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

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
Madrona A’Mia King Horace Corazona von Ascania Veradun Sharr Eurydice

Sibylla couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted in the air, though she couldn't quite place why. Lysander's posture had changed, subtle yet unmistakable, as if something inside him had tensed, something deeper than the chaos of the explosion and the dust swirling through the streets. She didn't need to be Force-sensitive to sense it; it was in the way his jaw tightened and the flicker of something in his eyes.

There was a stillness in him now that made her uneasy, as if whatever was happening was no longer just about their immediate danger. It was in the urgency in his movements, the way he pulled her along with a force that felt more protective than it ever had before. The weight of the situation an what he told her was sinking in; this wasn't just another random attack.

Then again, perhaps she wasn't really surprised. Sibylla was aware of how nobility and political leaders craft any media released regarding a world and the state of affairs. She had researched what she could find regarding Ukatis, and the results were enough to be familiar to read between the lines: the von Ascania name wasn't just of any House on Ukatis. It had been tied to the throne many a time before. When Sibylla interweaved the bits and details Lysander gave regarding his family and the present political situation from House Abrantes's intelligence network, Sibylla, from a pragmatic perspective, understood well what turmoil this could imply.

So while the sound of the explosion still rang in her ears and the cries of wounded lay to the left and the right, Sibylla rushed beside Lysander.. Whatever he was hiding, whatever he wasn't telling her, it was becoming more evident in his every action, as if something had been set in motion, something they couldn't stop.

"Are you or your family in danger?" her mind went straight to the sort of political strife the Royal House of Naboo tried their best to keep under wraps but was well aware of how backstabbing and political they could become. Her great grandfather had been almost poisoned by a member of House Vayd and House Veruna was one that didn't dare not keep tabs on. The Royal House of Naboo may have been naive at one point; not any longer.

Either way, Sibylla didn't expect an answer, not immediately, but the question had to be asked. They were too far into this to pretend everything was normal.

Her pulse quickened as they reached the side entrance, and before Sibylla could think, Lysander's wrist moved.

The Palace Guard in front of them collapsed with a sickening crack, and Sibylla's eyes went wide. A sharp intake of breath and her nostrils flared as the echo of that action reverberated through her bones.

That hadn't been in defense but on the offensive.

That act confirmed it, then. Lysander knew exactly what was going on -- and perhaps Sibylla did as well.

They have many names for it. What one uses depends on one's perspective.

Rebellion. Revolution. Insurrection.

She stole a glance at Lysander as they moved past the fallen guard. His face was set, determined, but the weight in his gaze was heavy. She wanted to ask again, but the look in his eyes told her there was no time for questions now. They were in the thick of it.

But the questions in her mind stirred still; at the public knowledge of a member of the von Ascania family who had married the former Crown Prince. And how the latter had died.

Could this be part of it?

They moved swiftly, and Sibylla found herself barely able to keep up with his pace as they navigated through the labyrinth of kitchens and back hallways. The faint sound of muffled screams filtered through the walls, distant but urgent. Faint, too, was the smell of smoke, mixed with the sharper scent of blood and charred blaster marks. The air was thick with panic.

As they emerged into the grand corridor leading to the buffet hall, the scene that unfolded before her took her breath away. The banquet hall, once filled with laughter, music, and the soft clink of crystal glasses, was now a nightmare. Tables were overturned, half eaten plates of food scattered on the floor. Some of the guests had collapsed where they stood, others fled in terror, their footsteps frantic as they scrambled for the nearest exit.

The once polished marble floors were streaked with the chaos of the moment, smears of blood and debris scattered in every direction. A distant cry rang out, followed by the hurried shuffle of feet as guests desperately tried to escape the unfolding chaos.

But there was one thing that stood out among the chaos. The king.

He was nowhere to be seen.

 

[Jalen Kai'el]

Ukatis
Allies: Corazona von Ascania , Aris Noble , Makko Vyres , Phoebe Winsloe
Enemies: Marcel von Ascania , Cin , Darth Nefaron , Serina Calis
???: Dominick von Ascania

Delta-7, Lothal Jedi Temple​

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

"Right."

Jalen cast off the last of the sithspawn and returned to his steed, following after Corazona as she gave chase to her father. More and more he couldn't help but feel frustrated at the entire matter. Good people were fighting and dying for lies. They were making another Horace and they didn't even realize it. It spoke to their desperation for change that they'd jump to such an extreme, but they truly had no idea what it was they were bringing to Ukatis. That dark nexus had been bad enough.

The young Knight followed. He didn't utter a word. He simply committed his power to providing Cora with safe passage through the battlefield.

More and more the necessary end of all of this seemed to call for a taller order...

 

[Lirka Ka]

Beneath her helmet, Lirka grinned wide. Mockery oozing from her helmet

“Please. You make it sound like a bad thing.”

The most important part of the Dark Path? Owning up to it. The convention would say a monster is bad, a murderer even worse. But what was Primordial Dark but a defiance of the conventional for the sake of the strong? She accepted the challenge from Jonyna Si with glee, letting the words hum out in pleased defiance.

“Were it so easy, Jedi.”

Lirka’s barreling advance was slowed none, the plundered metal of her breastplate may have whined against the sonic bombardment but such a thing was a trophy, a relic of a bygone age of death unbound. Her mechanisms whirred, pushing the powersuit further. Lirka saw it, the draw of the blade.

She sped up.

Let them think she was just another brute, let them doubt the true horror of Lirka Ka. The Jedi’s blades found purchase, sliding into the slick foulness that laid beneath those dark plates. A viscous black goop oozed from wounds that should have cauterized, even skewered Lirka seemed undaunted.

Giddy, even, she pushed forward to send the weapons deeper into her form as, whatever chemical foulness it was, began to thicken around the weapons.

Oh yes, Lirka Ka was most certainly a monster.

In simple brutish savagery, she brought back her head to slam it down at the Cathar’s. The gladiator’s kiss. Lirka wore a helmet for a reason after all, and they weren’t all melodramatic ones. Improvised weaponry was one of her preferred ones even. Glee ran through her monstrous form, oh how she loved this little trick. Kaila Irons has tried much the same thing in their bout on D’Qar, and it had ended much the same.

Old dogs and their tricks.

​

 

[Eurydice]

ROYAL PALACE

Allies | King Horace | Lord Meverell | Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
Enemies | Veradun Sharr | Lysander von Ascania | Sibylla Abrantes | Madrona A’Mia | Darth Nefaron | Ukatian Rebels | Sith​

Eurydice was, in several aspects, not an ideal Seer. Yet, it was her cowardice which saved her from a grisly death.

Pressure rippled across her skull when Veradun jabbed his elbow into her temple. Crouched in front of the boy, she wavered on her knees, dazed and confused. Pain only began to bloom as her vision went hazy, imparting a sharp throb before all sensation faded into darkness.

Eurydice hit the ground before she'd had a chance to tend to his wounds. Fortunately, she would not be conscious to witness the ruthless slaughter of her companion.

The wooden shelves cracked and split beneath Indis as she was propelled forward by an unseen force. A broken gasp rattled from the back of her throat as her ribs were snared in an invisible hold.

"Y-you…" she managed to rasp, wide eyed with the sudden realization of what he was. Not a Jedi - no, they had their own brand of hubris but were not known for this sort of deception and murder.

He was an invader.

Blood leaked from either corner of Indis' trembling lips as Veradun approached. His steps were slow and measured, like a predator stalking his prey. The lines of her face were creased in frustration, but there was a true, visceral fear to her expression.

"A…Si…Sith-"

She tried to struggle, tugging at the invisible bonds, but they held fast. Then, she spat in the young Nagai's face.

Not a moment later did his blade draw across her neck, spraying blood over the damaged shelves and open jug of ritual oil at her feet.

The light faded from Indis' eyes, but fear still lingered.

---

There was an intensity to Father Erasmus as he directed the Seers around him in preparations for the ritual. Four of them had set to work drawing a series of concentric arcane circles over the cobbled floor with white chalk. Using dark soot, they added occult symbols and runes to the design.

"Where are Sister Indis and Sister Eurydice?" he demanded of the nearest cloaked figure. "They should be back by now."

The Seer hesitated. "I am not certain, Father. I will go and find them-"

"No," Erasmus croaked, visibly agitated. "We cannot wait any longer. The enemy has breached the palace." He sent a critical glance toward Luciana as she tucked herself into the nearest corner, trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible. "You will take their place in the ritual, Brother
Elias."

It wasn't long before the King arrived, accompanied by Meverell and his retinue of bodyguards.

King Horace was directed to stand - or pilot his hoverchair - directly into the center of the chalk circle. Seers were quick to remove his shirt and spread an oddly perfumed oil over his arms, torso, and face. Father Erasmus and Elias both stepped into the circle, facing Horace. The remaining Seers closed the gap, their hoods drawn as they circled the trio. With hands clasped around sticks of incense, they began chanting.

Erasmus was chanting too, his voice rasping like the broken strings of a violin. The lines of chalk and soot beneath Horace began to glow from the outside in, inching slowly towards the obese King.

The chanting increased in both volume and urgency, the Seers lifting their voices gradually from a whisper to a chorus of frantic shouts. As the gleam of the arcane circle reached Horace, Erasmus drew a blade from his sleeve, and slit Elias' throat.

The young Seer gasped and choked on his own blood as he fell to the ground, and a bright flash of light, tinged with a dark inky static, engulfed the King.

 

[Makko Vyres]

UKATIS

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

Allies: Corazona von Ascania
Enemies: Cin Serina Calis

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.

Makko was afforded a close up look at his adversary. She was fast, although trying to remain agile on the back of a flying dragon was difficult enough to allow his drones to score some minor damage.

The probes were unable to match the velocity of the bike, or the dragon roaring in its wake. They fell away. Pieces off the board. They had served some purpose in a desperate struggle. Makko had given away more for smaller rewards.

He had tied himself to the fate of Ukatis, but was it worth this? The leaders of the planet had shown nothing but casual cruelty to his love. Cora's own father had tried to strike her as she risked her life to save them from a mandalorian assault. He now started the rebellion to plunge the world into darkness.

"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.

Makko hadn't even realised that the dragon was assaulting his mind and twisting his thoughts. That was the insidious nature of the dark side of the Force.

The words from the sith - like nails hammered into his mind - at least made him aware of the attack. Desperation clawed at him. It was like the teeth of the dragon itself, rising up to bite at his throat.

A flash of light focussed his mind, reminding him that he was not only overpowered. He was outnumbered.

He consciously bolstered his mind, but the true message was clear. He couldn't lead them on forever. He couldn't take on a whole dragon head on. They were forcing his hand.

That did not mean they would know what cards he would play. Makko had become quite adept at card games. A great Jedi had taught him the Suerton trick of manipulating odds with the Force.


Makko drew back on the handles. He pressed his foot down. The engines flared bright as he pulled into a climb as steep as the bike could manage. He would force the dragon to put every ounce of strength into the climb.

Makko let go of the bike.

The adaptive camouflage of his armour broke up his silhouette against the night sky. The engines burned brightly behind him.

He focussed on the Force. He played his hand. He rolled the dice. He twisted luck in his favour as he fell.

Makko could taste the electricity in the air. His armour featured several layers of mesh underlay. They were designed to fool scanners, but the principle was the same. A mesh of conductive material protected him from a surge in an electromagnetic field outside the mesh as well as stopping his own electromagnetic signature giving his position away. It would melt under high current, but it would give him a small window.

He didn't aim for the dragon as he dropped. He trusted the Force, kept his feet together and aimed to kick the sith square in the chest with his full weight and send her tumbling down the dragon's back.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Wearing: Floral robes, necklace of a dozen farrus spheres,
a silk bag with only a few Peeping Daisies remaining.
Allies: Sith Order | Lysander von Ascania | Darth Nefaron
Target: King Horace
Frenemy: Corazona von Ascania
New Student or Eventual Loose End: Sibylla Abrantes

Moving Toward: Dungeon
Soundtrack

After composing her visage into something respectable for a public appearance, the neti shrugged off her outermost cloak and adjusted the simple robes she wore beneath. With subtle touches of alchemy she made a circlet of flowers bloom atop her head, and wove a simple bodice about herself to make the robes more formal looking and shapely. Stowing the Sithspawn that had followed her to that point, A'Mia made her way out from the cover of a darkened hallway, out amongst the revelers as if she belonged there. Her face was still altered to be less recognizable and the mushroom spores wafting around her would continue to assist in remaining part of the backdrop.

For a short while, she behaved as if a guest of the party, swaying in with the dancing attendees and getting a lay of the land. Untill all the Hells broke loose and she used the panic to cover more covert killings. The stab of a poisoned needle here, the frothing mouthed panic of someone that sipped from a goblet she'd poured power into a dozen minutes before, and of course once the ruse was up, a straight forward whirl of phrik blades to cut down yet more of the crowd.

It wasn't long before she felt the presence of Sibylla Abrantes who had been accompanying Lysander von Ascania and though she did not sense him, she assumed he might be with her. The botanical woman stowed her weapons and slunk into a decorative alcove before the pair turned the corner. The woman waited for the young humans to assess the room and turn a bit away from where she'd crept before making her way back out into the room.

Her lovely, nymph-like face had returned to a familiar visage and remained neutral as she approached with red-brown palms open to show (falsely) that she was unarmed. No telling what Lysander's date might do if she was skittish. Despite her efforts to not startle the girl, A'Mia cared only to address the Sith ascendant.

"We've work to do, he has gone below. Are you ready?"

Taking lead ahead of the youth, A'Mia crept sideways along the walls as they made their way downward. Her shapeshifting and many limbed nature allowed her to scout ahead while not totally obstructing the view of those she led. This was a teaching opportunity and she would be remiss if she denied Lysander his moment to learn, shine, and grow. Quietly dispatching a few unfortunate guards along the way, they eventually reached the ritual chamber and A'Mia slowed their progress to take in details of the room. She didn't wait overlong however, lest they get sensed or spotted and be denied the advantage of some surprise.

This was Lysander's vendetta, his mission and she was merely acting as proctor for a field test. So she waved him ahead and remained lurking in the shadows, reading to spring into action as need be. Her uncanny eyes watched as they passed, giving Sibylla the impression that the arboreal woman was looking through her. The room ahead sounded of chanting and the sharp bite of iron from spilled lifeblood wafted through the air.

 

[Cassvar]

Cassvar's blade fell indiscriminately. One moment she killed soldiers bearing one heraldry, the next she faced down soldiers bearing entirely different colours. It became difficult to tell which belonged to what army as the foes in her path died to her blade. The greatsword she wielded, a wide blade of sturdy stone with edges that had dulled over years of use, didn't so much cut her foes down as it bludgeoned them into crumpled, red-painted heaps of metal in the mud.

A soldier jumped in her path. He was drunk on adrenaline and barely cognizant of the path of death her opponent had wrought, striking her armour with his spear with all he had. The blade pierced the breastplate's metal, but didn't sink any deeper than that. The spear's haft splintered from the impact of the strike, and when the soldier pulled it back, the blade and a short stump of the wood broke loose.

Cassvar dropped her blade diagonally at the soldier and he died like all the others. Another step toward her true target. She could see the gold-haired demon riding her beast with blue blade in hand, flanked by her followers. There were so many of them to destroy on this battlefield. She'd been right to come to this place.

A familiar sound flashed nearby. The sharp hum of a plasma blade, much closer than the gold-haired demon and her entourage. Had she scattered more agents among the soldiers?

Cassvar turned to investigate, shoving past a group of men bearing the heraldry of the rebels, and spotted a short warrior bearing a crackling purple blade. If she could, she would have yelled a challenge. As it were, she could only swing to kill the soldier facing him down and take his place.

Her cape had lost all semblance to the white colour it held before the blood and mud of the battlefield got to it. She leveled pure-white eyes at the warrior, watching from beneath a dented golden helmet that was too intricate to be used on a battlefield.

Silently, she raised her greatsword, a stiff and awkward motion, and let it fall with blinding speed right at the warrior.

Corin Trenor

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Allies: Veradun Sharr Marcel von Ascania Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia || Sith and Rebel Forces
Enemies: Corazona von Ascania King Horace Eurydice Jalen Kai'el || Jedi and Loyalist FOrces

Once more, Veradun had proven himself.

"You have done well, My Apprentice. What a gift you have brought me!"
​

The chaos of battle raged on around the pair of Sith and the newest addition to Nefaron's servants. While many schemes were at play on Ukatis, Nefaron needed only this one to succeed. The Seers, the mysterious group that served the Royal House of Ukatis, had long been treated as mere tricksters whose predictions offered little in the way of genuine foresight. But the Corpse Lord knew this to be a lie, for the girl bound before him radiated in the force, her power utterly unique when compared to other practitioners of both light and dark. In this era of chaos and change, one who could part the curtain to the future and reveal coming events would be a powerful tool indeed, one Nefaron would guard jealously in the coming months.

Leaning down to inspect the girl, the Corpse Lord's lipless maw turned into a smile, his cruelty and eagerness to spread terror in his awake apparent even in his gaze.

"You, my dear, will bear witness to the fall of your homeworld. When we are done with this place, I will have scared its people for generations to come. One day, you will come to see the necessity of what we are doing here, but first, we must begin your proper education."

As the Corpse Lord toyed with his newest servant, Rebel forces were breaking through the Loyalist lines and were flooding into the city. Groups were already arriving to join those assaulting the Royal Palace, soldiers driven by the bloodiest spilled past the Sith into the heart of the false king's realm.

"Come, Apprentice. Bring our newest servant along with us, we shall allow her to witness the culmination of our great effort."

Before they pushed deeper into the palace, Nefaron carefully removed the gag from the Seer and allowed her to speak once more.

"Now, that is better."

It truly was. Better to hear her scream of course.

The palace was a disaster. Bodies were strewn about the halls, blood-soaked tapestries and banners had been cast down, and the corrupted banner of House von Ascania was hoisted by the servants of the Rebel Houses to take their place. Yet there was not as much resistance as he could expect, especially as they reached the throne room to find it devoid of the fallen monarch or his retinue. For a brief moment, anger crossed the Corpse Lord's features as he turned to one of the Rebel soldiers who had stormed the upper levels of the palace.

"Where is the false King?"

"U-Unknown, my Lord, we are sweeping the palace now. He cannot escape; our forces control the palace grounds."

Nefaron pondered on this. If the false King did mange to escape, he had been far more clever than the Corpse Lord had given him credit for. No, there must be some other explanation. Regardless, others desired the King’s blood, and all that mattered was that they had arrived in the throne room. To that point, Nefaron turned his gaze to the throne of all Ukatis, a gaudy display of wealth and ancient tradition that so many had died for. How fitting it was that he would stride over to it and take his place upon it. His power was beyond any mere monarch, yet to look out over the ruin that was the throne room filled him with the greatest joy.

“Come, Apprentice. Bring our friend, it will be from this pathetic excuse of a palace that we witness the final stage of our plan."

Nefaron reached for the communicator fixed to his belt, the few commands he keyed in brought up one of the same cultists who had been dispatched across the city.

"My Master, we have done as you commanded. All is prepared."

"Good. Is the path clear for our new King?"

"Yes, Master, he is on route to the Palace. His way should be clear."

"Then you have served me well. The time has come to unleash my wrath upon this city."

"As you command, Darth Nefaron."

With this last order carried out, Nefaron glanced at his Apprentice.

"No matter what is to come, do not interfere with what is about to happen. It is the will of the Dark Side that our puppet is to confront his daughter in this hall, and I would not have such an event spoiled. Am I understood, Apprentice?"

Reign of Terror Tags: Cassvar Makko Vyres Lirka Ka Cin Serina Calis Nodak Jonyna Si Corin Trenor Valery Noble Razh Sho Darth Malum of House Marr Jenn Kryze Tamsin Graves Shan Quinn Varanin Sibylla Abrantes Mykel Dawson Kirie CT-312 Kaila Irons Ellissanthia Phoebe Winsloe Azurine Varek Aris Noble Lyssa Clauda Braze ​

Across the city, Nefaron's servants carried out what was to be their final task. Canisters activated, a foul, orange-tinged gas began to spill from the containers and into the turbulent, stormy air. The Cultists were the first to succumb, consumed by the terrors of their own minds as they suffered a fate worse than death.

This was the fate Nefaron wished for every world. Through the use of his toxin, he would use the very fear that every living being suppressed in their minds against them. Every horrific, monstrous thing they had buried so deeply would come to life. The poor fool who breathed the Toxin in would need to be powerful indeed if they were to overcome the phantoms of the mind, and unfortunately, the remaining civilian population within the city was not capable of such a thing.

They would die in terror. Families would be torn apart by their own madness.

All Darth Nefaron could do was laugh. This is what he wanted all along.

Fear.​

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Lirka Ka Darth Nefaron

Straight through, and yet the beast kept coming, smashing it's head right into her nose.

To any other combatant, that would mean a concussion, and a retreat.

To Jonyna, it only meant a broken nose and a snarl, as blood ran down her face. This one needed to be put down, and she knew better than to try and twist the proverbial dagger to do any more damage. Instead, a flash in her eyes as she launched a telekinetic blast to try and push the beast off of her.

Then she saw it. The unleashing of toxin gas, headed for the city. She couldn't guarantee a focus on it long enough with Lirka on her ass, so she did something she often relied on back in her day as a rebel knight.

She asked the Force a blind promise.

Suddenly, the stormclouds above began to spin, as the wind stirred above Nefaron's troops. The roar of thunder filled the air, as a twister spun up, leading the gas away from the city, high into the exosphere, shifting it west to the uninhabited lands.

 

[Cin]

UKATIS
THE BURNING
- Serina Calis - Makko Vyres -​

The Dragon's eyes continued to glow like superheated metal as he tried to pry into his opponent's mind. He was mildly successful, tasting the smallest bit of victory as he felt his influence leak into the Jedi's thoughts. It was the perfect moment for his rider- strike him now, while he was distracted...

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

Serina used the opportunity to attempt manipulation in the middle of their pursuit. Building him up, in preparation for breaking his spirit. The Dragon didn't vocalize his displeasure at her decision, but his mood did seem to cool slightly from the fiery fervor he'd shown before. Why destroy his morale when they could grind his bones into mush? Why fire a warning shot, when a killing blow would suffice?

He didn't have much time to ponder it before the Jedi continued his bold flight, climbing steeply into the air. The Dragon flexed his wide wings, growling in strain as he flapped hard to give chase. Each pump of his wings threw Dragon and rider further into the air, hot on the trail of the speeder. It had begun to slow, as the engine was pushed to it's limits.

An opportunity.

Cin opened his wide mouth. Dry, desert air escaped from behind serrated teeth. The air suddenly sizzled with heat. Then, he released a torrent of dragonfire up like a fountain, attempting to catch the speeder, and end their little chase once and for all. No words. No chipping morality. Just fire and slag metal.

So invested was the Dragon in his destruction of the bike... he didn't even stop to consider that the pilot had jumped ship, nor did he consider that his blinding fire would give the man even more cover as he dropped.

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Jaina moved through the city, vibroaxe in hand, cutting down any Sith in her path. She had come to this planet to do relief work, but as was becoming a familiar pattern whenever she tried to help people ruled by oppressive regimes, she ended up donning her devilish Warrior Form and joining their fight.

All things considered, she thought the defense of Ukatis was going well. Axilla was on fire, buildings were collapsing, people were being brutalized, sure. But heads were rolling everywhere she went, and they all had eyes yellowed by Dark Side corruption. That had to count for something, right?

They also appeared to be on the backfoot, which seemed like a good omen. Jaina was emerging from of a narrow alleyway, having just dismembered half a dozen retreating Sith like a deranged lumberjack, when she smelled something strange. The acrid, sickly sweet stench was accompanied by a visible cloud of gas rapidly spreading down the street. Civilians ran past her, fleeing its approach, while those caught in its path fell to the ground in a daze, then began screaming.

Unafraid of whatever toxin this was, Jaina charged into the mist with the intent of saving a mother and child. In the end she was forced to save the child from the mother, who was clawing at her kid's face. "What the fuck are you doing?!" Yanking the woman away, Jaina saw madness in her eyes. Around her, others were similarly affected. They attacked their loved ones and neighbors, scratching and biting, punching and kicking. Or they tore at their own clothes, their hair, their skin... their eyes. The only explanation for their sudden lunacy was the gas.

Someone got a hold of the woman, and though Jaina tried to stun them, another took their place. In a matter of seconds she was swarmed and torn apart by her countrymen. Rather than gawk at the gruesome scene, Jaina grabbed the wailing little boy and booked it down the street. <"Hey, Ukatians, Jedi, Alliance, anybody!"> she shouted into her comlink. <"The Sith have released some kind of neurotoxin on the streets of Axilla! Could really use some help down here, if you've got gas masks!">

She put away her axe for now, instead grabbing the stun pistol from its holster on her belt. The Sith were retreating, not because they were losing, but because they were condemning Axilla to stark raving madness.

Meleena Bloodscrawl​

 

[Meleena Bloodscrawl]

Again and again, Meleena slaughtered the Sith Forces in open battle, a combination of plasma blades, Maser Eyes, fists, feet, stolen weapons, enhanced reflexes, a considerable abuse of the Stealth Systems installed, and sheer determination to create chaos, she soon had entire units fleeing her in a manner disturbingly similar to the the way that Maw Forces had fled from Lynda, Demon of Jedha, otherwise known as Westenra Mina .

As Meleena's biot design was based off of West's technology, it was hardly unreasonable to not get similar results.

It revolted all of her...

Meleena only killed out of necessity...and in this case it was very necessary...

Her Clone Flame Troopers were still alive, albeit some were rather wounded and their armor was damaged. But everything around their immediate vicinity was dead AF. Crisped burnt corpses like a twisted BBQ littered the battlefield when they passed. Some of those corpses had half melted Sith lightsabers. They had gotten The Mustafar Special. Except it wouldn't end with Sidious scooping them up off the beach.

The Pyros were genuinely crazy. When the Flamethrowers ran dry, they started using the Therm Axes they had been equipped with to brutally murder the over confident. Some had fallen back, creating powerful flame barriers with their equipment, using the dead as kindling to keep attackers at bay. They were the closest and thus noticed the effects of the orange gas on Axilla at the edge.

Because all, I repeat, ALL of the Clone Pyros were insane already, and were genetically engineered to be fearless to boot, they felt no more than mild anxiety while much worse effects took hold on City Defenders. They had gone mad, and were tearing themselves apart.

Meleena, who had a torso full of blaster shots and multiple lacerations everywhere, giving her the appearance of a blood soaked beast relentlessly killing, heard the transmission on her com-link.

She couldn't reach Jaina Grayson , but the Clones closest to the city could.

Meleena was too busy butchering; She was utterly surrounded and being attacked from all sides by pissed off imperial forces. She hefted a heavy repeater and mowed a dozen down, even as her Master eyes shot down artillery shells fired on her position.

"Pyros!" She called out as the repeater ran empty and she flew upward with her still functioning repulsor-organs, surveying a bloody, chaotic battlefield.

"It's the toxin used by Darth Nefaron ! He's released it all over the city!" she exclaimed. "Trace that transmission with your equipment! Get to whoever sent it as soon as possible!"

House Bloodscrawl had confronted Nefaron's forces twice now. Finding proper ways to treat the exposure were only partly successful. The toxin samples they had recovered showed evidence of being ingeniously designed to make treatment as difficult as possible. Worse, their bio chemists stated that each example could be tailor made to affect a species and was not limited to one method of distribution. But the base, interestingly, was spice.

Thrice now, Nefaron had created a slaughter. She was horrified by the effects, and not certain if even her Nuetralizer body could fully withstand it.

But she had to try.

Just as soon as she got clear of the forces attacking her.

The Pyros, in a constant state of perpetual crash out, butchered even as they retreated into the city.

"BURN IN HO-LY FI-RE..." they shouted in their carefully controlled retreat back to the way they came. Though out numbered severely, and sporting multiple wounds, they had killed dozens. Possibly hundreds. And the flames they created made it difficult for imperials to advance in their direction, even with vehicles.

Their mission was not something they were used to.

"What do we do about the gas?" One orange armored Clone Pyro asked their unit leader as they came back into a city filled with madness and rapidly spreading toxin.

"The same thing we do every night, Pinky..." The Pyro Leader growled.

"TRY TO BURN THE MOTHERFETHER DOWN." he added loudly. "Two of you test your flamers on some of the Gas Clouds. See if it does anything to break it down. It's just spice at its core, and chemicals. Test it on relatively isolated clouds. And small ones at that. No telling what heat might do but it's worth a shot. The rest of you, drag as many as you can to safety. Knock em out if you have to. Punch em only. I'll look for whoever sent the transmission..."

The other clones nodded and broke off to carry out their orders. Just as Meleena finally broke free of her engagement, using her Repulsor Organs to fly off, and maser eyeing Sith Forces below her on her way back to the city.

Two of the clones found an isolated pockets and started blasting it with flames, the intense heat bathing the airborne chemicals.

The Pyro Leader avoided gangs of the stark raving mad, knocking them out as necessary. He spotted Jaina Grayson running with the kid and waved at her frantically, battling the urge to burn the city to the ground to prevent the Toxin from spreading if possible.

"Hey! OVER HERE!" he shouted to her. "We have a safety area! A building with a ship on top. Follow me!"

 

[Marcel von Ascania]

ROYAL PALACE

Allies | Darth Nefaron | Veradun Sharr | Ukatian Rebels | Sith
Enemies | Corazona von Ascania | Jalen Kai'el | Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
​

Axilla was chaos, and Marcel cut through the crowds with unsettling ease. It mattered not if those in his way were friend, foe, or civilian - they would be mowed down with brutal efficiency.

He had not come to burn the city. No, the Sith had that task well enough in hand. Marcel was heading straight for the King. For the throne. His throne.

They'd just broken through the plaza when a frantic cry came from his right. One of Marcel's men, driven mad by Nefaron's toxin, had succumbed to insanity. As he drew his vibroaxe back, he did not regard his commander with anger, but fear. Wild, formless, unrelenting fear that came from a deep, primal place.

Marcel ducked beneath the swing of the axe with a grimace. He'd asked Nefaron to keep collateral damage to a minimum, but in truth, the viscount's mind had become so twisted that he didn't mind the senseless slaughter of civilians if it was a means to an end.

What he did not enjoy was his own men being caught in the crossfire and slowing him down.

Marcel would ascend the palace steps alone, his sword drawn and bathed in the blood of his own men. It was an unfortunate thing, but it had been necessary in the end. Their madness had not been their fault, but at least their families would find themselves in good station within his new world order.

The entrance hall was strangely empty. Furnishings overturned, decorative portraits hung askew, and several heeled shoes had been left behind in what he imagined to be a mad dash as the palace was attacked. Several well-dressed bodies were strewn about, wounds so fresh that the pools of crimson beneath them still grew.

Ah, the banquet. He'd received an invitation and cast it into the hearth. Many of his compatriots had done the same, but some had still accepted the under the guise of loyalty, only to march with him in the end.

Marcel passed the great doors of the throne room. His face pulled in surprise to see Nefaron, accompanied by his apprentice and a frightened young woman wearing the garb of a Seer. Had he infiltrated that circle, too?

"Darth Nefaron," he snarled. "I do not recall any discussion of releasing a toxin indiscriminately into the populace."

A flutter of fabric caught his eye, and Marcel craned his neck back to watch a pair of soldiers, up on the balcony behind Nefaron as they unfurled a banner. Blue and gold, the crest of House Ascania was draped in the background of the throne.

"Darth Nefaron," he said again. The Viscount's voice came at a low, lethal growl. The Sith was the only thing standing between himself and his throne.

"Move."

The sound of approaching footsteps behind Marcel did not stir him, but a familiar voice did:

"Enough."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

ROYAL PALACE​

Allies | Jalen Kai'el | Makko Vyres | Aris Noble | Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
Enemies | Darth Nefaron | Marcel von Ascania | Veradun Sharr | Rebel Army | Sith

The city had been overtaken by a mass panic. That was to be expected during an invasion, but something felt off. Tendrils of fear began to claw at the borders of Cora's mind; a potent, sheer terror that sought to exploit any cracks in her psyche and drive her into a violent hysteria.

Most of all, it felt manufactured. It felt like New Cov when…

Horrified realization crashed over her like a tidal wave. The comm in her ear buzzed with consistent chatter about the gas.

"Jalen," she said to her companion. "I know who is behind this."

They pushed onward. More and more, Ukatis was beginning to resemble the domed city of Ilic or the pandemonium on Hapes. The storm above them suddenly shifted, its great churning winds beginning to siphon away some of the toxic gas.

"Avoid inhalation of the gas at all costs. It looks as though the weather has turned in our favor, but I repeat, do not come into contact with the gas. It will drive nearly anyone mad."

Now at the steps of the palace, Cora relayed a quick message into the comms channel before dismounting her horse and turning to her fellow knight.

"Jalen, I need you to mitigate as much damage as you can in the city. Ukatian troops won't have rebreathers, and neither will the civilians. Keep your head clear and trust in the Force, and you'll be alright."

Cora glanced from Jalen to the palace's open gate.

"I failed to settle this in the field."

It sounded as though she had more to say, perhaps something resolute. But Cora said nothing more as she ascended the steps of the grand building that had, at one point, been her home for the worst year of her life.

Measured steps carried her past the carnage and into the throne room. Surprise had left her, replaced now by grim understanding as her eyes fell upon the Corpse Lord. His servants faded into the background.

Then, her gazes rested on Marcel.

"Father," she spoke harshly. Her tone was iron wrought, holding the same stern cadence as his own. A flicker of surprise crossed Marcel's eyes as she pointed the tip of her lightsaber past him, towards Nefaron. "He is using you. He is using Ukatis."

The viscount appeared as if he were considering her words. He half turned, keeping Corazona in his line of sight.

"Daughter," he addressed her. The vile anger in his voice had waned, replaced by a cadence that was almost thoughtful. "Change has a cost. That cost, though steep, will be far less than that of Cholmondeley's failed rule. You know this to be true, Corazona. You saw, firsthand, what he was. What his family was."

Marcel let his words settle as he inhaled slowly.

"The Sith," Cora's gaze flicked to Nefaron for a moment, then back to her father. "Care not for the safety of Ukatis. Our home to them is a chess piece, and they'd let the entire board burn if it suited their purpose. Even if you succeed here today, that throne will still belong to an oppressor."

Marcel's expression firmed. "The Sith…are a necessary evil. Without their support, we would not have been able to come as far as we have. But here, they are not the enemy. Our true opposition lies with the crown," he pointed his blade towards the throne. Sith runes, etched into the blade and smeared in blood, shimmered a sickening red. "Where a greedy, bloated drunk hoards our taxes for drink and women, throwing lavish parties while the people who grow his food cannot feed their own families. So yes, Corazona, I must do this because I desire a Ukatis that is peaceable, that is prosperous, that is no longer suffering under the yoke of a tyrant."

Marcel's nostrils flared.

"And if you do not join me, then you are as good as his kin."

A moment of silence was broken by the rumble of an explosion in the courtyard. Cora chewed at the inside of her cheek and steadied her anger.

"You are right. The King has failed Ukatis. The discontent that you - our people - feel is real. But the Sith have twisted your mind into something that no longer sees reason, father. Can you not see, that Ukatis will cease to be if they get their way? They'll strip our resources, enslave our people, then leave our home a crumpled husk! I have seen it before. They serve no one but themselves; it is their way.

"Where was this man, who now wants to overthrow the very same king he put on the throne, several years ago? When you attempted to curry favor with the royal family by selling me to them like a broodmare?"

Marcel's gaze flashed dangerously. He took a single step toward Corazona.

"If only you waited until you'd ascended the throne to slay your husband, perhaps you could have changed things."

"That was my failing. This will be yours."

Marcel heaved a guttural sigh, eyeing his daughter for a long moment. Then, he moved toward her. The armor he wore was a polished black metal, sharp and sleek like that of the Sith Empire commanders. A gift from his benefactor, no doubt. He readjusted his grip on his blade, a great, gleaming weapon of Ukatian forgery. Upon its surface, the etched runes became a brilliant gleam.

"I will make you see reason."

The conflict that welled within Cora settled as her eyes caught the pulsing crimson light of Sith runes. Darkness may have been clawing at Ukatis, but it was insincere. Artificial. She saw through the guise of fear and demoralization. Nefaron's true power did not lie in the might of the Dark side, but his ability to pinpoint a foe's weaknesses and exploit them to the extreme.

The Force only made his twisted, cunning mind more dangerous.

After a moment of hesitation, Cora deactivated her lightsaber. The blue blade winked out, and the metal hilt clipped back into her belt. The prosthesis of her right hand wrapped around the hilt of her vibrosword. Smaller, but also smithed by Ukatian artisans. Cora unsheathed the blade and faced her father. A slow exhale of steam curled from her nose.

"And I you."

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Direct Tags: Darth Nefaron // Marcel von Ascania // Eurydice // Corazona von Ascania //
@whoever else is in the vicinity
​

Veradun would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel a twinge of pride with hearing his Master’s approval of his success. There was immense relief too, for it meant that he would not have to suffer the Sith Lord’s anger for failure. Verdun rose to his feet, though he stayed close to the crumpled form of the Seer he had delivered to his Master. He felt a need to ensure she remained with them, and relatively safe, for her safety and life meant that he would remain safe and alive as well.

The young Sith watched as his Master bent down to examine her more closely, and Veradun could practically feel the dark glee that radiated off the Sith Lord. In a strange and twisted way, this allowed the boy to relax a little further, and he watched and listened on in dead silence as the Sith Lord spoke to their newest addition.

All around, chaos continued to unfold as the battle raged on. A part of Veradun wished he could join in the slaughter, release his pent up aggression and darkness - but unless his Master released him to do so, he would remain right where he was.

He’d learned some time ago, that obedience was the only way to achieve his hidden desires. Obedience would allow him to learn from his Master, grow in his own power, and one day…thrust a blade into the wretched man’s heart.

"Come, Apprentice. Bring our newest servant along with us, we shall allow her to witness the culmination of our great effort."

Veradun obeyed without a word, bending down to grab a hold of their captive around one of her arms and hoist her to her feet. Nefaron reached out and removed her cloth gag to allow her to speak or scream or whatever she wished to do in the moment, before the group continued on deeper into the blood soaked palace.

Upon reaching the throne room, it became clear that whoever or whatever Darth Nefaron had been expecting was not there - and the boy sensed a dark surge of anger from the Sith Lord and tension coiled within the Nagai, before Nefaron turned to question one of the Rebel soldiers about where the false king was. The soldier answered in such a manner that undoubtedly saved his life, and Nefaron’s anger seemed to abate, if only for the moment. Veradun remained still and quiet, his grasp firm upon their captive in case she tried to pull away or escape, and waited for further orders.

Darth Nefaron moved forward once more, and perhaps in a show of his dominance over everything that was transpiring, took a seat upon the throne of Ukatis - like some dark conqueror who had won the ultimate victory. Those dead eyes turned towards Veradun and bid the boy to come forward and take his place beside his Master, and to bring their friend along with him. The Nagai practically dragged the Seer with him, coming to stand on the left side of the throne, before he wrapped a pale and blood smeared hand into the poor girl’s hair and forced her down to her knees in an effort to better control her.

Pale eyes slid over the various bodies and damaged banners within the once pristine throne room, and the boy’s lip curled slightly in a sneer of disgust for the rich opulence he was seeing.

"No matter what is to come, do not interfere with what is about to happen. It is the will of the Dark Side that our puppet is to confront his daughter in this hall, and I would not have such an event spoiled. Am I understood, Apprentice?"

Veradun glanced sidelong at the Dark Lord, and dipped his chin in a bow. “Of course, Master. I shall only move when you bid me to.” He said in a low voice, and much to his annoyance it shifted and cracked between the voice of a boy and the voice of a man. It was embarrassing at the moment, but he forced himself to get over it. His pale and cold eyes shifted to his captive as he eyed her for a moment in silence, contemplating on if he should warn her to be still or not. In the end, he chose to remain silent. This girl now belonged to his Master, and Darth Nefaron could be responsible for correcting any undesirable behavior she might exhibit.

Not too much later, a flood of emotion poured into the Force - fear and pain and despair - suffering that told Veradun that his Master had unleashed his infamous toxin throughout the city. The young Nagai’s eyes slid shut for a moment as he let his darkness feed on the negative emotions, and it rejuvenated a bit of his spent energy. Pale eyes snapped open when a voice reached his ears, however, and he beheld a bloodied man approach the occupied throne.

"Darth Nefaron, I do not recall any discussion of releasing a toxin indiscriminately into the populace." the newcomer snarled, and instantly Veradun tensed as his eyes locked upon the face of this man who dared to speak to the Dark Lord in such a manner. The man, whom he now recognized as the new King to be, Marcel von Ascania, continued to move forward, his attention upon Nefaron, as tension further built and electrified the air. "Darth Nefaron, move."

Warning flashed across the Nagai’s face and eyes, and he was about to open his mouth to sharply rebuke this impudent man for his audacity to speak to the Dark Lord in such a way, but before he could a female voice cut through the air like a blade, and all attention turned to see a woman enter behind Marcel. He recalled that his Master had told him not to interfere, and so the Apprentice bit his tongue and remained silent.

Marcel and the woman, who turned out to be his daughter, exchanged words back and forth; she tried to get through to his head to tell him how the Sith were using them all, and he retorted back that the Sith were their only chance to regain the peace he so desperately wanted for his new kingdom, that they were a necessary evil.

The boy sneered once more, for he knew the truth. Peace was a lie.

And he knew his Master enough to know that this King to be was nothing but a puppet - and Darth Nefaron would get rid of him as soon as he was no longer useful. Of course, Marcel was acting and behaving like the good servant that he was, and the boy had to marvel at just how deep Nefaron had dug his claws into the man.

The tension continued to build and swell as father and daughter faced off, both determined to force the other to see their version of reason - and Veradun was content to simply stand there and watch the scene unfold. At least it was proving to be amusing, though he was prepared to leap into action at a moment’s notice - should his Master order him to do so.

 

[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

Ellissanthia’s gasp echoed through the sudden emptiness as her telekinetic grip slipped through the intangible phantom. The Jedi Battlemaster’s form had dissolved into the ether, leaving only fractured air rushing to fill the void where solid matter had been only a heartbeat prior. Nevertheless, gritting her teeth, the Undine wasted no time on shock—already the Dark Side coiled through her senses, both physical and metaphysical, probing the area for any ripple of presence.

Her ears twitched. A snap of the air registered from behind.

She pivoted with serpentine grace, powerful legs launching her into an evasive leap. Still, the Battlemaster’s boot connected with the side of her ribs, in a glancing, yet powerful blow that transmitted much of its force in spite of the maneuver. The Undine cried out, white-hot pain singing through her nervous system like live voltage as she stumbled back, momentarily knocked off-balance.

Beneath her mask, Ellissanthia gritted her teeth as a hot, throbbing ache took hold. Each breath came sharp and shallow, but her stance yet retained its grace.

A deep, resonating hum warped the air as Ellissanthia brought up her left arm, the Dark Side coiling around the limb like liquid shadow. She channeled its power to compress the air itself—molecules crushed into a blade-thin arc so dense that it shimmered like fractured glass.

Ellissanthia’s cry split the air as she unleashed the blade of atmospheric overpressure towards the Battlemaster five meters away with a vicious downward sweep of her arm. The wavefront ripped forward at supersonic velocity, a sonic boom tearing in its wake as it aimed to carve the Jedi diagonally from shoulder to hip—a potential killing stroke of equal parts physics and fury!

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)

 

[Jalen Kai'el]

Ukatis
Allies: Corazona von Ascania
Enemies: Marcel von Ascania , Darth Nefaron

Delta-7, Lothal Jedi Temple​

"Jalen, I need you to mitigate as much damage as you can in the city. Ukatian troops won't have rebreathers, and neither will the civilians. Keep your head clear and trust in the Force, and you'll be alright."

Cora glanced from Jalen to the palace's open gate.

"I failed to settle this in the field."

"Good luck, Cora..." Jalen muttered. "Force be with you..."

Jalen stepped off of his mount and bid it farewell, directing it to safety. Mitigate the damage... If he could make a barrier, something to impede the spread of the toxin before the wind shifted out of their favor, perhaps they could have a fighting chance. He felt the orange miasma in the distance, a cloud of despair and madness given form by the scientific endeavors of the insane. As a healer and a medical officer it was an affront to his very philosophy.

And so the Knight strode out into the city with purpose. He walked past ally and enemy alike, not paying them mind. The Force guided his movements and kept him from harm. Even as blades clashed and hot plasma flew, they almost seemed to dance around him. He made haste, away from the abode of the drunkard King and out into the streets. When they impeded him, Jalen began to climb and continued on the rooftops. Then he stood at the ultimate point of no return, stood atop a taller building on the precipice of where the toxin encroached upon them. It was here that he stood himself with purpose.

"Mitigate the damage..." he muttered.

Then he mustered all of strength and mustered up as large of a Force Barrier, bringing it up to halt the flow of the toxin. It wasn't perfect, and no doubt some would seep through and around the radiant blockade that had been erected, but the progress would slow. For all those in the city, they would be bought time.

Cassvar , Makko Vyres , Cin , Lirka Ka , Serina Calis , Nodak , Jonyna Si , Valery Noble , Razh Sho , Darth Malum of House Marr , Corin Trenor , Braze , Shan , Quinn Varanin , Jenn Kryze , Aris Noble , Phoebe Winsloe , Kirie , CT-312 , Sibylla Abrantes , Azurine Varek , Razmir Tezhyn , Ellissanthia , Drystan Creed , Minerva Fhirdiad , Connel Vanagor (Others who may be nearby and wish to use this...)

A chill ran down Jalen's spine. It was a subtle shift, but the recognition of such was followed by an immediate and rapidly increasing effect. Suddenly the blind man could see, a warped landscape stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was an inky void, a mass of writhing nothingness that twisted in geometry unkind to the processing of the mind. A shrill screeching sound filled the air, causing his ears to ring, symptom he associated with having burst ear drums, common amongst those who had been near artillery shells when they had exploded. Masses moved around him with warped appearances, the amalgamated flesh of faces he had seen before. The villagers of Lothal, his home, melted together after the long night of hellfire that had claimed them. Each mouth seemed to wail. Tongues spoken were backwards and incomprehensible, but their desperate pleas for aid were clear to Jalen. They were burning and dying, desperate for the young boy they took in and loved to reach out and relieve them of their anguish. A ring of fire rose up around him, engulfing them. More screaming, distorted and unnatural, but sad and longing. His entire body trembled as they called his name.

Then the screaming was his own, within his own ears, his own mind... He was a coward. A sniveling farm rat who had been taken in out of pity, raised to be soft and useless. He watched in horror as his own home was reduced to cinders, all so the animals of the Outer Rim could put a little more coin in their pockets. His brother was gone. His family would die, one by one, and he didn't even know what any of them looked like. He hadn't even been able to protect his own pride, not strong enough to keep his kyber from being bled. Stop standing there like some terrified prey animal and reach out to die with them. Burn with your people, let the flesh boil and drip off your bones. Death is waiting-

SHUT UP!!!

Jalen screamed from the rooftops, his voice ringing out. The Force would carry it for all to hear, two words alone laced with a lifetime of anguish and guilt. The visions of the toxins would not fade. They persisted and continued to fill his mind with noise. Tears spilled out from the younger Kai'el's sightless eyes as he stood. His arms remained outstretched, his barrier remained stalwart. Even as he was reduced to crying and trembling, the Jedi Knight stood taller.

Do what you must. I will protect you.

His voice was telepathically projected to all nearby allies. Jalen Kai'el would remain...

...and bare the burden of his own mind.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes | Madrona A’Mia Darth Malum of House Marr King Horace Darth Nefaron
​

The palace’s kitchen no longer appeared as a place of sustenance; it too had become a battlefield. The lingering aroma of meat had vanished, replaced by the metallic scent of blood. Broken glass crunched beneath Lysander’s leather boots as his unreadable gaze scanned about. Amidst the cacophony of violence, there was one sound never lost on him— the steady steps of Sibylla, always making sure she was within safe distance.

The screams reverberating through the walls were familiar, like echoes from both Woostri and Korriban. When he next saw his professor, the physical changes were undeniable. There was something else, an unmistakable presence— the ever-present mushroom spores. Lysander wasn’t blind to the way her piercing stare lingered on the girl; and when it finally met his own, followed by a single question, a firm nod followed.

From there, he trailed behind several strides as they spiraled down into the dungeon’s abyss. In a smooth motion, the blonde pulled a dagger from his leather boot, its obsidian blade shimmering with a violet sheen under the flickering torchlight. Birthed in the greenhouse of Kor’ethr Academy, the poison was crafted not only to kill, but to inflict excruciating torment first— a toxin that would make death feel merciful. It would be a cruel mirror of the torment King Horace’s long-deceased son had once inflicted upon his beloved sister, Corazona von Ascania .

Gazing past the maw of the room, he caught sight of another figure: his mother, Luciana. A sharp pain in his chest twisted deeply, threatening to unsettle him entirely; now, there were two who needed protection.

It felt like an impossible task.

Turning to face Sibylla, his emerald gaze sought hers; not with the fire of his kind, the Sith, but with something else. Something pure. For once, unguarded. Guilt, fear, longing, they all intertwined, becoming a heavy and palpable weight upon the shoulders. His free hand hovered near her wrist, not touching, but just close enough to feel the radiating warmth. A trace of a smile tugged at the edge of the acolyte's lips. "It took me too long to see it," he breathed, barely above a murmur, "but.. I've always been yours, Sibylla." His features relaxed for a heartbeat, but his voice then steadied. "I need you to survive this. Should I fall, don't worry about me."

Beyond the walls of the palace, another force beckoned him with an alluring pull, one he quickly recognized as battle meditation. Surrendering to its call, he let the unseen hand steady him. It pulled with a sense of kinship, somehow strangely familiar, allowing Lysander to trust the source.

Slender digits tightened around the dagger’s hilt as Lysander’s heartbeat pounded like a war drum in his ears. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, he summoned the dark tendrils of the Force, reflecting on lessons etched into his psyche by Revna Marr ; she was his mentor, the closest thing to family back on Korriban. Suddenly, his presence became ghostlike beneath a cloak from Force Stealth, melting into the shadows along the wall and moved like a wraith across the stone.

He knew with certainty that his siblings would be indifferent to this choice. Yet from where he stood, eliminating the king was the most logical path, especially if desiring to preserve his one true family. Before Ashla, before Bogan, the acolyte's loyalty had always been to his blood. Doing what was right for Marcel was instinctual, regardless of their dark past.

Ignoring the ongoing ceremonial chants, he slid with eerie precision through the ranks of guards, before finally coming up just behind King Horace. The cold air exhaling from his mouth would have brushed intimately close, had the man dared to feel it. A whisper cut through the small space between them. “This is for Marcel. May your screams reach him.” The blade was poised just above the collarbone before being driven down with force; it was a calculated strike meant to sever nerves and immobilize the victim's arms, ensuring he would live long enough for the poison to slowly spread.

​

 

[Jaina Grayson]

The airways were full of chatter about the gas, which didn’t help Jaina, though it did provide more background info. Apparently the neurotoxin was the calling card of a certain Sith, who had employed it on various other worlds with similar results. Jaina was left wondering why someone hadn’t come up with an antidote by now, or some other countermeasures that could be quickly employed to save lives whenever the bastard decided to pass his gas. Probably the good ol’ bureaucracy being slow and ineffective, as usual, she thought grimly as she ran through the foggy streets of Axilla, stunning any crazed civilians she came across with her pistol.

It was hard to put into words what she was witnessing. Her psychology programming, had it been active, probably would’ve called it drug-induced psychosis. The natives were tearing themselves apart. It was like witnessing a horde of zombies—except instead of shambling, moaning undead, these were ordinary living people who had been possessed by powers beyond their control. Hallucinations dominated their senses, driving delusional thinking about the world around them. They probably thought they were fighting monsters and demons, evil superimposed over the faces of the innocent. Jaina didn’t want to think about what would happen when eventually, inevitably, the effects of the gas wore off, and the survivors would have to contend with what they had done under its influence. If the hallucinations didn’t drive them permanently insane, sobering up might do them in…

"Hey! OVER HERE! We have a safety area! A building with a ship on top. Follow me!"

Jaina’s head swiveled toward the source of the voice, which turned out to be an armored, masked trooper of some kind. She jogged over at once, still carrying the screaming kid under her arm. “Thank the Force! It’s a fucking madhouse out there and—Wait, is that a flamethrower…?”

The sound of an explosion from somewhere close behind her drew her attention away from the weapon. “Take the kid,” she said, thrusting the traumatized child at the Pyro. “I’m going back out there. Someone has to stop this!”

Seizing her vibroaxe in her now free hand, she charged back out into the fray. Her new goal: find the source of the gas, disable it, and maybe snag some samples she could use to formulate an antidote…

Meleena Bloodscrawl​

 

[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 dragon's wings pounded the heavens with divine rhythm, thunderous beats echoing like war drums across the broken skies. The fire he had unleashed moments earlier still smoldered in the air behind them, embers flickering like dying stars in a field of smoke. Serina Calis stood upon his back—no longer seated, but upright, steady as a tower in a hurricane. Her armor gleamed in arcs of static light, each sigil and edge on her bodice catching the flickering bolts above them. Her cape—cut from the cloth of dead kings and trimmed in magenta fury—cracked behind her like a standard of apocalypse. Every fiber of her being hummed with purpose, with presence. This was not war—it was a ritual. And she was its officiant.

It came like a breath in her ear. A silent tone from the encrypted signal nested beneath her collarplate. The frequency she had waited for. One she had prepared for, planned for.

Darth Nefaron had made his move. The toxin was loose.

She did not speak, nor curse the sky. She did not flinch. She only reached with one gloved hand to her belt, fingers fluid with the ease of rehearsed elegance, and retrieved the angular black respirator that clipped smoothly over her face. The hiss of the mask locking into her sealed armor was lost beneath the storm. The filters activated, and through her visor, the readout confirmed: containment complete.

Nefaron's madness would not touch her.

Let it burn the weak. Let it drag sobbing mothers into the arms of their own nightmares. Let it peel back the false veneers of civility in every man, woman, and child who had hidden their fear beneath a façade of normalcy. This was the truth. That death had a voice, and fear was its gospel. Serina Calis had not just accepted this—she had planned on it.

And yet, her attention remained fixed not on the city—its crumbling psyche, its screaming civilians—but on the boy who dared play god among dragons.

Makko.

His bike had vanished in flame, and for a moment, the dragon beneath her bellowed with triumph. But Serina knew better. The Force, that seething, ceaseless ocean of intention, whispered otherwise. A disturbance. A motion out of place.

Then she felt him. The pressure above. The presence falling. Not like a rock, but like a weapon.

He had leapt.

Abandoned the safety of the machine. Trusted the Force. Trusted luck. And now he fell, invisible against the glare of fire and fury, a spear aimed at her heart.

Bold.

Her pulse did not quicken. Her stance did not shift. She did not call for the dragon's aid.

She answered herself.

The Force swelled around her—not as a shield, but as a field, a blooming sphere of intent and domination. Her fingers curled inwards, and her will pushed outward—not as a tide, but as a venom.

Force Affliction.

It wasn't flashy. It wasn't loud. It was inevitable. Like a fast-acting venom slipped into the blood of the Force, it moved through the currents between them with clinical purpose. It didn't crush. It didn't burn. It weakened.

Her will coiled outward in invisible tendrils, seeking the Jedi's living essence as a viper seeks warmth—subtle and sure. If it found purchase, its effect would begin instantly: a dulling of reflex, a faltering of strength. Muscles would tighten. Breath would catch. The clarity of motion, the rhythm of survival, would begin to lag, second by second, as if time itself were slowing down within his veins.

It was the kiss of entropy.

If left unresisted, the affliction would worsen with each moment, robbing him of energy, speed, coordination—and, eventually life itself. No grand explosion. No dramatic death. Just a body undone by layers, until even standing became an act of defiance.

"You fly like a fool," she murmured behind the mask, voice laced with reverence and cruelty. "But you fall like a believer."

Then came the lightning.

From her outstretched hands erupted arcs of raw, screaming Force energy—Force Lightning as refined as a masterstroke and as wild as a primal howl. It speared into the sky around her, not to destroy him directly, but to illuminate his path. To expose his silhouette in the flickering radiance. To brand this moment in the memory of the Force.

The bolts coiled like serpents, hungry and unrelenting, slicing through the night with thunderous shrieks. Her form pulsed with light—an avatar of judgment, a silhouette of divine fire.

This was her weapon. Not saber. Not blade. Will.

The dragon beneath her snarled in anticipation, spinning slightly in the air to bank with her movement, following the intent she broadcast through the Force. Not commands. Not chains.

Permission.

She felt the beast's instincts rise—the need to strike, to rend, to end. But she stilled her hand. Let the Jedi come. Let him dare. Serina wanted this. Wanted him close. She wanted him to see her eyes as she undid him.

"Fall into me," she called, and her voice, carried on the storm, was not invitation.

It was sentence.

The city screamed beneath them. The sky boiled with madness. And in that maelstrom, Serina Calis stood resolute atop the last black dragon—a tyrant clothed in elegance, a goddess sculpted from ambition and ash—ready to show the Jedi what real power looked like.