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

[Stone Gra'tua]

Objective 1 : Hunt Sith
Location : Dromund Kaas, New Kaas City
Equipment : Signature/Profile
Writing With : Enclave + Open
Allies : Enclave
Enemies : Sith + Anyone who interferes in Mando business
Neutral : Others
Tag : Erion Justeene

The squad with Stone in the lead had made it some distance from their ingress freighter when he was the first to spot a being, hazy through the driving rain, making what had to be Force-assisted jumps through the streets of the city. "I got one." He called. "We're with you." Vansen was right behind him with Tank and Angry. "Fuck no" said Stone "I saw this one first. Go find your own Sith." They laughed, and left the Alor to his personal hunt. Stone put on a blast of jetpack fire, and left them behind, arcing up over the streets on an intercept course. Below him he saw battle, fleeing civilians, and the flashes of lightning interspersed with flashes from explosive detonations, but he was not to be distracted from the hunt.

While the Clan Gra'tua hunted through the city for more Sith, Stone zeroed in on the one he had sighted first. He silently thanked Kad'Harangir for the gift of first blood among his aliit, and he swore he would not let the war deity down. Soon enough, he had closed the distance enough to get a decent look at his target. Outwardly, an Ubese, tough, squat warrior people, was about all he knew of the culture. Touching the Force for a moment, Stone felt the Dark Side flowing from the Ubese; knowing even a slight touch as this would likely give him away to his opponent. Seeing was being seen with the Force. Landing on the pavement, the Mandalorian stood still for a moment, facing down what he assumed to be a Sith.

Blinking his HUD to translate his words into Ubese, he spoke. "The Mandalorians send their regards." The Shi'ido Mando said, drawing his beskad, and holding it easily in his right hand. The beskar blade had served him well against lightsabers many times past, and he trusted to it and to his armour as well as his battle skills, to serve him well again in this combat. Ready for war, Stone looked at the Ubese through his HUD.

 

[Faison Kelborn]

OBJECTIVE: II - Clash of Light and Shadow
TAG: Engaging: Danika Leventis
LOCATION: Western approach to the Dark Temple
EQUIPMENT:

• Faison Kelborn's Armor
• 1- M.I. Sunstroke Jetpack (Approval)
• 2 - DE-50 Blaster Pistols
• 1 - S-6 Stun/Ion Pistol
• 1 - KYR-54 Skathe Hand Cannon
• 1 - TKO-23 Sanctum Sniper Rifle
• 1 - Euk Siha Service Knife
• 1 - Breshig War Forge B-01M Beskad
• Concussion Grenades
• Fragmentation Grenades
• Thermal Detonators
• Misc. Demolitions equipment such as breaching charges, fuses, etc.
• 1 - Tkiriyr Katimarapr

It had been a long time since Faison had been in the thick of the action against the Sith. The last time he did... he lost some people fairly dear to him. But today, here and now - he was a stronger man than he was those many years prior. He was reforged anew by those he had the fortune to make his companions within the Enclave. He was... a proper Mandalorian, rather than simply someone who wore the armor, knew the words, and had a hard-on for a good blaster. His past, his present, and his future all merged to provide him with a laser-like focus. Today, there would be blood. He would find and kill any Sith that dared to show their face on this cursed rock. He owed that to D'aryc, he owed it to Eliz who Faison had learned died on Panatha, and he owed it most of all to himself. Whatever misgivings that had plagued him in the past about how his newfound companions were doing things would be addressed another time. He signed on for this mission as soon as he saw the posting. From what he understood, most of the people still here on this planet deserved everything that came their way. The intelligence brief of this mission also revealed the presence of their new foe, the Eternal Empire. He was curious to see why they were here as 'allies' of the Ashlan Crusade, when reports had surfaced regarding Imperial-aligned dark siders giving Kranak and his men a rough time within the power complex.

The events which had transpired on Panatha still didn't sit well with him, and he had every intention of talking to those he knew who were there to understand what exactly happened, rather than hearing it second hand. But he could control what he did here. He knew this place was an osik-stain of the former Sith Empire. So as he crawled through the muck within his stygian-coated beskar'gam, with native flora strewn around him in a patchwork ghillie suit, he almost perfectly blended into his surroundings. He was inserted into the area via his own personal craft, which he had hidden well deeper into the forest, and had proceeded on foot up to the point where his tactical interface began receiving feedback of potential Maw and Sith forces ambushing allied units, and advancing in force. He had used the time up until that point to gather the flora he needed to assemble a rudimentary ghillie suit as earlier mentioned, and draped it over his form before going prone and crawling further. The temple was maybe 100 meters away, yet at the pace Faison was moving he wouldn't get there in any real hurry. Instead, he was biding his time; using his proximity sensors, tactical HUD, and passive scanners to give him a survey of his surroundings before moving more than a few crawls at a time. His Sanctum sniper rifle was in his hands, with its outer casing also heavily camouflaged via bits of branch and shrubbery as well. He also took a moment, after ensuring his presence was well hidden, of setting mines and proximity explosives in his wake to prevent himself from getting snuck upon. All of this was meant to say - it was very slow going for the Mandalorian.

Nearly 30 minutes later​

He had covered nearly thirty meters further, with comm updates amongst his shared channel to the rest of the Enclave's forces in the area bellowing about a Sith advance in his area. He could hear the sounds of distant blaster fire and combat. He repositioned himself on the crest of a natural defilade, which was fairly well elevated compared to the remainder of the forest unraveled before him, and looked in that area with his enhanced vision afforded to him by his helm. Easily three hundred meters away, heading perpendicular to his current position, the advancing Maw & Sith forces could be seen, with very distinctive soldiers steadily advancing through the surrounding undergrowth to the temple itself. It appeared a combination of allied forces and units had already arrived to the temple to try and secure the perimeter, only to be cut down by the implacable foe in their grinding advance. Faison pulled the scope of his rifle up to his visor, which linked up to allow for seamless optical amplification and view. Indeed, these mysteriously armored soldiers were clearly very well trained and capable, as they mowed through the forces they encountered with a cold precision indicative of training rivaling even the Mandalorians. A part of Faison respected that, for they would present a challenge worthy of his talents, and his fellow brothers if they fecking showed up. But that wasn't the view that dominated his attention. A woman was among them ( Danika Leventis ), who was the vision of both death and war, as if a goddess walking amongst mere mortals. Faison couldn't explain it, but he felt a... presence about her. He was no damned force witch like the Jedi or Sith, but he seemed to be able to... feel the power radiating off of her, which threatened to fill him with a sense of both dread and awe.

'We can't have that.' Faison thought to himself, mentally steeling his nerves as he took in a breath and steadied his scope over the woman. His finger hovered over the trigger, but for some reason he... found it hard to take the shot. Instead, he shifted to the form of the armored figure standing next to her, who was armored similar to the others around her but carried himself with an air of authority. It took but a moment for Faison to make the corrections, aiming his shot for the figure's clavicle before pulling the trigger. He would not waste time sitting there to see if his shot hit, as he quickly rolled back behind the defilade to use the natural cover to conceal his movements and break line of sight from the advancing legion of... well, death seemed fitting; as he repositioned to a new location. He engaged his sound dampeners, and moved like a mouse - silent and soft footed as he repositioned to loose another shot. This time, he would have need to push through whatever the damned hell stopped him from shooting at her and take the fecking shot.

 

[Vesta]

Look What You Made Me Do

CLASH OF LIGHT AND SHADOW​

A haze created a vignette at the edges of her vision; the trees, vines, and undergrowth of Dromund Kaas filled her with a nauseating sense of nostalgia that she wanted nothing more than to kill. This was supposed to be her home, the place she would have left Maena behind for if her plans with Quinn Varanin had panned out in the way they had intended, instead it had become the symbol of everything she despised - a crumbling icon from an era that should have stayed dead, stayed buried. Sith, the sort that conflated an adherence to the dark side as an oath to imperialism, had festered in this infected sore of a world and, as was inevitable, attracted more than just her own hateful eyes. Jedi, Mandalorian, Imperial, the list could have gone on endlessly if she bothered herself with caring to designate the ilk opposing her and the Maw's plans as anything more than just enemies.

She sucked in the humid air through flared nostrils with a grimace, the stench of iron and burnt flesh wafting up to her as she lowered her gaze to the bodies that lined the jungle floor around her. One had a smoldering gash across their chest, the rest little more than withered corpses that looked thousands of years too old to have belonged to anyone that might have been alive just minutes ago. A dark miasma surrounded her and pooled at her feet, the life force of the recently deceased intermixed within it, and it swirled around her ankles and snaked up her legs as they fed into her snowy white robes languidly. Gone were the reservations that she had harbored, the desire to remain utterly unremarkable in the eyes of her future victims dashed against the rocks, and instead she stood tall and grim with her hunger all but unleashed.

Tython was no longer far enough in the distance that such restraint was necessary.

Like the unfortunate corpses that littered the ground around her, the planet of Dromund Kaas and its storied past mattered as much to her as it did to the circumstances it had found itself in - that is, not at all. Every last dreg that still clung to the old capital of the Sith Empire would find themselves dead by the end of the night, as well as every last soul that attempted to put themselves between her and her future. She stepped forwards, towards the dark temple that Darth Solipsis intended to enact his ritual within, and was not bothered in the slightest by the body she stepped on before deciding to continue onwards and into the dark. Unfazed, even, by the rustling of leaves and the sudden heat that penetrated the air as a red lightsaber was swung down through the air while an assassin beholden to the old order she had left behind leaped towards her from the canopy of trees above her.

He was dead before he reached her, of course, but the man had expected it from the wrath-like former Thearch. He'd relied on the continued momentum of his falling body, life force drained from him the moment he had gotten too close, to carry the lightsaber down on a path that might've run her through if not for the lackadaisical wave of her right hand that discarded both the dead man and his weapon with a telekinetic push. Not once had she even bothered to turn her head during the short exchange, her focus kept forever towards the path ahead.

Towards destiny.

 

[Tor’r Tal’Verda]

Tor’r Tal’Verda | Death’s Hand
SEARCH and Destroy
Khamul Kryze | Kralmus Orr | Rath Kelborn | Raus Garrat

W O L F​

Smoke rolled off the sprawling spires of the massive citadel as chaos reigned in. Fire, explosions, and waves of sonic energy soared throughout the city as the last stand was fought tooth and nail. Like a house of cards it was all coming down around them, there was no shelter left to hide behind.

Tattered banners and wind swept tarp soaked up the brilliant light from the fires around them. The once proud Mandalorian embassy, had been reduced to ruin. The entryway engulfed in inferno with trails of smoke and ash lifting out into the open skyline. Leaning against the walls were the carbon scorched bodies of several Sith-Imperial troopers and a handful of Dar’Manda survivors.

Bang.

The sound of a blaster echoed forth with an ear piercing shriek, there was a subsequent clatter as a lone helmet bounced against the durasteel platform before rolling forward in revelation of it’s T-Visor stained with blood.

Tor’r holstered the weapon, fresh from the kill still hot from the discharged plasma. His attention turned to his vod, Kralmus Orr , who was near. The Mandalorian knelt down near the fallen Dar’Manda and pulled from his corpse a small chrome cylinder. His thumb slid against the smooth surface of the device, pressing firmly upward as it came into contact with a toggle grip.

A beacon.

The Mandalorian activated it’s signal outward and looked to his brother with a hidden smile beneath the veil of his beskar.

<Let them come.>

 

[Vulcan Krayt]

Objective I: Prepare for trouble, and make it double
Location: Dromund Kass, Southern Pole
Equipment: Sword, M.I. Beskar'gam Mk.1 M.I. 'Sunstroke' jetpack M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol, M.I. Model 12 shatter rifle x2, Thermal Detonators, Magnetic Detonators, Perun's Call
Tag: Mairéad Solus

Vulcan has been stalling a bit, keeping to the cockpit longer than he intended, but he decided that he needed to get out and either destroy the area he is in or at least set a beacon for his fellow Vod to track. He had to keep R2 from following, because from what he knows of battle, missiles may be used and, he would hate to see his Astromech damaged.

So after reassuring him that he will come back once this is over, Vulcan set off into the snow, well he did fall into a snow dune. The snow engulfed everything in white fluffy snow. He never did pelt the other foundlings with snowballs yet, he will rectify that at some point, a Mandalorian he was, but he was also still a youngster and he will remember that more.

Pulling himself free he walked with determination not noticing that he was not alone, well not at first, he pulled his shawl closer as the temperature dipped. Well polar temperatures were not new to him, he did visit Mandalore's South Pole, well he only visited to steal a shipment of Beskar, the very same metal he is wearing now. How things change, and how much he has grown, in skill and smarts, but he won't get taller though, he's going to stay small. Although small he has shown that he is very capable.

Soon his HUD picked up on a signature close by, he needed to certify if she was friendly, he had walked into range now so that he can hear her over the white noise of the snow. Something about ambient noise of tundra and snow felt deafening, more so than a full-on warzone, the sense of empty nothing sets his teeth on edge.

He carefully primed his weapons, just in case he needed to use them, <"It's functional, why are you here?"> He asks, giving her a cautious look over. His gut tells him she is not an ally and he would need to stay sharp. Then the temperature dropped further which was rather odd.

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SPACE SOMEWHERE | DROMUND KAAS

ALLIES: Kovacs | DECEASED Erskine Barran | NIO | Enclave | AC
IT'S COMPLICATED: EE | GA
ENEMIES: BOTM | NSO | THE LAST STAND OAKS (TSE/SITH REMNANTS)
ENGAGING: Nothing yet
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | 2x Vibroknives | TIE

WAITIN' AROUND TO DIE​

Nightmares.

Del still had them - the waking-up-screaming, cold-sweat inducing dreams that were all too real.

They haven't properly recovered from their near-end on Csaus - especially not psychologically. Enzo Demici was still holed up in hospital after nearly getting electrocuted to death. Del and Jon had only survived themselves due to the valiant act of Sergeant-Major Massoud's stalwart sacrifice that bought them time.

And now they were deployed once more.

The last bastion of the fallen Sith Empire. The death throws of something are often the most dangerous. It has been quite a long time since Bravo flight had been at full strength. Hughes was finally back in the pilot seat but now they were down their Lucky 7.

No rest for the wicked, they say.

The surgical scar was itching like mad under her flight suit.

The doctors have patched her up well enough - luckily it was not exactly necessary for cybernetic organs - the punctured lung was fixed well enough. But the damn scar had not properly healed yet and it was driving her mad every time her clothing rubbed against it.

Jon was probably nearly done in the briefing room once more and hopefully listened to Harkas this time round. The two ladies of the flight were already down in the hangar, trying to prep - it was a morbid affair.

The itching....

"Oh for shit's sake!" Del cried, hurling her helmet halfway across the bay.
Aayla spun around from where she was just about to pull her up to her pit.
"What?" she asked her wing mate.
"Nothing." Del grumbled as she got up, then sighed. "Everything."
"Csaus?"
"Among others, yeah. This war is getting dirtier by the second. AND SOMEONE MAKE THIS ITCHING STOP!" she bellowed at the end, kicking her Outlander with vehemence.
Aayla winced, but chose to rather say nothing. The Flight had been through much since Krownest. By now, they all had their demons plaguing them. It didn't help anyone pushing for information.

Del let out another sigh.

She chucked her kit into the pit before she turned to where her helmet lay rocking close to the main auto-doors heading deeper into the destroyer.
"We nearly lost another Seven, Aayla. That ain't right. Nothing lucky about that." she said when she finally reached the helmet. She stood looking down at it for a minute.

For once, she was not ready for another engagement.

 

[Kralmus Orr]

Location: Dromund Kaas, Mandaloridan Embassy Ruins
Tags: Tor’r Tal’Verda

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Kralmus prepares to enter battle beside Tor'r

Reflected in the dark visor of Kralmus Orr's helmet, Kaas City burned. And it. Was. Beautiful.

He couldn't take his eyes off it. Skyscrapers toppled, monuments fell, and the very streets buckled and cracked under the bombardment of the invaders. The various factions attacking Dromund Kaas so savagely did it not for any real tactical value, but out of pure, unadulterated hatred. They had come here to burn every structure and salt the earth, to erase all traces of the Sith Empire's legacy. They were desperate to ensure that nothing remained to inspire future generations of Sith, no rallying symbols or sources of knowledge. They would fail in that, of course; there were too many Sith still hidden across the galaxy, preserving their dark traditions.

But feth was it fun to watch them try, to abandon their lofty principles in an orgy of blood and fire.

Kralmus liked watching cities burn. A denizen of the wilds of ravaged Mandalore for decades, he had never understood the point of gathering so many people in one place, creating these reeking pits of meek livestock. In the end, everyone was just an animal. You could dress a man in a shimmersilk suit and send him to commute through traffic of a million other suited fools, perhaps to work at some law firm or political office that kept codifying all the little rules that kept the livestock in line in their little clockwork society, but he was still an animal. He was just a tamed one, denied his natural urges in the name of "the good of society"... and helpless once that society collapsed.

The hungry jungles of Dromund Kaas waited to reclaim Kaas City, to return it to to a primal state. That was right and good.

Of course, many of the little livestock would die in the process, but such was the fate of the weak. Strength was not just earned but seized, and none of them had the will to do it. It was the same fate that had befallen most of Kralmus's own people. The Mandalorians had once razed huge swaths of the galaxy, a great horde who had crushed the "civilized" powers of Known Space and all but broken the Jedi Order. But look at them now! Hidebound, mired in tradition, constricted by codes of "honor". They had forgotten that war was the heart of their culture, and that their rightful place was to be setting the galaxy aflame. They had lost what it meant to be Mandalorian, to be conquerors.

Khamul Kryze would show them. Death's Hand would remind them of the truth. By example, and by force.

Kralmus looked over at his battle brother Tor'r, even now activating the beacon that would signal their presence to the warriors of the Enclave. They had chosen to do it here, amid the ruins of the old Mandalorian Embassy, to make it clear what the battle they were inviting was about: nothing less than the future of their culture. "I do hope they don't keep us waiting long," Kralmus said, tugging one of his countless serrated knives from the neck joint of an armored Dar'Manda. It refused to come out, lodged in the man's breastbone, and the burly cannibal sighed theatrically. He planted a boot on the man's torso and pulled on the handle with both hands, finally freeing the blade.

A jet of arterial blood splashed across the front of Kralmus's beskar armor, dark red beside crimson and slate grey.

"These weaklings made for little sport," he complained, wiping the knife clean on one of the Embassy's tattered banners before sheathing it at his belt. "I haven't had a real fight since Csaus. These little bands of cringing exiles, clinging to past glories that never really were, hardly count." Stalking over to another body, he stepped on the woman's shoulder, then freed his axe from where it had ripped through her beskar backplate with a mighty tug. "As much fun as it's been terrorizing the livestock, I find myself growing terribly bored." And no one wanted to see Kralmus Orr get bored. The amusements he devised for himself in such situations were...

... well, they were indescribably vile.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Atmosphere I.

Traden Avarice

DROMUND KAAS
Objective II: Clash of Light and Shadow

TLDR: The duel between Traden and Orlov starts off with a verbal assault.​

His senses did not betray the Fondorian.

Fate had indeed materialized itself in front of the apprentice, in the form of a rather peculiar man. Armed with a battle-hardened lightsaber and an expensive, advanced rifle; wearing pieces of armor most befitting a special forces operative than a guardian monk. Yet his steps professed what was undeniable; he carried something that weighed him down far more than mere physical items could. And the power emanating from him made it even clearer. He was no mere Knight of the Jedi Order. The hooded stranger found himself before a true Master of the Force.

The foreboding shrieks of carrion birds in the distance fill the air with tension. The howling winds tear into the Jedi's soaked locks, his body a display of unshakable determination. Saberless and out in the open, the Fondorian knew well that his approach to the confrontation shall require theatricality and deception in order to level out the playing field – a task he had been prepared for by his master, the wise Dimitri Voltura. The apprentice calmly lowers his extended arms, temporarily suspending the dark channel he had established with the planet and the evil nexus nearby. Through this connection he had gained a profane blessing; a branding of the Old Sith – a mark of the Dark Side, lying silently under the skin. The mysterious Jedi's gait is steady and the ghostly man wearing all-black turns to face him; preemptively assuming a stance by which he opens up the possibility of a lightning-fast defense or offense. The advancing man stops, the gentle stream wrapping around his ankles. The dark apprentice's arms hang and hover over his sheathed athame and blaster pistol, his torso perpendicular to the man – his head slightly tilted towards the ground, his face still obscured by the low-hanging hood. His photographic memory, amplified by the Dark Side, is cataloguing each weakpoint in his armor, but most importantly, the ones in his psyche. There was something odd inside of him that greatly intrigued the Sith apprentice. A wound within, still inflamed. Something that kickstarted the apprentice's hunger for combat. The mute Jedi had a glaring weakness he had revealed all to early, perhaps one that is even unbeknownst to him. At this moment the apprentice truly understood his master's macabre wisdom; the fabric of destiny into which he needed to carve his name wasn't made of silk or parchment – but the tissue of a living being.

An electrical discharge overhead flashed over the fateful scene unfolding within the jungles of Dromund Kaas, revealing for the shortest of moments the faces of the opposing warriors. A stand-off of momentous importance – one that in the past would have elicited flight in the Fondorian. But not since his training under Darth Hydrus, and his embrace of WAR. DEATH. REBIRTH.

His fingers performing the slightest of movements, as if playing a fragile harp of death, he begins his verbal assault. The Dark Side twists his voice unnaturally, creating the illusion of the sound closing in on the Jedi ahead from all directions, even from behind. – I envy you, Jedi. – The echoes stretching out into infinity. – Your time has come to take the final step. – The hooded stranger carefully starts walking in a circle, while still keeping the distance from the man in front of him. – Strike at me.​

Give in to your anger.

Nearby: Ishida Ashina Valery Noble Zlova Rue
Ally: Danika Leventis & BOTM
Hostile: Everyone.​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1
Allies: BOTM
Enemies: Iris Arani Morrow
Equipment: Kyrel’s Necrochasis, Kyrel’s Armor, Vader’s Bane Lightsaber


Before the strike on Dromund Kass, the Master of the Knights of Ren stood before the Lord of the Sith. He stood there kneeling, as Solipsis made his proclamation of naming him the Wrath. With this title he was made into a fierce conqueror and leader of Mawite forces in conquering all those that dare to defy the great journey and the cleansing that came along with it. He kept his head bowed as he spoke his words, and while he begrudgingly went along with Solipsis’s plans he couldn’t deny the privilege it was to lead death and destruction as a new terrifying force.

The Undead nightmare had wanted to kill Solipsis and take the throne for himself yes, but even that was not entirely enough as for now he had to wait. In the meantime he would play his role to the letter at least until death came for Solipsis. He stood before him when the Ren was crowned Wrath of the Maw in a sort of divine rite. Now nothing would stop him spreading his carnage across the stars, albeit a foreign entity had plagued his mind in recent days. Placing a gloved fist over what would be his heart, he gave a slight bow to Solipsis as he spoke. “By your command my lord… Our enemies know not what awaits for them in the Shadow.”

It would begin on Dromund Kass. Too long had the dark side grown decadent among the Sith Empire. Most of the Empire was gone, and still Kass remained. Not only that but much of it would be assaulted by the New Imperials, and the Jedi alike. His first order of business as the Wrath of the Maw would lead a vanguard force in tackling the front lines of both forces, while other Mawite forces would keep them distracted, they would be caught off guard by the arrival of the savage undead Ren.

He stood deep within the brush of trees, eyeing the main force connected with the Imperials and the Alliance. What he saw was how they were alarmed by Mawite forces popping up, and yet they wouldn’t suspect a force to charge right into their camp. Behind him lay crouched a force of Kyrel’s monstrous men in the form of the Crimson Hands. One of them crouching as if some Goblin kept jumping up and down with a sick delight. “Ooo we are gonna eat good tonight! Me never tasted Alliance flesh before.” The excitement ended when one of the bigger troopers outright punched the smaller one in the face. “You will eat when the Master wills it! We follow his command not your karking stomach!”

He was stopped by the raising of the hand of the new Wrath. “Now, now I prefer if the lot of you saved that anger for the enemy. We are about to charge two main camps… With the battle all around they wouldn’t suspect us…” He said in his own sadistic glee. The trooper relented and nodded. “Apologies milord. Without Lurtz here it’s a bit difficult to keep the men patient.”

“No matter.” Kyrel said as he stepped a little closer to the camp, the stormtroopers camouflaged with animal hides, painted armor, and even blood stains and horns. The lot seemed like more of a savage backwater tribe than former Stormtroopers. With blasters they wielded swords, and mighty battle axes that could cleave a man in two easily with one stroke.

Kyrel gave a look first at both the Alliance and Imp Camps, then back to his men, as he spoke but this time drawing his saber out. “Come, flesh awaits for the time of the sword and the axe is nigh!” With that the barbaric stormtroopers let out a cry raising their jagged and sharpened weapons.

Quickly Kyrel emerged from the forest, with a large legion of his troops behind him, letting out bestial war cries and sounding a horn that went in tandem with the cries of his own men. The walk turned into a charge as Kyrel activated his crimson blade, the unique weapon feeding pure rage into him as he charged into the nearest soldier.

with his own cry he cleaved a Stormtrooper in two, his own troops finding anyone they could find. Some were outright dismembered, some screamed as a few of the hands grabbed arms and legs, and pulled them away from the torso. Some howled as they started to light structures ablaze and watched with unimaginable cruelty as men and women were walking around burning alive.

The first moves the enemy was caught off guard in their home turf. Some eagerly met the ferocity of the hands with a stalwart defense. The Wrath and his Hands only turned this battle further into a bloody massacre. Be it soldier or simple civilian alike none were spared. Heads decapitated, bodies disemboweled and feasted upon. Cries for help came out but to no avail we’re just met with the chattering, and the feasting of blood thirsty monsters that drank the crimson blood as it flowed.

Kyrel kept into the fray, cutting down anyone that came to his path, no longer caring to create his undead horde. His intent here was merely that of slaughter, no mercy and no prisoners would be taken. The calmness of the camp was met with screams, fire and blood and Kyrel kept pushing through In the midst of the confusion. Cutting down anyone that came to his path, and yet he sensed a familiar presence. One that had haunted his mind for sometime that further ignited the butcher’s own bloodlust.

 

[Annor E-059]

Annor E-059
Objective 1: Once more unto the breach.
Writing With: DECEASED Erskine Barran
Historical District, Kaas City

Annor stands on a marble walkway hanging above the archive's floor, running along with the whole breadth of the grand library in a resolute and decidedly unsettling silence which contrasts her with the energetic and what she perceived as the juvenile quarrelsomeness of the 313th's woads. Skulking among the rafters, Annor maintains a quiet vigil over the esteemed dignitary she'd been sent to protect; Lord-General Erskine Barran. Behind the pair of silvery helmet lenses, Annor's alphanumeric service number, which had replaced her surname, was rumoured to result from some affiliation with a shadowy military program.

Commanded to leave by Barran's voice and with no reason or interest to Eavesdrop on the Lord-General, Annor promptly mosies through fields of shattered glass and timber splinters into the marble courtyard outside the library. Annor finds several uniformed remnant soldiers braced against a cold stone wall, with a rank of armed Stormtroopers prepared to deliver the coup de grace. An elderly, bow-legged, white-haired magistrate holds a tome at chest height and reads from it. "The offence of manufacturing and distributing prohibited Sith literature under aggravation circumstances is proved. The sentence is death to be carried out summarily by firing squad."

What sounds like a single blaster shot rings out and echoes down through the streets around the Grand Library of the seven condemned. Six falls, with the Sixth's executioner trembling, a smouldering hole sizzles red above his victim's head. The magistrate sighs disappointed bows his head before looking over to the detail's commander, a lieutenant. The platoon commander's gaze peers out to the black-armoured Special Task Force Security Officer, who he could see is observing his execution, reading the security officer's IFF tag. "Elite, zero-fifty nine." The Lieutenant beckons Annor over with a janky anxious gesture. "Carry out the sentence as imposed by the Honourable magistrate."

The word "Elite" caught the interest of the Stormtroopers standing in the firing squad, and a few of them steadily glanced over their shoulder. Some had heard of the "freaks" and what they had done to Storm Commandos when provoked. The particular trooper who wordlessly heeded the Lieutenant's command and now came to join the execution detail was the very same Elite who was responsible for those rumours. Annor, with a total disregard for safety protocol, marches over the firing line and raises her blaster's muzzle aiming square between the target's eyes. Focusing squarely on the nasal bridge. Annor's finger precisely squeezes her blaster's trigger rearward into the receiver; green bolt shrieks from its' barrel and smashes through the target's head.

Annor steadily lowers her blaster rifle and surveys the scene; her eyes tug together and examine the frozen rigour of terror on the executed faces'. For a moment, their sorrow is made Annor, and she wondered whether this fate would be hers to share. Annor thought it was a microcosm for life; at the end of this great game of war, the lord and peasant both would return to the dirt as the same.

 

[Zlova Rue]

Location: Steps of Dromund Kaas' Temple

Kentarch stepped out in front of the Temple, Solipsis and company strode up toward the Temple, Taeli lurked here or there in search of something, and Danika drew ever nearer. Meanwhile, two Jedi, Valery and Ishida, had a mind to 'visit' while Traden and Orlov fought in the jungles nearby. Quite the party what with everyone wringing their hands over the fate of 'innocent' civilians and 'helpless' children in the City proper.

Zlova silently sighed as she stood from where she'd taken to leaning back against the Temple. The Twi'lek reached into the Force and the deep well of the Abyss that surrounded it in this place. Her words spread out into area surrounding the Temple for new arrivals to hear, "Welcome, those who believe themselves Worthy to touch this place with their thoughts and dare to do so with their flesh. If you came here to grow in darkness, or bask in glory, survive the trials within. The rest of you: begone, or be consumed." Academics, researchers, and worshipers alike were welcome. Those that sought to pillage (puzzles were there for a reason, Kun it!) and destroy were not.

Red lekku slid along a muscular back as the Lethan stood in the center of the doorway. Her hands spread out to either side for two curved-hilt sabers to snap into them from behind her back and ignite into amethyst blades. As a student of history, she was prepared to do whatever needed done to preserve a monument of unimaginable achievement. She had been too late to help protect Korriban, but not this time.

A grin slowly parted Zlova's lips. It'd been a long time since Darth Siron had left Empire-held worlds. The irony of her being there making sure the ghosts bound to this place weren't shaken loose was delightful. Her new friends or 'friends' would certainly not approve, but then none of them were there at that moment were they?

Darth Solipsis in particular held her attention as she felt him draw near. The so-called Voice of the Maw. Quite the curious development to have someone that high up arrive, and a question how amicable or violent such a meeting should be. Certainly all those Zlova should be allied with in this place would cry for her to strike him down without mercy. It might very well depend on just what he intended in this place with his horde of minions in tow.

Tag: Taeli Raaf | Darth Kentarch | Maestus | Darth Solipsis | Danika Leventis | Darth Mori | Valery Noble | Ishida Ashina | Wyatt Morga | Faison Kelborn | Open​

 

[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

As the day moved on, the less it looked like anything major is happening at present and the more it looked like he needed to head to the Temple as he had wanted to do beforehand, but changed direction to the Capital. He had a nagging thought to head there, but now it seemed it was just an unfounded thought. But he himself needed to follow it, just in case, it was something more, something that would be useful to the cause.

Alighting on a roof and being careful not to dislodge any tiles, Superious stopped his Force Jumping seeing as he made no progress in either finding other Sith or any non-Sith to fight with. The weather worsened considerably, well the weather tends to do that, either way. The rain came in torrents, misting the ground as it hit the cobbles. Thankfully his visor had anti-misting glass as it would be impossible to get a visual on anything and he won't remove his helmet to remove the condensation. Not a chance in nerf hell would he do that because his lungs would burn, and he'll get hyperoxia. Which would be a major hazard to him. Holding his breath would make him light-headed, which is extremely unhelpful.

This soured his rare good mood, but then again, when was he in a good mood? Shaking that train of thought aside, he gave the skyline another look over, everything seems to be happening everywhere but here. But Superious was not too inclined to look for fights, all without some form of planning.

Then it was as if someone brushed against his aura, well more of a poke than a brush but it caught his attention regardless, with that Superious turned his head down to the pavement, well he was not surprised to see a Mandalorian, he was more intrigued that this one had the Force. More unusual, the Mando was alone, no, no he wasn't, there were usually more than one Mando at any one time.

This one looked more than eager for a fight, he even drew his sword. He has to give Mandalorians credit, when they mean business, they REALLY mean business and that is to almost be respected. Almost.

The recognisable snap-hiss of an ignited Lightsaber filled the air, giving the vicinity an ominous red-orange glow. Steam rising from where the rain hit the blade.

 

[Hoken Stryte]

The Rain​

Objective 1: Restoring order.
Writing with: DECEASED Erskine Barran , Open

Rain. An ever present downpour that seemed to weigh one down, whether they wore duraplast or not. It did work wonders at washing away the grime that had accumulated over Stryte’s service. Beneath the thick carpet of dun gray lay Kaas City, once a testament to Imperial fashion, now waylaid by ruinous force. He checked the regulator of his Tibanna gas reserves: only 15 shots left in this power pack. He’d have to scrounge up some more ammunition soon to make it through the invasion without filing a restock request. Enemy combatants strapping bombs to themselves and their homes were bad, but what Stryte truly dreaded were the supply officers’ sneering. He was a Kel Dor, and whilst the New Imperial Order had made great strides in lessening the consequences of such, they were still felt from time to time. Ponderous today, aren’t you? Stryte mused to none but himself, listening idly to the pitter patter atop his helmet, his comms silent for now. He had been given an important task: standing guard outside the library, making sure none entered the building except with permission from his commander; General Barran. And so he would stand, through rain, thunder, lightning and even war. For the fires raged around him, in uproarious multitudes. Yet there he was, clutching his SRK-65, tapping his foot against the pebble-speckled ground. What had once been pristine, bluish-gray streets were now riddled with torn concrete, great, wound-like gashes marring the roads and buildings from mortar fire and whatnot. To Stryte, there was a certain ugly beauty in war, a sensibility he had grown accustomed to. One was either practical and direct in war, or dead. He liked that. As part of the Sabretooth Legion, Stryte was one of the toughest, meanest ground pounders around. His war name had been given after a successful boarding along the Perlemian Trade Route. There he had fought a lightsaber-wielding pirate, who struck him but did not kill him, earning him the name ‘Mad Akk’, for his foolhardy bravery and for the animal’s lightsaber-resistant hide. Still just a private, he carried himself with almost regal confidence, befitting the nature of an otherwise shy species. Yet his service stretched back decades, and were it not for the mystical nonsense he tended to spout, and his alien origin, he may have been promoted already. Yet for now he stood on guard duty, whilst the other Sabretooths were off causing havoc with righteous purpose. Oh, the rain: his only companion. Pitter patter.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Location: Dromuund Kaas​

Valery: Appearance​

Outfit: Factory Link​

Lightsabers: Link!​

Tag: Ishida Ashina ​

Baddy Tag: Darth Kentarch ​

​

All of this felt extremely strange.​

​

A long time ago, Valery had been heavily involved in the war between the Old Republic and the Sith Empire under Empress Acina's rule, which had used Dromuund Kaas as its capital. During those days, even just the idea of setting foot on this world was unheard of. Those who tried were often quickly discovered, then either killed or corrupted by forces of the Dark Side. This planet was the symbol of the Sith Empire's strength and military might, and now she was on a mission there to cleanse a Temple shrouded in darkness.​

​

Together with Ishida, a rather promising Padawan whose views were very similar to her own, she walked through the marshes between them and the Dark Force Temple. Nothing about this world made travel easy, but the wetlands and dangerous jungles were nothing compared to the corrupting presence of a Dark Side Nexus lashing out at one's mind. With each step they get closer to their target, it grew more intense, as it attempted to penetrate the barriers of their minds.​

​

But Valery was trained to resist it all, and she had no doubt Ishida would make it through as well. The younger woman had shown great strength during other assignments they were on together and never hesitated for even a second. She was decisive, and that's exactly why Valery wanted Ishida alongside her. ​

​

"Is this the first time you've left her?"​

​

Valery looked over as the silence was broken and offered a brief nod, "I've been with her constantly since she was born — it's quite stressful and demanding but very rewarding, too." Valery then paused, keeping each line of conversation short as they continued to examine their surroundings. Their silence thus far had been with purpose, as neither of them wanted to be caught by surprise or alert their enemies. But there was still nothing.​

​

"She's safe with her father now, but I do look forward to getting back to them. Leaving behind family to go on a mission like this is difficult, but they also give me another reason to do what I do," she said with a faint smile before she'd begin to look around again.​

​

The brunette then suddenly stopped and held up her hand to signal Ishida to halt as well — she had seen something. After raising her index finger to her lips to signal for silence, she gestured for some bushes nearby, where the two could just barely see the foot of a Jedi that had been slain in his attempt to reach the Temple.​

​

Up ahead, there was something Dark in the Force, a presence separate from the Temple that seemed to linger near it. Someone was waiting for them. Not wanting to get jumped like the Jedi they found here, she drew one of her two hilts into her right hand, and looked at Ishida.​

​

"Seems we'll have to fight our way in."​

​

​

 

[Danika Leventis]

ALLIES: Darth Solipsis | Darth Ptolemis | Maestus | Darth Kentarch | NSO | BOTM
ENEMIES: Rurik Fel | Noel Strasza | Ares Atrius | Vulcan Krayt | Zlova Rue | Ishida Ashina | Taeli Raaf | Traden Avarice | Mairéad Solus | AC | GA | NIO | Enclave | EE | TSE
LET'S DANCE, DARLING: Faison Kelborn
GEAR: In Bio

O~~>MEET YOU AT MIDNIGHT<~~O

The dead whispered.

Instinctively, Danika struck with the Force toward Samron, sending him sprawling as a bolt narrowly missed the Falleen. Her eyes flashed a bright teal in anger as she squared her stance for a second.
"Mistress?" Samron asked, sitting up straight as he tried to get the breath back that was knocked from him.
"Hush." she said, extending her senses through the Force. That foreboding had carried a Presence in the end.

It had moved.

Another sinister smile spread on her lips. In an instant, the Lady of Conquest stepped through time only to step out again behind the prone figure of a Mandalorian.

Without hesitation, Danika gripped the rifle in his hands with the Force and yanked it from his grasp and hurled it a few paces away.

In one motion, she removed a saber from her belt and ignited the amethyst blade.
"Su cuy'gar, mando'ade. I have to say I do not appreciate you taking cowardly shots at my men. Face me like the warrior you are supposed to be." she said, keeping a close eye on him.

There was a reason why her men were so proficient and well kit out. She had a lot of respect for the Mandalorian people and had contracted some to help train her men. She knew what to expect from them.

They weren't such efficient warriors for no reason.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Tags: Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: BotM
Enemies: Everyone Else
Links: Weapons

Dromund Kaas, a home to many Sith and most recent battleground between the self styled forces of good, and those who are viewed as evil. Fools, all of them. As the planet neared, Zachariel sneered beneath his helm, the Maw would show them true evil, and enlighten them all. Turning from the viewport, Zachariel advanced into the bowels of the ship. Around him, Chosen and veteran marauders of the Bloodsworn fell into line. Their numbers for this mission weren't great, but they didn't need to be. All they needed to do was kill, and each here was a veteran of countless killing fields.

Entering a chamber housing drop pods, Zachariel stepped into his own, his followers entering their own. Turning in place, he locks himself into his slot and opens a line to the Bloodsworn.
"Find and kill them all, every last fool who dares challenge the might of the Maw."

As their answering howls echoed back, the pods dropped towards the city. During the ensuing fall, they scattered somewhat, dropping wherever the fates sent them. But when they crashed onto the planet, the Bloodsworn emerged and began their slaughter. Zachariel and his Chosen emerged as well, killing any too close, but otherwise remaining at their drop zone. They awaited the sign of their master, even as he cast his mind out into the Force, searching. For several long moments they stood there, silently killing any they saw, before Zachariel's eyes snapped open.

Helmet lenses flaring deep red, he turned to a somewhat familiar signature in the Force, along with countless more around one specific target. Chuckling, he began his advance towards the orphanage, and towards the defenders there, towards Eina L'lerim-Vandiir. His mind cast out, sending a message out to his target, a mere few blocks away.
"I come child, prepare yourself."

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Dromud Kaas
Equipment: Jedi Armor, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Second Lightsaber, Promise Ring to Jairdain, Eyepatch
Tag: Darth Carnifex (Enemy)

Dromund Kaas...... this was a planet Jax never thought he'd step foot on, once the homeworld to the former Sith Empire when it collapsed it left a huge power vacuum between the Dark Side factions. With the Brotherhood trying to reclaim the city along with the New Imperial Order, the Galactic Alliance chased to the planet to intercept the incoming factions. The last thing the Brotherhood needed was a morale boost, of course Jax once again found himself back on the battlefield.

As Jax landed, he heard of the Sith using an amplification device that enhances the citizen's fear and anger using them as soldiers against the invading forces. The Jedi Master frowned when he heard that, the levels that the Sith were willing to sink in order to fight back. Despite Jax's dislike for the Sith, the people who were attacking were innocent, he didn't want to bring a large force with him and instead volunteered to go solo. The mission was to infiltrate the city while the battle was heating up and disable that device. It was powered up by a large amounts of Dark Side energy so it would be easy to detect.

As soon as Jax left the drop ship he immediately began to sneak by the many frenzied civilians ripping the GA and Mandalorian forces alike. He closed his eyes and remained in the shadows, using the Force to try to find that device it was nearby up north won't be long now. "Chit," Jax muttered. "I have to hurry If I'm to break this spell."

 

[Kovacs]

LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE
SKY GUARDIAN: EMERGENCY vol. I
Issue #5

TIE-Outlander

Bravo Flight, Dagger Squadron, 181st Fighter Wing Five: LT Kovacs Six: LT Delilah Jones Seven: LOA Eight: LT Aayla Hughes Revenant Squadron Leader: CDR Tren Chaar Two: FLT Olly Piblarian Seven: FO Leon Gallo Eleven: FO Mylo Thorne Ashlan Crusade Isla Draellix-Kobitana Spoiler: Summary -Briefed to escort Imperial transports -Briefed to provoke Galactic Alliance fighters -Throttle up into the Alliance's flight vectors

"Hey, if you've got an itch, Del, you know I can scatch." Jon strode into the hangar where his flight awaited, a cocky smirk as per usual plastered on his face. He picked up her helmet, potentially dodging a wrench with his name on it. Dumb humor was his dose of coping over the recent misgivings of his flight.

"C'mon, lighten up, ladies - we're gonna be on the news so, ya know - zip down the suit a bit." he made an expletive with his hands on his chest, maybe dodged another wrench, "ISB spooks briefed Harkas so seeing that old kark nod frantically like his own mother was giving him a scolding was gold, well... until he mouthed their orders."

"We'll be playing politico today, making statements by interfering with Alliance flight paths." Jon paused, staring for a long, silent moment at Sergeant-Major Massoud's mural painted on the wing beneath the iconic 181st red stripes before climbing up the cockpit with helmet in hand, "Make those orange suits of the Old Lady sweat grease."

"Orders and flight vectors are on your onboards. You've got plenty o' time to read 'em. You know how slow logistics are with packing a transport headed planetside. Poor stormies got it bad with these dewbacks." he stepped inside, then backtracked, "Oh, you're gonna need this." the flight leader hurled Del's helmet back to her.

Jon was about to fall asleep (preflight checks made him snooze) when flight control startled him awake. The transport's engines rumbled, shaking the very frames of the hangar before it lifted off, followed shortly after by Bravo's three fighters. Without Seven, they took up a wedge formation with Eight taking the rear of the AT hauler, while Five and Six placed their TIEs on both sides of the Oberon. From his year long deployment as a long-recon scout, Jon recalled stormies saying that if an officer called for an AT-AT they wanted the job done yesterday but at the expense of their promotion taking a hit of another year or two.

In laymen's terms - someone planetside had fucked up his plays.

:: Guns armed, yeah? Tact's got orbit still marked as contested. :: he reminded Dagger's finest ladies as he tapped a few panels with his left hand, :: Oberon's locked in on an intercept course with the Old Lady's vectors. See 'em starboard soon enough. Keep your hands steady, absolutely no opening of fire. Not unless they give us a reason. :: switching to a private frequency with Six, he added through shiteating smirk, :: and Del... about that itch--"

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Location: Some Old Ruins
Objective: Capture or Kill Darth Arcanix
Allies: Wyatt Morga // Romi Jade // Coren Starchaser
Enemies: Taeli Raaf
Equipment: Coat | Armor | Lightsaber: 1 & 2 | Gun | Arm | Corellian Jedi Credit | Ring

As Wyatt rose and gripped his lightsaber after the speech, the green-black coat over the white Aing-Tii armor of Julius was just finished being buttoned. Overall he looked more like a dressed officer on deck of a ship than a warrior preparing for such a mission. He was a bit worried, but it didn't show. Volunteering his ship, he had run afoul of something above in orbit. While it still flew, the ship had definitely seen better days, and getting them back would need to change from a port of safety to the best mechanic they could find. The Wanderlust was not long for this 'verse.

Adjusting the blousing on his pants as if not in the middle of a battlefield, he straightened to look at Wyatt with a stone determination writ large across normally grinning features.

"No questions but one. How hard do we try to bring her in warm? With her list of crimes, she'll be difficult to haul in."

 

[Sasmay Cull]

WEAPONS: 4 Whimsy Knives, 1 Nastirci Combat Knife, 1 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons, K914 SMG, (4) Elemental Grenades, (2) Impact Grenades, Phase X-E CryoSonic Heavy Pistol
EQUIPMENT: Phase II Haywire Armor without force mask UL-13 Corporis Skin Suit, Kirino Visual Interface
FLYING: The Gray Queen's Throne carrying The Termite
ESCORTING: x3 Agrilat-series Freighters lightly loaded with food, medical supplies, and buildings materials in internal storage. Heavily loaded with Refined Rhydonium in outer containers.
LOCATION: Entering System near Brotherhood of the Maw space
TERMITE GEAR: 1 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons -(Outfitted with Glitter Bullets), BR-3 Rowdy Rancor, Winter Rose Rifle, Phase XI Anti-Material Rifle
DROIDS: (4) Droid Bois - (Tremor, Clang, Skitter, Pop)
ACCOMPANIED BY: Myunna
TAGS: Onrai
ENEMIES: Anyone that interferes - BoTM
ALLIES: Unknown

Vella twitched nervously with each sound about the bridge. The bangles their captain was removing from her hair jingled slightly, drawing her eyes as someone coughed in the communications pit. Her chin sharply jerking towards the sound as Furball leaned back and caused the chair to protest to his wookiee weight.

The twi'lek was nearing the end of her nerves compared to Sasmay who was quietly humming as she prepared her hair for her helmet. She was still questioning how she had ever agreed to this idea. And so far the only reasonable assumption or conclusion had fallen to a simple thing.

She'd been drunk and Sasmay had got her angry.

"This is a stupid idea." Vella sighed. Letting her eyes gaze over the shifted scene before them. They were jumping into the system well behind the cargo freighters that were loaded for their dangerous idea.

"If it's stupid but it works-" Sasmay informed her as Vella finished the sentence.

"Then it isn't stupid. No. This is seriously so fubar it isn't funny."

"You weren't arguing when I brought it up."

"I don't remember even talking about it." Vella snapped back, the twi'lek slowly turning and getting her hackles up at the offhanded replies she was receiving. The bridge was quiet around them when she realized everyone was now staring. Clearing her throat, she stepped back and checked the seals on her suit.

The singular cinnamon colored eye stared at her, wavering between contempt and amusement.

"Stick to the plan, and make it look good. Easy in, easy out. Thinking to hard will send this whole plan up our exhaust port." Sasmay explained. Her tone slow, low, demanding Vella's attention while daring her to play ignorant. The soft nod and excited sigh giving her the clear sign the twi'lek had been listening even with her back turned.

"Now then. Let's get this show on the road." She shook her head, making sure the bun wasn't going to shift loose before donning the helmet.

----The Three Agrilat-series Modular Conveyer Ships Ahead of the Gray Queen's Throne----​

The Rodian aboard the lead freighter buzzed in annoyance, keeping a clear eye on the scanners as the drop point came into view. Tapping the beacon, they alerted the other three ships in hyperspace via comm lines before the three ships dropped from hyperspace and made a hard burn for where Sasmay guessed the Maw ships would be hiding.

A stormy, cloudy section over the planet, perfect for hiding in to ambush the prey. Also the place she felt a sharp pang of worry on her end.

The interim captain of the freighter sent a tight-beam transmission, aiming for the ground though hoping something in the clouds caught it. The signal wasn't encoded, actually blaring an emergency as the ships banked sharply towards the planet after The Gray Queen's Throne dropped from hyperspace.

"This is the Captain of the Antiquity, we are being pursued by a pirate vessel and require-" The rodian began as the pursuing vessel Sasmay commanded let loose with an ion barrage to hurry them along. The calm tone cut off by the sudden jerk in maneuvering by the pilot.

The Ion Cannons shots slid past the hull of one Agrilat, causing a sharp jerk in the smaller vessel as another ion shot seemed a bit early in the projected flight path of the adjustment. Another shot missed due to quick thinking by the pilot of another, aimed for the engines as it caught a cargo pod instead.

"This is the Captain of the Antiquity! Under assault by a pirate vessel! If we don't get relief, we'll lose our cargo. Refined Rhydonium for core space and relief goods for the rim! Requesting assistance immediately!" The lead Agrilat Captain was a bit more frantic than he had anticipated being. It was one thing to talk about being shot at by your captain, another to actually be at the business end of the barrel when you had explosives on board.

​