Annihilation Shatterpoint | BotM Annihilation of GA Held Tython

[Runi Kuryida]

THE END IS THE BEGINNING

:: Hanger, Avatar of War​

The Maw had a proclivity toward grand conjuring of power; to laying claim to entire planets and commending the heavens to kneel before their glory. So many did these things as individuals; even as Avatars of some deity -- like the Father in the void of whom Onrai spoke. Then there were the Jedi. A collective that seemed opposed to such wild and dangerous magicks. Even after so long few that studied history could forget the Light that expunged not only the evil of the Enemy, but that of the darkness within the innocent. A costly mistake born of a demonstration of equal power by people that did not wield it so freely -- that lacked the familiarity and discipline with such ravenous displays.

Runi Kuryida, however, was the Speaker of the Mandokarla. A Shaman that basked in the presence of the Manda each and every day. Someone that enjoyed a relatively low profile because it wasn't about her -- little good came for strengthening the whole if it became about a single individual. A people that did not ascribe to Light or Dark, Good or Evil, except as a means of conveying a thought. That which was Good ensure the peace and prosperity of one's people. Mandalorians were neither Agents of Darkness nor Paladins of Light, but that did not mean they were lesser for their desire to live humble lives. An existence born through tireless effort; to strive and become greater than they were as an individual so that the whole was uplifted.

Dodhorn Harert was not Evil as most would use the term. She was misguided. Errant. But not so far astray that Runi would call her Lost -- Echoy'la. They disagreed on much, but this did not mean she was a soulless monster.

Then, Dodhorn did something... unexpected.

Butchery and murder were inescapable truths of the battlefield. Mandalorians would die today. Those that lived might suffer all the same. They would need the Mandokarla to provide a place of refuge so that they might find their Way once more. Some might hold such pains against one's enemy, but could you fault them for engaging in the same acts you yourself committed in battle? Hypocrisy was a fruitless pursuit. There came an end to all fighting, and then a need to resume a life of peace -- of training -- until the next trial came along.

Yes, such was war.

What Dodhorn had done, however, was not war. Nor was it sacrilege. The Manda did not demand honor or reverence; it made no commandments nor levied judgment and punishment. Every person was their own judge. Their own torturer for the sins they had committed and refused to rectify. But there were some crimes -- some acts -- for which certain elements, like a humble Shaman, could not ignore.

Speaker Runi Kuryida, Shaman and reification of something beyond, felt the dark powers the woman had gathered. As one felt a stiff, chill breeze surrounded in the warmth and comfort of that which was most familiar. A break in what should have been. A rending of what was tolerable.

Her form was enveloped in the blinding light within Onrai's cocoon. Only the hazel of Runi's eyes were left for a split second, which burst into bright flames. Do not disturb the souls of the fallen, Runi's voice echoed throughout the hanger in the minds of those without telepathic shields.

They had done this once before in her presence. On Panatha. She had sought to suppress that foul magick then, and she would do so now. The difference, however, was that the Sith had chosen now of all times to find one of those few things that truly enraged the Shaman. Now, when she had been amassing power for a demonstration in refutation of Onrai's belief that they would all be better off kneeling before her.

Onrai's spear of coral snapped at its base as it shot into the nova her shell contained.

Pops and snaps followed as fissures grew. The pressure on her trap swelled.

Then it stopped.

The light had gone out suddenly and without a sound.

A blinding cloud burst into beaming and took on a vaguely Mandalorian form as it strode away from Onrai's cocoon. "Gar ibac sraya'nr at cuyir Manda'yaim. Gar ibac tarja at o'aryihida Mando bu'yrao Mando o'r tarbr at a jare dir. Gar beraoa at katralkahya ta'hyagr be Ka'ne bal larhb'adya trattok'or par gar oduilye copad? Miak rala gar subr nada. Rala etid bu'lesa gar." <Mando'a:You that claims to be Mandalore. You that seeks to set Mandalorian against Mandalorian in service to a false god. You dare to violate the sanctity of the Manda and conscript the fallen for your selfish desires? Then let your powers reign. Let them consume you.>

A wash of energy erupted outward from the figure and revealed Runi wearing a pure white beskar'gam. Those that had risen under Dodhorn's command did not instantly collapse as though the spell were instantly reversed. No, that would be too merciful for the crime committed in the Shaman's very presence. Instead, she touched those poor souls or fragments of souls and gave them the purpose they would had always desired -- to deliver vengeance on the foes that had not only slain them in life, but sought to rob them in death.

The Sith and Mawites resurrected would do as they pleased, but Runi had no doubt the Jedi and Mandalorian fallen would gladly seek to counter the advantage Dodhorn sought. And, for those fortunate enough to be near the Mandalore, perhaps even exact their pound of flesh for her trouble.

As for Fear and Darkness, Runi swept her hand through the air to dispel the miasma in the hanger as a mighty gust before a putrid cloud. If the Brotherhood wanted a fight then they would have one, and everything that came with it. Onrai had mentioned there was a cost to be paid... it was well past time that was so.

:: Allied: Sergeant Omen | Romul Saxon | Varik Awaud | Gwyneira Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Fenn Stag | Shakka Bralor | Kaz Krayt | Javik sudant
:: At Risk: Tor'r Tal'Verda | Kralmus Orr | Vorm | Marlon Sularen
:: Engaged: Onrai | Dodhorn Harert

Spoiler: tl;dr

Runi escaped Onrai's cocoon to turn the Undead Champions of Light back on their Sith forces that raised them -- gave them back a bit of their Will/Autonomy that the necromancy sought to rob them.

​

 

[Auteme]

Ryv | Asmundr Varobalder Henna Ashina Cotan Sar'andor
Have you ever cried so hard that your veins stung?
That your muscles tore?
And your bones bowed and cracked under the weight of your own grief?​

This was the moment.

She pulled back the strength she still had. Cotan's plea and Asmundr's shift told her that the moment was coming -- the Tho Yor, those distant, impossible powers, seemed just a step out of reach. Together their arms rose to put things back into place. The tears in reality could be healed, the ritual disrupted, Solipsis defeated. A great light gathered to wash away the darkness.

And then the line went slack.

She looked around. The thousands of little strands hadn't fallen suddenly -- if anything they were tighter than ever as the battle's end seemed to near. Her eyes fell to her feet, and she saw it; a thread thicker than any other, bigger than her whole body, and yet still gentle enough to wrap around her heart. It hit the ground. The world shook, and the very ground she stood on seemed to crumble.

She stumbled, blinked, finding she'd let go of Asmundr and Henna. They stood only a few feet away, deep in their meditation. In the distance she could see the fires of war still burning. Yet, everything was quiet. The two Jedi Masters were so close, and yet she felt so suddenly alone. The sun seemed to dim, the air seemed to cool, and the only thing she could hear was a soft, slowing, distant breathing.

There were tears in her eyes before she really even understood what had happened. He mumbled something; she couldn't hear, but she knew it was an apology.

He'd done it -- exactly what he'd said he'd do. She glanced to Asmundr, seeing the hope he was taking from the Sword's achievement. Auteme took only the heartbreak.

She could see where he was. The lake, the island, the old tree, the cavern it'd carved, the life it fostered. The last time they'd been there, she'd been grieving in a way; seeing him there had given a sudden release, a new light for the world knowing he wasn't gone. They'd explored the whole day, she rambled, he listened, they'd kissed.

She'd grown. He'd grown. Apart, back together, a little farther apart, but never forever. There wasn't a label for them; there was no distance. There was a vast love, the kind she could hold up the stars with.

And in a slow, pained, teary breath, it collapsed.

He'd told her. It was exactly as he said it'd be. The battle he didn't come back from. He'd seen his death and accepted it; she hadn't.

Knowing didn't make it better. There was no way to prepare for grief.

She couldn't see, as though her tears were thick as an ocean, and no light could filter through. Her throat hurt, as she wailed without recourse. She grabbed him, held him, begged, screamed, collapsed, broke, shattered.

He was gone.

She couldn't see.

He was gone, and she cried for no one but herself.

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Asmundr Varobalder Henna Ashina Auteme Asha Vynea

​

"Trying, Asmundr," he muttered as the Jedi Master's encouragement came through. Any control that Darth Solipsis was maintaining on the ritual during his duel with Ryv collapsed in an instant, the Dark Lord's soul passing to the deepest reaches of Chaos as the Force-imbued sword severed any link his soul still had to the mortal world. Moments later, through the wave of pain that poured out from the man, he flet Ryv slip away as well. Finally at peace, after a lifetime with more struggle than anybody should be forced to live through.

Dammit, kid.

He reached up to the Tho Yor alongside Asmundr, and with the weight of Tython and the rage and pain of the lost souls around him, heaved against the collection of ships. With a shock, their ponderous mass started to drift away from the spire, slowly, returning to their appointed locations around the planet. Leaving only the cracked and scarred face of the first and greatest of their number floating above him.

BRRRRRRGUUUUUUUUUHHHHH!​

The Tho Yor sounded out like a massive horn over the battlefield again, like it had in the opening moments of the ritual. The shattered landscape reverberated under the blast of sound, but to Cotan, struggling to stand, struggling to even breathe against the oppressive weight of darkness laid upon him, this time it came as a reprieve, not a source of dread. Rather than allowing the power to concentrate, to try and tear through reality, now it was spreading back out across the planet, following the Tho Yor that had been serving to amplify the effects of the ritual as they made their lugubrious journey back to their home temples.

I thought I told you not to go off dying without me years ago.

Shuddering, he pushed himself to stand. There wasnt any energy to devote to mourning Ryv's sacrifice, not while there was still a planet to try and hold together—or, failing that, ensuring that everybody on it at least had long enough to get away. He raised both hands, pushing out into the shifting crystalline landscape around him. Shattered reflections became whole as before, showing the pillars of Akar Kesh, the blasted spire around it. Even restoring reality to its rightful state, Tython would still show the scars of the battle that had come around it.

It might even be left uninhabitable, for Force-only-knows how long.

But it must be done, for the rest of the galaxy.

He clenched his fists, bringing the full weight of his will crashing down at the peak of the spire. The crystal facets started to shatter around him, rushing wind buffeting him as he felt himself standing once more on stone. True stone, the mirror-glimpses into other possibilities dissipating into the ether as soon as the stretching and overlaying of reality was broken. In spite of the pain and exhaustion that was already settling into his bones from the effort of holding the ritual in check, in spite of the agony of losing yet another person—yet another group of people he cared about, he had to laugh.

Triumphantly, even if the restoration of reality might mean the death of a world once all the damage was truly accounted for. If such came to pass, then it could be said that even Tython itself had made the sacrifice to save the rest of the galaxy, alongside Ryv, Rurik, and the rest. "Reality was never truly yours to play with, Solipsis," he whispered, watching the tear mend iself before him, the raging storm along the peak starting, at last, to slow and clear. "All will be as the Force wills it." And by the Force, he had something else to go and do.

He turned, shaking his head, and stumbling away from the center of the Temple of Balance. His struggling gait rapidly increasing in speed as the power slowly shifted away from him, turned to repairing the proper state of space and time. Within moments, he was running again, reaching out to the retreating edge of the reflective chaos. A place in his mind, a person, one that he knew he could make himself reach the same way he'd pulled Heinrich and the others to himself before—

As soon as his foot touched the unreal surface again, everything winked away around him. There was no movement, no true vision of the change; just a moment of complete nothingness, and then he was falling to his knees among a patch of flowers. His stomach churning, his head spinning, as his eyes tried to reconcile the impossible change from the old location to the new, as his brain tried to make sense of that moment of near non-existence.

He grasped out at the tree in front of him, the glass shattering again beneath him as he dug his fingers into bark. Real bark, actual wood, not the thousands of different possible trees this one could have been. He pulled himself to his feet again, stumbling down into the tunnel below. "Asmundr, send a shuttle for me. Ryv's garden. Journey's End. I think we've done all we can."

He tripped on a tree root, falling and tumbling the rest of the way into the hollow, hard on his back. Taking a moment to breathe, surrounded this time by light, rather than darkness. Letting Solipsis's ritual continue to slowly dissipate, souls of the dead passing on to the Netherworld, guided by those Jedi that had been called forth, first to stop them from empowering the destruction, and next to guide them into their rest. The ache had settled in completely now; he'd pulled too hard, delved too deep, compared to anything he'd tried to control before. He'd very nearly followed Ryv on into the world after.

With a groan, he rolled over, clawing himself to his knees as he covered the final few feet to his friend. Even with the hole burned through Ryv's chest, blood flecking his lips and drying inside his beard, he finally looked like he was at peace. Cotan reached out, laying one hand on Ryv's forehead, fingers twined through the younger man's hair as the cold sense of empty finality started to overtake the churning in his stomach. Taking in every detail of Ryv's face, knowing that this would be the last opportunity he'd get to see it.

"It's hard not to think of you as that kid on my station, you know? So full of zeal, of conviction. Of life."

He wiped at his eyes with his free hand.

"You did well, Ryv." He slumped over again, back on the ground. He patted at Ryv's head, trying fruitlessly to smooth back his hair as the exhaustion started to overpower what strength he had left. He needed a few moments to rest, to catch his breath, before the shuttle came by.

"You did good. Rest easy."

 

[Vesta]

Handlebars​

Location	Akar Kesh, Tython
Enemies	Tython Defense - Cotan Sar'andor , Asha Vynea | Galactic Alliance - @Allyson Locke , Dagon Kaze , Corin Trenor , Henna Ashina , Asmundr Varobalder , Auteme , Valery Noble , Ryv | Silver Jedi Order | New Imperial Order - Rurik Fel | Mandalorian Enclave | Eternal Empire | Ashlan Crusade - Heinrich Faust @everyone I guess
Allies	Brotherhood of the Maw | Darth Solipsis , Kyrel Ren , Khamul Kryze , Jem Fossk , Darth Daiara
Equipment	Lightsaber & The Hunger

The pain that coursed through her, the electrified will to be brought to her knees and give in to her own overwhelming strength, was in many ways symbolic of her relationship with the galaxy at large. From the very moment of her conception she had been given a path in life to walk, a child of convenience for parents that could only have a child through the complicated process of strand-casting she had never known normalcy. Echoes of a life not her own, flashes of searing pain and light, belief in inevitable betrayal from a phantom memory that she had never experienced herself, to live for the Sith was to consciously fight the desire to put an end to the tiny spark of willpower that kept her going. She'd fallen in love with the child of her mother's murderer, lost her mind in an episode that divorced her from her rationality and reduced to her to little more than a feral, wild, animal, but she had persevered all the same.

Time passed, she remained.

Her cousin had helped prop her up with the promising vision she'd shown, the progressive nature she'd desired to take the Empire she had been born into in an effort to emulate her forward-thinking mother before her passing, but both he and his kingdom, in time, became a mere shadow of what they once were - while she grew. The Maw arrived on her doorstep like a cancer, festering in the infected wound of the Sith worlds to deal the final blow in a manner not unlike blood poisoning, but they only provided her with a new way forwards, a direct path to the power she needed to enact a vision that she now saw as paramount for an idyllic galaxy. Infighting wasn't the norm, certainly, but that had been to the brotherhood's detriment rather than her own - she had bided her time, discovered the extent of her contemporary's strengths, the depths of their depravity and weakness, and she had cultivated within herself a weapon to push herself above them all.

Ingenuity, cunning, and guile had led Darth Solipsis down a similar road to her own, one which was ultimately different but the same in scope, desperation, and intent.

Yet here he was, silenced, like the lamb brought to slaughter on the altar of his own making. Time had moved on and her resolve had kept her on Tython while the man hailed as Sith'ari died with his dream of a galaxy shaped by his hands, time that nearly slipped by her, herself, in the struggle she had entangled herself in with Allyson Locke 's surprisingly strong will to remain conscious - a will that she had, similarly, outlasted.

A ragged breath, a throaty rasp, made its way passed her lips as she stumbled forwards with her weight shouldered by the spear she leaned against while the Jedi that had tried so hard fell. She empathized with the woman, with her apprentice's former friend, and saw the struggle she had been embroiled in since her very first moments 'alive' inside of her - how easy she had given in to the temptation of the dark side when she thought she had lost the very last thing she could hold dear forever.

Mori - Vesta - had someone like that, once.

'For a world where we can be together,' had been the line of thought she had when she'd swore that she'd find a way to both accomplish her goals and have the person that meant the most to her back in the face of an ultimatum she had refused to make. War, however, had shattered that foolish naivete and forced her to mature a more cynical view on the galaxy and its denizens - how little they deserved the freedom they had so enjoyed when they abused it to live for themselves at the cost of others, how the consequences of their actions weighed on the downtrodden and forced them into lives of crime and created a spiraling domino effect of villainy and heroism - two sides of the same coin that deserved to be melted down and made into something far less oppressive.

The forked tip of her spear was only inches from her face, its hunger inconsequential to the living wound in the force, but it was not its complementary strength that she'd desired it for - it was for the ritual that she was meant to complete as the Dark Lord of the Sith, both of them, were laid low by their pride.

The searing pain of the tip of her spear piercing the flesh of her forehead, even as she struggled to remain upright, was one which she could not have anticipated no matter how much she had prepared herself for this moment in the months and years leading up to this - to the so-called back up plan that she'd been tasked with carrying out in the instance that the Sith'ari paradoxically failed in his quest for supremacy. The very mark that had been carved into the men and women of the Maw during this tumultuous battle was inverted as it was etched into her face above the bridge of her nose - a rune that reversed the direction of power that would flow in the ritual that had been propagated by the collective efforts of the Maw, left now for her to salvage as all things eventually were. The galaxy was in needing of a rebirth, but the Dark Lord of the Sith had forgotten what preceded such a great leap forwards -

Death.

If she had resembled the infamous Nihilus of legends in scope and hunger, this was to be the Malachor V of their time - the ritual its mass shadow generator.

'For the galaxy they deserve.'

The hunger surged, her mind overwhelmed by the need to consume in order to satiate the blood lust of a ritual that was to be completed through her as she drained the very force and life itself --

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

THE WARDEN
THE NEW JEDI ORDER | TYTHON | THE SEEING STONE
BATTLEMELD ACTIVE FOR ALL JEDI APPROACHING PROSPERITY
HOPE HOPE HOPE HOPE HOPE
PURPOSE PURPOSE PURPOSE PURPOSE

With the Sith’ari dead, The Sword dead, the time they’d bought had given Master Sar’andor to seize the darkness from the ritual. His proximity to the duel was quintessential to consuming that much power and diffusing it with balance only a scholar of the Je’daii could. Asmundr grimaced against the extreme magnitude of it all and offered what semblance of offload he could while still protecting all those that were affected by his influence.

One, two, three, tens, half a hundred, a hundred, all started to return to Prosperity, within his reach. Force users and members of the Defense Force alike.

The rifts between worlds were stitching back up, and the reality of Tython spread inch by inch. The ritual’s knots were being unwound, delicately, carefully. The Tho Yor that had been the centre of the dark energies scooted from their convergence and back to their homeplaces.

"Asmundr, send a shuttle for me. Ryv's garden. Journey's End. I think we've done all we can."

Well done. The titan boomed through The Force.

The message relayed through the connection of the ethereal, to the synthetic group of workers within Prosperity that would deploy an available shuttle to scoop up Cotan. Their travels not entirely uninhibited, but at least the course they set now would see them travelling through Tython and not a whirl of colour, patterns, and unrealistic landscapes that flashed in and out of existence.

Still, as a precaution, Prosperity’s shields held, and Asmundr turned the remainder of his strength to reinforce the Force Barrier that boomed around the safe zone.

---

SEERS | Henna Ashina | Auteme | Cotan Sar'andor | Asha Vynea
ALLIES | NJO | GA | Judah Lesan | Bernard of Arca | Valery Noble | Caltin Vanagor | Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Geiseric | Ryv | Thurion Heavenshield | Dagon Kaze | Corin Trenor | Damsy Callat | Valery Noble | Kahlil Noble | Romi Jade
FOES | THE DARKSIDE | BOTM | Darth Solipsis | Laoth | Zachariel Steelblood | Dodhorn Harert | Darth Mori

 

[Ishida Ashina]

THE NEW JEDI ORDER | TYTHON | PROSPERITY

​

"...I never had a daughter... but... I am glad."
"-that my last act... was to save the daughter I never knew I... needed."

He told her not to be sad, but her despair was irrevocable. Only the feeling of mutual pride and gratitude countered the overwhelming sense of loss.

“You have been a greater Father than my own,” Ishida whispered, unsure if he could hear her but hoped he could. The visions of Genichiro she'd just experienced had been cruel, harsh — just as he'd been in reality. Sardun, in her time of need, had come and abandoned his coldness and made the finality of himself warm and brilliant.

In her reflected comparison between the two, her realization of Sardun's sacrifice deepened. He could have teleported her anywhere, to him, and he could have healed her wherever he was. He knew she was injured, she'd heard him observe it belatedly, but just now she was understanding the scope of his intentions. And the depth of his care their similarities.

By healing her now, and sending her to Prosperity, Sardun was not taking her out of the fight. He was respecting her warrior's tenacity and honour at the expense of his life.

“Thank you.”

Ishida felt light before she saw it. Buzzing at first, an electric hum expanded into something that touched her: A calmness, wide and growing, that began to bloom outward from the gash that had torn through her belly. Slowly, it mended. She could feel light’s weighted serenity spreading through her shoulders and spine, and as it roamed through her muscles it lessened the tension that had wound through her while travelling through time and space.

The first material thing she felt was the ground against the heels of her palms and her knees.

Countable diamonds sparkled and shone overhead, twinkled and duplicated until they could no longer be quickly associated with a number.

In voiceless reverence, she watched it connect, grow, build, and define itself.

At first, it looked like an undefinable network of conduits, wide, tendon-like connections bridging, thrumming and humming as thinly glowing golden threads. All along the contour lines, they became solid and structured, taking the shapes of the place which Sardun willed her to be.

She resembled gathered stardust for the first few microseconds of arrival on Prosperity, and then she was whole — but made of more than herself. The residual greatness of Sardun lingered still within her, and with him, a profound multidimensional clarity.

Michael Sardun was gone, all that was left were the wonders of his works and the promise of the impact his Padawan, the daughter he never had, would have on the galaxy.

Serve them, lead them. A true leader serves first. My last lesson to you... Lord of Light.

Because of his sacrifice, she was not only alive, not only on Prosperity amidst the gathering of light, but the fissure across her abdomen had healed. Fresh skin scarred and sealed over the endless blood she’d seen earlier. And with that healing, came her ability to continue. To serve alongside the great efforts of those who were within Prosperity’s shield.

Her entire body was shaking, not only from the impossibility of her travels but reacting to the entirety of the battle. In the final moments, she’d ended Laoth the villain and Michael Sardun had sacrificed himself to come to her aid from across the stars. Despite the finality of both her archfoe and master, it all felt inconclusive somehow. Unbelievable.

She tried to process it, one thing after the other as she blinked to focus on her surroundings. The cliffside of Akar Kesh, the waterfalls of her imagination, the stones, the blood, they’d all changed to the beautiful golden interior of Prosperity’s rich, loamy gardens. It felt impossible that she could be here, surrounded by other Jedi, and that…. she was still alone.

Sardun should have been with her. Bernard should have been with her.

For all the indisputable Ishida had just witnessed, the suspense of Tython’s outcome still loomed on the horizon.

---

ALLIES | NJO | GA | Bernard of Arca | Henna Ashina | Michael Sardun
FOES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Laoth

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

MARGIN CALL
ALLIANCE ONE, AARGAU ORBIT

Guarantor | Visions of Gold | Attire
Adhira Chandra | Kel Se'Taav | Eryk Thaxton | The Quartermaster | Ingrid L'lerim | Baron Reinhardt Ström | Isla Draellix-Kobitana

“Those terms, Quartermaster,” Tithe muttered to himself in retrospection. “Are most agreeable.”

It had been a whirlwind of activity since the signing of the Tython Accord a week ago on Naboo. The signing of the flimsplast document had been simply symbolic, with copies of the Accord now housed in the capitals of the four signatory governments. The actual details for the defence of Tython had been hammered out in the following week of meetings between the military and diplomatic leaders of the Galactic Alliance, Enclave, Ashlan Crusade and Eternal Empire which had followed the conference. The process, which Tithe had started on Naboo, now culminated at Tython.

From the bridge of Alliance One, holding orbit a short hyperspace jump away at Aargau, Tithe monitored the progress of the Mandalorian boarders as they fought their way through the Avatar of War superweapon. The armoured warriors were cutting a path through the bloodthirsty Brotherhood defenders. That they had kept the enemy from firing made Tithe’s deal with the Quartermaster another excellent return on investment.

Elsewhere in orbit above Tython and on the surface below - relaxing the demand that only Alliance troops be based on the surface had been a key determinant in securing the Accord - the Ashlan Crusade and Eternal Empire were holding the line against to the marauding Brotherhood alongside the Alliance and the New Jedi Order. The support of the Silver Jedi Concord and Elysium Empire had been secured directly in recent days as both parties had failed to send representatives to Naboo to sign the treaty.

A cheer went up as the Fatalis, the Brotherhood’s Super Star Destroyer analogue, was destroyed. The loss of Tu'teggacha , one of the Brotherhood’s most feared and seasoned admirals, would be a blow to the enemy’s naval ambitions. Tithe watched as the combined fleets began to reorientate themselves to focus on the Avatar of War, still poised to destroy Tython with a blast of its deadly superlaser. The tension of the bridge rose - with their fleet decimated, would the Brotherhood turn their superweapon on the Jedi holy world in an act of retribution?

Not that Tython needed destroying at this point. Seismic activity, Force storms, hypergates and tears in the space-time fabric were threatening the do the Brotherhood’s work for them. Figures flashed through Tithe’s mind as the Aargauun calculated the real estate value of Tython, and the impact it would have on the Alliance’s loans if he was able to find an unscrupulous banking clan willing to write off the planet as a depreciated asset should the enemy succeed. The credits saved on loan interest would be substantial.

His scheming was interrupted by comms officer, who hurried across the bridge to address the Chancellor. ”Sir, news from the surface!” The Gran handed Tithe a datapad before stepping back to give him room to study the communique. Alliance forces on Tython were in retreat, with the New Jedi Order pulling back to the Prosperity. All hope looked lost for the holy world as its valiant defenders pulled fled the planet.

The datapad flashed as an update came through. A new report, marked as the highest priority and for urgent dispatching to the Supreme Allied Command and the Tython Accord leader, began to scroll down the datapad.

Darth Solipsis - the Sith’ari, the Despoiler of Coruscant, Corrupter of the Senate, the greatest threat to the galaxy in the last one thousand years - was dead, killed at the hand of the legendary Jedi Master Ryv .

Another cheer went up on the bridge as news of the Sith Lord slaying spread throughout the fleet. Attention turned to the retreating New Jedi Order, the heroes of the day, and how to assist their escape from the dark rituals unfolding on Tython. Tactical officers requested that all attention of the allied fleet be turned to the Avatar of War before it could fire on the Jedi planet. An adviser suggested that Tithe issue an immediate press release to claim victory and reassume the Core worlds. Tithe’s accountant gave a thumbs up - the death of the Sith’ari was already driving a bounce on the galactic stock exchanges.

The forces of light across the galaxy had united to bring an end to the reign of the fearsome Darth Solipsis. And yet, despite his death, a worrying question remained, one that had stalked Tithe since his realisation that the Sith’ari had twisted the Senate and much of the galaxy to his whims.

Even in death, was the dark spectre of Darth Solipsis truly at an end?

 

[Hilal Vizsla]

Mandalorian Armor
Hilal's Tank

Hilal groaned hearing the low rumble of what sounded like...... Starship engines. The bright light hurt Hilal's eyes as she struggled to open them..... scratch that her entire body was hurting badly. Hilal tried to move her right arm yet that was greeted with immense pain, she could also feel her right leg throbbing as well. As soon as she looked down, Hilal saw that her arm was not only burnt but broken. Tears began to spill from Hilal's burnt face. "Where am I?" She whispered hoarsely before a woman with red hair spoke to her in Mandalorian.

"How the frack did you know the language of my people?" Hilal said her lower lip quivering. "Are you a Mandalorian?! Who are you? Where am I?!"

Akemi Io

 

[Koda Fett]

TYTHON, SEEING STONE
Darth Carnifex | Vren Rook | Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax

The Mandalorian left the battlefield aflame, what once was had turned to ashen rubble devoid of life. It resembled a barren wasteland now, after his cannons tore the earth from itself around the Sith Lord and the missiles shrouded the area in debris and the seismic charge had seen it all scattered about and flattened. Even the ancient stone had fallen victim, the old stone shattered much like the system it hailed from. Doomed, so much like Tython itself. On the scanners, still, few individual blips faded into nothingness as life had been snuffed out. Few remained, and his all too curious self forced Fett to circle back around. For one last look, or another run.

Behind the T-visor, the all too callous eyes of the bounty hunter settled on the charred and disfigured frame of the Dark Lord. He was alive, Koda dreaded, but his hands crossed over the fire controls again all the same. Yet, before he could fire even on round the Spear III came to a sudden halt in the air over the Sith and Fett lurched forwards. His helmeted head almost colliding with the console.

In shock and further frustration, Fett huffed and groaned. The Sith were a stubborn lot, their Dark Lord more so than most. But once more, had the Force proven itself to be far beyond his own comprehension. But he matched it thus far with all the tech he could muster, and so as his craft had started to descend against his will, he made for the thrusters and pushed them to their limits. It was a struggle, touch and go, but not one he could win. The Sith could endure the ship's engines, but maybe not another round of fire.

So similar to before, the twin blaster cannons turned to take aim at the Sith Lord and unleash another barrage; back and forth, the cannons pumped with each shot again, to fire at a rate fast enough to contend with the swiftest of starfighters. Missiles, trailed by the same blue, flew out in another salvo as the Spear III still descended despite all his efforts to the contrary. He felt the droplet of sweat streak over his brow, and at last unleashed a second charge. Carnifex could survive the first assault, there was to be no surprise to see he could last another, but whatever efforts needed to protect himself could afford the Mandalorian his chance to be free from his grasp.

Tython was doomed, of that he was certain, and even if it wasn't... it was never to be the same, habitable planet it once was. Entire systems crumbled by the Sith, laid to waste by them, and even as entire empires would rise and fall, the common bounty hunter would outlive them all. Funny that. If ever afforded the small window he needed, then Fett vanished among the stars.

[Exit]

 

[Heinrich Faust]

Heinrich Faust: Grand Marshal of the Ashlan Crusade

Engaging: Darth Solipsis , Jem Fossk

Allies: Dagon Kaze , Rurik Fel , Ryv , Corin Trenor , Cotan Sar'andor

Army of the Night

As Heinrich began to share his strength with the others, he found himself suddenly moved next to Cotan, willed across the gap through sheer will on the Jedi's part. He stood next to him, concentrating his energy toward Ryv as he continued his clash with the Dark Voice. As Cotan called for him to get the others out, there was a part of the Grand Marshal that wanted to stay... to fight... to right his past mistakes by putting an end to Solipsis once and for all.

Yet, that would not be his fate.

He had already lost his friends, and though he could still feel the warmth of their very being, his mind was clouded in a storm of sadness and rage. He had fought back to back with the pair countless times across endless worlds, and yet, was unable to help them in their time of need. Heinrich looked to the others, his eyes falling upon Dagon as he held his former apprentice. If he could at least save them, then that would at least be one small victory among the sea of despair that had washed over Tython.

Taking the items from Cotan, Heinrich gave him a nod of acknowledgment, placing the items safely on his person as he spoke.

"I'll make sure they get to the right place. Just don't forget to get yourself out, when the time comes. We've lost enough good people today."

His attention turned toward Dagon and the others, focusing on getting them to move so that at least some of them could make it out in one piece. As they went through the portal, Heinrich didn't look back. He did not see the outcome of the duel, nor what may have become of Cotan. For now, his focus was entirely on one task...

Saving what lives he could.

 

[Cailen Corso]

SHATTERED
All Roads Lead To Tython, Part. VI
​

Location: Mountain pass near Kaleth
Tags: Closed

​

At long last, the landing platform came into view ahead. Despite his growing fatigue, Cailen managed a triumphant giggle at the sight: An Alliance transport awaited them, engines still hot. He wanted to stay, to help fight the Maw, but deep inside he knew he wasn’t ready to face them. Even if he hadn’t been so adversely affected by the turbulence of the Force, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. The cannibals alone, merely rank-and-file cultists, had petrified him. Master Undara was the only reason they’d survived the mountain pass. And now the Alliance needed him at Akar Kesh.

“Master…” Cailen said, breaking the silence.

“Will there be more of those… those things… at Akar Kesh?”

Undara nodded solemnly, but offered the Padawan a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cailen,” he said warmly.

The Master Jedi turned to face the boy, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You must trust in the Force, and trust in me.”

Cailen nodded, the corners of his mouth forming a weak smile.

“Let’s get you on that ship and back to Prosperity. I know you feel your place is here, with me, but now is not the time. You’re in no shape to fight the Maw,” Undara told him.

“What you truly need is rest and proper care.”

It was as if he could read Cailen’s mind, understanding exactly what he felt just by looking at him. It was a gift that paralleled Cailen’s own ability to sense Force Echoes. Undara had a second sense about people and emotions.

“Yes, Master,”
Cailen conceded as they reached the platform.

Undara walked up the metal stairs first, with Cailen in tow. But as the Padawan wrapped his hand around the railing, a sharp pang of emotions struck him. He winced, stumbling back from the stairs.

“Master… something’s wrong…” Cailen stuttered as he recovered from the unexpected psychometric overload.

“Yes… I sense it, too,” Undara said.

The Jedi Master continued up the stairs, his hand resting on his lightsaber hilt as he went. Cailen made to follow, but Undara halted him. He scanned the surrounding area, but only the rain and the whirring of engines could be heard in the stormy mountain pass. Nothing seemed out of place. Only the shuttle and nondescript cargo crates sat on the platform.

The occasional flash of lightning in the distance brought a low rumble of thunder that was strangely soothing. Cailen looked to the horizon, taking in the dark clouds and far-off rains that had beset the mountain range. It was almost therapeutic to see nature at work after the bloodshed he’d witnessed in the valley.

A cold shiver brought the Padawan back to reality. His clothes hadn’t been dry in hours, and the coming rain only worsened things. The breeze made his teeth chatter as it swept across his saturated gear.

Undara looked down from the platform and gave him a summoning wave. The rain was pattering steadily on the metal surface as Cailen climbed the stairs. His legs were burning intensely, as if coming this close to safety had reminded his body of the strain it’d been under.

The transport doors slid open, and out hopped two Alliance troopers. The troops fanned out with blaster rifles drawn. A third soldier held onto a support bar in the cabin of the shuttle, and shouted over the engines and rain:

“Need a lift?”

He grinned jokingly and waved for the Jedi to board the ship.

Cailen stepped forward, but his Master remained still. He shook his head.

“Only my Padawan,” Undara called back.

“Can you bring him to Prosperity? He’s not wounded physically, but he’ll need medical attention when you arrive. He’s… he’s seen a lot today.”

The trooper nodded, reaching out an arm to help Cailen board the ship, but he froze in place as a look of terror spread across his face.

“Behind you!” the man shouted to Master Undara, who swung around, lightsaber ignited.

A pale woman wrapped in a dark cloak stood on the other side of the platform. Her eyes were glowing fiercely, dark red with an outer ring of gold shining beneath her cowl. She had a venomous smile, and strange tattoos on her face.

“Going somewhere… Master Jedi?” she taunted, her words almost serpentine as they hissed from her lips.

She eyed the yellow glow of Undara’s lightsaber, chuckling cruelly.

“Must all Jedi be so paranoid?”

“What do you want, Sith?” Undara spat impatiently.

Cailen let go of the trooper’s hand and stepped toward his Master, but Undara growled, “Stay back!” through gritted teeth.

“Paranoid and rude. That’s no way to behave in front of a child. A Padawan Learner at that. What kind of example are you setting for this… impressionable boy,” she prodded as she waved her fingers toward Cailen.

He couldn’t see Master Undara’s face, but the tone of his voice was heavy and serious.

“Leave him out of this,” the Jedi Master retorted.

The woman cackled as she pushed back her cloak, revealing a pair of silver hilts clipped to her sash.
The troopers had their blasters trained on her, but neither had opened fire. They likely wouldn’t, unless Master Undara ordered them to. The trooper in the cabin grabbed Cailen around the bicep and tried to pull him into the ship, but the boy snatched his arm free. he kept m his eyes locked on the Sith standing before his Master.

“Don’t shoot!” Undara said over his shoulder.

“If you wanted me all to yourself, you should’ve just said so,” she sneered as she ignited her lightsabers.

Cailen’s lips parted in surprise; One of the blades glowed deep crimson, the kyber crystal bled and twisted to the will of the Dark Side… but the other was a brilliant purple. Had she stolen it from a Jedi she’d slain in battle? Was she once herself a Jedi, the purple saber a remnant of a past life?

“Are you ready, little boy?” she goaded as she stepped toward Master Undara, her boots thudding on the metal platform.

“Are you ready to watch your Master die?”

In a fluid motion nearly too fast to track, she brought both sabers down in an overhead strike. The red and purple blades clashed violently against Undara’s, a burst of sparks flying from the impact. Cailen wanted to lurch forward, to help defend his Master, but his feet were planted. His muscles were rigid with fear, his stomach churning, his head spinning.

Master Undara forced her back but didn’t pursue. He held a defensive stance, one Cailen recognized as a Form III stature. The Sith warrior rushed in again, clashing her blades against Undara’s, but she found herself deflected once more. Her attacks were powerful, but they were reckless. Even with the limited training of a Padawan, Cailen knew she was over-exerting herself. As an expert in the Soresu form, Undara would rely on her unrelenting attacks and use them to his advantage. Sooner or later, she’d tire herself out and start making mistakes.

“Take her down, NOW!” the trooper in the shuttle commanded to his comrades, but Undara barked back a firm “No! Stay your hands!”

The soldiers followed Undara’s command without question. She’d easily deflect their blister bolts, potentially putting themselves and the Jedi Master at risk.

The Sith paced back and forth, her burning eyes glued to Undara.

“What’s the matter, Master Jedi? Don’t you like to dance?”

She launched herself in a spinning motion, her lightsabers a whirlwind of red and purple. She came down hard on Undara, and this time, he dropped to one knee under the crushing force of the blow. He held his lightsaber perpendicular to hers, keeping them locked just above his head. The Sith pursed her lips, clicking her tongue condescendingly as she bore down against his blade.

“How disappointing. I thought you’d put up a better fight with your little pet watching.”

At that, Undara burst upward, knocking the Sith back. He took advantage of her staggered state, pushing the offensive with a series of controlled strikes. She managed to recover, returning several blows, but Undara’s unexpected retaliation had weakened her. She fought back, regaining the offensive hand. Now that the Jedi Master was on the defense again, in his true element, she’d have to work even harder to break his resolve.

“Kid, we’ve got to go!” the trooper said as he gripped Cailen’s arm again. He tried to resist, but the trooper wasn’t letting go a second time.

The Sith growled loudly, her voice gravely like the stone of the mountains surrounding them. It seemed to pierce through the rain, making Cailen shiver. She brought both sabers down with incredible force. Master Undara held his form, but Cailen could tell that his strength was waning. He wouldn’t be able to withstand many more attacks of that magnitude. Not after exerting so much energy traversing the mountains, fighting cannibals, and carrying Cailen through the pass.

The Padawan felt a twinge of guilt in his heart, but he pushed it down.

Undara deflected another strike, and in the brief window before her follow-up, he Force-pushed her backwards. She slid a fair distance, catching herself as she neared the edge of the platform. She looked up slowly, her hood blown back now to reveal her long, white hair. The rain was plastering it to the sides of her pale face, which was screwed into a devious grin.

“Now that’s how a true Jedi fights! I knew you had it in you.”

Her boots thudded loudly on the wet metal as she strode toward Undara with unsettling confidence. The Jedi Master prepared himself for the next round of blows.

She delivered a powerful overhand swing, clashing the purple saber into his.

“You…“

She swung again.

“…will…”

And again.

“…die!”

The fourth blow came with incredible force, and Undara’s arm finally gave out. His lightsaber hilt dropped to the ground, the sound of metal-on-metal echoing in the rain. He held his right hand to block his face as the Sith raised the crimson saber high above her head. It’s sinister glow reflected in her Sith-stained eyes, and she relished the moment before she dealt the final blow. In a devastating swing, she brought the lightsaber down, severing Undara’s right arm at the elbow and slashing across his face.

“NO!” Cailen screamed as his Master fell to his knees.

“We’ve got to go! NOW!” the soldier shouted.

The two armed troopers retreated into the ship, while the third soldier wrapped his arms around Cailen’s waist and hoisted him inside the cabin. The Padawan was kicking and screaming, a second wind rushing through him. He broke free from the soldier’s grasp, but it was too late… the shuttle door slid closed just as Cailen lunged forward. Through the streaks of rain on the tinted window, he saw his Master kneeling before the Sith, cradling his cauterized wound.

Cailen banged on the glasteel panes as hard as he could, screaming so loud he thought his throat would burst.

The Sith gave Cailen what he thought was a wink before pressing the tip of her lightsaber against Undara’s chest. She held the boy’s gaze as she slowly pushed the lightsaber through Undara until Cailen saw the crimson blade emerge from his back. He pounded his fists vehemently as tears flowed down his cheeks. He was screaming so loudly his voice began to crack.

The shuttle began to ascend as the Sith removed her lightsaber and reattached the hilts to her belt. Master Tarus Undara slumped before collapsing on his side. Cailen’s face was pressed against the glass, his sobbing all but useless as the transport angled upwards and made to break the atmosphere. He gasped violently, struggling to breathe as the platform, the Sith, and Master Undara’s lifeless body grew smaller and smaller.

Cailen turned and slid down the door, his back against it as he buried his face in his palms. He wept uncontrollably as the Alliance troops prepared the ship for a jump to the Prosperity. The soldier who’d pulled him into the craft knelt beside him, a disparate look on his face.

“I’m… I’m sorry, kid… we’re heading for Prosperity now. We’ll be there soon.”

Cailen’s silence said everything, and the man simply patted him on the shoulder before disappearing into the cockpit.

Everything Cailen knew had been turned upside down. Master Undara was… dead? The Maw had killed him. That Sith had killed him. Murdered him.

Cailen felt empty. Lost. Shattered.

 

[Ghalric Rau]

B L I T Z H U N D
SPECTRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NORTH-WESTERN FOOTHILLS, TEMPLE VALLEY | TYTHON
ALLIES: Xyoz | Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | Aerys Myrrine | Jas Katis | Kranak Vizsla | Sasha Kryze | @whoever else - I aint tagging all you fools | NIO | Enclave | Hellion

ENEMIES: Thomas Barran | The Mongrel | @whoever else - you'll get tagged if you're important | BOTM | NSO | Everyone else

ENGAGING: Shai Maji

GEAR: Armour | 2x Pistols | 2x Backup Pistols | Sniper Rifle[ | Battle Rifle | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Vector - Basilisk War Droid | Grenade loadout

TOO MUCH​

She just wouldn't let up.

Luckily he had gained altitude again before she started to retaliate. His shield deployed again from the vambrace to catch the shots and most of the birds, but some of the little bastards still bypassed it to strike at his armour.

Or rather through it.

Bloody beskarpoints.

There was no way to put it - they fucking hurt even if the armour prevented most of the damage. The few "flesh wounds" already started to weep blood.

Why're you running, old man?! Too scared to take a hit?!"

The old warrior's jaw clenched for a moment as stim and bacta was immediately directed to the few wounds.
"Then you better start hitting true, Pup!" he called before flicking to sonic and firing straight back at her.

"Or at least stop fucking flying! That's so fucking annoying, all of you!"

Lightning flashed out towards him and Kranak from the unknown Shistavanen. His own armour tanked it, but it fried his jetpack's engines in the process.

Blitz dropped a few feet before his combat boots kicked in to ease his descent to the ground.
"Why don't you just shut it?" the Spectre barked back before firing his wrist repulsor at Xyoz to try and throw him out of the way while his HUD locked onto Shai and launching one of the concussion missiles from his jetpack straight at her while she was being grapple-lined by Kranak while also still firing sonics at her. For good measure, he then followed up with throwing another thermal as well after he had fired his shot at Xyoz. Shai was more durable than most - the possibility of her dying from the onslaught was low, but with luck, it would at least incapacitate her enough to get in close to take her into custody.

Once she's out of commission, they can duke it out as to where she goes.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

When Omen came on this mission, he didn't count atomizing the living dead to be one of his mission priorities but it was happening before his very eyes. This Red Neo Crusader was proving to be more of a nuisance than he had counted on. She had dodged his attack with ease using her jetpack and now was raising her fallen comrades, making them into something else unworldly. Well, this couldn't stand. It was time for plan B.

First, the overhead hanger lights would start flashing off and on like a Correllian Discotech and then a song that Omen heard on the radio song would start to play. Soon enough, the crane that held the beast by the chin would start to lift towards the crane window and the Clone would hop out in just his upper armor and camo compression shorts saying "Kiss This" on his rear. Needless to say, his troops would be surprised when they arrived to their Alor dancing like the battle depended on it and throwing every grenade he had on his belt as the Mandos on the ground used the former threat on its hook as mobile cover as Omen control it via a pop-up interface on his gauntlet. All the Maw could do now is go into a frenzy and attack, easily getting cut down or surrender. Whether they would get any quarter was yet to be seen. In the meantime, Omen got to have some fun, something that he barely got to do. Getting shot at the basic way was boring, might as well do something interesting while you are at it.

Dodhorn Harert Kralmus Orr Tor’r Tal’Verda Vorm Romul Saxon Javik sudant