: Secreuity task enroute..

the message flickered across the projection in aurebesh. She felt cold and detached from each action as she came to terms with the reality of a siege.

//: Tarkin Has Fallen.

What if they didn’t make it out? It was selfish, and Lyra pulled her hands back as another relay transferred to the Lieutenant Commanders spread across the 307th. The clock blinked as the timer ticked away and Lyra slammed her fist down without care. Flesh brushed steel and the thud was followed by a wave of pain. It was of liberation. Between the numerous civilian life and soldiers, she was here wallowing.

The energy that welled under her skin and crept around her reacted, data pad and the like flying from the desk. Lyra stalked back then around the desk savoring the blood on her lips. Her eyes landing on the idle mirage of her armor reflected the grey setting. The suit waited on it’s stand in the corner of the space and she ripped down the helmet first.


“Brutalize them, to the last one, make them pay-this is your home isn’t it?”

Re...recive-...receiving trans-...
Initializing-… re-transmission….
System rebooting..


She had to draw the line in the sand, her desire to remain Fortress side a determent to Command-A hairline fissure formed across her screen, the crack of glass warning her. She seethed from behind her clenched teeth, iron-her own blood pooled in her mouth and Lyra swallowed thickly. Had she hemorrhage something? The A.I flickered as all signals went down and her stomach sank. The powercell roared then, ventilators kicked in as a blast of cold air last minute assaulting her visage; sweat dripping down her brow.

The ship had barreled down and she had stepped forward, reacting by instinct alone.

<//”Override sensors, disengage,”//> Lyra ground out, the noise alone threatened her concentration, the living force wove between both hands and she guided it upward. The weight of the ruble she bore threatened now to consume her. Every fiber of being held aloft the cement and durasteel as a dust consumed the urban center.

Her arms quaked, muscles burning. The power suit served no purpose here-

<”Clear-clear, clear, clear, clear!”> Lyra’s voice fizzled over the comms, the scrape of armor against stone and screams of civilians surrounded her. Begging, ordering them, hoping they would get out of the way. She didn’t know how long she had, there was no gauge to follow.

Could you time a condition like the Force, synthesize down to a science? The sheer presence of life warned her she could not falter as her knee hit the cement. The stray tie had been shot down in an instant over the complexes. The city rise was in flames, damned by the hellish flames and smoke. The echo of heavy machinery rolled out as they chalked up a semblance of a defense.


<”Road blocks breaking but the sappers are almost done Colvy-”>

The fires roared overhead, as blaster fire from heavy repeaters lit up the lower roadway. They were too exposed here and they had a handful of men standing guard. They needed to clean this up now, Lyra pried open her eyes. Troopers weaved their way through the suspended crash, some brushed closely past her and she threatened to topple over. Every man and woman desperately hauled citizens out and away as she bought them time. It was a risk to step outside, it was a risk to cower inside and the fallout didn’t discriminate. Half the shop corner was already devastated.

<”Clear!”> Arroyo’s voice reached her, comms whining-the signal was spotting.

A small low hiss escaped her as the pressure only continued to mount, even as she inhaled she slowly suffocated. Her armor creaked and her other knee fell, tenebrae grinding into the cement. Lyra grasped at the invisible strands that wove through her, the pain and thrusted her gauntlets further above her head; gasping. Her armor trembled as gave one final thrust of her arms, guiding the ruble aside. The remains of the ship collapsed aside an ugly crack sounding over the audio receptors, the roadway trembling.

<”Buy us time Goldie”> Lyra ground out.

She couldn’t stop her body from hitting the road, crumpling to the ground drained and all energy fleeing her. The Company had cleared the wreckage and she vaguely registered the soldiers towering over her..The screen rebooted as she lay there, her mouth still tasted of blood and she spat. Crimson dripped down her chin and Lyra groaned, dragging one hand across to the manual override on her vambrace.

She didn’t feel the needle pierce, only two hands reach down and seize her arms to drag her back. The back light kicked on as her vitals raced down the screen. The levels dropped, the A.I screeched over the audio receptors, aurebesh in bold red warning her. They hadn’t even made rendezvous yet. Dragged from the dust cloud, Lyra’s helmet tilted back watching the sky harried by plasma. The bacata worked slowly but she a cool sensation engulf her and she balled her fist.

They ducked back in the alley ways for cover, the skies shrouded by fire ramps an towering apartment.


<///”Replay transmission”//>> Lyra descended in to a coughing fit, propped against the side of the building. She raised a flat palm as Arroyo rushed up. Her eyes flitted across the signal, trying to focus.

She recognized the call sign and her shoulders dropped with an measure of relief. Two Companies of Troopers spread out over a sector alone? She wasn't sure how she was suppose to pull that off. The other half the Legion was spread out in other sectors-they needed to finish the blockade. They needed very gun on deck.


<<”Diamond Snake, this Vindicate Actual I read you... We’re delayed near fifth avenue. Rendezvous with us.”>>

Lyra weighed her options before she adjusted the link.

<"Goldie Locks, I want the road ready to blow in three minutes. Fall back and keep the evacuees moving.">



ALLIES | NIO | SOM | Jaeger Harrsk Jaeger Harrsk Djorn Bline Djorn Bline Rurik Fel Rurik Fel Irveric Tavlar
ENEMIES | TSE | OPEN
 
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Number one Villain
Character





Brigadier General- Willan Tal
1st Galidraani volunteers armoured infantry brigade 'Tals Devils'
1st Battalion of the brigade 'The fighting first'
New Imperial Order

Location: Maxmillian heights
Allies tags: Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus Jaeger Harrsk Jaeger Harrsk Erskine Barran Erskine Barran Vostok Grauv Vostok Grauv Asa Yubari Asa Yubari Tariq Hejazi Tariq Hejazi Lyra Voi'kryt Lyra Voi'kryt Djorn Bline Djorn Bline
Opposition tags: Luna Terrik Luna Terrik Ingrid L'lerim-Vandiir Ingrid L'lerim-Vandiir






There comes a time when a man must step forth and do one's duty in the face of the odds, knowing full well the price that bore heavy on those who stepped into the lion's den and faced deaths ever-present door proudly. That was a burden placed on the sons of Galidraan. A solemn tradition of a stiff upper lip and an adherence to always maintain one's duty and oath to home and the family legacy. Galidraan was eternal, Galidraan was forever. The preservation of the homeland bore heavy in each of Galidraans esteemed sons, but it was a task they took to like their fathers before them.

Galidraan prevails.


Scattered reports ebbed and flowed in. And then nothing, a few frenzied radio comms all silenced abruptly. Then the clouds lit up with the husks of various Sith war vessels, the once tranquil sky now lit with wild anti-air fire and blaster fire streaking across Bastions despondent horizon. The Sith had come to reclaim what was lost months ago in blood, now to reclaim it in blood once more. Clearly intent on salvaging whatever pride they lost in the first battle of Bastion, when their sith ilk was slaughtered en mass in Ravelins once esteemed halls.

The claxon rang out amidst a chorus of alarms across the city, like a weird cacophonic opera that heralded the deluge of violence that would soon infest Ravelin once more. Only this time the Imperials were on the defence.

< "HOSTILE FORCES INBOUND.">


"<HOSTILE FORCES INBOUND, ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL REPORT FOR DUTY.">












<"General Tal, this is Grand Vizier Paxxus. All ground Sith-Imperial Forces are now Hostile Designation: Dark. You see a white flag, you burn it. Shoot first, prioritize field physicians, dead check every corpse. They will know no reprieve, no prisons, only death.">-- Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus






One must do his duty.




He took off his cap and wiped his forehead. The temperature in the air was high due to the dozens of brigade tanks that rolled through Ravelins streets, and the scent of oil and smoke was thick in the air. At least that's how he justified it in his head, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a locket, opening it to reveal a photo of a younger Tal, his wife Lena and their firstborn. Back in the days when he was just a simple graduate officer in the Galidraani state security forces. In a way, he longed for those days of optimistic and boundless youth; he wasn't so burdened by the cause to liberate home. Willan often pondered if things might've been simpler, he'd had an otherwise unremarkable career in the state security forces and would've been able to retire on a sizable pension. Maybe he would've been there for his children's birthdays and graduations, but like the military life had robbed him of his youth, Galidraans cause had robbed him of the privilege of normalcy and being a father. He hoped they'd come to understand in time what sacrifices their father had made, for them, for his people, for Galidraan.



He looked over to the orderly marching lines of his Battalion moving into the Maxmillian heights district. His subordinate officers shuffled about, doing their routine battle checks while others screamed orders to their troops marching in line. Everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly – apart from the impending Sith attack, of course. But they were prepared for that, and the Galidraani brigade had formulated a plan of defensive stalling centred around the Imperial gate and the Maxmillian heights. Tals own boys the 1st Battalion were situated and setting up camp in the clustered residential areas of the Maxmillian heights alongside other Imperial units and the Kandaran Fedayeen. While Barrans blue hearts were fortifying the Imperial gate with tanks and other entrenchments. Upon the recommendation of Barran, Tal had designated the three other Brigade Battalions to be in reserve at the Fel Redoubt and the Imperial Palace. He and everyone else with common sense knew that they weren't enough to hold the line forever, all they could hope for in the fight to come was that they could buy time for reinforcements or at least make the Sith pay for every block they took.




"Looks like they'll be down on the surface soon, Sir."



Placing the cap back on his head, he turned his attention back to the officer before him.



"Indeed lad, indeed," he proclaimed solemnly, casting his gaze above the pair to the many dozens of warships that straddled the sky for seemingly endless distance. And with that many thousands of transports containing Sith force users, troopers and all kinds of demonic monstrosities that the Sith conjured up in their lairs. They had a fight on their hand, and many of his soldiers and lads would not live to see the coming dawn if it did come. The Sith vessels were so numerous and vast in scope they could seemingly block the sun.




"Get your boys in position, I want every house of interest in this fething district fortified and barricades set up on every street, we won't beat them back old boy, but we can make them pay and hope our reinforcements come before we're all sithspawn food."



"Copy that sir," the officer nodded, stood to attention and saluted before leaving to shout a bunch of idle Galidraani soldiers into action. He watched the cadre of soldiers and their commanding officer leave, sighing to himself as he moved to pick up the commlink that connected him to his brigade.





"This is your brigade commander speaking, you and many others among you stand upon the cusp of glory and the gateway to home, you have fought and bled with me each world and system our banner has laid sight upon, you have given your lives to the cause of home, and I could not wish to be among such fine company as yourselves, beyond us lie a host of wretched evil vast and terrible," He paused momentarily staring down at his shaky hands, collecting himself before continuing, "These wretched sods will be amidst us in the coming hour, but fear not my lads, they are many, but we are few and resolute, they fight for a cowardly dynasty that with each Imperial advance quakes and shivers behind their thrones and palaces of gold, you have something so pure and whole that no Sith would ever have the good honour of fighting for, you fight for home, you fight for Galidraan so that it might see a new dawn and glory, I can only ask that you may stand with your brothers in arms at the hour of the wolf, we will not cede this city lightly, go forth into the frey gentlemen and god save Galidraan."




















 
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The Spark
Character




Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Dagoth Zaavik Dagoth | Closed
PRELUDE
Before the Second Bastionfall....




「A PATTERN HERE I NEED TO SEE」

A Sith turned from the dark is a life saved and an enemy defeated. Jedi by circumstance, altruist by choice, Zaavik felt it was his duty to preserve life. No matter how vain or risky the effort, he would do what he believed he must. Should it be the death of him, at least he died on his feet with good in his heart and soul. The prospect did not frighten him as much as it once had.

How could nothingness possibly be worse than this?

The Shadow skulked across the hangar, making a beeline towards a fighter vessel. The ladder to the cockpit clanked under his footfalls, ascending closer with every step. A voice called out from behind him, resonating off the walls of the empty hangar and into his ears, causing him to freeze.

"Zaavik!?" The voice of Ryv was unmistakable. "You missed the brief, I- What are you doing?"

Zaavik sighed. Busted. "Leaving," he replied plainly, taking another step on the ladder.

"Cold feet, huh? Cmon, let's talk about this, no need to go deserting us."

"No, it's not that. I uh-" Zaavik dropped off the ladder, boots smacking into the durasteel flooring beneath. A turn was made to face Ryv, a few steps forward made to meet him. "There's something I gotta do. I don't really know how, or why, but I can feel it. The Force is pulling me somewhere, the call is-" He paused, looking down to the floor with an odd camber to his lips before looking back up to his fellow Jedi. "It's really loud, Ryv. I can't ignore it."

The Sword of the Jedi made a face, placing a hand on his hip with an inquistive raise of his brow. "Something, huh?" His tone was laden with more curiosity than doubt. "What's this something, then?"

"Saving a life."

No deception emanated from Zaavik to Ryv's empathic sense. The Kiffar let out a breath and smirked slightly. "Fine, I'll cover for you. Just don't get in over your head, okay?"

"When do I ever?"

Ryv blinked in silence, a blank stare regarding the Zeltron with disbelief.

Zaavik smirked, chuckling at his own joke. "I'll be fine," he insisted, hastily climbing back up the ladder and climbing into the cockpit. Certainty in his statement was a facade, for the Knight truly didn't know what to expect. A certain dread was hidden behind the pull the Force assaulted him with. It was better not to dwell on those feelings, anyhow. "Thanks," he offered as he slid the pilot's helmet over his head and looked down to Ryv.

The Kiffar nodded in silence, arms moving to cross over his chest. Engined blared as the vessel started up. Artificial winds danced wildly in all directions as the fighter slowly raised from the floor before tearing forward through the atmospheric shield of the hanger. Zaavik disappeared as a spec against the endless void of space.



FEL REDOUBT // BASTION
SECOND BASTIONFALL

Aradia Aradia



「AS THE DEAD SIGH」
"No entry, Jedi." A Togrutan Imperial Knight rebuked Zaavik's request with clear contempt. This entrance to the Redoubt was guarded only by the Knight and an accompanying Stormtrooper. Other forces were scrambling to prep defenses and take positions, leaving the actual present security rather lacking.

"Listen, man, I'm on your side, I'm just trying to-"

"We said no entry," the Stormtrooper helmet vocoder distorted voice doubled down with his Imperial Knight comrade.

"You forget, we are only allies against the Sith. You are not entitled to our facilities, we are not friends."

Zaavik threw his hands up halfway and sighed with feigned defeat. "Yeah, whatever," he replied with a facade of concession. He took a step backward, turned his back half to them, and pulled out his commlink, pretending to make a call. Both guards eased up, thinking the Shadow had given up. Cybernetic hand brought the comm up to his lips as his other hand made a sneaky wave at his side, index and little finger flicking up and down.

"You will let me into the redoubt," he spoke firmly.

The Stormtrooper's posture went slack. "I will let him into the Redoubt."

"What?"

The guard turned and tapped at the door control, punching in a code that caused the massive door panels to begin to slide open with a loud groaning.

"'The hell are you doing?"

Zaavik crept up alongside the Trooper and quickly reached forward to switch his blaster to stun. "Blast him," he commanded calmly.

A hiss of white plasma erupted from the Imperial Knight's saber hilt as the realization took over. The first shot was parried, the magnetic containment field of the saber sending it flying wildly into the air. The second shot found purchase, slipping past the saber and slamming into the Knight's gut, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious. The effectiveness of New Imperial Troopers proving once again capable of overcoming the lightsaber.

Zaavik scoffed smugly. "Veina," Bitch, he quipped as he looked down at the Togruta. The Jedi offered a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, the metal of his prosthetic clattering against plastoid shoulder pauldrons. "Good job. Take a nap, huh? You've earned it."

"You got it, boss!" The Stormtroopers knees gave as he folded to the floor. Armor clacked and clamored against itself, followed by the hollow thud of helmet onto concrete. Snoring echoed inside the hollow shell, vocoding outward as a digitized static. A long step over the two unconscious guards heralded his waltz through the foyer of the Redoubt.

Corellian Coin rolled around between his fingers. Ethereal screams, wails, and other horrible sounds of the past echoed through the halls, courtesy of the coin's imprint. It was nothing short of gutwrenching, but he had no choice other than to endure. The echoes and visions carved a clairvoyant path toward his intent, a macabre road for his likely vain quest.

Staircase, corridor, left turn, corridor, right turn, stairs again. The former Sith Academy had looked big, but on the inside, the scale was even more impressive. Remnants of Sith iconography still lingered, the efforts to chip them away in favor of the Imperial Codex still ongoing. It was no wonder it had taken so long, he'd felt as if he'd walked miles already.

Every new scream he heard, every new cry, every new spatter of blood he saw evoked a unique grimace all their own. He'd heard about it, but the first-hand recollections were a lot worse than he thought. Zaavik was still in a coma when this all went down. He wouldn't have ever imagined the ordeal to be this horrific. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel wrong.

Another corridor, this time the coin granted him the sound of laughter. A familiar voice that reverberated from father ahead, echoing in a repetitive rhythm further and further down the hallway. Pace increased, pointed boots slogging against the tiles with their own impactful reiteration off the hard interior walls.

Disfigured digits lightly caressed a durasteel door. Eyelids closed, opposite hand clenching the coin as he focused internally. In the back of his mind's eye, red-hued locks danced against momentum through the threshold. The coin was practically humming, a subtle vibration buzzing in the center of his palm.

This was it.

Fingers slid down to the door control. A pulse through the force willed the mechanisms to clear, forcing the door to hiss open and click at the apex of it coming ajar. Slowly he walked forward, what was once a significant space had been reduced to a linen closet. Towels, vestments, rags, curtains, and the like. It could have been much worse, they had to store the dismantled Sith Iconography somewhere, or at least, whatever they couldn't burn.

Situating himself in the center of the room, Zaavik turned to face the door and dropped slowly to his knees. He sat on his feet and placed the coin in front of him. Both fists retreated to his knees as his eyes closed. A deep breath would slip him into a light meditative trance.

She would be here, he was certain.

Aradia had been removed from the front line. The order had been as clear as day, yet when the call for Bastion came to life... She broke her master's orders and answered. Kaalia would never understand.

She had to be there.



Her footsteps echoed through the familiar hall, goosebumps prickling over her skin. The siege of Bastion rang on beyond these now insignificant walls, but she did not yet join. Something drew her forward-- an intangible string pulling tight at her chest.

No one had survived the Imperial's attack. She knew that. Yet every corner she turned, her eyes searched, almost desperate for a lock of blonde hair-- a familiar dimple. Someone. Anyone.

Bastion Academy had been purged.

Tula had not survived.

She stopped short at juncture, a Fel tapestry hanging where an Empire one had once resided. She could see its faint outline, the dirt stain refusing to let the past fade. She let out a pained hiss. Fire erupted across the imperial symbol. She walked onwards, her once timid steps gaining intention.

Did they really think they could erase her with no consequence?

Ideas bubbled forward, smothering the pinching that built in her tear ducts. She had been in enough wars to know that pure brute would not win this school back alone. She had to--

She stopped short, a familiar set of doors appearing before her. In her brooding, she had not paid attention to where her feet had taken her. The path had been instinctual. Habit. She swallowed hard, the pinching in her tear ducts redoubling as she stared at her old dorm door.

Her hand raised before her, moving as if it were in a dream as it entered the old code.

The doors swished open.

Cold shock bit through her like poison.


 
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The Vulture
Character



L O S I N G T O U C H
ENTER THE VULTURE

DOOM_DIVISION : // DEPLOYED
THE_CARLACI_CORPS : // DEPLOYED
OPPOSITION_STATUS : // Dimitri Voltura Dimitri Voltura


_


"Everything I have done, I have done for you."
"Be honest with yourself, Kezec, none of this was for me-"

"Dearest Sith," the words unraveled themselves in The Vulture's mind as he stood upon the precipice of the looming battle, perched high amongst structures shattered and rebuilt once more, "These people, every one of them you promised splendor, has become a martyr." His helmeted head swept to the side, sight-beyond-sight illuminating in twisted crimson as he fixated upon the thousands of troopers arranged below his nest. Some were his. Others... borrowed. "Every man, woman, and child crushed beneath your heel in your petty refusal to fade... each one screaming for vengeance. For the tyranny to come to an end. Every one of them you forgot or brushed aside- cast to the fringes of your thought to be swept beneath the rug and out of your sight. You forgot them." Halketh drew a deep, surveying breath through the rebreather of his helmet, mangled fingers twitching against the small of his back as the tension mounting in the air arced between their tips, manifesting as twisted, crimson sparks. Here he was, once more in these streets he cleansed in a tide of crimson that carried him all the way to the fortress.

Each death.

Each moment of flickering finality.

A martyr.

He pondered amidst his pacing along the ledge how many of those twisted shells of life down there were the same as those once rallied behind the crimson saber to defend this world as their Emperor commanded. Even more so, he considered the deliciousness of the irony that lay behind those ravenous souls finally claiming their vengeance and succeeding in their charge, this time under a banner that would not fail them. He had come far more prepared to defend Bastion than he had been to siege it. His world had prospered in the time The Sith Empire had let it be and with each passing day, his twisted developments only grew. More bodies. More blood. More carnage. Every mortal husk crushed in the endless path to pave conquest across the galaxy served its purpose, filled in the rank, and swelled the insidious power the miraluka commanded. They were the bloodied, infallible spearhead the NIO wielded in its defiance of tyranny. In its rise to liberation.

There would be no more martyrs.

The eerie ranks of soldiers too still to be breathing shifted as Halketh beckoned, performing effortless about-faces, and turned their helmeted heads upward, looking to him.

"But you have not forgotten them, have you?" The Warlord asked aloud with a near-affectionate purr to his voice.

He was met with the rallying chorus of a thousand choked throats roaring- giving voice to the festering hatred their General had only nurtured in them over the passing months.

This world would not fall, this fortress, would not fail. This bastion would stand fast. It had to. He would see it so. Should this world have fallen, his were mere jumps away, threatened by the proximity of this battle in of itself. He stood there with the hope of his citizens bolstering his resolve, and the threat of everything he had worked tirelessly to build brought to heel. The plant, Nova Vox, had bolstered the New Imperial's war machine and provided stability for thousands of workers who would have been left with nothing. The glassy span of biodomes had born life in a place it was previously thought impossible. Cities had been erected, civilization had flourished, and thousands depended on him for stability. He wouldn't fail them.

The apprentice at his side seemed to sense his inner turmoil, and it was by a wave of her hand the troopers below returned to their previous position, eagerly awaiting the order to disperse to their coordinated positions in support of the other New Imperial forces. He had waited, perhaps longer than most, to land here. The citizens had to be evacuated. The homes cleared. He hoped, in the flank of his thought, that the refugees from this world would settle comfortably on his; that their accommodation would be suitable and fitting amongst the others... and most of all, that their displacement would not last. Their lives added to the weight on his shoulders, piling on to the tremendous toll he carried already, and only serving to harden the resolve willing to bear it.

"My Lord," Cassiy started as she extended an armored hand to grip at his shoulder, "the city has been cleared. They await your orders."

Her words reached him as static through his machinations, barely heard as more than the wind cutting through the rising structures built from the turmoil where he stood. He nodded slowly, acknowledging what she had said. "Good," his answer came chuffed upon a simple breath, and the next carried no further resolution.

He trusted his work and control, even over numbers so vast, but he was concerned for the safety of their newfound citizens all the same. His troopers were not the type to behave well with civilians. He knew his work had taken a toll on Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus and his curiosity could not help but stir in provocative directions to see just how dark the Grand Vizier had become in his new transformation. He was curious, even more so, to see how COMPNOR would take his resurrection.

Personally, some part of Lord Halketh desired, he hoped they would take it personally.

It was enough to make him smirk behind the helmet guarding his face.

"1st, 3rd, and 5th, move to bolster the 501st's positions within the city-" his voice reached those below, even though it was cast as barely a whisper, "Take up arms on the battalions and do not allow any to pass through in one piece." Three gunnery battalions were all he could spare in that regard, the rest he had much more dire plans for. His gauntleted hands were wrought before him, grating fortified digit one over the other as he oversaw his troopers splintering off to move to their positions. "The rest of you are to stay with me. We move." The Vulture cast himself from the ledge, flexing his clawed hands by his sides to slow his descent, and landed gently before the ravenous, dead troopers. Each helmeted gaze swiveled in tandem, tracking his motions as he started off down the long parade road leading to the looming fortress in the distance.

"Warlord, the armored division is in place." The crackling call resonated in his helmet, updating him on the situation at the foot of Fortress Imperator, and the walk leading there. And this much was true, he had been able to confirm as he passed by each tank on his stroll up the boulevarde. He answered in acknowledgment of the sergeant's update, though offered him no further orders. His soldiers knew their mission and he trusted their judgment to make the calls he would not be able to. His focus lay solely on defending the banner whipping at the tumultuous winds high above the street.

His ebon brows furrowed beneath his helmet as he climbed the stairs, each step resonating with hundreds in score behind him.

"Why can't you just accept that things are this way!? Why must you struggle against your destiny!?"

A ghost crashed through his psyche, splintering his focus.




Everything I have done, I have done for me.

A deep, resonating note churned in agonizing rhythm beneath the boots of those gathered far below the unforgiving ice of Carlac's surface. Under the rolling feet of the mountains, they had gathered, combining efforts to do what it was The Vulture asked of them. Hundreds of hundreds had been brought in, scraped off the grounds of soiled worlds, and carted away to a massive grave- the guardian of which stood on the lip of the jagged ledge carved out of the ritualistic chamber with hands tucked into the opposite sleeve of his robe. The putrid spoils of the latest haul did little to bother him, his nose had long since grown used to the taste of decay. It wouldn't last. He would restore them.

He swayed in his place of supervision, moving in time to the ebb and flow of The Force around him, spiraling in woven silk and coursing through the conductive bodies recruited for the effort. This grand awakening. The rhythm was always so intoxicating in its seductive pull. It could draw one in so easily, so recklessly, if he wasn't careful. Yet, Halketh had surrendered himself to its temptations decades ago.

Its caress.

Its tenderness.

Beneath his shroud, his eyeless gaze stirred as he tipped his head back, parting his eager lips to drink deeply from the incantation woven for him. Every syllable of the cursed tongue hummed in secret bolstered his strength, elevating him to a plane only achievable in the quiet hours as those who would stop him slumbered. When the insidious eyes of his own faction were not turned towards him. When he felt peace. The sea of body bags stretching into the darkness of the cavern twitched in tandem.

The Vulture extended his arms upward, twisting his heels inward as the shackles of madness looped around his ankles, solidifying his position and chaining him to this decision. There was no going back- there never was. Tendrils of insanity slithered around his forearms, plunging into his sleeves and creeping into his hood, coiling themselves around his throat. Embers crackled to life in his core, burning at his innards and charring his bones. It was enough to make him rasp a pained breath, though he bore this strain as easily as he always had. It was the price to pay. No power was built upon nothing.

It required sacrifice.

Crimson splashed his lip, trickling through his mustache in its rush from his nostrils, and it went ignored. The vowels of Ancient Sith sputtered from his mouth, each leaving its lash mark across his tongue as he spoke to join the others in their spell. Halketh's frame rocked unnaturally as The Force took hold of him, raking claws through the scarred flesh of his arms and blistering the skin of his feet. It demanded blood.

His head snapped down, hanging loosely upon his neck as it came for its tax. Strength bled from his veins, fleeing to feed a much larger beast. His bones crumbled slowly, fragmenting to dust in his mind's eye. He needed to hurry. His arms quivered as they fought the paralysis, barely able to flex against the invisible cords anchoring them high. Both lowered to level before him, venous hands fanning outward. A struggle against destiny.

He brought the wrath of The Force to bear, unleashing it upon the sorcerers gathered below him. Each of them knew this was coming. It had been foretold. Yet, they had arrived anyway, willing to serve The Purpose and deliver themselves to whatever fate it was The Prophet had foreseen; however unkind it was to them. But it wasn't so unkind to be unmerciful. No, their end came swiftly, silently, in sequence as the razor swept through them- siphoning the life from their veins and leaving them to buckle in their places as sacrifices for the greater good. Unceremoniously, each life was snuffed out and each husk thumped lifelessly to the stone to be forgotten. Shells were mere shells. They would live on if only Halketh could bear the strain of this decisive incantation on his lonesome shoulders.

Their lives coalesced in The Force as it swirled back around to him, sparing him its ravenous hunger for the time. It would serve.

He pulled against his restraints, allowing his mind to be swallowed by the focus of the phantoms muttering in his skull.

Hatred.

Fury.

Vengeance.

The wraiths would not be satisfied until they were fed. Until every hand responsible for their creation had met a blood-drowned end- until every last breath had been finalized in a gurgling, struggling crimson stain. This was what they craved, and this was what he would give them in return for their fealty.

The final words ushered through his bleeding lips were the death knell- the sentence to unleash their fury and set them free from their restraints.

"Kirazi ki kata diâ tuti ridasi."

The Vulture collapsed, shoulders heaving with every struggled step in the chase after his breath. He lay there against the cold stone, hair stuck to his forehead and sweat-soaked blindfold, unwilling to move until the dizziness subsided. His vision had gone out, leaving him alone, cold, and in the dark. Distantly, the sounds of ripping fabric echoed in the cavern, but he still could not gather the strength to lift his head. He shivered, fumbling at the hem of his robe in a meager attempt to pull it tighter around his trembling frame. His skin was numb, too numb to answer his call.

Minutes dragged by and the chorus of ripping fabric and rattling zippers only grew more harmonized until... it stopped. Halketh lapped at the blood seeping over his lips, barely managing to accomplish that much, given his weakness. What was that? Footsteps? He froze in fear, sucking in a breath and hoping it would be enough for whoever was coming towards him to presume he was dead.

"My Lord," a guttural voice rasped in strain, distorted by a rebreather The Vulture could hear, but could not see- a stormtrooper, "we serve."

He felt arms, many of them, curling around his life-drained frame, scooping him from the stone and hoisting beneath him in support.





Everything I have done, I have done for us.

The Warlord shook the scattered voice from his mind, focusing as the sound of ships droned over the horizon. They had returned, at last. It brought a smile to his face.

"My darling soldiers.... make them remember."

 
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Well-Known Member
Writer





Lord-Major Erskine Barran
1st Galidraani-Volunteers Armoured-Infantry Brigade,"Tal's Devils"
2nd Battalion,"Blue-Hearts"
New Imperial Order

LOCATION: Imperial Gate Spaceport, Ravelin

ALLIES:
Willan Tal Willan Tal Djorn Bline Djorn Bline Lyra Voi'kryt Lyra Voi'kryt Rhis Fisto Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus Berik
Meko Sorrin Zakaria Black Zakaria Black FN-999



Preparing trench-works and foxholes (alongside their allies) all around the front of Ravelin's Imperial Gate spaceport, and with another defensive-line being built just 50 ft. inside the boundaries of the city's aforementioned planetary-gateway, the Blue-Heart Battalion of the 1st Galidraani Brigade were put to work from the moment they were ordered to exit their ground-transports; placing their heaviest weaponry in the second line of trenches, and at every nest that covered the entryway itself, with all the commanders assigned to the Imperial Gate agreeing their hardest-hitting infantry arrays would be needed there most. Then, just moments before the morning of the next day, whilst the night's shroud still hung over everything around them, all the allied defensive-positions in the area would be declared ready for the impending Sith onslaught. Throughout this process, the Blue-Hearts' four companies had pitched camps along the first and second lines, respective to their specific defensive-roles for when the fated battle was nigh.

However, everything between them and the Maximillian Heights would be a tough fighting retreat, though Brigadier-General Tal assured Major Barran that the Heights would be the set location for their allocated rallying-point. It was in this retreat, in their fighting-escape from the spaceport itself, that the battalion's tanks and walkers were expected to come rolling into action, carefully littered all along the several urban-chokepoints the retreating Blue-Hearts would encounter along the way. The stage was set, everyone was settling into their positions with little-to-no objections being heard from the men, and the only thing left for them to do was await hell from above; the sun would rise, pass over and set before any of them could bring themselves to get some rest, but the cold readiness of Erskine's men was there to be seen with ease.
Rest well, lads..... For crucibles await nae man, an' that includes auld aristocrats like me.


<"HOSTILE FORCES INBOUND!!">

<"HOSTILE FORCES INBOUND!! ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL - REPORT FOR DUTY!!!">

Before the end of the following day, several sporadic reports had been heard over the comms, then the skies darkened with the masses of Sith vessels blocking the light of Bastion's sun; then all the city's claxons rang out in response, adding a final morbid topping to an already-darkening moment, one such that everyone knew they couldn't escape. Locked in with all the horrors that the Sith Empire could afford to throw at them, the Blue-Hearts saw this as their last chance to make silent peace-and-reconciliations with forefathers young and ancient alike, each respecting the silent prayers of their peers whilst (and with equalling levels of sincerity) quietly mumbling their own in what little peace they had left to enjoy.

<"ENEMY LANDING IMMINENT, STAND-BY!!!">

The nagging urge to see Galidraan again, that seemingly-distant dream of setting foot on home soil once more, was everything to Tal's Devils and more; all they had worked for, enduring exile and countless wars to make it as far as Bastion's hardest-fought defensive battle yet, each and every second they remained in the fight would be proof of their lasting indomitability. None from Galidraan's military caste had ever made it as far as Tal's Devils, yet none would ever be able to reach such prestige without the approval of Tal's ilk for centuries to come, and especially not if Lord Willan's brigade ever exceeded their ultimate ambitions. Such expectations would be given a regal voice when the Brigadier-General unexpectedly spoke on the comms soon after, rousing the troops enough to gladden Barran's stony heart in the process.


<"This is your brigade commander speaking, you and many others among you stand upon the cusp of glory and the gateway to home. You have fought and bled with me each world and system our banner has laid sight upon, you have given your lives to the cause of home, and I could not wish to be among such fine company as yourselves; beyond us lie a host of wretched evil vast and terrible-">

<"These wretched sods will be amidst us in the coming hour, but fear not my lads, they are many, but we are few and resolute. They fight for a cowardly dynasty that, with each Imperial advance, quakes and shivers behind their thrones and palaces of gold. You have something so pure and whole that no Sith would ever have the good honour of fighting for, you fight for home, you fight for Galidraan so that it might see a new dawn and glory; I can only ask that you may stand with your brothers in arms at the hour of the wolf. We will not cede this city lightly, go forth into the frey gentleman and god save Galidraan.">

Having held aloft the receiver-speaker to his personal comms-device throughout, with the volume cranked to full so all in the Major's turret-nest (and scores of others sitting poised outside Erskine's makeshift-redoubt) could hear Lord Willan clearly, the message was heard loud-and clear among the central-positions of the second defensive-perimeter; along with all the other spaceport defenders in possession of comms-devices in the area, cranking up the volume of their own receivers in turn, as Tal's oratory fervour had inadvertently completed all their heart-steeling processes in one fell swoop. Their reminder of the good fight homewards would always do the trick for the men of Galidraan 3, and Barran had no doubt in his mind that Tal had the charisma to rouse the men's spirits in ways that his own aura could not. However, with the distant, overlapping auditory thuds of enemy landings echoing into the city around them, Barran had one last nugget of wisdom for those within earshot.

'That child within died on Hoth, but something new fights for Tal today.... Fix bayonets!'

 
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Iron Wolf
Character
Location: Tunnels beneath Ravelin
Objective: II
Allies: Hans Rennagen Hans Rennagen Agrrur'arr Agrrur'arr Dorian Sicarrio Dorian Sicarrio Rurik Fel Rurik Fel
Enemies: TSE and Allies
Gear: Imperial Knight Battle Armor, Crossguard Silver Lightsaber, NIO MK 1 Battle Shield
Post theme:
O'Valhalla

Finally, the day had arrived, for the wolf’s fangs and talons had grown dull since his time spent away from the Battlefield. For Jin Kyrel was ready for the onslaught that was coming for them all. While the armor of the Iron Wolf was still being made, his new mask covered the snarling and beastly look that Jin had carried with him. For just like a Wolf, Jin would tear his enemies apart. Claws and Teeth alike. The newly anointed Imperial Knight was ready to fight eagerly beside his Battle Brothers. Now the crucial moment was upon them as the Sith had grown bold since the stalemate that was Dantooine. Now they had the ball bearings to launch an attack on Bastion.

Alarms blared, men and women of the New Order moved hastily. All that was deemed fit for combat were rushed to the defense of the city. Those that we're unable to fight in any shape or form were rushed to a shelter if they could get to one in time. As for Jin, he longed for battle. Since Dantooine, since the start of the Civil War, he longed for a heroic death that would mark his name as a legend, a legend that would meet that of his Father. For this for each and every battle was a test. He didn’t fear death, nor became cowardly to it. Such as was Dantooine he was ready to die along with his brothers. The Imperial Knights of the Force Corps of the New Order had sworn loyalties to where death was included in that oath. Would any New Imperial shy away at dying for the Sovereign Imperator? Better yet for the might of the Iron Sun.

Communications were going crazy, sites all around getting ready for battle, the Sith’s fleet arriving into the system. The panic and yet stalwart preparations being made for a battle that would be glorious, and yet the most pivotal in the nascent history of the New Order. Grabbing his shield, his crossguard saber. Making sure the familiar friend that was his battle armor was ready. Jin quickly moved to gather with his fellow Imperial Knights. Even with his friend, Hans. Giving a brief moment to ponder how the two had risen together since flying into battle when it came to taking Bastion. Jin was proud, proud to fight beside his battle brothers. Now even so that an hour of doom and peril was upon them, even glorious battle. Each Knight carried a shield for the Knights themselves while few and far between would need to hold out as long as they could holdout for the Iron Master himself Rurik Fel to arrive. Then by the Iron Sun, Kyrel and Hans would hold out against the enemy.

Chaos was being wrought on the surface, while below the sinister monstrosities of the Sith would reveal themselves. This is where Jin had run so quickly to his brethren. Adorned in the armor of the Knights, sword, and shield ready to face his foes. They all stood while in the darkness of the subterranean depths, the distant echoes of movement could be heard. Those that had landed above had swiftly started to enter into the tunnels they had once built. It was vital that the Knights had to hold the tunnels for as long as it took. Assisting any other New Imperials if possible.

His own sensors of his helmet, red indicators showed the enemy was approaching, many landing in force. Some approach in other ways. Jin grew excited as he stood among his fellow Knights that with his armor-clad hands, he began pounding on his shield. Spouting out words that he hoped would bring comfort to his fellow knights, and show that while yes they were afraid they would meet death with a smile all the same. “Up onto the overturned keel clamber, with a heart of steel, cold is the ocean’s spray, and your death is on its way!”

He said, determination and glory thick in his voice, as his hand banged louder on the shield, to intimidate the Sith. The marching of the enemy growing louder, while yes they stood, afraid for the capital they worked so hard to gain. They would die knowing that their sacrifice was for the Imperator and the Iron Sun. It was a death they all would gladly share if it could save the city and the planet, for Jin knew that one thing was certain as he activated his silver crossguard blade, Bastion Stands!
 
Big Brain Player
Character





Captain's Log
Tags: Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus | Open

Savoh didn't really like this, not one bit. But the combination of wanting a nice promotion and the "Not one step back" policy that seemed to be in effect made the desire to leave this to the rest of the military. Was Savoh a coward, well, he saw himself as being more of a cautious individual.

His trio of small vessels orbited over Bastion. He was too act a simple but important role of screening star fighters and providing support to ground troops bellow from low orbit over Ravelin. He'd heard that things have already gotten pretty dicey planet side. At least he had the relative comfort from his
Arquitens-Class Command Cruiser, Supported by two smaller Raider-Class Corvette.
"Looking" over his command deck on the Arquitens Savoh utilized his "jar head" body. Just to give his crew the more proper feeling that his was there with them. Otherwise he would keep his brain and few organs inside a chilled tube someone deeper in the ship separate from anyone else. The transparisteel "jar" keeping his brain secure as a human replica droid body allowed him free movement around the command deck.

"Sir, we're getting orders from Ravelin, a request from Tyrell for orbital fire on... The Compnor HQ." A coms officer spoke out to Savoh, seemingly confused by the request. Which it certainly was an odd request. If things got that bad it wasn't hard for Savoh too see why he was being requested to bombard compnor HQ.

Straightening his posture Savoh "looked" down to the officer and spoke. "Request granted, strike the coordinates with our turbolasers..." he said coldly.

"B-but sir-" The officer was spoken over mid sentence.

"If Compnor's HQ is compromised we cannot afford sensitive information there to fall into enemy hands. Proceed with concentrated orbital bombardment on the Compnor HQ." Savoh explained, making sure the officer understood the severity of the situation and that they needed to take action now.


"Y-Yes Sir!"

Several seconds passed as the order came through to the ships gunnery experts. Two of the quad turbolaser cannons aimed down the city bellow, calculating their trajectory before firing. Large green lasers shooting down from low orbit. Piercing through the clouds and smoke of the battle raging below to obliterate the target...


 
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Count in Exile
Character



Objective II
Allies: NIO | Jin Kyrel Jin Kyrel | Agrrur'arr Agrrur'arr
Enemies: TSE | CIS | Xeykard Xeykard

They need you buried deep

The Sith had weathered the New Imperial attack on Dantooine, and for all the lives given at the Sith Temple the Knights had not been able to break the hold of the dark side over that place. Bastion would not... could not... be allowed to return to the hands of the Sith Empire.

With all that had happened since, the Liberation of Bastion seemed so long ago to Hans. It had been his first major assignment as a Knight-Errant. Now he had been granted a full knight-hood and a Page of his own. The young Tusken Warrior Agrrur'arr Agrrur'arr had quickly proven himself a capable fighter and excellent company on the battlefield.

It was a surprise to no one that the Sith Empire would come to Bastion, yet their arrival had still overwhelmed the New Imperial Order. They closed in like hunters on wounded prey, but just like a dog backed into a corner the New Order would bite back with as much ferocity as they could to survive.

The guns hammered far above, every bomb that dropped shaking the tunnels, but not shaking the men within them. The courage of the Imperial Knights was unmatched, and defending Bastion with their swords, shields, and lives was the ultimate test of their mettle.

The abandoned network of tunnels built by the very people invading the city were a bloodbath. The Sith had intimate knowledge of these tunnels. The Imperial Knights had only their shields and their faith in the Empire to stop the red tide.

They moved in small parties, enough men to fit shoulder to shoulder through the tunnels, although the sizes varied. Auxiliaries of the Force Corps, non force users who did not draw the same attention as the Knights, made their way throughout the city to collapse key tunnels. Unfortunately the expanse of the subterranean network made their job difficult, and time was far from on their side. It did not take long before the Force Corps was overwhelmed.

The tide of Sith Zealots flooded through every corridor, and the Knights were forced onto the backfoot. A large, empty rotunda, a number of knights were making their stand. It wouldn’t be their last stand today, and this position would be overrun just as the others had, but as long as they held it they kept Ravelin from falling.


“Knight Rennagen, what’s your status?!” the Knight-Commander in charge of the operation blared through Han’s earpiece with struggle in her voice. He hadn’t seen the Knight-Commander in over two hours, and the Sith outnumbered them more than ever before.

“Knight-Commander! We’re heavily outnumbered, but I have Kyrel, and Agrrur’arr with me. What’s going on?” he yelled back as he blocked a lightsaber strike with his shield. He quickly drove his white blade into the collarbone of the attacking sith and pushed them to the floor.

“COMPNOR HQ’s been taken, keep them from getting to the Hall of Defiance and Fortress Imperator until Lord-Executor Fel arrives. Remember, BASTION STA—” her sentence was cut off as the sound of a lightsaber in motion came clearly over the comms.

“Knight-Commander?! Knight-Commander!!” Hans yelled to no avail. There was no more response over the line, only a faint yelling and the whirr of lightsabers. The situation did not bode well for the young knights as the Sith closed in...

 
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IMPERIAL INSPECTOR
Character




Phase -01- Alpha Class Dark Trooper
Vostok Grauv
New Imperial Order


Location: Maximillian Heights; Imperial Garage
Allies Tags: Tyrell Paxxus Tyrell Paxxus | Jaeger Harrsk Jaeger Harrsk | Erskine Barran Erskine Barran | Asa Yubari Asa Yubari | Tariq Hejazi Tariq Hejazi | Lyra Voi'kryt Lyra Voi'kryt | Djorn Bline Djorn Bline | Willan Tal Willan Tal
Opposition: TSE/Open

Veteran bones ached as a new weight was put upon them, a burdensome mantle embracing the body of an already aged and worn man. A man that sought nothing else other than pushing himself, striving to be that of an example - a beacon to gaze upon and inspire awe, yet it was not for a selfless reasoning. Vostok valued himself, to be endowed with the means - the power to wipe away the lingering stench of Sith ideology, and the ugly mark they tend to leave upon the galaxy.

His shoulders tensed and buckled, his eyes drifted down to his enclosed hand, opening and then closing his fingers into a fist. He felt it, what it was to embody something more than what he was, to go beyond the limitations of his age and lack of extraordinary gifts. He promised to himself that he would see them break, to stare into their eyes as they're crushed before his newfound pride - his glory.

Then came darkness, he closed his eyes and embraced completion; a helmet now entirely encasing his head as he slowly opened his eyes to see again, a new perspective now taking in the world with a heightened sense of ego and grandiosity. "You're now operational; your progress will be recorded and logged for future refinements, don't scratch it up too bad, yeah?" Vostok looked to the engineer addressing him, giving a subtle nod; he shifted forward a single step, feeling the massive difference in weight and tension. Firm vibrations traveled through the ground as Vostok slowly picked up pace, each footfall resonating through his chest - a twisted euphoria tickling his senses.

Then came the sound; alarms began shrieking through the air for miles, and the skies became blotted with the shapes of the enemy and their cancerous ilk. Suddenly Vostok's commlink came alive with the local transmission of Willan Tal Willan Tal .


| "This is your brigade commander speaking, you and many others among you stand upon the cusp of glory and the gateway to home. You have fought and bled with me each world and system our banner has laid sight upon, you have given your lives to the cause of home, and I could not wish to be among such fine company as yourselves; beyond us lie a host of wretched evil vast and terrible-">


"These wretched sods will be amidst us in the coming hour, but fear not my lads, they are many, but we are few and resolute. They fight for a cowardly dynasty that, with each Imperial advance, quakes and shivers behind their thrones and palaces of gold. You have something so pure and whole that no Sith would ever have the good honour of fighting for, you fight for home, you fight for Galidraan so that it might see a new dawn and glory; I can only ask that you may stand with your brothers in arms at the hour of the wolf. We will not cede this city lightly, go forth into the frey gentleman and god save Galidraan." |

While wholly unfamiliar with the achievements and progression of the Galidraani people, Vostok was well practiced in the language of combat - his mother tongue. Today would be a day of cruelty undivided; darkness would beget darkness, flesh will meet with plated knuckles and bone will be broken and pulverized. The crimson of the Sith will be extinguished by an animosity unlike anything they've witnessed prior, and their bodies will become ash, left only to the grace of the wind.

"Ready yourselves." Vostok spoke firmly, his comms transmitting to nearby outposts and directly to authority overseeing defensive positions. Solid thuds echoed through empty streets, and silence loomed over the Dark Trooper. Soon there would be only death.

Soon there would only be the red of Sith blood flowing through the streets.








 
Nothing Given
Character

Tags: Auteme Auteme
Gear: In signature
The bells of Ravelin were ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

In the thrum of blaster fire.

In the shockwave of bombs.

In the holler of soldiers.

And in the marching of boots beyond.

These were the carillon that heralded their homecoming, the return of the Sith to their empire’s mother. Taken with a traitor’s hand she was burned by the ones who claimed to love her, her sprawling form stripped of its scarlet raiment to be given gray rags in return. It was the wish of her children that she would languish no longer under the weight of her betrayer’s feet. Those children would break the chains which had bound Ravelin, delivering her from the shadow of the iron sun, and releasing her from servitude.

While the bells of reclamation peeled within the streets they were muted within the hull of an overturned repulsortank. An emergency light flickered, casting a crimson shroud over the legionnaires strewn inside the new tomb. Movement came only with the rise and fall of a metal hand, the minute motions of its digits arranging an explosive score. The console’s scrolling text was skewered at an angle as Cara read into the mind of the tank’s computer, manipulating the systems of both its power converter and battlefield sensors. The fifth in a series of her work, the tank would lie as any broken machine, a piece of unassuming trash which few would suspect. Only the sensors remained active, casting their digital gaze for any glimpse of enemy soldiers prowling the shattered streets. It would wait. Bide its time. Once within a five meter radius the trigger was activated. An overloaded converter, a cascade of power, and a compromised cache of unfired shells. A vibrant of crescendo of destruction, orchestrated by the engineer to give what they had been given in return: no quarter. They would reclaim Bastion by whatever means it took.

She kicked open the tank's front hatch. A series of mechanical clicks released the shotgun from her right forearm, the gun's nose first to slip into the smoky air. Explosions wailed only a few blocks away while artillery fire lit up the dusky sky. Inching forward, Cara slid from the tank and onto the duracrete, keeping her searching eyes forward as she closed the hatch behind. She was needed elsewhere and time was expensive. Soon as her helmet's HUD confirmed her isolation the shotgun retreated into her arm as she broke into a sprint, heading for the Pellaeon Gardens as a shorter route to her destination. She fled down alleyways and scaled broken barriers like a prisoner on the run, every step taken showing another red dot materialize on her HUD's map as she breached deeper into enemy lines. There, ahead, the black form of a certain brutalist building stood against the horizon, its outline illuminated with sporadic flashes of artillery. The red blips multiplied in a moment which took Cara off-guard. The engineer halted her run then hugged the chassis of a burnt out vehicle, listening closer as the electric snaps of enemy comms pinged the atmosphere. Their squawks were from a long range system located...Cara couldn't tell where. The white-clad patrol jogged by but one of their member paused to calibrate a weapon. What was seconds felt like an hour, but the scraping of boots against ground gave her relief as the trooper chased after their patrol.

Another patrol was on its way. Cara whirled past the debris then dashed to a sealed gate set into a thick wall. The mere nudge of her will forced the gate to open its double seal, revealing not a room full of consoles or imperial troops, but a garden. Hurried steps took Cara past the entrance and the wave of her hand returned the doors to their former state as if undisturbed. The day was quick to wear on yet the garden was not without light, explosions sneaking their color into the quiet space. Though her walk took on a confident form it was slow as she stalked through the garden. Purple leaves and blue flowers tapped soundlessly against her metal arms as she passed through plots of vegetation, and before she realized she had came near the center of the conservatory.

She wasn't alone.

A young woman, much to Cara's surprise, was seated in a meditative state. It took no scholar to know what sort of person she was. Taking a step closer Cara took no care to hide her presence from her, the servos of her arms whirring as she prepped them. Though hidden behind the black mirror of her visor, the hardened stare Cara gave the girl was evident in her tone as spoke, and the tell-tale clicks of the shotgun systems alerted it was ready to deploy.

"There is nothing for you here, unless you wish release from your dogma. Go home. I offer you one chance."

 
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Elastic Energy
Character
Location: Space, Bastion System
Equipment: Sith-Imperial Armada Flight Suit Mk. II“Judicator” Adaptive Battle Rifle
Fighter: Sith-Imperial TIE Interceptor - Dancer Ten
Allies: TSE │ CIS
Enemies: NIO
Theme: SawanoHiroyuki[nZk]:Uru 『Binary Star』

The Sith’ari is Eternal.

The low, booming baritone voice of her Master was a gentle presence in her mind, reminding the diminutive strand-cast where true salvation and power resided in the galaxy, beyond the fickle rule of heretical empires. He had been a part of her since she had emerged from her exowomb, the being who had roused her into life, his divine perfection so deeply cast in shadow that she dared not even think his name out of turn, for fearing of inspiring his judgement on her feeble mortal soul. She had long since embraced the reality of her insignificance as a mere strand-cast in an army of millions, but even with her weakness, she could serve his mission in eclipsing the stars and thereby, find eternal salvation in service.

May His Will Eclipse The Stars.

Roused from her silent prayer by the voice of her commanding officer over her squadron’s comm channel, SV-2121 slid her helmet over her head, adjusting the sleeves around her lekku as she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. The coruscating red lights of her heads-up display met her gaze as she opened her heterochromatic eyes, fingers dancing across the controls arrayed before her as she ran her TIE through the final parts of the pre-flight checklist. After a few short moments, she was finished. Then, with a solemn pause, she uttered one last prayer under her breath before rousing her machine to life with the flip of an overhead switch.

Almost immediately, the low hums of the interceptor’s twin ion engines vibrated within the shock couch. While the injuries she had sustained on Zygerria still ached, a dunk in a bath of bacta and a prescription of painkillers had seen to her health well enough. She could ignore the throbbing spasms in her body for now, especially when her Eternal Lord demanded her service at such a critical juncture in the survival of his Empire.

She could not demand the gift of salvation from the Sith’ari if she failed to serve him in his most demanding hour.

And so, in his name, she would fly.

In his name, she would fight.

In his name, she would dance.

Thereupon, in hearing her call sign, SV-2121 gunned the howling twin ion engines of her interceptor, accelerating the machine into the void to slay the heretics and their false empire.
 
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LOCATION: THE FEL REDOUBT
OBJECTIVE II: DANGER BELOW​

Ideology is terribly tricky to kill. After his sabbatical from Galactic affairs for some time. That was the revelation that he came to. Neither the Jedi nor the Sith would ever really win their ancient feud. In one way or another, the opposing ideology would always exist. Maybe several centuries down the line new orders of Force users would exist, holding similar ideals to those that came before. Continuing on until the heat death of the universe. In the end it did not matter which side won, only that people could continue to fight for the ideals they believed in.

Quite some time ago, Aaran always thought he'd end up on Bastion one way or another. Before he honestly thought he would be here in the final assault on the Sith Empire. Joining in the charge with his fellow Jedi. Looking to topple the Sith Emperor and his Dark Council. Hoping to finally cripple the Sith so they'd slink back to the shadows and give the Galaxy a few centuries of blessed peace before they eventually came back in some way or another.

But now here he stood in Bastion. Where the Sith Academy once stood. Now repurposed into something that inspired far less revulsion in the pit of his stomach. In the end he was glad he decided to come here. In the New Imperial Order he felt what might be a spark of hope in his heart. They did in fact actually stand for the ideals that the Sith Empire expoused. Order, stability and the rewards of loyalty. Managing it without the needless cruelty of the Empire it broke away from. Maybe, somewhere down the line, there could be true peace between the Imperial Order and the Galactic Alliance. But for now, he was content with a polite ceasefire.

"Padawan Tafo."

Craning his neck behind him. He gave the slightest smile to the one who had called out his name. "Squire Drea." He responded politely, nodding his head in greeting to the Mirialan Imperial Squire. The young woman having been assigned as his offcial escort during his time in Bastion. No doubt an attempt to make sure he did not poke his nose anywhere he should not. In return he was given a pretty decent tour of the new capital.

In contrast, she seemed Aaran's opposite. Compared to the relaxed and somewhat scruffy looking wanderer in his flight jacket and cargo pants. She was the picture of military discipline. Fresh pressed uniform, stern, but not cold demeanour. And not a single hair out of place. Dark locks tied up into a prim bun atop her head. But appearances can be deceiving, and after several days. Aaran had managed to crack through the outer shell, getting to know the fiercly driven, ambitious, loyal and ultimately compassionate woman underneath.

"Myself and several other squires will be attending an event after hours." She said, letting the invitation hang in the air, her stance relaxing somewhat as she regarded the visitor, his brow quirking sightly as he got what she was saying. say what you will about the Imperial Knights. They ran themselves like a military unit. And like soldiers, they certainly knew how to party once they were off-duty.

"I-" He began, only to pause, eyes darting upwards to the sky. His sixth sense screaming out to him. The ripple in the Force felt as clear as a slap to the face.

Death had come to Bastion.​

And only a moment after he felt his premonition. The alarms began blaring. A call to arms going out, Summoning those of the New Imperial Order to defend their hard-earned home with everything they had. Aaran's own gaze flicked to Drea. Who was responding to her own communications, sparing a slight glance to Aaran in return.

"Raincheck?" He offered, giving the slightest shrug. Receiving the slightest of smiles in return. Before both of them set off. Ready to defend the hard earned soil of Bastion from those who would defile her once again.
 


Fel Redoubt
Hours Ago…



The Fel Redoubt was bustling with activity. Dozens of Knights directed their squires and knight errants about the Academy. Ragnar walked speedily through the crowded halls, bumping shoulders with others in the midst of their own tasks. Each time, he’d mutter some form of apology in passing before continuing on. He moved quick enough for his saberstaff to bounce against his thigh, and he dropped his hand down to meet it. The incessant bouncing stopped, but it still sought to move in his gloved hand. Clenching, the handcrafted weapon brought comfort as he felt the familiar grooves and curves of the cylinder.

The Imperial Force Corps may have taught that the weapon was little more than a tool for them to use, easily replaceable. He was raised as Sith, and he had yearned for the creation of his own saber for as long as he could remember. Finally having one in his possession meant he had achieved one of those achievements he chased. Because of this, Ragnar cherished the weapon, and against the Codex he had poured a part of himself into it. Not with the Force, but with careful thought and precious care to ensure he perfected it.

Rushing out of the complex, he had finally made it to the landing bay. Crates, weapons and armour caches were being loaded onto shuttles. In orbit, Star Destroyers could be seen, low hanging, dropships and transports took the cargo and flew up to presumably enter the awaiting ships. “You, Ragnar!”

His bright orbs were wrenched from the vessels in the sky, the familiar gruff voice wrenching him from his wonderment and back to reality. Features tightening, he saw the line of his peers, other Knight Errants that he stepped in line with.

Apologies, Knight Commader!” Ragnar replied, lips breaking open, throat and mouth dry as his voice cracked. What this day meant, it was what they had been building towards. They, the New Imperial Order were going to put an end to the tyranny and the genocide.

Apologies?” From the sky, a shuttle dropped down, likely returning from its journey up to the Destroyers in the atmosphere. The Knight Commander stepped towards him. He wasn’t that much taller than the Zabrak. Bearing similar features to any commanding Imperial, Ragnar could sense his contempt. Even earned it a few times during training. Under him, he had learned to not feed off of it, to let himself be molded in the way the Imperials thought best. “You think that’s what I should say to the Lord Executor when we’re la-“ His words were cut off abruptly. Ragnars stone features held for a moment, he could hear a faint whispering, and his gaze flickered around the landing pad.

Silence was all around them, everyone was looking up to the skies. One by one, his troupe of Errants looked up too, and he was sure to follow. His gaze widened, he could see the faintest of flickers in the sky, bolts of light lancing out to targets that he could not yet see.

What’s going on?” Someone said.

Why are they firing?” Another Errant asked.

Who're they firing at?” The Mirialan beside him asked.

A moment later, an alarm rang. Answered by the other buildings in the Redoubt’s complex. With the heavy eyes of his youthful students on him, even those nearby that saw the authority the Knight Commander had pressed on his resolve. He was a veteran of war against the Sith Empire before this one, the One Sith that came after, and retired into the role of teacher and mentor. No longer was he the military commander he had once been.

The Sith Empire has come.



Location: The Hall of Defiance, Outer Perimeter
Equipment: Saberstaff, Imperial Knight Armour
Retinue: 257th Stormtrooper Legion,


The platinum coloured saber burned a path through the path Sith Troopers shoulder and down to his midsection. Ragnar's metal encased leg flying up to kick the corpse in the abdomen and sending it tumbling away. With a raise of his arm the top end of the saberstaff caught a blaster bolt, deflecting it harmlessly into the darkening sky as a following flurry of crimson followed in its wake. Second hand joining the staff, he spun it as he slowly retreated backwards to a barricade. At its head, the repeating blaster was silent, ran dry of battery packs.

Stormtroopers fled behind Ragnar in the street. The Knight Errant standing ahead of the swarming wave of hostile Sith forces. They were slaughtered. Wave after wave. At first, it had been easy. But as time went on, their ammunition reserves shrunk. There were more Sith troopers than they had gas, or even power cells. And with each consecutive wave they brought, they came ever closer to the barricade, to the point that he, Ragnar had to step out from the walls of protection to halt their progress.

Bodies littered the ground in front of him, smoking from wounds inflicted from the silver-hued lightsabre that dealt death with every swing. "Restart the Repeater!" Ragnar's voice was coarse, hours spent yelling orders and physical exertion dried his throat. The would be Imperial Knight leapt over the barricade with a minute application of the Force, saberstaff deactivating and clipping back to his belt as he crouched by the repeating blaster.

"We've ran out of battery packs, Sir!" Discarded and used up batteries littered the ground mere steps away. Looking back in the direction that he had come from, it had been hours since he had heard from his Knight Commander. I should be at the Redoubt. Ragnar's alien features tightened, scrunching up as his brows knotted, hands clenching into fists.

"Replacements?" Ragnar questioned, but he already knew the answer. A hand raising to dismiss the soldiers answer before it could be spewed from his mouth. The call for additional equipment had already gone out. It'd be naive for him to think they'd receive additional forces or ammunition.

"We're not going to get relieved!"

His orders? Hold the line while Ravelin was evacuated of civilians. Surely an impossible task. Ragnar's head raised up, finding the black visors of the troopers with him. Bolts crashed into the barricade they were crouched behind, fire was traded. A stormtroopers body fell back, helmet exploding in a bright flash as it dropped, dead. A moment later, another stormtrooper took up his place, trading fire with those that had slayed his brother-in-arms. Numbers dwindled, bodies dropped, and still they held on in defiance of the Sith.

And to think we should've been en-route to fight the Bryn'adul by now. The Lord Executor's campaign against the genocidal aliens the sole excuse for Rurik Fel's absence. In the back of his mouth, his molars ground against each other, frustration visible in his alien features. What could he do with so many that looked up to him? How had he even found himself in command here? A stray glance went to a corpse that laid in the street. A Lieutenant of the 257th, discarded. He had fallen during the first or second wave against their position. Alien, but sporting the colours of their Force Corps, the stationed troopers rallied behind him, looking to him for orders, of which he dealt out.

Gray Cloak they called me.

Their commanders fell, their comrades died. They were as green as him, but they looked to him for leadership. Gray Cloak... Force Corps, Knight... The name mattered little, what he represented was more important.

"We will not die needlessly, that I promise you." Rising up from his crouch, the saberstaff flew up to his hand, summoned by the Force. "We are the embodiment of Defiance.

We do not know Defeat.
"
 
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