Annihilation The Imperial March

[Vulpesen]

Obj: 1 Defend the City
Allies: Atrisia and GA forces. ( Junko Ike Laphisto )
Enemies: All imperial forces. ( Dark Forces Franceline Dawer @Kasan Osera_
Loadout: Battlefield
Forces: Veran Wilders (sects of druidic style force users) // Zorren Infantry Units(armed with a variety of weapons from the VSF catalog) // 33rd Veran Highlanders(Zorren troops armed mostly with the Wolfclaw line of VSF weaponry)

Command: Majority of Veradune's Armis Militia armed with the entirety of the VSF catalog and some miscellaneous civilian weapons
Atrisia was in flames. In some ways, literally. Imperial troops marched the streets, and Vulpesen was nearly deafened by the constant barrage of blaster and cannon fire that filled his ears. Chaos reigned. But that was where he worked best, fighting through the flames and the blood to come out the other side with greatness. His mask found its way to his fac and instantly, his HUD surveyed the field while his ears alighted with the combined channels of the Alliance and Atrisian forces. It was a deluge of information to parse though, but this was far from his first time jumping into the fire pit.

[Trident! Take civilian fighters to the fabricators. Use your weapons as the basis and give them a crash course. Should have plenty of targets. 33rd Highlanders, split up and take the flanks! 75th Infantry Brigade, take the front lines! Push those bastards back and secure the districts! Work with House Ike to get the job done!] He looked behind him to a rather large group of Zorrens clad in fur and leather. These were not soldiers, not in any usual sense. They were the wilders. Fragmented into sects, the Veran Wilders, unlike the jedi, didn't follow any unified command. Each archon was the grand master of his own small group. And yet, here they all were, unified under his command. He was now Vulpesen Torrevaso, Archon of War. It was a title only given in emergency situations when Veradune itself took to the fight on such a scale that its force users also mobilized.

"All of you!" he shouted, causing several of them to stiffen. Even some of the wilders who were his elder by centuries or more, were caught by his curt command. "To the burning gardens! Show the imperials how to really make the flames dance!" They dispersed quickly. Some took flight on whirling winds. Some turned to swift beasts to run. Others, more in tune with verdant life, acted as guides to ensure they all made it to the gardens.

Vulpesen continued his commands, sending his people throughout the Atrisian city with brutal efficiency. There was a pride in seeing how readily they ran to the conflict. A pride and a deep sorrow. They came because an Atrisian had given them their lives. Now, many of those lives would be laid down for this planet. Zorrens would die lightyears away from the verdant landscapes they had worked so hard to rebuild. But they would not be slaughtered. They would fight because it was bred to do. They would win because it was what they were called to do.

As the last of his commanders ran off with his orders, Vulpesen turned his head to a rather tall and gruff Zorren at his side. Excelsus Harlow had once been the head of the Valde's security. Now, he was in charge of the planet's military and perhaps one of the few advisors Vulpesen did not regularly threaten to throw out of a window. "Command is yours, Harlow."

"Yes, sir! Give them hell."

As Vulpesen stepped away, he channeled the force through his body. Up above, the skies darkened and lightning crackled. He was no longer a jedi shadow, working in the darkness with a whispering dagger. He was an Arch Wilder. A living storm ready to drop the sky on those that opposed him. "Go home Imperials! Naught but death awaits you here!" His voice was echoed by a boom of thunder and a crack as the first bolt of lightning lanced down from the sky. As precise as an aimed rifle, but with all the brutality of nature, he aimed his electric onslaught at the advancing troops, striking them where they gathered thickest to break their ranks apart for his men.


TL;DR:
Vulpesen commands his military men to spread through the city and secure its streets
Civilian Zorren fighters are sent with his elite guard to fabricate better weaponry so they can be more effective.
Veran Wilders (members of the planet's druidic force tradition) are sent to the gardens to put out the flames or turn them to their advantage.
Vulpesen directs his forces to spread through the city to put up a general defense.
Vulpesen starts hurling lightning at pockets of Imperials with a sort of force storm.

 

[Sahar]

​

A solitary black shard of a drop ship crashed amidst the high rises, creating a small crevice-like impact in the side of a building. The ship's door slowly opened as several Atrisian police officers led by their captain approached it apprehensively with blasters in hand, as the dust began to clear. The occupant inside stirred from blissful meditation, sucking in the cold dusty air with a loud gasp as she opened her eyes and slowly rose from her seat within the tomb-like ship.

Everything about the woman teemed with loathing and hatred of the living, creating an oppressive atmosphere wherever her cloak cast a shadow like an entity devoid of warmth or humanity. She stood at the left hand of the Emperor, and existed only to destroy, not create. Sahar jumped up and landed amongst the policemen, a flash of red as her sabre embedded itself in the belly of the lone captain. His warm brown eyes beamed harm and surprise, and he would have fought back if he could, the Kandaran mused smugly. Instead, the captain was forced to stand there with a lightsaber through his guts as he slowly died, though he did die with a measure of dignity. He tried to weakly grasp the woman's wrist in some vain attempt to free himself, and he refused to break his deathly stare as he stared down the beast in black that had emerged from the tomb ship.

She turned her attention to his men, tilting her head as she kept the lightsaber embedded in the man's stomach. These were police officers, not warriors. Brave as they were, this was not their game, nor was it their fight. Sahar offered a sly smile as she stared at the men before speaking in a harsh but venomous tone.

"As much as it brings me joy, this is not your fight to be had, I'm here for something worth my time."

She glanced at the captain, smirking softly as she slowly turned her lightsaber sideways, keeping her stare on the captain's terrified men. They could heed her warning and run, or she'd kill everyone between here and her intended goal.

It didn't matter none.

Sahar did not bother to look at the captain when she nonchalantly cut through the rest of his midsection, severing him in half.

"Do not waste my time-."

A panicked blaster bolt struck her in the shoulder pad, not enough to truly penetrate and hit the flesh beneath but enough to knock her train of thought and burn her skin a little. She touched the wound, feeling it sizzle and burn, enacting a rare grin as she felt the power of hate and the excitement of murder fill her to her very core and invigorate her for what was to lay ahead.

"So be it."

The hunt began as she rushed them with lightsaber held high.

tags: Kylass Starhaven Darth Bellum Darth Solipsis Kyric ​

 

[Jane]

Outfit: Jedi Robes and Armor
Inventory: Jedi training Lightsaber modified, pouches with seeds, standard Jedi equipment, Anouk.
Tag: Everest Vale l NPC Soldiers ( Dark Forces )
Objective: The Imperial March
Location: Jar'Kai, Spire

Gates that transported the Jedi from one location to another, grenades, blaster bolts, and heavy machines flying everywhere, and, above all, a Pocket Tank ready for the Master and Padawan duo. To say the short girl was overwhelmed would be an understatement, despite her lack of emotions. For a solid second, Jane was simply staring at the small metal box of doom and destruction in front of them, as well as the man explaining the basics.

A few minutes later, they were in the Pocket Tank. Jane at the wheel, Everest at the guns.

Their task? Simple, on paper. Carve a path through the imperials approaching the Spire, allowing them to reach the Temple of Healing and cover the evacuations with the tank while helping wherever possible. Soldiers would follow them, entering the path they had carved to fight the imperials.

"I am ready, Master." Jane spoke with a monotone voice through the hull of the Pocket Tank, her small hands curled tightly around the tank's controllers. The Force knew she hadn't driven before. Let alone in a tank. Let alone in a tank in a combat zone. But how difficult could it be? For gas, press the paddle down, and tug on the controllers to steer left or right. At least that is what the man explaining the controls told her. Then again... he seem nervous when he put a literal child in the chair. Ah well, surely it'd be fine.

In the distance, Imperial Soldiers and others fought their way to the Spire's apartments. They were the ones they'd have to get past in order to circle the Temple of Healing.

"Any soldier or Jedi near the Temple of Healing ( Shan ). We are on our way for back up." Jane took a deep breath and pressed the gas pedal fearlessly. And with that, the Pocket Tank shot forward at nearly full speed, racing towards the imperials ahead!

TLDR:​

Jane and Everest are speed drifting from the Spire to a group of Imperials, to get through them and circle around to the Temple of Healing to support the evacuation with the Pocket Tank.

 

[Franceline Dawer]

Her nose twitched, sniffing the air. It smelt of rain.

Only a few blocks away from her destination, she grumbled and about faced to stare up at the sky to see what was going on. Just a brief stop, she mused. Nothing too serious.

...
"You've got to be @$%*!#; me. This is NOT hap- WHAT?"

She raised her occupied hands to her head, crates coming together to pull down on her brimmed hat which had miraculously survived as long as she herself had, against the raging wind. It was a struggle too, on account of the updraft generating from the Arch-druid's summoned storm. Why hadn't we brought one of those to the fight?! Did we even have them? What wizardry was that? Those old wives' tales about people with magic powers, controlling things with their minds? No, they weren't real. An illusion, or perhaps a superweapon, maybe. The mass of the items on her plate for her eventual return to Balmorra had just grown significantly.

She refused to believe what was happening in front of her, choosing to turn around and continue her journey out of spite. The sight of valkyries fighting the flames, -some flying while doing so- only contributed to her malding. If she had the time, -which she didn't- maybe she could've messed with a utility line, getting it to alternate between extremes of a negative or a positive charge, forcing the storm to redirect its blasts against the pole until was turned to ash. It would be a splendid distraction to get those greenskins to come over and investigate, only to get blown up by a claymore flanking a dumpster or a corpse - but alas, she did not have the time, and in the calculus of risks running inside her head, reaching her assumed squad leader was a much more valuable goal.

She continued limping ahead, trying her best to avoid standing under tall structures or pillars, while still remaining hidden in the relative obscurity of urban warfare. A massive mechanized fly swatter - nay, a really large automatic needle gun, screw it, both, those would be a good invention patents to work on when she'd return home.

There were also some brief considerations of contributing further to the chaos by committing arson again, but that thought was dismissed, as the electrical veins of the flames consuming the city couldn't just go out from water and wind alone. They were to linger perhaps even after the battle, she was certain. They had to.

---

Defenders
Junko Ike Aiden Porte Pal Veda Zark San Tekka Vulpesen

Allies
Kasan Osera Daro Kilaeon Sahar

 

[Daro Kilaeon]

TAGS
ALLIES: Kasan Osera / Franceline Dawer / Darth Bellum / Kroeger / St. Thomas Barran / Sahar
ENEMIES: Junko Ike / Michael Barran / Laphisto / Vulpesen / Briana Sal-Soren / Kyric
​

I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, looking up at the spire that crowned the city, looming over me. That would have been the squad's target anyway, and we'd all been told beforehand that the longer it remained under enemy hands, the harder things would get for us. That was the extent of the warning they had given us, but nothing they had said could have prepared me for all of this.

I took a long alleyway hoping for cover. Halfway down the block, a burst of flames ripped through the back door of a building, throwing a corpse along with it. I took a cautious step towards, and when I was certain the body wasn't moving, I moved to stand over it as it had been perched sort of upright against the wall by the explosion. The poor guy was burnt to hell, dead as they come. I noticed he was clutching something in his hand. I knelt down to take a look. It was a metal trinket of some kind, a medallion perhaps, missing any string by which to it could hang. It was inscribed in a language I couldn't read. Atrisian, I figured. My hand instinctively reached to my side, where I'd tucked my own good luck charm underneath my bodysuit. I didn't need to get it out to picture that face held within. Velsi, my love. What if I don't make it home?

My thoughts of my loving woman were cut short by a man's yell, "TAKEDA-KUN!"

I didn't understand what he'd said, but when I looked up I saw another soldier, panting for breath, drenched in sweat, holding himself up by the corner of the brick wall at the end of the alley.

"You Imperial bastard! You killed my brother!" he screamed, seeing me knelt over the corpse of his loved one.

"No... No wait!" I tried to stand and back away from the dead soldier, but what could I say? It didn't matter. The Atrisian charged me in a fury, and before I knew it he'd tackled me to the ground. Straddling me, he ripped a knife from his bandolier and raised it above his head. As he drove it down to me, I caught his wrists and held him back. The two of us struggled to push the other to the breaking point. He frothed at the mouth, screaming what I could only assume were Atrisian obscenities. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold him forever as he forced towards his singular goal of stabbing me in the chest. With a wrench of my right hand, I twisted his left wrist off of the knife until I heard the snap of bone. The man screamed, and with my right hand I grabbed the blade of the knife. I could feel it cut into me, but with a quick jerk I was able to take it from his hand, then I jammed the hilt of the knife into his nose. He roared in agony, discombobulated, and I shoved him hard away from me. He landed at the feet of his brother.

Standing up, I practically jumped towards him, driving my knee in his shoulder on his good side. Switching the blade to my other hand, I slid it across his throat, then tossed it with a clatter to the side. I winced at the pain in my hand.

I stood, and drops of blood spilt to the ground. I swore at the sight of my bloody palm. I looked down at the man and caught his eyes, the life having them staring hollowly up at the sky. I reach down, and plucked the bandana from his forehead. It was emblazoned with the three-leafed sigil of the Atrisian Self-Defense Force. I wrapped the bandana tight around my hand as a makeshift bandage, blood seeping through it immediately. I grabbed my rifle. If I hold this thing tight enough I might put enough pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.

I stumbled forward over the brothers' corpses and out of the alleyway. My commlink beeped and blinked green again, like it had when my squad leader's ping went out.

"All Imperial forces in the area, rally on me!" a woman's voice came through the commlink. I didn't recognize it, but it was a squad leader frequency, and her ping was coming from nearby.

I ran towards the base of the spire, breaking from the cover of the buildings to the open road that ringed the city's center. Beneath the shadow of the spire, several squads of Stormtroopers were taking shelter. I ran and dove for cover and a spray of blaster bolts swept the street, my flight intercepted by one of the bolts striking my leg. I cursed under my breath as I landed next to another trooper, who helped me up. The blaster bolt hadn't broken the armor on my thigh, but I could definitely feel an uncomfortable burn beneath from the transfer of energy. I gritted my teeth, then looked around, my eye catching the orange pauldron of a squad leader.

"Squa... Squad leader!" I huffed, "Tee Kay Five One, Five Oh, reporting for duty. My squad didn't make the entry!" I introduced myself over the sounds of combat.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Armor:

• Xûl-Karzaan
• Qâzjiin'vraal
• Ka'ra'nazat

Weapons:

• Qâztharûn (Summoned)
• Xûl Qarnak

The battlefield went quiet in the wrong way.

It was drowned in the distinct presence of absence. It was the kind of eerie dread that stands every hair on the body on end, and drowns every mouth in the taste of copper. For moments men blinked and forgot the last half-second they'd just lived. Targeting reticles trembled by a degree that shouldn't matter and suddenly did. He didn't arrive with a roar. He was simply there, exactly where He demanded to be: tall as a judgment, black as a closed door. The living warplate, Qâzjiin'vraal, erased the light around his shape; under its obsidian plates, red sigils crawled like embers pacing behind glass. The giant's helm, Xûl-Karzaan, breathed back the crowd's breath in layered whispers. Right at His throat, Ka'ra'nazat beat once, thunk…thunk, and you felt it through your boots as if the ground had a second heart.

His right hand hung easy, while His left closed on a blade that didn't shine but darkened everything it touched, even the open air was drowned by its presence: Qâztharûn, the Abyss Unending, runes smoldering, edge so black it looked like a rip in the day. Close to it the air smelled wrong, hot iron, old candles, the sweet, rotten tang of something living cooked inside. No speech. No show. No outward anger. Nothing. "Diarch Rellik." He said at last, voice smooth, unhurried, a cordial knife. The helm passed it through the abyss until it came out pleasant and poisonous. "The end has come." People all around reacted before they understood they had: a ripple of flinches, a dozen safeties flicked off, one man dropping his rifle because his fingers remembered pain his mind had erased. Those who'd read the reports whispered a name for the blade and then wished they hadn't.

The Dark Lord of the Sith walked. The sound of His boots was the clock in a room where someone is dying. Not loud. Inescapable. Dust rose in even breaths even as His visage passed. The heat pouring from His titanic form wasn't heat at all, in fact it was pressure. It was all were drowned too far beneath the depths of the ocean, crushed beneath the might of the raging tides. It descended almost as if everything inside it had to work harder just to keep existing. The first squad fired. Bolts crossed half the street before they forgot how fast they were supposed to be. They thickened into syrup light and drifted, wobbling, until they hung in front of His chest like beads on wire. He closed one gauntleted fist. The constellation folded into a single black dot, and a dozen rifles died with soft, dignified clicks that smelled of hot dust and burned oil. "Stop." He said without looking at them, and they tried, because obedience is a kind of gravity.

Qâztharûn moved then. Not a flourish. A straight line with no wasted thought in it. The first man it touched didn't fall; he slackened, like water spilling from a cut bag. His eyes went far away in his own skull, almost as if he'd just heard the name of someone he loved spoken by a stranger. All color left him then, sound itself left him, and something else too. Smething everyone on the street would feel leak out and go into the blade. The screaming started then. Not the man's. Everyone else's. It wasn't merely pain, but recognition. The blade had made the air taste like lost things, like rooms you can't go back to, like the moment a door closes and stays closed. Its darkness slid a thumb under the world and lifted the corner to show what emptiness really looked like. The giant stepped again. He never hurried, He never had to for fate itself marched to the beat of His drum. The armor tightened in tiny ripples at impact points you couldn't see, an animal flex under lacquered night. Where Qâzjiin'vraal passed, courage thinned, not vanished, thinned, until it took both hands to lift it.

Two Dra'khan Sentinels moved to block him. He gave them a glance as brief as a signature on a document. Their barrels kinked as if they were embarrassed to be pointed towards Him; servo-whine rose and cut off with the neatness of a throat closing. One tried to turn, as ankles glassed inside their housings, and learned what it felt like for a limb to forget it belonged as they collapsed into heaps of smoking metal. He walked through it all like rain. When Qâztharûn bit again, you heard it. Not metal, nor meat but a soft, clean pull, the sound of a cork leaving a bottle a long way away under water. The man it kissed dropped without a mark that mattered. He twitched once, like his name had been mispronounced, and lay very still. The blade's runes brightened in a slow exhale as somewhere very small; something joined them. Prazutis lifted the edge to eye height and watched it drink. "You remember Serenno." He said, still not looking anywhere but the work. "I took your voice in the Force and left you a throat full of ghosts. You ran correctly." He turned His helm at last, finding Rellik like a hawk finds the one animal not moving in a field of panic. "There is nothing personal here." He continued, and the horror was that you almost believed Him, a voice so poisonous it could convince a zealot to betray his own vows. "I have come to finish what was begun that day."

A HART tank growled to life to his right, turret seeking, stuttering. He didn't spare it a thought. The ring unthreaded. The turret lifted with the weary grace of a hat taken off at a funeral and set itself on the street beside the hull. Inside, three fast endings and a sweet, cooked stink the nose won't ever let go. The vanguard tried to close over him. The Dark Lord's voice sharpened, still soft, now surgical. "Closer." They obeyed the way people do when they hear their own names said right. The wall formed. It was a good wall. It made sense. Qâztharûn told the truth to it. One step in and He cut, down, not wide, through shield and man and man and shield. Armor parted the way curtain's part when a king passes. No splash, no spray; the wound stayed, as if healing weren't a thing that happened in this part of the galaxy anymore. The men behind it felt less, not injured, less, as though the idea of them had thinned. He didn't smile. Charisma isn't a smile. It's a room choosing to lean toward you. "Diarch." he said, and the helm made the title sound like a verdict. "You have lived your last day." Qâztharûn lowered, angle of a headsman. The armor breathed. The amulet pulsed. The helm's grille whispered names no one here had told Him. Death was a fact of the world now. Darth Prazutis, Shadow Hand of the Kainate, kept walking, unhurried, inevitable, His runeblade drinking the light around its edge, His presence pressing the city flat, and in the space between two heartbeats, every soul close enough to smell hot stone and copper knew a simple, child-night truth:

When He walks, all life dies in His wake.

Diarch Rellik | Lyssara Thrynn | Xian Xiao | Kallous | Laphisto​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Bastila Sal-Soren | Briana Sal-Soren | Dark Forces​

When Briana spoke his name, Lorn simply nodded. The silver light of her saber washed across his face, catching the hollows beneath his eyes and the faint lines of strain carved into his brow. He didn't protest her orders; he rarely did. Orders grounded him, giving shape to chaos. For all his quiet defiance in smaller matters, when the fighting began, he clung to structure.

The Gardens.

He glanced at Bastila. The young woman looked determined. It was the same underlying sign he had seen countless times in soldiers facing their first true clash. Lorn felt a tightening in his chest. Sending someone into hell before they were ready was a weight he knew too well, yet he also knew denying her would dishonor the choice she had already made.

"You heard her," he said quietly, his voice low and steadying. "The Gardens. Stay close, Bast. Keep your head on the fight, not the flames. I'll be at your side."

When the group split, Lorn followed Bastila out of the Temple's shelter. The city outside was chaos: smoke columns clawed at the sky, the distant thrum of gunships vibrated in his bones, and alarms mixed with the cries of the wounded. The city of Jar'kai was burning. For an instant, Lorn felt the familiar pull of history, an echo of a world he had already watched die. The weight of those memories pressed against him like heavy armor. His past failures threatened to break him again.

But Bastila was there, and so was Briana's trust. Lorn breathed out slowly, allowing the ache to remain without consuming him, and kept moving. Each deliberate step anchored him against the tide of despair sweeping through the city streets. When they reached the edge of the Gardens, the air changed entirely. What should have been a place of blossoms and serenity had become a furnace. The ornamental trees were blackened torches. Thick, choking plumes of smoke cut visibility down to mere meters.

Through the haze, they could make out the shadows of Imperials crouched in the irrigation channels, waiting like predators for the Atrisian defenders to stumble into their trap. The sounds came first: the hiss of fire, the crunch of boots on gravel, distant muffled screams. Then came the movement; sudden bursts in the smoke, white-armored figures slipping in and out of view, vibroknives glinting faintly in the orange light.

Lorn's jaw clenched. His hand went to his saber hilt, and the golden blade ignited with a resonant hum that seemed to cut through the surrounding noise. Its light threw into relief the quiet fury in his eyes, the grim set of his mouth.

"Bastila," he said, his voice steady despite his pounding heart, "they've turned this place into a hunting ground. The smoke is theirs, and so is the water. Every hedge could hide a blade." He shifted, lowering his center of gravity, his golden saber held low. "We don't charge blind here. We make them come to us."

He paused, his grim look softening briefly as he met her gaze. "Trust your instincts. Trust the Force. And trust me." The gardens roared around them, fire and smoke clawing at the night sky. From somewhere inside, a scream pierced the haze. Lorn stepped forward, his blade ready to carve through the dark. The hunt had begun.

 

[Kallous]

I am one with the force.

and the force is with me.

A truly ancient mantra used by Jedi from before the first surviving records of them. Many who have walked the Jedi path had said these words, and from different points of view. And now Kallous, not Jedi, but no longer truly Sith, repeated this mantra to himself as the battle approached them. He had been doing this ever since his soiree into the Maw, his months long expedition had given him insight that he hadn't had before. And he now said it to himself again, his mind unnervingly calm for one who supposedly used the Dark Side.

Kallous donned the armor and sidearm as instructed when they were preparing to deploy, making no statements, no words of encouragement, and giving no sign of stress. Once again saying to himself this mantra that had become a regular ritual of his.

I am one with the force.

and the force is with me.

Even as Diarch Rellik reached with the force to steady his students' nerves, and steel their wills with his, he would find Kallous to be as still as stone. His mind was quiet, empty almost. Not ponderous, not active, not concerned, not angry, not afraid. Still, utterly, inexplicably serene. As it had been since he'd returned to the Diarchy. He needed no steadying, and simply followed along where he was led for now. There would be a time for action, but for now, he allowed himself to simply be immersed in the force. Simply floating in the deeps of that unfathomable sea, he would allow himself to be carried by the riptides therein when they came, that would see him through.

The dropship entered the atmosphere and brought them to ground. Sithspawn, beasts, troops and the Diarch's grand beast were loosed upon the planet. And so too were the force users. Kallous pulled the lightsaber from his belt, the calm sea that he had immersed himself in was calm, but it was nonetheless a sea, a force of nature that had no equal. And it was soon to become a maelstrom. A maelstrom that would carry him through, so long as he rode the currents right. There was no fighting this ocean of power that the layman called "The Force", and like a sailor on a ship, it's currents must be ridden, harnessed and worked with, though it could never be tamed.

His lightsaber ignited, the red glow of its blade now ready to do battle.

I am one with the force.

and the force is with me.

---

Diarch Rellik , Lyssara Thrynn , Xian Xiao , Darth Prazutis

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

DUELLING TAGS
Friend: N/A for now
Foe: Shinzou Ashina Kito

WARPOSTING TAGS
Friend: Dark Forces Kasan Osera Darth Bellum Franceline Dawer
Kroeger Daro Kilaeon
Foe: Zark San Tekka Corin Kaze Wedge Draav

Ira Dei
II

​

PASSING THE SPIRE, MIRAI JAR'KAI,
ATRISIA, GALACTIC CORE TERRITORIES (903 ABY)

'Well, well, well.... The things one sees when one goes a'wander.'​

The jump across the gap had been easy enough to endeavour, and even-easier to complete undetected, sticking the landing to end up on one of the quieter streets beyond the bridge, though there could be no doubts that neighbouring avenues were fully-embroiled in the throes of conflict at the time. Fortunate though he was to avoid the straying eyes of caught peripheries, the greater fortune would arise in the distant wonders the Bloodhound was lucky to witness, especially in the battle's first phases; passing through, still strolling on his way toward the ancestral home of Clan Ashina, basking in the fires of war as heroes on both sides (great and humble alike) struggled for survival.

Giving in to whimsy, wanderlusting his way west whilst all hell broke loose around him, and all whilst his brother was just a few streets away, awaiting his chance to slay St. Thomas once and for all. It was clear that the Bloodhound, the great Nokhoi Khan was, in no way, shape, or form, taking his endeavour too seriously, even with heightened vigilance considered, the one-eyed Woad was far too entertained to care much about nearing-threats and unannounced adversaries. The showings around him, the debris and wreckages left behind, the architecture strewn across the streets' speeder-trails, all of it was quite fascinating to the Khan in these moments, teaching him of all that he was missing in his years in the wild - or incarcerated.

No cell, no cage, no cuffs - no noose for me, not now.
I'll stay on the loose, even if it's the last thing I do.

Look at this place, why would I not?​

City lights, and production-line delights, all-things wonder for a man who was walking through the future of Galactic Warfare, it was impossible to keep from marvelling at it all. Even at the risk of incurring the ire of a chance sighting, even with the assumption he would find his fated foe that day, it was all quite a rush for the imaginative corners of the mind, the dreaming, creative depths of the soul. In the midst of all this burning mayhem, all the death and dismay, St. Thomas was just a one-eyed Woad, obligated to nothing but his own whims that day, unshifting in his strolling, serene silence as he calmly took it all in as memories.

To cherish, to use as reference to all that would transpire after his awe-struck wanderings concluded - it mattered little to a man with fate in the hands of higher powers.

[OOC Note - Shinzou can intercept anywhere he pleases, heading off the Khan before he reaches the Ashina estate.]

AUXILIA
II

​

EXPANSION DISTRICT 1, MIRAI JAR'KAI,
ASTRISIA, GALACTIC CORE TERRITORIES (903 ABY)

'So what's the plan here, Ulusar?'
'We make use of our resources.... Warskiffs, mountaineers, artillery - you advance when the time is right.'​

On the bridge's eastern approach-entrance, looking into the inner-city from it's south tower, Keshig High-Command were already making their designs on all the ground beyond the bridge-entrance's western counterpart. But it was during these hither-and-yon dartings, during these scannings of perception across the whole battlefront that Ghoul's Trilunars began to see the defences, and the quality of the soldiers manning their easternmost stations; though it would not be long before the real challenge appeared in the optics of the Preacher's distance-viewing scope, a second line for which only the strongest attacks could shift, and that required an assault with wider coverage.

A secondary offensive, and without the right ground to amass the right numbers, there was much and more to be endeavoured in the first, breaching assault, especially with the latest developments considered. Imperials had been brave enough to try their luck in capturing outposts along the wall in the west, but in their haste, the daring stormtroopers were turned cold in the thermal imaging of Ghoul's repurposed ATGM scope, and all by an experienced GADF contingent who were lying in wait. All poised near the opposite bridge-towers, and with no means of patching through to allied comms in time, the Trilunar Darkhan could only sneer without means of immediate interception, presenting the Foederatii with a high, snow-covered mountain to climb.

The Trilunar Darkhan was well-aware of this, but he had his own means of bridging the gap.

'You heard it here first, boys!'
'MOBILIZE-'
'Wait a minute.... Batu, dial back the lens - half-way. Something tells me there's more going on here.'

[Tic]
[Tic]
[Click]​

'Good lad.... There was a certaaaaiiiiiin - um - flicker of light, is all... And a little turning of the gut.'

Leaning in to get a fuller, detailed view, and with elbows propped up on the table-mounted scope-platform, the Darkhan would soon find what he thought his optics caught the first time around, and there was no mistaking it either. Unlike the soldiers around this one heat-signature in particular, there was an emanation unlike any others there, standing proudly as a low-armoured contrast to the armoured troopers atop the opposite bridge-tower; Ghoul Darkhan was no stranger to this sort of power, as the Darkhans coincidentally the misfortune of facing off against this sort of contingent before, indicating almost immediately that they were a Jedi-led collective of elite operators.

Almost confirming there would be another, just like them, awaiting just beyond the main battlefront, off somewhere to the west of the bridgehead they needed. However, that Midichlorian-Knight was emboldened by someone, some-thing else lately, and in the understanding of the hidden enemy's power, and in the potency of his subordinates, Ghoul realised that would be a difficult fight to win without support. Not that it would be that much of an issue after a certain point, but for as long as they remained in the east, and for as long as the Horse Lords took to catch up from the Northern Steppes, the Atrisian Darkhan knew he would be tempting fate for every second he waited for their arrival.

'Aaaaa.... Hello, there.... We have a Jedi joining the festivities.'
'Bloody Nether! Better that we know early anyways.... What's the sitrep on GADF presence over there?
'Well, the individual in question appears to be leading his own collective of GADF operators. Probably elites, as the Imperial strike-group we were counting on didn't seem to stand a chance.'

Arkania alone seemed like a new kind of hell to overcome, and for as long as this new generation of warfare persisted in it's path of escalation, there would be no room for hubris of any sort; the previous century was bad enough not to warrant repetition, but with the direction in which this Core War was progressing, it seemed like only a year or so was needed to return to that level of extremity once more. Ghoul was quite experienced in observances of the sort, and with decades of insight to fall back on, he knew there was merit in the experience the Maw had carried over; especially in snow deployments, and for as long as the wintry storms persisted, (especially with the approaching Force-Storms considered) the Darkhan felt as though he could relax a little more on matters of doom-and-gloom concern.

'Prepare to move - no signals - just wait for the next blizzard, and depart for designated tasks simultaneously when the time comes.'

'Batu, you're coming with us!', Breaker exclaimed, pulling the new upstart by the back of his plate-armour as the trio made for the winding staircase, growing more eager by the second. The lad's mettle would be tested that day, and in the assumption that it was best handled early, merely explained,'If your adrenaline glues you to the spot, I'd rather rectify the problem within it's first hours.', before turning to bow in Goul's general direction. The Sakiyan knew there was more for the Atrisian to do, especially with an approaching local element considered, the list of coordination concerns to address were numerous enough to leave the Darkhan to his,"Chores", let alone the matter of whom (or what-) awaited beyond the first line of contact.

The Scavengers' elected Keshig Leader knew his commanding officer was better off left to his own devices, seeing enough of his methods on the ground that he often assumed his Darkhan was a borderline-savant, thus there was nothing else left to do but turn around and leave Ghoul to handle the nuts and bolts of the operation in peace. It wasn't until the Preacher's trio reached the bottom that the tower's comm-link array began to light up, walking out none the wiser until the Preacher finally spoke up, admitting,'I'm sure today could be our hardest battle yet as a brigade - so you had better act accordingly. But before you leave, you ought to hear this.', trailing off to sigh to himself for a moment before proceeding.

'Yes, Ulusar!'
'Yes, Ulusar!'
'Yes, Ulusar!'

<"Greetings from the Mawsworn Tribes, Jedi.... Yes, I see you there. With the right frequency of thermal-recognition, I can even see your power.... I am Ghoul Darkhan, and when I'm finished with Jar'Kai, my intention is to hang your dead from those walls that shield you now.... Good luck over there.">

[OOC Note - This was Ghoul's battleplan before the sudden changes, but with considerations made, this may be close to my new plan's specifics anyway, so it stays now with solid certainty. So, new specifics to help Corin and Wedge from here.... Two lines of retreat, just in case; first, for Corin - if pushed back, he'll have armoured/tank support from Wedge within G1 sector. But if the line is pushed back again, larger contingent behind you will hold the line and push back on your behalf.]

[Whether one side or the other achieves G1 dominance from there will hang in a natural PvP balance, though fortunately Michael is pushing up to help delay the Mawsworn advance with you. So the real struggle for supply/support route control will center around happenings there on G1. For now, Michael (in violet marked circles) is still able to maintain GA/Lightsworn dominance over those routes.]

 

[Michael Barran]

-Ally Tags-
Zark San Tekka Corin Kaze Wedge Draav
-Enemy Tags-
Dark Forces Darth Bellum

WRATH OF GOD
2

​

North Garrison HQ, Mirai Jar'Kai,
Atrisia, Galactic Core Territories (903 ABY)

'Your Majesty, all sectors are-'
'-I know, but we need to focus on the task at hand.... Allies will receive help, but stable help.'
'Your Majesty?'
'Look, we're just going to ruin everything if we can't support properly. Our allies need stability, intricacy - but that takes time.'​

The Garrison-Colonel would chuckle as he listened on, though it was audibly lighthearted, and with an appreciative nod, lit both their cigarras in clear, wordless agreement with Michael's reasoning. It was then the old Atrisian pulled out his Datapad, swiping to the notepad feature in expectation of coordination ideas, (and contingent objectives pertaining to their hold over the city's safest supply routes) though the Tattered Regent appreciatively smirked for a moment before interjecting,'Colonel.... Relax, enjoy the small reprieve. You'll be glad of it later, an' I'm sure you know why.', going on to rest his posture into the spine of the nearest seat for effect.

'There's something familiar about people like you.'
'Its not us, but rather - the tidings in our wake that you recognise. Its always the case when relics return from the past.'
'Yet you still smile, why? Returns such as these are usually ill-fated, are they not?'

​

Michael would smirk for a moment, and though others would chuckle at the notion, the old Woad himself, however, would not. Valid questions such as Ito's, in most cases, would be relevant after such specific candor, thus the Tattered Regent willingly considered the answer from the Garrison Colonel's perspective, considerate of the many ways in which his response could be perceived in Atrisian ears. Turning smirks into sincere smiles in the process of responding,'We're the last legitimate remnant of a realm lost to time, we hold the ground where it all began - Defiance runs through our veins.', leaving no illusions of belonging in such a quickly-advancing future.

Out of time, and out of place, uncanny in all things but their tangible presence, but the one thing in all of it that seemed to make Colonel Ito smile the most was the fact Michael's collective were so unabashedly proud of that fact. Unflinching in their obstinate ways, and though the fresher faces in the room did not understand what was being said between the line, the Lord Imperator could see that fire in the Colonel's eyes, an unspoken recognition of their merit. This (among other, promising tells) could be seen in crystalline clarity, sensing that they were exactly what Ito needed that day, further stoking the flames of glory in the Atrisian's heart.

'To the bitter end, to the last gasp - our legacies are already assured.'
'All that remains to us now is martyrdom, paving the way for the future - the reignition of an old flame!'
'Easy, lads.... The Colonel knows, he just wanted to hear us admit it - an' we did so freely.'

​

'All of which, my subordinates will be gladdened to hear.', Ito replied, offering a slight bow of his head in expression of approval, confirming the relief that Barran's foreign contingent were sincere with their intentions. After all, everyone was aware of the troubles that could have befallen reliance on opportunists, as any random foreign contingent could have landed under the same pretense, saying the same words and adopting the same posture toward the locals, but lack of resolve, or insincerity, would have exposed lesser leaders as charlatans at the worst possible time. Not even the Colonel could avoid this as he admitted,'It won't feel so awkward to bolster your lines now - I can trust you, fortunately.', quite-casually letting slip with consequent intentions before trailing off.

'My thanks for the vote o-'

<"Sabretooth Four to Mask One! Patching through with an important sit-rep!">
<"Shoot.">
<"A Jedi-affiliated contingent have moved in to defend against a brigdehead.">
<"Against whom, lad? All the Galactic Imperials are moving up from the South Wall.">
<"Well, you're not gonna like this - but they're carrying Mawite insignia.">
<"Ah, I should've seen that one comin'.... Alright, stand by for orders.">​

Their first strategic forays had finally begun, no longer was it just a defensive posture on the second contact line, and every choice was materialising in real-time; everyone in the holo-map room could feel it, as if by instinct along, seeing it in the postures, the smiles and the widened gazes of their peers. Left with no choice but to stub out their cigarras halfway, locals and foreigners alike sighed their last breaths of reprieve, fully anticipating the impending, hellish slog through the hours, the sort of which only the oldest bones could remember. This was a reflex, an instinct of which many of the young were yet to learn, as the Galaxy's next generations had been blessed enough not to learn the meaning of a long, protracted battle like those of yesteryear, like those of the grandest, most-vicious extreme.

As much as the Galaxy's youngest and brightest had benefitted from low-scale operations, reaping rewards from the decades-long run of skirmishes and flash-offensives, the time had come to embrace an entirely-different experience, and to embrace all the terror-inducing duress that went with war, in it's worst and wildest form. The worst lesson to be learned from life's many rites of passage would be learned, and as much as the old wished the young could learn other lessons instead, there would be no avoiding the rigors of strife this time; but this would not stop the old Woad from alleviating the weight it would leave on their souls, and while the Protectorate still stood to fight the growing Shadow of the Dark Side, the young still had a chance of knowing solace in the heart of the crucible.

'Alright, gentlemen.... Rally everyone, all hands will deploy!'

[OOC Notes - Whatever defenders need, Michael is here to help you hold the line, bolster attacks and resupply if and when its needed. Will coordinate IC via comm-link array in my NEXT post, and if any Jedi/warposters lack opps, come find the old man, we can team up and survive it all together.]

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

My gaze focuses, and locks onto the man walking toward us. I can feel his aura indeed, my Master wasn't joking when he said this one is truly overwhelming. This guy, Darth Prazutis , is a formidable opponent. He starts speaking to us about prophecy, an event that happened a long time ago on Serenno. This man knows how to put on a show.

I'm still holding my metal briefcase behind my back, but I decide to make it levitate behind me with a touch of telekinesis, freeing up my hands. When he declares that he has lived his last day, I see red how dare he speak to my Master that way?

Taking a step forward toward him, I activate my Nightsister ichor. It's different from the Force, leaning more toward magick. A green aura begins to form and fully envelop me. My gaze shifts from calm to furious. Rellik can recognize this pressure he knows I've just crossed a threshold. And an important one.

"No one will die today. Sorry, but death has not signed up for us."

Extending my hand before me, I conjure a Nightsister blade. My metal emerges and shapes itself into my traditional combat sword, then it ignites in a green ichor flame. As appearance demands. This blade is resistant to lightsabers, and I can morph it into anything else I want an arc if I feel like it. I've got my own means of defense.

Instead of letting fear take over me, I explode inside I let rage flood through me. He just directly threatened the man who means the most to me, after Nyva Shei.

I make a classic gesture, sliding my free thumbs finger across my throat. The meaning is clear.

"Whatever you did to my Master in the past, I'll make sure you get it back. And regret it. "

My aura stabilizes and fades away. I step back to rejoin the others and take formation. The stakes will be high, and we cannot afford mistakes. Still, I keep feeding rage and hatred they amplify my power. Considering the level of what stands before us, I need to keep resonating. Everything you've learned… it's now. I now wait for the signal from Rellik and the others. I've settled into a Soresu guard stance.
------------------------------------------------

Darth Prazutis Xian Xiao Diarch Rellik Kallous Laphisto

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her lightsaber, the smooth metal making it painfully obvious the sudden sweat against her palms. The rustling in the distance tore at her nerves, the shape in the sky playing on her mind and for a heartbeat she was back on the bridge on Sepan 8, the monster walking towards the girl staring wide-eyed as she was broken among the flames of war and death, beyond the easy pickings of pirates and criminals. She forced the memory back, her jaw locking as she brought her saber to life. The purple light cast its glow across the ruined hedges, swallowing the quiver in her breath with its steady hum.

Lorn’s words sat heavy in her chest, both a weight and a tether. Trust the Force. Trust him. She wanted to. More than that, she wanted him and Briana to see that she wasn’t a child being dragged into a war she couldn’t weather. That she belonged here, blade in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with them. She had said as much to Briana when the chance was had, she had told her she didn't need to be wrapped and protected, that she could fight, that she was ready. She had been left with the impression that the Grandmaster of the Jedi had thought otherwise.

Her eyes flicked to him, catching the gold light of his saber mirrored in the hollow of his gaze. He looked as though the smoke carried ghosts she couldn’t see, but he stood tall all the same, unbroken. That is what she too must do, be unbroken, reforge herself each time she broke. She swallowed hard, lifting her chin. That is what a Jedi must do.

“I understand,” she said softly, her voice carrying none of her usual edge. It was steadier than she felt, but earnest. Her gaze lifted to him, and in it burned both her nerves and her resolve. “I’ll follow your lead. You won’t have to doubt me.”

She shifted closer, blade angled in mimicry of his stance, every muscle taut with a restless energy that begged her to move. The shouts echoed again, fainter this time, and Bastila’s gut twisted. Her grip tightened. “I can do this,” she whispered, half to herself, half to him, the words riding on the purple flare of her blade.

Her gaze met his again, this time without faltering. “I’m with you. Whatever comes out of this smoke, I have your back.”

The next sound, the crunch of gravel too close, snapped her nerves into steel. Bastila raised her saber higher, her pulse a war drum in her ears. Whatever Imperial evil was in this fire-choked garden, she was ready to prove she was not the prey it thought she was.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Lorn Reingard | Briana Sal-Soren | Dark Forces EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Aknoby]

Target Dark Forces

Aknoby would participate in the Laphisto War whether he wanted to or not, but he wasn't stupid enough to sneak into a group that would be with one of Laphisto's apprentices or Laphisto himself, so there was nothing better than going with the Scorch Fangs.



Using small tricks with the Force to avoid attracting attention, he followed the squad and began to watch the exchange of fire, looking around to understand the path they could take, but first the enemy troopers.



The young Chiss smiled under his helmet as he observed the enemy forces, looking for a detail. He wasn't very good at this kind of use of the Force, but he did it anyway. He released the gas that two troopers were carrying at different ends of the enemy formation, causing confusion. The Scorch Fang unit wasted no time in taking advantage and began targeting their enemies.



Aknoby catches his breath a little and, still without revealing himself, assesses the situation, causing a large piece of debris to fall and hit some enemy soldiers. It was becoming more than obvious that Laliste's soldiers were receiving help from a Force user. The young recruit looks around and uses the Force to jump into one of the high windows of the amphitheater,breaking it, and enter.



"Aknoby of the Lalister Order, we are here to help. Soon, the enemies outside will be defeated, and a troop will enter to escort them to the temple."



He says, removing his helmet,for sme seconds using the force in that seconds to shield him agianst the nerve gas and quickly put the helmet again and speaking to the civilians, who are both relieved and stunned.



"I'm going to move on, and please don't mention my name to the soldiers."



He says with a mischievous smile under his helmet, leaving through another window,breaking it again to help the nerve gas flow faster outside, and checking the situation. While it seems favorable for the Scorch Fangs, he hides in the tall rubble to get a better view and decide his next move.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

She had learned her lesson on the station about thinking that anything was going to be easy or boring. While the hours stretched for them, she maintained her position of command and presence. When the alarms went off, she searched for her Master and commander through the Force, and once she located him, she didn't move to join him. She was now the leader of her own platoon.

Everybody scrambled at the same time, but they were like an oil machine. There was nobody lost, and none seemed to hesitate. Iandre was proud to be numbered among the men and women in the Order. Under her helmet, she wore a pleased smile, but if her eyes could have been seen, they looked different, like grey seas crashing against a land that was awaiting the incoming storm.

She scrambled with them and ran to the launch bay. Giving Tarain a quick salute on her way past, she didn't hesitate in gathering her people, moving, and launching. Their Captain spoke up, and as Iandre was new to this company, she didn't stop him.

Listening with the rest of them, they hadn't worked with her before. This was going to be a trial by fire, but she had the confidence it would all work out. They might not all come home, but none of them would be called cowards. She was a part of the Ash Dogs, and as they separated on the way down.

Close combat wasn't unexpected, and Iandre would have to figure out what to do next. Keep the civilians safe...check. No problem there. Hearing the words of advice, she took them to heart and double-checked to make sure she had everything she needed.

The ships launched and landed quickly. As the doors opened, they ran as one. Close together and a single unit. If there were any civilians, she would attempt to evacuate them to a safer location. As they marched, the opposition began firing shots at them.

Iandre wasn't stupid enough to allow them to give shots back. They were close-quarter specialists, and she would use that to her advantage. Running into the streets and alleys would make them more challenging targets to hit.

 

[Cora]

Her heart was pounding in her chest. It was far from her first time in combat, but this was the first time she’d ever taken part in a full scale war. She’d trained for months to be ready and capable for this very scenario, and yet she still felt like she wasn’t anywhere near prepared. Then again, who ever really is ready for war? She pondered to herself.

There wasn’t much time for her to think about that before the High Commander himself boarded the ship and it launched from the hangar. Her eye remained fixed on him as he gave the run down of his orders to all the Lilaste soldiers. Steadying her breath, she checked over her gear one last time, her trembling hands giving away her anxieties.

Then came her cue, a sharp nod from Laphisto which she quickly returned in favour before she dropped from the ship a step or so behind him. She opened fire. Even with her intensive training with the rifles, it still felt odd to her to use such a weapon over her lightsaber. But she knew that if the tide of the battle were to change, she would get the opportunity to unleash her saber skills, no doubt.

Something about the action of firing off her rifle seemed to calm whatever nerves she had. Her focus was unwavering, carefully selecting target after target from the infantry ranks below and avoiding return fire under cover when needed.


Laphisto Darth Bellum Dark Forces

 

[Franceline Dawer]

Emerging through the blackened innards of an antique corner shop on her way to the Spire, Dawer's hope had been that this would be the place where she would finally catch the teeth of the army she was supposed to be reinforcing. Her bloodshot eyes desperately scanned the battlefield ahead for that signature composite blastoid shine of Imperial armour, but they were only privy to temporary passing glimpses of stormtroopers charging through a pillar of smoke directly towards an entrenched enemy position.

She felt a great pit grow in her stomach, seeing her brethren disappear into a cloud illuminated by the hellfire being exchanged from both sides, especially the creeping barrages intent on destroying the walkers stationed around the point of contest. To add to her discomfort, the numbness of her limbs had returned – just as her topical anaesthetics had started to dissipate as well. Physical and mental suffering were both working in tandem to assault her boiling blood, demoralization besieging her just like how her Empire was besieging the planet.

She fell on her knees, collapsing behind a clump of fire-kissed carpentry, crates still in tow. Every single little bump and crevice on her crimsoned and flaky skin of her face had become clear in definition, accentuated by the particulates floating all around her and her the other various fluids covering her face. And while she stood on her knees, the strength necessary to turn away from the scenes unfolding before her had vanished. Like a wax figure, she was locked in place, aimlessly looking ahead at the carnage.

Following the returning onset of pain came also mental echoes of what she had done thus far, reverberations of her most recent encounters, out of which the cries of the child whose life she had ended earlier reigned dominant. Anyone at a distance greater than a few feet from her could make a very convincing argument that the once galvanized partisan had turned into a scarecrow.

At the very least, she had managed to reach the action, unlike some others whose fate had been sealed as soon as their pods had touched down. She tried to stand up once or twice, but her limbs simply refused to respond to the thought. Her last coherent thought was that by watching the others, she would somehow recover, but that too was corrupted in the noise of her mangled repeating memories, which had started to boil over into full-blown hallucinations.

---

Defenders:
Junko Ike Aiden Porte Pal Veda Zark San Tekka

Relevant Allies:
Sahar St. Thomas Barran

Target tag/ People she was now actively spectating:
Kasan Osera Daro Kilaeon

 

[Junko Ike]

GROUND DEFENSE OF ATRISIA
OBJECTIVE: Continue towards Miyoung Iwata's Lab and activate Atlasbreakers
ALLIES: Kylass Starhaven Laphisto Lyssara Thrynn Vulpesen Xian Xiao Diarch Rellik Michael Barran Jane
ENEMIES: Franceline Dawer Kasan Osera Dark Forces

She could hear more, the forces were arriving and Miyoung stayed near her as the other otachi, her handmaidens wrapped in a circle around them. Weapons drawn with Min Ka and Qi Ling producing their sabers while Naori spoke when she stood at the back with a snarl to her voice. The skinwalker... she was many things but Junko knew this... her goal was to kill the princess and take her place. She couldn't do that if she died to another enemy and they had ritual to their abilities as it were. "You insist on doing this don't you." Her voice was sharp as the saber activated with a jade blade to match the Handmaiden Robes where she was moving. The snap-hiss of blades coming when the rain was and Junko looked at her. "Possibly but it would only be because you are being made to work for your ultimate goal." The woman mocked and mimiced her talking when the other blades were there. Qi and Mins triangulating with her own as the trinity crystals within them formed a shield with fire coming from explosions. Barca Djarin looking at them all as her wardroid was moving ahead of them through the streets and firing cannons into enemies. The glydr blocking the way back to prevent flanking against them. The sounds of someone using the tank to drive could be heard and PHaidor looked at it going as she spoke. "We're going to move from the spire?" She said it while walking and it wasn't a question of abandonment there were others there as Junko spoke. "We aren't going to want to be there soon enough PHaidor. Once the Wukongs arrive with their Majokoi."She said it and Miyoung was speaking as she gave a nod of herr head. "Protocols are being enacted, warning sirens will make sense to the people but." She trailed off and Junko nodded as she spoke. SOmeone had spoken to them on the open channel and avoided the encrypted Atrisian channels. "I see. Do it and make sure he understands what is coming."

Miyoung nodded while they moved forward and the first klaxons came. The Wukong had said they would be there with the fastest and they rarely wanted to disappoint their leader Fang Min. "Alliance forces Michael Barran this is Miyoung of the Otachi. Those sounds are for Majokoi alerts. THey are friendly units to lightsiders. No matter what you see do not fire on them or use the apartments in the Spire for cover. The airships docked at the top can help if needed." She said it and shrugged not certain if he would understand what was happening but Junko heard the first sounds of it. The roar over the siren, a blaring sound that resonated in the bones as the area of no mans land around the city saw three of the fastest and the largest coming over the walls. Gleaming moss green scales, serpentine bodies and scales that reflected the lights. The repulsors of the body allowing them to almost be quiet in their flight except their roaring... their bodies crawling over the rooftops in massive strides while the riders on top of them were in coverage with their robes on. Golden hairs off of their massive snouts. The largest of them being a kilometer as the bodies moved above the streets and several fighters stopped.. the Atrisians moving and disengaging when they heard the first alarms but they were now moving with a swiftness and some grabbed injured Imperial soldiers dragging them after disarming. One moving into a slide as Reikeiden moved toward the collapsed Franceline Dawer and he spoke looking around. "Lady you are going to want to get out of here." He wasn't saying it as an Atrisian wanting her off the world he motioned and offered a hand. "No one is going to want to be in the open when they arrive." He said it as the roars continued with one slamming through the area of the open area of the courtyard. Debris moving and being flung away. Imperial soldiers seeing Atrisians running away in what they thought was freight before a massive claw grasped two and flung them through the air and into the jaws of another.

The gardens with their trees and smoking fruits, a killing zone as the blood went into the water towards the ends of the waters flow. Fallen fruits there collected for the moment as below the population of Hangyo-jin stirred blood in the water indicating something had happened as they swam through the sewers towards the fountains within the garden. Several tracking and scenting the smoke, the rain in the air and others as an Imperial moved in the smoke and taloned hands came out of the water. Sharp, quick with a wailing screech when it dug into the armored sections grasping and dragging.. turning its body into dead weight as the fountains drains were deep... and the waterways throughout intricate when the struggle came. More hands grasped out from the dark as they pulled at him with spines and there was no urgency on their part... they were in their element here as they descended. Others being pulled down from their entry gaps a means to get up to the city from the rivers that were underground from the mountains. Snarls and slashes, jerking away parts of equipment while some just grabbed at their legs to pull them down deeper and deeper into the dark. Oxygen supplies might be able to preserve if it was sealed but they were in almost pitch black tunnels of a maze. Junko was watching as the massive serpentine lightside beings moved into the area around the spire which was the largest open aarea. Finding places to wrap their bodies and block off streets and ways into the square isolating more areas while their massive hides would serve better then more barricades they had been setting up. The Wukong using them to isolate more as the Atrisian officer looked at the woman and there was another Kasan Osera as he spoke getting a door to a building open. The kazue stone would withstand them like it had the drop pods... but they were flesh while the taeki were running quickly to find a safer place. He waited a little but he wasn't going to do it forever while several of the tanks were leaving the area with the walkers that were climbing the spire as the largest wrapped itself around the spire leaving the walkers alone but using it to observe and toss a drop pod that had been knocked off course.

Kenzo and the Metsuka were at the walls as they moved. The war beasts were moving in position as the Matanga were the first thing to send in... their sheer size at thirty meters tall and even more in length was not a good time for most on a good day.. the buddy armor allowed them to be artillery platforms as the trunk of one slammed into a walker... then crashed it against a wall. Mortars were there as some shells were fired into the underbelly with the Imperials remaining there when it stumbled. The sounds of the living mountains, the giants of living stone as they moved sending shockwaves through everything. The fasterr moving Kappa were something they had armored but mostly giving them more blades and spikes.. they were like lancers on speeders charging into lines of soldiers as they impaled. The promise of rewards and food important and most soldiers in the Royal Military was assigned one. SO as they had approached quickly on the Gentoku their Kappa were with them. The massive armored trains arriving behind the wall itself so that they could set up and prepare. Marching through and towards the city in full force with their tanks. One of the Metsuka approached her as Zhang gave a small look over it all and pointed. "There is an Alliance tank group." She said it and pointed towards Rolin Voss as he was going through Imperial soldiers... it was possible that he wasn't but running over your own people wasn't something you normally did. "Good support him if we can, ensure that their staging area is handled first." She said it as the sound of thunder could be heard and there was a storm near the city but it was more then that. Shimmered air could be seen... the displacement of the Longma as they charged. Each one with a mounted Umanushi. Their cloaks of feathers nothing that could be considered stealthy... they didn't use it they were large, muscled and at the head of the hyperspace tunnels riders was their God-Emperor. The sounds from Zhang were also important. "Alliance tank group this is Atrisian Metsuka forces. If you clear the way to the city gates we have the Royal military begining to form up to march."

Junko watched more of what was happening as the Trinity shield of her Otachi remained there... rain touching it and the sight of the lightside beasts was an impressive sight to behold... they needed to be on the move as Phaidor spoke when they came around a corner. "Princess, there is a tank." She said it and was looking at the pocket tank as the sight of one going past towards the hospital inspired her. "I am going to drive it... we can shoot everything with the aeons missiles." She said it and moved toward sit as a few of the handmaidens spoke. "PHAIDOR NO." Their voices rang out.. she was one of the worse drivers that they had... she jumped up towards the cockpit and looked back at them. "PHAIDOR YES!!! She shouted it and jumped in as it started up. The tank moved into position for her and for Barca with them both being able to be used for cover going down the street. SHe was following and leading the way as they moved... allowing the force to guide her so that Junko could see more and Miyoung coordinated. "Orbital snipers readjusting and moving into positions at edge of shield. Firing on empire forces at the bridge. Damage is calculated to be minimal from them to the stone and it will help these Listate ones who came hold it." She said it while Junko looked and there was a person throwing lightning.. a living storm above them with the rain where she was going. "I am going to have a lot of thanks to make after this one way or the other." She said it and thought about Scherezade deWinter who had brought her Agents of Chaos last time there had been a massive attack from Mythos and she had made it barely afterwards. She breathed in for a moment as her immersion in the current continued allowing her to see. "What about other reports?" She said it and Miyoung spoke. "The hypertech generators got a massive boost from the movement of troops into the city. Displacement by the Imperials allowed it to absorb and convert more exotic energies which will power a lot of the equipment. We can break open some of the newer things for the jeweled weapons." Junko laughed at that grimly... "If we need to open and use those well it might not be the grreatest time. For them."

Royal Military x
Assault Corps x
Heavy Fighters x
Jade Screamers x
Metsuka x
Yofukashi x
Yovshin Swordsmen x
Xianghua Initiative x
Dorīmugādo x
Burakkugādo x
Wukong: x

TL;DR: Summary of Actions

Princess Junko and her elite handmaiden are fighting Imperials.
Massive reinforcements arrive giant green dragons
water-dwelling ambush predators (Hangyo-jin)
huge battle elephants (Matanga)
a powerful cavalry (Longma) led by their Emperor.
One of Junko's clumsy guards, Phaidor, takes A tank to help

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Tags: Nearby ( Diarch Rellik Lyssara Thrynn Kallous Xian Xiao Darth Prazutis )

He had advised the Diarch against it. Taking not one, not two, but three apprentices into combat? Wrathian knew they needed blood and fire sooner or later, and believed the truest master was always experience. He'd trained with Xian Xiao and was the least worried about her, instincts sharp enough to carry death. It was the other two who concerned him as they descended. Of Kallous he knew nothing, not his beliefs nor abilities. As for Lyssara Thrynn he knew she had bite, but would it be enough? In Wrathians mind, it was three very large shadows, cast by three very tiny trees. Yet if Rellik believed it was wise, he wouldn't argue the point.

He sat apart from the others on the dropship, a promise of non-interference. But a part of the Pureblood knew, if they met a foe who was both tree and shadow, that Rellik may falter, forced to shield saplings. Everyone needed to be here, the threat was too great. A death star was it called? A Weapon to empty suns of their light, and devoid planets of their shape. Every soul would be worth their weight here, Wrathian knew that. What Rellik required were not warriors who carried only courage, but creatures who were intimate with war, who knew the craft of unyielding violence.

Wrathian would unmask himself for that role. The veneer of civility would peel away, and the monster beneath would walk beside the Diarchy. Were the apprentices to falter, the Sith Lord he had once been would rise again, the conqueror of forgotten ages baring his fangs.

"Ser Rellik." He approached the Diarch as they walked along the ground, watchin the hoard of Sithspawn go forth. Peering in the direction of Darth Prazutis . Simply scoffing at the hollow void. "I'll leave you to your designs as agreed. However, should you find yourself more occupied with protection, than dealing death to that man. I will not hesitate to act. I will take your prize, and their experience, and that man's measly pretender soul if it ensures your survival." Though this was not pure nobility, or friendship. If Rellik died, he would lose a supporter, ally, and a pillar in his own design.

Looking to Xian Xiao Wrathians face barely moved. "Be the wise child." Was the only advice he gave to her, before walking off to loose havoc upon these imperial zealots.

---

The sight drew fresh memory. Sith spawn at his heels, these Vurskorr reminded him of the wars he fought. Yet unlike some of the warlords here on this planet. Wrathian was a tested Sith Lord, and his war was recent. He knew which veins to press, and which to rip out with unrestrained power.

He side stepped the Dark Lord Prazutis and simply let his head tilt. There was an itch in his body, the void the man cast called out to Wrathian, he wanted to fill every inch with meaning, the meaning of war, and then dismantle this Sith. Wrathian wondered if the Lords mind could bear it? He thought about all the ways it would please him to see how much it could contain before bursting into nothing but a drooling mess.

Yet. He held his promise and walked away, turning his back and beckoning his crew of Sithspawn. Part of him wanted to interfere to draw their eyes back to the true front, where all might kill together before turning on one another. If the Diarch and his apprentices could fell this particular tree, Wrathian would be pleased.

Passing by he walked with grace, hands clasped at the small of his back. He moved closer towards the wall of the city, Dark Forces looked over, and Wrathian met their helmed gaze. He gave a command to the mounts. The beasts charged past him trampling plastoid as if it were dirt to be sifted. Those that didn't die fell to the force as he flicked his finger about like a conductor, snapping spines, bones, and anything else that was essential in the process of living. The few Vurskorr he took now charged the outer walls to make an entrance.

Wrathian drew both his sabers and took off in a blur. None of the troopers could resist, not in mind, spirit, or even body as his blades danced like pendulums, an orbit of death around his body sang. There was seemingly no start, nor stop to each swing, as the way he moved let him immediately attack once more. The motion of snap and crack was all that could be read. There was a mighty wall in the way, and Wrathian claimed his task to part the doors.

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Personal Armour
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings, Seer Stone, Wayfinder's Flare, Atrisian Dancer, Engagement Ring
Companion: Isari
Tag: Jane Dark Forces

The tank's hull thrummed beneath her palms, an uneasy vibration that carried through bone and muscle. Eve sat stiff-backed in the gunner's seat, trying not to let the weight of the machine settle too heavily on her mind. She had never liked things like this, engines built for nothing but killing, all levers and metal and roaring fire. It was the last place she would have chosen to be. Yet if it meant shielding Jane from the worst of it, if it meant she could take the burden herself, then she would endure. Better her hands on the trigger than her Padawan's.

She glanced down. Jane's small fingers tightened on the controls, her face an ever-stoic mask of determination that didn't hide the raw edge of her unease. So young, and already thrust into this. It made Eve's chest twist with worry, though she knew the same fire that carried her had already taken root in Jane. That refusal to turn away from suffering. That stubborn devotion to helping, no matter the danger.

Eve let out a quiet breath and reached over, resting her hand on the girl's shoulder. Her touch was gentle, steady, radiating calm through the bond between them.

"We've got this. Just go slowly, I'm right here." The words were simple, but she sent them wrapped in her light, grounding and warm.

Isari pressed close against Jane's side, silver fur rising and falling in an even rhythm. The fox was utterly still, but her quiet watchfulness mirrored Eve's own focus. Another anchor, another thread of calm in the chaos.

The tank lurched into motion. Eve's eye drifted outward, past the narrow viewports, past the burning spires of Atrisia's capital. Through the Force, she reached further still, until she brushed against the bond that tied her heart to Tigris Aphra . She could feel her across the battlefield, distant but fierce, burning bright with every clash. The ache that swelled in her chest was almost unbearable. Atrisia was beautiful, full of life and history, but for her it was more than that. It was Tigris' home, the place she had only just begun to reclaim after centuries of absence. To see it under siege like this... Eve pressed her hand tighter against the steel edge of the console and silently sent love through the bond, encouragement threading between them like whispered prayer.

~Please stay safe. I love you. We will win this.~​

The moment passed. Eve turned back to the turret, her fingers finding the grips. She had no love for it, no taste for this kind of weapon, but she forced herself to focus. The scanner swept across rubble-strewn streets, catching on movement ahead — a platoon of Imperials advancing in formation. She drew in a slow breath, bracing her body against the jolt, and fired.

The cannon spat light and fury into the street. Troopers scattered and fell. Eve's lips moved in silence, counting each one beneath her breath. One. Two. Three. She marked them in her mind, each life extinguished, each candle she would light when this was all done.

Enemy or not, they were still people. Still life. And every life was precious.

 

[Veno]

A loud thoom and metal-grinding crnk rocked the shuttle, nearly forcing Veno to be flung from his feet. Red flashes and screeching warning bleeps erupted from the dashboard, the internal lighting flickering as panels break down and sparked, hanging onto life.

"I never should've let a kreetle like you fly," Veno yelled over the quickly rising chaos. "Give me the controls before you kill me!"

Kordé - Subject 1503