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

[Cin]

UKATIS
THE BURNING
- Serina Calis - Makko Vyres -​

The Dragon's mouth snapped shut in surprise as something flew past his face. Something steaming and sparking and very not dead.

He twisted his neck, coiling over himself like a serpent, jaw hissing open, burning oxygen from the air as he prepared to take a bite... then felt an odd sort of calm from the Sith that rode him. Resolution. A challenge.

Cin smiled, his curling lip revealing rows of unnatural fangs. Malice radiated from that glance.

A challenge, he understood.

The Dragon evened the furious tempo of his wingbeats, banking into a slow, gentle glide towards the city of Axilla to take in the chaos. Serina and this unburned pilot would have their duel.

And Cin would be their arena.

 

[King Horace]

What thoughts ran through the mind of the king in his last moments?

Nothing particularly noteworthy, to be honest. It was impossible to focus on anything other than the agony. Horace was no stranger to pain, but it had been a long time since he had felt so utterly helpless. That was worse than the physical sensation. The Seers' ritual, his rebuilt fortress, his bodyguards... in the end none of it mattered. He could not stop fate, no matter how hard he tried.

Horace was badly wounded, but not dead yet. Through blurred vision, the king saw moving shapes. He heard shouting, screams, the flapping of wings. Who let a bloody bird into his dungeon?

Then a weird feminine voice, standing over him, saying words he didn't understand:

"Decent form, admirable use of cloaking, but I'm afraid you need to take out at least one more vital organ. See behind the eyes? He's in agony in there, the paralytic-nociceptor agent worked, but without more damage he could recover from this in time."

Ah. She was chastising the Ascania turd for fumbling the assassination. Well, at least he could have the satisfaction of knowing even Lysander's superiors thought he'd done a sloppy job.

"In a target with such abundant adiposity, you must ensure you push completely through the outer layers- punching cleanly through the muscle wall."

The blade was driven in deeper. Horace felt it pierce his flesh, cutting to the bone. Though this meant that the wound had gone from critical to fatal, the excruciating pain began to recede. In its place he felt a coldness, a numbing as his body began to shut down.

He wasn't afraid to die. The ritual had been for his courtiers and subjects. For their comfort, knowing that there would be another summer without bloodshed, no fighting over who would take his place just yet. If there was a Hell, a Netherworld where the wicked suffered for all eternity, then that was where he would go. But he didn't care, because the few people he had ever loved would be there.

These Sith could probably understand the sentiment. They would all join him eventually.

A choked noise escaped him as he expired. It might have been a name, or a curse, or just the final gurgle of a dying man, a death rattle. It didn't matter, for it was unintelligible to all who heard it.

---

The royal guard put up a valiant effort, but it was useless. It was the doom of Ukatis that they were always outclassed. The planet had been invaded twice now, and yet they still hadn't quite adapted to the superior technology of their enemies. Whether due to pride or stubbornness or some more obscure reason, their soldiers still fought with swords and charged into battle on horseback, as if they had come from another age.

Nor could the mystic arts of the Seers stand against the might of a Sith. By the time their king breathed his last, there were three Dark Siders in the dungeon, oozing might and malice—and their leader, Father Erasmus, had abandoned them.

The weak-minded fled. The few who remained perished at the hands of the assassins. A few chose retreat, escaping via the hidden passage. The unlucky ones ended up in the throne room, where Darth Nefaron and his cronies awaited them.

One burst forth from a hatch into the Basilica, covered in dust and blood splatter. "Father!" she cried out. "The king is dead! They've taken the Palace! Father Erasmus is—"

The Patriarch of Axilla, clad in his white robes and cap, left a similarly disheveled Lord Meverell in the nave and went immediately to the girl's side, reaching out to clasp her shoulders. "I know, child," he said sorrowfully. "I know."

Had he foreseen it? Why hadn't he done something? Could any of them have stopped it? She sobbed, her weeping eyes darting upward to the stained glass window of the Basilica. No light illuminated the colorful design. She supposed it was a miracle it was still intact at all, what with the battle raging outside...

Father Lakota checked her for injuries, then led her away from the hatch. "We must prepare for the days ahead. Even if the Sith are driven back, a new battle for the throne will begin. But take heart, Sister Hinael. All is not lost."

/exit
Darth Malum of House Marr Lysander von Ascania Eurydice Madrona A’Mia Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Eurydice]

ROYAL PALACE

Tags: Veradun Sharr Darth Nefaron
​

Eurydice cried out in dismay as Veradun once again snatched her by the hair. She grimaced as he yanked her head back, holding her in place to view that cold, cruel smile. Hot tears streaked over her cheeks, no doubt another source of amusement for the assassin.

"H-How can someone so young become so cruel?"

Her voice was low, whispered, and quivering. Fear was plain across her features, but perhaps a thread of sympathy lingered in her watery eyes.

Eurydice had no idea what to make of this rapidly escalating situation. Father Erasmus, in an attempt to either save his own skin or trick Darth Nefaron - had only angered the Sith instead. Only steps away, the grisly sight of Marcel holding his own wife hostage unfolded.

"Apprentice, this imbecile is ruining my show. Kindly cut his throat for me."

There was a pause from Erasmus. Disbelief radiated in the Force. Was this Dark Lord so blinded by his own station that he did not understand how much more useful he could be than the girl?

"M-My Lord, My King, please-"

Nefaron had turned away. The Seer's pupils, completely dilated, shifted towards Veradun. It would be a difficult motion to track. He might've been old, but how was this boy supposed to stop him?

"You- child-"

From within the folds of his sleeve, Erasmus drew a knife and rushed towards the young Nagai with a banshee shriek.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

ROYAL PALACE
​

Direct Tags: Darth Nefaron Veradun Sharr
Indirect Tags: Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia Sibylla Abrantes King Horace (rip in pieces) Jalen Kai'el Makko Vyres Darth Malum of House Marr

In an instant, Cora's world narrowed into the appalling sight of Marcel holding her mother - his own wife - hostage.

Then, it widened a little to make space for Nefaron's cruel laughter. His words did not fall on deaf ears, a mixture of the truth and his own embellishment.

For a few long moments, Cora remained rigidly still. Sweat beaded along the ridges of her furrowed brow and began to drip down either side of her face. Her eyes, wide and tense, flicked back and forth between the Sith on the throne, and the blade held at Luciana's neck.

How had it come to this?

"Father," her voice came in a rasping hiss. The vibroblade remained raised, remained pointed at him. It felt wrong, but no choice felt right. "I thought you stronger than the poison of persuasion. But to hold a sword to your own wife's neck? She gave you nine children! You allow that monster take our home, and now your honor?"

Inside, her stomach twisted and turned. Darth Nefaron was a threat, and he would be dealt with, but the more immediate danger was wearing a familiar face.

Marcel did not respond. Not with words. His beady eyes, glinting like steel forged within the fires of madness, narrowed. A little more pressure was applied against his wife's neck. Several beads of crimson rolled across Luciana's pale skin, and she grasped feebly at her husband's arm, trying to claw it away.

The visceral fear in her wide, dark eyes snapped like a spark toward her daughter. Something flickered in the Force. A trigger.

Corazona moved. Sharp and decisive, a quick, calculated swipe with power behind it was enough to knock Marcel's blade away from her mother's neck.

It left the tip of her own sword buried in her father’s throat.

Luciana let out a cry of shock. Marcel staggered, his grip loosened, and the Viscountess was quickly pulled behind Corazona.

"Mother…" she murmured, checking over the wound at her neck. It was shallow, but it bled slowly. A strip of torn fabric from the sleeve of her tunic was pressed over the injury. "Mother, we must get you out-"

Luciana place a hand on Cora's shoulder, and the daughter lapsed into silence. The pair shared a silent, meaningful gaze, before Luciana moved to Marcel's side. He'd collapsed, the dark power bestowed upon him having waned, leaving the Puppet King a weathered, almost skeletal husk.

The Viscountess said nothing, but held her husband's hand in his final moments.

"Co-ra…zona…"

Before his lungs could fill with blood and silence him forever, Marcel beckoned his wayward child forward. Cora obliged, her expression heavy as she knelt before her father's body.

"The day…you were born. It…ra…rained."

The ire had drained from his face, replaced now with regret. Guilt. Each warm pump of blood from his severed jugular made it harder to speak, but Marcel persisted with what remained of his strength.

He reached for her face, but Cora intercepted his hand with her own. The gesture was not aggressive. She guided their hands back down to rest at Marcel's side as he struggled to speak. "After…af.. after a long drought,"

The Viscount paused. His chest moved sharply as a gasping, gagging cough rattled his ribs. Blood seeped from both corners of his mouth as his lips moved slowly.

"The heavens…opened…up…"

Marcel sucked in another ragged breath. It wasn't enough. Cora lifted her hand from his own and placed it upon her father's brow. She could feel his heart, its desperate, fading beat as it fought to live, and ushered it into a gentle stillness.

In his last moments, Marcel thought of the day his first born had come into the world:

The sound of rain beating relentlessly against the window was punctured by the wail of a newborn. Marcel held his daughter awkwardly, both hands near trembling as he observed the tiny babe. All chubby limbs and soft skin, she was unlike anything he had ever seen. Cautiously, under the guidance of a midwife, he held a finger out to her. Her flailing hand caught it, little fingers wrapping tightly around his own.

A genuine smile began to curl the edges of Marcel's lips. For the first time in a long time, it was as if stone had moved.

He had been disappointed at first. Tradition demanded a son. Only a boy, grown into a man, could carry on the family name. A firstboen girl was not an auspicious sign.

And yet, in that moment, Marcel had not cared.

Perhaps it was the contact between them, but Cora had been privy to her father's final memory before it faded into stardust. The world opened back up with a rush around her.

She lifted her hand from Marcel's head and with her palm, drew his eyes closed. She felt a hand upon her face, and looked up to find Luciana wiping away her daughter's tears.

The King was dead. The Puppet King was dead, too.

What remained?

 

[Jalen Kai'el]

Ukatis
Allies: Corazona von Ascania
Enemies: Darth Nefaron

Delta-7, Lothal Jedi Temple​

Jalen came to his senses on the ground, staggering back up to his feet. He had fallen at some point, supposedly, no doubt an effect of the toxin. It was still in the air, but he had overcome it seemingly. His surroundings weren't strange anymore, back to the regular darkness and the noise of auras rushing about. His barrier had fallen by now, the focus he had kept to maintain it long broken. He had done what he could, or he hoped he had. He just needed to get back to Cora now...

The young Knight assessed his wounds as he made haste through the streets. Head trauma, minor cut left behind. He could feel the blood trickling down the side of his head. That was nothing to worry about. The head stored the most blood and thusly bled more than other areas. It wasn't out of the ordinary. Broken rib, likely from the fall, didn't seem at risk of moving to puncture any vitals. He was okay to keep moving... Even if he should really just lie down.

He returned to the Royal Palace, to the Throne Room. Where he had left Corazona to face her father. The father was dead, what felt to be her mother by her aura sobbing, wounded as well. Cora in a daze, and a Sith seated on the throne. Jalen Kai'el strode in, drawing his bandages to wrap his eyes back up, letting out a sigh.

"I did what I could with the toxin," he stated. "It was delayed in spreading, if that changed anything... Miss... von Ascania, I presume? Jalen Kai'el. I believe it would be best to take you to safety."

His attention shifted to Nefaron, the young man's lips pursing. The architect of the toxin, this crisis... the death of Cora's father.

"As a trained medical officer, I don't typically condone the act of taking life," Jalen expressed to Cora, "but I suggest an exception be made here. Put him in the dirt. The dead will rest easier."

Jalen would offer his hand to Cora's Mother in order to usher her out. This was no longer his fight....

He'd leave it to her.

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Jaina gawped as the blonde floated away, depositing the two civilians she had rescued on the roof of a tall building. She could fly? It figured that the first biot she encountered would have abilities beyond her own, but even so, it was surprising.

On the other hand, she didn’t look like she was doing too good emotionally. The blonde hadn’t fallen fully under the toxin’s sway, which was good, but compared to Jaina, who was seemingly immune to the gas, she seemed a bit more vulnerable to its effects. If Jaina had to pick between being able to fly and not having to worry about eventually being reduced to a homicidal wreck, she’d take the latter.

"Didn't think I'd run into another like me out here. At least, one that wasn't hostile..."

“No kidding,” Jaina muttered as they searched for the dispenser. The blonde was so much like her, and yet so… not. “I’m Jaina. Jaina Grayson. Say, are you connected to, uh… House Li-Ves?” she tentatively asked. As far as she knew, only the ancient Atrisian clan had created biots of her type. Well, them and House Io. But if this chick was with them… yikes.

Eventually they stumbled upon a pair of Sith soldiers clad in environmental suits targeting civilians. The blonde was quick to act, shooting maser beams out of her eyes (!!) and then becoming invisible (!!!!). Jaina jumped into action too, charging at the other Sith and slicing into his throat with her vibroaxe.

"I think the dispenser is about sixty meters ahead." Meleena said to Jaina. "More enemies... get ready."

“Let’s go!” Jaina roared, leaping into the fray. There was an undeniable joy to her fighting—a sense that she was fulfilling the purpose she was created for. In the aftermath, when she stood amongst the bodies and the blood of her fallen foes, she might feel guilty for enjoying it. But in the moment, fighting people who arguably needed to die, her bloodlust was at its peak.

She cut her way through the ranks of the soldiers, chopping off limbs like a deranged lumberjack. The Sith shot at her with blasters and hit her with vibroblades, throwing everything they had at her. But she just laughed and kept on killing them, her onslaught unstoppable.

At last, they had sliced a path through enemy lines to the dispenser: a canister disguised as a trash can. “Can you disable it?” Jaina asked her companion. “I’m no good with anything requiring smarts in this configuration. I’d have to change personas to know what I’m doing, and that will take time.” Time they might not have.

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



Pain bloomed like a violet flower across her ribs as Makko's armored boot struck her chest.

Serina reeled, boots scraping across the dragon's scorched scales as she slid backward, but she did not fall. No—her balance shifted like liquid within a chalice, never spilling. The impact was real, but her poise was unshaken. Her cape fluttered wildly behind her, and lightning still clung to her fingertips, dancing like serpents awaiting her wrath. Sparks traced her silhouette against the burning sky. Her mask hissed with each controlled breath.

The Jedi had landed.

She turned her head, the movement slow, deliberate—as if she refused to grant him the satisfaction of urgency. Her glowing blue eyes met his through the dim of battle, pupils narrowed to slits of cold precision. Smoke trailed from where his armor crackled and hissed. His body radiated damage. But there he stood. Still he stood.

He is wounded, she thought. But he is not broken. Not yet.

That made it interesting.

Her opponent was not some self-righteous knight proclaiming peace. He was a missile—launched by desperation and devotion, not virtue. Burnt, battered, driven by the sharp edge of loss.

That made him dangerous.

The dragon—Cin—roared once in glee before banking away into a slow, graceful glide. He had understood. This was no longer his moment. It belonged to them. He would be the battleground. His massive, scorched back would become the dueling floor for an exchange written in myth.

Serina adjusted her footing atop the beast's spine, boots anchoring between the armored ridges that traced down his back. She rose to her full height once more, unholstered nothing—she carried no blade. No saber. Only the Force. Only will. That was enough.

Makko's lightsaber hissed into being, its blade casting pale light across the shadow of her figure. She did not flinch. Her voice, filtered through the mask, emerged as cold vapor—mechanical and regal.

"So. You fell from the sky to strike me. Not with honor. Not with hope. But with pain."
"Good."

A flick of her hand, and the Force surged again.

The air thickened around her, not like a hammer—but like a net. She moved not to dominate him physically, but to box him in. Her mind raced through possibilities—every twitch, every breath, every crack in his defense. He was strong, but slowed. Wounded. And Affliction still crawled through his veins, gnawing at his coordination, feeding doubt into the seams of his confidence. She would make that rot blossom.

She lifted one hand. Not to strike. Not yet.

"You fight for a world that spits on the ones you love. For a throne built of hypocrisy and blood. Do not mistake that for heroism."

Her other hand curled into a claw.

"But you are brave. And I will remember you as such."

Then, her mask hissed again, and her voice dropped into something reverent.

"Let this be your epitaph."

With that, Serina surged forward.

No blade. No saber. Only the storm.

She lashed out with a violent burst of telekinetic force, sweeping wide with one arm to disrupt his balance atop their unstable perch. The wind cracked around them. The sky itself recoiled. Her follow-up came instantly: a sweeping kick toward the side of his knee to stagger him—deliberate, ruthless, meant to maim, not kill. She wanted his pain, his exhaustion. She wanted to grind him down, not annihilate him.

And then the lightning came again.

Shorter arcs this time—controlled, surgical, meant not to overwhelm, but to puncture his defenses, to slip past the shell and touch the nerves. Her mastery of the Force was not a tide—it was a needle. And she stabbed it toward him again and again, dancing just out of reach of his blade with impossible fluidity, letting his exhaustion deepen with every passing breath.

All the while, below them, the city of Axilla began to scream.

Nefaron's gas had reached the streets. Families wept in hallucinations. Civilians clawed at invisible nightmares. The world was collapsing in on itself.

And above it all, atop a gliding dragon of nightmare and prophecy, two warriors carved their truths into the storm.

Serina wanted Makko to remember this duel until his dying breath.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

That their reunion was interrupted by a particularly talkative weed seemed altogether too appropriate, yet, even still, disappointing. He noted the curtsy that Lady A'Mia gave him with a moment of consideration, "I am not instructor nor teacher to my cousin, my lady, do not mistake familial bonds for coddling." The words passed his lips as easily as water passed, as red eyes masked by the replica mask of their great ancestor faced the newest discovery of the Marr bloodline.

The reaction the young lad had towards the Neti had been... curious, to say the least. To imagine, another of his blood had been on Korriban this entire time, it seemed... those of Caedes' ilk had taken quite a liking to those who descended from the Lord of Duty, it was three he counted now, and each, only made him more uncomfortable.

Yet, there was little gain in thinking of such matters now. Especially, as those red eyes narrowed at the seeming... submissiveness, it was hardly befitting a Sith, much less a Marr. But Malum knew well about judging books by their covers, even if, already, his mind raced.

Korriban was not where his education should be formented, the Marrs had raised exemplary warriors for generations, and... as much as it bit him to not consider himself as amongst the youngest generation, it was true... the next was coming up beneath him, at a steadying pace. It would do no good for the young not to be given the tools to surpass the old.

Yet, there was a fourth in this query of theirs, one not present, but one... certainly felt.

Cora.

The final act was beginning and ending, and as much as it rankled on his pride, he was not to be the star of this stage.

"She fights for a throne she does not even know she desires," The Dark Councillor opined with a firmness in tone that might as well have proscribed it as fact, "The King she swore oaths too lies dead before us, there remains only one beating heart between her and a crown," There was vaguery there, but it was spread so thick, that it could be sliced with a knife.

"It is now only question of if she will commit an act from whence there is no forgiveness, either for her or from her," He reached to the side of his armour, drawing forth what seemed like a tiny metallic ball, before throwing it forth, a projector alighting, transmitting the room's contents to frequences and transmissions across the city.

The masked gaze fell upon it, knowing, the role he was bid to play.

"Attention all citizens of Axila and Ukatis, I deliver you the news that the tyrant King Horace von Cholmondeley is dead, and with the extinguishing of the House von Cholmondeley, by Right of Conquest, House von Ascania claims the crown and ascends the throne of Ukatis, all forces loyal to the tyrant king are to bend the knee or be destroyed, all hail King Marcel von Ascania." The projector whirled, as it took in each and every word, as it took upon the presence of a King slayed upon the ground, and the young man who had made the killing blow, before it ceased its transmission.

He turned back towards his cousin, "She is in the throne room, your father's throne awaits."

Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia
Mentioned: Corazona von Ascania Darth Caedes Sophia of House Marr Revna Marr Marcel von Ascania
Transmission: Everyone who wants to hear it.

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Lirka Ka

Again and again.

Evil rose up. Laughed in her face. Told her it was inevitable.

A smirk formed, blood flowing from that broken nose as she stared down the metal beast in front of her.

"You don't get it do you? Inevitability only matters if you give up. You can throw the world at us. You can burn our planets, destroy our order, rip the stars from us, and we'll keep standing up, facing you down. Because that's hope. That's grit. The things that make heroes. You think your precious gas can break me? You think you can make me feel hopeless just because your plans are in motion? Time runs out with I say it does, so break me. I dare you."

Without another word, she slashed at the ground in front of her, marking it with a line in the sand.

Then she raised her blade, and spat blood at the ground in front of her.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

ALLIES: Veradun Sharr Darth Malum of House Marr Lysander von Ascania
ENEMIES: Jalen Kai'el
FUTURE SERVANTS: Corazona von Ascania Eurydice

At last, the Corpse Lord's show had come to an end.

He could not help but clap.

Even as father and daughter shared a final, fleeting moment together.
​

In the silence that followed the death of Marcel von Ascania, the roar of battle outside the palace began to subside now that the death of King Horace was announced. To many Loyalists, it appeared they had become rebels against the new regime. They paused for but a moment, before they continued their struggle. The rebels had been bolstered, but it would be fleeting.

"Lord Malum has seen to the false king, and you have opened the way for your own rule."

Nefaron stood from the throne, his sickening grin growing ever wider as he looked on. Even with the arrival of another Jedi, he was utterly certain of his own victory. What would the Alliance win here now? They would drive the Sith away, but in the end, they were left with a ruined world that was rife with rebellion and the corruption of the Dark Side. It would take years to rebuild, and this would be but the beginning of the Sith's vengeance. Soon, all worlds would resemble Ukatis if the Corpse Lord were to have his vision for the galaxy come true. But that was in the decades to come, Nefaron would content himself with the sad little show he'd created in the von Ascania family.

"Hail to Marcel von Ascania. King for less than a day, now that is quite the story to memorialize in the vaunted history of House von Ascania."

His mockery was cruel. His laughter was yet crueler.

"What a fool. The darkness in his heart blinded him to what we did to this pathetic world. Come now, Queen Corazona von Ascania, come take the throne and rule over what remains of your people."

Nefaron stood between the Jedi and the throne of her homeworld. Arms extended, as if inviting her to strike him down.

"Ah, but we must, of course, show your people how your reign is to begin!"

It was now that Nefaron activated a device on his belt, only for a vast projection to appear in the throne room, replaying the final duel between father and daughter and its eventual aftermath. Once the show had ended, Nefaron's terrible visage became the focus of attention as he spoke to the entirety of Ukatis.

"Hail Queen Corazona von Ascania, kin-killer and bringer of death of the people of Ukatis. This is the price all who oppose the Sith shall pay, for none of you are safe."

The recording of the battle and Nefaron's subsequent warning had been broadcast planet-wide. Loyalist and Rebel alike now witnessed the futility of what they had done, how both sides had been manipulated into a battle that left only death and ruin in its wake. The Sith had come only to spread death to the heart of the Alliance, to make their ancient Jedi enemies suffer and fall to the power of the Dark Side. The final piece of Nefaron's puzzle had at last fallen into place, for it was time that Corazona cast aside her dedication to the light and embraced her place with the Sith. All she needs to do is strike at Nefaron in anger, give in to her wrath, and at last her fall would be complete.

"Your home burned. Your people butchered. Do you not see what awaits those who oppose the Sith? Our victory is inevitable; all you do is ensure the suffering of those you wish to protect. There is only one way this ends for you, Corazona, and it is time you embraced what I know is within you."

It was then that Nefaron reached out to his apprentice once more, to ensure that his other prize was not damaged in the coming storm.

"Take the Seer and retreat to the King's personal landing pad. A ship will be waiting to retrieve us. I will not be long, but be assured that you have served me well this day, Apprentice."

There would be no climactic battle between the Jedi and the Dark Lord. He just needed to push Corazona to her breaking point, to see what he knew to be true in his cold heart.

Everyone could fall. Everyone could be consumed by their fear.

Nefaron had made the Jedi's fears come to life. ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

ROYAL PALACE
​

Direct Tags: Darth Nefaron Veradun Sharr
Indirect Tags: Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia Sibylla Abrantes King Horace (rip in pieces) Jalen Kai'el Makko Vyres Darth Malum of House Marr

Put him in the dirt.

A flicker of gratitude crossed her otherwise stony countenance as Jalen lead her mother away. His injuries had not escaped her notice, and she felt another thread of guilt weave itself into the tapestry of pain worn in the creases of her expression.

Cora lifted her head to watch Nefaron rise from the throne and descend the dais. He spoke – as always – with a level of cruelty and confidence would've felt fabricated from anyone else. Where many Sith taunted opponents about what they would do, Nefaron ridiculed her with what he had done.

To think, this had all started in a garden. To think, Nefaron had the drive and patience to snuff out the details of her weakness and exploit them in such a horrifyingly exquisite manner.

Rage, shame, sorrow, even fear blurred together in a vivid kaleidoscope that simmered just beneath her skin. This was not the first time the temptation of the Dark called to her, but it was certainly the most potent. Heat crept up her neck, blushing the edges of her jaw and cheeks with bitter fury that begged to be unleashed on the walking corpse who sneered at his victory over her.

Her own home, her people, and her family had all become collateral damage in this Sith Lord's quest for domination. Nefaron embellished, but truth made for the most painful lesson.

"You never wanted Ukatis. You wanted my fall."

Cora swallowed thickly. She adjusted her grip on the vibrosword and took a step forward. The ire that glassed her eyes, dancing like the violent winds of an approaching storm, came to a sudden stillness as the clash with her father was projected for all to see and hear.

Kin-killer and bringer of death of the people of Ukatis.​

Frozen in shock, Nefaron would be treated to the sight of his target's face pulling in distraught. Another tear slipped down the side of her cheek, tinged an inky black from mascara. Perhaps her most shameful moment, broadcast across the planet for everyone to see.

Cora drew in a slow breath. Her pain receded, gradually, like the tide being drawn out to sea. She buried it into layers of agony that would eventually peel back with time, but it was tradition for Ukatian aristocrats to mask negative feelings. With her head lifted and shoulders squared, she approached Nefaron in slow, measured steps.

She walked past him. Cora ascended the dais and cast her gaze to the throne. An ostentatious, gaudy thing embellished in precious metals and stones. Idly, she noticed that it had not been encrusted in so many jewels just years ago.

Turning, Cora faced Nefaron once again. She remained standing while the subtle motion of her hand would direct the broadcasting device's camera toward her.

"Sons and Daughters of Ukatis, the discontent you feel with the crown is real. It is true. It demands change. But these Sith - they have exploited your pain for their own gain. They do not care for the world of Ukatis or its people beyond what they can extract from it! The values you've fought for today – peace and justice – mean nothing to them."

Her blade rose sharply, the tip pointed at Nefaron. Jedi did not rule, and she had no intention of taking the throne, but the moment demanded a voice that the people could rally behind. What stayed her rage from burning through the capital was the broadcast. Public. It still simmered beneath her skin with sorrow and guilt, and she let it give strength to her voice.

"I have seen what they've done to their conquered worlds. Families, torn apart. Resources, siphoned and destroyed. People, enslaved. They'd leave Ukatis a burning husk if it served them, even if rebellion had brought victory. The great lie they sell you is that they are inevitable - but they can be defeated. Do not fall for their deception as my father did, Sons and Daughter of Ukatis! Do not succumb to the poison of their lies, to the madness they inspire!"

Standing on the dais before the throne, Cora looked down at Nefaron through a mask of sharp stone.

"Let them take advantage of our pain no longer – drive them from our home!"

Cora lowered her blade and lifted her left hand. Tiny sparks leaped from her fingers, then cascaded towards the Corpse Lord in great arcs of emerald lightning. It was a relentless assault, and as the emotions she'd wrangled began to slip to the surface, some of those strokes of light would tinge a bright blue.

Know this, her voice rang out in Nefaron's mind. Even if I fall to anger, to fear, to the Dark – I will be neither your ally nor your slave.

Across Ukatis, the tides began to turn in favor of the crown loyalists and their allies from the Galactic Alliance. The rebel forces, who had initially marched alongside the Sith, now joined with their native brethren in one final push to rid their homeworld of the unwelcome Dark-sided interlopers.

ATTN: Serina Calis Shan Lirka Ka Jonyna Si Cin Minerva Fhirdiad Nodak Ashley Nevermore Drystan Creed Nos Voros Razh Sho Ellissanthia Valery Noble Dominick von Ascania Jenn Kryze Razmir Tezhyn Tamsin Graves Braze Aris Noble Lyssa Clauda Meleena Bloodscrawl Kaila Irons Reina Daival Jaina Grayson Mykel Dawson Kirie Quinn Varanin Corin Trenor Connel Vanagor Azurine Varek Everest Vale CT-312 Phoebe Winsloe Sinya Tarkona Andrial Madon Cassvar

Spoiler: TL;DR

• King Horace and Marcel von Ascania, the rebel leader, are both dead.
• Nefaron broadcasts the fight between Cora and Marcel, proclaiming Cora as "Queen" and blaming her for the destruction.
• Cora hijacks the broadcast to rally Ukatians against the Sith.
• Both loyalist and rebel forces have now turned on the Sith.
• (Yes this thread is ending soon, thank you so much for being apart of it! <3)

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Direct Tags: Darth Nefaron // Eurydice // Corazona von Ascania
@ everyone else, there are a lot of people to tag lol​

"H-How can someone so young become so cruel?"

Veradun stared at the young Seer for a few seconds longer, before he looked away to return his focus to what was going on around him. Her words slipped between the cracks of his armor, though - and made him think. He considered her words in stony silence, even as the older Seer made his appearance and attempted to trade his life for the girl’s. Veradun wasn’t sure if Nefaron would accept the old man’s pledge or not; he was older, wiser, surely carried more experience - but the boy had learned in the time he’d been with Darth Nefaron, that the Corpse Lord seemed to enjoy the breaking process of those who were still young and had so much life and potential in them.

Anger rippled through the dark web of the Force from the Dark Lord upon the throne as he turned his attention to the newcomer, and what sounded like a growl rumbled from his throat. Veradun’s heart quickened in its pace - not in fear, but in excitement. Anticipation. His grip on the girl Seer tightened ever so slightly as he tensed, as if he was waiting for something.

Nefaron gestured with a hand towards the girl, and Veradun felt power seize hold of her and he released her as she transferred from his possession and into the hands of his Master instead.

"Apprentice, this imbecile is ruining my show. Kindly cut his throat for me."

Ah, there it was. The moment the boy had been anticipating and waiting for. The order to kill.

Some deep part of the young Nagai rankled at being ordered around so, as if he was some attack hound of his Master. But he buried that resentment deep, stored it in a hidden place, because eventually that resentment would come in handy for him later on. It was fuel for the fire that wanted to burn everything in his path.

The older man, upon hearing his execution order, turned his corrupted gaze towards the young Sith - and with a shriek that pierced the air, charged Veradun with a blade of his own. Veradun let him come, and just before he could reach the boy and plunge his knife in, the boy deftly stepped aside and moved with the speed and grace that was known for those of his kind. The man, expecting to collide into a mere boy, rushed and then stumbled past him and that was when Veradun made his own move - flicking his wrist to drop his hidden assassin’s blade into his hand as he reached out with the Force with the other to freeze the man in place, if only for a moment.

But a moment was all he needed.

Veradun stepped up to his momentarily frozen prey and almost quicker than what the eye could follow, the knife flashed. His Master said to cut the man’s throat, and that’s exactly what he did - the infamous ‘Red Grin’. Like he usually did, the boy hovered and watched his victim expire, before he turned his attention back to the scene unfolding around him.

The new King and his daughter were fighting…and then Marcel was dying, killed by his own daughter. The volatile emotions that came with fighting, with death, poured into the Force and created a cocktail of power that even the young and still inexperienced Sith could feel. Veradun resumed his possession of their Seer captive, as his Master addressed the Jedi woman, his voice as cruel and mocking as it always was.

The boy continued to watch and learn as the drama continued to unfold, the cruel and masterful manipulation of his Master coming to light as words were wielded like a blade against the woman, Corazona. Not even the Jedi knew the true darkness behind this Rebellion, until it was too late. She and Nefaron seemed to have a history together, and the boy was suddenly rather curious about it, a curiosity he would have to keep to himself for the time being.

The Dark Lord’s voice slipped into Veradun’s mind, issuing him further orders to take the Seer to the King’s personal landing pad, where a vessel would be awaiting him. His obedience had earned his Master’s favor, and he felt a stirring of pride within his darkened heart for it. But even in the midst of that, there was fear. The boy just never knew if his ‘reward’ would be more torture for his efforts.

As you wish, Master. The boy responded back and without a word to his captive, he tugged her along with him as he made his way from the throne room and towards the landing pad.

Once out of earshot of his Master, the boy shifted his grip on his captive, glancing at her for a moment in cold contemplation, before he risked talking to her.

“You asked how someone as young as me can be so cruel. In time, you will come to understand how I am the way I am. One cannot be near the Dark Lord, and not be warped into a monster like him.” He said in a low and quiet voice to her. He continued onward in silence for a few steps, before he spoke again.

“The Sith are cruel, but my Master is the worst of them all. If he gets his way, then the galaxy we know will cease to exist. I am his obedient and loyal apprentice…until I have power enough to face and overcome him. And until that day comes, I must be as evil and cruel and ruthless as he is.”

He glanced back at her, his pale eyes no longer cold but flickering with some sort of emotion that was usually buried very deep. “Do yourself a favor, and obey. No matter what he asks of you, no matter what he does. And just know that in the end…he will be destroyed. And you could have a part to play in that too, if you heed my words.”

He hoped she would. Veradun liked the idea of finally having someone else within his Master’s domain that he might be able to call an ally. Of course, it was far too early to say or tell for certain - but he was patient, and could wait. If not her, then there would be others whom he could ally himself with.

He would need them one day - when he made his bid to take the Dark Lord’s throne of power for himself.

[EXIT POST]​

 

[Jalen Kai'el]

Ukatis
Tags: Corazona von Ascania

Delta-7, Lothal Jedi Temple​

Jalen didn't turn back as he escorted Cora's mother out of the Royal Palace. He didn't have to. He could feel everything, hear every word, sense every motion. How badly he wished to turn back, to light that whole forsaken palace up in flames and burn the Sith to ash. Yet even so, his focus was maintained. Even amidst the frustration he felt towards those who had torn apart the homeworld of his close friend, his attention was maintained keeping the elder von Ascania from harm.

Ultimately she would be brought to a nearby medical freighter. He had done a little to tend to some of her wounds on the way, but there they would give her more appropriate attention. He entrusted Cora's mother into the hands of the medical officers and then proceeded to turn back towards the palace.

"Officer Kai'el!" one of the medics called out. "Where are you going?"

"I need to go back," Jalen muttered. "I have to be there..."

Jalen took another step forward....

Then collapsed into the dirt. His body finally made the decision for him.

"...Do not succumb... poison of their lies... madness... Let them take advantage of our pain no longer..."

Cora's words flitted in and out of his ears as they continued to ring. The cacophony raged as he moved to push himself up. He never finished. His eyes fell shut below the bandages over his eyes, his body slumping. Jalen's mind pushed to remain awake, but ultimately fell unconscious.

He was going to be resting for a while.

[EXIT]​

 

[Makko Vyres]

UKATIS

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

Allies: Corazona von Ascania
Enemies: Cin Serina Calis

He was strong, but slowed. Wounded. And Affliction still crawled through his veins, gnawing at his coordination, feeding doubt into the seams of his confidence. She would make that rot blossom.

It finally dawned upon Makko that there was more than simple exhaustion. As his focus had been on manipulating the odds to fall through dragon fire and sith lightening, she had afflicted him with insidual sith magic.

She swung a kick. He should have been far from it, but she caught the front of his knee. Makko found his footing. Clad in black armour, he darted down the back of the dragon, feeling the beat of its wings to attack.

. She wanted to grind him down, not annihilate him.

And then the lightning came again.

Shorter arcs this time—controlled, surgical, meant not to overwhelm, but to puncture his defenses, to slip past the shell and touch the nerves. Her mastery of the Force was not a tide—it was a needle.

It was a dance. Between the hide of the dragon and the clouds above. Lightnight flared and his lightsaber flashed back and forth.

Makko was slowing. His blade caught an arc of lightning. A myriad of sparks rolled across the dragons back. His next attack didn't even come close to connecting. He landing and swung, the tip of his blade passing across the front of her chest.

His implants were receiving command communications and public broadcasts. Suddenly all public channels were overwhelmed. The hardened alliance messages kept coming, but it was the first sounds that caught his attention.

Commanding his armor's remaining subsystem with thought, the feed appeared on his HUD.

"Hail Queen Corazona von Ascania, kin-killer and bringer of death of the people of Ukatis. This is the price all who oppose the Sith shall pay, for none of you are safe."

"No..." he whispered. The feed would not have distracted him on his own. It was their bond. The strength of connection with Cora. He felt her resolve, but also her pain.

He lifted his lightsaber too slowly. She had probably meant to taunt him, bit the bolt struck him hard enough that Makko simply crumpled.

He wasn't on the floor. He was on the back of a flying dragon. He slipped from its back and tumbled through the air.

Turning, Cora faced Nefaron once again. She remained standing while the subtle motion of her hand would direct the broadcasting device's camera toward her.

Makko gasped inside his helmet as the wind rushed past him. He coughed sharply as he felt his extremities once again.

Everything hurt. As he watched Cora make her stand, it took all of his concentration to fight the pain. He had scant seconds to regain control of himself and reach for the Force.

Makko slowed his desenct just enough that the roof of the barn didn't shatter his spine. The farmers had been collecting the harvest. If they hadn't, the fall probably would have killed him.

The shadow landed in deep bales of high. He was left looking through the hole he had left being, watching the silhouette of the dragon against the stars.

"Fuck."

 

[Meleena Bloodscrawl]

"I am of House Li-Ves, yes..." Meleena answered, body fighting and breaking down the toxin just before the real rampage started.

Meleena showed absolutely no mercy to Sith Forces, her maser eyes dashing through Sith bodies, a combination of her repulsor cells and Dovin Basal heart slowing down enemies by a half second as she sped towards them, snapping limbs and necks, activating her Plasma Blade Organs and ripping into her opponents as much as the axe of Jaina Grayson did.

There were many Sith who died in those moments. Many an act of ripping. Of tearing.

But finally, it was done for now. They had fought their way to the dispenser.

Jaina asked if Meleena could handle the disarmament, as it would require Jaina herself to shift her form for the appropriate knowledge.

That clicked HARD with her databases. But she nodded, her advanced eye sensors scanning the system for weaknesses

"You must be a Li-Ves prototype. There's no way you couldn't be. That design detail is specific to my house..." Meleena mentioned as she used a combination of her Dovin Basal Heart, her plasma blades, and her Tractor/Pressor organs to interfere with the anti-handling mechanisms of the device and slow their reaction times, finishing it off with use of her Cryoban Projector Implants (Effects of which manifested as a soft white mist leaving the palms of her hands to freeze the device internals solid before smashing it apart and watching it shatter.

"It was the only way to be sure...let's go locate more..." Meleena said.

Meleena used the advanced sensors in her eyes to scan for more gas dispersal patterns...

"So...who was your design base? I imagine it was the second daughter of the Matriarch...only she had multiple copies..." Meleena inquired...

 

[Jaina Grayson]

"So...who was your design base? I imagine it was the second daughter of the Matriarch...only she had multiple copies..."

“Uh, I don’t know the exact familial relationship,” Jaina replied, watching unblinkingly as the gas canister was disabled with the blonde’s built-in tractor beam, then frozen solid and smashed to bits. “I’m a copy of a copy of a copy of a biot named Westenra, heh. A mad scientist got a hold of her and made some… extensive modifications. And I’m a copy of that modified copy…”

With the gas dispenser destroyed, they turned their attention to finding the next one. “I’m getting some readings over in that building… ‘Madame Von Berlioz’s Finishing School For Young Ladies’?” Jaina cringed. “They would put a gas canister in there, the sick sons of…”

She nonetheless charged in, notably having sheathed her axe in favor of the stun pistol again.

“Say, you still haven’t given me your name.” She might not trust Jaina enough for that, but she was getting tired of referring to her as just “the blonde”.

Meleena Bloodscrawl​

 

[Eurydice]

Veradun Sharr Darth Nefaron
​

There was a moment, when Erasmus and his knife drew near to Veradun, that the Seer could feel his imminent victory.

Then, the boy moved.

Blade brandished high, Erasmus stumbled over his own feet and past his quarry. Overtaken by a sudden bout of paralysis, the weapon dropped from his gnarled hand and clattered to the floor. The Nagai assassin had no words for the corrupted Seer as he slit the man's throat, bearing witness to the shock, the agony, the desperation to survive as the ancient soothsayer sputtered blood and half-formed curses from his thin, shriveled lips.

Erasmus collapsed to the floor. Behind Veradun, he could see Eurydice, tearful and frozen in either shock or the Dark Lord's hold on her. She quickly became blurred, her features lost to his fading vision, before the light in his eyes flickered its last.

With his reward claimed, Veradun was quick to drag the younger Seer along. Terrified and cowardly, Eurydice stumbled after him, limbs trembling. She'd been taken in by the Seers at an early age and raised among them. They hadn't always been kind, but it was a life she'd settle into.

On the precipice of the landing pad, Veradun's sharp glance had her stomach twisting into knots. He did not offer any more cruel words, but something that resembled advice. He saw his actions as a necessary evil to defeat a greater evil.

"I-I don't…I don't want to serve him…"

Her shoulders shook as she spoke, and the girl sounded as though she were on the precipice of sobbing. Which she was – it took what remained of her willpower not to dissolve into tears. Had Veradun not seen her as the easier target, Eurydice would've met a grisly fate as a sacrificial lamb at the hands of Father Erasmus.

Perhaps, if she had known what awaited her, she would've bared her throat to his blade.

[Exit]

 

[Darth Nefaron]

ALLIES: Veradun Sharr Darth Malum of House Marr Serina Calis
ENEMIES: Corazona von Ascania and the People of Ukatis


The Corpse Lord's Triumph was short-lived.
​

When the new Queen of Ukatis approached, he could not help the ruined grin that spread across his ruined visage. He even offered a bow, a mockery of her planet's traditions, but also a welcome gesture. He was so certain that she had given in that her emotionless visage was but the determination that came with rage and fury. She would take the throne, she would give in to every evil that her father represented and become his spitting image, but she would be so much more than the fool Marcel could ever be. He simply awaited the words, the desire to strike him down, or guidance on how best to master her newfound emotions.

Instead, she rebuked the throne. Standing before it, she used words as her weapon.

The Corpse Lord made no effort to stop the speech, but his smile vanished, and instead his own rage began to bubble. After everything he'd done, all the lives he'd taken, even turning her own father against her, Corazona still focused on her people and the Alliance over all else. Try as she may to hide her anger, she turned her power to rallying the defenders of Ukatis against the Sith. Nefaron cared little for the Sith who had accompanied him, save a few whom he had brought into his fold, so every one of them who fell to these peasants was little loss to him.

What bothered him more was that she was giving her people hope.

That could not be allowed.
​

Before Nefaron could react, he was quickly forced to the defensive as arcs of emerald lightning came streaking toward him. He had little time to through up his defenses, force shielding him from any physical damage, but the impact did send him off the dias and thudding into one of the walls of the palace. His ancient frame contained great darkness, but even he grunted with pain as he forced himself forward under the onslaught. He thought for a time that he had utterly failed to complete this component of his plan, until he noticed that the ability Corazona used wasn't simply the controversial Force Judgment. Twinges of bluish-purple rode the storm heading toward Darth Nefaron, and the words that forced their way into his own mind only confirmed what he had arrived on Ukatis believing.

She was on her path to the Dark Side. She could no longer escape it.

Nefaron's cruel smile returned as he matched the Jedi's power with his own, lightning leaped from outstreched fingers, a great tide of Darkness following in its wake. Nefaron's own words sliped into Corazona's mind, though they were disturbingly gentle, the words of a man who had convinced himself he was right.

As long as you live, as long as darkness stabs at your heart, you will be my servant.

The Corpse Lord forced himself forward, step by agonizing step. Uncharacteristicly, he carried within his cloak an ancient lighstaber and he even prepared to call it to his hand, ready to meet the Jedi in battle and rouse her rage yet further.

But the tide on Ukatis had turned. The people had stood up, they had rallied to the eldest daughter of House von Ascania, and now turned on those few who remained loyal to the Sith. The remaining royal guards and Loyalist forces were preparing to storm the throne room and confront the Sith Lord. For a brief moment, he considered waiting for them, waiting to slaughter all who opposed him in a true display of his power. But that would only risk him further, and his work was not complete here. So his lightsaber remained hidden, and instead, the Dark Lord turned his power toward aiding in his escape.

In a sudden motion, Nefaron turned one of his hands toward the bejeweled throne, ripping the precious stones free and sending them with deadly speed toward the back of the Jedi. He did not intend to kill her, only providing him a moment to flee. His frail form moved with unnatural speed, he was little more than a blur to the guards who had burst into the room to aid the Jedi, and by the time they had a moment to figure out what had happened, Nefaron was already dashing down the halls of the palace toward the ship he had ordered his Apprentice to take.

As a gesture of good will to his allies, he did activate the distress beacon on his communicator, a signal to all Sith forces that they were to leave Ukatis by any means.

He also had some parting words for Corazona. Once more, his tendrils slipped into her mind.

You will fall. No matter what you do, you will find your way to me. Strike me down, and at last you will understand what I have been trying to show you.

But be aware, young Corazona, some enemies share your blood. Enemies that have aided me every step of the way, even as I twisted your father's cruel mind.

Oh yes, seek me out all you wish. But you will never know peace while the Master of House Marr lives. Perhaps we will kill him together one day.

{EXIT POST}​

 

[Meleena Bloodscrawl]

"Westenra...as I suspected..." Meleena replied, spotting a nearby corpse with an old SMG design , setting it to stun. She grimaced as she heard their next destination.

"My family has encountered the ones who have done this in the past. He's a monster. We're still trying to formulate a cure for his toxin...it's not easy. It was very well designed..." Meleena admitted. "It's base is spice, but the way it's been modified...it can be customized. Tailored to a specific populace."

Meleena started walking with Jaina to their destination, alert for threats.

"I'm Meleena, by the way, in answer to your question." she added as they moved ahead. "I came here trying to defend the city. Evacuate who we could. We almost certainly have an evac ship coming if my troops obeyed standard protocol. You're welcome to come with us once it arrives."

Meleena stole a glance at the carnage as they got closer and closer to their destination, she grew visibly saddened as she saw the bodies in the streets.

"I think constantly losing to the Jedi has driven the Sith completely insane. It almost like they don't even care if they win anymore, as long as they can reap as much suffering as they can.

Her Maser eyes sliced through another squad of Sith as they cut through a street.

"Why they can't just let this stupid grudge match go is something I'll never understand..."

Finally the reached the front entrance of the finishing school. The gas was everywhere...

"If they haven't... haven't torn each other apart or killed one another...we do everything we can to spare every one inside if they aren't Sith." Meleena said, sickened at the thought of what she would find as she set her SMG to stun.

Meanwhile.

The Clone Pyros in the streets were having a hell of a time burning away what pockets of gas they could.

See, they were effin' pyromaniacs. If they saw the opportunity to burn an enemy alive, they would take it.

Plus with the extra orders of rescuing whatever civilians they could, it was difficult not to get sidetracked...

So, PC-141 was understandably overjoyed to run into a team of sith soldiers fleeing after the transmission Darth Nefaron had sent. He had gotten sooooo bored burning up precious fuel on pockets of gas that didn't break down easy.

He almost hurled his last plasma grenade when he saw a pair of unconscious civs nearby.

So he took out his Therm-Ax out for an outright merry old time.

He went into a dead charge, cackling like a psychopath, the team of troopers stunned as he hurled his flamethrower with crazy-person strength at one of the soldiers head and snapped his neck before he went into a chopping frenzy with his ax, hacking them apart and setting them on fire at the same time.

"THE WEAKNESS OF YOUR FLESH DISGUSTS ME." The Pyro exclaimed in best psycho-voice as he skipped like a schoolgirl over to his flamethrower and picked it up, torching the corpses out of spite before dropping it as he realized he was out of fuel and picking up the two unconscious civs to drag them to hire ground, fighting the urge to stop a moment to find something to burn.

As he dragged them into an area he had just cleared out he came under fire by another team of Sith Soldiers following the sounds of the carnage he had inflicted.

He dropped the civilians, prepping to toss his last plasma grenade when they got shot up from behind by soldiers in white armor...

The pyro squinted but recognized them instantly.

Clan Li-Ves Stormtroopers .

"HAIL!" The Pyro exclaimed with enthusiasm.

"Heads up boys, looks like the Boss let the Match-Happy's out of their padded rooms again." The Squad leader of the vampires exclaimed.

"AN OPEN MIND IS A FORTRESS WITH ITS FRONT GATES OPEN AND ITS WALLS UNGUARDED." The Pyro replied before he did a complete 180 and asked, in a totally casual voice. "...'Sup, yo?"

"Easy Match-Happy. Nice Match-Happy..." The Squad Leader replied like he was Robert Redford and the Pyro was a random horse. (It was currently unclear who the Scarlett Johansson would be in this situation)

"Reinforcements have arrived. House Bloodscrawl is trying to evacuate as many as we can but we ourselves have orders to shoot any Sith Military on sight. No reason any of these bastards should live to fight another day if it can be helped after what they did here.

"MEME THEM UNTIL THEY CRY." The Pyro replied. "AND THEN MAKE MEMES OF THEM CRYING."

"You, uh, you wanna give us those civilians?" The Stormtrooper asked.

"Whatever for, my jolly good fellow?" The Pyro inquired in an extraordinarily polite tone.

"So we can take them... preferably where you aren't..." The Stormtrooper answered plainly.

"Why of course, my good man, help yourselves!" he replied jovially.

The trooper cautiously approached (The Pyro giving an enthusiastic double thumbs up approach the whole time while not moving and carefully dragged the two civs away with great effort.

The Stormtroopers hefted up the civilians and promptly got the hell away from him.

"I fear no man..." The Squad Leader said as the Pyro went back to his business.

"But those clones...they frighten me."

"But aren't they just men, technically?" another trooper in the squad asked.

"Shut up, Wyatt, I was trying to be deep and dramatic! Gah! You always spoil moments like that!" The Squad Leader complained as they took the unconscious civilians to a nearby evac shuttle...



Jaina Grayson

 

[Jaina Grayson]

"Westenra... as I suspected..."

Then Westenra wasn't just a servant droid to House Li-Ves - she was considered a member of the family? A "daughter" of her creator? "Wow. I dunno what that would make us. Distant cousins, maybe?"

"My family has encountered the ones who have done this in the past. He's a monster. We're still trying to formulate a cure for his toxin... it's not easy. It was very well designed... It's base is spice, but the way it's been modified... it can be customized. Tailored to a specific populace."

"So it is like drug-induced psychosis." Jaina grimaced at the thought.

"I'm Meleena, by the way, in answer to your question. I came here trying to defend the city. Evacuate who we could. We almost certainly have an evac ship coming if my troops obeyed standard protocol. You're welcome to come with us once it arrives."

"I'm here for the same reason. Except I'm with the Foundation." The mysterious organization had made a big splash during the Hapes Crisis, but had since become considerably more low-key. They still had plenty of resources and personnel to offer in times of turmoil, such as what was befalling Ukatis. "Nice to meet you, Meleena."

"I think constantly losing to the Jedi has driven the Sith completely insane. It almost like they don't even care if they win anymore, as long as they can reap as much suffering as they can. Why they can't just let this stupid grudge match go is something I'll never understand..."

"Pretty sure huffing the Dark Side all day every day makes you irrational, selfish, and generally evil. That's kind of its nature..." But they weren't here to talk philosophy or theology. Meleena expressed a desire to spare as many innocent lives as possible. Jaina nodded in agreement, feeling just as disturbed by the implications of what they might find in the school as her companion.

Jaina entered the school grounds, passing through what was left of the front gate and into the courtyard. The air was thick with the gas, limiting visibility, but her photoreceptors were more advanced than the human eye. She squinted and soon spotted a pair of girls, aged maybe thirteen, lying unconscious on the ground. Their frilly dresses were torn and muddied, but they each had only minor injuries. "Found two unconscious bodies. Let's get them ready for evac."

Just then, a woman burst through a classroom door. She was older, with gray hair that had once been pinned up in a severe style, but now hung in disarray about her shoulders. In her hand was a pair of scissors, which she held with the blades facing downward like a shiv. Blood dripped from the tip. Jaina peered behind the woman, fearing the worst... but instead saw the body of a Sith soldier lying on the floor, stab wounds in his back oozing blood.

"Madame Berlioz, I presume?" Jaina asked. The old woman scowled at her. But before Jaina could stun her, another door opened, revealing more Sith. "Incoming!" Jaina shouted to Meleena in warning, before charging at the soldiers like a raging bull, hoping to draw their attention away from the old woman and two girls.

Meleena Bloodscrawl​