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

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum grimaced beneath the mask, as the ever-thumping connection of thousands of minds beat against his head as if he were the heart of their chambered chests. Most of colours, red or blue, fell under the melody of chants discordant or not, half raised in vigour, half fallen in despair. Yet, as was the way of the galaxy, there were those who resisted the tendrils of power far greater than their own.

Or at least had the bravery to try.

A profound sense of disappointment raced across skin, as easily as water trailed down blackened steel.

There was an annoyance by his ear, a buzzing bee that was shouting with such perfidity, that one would imagine they had words that were worthy to be heard. That one would imagine they held the acumen to speak at all, and of course, the greatest tragedy of them all, that the ability to fly deluded one into believing they had unfurled their wings.

All that was achieved was that his enemy had revealed herself.

Yet, an enemy of note was not she.

A mere second after the grimace formented on his features, his attention was drawn to one who might be, the caustic burn whistling through the air, as his Guard had long ago began their withdrawal to behind and below the heights, leaving him, an altogether impossible sight, a beacon of darkness, as their duties would soon begin in earnest, and he...

...He raised his blade, as the lightning struck Sith Steel, pulsating in angry energy, demanding to be released and expended, burning all who touched it. Yet, now, trapped, caught, within the malleus of a Sith Lord's strength. One mind's attention, that which still held within its heart the red eyes that had once stared to the skies and dreamed of the cosmos, found itself stirring, gazing at the Mo- Mandalorian that stood her ground. The other mind, a far older mind, held befit of golden eyes, brought still the pulsing quake of the Darkside's delugeous currents, spreading far and wide, the serpentine pull of tendrils ensnaring friend and prey alike within the constriction of a power far beyond them.

Red eyes could not help the disappointment.

The Mandalorian was refusing to take the heights.

They narrowed as oceanic swordstrikes heralding death and worse appeared before him, wraithlike in movements, red kyber hissed as the first blow was deflected, burning ever angrier, as water met the plasma, water evaporating immediately before him, as the ghost of a smile returned to his face, as agile as a dancer, parrying and evading all that was meant to end him, as the dance he danced was to a song they both knew well. The thumping beat of his heart, as by the end of the assault, the black armoured knight stood alone still atop the hill.

Red eyes shifted away from the Mandalorian, the battle had not yet begun in earnest, his moves would thus wait still.

Yet, he was ever so impatient.

One moment, he was one.

In the next, he was two.

Golden eyes behind a second replica regarded masked red eyes with warning, before out of her, still the pulsing meditations went. While Malum, smiling fully now, provided full attention to the Mandalorian.

And in the next second, burst into a flock of raven black birds, raising high into the sky, directly into the stormfront, as lightning struck the earth, heralded by the cacophony of thunder, through the rain, growing ever colder, ever sodden, if the Mandalorian would raise their buy'ce they would notice the most strange of sights.

The rain was black.

Jenn Kryze
Mentioned: Serina Calis

 

[Kirie]

Tags: Quinn Varanin | CT-312

---

Days prior

"You made sure the window was closed, right?"

"No?" said Kirie. "Why would I have done that? Besides, I'm sure she wouldn't try to-" Kirie stopped midsentence as the sharp snap of a lock and the muffled sound of the window sliding open filtered through the closed door. "Nevermind."

As CT-312 stalked off, Kirie turned to Quinn and gave her a sympathetic smile, knowing the interaction must have pained her.

"She's a soldier." said Kirie, wrapping her arms around Quinn in comfort. "She might just not want to play dress-up." She gave Quinn a little conciliatory pat on the arm. "Come on, why don't you help me pick something out of your closet?" Without a further word Kirie bounced off, knowing Quinn would follow to find her something gorgeous with which to adorn herself.

​

Present

And find something Quinn had. Kirie made her entrance to the harvest festival swaddled in rich fabric and delicate mesh studded in starlight, dark colours chosen so as not to stand out too much in the crowd. It was, as always, finer than anything she had owned in her old life, and perfectly suited for the great festival they were attending.

Kirie let herself be tucked under Quinn's protective arm as they wandered the square and adjoining streets which had been transformed to house the many wonders of the harvest festival. It was a good thing Quinn was holding onto her, because with every corner they turned there was a new sight she wanted to check out. But Quinn, always discerning, led the three of them, herself, CT-312, who she has begun to refer to as simply 'Twelve', and Quinn, through the crowd, stopping at only the most reputable of stalls and most entertaining of attractions. Twelve was similarly flighty, though not for the same reasons. While Kirie was giddy and delighted by the event, their companion seemed nervous and uncomfortable, as if the crowd was pressing in on her. While Kirie wished she could be having as much fun as she was, she didn't fault her for it. Everyone was wired differently.

"It's been so long since I've been to a festival. The ones on Eshan are far more extravagant. We'll have to go for the winter solstice."

"I think it's grand." said Kirie, looking around at the throng of festival goers, the stalls hawking sweet treats and stages brimming with brightly coloured performers flipping about or doing tricks. It was the largest event she'd ever attended, far bigger and more bombastic than any of the fétes she had been to on Weik. Still, she perked up at the mention of her love's homeworld.

"Oh! Eshan? I'd love to go." said Kirie with enthusiasm. She loved it when they had the chance to travel outside the boundaries of Sith space. It was rare, but when they did leave the confines of the Empire behind, slipping through the oppressive Blackwall, Kirie always breathed a sigh of relief. And this, the chance to see the world Quinn belonged to was even better. Not only would it be a chance to escape for awhile, but Quinn rarely spoke of the Echani homeworld, and Kirie had never prodded her for more information out of respect. She had grown endlessly curious about it, and an opportunity to see it for herself, perhaps even meet another of the royal family, was enticing.

Unsurprisingly, CT-312 could only tolerate the celebrations for so long, and soon slipped away into the crowd. Perhaps to scout the way, perhaps just to explore for herself. Kirie didn't know, and she didn't mind either way. She merely smiled and waved her goodbye. Better to let Twelve warm to them at her own pace. Quinn, though she chastised Kirie for it often, shared Kirie's habit for taking in strays.

"Kirie, are there any festivals on Weik?"

Kirie nodded in assent at Quinn's question, recalling the seasonal trips from Cephis she would take to the nearby towns, or even to the regional capital to attend various events. Due to its diminutive size, Cephis had few events like this, but they did have their own version of a harvest festival, held in the town hall with cheery music and line dancing. Quaint, compared to the end of year festivities in the cities she had attended as a kid, and positively laughable compared to the Harvest Festival on Ukatis.

"Nothing as big as this." said Kirie in wonder. "It's amazing, we should come back next yea-"

The loud tolling of the bell right above them cut her off, and Kirie cast a shocked look upward, her hands raising to cover her ears, when the sky bloomed with orange, and the world seemed to shatter around her.

Kirie was blasted off her feet, the afterimage of the belltower disintegrating burned into her eyelids. She shook her head to clear it and rolled onto her knees, slightly dazed and winded, but seemingly otherwise unharmed. Had Quinn protected her? Where was she now? Smoke swirled all around her, and now that the ringing was fading from her ears she could hear the telltale hiss of activating lightsabers, see the lines of crimson and azure and emerald popping up in the crowd.

Above her, the bell tower swayed, threatening those below, threatening her. Where was Quinn, and where was Twelve? She had to find them.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia

Sibylla took the honey tart from Lysander with a raised brow, a playful glint in her eye.

"Sweet and smooth at first, with a punch at the end? You don't say," she teased, inspecting the pastry as though it might hold some hidden meaning.

"I suppose we all have our ways of surprising others." She took a delicate bite, savoring the honeyed sweetness before offering him a sly grin.

"Though, I'm sure my debates aren't quite as punchy as you'd like to claim."

As the crowd cheered and jeered over the joust, Sibylla's gaze shifted to the tournament. She followed the tilt of Lysander's head toward the competitor he favored. Sibylla gave an arch of a brow and then a chuckle, peering from Lysander's golden locks, his well groomed and tailored attire, and of course, perfectly buffed new leather boots.

Seems he found a new pair after all.

"I don't know... Sir Sebastian of House Ainsworth seems wanting. There are far better qualities that can quicken a woman's heart than mere jousting. Your attire, for example, has already turned quite a few heads in the mere five minute walk than those I've seen for your Champion."

Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud, reverberating clang of the bell tolling from the belfry. She lifted her gaze just in time to see the figure up in the tower, the motion too deliberate to miss. The bell rang out again, a harsh sound that seemed to chill the air.

The Naboo Junior Senatorial Representative didn't need to be Force-sensitive to feel tension in the air. Her eyes darted over towards Lysander's profile, watching him before her attention slowly curved back to the bell tower, her heart skipping a beat as the rumbling beneath her feet increased. She felt the shift in the atmosphere before she heard the first distant ka-boom.

Her eyes widened in alarm, only to narrow with urgency. Without hesitation, she grabbed Lysander's sleeve, tugging him close as the explosion rang through the square, sending debris flying into the air and panicked revelers scattering.

"Watch out!!"

She tugged him toward the nearest secure cover, panicked festival goers scrambling as the chaos around them unfolded.

"Well," she said, tone dripping with irony, "it seems that whenever we get together, something always seems to explode." No less serious thereafter, "What in Shiraya's sake is going on?"

 

[Marcel von Ascania]

APPROACHING 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
​

Marcel did not flinch as his daughter's voice cut through the cacophony of war. She'd come for him, just as Darth Nefaron had said she would.

The Corpse Lord once asked this viscount if he would slay his own child in order to ensure the rebellion's success. Marcel was confident that it would not come to that. Perhaps, at the time, he did not want to entertain the possibility.

Each breath only invigorated him in body and resolve. Marcel did not realize that he was drawing on the dark power of battle meditation, only that he'd sacrificed part of himself to bring his vision to life.

"Onto the Capital, my King. Your throne awaits."

"Let none stand before you. No quarter. No prisoners."

Marcel shuddered. The troubled visage of his daughter was interrupted by visions of the throne. Of a victory so potent that he swore he could taste the celebratory wine on his tongue, feel the heft of the crown on his brow. Heavy is the head, as the old saying went.

No quarter.

Above him, Lady Calis descended riding a dragon, belching flame and death over the loyalist soldiers.

No prisoners.

Twisted creatures borne of metal and flesh descended upon his firstborn. She called out to him, but the meaning of her words were lost to his ears.

No mercy.

Marcel yanked the reins of his mount. The horse kicked its front legs and whinnied loudly, then took off down the hill. Man after man was cut down by great swings of his blade.

Etched into the tempered metal, Sith runes blazed a hellish crimson as the insurgent leader cut his way to the capital.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

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

Even through Jalen's protection, Cora could feel the flames of war. It was a searing heat - one that edged from metaphysical to literal as a great creature of myth descended from the darkened skies. A torrent of fire engulfed a swath of royal banners. Despite the rain, red and white cloth blackened as screams of the dying filled the air like a hellish chorus.

Cora had seen war before. It had never felt as personal as it had now. Connected to Ukatis as she was, the knight felt each and every presence with boots on her home; some familiar, some belonging to strangers. Some with good intentions, others not.

"Father!" She cried. "Tell me who it is! Tell me the name of the Dark Lord who has twisted your mind!"

Then, she was tackled from her horse.

Landing with a grunt in the mud, Cora locked hands with a snarling Flesh Reaver. As she tried to push the beast back, its teeth snapped, trying to take a bite from her face, her shoulder, anywhere it could find purchase to rip and tear. Acidic saliva dripped onto her cheek, burning pale skin.

As they wrestled, Cora took advantage of the soft ground and dropped her shoulder, sliding to one side. There was moment where the Flesh Reaver sank into the mud, and that was the moment she retrieved her lightsaber from her belt.

The bright blue blade first took the creature's neck, then its abdomen. There was no time to observe how they moved, if they could regrow limbs and heads, for father was already pushing towards the capital.

He had not answered her. The presence of the Flesh Reavers - half flesh, half metal, and entirely inhuman - was her answer.

It cannot be.

A cold sweat prickled the back of her neck, soon chased away by familiar golden threads. In the heat of battle, Shan fought back against the dark tides with a surety that came from experience.

More creatures came down upon them. Some tore apart nearby soldiers, but others grasped for the Jedi, only to be met with the blade.

"Jalen," she called. "We need to get rid of the sithspawn."

And yet, another opponent was looming closer to her heart.

 

[Jalen Kai'el]

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

Delta-7, Lothal Jedi Temple​

Jalen took a moment to catch his breath, letting his steed carry him as he gathered his energy back up. He felt Cora up ahead, head her voice crying out to her father only for her to fall on deaf ears. There would be no negotiation it seemed. From there beasts swarmed the land below: Sithspawn. They felt like technobeasts, almost, a mixture of machine and flesh, though all twisted and distorted. They hunted indiscriminately, driven only by hunger. He could feel the shroud of darkness move around them, something far removed from the natural primal instincts of an animal. This was death in physical form.

"Jalen," she called. "We need to get rid of the sithspawn."

"Right."

Jalen strode forward with purpose, walking atop the mud without sinking into it. He steadied himself as the first beast lunged towards him, reaching out his hands and grabbing hold of it's maw. The younger Kai'el brother would not draw a weapon to slay it. Instead raw light began to wick off of him, flowing towards his hands to give them a radiant visage. Force Light was a skill that was strong with his bloodline, even in the notably weaker Force-sensitivity of Jasper. The young Knight focused this light into the beast, lighting a fire within it. A dark oily substance erupted out of it as it screeched, torn apart by the light. As Jalen tossed the beast aside it was little more than scrap and sludge when it hit the ground.

From there he formed up with Cora to cover her back. As he did, he felt the area around him... Something about the aura of her father didn't sit right with him. He had gotten just enough of it as the man took off down the hill. Whatever Sith had promised him the throne seemed to have taken something...

"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."

But had he been fully reduced to a puppet? These things were presently unclear...

 

[Eurydice]

ROYAL PALACE

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

Death.

The myst - how Seers referred to the Force - trembled in warning.

Death. Death. Death.

Death above, even around them. The Seers were not yet skilled enough to pinpoint its source, so it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

“Hello?! Is…is anyone there? Please…help me!”

The silent panic between them grew. Were the rebels here? Had they breached the castle so quickly and found their way into the catacombs?

A boy appeared, bloodied and terrified. His uniform marked him as a court pageboy, and his startling appearance sent the Seers into alarm.

Indis was the first to move, stepping forward quickly. She grabbed for the boys arm and hissed, low and frantic.

"What happened to you, boy? Did they follow you here? Speak!"

Eurydice lingered several steps behind her, unmoving, unsure. She couldn't yet discern whether it was her own panic that made her uneasy, or whether there truly was something unsettling about the boy with dark hair and pale skin.

She couldn't put her finger on it, though.

---

Luciana gasped in momentary relief as Lord Meverell voiced his belief in her words. She was an upstanding woman at court, but the declarations she'd made had been bold.

And punctuated by an explosion, no less.

The viscountess wasted no time in picking up her skirts and hurrying inside. The walls of the palace muffled the cacophony of screams and shouts, and Luciana tried to tell herself that this was the safer place to be for the time being.

"I….understand," she murmured. Luciana's brow furrowed, troubled more by the thought of denouncing her sons than her husband. She'd pled with Dominick von Ascania not to join his father, and prayed that he too would come to his senses before irreparable damage could be done.

"My second son is a captain in the royal military. He has always fought valiantly for His Majesty. I can give you the names of the men I know to be working with my husband, but I do not know them all. I was not permitted to attend any of their meetings, so I only know those I've witnessed coming and going from the manor, as well as what my staff has relayed to me."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes | Madrona A’Mia | King Horace
​

The emerald pools of his expression drifted to the honey tart as it underwent inspection; but his focus quickly returned to her face, as it always did, searching for the slightest crack in the well-crafted facade. Though he wasn't one to easily admit to defeat, there had been a handful of verbal spars that left him searching desperately for the right retort.

A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips. "Sometimes they are," he confessed, his voice calm.

Sibylla’s dismissal of Sir Sebastian did cause an eyebrow to lift; clearly, it was a figure he may have long revered. Yet the redirected compliment caught him off guard, and a rare silence enveloped the acolyte. For a heartbeat he simply absorbed the moment, until the world around both of them was suddenly disrupted. Still, he betrayed no shock from the explosions, unflinching even, until the girl's oddly familiar tug would pull him forward.

"I do suppose it keeps things interesting," he stated once they were under cover. "But Shiraya's light could never shield Ukatis from what's already set in motion," he added softly. As the inevitable storm now raged through the streets of Axilla, two fingers gently traced a path against hers-- a tether beneath any uncertainty; it was not meant to possess, but to anchor. It lingered just long enough to be understood before retreating.

Lysander wished it was enough to convey the words already escaping his tongue. The blonde's light was not that of Ashla, one which radiated with purity, but rather a flame capable of burning. And unlike the Jedi, he did not shy away from the fire; he was drawn to it. “I need you to believe in me now, as you once did at Dee'ja Peak, Sibylla." The words lingered as his attention shifted to the palace.

Then came an unexpected telepathic message; it was the closest thing to nearly unsettle him. It was a reminder that his purpose for being here went far beyond the festivities.

The weight pressing upon his chest was heavy and unmistakable, clinging to him fiercely. As the ground shook, and the cacophony of destruction came from every direction, his gaze grew darker. He gave a nod toward the massive building. "That is where this will end.” Determination carved its way into his youthful features. “I refuse to lose you in this. The truth won’t be easy, but whatever happens..I want you beside me. It’s the only way I can protect you now.”

Urging her forward with a tug of his own, his highly attuned senses caught the ripple of something unnatural shifting in the distance. A path had been cleared, and a lone survivor staggered from whatever had just taken place. But before the man could sound the alarm, the acolyte flicked his wrist. A flash erupted from the palm, unleashing a powerful and dark surge of energy. The guard was hurled against the wall with a sickening crack.

Wasting no time, he slipped through the side entrance; it was likely reserved for the kitchen, which would have been in use for the banquet.

The iron message he bore from Marcel was not one of words. No, this was not a warning.

It was fate itself, carried on the edge of a blade from Kor'ethyr Academy.

 

[Nodak]

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

---

Another wave of energy washed over the battlefield in contrast to the initial one. Somewhere a Jedi, Shan had begun their own Battle Meditation. It hardly mattered, Nodak had risen and though the sense of revitalization may have been brief it had been enough.

Ironic that battles being fought elsewhere could affect the two of them.

The Rain continued to fall hard, his armor was wet yet it insulated him like a shell or carapace.

Nonetheless the Monster did not feel weary nor any worse for wear, the shallow wound he'd suffered felt no worse indicating that one power likely canceled the other ensuring that they were in conflict with one another the same as the soldiers bleeding on the fields of war.

Razh Sho began to circle again. Nodak turned his head, regarding him from where he stood though back on his feet he didn't bother turning with the Jedi initially. Instead there was a low grumble from beneath the cover of his helm.

"Master?"

...he chuckled dryly...

"Hardly."

The Monster came of his own accord, he answered to one here. No Sith on this battlefield commanded him.

By then he'd turned to keep Razh Sho in his line of sight. Pivoting around to keep him at his fore while the Jedi circled in an attempt offset himself on a flank.

Nevermourne extended, Nodak made a snapping motion with his arm like he was pointing a scepter at the Jedi and then the head of the mace detached. The tether that joined shaft and head to one another came to life in a crackle of crimson energy as the head flew towards the Jedi across the distance separating them. Like his other attacks it was heavy, devastating if it landed cleanly.

 

[Razh Sho]

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

He had felt the tension shift — not in Nodak's muscles, but in the intent that preceded them. A flex. A snap. A stillness before violence that rippled outward like the tremor before a quake.

Then came the motion.

Nevermourne, wrenched forward with a savage flourish, snapped loose from its shaft with a crackling cry of energy, tethered only by the angry red plasma cord that seared through the rain.

No balance. No guard. Just fury made form.

The head of the mace howled through the air like a predator loosed from chain. Its path was not erratic — it was perfectly direct, a line meant to erase. The Force did not warn Razh this time. It called him to act. He did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward. Just one step — into danger, not away from it. His saber flicked up not to block, but to mark the timing. His breath stilled. Then, with his free hand, he reached. Not for the tether. Not for the mace. For the cord of energy that trailed between them — that burning arc of motion linking Nodak to his weapon like a tether of will. The Force surged through his body, not in waves, but in a single point of focus. He didn't try to overpower the mace — such a thing would be foolish.

Instead, he redirected its hunger.

Sokan, he thought.

An old principle. Not a form, but a philosophy. Use the terrain. Use the enemy. Use their commitment to undo them.

His hand thrust sideways, fingers open, not clenched — and the Force burst outward in a sharp, controlled stream, a shearing gust of telekinetic power aimed not at the mace, but at the space between its path and its tether. The line broke angle. The momentum bent. The mace head spun wide, veering hard as if caught in a gust, the arc now dragging to Nodak's own left side, threatening to unbalance him or pull at his frame.

Razh didn't wait. He closed the gap in a burst — a blur of motion aided by the very same Force he had just channeled. His saber ignited anew — then reversed in grip, blade curling low — and he drove it toward the gap beneath Nodak's shield arm. Not a killing strike, but a disabling one — angled for the connective armor near the latissimus, where shoulder and core met. If he could just strike deep enough—the cannon, the tether, the arm itself might falter.

His voice was low, strained, but clear. "You wear war like a mask, Nodak. But I see the face beneath it."

The blade flashed.

And the rain fell on both beings like judgment withheld.

 

[Nodak]

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

---

Razh Sho was treating this like a duel.

Nevermourne's head flew towards him. A Telekinetic force redirected the flight of the head, sending it wide to the left of the Monster. The tether, crackling crimson energy akin to that of a lightwhip grew tight; the plasma energy that made the tether was weightless but the head it connected to the haft was not.

Nodak felt himself began to be pulled off balance.

He took a large step forward, planting his right foot in the mud to steady himself. Nevermourne's head would likewise land in the muck, ripping through the earth but letting the tether grow lax in the process thanks to Nodak's recovery. It left the Monster in a right side lead, his stance bladed and the angle of his shield opened a gap in its coverage.

Just as the Jedi planned, no doubt.

A strike with the lightsaber. The Shield was so tall, so massive that to find the area that he sought Razh Sho would need to commit. A Growl.

A Jerking motion made with Nodak's right arm, elbow was brought to hip drawing the haft of Nevermourne back in the process. The tether that allowed Mace to transform into Morning Star went from lax to taut angled ahead of the Monster. A crackling promise of pain for the Jedi; it snapped tight, above the swordarm of Razh Sho ---- his commitment to his blow, requiring an upright flash would ensure that his own arm ran across the crimson plasma energy ---- possibly severed in the process.

Another growl from beneath the helm...

"You've seen what I've shown."

....the flash of the blade would be the catalyst to its wielders own folly.

 

[Razh Sho]

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

He felt the tether shift — the tension, the weight. The moment the head of the mace struck the mud, Razh saw the line he needed. A right-side lead. Gap in the shield. It was the kind of opening Makashi lived for. He stepped in — blade high, angled cleanly for the exposed joint behind the shoulder. Not for the heart. For control. To end the threat, not the life.

But the opening had teeth. The snap came not from the shoulder, but from the hip — a jerking twist, and Razh's instincts screamed too late. The tether ignited. Crimson light whipped across the space between them, angled not at his blade, but at his arm. His saber cut through air — and his forearm met fire. There was no time for pain. Only reaction.

Razh released the hilt. The saber fell. He twisted as the energy seared across his bicep — shallow, but deep enough to rob strength, to burn the nerves clean. The scent of scorched robes — and skin — hit him before the pain did. He stumbled. Just a step. Enough to shift his stance, to keep his center intact. His hand clenched — not the burned one, but the other, the left — and with a burst of focus, he pulled his saber back to him, drawing it into his good hand mid-air. The blade reignited with a hiss. His arm trembled. Not from fear. From the price of a mistake.

His eyes met the slit of Nodak's helm. No hatred. No fury. Only breath. Only thought. "Yes," Razh rasped. "I've seen what you are."

He adjusted his footing — one-handed now — and lowered his guard.

Still alive.

Still learning.

Still standing.

 

[Lyssa Clauda]

Aris Noble Phoebe Winsloe

The boy met her with force.

Too much force. Too much for a boy like him, anyway. Cybernetics like her own were likely the answer - enhancing his strength and performance with the help of his connection to the light side. Unless...he was powerful enough in the force to do this on his own, without mechanical enhancements? No, that was ridiculous. He was only a child, after all.

Still, their blades clashed against each other in a violent supernova of sparks and fury, pushing them both back with the sheer strength of the strike. Lyssa's horse reeled and and she fought with the reins, tugging them back with an angry hiss to charge at the boy again.

Only for the unmistakeable hum of a speeder bike to catch her ears. Pulling her horse back around, her eyes narrowed at the sight of a new Jedi padawan, brandishing a saberstaff and speeding towards her. Growling like some kind of rabid dog, Lyssa summoned the force in her hands and unleashed it at the new girl, aiming to push her off balance. Let her fall from her speeder and into the mud where she belonged. The cyborg would finish her off just as soon as she'd killed the boy.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

Location: Field Hospital > Battlefield
Objective: Medivac, Armed Escort
Allies: Loyalists and Galactic Alliance ( Shan )
Opposition: Rebels & Interlopers (If they pew pew me)
With: Jedi Knight Consular Kaldor Vexis (NPC Master), OPEN
Equipment:
-KPA-01 Katarn Armor w/ Poncho
-Gauntlet Shields
-Lightwhip
-Blaster Pistols x2
-Glop & Slider Grenades

Shan gave him the requested details so that he knew what to look for when he return to the front on his next run. As they spoke, Mykel could feel the Knight's apprehension about him going off. Understandable, but the Padawan wasn't a stranger to battle, and he wouldn't be alone.

"It's fine, Doctor, my master's waiting for me with the transports. May the Force be with you."

With a friendly salute, Mykel was out of the triage and back into the mud.

---

Riding shotgun in the lead armored transport with Kaldor, Mykel could hardly believe his eyes as they returned to the frontlines. Once relatively stable defensive lines were now churned by hellish chaos. Flames spread across defensive positions in blazing bands by a dragon of all things, the flying beast impossible to ignore as it claimed domain of the air.

Mykel zoomed in on the most forward positions of the frontlines with his helmet's inbuilt sensors, filtering out the fire. In his sector, he could see breaches beginning to form, the charge led by twisted cyborgs that radiated with the dark side. The loyalist soldiers, though brave and fierce, were not equipped to deal with such a threat and so they were getting absolutely devastated by the Sithspawn on top of the aerial bombardment.

"So the Sith have finally revealed themselves," Kaldor said flatly.

Mykel didn't just see it. He felt it.

A suffocating miasma began to invade his mind. A dark haze of doubt and dread, foreign thoughts ( Darth Malum of House Marr ) attempting to sap his will to fight with the fear of imminent defeat and hopelessness.

But this wasn't his first dance with such a mind rotting fog. He took a breath, closing his eyes and remembering the times he had fought back against the Drengir in the forests of Tython. Their psychic assaults had been like raking daggers attempting to tear at his mind. He had survived them. He would survive this.

He began to push back, cutting through the miasma with the techniques that Kaldor and Corazona had taught him. Denying the false narrative as the fiction it was. Until death, all defeat is psychological.

Something else touched his mind, but the influence was positive, bringing a soothing influence like a cooling breeze. Shan. Mykel felt his own psychic defenses bolstered as the Jedi Knight's Battle Mediation met the Sith's own in quiet defiance.

He began to experience an awareness greater than simple clarity. He could now feel the shape of the battle, the ebb and pull of lines, the shatterpoints of morale, the clusters of wounded. He could now feel it all so clearly, even if what he perceived hit his gut.

"Stop here," Kaldor ordered the driver before donning his helmet. "We can't risk moving the transports closer forward as long as the aerial threats remain. Activate the mobile shields."

The GADF corpsman driving the lead transport cursed under his breath, listening to the radio. "There are too many calls – people are literally melting out there! We're not equipped for fething dragons."

Kaldor rested an armored hand on the man's shoulder from behind. "Then focus on who you can reach. Begin collecting the wounded with your teams while we close the breaching attempt in this sector."

Requiring no instruction, Mykel dismounted with his master, boots slapping through the mud as the pair quickly weaved through the disrupted loyalists ranks right for the enemy in an imperceptible blur. The fires were a serious problem, but the encroaching Sithspawn even more, as they would show no mercy to anyone if they reached the rear echelon of support staff and wounded.

Side by side in perfect tandem, Master and Apprentice brought out their lightsabers, freshly summoned blades of azure and emerald light sizzling in the downpour. Soon, both blades flared even brighter like beacons as the pair channeled Force Light directly into the crystals of their hilts. Green and blue gave way to searing whites and the air filled and audible ring of sharp chimes of their resonating crystals.

The psychosonic resonance tore through the ranks of the nearby Sithspawn, sending them stumbling in their tracks with a new agony that pierced right into their warped spirits on the metaphysical plane. Meanwhile, the nearby rebel soldiers in earshot would feel a sudden disorientation as they were cut off from the Sith Battle Meditation as if they had just been slapped by the flat of a blade.

Kaldor would use the moment of shock to cut down one of the flailing Sithspawn, while Mykel chucked two glop grenades into the advancing rebel prong, suspending both man and monster within a prison of instantly hardening foam.

With space to breath provided by the two Jedi, the previously frazzled loyalists forces in the sector rallied with the coordination granted to them by Shan's Battle Meditation, quickly filling the pocket while mowing down the trapped rebel forces with arrows, javelins, and blaster fire. Other soldiers began to attempt to suppress the flames.

Now the medics could move, providing some first aid before piling the wounded onto repulsor beds to ferry back to the shielded transports. It was a gruesome sight, Mykel not only witnessing men ravaged by the typical blaster and vibro weapons, but now by dragonfire and the flaying of Sithspawn. Warped armor fused to charred flesh, shredded limbs barely held together by a few sinews.

Here and there, he could feel the life snuffed out of downed soldiers before they even reached the transports. Rest in peace.

The war had taken a new, darker dimension. What had started as a fight for a better tomorrow was quickly plunging into a horror.

 

[Tamsin Graves]

Theme: Barefoot Adventures
Disguise: Here
Equipment: Twin Omens | Circlet of Projection | Stars Enchained | Mind Crown | Akwursa
Tags: Kaila Irons | Allyson Locke | Drystan Creed | Azurine Varek | Everest Vale

Tamsin had pushed through the crowds coming to a small stage with performers dancing and doing tricks. Those dark eyes hidden behind the blue eyes the mask projected glimmered in awe at the dancing and performances. She kept her eyes on the performers watching their fluid movements, keeping her eyes off the stage itself.

It seemed like every time there was a stage nearby something bad was about to happen. All hell seemed to break loose every time she was close to one. Her eyes glanced over to a young jedi, it was Kaila Irons she could sense it. She watched her master looking like someone else watching the stage just as she was.

She wondered for a but a second if Kaila knew the curse the omen of stages like she did. It was almost as bad luck as droids between the two. From twice on Echnos and Tatooine when they met they both stood on a stage and the flood gates of destruction opened up on them.

Just as she thought of those moments the tower exploded and there it was the darkness of their entwined fate. Her eyes closed for a moment as her head turned towards the tower but then she heard someone call out to her.

"For my last trick…"

A pause—enough to let the moment crackle.

"…We are going to make these assassins disappear."

Assassin's no……. These weren't assassins, they were marauders. Assassins would have announced their appearance Tamsin thought to herself as she pulled her saber from her belt.

Snap-hiss the seemingly single purple blade came to life as she looked as the marauders charged the crowds. "I'm fine, Kaila but something seems off?" she sent a telepathic message to Kaila. "Why would they make so much noise? Also add stages to things we should avoid!"

Now at this point she realized why it was good to be her small self, several of the assassin's spotted her in the crowd kind of hard not to she was a tall winged Diathim jedi a good two foot taller than the average human woman.

An assassin can at her fast she side stepped pivoting on her left foot her size made her target but under the mask she was still the small quick Tamsin Graves. The Assassin underestimated the speed thinking the figure was more lumbering brute. As he stumbled past Tamsin's saber quickly moved upwards catching him in the abdomen the man screamed in pain as rolled away but then came a second assassin.

"Chit!" Tamsin said as the next assassin came in and behind him two more. Her free hand reached out and she blasted the incoming one with a force blast knocking him off his feet. Chit…jedi didn't cuss did they, no time to stop and think about it as she started to back pedal a bit as two more assassins were incoming for her and the one, she blasted was trying to get back to his feet.

"Yeah….uh let's make them disappear! For the alliance!" Oh god that was dumb she probably gave away she was no jedi with her stupid words.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

The world seemed to split apart.

The shriek echoed across the fields like a banshee's cry, and in the same breath, the Force buckled — air compressed into a battering ram of sound and kinetic fury. Valery's eyes narrowed. Her saber lifted slightly, but it was her free hand that rose — fingers splayed, palm outward — just as the shockwave hit.

A translucent wall of energy burst into form around her, the sheer pressure slamming into it with a thunderous crash. Dirt exploded to her sides. Shattered farming tools, burning debris, even whole fence posts were ripped from the mud and hurled backward like weightless toys. The storm raged against her, wind howling, water stinging against her cheeks like needles.

But Valery stood still.

Boots rooted in torn earth and her ponytail whipped out behind her like a flag caught in a cyclone. The barrier held. And then it fell away — not shattered, but dismissed.

Steam curled from the soaked ground as the tension snapped and silence crashed into the space between them. Valery's hand dropped slowly, the violet blade at her side thrumming with restrained power. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and just for a heartbeat, the corner of her lips curved into a knowing smirk.

Then she was gone.

The rain barely had time to shift before Valery moved — a violet streak of motion in the storm, her body snapping forward like a bolt of lightning unleashed. Her boots barely kissed the ground. One blink, and she was on the Undine.

The saber came up not in a wild swing, but in a single, crushing overhead arc aimed straight down at the woman's defenses — precise, brutal, and unstoppable as falling rock.

No hesitation. No words.

Ellissanthia ​

 

[Lord Meverell]

The Palace doors, heavy and thick slabs of wrought durasteel, slammed shut behind them. While the sounds from outside were muffled, every noise inside was amplified by the vast space within. Their footfalls rang out with every step across the floorboards as Meverell led Luciana through the winding halls. The deeper they went, separated from the fighting by many layers of reinforced walls, the safer they would be.

"There is a hidden passage underground, accessed via the dungeon," he explained to Luciana in hushed tones. "The king should already be—"

Another explosion rocked the Palace. The building trembled with enough force that Meverell nearly lost his balance, reaching out to brace his arm against the wall. Somewhere a door opened, and the screams of women and shouts of men flooded the corridor. The party guests were fleeing, creating a panicked crush at the nearest exit.

Meverell's brow furrowed. The Palace was a fortress. Surely they knew it would be safer to stay put. Why were they running away?

"Go to the dungeon and wait for me there," Meverell ordered Luciana before walking toward the dining hall. A frantic woman burst out and ran past him; he reached with one hand, catching the door before it could swing shut, and cautiously pushed it further open.

Eurydice Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia​