Public The Maniac in the Hoverbarge

[Sion Chalgan]

T H E - W A R L O R D - O V E R - T Y N N A

The shadow of the Gilded Sovereign, a K-90s Storm Carrier, loomed over the Oonoo Valley on the Planet of Tynna as the enormous hoverbarge glided through the frigid atmosphere towards its next target in one of the outlying villages inhabited by the Tynnan species, who were under the protection of the High Republic.

Though that did not exactly matter to the Self-Proclaimed Warlord Ragga Syko, who stood at the forward viewport with his hands clasped behind his back, observing the frantic movements of the village below on the adjacent viewscreen.

The repulsor coils howled against the atmospheric pressure as the vessel leveled off directly above the village square. On the bridge, a secondary pipe ruptured, releasing a localized cloud of scalding steam that hissed against the cold durasteel floor. The first Proton Mortar fired. The recoil shuddered through the soles of Ragga's boots, a vibration he seemed to enjoy as the communal storehouse vanished in a violent explosion.

"Pop!" Ragga exclaimed, a sharp, mischievous joy illuminating his face, momentarily breaking his conqueror facade with a burst of genuine happiness. As the second and third shells struck, transforming the charming Tynnan buildings into a shower of sparkling fragments and broken timber, Ragga started to spring lightly on the balls of his feet.

He produced a gentle, rhythmic pssh-pssh-pssh sound with his teeth, echoing the path of the descending projectiles.

"Look at them scurry!" he giggled, leaning closer to the screen until his nose nearly touched the flickering display.

"Run to the trees, little furs! Run, run, run!" Below, the Tynnans were a frantic mass of brown fur and colorful winter parkas, diving into the deep snow of the surrounding forests to escape the rain of fire. To the High Republic, this was a war crime; to the Sith, it was a messy waste of ammunition.

But to Ragga, it was the most enjoyable moment of his life.

 

[Vulpesen]

Tenevi intelligence could truly be a thing of wonder. Excelsus Armaris, the man that Vulpesen had placed in charge of his planet's intelligence and reconnaissance had not let his literal millennia of experience go to waste. Across the Galaxy there had been worries that the fall of the Alliance would lead to lawlessness and rampant attacks on innocent lives. In many ways, they were correct. But in its final days, that same force for good that had shielded the denizens of the galaxy, had become a bureaucratic mess that hampered the efforts of those hellbent of saving it the innocents. Vulpesen, and Veradune as a whole, were among those who no longer felt constrained by the binds of politics. Veradune fought for those it believed needed it. And right now, the Tyranni needed it more than ever.

Two VSF-Lupas streaked through the sky above the Storm Carrier, dropping off a quiet payload to descend rapidly towards the craft while doing their best to move fast and high enough to avoid any accurate fire. Forty five of the best the Armis Militia had to offer. And at their helm, was the Valde himself, ready to stretch his legs. His saber was gripped tight in his hand as they neared their goal. Every meter they fell, he kept his men in his senses, enveloping in a cloak of the force to hide their presence for as long as possible. It was taxing to be sure, exerting his power over such a wide range with a skill he had not relied on in such time. But what he lacked in recent practice, he made up for in metaphysical memory and sheer power. "Stay close. The halls will be tight. Keep to your training."

A platoon of boots landed on the hull and were crushed down by a blanket of force energy, anchoring them to the surface as Vulpesen ignited his blade of gold and black. All they needed now, was an entrance.

Sion Chalgan