Rebellion The Ninn Kaggath | Rebellion of Ninn | WotS vs TSE

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Objective 3: Ten Tons of Anxiety; also, general catch-up post

"No need to fear, Sargon, I'm not letting her out of my sight." Punctuating the statement, he laid a hand on Asha's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She's going to stay right by me." He'd been silent throughout the group's briefing, content simply to sit back and watch as everybody started learning their place in this new endeavour, and to let Asha exercise her brand of leadership; however, this was one thing he wouldn't budge on, Master of the Order though she may have been.

It was bad enough that she'd decided to come along into the middle of a warzone full of Sith, but he wasn't letting her actually go towards the front lines. If she wanted to try and pull rank, he'd just do it in return, pulling from one of the other organizations he was a part of...or he'd just have Sargon hammer the point home for him. Thankfully, at least for now, she was content to remain far away from the bulk of the fighting, while the others went to board the transports. "Good luck."

It was very disconcerting not being on the front lines himself in some capacity, not with so many presences he could recognize spread among the battlefields. Almost as disconcerting as being there in the first place; he had yet to find himself stuck in the middle of two different groups of Sith fighting each other, as normally they'd all been working together and focused on taking out his side of things, if not taking down himself specifically. Which led to the other worry he'd had—stay away and hope to keep the others safer with his absence, or come along to make sure he could step in to protect Asha, but put a possible target on everybody's backs?

Of course, now it was too late, as the decision had already been made. He turned his eyes back to the redheaded woman he'd come for, a heavily disapproving expression on his face. "Why did I let you talk me into letting you come to this? Right now, I've got a bad feeling that it's going to cause both of us nothing but trouble, and I normally try to avoid things like that."

Lief Sargon Vynea Kal Krayzen Dratos Varloc Vhondryl Gallaer

 

[Jayda Aryss]

Location: Gathering place
Equipment: Lightsaber, robes
Tags: \/ Eligor Rahvok \/ Darth Maleva \/ Darth Luminoth \/

She was still on this cursed planet….

Why.

Was it because she was little more than a failing acolyte, forever indebted to be tortured by being tied next to what had become her partner? Was this her punishment for merely existing in the universe, for attempting to become even somewhat self-sufficient and powerful? Whatever gods did exist in the nether, they must have it completely out for her by this point. There was little to no other way to excuse just how horrible her life had turned into. One terrible break after the next, a virtual snowballing of bad luck.

Though…there would be no mentions of it from the young acolyte. Not just because there were plenty of masters standing around the gathering area, many of which would take such words to mean her abandonment of their ideals, which would inevitably lead to her being strung up. The other reason stood right next to her, even as she tried to sit and meditate before the oncoming battle. It wasn’t as if she truly cared about hurting Eli’s feelings. That was far and beyond the last thing on her mind. It was more that she didn’t exactly want the Sangnir angry at her before stomring into battle.

Honestly, she wasn’t even truly sure why Eligor was standing next to her. To her knowledge, they hadn’t been assigned to work with Jayda again, something that didn’t exactly surprise her. Most of the master’s probably would’ve been happy for her to charge into the oncoming wave by herself, only to be lost in the heat. Eventually, the smaller acolyte slowly looked up to where Eligor stood, raising an eyebrow at her. “Why exactly are you here with me again? I can take care of myself, eligor. I do not need you to stand behind me and babysit me.” Her voice snapped up toward her, before lowering to little more than a whisper as she looked back to the ground. “I’m sure you would be much more useful elsewhere.”

It was about that time that her attention was pulled away from her pouting state to the front of the gathering area, where it sounded as though the action was picking up. The enemy was here, and it was high time that they went to meet them..no matter how much the fear in the pit of her stomach told her not to do. Whether or not Eligor followed her didn’t matter to her much, with her gaze pointed straight toward where the battle was already beginning to rage, only one thought was implanted into the acolyte’s mind.

At least she wouldn’t die a slave to those that wanted her to fail.

 

[Kal]

Objective III: BYOO, the Blue Crest; en route to front lines.
Wearing: Lean Ersansyr Male, Blue-Green Hair, Protective Attire (Blue Crest).
Assets: [4] Silent Knights, blue plus-size hardhats and Blue Crest vests.
Tags: Sargon Vynea | Krayzen Dratos | [OPEN]

Nodding cheerfully in Krayzen's direction, Kal headed out to follow Sargon to the shuttles, but not before bidding farewell to Lief - her concern was muted, he knew, but not for lack of caring. "I always do," he said, and it was true, in a way. He tended to stay away from real threats.​

There were those present who were loathe to provide aid to the Sith, he knew, but Kal was not one of them. Their ancient order had numerous flaws, of course, and it could certainly be argued that the galaxy would be a better place without them, but in the end that mattered little. The Jedi had tried to annihilate the Sith and vice versa for aeons with neither side achieving final victory. He was here for individuals, not ideologies.​

En route to the front as they were, there was a palpable sense of nervousness; even the veteran combat medics among them felt it, though they rarely let it get in the way of what they were here to do. Some of the newer blood were looking more unnerved, however, with one in particular standing out to the Shadow due to what he was looking at. He should have expected that someone would recognise the constructs.​

Moving over, he gave the man a reassuring smile, preempting his concerns. "Before you ask, those are what you think they are, except not quite. Same but different, if you will. They were crafted not by Sith artisans but by my associates and will adhere to our purpose here scrupulously."​

Which was not to say that they wouldn't fall upon anyone who threatened him like an avalanche of steel and hatred.​

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Objective III: Shine Some Light.
Opposition: Loske Treicolt

They were just... killing each other.

Not that such an outcome was something the Warden of Peace considered a bad one. If the Sith Empire in its arrogance wanted to fight a war on several fronts, then power to them. The once mighty war machine was starting to lose steam and grind to a halt. Blood was in the water and predators were circling the dying carcass of the once proud Zambrano regime. It was the nature of the Sith to consume itself after all. The Dark Side, by its very nature was not much of a team player. It couldn’t be, it always had to fight, always had to compete. It gave all who called upon it a yearning hunger for greater and greater power. Never content, never sated.

When he was younger, less experienced. He would admit that he did hate the Sith for their ways. Their cruelty and vices. But now he felt nothing but pity. The ones he had met, the ones he had spoken to. They all just seemed so empty. Aside from their hate and lust for power. They had nothing else. Those small dreams and ambitions that made life worth living. That made it enjoyable. The darkness inside them simply eating up anything resembling a person until all they that was left was a vessel, spouting the same obscenities as the Sith who came before. Continuing the cycle.

Granted some Jedi were the same. Obsessing over their own dogma and preaching to others. However, from Aaran's own standpoint, a condescending and stuffy, but peaceful Monk was preferrable company to a lunatic Sorcerer whose gut reaction to meeting someone would be to figure out a way to exploit them.

Once again raising the macrobinoculars to his eyes. His gaze swept across the battlefield. One question still on his mind. Just who was it that the Sith Empire were fighting? It was far too bloody to be some training exercise. And the regalia of some of the soldiers were unfamiliar to him. Another sect? Another schism from within the dying empire? Or something new? There was quite a few gaps in his knowledge regarding the current situation. And there was only so much he could gather from sitting on the sidelines and observing.

He needed to know more. For his own sake and for the sake of presenting this new information back to the Galactic Alliance.

But something else was nagging at him. An itch at the back of his neck that had not faded ever since he stepped foot on this world. A warning through his supernatural senses telling him that something was afoot. But any time he attempted to gain enlightenment from the Force. He found his vision blocked by an oily darkness. Obfuscating what might come to pass. Perhaps it was the presence of so many potent Force users throwing their strength around that was manipulating probability and making it difficult for him to peer into the future. But his gut told him it was something more than that.

Letting out a sigh, the macrobinoculars were placed back into the satchel at his side, his other hand squeezing the hilt of Arete sheathed at his belt. Feeling a low thrum of power from the sword in response to its other half's worry. A somewhat reassuring feeling. As keeping his presence wound tightly into itself, the Warden of Peace descended deeper into the battlefield. Hoping to find someone, anyone who could tell him more about the Sith Empire's mysterious opponents.

 

[Romund Sro]

Tags: Rynn Vizsla | Ingrid L'lerim
Equipment: Lightweight/thin Titanium Armor | Two (red) Imperial Knight Lightsabers

​

From behind his helm he watched as the other soldiers flew off to supposedly find other targets of their own. But his focus was almost entirely on the red armor clad man before him. He still held his saber pointed towards him. However, whether the Mandalorian knew it or not. When they spoke they managed to appeal to his desires. The desire to retire for the day. He'd already been through enough with the NIO and was still rather exhausted of fighting. So, in a moment of weakness Romund didn't turn off the saber, but he lowered it. For in all honesty, all he really wanted now was to rest.

Unfortunately for the armored Morellian. The Mandolorian had other plans. When he picked up through the Force that he was in danger. He raised his saber just in time to block the incoming bolt of plasma. He tried his best to angle his saber so that it would bounce back but to his surprise once it made contact it just burst with the remaining energy. This knocked Romund back a step and confused him for a moment. Then he blocked another and the same happened. No good, his soresu defenses weren't really cut out for this surprise.

Fortunately the make up of his titanium armor would do well at dispersing the remaining blaster bolt energy. Do to the metal of choice, titanium wasn't a very good conductor. He needed to close the gap quick. Suddenly he would utilize his teachings in Ataru, when the next bolt came his way he would sharply dodge to the right and come at the mando with blistering speed.

However, a little whisper in the Force told him of an unseen danger coming in rapidly. With his one saber still out facing the Mandalorian he turned his head some to the coming danger. Stopping before he could get too the Mando with a power thrust he Called fourth his second saber in with the Force as it was yanked from his waist and into his raised hand he ignited it. Creating a second crimson blade for himself. One that when ignited and he took a grounded stance, would block and stop the incoming vibrosword to the neck. Otherwise it would have probably cleaved his head clean off. This was bad, Romund was now truly stuck between a rock and a hard place...

 

[Jair Ordo]

S H O W S T O P P E R
NINN
RIFLE | VAMBRACES | LIGHTSABER | JETPACK
TO ENGAGE: Khamul Kryze
ALLIES: Rynn Vizsla

When the assault began, only a few Crusaders fell at the ramp. The rest spread out to cover the entire battlefield, and they quickly found themselves in the heat of battle. Sith forces clashed against one another fiercely, and they were destructive with their tactics. It would prove to have some resistance against the Death Watch, but it would not hold them back entirely. For Jair, it surprised him. He had never seen such ferocity within the Sith, and it amused him that they believed that they would leave the battlefield alive.

He raised his rifle to his chest and lined up the sights on a Sith trooper who was not paying attention to him at all. With a tight trigger squeeze, the body of the trooper hit the ground. He flicked the rifle again and fired towards another Sith trooper, who in response fell backward lifeless. Other Crusaders around him continued to keep the onslaught going, keeping attacks steady and the casualties high. Jair turned to take the life of another trooper when suddenly he got the feeling.

It made him stop in place. He hadn't dipped into the Force in a long time, but it did heighten his awareness to some degree. He could also still feel the presence of nearby Sith everywhere. As he was taught the skill when he was just a child, he never forgot how to precognitively sense the area around to see if any foes lurked about. The feeling of sensing a Sith through the Force was the same. A cold chilling feeling as if ice is slowly encapturing you until you are nothing but a block of ice when they stand right in front of you. The Sith Jair felt in the moment was getting closer.

He slung his rifle to his back and gripped his lightsaber promptly. His encounter with Sith had always been one of pain and sorrow and it scared him. As a Jedi, it would make him anxious to even sense a Sith. To see one in so long and in-person...

He scanned the battleground to see if he could find the Sith he sensed. And soon he locked eyes with him. His appearance shocked him. He stood a bit taller than him, but he wore the helmet of a Mandalorian. The sight angered him. He shamelessly wore the helmet of a fallen brother with no respect for the culture. It was disgraceful. Jair fully unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and brought it up to his chest. The purple blade shot out and he stood at the ready to attack.

"You dare wear the helmet of a fallen brother?" He asked with an angered tone before rushing towards the Sith, lightsaber held high.

 

[Darth Voyance]

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OBJECTIVE 1: THE NINN KAGGATH​

Location: At the front, Engaging Alina Tremiru ​

Called Targets: Alina Tremiru [Open to Additional Opponents As well]​

Allies In Vicinity: Sith Warlords​

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Voyance raised an eyebrow at the dubious ability the challenger portrayed in cutting through a point-blank force blast. Granted the blast was designed to create distance and not was limited by that function, the severing of her blast made Voyance suspicious. But, there was little time for Voyance to ponder the mechanics of the ostentatious maneuver. The Sith Knight surged forward, adopting speed and precision to deliver a flurry of searching stabs by her light spear’s tip. The thrust came in from many angles, but, forward and pressing they all were. Designed to push Voyance back. The Twi’lek Sith Lady, still only using one of her blades, matched the thrusts. Using Djem So and steadying her stance to embrace and catch the attacks.​

She did not, however, move in to counter or use the Force to nullify the attacks altogether. Voyance wanted answers, not victory. She could have victory. All this energy, these wide and moving actions spent energy and tired the opponent, but more importantly, they revealed information. Voyance played to the rhythms of the Knight’s attacks were trying to dictate. She was trying to push Voyance into a locked defensive position with an overwhelming attack. Voyance grinned. ‘Fine. Then let’s play,’ her mind chuckled. Voyance blocked and parried, using the momentum of the Knight’s attacks to make sure her blade was always dancing by the spear tip. She took a step back with every strike, playing to the role of a pressed opponent. Every time the blade’s exchanged blows, Voyance felt in the Force the emotions of the strikes – learning about the Knight, her guiding emotions, and the powers behind her attacks, the little ticks of battle.​

In the clattering sounds of sabers clashing and the humming roar of plasmatic energy ricocheting off each other, Voyance spoke between the attacks. “You’re energy is wasted on the Empire, eager one,” said Darth Voyance, her powers of psychometric empathy radiating like a wave – probing and grasping at the fleeting embers of emotion. “I can sense it in your attacks. Beneath this martial bravado you are insecure, unsure…and lost.”

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[Khamul Kryze]

Objective 2

Engaging: Jair Ordo

Music

Some of the soldiers fell around Khamul as he continued pressing forward, but he paid it no mind. These troopers were here to prove their worth to the Warlords. Their deaths only served to reveal their unworthiness in the eyes of their masters. They were weak, and there was no room for weakness here.

Khamul took a moment to rally his troops for another push forward, his voice a searing roar of fury.

"Slay them all! Death to the weak! Death to Death Watch! The Dark Side wills it!"

The troopers gave another unified echo of their rallying cry as they pushed for the Death Watch. They would see these Mandalorians crushed on this day. There would be no quarter, no moment of reprieve. Today, there was only glory enough for the Warlords.

Khamul cracked a smiled at the sight of the lightsaber igniting in the stranger's hand. He could feel the Force surrounding the Mandalorian, but wasn't anticipating a proper duel. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. He motioned toward a couple of troopers that were readying to take a shot.

"No..." he hissed through his beskar helmet. "This one is mine."

He picked up his pace, lunging at the the stranger as he swung his lightsaber through the air. Blades clashed, and Khamul pushed himself away from the Mandalorian, taking a defensive stance. This stranger dared to insult him, and he would pay dearly for it.

"Insolent fool. I am the fallen brother. I am the living will of our people. The Hellound of Mandalore, Khamul of Clan Kryze. How dare you insult my heritage!"

His words were seething with hate as he spoke.

"You will pay for your slanderous words!"

Khamul unleashed a flurry of strikes at the stranger, searching for an opening with a flood of aggressive swings. His anger fueled every swing as he let the Dark Side flow through him. His rage only grew with each swing as he continued to search for any sign of weakness within his opponent.

It was time to see what this Mandalorian was made of...

 

[Alina Tremiru]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE NINN KAGGATH​

Location: Charging Sith Imperial Landings​

Called Targets: Darth Voyance ​

Allies In Vicinity: Sith Empire​

Alina certainly wasn't a master of Juyo, and it showed. As much as she tried to keep her strikes random to fully embody the Way of the Vornskr, there was a pattern. Yes, there were some variations, but it was easily readable with enough time or a skilled enough duelist. Worse, Alina knew that. Her yellow eyes narrowed as she found the Sith Lord grinning. It didn't matter if she was pushing the Lord back. She wasn't hitting, and the Sith wasn't so overwhelmed they could grin.

They could speak.

Despite herself she answered. She shouldn't of. She knew what was happening. Dun Moch. The Knight herself was trying to get better about such a skill, so she knew full well that responding was going to give the Lord an edge. Or, perhaps, that was the point. "It's my pleasure to serve the Empire." A lie. Alina cared not for the Empire. She cared not for the battle raging around them. She was here for only one reason. Taeli Raaf told her to strike down Voyance, and Alina would.

Not for the Empire. Not even for her master. To prove to herself just how strong she'd become.

The rapid thrusts changed as she instead ripped the blade around. Swinging it as more of an axe than a spear with all the unnatural might behind it. That Matukai power she'd been able to harness that could shatter boulders and crack durasteel. She had little for tricks, but her strength was real.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

WE HAVE A NAME
OUTER RIM | NINN | OBJ III
YOU WALKED INTO A TRAP AND I'M WALKING OUT WITH A SMILE

Smoke still curled from the grooves in the ground, burned corpses, the dirt still warm from impact. Ash shifted down, covering everything with a few millimetres of grey. Everything stank of it, the stench mixed with blood and the smell of their fear. The fear of potentially losing everything they’d just fought tooth and nail for.

This was the second attempt to splinter the Empire, to fester in the wounds and try and splinter it further and further apart. Immediately, the Sith converged on the threat. In the paleness of Ninn, they were shadows clashing on the battlefield.

Struggling behind the clouds and stratospheric debris, a pale disk existed. In the black sky, the pale circle dimmed behind a thicker roil of cloud and ash, then vanished for a moment before struggling back to lengthen the silhouettes that collided on the warpath below.

Amidst the shadows, stalking the perimeter, Shursia drew in a deep breath. Their senses flared, heightened while surrounded by other soldiers of darkness who had evil to give. It was all around. The enemy, the allies, everyone was wicked. Everyone amplified one another, she could see it on the spectrum, and better –– she could feel it. But something felt off. Unnatural amidst the wickedness. Something was more...luminescent.

Her eyes narrowed, searching for the anomaly.

They were confident they’d know what to do once they found it. They’d done well on Generis. The interaction with Djorn Bline had been a blessing–– a genesis ––of sorts. Faced with intimacy and connection, she’d prevailed in order to survive and made the sacrifice necessary for them to be more mutual than a monster. Less host and parasite, more symbiotic.

Ah-ha! The discovery was made, a spark amidst the tumult.

The reaction was swift. The molecules that made them up fritzed and sparked, atomizing from her position and unbuilding the womanly silhouette before rebuilding her entirety in a swift manifestation behind the Jedi. So close, she was practically breathing down his neck. He reeked of history, some sort of tether to the former host. The stench made her lip curl. For him, a mouth that looked familiar. Everything about her looked familiar –– in the trust the experiments had made, Shursia was more Loske-like in appearance than before, everything above the clavicle was human. Everything below was coated in an inky barrier that swarmed and wrapped.

“You don’t belong here.” The tone of the two voices was sharp with warning that cut at the juncture between shoulder and neck. Hot little words that sat on the strap that crossed his torso.

Her talons stretched forward, looping around the exposed portion of the weapons that hung around the Jedi’s person. Seeking and searching to wrap and ensnare to prevent any reactionary attacks.

​

ALLIES | TSE |
ENEMIES | WOTS | Aaran Tafo | Closed

 

[Krayzen Dratos]

TAG: Kal / Cotan Sar'andor

"So be it.", as I looked at Lief with a non-chalant look. What bothered me more was Sargon Vynea's statement. My conscience bit inside of me as I considered what he said. For me at least, it was wishful thinking. I may have served in the Sith a decade ago, but I've used what people call "the dark side" all my life. It's a tool, just like anything else. And the Sith choose to use it and worship it. There was no way in hell I was helping a Sith. I came to defend myself and the people here in their noble mission, and that was what I would do.

But if I saw a Sith, I'd kill them. One way or another.

I felt a bad feeling inside of me as I considered the thoughts that came outside of my own initiative. Looking at Sargon Vynea , I felt his presence. He seemed the type to be battle-tested. The other one, Kal, I had never seen his species or experience him. They'd be good people to work with in protecting the medics, but even more dangerous if I had to cross blades with them. Clenching my fist, I prayed that wouldn't be the case.

Then again, the smallest of disagreements turned the best of friends into enemies.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

Objective 3: ok i crusade?
Tags: Kascalion Giedfield
Allies: WoTS

​

The winds blew against his cold, frail form as the Sith Empire descended upon the world, his sulfuric eyes gazed upon the horizon through the masked visage that hid his away his corrupt features. A terrible glare of unbridled hatred and utter disgust hung over the images as they disembarked troops, boots to the ground for the fight against the assembled Warlords of the Sith. This wasn't a battle between splinter factions, it was a war of ideology and the Sith Empire would be on the losing end, poisoned by their own beliefs in their bloated cradle of power. Their empire was wracked in weakness with blind loyalty to a dynasty led by one who believed himself a god, a false Sith'ari who's height had been attained under the thumb of the 'Immortal' Dark Lord of the One Sith. He did not blame the man, he held power and knowledge beyond the scope many could dream, but in the end despite recasting himself over and over.. he was no closer to godhood than before and his people suffered under the delusion of such grandeur. It is such a quiet thing to fall, but far more terrible is to admit it.

His eyes snapped off into the distance with a wicked hand rise momentarily as if he could touch upon it in the Force, a vibration, a echo as Kyrel Ren questioned their next move. The Dark Voice could feel the subtle pull of the spiraling echo as it touched upon all those who could feel it, it's source stemming from a dark presence in the Force brimming with power. The aftereffects still rung in on his senses, he reached out as he stretched forth and followed the breadcrumbs. He latched onto the incorporeal tether that led him further toward the bastion of darkness that resonated with an intensity that resembled his own immersion but.. different. He traced the echo to the hangar bay nearby and opened his eyes with a shifting gaze set upon Kyrel Ren and Maestus , "Their heresy has reached it's end. Show them no mercy."

With that said he left in stride for the hangar, off to confront the power that had captured his dark attention. Walking stick in hand he left the wreckage behind and approached the looming entryway into the hangar, his old bones cracking with each step as he crossed the threshold. He followed the trail, the echo like a cloud or thick mist set in motion by the current that is the Force flowing like a wave of color washing over him. The Force bent to him, a river breaker in the current, an eye of the storm enraptured by the chorus that called to him. It was the call of the Dark Side, the call of another river breaker.

The Voice's aid came crashing down against the hard duracrete with a loud thud that reverberated off the walls of the expansive chamber. An obvious challenge to any who had remained secluded in the confines of the dark.

 

[Darth Luminoth]

WARLORDS OF THE SITH
OBJECTIVE I - THE NINN KAGGATH

「Born For One Thing」

Darth Maleva | Ihsan | Eligor Rahvok | Jayda Aryss

"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared. "

​

​

The tides of chaos envelop Ninn. Sith, Mandalorian, Jedi, Imperial, and beyond all burning a communal pyre of carnage. Those beneath the banner of the Dark Sovereigns had no allies in the multi-sided chaos. With their presence diminished by a gauntlet of conflict, those in defiance of the Rule of Order walked a path that seemed bleak, up a mountain that seemed insurmountable.

Good.

Peace is a lie. Only through strife do the strong prevail, and without chaos, the Sith would wither. They will know the true Sith when the hair on their neck stands up, and while their heads roll from their shoulders. Ninn will know the hell machinated a menagerie of opposing forces clashing indiscriminately. War was the seed, and Ninn was the field. Through bloodshed, strength will blossom.

Luminoth stepped from the shuttle without a return glance to Maleva, for purpose lay ahead. "Sitrep," he demanded in a vaguely alien intonation toward a Battle Chapter officer huddled nearby.

"Respectfully, my Lord; our status is: karked. Some of the Imperials have rallied, and now Sith-Imperials are practically bolstering them. Reports of Jedi and Mandalorians too. I'm not certain we have the presence to deal with this."

Lumnioth released a sigh, muffled behind mask vocoder. "Your lack of faith is warranted, but we're out of options. We hold Ninn or we die." His gaze turned out toward the battle as golden plasma screamed to life from his hilt. Departing from the officer, he stepped into the front line, armor and flesh sundering in his wake. Ninn or Death.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Objective III: Shine Some Light.
Opposition: Loske Treicolt

Time and Space had a great deal of metaphysical weight behind them. And while it was true that one sufficiently powerful in the Force could bend or even ignore the limitations of such laws. It was very rarely a subtle act. And when the quiet whisper of incoming danger at the edge of his senses increased in volume to a scream as something materialised into existence behind him. Instinct kicked in far faster than familiarity. The body's natural desire to survive danger forcing him to move before his brain could recognise the deeper layers of the voice behind him.

And he was swift. Much faster than someone of his size should have been. The Force allowing him to ignore a petty concern like inertia as his body twisted around and leapt backwards with alarming celerity. But he was not fast enough. The creature's talons had wrapped around Arete's hilt, tearing it from its scabbard as the Jedi pulled back, Leaving the blade in the monster's grasp. Seemingly lacking its usual lustre now that it had been separated from its partner's grasp.

Combat instincts kicked in first. As soon as his feet touched the ground again. Aaran found his body shifting into the opening stance of the Echani Firedancer's unarmed styles. His body flowing into the form before his brain caught up with what was before him.

Or more importantly, who was before him.

"Loske...." The image his eyes captured finally making their way to his brain as the name was called out with a sharp intake of breath. While the rest of her form was obscured by some oily black substance. Her face was unmistakable. It belonged to his oldest and first true friend. He had read the reports from Ziost. He knew that something had happened to her from both intelligence reports and from his own premonitions in the Force.

But knowing something was vastly different from seeing it with your own eyes. His arms dropped to his side, body stiffing as he moved out of his combat stance, taking the slightest step back from the sight in front of him. "Oh Loske. What happened to you?"

It may have been unfortunate for the former Jedi that she had attempted to steal her old comrade's weapon. For the sword and the swordsman were intrinsically linked. What one felt, the other would reflect. So the creature currently grasping the blade could feel Aaran's emotions as clearly as their own.

Shock, concern. But most of all, pain, A deep empathic pain that rocked the Jedi to his core. His mind and heart whirling as he tried to consider even for a moment what kind of trauma must have been inflicted on Loske to put her in such a state. What horrors Raaf must have subjected her to in order to bring her mind to such a state. How the SIth must have violated Loske's body on such a deep level to turn her into the creature that stood before him.

"Talk to me Loske." He said, one hand reaching out to her, offering a chance to resolve this situation without coming to blows. Through the link of the blade, she could feel it. A staunch refusal to even consider raising a hand against her. Instead feeling only a desire to understand what had happened to his old friend.

 

[Vhondryl Gallaer]

B L U E_C R E S T
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It was all moving fast, faster than Vhon had anticipated, quietly she approached the group and looked between them. She raised her hand to try to interject but then withdrew it. The Keshiri waited for a few moments and then approached them, her attention directly on Lief and Cotan Sar'andor for the time being. "Names Vhon, just uh, point me in the right direction." Scoundrel and smuggler she might be, but she proudly wore her Mynock's patch. The on-the-surface freighter company, which was quietly supported by the First Order to help people in places where it could not go.​

​

This was definitely one of those places. The Keshiri went to ask helping where she was directed to go, all that running on her homeworld had to be good for something. The Battle for Ninn hadn't quite been the same as Keshiri's destruction but then again, destruction and genocide went in tandem these days. Most especially for the Sith. Not too far off were the likes of Kal and Krayzen Dratos another first to have crossed paths with either of them. ​

​

Sargon Vynea ​

​

 

[Stilicho Drumarch]

Objective II: IN A STORM OF DURASTEEL
Allies: WotS | Zinn Zinn Bink'sa
Enemies: TSE | UX-0626

​

When Apkari saw the Gungan acolyte approaching the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good to have a practictioner of the dark side in their midst. The Gungan was unsuccessfully try to life a hunk of wreck metal, for no reason apparent to the soldiers. "Enough of that," he ushered the man inside, "Come in, quickly!".

The enemy was just about upon them. Apkari pulled the Gungan into the armory and sealed the door behind him. The acolyte wanted to know the plan. There wasn't much of a plan to tell.

"Survive. That's the plan."
​

Apkari heard the thunks on the door as the breaching charges magnetized. This was it. The Red Sons cleared out of the way of the door and pointed every piece of firepower they could hold at the entry point. The door was shaken out of its frame by the shock wave, and it collapsed inwards with a harsh metallic clap against the floor.

Two grenades entered before the Imperials. The first sonic imploder landed a foot away from Apkari. His eyes widened as he saw it, and he lunged to the floor. Grasping it firmly in his hand, he lobbed it back out the doorway. The second imploder went long, flying into the back of the room among the wounded. It detonated with a screech, followed by the immediate scrambling of any nearby troopers' HUDs.

"Fire everything!" he yelled to the troopers who weren't stunned. Crimson bolts began spilling towards the door as the Imperials entered. He didn't know how long this choke-point would last, or if the rest of his platoon were even in fighting shape to come relieve them.

"Gungan! Get up front! Push them back!"

 

[Kainan]

LEGATE ACTUAL
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
Armour | Lightsaber
Engaging: Irina Volkov

In his tenure as an Imperial, failure had been a constant. Something that he strived to forget, to put behind him, but the consistency of it made it familiar. Suppression of the dark side, Brosi, and the attempted ambush over Ninn. Kainan had survived them all. Not strengthened by them, but the motivation to be better was strong. To see the severed head of a Sith wherever he strode was enough for him to consider it success. Little victories. He had long since come to terms that he would die fighting against the dwindling Crimson Shadow.

Beyond the act of duty, as was typical for the members of the Imperial Force Corps. Preferably, in some great sacrifice. But in the end, he knew that it'd be at the hands of the Dark Order. Whether as one of their number, or as the bastion of defense that stood against the shadow. It didn't matter which, just that he'd return to where he started.

Stuck between two opposing Orders, both cut from that same Dark Shroud, Kainan was resolute in his belief that he'd die as the latter.

The bastion.

As he had at the Hall of Defiance.

The argent blade came down with the ruthless fury of a warrior that fought for their life. A way out. As the Sith's lightning rose up to catch his saber, he angled it down further, as if he might impale her, in place of his initial choice of bisection. The laser sword crackled where the lightning sought to pass through, to get through to him.

That inherent connection to the Force, the source of his strength and speed, doubled as the window from which he viewed the world. He had tapped into that ability to heighten his senses, to observe the world in a lens that was befitting of one that moved beyond the comprehension of the common sentient. When she leapt up, and the short burst of lightning ended, he continued forwards, throwing himself to the ground as he dove. So that when her crimson blade sought to carve a line across his back, it was met with nothing but the empty space he had occupied a moment ago.

The silver blade vanished as he hit the ground, and at the end of the somersault, when his feet flattened against the ground rose upwards. Leaping from the ground and over the hafts of darkness that would've put an end to his existence. In the air, he rotated, his right hand the focal point from where his will in the Force was executed.

"So you hope."

The gathering of the Force took less than a moment, his will made manifest, there was no teaching that could sway his view of the Force. A tool to be used as he commanded. The coalescing metaphysical energy sought to wrap around the petite woman. And as he hit the ground, he'd raise her up if she didn't stop him, some feet in the air, and slam her back down into the earth a split second later with bone crippling intent.

 

[Xeykard]

Kuric Taumin
​

This was what he'd always been meant to do.

Fight other Sith, the ones who'd lost their way. Those self-styled warlords were threats to the Empire; threats to the stability of its worlds. However debaucherous the Empire might be, the warlords were more savage and disorganized, spiteful rather than focused in their hate.

Xeykard focused. No distractions. The Inquisitor, an instrument of the Empire, a weapon to destroy heretics and disbelievers, a being of pure hatred to find and snuff out the enemy before they were truly realized.

No matter the weaknesses of the Empire. No matter the myriad of enemies at their doorstep that had not been silenced before they could flourish. No matter his own doubts and failings. He needed to destroy them.

He sniffed the air. Their quarry came closer, to the edge of the spaceport where his company had gathered. He raised his hand. They readied their weapons. His hand hovered over the detonator.

Click.

Chaos erupted along with a cargo freighter on one of the platforms. Blaster fire rang out. Xeykard's saber ignited, swinging smoothly to deflect bolts sent his way while the Sith-Imperial soldiers met with the Warlords's dogs in the open platforms of Ninn's spaceport. Too many distractions. Yet, so much hate to draw on.

Oh, how he hated them -- yet still, there was ever more to hate.

That was when he felt it him; another so driven, so zealous, so wild. All the distractions fell away as he found more and more hate.

 

[Lief]

OBJECTIVE 3: BYOO
The Blue Crest
Tend To The Wounded...​

​

"May the Force be with you all," was the last she said toward the group of those she knew on a more intimate level than most, as they ventured forth into their transport and headed out into the worst of the tragedy befalling the world. Sargon had immediately taken to the leadership role she'd bestowed upon him like a natural, though given his past she knew that would have happened regardless. He had been a solider long before she knew him, and that sort of thing never really left a man.​

​

As Vhondryl Gallaer appeared nearby, and offered herself up as volunteer to the cause, Asha inclined her head in a deep bow of respect and welcomed her into the fold. "We have some spare patches in the crate over there," she gestured vaguely to one of the tents which held supplies, "Make sure you wear one, that way folks know you're not here to fight." There was of course always a chance that their presence would not be honoured, that some would turn the fight toward them regardless, but she had no control over that. It was why they'd brought the odd fighter, to defend in their stead.​

​

"You can stay here and help those who are brought back, or you can head out with one of the transports. Just make sure you're not going into this alone, alright?"​

​

Her gaze shifted to Cotan once she had a moment to breathe amidst the chaos and designating of roles to the various volunteers who still stood around unsure of where to go. This was their first true venture out, it was expected. With time she hoped they'd be a little more independent with it, know where best they were suited.​

​

"I'm sorry, love," she said, and despite it all there was a true sincerity to her tone. She never wanted to put people into a situation they were uncomfortable with, or make one such as Cotan on the defensive and forced to worry about so many. But what was the alternative? Continue to act as though nothing was going on in the Galaxy? As those none were in dire need of aid?​

​

"I know this isn't ideal, but I won't stand idly by any longer..."​

​

She knew deep down that sooner or later this would come to a head, would butt up against her more pacifist ideals and force her to reach for the blade which hung upon her belt, but she would go as long as she could without relying on such. For now she'd render the aid, not provide more need for such. Though maybe it was high time she focused on her training once more... Cotan had offered to help her with that many moons ago, would he still?​

​

With a shake of her head she focused back on the present, as some of the fallen men and women in their immediate vicinity were brought toward the tents for treatment. Doctors and medics far superior to herself were the first to step up to task, but they were far from infinite in number. It was time she scrubbed up and got to work.​

​

Cotan Sar'andor Varloc​

 

[Molly Armstrong]

Objective I: THE NINN KAGGATH
Allies: WotS
Enemies: TSE | Xeykard

​

The tensions were high as the unbridled hate flowed through everyone in the spaceport. It was hatred on a primal level. Each side hated the other for their very being.

Kuric Taumin stood tall behind the soldiers of the Sith Host. From the moment they made their entry into the spaceport there were explosions. Neither side holding back and having any remorse for the wanton destruction. Pure, unadulterated total war. It was visceral ecstasy for Kuric. Every sense was on fire, sending his adrenal glands into overdrive.

He made his way in through the smoke and the fire, striding through the middle of the battle and not worrying about who might see him. He reach out and grasped a flame with the force. The fire swirled across the air in an arc towards a group of Sith legionnaires. It was beautiful and deadly, drawing out their panicked reactions and inevitable screams of failure as they burned.

But mutilating a hand full of soldiers was not his aim. He thought he'd sated himself on the blood of Imperial Knights, but when he heard of the Sith Empire's arrival his bloodthirst began to swell again.

He wanted to kill a Sith.

And there before him stood his prey. The lumbering lizard was taller than even Kuric, who thought himself tall by humanoid standards. It would be a challenge to bring this beast down, but a challenge he would take pleasure in.

Kuric drew his sword and began to charge against the Sith, without even announcing his presence. He didn't believe in fair play. If this man was truly a worthy opponent then he would feel Kuric's rage and passion through the force. If not, Kuric would strike to sever his arm in two...

​