Public Raid on Kattada

[Domina Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY?​

It was as if her gods had painted the very world in their scripture.

The sky burned with thunderous streaks of ships tearing overhead, firelight dancing across the oceans below as the air choked with smoke and char. In the near distance, the Grand Jedi Temple of Kattada stood wreathed in flames, its majestic domes and towers groaning under the ancient weight of siege. Sith banners, black and crimson, fluttered against the light of burning skies.

'Cycles upon cycles of war,' she thought. Just as the scrolls of her ancestors had sung, battles without end. Dods chewing their children and spitting them back into the fire again and again. It was all so...poetic.

How could she resist?

Dima moved with a delighted glide, four arms slack and swaying, Her mask hissed with each breath as she prowled closer to the heart of the chaos, the salivating growl of something inhuman bubbling in her throat.

The courtyards of the temple were magnificent even in ruin. Gates splintered under the rush, fountains toppled. And among the fire and stone, duels bloomed like flowers. Jedi knights clashed in whirlwinds of azure and green, their discipline unshaken even as their temple crumbled. Sith howled with feral joy, their rage bending the Force itself into storms of shadow and lightning. And of course...there was everyone else caught in between! Just how it always was...and should be.

Dima slowed, her head tilting in that heavy, unnatural lean. Her five eyes darted from one duel to the next, greedily drinking in the violence.

The Jedi… ahh, the Jedi. So rigid, so bound to oaths and ascetic lives. They honed themselves into weapons of will, tempered by years of discipline. Facing them was never dull. Their conviction made every strike sing with honor.

But then there were the Sith. Ever ravenous. Ever clawing for power, for recognition, for scraps of glory. Their hunger drove them into feats both terrifying and intoxicating. Their raw storms of energy, their brutal fury, always left her... baffled.

How was she supposed to choose?

Dima rubbed at the chin of her mask, claws clicking as her head lolled from one side to the other. She lingered like a monstrous spectator while blades clashed and monologues thundered around her one duel here from Hasuras Na-Gerra , a group melee there from the likes of Drystan Creed . An aria of violence.

If only she still had her heavier toys. Damn that fishbowl man, she thought with a guttural chitter. Selling off her stock meant she was left with only claw and cunning now. But perhaps that made it more fun.

Inching closer to the grand staircase of the temple, she still hadn't drawn a weapon. Instead she let her looming shadow fall across the combatants, her steps deliberate, her body a silent dare. Was she about to be shot at? Rushed? Or would she simply greet whichever side staggered away victorious from this age-old squabble?

She spread her claws wide, arms opening like a preacher delivering sermon, and her vox-voice cut across the courtyard.

"Feast upon the weak, little godlings… and you may survive."

Her helm tilted, menacing yet playful, as her other hands gestured at the blades sparking all around her.

"But feed upon the strong, ohhh..." she purred, static lacing her vox with a laugh, "...how you'll feel truly alive."

The air trembled as she pointed a claw at the dueling crowds, her voice dripping with hungry reverence.

"The gods are watching. They cannot wait to see who is who...and neither can i~"

[Open To Whoever Needs A Dance Partner]​

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #1864
Location: – Kattada
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: “Not in the…”
Background Noise: Engines, and wind flying by me.

Personal Flight Log — Michael Angellus

There’s a special kind of silence before a dive. Engines roaring, alarms shrieking, comms buzzing — and yet, right before I threw this bird into atmosphere, it felt like the whole galaxy held its breath. Maybe that was just me.

The Sabaoth fighters dropped in like predators, strafing the streets. People were scattering — too slow against guns moving that fast. I caught sight of Sariel and Raphael on the HUD, their return fire snapping back from rooftops and alleys. Brave as hell, but you don’t shoot down a starfighter with grit alone.

So BRED and I lit the skies.

WhoooOOP [Translation: Finally! A proper dogfight. Cue the heroic music.]

Mortis Engines kicked, and the world blurred. This isn’t just an X-wing. It’s a rocket with wings, and if you’re not using the Force to ride it, you’re a smear on the bulkhead. The Sabaoth tried their little atmospheric loops, diving to line up another run. I came screaming through their formation like a vibroblade through flimsi.

First pass — two on fire.
Second pass — the dorsal quad gun, BRED cackling as he shredded another off Sariel’s flank.

They weren’t expecting this.

Every time one of them tried to peel away, we cut the angle. Every time they tried to line up another run on the civilians, BRED locked missiles and I pulled the trigger. One by one, the sky filled with falling wrecks, smoke trails marking the end of their arrogance.

Breeeet-whoop [Translation: You know, boss, if you keep flying like this, I’m gonna need hazard pay. Or at least an oil bath.]

I told him he could settle for applause.

By the time we made our last run, the ground fire had stopped — not because Sariel and Raphael quit, but because there was nothing left to shoot at. The Sabathia were broken, burning, or running. And Kattada was breathing again.

Connel always says I’m not the warrior he is. He’s right.
But up here, in this cockpit — I don’t have to be.


– Michael A.
Gettin’ pretty good at this


TAG:

This is where he is speaking

 

[Tyrant 4]

One by one, the sky filled with falling wrecks, smoke trails marking the end of their arrogance.

Until a B-Wing screeched from the skies and right onto his tail.

Tyrant Squadron was busy elsewhere, but Cypher had come under the promise of cold, hard credits. Well, she could pretend that was it, or the cold beer at the end of a sortie back with the crew. But the truth was? That feeling when she achieved target lock and pulled the trigger? She kriffing enjoyed it.

<<Tyrant IV, engaging.>>

She squeezed the trigger. The heavily modified prototype B-Wing’s heavy laser cannons etched through the sky, searing lancers of crimson plasma that spat at Michael Angellus .

In atmosphere, all of the space training went out the window on account of gravity and air speed. Cypher enjoyed the challenge and wondered if this pilot would prove up to the task.

 

[Lirka Ka]

TAGS:

Few things got Lirka Ka out of the confines of the Blackwall like a good ole’ fashioned raid. Indeed such a thing did fit into the confines of the job of “Slavemaster General” that the Butcher King had ordained her with - and what better place to fill her coffers fat with meat than the worlds of the Jedi?

Of course, this was an off the books venture. Moderately (more like highly) illegal in the confines of Sith-Imperial law, but no good villain was swayed by pitiful little things like “laws” and “decorum”

The ominous hum of gunships loomed as Lirka Ka disgorged her butchers and freaks to rampage and loot through the city streets. Of course, the Once-Sephi had her eyes on a much shinier prize. Normally, she would have scorned the baubles and trinkets of the Jedi - times were changing, and to that end there were certain “bargaining chips” any self-respecting evildoer would want for their bargaining chip.

Alana Calloway would certainly get to know what’s going on soon - a metallic thump, thump, thump. The whir of servos, the stamp of metal boots crashing against the floor. The malicious emerald gleam of slit-lenses. The crackling electro-plasma of a blade the size of a man. Lirka Ka was on the hunt.

And as if to accent her arrival, a chunk of masonry went flying as an impromptu projectile hurling it’s way towards the form of the seemingly only other two life forms in the parking dock.

“Come out to play, little Jedi!”

For as much as she’d wax and wane about the machinations that came with looting the Jedi’s temples. At the end of it all - it was simply just plain fun.

 

[Valery Noble]

Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

Valery kept pace with Jared, though she quickened her pace as they drew closer toward the Temple. Because with every step, the pressure in the Force grew heavier, darker, until it was impossible to ignore.

Her eyes narrowed, the orange glow beneath her brow sharp with focus. "I sense two of them," she said, her voice carrying over the sounds of distant fighting. "They're stronger than the others." Her hand flexed against the hilt at her hip, and for a heartbeat her gaze flicked to Jared. "If we cut them off and handle them, the others will have room to hold the line."

The bond she carried with the Force surged in her chest, and she let it pour outward in a steady pulse. A beacon, impossible to miss. She was not hiding from what was ahead. She wanted them to feel her coming. She wanted them to know the former Jedi Grandmaster was already on her way.

Her saber hissed alive, her purple blade blazing as she pressed forward, her presence burning in the Force like a star breaking through storm clouds.

Ally: Jared Starchaser
Approaching: Kaila Irons Arris Windrun ​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

NO MERCY FOR MONSTERS
KATTADA TEMPLE
PORTAL

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

The other members of Omega Squad came across the Embers of Vahl, these combatants were no slouches. All dangerous in every facet in meaning of the word, but not one member of Omega were “fresh out of the Academy” either. Each member training with, and by a dangerous Shadow, they did not rely on their weapons. They WERE them, but that was a story left to its own tale.

Well, almost…
The hammer hit like thunder.

Stone cracked. Pillars collapsed. The massive Vahla brute—Gerra—stood in the courtyard like some war idol come to life, shield raised, hammer dripping firelight. Eight feet of muscle packed into black armor, roaring with confidence.

“Middling,” the Vahla sneered.

Connel didn’t answer. He just raised Dawn’s Light and let his vambrace hiss to life—the hardlight shield blooming bright on his left arm. Did he feel the Dark Side encircling, shifting the very air around him? Of course. Did it matter?

Not.At.All.

Connel was not grey, or dark. While he considered himself "Jedi", there was a question to that too at this point. His Master, his father, taught him all of his life about balancing the fence between dark and light. Yes, he felt the shift, yes, he felt the temptation, but it meant nothing. "Power" was the opiate of the truly weak, "Fear" was a motivator. He wasn't excited, he wasn't angry, he wasn't afraid. He just didn't care. He had a fight to engage in. After what he saw, what he engaged in on Coruscant, there was nothing that would change him. Nothing that would affect him.

The fight began.

---

Above the Courtyard — Sariel’s Scope

Through the faint shimmer of his cloaked position high on a broken roofline, Sariel’s scope swept the battlefield. The dueling figures dominated his HUD—a giant hammer against Connel’s blazing blade. Brutal. Inelegant. Effective.

But Sariel’s attention was elsewhere.

Enemy ships were touching down on the far side of the temple grounds. Raiders spilled out, howling, blasters flashing. One ship ignited mid-landing, torn apart from within.

That was Michael.

Through his scope, Sariel caught sight of the squad leader sprinting across the scorched pad, demo charges in each hand. Michael was a blur of precision—setting one charge against the intake of a transport, slapping another along a fuel line. He didn’t stop to watch them cook. He just moved on.

The explosions came seconds later—ship after ship crumpling into fire. Sariel exhaled slowly.

[‘Turtle’s’ clearing the board,] he murmured into comms. [Two down. Third going hot.]

The lens panned back to Connel’s duel. The Jedi was locked, shield against hammer, sparks flying. Sariel didn’t worry. Connel wasn’t losing. Not today.

---

Courtyard — Connel vs. Gerra

The hammer slammed again. Connel caught it, vambrace shield shuddering under the force. Pain rattled through his arm, as the impact slammed Connel across the courtyard. He hit stone, grunted, rolled. Came back up. His HUD flickered warnings. His ribs burned where the hammer had landed earlier.

He welcomed it. Pain was clarity.

He lunged back in, using the hardlight shield like a wedge, pressing the brute’s hammer high while his saber carved shallow lines aimed across joints, tendons, weak spots. He wasn’t trying to win with one cut—he was working at a dismantling.

---

Perimeter — Raphael’s Position

Raphael advanced like a walking gun platform, heavy repeater roaring in controlled bursts. Raiders poured toward the temple gates, only to be shredded mid-charge. He was covering Michael’s work—buying him time to demolish every ship on the pad.

The younger man darted through fire and chaos, planting charges, slicing access panels, feeding coordinates to Gabriel. One raider transport lit up from inside, its reactors going nova.

Raphael grinned inside his helm.

[Kid’s not just blowing ships,] he muttered into comms between bursts, [he’s cutting their legs out. No retreat. No evac. He’s stranding them here.]

The thought hit him like adrenaline: once Omega was done, there wouldn’t be a single raider ship left intact. This wasn’t defense. It was eradication.

He pivoted back toward the duel at the courtyard’s center. Connel was driving the giant backward, shield and saber moving in brutal rhythm. Raphael barked a short laugh, voice rough in comms. The Vahla’s cohorts were on him and Jeremiel, but they had cover, the High ground and were not done.

[Hell of a show Connel’s putting on. Big man doesn’t even know he’s already beat.]

---

Courtyard

Connel advanced, blade humming, mask impassive.

You thought peace made me “middling”, he growled. That was your last mistake.

Hasuras Na-Gerra • TAGS​

 

[Brent Warnel]

TAGS: Darth Virelia

"Describe it again," Brent asked Wyyr'kull.

"Rrrawhhrrugh wrrraaooorrhh ghrraawnn urruughhhnnn draaawrrhh grooohhhnaa wrrruhhhnn arrraughrrhhhn."

"So, like a holocron?"

Grrowhann druuughhrraaww khoorrnah wruughhnaal throowwaagh brraanakkoorh ghruunrral wroohnnahk.

"And you know about this...because of your history?"

Hruughnarraa wroohhkhaann druughrral khoowrrnah braawnuhhnn grohrrnak arruughhaal thrummrakkoorrhh.

Brent mulled the young Wookie's sentence over. If he could get his hands on one of these cenotaph crystals, specifically the one Wyyr'kull was familiar with, he could use it to find the Sith he was looking for, or if that failed, raise more money for the Clan.

"So be it," Brent stated, "Let us go. We will leave Dxun and head for Kattada. Some Clan members will meet us there."

Hruughhnaal brooorrghh trakkoowhh draaaghrrnn whruumakktoorh grohhrral wruuunnarrgh.

Brent looked at the Wookie foundling. Well, not a foundling anymore, now a Neophyte.

"No," he said. "You will stay with the ship. You have not yet earned your place. You will wait for my signal and be our means of transport off that world should things go bad."

Wyyr'kull glared at him, fire in his eyes.

Brent met his gaze, searching for something he had yet to see. Control. Wyyr'kull was young, untested, and prone to emotional bouts during battle. Something as serious as a Jedi enclave raid demanded tight control and discipline. Until Wyyr'kull could master his emotions, he would be relegated to more minor duties.

"Get us on our way, Neophyte," Brent stated flatly.

****
Brent and several Mandalorians from Clan Warnel landed on Kattada under the guise of merchants, treasure hunters, explorers, and vehicle mechanics looking for work. Their armor was kept hidden in specially designed hideaways within ships or luggage. Once planetside, they would hide amongst the buildings and population until the time was right. While Brent and the more veteran Clan Warnel members spied on the Jedi Temple, Wyyr'kull stayed with his ship, waiting.

Their idea was simple, but probably foolish. Stake out the Jedi Temple on Kattada, watch the guards and Jedi's movements for several days or weeks if necessary, bribe locals to find ways to get inside the Temple, and then take action when the time is right. Their goal was simple: obtain hidden cenotaph gems within the Temple, and use them to garner fame and credits for Clan Warnel, boosting their standing among Mandalorians, and bring in fresh recruits.

They had been there for less than a day before the Mandalorian's plans turned sour.

The crack of thunder through the air caused Brent to look up, watching ships descend through the atmosphere. Not just descend, but break apart, spilling fire and death in a wide shroud across the Temple. Sith fighters and transport ships dumped troops and explosive ordinance through the City, ruining what chances Brent had to do this quietly. Brent had no intention of tangling with the Sith again so soon, not after Brosi. But the galaxy liked to play tricks, and here was one of them.

Soon after the Sith entered the atmosphere, Clan Warnel warriors were armored and advancing on the Jedi Temple in as much secrecy as possible between the roving Sith patrols and Jedi defenders. Their burnished gold and green Beskar glinted as they moved between buildings. Brent and the Mandalorians set up near the Jedi Temple, watching as a Sith element engaged the Jedi Defenders.

Amongst them, a familiar figure.

As Sith troopers and Jedi defenders fought with blasters and kinetic weaponry, the six-eyed warrior engaged two Jedi defenders, their green and blue lightsabers cutting through the smoke, standing in defiance. They stood for seconds before Virelia cut them down, her troopers getting into position as the stairs leading to the center of the Temple were now open for them to take.

"Kill the troopers, leave the Dark Sider for me," Brent ordered his Mandalorians as he lined up his Verpine Shatter Rifle and began to shoot at Virelia while his Clan advanced on the enemy.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Arrival of the Six-Tongued Fire:
Nergal-Esh, Ishtara-Kal, Erra-Mǔs, Gibil-Zi, Namtara-Sûl, and Utu-Gar

KATTADA TEMPLE INTERIOR
Secure Force Relic Repository - “Commissioned by Master Starchaser, the Temple has a secure room for Jedi holocrons and teachings, as well as an even more secure repository for relics that, should they fall into the improper hands, could be disastrous.”

As the common raiders perished outside, the Six-Tongued Fire of the Hasuras made their way within the temple proper under the cover of Rhandite and Tund illusion magics. These, the greatest warriors in the service of the Hasuras, would prove even more formidable than the corsairs busy fighting Omega Squad.

“They will not be distracted for long,” hissed Nergal-Esh, his great cleaver resting upon one shoulder.

“No,” pronounced Utu-Gar, the Sunfire Judge, and gave the signal, “we will be swift as the lightning.”

Normally, the ship captain did not personally join in the raids, but this was a unique occasion that saw the Judge at the head of this elite fist of fire. With Nergal and Erra ready to blaze a path through enemy warriors, Ishtara poised to take on and slay their champions, and Namtara working his Sith sorcery, they would make short work of any defenders within the secure room.

“Gibil, make a path.”

The destruction alchemist did as ordered and in a moment a tremendous explosion ripped through the temple as the foul art blew stone and permacrete apart.

Water began to rush in through breaches, a slowly rising tide that sloshed beneath their boots.

“Seize the relics, kill any who stand in our way.”

KATTADA JEDI TEMPLE COMPLEX - COURTYARD
​

The hammer slammed again. Connel caught it, vambrace shield shuddering under the force. Pain rattled through his arm, as the impact slammed Connel across the courtyard. He hit stone, grunted, rolled. Came back up. His HUD flickered warnings. His ribs burned where the hammer had landed earlier.

Hallucinations of an artificial mind.

Gerra had not swung his hammer again, nor his shield after that first counter but a moment ago.

Nevertheless, a half-dozen hits all scored their mark from Connel’s blade searing at the weak points of arms and armor such that flesh burned and charred. Through the pain of injury, Gerra finished the incantation he had started.

“Odojinya,” Gerra rumbled again, sealing the spell. Crimson tendrils of energy shimmered to life around Connel Vanagor in a lattice work of Sith sorcery that sought to encase him in a web of the dark side’s power which would slowly but surely sap away his power in the Force if it remained in place.

 

[Shinzou Ashina]

[ Theme ]

Shinzou Ashina

| Location | Kattada​

| Objective | Beat some redheads​

​

Shinzou's sandals clonked along stone floors as he had his arms tucked under his sleeves, a shadow cast by his wide-brim straw hat shading his eyes as he looked. Shinzou's kisaru pipe emitted a steady wisp of smoke floating into the air, his single eye scanning left and right as he passed through the halls. The air was rancid with the Dark Side's stench. When the enemies of the Light arrived, the Lightsworn answered to meet them in battle.​

​

A pair of Vahl raiders burst from the shadows on either side to swing at Shinzou, a flash of fabric as his cloak obscured him briefly. Blade met silken fabric, slicing through it like paper, but found no flesh to cut. The Atrisian blademaster was crouched low, having dipped below the raider's swings, a hand at his waist. A flash of light reflected off of the unsheathed Ashina steel katana, Shinzou sweeping his leg out to generate a burst of momentum as the tip of the blade expertly slashed at the throats of his assailants. ​

​

He stood up as the raiders dropped their weapons and clutched their throats, gurgling as their blood flooded their lungs. He straightened his posture as he flicked his blade, the blood on it splattering against the floor before he promptly sheathed the katana once more. He looked down at the slashed robe on the ground, sighing over the loss of yet another one of his favorites. ​

​

He crossed his arms over his chest before his eye flickered up to the incoming helmeted Hasuras approaching him, "Hope these weren't friends of yours." in reference to the two Vahl raiders on either side of him.​

​

Hasuras Na-Veyra​

​

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #1864
Location: – Kattada
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Annoyed as (Censored)
Background Noise: Engines, and wind flying by me.

Things were going great at this point, and when up in the air and things are going great… the other shoe drops.

“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: Yeah, you may feel differently, but I don’t want to turn into Rodian cheese!.]


He was of course speaking about the modified B-Wing on our six. Modified or not, I could outfly this crumbum just on fighter tech alone. He wasn’t a slouch, I didn’t see him line me up, but still.


“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: Hey Genius! In case you didn’t figure it out yet. That dude’s in a fighter from Tyrant Squadron. He can fly that like you can fly this… oh yeah… and HE’S STILL SHOOTING AT US!.]

Relax! Target him while I prep.

“Chrrp.” [Translation: Prep for what??? Biscuit making???]

Trust me you idiot!

This pilot WAS good, but based on the attack run was not used to flying in atmo, not like this. So it was something I was going to take advantage of. BRED of course was complaining about the shields dropping, and not wanting to fix the systems that were gonna go down in a second. I partially ignored him for a moment until…


Hard back pull on the flaps and forward on the throttle, then back. I basically flew up and dropped speed HARD (I.E. a Cobra maneuver). If it worked and he flew by me, then it was my turn to nail this Schutta. If I was wrong, and this dude hada counter for it, I would deal with it then. I trained almost exclusively in atmo. This is like flying in space to me.


– Michael A.
Getting ticked off


TAG:

This is where he is speaking

 

[Connel Vanagor]

NO MERCY FOR MONSTERS
KATTADA TEMPLE
PORTAL

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

What the?

He never?

”Oh FRELL no!”

It’s like he was caught in some kind of net. Some webbing that was taking what he was giving, and just constricting more and more. He had to fight it, there was no other way, but he was doing it wrong. One good thing was the injuries he gave Gerra, that should slow the giant at least for a couple of moments, long enough for Connel to come up with something.

This was clearly something meant to suck the energy out of him, so might as well give it a mouthful.

Eyes on the Vahla in front of him, cold and menacing. Connel just “stood” there, engulfed by now in the tendril mesh of the Dark Side. He could not survive long here, regardless of how much will he possessed. Taking a moment to mentally compartmentalize his mind, again, much like he does before each mission, the Shadow blocked and locked away a level of his connection, in an attempt to protect it from this drain.

Then he summoned the rest of his energy together into his core, building up to explosion. A repulse like his father had taught him. An explosion that should shatter this.

It didn’t.

That was okay though. He had room to maneuver again and now, he had something else in mind. A barrier. A wall of Force energy powered by his will blocking this from constricting and pushing outward. Would this work? We’ll see… but if this monster wanted the Dark Side… he could have it.

Hasuras Na-Gerra • TAGS​

 

[Vestra Tane]

A chunk of metal whizzed past Vestra's head.

Vestra took a quick step to the side, and snapped her head lead-ways. The hair next to the right side of her face was marred, slightly, by that near miss. She smiled, eyes dilated, lips stretched into a wide, rictus grin. And she ran.

The Sith was a hound set loose on her prey, finally, after the agonizing waiting, and she took long, lightning-quick strides across the hallway in pursuit of whatever meat had fired upon her. And she dipped and weave, dodging lead with raw intuition, until -

Two lucky hits. The first grazed her right arm, ripped through a chunk of the armorweave padding under her jacket.

The second hit the same spot, and the impact buried the slug in her arm's metsl plating.

Vestra's sword arm twitched, and she clenched her fist, still running, to make sure the servos still worked.

Then she sucked in air, and hissed:

"Gonna have your eyes for that one, jedi."

ENEMIES: Althea Voidwalker
INCOMING: Talin Treicolt Morrow

 

[Mercy]

Current allies: Arris Windrun | Kaila Irons
Current opposition: Tilon Quill
Future enemies: Valery Noble | Jared Starchaser

The bayonet embedded itself Mercy's shoulder where she snarled in pain. Flesh cut deep, blood seeped down, but she had been living with pain for most of her life. It was a background symphony to her now, something to spice things up. Nerves flaring, an alarm bell to her nervous system that she promptly ignored.

Tilon flew backwards but she wasn't about to let him go that easily.

Even as he flew, her eldritch arm reached out... and tendrils lunged forward to wrap around his ankle. If successful, she'd yank him right back into the path of her fist, once more bursting out and this time to smash him in the face.

 

[Tilon Quill]

Tumbling back, Tilon knew for sure - not from prophecy but by just common sense - that damn arm was coming up. The way Mercy had used it against people like Drystan Creed had reminded him of Conner nets or tractor beams. Yank, hit. Yank, hit.

When he shoved the ACP away at her, down past his feet, that part wasn't common sense, it was split-second instinct. Not a Jedi's instinct, but a spacer's. You beat a tractor beam with a tractor shroud: by giving it something else to grab.

Still in pain from the hit, he botched the landing and sprawled at the water's edge. Either she'd keep coming for him, try again with the arm, or just turn the gun on him.

Another crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The storm was gaining strength with the chaos around.

Across the water, a storm was kicking off at Tidehome. Early rain slapped Tilon, plastered his hair to his neck as he scrambled down the waterside, hoping for a bit of distance, a dozen meters or so. His workshop jumpsuit clung to him unpleasantly but that was more a tactile obstacle than a real one. He was keenly aware that his personal shield belt was energy-only, useless against physical impact - and little better against a shieldcutting ACP weapon. Given a moment, he aimed to get his amber-bladed lightsaber off his belt, but he might not have that moment.

 

[Althea Voidwalker]

|| Objective: Defend the Enclave ||
|| Equipment: Blaster | Slug Pistol | Vibroblade | Clothing | Boots | Holsters ||
|| Tags: Vestra Tane | Morrow | Talin Treicolt ||
​

The rounds zipped to her. Cracking through the air in their snapping of the sound barrier like most Slug Pistols. However, the weapon itself cycles each round in my hand with each one as she ran from me. A heavy roll of my eyes as she made a comment of taking my eyes. She ran through the halls with a long sword in one hand, and it looked to be a short parrying dagger, or offhand weapon in the other.

Having nicked her arm, I could see her favoring it just a bit. However, if she was running with melee based weapons, closing the distance between us, then I would have to keep that medium to short range engagement possible. Trying to keep her there so then I could still reach out with my pistol, but also to keep her weapons off of me.

"Then come get them?"

Kind of saying the words loud of her to hear, but mostly for myself. If she really wanted my eyes, she could try. Just honestly confused why the eyes. Did she know something I didn't? I didn't really wait. My hand reaching out through the force to affect the surrounding area. Yanking debris, chairs, shelving whatever I could to throw at her to slow her down, or even create make shift barricades that she would have to try and filter through.

"What are you doing hull-slug? I thought Sith were better than this!"

Right after affecting the force around her, trying to slow her down and keep that perfect distance, I brought the pistol up once more. Timing my shots with each step backwards and using a very small amount of the force to keep the pistol steady as I fired another several rounds after her. Zipping once more in their crack of slugs flying through the air faster than the speed of sound.

 

[Malyssa moddol]

Tag: Nathan Bloodscrawl

Malyssa wore form fitting black outfit as she ran towards the temple and lightsaber dangling from her hip as she did so. She didn't use force stealth as she ran part of her wanted to get in a fight with someone if possible her darkside aura was outhere for all to sense. She could hear fighting her blood demanded she joined but she wanted to find her own enemies to fight as she approached the temple she didn't draw her lightsaber her blood demanded combat or what reason was there to be here.

There wasn't in her eyes besides the potential artifacts that they where here to find. But that was secondary in her eyes that's when she saw Nathan and she charged him using force speed she closed the distance quickly she jumped quickly and threw a kick at his side hard enough to Crack the ribs of a wookie. Landing low to hopefully dodge his counter attack she threw an uppercut at his jaw meant to cause a concussion and crack bone through her training in Teräs Käsi echani martial arts and training to be an assassin this would hopefully be routine for her.

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

The Yinchorri hobbled towards the main vault. The large Master knew there were many other pricks of light here. And being a Sentinel of the Temple would be the smartest move for him.

They'd have to get through the first vault to get to the more expensive vaults. He turned and stood

TEMPLE — OUTERMOST VAILT

Urgent adaptation to conditions — the bulk of attackers closer to the temple, mainly — took Quill off the shore. He felt Tilon in the back of his mind; his son felt heartbroken, angry, but in balance and largely unhurt. That was as much as Quill could feel amid the noise of so many lives and so much fear and violence.

Tilon worked at the temple hangars, so Quill went that way and rapidly found himself in the temple halls. Master Vodet was guarding the outermost vault, he realized, and the pleasant old Yinchorri was about to come under attack. Tilon was an adult, a seasoned Jedi Knight. He'd have to wait. The Jedi as a whole, once again, needed a hand.

Quill got out his sky-blue saber, fell into a guard of the Diplomat's Form, and did what he did worst.

 

[Darth Hydra]

Hydra was.. almost giddy. If he were a more visceral personality he might have actually giggled. Here he was exercising his purpose. Hunting Jedi. It felt… powerful, purposeful, right. All of those things and more. With him Hydra had brought with him minimal armor, just his Sith robes. He been thinking about forging his own armor, or having it done, he preferred the free range of motion of the robes however. Most lightsaber resistant materials worth having were either incredibly heavy and jealously guarded like Beskar or lacked a certain amount of skill in lightsaber combat such as Cortosis which shorted an opponents blade. No honour no victory. It could be his motto.

With him was his double bladed lightsaber, with the ability to be split into two so that Hydra might use Jar'kai. Perfect weapon for Master Padawan pairs or multiple Jedi of numerous stripes.

Hydra held back as his Sith brethren rushed forward to engage with the cursed Jedi. It wasn't cowardice, or even tactics. In this case Hydra was waiting for someone worthy. It was patience. So few Sith lacked patience. Hydra had learnt it as an apprentice, spending all year hunting a single Jedi.

Hydra was almost perusing the battlefield. Shopping really waiting for a worthy enemy to present themselves. Hydra breathed deep closing his eyes trusting his senses to warn him of any danger. Hydra searched and felt… something, a vaguely… familiar presence.

"Wu!" Hydra's eyes snapped open. "No. The apprentice. Now a Master"

Hydra let a slow smirk spread across his face, as his tentacles coiled in pleasure. It wasn't Darth Wu his apprentice, but it'd do. Hydra put on a burst of Force Speed and started running through the temple towards his target. His prey.

Acier Moonbound Aris Noble

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Wearing: Dooku-Pattern Armor (Blue and Black)

Armed with: Nathan's Jedi Lightsaber


When the raid began, Nathan was was trying to direct defenses when a particularly fast assassin managed to connect a kick to his ribs, and only an instinctive use of the Force, an ability known as Reduce Injury , reduced the severity of the wound he suffered from something that would have shattered his ribs to something that had only heavily bruised it. But he could fight through that sort of pain.

Not bothering with any notion of trying to convince his opponent to stand down or surrender, he felt nothing as he used his active white lightsaber blade to try and immediately behead Malyssa moddol but missed as she dived low. Fast one. Feisty.

He was still gonna try and kill her.

He let her come to him, catching her uppercut with his cybernetic hand, whose Kung Fu grip was further reinforced with telekinesis as he attempted to not only keep her captured fist in his grip, but attempt to rapidly break her fingers as he brought his white saber down in an attempt to slice her in half length wise.

 

[Feng Huang]

Feng was playing with some younger padawans in the gardens. Master Wu was trying to lead them into meditation, but that had devoled into playful sparring matches and wrestling. When the attack came. She at first didn't quite know what was happening, or perhaps couldn't quite believe it.

Think Feng think. Now is not the time for rash actions. What would Master Wu do?

"Master Wu!" Feng realised with a start

Feng was tempted to put on a rush of force speed and dash around the temple looking for Sith to kill, but her training kicked in.

Rash decisions, lead to rash actions. Speed is important in an emergency, but presence of mind while doing so is integral to survival.

Feng stopped breathed an opened up her senses. She felt the battle around her, the dark side of the Sith presence, the hatred, the rage. The conviction and determination of the Jedi even now already responding. She also felt the fear and the pain. Feng focused her mind, honing in on Master Wu's presence.

He was still in the Gardens.

Of course he is. Feng thought with exasperated relief that Master Wu was for the moment ok.

Feng gathered the younger padawans together.

"The Sith are attacking, we have to remember our training. No rash actions."

Scared but determined young faces nodded back at her. Feng nodded but on a brave smile and lead them to Master Wu and the rest of the Padawans.

Drystan Creed