Annihilation Shatterpoint | BotM Annihilation of GA Held Tython

[Darth Hellique II]

Engaging: Westenra Mina
Wielding: Lightsaber

Darth Hellique II sauntered his way through the battlefields of Tython guided only by his greed and an appetite for the unfamiliar. He stepped over cadaver after cadaver, walked over freshly ruined buildings that sat atop the remnants of previously ruined buildings, and when he grew bored of the sights he whistled a tune. He mimicked the sounds of the avian species of Tython waiting to hear them bounce back at him. They didn't, which meant the animals, birds, and insects hid themselves from the cataclysm of this Second Great Hyperspace War.

While the more primitive species of the planet had not taken notice of his presence, he could always count on the alliance to sniff him out. The smell of fire and threat of death emanated from his shining red scales as squads of troopers surrounded him. The crack of his tail sounded like a thunderbolt and sent a shiver down the spine of those who would dare aim a blaster in his direction. He could feel their anxiety, their resentment, and their fear. Beneath his black cowl, his lightsaber sang a hiss and then its red glow emerged.

The Sith Lord smiled. His teeth were sharper than knives, and threatened the troopers. His eyes impaled their souls like daggers. He looked as if he was ready to devour. He didn't. "Step aside troopers. I have no quarrel with you, nor the Jedi. I seek something more valuable than violence or destruction." Heillque said in a rough baritone.

The troopers looked at each other in confusion. "What do you seek?" Asked the bravest of them.

"Knowledge," Hellique responded evenly. "If you'd like to die at the hands of a scholar, so be it. But stay your blasters and you may live to fight another day." He invited.

A few soldiers lowered their blasters, while others kept them aimed high. "So be it." Hellique's expression hardened and lightning shot from the fingertips of his off hand. The Soldiers who kept their blasters raised hit the ground while the soldiers who had lowered their arms could feel the static on the hairs behind their necks. Hellique walked past them. He put his hand on one of their shoulders and smiled. Benevolent and Malevolent, he continued on.

Onward through a sea of Mawites, he traveled. The area was thick with confrontation and he drew his lightsaber. All manner of Mawite marauders parted the sea for the domineering scaled warrior as he made his way to the forefront. It was then that he saw what he was looking for. The knowledge that came with a new experience. The chance at trading blows and words with the Demon of Jedha, Westenra Mina .

"Demon!" He roared ferociously. His blood boiled in excitement.

 

[Dodhorn Harert]

Dodhorn Harert, the Hellwolf of Mandalore
Alor of Clan Harert, Sith Lord, Former Mandalore the Ruthless​

Objective: Protect Darth Solipsis and his ritual.
Location: Top of Akar Kesh, Tython
Equipment: Beskar'gam | 2x Beskad | 2x Su'arnr be Tracyn | 1x red blade lightsaber
Writing With: Vilaz Munin | Briika Munin

[ Let There Be Night ]
<"Mandalorian or ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Dodhorn enjoys the show.
• She still waits her preys.

Spoiler: story so far

Dodhorn Harert, the Hellwolf of Mandalore
Alor of Clan Harert, Sith Lord, Former Mandalore the Ruthless​

Objective: Protect Darth Solipsis and his ritual.
Location: Around the ritual
Equipment: Beskar'gam | 2x Beskad | 2x Su'arnr be Tracyn | 1x red blade lightsaber
Writing With: Vilaz Munin | Briika Munin
Allies: Open
Enemies: Open

[ Let There Be Night ]
<"Mandalorian or ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Dodhorn arrives and prepares to the defences.

Dodhorn has been a pretty good fit in the current world order lately. Maw and Death’s Hand were perfectly suited to the woman’s goals. A place where she didn’t look weird because most of the Mandalorians who joined this faction were like her. Although Khamul Kryze has not yet convinced her that it would be worthy of the name or title he owned; nevertheless, the woman still gave him a last chance. He can prove his worth today. This will be the man's final test.

If he proves unworthy, Dodhorn will kill him. The Hellwolf did not tolerate weakness and incompetence. She joined the New Sith Order here and the attackers precisely to oversee Khamul's actions. The other reason was much more poetic. She's never been on this planet before. And the woman wasn't particularly famous for going to some planet as a tourist. No, she used to conquer. Or just destroy. In this case, she would have been happy if Tython had been destroyed and drowned into blood.

She hated the Jedi as both a Sith and a Mandalorian; so it all seemed perfectly perfect to the woman. Last but not least, she had the opportunity to really kill a Jedi so long ago. And drink of their blood. Oh yes, how thirsty she was to the Jedi's or Sith's blood Although, right now, Dodhorn had to make a temporary alliance with the Sith. Although what is delayed does not depend. Sooner or later, the laws of the age in which she lived will be fulfilled. The Sith do not form an alliance with each other, but kill each other.

The Hellwolf looked ahead, into the distance. Where they were now almost sounds like an invitation. Almost every New Sith Order member was here nearby, leaving a huge darkening spot on the planet, in the Force. The Force storms are already raging because the balance has been broken. She knew the history of the planet, the origin of the Je'daii order. Dodhorn would have enjoyed seeing these ancient memories perish forever.

But in the meantime, there will still be a lot of blood flowing today. The Hellwolf smiled mockingly under her helmet. She couldn't wait for the defenders of the planet to arrive where they were.

And she wanted their blood…

A K A A N
TYTHON | AKAR KESH
Briika Munin
Dodhorn Harert

DARKEST HOUR

​

The fires of war lingered to whatever kindling there was left. Slowly fading from his soul, he felt as if he was a shell of a man with no purpose. Peace sapped his strength and vision, Vilaz presuming these were the tricks of the Trickster god and the Sloth god to strip him from being the man he was. To bring to a decadent state and make him into a lesser man. The clans still were divided, no union of Mandalorians to be seen. Their enemy, the Sith Empire, was all that brought them together until the Sith were no more but mere ashes; fading into the wind, but alas seeds of that cult sought refuge in the Unknown Regions. Along with them, Mandalorians that bowed to these new Dark Lords.

For years now he did nothing about it. The Mandalorians with the Maw were of no threat or care to Vilaz, almost indifferent to their cause though disturbed to the power they held when Csilla was sacked and became a barren; much more barren than a glassed Mandalore. Even still, he did not bother to pick up his beskad and point it to these zealots. All he did was try to peacefully enjoy the spoils of victory against the Sith.

However, the spoils of victory against the Sith dried out for him too quickly, and all he had left was his family and clan to look after. Acting no more than mercenaries for the New Imperials, being left alone to their own autonomous rule as Tavlar once decreed long before his passing. Some found glory in the credits they earned from their endurance, others found it in combat itself. For the elder Munin? It was repellent for a proud people like his to be fighting for cold credits or to have said glory in fighting wars for foreigners. There was no value to be fighting for any of those causes; there was honor and righteousness, however, to be fighting for their people and to create an empire like their ancestors.

A wild dream of his, hoping to see an age of Mandalorians to tame the stars before he would ultimately pass away. Yet abhorring from his stagnation, he made a pillage to his gods seeking their wisdom and clarity. To know what he must and shall do...and so his prayers were answered with a vision.

TYTHON​

A world sacred to the Jedi...a world consumed by darkness, unholy flames that licked its earth. Blood stains everywhere and reality warped by the power of ominous entities. The onslaught, however, didn't stop there in his vision. It would spread like a cancer to what was most dear to him. The heads of his family and clan at his feet, and all for his apathy to these zealots. For not wanting to lend a hand to stop these ruthless barbarians, he would pay a price should he continue to do so...

CRY OF WAR

​

He would not be responsible for the death of his clan and kin for his lack of action. His armor and beskad would be burnished once more to finally face this newfound foe. Upon his vision he made the preparations for Tython quickly, rallying many of his warriors to this banner. The flames of war ablazed within his heart, enough to lay waste to various systems should he want it to be so. His flame need no kindling to be alive, and it would not surrender to the wind or water.

These zealots; this conglomerate of Sith, Mandalorians, and other foul marauders worshipped and called for war.

And so he would answer their call.
​

I will show them war

They had reached Tython along with the New Imperials and whatever allies they had. Vilaz and his clan operated on their vessels, cruisers and dreadnoughts that would coordinate with the New Imperials against the rampaging Maw. Already the flames of combat fanned across Tython, countless lives showing up in arms against this threat or lending their swords to their aid. His position did not belong here within the safe confines of his flagship; it belonged below in the atmosphere of Tython.

"Prepare my mount," he ordered to his shipmaster before turning heel to walk out of the command bridge. Walking with his wife at his side to the hangar where his prized basilisk war droid would await for its master. Organized warriors rushed to their war droids, starfighters, or shuttles to do what must be done. They followed Vilaz without question, always earning their respect and loyalty when called upon. They would follow him to the jaws of death if he marched so. The Munin was always the first in leading his warriors in battle, and always the last to leave its torment.

"Don't leave my side," he said while looking at his wife through his helmet, wrapping an arm around her to pull himself closer to her. Touching the 'forehead' of their helmets, before pulling himself from her and mounted his war droid and helping his wife to aboard the behemoth droid. "Let's ride!" the war droid suspending itself from the durasteel floor, and launching itself out of the hangar bay with other Mandalorians in their respective transport. A detachment of warriors accompanied him and his wife, along with an escort of fighters. The war droid at his command powered through at full speed, racing to the sphere of Tython. Racing until they were coming hot through its atmosphere via reentry. No radiation would harm them from the impeccable engineering of the droid.

"There..." his eyes focusing on the great pillar that erected to the heavens with an ancient temple where chaos was wanting to escape. Just like his vision foretold...

LOCATION: Tython Orbit - Enroute ground side; objective Akar Kesh
ALLIES: Vilaz Munin , Sons of Mandalore/NIO, others TBD
ENEMIES: Dodhorn Harert (eventually), BotM/NSO, others TBD
GEAR: See bio

WE_ARE_WARRIORS

​

Ever since Mand'alor the Undying's crusades, Briika and Vilaz had been fighting together. They were the strongest working as one as the now long-married Mando'ade had celebrated many victories and joys. But of course, the couple had suffered sorrows, and yes, grave disappointments along the way too. The consequences of the Red Coronation had been the low point for them no doubt. But with great resolve and perseverance, the clan had survived their exile and now prospered albeit in a quieter way than they were used to... until now. It was time to draw blood. Good thing she wore the right shade of red.

During a recent spiritual journey to Shogun, a vision had come to the Concordian warlord, showing him their destiny, to which awakened Vilaz from the melancholy of peace to the true Mandalorian warrior he once was and needed to be again for himself, his family, and the clan. It was now or never to take action. Which brought the Sons of Mandalore to Tython with their Imperial allies; The Munin leading the way as he had always done into battle.

One more time into the breach, The Baar'ur would go, alongside her riduur, and she wouldn't want it any other way as the cry of war sounded loud once again and the Akaan answered. Clan Munin would stand tall against the Brotherhood of the Maw and their minions.

<You know I always have your six, cyar'ika... Just don't go wandering off half-cocked doing reckless things without me. Someone needs to keep track of those wayward wrist rockets of yours> The Tor Munin quipped over their private comms channel, starting off the banter the two often enjoyed during the throes of danger shared.

With a traditional Keldabe kiss shared between lovers before going into battle, each mounted their respective war droids and prepared for what was to come as the hangar bay doors of the ship opened up for their drop from orbit to the planet below.

<Let's ride!> called the War Chief, rallying his vanguard to him before launching himself out of the hangar on his behemoth basilisk.

<Oya!> Briika exclaimed loudly with pride in her voice; a chorus coming from the other clansmen in the same tone.

The petite Mando warrior engaged her own powerful and dangerous semi-sentient combat droid, for which he was named Buruk, then she followed Vilaz down through the atmosphere in tandem to the area known as Akar Kesh.

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur.​

Dodhorn Harert, the Hellwolf of Mandalore
Alor of Clan Harert, Sith Lord, Former Mandalore the Ruthless​

Objective: Protect Darth Solipsis and his ritual.
Location: Top of Akar Kesh, Tython
Equipment: Beskar'gam | 2x Beskad | 2x Su'arnr be Tracyn | 1x red blade lightsaber
Writing With: Vilaz Munin | Briika Munin
Allies: Open
Enemies: Open

[ Let There Be Night ]
<"Mandalorian or ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Dodhorn waits her preys.

Dodhorn was on top of Akar Kesh, looking around from here, all around. She saw the Maw units in the distance as they came closer and closer. Or they have just landed; the enemy forces as they were already present on the planet. From the north, she saw the Scar Hounds Tribe begin to march here near Akar Kesh. The former Mandalore the Ruthless reached into the Force to get a feel for what was going on around her. In the Force, she not only felt the lives of those near and far, but she saw and felt their blood.

The eye and the physical senses can deceive the mind, the Force cannot. She knew the attackers would arrive soon. Not only did she feel it, she knew it. Dodhorn spent nearly two centuries as a warlord on the battlefield. It was something that has become a being of you, and you will never forget, you will always feel. Even the taste of the blood. The Hellwolf was not in the mood to be a warlord today; today she preferred her own prey. She didn’t want to waste the blood of millions, to see the earth drink it on the battlefield. No, today she will have a more valuable prey, the blood of which is a challenge to get it.

And that’s why it’s so much sweeter… the Hellwolf loved the thrill of the hunt and the smell and taste of sweet and hot blood.

As for the meat, the good little puppy, Kralmus Orr, if he behaves well, might even get meat. The cannibal warrior entertained and amused the woman every time. She wondered for a moment what it would be like if the woman gave him the flesh of their own ruler, Khamul Kryze, because the man proved unworthy of his title. She chuckled; it would have been a very fun and funny situation.

Even though the woman did not participate in the defence today as a general because she was defending Solipsis' ritual, that did not mean that Clan Harert's forces and units were not there on the planet among the Maw's forces or just up there on board the Avatar of War…

And then she finally felt through the Force that something was approaching.

The sangnir smiled under her helmet with a cruel, predatory smile. After all, she was a predator. And one of the best of it. The source of blood. Not to mention, he, her prey weren't alone, but two. The approaching basilisk looked at the droid, there were two on it. Hmm, she only saw one person in the dream, she tasted the blood only of one of her kind, not more. Although she has already learned that such prophecies often lead her astray. What the dream foretold often was incorrect.

Maybe today too...

Although she never regretted being able to taste the blood of even more worthy people…

She reached out to the Force and sent a telepathic message to Vilaz Munin and Briika Munin .

~ Come! I'm waiting for you, children, at the top of the temple! ~ she told them in Mando'a.

Now she had to wait. And the Hellwolf was very good at this, patient… especially when such delicious prey approached her…

A K A A N
TYTHON | AKAR KESH
Briika Munin
Dodhorn Harert

​

Turbulence rocked his War Droid, the skies corrupted and twisted from the growing formation of Force Storms. More violent than natural winds and lightning. Dark sorcery from the Maw, and it was all originating from the pillar of Akar Kesh. He was ignorant of these storms as he was with most powers belonging to the Force, but what little knowledge he did know was how much damage this particular wrath could unleash to a world...even altering its reality. Such power that it put to shame any mechanical superweapons created by the hands of engineer.

With such peril in the skies, he still dared in his rush towards the pillar. No hesitation from his commitment, and he would simply accept his fate if he were to be blasted to oblivion from a ray of lightning.

He who dares wins...

Not only did he have to be concerned about the storms, but also any zealots and their fortifications. He would retaliate with concussion missiles fired from his basilisk aimed in different vectors with the intent of sabotaging those defenses. His fight did not belong to them, his ire was meant for somewhere else.



In his own tongue did this fiend mock him. A Mandalorian with the curse of the Force. It only proved his point of the damnation reeking from these barbarians. Vilaz was unfamiliar with this voice, though he would not hesitate driving his beskad through their armor and heart. He would rather drive it to the Sole Ruler of these wayward Mandalorians or the Dark Lord of the Sith.

<"I heard a voice, Bree. It came from the pillar."> Uncertain if he was the only one to hear it, or his wife also heard the same words from that voice.

The couple neared the pillar, his war droid screaming violently to announce their arrival. They weren't the only one's interested in this area as other demographics could be seen. His eyes then focused on a rather peculiar Mandalorian, armor with the color of a violent red.

<"That's her.">

There was much to be said for the Dodhorn, such as the arrogant, egoistic, hubristic, jerk, sadistic, bloodsucker, vampire… but one could even list for days the negative markers and titles she had collected over nearly two hundred years of her life. But it can also be said of the woman that she was not stupid or idiot. As a Sith, she knew exactly what would be the ritual they wanted to perform here. The former Mand'alor the Ruthless recognized the runes, knew what they were meaning and serving, and the woman refused to sacrifice her life and soul for anyone or any purpose.

The soul of Hellwolf will be part of Manda, once; when the time comes for the woman to die. But that was not today; until that day she will taste and drink the blood of innumerable human and other living, or less living beings. Her clan will live again and they'll regain their old glorious reputation. That is, rather their bad and hated reputation and names. It didn't really matter to her. The moment her opponents finally noticed her, she heard the following words from countless throats:

"Hâsk jiaasen!"​

Events accelerated, she felt as Solipsis crushed Ashla's surface using the life forces he had already absorbed. A sick and cruel smile appeared on her lips under her helmet. Dodhorn enjoyed the sight and the show. She just needed a little fun. The Hellwolf was not worried that any rock would fall on this part; then others would solve it. No one would have risked the Dark Voice's ritual breaking because of a few pieces of rock falling from the sky.

Ashla was bleeding and Tython responded to the wounds of her beloved daughter.​

She smiled as she felt Tython's wrath, her reaction to previous events. The Hellwolf laughed; she really had a great time with just these. Because of these, the timing of her waking at this age was already perfect. It was like fate itself. The wrath and rage; it was gratifying to see the earth open in innumerable places; fiery rain falling from the sky, lava appeared on the earth in the wake of the earthquakes. There will soon be an even greater hell. Just like her homeworld.

She then looked in the direction of her guests; the woman was already really thirsty for their blood.

<"How much longer do you want me to wait for you? I am patient, but my patience is not infinite. And I think you're running out of time!"> she spoke in a mocking voice when the couple finally arrived and maybe landed on the ground.

Although, it was always worth the wait for a good fight and hunt before drinking her preys' blood. But here today, unfortunately, Dark Voice is about to steal the show, so it would have been nice to finish the fight, the nutrition and drinking before the endgame.

 

[Vector Monk]

Jacen Nimdok

BENEATH KALETH TEMPLE
TYTHON​

"That's Captain Monk," he sneered.

Crumbling stone tunnels in time revealed a threshold. Vector snapped his fingers impatiently for Creature to hurry up and the miserable thrall lifted his glowlamp with shaking hands. Casting a long shadow loomed a statue of a monk in cracked robes. Vector contemplated this ancient sentinel for a few moments, then turned on Nimdok with a subtle cape swish.

"My patron's...blunt methods are distasteful," Monk conceded, "But necessary. I wonder, did you shed such tears for Korriban or Ziost? Our cities burned. Our temples pillaged. So much history lost."

Vector curled his lips into a wolfish smile.

"Fear not, professor. When this galaxy is reborn the past will all be placed into the proper context."

Eyes lit up in wonder when Monk located what he sought. Gently the Final Dawn agent lifted an ancient artifact from its resting place. Cape swirling, he offered it to Nimdok.

"You require proof? This...is a forcesaber. Perhaps the last of its kind."

Ancient precursors to the lightsaber. Vector knew according to sacred texts they could only be activated by channeling the darkside.

"Go ahead," he gestured, "Turn it on."

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Masters Retreat
Objective: 1
Allies: Maw
Enemies: Kahlil Noble Valery Noble

Fueled by the rage of the flame, Kyrel kept up his onslaught even as Valery blocked his attacks. He didn’t stop always inching closer, her stepping back. The blades only continued to clash with intensity, the fire only continued to scorch both flesh and armor. Even as the world violently exploded all around him, from the mountains exploding to the heavens themselves falling down raining destruction across the land. The Ren’s mind was only focused on one thing among it all, and that was the death of the Jedi Master before him his bloodlust never ceased.

However, this had also proved to be a weakness of Kyrel. His undying rage left him open to distractions such as these, or moves on which he had been unaware of before. Even in the moment of his undead strength pushing back the ancient Jedi he had largely ignored the meteors. His gaze ever so fixated on her movements getting so close to the edge. Below them was a hellscape, the lush green that had been there in abundance had been reduced to fire and ash. Getting closer meant his strikes carried more power to them, they way he swung his saber could almost knock her saberstaff from her grip, blade against two blades driving one back and kept her on the defensive.

Even he was so close, the moment where even the heels of her feet stood so close to the edge, he became excited. Thrust into a powerful blade lock pushing his momentum, he tried to scan her eyes for fear. If anything he found the still stoic resolve and a different kind of foe in her eyes. Just then as he was about to launch his biggest power attack yet, his senses alerted him. Looking over he saw a fireball instantly come his way. “What!” He said as it smashed into him.

The fireball then went towards the Master’s Rest with a fiery explosion breaking apart, and sending Kyrel flying into debris. He was completely covered by the debris for the moment recovering, soon to launch an even more brutal reckoning for this. With the impact of Kyrel smashing into the structure, it started to shake as if the meteor had made it worse than before. Now this duel would only intensify and hasten the structure’s destruction.

 

[Dimitri Voltura]

ALLIES: Darth Solipsis | Darth Ptolemis | @whoever else - there's too many of you | BOTM | NSO
ENEMIES: Everybody else (I'll tag if you're important)
ENGAGING: Siv Dragr
GEAR: In bio.

DARKNESS BELOW​

Unbridled Darkness.

It charged across the planet, fueling its practitioners continuously. It had been a very very long time since the Dragon had last held the sheer amount of power he did now, completely bloated on the energies he was continuously feeding on. The few blasterbolts sent his way were deflected effortlessly back to the one that shot them, even though they impacted harmlessly against the beskar. But it didn't matter.

He was more than ready for the Mandalorian.

Until there was a sudden surge in power above them. Senses flared, Dimitri instinctively cloaked himself in a barrier just before an immense object impacted with the earth between him and the bounty hunter.

The shockwave of the impact sent them both flying in opposite directions. The Dragon ploughed a trench into the ground as he impacted and skidded further before finally coming to a stop, the Force barrier his saving grace as it shielded him from life-altering damage. The impact, however had still been jarring and took him a minute to gain orientation as his body immediately started healing the slight concussion and complaining muscles and ligaments.

Like the creature he was titled after, the Sith Lord rose to his feet as pieces of moon fired down all around while the earth shook and fire spewed from opened fissures as Tython writhed beneath the Darkness. Crimson gaze catching sight of the Mando'ad also rising to his feet meters away, Dimitri summoned his saber back into his hand. It was then that his eyes also caught the spear that was still at the crater.

Allowing the absorbed energies to continue healing his body unimpeded, he launched forward into a normal run to beat the hunter to his weapon, continuing to absorb the Dark energies as he went. With a lot of the already absorbed energy healing him, he'd have to rely more on his old warrior tactics instead of the Force.

Being what he was did have its drawbacks.

 

[Jem Fossk]

SHATTERPOINT
THE GREAT ERROR FINALE
Issue #5 w/ Corin Trenor Ryv Jem Fossk Darth Solipsis Rurik Fel Heinrich Faust

​

"You will try." came the raven-haired Knight's cold reply, mustering that signature bravado despite the prospects of inevitability clear in his sight; a monster capable of bending reality itself to his whim and his daughter - Dagon's fallen apprentice, Jem. The one who was meant to be the key to destroying the cycle had become the catalyst of galactic apocalypse. He had failed her and the cries of a billion souls force marched to oblivion and the shrieks of the Force as it wailed in pain all weighed on his shoulders unbearable guilt.

Focus, Kaze.

Focus and think.

There's always a way, always a solution.

Foc--



His thoughts trailed off as the charging figure of Corin took his attention, eyes widening in shock at the kid's recklessness, "Corin, no!!"

Red sparks crackled over the Sith'ari's digits as a wicked grin hungry for death curved Solipsis' lips. The Knight summoned the Force alas knowing he could not be faster--

Vroosh! Boom!

An invisible blast staggered the Sith Lord back as heavy thuds sounded off through the cacophony, followed by the mechanical hisses familiar to power armor. There, from the shadows, a man cased in iron stepped forth with an argent blade in his grip. The Emperor. Larger and far more intimidating than he'd imagined. He looked more a walking bastion than a sentient being, an automaton driven by the will of an Empire carved from the bones of the Sith.

Others rallied to the spire, allowed passage through the gales veiling the peak by Cotan's efforts against the growing forces of darkness. A familiar voice resounded from a man that the wind and dust had previously obscured, "Dagon, I'm glad you're here. We'll take him together." it had been Heinrich of the Ashlans and the Jedi gave the crusader a nod of acknowledgment in return, "Together."

Solipsis' answer was swift and... unseen ever before. His hand snapped at the skies and the energies convulsed like the bodies of thousands of cultists who had sacrificed their life to fuel this nefarious ritual. The Force screeched in agony, cracked by a fathomless evil and the darkness spilled into the ethereal like an unstoppable tidal wave blackening his senses. The foul energies surged from the Sith Lord's hand and... ripped the moon from the skies. The raven-haired Jedi froze, eyes debauched with stupor could only stare helplessly as the chunks of the satellite crashed like meteorites across the planet. A thousand souls cried in vanquish, forever lost to Solipsis' ambitions.

The earth beneath his feet rumbled and shook as the first pieces of the moon pummeled the ground atop the sacred Akar Kesh.

"MOVE!!!" he mustered all his strength to unglue his feet from the ground and leap away from a chunk that struck his earlier position. Then another followed and sprung away, and another and another...

Through the meteorite that hindered his path forward to the Sith and his daughter, his strained glances found her eyes - drowned in stygian as the blackest of nights. Eyes from which he had once drawn hope, an endless fountain of faith.

And then, "CORIN!! -- JEM!! She's... the key!!" Dagon cried out in a sudden spark of epiphany. The light above disappeared as a burning rock came crashing into him, only for a last-ditch Force barrier to materialize over his head and split the bolide into two. Blood spurt from his nose at the immense strain costing his efforts to keep the barrier intact against the rock.

Ugh... a little... help... here, his telepathic thoughts rang through the Force to Auteme, Asmundr Varobalder, Henna Sarratt, and anyone else aiding the Jedi in their last stand against the Sith.

Immediately after, the Jedi sprung forward towards the Sith'ari and the Dark Heiress, evading what he could, "Green Five!!" he barked at this apprentice the coded plan of attack; Dagon would attempt to feign a vector of attack towards Solipsis and Jem only to serve as a distraction concealing Corin's assault.

The code had changed but the movements, the patterns -- they would all be very familiar to Jem.

SHATTERPOINT
IDENTITY CRISIS FINALE
Issue #2 w/ Dagon Kaze Jem Fossk Ryv Darth Solipsis Rurik Fel Heinrich Faust

He seemed to have existed as no more than a tool to be used in order to inflict hurt on another; to wound the broken soul of a man that had lost a student, a child, a sister once before. To ensure that Kaze was to then buckle and break beneath the loss of another student, another child, another brother. Oh, his life was of such little value to those that made themselves his enemies, and in Corin there must have been some semblance of self-relisation on the matter. So much so that it allowed him to rationalise a continued assault on the Sith'ari, a foe that outmatched him so, so much. It was even in the face of a horrible demise, a red death, to see the shock of a million volts reduced him to no more than ash and dust in less than a full second.

Corin had been a brave one, of that there were no doubts, but to no end other than his own. His shred of fear was rooted in failure, the notion he could not succeed and not be better, not that of a death worse than most were to suffer even on the worst of battlefields. Painless as it was, all that was felt in that miniscule of a moment was to be no more than absolute terror. He wished to be worth all the investment that was needed to see one become a Jedi, and with but one slash or cleave or strike, he could cement himself as one worth all that effort and more.

It was as if time had slowed for Corin. He heard the hum of his blue blade, felt the heat of it near his flesh and blood, witnessed the crackle of red that came to life as sudden as it was to end his own. But-

Vroosh! Boom!

Stolen, his moment taken out from under him as a blast shrouded the Sith'ari in fire and smoke. His armoured frame rolled across the stone and shielded himself with that cloak. So too had Corin came to a sudden halt, his booted feet slid across the stone in a not-so-similar fashion and allowed small flecks of stone, dust, and dirt to skitter across the ancient marble. In a stunned silence, he watched all that unfolded next, in utter awe as the moon itself had been torn asunder and thrown towards the surface; lethal hail rained over them all, and his need to survive overshadowed the need to win.

His own hubris had once blinded Corin. But now, here in all this chaos, had it been revealed to him how small he was. Humbled within an instant.

In a wordless nod, had Corin answered his Master. He fast footed assault towards Jem had been done so with his blue blade revealed, but as he rushed into the air it was not with the sword that he lead with, rather an extended foot aimed towards her torso.

It was all so above him, so far from all he had learned. No one could prepare someone for this.

Jem's blank gaze seemed to focus on the pattern of raven-haired jedi's approach.

It felt like a whisper against her mind. Or the weight of something forgotten at the tip of her tongue. Her muscles itched to obey it and stand up. But to what end? He was her enemy now. The darkness reminded her. She could feel its grip tighten on her, images of Dagon's betrayal driving into her mind like spikes. There was no escaping it.

These were not her people anymore.

A shock wave thrummed through the sky, the ritual's energies redoubling under her agony. Her lips parted to begin the chant anew-- A flying kick knocked her out of the ritual.

Jem tumbled to a stop on the make-shift alter steps, a split lip going form bleeding to scabbed before Corin's eyes. "You," she growled at the boy who had managed to slip past her father's defenses. She glanced once at the sithaire to be sure he was still holding his own, then looked back to the boy who dared to be her replacement. Her saber jumped into her hand.

"You should be dead."

She came flying at him with no further warning, round two of their fight broken open by a fierce overhead strike for the hilt of his saber. Not that he needed that to hurt her last time.

Corin Trenor

 

[Celeste Rigel]

Allies: LS, Thurion Heavenshield – nearby
Enemies: DS, Darth Libertas – in the area

There were voices calling out – the booming tone of Master Heavenshield among them. As she knelt by the wounded padawan, Celeste's eyes turned skyward. Her hand gripped the injured padawan's shoulder momentarily. The healer's presence was currently enveloping her patient, soothing the pain of her wound and healing what she could here on the battlefield.

All around them, the Jedi were now focused on protecting those on the ground from the falling debris – the falling moon.

Celeste gently got her patient to her feet. "Hurry," she said and gave the padawan a nudge in the direction of the landing pad. From there, she could board a vessel to await evacuation – if it came to that. The padawan nodded and hurried on her way.

As for Celeste, she turned her attention to a source of shining light – Coren Starchaser . Even his foe had paused her attack – for now. Before adding her own focus to the barrier being projected, Coren would feel a gentle flow of Celeste's force presence – revitalizing him.

 

[Zet Reav]

Objective I: Defending - Flesh Raider/Elysium area
Rex Valhoun | Loreena Arenais-Valhoun | Kimiko Taiyou | Open to engagement​

Spoiler: TL;DR

Cursing this ungodly planet and running from a bit of a bad weather.

Spoiler: Equipment

Beskar'gam armor
ERS (Emergency Revival System) (Under the armor)
Scout Jetpack
02 Blaster Pistols (Westar-34)
Blaster Rifle (On back)
01 Vibro-dagger
Vambraces (Combat - Worn)
Vambraces (Medical - On belt, will put on if needed)

Belt:
Rations (For prolonged scouting)
Red Drops vial
01 Vital Suppressor
01 Energy Bola
Grenades (2 of each):
Sonic
Flash
EMP
Smoke

---

And to think he was ready to come to this weird planet to wage a war. To win or to die, to kill or be killed. Or even to kill and be killed, who knows. No one lives forever, no one is truly immortal, it's just a matter of having the right tool for the job. Zet is a firm believer of that if something is alive then it can die. And if it's rare then someone else might pay a considerable value on it.

What he would give to be on the front lines... But all he has are those random individuals, madmen and whatever the hell was that last one. Only a few showed up, and not in large numbers. Those were quickly dispatched with his blasters, keeping them away from him and his employer. Stragglers, Zet would bet.

He uses a 'Wookie strategy' on them: Do not let them get close, kill from a distance, survive, profit. It works. As they move he can't help but ponder about the Flesh Raiders camp they are set to approach.

Hmmm, perhaps if they were to be made better, uplifted and... No. No no no, that's his inner Arkanian speaking, and Zet is above toying with genetics to impose them strength. Evolution is the greatest method to uplift civilizations, to struggle and to survive, to endure and to overcome. Let the primitives achieve a new level of civilization on their own.

But speaking on 'uplifting' he gives a concerned look under his helmet towards Rex hoping the man has the mother of all speeches prepared. His helmet detects movement. He glances up. Bird? Probably a shuttle heading to battle. Maybe a Flesh Raider riding a dragon, with a hundred arms each holding a different lightsaber. This planet is so insane that might as well be a possibility.

"... Huh."

Things get considerably harder when meteors fall from the sky.

They are not where the 'center' of the war is but they are not far enough to not suffer from it. As if the madness upon reality changing the skies and the planet was not enough. Moving goes from 'troublesome' to plain 'difficult'. And then there's lava. His armor should keep temperature within acceptable levels, but lava is probably above it's capacities.

"Zet! Change of plans, we need to get back to our own encampment! Let the lava take care of the Flesh Raiders! All forces, retreat to The Encampment!!!"

"With me." Zet hisses under the helmet, turning around. Part of him is glad they are moving away from the plan, but the other part is pissed, mad with the fact he could have done so much more. He shoves Rex ahead of him a bit not too gently, and follows behind him. And thus another village has been dealt with through diplomacy attempts. No complains from Zet of course, and if the Raiders survive this they will be stronger as a people.

But above all, Zet must survive as well.

Surprising no onr the way back is far easier. The factor 'running for their lives' makes a massive difference, but the river will slow them down considerably. "Stop. Hold on." He doesn't really wait for a reply and makes Rex face him for a bearhug. Arms kept on his sides, trapped between Zet's own arms and he activates his jetpack to take them over the river quickly. Not the smoothest way to travel, but it is certainly the fastest. The Reav Jetpack is made for speed so it is a reasonably quick cross.

Not very comfortable for Rex, of course, but to fly almost as fast as a starfighter is certainly worth it.

 

[Surea]

Surea stood, slowly. As unthreateningly as possible, considering their recent battle. Despite the fact she was still wounded, down an arm, and without even a dagger unlike the two armed Jedi around her. Survive. Despite her reverence for the Sith, there was one thing she'd never do. Die for them. Even blind as she was she could tell the destruction brought to the world. Her Rot wouldn't survive it.

Her mission was over. Now there was only escape.

A shame they'd claimed her arm with her comlink. Maybe she should carry two from now on.

"Tython is ending. I've no desire to join it." Speak the words others want to hear. She learned how to do that early in life. "What is your plan?"

Amani Serys | Kai Bamarri

 

[Valery Noble]

Location: Tython | Enroute to Master's Retreat
Appearance: Link
Outfit: Factory Link
Weapon: Double-Bladed Lightsaber
Tag: Kahlil Noble Kyrel Ren
Post: #7
Objective: Secure the Master's Retreat

"What!"

Even as she jumped down the fiery gap, she could hear the surprise in his tone as Kahlil Noble turned the meteor shower against the Master of Ren. The impact that followed just seconds after his scream was deafening, and caused the entire Master's Retreat to tremble from the sheer force that struck it. The structure had already been unstable after earlier meteor impacts, but this directed attack finally began to make it all come apart.

The platform they had been standing on shifted into a noticeable incline, and slowly, parts of it were falling into the burning sea below. But in all this chaos, and with Kyrel Ren still buried in debris, Valery jumped back up after having shielded herself against the fire. She made her landing and turned her fiery gaze to Kahlil Noble as he joined her at her side again.

For years now, the two had been fighting together and using their deep bond to coordinate — today, they were at their strongest, and the Maw's Wrath was learning that the hard way.

"I don't think that will kill him."

Valery narrowed her eyes as she adjusted her stance to the incline of the platform, and looked at the debris that Kyrel had been trapped within after Kahlil's attack, "No, I can still sense him out there," she said as she looked at him, meeting his faint smile with one of her own. The fight was far from over, but she knew that as long as she stood together with him, the two would get through any challenge on their path today.

"Ready?"

Her smile now turned into a confident grin, "Oh I'm ready." she said, and with her weapon drawn into her hand, she began to look around. The platform they were on was specifically meant for the arrival and departure of people to the Master's Retreat, and it was highly unstable now. Soon, it would collapse but until it did, she was going to keep Kyrel here and keep on the pressure.

"When he comes out of there, can you keep him busy for a moment?" she asked, knowing his defensive style would be perfect for it.

"I have an idea to try and end this once and for all."

 

[Kahlil Noble]

"Just for a moment?" He half chuckled, half grimaced as he watched what remained of what was once Human slam through the building in the distance. Just knowing Kyrel survived that, no, was still fighting fit, sent a chill up his spine. Even if he understood the dark power that was responsible. Still, the Jedi lifted his saber, letting the emerald blade light into existence again. The green brightened as he took a calming breath.

The Light itself channeled through his blade.

"I'll do what I can." He cast his fellow Master a grin and a wink before taking off in a run. Leaping across the gap to try and head off the Master of Ren before he escaped the blast that had consumed him. Kahlil reached out midrun, grasping what loose rubble he could before haphazardly flinging it towards where he could sense the monster's escape. However long Valery needed, he'd be sure to provide.

Kyrel Ren | Valery Noble

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Writing with: Rika Hiro Don Belkora
Equipment in bio.
Location.
Nearby tags: Warposters and PVP'ers at the base of Akar Kesh, open.

MARCH​

Upheaval. Overlong black fabrics whipped in the chaotic weather. The otherworldly image of the Blasphemer atop his mountain of shadow could be seen only after each flash of lightning; yet his loud chanting was abruptly cut short. He lowered his extended arms in utter awe.

The moon Ashla was defiled before his very eyes; what an exhilarating, unholy scene to witness. It invigorated the Blasphemer, and a rush of motivation enveloped him. He would sacrifice anything to possess such forbidden knowledge. To touch the stars. To mould them to his liking. It was visceral. Terrifying. A true marvel of Solipsis. The rippling robe, hood and cloak of Ptolemis smeared his lone silhouette over the apocalyptic vista. His gaze followed pieces of the infernal judgement raining down from Heaven. He was completely silent. Until a sharp foreboding gripped his senses.

He needed to relocate. Immediately.

In the next moment he was already hopping down the mountain, aided by his enhanced senses, each insane drop cushioned by the Force. His great cloak spread out like fleshy wings, gripping the air. The mountain beneath his feet rumbled. His mask occasionally flashes as he leapfrogs down, over and between the lethal ridges; straight toward the drones he established a connection with through his drawn-out incantations, incantations that held further secrets, as all machinations of Ptolemis do.

Moon Children. Quick, mindless, nimble, frail, savage. But the fact that these ones were being puppeteered meant that their reactions were completely in sync. Their minds dissolved and were overwritten with one tectonic will; that of the Blasphemer Lord.

The mountain above him keeps growling. The Moon Children swarm forth, performing pirouettes not unlike the murmuration of the Tythonian butterflies that flew into the Sith Lord's aura of death recently. As Ptolemis lands on a cliff, much closer to the foot of the mountain and the battle ahead, it cracks just as he snaps his arm at the advancing dozens of Moon Children and clenches his fist. The eyes of the tank-grown man-beasts boil over with blood as they, all at once, perform a series of quick actions; they duck, and on all fours they jump to the left, then immediately to the right, only to simultaneously leap ahead toward the numerous crew of the Imperial Dropships that are flooding out onto the scene. His pawns will undoubtedly be decimated. Yet their surreal, conjoined movements will likely occupy the Imperial vanguard, and time is all the New Sith Order needs for now. Ptolemis will sacrifice his forces limb by limb if he needs to.

And just in time did Ptolemis arrive at the base of the tall mountain; for it, among many others suddenly erups behind him in a vortex of black ash and white-hot lava.
​

He slowly turns back, looks up, and for the first time in what may be years, he laughs.

Maniacally.

​

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

"My patron's...blunt methods are distasteful. But necessary. I wonder, did you shed such tears for Korriban or Ziost? Our cities burned. Our temples pillaged. So much history lost."

“I fought to prevent the Jedi from destroying confiscated Sith relics in their vaults,” Nimdok replied coolly. “And I sent my assistant to Korriban to see about preserving what he could. Ziost was a catastrophe for everyone involved. But it does not excuse this eye for an eye mentality. You’re destroying history either way—and no archaeologist should participate in such destructive acts. Not even to save their life.”

Now that he thought about it, hadn’t Starlin Rand encountered a man who matched Captain Monk’s description on Korriban? He’d tried to bury Starlin alive in an ancient Sith tomb…

“When the galaxy is reborn, there will be no past. That is the purpose of the Mawite crusade, is it not? To kill the past and forget all that came before the self-proclaimed Sith’ari. A reborn galaxy will have no history.”

He was goading Monk, pricking him with the thorns of his own hypocrisy. In a final insult, Nimdok merely shrugged at the Forcesaber Monk produced.

“Hardly the last of its kind. I found a Forcesaber early in my career. Moreover, I don’t see how finding a relic of the Rakatan Empire on Tython proves the Sith came first. If anything, it merely shows that Rakatan dominance of the galaxy far outclassed that of any Sith-led empire since.”

Monk tried to get him to turn the Forcesaber on. Nimdok raised an eyebrow, genuinely shocked.

“You want me to try and turn on a piece of ancient machinery? After it’s been sitting here collecting dust for tens of thousands of years? Captain Monk, I must say, I find your methods highly questionable.”

Vector Monk​

 

[Jas Katis]

TYTHON | WESTERN MOUNTAINS
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | HELLION PRIVATE MERCENARY GROUP
ALLIES: NIO | ENCLAVE | Hall Mannarra | DECEASED Erskine Barran
ENEMIES: Buckle up
ENGAGING: Thomas Barran | Open
GEAR: In bio | unit equipment

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Meteors disrupt the Hellion camp
• Hellions attempt to recover and keep pressure on the Maw’s west advance
• Air support called in while vanguard faces the Maw head on along the mountains.

KOMBAT​

Rockets continued to fly along with high explosive cannon shells as the Hellion soldiers let all ordinance loose upon their foes. As the vanguard rode down the mountains towards the swarms of the Maw, they split up with one team taking up fire positions while the rest continued down the treacherous pathways. The tanks were tall and wide, and their escorts were long with their massive wheelbase, moving down the mountain would be suicide without cover from their comrades.

Jas stood next to the tank commander, keeping a close eye on the movements while a commlink rested mere inches from his crimson features. ”Set up the tanks and take aim, once those tanks cross the threshold, we need to keep the Maw’s heads down. Half load for the mass drivers, bounce the shells above their heads.” He ordered, trying his hardest to shove the fluctuations in the Force out of his mind. But there was one feeling that caught him, confirmed as he listened to the chatter of his men.

”Maw’s drawing close, fire at will!”

”Keep the rockets spitting!”

”They’re moving… what’s that? Oh kriff, OH KR-!”

”The… the sky’s falling!”

Jas blinked as he heard the words followed up with static. ”Repeat last?” He asked as a frown set in along his features.

”Meteor shower! The sky’s coming down!”

The tank started to shake as several impacts shook the ground beneath them. A massive explosion soon followed outside with large chunks of stone raining down on the command tank. Jas raced to the back and opened the rear ramp to look up at a sky on fire, lit up with lightning as chunks of Tython’s moon rained down around the valley. Another explosion followed, but this time from something other than the meteors. The glimmers against the sky solidified the commander’s fears.

The main camp was hit.

Flames shone above the mountain and several more explosions erupted, screams echoed over the peaks while men ran like ants against the face of the cliffs. ”Homebase, do you copy?!” He called out in his commlink. It took a while, but a crackle finally answered back. :: Homebase has been hit! Repeat, homebase has been hit! Lost half the artillery, fighting flames as we speak. We’re still in the fight, sir! Just need to get the flames squared out. ::

The report was a huge relief to Jas and the squad of soldiers leaning around him to hear the broadcast. They were still in the fight.

”Get those fires under control. And keep those rockets flying! We’ll get the airforce in but that’ll take time, but no matter what happens, you keep those karking Mawites down!”

The rest of the vanguard took its position and started to fire down at the Mawites turning their attention onto the mountain.

Rockets and cannons flung ordinance into the bigger clusters of Mawites, but more shots joined in as the enemies of the Hellions drew into blaster range and soon the distance was lit up with crimson bolts zooming down on their enemies.

The contingent of mercenaries at the foot of the mountain were in the thick of it, fighting with blasters, bayonets and even fists as the hordes crashed against their barricades and vehicles. The troops higher in the mountains did all they could for the hundreds of soldiers trying to hold the line and crush the overwhelming numbers. The Hellions dug in and arranged their vehicles to soak up the returning fire as they continued to fire magazines upon magazines.

”Where the hell is that Barran Jackass?! His troops are supposed to karkin’ back us up, not leave us to fight the damn Maw on our own!” Jas snapped at one of his radio operators hanging out of the rear ramp of a tank, the commlink’s cable extended as far as it could go in his hand.

”They ain’t answering, sir! We’ll keep trying but for now, we’re on our own! Maw’s pushing up the mountain, first company is fighting like hell.” The man called back, ducking back into the tank when a shell fell uncomfortably close to their position. Jas fired a few more rounds at the enemy before ducking back into the cover of the rocks to look back at the man. ”What’s the status on the air support?” He asked the man, lifting his helmet up to wipe at his brow and light a cigarette.

”On the way, five minutes. Orbital fighting is getting out of hand from the sound of it.”

 

[Amani Serys]

<If she tries to kill us again, or farts out more of those spores, it’ll be your fault,>

“Yeahhh, I know,” Amani muttered out of the corner of her mouth, stepping back beside Kai to keep a healthy distance between herself and the Sith. Thankfully, it appeared Surea wasn’t completely beyond reason.

“‘Plan’ is maybe a generous term. But, uh…” She pointed in the direction she had initially come from, “My ship is at the mouth of the valley. We should be able to make it there if we hurry… Assuming a rock doesn’t fall on us first.” Or if the very earth didn’t fall out from underneath them. Tython’s self-destructive retribution grew with every minute.

And there was one more potential hurdle to cross, “Once we get there, we’re locking you up. I’m going to cure that Rot of yours.” Amani stared down Surea, letting the surrounding catastrophe fill the pause between them, “What’s it going to be?” Her grip on the pike grew tighter, but the blade remained unignited. For all she knew, this ultimatum was going to put them right back at square one.

Kai Bamarri | Surea​

 

[Kranak Vizsla]

Hell Let Loose

​

Location: Tython, Frontlines.
Local Time: 06:34
Date: -DATA CORRUPTED-
Primary Objective: Shatterpoint | Fight off Maw Incursion Alongside Allies
Secondary Objective: N/A
Equipment: Loadout 4
Friendlies: Enclave | NIO | GA | SJC | Sasha Kryze
Hostiles: Sith | Maw | Darth Saevius
Directly Engaging: Shai Maji

The Day of Reckoning​

Spoiler: Forces

• Si’kahya Forces:
  
  • 1st Company [100% Combat Effective] [Deployed]
  • 2nd Company [100% Combat Effective] [Deployed]
  • 3rd Company [98% Combat Effective] [Deployed]
  • 4th Company [100% Combat Effective] [Reserve]
  • 5th Company [100% Combat Effective] [Reserve]
  • 6th Company [100% Combat Effective] [Reserve]
• Contingent of Cernr-class Droids
  
  • 100 Units [100% Combat Effective] [Deployed]
  • 1400 Units [100% Combat Effective] [Reserve]

Spoiler: Casualties

• 3rd Company, 4th Platoon:
  
  • 4 KIA
  • 5 Wounded

Lowering his collective after a sharp turn a hundred meters south of Atiel’s position, behind defilade[1], the howl of the giant’s jetpack dwindled to a muffled whine as he landed on his feet, kicking off a small cloud of grayish dust as his combat boots firmly touched the ground. The Alor’s[2] command squad landed nearby, following their commander’s lead. Walking at a brisk pace, the Vizsla walked up to the company commander; a portion of his attention was occupied with watching and analyzing the real-time, live footage from one of Brother Khral’s scouts. Verd[3] Prudii’s visor gazed upon the columns worth of Mawites in the distance from his concealed position, watching their movements as their enemy marched closer and closer to their designated kill zones on the roads and dirt paths leading south, to the old Temple.

<”Status report,”> the giant demanded with a commanding tone of voice as he came to a halt a few steps behind the company commander. Hearing his commander calling for him, the man swiftly turned around and took a few steps towards the giant, coming closer to him before he spoke. <”The first and second are in position for the ambush, commander,”> Atiel reported. <”Several personnel are mining the roads and paths with proximity mines and detpacks as we speak. Our forces are saturated along the ridge line, concealed behind defilade and natural cover.”>

<”Splendid,”> the giant said, pleased with the preparations for their ambush. <”Make sure the heavy repeaters have commanding arcs of fire over the killzones,”> the Vizsla said, untrusting of the tactical capabilities of the droids under his command that were tasked with handling and crewing the heavy weapons. Although they had the limited processing capacity to adapt to a given tactical situation, the droid frame worked more efficiently with someone pointing them in the right direction. <”Yes, Brother. I’ll dispatch Ruus’alor[4] Corr to supervise the clankers.”> Atiel said, aware of the inherent limitations of the droids. <”Good. Have you chosen a rally point?”> the Vizsla Alor inquired. Although they had some numbers, they did not fully possess the numerical capacity to fight a conventional fight against their opponents today. They would hit their enemies hard, retreat, regroup and hit them again; all the while utilizing the terrain advantages they could draw upon, combined with their own skill and capabilities.

Just as Atiel was about to continue his situation report, his visor glanced to the skies above. A shrilling rumble soon reached their ears. Turning around and tracking Atiel’s gaze, the giant laid eyes behind his visor on clusters of small to large chunks of moon debris arched high over mountains and ridges, leaving a burning hot red streak in their wake; the ground shook violently in tremors as the debris falling from the skies struck far and close, scarring the earth beneath their feet with craters alike upon impact.

<”By the stars…”> One of them muttered with a mixture of awe and apprehension. It really was hell on earth. None of them had experienced a moon coming down on them in battle before.

<”Stand firm, vode[5].”> The giant’s voice boomed from his helmet’s annunciator; his sonorous voice and emboldening words coupled with his stoic manner helped erase the perturbation from their minds. His gaze trailed away from the sky, looking at Atiel beside him again. <”Monitor the flight path of the debris overhead. Relocate and reposition the companies if need be,”> The giant said. Although he very well knew he had to make sacrifices as a Commander to achieve victory at the end of the day, he harbored no intentions of losing the invaluable men and women under his command to a supernatural event such as this.

A sudden spike in comms activity from the real time live-feed caught his attention as the giant continued to organize his forces. Momentarily pausing to assess the footage, the giant maximized the footage, covering most of his HUD as he saw and heard the damning events unfold through Verd Prudii’s perspective.

<”Spotted an unknown contact, fixed-wing craft in the distance, that’s bearing zero-four-four.”> One of them reported over their platoon comlink.

<”I see it. Gotta be an ene- wait,”> the other one said, pausing; the unknown contact showed up as friendly on their heads-up displays as the craft continued its trajectory, flying towards them. They could make out its silhouette now, with the help of their helmet mounted macrobinoculars and rangefinders. It had the distinctive shape and size of a Mandalorian Basilisk. <”Seems he’s one of ours,”> the Mandalorian said, somewhat relieved by the sight of close air support. <“But what’s he doing all the way over there?”> he continued, thinking out loud as the Basilisk dodged and weaved around, over and under falling debris from the sky. They could barely make out its howl, as the thunderous roar of falling debris drowned it out. They could hear their thoughts in their minds despite the deafening noise, but only just.

<”...Why aren’t the karkers shooting at it?”> the other inquired after a brief moment passing in silence over the squad coms. <”Maybe the pilot’s got his sensor jammers up,”> Prudii theorized as he briefly turned his attention from the incoming Basilisk from their North-East towards the approaching columns of Mawites in the distance. <”What, you kidding me?”> One of them retorted. <”You telling me them Maw chitters don’t got heavy repeaters to try and shoot him down? We should’ve seen a damn light show erupting from their side by now,”> He rattled off as he grew suspicious of the situation, and rightfully so. The others began to start feeling something was off, but most brushed it away, thinking the incoming Basilisk was friendly, and not a threat.

They would be sorely mistaken, as the Basilisk’s main cannon whirred and spun out a long winded volley of particle bolts at them, accompanied by dump-fire missiles shooting out their pods in rapid succession.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT

<”HOOLY CHIT! COVEEEER! HIT THE DIRT!”> frantic shouting of orders to disperse ensued over their comlink channel, as some of them waved their hands at the Basilisk, signaling at the pilot to cease fire, under the false assumption the pilot of the craft was friendly, and somehow mistook them for a forward element of the Maw. They would realize the damning truth soon. The giant muttered a curse under his breath as he watched the “blue-on-blue” unfold before his eyes; he too assumed the pilot of the Basilisk damnably mistook the recon element as hostiles, but he would be shortly made aware that was not the case by a familiar voice.

”Hello, boys! I’m back!”

The tone, the mannerism…

The giant’s grasp on the massive power hammer tightened in silent response; muscles tensed up for the fight. It was her! He could not believe it. He didn’t want to believe she had gone this far down the path of damnation through the unholy machinations of the Sith. He had read of the intelligence reports regarding her activities within the Maw before. She had fought under their banner, seemingly willingly, but he never once believed that, firmly convinced she was only turned against her will; but she had never wounded, or worse, killed another Enclave Mandalorian before.

Until now.

<”Coordinate the effort here on my behalf and give me periodic sitreps! We will handle her,”> he said, swiftly shooting a glance at the command squad to his rear as he continued watching the footage. Nodding in silent response, the command squad dispersed with haste, save for Sasha Kryze, one of his former squad mates who were under his command, like the Wardog once used to be. They aided and supervised the preparations for the ambush as needed, while the Wardog continued murdering her own.

<”Come on! Let’s go!”> The giant exclaimed to Sasha as he took to the skies with his jet pack, flying towards the forward recon element’s position to confront the Wardog with all haste; watching the ensuing combat through Prudii’s eyes in the meantime.

Thrown onto the ground on his back with several wounds and shrapnels embedded into his flesh, Prudii panted heavily as he struggled to stand up after the strafing run. His panting was soon drowned out completely by the ear splitting howl of the Basilisk’s ion engines, as the war machine took a sharp turn near him and halted to a hover mid air. Sliding out the cockpit, the Wardog’s unmistakable silhouette landed a few feet in front of the downed warrior. His balance barely restored and back up on his feet, the warrior was not spared the respite to level his blaster rifle at the Wardog and squeeze the trigger, instead getting locked in a melee grapple with her.

Neither of them could get the upper hand on the other, until the Wardog masterfully flicked her head to the side and back, flinging her helmet off her head. A broad, dark, and sinister smile took hold of her features as her red cybernetic eyes cut sharp into the giant’s soul, looking her in the eye; the sharp, jagged durasteel teeth glistened under the sunlight with an ominous glow.

Like a viper poised to strike, the Wardog’s head shot forward at Prudii’s throat at an instant, plunging her razor sharp teeth into his flesh as she swiftly tore his throat open; the Verd’s grasp faded away, as he slowly slumped to the ground on his back at the Wardog’s feet. Small tides of blood gurgled out of his torn throat in between the warrior’s gut-wrenching growls and futile gasps for air as his visor stared at the burning skies above. His efforts to breathe swiftly grew erratic and infrequent.

Eyes widened and his jaw clenched, the giant’s broad chestplate rose and fell rapidly as he watched her kill the warrior; anger and rage began to take hold of his body as he drew closer to her position. He would put an end to her madness, one way or the other.

Or die trying.

​

Swiftly landing on his feet about thirty meters away from the Wardog and her mechanical companion, the giant spoke as his glowing visor fixated upon the bloodied face of his old friend, <”BREAK CONTACT AND DISENGAGE!”> The Vizsla Alor ordered the recon element with a shout over their platoon net as he slowly walked towards her; his helmet annunciator turned off. They had fulfilled their objectives and scouted out the enemy force enroute. He would not pointlessly put them in harm's way. Following his orders, the remainder of the platoon would disengage, pick up their wounded and soar in the skies set aflame as they glided towards their lines with their jetpacks, carrying their injured comrades in their arms. The torn and lifeless bodies of their fallen comrades remained to be picked up later as they rushed to save the lives of their wounded.

Only the three of them remained now.

<”We take her together,”> he said to Sasha over their private comlink channel in a more calmer, stoic tone as he twirled the massive power hammer in his hands, grasping the war hammer firmly in a more comfortable grip. Using his heads-up display elements, the giant would place a highlighting marker over the Wardog’s companion. They needed to take it out the equation first. He would be focusing it down first, to try and level out the playing field in their favor.

<”I was wondering when you would decide to show your ugly mug,”> he finally said out loud; his voice as cold and harsh as Kestri’s unforgiving winter as he came to a halt, assuming a defensive stance twenty feet before his long-time comrade. Trying to incur her wrath to act brash in the fight, the giant had begun taunting her. <”Drawn to bloodshed, like flies over a rotting carcass.”> Barely contained anger and hatred dripped from his words, yet the doings of the Wardog was not the cause. He was fueled by his hatred towards the Sith, witnessing how ignoble they continued to be, turning brother and sister alike against each other. Underneath the firm, unwavering shell of his hatred lied pain, deep sorrow for his comrade and perturbation for the duel that was about to ensue.

Deep down, even as he assumed a stance to prepare himself for a fight to the death, he knew he could not take the life of his friend. Not willingly. He still harbored hope within him; hoping they could have her see reason, hoping they could lend her the hand she needed and guide her towards salvation, knock sense into her and save her from this madness.

But to do that, they had to defeat her in combat first. She was not going to come willingly; certainly not without a good fight.

Muscles tensed up for the fight, he was ready to spring forth into action to try and neutralize the Wardog’s Basilisk with a jetpack missile as he would dart to the left with his jetpack and take it to the skies, once the Kryze was ready.

​

Spoiler: Translations and Abbreviations

[1]Defilade = A position on the reverse slope of a hill or within a depression level or rolling terrain.
[2] Alor = Chief, Leader.
[3] Verd = Soldier, warrior.
[4] Ruus’alor = Sergeant.
[5] Vode = Brothers/Sisters.

Spoiler: Warpost Summary of Actions

• Ambush set up. Proximity mines and remote controlled detpacks placed on roads and dirt paths the approaching enemy force is likely to take, as well as on the predetermined kill zones.
• Heavy repeaters are in the process of getting set up with commanding arcs of fire over kill zones.
• After achieving their objective of obtaining field intel, the recon element took contact and sustained considerable casualties. Pulled back behind friendly lines shortly afterwards.

 

[Qellene Tyliame]

Revenant Squadron - Ten
Flight Lieutenant Qellene Tyliame - A-Wing Pilot

Tren Chaar, Ran Serys, Kaul "Joker" Emos, Mylo Thorne , Leon Gallo, Artemis Toth, Zev Garallia, Tristram Vos

---

A cutlass extended from her hand and sliced into the flesh of the Eradicator's screen as the bladed prow of Qellene's interceptor broke through. A blue ion trail followed in her wake, scorching the winglets of a particularly unlucky fighter that'd seen her as a target. From the tips of her cannons, bolts of energy bled together into what seemed like a constant stream of light, peppering at the shields of two passing TIE/fds before Qellene spun, turning off her guns for a second before kicking in a pursuit.

The lieutenant briefly peered out her canopy, letting an eye track the sight of her wingmate, Artemis, maneuvering to match course.

Smoke poured out from the other A-wing's aft chassis. In seconds of Qellene's realization, Em's voice sounded over comms to confirm:

"I'm hit."

Then Chaar's voice emanated from her comm link.

“Three Flight,” he barked over the commlink. “Do you have eyes on Nine?”

"I've got 'er," She chimed, and by instinct Qellene fired off a missile to seek her earlier targets, before leading a dive to port and slicing across a TIE on its way to Artemis's position. A thin line of sweat fell from her forehead as the lieutenant took a position to her wingmate's port, throwing herself into a roll around her central axis so the gimbles of her cannons could track a wide field of targets as they flew. "Em, how's your maneuverability?"

From her comm link, she could hear Mylo Thorne detailing another one of his bold plans to the commander, but it was a string of words slowly muddled as loose rounds splashed against her shields, then entirely silenced by the sounds of klaxons blaring over the cockpit's speakers. The expanded scanner plots showed a swarm of contacts breaking from... Ashla. Confused, frightened, Qellene pulled up monitor for her aft camera footage, all the while intensifying the erraticism of her spinning to throw off a flight of approaching fighters.

The monitors finally loaded after a heart-pounding two seconds; at the same moment she caught the shape of a missile accelerating toward her. "Fething-" Qellene punched a switch on her dashboard, throwing her targeting computers into a frenzy as crosshairs set on the incoming warhead. She fired her forward RCS jets to buy some time, then watched an interceptor missile dart from her A-wing's launcher.

In moments, a feeling like a rogue wave washed over and slammed her into her seat, throwing Qellene's A-wing into an erratic tumble before she could return her hands to the reins.

Her prow finally settled, pointing to to Tython's moon, Ashla. Scorched crust flaked from its surface, pulled from the lunar landscape into Tython's debris-littered gravity well, before beginning to crash into the planet below.

Dear gods... No.. No. This can't... She thought of Csilla, of the terrifying footage of the planet collapsing in on itself and bleeding blinding waves of light, wondering if despite all their efforts Tython would meet the same grisly fate.

"It's a flawed plan, but I think it might just work, though I might need an A-Wing to come with me..."

She blinked her way out of her petrified silence and clumisly chimed Revenant Squadron's general comms, sounding perturbed as she spoke, "If someone can cover Nine, I'll go."

Qellene left the comms open, awaiting a reply as she struck at a passing TIE and accelerated to again match pace with Artemis.

 

[Surea]

Surea turned her head upwards just as another of the meteors ripped through the air. Crashing into a nearby hill. Setting up flame and earth both. Then back to the Jedi with their weapons ready.

"Don't offer a choice when there isn't one." Whether she agreed to it all or not didn't matter if she died. She'd figure something out, later. For now, the Miraluka turned to the valley that was mentioned. Started to walk. She'd run if she wasn't sure she'd get cut down by the human. "Let's hurry."

Amani Serys | Kai Bamarri

 

[Varik Awaud]

Mando'ad draar digu​

Objective: Board and assault the Avatar of War

Allies: Romul Saxon | Fenn Stag | Shakka Bralor | Runi Kuryida | Kaz Krayt | Gwyneira Krayt | Vulcan Krayt | Sergeant Omen | D I M A | Others

Enemies: Marlon Sularen | Kralmus Orr | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Vorm Ren | Others

Equipment: Si'kahya beskar'gam, Rekr variant, ENCL-16 Purity blaster rifle, ENCL-12 Repentance Blaster Pistol, Beskad, a variety of grenades

A chorus of alarmed shouting and yelling rang out as the giant insectoid beast rampaged through the Mandalorian positions, clicking and screeching as it sought desperately to satiate its ravenous appetite by feeding on the armored warriors of the Enclave. The Mawite Dar'manda astride the beast fired as well, only adding to the chaos caused by their entrance. What had once been a steady and controlled advance by the forces of the Enclave had come to a grinding halt. For the moment all they could do was hold and regroup. Many Jorir turned their heavy blaster cannons upon the branch, spinning barrels blazing with light and heat as they poured fire upon the monster's thick chitinous hide.

Varik could tell almost immediately that his own weapons wouldn't do a great deal against something as big and powerful as that. He instead rallied the non-Si'kahya warriors near him, among whom stood warriors of clan Awaud. "Listen to the Akaan'alor! Heavy weapons focus on the beast, the rest of you help keep the hordes from advancing! Stand strong, vode, and give them nothing! Make them bleed!"

This seemed to settle some nerves and refocus the Mandalorians. Brave and skilled though they were, most of these warriors weren't Si'kahya. They did not all have the training, the intensity, the edge of those who had undergone that particular trial and earned the right to be one of the Enclave's elite. They would fight and die gloriously, though, and the reassurance of one of their own, one who had become Si'kahya, gave them confidence. The ranks began to reform, and the advance of the marauders slowed as return fire became more focused.

Varik fired a burst of blaster fire into the chest of one Mawite, then ducked away from the oncoming blow of another. He retaliated with an upward blow to the raider's chin with the butt of his rifle, sending the man sprawling. Varik finished him off quickly and refocused on the tactical situation. The insect monster was still nearby, rampaging about as the forces of the Enclave focused on bringing it down. Nearby he spotted the body of a fallen brother, a plasmag rifle on the ground beside his corpse. He turned his helmeted gaze upon the Mawite beast once more, and then sprinted forward to retrieve the weapon. Once it was in his hands he darted off again, heading toward the Branchlurker.

The Si'kahya moved quickly and purposefully, brushing aside a marauder here, vaulting over a crate there, drawing closer to the rampaging insectoid. He fired up his jetpack, launching himself into the air, and jetted forward. He launched a concussion rocket from his wrist gauntlet, aiming for the beast's head. He didn't expect it to be seriously hurt, but he wanted it disoriented, even if only momentarily. Firing thrusters and reverse boosters in quick succession, Varik swung through the air around the monster, scorching the armor on and near its head with the small hidden blasters concealed in his armor.

Hopefully the creature would swing its head to look at him as he passed in front of its big, ugly face. If this thing wanted to eat, then the Mandalorians had something for it.

One last burst from the thrusters on his jetpack propelled Varik in an upward arc, moving laterally in across the front of the Branchlurker, out of the reach of its claws. He disengaged the thrusters, allowing his momentum to carry him upward and onward. As his momentum carried him up he aimed the plasmag rifle at its head, he prepared it to fire. The weapon began humming, going quickly from low to high intensity, as its capacitors filled with energy. It had a two-second charging period which, if he had timed it right, would finish at the apex of his movement arc. Out of the corner of his eye he noted a rocket streaking in his direction. He resisted the urge to fire his jetpack up once more; it might help him avoid the rocket entirely, but it would mess up his shot. No, this thing had to die.

The timing was just about spot-on; the charging completed, and just as gravity was about to reassert its control over Varik, he fired. A blast of super-heated plasma launched from the end of the plasmag rifle, aimed squarely at the Branchlurker.

Hopefully it would be enough.

As soon as firing finished the Mandalorian commando fired up his jetpack once more, but it was too late to completely avoid its blast now. It exploded, buffeting Varik with heat and shrapnel. The rocket's shockwave sent him tumbling through the air, hurtling toward the ground. He frantically fought to regain control of his flight path; in the end he managed to steer himself toward Enclave ranks, but he could only somewhat mitigate what was coming. He landed hard, bouncing and sliding along the deck. His armor dispersed much of the damage of the impact, but he found himself gasping for air as the wind was knocked violently from his lungs.

Back on your feet, he urged himself silently. The fight's not done yet.

​

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

​

Allies: Coren Starchaser Celeste Rigel Caltin Vanagor Zark San Tekka Tracyn Ordo Madison Starr Alessandra Io Wedge Draav Osarla Ridor | Team Lightside
Enemies: Ardana Vorco (engaging) Darth Libertas (in vicinity) | Team Darkside
Location: Temple Ruins

As more and more joined in the maintaining of the barrier, the burden placed upon Thurion's shoulders was incrementally eased as the initiator. To cover such a wide area all alone was no small feat, but drawing upon such forces was unsustainable for one person, even someone of his ability. But, as he had stated before, he was not alone. No Jedi was ever alone. The very spirits of uncountable generations stood with them this day.

With his focus placed solely on maintaining the barrier as large pieces of Ashla rained down on them, he was unable to predict his opponent's next move. She had yet to be dealt with, having only been clear from his path for but a small time. Safeguarding his fellow man always took priority to defeating his enemy, for if he possessed the power within him to save a life, how could he not? Such is not merely the way of the Jedi; it is the way of all decent folk.

His senses alerted him to the threat of Xanesh's electric attack as they closed in, but was due to the strain of the barrier slow to counter it. Another Jedi had stood in the path of the lightning strike, only to be overpowered by it. Thurion reached out with his left hand and influenced the lightning to bounce over to him, releaving the brave Jedi Knight from its incredible pain as he fell to the ground dazed by the brief encounter.

There the Jedi Master stood locked in place, trapped between giving power to the barrier being repeatedly pounded from above while also deflecting the constant stream of Sith lightning, with one palm facing up and the other facing forward. His senses were already being overloaded, his energy fading swiftly. He'd been brought to his knees. His gaze looked past the Lady Sith cackling as she poured her all into the decisive attack, towards a set of golden gates towering in the distance, gleaming brightly against the dour backdrop. All the noise of battle, all the screams, went silent.

Recognising the golden gate, he felt an overwhelming sense of calm. His defenses began to falter as he started to give in to the sensation.

"Forgive me, my love," he said, knowing then that he would not be coming home after all. The Golden Hall of the Allfather beckoned, where he would be reunited with all those he'd lost over the course of his long life. Knowing what lay ahead, he felt ready.

Thurion's will was still wavering when suddenly the skies above were lit by waves of pulsating light, drawing his unfocused gaze for but a moment. In that moment, he witnessed Caltin Vanagor's sacrifice to destroy many of the incoming lunar projectiles before inevitably falling to his demise. It was at this moment that the Lion re-emerged, and his vision of the golden gates vanished into thin air.

With the majority of the pieces of falling moon being heavily reduced in size or wiped out completely, Thurion finally let go of his control of the barrier to pour all his attention on his opponent, now reaching out with both hands to absorb the attack. He rose to his feet and began to close the distance between the two, one painstaking step at a time as electricity danced violently between their outstretched hands. One more push, and he was finally able to reflect the lightning back towards Xanesh, severing their lengthy bond.

Rather than follow through with an attack of his own, Thurion took flight. He leaped high into the air, just in time to catch Caltin Vanagor as his unconscious body fell. With the big man secured in his arms, he landed some distance away, close to Coren Starchaser and Celeste Rigel .

"Neither of us dies this day, my friend," he told Caltin as he rested him against the remains of a stone wall, kneeling by his side. "If you fight, I will fight. And if I fight, you fight too. Now fight, damn you!" Thurion placed his hands upon Caltin's temples and closed his eyes, attempting to pull him back from the brink of the alluring abyss he himself had nearly succumbed to just moments earlier.

"Be with us, Brother. Be with us."