Invasion Schism's Dawn // NIO invasion of TSE controlled Mygeeto and Muunilinst

[Karina Lowe Legacy]

​

Location: BRIDGE NETWORK 2, Southern Mesas, Mygeeto
Allies: TSE - Amur | Darth Kados | Jyon Hlervu | @Anyone on Bridge 2
Enemies: NIO - Hunter Blackburn | Grrwunhoooll Agaburry | Darth Bellum | @Anyone on Bridge 2
Objective: Bring down Bridge 2
Equipment: "Judicator" Adaptive Battle Rifle | SIF-57s Charric Pistol | Thermal Detonators | Commlink | Scramble Key | Field Slicing Kit | Legion Service Dagger

A crimson bolt of searing plasma melted out of the dim, striking a Legionnaire and knocking him prone, a sizzling crater where his chest had been milliseconds prior. She dived for cover, slipping low to the ground as more plasmatic shots joined the first, pinging off metal wrecks and digging furrows into the bridge's duracrete surface.

Legion Centurion Karina Lowe hunkered down beside one of the barriers as her own squad returned fire in the direction of the stormtrooper ambush, both sides firing at vague figures and shaped as clouds of frozen mist swirled around them, icy wind occasionally pelting them with pieces of shrapnel and debris. Karina looked around, and scampered to a more covered position, keeping low in order to prevent the vicious, buffeting wind from picking her up and carrying her away. The maelstrom was screaming, and would have been deafening had her aural sensors not dimmed the noise. As it was, she could hear the sounds of blaster fire, the twist and groan of metal, and the grunts and cries of her squad as they clashed desperately against the New Imperial forces a few dozen metres away.

She glanced back, her lips pulling back into a tight line as the huge, hulking repsulsorlift transport arrived behind them, sitting patiently for them to clear the way. From behind it, a few fresh Legionnaires charged forward with a fierce battle cry immediately whipped away by the wind, jumping into the fray with their rifles held high. They were cut down in seconds, but the tide had turned briefly, and slowly the transport began inching forward once more.

Karina peeked up over the barricade, spotting the blurred silhouette of a stormtrooper and squeezing off a few shots from her rifle. She couldn't tell if the shots connected, but a few moments later, a fresh hail of fire descended upon her position, and she was forced to scurry back awkwardly, rolling to relative safety behind the slowly trundling transport.

She waited a few moments to collect herself and raised a hand to the spot where her ears once sat, keying her commlink as she stuck her head out from behind the craft, surveying what little of the bridge she could see ahead of them. "Braxant Command," she said shortly. "Company H is nearing our objective. We are 200 out from the marker, but facing heavy resistance."

The push along Bridge Network 2's main flyover had been costly already, and as the minutes passed the losses were mounting among Karina's small group. Inside the transport, two large crates of detonite sat waiting, ready to be unloaded at the bridge's failure point the moment they got close enough. Already, the rest of the Legion defence forces had pulled back to the bridgeheads, leaving only Karina's group, and an identical force on Bridge Network 1 to push the explosives under fire to where they could be used to take the whole thing down once the sabotage squad had retreated to a safe distance. A tall order, but their objective was in sight, whether they would live to walk away from it or not.

Vaulting over a twisted piece of scrap, Karina dashed to the front of the group, the ocular sensors that stood in for her eyes sweeping across the ruined, ice-encrusted surface ahead. They were close- just a little further.

 

[Jekadius Lawson]

Location: Mygeeto\\
Objective: Traverse the Bridges and Capture Mesas Tower B\\Find and Remove who's controlling the Sith Spawn
Allies: NIO, Imperial Force Corps, Imperial Warlord Zovesa
Enemies: TSE, Lark
Gear: In Bio


And I'll be crying tears of laughter...

A voice called out to the two fighters just before their lightsabers matched. The Knight was oblivious to how crucial this interruption had been to the success of his plan, the distraction just enough to cause the Sith to fall for both the sneak attack from the knife but consequentially also lose his defense and suffer an additional would to his arm. Had Law capitalized on this, pushed his attack as the Sith's mind drifted from the duel perhaps it would have ended sooner. Yet Law was weary, who was there? Where did the voice come from?

Law disengaged, taking two steps back giving him reaction room while he started to look around. The bodies on the ground had not moved. Where they hiding in the suits? He didn't see any forms in the snow laced winds that blew all around them. A transmitter maybe? Was the third party an ally to the Sith or an enemy? Were they a danger to him?

Too much was unknown and the micro-dose of chaos was poison for the Knight's mind. His focus divided Law's head swung back toward the Sith as from a corner of his vision he caught the sight of a tear falling, another jagged piece of a puzzle that didn't fit. Worse still the tear didn't match the face as it turned to the visage of one ready to finish their duel. Is this on purpose? Are these mind games?

"OUT OF MY WAY!" The Sith screamed.

Law was slow to react, mind still searching for answers that would not come. A boot from a dead trooper collided with his helmet, cracking his hud and breaking his stance. The force that had been projected outward from the Sith knocked into him. Law flew back several meters luckily colliding with the edge of the bride rather than falling over it. Fire bloomed in his chest and back spelling warnings of fractures, his head smacked back blinding him to the world for a fraction of a second and giving the grace of missing as the voice whipsered again.

The head wound seemed to knock reason back to the forefront. Enough! Focus on the fight, there is one opponent. Voices and distractions can be dealt with when they become real. THAT is a Sith. With calm restored for a moment Law jumped back into action. He had instincively deactivated his lightsaber once control of his movement had been taken from him. His offhand snapped to his leg holster pulling out his Feverwasp and fireing four rapid shots at the Sith. He used those as cover to regain his footing and return the azure glow of his lightsaber to the bridge's atmosphere. He returned the pistol as he started running at his opponent. He had a trick that he'd been working on but to use it he would need to focus all the control over the force he had and to do that he would need to not focus on defense. Law closed the space between the two force users and began to attack, they were light blows easy to block but also easy to chain and he flurried them together. Keep him on his back foot, gather the force, end this fight.

 

[Marlon Sularen]

---

Location | Myeeto [Orbit]
Objective | OBJECTIVE 2: Battle of the Bloody Aurora | NIO-TSE Naval Battle Over Mygeeto
Allies | Tyrell Paxxus | Lunafreya Solidor
Enemies | Thaelius | Telis Taharin-Zambrano

---

Spoiler: Wraith Squadron

• SCV Predator [ 46 | 100 ]
• NIV Triumph [ 41 | 100 ]
• NIV Relentless [ 40 | 100 ]
• NIV Cataclysm [ 27 | 100 ]
• NIV Vanquisher [ 29 | 100 ]
• TIE Drones [ 40 Squadrons | 904/960 ]
• TIE Outlander [20 Squadrons | 287/320 ]
• TIE Slasher [10 Squadrons | 101/120 ]
• TIE Bruiser [13 Squadrons | 46/104 ]
• TIE Mauler [10 Squadrons | 48/80 ]

---

---

The battle was going poorly for the New Imperial Armada. Heavy damage was being inflicted on both Grand Vizier Paxxus Fleet and Captain Sularen’s Fleet with the Sith-Imperial Armada gaining the upper hand. Despite the crippling attack on the HIMS Stronger Together , the Sith-Imperial response saw the destruction of 51% of Wraith Squadron’s Bomber Craft as they attempted to strike against the other 3 Tormentor-Class Star Destroyers resulting in the loss of over 94 Bomber Craft in total , a huge blow to Wraith Squadron.

Then came the Hypervelocity Canons and the Long Range Weaponry of the enemy Flagship and Communications ship , pounding the shields of the Predator with 22% of the Predator’s Shields lost in the first few volleys while the other Star Destroyers began pounding on the shields of the other vessels with each of them losing 26% of their shields. Meanwhile only 6% of Wraith Squadrons Fighter Craft were lost with a total of 82. In addition to that the attacks of the enemy Frigates had taken down 13% of every Vessels shields. The NIO Blockade was starting to collapse.

“Sir we have received a message from Corvette the Lioness they are telling us to focus on the major threats while they deal with the smaller ones” an officer said. “Sir we have received orders from Grand Vizier Paxxus ordering us to execute a flanking maneuver on the enemy fleet.” This was too much. Already Wraith Squadron had taken extensive damage with enemy Star Destroyers and Battlecruisers pummeling their forces , the Raider Corvette wouldn't be enough to challenge the 20 Frigates and attacking the enemy’s flank was almost suicide but there was no other choice.

"Sir what are your orders?” asked an officer as Marlon thought on how to act. “Tell the Lioness to concentrate on dealing with enemy Sith-Imperial Fighter Craft and prepare to attack the enemy Flanks” Marlon ordered. “If we do so then it would be harder for them to utilize those hypervelocity canons against us. Now let us hope that the Grand Vizier’s Strategy is effective. If we fail then the Blockade is broken.”

With that , Wraith Squadron began their advance on the enemy, beginning their flanking maneuver around Thaelius Ordo’s Fleet as they intended to strike at them from the side. Hopefully this would work as essentially this was the New Imperial Order’s last ditch effort to dislodge the superior Sith-Imperial Flotilla , should they fail the Blockade over Mygeeto would be broken. Shall they succeed they would be able to push back the Sith-Imperial Flotilla. This was the climax of the Battle of the Bloody Aurora.

---

---

Spoiler: Fleet Action

-Wraith Squadron’s Bomber Craft have taken heavy Casualties with 38 Tie Maulers lost and 56 Tie Bruisers lost.
-The Predator has lost 35% of it’s shields with the rest of the vessels each losing 39% of their shields.
-6% of Wraith Squadron’s Fighter Craft has been lost totaling to 41 Tie Drones destroyed , 27 Tie Outlanders destroyed and 14 Tie Slashers destroyed.
-Marlon has received the orders from Grand Vizier Paxxus and Wraith Squadron has begun to execute a flanking Maneuver against Thaelius Ordo’s Fleet
-The Lioness has been contacted and instructed to attack enemy Fighter and Bomber Craft.
-The Ships of Wraith Squadron are reading their weapons for a general attack on the flanks of Thaelius Ordo’s Fleet

 

[Thaelius]

Location // Private Strategic Evaluation Room, Black Sword
Focus // Marlon Sularen Tyrell Paxxus Telis Taharin-Zambrano
Objective // Battle of the Bloody Aurora (Break the enemy Blockade)

The battle was going exceptionally well as the Titan and the Black Sword began pounding the enemy forces with thier impressive armaments. The fast-attacks initiated by the frigates were more then effective and victory was well within his grasp.

That is of course until they attempted to outflank his forces. But he saw an opportunity and he took it. "Are the auto-cannons primed?" He asked one of the technicians serving in this chamber. "No, sir. They need ten more minutes." The young man responded.

That was all he needed. In a frenzy, his hands began moving on the stations in the Chamber as he began activating the twin Planetary Turbolasers installed on the Black Sword. Each one of them, with thier incredible range began firing on the Predator as did the four Proton Beam Cannons.

The other ships of the fleet would begin moving in an attempt to stop Wraith Squadron from outflanking them. Each warship would begin suppressing the enemy with thier Heavy Turbolaser batteries followed quickly by other weapons.

Following the example of the Black Sword, the Star Destoyer's and Cruisers would begin utilizing thier point defense cannons to deadly effect. Sadly, two Narrower Class Cruisers would be loss in the onslaught.

--- Aboard the Iron Defender, Close Quarters Combat with the Epitah II---

"Open fire!" Yelled the Captain. The Epitah II was severely damaged and as such was vunreable to the attacks dished out by the two Battlecruisers pounding on it's shields.

"Divert auxiliary power to the weapons array. We have to destoy that ship!" And there appeared the Captains fault. He was too overconfident, he was a glory hound. He knew that if it was he who destroyed the flagship of the enemy, he would be rewarded by the Emperor. Sadly however, this never became true as a stray Turbolaser knocked him into the depths of the bridge where he was impaled by his own command saber. Tragic.

His second in command however was much better at his job than the captain ever was and when he took command, he demanded efficiency. "Belay that. All broadside weaponry, open fire. Supplement our Turbolasers with our missile launchers. Do not falter" he ordered. And so, the new Captain would go on to place deadly fire on the Epitah II.

Spoiler: Fleet Action

The Black Sword fires it's twin w-165 Planetary Turbolasers and it's four Proton Beam Cannons at the Predator and begins arming sequence for it's Auto cannons. In addition, it continues to fire it's hypervelocity ccannons.
The Titan contained long range barrage.
All other ships are "outflanking" the outflank
The Iron Defender enages the Epitah II in close quarters. It's captain is killed and the new commander orders all eeaonry to target the Epitah's broaside/SPOILER]

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

Location: Harnaidan City
Task: Objective One - Be a Hero
Focus: Lyra Voi'kryt Adrian Vandiir
Faction: New Imperial Order
---

The moment he had been waiting for since he first slipped the betaplast helmet over his head, the first time he had managed to stomp on Sith soil and meet one of their own. He had his own thoughts about how such an encounter would go, he had ideas on the dark and diabolic machinations that lurked inside of every Sith. He had imagined, for the better part of his life, that he would be rushed the moment he encountered one. That it would be a towering Lord with a saber of pure crimson and a wardrobe of pure black. He had imagined that they would have more in common with his blaster rifle than they would him proper. He thought that when his blaster rounds failed to get past the Sith's defences, he would resort to his combat knife, and after trading a couple blows back and forth his arm would be removed and his head quickly after that before he had a chance to get one last hurrah. If none of that, he expected to be levitated through the air, hurtled into the nearest building, before being flicked into the stratosphere. Or even subjugated to a stream of who know's how long of lighting spewed from the Dark Lord's fingertips. Maybe even he would be choked from feet away, kicking and scratching at an assailant that wasn't even close to him. Maybe a lightsaber javelined into his chest just to end it quicker. Perhaps he would never meet a Sith proper on the field of battle.

As fate would have it, he would.

As fate would have it, the Sith would be naked and standing over the body of one of his friends.

He wanted to everything he knew he shouldn't in this situation. This was all a joke to the Sith-Imperials, wasn't it? This man, standing here among a pile of corpses, his troops and Ravraa's as if nothing was the matter. This was the norm for their Empire, wasn't it? Absolute desecration. That was the only way that Ravraa could properly make sense of the scene. He wanted to hold the trigger down on his blaster until the barrel overheated and the power cell exploded. He wanted to beat the man to death with the smoldering remains. He wanted nothing more than to assure that the Sith never had the chance to treat anyone with such... apathy. It was easy to slight a solider who already hated everything you stood for, and to no fault of Adrian, he had already done plenty for Ravraa to take personal issue with him. Even though his finger was settled on the trigger of his carbine, even though his mind screamed at him and rage washed over him like the ocean, he held himself. Steel.

If he wished, he could engage in some verbal fencing with the man. No, I am not allowing you to leave, this is simply the only option. No, you are not allowing me to assist Lyra, it's my right. This, however, would be pointless, and Ravraa realized this. Instead, he gave a broad wave to one of the other members of Dorn-2, specifically not the one he had pointed at.

<"See what you can do for her."> He would command.

The trooper would make his way over to the fallen commander. She was de-armed and unarmed. She got the bad deal on the mission, ripped off. He was certain she could have won the fight single-handedly. On the other hand, he was a Sith, and from the sight of the beasts around him, no one could have lended her a hand. What was he doing? He had to help this lady first, think of better punchlines later.

The would-be medic went about applying bacta to the stump as he could, enough to just numb the pain more than anything. The actual medic for the squad had the injectors that would have been very helpful in this situation. It seems as if everyone had forgotten to retrieve even just one. There was, thankfully, a tourniquet that the fallen woman had appeared to have been attempting to use, or at least, was vaguely aware of it's presence around her. The man set to work, sealing off what bloodflow he could out of the body.

<"Jeresan, retrieve..."> He swallowed. <"Retrieve the captain's arm. The rest of you, search for other survivors. If they can't make it... make it clean at least.">

And with that, the rest of the troopers slowly dispersed, scattering around the area. Occasionally, the bloom of bolt would sound from the search crew. Ravraa stayed in place, however, keeping his carbine on the Sith in front of him.

 

[Lord Venari]

Objective: Defend the Muunilist capital city of Harnaidan
Allies: Vallaro Kindall Leon Amun TSE & Allies
Enemies: Ryv Lucien Dooku Dorian Sicarrio NIO, GA & Allies
Equipment: In Bio
Duel of Fates Two Steps from Hell

---

The cool tower air reeked of naiveté and overconfidence. The Prince of Serenno preached of hubris in the same hypocritical manner as all those supposed rogues, grays and the like that came before. Yet this was no fairy tale, the real stories always ended the same way - with the inevitable fall. To embrace the strength of the full spectrum of living emotion was the path of the dark side just as its dogmatic suppression was that of light. A million fold were those who came, young and foolhardy enough, to think themselves so special as to escape this immutable, all encompassing doctrine. Only the dark side could avail oneself of their shackles, bestowing strength enough to shatter chains. To weaponize the force was darkness itself. They who thought to manipulate their emotions and therefore the force in such akrasia were never remembered, their names lost in time, overshadowed by those wise to the truth. That power lied not in the childish bendu dabbling in both bogan and ashla, but in embracing one or the other. At the pinnacle of it all were the dark emotions that all beings savored, the kind that sprung lively from jeers of victory over an enemy's defeated, a world broken, a galaxy conquered. Not even the Vapaad form on which he relied to stave off the Sith attack could save him from this inevitability. The seventh forms own history was drenched in the blood of those who believed themselves impervious to the twisting power of such passionate emotions that the form called upon. Too powerful an allure was that which was forbidden.

Fury, bloodlust, hunger, these were the fruits of banquet on which Venari and all Sith gorged upon until the next proper meal was readied. The Exiled Prince's garnered excitement and anticipation for the kill were as spices upon the tendering feast. Left unattended the dark artifact & blade nipped and nibbled, surfeiting Venari's strength and stamina at the expense of his enemies, and yet more was to come. Crawling now within the tower depths was an unseemly tool in the Sith Lord's arsenal, time was ticking and he was about to strike.

Venari's overhead attack beared down upon his enemy, but instead was met with the Sword of the Jedi's shield once more. A rebounding pulse of energy pushed back against Venari. Riding the singeing momentum he was granted, he dodged the following shield bash. The Sith Lord spun whipping his saber, from right to left, to secure his footing from any inbound vector.

Together, the two Jedi stood on a foundation formed by their capricious nature. Wild and undisciplined, they personified the Empire's true enemy. The delusional ideals of their Orders, glimmered as gold to the uneducated, but in truth there were so many imperfections, so many cracks. They didn't require dropping; a fair jostle would do the trick and all of galactic society would crumble to anarchy. The Jedi, the Alliance, the NIO, they all lacked the resolve to do what was required of them and so united they stood as obstacles between the galaxy and order. While Venari and the Sith submerged themselves in the ethereal power of chaos, the entirety of galactic sentience could not survive it. They required a firm grasp to toe them in line. Those too weak to understand this would perish, the strong would mold the galaxy as they saw fit.

Just a few feet from the Jedi, the disciple of Animus remained steadfast, unphased by the duo before him. Such irony it was that he who threatened to "strike him down a few levels" chose to depart, undoubtedly to stave off the dark sadist that hounded them in pursuit. Rage danced behind yellow struck irises and was framed by a hungering gaze. This dance between opponents was growing tiresome. One foe was traded for another. No matter. They were but myriad flavors of the same course.

The Sword of the Jedi pressed the offensive, his blade still flush with azure power. An erroneous aura of confidence shone. Did he mistakenly place his faith in past exploits that lacked weight in the here and now? Was simple survival the low bar set by the Jedi in determining their own measure? Such ruminations had no place on the battlefield. With an elongated step Venari swung into the beacon of light.

Where Ryv's blade swept away the darkness, Venari's met it in kind. With each step taken, another strip of the self peeled away. The weaker parts. The parts that wouldn't further his goals or that of his Empire. And if they were the so-called "human" parts, oh well. One could not live as others did and reach the true heights of power.

As the burgeoning strikes from the Sword of the Jedi rose in strength, Venari too grew in intensity. No magnanimity was spared in those strokes that battered the bright blade away. The firrerreon transmuted into a conduit with which the dark side became manifest. The qixoni and night crystals in Venari's armor sung in resonance as metaphysical cogs began to turn in his armament. The empowered blade of Ruusan scorched away at the darkness emanating from Venari, only to discover an unending hunger all to willing to feast upon the light.

Recalling the trio of floating sabers the Sith followed with a series of heavy-handed strikes and prods from his floating weapons. The Sword of the Jedi's skills in Djem-So were noteworthy, the practitioner just batting away an array of lethal shots but his ferocity was met blow for blow. The collision of sheer bogan and ashla power reverberated through the formless world of the force. Every move begot another. Parries traded for parries. Blades of crimson and azure danced at speeds beyond the comprehension of those uninitiated in their ways and yet hammered with the same intensity of the namesake Krayt Dragon. The flurry came to an end with locked blades held and feet planted into the duracrete ground by unyielding warriors. With a transfixed gaze, Venari once more pierced the veil of the physical world and peered into that of the force. Within the divine realm all was revealed, the many tethers that networked a series of minds together, not just between the two Jedi within the tower, but another, someone far off and away. The force was a language of emotion and no connections were made without purpose.

The Sith Lord sneered beneath his helm; all to well acquainted with the vagaries of fate in times of war. They made for the best and worst of times. A great risk was taken in forming connections during wartime, madness that often followed the loss of those connections. Between love and war, Venari always chose war. The colors of the universe ran more brilliant, food and drinks grew rarer, and were all the sweeter for it. People were far more interesting, far more alive in times of war. Love on the other hand, was a delicate thing that would see the world grow dull and weak.

While words were often wasted on the arrogant, Venari did enjoy playing with his food, "Who else watches behind those eyes Jedi? Who else is it that you would protect?" he taunted. The Sith Lord pressed his strength and beared down on blade lock preparing to strike. Before the move could be made though, a snap tell from the force fixed his gaze to his side.

Leaping from the far wall at the tower side, the Prince of Serenno burst through the air as a living missile. His presence made known by an ornate and powerful blade. Venari's grin stretched into fang-baring smile. Such power was within the Prince's reach but remained unreachable; stifled by the restraints he consigned himself to. Therein lied the grandiose disparity between the firrerreon Sith and his enemies. The apogee of their ambitions peaked within the tower's confines with the death of the Sith. His gaze, his hunger, was bound for the stars. Any shackles that once confined the man had long since been broken. They and their ilk were but a trifling matter in need of tending.

Venari lowered himself into a crouch then surged into the air. At the crown of his arched jump he flipped and descended to the backend of the bridge. He skidded to a stop then righted himself, watching as Lucien plunged into the bridge. A hurricane of power and ferocity collided with the deck from which a wave of force energy washed over the field as fissures grew throughout the superstructure. Loose chunks of duracrete crumbled away and a cloud of dust and debris loomed in the air, obscuring both Jedi. Ryv's gleaming blade the only light breaking through the visage. A most impressive display of might, but one doomed to fail.

Crawling up the levels, the tool had returned to its owner. Little Dha had scaled his way up the tower and sat one level below. With a whir of the hand Venari seized the small creature and pulled him up to the bridge on which they stood. The small lizard landed at its creators side, encircling Venari then leaping onto his back.

"Good, little one," he said.

With the crack of his neck, Venari entered a state of force sight and scanned the cloud of detritus to find not two but three occupants. Vallaro was just behind them now. Whatever arrogance led the Jedi to believe they could simply ignore the wild blood seeker, he would pay back in a massacre twofold. The hunter was one of the most skilled in the galaxy and more heinous than many scores of Sith. Had the celestial will gifted Vallaro with a true connection to the force, Venari was not sure the galaxy could survive him. Without it, he would still see worlds burn if only to revel in the ash. Luckily, no otherworldly connection was needed between the two. Years on the battlefield together had forged something akin to friendship, in battle they were as one.

From Venari's shoulder, the falsetto hiss of his pet erected a force empowering bubble around the Sith Lord. Venari's personal weapon floated at the ready alongside him while the three others beamed into the cloud and struck at the two Jedi. With his open palms jutted into the air, twin tethers of bogan energy erupted from Venari's hands, seeking the Jedi in an effort to drain them of their strength, the attack's malicious power amplified by the Xalmiris creature. This was the time to feed. Venari's hunger had taken to his aura and changed it into that of a black hole with an appetite for stars. The parallel supernova heat and frigidness of space were but specks before its ravenous nature, what were fire and ice to the void?

 

[Sam Deckard]

// Buckethead - 7empest //
// Muunilist, Harnaidan //
// Objective // Survive
// New Imperial Storm Armor Mk. IV | REC-RCG/01 'Reaper' - Pattern Particle Beam Chainblaster //
// New Imperial Order // Davis Garrick Tessa Belisarius Agrippa // Stromtrooper Corps
// The Sith Emire // Maiven
// ESCAPE //

"Shit man, perfect placement! Thirty-plus tangos KIA."

Sam laughed out loud as the storm of fire and dust began to subside. A thin haze of smoke and soot was left lingering in the air around them. Sam leaned upwards and turned to rest his forearm on the ground to prop himself up. Wiping his hand across his helmet, he cleared the dust that caked over his visor. Standing up with a groan, he reached down to grab Davis' hand and pull him to his feet. Sam tucked one arm around Davis, doing his best to prop him up as Davis fell back into him.

The sound of Sith-Imperials surrounding their location wasn't doing Sam's nerves any good. He'd kept the panic in the back of his mind, fighting against its attempts to set in. Their situation was beyond dire, and the chances of making it out of this was nearly zero. They came here to fight a war, but instead, they'd gotten trapped beyond the front lines, scared, injured, and unable to contribute to the front. If it hadn't of been for Davis' composure, Sam would have probably lost his by now.

"What's the ETA on evac? We're running out of time here."

"I don't know," Sam responded gravely. With a closed fist he knocked on his helmet a few more times, trying to get his comms and HUD to work properly again. The constant static that bombarded his ears was enough to drive a man mad. With every opportunity, Sam slapped, knocked, and clonked his helmet as they ran down the labyrinthian corridors. One wrong turn could bring them face to face with Sith-Imperial troopers.

"They're herding us somewhere, Tempest. We need to find another way out of here, or we're FUBAR."

Sam's heart nearly skipped a beat as Davis suggested they were being corraled. They were surrounded like animals in a slaughterhouse. Yet another piece of kindling to add to the growing fire of panic nestled deep in Sam's brain. Thinking quickly he pulled Davis down a side corridor and brought him up to a set of turbolift doors. With the aid of the crushguants on the MK IV armor, he peeled back the door control panel.

With the auxiliary controls exposed he poked around until the doors slid open. Sam peeked in, discovering that thankfully, there was no basement. Once again the crushguants aided him as he pulled the panel back into place in an attempt to cover his tracks. Along with Davis they limped their way into the turbolift shaft, stepping over the shock absorption mechanisms that lingered on within. Sam's fist slammed into the emergency door controls, causing them to snap closed behind them.

The night vision in Sam's helmet kicked on in the pitch black of the empty turbolift shaft. He slumped forward and rested one hand on his knee. His breath was heavy, the adrenaline was slowly starting to wane and he was feeling the full repercussions on his body. He slumped against the wall, panting heavily. The static of his comms broke way into a distorted voice.

<"Tempest, this is Hellhound-Two-One. %W#E%A#R@E$I&%N*%I*KI75NHG#D&I@S%T@NC3 of the battery. B#ROEAKH0#$C%L05S%A%R#E&Y%O%U2T%0 LZ? Repeat. A&T$ Battery. B$R#E@K How close to LZ?">

Sam looked up, slapping his helmet a few more times to get the HUD to clear up. He looked for the LZ waypoint and took note of the distance meters on the HUD.

"Hellhound-Two-One, this is Tempest. We're about one point two niner kliks from-"

Wait, did he say Two-One? The fire of panic in Sam's mind ignited like an explosion as he realized what callsign was hailing him.

"Hellhound-Two-One!? Two-One!? What the fuck happened to the Captain!?"

Sam's frantic yelling echoed loudly off the walls of the turbo lift shaft. The panic in his voice made it near unrecognizable. The deep, rough voice he usually spoke in had increased in pitch, with a wavering tremble about it that sounded on the verge of tears. He punched his helmet a few more times, impatiently trying to straighten his comms once again as he impatiently prodded for an answer.

"Hello!? What happened!? What happened!? Captain Belisarius!?"

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Tag: Leon Amun | Lucien Dooku Ryv Lord Venari Vallaro Kindall​

---

For once, Dorian was actually physically outmatched.

It only took a moment for him to realize it -- despite hitting like a truck, Dorian couldn't even crack the Murderhawke's helmet. Hurt his foot a little, actually, but that didn't stop him from using Force speed once more to flit away from his opponent. The spear flew towards him moments later. Despite the power of the throw, Dorian's weapon obeyed when he waved his hand, and the crimson spear slowed and returned comfortably to his side. "Hey, you just used a weapon too! What a cheap shot," Dorian mocked. "Look at you, all armored up. What, you think you fight with honor too? Strip a little and I'll think about facing you hand to hand."

Behind that smug smirk, though, his mind raced faster than even him. This fight didn't suit him. Unlike his opponent, he didn't have the crutch of a super-suit to boost his speed and power. Dorian was still much faster, but if he couldn't break through his opponent's armor, speed didn't really matter. From what he could tell, that suit was beskar-plated. He simply didn't have the firepower to break through. Switching to his lightsaber might work a little better than his spear, but either way he'd exhaust himself before breaking through.

Dorian couldn't believe he was even considering it, but he thought he might have to take a page out of an old opponent's book. Adrian Vandiir was strong not because of his skill in combat -- no, certainly not that -- but because of his ability to work around his weaknesses and exploit holes in his opponent's defenses. Dorian could see Leon's weakness. It was a hole gaping as wide as the man's ludicrously broad shoulders.

He evaded the Murderhawke's barrage of fists, staying just barely out of reach until Leon overstepped, even just a little, such that his momentum would continue to carry him further. When that happened Dorian slipped away, disappearing past his opponent and finding a spot far away, but just in sight of Leon. "You're right, I don't fight with honor," Dorian admitted. "But I do fight with conviction, and most importantly, I fight with the Force."

Despite only having the basest idea of what he was doing, Dorian felt a guiding hand as he raised his arm, pointing towards the behemoth. His reach went further, going in and grasping the small mind hidden under the thick layers of armor. His fist closed and he attempted to force open Leon's thoughts and memories, then pushed the man's consciousness into the deepest pit he could find. Dorian focused solely on that. It took much of his willpower to not fall in himself -- but until Leon had been broken he would keep him in his worst memories. He knew how difficult it was to resist first hand.

The warrior stood still; no longer was this a battle of the body but instead a true battle of wills.

 

[Vaulkhar]

// EXECUTOR //
// MUUNILIST // ASSAULT ON MYGEETO // RIP AND TEAR //
// MR. RAGER //
// LIGHTSABER //
// Imperial Warlord Zovesa // Taeli Raaf

---

---

Silence gripped the stationary wound in the Force, his attention captured by the ongoing duel raging before him. Vaulkhar stood half a dozen paces away from the flaming hull, far more interested in observing the skill displayed by both the High Knight Marshall and Dark Councilor. Exquisite blade work locked the duo in an ongoing struggle for control, each flash of the weapon followed by the clash of sound, screeching over the sounds of the storm. The Executor dedicated his life to the use of a lightsaber, striving to surpass all who'd consider themselves master of the mythical blade. In doing so, he could not help in finding beauty within the ultimate dance of death. Zovesa propelled herself about Taeli Raaf's form, a blur as she moved to overwhelm the Sith Lady's defenses and see an end to their struggle. Aided by the elegant fluidity Makashi provided her, the Dark Councilor maintained her defensive, seeing herself at least an equal to the Imperial Commander. If not for Zovesa's quick thinking and clever use of her flamethrower, Vaulkhar assumed their clash would only continue, unhindered by the flurry all around them.​

​

The crashing flames encased the Sith Lady inwreathing heat, burning the cloak decorating her form to ash. Vaulkhar tilted his head to the side, crimson gaze locked on the maneuvering Sith-Imperial as he stepped forward. Each step carried him closer to the explosive counter-attack. Still, the fallen Jedi watched, confident in the High Knight Marshall's defensive, even if her attack now worked against her. As the final strike of the crimson saber pulled back, he increased his pace in response to the wave of power summoned to Raaf's waiting fingertips. Vaulkhar's body blurred, a shadow of black and gold darting the short distance between the brawling masters. His form appeared between them both, a foot-stomping down to cease his forward momentum in full. Now interposed between the Lady of Secrets and High Knight, the Executor raised his right arm, extending his fingers in full. The lightning crashed against an invisible barrier, racing past both the New Imperial commanders, ultimately harmless in the more straightforward display of power. Behind the skeletal mask, Vaulkhar's gaze bore into the Sith Lady's form, a fire beneath the threatening to consume him. He looked back to the Chiss woman, his intense gaze softening as he met her darkened visage.​

​

"You are better than this, Zovesa," Vaulkhar summoned his lightsaber from his side, the familiar snap-hiss cutting through the arching lightning. "You are better than her, and you are better than I. Do not lose yourself to this power as we have, you still have a chance to do some good for this galaxy," he turned away from her as the lightning died away. The fallen Jedi took the hilt in both his hands, grip tightening as the swell of unending rage exploded within him. He took a step towards Darth Arcanix, no words spoken in his passage, the rising vermilion saber doing more than enough as Vaulkhar slammed down with his two-handed grip, aiming to batter her saber away. He took another step forward, reversing his grip on the before slashing out across the woman's torso, only to follow it up with a string of empowered blows. Vaulkhar's strength was far above that of a mortal man, increased by the nature of the Force, the crystal within his blade, and the enhanced cybernetic arm in place of his original.​

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

// OUTRIDER // Raider Sqd
// OBJECTIVE // Harnaidan
// THEME // Pushit
// NIO // Loske Treicolt
// TSE // Hailyn

Revenant in his consciousness again, doubt. Why? here. now. Why? He'd felt he had conquered it in its finality. In the wake of his knighting, his admission to Loske. He felt confident enough to tangle with anything and here was again. Each shift of his muscle, each movement, uncertain. It only manifested in tangibility when she deactivated her saber against the lock of his, sending him off balance to meet her blade again. She was well and truly toying with them, with him.

A moment's reprieve when Loske forced her away from the exchange, allowing him another moment to assess the encounter. With confidence shredded and perspective jostled, Alekto's sentiment pierced through the composite layers of his own confidence, pride, his bond with Loske to grasp at his core feelings.

"You're better than he is, stronger."

"You could have came alone."

"But you're afraid - for him."

"You are why he is weak."

As easy it seemingly should have been to scrub away the obvious prodding manipulation of the Sith's rhetoric, it drew him into a corner of his mind. He'd only ever proved himself in battle by persistence, not by victory. He was consistent, reliable but not powerful. His greatest triumph on the field being the death of Braith and even then, she went about ripping that away from him. It was never a feat he was well and truly 'proud' of, much more relieved when he'd thought Achlys was finally one with the grave. Wrong again.

“Do you want to keep this between us girls?”

What? why? Maynard's demeanor only buried deeper into that pit of dread and doubt as he was angled away from the fight, Loske closing the gap to make the exchange a personal scrap between the two.

She must've really thought that. That her chances were better alone than with him at her side. Did she see him as weaker? Inferior? To be protected? All the while - he could only regard her the same. He couldn't leave her to chance, to risk losing her as he had everyone else. As domineering as it felt, he had to intervene again, restless to cede control of her fate to her. Why couldn't they fight her together? They had before...but perhaps that was an illusion all its own.

>Why?< Was his immediate thought to her. But maybe that was too heavy of a question for now, he couldn't distract her, distract them. Striking his saber alight along he jutted to the side of their engagement, aiming his left arm out and toward Alekto.

>I'm pulling her away. Don't let up.< Maynard channeled, shooting out the grappling line from his vambrace much as Loske did to begin the fight at all, but without wings obscuring her upperbody he aimed to wrap the cord around her legs before yanking back on the line to try and pull her toward him, his blade angled all but ready to skewer her should his action make purchase on the Sith.

Perhaps if he'd full cleared the obscuration the severing of the force had over him he might've been able to will her toward him with that alone but with all of his energy strained in protecting himself at all he couldn't split his focus nor muster the power, the self enhancement and bond to Loske was deeply encumbering in itself and it seemed to manifest itself alongside the doubt burrowing itself into his consciousness.

You can't do it...

You can't save her...

You aren't helping...

Give up...

You're going to lose her...

You can't change that...

These voices of a violently unearthed sentiment had threatened to seize the reins of control of him again. Were he not willed out of this peril by his bond with Friendly Blue, he would've either cowered and left his fate to her or fully embedded himself in his buried anger. Even if their dynamic had manifested into something dysfunctional here, he'd sworn to fight for them in the past, she should've known better than to expect him to back off.

He would die here if he had to.

 

[Hunter Blackburn]

Location: Uppermost Portion | Bridge B | Pushing towards Sith barricades
Allies: Darth Bellum | Grrwunhoooll Agaburry | Imperial Warlord Zovesa
Enemies: Darth Kados | Amur | Jyon Hlervu

Spoiler: Equipment

Infantry Armor
Disruptor Carbine
Thyrisian Battle Oil
Blue Mojo Necklace
Hybrid Pistol
Vibrosword
Disruption device
Void Grenades
The Albatross (Picked up from Kezeroth's body)

Out of the corner Adrial watched as the brothers he fought alongside pushed further ahead without him. For a soldier it wasn’t about the glory, the prestige, or even making it home at the end of the day. It was about ensuring everyone else did. That they could go home to their mothers, fathers, wives, and children. If that meant Adrial having to throw down with a Sith Lord he’d do it every day. He would have to count on Vice and Linkz to lead the rest of the men through and into the city.

With the 360 degrees of vision offered by the helmet, Adrial was well aware of the Sith using the force to defend themselves and fling the large hunk of metal at him. Alarms in the helmet blared, warning of what was supposed to be an imminent impact. With reflexes honed through training, and enhanced by the Thyrisian battle oil, Adrial leapt.

Rising into the air, a mixture of technology and sheer strength carried Adrial near the piece of metal where the Thyrsian brought a booted foot down on it. Then the other. Kicking off the durasteel plate, repulsors in his boots firing propelled Adrial even closer. The raising of the Sith Lord’s hand did nothing as what was probably a push of the force was buffeted away due to the Albatross.

There would be no distance granted or made by the Sith Lord as Adrial finally came down for a landing. Left-arm raising from the vambrace a gout of flames was released to engulf the Sith as Adrial landed a bit shy of a meter away. Ther would be no words that escaped Adrial, no taunting, nothing. In war, in battle it was life or death. The Sith always sought to gloat, to brag, to demonstrate the powers offered to them. And when they were stripped away what were they truly? What were they capable of? Adrial didn’t know but he planned on finding out.

----------------

Persona: Vice and Linkz

The smoke offered the cover that the Galactic Marines needed to keep pushing the front while the troops led by General Vexen made their way forward. All they had to do was close the distance. Moving forward the Galactic Marines charged through the smoke nearing its end as the wind sought to carry it away. Through the advanced systems in their helmets, the soldiers knew and could track the Legionnaires even through the blue gas.

Breathing heavily into his mic as they pushed forward the harsh and gruff tone of Vice finally chimed in as it seemed their cover was beginning to fade. “Twenty seconds till the smoke clears! When that shit clears we’re going to be sitting ducks.”

“You’re right.” Linkz confirmed his more light and wheezy tone confirming what needn’t be said. “Knots, Guts we need some more smoke! Throw it as hard as you can. Knots aim a bit shy.”

From the smoke two more canisters were thrown, one landing just outside the cover created spewing more of the thick gaseous cover. The other further off with its gas beginning to spread over the Sith barricade.

“Use the repulsors and thrusters in your boots to close the distance. This is our last push!” Linkz called back.

“That was smart. You may get promoted yet!” Vice shouted before charging forward.

It was a wave of Galactic Marines, their silhouettes appearing and vanishing amidst the smoke as they moved at extreme speeds the rybcourse in the armor and boots allowing them to accelerate far faster than the typical humanoid. With a leap Vice, Linkz and five other Marines jumped over the barricades. Shields activated on one arm, flamethrowers and missiles spewing them and the rest of the marines began to confront the Sith on their side of the bridge.

 

[Tarrik Kestis]

Location: Bridge A, No Man's Land, Downed gunship
Allies: New Imperial Order, Nearby: Ignatius
Enemies: Sith Empire, Nearby: Vaylin



Through the howling winds, Tarrik remained silent. Nothing but the howling winds and the silent speech of the dead around him to give the Inquisitor a restless company. The storm while kept getting colder and colder. The storm making it even hard to see his own surroundings. Waiting for when backup would come the senseless dread only remained. The tension was thick in the air and even the Inquisitor knew that if he should remain. Even he may find himself a target of the Sith. After all, a downed gunship would be a target for any enemy be it Sith or not. He had a bad feeling that if he should remain sitting around and waiting for help. The enemy would surround him swiftly and quickly. Overrunning him in a matter of minutes should the dreadful conditions of the storm continue to worsen around him.

Looking through the fog he felt his senses tingling. As if every instinct in his entire body wanted him to run. Wanted him to sprint quickly far into the oblivion of the storm. He couldn't not while help was on the way. If he ran now then both Inquisitors would be lost within the raging fury of the cyclone itself. Unable to navigate either back to an allied trench or even the battlefield. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling off, all the more wanting to be rid of it. He first thought it was the bitter wind chill. Increasing the temperature of his armor so he could sufficiently hold out as much as he could.

With the fog being denser and denser, the storm increasing in intensity. Tarrik had watched. The feeling still persisted as if only growing stronger. His fear was non stop. The decision to turn off and run becoming more and more of a temptation he could not resist. Breathing in slow and deep, slowly using that fear to increase his will to stand his ground. He had to stay, he shall not abandon the Order, not abandon his fellow Inquisitor and run off like a coward. He would not be a coward this day. Whatever was happening, whatever was coming it was his duty as an Inquisitor to serve the New Order or die doing so. To betray all that now in the thick of battle would bring great shame to the very notion of Inquisitor. Something he couldn't afford to let happen.

Staring off into the distance. He saw what looked to be a black mass approaching. Looking into the horizon at it. Watching as what looked to be beast, beasts. He couldn't tell but something frightening. A Sith creation perhaps? An illusion to dull his senses, perhaps even the source of terrible dread that he felt. As the beast moved towards the wreckage, reaching for his saber activating one of the crimson blades as it illuminated some of the wreckage in it's crimson glow. Tarrik tried once more and even so desperately to contact Second Brother.

"S-Second Brother, I have a hostile showing up at the crash site... Make haste at once for even I fear I may not be a match alone." He said in the utmost desperation. Even as the storm threatened to cut off all communication. He tried to reach Second Brother's frequency. He hid behind the ruined mess of twisted metal. Examining what foes have to dare descended upon the crash site akin to vultures picking a carcass.

 

[Ursula Vizla]

OBJECTIVE: Harnaidan.
ALIES: NIO.

The mandalorian beast in her hands discharged a torrent of shots that most resembled a real storm. By circling herself around the tank at the speed her basilisk moved, it was almost impossible to aim at her, especially when soldiers on the ground suffered against her cub's cannons. Without delay, the heavy armor was penetrated and the tank exploded, and like a spectacle of fireworks that could be seen by many eyes far away, Vizla raised her weapon to the skies, shouting with joy in celebration of her personal victory.

<“For Mandalore!”>, She spoke in the language of her people, and around her as well as below her, dozens if not hundreds of voices from the Allied soldiers joined her, they screamed more familiar screams than those in their native language , a few children from Mandalore accompanied Ursula in those words, but all who howled tried to move as if bathed in an almost enchanted frenzy. Perhaps it was the death of those who fought gloriously, or perhaps it was the destructive flaming glow of that tank she destroyed, burning like a beacon of hope over the platoon.

Ursula felt good about what she did, more than she had felt in a long time. There, standing on the back of her droid she looked up at the sky, but these were no longer filled with fear or anxiety, they were bathed in hope.
"The battle is almost over, mistress.", His AI said through the communicator in his helmet. “We will soon be able to go home. I think we deserve a break.”

"Yes, my dear, i think we do.", She replied still looking at the sky. Here in Harnaidan, the battle was almost over, fought by monsters and great men and women on both sides, always remembered by the heroes who had fallen before the enemy and his weapon. Ursula who had fought battles for dozens of strange planets alongside fallen titans and renowned warriors took a vow to herself. 'I shall hail the victorious dead and never forget their names.', Or so she hoped.

"Oy, set the course back to the base, Eddy, I think our work here is done.", With her other hand she stroked the back of her mount. “And someone deserves a good oil bath after that, doesn't they? Such a good boy, a good boy. ”, And in response the basilisk started to howl and jump up and down in the sky, almost causing her to lose her balance and fall. "Oy, calm down!"

 

[Vallaro Kindall]

Navi [Version 10.0.18363.752]
(c) Locke and Key Mechanics. All rights reserved.

C:\Vallaro\Mission\Allies> Lord Venari Leon Amun
C:\Vallaro\Mission\Enemies> Ryv Lucien Dooku Dorian Sicarrio
C:\Vallaro\Mission\Gear> in Bio
Theme

---

A twisted smile formed on the hunter’s face as cruelty and purpose filled the hunter's mind. Miniaturized explosives sent flecks of durocrete and glass scattering as his prey sought cover. The hunter had poked and prodded at his prey. With each burst from his gun, the Jedi revealed more of themselves. Patterns emerged in the chaos feeding in the eager hunter’s mind. Unwittingly would be as painters, adding brush strokes to the canvas of their demise, and soon the portrait of their defeat would be completed.

The roar of rockets grew louder as Vallaro followed his opponent upwards. A wave of murderous intent descended upon him from above, this time the hunter was ready. Quickly he turned and weaved a path between the bridged to ensure no further attack would rain down on him. The ground below shattered. Far more power was thrown at him than what a regular Jedi could muster. A red filled the tower casting an ominous light on the combatants as the smell of smoke filled the air. Those born with the force often underestimated the value of mundane objects. They’d prance and prattle, self-important with their ideologies always at the top of their minds and the tips of their tongues. It was the hunter’s greatest pleasure to reunite them with the force they held so dear. The look in their eyes as life slipped away, gripping terror as death took hold leaving nothing behind.

Sheer bliss.​

For all their self-righteousness Jedi all shared the same flaw: Arrogance. It was the unspoken hallmark of the Jedi order. Their holier than thou attitude. Flaunting a power fueled by their perceived moral superiority. In the end, they were no more than fools. Fledgling cowards who’d turn their back to danger in pursuit of defeating what they believed was true evil: anyone who disagreed. What these had yet to learn was that for evil to prevail all it takes is for good men to do nothing. The lowest of bars and yet it was a bar these Jedi had failed to meet.

A dust cloud formed on the bridge above, no doubt Venari's doing. The two had fought many battles over the last few years and with it came a familiarity that allowed the duo to play off each other without the need for word or trickery. The hunter cut his rockets and allowed momentum to carry him the rest of the way. His vision switched to thermal imaging as he crossed the bridge’s threshold. Dust did nothing to conceal the warm glow of their bodies and the blazing heat of lightsabers. The final brush stroke met canvas. The image was complete.

Thoughts multiplied as the cyborg’s hydra implant engaged. His experience and observations melded and grew as multiple trains of thought formed and ran parallel to each other. Each one taking and feeding information to the rest granting him a clarity of thought and action these force imbued charlatans could never understand. Genetics had forsaken him from the mystical energies of the force. But it was the mundane that the galaxy had forgotten to fear.

Intersecting lines of thought turned to action as the hunter drew the Gatecrasher with his off-hand. The apex of his momentum put Vallaro above and behind his prey, just close enough for maximum effect. The bridge gave little room to maneuver, less so with Venari’s Lightsabers on the move. Ocular implants fed him targeting data, mental processing extrapolated it out tenfold, years of training executed the plan. “You’re five steps away from realizing it: I’m ten steps ahead.” With each hand, the hunter unleashed hell on his foes. A blanket of blaster bolts flew forth from the scattergun, searing pain promised with their kiss. Detonite rounds from the SMG filled the air, each promising agony in their explosive embrace.

The kickback from the scatter blaster was substantial yet necessary. The recoil forced the hunter to turn left midair. With a flicking motion, Vallaro released the magazine and its remaining payload into the dust cloud. As it flew, he reignited his rockets. A wall of fire came from each boot engulfing the bridge and causing the remaining detonite in the magazine to explode as he flew to the far side of the bridge. Slamming a fresh magazine into place as he did.

Each action ran with the full focus of independent thought. One mind was now many and Vallaro’s thoughts existed in superposition. His foes had brought their faith to the table but Vallaro was polarized, not just unwilling but unable to see the world from their view. He was both man and machine. Unerring calculations blended with malice.

“How’s about we make this quick?”​

 

[Hailyn]

S O M E O N E - E L S E

​

Location: Muunilist | Harnaidan City
Objective: Defend Muunilist, Punish Opposition
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: New Imperial Order | Maynard Treicolt & Loske Treicolt
Equipment: Saberstaff

She was smug when the lightning struck, the shock - the pain - that radiated from the blonde was all the sweeter knowing she had struck a chord in her with her jeering. It wasn't with much surprise that the sharp pain of a kick square to her stomach came, and she could have hardly faulted the woman for the impressively improvised sphere of iridescent energy encapsulating her in a prison with her own lightning. The agony of such a reversal was staggering, scorching sections of her face and darkening patches of her torso - her instinctive urge to scream silenced by the tightening of the muscles in her throat from the flow of electricity. She'd channeled that pain to regain control over herself, to stop the flow of lightning, not without due punishment, but was pressed yet again by the push that shoved her stumbling back.

'Do you want to keep this between us girls?' Alekto mused to herself, repeating the words of the Jedi in her mind with a bitter sense of amusement. 'Just like her.' She thought, tossing her saber from her right hand to her left, the left blade igniting as the right powered off. Its magenta caught the woman's blade, but ever the relentless assailant the Jedi seemed prepared and, finding herself all at once on the defensive, Alekto fell into an amateurish recreation of the sort of Soresu she'd learned from second hand experience, parrying and blocking with sharp staccatos that lacked all the grace of the woman she was emulating, imagining those purple eyes staring back at her in disappointment. She'd expected the man's intervention, reactivating the blade of the right side of her lightsaber to parry another strike aimed at her from the side before quickly bringing the blade down against the woman's saber as she maneuvered to strike again, transitioning from the defensive to the offensive - or so it seemed.

The cord found itself entangled around the blade of the left half of her lightsaber, which she promptly detached from her right with a grin. "You aren't just afraid for him - you're afraid of him, aren't you?" She taunted with feigned surprise, her left arm flexing against the sudden jerking motion her lightsaber was subjected to - stumbling several steps in his direction. "Where is your trust, Jedi?" Alekto pressed before shutting off the blade of the saber in her left hand again, sending the grappling cord hapless to the ground - or perhaps back to the man who'd tried to recreate the ingenuity of his partner with the same disappointing results as her own mimicry of Corvus' mastery of Soresu. It didn't suit him to act so methodically anyways, like her he was made for direct approach - and nobody ought to have understood this better than his partner, shrewdly trying to separate him from the two. "That was your mistake, wasn't it?" She asked, moving back into the fray with renewed vigor, her pitch rising an octave as excitement built in her. "You saw it, and it frightened you." She said in a low voice, swinging her right blade against the the Jedi's as her pace slowly began to quicken.

"The darkness."

She spat the words with the sort of disgust that only someone who had heard them spoken of them could, for a moment seeing brunette hair instead of blonde - vibrant purple eyes instead of blue - and the pressure in her veins rose with her temper. Lashing out with both sabers, one to parry and one to jab, again the Sith fell into the comfort of Juyo. "Just like her - you think you're so special, so smart." She said with a scowl, sweeping left with the blade in her right while she cut forward with her left, as her feet carried her forward all the while to press the attack with reference to some unnamed other woman. "The day is going to come when he sees you for who you really are - and he's going to realize that he never had you to begin with." She snarled, her words dripping with contempt. Every step she took, every move she made, were accentuated by the words she spoke, and every syllable that left her lips were laced with raw emotion brought bubbling to the surface from memories that the pair had brought back from deep within her.

 

[Avernus]

// KING OF THE DRIP //​

// OBJECTIVE // Behind Enemy Lines: Getting A Duel
// New Imperial Order // Gat Tambor
// The Sith Empire // Darth Argentum Aerarii Tithe Madelyn Lowe
// The Crusade //
​

Avernus tugged on his lightsaber with the force. The spinning blade slowed and began to carve a new path back to him. The Amethyst wheel of death whizzed right past Gat Tambor as he began to pursue Tithe town the labyrinthian corridors of the SIBC complex. When the hilt reunited with his crimson left hand, it was back to the flurry of deflections and strokes of bright, purple death. One by one the Sith-Imperial legionnaires dropped as their projectiles were swatted back into them, or as a lightsaber found purchase cutting through their necks.

Both of Avernus' agents dropped, each of them being quelled by legionnaire blaster fire. The lack of allied fire only served to make the dance of deflection more intense. He capered to the left, to the right, and back to the left, his blade whirling in a show of lilac blurs. His movements took the lead, dictating where shots were taken. The scream of each bolt being batted away preceded the scream of each Legionnaire whom it was fed back to. The morbid impromptu-choreography facilitated his approach, each twirl, skip, and hop serving to close the gap between him and them.

At some point, their numbers refused to dwindle. Each and every soldier that appeared looking more fearsome and monstrous than the next. Yeezy continued to fight, swinging, thrashing, and lunging in the face of the hideous visages of the soldiers. As if you could even call these things soldiers anymore. Was this the work of Sith alchemy? Some awful genetic experiment to create ghastly legionnaire abominations? With each monster cut down, each bolt deflected, they multiplied. By what method did the Sith Empire-?

Death.

The vague inclination of his sudden demise came to him in an instant. A feeling from beyond his senses, one that foretold death. The sudden image of malicious red impaling through his torso.

Deception.

An unseen assailant. A sneaky lunge. A quick quelling from the shadows. The concepts assaulted his brain all at once. Such a detailed premonition all coming to fruition in a matter of micro-moments. A gift from the dark side.

Avernus' left hand brought the saber up and over his head. His wrist turned to point it down behind his back. The saber flashed and droned as it made contact with someone behind him. Another saber? He flicked his wrist outward and twirled beneath his own arm, turning around to face his assailant. His blade flourished and pointed forward towards the culprit, a Muun with a red lightsaber. His stance widened, right hand slowly retreating behind his back.

"Leave it to a Muun to stab you in the back, huh?" Avernus grinned behind the mask, a quiet and muffled chuckle emanating from beneath.

Leading with a half-step forward of his dominant foot, Avernus raised the purple saber and feinted downwards strike from the left. At the apex of the strike, his right hand suddenly came forward. He grasped the hit with his off-hand and rotated his shoulders. The blade's trajectory changed suddenly, arcing around to come from above on the right side. The unstable undulation of the blade crackled and hissed as it was swung through the air. The maneuver itself was terribly basic, but the speed and precision in which it was executed is what gave it any worth in the engagement.

 

[Imperial Warlord Zovesa]

---

---

POST 5

---

//MYGEETO //Objective 1: Battle in the Frost Cyclone // Sith Imperial Banking Clan Vaults At Southern Mesas//
//Location:// No Man's Land Bridge One
//Action:// Defeat Taeli Raaf
//Allies-in-Vicinity:// Vaulkhar
//Enemy RP Partner:// Taeli Raaf
//Accompaniment:// Imperial Force Corps Knights Battlegroup Aegis// LINK TO KNIGHTS BATTLEGROUP ORBAT [x]
//Equipment:// [LINK] //

---

MUSIC:

---

Fire, ash, and snow. All three mangled into one as the flames showered the dark lady. Before Zovesa, the Sith foe was replaced by a undulating geyser of flames. She held nothing back, the entire fire propellant was being emptied in a single belch. Her own wrist shook as the tank inside was strained by the overbearing sudden release at maximum volume. Using the brief disengagement between them due to the flames, Zovesa took a lunging step forward to press the flames further. But, the emitter nozzle began to dent and crumple, until it was entirely crushed into a mangled strip of metal. Zovesa realized that it was the doings of the Dark Councillor and not some sort of malfunction. She cut the flames, lest the building pressure against the crushed opening cause her vambrace to explode. The source cut, the plume of fire evaporated into hot fading tendrils that danced steaming paths into the bleak backgrounds of the frost cyclone.​

The Sith had been shaken but, not thrown from her eerie poise. Cloak singed to embers and armor scorched she had regained her composure, exuding a menacing aura of refocused malevolence. Zovesa whirled her saber up and presented her own challenging aura. A sudden chilling pause, a deceitful interlude of peace as the two warriors clashed through the invisible material of their souls and wills. In that intangible void where only the Force gave sight of the never ending struggle that had begun moments before, their minds summoned powers to displace one another. But, the physical would soon match the metaphysical. In a rush of renewed dark energy, the dark lady and exploded forward in a flurry of saber actions. Feints, piercing strikes, and reposts all combined to create a confusing and overwhelming barrage of probing hits in the style of a Makashi master.​

Zovesa was caught in the gaps between the consecutive strikes, up and down came the first barbed flashes of crimson. The Chiss High Knight Marshal flung her saber into a reverse grip, holding the saber vertically perpendicular to the ground. Recoiling into a Soresu form, she blocked and parried the strikes, while forced into a backpedaling creep towards the Sith held tower. She strained to keep track of the strikes. Her mind was sharp, and her reflexes tempered and beaten by military drills and solitary dojo practice kept up with the intended strikes. But her body was weak. Every movement was an excruciating vibration of pain that shook the sinews, dogged the nerves, and ate away at her resilience. Her broken rib, bruised lungs, and bleeding innards were pushed to their tolerating limits by her over compensating with Force Speed. They would not move any further under the sustained use of the power.​

The body protested. When a thrust reached for her left thigh, Zovesa’s muscles flinched in a screaming momentary paralysis. She could not catch the saber as it buried its tip into the thigh armor, burning a hole that passed plasmatic kinetic force, darkside momentum, and heat into her leg. Zovesa howled in pain and was forced to fall on one knee. Another came, swiping at her right arm, digging a gash across the bicep armor and scorching the armor weave below. Zovesa barely could bring herself to block the final cut that would have decapitated her. Her blade took the strike, rather than repulse it, causing her to be completely knocked off her stance and nearly collapsing onto her back.​

“You fool!” cried the darkness, “Do it! Use the pain! Use what I have! She will kill you!”​

“Weak! This is why you could not complete your true destiny. This is why you ran from your powerful fate. Use what you once knew! You were once a dark prodigy! Use that gift”​

The darkness boiled, it raged, and clawed at Zovesa. Another darkness reverbed off of her own, the dark lady and spat a tearing azure gale of Force Lightening. It poured out, burning the air around it and evaporating snow and ice into steamed vaporous mist. It tore the very fabric of the Force as it reached fr Zovesa.​

“Do it now!” the darkness within cried out.​

Zovesa gritted her teeth and threw out her arm – the darkside now in full control. She had tapped into a part of her that used to be the Sith Knight Vyaz, a mistress of cruel military prowess and had fates of the Force chosen differently warped her into a Sith Marauder. The dark side rushed through her and as it reach the tips of her fingers to explode into a darkside energy bubble of ferocious force, a shadow emerged before her and the oppressive boldness of his presence sliced through her dark trance.​

"You are better than this, Zovesa," Vaulkhar summoned his lightsaber from his side, the familiar snap-hiss cutting through the arching lightning. "You are better than her, and you are better than I. Do not lose yourself to this power as we have, you still have a chance to do some good for this galaxy," he turned away from her as the lightning died away.

The darkness abided. Zovesa froze, dumbfounded. Frozen in her pose, eyes wide open and mouth gaping in confusion as arcs of lightening fanned around her and broke into sparkling pieces of violent ricochet. It was the Lord Executor. He had come. He had come to save her. This wound in the force, someone that Zovesa was wary of, was wary of his progeny. The one that Dr. Kalassa had asked her to trust to handle her dark shame. He was there…and his words cut through. They bore deeper than bullet, cut sharper than any blade, and slayed evil greater than any army of the light. Gingerly Zovesa slowly rose. The darkness within her still howling, still fighting for every solace of her soul. But, Zovesa would not allow it anymore. Ahead of her, the Lord Executor had charged Taeli Raaf and engaged the dark lady. Zovesa’s slow rise was marred by a weak body. Every step forward came with a stuttering collapse. ​

“Move,” she commanded her self. “Move!”​

Zovesa closed her eyes and let the Force wash over her. It swelled in her veins, flooded her organs, and embalmed her flesh. Zovesa snapped open her eyes and broke into sprint before bending her body to crouch and then suddenly release in a Force Leap over the entangled Lord Executor and the Dark Councillor. She landed a few steps behind the Sith and rushed to flank and trap her.

---

---

​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Muunilinst // Harnaidan // JTSP
Maynard Treicolt // Galactic Alliance Rangers - Raider Squadron // Hailyn
Contaminated​

His voice, a single syllable, wrapped in confusion and offense, touched her mind. It was louder than the constant cacophonous clashing of gold and magenta blades. Though Maynard quickly moved in and didn’t continue to pry, the query stained her psyche and worked to suffuse its way through to join the constant taunts from the Sith.

If Alekto was trying to burrow a hole in Loske’s mind, it was working. What was she expecting out of this? How did this end for any of them?

"You aren't just afraid for him - you're afraid of him, aren't you?"

"Where is your trust, Jedi?"

Her trust! That’s….that wasn’t untrue. Blue said she trusted him more than anyone -- did that include herself? Did she trust May more than her own ability to step into the foray of self preservation?

Loske’s pause to sort through the accusations and internal squander gave her reactions a delay, and allowed the Sith to go on the offensive, putting her on the back foot. The tight space between them filled with heated words and the ever pressing threat of being seared with their weapons. Parry met counter parry. Feints and cuts were batted and redirected. All the while, the terrible realization culminated into a great weight of letting Maynard down by trying to keep him away set upon her and made her movements comparatively sluggish, rather than the overconfident attack she’d just evidenced.

"That was your mistake, wasn't it?"

"You saw it, and it frightened you."

"The darkness."

The woman’s power was growing as she strewed out sentence after accusatory sentence. Or maybe Loske was getting shakier with the allegations. Either way, a dichotomy was being established and the kiffar was delayed to recognize it.

The situation was degenerating fast, from Loske’s perspective. She was in torment. Had she let May down? She could feel him, a quiver on their ethereal meld. That crystallized confidence from breaking through to roof to now was starting to vapourize. Their bond strained, not in the sense of withdrawal, but overburdened with the sentiments introduced in the last few moments. The emotions contaminated her focus and she felt like she was suffocating. Unable to remain focused, Loske staggered. The helm of her suit receding back into the neckline. The room’s air rushed to her face, stagnant though it was and mixed with the heat of the lightsabers.

“No.” The words were barely audible above the noise of their weapons. At least in that, she was incorrect. Her clairvoyance had failed there. Of all the fear she had about loss as a whole, losing Maynard to a darkness wasn’t included. The confidence in his person was stronger than that -- for everything that he was, a creature of darkness he could never be. There was too much purity in him to fall victim to wan destruction and bloodlust. Or whatever drove people to harmful action - Loske didn’t know the darkside, but she had a grasp on The Force. It was a tool; and it was difficult for the sculptor to be consumed by the chisel.

“You’re wrong.” Loske said again, confident in that now. She afforded herself the luxury of the boast.

If she was afraid of May, it was his constant tenacity to put himself in harm’s way for the sake of others.

She may have failed in the trust department today, putting all of her confidence in herself to protect them both and end this, there was a power in her defiance that caught the left-to-right gestures with contests of her own, keeping the pair constantly battering back and forth in controlled movements.

Just when she thought she had a grip on the script, the woman’s gaze pierced through -- as if seeing something that lay beneath. Loske was being compared to someone she did not know, a figure from history and relative to Alekto’s own relationships somehow. Someone who thought highly of themselves. Loske didn’t think that was her, but..maybe it was? It wasn’t completely out of character to be cocky. The blonde was unable to perceive how to use that against The Sith who’d exposed her own vulnerability in that sentence. There was something there, though. A weakness in the recesses of the Sith woman’s mind. Imagine - if she could figure out how to exploit that, she could use that against her. Loske’d already taken the woman’s wings, who’s to say she couldn’t take more? Swiftly, she became heady. She could take Alekto’s blade. Maybe her freedom, too. Make her a prisoner of the allies. Loske didn’t bury the thought, she gloried in it. Engorging in its juices and felt the power tingle her cheeks.

That all-consuming feeling was quickly ripped away at the horrifyingly venemous suggestion of her that Loske was something hidden, operating under a façade.

“W--what?”

Who was she? Who did this woman see her as?

Did she care? Not for Alekto's perception, but for her partner's.

He never had her? That, she cared about. Infinitely. It was worse May could hear that accusation, she could already feel the dissension in himself and that would do no further good. She was as much an anchor at this point as she was a ball and chain.

“N--no. That’s..that’s not true either.”

Her hands felt numb, as if unable to maintain her grip on her weapon and that rush of compulsive confidence ebbed away under the wave of profound uncertainty on how to remedy her position. Where did she put her concentration now? In the fight or the reassurance of her partner?

With her blade tip pointing downward, she caught the attack that came in from the left. If she’d been more present, she may have followed through - but her mind was blocked with conflict. Loske was torn from her lamenting rumination from a blistering heat searing at her ribside with the left-handed attack that was carried by momentum. She gasped and stepped backward, distracted from retaliating and dropping to a knee to duck and avoid any follow-up attacks while her free hand rushed to the cauterized wound. The suit was already working to administer a remedy of bacta and stims, the nanoparticles energetically gathering to seal the burnt flesh.

 

[Cara Dalgas]

​

C a r a _ D a l g a s

| Location | Mygeeto, Bridge A​

| Objective | Take the Bridge​

| Focus | Miko Evans ​

​

Cara's Dragoons and their captured quarry had surrendered as they explained what their purpose beneath the bridge was. Orders from the Sith Imperial forces had come through, ordering the bridges be destroyed. Cara would hand Evans over to one of the Dragoons under her command as the captured Sith troopers were dragged off to the New Imperial Order's mesa, using their superior equipment and gear to cut a swathe through the retreating Sith Imperial forces. She'd raise her hand up to her helmet as she sent an encrypted transmission to the New Imperial Order's forward outpost to Commander Guile, " Maneuver Sixty Two Besh is burned. Situation is Resh, I repeat Resh. " ​

​

Situation Resh - code for reversed. It appeared the Sith Imperial had just recently had the same idea to blow the bridges in an attempt to slow down the New Imperial advance, even at the expense of their troops that were attempting to retreat. Cara would unholster her second pistol as she and her remaining Dragoons not escorting the captured soldiers began to clear the bridge, blaster shots bouncing off their shields as the blizzard had turned the firefight into a close-quarters nightmare. Fortunately for her, this was where she thrived. Orders were being transmitted for advancing forces to hold their position as Nexu Company, handling the plasma bridges set up where it was safe to establish their position, ensuring that the segments of the bridges and their support structures were free of any charges planted by the Sith.​

​

Spoiler: Permission to Skip/Advance

​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Mygeeto: Deep Crevice.
Kaleo Malistern

Spoiler

Lightsabre pike, Uniform,

“Halt, identify yourself!”

She did nothing to subdue the groan that escaped her in response to the imperative of identification coming from the intruding trooper.

She could not, right away, identify whether the soldier belonged to the Sith Empire or the rebels, her sight being blurry and the armours being fairly similar in shape and design. She tried to sit up, but the pain stopped Joycelyn in her tracks. Instead, she rolled over on her side and pushed herself up with the healthier of her arms. Her black uniform, while tailored identically to those of commanding officers the Imperial Legion, did not display any of the typical insignia

Any Imperial soldier, current or former, would know where to look for those insignia.

Instead, where the blood matted the fabrics, there was a crest of an eye, wrought in flame, over a sabre. It was certainly not a symbol the New Imperial Order would have used. And, if he was the kind to closely follow the lineages of Imperial royalty, he could perhaps be able to identify it as a variant of the Zambrano dynasty crest.

Or perhaps he would even be able to identify it down to the very individual.

Sitting up drained away some of the dizziness from Joycelyn’s head as she looked up at the soldier. She tried to speak, but found herself holding her tongue until she could see him clearly.

In her mind, she was searching. Her fingers twitched just barely.

“I-” She started, screwing her eyes closed and furrowing her brow to subdue the headache.

A crash in the distance lit the deep cavern paths behind her, casting a bright, orange glow through the crystalline walls that rose high into towering spires piercing the heavens at war.

“I am.”

She opened her eyes, yellow, burning, now clearly set on him.

The chill turned biting as the fires of the wreckage cowered. With a painful twist, she threw her empty hand forward, fingers pointing at his abdomen. A silver spire shot from the wreck, the red spearhead shearing through heated metal as it flew at Kaleo, as if tossed, guided by the Force. She presumed that would be answer enough.