Skirmish The Summer Rain Rebellion [GA/SO Skirmish of Ukatis]

[Cin]

UKATIS
THE BURNING
- Serina Calis - Makko Vyres -​

The Dragon had never tasted such joy before. Yes, he was under the Faithful's spell, bound to the Sith that rode him by chains of rotten sorcery and magick. Yes, he was a tool. A mount, to be commanded, to be owned. But for a moment, none of that mattered. His whole world was flame and screaming and acrid, scorched flesh, and that was a terrible, beautiful thing.

Let them burn instead of him, for once.

He felt the worming counterbalance of the Force tipping around him, as minds reached out to uplift their allies, and strangle the morale of their enemies. The Dragon pondered them, with what of his mind was his own. Serina had made her decisions for both of them, and for now, her will was his.

The Shadow couldn't tell whether he or the Rider roared into the dark sky, spitting flames and casting lightning. Perhaps it was both of them, raging in defiance against the chains that noosed them.

...Gliding now, the Dragon paused. Canted its head to the side, like a puppy examining something new. Then, in a very un-puppylike manner, it's expression shifted to dark glee.

Cin had slipped his chain.

He debated ending it here. Twisting his neck with Force-quickened reflexes, snapping up the Sith that freed him and escaping. Or dying in the process, which would be an equally desirable result. But he paused. She had done it intentionally, hadn't she? Given him a taste of freedom, as she had promised.

Instead, the Dragon twisted, swooping low to prepare for another strafe. Before he could reach the army again, however, he felt danger. His scraping, clawing voice raked against Serina's mind.

Hold fast.
​

The Dragon rolled in the air, wings spinning like a great tornado. He batted away a concussion grenade from his center mass, growling in pain as it detonated off to the side of him. The creature's serpentine neck reached up, searching for the combatant. There he was, escaping into the sky on a speeder. Reeking of the Light.

Cin didn't hesitate for even a moment. He heaved his wings, clawing up through the sky to give chase. He roared a challenge, battering the air with his rapturous voice.

He decided he liked roaring.

 

[Serina Calis]

"And when he opened the second seal, a dragon went forth. It was as black as the void, and its rider was granted permission to take away peace from the earth and to make men slay one another." - Legend of House Calis

Tag - Cin , Makko Vyres



The air was split by fire and fury, yet Serina's eyes—blue and bladed—remained focused even as the dragon wheeled beneath her in a cyclonic surge. His mind brushed against hers, rough and ancient like scorched stone, and she felt him—not just the power, but the pride. It thrilled her. The dragon was not a mindless tool; he was becoming something more, something hers not through domination, but through mutual recognition.

And now, there came a worthy distraction.

The frag grenade was not a threat—it was an invitation. A declaration. Most would have hidden behind shields, let others die for the chance to survive. But this Jedi—this one—rose into the storm, into her domain, like a spark thrown into a furnace.

Her gaze snapped upward. Her lips parted, not in fury, but in awe.

The swoop-bike streaked across the storm-choked sky like a thrown spear. Blue flares burned behind it, carving a line across the heavens. The rider's silhouette cut through smoke and embers, alone, fragile, and defiant.

A lesser woman might have sneered. Might have scoffed at the bravado.

Serina smiled.

Not the cruel grin of a predator, nor the triumphant smirk of a victor. But something else. A flash of admiration.

"So," she murmured, her voice drowned to all but the beast beneath her. "Even now, they find new ways to be brave."

She had seen many Jedi—chained by doctrine, dulled by compassion, crippled by mercy. But every now and then, one emerged from that temple-born herd, carving a path through mediocrity by sheer will. This one was no great knight. No fabled warlord. But in that moment, launching himself alone into the jaws of death, he was magnificent.

And still—he was wrong.

His faith in the Force, in freedom, in the morality of sacrifice… wrong. His resistance was noble. But nobility without victory was just another beautiful corpse for the crows to pick clean.

She felt the dragon tense beneath her. A silent communion. His question whispered like smoke into her thoughts. She gave no command.

She gave permission.

Go.

The moment echoed in the Force.

She did not steer. She did not guide. The reins fell loose. The dragon chose the sky, his own sky, and Serina laughed—exultant, liberated. The wind tore at her cape, her armor crackled with crimson arcs, her blood thundered in her ears.

And below? Below, the war continued. The wounded screamed. Soldiers burned. Jedi clutched one another in defiance of despair.

But above—

The black dragon screamed his challenge to the heavens, climbing like a nightmare incarnate.

And Serina let him chase the light.

 

[Nodak]

Allies: The Rebels | the Sith
Enemies: The Royal Army | The Republic | Razh Sho
Equipment: Nevermourne | Shield | Armor​

---

No mercy, no reprieve.

Like a shark drawn to blood spreading across water the Monster reacted.

Leading with his right side Nodak would have planted his foot, using it as a pivot point so that his left side could swing forward. As he came towards Razh Sho his shield pumped forward, that enormous bulwark of alchemized quandranium as tall as a man and with a width to match. Targeting the Jedi himself Nodak meant to crush him, to slam into him and hurl him backwards, off his feet and into the mud.

In tandem with this he jerked on Nevermourne, whipping its head around. It would haul itself from the mud it had been embedded it with a crackle of the plasma energy forming the tether and swing itself around, to the right beneath the cover of the shield. As the Morning Star arced wide and to the right of Nodak he'd lift his arm higher, guiding it around and over his shoulders with its own momentum so that it swung back behind him until it came back over his left shoulder. Then, whirling above his head Nevermourne came down; the Morning Star swung forward and came down towards the spot in the mud where the Monster had judged the Jedi should land seeking to crush him into the earth.

As the Morning Star came down a growl penetrated the atmosphere, emanating from beneath the helm that concealed the Juggernauts features...

"RAAAAARRRRRRRR!"

...it was a guttural sound, almost animal in its predatoriness though if Nodak were a beast he was not driven by simple instinct. There was a will to dominate, a desire to crush and break his opponents beyond what an animal was capable above. More carnage, more destruction.

The Rain had made the ground soft, the blast that he'd unleashed a short time ago had created a small crater that now filled with the downpour. The Skies were darkened, the cloud cover unending. Beyond them the battle, a clash of armies; more meat to be pulverized once this had ended.

 

[Razh Sho]

Allies: The Royal Army | The Republic |
Enemies: The Rebels | the Sith | Nodak​

He felt the world shrink around him.

There was no time. No warning. Just mass, bearing down.

Nodak came like a landslide — shield forward, a wall of violence, unrelenting, unmerciful. Razh knew the intent. He would be crushed, flattened into the mud like broken scripture under the heel of conquest.

He moved — not away, but through.

He twisted his body just as the shield struck — but even his slipstream movement wasn't enough to clear its breadth. Again, the rim caught him at the ribs, and the world snapped sideways. Air left his lungs in a burst, and he was flung backwards into the wet earth, tumbling once, sliding in the cratered muck as stars flickered at the edge of his vision.

Pain. Blinding. But not the end.

Through the roar of blood in his ears, he felt it — the tether coming around again. Nevermourne, hungry for conclusion.

It will crush me.

No time to rise.
No space to leap.

Only breath.

He reached into the Force — not with strength, but with stillness. The blade in his left hand hissed to life. His injured arm, broken and limp at his side, dragged through the mud as he dug his boot into the earth, not to stand, but to anchor. As Nevermourne descended — a blur of rage and crimson — Razh lifted his blade in one hand, angling it not to stop the blow, but to shave its path.

A single line. A sliver.

Steel met plasma.

The impact cracked like thunder. The mace skidded, redirected a hair's breadth off-centre — enough to miss his skull, and instead slam into the mud beside him, the earth rupturing, a geyser of rain and dirt erupting upward. Buried in that crater, body wracked, Razh turned his face up toward the darkened sky. Water ran down the lines of his face. Blood, too.

He drew in breath, and he laughed — a low, rasping breath of mirthless joy. He rolled onto his side, then forced himself to one knee. His saber dragged across the ground, then lifted, humming weakly in his good hand.

"I'm still here."

His body trembled.

But he had not broken.

Not yet.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

Ukatis, palace grounds
Courtyard outside the palace​

"We were just—" Raz was cut off.

An explosion tore through the air, far above Razmir and the Jedi. A loud clang followed moments later as the bell had been flung free from its tower and crashed through the building below. Within moments the tower was reduced to rubble. A symbol of Ukatian pride reduced to nothing. The people of the festival screamed.

Razmir cursed under his breath. The rebels had actually attacked the capital. He tucked the blaster away in his belt, grabbing the Duke firmly by his arm. Before he could speak, a set of doors was kicked open by the palace, wooden frames slamming into stone with loud cracks.

Shouting came from the doorway as a guard stepped through. He waved for people to exit the palace, and a gathering of nobles and servants dashed out through the doorway and into the mud. Their group was headed by a several guards who'd seemingly organized a hasty rescue, which more closely resembled a stampede. The people rushed through the courtyard, and the guards shouted at Razmir and the other two by his side, showing some relief when they saw the blue lightsaber of a Jedi.

"Come on, we have to get out of here! There might be more bombs!" The guard yelled as he ran past, followed by the nobles and the servants.

Razmir turned to the Jedi, a puzzled look on his face.

"Weren't the rebels supposed to hit the outside of the city? How come it's raining bellfries by the palace?" He shouted above the commotion.

The duke, seeing an opportunity, slipped out of Razmir's grasp, and dashed into the crowd. He disappeared in the mass of fleeing people.

"F—" Razmir's shouted exclamation was cut off by the high-pitched screech of a noble lady who'd spotted red blades of plasma on the main festival grounds.

Braze

 

[Ellissanthia]

Location: Farms Outside Axilla - Ukatis
Objective: BYOO
Mission Objective: Agricultural Sabotage

• Primary: Raze the granary complexes.
• Secondary: Destroy farming equipment and vehicles.

Tag: Valery Noble

A heartbeat was all it took for the Battlemaster to close the distance. Her form was a blur to unaugmented senses, moving with such speed and force that she created a temporary vacuum in her wake, causing the air to howl with her passage. Ellissanthia’s fin-shaped ears gave a sharp twitch as she felt the air warp around her. However, the Undine was not caught lagging.

Through wholly unnatural senses—engineered through the Dark Side for lightning acuity and processing capability—Ellissanthia watched the Jedi tear through the rain. Hyperacute senses rendered the streak perceptible to her eyes and sensible within her mind. Still, given the Battlemaster’s extreme speed, a preemptive response was impossible.

Thus, Ellissanthia raised both of her hands—neither of which held a lightsaber. With a cry of exertion, the Undine seized the Battlemaster’s lightsaber (and potentially the accompanying saber arm) in an unyielding telekinetic grip, halting the blade mere inches before it might have vertically bisected her.

Then, in the same instant, she twisted.

Ellissanthia screamed. A wailing, earsplitting banshee cry tearing out from her lips as she sidestepped around Valery and imposed her will upon the Force in an effort to wrench her arm 180 degrees—attempting to harness the Battlemaster's own momentum to hyperextend her shoulder or elbow!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Eclipsed Veil
  
  • Miscellaneous Equipment
    
    • FAE/U-01 "Serenity" Anti-Signal Field System
  • Aesthetic and Accouterments
    
    • Red Accents
    • Eclipse Sect Symbol - Left Shoulder
  • Energy Shield
    
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
• Storm Kiss
  
  • Purple Blade
• Supernal Infusion Vials
• SHIVA Vials
• Spirit Anchor Talisman
• Iadrium Charge (8)
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (2)

 

[Nodak]

Allies: The Rebels | the Sith
Enemies: The Royal Army | The Republic | Razh Sho
Equipment: Nevermourne | Shield | Armor​

---

Erupting with silt and muddy water the earth was shattered as Nevermourne made landfall once again. Unfortunate the Jedi was not there to break its fall but had rather given himself over to an attitude of perseverance. No matter though.

While Razh Sho struggled to one knee the crackling crimson that made the plasma tether joining head to haft retracted. Drug backwards from its point of impact the head of Nevermourne once again set itself into the haft transforming Morning Star back into Mace, locking the two into place. Nodak would then hook the mace onto his belt, over his right hip where it would be easy to retrieve if necessary.

Gazing at the Jedi from beneath his helm, a dim chuckle heard as Razh Sho announced he was still here...

"Yes."

...the guttural sound of Nodak's voice addressed him...

"I've noted your obstinance."

...it seemed that this Jedi, a Twi'lek named Razh Sho just would not die. There was something doggedly admirable about him, like an ant attempting to survive a torrent of rain or a tidal wave washing away everything in its path.

Nodak did not advance, there was no longer a need.

Raising his right hand, fingers splayed in the gauntlet that covered them he only motioned towards Razh. A kinetic energy spread from his palm, not a push but a battering ram. Hammering at the Jedi it meant to uproot him from his knee, casting him backwards against the slope of the crater in the process. Another violent wave of energy followed, telekinetics that were were all brutality with no finesse that intended to thrust him against the soft, muddy earth of the crater until his body was sufficiently cradled in its embrace.

Let the earth claim him, let the heavy waters of the downpour continue to fill the crater until he was submerged beneath them.

A Hole filled with dirty water, a mixture of soft earth and clay.

A Tomb waiting to claim anyone that fell into it.

Nodak would waited.

 

[Razh Sho]

Allies: The Royal Army | The Republic |
Enemies: The Rebels | the Sith | Nodak
​

He felt it the moment the Force shifted — not as a current to ride, but a fist to endure. The pressure struck him squarely in the chest, and he couldn't resist it. The blow was not elegant. Not guided. It was a sledgehammer, raw and indifferent. His saber flew from his grip — somewhere behind him, the blue light blinked out in the mud. And he flew with it, his body lifted like paper in a gale. He struck the slope of the crater, shoulder-first, then bounced, rolled, and landed hard — back-first — in the center, where the rain had pooled into a filthy basin of churning water and ash-colored silt.

The next wave hit before he could rise.

It didn't break his bones.

It broke his will to stand.

He lay still.

Mud welcomed him. Swallowed him.

Water washed over his chest, then neck, then face. He turned his head — a breath, shallow and hoarse, taken just above the rising flood.

His lekku were slick with dirt. One eye swollen. One arm limp.

So this is the cost... of holding the line.

And yet... he had.

Every heartbeat he spent facing Nodak had been one less blow struck elsewhere. One more second for soldiers to escape. One more chance for a younger Jedi to carry the fire forward.

He had given the storm everything.

And now the storm held him.

Buried, but not forgotten.

His eyes drifted shut.

But the Force around him did not dim.

It waited.

 

[Makko Vyres]

UKATIS

SHIELD | ARMOR | LIGHTSABER | DRONES | SHIP | PISTOL​

Allies: Corazona von Ascania Jalen Kai'el
Enemies: Cin Serina Calis

He felt the roar of the dragon reverberate through his chest. It the dragon came any closer, it felt as if it could rattle his bones loose with that roar alone.

On one hand the dragon was following him away from the front line of the battle.

On the other hand, he had a very real dragon keeping pace with his swoop bike.

He dipped the bike low, stretching out with the Force to react to the terrain. The gentle, rolling hills didn't afford him much cover. He pulled tight turns around tall trees to try and test how manruverable the beast was.

Makko released two drones. One pushed far to his left, the other two his right. He did not want them swallowed by the beast.

Each would zip towards the dragon rider, extending a chain whip of sharp phrik to attack. Makko directed them through his implants, seeing what they saw as he probed his overwhelming opponent for any weaknesses.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

The instant Valery felt the invisible grip lock around her saber — and her arm — she knew what was coming. The pain would have followed. The twist, the snap, the unraveling of bone and tendon. But it never landed.

Because she was no longer there.

In the breath between beats, Valery's body shimmered. The very air where she stood seemed to fracture as her physical form slipped from the material plane, passing through the crushing grip like smoke between fingers. The world rippled as her presence vanished from the Force, as if she had become a ghost.

And then, just behind the Undine, the air snapped like a whip.

Valery reappeared.

Her body surged into being in a blur of wet cloth and violet energy, already in motion the instant her boots touched earth. There was no time for theatrics — only purpose. With a roar of displaced air, she pivoted hard and unleashed a brutal, Force-augmented roundhouse kick, her leg slamming toward Ellissanthia's ribs with the force of a crashing landspeeder.

It was meant to break.

Whether it connected or not, Valery's stance reset a beat later, saber snapping up again as the storm howled around them. Her breath was steady. Her eyes were fire.

Ellissanthia ​

 

[Eurydice]

ROYAL PALACE

Allies | King Horace | Lord Meverell | Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
Enemies | Veradun Sharr | Ukatian Rebels | Sith
​

The boy's voice trembled, frayed with nerves and laced with visceral fear. His eyes, wide and gleaming with unshod tears, plead in silence as they darted between the two women. Eurydice's gentle heart swayed with it's next beat. Any uneasiness she felt was attributed to the chaos above.

"Don't be a fool," Indis snapped. She relinquished her grip on the young Nagai – the subtle features of his alien species hidden by the dim lighting and his uniform – shoving him back and away from her. "We can't waste our time on servants. You will live."

Eurydice stepped forward, cautiously placing herself between Indis and the injured boy. Though her expression was creased in concern, she held a hand out to Veradun.

"Come," she said softly. "Let me see your wounds."

Indis, who had since turned back to the shelves, whirled around on her heel.

"Don't waste your time," she snapped. "We're supposed to be upstairs now. If what he says is true – that an attack has begun – we must hurry to assist in the ritual to protect the King."

Eurydice's expression grew troubled. "If what he says is true, then perhaps it is best that we...that we stay down here. Where it is safer."

---

Another explosion rocked the palace, and Luciana let out a gasp. She reached out for Meverell's arm, catching his sleeve in an attempt to steady herself. Once the tremors passed, she would heed the advisor's words. The Viscountess Ascania was a small woman, but as she lifted the hem of her skirts, her feet carried her with surprising swiftness toward the dungeons.

He'd given her cursory directions, but she remembered the way, having visited her daughter there once.

Father Erasmus could wait no longer. The rebels were upon them; they'd even breached the palace. Perhaps with the aid of their Sith friends. Though the Head Seer was no stranger to dark magics, he found the Sith with their god complexes and wanton murder to be rather distasteful.

As the panicked party-goers began to pour from the feast hall, Erasmus and his retinue cut through the chaos and approached the King. They formed a line behind him, standing in pairs with their hoods drawn and their heads bowed.

"Your Majesty," he addressed Horace in a strained rasp. "If we are to begin the ritual, it must be done now."

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Allies: Marcel von Ascania | Veradun Sharr | Rebel Forces
Enemies: Corazona von Ascania | Eurydice | Loyalist Forces

This should have been the end of Ukatis.

If he had more time, more resources, more slaughter.

The fields would have been forever poisoned.

The sky’s choked by smoke from endless fires.

A Sith could dream. But the sight of the burning capital was more than enough to warm Nefaron’s cold heart.

​

The pale rider strode through burning streets, his terrible maw fixed in a grin as he witnessed the culmination of months of planning. So many had died, yet more cowered in fear before the Rebel forces and their Sith masters. These peasants would have made excellent slaves if they could have been brought to Anoat, but unfortunately, the death of their monarch and the slaughter of countless innocents would have to do. Nefaron's escort cut down those few defenders that still clung onto their posts, men of Ukatis who had turned to the worship of the Corpse Lord for the sake of power and status in the coming regime. It was not difficult to sway them; many of the noble families were perfectly willing to cast aside their honor to gain ever more power.

For his part, Nefaron also partook in the slaughter, his fell hand rising to cast fell lightning into the poor fools who dared to stand against him. The Jedi had been engaged all over the city, but none came to prevent the Corpse Lord from his march on the palace. The closer he got, the stronger Veradun's presence grew in the force. He had infiltrated the palace, and it seemed he was all but certain to accomplish his objectives. For this, Nefaron would reward his apprentice in the coming days, but for the time being, he remained focused on the present.

Already, rebel forces were assaulting the palace. It seemed their infiltration was far more successful than the Corpse Lord had hoped, but it was not the time to stride into the heart of the dying kingdom.

Nefaron had one last weapon to use on Ukatis. One that would scar an entire generation.​

"The time has come, my disciples. The one true King calls on you to deliver his vengeance upon this city. Spread out, ensure the containers I have given you are dispersed as far and wide as possible. When I give the order, we shall watch this city realize it's folly in defying our righteous cause."

The poor fools. Even as the bowed and rushed away from the Corpse Lord, they failed to realize they were about to be the epicenter of a great act of terror. Nefaron was the Master of Fear, and he would show everyone in this city just how powerful fear could be.

More importantly, he wanted the Jedi to witness this terrible power. He wanted them to know the folly of their defiance.

This world would be but the first to taste his power. The entire galaxy would follow.​

Dismounting his steed, Nefaron began the walk toward the palace entrance. Soon, he would have his prize, the greatest of the Jedi brought low and the keys to the future in his grasp.

He need only enjoy the show.​

 

[Cin]

UKATIS
THE BURNING
- Serina Calis - Makko Vyres -​

The Dragon was having fun.

It was the most fun he'd had in a long time, since his captivity. Under the mountain, his days had consisted of smoke and biting metal and ritual. Dreaming of seeing the sky again, of escaping, allowed to be himself once more. Now, soaring in the air, chasing after a man on a speeder like a racyon kit might leap after a butterfly...

None of it, the war, the rider, the revenge, was quite himself yet. But it was the closest he'd ever been.

The Dragon pursued the pilot, each laborious wingbeat tensing his muscles. He wasn't prepared for the first quick turn, dodging around the tree, and fanning his wings to break, then making a wide turn to catch up. He was prepared for the second, slithering around the tall oak in the middle of the field, then using one clawed foot to push off in the direction his prey escaped.

The pilot sent out two, strange metal spheres, which attacked his rider. The Dragon let them, confident that she would either survive, or not be worth the trouble of saving. Instead, he tried a new tactic.

His eyes glowed molten as he called upon the Force, his fearsome, draconic face turning quiet. And he attacked Makko's mind. Talons of psychic energy, raking at the Jedi's mental defenses, trying to find purchase, trying to make a scratch he could force his consciousness through. Someone trained to guard their mind would be able to fight him off, he wasn't incredible at this skill. But he could distract the pilot, and perhaps give his rider an opening.

 

[Corin Trenor]

​

In the heavy downpour, all the notable fighters had been claimed for a battle of their own; even a dragon roiled about in the skies, though that fight belonged to another. The nameless fodder, advancing in waves, was all that was left for him.

It's what he deserved, with such a late arrival.

In a sudden flash, Corin was there. His dry clothes quickly became drenched, earning a soft groan to rumble out of him. His eyes, mismatched as they were, surveyed the ongoing battlefield between loyalists and rebels alike, tinged through with Jedi and Sith.

The hiss-snap of his lightsaber came alive, crackling unsteadily with a purple glow. And he got to work.

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Allies: Darth Nefaron // Sith and Rebel Forces
Target: Eurydice
Objective: Capture the Seer, Return to Darth Nefaron
​

The woman gripping Veradun released him harshly, coldly denying him the help he sought and shoved him away upon doing so, saying that they - whoever she and her other female companion were - couldn’t waste their time on servants. The boy allowed for some theatrics for the moment, stumbling backwards and tripping over a hidden crate in the darkness to make the woman’s harsh treatment of him appear more severe, and he dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Internally, her words and callous attitude perked his ears, but outwardly he expressed shock and startlement.

The savage pain of rejection was clear upon his features, even as the second woman stepped forward and placed herself between her cold-hearted companion and the boy, and offered her hand to him, beckoning him to come to her in a soft and gentle voice.

Quietly, Veradun pushed himself up to his feet and approached the second woman, even as the other turned around to snap at her kinder companion - and it was her words that brought the full attention of Veradun to bear.

"We're supposed to be upstairs now. If what he says is true – that an attack has begun – we must hurry to assist in the ritual to protect the King."

Ritual? King? The man he had murdered only a short while ago had mentioned that the Seers were preparing for some ritual for the King. Could it be? Could Veradun be so lucky as to stumble across not one but two Seers in the belly of the Palace? Pale eyes shifted from one woman to the other as the one holding on to his hand spoke up next, and the boy had to practically contain his wicked glee - at least for the moment.

"If what he says is true, then perhaps it is best that we...that we stay down here. Where it is safer."

Seconds ticked by; Veradun realized he had a choice to make - a risky one, but perhaps the only chance he would have. Very subtly (or at least he hoped), he probed the two with the Force, seeking some form of confirmation that they were these Seers that his Master was looking for. Their signatures were faint due to his inexperience, but it was the best he could work with in the moment.

Frightened blue eyes slid from the young woman who was eager to tend to his wounds, to the other woman who seemed intent on returning to the surface. It was clear to him who would be the easier target, and he coldly chose which one would live…and which one would die.

With a lightning fast jab, Veradun expertly cracked his pointy elbow against the left temple of the woman in front of him, and felt her go limp as she dropped unceremoniously to the dirty ground, unconscious. His facade dropped, the cold and ruthless side of Veradun now revealed itself as he unleashed a tide of the Force against the other remaining woman, slamming her against the shelves behind her with a sickening crack as an evil gleam shone in his eyes.

He held her here with a tight, invisible hold and made a silent approach. Veradun tilted his head as he examined the woman, and a faint half smirk curled upon his face. “...you would have made a decent Sith, with how cruel you are. Such a shame that your talents were wasted here.” he said in a low voice to her as he took a closer step, and with a flick of his right wrist, brough the hidden dagger into his hand.

A faint golden glow colored the icy blue of his eyes as a wicked sneer curled upon his face. “But I have no use for a servant like you.”

The dagger flashed in the low light, and crimson blood splattered across him and the shelves and the floor around them. He held the woman’s gaze with his own, a sickening expression of satisfaction upon his face as she bled out and died in front of him. When he was sure that she was dead, he let the body drop to the ground before he returned his dagger to its hidden place and turned his attention to the unconscious woman nearby.

The Nagai moved quickly, gagging and securing the young woman, pausing briefly in his task when he felt the unmistakable presence of his Master nearby - like a homing beacon for him. Without wasting any more time, Veradun crouched and slung the unconscious form over his shoulder and then stood up and slipped once more into the shadows, making his way back towards the surface through the maze of tunnels by memory alone.

Once back at the surface, Veradun beheld total chaos. Death and suffering filled the rain soaked landscape all around him: Sith and rebel, royal and Jedi forces alike clashing in a battle that would have only one true outcome. The young Nagai felt a sense of urgency; he needed to get his captive to his Master as quickly as possible, and he used Darth Nefaron’s unmistakable vile presence within the Force as a tether to help guide him through the chaos. He found his Master by the Palace entrance, and though the boy wanted to puff up in pride and flaunt his success before the Dark Lord - he knew better. His approach was quiet, his posture that of respectful fear.

“Master.” Veradun said quietly, knowing that the Dark Lord would hear him even over the din of battle. “I bring you a gift.” He murmured further as he dropped the bound and gagged figure at the feet of Darth Nefaron, before he sank to a knee himself, his head bowed in a posture of submission expected of him. Oh, how he hated it.

Pale blue eyes landed upon the female figure on the ground before him; he felt nothing for deceiving her, playing upon her good nature, and murdering her companion in cold blood. He just hoped and prayed that this girl was, indeed, a Seer.

If she wasn’t… Well, he didn’t have to think too hard on what would happen to him, if he had failed his mission.


I had permission from Eurydice's writer to knock her character out for this post

 

[Marcel von Ascania]

BREACHING THE CAPITAL

Allies | Darth Nefaron Cin | Serina Calis | Darth Malum of House Marr | Ukatian Rebels | Sith
Enemies | Corazona von Ascania | Jalen Kai'el | Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
??? | Dominick von Ascania
​

Let it not be said that if Marcel had his choice, he would've been sat in a comfortable chair as he watched the battle unfold from he safety of a high tower. Nobility, he believed, lived in the mind. Not just the blood.

"Forward," he bellowed as they came upon the innermost layer of defense near Axilla's gates. "Push to the city!"

A great swing of his blade took out two soldiers at once. Another attempted to enter the Viscount's blind spot and jab at him with a spear. Marcel twisted his torso – a movement so quick and harsh that it typically would've thrown out his back – and using the guard of his sword, wrenched the offending spear from its wielder. The tip of his blade was soon buried in the soldier's neck, slipping between the gaps between his collar and helmet.

Marcel was often thought to be made of stone. Very little stirred the Viscount's expression, and he'd long since grown cold to the sounds of death and dying. Now, his teeth were bared and clenched, his beady eyes blazing as the lines of his weathered face creased to form a mask of righteous fury. The loyalist soldier choked on his own blood, and his desperate gurgles were just another pleasant note in the symphony of rebellion that erupted around Marcel.

He'd sired nine children, possibly more, but this – this – was his greatest accomplishment.

Marcel drank in the cacophony around him like a fine wine. His sword did, too. Each splatter of crimson against the Sith runes stamped into the blade's fuller made their glow intensify.

The pitched whine of a laser weapon pierced his attention, and Marcel would turn his steed to see the barrel of a canon poking from the gates. Several beams of energy lanced towards him, but he sped his mount away just before they'd struck. His men were not so lucky; those who hadn't had the time to move were strewn about a smoldering crater.

The Viscount's jaw worked beneath his skin. Then, he spurred his mount forward. With a guttural war cry, he charged directly toward the artillery. The equipment employed by the Ukatian military was lightyears behind what they used in the core, so the canon would not be able to fire upon him again just yet.

Soldiers hesitated, then scrambled out of the way of his blitz. When they came upon the cannon, Marcel tugged on the reins of his horse and sent her into a leap. He leaned to the side, and one sweeping swing of his enchanted vibrosword cleaved its barrel in two. Another swing pierced its housing, causing a shower of sparks.

Marcel paid no mind to the little points of heat and pain against his face. There was still more work to be done, but for now he would let this temporary victory carry him the rest of the way as the rebel army breached the capital.

 

[King Horace]

"Your Majesty," he addressed Horace in a strained rasp. "If we are to begin the ritual, it must be done now."

Horace looked at the anxious Seer. Shit. He'd forgotten all about their protection ritual. Mostly because he doubted it would work. These Seers weren't like the ones he'd employed years ago to ensure his victory in battle. Though they fancied themselves spies they were, for the most part, harmless little monks and nuns who peered into minds, extracted tidbits of gossip, and called it intelligence. They couldn't even stand up to a Jedi, let alone a Sith. How unlike the Magi, who had sacrificed an entire village to feed their power...

Seers and Magi, the Church and the old gods... He didn't give a damn about religion except as far as their mystic arts could aid him. Yet the ones who had proven themselves most useful, the Magi, had seemingly disappeared, dying out or perhaps going into hiding. Every now and then rumors would reach him of a rogue Magus somewhere in the provinces, sacrificing babies and seducing young girls into witchcraft. But the days when he could call upon a coven of the devils to do his bidding for a mere pittance of coin and the joys of committing evil acts? Those were long gone, apparently.

With a grunt, he piloted his hoverchair toward the door, making sure to grab his wine goblet on his way out.

The dungeons were appropriately dark and dank. Rather than the electric lighting which had become commonplace throughout the rest of the Palace, down there it was still torches and candles, the flames casting shadows that flickered as they burned. Meverell walked ahead of the king, while the royal bodyguards followed behind.

Horace was surprised to find Lady Luciana von Ascania in the depths. Meverell, however, was not. "The Seers will be performing a protection ritual here," the chief minister explained to her in a low voice as the Seers made their final preparations. "Wait until it is over to speak with His Majesty. Remember what I told you earlier. You must be forthright, and appeal to his sense of loyalty..."

The king watched as the two conversed, raising an eyebrow, but didn't take too much notice. His focus shifted to the Seers as they began the ritual, chanting and anointing him with blessed oil...

Spoiler: TL;DR

King Horace has moved from the feast hall to the dungeons underneath the Palace, where the Seers are performing a protection ritual. He is accompanied by his royal bodyguards and his chief minister, Lord Meverell, all of whom are potential NFU combatants.

Eurydice Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia
Maybe?: Veradun Sharr​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Ashley Nevermore | Darth Kentarch | Drystan Creed | Nos Voros | Razmir Tezhyn | Braze | Azurine Varek | Kaila Irons | Quinn Varanin | Tamsin Graves | Everest Vale | CT-312 | Kirie

All across the festival grounds – that was, the district surrounding the palace – darkly garbed servants slipped through the chaos with purpose. They carried unmarked metallic canisters, setting them onto strategic points throughout the city. These containers were nestled into the broken brickwork of busy street corners, rolled beneath booths, and dropped onto shop canopies. They were lodged into the splintered slats of barrels of drink and hidden at the gray pedestals of statues.

The canisters – and those who distributed them - were anywhere the people were. Perhaps they would go unnoticed in the turmoil, but to a keen observer able to track them through the pandemonium, they could be caught.

And the little metal cylinders strewn about the capital? In the Force, they radiated something sinister.

---

Allies | Jalen Kai'el | Makko Vyres | Aris Noble | Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
Enemies | Darth Nefaron | Marcel von Ascania | Serina Calis | Cin | Dominick von Ascania ??? | Rebel Army | Sith

A warm breeze rolled against Cora's back. Then, he spoke.

"There's a hole in your father's presence," Jalen noted. "A part of him has... changed. Or grown dormant. I'm not sure what his accord with the Sith was, but he... certainly gave something up to get it."

Her lips firmed into a harsh line as she cleaved the head of another Sithspawn from its shoulders. Even beheaded, it still moved with blind fury. A pair of surgically placed jabs severed the connection between ligaments and nerves. The beast dropped to the ground, twitching and lurching violently in the mud.

The Flesh Reaver was rendered unable to move, unable to harm. In place of landing the killing blow, Cora turned away from her quarry. It was a distraction. One that only kept her from her father, from ending this all before the unthinkable could happen.

"I felt it," her voice was low, almost like a whispered confession. The knight glanced over her shoulder, to the headless sithspawn as it trembled against the ground. Her father had always been a hard man, an unkind man, but he was not a monster. Not in the way the Sith were. Now, she was not so sure.

Cora turned on her heel. With one sharp motion, burning blue plasma would pierce the heart of the Flesh Reaver. The beast seized, then went still.

Father would be forced to negotiate. He would listen. She would see to it.

"I'm going after him," she announced while mounting her horse. Cora looked to Jalen. "Come with me."

Though her tone was stern, it was phrased more as a request to a friend. The sithspawn in their area had largely been removed, and Jedi among the battlefield could take care of the rest. She had been goaded into drawing her blade far sooner than she'd imagined.

The reins of her mount were pulled, turning the mare about face, and they dashed back towards the city. Cora noted that the fire that had once lit the darkened skies and engulfed soldiers had halted, but the great creature and its rider still circled above.

Makko was there, too. Racing above the storm clouds, drawing the beast away. Her heart thundered in her chest, a shared beat between them.

 

[Serina Calis]

"And when he opened the second seal, a dragon went forth. It was as black as the void, and its rider was granted permission to take away peace from the earth and to make men slay one another." - Legend of House Calis

Tag - Cin , Makko Vyres



The wind howled, thrashed, shrieked.

Not from the storm—not anymore. That, she had conquered.

No, the sky now roared from the speed of the chase, the spiral of talons and turbines, the dance of death that played out like a duelist's waltz between two impossibilities: a Jedi astride a machine of light and speed, and a dragon, ancient and writhing with joy, his laughter hidden in fire and ash.

And Serina—Serina stood atop that beast, balanced in perfect posture, her armor wreathed in streaks of power, her cape fluttering behind her like the standard of a conquering tyrant. The wind tugged at her, but she bent no further than a statue. Her eyes tracked the drones as they zipped through the storm-slick air, intelligent little weapons lashed in phrik and fury.

They struck.

And she allowed them to.

Let the dragon test her. Let him see. She didn't need his pity. She didn't need his protection. Her body twisted, a ballet of impossible movement as one phrik-laced whip sang toward her midsection. Her gauntlet met it mid-swing, crackling with violet power. She gritted her teeth as the impact surged through her bones, sparks and smoke shattering into the night. The other whip lashed across her shoulder, slicing through magenta-threaded fabric and biting into her skin—but Serina laughed.

Pain was nothing.

Pain was a message.

And her body knew how to reply.

She leapt.

Not from weakness. But from purpose.

A perfectly calculated arc, spun in the air with the elegance of a falcon and the weight of a guillotine. She landed low on the dragon's back again, crouched, hand pressed to molten scales for stability. Sparks danced from her bleeding shoulder—but her eyes never left Makko.

"Clever," she murmured to the wind.

Her respect for the Jedi grew.

He flew like a serpent, darting and diving through the terrain, his movements guided by the Force—fluid, reactive, fearless. She watched as he slipped through trees with inches to spare, his mind moving faster than his body, his will shaping the trajectory of war itself.

Serina knew what it meant to do the impossible.

She savored watching someone else attempt it.

Then, she felt it. Not in her own thoughts—but in the beast's. The subtle shifting. The dragon, drunk on sky and violence, had reached for the pilot's mind. Not a sophisticated strike, no—but primal. Pure.

Serina smiled, slow and cruel.

"Good," she whispered into the wind, a private benediction to the beast beneath her. "Claw at him. Distract him. I will break him."

Makko was strong. She could feel his walls resisting the psychic talons. A trained mind. Disciplined. Focused. Admirable.

But even focused minds could crack under enough pressure.

Serina extended her hand, lightning writhing across her fingertips like serpents awaiting her command—but she didn't strike. Not yet.

Instead, she spoke. Let her voice be the third weapon against him. Let the words gnaw where steel and sorcery could not.

"You fly well, Jedi. You think fast. You fight like someone with purpose."

The wind carried her voice. Or perhaps the Force did.

"But what is that purpose? What do you think you are preserving? Ukatis? A throne of pigs? A dying world gasping under the heel of lesser men?"

"You want to free it? Then burn it. Or flee. But do not insult me with hope."

She rose to full height again on the dragon's back, defiant against the gale.

"You are not the worst your Order has sent against me. But you are still… naïve. You think courage will matter when this world is ash."

She narrowed her eyes, her hand sparking brighter.

"Run faster, Jedi. Or fall."

And she let the lightning go.

Not toward him—yet.

She aimed at the sky above his path, a blinding fork of violet power that tore the clouds open like a wound. Not an attack. A warning.

A reminder.

That the dragon was not the only storm in pursuit.

 

[Jonyna Si]

​

TAG: Lirka Ka
Battle Med Booster: Shan

"So that's what you are then. A murderer. A monster. A beast to be slain. Then let me cleave your head from your shoulders, if you don't mind. I'll do the galaxy a favor."

Rather than run, Jonyna planted her feet. In a blur of motion, her sword Sally sliced at the air between them as Lirka closed the distance. Again, and again, a series of sonic booms were sent towards the charging titan of metal. Jonyna had fought foes clad in Tal'beskar before. She knew it's properties at this point. And she knew how to beat it. Sonic waves tuned to the harmonic frequency of the armor, striking it again and again.

Jonyna waited. Waited for the beast to close distance. The monster wanted to brawl. The monster wanted to barrel down on her.

Jonyna intended to use that.

Suddenly, she pulled her blade back, before trusting it, and her lightsaber forward into the beast's chestplate.

And then a third blade. A ghostfire blade from her tail, intent on doing what Jonyna had all those years ago to an Imperial moff that's bones now lay at the roots of her home-tree.

Skewer the bastard.