Invasion The Day of Revenge | BotM Invasion of GA held Empress Teta and Foerost | TETA PART ONE

[Percival Io]

Objective 1C: Protect the Iron Citadel
Tags: The Manifold Henna Ashina ?

As much as Percival’s programmed hatred of the Alliance and the Jedi burned, the Brotherhood of the Maw posed an arguably greater threat to galactic stability. They were the western successors of the Bryn’adul, destroying worlds and committing genocide like the Lobsters before them.

The Chaplain found their doctrine repulsive, their mantra of war, death, rebirth a grotesque perversion of the very concept of faith. He took great satisfaction in sending them to their deaths.

A Mawite succumbed to the blast of Percival’s disruptor, his vaporized body falling as ash upon the Citadel floor. Percival lifted the smoking barrel, letting it cool before he took another shot.

In the meantime, his three companions—his identical “brother” Scott, and Boris and Bram, two hulking Model 3 units—continued to pummel the marauders’ ranks with fire. The sound of automatic slugs pinging off the walls and floor were drowned out by the thunderclap of Scott’s sonic blaster.

<<Something tells me no matter how many of these guys we kill, more will keep coming,>> Bram remarked to the others via technopathy, pausing to reload.

Percival had similar suspicions. Rather than thinning out as their forces were depleted, the ranks of marauders had doubled, then tripled, then quadrupled. They all seemed to be coming from inside the Citadel, rather than outside it—a statistical improbability, to say the least.

<<Let’s see where they’re getting the extra manpower from,>> Percival replied.

The Neutralizers gravitated toward the center of the Iron Citadel, where Mawites in need of killing seemed most abundant. Though the droids mowed down marauders, the sheer numbers of the enemy slowed their progress considerably. By the time they reached the source, the area was quite clogged with entrenched enemy forces. But Percival was less concerned about them, and more with the mysterious portal that was allowing the Brotherhood to transport massive amounts of troops to Empress Teta.

<<What the feth is that?>> Scott broadcasted the thoughts on everyone’s mind.

<<A true invasion,>> Percival mused with a grim smirk. <<There’s got to be a way to close that portal…>>

 

[Heinrich Faust]

Ignore this, computer did a thing.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

ROYAL PALACE
EMPRESS TETA
Seto Du Couteau Joseph Torson
​

"Senator."

Master San Tekka gently placed an aurodium hand on the nobleman's shoulder. He wore polished armor which had been mended of damage for the coronation along with his gleaming prosthetic arm. Together with a white cloak and crossguard hilt Zark looked resplendent. Such veneration made him uncomfortable but the Alliance needed heroes now more than ever. After Xa Fel he had been summoned from Ilum by Chancellor Aerarii Tithe to reassure citizens Jedi could still defend the Core.

"There is a great disturbance in the Force," he could tell Seto was reeling for answers, "I sense the presence of Sith."

By now panic was beginning to grip the royal halls. Zark meanwhile seemed very calm. Like so many of his era the veteran Jedi let go of his emotions. He allowed the Force to guide him, trusting each instinct. Decades of military experience took care of the rest. San Tekka exchanged curt nods with the Senate Guard.

"Do you have a secure comlink?"

 

[Khione]

​

Tag: Ari Naldax

Fighter Complement
2 squadron of 12 Chir'daki
Lead fighter painted white with similar marking to Khione


The two squadrons broke hyperspace in the shadow of a mawite cruiser and immediately accelerated across its Hull towards the battle, her target was a group of soldier transports that were attempting go reinforce the ground troops. She was a pirate raider by profession and her Emerald Nebula had allied with the Maw not long before the attack on Odessen.

The fighters of the Emerald Nebula were nimble and heavily armed, dodging left and right as the cruiser opened fire on a defending capital ships. The x-foils rotated around rhe cockpits as they maneuvered, giving the impression of a squadron in a variety of barrel rolls.

"OK Nebula! It show time!" called Khione as she switched on the music in her cockpit and locked her x-foils into attack mode. The transports were coming up fast, her lead squadron attacked from the rear and her other squadron sped to the front, trying to catch them as they panicked. "Target their engines, if we can keep the ships intact the marooned soldiers on board will make excellent miners."

Her artificial eyes compensated for the flare of something detonating brightly nearby and focused closely on the transports. They would likely gave fighter cover, but her pilots were born in the cockpit and their uglies were powerful machines.

 

[Electra-12]

Location: FDS Predator -> Orbit of Foerost
Call Sign: Crimson 17
Objective: Last Stand at Foerost - Remember Coruscant
Equipment: Orestiad Flight Suit │ Hekler’Kok FP-01
Allies: BotM ( Khione Marlon Sularen )
Enemies: GA ( Liedran Kathause )
Direct Engagement: Acquiring Targets!

Weakness. Putrefaction. Corruption.

Electra-12 both loved and despised going into Alliance space. The former, because she could purge those decaying, tainted slaves who adhered to the old, dying orders. The latter, because in the process of engaging and subsequently, destroying them, she had to sully herself by going in the midst of their putrescent effluvium. Sure, she was protected by thin layers of quadanium steel, transparisteel, titanium, and energy shielding but to even gaze upon their ugly-as-sin Alphabet Wings made her feel like she would puke inside her helmet!

If her TIE was contempt, its cannons and missiles were disgust, and she was hatred! Hatred that would purge the forces of decay and entropy to usher in a new, pure era free from the degeneration of the Light-slaves and their mindless minions.

These thoughts and more filled Electra-12’s mind as she gazed through the viewport at the distant Alliance fleet, while listening to the orders of the Grand Overseer and Baron Vonreg. In spite of her rank, the strand-cast had been invited to this exclusive briefing because she was a proven ace.

In other words, she was one of the Final Dawn’s most lethal killers.

Electra-12 waited impatiently, though her outward demeanor was firmly military and unshaking like ice, as the Grand Overseer spoke. She knew that the towering tactician standing before her had ambitions for the core, due to a long string of betrayals that dated back to the One Sith and the Grayson Imperium. Now, he finally had his chance to exact revenge on those who had ousted him. For her part, Electra-12 knew that he viewed her as nothing more than a particularly effective tool, yet she respected him, in spite of it. However, the strand-cast held suspicions of his loyalty, whether he was doing this just for revenge or for the Dark Mission.

By now, the strand-cast was wise enough to know that the former likely outweighed the latter.

Nevertheless, at the conclusion of the briefing, Electra-12 gave the Grand Overseer a sharp salute, before following the Baron to the hangar bay, where their TIEs sat ready, primed to kill. For this operation, she had been attached to fly with the Crimson Linings, as Crimson 17. It went without saying that those men and women were elite, veteran pilots, but like their Overseer, Electra-12 suspected that their motives were not entirely pure, driven by grudges so advanced that they were older than her. While she hated that so much Overseer’s power base harbored such base attachments to the old, decaying orders, they had proven to be one of the Final Dawn’s greatest assets. Marlon Sularen was a boogeyman in Alliance space, feared by all, even though some arrogant fools made to downplay the power that he wielded and the skill in which he applied it.

Climbing into her TIE, Electra-12 brought the machine to life, fingers darting across the displays and controls as she executed the pre-flight routines. With everything reading green, the strand-cast placed her hands on the grips of the control stick and took a deep breath, preparing herself to meet the enemy in the void.

Soon, the Alliance would fall and with it, their corrupt, ghoul-like avatars.

Spoiler: Loadout

• TIE/wi Interceptor - Designation: Electra
  
  • Universal Missile Launcher
    
    • Concussion Missiles

 

[Kier Grey]

Kyli Graf
Objective: 1A (The Iron Giant Walks).
Writing With (Support): Suri Vullen , Seto Du Couteau , Zark San Tekka , Joseph Torson
Writing With (Opposition): Kyrel Ren , Darth Bellum ,
Set-Up Thread: Eye of the Storm

Kyli's darksabre armour thrums with electric power from its' onboard miniaturised nuclear power plant. The Duranium sabatons encased her feet, dulling the subtle tremors through the Maledictum's deck.

"Mistress Graf, my Princeps." The familiar sound of Vlod's mechanical voice was welcome; Kyli's face turned from the gigantic eye lens on the Maledictum's bridge.

Vlod was a Human male much shorter than the lady of the Maledictum and more visibly modified. Vlod's left eye had been replaced with a crimson monocle that glowed a soft red. Vlod's organic arms forged into a pair of cybernetic prosthetics at the elbow.

It was good to hear a familiar voice; Kyli offered him an armoured hand which Vlod received with a glad heart. His mechanical voice took a joyous tone through the respirator resting on his face beneath his eyes. "If I might be so bold." He began. "Your face hasn't so much as acquired a wrinkle."

Kyli had to force herself to stifle a smile. "Yeah, I have an excellent skincare routine." Vlod's eye flexes at Kyli's face; she scowls softly.

"Skincare?" Vlod's voice asks, and Kyli lowers her head with piqued brows. "Ah!" Vlod laughs. "That was a jest. I do not recall you making Jokes in the First Order." Kyli's gaze steadily turns out the Maledictum's pair of carnivorous eyes.

"You didn't have transhumeral prosthetics last I remember," Kyli observed wryly, accompanied by a dry chuckle. "I can hardly believe we're here, after all these years."

Vlod's head nods. "Not once did your crew, my Princeps, ever man one of these great war machines in a time of conflict or fire their weapons in anger." Vlod paused. "I fear that will soon change."

Kyli turns; she and Vlod walk beside one another toward the command throne. "Let's start the neural synchronisation and plasma core purge; it's been idle for years, so we'll have to be careful of Plasma Hypervolemia." It rose high and proud its' peak crested by the Iron Toothed Maw of the extinct First order.

Vlod's face nods beneath a crimson cowl pulled over his head. "By your will, my Princeps." Kyli's armoured figure eases down into the throne. Crew members scurry around the woman; thick black cables clasp onto metallic anchors fixed to Kyli's forehead on adhesive pads.

Both hands perched on the great carved Gothic spirals that form armrests. A gush of ice-cold water flushes through Kyli's brain. Her eyes snap together, her jaw clenches, and her hands curl. Kyli gasps; Vlod looks at her with a hint of concern. "My Princeps, can you hear me?"

Kyli feels the droid intelligence's presence like a shadow above her head pressing against both temples. It was heavy and invasive like a pushy predator. "We are Maledictum." Kyli's feminine voice and the dimness of something powerful and Masculine rumbles through the bridge. "I have awoken again". Kyli emerges from the cloud of two as the more strong of the Duet.

Standing near one-hundred fifty meters above the ground. Maledictum begins a whine that creeps into a constant, ceaseless roar from some prehistoric beast; it utterly subdued the bands and their instruments.

Vlod sat at a station to the fore and lowered from his Princeps' throne. Across from him sat a woman with long flowing gold locks; she was equal in cybernetic modification to Vlod but not a peer in rank. Tara was Vlod's direct subordinate and most junior of the pilots.

But only Kyli, with her augmented nervous system, could truly drive the monstrosity, not without difficulty or consequence. Vlod watches the holographic displays at his cove of dials. "Plasma reactor spooling, volemic balance observed!" He called

Tara opened the closed doors on the missile launchers, elevated and depressed Maledictum's division-level arsenal. "All weapon systems responding, plasma annihilator gyro-stabilisers online." They glance over their shoulders together and look at Kyli.

Aped to mimic the repose of Maledictum, Kyli's eyelids were pursed shut, the tell-tale flicker of rapid eye movement to suggest a dream or vision. Kyli's eyes snap open.

A thin layer of dust leaps clear of the Maledictum's hull, its' warhorn caws sending out a sonic shockwave that sends the palace's garden waving in the violent cacophony. One Maledictum's massive support platforms raise and take a step forward.

One of the crews standing on the square parade ground threw his arms excitedly into the air. "Maledictum awakens!" The Human mod calls to his blue-skinned Chiss Crewman.

The Chiss threw his arms around the Human. "Maledictum walks!"

Kyli could feel the snap and crackle of electricity through her veins as if they were the siege engine's circuits; its' front viewports were now her eyes and the myriad of sensors her other senses the Maledictum's composite hull her skin.

The baritone of a crimson hands' warhorn interrupts Maledictim's focus. "New contact, bearing zero-nine-zero!" Kyli yells through the bridge wordlessly; she keyed up the Siegemachine's internal announcement system. "All hands, man your battle stations." The colossal war machine began its' sluggish turn toward the bearing; its' bellicose warhorn uttered a warning. "All Non-Combatants, evacuate the area."

Motes of energised hydrogen began to swirl around its' Class-D Plasma Annihilator; its' eldrich cry left man, woman and child clasping to their ears in pain. "Main armament charging!" Tara's mouth screams the warning down her throat-microphone.

"Plasma-core volemia holding stable." Vlod calmly chimed through his respirator.

"The Maw came here looking for a battle against the unarmed," Kyli smirked with a sadist's mirth. "Instead, they'll find a war against our eleven-hundred barrels from hell." Kyli squinted, the Maledictum's optics magnified; she watched a lone wraith ( Darth Bellum ) cleave his way through a pair of tanks and the infantry between them. A force wielder of epic power. "Tara." Kyli's voice was stern and taciturn. "Contact: Sith Lord, range five-thousand metres, the axis of advance."

Tara swivelled her central monitor onto the Spectre. "Seen, Mistress?" She cycled through the arsenal at her disposal.

"I don't want to anymore. Fire, the proton beam cannon, all barrels." The Maledictum's ominous advance halts, a column of tanks, armoured fighting vehicles and infantry move to flank the siege machine's march.

"Yes, my Princeps," Tara replied; she tapped commands into her weapon station and steered the gargantuan's sights onto Darth Bellum. The Proton Beam Cannon discharges a barrel, lancing toward the Earth where the Sith Lord stood. It fired like a revolver, one lance after the next. "Gyros for Proton Cannon, offline. Recalibrating." The class-D Annihilation Plasma Disruptor finishes dragging motes of hydrogen into its' shrieking maw.

Kyli heaves her left-arm rearward, eyeing the exact spot where the Proton lances had obliterated the Earth. "Core, hypovolemia threat!" Vlad's voice interrupts Kyli's attack before it could start; she wouldn't risk poisoning the powerplant over a lone Sith-Lord. "Tara, hold your fire." Vlod added.

"Complying, Senior Pilot!". Tara replies; she instead turns the many fire-linked heavy repeating laser cannons across its' carapace onto the Maw's forces, a rain of ceaseless repeating laser fire peppered down the Maledictum's axis of advance. "New contact: Another high-value target on the palace's outskirts. Orders, my Princeps?" Tara asked without taking her focus off the monitors.

"Alias: Kyrel Ren?" Kyli mused for a moment, recalling the name with passing familiarity; the alias marked him as one of Sieger Ren's faithful lapdogs. "Program missiles and fire." Launchers lining the Maledictum's cathedral belch out a dozen missiles up into the atmosphere, each more than two metres in diameter, carrying high-explosive warheads.

"Even lightsabres can't break our armour at the thickest parts; they're not long enough." Vlod calmly reminded the crew.

Kyli thought on his point, Vlod was correct but only insofar as the thickest parts of the armour were concerned. "Activate exterior lights, send down the axis and blind the enemy." The Princeps sent shafts of light bright as a welding torch over its' allies' heads into the ranks of rapid Maw infantry; they were stopped dead in their tracks. Left to the mercy of Tara and her heavy laser cannons.

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Empress Teta, Palace
Equipment: Jedi Robes, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Second Lightsaber, Promise Ring to Jairdain, Eyepatch
Tag: Caltin Vanagor , Rannan Kol , Darth Carnifex

Jax should've been fighting with his brethren on Teta but instead here he was in the palace guarding the politicians. He didn't think that he would be amongst these politicians for so long but ever since Jax became a Watchmen for Alderaan, he was introduced into the Sarlacc pit known as Politics. The Queen: Faith Organa would drag him around as a personal bodyguard though she would never listen to his advice based on her placing herself in danger during the assassination attempt back at Coruscant. The Jedi Master frowned, things happen for a reason though and a Jedi must overcome and adapt. Still, with the Brotherhood attempting to weaken the Galactic Alliance internally making them ripe for conquest it was necessary for Jax to be in the front lines.

"Pretty sure Jairdain is gonna be reall happy that I'm away from all of the fighting," Jax thought, however the Jedi Master immediately sensed a disturbance in the Force. A Brotherhood Dropship began to descend on the Skyscraper. Jax sensed dark side figures about six of them begin to attack the inhabitants inside of the palace. He leaned forward leaping high meeting the six acolytes before him his Lightsaber activated the yellow blade shining against the Sun's rays.

"Welcome Empress Teta gentlemen!" Jax said smirking. "Allow me to give you all a Galactic Alliance welcome!"

Looks like Jax didn't have to wait long for the action to come to him. Closing his eye, Jax leapt towards the Acolytes bisecting the nearest one with ease.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Objective 1/C
Location: Spaceport outside Cinnagar Royal Palace
Soon to engage: Voldran Molf
Allies: MAW & Allies
Enemies: GA & Allies

Equipment in bio.

THE INCANTATION
​

Shadows fall upon the Core Worlds; the unrelenting armada of the Brotherhood of the Maw is now dangerously deep inside Alliance Space. By tracing the path the shadowy Krath had paved, the invading Mawite Army defiles what otherwise would be a picturesque sunrise over the urban horizon of Cinnagar. On this day on Empress Teta, dawn breaks to the sound of exploding ammunition.

The many ornate and reflective surfaces of the Cinnagar Royal Palace shine brightly beneath the warm orange sun, cementing its prominent architecture as the centerpiece of the great ecumenopolis' Royal District. Its significance galactic, its history crucial, its influence far-reaching. And so the shadow such a magnificent structure projects is nothing short of abyssal. From within these overcast walkways and high-rise alleys a mysterious member of the New Sith Order emerges, leading a select group of dormant marauders to contest a particular strategic point outside of the Citadel. Oily shades like tentacles creep down on the blackened frame of The Blasphemer Lord Ptolemis as he steps out into the sun-soaked overpass, his eerie mask glistening under the bright Tetan sky. A strange, slow inhalation fills his lungs, with a sound that most resembles a growing earthquake. The dark figure calmly retrieves his durite hilt from beneath the endless folds of his occultish robe, slowly looks over his shoulder, nods at the Mawite soldiers under his command, and moves to begin his assignment. His ceaseless march sounding like drums of war that push the small strike team onward, to take over one of several spaceports dotting the District. While the rest of his Order invades through the hypergate and wreaks havoc inside of the Citadel, it is likely that his presence on the building's outskirts shall come as a surprise to anyone aiming to flee the Citadel.

The linear path ahead of the Mawite group leads directly to the spacious hangar building. The ruinous markings of an ongoing invasion wound the skyline wherever one looks, and it is no different for the gigantic hangar. A makeshift barricade of heavy cargo blocks the path of the Sith-led strike team, and according to preliminary intel, it's sparsely packed, with only a couple of ships remaining within. The left-behind opposition inside, however, is fierce as ever. Without warning, several blaster barrels slip out from behind the barricade. The Sith Lord immediately stops and waves his marauders to himself. – Marauders, deploy the generator! – The leftover Alliance forces in the hangar discharge a blanket of blaster fire at the group of invaders, but to no avail. The Mawite strike team had activated the protective half-sphere just in time to shield them from the barrage. The marauders are kneeling close to the Sith Lord, clutching their weapons, panting, restless, vengeful. The Sith Lord is still standing. The neon flashes of the colliding bolts dance along the crescents of Lord Ptolemis' golden mask, who simply waits. Motionless. Unknowable.

For a few moments, the barrage stops. The marauders look up at their leader for any sign of guidance, but their non-verbal plea remains unreciprocated. The plasma bubble hums ever quieter, but still stands. The silent Sith breathes steadily, awaiting the inevitable that soon arrives; a missile launcher rears its head, again from behind the hangar barricade, and subtle worried looks are exchanged between the marauders, for they know that objects with kinetic momentum can easily punch through energy fields. PHWOOM. The rocket is speeding toward them. The gloved hand of Ptolemis emerges from beneath his robe, a sudden wave of motion rolling through the overlong fabrics, and his open palm twitches once, as if gripping and letting go of an unseen chain in the Force. The missile stops mid-flight, its rear exhaust belching burning jet fuel and smoke while levitating only a couple of meters in front of the Sith-led group. The Blasphemer looks ominously at his team, still holding the missile in place through the Force, and calmly addresses them –– his unholy voice spiraling all around them. – Varkuye kraujas selien tave aikstus ra Valzino. – As soon as they hear the enthralling incantation cast by the Blasphemous Sorcerer, a black layer creeps over their eyes and their throats erupt with a blood-curdling war cry. The protective bubble surrounding them dissipates and the rocket held in place by the shackles of the Dark Side is abruptly flung back at the barricade, ruthlessly blowing it up amid screeching fireworks. The charging marauders open fire while running, suppressing any re-aggression from inside the spaceport, and Lord Ptolemis soon joins them in their forward rush.

The Fondorian Reaper explodes from within the destruction and choking black smoke, crimson judgement piercing through hearts and throats in a flurry of hate-fueled fervor. The telepathically puppeteered marauders take up valuable positions near their break-through point and take out any remaining members of the hangar guard, seemingly acting as worker limbs of a collective consciousness. The last guard is seen clutching his neck with both hands, hanging in the air before the Masked Sith. Through the extended arm of Lord Ptolemis the Force suffocates the last survivor of the spaceport. The fresh corpse is discarded without care. The shadowy Sith then disengages his saber, but almost instantly a clawing sensation scratches his psyche, dragging his attention in the direction of the Royal Palace. His head turns slowly, his subtle movements generating uneasiness. His grip tightens around his profaned hilt, and like a beacon of despair, Darth Ptolemis unleashes a telepathic feeling that darkens the sky above the spaceport, casting doubt after each step one may take toward the fallen spaceport.​

Translation of Sith speech : stagnant blood feeds the unseen God​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Rhyssa Edaara Quillan-E’ron
Ace pilot, commando, major, 1st Expeditionary Fleet, 3rd Squadron, ANV Cadence - Deputy CAG, Force disciple ​

Objective: Protect the Iron Citadel, to get back to her team
Location: Iron Citadel, Empress Teta
Equipment: Purple blade lightsaber | 1x Assault Rifle | 2x Fyrirdögun Shortswords | 2x Hybrid Pistol | Light Armour with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || BB-4 astro droid – Little One || X-wing
Tag: Darth Ptolemis

[ Nuclear ]
"Galactic Common" | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Rhys reaches the spaceport with six other soldiers.
• She will soon arrive at the hangar, where Ptolemis is.

Even Rhys was surprised that she managed to get out of the citadel and reached the city. Today was the worst possible attack. There were a lot of people in town. She would have liked to have stayed here, but they were expecting her in space combat. So she was in a pretty difficult situation. She was a great pilot, but she was also trained as a commando, so any team would have been a great help here as well. She did not like it when she was presented with such a decision.

"Feth!" she said, not for the first time today.

The fighting had already begun in the city, so she had a hard time getting in the direction she wanted to go. After a few corners, however, she was lucky because a group of roughly half a dozen soldiers were on the same road as her; they had a vehicle, and offered to take the red-haired woman away. Rhys, of course, accepted this, as she might never have gotten there without help. Especially if the fights get even more severe.

They may have been halfway there when the emergency call arrived for the Maw to attack the spaceport. They already knew they were late, but they had no choice but to go further. Last but not least, no one wanted to back down and lose such an important tactical point and planet. They were all soldiers, so they knew their duty. Even if it meant they were going to die now.

They arrived at the spaceport minutes later. Rhys immediately felt a strong Dark Side presence from inside the building. She never liked to be confronted with Force Users because there was always the possibility of a fall then. Her husband’s Dark side sign in the Force, which gently embraced and looked after her, not to mention the dyad she shared with her husband. And she still had a chance to find out who the woman's grandfather was. The most feared of this, the Xesh symbol can still be easily explained.

The spaceships were exactly where she felt the assumed Sith, so she and the half-dozen soldiers who came with her headed straight for the target. Unless the Darksider comes to meet with her earlier, she'll arrive in the hangar where the enemy was about two minutes later…

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Tags: Dodhorn Harert

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

Sabbath

Darkness loomed over Empress Teta as the Brotherhood descended upon the planet. Though many had chosen to take part in the ambush within the Royal Palace of Cinnagar, the Demon Mandalore chose to remain with Death's Hand. As each dropship touched down, more and more of his forces poured forth, preparing for their own assault upon the planet's capital. Their number had continued to swell with each day, turning Death's Hand into a truly terrifying force within the ranks of the Maw. As Khamul stood atop of the hill overlooking the city, he found his attention diverted from the approaching battle.

The woman approached him with a calculated elegance as she greeted him coldly. He had heard tales of Clan Harert, though he had expected them to be long lost to the ages. Yet, here she was, standing before him, with little to no regard for him as the Mand'alor... something that he would have to remedy.

"I am Khamul Kryze, Mand'alor the Unchained."

A brief pause followed as he took a moment to size her up. Mandalore the Ruthless... he was familiar with the name, though only vaguely. Much of the information about her had been forgotten to their kin. Khamul had only discovered pieces of her tale through old tomes owned by his former master Darth Petrichor. But even then, they were only fragments, and nothing more.

"Kralmus has indeed told me about you, including your taste for blood. You'll find that we are somewhat similar in that regard. Perhaps mine is not so... literal as yours, but similar nonetheless."

As he spoke, one of the members of Death's Hand approached, offering his Mand'alor a bow as he drew close.

"Our forces are ready to move on your command."

"Good..."

He turned his attention back toward the city, his mask beginning to pulsate with the crimson glow of the darkness within him. Today would be a glorious slaughter, and Death's Hand would be the harbingers of doom.

"I imagine you will be dining well today, Dodhorn of Clan Harert. Care to join us in the great culling of the weak?"

 

[Westenra Mina]

Wearing: Gladiator Armor

Armed with: Five Rings

Objective: Protect Citadel

Current Copy: Lynda (See Bio)

After her actions on Epoch, Lynda had completely ruined any possibility of herself being a symbol The Alliance could use. It had taken her sister, Vera, and all her legal expertise (along with the Assassination of Key witnesses and bribery of certain officials) to avoid being detained and thrown in prison. But the Job Offers from the GA had completely dried up. She was here on an independent contract from wealthy Tetan citizens. The Demon of Jedha was just that: a relentless, bloodthirsty artificial demon literally angered into existence by the death of her pet rabbit and pet turtle--after being buried alive under rubble. Such a thing was impossible to make a hero out of, especially given the bloody horrors she had inflicted on not just actual Maw and Final Dawn Troopers, but simple office workers who knew nothing

She had started only now wondering if the trauma, and her perfect ability to recall it as if it had only occured seconds prior, hadn't driven her insane on some level. But her boiling, savage hatred of the Maw and all who served them always beat back any introspection.

She no longer responded to hails from her own mother--or any of her family. She was a relentless terror to the Maw, butchering them any time she found them. She savagely stalked them in their own territory, inflicting the same carnage she had at Jedha.

She knew it was self destructive. That eventually the GA and their Jedi would try to confront her and stop her mad slaughter out of some misguided sense of right and wrong. But Lynda would keep killing Maw as brutally and painfully as she could, for as long as she could.

Lynda had laid low since Epoch, coasting on already earned credits. SIA had been tailing her endlessly, just waiting for her to step over the line.

She didn't really care if she did or not. Laertia had been absolutely right about them--they were corrupt to the core, only marshalling such ferver when their enemy had forcibly removed every last remaining avenue of Cowardice to fall back on.

She sneered at their platitudes now.

She had been staying on the planet a few days, waiting for a rumored attack that had finally come, and close to the Iron Citadel.

So many of them...and the first thing many of those troops saw was Lynda's Crazy McCrazy Pants (The craziest kind of Crazy Pants) bloodshot gaze as she began slicing and dicing her way into Maw Vermin,all the really good Mick Gordon Soundtracks playing occasionally as her swords and fists and legs found flesh and bone, starting to create piles of meat in her wake as she launched herself with feral abandon at the Maw hoards, cutting them in such ways as to increase their agony as they were slain. She grabbed one particularly large Mawite savage and began smashing his head into the pavement when she wasn't using his quickly mangled form as a bludgeon to kill his fellow sycophants. The Android finally smashed his head in with a stomp.

Lynda let out a gutteral war cry as she hurled herself into crowds of attackers shooting at her, her swords flashing, glittering through skin and muscle, her hand tearing a female Mawite's head clean off and used to brutally break the neck of another.

The Demon of Jedha began to think of her pets and how they suffered as she ripped a man's leg off, and used it as a bludgeon to shatter the bones in his neck as she began to take damage fighting her way to the interior...

Percival Io

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

MARKET WITHDRAWAL
HER MAJESTY’S ROYAL SPACE PORT // EMPRESS TETA

Guarantor | Visions of Gold | Limited Liability | Attire
Auteme | Kralmus Orr

A convoy of identical up-armoured landspeeders burst from the executive garage of the Royal Palace and sped through the boulevards of Cinnagar. At the first intersection, the column split in half and departed in opposite directions, with these two groups splitting in half again shortly after. The drivers of each landspeeder kept their repulsors open to maximum speed as they hurried through the narrow, cosmopolitan streets of the revered city. Local law enforcement droids activated at intersections ahead to stop the flow of traffic and give the unmarked vehicle a clear run. Alliance gunships hung above each speeding hovercade, ordering Empress Tetan civilians to stay back.

Chancellor Aerarii Tithe braced himself against his seat as the pilot of his landspeeder threw the vehicle violently around a corner, right on the tail of their convoys lead vehicle. Around him, blue armoured Senate Commandos were removing their ceremonial robes and double-crested helmets in favour of combat armour, their force pikes exchanges for blaster carbines. He could hear the leader of his close protection head feeding updates to Alliance One in orbit, making preparations to extract Tithe from the surface of Empress Tea.

It was meant to be a day of celebration. The coronation of the new Empress would be the perfect excuse for Alliance to enjoy a rare moment of celebration, and for the Corporatist Bloc to solicit campaign donations during the dozens of social events organised to coincide with the grand event.

The Brotherhood of the Maw had other ideas.

Tithe had been whisked from the palace at the first sign of trouble, and would soon be safely in hyperspace and on his way back to Coruscant. GADF High Command and the New Jedi Order would respond to the invasion - Tithe maintained the best place for him to be was out of the way, one less distraction in the defence of the planet.

Of course, it had nothing to do with Tithe protecting his own neck at the expense of others.

The convoy speed into the Royal Space Port and came to a fast stop outside a docking bay. The Senate Commandos formed a protective cordon around the Chancellor and hurried him to the awaiting diplomatic shuttle. The fast-moving craft was fuelled up and ready to carry him to safety, a quartet of starfighters circling overhead would escort them. Three other shuttles carrying identical identifying codes, lifting off from around the city where the decoy convoys had stopped, would draw the enemy away while Tithe was whisked to safety. He was almost home safe.

Against, the Brotherhood had other ideas.

The shuttle erupted into a fireball as it was struck by an enemy bombing run. The Senate Commandos were quickly back on their feet, grabbing Tithe by the arm and hurried him back out of the docking bay. The close protection team leader looked around the landing field, and after conferring with Alliance One overhead, pointed to a starliner nearby that was about the lift-off to evacuate fleeing civilians. The group hurried toward the vessel, the Guards yelling for the captain to identify themselves so they could inform them the Office of the Chancellor was seizing the ship.

Tithe grimaced as he surveyed the starliner.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d flown economy.

 

[Dodhorn Harert]

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

Objective: To finally meet with the Mand'alor
Location: Near to the Iron Citadel, Empress Teta
Equipment: Beskar'gam | 2x Beskad | 2x Su'arnr be Tracyn | 1x red blade lightsaber
Writing With: Khamul Kryze | Closed
Allies: Open
Enemies: Open

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

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Dodhorn talks to Khamul and provokes him.

Fear, dread, the smell of death could already be felt in the air and in the Force. There were countless fighters in the air, the sound of fighting from the city. These were the conditions the Hellwolf really loved. And she missed it a lot. Signs of victory, the smell of victory. And finally there was the current "Mand'alor". She still couldn't get used to this new sound, she liked Mandalore better. Which was the planet's name and the ruling title's name at the same time.

But when she heard the name, she laughed in a mocking voice. She had a great time already.

"Unchained?" she asked back in an immeasurably mocking voice.

Yes, she deliberately provoked the man; it was not in her mind to recognize him as ruler until he proved worthy of it. As she got closer, her movement also became intentionally provocative. There was no respect in it. During her long life, this is very easy to learn for her. Dodhorn also mastered the game of rulers and Sith.

"And yet, I see perfectly the chains that hold you captive, and also the one who moves those chains, Kryze. It's none other than Solipsis. You would be "the Unchained" if you ruled the Maw, Mandalorians, and Sith. Instead, you serve a Sith and have only a handful of followers." she continued with still a mocking emphasis.

Another chuckle from behind the helmet, as Khamul mentioned Kralmus. The woman found the Mandalorian cannibal very amusing, especially how delighted and excited the man was when he realised the Hellwolf is thirsting for the blood of their enemies. And how he longed to see it when she drank their blood.

" Kralmus Orr is not a very smart but talented cute little puppy." she said appreciatively. "And I reassure you that I thirst for their blood in both ways. Literally and just like you. And I hope the level of your desires is at least as great as mine."

Deliberately worded ambiguously. Meanwhile, she looked down the hill at the city and the nearby citadel. A mocking smile appeared on her lips under her helmet on Khamul's words, then she chuckled again. For now, it was still fun that the man wanted to behave like a ruler at all costs. As the arriving Mandalorian reported, Dodhorn put her hand on her hip and tilted her head slightly to the side.

"Oh, no, darling! The real question is, are you willing to prove to me on the battlefield that I accept you as Mandalore, or would you rather try to defeat me in a duel? I'm open to either…" she said still in a provocative tone, yet slightly deeper, humming voice.

For sure, Dodhorn would have had a great time with either choice…

 

[Shai Maji]

CINNEGAR | THE ROYAL PALACE
BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | SCARHOUNDS
ALLIES: MAW | OPEN
ENEMIES: GALLACTIC ALLIANCE | OPEN
ENGAGING: Kahlil Noble
GEAR: In bio | Standard loadout | shield

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Shai makes fun of the Mandos and flies off to commit war crimes

SAW IS THE LAW​

The Core worlds, always a playground for her. At one point, it was her biggest source of business as a gun runner, with cartels and insurgencies trying their luck at independence. As a Mandalorian, she fought in battles to protect the Alliance from the Maw alongside her vode to honour their deal. Now? Those she called family have forsaken her when she needed them most. The Jedi, once her biggest heroes and role models, seemed like nothing more than a bunch of frauds. After all, if they were so powerful, the Maw wouldn't have gotten this far and she would never be here to begin with.

Crouched on top of a nearby statue by the palace, the Wardog watched as the Maw let loose with all its fury, the people of Empress Teta running for their lives. Though her attention was soon drawn by the nearby group of Mawdalorians as another joined from the swarm of dropships. A cackling laugh echoed over the conversation between Khamul Kryze and Dodhorn Harert before the Wardog jumped off her spot and landed close to them with a heavy thud, the stone cracking beneath her cybernetic feet.

"Hellwolf? Lady, I told Mongrel and I'll tell you, unless you look like this-" She pointed a thumb at her mug, durasteel teeth glimmering through her snarl. "-Just cut out the karkin' mutt nicknames. Closest you get to that is likely your personality and even that looks like a joke." She called out to the two, her cybernetic gaze turning to glare at the newest Mand'alor on the block. "And don't get me started with you, buddy. Last sith-mando knockoff lost his Confederacy after a few solar ion cannons fired at his ships. Just go kill yourself and do the Mando'ade a favour!" With a growl she slid her new helmet on and marched off, drawing her rifle from her back.

Her armour was a farcry from the sleek plates and angular accents she used to sport. But she improvised, cobbled together what she could from the remains, and this new set wasn't all that much different in performance... plus, she liked the rough look.

"Now shut up, it's time for WAR!" She howled as she raised a hand into the air and took off, her jetpack howling through the air.

It didn't take long for her to find some entertainment. People running, crying for help and mercy, some trying to fight back against the onslaught.

"Sheep, all of 'em."

"YOU SHOULD FIGHT BACK, YOU COWARDS!" She roared, her weapons lighting up the streets, missiles and particle bolts tearing apart everyone in her way. Spineless cowards too scared to save themselves. The Maw was pure garbage and she hated pretty much everyone in it... but they might be onto something. Granted, she liked Gerald, though. Dude was pretty damn helpful when she reforged her armour... he was likely not going to survive.

Constantly flying, touching down, shooting, then flying again. She was looking for something, someone to match her. Someone to come save these poor souls. A Jedi. She wanted to see what they were really made of, why she held such admiration for them in her youth.

 

[Hand of Judgement]

---

---

---

D A Y_O F_R E V E N G E
Operation : Golden Spear

FINAL DAWN
EMPRESS TETA, DEEP CORE

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---

---

What was supposed to be a simple coronation of a new Monarch for Empress Teta had quickly devolved into Chaos and Bloodshed with the arrival of the Brotherhood of the Maw. Already the Knights of Ren and the New Sith Order were in the streets of Cinnagar slicing through any Tetan or Alliance Forces alongside their Marauder allies spreading chaos and confusion throughout the City. In the Palace, the young Empress, a certain June Keto had already been escorted away causing great confusion among the attendees while Senator Seto Du Couteau rushed out of the entrance headed deeper inside the Palace pushing past nobles and Alliance Politicians alike as panic started to spread across the royal halls.

Among the Nobles and Politicians was Sabe Grandall, member of a Minor Noble House on Empress Teta who like many others had come to witness the coronation of Empress June Keto. What many didn't know was that the real Grandall had been murdered a few days prior to the coronation and replaced by a Shi'ido Fleshtaker, Elite Black Ops Soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Maw. While the training of new Fleshtakers had been discontinued since the failed Invasion of Lao-Mon by the Silver Jedi Order, the Final Dawn had taken around two dozen Fleshtakers with them under the oversight of Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen who saw them as potentially valuable assets for the Final Dawn. Now, the Grand Overseer had the chance to truly test whether they could be effective operatives or not having already deployed half a dozen Fleshtakers (Including the one impersonating Grandall) to Empress Teta in advance of the projected invasion in order to assassinate and impersonate Nobles.

Now everything was set. The Coronation had begun, the Maw had attacked and panic and confusion was rampant throughout the Royal Place and now their target, Senator Seto de Couteau seemed to be moving away from the main venue deeper inside the Palace with only a few Senate Guards and a Jedi Master at his side. Quickly Grandall moved towards a secluded area of the Palace while still remaining in view of the Senator before taking out a comlink and contacting Joseph Torson through an encrypted channel. "I have eyes on the target, headed somewhere deeper inside the Palace. He seems unarmed, but is currently escorted by a few Senate Guards and a Jedi Master.". Senator de Couteau might think he was in relative safety but unbeknownst to both the Senator, her Guards and the Jedi Master with him, the danger was closer then they thought.

---

Tags [GA] | Seto Du Couteau | Zark San Tekka ​

---

 

[Jem Fossk]

Be a pool of water.

Like a lake...

cool... unmovable... without ripples...​

Jem forced herself to envision it. The jedi meditation practice had once been a security blanket. Now its ragged form kept slipping through her fingers. Calm was not something Jem typically embodied but she stood at her father's side and force herself to remain still.

It was becoming harder every day to manage it.

Her father's corrupting measures seared through her veins and she suffered for it. Every moment was a battle inside her own mind. Every breath was effort-- a cognitive task of control.

She ignored her father. She ignored the city, she ignored the pending war. She was running out of ti--

A familiar presence cut through it all. Her attention jolted outwards, a pained gasp escaping through her lips. It only took a moment for her to make sense of the presence.

Not even the darkside could make her forget her master.


Her own presence was weak, barely identifiable amongst the corruption that threatened to swallow Jem whole. A warning image jolted through the tentative bond they still shared, powerful as it tried to drive itself like spikes into Dagon's mind.

Her father was coming. He was more powerful than ever before.

“The time has come, daughter.”

Jem winced and released the reigns from her grasp. The metal had warped under her fingers. "Yes father."

She let herself free fall to the ground, disembarking to... she no longer knew. She no longer asked questions. Her strength was conserved for one thing.

I am a lake.
​

Dagon Kaze Darth Solipsis Ryv Corin Trenor

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Objective 1C: The Iron Citadel​

Location: Teta, the Iron Citadel
Tags: Henna Ashina | Inosuke Ashina

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Tu'teggacha and his entourage pass through the hypergate
• A horde of Marauder Aspirants pours through the citadel and out into the streets

Everything was proceeding as the Taskmaster had foreseen.

Well, more like hoped, really. Precognition was not among Tu'teggacha's limited but powerful set of Force gifts, and he had not actually experienced any visions of the invasion of Teta. His predictions had been based on numbers, not mystical insight. As the main logistician of the Brotherhood, it fell to him to direct the appropriate troops, equipment, and vehicles into position... and in this instance, he could add oversee the Mawite hypergate to his list of responsibilities. And that most recent and unexpected duty was going well. The connection had been established, a bridge across 900,000 light years.

The Taskmaster and his entourage were among the first to step through the gate. It was a strange feeling, direct travel across so great a distance, accomplished in an instant; the Ebruchi could compare it only to the feeling of being gently pulled through a thick, viscous curtain of slime, as if the untold trillions and more of kilometers between the two gates provided only the slightest resistance. Omni's hypergates had been designed to allow entry to Oblivion, the mad droid intelligence's realm within the Netherworld... but with the aid of a captive Omni-Drone, it had not been so difficult to repurpose them.

To directly connect one gate to another, rather than to Oblivion.

As he stepped out from the gate, the fetid heat of Lao-mon's savage jungles suddenly giving way to the chilly, stale air of the Iron Citadel's deepest bowels, Tu'teggacha looked up at the strange being who had made it all possible. His facial tendrils twisted into the disgusting Ebruchi equivalent of a grin, writhing around his squidlike ring of teeth. They had found the Omni-Drone battered and broken just outside the hypergate, thrown back into realspace at the moment its god had abandoned it. The Brotherhood was not wasteful. It was a scavenger legion, taking civilization's castoffs and making them weapons.

The Manifold had been no exception. It was their tool now.

As the tendrils of Netherworld energy gradually slid from his soul, the last remnants of his passage through Omni's failed paradise dissipating in the stark reality of the physical galaxy, the Taskmaster looked around at his entourage. He had brought five trusted servants with him. Four were Pontifical Palatini, the elite priestguard trained in the Jedi arts by the Dark Voice himself. They had served him well when Copero fell, allowing him and his creations to escape the Alliance reconquest in spite of Jedi intervention, and he trusted them to keep him safe here on Teta as well. The fifth, of course, was one of his creations.

The Ebruchized were perhaps his greatest success to date. Though only one in a hundred of the vile, twisted clones retained its sanity, those that did were beings of incredible value. They retained the powerful instinctive Force navigation and precognition of the Chiss children they had been cloned from, powers that - unlike with the fragile children - arose immediately and did not fade. The one he had brought with him to Teta, dressed now in flowing robes of black and silver, had been instrumental in calculating and programming the hypergate connection - ensuring that The Manifold could not betray them.

And now it would advise Tu'teggacha in this conquest.

But these were the commanders; the frontline soldiers followed just behind. A horde of marauder aspirants poured through the portal, howling and chanting, giving praise to the Dark Three for the slaughter they were about to unleash in the Avatars' name. Most of them would be butchered in the coming conflict, the martyrs whose blood greased the wheels of conquest, for even in their endless hordes they were no match for Jedi - or the likes of House Io and its strange creations. But they would pass into paradise in glory, or so they believed... and they would buy time for more powerful troops to advance.

"Make haste," the Taskmaster ordered. "I sense Jedi approaching!"

 

[The Mongrel]

Objective 1A: The Iron Titan​

Location: Teta, City Streets
Tags: Darth Bellum | Ishida Ashina | Bernard of Arca

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel prepares to ambush the enemy armor with Seeratteri Stonechewers
• He sends Mercy to investigate the Force research facility she found

For once, The Mongrel's turbulent mind was still.

As the Lord of the Scar Hounds stared down the approaching Alliance walker, a colossal war platform poised to blast down the gates of the Iron Citadel and put an end to the hypergate within, he felt only calm. The voice of Kallan, that old self who judged him for all his bloody deeds, was finally silent. He had been walled away from The Mongrel's present, contained by the powers of his... what? Most tusted agent? Greatest weakness? Lover? Destroyer? He did not know what Mercy was to him anymore, only that he could not live without her.

But all that uncertainty, and all the guilt and doubt he felt when his old self watched his actions, was asleep now. The man who stood on the field was solely The Mongrel, the warlord who had burned a score of worlds, the faithful servant of the Avatars and the Dark Voice who was their prophet. He would fight for this world without fear or hesitation, and if he died in the battle, he would surely be raised up to the paradise of the Galaxy To Come. He had not felt such clarity of purpose in years. He was truly ready to bring war, in all of its glory...

... and all of its horror.

All around him, the Scar Hounds were taking up positions along the long road that led up to the Iron Citadel. They were clearing the buildings that lined the street, killing all who had been foolish enough to stay in their homes, and setting up heavy weapons in the windows. But the infantry had little hope of actually bringing down the colossal Alliance titan and its escort; it shields and armor would repel even their heaviest guns, and they had not been able to bring their customary vehicles through the portal. So they had chosen to improvise.

The Scar Hounds were masters not only of cybernetics, but of warbeasts. That was the skill that had enabled them to catch - if not actually train, for the beasts were stupid and ornery - a half-dozen Seeratteri Stonechewers, the strange metal-eaters native to one of the Maw's many isolated planets in the Unknown Regions. Contained within energy fields, for no metal cage could hold them, the Stonechewers chittered and rumbled in rage and hunger. They were eager to devour rich ores to fuel their unique digestive systems...

... ores that made up the armor of Alliance tanks.

"Let them come a little closer," The Mongrel commanded. "Unleash the beasts when they are in our midst." The Stonechewers were huge creatures, their shells as hard as metal-rich rock; they could hold up in a firefight. But it was better not to risk them in a frontal charge when an ambush would serve just as well. So The Mongrel just watched as the deadly Darth Bellum manifested, appearing in the midst of the battlefield like a bleak angel of the Avatars, tearing apart his foes with his dark sorcery. He would weaken the enemy forces...

... and then the stonechewers would consume them.

As he prepared, waiting in the shadow of a captured apartment building for the enemy to advance, the warlord heard her voice. It was both physical, coming across his comms, and telepathic, sounding within his own fractured mind. Within the palace of thoughts they had built together, he kissed her back, felt the comfort as he touched the only person in all the galaxy he could truly trust. ~ You've done well, ~ he told her. ~ You always look out for me. For us. I know you'll find a way to save us, all of us. ~ All the voices within.

~ Be careful, ~ he commanded, but it was a gentle command, born of concern... even love. ~ I need you, now and always. ~ If this facility could do what she suspected, if it could separate Kallan from The Mongrel, their torment could end. They could live their own lives, free from the burden of each other. What would come next for them, and for the woman who loved them both? He did not know. But they could not go on like this, forced to divide their minds, torn apart by too many personalities within one brain... and Mercy could save them.

"Here are your orders," he said in reality...

... giving her back the facility's coordinates.

 

[Valery Noble]

Location: Empress Teta
Objective: 1 — Enroute to Cinnagar
Appearance: Link
Outfit: Factory Link
Weapon: Double-Bladed Lightsaber
Tag: Kahlil Noble Shai Maji

The Maw was coming.​

A few hours before zero hour.
About one year ago, Valery and Kahlil Noble had made the decision to live together in an apartment on Empress Teta with their daughter, believing the core to be a safe place from the war. Of course, Coruscant had been attacked but the chances of another surprise attack happening so deep within the heart of the Alliance were almost non-existent. But the imminent invasion of Empress Teta was hardly a surprise.

After fighting on Selvaris and deploying to Xa Fel in her starfighter, Valery knew the seemingly unstoppable warpath of the Maw was heading straight for the core, the home of millions of families, including her own. Preparations were being made to face the inevitable on the surface, and this also meant a difficult goodbye to her now 3-year-old daughter.

Kahlil Noble was already heading off into the city to help defend against the first wave, but Valery stood at the bottom of the Bastion's ramp just outside their apartment and held her daughter close against her chest.

"Mom and dad will be home again soon, sweetie. I promise," she said softly before her eyes shifted up to the special nurse droid she had gotten recently, "Take the Bastion to New Cov, and stay there until either Kahlil or myself find you there. And if something happens to her..." she looked at the crying little girl in her arms, "...you'd wish it was the Maw who got their hands on you."

"Understood, ma'am." the droid replied with some surprise in its voice.

Valery then handed her daughter over and gritted her teeth in an attempt to not choke up herself, "Behave Vera and be strong for mommy. I'll see you soon." She offered the girl a final smile and kept looking at her until the ramp of the ship had been raised completely. That's when a deep breath was taken, her gear was checked one last time, and as fast as she possibly could, she moved to catch up with Kahlil in the city.

Millions of people were still stuck out there, and the Maw was coming for all of them. But together with him, she was at her strongest, and she felt confident that many lives could be saved today.

So as determined as always, and with pure strength in her heart, she moved out.

 

[Rannan Kol]

Cinnagar, Skyscraper
Objective 1b

Allies: The Maw, Darth Carnifex
Enemies: Caltin Vanagor , Jax Thio
Equipment: The Dark Sacraments, Apostle's Vestments​

---

Destruction had come to Cinnagar.

From his vantage point high above the streets of the city Kol could watch as the Mawites engaged the defending Tetan forces. Blasterfire, explosions and bodies filled the streets. Starfighters and Dropships filled the skies. Were it such a deadly atmosphere one might almost pause momentarily to admire the beauty of it all.

Then came the lightning from the sky. Electrical bolts that materiallized and slammed into the ground below. Powerful.

Kol came closer to one edge of the skyscraper, his senses expanding and outstretching to the world around him as he sought the source. He felt a presence, one that was familiar to him but changed. A Presence he had not felt since the sacking of Coruscant.

There was more too. The Acolytes were being interrupted in their slaughter. Jax Thio would quickly find that the Acolytes weren't particularly schooled in saber dueling beyond the basics relying more on brutality and intimidation than actual skill. Nonetheless a Jedi let them focus their. One of them may have fallen but now the remaining five came at Jax with all the fanatical vim once might expect attacking wildly.

Acolytes came cheap, as did Marauders. Kol had no qualms about sending more of them to do the work that the others had begun.

As for the Dark Apostle himself he was searching, seeking that familiar presence until....

"Ahhhh, there you are."

...he found Caltin Vanagor in the streets, fighting tooth and nail to defend the city and the people that called it home. Were it not so cliche Kol might have found it admirable.

The Dark Apostles mind had already reached out, extending beyond his body and while he may have foudn Vanagor down below he didn't attempt to touch his mind like he had previously on Coruscant. He sensed Vanagor had changed but Kol had also become different in his own way. He'd been testing himself in new ways and growing, like he did on Norris.

It took a moment but he found what he was looking for.

A Teenager, just on the cusp of adulthood strode out onto the streets. She was innocent but after today she would be forever tainted by the horrors of war. None of the Mawites or the Acolytes fighting on the streets would touch her though. She wove herself through the battle with an alien grace, almost as though she were strolling down the street without a care. It took some time but she'd eventually see him....

"Hello, Master Jedi."

...her voice wasn't her own and it would carry over the din of combat, it was accompanied by the sibilant whispers of Kol. The Dark Apostle had touched her mind and overtaken it, she was his voice now....

"You've changed since Coruscant. Haven't we all though?"

...the girls eyes glowed, a crimson overtaking them indicating her will was not her own and as she spoke her body began to morph, changing shape as Kol wove illusions over her to better serve his purpose. He remembered many things, many things and among them was that Vanagor had a daughter once. Now this puppet, this innocent began to resemble her if only aesthetically. She'd raise her arms to Vanagor...

"Don't you miss me, father."​