Junction The Final Countdown - AC/NIO/EE/GA/Enclave/BotM Junction of Dromund Kaas/Centares/Lutrilla/Aruza/Hypori/empty hex above Sposia

[Traden Avarice]

II: CLASH OF LIGHT AND SHADOW
​

Location: Outskirts of the Dark Force Temple
Attire: Standard
Loadout: The Harbinger, Lightsaber
Adversary: Darth Ptolemis


Traden rests the stick in a readied position in front of him as the effective blow sends his opponent hurling away and into the water. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow as the Apprentice appears to be struggling severely from the impact. While it had been a solid hit, he had not anticipated so much fruit to be born so soon by such a simple attack. Perhaps this fight will be over much sooner than the Jedi Master had anticipated…

But then, as he takes a step forward, the apprentice flings his arm back towards the Jedi with significant momentum from the force, catching the Guardian off-guard as he is pushed backwards, his feet dragging through the water like a ship through the sea. He flailed his one arm to try to keep balance as the enemy springs to his feet, his previous countenance an apparent fallacy that had affectively deceived the Master as to the true status of the apprentice.

Traden’s eyes widened as he realized that he had put himself at a significant disadvantage when the enemy brought forth a blaster from his cloak. Perhaps, in his attempt to establish a balanced battleground that could potentially test himself against a disadvantaged opponent, he had made a significant mistake. Sith were never to be trusted, after all. He cursed to himself as the bolts of energy erupted repeatedly in his direction.

Accustomed to a saber in his hands, he quickly brought up the weapon he wielded in order to deflect the first blasts of energy.

Alas… it was a stick.

The wood exploded at the center, the blasts pelting his Phrik chest armor, pushing him further back. He cursed to himself again as he used the force to augment his movements, pulling his upper body quickly out of the way of some of the blasts while the others continued to impact his chest armor as well as his unprotected shoulder. He reached back with his unwounded arm and beckoned his saber from his jacket pocket to his hand. It flung through the air, igniting with a sharp hiss and effectively deflected the last bolts of blaster fire.

As the fuel cell became fully depleted, again... the sound of pouring down rain took over the scene, the saber held out in front of the master, his breath labored from the many impacts to his chest armor, his shoulder injured from two successful blaster hits. Traden stood there for a moment, continuing to regain his breath. His injured arm is now unable to assist him in the fight.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He growled as the enemy tossed the emptied blaster over the edge and removed his hood, revealing with greater clarity his deathly pale and twisted features, obviously affected by the dark side of the force. Traden grunts as he rotates his wounded arm, attempting to divert some of the pain and discomfort he was feeling.

Traden then stepped quickly again towards the enemy, this time with a saber glistening and crackling in front of him instead of a stick. With one hand, he made a jab towards the mans stomach, followed quickly by a low sweeping motion intending to cut him down at the knees.

 

[Felix Aquila]

CLASH OF LIGHT AND SHADOW​

Tag: Darth Mori // Scyllias Aventor
Location: Dromund Kaas
Equipment:

• - Light-saber
• - Amanacer Crystal
• - Personal Shield
• - Armourweave Clothing

It wasn't long after landing until Felix seemed as though he had a visitor, another warrior approached from behind, attention torn for a moment as he continued to absorb the light from his saber. He'd turn swiftly, sensing no hostility from the stranger as they made their approach as Felix would observe the newcomer. A friendly hail and a solemn question asked in a friendly manner. Felix almost softened for a moment with relief to see an ally, someone that he could use? Or someone that could help him in getting what he needed?

"Greetings, I don't mean to be the cause of alarm, but there's a person on this planet that's incredibly dangerous. A creature by the name of Darth Mori, Vesta. She took the soul of my kid brother, I intend to get him back. Any assistance you could provide would be appreciated... She's dangerous though."

He'd await a response before he would begin moving, should the man accept, Felix would begin to relay that his intended target is a master with the darkside of the force, especially with her tutaminis, and an incredibly powerful witch as he made his way through the woods, focusing on calling in as much power as he could, though the darkness of the planet made the call of energy even slower than it was on Pii. He was going to have to conserve his energy... He couldn't help but feel the familiar clench of fear tightening the muscles in his throat... the thing he was hunting had nearly been the death of him. It would have taken a flick of her wrist with him unconscious on the ground and he would have been worm-food.

"Working together may be paramount, Mori overpowered me last time with her use of the force, but I'm good enough to put some pressure on her. She likes to play games. If she focuses on one of us, the other should take the opportunity to hit her hard and break her focus... Maybe that way we might sta-..."

It wouldn't take too much time for the two of them to enter the clearing, to find the trail of broken lives leading toward her like bread-crumbs revealing the vile murderess among the shrub and shadow. But they never arrived there, it wasn't them that found her, she had come to them... Felix all but grimaced meeting her eye. Take his survival and be thankful!? His hand gripped at his saber tightly as fury burned within the lightsider's heart.

"Give him to me, now. Or no matter where you go I'll hunt you down. You know I can hurt you, and this time you haven't ambushed me." Felix's voice was firm, unwavering and cold as stone. Not like the impassioned boy she'd fought before. But he could feel darkness, the cold of her presence as all living things died within her radius. Felix could manipulate light to create cold, but what the monster before them could conjure was otherworldly.

"What's a single soul to you? Isn't this hindrance beneath you?" He'd attempt to reason, to ask, sticking to what little diplomacy he could muster short of wanting to tear the assassins' throat out with his bare hands as he spoke through gnashing teeth towards the end. A breeze emanating from his form as those feelings within him bubbled to the surface.

A calm before a ravenous storm.
​

 

[Erion Justeene]

​

Objective I: Found a fight, prepare for it.
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM, NIO
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave
Tags: Stone Gra'tua

The Force Pull worked rather well but at the same time it backfired in equal measure, he got the Mando down to his level but there was the sudden stream of fire that exploded in his face. He had been wearing clothes that did not ignite too quickly, but it still singed holes in them. He's got 4 more of the same colour and fit, but he had to seek shelter from the torrent of fire. On top of the broken arm, he is now sporting numerous burns as well, which burned like fire in the rain.

He was tolerant to pain, he knew how to endure being hit or thrown around, but it hurt his ego more than he was very much on the back foot. Having to focus on defensive strategies rather than offence. That said, this was something he is going to remember for the next time he faces any Mandalorian in any battle in the future. Nothing about this fight was simple, well far from what he had envisioned when it started. Superious was surprised they were both able to stand up after the beatings they took from their duel.

The Ubese is a little worse for wear than the Mandalorian. He could send a torrent of lightning at Stone again, but he risked having both his arms broken if his left arm was grabbed, no, that's risky. He still had the Voidsaber firmly in his grasp. Which means he will need to take an opening to use it. An opening that will take Stone by surprise.

Once he could see an opening he returned to the street from where he was sheltering to charge forward, Voidsaber held in position to aim directly at Stone's chest. Make sure to zig-zag away from repeats of the flamethrower. Once he managed to secure an opening, he swung the Voidsaber at the Mandalorian's chest. He was hoping to land a hit. If not he can always strike with the backswing.

 

[Draco Miles]

Tags: Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Draco Miles | Percival Io | Closed
Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: BotM
Enemies: Everyone Else
Links: Weapons | Chosen

Chuckling at her words, Zachariel shook his head. For a moment, he believed she had learned how to mock, then he saw she was being serious. Sighing in disappointment, the warlord responded.
"I know it well, I've seen it over and over again." Chuckling darkly, his voice growled low. "I've also caused it more than most. People live, take actions in life, and die, before going to the after life. Most simply go to the Nether, though the Mandalorians go to their Manda and the Jedi merge with the Force. And Sith, well they simply linger in their tombs forevermore."

He practically spat out the line regarding the Sith, finding great disgust in it. Such a fate would not befall him, he had made sure of it. But that death would be long in the coming, and certainly wouldn't happen upon this planet. And as he glared at Eina and her compassionate eyes, his hate grew in strength. As she spoke once more, that hate voiced itself in a dark, humorless chuckle.
"Why do you think I fight, child. Realspace is a galaxy filled with false powers, idealogies, and millions stuck in their ways. The Nether is not real, instead more thought than matter, with powers to be served or fed to. Both realities are flawed and I merely bridge the gap. Few understand, and in the end, all that matters is war is waged, blood is spilt, and the weak are culled."

If there was one constant in all of Zachariel's beliefs, it was that the weak deserved to die, and the strong to rule. Blood spilt and skulls taken were simply added bonuses, ones he greatly enjoyed, but no longer his primary objective, usually. Now though, he felt reason slip and the need for violence take over. Silent fury took over as he saw red, and he leapt, striking at Eina with his blades. As his blades locked with her, Draco made her own move, or rather, attempted to.

She grasped onto Zachariel's armor plating and attempted to fling him towards his Chosen. This didn't happen, in fact, the warlord didn't budge so much as an inch thanks to her movements. At eleven foot tall and weighing over half a ton in full armor, not much could move such mass without his consent. And with his focus solely upon Eina, he didn't even notice the attempted movement, instead pressing further in towards Eina with deadly intent.



At this, Zachariel's silence finally broke, and he snarled once more. He snarled because she didn't understand, she couldn't. He did so because she sounded just like Ingrid, so genuine and sincere. And moreover, because there was no answering her question.
"Life is meaningless, but I don't hate it. No, I despise weakness, and this galaxy is rife with it."

As his lenses flared an even darker and more menacing red, Zachariel suddenly broke contact with her defense. There wasn't a moment of reprieve though, as he instead began to rain down blow after blow, hate and rage fueling every swing. He was silent once more, but aside from the obvious rage in each swing, it was shown furthermore as the gen'dai was practically shaking. His plans had changed, he would no longer capture Eina, instead he'd kill her. After another blow was swung, Zachariel finally called out, voice barely controlled.
"Kill. Maim. Burn."

======================

​

Where the Chosen marched, war followed, and bloodshed ensued. This was a simple fact of life for them, for Zachariel had made it so. Here and now was no different, with an unknown number of defenders already dead to their weapons, and more to join them. Blood had been spilt in the Avatar's name, skulls were taken for the throne. All that was left was for more violence to occur, something it seemed the defenders were willing to do. As they advanced, they cared little for the building being defended, they simply cared for the challenge to be overcome.

As it stood, there may yet be a challenge to be had. Opposing them came Neutralizers, foes the Chosen didn't know, nor cared to, simply foes to kill. Those with melee weapons rushed forward, more agile than their counter parts due to their preference of fighting style. As such, the gap was closed and the melee began. However, behind them came those with ranged weapons, each bearing heavy weapons of some sort. As their brethren ran forward, these Chosen opened fire, sending a constant stream of blaster bolts down range. Shot after shot was sent forth, even as they advanced slowly.

It was these Chosen that the building fell towards, surprising them all as it came crashing down. Dust and rubble filled the street, while those Chosen closest were bowled over and buried by the rubble. Several could soon be seen crawling out of the rubble, anger filling their voices as they let out hate filled cries. But the rest simply continued, simply shifting their fire to account for the temporary loss in personnel. And it was now that Percival met with the Chosen he had picked out.

Said Chosen was one of the melee oriented souls present. She bore two weapons, one a crackling hammer, the other a vibro axe. And it was with these she engaged, all but ignoring the ringing in her ears. The grenade had deafened her, but her eye lenses protected her from going blind. A Chosen next to her was not so lucky, stumbling back as a Neutralizer engaged him. The sounds of blades clashing echoed, but more often than not it was a blade against armor.

But that didn't matter, as the Chosen engaged Percival with a ferocious scream as well, bloodlust echoed in turn. Hammer and axe were raised, blocking what she could, while swinging in turn. As the pair engaged, she laughingly cried out.
"I would know the name of the one trying to take my skull!"

6’11” and almost 2x stronger than a wookie, at least genetically engineered as such, though the force and its many mysterious ways prevented Zachariel from moving. As she sent the building crashing down, she moved to aid her friends, pulling her dual bladed saber back, she flung it like a skipping stone, letting it spin in air and guiding it with the force as Chosen tried to escape the rubble. The first to make it through and stand would swiftly be decapitated by her thrown saber as she was descending upon them. She let the neutralizers engage in melee combat, but the ranged ones she focused on, severing their heads to make sure they wouldn’t walk anymore and knowing just from the explosives alone how durable their bodies were, but no creature survived its head being lost.

in truth what she had to thank most for this attack being successful was not her connection to the force, but instead her genetics, making her born with immensely enhanced speed, strength, and reaction times. She was thankful for these as she felt her connection weaken from the force light, making such feats as her lightning impossible to use, but her genetics still let her get an easy grasp of her targets and where they crawled out from in the rubble, it let her dodge their guns as they most likely aimed for her, and let her close in for the kill.


Percival Io Eina L'lerim-Vandiir Zachariel Steelblood

 

[Blade Ice]

Post: 4
Objective: Ace of Spades
Location: Kaas City, Histroical District
Equipment: Orange Lightsaber (Fire) | Blue Lightsaber (ICE) | x8 throwing daggers | Poison Dagger | x5 thermal detonators | x8 Smoke Grenades | Brown MidNight Duster with Hood
Allies: The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena | Kyrel Ren | Zachariel Steelblood | Erion Justeene
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Pietro Demici | Baron Reinhardt Ström
Special Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Annor E-059

---

Blade watched as his Saber was deflected, small sparks flying as the claymore and saber touched. Blade's eyes watched his saber as it made contact with the Claymore. He noted a slight shimmer the plasma blade. There were many materials from which a sword or in this case a vibrosword could be forged from. One couldn't always tell just by looking at the blade without holding it and testing its weight and balance. However, through the study of metallurgy, alchemy, and weapon crafting Blade had learned over the years by watching his sabers interaction with a blade he could get hints at what it was made of. The shimmer meant a disruptive metal or weave probably cortosis by the age worn age of the weapon.


"The Sith Empire has been reduced to ash many times and always another one rises in its place." Blade quipped back as he bounced back a few steps on the balls of his feet. It was plain ignorance to think you could ever truly bury it for good. Blade himself had been part of so many sith empires, order, and iterations of Sith cults he had seen them rise fall. Even Palpatine's Empire probably the most prolific of them Galactic in scale was something derived from the sith ideal. The symbols and signs of the sith were scattered all across the Galaxy in secret libraries and museums of aristocrats, Politicians, and emperors. Leaders always sought power and there was no greater power then the dark side so it's secrets were always the most prized possessions of those who could afford it. Then the crorruption would set in and aa new empire or order would be birthed a cycle that could not be killed or cleansed no matter how much Jedi and Men like Erskine wanted it.


Much like the Maw faith no matter what you could not kill an idea or belief unless you killed ever last person in the damn Galaxy because if even a single seed survived it could grow again. Blade didn't voice this outloud it didn't matter overall, and he was letting the man speak as he studied him. Blade watched Erskine movement and he watched the Claymore taking in the details as the General spoke aloud.


'This curse you speak of what you think it means for your granddaughter and my son - have you ever given thought as to what you might be up against? As opposed to,"Whom", I mean.... My last-surviving son, contrary to popular-opinion, appears to be something more than a mere Force-Adept Jedi, and word to the wise; Michael is steeped in esotericism now, an' the ones he surrounds himself with are pretty much even worse at the moment, he's even got a lycanthrope in tow now. "The Druid", is preparing every day for Khaostra, and so is everyone around 'im.'


He wanted a rise to a chance to strike some sort of fear in Blade, trying to prove his army was superior. To which Blade had no delusion, A General would certainly have the men and means. "Lycanthropes, formidable." Blade said dryly though he openly didn't say anything his body language should he had dealt with such before. Blade had trained with two Lycanthropes of the lupine variety Ket Limelight and Vega Van-Derveld. He had even trained a couple in his day both of feline and Lupine varrients. He had even trained with the Lang Family of Mandalore who were expert hunters of such abominations and many other types. Then there was Blade's oldest blood feud the Barren family was not his first, that honor went to the Van-Derveld family the same one he trained under a long time ago. He had long history with Lycanthropes and so did his family, but Blade would hold his tongue on that one something were better left for later revelations. Like the fact Howling Crags themselves embraced the aspect of the wolf and were intermingled with the Dragon blood clan who embraced the aspect of the Dragon.


'Honestly, Ice? I genuinely hope your family are ready for the storm that's headed your way.'


"We are always prepared for the storm. We have all plunged into the deepest ice lake, walk through the fires of hell, and been baptized in the blood of war." He said calmly as Erskine drift to the commotion of the Maw walkers breaking through the city streets, bring the Maw Brand of Chaos. Blade sight did not move from the General though still studying the man.


'Madness, absolute madness.... I LOVE IT!!!'


"You love your brand of manufactured madness." Blade remarked as the flood gates of battle seemed to open around them. Though Blade wasn't one to halt or let up he seemed to in this instance, he would have pressed the attack while the General kept to his distraction of the Mawsworn. Blade had learned long ago you don't wait for your enemy, but he didn't press on when he should have perhaps, he was getting to old or perhaps he was hopping the General would reveal more and give away even more of the game they would be playing from here on out.


'Being honest? I have no idea if this has a Cortosis Weave or not, Ice.... But I have faith that it does, an' my faith won't fail me tonight! Not here! Not on the one Sith planet I hate the most!'


"It does." Was All Blade said in affirmation as the saber and Claymore met again bounce off each other Blade however press on as he took some steps back and then readjusted then pushed forward. He moved forward again with a thrust attack his aim for the left shoulder as a feint however as his saber quickly changed direction going for the Claymore instead. Blade speed had considerable speed up since the last few movements and it would only get faster as the fight went on. He was purposely moving for the Claymore a strike to knock it away from him but move in closer with his feet, as his left fist with the knuckleduster would then with speed an exceptional strength strike at the left elbow joint of the cybernetic arm. The strike had to possible objective's it could tell him what the cybernetic was made of and it could with enough luck possible cause some damage not just superficial to it. Though the latter was less likely it would be clear that these attacks had been tests Blade was learning his opponents' defenses.

 

[Stone Gra'tua]

Objective 1 : Hunt Sith
Location : Dromund Kaas, New Kaas City
Equipment : Signature/Profile
ALLIES | NIO | AC | TE DECEASED Erskine Barran Nukth Kelga'an Annor E-059 Hoken Stryte The Fool Pietro Demici Don Belkora Jerec Yularen Siv Dragr M I R A Morrow Heinrich Faust Djorn Bline Thonn Rokkal Julian Qar Vulcan Krayt
ENEMIES | TSE | BotM | Keilara Kala'myr Rowena Percival Io The Mongrel Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood |
Engaging : Erion Justeene

There were moments in a fight where one contestant believed they had the upper hand, only to be quickly, devastatingly, and painfully proven wrong. One of these moments came as Stone Gra'tua saw his Sith opponent wreathed in flame, and moved to parry the strike of his unusual weapon. The beskad's blade passed through like it didn't exist, almost spectral. Stone was shocked, but only for an instant. "What the f...?"

That instant stretched on into eternity a moment later as the strange weapon passed through his beskar'gam like it was burnt paper, and the Voidsaber seared into his shoulder and chest, burning like all buggery, and overloading his synapses with blinding pain. Stone knew only pain. Inside, the voidsaber's effect was battling with the Shi'ido's unique physiology, and every fiber of the Mandalorian's body was on fire. Nerves blazing, the beskad fell from his fingers, and he fell to the ground beside it, mercifully pulling his body off the blade, which did nothing for the abject agony he was going through. Cells were being killed off as fast as they could replicate, the pain of which locked the Shi'ido into his current form, convulsing with the effort of continuing to breathe as he was killed from the inside out.

On the ground, overwhelmed with pain, he was basically helpless for the moment. It was the worst pain he had experienced in a long life, and it had gotten the best of the Shi'ido Mando'ad for the current time, locking him into a world that was naught but incessant burning all over agony.

Below New Kaas City, Vansen had to make a command decision, she could not know Stone's situation and the burden fell upon her. The sapping parties were running low on explosives, and they had covered a decent area with their efforts. It was time to leave, and leave before the plan turned to osik. The percentages didn't favour making more effort to risk her people in the aftermath. Grimly, she signalled all Gra'tua sabotage teams to fall back to the extraction points. "Shev'la. Let's go." Swiftly, the last few explosives, a mixture of seismic charges, proton bombs, concussion warheads and detonite blasting caps were piled in heaps and armed, left to do what they could. It would be a glorious conflagration, she only regretted she wouldn't get to push the button herself.

Moving back across terrain Vansen and her sabotage teams had already mined with explosive charges was nervewracking. The code-detonators they were using were supposed to be foolproof, but it wasn't the designers' shebs on the line, down here in the dark, sharing space with several hundred gigantic shab-off bombs, it was hers, and her family, her aliit. Clan Gra'tua had come to spill the Sith's blood, not their own, and she had the duty of bringing them all through alive, and able to fight the next fight.

The Clan had met little to no opposition down here, with all the fighting heavy in space, in the skies above Dromund Kaas, and in the streets of New Kaas City itself. The armies now struggling with one another could not yet know of the great danger that lay beneath their feet, just waiting for the one right signal to make it all known. First blood, vengeance for Manda'yaim. It would not come close to settling accounts, but Clan Gra'tua was making a down payment on what was owed.

Spoiler

Teams of Gra'tua Mandalorians have completed mining the southern section of New Kaas City with varied explosives and begin to retreat from the underground

 

[Iris Arani]

Objective: Survive
Tag: Morrow | Kyrel Ren

The source of the Dark was getting closer. Iris could feel it scouring the battlefield, all in a hopes to find.. Something? No, her. Before she even heard the commanding shout to find the Jedi she could feel Kyrel's intention. The Ren was searching for her. Iris grimaced, but she didn't have the time to try and think on it. Around her the troopers she'd started to shield from the Darkness fought on against the cannibalistic onslaught. She stood before them, Domxite in hand to fend away whatever blasterfire she could while she focused on keeping the colors alive. Spreading and lighting up the darkness.

“Come out wherever you are… I know you are there! Come out and I give my word I’ll save you for last!”

"Stay together! Hold them off until reinforcements arrive!" Escape wasn't an option. Behind her the last tent not to be burned. More injured, more doctors and nurses. All trying to survive and keep those who needed help alive. If they ran, those hurt within would surely perish. Yet at the same time, Iris lingering here would only bring the monstrous presence she felt here. Shadows danced in the fires as she lifted her blade, cutting down another of the red armored troopers as they charged forward.

What should she do?

“There is a Jedi here! Bring him to me alive or else suffer like the rest of these infidels!”

"Jedi are the least of your worries, demon. You stand before a Knight of the Empire. How would you like to die, scum?"

As if answering her question another spoke out. Her gaze shifted, scanning through the haze of battle to find the two voices. There. An Imperial Knight facing down the Master of Ren. She couldn't leave where she was, but maybe.. The swirl of color she'd been using to help the defenders around her spread, cutting through the harsh black of fear and hate to encompass Marrow. Enhance him as she was enhancing the others. Together they could win this.

 

[Eina L'lerim-Vandiir]

Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
The First and the Light of Ashla
Heiress and Princess of the Eternal Empire and Terraris; Angelic Mascot and Representative of the Ashlan Crusade
Eternal Empire's Ambassador to the Ashlan Crusade; Matriarch of the Valkyrja; Leader of Sanctuary and the Fjölkyngi Smiđr Guild​

Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Objective I.: Save the Children
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (swords) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || Current appearance
Writing With: Zachariel Steelblood | Closed
Allies: AC/EE/NIO/GA/Enclave | Heinrich Faust | Isla Draellix-Kobitana | Draco Miles | The Fool | Percival Io
Enemies: BotM | Open

[ War Music ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

"I know where Manda is, I have accompanied quite a few souls there recently, especially on Panatha." she said.

She didn’t like the place where the common mind of the Mandalorians was at least as horrible as this man. The Manda was aggressive, most of all malevolent and anyone would have been attacked by those around it. No gratitude, just a fight, a war. Forever and ever. What Eina was infinitely sorry was that Ashla hadn't been found yet, Gei was looking for with the Valkyrja over there. So far, no trace of the goddess or exactly where the souls of Ashla believers would be found. In fact, even Eina was curious about that.

And no, the man was wrong, again. There were even Jedi among them who became different beings over there. And if the Sith hadn't gotten there, Eina wouldn't have existed either. Her father’s soulshards were also there all the way through the Netherworld, scattered. It was clear to the Valkyrja that the man hated the Sith. All of this was a little surprising, given that he was also a Darksider. She didn't really know Bogan's different ways, so far, she'd almost only met Sith or demons.

As they looked at each other, she felt the growing darkness and hatred in the other. She had already learned at the Sith that they looked at her like that. That they all thought she was a monster, an abomination because of what she was. That she was born of the soul of one of the greatest Sith Lords and yet a religion regards him as the light of Ashla; this was her, a Lightsider. As the man spoke, her suspicions that the gen'dai had very strong misconceptions grew stronger.

"I think you are fighting because I feel the torment of your soul." she replied. "Both worlds are equally real. But what is the weakness? You kill others because they remind you of your own mortality. In the end, you would kill everyone, you will always find a weakness in yourself that you can project on others. Everyone is weak, only the Sith imagines themselves to be more, and yet you despise them your voice reveals this, yet you want to be like them. Why can't you accept your limits?" she asked sympathetically.

Eina, unlike her mother, didn’t know how the man was thinking, so she could only think and figure something out based on the conversation right now. And that was when the intervention took place. Eina hadn't been lit for a long time, Force light was a one-time attack, so it didn't stop D Draco from attacking. She looked at the creature's words toward the approaching creature, then:

"Don't interfere!" she shouted at her, begging because the Valkyrja was not worried at all and was not afraid to fight. However, interfering with someone she doesn’t know, someone she hasn’t fought together before can be a downside.

If necessary, she even pushes Draco with telekinetic push to keep the dragon-like creature safe. She saw and felt the man's anger and hatred again. Eina knew from the fact from this, she had managed to find the truth about what was hurting the man.

"It is full of your own weakness, not with others'!" she stated. "Just accept it!" she beseech him.

The man attacked wilder and stronger. It took all of Eina's talent to avoid them. However, one of the attacks eventually hit her on the side, causing bleeding; her blood, the golden ichor, to drip out of her to the ground. She looked at the man resolutely, there was defiance in her eyes, though a grimace appeared on her lips in pain. Eina didn't hide it like Ingrid. However, she stood up after the injury. Now she was sure the man, contrary to his words, wanted to kill her. Eina jumped back a little and rose into the air, placing her swords in the sword sheaths; she didn't need them anymore. She let the Light Side permeate her body after she reached into the Force. First the ends of the feathers on her wings began to glow under her concentration, then her entire wings, and finally Eina's entire body, began to glow from the Force Light, as if Ashla's own light had illuminated the area through her.

After all, the Ashlan Crusade members thought so she was the…

Light of Ashla!​

 

[Onrai]

Thule, Massassi-class Corvette, Void Refit

Prior to the manifestation, an avatar had already formed on the bridge of the Thule, informing the captain to send security to the bridge itself. Thus, when Sasmay Cull found herself seemingly ripped from the bridge of her vessel that had now abandoned the battlefield onto a vessel unfamiliar, it was with the black armor of several fully armed and armored Oppressor-16 Dark Troopers whose rotary blaster cannons were charged and aimed at her. The shade that had performed such a kidnapping turned to the captain. “Get us out of the engagement zone.” Before he had so much as a chance to respond to her, the bridge crew already began to maneuver the corvette out of the area and towards a safe place to jump into hyperspace.

All had been well, even if it wasn’t what she had foreseen.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

As Jax crossed the threshold of the courtyard shadows began to encroach upon the periphery of his vision, clouding the edges of the court with swirling banks of acrid smog. When he came within reach of the device, a shimmering wall suddenly materialized between him and the target of his ire. No blade could penetrate the shield, no power of the Force could convince it to bow and break. The Dark Side was intoxicatingly strong, both from the device and from the figure which suddenly came into view from the Jedi's left.

"It will not be that easy, Master Jedi."

The hooded figure could only be a Lord of the Sith, both his presence in the Force and the manner in which he carried himself were clear indicators. He wore no armor, but the cloak and tunic that he did wear were resilient enough to manage average foes. A single lightsaber hung from his hip, dark cerakote shaped into harsh angular patterns with pulsating red lights near the activator switch. It, like its wielder, stank of the Dark Side.

"That barrier is tied to me, if you want to deprive the citizens of Kaas City of the vengeance owed to them then you will have to face me in single combat." The figure reached down and clutched his lightsaber with his right hand, slowly pointing the emitter down and to the right before activating it. What emerged was not the stereotypical blood-red blade of a Sith, but a brilliant emerald wreathed in putrid choking green smoke.

"Let us see what you are made of, Jaxon Thio."

Jax Thio ​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Dromund Kaas, above Kaas City
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena | Blade Ice | Zachariel Steelblood | Kyrel Ren
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Pietro Demici | Baron Reinhardt Ström | Jerec Yularen | Shai Maji | Sephi Karneh

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel ponders the change in his relationship with Mercy
• Many deathgang swoop riders die in the ambushes, but transmit their final positional data
• The Scar Hounds abandon their transports, which are destroyed by the artillery barrage
• They use the speed of their vehicles to move within the enemy artillery's minimum range
• Raider Walkers and Firefang Wardogs search out and destroy dug-in enemy positions
• War Skiffs provide a core of heavy support, and try to target the enemy artillery
• The entire force tries to push through

Try not to leave anything from yourself on the battlefield today, Mongrel. Did he imagine the low, almost sultry tone to her voice? The way she purred Mongrel, a name she almost never called him by, would have set his heart racing if he'd still had one. What game was she playing here? First that strange moment aboard the Alliance flagship, when she'd pressed warm lips to the cold transparisteel of his brain case in an utterly unexpected kiss. Now such words as these, enticing, even titillating. What did it mean? Why had this change come about?

She was stretching the nature of their relationship. Warping it, even.

You would not find a more twisted pair in all the galaxy. They had met when she had tried to kill him, and nearly succeeded. He had captured her, ordered her tortured, transformed into a slave-soldier like himself... but thanks to that alter ego lurking deep within, she had become something more. Still, their relationship had always been that of master and servant, commander and subordinate, general and soldier... until perhaps now. The cold, rational part of him was suspicious. There was still Ziare within Mercy. Was this her doing?

Was this a manipulation, or was it a genuine but perverse bond?

Her next words to him were all business again, and he half convinced himself he'd imagined it all... though he could not discount the kiss. He could only push it from his thoughts and focus on the battle at hand. "Understood," he replied, as she reported on Steelblood's progress and the disposition of the NIO forces. "Keep me updated on the progress of our forces, and alert me immediately if any additional threat approaches our position in the jungle hills north of the city." It was a simple task for one as skilled as she was.

Which was good, because all of The Mongrel's focus was needed for the coming battle - an uphill one, literally. Reports were filtering back from the deathgangs as they began to hit non-buggy resistance, and the picture they painted - amid the drug-fueled screams of dying gangers as they encountered particularly heavy defenses - was not good. It seemed that, in the space of the scant minutes it had taken the Mawites to land, the Eternal Empire forces had managed to create a full network of trenches and foxholes in the rough jungle terrain.

The same rough natural formations and tree cover that had shielded the Scar Hounds from artillery strikes were also creating strong positions for their enemies, and they had the high ground. The Mongrel was astounded by the speed with which his foes had set up heavy repeater nests, sniper positions, and entire minefields just for their hastily-redeployed rearguard; it would have taken his own sappers hours at a minimum to complete such a large network of defenses. Attacking from behind, it seemed, offered no advantage whatsoever.

So be it. The heavy losses among the deathgangs - with a scant few survivors limping back to make in-person reports, escaping the series of ambushes only because they tended to operate spread out from their comrades - at least brought him information. Each side had sacrificed its scouts to test the other's power; now they would unleash that power upon each other and see who arose the victor. And The Mongrel had achieved one minor victory already: these particular Eternal Empire forces had been taken out of the fight for Kaas City.

They would have to deal with him instead.

While the EE's notoriously slow-moving self-propelled artillery gradually struggled into position, no doubt bogged down by their infamously low maneuverability in the rough and rugged jungle terrain, the Mawites were not idle. Their primary vehicles - Raider Walkers and War Skiffs - were quite the opposite of the lumbering Echo-series howitzers: they were swift and maneuverable, rapidly deploying from the transports and surging toward the hillside. Their objective was simple: to quickly get inside the minimum range of the artillery.

That would neutralize their effectiveness entirely.

Of course, sacrifices would have to be made to allow for that. "Abandon the transport ships!" The Mongrel ordered, gesturing all of his forces head-on into the jungle. "There will be no retreat! Victory or annihilation!" Though it might have seemed like a proclamation of faith or courage, it was actually purely practical. There was no way the transports could make it past the forest of EE anti-aircraft guns a second time, and they would be sitting ducks for the artillery if they stayed in their landing zone. Acceptable losses to him.

So as the gauss artillery started up, creating a devastating killing field, the Mawite transport ships were ripped to shreds in an instant... but none but their pilots died with them, for the Scar Hounds were already on the move. Their vanguard was a force of anti-infantry pattern Raider Walkers, which were well equipped for the situation. Their chainguns ripped through bark and vines as easily as flesh, clearing vegetation and annihilating concealed defensive nests at the same time. Their grenade launchers filled the air with shrapnel and fire.

The greatest threat to the walkers, of course, was the same one that the deathgangs had faced: the concealed defensive positions and minefields. In facing this, however, they had three advantages. The first was the final positional data of the now-dead deathgangers, which told them a bit about where to expect enemy contact. The second was that the gauss artillery was holding a careful line just in front of the dug-in EE positions, which also gave them some information about where the enemy hid: right where the wall of artillery stopped.

The third and greatest advantage, however, was a wave of the Scar Hounds' infamous Firefang Wardogs. The cybernetic charhounds added to the flames of the incendiary grenades, breathing plumes of fire and ripping out throats with durasteel-augmented jaws... but that was not their most important purpose. No, the wave of hounds was there to sniff out Eternal Empire positions, their keen noses - and cybernetic sensory enhancements - piercing jungle cover and camouflage to swiftly locate even the best-hidden enemy troopers.

It was a one-two punch: dogs find foes, walkers shred them.

Behind the small walkers came the Brotherhood's larger vehicles, the War Skiffs. They slid through the trees, smashing them out of the way with their armored hulls when the gaps became too narrow, providing a central anchor to the Mawite advance. Their deck-mounted E-WEB heavy repeaters and missile launchers allowed their crews to provide swift fire support whenever an enemy position was located. Their main guns, huge Chiss MetaCannons, had a different purpose: hunting the enemy gauss and airburst artillery.

Destroying those enemy big guns would be a great victory, for they would be a terrible threat to the massed Mawite charges in the inevitable war to come. The crews of the War Skiffs used their sensors to backtrace the firing arcs of the Eternal Empire artillery, then fired their much more mobile cannons through the jungle, aiming to at least pin down their foes. Faced with the enemy strategy of a staggered defense, the Scar Hounds chose chaos. They didn't have to clear every sniper nest and trench in order to reach the hilltop.

They would push past, keeping their eyes on the prize. Encirclement only meant more directions to shoot in, and it would be too little, too late if they had already decapitated their foe.

The Mongrel himself watched it all from high, for he had swung himself into the saddle of his sinister Gore Wasp. It had been some time since he'd last ridden the creature; he'd had most of his organic body back then. But it still recognized him somehow, and bore him willingly. For terrain like this, so similar to its home jungles on Lao-mon, the beast was perfect. It flitted among the trees, keeping below the sight lines of Eternal Empire AA guns, moving him swiftly forward while he kept an eye on his rapidly advancing forces.

The Scar Hounds aimed to push through the staggered defense with speed and firepower, using the fact that they were astride armored vehicles rather than a mass of charging, half-naked marauders to confound tactics that usually worked well against them. They had two primary objectives here. First, to neutralize the enemy artillery before the slow but devastating gauss howitzers could reposition. And second, to find the commander of this force, the Number Four of the whole empire... and take his head before he could escape.

With any luck, The Mongrel would manage it personally.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Dromund Kaas, Storm-Wracked Skies
Allies: Marlon Sularen | Keilara Kala'myr
Foes: Tren Chaar | Mylo Thorne | Olly Piblarian | Leon Gallo | Delilah Jones | Albrecht F. Herlock

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Heathen Priests intensify the storm
  • They try to rip enemy fighters and transports from the sky with hurricane-force winds
• The remaining Thornwaves fire off their bomblet generators as area denial weapons
  • They are trying to herd the enemy aces into a small area to make it easier to shoot them down
  • They also try to force the enemy aces to crash into (or shoot) each other in the tight confines

There were times when Tu'teggacha was brutally reminded that they fought the whole galaxy.

To the faithful of the Maw, the marauders who lived and died believing with all their dark hearts in earning passage to paradise, waging war on every government in Known Space was a badge of righteousness. The fact that they could even withstand such a contest, let alone win the kind of victories they had over the past several years of war, was proof in their eyes that the Three Avatars favored them and showed them the one true way. But to the Taskmaster, who was not a zealot and did not believe in any Galaxy To Come, the dizzying numbers and variety of their enemies were far from heartening. He had faith only in strategy and logistics.

And strategy and logistics could only do so much in a battle against so many.

The initial ambush of the Alliance transports went well, and the Ebruchi smiled a vile, twisted, tentacle-y smile at the sight of it. His calling of the lightning went even better than he'd hoped, blunting the B-Wing advance, sending them scrambling to find a phantom weapon. For once, the power of the Force was in the hands of the Maw and a mystery to their foes, rather than the other way around. "Intensify the storm," the Taskmaster commanded. There was only so much lightning they could gather, even on Dromund Kaas, and they would need a moment before they could unleash a focused bolt again... but a storm was more than just lightning.

The wind howled, growing to hurricane force, trying to rip the enemy transports down.

But it wasn't all good news. With his Heathen Priests occupied - and beginning to tire, with trickles of blood running from their noses - the Ebruchi had no way to directly react to the growing list of other obstacles. Though he could sense the tension between the newly-arrived NIO squadron and the Revenants, even without hearing their transmissions, Tu'teggacha didn't see it impacting their ability to work together against him. One after another, Thornwaves disintegrated before the attacks of the flying aces - between Leon Gallo , Delilah Jones, and the formerly-beleaguered Mylo Thorne , six Mawite fighters was far too few.

And now Revenant's B-Wings had NIO escorts, whether they liked it or not.

Mercy's transmission came in, granting Tu'teggacha control of the network of satellites and long-range scanners... and the developments they revealed were even worse. A familiar line of ships was coming in to attack the Mawite frigates: Albrecht F. Herlock 's little battle group, always on the prowl for Brotherhood craft to hunt. The attempted ambush was already going sour, and only the cloaking device on the Taskmaster's shuttle was keeping him from being caught in the middle of the disaster. Perhaps commanding in this way wasn't any safer than sitting in the command throne of the titanic fire magnet that was the Fatalis.

With the surprise attack spoiled, the best thing now was to withdraw with as many Mawite ships intact as possible. "Frigates, prepare to withdraw to high orbit," Tu'teggacha barked, glassy eyes shut as he guided the storm his priests had harnessed for him. "We will cover your retreat." As the Samaels began to withdraw, ceasing their barrage against the transports, the Taskmaster guided the whirlwind in their wake, trying to force Tren Chaar and his Revenants to break off pursuit by forming a wall of durasteel-tearing gusts in front of them. That would give the Doomsayers a shooting gallery as the B-Wings tried to break off...

... unless Chaar got through it somehow, or the NIO shot them all down first.

Meanwhile, the remaining Thornwaves switched tactics. They couldn't out-fly these Alliance and NIO aces, so it was time to limit their flying options. The Mawite fighters unleashed their bomblet generators all at once, the energy bombs flying out into the stormy skies. The goal was not to hit any of the pilots directly; it was clear that they were too nimble and skilled for that. But the Thornwaves unleashed their bomblets in well-practiced patterns, trying to use them for area denial. If they could force the enemy aces to take evasive action all at once, they could herd them into a narrow corridor of explosion-free skies.

Then they could fire freely down that corridor, ripping into the cornered fighters. And if the NIO and GA craft, less used to working together than flying with their own squadrons, ended up shooting across each other's flightpaths - or better yet, simply colliding in the confusion - so much the better. By trapping Mylo, Delilah, and Leon in a ring of explosions, the Mawite pilots hoped to make them trip over one another, for it took a true ace to safely cooperate with - and anticipate the actions of - pilots they weren't trained to fly with, especially under such dangerous conditions. And if all that failed, at least it might isolate and delay them.

"Frigates, target your ion cannons upward!" Tu'teggacha ordered. With Herlock's ships coming down at them, they would need to push past in order to reach safety. Fortunately, each Samael was equipped with twenty ion cannons, capable of unleashing a withering barrage to drain enemy shields and disable their subsystems. They were the perfect pirate ships, and while there was no time to board and capture any enemy vessels they disabled, they would be especially deadly within the planetary atmosphere; any ship that lost engine power would plummet to the jungles below, no doubt consumed in a fiery crash.

Would that firepower be enough? Only time would tell.

 

[Erion Justeene]

​

Objective I: Fight and Flee!
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM, NIO
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave
Tags: Stone Gra'tua

Superious eyed the Voidsaber then Stone. The adrenalin subsided and he had to fight the urge to fall to his knees too. The fight was long, brutal, and painful. Which tested skill, strategy, resilience, and cunning. Both of them came out of this injured, but now there is a conundrum that Superious hadn't thought about while fighting, what to do next. How to end everything.

Would he simply end it here, the crimson blade slicing through Stone's neck and ending it today and sending the head to the man's Clan or sticking it on a piece of debris for others to find? Usually, that would be the usual way to do things, however this time, there was not a reason as the Voidsaber has done most of the damage. His wrist and burns throbbed painfully in an acute reminder that he was in no shape to continue either. Everything hurts now, the rain aggravated his burns.

Ultimately, the Ubese decided not to cut Stone's head off. But he also decided to not take the Crushgaunts either. He needed two hands for that, and he cad only use one. The fires raged around them. Superious did not pity the man on the floor, nor did he wish to kill him. His senses tingled, people are coming and he can't fight them, not like this. Which left him with the only option, and that is to relocate elsewhere.

Otherwise, he was going to be even more burnt and injured than he is now or even ends up dead in the streets of Dromund Kass himself. He gathered his resolve and his Lightsaber and took off down the street, and into the haze of the rain, leaving Stone there, to either die or be found, Superious did not care which came first for the Mando.

 

[Percival Io]

Percival ducked and weaved between the female Chosen's two massive weapons, pushing his speed and agility to their limits to evade her strikes. She was deafened; he could tell by her slurred speech, barely intelligible, as she asked for his name.

"Percival!" he exclaimed, stabbing his sword under her armpit as he slid beneath a lumbering swing of the hammer. "But I don’t want your ugly head!"

Perhaps, deaf as she was, she wouldn't hear the trilling of the thermal detonator he'd armed and clipped to her belt as he passed.

Draco Miles Zachariel Steelblood Eina L'lerim-Vandiir​

 

[Jerec Yularen]

FIRST TODHUSARS REGIMENT

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
FIRST ANAXSI FREE BRIGADE

ALLIES | NIO | TE | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Nukth Kelga'an | Annor E-059 | Hoken Stryte | The Fool | Don Belkora | Stone Gra'tua | Siv Dragr | M I R A | Morrow | Djorn Bline | Thonn Rokkal | Julian Qar | Vulcan Krayt | Rika Hiro | Kranak Vizsla |​

ENEMIES | TSE | BotM | GA | NJO | EE | AC | Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena | Percival Io | The Mongrel | Erion Justeene | Kyrel Ren | Zachariel Steelblood | Heinrich Faust | Pietro Demici | Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Lyrrin | Baron Reinhardt Ström | Kalie Alverez | Blade Ice | Aerarii Tithe | The Mongrel | Jax Thio | Ingrid L'lerim | Madelyn Lowe | Saul Colsan | Draco Miles | Iris Arani |

Screams echoed between the towers of the district as the Sith-Imperial brawlers were taken out one by one, or squad. The TodHusars had now the upper hand, and although surprise was no longer their ally, the sheer number of New Imperials made the battle weigh in their favour. The upper levels had been secured ten minutes ago, and the kill teams descended lower and lower to find new targets. The mission was clear, and when fellow Captain Nukth Kelga'an arrived, the progression would be faster even. It was now a question of time before the New Imperial Order secured a route for its tanks towards the Citadel.

Far below every other squad of the company, Yularen's was still abseiling, lower and lower. From time to time, a sniper or a frightened Sith-Imperial would open fire through the window panes, but they were dealt with efficiently. The squad was yet to suffer significant losses. While Jerec continued its descent alongside the tower, the surrounding spires, all part of the High Rise Spires district, remained silent and calm. One could have believed the war had not yet touched this side of the planet. The calm was unsettling for some of the Husars, but the Captain simply enjoyed it. He knew it wouldn't last.

As the squad was now seven meters high in the air, Jerec began to suspect a trap or a complication. No shots fired, no bullets fired from the ground floor. Why wasn't the garrison opening fire? They could have eliminated the team long before they touched the ground. But suddenly, a New Imperial spotted something. Was it cries of pain, or people begging for mercy? Impossible to tell before the last five meters were crossed. The Captain became frustrated with the time they spent abseiling. They had to get to the ground, faster. He quickly unbuckled his grappling cord and fell for a couple of seconds before activating the grav-chutes and landing, not so badly, with a rollover on the floor.

He unsheathed his sword and grabbed a pistol, trying to understand what was going on. He saw them, Maw reavers slaughtering the Sith-Imperials Legionnaires, led by a monstrosity clad in power armour. Maybe a champion of some sort, a chosen warrior to lead the cultists. He swept through the Sith-Imperials with ease, disembowelling the combatants with ease, relentlessly chopping and mauling what stood before him. He was unstoppable, and even a direct hit from a blaster rifle did not make him hesitate. In fact, it only added to the fury inhabiting him.

Jerec joined the fray, his blade going forward with this fluid move refined by Anaxsi scholars. A couple of reavers fell under his assaults before the rest of the squad engaged the Mawites. Quickly, only the monster in power armour and a handful of his followers remained. The latter faced the TodHusars bravely, while the Captain lunged forward and attacked the Chosen. A dart forward, a step to the right... The dance could have lasted a thousand years, but the Sergeant decided to cut it short. A grenade into the neck joint, and the Chosen was gone.

The surrounding fight was brief, but as the last reaver fell to its knees and allowed Yularen to deal the finishing blow, the TodHusars spotted movement inside the spire. Some Sith-Imperial survivors were crawling towards the entrance, most of them gravely injured. Jerec could have given into his sadistic desires and ordered to let them suffer, but he did not want to step closer to the monsters he was fighting. He did not want to become as twisted as the pillager he had just killed. He was better than this. His Husars were better than this. A sleight of the hand, and his squad captured the Sith-Imperials Legionnaires. Five of them could still stay up, but the last two were too badly injured to even look up to their victors. These people were broken soldiers, betrayed and abandoned by their masters, forced to watch as the galaxy enacted its revenge upon the homeworld of the tyrants. They, on the contrary, were just products of this tyranny, forced to fight to the death for a regime they didn't necessarily love or care for. The anonymous warmachine of the Sith had been careless for the troops it bled in pursuit of victory and facing its enemies the last time, it had thrown everything into the living hell of the battlefield.

From afar, the prisoners could have looked like Maw marauders, and not Legionaries. They were young, and most were maybe not past twenty years old. They wore broken pieces of armour collected across the battlefield, some even not from Sith-Imperial origin. None had a helmet, and most leg protections were rugged and heteroclites. However, they were all standing proudly, refusing even with their attitude to back down to illegitimate rebels. They were tired, weakened by their wounds, but still had a fighting spirit at the forefront. If given the opportunity, they would have slit every New Imperial throat of the district without hesitation. But they were no longer in that position. As a Husar began to check their ID chips to collect data and register captured foes, one of the paratroopers began to suggest ways to get rid of the prisoners.

"Sarge, why don't we force them to dig their own graves? With what the spire's going to suffer, we can even spare blaster bolts and let the rubble do the work for us.
- I mean, given the orders, we could do that, yes. I don't know if we have a shovel, though..., the Sergeant replied thoughtfully.
- That'll be funnier even, then! Let us watch them dig with their bare hands on this rocky floor", the Husar laughed, attracting the squad's attention.

They were shared on this proposal to force the Sith-Imperials to dig by hand their graves. Most of them were hilarious at the idea, but some were eager even, their eyes shining with bloodlust as the deads of Bastion, Muunilinst, Vjun, Ziost and many more rose again. It would have been justice to get rid of them that way. The Imperator had already issued orders on how to deal with that kind of prisoner, so why bother giving them a clean death? Pushing the Legionnaires to their psychological limits would be an excellent way to see if the indoctrination was still an efficient way to rule over what little remained of the Sith Empire. In the end, the squad decided to pick one of the captured soldiers and start with him. They chose quickly and opted to take the most scared of them all, pushing him down to the grown and kicking him until he decided to start digging. Then, the Husar who had made the proposal first took his blaster out and coldly stated:

"Very well, Sith scum. You have thirty seconds to start digging or I'll cut one of your legs off. Or you can choose to abandon now and we will take you on a trip aboard our dropship. What do you choose, scumbag?"

Without a single word, the Sith-Imperial started to dig, trembling as he did. Without any means to open a crack in the ferrocrete floor, he punched, again and again, his fists becoming bloody masses of broken bones and scarred tissues. He gulped once as he slowed down, biting his cheek to bear the pain he was inflicting on himself. And he endured, punching again and again until Jerec stepped in. He forced the Legionnaire to stop digging, made him rise up, and got him back in line with the others. The scan was almost complete for everyone, so the Captain ordered summary executions to begin. He did not say a word, nor to the prisoner, he had saved from torture, nor to the soldier who had initiated it. He did not care about the prisoners, and he did not care how his men could act towards them. The orders were clear.

One by one, the captured men were gunned down, until the last two remained. They had not been scanned yet, but the TodHusars were growing impatient. The ammunition dropship was late, and the explosives were yet to be set up. They had to be quicker if they did not want to be caught in the open. Again, Yularen took matters in hand, finishing himself the scan as the characteristic noise of a TodHusars dropship was heard between the High Rise spires. He got to the last prisoner, the last in life, the youngest. Nothing really designated it as a Sith-Imperial combatant, except the chest plate he wore and the blaster he had been captured with. The fierce look he threw at the Captain made him hesitate to scan him, but he finally decided to do so and brought the device over the boy's arm. For a second, the holograph was blurry, but then, Jerec read something that made him hesitate.

"Yularen, Odile, 16 years old. 2nd Class Legionnaire. Born on Dromund Kaas..." read the ID chip. Something unexpected was happening there, and Yularen did not know how to react. For sure, the Yularen family was huge, but how could members of it be forced to serve the Sith? The answer wasn't clear for the Captain, and he decided to lower his gun. He grabbed the young prisoner by the shoulder and pushed him towards the landing dropship, ordering his men to take care of the explosives. He would handle something else. As the whole company gathered afoot the building and squads began to report the success of their mission, Yularen was interrupted by a violent shrug of the Sith-Imperial. Without leaving the officer a chance to resume advance towards the dropship, the prisoner decided to take the initiative.

"Why are you bringing me to the dropship? Have your little friends convinced you to toy a bit with me before pushing me into the void? You can do whatever you want to impress me, rebel, but if you are trying to make me speak some valuable intel, or if you want me to plead for mercy, you are asking the wrong man. I won't bow to you, I won't ask for pity. Kill me in the way you want. I don't care. One day or another, the Sith will rise again to avenge us, and you will be buried under a million deaths serving the Sith. You can't win."

Jerec was fairly unsettled by this combativity, and he reacted the only way he knew: violently. "You should beg for mercy, my boy, or you'll soon rot in one of Prefsbelt's darkest dungeons, pleading to see the colour of your hands. Resist like this once more and I guarantee you you will never feel your face again. Now, young Yularen. Either surrender and accept defeat or fight back and I'll beat you up enough times to make you regret the day you were born. Your Empire is over, your masters have been murdered, your cities ransacked, your mothers raped. By dawn, tomorrow, nothing on this planet will ever bear the infamous mark of the Sith again. You have lost the war, and the culture you were trying to defend will disappear at long last. So get in the dropship and shut your mouth. There will be no more gentle warnings. Understood?"
The Captain was beginning to feel more and more bloodlusty as he spoke to the young boy. He could kill him and not regret it at all. It was just a Yularen among so many others. Who cared?

But there was a mission to finish, a war to be done with first. He had to be done with this spire. It was almost over here. As he pushed Odile into the dropship and attached him to one of the seats, he heard his second-in-command climb too and ask what else was there to do. He couldn't really know where to commandeer his company next, so he first ordered the dropship to take off. They would see what they had to...

"Barran to Yularen! Send me the meanest Anaxsi you've got... You owe me for Vjun, so I want you to honour your obligation to the Woad - by sending all your toughest bruisers to my exact location. Lance One out!

All Imperials, all Mandalorians - this is Barran! Make your way to the Southern Historical District, it is time we riot together.... Fix bayonets, draw blades, and bring out your knuckledusters! IT IS TIME TO PAINT THESE STREETS WITH MAWSWORN BLOOD!!!! UP-CLOSE AN' PERSONAL!!!! THE TRUEST ULTRAVIOLENCE YOU WILL EVER KNOW!!!! Lance One out"

Well, at least they knew now what they had to do. Get to Barran and join his elite Sabretooth to sow chaos and disorder across the streets of the Historical District. Those tactics never ceased to amaze the Captain. How could a man so rash and looking so impulsive be the Lord General of the New Imperial Army? It was a true mystery to him, and he couldn't help but notice he wasn't the only one, especially among junior officers, to wonder where the crazed Galidraani would take them next. But now was not the time to ask stupid questions. Orders were given. The TodHusars obeyed as always. With a smirk, Yularen picked the comm up.

"Lord General, it is an honour to see you haven't forgotten us in our spires. The TodHusars are just nearing the completion of their initial objective. The tanks are free to advance towards the Citadel, now. We will join your troops in the massive brawl we are noticing close to your headquarters. While the TodHusars aren't as heavily armoured as Stormtroopers, they can pack a punch in terms of the close-quarters fight. Have you ever heard of the tragedy of the helmless Mawite? It's not a story your senior officers would tell you about. Just remember an Anaxsi with a scattergun is more dangerous than one of your tanks in this kind of battle.
Now, Lord General, you might want to look up to the High Rise spires. We are about to start a little firework you'd not want to miss, at all. Just enjoy the deep nuances of red and fiery orange as we repaint the sky... For the Empire."

Smirking more than ever, Jerec pressed the detonator, igniting the explosives the Anaxsi had packed under the spire, and creating a chain reaction that chopped the building down, floor by floor, as all the detonite exploded, transforming the mighty skyscraper into a fireball before it crashed onto a neighbouring tower that started to collapse too. The avenue was clear for the tanks.

The atmosphere was now very different to what it had been before the first jump. While it had been calm and silent when the AA guns had opened fire, it was now excited and tense, as the paratroopers were now all eager to confront themselves with the Maw and any fool that dared stand before them. Imperial Chaos. Only Barran could come up with this term and find it suited for a New Imperial operation. It was perfect indeed to see the very concept used as a banner by the Maw be overturned and used against them. As the Imperials had bled on Csilla, now would the Maw bleed. No survivors accepted. No prisoners taken this time.

The dropships flew over the battlefield once before preparing the paratroopers to jump. It was essential to find somewhere to make the landing impactful, and Jerec needed to analyse the situation before he decided to do anything. As the carriers began their first run over the Maw, they opened fire to make their presence known. The crowd of cultists, reavers and warriors reacted violently as expected, and some became distracted by the flying attackers that now posed a significant threat to the battle. Explosive darts and scatterguns scarred the land and wounded the Mawites until Jerec noticed Barran, engaged in close-quarters combat. While he seemed to be fine, the Captain couldn't help but find it more interesting to land near him than anywhere else. He could be of some help in the midst of the brawl. He wanted to be there.

"Very well soldiers, this is how we'll manage that situation. Squads 1 and 3, specialised marksman designation. Jump onto some roofs and do your job. Squad 5, jump with me. Everyone else, find a high ground spot to assess the situation before engaging in anything crazy. Keep your heads cool, sieurs, there is absolutely no need for me to launch another recruitment campaign. We need to..."

It was inevitable for the aerial artillery to encounter some sort of return fire at a moment or another. Jerec's dropship had been hit, and the cockpit was gone. As the carrier began to fall down, the paratroopers all reacted quickly and jumped, without waiting for the order, trying to escape the crashing body of metal. At that moment, Yularen realised one of the passengers had not been evacuated. the young prisoner, still tied up to his seat, couldn't go anywhere. Without losing a second, the Captain somehow managed to get to him and shoot his bonds sufficiently for the boy to free his arms. Then, the Imperial grabbed him and jumped, ten meters high, in a crowd of merciless killers that had sworn to make Imperial blood bleed today.

The crash of the dropship caused an explosion large enough to clear some space where the two last passengers could land on. But as the Mawites quickly got their ideas back into place, the Captain realised he had only one option if he wanted to survive. He wasn't that far away from his initial objective, Barran, but he had still a good distance to cover with a horde of marauders to deal with first. There were two of them on the other side. And one was a prisoner. Could he really trust him? he had been wounded by Mawites in the first place, but he didn't feel very nice towards the New Imperial either. The dilemma had to be resolved now or never. If Jerec didn't choose right, he would pay the ultimate price. With that in mind, he handed a gun to the Sith-Imperial.

"Try to stab me and I'll leave you with your new friends, okay? It's best if we survive this together, otherwise, we wouldn't be alive at the end of the day. If, after this battle, you still want to slit my throat, I'll make sure we can settle that in an arena. For now, try not to kill me, please."

The hordes of Mawites began to advance towards the crashed dropship, splitting the crowd between the forefront of the brawl, near Barran and his Sabretooth, and an imposing group of cultists trying to claim the Yularen's head. With a bit of luck, the TodHusars would have adapted to the new situation quickly enough to try and get their boss out of there, but if it wasn't the case, then hope was an unaffordable luxury. The best they could do was hide in the carrier's carcass and shoot as many as possible. The Mawites opened fire on the cabin, their crude weapons tentatively piercing the armoured hull. Hidden behind it, the two unlikely allies waited for the right moment before sneaking out and opening fire in return. The reavers were caught in the open, slashed by a scattergun and a dart launcher. A rhypalm grenade was launched, then another weapon entered the dance as Jerec began to use his pistol alongside his own blaster. The cacophony became unbearable, the waves of cultists began to grow closer and closer.

Jerec noticed, in the very background of his mind, shots being fired from roofs neighbouring the battlefield. The specialised marksmen were in place as it seemed. Help was always welcome, but the Captain knew he wouldn't get very far with this little support. Already were the Mawites climbing the hull of the vessel, and the paratrooper was forced to let go of his pistol to grab his sword. It was unsheathed in a fluid gesture, beheading as it did a cultist trying to attack him. The dance of blades began, and Jerec was slowly pushed out of the carcass by the number of enemies he was facing, trying to have Odile as close as possible. Step by step, the two began to walk back, allowing the flow of Mawites to push them closer to the Imperial lines. Even though it put the duo into a precarious position with enemies on their back too, it was a kind of relief for the Husar to see he was coming home at last. But now, as he spotted the TodHusars joining the fray to save their endangered Captain, he could strike again and be on the offensive. He lunged forward, darted and advanced towards Barran, whom he contacted while trying to reach him.

"Don't mind me, General. Just sowing some more chaos over the place as you ordered. Unfortunately, I'm out of rhypalm. Do you have any spare by chance?"

In the end, Barran's strategy was fun, if not decisively victorious.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective I.: Doing her job and follow the warlord's commands.
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Writing With: The Mongrel | Tu'teggacha | Open
Allies: BotM/NIO | Rowena | Open
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave

[ New Order ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

<< Copy that… Mongrel! >> another purring, when I uttered his name.

It was the first and second time I hadn’t called him a warlord. I knew he wasn’t really interested in military austerity, yet to me it was important. This is perhaps the only thing he has in common with Ziare. However, I did not receive a refusal not to pursue this. A satisfied smile appeared on my lips. Then I sighed; I had to pay attention to my job right now. All of this was necessary to get us done here the fastest. I looked at the holographic images that had the movements and the like.

He had heard the noise of the battle so far. Ironically, I was also close to the battle, the camp was not far from the three towers. True, the intelligence building with me was on the east side, next to me was the old main tower and on the west the Mandalorian "fortress". Despite all this, I was pretty close to it. Based on the data, troops arrived at the central tower. NIO. I was hoping I'll have enough time here to have all the data. And I'll be able to help him.

Looking at the images and records once more, I analysed them, and MANIAC came in handy, as he was an AI with so many military programs, so analysis was one of his strengths. I grimaced at what I got as a result. Our tactics worked basically, especially when we were present in large numbers, but now it was limited, they knew how it was going to work. They were able to do their movements against us, effectively. Damn it!

<< Act unexpectedly! Do what you wouldn't do! >> I said it was pretty misleading whether he has to do this about me or on the battlefield. It was partly intentional, to continue the game, to stretch further boundaries between us. << Based on the movements, the baron prepares for your usual tactic. If you forward your units in the usual way, they will be ground, they will be destroyed. The Eternal Imperial Ultranauts rival the experience of the Mandalorian warriors. One of the strongest and most trained armies in the Galaxy. You have to surprise them and don’t fall for the scams. He uses your own tactics against you, warlord! My combat analyses show this. >>

All of this, of course, was just advice, because even in the game between the two of us, I wouldn’t have dared to tell him how to do it. I was just the analyst; he was the warlord. He was my commanding officer, and I was his subordinate, and the most important, I was his, since he captured Ziare at Carlac and since I was awoken above Rhand. And I still respected him even in addition to the mental and physical attraction. It took me that rage to realise the attraction in the heat of the moment that Iggy had triggered by his actions on the aboard of the Triumph, when we could all have died because he had detonated the detonators before the time…

It was his decision that what orders he gave, I can only give advice, as I did in the case of the city's bombarding. What great fun it was. Except I was almost bleeding out on the battlefield because a metal rod pierced my belly and came out at my back. But I even solved the military leadership problem like this, pretty much.

<< I think if you come east in my direction and try to get on their backs from here, then… ouch! >> I moaned at the end as strong pain ripped through my mind.

Like when Tu'teggacha tries to penetrate my mind during exercises when he teaches me to resist mental attacks. The data appeared on my retina at that time, a dozen people appeared on the motion sensor. They came exactly the same direction where I was. Another pain, I felt some warmth in my helmet and then I felt a metallic taste on my lips. Blood; my nose was bleeding.

<< Ugh… I will try to keep you informed, but I will have company… >> I groaned painfully again as I fell to my knees, two attacks at a time. << They are Eternal Imperials and have at least two telepaths*… >> I was already panting in pain; fething imperials…


*Blackwatch agents with two Psi-corps members, my staff allowed me to use them against myself! <3

 

[Mairéad Solus]

Alternate Location: Abandoned Sith ruin near southern Pole
Objectives: fight the bucket head
Tags: Vulcan Krayt

Equipment:
Velmorite bladed lightsabers
Comm device
Blaster pistol
Rappelling line
FC-20 Speeder bike
Marzanna

As the thermal detonators came down the stairs with a click click click everything seemed to happen in slow motion for Mairéad. She reached out her hand and saw tendrils of ice race out through the air forming and rapidly growing wall of ice, but she wasn't fast enough, and her ice wasn't thick enough when they device detonated with a massive bang. The ice might have taken some of the edge off of the concussion force but it was not enough to prevent her being blasted across the room. She was dazed and the room was spinning. She felt a burning sensation in her thigh and looked down to see a shard of her own ice sticking out of her leg with frozen rivulets of blood around it.

Everything felt as if it was moving, no.... everything was moving, she heard creaking and groaning as light opened in the wooden structure where the stairs previosuly had been and part of the top half of the tower leaned precariously, at any moment threatening to give way. A large portion of the floor above was now exposed to the air as the tower had partially bisected itself, and standing up there she saw the mandalorian, possibly in a similar boat to her trying to balance and wondering whether the next move would send her crashing to the ground.

If the bowl she was after was up there, it was just as likely on the floor below them both as still up on the ruined top level of the structure. "Smart move mando! She shouted over the wind that now blew between the two sections of the tower," she almost had to laugh as his portion of the tower twisted in the wind threatening to throw him. Who was winning? She wasn't sure she was wounded but she was too cold to bleed, he was jusy as trapped as her and his pack was incapacitated. Pretty even in her book.

She reached down and gritted her teeth. She put her hand around the shard of ice half protruding from her leg still intact and barely melting. She snapped it off with a yell, the snap of pain drove her further into her anger, she was beginning to lose control as Ice reached out and her half of the tower darkened and froze solid, the remaining panes of glass cracking. Wind was whipping around her rapidly and she felt her hair lifting, as if it would begin to fly. Her eyes were nothing but pools of darkness and her skin was white as bone. "come and finish me off then Mandalorian!" She screamed as unknown to her, her feet began to lift from the ruined wooden floor.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Atmosphere II.

Traden Avarice

DROMUND KAAS
Objective II: Clash of Light and Shadow
Within the jungles surrounding the Dark Force Temple.

​

Crushing waves of ancient power ripple through the Sith apprentice in the wake of his first successful offensive against his opponent, the Jedi Guardian Traden Avarice. He feels invigorated, enveloped by the flames of the Dark Side. His breathing is loud, almost on the verge of panting. His chest expands and depresses visibly. Each moment spent without fighting is a true test for a Sith – the pale Fondorian paces left and right, never taking his predatory gaze off of the now wounded man. Yet he cannot initiate the fight. He is the underdog in this situation and needs to rely on gaps in his opponent's defense. The Jedi's shoulder smoked where the supercharged laser bolts impacted, no doubt a debilitating condition, at least for the duration of their fight.

His foolish, maniacal power trip was cut short by the Jedi Guardian's quick stab at his torso, now with his lightsaber instead of the wooden staff; one that he had no chance to dodge. As if being hit by oncoming traffic, the saber collides with his tactical vest's duraplast inlay unexpectedly, sparks like fireworks erupting omnidirectionally from his chest and pushing him back a few steps. Barely, the overheated inlay holds against the lightsaber, but immediately begins to sear the apprentice's skin underneath. His clothes also catch fire as part of the cascading chain reaction caused by the Jedi's precise hit. But the experienced Guardian does not leave a single moment go to waste. The neophyte Sith stumbles backwards, splashing water with each step, and as he is still piecing together the series of actions that began and ended almost in an instant, Traden performs a lethal follow-up slash, intended to completely sever both his legs in half. This lightning-fast move by the Jedi cleverly deprives Orlov of any time to formulate a meaningful retaliation or even to process his fast moves, and so he does the only thing he feels could save his extremities.

He performs a struggled, Force-augmented backflip, ungraciously soaring through the sky, with fire still spreading over his torso as a result of the Jedi's previous hit. As he lands, he unavoidably fumbles and falls on his back, into the water, which at least results in one lucky consequence. As his back hits the rocky lakebed below, the shallow water shrieks as it bubbles over the melted metal burning a hole in the Fondorian's chest. The pain, however, refuses to dissipate. The damage is done, and he likely suffered serious burns.

Orlov wraps his own soul around the pain and gets on his feet, holding a palm on the black scorch mark in his chest. His cloak, now thoroughly drenched in water drags him down, so he calmly unclips it from his shoulders – then raises his evil gaze at the Jedi. The time for waiting is over. White-hot fury pours from his eyes as the surrounding trees begin to crack and shiver, a light tremor gripping the very land they are standing on; black lines begin to form on Orlov's face as the veins are clogging up with hate and passion. Beneath the shadow of the Dark Nexus, the apprentice raises his open palm, letting the torturous pain fuel his power, then clenches it into a fist and lashes out through the Force, attempting to project his own suffering onto the Jedi and absolutely crush his already wounded shoulder.​

TLDR: Orlov takes a hit, backflips, falls. He gets up and attempts to put immense pressure on Traden's already wounded shoulder.
Nearby: Ishida Ashina Valery Noble Zlova Rue
Ally: Danika Leventis & BOTM
Hostile: Everyone.​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Alliance/Imperial camp
Objective: 1
Nearby: Morrow Iris Arani


Fury and Chaos had run rampant, the killing and the wanton slaughter of everyone in the cannibals path did not cease to stop. It only kept increasing. Tents and enemies alike burned, and while smoke had billowed out into the sky it had all seemed to blend in if one was looking from a distance you could hardly tell there was smoke. Flashes of lightning only kept increasing due to the encroaching darkness that helped start its own fair share of fires.

Kyrel’s own primal senses were amplified as they were in the heat of battle. The walking battering ram of a dark sider cut through as much as he could. The hands always following behind, and every once in a while one would hear shouting, and a horn that drowned out the screams and cries for help. The more his own blade fed from Kyrel, the more he fed from it to a point where his own fury was causing his own vision to be crimson. Beyond that of his own men it didn’t matter for anyone unfortunate to see him would die by his blade.

Feeling a light side signature grow increasingly close, Kyrel was no longer slow but instead had moved in a frantic pace, anyone to see him was only spared a fatal slash of his weapon. The saber hummed with each swing, as he felt an aura of fear as if he was gaining so close. A bloodthirsty smirk beneath the mask became more apparent as he kept approaching the signature, until he was standing right in front of a tent in which he thought his quarry was there.

Before he could open his way in, he heard a shout. A voice came towards his direction, and when he turned he saw a boy. One that dare to address himself as an Imperial Knight. He slowly took his attention away from the tent, his blade lowered as if he was annoyed and yet slightly amused. “I already had to deal with your kind once… Such annoying pests you are, I deal with one and yet more keep coming…”

He started to approach the Imperial Knight slowly, his blade being raised as each step he took was heavy. “I suppose an appetizer couldn’t hurt…” He said the implication of his words obvious. Slowly until he stood only several feet from the so called Imp Knight. Raising his blade in one hand he started to initiate a series of heavy power attacks towards his head and chest. The first opening strikes done in a way as to test out his defense and gage his strength in the face of such a monster.

 

[Heinrich Faust]

Heinrich Faust
Grand Marshal of the Knightly Orders of Ashla

Engaging: Darth Maestus

Media Vita

The rain poured, and lightning struck. Crimson rays of energy arced across the clearing, dancing through the air in a violent weave as it poured forth from the Sith's hand. Heinrich reached out with his free hand, catching the lightning with it as he focused his energy. Grounding himself within the Force, the lightning slowly dissipated within the palm of his hand. The next comment from the Sith caught him by surprise, however...

"Spoken like someone who is truly lost. In regards to our mentor, I'll make sure to tell him of your fate after I kill you, just before I put an end to him."

He took two steps forward, slowly working to push his advance as he spoke.

"You see, I too was the apprentice of the Dark Voice, once. The difference between you and I, however, is I left of my own volition. You were replaced."

Though Heinrich no longer used Dun Moch in combat, the technique had taught him the worth of taunting an opponent. Words had the potential to sting more than any blade, and if one was lucky, that sting would open the door to a fatal error, bringing about one's victory.

"My name is Heinrich Faust, Grand Marshal of the Ashlan Crusade. Before I rediscovered my faith, I too was a pawn of the Dark Voice. Years before the Maw... years before you... I was learning the ways of the darkness in secret, praying for the moment I could avenge the destruction wrought on my people. How lost I was..."

He reached out with his hand once more, his eyes narrowing as he continued to press forward.

"But I am no longer lost."

His hand began to spark, and emerald plasma came forth, cascading through the rain-filled air as he released his own power upon the Sith. They may have both studied under the Dark Voice, but Heinrich had something that Maestus did not... he had his faith, and the judgment of Ashla followed with it.