Annihilation Shatterpoint | BotM Annihilation of GA Held Tython

[Simon Meinrad]

C A V A L I E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
TYTHON | KALETH
Danika Leventis
ALLIES | NIO
ENEMIES | EVERYONE

TEMPLAR​

There he stood at the top of stairs that descended towards the Necromancer in his sights. She was not alone, she had her own goons to accomplish whatever tasks given to them by her. He could sense them, too; surprised he would be if a woman of her kind came without an army or guards. Every Sith or agent of the Dark Side always had some sort of detachment to do their bidding. Weak men drawn by the temptations of power, only for their own greed to declare their doom.

Her stench with the Force was intoxicating with the Dark Side, growing stronger with each step she made. The Witch reeked of the dead; a shame that the dead would not know peace in their slumber with fiends tormenting their body for their own wants and needs. Unforgivable to disturb the dead and bring them back to plague the land of the living.

"Come then, darling. At least you are not a zealot on either side of the spectrum. So let's see what kind of warrior you are."

The Lady of Bone would find to her disappointment that Simon was an extremist in his own right. Definitely didn’t belong to either spectrum of the Dark or Light, but still was religiously adamant to his own beliefs.

“Unfortunately for you,” staring back at Danika, taking his own steps downwards on the steps of the temple. The gales blowing stronger and more violent as the Force Storm continued to spread across Tython. What hope there was to discontinue that storm? “I am rather extreme with my values, Witch,” snarling at her at the last word. “You’ve come to destroy Tython for your own desires, but you will find this to be your tomb.”

“And if needs be, mine as well.”

Her lightsaber produced a violet blade, readying herself for Simon’s attack. If he was still a Jedi, he would’ve surrendered that privilege to the Lady of Bone; however, with his new code, he didn’t find dishonor in taking the first step or didn’t shy away from being aggressive in combat. Jumping off the stairs, he fell towards Danika with the intention severing her head from her body; though, his attack came with intense momentum enough to knock back anyone from their footing and balance.

The Herald of Death would find Simon to be the type of warrior to kill her at all costs, and not be forgiving or reserved like the obsolete Jedi.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Master’s Rest
Enemies: Valery Noble Kahlil Noble
Allies: BOTM
Objective 1


Kyrel lied in the darkness awaiting the group of soldiers to arrive, the Jedi wouldn’t have come alone to take the Master of Ren. This was something that excited the Wrath was when those thought they had the upper hand against him. Even now reaching out with the Force, he could sense Darth Solipsis carry on with the great ritual that would bring about the end, he could hear the distant rumblings of a chaotic outside, thunder sounded all around, and through the windows he could see the crackles of lightning as the storms increased in intensity.

This battle between dark and light would not only ravage this world, it would also pave the way for the future. Next to the chaotic sounds of the outside, on the inside there was an eerie silence followed through by footsteps. Kyrel spoke softly to himself as he felt the dark surge of energy rising. “This is now…” Speaking of the visions he had of this world, feeling the balance on the brink of shifting, for if the world was destroyed perhaps the Force would shift permanently towards darkness.

The door of the blood filled room opened, confident yet wary soldiers of the GA entered in slowly. “Well, that was too easy.” One of them remarked cooly. “Can it. Our orders was to get this ugly bastard dead or alive…” He said, as the flashlights started to catch glimpses of the horror that Kyrel enacted upon this place, corpses of dead Jedi Padawans and Knights. Some of the corpses had even been chewed straight to the bone. “I have a bad feeling about this…” One of them remarked as the lights pointed towards Kyrel in his meditation position. Pointing they’re blasters slowly at Kyrel, the Sargent said in a shaky voice. “Come up with you’re hands behind your head.”

Even with blasters pointed at his head, Kyrel stood slowly up. His gaze straight on the soldiers as he finally spoke. “Gentleman… Let us pray…” With those words, the silence violently came to an end. In one quick motion Kyrel activated his crimson blade and started to slash the nearest one. In that single moment one of the soldiers knocked his saber from his hands. It didn’t stop the Wrath as he resorted to his fists, beating into the soldiers admits the sounds of cracked bone, blaster fire and the hail of orders being shouted frantically. The door closed and all one could hear was the chaos and the horror a Wrath was there to unleash.

 

[Siv Dragr]

H U N T E R​

Objective: Eliminate Target
Target: Dimitri Voltura

One moment the Sith was in front of him, then he was at his right in a blur of motion. And a searing pain racked through his leg, requiring all of Siv’s discipline not to howl in pain. Too late, he recognized the humming crimson blade at the Sith’s side that had cut into the flesh above his knee, low enough to avoid the beskar plating that would’ve otherwise protected Siv.

Super speed. The Sith was taunting him. Toying with him.

Siv Dragr was no stranger to the various tricks of the Sith. He'd fought Carnifex, one of the most feared Sith of his generation, twice and came out alive each time. But this crutch of super speed Siv had no immediate answer to. Trakar plating was enough to protect him from Sith Lightning and Energy Drain, but it did not slow Voltura; he'd have to work out a solution for that in future engagements.

His muscles twitched as the Sith taunted him, offering him a chance to leave. To return to his home and prepare for the Maw's eventual slaughter there. But they both knew that he'd do no such thing. Instead, injectors within his armor slid into his skin, delivering stim that heightened his adrenaline and sensory systems and bacta that began to treat the wound above Sith’s knee. It wouldn't be enough, but it would allow Siv's reactions to be faster than normal and it reduced the blinding pain in his knee to a dull throb, for now.

"Sorry to disappoint," Siv growled as he jabbed the long shaft of the besragr violently backward in the direction of the Sith's voice. The blow wouldn't be enough to seriously injure -- maybe crack a rib or two -- but if the Sith was close enough, and didn't react fast enough, it would at least knock the wind out of him. Siv followed up by pivoting rapidly, swiping low with the spear to try and take the Sith's balance from in, following up with a sharp jab from the rapidly vibrating tip of the spear. Unlike the dull shaft, the spearhead was so sharp that it would slice through cloth, flesh, and bone as if it were an afterthought.

As he performed the counterattack, the Resa'geriuvr crushgaunt that had been built into his left gauntlet tugged at him. He didn't understand fully how the crushgaunt worked, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, urging him to strike, urging him to kill, urging him to activate it and let the Force powers within consume his body. But he ignored the crushgaunt's temptations, for now. It would be used as a last resort, nothing more.

If he could deal with the Sith's superspeed, then he wouldn't need it at all.

 

[Ran Serys]

Revenant Squadron: Tren Chaar Kaul "Joker" Emos Mylo Thorne Leon Gallo Len Vert Artemis Toth Qellene Tyliame Zev Garallia Tristram Vos
Equipment: B-Wing Heavy Assault Starfighter || M-Series Utility/Astromech Droid (M7-TA)​

The M-Series Astromech beeped and whirred excitedly. Its exhilaration brought on by all the transmissions it received. It whistled at its partner, the Mirialan Jedi and Revenant Three, Ran Serys, feverishly as they walked over to their starfighter. "I am glad you are having fun, Emm-Seven. However, keep in mind this is not a game," Ran replied with a warning. M7-TA dinged and screamed in a show of defiance. The droid was impatient, uninhibited, and arrogant. It just wanted to fly. It wasn't worried about going down because it didn't think it could go down.

"Confidence is good Emm-Seven but arrogance will get us killed. If you want to keep flying, I would check the attitude." She shot back at the droid before hopping into the pilot's seat. Despite the droid's selfishness, Ran had come to like her new mechanical friend. She didn't want to see its end, nor her own. The droid trilled in a way that signaled a begrudging understanding before slotting itself into the astromech socket on Ran's B-Wing Starfighter.

"I am glad you do. So are you ready, Emm-Seven?"

With a quick confirming bleat M7-TA pulled the landing gear and accelerated out of the hangar. In concert, Ran and Emm-Seven routed power to the sublight engines, taking off after Revenant Leader and positioned themselves in proper formation. Ran might have been a new addition to Revenant Squadron but she was no stranger to Squadron Tactics.

"Revenant Three, standing by." She confirmed, awaiting orders.

Orders came in quickly. Orders meant to be followed. So in the starship infested space above Tython, Ran set her course for the Eradicator and steeled herself for what was to come. From her position on the battlefield Ran took in the organized chaos of this, the Second Great Hyperspace War. She let her mind travel with it like a wave. She found the ebb and flow in a sea of rage against determination, bloodlust against the ideals of justice, and destruction against the preservation of peace. In that moment the force was with her, but she didn't fly with it. Instead she focused on her sight, her reflexes, and on the movements of the other pilots of Revenant Squadron. They would succeed in their efforts not because of one but because of the sum.

Spoiler

Ran Serys, Revenant Three, joins the squadron and follows in formation after Revenant Leader toward the Eradicator

 

[Laoth]

Equipment: Laoth's Cybernetic Body | Forcesword
Post Tags: Ishida Ashina | Bernard of Arca
Location: Tython

EDOR vs LAOTH​

---

Edor Starfire brought his lightsaber up in time to block the screaming arc of steel - plasmic light and sharp metal screeching like dying insects as they clashed together. His legs locked as the tension of the impact pressed down on him in an effort to drive him to his knees, and a gust of air exploded from his throat. For six long seconds, the two fighters were met in an embrace of weapons, their eyes radiating intense hatred and stoicism respectively. Only then had Edor begun to breathe. So much had happened after he and his comrades had nearly killed the great red Iktochi - a brute who now lay on the floor, gasping and wheezing as blood oozed from the charred wound along his torso, gazing at the metallic thing who broke the hold with a growling shove.

Seven of Edor’s brothers and sisters had been killed in a dance of death when the thing erupted from the archway. Revanche Artis’ head toppled from her neck after a blinding streak of metal they could scarcely perceive struck out from the opened archway. Liin Vel Aath was next, cleaved from clavicle to groin and kicked in half by a hard thrust of the thing’s leg. Edor had spun back with a dazzling display of acrobatics as the blade came for him, but watched with barely restrained horror as Vixur Hu was killed in his place, his neck sliced open to the bones of his spine.

Eduardo Corrino, Silas Harko, Prost Atreides, and Nalah Freman fell next, the latter two putting up the greatest of the fights. Atreides and Fremen managed several small wounds on the monstrous thing, who Edor had only then noticed was gripping an old weapon kept in perfect condition by the warping of the prison. The Razor of Roch, a Forcesword dating back to the ancient ages of Tython’s foremost inhabitants. Had they traveled so far into the prison to have stumbled upon its hold? Freman fell to it before Atreides, bisected at the waist, while Atreides was skewered through the heart and thrown head-first into the wall.

All of it had occurred in less than two minutes.

Something that should have been impossible for the Sith to accomplish. The prison - this vast chasm of conjoining material realm and the Netherworld - should have kept it hampered beyond repair. It was hampered beyond repair, for the briefest glimpse of the man before its apprentice had sent it out of sight proved to Edor that it was near death. The Razor of Roch should not have provided it the energy for this type of assault, unless…the mere presence of a blade in its hand was all that it took.

"Do you understand why I must do this?" the thing asked as blood oozed from its fleshless mouth. Black, silver-based sludge threaded with the blue liquid of the Force-denying drugs. So, it was still infested with it, yet seemingly was not affected. Or, was merely refusing to show how weak it truly was, which was a terrifying thought if this was its weaker self with a blade in hand. Neither option was good for Edor’s continued survival judging by how quickly his comrades, objectively the greater of swordsmen, by comparison, had fallen.

"Do you understand why you must all die?" it asked, backing away enough so that it stood in front of its dying apprentice who looked up at it almost reverently.

The question burned Edor’s heart. What reasoning could this monster find beyond the basest of sins? Lust for violence and domination was all they knew. His viewing of the prisoners sent beyond the Rift was his evidence for this. The cruelest of monsters. The most debased criminals. And this beast was the worst of them. “I care not for understanding you,” Edor replied with a sliver of venom in his stony tone. “You are Sith, and you must die as decreed by our master.”

The beast laughed quietly and quickly dropped to a kneel as a slurry of black sludge erupted from its mouth, staining the corpse of Silas Harko. The Iktochi wheezed, perhaps trying to speak, only for his master to silence him with a wave of his hand. The Razor was held laxly in its hand, used primarily to support its kneeling. “I want to go home, Jedi,” it said. Edor momentarily stumbled in his thoughts, caught off guard by the words. “I need to go home.”

Edor barely managed to raise his blade in defense as the thing launched itself forward with a hacking roar, swinging hard and fast for the Jedi’s neck. It stumbled to the side from the impact of steel on plasmic light, coughing roughly like sandpaper, and wiped the layer of black sludge from its fleshless face. It cut again, the blade twisted horizontally through the air. Blue light sparked against grey steel as Edor deflected with a downward slash, knocking the beast off balance and rushing with a short-swung arc for its legs. Incapacitation prior to decapitation to ensure it was incapable of defending itself at all. This is how Freman taught him to fight. The blade carved a moderately deep orange line through the creature’s biomechanical left thigh, and a roar bellowed from its throat.

Edor leaped back when it grabbed for him, nearly tumbling over Corrino's corpse. No time was wasted between this and his next motion of defense as the terrible war machine jumped at him with a downward swing of its blade. Had Edor not shifted himself to the right at the last moment, the impact of the Razor would have sent his own lightsaber into his head. The Jedi exhaled from the surprise of this, recovered quickly, and again struck out his weapon to meet the Sith’s own. It laughed as the ripples of impact shuddered between them, recovered in the split-second between strikes, and cut forward in a brutal lunge. Edor parried, only to be parried himself through the thing's brutish strength. Back and forth they went, slicing open the walls, the floors, and even at one point the ceiling with their terrible acts of violence upon each other. Edor could have used the Force on it, as the Light was invariably strengthened in this prison. But the thing gave him no quarter to even consider doing so, forcing him to trust in the blade alone. And so it was that the two danced like savage hounds, engaging in a continuous trade-off of strike after strike, each attempting to tire the other out and drive their weapons out of their hands. Light and steel shrieked beyond the walls of the hall they battled in, their attacks furious and atavistic, a degradation of the modern ideals of combat. Dooku, Windu, Yoda, Skywalker, Kenobi, Maul, Palpatine, Fisto, Tano, and all the rest would have shut their eyes in dismay at the utter lack of form and grace of the two fighters.

And it was in the heart of their wild, flailing combat that Edor began to realize that had they been fighting outside of the defenses of this prison - outside of the bulwarks of Michael Sardun - he would have died long ago.

He looked through the waves of light and steel into the eyes of his foe and saw a horrific thing. He saw joy underneath the canopy of bone and alchemy. He saw wrath and glory. He saw dogma. Hate. Love. Passion. Fire. He saw energy fighting its own battle against the effects of the drugs in his system. Could it have been so simple? Was the only cure he needed to fight the restraints of his body a meager blade? One that was barely registering in the threads of the Force within this place?

“Come on boy!” the thing shouted following a climactic series of three strikes for three strikes. “Slav do vlaek vai sak!”

Fury imploded between the two fighters, and Edor found himself gaining as much strength to fight as he did exhaustion. Suddenly, the great beast ducked and slid forward onto its knees, barreling past the bodies of his victims over to the Iktochi. Edor ran after it, blade held high, and carved down at the thing’s head during its rise up to its feet. His breath stopped abruptly in his throat when the Sith, laughing so heartily, drew back its right hand into a fist and punched the Jedi’s attack down into the Iktochi’s face. From his nose down to his jaw, the injured Sith’s face was split in twain and a soft final gurgle of air eked out. Throwing himself back, pulling the blade with him, Edor gasped and panted as the shock of what just happened filled him.

“Why!?” he shouted despite himself. “Have you no loyalty to your own people?”

The thing chortled like an old grandfather - a sickening noise from the vox unit in its throat - and belched another clump of black sludge. “The fool made the mistake of not killing me when he had the chance,” it explained after recovering. “He saved me, and in doing so threw away the very laws of who we are. He was wounded, weak, dying, dead. I am not going to throw out what makes us us out of sentiment. He served his purpose, and I will thank him when I see him down the road. Now…cado g'slk do vai vittv!”

Edor screeched with indignant righteousness and charged forward, his lightsaber meeting the Razor in a clang of sound. And for the next ten minutes, they fought as one against the other in perfect harmony. Light versus dark, warden versus prisoner, knight versus warrior. They moved throughout the halls, ascended and descended a dozen staircases, savaging rooms of unknown purpose, passing piles of fallen comrades respectively. And with each passing minute, the thing grew louder with its joy, quicker with its movements, and fierier with its energy. Edor conversely grew stronger with his deflections, harsher with his attacks, and more grounded with his defenses - his purpose of this war centered from blind following to certainty in his own beliefs. This thing, this monster of the Sith, could not escape the prison. It had to die here. It had to remain here for all time.

Finally, the two combatants reached the precipice of their ascent, and the sight of chaos almost took all attention away from the knight. Within the lobby of this prison, its true vastness unknown to the warden, hundreds of scores lay dead in varying degrees of mutilation, and more fought with brutality unmatched - unaware of the two new arrivals. The front iron-wrought gates were blown inward to let in the raging storm of a thousand years of wrath. The great beast of metal cackled with the mania of a patient of the galaxy’s strictest and most isolated mental hospital. Edor’s blood froze when he realized why and he adopted the deepest position of Soresu’s defensive posture. The metal of its body was moving and re-binding, dark purple and red tendrils of storming clouds rushing in through the gates to surround it.

From the center of this new collection, an invigorated thunder of noise roared into existence, “Yaiu tlu'rot v'rr diur, vaiu tkuookt uir v'kl draab, vaiu gaerto 'bart tlaekkouob, vaiu voavro traeislkouob dv klo klaitaerbt, vaiu qouv vraerok kaur aevaeuk… aerb klo daeuotk guaekk'ar ag dv laekuob v'rr do taek'tg'ob!”

Edor blinked once before the thing was upon him again, its steel blade singing in the arc for his face. Unable to raise his blade in time, a quick display of the acrobatics that once saved him earlier saw him avoid the blade. But the great beast was hot on his heels, forcing him to dodge again and again past his allies who were busy with their own fights, on and on until he was suddenly in the great valley in which the prison had been built, rain drenching him as lightning struck the peaks of the valley. From the gates, the great beast ushered forth a bellow that put the thunder of the storm to shame, leaping into the valley.

Lit by flashes of the sky’s breaking, the great thing lifted the Razor to point at his foe, “My name is Laoth of Devaron, Cark'riaerko ag klo D'tt'ar of Naith’a Hannok. I am the end of your life. I am the end of your bloodline. I am the reaver of Tython’s hope. By Devaron, I do swear this.”

Edor barked a guttural challenge in response and quickly shifted into the only other form he knew that he could trust. The environment was now too open, too chaotic for Soresu. He only had one other option, taught to him personally by Vel Aath and Artis. With a deep inhale, Edor adopted the stance of Makashi Medium-Style. Laoth beat his chest with one hand at the sight and adopted his own stance, placing his legs shoulder-width apart and holding the blade upright with both hands.

He moved with swiftness unknown to him before, approaching the young Edor’s position like a panther in the jungle. Edor swung, Laoth swung, lightning flash-banged the valley. Both foes stood side by side, their faces - their very energies - unreadable. Lightning flashed, Laoth exhaled, and Edor fell to his knees. A gash slowly formed across his body, stretching from hip to neck. He said nothing, made no noise, no expression. Edor did nothing except drop his weapon and sit on his haunches as the rain belted the valley. Then, the air screamed and Edor fell to the mud and watched as his body after him - headless. The last thing Edor saw. And the last thing he heard was his foe cackling like lightning and then…nothing.

 

[Ardana Vorco]

Benûwia Antares / Darth Xanesh / Ireria Antares
Sith Lord, Sith sorcerer, alchemist, historian, Archon of the Primyn Group, Owner of UAAK and GBATS​

Objective: Investigate, fight the enemy.
Location: Ruined Temple, Tython
Equipment: Kaldrweave Robe | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit undersuit | Red blade lightsaber (Benûwia) | Red blade lightsaber (Ireria) | Amulet of Many || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m
Tag: Thurion Heavenshield

[ Final Days ]
<"Sith or ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Xanesh investigates the ruins and welcomes Thurion.

Xanesh has not found her place since the Sith Empire collapsed and the Worm Emperor took control of the empire. The old Sith Lady did not accept the new views and as it became apparent that she could not retain the power she had built for more than a decade, she preferred to leave. Here, in this age, in the present, she didn’t have to leave so much behind, but she wasn’t happy. Xanesh has since spent most of her time researching archaeology and research. As always. She found a new home in the Maw, but they didn’t feel really at home.

The methods were too aggressive for two Sith Ladies as old and tired as Benûwia and Ireria. Even Benûwia was tired of this. And since Csilla, both of them, and so Xanesh herself has seen the visions, the dreams. They were on Voss for a while, which is Ireria's other home, but after the Ashlan Crusade occupied the planet, they couldn't return there either. In fact, they have never really found a place in this world, in this time. Everything changed too fast, they were old and wanted a quiet life.

They had not been involved in war for a long time. Now they are made an exception. Before the fight reached this place, the woman examined and looked at the Jedi ruins. After all, she was partly an archaeologist. It's always been fun. After that, however, hell broke loose and the fight began. She could feel the Jedi approaching, and she was still meditating and maintaining Force Storm and Battle Meditation nearby. After all, the old lady was a sorcerer rather than a swordswoman.

She knew her fate, but that didn't mean she wouldn't kill as many Jedi today as she could. Because Xasneh intended to send a lot into the Netherworld. The Sith Lord opened her eyes as she sensed the person approaching. Xanesh, now in an old female body, after the shape-shifting, folded the hood over her head and emerged from the ruins. HSh looked around, recognizing Thurion Heavenshield , the High King of Midwinter, Former Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi Order. A worthy opponent.

"Lord Heavshield, we welcome you!" she greeted the Jedi.

She felt the effect of the ritual, she heard the words, "Hâsk jiaasen!" from hundreds of thousands, millions of throats. All the warriors tied their lives, their souls, to Dark Voice. She looked at the Jedi, calmly, peacefully.

"You're late, it's over!" she told him.

 

[Zinn Zinn Bink'sa]

Location: Akar Kesh steps
Objective: 3
Allies: Darth Solipsis Darth Mori Khamul Kryze Jem Fossk
Enemies: Cotan Sar'andor Asha Vynea Dagon Kaze


Zinn Zinn’s feet hurt with every step he took, grumbling more to himself as he increased the pace, often taking short breaks to rub the soles of his feet. “Mesa needs more spice… Mesa feet hurt bery bery bad…“ The strung out Gungan continued to complain more and more with every step he took. He didn’t even acknowledge everything that fully went atop, still on a buzz from the booze he looked up. “Ooo all sparkly flashy…” He said in awe of the Force Storms that had started to go all around him.

His bugged out eyes stared at the storms, admiring how the dark and light creates such chaotic forces of nature. For a moment his trek turned from one of determination, to the sight seeing he was doing now. “Flashy flashy bangers…” He said watching the storms get closer, unable to figure out what was really happening, even as his senses picked up on the mass of dark side energy gathering strength.

Then as if from the past itself, he heard a familiar accent that triggered Nam flashbacks. Zinn Zinn looked over, his face once so full of glee from the storms, had turned stone cold in a mere moment. His eyeballs even started twitching towards the man that addressed him. The scowl started to form something crazy, in his mind literal sirens started to go off.

He stumbled on the stone steps pointing towards the man with a beard. “Oi!! Yousa think Yousa better than Mesa!! Yousa thinking Yousa all Bombad… Yousa Naboo think Yousa better than Gungan! Me fucking kill you!!!” In the middle of his inebriated rant, he tore off his shirt, and what showed was the strung out Gungan had an eight pack… Yes Zinn Zinn was totally shredded, first he tried to grab his lightsaber but sadly remembered he sold it.

The ripped spiced out Gungan started to beat on his chest. His tongue flailing out, wiggling as he made a strange sound. “Ooo, ooo, ooo!” As if the Gungan was trying to establish dominance over the silly and yet primitive Naboo. At the same time he was trying to establish dominance, he felt the wind roar at his ears, turning his head behind him was a Force Storm. “What the fu-“ Before he finished his flailing tongue got caught by the wind, and he went out sucked in by the storm screaming as he was carried off.

 

[Valery Noble]

Location: Tython | Enroute to Master's Retreat
Appearance: Link
Outfit: Factory Link
Weapon: Double-Bladed Lightsaber
Tag: Kahlil Noble Kyrel Ren
Post: #4
Objective: Secure the Master's Retreat

Between the deep bond she shared with her husband, and the effects of Battle Meditation from Henna Ashina and Asmundr Varobalder augmenting the Jedi in combat, the couple fought their way through the enemy ranks more efficiently than ever before. Each blaster bolt was expertly deflected or redirected, each melee strike countered by a level of coordination she only ever had with him. It allowed the two to push their way through the narrow walkway that stood between the landing pad and the Master's Retreat, but a new kind of trouble showed itself rather quickly.

"Love!"

Valery called out to Kahlil as Kyrel Ren appeared on the opposite side of the platform to engage the GA soldiers and Jedi Knights that had come along. Going into this battle, she knew that Kyrel would have his cannibalistic soldiers with him, and that's why she had arranged to bring soldiers and Jedi along with herself — the fight with the Wrath was meant to be taken care of by her and Kahlil.

Now, the Jedi couple were cut off from their allies, as Kyrel began killing them one by one.

As much as she wanted to break through the enemy and rush to their aid, she knew that such reckless action would only get them surrounded and in deeper trouble. So she kept herself calm and without even looking at him, she hoped to coordinate an attack plan with Kahlil, who had the ability to pin the Crimson Hands down with his manipulation of gravity. A force user had possessed the ability to possibly resist and break through it, but these simply brutes surely did not.

"I'm moving in!"

Expecting him to either force them in place or assist otherwise, Valery jumped high up into the air and twisted her torso to ready the double-bladed weapon. With speed far greater than was naturally possible, the brunette finally came crashing down into the enemy lines and spun away to make use of the wide blade span her weapon had. The beasts in her path were all swallowed up in this whirlwind and cut down before they had a chance to react. And those she couldn't get to herself? She knew Kahlil had them covered.

"Kyrel!" she then exclaimed, hoping to draw his attention before it was too late for her allies.

But either way, she was coming for him.

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Kal appeared distracted, as people in the midst of battle tend to be. So was Ishani, though she wondered what exactly he was doing. She couldn’t really see him, but could sense his presence nearby.

<Right, so can we call a truce?> she asked. <I dunno about becoming friends, but at least let bygones be bygones?>

Something was happening, she could feel it. Based on her limited experience with past Sith invasions, she figured it involved some sort of massive Dark Side ritual. She had a vague impression of the souls of the dead being called forth to power the ritual, their life energies spent on a thing of great destruction.

Lovely. What could they do to stop, or at the very least hinder this? Well, the obvious answer was to stop killing people, but that was highly impractical—this was a star war, after all. Even as Ishani puzzled over what to do, she was still fighting, each blow of her blade a killing strike.

<Hey, what if we trap those souls ourselves?> she suggested. <That would at least keep them from feeding the ritual. I don’t care how you do it, just grab as many people as you can!>

For her part, she figured her own strength wouldn’t be enough. Only recently had she resumed her studies of the Force, and performing an essence transfer for someone else had come close to killing her.

The next Mawite who came her way was dispatched on the point of her sword. The energies which made up his being began to flee from his mortally wounded shell. Before his body had a chance to hit the ground, Ishani had seized those energies and drawn them into herself.

Feeding on the life force of others not only restored her, it left her stronger than before. Euphoria swiftly set in. She desperately wanted more, but still had enough good sense to remember why she was doing it. Mawites she felled or that were felled by others were swiftly devoured, then fallen allies who lay dying. After all, it wouldn’t be right to allow them to become fodder for the enemy’s efforts, would it?

A Chaldean in the Alliance army seemed to not only recognize who she was before he died, but what she was doing—and she sensed his fear, disgust, and righteous anger. For a moment she felt that old shame and guilt that had been ingrained in her since childhood, but it was fleeting. She consumed his essence along with the rest, the last vestiges of her reluctance swallowed up by the ecstatic high of the Dark Side.

Kal​

 

[Qellene Tyliame]

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

Aculia Voland , Albrecht F. Herlock , Aldo Garrick , Ari Naldax , Artemis Toth , Aximand Sicarus , Balt Vizsla , Caarlyle Rausgeber , Derix Tirall , Isla Draellix , Marlon Sularen , Mellifluous Magenta , Mith'akis'ormo , Mylo Thorne , Rex Valhoun , Romul Saxon , The Amalgam , Tren Chaar , Tu'teggacha , VADM Tarsa Doon , Vaux Gred , Vemric Keldra , Verin Oldo , Caoimhe Crannach

---

"Its a tough one today, boss! I think the drinks are on me after this one."

"I'll take you up on that offer, Em." Any sliver of humor in her voice fell flat as Qellene watched the Brotherhood's approach, the sea of vessels rising and rising- Another wave of ships emerged off of starboard, accelerating and laying in a course for the enemy's vanguard, then drawing another path for Tython itself. "Alright. Three Flight, form up-"

“New orders,” Chaar explained over the secure Revenant comm. “Set course to three-one-cresh. Brotherhood Star Destroyer, just under three klicks. Expect heavy resistance.”

She tracked a red arrow on the HUD to a flotilla of approaching star destroyers. One in particular was highlighted in a dashed circle... Eradicator, the ID read. "Copy that, sir." Qellene's fingers sliced across a keypad, loading a single cruise missile into the A-wing's chamber. She formed a grim frown as her engines began to fire and the nose of starfighter redirected itself for the heart of the destroyer flotilla. A glimmer of nostalgia hid within the depths of her eyes-- Revenant Squadron was familiar enough with this drill; years ago, over Coruscant, they'd beheaded an entire Mawite battlecruiser. [/COLOR]

And they still couldn't protect Coruscant. Could they? They couldn't stop the World Devastators from descending on the planet, and...

With a full superweapon within its ranks, what damage could this Mawite fleet do?[/COLOR]

Well. She had her answer. Curses strung out of her throat as a blinding beam of light shot out from the maw of the approaching armada, its glow bathing its source in a wave of crimson. Qellene tracked the beam from the Avatar of War's maw, watching it incinerate unlucky passersby on its way to the Ashlan fleet. Her eyes widened as the beam struck the shields of the Ashlan dreadnought.

The blades of her teeth cut into her lip as Qellene threw her A-wing past a volley of approaching laser rounds. "We've got incoming! Eleven and Twelve, take the squadron's port flank! Nine, you're with me on starboard!"

The corners of her mouth curved into a snarl as Qellene drew in the sight of an approaching blob of fighters, moving to block Revenant Squadron's path to the Eradicator.

A volley of brilliant colors darted from the barrels of her cannons.

 

[Judah Lesan]

.

Wearing: xxx​

Weapon: xxx x2​

Allies: Geiseric | Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Aoki-Barran Mira | Valery Noble | Kahlil Noble | Cotan Sar'andor | Ishida Ashina | Vilaz Munin | Briika Munin | Rika Hiro | Asha Vynea​

Enemies: Darth Vinaze | Darth Solipsis | Chassella | Laoth | Danika Leventis | Darth Ptolemis | Khamul Kryze | Darth Kentarch​

Interacting with: Damsy Callat | Zachariel Steelblood​

​

Judah could have appreciated the sarcastic reply which came from the siren had the battle not turned as quickly as it had. The pair had taken advantage of the disruption caused by Damsy’s teleportation, but in the grand scope of the entire battle it was nothing more than taking a peashooter to a battlecruiser. When the smoke cleared there were bodies strewn across the battlefield to be certain, but a new challenge awaited them.​

​

Her voice echoed across the way as she spat insults and beckoned them to attack her. Either she was overconfident and the skulls which adorned her armor were a way to overcompensate for insecurities, or she was as deadly a foe as the bones insinuated. Judah was never one to underestimate his foes, so he decided to err on the side of her brutality.​

​

The Jedi could not help but laugh at her attempt to produce a reaction. Laughter was likely not the one she was hoping for, but Judah was not a typical Jedi.​

​

<< “Me either,” >> the telepathic reply came in response to Damsy’s mental commentary.​

​

His eyes locked on the woman. Damsy had done her part with the smoke earlier, now it was Judah’s turn to do what did best.​

​

Witty Banter…​

​

“We shall not pass? You read that in some holonovel or something?”​

​

Gripping his lightsabers tighter, Judah was ready to attack when suddenly everything stopped. A dark wave washed over him, the sense of something foreboding filled the air. Whatever the ritual thing was going on in the tower, Judah wanted no part of it other than stopping it. The soldiers began to chant, and Damsy attempted to give him a translation.​

​

<< “Just more cultish mumbo jumbo.” >>​

​

She could not have known Judah’s intimate familiarity with the situation they were in. His first notable mission as a Jedi Knight had been to face down a sect of cultists attempting to raise the dead spirit of a Sith Lord on Korriban. They would have succeded had Judah not been successful in defeating the Sith which had been tasked with keeping the ritual from being interrupted. It was Judah’s legacy in a way.​

​

Judah Lesan, Hero of Korriban.​

​

This was just another cult, but Judah was done with titles. He did not need to be known as the hero of anything when all this was over. Judah just wanted it stopped.​

​

Their chant grew before several squads turned their way. Judah turned his head as the sound of metal creaking drew his attention to what Damsy was doing. It gave him an idea.​

​

“THROW IT!”​

​

Judah used the force to pick up two downed vehicles of his own, and with a shout he launched them at the oncoming soldiers. It was likely for show, but the visual helped, as Judah clapped his hands driving the force deep into the molecular fabric of the metal. Shatterpoint was a useful skill as the vehicles became dust and shrapnel. Those that did not have respirators would soon be breathing metal dust into their lungs, while the larger shrapnel was propelled by the force toward the charging bloodsworn.​

​

“The way out of here is through the middle of this. We have to stop this ritual, even if it means… I’m going through with it no matter what.”​

 

[Kranak Vizsla]

Hell Let Loose

​

Location: Hyperspace, Aboard Assault Ship UES IndomitableEnroute to Tython
Local Time: N/A
Date: -DATA CORRUPTED-
Primary Objective: Shatterpoint | Fight off Maw Incursion Alongside Allies
Secondary Objective: N/A
Equipment: Loadout 4
Friendlies: Enclave | NIO | GA | Sasha Kryze | Gwyneira Vizsla | Tons of other homies I forgot to ping
Hostiles: Maw | Darth Saevius | Shai Maji | Open
Directly Engaging: Shai Maji [Soon]

​

Several hours before the battle…

His left hand casually grasped the hilt of the ancient relic as he walked; The Vizsla Alor roamed the halls of the Indomitable, clad in his usual jet-black beskar’gam[1]; his long black kama gently rippled with each step he took, in tandem with his movement. Finished with the last minute inspections of his forces assigned to him for their intervention against the Maw incursion on Tython, the Al’verde[2] slowly made his way to the armory, to gear up for the coming battle. Hearing a hurried set of familiar footsteps approaching him from behind, the giant looked over the command pauldron on his left shoulder.

”Buir!”

Smiling under the glowing white visor, the giant came to a halt and turned around to look at his daughter. <”Gwyn’ika!”>

Catching up to his father, the Foundling skidded to a halt in front of him. Noticing the visible apprehension in her eyes as the pair of amber cybernetic pupils looked up at the Vizsla’s glowing visor, the Vizsla’s buy’ce[3] slightly tilted to his side. The kid’s lips would part soon after, voicing the concerns troubling her mind.

”Buir, please, be careful. This is a massive battle, and…”

The giant’s brows furrowed softly while he pondered her uneasiness in momentary silence, while he slowly reached forth to her snow white hair, caressing her. He understood completely her worry for his well being, knowing just how much he meant to her; knowing the agony she had endured, losing almost everyone she loved and cared for in the course of several years. Everyone, save for him. He knew she would be devastated if something unspeakable were to happen to him in battle, but such was the life of a warrior; much so the life of a Mandalorian. They were all in a constant, close brush with Death himself. Regardless of his desire to becalm her troubled mind, and tell her he would survive the upcoming battle, he knew he would be lying to her face if he did so.

One could not promise to a loved one you would be back in one piece. It very well had the potential to be a promise unkept. One could not know if it would not be them this time, that Death would claim next in the coming battle. Nobody knew when it was their time to begin the Long March to the Manda[4], except the Manda and Death themselves.

<”Come walk with me, kid.”> He said, speaking in a loving, soft tone. Pulling back his hand from her short, well-kept white hair, the giant turned around and continued to make his way to the armory with his daughter by his side, walking past droids and personnel moving weapons and equipment during the final stages of preparation for the battle to come.

Although his belief in his daughter’s combat capabilities wavered not a second, it did not stop him from worrying for her. He knew she had faced the Maw before in the past, on her own; but this would be a completely different experience than anything she had seen before. A true test of her mettle.

And the fact that this would be her Verd’goten[5] added up to the anxiety building up within him.

<”The coming battle will be fierce,”> the giant said in a strict tone, that of a Commander’s; concealing his concern for her well being underneath it as best he could, for what it was worth. <”The size of the fleet and troop movements of our enemy is nothing to scoff at. This will be a fight to remember,”> The Vizsla Alor continued after a brief pause. <”Our foe will fight savagely. Do not make the mistake of underestimating them. They’re as brutal as they get.”> He emphasized. Although he knew she would not make the mistake of underestimating her foes in battle-he had made sure she would not, through rigorous training- he still felt the need to emphasize the fact that underestimating one’s opponent could very well be one’s downfall. Damnably, he had seen his brothers and sisters fall in battle as a result of their hubris, long ago.

He had done the best he possibly could during her training, so that she would not share the same fate as those who had been brought low by their own wrong doings in battle.

”I understand. Don’t worry about me.”

In silent response, the giant grinned as he shot a swift glance at the pair of amber eyes looking up at him from underneath his visor. The kid’s sharp intellect and perception made it rather… difficult, to hide anything from her. His grasp over the hilt of the ancient relic fading away, the giant politely grasped her by the arm, stopping in the hallway; the entrance to the armory laid just a few steps away further down the hall, in the next bulkhead.

Reaching for his buy’ce with his free hand, the giant pulled off his helmet. With a gentle hiss, the Executioner Pattern helmet came off without a hassle. The white glow on the visor slowly faded into an obsidian black as the heads-up display elements automatically turned off.

The pair of dark brown eyes stared deeply at the pair of amber pupils before them. Remaining silent before he eventually spoke, a flurry of strong emotions could be read from his eyes; love, pride, and concern among the dominant feelings. A grin emerged from the Alor’s scarred features. “This is your Verd’goten.” he said in a soft tone as he held her gently by her shoulders. Pausing for a moment for his words to sink in, he would continue once she understood the weight of the situation.

”My…”

He could feel her shiver in his grasp as she leaned on him for support. He wasn’t expecting this revelation to have such an affect on her. Although he very well knew -and felt- the same exhilarating levels of excitement and suspense when he himself was a foundling, when he had undergone his own Verd’goten many years ago. A little surprised by her reaction still, the giant continued. “Hey,” The giant said, pulling her close to him. “Stay strong,” he said in a somber, encouraging tone as he looked her in the eye. “Stay safe, and stay alive,” The Vizsla said as he leaned forward and pulled his daughter into a loving embrace. “Remember what I taught you.” He whispered, caressing her snow white hair. “You will make it. I know you will.”

​

Location: Tython, Between LZ-1 and LZ-2
Local Time: 06:11
Date: -DATA CORRUPTED-
Primary Objective: Shatterpoint | Fight off Maw Incursion Alongside Allies
Secondary Objective: N/A

A Storm’s Brewing
​

Spoiler: Forces

• Si'kahya Forces​
  • 1st Company [100% Combat Effective] [Deployed]
  • 2nd Company [100% Combat Effective] [Deployed]
  • 3rd Company [100% 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]​

The first of the Enclave landing crafts making planet fall shook as its landing gears pressed firmly against Tython’s soil. The beskar’gam clad warriors within the troop bay sprinted out of its armored hull in an orderly fashion as soon as the ramp lowered. Their commander at the front wielded a mighty, embroidered power hammer in his hands. The Vizsla Alor was the first among the Enclave forces to set foot on the soil as the sun rays slowly began to creep over the tall mountains to their east, far away. Thick columns of black smoke polluted the clean skies, trailing into the air over the mountains far away, from the Maw destroyer crash site in the sector, several miles to the north from their position.

<”Take up defensive formations,”> the giant commanded the platoon leader he rode along as he stepped out the gunship; the Alor’s command squad in tow. The telltale signs of rigorous training, discipline and deployment drills were apparent in their tactical movements as each and every warrior covered their assigned sectors upon exiting the landing craft, forming a 360° defensive perimeter, twenty meters away from their gunship. More and more gunships began descending around them on the LZ[6]. Their engines whined sharply as their pilots raised the collective of their landing craft, taking off amidst the kicked off dust cloud to ferry in more warriors, equipment and ammunition to the landing zone.

With no time to lose, the giant swiftly began organizing the deployed forces under his command, preparing for the Maw forces enroute to their position.

<”Brother Corallis and Brother Atiel, have your men set up kill zones along these roads and pathways, go!”> said the Vizsla Alor with a commanding voice over the command net as he threw a knife-hand forward while holding the great power hammer on one hand with relative ease. Utilizing the shared tactical data between friendly forces operating in the AO[7], as well as accessing the geographical data available to them for the planet in their helmet heads-up displays, the Mandalorians would hastily begin to set up ambush points and dominating fields of fire overlooking kill zones on key roads and dirt paths.

The giant continued to organize his forces shortly after the company commanders acknowledged the given order. The men and women of the first and second company arched in the air as they jumped in short, controlled bursts towards their positions on the mountain as the giant ordered the next set of commands to the rest of his forces. <”Brother Khral, dispatch one of your platoons ahead of the first and the second company for forward reconnaissance,”> the giant said, turning his visor to his right, easily spotting him amongst other Mandalorian warriors scattered around in the landing zone with the help of his heads-up display. <”They are not to engage the enemy unless fired upon first. They are to observe the enemy’s movements above all else.”>

<”Consider it done, Brother!”> The Mandalorian sharply acknowledged over the comlink, turning around to face the men under his command. Choosing a platoon swiftly, three squads worth of Si’kahya took to the skies with jetpacks and rocket boots alike, soaring past the advancing two companies in a few moments. They soon disappeared from the giant’s line of sight, flying over the top of the tall, imposing mountains in front of them.

Falling silent for a moment, the Vizsla momentarily shifted his attention to the droid units unloading heavy weapons from gunships. Issuing a set of commands for the deployed droid units through his interactive HUD, the droids sprung into action. Acknowledging their commands in silence, several squads of droids began setting up a triage center and a CCP[8], ammo dumps and mortar emplacements, strategically scattered in their landing zone, behind terrain features favorable to be used as pieces of cover or concealment, as several others began lifting up and carrying heavy repeaters, their portable energy generators for the massive guns and their tripods towards the mountains to their north, moving relatively slow compared to the far more maneuverable Mandalorians.

Giving a curt, satisfied nod at the busy landing zone before him, the giant would turn around and face the mountains in front of him. <”Let’s move. We are joining Brother Atiel,”> he said; taking a few steps forward, his jetpack sparkled to life with a sharp whine of its thrusters. Firmly grasping the master crafted power hammer with both hands, the giant’s black kama violently rippled in the updraft as he flew towards the First Company’s position; the giant’s command squad was quick to fall in line with the Vizsla Alor, as they flew towards the mountains in a loose wedge formation in the air.

The grizzled Alor would personally oversee the preparation of their defensive line alongside the men and women under his command, in the thick of it, preparing for the battle that drew near with each passing moment.

​

Spoiler: Translations and Abbreviations

[1] Beskar’gam = Armor.
[2] Al’verde = Commander.
[3] Buy’ce = Helmet.
[4] Manda = Mandalorian Oversoul.
[5] Verd’goten = Traditional rite of passage.
[6] LZ = Landing Zone.
[7] AO = Area of Operations.
[8] CCP = Casualty Collection Point.

Spoiler: Warpost Summary of Actions

• 2 Companies worth (470 Mandalorians) Si’kahya began taking up concealed positions on mountainous terrain, setting up killzones on paths and roads that are perceived to be where the enemy would come from. ​
• 1 Si’kahya platoon (3 squads, 18 Mandalorians) sent forward for reconnaissance under strict rules of engagement to not engage hostile contacts unless they’re first spotted and fired upon first.​
• Battle-droid contingent began setting up mortar emplacements on the rear line, as well as heavy repeater/machine gun emplacements on vantage points. The latter’s fire arcs are overlapping with aforementioned killzones.​
• Majority of the forces aside from 4 committed companies are currently reserve.​

​

 

[Silas Westgard]

Location: Tython
Objective: Defend the temple
Tag: Erion Justeene

Stomping his boots across the blood soaked ground he made haste to one of the many side entrances of the temple, his breath heavy yet determined to put everything he had into the defence of the ancient structure. Even with doubt camping in his mind from the recent revelation of his sith lineage he needed to prove to himself that he was nothing like the ancestors came before him. He was stronger and better than those fools... nothing would change his mind about that, especially the inherited rage deep inside his soul.

The boy ran with purpose straight towards two maw soldiers who were hidden behind a rock providing suppression to their forces, yet that wouldn't last a moment longer. Without even seeing him both heads belonging to the solidiers fell to the floor with two swift strikes of his lightsaber, leaving their cold and motionless forms to fall without life. Silas took a deep breath and was about to move off, only to see a blaster bolt come his way at the last second.

Blinking, he tried to swerve his body to the right and avoid the shot. He did good to prevent it hitting him directly, but poorly in dodging it entirely. A stringing pain shot through his left arm, forcing him to grunt loudly as he dived behind a ruined wall. Silas put a hand to the graze to check for any further damage and peeked his eyes up slightly to see a more bigger and armoured Maw warrior coming his way, one that could only be presumed to be a captain of some sort.

"Show yourself boy! you cannot hide yourself away from death forever!"

He shouted over to the padawan with a snarl, before firing even more rounds at the rock to keep him pinned down. This warrior was a pain compared to the others and more smarter from how he was keeping him down. Grunting from how close they were getting, he needed to do something now before the brute got too close for comfort. Looking behind him, he glared at a decently size piece of rubble. Without hesitation he reached out to it using the force and threw it over his position.

Before he knew a piece of rock clattered into his rifle, bending it unceremoniously and making it crash to the floor. Silas yelled at the top of his lungs and got up, swiftly jumping over the rock to charge and swing the lightsaber down into his chest. Unexpectedly, his lightsaber didn't even come close. The hand of the captain reach up and grabbed his wrist tightly, squeezing with force to try and and crush his bones. Silas yelled out from the pain shooting up his arm and shot a hard punch into his jaw, one that seemed to rock him slightly. Yet, without warning his temple shot forwards to slam a headbutt into the boys nose at close range, sending the lit weapon of the jedi to the floor.

Blood spurted out of his nose as his head snapped back, leaving him to stumble backwards in a daze as the captain tried to run and kick him straight in the stomach to topple the jedi to the floor. The Maw soldiers confidence was apparent when it was thrown, the same couldn't be said when it was caught. Silas jumped backwards far enough and managed to grab hold of his boot, groggily snarling from ear to ear as blood trickled down his nostrils. Suddenly, a hand lifted off the boot and used the force to ruthlessly send his power into the captains knee, snapping it like a twig in his grasp from a force push.

The Maw lackies sick grin turned into one of pure terror and agony as he rolled around the floor with his misshaped leg, blood spurting out from the bones sticking out of his skin "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He screamed as Silas nonchalantly extended his hand to bring over his lightsaber "I hope your victims have pleasure in your screams..." he grunted out before plunging the lightsaber into the middle of his chest while he was trying to plead his life.

Within moments he went motionless below him, a shell of a monster that once lived. Finally falling to his knees, Silas used his dirty sleeve to wipe away the streams of blood going down to his mouth. He glared emotionless at the body in front of him in a trance, almost as if he was shocked by how brutal he was. There was no doubt he deserved death, but was he really a person to let someone suffer like that?

His breathing slowly steadied as he slowly began to feel something coming, a force so much more powerful than anything he had encountered. Whoever it was, they were coming fast. Either way, he was going to be ready for them...

 

[Rebirth]

GOSPEL OF THE HIDDEN MAW
The Parable of the Wellspring

Empress Teta, One Week Before Tython
​

As Ananeos completed his first reading from the holy scriptures, he bowed his head solemnly. "So mote it be."

"So mote it be!" echoed the crowd of warriors, hanging on his every word. Each of them raised three splayed fingers, the holy gesture an echo of the three marks of sacred oil on their foreheads. The priests still moved among them, still anointing rank upon rank of fierce marauders. The faithful were legion, and even the expansive priesthood would take considerable time to work through them all. Each of them awaited that blessed touch with bated breath, eager to feel the fingers of the gods' chosen representatives upon their skin. No less eagerly did they anticipate Ananeos's second tale. His words would bring them clarity of purpose, strengthening their devotion.

"Now you see why we know no fear," the high priest finally continued. "We know that faith can overcome battleship armadas and magic-wielding demigods. The Avatars are the one true power in this universe, and so we cannot fail. We serve the cycle, and the cycle is inevitable." "HAIL THE INEVITABLE!" shouted the crowd in response, thousands upon thousands speaking with one voice. Then, as one, they fell perfectly silent, once again listening in rapt attention. Ananeos reopened the heavy Branchlurker-chitin cover of his holy book and turned the pages, each one rendered from the flayed skin of a different sentient species. There were hundreds of pages.

"But still you may ask: why do we come to Tython? There are no shipyards here, no great cities, no powerful military garrisons, little to plunder. Why throw our forces into the very heart of the enemy, a place from which so many of the faithful will not return, to assault this strategically-worthless world?" Ananeos's burning gaze swept the crowd, daring the fierce warriors all around him to ask the question he had posed. They did not speak. His voice carried the authority of the Prophet, who channeled the True Gods. If they had doubts in their hearts, they would never put them into words. They strove instead to burn them away with the fire of blind faith.

"I will teach you why. Listen well to this second parable drawn from the Bleak Gospel."

​

By the will of the gods, the Prophet moved mountains, and more. His words inspired the faithful, gathering them in from every corner of the galaxy. The ranks of his disciples swelled until they were so great that the distant depths of space could not contain them, and they exploded outward, falling upon the Unknown Regions as a fiery scourge. They burned, and they killed, and they pillaged - War, Death, and Rebirth were made manifest by their actions, for even as they destroyed, they created anew. Ploughshares were beaten into swords, and pruning hooks into spears. All that they seized, the tools of peace and decadence, was turned to the holy purpose of their crusade.

The domain of the devoted grew and grew, until it was not merely a mountain that the Dark Voice could destroy, but a planet. With a single command, made manifest by the faith of millions, the Prophet laid holy judgement upon Csilla. And just as the Avatars had promised, just as they had shown with the great stone peak that no magic was strong enough to shift, the entire world was rent asunder. Then did the galaxy itself quake in fear, and Ashla's demigod Jedi wail in mourning, for the truth had been revealed: the end of the cycle was coming, and their dominion was approaching its end. In the growing darkness of the Maw's shadow there was weeping, and gnashing of teeth.

But as Ashla's chosen learned fear, the creatures of Bogan were emboldened. They were fractious beasts, forever fighting amongst themselves even as their enemies gathered, their chaotic ambition eternally self-defeating. Three powers of Bogan had arisen in the East, three Sith regimes at war with one another, and with the galaxy. When they saw the Prophet's power, they called out to him, seeking to bend him to their will. "We are the keepers of the old ways," they said unto him. "We will teach you the ancient secrets and fill you with Bogan's power, if only you will bow." But the Dark Voice was disgusted by their impurity of purpose, and coldly he spurned them.

He had no need of their ancient secrets, for the truth of the Great Cycle was far more ancient still.

The Prophet witnessed the decadent corruption of the Sith regimes, their Emperors and feudal lords and aristocratic elites who clung to the power of rigid, systematic oppression. He looked upon them and he reviled all that they had built, for they had become just like the Jedi of Ashla: static, stagnant, never evolving. And when the Avatars spoke unto him, he knew that his assessment had been true. "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE CLEANSING DARKNESS," they decreed, and their word was law. And so the Dark Voice gathered his faithful legions one more, and he brought them far across the galaxy, into the shadows of the East. And he made war upon the empires of the Sith.

His warriors, his faithful disciples, were confused. "We do not doubt you, Prophet," they proclaimed, "but we do not understand. Why do we travel so far across the galaxy, to distant worlds we cannot conquer and dead cities without plunder?" For they looked down upon Thule and Felucia, and they saw little that had meaning to simple warriors. The Dark Voice rebuked them, for his words came from the lips of the gods, and were not to be questioned. But they had followed him so far, and fought for him so well, that he bestowed mercy upon them. "I shall show you a piece of the understanding the gods have given me," he told them, and they rejoiced at his promise of revelation.

"You are warriors," he said, "focused on the physical battles in front of you. But the true battle to end the cycle is not a physical one, but a spiritual one. If we do not wipe out the old, corrupted teachings of the squabbling sibling-gods, it will not matter how many planets we burn or how many fleets we break. We cannot begin the new cycle while the faiths of the old cycle endure, for nothing is more powerful than faith, even faith in lesser gods. But if the faith of our enemies crumbles, then they shall crumble also." But he could see that they still did not understand, and so he knew he must show them. He brought his warriors to an ancient fortress, now ruined but clearly once proud.

"A castle has stood on this spot for a hundred generations," the Prophet told them. "It is built over an ancient spring, and the pure, clean water that bubbled up from it kept the defenders safe through many sieges. Though the castle fell many times, crushed to rubble, a new one was always built in its place, and each withstood many battles. But one day a clever warlord came, one who wished to scour this world clean. He did not waste his troops on besieging the mighty walls. Instead, he poisoned the wellspring, filling it with diseased filth. The defenders all sickened and died, leaving the castle empty. And when the walls crumbled again, no one came to rebuild it, for the spring was fouled."

"We come to strike at the holy places of the Sith, to poison their wellspring and shatter their belief."

At last the warriors understood. The faith of the fractious, ambitious Sith was just as much a threat as the faith of the self-righteous Jedi in their spiritual war to end this corrupted age. And so they went to the East by the Prophet's command, calling out in exultation to the Avatars, and they made war upon the Sith regimes. And where once there had been three, there were none left in the Brotherhood's wake. War, Death, and Rebirth came for them, and some of the Sith found faith in the Prophet, while others scattered into the darkness of his holy shadow. And with these powers shattered, only the Brotherhood of the Maw remained standing against Ashla's rigid arrogance.

Now the Brotherhood marches upon Tython, the source of the Jedi's history, to poison the well.

This is the second lesson: spirit is stronger than flesh. Without their faith and history, Ashla's children will fall.

​

 

[Shai Maji]

TYTHON |
BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | SCARHOUNDS
ALLIES: MAW | Thomas Barran | The Mongrel | OPEN
ENEMIES: BURN THEM ALL | OPEN
ENGAGING: Kranak Vizsla | Sasha Kryze
GEAR: In bio | Standard loadout | shield

VICARIOUS​

Perched atop the crashed Star Destroyer, Shai watched as it all unfolded. Clouds brewed overhead to blot out the war in the Void, while lightning harmonized with cannons and explosions only a stone’s throw away. She took a deep breath, letting death, destruction and fear fill her cybernetic lungs. A lot was going to hang in the balance of this battle, but for the Cur of Clan Krayt, there was only a single objective.

”They’re gonna destroy themselves.”

”Yup.”

”Maw ain’t ready, yet they’re goin’ at it again.”

”They keep throwing themselves at their enemies, not resting, not listening. They’re gonna kill themselves and take the rest of the galaxy with ‘em.”

”Good.”

”Definitely. Let them destroy their empires on their own. We’ll take care of what’s left.”

”We’ll have our revenge. The Sith, the Enclave, the Jedi… all those liars.”

”We’ll finally be able to rest. Be with him.”

She looked up as the storm raged above her. It was not natural, probably something to do with all the Forcies on the planet. With another deep breath, her gaze turned towards the battlefield ahead. Her weakness on Empress Teta was unacceptable, she should have killed the two lovebirds when she had the chance… but who was she to rob a kiddie from their mom and dad when they clearly showed their devotion.

How could she see herself as more than the Sith when she wanted to do the same as them? At least all the civilians on Empress Teta deserved it, nothing but cowards too afraid to fight for their homes.

”Enclave’s here. Gotta be. Let’s go pay ‘em a visit.”

She had her job, and it was the simple kind she loved to do. Burn it all. As the Maw’s forces clashed with the rest of the Galaxy, she could drop in and tear them all apart from within. The only thorn in her side was the people she saw as family, those who abandoned her to this fate. Kranak was going to be the army's commanding officer. Apart from her, he was the most qualified with ground operations. Romul would be in the air, with the entire Enclave fleet to hurl at the Maw, she already gave the Taskmaster all the info she had on the Enclave’s navy, the Maw could handle the ground forces. Siks didn’t matter in the face of thousands crashing against them.

And she knew how to fight them. She would have their heads, destroy the Enclave’s elite force, prep them for an invasion of Kestri.

With a growl she slid her helmet on and took off into the air, looking for those she used to call ‘friends’. She had a few surprises she wanted to rain down on them, and one of them was howling in the distance. A howl familiar to the Maw, the Imperials… but most importantly, the Enclave. A Basilisk, armed and ready to fight, was quickly catching up with the Wardog to rain hell down on the world below.

 

[Tracyn Ordo]

Allies: Defenders l Coren Starchaser l Thurion Heavenshield l Celeste Rigel l Madison Starr
Enemies: Darth Libertas l Attackers, Destroyers of Tython l Ardana Vorco l
Temple Grounds

Thurion was challenged by a Sith herself- to which Tracyn lowered the green blade, holding it out at his side, blocking a few blaster bolts that came his way. He turned his head to his comrade, then to the Sith.

He knew better than to stand between Thurion and an honorable foe, a duel. The force called him away from their bout. He stood near him, looking at his friend, for hopefully, not the last time.

"Do well, brother. Asha and I will see you on the other side."

He grasped Thurion's wrist in a brotherly shake, before breaking off, joining the other Defenders, counter-attacking the incoming robo-

Robots?

Made sense.

Tracyn joined the Defenders, cutting his way to their defensive positions, taking cover as blaster fire ripped apart the old stonework, though the Temple held strong. He lifted his hands, saber grasped in his left hand tightly, reaching out through the force. Tracyn, a formidable physical opponent, lacked in the force department. After all, realistically, he'd only had Jedi training for the 25 of the 40(ish) years of his life. The other half- well.

He was someone else. But certainly not a Jedi.

But he could, for all things considered, use the force in the telekinetic way quite well. As a long winded way of saying it- Tracyn screamed, grabbing at a nearby murder robot- and flung them at the enemy, hilariously tumbling a few other attackers off of the Temple. He activated his green blade, standing at the forefront of the Defenders, gesturing to the enemy. He had but one thing to say.

"Hold the line!"

 

[Danika Leventis]

ALLIES: BOTM | NSO | Whoever else - I ain't tagging y'all
ENEMIES: GA | NJO | NIO | AC | Enclave | EE | The whole shebang
ENGAGING: Simon Meinrad
GEAR: In bio

BOOGEYMAN​

Ramblings.

Danika hardly took what he said to heart, until one sentence hit home.

"You've come to destroy Tython for your own desires, but you will find this to be your tomb."

Teal eyes burnt bright.
"I don't destroy, darling. I conquer. There's a difference." she laughed as she raised the blade. She was no destroyer, merely a collector of knowledge as far as she went, even though she had to sometimes take it by force as her once Dark title implied.

But the Knight lunged at her regardless, leaping from the steps with momentum enough to knock a rancor from its feet. Not that the Herald of Death gave him a chance to bring his sword down on her.

Stepping to the side in a smooth movement, her free hand snaked out at the same time with the Force to attempt to suspend the Templar in mid air. At the same time, a few fingers flick from the hilt of the saber to send a blast flying in his direction.

Dropping the hand that had attempted the stasis, the second hilt on her belt was instantly unclipped. A crimson blade was ignited in readiness as she fell into dueling stance. She was an old practitioner of the warrior's way - the Templar's tactics were ones she had used herself in the past.
"Try and be less predictable, darling. I could see you coming." she toyed. She was no fool, however. This man meant business - something she hadn't dealt with in quite a while. Salt pillars get blasted apart.

She wasn't planning to be one.

 

[Zev Garallia]

Revenant Squadron: Lead - Tren Chaar | Three - Ran Serys | Five - Kaul "Joker" Emos | Six - Mylo Thorne | Seven - Leon Gallo | Nine - Artemis Toth | Ten - Qellene Tyliame | Twelve - Tristram Vos

The blades of her teeth cut into her lip as Qellene threw her A-wing past a volley of approaching laser rounds. "We've got incoming! Eleven and Twelve, take the squadron's port flank! Nine, you're with me on starboard!"

"Copy that, Ten. Twelve, on me." Zev jerked the stick to one side, swinging his fighter to the left-hand side of the squadron as the Mawite fighters screamed toward them. He diverted shields to fore, dipping and weaving as the space around him filled with enemy laser fire. Sensors indicated that a number of brights among the fighters moving to intercept Revenant. He decided he'd have to focus on those first, at least initially.

"I'm headed down and around, Twelve." Those TIE/fd fighters were dangerous, incredibly dangerous. They couldn't be allowed to get in behind at an advantageous angle, or else Revenant would go down pretty damn quick. Zev pitched his A-wing down as the swarm of TIEs fell upon them, then rolled to the left and pitched back up, bring him back around into a better attacking angle. He rapidly maneuvered behind one of the brights, unleashing fire upon it. Laser bolts sizzled against the enemy's deflector shields before it began evasive maneuvers. It dodged left and right, up and down, keeping Zev from getting a solid lock on it.

"Come on," Zev muttered to himself as he stayed tight on the Mawite pilot's tail, spraying bolts of red plasma toward the dipping and weaving TIE/fd. "Let's see what you're gonna do." As if on cue the Maw fighter rolled and banked hard to the left, hoping for Zev to overshoot and likely end up with the TIE tailing him instead. Zev pulled hard on the flight stick, pitching up as the enemy interceptor broke left. He rolled the A-wing to the right, looping up over the TIE/fd's breaking pattern. He pitched back down as he continued his roll, corkscrewing and slipping back into the space behind the Maw fighter. As he completed the repositioning the swivel-mounted cannons of the A-wing angled up, locking onto the exposed broadside of the TIE's triangular wing profile. A steady stream of blaster fire erupted from his ship's cannons, raking the enemy's wing. He continued with his looping motion, bringing his ship back directly behind the TIE, cannons swiveling as he did so. Crimson rays scorched the back of the now-unshielded TIE's central portion, lancing into the engine and cockpit. The ship exploded, spraying fragments of molten metal into the void as Zev flew past.

He let out a breath he realized he'd been holding for some time now. One down, a whole lot more to go.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd post

OPERATION: SHATTERPOINT

Objective: Fight the Mongrel

THE_WOAD

Lord-General of IMPAF (Imperial Armed-Forces)

LOADOUT
Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore

Father's Parrying-Vibroknife

Allies (NIO/Enclave/Other): Rurik Fel Annor E-059 Roxy Rizzan Hall Mannarra
Julian Qar Bex Tarring Aerys Myrrine Jas Katis Asanté Tsilor Ollis Barran
Saul Vandron Asmus Omaand Alessandra Io Kal Madison Starr Caltin Vanagor Rex Valhoun
Don Belkora Rika Hiro

Enemies (BOTM/NSO): Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Keilara Kala'myr Shai Maji
Erion Justeene Darth Saevius Scylla AI Ronar

COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 2

Command Tent, Southern Kalesh Plains,
Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)

'Haw, Martin! Any personal targets the-day?'

Gathered at the windswept command tent by Lake Kalesh's rocky western shoreline, all the section-commanders and officers serving with the Imperials that day would gather to spend their time in quiet peace before the fight ahead, calmly readying their hearts for the impending fight as they all chatted and drank together, almost as if it were just a regular training exercise. The only things distinguishing such ease from the underlying pre-fight tension and jitters alike consisted of gazes darting back and forth, with wide-eyed intensity poorly hidden behind their otherwise confident demeanours, the occasional crushing silences, and the fact that not many among them had much of an appetite for sustenance in these moments either. However, Knight-Captain Wyll had been breaking his fast quite contently by the time Lord-Major McGechin tossed his question across the map-holographic table, displaying an altogether different philosophy as he replied,'Anything that speaks, moves, fights and looks like a Shi'iDo.... For Gorman!', tucking into his meal almost immediately after.

You'll be lucky t'find one this time. But fair play aw the same, Br'er.​

Chomping into what he expected to be his last meal, giving the sick-stomachs a show to fuel their rage, but also doing so as a statement - gesturing with absolute confidence that no warrior should die on an empty stomach.

'You fight for Lieutenant Gorman, I'll fight for Captain Massoud. Beatified Imperials, sainted warriors both.... Sound like a plan?'

Wyll chuckled under breath, though the comment was well-received by most in the room, though when both the human IMPAF-knights looked up to see what Rosk'Aiar's point of view would be, the simple sign-language left no confusion as to whom the Grave-Tusken was referring. "All-Heart", was a simple hand-sign for the NIO's first Tusken Captain to express, and at the same time a simple sign for all the others to understand, easily given validation by a ragged cheer of approval from everyone as soon as they saw it. The story of the Embers' last stand, along with that of the other upstanding members of the 117th, had become something of a legend in their demise; though many of the tale-tellings were being confirmed as true already, and despite the information blackout on most of the events that transpired on Noris, legends (both true and unconfirmed alike) on the matter of Captain Remmel Karsh in particular had obviously lit a rather fierce, infuriating fire in the Grave-Tusken's gut since.

'Looks like we're all set, lads. Well, we definitely have the Saints on our shoulders anyways.', Sir Martin smiled to start, trailing off to make eye-contact with the Chiss-born commander of the 501st, stood near the entrance with helmet on the table next to her. However, before Wyll could put forth any questions to Dorce, the armoured form of Annor E-059 drew in to view and watched on as her colleague took another moment to reframe his question slightly, swallowing the last of the pastry he'd been chewing on as the scar-faced Lieutenant pondered on all that the two women had endured just to make it as far as Tython. Casting the plate to one side with a casual, inoffensive clunk, Sir Martin's eyes would then dart back and forth between them before inquiring,'So, in hearing, and in Rosk'Aiar's case, seeing what we've been discussing, I politely ask - do you fight for any dead heroes in particular? And if so, will you fight tooth-and-nail for them today?', in a calm, conversationally-receptive tone for the sake of a grief that everyone understood by then.

COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 3

​

The Lonely Isle, Lake Kaleth,
Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)

​

'Doctor.'

The perfect shadow was she, but of late, the commitment to perfection had forged something altogether more impressive than the Elite-Trooper had been before, and it looked to Erskine that nothing would stand in Annor's way henceforth, and almost to near-obvious, glaringly-easy results the Lord-General could make reference to. Reports from her recent efforts on Dubrillion chilled the blood, but in the darkness of the operation itself shined a light of incredible soldiering prowess. None would be able to know at that point, but fate had great plans for Annor in particular, plans that elevated the Elite Program to heights that not even Lord Erskine could predict at the time; plans that would soon see the perfection of the super-soldier, and right down to the very conceptual form that guided the research and development of the Elite program's many intricacies, striking the deepest dread into the weak hearts of the Empire's enemies for years after that day if Annor could survive it.

Moves silent like the shadows. Bets aw the Elite-Troopers are deadly that way an'aw.

An' bets oor Annor's wilder than ay' last wan o' them.​

Flipping open his datapad, Lord Erskine would feel confident enough in his own safety that he could rely on Julian as a protector for as long as the fight lasted, searching for Annor's tag whilst the good doctor was still in the process of wading his way through the trees and the bushes beyond. A small matter to deal with before he could properly calm himself for battle, one matter among many but with all the others cast aside, revealing a glaring necessity to focus; as great as his bodyguard was, even the Lord-General couldn't help but admit she was better suited in areas where greater damage could be inflicted on her part, grumbling at himself under-breath at how silly he felt he was being at the time. Understanding that the best only ever got that way through achieving feats beyond the means of one's own perception, a small Datapade DM-chain would be opened with no further complaints on the matter, wishing that his predictions came true on their own, but letting go on the premise that he had to help a little in keeping the dream on track.

[To: Annor E-059]
[From: Lance One]
[[this island must be boring the living daylights out of you. i know it would irritate me in your shoes.

better off going where the action is.
in any case, the good doctor should be sufficient for this encounter.

go give the maw a headache, but be sure to let lord carwood provide your proverbial springboard.

go show these freaks what untethered elites can achieve on their own.

good luck.]]​

Yet another with more at stake than the mere illusion of victory in the Galaxy, another with a future of their own to fight for, yet such spines, such hands that wielded the rifles of the Empire with ease, would remain straight, steady and resolute beyond wary reasoning. If Erskine were to request it of her, the old Woad knew fine and well that mountains would be moved to achieve even the most difficult of successes, much like the good doctor in a way, especially in consideration of Dr. Qar's deeds on Ziost, Csilla and on many more embattled planets across the war-torn Galaxy.

A man who'd seen Lord Erskine through most of the highs and lows in the Empire's wars and peacetimes alike, a man who'd seen all the suffering, the scars and the agonies the old Woad had put himself through to achieve victory. Julian had seen enough to become a Goidelic historian in his own right, but despite it all, the Stormchaser's cyberneticist had stuck through every last part of it in absolute loyalty to a man who considered him a brother by then. Barran had long believed Qar to be one of the very few in the Empire truly deserving of a good sunset, with many of the same sentiments expressed towards Noel Strasza in turn, a woman Lord Erskine considered a hero in every sense of the word, a valorous cyborg of whom had saved the Woad's life on more occasions than he was ever comfortable admitting. The only thing that could realistically distract the old Woad from thoughts that tested his emotions more than enough before, as stupidly simple as it was to achieve at the time, would be a simple mix-up in communication from a friendly Imperial contingent the Lord-General had strategically coordinated before, ill-informed though it was.

<"Banshee-Actual to Lance-One: everythin' will be ready in one hour. All our men have been dropped from the ships. We'll be waitin' fo' your orders, sir. Banshee-Actual, over.">

<"Sadly I'm not the one you need to comm-link with, Banshee-Actual. The one you need goes by the callsign,"Lance Two", but if ya want any advice from me - I suggest you hold your high-ground. Safe ground is scant and depleting fast down here.... Unprecedented, truly. But it is what it is, lad. Lance One out!">​

'Sorry 'bout that, Julian.', Erskine said as Julian finally drew into his aging focus, standing to bow his head respectfully for a friend he revered for showing at such an uncertain time, then pointing to his earpiece to make a silent, though showy explanation for the muttered ramblings. Then, with more showy silent expressions, Barran kindly invited Qar to enjoy the warmth of the campfire for as long as the tentative calm lasted. The one they waited for, as calm and collected as he was in comparison to a vast majority of Mawites, would surely be there soon, especially with the matter of their final fight considered. Leaning back in acceptance of this, Erskine reached into his coat pocket, thinking of nothing but home by the time he brought his famed, though-dented hipflask out to share; and by the time the screw-top lid had been freed of it's grooved restraints, the Cladhan's smell brought forth memories of the An-Cridheachan hills from his youth, bringing a sweet smirk to the Lord-General's lips as he drank a couple generous gulps - enjoying the moment for the comfort it provided.

'That's the stuff.... Here, drink some o' this.'

Small though the comfort was, Barran still kindly screwed the top back on and passed the flask to his old friend, lightly tossing it with enough loftiness to keep it well clear of the flames as it sailed towards the good doctor's catching reach. As soon as the hipflask was caught, the Stormchaser leaned back, looking up at the morning sky until he muttered,'Glad, though it's been a while. I can only assume this to be - what, good news for once?', in the tone of friendly curiosity, laced with hope that Lord Erskine's only remaining friend in the Empire was faring better than he was.

COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 4

​

Northern Dunes, Flesh Raider Frontier,
Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876-ABY)

'Well, well, well.... It would seem the Galidraani have no intention of letting up on their service-hours, as they've only gone and shown face again.'

Looking through the scope of his rifle, the commander of 3rd Battalion chuckled with delight, muttering,'The ol' faithful, and it's the lads from Bramber again.', with an appreciative smirk given as the rifle's barrel lowered in accordance with weapon-safety regulations and personal soldiering standards considered. knew that Hassan would take heart from this, especially in understanding the soldiering friendship between Galidraani and Kandarans from a history that began between them in the Second Battle of Bastion, though the actions of the Bramber Battalion on Csaus had rung closer to Samir's heart than he was ever comfortable admitting; among other matters, namely the matter of the sainted Captain Massoud in particular.

'Our Qidiys wills it, brother. I can sense his hand in this.... He wants us fighting together again, he wants us to feel that power like we did on the walls of Citadel Caelitus.'

'You know what, Samir? I think you're onto something there.', Branko responded as he jumped off the side of their Battalion's ACV, wiping sandy dust off his gloves as he started pacing in the other direction for a slightly higher vantage-point. Within moments, Major Marić was atop a small, but steep rise, seeing exactly how far southwards the Free-State armoured column stretched, estimating roughly fifty Cataphract tanks among other vehicles providing the vicious flanking mobility, granting more relief in moments that seemed almost completely devoid of it. The southern segments of the temple valley were kicking up dust from an array of Imperial and other anti-Mawite elements, giving the native of the Mantellian-born human no reason to worry about what was transpiring in that direction, but when Branko turned to see how things were faring to the north, the newfound sense of relief evaporated like bottled water on hot desert sand.

'Ah, great.... Looks like that's going to be put to the test sooner than planned, Samir. We've got company, and they're bringing serious troop-numbers to the party!'

If they hadn't set a solid north-facing defensive line before, much would've been considered hopeless in the moment of discovery, so the giddy, excited understanding of the Sabretooth caste's capabilities against greater numbers was certainly an added comfort in these moments, though Branko still had no delusions or hubristic thoughts that things would get easier as the day progressed. The overlooking mountains to their northeast were already heavily embattled, and looking to be spreading outwards as the ensuing set-pieces battle progressed, so the Mantellskan Sabretooth-Major was left with no other option but to push forward in the attempt to divert their own problem backwards in a north-westerly direction to achieve the completion of their first orders. To link with the main sabretooth battle-line wouldn't be easy by any means, but with the help of the Free-State's tanks, perhaps enough heavy forward momentum could be found from the offset, but there was still something making the Major nervous.

Though he was at a loss for what it might have been at the time.

'They're troopers of the Final Dawn, Branko. We can take them, I know we can take them! We have declared a Fatwa, our people's holy struggle, on much worse than this! Cannibal troopers of the Crimson Hand make this lot appear like puppies, my friend.... This lot are lacking that sense of savagery, and as for the ones who aren't - they haven't even deployed yet.'

'So be it! We run with the Nazke-doctrine, but first-', Marić replied, trailing off in search for his comm-receiver as he stepped into the passenger-bay and slid the door shut behind him. Hassan then made sure to drop down through the turret-hatch to hear the rest, constantly keeping time with his mentor in the hopes he could sponge and internalise every last piece of advice, wisdom and experience he could, and though the early commission wasn't expected, Samir would remain within the means of his learning throughout the process. Seen especially in the way he remained silent when required, as not even a single,"Uh-huh", or,"Yup", would be uttered at any point of these instructional sprees, consistently silent like a mute until it was pertinent to ask for further explanation and the likes. And like usual, as soon as Hassan's boots clunked on the durasteel mesh-wiring floor beneath, silence was once again resumed for the sake of Branko as he concluded,'We need to patch-through to Lord Bex, for I have an idea.', with a cursory nod to pay further attention as soon as he was done talking.

<"Marić to Bramber One! Glad to have you back on board.... But it's straight to business this time sadly, but with that being said - the opposition are infantry-heavy, roughly 2-Klicks out. Easy pickings if you can get beyond the incline of the hillocks in front of you. I think incendiaries might do the trick as an opener, if you catch my drift.">​

 

[Fen]

Atop the hill…

The percussive blast sent Korr stumbling backward, wind shrieking, cloak flapping, a ringing in his ears. He would have fallen, but for the Force.

The Sith came on, his form smoldering, as though he were some manifestation of carnage rather than a mortal man.

Korr shrugged out of his burning robes and unclipped his shoto from his belt. It too sprang to life, a mirror to its larger brother in his right hand. Wielding a blade in each hand, Ryan moved to meet Darth Carnifex . He swung and their weapons clashed, hissing, spitting, only to separate. Korr’s hands moved with the fluid aggression of the Hawkbat form, blended with Jar’Kai and Niman, and tempered by a foundation in Soresu. With his body a mere conduit for the Force, his strikes came with a blinding swiftness and the speed of their exchanges left bars of blue and red floating in the eyes of those who beheld it.

A momentary pause as they broke apart, in which Korr finally spoke.

“If I kill you, you will just rise again, won’t you?”

Behind Carnifex, he saw Koda Fett get up and fire. Seizing the moment, Ryan stepped forward, trying to catch the Sith’s blade with his lightsaber, while the shoto plunged upward toward a gap in the armpit.